Princesses and Stepladders

This story is essentially a “deleted scene” from “Princesses and Stepladders”. An unrated director's cut (author's cut?) extra, if you will.

A couple of readers have asked for more... details on what transpired in the part of the night that Duskwind was unable to remember in the morning. In particular, I was asked to be... a bit more explicit than I had been. I've never written that sort of thing before, except about humans, but I figured that I would take a shot at it. I'm not entirely certain how I feel about it, but since a couple of people wanted to read it, and the whole purpose of writing things is so people can enjoy them, I figured I'd give it a shot. Feedback is always welcome.

I decided on the “deleted scene” format as a way to have my cake and eat it too: People that want something more saucy can read it, without it ruining the enjoyment of the story for people who dislike that sort of thing.

This is a bit explicit, and is for mature audiences only. If sexual relations between consenting non-human people offends you, you have only yourself to blame for reading this.

It was true what they said, apparently: drink really was a great social equalizer. Neither the princess nor her unexpected guest would have had any trouble walking anywhere on their own four hooves, but it was well after midnight and both ponies had been consuming a slow but steady stream of wine for some hours.

To their mutual surprise, over a millennia of difference in their ages did not stop the two from having a lot in common. Many of the Princess Luna’s stories about growing up over a thousand years ago could almost have happened in Duskwind’s own life. Even her archaic language wasn’t much of a barrier, because the bookish librarian had read many books that were as old or even older than the midnight coloured alicorn. He didn’t say anything about it, because he didn’t want to embarrass her, and truth be told, he thought it was kind of cute.

Once he realized this, the strangeness of the situation rushed back to the forefront of his mind. He was laughing at the co-ruler of his homeland telling a story of a hilariously botched assassination attempt that happened twelve hundred years ago (not, incidentally, one of the stories he could relate to) while thinking that the story teller was “cute”.

When she had finished he refilled his glass and leaned back against the soft but threadbare cushions of his couch, and said with a grin, “You know, you've been through so much, but for me today has been the strangest day in my entire life, even though for you it’s just Tuesday. I was kidnapped by a beautiful but terrifying princess who tried to decide me, and now I’m swapping stories and drinking excellent wine in an even more beautiful princess’ private rooms.” The sudden realization of what he had just said hit him like a slap to the face, and he visibly winced. “That is... well it sounds bad when I say it like that. Well not 'bad', I mean it's a good thing... I keep expecting to wake up from a bizarre dream, but here we are.”

For one heart-stopping moment he worried that he might have overstepped himself, because she fixed him with a surprised gaze. It was hard to tell, but it seemed that her cheeks had coloured just a bit. Then she looked down into her glass and let her ears droop, looking surprisingly meek. “Dost...” she started to say, pausing for a moment with unexpected hesitation, “Dost thou truly find us... beautiful?”

He struggled for a moment to figure out what to even say to a question like that. “Luna... Princess Luna,” he said, deliberately using the honorific that she had so graciously allowed him to dispense with, hoping it would. “Everyone in Equestria thinks that you and your sister are among the most, if not the most beautiful mares alive.” He looked into his glass to avoid her eyes. “I, I mean, begging your pardon, I'm not trying to hit on you. It's just... they make paintings, and statues of you. The poet Silverquill even wrote an entire sonnet cycle basically just about you being pretty... though admittedly what he wrote said a lot about your eyes and mane and nothing about your flanks.” He winced again. That last part was clearly the wine talking. He normally wouldn’t say that sort of thing to any mare, much less a demi-goddess. “I mean, of course he didn't, because poets don't write like that. Well, I guess Nudge Nuge did write like that.” His cheeks grew hot as he dug himself deeper. “I mean, I've heard he did. I obvously haven't read any.. er... much of his stuff.”

She looked up from her glass and gazed into his eyes almost unblinkingly, a shy smile on her face, and waited patiently for him to stop rambling. “That is so... but though our subjects talk about us like that often, almost never does anypony tell us that to our face, unless they are flattering us because they want something. Even before our coup and exile, but especially now that we have returned and are still feared.”

What could he say? He was hardly a smooth talker at the best of times, but Duskwind knew enough about mares (and ponies in general), to know what she wanted to hear. Conveniently enough, what she wanted to hear was also true. He swallowed nervously and said what he had been thinking for hours. “I can’t do any better than Silverquill. I’m much better at reading words than saying them... but even if you weren’t a princess and an alicorn, you are so... well, if I met you on the street, you would take my breath away. I’d never in a thousand years be able to talk to you.”

She beamed at him and her momentary shyness melted away. “Thou art kind and sweet. And thou'rt so unlike those petitioners in court, flattering us to gain favours.” She stood up and slowly walked from the sofa she had occupied for the entire evening and towards where he sat. She never took her eyes off of him, even when she stumbled slightly and kicked a slipper off of one of her front hooves with a snort of frustration. Something in her expression reminded him slightly, just slightly of how her sister Celestia had looked at him earlier, when she had transformed him into his temporary shape and stature. “Though perhaps, just perhaps thou also desirest something from us?” she said in a silky purr.

His eyes widened and his pulse raced. “I... er... I didn’t mean to take any liberties, Pri... er... Luna.” Was she toying with him, he wondered in sudden terror. Was she about to mete out some terrible punishment for him being too familiar? He stood as still as a statue with his heart in his throat while she sat down heavily and gracelessly next to him with a little giggle.
His eyes were pressed tightly shut as he felt her softly nuzzle his cheek. She smelled faintly of cool grass and the perfume of the ground after rain on a spring night, and the scent filled his nostrils as she whispered in his hear. “Be not afraid. Thou hast taken no liberties with us... but perhaps thou ought.”

A small shiver ran across his body as her one slipper clad fore-hoof ran over the other side of his face and down his neck. Panic tightened around his stomach, and for a moment he felt like he might bolt like he had done from Celestia earlier. He didn’t think. He couldn’t think, so he just acted. He pulled his head slightly back from her, and when he saw her welcoming smile, something snapped in his mind... so he kissed her.

He felt dizzy as she kissed him back hungrily and wrapped her front legs around him, pulling him close to her. His mind raced as it struggled to understand that here he sat, lips and tongue entwined with those of a mare out of legend. The mingled taste of frosty winter nights and wine filled his mouth. He couldn't believe this was really happening, but as she kicked another of her fuzzy slippers off and ran her bare hoof along the side of his body and over his flank, there was no way to doubt it. Terror mixed with arousal as he realized that even if he had wanted to refuse her, he wouldn’t dare. As her touch drifted up his thigh and gently over a more intimate area there was no doubt at all that he certainly didn’t want to refuse her, though now he had a new terror: It felt like his body might do the refusing without his consent.

A look of slight disappointment flickered across her face momentarily, followed by a thoughtful expression. She leaned against him, gradually pushing him onto his back until she lay on him, pressing her body against his. It took a moment to unweave the resulting tangle of limbs, her breathing was as fast as his as she looked down at him. He looked into her eyes and admired her, her starry midnight mane tickling his shoulder as it waved in a breeze that had nothing to do with air. Her majestic wings flared and fluttered as his hooves explored her body, and when they reached her rump she gasped, kissed him again eagerly, and pressed her body against his even harder. This would have crushed the breath from him had he been his normal size, but in his magically changed form is simply excited and aroused him more than he could ever remember anything doing.

After long, uncountable moments of bliss she took her lips from his and nipped at his ear playfully. She ground her hips against his almost painfully swollen erection and whispered, “Methinks we are both ready, my dear. Celestia has done us one favour this night other than bringing us together. We most surely shan’t need to fetch a stepladder.” With that she giggled and started to slide off of him, and abruptly stopped. Visibly trying to keep a straight face she whispered, “Darling... you are laying on our mane.”

Once he had muttered an embarrassed apology and shifted his weight slightly, she slid off of him, successfully this time, running her mane and face down the length of his body and rose to her feet, slightly unsteadily.

Even when he was in her arms he hadn’t dared to think of how far this might go. Through the haze of wine and arousal he still had been half fearing that she might have been toying with him. All doubt left him as he took in the sight of her standing before him, bottom raised in the air, looking back over her shoulder at him and biting her lower lip. Out of his mouth unbidden came the words, “You... you are the most beautiful mare in the world.”

She fluttered her wings and laughed, giving him the hint of a pout born of playful impatience. With a little shimmy of her hips she purred, “Then get over here and have thy way with us, thou wild stallion.”

The last of Duskwind’s doubt evaporated in the heat of his desire, and he launched himself off of the soft cushions. After nuzzling and nipping her flanks, he rose on his hind legs and hungrily, almost roughly, mounted her. He landed on her back harder than he meant to, but she was surprisingly strong and only staggered a little bit. They both gasped together as he entered her, and their bodies moved together in the easy rhythm of instinct.

Again, the overwhelming realization of what he was doing and who he was doing it with flooded over him with an ecstatic rush almost as exciting as the act itself. He felt like the hero out of a legend as she squirmed and moaned beneath him. He had obviously never been with an alicorn, but also not even a pegasus before, but because it felt deeply right he nibbled clumsily at the bases of her wings and nuzzled the strong muscle between them. Instinct must have been right, because this made her gasp loudly and push her hips against his with increased fervor.

It...didn’t last long. A belly and head full of wine are not the friend of amorous males anywhere in the universe. But it didn’t have to. Very quickly she began to shiver and whimper with every thrust and moments later she arched her back and cried out in a booming, wordless voice. Wind whipped around them, and every flame from the fireplace to the lanterns flared brightly and then went out as she reached her peak. Overwhelmed by everything he finally let himself go completely, with a much less magical cry of pleasure, and they both sank slowly to their knees and then to the ground in a panting, sweaty heap.

They stayed like that for some time, slowly catching their breath together. Eventually he slid off her her and sat heavily on the floor. She just lay there, her head resting on her hooves, and smiled sleepily at him through a curtain of shining, faintly glowing, and thoroughly rumpled hair mostly obscuring her face.

“Oh, sweet sky and earth,” she murmured, “it has been such a very, very long time. Thank you.”

Duskwind was momentarily gobsmacked. She was thanking him? He wanted to protest, but had enough sense to actually consider his words before speaking. Brushing his mane out of his face he smiled and replied, “Thank you, Luna. I think that this has now become the best night of my life, not just the strangest.”

They both laughed, and she led him off to bed. As he followed her and unashamedly admired her, he stifled a chuckle as he saw that she still wore her fuzzy pink slippers on her hind hooves.

It was good that the wine and the exhaustion carried him off to sleep quickly, because as it turned out, she snored. A lot.