When the Plot Met the Clop and Neither Cared

The blue door closes behind us without a sound.

“I can’t see a thing,” says Fright. He sounds less secure than a second ago. “Can you turn on the lights?”

“There are no lights nor windows here,” say I, the voice from the darkness. “I have little use for them.”

He turns around, trying to locate my position. But the room is large, and I know every inch of it.

“I knew blue was more of your color,” he says.

I move farther away from him, against the opposite wall. “You think? I couldn't say.”

He heads for my direction, and apparently makes an effort not to be noticed. It’s not that he’s awful at it – there is very little that escapes my ears.

“You have to be quicker than that to catch me,” I say behind him. He swirls around, groping for the empty air. “Better, but no dice.”

“When I signed up for a blind date, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” he says.

“Why? This really captures the main point. Spontane intents, remember?” My voice circles him, enrobes him. Sometimes it’s a whisper, sometimes a ghost of one. Never ever does it betray my position. “A game the rules of which change you even as you change them.”

“Ah, more games,” he says. “And here I was thinking you’d just want me to know how you feel all the time.”

No response. It’s dead quiet, and the darkness is impregnable.

“You’re still here?” he asks.

A few inches in front of his muzzle, my words cut into him like knives: “Don’t ever hint that you could know how I feel.”

I kiss him. After a few seconds of unfreezing, he kisses me back. This time I don’t hold back, but devour him without remorse, my greed unleashed. The lust leads now, and we follow blindly. I drag him to the bed with my lips and spread my wings wide before laying on my back. He climbs on top of me, now kissing my exposed throat. I press his head against my chest, wrap my hind legs around his sides. A trail of his musk finds my nose. The scent is sharp, piercing, oozing of carnal pleasure.

His lips have found my stomach, where he has stopped for now. I love it when they go down on me without asking. That means they’re not terrible at it.

“You don’t taste that bad yourself,” he muses, planting yet another kiss on my coat. “Must be all that wine you had.”

“Can’t be… It’s all in my head.”

He reaches my pelvis. My hind leg rises to his shoulder. Everything aligns perfectly, it feels.

The first lick is gentle, barely a brush. A sweet, shy thing. The second, already done with the formalities, drinks deeper. My blush is inescapable, just as the moan is, on the third lick. After that, it’s just wet, squelchy, sucking sounds, all trapped in a whirlpool of bliss. I wouldn’t call him bad, not at all. Not in the slightest. I’d tell him that, but I don’t want him to stop, not for anything.

He goes on leisurely for a while. Every move is considerate, planned, tentative; as if he was charting the topography of my pleasure. Engineers really are something different, aren’t they…

I shift my front leg over to his head and feel it moving rhythmically. I know stallions don’t like being guided, and he sure doesn’t need to. But he really could go a tad faster. Just… a tad…

He gets the hint.

Oh yes. He gets it.

I reward him with a long, low moan, and let my hoof fall limp. His tongue laps my love button a couple of times, dives and glides over my length with one long slurp. Rinse and repeat. Tweak the numbers, up the beat. Relax and claim your seat.

The heat stacks up quickly. My breathing intensifies, turns erratic along with my movements. The sheets entangle and suck sweat as I squirm on them. I’m close, very close. On the very brink. A bit more, please, the final push, please, only a shove… please… Ah… Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yesahahahmhmh….

I scream.

Oh gosh… I screamed…

“I screamed.”

He sends one last shiver up my spine with a casual lick and pulls back his head.

“Yeah. I heard.” He swallows, and probably licks his lips afterwards. “A part of your strategy, I suppose.”

I giggle at that. “Uups. Busted.”

He rubs his cheek against my thigh. The fragrance of his erection is overwhelming; it’s a demand all on its own right.

“How would you have me punished?”

His excitement is touchable. It’s written in the way his muscles tense, wherever they touch me. With some effort, I manage to slip my hind leg under him. Immediately, it bumps against his rod.

“A favour returned, perhaps?” I muse while feeling his cock with my hoof. From this angle I can’t do much, but luckily there’s no need to. He is horny enough to go mad, I can tell. “Or something more… exotic?”

He groans. The sound reminds me of a distant thunder.

I prod his cock some more. “No need to bashful. The night is on our side.”

“Maybe… A small favour?” he whispers.

As expected. Better to start with what you know you’ll like, right? Doesn’t matter if it’s food or clothing in question.

“Come here,” I whisper back.

The bed is large, for I’m prone to thrashing at nights. He crawls next to me and lays on his flank, stiff as a plank. So strange; he was so much more relaxed while blowing me. This might end sooner than I’d like.

I touch his face with my nose, and blink in surprise as the tip gets wet. He hasn’t wiped his muzzle. Oh well, that won’t do.

He yelps as my tongue travels over his cheek. “What’re you doing?”

“Cleaning you up, silly. Your fur will be a mess in the morning otherwise.” Another lick, another shiver. But no yelp.

“You don’t need to do that…”

“Of course I don’t.” I kiss him deeply, to drain some of that stiffness. In no time, he melts like a snowflake in the sun.

Once he flows along with me, I reach for his cock with a hoof while gently licking his face. My hoof bumps against his tip, from there slips to feel his underside. It’s hard as thousand-year-old ice, warmer than the heart of a forge. A solid, thick piece of malehood; inspiration to a thousand symbols, the topic of countless jokes. All mine to toy with.

First, some kneading and rubbing. Let him become familiar with my touch. Second, a retreat; to allow room for yearning to settle in. Keep the kisses and licks coming for the whole time. Then, a surprise return to make up for the waiting. Never fails, as the eager twitch proves.

His face is more or less clean now, or at least I’m done with changing the composition of fluids there. Time to move on, or down. I choose the long route, by the veins of his throat and the muscles of his flank. The landscape is rich with flavours. I’m drawing a map of impressions, and not a hair escapes my mind’s eye. He is in good shape, at least for a white-collar worker. Must be into sports.

We’ll see if I can figure out his game.

“Turn on your stomach.”

He obeys without a question.

“Open your wings.”

They unfold like worked by powerful springs. The whoosh almost knocks me over. I approach them with care. First the base. My hooves begin their blind work, massaging him while deciphering the story of his body.

“Do you play soccer?”

“Cloud Rift, third division.” He pauses. “Don’t tell me you can feel my tattoo?”

“You have a tattoo?”

“Right above my wings. It’s the team’s logo.”

I touch the spot. There is nothing there that would let me get an idea of it.

“Describe it to me.”

He hums pleasantly while I attend to his wings.

“It’s about nine inch wide, seven tall. There are two clouds, split apart by a football soaring through. The letters C and R are written on it. It’s white ink, so to stand out better from my coat.”

“Are you dark?”

“Like dim orange. Brownish, with the hint of grey… and green.”

A bunch of words that are all but meaningless to me. “Could you repeat that in scents?”

He doesn’t apologize, for which I’m grateful. Save the few moans my massaging stirs from him, he is quiet for a while. Another good sign: at least he makes an effort.

“Bronze. Copper. Take their taste and mix it with… birch… no, with oak. A sprinkle of aluminum on the top. Does that make any sense?”

I give his left wing a long lick, all the way from the top to the base. He purrs like a cat.

“You are very earthen, it’s true.” I smack my lips. “Definitely fertile. Now, turn around.”

As he does, the scent of his arousal gets stronger again. I draw in a good lungful. Yes, very earthen indeed. I get on my stomach to admire it from closer, to get the first real taste. Has it grown since I last felt it, or am I just wishing? Hah, I’m hopeless…

I take the tip in for a test. His reaction is instantaneous, and although he resist it admirably, the cock pushes another inch past my lips all on its own right. I suckle it to let him know it’s fine. Nonetheless, he settles down quickly. Great. It’s good to know that we think alike on certain things.

I pull back, sucking a bit stronger so that the pop at the end is clearly audible. He can’t see any better here than I do, so it’s important to recompense that with other senses. Thus I smack my lips often while sliding up and down his length, from the midring to the base, balls and up to the tip again. He pants fervently, and the precum dribbles down like wax from a candle. I gulp it all down.

I’d love to ride him now, and he probably wouldn’t mind that either, but a deal’s a deal. I draw a deep breath and engulf a good mouthful of him in one smooth motion. The entrance to my throat complains a bit, but he is well lubricated, and knows when to stay still, so I take him past that too. To my triumph, he screams.

A steady string of vertical motions follows, for there’s no way I can play with him any longer without crossing the threshold, and at that point I’d rather not mess the sheets and my mane. I count six slow bobs until the final twitch gives away the game. My throat squeezes him one more time, and then I pull back to let him cum into my mouth. There’s a lot of it, and some of it gets past my tightly shut lips, but ultimately the flood subsides. My tongue finishes cleaning, and the last pop puts the cherry on top before his rod smacks against his stomach. I rest my head on his thigh to enjoy the echoes of his trembling and moaning.

Not a bad way to end a story.