Fluttershy watched from the window, longer than she had intended to. She chastised herself, but did not stop. She half stood and half knelt, her neck craning upwards from the couch, the rest of her trying to hide from sight. She knew that were Big Mac to look this way the brightness of her colours, particulary her eyes, would give her away entirely. Moaning and squeaking to herself, she pulled the lacy fabric of the curtains together, then set her eye to the slit of light that remained.
There. She was a little better-hidden now, but was the curtain too obvious, did it hide her anxiety, or proclaim it? It mattered less and less as her unwavering gaze traced Big Mac’s steady movements. Haul. Pour. Spread. Repeat. The crunching of gravel sounded more like flowing sand at this distance, muffled as it was by wall and window. The sweat on his sides she could see clearly. The stallion dropped his head, kricked his neck side to side and stretched the kinks from his back. The potholes he had come to fill would not fill themselves. He pressed himself back into the pattern, his only thought to do this job and do it well.
Muscles and sweat vyed for Fluttershy’s attention. A sudden wave of guilt washed over her. It was a labour she was not suited for, he’d said as much to her himself this morning, but he worked and she did nothing but stand and gawk.
She had not been idle. A home full of animals did not remain a desireable home long without constant upkeep. Fluttershy had busied herself all morning, cleaning and feeding and settling the daily little squabbles between her friends in a flurry of activity, one she had only recognized in herself through their interested and baffled stares. The floors she had swept and then mopped. The feeding bowls of yesterday had been washed, rinsed, dried and set anew in their familiar places. The couch and decor she had dusted, the laundry of bedsheets, pillowcases and quilts she had variously brought in and folded away or washed and set out to dry, as the state of their freshness called for.
She had fed herself, and sighed and fretted then chastisted herself and offered to feed Big Macintosh as well, all but sneaking out onto the walkway of her own home to the working colt, but he had declined. He claimed he’d had a big breakfast at home. She had gone back inside, feeling vaguely offput by that. The corners that she had missed she dusted again, and resettled the little ornaments and treasures she kept to better catch the light. She had peeked out now and again, seeing him at his work. Innocently at first, but the more she did it the more surreptious she became, the more guilty and knotted her feeling. Even so, she kept doing it. This hole and that hole were filled, but there were more left wanting. The dusty gravel was worked down evenly in Big Mac’s strong hooves.
She really should have had somepony in sooner about this. Bouts of wet then dry weather, and the not infrequent carriages that brought grain and other animal essentials had scored the path with depressions and pockmarks. It had been a change over days and weeks, one Fluttershy had not looked to notice. Her own little wagon had cracked a wheel in one, and after that moment of fright, she had seen as if for the first time the state of the pathway. Fluttershy, more at home with mending sprains and scrapes than metal and wheels had been woestruck. Big Macintosh had repaired the wagon himself. He had brought it back to her, taken one long look at the potholes sunk in the ground around them, then simply announced he’d come around to fix those too. Fluttershy, grateful and surprised and more than a little mollified by the big stallion had acceded without much hesitation.
He turned to his big cart of gravel so that Fluttershy could see briefly the full scope of his shoulders. He was more hunched over than she recalled, a stance that only grew more pronounced when he pulled the load along to the next spot. Her hooves held the curtain tightly, not that it would fall open if she did not. She willed herself to draw them away, but as if by magnetism and itch they flew back, clutching the fabric, needing something to busy themsleves with. If this kept up all day, Fluttershy feared she would be dangerously snuggly with the animals come bedtime.
Big Mac’s sweat reminded her of thirst. The day was muggy, and not one she would have chosen for anypony to do strenuous labour on. Even the littlest animals languished and slept under the heavy air, finding shade and comfort in their usual hidey-holes. Angel Bunny had opted to stay outside in the cool of the warrens despite her wishes to keep him close. Guiltily she thanked his unruliness in this. Fluttershy tried to edge around the reason, she knew it but didn’t really want to. It had something to do with staring out the window, she admitted, and something about a fluffy white distraction that was no longer here to keep her from doing so.
If she was very bold, she could just about nearly imagine, alongside all that, going outside to call him in, an...an excuse to be out there, on the grit and the gravel, nearer to...
Big Macintosh must be thirsty, she realized, feeling a terribly selfish and thoughtless pony. Her own thirst still nagged at her, her whole body nagged at her. She felt coiled up like a spring, like water does just before it bubbles and boils in the kettle.
Fluttershy bade herself to walk away from the window, a feat she managed reluctantly. As she thought of going out there though, going out there to him, the energy simmering in her leant her urgency. It would be too hot a day for tea. She tried to imagine Big Macintosh drinking tea. It was not easy to do, but she could see what his unfamiliarity with the situation would look like, his genuine and gentle touch all but encompassing the tiny cup, his easygoing self-assurance that he was doing his best at something he was not built or bid often to do. She imagined that genuine and gentle touch encompassing her.
Iced tea, then.
Her hooves all but flew through the motions of making it in a pitcher, her mind elsewhere. Her wings flapped of their own accord, not an effort to fly but to simply move the air. It was a little harder than usual to fold them back into the sides of her body, and when she managed to do so all she could think on was how they ached to be open. It was more comfortable to leave them up, to any slight breeze they could make or find. It helped her feel daring.
“Okay,” she whispered aloud. “Iced tea.” Ice clanked against the glass, and she balanced one of the thin, tall glasses on an outstretched wing. The little spot of coldness it kissed her with was at once both startling and sensual. Fluttershy resolved not to spill it.
The sudden brush of paw on leg was so discreet that few ponies would have paid it any mind. Fluttershy, however, was well used to such things, and as she swung her head around, she found whiskers and a nose twitching hopefully up at her. Mr. Mouse held a thimble held up for her inspection with both paws. How could she say no to that?
With only a smile and a nod to condone it, the little creature struggled to drag its impromptu barrel onto her hoof. She lifted him slowly, murmuring assurances and pleasentries all the while. Gentle as she was, she was such a giant next to some of her friends, and so took care to be extra mindful as she handled him. She wondered if Big Mac lived the same way, if he would be as gentle with her, as assuring.
Realizing where her thoughts were headed, the pegasus blushed, her hair falling in place to hide her as suredly as the curtains had done so just moments ago. With as much concentration as she could muster, she helped pour a few chilled drops into the thimble, to Mr. Mouse and family’s great delight.
So Big Macintosh stirred longing in her. She thought on that as her eyes busied themselves with watching the mice dunk their heads into refreshment. She smiled for their antics. Fluttershy knew. She was not so self-deceiving, not quite so naive as to misread her own body, her own feelings. There was only so much obliviousness a mare could keep with her when she worked and lived so intimately with animals, who tended to be more comfortable and natural with this sort of thing. She half hoped and half feared that Big Macintosh felt the same innocent tinglings of desire. She half feared and half hoped that he didn’t. It was all a bit ambivalent, she accepted that. She huffed a little sigh of resignation, then pulled her mane free of her face. It hung flatter and heavier than usual in this weather, but she could at least keep it under control.
The light was not so glaring as Fluttershy had expected it to be, considering the heat. The weatherponies had done their best to spread a layer of the thin, parched clouds they had at their disposal to shade bits of the town here and there. Rainbow Dash had personally made sure that the cottage received a generous portion. Even so, they did not stop the light so much as merely dampen it. All the same, it was a gesture Fluttershy deeply appreciated.
Big Mac as well, likely. She wondered if he knew, if he had speculated at all on the squat little clouds, or if he was simply focused on doing the job before him too much to notice anything overhead. He did notice her silent approach, her wings wide and flat as platters.
He had dust on his hooves, the gritty gray dust of broken stone. It was on his face in smudges, in his mane too. Streaks of it ran up his legs and along the lengths of his body. Where it mingled with sweat it had crusted in a thin layer like cement. Tall and broad as he was, he looked to Fluttershy’s fancy like a statue come to life, the last vestiges of stillness and stone falling away in the flakes that cracked and fell as he moved. A pang of want snatched at her tongue for an instant, intensified by the verdant green eyes upon her. She remembered the chill weight on her wing. “Iced tea,” she announced, full of embarrassment and want. No words, just a nod, and Big Mac’s head dipped down to claim it. He grasped with his lips, the barest push of his weight on her sensitive feathers and then the weight was gone.
Fluttershy watched in earnest. As an earth pony he had no magic to lift it for him, nor a pair of wings to put to the task. As he knocked the drink back in a series of gulps, she wondered what it might mean to be so practiced with one’s mouth, with one’s lips and tongue. She tried not to shiver. Her wings stiffened imperceptibly.
For all of a second she tried to fight that. Her muscles twitched involuntarily at the thought, her wings springing up higher still. She turned her focus to keeping them relaxed, becoming a physical effort not to tense them again. It’s alright, she told herself. Alright if she hid this, and alright if she didn’t. It was alright to exhibit what she felt, she realized, and the relief and relaxation she’d struggled to maintain settled like soft dew on her shoulders. Let her wings do what they would, she shouldn’t have to hide that. Not at the doorstep of her own home. Least of all with the stallion she definitely maybe wanted.
Draining the last of the iced tea, Big Macintosh sighed a sweetly lemony breath, setting the glass down on his raised hoof. He murmured a thanks, soft and rumbling, a voice that moved as much through the earth as through the air. “You're welcome,” she heard herself say, felt herself smile shyly. She took it in her own, and set her stiffening wings to work. As she flitted back to her door, it suddenly seemed very silly to be fussing about little fantasies. “Oh, Fluttershy,” she whispered affectionately, shaking her head at her own folly. She would just have to find herself something to do, that was all there was to it.
Behind her, the crunch and spread of gravel resumed its litany.
The door shut behind her, Fluttershy took a deep breath, one that filled her chest and propped her head up higher on her shoulders. She sighed it away, sagging back down comfortably. She gave a flap of her wings. Still tense.
Her eye caught Mr. Mouse rapelling bravely up the counter side. Paw over paw he climbed, the string that was his rope also used to tie the thimble snugly to his back. Far below amidst the feet of table legs, his family watched in nervous awe.
“You only have to ask...if you want it that badly.” Setting the glass aside, Fluttershy extended her hoof to the little creature. His nose wrinkled and twitched with relief, but even moreso with pride. He’d been more than halfway up, only one drawer and the counterop itself remained. Mr Mouse shrugged out of the harness and streched his little paws out. “Maybe I should have given you something bigger...”
Fluttershy rummaged through the cupboards. It was a surprise to find that the most suitable piece was actually a little shot glass, tucked away in one corner out of sight. It wasn’t hers; Rainbow Dash and herself had been in one night, drinking something light and fizzy that made Fluttershy’s head swoon. The speedster had grinned a self-confident smile all the while, and somehow the glass had never stayed empty, no matter how many times Fluttershy drank it.
She had tucked herself that night, as she often did, into the corner of her soft little couch. Rainbow Dash had been sprawled back, wingtips and hooves poking out past the edges of the overstuffed chair she had claimed. “Bit like a cloud,” she mused approvingly. “Kinda different too, but not bad.” Fluttershy chimed something like a thanks for the sentiment. She knew Dash meant it as a compliment. Fluttershy had never been overly fond of cloud-made things herself, yes they were soft beyond compare, but there was always a feeling of being just a little too insubstantial, as if one could fall right through them. Fluttershy preferred the reassurance of something solid under her, holding her.
Dash went on about this and that, only the slightest tingle of a slur having crept into her voice, a certain expressiveness and loosey-goosiness of character that Fluttershy found fascinating. “Yeah, this one’s good. Real cushy.” said Dash approvingly, and suddenly there she was at the other end of Fluttershy’s own couch, running her hooves over it as she had done for the chair. Her wings were pert, her whole body was pert. The blue pegasus had beamed a look that caught Fluttershy doe-eyed. Hoof shaking noticeably, she started at sipping another of the sugary little shots, but then the whole of it was gone. She’d knocked it back in one. A smile Fluttershy had never seen on Dash’s face before rooted her to the spot. Her heart thrummed.
The racer’s eyes were bright, her voice gone husky and quiet. “Even better,” she said, and Fluttershy felt a hoof push gently into her shoulder. She could not break away from that eye contact, nor did she really want to.
Oil over water, Dash slid atop Fluttershy, so that the yellow mare was curled up beneath the blue one. Dash’s other hoof joined the first and so emboldened, it wandered about Fluttershy, tracing the curvature of where wing met shoulder.
The slightest increase in pressure forced a tiny moan out on Fluttershy’s next breath. “I knew you’d put on muscle,” Rainbow Dash said. The hoof edged its way under the folds of Fluttershy’s wing, pulling it open with a gentleness and patience not often seen. She stifled another gasp and did not resist the intimacy. Sensation meandered its way down the ridge of her wing, testing this and that spot, this and that feather. Fluttershy shivered at each touch, the little satisfied sounds she merited from Dash filling her with want and embarassment and confusion, all churning in on themselves.
“I...” she mumbled. The weight shifted, legs and thighs and belly above and behind her. Fluttershy heard her own tiny cry, adding the burning of embarrassment to the other warmths she felt.
“Let me see them together.” Dash said it with such calm, reasurring command that Fluttershy was all but eager to comply. Now her friend held both of her wings open, murmuring approval that had Fluttershy’s breath quickening and thoughts elated. The convulsive flap was entirely involuntary, born of excitement and nerves, but more than that it pulled Rainbow Dash forward, pulling the mare closer.
“Woah there,” the racer teased. Her hooves moved back along, to shoulder, to ribs and further still. They wrapped ever so slightly inwards around Fluttershy’s hips. “Now do it.”
She did, getting doubly rewarded by Dash’s murmured approval and the sensation of those hooves being pressed more firmly against her.
“Dash...” she whimpered, trying to force all her mixed and heated feelings into the one little word. The mare sighed, gave a firm squeeze that made Fluttershy gasp aloud and wriggle, then pulled away entirely.
Why had she stopped? Cheeks flushed with colour, brow touched with dew-like beads of sweat, wings springing up of their own volition, Fluttershy turned about, all bafflement and no words to express it. Part of her cringed inwardly, how hot and bothered she must seem! How hot and bothered she genuinely was! And to see it mirrored in Dash’s own countenance only heightened the sensation. It was getting to be more than a tingle, more than just a warmth and a restlessness, it was becoming a need to be fulfilled, something smoldering and hot that needed to be quenched.
“Come fly with me,” Dash said. Fluttershy gazed into those eyes, but there was only sincerity to be found in them. “Let’s go flying.”
“It’s dark out and...” she gestured the little glasses.
“I won’t take you high. Or far or fast. Just fly with me,” she said, an edge of pleading now in her voice.
Fluttershy hesitated. She could be nervous, and so very like herself, or she could trust Rainbow Dash. She made herself breathe, closed her eyes and thought. She didn’t want to decide based on the spirits she’d drunk...or the lust she felt. She opened them again, and found that the answer was staring her right in the face, literally. “Okay,” she whispered, and smiled.
Together, they flew.
In the present, where Fluttershy dealt with mice and iced tea, longings, Big Mac, and particularily longings for Big Mac, she paused and recalled that night with Dash. It had not gone quite as she’d yearned for, but it had been a wonderful experience in its own right, the pair of them tumbling and weaving the crisp night air about one another until she all but fell from the sky in delighted, delirious, drunken exhaustion. Fluttershy smiled, embarrassed but also somehow proud that Dash had kept to her inhibitions after she herself had let them fall. Would it have still been that way if it had been yellow hooves fondling blue hips instead?
Or what about red ones? Fluttershy’s cheeks flushed that same colour and she turned away. “Here you go,” she mumbled hastily, giving the family of mice the iced tea they desired. “Now be good, and be sure to share it,” she added out of habit.
Her focus was already gone, caught up in imaginings and fantasies, all the while wondering just how possible it might really be. Could something happen? Could she make something happen? Would it be wrong? Would she even dare?
Fluttershy turned about on the spot and marched herself to the familiar spot on the couch. She didn’t have to panic about anything, didn’t have to get nervous about things that were entirely hers to decide. Being assertive with herself felt good. Maybe not as good as a healthy panic attack, but good all the same. She put her chin down on the cushions and bid herself think clearly, free of both anxiety and of want.
Big Macintosh... he was a good pony. She didn’t have to be keen on him to know that, that only made it sweeter. He was quiet, and kept to himself and his chores mostly. And her walkway, for that matter. The walkway he was fixing for her, spending all the day out in the hot, heavy air.
Oh, how could she be such a selfish, thoughtless mare? She’d have to make it up to him. Somehow. Someway. She’d have to do something...something with her hooves mimicking Rainbow Dash’s own motions, alternatively soft and firm, tracing along his body...
Fluttershy paused. She looked down at herself. She lifted her hooves and closed her legs. “Oh my.” She wasn’t going to panic. Wasn’t going to run away and hide under her bed, or more specifically just hide under her blanket while muffling her gasps and moans with a pillow.
She peeked out the window. Where was Big Macintosh? Had he already left, was this all a horny filly’s folly? Her spirits sank, but no, his cart was still there. Where had he gone then?
The knocks on the door were slow, strong and rhythmic. Fluttershy went hot and cold, both at once. That’d be him. “Oh my,” she whispered. She hesitated, deliberated, argued with herself, then flung open the door before she could relent. “Hi,” she squeaked.
Big Macintosh filled the doorway like few ponies could. He was imposing without effort, almost majestic, if that were the word for it. He nodded and kept his face respectfully unexpressive. “I ran out of gravel.”
“You’re going?”
“Eeyup.” He never tried to step across the threshold, just nodded and said his piece, saying he could be back in the morning with more to finish the job.
“I want...thank you.”
“Kind of you to say. No need to go thanking me for a job half-done.” There was a sickening second of long silence between them. “Well, goodbye.”
“Wait,” Fluttershy mumbled, then marshelled herself. “Wait,” she said more forcefully. A keen thrill ran through her when he did just that. She realized she was staring, but she didn’t try to look away either. “Come inside.” When had she gotten so brazen?
His face looked to be asking that very same question, for he hesitated on her doorstep. She repeated herself and he obeyed. She tried not to let her nervous excitement show, tried to keep her breathing, her voice and motions calm and steady, but it was such a challange. His very prescence changed the texture of the air. She could smell it, taste it.
There was not much room for the hefty stallion, he made his way with slow, cautious steps to follow her in. He hunkered his head down to avoid the ceiling, hunched his shoulders in to avoid the walls and scanned the floor to avoid any would-be accidents underhoof. “It’s a very nice home.”
“Thank you,” she nearly sing-songed. Her wings flapped a couple of times out of sheer pent-up arousal, she hoped he simply mistook it for delight at the compliment. She didn’t care so much about such pretense as she had, though. She was asserting herself, her desires. That alone was heady stuff. “Let me at least get you cleaned up, before you go.” Fluttershy tried not to giggle at the daring of her half-lie. “Just here, into the bathroom...”
If she wasn’t exactly telling the truth, neither was she exactly lying. She did intend to clean the poor stallion up after all; grit and stone-dust clogged up his coat, especially so around his legs and stomach. Before she would have been amazed at how readily he did as she said, but here and now it seemed the most natural thing in the world that she could gently order him about. It was, after all, her home and she had insisted, nay asserted her right to show some hospitality and gratitude.
Even if it was just a little...untowards. Fluttershy flitted about like the delicate creatures whose image was imprinted upon her own flank, humming under her breath. Big Macintosh filled the space, and she had to fly over him or slink around him just to move. His eyes followed her, intrigued but not uncomfortable with being so close. The bath that she found very relaxing was comically undersized for the stallion, there would be no hope of fitting him in there.
No bother, she had intended to do this by hoof anyway. As good an excuse as any to run her hooves over his body. A shiver of anticipation coursed its way down Fluttershy’s spine. She ran the faucet, waited a moment until it was good and hot and set to work with a facecloth. “Just bear with me a moment,” she said. Sound and steam; the running water filled the air with the promise of sensuality.
She would work from top to bottom, she decided. Work before pleasure. She was not so reckless in her desire as to drag a dirty stallion about her house any more than she already had, and once he was clean she could entice him along into her bedroom...Fluttershy smirked and felt a tingle that was slow to fade, and left her wanting more. Big Macintosh shifted his weight, even shied away from her ministrations.
“Fluttershy, I appreciate the kindness, but you don’t have to-”
She stared him in the eye. “I want to.” She held his gaze a moment longer, and the suspicions were plain to see on his face. Fluttershy fought every impulse to cringe, to flee the awkardness. Her near-panic ended as abruptly as it had begun, dispelled in Big Mac’s softening expression.
“Well, alright then.”
Fluttershy nodded eagerly and set to it. Dry and hard as it was, the grit and gravel caked onto his coat was only a thin layer, and one that came away easily in the warm wetness. Fluttershy’s hoof traced along slabs of muscle, the archways where leg met torso and along his ribs. She would rinse her cloth in the sink and hurry back, eager to continue her meandering exploration. He said nothing more, but enjoyed receiving the treatment as much as she relished giving it. The atmosphere changed as he relaxed. By degrees Fluttershy’s touch grew more daring, she would more closely follow the curvature of his hips or run further down his stomach with each pass. He shifted this way and that; whether by intention or not, Big Macintosh was giving her better access to himself. A smile she could not and would not hide made itself known on her lips. She, Fluttershy of all ponies, was really doing it! Well, not yet, but...
Big Mac groaned, a low rumbling sound that reverberated with satisfaction. It rolled right through the mare, tightening and heightening her own urgency. “Wouldn’t want to miss a spot...” she said, far more breathless than the work alone merited. There was still some dust on the insides of his legs. There was nothing for it, she would have to hunker down under the stallion to get at it all. She had never seen his fetlocks so close, she hadn’t realized just how thick his coat could be. What was it that they said about a colt with hairy fetlocks...
Fluttershy anticipated finding this out rather hotly. Being so close...his scent, his prescence, the depth of his breathing...Fluttershy’s hips swayed of their own accord, each hind leg rubbed against the other, and her stiff wings rose and brushed the stallion. “Fluttershy...” he said, his voice deeper than she had ever heard it. It sapped some of her recklessness from her. She wiped the last smatterings of grit down quickly and efficiently, glancing askance at a certain shape, dark and tucked away in the contours of his body. Her head swam with the implications; she wanted to go closer, to exercise her curiosity and want, but didn’t dare it quite yet.
Big Macintosh was breathing, just as Fluttershy did. Slower and steadier, they were calming down. She could hear it, and wondered in the mix of her feelings what she thought of this. There was still that option, she realized. This was it, here and now. She could turn him about and let him go and that’d be the end of her silly little fantasy: a somewhat intimate yet nonetheless innocent encounter. He’d probably think nothing of it.
Or maybe not, she wondered slowly. Maybe he would keep it in mind. Maybe he would bide his time, find a private moment in a private place, recall her image, her touch, and something would swell...something that would find hungry hooves waiting for it.
As quickly as Fluttershy could imagine that, this stallion caught in the throes of a need she sincerely hoped he felt too, she reaffirmed that it was her hooves she wanted to be there. Maybe more.
She wanted this. There was no doubting that anymore. Now, how to go about getting it? She had so little experience to draw on...
The night’s playful flying had left Fluttershy rather giddy. She had to accept that now. Not only had she fumbled the landing and tumbled head over hooves through the grass, but her only reaction had been to brush the wet earth from herself and giggle. Her head still swam, her spinning eyes searched the night sky for Rainbow Dash. The mare in question came to an abrupt halt just above her, deftly flicking the tips of her blue wings so that she dropped neatly to the ground. “I won!” Fluttershy cried out, astonished and proud. “I won the race!”
Dash stretched. Her wings folded up primly, her hooves stood steady. “You definitetly beat me back to your place.” By the light of the stars and the moon Dash very nearly shone. Maybe it was just a thin sheen of sweat, or the condensation of the clouds they had burst through, but regardless of where it came from, the effect did look very pretty on her. More than that though, Dash’s eyes and smile were brightest. “You definitely, totally, absolutely beat me fair and square,” she said. “I told you you’d gotten better at this.” She sauntered over and nudged Fluttershy’s shoulder. “Feels good, doesn’t it? To get those wings out for a fly-around. Though that landing could do with a bit of work.” The nudge became an affectionate petting, one Fluttershy pressed herself into. “Can’t always be butterflies catching you, right?”
Fluttershy nodded eagerly. “Butterflies would be sleeping at night. Under leaves. Upside down.” It felt entirely normal and appropriate to demonstrate. Her already wobbly legs were easily toppled. The yellow mare flopped to her back and stuck all four of her legs up while spreading her wings out on the wet grass. “I’m holding a leaf,” she said quite matter-of-factly. “And I’m asleep.”
Dash laughed, and looked down into her watchful expression, even if it was coming up from the grass. “Trust you to know what butterflies do at night.”
“Mhmm.” her hooves came down slowly. She stared up at the sky. Dash plopped down next to her. They listened to one another breathing, and to the breeze caressing them. A great revelation bloomed slowly in her thoughts. “I’m cold,” she announced. “And sore.”
“That was a bit of a rough landing.”
“I bucked a cloud, too.” Fluttershy said meekly. Indeed she had bucked a cloud, just like a real weather pony. Doing the deed had made her feel powerful, even if it had taken Dash’s gentle insistence to build up her nerve to dare it. The little gray thing had gone ‘poof’ for her efforts.
Head propped up on a hoof, Dash rolled to her side to regard her.
Dash shifted on the grass. Blue hooves were urging Fluttershy onto her stomach. Not entirely sure what her friend meant by it, Fluttershy followed along with her lead and turned onto her belly. “There, I know a bit of how to help with it.” The lightness yet firmness of the touch on her back awakened in Fluttershy the warm tinglings of before. “You’re still not used to flying, or crashing, like that. You’ll be stiff and achey in the morning. But not as much if I do this.” A rhythmic, rolling kneading started up. Fluttershy’s breath caught in her throat for a second. Dash’s hooves worked themselves into areas of muscle tension Fluttershy hadn’t even known she’d made for herself. The feeling was definitetly good enough to overwhelm her anxiety...and other feelings. Wings felt as if they were melting into putty.
The damp ground stopped her from relaxing entirely, and Dash seemed to see this clear enough. “Let’s head inside,” she suggested. Maybe Fluttershy only imagined it, but she thought she had heard a certain sultry suggestiveness to it.
“Okay,” she whispered, and clambered back up to standing. Everything spun a little and her hooves were no steadier than before, but Dash made no qualms about being leaned on, at least so far as the door.
“There,” Dash said. She deposited Fluttershy on the couch. “That’s better.” After drying herself with a tea-towel, Dash tossed it over for her to do something of the same. There was an edge of a yawn creeping its way out past Dash’s smile. “Want me to keep going where we left off?”
Fluttershy nodded slowly. “Yes.” The mare lay herself down, chin and neck and belly all flat against the cushions. Oh, if she could only say something more exact, than surely there would be no room left for this ambiguity?
Dash’s hooves found their places and set to work. “I’m not, you know, trained in this or anything,” To Fluttershy, it didn’t matter. It felt very good. Something in her back cricked. She winced, and Dash recoiled. “Did that hurt?”
As quickly as it had come, it passed and new relief washed through Fluttershy. “A bit. But it was good. You don’t have to stop, if you don’t want to.” Dash alternated between rubbing in paired circles along Fluttershy’s back and kneading it like dough. Every few seconds Dash changed place and pattern, so that it was a constantly new sensation of touch travelling over her. Fluttershy started moaning and sighing in little breaths, ones she didn’t realize she was making immediately. Her hind legs squirmed under Dash, trying to rub against one another with the slightest of little movements.
“Maybe I should stop...” Dash said. There was no misreading desire into that voice, only reluctance. Reining in her errant body and mentally berating herself all manner of things, Fluttershy went silent and still.
“If that’s what you want,” she whispered, her voice fainter than the breeze, though inwardly she was shouting. Dash’s touch broke away, Fluttershy ached of frustration.
“It’s just...yeah.” Each pegasus was as tied for words as the other. The atmosphere went thick and unsavoury with apprehension. “I didn’t mean to...It’s not that we’re...” Rainbow Dash sighed, and seemed to resign herself to incoherency. “It’s just that I’ve got some morning work that I should probably be on time for.”
Fluttershy curled up, feeling by all measures wretched. Maybe if she’d had better self-control. She should not have been so eager. “I’ll need to get up too,” she heard herself say. Dash smiled, an uncomfortable-looking thing. Her eyes, however, held Fluttershy’s, and silently thanked her for playing this little game of pretend, for giving Dash a way to back out of the unexplored and unknown turn this moment in their friendship had taken. Fluttershy slunk away from the couch. It was to be a guest-bed tonight, after all. They had already indulged with one bout of inebriated flying, and Dash had given her word not to do so, especially not alone, a thing expected from all pegasi.
“Would...you get me a blanket. Please? I don’t know where you keep them.” Had she been less upset, Fluttershy would have baulked at her daring friend’s sudden turn for sheepishness. As it was, Fluttershy just felt lethargic. Pulling the thickest, softest, neatly folded blanket she had to hoof from the press, she set it down for her friend.
“Thanks. And...goodnight.”
Fluttershy buried herself in her bed, falling quickly into an uninspiring slumber.
Fluttershy recalled herself to the present, though the uncomfortable memories lingered. How had it gone wrong? Or maybe what she wanted was wrong? Had it been Dash’s fault, not that Fluttershy really believed that, or could even bring herself to blame the mare if it were. Besides, Fluttershy always preferred to lay the blame on herself, and this time she was quite sure it was truly hers as well. Somehow, someway, she had been the one to misread or mistep...something.
Whatever the answer she craved might be, this was neither the time nor the place to ponder it. She had more pressing cravings to attend to, and a great big stallion looking at her curiously...
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I was just thinking.” Fluttershy blinked and took in the scene again. Her. Big Mac. In her bathroom, of all places. She’d never seen anything quite like it.
But she could still imagine some improvements...
Her wings perked up and she delicately took to the air above him, ushering him out. “You do look awfully sore, Big Mac. Oh, I’d just be so upset if helping me hurt you in any way today.”
“Thank you, but...” his words stumbled in the intensity of her stare. I want you I want you I want you, it said, but of course he couldn’t know this, not exactly. Besides, she could see that his back really did ache, his shoulders and neck also, and sympathy added its pangs to mix and swirl with her desire.
Now she was floating along ahead of him, her tail swishing side to side “Let me help with that. It’s the least I could do.” She was glad he couldn’t see her face just now, the way she held her breath in anxiousness. He didn’t even stop to consider doubt, just followed her on into the bedroom. She almost didn’t believe the reality of it. But there was Big Mac, and there was her bedroom door, and there was her bedroom door closing. Fluttershy wanted to gasp, wanted to cry out, maybe even wanted to punch the air and headbang in victory. The stallion had landed.
“Just lie down on the bed,” Fluttershy whispered. He did just that, and with a little smile too. Finally Fluttershy could understand her friend Twilight Sparkle’s rare but recurring tendency to whoop for joy in exclamations of ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ though she doubted it had ever been for the same reasons as this. Who knew, maybe the bookish mare had had an exciting romp of her own once upon a time...
The various scenarios that came to mind served to get Fluttershy more hot and bothered than she already was. What she really wanted was to fling herself on Big Mac, push him over (or at least urgently ask that he do so, she doubted she had the physical strength to manage it otherwise) dive in and play it by ear from there. The memory of her night with Rainbow Dash held her back though, bitter little mote of anxiety and doubt that it was. “Calm,” she whispered to herself as she exhaled a deep breath. She fluttered down onto her stallion’s back, getting another crick and little spasm from him before setting out slowly.
On the one hoof, Big Macintosh’s head was on her pillow, and she was quite literally clambering over him much to his enjoyment. On the other, she was getting impatient. Yes, his neck was quite handsomely muscled, his shoulders powerful and broad, and she was having the all-you-can-cop-a-feel-on-buffet, but Fluttershy’s hooves were like birds; instinct bid them to go south. She pressed vigorously into another of his vertebrae. Big Mac squirmed, groaned and, as it crackled and settled, sighed.
“This is good,” the stallion rumbled. “You are, I mean. Really good. Thank you.” His compliments frustrated Fluttershy for reasons she didn’t quite understand. In retaliation, and for reasons she understood completely, she grabbed his butt. Big Macintosh made a sound like ‘!’.
His eyes were wide, her eyes were narrow. “Roll over,” she commanded. He obeyed. For a heady second, this unassuming yellow pegasus was Mistress so-and-so, exerting her control. Then Fluttershy bounced back into her usual mental state. She was about to say her mousey apology when her gaze drifted, quite naturally, that little bit extra downwards. The words became “Oh...my,” but he didn’t look away. She mumbled something that sounded awfully like ‘buy some apples.’
Blushing and smiling in embarrasment, Big Mac was lost for words. “Eeyup?” he tried hopefully.
Fluttershy held her breath, her eyes wandering up and down ‘it.’ There was quite a bit of up involved. And it was still going. She nodded in quiet appraisal as the erection continued to grow. “Eeyup,” she said. Her breathing and pulse quickened. Muscles and wings clenched and unclenched in anticipation.
She had the strangest urge to say something witty, but failing any such inspriation, simply left her thoughts race about. They sizzled gently in her own rising arousal. “Penis,” she muttered in rapt awe. She reached down and poked it. It swayed then righted itself. “Big penis.”
Big Macintosh’s hoof pressed her own into it. She curled it around the one side and squeezed ever so lightly. Soft and hard, both at once. Just how she liked, she realized, and giggled. She gave it a few cautious strokes, illiciting a satisfied sounding exhalation from the stallion. She came closer, watching her own work like a voyeur, her eyes tracing the shapes and curves.
She hesitated in her stroking, and leaned back, just in case. “It’s not going to...?”
“Not right away,” Big Mac rumbled, his breath trying to catch as a little spasm rocked him.
She was doing it! She was really doing it! Fluttershy soared on her delight and amazement, on her daring and sultriness. She quickened her strokes until they thrummed like a piston along his shaft. Big Mac groaned and his legs twitched. He grabbed at her hoof and slowed her down, dragging her up and down along it in slower, firmer motions. “Like this,” he huffed, and caught his breath. His head fell back onto the pillow and he sighed. “There ya go. Slow and steady wins the race.”
A bead of moisture had swelled up at the tip. It spilled over from the vibrations of Fluttershy’s efforts and trailed a viscous trail down Big Mac and onto her hoof, where it was then smeared into a sticky, shiny layer by her motions.
“Oh,” she said, and brought the sullied hoof in for closer inspection. His hoof came up and picked up where she had left off, stroking himself in easy, well-practiced movements. She daubed at the smear marring her coat. She sniffed it and, without too much hesitation, gave it the lightest tip of her tongue. Big Mac moaned and shifted. It tasted like nothing she could recall. Fluttershy blinked twice and decided not to worry about it. She swooped in and brushed the stallion’s hoof firmly away. “Allow me...”
The exhiliaration, even what could be called the power this gave her was a rush. She sped up her pumping and the stallion grunted, twitched and groaned. When she wound down to a tantalizing crawl his breathing slowed and deepened. Her own back legs she rubbed together, then reached a hoof back under herself. She cried out a little gasp at the sensitivity of her own touch, then worked it earnestly.
“Mmmm,” she purred. More fluid had seeped its way up, starting another messy, slick trail down the side of Big Macintosh’s piece. She rubbed it around with small circles into the swollen head until the whole of it glistened. The stallion twitched and gasped as she worked it around, and all the while more of the wetness was oozing up from within, trickling, spreading.
Big Macintosh’s muscles tensed with a rhythmic force. “I’m doing alright?” she asked, and smiling mischeivously all the while, gave him a little lick that ran from the base of his penis-head to the very tip. The stallion gasped and spasmed at her delicate touch. “Fluttershy!” he gasped.
She smacked her lips, still deciding what she thought of the distinct flavour and gave him a few particularily fast and rough strokes that slapped against the wetness spilling down his shaft. He writhed now, no part of Big Macintosh could remain still. His brow kept creasing and his eyes closed, the expression there was one of strain.
Fluttershy’s other hoof was no less involved. The mare splayed her legs wider, reaching further and deeper to the heat and the damp of her own sex. She traced the edges of those engorged lips, tingling thrill shooting through her as they rubbed off and slid around her hoof. Her breath quickened and shallowed. When it was too much to manage on her own, she pulled neatly away and perched urgently on Big Macintosh’s leg, all the while maintaining her stroking of him. Full of desire and drive, Fluttershy felt her hips spasm of their own accord, pushing and rubbing herself against the coarseness and the softness of Big Macintosh. Nearly cross-eyed from that first electric rush, she broke into shameless panting.
She was alight with desire and urgent delight. She had no time or care for propriety, for the way her mane fell in unkempt waves about her, settling on the bed, on Big Mac, and in the oozing arousal that flowed out of him and spilled down them both. There was hardly room for thought at all, everything was subsumed in instinct and the mounting tides of sensation. What she wanted she took, without doubt or hesitation. She did so now, clambering further up her writhing stallion to straddle him, grabbing his hoof and shoving it firmly beneath her. It fumbled about blindly for a moment, than found the source of her impatient heat. Groaning, Big Macintosh slipped it between the moist folds and set about in figure-eights that had Fluttershy gasping. She sucked in a deep breath, reaffirmed her grip on his throbbing member and redoubled her efforts.
Moans and little cries escaped her, the sounds mingling with those of Big Mac breathing hard and fast. She wanted to command him to greater effort, wanted to plead. Whatever it took, she wanted it, that looming catastrophe building up in the distance. She was moaning on every breath now, pressing herself all the more forcefully into the ever-moving hoof. Never had she been so aroused or so desperate, never had she been so close and so far. Never before had she had another pony join her on this trip, and oh what a difference it made!
Fluttershy already could feel it, and she needed it so badly. The little orgasms she eked from herself in fitful privacy were nothing like the coming storm. “Don’t...stop...” she gasped out between breaths. Her own muscles clenched, released and clenched again incessantly. Big Macintosh rubbed her harder and firmer and faster, it was electricity shooting through her spine and overwhelming her mind. Her hoof fell away from his pounding erection, all her effort gone to just surviving the onslaught.
It was so close now, with Big Macintosh industriously hoofing away for her all the while as she straddled him. She was so very close! “Oh my!” she cried on a shrill breath. “Oh my, oh my, oh dear!” she screamed aloud on the last, as the dam broke and Fluttershy’s mind fell away and she was laid low in sensations that tore through her, reached her very edges only to come rushing back.
A few seconds of eternity later, just as the tides of her climax were beginning to recede, she promptly fell over. Big Macintosh huffed as she slammed into his chest, knocking the air from him. She tried to move, but there was no coordination in her addled brain, and her trembling body was about as strong as jelly. Big Macintosh’s hoof rubbed a light, affectionate course over and around her vulva. Fluttershy tried to speak, but could not. Only incoherent mumbles slipped out.
Snuggling into her impromptu perch as she waited to catch her breath, Fluttershy’s hoof went crawling back down the stallion. She took up her familiar grip and tried to continue with the same fervour as before. His hoof wrapped around hers and leant her strength. As one unit they worked on his flared erection, his breath sharper and more urgent than she’d ever heard it before.
“Almost there,” he announced breathlessly. Every inch of his body quaked. Her eyes wide and smiling foolishly, Fluttershy watched as a constant trickle flowed from their efforts. Big Macintosh groaned as their hooves flew. He grunted, and Fluttershy felt a convulsion from him that crashed through all the others.
The first spatter of hot semen hit her right on the nose, filling her instantly with its distinct scent. Too stunned to even close her eyes, only fate spared her getting the second burst in them, for it flew off overhead somewhere and smacked with wet audibility into her bed’s headboard.
Big Macintosh’s penis tensed, seemed to hesitate, than loosed a spurt that left a thick line of whiteness over her ear, through her mane and up the stallion’s neck and onto his chin. The next came lower but just as thick, making a wet mess of Fluttershy’s outstretched wing and Big Macintosh’s shoulder. Several creamy dollops spilled out, pouring over himself and their hooves, then another surge came and splattered itself across Fluttershy’s cheek. The last few spurts went no further than his stomach, leaving several milky white trails on his red self that all pointed back to the culprit. Semen oozed and pooled at the base of his shaft. The stallion collapsed, all the strength and struggle gone from him. She wiped the worst of it from her snout.
Fluttershy smiled, wallowing in the warm fuzzies of it all despite the occasional wet and quickly cooling pools. “And I just did all the cleaning in here, too,” she whispered to herself with not one damn given about that just this particular moment. She sighed in utter contentment, feeling and listening to the quieter, deeper breathing of Big Macintosh under her.
Her next thought came delicately, she did not want to scare it away. “Big Mac...” she started. “When you’re done with the walkway, do you think you could help me with the pruning? If you don’t mind, that is...” She leaned forwards, held the head of his dwindling erection in her lips and gave the swollen crest of it a long, sensuous lick. Big Mac twitched beneath her and groaned.
Their eyes met. Big Mac smiled and laughed weakly, even that much was enough to gently shake her whole body, perched atop him as she was.
“Can I take that as a yes?”
Author's Note
My first trepidatious forray into the clop genre. It was quite the struggle to actually get past the clop-hibitors in my brain.
