Fallen Apples and Broken Chords

The train hissed as it pulled into Ponyville, though Octavia could care less about her arrival. She stared out of the window at the charming countryside, at dirt roads stretching on into nothing over hilltops and into wide fields brimming with wheat, corn, and all manner of produce. Only when ponies began to cross her window out on the platform did she finally move from her seat, tucking the letter away in her saddlebags.

She had read it on the train ride a dozen times, letting those scathing words sink deep into her psyche, fueling the brimming anger she’d held in restraint ever since storming out of the symphony’s studio back in Canterlot. That anger sat at a low boil, off-setting the chill autumn air sufficiently. She still opted in for a heavy scarf, but it felt stuffy and oppressive in light of the anger bubbling in her chest.

She scanned the platform a few times, looking at unfamiliar faces and ponies she didn’t know. The comings and goings of the small town seemed to be an event of sorts, and gaggles of ponies holding banners and welcome signs for loved ones congregated. She saw teary-eyed lovers greeting one another with a hug and a kiss, families embracing wayward daughters and sons happily, and groups of friends hoof-bumping in greeting. And yet, for her, nopony waited.

“Well, I suppose I can’t blame her. She did say she would be busy…” Octavia heaved a sigh into the fabric of her scarf, watching the thick white cloud of her breath dissipate before her face. Morosely, she made her way to the baggage train to fetch her modest luggage. Hoisting one rolling cart and a hefty duffle bag, she left the train station and made her way into Ponyville proper. The chill streets were rendered all the more cold by the imposing shadow cast by the newest castle, an adornment to the gritty farm community that Octavia personally found garish and out-of-place. Still, the mid-evening sun glimmered off of the highest reaches of the castle’s branch-like protrusions, and the shadow seemed less cold in contrast to the gorgeous glimmering lights.

Wind raked at her flanks as she made her way down the main drag of Ponyville’s marketplace, passing stores and cafes in equal measure. She had to pause and blink at a store boasting quills and sofas, wondering what parallel could possibly be drawn between the two, before continuing on. The wind gusted and pulled at her, but Octavia was an earth pony. She could handle a little cold, even if it was a touch more extreme than the temperate Canterlot autumns.

“Let’s see…” Octavia passed from the main portion of the town and into a more residential neighborhood, and she began cross-referencing addresses with the one she had in her mind. “Aah, here it is.” 505 Hoofington Lane. She opened the gate surrounding the moderate front lawn, smiling warmly at the name and cutie mark emblazoned on the mailbox. ‘Lyra Heartstrings.’

Mounting the front porch, Octavia knocked on the front door, wondering if Lyra was home just yet or if she’d have to let herself in. She shivered for a minute or so before resolving to the latter, finding the key for the front door under a flower pot containing a withered lily. She shouldered into the quaint home, sighing as warmth and the smell of lavender wrapped around her.

“And here I figured you’d have forgotten.” Octavia felt the bubbling anger in her breast ebb a little, and the soothing scent washed away some of her malice. “Home sweet home.” Depositing her luggage by the door, Octavia resolved to exploring her lodgings. It was a quaint, small home with a well-appointed den, music room, kitchen, two bedrooms with their own attached bathrooms, and a cluttered office. Octavia recalled their days in music school, and how that chaotic mess was actually comfortably organized for her eccentric, mint-colored friend. After hauling her luggage into the guest room, Octavia set about to making herself something to eat.

It was halfway through her preparations that the front door opened, and a cheery voice spread a smile across her lips that Octavia had almost sworn she’d never allow cross her lips again.

“Hellooooooo, Octavia Philharmonica!” A bundle of mint-colored unicorn bustled into the kitchen, throwing two forelegs around her neck and drawing the poor grey mare into a warm, loving hug. Despite the anger and sadness pulling her mouth into a permanent frown, Octavia smiled and returned the hug just as exuberantly.

“It’s good to see you again, Lyra.” Octavia sighed, nuzzling into her one true friend’s neck lovingly. ’Oh how badly I’ve missed you,’ Octavia thought, recalling all the memories of their time in music school, of all the troubles and shenanigans they had shared rooming together. She pulled back to smile warmly into Lyra’s glimmering, golden eyes. ’It’s a wonder she hasn’t found somepony special to settle down with. I can’t imagine she’d have any difficulty.’

“I almost couldn’t believe it when you sent me that letter.” Lyra’s boisterous attitude shifted immediately, sobering the greeting immediately. Octavia’s face matched her friend’s as Lyra laid a hoof on her withers, concern and sympathy dripping from every word. It almost made Octavia blanch, but she knew Lyra’s meant the best. In a way, it was frighteningly comfortable. “That’s outrageous. I’d be talking with the director if I were you.”

“You forget,” Octavia sighed, feeling the scowl return momentarily. “It was the director who asked me to leave.”

“Oh. Right.” Lyra deadpanned with a flat grimace, but shook the look on her face off, to be replaced with an optimistic smile. “But you’re here now! Two whole months, just the two of us! You can’t tell me you aren’t excited.”

“Oh, I am! Please don’t think I’m not!” Octavia blushed and waved frantically, panic setting in that she had upset her friend. “I just… The symphony was my life, Lyra… You can imagine how betrayed I feel.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.” Lyra sighed before drawing Octavia into another hug, this one much more heartfelt than the exuberant greeting they had shared a minute prior. “I’m sorry they did that to you, Octavia. You don’t deserve to be treated in such a fashion. I promise, by the end of these two months you’re going to forget all of your worries.”

“Thank you, Lyra-“

“And what better to forget with than copious amounts of alcohol!” Lyra cut her off, breaking away from the hug to bounce over to what was unmistakably a liquor cabinet. Normally, Octavia would have dissuaded the use of alcohol to forget her problems, but the prospect of that comfortable numbness allayed her fears.

“Just one drink for now, I don’t want to spend my first day in Ponyville completely drunk and indecent.”

“Drunk first!” Lyra quipped, passing a hoof of dark whiskey Octavia’s way. “Indecency later.”

“Cheers.” Octavia wasn’t one for dark liquors, but then again, she hadn’t figured herself one to buck holes through grand pianos either. She tossed the entire glass back, relishing the burn in her throat, one to match the anger in her chest. Lyra threw back her own drink, the two of them emerging from the scalding ordeal with blushes and a grin.

“Alright, first order of business. There’s enough light out, and it’s not cold enough yet to pass on a walk. I’m gonna show you around Ponyville. Aah,” She raised a hoof to cut Octavia off. “Just the basics. Groceries, cafes, the new library, stuff like that. Alright?”

“Fine.” Octavia groaned. She had resolved herself to staying indoors on her first day in Ponyville, but Lyra had a point. She’d want to know where everything was in case she needed something while her friend was out and about. “Can we at least eat first?”

“Of course. Whattaya making?”

“Neightalian…” Octavia trudged into the kitchen, a war raging inside of her mind. On one hoof, there was the outrage at her temporary exodus from the symphony. On the other, joy at seeing her fillyhood friend again. Between the two, the new town and mild annoyances straddled the line, making her head swim with the contrast between contented happiness and burning malice.

It was going to be a long two months.

“Alright, so, you know where everything is now.” Lyra pulled up short in the town square, the lingering scents of that day’s market still clinging to the cobblestone. There were even a few wayward carts closing up shop. This was bound to be one of the last markets of the season, with the approaching winter. She prayed there might be at least one more, as Ponyville’s markets had become that of legend. “Can you find your way back home?” Lyra derailed her thoughts, dragging Octavia back into reality.

“I think so. You’re about a half mile down that road, right?” She gestured to the main thoroughfare that cut the town square. She had been through here on her way into town an hour earlier. Now, the late-evening sun had sunk even lower, casting the whole town into the shadow of the castle. A bite nipped at her coat, but the whiskey had dulled her enough that it was only a minor cold.

“That’s right. Do you want to go back, or…” Lyra’s lips spread into a grin, her eyes dancing with light. Octavia knew that look, and narrowed her amethyst eyes accordingly.

“Or…?”

“Or do you want to visit my absolute favorite place in Ponyville?”

Octavia’s eyes remained narrowed at the mint unicorn, watching her bounce on her hooves with excitement. The bite of whiskey earlier had awakened a sort of hunger in Octavia that was best sated with a warm bed and much more of the amber liquid warming her gut. She sorely wanted to return to Lyra’s home and drown her sorrows. But Lyra’s eyes practically lit the whole square with excitement, and she had to have been quivering from something other than the cold.

’What’s the harm? Lyra, despite her excitable tendencies, is a relatively tame mare. It’s probably the observatory, or maybe a music store. And there’s no saying it might just be a bit of scenery or something of the sort. I wouldn’t put it past her… Oh, what the hay.’

“That sounds okay.” Octavia tenuously muttered, rolling her eyes as she got the typical reaction from her friend. Lyra bounded on the spot, throwing a hoof over Octavia’s back and urging her down a nearby street. She squealed with delight, her voice gone into some register that Octavia was sure had been reserved for the most airy of soprano singers. “Calm down and talk normally, Lyra.” She pleaded, half out of concern for her hearing, half because she was actually interested in where Lyra was leading her.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Lyra blushed and slowed her pace, thankfully removing her hoof from across Octavia’s back. “Ahem. You see, Ponyville always used to be a one-horse town. We had liquor shipments and of course the Apple farm provided cider when it was in season, but we never had a need for a pub or tavern. Between all the hoedowns and weekend shindigs held in one barn or another, ponies didn’t really need a localized place to come drink. But once that happened,” She gestured towards the ever-present castle looming over the town. “We drew more ponies, and the town’s population grew by half as much over again. The influx of interested ponies who weren’t quite as in-touch with the community as others had a need. So, they founded my absolute favorite place in all of Equestria.” Lyra led them around a street corner, and Octavia had to pause.

“I present to you, the most humble watering hole this side of Trottingham. ‘The Hay Bale.’”

Neon flickered at her, two signs blazing their message out into the chill evening air. One was the name of the place, cast in the same color as its namesake, ‘The,’ ‘Hay,’ and ‘Bale’ winked on one after the other, then blinked off, and came back with all three words at once. Beneath it, a steady blue-and-pink glow of ‘Open’ welcomed ponies from all over into its warm embrace. The sturdy building held the same farm town charm that its neighbors did, but in darker and more welcoming tones. Wood planks bled a melancholy tune out into the night, a whisper of sultry lounge music brushing across her ears like the tantalizing touch of a lover interested in a night between the sheets.

The scent of pipe smoke, good beer, and greasy hay fries permeated the air, mingling into the sort of scent that would have resulted in zoning violations back in Canterlot. Here, it was as welcome as the mare standing at her side. As if in a trance, Octavia walked forward, looking up at the neon-wreathed mecca in some sort of open-mouthed, eager wonder. It was so crass. So country. So… Ponyville that she felt the prim posturing of Canterlot was even more pretentious in light of this building’s simple existence. She was only partially aware of Lyra at her side, following her into the pub’s embrace.

If the outside promised glorious, smoky freedom, the inside delivered tenfold. Immediately, Octavia felt warmth wash over her hide, chasing away the last tendrils of chill that hadn’t been dulled by the hoof of whiskey she’d had earlier. The promise of that same liquid called out to her in the form of a backlit bar boasting bottles of all varieties, crystal-clear vodka from Stalliongrad, ancient Gin from Trottingham, enchanted whiskey from Canterlot, thick cognac from the Crystal Empire… All of it shuttled from bar to glass to imbiber by a smiling unicorn mare wearing a classy doublet and a sultry look that’d charm the last bit from the tightest coin purse.

Over the floor hung a smoky haze perpetrated by dimly-glowing pipes among the patronage, and the acrid smell cut into her nose and blurred her mind completely. Octavia inhaled deeply, catching the smell of beer and food underneath the cloying cloud of second-hoof smoke. It wrapped around her as intimately as any lover could, warming her more thoroughly than the fire set to the embers of those tobacco leaves.

The bar was larger than it appeared at first glance, crimson-colored booths lining three of the walls, but yielding to a low, curtain-wreathed stage opposite the door. The only illumination came from those blazing stage lights, the flames and embers of the myriad pipes, and the bar. In all reality, that’s all Octavia could have wanted. The stage was currently populated by a small piano and four-piece accompaniment sitting forlornly. A microphone stand stood waiting for its partner, looking not unlike a sultry date left leaning against the wall while she watched everypony else enjoy themselves. Yet behind that stoic stand stood the promise of music. And music, if nothing else, was Octavia’s greatest desire.

“I’ll snag us a booth.” Lyra muttered, quiet enough her words were almost lost on the dull drone of conversation and clinking glass.

“Drinks.” Octavia responded, tearing her eyes from the stage to settle on the bar. “I need a drinks.”

“Don’t you mean ‘drink?’”

“Whatever.” Lyra slunk off with a smirk, but Octavia was intent on the bar. As she approached, the bartender smiled at her, that flash of pearly whites doing exactly what Octavia had thought it would. She could almost feel her purse loosening, ready to yield its fortune of bits in exchange for alcohol. “Two Hay Island Iced Teas. And, hey,” she stopped the mare with a hoof on the mahogany bar top. “Who’s due to play tonight?”

“Oh, it’s Honeysuckle.” The bartender grinned, nodding towards the currently-empty stage. “She’ll be on in a minute. You from out-of-town? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Canterlot.” Octavia deadpanned, mulling that name over in her head. Had she heard it before? Nothing came readily to mind as she turned to look back at the stage. She spoke over her withers at the bartender, half-distracted. “I’m taking a sabbatical.”

“Well, welcome to Ponyville and The Hay Bale. First round’s on the house. As a welcome.”

“Thank you.” Octavia smiled genuinely at the mare, who turned to making their drinks. Two glasses were filled with triple sec, vodka, rum, tequila, and gin. She finished it off with a lemon garnish and a splash of cola for flavor. Octavia took a tenuous sip of her drink, found it to be exactly as delicious as she thought it’d be, and left the mare with another smile.

“You didn’t forget.” Lyra teased as Octavia passed her drink off. They clinked their glasses together and toasted, the smooth liquor chased down with pipe smoke and the sound of a bottle breaking somewhere. “Aah, my favorite… Flair certainly knows her liquor.”

“Hmm. Say, who’s Honeysuckle?” Octavia asked, looking once more to the stage. Unless she was mistaken, someone was moving behind the curtain, the subtle sound of hooves on wood carrying over the murmur of conversation.

“Oh, she’s singing tonight? Oh Octavia.” Lyra leaned over, grinning wickedly. “You are in for a treat.”

“Why? Is she good?” Octavia frowned at Lyra, who seemed to be hiding a secret behind her smile and drink.

“You’ll see~” Lyra purred cryptically, taking another sip. Octavia glared at her, but settled in for another sip of her own, content to wait. Thankfully, it was a brief one. Four ponies mounted the stage, dressed in a myriad of suits and classy lounge dresses. Octavia looked each of them over as they took their respective instruments from their stands. They were two stallions and two mares, each dressed to the nines. Octavia found it odd for such a small town to have a well-dressed accompaniment. The two stallions appeared to be twins, and took up the trombone and trumpet respectively. The unicorn mare sat at the piano, while the other, a pegasus, sat behind a modest drum set consisting of a snare, hi-hat, and kick drum.

“Which one of them is Honeysuckle?” Octavia leaned over to Lyra, whispering softly.

“Shh. You’ll see.”

“I don’t- oh.”

Beauty incarnate mounted the stage, walking into the limelight as if it were her Celestia-given right. Octavia’s words died on her tongue as the mare approached the microphone. She was a raven-maned earth pony, with a coat the color of burnt orange. Her shapely form filled out the little black cocktail dress to capacity, swelling around her flanks and hugging her barrel as closely as anything could. Her green eyes flashed with something, some emotion or feeling, that lanced off of the stage and straight into Octavia’s chest. Her apple-red lipstick curled upwards, a sly smirk of understanding, contentment. This mare knew she belonged up there, in front of everypony else, and that confidence lent her an air that Octavia found as intoxicating as the descending haze of alcoholic numbness.

She didn’t even realize it as the accompaniment struck up a tune, the trilling roll of the piano bringing to life the humble quartet. A few bars of instrumental passed, immediately identifying The Hay Bale as a swing joint. Octavia had hardly taken time to adjust when Honeysuckle stepped up to the microphone. One inhalation later, Octavia was blown away.

“Another day, another night, got me thinkin'. What is it with him? He's naturally moving slow. I see him at the corner bar, am I dreamin'? Surrounded by friends, it's got to end, I need to know. Am I just a night of lust and lost temptation? Is someone like me his destiny? He'll never know. I gotta find a way to show my expectations. He ends it where it begins but I won't let go.”

Like a soothing balm, Honeysuckle’s voice pulsed into the room, moving into a hoof-tapping, jaunty swing tune that made Octavia’s head move in time to the music. That core of bubbling hate and anger that had festered in her breast since her departure from Canterlot died instantly, quenched by the sultry tone of this gorgeous mare’s hypnotizing voice. Her emerald eyes were closed on stage, pouring her heart and soul into the chorus.

”I know you don't love me, but still I burn for you. I know you don't love me, this flame won't die, it's true. My soul bared completely, don't seem enough for you. I know you don't love me, but the message can't get through.”

Octavia was swept away. The bar dissolved, the haze of smoke separating her from the stage wafted away on a gentle breeze. Octavia stood in front of the stage, and Honeysuckle stood over her. Those brilliant green eyes fixed on her, freezing Octavia on place. The only motion made was the gentle swaying of the singer’s hips to the music, and her apple-red lips as they sculpted the masterpiece of music inundating her mind.

”Any mare can see that I'm worth the talkin'. Love can be bittersweet when the girl hears "no". Opportunity knocks but your doors don't open. But I feel a fire inside that's about to blow. So sweep me off my feet and show me somethin' different. You know all the tricks, come get your kicks, you know I'm game. You gotta understand a girl needs more than romance. How many chances lost 'til you just runaway?”

The second verse poured out as sweet as the first, picking up in pace and energy. Honeysuckle belted the words so purely, so sweetly, she might as well have been singing with honey instead of words. Sweet and creamy, the song poured into Octavia’s ears, gorging her brain on one thing and one thing only:

Sweet, sweet seduction.

Honeysuckle stayed for all of seven songs, singing jaunty swing tunes and crooning, melancholy melodies in equal measure. Octavia sat in stunned silence the entire time, unaware of the second drink making its way to her table, and the third, all the way up to the fifth. She was thoroughly sauced by the end, though nopony could tell it looking at her. She sat in stunned silence, watching the stage empty. Honeysuckle’s swaying hips were like a metronome to her, bobbing off stage and into the shadows with a flick of her raven tail on the black cocktail dress, like shadows in a dark alley promising either mystery or danger.

Either one, Octavia was on board. The accompaniment exited, leaving the stage empty and the spell broken. Lyra grinned at her like a filly with a secret, and Octavia returned the look with dumbfounded shock.

“I told you.”

“Oh my stars.”

“Right?”

“She was-“

“The best one I’ve ever seen.” Lyra waved a hoof, still grinning wickedly. “She performs every other weekend.”

“I need it.” Octavia whispered, looking down at the melting ice in her most recent drink.

“Huh?” Lyra arched an eyebrow at her.

“I need it.” Octavia repeated, looking up at Lyra, her eyes ablaze. It was the spark inside of her, the same one that filled her whenever her cello was in her hooves, the same blaze of inspiration that filled her chest whenever she took the stage. It burned away everything, consuming Octavia with a feeling of contentment. Of simple, wondrous joy.

“You need… what?”

Octavia slammed the last of her drink, setting the glass down firm enough to make Lyra’s jump. Her blazing eyes met the mint mare’s, and she spoke the next words in a hiss.

“I need her.”

“Alright, then… Good night, Octavia.” Lyra yawned widely, making her way up the stairs slowly. Octavia followed her, maintaining the same stoic silence she had perpetrated on the way home. Thankfully, her normally-chatty friend remained as quiet, the two of them walking down the brisk, dark streets of Ponyville in silence. The entire way, Octavia’s mind was obsessed, thinking about Honeysuckle. Her voice, her body, her brilliant eyes… Everything about her was perfect. Gorgeous. Her voice was a soothing balm that swept away Octavia’s bubbling anger, and replaced it with a different sort of boiling desire.

Not to beat the daylights out of the symphony director, but of something else entirely. Something deep-seated and primal.

Something that made Octavia more aroused than she had ever felt before.

“You gonna be okay?” Lyra’s gentle question drew her out of her reverie, the two of them standing at the threshold of their own rooms.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” Octavia shook her head, managing a brave smile. “I just drank too much is all… I’m gonna get some sleep.”

“That’s good. ‘Night, Tavi.”

“Good night, Lyra.” Octavia slipped inside of her room, smiling at her friend until the door closed between them. She stripped her saddlebags and scarf off, turning to the bed and flopping onto it heavily. The thick comforter absorbed her, feeling as warm and inviting as a lovely mare’s embrace. Her eyes slid shut, but behind them danced visions that kept the stupid smile on her face long after bidding her friend farewell.

’Oh Honeysuckle...’

‘Hmm, Octavia…’ Her mind departed on a flight of fancy, of raven hair and a tight black cocktail dress. Those green eyes smoldered with desire, and Octavia felt the same feeling well in her chest. Those full lips that could croon the most sultry tunes curled upwards in a smile, even as they grew closer to her own. Octavia answered in kind, closing her eyes as she leaned into the kiss with an eager moan.

Honeysuckle’s voice was the same as when she sang, that low alto that cooed so pleasantly it washed away everything else. She groaned into the kiss, a gentle thing that slowly but surely grew more and more needy. Octavia broke away long enough to huff one hot, insistent breath between them before returning to the kiss.

Octavia drew her lip between her teeth, inhaling slowly through her nose as her hooves began to trail over her chest and stomach.

Honeysuckle surged forth, her tongue entering the fray at long last. Octavia melted into the kiss, surrendering to the undulating appendage that tasted like good liquor and smoke. Her brow knit together, inhaling deeply through her nose to try and assuage the fire in her gut. Honeysuckle wasn’t having any of it, as her tongue wrestled with Octavia’s until the fire grew out-of-control, signaled by the dripping wetness tracing its way down her thighs.

A soft whimper escaped her lips as Octavia’s hoof dove between her legs and into the epicenter of her issue. Her marehood was damp already, the soft fleshy sound of her wet labia greeting the edge of her hoof delightfully. Her mouth hung open now, her tongue aching to lay across somepony’s coat. No, not anypony’s coat…

Honeysuckle’s.

The insistent panting of the mare between her legs couldn’t be denied. Octavia lifted her hips, grinding her slit against the sultry singer’s. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on their coats, filling the air with the musky scent of lust and love. Honeysuckle gasped against the sudden motion but responded in kind, surging forth until both their dripping gashes slid against one another. As Octavia began riding the mare between her thighs, shocks of pleasure radiated through her, causing her to throw her head back. Her black mane whipped through the air, her entire body stretched out.

Honeysuckle picked up the pace, grinding their flared marehoods together wetly. Whenever she dipped her hips downwards, Octavia could feel the fine hairs of her coat dragging against her swollen clitoris, sending a jagged bolt of pure, irrevocable pleasure shooting into her core. She came back with a similar motion, making Honeysuckle shudder and cry out in that low, gravelly voice.

“Uuhnn…” Octavia let the low moan out as her hoof ground against her own slippery pussy, catching her clitoris against the round edge and manipulating it until her legs quivered.

’Just sit back and let me…’ Honeysuckle’s low voice caressed Octavia’s ear, urging her onto her back. Shamelessly, Octavia’s legs spread open, inviting the sultry mare to do as she pleased. Her full lips pressed into Octavia’s neck, taking their sweet time in getting to the final destination. She preceded some of her kisses with a low groan or a tiny lick, just enough to keep the blaze in her core raging unchecked. She writhed beneath the tender ministrations, praying to the stars above that she got to return the favor and delve between the burnt-orange thighs to discover what could make the sultry singer cry out in that pure, seductive voice.

Instead, she was forced to cry out herself, as Honeysuckle finally made her way down to where Octavia was seeping.’

“Ahn!” One sharp exhalation escaped her, despite her best efforts to keep it in. She knew Lyra to be a light sleeper, and the last thing she wanted was to be walked in on. So she muffled her cries with the one hoof that wasn’t busy, stuffing the hard surface into her mouth so she didn’t wake her housemate with the lusty cries of a fantasy indulged. It was a double-edged sword, as her tongue set to licking her hoof eagerly, just like a certain mare was licking her in the fantasy of her drunken mind...

’Haanm, ahn, mnn…’ Honeysuckle moaned and panted against Octavia’s crotch, her tongue alive against her dripping slit. Octavia writhed and cried, her hooves buried in that magnificent head of raven hair. She pulled Honeysuckle onto her pussy eagerly, praying the pleasure continued to ramp up to that irrevocable, final ending. Panting and twitching underneath the expert ministrations of the sultry lounge singer, Octavia approached her orgasmic high.

“HMMN!” Octavia let out a throaty grunt into her hoof, the other one picking up into a fever pitch, filling the air with the wet sound.

’HONEYSUCKLE!’ She cried out, her eyes clenched shut and every muscle flexed. It happened in an instant, driven over the edge of orgasm by the singer’s devious tongue. Wetness exploded from her crotch as pleasure robbed her of every thought, leaving Octavia a whimpering pile of flesh.

Her orgasm shuddered into her chest, driving Octavia into a shuddering, hoof-scrabbling orgasm. She dribbled onto the comforter pathetically, her jaw aching as she bit down on her hoof to keep from screaming at the top of her lungs. Long moments passed as she shuddered and shook, until she collapsed into the sheets a few moments later. The tinge of sex filled the air, but Octavia couldn’t help but bask in the magnificent afterglow. She lay like that for several long minutes, the alcohol and fantasy leaving her feeling warm and happy, despite having just came on top of her good friend’s guest bed.

After a few minutes of basking in the delightful post-orgasmic bliss, she pulled the comforter down and curled up underneath it. The long day caught up to her at last, and she was shuttled into her dreams on a wave of musky mare-scent, alcohol, and the promise that she would have that mare.