Opened Closet

From Mezzo Forte

I usually consider sex to be a distraction. Sure it feels good but I was never one for compassion or companionship. Stallions come and go for me. I send them away. I want their cock, not their love. I have a rule: never have sex with the same bloke twice. I’ve never broken that role. I did come close though. Oh what a mess, that was.

It was a Wednesday. It was rainy that day. I like rainy days. I like to feel the cold from the window when I stand in front of it. Breathing my hot breath on the glass and fogging it up makes me feel so cozy inside. That morning I stood in front of my window until I finished my Jasmine.

My roommate fixed breakfast that morning. Honestly, I wouldn’t put up with her if it wasn’t for her passion for music. Her gaudy shades disgust me, mostly because I have to look at my reflection in that awful color. But I love watching her move to her thumps and bumps. Nothing exists around her when she wears those headphones. And even though I regard her music as drek, she has such a deep respect for the classical genre. She’s interesting.

I galloped to the music hall at 2:45. I hardly feel tired in the rain. I feel like I could run forever. I enjoyed it so much I almost passed the music hall, silly me. I rolled my cello to the back like I always do. Today I spotted a new pony. It was the curator’s son. I always heard he had a son but I never saw him until then. He was a handsome pony. Confident. Many of the flutests floated around him. I continued into the background with my cello. He must have seen me ignore him. I was tuning my cello, singing my notes as I did so. My pitch is perfect. It seemed the curator’s son could vouch for me. He was impressed with my gift. He plays trumpet. He heard me singing from the main stage. He has quite the ear.

I continued my tuning, paying him no mind, of course. I’ve no time for trumpets, regardless of their prowess. He then told me his name. Then silence. I peeked at his reflection in a window. He was gawking at my flank like a hungry bear! The nerve! I cleared my throat to grab the bloke’s attention. I asked him if I could help him and he responded by offering his assistance instead. I told him I could tune it perfectly on my own. Then that cheeky horse leaned into me from behind. I could feel air coming through his nostrils on my neck. “Maybe I can offer my assistance in other areas,” he said. He then pushed his cock on my ass. I let out a loud yelp that could be heard from the auditorium. It was so big and hard. And warm. It was smooth. I’m sure he could pick me up with it if he wanted to. I wanted to touch it. But I didn’t want to give in like a horny little school filly. But he kept shooting that dastardly smirk of his at me. It was too late. I’ve shown my true colors to him. He had me cornered. He started to speak and I told him QUIET!

I gestured him to follow me to the staircase I like to go to. It leads to nothing and there’s a window you can open. I go there to have a smoke during breaks. I placed my hooves on the window panel. I told him the I didn’t want to hear him speak and that he should leave me alone after he’s done. I didn’t want to look at his face at all. He quickly mounted me. My lips rested on his shaft as he felt me up and down. I resisted the urge to break the rules. I wanted to play his instrument. I bet it was a handsome fellow, I thought. Mr. Trumpet had something worthwhile to toot about! Then like every other chap, without warning he thrusted himself deep inside me. I fought back a tear. But it felt magnificent. He slammed me to a 3/4 signature in Andante. Then a 4/4 signature in Allegretto. Then a ⅜ signature; of course a ⅜ signature. He’s a Trumpet for Luna’s sake! He kept filling every part of me. His cock was a masterpiece. But it was my breath on the cold glass of the window that made me cum. He finished me in Allegro, Furioso. He shot his load on the back of my leg. As requested he left afterwards without saying a word. I rubbed myself as I touched my nose on the cold glass. When I was done I took a nearby cloth and cleaned up and lit a f[spoiler][/spoiler]ag. This would be a routine for 3 more weeks. He was too good. But he became too attached. So I cut him loose. A few days later I received a letter from the curator saying that due to my “smoking backstage” I would be suspended from the music hall for a week. I wonder what bloke came up with that idea.