Private Morning
Fluttershy climbed into a bathtub of near-scalding water, her muscles aching. She let her throbbing head loll against the lip of the tub, lazily recalling last night’s match with Lightning Dust, specifically the moment when her skull bounced off the mat like a rubber ball off a playground blacktop. Her back was still sore—as were her thighs from all that flexing and squeezing—but the hot water helped alleviate the pain, if only a tiny bit.
Four walls, a drawn curtain and a sealed window were all that stood between Fluttershy and another dreary mid-winter morning. A sheet of frost had fogged the window, obscuring her view of the snow-capped trees surrounding her home. She took a breath and plunged her head beneath the water, as if attempting to hide from the encroaching cold. Holding her breath, she enjoying the sensation of hot water warming her frost-nipped ears, then broke the bubbly surface and brushed strands of soaked mane from her face.
A rubber duck floated near the opposite edge of the tub. Fluttershy reached for it, and to her surprise, the toy reached back. She squeaked and flattened herself against the wall of the tub, a sudden bout of dry heaves racking her chest.
Then the rubber toy let out a soft quack, and Fluttershy relaxed, realizing it was only Rue: a friendly duckling with a habit of sneaking into the bathroom. Fluttershy sighed and petted the baby duck, hiding her mild annoyance behind a smile.
For Celestia’s sake, was there no privacy in this house?
Little Rue looked up at Fluttershy with soft eyes, sensing her owner’s distress.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Fluttershy, answering Rue’s silent question. “It’s just… my date didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”
Rue tilted her head, another silent question swimming through her eyes.
“Oh, no, Face was very nice. It was nothing like that,” she said. “I just don’t know what to make of him, I guess. He was one way on a phone, and then another way in person, and then completely different when we… um…”
Rue smiled as well as a creature without lips could, her eyelids fluttering in a dainty parody of femininity.
“Don’t tease,” said Fluttershy, blushing. “We didn’t do anything like that.” A pause. “Wait a minute… why am I telling you any of this?” Fluttershy let out a sudden laugh and splashed Rue. The duckling splashed her back, tittering herself, or at least uttering a sound that resembled a titter.
Fluttershy’s bad mood ebbed away as she and Rue frolicked in the tub. It returned in force when a sudden jolt of pain knifed through her back, disrupting her playtime and reminding her of last night’s galling defeat. She grabbed the lip of the tub, huffing through gritted teeth as her body went rigid. The pain dizzied her. She lolled her head against the tub’s edge again, her breath coming in puffs and wheezes.
Rue scurried up Fluttershy’s chest, her innocent face fraught with concern.
“Oh, it’s, uh, it’s nothing. I’m fine, really.” Fluttershy looked down her chest, forcing a smile.
Rue stomped her foot and made an angry face, the expression more adorable than intimidating.
“No, Face didn’t hurt me on purpose,” Fluttershy insisted. “Things just got a little… rough.”
Rue looked unconvinced.
“I mean, I was rough with him too. We both were. It wasn’t his fault.”
Still unconvinced.
Fluttershy sighed again and picked up the duckling, the pain in her back subsiding. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” she said, quoting her mother.
Rue scrunched her face the way children do when their parents say something yucky about the opposite sex. Then she hopped down from the tub and waddled off, squeezing through an opening in the slightly ajar door.
Alone at last, Fluttershy found herself ruminating on the sex talk she never got as a child. Had she been a parent herself, she would have straddled the line between too frightened and too embarrassed to give her own child the “talk”, so she didn’t resent her mother for dodging discussions of that nature. A little advice would have helped, especially during her teenage years, but Fluttershy wasn’t about to blame her mother for own sexual anxiety. She’d never been the sort to accuse others for her problems.
That said, had she been the sort of pony who blamed others for her troubles, she could have safely blamed her infatuation with submission grappling on an eccentric pony named Blues Noteworthy.
Blues Noteworthy’s cutie mark—a plain-looking music note shared by several of his peers—did him little justice. He was a stallion of many talents and many more passions, and the most versatile pony Fluttershy had ever met. Blues was a musician and singer, a sketch artist and a painter, a poet and a novelist—and an athlete, and dancer, and a carpenter, and a teacher, and a scientist, and an entrepreneur, and a lover, and a most brilliant fighter. He only did things that came naturally to him, which, luckily for him, was just about everything in the world.
But despite his many talents, Blues had never enjoyed much success in his partly twenty-three years. He had a habit of spreading himself too thin, becoming a talented dilettante of many trades, but never a deft master of any one. A lack of patience and discipline were his biggest weaknesses, and eventually they led him to a life of poverty and homelessness out on the unforgiving streets of Canterlot.
Penniless, downtrodden, and desperately needing a place to stay, Blues returned to his hometown of Ponyville, where he sought help from Fluttershy, knowing she’d be too kind to turn him away. He hadn’t been an unbearable guest, but his blatant disregard for house rules and general slovenliness had made him a less than ideal roommate. Still, for all his flaws, Fluttershy liked Blues for his passionate personality and unshakable resolve. No matter what ills befell him, what obstacles lay in his path, Blues never lost sight of his dream (at least, whichever dream he happened to be entertaining that week). It was a trait that Fluttershy found wildly attractive.
Of course she found his body attractive as well, with its imposing size and wealth of rippling muscles. And those hooves! Blues had hooves like mallets, so wide and hard and strong—made for grabbing and lifting and throwing and pinning and controlling. To this day Fluttershy still fantasized about those hooves, growing warm and wet whenever she imagined them holding her down while Blues took her anyway he liked.
Unfortunately for Fluttershy, their relationship never blossomed into anything romantic. She had dropped little hints here and there, but Blues had remained perfectly oblivious to her advances for as long as he lived under her roof. He was much too busy scribbling out drafts for a novel he would never finish, or concocting lofty business schemes, some of which might have been lucrative had he the diligence to see them through.
Then came the actual wrestling. After failing in his endeavors as a musician, an author, a guard pony, a chemist, and most recently, the first elected prince of Equestria, Blues Noteworthy discovered that his true calling in life was to become a professional cage fighter. He began training for his new career under the shelter of Fluttershy’s roof, and though she thought it a vulgar pursuit at the time, she nonetheless offered her support whenever she could. She enjoyed watching him exercise, counting herself lucky to be in the presence of such a fine physical specimen, and even began joining him during his morning jog around the outskirts of the Everfree forest.
She learned many things about the sport of cage fighting: the names of famous fighters, combat techniques, odd terminology—all of which she’d deemed useless at the time. Still, it had been a pleasure to listen to Blues ramble on and on about his love of combat sports. He spoke of it the way stallions speak of their lovers, his eyes wide with that too-potent, tearing-at-the-seams passion reserved for hopeless romantics and fools.
Fluttershy closed her eyes and smiled to herself, purring under the pleasing caress of hot water as her mind ventured back to Noteworthy’s first amateur match at a small venue in the glitz-and-glam city of Los Pegasus. And as she recalled that crisp autumn night of exotic sights, smells and sounds—the athletes with bodies carved of stone; the breeze-carried allure of greasy concession stand food; the roar of the crowd—she found her mind’s eye fixating on Blues as he showboated for the audience, prancing about the ring in his too-small spandex shorts and matching wrestling shoes.
He couldn’t have been more different from his opponent: a serious-faced earth mare dressed in a plain white t-shirt and shorts similar to Noteworthy’s. Her name was Octavia Philharmonica, and she was the most gorgeous mare Fluttershy had ever seen.
Octavia had been twice the fighter Blues was, but the impassioned young stallion had wanted it more that night. The moments leading up to his impending victory had been forever seared into Fluttershy’s mind. Even now, she could still see his stony biceps curling around Octavia’s neck, slowly wringing the air from her heaving chest. But in her memory she didn’t view the action from a fifth row seat, sandwiched between a muscle-bound earth mare and a fist-waving griffin who cawed encouragements, or perhaps obscenities, in his native tongue. Instead she watched from ringside, close enough to hear Octavia wheeze and cough, and to make out every detail of her grimacing face.
Holding the scene in her mind, Fluttershy splayed her hinds and gave her slit a teasing stroke. Her memory morphed into a fantasy as Blues rolled Octavia to her stomach and drove his shoulders down, pushing the trapped fighter’s muzzle into the canvas. He adjusted the sleeper hold, gaining a firmer grip on his bicep before arching his back and curling his tail around one of her hinds.
Octavia pawed helplessly at the biceps flexing around her jugular. Her svelte frame writhed and squirmed beneath Blues’ chest, veins spidering across her leg muscles, but her efforts proved fruitless.
“Mmmm… tighter…” Fluttershy breathed. She kneaded her clit with the frog of her forehoof, red-faced as warm water stirred around her rocking hips.
Fantasy Blues did as instructed, flexing all the harder, squeezing all the tighter. Using his tail, he wrenched one of Octavia’s hinds up off the canvas, bending her stifle and cranking her back hoof toward her head. Her struggling intensified, and a dismal croak hissed through her gritted teeth.
“Ahhh… ahhh yeah…” Fluttershy whimpered, surprised by her own imagination. Her soft moans grew louder as Octavia’s cheeks turned red, then blue, then ghostly pale—her breath puffing in and out in ragged gasps. She tapped her forehoof against a swollen bicep, but neither the squeezing or the wrenching stopped. The crowd cheered. They always did during Fluttershy’s fantasies.
She bit her bottom lip to stifle a billowing moan, wary of being overheard by any of her animal friends. But the worry was small, an almost abstract thought gathering dust in the corner of her mind. She ground a hoof against her erect nub, making little circles and rocking her hips as she enjoyed Blues Noteworthy’s flawless performance.
“Ahhh… mmmm…” she moaned. “Don’t stop… Choke her out. Put her to sleep for me…”
The bend of her free knee folded around the tub's lip, squeezing it, just as Blues continued squeezing the life from his victim. But as Octavia slowly slipped into unconsciousness, and as Fluttershy neared her climax, suddenly the thrill of playing voyeur in her own fantasy wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel those sexy fores around her neck, to writhe and cough and struggle in Blue’s inescapable grasp.
Without breaking stride, Fluttershy altered the fantasy, replacing Octavia’s succulent neck with her own. The hoof between her thighs worked harder and faster as she imagined Blues’ bare chest pressing down her back. Red-faced, she grabbed at the biceps constricting her throat but made no attempt to pry them away. She just wanted to feel them. Them, and the tail wrenching on her leg, and the breaths battering the side of her face, and the rock-hard cock digging into the small of her back, hot and throbbing behind that gauzy nylon barrier.
“Aahhhhh… mmmmm…” she moaned. “That’s it… tighter… tighter…”
Blues nibbled the tip of her ear. “Tap out,” he ordered, grinding his length against her.
Fluttershy refused. As bad as she wanted to give herself to Blues, she wasn’t close enough just yet. She squeezed her hoof between her thighs, her stomach muscles clenching and relaxing in time with her rocking hips. A lust-drunk smile canted her lips as Blues whispered taunts in her ear. He dared her to struggle harder, to break his hold, but she knew well that both were impossible at this point. She was his plaything now. Weak and helpless and wildly aroused.
Done toying with his victim, Blues—still keeping hold of Fluttershy’s neck and hind leg—rolled to his side and scissored both hinds around her midsection. Thick thighs pinched hard on her ribs, and she’d have squealed in pain if she had the air for it. His biceps and thighs flexed, and his tail wrenched hard on her hind, crushing and stretching her at the time.
“Tap out,” he ordered again, his voice dropping to a sultry purr.
“I... I give, I give…” Fluttershy moaned, tapping the lip of the tub as it if it were one of Blues’ crushing thighs. Her back arched and her chest broke the surface of the water, wings twitching as she neared her climax.
Blues arched his back as well, his cock pushing hard against the small of Fluttershy’s back. It twitched, spurts of pre wetting the tip and staining the wall of spandex.
Somewhere, far off in the distance, a herd of ponies, griffins and minotaurs shouted and whooped, calling for Fluttershy’s complete and utter demise. They cheered. The crowd always cheered in her fantasies.
She tapped harder against the tub as she imagined Blues squeezing her into unconsciousness. Her hips jerked up, her thighs clamped around her hoof, and her wings attempted to flare out, bumping the walls of the tub as she came hard. A breathless whimper flitted up and away as she squirted into her hoof, her juices there one moment and gone the next, washed away by the troubled water.
She pushed out a long sigh and let her head sink beneath the water’s surface, grinning stupidly as she waited for the orgasmic aftershocks to subside.
When her face resurfaced she slowly opened her eyes, whipping strands of matted mane from her face. Her vision was blurry at first. Then crystal clear.
“Ponyfea—” she stammered. “Angel, what are you doing in here!”
Standing atop the toilet tank with both forelegs crossed about his chest, Angel Bunny fixed Fluttershy with a glare that rebounded her question back onto her.
“No. Bad Angel. You know better than to come in here without knocking first.”
Angel pointed at the slightly-ajar door, his eyebrows flat.
“Just because the door is open doesn’t mean…” Her voice trailed off when Angel flicked his watch open and held it up.
“Oh dear—” Fluttershy grabbed a bar of soap sitting on the tub’s edge and began furiously scrubbing herself. “Angel, why didn’t you tell me sooner? You know how Miss Cheerilee gets when I’m late.”
Angel huffed and rolled his eyes.
Still sopping wet, Fluttershy zipped into her bedroom and quickly filled a saddlebag with everything she would need for her training session with Cheerilee. When the bag was full, its contents included the outfit she’d worn last night, a roll of cotton hoofwraps, a pair of four ounce boxing gloves, a speed bag (Cheerilee made all her fighters buy their own), and a grey hooded sweatshirt.
She zipped downstairs and found Angel waiting for her on the bottom step, thumping to gain her attention.
“What is it now, Angel?”
Angel stood up straight and gestured toward his crotch with both paws. He looked up at Fluttershy, then down his own chest, then back up at Fluttershy. Then he shrugged.
“Yeah, I… um… finished…”
Angel smacked himself in the forehead then dragged his paw down his face, groaning in a combination of annoyance and disbelief.
“I know I’m in training,” said Fluttershy, “but it was just the one time. I’m sure it won’t hurt.”
Angel raised his paw and opened his mouth as if to reprimand Fluttershy, then paused, threw his paws up with a huff and stomped off toward the kitchen to fix himself breakfast.
“Oh, don’t be mad, Angel. I’m sorry, I promise it won’t happen again,” she said, following her bunny friend into the kitchen.
Upon passing the threshold between kitchen and living room, Angel spun around and shooed Fluttershy away, reminding her that she was already late for her Saturday morning session with Cheerilee.
