In Which T.P Does Not Write Clop
Oh perturbation! Oh misery! Oh absence of mirth, the persistence of which rocks both one’s perception of themselves and the apprehension of perception as such! The brown earth pony threw his hooves into the air, resigned to the torturous moments that were duration.
Talltale had writer’s block. He placed a sheet of parchment on his desk, then frowned as its blank appearance echoed how inspired he felt… But whatever.
He leaned back on his cushion and let his absent gaze wander over his desk, then out the window of his tiny, Ponyville apartment. Outside he saw… Ponies, of course; some shopping, some loitering, a few fillies participating in a rousing game of keepaway using Cranky Doodle’s toupee. Always fun.
But none of them were engaged in epic struggles or embattled by angst; would it kill them to have a Big Ol’ Storm of Chaos from time to time? At least then he’d have something to write about.
Yeah, Princess Twilight would charge in with her friends as always, their firm, young plots high and their heads low, ready for pitched battle. Pinkie would say something funny to ease the tension, but the villain’s monologue would bring it right back. After Twilight spouts some bullshit about friendship and voodoo, the two sides would clash!
What a horrible battle it would be! The stench of decaying flesh and pained groans of the freshly undead would intimidate them, but our heroines would overcome their terror, as they always did, and battle their way to the big boss.
“Yeah, that’s good…”
Rainbow Dash would probably say something inspiring, if not a little cheesy, and Rarity would complain about the filth that undead ponies brought with them. The villain would brag about being unbeatable, then attack without missing a beat.
“Yeah, yeah. Let‘s see… What else?”
His inky form would sprawl out and tentacles of every shape and size would snatch our heroines up. He’d probably give a maniacal laugh because, you know, that’s what villains do, and hoist them to his gaping maw, to face rows of jagged teeth and the stench of sulfur and hot, sick ass. Oh, he would savor his victory; he would probably bring his attention to the princess first, to taste her sweat and enjoy the shivering of her slender frame against his tongue.
“Oh this is great! Now for the clincher!”
He would run his slimy taste buds down the length of her body, form her neck to her plot, and stop to lick her cutie mark. The first hint of his arousal would be the guttural groan he lets slip when he tastes her blueberry shampoo.
“Wait… That’s not right. Maybe I should start over.”
He would bring his mouth to her neck and nibble his way up and down. Her breaths would become audible upon contact, at first quick and exasperated, but soon steady, deep… Pleasured. He would run his tentacles across her plot and, from time to time, squeeze with enough force to elicit a squeak. Though the princess’ tight flank - dimpled and toned enough to hold its form when squeezed and taught enough to give a sharp smack when struck - would be a satisfying prize in itself, his goal would lie elsewhere.
A few, uncommitted tentacles would be assigned to his true target; he would be delicate, almost accidental at first, and brush against her sex. She would flinch the first time, but issue no complaint about the exploration. Again he would run a slender limb across her pink lips and savor her shudder. His member would become swollen with blood at the thought of the princess’ slick walls and the embrace of her…
“Wait, what am I doing?”
Talltale dropped his quill and reviewed his… Work. His brow furrowed and pupils shrank; this… This was not what he had intended to write. He balled it up and tossed it away, then replaced it with a fresh parchment. The conspicuous absence of ideas upon it mimicked his muse… But whatever.
He cast another somber gaze out his window in time to spy mailmare Derpy making her rounds. She bounced from door to door and her plump plot bounced with her. The way it jiggled when affected by the slightest of movements, but retained its shape, reminded Talltale of a water balloon; he wondered if it would be similarly satisfying to squeeze…
“Celestia damn it! Focus, T.P!”
The young stallion shook his head as though trying to dry himself after a shower, then turned back to the window. He scanned the streets, but found nothing worthy of a second thought, let alone a novel. A few, large colts seemed to be kicking and pushing a tiny, brown one with a propeller hat and a Joy Boy; it was always good to see the little ones getting along. That redhead with the carrot cutie mark was chewing out Fluttershy for some reason, but the yellow pegasus was snapping right back. She’d been a lot more direct lately, almost demanding at times. Good for her.
“Hmm…” Talltale wrapped his fetlock around his quill and tapped the page. Fluttershy might be a good one to write about. Yeah. What if she were stranded in the Everfree forest, beyond civilization’s sight, even from the air. She would silently plead with her legs to stop shaking and for her heart to slow down. The trudge through the jungle would try her; its humidity would cause her fur to stick and matt; the mud would suck her in with every step, but provide no footing; the insects would take every opportunity to bite and sting, unmolested by her attempts to bat them away with her wings.
“Oh yeah! That’s an opening scene!”
For her suffering, she would be rewarded by a parting of the trees. The rocky spring beyond would greet her with a cool breeze and the echo of a narrow waterfall. She would creep forward initially, her face contorted in disbelief, but that creep would become a canter, a trot, then a gallop. Her spread wings and an elegant leap would bring her to her prize: Derpy’s lower lips, swollen and moist. They would welcome her thick stallionhood; they would suck her in and stroke her length as though trying to milk it. Actually, that would be exactly what they were trying to do.
Derpy would shudder and cover her mouth to suppress a moan. The yellow Pegasus would smirk and rub her hooves over the mailmare’s bubbly plot; she would finally understand what Derpy’s cutie mark meant.
A snap of Fluttershy’s hoof against the mailmare’s plot would not go unrewarded; the gray pegasus would arch her back and cry out, then turn and gaze into her lover’s eyes with an intensity that could turn an iceberg into a swimming pool. The yellow pegasus would know what the look meant. Derpy could not be satisfied by a mere tap; she wanted it rough, to feel the love of her mate, by the bucking of her insides.
Another hoof against Derpy’s plot was met with a pleasured squeal. The sound would charge the yellow Pegasus, so she’d give more to each thrust. She would pull her stallionhood out until the tip hovered betwixt the mailmare’s entrance, then press into her lover until every inch of her length was swallowed. Sloppy squelching and the smacking of flesh and fur would be rhythmic, mixed with the musky smells of naughty juices.
Fluttershy would hold her mouth open and her eyes closed, freeing her bated breaths. The pressure would build in her loins after every movement. At first she would resist its call, but she would soon find herself unable. She would crack open an eye and peer to her lover, to be met with an expectant gaze hidden under flushed cheeks and an untamed mane.
“C- can I…?” She would not need to finish her sentence; the mail mare managed a smile between her strained breaths and nodded. Fluttershy’s member twitched and jumped and a haze subdued her senses as she reared her head back and prepared to give Derpy the foal they’d always…
“Oh-holy-shit-what-the-FUCK!” Talltale ripped the paper apart and tossed it into the air. Only the prospect of needing a seeing eye dog kept him from plunging his quill into his irises. He settled, instead, for his second-most destructive tendency: He positioned his head the correct distance above his desk, held his hoof in the air for a moment to check wind speed, then proceed to bash his skull into the hard surface until a red stain greeted his blurred vision.
The window. What was out the window this time? If there was to be salvation, it would be by a spark upon his brow, from which would spring the divine! As the cosmos gave birth to Celestia and Luna, by a power which it keeps hidden from itself, those ponies below, though ignorant of what forces move them, would lend those invisible powers to him, that he might craft the perfect tale!
He grinned through the warm blood running down his face and scanned the town. Ah, the ponies! Always frolicking, whether playing with balls, sucking chocolate bananas or chaining one another to walls and ramming blunt objects into anuses. And what was this? Rarity, the mare with the juiciest plot in Ponyville, appeared to be making her way home from the spa. Her fur was like marble in the light, its sheen almost too bright for Talltale to look at. The delicate sway of her plot was too perfect not to be rehearsed; her tail waved after every few steps, almost enough to glimpse her sex, and the flexing of her hind legs gave her flank cutest dimple. Oh, he would have done anything to tap that!
“Argh! No!” He Clasped his hooves to his head and shook himself. Focus was what he needed, not a good lay!
He peered over the streets again and caught sight of some upstanding fellow with a pony head and hodgepodge body sprinkling powder on Applejack’s cart while she wasn’t looking. Not long after he vanished, Rainbow Dash approached and, after a short exchange with the orange cowpony, purchased one of the tainted fruit. The first bite was enough; she, after a few strained chews and a forced swallow, dropped to the ground and grabbed at her throat while convulsing.
She seemed to be suffocating.
Applejack stood still for a few moments - perhaps in shock, Talltale wasn’t sure - then began to bellow for medical attention, conjuring quite the crowd. The strange creature reappeared and cackled while circling the scene from the air.
He seemed like a nice… Whatever he was; T.P suspected they would get along well.
“Hmm… Maybe an adventure featuring Applejack and Rainbow Dash.” He laid a fresh sheet of parchment on his desk, noting that its pale coloration represented the death of his creativity… But whatever.
Yeah, they would be trekking through some ancient ruin, their lungs heavy with the musty, ancient air and their limbs shivering in the chill of a structure uninhabited for millennia. Applejack would reach out to Rainbow Dash, and slap her hoof against that tight, athletic plot. The cyan pegasus would squeak and squirm, her flank high as the orange cowpony slid her member between those toned buttocks. The tip of her stallionhood would tease her lover’s sex, eliciting a groan, and a hunger.
Applejack would smirk and press into the cyan pegasus, but only the tip. Rainbow’s body would shiver and she would peer back, her eyes glistening in a silent plead to continue. The cowpony would just nod, then rub her member from her lover’s opening, down to her clit, back to her opening. With every inch, her stallionhood would throb and twitch, until she too found herself unable to wait, and steadied herself .
A shiver would travel through the cyan pegasus, the result of her lover’s renewed focus on her opening. She would bite her lip and press her plot against Applejack. The cowpony would oblige; her member pushed between Rainbow’s slick, pink lips and eased into her depths. It would be a tight fit, perhaps more from her anxious desire than from being inexperienced. She would roll her hips and chuckle at the groan her orange lover let slip.
The cowpony would rest her hooves on Rainbow’s flank and press herself in as far as she could, then pull back. A white juice would fleck her revealed stallionhood, which she would admire for several moments before pushing into her mate again. Though she would have been slow at the beginning, Applejack would feel less resistance with each thrust, so she would increase her speed accordingly. Soon, the two would be engrossed in the muffled sounds of passion and the sensual stink of marehood. They would buckle and groan with one another; Rainbow would press her plot into Applejack as much as the latter plowed her field, until the cowpony’s moans reached a crescendo, no longer subject to their owner’s attempted modesty.
Applejack’s pace would increase and her member would swell in anticipation. She would press her entire body into her lover’s back and shudder and shake. Her stallionhood would empty into the cyan Pegasus until it began to overflow; the milky seed would dribble around the cowpony’s length and onto the floor of the ancient ruin, then the two would collapse. Applejack would hold her partner close, but refuse to pull out even then. She would want to stay connected like that for as long as she could.
“There!” Talltale held his work in the air, an absent stare fixed upon it. “All done! T.P is best writer!”
He returned the parchment to his desk, then stood up and walked to a nearby cabinet. As he opened it and scoured its contents, a frantic knock started at his door.
“Talltale! Are you in there? I heard banging! Are you ok?”
T.P smirked and pulled out a bottle of Applejack Daniels and a long box. He wrapped both under a leg and returned to his desk, then turned to his door. “Yep! I’ll be there in a moment!”
The Applejack Daniels popped open with a flick of his hoof and he brought it to his lips, indifferent to the burn it left when it slid down his throat. He then turned the bottle over and poured its contents over his completed story, his cushion and the surrounding area. The long box slid open with a gentle press of his hoof and he reached in with his muzzle and pulled out a long match.
“Yep. Greatest writer ever.” He flicked the match against the box; his eyes widened with excitement when the stick came to life in a bright flame. He climbed atop his desk and to the window, then dropped the match onto the soaked surface and bounded out, to the street below. It ignited instantly; the high proof alcohol carried the flame around the room and would, he expected, soon consume the cottage. He, however, did not wait around to find out.
The faint cackle of a mad pony carried through the streets of Ponyville. Surely such wanton mirth had a tale behind it worth telling.
