Written by Fresh Cookies, Inspired by Kaidan

Fp/M C ****

I was just playing my cello, for I had nothing else in life that didn’t involve a cello, and quite frankly was quite good, good enough to get into the local symphony, good enough to be first chair in said symphony. Right now, I was practicing for the concerto competition, and I was playing one of the tougher songs out there: the Cello Concerto in A Minor by Schumann. In the process of playing one of the more emotional parts, I hear a loud crash, followed by a bang, emanating from my bedroom. I shrugged it off and continue, wanting to at least finish the phrase.

I continue playing, and I hear a clip-clop, clip-clop as if a lady in heels was walking down. I make a gamely attempt to ignore the sound and play uncharacteristically loud for that portion of the piece, hoping that whoever she is, I can just finish without any more interruptions. Finally, I come off from my big solo, and as I finish, I am greeted by more of the clip-clop, clip-clop noise I heard earlier.

“Bravo, fine sir! Horseshoemann is one of my favorite composers, and I would recognize him from any distance!”

I was about to thank the person when I considered what she had just said. Horseshoemann? Who in the world is that? I decide to turn around and ask the decidedly female voice, and immediately a wave of shock befalls me.

A light gray pastel horse - no, a pony - is standing there. Her much darker gray hair, almost black, is in disarray, presumably from the crash-bang combo coming from your room. She has luscious lavender eyes, and what could be best called a purple treble clef on her flank. Her white band with pinkish bowtie gave a nice complement to her eyes and tattoo. But, what was the weirdest thing about this was the fact that she could speak.

“H-h-hello th-there.” The fear rising up from me was soon quelled when she whipped out another cello, albeit smaller.

“So, do you want to play some Horseshoemann?” She asked the question with a certainty, as if she was unfazed at coming and teleporting from who knows where, crash-landing in his bedroom, and have a being twice her height become absolutely terrified of her.

“S-sure, just give me a second t-t-to recollect m-my thoughts.” There was a lengthy pause, and I added, “Wouldn’t want me playing a-awfully now, would you?” He quickly left the room and grabbed a glass of water. He walked up the stairs and checked out his room.

The awful mess made by the gray mare was evident in the shattered glass, splintered wood, and disheveled bedspread. Gonna have to use the guest bed tonight. I quickly drank my water and walked down the stairs, just in time to see the pony pull out some vaguely familiar music.

It was the Six Cello Suites by J.S.... Buck?

He pulled out his own version and attempted some small talk.

"Hello. My name is Stephan Boudenille. What's yours?"

The gray pony looked at him in astonishment and said "My name is Octavia, head chair of the Equestrian Symphony. Would you like to make some music?"

Why the hell not. I turned on the metronome to the correct tempo, but she stops me with a hoof, gets the metronome, sets it on the floor, and we look at each other in the eyes for the first time. Her lavender eyes were like pools of loving joy, and she turns away. She takes a deep breath in, and we begin.

2 hours later:

We finish the Cello Suites and sit down for some small talk. Apparently, when she's done with practice, she'll have a sandwich and exercise quite a bit. "The endurance is key when playing a long solo piece." She feels alone and without a friend. She has a roommate, Vinyl Scratch, but their music genres are completely different; her classical cello often fights for the sound space within their small house, combating techno and dubstep from the confines of her friend's room.

She shifts the attention to me. Growing up, I had a lot of trouble in school; I was in Special Education for Kindergarten, but I eventually made it big time for high school, going to a critically acclaimed, prestigious school of the arts back in my home state, California. Eventually, I tell her that I have to go bed. I go up to take a shower, but remember that I have a wrecked bedroom. Suddenly, I hear a clip-clop, clip-clop behind me again as Octavia stands behind me, staring off into space.

"Do you sleep at night, Octavia?"

She chuckles slightly as she responds. "I'm not a bat pony or anything else of the extent with which reality exists nocturnally, so I think that I do sleep at night."

"We're gonna have to bunk together, because my bed's wrecked and I don't feel like having you lay down and sleep on this cold, stone floor."

"Fine by me."

"I'm gonna go shower. You can make yourself comfy." As she trotted off, he swore there was an amorous sway in her hips.

As he was in the shower, he thought of why she could be here, instead of at some other place in the world. Also, he had never heard of the Equestrian Symphony, and he knew every symphonic and philharmonic organization. He was stumped as to why this mare just didn't leave after crash-landing in his bedroom.

As she lay on his spare bed, she whipped out four bean-and-cheese burritos for no good reason. She thought about how to convince him to have sex with her, however much effort it takes.

And then Octavia got an idea.

"Hey, Stephan! I don't feel like sleeping yet!"

There was a pause while the shower was turned off and the door opened, releasing the pent up steam. The question of a face-off. The acceptance to her terms: Winner does whatever he or she wants to the loser.

The piece had been picked: From the Six Sonatas by Marecello, Sonata 1, Mov 2. They each had five minutes to prepare for their performance. Your score started at 100. For each out of tune note, there was a 1 point deduction. Skipping a measure resulted in a loss of 5 points.

Stephan goes first. He slips up at various places, and stops for a measure. He ends up with an 86/100.

Octavia never looks back as she picks up on the music very easily. She only misses a couple of notes, so she gets a 98/100.

"Well well, Stephan, looks like we get to go to your guest room, together."

Walking into the guest room is sort of like walking into a royalty shop for homeless people. The bed is neat, but there's virtually nothing besides that.

"Hey, Steve. How would you like your sex; nice and soft, or really hard?"

Taking in the fact that she was a pony and that I was a human and that this is completely wrong in every way, I go with a natural answer: "Nice and steady. I'll have a vanilla shake, please."

"One vanilla shake, comin' right up!" Her moist entrance beckoned forth my dick, rapidly hardening to meet her demands of steamy sex. Her furry flanks rubbed right against the inside of my thighs, her almost black tail swaying in every which way thought possible. The guttural moans of Octavia complimented with my grunts of pleasure made for a noisy first session. Slowly but surely, I felt the pressure building inside my loins as I drew closer and closer to climax.

Suddenly, a high-pitched squeal let out from Octavia as she came, squirting all over my abdomen, the scent of lavenders and lilacs blossoming over my body. Her snatch tightened and milked me clean as I came inside her. I lay there, ready to sleep, but obviously, she has other plans for me. She rolls me over, sits on my face, and starts rubbing her vagina all over my mouth.

That certainly woke me up.

"Are you ready for your main course?" She smiles in satisfaction as I nod eagerly, waiting for her to take over once again. "Okay, make like a 69."

There was just one small problem; she was maybe half, possibly a third of my height.

"Okay, we're just going to have a six for sex."

I l down on the floor as Octavia does too. "Here's the main course, my sweet bass note." She took my penis in her mouth and started sucking, and I dove in for the kill. Her luscious folds were hiding millions of secrets, waiting for a tongue to find them. Under one fold, overpowering lavender; the one next to it had no flavor; the third, an evasive lilac. She visibly shivered from pleasure, and you were taken aback when a heavy voice said "Oh Celestia, stop."

Stopping, I ask her if anything is the matter.

"Of course: You've finished what is on the plate, but there's still leftovers on the rims." She shifts ever so slightly and I am greeted with her tight pucker. I start down at her nub, causing another shiver, as I slowly make my way up, licking around her on occasion, hoping she cleaned her ass, and started getting slightly more force against my entrance. Finally, my tongue finds its way inside, and really starts eating her out from the other hole now.

This hole tastes decidedly nastier, which is why only on occasion will I tongue up somebody's— or, in this case, somepony's— ass. It was still fun giving Tavi the rimjob of her life, so much so that she returned the favor and started rimming you at the same time.

The euphoria your mind was in got her message a little bit too late. She gave you a slight kick in the back.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"Dinner's over, and it's time for dessert. Lay down flat on your back." Doing just as directed, she proceeds to plop her toned butt on my face, with her little rosebud on my nose and her vagina in my mouth. Only just now do I hear the churning within her bowels. I start licking her vagina, her deep folds greeting me once again as I hear a small grunt, and a ripping sound from right above me.

Yes, she was now farting directly on my nose, the fetid scent making me gag and breathe deeper, which doesn't particularly help in any way, shape, or form. As her continuous ass blasts mar my face forever, I keep licking her vagina, and as she sits there on my face, her frontal hooves are playing with my balls, her head is sucking vigorously on my cock, giving it the occasional lick, and her back hooves have me in a headlock.

Just like last time, she screams at the top of her lungs and comes. Her fluids now squirting into my mouth, I have no choice but to swallow the flowery cum. Once I'm done finishing her juices off, I give my own feral growl and come inside her mouth. An especially intense, malodorous fart escapes her as she tries to swallow all of my cum. The air from her bowels knocks me out cold.

...

Octavia?

A note was sitting on your bed. In it, it read:

Dear Stephan:

It was nice to meet you. You are a fabulous cellist as well as a wonderful sex partner. Practice that second movement of Marecello. Once it's perfect, you can summon me back for the next day.

Sincerely,
Octavia Philharmonica[\i]

Author's Note

{A/N: Written by Fresh Cookies: This is the product of a 14 year old clopper that doesn't jack off who puts himself with his favorite character with his fetishes but without his own instrument.

I have no regrets.}

You got me laughing at the end so I'll post it. Not sure if having clop donated is good or bad, because it could get out of hand if everyone sends me clop....