Scotchie Does Ponyville

Butterscotch let the brush fall from his mouth into the bucket of red paint. It had been a long night and a short, restless sleep. He was sober now. The memory of last night felt raw in his heart, like an infected wound. There was only one pony he felt safe telling about what he’d done. So, time for the summoning ritual.

“Eris, I call thee. Eris, I invoke thee. Eris, I, um, bind thee. If you’re not busy. We can talk later if you are.”

The cottage, abandoned all night by Scotch’s animals, echoed with the sound of scuttling insects. Scotch froze as a wave of cockroaches rushed in from all around towards the center of the circle, terrified he might accidentally step on one. They climbed over each other, forming a towering, crawling, asymmetrically-antlered shape that loomed over Scotch’s form.

“There are those who call me Mohini. There are those who who call me Empusa. There are those who call me Xiombarg. There are those who call me Eris.” The draconequus mare leaned out of her summoning circle, dripping roaches, and grinned slyly at Butterscotch. “But you can call me any time.”

“Eris, I did something horrible!” He wailed, throwing his forelegs around her, sobbing bitterly. “Blitz and I had sex with my sister!”

She blinked at him. “And?”

Scotch stared at her, his eyes still squirting tears. “And what?”

Eris gently wiped Scotch’s cheeks. “You said you did something horrible. Did you murder them afterwards and bathe in their blood? Did you get the munchies and eat a foal? What?”

“Um, no,” said Scotch, looking confused. “Who would do something like that?”

“Oh, no one I can think of. I certainly never would. Here’s a roach to cuddle. Sit on the couch, I’ll make you some tea and you can tell auntie Eris all about it.”

Scotch climbed up on the couch, and stroked his cockroach’s glistening carapace. It tickled him with its antenna, and he giggled. Eris snapped her fingers, and a tea set appeared. It swarmed around her, tiny wings flapping. She plucked two cups from the air, handed one to Scotch, and sat down. It was literally physically painful to her to resist the visual pun of turning her little mortal friend into a teacup, but for Scotch she could just about manage it. Anyhow, there was always the danger she’d forget how to turn him back. She listened, munching thoughtfully on her teacup, to his tale of alleged woe.

“Oh, Butterscotch, Butterscotch. You are such a pure and innocent soul,” she said, patting him patronizingly on the top of his head.

He looked up at her, eyes red. “So you don’t judge me?”

“It would be dreadfully hypocritically of me. Of course, as the goddess of chaos, hypocrisy is de rigueur, but in this case it hardly seems worth the effort. Scotch, I’ve laid waste to empires and ruined millions of lives. I don’t mean to sound cruel, but your little incest drama seems… dare I say it, trite.”

“I forgive you,” he said, cradling the bug against his chest.

Eris raised an eyebrow. “For being cruel to you?”

Scotch shook his head. “For being evil.”

Eris laughed. “Well, I forgive you for being a silly little mayfly mortal. And I promise to be good for however long you are alive. Well, sort of good, anyway. But seriously, Scotchie love, what did you expect to find when you started ‘exploring your sexuality’? That everything in you would be sweet and nice?”

Scotch leaned away from her. “I’m the Element of Kindness.”

She snorted. “Being kind is not the same as being nice. Nor is it the same as being good. You ought to know that. Anyhow, if this really is as dark as you can go — and if it is I admit to feeling somewhat sorry for you — but if you’ve truly hit rock bottom, then there’s no place for you to go but up. As a friend of mine once said, ‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.’ Or at least, I think it was a friend of mine. It might have been me… a long time ago…” Her eyes began to get that distant look they got before she entered one of her fugue states.

“But what about Faust? Won’t she punish me?” Scotch’s eyes were wide with fear and repentance.

Eris took a deep breath. As with sausages and laws, lovers of monotheistic Gods were better off not knowing how they were made. The urge to tell Scotch the truth was overwhelming, but the effort made her feel as though worms were gnawing their way through her skull. A comforting half-truth would do, she supposed. “Faust and I are not on the best terms,” she said, “but I have met her, and I do know she loves all her creations very much, and forgives them if they are sorry.”

A vein under her eye twitched. That was too close to the truth. The worms began to chew faster.

“What do I do now?” said Scotch.

“Whatever you want, mayfly. We are all of us condemned to be free. That’s not one of mine. I always did detest Sartre; he was constantly stealing my lilypads.” Eris smacked her lips. “Those sweet, delicious lilypads.”

Scotch realized his friend wouldn’t be lucid much longer. He let his roach scuttle free and went to his bedroom to get her a blanket. Then he shooed the tea things out into the Everfree and left her alone. It wasn’t always safe to be around Eris when she got like this.

It was a quiet morning. As he walked downhill towards Ponyville, he remembered that it was Thursday. The girls would be here by tonight.

———

Scotch sighed. Blitz was avoiding him. He was never hard to find on a workday — his little rainbow contrail stood out from the other weather ponies, making him easy to spot. They flew far up in the sky where Scotch didn’t feel safe, up where winds were strong and cold, and clouds huge and easy to get lost in. In the past he had often flagged down his friend for lunch dates or, more recently, for a quick nooner, but today it wasn’t happening. Perhaps Blitz was having fun up there with Wanda. Without him.

He slunk over to Sugarcube Corner. A small mob of protesters had formed out front, led by that gray weather pony. Mr. Cake, standing on a box so that his short but hefty blue bulk could be seen over the heads of the crowd, bellowed into a megaphone, “I repeat: We will continue making muffins and muffin-related pastries for the foreseeable future, don’cha know. There is no, I repeat, no muffin crisis. Please disperse, and return to your homes.”

Scotch sighed. Time to hit Queequeg’s. He turned around and bumped noses with Swishy Belle.

“Hi!” said Swishy. “We weren’t following you!”

“Not at all,” said Scootaroll, who for some reason was wearing a collar. Was that a new fashion with the colts? He felt so old sometimes.

“They’re lying,” said Apple Buck. “We were stalking you.”

Swishy glared at him. “Bucky! You’ll scare him off!”

Scotch began to back away. “Why are you stalking me?”

Buck blushed, and grinned. “Shucks, Uncle Scotch. Swishy was telling us about the mission Blitz sent you on, and what a good time he had with you the other night, and Scoots and I were feeling a little jealous.”

Scotch craned his neck. They were all wearing those tighty whitey things. Scotch had left his at home. By the third day of vigorous sexual activity, they were starting to look a bit… yellow. He glanced left and right, then over his shoulder at the crowd in front of Sugarcube. “This really isn’t a good conversation to be having in public.”

“You could come back to our clubhouse,” suggested Buck. “It’s real private there.”

Scotch considered. How much trouble could you get into in a clubhouse? It was one room, with thin walls and no sanitary facilities. A terrible place for sex. And he needed someplace to lie low until the party tonight. “Sure. I’ll come. Just to hang out, though. Nothing… you know, inappropriate.”

“See, I told you he was cool,” said Swishy.

———

The clubhouse had changed since the last time Scotch had seen it. “You’ve, um, done a lot of work.”

Apple Buck nodded. “Yup. Got it hooked up to the plumbing, gas, and electrical. Put in a kitchenette, half-bath, and bedroom. We got foosball and air hockey, too!”

Scotch suddenly felt nervous. “I like foosball.” Actually he hated foosball.

“And we have a PonyStation 5!” said Scoots.

“Okay, that’s good,” said Scotch.

“It’s the best,” said Swishy, taking his foreleg in hoof. “C’mon up. We’ll play.”

“I feel like I’m being lured. Am I being lured?” He dragged his hooves up the staircase.

Scoots tucked his head under Scotch’s dock, pushing him from behind. “You’re… going… to come… have fun with us… if… it’s… the last thing… we do!”

Scotch’s eyes grew very wide. “If, um, you say so. I think I hear my dogs calling me.” Actually Faust knew where his dogs were. Probably roving the town in a pack, eating out of trash cans and pooping on lawns. The mayor would have things to say.

“Oh, come on!” said Swishy, dragging him through the door. Buck followed them and closed it. Scoots and Swishy guided him to the couch. Scoots immediately powered up the game console. It was a game he wasn’t familiar with — something about a stripper with guns on her horseshoes.

“What’s that?” said Scotch, trying to ignore the two jars of lube sitting next to the couch.

“Ponynetta 3. It’s okay.”

Scotch nodded. The stripper pony seemed to be dressed in her own hair. Every few beats, she would whip it off her body, and use it to splatter a winged monster across the screen. Watching her, he felt torn between extreme sexual desire and an urge to go out and see if the shoe shop had gun heels in his size.

“So,” said Buck, sitting down and putting his leg around Swishy. “Here we are.”

“Yep,” said Swishy, stroking Buck’s hind leg, “just three horny, barely legal teens and an older stallion, alone on a couch.”

Scotch bit his lower lip. “Um, okay. Hey, that game looks great. Can I play?”

Scootaroll handed him the controller. Scotch was bewildered by the combo system, but randomly mashing the buttons seemed to result in an adequate amount of carnage. The next thing he knew, Ponynetta was dead.

“The witch hunts are over!” said the console.

“Does that mean I died? Why did I die?” said Scotch, turning the controller over and over in his hooves.

He was met by quiet giggles. Something in his peripheral vision wasn’t quite right. Looking left and right, he saw three prime young stallion asses, and three pairs of balls. They’d pulled their tighty whities down around their thighs, so that the elastic dug into muscular flesh. The white fabric set off their endowments nicely. Scotch was instantly hard. He swore internally.

“Damn, Swish, look at the size of that thing that thing! Looks like I owe you ten bits,” said Apple Buck.

Scotch’s cock’s flare ruffled the fluff on his chest. “Is this… is this some kind of prank?”

“No tricks, uncle Scotch,” said Scoots. “We want you inside of us!”

“Yeah,” said Buck, “They’re always makin’ me top. When Swishy told me how big you were… Well, I knew right away I had to have you inside me.”

Scotch’s cock pulsed so hard it hurt.

“What do you think?” asked Swishy, eyes brimming with hope. “Will you play with us?”

Scotch answered by leaning over and sniffing Swishy’s ponut. “You’re clean.”

“Take a lick and see how clean,” said Swishy, wiggling his plump ass seductively.

Scotch fell to his knees, pushed Swishy’s very round cheeks apart with his hooves, and ran his tongue from the bottom of his balls to the cusp of his dock. He nuzzled up under there, and pushed his tongue as deep into Swishy as he would go. It was silky and salty all the way.

“Oh, Faust,” moaned Scotch, pulling his tongue out with a quiet pop. “It’s amazing!”

Buck chuckled. “Enemas before you came over. We’re all like that. Don’t be shy.”

So Scotch gorged himself. Buck’s haunches were shaggy, hard and broad like all the Apples’ were. Scoots was lean and sleek like Blitz was. All of their assholes were perfect and delicious. He cycled between all three, burying his tongue deep in hot flesh until it ached so badly he could barely talk. He didn’t neglect their balls, either — three heavy sacks were glistening with spit by the time he was done.

“You don’t have to just use your mouth, you know,” said Swishy, flexing his plump cheeks. “Just don’t come too quickly. You’ve got three hungry sluts to satisfy.”

“Hey! I ain’t no slut!” said Buck, grabbing Swishy’s head and rubbing his hoof against the top of his skull.

“You are! You are a slut and I’m not taking it back!” squawked Swishy.

Scotch lubed up and flapped up into the air. His nose barely reached to the big stallion’s withers. He pushed his flare under Buck’s tail, finding access remarkably easy. He slid right inside. He was used to ponies being so tight it hurt him a little — Faust knew how it felt to them. But buck was just smooth and hot and comfortable.

“Do you like it?” growled Scotch, grinding his balls against Buck’s taint.

Bucky groaned, arching his back “I love it. I love it! I’ve never had a cock so big up my ass, Uncle Scotch! Buck me harder! I can take it!”

Scotch grunted and slammed forward, thighs bouncing off Buck’s big, hard rump. He pushed his head against the back of Buck’s neck, loving not having to worry about hurting his partner for once. Well, he worried a little. But not much.

“Hurry up! I want a turn,” moaned Swishy, wiggling his ass.

“Don’t be greedy,” growled Buck, his eyes clenched closed and his teeth gritted. “You… you already had him… and… oh Faust, he’s hittin’ the good spot.”

They were all good spots for Scotch. He pumped from flare to balls, as fast as he could, until his heart hammered and his breath was short. His medial ring plucked at Buck’s ponut every time it passed through it. Buck slammed back against him, groaning, until his ass started to clench around him, and his cum sprayed across the couch cushion beneath him

“Ungh gah gah!” whimpered Buck. Scotch pulled out of him, grinning like a maniac, and immediately got on top of Swishy. He couldn’t fit inside. His cock bounced off those jiggly cheeks, missing the wide-open ponut by a mile. “Easy, Uncle Scotch. We’ve got all afternoon.”

Scotch took a deep breath. Relaxed, he was able to slide inside the young femcolt. Swishy arched against his barrel and buried his face in the couch cushion. “Oh Faust you fill me up so good, uncle Scotch!”

“You... you guys are lucky I’ve had such a busy week,” said Scotch. “Otherwise I don’t think I’d have made it past Buck. You’re all...” He blushed. “You’re all so hot. And so sweet.”

“Whatever.” Scoots socked him in the shoulder. “Just don’t blow it now. You still gotta do me.”

Swishy clenched his ponut closed around Scotch’s cock. “Not ’til I’m done!”

“Darn it, waiting sucks!” Scoots climbed up over Swishy and grabbed Scotch’s head, balancing on the back of the couch, flipper wings buzzing. “Open wide, Uncle Scotch!”

Scotch squeaked when Scoots’ cock squished into the end of his nose, but he opened up for it as asked. There was no point in being rude. Or in mentioning that he didn’t need to open terribly wide for it. He closed his eyes, loving the frantic energy with which Scoots humped his mouth. He wrapped his tongue around the little flare, and Scoots moaned and clutched at his mane. “Uncle Scotch! Oh, uncle Scotch!!”

Almost before he knew it, Scoots was squirting in his mouth. Scotch remembered when he had found cum disgusting. It wasn’t that long ago. Now he swallowed it hungrily, glowing with pride that he had made Scoots come so quickly. Beneath him, Swishy was shaking and moaning. A few carefully timed thrusts, and the young stallion under him was coming too. Soon Scotch, Swishy and Scoots were lying on the couch in a sweaty pile. But there was a problem.

“Um…” said Scotch, staring at his throbbing cock as he slid it, glistening, out of Swishy’s ass.

“Don’t worry, we gotcha,” said Buck, coming back from the bathroom with a wet towel.

“I’m so sorry,” said Scotch as Buck started wiping his cock clean. “It felt really good. I just couldn’t come. I’ve been having a lot of sex lately. I might be dry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Buck laughed, and finished polishing, then tossed the towel into a corner. “Chill, uncle Scotch. We’re good at this.”

Scotch watched in wonder as that ruggedly handsome young face slid over the end of his cock. Scoots and Swishy cuddled up against Scotch’s flanks, and nuzzled the sides of his shaft. Apple Buck, as big as he was, could only get about halfway down the shaft, but he worked it vigorously. Drool trickled over the veiny surface of Scotch’s dick. Swishy followed a trail of spit back up to Buck’s lips, and Buck pulled back so that they could kiss each other around his flare. Scoots let out a muffled moan as he took one of Scotch’s balls in his mouth.

Scotch closed his eyes and leaned back, luxuriating in the feeling of three hot, soft young mouths exploring his dick. He still couldn’t come.

He tried to relax, focusing on the feeling rather than his embarrassment about not being able to finish. Their mouths were going to get tired soon, and he’d be stuck with his hooves. His heart started to race.

Then he thought of Blitz smiling at him.

“Glurk!” The burst of cum caught Buck by surprise. He nearly choked on it and he pulled back, leaving Scotch’s cock spurting like a fountain onto Swishy and Scoots’ faces.

And Scotch started to cry.

“Oh, Uncle Scotch!” said Scoots, scrambling up to be side by side with him. “What’s the matter?”

“Did it hurt?” said Swishy. One of his eyes was plastered shut with cum, which only made him look more confused.

Scotch sobbed. “I miss Blitz so much!” he wailed, tears and snot rolling down his face.

The three friends hugged him.

“It’s okay,” said Buck. “He’s gonna be at the party tonight. You can tell him how much you love him then.”

“He’s my best friend!”

“We know. We know.” Swishy stroked Scotch’s mane. “It’ll be okay.”

After a while, Scotch drifted off to sleep. When he woke up, the three young stallions were cleaned up, and wearing glittering sequined dresses.

“Cutie Mark Conquerors drag review!” they shouted, hooves in the air.