But Chains and Whips... Well, there are no chains. But there are whips.
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Soarin' and Spitfire's Somewhat Kinky and Peculiar Night
But Chains and Whips... Well, there are no chains. But there are whips.
“I can’t believe you booked a fucking suite for this.”
Soarin’ chuckled. He lay on his back on the massive, plushy bed that lay in the surprisingly tactfully decorated bedroom. Tactfully decorated being enough crimson to suggest a crime scene, and shades of maroon and even soft, saturated pinks in a few places, mostly in the pillows that he was certain a maid had spent plenty of time thinking about how to arrange. The lights were dimmed, making the multitudes of sultry shades seem even darker, forcing the sweet aroma of cheesily-expressed love and lust further into the air.
“Hey, would you rather do this in the barracks, or do you not want the new recruits watching?”
“I think that’d be a kink I’d be more experienced in givin’ in to.”
At the foot of the bed, Spitfire heaved a breath. On her back was a saddlebag, although it wasn’t one filled with vacation supplies like one would expect. Rather, Soarin’ had given it to her before they had left for Canterlot, telling her that it was a “surprise” and that she shouldn’t open it unto they arrived. Spitfire didn’t believe in “surprises”, and had thusly opened up the saddlebag almost immediately.
It became apparent what tomorrow night was going to be then.
“I just… I never thought you had it in ya, Soarin’. I mean, for this sort of thing…”
Soarin’ chuckled again, and Spitfire began to question whether it was just a verbal tic of his or if he really was genuinely amused by her discomfort.
“I’m full of surprises, hon.”
The low, lustful tone that his voice took was almost at parody-esque levels, and the tension within Spitfire eroded a bit. It only took the look on his face, with the half-lidded eyes and the languid smirk that pulled up a single side of his lips, to make Spitfire start to laugh.
“What?”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Ha… It’s just… You’re really, really bad, no, really, I dunno, fuck it…”
Another chuckle.
“Yeah, guess if I didn’t fly so good, I’d make a fucking killing in the porn biz.”
Spitfire clambered onto the bed, crawling up towards the Corporal, laughing underneath her breath at his brazen attitude. It was what she loved about him. Soarin’ had levels of confidence that bordered on boorish cockiness at times, but unlike a lot of stallions, he pulled it off. It didn’t help that he was more than capable of putting his money where his mouth was, which was another thing to love about him.
“Hehe… You certainly got the cheese for it!”
She stood atop of him now, and gently leaned her head forward. Soarin’ oblidged, pulling his forhooves around her neck and pulling her in for a kiss. Their lips met, and she sighed, relaxing into the embrace, letting her lean, well-toned form gently rest on top of his. It seemed like eternity before he pulled away, and Spitfire tried to stay away from his eyes, because she knew what was going to happen next.
“…You still seem nervous.”
“I’m just scared of hurting you.”
Soarin’ didn’t chuckle this time. Instead, he laughed out loud, giving her a reassuring squeeze as he did so.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sergeant Spitfire of the Wonderbolts scared?! Of hurting me, no less?! Hell, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were out to kill my ass! Besides, if it hurts, for the better. Routine makes me sore anyways.”
Spitfire bit her lip.
“Well, I’ve never done it on purpose, though…”
He responded with a small kiss on her nose, and she giggled.
“It’ll be fine, trust me.”
“Have you ever done this?”
This time it was Soarin’s turn to look away.
“Do you really wanna know?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“I had a crazy-ass time in flight college, let’s just say that.”
Spitfire giggled again, giddily.
“Soarin’, everypony has a ‘crazy-ass time’ in flight college!”
“Yeah? What was yours?”
“Erm…”
Spitfire practically glowed in the dimly-lit bedroom, and Soarin’ chuckled yet again.
“You look real cute when you blush like that.”
The blush remained, but her face hardened considerably. Spitfire’s eyes narrowed, and she regarded Soarin’ with as much contempt as she could have mustered in that instance, which was very, very little, considering that he was grinning like a maniac.
“Alright, now I’m going to fuck you up,” she growled.
“Ohoho, please.”
Spitfire took the opportunity to give her lover a quick kiss on the nose, before she pushed off of him, hopping off the bed and trotting into the master bathroom. The saddlebag slid off of her back, and Spitfire sighed. It wasn’t that it was a physically heavy thing, but the contents of it were… heavy, in a way. They didn’t really hold very much emotional weight or anything, not that sort of heavy. They just seemed… Peculiar. It was something that she wouldn’t tell the kids, if Soarin’ ever wanted to settle down…
Hell, it was probably things she wouldn’t want to tell anypony.
She sighed again. There was a very handsome colt in the bedroom that wanted this. Though she was his superior, and therefore wasn’t obligated to do so, if it made Soarin’ happy, she’d do it.
Spitfire pulled open the saddlebag’s straps with her teeth, opening it up, and poured the contents onto the floor. Using her wings, she picked up the ensemble that he had picked out for her.
A black corset. Spitfire resisted the urge to roll her eyes. And she had thought that Soarin’ was better then most stallions. A black, lacy pair of panties caused her to blush for some reason, and her eyes remained glued to the ceiling, as if questioning the Goddesses themselves if this was for real. There were three rings, large ones, all of them with little nubs that from afar looked like spikes. Spitfire assumed that the largest, thinnest one was a collar, while the smaller-around, thicker ones were tailrings. There was a pair of sleeves, also a bit lacy, with straps on the top to keep them on her forelegs. And finally, to finisk off the ensemble, there was a pair of pleather boots, with spikes on the hooves.
All in all, it looked like something out of a very bad neighties fetish film, and Spitfire felt a massive flush of mixed emotions. As she shrugged and wriggled her way into the corset, she felt frustration that Soarin’ would even deign to suggest that she wear it. As she pulled the panties up her rear legs, she shuddered, and a hot shame began to course through her. Oddly, when she snapped on the collar and tailrings, she felt a little surge of power. But pulling on the sleeves and the boots, Spitfire felt like laughing again.
She looked at herself in the mirror. At least she had put it on right. She wriggled her flank a little bit at herself in the mirror, and a small burst of confidence flowed through her. She was going to make that motherfuckers night whether he wanted it or not, if only to get back at him for putting her in this… Costume. This ridiculous, ridiculous costume.
She put the lighter saddlebag on again, to hold the final few pieces of the night’s fun, before heading hesitantly out of the bathroom, peeking her head out and seeing Soarin’s expectant eyes. She slowly made her way out, the bathroom light working as a backlight, giving her a somewhat foreboding glow to the dim bedroom.
“…So.”
Soarin’ chuckled.
“So. You look great.”
“It’s tight as fuck. I can’t move in this…”
“That’s just mental. It’s lingerie, Spitty. You’re just not used to it.”
She kicked the door shut with her rear hooves, and slowly sauntered her way towards the bed, not because she wanted to do it to show off, but because the clothes Soarin’ had made her wear seemingly forced her to. To walk normally in the lingerlie would have been even less comfortable.
“Yeah, I guess I’m just not used to silk up my asscrack,” Spitfire grumbled.
Soarin’ snorted, and started to laugh hysterically.
“It’s not funny, Soarin’!”
“Ahahaha, I just… Goddess, that image is hot and hilarious at the same time…”
Spitfire scowled. She was tripping over herself less, already getting somewhat used to moving in the new clothes, and she sped up her approach, already hopping up onto the bed. Soaring covered his mouth with one hoof, although she could tell from the way his eyes sparkled and his face crinkled that he was still giggling behind it.
“Alright, now I’m gonna kick your ass from here back to Cloudsdale.”
He stuck his tongue out at her, giving her a wink at the same time.
“Oh, please, oblidge me!”
Spitfire’s scowl darkened. “Don’t stick your tongue out at me like that.”
“Stop blushing so hard when I do it.”
“I can’t help it. You’re too damn cute. I’m gonna feel really bad about this…”
“No you’re not, because it’s gonna make me happy. Where’s that muzzle…”
Spitfire gulped, raising an eyebrow. She had hoped in the back of her mind that Soarin’ wasn’t really that into this sort of thing, and that they wouldn’t go really far with it. Perhaps he just wanted the costume, and then they would fuck like a pair of bunnies for the entire night. It was a hopeless thought, but one that she entertained in order to make her feel more comfortable with the idea. Now it was out in the air.
“You want the muzzle?”
Soarin’ raised an eyebrow back. “Uh, yeah, duh. Goddess, Spitfire, you’re the worst dom ever!”
“Fuck you!”
He chuckled.
“Ooh, now I like this…”
“Shut up!” Spitfire shrugged off the saddlebag, turning it over with her wings and giving it a shake. The contents spilled out onto the bed. A muzzle, a crop, and a whip. Grabbing the muzzle in her forehooves, she hovered over the few feet between her and the Corporal, slipping the muzzle over his face, yanking the straps that held it in place with her teeth and thus securing it over Soarin’s jaw.
“Mmmph!”
Spitfire gave the muzzle’s straps a few more tugs, leaning in towards Soarin’s ear and whispering through gritted teeth.
“There! There’s your goddamned muzzle! Happy now?!”
Soarin’s eyes were closed gently, and he breathed heavily through his nostrils, excitement coursing through his viens.
“…Mmmhmmm…”
“Good. Now, where’s that crop…”
Soarin’ groaned, although it was pretty clear that such a groan wasn’t in fear.
“Aaahm, cmmon, deh cropsh fer babieshm!”
“I’m sorry?” Spitfire held the crop in a wing, turning back around and pulling on the straps of the muzzle again, giving Soarin’s chest a small slap with the device.
“Mmk! Hrrrdrr…”
Spitfire’s face was the portrait of concern now, the eyes softened and the features drooped, though Soarin’ seemed to be enjoying his facial bonds, humming and writhing about slightly underneath his Sergeant. Still, Spitfire was unsure.
“…Ya sure-“
“Mmmmk!”
“Alright, if you insist…”
Spitfire hit him again, in the same place.
“Mmk! Hrrdrrr!”
“Grrr…”
Spitfire leaned her head forward and nabbed Soarin’s ear in between her teeth, nibbling and suckling, as she reached her wing back and gave Soarin’s side a slap.
“Mmmgh…”
“You like it when I bite you, bitch?” She nibbled on Soarin’s ear some more, sometimes licking it, other times giving it rather hard bites, as if she wanted to take a bit of his ear off.
“Mmmhmmm…”
“You’re okay with me calling you bitch?”
“Mmh!” Soarin's eyes rolled again, although whether that was from a blow, or a sarcastic gesture of his affirmative, Spitfire was unsure.
Regardless, confidence surged through the Sergeant. Spitfire smiled, pulling her wing back as far as she could and swinging, hard, giving Soarin’s flank a rather hefty slap.
“Mmmmmmk! Mmmhmm!”
“Oh, sorry, was that one too hard for ya, wimp?!”
Spitfire slapped his flank again, this time harder, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip at the site of Soarin’ thrashing about under her.
“Mmmk! Mmmmh! Mmmhmmm…”
Spitfire rested her body against her lover’s again, and felt a bulging piece of flesh against her belly. She decided to change tactics, leaning back and resting on her side, her eyes traveling down the form of her lover. Between Soarin’s legs was quite the hefty erection, a thick, mottled piece of flesh that almost made Spitfire sigh. Gently, she brushed the tip of the crop against Soarin’s length, starting at the base and stroking upwards. She felt him shudder against her, and resisted letting out a coo.
“You like being teased, whorebag?”
“Hmmm…”
“…Ya know what? I think it’d be more fun to hear you squeal…”’
Spitfire closed her eyes and, while she languidly stroked his length with the crop, pulled at the straps that held the muzzle in place, gently pulling it off of his face, giving his cheek a small, appreciative lick.
“…There we go. How ya feelin’?”
Soarin’ sighed.
“Cheated.”
“Why?”
“You took off the muzzle.”
“Only because I wanna hear you talk to me.”
“You really are the worst dom ever.”
Spitfire grunted in frustration, slapping Soarin’ on the belly, inches away from the side of his dick.
“Shut the fuck up! I’m trying!”
“Aah! Fuck!”
She slapped him again, this time on his cutie mark.
“That better, asshole?!”
“Yeah! Do it again!”
Again, on his cutie mark.
“You like that, bitch?!”
“Aaah! In… Inside the thigh, now…”
Spitfire almost obeyed immediately, but stopped herself, her face unsure, an eyebrow raised again. On one hand, she wanted to make him happy, on the other, there was pain, and there was ungodly, terrible, horrible agony, and if she missed and hit his sack…
“Uh, Soarin’, that’s a bit-“
“I know! That’s the point! Do it!”
“Alright…”
Spitfire swallowed a bit, but Soarin’s look of blissful agony put her head in the right place. Or the wrong one. At that point, the line was fairly blurred.
“Alright!”
She slipped the crop between his wide-open legs and gave his thigh a smack, right below his sack. The proximity seemed to make Soarin’ shiver.
“You’re fucking shameless, look at how hard you are…”
As she spoke, Spitfire started stroking his length with her hoof. It was warm, long, reaching up Soarin’s belly, twitching gently on her hoof, and Soarin’ rolled his hips around in her touch, begging for more of it.
“Mmmh…”
She gave him another hit, on the inside of the other leg.
“Aah!”
“You’re a fucking slut…”
Another hit.
“Yessss….”
“I fucking love you, you fucking slut…”
Another hit, but Soarin’s face soured.
“Ahh! Ahhh… Time… Time out… You can’t say that.”
Spitfire raised the crop away from Soarin’, and pulled herself close to him, still stroking his shaft with her hoof.
“Say what?”
“I love you.”
She giggled.
“I love you too, asshole.”
“No, I mean, you can’t say that. What I said before still stands. You’re a shitty dom, Spitfire.”
The giggles turned into growls. Spitfire pushed at Soarin’s chest with a hoof, her eyes earning a rather fearsome glint. Soarin’ didn’t pick up on it, still a bit foggy from the mixture of sharp, stinging pain from before and the current gentle, easing rubbing from Spitfire’s hoof. He did pick up that Spitfire got a little bit rougher with his length, though.
“Alright, turn over,” she commanded.
“Huh?”
“Oh, for fucks sake… Turn the fuck over!”
Spitfire took her rubbing hoof away from Soarin’s length, instead opting to push his over onto his belly, his back up, causing Soarin’ to gasp in surprise.
“Aah! Whoa… Hehehe…”
Spitfire grunted again, making her way towards the one last tool that they had yet to use. She dropped the crop from her wing, and gently picked up the handle of the whip in her mouth. The plastic tone of pleather filled her taste buds.
“You’re a real glutton for punishment…”
Soarin’ looked behind him, and chuckled once again.
“Ooh, gettin’ the whip out?”
The rather rhetorical and obvious question made Spitfire blush, as she realized again what she was doing.
“…Yeah.”
Soarin’ closed his eyes, an indomitable grin on his face, and he turned his head back around, giggling in anticipation.
“Hey, don’t be shy about it.”
Her only response was one he didn’t see, a small nod of affirmation, before she reared up, pulled her head back, and swung with a good amount of force, although something told her that full force would have been a bad idea. The whip made contact with Soarin’s rear with a rather resounding snapping noise, and Spitfire was glad that his eyes were shut so tightly, or else he might have turned back and seen her wince.
“Gaaah!”
She swallowed again. He wanted this.
“There! How’sh that!”
She pulled back and gave him another swing, Soarin’s tongue lolling out of his mouth, giving his rump a slight shake to entice her further. The strike hit the opposite cheek, previously untouched flesh now turned into a stinging mass of squealing nerves.
“Better! That’s betteeerraaaaaargh!”
“…Shit, that one’sh pretty red…”
It was as if chuckling was going to be a theme of Soarin’s conversation that night.
“Good! Hit it like that s’more!”
Spitfire had to choke down any protests she might have had, if only because a small part of her told her that she was getting into this. Looking over his form gave her a rush of something she generally only felt when bullshitting a few flight campers. The red marks and welts on his butt and legs, trailing down and around, drawing her eyes to a heaving, massive, throbbing… Thing, that didn’t ignore the pain, but instead took it and made it exciting, made it arousing. She felt a smirk pull at her lips.
“Right… Bitch!”
Another swing, at the same power.
“Aagh!”
Spitfire couldn’t resist a chuckle, pulling back for another attack.
“Who’sh been a bad boy?!”
Snap.
“Meeeee!... Oh, seriously?”
“What?”
“Can’t you come up with something more creative than thaaaaagh!”
Spitfire’s scowl complimented the tool of discipline in her mouth, as she pulled back for another swing, this time throwing anger into the blow.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Aaahgh! Fuck! Mmmgh…”
“I’m gonna flay the fucking fur off of you, fag!”
Soarin’ cried out again and again as blow after blow struck him, rapidly, without restraint. The Corporal of the Wonderbolts grabbed a pillow and held it close to his chest to keep the squirming down, but to no avail. It got to the point that Spitfire would aim the whip at one place of flesh, and strike at another, perhaps even a fresher one. It was hellish ecstasy, and he was enjoying every second of it.
“Mmmgh… Aaargh!”
“Yeah, you’ve been very!”
Swing, a near-scream from Soarin’.
“Very!”
And again.
“Bad!”
One last swing, down his lower leg, making the appendages quake and threaten to give out underneath him.
“And you gotta be punished!”
Spitfire had stopped, breathing through her nostrils, dropping the whip from her teeth, panting. She had no idea that this sort of stuff would have been so taxing. She felt like she had just complete a week’s worth of workouts, sweat clamping the corset to her fur and making it even tighter.
And Soarin’ had rolled onto his back, tears streaming from his eyes, partially from laughter, partially from the fact that he was rolling around on still-fresh wounds.
“Stop snickering!” Spitfire huffed, sitting on her own haunches.
“Aaaahahahahaha! Stop being so laughably bad at this!”
She sniffled.
“Stop asking me to do shit you know I can’t!”
The adrenaline high from giving Soarin’ a rather intense beating came crashing down, and Spitfire felt herself break. The drill-sergeant demeanor immediately broke down, and she put her face into her hooves, sobbing uncontrollably.
Soarin’ stopped laughed, gritting his teeth slightly as he sat up.
“…Spitfire?”
“What?!”
He winced a bit at her snappy reply, but the tearstained face told him everything. He took a few steps forward.
“Spitty, hon, are you…”
She waved a dismissive hoof at him. “No, I’m not…”
“Hey, I was just bullshitting, you’re doing fine…”
“Can’t we just do something easier?” She pleaded, her face going back into her hooves.
Soarin’ clicked his tongue, wrapping a wing around her shoulders and bringing her in close, and she nestled her head against his neck.
“Now that’s something I never thought I’d hear from you.”
“This is different-“
Spitfire had started to protest, but Soarin’ cut her off with a gentle kiss. He pressed his lips against hers, seeming to ask more than to command, and she took the lead, lingering on them, savoring them, turning her body and pressing into his. The pair fell back onto the bed, their lips still connected, but the kiss remained where it was. It was Soarin’ who broke it off, with a hoof against his lover’s cheek.
“Mmmmm. I loved what you were doing before…”
His hooves started trailing down her body, and Spitfire shivered.
“Don’t.”
“Mh?” His head tilted with his enquiring noise.
“Don’t butter me up…”
More chuckling.
“This… Stuff…” He gave her a lick on the tip of her nose as his hooves settled on her lower back.
“It looks good on you.”
“Stop…”
Another chuckle. The hooves began to trail down.
“Wonder what it’d be like if, say… You took a flight in it?”
As he pushed his hooves into her buttcheeks, Spitfire gave a small squeal, her head falling onto his shoulder, and Soarin’ smiled, taking the opportunity to put his lips to her ear. He gave it a small kiss, then started to whisper in it.
“Yeah, you in front of all the cadets, with this on? You show them this beautiful ass, this sexy little frame…”
“Stop!”
Spitfire giggled, but the command was rather serious. Soarin’ took the hint, although not without a small, frustrated groan. His hooves trailed off of her butt and laid on either side of him on the bed.
“I thought you wanted to be the bitch tonight,” Spitfire stammered. “That’s what you got the suite for, right?”
The champion smile that was on every sports and military magazine in the past decade greeted Spitfire in person.
“Heh… So I guess you’re on top, then?”
Spitfire leaned back, reaching with her wing, and grabbed a whip, smirking at her companion.
“With a whip, yeah. To motivate you.”
“Good to see you’re back in the game,” Soarin’ snickered.
“Fuck off…”
She blushed heavily. Soarin’ sighed, watching her glance about, mentally preparing herself for the next step in the night’s kinky adventures. It was about thirty seconds later that he decided to snap her out of it, gently pulling her down so that their chests came together again, smiling gently in her face.
“Ready?”
“I should be the one asking you that,” Spitfire grunted, pushing herself up on her forehooves and swinging the whip down, smacking Soarin’ on his chest. He gasped, his back arching from the unexpected hit.
“Aah! Shit!”
Spitfire let a theatrical laugh escape her lungs. “How was that?!”
“Fuck! Caught me off guard, is all…”
She smiled, and swung for the other side of his chest.
“Mmmgh… Fuck!”
“You liked that one, too, huh?”
“Y… Yeah…”
With a lick of his nose, Spitfire leaned herself back, raising her hips up and taking a hoof down, aiming Soarin’s stallionhood right at her soaking slit. With the same hoof, she slid the panties to one side, exposing naked flesh to naked flesh. She gently closed her eyes, biting her lip when the appendage made contact, bracing herself for impact. Slowly, she leaned her hips back, coaxing the cock into her, inch by inch.
“…Aaah…”
“Mmmm, Goddess, yes…”
Seconds passed. Spitfire’s eye fluttered half-open when she passed the ring that marked the halfway point. She felt full already, but knew from experience that she could take more. There were things that she had put into there… Well, everybody has a crazy-ass time in flight college.
“You like it, huh?”
“Goddess yes,” Soarin’ moaned, gently raising his hips to make the penetration easier, Spitfire shuddering from the extra stimulation, the whip all but forgotten. This was what she lived for. Well, at that moment.
“Mmmm… You always feel the best…”
“Same to you… Stud… Aah…”
Spitfire decided that enough was enough. She closed her eyes, gently, and withholding the anticipation building up inside of her, gently lifted up an inch, and slammed herself down onto Soarin’s length.
“Uhmf!”
“Ooh… Aaaahn…”
Spitfire sat on top of Soarin’, impaled by his length, her forehooves at his sides, and he took her hooves in his, thrusting up his hips to encourage her to bounce. She oblidged, now confidently riding the waves of pleasure that pulsed through her with every twitch, throb and thrust of Soarin’s wondrous horsecock. Almost nonchalantly, she raised the whip-bearing wing, and swung down, hitting Soarin’ in the shoulder.
“Gah! Oooh…”
Soarin’s response was to speed up his upwards thrusts, Spitfire cooing and humming through them, electric bliss shooting through her constantly.
“Gooood… Boy…”
She raised the wing again, her mouth hanging open, not even bothering to aim it, just knowing that if she hit him, he would respond by increasing his force. The whip ended up coming down on one of his wings, and Soarin’ grunted, the sensitive appendage fluttering slightly in response.
“Argh! Yeah!”
As predicted, Soarin’ went faster, went harder. Waves of pleasure turned into crashing typhoons of it, Soarin’s hips making small slapping noises as they patted against Spitfire’s well-toned cheeks, the mare bouncing up and down on top of him like some sort of carnival ride. She had to hit him again. She just had to. She pulled back and swung again, hitting the same wing in a different spot.
“Agh! Harder!”
Spitfire was moaning now, loudly, gently releasing a stream of maybe-curses underneath her breath as she bounced constantly, but Soarin’ wanted to capitalize. He put his hooves on her sides, slowing her down to a crawl. Spitfire raised an eyebrow, but Soarin’ responded with a grin, tracing a hoof down and…
“Mmmhf! There!”
Spitfire’s hips jerked forwards as Soarin’s hoof brushed against her swollen, desperate clit. Soarin’ pushed down on the small button of pleasure above her slit, and the maybe-curses turned into real curses. Spitfire squealed a series of “fucks”, and Soarin’ chuckled, resuming the same, rapid thrusting of before. She was reduced to a jabbering mess in seconds. The combination of Soarin’ pressing down so hard on her love button combined with his powerful, rapid thrusts were too much for her.
Spitfire couldn’t take any more. The constant stimulation of Soarin’s length and hoof, the numerous hits that had gained positive responses. Even the ensemble she had been encouraged to wear for the night seemed to work for it’s purpose of just making everything seem better. Soarin’ was right, it was mental, but that didn’t change anything. Spitfire threw her head back as she came, slamming down and holding herself in place, her liquid release splashing down onto Soarin’s crotch.
“Aaaaahn!… Aaaah!”
It felt like ages, but it finally ended. Spitfire’s tongue lolled out of her mouth as she panted, the fog of coital bliss slowly rising from her head, Soarin’ having long before simply shut his eyes and smiled.
“Oh…”
“Rrrr… Did you just… You did… Mmmm…”
She flopped down on top of him, breathing into his ear, and Soarin’ responded with a small kiss to her neck, right below the collar.
“…You wanna finish up?”
Spitfire’s eyes opened wide, and she slipped off of his length, which had grown even harder, as if that was possible.
“Are you fucking kidding me?! You haven’t shot yet! I know you wanted torture tonight, but I know you don’t want blue balls!”
“Then why’d you pull off?” Soarin’ queried.
Spitfire replied with a saucy grin.
“Just wanna switch up things position-wise…”
Giving his cheek a peck, she hopped onto all fours, then gently turned herself over, pressing her back into his chest, tilting her neck to one side to let Soarin’ rest his head on her shoulder. Soarin’ pulled his hooves out from underneath her outspread wings, wrapping them around her waist, pushing her buttcheeks into his belly. However, when her ear brushed up against his lips, Soarin’ couldn’t resist. He closed his eyes and nabbed Spitfire’s ear between his teeth, nibbling gently. She squealed, gently trying to roll away from his biting, but to no avail.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to bite!”
She continued her mock struggling, but Soarin’ held her firmly around her hips, nibbling gently, occasionally suckling. She sighed, finally relenting and letting Soarin’s mouth caress the ear, closing her eyes and letting the oddly pleasant feeling of the teasing complement the cuddling.
Soarin’ pulled away for a quip.
“Can’t help it, you’ve got perfect ears…”
Spitfire giggled, and Soarin’ resumed his rampage, redoubling his nibbling, biting harder, expanding the range, sometimes even sticking his tongue out and licking the inside of her ear. It was enough to make her breathing short, and her other ear fluttered up and down, as if it was an antennae in the wind, excitement coursing through her veins.
“Alright, stop,” she hummed, “Or we’re gonna be here all night, you with an aching pecker and me with one ear.”
Soarin’ groaned, but he stopped, giving her ear a final, gentle kiss.
“So we’re moving on, then?”
Spitfire giggled. “Yeah, the big finish. Your specialty.”
Soarin’ gave her yet another debonair smile.
Spitfire wasted no time. Twisting her head back and giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek, she took his length in one hoof and nabbed the crop with a wing. Seeing the device made Soarin’ chuckle, and for the first time that night, Spitfire could tell that he was blushing, from the oven-hot heat that passed over her lips as his cock approached, or rather, she lowered herself towards it. He slid in easily, Spitfire letting out a breath, and Soarin’ grunted as he bottomed out inside of her. Her face contracted in carnal satisfaction again, his orbs gently patting against her thighs as he resumed a moderate pace.
“Yeah,” Spitfire muttered, lifting her hips into his thrusts, his hooves still wrapped around her waist. Soarin’ opened his mouth and held it over her neck, his teeth rubbing against it as she went up, and down, and up again, her fluids starting to flow freely, drips draining through their fur, the dim light making the center of their lovemaking glisten softly as Soarin’ pumped his pecker in and out of his love.
“Whenever you wanna start hitting again,” he muttered.
Spitfire bit her lip, raising the crop, and bringing it down onto Soarin’s left thigh, and he groaned in pain.
“There!” she cried. “Asshole!”
“Gah!”
She couldn’t hold it in any more. Spitfire moaned wantonly as she bounced happily on top of him, reveling in the filling feeling of his length pushing against the walls of her tunnel with every stroke of his stallionhood. But she knew what would make it better. Spitfire gave Soarin’ another whack with the crop, again on his thigh.
“Push up with your hips, whore!”
“Fuck! Mmmgh, Goddess, I…”
Spitfire groaned in pleasured frustration, raising the crop and smacking down on his thigh again, punctuating her grunted commands with strikes.
“Push!”
“Ooh!”
Soarin’ did as he was bidden, grunting as he pushed his hips upwards, but Spitfire wanted more. She swung again, not caring where she struck him, only wanting to command.
“Fucking!”
“Aahgh!”
It was all he could do to keep pushing, but it still wasn’t enough, Spitfire bouncing up and down on top of him, crying out in frustrated ecstasy. She pulled back the wing, and gave him one last strike.
“Up!”
“Mmmmk!”
Soarin’ gave another deep growl, grabbing his partner around her hips as tightly as he could while still letting her bounce. He gritted his teeth, pushing his hips up with all the strength that he could muster, his eyes squeezed shut. Spitfire was quiet, looking down in simultaneous awe and bliss, staring down, where her hooves no longer made contact with the bed, supported fully by Soarin’s shivering hips.
She eased the weight by flapping her stiffened wings gently, gliding up and down on top of his dick. If anything, she started going faster, enveloping him in the humid embrace of her pussy with every sinking. Soarin’ gritted his teeth, giving Spitfire a small kiss on the neck, then throwing his head onto the bed, humming.
“Aah… Spitty… I’m gonna…”
“Nope!”
“Haah… Wha…”
“If you’re gonna shoot off, it’s gonna be in my mouth, okay? I don’t wanna have to make any mistakes…”
Soarin’ sighed, sitting up on his haunches, his length glistening with Spitfire’s juices. He rubbed the back of his neck, clicking his tongue at himself.
“I shoulda brought cond-“
Spitfire raised a hoof and silenced him, pulling herself close. “Shhh…”
They came together for another passionate kiss, their tongues wrestling, although Soarin’ gave no indication of even attempting to assert dominance. Spitfire pulled on his tongue, letting it loll out as her own trailed down, slowly leaving a stripe of saliva down his face. He shuddered as lukewarm spit was spread down his neck, and winced as the still-raw wounds on his chest made contact. Spitfire noticed him shifting slightly when she went over them, and looked up at him, mischief and lust in her eyes.
She pushed him down, into the bed, licking at his battered chest, her tongue playing over the red and blue marks slowly fading or growing on it.
“Nnnngh… Spitfire…”
She needed no further encouragement. A hoof slide down to gently caress Soarin’s length, which ached and twitched with the burning need for release. She continued kissing and licking and mouthing over his battle scars- at least, she hoped that they wouldn’t be scars. Then again…
Spitfire decided, a bit hesitantly, to move on to the main course. Her tongue trailed down Soarin’s chest, and her chin made contact with a certain phallic object as her head came close to the top of his belly. She looked up at him, smiling.
“Tortured your sorry ass too long, did I?”
She gave the very tip a languid lick, and Soarin’ grunted, raising his hips again.
“Just do it! Please! I need it-“
She took the entire length into her mouth in a single go. Soarin’ gasped, his hooves instinctively moving to hold the back of her head, but she batted them away, giving him a small glare. The message was clear. Soarin’ wasn’t going to cum if he didn’t let her be the boss. The stare held for a few seconds to ensure that he understood, and then she went down again, humming.
“Mmmm…”
He loved it when she hummed over it.
Soarin’ raised his hips into her mouth, only to have her giggle with a mouthful of pegasus cock, taking her hooves and pushing them back down. She held his hips down, languidly lavishing his length with licks and sucks, saliva spilling freely from her lips, cleaning his length of her own juices. Her eyes were closed gently, and despite the great desire to lay his head back and enjoy the blowjob, Soarin’ decided to watch.
He was loving every second of it. When she came up, he could get a small glimpse of the collar, the light filtering through the curtains giving everything a slightly magenta hue, her eyes closed gently as she took his length into her throat with practiced motion. Her flank was in the air, and Soarin’ could see her back, the black lingerlie making her like a shadow, a very sexy shadow that happened to have been giving him a blowjob. The tailrings were just the candles on the cake, though. The finishing touch. Soarin’ couldn’t help but ogle as her tail swished from side to side, over a toned, athletic, but still impressive flank.
It was too much.
“Aaah! Celestia, Spitty, I’m…”
She took the hint, silencing him by going all the way down, jamming his length into her throat. When her muzzle made it to the base, she licked along the bottom, humming and moaning, driving him on.
“Mmmhmmmm…”
“Fuck! Aah!...”
Soarin’ groaned, letting go at last. Blast after blast of hot stallion spunk fired down Spitfire’s throat. Truly, her practiced motion was paying off, as she swallowed as much as she could, although she had to rise up to the head and let him fire into her mouth for a few pulses. She looked up, giving him a lustful look, pulling off as she felt the final trickle of cum ooze into her lips.
“Mmm…”
“Fff… Fuck…”
She pulled off with a wet kissing noise, keeping her lips shut, letting his length bounce from the motion. Their eyes met, and Spitfire could barely hold in a giggle.
“You wanna show me?”
She nodded, barely repressing laughter as she opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue, painted an opaque white from Soarin’S payload. She let the image linger a few seconds, before pulling her tongue in and swallowing.
“Mmm… Yummy…”
Soarin’ gave a laugh, shaking his head, his voice low and yet light, the result of orgasmic bliss still roling through his brain, an endorphin rush without compare.
“You’re so full of shit, Captain.”
“No, I’m serious, it ain’t half bad tastin’…”
Soarin’ sighed, putting out a hoof, and Spitfire took it, letting herself be pulled towards him into another embrace, the lacy lingerlie corset pressed against his battered chest. The small squeak he let out as he pulled her closer for a quick, affectionate kiss was most a sign of all the bruises that he’d have to deal with in the morning. But in the end, it was truly worth it.
“I fucking love you,” he said, pulling away from her lips, smacking his slightly.
She giggled in response.
“So I did a good job?”
Soarin’ rolled his eyes, and Spitfire’s hopeful smile turned into a somewhat joking crestfallen expression. Somewhat.
“We’ll work on it,” he chuckled.
Spitfire was not amused, pushing herself out of his embrace, and rolling over, taking something between her teeth.
“Yeah, your fucking welcome, ashhole…”
When Spitfire had turned back around, Soarin’s confident, ass-kissing smirk fell like a comet from the sky. In between Spitfire’s teeth was the handle of the whip, and in that moment, what he would be spending the rest of the night doing became rather apparent. Soarin’ grunted as he pushed himself up, but Spitfire matched his pace, hoof for hoof.
The night was still young.
But it had lost its innocence long ago.
“…Uhh, hey, uhm, we’re done, you can put the whip down now… Spitfire? Spitfire?!"
Author's Note
I should have put chains in this story.
