Chapters You really wish you hadn't agreed to all that overtime on Sweet Apple Acres; AJ and Big Macintosh have been working you into the ground for all the utility your hands provide. Farm work is about the only thing anypony seems to think you can do, since you don't know much about Equestrian history, society, or how things work. You thought you were pretty useless too, until *he* came along.
You open the door to your apartment and wearily slide off your shoes. "Sammy?" you call. There's no answer. You groan and shuffle out of the hallway to the living room. You scan the room, and there's no sign of him.
"Come on Sammy, I know you're in-" you begin, before the big griffon pounces out from behind the couch and tackles you to the ground in a big, feathery hug.
"How was was work today, anon?" he says, squeezing you tight and purring like a content kitten. You relax and return his embrace.
"Long and tiring," you answer honestly. He gives you a little kiss on your forehead and cradles your head in his claws. You can feel his hind paws rubbing against your legs, and his tail is flicking between your ankles.
"How tiring?" he asks with eyes that suggest one thing only.
You inhale and smile, drinking in his smell. You can pick up hints of his feather shampoo and the brandy he must have been drinking earlier. He was an outcast too, having left the Griffon Kingdom for university. He came to Ponyville when he was a senior film student, and when he graduated, he never left. Somehow, you two met at a social function and fell in love immediately. You loved his witty jokes, aggressive personality, and flashes of creativity. You were still trying to work out why he liked you so much.
"Tired enough to say no..." you say, and you can almost feel him deflate. He looks at you with big puppy dog eyes and squeezes your leg between his thighs. You can feel his warm, hard member asking nicely to be let in. "...But being tired never stopped me," you say, completing your tease. He squeezes you immediately, laying a kiss on your lips and purring. You feel your lips tingle where his beak had been, and you squeeze his thigh between yours, playing with his tail between your heels. Within moments, he's gotten your shirt off, but he's having trouble with your pants.
Griffons and ponies don't wear clothes very often, so buttons are uniquely confusing to most of them. Samuel considers it a challenge to open your shorts; all the rubbing and pressure he applies to your crotch gets you going, too. He finally opens your shorts and dispenses with any further clothing by simply sliding your boxers off. He comes back up to mac your lips again, his hard member pressed against yours.
"Are you ready for me, little sparrow?" he asks in a sexy voice. For some reason you love his dirty-talk griffonese.
"Anything you want, big boy," you say back, half-joking. You are never quite certain what to do with sexy-talk, since it all sounds so funny. Environment dictates, but you are never sure when you're going overboard. It must have hit the right spot for Sammy, since he growls and flips you over with surprising ease, even for a griffon of his size.
You tense. He's not waiting for any foreplay tonight... Or so you think, just as you feel his claws gently rub your tired and sore shoulders. You feel him plop down on your butt as he squeezes and works your trapezius. His bottom on yours just feels so natural and right; his paws gently holding him up brush against your sides. After a few minutes of wordless massage, he leans down, laying his chest on your back. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your ear as he says "Well, my little darling canary, are you ready for me?"
You want him so badly it hurts. "Yes, anything, just please, take me now," you moan. You can feel yourself growing hard between your body and the carpeting, and you can feel him stiffening again against your cheeks. He brings a claw up and puts it in front of your face.
"Suck, little starling," he says. You do as you are bidden and take his claw in your mouth. You let your tongue play with it for a time until he pulls it out again. "Are you ready, sparrow?" he asks.
"Anything, my big eagle," you reply. You've picked up some of his bedroom language, and it seems to do the trick for him. He takes the talon covered with your saliva and teases your hole with it. When it is sufficiently relaxed, he plunges it in. The sensation is immediate and overwhelming; he teases your spot immediately. You arc your back slightly and then relax as he nibbles your ear. "Eager tonight, anon?"
You are only able to muster a faint "please..." before he chuckles and withdraws his talon.
"Oh, Sam," you gasp as he plunges into you all at once. You are immobilized by pain for a moment, but he just grins and pulls out halfway. Just when you think he's going to go in slowly, he pushes in again, blindsiding you. This time, though, you were ready, and it pain was a mere shadow of what it had been.
"Daddy gets what he wants," Sammy said seductively into your ear. He brought his other claw around to your face.
"What are you-" you struggle to say before he clamps his talons over your mouth. You breathe heavily through your nose as he pushes in an out over and over again. His hard cock is big, and you feel full, but it's not at an angle where it's pressing against your spot. You arc your back and wiggle a little to try to coax him to change his position a little, but he keeps on thrusting.
"Come on, little bitch" he says, using your dirty words now. "Come on, cum for daddy." His voice has a sinister tone to it, unlike what you're used to hearing from him. You can feel his chest feathers on your back as he growls and purrs in pleasure.
He brings his other claw up to your neck, tickling it at first with a touch as light as snowfall, then grabbing and squeezing hard. This wasn't like anything you'd done before; for the first time since you met Sam, you feel a twinge of fear.
You try to ask him to stop, but with his claw over your mouth, you can't get anything more than a muffled "mmm, imppp" to come out. Feeling the vibration from your throat, Sam continues to thrust, now with renewed verve. His grunts turn into encouragement sporadically.
"Huh, you like that little sparrow? Little chicken?" he says, squeezing your throat tighter. He gives the gutteral stirrings of a roar as he gives a particularly deep thrust, and pinches your nose between the thumb and index talon of the claw covering your mouth. In a moment of panic, you thrash as hard as you can, but he's got a lot of weight on you, and it only serves to make him thrust faster. Your lungs try to suck air, but they can't hopelessly oscillating in ineffectual struggle. You try to make a noise, but nothing can come out. You trash and writhe more, hoping, praying, pleading that this is a joke. You didn't think Sammy would ever do this. You love him so much; how can he kill you like this?
Sammy gives a soft growl and shift his position, pulling your head back with him. He thrusts again, this time hitting you right in your spot. Your head is pulled back, and you can feel Sam's slightly cold paws coming to rest by your sides. Your vision is beginning to black out from lack of oxygen.
Just as you are about to lose consciousness, Sam gives one more thrust, hitting you just right, and you spasm from pleasure. He immediately releases your throat and face, continuing to fuck you as hard and fast as he can. You suck in a breath of sweet, glorious, cool air. As soon as the fear of death has left you, you realize that you're having the most intense orgasm of your life. You're not cumming from your prostate or your cock, your whole body is engulfed in hot sex.
"Oh- Oh god! Oh- Sammmmyyyyyyyyy!" you shout as your legs quiver and your back arches. You've completely lost control (and even memory) of your arms, and Sam presses your face into the floor as he gives a guttural growl of pleasure from his own orgasm. The feeling of the carpet against your skin is like an island in an ocean of orgasmic bliss. Sam squeezes your shoulder with one claw while pulling the back of your hair with the other, forcing you into the perfect position for his cock to keep hitting you right where you want it.
Your pleasure plateaus, slowly starting to drop off between thrusts, but still throbbing in ecstasy during each apex. In a few moments, it is done. Your whole body feels like it had undergone a perfect massage, and your mind is still struggling to string together concepts enough to speak. Sam withdraws from you, and rolls you over on your side to face him. He smiles at you with his big puppy dog eyes. You can't think of anything to say, so you kiss him. You kiss him again. You kiss him, you hug him, and you kiss him. You're nearly in tears from how much you love your wonderful boyfriend. He's the first to speak.
"I'm so sorry I scared you," he said with genuine apology in his voice.
"You pretty brute, I wasn't scared for a minute" you say. Happiness erased any fear you might have had from your mind. He hold you close and purrs. You let him put his cool hind paws between your thighs to warm them up. Eventually, the purring gives way to snoring, and you let sleep take you, too.
"Aughhhhhh..." Sam groans as he clips the film so the scenes would line up. The tape stuck to his talon flops around and gets stuck on his chestfeathers. He tugs at it, and with a small grimace, pulls it off. A small amount of down sticks to it.
"Are you sure you don't want any help, baby?" you ask. He'd been at it for hours, since before you got home. He didn't even stop when you made him dinner (a light salad followed by slow-cooked ribroast and a buttery scallop scampi), choosing to eat quickly without leaving his well-lit desk. He looks up at you for a moment, his bloodshot eyes taking a few seconds to focus on you.
"Hmm?" he grunts. "No, it's okay, I've got it covered, Anon." He turns back to his work.
You walk over to where he's sitting in his chair, hunched over the film. You put your hands on his shoulders, right where his neck meets his wings. He's so tense there; you give him a massage and a light kiss on the cheek.
"I'm sorry about this, Anon," he mumbles apologetically. "Just... After this, we'll be on easy street."
"Sam," you say flatly. "I'm already there." You reach a hand down past his shoulder and feel his chestfeathers, running your fingers through his soft down. "As long as I've got you, I don't need anything else."
Sam takes a moment. He closes his eyes and sighs, leaning his head back against your shoulder.
"It's called 'Horsefeathers,'" he says quietly, eyes still closed. You already knew; Samuel Predeuxcine was not a name known in the film industry, but his indie documentaries had gained a small following amongst the local university students and politicos. This one was about how ancient Pegasopolitan standards of beauty were being unrealistically applied to modern pegasi. Film fit Sammy so well; he couldn't focus on one thing for more than a few months, so his projects that went long often petered out. But documentaries could be finished in a matter of weeks, which suited him just fine.
"You're doing some real good, you know," you offer encouragingly. You don't know anything about editing film, but you do know how to edit his mood. As if on cue, Sam's beak cracks a smile.
"Somebody tell Photo Finish and Fleur de Lis," he chuckles in a low deadpan. You lay a kiss on his cheek, and glance at the clock. 11:31 PM. If you don't get to bed soon....
"AJ's going to kill you tomorrow morning if you don't get to bed soon, Anon," Sammy says, as if reading your mind.
You bite your lip. You don't want to leave him alone, but you *do* have to go to bed...
"Go on," he says. "Shoo!" He flares his wings and puffs his feathers out to give you a little push. You giggle a bit, give him a goodnight kiss on the beak, and head off to bed.
You awaken early the next morning, 6AM sharp. After a quick shower and shave, you come out to the living room to find that Sam is asleep hunched over his desk. He looks so cute just sitting there...
You quietly stalk to the phone and call in for a sick day. AJ isn't pleased, but understands. You sneak back into the living room, where Sammy sits snoring, a small puddle of saliva pooling on the desk. You should probably stop him from sleeping there before it ruins the film.... But how? You lean him back into the chair, hoping it won't wake him up. Unfortunately, it does.
"Whozaa...... What?" he spews groggily, rising from the chair all at once.
"Shhh," you say gently, leading him by claw over to the couch, where he collapses on his back immediately. His snores are louder than before. You sit down next to his head, shimmying it onto your lap. Somehow he remains asleep.
You sit for a good hour, simply listening to your love breathe and snore, idly caressing his feathers all the while. You don't know when he finally fell asleep, but it might have been recently, so he might sleep all day. You'd be content to sit with him for the rest of your days.
Your hand tires of feather, and moves to caress his fur. After a few moments, his claw reaches up and grasps your free hand. He cracks an eye and grins. You take his claw in both hands, massaging his talons, arm, shoulder, and wings. He drifts in and out of sleep, finally coming to full lucidity at around 1pm.
"Morning, sunshine," you say, planting a long kiss on his warm forehead. He gives you a playful nip on the neck while you're bent down. "I took the day off," you say, before he can ask.
His eyes bely gravity of your act; a day off is no light thing for you. He reaches his arms up and squeezes you around the middle. After a moment, he pulls himself up on your, coming to sit on your lap facing you. He gives you a long kiss on the lips, and shrouds both of you with his wings.
"I love you more than anything, Anon," he whispers into your ear. You respond with a long squeeze, even holding his tail between your legs.
Sammy holds your head in his chestfeathers, wreathing you with his wings. He smells of vanilla and cigarettes, and a certain hint of musk which makes your heart race just thinking about it. You return his embrace, running your fingers all over his flanks and back. Suddenly, he releases you, and drops off your lap onto the floor, kneeling in front of you. That's odd, normally you're the one who-
He slides his talons into the elastic waistline of your boxers, running them all the way around your front. So that's how he's going to play this....
"Your little sparrow is ready, big Sammy," you say seductively.
"No, my love," he says. "Today, you are the eagle, and I am the sparrow." This takes you by surprise; he's never bottomed before that you know of. You don't even think you know how to top. But he seems intent.
He dispenses with your clothing by pulling off your boxers and pajama pants in one swift motion, revealing your already erect, yet still somewhat confused, cock. He looks at it, not entirely sure what to do, and gives it a lick. Oooh, my, that's good... He licks it again. And again. You shudder from his teasing, and give him a pleading face. He obliges and takes it all into his beak.
It feels strange, at first; it's warm, wet, and quite soft. He moves his beak around your cock and you remember what pleasure feels like. You gasp, feeling the soft, wet flesh of his tongue and throat clash with the warm, hard cartilage of his beak. It's like a study in opposites, but he guides you through. His tongue strokes your cock like an artist painting a canvas, and you have to stifle the urge to thrust into him with all your strength. You place your hand on his head, caressing his soft, lovely feathers to tell him what a good job he's doing.
"My lovely, perfect little sparrow," you manage to say before he shuts you up with a quick lash of the tongue to your glans. You inhale quickly, and squeak, "I'm close."
He eases up, playing with your cock gently and more slowly. You feel his claw cup your balls, giving them a light squeeze. His hands are warm and soft, and you feel as if you're going to explode in his mouth. "Sammmmyyyyyy," you moan. He prods your perineum and almost sends you over the edge. He must have noticed your response, because as you glance down at him, he looks up at you, a cocky look on his face. He pulls away from your crotch, but keeps you hard by stroking your cock.
"Lie back," he says, while rearing up on his paws. You do as he says and lie down on the couch. He swings on top of you, and without missing a beat, plops down on your cock, spearing himself. His face screws up in surprise and pain, and your heart goes out to him. He must not have known.... But he's tough, and his pain turns to determination.
"I'm going to make you cum, my eagle," he says, clearly shrugging off pain and trying to focus on pleasure.
"I'll make you cum, big lion," you say, enjoying the role switch.
Sam draws himself up, and then lowers himself down back onto your cock, slowly at first, but with increasing relaxation and confidence, he increases his speed. Once he gets a feel for what he's doing, you can see he's actually enjoying himself.
"Oh, my big falcon," he pants, squeezing you.
"That's right, my little canary," you say, chuckling. You try thrusting up into him, but he puts a stern claw on your chest.
"Not today, my strong, sexy hawk. Oh, no. Your little starling is going to do alllll the work for you," he says in a sultry tone. For some reason, that made him all the sexier to you, and you have to work not to fuck him. Laying there without moving was torture, and quite submissive; no wonder you liked it so much. After a minute or two, you can't take it any more, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him down to kiss you. He obliges, and bounces his pert ass up and down on your crotch, his tail writhing and curling in pleasure all the while.
The change in angle must have made things more fun for him, since he started moaning nearly immediately after you broke off your kiss.
"OoooooooOOOohhh, fuck me, eagle daddy!" he moans, cradling your head in his claws as he continuously pounds himself with your dick. You kiss him again, finding his tongue in his mouth and wrestling with it. You grab his ass and squeeze his cheeks as hard as you can, causing him to shudder and groan.
"Come on, Sammy, cum for me; cum for your big eagle," you say. Normally quite reserved, his moans are turning you on all the more.
"HooooooaaaaaaaaOOOooooohhhhhh... Anon, finish me, please," he begs. Whether he was unable or inexperienced enough to do it himself didn't matter any more. You give a few quick adjustments and hit him right where you know his spot to be....
"OooOOOOOOOH!" he shouts. You feel him contract, squeezing your dick tightly, as he begins to come. You feel him squirt warm liquid onto your stomach, and strangely, warm liquid drips from his face onto your chest. You notice he's tearing up as you're fucking him senseless, and his wings are flaring with each thrust, too.
"Ohhh! Anon, fuck me! GOD! I love you!" he squeals. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouhoohooooooo~" he moans until he runs out of breath. You begin to cum alongside him, squirting into him like you've never done before. He continues to spasm and arc, tensely heaving as he sobs in pleasure. You finish cumming quicker than he does, but he keeps squeezing your cock, and holding onto your shoulders for dear life. You give one last thrust before you run out of steam, causing him to gasp and arc his back towards you, his chestfeathers spreading his cum and tears over your skin.
He collapses onto your chest, his claws and wings falling limp. He looks at you with big eagle eyes; you don't see anything but love in their deep green ocean. You caress his head with one hand while squeezing his claw with another. He occasionally trembles and shivers, but it passes quickly, especially as you grow flaccid within him. His superior weight starts to press down on you, making it difficult to breathe, but you don't mind. He kisses you over and over again, and you stay locked in your embrace for what feels like an eternity.
After a while, you both get up. He disentangles himself from you, and you breathe more easily with him off you. You take a shower together, embracing and swaying together, simply enjoying the sounds the water makes as your redirect its flow with your bodies. After you've both cleaned up, you say your first words to each other since coitus.
"Was it worth it," you ask. He nearly tears up.
"Of course it was worth it; anything for you, Anon. I love you with my everything. You're my whole world," he said, hugging you tightly.
That was enough to convince you. He went back to work on his film after a spell, and you started to make dinner. Without words, you could tell that even though he enjoyed it, it didn't change anything between you; only reaffirming how much you loved each other. Everything was as it should be.
"So how do you even stand on these things, Anon?" Sammy asks, turning your foot over his claws. His sharp talons tickle the soft bridge of your foot. You stifle a giggle.
"You sort of distribute your weight all over it..." you say, pondering just how humans do walk. You never really put much thought into it. "Maybe we just have better balance than griffons and ponies do," you say, shrugging.
"Really?" Sammy says, releasing your foot. He took a moment to stabilize himself, and stood up on his hind paws. "How about this, then?" he asked with a cocky smirk.
"OK, Mr. Tallbird," you say, rising off the couch to stand eye-to-eye with him. He's bigger than you, but standing on his hind legs like that, he's not taller than you by much. You look him straight in his green eagle eyes. He looks back at you, searching.... And completely failing to notice the gentle shove you gave him square in the chest to set him off balance. He panics for a moment, breaking eye contact as he flares his wings and waves his arms, eventually overcorrecting and falling straight into you.
You both fall backwards into the couch. You weren't quite prepared, and you pay for it with a mouth full of feather.
"God, Anon, why'd you do that?" Sammy asks as he disentangles himself from you, sounding genuinely annoyed. His voice sort of reminds you of when Dad used to get mad at you.
"Sorry, I-" you begin apologetically.
"Sorry nothing!" he says loudly, picking himself up and standing on two paws again. He gestures behind himself rather angrily. "I could have fallen into the table!"
You lean to your right and peer around your seething boyfriend; a glass coffee table lay behind him. You hadn't thought of that.
"Sammy, I'm so sorry, I-" you say, your eyes welling up with tears at the thought of him getting hurt.
"Sorry wouldn't pay the hospital bill!" he shouts, leaning down in your face. "Sorry wouldn't get the glass out of my skin!"
"Sammy, just listen to me!" you shout, tears running down your cheeks. Please don't let him be like this. Please.
"NO!" she shouts. All at once you feel his talons like needles on your head. "Do you ever THINK!?" he screams, squeezing your head harder. "Is there ANYTHING going on up there?!"
You're blubbering at this point, stammering out half-formed words in apology and plea for mercy. Sammy has other ideas.
"YOU FUCKING RETARD!" he screams in your face, as loud as he can. For a moment you feel a twinge of fear that the neighbors are going to hear. During that moment, you fail to register the pain and disorientation from him shoving your head down on the couch. You hope it's over. You hope he's going to go cool off, and you can talk about it and tell him how sorry you are. He has other ideas. As you pick yourself up, he levels his head with yours, mere inches from your face.
"You're a freak," he says, low and stone cold. "You're a freak in a world that's never seen anything like you. Nobird is ever going to love you. You. Are. Worthless."
Sammy grabs you by the upper arms, picking you up from the couch. He lifts you with ease, slamming you against the wall. You're fully sobbing by now.
"No, no, no," you sob. "Pleeeease, Sammy, don't do this!" you choke out. His eyes are hard and his feathers are fluffed out with rage. His claws dig savagely into your biceps. You look deep into his eyes, and for the first time, you feel real fear. Deep, primal fear. You feel like he might actually hurt you, might actually *kill* you. You don't like this feeling. Not one bit.
"Swordfish!" you shout. "Swordfish!"
Faster than a bolt of lightning, Sammy pulls your down from the wall and pulls you into a warm, gentle embrace. He starts to sob.
"Oh, Anon," he cried. His tears fall into your hair as he lovingly cradles your head. "I hate it. I hate it so much. Don't make me do it again."
You return his embrace, long and hard.
"I don't like it either," you say. "I just didn't expect you to take it so far."
"What?" he asks, pulling back and looking you in the face, tears still slowing from his eyes. "I'm an actor, what did you expect?"
"Well..." you say, inhaling, hiccuping, and regaining your composure. "Not that."
"Oh my god, Anon, I'm so sorry !" he says, clutching you again and holding your throbbing head to his chestfeathers. "I just want you to know that I love you. I love you and I didn't mean any of it."
"Of course not, my wonderful pheonix," you say, caressing his wing. "You're a superb actor, though."
Too good of an actor. This will be the last time you try experimenting with 'hate play.' Next up in the "A-Z Book of Fetishes" is 'Intimate Cooking.' That one sounds more tame.
"Uuuuuugggggghhhhhhh," Sammy groans as he trudges inside, heavily laden with groceries. "Aaaaannnnnnooooooonnnnnnnnnn...." he wails dramatically.
You glare at him, since you're carrying more weight than him, and on only two feet. He's got half the amount of groceries you have, and still, he's spread them out over four legs. Nevertheless, he collapses to the floor as soon as he gets into the kitchen. You slip off your shoes and deposit your groceries on the counter.
"Come on, Sammy, stop being such a drama queen," you chide.
"But I'm tiiiiiiired," he whines, smiling up at you mischievously. You give him a little love tap on the beak with your foot. He groans in feigned agony, rolling onto his side between the bags of food to either side. You stoop down to pick them both up at once, and lift them up to the counter. The big griffon continues to write in mock pain. You walk back over to him, standing over him. His fur tickles one foot, while his feathers tickle your other.
"Come on, Sammy, we weren't even out shopping for that long!" you fuss as he rolls onto his back to look up at you. His wings try to flare, but your ankles are in the way, so the flex uselessly by his sides.
"It was like, five hours!" he exclaims, grabbing your shins, one in each claw.
"Oh, it was not," you retort, taking a look at the clock. Much to your surprise, he's right; you'd been buying food and clothing for the greater part of the day.
"Oh yeah?" he says, having figured out the mental math quicker than you.
"Oh, all right," you sigh. "It was five hours, but I still don't see why you-" you begin to say before you're cut off by Sammy pulling your legs out from under you. In a sudden blur, you land on Sammy's chest. If he's hurt by the impact, he doesn't show it. You, however, aren't so hardy, and got the wind knocked out of you. You look accusingly at Sammy as you struggle to catch your breath. His face looks concerned, but still somewhat mischievous.
"Sorry, Anon," he says, genuinely apologetic. "I keep forgetting your kind aren't as tough as griffons are."
"Damn right, and don't forget it" you choke out. You give him a punch to the side of the chest, but he doesn't even notice. You push yourself off him, lifting yourself by the arms off the floor. He gives you a gentle nudge down towards his lower body. He looks at you expectantly.
"Come on, man, you know that's not until later," you say, sounding for all the world like a parent scolding a child.
"No no no," he says quickly, before you can retort. "I mean these! " Somehow he slides himself up away from you, leaving you staring at his hind paws. You look from his feet to his face, incredulous, but he simply smiles and makes puppy-dog eyes at you. You pull yourself up to sit indian-style with his paws in your lap. He really has earned it. He's not used to walking around so much, and he absolutely hates shopping, especially for anything that isn't a video game or alcohol. He's such a... A guy.
You give him a look of absolute consternation.
"Only because you were such a good boy in the liquor aisle, okay?" you say, giving him a hard look. He wilts under your glare, but you let up. He had been a better shopping mate than prior trips.... This time he'd even waited until you paid for the booze until he took a taste.
You look back down at his paws. Despite traipsing around a store all day, his paws look immaculately clean and pink. You decide to start with the right paw. You give a wide, sweeping knead of his pad, and you can feel his leg completely relax.
"Ahhhhh," he sighs contentedly, his tail flicking lazily at your legs as he splays himself out further. You take both thumbs and press deeply into the center of his paw, radiating pressure outwards with circular kneading.
"You should really do this..." he manages to groan. "Instead of working for the applefuckers."
"Apples," you correct him. "And it's Applebucking ."
"Whatever," he sighs as you intertwine his toes and your fingers, applying pressure with your palm to his paw. "Geez, that feels good."
As you switched to his other paw, which you repeat the whole process on, you do start thinking... Maybe having hands in Equestria is more of a boon than just being able to do farm work with Big Mac and Applejack. You might be able to start a masseur's...
Once you've finished giving the big griffon his paw massage, you crawl back up to his chest, hoping to get at least a kiss for your efforts. You close your eyes, hoping he'll take the hint, but instead, you feel a strange warm wetness on your cheek; far too warm and wet for a kiss... You open your eyes to find Sammy painting your face with his tongue. In a moment of shock and revulsion, you pull away from him, only to find his claws holding you to his chest. You push away from him, but Sam is much stronger than you.
"C'mere and give us a kiss, peekon," he said in a faux-sultry voice.
"Nooo!" you shriek in half-laughter, half-horror. He continues to lap at your face for a few seconds until he finally releases you. You arise to your feet, laughing.
"You taste like apples, Anon!" Sammy chuckles from the floor. That'll probably be all the apples you've eaten as a result of your work at Sweet Apple Acres.
"I'd taste you back," you say, coming around and giggling a bit as you wash your face. "But first I'd have to pluck you!"
Sammy rises to all fours in mock horror. "You wouldn't," he says.
"I would," you say, grinning evilly. The grin drops from your face when you remember the groceries. "Sammy, quick, put the ice-cream away while I make a marinade!"
"Geez, back to the grind already, I see," he groans. Oh, the grind would come later.
In just a few minutes you'd put together a marinade of teriyaki, chili sauce, and garlic paste. The mere smell had Sammy salivating (and you hoped it wouldn't give him any more drooly ideas). You tenderly lay two steaks in the marinating dish, one big, one not so big. While they soaked in the delicious blend of sauces, you set about dividing up the jobs. Sammy wasn't much good in the kitchen, so you had him chopping vegetables for a salad. Meanwhile, you worked on a nice side dish of pasta. You'd both been fasting all day so you could make such a big meal, which had somewhat contributed to Sammy's lethargy, but you felt fine.
You set about shucking the scallops and cracking the crabs, pulling the meat out of their hard shells. You stole a glance at Sammy's station on the other side of the kitchen. He was trying to dice tomatoes, but was managing to make something that resembled V8. You giggle at your adorable oaf, and continued to extract the meat from your shellfish.
"Sod it!" you hear him his under his breath as an oversized olive escapes his knife and rolls out of the kitchen down the hallway. You take the chance to quickly dice his tomatoes, and retreat to the sink where you're rinsing the scallops. He returns, decides that he's a better chef than he thought, and dumps the tomatoes into the salad bowl. You stifle a chuckle at your big old catbird.
You take a moment to drain the scallops and pull the crab meat into nice, stringy strands, and before you can move from the sink to the oven, you feel Sammy's damp, cold claws on your shoulders, leaning on you as he extends up to his full height.
"Salad's done," he says in your ear in the sexiest tone he can muster. You feel a little tightness in your crotch, but that might just be your boxer-briefs bunching up from all this standing and shuffling. "What are you doing?" he asks, nipping your ear with his beak.
"Close your eyes," you instruct, feeling his wonderfully soft feathers brushing against your neck. You take half a stick of butter and let it melt in the pan you've prepared at medium heat, letting the butter brown a bit. You dump the scallops and crab meat onto the butter, and immediately a wet sizzle fills the air. Moments later, it's followed by the buttery, salty smell of sauteing seafood. You feel Sammy shudder with anticipation, pawing at your calf with his hind paw as if trying to climb up on you.
"Delicious..." he murmurs. "My little sparrow can cook," he says definitively, opening his eyes.
"Oh, indeed he can," you reply. You gesture towards the marinating dish. "Get the steaks."
He needs no second bidding, and in a flash returns with two steaks... In his claws. You grimace, but he doesn't notice. You show him how to gingerly rub salt, pepper, and olive oil on the steaks, putting your hands over his claws as he rubs them. When they're done you have him place them in the hot cast-iron griddle you've prepared at medium heat. They sizzle away happily as you stir the scallops and crab and Sammy washes his claws."Fill up a pot of water for the pasta," you say. He returns with a pot much sooner than you expected.
"Planning~" he intones. Maybe he wasn't as bad a chef as you made him out to be. You set the pot to boil as you continue to sautee the seafood, adding more butter, more garlic, pecorino-romano and parmigiano-reggiano cheeses. Sammy puts his claws on your hips as the sauce begins to take shape. He presses his crotch into the seat of your pants, holding your hips while swaying from side to side. You begin to lose yourself in the motion....
"Turn the steaks!" you bark, and he snaps to obey immediately. He quickly turns the steaks from one side to another.
"Spread a quarter of a stick of butter on each," you say, and he does. A nutty smell fills the air, and you drop the pasta into the boiling pot of water. A quick stir of the seafood alfredo.... And you're free. For the moment. You later a kiss on Sammy's beak, and he returns your affection with verve. He drops to all fours and pulls you down to the floor with him in one swift, gentle motion. He looks you in the eyes and smiles.
"How long?" he asks. You do some mental math. The steaks had the shortest fuse, and would have to be taken off in five or six minutes.
"Six or seven minutes," you say. "If you like your steak well-done."
"More than enough time, babe," he says, and instantly sets about pulling your pants off. It takes him a moment to undo the button (he's getting better at it), and he nearly tears off your underwear with how fast he is at removing them.
You feel his cool, sharp claws teasing your member with their points. You giggle naughtily and pat his flank so he'll move around and give you access to his anatomy. He obliges, coming to stand over you, and continues to tease you until you're as hard as you can get. He's already hard, so you didn't need to tease him very much at all. You give him a lick, and he nearly jumps at the sensation. Your time is short, so you take him into your mouth all at once. His rump gives a little jump, but lowers back down over you. You work hist shaft over until he's quivering with pleasure and anticipation, all the while he's stroking you as sweetly and tenderly as he can.
You take a quick whiff of the air. You can smell that the steaks are nearing completion, which means the pasta can't be far behind. You run the underside of your tongue over his foreskin, and he bucks a little, pushing himself deeper into your throat. You oblige him with a big lap of his whole length. His clawjob speeds up a bit, and your hips being to move a bit involuntarily. The soft skin of his balls are in your eyes, they're warm, soft, and they twitch every now and again when you give a particularly pleasurable lick. You tickle his shaft with your teeth, and give a final suck, and Sammy begins to cum. He jerks his arm in response to the sudden wave of pleasure, which kicks off your own orgasm. You do your best to wrap your tongue around Sammy's throbbing shaft, pressing your forehead into his perineum, partially to increase his pleasure, partially because you can't control yours.
You feel his cool seed squirt into your throat, and you swallow every last drop; the motion squeezes his shaft more, and you are rewarded with a moan from your lover.
"Anooon," he moans, finally finished stroking you, idly tracing lines on your stomach with his sharp talons with your own cum. As you feel the last pulse of his moment fade, you retreat from his nethers and race to take the steaks off the heat. A quick cut tells you that they were grilled to medium-rare perfection. You dump the pasta into the strainer, letting it drain for a few moments before putting it on a serving plate and dumping the sautee over top of it. You quickly put together two plates; a steak, a portion of seafood scampi, and a side of salad adorn both. You put the plate with the bigger steak in from of Sammy, who's still on the floor, absentmindedly enjoying the afterglow and playing with a string of your cum between two talons.
"Here you go, my Kingfisher," you say lovingly, bending down to give his half-erect chubby cock a loving kiss before sitting down indian-style in front of him. He eyes the food greedily, and rests his head on your knee.
"This Kingfisher caught the greatest fish to ever swim," he said, squeezing your thigh and giving your knee a nip.
"Hush and eat your food before it gets cold," you scold him. He looks up at you with sad eyes. You're not quite sure what they mean, but they go away when you pick up a piece of steak on your fork and put it in his beak for him.
"I love you, Anon," he says through a mouthful of surf and turf. You reach out a hand and caress his soft headfeathers. You bend down and kiss him on the cheek.
"And I you, my sparrowhawk."
"Oh, come on, Anon, it wasn't that bad," Sammy laughed as you both walked through the door to your house.
" 'Oh come on ' " you intone mockingly. "It was terrible. "
"If you say so~" Sammy says airily, shutting the door with a paw and giving you a little shove.
"Taking me to see Catbirdemic on my day off," you grumble, lurching into the living room. You peel your shoes off and collapse on the couch.
"Want a drink, mon pute? " he calls from the kitchen.
"Sure," you say. He has all sorts of pet names for you; some Griffonian, and some.... French. You don't even know why they speak Cajun french in the Griffon Kingdom, but somehow, they do. You really need to get around to learning what he's saying...
After a few minutes of relaxing on the couch, letting the frustrations of the day ease out of you, you hear Sam put something on the coffee table. You look up, and it looks like his idea of "a drink" is pouring a soda into a glass.
"Really?" you say, incredulous. You give him a cockeyed glance as you take the glass from the table. Sammy returns your sarcasm.
"Yeah, really," he says, his voice dripping with derision. "Just trust me, okay?" he says, taking a sip of his own soda, the glass clinking against his beak. You're not really a soda guy, but whatever. It's cold, and you just walked a few miles in the spring heat, so anything will do. You lift it to your lips and take a sip. There's a tiny hint of the over-saccharine sweetness you've come to expect from Equestrian cola, but what you weren't expecting was the veritable paint thinner the griffon seems to have dumped in the glass. You hack and sputter, coughing for a moment as the rough alcohol runs down your throat. Luckily none got in your sinuses.
"What the hell!" you choke, setting the glass down.
"Are you okay?" Sammy asks, genuinely concerned, giving you a pat on the back, half out of condolence, half trying to help you get the liquor down.
"Yeah," you manage. "But what the actual fuck?"
"It's only 150 proof!" Sammy exclaims. "Nothing too strong!"
You manage to bark out a laugh between coughs. You knew Sammy liked to drink, but you didn't know he liked to drink that much.
"How did you even mix them?" you sputter.
"About sixty-forty," he says, nonchalant.
"That's like..." you begin, doing some mental math. "...Forty-five percent pure alcohol!"
"Forty-five percent good alcohol!" he cries in response.
"At 3PM on a Sunday?" you say, finally able to breath normally.
"When better?"
You ponder that for a moment. Really, you only have one day off, and you do have to get up early... So Saturday night and Sunday afternoon are probably your best bets for any debauchery.
"I don't really know," you offer meekly.
"Come on Anon," Sammy says, turning stern now that he sees that you're alright. "I made you a drink, now finish it."
You stare at the glass, which seems to have swollen to the size of a tankard. Inside lay a concoction more powerful than medical-grade cleaning agent. And your boyfriend expected you to drink it? Well... He'd humored you when you tried to cook new dishes, or improvised in lieu of a crucial ingredient you forgot to buy, so you ought to humor him. You pick up the potent drink, you arm trembling. Sammy takes a sip of his own. You close your eyes and take a sip. You hold it in your mouth, your taste buds protesting every second.
"Avales, " Sammy says softly. You don't understand what it means. You swallow, feeling the warm, vaguely acidic sensation run down your throat and into your stomach. Unlike most drinks you've had, it doesn't feel warm in your stomach. It doesn't roil, but as soon as it leaves your esophagus it feels more cold than warm. You look at your boyfriend again, wondering if you are done. You can see in his eyes that you're not done until the glass is empty. He casually drains his own glass, which seems a lot smaller in his claw than it does in yours, all the while maintaining stern eye contact. He raises an eyebrow.
"Are you mild, peekon? " he asks.
Trembling, your arm lifts your glass to your lips, and you finish the whole thing in two gulps. You can feel the cells being flayed off the skin of your mouth as it goes down. Finally finished, you hand the glass to Sammy.
"I have reevaluated the situation, and I conclude that you're not mild," he says in a deadpan tone. "You're WILD! Bouilla! "
He puts down both glasses and holds your head in his claws as he presses his beak onto your lips. You melt for a moment in his big griffon kiss, savoring his approval. You guess that this must be some sort of griffon manliness test. Sammy breaks out of the kiss, but still holds your face close to his.
"Anon, tu m'excites ," he says. "J'ai envie de toi ."
"Dude," you say, beginning to feel the first stirrings of the drink in your head. "What?"
Sammy kisses you again, more briefly this time.
"I love you," he says in a low voice. "Let's fuck ."
You can't argue with that. But you need to peel yourself away from your boyfriend so you can... Prepare. You ease yourself out from under Sammy, who by now knows what's up, and scuttle away to the bathroom. Meanwhile, Sammy occupies himself by taking a couple gulps of the paint thinner he calls rum. No sooner have you finished with all the important stuff, you hear a thump hit the door. Outside you can hear purring.
"Tu me rends fou la, " he groans, scratching at the door. You still have no idea what he's saying, but damn, he's good at saying it. After a few minutes, you can feel the booze really hitting you hard, sailing right past a buzz and coming to dock somewhere in tipsy territory. You open the door and fall into Sammy's arms. He squeezes you tightly; you can feel his soft feathers against your skin, and you can feel his rising cock pressing into your stomach. You pull your hips back a bit, then wrap your legs around one of his.
"On s'envoie en l'air? " he asks.
"Just shut up and fuck me, bird!" you whine.
"Oh, Anon mon amour, je vais, " he said in a sultry tone. He falls down on all fours, leaving you laying down on your back beneath him. He gently let your backside fall down as he motions for you to flip over. You oblige and wiggle with excitement, the booze making you feel like it's the first time all over again. Sammy teases you for a few moments, before slowly plunging himself in. You can feel his warm balls rest on your cheeks as he pushes in as far as he can manage. He leans down to you and whispers in your ear.
"Tu etes parfait ," he says, almost too soft for you to hear. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and in your state, you try to bend backwards to kiss him. You don't have much luck, but you feel him kiss your sloppily on your cheek as you try. Sammy begins to pull out, and push back in again. He's slow at first, feeling how you respond. Normally it takes a few strokes, but it seems the alcohol has relaxed you completely; you quiver from his touch, but you try to push yourself onto him further. He appreciates the effort, and slides his claws under your hips. Insodoing he falls face-first onto your back, but he doesn't seem to mind, instead pushing with renewed enthusiasm. He pulls your ass up into his crotch with his claws, bracing his back from holding himself up with only his neck and back legs.
"Oh, Sammy," you moan, feeling him begin to tantalize your spot. Just a *little* farther down.... OH! He's randy, but he knows what he's doing.
"Tres bon! " he says in a strained voice, obviously having a hard time talking through the pleasure, exertion, and alcohol. He grunts in satisfaction with every thrust, thanks in part at least to you synchronizing with his thrusts. His claws, cool and hard, squeeze your hips harder. "Tres bon! " he repeats.
You feel like he's pushing you to climax the entire time, but for some reason, your body won't let you go over the edge. Maybe whiskey dick is a thing for bottoms, too.
"Sammy, please, baby, let me finish" you moan. He hears, and shift his arm so that it's holding your hips in to him by itself, and maneuvers his other claw around to your penis, which was in that wonderful, half-erect state it gets when you're about to have an anal orgasm.
"Juste une minute, mon cher, " he grunts. *That* you understand. He squeezes it and teases it, which sets you stiffening.
Sammy can't hold it any longer, and begins to cum into you.
"Desole, je ne peux pas- " he starts to say, before you cut him off.
"Oh!" you shout as you begin to orgasm in time with him. His throbs sent you over the edge, and now you're having a low, slow-rolling orgasm that squeezes him long and hard. You quiver in between pulses, and Sammy pulls you in close to him, pressing down right where you both want. He involunatrily spasms, pushing himself into you, harder and faster than you expected. Your eyes open wide for a moment, not sure whether it's pain or pleasure that he's given you. After a full second, you recognize it as pleasure, and intense pleasure at that.
"Anon..." he says, nearing the end of his stamina. You squeeze him one last time, longer and harder than before like the climactic 'Amen' at the end of Mozart's Lacrimosa. He shudders and collapses, falling off to your side. He tears himself from you in the process, giving you one final pulse of warm, radiating sex before you collapse next to him. He says something to you, but you're too enraptured to hear it, making incoherent noises in response after being fucked silly. He chuckles and pulls you close into him, kissing you on top of your head. You snuggle down in his chest feathers, feeling warm and content as your cocks grow soft against each other.
"Nous ne devrions pas plus baiser sur le tapis," he mused. You hug him tighter.
"You talk too much," you say in a small voice, enjoying the afterglow while enjoying the warm sensation in your head from Sammy's goblet of pure alcohol. Maybe his test of manliness wasn't so bad after all. "Is that a griffon thing?" you ask.
"Hm?"
"Is finishing all that alcohol a griffon rite of passage or something?"
"Oh, no. I just think you're cute when you're drunk," he says, hiccuping. Your temper flares for a moment, but you cool off as fast as you got mad. You squeeze him in petty revenge. You bury your face in his feathers and do your best to scrunch like ponies do. He tickles your back with his talons and wraps a wing around you. He gives you another kiss on the head.
"Do you... Uh.... Want to watch a movie?" Sammy asked. You open one eye and glare at him.
"I don't trust your judgement, film degree or not," you grumble.
"But it's about a chef who-"
"Done. Shut up. Done."
"But Anon, we need you for applebucking season! It's the busiest time of year!" Applejack protests.
"Sorry, Ma'am, but my decision is final; I don't feel like my life is going anywhere in Equestria helping move apples around," you say. You cross your arms. You expected some resistance, and maybe for her even to offer you a raise, but you have a plan, and you're sticking to it.
"Well... If that's the way ya feel, Anon, I s'pose it just wouldn't be right to stop you from movin' on," she says, taking off her hat and looking at you sincerely. "Good luck, Anon." With that, she turns and starts walking back to the barn. As you walk off Sweet Apple Acres, you can hear a faint yell of "MAC! GET THE HELP WANTED SIGN OUT!"
Ah, you're a free man. AJ was a shitty boss. Nice, but shitty. You feel completely liberated by quitting your job as a farmhand, and you feel like your big break is right around the corner.
"How did it go?" you hear before something large and feathery slams into you from behind. You stumble a few steps before that same something lifts you off your feet and into the air. You look up at your big griffon boyfriend.
"Stop doing that without warning me first!" you chide him indignantly, looking down at the ground shrinking beneath you.
"Oh, you don't like flying?" he says, a wicked smile appearing on his beak. "Tout a fait, how silly of me..." he says. He slackens his grip on you to the point where you feel yourself start to fall, but he tightens it again immediately after. The short jolt of falling sensation is enough to shut you up.
You feel a bit queasy, looking down at Ponyville from this high up, so you shut your eyes and try to just focus on Sammy's claws holding you up. They're as strong as steel clamps, and you're confident he's a good enough flier not to drop you, but you still feel nervous nonetheless.
"How did it go?" he asks, after a fashion. He seems excited about something, but you can't put your finger on what.
"Better than I thought, but she didn't even offer me a raise," you say over the wind.
"Applefuckers are stingy, huh?" he asks. You don't even dignify him with a response, partially fearing your breakfast about to repeat on you. After a few minutes, you feel Sammy glide down to ground level, and you open your eyes to see the ground rushing up to your feet. You dig your heels in, and Sammy holds his wings wide, flapping them a few times to slow himself down. A smooth landing, overall, but citizens of Ponyville are starting to stare.
You're used to this by now; only the top level of magical researchers (and the town loony) know what humans are, so seeing one is naturally interesting to them. More interesting, however, is his bedfellow; a griffons aren't exactly a common sight, either, coming from a land far across the sea. Together, you two might well be a circus act landing in the middle of town.
"Have you eaten yet?" Sammy asks.
"No," you answer. Normally the Apple family would cook you something to eat for lunch so you could get right back to work, but you left around the time they normally fed you.
"Anything you feel like?" the griffon asks, looking around the street for eateries, his eyes coming to rest on a little open-air cafe.
"Wherever that place is," you say. There weren't many restaurants in Equestria that could cook as well as you could, and Sammy knew it, but sometimes you had to take what you could get.
It doesn't take long to put in your orders. The restaurant doesn't have meat, but it does have what Sammy considered to be the next best thing: a deep fat dryer. Fully half of the cafe's menu is fried in some abyssal concoction of oils and greases. He orders a basket of fried okra and asparagus. You weren't too keen on the asparagus (for a number of reasons), and you stuck with a simple pasta dish. You both try to sit at a booth, but, finding the seats designed for ponies, you opt to sit on the cushions outside. It's hard living in a world designed for everyone else, and never for you.
"So where do you want to try first?" Sammy asks. "You're really good at a lot of things."
You can tell from the look in his eyes that he means it. But you can't really think of much that you're good at... You don't want to profit off of having hands, since that seems a bit cheap, and aside from that, nothing comes to mind.
"Like what," you ask. Sammy looks at you incredulously. gesturing around the cafe.
"Uh, cooking?" he quips sardonically.
"Hmm... Maybe you're right, but I'm not much good at cooking vegetarian dishes," you muse.
"Well..." he says. "There are more meat-eaters in Manehattan..."
"So we're going to move to Manehattan?" you ask sarcastically. "That seems like an awfully big deal just to cook for people..."
"Well, Anon, I sort of have something to tell you..." Sammy says, his voice trembling. "Horsefeathers is doing really well. Like, really well. Like celebrity endorsement well."
You don't know what to say. If his film about unrealistic beauty standards among pegasi is doing so well as to get celebrity endorsements... That means you two are now rolling in bits.
You scootch over to where he's sitting and give him a kiss on the cheek, and put your arm around his neck.
"I knew you're the best," you say. "I'm glad everyone else can see it now, too."
He returns your embrace, squeezing you tight.
"I've always wanted to live a big city," he said, sniffling, which was quite unlike him. "I've always dreamed of being there, and being part of it all... And now's our chance."
"Why Manehattan, though?" you ask, pulling back a bit.
"That's where all the directors and producers for Equestria's biggest movies live," he said. He'd been living in Equestria a little longer than you had, and he knew more about it than most ponies did, by virtue of always shooting indie documentaries and period pieces.
"So you could work for a studio?" you ask, getting a little giddy. He's always waxed poetically about being able to see his name under the Ponywood titles... And now might be his chance.
"Yeah, I actually have a few offers already," Sammy says excitedly, grabbing both your hands and shaking them giddily. "Some of the signing bonuses are even big enough to open a restaurant!"
"Sammy, you wouldn't..." you stammer.
"I would," he says seriously.
A though occurs to you, and you have to suppress a chuckle.
"Imagine that, a farmhand to a big city chef in just a few months!" you giggle. "In a few years, who knows, I might even become a princess!"
Sammy laughs along with you. He reaches pulls you into an embrace once again.
"You'll always be my princess."
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