Spitballed

by Esle Ynopemos

Rating: mature
Tags: Comedy, Rarity, Fluttershy, Sex, Spitfire, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 8653

When Rarity has a fling with the captain of the Wonderbolts, she may get more—and less—than she bargained for.

When Spitfire, Wonderbolts captain and four-time winner of Playcolt Magazine's Hottest Mare in Equestria, makes a pass at Rarity, the fashionista would be a fool to turn her down. But this little fling might be more—and less—than Rarity bargained for...

Special thanks to my pre-readers: Lion, Midnight Herald, HoofBitingActionOverload, Sind, and one other who neglected to mention their FimFic handle.

Published 2014-09-17 18:40:04 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-17 18:40:04 UTC

Spitballed

Somewhere in the vast infinity, there was a magical land known to at least some of its inhabitants as Equestria. In this magical land, there was a town full of magic, talking ponies called Ponyville. The town was called Ponyville, not the ponies. Within Ponyville, there could be found all manner of structures and establishments one might expect of a town; there was a post office, a train station, a town hall, and the fire-blackened shell of an abandoned theater that nopony ever talked about. Also within Ponyville, perhaps more cosmopolitan than would be anticipated for a township of such rural disposition, there was a spa which was run by a pair of sisters with vaguely foreign accents. Inside this spa, in a steamy sauna on no specific Tuesday afternoon, there was a mare. Inside this mare was the hoof of another mare, who was busy rutting the ever-loving pony out of the first mare.

This story is about neither of these mares, though rest assured they were having a lovely time together. This story begins a room or two over from them, where two other mares were not rutting one another at all—to the mild disappointment of at least one of them—but rather were settling into a nice warm bath.

The soap and the steam put both into a rather talkative mood, and the illusion of privacy allowed their gossip to quickly take a turn for the juicy. The white unicorn, one Rarity by name, described in fair detail the proclivities of the town's notoriously lecherous mayor, while Fluttershy, her yellow companion, made a case for why the age of consent really ought to be a few years younger.

After a short time, their conversation lulled as Rarity appeared to carefully consider her next topic for discussion. “Can you keep a secret, darling?” she asked at length.

Fluttershy's wings twitched nervously. She swallowed. “I-I don't know, Rarity. I mean, you know I can, but... you remember last time, don't you?”

“Oh, goodness, no, it's nothing like that!” She waved her foreleg, sending a little splash of water out of the tub to land on the tile with a soft wet sound. “How many times do I need to tell you to stop worrying about that? Those things are buried where nopony will ever find them!”

Fluttershy nodded slowly. “I hope you're right, Rarity.” Her expression briefly darkened. “For Spike's sake...”

Rarity smiled. “Well, you needn't be concerned, dear. This isn't that kind of secret. I've just got something I simply must get off my chest.”

“Oh, okay. If you're sure, then I would be happy to keep your secret.” Fluttershy lifted one of her wings out of the bathwater and began preening the feathers.

“You must promise not to breathe a word of this outside these walls,” said Rarity. “Nopony must know what I'm about to tell you, especially not Rainbow Dash.”

Fluttershy glanced up from her preening. “Rainbow Dash?” she repeated. “What does it have to do with her?”

“I'll get to that in a minute. But first you must promise. Not a soul.”

“Of course.” Fluttershy drew her hoof across her chest. “Oh, dear,” she said, one hoof pressed over her eye as the 'hope to fly' portion of her Pinkie Promise splashed a good deal of water out of the tub.

Satisfied, Rarity cleared her throat. “I must start this at the beginning,” she said. “You need to understand the circumstances to truly appreciate what I am about to tell you. This was last Friday afternoon, and business at the Boutique was terribly slow. I hadn't had a single pony come in since the morning, and so I had a fair amount of free time on my hooves, and, well...” Rarity coughed into her hoof. “I had begun to, ahem, 'entertain' myself.”

Fluttershy cocked her head to the side. “Entertain yourself?” she repeated. “How?”

“You know,” Rarity said. “I was... arranging flowers, so to speak.”

Fluttershy's eyes brightened. “Oh, you'll have to show me what you came up with!”

“No, not like that.” Rarity's face reddened. “I was, ah, polishing my pearls?” She was met with a look of confusion on her friend's face. “You know. Rubbing my good-luck charm. Committing the one act every filly of a certain age swears she never does.”

Fluttershy stared at her blankly.

“Oh, for goodness's sake, I was clopping.”

“Oh!” Fluttershy's eyes widened. “Oh, well that's nothing to be ashamed of, Rarity. Everypony does it.”

“I know that, dear,” said Rarity. “My... entertainment... wasn't the secret. This is just the beginning of the story.”

You see, I hadn't had a decent rendezvous in... well, I'm afraid to admit I can't even remember how long. And the last job I had done was to sew a matching set of, shall we say, 'recreational undergarments' for a very attractive couple of newlyweds who had been giving each other the look the whole time I was measuring them. I was rather surprised they made it out the door before scampering off to partake in their newest purchase. Though I am glad they did; a sticky showroom floor does not win many customers, no matter how passionate the making of that stickiness is.

The net result was that I had sex on the mind, and a surplus of idle hooves. Now, it is not typically my behavior to indulge myself in a lady's natural needs during business hours. But like I said, there was no business to speak of that afternoon. The young couple had been in and out no later than ten in the morning, and I had not seen another soul stray near my boutique since.

So I decided to engage in a bit of my own, ahem, ‘business.’ I am self-employed, after all. I took the more delicate dresses off their displays and put them into storage, and scurried up to my boudoir. I lit some cinnamon-scented candles for mood and got out the hoof lotion. By the time I was ready to begin, I was already so worked up I was fit to burst.

But wouldn't you know it, just as soon as hooves made contact with flesh I heard the door open downstairs. I could have sworn I had locked it when I closed up shop, but then, I had done the closing in haste and distraction so it is likely that I simply forgot.

I uttered a curse that I shan't repeat here, blew out the candles, and made my way downstairs. My first thought was that Sweetie Belle had dropped by after school. She does so less often now that she and her friends have their own clubhouse, but she still visits her big sister every now and then. I mentally rehearsed an excuse to tell her that while I do love having her over, I was in the middle of something very important and needed some alone time.

However, standing in the middle of my showroom floor, passively eying my wares through a pair of reflective sunglasses, was not my sister, but none other than Captain Spitfire of the Wonderbolts. She wasn't in her uniform, but I still recognized her immediately. The bold yellow coat. The blazing orange mane. The confident swagger. Rainbow Dash's posters simply don't do justice to the mare herself. She had this presence to her that instantly commanded one's attention.

Well, I will admit to being a little starstruck. She may be Rainbow Dash's hero rather than mine, but it was easy to see what Rainbow admires about her. The mare that flew the length of the Gryphon Peaks in a single day was standing in my boutique!

And my hooves had that very particular fishy smell to them. Wonderful. I tried to wipe one hoof off on the other and cleared my throat. “I am actually closed at the moment. Sorry.”

“Really?” Spitfire raised her eyebrow. “The sign said you were open.” She pointed a hoof to the sign in my front window which indicated to the world, no matter what sort of activities I’d been about to get up to in my room, that I was open for business. Damn you, sign.

There was at least a small part of me that wanted to politely tell her to please buck off so I could get back to my business. Two reasons not to do so sprang to mind. One, she was the captain of the Wonderbolts, and if she was here to commission something from me, it was the kind of business I could not afford to turn down. And two, a mare that looked the way Spitfire looked was not exactly a mood-killer.

“W-which of course is correct,” I said, putting on a smile. “I am, in fact, open after all. Welcome to Carousel Boutique, Captain.”

Spitfire chuckled. “You can just call me Spitfire,” she said. “Only recruits have to call me 'Captain.'” She idly inspected the purple dress I had on display on the showroom floor.

“Spitfire, then,” I said. “Are you looking for anything specific, or just browsing?” I smirked. “I don't think that particular color would go very well on you.”

Spitfire glanced at the dress and shook her head. “Probably not. Uh, Rarity, isn't it?”

I nodded. I most certainly did not jump and squeak like a filly at the fact that she knew my name.

“The Bolts' contract with our usual supplier for our uniforms has run out,” she said. “I heard you were one of the best, so I thought I might drop by and see what you've got. Have you ever made performance flight suits, Rarity?”

Performance flight suits. She was talking about offering me the contract for the Wonderbolts uniforms! I nearly fainted right there, but I am glad to say I held myself together. “N-never in any official capacity,” I admitted to her. “Though I did throw something of an improvised flight-suit together for the Best Young Fliers competition a few years back.” While I wasn't entirely proud of my behavior there, I felt there was at least something to be said for the costume I had pulled together from scratch at the last minute.

Spitfire's eyes widened. “Wait, that was you, wasn't it? The pony whose wings evaporated! I didn't recognize you without all the makeup and gossamer!” She laughed.

I joined her with a small chuckle of my own. “It wasn't my proudest moment. I do apologize for the panicked flailing.”

She rubbed her jaw, grinning. “Heh, any pony that can land a solid blow like that is all right in my book, flailing or not. Although if I’m honest, I think you look better out of that costume than you did in it.”

My cheeks flushed a bit at the compliment. “Well. Would you like to go over some designs? I've sketched out a few concepts since then, and I've recently received a new bolt of low-friction fabric that would work quite well, I am sure.”

Spitfire's grin remained as she shook her head. “I think I may have to find somepony else to fill the contract,” she said.

My heart sank. “I... what? Why? You haven't seen the designs yet!”

Spitfire pressed her hoof to my lips. “Don't get me wrong, Rarity,” she said. “I'm pretty sure you're exactly the pony we need. But...” She leaned in very close to me, so close her lips nearly touched my ear. “It wouldn't be appropriate for me to bed one of our suppliers. And I think I really, really want to take you out for a drink.”

Fluttershy gasped. “She said what?”

Rarity nodded. “I could hardly believe it myself. For a moment, I thought I'd somehow wound up on the set of some kind of poorly-written smut film!”

“So what did you tell her?” Fluttershy, her half-preened wing entirely forgotten, leaned forward, enthralled.

“What could I say?” Rarity said. “I told her yes.”

Fluttershy's eyes widened. “Y-you did?” Both her wings lifted out of the water, dribbling a puddle over the edge of the tub. “I thought you only liked stallions!”

“Darling, have you seen the market for stallions lately?” said Rarity. “There is no such thing as a straight mare. At least, not a happily straight mare.” She tapped her hoof on the edge of the tub. “And in addition, this wasn't just any mare we're talking about. This was Playcolt Magazine's winner of Equestria's Hottest Mare for four years running! It doesn't matter which way your tail swings, you don't turn down an opportunity like that!”

Fluttershy frowned. “No, I guess you don't.”

Rarity sighed. “At least, that was what I thought at the time...”

Spitfire, as it turned out, was quite a charmer. Her line of work had put her in contact with quite a large portion of Canterlot's upper crust—including Fancy Pants, whose recommendation was what had sent her in my direction in the first place—but she had kept her military edge through it all. The result was a frighteningly potent combination of class and adventure that could have stepped right out of the pages of some steamy bodice-ripper. You and I lead rather eventful lives, but I daresay I have never met a mare half as interesting to talk to as she was. If only we had kept it to just talking...

Ah, I am getting ahead of myself.

She didn't know the ins and outs of Ponyville too well, so I suggested we go to the Silverlight. You know the place, the hip little club across the block from Sofas and Quills that serves drinks in funny colors. I've always loved their decor, but a Lady does not drink alone, so I hadn't had occasion to go in some time.

She nearly turned back at the door. “Augh! I forgot my bit purse at the hotel!” she exclaimed, smacking her forehead lightly. “Gimme just a minute, I'll be right back with it.”

“That is not necessary,” I informed her, levitating out my own. “It shall be my treat.”

Spitfire frowned. “I'm the one who suggested drinks. It wouldn't be fair to make you pay for them.”

“As chivalrous as that sentiment is, darling,” I told her with a wink, “I think I like the idea of you making it up to me later.” A little flirty, I will admit, but you will recall I hadn't had any for quite some time, and under the influence of those lithe flanks, anypony was bound to get a little suggestive.

A shot or two of something with a name I could not utter if I tried did not diminish that influence in the slightest. I forget now whether the stories she regaled me with had been about racing at dawn through Razorspine Canyon or outwitting a marauding band of harpies on the border, but whichever it was, she made it sound positively heroic.

In turn, she listened with rapt attention as she prompted me to tell her about our dealings with Discord and Nightmare Moon, and my brief, unsatisfying affair with Prince Blueblood at the Gala.

“Yeah, Blueblood’s a douche,” Spitfire said, nodding. “Pretty much everypony in Canterlot knows it.”

“Well, I wish somepony would have informed me,” I groused, taking a ladylike sip from my drink. “I wasted my whole evening following that worthless ass—no offense, dear—”

The donkey at the next table waved his hoof. “None taken.”

“—around the Gala, just hoping it would get better and he would let a shred of equine decency shine through.” I took another, less ladylike sip. What can I say? Talking about Prince Blueblood makes me drink.

Spitfire chuckled. “Well, am I faring better than he did, I hope?”

I can hold my liquor, darling. You will recall that Applejack and Rainbow Dash no longer invite me to their silly shot glass competitions because I thoroughly trounced them last time. Or because I called the bartender a filthy barbarian. At any rate, you’ll believe me when I say it was entirely intentional when I slipped off of my own stool and landed in Spitfire’s lap, resting my head on her shoulder. “Worlds apart, darling,” I said. “Worlds apart.”

Spitfire tipped back something green that smelled like mouthwash. Come to think of it, it may have indeed been mouthwash, just re-packaged and given a name with too many 'y's and 'x's so the bartender could sell it for twenty bits a shot. This may sound like a criticism of the Silverlight, but I assure you it is not. Edginess has its cost, and if I was concerned about overpaying for alcohol I would have bought a bulk box of beer at Barnyard Bargains. The management at Silverlight knows that if one cannot buy a mare an expensive, exotic drink, then what is the point of taking her out in the first place?

Sufficiently impressed by my ability to purchase said exotic beverages, Spitfire drew her wingtip in a long curve across my back. “Let's get out of here,” she said. If the half-lidded expression she wore was any indication, she had a very specific 'out of here' in mind.

Let me be clear on one thing. I do not do one-night stands. I am not that kind of pony. If somepony wants to get under this finely-trimmed tail, they need to invest some serious time—not to mention display sufficient competence—into the courtship ritual first. No matter how attractive and interesting that somepony may be, nor how long it has been since the last time I've had anyone beyond myself to address my more base needs. A Lady does not allow such crass indulgences.

Which is to say, I made an exception. Tell me you would not do the same with a mare like her breathing hot, minty air in your ear. I tell you, darling, the dirty thrill of it all set my insides aflame nearly as much as did those molten-gold eyes she kept flashing at me.

We made our way back to my place. It was closer than Spitfire's hotel room, and we were far less likely to run into any reporters hungry for a celebrity sex scandal. Plus, I still had my candles out in my room. I don't believe I've ever considered myself so fortunate to have been interrupted in the midst of my private time.

Once we were in the door, my date made no attempt to be coy about her intentions. I had half a dozen kisses on my throat before I even had a chance to drop my saddlebags. I thought perhaps she might take me right there, pinned to the wall between the umbrella rack and Opal's water dish. I was not entirely averse to the idea, judging by the moist heat I felt building between my legs.

It is good she did not, however, as my little sister chose this moment to make herself known. “Is that Spitfire?”

I admit this to you now only because you are my closest friend, dear Fluttershy, but the sound I made sounded nothing like a Lady. It would be a stretch to even call it equine. The squawk that emerged from my throat was more like that of a toucan choking on a kazoo.

Spitfire was swifter on the uptake than I. In retrospect, the thought occurs to me that Sweetie Belle probably was not the first younger sibling to walk in on one of her dalliances. “Hey there, kiddo. You heard of me?” She flashed her cocksure flight-show grin.

“Well yeah. You're Rainbow Dash's hero, and Rainbow Dash is Scootaloo's hero, and Scootaloo's my friend, so that makes you...” Sweetie Belle pinched her face in thought, “...my great aunt?”

Spitfire laughed, which, given where her hoof still was, filled me with feelings that were entirely inappropriate to be filled with in front of one's little sister.

“S-Sweetie Belle,” I stammered while opening up a more child-safe distance between myself and Sweetie's 'great aunt,' “what are you doing here?”

My sister's ears pinned themselves against her head. “Oh. Is that a 'you shouldn't be here' what are you doing here?”

Yes, it was. “No, no, of course not, darling.” I knelt down to her level. “I just... why are you here? It's after sundown.”

“Cutie Mark Crusader detention-havers.” Sweetie sighed. “When I got home, Mom and Dad had locked the house again.” It would seem that was a crucial skill that I failed to pick up from them.

I am sorry, that was uncharitable of me. You see, my parents are often out nights. Father works for an international trade company that keeps all hours, and Mother... Mother is also out most nights.

“I suppose you lost your key,” I said.

“I left it in my locker, and the school's closed until Monday.”

“What about the hide-a-key?”

Sweetie rolled her eyes. “Mom never puts it back after using it.”

I chewed my lip. I couldn't lend her my key, because my key was the hide-a-key. A good sister would have just given in and let Sweetie stay in the guest room, but at this point I was not a good sister but a sister who hadn't been laid in far too long.

Spitfire chimed in at this point. “Do you lock your windows?”

Is it odd to say I find that question arousing, regardless of context?

“Save the kinkiness until after the little one leaves, perhaps?” I hissed to her. Though from the way my tail was flicking, my resolve to follow my own advice was quickly waning.

“I meant your sister,” Spitfire said, giving me a look. “Do your folks lock the windows?”

My sister furrowed her brow. “No... why?”

Spitfire grinned. “Do you think you could find your house from the air?”

Sweetie's eyes widened. “Are you gonna fly me home?”

“Darling, you don't need to do that. I can... uh...” I didn't actually have a better idea.

Spitfire waved a dismissive hoof. “It's not a problem. She wouldn't be the first lost little filly I've flown home. Just be sure you have those... boring grown up things ready when I get back.” She arched her eyebrow subtly.

Impressionable young sisters be damned, I wanted that mare right there on the showroom floor. “I-I'll do that,” I squeaked.

“You already know at least some of the next part, darling,” said Rarity. The bath was no longer above lukewarm, but neither mare made a move to get out.

Fluttershy blinked. “I do?”

Rarity nodded. “Think, darling. Where were you last Friday night?”

Fluttershy gasped. “You mean, that was...”

“Indeed. Tell me you didn't notice something odd about my behavior.”

“Well, maybe I thought it was a little bit strange...”

I was only coming over to borrow some catnip. You always seem to have more on hoof than Opal needs, and I needed some for a pair of manticore cubs I was taking care of. I knew it was late, but manticores are nocturnal, so...

I saw light in your bedroom window, so I knew you were still awake. That was a relief; I really needed the catnip, but I didn't want to wake you up. So I knocked on the door.

From inside, you answered—no, you purred. I know purrs, and that was a purr. You purred, “Come on in, darling.”

I tested the door, and it swung open. I was hit by a wave of warm cinnamon-scented air. I thought maybe you were baking, but the kitchen was dark.

But there was a trail of rose petals and candles leading across the boutique floor, up the stairs, to your room. I wondered who would have left such a mess all over your shop without bothering to clean it up. Perhaps your sister and her friends had tried to get their cutie marks in hedge-trimming, and you were in your room scolding them?

I hoped you weren't too hard on them, but it wasn't my place, so I did what I could—I collected all the candles and swept up the rose petals.

You still hadn't come out of your room, even after that. I thought about maybe just grabbing some catnip and leaving. I didn't want to interrupt anything. But it would have been rude to just take without saying anything, so I climbed the stairs and tapped my hoof on your bedroom door.

“It took you long enough, darling,” I heard you say. “I am positively dying of anticipation.”

“I'm sorry,” I mumbled as I pushed the door open. “Some of the wax dribbled, so I had to scrape it off, and...” I forgot what I was going to say next as I looked up and saw... you.

You were... well, you probably remember what position you were in. I never knew you were that... limber. And there were lots of... things out on your end table. As soon as you saw me, you yelped and dove under your sheets. “Fluttershy!?”

“Hello, Rarity, I see you're busy. I'm just going to grab some catnip and be on my way. Okay, goodbye,” is what I said next. You might have heard something different, like, I don't know, “Huh, so that's what a sexual awakening feels like,” but that wasn't what I said.

I shut the door, grabbed some catnip from your cabinet, and went home to pet my kitty. Kitties! I went home to take care of the manticore cubs, like I said.

A flustered blush colored Fluttershy's face. “F-for what it's worth, Rarity, you are a very pretty mare.”

“Thank you, darling. I suppose I am glad you think so,” said Rarity. “I am sorry that I reacted so poorly to your presence. You see, I only caught a glimpse of a yellow wing out of my window before you knocked, and I thought I had a different golden-plumed pegasus in my house.”

Fluttershy shook her head. “Oh, no, of course I understand. Surprises can be very... startling.”

“Yes, yes they can.” Rarity nodded. “Surprises can be very startling, indeed.” She picked up a hairbrush and idly floated it in her magic. “In the interest of minimizing the potential for further startling, I must warn you, my dear, that the next part of my tale will venture further into the domain of the carnal than we have yet gone. It is not for the faint of heart, darling, but I could summarize it for you if you like.”

Fluttershy shook her head, perhaps a little too quickly. “No, tell me! I, er, mean,” she backtracked, coughing into her hoof, “there's no secrets between us, right? Tell me as much as you're comfortable sharing, Rarity. I can handle it.” She gripped the edge of the tub with her hooves, and her wings flexed anxiously, but a willing, almost eager smile rested on her face.

Rarity cocked her head. “Are you sure? It will get rather graphic from here on out.”

Fluttershy paused, perhaps to give at least token consideration to hearing the more modest version of events.

“I'm sure,” she said, undeterred by the prospect of hearing about Rarity’s heaving bosom.

“Very well...”

Spitfire returned shortly after you left, which means I was still in the midst of resetting all the candles and rose petals you had cleaned up. Your intentions were good, so I do not blame you, dear Fluttershy, but I will say I was disappointed that instead of finding me lounging upon my love-nest in waiting, my prospective lover found me stooped over, cursing as I tried to re-light a candle in the middle of my showroom floor.

Spitfire, at least, found this position appealing. She whistled and clapped her hooves on the tile. “Already bent over and presenting for me? Aw, did I really make you wait that long? I'm sorry, I had to fetch your sis a glass of milk.”

I looked twice to make certain that it was indeed Spitfire this time. The pesky perfectionist in me wanted to shoo her out and make her wait outside while I finished lighting all the candles. Fortunately, the savvy socialite in me managed to take control and I transitioned into a sexy sashay. The sex-starved mare in me approved.

“I've been ever so lonely here,” I cooed, waving my tail back and forth. “Will I get a glass of milk, as well?” This was accompanied by a pout designed to melt the organs of any soul that witnessed it.

It did the trick. Spitfire closed the distance in a few swaggering strides. “Maybe if you're good,” she whispered, nipping at my ear and nudging me toward the stairs.

“I assure you, I am very good.” Giggling, I led the way up to my bedroom.

The candles in there, at the least, were still intact, leaving the air thick with their rich perfume. Their warm yellow glow mingled with the cool moonlight from my half-shrouded window to form a dazzling gradient upon the silk sheets of my bed.

Arrayed upon my bedside table was a veritable arsenal of carnal implements. I wasn't certain what sort of play Spitfire was into, so I had the whole spectrum available; beads, gags, a riding crop, penetrative devices of the one-ended, two-ended, three-ended, strap-on and magically vibrating varieties... it was quite the collection, all told, but a Lady must be prepared.

I climbed onto my bed, purposely nicking one of the dildos with my hoof just so I could stop its wobbling with my magic and glance back at her coyly. “Welcome to my boudoir, darling.” The candlelight flickered across my face just so.

At risk of sounding smug, there was simply no way she could resist that. Spitfire was on me in an instant, ravishing me with kisses. Her hot breath bathed my face and neck like flame. She had a spicy, smoky scent to her that was terribly appropriate to her name. In fact, she smelled quite a lot like smoke. Something hissed and crackled.

“Darling,” I said between gasps. “I think you are on fire.”

“Yeah baby,” she replied, keeping up her assault on my collarbone, “I know I'm on fire.”

I definitely smelled smoke. The particular kind of smoke that came from burning hair, in fact. I glanced down. “No,” I said, pushing her off, “I mean you are literally on fire, Spitfire. Your tail!”

While making out with me, Spitfire's tail had suspended itself over one of my candles. The ends of her tail hairs curled and blackened as orange flames licked upwards toward her rear.

Her reaction was not what you would typically expect of a pony with her tail on fire. She sighed and flicked her tail back and forth until the flames were extinguished. “It happens,” she said, shrugging. “We do pyrotechnics in our shows now and then.”

I gaped. “B-but your tail... how can you be so...”

She shushed me with a hoof to my lips. “Now, where were we? Oh yeah, I was on fire.”

My protests quickly died on my lips as she made a tantalizingly slow trail of kisses down my body. She nipped the crest of my collarbone. She slid down my barrel, feeling with her lips for each of my ribs beneath my coat and smooth flesh. She traced a spiral with her tongue across my soft underbelly, down, down, down...”

“Fluttershy, darling, are your wings quite alright?” Rarity asked with a note of concern.

Fluttershy yipped and fought to bring her wings to her sides. Only with great reluctance did they obey. “N-no! I mean yes! My wings are fine. There's absolutely nothing wrong with them at all.” She gave her friend a strained smile.

Rarity frowned. “Hm. Perhaps when we are done here we should get Lotus to give you another preening. It seems the first has done nothing to relieve that stiffness you're carrying in them.”

“M-maybe we should do that,” Fluttershy agreed. “Later. What happened next? I-if you don't mind my asking, that is.”

“Yes, of course. Where was I? Ah yes, Spitfire was working her way down my body...”

Down, down, down, ever closer to my most private of treasures. That part of me yearned, ached to be touched. I could feel myself growing warmer and moister with every inch. Down, down, down...

“Pphrbbbbbt!”

She... she blew raspberries into my vagina. I mean, she puckered her lips and played my snatch like a trumpet. It was exactly three times as unsexy as it sounds.

I looked down. “What in Celestia's name?”

Spitfire grinned up from between my legs. “You like that? I learned this from a sousaphone player in Canterlot.”

“I would never have guessed,” I said.

“Pphrbbbbbt!” She launched a second spittle-laden attempt to change the meaning of the term, 'blow job,' for the worse. “You feel that?”

I grimaced. “I certainly feel something.”

“Pphrbbbbbt!”

“Okay.” I placed my hooves on her head and pushed her back before I again became the living cooch-kazoo. “That is a fascinating technique, but perhaps we can start with something... not that. A toy, maybe.” I levitated a simple latex dildo from the table. Perhaps one of the bigger ones would have been more adventurous, but getting too adventurous clearly led to sousaphone-crotch territory.

“Sure.” Spitfire took the implement in her hoof, and I was pleased to see she could handle it with expert coordination. She twirled it around one hoof and then flipped it into a reverse-grip in the other.

“You know, the funny thing about these things is that most of them are about the same length as a regulation hoof-blade,” she said.

“Is that so?” I asked. “I was not awa—hrrrgk!” Suddenly I was upside-down in a half-pin, with an eight-inch dildo pressed to my throat.

“You learn the fundamental techniques in basic, but the more advanced moves get taught to special forces only. Go ahead and try to get out of this hold.”

Now, I am by no means averse to a little bit of rough play in bed. I would prefer to have some kind of warning before I am attacked by a highly-trained military officer wielding a rubber dick, but let it not be said that I cannot improvise when called upon.

I channeled what I remembered of the hoof-jitsu classes I took last summer, hooking my rear legs under her shoulders and twisting out of reach of the phallic weapon.

This was immediately followed by a sharp prod of the implement to my knee, abdomen, and kidneys. “And now you're dead,” said Spitfire, tucking her murder-cock under her wing as a samurai might sheathe a sword.

“Indeed,” I breathed, laying flat on the bed. “If I may say, though, I believe this particular instrument would be most effective inside me.” I subtly bucked my hips to give her a clue, though the kidney shots made the movement stiffer than it might have been.

“Well yeah,” Spitfire said, balancing the dildo on her wingtip. “That's the general idea. You're not gonna inflict any major organ trauma just by looking at somepony. Unless you're Colonel Badflank.” She shivered. “Poor Johnny...”

I sighed and lit my horn, lifting her up on top of me, her rear legs straddling my face. “Why don't I do you first, darling.” She was clearly wound up far too tight. The incident with her tail probably rattled her more than she let on, and she needed a good release in order to loosen up and get on with the night. Besides, what kind of Element of Generosity would I be if I did not service my lover?

I gave the pretty pink slit before me a flick with my tongue, merely a promise of what was to come, to entice her.

Spitfire's eyes fluttered and the war-dildo dropped to the floor. “Mmh~ ...yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

Her approval won, I got to work. If you have ever done the deed, my dear, you'll know that one mare tastes much the same as another, despite the insistence of various works of literature that one might taste of chocolate, or sea-salt, or apples. Unless you are adding these ingredients during the act, the flavor of one's honey-pot is anything but honey. I am not saying it is not a taste that can be acquired, but I do pity the young filly who dates a mare named Candy because she likes lollipops.

Spitfire began to rock her hips, grinding herself into my face. “Ohhh, yes. Right there...”

It is notably difficult to lick a moving target, but I did not want to discourage her enthusiasm. My solution was to hold my head still with my tongue stuck out and let her buck at me as she pleased.

“Yes! Yes!” She bucked a bit harder, and a bit harder still. My jaw became sore as she continually thrust her pelvis at my face.

“Mmf... Spitfimf... darlinmff... Maybe just a littlmf... gentlermf... Ow, my muzzlemf...” My muffled attempts at words fell on deaf ears as her cries reached a fevered pitch.

“Oh! Oh Celestia, yes! Ah! Ahn! Ungh!” She dug her forehooves into my mane, cutting off any hope of escaping utter cunnilingual pulverization.

All I could do was hope she would reach climax before my skull cracked.

My prayers were, thankfully, answered as she shrieked, “That's an Academy record!” and slumped forward.

She panted and moaned for a few more minutes until her breathing finally slowed. Before long, I heard snores issue from the body on top of me.

I rolled out from underneath her and stumbled to the bathroom. A look in the mirror confirmed that I had bloodied my nose. I uttered a mild curse and cleaned myself up with cold water and a towel.

I returned to the bedroom to find Spitfire out cold on the bed. A satisfied grin resided on her face as she hugged a bundle of covers.

Thus far, my trials had all been due to circumstance or my own ignorance. I'd no way to know that a night with what was otherwise a very charming mare would have led to so much bruising and indignity. However, what followed from this point on into the night was entirely due to my own folly.

For you see, I still had not yet come that night. A wiser pony than I might have cut her losses and called it a night, perhaps rubbing herself off before sleep. But I felt that I was owed some kind of reciprocation. I had bought some very fancy drinks, was patient as a saint with her little foibles in bed, Celestia's sake, I had bled for that mare! Did I not deserve some small amount of recompense?

So I woke her up. I crawled onto the bed and shook her shoulder gently.

“He's not a griffon, daddy, he's a hippogriff,” she murmured sleepily.

I shook her shoulder a little less gently. “Spitfire,” I hissed.

Spitfire yawned. “Oh hey. What's up?”

“I think you're forgetting somepony, darling.” I gestured toward my body.

She rubbed her eyes and smirked. “Oh, have you not had enough, baby?”

Seeing as I had yet to really have any, no, I hadn't had enough. I waggled my hips and gave her a needy moan.

“Don't you worry, Spitfire's gonna take good care of you, honey.” She puffed up her cheeks and ducked her head toward my crotch.

I quickly levitated the strap-on in front of her face before she could 'phrbt' me again. “Use this,” I said, moving the straps toward her thighs. “I want you to mount me.” I figured she couldn't screw up the strap-on too badly. There were only so many holes back there for her to put it in, and all she needed to do was buck her hips. Foolproof, really. I don't understand how stallions ever get it wrong.

Spitfire got a sly grin. She dragged me over to the edge of the bed and placed my back hooves on the floor, so that I was leaning on the bed with my rear in the air. “Wait right here,” she said, and opened the door.

“Wait!” I cried. “Where are you going?”

“I'm gonna get a surprise,” she called, scrambling down the stairs.

“I don't want a surprise! I want you to rut me!” I shouted all but to myself. I heard cupboard doors slam open and shut downstairs in my kitchen.

For the life of me, I don't know why I still waited there as I was told. Perhaps I was simply too dumbstruck to think of anything else to do. So I merely waited, ass inclined skywards, while my kitchen was raided by the worst lover in the history of lovemaking.

I did not hear her come back up the stairs; she must have flown so that she could sneak up on me. All I knew was that suddenly there was a weight on my back, and something white filled my vision.

“Are you a good filly?” Spitfire shouted, riding on my back. The strap-on jabbed at the back of my head as she rocked back and forth, kicking at my flanks.

“W-what?” I stammered as she rode me into the mattress.

“Good fillies get a glass of milk,” she said, waving what I could now identify as a glass of milk in front of me. “Do you want a glass of milk?”

I prayed to all deities named and unnameable this was not how she delivered the milk to Sweetie Belle. She would be in therapy for as long as I'll need to be.

“For fuck's sake, no, I don't want milk!” I cried, the strap-on still ramming my head like some demented siege weapon. “I want you to do one simple fucking thing—ah!”

She yanked hard on my tail. “Good fillies don't say bad words!” She increased the speed of her bouncing. What was a trot was now a canter, and the plastic stallionhood pistoned into my skull even harder.

I groaned. I was going to die. My obituary was going to read, 'back broken by psychotic bitch who really, really didn't understand sex.'

“Do you want to be a good filly?” the psychotic bitch asked. “Do you want the milk?”

“Yes! Yes, give me the milk!” I thought perhaps if I appeased her, she might stop and let me die of my wounds in peace.

“Good fillies moan for me,” Spitfire said. The milk sloshed around in its glass. “Good fillies cum.”

I slammed my face into the sheets. “You're fucking kidding me.”

Another pull on my tail. “I thought you wanted to be a good filly,” she said.

No, I wanted out of this nightmare. “Oh,” I said, pretending I was engaged in basically any other kind of sex act. Anything but this. “Oh my. Oh yes, yes, right there. Oh.”

Tail pull. “Good fillies don't fake it.”

“Ah!” I said loudly, more from the pain in my tail than anything. “Oh Celestia,” I continued, building off of it. “Oh sun and stars! Oh!”

“Better. But do you really want the milk?”

“Oh, heavens! By all things holy and unholy! My every nerve burns with the passion of a thousand suns! I am going to explode—twice!”

The milk sloshed in front of me. Spitfire kicked my flanks and sped up to a full gallop. The strap-on pounded my head like the headache I was going to have the next morning.

And then...

And then...

Celestia help me, then I came. I still cannot adequately explain why. Perhaps there was something Freudian about white liquid splashing against my face. Perhaps my libido simply knew when it was time to contribute to the survival instinct. I don't know, perhaps I have a vagina in the back of my head that nopony has seen fit to tell me about. All I know is that I seized up, let loose a feral scream loud enough to wake the neighbors, and collapsed onto the bed in a twitching, sticky heap. It was the most uncomfortable and bewildering orgasm since Arcano the Summoner accidentally discovered tentacles.

I also know that 'sleeping on the wet spot' took on an entirely different meaning that night than it usually holds for me.

The next morning, I woke to the smell of coffee. I laid in bed for a long while, weighing whether that was a good thing or not. On the one hoof, it probably meant Spitfire was still here. On the other hoof, coffee.

I ultimately decided a shower was the first thing for me. I needed to get the sticky out. Then acquire coffee. Then kick Spitfire's ass out if she was still here. Then burn the sheets. Yes, that was the order of the day.

The shower passed without incident, other than that of me learning just how many parts of me were sore that morning. And how sticky milk can be if left to set in fur overnight. And how hard it is to scrub away shame, even with a fresh loofa.

Other than that, though, the shower went fine. I stumbled down the stairs, still toweling myself off. As I picked up a blessedly steaming mug of caffeine and the world clarified around me, I found Spitfire wearing her sunglasses, poring over my file of flight-suit designs.

She glanced up at me, then pointed to one of the patterns. “I think that, with a few less frills, this one might be a start.”

I gave the pattern a cursory glance—I know most of my designs by heart—and furrowed my brow. “I thought you said it was 'inappropriate' to fraternize with your business partners.”

Spitfire took her sunglasses off and smiled awkwardly. “Yeah... look, I've been thinking about that...”

I raised my eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Listen, Rarity, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I had a lot of fun last night, I really did.”

Was she breaking up with me? Please Celestia, say she's breaking up with me.

“But I think you and I would work better as business partners than as...” She waved her hoof in the air. “...then as whatever that was. I think we should just forget last night happened and try to move on as professionals.”

“I agree,” I said, trying not to sound too relieved. “I agree one hundred percent.”

She smiled. “I'm glad you can see what I'm talking about. I mean, you're a great mare and all, and I'd love to hang out, but there's no shame in admitting there's some areas you fall short.”

“Indeed. We should—” I stopped, and creased my brows. “Wait, what?”

Spitfire steepled her hooves and sucked a breath in through her teeth. “Well... I mean... Okay, there's really no way for me to say this without sounding like a massive jerk, so I'm sorry in advance, but... well, you weren't exactly the best I've ever had.”

My jaw dropped. “I wasn't... I wasn't the best you've ever...”

“You know... in the sack,” she added unhelpfully. “Hey, don't get me wrong, you were... adequate... some of the time. But let's be honest here. Only one of us was really trying last night.”

“I... you... the...”

She put her sunglasses back on. “No hard feelings, right?”

A Lady never strikes her lover. Relationship violence is a terrible thing, and I cannot condone it under any circumstances.

Professional business partners, on the other hoof, are easy targets. I recommend a left hook; it really works wonders against expensive sunglasses.

Fluttershy stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed for a long time. The bath water had long since assumed room-temperature, leaving both mares positively pruny from their extended stay. It may have been a wonder that in all this time none of the spa staff had come in to clear their throat and politely indicate that other ponies may want to use the bath, but the owners ran the most successful spa in the district because of their discretion and respect for privacy, and by charging for these things by the hour.

Finally Fluttershy managed to latch on to some kind of response to her friend's tale. “You hit her? Is she okay?”

“She's fine,” Rarity said. “Presumably, she remains the most utterly clueless lover this side of Baltimare, but other than that she was unscathed.” With a sigh, she climbed over the edge of the tub and onto the tile floor. Her horn lit up and floated two towels toward them. “You see why you cannot breathe a word of this to Rainbow Dash?”

Fluttershy pulled herself out of the water and took the offered towel. “Yes, of course. Spitfire has been her hero since flight school, and I'm pretty sure she's been nursing a crush ever since then. If she were to find out that Spitfire was...”

“The most awful bedmate since beds were invented,” Rarity supplied.

“...It would break her heart.” Fluttershy squeezed the moisture out of her tail.

Laughter accompanied the opening of the sauna door, along with a puff of steam and a peculiar sweaty smell. “No way. Rarity, you got Spitballed?”

Rarity leaped in surprise, nearly falling back into the bath. “R-Rainbow Dash? What are you doing here?”

Rainbow Dash nudged the mare that had emerged from the sauna with her. This mare happened to be the mayor of Ponyville. “The Mayor and I were just—”

“Having a meeting to discuss the upcoming weather schedule,” Mayor Mare finished quickly, struggling with the damp tangle her cravat had become. She fiddled with it for a few more moments before giving up on it with a frustrated sigh.

Rainbow just grinned. “Yeah, the 'weather.'”

Mayor Mare glared at her. “I expect that weather report in my office tomorrow morning.”

“Sure thing.” Rainbow smirked. “Do want it on your desk, or should I pin it to the wall?”

The mayor pursed her lips into a tiny smile. “Why, you cheeky little...” She cleared her throat and trotted out the door.

“...Spitballed?” Fluttershy asked after the mayor had left.

“That's what everypony on the base calls it. We could always tell when the Captain snagged another pony, because they would always walk off the base the next day with...” Rainbow pointed at Rarity, “with just that expression you've got right there. That, 'I'm confused and also horrified beyond words' look.”

Rarity, confused and horrified beyond words, just sputtered and squeaked.

Fluttershy furrowed her brow. “So, most of the ponies at the training camp know about her?”

Rainbow nodded. “It doesn't change our respect for her as our captain. She just... well, I think everypony has a special un-talent to balance out what they're good at. Captain's is sex. Mine is that I can't not be awesome, if you were wondering.”

“Did you ever...” Fluttershy tapped her hooves together.

“Oh, hay no.” Rainbow shook her head. “There's rules against that sort of thing with the recruits. I mean, there's always one or two newbies that try, but say what you will about the captain's sex life, she follows the fraternization regs. Mostly she goes for civs.” She chuckled. “I can't believe she got her hooves on you, though, Rarity.”

Rarity sat against the tub, hyperventilating. She looked as pale as... well, she looked as pale as she always looked. Her eyelid twitched.

Fluttershy frowned. “Oh dear. I think she's thinking about fainting. Could you give us a minute, Rainbow? I need to try and calm her down.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rainbow said. “I was gonna split before somepony came around with a hoof file, anyway.” She opened her wings and exited through one of the high, fog-tinted windows.

“Rarity?” Fluttershy gently tapped her friend's cheek.

Rarity shivered in place. “She... she...”

Fluttershy shrugged. Perhaps this was as good a time as any. “There was one thing I wanted to ask, Rarity...” She leaned in close, placing her mouth right behind Rarity's ear. “...Do you lock your windows?”