Nosing & Tasting

Nosing and Tasting

Chapter 2: La part des anges petits poneys magiques

[ What to expect in this chapter: sex (finally!), awkwardness, failed stripteases, boobs, oral ]

Counter-intuitive as it may sound, when it comes to oral sex, some people (and ponies, too) seem to prefer giving over receiving. As I was staring up vaguely at the shadowy beams on the wooden ceiling, I found myself idly wondering why that was...

There's the psychological high of getting to stimulate your partner to such an extent, of course. The super-intimate interactions help, too; all of your senses are constantly being treated to some form of pleasing feedback, be it a heated moan, a look of adoration, or the ultimate pay-off of a shuddering climax. There's also the exhibitionistic thrill of being watched intently when you're doing something so dirty and sexy—or just the thrill of performing such an act to begin with, really. Lastly, there's the sense of power that comes with it, the feeling of being in complete control of your lover's pleasure, curiously juxtaposed with the submissive position you'll generally find yourself in. All of these things combined, to some, actually outweigh the base physical pleasure of being on the receiving end.

Just goes to show that the brain really is the most important sex organ.

To be honest though, I really hadn't pegged Octavia as being the type of pony to whom this might apply. I mean, here was a mare who generally preferred to keep everypony at foreleg's length, whose self-admitted worst nightmares were public pony-restrooms and who couldn't go two bites of food without reaching for a napkin. For all intents and purposes, you'd expect her to be the first mare to shy away from something as intensely 'hooves-on' as going down on another girl.

Yet here I was, flat on my back on a floor which was now a fresh set of fingernail-scratches richer, trying to fathom what was going on between those perky equine ears—when I wasn't too busy passionately crying out her name, I mean—as Octavia lovingly licked me closer and closer to a helpless orgasm.

She was like a different pony, unconcerned with the sticky, embarrassingly copious arousal dampening the business end of her muzzle and undaunted by the exotic (and perhaps pungent) taste and smell of a human female. She actually seemed to be savoring the experience, savoring me, her oxytocin-addled brain rendering any such concerns moot.

At least, I hoped it was...

When I lifted up my head to look at her she was lapping tirelessly, having already worked her way up along my inner thighs, lavishing lick after superficial lick upon the naked labial lips, already plump and puffy with arousal. She was preparing me, teasing me, getting me nice and wet and steamy with both tongue and snout and subsequently using her cute, stumpy nose to spread the love.

Her eyes were closed; it was almost as if she were in some kind of trance. But just then she chanced to look at me, studying my ecstatic face with those breathtaking eyes. I was absorbed by them, my mind instantly put at ease; perfectly transparent and enormous as they were, I could detect no boredom, impatience or suppressed revulsion in them, only genuine, dreamy enjoyment.

Octavia was clearly loving every slow, drawn-out, sopping-wet second of this—and therefore so was I.

My neck-muscles could take the strain no longer, though, so I let my head drop back to the floor with a minor bonk. As the room swam slightly before my eyes, my thoughts began drifting again...

Earlier that night, when we'd still been mostly sober, she'd played me a difficult and moving étude on her beloved cello. I had been enraptured, marveling at her skill and wondering how she managed to stay upright on her hind legs when she had to balance such a heavy instrument at the same time. Not to mention how she was able to manipulate the bow with such delicate precision with only those (purportedly rather clumsy) hooves to work with.

It required such self-control from her part, such mastery of her limitations, such discipline... Only then did I realize that she had truly devoted her entire life to her craft, to this one instrument. Most ponies become very focused and single-minded once their cutie mark manifests itself, but the level of dedication Octavia displayed was, if you ask me, simply unprecedented. To say merely that she was talented would be an insult.

But now I was seeing another side of her. I was glad to see that there was room still in her broken heart for something other than her music; some part of her recognized there was more to life than that. She just needed to just let it go sometimes, let herself go, even if only for a little while. As such, what she needed was somepony to distract her, to get her to lighten up and safeguard her from falling into all-consuming obsession.

Vinyl had been perfect in that role; I was a far less suitable candidate. After all, I would soon have to go back from whence I came...

I tried to recall how we had ended up like this; the exact details of our night together were beginning to grow fuzzy in my mind. It felt as if the memories hadn't even gotten a chance to sink in properly before being washed away again by waves of spine-tingling pleasure.

What I did remember was how, not too many licks ago, our mutual arousal had reached a fever pitch, after much flirting and kissing and whisky-swapping. Octavia had quickly grown frustrated with my excess of clothing, particularly after she herself had been stripped of her formal attire, which, in accordance with all the rules of Equestrian etiquette, had consisted of a single bow tie. This gross imbalance in our respective states of undress had to be amended post-haste, we'd unanimously agreed.

Of course, as we all know, getting into a human girl's pants can be a tad complicated...

My hoodie had offered little challenge with its handy-dandy zipper, which had practically been made to be lovingly unzipped by an eager little pony's teeth. Nor had the tight-fitting shirt beneath it, although there had been a bit of fumbling and mutual giggling as it had briefly refused to go all the way over my head, rendering me both temporarily blind and extraordinarily goofy-looking.

The striped pair of socks on my feet hadn't been much a match for Octavia's oral prowess either—although she'd been surprisingly reluctant to see them go. When prompted, she would only bashfully admit to finding them 'strangely appealing' on me.

Getting rid of the jeans, though... Well, that had proved a bit (or two) more time-consuming.

As we all know, getting out of a human girl's pants can be a tad complicated.

"How did you ever even get into these things?" a bemused Octavia muttered, sounding a little winded after several fruitless attempts at extracting my legs. The hoof-sized scuff-marks on the wooden boards behind her were a testament to her epic struggle and ultimate failure to gain any kind of traction.

"Lard," was my deadpan reply. "Lots and lots of lard."

She raised a brow while I continued struggling with it, wiggling in an attempt to get the tight denim past the first hurdle: those obnoxiously wide, childbearing human hips and my Celestia-level posterior.

"Is that some form of lubrication?"

Pony. Vegetarian. Right.

"Oh hey, look!" I said quickly, suddenly blessed with the superhuman speed and pulling-power of one in dire need of a distraction. "They're finally coming off, see?"

Thankfully, my eagerly anticipated and violently blue G-string proved sufficiently distracting.

"It's, um, it's not particularly covering, is it?" was the first thing that occurred to Octavia after I'd twirled around a bit to model my fancy human undies for her. Tilting her head and stroking her chin with a hoof, the intrigued mare looked more like she was studying some abstract piece of art, rather than a (extremely realistic) piece of arse, "I thought humans wore clothing mostly to compensate for their tragic lack of a nice, warm pelt?"

"Well, they don't all have to be quite that practical, do they?" I pointed out. And then I thrust out my scantily-clad bottom a little, giving it a illustrative wiggle.

"Touche," she said slowly, appearing to be partially hypnotized by the dancing bum in front of her. "S-so these are purely for, um, aesthetic purposes then?"

"That's one way of putting it. Kind of like that saucy little lacy saddle you have stuffed in the back of your closet."

Impressively, the mortified mare managed to go from blanching straight to full-on blushing in about the space it took to sputter, "H-how did you—"

"Oh, I have my sources," I replied with an enigmatic smirk. When pressed, I might have reluctantly admitted the anti-climactic truth: that I had noticed it, alongside other assorted pieces of bedroom tack and toys, when she was rummaging around in there, looking for her hidden emergency stash of alcohol. But the look on her face was just too precious!

Even more vexing to the embarrassed little pony, once she had recovered from the shock, was my bra—a bright blue, balconnet-style number with soft demi-cups, numerous adorable little bows and plenty of floral lace. Particularly when it came time to unclasp it, which Octavia had adamantly insisted on attempting herself.

"What manner of sadistic human came up with this confounded contraption?!" she wondered aloud—as had untold generations of teenage boys before her. "What could possibly be its purpose, other than to frustrate would-be lovers?"

I told her about the oft-unpleasant interactions between gravity and boobs, and the discomfort that might result from them without proper support, particularly for more buxom individuals such as myself. Then I carefully explained how its magical anti-gravitational properties worked to keep from keeling over, as well as how the thin layer of soft inner padding protected me from sudden frontal impacts. And of course I didn't neglect to mention that, on top of all of this, it also doubled as an emergency flotation device!

"True, they do look rather heavy," Octavia admitted, showing some sympathy for the plight of all bipedal and top-heavy creatures, "but surely, enabling one to easily remove said garment with their teeth wouldn't detract from these crucial functions in any way?"

I couldn't really argue with that. So I did the next best thing and took it off for her, thereby automatically winning the entire argument. Particularly when, in a classic stripper move, I lobbed the piece of lingerie at my adoring audience of one.

"Impractical as these things are, I must admit that the craftshumanship on these embroidered bits is rather remarkable," Octavia commented dryly, peering down her snout unflinchingly at the discarded bra that hung there. Only then did she toss her head to fling it off.

That made me laugh; she really was the perfect Straight Man. Except she wasn't technically straight, of course—nor a man, in any sense of the word...

Still.

Getting back to the serious business of getting nekkid, I turned around, bent over at the waist and hooked my thumbs behind the thin straps riding low on my hips, slowly and provocatively pulling last remaining vestige of decency down my long legs.

Octavia averted her eyes, ostensibly to preserve my mostly-non-existent modesty, but I still caught her stealing plenty of furtive glances. In fact, it wasn't long before she dropped that pretense entirely.

"Oh hey! I didn't know humans had cutie marks, too," she observed enthusiastically, derailing my last-ditch effort at salvaging this thus-far-not-very-sensual striptease.

I paused—I'd plumb forgotten about the tattoos. There were the subtle tribal designs on my lower back, which I now somewhat regretted. And then there were the little red hearts on my hip... The largest of which, re-inked and rendered broken after the fact, still bore a name.

Something I definitely regretted.

"Right..." I didn't really want to go into my own past, so I decided to provide some fluffy exposition instead.

"It didn't just appear there magically though," I told her. "Sometimes, humans like to decorate their bodies by, uh, having another human—usually a big, hairy, sweaty one—strap them to a chair and then stick a bunch of needles full of colored ink into their skin. Repeatedly. Uh..."

That really hadn't sounded even half as non-insane as I'd intended it to. Some spokeshuman I was turning out to be...

"Oh," Octavia said, her ears flattening. With a doubtful frown and matching smile, she added: "Well, that sounds... unpleasant."

Translation: "That sounds absolutely dreadful; you humans must be certifiable to go through all of that." Given that the design on my tush didn't even denote any kind of special talent (other than a talent for making spectacularly bad, alcohol-fueled decisions), I had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that she was probably right.

"It's, uh, fairly pretty though, isn't it?" I suggested hopefully.

"Oh, yes..." Octavia said softly, reaching out with a hoof and touching the tattooed skin, lost in thought for a moment. "Very shapely indeed."

"Wait, are we still talking about the tattoo?" I said with a grin, pulling her back to the present. "Or are we discussing the relative attractiveness of my luscious human rear?"

"Erm, both?" Octavia giggled. She blushed guiltily, pulling her foreleg away like a filly caught red-hoofed in the middle of raiding the sugarcube jar. But there was also a glint of defiance in her eyes, a brazen sort of je ne sais quoi. And then, in a surprisingly risqué move, possibly due to her significantly lowered inhibitions, she gave my nearly-naked rear a playful swat, leaving just the slightest rosy indentation of a hoofprint.

"I daresay it's a pretty nice flank—" She paused just a beat before the predictable punchline—"for a biped."

"Eep!" I gingerly rubbed my freshly-spanked behind. "Hey, did you just intentionally touch my butt, or was that just me?"

"Color me impertinent, but... I do believe I did, yes." She beamed up at me as I looked over my shoulder, a little startled by her own boldness but otherwise looking quite pleased with herself. "Third time's a charm, shall we say?"

"We shall," I concurred. And then I pulled down my undies the rest of the way, sensually swaying my hips—at least, until it became clear that peeling the clingy, damp thing off wasn't going to be quite that easy.

Dropping to her haunches, Octavia looked on with polite interest at the whole ungraceful spectacle. "Are they always this, erm, sticky on the inside?" she said pointedly, just as I was hopping around on one foot.

She probably would've come across as far more sincere if she hadn't been smirking like that.

"Yes..." I lied, before unceremoniously tossing the panties-in-a-bunch over my shoulder. A moment later, after several seconds of dumbfounded blinking, Octavia was frantically attempting to dislodge it from her right ear.

"Augh! Again with the throwing!" she cried, rearing up a little, her forelegs flailing comically. "Would you please... stop..."

She trailed off as soon as I turned around, her ire instantly forgotten. When I noticed where Octavia's eyes were automatically being drawn to, it was my turn to blush.

"You're so smooth," she said softly, forgetting her impeccable manners for a moment and staring unabashedly at some of the most private parts of my body.

There was an audible gulp from her part. I quickly found myself reciprocating. We spent the next few moments seeing who could blush the hardest and fidget with their hair the most.

Octavia won.

(I'd like to say she won 'hooves down,' since I'm the type who enjoys a good pun. Or even a terrible one. But really it was kind of close.)

I mean, there we were: Both as naked as we were going to get, facing each other within a semi-circle of discarded clothes. Our goofy, flirtatious smiles had faded, to be replaced with far more apprehensive ones—mere shadows of their former cocky selves, bereft of all drunken bravado.

It was only now, I think, that we realized we were actually going to do this thing; that, all playful bantering and silly shenanigans aside, things were getting serious, moving beyond mere tipsy flirting, heavy petting and the occasional experimental girl-on-mare kiss, into territories unknown.

We were so different—to the point of belonging to entirely different species—yet united in our taboo-transcending desire for a little love and affection. We were so painfully unfamiliar with each other's bodies, which made everything a little awkward but also, in a way, all the more exciting...

It was like being virgins all over again.

I brushed my bangs out of my face. Again. I couldn't help it; the way my soon-to-be first equine lover was admiring me would be enough to make any girl feel a little self-conscious. It was pretty flattering too, sure, but I wasn't quite as used to nudity as Octavia was. And it wasn't entirely fair to begin with: whereas her sex was neatly hidden away between a set of haunches and an enormous tail, mine was now on full display. There was a niggling little twinge of shame; some part of me was willing my arms and hands to take up strategic positions between my legs and across my chest, or to go find a fig leaf or something, but I steadfastly ignored such impulses. Raising myself up to my full height and stretching luxuriously, arms above my head, I decided to revel in my nakedness, stripping off every last shred of clothing and modesty.

"Are you naturally this, erm—" With some difficulty, Octavia tore her eyes away from my exposed and cleanly-shaven femininity, only to get stuck in stare again somewhere halfway between my tummy and my face. "—f-furless?"

"Almost," I replied, sauntering over to the stammering mare in order to liberate her from her ridiculous-looking new headgear. "Certain parts require a little maintenance."

"I see..." She didn't really, of course; for one thing, her eyes were far too busy following every little sway of my breasts—which were right next to her face at the moment.

I briefly explained about the ordeal of frequent hair-removal, secretly jealous that fate had spared marekind the endlessly recurring rituals of exfoliating, shaving, moisturizing, rinsing and repeating. (Then again, I didn't even want to know what Octavia's shampoo budget looked like, how many hours she had to spend brushing and grooming that coat, or what kind of monstrous files and clippers 'getting one's hooves done' generally entailed.)

She was hardly even listening. "Are they, are they always this, erm, for lack of a better word, swollen?" she said breathlessly.

"'Fraid so," I said, shrugging and smiling sheepishly, a bit bemused by Octavia's fascination with the more obviously mammalian parts of my body.

"Not that I find it unattractive, mind you!" she hastened to add. "In fact, they're rather alluring in a way..." It was pretty funny how she was addressing my chest rather than my face, in a manner usually reserved for the males of my own species. "It's just, I've never seen ones this big before; not since that one pornographic movie Vinyl made me watch." An involuntary giggle escaped her but was hastily stifled. "It featured this, um, this obscenely well-endowed mare from Trottingham. Ahem. With teats like you wouldn't believe. Engaging in all kinds of... You know, activities."

"Did you like it?"

The question seemed to shock her. Octavia froze, going a little shifty-eyed. "N-no. No, of course not! It was poorly acted and amateurishly scored, utterly tasteless and exploitative, and, and—"

"—and the two of you made like horny bunnies after watching it?"

I could say this with a knowing smile; it couldn't be a coincidence that the brassiere laying at my feet had a cup-size measuring in the higher echelons of the alphabet, and featured some much-needed under-wire as well. Octavia must have had a good reason to be drawn to me...

Or two good reasons, to be precise.

Octavia, however, declined further comment and quickly changed the subject. "Well, these are certainly more proportionate than hers, while remaining fairly, uh, prominent."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," I said, beaming. But then I allowed my smile to falter and feigned a wince. "They're a little sore though..." I let that sentence hang there, like an open invitation. Pouting, I reached up to massage my poor, poor boobs, which still bore the faint floral marks of being cruelly imprisoned for so long.

"Erm, p-perhaps I could help by massaging them a little, too?" Octavia timidly suggested. Finally. "Just to make it feel a little better, I mean."

"Naturally." I couldn't resist a spot of playful skepticism.

She flushed. "M-may I? They aren't too sensitive?"

I smiled disarmingly, feeling a little bad for teasing her. "Be my guest... It'll be fine."

Kneeling down so she could reach, I laid my hands down on my lap and resisted the urge to lean forward or puff up my chest; I didn't want to seem too eager. Closing my eyes, I sat and waited, letting her go at her own pace. We were both new to this, after all. Sort of.

At first, all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.

Then there was a tentative clip, followed by a cautious clop, as the diminutive mare shyly approached me. Then a nervous shuffling of hooves, as she tried to find a good place for them on either side of my folded legs. Then I could feel two little puffs of warm air from her nostrils hit my skin as she hovered over my chest. When she inhaled again it was through her nose, giving her a whiff of sweat and pheromones and who knows what else. The very ends of tiny little hairs brushed past me, the resulting sensation staying just below the threshold of tickling but resulting in a serious case of goosebumps nevertheless.

I sucked in my chest and held my breath, focusing on my senses, all of which felt perversely augmented. Every nerve-ending below the taut skin of my tits was primed and hyper-sensitive, the anticipation alone enough to make my nipples harden. Then, at last, came the sweet release of that initial touch: a gentle nose prodded the underside of my right breast, sinking every-so-slightly into the yielding mound of milk-glands and cushy, fibrous and fatty tissue, testing its springy softness. The inquisitive snout was then lifted slightly. A warm weight briefly came to rest on Octavia's flat, equine nose, before she pulled back and let her jiggly load drop down again, perhaps merely to watch it bounce.

"It doesn't hurt?"

I sighed my approval. "N-no."

Encouraged by this, Octavia began nuzzling and nosing my breasts in earnest, no longer content to merely test the waters. I loved feeling her fur brushing along on my skin, and I could tell she, in turn, was enjoying the silky texture of it beneath her sensitive nose and lips. A gentle shower of pony-kisses began, raining down onto every softly heaving inch of my chest. On each spot she chose to plant a kiss a tiny little burst of pleasure blossomed; the warmth of her lips and rapid breaths seemed to linger there even after she moved on, seeping into my shivering skin until it felt like my entire chest was aglow with affection.

When those little smooches finally faltered and eventually stopped, my disappointment was almost palpable.

"Did that make it allll better?" The sing-songy way in which she stretched out the one word suggested she was getting into it.

Her voice was close to my ear, but I was too relaxed and in the zone to be particularly startled by it. But then came an equally-unexpected lick on my cheek and I was left all ashiver again.

"Not quite," I replied, letting my fingers dance up along her mane in search of a few twitchy, pointy equine ears to scritch behind. "I think you missed a spot..."

There was no need to tell her twice; before I knew it, I felt her tongue, richly coated in warm but rapidly-cooling mare-spit, dragging a languid lick up along the swell of my breast, across one of the two swollen and protruding 'missed spots.' The smooth, wet muscle she kept hidden in her muzzle proved strong enough to lift up the entire boob and pull the unsuspecting nipple along for the ride. I could feel the tiny bump of every pink papillae, deliciously grinding past. The heated, happy little sigh she let out afterwards might as well have been an icy blast of arctic wind when it blew across the rosy-brown, saliva-slickened nub.

I shivered for her—even let out an honest-to-goodness gasp, slipping my fingers down from her ears to tickle her temples instead, taking delicate care to thoroughly muss up her prim and proper manestyle in the process.

Then I opened my eyes and caught her smiling hopefully up at me, fluttering her eyelashes and blushing brightly.

"I'd like to, um—Could I...?"

"Yes," I said simply, saving her trouble of having to phrase such an embarrassingly specific request. She didn't have to explain... I just wanted her to enjoy herself. "Please..." I added urgingly, apparently rendered incapable of producing coherent sentences.

But despite my distracted laconicism, Octavia understood me perfectly. We had apparently skipped ahead to the point where, like with an old couple, only half a word and a noncommittal grunt would suffice.

Soft lips wrapped around a pert nipple, and beneath my trembling fingers I could feel her cheeks go concave with tender suction as she drew it into her muzzle, areola and all, her eager nose creating a deep dimple in the malleable flesh. Shiver-inducingly sharp incisors grazed the trapped nip, the intense stimulation straddling the line between delight and discomfort. Octavia seemed to sense this, however, responding to the tightening of the fingers that clutched desperately at her mane, and started suckling softly instead. Awash in soothingly-warm saliva and being rhythmically pressed against a wet, velvety tongue, it wasn't long before the tingling in my poor teat subsided.

Looking down, I ran my fingers along the side of the serene-looking mare's muzzle once more, teasing along the blissfully smiling corners of her eagerly-working mouth with my thumbs. Her eyes remained closed, however, her mind lost in some extremely relaxing, instinctual happy place. I, too, felt a strange mix of emotions whilst watching her indulge herself; the feeling was, perhaps paradoxically, somewhere midway between the maternal and the erotic. It was like my brainstem couldn't decide whether it wanted to nurture and protect this precious little pony, or ravish the sexy little mare sucking my tits like there was no tomorrow.

This dilemma was quickly resolved when Octavia, her nursing instincts finally sated, took a more active role in playing with my breasts. Letting my thoroughly-sucked nipple slip from her mouth, she brought her forelegs up to massage them—gently at first, but getting firmer with her rubbing the more I encouraged her, communicating by way of soft whimpers and moans. Lifting them upward and inward, she pressed the two round, lightly-flushed boobs together into slightly-smooshed ovals with her strong and surprisingly dexterous hooves.

Alternating between the two, she brought each nipple to her muzzle in turn, lipping them and circling them with her tongue while her hooves kept toying with my tits. She was drawn to them somehow, utterly enamored with them, driven into a feverish frenzy of licking and sucking by my lusty and rapturous cries of encouragement. I loudly implored her to be rougher, begging her to please just mash the two fleshy orbs together, to roll and knead them between her hooves, slick and shiny as they were, or to stuff both nipples into her muzzle simultaneously. She was only too happy to oblige.

After playing with those ample breasts for a while, though, the novelty eventually began to wear off a little. We started to tire of this form of foreplay, although it had left us both in quite a state, panting and even sweating a little. Our metabolisms had kicked into high gear at the titillating prospect of sex. Octavia still had her snout buried between my tits though, for the time being, nuzzling the cleft between them lazily whilst murmuring sweet nothings about being able to hear the beat my heart.

I wanted to comment on the way she was rocking her nose from side to side into my cleavage like that, but decided against it in the end; it actually did feel kind of nice, and it wasn't like she was making silly noises. Besides, I didn't want to embarrass her, and I couldn't even be sure they had motorized sea-faring vessels here in Equestria...

"Octy?" I said softly.

"Hmm?" she hummed, the vibrations of her elongated 'm' feeling a mite ticklish, what with her lips still being pressed firmly against my sternum.

(If she had even noticed the newly-coined pet name, she didn't comment on it.)

"I kinda can't feel my legs." Being on my knees this entire time really wasn't doing me any favors.

"Oh! Well that won't do..."

She stepped back, allowing me to sit back and stretch out my legs a little, which began to tingle back to life almost immediately. I flexed the muscles in my calves and thighs, bending and extending the two lissome limbs to hasten the process along, even wiggling my toes a little.

This seemed to fascinate Octavia, who was taking this opportunity to study my feet; the next in a cavalcade of weird body parts.

"What is the purpose of these?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at the neat rows of stubby pink digits. "They're like your fingers in a way, albeit less functional-looking..."

I said nothing, but nodded when she glanced up at me briefly and lifted my leg up for her, giving her a chance to explore on her own. Ponies, of course—be they sentient or no—had a bit of natural inclination towards doing this with their noses and mouths. Octavia, as it turned out, was no exception in that regard, and immediately took to nuzzling curiously at the sole of the proffered foot. This tickled, of course, albeit in a strange way... Somewhere deep in the haphazard hard-wiring of my brain, the stimulation on my feet was being translated into something far more erogenous, making me wet and shivery with somatosensory delight—when I wasn't too busy squirming and giggling.

Octavia enjoyed tormenting me for a while, even going so far as to lick at and suck on my toes, which felt really weird. But when I lightly cupped the dark-skinned bridge of her nose with my toes and attempted to semi-playfully push her away, she got her revenge by forcing that powerful tongue between my toes a little, causing me to laugh uncontrollably and lose my balance, milling my arms around in vain. Before I knew it, I was flat on my back.

"Are you quite all right?" a disembodied voice, fraught with barely contained laughter, called from somewhere beyond my limited field of vision.

"Never been better," I replied, gasping out the words for being so desperately out of breath.

To make up for it, Octavia started licking and kissing and nuzzling all the way up my legs, her affections just as curious a mix of the animal and the humanesque as she herself was.

"Lay back," she whispered urgently, when I tried to raise myself up onto my elbows to see what she was doing.

I complied without hesitation. My legs were parting of their own accord, in a most unladylike fashion, allowing the advancing mare to draw ever closer—lick after lick—to my pussy, already dewy with natural lubricants meant to accommodate a cock that would never come.

Something deep within my abdomen twitched giddily in anticipation, but nothing could prepare me for that moment supreme when she first sampled my smoothly-shaven slit, effortlessly covering my entire vulva and scaling my mons venis in a single lap. Smooth and slick and slathered with saliva as it was, that big equine tongue nevertheless managed to drag along the slightly-engorged but neatly-tucked-together lips of my labia a bit, while the relentless licks that followed slowly worked their way in between them. Particularly when Octavia began twisting her head this way and that whilst continuing to lap away. Those wet, enthusiastic licks soon parted me, exposing the hopelessly-sensitive inner pink.

"Goddesses, you're delicious," she murmured, which was about the hottest and most comforting thing she could have possibly said, netting her a giddy little womb-quiver that rippled out from that pulsing epicenter all the way down into my toes. She braced herself and pushed her snout into the slick cleft of my pussy, kissing the tight and rhythmically-twitching vaginal opening and eventually even forcing that long, inhumanly-sturdy and happily-wriggling tongue into me a little ways. Her nose kept bumping into my clit, which, like myself, felt like it was fit to burst...

Then her tongue found that vulnerable, squishy little cluster of raw nerve-endings, and my world was all ablaze; every neuron in my brain lighting up like a dazzling display of fireworks...

"Oh! Oh god, Octavia—"

My butt was lifted clean off the wooden floor, my back arched dramatically and my body convulsed. I vaguely heard my pony lover let out a fond and muffled nicker as she drew back her weary tongue and found it richly coated in warm, gooey girlcum, which she lapped up and swallowed down with surprising gusto.

"Whew," we said simultaneously, after a long time spent recovering and catching our breath.

"Whehl, dhat wus duff'rent," Octavia said, even her tongue a little swollen and numb after all that strenuous activity.

This got us laughing like mad-men and -mares again, and we didn't rightly know when we would stop.

"So, um, who was this 'god' person you were referring to?" Octavia inquired, once the worst of the swelling had gone down. "Is he like The Royal Sisters; the monarch of your world?"

"Uh, yeah! Sort of..." I really didn't feel up to discussing the vagaries of human theology with this mare, whose alicorn demi-gods literally walked the earth and directed the motions of celestial bodies, or to explain the fact that I was technically something of an agnostic—at least, not at the moment.

I went for a clever distraction instead: "Sooo... are you guys all, like, 'Oh Celestia!' when you get particularly excited?"

"Maybe..." Her coy little smile was simply to die for.

"Let's find out," said I, stretching out a trembly leg to engage in some pretty unique and enjoyable footsies with her hoof and hind leg.

"Let's," said Octavia, lasciviously licking her still-glistening lips.