Lost in a Storm

by FallBlau

Rating: mature
Tags: Alternate Universe, Romance
Length: 4646

When Hanz von Stickyhooves, Deputy-Herr of Equestria's neighboring country: Hoofenstein, finds himself caught in a storm, he find himself taken in a noble Count.

When Hanz von Stickyhooves, Deputy-Herr of Equestria's neighboring country: Hoofenstein, finds himself caught in a storm, he is taken in by a noble Count.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-04 03:30:02 UTC

Chapter 1

The lightning struck and the thunder rolled as the darkness of the night engulfed the land. Rain began to fall from the dense banks of gray clouds that loomed over the tops of the forest trees. Far below the soaring heights of the evergreens, on the forest floor, a single pony walked along a lonely dirt road in the midst of the brooding wilderness.

Hanz trotted with earnest step as the rain began to soak his gray coat. He cursed to himself as the thunder roared overhead. He needed to find shelter quickly, but he didn't know where. He was five kilometers from the nearest city and, the rain was already coming down hard. The trees were keeping him relatively dry, but he knew it wouldn't be long before he would be soaked through to the bone. He hated the thought of getting wet – because it entailed the inevitably of coming down with a protracted case of the snuffles.

He started to canter as the deluge came down quicker. He passed through a meadow and then by a creek, which was already brimming its banks with a cascading torrent of water. The lightning struck again and for a split second illuminated everything in a vivid contrast, and then was quickly followed by an earth-shaking peal of thunder. The gray pony was now at a full-gallop, racing as fast as he could. The only thing he hated worse than the weather was loud noises.

He wasn't paying attention to where he was going as he raced along the path and snagged his hoof on a fallen branch. He careened head-first into a quagmire, coating himself in the miry slush. He spat some of the wet dirt out of his mouth as he quickly got off the ground. What a fine day this has been, he thought to himself as he wiped some of the grime off his black vest. He picked himself up and began to walk again, now thoroughly drenched and sodden with mud. It was a terrible predicament; cold, tired, and without warmth or shelter in the middle of nowhere with only a water-logged summertime vest for protection against the hostile elements.

He trudged on, sloshing his hoofs through the dreck, when suddenly he saw a light. Far away, on a distant hilltop, he spied what he thought to be a lantern flickering in the night. Surely, that must be somepony on an evening vigil, or perhaps it was a hiker or another traveler like himself. Whatever the case, it was a promising sight. Perchance this pony would give him shelter for the night – maybe even some warm food and a bed to sleep in – or just somewhere to stay until this horrible storm blew over. His heart reveled at the thought.

He suddenly found a reason for exertion. He raced down the narrow path, passing through fields and dales as he made his way to the light while keeping up a steady pace. In the distance, it bobbed and bounced as it seemed to descend down a slope. He prayed that its owner didn't extinguish it, and several times, thought of calling out to alert him of his presence, but he didn't want to give the pony holding it cause for alarm, so continued on toward it.

When he reached a small summit, closer to the base of one of the larger hills, he peered out and could see the light clearly. Near the base, close by a small brook, was what appeared to another pony, holding the lantern overhead. Hanz called out to him. “Hello!”

A minute passed before an answer echoed from off the valley floor. “Hello?”

“I'm up here!” he called down as he waved to the pony with the lantern.

The figure began to move up the hillside, his lantern bobbing with him as he traversed the steep incline. Finally, he came into view – his appearance made clear by the presence of the light which he brought with him. He was a pony with a dark blue coat and a brown mane. He had piercing green eyes which you could see, even through the darkness, and a prominent horn atop his head. “Guten Abend” he said smiling.

“Guten Abend.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“I was traveling on the road and I got caught in the storm...”

The blue pony squinted, examining the gray-coated pony, holding the light closer to make out his face better. Suddenly, a look of epiphany washed over his face. “Are you...?”

“Yes, you're not mistaken. I'm the Deputy-Herr.”

“Please, sir, what are you doing out here alone? In the rain?”

“Well...”

“Say no more. You can tell me more when we reach my chateau; it's a little piece down the road from here. We need to get you inside – you look soaked to the marrow! Here, take my coat.” The blue pony handed him his rather large over-coat and draped it around his shoulders.

“Thank you so much.”

“Think nothing of it. It would be honor to have you as my guest. Come.”

“That's very nice of you...”

The blue-pony guided him down the banks of the ravine – his lantern going ahead of him reveal the path. After a few moments of trekking, they came out to a small plain where trees subsided. In the distance, a large mansion with towering battlements and lofty buttresses stood perched upon a hill. “There!” the blue pony pointed, “That's my home.”

“Impressive.”

“Thank you.” The two began to make their way toward the entrance. They passed a brick gate and then made their way up the long path towards the door.

“I don't think I caught your name, freund...”

“My name is immaterial really – I am but your humble servant. But if you must know my ennobled title, I am the Count von Brandinburg. And you, Deputy-Herr, need no introduction. You are Hanz von Stickyhooves – the famous glue-maker. But please, we'll leave that for later – I'm sure you're soaking wet. Allow me to show you inside.”

He opened the rather large oak door to reveal a quaint reception area with a marble staircase in the center. The room was dark, as there were only a few candles burning in their unadorned holsters on the wall.

“Here, take off your clothes, sir. I'll take those. Are you hungry?”

“A little...”

“Then I shall have something fixed for you. Please excuse me, I'll get a servant to fetch you a towel and I will hang these out to dry.”

Brandinburg ascended the steps of the marble staircase and veered to the left, receding into the depths of the murky castle. As Hanz's eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed there were several portraits hanging on the walls – paintings of colts and mares wearing elaborate suits and dresses - standing in regal postures. Hanz could only assume that these were portraits of Bradinburg's long-dead relatives, still keeping watch over their estate. Their presence gave the entire room an earnest sense of foreboding.

Even in the residual light, Hanz could tell that this room had seen better days. On the walls were dusty imprints of where, he supposed, former banners had stood to greet guests with marvelously embroidered. In a strange way, he could have almost imagined the room as it had once been – flooded with noise and light as lords and nobles entered through the door into a waiting host and hostess who would have stood at the top of the staircase. He could hear the clink of champagne glasses against each other and the sounds of violins playing a minuet in a marvelous procession of revelry that was now only consigned to history books. How much things had changed.

When Brandinburg returned a few moments later, he came bearing a towel “Terribly sorry – it seems that none of the servants are on hand, so I took the liberty of getting the towel myself.”

“Thank you,” Hanz said as he took the towel and dried his wet mane.

“You're more than welcome. I hope you will find my accommodations suitable enough. I know this place is a little drab, but I wasn't expecting visitors at this hour either.”

“Didn't you say something about food?”

“Yes, there's fresh hay in the kitchen, if you'll follow me. I'm afraid there's not much in the way of baked goods at this hour, though.” Brandinburg chuckled to himself as he escorted his guest through the empty hallways to the dining room.

“It's just this way,” Brandinburg said as he showed his guest through the open door-way. They entered into a spacious dining hall that was, for the most part, empty and devoid of any sort of decoration. The only furniture to be seen was a less than regal table in the middle that looked like it could seat only around eight ponies – with two plates on either end, stacked with fresh hay.“You'll forgive the austere furnishings. One learns to adapt to one's needs I suppose. And I have no need for company. But you, my Deputy-Herr, are a most welcome exception.”

He pulled a chair out from out of one end of the table for Hanz to sit in and commenced to lightning the candles laying on the table. “Ah yes, enough of darkness, ja? Let there be light.” He struck a match that ignited in a brilliant flame and used it to light the candles. “There, much better,” he said as he sat the iron holder on the table.

Hanz, for his part, found Brandinburg to be a most gracious host. He found his mannerisms to be a tad eccentric, but he was sincere and good-natured. He talked with implicit punctuality, and always in the most courteous and polite manner. He was a true gentleman – in every sense of the word.

“Please,” he said motioning to Hanz, “Make yourself comfortable.”

Hanz seated himself at the table, slightly taken aback by such affable treatment, and cautiously began to partake of the hay. “Your lordship is most kind.”

The Count bowed as he seated himself on the other end of the small table. “Thank you, sir. I try my best.”

“I suppose we could get around to those introductions, but it seems you already know me.”

“Yes, Herr Stickyhooves, it seems your reputation goes before you. You are, after all, a high-ranking member of the party, and a as a member myself, I consider no less than my implicit duty to assist you in any way I can.

“Call me crazy, but something gives me the suspicion that it was more than just party loyalty...”

“Well, you are a famous glue-maker, sir. Every store in Hoofenstein carries bottles with your name on it. To achieve such a success, I have doubt, took determination and honor – both traits I highly respect in an individual.”

“Your lordship is too kind.”

“Please, there is no need to stand on formalities here. Feel free to call me Geert. It keeps me at such a distance to be referred to by noble title. After all, we are both comrades, as it were.”

“I never would have imagined you to be a party remember. In my experience, members of the nobility have had certain reservation against joining the party. Namely, they find themselves unable to join those ponies who they consider beneath them.”

“Make no mistake about me sir, I do not feel entitled to anything. A pony is a pony – and no regal title can confer on him anymore dignity than what which is creator conferred on him at the moment of conception. I am compelled solely by my loyalty to the fatherland. I see my mission as singular in its purpose: to advance the cause of the people. I see the party as the way forward.”

“You put it so elegantly.”

“I studied the finer points of oratory during my time at the University – but please, let us not discuss politics any further. I find it all rather boring.”

“Yes,” Hanz said nodding.

“But it was during that period in my life that I learned to appreciate the finer things in life – like a fine bottle of wine.” The Count journeyed over to the other side of the room to a small waiting table and returned with what appeared to be a bottle of sherry. “Do you drink, sir?”

“No,” Hanz said, “I try to abstain whenever possible. I find that drinking is not for me.”

“Pity, this is one of my finer vintages. I'd be more than willing to share it with you. You really don't know what you’re missing.”

Hanz was reluctant, but decided he would humor his host. “Well, why not? It's only one glass, right?”

“That's the spirit.” The Count popped the cork and poured the fizzling liquid into two glasses he had acquired from the serving tray. “To your health!”

“To the fatherland.”

They clinked their glasses together and each took a draft of the sparkling liquid. “Ah,” the Count exclaimed, “Has a youthful zest to it. Very fitting for its age.”

“I've never tasted wine before, but I must say, it is a tad on the spicy side.”

“Now, please sir, allow me to inquire.”

“I will answer any question as well as far as I am able to.”

“Excellent. Then tell me, if it is not beyond you, the secret to your glue factory's success.”

Hanz nearly choked as he sipped on his glass. He smiled, trying to veil his surprise. “Ah, but that would be telling.”

“Of course, I just thought perhaps you could enlighten me to some of the basics of its operation. There is a nasty going around certain circles that you're using unsavory business practices to meet quotas.”

“Who says that?” Hanz could feel the anger rising in his throat. “It's a absolute lie!”

“No need to get so upset. We are all friends here. Here let me tip you off there.”

“Well, just know that I have never done such things, nor do I ever. I run an honest business and make an honest living. Sure, I may have large quotas to fulfill – the government always seems to be in a great need for my adhesive – but I've always striven to make a product of only the highest quality. I wouldn't compromise that for anything. It means more than just money.”

The Count raised up his glass. “That's quite commendable of you. You're a pony of principle, my friend, and those are exceedingly rare.”

“Thank you...I'm sorry, I don't normally let emotions get out of hand like that.”

“No need to apologize. You have such zeal for a married man. Yes, the papers of Hoofenstein seem to have made you and your wife the poster child of the modern family – ideally suited for one another. Speaking of which, how is your wife?”

Hanz smiled, thinking of his beloved Pinkamena waiting back at home in their mansion. He allowed himself to wonder what she might have been doing while he was away. “She's well. We're expecting a child.”

“Lucky man. Here, your glass is running low again. Let me get that.”

“Thank you.”

The Count laid the bottle back on the table. “Your wife must be quite the woman.”

“Oh my, yes. She's the most wonderful mare I've ever known. She is my dutiful, loving wife. There’s never a dull day with her around.”

The Count glared off toward the other side of the room, as if he was thinking. “You really do love her, then? It's not just a show?”

Hanz smirked. “Why ever would you say it was just a show?”

The Count turned back, flashing a modest smile. “Oh, you know how the papers are. What they say isn't always how it is in reality. I was only wondering if this time they were correct.”

“They are not mistaken. I am madly in love with my wife, as she is with me. We share a very intimate relationship that I believe only few people have ever had. She is the darling of my heart. It is only as love could ever be.”

“Then here's to love.”

“To love.”

As Hanz downed the sherry, a bell chimed somewhere across the room. Hanz turned to see a grandfather clock sitting in the corner with its hands showing that it was now an hour before midnight. “My my,” the Count remarked, “Look at the time. It's getting quite late, quite late, indeed. You are free to stay up as long as you wish – you are at liberty here in my house, but I think I shall be retiring soon myself sir.”

Hanz staggered a bit. The room seemed slowly spinning and he couldn't gain a sense of balance. “No,” he slurred, “I think you're right. I should be getting to bed.” He hiccupped as the Count stopped him from falling. “It's been a long night and I am feeling quite tired.”

“Then allow me to show you to your room.”

“That's very kind of you, Geert.”

“Not at all Hanz. Just follow me.”

The Count lead Hanz through the hallway – his guest firmly grasping his shoulder as he swayed from side to side. They traveled back into the main foyer and ascending up the marble stairs as they made their way into the recesses of the house. They passed a long corridor and then up another small flight of stairs that lead into the bedroom itself. “Here we are,” the Count announced.

The bedroom itself was quite unassuming. There was a fur-coated bed in the center, above which a shield hung on the wall. On the right there was a window that over-looked a courtyard below and to the left there was another brick wall. Near the window, there was a mirror and a small table, on which a small pitcher of water stood. All in all the accommodations were quite plain, but they served their purpose.

“Here you are,” the Count said laying the intoxicated Hanz on the bed. “Pleasant dreams.”

Hanz watched as the nobleman slowly descended the stairs and heard the clank of the bedroom door as he closed it behind him. Then there was only the sound of the soft chorus of rain-drops cracking against the glass as the thunder rolled in the distance. Hanz could feel the darkness starting to make his way around the edge of his eyes as he propped his head on the pillow and pulled himself beneath the warm sheets. He let his exhaustion overtake him and soon found himself in a deep slumber – all while the storm raged outside.

It was an uneasy slumber, however, and Hanz tossed and turned. He could not stop thinking about his wife back at home waiting for him. He dreamed of them sitting together under the soft shade of oak tree that stood in their front yard as they often did. He could see as she leaned in close and left and endearment on his cheek – wrapping her arms around him and holding him close.

“I love you Hanz,” she whispers.

“I love you too,”

“Are you thinking of me, dear?”

“As I always do, my love.”

“Promise to never leave me.”

“I promise.” He leans in and kisses her forehead. “I promise...”

Hanz stirred in his bed. He felt a warm sensation tingling along the base of his neck. He roused himself to see that he was nestled in the Count's embrace and that it was his breathing that caused the tingling.

Hanz almost couldn't believe what he was seeing. In his inebriated state he struggled to comprehend what was going on and wondered why the Count had decided to come into his bedchamber and lie next to him.

“Geert, what are you doing here?”

“I got lonely so I thought I'd come in here.”

Hanz readjusted his eyes to the darkness. Beside him, he could make his host – relaxed and totally at ease as he held his arm around him. “Is that really why you came in here?”

“No,” he said, getting up, “Not exactly. Can I tell you something, Hanz? Something rather personal?”

“Yeah, sure.” Hanz said rubbing his eye.

“I've know you for quite a while now – in an indirect way. It's not until now that I've finally gotten a chance to meet you face-to-face. You've been everything they've said you were, and more. I guess, what I am trying to say is that I feel an attraction to you. No, it’s not just an attraction – a burning desire. I've wanted to have you ever since I first laid eyes upon. My heart yearns and longs for your embrace. I...love you.” The Count paused momentarily to gather himself before continuing. “Tell me to leave sir – and I will do it without question. I am yours to obey. But tell me to stay, and I swear you won't regret it.”

Hanz was unsure of what to say. At first he felt a sense of apprehension but it soon subsided into a different feeling; a feeling which Hanz had only felt with one other. He walked over to the Count who stood with his head dropped down on shoulders, his face flustered in red. “I may be making a mistake,” he said as he grabbed his hoof, “But I accept.”

The two of them gazed into each other’s eyes before their lips met in a fevered kiss. The Count forced his tongue in Hanz's mouth. He pressed him against the wall and held him his wrists as they both moaned in ecstasy.

Hanz writhed under the Count's firm grasp. He whined in anticipation in the pit of his throat as he let himself be taken under his host's control. Eventually the Count loosened his hold and their lips slowly parted.

The Count guided Hanz to the bed and held him close. He licked around the tip of his ears then moved down – leaving small endearments as he worked his way to the nape of his neck. He caressed him with his tongue – lavishing in the taste as he slowly worked his arm around Hanz's waist. His hoof slowly reached down and wrapped around the base of Hanz's stallion-hood and began to gently stroke it.

Hanz let out a whining moan. “Yes, Geert. Don't stop.”

The Count willing obliged and began to stroke harder – letting his hoof trace up and down the length of his guest's hardening member. Hanz tensed under the Count's exertion but allowed himself to gradually relax in the firm possession of his lover.

Hanz panted and labored as the Count continued to rub his rock hard member. “Oh, Geert. I'm so close.” It was then than the Count stopped.

“Not yet,” he whispered in Hanz's ear reassuringly.

Hanz whimpered he felt the Count's strong hoof grab hold of his shoulder and forced his head down to where his own hardened length stood firmly erected.”Lick it,” he commanded in a soft voice.

Hanz nervously licked around the tip. “Like this, Geert?”

“Yes,” he breathed.

Hanz was nervous at first. He took his time – lapsing the Count's head with his tongue first and then moving farther down his member, gradually opening his mouth wider and wider. Soon, he was taking the entire length of the Count's pulsing stallion-hood in his mouth. The Count groaned as Hanz sucked him off but gradually began to ease himself out of Hanz's willing lips.

The Count look down on him with adoring eyes as he delicately stroked his mane. “Are you ready, Hanz?”

Hanz looked up at him and smiled. “Yes, Geert. I'm ready.”

“Good.” The Count kissed him passionately as he gently eased him on the bed again. Hanz could feel his soft touch as he trailed his hoof down Hanz's backside. Hanz gasped as the Count pressed his weight on top of him and whispered in his ear. “I'll be gentle.”

Hanz felt his hind legs buckle as he stood over the bed. The Count, in the mean time, coated his stallion-hood in an oily lubricant. “The most expensive oils imported from Arabia,” the Count whispered, “Just for you.” Hanz quivered as the Count gradually stooped over and slide his throbbing member inside of him. “You're so tight...” the Count sighed.

Hanz shook fervently as he felt the Count began to gradually thrust back and forth. At first pain ripped through his body as he felt himself violated for the first time. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. He jerked in agony and let out a little squeal. The Count paused. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, “Just take it easy.” The Count did as he asked and gradually eased himself into Hanz a few times to get him accustomed. Soon, the pain Hanz had felt was replaced a by a feeling of euphoria. He was suddenly riding a precipice of pleasure as he allowed the Count to ravage him.

The Count, sensing that Hanz was no longer in discomfort, increased him momentum. He thrust deeper and harder into Hanz, who all the while moaned and whimpered in pleasure. Soon, though, the Count began to grow more terse. His movements became wild and sporadic, riding into Hanz with a frenzied passion. The Count leaned over and whispered in Hanz's ear, “Cum for me, Hanz.”

Hanz, barely able to hold be back anymore, nodded in compliance. A few more thrusts by Count and Hanz came – spurting every drop on the floor. The Count smiled at his guest's willing obedience and then finished himself, filling Hanz's with his hot seed.

The both of them panted in fatigue. The Count eventually pulled out and walked around to Hanz and planted a kiss on his forehead. He wrapped his arms around him close as they watched both watched the storm outside.

“That was amazing,” Hanz whispered.

The Count said nothing. He only stared into the abyss of the darkness as the lightning flashed and the rain poured down. “Will you be leaving tomorrow, Hanz?”

“Of course. I don't see why not.”

“Oh,” the Count said with more than a tint of sadness in his voice.

“Why? What's wrong Geert?”

The Count dug his face into Hanz's neck. “You'll be leaving, and I'll be here alone. Again.”

Hanz frowned. “But don't you have anybody here who can keep you company?”

“No. The only person whoever stops by is the cleaning lady – Frau Hilda. She only ever comes once a month or so. Oh Hanz, you don't know how terribly boring it is here; nopony to talk to, no company to keep – just this old house and my dusty volume of books. It's a nightmare. Can you not stay a little longer, Hanz? Please?”

“I don't know. I've got business to attend to and my wife is waiting back home. It would be wrong to neglect either of them. I'm sorry.”

The Count sighed. “Yes, you're right. But, let's just relish in this, while we can.”

“Agreed, and if I ever pass by again, I'll be sure to pay a visit. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Hanz kissed the Count's cheek and they cuddled next to each other in the warmth of the sheets – perfectly satisfied in the other's embrace.

The next morning the storm had subsided and the sun was shining brightly in the boggy sky. Hanz ate breakfast with the Count and after a long and protracted farewell he found himself on the road again. As he walked away though, his mind drifted over what had happened the evening he had spent with the Count and what an enjoyable night it had been. If only every host was as hospitable, Hanz thought to himself.