Shadow Hopper shifted and squirmed on his gigantic, eight-foot bed bed. He was back in his own room for the first time in two weeks, and was already regretting his nine-foot-four height and bulk.

It might have been larger than most normal ponies' bedrooms, but his bed might as well have been foal-sized for all the good it did him now. It had all seemed so enormous just two years ago, back before he'd first left on his trip with Twilight and Barb. They'd made it as a present after his first puberty, soon after his monthly growth spurts had sent him rapidly approaching seven feet.

He'd felt overgrown and clumsy then. A giant's bed had felt like a dream come true. He had space, at last, to sleep in comfort.

Now, it just felt tiny.

Hopper had thought he would get lost in the bed, regardless. He'd wondered if they had expected him to-- well. Audition. Entertain. He'd known about the possibilities. So much space, all for him, with only understorage in the frame for books? It hadn't seemed possible, not when the mattress went on forever.

Or it had seemed to do so. Now? If he wasn't careful, his feet dangled over the edge, or his wings slammed against a spell-reinforced bookshelf. The ceiling, that ballroom and promenade vastness, was still high enough,at least.

Barely. He was only nine feet and a few scant inches now, and he was already starting to worry that he was going to be scraping the decorative murals on the ceiling with his horn. The whole room was so cramped it made him itch and hug the bridge-cabled lengths of his arms tight against his chest. He shouldn't have to breathe much if at all, and yet, this bedroom built for a giant was so claustrophobic that he felt like he couldn't breathe.

His shoulder-width was perhaps more to blame, but he wouldn't have thought two feet of height would have made his foalhood bedroom seem like an overgrown dollhouse.

Sorry, Barb, Hopper mentally promised. Overgrown Action figure headquarters.

Worrying about his best friend's insistent terminology was not helping the problem at hand. In fact, in the frantic bunny trail of his worries, Barb reminded him of Twilight; Twilight reminded him of the Canterlot boutique, and finally, back to his door. There has been no rules thrown at him like a teasing gauntlet; he had the keys to the wards, now. It made him twitch all the worse to remember the fact that he'd flat out forgotten to teleport in until he'd already squished his shoulders and wings in through the door like the incident at the Canterlot Boutique.

All in all, one of the most luxurious, climate-controlled environs on the surface of Epona or below didn't make him feel comfortable, nor truly at home. No, home was now fixed where Twilight was.

This room? All of his stuff closing around him? It all.made Shadow Hopper extremely, extremely squirrely.

And squirmy. Lots, and lots, and lots of squirmy.

The squirm pushed through him like he was trying to grow out through his own skin and fighting back all the way. Muscles bulged and tensed all over, but they never seemed to entirely relax. He couldn't relax. He was almost certain that even if he could, some part of him wouldn't relax.

Hopper grunted, telekinetic glow covering his current reading material as the bed creaked under him, and he wiped sweat from just below his horn. His walls were still decorated with posters from his favorite comics and book series; his trophies from his various adventures ringing around them in attendance.

The mark of one of Twilight Sparkle's students was clear: The long spear awarded by a visiting Griffonstone duke was carefully bracketed against the cover poster-picture of the Red Talon, an Asinian musket carefully shelved and under glass by a diagram of the various chemical processes to make gunpowder, and bookshelves, bookshelves carefully organized and everywhere.

Care, taken precisely and fully, in the pursuit of knowledge-- everywhere.

All of it useless to his current dick-induced predicament.

Hopper was studying On Invisibility and the Observer Effect, and his body was fiercely rebelling against any contemplation of concentration. It's not that he was feeling horny for time with his teacher or his marefriend. Well, honestly, he really, really was horny for all that and more. If nothing else, the bulge in his boxers down to his knee, still soft and unengorged but… awake… was letting him know. That kind of distraction was something he could usually deal with.

But he couldn't say that he was deprived. Or shouldn't have been able to, not on purely mathematical terms. Unfortunately, for all Twilight insisted it was possible otherwise, his cock did not appear to appreciate percentages. Except, perhaps, those of comparison and proportion.

Going through puberty as the ward and semi-student of six of the most gorgeous mares on the planet had taught him how to control himself, though, or he would never have been able to wear pants in the first place. These days, with an embarrassment of riches in the pleasure department, his prick rebelled at such dry tragedies as the hours he had to himself between wild rides with Twilight, and carefully constructed Great Works with Luna.

Boo-hoo. Hopper glared at his crotch as though stern determination could tame the uncountable square feet of cloth-covered shafthide beneath. Cloth-covered, and demanding to be mare-covered, right now and always. We're spoiled, my cock and me. His nostrils flared, and he clenched his unoccupied right hand into a fist, bulging and rippling massive muscles across his suddenly cramped-feeling arm.

Today, Hopper had already managed to plug Twilight's shower masturbating; she'd assured him she'd had orgies in there before, so how he managed that, he still wasn't sure. And there'd been some nice exercise from unplugging it, of course. The second time he plugged it up with spunk and had to get the drains clear, he'd given up and stomped back to his room after finishing cleaning. Masturbation just didn't seem to be helping. He was still so horny!

Besides, that wasn't really the true source of his current predicament. The horniness was more along the lines of a an unruly pet acting up a bit at the moment. "A pet I'm carrying around in my pants," he mumbled at himself, glaring at what he occasionally thought of as the "sleeping bag attachment" to his jeans.

By which he meant his overstuffed, overstimulating, oversized crotch. It was bad enough that he had to carry it in his lap during meditation. Even tantric meditation would be disturbed a pet house-tiger that viewed his lap as its rightful den. No. Not a tiger. Rather, the juicy, squirming weight was doing a spectacular imitation of the times he had a complaining, grumpy Princess Dash occupying his lap and refusing to settle.

Except, of course, the sweaty, musky mass of his cock was longer than the Princess of Loyalty was tall. It outsized her even before this half-arousal, half-aggravation started to make his member grow and not by length alone. The girth his teacher called a mare's best friend was so broad that he could have easily held an unruly Rainbow within, let alone pinned into place.

Letting his mind wander onto wrestling matches with amazonian lap-hoarders had been a serious mistake in Hopper's campaign to retain bepantsedness, and avoid fucking a load-bearing wall of the Castle of Friendship. Letting his mind wander onto winning such a match, with a willing partner, well…

The thought of pinning any Princess at all, let alone being in a place in his life to label them unruly, just about broke his resolve entirely. He was moments away from just tearing his pants right off. Just moments away from grabbing complicated trussing and intricate supportwork Rarity used to hold his cannon-cock from battering poor mares in the streets and going rip!

"Maybe that's it," Hopper mumbled. Like the renewed stiffness of his shaft, he pulsed with the desire to be free. Not of an otherwise miraculously fulfilling life. Just of clothing, and, probably, just below the belt. His biceps were more than capable of removing unwanted sleeves on their own, after all.

"Maybe I need some naked Hopper time." The bed squeaked so loudly when he threw himself back against it that he was afraid the battle-ready fortifications beneath would snap. The sound was weird, almost like two or even three separate squeaks. "Before I break another bed."

It was becoming very, very hard for him to remember why breaking insignificant things like beds or buildings was bad. His heart beat faster; his titanic limbs throbbing in time, leaving him unable to sit even in imitation of stillness. The throbs pulsed out against the fabric of his underwear and pants, making him aware of just how much he wanted to do. To rut. Each pulsing vein was a stripe, black on black and throbbing bigger and bigger with each needy moment. some larger than gymnasts' arms.

Now he knew why Rarity insisted on taking the measures personally-- and repeatedly. Other than what that predatory gleam in those bright blue eyes portended.

He didn't object to either the groping personalization or the predatory intent, precisely. Any objection would have been quieted under the weight of blush and distraction. Throughout any fitting, Rarity just kept muttering about using the same material she had to hand for Celestia's bras.

That flattery or fact, in turn, drew certain pictures in his head that were both very intriguing and very uncomfortable. The pictures tended to draw out the most agitation from his ever-ready shaft. Hopper had to remind himself that his dick wasn't really a separate creature that made most 'average' hyper stallions feel small. It certainly seemed to react suspiciously well to being complimented.

Of course, the vast column of flesh he called a cock reacted almost as well to the memory of those compliments as the moment. "Oh, be fair, Hopper," he growled at himself. "You like the idea of being not just longer than everypony, male or futa-neighri, but longer than they are tall." Which his so-sensitive shaft certain was-- moreover, it was still growing, just like the rest of him.

Contemplation of these facts failed to stop his shaft from squirming like it was a live thing. Rather the opposite.

The constant noises he couldn't quite identify weren't helping, nor was the muggy stuffiness of his room. Hopper wasn't entirely sure how that was possible. Theoretically, his room was ventilated by the best combination of magic and tech that Twilight Sparkle's feverish mind could impart to Friendship Castle's animating spirit.

He didn't think it mattered. His problem seemed to be one of (metaphoric) invasion. Every few pages of the otherwise fascinating material, somewhere in the mass of cabled muscles he called a body, there were little breezies yanking on something within. Then that yank went and set off a chain of twitches that never quite unknotted, and then ran somewhere else to rub sand, or salt, or something, under his skin!

Hopper jumped up onto the heavy heels of his size-fifty-plus feet on the far side of the bed, wincing as the aftershocks hit. Barb was going to be pissed at the mess-- from the dust alone! The Castle of Friendship was designed to take siege from Tirek's older, nastier cousins, or worse, a welcome home orgy between all six Princesses of Harmony.

It should have taken one colt just over eighteen hopping to his feet with ease. Nevertheless, he knew he'd be getting glares from the staff later. He felt he deserved it, at that. The multi-ton force of his uncontrolled, clumsy leap sent the reinforced bookshelves rattling hard against crystal walls, and not just in his room. It sounded like a fire alarm, almost.

He began to light his horn in an effort to clean the consequences quickly, but it was no good. The spells, along with the apologies he'd need to make later, were driven right out of his head by the itch and the thrilling buzz of heated horseflesh against the silky textures of his boxers. Nothing he could do, neither in stillness nor in motion provided any relief.

Not for longer than more than a few moments. That was why he hadn't bothered to go with 'Plan Naked' just yet. Earlier that day, cumming a full Friendship Games' regulation-length pool worth of spunk simply hadn't been enough to change his mood. He'd been in Twilight's shower then-- thinking of her, thinking of stuffing her with a dick nearly the same length as her height, and then using it to turn her into a great big jizz-blimp.

Their regular Wednesday evening routine, in other words, but it still wasn't enough. He needed the mare herself, half-convinced she'd finally made good on the threat to enchant his cock as a third familiar. Nothing was enough in the wake of the prick python squirming in his pants and trying to find a way out, out, out!

At this point, he couldn't even just sit and read. It wasn't just the constant glaze or dramatically diminished attention span. Oh no, nothing that simple. Today? Today, his hips decided to hate chairs. Even if he sort of leaned a bit on the edge and spread out and kinda put his foot-- well, it didn't matter.

Even if he was able to find a remotely comfy way to sit, it just didn't matter! His body was in full rebellion. Starting with and perhaps most fatal to his hope of relaxation, he never managed to get his oversized balls from occupying his lap like a curled up normal pony-- one could have fit inside each, at this point, after all.

He couldn't stand; the freaking room had been built for when he was twenty-eight inches shorter, and his horn kept bumping the roof, while his weighty, massive prick was content to just tug viciously at him, betraying him with gravity's aid. He couldn't lean; he didn't want to damage his bookshelves and memorabilia. He flung himself back onto the bed and groaned.

He rolled over, a bouncing series of stretches where he held On Invisibility up and out of the way while trying to simultaneously unkink the knot in the small of his back and scratch the itch on one of his massive pecs through his light, dark t-shirt. Huffing with the effort, he sat, legs stretched out wide, on the edge of the bed, held his head in his hands.

It all came out in a rush. "Breezies. Breezies and cock-monsters and twinges and… and… my nose, too! If any one of… if any of it ever, ever stopped-- No, none it EVER ends, and every damn breezy who finds another niche to pinch seems to have at least three… more… friends."

The rant wasn't through with Hopper yet. He sighed, and shook his head. "Thereby making it impossible for me to sit still. Or lie still. Or even half-crouch leg out wildly!" Grinding his teeth in between ejaculated rants, Hopper glared at his treacherous cock. "Stop trying to break out. Concealment from my wrath is your friend right now." The thing wasn't helping, no; it was currently trying to push out of his boxers the hard way and yank him towards the door. So that it could wreck his custom-made underwear again.

It was round about the time that his quads, the damn giant traitors, began to cramp up hard. He planted his heels down hard, then ground his elbows into his thighs. Still, and forever, it was all no good. The more he tried to hold them in place, the worse it got. No matter how hard he tried to lock himself down, his body refused to calm in the least detail.

Not even his toes would stop curling, let alone the continental shove of sinew on sinew, flesh on flesh became tighter, and tighter, and tighter. It felt almost like Celestia had decided that instead of mowing the lawn, it was his chore to keep to keep continental drift going strong.

Keep the drift going strong-- or accelerating, if he read the shakes and bulges in his body right. Hoping, yet hopeless, Hopper tried not to hear the sound of heavily enchanted fabric tearing. If the silk-like material over his thighs went, he wouldn't be able to keep his shaft from following soon thereafter.

More, his restless legs seemed bent on assisting his stupid overstuffed mare-stuffer with those aching cramps. He was half hopping, half pacing a groove in the floor. All the while, the bone-deep tightness forced him to swing his legs about so much that he about nearly gave up on the idea of pants at all.

At least, until his princess-bossmare got home and the two of him, stallion and cock at last in harmony, could drill her concerning tutorials in self control.

Fwoosh! Thwack! His wings did not exactly go snicker-snack as they unfurled in a swift slap, crossing the diagonal of his meeting-hall sized room, corner to corner. But they came damn close. .

That mental image had been a mistake. It didn't just cloud his mind now. The brief contemplation of the rewards of earnest hope and nearly visible lust was simply too much for a poor hyper stud going through second puberty the hard way.

He should have known better. Even contemplating the dangerous curves and dangerous mind and above all dangerous smile of Twilight Sparkle would have been enough. But that thought-- the idea of pinning and pressing and fucking Twilight, all the while whispering sweet nothings on the matters of lesson scheduling and lab or fieldwork-- that had been a bad mistake indeed.

Land war in Haysia bad

The growl ripped that ripped through his throat almost choked him; then, after he forced it out, he managed to inhale some heady sweetness along the way back. Together, they all but snapped any hope of not just trying to fuck the castle itself in desperation. Still, he had to try.

"Gah!" Uninspired or not, it was a kiai in the fight to maintain clothingness! Or should that be clothedness?
He focused his will into the growl trying ignore the increase in background noises and the humidity of the air when he did so.

"Fuck it," Hopper decided at last, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. His resolve went with it; he needed the relief now.

Even if he knew that not five minutes later, he'd be back to trying to figure up how to chat up the castle in the first place, let alone request consent. The manifestation of and interface to the Tree of Harmony laughed at him enough already.

Fitfully, he reached out to grab his bookmark, carefully placing it mid-page and levitating the book idly over to its place on the shelf with an silver burst off to his left. He ignored the strange sound of metal jingling on metal from the direction of the shelves, and reached down to try and caress some relief. His broad shoulders shifted, scrunched as much as the rugged expanse could as he squirmed them up and down. His wings followed, fluttering and flicking just off-time from the flexes of his delts and paradelts.

He couldn't quite bring himself to go straight for the goods, though. Chewing on the inside of his right cheek, he moaned, running his hand down over his abs, like a tower shield hoisted over the iron troop-columns of his belly. He had never entirely gotten rid of the colt-fat, "A promise," he groaned, slipping the tower shield he called a hand in past his increasingly tight belt.

The strain it added, the half-imagined snapping sounds, like bridge cables about to go, were nothing to the raw heat between just his fingertips and the dark, ready monolith of his sheath "Twilight's coming home, guys, I promise. We'll work this out."

He wasn't sure why he hallucinated giggles at his promise, but he wasn't entirely sure of any of his senses now. Not hearing, not sight, not… taste. Wordless in the moment, he licked his lips, tasting a sudden shift in the scents of his room, and barely managed to pull his tongue back before the tang of sex and sex to come made him bite down on his inner cheek.

This was dangerous territory. Actually dangerous to his plans and purpose and hope for a happy, herded future. Hopper absolutely knew that he had to keep control, and feeling like his cock was suddenly jerking him around was not it.

Even if it was already bigger than Rainbow Dash and nearly as stubborn.

It should have been preposterous. He was an adult. Technically. By a month, at least! He should not be engaged in an epic struggle with his own body parts, let alone with any amount of seriousness to the matter.

But it was. He was an alicorn, and alicorns do not just become slightly grumpy shut-ins with the occasional, fitful rendezvous. Those were stakes, if you liked them. He had no intention of explaining to his parents why he'd become a nightmare creature of pain and angst. It would not impress.

More-- even if he didn't go the nightmare or breaker route, persistent loss of self-control would kill his only real ambitions quickly. If he started to feel like each pulsating vein, every throb of his heart was going to suddenly reverse flow and truly let his balls do the thinking, that way lay disaster for Celestia's rite, Twilight's hopes, and his own self-respect. Discussions about settling would follow.

Time to take stock of his shaft. Hopper's wings spread slowly behind him as he arched his back, reached down past his abused waistband, and rubbed his palm over the thick, pent up mass of his gigantic, exercise ball-sized nuts, shuddering lightly with each new throb of his titanic prick against-- "Fuck. You're past the knees!" The heat of each heartbeat should have scorched his jeans, let alone his palm.

Every hour he'd spent, every moment he'd fought off trying to fill the showers and baths of the Royal Quarters with enough cum to drown a Dragon Lord had been well spent by his ever-swelling nuts. He could have sat on the oversized testicles comfortably-- save that doing so probably would have started him cumming from just rolling about on the oversensitive things. At this point, he wasn't certain that he was imagining hearing a rush of hyperactive sperm amidst the ever-present slosh of seed.

So much cum under so much pressure could hardly fail to produce super-fertile spunk, after all!

His thighs were bigger than most normal-sized stallions; and yet… Magic and arousal flowed between them, responding to the oddly undue urgency. As a direct and overwhelming result, Hopper's balls were growing so fat he could feel the musky spheres pushing out and past their width in all directions. The tautness of it all hammered back against his hand so hard that he all but felt the individual shapes of giant-sized wrigglers, ready to impregnate any mare or futa they found.

In his present state, he wasn't certain whether or not his cum would bother with niceties such as 'ordinarily impregnatable,' either. Yet another reason not to masturbate too much; he wasn't certain whether or not he'd just breed the Castle. Or any poor fool of any sex that came in contact with the lava-hot cum, either.

But it looked like the choice might be taken from him anyway. Resolve or no resolve. Hopper did know that he could afford the occasional lapse in judgment. At that, it looked like he'd need to deal with a sudden lapse in pants, as well.

He'd told the truth, after all. The firehose length of his prehensile prick had indeed wriggled past the tight, clingy band at the bottom of his boxer leg, and was starting to drool precum all over his carpet. Dignity-- or even the appearance of sanity-- surrendered its post.

"Oh, come on," he snarled. "Is this supposed to convince me? It's not like masturbating you is going to do me any good!" He huffed, and banged head and horn against the wall behind him. "Also, for the record, I'd like to state that you are not a separate entity and you should not be conspiring with the breezies under my skin to make it impossible for me to read!"

At that point, the giggling became impossible to ignore. "What?" he snapped, snarling without turning towards the two irritatingly giggling voices that suddenly lapsed into shuddering, moaning cries of delight. With a self-satisfied nod at the rightness of such pleasure, he turned his attention back to his disobedient groin.

Wait.

His brain took a moment to catch up, and his nostrils flared. Suddenly, the precise name of deliciousness on the air-- names-- made its way to his forebrain. He groaned yet again, not in pleasure but instead, in utter embarrassment.

Had he agreed to provocation like this? Yep, that was me signing on the dotted line. The memory was about as helpful for the sudden onrush of embarrassment as the almost absurdly arousing sight of his mares provocateur.

In other words, not in the slightest, but in all the best ways.

Hopper held his hands up to his face, trying and failing to cover the slight red glow of heat beneath his cheeks and his eyes alike. Yes, that is, in fact, very definitely the scent of two extremely aroused alicorn mares. The concentration of which has been growing in my room long enough for the air to actually become moist with it. "Traitor," he mumbled at his unrepentant shaft, and tried to will it to shove back inside his underwear.

Which worked.

It was still hard and still drooling lube, however, which meant that now he felt even more extremely pent up and was staining his silken boxers.

Enough. Hopper let the pretense of dignity follow the any actual dignity in retreat. Unable to remain trapped between horniness and the desire to implode from self-consciousness, he decided that the day was either going to be getting a lot better or a lot worse from here. No neutrality.

Not, he admitted only to himself, that I'd really like it any other way.

With a soft sigh and a flutter of his wings, Hopper dropped his hands from his face. Ears swiveling of their own accord, the giant stallion turned to at last look in the direction of the door. The door-- and the two drooling, panting, moaning, and, yes, frigging each other to orgasm mares leaning against that row of bookshelves.

Tall and proud as always was Twilight Sparkle. That he towered over her when standing changed but little how much the eight feet tall mega-amazon loomed in his life. Dressed up in one of her favorite dominatrix outfits, she had marked her definitive intentions to be used a switch by the thick, studded collar at her throat. As her muscular frame and jiggly curves quivered, a clatter arose from the collar's O-ring as it bounced nearly as much as her colossal tit-mountains.

Even in his agitated state, Hopper was still able to pick up some salient details amidst the salaciousness. The clattering O-ring hung empty, waiting for-- he hoped-- someone tall, dark, and apparently prone to having a conversation with his cock to latch a leash onto it. The O-ring, not his cock. Despite her threats to try and establish a familiar bond with the latter. A broad smirk on her lavender muzzle was softened only by a flush of arousal.

That darker flush upon dark purple would have been the only clue that the odd, half-public, half-private nature of this odd encounter was affecting her so strongly, too. Twilight was barely chewing her lower lip, come to that. But she apparently had decided that this was well within her limits of Harmonious self-control. She indulged it instead, setting her immense, potent limbs quivering and flexing with the strain of pleasured spasms.

Or had, until he'd come to a stop without the follow-through she always demanded. Demand-- need-- still echoed through her. It wasn't hard for him to tell; she was hardly wearing anything more than accentuating decor, revealing jiggly strength and imposing curves overflowing in his general direction.

Indeed, all eight feet of hyper-muscled amazonian archmage that was Twilight Sparkle seemed sculpted out of his wettest dreams on the concept of over. Her huge U-cups heaved and bucked over her frilly shelf bra, fist-sized nipples shaking at him. Each heave sent oodles and oodles of hot pony-tit rippling and bouncing, hills of horseboob alive with her half-pleasured, half-piqued determination. That went much better with the rubber gloves and big stompy rubber boots she was also wearing than her expression.

Of course, while the dominatrix-look was sending distinct signals to the part of him already prepared to just lunge and pounce and rut, her adorable face mixed those signals up with a cuteness that spoke just as loudly to his heart. Her viewing-- and smelling and listening-- pleasure interrupted, she pouted at him, lower lip quivering and eyes sparkling like her name. "Aww, baby, come on. Just you keep on being you. We'll occupy each ourselves here with the scenery, right, bitch?"

The bitch in question, and apparently happy for the title, was the seven foot eight inches Alicorn of Generosity-- Rarity. She was leaning back to Twilight's left, against the magenta field Twilight had created to protect the bookshelves. Her broad hand, amazingly deft fingers working furiously, was plunged into the frilly thong she'd made for Twilight. As ever, she masturbated her mistress with as every bit as much excellence in the swift flick of white-hided fingers over that drooling dark purple snatch as with her hand-and-horn-sewn ultimate fashion creations.

Including the ones getting ready to explode off his lower half.

Bemused and bewitched both, Rarity let out a heavy sigh that set her H-cups wobbling and the various chains bedecking her person jingling. "Oh, yes, mistress," she agreed wistfully. "As… undignified as it may be, Master Bu… Master… the young master has a certain appel barbare et bestiale to him."

All Hopper could do was follow the 'demure' motion as her free hand switched from cupping and fondling her bare left breast to ape a shy covering of her lips. Her own body might have less muscled than Twilight's but it was only weaker by degree. A whole squad of earth pony warmares would have had problems matching her mixture of bodybuilder's mass and noble warlady's elegance. Rippling muscles bigger than most mares' heads tensed and flexed while taut titflesh and smooth thigh-padding quivered.

Somehow, she managed a demure blush across her cheeks quite at odd with her nigh-nakedness. The heat of it was probably no little stoked by her mistress, of course. Just as she obediently pleasured purple princess pussy, so was her own shuddering quim lewdly and lovingly tended to by Twilight's thicker fingers.

Like Twilight, she was entirely nude save for decor alone. Indeed, Rarity was barefoot as any broodmare, for all her bossy might. While her mistress wore long gloves and tall boots that almost approximated an outfit from the opposite direction than usual, Rarity eschewed such for the moment. Not that Twilight's forearm-length gloves did a much better job of concealing the unstoppable, uncontrollable musculature of her arms, either, of course.

Rarity's arms were bare of all except power, buff thickness on beautiful display. Only white hide outlined her colossal biceps, though navy-colored silken ribbons followed every jerk and tense as she jilled Twilight off expertly. Her giant thighs, as big around as most mare's waists, were similarly clad in the shadow of ribbons only. They rippled with pleasure, bulging quads pressing out each time Twilight brought her over the edge again.

The ribbons were anchored at their extents by a silver-shining ring with a purple amethyst on each big toe and each forefinger. All were in turn draped to and from a rather intimate faux-piercing in the shape of Twilight's star. A marker just as demonstrative of ownership as the thick collar over a corded white throat, that.

Twilight tickled the clit-pressing piercing expertly, jingling it so as to catch the light even as it called jolts of pleasure through Rarity's core. While her bulky, badass arms had but three ribbons each, five wound their way up from each toe-ring. They twisted and twined along her iron-hard calves and thundering thighs, just slack enough to let her move without tearing it. Still, wherever the navy fabric touched her inner thigh, it was quite soaked through. The moistened ribbons made fantastic evidence of both Twilight's expertise and Rarity's appreciation of the sight of Hopper rolling around on his bed.

Which is why you shouldn't begrudge this too much, ingrate. Hopper tried to keep his mind on track, but between the literal divine scent of aroused princesses and his prior agitation, he was feeling rather muscular at the moment. And cocktacular. Which was now a word, he was certain.

The force of his regard did seem to make something of an impact, though. That, or Rarity had decided it was time to up the contrast between deed and depiction. She seemed determined to entice both his role-reversal desire to fuck and fill and cumflate mega-dominant mares and his hot-on for half-shy, half-whorsish broodies.

Hopper was determined to think of that as having a range of interests, and not merely the desire to fuck anything mare-ish.

So she swallowed a bit, stroking her cheeks with her left hand and tilting her head bashfully against Twilight's broader shoulder. Her horn made little, shy loops, all the while she continued rapidly stroking her mistress's winking cunny.

And, of course, kept rutting her hips hard against Twilight's invading fingers in turn. "I must admit that Lord Hopper has quite the impressive form, though you are quite correct that he must be decorated better, my mistress!" She gestured towards Hopper with her free hand, making the the rings bedecking her fingers glitter as they lead their trio of ribbons around over the flexion and extension of her hyper-defined arms.

His eyes followed them, flitting from side to side but always lingering over her lovely tits. Two of each arm's ribbons wound up and over pythonic biceps to cardinal-pointed anchors on her heavy, spiked iron collar.

Its O-ring was not empty and waiting or promising anything other than obedience to Twilight. The heft attack-bitch's collar was firmly attached to a huge, heavy steel chain leash held in Twilight's right hand.

Cognition dawned, at last. It had been slowed by his cock's near-catastrophic half-erection in the first place, but he'd filtered through it at their giggles. Of course, his ability to think of anything had been completely sidelined. Anything other than his best chances to catch and pin and shove a stallionhood longer than either mare was tall into one mare or the other, at least.

Still, he did have self-control, and self-awareness. Together, they helped him realize just how long he'd had a stealth audience for his debate with his dick. It had been said collar and leash which had jingled quite loudly before. After all, Rarity had had to duck quite quickly to avoid the flying On Invisibility as he'd sent it off!

Thankfully, the book was safe and both princesses unbonked. Indeed, he could still see it sitting behind and a bit to the side of Rarity. It was partly concealed within the elaborate expanse of her favored manestyle--- multiple ringlets and curling, coiling braids everywhere. They were almost like a further set of ribbons themselves.

Ribbons. The grunting cavestud in Hopper kept bringing his attention back to ribbons when he wasn't being distracted by Twilight's shimmy and leer. After all, Rarity's other ribbons, long and flowing so as to permit full extension of the potent lady-submissive's mighty arms, trailed and drooped in front of her. They found fair anchors on otherwise undecorated ring faux-piercings at her perpetually stiff nips.

Sort of undecorated. Between clit-star and leashed collar, Twilight didn't seem to need further signs of her marefriend's submission. So-- not decorated alone.

Perhaps it would be best to call them undecorated save for a silvery chain draped from bouncing ring to bouncing ring. The glittering rings were thick, pinching Rarity's nubs as firmly as Twilight might, and as big across as some of Rarity's favorite earrings-- like the pair she was wearing now, come to that. But they still fell completely within the crinkly, bare circle of her kissably oversized aerolae.

Hopper errantly wondered if they were as sensitive as Twilight's. It seemed unfair that he might have to wait months to find out-- unless he was being offered them now? He hoped so, on both counts.

Then he realized those two succulent nips had to be every bit as intense to Rarity as to as Twilight's to hers, for all Twilight's deep violet pair were a more compact proportion of her much bigger titties.

Or at least in the same ballpark.

The evidence was clear in the pattern of scent in the air, the admixture of alicorn and alicorn as they mutually masturbated. It was even more clear in the beautiful sight of a mare, that once-unapproachable mare, in pleasure before him. After all, a fresh gush of quimcum coated the ribbons on Rarity's inner thighs each time the cold metal smacked against the dish-broad circles around her nipples.

I suppose sometimes being the object of another's fantasies can be intimidating. I kinda like it, anyway.

As Rarity squirmed and gasped beneath his gaze and the effects of Twilight's hands alike, the glittering chain was left twisting softly in the air above her flat six-pack. Her taut abs were bare for the moment, of course. No matter what his eyes reported, however, his imagination and the haze of alicorn musk in the room kept conspiring to convince him that as beautiful as the rock-hard stomach was, it'd look even more beautiful stretched out condom-tight over his oh-so-horny dick.

To be fair, I know Twilight would agree, and I'm pretty sure Rarity would too. It was a lovely thought, at least, which didn't change the fact that he just felt…

Conspired against. He'd given his permission for teasing, but this felt like it was open collusion with his cock. That was surely unfair, wasn't it?

Hopper glared, as best he could under the circumstances. It was, alas, more of a not-yet-twentysomething's sulk than the stern remonstrance he'd intended. Ultimately, nothing at all like the Master Bunny glares he could pull off in-scene, nor like when his temper hit when trying to protect people.

Both required, or perhaps created, focus.

Focus he was distinctly lacking at the moment. His eyes met Twilight's, and his lips pulled back in a slight grin, his shoulders following the motion in a light shrug.

Well, 'light'. The sudden swell of pumped pecs distracted Twilight's gaze from his. A victory, of sorts? he wondered. The nervous, embarrassed part of him well aware that eighteen was adult by consensus alone at times certainly wanted as many victories as it could get right now.

It didn't help that he was nearly entirely groinally navigated at the moment. His attention-- and eyes-- kept slipping back to stare at the heaving breasts bobbling alongside together. Four of the biggest, roundest, fattest, most luscious knockers in all of Epona, and quite certainly any number of Beyonds. More, the jiggling, jerking, writhing motion which the lewd 'dance' of two massive musclemares created a constantly enticing presence that was all around him, layering over him, pulling him in.

A presence that filled his senses. Not just the sight; nor the low, half-choked sounds of pleasure, either.

Every bit as much, or perhaps especially more, their scent hooked him. Had been since whenever they'd made it into his room and began adding their mating-musk to his own over-generous overproduction. He was glad that theirs was so strong, perfectly proportionate to the greater might of their magic.

He was used enough to his own. This was new. This was wonderful. This was making him want to shred everyone's clothing without permission.

It was so hard to think with that tapestry of dueling marescent constantly invading his most primitive of senses.

The combined pheromonal cloud overwhelmed his own scent-- to his nose, at least. He'd been told that the balance was somehow very different for anyone else, though. Still.

Other than the hope that it was 'helping' with the show, Hopper honestly couldn't seem to care how his pheromones were performing now. The indescribably sweet tang of mare-musk made focusing on anything else, let alone disapproval, nigh-impossible.

Hunger. Taste and scent and two horny mares. He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

Despite how unwise that was when Twilight was about. Nonetheless, he did not discover the rest of his clothing stolen or obscene, carefully labeled diagrams drawn on him, so perhaps he was an equivalent distraction?

Still. These mares!

His nostrils flared involuntarily with each breath. Deeper, fuller breaths followed shortly thereafter. If he didn't have, well, anywhere near enough jiggle over his stretched-taut supermusculature to quiver like the two princesses before him, he could feel how much it was making his pecs pump and his abs roll out. The slow passing of each shuddering inhalation and each half-growl exhalation made the vast cliffside crags he called his chest shake and quake with that incredible, mareful taste.

All of it, each motion pumping out plump pecs and rigid abs, then contracting swiftly, was in pursuit of a singular aim: to take in more and more and more of that most precious of perfumes: powerful mares in the throes of lust.

Control, he reminded himself. Those exact two mares were no longer distracted from him, if still distracted by him-- a bit. Not that they were talking to him-- yet. No, just watching him for now. Waiting. Giggles were accompanying pleasured cries now.

Twilight faux-pouted, mouthing get on with it at him while Rarity watched expectantly from beneath half-closed lids. He almost lunged, like a minotaur offered a target. It arrested, not even rippling the matte darkness of his hide.

Blinking away the horny fog, Hopper reminded himself, I have to show control. As twin smirks crossed the two mighty mares' faces, eagerness and-- not dread-- but a strong hint of near-foreboding crossed his mind. I suspect my 'culminating project' is about to be joined by a final exam.

Oh well. The 'presents' for making the grade are without peer.

Inspiration proved more ephemeral than assessment, but he couldn't just keep staring at them. Control with action was sloth, passivity, not strength of character. Even cheesy action would help.

Hopper hoped.

"Didn't I lock that door?" he eventually growled. He put every ounce of control, every erg of focus he could muster into the growl. A rumbling snarl that was almost as deep as he'd ever managed washed over both mares.

Twin smirks did become less smug. That, he managed. Dignity, though...

Alas. If he'd hoped to salvage some sort of dignity or command of his own room, he was doomed to disappointment. Not a very deep disappointment, though. Not with the effect he did manage to force out of them by sound and sternness alone.

The only effect the growl seemed to have... Well. Even the moodiness of second puberty couldn't darken that 'only'.

No, Hopper didn't retrieve his dignity. No, he didn't muster sufficient-- what, fear? In these mares?-- to get them to treat the situation with even slightly more gravitas.

He did, however, manage to get them to stop giggling, if just for a time. Giggling was swiftly replaced with rapider pants. With quick, sharp cries of well-pleased mares mouthing 'please' far more often than demands of any kind. A rainbow of obscene euphoria which yet again included the pre-orgasmic squeaks his hormone-crazed mind had decided were his bed's.

Foolishness.

Both mares' wings unfurl to their fullest and stiffest extent as the ragged, gravelly growl roared over them. Through them. Grabbed them by the clits the way Twilight often demanded he grab her by the hips mid-fuck.

It was enough. Far more than enough to leave a goofy smile on his dark, broad lips. At least for a bit. He did like this 'only," ever so much.

First Rarity and then Twilight creamed hard over their intermasturbating fingers. Pants became groans, squeaks became squeals. Twilight's stiffly erect wingboner was the only thing stopping Rarity from arching her back so hard she slammed *through* his shelf. Nevertheless, a wanton pulsing rippled through the white hardness of her sculpted abs. The harsh forecurve of her belly displayed them all in lewd abandon as her horn brushed over violet feathers

Swiftly, Rarity's free, undrenched hand abandoned the sensitive slope of her soft, right H-cup, grabbing the far side of his bookshelf for support. Her fingers curled in time with her toes-- though of that hand alone. The other kept to its duty with Twilight's juicing sex.

There was a long further jiggle as the breast joined its twin where gravity pressed the weighty mounds over tensing chest muscles. Embraced by Twilight's shielding-sheltering wing, Rarity held the pose in perfect relief, save for a constant tremble along well-defined muscles and the constant cumming clenches of her core. Upthrust on her beringed toes, her body was so far bent back that her stomach was almost further forward than her giant tits!

Almost. But not quite.

While Rarity lost herself, Twilight found a softer smile and a harder landing. Throughout it all, her far-stronger limbs sheltered the precious books from Rarity's peaking orgasm. Meanwhile, Twilight herself squirmed over Rarity's fingers as though they were far bigger than they could possibly hope to perform.

Almost as though Rarity was augmenting them by telekinesis-- but her horn remained dim.

No. Not like Rarity was doing anything more than skilled clittoral manipulation. Rather, like Hopper's colossal maleness was already where Twilight clearly felt it best belonged: in her, filling and fulfilling the promise of growl and scent and sight.

And taste; he saw her taste her stud on the air and in a near future; her tongue lashing the air as though she could taste his cum on it already. The glitter in her eyes, only lightly subspace-hazed, promised him that it was more should taste his cum already than could.

She remained more in control and more in motion than her well-loved friend and well-used bitch, of course. She used the very climaxes Generously assisted by fingertip to show off every shake and shimmy of her enjoyment, too. Her ultra-generous hips rocked in smooth, sinuous motions from side to side with just a bit of a rolling rump-shake in between.

A long, lingering sight escaped Rarity's voice, and Twilight bit her lower lip hard while muscles and softer flesh danced before him in helpless, elated completion.

Then, quick as loyalty, Twilight winked, and stuck her tongue out at him insouciantly. "Oo," she cried, the nicker carrying more groan than chirp, but both were distinctly present. She tilted her head to the left, corded neck shifting in an exaggerated motion as she inspected his room clock. "A little faster next time, honey, but mmm-- well worth the wait!"

Sighing, Hopper just hung his head. He was never entirely sure why he objected so much to one of the most beautiful sights-- two, in this case!-- in all Epona. Especially since it always lead to so much fun.

No, I know. It's the objectification. And-- no. I'm not… objecting, entirely. It's a challenge, and I'm not sure I'm entirely ready for it.

The challenge to become subject, rather than object. It was a particularly Twilightish lens, but it fit.

Progressive or not, these mares were far more than mortal. They might delight in earthly things, but they were Princesses. Goddesses in all but name.

Or rather, all but openly named Goddesses. Child of a weirder cosmology, he had a suspicion that distinction would be important and abbreviated both in the years to come.

Like the less-detailed figures out of a painter's focus, Hopper had been a background pony throughout all of his adolescence, and that had been fine. It had been fine for the six years he'd spent growing in their care. Fading into the crowd, avoiding the social 'front' had been perfectly acceptable for a protectorate of the princesses, a student to alicorns, and a supplicant to goddesses.

For a colt. Not the stallion he wished to be.

Supplicants aren't partners, let alone tops. It didn't matter that he sought no throne and wanted no domain. If he wanted to be taken seriously, an uncontrolled roar followed by a mumbled request for dignity simply would not do.

They would listen, after all. Listen, and then just leave matters moot. Shrug it off over chiseled shoulders the way he'd shrug a mountain off.

Casually.

Smiling slightly while the straining silken fabric of his pants protested his third leg taking up room for a fourth, too, Hopper forced his panting down. Forced his sky-shrouding wings to fall back into a posture that, if not relaxed, at least didn't make him resemble a kite.

The smirk that ran across Twilight's muzzle, the raise of her eyebrows just above her glasses-- told him that 'string' or 'cord' might not be the words she chose for the rest of him, but uncoiling was on the menu. If he just wanted to be a plaything.

He did not.

If Hopper wanted to be their friend and their lover-- if he wanted to be treated as an alicorn, as an equal, as a partner-- he had to at least know the path from background to foreground. He had to be able to treat their loving teasing as a challenge; had to conquer that objectification as he hoped to provide scenes and illusions of conquest.

Perhaps that, more than anything else, was why they had apprenticed him to Luna. It was another battleground, and there was no terrain of which Luna Selene Solutae was not the absolute mistress. She'd want her apprentice to soldier on, he reminded himself. So he shook his head and repeated, "The locks, Twilight?" And was actually pleased at how little his voice oscillated off from even.

After a few more squeals, Twilight found the wherewithal to answer him. It started with a wink, her pupils slowly focusing on him. Giant tits heaving in time with the trembling of absurdly defined muscles, she took the time to consider this somehow weighty question. Amazonian frame quivering, she turned her head to lean against the smaller giantess, resting her purple horn against Rarity's white.

A simple shrug of her broad shoulders seemed to be all he'd get. Well, the shrug, and the shrug's gift: Continued wobbling of two barely-clad tits that outmassed mastiffs in his general direction. That said, nipples, no matter how succulent, sweet, and stiff, did not qualify as answers.

Probably.

Stretching, Twilight took a quick moment to make sure the wards on the shelves were intact, pretending her hardest that his question had been answered by nipples. Or boobs. Or shoulders?

Still, he waited, restraining himself and his disobedient dick by raw will. Hopper crossed arms the size of minotaur legs over each other, across the breadth of a chiseled chest that seemed designed to have tiny mares get lost exploring the rough territory like rolling, hazardous hills. Only through that raw will was he able to stop himself from flexing pretentiously-- and thus, he outwaited Twilight.

Hazily, she half-nickered, half-purred, "Oh, sure, but I made the locks and taught you how to ward, big guy. And Rarity's really good with her fingers." Giggling, she squeezed her thick, cushy thighs together over the fingers in question. Rarity moaned as her hand was swiftly trapped, the terrifying quads beneath the cushiony curves holding her hand in place-- in place at pussy.

Not that the cunning seamstress-princess stopped caressing the dark-furred and thoroughly juiced mound, of course. Leaning forward, corded neck shifting, he got quite the view of that, too. What Hopper could see of said fingers-- really more her palm-- was completely damp with alicorn femmecum, thick and promising that sweetest scent.

His interest pleased his teacher. "See?" Twilight told him, shimmying her enormous hips to show off her frigging friend's fingers. "You should be taking notes!" As she 'innocently' tutored him, she spent every breath grinning from ear to ear and obscenely jutting her massively padded hips forward, showing off said fingerwork proudly. Said fingerwork and the ever-jiggle of her star-clad hips, of course.

'Trapped' and 'held,' Rarity simply sighed in delight as her most recent climax faded and blushed behind her hand at Hopper again. Her bulky body seemed almost slender beside Twilight, the outhrusting curves of her profile in constant quiver. Like the full seven foot eight of her had somehow become a very buff damsel-broodie, like every mighty sinew of her limbs was, well… Dwarfed by the giant megazon that was Twilight Sparkle.

Intensely distracting, that. It took several heartbeats for Twilight's words to resemble sense. Or at least to be sensibly assembled in his head; the intrusion itself seeming to rebel against the concept of sense.

His jaw dropped, closed, and dropped again. "You picked my locks? Twilight!" He barely held himself back from a growl-- not that it seemed to stop the pair. Forgetting for the moment that he wasn't certain why he wanted to stop them, the sheer disgruntlement of the day's itchiness… And here they were, making his already throbbing cock switch right past pulsing and into pulsating.

Then he remembered. Picking his locks… was permission for him to respond within 'herd rules.' This wasn't just torment. Not just test.

It was an offer.

So what to do?

All seven feet and each of the three extra inches on top of his cock had its ideas of course, but teasing seemed the order of the day.

Author's Note

So this has had like one or two passes, max, very thinly edited indeed. Unfortunately, as my health gets worse and people move on in life, there really isn't much chance for editing. I'm just going to try to get out what I can of what I've done. This may be a bit raw-- sometimes entire plot points and porn foci shift in editing, but I hope folks might appreciate the uncut jewel, as it were-- rather than just hiding it away.