Fluttershy Has Sex with Her Sofa

by Oatmeal Beast

Rating: mature
Tags: Fluttershy, Sex, Sad, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1929

What is a lonely, drunken mare to do when lust strikes and nopony is around to satisfy her? Bang her sofa, of course.

What is a lonely, drunken mare to do when lust strikes and nopony is around to satisfy her? Bang her sofa, of course.

Contains graphic depictions of sex (duh)

Preread by Samey90 and DeluxeMagnum69.

Now with a reading on YouTube.

Published 2015-07-12 20:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-07-12 20:50:02 UTC

Such a Nice Sofa

The four hooves beneath her stumbled, tripping over one another as Fluttershy attempted to enter her own living room. Her numbing limbs were no match for the invisible beast she grappled with, and she soon fell sideways against the door frame. She whispered a tiny curse to nopony, pausing for a few moments before pushing away from the doorway and bumbling her way into the room. The near-empty bottle of cider slid out from under her wing, following the same path as the other five before it as it hit the floor and rolled away.

Fluttershy whined, reaching a hoof toward the bottle in the hopes of saving the last few traces of the sweet nectar. Alas, her balance ceased to be, and she instead had to brace herself against a table to keep from joining the bottle on the floor. Perhaps she'd had enough. Oh, but what if one of her little animal friends found it and decided to drink some?

She chuckled ever-so-slightly at the thought of Mr. Mousey stumbling around, drunk off his bare little tail. Oh, but his family might not think it was so funny, though, and it wouldn't take much of the stuff to really hurt the little guy. She should definitely do something about that lost bottle, lest some little critter get poisoned by it. So Fluttershy reached over to the little cup she kept on an end table, pulled out a marker, and wrote "DON'T DRINK" in big letters across the bottle's label. That ought to do it.

The mare turned away from the cider bottle and dropped her marker on the floor, considering her next move. She couldn't quite recall why she had come into the living room in the first place. It surely couldn't have been to just write on that bottle. Was there something in the room she needed to use, take, or examine? Her eyes scanned the walls, floor, and ceiling, but there didn't seem to be anything of importance. Then again, the room had just acquired the odd habit of spinning halfway around and then jumping back to where it was supposed to be, so it was pretty hard for her to focus on anything. With a half shrug, she slid herself onto the sofa to take a little rest.

Ahh, the sofa. That had been why she came in, and she was already there with minimal complications. Awesome, just like her sofa. Just like Rainbow Dash, except the sofa didn't talk. It was softer than Rainbow, too. Rainbow had lots of tight muscles and hard hooves. The sofa was just soft cushions and smooth wood. The wood was hard, but if it weren't there, the sofa would just be a lump. It was like the sofa's skeleton.

Fluttershy shook her head to try and free it of the image of a boneless wad of Rainbow Dash, but all the motion did was make her feel sick. She held a hoof to her mouth, certainly not wanting to vomit on her nice sofa and get nasty stains on it. Though, if she puked out something green, it might just blend in. But puke was usually a more pinkish color, in her less-than-pleasant experiences. The nauseated feeling took a vacation from her stomach after about a minute, and she let her chin rest against the cushion.

It really was a nice sofa. It wasn't one of those itchy sofas with lots of little hairs sticking out everywhere. The fabric was smooth and soft to the touch, almost like velvet or Rarity's coat. It was a bit like Rarity, wasn't it? Except her sofa never pressured her into anything she wasn't that comfortable with. Not that Fluttershy was bitter. Far from it; Rarity was among her best friends. Fluttershy forgave her easily and long ago, but she couldn't forget with quite so much ease.

The pegasus rolled onto her side, her cheek nuzzling softly against the cushy pad under her. The sofa was a bit like her friends, it was true, but the sofa was better, in some ways. It didn't pressure her, it didn't judge her, it didn't ever make her feel uncomfortable. It was always there for her, bearing her weight without complaint, letting her nap on it when she was a bit tired, and soaking up her tears when her fears became too much for her. It was such a nice sofa.

A smile came to her, both at how wonderful her sofa was and at the awareness of just how drunk she was to be having such thoughts about a sofa. That smile faded quickly, however. It was just a sofa, after all. The sofa couldn't love her. The sofa couldn't hold her in its nonexistent hooves. The sofa couldn't kiss tenderly down her neck and nip at the base of her mane while whispering sweet nothings into her ears, its strong hooves against her back and hips pressed to hers.

Fluttershy shut her eyes and grit her teeth, trying to banish the thoughts, but it was too late. It had already gotten her going, and with that much cider in her system, there was no easy getting it out. Well, there was one easy way, but it was a dirty path. A path fraught with pleasure, but followed by shame. A path she knew all too well and yet would never, ever admit to anypony that she was so familiar with it. She would drop dead of embarrassment on the spot if anypony knew what she did in the dark of her bedroom, when all of her little animal friends had gone to sleep.

It was gross.

It was shameful.

It was all she had.

One of her forehooves snaked its way down between her hind legs, her furry wrist sliding across her slit and collecting the slightest bit of moisture as it went. Why not? Who was around to see her touch herself? Why should she be judged so harshly for it? She was a mare just like any other, and she had needs just like them. But she didn't have anypony to call her own, unlike so many of those others. The closest friends she had were all mares, and as pretty as they were, Fluttershy just didn't swing that way. Twilight and Applejack had handsome brothers, but one was taken and the other seemed too busy. Besides, she could never just go up to anypony and ask them on a date. The mere thought of it terrified every bone in her little pony body. What other choice did she have?

She sighed gently as she caressed herself, sliding her face over the soft sofa cushion. It was such a nice sofa. It would never shame her for sating her own lust. It would never ridicule her or make her cry. Her lips puckered out, brushing across the back of the seat and planting a little kiss on it. She giggled a little at the taste of the fabric, and kissed it again. It was hardly sweet or savory, but it wasn't an unpleasant flavor.

Meanwhile, her hoof was busied with making smooth stirring motions down against her most sensitive spots, the fur on her foreleg growing more moist with each passing moment as her arousal increased. She was so warm down there. So soft. Like her sofa. Her hoof wasn't like her sofa. It was so much harder than the sofa.

With a grin, she pulled herself up and brought her hind legs in front of her. Her rump planted itself flat against the couch with a quiet little patting sound. Her hips bucked softly beneath her, grinding her lower lips against the oh-so-soft surface of her wonderful sofa, and the mare let out a barely audible moan. The fabric was like silk against her velvety, slick slit. So much nicer than her hoof. So much more gentle.

It wasn't too long before her breaths grew heavy and a tight sensation was building up inside her. It never took her long, especially when she had been drinking. Her hooves grabbed onto a throw pillow, pressing it to her chest as her slippery nethers slid over the smooth fabric ever faster. Her teeth dug into the puffy pillow, its fluffy filling muffling her moans, squeals, and squeaks. Even in her state of drunken debauchery, she didn't want to wake any of her little animal friends with her act.

A strangled whine barely escaped the cushion's stuffing, her wrists curling into the pillow. An orgasm shot through her body like an injection of white-hot liquid bliss, flowing through her and sating her lust. Her back arched, turning her muzzle toward the ceiling, eyes closed tightly and ears pinned. It seemed like every time she brought herself over the edge, she'd forgotten just how wonderful it was. In that moment, brief as it was, with her hips bouncing and clit winking against her folds, nothing else mattered. There were no worries, no fears, only pleasure spreading out from her most sensitive spots and washing away all else.

And then it all faded like a droplet of water on a hot skillet. The pillow fell from her teeth, dropping onto the sofa and then to the floor. Her breathing steadied and her eyes opened. The smell of her arousal found its way to her nose, bringing her gaze down toward the dark spot she'd left on the couch. She'd gotten it dirty, yet it still didn't complain. Such a nice sofa.

Her hoof lovingly caressed the fabric for a few seconds, but then her face twisted into a grimace. It was just a sofa. It didn't complain because it couldn't. It couldn't speak, it couldn't feel, it couldn't appreciate her feelings for it. Her feelings for a piece of furniture.

She squinched her eyes shut, tears spilling out and down her face as she collapsed onto the sofa. She was so alone. So utterly alone. So lonely that she'd just had sex with a sofa. She was sick. Twisted. Nopony would ever love anypony as broken as her. Her hooves flew to her face, covering it from the hundreds of imaginary eyes that glared at her so accusingly. Her silent weeping turned to squeaky sobs, her breath stuttering and uneven. She was pathetic. Truly pathetic. How could anypony ever love so weak, desperate, and pitiful a mare as her? They couldn't. They wouldn't. All she had was a fucking sofa.

Something touched her foreleg, and she gasped. Her eyes snapped open behind her hooves, yet were hesitant to see the judgemental face of whoever had made such sudden contact with her. They'd surely seen. They surely knew. Even if they hadn't watched, she was sticky, sweaty, and stank of sex. There was no denying what she'd just done. Her heart rate spiked and her breath fell still. At long last, she turned to see.

Angel stood atop an arm of her sofa, one of his little white paws resting on her foreleg. But the bunny wasn't glaring at her. He wasn't shaking his head in disappointment or disapproval, as he so often did. His mouth was smiling softly at her, though his eyes were sad. There was no judgement, no anger, no accusation in his beady little eyes, only sympathy. He patted her foreleg and gave it a little squeeze with his tiny limbs, and Fluttershy pulled him into an embrace. He hugged her as tightly as he could as she held him close and wept into her sofa.