Rainbow Dash Gets Mad Rutty With An M1A2 Abrams - A Romantic Tale

Rainbow Dash huddled on her stool in the kitchen tent "Field Ma" had erected at the Battalion Assembly Area. She held a bowl of piping hot cheese and egg ramyun in her hooves. It was still far too hot to eat, but given the icy winter wind that ripped through the valley she was in no rush to cool it down.

The bare bulbs strung from the canvas ceiling swayed, casting wild, dancing shadows around the ersatz cafe as the gale outside threatened to blow the shelter down. A handful of powerful propane heaters did their best to stave off the chill but were ultimately no match for the blizzard that roared outside. Frigid drafts licked through the flaps and seams of the tent, cutting through her pelt and chilling her to the bone.

“You… eat now?” The proprietor, a hunched, wizened old woman, crossed her arms in her thick Army surplus parka and quirked an eyebrow at Dash.

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses.” Dash muttered.

“Ajumma... time for bed!” She stabbed her finger emphatically at the sleeping bag laid out behind the expedient kitchen’s counter to emphasize her point.

Guess it’s not really keeping my hooves that warm anymore, anyway… She thought glumly as she started in on her late-night snack.

Her problem was one of shelter; for the past few nights, she’d been sneaking into the commo trailer to bed down, but with the storm all the cable dogs would be racked out there. She’d been putting it off all evening, hoping the raging blizzard would die down at least a little, but thus far it hadn’t.

Having finished her meal, Dash reached into her field jacket, pulled out three crumpled 1000 Won notes and stamped them down on the counter. Time to face the music.

“You come tomorrow morning, jolangmal, I cook yakimandu!”

Rainbow sighed heavily and nosed open the tent’s flap. The full brunt of the storm hit her square in the face. She gritted her teeth and braced herself against the harsh siberian wind as she trod out into the blustery night, squinting her eyes into the darkness, scanning for anywhere reasonably warm she could curl up for the evening.

Every spot she checked came up nil. Her attempt to get into the Battalion Tactical Operations Center came to an immediate stop as the Command Sergeant Major looked blearily up from his workstation. “Get the fuck out of my TOC. This ain’t a damn coffee shop. Ain’t you got work to be doing?” Dash retreated hastily.

As the flap closed to the warm confines of the tent the CSM looked back to his Facebook page and took another sip of coffee. “My goddamn coffee.” He muttered to himself.

Her next potential port in the storm was a highback HMMWV parked in a modest copse of trees. When she pulled back the flap she found it to be packed tighter with sleeping mechanics than a Laotian hooker on payday. The air was thick with the smell of day old sweat and gear oil and she wrinkled her nose at the heavy scent. Freezing to death was better than living through that malodorous, apneating hell.

As a final choice she tested the various supply trailers towards the back of the camp. Most were locked, but one had the door slightly ajar. She peeked inside and saw a 2LT unconscious in a heavy duty sleeping bag. Perfect. She took a step inside and reared back, hissing in pain. The crazy bastard was sleeping on a pile of concertina wire like it was a queen size at the Ritz Carlton. Not a chance in hell she’d be able to make that work.

She wandered into the blustering wind and driven snow once more, and such was the depth of the darkness that she nearly bumped her snoot into his side before she realized what she was looking at. He was beautiful and exotic, everything the M1A2 Abrams wasn’t; where the Abrams was a massive bruiser, a brutish grizzly bear of a Main Battle Tank, the K2 Black Panther was lithe and agile like his namesake.

She felt that familiar armor-induced heat creeping up her thighs, and instantly a sensation of deep shame overcame her. What would M1A2 think?

It’d be like cheating! She admonished herself. Just because he’s at depot level maintenance for refit doesn’t mean I can just…

At the same time, though, if she didn’t find some shelter she’d be a pegasicle by morning.

Besides, I don’t HAVE to, y’know, do anything... It’s just because it’s so cold. That’s all.

There was no way she could fly in this weather, even to make the little hop needed to get onto the tank’s hull. She would have to climb up the hard way.

Dash carefully placed a hoof on the forward-most road wheel and tried to pull herself up onto the fairing, but the foul weather had laid a sheen of snow all over the vehicle. Her forehooves fought for traction and failed, and in a flurry of frantic scrabbling she lost her balance and fell backwards onto the frozen ground, landing on her tailbone with a jarring thud.

“FfffffFFFFUCK!” She yowled into the howling wind.

From out of nowhere, a mechanical whine and a hiss; Dash, startled, scuttled backwards away from the tank as the front suspension seemed to dip down. Was the tank… kneeling?

“Woah,” she cried, “How’d you do that?”

The K2’s auxiliary power turbine spooled quietly to life, nearly undetectable over the din of the storm except for a sudden eddy of snow near the exhaust port.

Rainbow Dash righted herself and stepped up onto the now readily accessible forward plating, climbing up to the main turret. She tapped it with a hoof. “Anybody home?” She called out.

The TC hatch unlocked and flopped open. She nearly squealed with joy at the blast of balmy air that issued forth, smiling as she took in the warmth of the diesel heater and that unmistakable, mechanical lived-in smell from inside the crew compartment.

“Hey guys, thanks for opening up…” She paused and peered about the interior of the tank. Nobody was there.

“Oh, just you tonight, huh. Where’d your crew go?”

The main fire control computer beeped cheerfully.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Korean.” Dash replied apologetically.

The fire control panel though for a moment and then chirped.

“Oh! They’re not allowed to sleep in you, are they,” she spoke soothingly to the Korean tank, “so they left you all alone out here in the cold.”

“Well,” she continued as she slipped gracefully down into the TC’s hatch, “they left me all alone out here in the cold, too. Mind if I stay warm?”

She clambered down into the gunner’s seat and nestled in. Looking around the interior, she noticed that one particular aspect of K2’s interior seemed very familiar.

Wait, is that Abrams main gun?

She leaned over for a closer look.

Well, there’s an autoloader instead of the manual breech, but sure enough that’s a 120mm Rheinmetall L55, just like M1A2’s. She licked her lips. Well, just one little touch won’t matter.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached out her hoof towards his breech. Right as she was about to make that first, gentle contact, his starter solenoid clacked loudly. His starter whined, turning over his 12 cylinder powerplant, the mighty Hyundai-Rotem industrial diesel coughing and chugging as its cold cylinders misfired on the wintry air.

Dash sucked in her breath and lept back in her seat.

“Oh, hey big guy. Didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. Just uh... “ she stammered, “checkin’ to make sure your crews had done their PMCS right!”

The K2 suggestively kicked his engine up to a high idle.

“Naw, dude, it wouldn’t be right. You and Abrams are almost family, like cousins or something.”

The engine gave a quick, jocular bark of throttle, then settled back into it’s normal lopey idle.

Dash reclined back in her seat and let the thrum of the engine’s rough idle massage her. She couldn’t help but compare it to her Abrams, of course; where M1A2's turbine was smooth and high-strung, almost like a fighter jet, the K2’s diesel piston engine thumped and loped, a low-frequency lullaby for her hindquarters.

“Hnnnnn.” She moaned quietly to herself, lost in the moment, barely cognizant of the fact that the seat was slowly dampening beneath her.

The fire control monitor beeped inquisitively.

“Well, I guess that’s true. He’s getting a lot of love and attention at depot, he shouldn’t be mad if I… I mean, if you and I were to…” She blushed heavily as she spoke.

The K2 may have been a relatively new tank, but he wasn’t a fool. He waggled his turret control joystick at her.

“And I guess that’s not like your main gun or anything—it’ll just be like, y’know, a dildo or something. Just two friends helping each other out, right?”

The K2 nodded it’s turret in agreement.

Tentatively, she hopped down from the gunner’s seat and made her way up to the Tank Commander’s station. The joystick was a knurled industrial black thermoplastic affair, about six inches long by her measurements.

She leaned in close. He could feel her breath against it, warm and hesitant.

Slowly she stuck out her little pink tongue and pressed it against his control stick, giving it an experimental lick. She withdrew slightly, pausing to consider his taste for a moment. Salt and kimchi, she decided.

She gently grabbed the stick in her hooves and went to work, licking up and down the shaft, working his control stick expertly. His force feedback motors trembled at the tender ministrations she applied to his most sensitive of input devices.

The fire control computer booped in alarm and pleasure as, having warmed him up, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and plunged his control handle deep into her mouth. Dash winced a little—he was huge. She carefully guarded her teeth as she began to suck and lick the joystick, slowly at first but then faster and faster.

The K2 thrilled as his stick hit the back of her throat, every molecule of his armor vibrating with pleasure as this fine, tiny horse gave him the best, messiest analog input he’d ever received.

Suddenly Dash stopped and extricated the stick from her aching maw. She panted, half lidded.

“Good,” she huffed, pausing to wipe the beads of sweat forming on her brow from the exertion, “now you’re slick enough for the real fun.”

Dash shimmied herself around the turret to line her marehood up with the hand control, bracing herself against the TC’s seat. Slowly, gingerly she lowered herself down until the tip of the joystick pressed against her tight slit and, biting her lip, worked it into herself.

K2, for his part, was a gentleman; he waited patiently for her to arrange herself before starting his end of the work. Once she was reasonably situated on his controls, he activated his force feedback vibrator.

“Oh! Sweet Celestia,” She cried out as the little electric motors gave her their best, “give me more!”

K2 obliged in spades, revving his engine. The combined harmonics traveled up the hard bakelite plastic and buzzed right against her aching clitoris. The little blue pegasus bucked and writhed in response, trying to stimulate herself further. She flailed for a moment in an attempt to find a way to ride the joystick of her own accord, but given the juices she’d already splattered on both the stick and control panel, all she managed to do was wiggle herself deeper onto the plastic control handle. She would need him to help.

“Fffff... “ she spat, “ffffuck me!”

K2 revved his engine wildly, and then bucked his hydropneumatic suspension as hard as he could. He bunny-hopped like a 50 ton Korean lowrider with On Lock stuck on repeat. Inside, Dash’s ample ass bounced up and down as though she were riding a pogo stick, fucking her tight blue puss rather messily on the controls, her ass slapping the metal dashboard with every bounce.

Through the fog of her impending mind-blowing orgasm, Dash reached over and started stroking the breech of his cannon, rubbing her hoof up and down the warm brushed metal.

The K2 was certainly enjoying himself, but was caught quite off guard by Dash’s reciprocation; having an autoloader he was quite unaccustomed to being touched so lovingly on his breech. He lost his composure momentarily, his engine bellowing wildly, trumpeting like a bull elephant in musth all the way up to max governed RPM before barking harshly off the rev limiter.

“Let’s ghnnn… go off…. together!” She cried out through clenched teeth.

K2 could hardly help but oblige; the exertion was driving him mad as well, and having that fine winged waegukin riding him didn’t hurt either. His autoloader chambered a HEAT round; he was going to come, and soon.

Certainly she couldn’t go on for much longer, either. Dash was soaked in sweat, crying out in the heat of passion, barely able to hold herself upright as the K2 used every ounce of his strength to drive his joystick home for her.

With one final heave, the K2 hopped hard enough that his tracks left the ground entirely, slamming down with enough force to bury Rainbow Dash to the hilt on his joystick. She screamed something as she came, but he couldn’t hear exactly what over the sound of his roaring cannon thumping out round after round, sending a high explosive missive of their love into the mountainside of Rodriguez Range.

She’d come so hard that as she lay there panting, she could only hear the sound of her heartbeat. Slowly the sounds of the world filtered back in, the whining of his servoes, the hum of his hydraulic motors.

She looked around; between the mess made by his wild bouncing and her wet orgasm, the crew compartment looked like a horror scene. Grabbing the TC’s chair, she extracted herself from the joystick with a wet pop.

Celestia, this is going to be a bitch to clean up, she thought as she reached for a spray bottle and paper towels.

There was measured silence for a moment as K2 watched her clean her juices. Finally, the fire control computer beeped.

“I didn’t say anything.” Dash replied.

The computer chirped and beeped insistently.

“Oh. When I came? I uh… I don’t even know what I yell half the time. Usually just swear words.”

Suddenly, the cabin was awash with a cacophonous racket of frantic clanging from the TC’s hatch and Korean cussing.

Unfortunately for both K2 and Rainbow Dash, even the wildest of Korean weather could not mask the unique multimedia event of a hopping, screaming, firing main battle tank in the middle of a field exercise.

The jig was up. Dash tensed in preparation for her escape.

“Alright big guy, when I count to three, unlock the gunner’s hatch!” she whispered.

“One…”

“I taengkeuleul yeol-eo!” (Get out of this tank!) Hollered the muffled voice from outside.

“Two…”

“Enjin-eul kkeusibsio!” (Turn off the engine!)

“THREE!”

The K2 kicked off the crew lock on the gunner’s hatch and Rainbow Dash exploded out at full speed. All the tank crew saw was a blue streak with a rainbow contrail as she buzzed as fast as she could into the inky black.

The puzzled crew gathered themselves and peered into their tank.

“Geugeos-eun yeogi e chamchiwa segseu ttam naemsae…” (It smells of sweat and sex fish in here...)