When the Plot Met the Clop and Neither Cared

I seize the drink with my a wing and gulp it down without remorse. The effect is immediate, just as I knew it would be.

First, my tongue goes numb. It’s probably a blessing, for my throat is on fire. I cough violently, and wipe tears off my eyes. The shaking comes not long after, but it’s comparatively mild. After all that, the taste is actually pretty good. Like blueberries. Really, really, really fermented blueberries.

“Great, huh?” she asks, patting me on the back.

“Extraordinary,” I wheeze.

“Sure beats all those wines you’re always on about.”

“Not a chance.”

She harrumphs, right by my ear. I realize that she must be sitting on Freight’s lap. “Still on the tight side, aren’t ya…?”

Her breath washes over me, and the fumes make me dizzy. Her voice is broken low, a husky whisper drenched in alcohol. Lust foams on every syllable.

“I’m real sorry for messing up your plans with him,” she continues. “Where they… big?”

I can’t believe it. She is seducing me, at a time like this. And the insane part is that it's working.

“You tell me.”

Some sizing up ensues, by the hear of it.

“You could be doing worse.”

“Good to hear.”

“But size is hardly everything…” She moves off him, right on top of me. She keeps her hind legs on the ground, pressed against mine, and her front legs on either side of my head. “Would you agree?”

I smile, the way she taught me to. It took months to imprint the fine details into my muscle memory. “Prove it.”

She kisses me. The taste is sharp, exquisite. The liquor has burned off all the impurities, yet left no ash behind. It’s all clean, even if her intentions are not.

She pulls away, only to lean closer to my ear. “It has been too long. Why has it been too long?”

“You know why.”

She pauses. “Well, he doesn’t need to know. He hasn’t deserved to know.”

“But he will.”

“I don’t care.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

She takes my ear to her mouth and suckles it tenderly. I gasp under the nimble tongue and lips, and a wave of heat splashes on my face. My body is making the choices now. She must’ve slipped something extra into my drink, too.

It doesn’t matter though, for her hoof is descending down my chest, the carnal intent of it plain as a fresh snow. Her wings have opened too; they stir the air above us, to repel the excess heat. She knows I prefer to keep things cool.

She returns to tend for my lips as her hoof reaches my nether regions. Like she said, it has been a while, but some things you never forget, because you keep on returning to them, over and over again. She starts with a simple rub, using the side of her hoof and the fine fur that grows there. It tickles, but her mouth drains my giggle, along with the shreds of my restraints.

I strain my wing to reach her marehood. It’s a bit awkward, the way how she keep pressing me into the couch, but I dare not leave her pleasure on the mercy of my hooves, not while my minds spins so. The tips of my feathers make one easy slide across her slit, and turn wet instantly. Her moan that I devour tells the same tale: she has missed me.

We keep at fondling each other for a good long while to shed the rust off. Her wings keep on providing a pleasant current, in the folds of which our bodies entwine. There is no rhythm, not yet: merely a few tentative solos, searching one another after an interlude. She’s fall out of sync even easier than I do, for mine is the more subtle touch. It swirls around his love button, hastened by her juices that now flow freely. Once or twice I try to slid deeper, but feathers make an ill tool for that. Thus my attempts remain cumbersome, yet alluring enough to drive her off balance. She tumbles over me, and we roll on the carpet.

I end up under her, as usual. My mouth opens, and my tongue lolls out invitingly. She cooes at that and crawls over me, but wrong way round. Intriguing: usually she wants to ride solo first.

The musky scent stems mere inches from my face now. Normally I’d ask for a pillow for my neck, but my chemically fuelled drive allows no delays. I bury my muzzle into her folds and relish both in the taste and the sounds. On top of me, she chooses a similar course of action. She was right. It has been too long.

I had never considered myself a bisexual prior to meeting Cy’. Aside from odd teenage fantasies, I had little interest for other mares in bed. It wasn’t that the idea repelled me: in truth, it didn’t really exist in the first place. And yet, after the first summer, we were kissing like it was the most natural thing in the world. After that, joining the same bed was only a matter of time. Cy’s magic had worked its wonders and claimed yet another victim. And it’s about to do it all over again, by the feel of it.

She has found a good rhythm, one that will carry far. Her tongue is a dancer, full of grace and passion; of strength, too. And it’s long: she loves to catch ponies off guard by suddenly covering her whole nose with it, or to unroll it over her jaw. It sweeps over me with one big slurp, coaxing me to writhe underneath. I put up my best show to match hers. This is why she likes going solo first: in sixty nine, we always end up racing. If I wasn’t so horny, I might get annoyed by the fact.

Her tongue slides in and out of me, deep enough that you might call them thrusts. I yelp quietly every time while trying to take care of her pleasure. I’m falling behind. That won’t do. I have to… hmmhhhaaahhmm… Keep up… aahhhhmm… Must not… Ah! Let her… aahh…

In the end, resistance is futile. With Cy’, it always is. So I enjoy the ride, and do my best to make sure she doesn’t get too bored.

When I cum, it feels like losing. Fortunately, Cy’s is a generous winner, and I’m a good sport.

It helps that the orgams is earth-shakingly good, too. It’s at times such as this that I thank the mother nature for making me a female.

Stallions always say that cumming feels like crossing a threshold on a hundred-meter sprint. That sounds sad. For me, it’s more like the hundred-meter sprint itself. It’s an explosion in slow motion, a firework that doesn’t die out after the first burst. A flower that keeps on opening until a new flower blooms from underneath. I’d scream, but my mouth’s full. A few abrupt moans of ecstasy roll past my lips anyway, and I drink the juices that flood in their place.

She pants on top of me, all limp. Probably waiting for me to finish in my end. Now that the lust is melting into afterglow, I become painfully aware of my neck ache. I'll be damned before letting it ruin the moment, though.

There's no point in going on ponderously, so I slide my tongue right inside her, as far as it goes. She gasps while I explore her inner walls and knead her round, skinny ass. My face is a mess, yet it matters none. Her clit rubs against my lower lip, a clear hint. I suckle it like a lollipop, but not too hard. It doesn’t take long for her to cross the line in a burst of pleasure very similar to mine. We lay on the floor, basking in one another’s warmth.

A happy ending, as they say.