The Scootaloo Project

by darf

Rating: mature
Tags: Scootaloo, Sex, Human, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Romance
Length: 17448

Various sultry encounters with a sexy little orange filly named Scootaloo

A series of sexy-time stories involving our favorite purple-maned orange-coloured filly, Scootaloo, each told in a different style and with a different focus (sort of).

A belated birthday present for Appleloosan Psychiatrist.

Trigger warning: Foalcon.

Presented with more consideration than should probably ever go into this sort of thing, because I am crazy.

Schema presentation by Spaerk.

Published 2013-05-18 22:30:03 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-18 22:30:03 UTC

Hnngh

As I walked along the little woodland path that led to the CMC Clubhouse, it was both easy and difficult to keep my mind away from how I’d wound up in Equestria in the first place.

Waking up, naked, in a field full of talking, magical horses was not on my list of experiences I wanted to relive. I remembered babbling incoherently as I tried to deal with the sight in front of me as I came to, and hadn’t calmed down for hours—or willingly. Twilight’s sleep spell left a funny taste in my mouth when I woke up next, in the basement of her house.

That was the first day. Things had gotten better since then.

Anyone else might have had trouble fitting in, but I was doing okay. Equestria was a nice enough place if you liked trading between sleeping, eating, and doing manual labour. That wasn’t my favorite part, but the rest of the time to myself made it okay. I didn’t really miss home—even without the internet or other pleasantries of human society, Equestria was kind of better when you took everything else into account.

Oh, and horse pussy. Can’t forget about that.

My favorite thing about Equestria is how no one minds you staring at them when they’re naked. I mean, they’re always naked, which is pretty awesome—but some of them are practically on display. One or two ponies who have caught me ogling them have waggled their tails and wiggled their hips and winked at me.

Equestria is pretty cool.

Still, it can’t be all ogling pony-behind. I’ve had to find a way to make myself useful since I showed up, so I’ve mostly become the ‘odd-jobs’ kind of guy. I kind of look like a proper handyman, what with the jeans I got Twilight to sew for me, and the toolbelt I’ve put together, filled with enough things that ponies have never seen to make me even more alien looking when I’m going around fixing stuff. I don’t mind them staring though—especially because I think some of the mares like looking extra long when I’m shirtless and sweaty, and that means I get to see them wink at me when they turn around.

Anyway.

I got asked to patch up the clubhouse by Applejack: the farm pony with an inexplicable Southern accent and really nice ass. I didn’t let her catch me staring, but the image of her bent over, her butt all shiny with sweat, had given me more than a few nights of crusty socks. As such, I didn’t mind doing her a favour.

Plus, even though I didn’t really admit it, I kind of liked hanging around her kid sister and her friends.

Not like that.

I mean, Applebloom and the other two—Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle—are just cute.  Cute enough that I can forget about ogling their sisters and everypony else besides when I’m around them. They kind of remind me of the times I thought about having kids, back when I was on Earth—about how it might be fun to have a little squirt to spend time with, play ball, read too, all that other sort of stuff. Knowing me, I’d just fuck up a kid if they were around me for any length of time—I’d be too set on making them a better person than I was. I’d give them all my reading and learning and transit of experience, and then mess them up with neuroses and my secret love of mare-fucking. Wishing for mare-fucking. Anyway.

That’s why the Cutie Mark Crusaders were nice to hang around: I didn’t have to worry about messing any of them up permanently. An afternoon was just enough time to play and let them run back to their sisters.

The two that had sisters, anyway.

As I opened the door to the clubhouse, I got that kind of sense in my head that shows up when you know you’re not alone. Like, you can’t place it, but the air feels sort of different. Not as quiet, maybe. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in the clubhouse, so I opened the door kind of slow. It creaked the second I touched it, which kind of defeated the purpose.

The purple bob of hair on the far wall reminded me to breathe again. The orange coat didn’t match the colour scheme inside the clubhouse at all.

“Scootaloo?” I asked. I opened the door the rest of the way and looked further inside to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, there was Scootaloo her head turned towards me, wide-eyed, like I’d caught her stealing something from the store.

“Wha—who’s there?” Scootaloo asked the question despite being in plain view of my decidedly human body. I guess foals caught unexpectedly aren’t the quickest thinkers.

“Uh, duh, it’s me?” I took set my toolbox down by the door and sized up the clubhouse interior. It was nice enough for something put together by a few little girls—better than shitty broken boards and rusty nails my friends and I put together when I was a kid, in any case.

“What are you doing here?” Scootaloo dropped something to the floor and stood over it, hiding what looked to be a large sheet of paper from my view.

“Applejack asked me to come by and fix the place up a bit,” I said. I took a look around again, this time with a more critical eye, sizing up the interior, noticing the bits of wood sticking out, the window frames that surely needed adjusting to keep the cold out—the flowery curtains that didn’t quite hang evenly.

“She didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“Did you ask her recently? She only told me to come over this morning.”

“Oh...”

Scootaloo shuffled over her paper again. I looked down at it, and she covered an edge sticking out with a hoof.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Applejack told me she was gonna take Applebloom to some family brunch, which I assume means Rarity and Sweetie Belle are going to. So why aren’t you there?”

“My, uh... my mom and dad are out of town,” Scootaloo answered. “So I decided to come by, and uh, make plans for... cutie mark crusading. For when Applebloom and Sweetie Belle get back.”

I don’t know if she thought I was stupid, but her shifty eyes weren’t fooling anyone. Still, if she had her reasons, I wasn’t about to ask unnecessary questions. The sooner I finished working on the clubhouse, the sooner I could go back to Applejack and get a nice view of her butt.

“Whatever. I didn’t mean to interrupt, or anything, but I told Applejack I’d get some stuff done. So, unless you wanna help, you might wanna take off for a little bit.”

Scootaloo stared at me as I took up a spot by the window, pulling my measuring tape from my toolbelt. I squared up the window-frame on each side, and stuck my tongue out between my teeth as one side came up two inches shorter than the other. How is that even possible—

“What if I do wanna help?” Scootaloo asked. I turned to her, and her mystery paper had vanished, leaving only her orange coat and big magenta eyes blinking up at me.

She looked earnest. But I didn’t think kids were into manual labour.

“You really don’t. Hammering nails and measuring window-frames is like, the least interesting thing imaginable.” I turned back to the window, assuming one attempt to shoo her away would be enough.

But I didn’t hear hoofsteps. I could almost even hear her breathe, being that she was only a few feet away.

“Well, maybe it’d help me get a... a club-fixing cutie mark.”

“That’d be a pretty narrowly focused cutie mark.” I shuffled on my knees over to the next window, squaring it up with a squint as I aligned my tape.

“Whatever. Do you not wanna let me help?”

I stopped mid-measurement and turned towards her. The look on her face was one I’d come to recognize while playing with her and the other two foals—a kind of petulant determination.

Right. She was the one who idolized that lazy but totally-fuckable cunt Rainbow Dash. It’d be a shame to see such a little cutie grow up to be like that insufferably sexy bitch...

“Hey, if you wanna waste your afternoon doing hard work, feel free to help. Can you pass me the mini-crowbar from my toolbox?” I gestured to the orange box I’d left by the door. Scootaloo stared at it for a second. She dashed over after sizing it up, and pulled it open, digging around with her face in search of the crowbar.

It was force of habit, by that point. Everytime a pony was in front of my, I looked. I mean, I didn’t when it was all three of them, because then it was an event, we were playing, and looking was the last thing on my mind.

But as Scootaloo’s tiny little orange butt bobbled in my face, I looked. Stared, even.

I got a peek between her legs.

She looked a lot tighter than any other pony I’d seen.

Even though I hadn’t even started working, the clubhouse felt unnecessarily hot. I wiped a hand across my forehead, and pulled it away damp with a light coat of sweat.

“Mhf whm?” Scootaloo asked as she turned. Her mouth held the bright red metal of the mini-crowbar I’d put together for breaking things apart when I didn’t have a pony bigger than me to help out.

“Yeah,” I said, probably just imagining what I thought was an audible shake in my voice. “Toss it here.”

True to form, Scootaloo ducked her head down and raised it shortly thereafter, sending the crowbar sailing through the air into my waiting hand. I caught it with a satisfying thunk.

“Nice throw.”

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said. She smiled really wide at me.

So damn cute.

“These windows are gonna have to come right out. Maybe I can put in some proper weather fixtures...”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is. You sure you don’t wanna bail?”

Scootaloo shook her head, and looked at me with that same determined half-grin I’d seen on her before.

“No way.”

I smiled back at her, and tried to push the image of her squishy underage butt out of my mind.

***

There was a lot of work to do. The afternoon had almost turned into evening by the time we finished. If I’d known how much Applejack was asking me to do, I probably would have bartered for more than an implied peek at her ass—but the opportunity for bargaining had passed, and I’m not the type to give up on a job before it’s done. The sun was just shrinking into the end of the sky by the time we finished.

Scootaloo and I both collapsed onto the clubhouse floor. Seconds after I hammered the last nail in, we were done. Even though most of the heavy stuff was my job, Scootaloo was actually a really good help—grabbing me tools, holding things, even hammering in a few joists herself when I asked if she wanted to give them a try. Watching her swing a hammer in her mouth was adorable—and, yes, I couldn’t help it, I gave her bum a good ogling when she was working on the wall. I thought about how soft and squishy it would be in my fingers... moving my hand back to my side was like fighting a possession.

“Phew.” I wiped another bit of sweat from my forehead. Scootaloo did the same, flicking her hoof and sending a bit of her sweat onto the clubhouse floor.

“Good job, Scoots,” I said. “I couldn’t have gotten it done on time without you.”

“Don’t... mention it...” Scootaloo was breathing heavier than me, which made sense, given the amount she’d done for such a small pony. I almost felt bad for working her so hard—but every time I asked if she wanted to stop, she just shook her head and kept going. Like asking her to take a break was some kind of insult.

Such a cutie.

“You’ve gotta let me make it up to you,” I said. “Lemme buy you ice cream or something.”

Scootaloo turned her head to me, her tongue almost lolling out of her mouth as she breathed. Her mouth parted just big enough that it looked like she could fit no no no think about something else...

“That’s okay,” she said. “It was kind of fun working with you all day.”

“More fun than a family brunch?” I asked with a smirk.

I regretted it the second after I said it, when I saw her face fall.

“Shit,” I said. “Sorry, sorry. That was in bad taste.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Scootaloo sat up onto her hind-legs and shook her head, sending a few more drops of sweat off into the freshly rennovated clubhouse. “It is more fun than some dumb brunch. Probably.”

The two of said nothing for a minute, me on the floor, Scootaloo sitting and staring at the opposite wall.

“Is it... I understand if you don’t wanna talk about it, but do you have... what’s up with your family?”

“It’s like I said, my mom and dad are out of town right now.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything.

I listened to the sound of Scootaloo’s breathing for a minute, staring at the window above my head, reliving the resizing of its frame and refitting of the windows in flashback.

“Do you wanna play?”

I sat up, finally, and turned to Scootaloo, who was up on all fours now.

“Huh?”

“I’m getting bored just sitting around like this. We’re all done the work, so we should play something now.”

“Well,” I said, picking myself up of the ground and standing upright, “what do you want to play?”

“This time of night’s really good for tag. The grass isn’t too wet, and sometimes firebugs come out to kind of light stuff up when the sun goes away.”

All of that sounded like too much outside, when all I wanted was to take a hot bath and soak away what would surely be sore muscles the next day.

“Don’t you guys ever play inside your clubhouse? I mean, now that it’s so nice, you practically won’t have an excuse not to.”

“Clubhouses aren’t for playing, dummy,” Scootaloo said. She stuck her tongue out as punctuation, which was just ridiculous enough to stun me into silence. “This is where we make all our plans and decided what we’re gonna do for our cutie marks. Outside is where we play.”

“Let me guess,” I said, turning to Scootaloo and the table behind her. “You and Sweetie and Applebloom come here to draw cute little maps and pictures of what your cutie marks will look like, and then you make fake tea and have dinner parties with your stuffed animals afterwards. Am I right?”

Scootaloo looked like I’d slapped her in the face. For a second I thought she was going to pounce me and chew my throat out, but she just lowered her body and glowered, gritting her teeth.

“Hey! We do not have dinner parties!”

I nodded. “Right, right, sorry. Tea parties, what was I thinking.”

She didn’t go for the throat, but the hooves to the gut were almost strong enough to knock the wind out of me.

“—Oof...”

“Shut up! We don’t have tea parties!”

Leave it to a guy teasing a girl not to know when to stop. I was half-doubled up from lack of air, but I managed to stand up and grin at her.

“So just the maps and fake cutie marks then? Is that what you were drawing earlier?”

Scootaloo glared at me. I grinned back at her.

Out of the corner of my eye, as if it was waiting for the perfect time to appear, I spied what I hoped dearly was the piece of paper I needed at the moment. The something I’d caught Scootaloo in the middle of working on, tucked underneath one of the clubhouse chairs.

She must have seen me look towards it. She started to move a second before I did.

But I was faster.

The second my fingers touched the paper, Scootaloo was on me like a vicious pit bull, slamming her head into me in what must surely be an at tempt to knock me down, or out, or simply to remove the paper from my hand.

“Don’t!” she yelled, slamming her head into my leg. “Don’t!”

Her headbutts hurt more than I let on, but I did my best to ignore them as I unfurled the paper.

“Oh ho ho, what have we here? Let me guess, Scootaloo’s plans for a tea party cutie mark...”

The crude crayon of the sketch revealed itself slowly, a mix of messy colours taking shape as I unfurled the paper.

An extra hard headbutt caught me off guard. It was enough to knock me balance, and Scootaloo’s sudden pounce was the final blow to knock me down. The clubhouse mat proved a poor welcome mat for the sudden arrival of my back.

“Ow! Jeez, calm down. I just wanna see your beautiful artwork...”

Scootaloo scrambled for the paper as my fingertips reached the edge, but the way she faltered said she knew she was too late.

She didnt’ even bother moving the rest of the way towards the paper as I soaked in the drawing.

“Huh,” I said.

One side was Scootaloo, in her tell-tale orange and purple, smiling forward in the kind of genuine innocent enthusiasm that can only come from a kids sketch of a smile. The green underneath her must be grass, and the yellow blob overhead was the sun, and the white and yellow-orange tiny blob bodies in the back must be Sweetie Belle and Applebloom.

And the tall thing standing next to her surrounded by hearts.

I felt acutely aware of Scootaloo’s weight on my leg as I lowered the drawing, tucking it back into a roll and letting it rest at my side.

Scootaloo’s eyes shone at the edges.

“Scoots...”

“It’s just dumb,” she said, her voice bitter through the shimmer of her eyes. “I don’t like, like you or anything. You just...” Scootaloo turned her head to stare out a far window, and sniffled up her nose for a second before continuing. “You’re fun to hang out with, and stuff. I like the way you... the way you treat us like we’re cool enough not to baby. And... yeah.” Scootaloo ended her reasoning abruptly, and stared away, suddenly silent.

I let her stare for half a minute before sitting up a bit. Her weight on my leg shook a bit.

Her feathers were soft under my hand as I let it rest on her back.

“Scootaloo,” I said. “It’s okay.”

She turned her head towards me. No tears, though I imagined they might be there.

“I think it’s cute,” I said.

Scootaloo screwed up her face like she’d swallowed something sour.

“I hate cute.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Alright, it’s ‘cool’ then. I like hanging out with you guys too.”

Where the corners of her mouth had frozen in a staunch-looking frown, they curled up now, forming the beginnings of a smile.

“You do?”

I nodded.

“You especially,” I said.

Even through the orange of her coat, I could see her blush.

So damn cute.

“You might hate it,” I said, sitting up more and rubbing the small of her back with my hand, “but you look totally cute right now. Like, adorable even.”

Scootaloo did her best impression of someone angry through her smile.

“Shut up!”

She tried to dive onto me again, but I was ready for her this time. With my one hand already on her back, it was easy to bring the other forward, and catch her mid-pounce. She was heavier than I thought, and the way she thrashed gave me the presence of mind to move with her, which sent the two of us tumbling down the clubhouse floor. Scootaloo’s impetuous growl blurred into a series of giggles, which I matched with my own laughter, laughing and tumbling and holding in my hands as we tumbled, rolling over the hard floor until we reached the opposite end of the room.

I was on top, and Scootaloo was underneath me, held perfectly in my hands. Her soft fur under my fingers, her wings fluttering against my palms.

She smiled up at me, and I smiled back down.

I blinked as the view presented itself suddenly. Much more graphic than anything I’d treated myself to earlier in the day.

“Uh,” I said.

It’s not the kind of thing you’re supposed to call attention to. The fact that I’d noticed in the first place was probably reason enough to get me in trouble—not to mention that the tumbling and touch of a cute little fluffy foal in my hands, along with the sudden sight of her underage slit, had gotten me totally hard in my pants. But how else was I supposed to tell her to... cover up?

I could have just let go, but that wouldn’t have been any fun.

Scootaloo’s expression changed to a mild confusion. She looked up at me as I did my best to avert my eyes, though they found their way back to her snatch after a few seconds.

“Huh?” she said, blinking up at me.

“Your, uh,” I said. “You should, uh.” I tried to find the least incriminating way possible to tell her.

“You’re uh... really pretty, Scootaloo, but you should probably... save it ‘till the third date.”

Well, a little funny and a little creepy was better than all creepy and no funny.

Scootaloo’s eyes widened as the focus of my sudden nervousness hit her. She looked down between her legs, then up at me, then back down. Even though I wanted to tell myself she didn’t, I could feel the red-hot beam of her stare on my jeans, probably noticing the larger than usual bulge in the front crease. Then back up to me again.

“Oh,” she said.

It was enough for me to take my hands off. I sat up rapidly, trying to hunch into myself, even though that damage had already been done.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to... you just kind of... when you landed.”

“It’s okay.” Scootaloo tucked her legs together with no further prompting, almost nonchalant in how casually she covered herself up.

I couldn’t read her. Probably because the haze of sudden, guilty arousal was clouding my perception. Was she judging me? Of course she was. She had to be. She was probably planning what to tell the nearest adult about the way the human from another world had pinned her down and stared at her—

“Did you like looking?” she asked.

I almost choked on my own tongue.

“What? Scootaloo, that is not an appropriate question to be asking... well, anyone!”

Scootaloo sat up a bit, and spread her legs a tad further in the process, giving me just a glimpse of her tiny exposed slit, until I averted my eyes out of sheer moral obligation.

“Well, you seemed like you liked it.”

“Still not appropriate,” I said. I moved to stand up, but my knees felt weak beneath me, and so settled for a sort of adjustment to further conceal my hard-on.

Scootaloo chewed her lip and stared sideways, as though looking deep off in thought. She wiggled her legs a little bit, which I noticed because her hooves were resting against my knees.

“You like looking at other ponies,” she said.

A second time I would have done a proper spit-take if I’d had the drink.

“I do not,” I said. Lied.

“Do so,” Scootaloo said. “I’ve seen you staring at Applejack’s cooter, like, ten times.”

“A kid like you shouldn’t—” I stopped myself mid-sentence. Okay, so ‘cooter’ wasn’t exactly profane. Just kind of... “You have not,” I corrected myself. Again, I moved to stand up, but something kept me kneeling, like there was a force pressing me closer to the floor. Closer to Scootaloo’s almost-spread-legged body.

“Have too,” Scootaloo quipped back. “I’m not dumb. I know guys like to stare at mares. Especially their... the place where stuff goes when they’re in season.”

“In season?” My mouth fell open a little bit, though I quickly recovered to a slightly more composed looking state. “How on earth do you know all of this stuff?”

“I’m not dumb,” Scootaloo said. “Miss Cheerilee showed us diagrams and everything. The part between her legs is where a mare lets a stallion go when she’s ready to... to get his stuff all inside, and get pregnant.”

I felt the sweat beginning to collect on my forehead.

“Alright, okay, fair enough. But still... that doesn’t mean I was... I wasn’t staring at yours, I mean.”

“I never said you were. But you liked looking at it.”

“How can you tell?”

Scootaloo gestured with her foreleg to the place I’d been so desperately hoping she wouldn’t—straight at the more than noticeable bulge in the front of my jeans.

“Your thing got all hard. That’s what you have underneath your jeans, right? Your thing?”

“‘My thing’?”

“Yeah.” Scootaloo nodded a bit, like she was gracing me with the benefit of her explanation. “LIke stallions have. I’ve seen them before—they’re kinda like snakes that hang between your legs. Big Mac lets his hang out all the time.”

Whaaa...

“Listen,” I said. “This has gotten way inappropriate. Yes, okay, I may have looked when you... for a second. And my thing... I might have enjoyed the view. But that’s it, okay? You’re just a kid! No one should be looking at your... ‘cooter’. Least of all me.”

Finally, my legs felt strong enough to lift me up. Away from the awkward conversation with a pony of surely-illegal age and probable Equestrian jail-time. I tried to stand sideways to hide focus on my boner.

“Come on. We’re all done. Let’s get you home and call it a night.”

But Scootaloo didn’t move. After a few seconds, when, out of the corner of my eye, trying so desperately to look away from her, I didn’t see her get up, I was forced to turn around. And that’s when she did it—spread her legs again, wide, giving me an eyeful of her... ‘cooter’.

Of her sweet, underage filly snatch.

“Scootaloo!”

“But you like it,” she said. “Don’t you?”

“That’s not the point,” I said. I shielded my eyes with my hand, but couldn’t help myself from peeking underneath. “I’m not supposed to... you’re not supposed to let me see you down there.”

“Why not? You’re obviously enjoying it.” Scootaloo gestured to my hard-on, which I lowered my hand to conceal, leaving me with a full view of her slit again.

Her slit that looked a little bit, in the dim light still creeping in through the windows—wet.

Oh jeez...

“Scootaloo,” I said. “Listen to me. As cute a filly as you are—and you’re very cute, I might add”—Scootaloo giggled at that, and fluttered her wings a bit, which sent a definite jolt through my lower-half—”you shouldn’t be showing me yourself like that. It’s not appropriate, and I could get in a lot of trouble just for looking at you. If you like me as much as you say you do, you wouldn’t want that to happen, right?”

“But I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Scootaloo said. She wiggled herself a little bit, like she was posing for me, and it took all the willpower in my body not to collapse forward and ravage her on the spot. She stared up at me as she finished speaking, and stuck out her lower lip a little bit in a sort of pout.

Hnngh...

“Scoots...” I started.

“Don’t you like me too?” Scootaloo asked. Another wiggle, and a bigger pout. “I don’t have a problem with you looking if you promise that you like me.”

Like her. Like her like her?

I was practically falling in love with her by the second.

“I do like you,” I said.

Scootaloo smiled.

“Then don’t you wanna look for a little while longer?”

“I...” The words died in my mouth. I couldn’t say I didn’t without lying to her.

So I looked. And looked.

And got so hard my pants felt like they might burst off.

“You look like you really like looking,” Scootaloo said with a small laugh.

Through the haze of my aroused focus, I had the presence of mind to glare at her.

“Hey... you’re the one showing yourself off like this. You can’t blame me if I get a little... excited.”

“I’m not. It’s kinda cool.” Scootaloo swivelled her butt from side to side, giving me an all-angles view of her prepubescent slit. I bit my lip and forced down the groan welling in my throat.

“How... how is it cool?”

“Does yours get as hard as Big Macintosh’s does?” Scootaloo asked. The innocence of her voice combined with the content of her statement send a guilty sort of shiver through my spine, along with a sympathetic twitch underneath my jeans.

“How the hell do you know how hard Big Macintosh’s gets?” I asked, suddenly concerned.

Scootaloo rolled her eyes at me.

“It’s easy to tell. It sticks, like, straight out. Most of the time when he’s staring at Applejack.”

I pondered for a second as Scootaloo’s explanation sunk in. Maybe there were things I didn’t know about Ponyville after all. Going on underneath the surface, when here I was feeling bad about sneaking a peek or two of a pony butt...

“Can you lemme see?”

“What?!”

“Your thingy,” Scootaloo clarified. She sat up a bit with her forelegs behind her back for support, and raised one of them to gesture towards my jeans. “Can I see it?”

“No you cannot... why would you want to see?” I sheltered my front-zipper with both hands, shielding my junk like I was already naked.

“I wanna see if it looks like the ones I saw in class. And... y’know. Big Mac’s.”

“I can assure you right away that it doesn’t.”

Scootaloo blew a breath of air out of the corner of her mouth and half-rolled her eyes again.

“Pssh. Like I’m gonna believe that. Come on, it’s only fair. I let you see mine.”

“Yeah, but...”

“No buts. Come on, lemme see.”

She had me. And, as loathe as I was to admit it to myself, I was playing right into her hands. Hooves. Whatever.

“I could get in a lot of trouble for that,” I said.

“Yeah, and you could get in a lot of trouble if I told a grown-up you’d spent fifteen minutes staring at my cooter too. Do you really think I’m gonna tell on you?”

That word again...

“No.”

“Then show me. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Fuuuck...

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. God, did I want to. But that was like crossing a line. Seeing Scootaloo’s snatch, when she was a pony, and ponies were always naked, could easily be passed off as an accident. But unzipping and giving her a full view of my human junk... there was no excusing that.

Was the idea of her staring at my rock-hard dick, dripping precum just from the sight of her tight little fuck-hole worth oh fuck who am I kidding of course it was. My hands found my zipper in a second and pulled it down. I remembered as I hooked my pants into my belt-loops that my belt needed undoing too—so I undid it.

I took a long breath as braced my thumbs in my waistband.

“Are you sure?”

Scootaloo nodded.

Here goes nothing.

The clubhouse air, as hot as it had felt all day, sweating and ogling Scootaloo’s booty, felt suddenly very cold as I removed my jeans and boxers. I slid them over my feet, taking my socks in the process, figuring that if I was showing off, I may as well get everything out of the way, to give the best view possible.

I didn’t soften for a second, either.

I couldn’t look at Scootaloo. I stared off to the side, painfully aware of how awkward my erection must look to a filly who’d never seen one before—a human one anyway.

A few seconds passed before I heard Scootaloo let out a breath of air.

“Wow.”

I turned to her, finally, bracing myself for her reaction.

The look in her eyes looked the way I felt. She was staring at my dick, fixated on it, her eyes locked right on the head, where a tiny dab of precum had leaked from staring at her.

“Wow,” she said again.

“Does that mean you... like it?” I asked.

Scootaloo took a second, but she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly.

I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Scootaloo nodded her head a bit, still fixated on my cock. “It looks really... big.”

“Pfft.” I blew a small breath of air between my teeth. “Come on... really? Big? Compared to Big Mac’s?”

“His just looks scary,” Scootaloo said. Though I’m not sure she noticed it herself, I saw her inch a little closer to me, pulling on the clubhouse floor with her hooves to move. “Yours is like... nice. It doesn’t look like a weird snake, or all veiny or anything. It looks kinda... cute.”

“Oh, great, thanks.” I’d never had my dick called cute before, let alone by a little girl.

Scootaloo raised her eyes to me, finally, and shook her head with an anxious look in her eyes.

“No no no, not like that. I mean... a good kind of cute. Like, the kind you wanna... look at. And play with.”

Play with?

“Can I touch it?” she asked. Even before I could answer, she reached out with one hoof.

“You probably shouldn’t...” I said. But I didn’t move back. I was tired of playing moralist by that point. If this cute little filly wanted to touch my dick, who was I to say no?

Of course, her hoof kept moving forward. I stayed planted still, bracing myself for impact.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said softly, staring at my dick as her hoof grew closer.

“You can go ahead then, if you want.” I moved my hips forward a little bit, bringing my dick closer to her hoof. Her eyes widened, and her mouth hung open a little as she moved her hoof closer. Closer. Until finally, it touched.

I caught a breath of air between my teeth. Scootaloo held her hoof to the head of my cock, keeping it firmly in place. After a few seconds, she moved down the shaft, pressing along the whole way.

“Woah...”

“Does it feel nice?” I asked. Say yes, God, please say yes...

“Kinda.”

Close enough.

“It feels... sorta soft, but hard at the same time,” she said, running her hoof back up again. I moved my body with hers, and tried to keep back all the profane noises brewing in my chest. Scootaloo held her hoof at the tip for a moment before stroking back down, reaching to the base of my cock and feeling the firmness of my pelvis compared with the turgid length of my cock. She followed it up and down a few times, staring wide-eyed in amazement the whole time.

The fourth time, I couldn’t help it. I let out a small, barely-there groan. Scootaloo looked up at me with a worried expression.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“No. It feels... really good, actually.”

“It does?” Scootaloo turned her eyes back down to my cock and cocked her head a bit to the side, mouth half-open.

“Yeah. Didn’t they teach you about masturbation or like... touching stuff, in sex ed?”

“Not really. They just told us that when we’re in season, we’ll know, and what we should do, and what happens when a mare’s in estrus and she lets a stallion... put his stuff inside her. His sperm.”

As I watched Scootaloo speak, her hoof still on my cock, I saw her wiggle a little bit as she said that last word.

“What happens?” I asked, content to say anything if it meant Scootaloo would keep her hoof on my dick.

“Well,” Scootaloo said, “usually she gets pregnant. Sometimes she doesn’t, which means she has to try again next season. Some mares can’t get pregnant at all, and they just get to use their season for... for getting to know lots of stallions.”

“‘Getting to know them’?” I queried. Scootaloo, to my surprise, blushed.

“You know. Putting his... his thingy in her thingy.”

“Didn’t they teach you the words for them?” I asked. “Don’t tell me your teacher called them ‘thingies’ the whole time.”

“I think they didn’t want to tell us the names because dumb kids in our class would just say them all the time.” Scootaloo leaned a little closer to my cock, and to my great delight, raised her other hoof, putting it firmly in place on the other side of my shaft. I groaned again, which drew another quick glance from Scootaloo—but the second she saw my expression, she seemed to understand I was okay, and returned her attention back to my member.

“Well, since you’re old enough to know what they do, you should probably know the words for them,” I said. “I don’t know if there’s a special set of terms in Equestria, but in my world we have a bunch. There are only a few you need to know though.”

Scootaloo stared up at me expectantly, still moving her hooves idly over my shaft, like she was too fascinated with the texture of my dick to stop touching it.

“What you’re rubbing right now is a dick, or a cock,” I said, feeling a twitch go through my body involuntarily as Scootaloo stroked. “The thing you showed me earlier that got me all hard is called a ‘pussy’, or a... no, ‘pussy’ is fine. The other ones don’t sound quite as nice.”

“Like a cat?” Scootaloo asked, stilling her hooves for a second and looking down between her own legs.

“Yes, like a cat. I dunno how it works in Equestria, but in my world, when you’re older, they kind of furry if you don’t shave them.”

“Gross.” Scootaloo stuck out her tongue.

I smiled and nodded at her.

“Yep. That’s why yours is so nice—smooth, soft, no hair.”

Scootaloo removed one of her hooves from my cock and pressed it down between her legs. I twitched against her other hoof as I watched her paw curiously at herself, feeling along the length of her slit and then up to the bottom of her stomach.

“It does feel kind of soft.”

I bit my lip and stared unabashedly between Scootaloo’s legs, until she lifted her head again and stared right back at me, suddenly enough to make my turn my head in the other direction.

A few seconds of silence passed, Scootaloo’s hoof unmoving on my dick.

“Do you wanna feel it?” Scootaloo asked. I turned my head back, trying to hide my disbelief behind my eyes.

“Are you serious? That’s kind of a bigger deal than you feeling my... thing.”

“Your cock, right?”

Gawd. I could feel the precum come out when she said that word. Something about her cute little voice wrapped around such a dirty word...

“Yes, my cock. That’s different than me touching your...”

“Pussy?”

I nodded, feeling the sweat on my brow.

“Yes.”

“How come? It’s fine if I want you to do it, right?”

Not really, I wanted to say. None of this is fine. If there’s an Equestrian dungeon for pedophiles—foalophiles, in this case—surely they were already furnishing my cell. I’d get a special level all to myself.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

Scootaloo nodded with the same look of determination in her eyes I first saw when she offered to help with the day’s work.

“Uh-huh. If you promise not to tell anyone.”

I held a hand to my chest, still covered by my t-shirt, and stared straight into Scootaloo’s eyes.

“I solemnly swear not to tell a soul.”

Scootaloo giggled and removed her hoof from my cock. She placed it on her right hind-leg, and her other hoof on her left. She used both hooves to spread her legs extra wide, giving me an uncompromised view of the pussy she wanted me to touch.

“Go for it then. Make sure it’s soft.”

Oh God.

My hand trembled as I held it out. As much as I wanted to touch Scootaloo there, it was almost too good a thing to be true. Any second now, somepony would come bursting in the door and arrest me. Somepony would surely arrive to stop me from getting my hands on this cute little filly’s snatch.

I felt a dampness on my fingertips as I pressed my hand to her lips.

“Oooh...” Scootaloo made a low noise through a breath as my fingers met her pussy. “That feels... woah.”

“Good?” I asked. I slid one of my fingers around her mound, enjoying the texture of her velvet soft fur and underdeveloped vag against my touch.

“Yeah... I think so. It feels really... tingly. Kinda weird, but kinda... really good.”

I nodded without saying anything. Now that my hand was on target, I wanted to explore as much as I could—but not to go too fast. I ran my fingers around Scootaloo’s hole for a little while, delighting in the way she wriggled against my touch, shaking her hips subconsciously to try to draw me closer to her slit. I let myself graze her clit, which made her jump, and suck in a breath of air with a loud hiss.

“Ohhh, what was that? What did you just touch?”

“That’s your clit,” I said nonchalantly, still circling around Scootaloo’s hole. I could feel my fingertips beginning to dampen a bit, which meant Scootaloo was getting wet. Which meant this cute little underage filly was getting horny from me touching her. Truly, there is no better place in the universe than Equestria. “Also known as your love-button,” I added. “Or just your special spot. One of a few, anyway.”

“It felt really good when you touched it,” Scootaloo said. “Could you do it again?”

“You want me to touch your clit again?” I asked. The words felt so dirty leaving my mouth, but Scootaloo answered them with an enthusiastic nod, bobbing her head up and down rapidly.

“Uh-huh,” she said.

I smiled a devilish smirk as an awful idea floated across my mind.

“Can you tell me that?” I asked. “I’ll do it if you tell me you want me to.”

“I just did, dummy.”

I rolled my eyes.

“No, I mean... tell me what you want me to do. Exactly. Using your new grown-up words.”

Scootaloo screwed up her face for a second. I could see an instant turmoil underneath her frown—the part of her that loathed being told what to do by anyone, and the part of her that wanted so badly for me to run my fingers over her clit again. To touch her even more than I had.

To aid her decision making process, I gave her clit just the tiniest brush with my finger on the next circle.

Scootaloo jumped. Her expression unfroze, and she looked up at me with a deep sincerity in her eyes.

“I want you to touch my... my clit, again,” she said.

I’m pretty sure a glob of precum oozed out of my dick and onto the floor when I heard her say that word.

“Sure thing, hun.” Hun. I don’t know where that come. It felt appropriate. As appropriate as anything could in this situation, anyway.

Just as requested, I lowered my fingers from the top of Scootaloo’s mound, right onto her love button.

The response was immediate. Scootaloo lurched on the floor. Her face went dead-straight, and her wings stuck stiffly out from her body with an exaggerated sounding ‘fwoosh’. Spurred on by her reaction, I pressed a little, rubbing my fingers in a circle over her little nub.

Her mouth parted to let out a high-pitched moan immediately.

“Ohhhhh... oh my gosh, that feel so good, whatever you’re doing...”

I nodded, my tongue sticking out between my teeth. “Mhm-hmm,” I said.

“It feels... it feels like... ohhh my gosh I don’t know what it feels like but don’t stop, please don’t stop...”

“You got it.” I did just as directed, rubbing in circles, pressing down lightly on Scootaloo’s button. Her hips began to gyrate with the movement of my hand, rocking herself against the press of my fingers. Her wings fluttered along with her movement, and I caught her right foreleg in motion, pawing at the clubhouse floor like a cat trying to sink its claws into something for leverage.

“Ohh... ohh...” She kept letting out that noise, soft little ‘ohhh’s between her increasingly heavy breathing. Her eyes closed after another few seconds, and her whole body started rocking against my hand. My palm became suddenly damp as I continued rubbing—the feel of her wetness only spurred me on to rub a little bit harder, which she moaned at.

“Ohhhh... gosh, I feel... I don’t know, I feel something... don’t stop, whatever you do, don’t stop, oh gosh, oh gosh, don’t stop please don’t stop oh my gosh so good so good don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t...” Scootaloo’s babbling trailed off into silence as I rubbed, hard, just like I knew she wanted, until I felt her whole body tense up.Freeze. And then suddenly, let go.

“Gahhhhh!” Scootaloo’s pussy spasmed against my palm as I pressed into her clit, coaxing out what I knew were the throes of her first orgasm. Her whole body shook as she came, and my cock twinged in sympathy, dribbling out a little bit of precum onto the floor. I held my hand still as she shivered out the last bits of her climax, moaning quietly and taking in big mouthfuls of air.

I waited a minute before speaking.

“Was that good?” I asked.

Scootaloo nodded with as much excitement as she could muster through her obvious sudden exhaustion.

“Yes,” she said simply after a few more seconds. “Oh my gosh. What did you do? That’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

“That was the benefits of a hands-on sex education,” I said, withdrawing my fingers from Scootaloo’s now soaking wet pussy. Unabashedly, I raised them to my nose and inhaled, getting a proper smell for the first time of Scootaloo’s pussy. If my cock could have gotten any harder, it would of. Instead, it just felt like exploding. Still confident in Scootaloo’s distraction coming down from her orgasm, I took both fingers into my mouth and ran them over my tongue.

The taste. God, the taste. If there was a heaven in living, it was Scootaloo’s taste, and imagining what else I could do to the part of her that had given me that taste in the first place.

“Does touching your... your clit, always feel that good?” Scootaloo asked, sounding earnestly flabbergasted.

“I can’t speak from personal experience,” I said, “but probably not. Stuff like this—sex—always feels better when you do it with someone else. Most of the time, anyway.”

Scootaloo stared at me, wide-eyed, and nodded slowly as my words sunk in.

“That, felt, amazing,” Scootaloo said, sitting up more properly without the aid of her forelegs to keep her propped up. “Is there anything I can do like that for you?”

There was a decision to be made. I’d just rubbed out this adorable filly to her first orgasm—pressed on her tiny little clitty until she came, soaking wet, all over my hand. And now she wanted to return the favour.

Should I take the easy way, or the fun way?

“Well,” I said, “sort of.”

Scootaloo eyed my cock like it was a race to be run. I could see the steely glint of determination in her eye as she sized up my dick for possible ‘weaknesses’. As she stared, she seemed to notice the sheen of precum at my tip, as well as the bit that was still just barely dripping from the head onto the floor.

“Is that your stuff?” she asked, pointing to the small puddle of clear fluid that had collected underneath my cock.

“My cum,” I corrected her. “The stuff that a guy—stallion—shoots out when he gets off is called cum. Letting it out is called cumming. Though, you can call it that for girls too. It’s a pretty versatile word.”

“Is that your cum?” Scootaloo asked, clinging instantly to the new word. Hearing her say it was enough to get another twitch from me, and another sympathetic dot of precum besides. Scootaloo stared as my head bobbed at her simple utterance of the term I’d just taught her.

“No, that’s my precum. It’s what guys do when they’re really turned and getting ready to... to stick their cock in a mare’s pussy and fill her full of cum.”

I never imagined I’d be saying a sentence like that in front of such a young pony—but, as they say, there’s a first time for everything.

“Doesn’t he just do that if he wants to get her pregnant?” Scootaloo asked.

“Not necessarily. Where I come from, people mostly do it because it feels good. I imagine things are pretty much the same in Equestria. I mean, just like what you said about some mares not being able to get pregnant... they’re just in it for the fun.”

“Letting a guy shoot his... his cum in you is fun?”

God...

“Again, can’t say from experience... but it’s meant to get you to the same place rubbing your clit is. And the guy enjoys it too.”

“It feels that good?” Scootaloo asked. I’d never taken her for overly inoccent, but there was a definite naivete in the way she talked about sex. It just made me want to teach her more, hands-on approach only.

“Or better,” I said. “Depending on how consider the guy is.”

Scootaloo seemed to contemplate this for a second. She stared down instead of at me, or rather at my cock, and put a hoof to her chin, looking the perfect cliche picture of someone pondering.

Please. Just ask...

“Do you wanna... do you think it would feel good if you... if you put your cock in my... in my pussy?”

Equestria God was just, and I owed him a favour.

“I bet I could make it feel pretty good. If you wanted me to, anyway.”

“I kinda do. I mean... I’m not in season, right? So I won’t get pregnant?”

“That’s a question I’m not sure I can answer. Is there a certain age girl ponies can get pregnant at?”

Scootaloo shrugged.

“I dunno. Miss Cheerilee just said we would know when we were ready.”

The two of us let a second of silence pass.

“Well,” I said, “I could just pull out before I... before I cum. And you probably won’t have to worry about it.”

To my surprise, Scootaloo shook her head almost instantly at the suggestion.

“Uh-unh. You’ve gotta... I wanna make you cum while your... while your cock is inside me. Okay?”

“Are you sure?” God, please, be sure, no force in the world could keep me from wanting to just pounce on her after that and plow her until she got just what she wanted—

“Yeah,” Scootaloo said. “I dunno why, but just thinking about you... shooting your stuff—cum, sorry—inside me... it’s kind of... I dunno. It feels good just thinking about it.”

“Well, I bet the real thing will feel even better. Do you wanna do it?”

“Yeah.” Scootaloo picked herself up off the floor and sized up my cock. “Do I... is there a special way I have to stand, or...”

I gestured in a circle with an outstretched finger.

“You should probably turn around. If you guys are anything like the horses in my world, it’s easiest if you’re on all fours, standing up a little. Or maybe... can you prop yourself up on the wall a bit?”

Scootaloo turned around the clubhouse with a mildly perplexed look on her face, but found the wall after a little bit of shaky walking. She stood on her hind legs and pressed her forehooves against the wood, not quite upright, but tall enough that she’d have good leverage. As I watched, her tail swished behind her back, giving me a good glimpse of her still-wet pussy between her legs.

“Like this?” she asked.

“Yes, just like that.” Just like that. God.

I kneeled and scootched closer to her, holding my dick in one hand. As much as I wanted to just stick it in and go to town, something told me to be gentle. I mean, something aside common courtesy for the little girl’s slit—I didn’t want to ruin her. Besides which, amongst all the touching and the sex-talk and spending the day with her, I was starting to fall for the cute little filly.

Fucking her was just the icing on the cake.

Scootaloo shivered and drew in a breath as I put the tip of my cock between her legs. Instantly, I could feel the heat of her pussy wafting over me, the gentle softness of her underage lips clinging to me like they wanted to draw me inside her too-tight hole.

“This might hurt a little,” I warned, “since it’s your first time. First times hurt sometimes.”

“Will it hurt a lot?” Scootaloo asked. Possibly unintentionally, she wiggled her hips at me, wedging a little bit of the tip of my cock into her lips. Fuck.

“Maybe,” I said. I could have lied and said no, but my conscience wouldn’t let me. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No,” Scootaloo answered almost immediately. “It’s cool. I’m tough. Just go for it whenever you’re ready.”

Fuck. I was really gonna do it then. From a cute little butt I hadn’t even realized I wanted to stare at to an underage slit I was about to fuck. Here goes nothing...

I pushed forward as gently as I could manage, fighting the urge to blow my load in seconds after feeling just a bit of Scootaloo’s soft, juvenile pussy.

She was tight. Holy fuck was she tight.

“You doin’ okay?” I asked, barely coherent enough to there was a filly having her first time around my dick.

Scootaloo nodded, even though she was facing away from me.

“Yeah,” she said. “It... it doesn’t hurt yet. Feels... really good.”

A good sign. I kept going.

About halfway in is where I expected to find some kind of resistance. I slowed the pace of my push forward at that point, fitting only a few inches of my dick into Scootaloo’s snatch. Slowly, so slowly, I moved forward, waiting for the barrier of her inoccence to push back against me.

But it never came. What must have been three quarters in, and I kept going.

Ponies in Equestria having unique physiology? Losing it in a youthful escapade adventuring? I guess in retrospect it didn’t make sense to imagine pony anatomy would be like a human’s, either... whatever the case, I didn’t care. I slid forward the rest of the way as soon as I realized the path was clear, and within an instant I was bottomed out in Scootaloo’s pussy, not quite able to fit in all of my dick.

“Does that... feel good?” I asked through a suddenly emerged panting, probably my body’s effort to keep me from passing out from ecstasy.

Scootaloo didn’t even manage a nod. She simply shook, shivering around my dick like she was about to fall apart.

“Uh... huh...” she managed, panting even harder than I was. Both of us out of breath, even though things hadn’t even started properly.

“I’m gonna try moving,” I said, squaring up my hands on her sides and feeling her stiff little wings underneath my palms. “Brace yourself.”

And she did. I heard her hooves scrabble against the wall in search of a firmer position.

With both of us as prepared as we could be, I pulled back, and slid inside again.

So tight. So goddamn motherfucking making-me-want-to-cum-in-a-second tight.

“Ohhhh, gosh, oh my gosh you were right that feels so good...” Scootaloo moaned as I thrust forward for a second time. Her insides clung to me like they never wanted to let go, like she was squeezing me so hard, trying to get me to blow my load in her after only one thrust. It was working, but I grit my teeth and pressed on as best I could manage.

“Wait until we... really get going,” I panted.

On the second thrust, I tried to pick up speed. Even though I couldn’t get all the way in, Scootaloo’s whole body wriggled and shook when I bottomed out, pressing my head up against what must be her womb. Forcing my shaft through every agonizingly tight inch of her blazingly warm, illegal foal’s pussy. God-fucking-damn. And she shook and moaned the whole time, her ‘oh’s turning into long, incomprehensible blurs of sound as I thrust inside her. Picking up speed, until I was fucking her properly.

“Ohhh... gosh... gosh...” Hearing the bursts of the closest thing she had to profanity was adorable and sexy at the same time, but I felt kind of bad for her lack of adequate vocabulary.

“Do you know... what we’re doing right now, Scoots?” I asked, pounding her the whole time, hearing her moan underneath the slam of my pelvis into her butt. “We’re... fucking. I’m fucking you with my cock.”

“Ohhhh...” Scootaloo let out an extra loud moan, somehow apparently sensing the delicious, electric vulgarity of my swearing, even though the words must be new to her.

“Do you like getting fucked, Scootaloo?” I asked, abandoning all pretense of respectable conduct while I was balls deep in Scootaloo’s snatch.

Scootaloo nodded feverishly as I pounded her.

“Yes!” she screamed, letting the word blur into a high-pitched squeal.

“Say it. Say you like getting fucked.”

“I like getting fucked!” Scootaloo sounded like she would have repeated I asked her to at that point. She was so far gone, it was probably a miracle she was still conscious... but I knew she was waiting for the grand finale, and so was I.

“I’m gonna... give you what you wanted in a minute, Scootaloo,” I said, feeling the tingle building up in my balls that came right before I did. “I’m gonna... cum in your pussy...”

“Gosh, yes, please, cum in my pussy!” Scootaloo said, her words wobbling deliriously as they managed their way out of her mouth. “Cum in my pussy, please, so good, please...”

As much as I wanted to goad her more—give her more filthy words to say, make her beg for my jizz to coat the insides of her tight little hole—there was no way I could hold back after hearing that. In an abstracted presence of mind, I reached my hand around her then, running it over her stiff little wings and soft side-coat to underneath, and then between her legs, feeling for the little button I’d rubbed only moments before.

She tensed up the second I touched it. That’s when I came, as I felt her pussy clench and spasm around my dick.

Just like Scootaloo wanted, I came inside her pussy.

The most accurate way I can describe it is to say I pumped her full of cum. That sounds like an exaggeration, but it felt entirely fitting—everytime I felt a shudder in my balls, I pulled her back onto my dick, pressing the head of my cock into her insides, spraying what felt like a year’s worth of savings of baby-batter into her tight, minutes-ago-virgin pussy. And she shuddered and shook around me the whole time, slurring words and noises together as my hand played with her clit. As her wings flapped stiffly against her back. As I pulled her towards me with a grunt, emptying shot after shot of jizz into her slit, until I could feel it leak out around my shaft, out of her pussy, dripping onto the clubouse floor.

As the last spurt left my dick, I let go, and Scootaloo fell forward, leaning against the wall for support. I pulled back, feeling a twitch go through me as an obscene ‘slosh’ of my dick stirring up the cum inside her reached my ears.

Fucking fuck.

“Was... was that... as good as you... hoped it would be?” I asked. It was a struggle to talk for breathing, but I couldn’t just lie there and recover without asking.

Scootaloo didn’t respond right away. I could hear her breathing too, so laboured, not from any real effort, but simply from the body-shaking enormity of her orgasm. From the feeling of being slammed with my dick until I filled her up with jizz. Fuck.

“Yesss....” she finally managed, still leaning against the wall. Dripping cum from between her legs onto the wood underneath.

The two of us took the next few minutes to collect ourselves. Panting like exhausted animals, which we were, more or less. Until finally, as my lungs told me they were done, I stood up with shaky legs, and Scootaloo did the same after a few seconds more.

“That was... holy jeez...” Scootaloo said, again unequipped with proper profanity to emphasize our fuck-session.

“No kidding,” I said. “You’re a natural.”

In spite of all that had just happened, Scootaloo blushed, and swatted at me with a hoof. I could see a trickle of jizz drip out of her as she jostled with her movement.

“Hey,” she said. “I just... don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” I said, turning towards her with a smile. “I’m not kidding either. You were great at that. Best fuck I’ve ever had.”

Scootaloo blushed even brighter, but a smile crept onto her face just the same.

“You mean it?”

I nodded.

“No question.”

I could feel the steel in her eyes soften. The determination to be the best, even among her friends, had been sated, and both of us seemed happy about it.

“Does that mean we can do it again sometime?”

I blinked. Surely, I couldn’t need convincing there was a favourable Equestrian God by that point—but just as though he wanted to remind me, here was this adorable foal asking if she could get pumped full of cum sometime again.

“Sure,” I said. No more pretending. Honesty was the best policy. “As long as you’re okay with it.”

Scootaloo jumped on me, hugging my leg until I bent down to pick her up, holding her close to my chest for a real embraced. She squirmed against my arms and nuzzled her head into my chest, which I returned with a rub of my head against hers.

“Of course I am,” she said. I hadn’t expected her to get this sentimental, but I wasn’t complaining. As I pulled her away from my chest, I gave her a peck on the forehead, which she answered with a soft smile.

“Right now though, it’s super late... we should get you home before your parents start to ask questions.”

Scootaloo bristled at the mention of the ‘p’ word immediately, and I caught myself only seconds after I’d said it.

“Oh, right, shit, sorry. They’re out of town, aren’t they?”

Scootaloo glanced around nervously, like she was afraid someone might be lurking in an invisble corner intent on overhearing. As if the fuck-fest they’d just seen wouldn’t be enough incriminating evidence to take off with.

“Can you keep a secret?” Scootaloo asked, leaning towards me conspiratorially. I mimicked her look around, and leaned in closer.

“I think by this point asking me that is kind of silly, but sure. Go for it.”

Scootaloo welled up her face, and for the first time since I thought I saw a sparkle in her eyes when I found her with her picture, I thought I saw tears.

“I, uh... I don’t really have... any parents.” She finished with a turn of her head to the side. No sniff, but I could see the trickle of sadness hovering in the corner of her eye like it wanted to escape.

I leaned down and put my arm over her back, feeling the still-there dampness of sweat and my handprint on her coat.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Do you... at least someone you’re staying with?”

“Sort of,” she said. “I mean... I have some family in town, but they kind of... sometimes I just stay wherever, you know?” She sniffed then, but still didn’t cry. Just as well, since I wasn’t sure how to console a crying filly. Not that I wouldn’t have done my best.

“Do you have somewhere to stay right now?”

“Sort of,” she said again. Nothing afterwards. She didn’t look at me.

“Do you... want to stay with me?”

She turned to me, and her eyes lit up like there was a fire behind them.

“Do you think I could?”

I stood up and stretched, hearing a crack in my back as I reached up to the relatively small ceiling of the clubhouse and felt my fingers brush the roof.

“I’m not sure, but we can definitely give it a shot. I’ve got a place Twilight set up for me at the edge of town that feels way too big for just one person.”

“I’d love to stay with you! I mean...” Scootaloo tempered her enthusiasm immediately with an attempt at aloofness, that was so transparent as to be invisible. “I mean if you’re okay with that. If you don’t mind.”

I grabbed her and hoisted her up before she could respond, which got a wide-eyed shock and sudden gasp out of her as I picked her up from the floor and held her under one arm.

“I’d love to have you. Let’s go see if we can’t get some sleep, and sort out the details in the morning.”

Scootaloo smiled wider than I’d ever seen her smile before. The smile stayed as I picked up my toolbelt and jeans, even as I set her down to get dressed, and as she followed me out of the clubhouse, shutting the door behind both of us as we wandered off into the evening to my place not too far away.

I wasn’t sure what was about to happen. If I was really going to have a foal spend the night with me after fucking her silly for the first time—if what I felt for Scootaloo was just a translation of my lust for her, or if it was already turning into something more—if she could spend the rest of my time in Equestria by my side, or what the future would hold for us if we stuck in each others lives. None of that was certain.

Over time, all of it’s come closer to being figured out. But as for the answers to all of those uncertainties, they’ll have to wait until another chapter. Because for now, this is

THE END.

Unf

A lot can change in a few months.

The kitchen smells like a proper meal—or at least, the beginnings of one. The hiss of steam over the stovetop says that something is cooking, and the aroma of freshly chopped vegetables and an unidentifiable sauce gives in the indication that in some form or another, parts are coming together to make dinner.

I hold the handle of the skillet and give it a few half-hearted flips. Culinary expertise is something of which I am not possessed, so an imitation of a real chef’s procedure when stir-frying vegetables is the best I can hope for.

The sound of hooves on the kitchen floor is telltale. I don’t have to look over my shoulder, but I do anyway.

Scootaloo is there. She’s low to the ground, as necessitated by her height. She’s a lot shorter than I am.

Without speaking, she walks to me and nudges me in the leg. She rubs her nose up and down my jeans like a cat, nuzzling with her chin and the side of her face.

I give the vegetables another flip.

Scootaloo makes a noise halfway between a pout and a mewl.

“Scootaloo,” I say. “We can’t. I’m making dinner.” Without any direction on my part, my hand moves to turn down the heat on the vegetables, like I’m defeating my own protest only an instant after it’s left my lips. Like I know what’s going to happen.

“Aw, you’re no fun. Can’t we have dinner later?”

I look at the clock on the wall. It’s already into the early evening. I didn’t mean to put off cooking anything that long, but even in a world with no distractions, I’ve never been the best at staying on task. Here, I’m practically guaranteed a forgiveness for my procrastination.

“It already is ‘later’,” I say. I adjust the heat on the saucepan to a similar simmer to the stir-fry. Low enough that, even ignored for a few minutes, nothing is likely to burn. Like I’m saying no while saying yes.

Scootaloo nudges my leg, then pulls away. I stare at the vegetables like they might convince me to finish cooking them. LIke I should ignore the filly rubbing against my leg, begging me without even speaking.

Like I shouldn’t think about the rock hardness of my erection pressing up against the oven-handle through my apron.

Scootaloo’s face against my leg vanishes, but it’s quickly replaced. Something else rubbing there. Softer.

I turn my head to see Scootaloo grinding her rump against my jeans. She’s still like a cute little kitty, but now she’s in heat, casting an eyes-half-open glance over her shoulder in her best imitation of a sultry stare, more accurately translated as ‘fuck me’. I feel a twitch under my jeans telling me to take them off.

I clear my throat.

“Scootaloo...”

“Please?” she asks. She grinds herself back with more insistence, letting the softness of her butt squish into my leg. The second I feel it, I don’t want to believe it, but I know that I have to. There’s no convincing me otherwise: she’s wet.

“Scoots...” I say, trying to find a protest in her name, when I know the only thing it’s going to make me do is beg to scream it out while I’m inside her.

“Please!” she says again. She turns around, giving me a wag of her tail and a perfect view of her dripping underage slit before her face is back on my knee. She stares up at me with wide, puppy-dog eyes, and sticks her bottom lip out. With her eyes locked to mine, she raises a hoof and paws at my zipper, leaving it sealed only out of obligation to her lack of something to open it with.

“I need it,” she says. “I need it at least one more time. One more time before dinner, please?”

I don’t say anything. I scan around the room in search of a final excuse. The vegetables won’t burn. The sauce will be fine. I don’t even know why I’m saying no. Because it’s—

Scootaloo’s mouth is on my jeans. She nibbles and sucks on my crotch, trying to pull my dick between her lips, tonguing at what she must know is the head of my cock, already dripping with pre as much as she’s dripping with filly-juice.

“You don’t even have to fuck me,” she says, pulling her mouth away. Her tone becomes pleading, bargaining. “I mean, you can just let me do all the work. Lemme suck you off, I don’t even care. I just need it, I need you so bad...”

I’m not about to give up on the idea of rutting her for a second, when I know it’s what she really wants. But maybe when she asks like that, it’s easier to pretend to give in.

“Well...”

“Can you take ‘em off? Please? I promise I’ll make you cum real quick, you can shoot it in my mouth, fuck me, whatever. Just hurry up.”

From pleading to insistence. Like she’s felt my resolve break.

I guess the least I can do is make it the only casualty of a dinner left to sit.

I surprise myself with my own speed. My hands are on my jeans, belt-buckle and zippers falling away before I have time to take a breath. Before Scootaloo has time to speak, her eyes widen in that way they do when she gets really, really excited. I can practically hear her winking, asking me inside in the most forward way she knows how. It’s kind of stupid that she needs to ask at all now, but there’s still a part of me that wants to pretend. That can say that once a day, twice a day, even three times is enough guilt to ignore, but that anymore than that, she has to make me pretend to give in to.

And this is time number five, counting the way she was bouncing on me as I woke up...

Scootaloo tugs my cock out of my boxers without even waiting for me to pull them down myself. I shouldn’t have expected anything less—in the time it takes for my head to spring free from the undone button in the front, Scootaloo starts to suck. Not earnestly—she really did try to suck the first few times, in such an adorable naivette that I almost didn’t want to correct her, no matter how much better her eventual understanding and technique got to be. If she’d known what the word was beforehand, I imagine she might have just puckered up and blown a cool stream of air onto my head. Amusing enough, because knowing her, I probably could have cum like that. Just the thought of splattering her cute little face with cum is enough to bring me almost close enough to do exactly that.

“Mmm!” Scootaloo moans with a frenzied excitement as she takes my head into her mouth. She’s nothing if not enthusiastic—even though her mouth is as small as the rest of her, she fits a third down on her first go, like a champ. Just like I like, she starts to drool too, slobbering obscenely and getting drips of spit on my boxers from the residual. Pre-cum is unnecessary; after a few second, my cock is as well lubed as I imagine she is, and she starts to go to town, bobbing her head up and down, humming and moaning with her eyes closed as she swallows as much of my cock as she can manage. It’s not a lot, but the tightness of her mouth and the tiny, excited flutter of her wings as she blows me is always enough to get me close.

Even when she told me this would be enough, I know it’s not. I could blow my load down her throat in no more than a minute, but that wouldn’t make either of us as happy as the alternative.

I place my hand on the back of her head for a few seconds while she bobs. I can’t tell if it’s intentional, but she starts making a miniature version of that gluk gluk gluk sound that always comes along with overly enthusiastic blowjobs—it would sound fake, or trashy coming from anyone else, like a pornstar legitimately choking on dick—but when she does it, it’s the hottest thing in the world, and it has the polarizing effect of making me want to fuck her face and fuck her somewhere else all at the same time.

“Stop, stop for a sec.” I rub along the back of her neck, running my fingers through her mane. She follows direction after a few seconds, pulling back until just the head of my cock is in her mouth. She lets it rest inside, pushing one cheek out, pressed up against the side of her mouth. She looks up at me with wide eyes, and a drop of drool drips from her mouth to the kitchen floor.

“Mmmhm?” she says. Adorable enough to make me consciously clench to avoid busting a nut in her mouth right that second.

“Can you get up to the table without help?” I ask her. Her eyes sparkle, and she ponders for a few seconds before seemingly remembering to remove my cock from her mouth. She glances to the table, then back to me, looking up at me past the ridiculous hardness of my swinging erection.

“I think so,” she says. “Are you gonna fuck me on the kitchen table?”

“Do you want me to?”

She nods her head so rapidly, I wonder if it might fall off.

“Yes. Celestia, yes, I want you to so bad. You’ve gotta spread me out and rail me so hard the table shakes, okay?”

I can’t imagine a world where I would have caught her talking like this a month ago.

Time and experience can change a lot of things.

I nod. She nods back, her eyes brimming with the eager fire I see in her these days more often than not. She turns to the table and hops, with some minor difficulty, on top of a nearby chair. Her wings flutter to give her just a little extra push, and again when she hops a second time, to the dining room table. A tablecloth is laid out over the whole thing; a purple and orange checkered pattern. I couldn’t pick anything else once I’d seen it.

Scootaloo turns to me and flips onto her back a second after. She scoots to the edge of the table and spreads her hind legs, holding herself just at the edge of the wood.

I can already see her starting to leak onto the tablecloth. Her tiny little pussy winks at me, so damp I could drink from it in a desert.

“Hurry up,” she says. “I need your cock in me so bad right now.”

I have enough time to take my pants and boxers all the way off before the magnet pull of her dripping hole drags me forward. My hands grab her hind hooves as I position myself.  My cockhead presses against her slit naturally, sliding up and down her well-wetted, slippery lips, rubbing over her swollen little clit, making her thrash and moan in her high-pitched voice before I’m even inside.

“Please,” she says, mixing the word into a moan. “In, I need you in, fill me up with your dick, please...”

She moves her foreleg to press my head down, but I wave her away. One or two more teases of her clit, enough to make her roll her head back, and I’m ready to give her what she wants. What we both know I want to. I line myself up and press forward, and my cockhead pops inside her. She clenches immediately, and I’m not sure I can go inside further.

“Fuck,” she says, curling the last bit of sound into a low whimper. I mouth the same word under my breath, but don’t say it. “Celestia, you feel so good, more, please please please, gimme more...”

“You’re too tight,” I say. I’ve called her tight before—she know it’s a word that suits her—but not like this. This is too much for me to get inside. I push, but I don’t feel any give.

“I’m sorry,” she says. She lets her tongue hang out, almost panting, and wiggles her butt against the table, pressing my head against her walls on either side. “I can’t help it. Fuck, you feel so good.” She wiggles again, and I groan at the feeling of her pussy gripping my head like she’s trying to make me cum with a vice-tight handjob.

“Can’t you try just a little further?” She looks up at me with imploring eyes, asking me to do the impossible.

“Can you try to relax a little bit? Even if I could manage to get inside, I’m gonna cum in like five seconds if you stay this tight.”

Scootaloo shivers, and I bite my lip to keep from grunting when I’m only an inch inside her.

“Fuck,” she says. “That is so hot. Do you think you could cum just like this? Like, not even inside, but like, just a little bit? If you wanted to?”

“Scootaloo,” I say. I open my mouth to add a further explanation, but she clenches around me, tightening even more, squeezing my cock, trying to milk out my restraint when we’ve only just started. “Fuck...”

“Do it like this,” she says. “LIke this, cum in me like this, it’d be so hot, just with the tip inside...”

“No,” I say. I make to pull myself back, but my body won’t let me. “Don’t you wanna—”

“I can. I mean, I’m gonna. Lemme... here, lemme, and then you, you’ve gotta, you’ve gotta shoot in me like this”—she moves one of her front hooves down, to the top of her slit, and starts to rub it back and forth. Instantly, her motion becomes delirious, desperate and fixated on this thing she’s decided she wants. Even though I’m not sure it’s possible, she feels even tighter, locking me inside, only giving enough to let me wiggle a half-inch in either direction.

“Ohhh, fuck, c’mon, shoot in me, cum in me, gimme your cum like this oh Celestia please cum in me...”

If I was outside her it would be a struggle not to get off from hearing her talk like that. Inside, I don’t stand a chance.

A guttural mix between a moan and a grunt escapes my lips, and I cum, just like she’s asking. I cum so fucking hard, and her pussy sucks it in, quivering as she cums too, leaking and dripping her girljizz everywhere, her tiny little slut-hole sucking in every bit of my cum and more.

But she’s too tight. Too tight to get it all in, so it start to leak, because there’s so much of it. Even if it was all the way in, I think some would start to leak, but now it squirts out, oozing out of her slit, dripping down between her butt-cheeks, onto the tablecloth, some of it spurting onto her hoof which she doesn’t stop moving. She keeps frigging herself, squealing and moaning like she’s on another planet. Her eyes don’t leave the sight of my orgasm for a second—I can feel her stare on me as she watches my balls empty, as she watches me squirt what feels like a gallon of semen into her tight, fertile, underage cunt. And she drinks in every second of it, moaning like it’s the hottest thing imaginable, which it probably is.

She comes down with a fluttering of her wings, finally relaxing her cunt enough to let me pull out.

“Ohhhh, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck, that was so good, soooo good, Celestia, fuck...”

I have to lean on the table to keep from collapsing. My legs feel unsteady. A long strand of cum hangs from the tip of my cock, still hard. It drips onto the kitchen floor and lands with a noticeable ‘plap’.

“Ohh,” she says again. Still leaking cum onto the table, she eyes my cock like it’s a long-awaited dessert after a gourmet meal. She sits up, and a spurt of jizz sloshes out of her pussy, dripping downward like someone’s emptied a hose of cum into her snatch. She moans softly as the sticky white goo leaks out of her and onto the table, but doesn’t let it draw her focus away from my dick.

“You’re still hard,” she says.

“Give it a minute.”

She shakes her head.

“I gotta taste you.”

Before I can pull away, she lunges forward, and has her mouth on my cock again with a hunger that’s almost frightening. She slurps as she wraps her lips around my head, tracing her tongue over the tip still covered in the remnants of the earth-shattering emptying into her pussy. She laps at the leftover jizz, sucking it up with a desperate moaning, the vibrations in her lips tingling along my shaft as she leans over the edge of the table to get a full mouthful of my dick.

“Mmm, mmmm...” Even after her orgasm, even after being pumped full of cum, she still needs more. She still wants me to fill her up again, enough that I can feel it in her moaning. Even though she only asked for a taste, I can tell she wants another. She wants me to blow a load into her throat so she can frig herself against the table, rubbing against the cloth and hard wood, hammering away at her tiny clit with a hoof as she drinks another pint of jizz more than the bit that’s already inside her, until she can feel the warm trickle of semen sliding down her throat and filling up her stomach. I know all this because it’s what she always wants; there’s no need for asking anymore.

Even though I’m sure the time since my last orgasm is minutes, I can feel a tingle brewing again. I tap her on the shoulder, and she looks up from halfway down my dick, slobbering all over the shaft and grinding her leaking pussy onto the table.

“Close,” I say.

She pauses for a moment. Her eyes widen.

“Mmm,” she says with an excited eagerness. She pulls her mouth off after a second, and rubs a hoof up the length of my cock. She smiles at me.

“Yes,” she says. “I wanna taste it, I want you to do another big one for me. You can do that, right?” As she speaks, her free hoof moves between her hind-legs, and she moans to punctuate her sentence, closing her eyes for a second as her hoof finds her clit amidst the jizz pooling out of her pussy and her own juices besides.

I bite my lower lip to keep relatively quiet, and nod.

“Yes,” I say, halfway grunting the word out.

She opens her eyes. and licks her lips.

“Please, right down my throat, don’t hold back, okay? Gimme as much as you can, I wanna get sick on your jizz, make my whole tummy fully of your cum...”

The sweet little filly that I remember from months ago. Before she knew what to think about my nakedness. Before she knew what it meant to be touched there. Begging for me to cum so much inside her that she wants to throw up.

I start cumming before her mouth is even back on my cock. Her eyes widen, and she dives back in after a moment of shock. The first spurt that caught her off-guard sprays across her face, leaving a white trail along her nose and cheek, but the second she catches, moaning and touching herself as I fire off a second strand down her throat. I imagine the path my cum is taking, winding down her esophagus and filling her stomach up the way she asked. I imagine firing off as much as I did before, bloating her belly, making her a sore, wriggling, cum-filled mess, leaking from one hole at each end, murmuring and still touching herself in the throes of her pained, post-coital-cum-swallowing bliss.

Despite her determination, I can hear her start to choke as the third and fourth shots fire into her mouth. A bit dribbles out of the side and down her chin. Though I’m sure she’d like to catch it, her moaning keeps her tongue from moving coherently. She’s cumming again too. I can tell by the way her eyes close, and her face flushes, and her wings flap and flutter and go stiff, her whole body goes stiff. I can tell by the frantic squish squish squish of her hoof between her legs, rubbing her clit like she’s starting a fire, keeping herself in the perpetual delirious haze of getting off while tasting load after load of my cum. She gags for a second, but keeps swallowing. I watch her throat move as she guzzles down the fifth and sixths shots, the latter dribbling out onto her tongue, which I feel snake over my head as she swallows its load.

I’m the one who has to pull back, because she’d keep sucking like that, over and over again, if I didn’t stop her.

I lean backwards against the oven, still somehow possessed of the presence of mind to keep myself away from the hot burners. Scootaloo pants as my cock pops free of her mouth, and she stays her hoof, laying it over the side of the table and sprawling out, like she’s exhausted from a marathon, instead of just being railed in both ends.

A bit of the cum she didn’t catch drips from her mouth onto the floor. She licks her lips absentmindedly, and wiggles her butt, leaking more of my jizz onto the table.

I let out a long breath, and then take one in.

“Are you ready for dinner now?” I ask.

She raises her head slowly and nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “Go ahead.”

The vegetables aren’t even close to overdone when I turn back to them. Sauce too. I adjust the heat on both back to normal, and the sound of dinner coalescing returns.

I don’t bother asking her to clear the table. Even if I manage to get the food on the table, she’ll be touching herself the whole way through the meal. I know she’d rather lick my cum off the cloth than eat a proper dinner.

So I’ll have to pretend for long enough that I’m more interested in eating vegetables than her, until she breaks me down again, and we spend another evening eating cold leftovers, sweating and exhausted when we finally drag ourselves up to bed.

Hmm

She looks so small when she sleeps.

The bed is more than big enough for both of us. I could take up the whole thing by myself, if I really stretched, but even then she’d have a perfect fit right above my shoulder, or next to my side, or nestled in the crook of my arm like a tiny teddy-bear ready for sleep.

Her mane is so soft.

I always find it under my nose when I wake up. When I open my eyes in the middle of the night, which is often, I can see traces of purple before anything else, and I always breathe deep through my nose, taking in the scent of her hair and letting it remind me that I’m awake. There’s nothing like that in sleep, even when I’m dreaming of her.

So soft.

There’s a feeling that goes through me when I see her there, the first thing, when I open my eyes and she’s there, snuggled up against me, small and sleeping and innocent. A warm flush that starts in my chest and moves everywhere. My fingertips tingle like they’ve been asleep longer than the rest of me, and my whole body begins a dull ache, something I’m not really sure how to describe. Sometimes it passes by itself. Sometimes I forget about it by closing my eyes and nuzzling my nose into her mane, and breathing. She smells like warm air in wintertime.

Sometimes I get up, because having her there is too much.

The sun is too scared to come out at night. Luna says she keeps it away on purpose, but I think it goes because we’re too afraid to have it there all the time. When the moon comes out, we can forget everything we know during the day, and sleep away the whispers in our minds, of sunlight.

The moon on snow. It shines like a sheet of silver, refracting light towards the window.

I could take her with me into the snow. Wake her up and throw her into something warm, drag her outside with no questions asked, and the two of us could make snow angels. She could giggle and toss snowballs at me, and I’d hide behind a tree like it was proper cover, and volley one back at her, and bring myself with it, and tackle her into the cold underfoot and fill up my clothes with her giggling. And of course, our mouths would meet, and we’d come back inside because we’d be too hot to stay around the snow anymore, because we might melt it.

I wonder if she misses the snow.

The little drops that fall from the sky are like lives. If we don’t watch for them, they pass by without ever being seen; even when we look, under the flicker of a porchlight or a beam of moon-borne brightness piercing through a crack in a canopy of trees, we only see them for an instant. They’re gone with the flow of a million more in mere moments, and we have to wonder if the split-second glimpse we saw was worthwhile.

I worry if I hold her too close sometimes, that the heat between us might make her melt away, like a snowdrop. Both so small.

Do any of us want the snow? We accept it like it’s a part of life, but it comes through obligation. It can be fought, like any facet of our existence. Some people resign themselves to acquiescence, while other people struggle, lashing out at the sky like its machinations are intent on our displeasure. Children love the snow. It’s cliche, but it’s true.

I imagine her in a cute little purple snowsuit, laughing with her friends and making snowponies with them, rocks for eyes, and maybe dead leaves pried up from the ground to make wings. She doesn’t have to think about the world when its ashes are falling down around her, or maybe the sparkles of dreams for the next day dancing like tiny angels cascading towards earth. Maybe we can pick up pieces of the sky and put them together to make up more of the world. Maybe those are our memories. Maybe they’re just innocence in the form of ice-cold inconvenience.

I don’t want to take that away from her.

When we wake up to snowy mornings, she might say it’s too cold. She might slide closer to me, even though she’s always right up against my chest, and our bodies would resonate together like two stars, catalyzing the embers of a galaxy between us. She nuzzles her face into me some mornings, and sometimes it stays at that. More often, she wiggles and giggles and gives herself to me with an insistent wheedling. She pokes and points out my preparedness. I can’t refute it. It’s not something I want to ignore.

But we stay inside, more often than not. Is that right?

She’s so small.

I didn’t ask her into my bed. The request was hers, and it went from a simple asking at first to a way of life. Like all things with her, I had my inclinations, but I never expected this. I never expected that first day, or that first meeting, or that first glow-orange and purple mane flickering of her sneer at me until I could hold her with my hands and feel her around me and drink her voice in its highest register like a draught of ‘me too’. I never thought I’d see her smile and extend her tongue, and wonder what I’d done to dispel naivety and disdain for please, can I sleep in your bed.

I don’t have anyone else.

Is she saying it, or am I?

How far apart are we?

She’s always right there, next to me. So small, like she might vanish if I didn’t remind myself she’s there in the middle of night. A scent like soap-bubbles and skateboard wax. Sometimes like sweat and cinnamon sugar. Persimmon. Pomegranate hair and tiny feather-duster flickers under my fingers. A coin falling on a table. Morning glass of orange juice struck with a spoon. Purple tape across a finish line. She won’t go to bed without a ribbon, even if her prize is sleeping next to me. Or is it mine?

I wonder what she dreams about.

Most of the time, I can’t keep my hands from her. Running my fingertips along her body is like letting myself ebb away into an untouchable softness.

The crook of her body when she tucks into herself. Resting my hand, here, on her stomach, side. When I run my hand along her body, a mobius strip to losing everything in want. She makes little noises and curls into my palm sometimes, squeaking like she’s awake—not the noises she makes when she’s really letting me touch her, but softer ones, like she’s dreaming of something else. Sometimes her legs kick a little bit, like a puppy, and I move my hand from her side from her back to her head, and scratch behind her ear, and she coos and press back into my finger.

Sometimes I move my fingers lower. Along her face, tracing underneath her eye, shielding against tears that I hope never have reason to be there. Her chin, her neck, orange fur, feeling her softer there than almost anywhere else, somewhere I could kiss if she’d let me get close enough, that I might kiss when lying next to her. The softness of her fur on my lips. Touching it with my fingers. Lower.

Down her chest and stomach, pulling at the tiny tufts of fur there, watching her wriggle under the blanket, shifting them away so I can see her. Always wanting to see her. Just rest and let me do the work. She’s too small for anything else.

Lower.

That’s where she’s softest. In a mix between satisfaction and guilt, her legs always part to let my hand past. Below the invisible line of her innocence, not even touching before her mouth moves and she makes a mewling sound, asking me for more. Even when she’s sleeping.

I’ll let my hand rest there for a bit, touching the air more than her. She might fall deeper into sleep sometimes, and other times begin to move, asking for more without words. Asking for more with a soft little whimpering under her breath. With clenching her eyes shut tighter and turning from side to side until she’s shifted down the bed, pressing herself into me. Until that first touch, when she settles, and the noises become breathing, soft again, but filled from minute to minute with sharper sounds, hiss, breathing louder there when I press down, when I run my hand over, a loud murmur through her closed lips, parting them and wriggling onto her back to expose herself completely. I have to lie next to her then.

No matter the temptation, never more than my hand. I don’t sleep in any clothing, and I can find no backwards sanctimony of faulty logic that tells me a hand is fine when something else isn’t. But I don’t do more. I lie next to her, letting her rub against me of her own accord. Feeling something stiff at her back, or her side, depending on her position. Letting her coat tingle over my hardness, grinding into me when the touching isn’t enough, when she’s awake in her dreams and her mouth goes from barely open to wide, whispering a silent ‘inside’. But I can’t. Not while she’s asleep.

I massage her wings with my other hand. Feel the give of her muscles and feathers under my fingertips while my others become soaked. More murmuring then. Sometimes almost a word. It’s hard to stay there, but it’s the only time I get to watch her like that. Not delirious with things she shouldn’t know to say. Not panting, lapsing into laconic lament for more, closing her eyes and being the tiny part of my life that’s the best wrong I’ve ever done right. She simply is when she’s asleep—maybe an angel, or a beauty at rest that only wants me to help coax it into peaceful bliss. I’ve never asked her if she wakes up, if she remembers. I don’t need to.

Her neck. I can’t help it. Soft, so soft, softer than cloud-thread on my lips. Kiss. She doesn’t wake, but she wiggles against my caress. Fingers still moving. Between her lips, not inside when she’s sleeping, never inside. Between, wet, for some reason wetter than she ever gets otherwise. I could leave her like that and breathe her in from the sheets for months, but that wouldn’t be the same. I clean them every night, and every other night find my hand between her legs, coaxing new noises from her, soiling the sheets with her dreams again. With my dreams too.

Once or twice it’s been enough. With her in the strongest throes of her imagination to accompany my touch, rubbing in that way she likes, sliding a finger back and forth, mewling to moaning to full on panting, though she never opens her eyes. Like that, one time with her on her side, and pressing into me just the right way, between her legs too, the tightness of her cheeks that I still haven’t broached, like a cloying cloth coaxing me further. Even before she had stopped I was done, but my hand kept moving even after the slickness of her sweat was joined by my shame, sprayed all over her back. If she was awake, she would have dived on me, her mouth hungry for mine, wanting to kiss me, clean me, ask me for more like that, and never to stop my hand. But she was sleeping, and finished with my help, by herself, and then slept. And I slept. And that was one time, joined by another. I wasn’t sure how to feel about them then. Unlike the things we share when she’s awake, I never sought it out again. If it happens, it happens. It’s not about me, when she’s asleep.

I can tell she’s close when her wings begin to stiffen. She flaps them like she’s practicing, gearing up to fly away—away from the ground, from life, from obligation; from her own impulse and motivation; from me. I would never hold her back—but she likes it when I rub her there. When her wings become sore from overexertion, thrusting out from her back like she’s frozen. She likes my fingers there, and elsewhere, and the harder I feel her push into me the harder I push back, until her whole body freezes, and my fingers feel a twitch on both sides, and she shudders into the bed, and sighs.

Most of the time, I’ll steal a real kiss. Even though she’s sleeping, it’s the one thing more I allow myself to have. Her lips. She still tastes like summer in winter. Like a laugh I can hear bubbling when she’s awake, kept there even when she isn’t there to share it. She kisses back, so gently that I might miss it if all my attention, my everything wasn’t focused on her. Her tongue moves to the beginnings of a sentence in her slumber, but she doesn’t speak. She just lets her lips move to mine ever so slightly, and then sleep comes properly, a sigh, so long, and I feel like I’ve put her at rest more than I ever will while she’s awake.

When I hold her against me, my arm over her side, she feels so small. So small it’s a wonder she doesn’t slip away into the ether when unconsciousness takes over. So small I might wake up the next day and be unable to find her, because she’s vanished into the holes in circumstance that aligned to let her be here in the first place.

A kiss on the back of her neck says I love her. The smell of her hair makes her mine, even if it’s only in memory that might be real.

Scootaloo sleeps so peacefully, it’s a wonder there’s any reason for her to wake up.

As long as she lets me, I’ll be that reason.

So small.

(Addendum/Declarativus) The ScootaSchema