A Mute Cantata

One at a time, please, Sign mutely instructed, waving the next pony forward. In contrast to the hustle and bustle of the backstage, the cue she tended was pretty well behaved. Roadies, as well as lighting and acoustic technicians, scampered to and fro, while she minded the line.

Initially, she’d been hired to promote the event and work the ticket booth for the symphony in which Octavia was starring, though apparently something had gone awry once the show had concluded. Somepony hadn’t shown up, or was perhaps exceedingly late, so one of the organizers had asked her to mind the meet-and-greet after the concert.

Honestly, Sign considered herself lucky to get a free ticket to the performance, so the additional work was icing on the cake. She had always been a huge fan of Octavia, so of course she leapt at the chance to be in close proximity to the instrumentalist. As far as she was concerned, the additional pay, while nice, was simply a bonus.

Though she hadn’t really gotten the opportunity to speak with the talented musician yet, she was keeping her hooves crossed. After the meet-and-greet was concluded, if she was lucky, she’d be able to snag an autograph and maybe a brief chat. Trying certainly couldn’t hurt, since she was stuck there for the duration.

Noticing a pony trot by, squealing and clutching a signed photo to her chest, Sign snapped from her reverie. Next, she casually ordered, the words flowing over her extended forelimb.

Sign was mute, unlike a great many ponies, but she was able to manage. Either in a gracious twist of fate, or perhaps by chance, her ability allowed her to effortlessly control an inky pigment on her fur. With but a thought, she could cause writing, illustrations, or any number of designs and scribbles to appear on or in her person. Regardless of the whys, the quirk let her live a life like anypony else.

Looking over at the line of excited fans, Sign took note of how many were left. Roughly a dozen ponies eagerly waited, talking with one another or simply taking in the sights of the backstage. With little else to do, she trotted over to Octavia’s table. Since the cue was relatively short and well behaved, she saw no reason she couldn’t idle by the star.

The earth pony’s coat was a smokey grey and her mane and tail were the tint of iron. Looking at her current visitor, Octavia’s genuine smile met her mulberry colored eyes. She was, by every definition, a gorgeous mare, yet her aesthetic was only part of her allure.

Soft spoken and delightfully proper, her accent was captivating - which was a shame, given her performances didn’t involve any singing. A cellist by trade, she was often employed to entertain parties, weddings, and even take part in larger orchestras. Interestingly enough, as renowned as she was, she resided in the quaint little town of Ponyville.

Sign sighed contentedly, watching the musician converse with the nearby fan. Pens, photos, and souvenirs lie neatly arranged atop the cloth covered table. It was mostly for show, since diehard enthusiasts brought their own mementos to get autographed, though a few chose to purchase a bauble or two.

“Hey, watch it!” a gruff voice blared, followed by a resounding clatter.

Everypony looked over, as one of the laborers dropped a crate of posters. Sign couldn’t be sure what had happened, but it looked like he’d nearly run into one of the stagehands. Memorabilia went clattering over the floor, making quite the mess and causing a lone marker to fall from the cellist’s table.

For whatever reason, Sign took note of the felt-tip pen’s disappearance and acted accordingly. Leaning forward, lifting the tablecloth and reaching for the sharpie, she went rigid. There, beneath the table’s surface, she was granted a view of Octavia’s lower half. Seated in a chair, with her back hooves on the floor, the mare casually attended to her followers, yet there was something off.

Between her hind legs, draped over the edge of her seat, sat a slate grey package. Sign blinked repeatedly, frozen in disbelief, trying to determine if her eyes deceived her. A pair of ripe nuts hung over the front of the chair, just below a sheath of wrinkled, velvety flesh. There was no mistaking it, Octavia was a dickmare.

There was no way Sign could have missed something as obvious before, which left her mind to wander. There were, as far as she knew, several types of potions or charms which allowed creatures to conceal or alter their appearance. If she had to guess, considering she’d never seen or heard anything about the instrumentalist having that sort of equipment, the mare chose to hide that bit of her anatomy while out and about.

Peeking back out, observing the chaos which unfolded backstage, an idea blossomed. She’d been given a once in a lifetime opportunity, one which she could possibly enact in a stealthy manner. With everypony preoccupied with the mess, conversing or assisting with the cleanup, nopony would notice if…

Knitting her brow, seizing the moment, Sign scampered under the table. The furniture was completely covered, concealing her presence entirely, so the chances of her being discovered were slim to none. The fact that she was incapable of vocalizing only aided in the matter, further reducing the chances of her being discovered.

Slinking forward, listening to the ruckus outside, her eyes locked on the anatomy before her. With her legs parted slightly, Octavia’s nethers were laid bare. It was, she had to shamelessly admit, a wonderfully raunchy situation. There she was, furtively being treated to an immaculate view of a star’s naughty bits. Inching closer, drinking in every detail of the dickmare’s loins, a singular aroma wafted to her nostrils.

Pausing, taking a deep breath, Sign practically swooned. Trapped beneath the cloth, with no circulation to speak of, the scent of Octavia’s privates hung heavily in the air. After the show, having spent nearly an hour performing for the masses, the instrumentalist had been unable to bathe, only magnifying her natural aroma.

Fortunately, the table was tall enough for her to move about freely, albeit awkwardly. Though she couldn’t quite stand to full height, she was able to crouch-walk under the piece of furniture. Sure, it may not have been the most comfortable place to be, but any inconvenience was utterly eclipsed by the scandalous circumstances in which she found herself.

Edging nearer to Octavia, Sign’s gaze never wavered from the dickmare’s groin. Her glacial pace ground to a halt, as her nose came within an inch of the dark package. The heady bouquet, stronger than ever, was joined by a subtle heat upon her snout. She stopped dead, realizing she’d reached a crossroads.

Sign had a choice; either she retreated, letting a unique chance slip through her hooves, or she seized the moment and made a bold move. It took her but the blink of an eye to come to a decision. Steeling her resolve, licking her lips, her face crept forward.

Pressing her snout to the delicate area betwixt the cellist’s sheath and balls, she inhaled through her nostrils. As soon as Sign made contact, Octavia flinched, leaving her paralyzed in apprehension. The dickmare started, her thighs clamping around her clandestine transgressor’s head, yet she made no move to flee.

Taking the lack of response as a blessing to proceed, Sign did just that. Opening her mouth, she dragged her tongue up one weighty testis and guided it into her maw. Gingerly rolling it about in her muzzle, delicately applying a bit of a vacuum, she awaited a reaction. Slowly, like a monster slithering from its lair, the flaccid length of stallionhood emerged from its confines.

Bit by bit, inch by inch, the limp appendage appeared. Sluggishly, roused from its slumber, the tool twitched and hardened. The gradual erection was a sight to behold, while it steadily raised up and swelled with blood. Bearing witness to such an act was captivating, though getting an up-close view was even more so.

Her heart skipped a beat, as Octavia’s shaft reached near full size. The thick, vascular cock that hung at the musician’s loins was, for all intents and purposes, a masterpiece given flesh; long and dusky, from girthy root to blunted tip, a pronounced vein traced its length. Sign sat mute, while she gazed upon the picturesque appendage. Truly, only a poet's words could do it justice, so overwhelming was its beauty.

Retracting her head, allowing the nut to loll from her mouth, she adjusted her position. Squaring herself directly between Octavia’s legs, staring down the mare’s dick, Sign extended a foreleg. Gently grasping the base of the tool, leveling it towards her face, she brought the blunt tip to her snout.

Sign’s mouth began to water, as she shuffled forward. The fat glans slid past her parted lips, as she sat on the ground, allowing her to caress the sensitive underside with her tongue. Taking care to fondle her partner’s balls, she tenderly worked the head in her muzzle. Her efforts were rewarded by a contented hum from above, but little else.

She had to assume that it wasn’t the first time Octavia had received surreptitious service, what with the absence of any sort of response - well, almost any response. Feeling something rub against her leg, Sign looked downward. Her partner’s hoof had drifted forward ever so slightly to brush against her. The silent blessing filled her with determination, signalling her to continue.

Closing her eyes, savoring the piquant unwashed flavor of the dickmare’s member, Sign skillfully bobbed and rocked her head from side to side. Stroking the shaft with her tongue, she gradually worked the sizable appendage into her maw. It wasn’t long before her taste buds were treated to their first drops of cloying, viscous pre-cum.

The salty, gooey substance was an achievement in and of itself, causing her marehood to hungrily clench. She’d always had a heavy inclination for oral, especially in regards to dickmares or stallions. The act of attending to another’s needs, using her muzzle, was a bittersweet irony. Despite the inability to speak, her mouth was more than functional for amorous affairs.

As the bloated tip of Octavia’s length bumped against her throat, Sign paused. Taking a lungful of air, she pressed forward. Relaxing herself, swallowing to aid in the endeavor, the shaft slipped into her esophagus. Though she couldn’t see it, she could feel her throat bulging outward at the intrusion.

The initial plunge, while brief, allowed Sign to warm up slightly. Exhaling though her nose, peeking outward, her gaze wandered up the meaty tool. She’d only managed to get roughly half of the thing into herself on the first try, but she was far from finished. Taking a second breath, she rammed her face forward.

Keeping one eye open, she kept note of her progress. With each inch that passed past her lips, the difficulty increased. Not only was the stallionhood considerably long, but it got progressively thicker towards the base. As the glans drove down her gullet, descending towards her stomach, she reached the medial ring.

In contrast to her hot, engorged marehood, Sign’s perseverance was unbreakable. Applying more force, jamming the ample ring of flesh into her muzzle, she continued her single minded pursuit to fully throat Octavia. Kissing the swollen band, forcing it into her maw, she reached the appendage’s trunk-like root.

As undeniably arousing as the experience was, her body struggled to cope. Screwing her eyes shut, feeling a tear roll down her cheek, Sign suffered through the final inches of her labor. Her nose bumped against the mare’s groin, marking her triumph. The victory, however, was short lived; as she went to withdraw, something grasped the back of her head.

Glancing over, she realized Octavia had decided to take a more active role in the furtive fellatio. Holding her in place, the mare shifted in her chair and drove her hips forward. Trapped with nowhere to go, Sign was driven back slightly, while the cellist swung a hind leg over her shoulder. One of the earth pony’s fetlocks rested on the back of her neck, effectively locking her in place.

Octavia moved slowly and methodically, squeezing Sign’s head between her sculpted thighs. Stuck in a leg-lock, with the entirety of cock plumbing her esophagus, Sign served as a sheath for the performer’s member. Choked of air, with little chance of escape, she was left with two options.

She could panic, using her magic or physical strength to break free, though that would unquestionably result in a rather disgraceful scene. Her other choice was to stay the course, pleasing the mare to finish. Reaching up, clasping one hoof to her partner’s rump, she let her actions speak for her.

Using what little freedom she had, Sign shifted her head back and forth. Swabbing her throat, wiping the silken underside of the prick with her tongue, she persisted in her efforts. Starved of oxygen, she was keenly aware of the moments dragging by. Lungs burning, heart thundering in her chest, and with her marehood winking of its own volition, she prayed she could outlast her partner.

As frightful as the situation was, it stroked some masochistic part of her. Knowing she was little more than a living toy for the dickmare’s pleasure was immeasurably arousing. The way Octavia subtly bucked her waist, while casually socializing and carrying on with her fans, only added to the downright sinful nature of the circumstances.

As the seconds ticked by, the survival-based portions of Sign’s brain ticked on. A tinge of panic entered her thoughts, as her esophagus spasmed and clenched around the immense tool occupying its confines. Willing her body to obey, her ministrations never ceased.

Fondling the mares testes with one hoof and massaging the shaft with her tongue, she pushed her snout forward to meet Octavia’s faint thrusts. Even with her eyes closed, she could sense her vision beginning to tunnel. The juxtaposition of fear and arousal was maddening, leaving her to wonder how it would end.

Strange, ethereal bubbles and shapes drifted across Sign’s hide, while her body subconsciously mirrored her breathless state. While a portion of her mind sought to survive, another yearned for release. Though she was vaguely aware of it, she rocked her hips and ground her marehood over the floor, smearing the cool surface with her juices.

As her limbs began to grow weary, and her consciousness started to fade, she sensed a unique pressure deep within her torso. The nuts in her hoof retracted slightly, snuggling to the mare’s groin and adding more weight to her assumption. With her mind in a haze, she desperately fought to keep from blacking out.

The tip of Octavia’s prick flared just shy the unicorn’s stomach, as the first shot of cum surged through her length. Sign’s lips, already painfully stretched, widened rhythmically while the shaft throbbed violently. Had the intrusion been at a shallower depth, she would have struggled to gulp down the influx; but as it was, every drop of the creamy seed was deposited directly into her belly.

Between the intensity of being used as a receptacle for the performer’s foal batter and lack of air, she spontaneously climaxed. Dancing on the razor’s edge of passing out, her body trembled from head to hoof. The dichotomy of it all, of standing at the precipice, fractured what little cognizance she had left. She went limp, as her marehood erupted orgasmic nectar on the floor.

Falling backwards, the length of stallionhood was dislodged from her gorge. It didn’t matter if Octavia was finished cumming or not, considering Sign’s body refused to comply with her wishes. The last three spurts of spunk ineffectually spattered over her face and chest, though she’d managed to contain the overwhelming majority of the sticky substance.

Heaving air into her lungs, Sign’s chest rose and fell as she mutely panted. Slowly - oh so slowly - her faculties returned, yet she remained unmoving. Covered in jizz, sweat, and her own orgasmic fluids, it would be next to impossible for somepony to not notice her disgraceful and shabby state.

Resigning herself to wait until the event was concluded, Sign did the best she could to clean herself up. Between her mouth and magic, she was able to remove most of the errant cum from her person, but she still desperately needed a shower. With any luck, given that the meet-and-greet had nearly been at an end when she’d salaciously secreted herself under the table, nopony would take note of her mysterious absence.

She couldn’t say how many minutes had passed before she noticed Octavia coolly push her chair back and get to her hooves. Lifting the tablecloth and lowering her head, the musician peered over at her. All she could offer was a sheepish smile and small wave, as the earth pony grinned at her.

“Next time, Dearest, simply ask first,” Octavia murmured, extending a hoof towards her.

Smiling, filled with the sublime satisfaction of a job well done and the prospect of future dealings with the talented pony, Sign crawled free. Looking around, taking care to see nobody saw her escape, she turned her attention to Octavia. She didn’t know what to say, nor how to say it, yet the cellist certainly didn’t appear to be flustered or put off.

“Come on, you can use my dressing room to wash up,” Octavia demurely chuckled. Trotting away, waving for Sign to follow, she proceeded towards an exit. “I’ll make a note to specifically request you for my next concert; given your - Ahem - enthusiasm, it’s the least I can do…” she continued, pausing to look back at her guest.

O...ok… rolled over Sign’s chest, as her cheeks darkened. Yeah, there was no denying it, the day had turned out far better than she could have ever dreamt…