A Purple Story in Which Braeburn Blatantly Masturbates
The night was pregnant; due to soon give birth to a sun, one befitting to grace Equestria with its shine and illuminate the creeping ebony set upon it by nightfall. A comforting notion for those ponies and buffalo whom dwelled in Appleoosa, joyful in the cheerful rays that sprinkled upon them and elated by the sun kissed apple trees that would become visible once more.
But Braeburn found no joy in such approaching events. Long had the young, golden colored pony suffered under the haunting grasp of insomnia. He'd found himself stricken with anxieties and set upon by babbling fears that perpetually taunted him from the voice deep within his own skull.
The Rodeo. In specific the Grand Nationals loomed before him, such that should he fail he'd be ridiculed and shunned only consoled by the notion he be allowed to try again in a years time. He'd trained long and hard to become a contender and defeat under the grueling challenge of the rodeo he was faced with upon the coming day was a horrendous, excruciating option he'd not seen fit to acknowledge. He refused to give into his fears, longing to leave them behind, like the long hours of evening that had come to past, but his anxieties proved to be steadfast and perpetual, returning to him whenever he shunted them away, like some sort of existential psychological boomerang.
...
His brain went to weird places when he couldn't sleep.
Lo, The night continued, unabated by Braeburn's silent protests for sleep, drawing with it a growing number of terrors that assaulted Braeburn's confidence with no end of relentless pursuit. Would he gather a blue ribbon? What if he failed to perform a lasso correctly? Would he run into Applejack this year? What if he had to compete against her? She was three times his abilities! Worse, what if he beat her? Would she ever forgive him?
Outside, Land Sharks and Sand Wurms burrowed quietly into cooler areas of the desert, while the sun's radiant glow began to peek over the hills and rolling valleys of desert. Braeburn had not been successful in his task at persuading the gentle nymphs of night to bestow upon him slumber. He lay, feverishly twisting in his bed, his blankets haphazardly caressing his muscular frame, the silk rolling off his smooth, golden features, while his tail swayed restlessly like a pendulum off the side of the bed. Frustration had joined the collaboration of anxiety and fear that kept Braeburn awake. The young stallion hadn't opened his eyes in hours, but still his brain endlessly prattled on with possible situations and improbable ones.
The movement was slow and desperate with no discernible inkling of desire behind the action. But it was the action that would make all the difference. Braeburn knew it. His hooves moved on their own, dancing to a hidden beat, drummed with rhythmic desperation and a melody-less desire. They dipped low, caressing over golden pubic fur, and the soft orbs hanging below, dangling against the gravity of his position and bouncing with the movements of his hips. It didn't take long, for trickles of pleasure and small dancing bolts of lightning to shimmer along his body with every tormenting stroke. He wasn't in it for the pleasure, nor the self-satisfaction of his own actions, nor was every deliberate stroke generated by loneliness or depression at the lack of a mate.
The need was unapologetic now; an ebony spire throbbing in front of him, dominating his attention and guiding his mental acuity down a path entirely different from personal fears and anxieties. It all melted away with his golden touch, his soft ministrations efficiently and effectively driving his personal fears into the back of his mind. His hips arched, rolling the lush sun colored thighs towards the sky, stabbing the stale air with his masculinity as worked himself further and further towards an exquisite sensation; one that shattered his illusions of the purpose of his caress and left him gasping and suckling oxygen from the room in heaving pants.
The tempo quickened and the dance had changed. It was originally slow and rhythmic, a gentle waltz of class and grace, like a masterful dancer that swept across the floor in a skillful glide- back and forth, moving in time and pace with the music. But the harmony was off now, and the speed had reached a feverish pitch, transforming the silky movements of the waltz into a spicy tango, peppered with hot panting and helpless breathless squeaks.
Braeburn's hips pushed forward, crashing against his hooves while it slammed into his hips, the shock of such a meeting sent ripples pulsing through his belly and directly into his head. No longer working under the guise of sleep deprivation, Braeburn tossed away his mask and basked in the full glory of the venture, trembling as his hips quaked with a rumble that echoed deep in his loins and struck like a geyser. He'd been lost in the efforts of his endeavor and his castle walls came crumbling down around him, and with his last defenses gone, he couldn't hold back any longer.
He trembled, his hips vibrating madly while each passionate spray of his efforts left the room scented in his hot essence. Braeburn, for all his efforts, however, had been rewarded with a rush of fatigue that seemed to caress his very soul. His body ached with a new weight atop of it, the hours and hours of missed sleep assaulting his frame like a battering ram. His energy gone, his breathing stabilized into heavy gasping pants, he found he was completely helpless to the heft of the silky sheets that whispered across his body. No, he couldn't move at all, and that was just fine. He was tired; so very, very tired. He yawned and his eyelids fluttered once...twice....and finally...Braeburn was fast asleep.
Author's Note
OH GOD THE PURPLE!!
XD
BASK IN IT MY PONIES! BASK!!!
And admit it; You've totally had this happen to you. ;)
