Smarty Pants and Big Macintosh Have a Tea Party
Big Mac looked across the little tea-table at the love of his life. He’d never been very good with words, and that part of himself began to worry him a little.
He put his hoof up against the teacup’s handle, felt it adhering, and took the gentlest sip he could. The cup was done in barely a second; he’d never been one to be all high-society-like, either. He worried about that, too.
“So,” he began, looking up at the pink ceiling. “The tea ain’t to yer likin’?”
A few seconds passed.
“Guess not.”
Rarity had laughed when he mentioned that he wanted to throw a tea party. Then he said he was serious, and then she looked at him all strange-like, and then she just opened the door up and let him through.
He wasn’t complaining, of course, but he still thought it mighty strange as he sat and drank. It took about five minutes of quiet before he said something else.
“Well, I like it.”
More silence.
“You what?”
Silence.
“I mean, I ain’t that kinda stallion, Smarty.” He looked nervously over his shoulder. “I mean, Rarity wouldn’t like it.”
He perked an ear up for a bit before his eyes widened. “You really, really wanna do this?”
And after a few seconds more, his blush showing even against his red coat, he pushed the cups gently aside as he pulled the ragged doll up onto the countertop. As he put his hoof up against the white-spotted blue trousers, however, he seemed to have a moment of doubt.
“You sure?”
And as he didn’t get a response, he continued. “Of course I do, Smarty.”
His face seemed to turn a different shade of red; it took a few seconds before he got his answer.
“Ee-yup.”
And without further ado, he tugged the pair down, exposing her nude form; the burlap was slightly moist between the legs, a bit of rot from the years it had spent in Twilight’s chest. Big Mac lowered his head, sticking his tongue out as he begun to lick at that wet spot. It didn’t take long to dissolve as his saliva began to melt it down; he moaned in joy, letting her juices run down his throat.
“You taste wonderful,” he said, “like a... a wonderful kinda thing.”
He’d never been very good with words. He meant to say ‘like apples’, of course, but he was sure she’d gotten the message; his hooves went down, spreading the bit that had gone to expose the soft, slightly decayed fluff. He took a deep whiff, and let the semi-organic smell sink deep into him.
Most lovers, then, would let loose a compliment.
But he let his actions speak louder than words.
His tongue drove deep into the plush, moving the peluche about inside of her; his tongue filled with the moist, heady taste of suppurating fluff as he fed the growths within. It wasn’t long before he withdrew, panting, to breathe, a bit of white stuck to his muzzle.
He grinned. “You ready for this, Smarty?”
And as the doll did not respond, he craned his neck and bit her, pushing her onto her front as he used a forehoof to keep her plot in his view. He complimented her by spitting on his other forehoof and rubbing it against her already well-lubricated entrance, putting in half of his hoof as he tried to push the leg deeper.
He would have gone on for longer, but something troubled him; something very big and very red. In frustration, he mounted the filly-sized doll and tried to push his tip in, the entrance widening as he bucked against it.
He thought, for a moment, that he wouldn’t be able to make it.
Then, he answered that little thought aloud.
“Horseapples.”
He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hooves down on the doll’s arms and used his strength, driving himself past the tight hole and deep into its mushy, soft insides. He groaned in ecstasy, his eyes closing and mouth opening in a little ‘o’ as the wet, old fluff caressed his shaft.
He let out an ‘eeyup’ of satisfaction, looking down at his lover on the table. “You alright, Smarty?”
He didn’t receive a response. “That so?”
And with that, he held the ragged thing under its forelegs, the rough burlap pushing up against his hooves as he laid back in the chair, the foal-shaped doll resting against his chest as he sat in a rather awkward manner, back against the chair and hooves hanging down.
He grinned. “This is gonna hurt. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
Then, he tightened his grip and began pushing her down as he thrusted up, brutally shifting the stuffing within her and bumping up against the back of the thing’s throat. The bulge he made had made a clear impression on the little thing, his impressive shaft highlighting itself against its petite form. It moved rapidly, now, and one of the buttons seemed ready to shake itself loose.
But it held, even as he remorselessly pounded the thing, perhaps by some conceit of unicorn magic. His balls slapped against the top of her widening hole as he seemed almost to masturbate himself with her, to reduce her to the status of a mere object.
But he did it with love, not mere passion; he had said more words for her than any other lover he’d ever had. A mounting pressure began to grow within him, and in his frenzied lust he went deeper than he ever had before, his stallionhood bursting into her head and inundating the peluche with his virile seed.
He collapsed onto his back, then, letting himself go off the chair as he curled up with his beloved doll.
“Was it good for you?”
He didn’t receive a response, and laughed a little. “Nnope. Of course I’mma let you stay like this for a while.”
A long while passed, as he hugged the thing wrapped around his stallionhood and basked in the glow of his orgasm, smiling with love and contentment.
He heard the door opening, and the characteristic sound of Rarity’s voice.
“Big Macintosh? Are you done with your—” she stopped to giggle a little, “Tea party? With your stuffed doll?”
His back was towards the door, he himself hunched over the little thing. For all intents and purposes, it looked like he was just hugging her. He looked over to her, and back to his heavily stuffed doll.
“Nnope.”
She tittered. “Very well. Stay as long as you like.”
She closed the door, and Big Mac sighed in relief.
The door opened again.
“Oh,” she added, seemingly trying to suppress her giggles. “Be sure to clean up when you’re done, darling. I don’t wish for my tea-room to get messy.”
The door closed once more, and he slowly pulled the sticky plush off of his length, setting the thing gently on the floor as he begun to clean what he assumed she meant: the tea set.
He’d never been very good with words.
