The Ponyville Tails

by dermuffinmeister

Rating: mature
Tags: Romance, Octavia, Bon-Bon, Derpy Hooves, Sex, DJ P0N-3, Human, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Lyra
Length: 108216

Welp, here ya go. Another 6 chapters, featuring six background humans!

Ride along inside the heads of six guys as they quest to get laid. It's easy when you find the right girl under the right circumstances. Ponyville is full of women!

Not much else to say. I absolutely love this place for all the sudden viewership, and I'll try to be Johnny on the spot with updating (take that for outdated lingo).

I'm also looking for artists to make a proper cover for this! Please please please FUCKING PLEASE pm me if you're a halfway decent human artist (artist who can draw humans, I don't care if you're a space alien or a cat or whatever).

Finished! Thanks in someplace between small and large part to my buddy and editor Solaris.

Published 2012-11-12 10:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-11-12 10:30:01 UTC

Derpy Hooves(Ditsy Doo)[Celestial Guidance in the Art of Humping]

The girl in the white thong walks into your urban home, and the budslinger follows. The afternoon sun is high in the clear sky. Mouth-watering scents ride the breeze past a bakery, mixing with the strong aroma of a copious amount of cannabis. The contents of your and her bags sweeten the air as you walk through the old door. She sets her mailbag down on a crowded coffee table and sits her very nice butt on your favorite couch.

“I don’t know, Antonio,” the blond girl says. “I had this stuff last night at the concert. It was pretty mind-blowing.”

“Oh really?” you reply and take a seat next to her, placing your black backpack next to her brown bag. “Your dome looks like it’s in one piece. And the name’s Andre, not Antonio.”

“Oops!” Her little bubbly voice is really funny. “And mine’s Derpy. It’s really Ditzy Doo, but, I mean, that sucks. Call me Derpy, all my friends do! Well,” she goes on. “Axel, uh, the guy, said it was called G-17. It was really colorful and stuff, and the crystals were all over the thing! Jeez, I’ve never seen anything like that stuff.”

You open your bag and envision this supposed mind-blowing bud. “I’ve heard of some shit like that. Was there little splotches of orange or red inside blobs of purple? And were there little tiny white fibers all over the greens?”

The little blonde girl sits and stares towards your bag for a minute as you pull out your selection. “Uh, yeah. I didn’t really look at it so much, and it was sorta dark, er there was this blacklight. I guess it would be a purple light, really. Anyway, it makes white stuff sorta glow, and the white bits on the weed really lit up. It was really cool. And, and the way the light hit the bong when you took a hit, the, the smoke turned really bright purple! It was so cool!”

“Uh huh,” you say and rummage through your bag, only half listening. “So, did you just want a dime, or what?”

She leans forward, her small chest sort of brushing your arm. “No, I wanted weed. Do you have a dime? I like change, too, but I just wanted some grass.”

You just look at her. Those yellow eyes are staring blankly at you and your open backpack on the coffee table at the same time in a hilarious way. You’d be annoyed, but she’s really funny. “Heh, no, how much do you want? I got jugs worth five, ten, twenty, and fifty. I got jars, but those are worth a lot more.”

“Oh, uh,” she says, unconfused. “I guess I want a fifty. I got pretty good tips last night.” The thong lady sits up and sticks a hand in her back pocket, then her other. You take out four plastic jars, your largest ones, and set them out. Eventually, she finds a little pocket book.

“Alright,” you sit forward and point at the cylindrical containers. “I’ll go from weakest to strongest, not that the weakest is bad or anything. The green is silverback, my friends call it the Harlem, don’t ask. Next is the orange jug, that’s hindu kush. Black is the pink panther, and the last is my personal favorite.” You pick it up and open the lid, letting the strong stench out. You woft tasty nosefuls into your face, careful not to inhale the skunky aroma too much. “Ah, just smell that! It’s so good. It’s mowie wowie. This is the stuff that will make the cooking channel look like porn.”

The same nameless blonde girl with the cute smile, tight butt and funny eyes cracks up hard, snickering in her seat. “Oh wow, I know exactly what you mean! Ah, this lady was frying bananas with brown sugar and stuff, and I had put my fingers in my mouth, but I swear I could taste the banana thingies!” She sits up and and looks at the dark purple plastic container. The nugs inside are splotched with purple and red, and orange fibers crowd at the edges.

“Yeah, this will get your tummy grumblin’.” You take out a small nug and stare at it. “Yeah, fifty bones and you get the jar. Hey, if you’re not busy we could match a bowl, watch the food network, get some barbeque or somethin’.”

Her fun eyes pop out a little at the prospect, but she blushes and shies away. “Oh, I don’t know. I tend to get pretty sleepy after I smoke. And I don’t have anything to smoke with on me, or a lighter.”

“Like you gotta worry about a piece at your dealer’s place.” You get down and pull out a red and orange bubbler from a compartment in the armrest. “Just cleaned Miss Bungle yesterday. I’ll load the first bowl if you buy, and we can watch whatever or listen to whatever and just chill. Whatever.”

“Miss who? Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Nah,” you reply, loading some mowie wowie from a different jug. “I live here and sell bud and flip pizzas and, ya know. Whatever. I get out a lot, but I gotta stay home a lot and work, too.”

“Well,” she says. “What do you do? Grow it?”

You stop breaking up the bit of bud on the little glass dish. You hush your voice and lean in to her. “Hey, you know that G-17 or whatever?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, what about it?” She’s whispering too, playing along if nothing else.

“I’ve had it before. I got it, but it’s shit. That stuff is pretty pussy to the stuff I got downstairs.”

“No!” Derpy quietly exclaims.

“You better believe it. Wanna see the basement?” Creepier words are hard to come by.

Derpy seems to think so, too. But, a curiosity has taken root and is gnawing at her easy-going nature. “Uh, what’s, what’s in your basement?”

You set the bubbler down and stand up. “You’ll never guess. Oh, don’t be like that. It’s not dead bodies or leather straps or anything.” You take one step towards your fridge, and Derpy follows. Her little plain t-shirt looks really casual, fun, just like her, and just like the best kind of sex.

“Uh, old exercise equipment?” She stands next to you with her big bag.

“Uh, not quite. Hey, I’m goin’ to the fridge for an underground grow op. You want one?” In a fluid motion, the unassuming, nearly antique refrigerator door swings open. The tall and outdated appliance matches most of the comfy furniture, but inside is far from old and musty.

A sturdy and basic elevator is waiting behind the door, complete with fake ketchup and some empty beer bottles for the aesthetic.

“Woah.”

“Get in,” you tell her. You step into the metal cage and press the down button. The elevator rattles to life, descending the twenty feet below the surface to the secret basement.

You arrive at the bottom in the metal lattice-walled elevator to the basement. The oily and grimey steel gives way to a bright and clean substructure made entirely of concrete. The ceiling is supported by rows of thick concrete pillars at regular intervals. Between the columns are rows and rows of tall, healthy trees. Each hemp plant stands taller than any man, even when inlaid into a shallow watering trough.

“Keep this a secret, ya know, between friends.” You step by the dumbstruck Ditzy Doo and make your way to the end of the tall room. The second story has a red metal balcony about ten feet above the hard floor. You quickly ascend a ladder and beckon Derpy to follow. She does, still speechless. Derpy nearly trips on her way over, flailing her arms to keep her balance.

“Come on, the real stuff’s in here. That, all that’s the profit, the waste I don’t need. In here, come on!”

Derpy giggles as she steps into the little room almost hidden into the second floor of the basement. You let her into the smaller area in front of you. “I haven’t shown anyone this. You ready?”

Derpy nods, still unable to speak. You take one step further into the windowless room and open a small floor cabinet. Bright light floods out, and under it is a small, dense plant. The leaves are coated in off-white crystals, nearly completely blocking out the deep green underneath. Buds sprout out in their fibonacci randomness. Derpy’s jaw looks nearly ready to fall off.

“There she is,” you tell her, barely above a whisper. “A perfect genetic cross between mowie wowie and orange mauser kush. Plenty of that ultra-potent power the Mowie packs, but still plenty of the flavor of mauser, and the potency of mauser, don’t forget that, and then some of the happy smiley hungry sleepy, too. This shit will melt your face, and I would never sell it. The customers could never make their way back for more!”

“W-woah.” Derpy sits on the concrete floor and gazes into the brightly lit space. “I can’t, can’t look away fruh...” her voice fades away, truly awe-struck.

You carefully shear off a sizeable bud and push it into a little container. “I only snip off some when I need to breed more or I need to get blazed higher than the sun.”

Derpy stands up and stares at the container in your hand with both eyes. It’s surprisingly adorable when they work together. One begins to wander downwards, but she blushes and they both focus at your face. “Cool,” she says sheepishly, smiling. “A-are, can we smoke some? My girls are fine by themselves today, I think. And tomorrow’s sunday, so I don’t have to work, so I’m not really worried about-” she stops suddenly. Her eyes aren’t together, but one holds your stare. “I, I think, um, well I was thinking tha-”

A loud buzz breaks her stammering. You look to a monitor on the desk and see a heavy Hawaiian on the doorstep, white styrofoam boxes in hand.

“Shit,” you say. “I forgot I ordered out. Come on, you hungry?” You don’t wait for an answer.

“W-wait up!” Derpy yells as you fly by her to the ladder. You slide down and rush to the elevator, careful of the few dozen delicate and pungent weeds. The blondie is four steps behind as you ready the scissor door.

Another loud buzz rapes the moist air as you punch the up button. The elevator rattles to life, and you rush out into the kitchen three seconds before it reaches a stop. You clamber the short distance to the door.

“Yo Dre!” a lardy voice shouts through the rotting door. “Hey, open up! I know you got the munchies, man, but wake up! I’m not gonna take this food back to the sh-”

“-ack.” Tito stops mid-rant and smiles. “There you are, little kushie cuz! Ah haa, I knew you were in there.”

“Tito!” you shout back and clasp his free hand. “It’s been a minute, man, great timing.”

“Ah, lil’ brada got a lady to feed, too? Ha, very nice, kushie cuz.”

“Oh,” you stop and turn to Derpy. “Derpy, Tito. Tito, Derpy. Now you’re old pals, let’s eat.” You turn around to grab the food, but Tito holds the boxes above his head.

“No way you’re gettin’ fed without payin’ up, brada. Twenty shells, even.”

You check your back pockets, then your front. The only thing on you is the small plastic jug with a few nugs. “Uh, about that.” You reach into your pocket and pull him in by his flimsy shirt.

“I don’t have any cash, ya know how it goes. But-”

“No buts, brada!” Tito interjects, shoving your hand away. “No money, no munchies. I gotta charge. Even my big cuzzes.”

“But,” you continue after staring at him for one moment, breaking his tough stance with animal directness. “I can still pay you. Ever hear of bud called Deagle?” Nearby, Derpy giggles a little.

“No, I ha-”

“No, you haven’t!” You pull out the little jug. “That’s because, it doesn’t exist. Just, just hold on for one second.”

You run to the living room and put a nug of your special stuff into a different, smaller container. You jog back and give Tito the plastic container. “This doesn’t exist, get me? I never gave you a hybrid strain that will melt your mind into oatmeal, and I did pay for my grub, and then you went back to work.”

Tito opens the plastic with a skeptical look and takes one whiff. He immediately reels back, and you take the three boxes away.

“Woah there, kushie cuz,” Tito says. “There’s NO way dis can be eno-”

“Look at it!” you shout at him. Softer, “Just look at the fibers, man! I’m giving you too much! Tito, I’m your kushie cuz. Come on, Dre’s got the best bud, man!”

Tito and you stare down for a moment. Suddenly, he breaks out in jovial, almost drunken laughter. “Oh, alright, Andre. For you, I’ll take your atomic bud.”

“Thanks, guy,” you say, motioning to Derpy to close the fridge door. The steel elevator isn’t visible from the front door, but better safe than sorry.

Tito opens the front door and looks back. “It’s as the ancient Hawaiians say: don’t drink milk from a coconut that you find in the dark. Especially if it’s long and hard!”

The door slams, revealing an awkward silence. A snicker, then a chortle, then a full blown, hysteric bout of laughter erupts from Derpy’s face. You can’t help but laugh at the terrible joke as well.

“Okay,” Derpy says, now no longer doubled over. “That was one of the stupidest jokes I’ve ever heard.”

“Heh, yeah,” you reply, picking up your order. “He’s full of stupid shit. So,” you say. “Wanna, get high and pig out?”

“Sure,” Derpy says, her bright yellow eyes looking mostly at you.

You and she move back to the couch and quickly put some of the radioactive cannabis into the bubbler. You offer the first hit as you count her cash and give her her purchase. Derpy timidly sticks a flame to the filled bowl, scorching a small portion of the grass. She inhales gingerly, then clears the bowl. Her face lights up as all of the smoke easily launches into her lungs. She smiles wide, holding her chest full, as well as pushing her nice, albeit average-sized looking breasts up. Derpy begins to give a thumbs up, but expels out a huge volume of smoke in a violent coughing fit.

You take the pipe from her and set it down, then find a bottle of water. She coughs a few more times and sips some water. “Oh-koff-man, th-at really sneaks up on ya!” Derpy clears her throat a few more times and says: “Jeez, that tastes so good going in that you, mgyah!, you just keep goin’ and goin’, and, an. . . .woah.” She slinks back into the big, comfy sofa. “Woah.”

“‘sgood, isn’t it?” is all you ask. You take a different corner of the bowl and brace for the chamber of THC haze you’re about to inject into your lungs. Smoke quickly soars into your chest. It tastes sweet and tangy in your mouth, not very foul at all. You do your best to hold the huge hit in, but the tasty smoke turns into a burning haze inside. You cough it out, heaving and feeling your head lighten. You smile wide and sink into the cushions.

“Das good,” you murmur, feeling the relaxing surge rush through your body, making your skin feel funny. Not strange, just light, funny. Your muscles relax, and lethargy begins to nip at your eyelids. But, another feeling exists in harmony with the sloth. You feel bored, fascinated with everything, yet no real stimulation holds your attention. Your mind forms the word “music” before you remember what that is. You snicker at the simple word, it’s so easy! You manage to pull your torso up, then put your feet under you. Their presence is odd, new, but not new.

Moving to the stereo is easy enough, but finding the cd button isn’t as light of a task. Eventually, the letters find your eyes and you jab it with a finger, then the long triangle pointing right. A soft “chump chump chump” emanates from the big speakers, so you turn those up. The little beat grows into a full song, several sounds blending into a familiar tune.

You move with it, feeling the music inside. You turn in place to watch Derpy brave another hit. She repeats the process, succeeding in taking a smaller, more manageable drag.

Your weight falls heavily onto the couch at her side as Derpy smiles wide, holding her breath. She looks at you, closes her eyes and blows the thick smoke into your face. You gladly inhale with your nose, smelling the scent of her breath and your crazy cannabis. The smoke irritates your eyes, so you close them, then lay back, leaving them closed.

Before you can even get settled into the couch, Derpy wraps her arms around you. She nuzzles her long blond hair into your chest, giggling. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “Hehe, I get kinda handsy when I get really, really high.” Derpy lets go and sits up, mostly.

“Nah,” you reply back, hardly articulate. “‘sall good. We could, uh, ya know.”

“Cuddle?”

“Yeah, that thing that doesn’t sound manly at all. I didn’t say it.” You laugh and watch her reaction. Derpy just laughs and smiles back. Suddenly, the petite blonde leans forward and kisses your cheek, then sinks her weight into your body, making you lay back. She lets her light weight fall onto you, pressing her chest into yours, holding her face close to yours.

“Uh, Ali?” she whispers.

“Dre. Ya?” you barely breathe back.

“Wanna get handsy? Not anything too much, just, some touching.” Derpy takes your hand and puts it behind her back. She takes your other hand and places both of your palms squarely on her tight little butt. She giggles as you give her cheeks a playful squeeze.

Her little giggle turns into a heated, smiling gasp when you squeeze again, lifting and moving her butt in her jeans. She smiles and puts a hand on your chest, more than hinting her enjoyment.

“Ah, this must be some gooooooood stuff,” she softly speaks. “Cuz, I feel really, really good.”

You feel some of her horniness, especially when you get to feel the heat coming from between her cheeks. But, you can also smell the hawaiian barbeque. Your stomach tells you how hungry you are repeatedly, and you can no longer ignore it.

Derpy rests her head on your shoulder, her hands meandering over your torso. She giggles and kisses your neck, then again, her hot breath warms your skin. You use her ass to pull her up so that she sits on your groin, and so that she’ll stop sucking on your neck, even if it is pretty nice.

“W-what’s up?” she asks down at you, her red cheeks are just a few inches from your face.

“I’m starving,” you tell her with conviction. “Let’s eat, then we can do whatever we want.”

Derpy sits up, not even disappointed and moves her shoulders this way and that. Her petite frame makes her breasts look that much bigger. She smiles and sort of chuckles at you. “I guess we can eat,” she says down at you. “I’m pretty hungry, too. And I got some muffins in my bag, if the, whatever you got isn’t enough.”

“It won’t be for both of us,” you reply. “I’m happy with sharing, though.”

Derpy’s cute face lights up in an instant. “Yay! I got a bunch of different kinds of muffins, but we can’t eat the chocolate chippy one. That’s for my daughter, so no eats.”

She hardly looks old enough to have a kid, but you shrug it off. “Alright, no chocolate chip, let’s eat already! The take-out’s getting cold.”

Derpy climbs off carefully and you tear open the barbeque. You help Derpy try some of the spam musubi, the grilled chicken, and plenty of steamed rice. Before you know it, you’ve devoured everything. You wipe your mouth with two of the thousands of napkins as Derpy hurries to get her snacks out. She retrieves three cupcake-sized poppyseed muffins, two blueberry and two banana nut, and one with brown sugar and frosting. Before you know it, you’ve devoured two poppyseed and a blueberry, and Derpy has downed the rest, yet has only made a dent in the sugary one.

You sip the last of your cold milk and belch triumphantly. Derpy laughs her cute little laugh. She gulps down the last bite and tries herself, but only lets out a tiny burp. You tiredly giggle, she’s funny as hell, especially when really stoned.

You sit up, stomach full to bursting, and try to take a little hit. You manage a drag, but not much at all. You hold in the sweetly painful smoke as long as you can, which isn’t long at all. You let it out in one long relaxed exhale. The second-hand smoke floats out towards her face. Your eyes meet, sort of, and her brassy little irises try to focus on yours. She smiles, playfully biting her tongue. Derpy giggles a little and places her arms on either side of you, moving in closer and closer. She comes close to your face again, giggling from the inside out. She licks her teeth and lays one hand on your chest.

“I’m soo sleepy. . .” she groans. You notice Derpy’s half-lidded eyes are barely holding on. With her last waking effort, Derpy leans in and kisses your lips. The quick exchange of touch is very clumsy, yet nice. She closes her eyes and lays her head on your stomach, her soft and surprisingly large breasts press into your groin. You barely flex your leg and push your stiffening member up into it, waking her up some. She simply laughs and smiles a tiny bit, then sits up.

“Mmm,” she moans. “I guess we could take our shirts off, if that’s cool.” Her speech is slow and full of wanting.

“Sure,” you hoarsely whisper in response.

Derpy lifts the bottom of her little t-shirt up above her head, revealing her sizeable rack. What looked like respectable B cups in her light grey top are perfectly beauteous C’s. Her tight bra looks like it’s in pain keeping her glorious bust in.

Blondie helps you with your shirt. It comes off quickly, revealing your toned chest. Derpy immediately rushes down to meet your lips with hers again for another sloppy peck. Her big wet lips miss, mostly, making her chuckle inwardly at her mistake. She sort of mouths a “sorry”. You kiss her, this time. You take her nice butt in your hands again, making her exhale and moan softly.

Derpy’s fantastic rack presses into your chest heavily, mildly squashing her tits. She moves her hips some and moans as she kisses again. You squeeze her butt hard and lift it up with the aid of your knee in her hot groin. She inhales sharply, breaking the kiss.

“N-not yet,” Derpy says, obviously wanting it. “T-too, sleepy. Just, hmm, this.” She lifts herself up and turns around. Derpy sits her round little butt right in your lap and lays back, relaxing into your embrace. “Mmmm, this,” Derpy softly moans. You watch her close her eyes and snuggle up to get comfortable. You rest your hands on her bare stomach, cupping the womanly hill above her low-sitting belt. Derpy smiles as you kiss her cranium and breathe in the female essence. She grinds her ass into your groin, perhaps unknowingly, and gently moves one of your hands to her breast.

You feel your eyelids fall closed before you recognize that they’re closing. Your sleepy hand gently squeezes and plays with Derpy’s large left breast until you fall asleep.

* * *

Back when Cube. was rollin’ with Lorenzo in a benzo I was bangin’ with a crew-a instrumentals. Got the pens and pencils. Got down to business. But sometimes, the business end-a this shit can turn ya friends against you. But you was a real nigga, I could sense it in you. I still remember the window of the car that you went through, that’s FUCKED UP, but I’ll never forget the shit we been through, and I’ma do whatever it takes to convince you. “Cuz you my nigga, Doc, uh. Woah. Hey.”

“Sup, nigga?” Jake puts a little thing on your head, but your groggy eyes and his position behind you make it impossible to tell just what it is. You begin to blink away the wake-up amnesia. There’s this girl in your arms, a little sweaty and shirtless. Her blond hair is almost in your nose, and her nice rack is in your hands. Whatever you were doing, it must have been nice. There’s crumbs all over the coffee table, a bubbler, your bubbler, with most of a bowl, three empty take out boxes with bits of rice and some seaweed scraps.

You shake your head some, and the petite woman with an amazing pair begins to stir. “Nice nap, Dre?” Jake, your old friend and longtime customer asks. He plops down into the old, extremely comfy leather recliner, breaking the silence in the room. Derpy, you remember her name, jolts awake.

“Geddaohdaduhnose, diddydapony” she mumbles and turns in your arms. She lays sideways on top of you, treating you like a lumpy mattress. It’s all you can do not to laugh out loud.

You grin and hold a finger to your lips at Jake. A woman behind him stands, her crazy rainbow hair hanging around her shoulders. “How the fuck” nearly escapes your lips. Were it not for the dry mouth and napping babe on top of you, it might have slipped out.

“I told ya man,” Jake says quietly. “I told ya I was gonna come by and we were gonna drop a little acid. I got more than enough for four, but, she’s gonna have to pay her way.” He pauses, then says: “If she’s up for it, ya know.”

You idly rub her arm. It feels surprisingly toned, likely from manual labor. “I’ll ask. And I’ll spot her, no worries, man.”

“So you’re up for it?” the rainbow asks.

You just nod. “Hey, Jake, uh, who’s your lady?”

“Ah!” she scoffs, blushing slightly. “I’m not his ‘lady’,” she signifies with air quotes. “And my name’s Rainbow Dash, dickba-”

You interrupt her with voracious laughter that shakes Derpy awake. “D-di-did you say Rainbow Dash?” you manage to ask, almost teary-eyed. “That’s ridiculous! Your parents named you that?!”

Derpy begins to chuckle along, hardly awake at all. Rainbow Dash’s face goes from off-tan pink to full on furious crimson. “I CHOSE this name, fucker! I’ll kick your stoned ass, douchebag!”

“Woah woah,” you say. “Just calm down, alright, Dashie?” You manage to hold in the snicker, but not the smile. You really don’t want to grab the 1911 in your bag, especially in your own home.

She crosses her arms, but her nostrils flare at “Dashie”. Jake is doing absolutely nothing to stop her. “I just woke up, and there was this freakin’ gun that shot rainbows in my dream. When it hit these evil space cancer mutant niggas, they exploded into babies, and then the babies exploded. Yeah, smoking this shit before you go to bed makes for some fucking weird dreams. Your hair, ya know, just made me think I was still dreaming. You’re lucky I didn’t cap ya.”

Dash puts on a face of pure confusion, but not hostility. “What the shit?” she asks, likely not expecting an answer.

You simply shrug. “We gonna do some yellow sunshine or what? I was stoked to do some acid tonight.” The strangeness of most women’s names is normal, usually. Why Derpy didn’t set you off as hilarious, her name and eyes just struck you as strangely funny. Rainbow Dash, now that was a silly name.

“Some what?” Derpy asks, hiding her cleavage and rubbing her eye.

You hand her her shirt. “Acid! LSD, you know? It’s a hallucinogen, makes you see and hear stuff.” You find your shirt, shake off the muffin crumbs, then put it on. “Oh, and you guys, this is Derpy, Derpy, this is Jake and, uh, Rainbow Dash.” Rainbow Dash and Jake try their best not to laugh like you did at the silly name.

“Oh, hi!” she says with a cute little wave. “Great to meet you two.”

Jake leans forward, looking closely at a little blue box in his hands. “So,” he says, just audible over the silence. “Is everyone ready for this?” He pops open the tiny plastic box dramatically. The tiny click is somewhat underwhelming.

Rainbow touches his shoulder, standing close. You just tilt your head back once, then look to Derpy. She looks back with one eye. “I, I don’t know about this. I mean, weed’s pretty soft. Well, not that stuff, heh, but, I’ve never done acid. Does it hurt?”

Jake sort of chuckles. “No no, it’s perfectly fine. I suggest you start out with just one dose, though. And, by the way, it’s not really acid. Acid isn’t acidic, like acid, that’s just it’s name.” He motions to you. “Now Andre and I, we’re gonna do three. At least three.”

You remain silent, but toss him another nonchalant nod, then take the bubbler again.

“Fuck yeah, then, let’s do this.” Jake stands and hands his girlfriend two little sugarcubes, one for Derpy, then three in your free hand as you clear the chamber. The hyper-potent grass slaps your brain gently as you hold in the hit. You let it out into your flat palm: three regular, unassuming cubes of granular sugar sit like they own the place. You look closer and can nearly notice one with a slightly yellow tint to it..

“How long before it kicks in?” you ask, fully ready to pop all three at the same time.

“Pretty quick,” Jake says, making a move for the pipe.

You pull it back and hand it to Derpy. “I don’t care if you bring drugs, you ain’t fuckin’ up the rotation. Don’t be fuckin’ up the rotation, nigga.”

Derpy laughs quietly, smiling like she’s already stoned. Blondie then touches the flame to the bowl.

“Fine then,” Jake says. “I’ll get ash, not like I mind or anything.” You sit back into the couch and put your left arm up on the back of the couch behind Derpy’s long blond hair. She turns to you and blows her hit into your face. Her breath smells like spam and muffins and bud, not a great mix of aromas. You inhale her smoke anyway.

You just relax and enjoy the couch and the high, but Jake seems bored as Dashie sits with the pipe. He flips on the tv. A furious battle between chefs is taking place, but he quickly changes the station.

“Hey, go back! That looked like tempura.” Jake gives Derpy a stern-ish look, but she just smiles happily, half watching whatever’s on now and cutely staring at Jake. His facade crumbles quickly, and the cooking channel is back on.

“It is! Oh, so cool,” Derpy says, watching an overweight Japanese man flip fish in a wok. Two chefs are busy behind him, making a reality of whatever crazy plan he’s cooked up.

The high caliber grass makes its way back to you twice. The second time, however, it’s hardly more than dusty ash. You suck it through, getting a little puff of smoke. You sit back into the couch, letting another high head lay in your lap. You feel high as hell waiting for the trippy stuff to kick in. Acid is tricky like that. It can start to work in a few dozen minutes, or take up to two hours to even become noticeable. The kitchen battle is frantic and hilarious, but not off the wall crazy.

You almost feel hungry again when the judges chow down in a disgustingly dainty manner. If you were at the table with the red tablecloth, all five courses would be gone in seconds. The small portions are artfully crafted, but packed with unique flavor. The lack of smell-o-vision is harsh, too.

Derpy gasps a little when the final vote is tallied. The old, hairy Japanese dude’s crazy use of fish in his dishes manages to outscore the challenger by one point.

“Yay,” she quietly says. “I was hoping that guy would win.”

Dash says something that makes Jake and her bust out snickering. You look down at your new “date”. Both of her eyes meet yours. Derpy bites her lip and raises her eyebrows. You catch her meaning in three seconds. You give her a smirk and a little nod. “Second door on the left. See you there in five.”

Derpy just giggles once and hops up. She circles around the back of the couch, pauses to let the blood return to her brain, and continues on. “Ya know Jake,” you say during the commercial. “It hasn’t kicked in for me yet. How are you doin’?”

He just snaps his head to your words. His senile stare is completely and utterly impossible to read. His tense lips curl up in a slow, ever widening and ever insane smile. He cackles like a rabid hyena and stops as suddenly as he starts. “That food, the flesh of the ocean! I can hear it, I can hear it! The sizzling, the searing is its last scream before we devour his life energy!” He cracks up twice more, acknowledges the new advertisement, then goes back to his hilarious rambling. “Could you hear Davey cry out before the commissioner ate him dead?”

“The fuck are you on, man?” you ask. “Because I want some!” His hands, tensley gripping the arms of the relaxed chair, sink into the brown flesh. The recliner’s footrest, still down and locked, turns into a wicked and pleased smile, like it loves being sat in. The metal innards of the chair are still in your mind’s eye as you try to visualize what it normally looks like. The new visage that your eyes present you is more strange and wicked.

“Shit,” you manage to say. “It’s kicking in.” You just laugh and look at other things for fun. The suit on tv tightens its tie without human fingers. The price jumps up and down on invisible legs, and you can almost see through the screen into the inside of the tv. It looks just like an empty ice cream cone, but dark teal and glassy.

You pull yourself to your feet, the sensation of standing is so strange. Everything immediately fades to a new black. Not the shadows around a glowing box, but a true darkness over your vision. The oddly casted rays scatter gradually into your brain again, brighter at this angle. Jake laughs maniacally as you trek to your bedroom.

The postered door swings open quicker than you mean it to, opening to an undulating room with a bed, lots more posters, several blacklights and some calming music. Derpy is laying on your messy bed, topless. You shut the door behind you and simply stare at her round breasts. She lays back on her elbows and looks right at your face and feet simultaneously.

Without a word, you throw your shirt at the bed, missing. You begin to walk the short and cluttered way to your bed, carefully avoiding the shoes and dirty clothes and other crap nipping at your toes. The floor swells just like the deck of a ship on choppy seas, but navigating the short distance isn’t very hard at all. You hop onto the bed, making Derpy and her nice breasts bounce and giggle. You immediately prey on her right breast, squeezing and kissing it. Derpy moans and lets out a little chuckle. You lick her erect nipple and suck on it, hard. She inhales sharply and lifts her left leg reflexively.

The imaginary boat rocks your bodies together, making you fall onto her chest. Derpy lifts your face to hers and you share a slow kiss, feeling the bass and the bed move. It’s like riding on a yacht in a storm. The boat’s large and comfortable, perfectly safe, but still a bath toy on the ocean. You close your eyes and play with Blondie’s tongue, visualizing the yacht being splashed around by some drop dead gorgeous model in a hot tub.

She’s topless. Her wet, long black hair clings to her face and shoulders. She doesn’t fix it as she stands up, revealing all of her sexy body from the knees up. Her steaming skin drips as she sits on the corner of the tub, staring right at you as she spreads her legs. Her long fingers caress her perfect breasts, then pinch her nipples hard. She moans out, but the voice doesn’t seem to fit. She squeezes her tits, her wet fingers slip over her flesh easily. She cries out softly and opens her eyes. Her yellow-ish pupils gaze right at you, but begin to drift. Her smile turns less sexy and more cute. She grins wide, flashing her white teeth. The wet woman licks her full lips and slowly speaks. “Dre, want me to suck your cock?”

You open your eyes, finding Derpy’s cute little smirk. You sit up and let her put her hands on your belt. “I’m n-not sure,” she sort of mumbles. “But I think it’s starting to work.” You just stand tall on your knees and put a hand on her head. Derpy laughs quietly and finally undoes your belt. She pulls it through your belt loops and tosses it aside, then begins to play with the button of your shorts. Her thighs and pussy sound like a lot of fun to play with, but you decide to receive before giving.

Derpy yanks down your shorts and stares at the bulge in your boxers. She mouths a “wow” and strokes it through the thin fabric. She pulls on it, making a tiny precum stain at the tip. Blondie smiles wide and pulls the waistband down, revealing the length in all its glory. Derpy licks her lips and slowly strokes the fully erect shaft from the base to the tip. Her clumsy hands are suddenly sure, and they slowly massage your entire organ. Both hands caress the hard flesh, but not just the fingers. She squishes your member with her palms and massages up and down the shaft. She licks up a tiny bit of precum, looks up to you to show off, then lays her tongue down on your head. Her soft tongue wets the entire tip in one swirling motion.

Blondie uses a thumb to spread her saliva over much of your shaft, just enough for an inch or two of okay lubrication. She sticks the glans and then some into her hot mouth and sucks hard enough to pooch in her cheeks. She looks up and lets go with a smacking noise. Derpy smiles and strokes your pole down from the head, working her spit over the skin. She sticks her flat tongue to the base and licks up, making a serious sensation travel up your spine. Derpy takes your tool into her mouth again and bobs her head up and down about four inches, taking a lot of your cock. Her teeth touch a time or two, but she’s good about keeping her mouth wide and her lips sucked closed around your tool.

Carefully, Derpy takes more and more of your length in. Her moving head sucks you in almost all the way before she gags harshly and pulls out.

“Mgyuagh! S-sorry, I almost got it. I’m just, ugh, high and rusty.” After a small breather, she dives right back in. Derpy slowly takes you all the way in, popping your head into her throat. Her esophogus compresses the hot head of your penis hard. The wet pressure is agonizingly amazing, then gone as quickly as it came about. Derpy coughs and gags one more time, then dives right back in.

She doesn’t gag again. Derpy’s throat is glad to be your new fuck-hole. She gurgles and moans as she rocks her head back and forth, taking all of your slick tool before slipping out to the very tip. After a few dozen strokes with her loud throat, Derpy stops to jerk with her hand and catch her breath.

“Oh, not bad,” is pretty all you can think to say. You close your eyes and look up at hot tub girl. She’s blowing a long, thick ice cream bar, a dreamsicle. The orange cream drips down her chin as she fellates the frozen treat, then onto her big beautiful breasts. The brunette licks up some of the sticky juice running down the side, then shows off the sugary saliva in her mouth. She spits it into her hand and carefully applies the fluid to her pussy lips. She puts her feet on the sides of the tub and puts the ice cream in her mouth again. You can hear her slurping as she spreads her pussy lips, revealing a hot pink center with a slight orange glaze. Your dick throbs and your mouth waters.

“Ngyah, you ready, Dre?” the Brunette asks, holding the dirty dreamsicle in one hand and spreading her lips for you. You can almost feel the bubbling hot water up to your sack.

“Oh my fucking god, yes. I’m so ready. Let me taste that pussy.”

“Huh?” she asks. You blink and look down. Derpy’s eyes, both of them, meet yours.

“Oh, not quite yet. Getting there, though. Want me to eat you out now?” You can’t wait to see if Derpy’s carpet matches the drapes

She giggles and slowly strokes your wet cock. “I’m up for anything tonight, Dre.” She plays with one of her great breasts and jerks off your entire shaft.

“Ung, use two hands and let me blow on those tits, then.” You abandon any coolness for basal sexual communication

Blondie holds her mouth open and smushes your cock with both hands. The heel of her right palm massages your slick head the best. You can begin to feel the pleasure change already. She moves her entire upper body as she kneels on the bed. Derpy spits on her hand and goes about stroking a little more traditionally, aiming your head at her chest.

“Want me to finish you off, or do you wanna aim yourself?” she asks, like she’s been here before. The boat rocks again as the mystical brunette slips in and begins fingering herself underwater, licking up the melting cream like it’s her last meal. You feel so fucking close to exploding.

The divine bitch in the tub suddenly grabs the orange treat and squeezes, making white cream fill the spaces between her fingers, the melted stuff drips down her hands in off-white streaks. She licks those up off the back of her hand.. It’s all you can do to say “yes!” The brunette beyond the ceiling grips the popsicle stick and pulls all of the almost frozen cream off, making it fly and splatter all over her chin, neck, tits, all over. You look down and immediately cum. Derpy makes something between a yelp and a scream as the first rope of hot cum flies into the air. Your vision goes blurry, but you can still make out thick white lines and gobs landing all over Derpy’s nice skin. She jerks fast, making your entire orgasm amazing.

You slowly blink away the haze, revealing the carnage that is sex. Derpy sits back on her haunches, her tits and chin and neck and long hair are spattered or streaked with semen.

“Woah,” she says and giggles. A bit of jizz hangs on her left eyelash, making her look up with only one half-focussed eye.

You fall back, bouncing onto the bed. You reach behind your head and grab an old shirt. It’s an old wife beater you haven’t worn since, hell, you have no clue. There’s too many holes in it for it to be anything but a rag, anyway. You toss that up towards Derpy. “Here, clean up with that.”

You feel really sleepy, but also sort of sick. Maybe it’s just motion sickness. You sit up easily enough and watch Derpy wipe up the last drops of messy goo from her breasts. Tiny streaks are still in her hair, so you point those out. Soon enough, Derpy is nice and clean, more or less.

She tosses the rag aside and stands on one straight arm. She doesn’t say anything, she just sits there. You roll your head, cracking your neck, and rush forward.

Derpy laughs and shrieks as you squeeze her breasts and kiss her navel. You swiftly venture south, rocking with the waves and smelling her sex. It gets nearer as you let go of her tits and grab her hips. Her belly isn’t quite flat, but it’s so much more sexy with the little bulge. It makes her entire womanhood so much more easy to visualize. You sneak two fingers to her slit and keep your eyes on her midsection and lose yourself to the music and the swelling sensation.

“Oh! Oooooohhhhh.” Derpy’s back arches suddenly, then slowly relaxes as you massage her sensitive labia. You lightly yet quickly trace her outer lips, making her hips shake a tiny bit. You roll forward and slip a finger under her slick petals. A hot heat warms your newly wet finger. You move your tip around and explore, subconsciously making sure all her lady parts are accounted for. Her pink nub is there, and very sensitive. You push down on it and slip down to her entrance. You bend your middle finger and slide inside, drawing a little exasperated moan from Blondie. She inhales sharply as you push deep inside, her hot walls are tight on just one finger. You pull out and look at her pussy.

It’s nice and shaven, clean, too. Your finger stinks the good stink. Derpy looks down her nice chest at you, questioning with one almost-on-target eye. Her hair glitches to black, but only for a moment, and her face remains impatient. “What’s up, Andre? Why, why’d you stop?”

You smile up at her, loving the view between her nice, round and perky tits. “Na-da,” you tell her, annunciating too much on purpose. You press two fingers right on her pussy and just stroke the lips a few times, drinking in the sound and the sight. It’s amazing, the way her lips look so pristine.

The first two digits slip in between the lips to the hot pink below. You circle Blondie’s clitoris about two dozen times, rapidly stimulating the little button. Derpy’s little hips shake at the very end. Your fingers venture down below to her dripping entrance. You don’t hesitate at slipping them both in, relishing the pressure, the heat, the feel of her ribbed walls and the spongy little spot that makes her really moan.

Derpy lays back fully and touches her breast as you begin to thrust your two digits deep inside. Her moans get louder and louder over the bass from the little room stereo. You rock back and forth with the music, then lean forward and lick her clit once you’ve gotten the rhythm. That really sets her off. Blondie grips the sheets in her fists and stretches her legs. Her abdomen flexes, her back flexes, her arms and legs and all the rest of her tenses up. Derpy’s smiling mouth transforms into a deeply pleasured frown. Her moans build to little screams, then to sporadic shrieks.

You cirlce her little g-spot lightly and suck on her clitoris. You lift your head, pulling an intangible spring attached to the top of Derpy’s spine and her clit. She arches her back like crazy, pressing your fingers into her ultra sensitive spot. Her hips tense up, her biceps are fully strained pulling at the sheets. You feel Derpy’s breath catch spasmodically as her hips shake and her little cunt clenches just as randomly.

“I gotta, I gotta go! Oh, oh god oh god! Mmoh my gawd!!” Blondie quietly screams.

“Do it!” You manage to squeeze in your ring finger and use all three to thrust. You curl the tips in slightly and push against her g-spot. Derpy’s screams die in her throat as she gushes at last. You press on her clit and make her cum harder, compressing her spot from both sides. She convulses and mutters something like an apology, then leaks out some clear fluid. Her hips spasm once more just as her pink pussy propels some serious feminine ejaculate. Blondie cries out in beautiful agony as she squirts. Her pussy lets out some more fluid, completely fascinating you. For some reason, the disgusting and erotic sight, sound, smell and touch makes you harder than ever. Her tense little orgasmic moans soar above every other sound in the room, the rocking boat you’re under. You risk a glance up and see static.

Static, where the ceiling should be. You focus your eyes and think the words “last channel”. Magically, the static gives way to the brunette goddess in the hot tub again. Derpy’s sexy fluids on your fingers replicate and multiply, turning into gallons of hot, bubbly water. You look down, your arm is underwater to the elbow, your fingers still trapped in hot, slimy flesh. You move them, making a new voice moan. The black haired goddess of the skytub is whispering something, but her lips are moving too fast. She’s speaking too fast, you can’t understand anything. You try the word “play,” and she slows down.

“... so good, I hope your sheets are okay. Oh, oh god, Dre.” You look up from her glistening rack to her face. Her hair is blond and very messy, here eyes sort of half-lidded and not right. They’re yellow and bloodshot. Also, one’s very lazy. You look down, and the bed rocks, but it’s a bed, not the ethereal hot tub. Derpy whispers something and touches a hand to that wonderful bulge on her stomach.

Her upper body goes limp almost immediately, but her legs and hips shake slightly for a little longer. She hums a bit and sits up as you pull your fingers out.

“Oh, oh god,” Derpy mutters. “That was the best in a looooooong time.”

You blink and gauge the damage. Nothing too bad, but the foot of your bed is going to smell like pussy for a long time. You wick off all you can and let the lingering fluid be. “Damn, Derpy, not bad. You okay if I don’t clean up?”

Blondie falls back onto the bed, the bouncing bedsprings are like swells lifting the yacht. “W-whatever,” she mumbles.

You look out the porthole window and see nothing but stars. Stars and another square object. You can’t make it out, but it looks too familiar, like you just saw it. Maybe you saw it long ago, and the acid is just recalling it. It’s too damn familiar!

You look up and see the fantasmal hot tub, dizzyingly level with your vertical perception. It’s vacant, but there are some sopping footsteps leading to the left. You crane your neck, ignoring your raging erection for the moment, and follow as best you can. You “come forward” into the tub world. It’s not like stepping into the world, or pulling yourself up, but more just willing yourself there.

The air outside in the ceiling screen is chilly, especially against your spattered skin. You follow the footsteps away and recognize the square-ish object. It’s the cover to the hot tub. Lame mystery solved.

The trail leads up some wooden steps to a nice house, a mansion. You find a sliding glass door. Still completely nude, you step into the warm room. You take a look back and see the stairs leading to the hot tub, some dark scenery beyond and your bed. You look closer at the window back to your world. Derpy, naked and freshly fingerfucked, is sprawled out on the bed, happily dozing. You lay next to her, your arms and legs randomly strewn about like a doll tossed on the floor. Your cock is still rigid and, thankfully, not pinned in some painful way. Your real, or dream erection remains in full force as well.

Inside the building sits some very comfortable living arrangements. A sort of rustic decor contrasts with the modern comforts. A nice sectional, a well stocked bar, a pool table, floor to ceiling windows on one of the walls, and some stairs leading up or down.

Suddenly, your eyes catch some dainty feet fly up the stairs. You follow, running at first, but slowing down to a speed walk when it makes your erection flop around in a hilarious way. You can’t hold in a laugh as you hold it to your body and take the stairs two at a time.

You reach the top of the flight and peer around the corner, catching a woman’s eyes. Her magenta irises hold yours for a split second. She smiles, flashing her white teeth at you before turning and running up the stairs. Her amazingly long hair flows behind her in a phantom wind in a graceful wave of green, blue and pink. She leaves the door open at the top of the stairs.

You look back at your bed and see you and Derpy still comatose, or close to that.

The bedroom you find yourself in is beyond luxurious. The walls are all white, white as clouds. Marble columns hold up a dome ceiling. Seven smaller ones are around a circular bed.

The blue mattress has no blankets, but plenty of pillows. The woman with magenta eyes and just crazy hair lays on the bed, posing, showing off all of her womanly gifts. Human anatomy has never been so perfectly injected into one being. Maybe it has, but she’s exactly the woman you’ve desired in your deepest animalistic conscious. Her tits are full, but not too large. A perfect handful, each one. Her lips look full and soft, perfect for kissing or sucking a hard cock. Her face is pretty and flawless, no makeup except thick eyeliner. Her eyes are punctuated like an egyptian pharaoh, seducing you on their own. Her long flowing hair plays on a non-existent breeze, floating weightlessly. You follow the moving bands of sparkling pink and blue and light green to her hips. They are nice and wide, but not too much so. Just enough so that her nice round, tight ass flows perfectly with the curves. Her shapely thighs are slick, oiled for fun. You feel your cock twitch and your head go numb.

Intsinctively, you look back and check on the bedroom. Derpy has moved your body and rigid phallus onto its, or your, side. She’s helping herself to your embrace, but her chest, her rather nice chest is rising and falling in a slow pattern, her cute eyes closed.

“She’s asleep,” a stolid female voice states. You turn and meet the divine beauty’s eyes. “Derpy will be until we’re done.” She sits up and stands her weight on one hand, turning so that her chest is better splayed to you. “I’m almost surprised you came. You seemed so ready to just stroke at the sight of my maid. Well,” she lunges forward and stands on her hands and knees. “I’m here, and you’re going to learn just how fuck her. I’ll tell you what to do, and you’ll do it to me. Then, you’ll do it to her. Trust me,” she almost whispers. The woman rolls over playfully onto her back. Her hair still magically sails on intangible winds, blowing in from your right. “If you follow my instructions, she’ll be addicted. If she isn’t already. Heh, I saw the stuff you made her smoke.”

You step forward, back from your state of pure awe. “I didn’t make Blondie smoke anything. She just came over, wanted a single, and kept flirting and flirting. So I offered her the best an-”

“And she got ‘handsy’. I know.” The paragon of femininity stands up, exactly matching your height. “Come here and fuck me.”

You don’t hesitate. Her serious smile and penetrating eyes lock yours into place as you walk to her. You hold out your arms and you embrace each other, kissing passionately. Her thick lips are more than a pleasure to touch and suck on. You slip in your tongue almost immediately and feel hers. The “goddess” moans into your mouth, breaking her facade of omniscient separation from dominance and guidance. She’s loving this, loving your hands hugging her close, your erection pressing into her stomach. You lower her hand and grab her nice, full, round ass and get a little moan in response. The lady with the perfect body and the impossible hair lifts her leg and wraps it around you, leaning her full weight into you. Instinctively, you lift her up by her ass and hold her, letting her support herself with her arms clasped behind your neck and her legs wrapped around yours.

You fall onto the bed in seconds. You let go of her tongue and drop to her great big tits. Her nipple is puffy and sensitive to pinching. You play with them for only one minute before moving down to her wet slit. Her upper thighs are slick with fluid already. You touch two fingers to her labia and gently stroke, admiring the skin’s movements. You push into the hot pink below, finding that her heat is almost too much to bear. Your dick is in pain, not knowing her pleasures.

You lick off her sweet fluids from your fingers and pounce her. Your dickhead prods her hole, then begins to penetrate. You feel about to slide into the tight entrance when an unstoppable force lifts your entire body up and away. Your knees leave the bed and the woman with the flowing hair slowly recedes beneath you. You see your hands wrapped in a bright cyan aura.

“Not in that amature position,” she says, breathing hard. “Like this, lay back against these pillows.” She snaps her fingers, releasing you from whatever crazy magical field she held you in. You fall to the floor, which is thankfully not undulating on non-existent swells. With a wave of her hand, five plush pillows pile up into a proper fucking-throne. You climb back onto the bed and sit up into the place she’s made for you.

“Just do as I show you.” The angel of sex sits on her knees, her amazing ass and sexy back facing you. She spreads her legs wide and lifts her divine butt up for you to grab and guide. You position her pussy over your penis and pull her down. She sits up as your thick cock slowly pushes her entrance open. She lowers herself down, her ribbed walls are unbelievably hot and tight around more and more of your stick. She doesn’t even try to stifle her moaning. Before you know it, your entire erection is being squeezed by her oven. You push up further, feeling a subtle vibration as she moans at her cervix getting poked.

The goddess pushes up with her legs, letting almost off of your shaft slip out to the cruel air that cools the pussy fluids on it. She mercifully swallows your girth in her ribbed flesh, then slowly lifts again. The squeezing sensation is amazing. You just want to grab her wide hips or her slender waist and thrust into her.

You grab the nice tanned skin of her waist, but they’re trapped behind you in a flurry of luminescent magic. Your wrists are held to the pillow behind your head.

“It’s like this: if you speak, you cannot listen. If you blindly follow the first lustful ambition your mind hatches, you will never find new pleasures and ways to bring your partner better pleasures. You’ll get use of your hands back in a minute.” She looks forward and sits down hard on your hardness, compressing it in her tight sex.

She remains fully impaled and leans back into you. Your chin rests on her shoulder as she leans harder into you, moving her legs out to either side. The nameless beauty magically pulls your hands to the underside of her thighs and relaxes in your embrace.

“Look up,” she barely whispers. You do, and see a ceiling mirror in the place where a blue domed ceiling once was. The mirror is not quite flat, but concave, magnifying the image of the both of you fucking. The full-figured woman uses her legs and thrusts her hips up, pressing her hands into the soft pillows on either side of your hips. Her pussy feels tighter than before in this position. She pants hard each and every time she thrusts; it must feel just as good for her. She falls and lifts a little faster with your help. You squeeze her nice flesh and hump along, pulling out with her and pushing up inside her again. Her tight cunt feels so amazing, you just want to fuck it for hours.

Her nice legs shake as you begin to seriously pick up some speed. She moans arches her back some, sucking air as fast as she can. Suddenly, she cries out. “S-STOP!” You catch her as her nice ass falls into your lap. Her full weight and heaving chest fall into your embrace. You reach around and hold her big breasts for her, squeezing and pinching every so often. She looks left and rests her head on yours.

“One more,” she says through hard breaths. “Then you can finish.”

“Ahng, did you like that?” you ask.

She nods her head, rubbing her cheek into your hair. “That position allows your cock to rub against the spot with every thrust. And if I lift my hips like I did, and you arch your back a little, the head will really push into it.” She bends her elbow and rubs your head with her left hand. “MMmmmmm, oh, Dre, your cock feels so good inside me,” she softly says. “I came at least twice, but my legs are tired. I’m going to stand on my knees and you’ll pound me from behind.” She doesn't ask, just commands.

She begins to get up, but you hold her back, pulling her butt into your lap and her pussy back around your cock. It’s so tight, hot, her ribbed walls feel so good when they slip wetly around your organ.

“Wait,” you say to her. “What’s your name? You know mine, I guess. How do you know?”

She moans softly as you squeeze her full breasts again, grinding her hips around a little. “My name isn’t important. But if you must call me something, then my name is Celeste.” She climbs off and stands on her knees, shakily at best. She rests her butt on her heels, squishing her nice flesh.

You get up and stand on your knees behind her and reach around to grab her breasts again. You brush your wet erection along the small of Celeste's back and kiss her neck, letting her crazy hair fly around your head. It smells just like the scent of a fresh rain, mixed with some other flavor that makes you fucking horny.

She moans and bends over a little, lifting her great body into your slick cock. Her soft skin caresses the underside, inviting you in. You lick her neck up to her ear and bite her earlobe, making the divine guide giggle softly.

You slide one hand down her sexy back and inject your prick into her pink. Her tight, hot walls take some effort and some sweat to get into fully, but it’s fun work. You pull on Celeste's hips and push in, making her smile. Her long hair magically flows right in front of your face as you fuck her from behind. Her womanhood is so hot and wet, it sucks you in every time you pull out to thrust. Soon, the work is more of just pulling back and letting her ribbed flesh suck you back in

Celeste’s hips shake as you begin to pick up the pace, feeling your own pleasure begin to increase. She falls forward and supports herself on her hands and knees. Her tight pussy seems to relax a little in the new position. Celeste tries to stand up again, but is obviously tired. you grab her by the forearms and hump as hard as you can, making her scream. Her moans get higher and higher, and her hot pussy gets pounded faster. You feel your tip push against her cervix every time, her tight flesh squeezing your cock like it loves it.

You can’t hold on through the hard fucking and the tight walls around your cock. Celeste cries out in pleasure one last time as you let go. She stands up, making you hold her to you by her breasts. You thrust up into her and unload. You feel her quivering cunt milk your tool, making it shoot a hot load of fresh cum. You grunt and squeeze, feeling your sack tense up and your dick propel out another volley. You push out a few more globs before finally relaxing.

Your hands unclench the goddesses’ great tits, leaving white imprints where your hands were. The pale shapes on her breasts fill up with a crimson color, accurately showing off where your fingers compressed. You reach down, suddenly tired, and cup the little womanly bulge above her womanly V.

Celeste’s head falls a little, but bobs up, like she’s about to pass out. She reaches behind herself and pulls on your head and arms for support as she goes limp. Her useless body falls forward and pulls you down with her, making you both fall heavily onto the soft plush. You bounce off of her and your milky organ slips out. It’s not completely hard anymore. Thick seed dribbles out of Celeste’s pink and white slit, then some more flows out. Her hair flows on, and her chest slowly rises and falls. You slap her nice butt softly, not getting a reaction. You really smack it. Celeste stirs some, but only spreads her legs wider for comfort.

You look back and see Blondie, laying on her stomach just like Celeste. Her legs are spread sleepily, and there’s some milky seed flowing from her nice pussy. You see yourself, somehow, on the bed, your bed, looking up. He, you, give, or gives you a point and a wink. He lays on his back and Derpy rolls over into his, your, arms. Celeste rolls on her back, right into your embrace.

A look around the room reveals that it changed. The airy and elegant blue and white Greco-Roman style looks much like a stoner’s creative and lazy decor. The scent of the room changes from sweaty and somehow sterile to sweaty and musty. You can smell the familiar scent of weed and hardwood.

The ceiling you find yourself looking at is the same you normally look at before bed. One stained glass bulb casts saturated hues of blue, red, orange, yellow and purple in seemingly random blocks, coating posters and the bed in odd rectangles of colored light. In your arms is Blondie, nude and softly breathing. You hear a wave splash against the hull and lift the boat some. Derpy rolls over, laying her chest into yours.

You smile and hold her tight, stroking her sweaty back. Her hair smells a lot like rain on a warm spring afternoon. She sighs and rubs your chest with her hand, nuzzling your shoulder with her cheek. She moves in and kisses your neck, moving her thighs around on yours. You put one hand on her butt and feel it up some as Derpy puts her hand on your other shoulder. She half pulls herself up, half gets lifted up to your face. You stare at her eyes as she straddles you. They don’t quite meet, and they are half lidded with fatigued lust. You share a slow kiss and look back into her golden eyes.

“I’m ready for round two if you are, Antonio,” she says quietly through her smile.

“That’s the spirit!” Jake yells from behind the door, laughing loudly with his girlfriend in the hall. They bang on the door some and bungle back out towards the living room, making some loud and unsettling noises.Derpy hardly seems bothered. She only falls forward and giggles into the foot of the bed.

She lifts her head, smiling, and sighs. Her eyes meet yours, she looks really cute, but not quite sexy. “That part of the bed smells a lot like pussy juice,” she says.

You both share a laugh, slightly convulsing on each other. The little hill on her flat stomach shakes and massages your slick shaft, making it hard again. Blondie seems to notice, so rocks forward a little to caress it with her slit. She sits up and lets her wetness press into the sensitive underside of your stiffening rod. Derpy rocks her hips back and forth, stroking her sex with yours. She breathes deeply and lifts her hair in her hands, raising her elbows up and stretching her back. You watch her chest rise and shakily fall back down. Her slit oozes some more of your seed and a lot more of her natural lubricant.

“Dre,” she softly speaks, her voice tense with wanting. “Can I lay down? My legs are tired after that first position.” Blondie rotates her shoulder around some, rolling her weight on top of your tool.

“Sure,” you whisper back. Derpy smiles and lays her head at your feet, facing the same way as the bed. You roll over onto your stomach and find the glorified rag and mop up some of the spill as best you can, then lay the soiled thing under her still dripping slit.

“You’re not gonna get knocked up are you?” you ask her, ready to fuck again.

Blondie shakes her head, whipping her hair back and forth. “Nope, I’m on the pill. Oh! I’m clean, too, I got tested after my last girlfriend left.”

“Girlfriend? How wou-”

“Don’t worry about it. Are we jigglin’? Er. . .”

You put your hands on her knees and slightly spread them, stretching the muscles in her upper thighs. Blondie tosses her head back and softly moans out.

You move in between her spread legs and touch two fingers to Derpy’s sensitive clit. She inhales sharply as you concentrate, moving her nice lips around by circling her sensitive nub.You dip your fingers into her sticky entrance and pull some of the excess spunk onto the used wife beater.

Derpy opens her mouth for your two fingers and slurps up the mix you give her. She plays with the fluids in her mouth and hums questioningly at you. You just give her a nod. Blondie’s face screws into a cute little grimace, then she suddenly swallows with one noisy gulp. Derpy finishes with a loud “-Aaaahh!” Her brassy eyes meander as she wipes her chin and lips.

Her fucked pussy now clean, clean enough, you put your hard head to her hole. Derpy smiles wide as your cock begins to penetrate. The head slips into her hot walls again. Her soft vagina is tight, but willing for your girth. Blondie gasps as you penetrate deeper and deeper. Your cock slips in up to her cervix again, making her moans fill the floating room. You feel a swell pass under you, and you pull out as it fades away.

Derpy’s moans start up again as you push inside, stooping over her torso for leverage. You look down at her stomach and easily visualize her insides expanding for you. It’s almost like having x-ray vision, and its really hot. Your cock pulls back and pushes in again and again, making the soft bass the only sound audible, besides Derpy’s cute and sexy moans. You grab one of her bouncing breasts and squeeze as you fuck. You recognize the little red areas where your fingers clutched her soft globes.

You sit up some and use her thighs as fuck-handles. Derpy’s thick moans raise in pitch as you pick up the speed. You feel her nice pussy pulling at your tool that’s pumping away inside her. The soft, hot walls feel so amazing.

You look up to the ceiling and see the magic portal to the dream mansion again. You see the divine guide getting rammed in the same exact position Blondie’s in. Her nice rack bounces up and down, just like Derpy’s. The mystic portal is like watching a POV porno, but you can feel her hot slit sucking at your thrusting dick.

The entire world above shifts, bringing more of Celeste’s lower body into view. You watch her lips as they wrap around a thick shaft, the subtle veins thrusting in and out of her. The speed slows down some as you watch some to catch your breath, then stop when you do.

Confused, Derpy looks up with you. “D-dre? Why’d you stop?”

“No reason,” you reply. You look down at the same moment another wave lifts your section of the yacht. Derpy’s curious eyes almost look at you. “Just taking a quick breather.”

“That’s okay,” she replies, chipper as can be. “Hey, while we’re stopped, wanna change it up?”

“Positions, or-”

“Yeah!” Her seductive voice is as pleasant as it is sultry. “Pull out and lemme just, do it.” Her enchanting tone, as cute as it is, falls away when words fail her.

You pull out and let her move. Derpy puts one pillow under her head and another under her lower back. She pulls her knees up to her chest, exposing her nice slit. “Just, uh, kinda, you know, just go at it. Kinda, use my leg for support, and get up and fuck me!” Blondie’s desperate voice reflects her wet pussy lips.

You trace her labia with your fingers and stand up to fuck her. It’s kind of awkward, but completely worth it. Blondie’s tight cunt is even tighter this way. Her back is pretty bent, but she’s nice and flexible. Her ample frame seems durable enough, too.

Derpy moans praise as your cock penetrates again and again. You have to do all the work, but the slit is so tight around you, it feels like heaven. Derpy’s moans grow louder and louder, and you feel ready to release again. Your dick dips deeper into Derpy’s tight slit, fully engulfed in her hot, soft walls. They squeeze your shaft as you pull back and thrust again and again. The ribbed flesh shakes with her hips and her moan, making your climax more imminent.

“Aaaaaahhh fffuuuck! Ah, oh, oh, yeah! Yeah! YEAH! OH FUCK ME! FFFUCK!” Derpy pants harder and harder, turning you on so much more. You feel about to explode.

Instinctively, you pull out almost all the way and push in about halfway, then just go as fast as you can, just the first three inches of your shaft inside. Derpy cries out one more time, as loud as she can. You feel your entire core tense up, not caring about what your hips are supposed to do. You pull out and rub your shaft along Blondie’s nice slit.

Derpy cries are caught in her throat as she climaxes with you. Your brain ignites as you cum, shooting out long ropes of thick, hot semen. Your eyes look straight up as you keep exploding, letting Derpy’s convulsing and squirting pussy be your shooting rack. In the ceiling world, Celeste’s tongue gets coated with two long shots. Her face is randomly streaked with four long lines of cum, two draping down from her bangs to her thick lips.

Celeste’s eyes meet yours in a knowing gaze as your last drops dribble onto Blondie’s stomach.

You look down and see an identical scene, but meet two random pupils. Blondie’s hair is beyond messy. She smiles up at you, showing off the bits of cum on her tongue. Derpy lays down again, but you sit up next to her and watch her clean her face with a finger. She collects all the jizz and wipes it on the wife beater, but still holds some of your semen in her mouth, tasting. You take the filthy rag and wipe off your tired tool.

At last, Blondie gulps down your spunk with another loud “aaah”. She wipes her face with the rag one last time and tosses it away in disgust. “Ugh, that thing’s covered in DNA evidence.”

Derpy giggles and lays back, laughing more. You lay next to her, powerfully tired. Derpy rolls onto her side and touches your shoulder, still snickering.

You bite. “What’s so fahnny?”

“Tch-you. Your face is all purple now.” She touches it and looks at her fingers, then licks her tips. “You taste like purple.” Derpy’s glazed eyes look in opposite directions, just off from center as she stares at the ceiling. “Hey, hey, w-was that there before?”

You look up and see Celeste’s ceiling through the portal. The concave mirror magnifies the ceiling goddess, her crazy hair still flowing on crazy winds. She’s laying with one elbow tucked behind her head, just like Blondie.

“Woah,” Derpy whispers. “Do you see a guy laying on his side, just like you, but with, like, long white hair and a little goatee? His eyes are freaky too. Also, he’s got like, this really long dick. Actually, it, it looks just, like yours I think.” She does a double take, then another. “Yeah, it’s like, exactly the same!” You both exchange a glance. Derpy’s tired eyes betray her face’s confusion.

“Nah, I’m seeing a chick with this wild hair laying on her back just like you.”

“Weeeeird.” Derpy looks straight up and spreads her legs, then her pink lips with two fingers. “Is she doing it? Heheheheheh”

Without a doubt, Celeste is perfectly imitating Blondie. The ceiling goddess’s pretty pink is splayed for you, but seemingly just you. She blushes and looks away, and you wonder if she can see you.

“Hey, Blondie, er, Derpy. I’m going to try something. Just, just chill out for a bit, alright?”

She relaxes and traces the wrinkled sheets with her finger. “Sure, Antonio.”

You smile and shake your head a little, but let it be. You sit up and look to the ceiling. Celeste is staring back, moving a finger along her soft bed. The room lifts up some, making you almost queesy. You ride the swell and “come forward” into the mansion’s master bed.

You fall onto the plush blue fuck-mat hard, bouncing slightly as the soft cloud-like cushion catches you. You can’t resist a quick look back and see yourself on your bed with Blondie. The doorway that is always behind you shows you and her facing. You look forward into Celeste’s eyes and blushing face.

“You came back,” she whispers. “Your partner is aware of me?”

“Hold on, lady. I have a question about, uh, yeah I mentioned you. She’s seeing some old dickback who looks like me, but, hold on. Can you see us?”

She simply nods, sending ripples down her crazy hair.

“C-can you come through, too?”

She nearly speaks, but stays silent.

“You don’t know?”

Silence, she averts her eyes.

“Have you ever tried?”

“No. I’m not, sure, if it would work. When you go back, you leave nothing. I don’t know if I can return.”

You grab her arm and look over your shoulder and rush down to your bed. You land, bouncing and making Derpy bounce as well. Celeste is flung off the side, however, and lands face-first in the DNA evidence.

“What the FUCK?!” Derpy shouts. “Who is that, and wh-oah. What’s up with your hair?”

Celeste gets up, spitting the soiled cotton garment out of her mouth. “Eck! That’s completely soaked with DNA evidence!”

Derpy’s giggle evolves into a deep, satisfied laugh at Celeste’s familiar term. “So,” you say under Derpy’s rolling laughter. “Wha-haha, I think it worked. Come on, there’s plenty of bed, Celeste.”

Derpy rolls over, still clueless. “Who are you? How, I don’t even-”

Celeste looks at Blondie, they’re nearly identical from the shoulders down. “I don’t know either, Ditzy Doo. All I know, is that for tonight, you and I are linked. More than that, I have no clue.”

Derpy’s crazy, half-lidded eyes blink twice. “Huh. Hey, uh, crazy mane, you have, an amazing rack.”

“Andre,” Crazy Mane asks. “You said she could see someone with white hair?”

Derpy lays on her back, lightly touching herself and biting her tongue, looking straight up. She’s completely distracted by her trip. “Yeah, and his dick looks like mine, apparently.”

“Tell her to grab him and pull him through like you did me. I want to see if it’s who I think it is.” Her voice fades to a whisper and her face reddens. Celeste climbs on the large, comfy and homey bed between you and Blondie. Celeste lays back, crossing her arms under her breasts. “And I’m cold.”

“And sober,” Derpy mumbles. Her silly voice is familiar enough for you to know what she says, but the ceiling princess has no clue. You and Blondie share a laugh at Crazy Mane’s expense.

“Okay, Derpy!” You say, riding another swell in the yacht. “I need you to concentrate, alright? See that guy in the ceiling?”

“Uh huh.”

“Celeste, Crazy Mane, she wants you to bring him here. Just like I brought Celeste here.”

“But, how the hell do, I don’t even understand!”

“I don’t either!” You climb over Celeste’s nice body and touch Derpy’s nice body. “Just, think yourself there and go up into the world in the ceiling. When you get there, just grab his arm, look behind you, and come backwards.”

Derpy’s tired confusion turns to amused curiosity in her eyes. “Y-allright. I’ll give it a go.”

Blondie’s wild eyes focus up at the ceiling. You watch her reach both hands up and squint, pushing her tongue outside her concentrating frown. Her eyes flash wide in surprise, then she suddenly goes limp, falling into the bed.

Celeste rolls to her and hugs her body, maybe just for warmth alone. Their bodies are very similar, but just different enough.

Suddenly, a nude man appears in thin air, hits the side of the bed, and falls into a pile of dirty clothes and some empty beer cans.

“Ah!” He stands up, not hiding his dick in the slightest. “Sort of a rude way to say hello, don’t you think? Whatever happened to manner-well hello.”

The nude guy with the balding mullet and awhite goatee puts a knee on the bed and looks over Celeste. “How do you do?” Crazy Mane asks, rolling onto her side. You look at her round ass, but the new guy is still in your periphery. Derpy doesn’t turn away, however.

“I’m well, now that I’ve run into an old friend. In the best of circumstances, it seems. Do I smell something? Black, no white widow? Mowie Wowie? No, something, better. You, dude,” his fucking royal accent is pretty damn annoying. “What were you smoking?”

As most of this is likely some fucked up hallucination, you abandon secrets. “Deagle, my own strain. I have a joint, if you want to smoke. Me and Derpy will get the first puffs, though.”

“Naturally, my good man,” his nakedness says. “Oh, how rude of me! I drop in and ask for a smoke without even offering a name! Well, miss, Celestia, and Herr, my name is Q. It’s a true pleasure to share a bed with you all. In your case, princess, again.”

You roll your eyes and grab the fat joint you stashed and a lighter from the floor. It works, thankfully. You take a nice good inhale getting that good shit in your system, hold it, and pass the joint over Celeste, Celestia, Crazy Mane, who the fuck ever, to Derpy. She giggles and takes the thing as you exhale. You lay back and let the THC do it’s job; it doesn't take long at all.

“Fuck I really need to cut back on this shit.” you say, coughing out most of the hit, enjoying the waves under the yacht. The S.S. Godfucker. Yeah, you think to yourself. The S.S. Godfucker.

Derpy coughs and keeps in what she can and offers the joint to the empty air above her. You look past it and see an empty bed, blue and inviting. You want to take Blondie and Crazy Mane at the same time, but you feel too damn drained. Just Derpy would be a bit excessive for just one more romp.

Celeste gently grabs the burning cannabis by the base, but Q snatches it away by the cold tip. “Too slow!” He laughs a mischievously maniacal laugh and takes a long, hard drag. He holds in an impossible lungful as Derpy lets her hit out in your general direction. He sits up and fills his chest with some fresh air and passes it over Blondie and onto Crazy Mane. She takes and pulls on the smoke gingerly.

You take the half-joint from Celeste before she drops it. Her floodgates open, releasing two lungfuls of hard smoke in a harsh coughing fit. Derpy sits up and comforts her, but Q rushes forward to do so, smoothly letting out his enormous hit into Derpy’s face. Her face reddens and her eyes go closer to closed, her head meandering like her pupils

“Th-here there, Crazy Mane,” he whispers. “Come on back to my place and we’ll fix you, right up.” The way he finishes his sentences would make a supervillain cream his jeans. You just puff away and enjoy the shared trip.

As quickly as they appear, the duo vanishes. “What the fucking fuck,” you say, still confused.

Derpy is just as unsure about what’s going on. “I thinks its starting wear off, maybe.”

“What time is it?” you ask, laying back into your bed. You take another little puff and pass.

“10:00,” Blondie replies. She takes one slow drag, so you just watch her inhale for a few seconds.

You sit up and look over Derpy. She’s nude and sleepy, and damn ready for some cuddling. “Man, I wanna feel more uplifted,” you tell her. “Lets see what I gots in de stash. Hmmm,” you hum as you search your wake-and-bake supply. You find some good, fresh Mowie Wowie. “Here we are, just what I was jonesing for. Let me get my bon- shit.” Derpy rolls over and watches you, her half-lidded eyes meandering all over. You take the roach and put it out in the ashtray on the nightstand.

“My shelf is in the living room, Derpy.” You open the door, butt-ass naked, not giving a fuck if Jake and Dash see. They’re probably passed out, anyway.

You find Jake and Rainbow Dash spooning, nude, in an awkward way on the couch. On a whim, you slaps Dash’s fine buttocks to wake her up; it felt damn good to get a handful of it as well. She starts to wake up, but only pushes Jake off the couch. Dash rolls onto her back, showing off her amazing front while Jake finds a friend in the carpet. Rainbow’s nice pussy is shaved, and her small tits look really nice above her flat stomach. It’s tempting to play ghost and see how far you can get, but you leave her be.

The living room is chaos manifesto. Random chairs and papers are strewn all over. A little shrine to “Davey” sits in front of the TV, made of semi-frozen fish sticks, toothpicks, some pots, pans, ketchup, pickles, and some other random crap.

You step by it all and grab the three-footer behind a curtain and head back to bed.

Derpy sits up and rubs her eye as you close the door behind you. You hop on the bed and load a nice bowl of your favorite bud and take a nice hit, then top off the smoldering grass before you let out any smoke.

Blondie inhales as you exhale. The relaxation washes over in gentle waves, like the motion aboard the Godfucker. Your trip is definitely winding down, but some strange sensations and sights still occur. Derpy blows a moderate volume of smoke in front of you, then lays her head on your stomach to sleep. You pull the blanket up and around her as she curls up next to you.

You rest your head back on a pillow and look up. The white ceiling looks like it always does, until you think the words: “Last channel”. The ceiling turns into static, then clears up a little. Through the distortion, you can just make out two figures, one strong and the other feminine, in some position and just undulating, moving and flexing. The sight is disturbingly erotic, but not clear enough for you to be really aroused. The woman in the tangle of arms and torsos and legs has extremely long, tri colored hair that flows on an impossible breeze. Her head bobs back and forth, and squinting reveals that she’s fellating her partner.

Your viewing is interrupted by a special hand on your stiffening groin. Derpy giggles, then her head dissapears under the covers. You spread your legs some and pull the blanket to your chest, letting the woman get to work. Blondie sticks your hardening shaft in her mouth and lazily slurps along the length and head. You’re hard as steel in no time.

Derpy deftly jerks and sucks quickly, moaning and groaning and gagging lightly when she takes it all into her throat over and over again. She gags once, then pulls out and moves her hand up and down your length.

The blanket rises in a hilarious way that looks like a kid playing monster. Derpy lifts the hem of the blanket and flips it back behind her head, holding the rest around her crouching frame like a robe. Her little smile is hilarious, and the spittle on her chin makes her look even sexier.

Blondie bends over and lays her hot body on yours, lifting her tight butt up to not squish your erection. She smiles in your face as you take her nice ass in one hand, then your cock in the other. She goes cross-eyed and inhales sharply as your thick head penetrates her, inch by inch. Derpy lets her pussy swallow your entire tool again.

She moans softly as you push up into her tight twat. Her nice breasts push into your collarbone, your lips suck on her neck as you thrust slowly. You simply roll your hips faster and lift in time. Derpy sits up a little and moves along with you, moaning softly. You pick up the pace some, really wanting to fully enjoy Blondie’s tight body.

Derpy pushes on your shoulders with her hands and sits up, her elbows locked. Her large breasts bounce up and down with each and every rocking thrust. You can feel her cervix most times, just a slight, fleshy force as your entire shaft is perfectly swallowed.

Suddenly, Derpy’s moans cease and she slumps forward some. “An-t-tony, ah,” she pants some more and lifts her butt up, using her hand to pull your slick shaft out. Derpy flips over and sits in your lap, then sticks your hard cock into her again. She lays her back on yours and rests her head on yours, her lips gracing your forehead. You spread her legs wide, making her moan more as you stretch her groin muscles.

Derpy giggles as your dick pushes deep inside again. Her pussy is really tight, but not painful or offering too much resistance. If anything, it’s sucking you in more. You simply put your hands on her stomach and let her nice breasts bounce as you both rock. You arch your back just a little, changing the angle your rigid cock naturally wants to fuck Derpy’s tight pussy. You feel a little more pressure along the underside as you rhythmically thrust, making Derpy’s moans turn more and more pleasured and higher in pitch.

The song changes on the room’s stereo. This whole time, you’ve hardly listened, but this track is a really great one for humping. The bass fills the room, despite the quiet volume. You focus on that and Blondie’s C-cups, making them bounce to the song’s quick pace. You reach up and grab one from behind and squeeze. Derpy’s hot moans break into a tiny, pleasured shriek. Her chest convulses a little as she fights for air. She must be close already, and so are you.

Derpy arches her back and sits up some, quietly screaming. You pull her back to your chest with both hands on her rack, going back to fucking her as hard and fast as you can. Your left hand slips down her sweaty stomach to her penetrated slit. With all the motion, it’s hard to concentrate on the new task. Derpy’s little cum-button is tough to find, but your manage to locate it, then press into it.

Blondie obviously orgasms. Her tight, slimy walls nearly push your erection out by clamping down on it, but you keep nearly four inches in. You push up and pull down on her hips, squishing her ass into your lap and compressing her g-spot. You rub your cockhead into her tiny pleasure center, feeling ready to unload again. Derpy hums out shakily as she climaxes, her g-spot and her clit giving her dual stimulation.

Her sexy, pleasured voice is too much. You can’t hold on, the high makes it feel far beyond amazing. Your brain bubbles some as thick, bubbly cum spurts into Derpy’s extremely fine pussy. Even though it’s your fourth load, it hits just as hard as the first. Filling Celeste’s cunt is as soft and willing as Derpy’s.

Derpy lifts her hips lazily and flops onto her front next to you, her legs tangled in the blanket. You just lay back, your pole freezing as your mixed juices cools the skin. You flip over and manage to grab the soiled rag again. Using the last of your waking strength, you wipe up the fluids and stick the cotton under Derpy’s well-fucked womanhood.

Your tired eyelids meet as the song’s last little acoustic guitar string is plucked. You roll over, your consciousness slipping away by the second. Your hand finds a tight, warm butt and stays while your face nuzzles into her hair.

Spitfire

The calm and clear blue sky is torn to ribbons by four supersonic airplanes. One Equestrian screamer tailed by two mauve delta-winged crafts, with another two-engine jet fighter following. “I’ve got two unidentified aircraft on my six! Blue 3, do you read?”

“Copy Blue 2, I spy two bogies on your six. Unknown signature and optics seem strange. E.S. Godflyer, do you copy?” Soarin’ ejects his external fuel tanks to cut drag and weight.

The comms officer aboard the Godflyer picks up the handset, his fist clenched around the communicator lit up in a blue glow from the LCD screen. “We copy, Blue 3. We observe your unknown craft chasing Blue 2. Scrambling wings as we speak. If they open up, you are free to engage. Priority is keeping mission deniability, do you copy?”

Soarin didn’t need to touch the broadcast button fixed in his helmet to respond. The newest generation and somewhat experimental fighter was something else: smarter, sleeker, deadlier. “Are you fucking me? With all due respect, Spitfire’s in danger, and you’re saying I can’t deep-six the bastards on her six?”

“That’s an order, ESV-7. Do not engage unless bogies engage.”

Suddenly, Blue 2 pulls up and banks right over the landmass. “Soarin’, it’s just you and me out here, help me shake these fuckers!”

“Negative, Blue 2!” the communication technician barks through his headset, watching the battle of the multi-colored triangles on his screen. “Unidentified bogies could be neutr-”

“I can see their fucking weapons!” Soarin shouts. “Spitfire! Climb and do an aileron roll, I’ll do one opposite you and catch ‘em in my forward guns!”

“Negative, Blue 3, tha-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Alright, Soarin’,” Spitfire says into her microphone. “As long as you got my ba-” The unidentified fighter jets open fire with blazing, dark violet energy bolts. Many strike Spitfire’s fighter with sickening accuracy. The fuel tanks in either wing ignite in terrible fireballs, sending bits of scrap into the deadly air.

More dark bolts fly, impacting Spitfire’s clipped bird. The starboard wing flies off, nearly hitting one adversary.

“SPITFIRE!” Soarin’s vision focuses into a red-tinted rage, his only thoughts of vengeance and murder. Spitfire’s jet is spiralling into a fatal death-spiral at merely two-thousand feet.

“Blue 2, do you cop-”

“I’m hit! Blue 2, going down! Ejecting no-” another blue bolt launches from the under-wing plasma cannon of the first enemy fighter, vaporizing the port wing. Through the smoke and purple, noxious smoke, a rocket-propelled ejection seat flies out of the fray. Soarin’ watches the parachute unfurl over foreign land, then sets about destroying the two assailants.

Soarin’ turns off his communicator and unleashes two Sidewinders into the first jet. Both find their mark. The first decimates the plane, traveling straight up the tailpipe and exploding five feet inside the fuselage. The second missile impacts the debris, killing the enemy pilot instantly.

The first plane reduced to smouldering shrapnel, Soarin’ attacks the second with his last two missiles. One is confused with flares and a hard banking maneuver, but the second detonates midair, disabling some essential stabilizing systems. The banking aircraft rolls out of control. Soarin’ pulls the nose of his mach-4 jet fighter in line with the wounded enemy, then unleashes 80 tracer rounds in four seconds. The target is pocked with clinking flashes, then explodes in a fiery explosion.

Soarin’ pulls up and barely misses his kill, but catches the pilot’s parachute cords on his wing. The pilot is sucked into the starboard engine in a horrific flurry of suction. The jet’s engine frappes the pale adversary in less than a second, completely destroying one of the two engines Soarin’ is using.

“Mayday! E.S. Godflyer,” Soarin’ shouts. “Thi-FUCK!” he turns his communicator on with a slap. “E.S. Godflyer, this is ESV-7 Chief Petty Officer Soarin’, I’ve been hit. I’ve lost starboa-STARBOARD ENGINE! I CAN BARELY HEAR ANYTHING AT ALL! I DON’T KNOW HO-UGH!” Soarin’ leans into the stick hard to keep his craft aloft. “I’M USING EVERY OUNCE OF STRENGTH KEEPING THIS THING ALOFT! I’M ON MY WAY BACK TO THE CARRIER NOW-”

A blinking light distracts Soarin’ enough to stop mid-sentence. If he didn’t eject in two seconds, he’d be bloody mulch for the foreign jungle two thousand of feet below. Without another word, he pulled the eject cord. The canopy blew off and Soarin’ found himself being rocketed into the air. Something wasn’t right, though. He was flying sideways. Soarin’ blinked away his confusion and saw his angle of descent. He is on a near-horizontal trajectory, safely out of the way of the midair debris field. Blood rushes from his head to his toes as nearly 5 G’s of force propel him out of harm’s way. With his last efforts to stay conscious, Soarin’ flexes all of his muscles to push some blood back to his eyes. The final visage he sees is his sleek, sexy, wounded combat jet, worth ten times what he’ll make in his lifetime, soar into the black cloud he created with his missiles and cannons.

A sudden force jerks Soarin’ awake. He aches all over, but especially the front of his head. He can’t feel his feet, or his hands. Then, as if on cue, they flare awake in searing agony. He blinks away the pain and tries to get his bearings.

Soarin’ finds himself stuck in the middle of the canopy, entangled in branches, leaves, twigs, vines, and the heavy nylon parachute cords. He tries to lift his right hand to grab his KBAR, but instead shouts in pain. That arm is useless, broken for sure. His left arm is usable, but less smart. He grabs the heavy knife like a child and carefully lifts the visor of his flight helmet. Soarin’ can see some blue sky through the thick mat of leaves above him. He spits, watching the bloody saliva fall down and slightly to the right. Down isn’t down, not quite. He adjusts himself, painfully, and tries to right his eyes with the obstructed horizon. A smoke trail still thick and fresh heads due west. That’s Spitfire’s last message, and the last Soarin’ will get if he can’t get his radio working.

Resheathing the knife, Soarin’ slumps in the rocket chair. He unstraps himself, nearly falling out, and relaxes. He tries his helmet comms, but they’re dead. He grabs the rigid ration pack and carefully slings that over his left shoulder. He has a radio clipped securely to his flak jacket, but it’s comparable to his flight helmet’s self-contained communications device. Soarin’ grabs a sturdy vine in his left hand and makes his way down the high tree laboriously.

The descent is a grueling test of physical endurance and strength, but not comparable to the pilot’s bi-monthly PT tests. Soarin’s boots thud heavily into the soft dirt of the jungle floor within an hour. He winces as his broken arm falls heavily with him. He touches his forearm, then his bicep, feeling gingerly for the source. It seems his upper arm is the victim. Not good. Soarin’ moans, his arm throbbing and bleeding a little.

Soarin’ takes a deep breath, then another. He grips his wrist, then a little higher up on his forearm. Just touching here is hardly tolerable. Soarin’ screams as loud as he can and yanks hard on his own arm, dislodging the splintered humerus from the flesh inside his arm. The pain is like no other, hellish, searing, burning, exploding, mind-numbing. Soarin’ goes to his knees and pukes onto the dank soil. His nice breakfast is maggot food.

Soarin’ blinks back the tears and stands again, almost numb to any sensation other than the fucking pain in his right arm. With his long ration pack, Soarin’ makes a stint out of the multipurpose steel box. He pushes his elbow up to his shoulder, shuddering as the pain detonates again, but recedes fairly quickly. Soarin’ feels his legs go weak for a moment, but he rights his strong body again.

His right arm healing, hopefully, Soarin’ tries the comms in his flight helmet again. Nothing. He takes it off and sits down against a mossy tree, trying to ignore the puddle of half-digested eggs and bacon. The button is stuck, and plant material is lodged in the visor’s track. The microphone is torn clean off, leaving some dirty exposed wires in its place.

“Fuck.” Soarin’ pulls the twigs out of the helmet’s crevices and drops it in the dirt. He pulls the antenna of the walkie-talkie with his teeth, then takes it in his hand. He turns it on and dials into Spitfire’s personal frequency.

“Spitfire, it’s Soarin’, over. Do you copy, over,” he says into the the hand-held. After five seconds, he gets some garbled static in response. Soarin’ hops up excitedly, making his arm flare up painfully. He holds his right hand to his stomach and tries again. “Spitfire!” he shouts. “This is Soarin’, over! Do you copy?”

More faint, inscrutable static. “Spitfire, I saw your smoke trail heading, uh, due west from my location. If you can, try to stay in contact, I’ll come find you, over.”

With that, Soarin’ set out to find his partner and flight school crush.

* * *

Your combat boots crunch almost silently along the jungle floor as you follow the beacon on your HUD. Ahead is behind, and each side similar. The thick foliage is the ultimate disorienter. You climb through the thick vines and hold back the cellulose ropes for your partner, then take point again. ESV-7 Soarin’ and ESV-7 Spitfire remain your primary objectives, but the crash site of the foreign craft is between you and them.

Suddenly, something stirs ahead. You drop to one knee and lower your head behind a log, feeling the moisture in the air nearer the mossy cover. You active camouflage kicks in within a second. Newly invisible, or close, you peer over the log and scan the area. A bloody body is walking around, missing most of an arm and the other broken. His purple flight suit is matted and dripping crimson life blood.

You draw your sidearm, your only weapon. To save weight and increase capacity for medical equipment, a naval corpsman needs only a combat knife, a .45 caliber high capacity magnum, silenced for this mission, his fists, and his wits.

A bright green line fixates upon the concussed adversary’s head, leading to Chevron’s silenced sniper rifle. “Say when,” he whispers into his headset, linked to yours and to the Godflyer directly. There’s no reason to let this fucker suffer any longer. He shot down an Equestrian pilot and another was grounded prematurely. He deserves whatever hell he believes in.

“When.” Skull chips and brain juice squirt out of the other side of his head just after a tiny “pff”. The foreign pilot drops like the sack of meat he is. “Come on. Let’s scope the crash site, then find our birds.”

“Copy.” Communication is kept at a minimum for these operations. You holster you pistol and quickly vault the organic barrier and follow the beacon. Just like Future Warfare Three, you think to yourself. But with real bullets and more advanced technology.

The dead pilot’s face is on the dirt, next to the rest of him. You turn the body over, not doing well to ignore the gruesome sight of his mangled head. His body isn’t much better at all. His dog tags are made of brass, and the name “Lachlan” is the only thing readable on it. The last name is a jumble of foreign characters, the likes of which you’ve never seen. You can make out a few numerals, but nothing else. You walk again towards the beacon, disregarding the broken body in a violet and blue and crimson suit. His friend supposedly turned into a meatshake in ESV-7 Soarin’s right thruster, so there was no need to worry about another foe. Still, it was likely that their forces might be occupying this area. You pat your sides to make sure your four extra clips haven’t walked off.

After walking for only two minutes, you find the meatbag’s downed bird. The thing doesn’t look as modern in the description Chief gave you. Even mangled and on fire, this thing looks hardly capable of launching the mysterious attacks shown in the ten seconds of shaky POV video captured by Soarin’s helmet. You step over some scrap and look for the weapons system. It’s a mess, the plane’s parts are pulverised and scattered.

You touch your ear and speak, “Command, are you reading my feed?”

“Affirmative, Spectra one. It’s like we thought, this craft isn’t Equestrian, Amareican, or anything we’ve seen before. Look for insignia, serial numbers, a black box, but most of all, try to find out where those energy bolts came from.”

“I still say they’re magic,” Chevron snarls.

You walk forward, kicking out a small electrical fire. The plane’s metal isn’t steel, or aluminum, or titanium, or any material you’re familiar with. You pick up a bit of the wing, maybe a three inch section, and flip over the heavy chunk. Regular aircraft scrap this size would weigh half as much, easily. You try to bend it, but the heavy stuff is impossible to warp with your fingers.

You toss the bit aside and thump your fist on the detached wing in front of you. It reverberates softly, ringing like a tuning fork. The low pitch created sounds eerie and alien. The purple paint flakes off a little.

“Found something. I fucking knew it, pure mother fucking magic.”

“Bullshit,” you reply, still speaking softly into the microphone, even though Chevron is fifteen yards away. You step over to him and look at the oblong object embedded into the soil.

The oval thing is made of glass and brassy metal, reinforced around a purple object inside. You’re tempted to blow a hole in the glass and look inside, but picking it up will do. There’s no telling if the thing would explode and turn you into goo on impact.

Upon closer inspection, the purple thing inside looks crystalline. Geometric shapes are formed and it looks like it’s perhaps electrified. The center turns from opaque to faintly translucent. You squint your eyes and stare closely. The pink-purple crystal in the glass and brass container seems to hum, maybe. No, you can’t deny it. The container feels warm, and then some light pulses out. Your face feels warm, as if close to a blazing fire. You pull your head back, then the container starts to heat up.

“Ah!” You drop the brass pod as it singes your palms, the fifty pound mass thuds into the soft earth. A purple pulse shoots out the instant the weapon hits the ground, sending a mauve bolt into the air at a skewed angle. The energy burns leaves and branches, cutting clear through a thick trunk on its way up.

You shake your hands to cool them, but the damage is done. No burns, but they sorta smart a bit. The brass pod sits still, silent in the earth. You follow the crystal’s aim and look to the path the bolt created. Blue sky shines through a round hole in the jungle, the size of your head. Bark and wood are singed or smouldering.

You touch your headset again. “Command, did you s-”

“Affirmative, Spectra, we caught that on your helmet cam. Proceed to extract target and return immediately for debriefing. We’ll send in a team to investigate the crash, just leave everything be, over.”

“Spectra copies. Proceeding to objective, over and out.” You turn to Chevron, his mouth agape behind his mouthless balaclava. “You heard bossman, hoof it.”

“Oh man, that was some crazy shit. We got some magic bullshit on our hands. It’s if those fuckers decide to attack in for-”

“I said hoof it! We don’t know what this is, if there’s more, if there are more soldiers or anything. For all we know, it’s a god damn alien.”

Chevron straightens up, adjusting his rifle strap. “Fuck your god,” he mumbles, continuing west to the downed friendlies. There’s no telling if they’re injured, just where their suits’ ID chips are.

You find nothing but jungle for the next half hour, laboring maybe two or three miles. The humidity sucks at your strength, and your medical equipment weighs like a squad automatic weapon on your back. Chevron carries the extra medical kits, but they’re light.

At last, you come across the first sign of human life. Hopefully, human life. Bloody and torn Nomex ribbons lie about, as well as many heavy footprints. A yellowish puddle is in the clearing, rotting and festering with bugs. Scanning the treetops reveals an ejected chair hanging by the parachute. You pick up the scrap of flight suit and stuff it in a pocket, then continue on silently to the objective.

The jungle is so thick, now, that your active camouflage can activate with your slow movements. You come across a few streams and clearings where your movements are too swift for the new technology to cope, but it’s invisible work most of the way.

Two miles and one hour later, you come within a hundred yards of both signals. At least they found each other, so that means one of them is mobile. You stoop down and unholster your sidearm, just in case.

“It’s one of them,” Chevron whispers into his set. “Holy hell, look at that ass.”

You peer around a thick tree while Chevron takes position to your right. A blue line appears on your HUD, connecting the muzzle of Chevron’s rifle to ESV-7 Spitfire’s posterior. She’s laying on her side, her head propped up on a flak jacket. She’s wearing hers, but her slate and navy blue flight suit is unzipped all the way down her front. She’d look damn good in the thick armored jacket with nothing else on.

You scan the clearing, noting the smouldering treetops, but fail to spot the other signal. You turn to your right and see Chevron, snickering, with a small blue diamond on your HUD just behind him. ESV-7 Soarin’ is creeping up, his suit fully zipped and a KBAR in his left hand.

“Chevron, jerk off later, you got company on your six.” The blue beam dissipates and he spins around, accidentally smacking Soarin’s head with the suppressor. Soarin’ ducks and springs up, trying to stab your partner. You stand up, letting your camo fall, and watch the tussle.

Soarin’s stab dumbly hits the rifle, clanging and chipping off some paint. Chevron whirls the butt around and pushes Soarin’ back. You can only see the pilot using only his left arm, as does Chevron. He fakes a jab with his rifle butt, but Soarin’ backs off defensively.

“You’re Equestrian!” he shouts, his high tenor voice trembling with pain and fury. “What, WHAT THE FUCK? Why the hell are you aiming that thing at Spitfire like that?”

“Why the hell are you using your squadmate as live bait?” you shout back. “Once you two are done, put your dicks away and let’s get out of here. We might be in danger from the friends of those two planes you shot down.”

You walk into the clearing, ignoring whatever your fellow sailors are doing. Soarin’s obviously healthy enough for now. Spitfire’s not so lucky. At first glance, you notice her fire-retardant suit saved her life; it’s charred, but not melted to her skin. Her helmet hair is matted with sweat and a little blood from superficial lacerations on her forehead. Nothing bad, but her lip is cut and swollen fairly badly.

You kneel down and slip a hand under Spitfire’s flak jacket to feel her toned chest. She’s breathing, and her heartbeat is steady. She also jumps a little bit at being groped, but you’re not here to cop a feel. She’s unconscious, but no broken ribs or anything. You pull your hand out, inadvertently touching her nice breast.

You bite back the distraction and move down her nice body with your eyes. She’s amazingly attractive, completely at your mercy. You don’t want to use her, take advantage of her. No, you want to make sure this intelligent, strong, sexy beauty gets a chance to see tomorrow in the safety of either the carrier’s infirmary or in Ponyville. That town has the closest full-blown hospital, and she’s definitely earned shore leave.

You open up a first aid kit and look at her legs. They’re not broken, but there’s quite a bit of blood, hinting at a laceration of some kind. She stirs some, mumbling out a word, then falls back into agonized rest. You touch her hot forehead and find a morphine syringe. You roll up the suit’s arm, finding her elbow’s vein. Using the suit’s somewhat elastic Nomex as a tourniquet, you find the strong arm’s main vein and inject her with 20 ccs of the painkiller. Spitfire breathes a little harder, tossing her yellow-orange hair around.

“Hnnn that means, you, uhn. . . .” Spitfire manages to say. She seems concussed.

“Spitfire!” Soarin’ shouts, suddenly near you. You were so absorbed in your patient that you didn’t notice him at all. You’re normally effectively aware of your surroundings as anyone in combat with a wounded soldier, but Spitfire’s comatose sexiness is draining on your senses. You want to use all five with her, especially touch.

You gulp hard. A large amount of blood is beginning to pool between her legs. “Not good,” you mutter. You try to gingerly roll Spitfire onto her back and spread her legs to look for the wound. She groans in protest, inhaling sharply once, making the heavy jacket rise suddenly. Her movement makes light glint into your eyes. A large shard of steel juts out of her flak jacket. That thing saved someone’s life; whoever was wearing it was very lucky.

“Ow,” Spitfire moans. You apologize, not sure if she can even hear, and look at her leg. The right one has a chunk of jagged steel lodged about halfway up the inner thigh. The wound is bleeding pretty badly. The femoral artery isn’t severed, she’d be dead long ago if that was the case. It’s likely nicked, though.

“Fuck. She’s in trouble. Chevron, get the tourniquet from the kit and stop the femoral in her right leg.”

“And you better not enjoy it!” Soarin’ chimes in.

“Soarin’, if you’re not gonna help, you can radio in the rescue chopper.” You toss him your handheld and turn to assist in the difficult procedure.

It seems like if the piece of metal was pulled straight out, her life would be cut short in the prime of existence. However, cutting below and around it and pulling it down, towards her posterior(the direction not her fantastic body part), it could be removed without cutting her artery any more.

“Chevron, tie that off tighter.” He pulls on the rubber tube harder, making Spitfire groan meekly in pain. Finally, the blood stops trickling out. “That’s good, tie it off tighter than you think you need to.”

He does so as you toss aside the plastic cover on the scalpel. “Give her the chomp rag.” You hold up the small cotton thing to Chevron.

“Bite on this,” he says softly. She confusedly mumbles, but her mouth is soon stuffed. “Bite down, as hard as you can.”

You take a calming breath and go about the potentially terminal task. Slowly, you make a shallow incision all around the metal. “Soarin’,” you whisper. “Don’t touch her, but grab the tweezers from the kit and hand them to me.” Your voice is soft and level, perfect for reassuring the unsure.

He does, silently. You take the tool from his shaking fingers. “You’re gonna want to look away.” He probably does, you don’t check. You carefully adjust your grip on the razor-sharp instrument and glide around the shrapnel. Her soft skin parts around the blade, spilling dark blood around it. Suction would involve lips and dabbing it away could push the metal into the artery.

“Chevron, gauze and the other cloth. The sterile one.” He stands and holds your items, ready for the worst. The tiny bit of flesh obstructing the shrapnel is bloody, but not in the way anymore. You hold the debris with the tweezers and stick the scalpel in the dirt, not to be used again.

“Second tweezers,” you command evenly.

“Twizzies,” Chevron says. The humor lightens the dark situation, thankfully. He’s a huge asset, in some ways other than practical.

You take the second set and hold the flesh around the metal open, disgustingly exposing the subdermal tissues. “On three, press the sterile square right into the wound and wrap with gauze thrice. We’ll hopefully only need one more cloth to contain it. Keep plenty of pressure on, let me assist with the cleanup.”

“Got it, Foray.” Chevron kneels in front of you, on the other side of Spitfire’s strong, yet injured leg.

You take another calming breath, then close your eyes and take one more. “One.” You adjust your grip on the stainless steel, cursing the heat and your sweat. “Two.” Chevron stoops over a little, tense. You adjust the grip the stainless steel teeth have on the jagged aircraft steel. “Three!” With a swift yank, the aircraft debris slips out, pulling a few droplets of thick blood into the air. Spitfire’s muffled screams give no distraction as you spring to your left to grab another clean rag. When you turn back, the cut is already disinfected and a reddening square has one layer of gauze over it. You let Chevron swiftly wrap two more layers, then motion for him to make one more. You press your rag onto her wound, pressing down into Spitfire’s shaking thigh. Her other leg hooks around yours, her left knee pushing up into your butt cheek. You ignore it, mostly, and compress to stop the bleeding.

You can’t help but watch the flak jacket get lifted off. Spitfire arches her back, pressing her nude chest into the air. Chevron notices, too, but you don’t stop working to keep her alive. The femoral artery was spared, but not kept whole.

Spitfire screams horribly into the cloth in her mouth. She convulses in pain, her hot, sweaty torso wrenches this way and that in agony. Chevron’s elbows shake a little.

“On task, sailor!” Chevron shakes his head and looks to you for guidance, not bothering with an apology. “Take the tourniquet off and elevate her foot. Soarin’, what’s the status on that chopper?”

“Th-they’re airborn. ETA in five,” he says.

“Good,” you reply, helping with another rag. Spitfire’s bleeding is quickly under control. Chevron is standing, now. “We don’t have much more than an hour, unless Spitfire comes back around on her own.”

“Ugh,” she moans, “I did take the jacket off myse-ELF! That’s tender!”

“Sorry,” Chevron mutters. “Her ankle is sprained, I think.”

“That’s the least of our worries. Soarin’, can a chopper land here?”

He looks up and around the small clearing. “A four person bird? Maybe, but it’s a tight fit. We’ll have to move out of the way, at least a little. Yeah, should fit. If not, they got buckets. And you guys can just swim one hundred miles to the carrier, right? Corpsman are close to PONYS, right?”

“Not quite,” you reply. “Those guys are insane. I’d rather not run a hundred miles a day and bench seven hundred pounds. Besides, I’m getting out of the navy in a year.”

Soarin’ hands you your radio and kneels down, staring at Spitfire. You pocket your handheld and look, catching Spitfire’s large breasts as they hide behind her flight suit. She zips the last inches and flips no one in particular a lazy bird. Soarin’ and Chevron chuckle, but Spitfire’s obviously in pain. You want to hold her or comfort her, but all you have is one more syringe with 20 milliliters of morphine.

You wipe some of the blood off of Spitfire’s half-clothed leg and stick the tweezers, the scalpel, and the dirty cloth in the most empty kit, and grab the second morphine dose. Spitfire’s tried body offers no help or resistance to your needle. She murmurs “thank you” before nodding off, somewhere between asleep and comatose.

You prop her head up on both flak jackets and use the last clean cloth to wipe her sweaty and bloody forehead. Chevron takes a look at Soarin’s arm. Short of resetting it better, there’s nothing to do for him. Taking off the splint alone would be hellishly painful. How he managed to fashion it, let alone repair his arm well enough to do so, is a marvel in its own right.

He adamantly denies treatment, even just a dose of painkiller. The three of you share one liter of water, the rest is, more or less, forced down Spitfire’s throat. She’s by far the most in need, after losing that much blood. The red dirt between her legs makes you cringe. Chevron’s probably thinking that it looks like a period. Thankfully, no one says it.

The silence doesn’t remain for long, and the evac heli comes to take you all out. Spitfire comes back briefly as she’s hooked up to an IV aboard the chopper.

“P-peter,” she whispers, holding your dogtags. You hold her hand and meet her eyes. You lift your glasses, moving the HUD out of the way. You smile at her, and she smiles back. Her lashes flutter some, her pale face turns a shade or two darker. Spitfire’s strong hand goes limp in yours, and her eyes close. You touch her sternum, just in case. Spitfire’s heart is beating strongly and slowly, her messy hair is buffeted by the winds above the jungle. The ocean rushes into view far below you, the sun beginning to set. You can see the E.S. Godflyer on the horizon, a tiny dot. That dot is a 2,000 foot long tool of peace and war, and your temporary home.

* * *

“I said, did you see it?” Andre flicked the first ashes off his joint and offered. You refuse and sit up, hating the navy’s zero tolerance drug policy.

“No, I didn’t see it. The shrapnel was in her upper leg, not her crotch.” You rub your tired face. Your civilian clothes are far lighter than your combat gear, but you keep the shit-kickers on. There’s something about combat boots that makes you feel prepared, ready, capable. “I’m a corpsman, not a perv.”

“Why not both?” Andre laughs a bit and puts his left foot on his right knee. “Ya know,” he pauses holding in his hit. The stench of cannabis is sweet and tempting, but only weakly so. “Pssh, I met this girl the other night at a concert. We smoked some, then a buddy came over with his girlfriend and the four of us dropped some acid and smoked some more. Greatest sex I’ve ever had, hands down. Ya know, Peter, you sh-”

“Pete. It’s Pete. Peter sounds dumb as hell.” You fan away the second hand smoke and sit back. “And if I fail a drug test, you’re gonna need a fucking corpsman. You might not have liked the service, but I get paid damn well to put myself over bleeding friends and put their lives before mine.”

Andre smiles an infuriating smile and holds his hands up, the paper in between two of his fingers. “I’m all for that patriotic shit, man, but I’m more for smoking and fucking ‘til dawn than running and working out everyday.”

“Right.” You slump forward on the bench outside of the hospital and rub the tiredness out of your eyes.

“So.” Andre puts out the joint out on the bench, replacing it behind his ear. “She die?”

You give him a serious look. “No. She’s doing fine, doctor said she has a hundred percentchance of making a full recovery, and Soarin’ is gonna be okay, too. He’ll be out of commision longer than Spitfire, with his broken arm. Spitfire will be up and walking in a day or so, I’m sure of that. She lost a lot of blood, but she’s recovering.”

Andre gets up and stands in front of you, watching a patient walk through the parking lot. “Well, Peter, it’s been real. Hey, really. What you did was fucking cool, that’s cool, saving lives. And your biceps are as big as my head. I’m sure chicks dig that. I gotta get back to my place and eat me some muffins.”

“Yeah, fuck you too, Antonio.” You stand, not sure if you want to stay in the hotel tonight. “Hey , Dre, wait up. What’s going on at your place tonight?”

He stops and turns to you. “Nothin’, man. Just gonna smoke up with my new lady and maybe watch tv or something. I got plenty of beer, you’re welcome to stay on the couch.”

“Still live over by the market?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

You take one look at the hospital, illuminated by security lights in the middle of the night. “I’ll come over in a bit, I wanna check on her.”

Your old pal from boot camp flashes you a peace sign and walks off, almost bumping into an old woman with an IV rack.

You walk back into the lobby, flashing a smile to the aging receptionist. She’s sweet. You adjust your cap and hit the up button on the elevator. The light says it’s on floor five, one above Spitfire’s floor. You glance at the stairs, remembering you haven’t done any good exercise today.

Fuck it. You turn to your left and take the stairs two at a time, enjoying the rhythmic thud of your boots on the staircase. Eight flights and four stories later, your strong legs carry you up to the door by the elevators. The light over the elevator you called moves from two to one as you walk by, barely breathing harder than normal.

You turn right and head down the corridor to Spitfire’s room, number 429. You hold up a fist to knock, but the door opens out into your knuckles. You take a quick step back, out of the way. A gorgeous nurse with light red hair in a tight little bun and a tight little dress over her tight little body jolts when she sees you. Your five feet and ten inches towers over her, somehow.

“Oh, excuse me!” she says, touching a hand to her chest. “You’re the corpsman, right?” She barely holds in a little giggle. “Go on in, sir,” she quietly says to you, looking over your muscular frame.

“So sorry,” you reply. “Thanks.” God, she’s cute. You hear her snicker a little as you walk in. The sexy nurse closes the door behind you, leaving you and Spitfire alone.

Spitfire lays in her bed, nothing but a thin paper gown between her nice body and the rest of the world. Her eyes shift from the boring tv to your face. “Oh, hey again,” she says quietly.

“Still okay, I see,” you reply, pulling up a chair. There’s a little cd player softly playing some music, and the tv is muted, selling some god awful product. “Did Chief debrief you, too?”

Spitfire nods, shifting in her bed to sit up some. “Yeah, that’s some creepy stuff.”

“It’s been nearly three weeks, I doubt they know much more than us.” You open the disc tray and look at the cd. The paint side is plain orange, a mix with no label. You pop down the lid and turn up the volume a little.

“More than you, you mean. I just got shot down, didn’t get a good look at the fuckers.” Her voice more calm, more so than when she was screaming in pain, is sexy.

You sigh deeply, listening to the jazzy music. It’s kinda neat. “Did you watch the feed from my helmet when you came back?”

Spitfire nods. “I’ve never seen that before. Chief says he did when he was little. It was in a comic book. He told Soarin’ it looked just like one of Nightmare Moon’s space fighters. The metal, the paint, the. . . weapons.”

“Who’s this Nightmare Moon guy? Some caped supervillain with an eyepatch who spins around in a swivel chair, petting a white cat?”

Spitfire chuckles lightly. “K-kind of. She was supposedly Princess Luna, Celestia’s sis. She did, something, fuck if I know, and then got launched to the moon. That’s all I remember from what Soarin’ was rambling on about when we were dropped in here.”

“So, yeah, supervillain. Er, supervillainess, or whatever. How, uh, how are you doing?” You want to see her in different clothes and circumstances with every fiber of your being.

“I’m fine, I told ya. If my artery reseals, which it basically never got cut open at all, thanks to you, I’ll be able to fly within a week of getting cleared. And I think I’ll get a medal or some shit, I don’t know. You deserve that.”

“Hey, I get paid to save people. You don’t get paid to get shot down.” Fuck, you think. Bad choice of words.

Spitfire turns off the tv and looks away. “Well, yeah I guess. Hey, I’m free from this fucking bed tomorrow. If you’re still on leave, wanna get a drink? I can at least try to pay you back.”

“Yeah, I’ll be here. Say, where do you wanna go, if you are all better now?”

“It’s been nineteen days, I’m fine! And Sugarcube Corner. I heard that’s got the best bar around.”

Your stomach grumbles loudly. “Right, well, we’ll get some drinks tomorrow. I’ll bu-”

“No, no, that’s not how it goes. I get shot down, you get me back to safety, I buy you drinks. Hey, speaking of drinks here on land, why are you in Ponyville?”

You shrug your shoulders, honestly unsure. “Chief just said I get a month free, just because of the nature of the mission. Maybe he thinks me and you and Soarin’ and Chevron got mindfuck issues or something.”

Spitfire looks around a little, blushing slightly. You just want to hop in that hospital bed and hold her, maybe touch her some. You stand up, not really trying to hide your semi-full erection, and take out your wallet. You sit back down and look at the picture of a girl. She’s only seventeen, but so were you at the time. You think back to the day she said “let’s just be friends”, the months of depression and heartache afterwards, the taste of a gun. You feel your eyes water for the first time in years, all those painful memories. There were so many good ones, but they’re all tainted by her want for causality.

You blink away the old thoughts, not wanting her to come back into your mind. Impressing her was the reason you decided to go into the Equestrian Navy, but it turned out that being a corpsman was a way to forget her a little.

“Pete? Or, Foray, whichever you go by.” Spitfire’s voice is too tiny.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice trembling the most miniscule bit. Why the hell did I pull out the picture? I’m such a fucking idiot. You lean on your left side and slide your wallet back into your pocket.

“Do you have a girl waiting for you when you get out?” Spitfire sits up and slouches forward some.

You shake your head, counting the tiny specks in the floor tiles. “Nope.”

A minute of silence passes. The music is really intense, and images of her face flash behind your eyes.

“Who is she?” Spitfire asks, quiet as ever.

“Just a fling, I guess. It’s a long story, sorta sad. Hey, I’m gonna go over to my bud’s place, maybe have a few beers. I’ll come to watch you check out tomorrow, alright?”

“Well, okay.” Spitfire falls back into the thin pillow, her unsupported breasts bounce a lot. “See ya.”

“Um, see ya, Spitfire.” You can’t help but be hard. Your jeans are really uncomfortable as you walk to the door. You reach for the rocking handle and push.

“Foray!” Spitfire almost shouts. “Pete, I’m sorry, but, um, can I ask a favor? You know, since you’re a combat medic and all.”

You turn around, suspensefully hopeful. The door shuts behind you quietly, and you walk back in. You try to say something, but melancholy grips your tongue tiredly.

“I, Foray, uh, I was wondering, since you did what you did, uh what you thought about my scar. On my leg.”

You take another wordless clacking step and stand at arms length away from the foot of the bed. “Uh, I could.”

“I want your honest opinion okay?” You nod, and Spitfire tosses the miniscule and clashing blanket to her toes. “Just, uh, well, I’ll ask.”

Spitfire takes a deep breath and grabs the hem of her paper hospital gown. “I want to know, am I healed enough to have sex? I mean, you know, sorta rough.” Suddenly, Spitfire lifts her paper garment up, exposing the healing wound. You lean forward and look, her nice thighs are so inviting. Her right one, however, has one hell of a blemish. The stitches have dissipated, and the scab has completely healed to reveal new skin. There will forever be an X-shaped scar. You instinctively touch the skin of her upper leg. Her body radiates heat, warming your whole hand, even if only two fingertips are touching her scar.

You press once, making her grit her teeth. “Does that smart?”

Spitfire nods her head twice.

“That means it’s healing just fine. I’d say you’re ready for, sex, now, but it wouldn’t be very comfortable. Not unless you found a position that didn’t have to do with touching your upper thi-”

Without warning, Spitfire grabs your wrist and puts it to the bare, hairless skin of her flat stomach, under her gown. She lays back, looking at you.

“Foray,” she whispers, playfully thrusting her hips just an inch. “I don’t know what a few rounds will do for you, but I think I know a way for you to get over her.” Spitfire pulls on your captive hand, guiding you to the side of the bed. She makes you grab one of her big breasts.

You instinctively squeeze, relishing the soft flesh before your brain tells your fingers to flex. Spitfire moans, biting her lip and flexing her legs. She breathes hotly as you stoop over her bed and squeeze again.

“Peter, oh, it’s been too long since I’ve just had a night, ya know? Oh, god, I don’t want to come off too strong, but, well, fuck that.” Spitfire sits up and flips her hair around. She unties her hospital robe and lets it drop into her lap. Her big, round breasts are on full display. She’s pinup materiel, easy.

“When that cute nurse was giving my a sponge bath the, um, fourth night after surgery, I really wanted her to take her time. Let’s just say there was some, mess, to mop up between my legs. I kept thinking of your strong arms carrying me to the helicopter, your big hand holding mine. Pete,” Spitfire pauses, sitting seductively on her straight arm. “I owe you a drink, but I need you again.”

“S-Spitfire, this, alright.” You laugh and smile, admiring the beauty in front of you. “I, I really enjoyed holding you, ya know.”

Spitfire looks around a little, blushing deeply. “Foray, would you wanna, do some quick stuff right now? I haven’t gotten off in weeks. This fucking hospital is just a huge turn-off. W-well, not when we’re, ya know, alone together.”

You glance at the door with no lock. The bathroom doesn’t have a lock, either. On top of that, it’s past visiting hours. “Uh, what if someone comes in? Or, wait. Who’s the nurse who left when I came in? She’d be cool to watch, I’m sure. I mean, stand watch.”

Spitfire’s eyes pop open a little, and a mischievously joyful grin spreads on her face. “Yeah, yeah! Nurse Redheart,” Spitfire says in mock anguish. “Oh, nurse, I believe I’ve fallen ill once a-gain.” Spitfire falls back, her dainty hand on her forehead. The small cuts have healed completely, and her lip is almost back to normal. With one flick of her wrist, Spitfire hits the call button on the bed.

Spitfire sits up, giggling, and ties her paper robe back on, then gets under the covers. You just adjust your waning erection and sit back down.

Within fifteen seconds, an effeminate and doughy male nurse walks in, three clipboards in hand and his big red scrubs stained with what is hopefully mustard. “What’s wrong?” he says, his fat body betraying his tiny, high pitched voice.

“Hmm?” you ask, nonchalant. “Nothing, just checking on the pilot I saved. What’s up with you?”

“I have a shoot-load of work to do! If you don’t need help, then pretty pleeease don’t ask for it!” He storms out, almost raging.

You look to Spitfire, and then the two of you burst out laughing. You stand again, ready to go to Andre’s for some needed sleep.

“Oh, man, that was hilarious,” Spitfire says, rolling onto her side. She hops up and stands close to you. “But, I’m looking forward to tomorrow night. Foray?” Spitfire whispers.

You turn and grab her hips, her strong body small in your arms. “Yeah?” you ask back quietly.

Spitfire cosies up to you, resting a hand on your strong chest. “You sure we can’t get out of here tonight? Or maybe, just, a quickie or something?”

“Well, I, uh, don’t have a rubber or anything. But, I do got a hotel room. I could talk to the doctor, but I’m not sure if he’ll agree. You look just fine to me.”

Spitfire stands on her toes and drapes her arms over your shoulders, pulling herself up some. You grab her tight ass and hold her up, easily enjoying her full weight in your embrace. “Foray, it’s alright. I really wanna get out of here tonight, but I can wait one more night.”

“You sure?” you ask, lifting her up and letting her fall. It’s one of the funnest workouts you’ve ever had.

Spitfire giggles, wrapping her legs around you. You carefully part her paper gown and grab her bare ass, making her giggle. “Well, now when you put it that way, I, oh! Hmmheheh, god, we should do it standing, right here.”

“Spitfire, that sounds like a whole lot of fun, but I don’t kno-”

“Am I interrupting something?” a female voice inquires, the sudden ambiance of a busy hospital louder in the background. The noises in the hall quiet again with a simple latch closing.

“N-nurse!” Spitfire hops down out of your arms and onto the floor. “I-it’s not what it looks like, we, we were just, uh, well we weren’t doing THAT!”

You turn and watch Spitfire try to reason with nurse Redheart. There isn’t much need, it seems. “Whatever the two of you were or were not doing is fine with me, believe it,” she says flatly. “I just came by to tell Spitfire the good news. The doctor said that the military doesn’t want to pay for another night here, on account of your bill of health. Too expensive for a perfectly healthy person to stay.” The nurse undoes the tight bun her light hair is in, letting it fall sexily to her shoulders. “And I just clocked off for the night. Spitfire, we’ve grown close these past weeks, haven’t we?”

Spitfire touches her chin, then shoots you a quick glance. She bites her lip and simply nods to the nurse. Redheart looks really sexy in the little white thing she has on. No need for cheap scrubs when you look that good in a short nurse outfit.

She moves to the couch opposite the bed, next to the television. She crosses her legs, flashing you a glimpse of some dark red panties. “Care to acquaint me with your big, strong corpsman friend?”

Spitfire fidgets in her gown. “If you mean acquaint in the same way you mean us, I think we’ll need a hotel room.”

You watch Redheart blush a little, appraising your standing form. Your manhood has been hard for the past few minutes, and now the bulging snake in your jeans is hardly hidden. “I’d like that,” she says, her voice trembling the tiniest bit.

“Come on,” you say with your deepest voice. “I say we fuck the bar idea, just get some whiskey at a liquor store and head to my hotel room at the Tenpony Tower.”

Spitfire clings to your arm, pressing her right breast into your elbow. “Genius idea, Petty Officer. Now sailor,” she barks, snapping to attention. “Get your tight ass to the lobby on this floor, grab my clothes, and let’s go!”

You snap to attention and left face, then salute perfectly. “Yes Chief!” You lower your hand, keeping eye contact with the pilot who, technically, outranks you. You right face and make for the wall, then left face and head for the door.

The nurse at the desk is a fiery old black lady, but she melts to one wink. Spitfire’s suitcase, with her civvies and everything, is relinquished quickly. You take it and the signout clipboard back to room 429.

* * *

“Spitfire,” Redheart says at your door, carrying the big brown bag. “Ever do it with a girl before?”

You reach in between the two of them, opening your hotel room. “Well, uh, I had a thing with this chick back in flight school, but I wouldn’t say we did it, or anything.” You take out your wallet and your phone, then toss them on the table as the girls walk in. Spitfire’s about four or so inches taller than Redheart, who’s pretty cute with her hair down. She looks pretty cute with her hair up, for that matter.

“Did you ever get to put fingers in her? Was she cute?” The order of the questions strikes you as odd.

“Y-yeah, a couple of times, and she ate me out a handful of times, too. I felt bad, because I didn’t really know how to give back. One night,” Spitfire tosses her leather jacket on a chair and continues, removing her shoes casually. “We had a night. Oh, god, what a night. We went to town on our three-night leave. It was a bitch getting those days to coincide like they did. Well, we got a hotel room on a false name, right? We had some schnapps, some vodka, some orange powder drink mix stuff, and some other stuff.”

Redheart sits next to her and lays back, stretching her back. “We made out and watched this cartoon and played a drinking game. We stopped every commercial, and took off one piece of clothing. We made out and drank the vodka with the orange stuff, and we were just really going at it on the bed before the second episode was over.”

“Was she a good kisser?” Redheart interrupts.

Spitfire nods, rolling her head around to stretch her neck out. “Yeah, Solar Chaser was great with her mouth.” Spitfire sighs heavily and rubs her bare thighs. The tanned skin looks so fun, and her short shorts leave very little to the imagination. “Oh, I remember how we were full nude, she had these little, perky tits. They were fun, and she was sooo sensitive. I sucked on those little things so hard, she almost came, just from that. I, oh hello, dolly.” Spitfire giggles as Redheart lightly plays with Spitfire’s breasts in her loose and stylish top. You just stand and watch, getting harder.

“Oh, mmmm oh yeah. Solar Chaser. She had this dark red hair that was really sexy. Chaser really loved it when I played with her pussy, but I didn’t know much. So, she let me take my time to get familiar with it. Chaser gave me a few tips and some information, then told me how to make her squirt.”

Redheart stops mid-squeeze at that comment, blushing deeply. “T-then what?”

Spitfire sits up, encouraging Redheart to go on. “Then I made her squirt. I fingered her some, then got three fingers in and played with her little spot, kept going fast and hard, then she did something that looked like pissing. Seriously, just one long, hot spurt came out of her lips and soaked a football sized spot on the bed.”

Redheart stops again, breathing a little heavily. “You alright, nurse?” you inquire quietly. “Got a bit of a fetish, do we?”

She nods, holding her body close to Spitfire’s by way of gripping her big tits. Spitfire sits up a little more, letting more of their bodies contact. “Come on, nurse,” Spitfire whispers. “Wanna play “Never have I ever”? We all take turns saying something we’ve never done, and if you have done it, you drink. If you’re the only one who hasn’t, you strip and drink. Sound fair?”

You nod, and Redheart pronounces her approval. “Sorry,” she whispers. “It’s just, I’ve been working doubles for two weeks straight and tonight’s my first night where I don’t work at five the next morning. I, I don’t really know many people in town, much less hot pilots and strapping young lads with bulging jeans.”

Her face goes red, her eyes fixed on your groin. You playfully put your hand over your sheathed shaft, making it appear more vividly through the denim. The two babes bite their lips at the same time.

You clap your hands and stand straight. “Okay, everyone put on their clothes. It’s time to play!” Spitfire jumps up instantly, grabbing her shoes and her jacket. The sexy nurse, in her casual blouse and jeans, just sits up.

“Nurse, why aren’t you in uniform?” Spitfire asks, slipping into her leather jacket.

Redheart smiles and hops off the bed. “You asked for it,” she says with a wink. Redheart takes her pants off and takes her white coat out of her bag. You watch the tight red panites get covered, mostly, by her short white coat. Redheart puts on her sexy little hat. “Should I bother with my scrub pants?”

You look to Spitfire, and then you both nod in consent. She speaks first. “And the hair. Put the bun up, but take that down last.”

Redheart smiles meekly, slipping into some tight pink pants. “Okay then. Let’s get started.”

You turn and reach into the big brown bag and pull out the whiskey, cola, and four of the hospitals plastic-wrapped plastic cups. “Fuck, Redheart? Could you grab some ice, please?” you ask.

She simply nods and takes the bucket to the hall for one moment. Spitfire helps you pour the drinks, then sits opposite you.

“Ya know, Foray, you’re a pretty special guy. Save a girl and cash in the favor the first night she’s out of the hospital, WITH the nurse who treated her no less! I admire your style, guy. And that cannon you’re packin’.” She giggles, holding your eyes with her vibrant irises. Spitfire runs some fingers through her thick orange hair, still staring into your face. She moves one chair closer to you and gives you a quick little kissy face.

“Thanks,” you reply. “I guess.”

Redheart returns with ice and sets it on the desk table. “Shall we?” she says, her womanly voice suddenly sexy.

She takes a seat opposite Spitfire and dishes out some ice. You try a sip of the bourbon and cola. It’s really strong, but really good. It’s still a little warm, but that will change soon.

Spitfire sits back in her chair and looks at the both of you. “Never have I ever made myself orgasm.” She raises her eyebrow and looks around.

You and the nurse pick up your cups. She drinks, but you pause. “Really?” You take a large two-gulp sip and take off your cap. Redheart almost gags a little bit, but downs her sip.

“Really. Almost did with the dryer one time when I was seventeen, but never could, well, finish.”

“Huh.” You stir your drink with a finger. “Never have I ever transferred funds electronically.” Spitfire mouths a “dammit!” and sips her drink. Redheart doesn’t. You lift your finger out of the cup, letting the drink drip off your finger. Redheart quickly grabs your hand and slurps off the last drops, sucking hard and moaning a little.

She lets go with a smack and says: “Never have I ever been on a boat.”

“Fuck!” Spitfire shouts. The both of you take a sip.

Spitfire unzips her jacket, then kicks off her shoes, again. “Never have I ever seen a butthole!”

Redheart laughs and smiles into her drink, then you look away and take a sip.

“No. Redheart sees that shit daily, but you? No! Where and when, Foray?” Spitfire inquires in disbelief.

You gulp down another mouthful and watch Redheart strip off her coat, revealing her tight blouse. “Let’s just say that after me and the most serious girl broke up, I tended to drink and go after fat chicks with weird tastes.”

You take another sip as Redheart snickers under Spitfire’s voracious laughter. You stand and toss off your coat. Seeing your wide chest makes Spitfire, astonishingly, shut up. “Your turn.”

Spitfire looks over Redheart’s chest, her small breasts popping out of that thing. “Never have I ever taken if up the butt.”

Redheart blushes and begins unbuttoning her shirt. You just watch, content with leaving her past in the past.

Several rounds go by, and it’s fairly balanced. Spitfire takes big sips whenever she “loses”, so you match her pace. After a short while, you sip the last of your first cup and toss your belt aside. Spitfire lets her tight shorts fall to the carpet. You help pour her another drink, but she insists on just a big splash of bourbon on the rocks.

“Alright,” Spitfire says. “Never, have I ever, um, saved someone’s life.”

You give the topless nurse a toast, then take draft straight from the bottle. Both you and Spitfire eagerly watch nurse Redheart turn, bend over, and take off her panties. Her tight butt is a huge turn on. You feel your boxer shorts grow more and more uncomfortable. Redheart turns and holds her little red panites in front of her shaved pussy, then holds them up to her collarbone to show off the goods. Spitfire makes a sort of moan, and your shaft is now fully erect. You lick your lips and resist the urge to adjust your erection.

Redheart dips her panties in her drink and holds the crotch up. You rush forward to catch the kinky fluid, but it just falls on your cheek. You grab the little red cotton garment and suck on the cloth, pulling out some cola and bourbon and a little pussy flavor. Spitfire groans in her seat. You savor the taste, feeling your cock throb. You remain standing, showing off your bulge in the lamplight.

You toss Spitfire the dirty underwear and hold the bottle of whiskey. “I’ve never taken off my panites and put them in my drink.” You take a gulp of rugged liquor, then top off Redheart’s drink as she grabs the stick holding her bun together. Spitfire giggles, wobbling in her chair a tiny bit.

Redheart pulls the stick in her hair and lets her long pink hair fall past her shoulders. She shakes her head and holds her hair in her hands, messing it up in a fantastic way.

“I’ve never sucked the liquor out of my panites, and Spitfire’s never seen that happen. Can we just get started? I’m really ready.” Redheart stands and puts her hands on the table, bending over.

“Yeah, I can taste that much,” you snidely reply. You feel kinda rude, but drunk enough to be mildly belligerent.

Spitfire tries to take her tiny blue banties off, but stumbles, laughing, and falls onto the bed. You follow Spitfire, laying over her perfect body. She drunkenly kisses you, holding your head close and sucking your lips. Your tongues slip over each other for a moment, your clothed erection rubbing her navel and her hot wetness sliding over your upper thigh. Spitfire moans deeply, making her pussy rub your leg until she pushes you back.

“Foray,” she whispers. “Want me to suck your cock?” She smiles, her fiery bangs hanging in her face.

“N-no!” Redheart quietly shouts. “Let me! Or, let me help, please?”

You stand and let Spitfire pull your shorts down. She giggles as your long cock stands at attention, aimed at her face. “Sorry, nurse. Spitfire asked first. But,” you reply, “I have an idea. Wanna sit on my face? It’s been too long since I’ve pleasured a nice, tight little pussy.”

Redheart shudders a little bit, some drool forming on her lips. “Y-y-yeah,” is all she can mutter. There’s more than a little visible dribble dripping from her slit.

Spitfire giggles as she grabs the base of your cock. “Me next, please?” She strokes lightly and slowly, more admiring than working.

“Of course. I’ll lay on the bed, then you two can position yourselves however you want. Sound good?”

Spitfire voices her approval while kissing your rigid head, but Redheart’s red face can barely say anything. She nods, horny as fuck.

You wink as Spitfire licks the tip, then lets go. You step out of your boxers and lay naked on the bed, propping your head up on a pillow.

Redheart is the first to fit herself into the sex trio. You grab her tight ass and move her pussy to your mouth. Redheart’s pussy smells strongly of needing. You lick the light-pink labia lightly, then again, drawing out some serious moaning. You feel Redheart tremble on top of you as some hot breath ethereally caresses your cockhead. Spitfire sucks your cock in just past the scar and bobs up and down deftly. You dip your tongue deeper into Redheart’s sweet petals. Her hot pink is oozing inviting lubricant. You take one finger and slip inside, feeling for the g-spot and her moaning.

“Oooooaahhh, oh god! Yes! More, Foray, MORE!” Redheart’s hips undulate on their own, pushing your muzzle into her crotch. You slip in two, the three fingers inside. Redheart’s moaning increases with Spitfire’s amazing mouth. A slick, soft tongue massages the underside and the head of your cock in double time. Spitfire spits on your long shaft and jerks you off quickly with her hand.

In response, you instinctively bite on Redheart’s hard nub and push into her g-spot. She cries out through the thick moaning, drunkenly spilling fluids all over your chin and neck. “God, YES! Oh, yes, bite harder, Foray. Harder! Faster! Oh FUCK!”

You oblige and suck on Redheart’s clitoris harder. You thrust three fingers faster and deeper, feeling Redheart’s cervix behind her soft, tight pussy. She arches her back and screams, really wails as you bite on her clitoris with your incisors. You force in your pinkie, Redheart really wants it rough tonight.

She cries out louder and louder, begging you to treat her like mere meat. Spitfire, however, is delicately pleasing your sensitive organ, content to watch.

“FUCK! Oh, oh GOD, Foray! Keep, ah, keep going, I’m gonna, gon-oh god.” Redheart bends over and rests her hands on the headboard, her petite tits bouncing as you nibble and fuck her with your fingers.

Without words, Redheart begs for your fingers in her ass. You’ve never done such a thing, but it’s hardly hard to do when her wet pussy provides all the lubrication you’ll need. You let her clit go and draw your deft fingers out of Redheart’s tight pussy. You prod her asshole with one finger, and it slips in easily. Her tighter hole is clean as you push inside to the third knuckle. You take your left hand and go back to her pussy. Redheart praises every movement you make with her moaning. Three in her pussy and one in her butt, Redheart shakes more and more as you continue. Meanwhile, Spitfire begins to take you in her throat.

Redheart’s words are constant, yet inscrutable. You make out various curses and sex words as well as your name every so often, but her pre-climax rant is incoherent. You push against Redheart’s g-spot just when her ramblings turn into a solid moan. Her wild hips shake, your cock throbs inside Spitfire’s mouth, and Redheart finally cums. You press your teeth together around her little cum button and gyrate your fingers into her g-spot, your other finger dives deep into her ass.

Redheart lifts her ass up reflexively, screaming out nothing, and coats your chest with a long spurt of female ejaculate. You pull your dirty finger out and lift her ass up, making her squirt again with your other four fingers. Spitfire yelps and laughs as the squirt gun plasters her bangs to her forehead.

Redheart falls limp immediately, her petite frame awkwardly laying over you and the bed. Spitfire crawls up and helps the nurse to lay on her side, holding her shaking body. You help, your skin sticky with body fluids.

“Saw what you did there, Foray,” Spitfire whispers over Redheart’s ear, wiping her wet brow.

“Sorry if we picked up a squirter, Spitfire. I thought you were into that.” You grab Redheart’s ass and give her a nice squeeze, sneaking a knee in between her legs.

Spitfire only whips her wet hair out of her eyes. “Can I have a turn, now?” she whispers quietly.

You give the nurse a quick kiss on the lips, then a slower, more passionate one. You climb off the bed and help Redheart crawl under the covers. “Yeah, but I’d better wash my hands. Just chill with the nurse for a minute.”

Spitfire groans into a pillow from boredom. You give her a solid spank, making her tight ass jiggle nicely and her body spaz out for a second. Spitfire rockets upright and comes right at you. You hold her wrists when she tries to slap you, smiling and giggling. Spitfire lunges forward, holding her body to yours. You share a nice, long, tongue-filled kiss for twenty seconds. She reaches down and lightly caresses your stiff member. You and Spitfire swap spit for a few moments more, feeling each other’s bodies.

At last, you push her away and make for the bathroom. You don’t bother with taking a piss, just cleaning the human off your fingers. With soap and hot water, you wash your sticky chest as well. You take some time and find a condom in your wallet. You slowly roll it on, listening to the room outside. Their words are inscrutable, mostly. You can make out an occasional name or curse word or just a laugh. They stop for a moment, and you can faintly hear moaning. You pull the rubber all the way on and step back into the room.

Redheart lays on her back, her nice little pussy fully open to your worship, penetration, domination, abuse, anything. Your cock throbs as you watch Spitfire wrap a blindfold around the nurse’s eyes. “What’s going on?” you ask, more horny than concerned.

Spitfire turns to her side, pinning Redheart’s right arm. “Huh? Oh, this? Nurse Redheart insisted we do this. She likes a little slap and tickle. Or a lot, as she put it.” Spitfire pinches Redheart’s left nipple hard, making her cry out in pleasured pain.

Spitfire lets up and puts both of her knees on Redheart’s biceps. “Oh, c-careful, Spitfire. Remember the safeword, alright? J-just stop when I say aspen, okay?”

“Alright, nurse. How shall we administer the treatment?” Spitfire sits back, resting some weight right into Redheart’s abdomen. “Orally? Mmmmm, maybe. Externally?” Spitfire lays her hands between Redheart’s spread legs and leans back, using her knees to compress Redheart’s round B-cups. Spitfire lays back fully, looking behind herself and right at you. “What do you think, Foray? Little nurse Redheart’s got a fever. And the only perscription, is that long, hard cock of yours. I think she can survive a few more hours, though.”

The pilot rolls over onto her stomach and kisses Redheart’s soft labia. Spitfire moans softly, her large C-cups pressing into Redheart’s womanly v, and slips her tongue into the Redheart’s pink folds.

You take a step to the side and watch Redheart use only her mouth to play with Spitfire’s pussy. You feel your cock twitch at the sight, sound and smell of Spitfire’s slit getting a submissive tongue. Redheart’s wrists are bound to the bed with her own clothes.

Spitfire calls you back, and you return to Redheart’s exposed slit. Spitfire lifts her hips a little as her pussy gets played with. “Mmm, well? You got a little pussy to slide that stallion into.” Spitfire bites her lip and spreads Redheart’s glistening lips. You take your steel rod and move in. Gently, you prod the nurse’s pink, hot entrance. Spitfire giggles a little when she isn’t moaning . She takes your thick cock in one hand and strokes some. You grab the base and pull back a little. You place a hand on Spitfire’s head, telling her wordlessly to work her magic.

The pilot’s shoulders shudder some as she mentally prepares. “Okay,” she mouths. Spitfire quickly takes your large cock past the scar, coating your head with her slick saliva. She pulls back and kisses the tip, using her hand to coat the rubber with some natural lube. Spitfire licks her lips some. “Mmmmm, orange dreamsicle. I think. Is that it?”

You just nod your head and push her face back down. Spitfire chuckles confidently and takes your hard-on head on. Her wet mouth engulfs four inches on the first try, then five inches on the next. Spitfire gags and tries for the gold. You feel her throat accept you, but she pulls back immediately.

While she’s recovering from a coughing fit, Spitfire has trouble just standing on her hands and knees. Redheart’s restricted movements must be damn good, because Spitfire can barely breathe.

You give her a sip of icy cola, only a little Applejack Daniels in it. Spitfire gulps down the weak drink and chews hard on some ice cubes, drooling a few tiny chunks of ice. Redheart moans a little bit. You glance down to her pussy, noting some of the ice on her hot slit. You take an ice cube and get down on your knees. Spitfire pauses you with a slow kiss, then lets you go on.

“AAAAAAAAAaaAAAh~!” You lick the half-melted ice cube in your fingers and the tiny object into the nurse’s slit. “OOAAAAAAAA-rmf!” Spitfire shuts her up with her own slit. The faces Spitfire makes as Redheart screams into her pussy are priceless. You hold her head, her absent eyes and slack jaw are completely unaware of your touch. Spitfire’s likely completely oblivious to any other sensation than the entirety of her reproductive tissues being reverberated. You almost feel bad for Redheart, torturing her to make this happen. Almost.

You guide Spitfire’s drooling lips to your cock, and she sucks it into her mouth eagerly. Her wet lips suck your hard organ into her mouth. Spitfire moans into your meat, gagging around it as you fuck her face. Some switch must have flipped, because Spitfire’s now more than willing to try to take you all the way in. Her hot throat offers some resistance, but it opens for you, sucking your head into the hot, wet tightness of her esophagus. Spitfire’s tongue slips out to flick your sack a little. She groans around your obstructing pole as you move your hips. Spitfire’s tight throat opens and closes around your sensitive, protected head over and over and over again. The hot squeezing sensation, as well as her vibrating moans, feel extremely good.

Spitfire forces her way off of your cock, choking and coughing and surprisingly not angry. Spitfire smiles and clears her throat some more. She wipes her lips and puts her fingers on Redheart’s slit. “If you’re done abusing me, care to ram Redheart some? She’s more into masochism than me.” Spitfire smiles and closes her eyes, loving Redheart’s work. “Oooohh, nurse, yes. Oh, yeah, yeah, you wanna get fucked, Redheart? Suck on th-AT part for no, bite for yes.” Spitfire puts her fingers on Redheart’s lips and suddenly shrieks. “AH! Oh, that’s a fuck yes.”

You grab your shaft and Spitfire’s head. She parts Redheart’s pretty little pussy for you. Redheart’s muffled moans escape wetly as your protected cannon slips in slowly. The inner entrance parts hotly for you, squeezing the hell out of your head. The pleasure is agonizing through the thin rubber. Her ribbed flesh slowly accepts your girth, but not without difficulty. Spitfire licks and nibbles the clitoris, clearly closing in on her personal finish line. You feel near as well; it’s been over a year since your last fuck. Six years ago was the first day at boot camp. Since then, masturbation was a luxury, and pussy was a rare delicacy, for penetrating and consumption alike. Your sack aches for relief, and Redheart’s tight pussy is more than perfect.

Redheart’s slit is too good, and you can feel your pleasure change as her hips shake. She’s going to cum any second, and you’re due soon after, if not simultaneously.

“Fuck, Redheart,” Spitfire half moans. “You’re a real trooper to take that fucking thing like that and keep me go-oing.”

You push Spitfire’s head back down to Redheart’s pussy. She playfully giggles and goes back to work.

You look up and begin thrusting, about halfway engulfed, roughly five inches in. Redheart’s smothered moans float into the room over Spitfire’s. The boring painting on the wall is swimming on the off-yellow paint, the room is moving a little.

Suddenly, a hand grasps your shaft and pulls it forward. You let it take you deeper into Redheart, feeling more of her delicious ribbed flesh suck you in. The tight, hot, wet walls caress your erection like nothing else. You push deeper, all the way to her barrier. Redheart’s cervix is like a second g-spot, making her shake and moan and everything. Spitfire’s bright bangs tickle your groin as you just move a little deep inside.

You look down to see two shaking females, both moaning in increasingly higher volume and pitch. The sight, smells, and sensations make your entire core tense up. You’re going to cum, and soon. You press Spitfire’s head into Redheart’s slit and begin to pull back a little, cursing and worshipping the amazing feeling of the tight walls sucking your meat.

You let and force Spitfire to tongue-fuck Redheart while your head barely remains engulfed. Redheart’s petite hips convulse widly. Spitfire’s tight ass is moving a little more than it was a second ago, and she’s obviously holding in some serious screaming.

You slowly push inside, mentally recording the way her tight lips swallow your shaft. Inch by inch, you push inside. Redheart’s small frame can’t take all of you, but it can take a whole fucking lot. You pull all the way back and ram inside, making her stop with her tongue and scream at the ceiling.

“AAAaah! Oaaaah, oh, oh, fuck, FUCK! FFFU-mmmfffmmmm~!” You pull back and ram again, then again, watching as Spitfire smothers her with her wet pussy. Your mouth waters and your brain seems like it’s going to boil into stolid vapor. You punish Redheart and feel your entire body begin to feel like jelly. You grab onto Redheart’s legs and thrust as hard and as fast as you can, her tight, soft walls milking your hard rod for all it’s got. You pump faster and hard, unmercifully jabbing Redheart’s cervix. You finally feel release, at long last, when Redheart’s muffled screams make Spitfire’s throat catch in orgasm. The first load is amazing, a long shot of hot sperm into the rubber. Redheart’s tight cunt spasms around your steel shaft as you cum together. You unload thick rope after rope of sticky, hot milk into the protection. After what seems like a volley of twenty or so shots, you let out your breath.

You pull out halfway and watch Spitfire and Redheart catch their breath. You pant a little, some sweat on your brow and back, triumphant and momentarily spent. You pull your cock out all the way, careful of the new presence at the end of the condom.

You rub Redheart’s freshly fucked lips a little, then tousle Spitfire’s wild hair. She looks up at you, smiling, half of her face drenched in female fluids.

“That shit was thoroughly good,” Spitfire hoarsely whispers. She clears her throat and stares at your cock. “Oh- oh my god that’s a lot of... s-stuff. You really were holding this spunk in, weren’t you?”

You just nod, no need to delve into your personal history. You start to unroll the rubber when Redheart responds.

“Foray?” she barely whispers. She gulps and tries again quietly. “Foray? Can, can I have a taste?”

You stand fully and get on the bed next to her. Spitfire turns and watches as Redheart blindly finds the cum balloon with her lips. You help her take it off and bring the opening to her face.

“Make her down it all,” Spitfire cruelly whispers. “Mmm, yeah, I wanna see this bitch swallow a whole load.”

“Yes!” Redheart quietly screams. “Yes! Make me eat it all! Watch and make sure I don’t let one drop go.”

You obey and bring the open end to Redheart’s lips. She sucks on the rubber, her tongue exploring inside. Her lips curl into a wicked smile, humming praise. You tilt the stretched end up, watching the thick cream shoot into her waiting mouth. Redheart gags a little as the cum hits her throat, but she doesn’t swallow or hurl. Spitfire uses her fingers to squeeze out the final bits of sperm into Redheart’s mouth, holding up the rubber to watch the strands fall onto her coated tongue. Redheart swirls the sperm in her mouth around some, erotically playing with her food. Spitfire giggles as the nurse’s lips clamp closed. With one grimace and a loud gulp, Redheart smiles wide and licks her teeth.

“All gone,” Spitfire whispers. “Wait, you missed a spot.” Suddenly, Spitfire’s tongue laps up a single strand of semen on Redheart’s chin. Spitfire spits it into Redheart’s long pink bangs.

“Hey!” the nurse objects. “I, I wanted that!”

“You can have more in a minute,” you whisper, feeling your half-rigid shaft begin to harden again already. You feel extremely drowsy, but nothing some water and a stretch won’t fix. You stand and watch your vision and consciousness wane for a moment, then return. Walking to the bathroom is amusingly challenging. The wall rolls around in place some, trying to block your path. You use its sturdiness as a crutch and find the bathroom. You get a drink and take a leak and venture back into the slightly spinning room.

You return to the bed feeling less drunk and more horny. Spitfire and Redheart are swapping tainted spit and moving their hips. A change of perspective reveals a sexy sight: Spitfire’s tight, pristine and dripping labia rubbing hard against Redheart’s fresly fucked slit. You can hear sporadic moans and sexy little noises as they grind their lips together.

You massage the soft out of your tool and move in raw. Spitfire jumps a little when your cockhead touches her pussy, but she just lifts her ass up in understanding. You give her a rough little slap on her nice, round butt and take a handful. She giggles a little and goes back to tongue wrestling. You slip your dick in between the two moist folds, feeling a nice pressure fully caress both the top and bottom of your long, hard shaft. You push into both pairs of hot, sopping wet lips, using Spitfire’s amazing ass for leverage.

The feeling of two labias and the hot pink underneath completely coating your hard shaft in steamy pussy fluids is beyond compare. The warm flesh caresses all of your tool at the same time, and thrusting provides a perfect mixture of softness and friction. Spitfire reflexively sits up, pressing her hot slit down onto yours, also pressing the sensitive underside of your shaft into Redheart’s warm womanhood. She rocks back and forth, cupping her big breasts, as you thrust in and out of the combined fuck-tool. You can feel two clitorises, two hard nubs as you push your entire length in between the women’s lips and stomachs. Your head reaches Redheart’s navel as her clitoris pushes a little into the very base of your shaft. Spitfire moans, her clit pressing harder into the upper side of your shaft. You use her ass to shake her back and forth, making her giggle and laugh as her skin massages your rock-hard tool. The sensations are amazing, but Spitfire stops and stands on her hands and knees.

“You gonna stick it in soon or what?” she whispers over her shoulder, more begging than asking.

You simply slap her again and pull her ass to the side of the bed. Spitfire shrieks and laughs playfully you catch her falling off the end of the bed. You hold her backside up easily and position her so that she can eat out Redheart. Spitfire slips her arms underneath the nurse’s thighs and supports her upper body on the bed while you hold her up by her slim waist alone.

“Uh, I have to ask this, Spitfire.” You lean back and look at her perfect pussy. “You’re clean, right? I mean, you definitely look cle-”

“YES! Yeah, just FUCK ME ALREADY, SAILOR!”

You smack Spitfire’s now red ass again, just for the hell of it. She’s begging for cock, and you aim to deliver. Without even setting her down, you carefully push your head inside her tight entrance. The first few inches slide in easily, her soft walls wetly suck your girth inside. Spitfire sighs heavily as you rock back and forth just partly inside her, rubbing her g-spot with each movement.

You push forward and slowly slip further inside, pushing out some fluids. Spitfire moans as she starts stroking Redheart’s slit with her tongue. You just move deep inside, then pull out to her entrance, and then gradually push all the way inside Spitfire’s tight vagina. Her slimy walls squeeze and coat your cock with her fluids, hotly massaging your moving organ. You pull Spitfire’s hips to yours and penetrate her completely, bumping into her cervix. Spitfire sort of cries out, her face falling into Redheart’s groin. You pull back and thrust forward forcefully, making her scream a little. You, worried about the other guests at the hotel, grab your shirt and toss it at Spitfire’s head.

“If you’re gonna scream, do it in that. We gotta keep it down some, I think.” Your arms ache from holding Spitfire like this for so long. You let her down until her feet touch the floor. You stoop over some, ensuring your cock will push into her special spot with every thrust. Spitfire’s moans slowly increase when she’s not gasping for air.

Redheart’s little hips move up and down, coaxing Spitfire to do more. You push deep inside, pressing your hard head into Spitfire’s cervix. Something Spitfire does makes Redheart moan and arch her back. You pull back and thrust hard again. Your hips slap Spitfire’s nice round ass, and you take no time with going at it again. The pleasure Spitfire’s hot, ribbed flesh brings to your organ is beyond compare.

You breath deep and establish a quick rhythm. You look down and spread the pilot’s tight ass, staring at the way her lower lips suck in all of your manhood. She can really take the whole thing, not like Redheart. Spitfire moves along, moaning and licking and sucking on Redheart’s pussy. The, sights, the sounds, the smells and the sensations all mix together inside your head. You feel stronger than ever, a primal hunger growing in your core. Watching Spitfire’s willing pussy suck your tool in over and over and over makes it that much more enjoyable. The pilot’s hips are struggling to keep up now. Her hot moans vibrate Redheart’s sex, making her cry out some as well.

Spitfire loses control and just lets you fuck her from behind. You instinctively stoop over a little, speeding up your long thrusts. Your dick slips out to the tip, then flies back in, noisily penetrating Spitfire’s pleasure center. You can get a view of Redheart’s pussy as Spitfire works her tongue inside and out, stopping to flick and bite the clitoris every few seconds. Wet spit noises combine with intense moans and the sound of your cock ramming Spitfire’s wet hole.

Again, your mind ignites. Redheart’s and Spitfire’s sex noises escalate as you thrust harder and faster, reaching Spitfire’s cervix every time. You feel like you’re about to explode again. You hold back as much as you can without slowing down, but it’s an uphill battle. The pilot’s hips are unsteady as she nears climax. You stand a little straighter and move a hand down her back to Spitfire’s ass. You give her butt a hard smack and thrust harder. Spitfire’s legs are useless as they tense up in pre-orgasm. You carefully put a finger right on Spitfire’s anus, getting some vocal response. You can’t tell if its consent or denial, but it doesn’t matter. You time your finger with your quick pace and push in the first knuckle.

“Ah! FUCK!” Spitfire shouts. “Fuck, fuck! Yeah! Oh god, gaaawd i’m gonna cum. Oooohh~! Ah, ah yeah, yes, YES! FUCK ME! FFFFFFFUUCK ME!”

Your thick finger slips in hotly into her ass. Your cock is ramming hard, pushing her inner cum button like an elevator call button, really jabbing as you slide over it. The spongy spot massages the sensitive bulge on the underside of your shaft as Spitfire’s ribbed walls suck on your organ. Her hot, wet hole is too amazing. You feel your core tense up suddenly, and it’s all you can do to pull out. Spitfire’s shaking ass cheeks provide a nice rifle stand to shoot from. Her curvy and symmetrical back provides the perfect landing strip for your cum. You grunt as your cock shoots out thick lines of sticky semen all over Spitfire’s back. A few strands fly into her orange hair. You grunt through the volleys, the amazing juices cooling on your rod.

Spitfire rests her head on Redheart’s belly, then she carefully stands up. “O-okay,” she quietly says. “When I can walk, I’m gonna take a quick shower, then pass the fuck out.”

You stand with Spitfire, helping her balance, her back facing the restrained Redheart on the bed. “Alright,” you reply. “You’ve got one tight fucking pussy, Spitfire.” You grab her by the waist and give her a huge kiss. Redheart’s flavor clings strongly to Spitfire’s soft, full lips. She moans a little as you just barely trace her labia with your first two fingers.

Spitfire playfully pushes you away and sways her way to the little bathroom. The lights flick on and the sound of the whirring fan is muted behind the heavy door.

“Redheart?” you inquire quietly.

“F-foray?” she desperately replies.

“You didn’t cum, did you?”

Redheart sort of nods her head and burps a little. “I, ah, I kinda came, buh di- I didn’t. C-c’n you take thisofff?”

You blink and control your fall forward. You aim your elbows on either side of Redheart’s splayed pink hair, catching yourself over her as the bed squeaks. You rest on your right arm, pressing slightly into the soft bed and pull off the blindfold, careful of the nurse’s pretty mane. She blinks and breathes deep in drunk approval.

“Ah! Thanks, ugh, oh man. I think I had a lil’ too muchsh tadrink, Foray. I wus, I was spinning and, an, I feel a liddle beder.” Redheart visibly gags lightly.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly. “You kinda lost the game, didn’t ya? Come on,” you say, working at the knots. “Get up, let’s get some water and pray.”

Redheart sits up uneasily, rubbing her wrists. “I’m not that drunk, sheesh. You religio-oh, ooh you mean the porslin goddess, huh?” The nurse breathes in through her nose, watching your tool as you stand in front of her. You realize that your tool isn’t clean anymore, but sticky with male and female juices.

You watch her rub her head and sway in place, focusing on standing straight. It’s not too hard, unlike your manhood. “Think you need me to carry you, Redheart? Or can you manage?” Her glazed eyes betray her little grin.

She bites her lip softly, but hiccups a little. “I, I think I can. Water sounds good.” Her speech is cleaner, now. “Yeah, yeah I can make it.” The mild drone of the shower moves from the ground and into the figure as you help Redheart to stand. She pushes away your helping hand, but her fingers clasp around your wrist as her hips fly outwards. You catch the nurse and quickly hoist her in your arms.

Walking with a petite nurse in your arms isn’t tough at all, especially compared to a two-hundred pound marine in full combat gear, blood and bullets flying through the air. You grab the doorknob and walk inside.

The steamy bathroom air warms your body as you set Redheart down. She uses the wall for support and does her best to stand still. You close the door behind you and watch over the top of the short shower curtain as Spitfire runs her fingers through her hair. She rubs the water out of her face and pulls the curtain back a little.

“What up?” she says over the dull roar of the shower.

You grab Redheart’s shoulder in one hand. “The nurse didn’t like the way the blindfold looked through beer goggles, so we’re getting a drink of water. She’ll be alright, but she needs to take a nap soon.”

Redheart stands, wobbling some, and spins around and carefully falls onto the toilet seat, tight, round butt first. Redheart gives a timid thumbs up in assurance.

Spitfire kills the water and pulls the curtain open fully. Her sopping wet breasts, round and glorious, catch your eye. The way her wet hair hugs her head makes you stand at attention. The pilot spreads her feet a little wider, giving the both of you a perfect view of her nude body. You feel that same primal lust burn in your groin as she steps out, still dripping wet.

Spitfire reaches for a towel hanging over Redheart’s red face, but you stop her. “No,” you manage to whisper. “Let’s fuck, right here, soaking wet.”

The pilot just looks at you, eyes wide and legs trembling just the slightest. You look down to her pussy and notice that her upper thigh is slightly more crimson than her salmon-colored labia. You instinctively get on your knees and inspect the scar.

It’s holding up perfectly, coated in water and other fluids. You lick it and let your nose press into Spitfire’s dripping lips. Her femininity reeks, driving you insane with more carnal lust. Spitfire is having trouble, or maybe her hand pulling your mouth to her pussy is just a sign of admiration. Her dripping slit tastes nice and clean, only unfiltered shower water spoiling the fun. You suck on her hard little nub, drawing out pleased little giggles under the loud fan. You slip a hand up her thigh, grazing her healing scar, and touch her wet lips. Spitfire’s uneasy legs tremble as your finger penetrates her pussy.

“Aahh, uhn, oh, mmm Foray, oh,” Spitfire whips her hair out of her eyes and touches your head with both hands. “S-stop, stop. Foray, fuck me right now,” the pilot barely manages to command.

You bite her clitoris softly, making her giggle a little bit, and then stand up. Redheart is red faced and really interested. Spitfire draws your face to hers with an inaccurate hand. Your lips meet, and Spitfire gladly takes her own flavor. You grip her ass in both hands and pull her front to your rigid manhood. The pilot’s toned stomach caresses your shaft as you pull Spitfire up and down, swapping delicious saliva.

Spitfire can’t take it. She pushes you back out to the sink outside the tiny bathroom, making you sit on the sturdy thing. The cold countertop soon warms under your cheeks, and Spitfire is sooner trying to ride your rigidity. No words are said as the bathroom door half slams shut, covering the noises Redheart’s making.

“Oh, mmmmmmmng, it’s big alright,” Spitfire barely whispers as she takes your shaft in her hand. She aims it at herself and lowers her hips. Her dripping pussy lubricates your tool just before entry. You put a finger in Spitfire’s mouth to cover her screams. You almost grunt loudly as her tight slit begins to take you inside.

Spitfire sucks hard on your finger as she takes you further inside. Her tight hole feels just as amazing as it did before, maybe even more. Her sopping wet breasts are yours for the grabbing as Spitfire takes her own fast pace. She moans into your finger and falls onto your tool, fully impaling herself. Spitfire sort of cries out into your first digit and sucks it deep into her mouth, testing her gag reflex. She doesn’t even flinch when you thrust up into her.

You lean back into the freezing cold of the mirror and let Spitfire ride. She fellates your wet finger like it’s the real deal, loving her pussy getting filled. Spitfire lifts her ass up, letting your cock out to the tip, then falls down onto it noisily. She squeaks a little bit and takes your finger out. Her long strokes increase in tempo with every thrust, her pain tolerance increasing some with your girth. Her tight walls milk all of your shaft, the head, the underside, the entire length. The sexy pilot’s pink completely pleasures your organ. You hear a faint crackling as you lean your head back in ecstasy. Spitfire’s heavy tits wetly slip out of your grasp over and over again as she rides your cock.

Spitfire makes you hold her up by her ass as she rides you, leaning back and making the countertop bounce a little. You lean forward some and hold Spitfire close, stopping her. Before she can object, you jump up and off of the ailing counter. She wails a little when you land, making her fall hard on your cock, but she moans gratefully when you lean her up against the wall in front of you. You adjust her some and then begin to fuck her standing. Spitfire leans her entire back against the wall, breathing hard, her chest shaking a little. She mouths something like “come”, probably about to orgasm. She’s obviously fucked beyond the point of coherence. You feel close, too. You push into her a few more times, taking advantage of all of her delicious flesh, and then pull out and let her get on the ground. “What now? How do you wanna finish, Spitfire?”

The pilot sways in place, a little bow legged and breathing hard. She falls back to the wall and mouths the word “bed”. You give Spitfire a quick kiss and lead her to the bed. She falls on her back, giggling as you jump on, too. You bend your head down to her neck and suck gently on her damp and tender skin. Spitfire sort of moans and giggles as she lightly strokes your wet dick. She kisses your ear and makes you sit up. The blanket on which she fell is soaked in places, especially where her hair was.

“You close?” she whispers. You simply nod back at her. “So am I. Use your fingers, please? You’re so good with those, making Redheart squirt like that. I’ve never done that, you wanna try?”

Spitfire’s face rolls around under yours. “Yeah, sounds awesome. Yeah, yeah wanna do me the same?” The pilot laughs in your face and nods, biting her lip.

“But where would you finish?”

You spread your leg a little for comfort and find a wet spot Redheart made. “Anywhere. Sheets are already dirty.”

Spitfire squeezes her fingers around the very tip of your dick and massages it wetly. “I’ll make you cum so fucking hard, then, right into the fucking blanket.”

You sit up and watch Spitfire work her juices around on your rock-hard organ. Your hand traces her soft, warm and still somewhat damp skin to her glistening petals. The way her soft labia moves under your slight pressure is entertaining, to say the least. You move to the foot of the bed, your teeth chattering at the sensation of your cock leaving Spitfire’s wet grasp, and begin to really finger Spitfire. Her head falls onto a pillow as your first two fingers dive inside her tight pussy. Her walls and her hips shake as you pick up the pace, circling and thrusting over her special cum spot. She grips the sheets in agony as you slip in a third finger and really go to work on her. Spitfire’s hips are tensing up in no time at all. Her moans try to pierce the ceiling when you add your tongue to the fun.

Spitfire grabs your short hair and flexes every muscle in her body, especially her cunt. She whimpers as a little bit of clear-ish fluid leaks out and onto your compressed tongue. It tastes somewhere between vile and ambrosial. Spitfire’s orgasmic scent makes your rigid length go even harder. You press three fingers into Spitfire’s g-spot and listen to the intense moaning.

After ten seconds or so, Spitfire relaxes and pushes you away. “J-just one sec, stud.” Spitfire jumps up and makes it to the sink, her upper legs coated in girlcum. She bends over the sink, filling a cup with water. You move behind her, sticking your rigid cock between her shapely thighs. She perks up and closes her legs for you, letting you fuck her slick thighs for the moment. You watch in the slightly cracked mirror as your thick cock penetrates her legs, popping out and then hiding in her thighs.

Spitfire’s nice tits hang over the sink as she adjusts the tap some and fills the cup again and again, fucking with the temperature. Spitfire’s slick thighs feel so good, you just want to reach around and make yourself finish with her hand. You try to do just that, but Spitfire slaps your hand away and turns to face you, a little plastic cup full of steamy water.

She kisses your strong chest and gets on her knees in front of you, sucking your steel shaft and stroking slowly. Spitfire spits on your tool and looks up to you. “Ready?” she barely whispers.

All you have to do is touch her face with one gentle hand. Spitfire smiles as she sticks your tip on her flat tongue. The rosy pink head disappears in her nice mouth. She tries again and takes half of the long rod. You feel ready to cum again already. Spitfire suddenly takes your entire length, ballooning out her throat as your cock fills it. She coughs around it and spits your meat out, then coughs again as she strokes some more.

Spitfire smiles as she puts your long cock between her tits. She buries you in her tits and slowly pours hot water all over your shaft, lifting her chest and masturbating you. Her sticky skin instantly becomes softer and amazingly fuckable. The heat from the water makes it even harder not to blow right now. Spitfire smiles up at you, noting your grimace of joy, and pours the last of the cup out on your cock. She pulls her other arm around to squish her boobs around your tool tighter.

“You like that, don’t you? My big fucking tits all wet for you, just like my pussy. Nice and hot, too, is it gonna make you cum? Are you gonna blow another monster load for me? I’ll make you shoot so much sperm out, right in this cup, and then I’ll swallow your whole fucking load. Mmm, mmmm!” Spitfire licks her lips and picks up the pace, stroking longer and faster. Your head penetrates her soft flesh over and over again, unbelievably massaging the sensitive head over and over again.

It’s all you can do to utter a warning. Spitfire grips the shaft just below the head and squeezes hard. Her strong hand aims your cannon at the flimsy cup just in time to fill it. Your sack tenses up, and you unload. Three thick spurts launch out and smack into plastic, splattering Spitfire’s hand with droplets of semen. Your tired tool spurts out an impressive amount less violently, but no less pleasurable. You feel suddenly tired as the last drops dribble out. Spitfire uses her thumb and her tongue to pull out the last strands, then spits them into the cup.

“Jeez, guy, you should do porn,” Spitfire says with stained lips. The little drinking cup has quite a bit of spunk in it. Spitfire gives it a sniff, but backs off a little, disgusted. “Uh, I’m really not that hungry. Maybe Redheart wants it, what do you think?”

You open your eyes again and try to stand straight. “Y-yeah. Yeah, yeah whatever.” It’s hard to just stay fully awake. You move forward, avoid the dirty cup, and get a drink right from the sink. You feel much better after getting some hydration.

“You don’t have to drink that, ya know,” you tell Spitfire as she licks her lips clean, staring at the jizz. “Do, are you even into that?”

Spitfire blushes redder and looks away. “W-well, senior year, I kinda got kicked out and I was living with a boy, and, we were low on funds so, so I ate his stuff on camera and sent it into a site once. We got one grand for it, and it wasn’t that bad, and I watched the tape. My eyes aren’t in it, soo, yeah. It wasn’t that, that bad.”

You take a nice handful of Spitfire’s ass again and move in close, watching her in the mirror. “You obviously like the taste,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” she whispers into the cup just inches from her face. The sticky stuff on the rim drips onto her finger, creating a little bridge.

“How about a little taste of me, for me?” Your finger slides down her leg, then back up, slipping over the wetness of her inner thigh.

Spitfire gulps and takes another smell, this time her mouth waters. She looks in the mirror, then crosses her eyes as she looks at the bubbly spunk. She tilts the cup, then holds it upside down over her face and open mouth. Thick strands descend to her lips and her tongue and her nose. Spitfire moans softly when your fingertip traces her labia. More and more cum falls into her mouth or onto her lips. She opens one eye, the other slightly sticky, and uses a finger to pull the cum out. She sucks it off, then licks the rim of the cup. She holds all the cum in her mouth and looks into the mirror, playing with her food. Spitfire uses a finger to wipe her eye and pick up the spare spunk on her chin. What’s in her mouth coats her teeth and tongue well. Spitfire swirls the cum around, then spits it back into the plastic cup. She swallows the last bit left in her mouth with a smile, however.

“So strong and salty,” Spitfire mutters.

“Fucking ass, that was hot, Spitfire.” You stand behind her, still too drowsy, and play with her warm, wet breasts. “If Redheart’s still alive, maybe she wants some. If not, well, I’ve never fucked a corpse before.”

Spitfire laughs deeply, bending over slightly and pushing her ass into your lap. “That’s fucked up, Foray.”

“Yeah, so is not cumming inside. Come on, we should check on the nurse.”

The bathroom door opens immediately, and Redheart is wiping her chin. When she sees the cup of white stuff, she gags and retreats back inside.

You and Spitfire share an understanding look, but say nothing. She leads you silently to the bed, but not before brushing her teeth with a spare toothbrush. You take another drink of water and down some ibuprofen, preparing for a hangover. The room isn’t spinning anymore, thankfully, but you know tomorrow will suck.

You crawl under the stained covers with Spitfire and hold her back to your chest, her nice butt pressing into your tired tool. Spitfire uses her tight ass to make you hard again and her hand to play with your organ behind her back. You close you eyes, inhaling her scent, and play with her pussy with three fingers.

Spitfire pulls your tool between her legs and cooks it with her womanly heat. Her moist lips provide some lubrication for your rigid member. Soon, she’s under you, getting slowly fucked. Spitfire shuts her eyes and wraps her arms around your torso, hugging you as your cock fills her up over and over again. Soft moans and deep breathing fill the quiet room, just under the mildly annoying bathroom fan. In twenty or so minutes, Spitfire’s back arches in another orgasm. It’s tough, but you sleepily hold back. Spitfire repays your patience by throating you like a professional. She takes your last load in her mouth and spits it out in her hand. After hardly any convincing, she licks it all up and swallows. Spitfire gets up to rinse her mouth, and returns in a few minutes with Redheart’s arm over her shoulder.

The two women climb into bed, freshly dicked and sleepy. Spitfire presses her tight butt into your lap again as Redheart presses her ass into Spitfire’s groin. You fall asleep moments before your arm does, warm, fed, dry, spent and happy.

Lyra Heartstrings

Sleepwaaaalking. Humming, you wick the sweat from your brow and wash your hands, again. The area next to the oven was always, well, warm. But when it’s easily triple digits outside, the oven’s hell to be near. At least it’s almost four in the afternoon, quitting time for you. The clock reads 3:47, so you pick up a dish cloth and make yourself busy at the sink.

Boris’s Pizza Kremlin has been dead for an hour straight, and you’ve barely sold anything since lunch. Your manager is on duty, he’s a really cool guy. The two of you have chipped all the ice from the freezer, scrubbed the floors, cleaned the oven, cleaned the espresso machine, thoroughly, and a couple of other sucky things. It’s alright, though. Someone will appreciate it, to be sure. Now, he’s out back ripping a bong while you try to keep your urine clean.

You toss the last dirty plate in the dishwasher and flip it shut when the door rings. You shake your hands dry and look out front, even though it’s probably just the tone from the back door. Oddly enough, someone wants either coffee or pizza at four in the afternoon, a rather cute chick with mint-green hair. You grab a paper towel and walk to the cash register.

“Hey,” you say with practiced salesman casualty. “What’s up?”

The girl in with the black and white checkered skirt is craning her neck at the menu, obviously avoiding your plebeian eyes. It’s a sad reality for the minimum wage workers. No respect for quasi skilled labor for a few hours a day. “Hey,” she says quietly. Her light colored shirt is a little stained and hugs her small teenage frame closely. You feel immensely and immediately depressed at the sight of another probably datable girl made impossible by the curse of pizza paw. You sniff your finger covertly and silently moan, it reeks like flour and feces, or something close.

You turn and scrub your fingers again, knowing it will do no good. “Uh, I’ve never been here before,” she quietly inquires. “What, what’s good?”

You turn back to her and pull out a laminated menu, walking her through your preferences. She seems interested in the Grecco, the pizza with no sauce and delicious Greek olives. It really is your favorite. When she leans over the counter, you notice her small golden necklace, it looks like a harp or something. You ask her about it, your usual social uselessness fading away under the pretenses of servitude. The cute girl holds it, showing off her small breasts under a Fallen Is Babylon shirt.

“Oh, this?” she asks, her voice saddeningly cute. “It was a gift from my girlfriend.” That’s the final nail in the coffin. “We’ve been friends since we were little, but we kinda just got close kinda recently. She gave it to me on my tenth birthday, and I’ve worn it everyday since.”

“That’s kinda sweet,” you manage to say, fighting the defeat and depression back. You manage to smile and begin work on the extra large pizza. The clock reads 3:54, and your replacement is yet to show. The adorable lesbian laughs, impressed a bit at the way you can fling the dough five feet up. You finish putting the toppings on and slide the pie into the 600 degree oven, not bothering with a timer. You wash your hands, again.

“Hey, uh, mis-”

“Lyra,” she says from her seat. “Name’s Lyra. Yeah?”

You watch her stand, getting the briefest glimpse of her blue panties. “I-I, uh, I need to ring you up.” You stutter mostly because of the fact that she isn’t matching, the blue would clash with her light red shirt, if they were seen together. You wonder what color her bra is, if she even has one for her B-cups.

“Huh? Oh yeah, uh, yeah. Heh, how much? Oh, and how long?”

“Oh, just like seven minutes. To go, naturally. Uh, that will be $17.89, cash or cred?”

Lyra checks her back pocket and pulls out a card, covered, no, smothered in ponies. You take the card, unable to hold back childish giggles at all the ponies on it. The tiny creatures are all conversing and smiling and flying, some are snuggling, you think you see some even kissing. You know all but the most obscure pony’s names, but the pair in the foreground are new to you. Likely originals, as deplorable as those can be. These two mares, however, look just fine. Likely equine manifestations of their creators.

“I know,” she says, blushing deep red. “It’s not mine, I swear. It’s Bonbon’s.”

You know that name. She comes in often enough, native of Ponyville and all. “It says your name on it,” you retort, smiling wide. It’s the little things that make the day great, like when a cute dike comes in and pays with a card covered in technicolored donkeys.

“Sh-god, okay, it is mine. I love ponies,” she says, almost laughing her ass off.

“Hey, I love ‘em too,” you reassure. “This is glorious, by the way,” you say as you swipe her card. The register beeps and the ticket prints out on the line at the same time as the receipt. You return her card and get her signature. It’s a simple swirly one, hardly a signature as much as a scribble. You put the slip of paper in the cash drawer and check on the pizza. It’s almost golden, so you slide it around and kill a bubble. You slice and box the pizza in less than ten seconds, then give it to the cute customer.

The two of you exchange “thank you’s” and you clock out, tossing the little piece of paper in the trash. Lyra is just leaving as you do the same. She gives you a wave, a special, little and genuine wave. You wave back, awkwardly taking the same route she is.

“Uh, hi,” she says, stopping to walk with you. “You stalking me, or did you just get done with your shift?”

“Uh, I would say both to be funny, but it’s too damn hot to be snide.”

Lyra laughs, matching your step. “I know, right? God, I’d walk home shirtless if I could. Hell, I’d go nude if I could.”

“Same,” you casually respond, sipping some cool soda. “Thirsty?” you offer.

“Oh thanks!” Lyra bends her neck slightly to suck on your straw. She moans lightly in relief, your cool liquid in her hot throat. You mentally record her neck swallowing without even thinking. Lyra lets go with a tantalizing smack of her lips and an “aaaaahhh”, looking at you with her adorable golden eyes.

You’ve both stopped walking, you realize, in the shade of a large tree right on the street. No one else is out right now, likely hidden elsewhere to hide from the heat. The tight cotton sticks to your chest, and your loose jeans constrict a familiar bulge. Lyra stands with you in the shade, carrying her hot lunch, just looking at you. You just look back, smiling a bit, happy to be near her. She’s off limits, even if you are out from behind that damn counter. Her eyes drop for a moment to the plain red pizza box. She blushes a little and looks up.

“W-what’s your name, anyway?” Lyra almost whispers. The hot air is thick with some sort of undue tension.

“Shawn. Name’s Shawn.”

Lyra looks at her pizza, clearly averting her eyes. “Shawn, uh, I live one block that way. Wanna help me and Bonbon eat this pizza? Maybe, share a drink, or play some video games or something?”

“I’m always down to eat a hot pie.”

Lyra looks away, blushing and snickering some.

I’m in, almost. Time to seal the deal. “You’re into guys, right?”

Lyra brushes her long, teal hair out of her eyes. “How could you tell?” she asks sheepishly.

“I just know.” Lyra’s eyes dip below your collarbone to your sweaty chest. Months of roofing and ditch digging this summer after graduating high school have fleshed your lanky frame out well. You watch her bite her lip and look at a nearby building.

“Come on,” she says. “I think Bonbon will like you.”

You simply cross the street and enter her basement apartment, less than a block from your building. You hold the pizza and follow her inside. Lyra’s and Bonbon’s apartment is small, a little less than tidy, yet well furnished. The couch looks like it was bought to sleep on, nice wide cushions and a soft, red velvety material.

Lyra holds onto the corner of a wall and peers around the corner, then returns to the living room. “Nope, no Bonbon. Just you, and me, some lunch, air conditioning, and the entire place to ourselves.”

You set the pizza down on the counter and lean against it. “What did you wanna do?”

Lyra strolls over to you slowly, sometimes looking at you, and blushing heavily. “Uh, well, we could veg out and watch the boob tube, maybe play some games or somethin’, or... something.”

“Or, something?” You stand more on one foot, placing your hands the counter to either side of you.

Lyra spins around and leans on the space next to you. “Uh, I dunno. We could play some games? I got Future Warfare Three.”

You consider it for a moment. “Mmmm, nah, I’m not so into those kind of games, I’m no good.”

“We got other stuff, too. Let’s bring some slices to the couch and see if we can find something.”

You do just that. She has plenty of games, Pop Band, Feeble III, Angry Bards, Recreational Fish Stabbing, First Fantasy MXIV, to name a few, but none of them sound fun. Lyra shrugs and flops down on the couch next to you, flipping on the tv. Nothing good is on on a thursday afternoon, at least on basic cable. You almost pay attention to the food channel for the best part of fifteen minutes, happy to relax with Lyra.

You chew the last of your crust and wash it down with some soda. Lyra sits up and looks at you with a bored little frown.

“Uh, you bored, too?” you flatly ask.

“Yup.” Lyra hops up onto the crazy comfortable couch, scratching at a tiny white-ish stain.

“Uh, do you wanna try out that racing game?”

She just shakes her head twice, waving her minty hair a little. Her bangs are cute, adorable even. You reach up and brush her hair behind her ear. You sit up a little, facing your upper body towards her.

“Uh,” she says as quietly as a purple pony peep. “Wanna make out?”

* * *

Bonbon is topless, soaking in the sun’s rays with her curvy back. Lyra pulls herself out of the water next to her girlfriend as you simply watch from the shade. Lyra’s toned little butt looks so nice as water streams off of it in the hot sun. It’s smaller and tighter than Bonbon’s, you’ve recently found out, but both are very nice. Lyra rubs her wet hands over her girlfriend’s back, then takes two big handfuls of butt, leaving two handprints on Bonbon’s bikini bottom. They giggle and kiss for a second, then simply lay still in the sun.

Today is the third night of the camping trip, and the three of you are nearly ready to return home. You’ve done nothing more than make out with Lyra some and secretly watch Bonbon touch herself, with Lyra’s permission. Two nights in one tent have led to some good spooning, though, and some good handfuls of small, perky breasts.

In the shade, you’re erect again in your trunks. You watch Bonbon sleepily flip over, showing off her dirt-speckled tits. They’re bigger than her girlfriends, and her entire figure is generally more curvy. Her small, short waist and wide hips are sexy, but just can’t compete with Lyra’s. Not only is she a good three inches taller, but she’s a bit darker and has more in common with you. She’s about twenty pounds lighter, you’d guess, but that doesn’t really matter too much to you. You sit and watch them make out, maybe aware of your presence.

The sight of them is too much to take, and you just have to whip it out. You slowly run your hand up and down your tool, knowing they’d be either creeped out, impressed or intimidated by it’s size. Just the sight of those two ladies, fond of you and more of each other, brings a lightness to your heart and a lump in your throat, as well as a heat between your knees. You simply stand up and watch them go at it, slowly, their moaning faint on the hot summer breeze. The clear sky above is reflected in the stillness of the pool. The glassy surface looks so cool today. You wick away some sweat with a dirty forearm and begin down the hillside.

About ten steps down, you realize your member is out, so you tuck it back in. Lyra catches your eye, and your hand adjusting your hardness, but she simply winks and moves a hand to caress her girlfriend’s large breast.

“Bonbon,” Lyra barely whispers in her adorably sexy voice, continuing to kiss down her lover’s body. “Want some more lotion? Our friend here wants to help.”

Lyra moans and giggles lightly, sucking on one of Bonbon’s large breasts. The pink and blue haired woman cranes her neck and meets your eye. She blushes deep, but doesn’t cover up or avert her gaze. She visibly molests you, needing to suck up to your chest and feel all of your hardened and tanned body. She bites her lips, moaning softly, when her eyes meet your member. Lyra giggles to herself, knowing exactly how well hung you are.

You kneel down next to her and take the tanning oil Lyra offers, the plastic heated by hours in the sun. You squirt some lotion in your hands, the heat making it viscous like water. You move your dripping hand over Bonbon’s front and gently caress her stomach. She smiles and lays her head back as you dribble some more onto her chest. You lather her entire torso, taking her amazing, round mounds in both hands. Bonbon coos you with praise as Lyra moves behind you.

“How do they feel?” Lyra whispers into your ear, moving her wet hands over your abdomen. “Big and soft, right?” She licks your earlobe and ventures south, almost breaking your concentration. You finish with Bonbon’s chest, making her smile and arch her back when your fingers pinch and slip over her erect nipples.

You move your hands down at the same pace Lyra does, coating Bonbon’s thighs and groin with lotion. She moans in boredom as you work her nice, thick thighs. She opens one eye and laughs, watching Lyra’s hands in your trunks. You move your hands up her thighs as Lyra’s long, delicate fingers ensnare your throbbing organ.

“Flip over,” you quietly order Bonbon.

“W-wha?”

“Don’t ask why, just flip over.”

She does so, showcasing her round ass and curvy back. You trace her spine with a long, thin line of lotion as Lyra traces the bulging underside of your erection. She kisses your neck, moaning and licking your sweaty skin, holding the base of your shaft in one hand. You let one long line of lotion fall on Bonbon’s back and stoop over, pushing Lyra off of you.

You drop your trunks instinctively and rest your erection on Bonbon’s butt, aiming at her head. She moans some question, but the warm lotion makes her mind go numb with pleasant pleasure. You slowly knead her back, making it shine in the sunlight. Your slick hands fall to her ass and massage deeply, gripping and sliding around on her ass. You spread her cheeks, scoping her tight little hole above her hairless slit. Your mouth waters a bit at the sight and the sound of Bonbon moaning. She’s so sexy, and now she’s yours.

You rub your dickhead along her pussy lips, the soft labia moving and lubricating your erection willingly.

“Oh, god, Shawn, Shawn, I,” Bonbon stammers, maybe trying to protest. Lyra shuts her up by simply sitting in front of her girlfriend and spreading her legs a bit. You can just see the contours of her lower lips through her white bikini bottom.

It’s obvious that Bonbon needs your dick, blatantly so. You push it into her labia, feeling her heat, hotter than the summer noon around you.

Bonbon lets out a guttural little moan as you rock your hips forward, filling her up completely on the first go. She’s tight, her hot walls wetter than the lake you watched her step out of. You exhale deeply, holding still inside. Lyra’s touching her own slit through her bikini, for no discernible reason. There’s a nice damp spot on the things, though. You pull back to Bonbon’s hot entrance and roll forward, feeling every inch of her tight, wet hole suck you in.

Lyra sits back on one hand, using the other to shut her girlfriend up by smothering Bonbon’s mouth with her dripping slit. You rock back and forth again, and again Bonbon pleasures you greatly. Watching Bonbon lick the cloth over her girlfriend’s clothed pussy is extremely entertaining, but you just wish the sight wasn’t obstructed.

Like a mind reader, Lyra looks into your eyes and pulls her bikini to the side, showing off her pussy. A little light green hair sticks out, but not much at all. Your mouth waters as you start to find a rhythm.

Lyra’s moans float above Bonbon’s, her sex noises muffled by wet pussy. You almost envy her, getting a generous meal of young cunt. You’re getting pussy, too, you reason, so you simply smile and hump a little faster. Bonbon’s clearly never had much more than fingers to fill her. Her tight pussy is fun and hotter than hell. You adjust and go faster, keeping eye-contact with the eyecandy receiving apparently practiced cunnulingus.

Bonbon lifts her butt into you as she tongues Lyra. You can feel it already, and a lack of sex recently means you’re not going to last long at all. You feel your end coming nearer and nearer, and there’s no stopping it. Just before you finally explode, you pull out and put your cock on Bonbon’s butt. Just when it seems you’re in the clear, she giggles and moves her ass back and forth, lightly stroking you. The sight and sensations are too much, and you finally explode. You grunt a warning, too late, as a long rope of thick cum lands directly in Bonbon’s freshly dry curls.

“H-hey!” Lyra shouts, laughing playfully as she watches the fireworks. You sure as shit can’t stop now, and Bonbon’s frozen in place. You grunt a little and cum a lot more. When you can breathe on your own, Bonbon’s back looks like winter hit for fifteen seconds. White spunk lays about in tiny pools and hot lines, standing out on a natural tan. Some is in her hair, too.

“Did any get in my hair?” she sheepishly asks.

“You’re fine,” you lie. You slap her ass and lay back on the hot rocks, spent for the moment.

“Take a dip, Bonbon, I’ll deal with this fucker.” You sit up and watch as Lyra pounces on you, taking your face in her hands. She looks far from pissed, smiling wide.

“What’s up?” you speak into her face, remaining still.

“You didn’t make her finish, that’s what’s up.” Lyra sits back on your lap, part of her labia sticking out of her bikini bottom. You hear Bonbon mutter something as she slides into the cool water. Lyra’s tight ass presses right into your stiffening cock. You lift your legs and give her a back rest. She doesn’t need it, as she slides forward to sit on your face.

You smile and pull her bikini bottom down to her knees, resting your head on the slightly damp fabric. Lyra’s trimmed hair is in a neat little pattern, like an eye on it’s side. She lowers herself, your headrest slowly falling as well. You open wide and stick your tongue flat on her wet pussy, your eyes crossing a little at the intense and savory taste. She’s not like most pussy, fishy and coppery. She is, a bit, but much sweeter, tangier. You flick her labia lightly and suck her pink nub into your lips. Lyra moans and falls back into your hands. You grip her ass and go about eating her out.

Lyra’s breathing hard and praising your name in seconds. It’s outrageous fun for you as well. Your cock stands tall in the sun, Bonbon’s fluids and bits of your goop cooled it, but now there’s hardly any liquid on your hardness, just sticky residue.

“Ffffuck, Shawn,” Lyra hoarsely says. “You’re a damn natural at eating pussy. But I’m roasting out in the sun. Let’s go in the tent, alright?”

You kiss her lower lips, savoring her taste. If they sold her pussy’s flavor in gum, you’d buy the store out.

“Alright,” you reply, licking your lips and looking up at Lyra. Her perfect little breasts sit

between you and her face. You just look up at her for a moment, smiling into her eyes. Lyra’s bright golden globes stare back, slowly blinking, shaded by her position to the sun.

From someplace far away, Bonbon is splashing, likely scrubbing her hair in the lake’s clear water. Lyra climbs off of you, and you quickly kiss her labia again, smacking your lips. Lyra pulls you to your feet. You kick off your trunks and carry them up the hillside, grabbing your manhood so it doesn’t flop around like a fish.

Bonbon yells something, but you’re already on the trail to the tent, Lyra ten steps ahead and wearing only her top. You reach the tent and dive in, landing face first into a big, soft sleeping bag. You sit up and catch Lyra as she pounces. You kiss her passionately, swapping spit and dueling with your tongues. The big blue tent is like an oven, but that only makes things sweatier and steamier.

After several minutes of groping and touching and kissing and nibbling, you find yourself rock hard and hovering over Lyra, smiling and panting in the hot hot heat. She smiles wide in the blue-tinted light that filters through the navy blue walls of the tent, breathing deeply, as you prepare to penetrate her pussy. You trace her glistening petals with your cock head, sliding wetly over her sensitive clitoris, then push down into her labia. Lyra gasps in pleasure as you stroke her hot pink with your rosy pink dick head.

You kiss her neck and play with her breast roughly. Lyra’s thighs slide up and down, her feet and calves stroking yours. You slip your hand down her sweaty skin, licking down her neck, tracing her collarbone, and sucking her erect little pink nipple. You nibble and lick as your hand falls down to her wet lips. They’re soaked. Your fingers circle the skin of her clitoris, pressing her nub and slipping over it. You twist your hand around and dip a finger into her entrance. Lyra’s back arches magnificently. You dive deep inside, feeling for where you think her g-spot should be. There’s a spongy little spot where you think it should be, and it makes Lyra groan a bit when you touch it. There it is, without a doubt. You take out your finger and slurp up the delicious juice.

“Fuck,” is all she can mutter. You put your cock right on her entrance and prod a little, making her sigh and moan lightly. You rock your hips forward and enter partly. She’s far tighter than Bonbon, even with plenty of foreplay. She opens her mouth wide and clenches her eyes shut as you push inside fully. Finally, you feel her cervix stop you as your cock is fully engulfed. The sensation is far beyond amazing, terrific, superb or great. Your mind numbs to the feeling of Lyra’s hot pussy wetly squeezing your entire length, especially the base. You pull back instinctively a few inches and rock forward, massaging your throbbing organ.

Lyra’s just as speechless. You reach down and palm one of her small breasts. Her sweaty skin is hot and sticky, unlike her cunt. Your cock rolls back and forth easily, despite the mind-igniting pressure. Lyra can barely breath, so she must love it just as much as you. You squeeze her little breast and go faster. She’s so wet, it’s barely work at all. As soon as you pull back some, her pussy pulls you back in like a magnet.

“L-Lyra,” you make your throat speak. “It’s so good, I can’t last too much longer. W-where, ah, fucking hell. Where do you want me to cum?”

Lyra looks up at you with her cute little eyes. Her pupils barely peek over her smiling cheeks. “In!” she squeaks.

“Alright, ah, so good, you close?” You hump a little faster, taking your time to make your strokes as long as possible. The lack of speed is remedied by the sensation of repeated penetration. Each time you pull out, you push back in. Lyra accepts you back in each time with a tiny squeal and compressing your head, then your shaft.

Lyra meekly nods, biting a sleeping bag. She’s stifling her screams, likely for no reason at all. “Ya know,” you say quietly, picking up the pace and rubbing her clitoris quickly. “You can scream if you want. I’m sure no one will mind. I’d love to hear you, actually.”

Lyra looks at you with an unsure glance, before taking a deep breath.

You fall to her neck and suck on her soft skin, thrusting faster and longer. You continually hilt, your head prodding her cervix every time. You fill her up, she takes you whole. Lyra digs her nails into your back as you fuck her, making her cum.

“Aaaaa, fuck! YES! -AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH~” she yells, deafening you and causing a nearby flock of birds to run for their lives. You feel like releasing, too, and there’s not much point in holding back. You pant hard and thrust harder. Soon, keeping up the rhythm is impossible, and your hips fail as Lyra whimpers, spasming around your hardness. Her pussy clenches on your cock and her muscles tense, holding you close. She pulls your butt in with her heels and forces you inside.

“Aaah, fuck!” You feel your core go weak, and then strong, as your cock throbs twice, then fires. Long shot after glorious shot launch out like missiles into Lyra’s hot pussy. You feel at least seven before you relax muscles you didn’t know you were tensing.

“Mmmm, that was great,” Lyra tiredly whispers into your ear. You kiss her cheek as she licks yours, lazily playing and touching after sex. You pull out and let your white seed flow out onto her sleeping bag. You roll over and lay next to her, thirsty, sweaty, broiling in the heat. You wipe some sweat from your face and hold Lyra close, palming her small breasts from behind. Lyra’s hot skin feels fine against your chest, and you’re both lazily dozing in seconds.

* * *

Pain. Some sort of pain, not intense, but uncomfortable. You try to open your eyes, and they do, slowly, to reveal darkness. You bend your elbow to find that a head, Lyra’s, is still on it. You roll away from her a little, cringing as your skin peels off of hers. You feel nothing but intense tingling below your elbow, like needle pricks all over it. Lyra stirs and rolls over to look at you.

“Hey,” she whispers. She sleepily lets your arm adjust and pulls herself to you. You pull her on top of you, your arm painfully waking up.

“Hey,” you whisper, suddenly warmer with her hot body on yours. You realize that you were chilly, actually. Probably the sweat cooling as the sun went down. You kiss her passionately and rub her back. She moans softly and kisses a bit faster, waking you up more and more.

For probably ten minutes, you just kiss, Lyra bare and exposed to the world behind her. You grab her tight little butt playfully, but there’s a hand already there. You break the kiss and look around her. Lyra simply smiles and giggles when you see Bonbon behind her, a hand hidden by Lyra’s ass.

“Hey,” she whispers. You can’t help but laugh a little, your throat as dry as a desert. You cough and look around in the darkness for a bottle of water hiding someplace. You just had one.

“Here ya go,” Lyra whispers, handing you a big bottle with some water. You gratefully take a few gulps and hand it back.

Lyra kisses you again the second she drops the plastic bottle. You and she kiss some more, her moaning more than she should. You think of objecting, but Lyra moves her body against your hardness. The sweat is lubrication enough, and the hot sensation feels great. Sucking on her tongue, forcing yours into her mouth, swapping sweat and breath is fun as well.

“Hey, Lyra,” Bonbon says.

She breaks the kiss, looking down lovingly into your eyes. She turns her head, pulling her bangs out of her eyes. “Yeah, Bonbon? You bored back there?”

You don’t bother to watch, but it’s likely she’s nodding.

“Well,” Lyra says. “Wanna Eiffel Tower?”

Eiffel what now?

“Oh, god, you read my mind Lyra. Which end do you want?”

Lyra simply sits up some, propping herself up on your chest.

“Ugh, fine!” Bonbon hops up and stretches her legs, showing off her nude form. She’s sexy, but kinda chubby. Lyra’s considerably thinner, and sexier. Her b-cups pale in comparison to Bonbon’s big breasts. Lyra’s tits are cuter, anyhow.

“Sorry Bonbon, Shawn’s dick just fills me so good!” Lyra sighs and rolls her hips some, caressing your sack a bit. You can’t help but thrust your hips a little. Lyra notices and lifts her ass up some. “You’re just ready on cue, ain’t ya, Shawn?”

You simply take her hips in your hands and nod. Bonbon moves behind you, her knees squeaking on the fabric of the sleeping bags. Lyra reaches down and strokes you gently as Bonbon takes your hand and makes you stroke her upper thigh. It’s already slick and hot. You look behind you and watch her pet her fat lips slowly, making her juices flow. Your cock throbs in Lyra’s soft hand. The teal-haired girl giggles and grips it hard. You gasp and instantly poke Bonbon’s clitoris, only quasi-consciously.

Bonbon puts a hand on your forehead and sits her lips right on yours, facing her girlfriend. You can hear them moan and giggle a bit, swapping spit.

You’re forced to inhale her bittersweet smell. When you breathe deep and slip your tongue in, droplets her juices splash into your nostrils, injecting her scent and hormones into your brain. Your vision fades to white for a moment, and you can perceive nothing but touch and scent for some time. You deftly use your tongue to make Bonbon squirm while a hotness graces your shaft. You spread your legs some and reach around to Bonbon’s clit and massage that while your tongue labors away in her pink.

The hotness turns from a warm caress to a heated massage, Lyra’s wet flesh parting around yours. She compresses your entire length in one fluid motion.

Bonbon leans forward some, giving you a breath. You suck some air and go right back in, penetrating her with two fingers. Her hot, wet pussy gladly takes your digits, allowing you to explore her insides. You search for her g-spot, but it’s elusive. You blindly thrust and play with her clit some for a bit, using your thumb to stimulate her outer cum button.

“Aaah, soo deep,” you hear Lyra moan. Bonbon’s a lot quieter than her partner. You try and succeed at slipping in another finger. Lyra’s twat slips over your rod to the tip, then you feel her fall down again, engulfing and compressing you slowly. You thrust in three fingers and push your hips up simultaneously, filling both women. The sexy cries and moans alone are unforgettable, but the sensations and feeling of ribbed flesh slipping over your sensitive fingertips and cockhead are priceless.

You pull your fingers out and bring Bonbon’s tasty slit to your mouth. You can’t help but moan and lick her lips, swallowing the extra juices. Lyra suddenly picks up the pace, or just begins moving again, it’s hard to tell. Either way, she’s stifling her little moans and riding you very fast. She’ll pick her tight little butt up and expose your shaft to the warm summer night, then fall down and suck you up into her again. It’s so good, the feeling of her tight pussy. It’s like your cock was molded to fit her; you fill her completely and feel her completely. You help her establish a quick pace with your hips and suck hard on Bonbon’s clit, pushing hard into where the g-spot you’ve read about should be. You feel a little harder spot, but that’s it.

“F-oh fuck! Ah, right there!” Bonbon’s alto voice quietly fills the tent. You smile and bite her clit some, thrust a little harder with your hips, and stroke her g-spot with a “come hither” motion, but your fingertips curling towards Lyra. Bonbon really likes that. She leans forward some and can’t stop moaning. You grab her round ass in your free hand and go quicker, thrusting your hips and fingers harder. You can hear Lyra some, too, as she says your name out loud. She’s too damn sexy.

Bonbon suddenly shakes on top of you. You stroke her spot a little harder and faster, sucking hard on her sensitive clit. Lyra sits her up and kisses her deeply. “Gonna cum?” you hear over the wet sex noises.

You hear some hot moaning, but that’s it. Bonbon rocks her hips with you, and you translate her movements into thrusts with your hips. Lyra cries out softly as Bonbon finally cums. A little bit of girlcum gushes out, and her pussy walls clamp down randomly on your three fingers. You stroke her g-spot faster and harder, just vibrating on the spongy little nub as she continues to cum. Bonbon moans out in climax and painfully clenches down on your fingers, but you don’t stop. She gyrates her hips and whimpers as you just go faster and harder. Her orgasm lasts for a long time, how long is hard to say. When she’s done, she stands on her knees and pulls your hand out. Your forearm and face are drenched in her fluids.

“That’s enough for now, lover boy,” Bonbon says quietly. She simply slumps down next to you, watching Lyra finish her ride. You grab Lyra’s slender hips as she bends over to kiss you. You both share a long, slow kiss, sharing Bonbon’s taste. You thrust a little, but don’t break away. Lyra helps, lifting her butt in time. Her pussy is so damn hot, tight, perfect. You moan into her throat, your limit nearing.

You grab her ass and move along, thrusting a bit faster and harder. Lyra breaks away, saliva dripping down her chin. “Ah, god damn, Shawn. It’s too good, I’m gonna cum.” Lyra clenches her teeth and her eyes shut and tries to just keep up the pace. “Gah! S-so goo-ooood! Al-most there! Fuck me and fill me up again, Shawn!”

Lyra leans back some, letting her weight fall onto your waist. You use all your might to fuck up into her, pushing into her cervix with every thrust. She gasps shakily, grabbing her hair and pushing out her chest. Lyra’s little nipples point straight out on her convulsing chest. You feel her pussy clamp down around your rock-hard organ spasmodically, and you can’t hope to hold back for more than a few seconds. You take her hips in your hands as Lyra screams out. “FUCK! FUCK ME! OOoooohh YES!”

You cum with her. A huge volley of thick hot cum erupts again from you, making Lyra smile and sink lower on your shaft. You look at the sky through the window in the tent and just release all you can. You feel every single drop of cum shoot out, making your brain turn to mush for a bit. Your mouth feels dry as you finish.

“Oh, god,” Lyra softly moans as she falls forward to kiss you. You return her tongue and then some, lazily swapping spit and what’s left of Bonbon on your lips. Lyra lifts herself off of your semi-flaccid self and cuddles up close to you. Bonbon follows suit on the other side, stroking your milky length. You make out with her for a little, Bonbon’s fuller lips are a bit different to kiss. You’re already used to kissing Lyra, she’s sensual and genuine and giving, but Bonbon requires you to take the initiative. It’s not bad, far from it, she’s a great kisser, but different from her girlfriend. You see how they make a great couple, just in their kissing techniques.

Lyra reaches around your toned body and strokes your abdomen, then shamelessly pulls on your tired phallus. She licks her hand clean of the combined fluids. Lyra crawls over you and kisses her girlfriend. You trace the contours of her tight little ass as she swaps spit, sloppily spilling some.

Lyra moans and giggles as you softly trace her labia, stopping to poke her clit a little. “Ah, what do you think, Bonbon? Wanna go again?”

You watch Bonbon shake her head. “I’m tuckered out from hiking all afternoon. You two probably have plenty of energy after napping so much.”

“Heheh, mmmmmyeah, sounds about right.” You slowly push your first finger in to the second knuckle and just play a bit. Lyra breathes a little deeper, but does a good job of hiding your hand.

“Well, I’ll just watch you two fuck, I guess. I’m not that horny anymore anyway.”

“Aw, Bonbon, I’ll make it up to you when we get back home, alright?”

“I know you will, Lyra, little fuck machine.”

“Ah-” Lyra can’t help but moan as you push your finger all the way in. “This issue is tabled for the car ride back tomorrow.”

“Yes, senator Lyra,” you chime in playfully, stroking her labia. Your cock is stiffening again already. “Alright, how you wanna do it now?”

Lyra sits up on your left, looking into your eyes. “I don’t know. It was so fun, riding you. And having you in me while you’re on top was a lot of fun, too.”

“Yeah.” You roll over and look into her eyes for a second, just sharing smiles. “I think I know how to do you, just toss me a spare sleeping bag.”

Lyra finds a pillow and a sleeping bag and throws them at your face. You smack her back with the pillow, making her fall on her side giggling. You put the sleeping bag and the pillow behind you and lean back on them some, catching her as she tries to slap you. Your move makes her fall on top of you, her face close to yours. You smile at her, smelling her sweet breath. Lyra smiles back, and you sensually kiss some, sharing spit and plenty of tongue. She moans as you hold her close and shove your tongue into her mouth. She sucks it eagerly and pushes you back.

“Do me,” Lyra whispers. “Right here, like this, and don’t ever stop.” Lyra kisses you passionately, inhaling and moaning as you grab her tight ass again. You lift her up and penetrate her, slowly filling her up. Lyra’s tight pussy takes you whole quickly. She moans as you begin to thrust and push your tongue in her mouth. Her cute little moans fill the tent and then some, her wetness making things so easy.

You pick up the pace and the force, and Lyra helps with her own body. She shakes as you fuck her, and soon she can’t even move on her own. She simply stands on her knees with her hands on your shoulders as you pump up into her love hole. Lyra’s ribbed walls suck you back in everytime you pull out, making you defy gravity. You feel ready to burst again soon, her pussy is too willing.

“Ah, oh my fucking god, Shawn,” Lyra whispers. “J-just like that. Oh, I’m getting so close. How ab-ooooooh, about you?”

“Getting there,” you plainly respond, trying to hide your progress. “You’re so tight, Lyra, I can’t believe it. I love you.”

You pick up the pace and grit your teeth. “Er, it. I love it.”

Lyra whimpers a bit, then falls into your chest, making you stop. “You said ‘you’.”

“I-I meant the implied you, as in your pussy!” you quietly scream, your face as hot as the rocks by the lake at midday.

Lyra suddenly kisses you on the lips with the most genuine passion. She gently rolls her hips forward, pushing your hardness fully inside as you gently share the kiss. Lyra melts in your embrace as you hold her tight, feeling her entire body, pressing her chest to yours. She moans as you accept her tongue and play lovingly with her mouth. You just hold her tight and suck on her tongue, pulling her mouth muscle with your lips. You let go and feel her suck your tongue into her mouth for a short time. She sucks on your lip and breaks away slowly, staring at your face. The moonlight trickling into the tent through the flap reflects and illuminates her face the faintest bit. Her golden eyes stare into yours, holding you in her two pretty galaxies.

“Ah, dammit, I think I love you too, Shawn.”

You thrust your hips gently, making her smile wide and roll back and forth, playing the game with you. Lyra smiles wide and bites her lip, breathing heavy and fucking faster. “Mmmm, oh yeah, fuck me just like that.”

You thrust a little harder and faster, closing in on your finish line. “Lyra, you close?”

Her face is screwed up into an adorable little grimace of joy. “Mmmhmm!” She quietly squeals through her teeth. You palm her small tits roughly, her erect nipples poking your hands. Lyra moans and moves quicker, enticing you to keep up. You feel close to bursting as you hump away.

“FFfffffuck, Shawn, yes, right there!” You push up a little harder and faster, feeling every inch of Lyra’s ribbed walls. Your cock throbs hard, you can feel a detonation looming. Lyra humps faster and faster, stroking you fully with her sensitive pussy. You can feel her twitching a bit.

Lyra moans aloud and rides you like she’s starving for cock. You hilt over and over again, feeling her pussy twitch and clench around you some. She sits back and takes her hair up in her hands, sticking out her chest and riding your pumping organ. Her shoulders convulse a bit, and she cries out softly in orgasm. Lyra falls into your chest again, smothering her shrieks in your neck. You can feel every inch of your cock inside her spasming pussy, her ribbed walls clenching down on your throbbing member. It’s more than enough to send you over the edge. You thrust up into Lyra and unload all you have. You pull her ass down and push up with your hips as you unleash spurt after spurt of thick, hot cum right into her pussy. Your jaw locks open as you finish, a few final twitches.

“Aaaaaah,” you groan and relax, your rod spent again. Lyra huffs into your neck as you suck air. She sits back, smiling and pulling her hair out of her eyes.

She opens her mouth to speak, but just smiles, subsiding. Lyra comes forward for a kiss, leaving you inside her. The both of you slowly and passionately make out for the better half of an hour to the tune of crickets chirping and soft moaning. You feel her pace and her tongue slow down bit after bit, and opening your eyes is a tough chore.

After a long while, Lyra lazily pushes herself up and climbs off of you, slowly letting your slight rigidity out of her. Some seed pours out, but not that much. “Aren’t you worried about getting knocked up?” you ask her quietly.

“No, I’m on the pill,” she whispers quietly. “Bonbon has a boytoy she brings around, uh, andudn, yeah.” Lyra nuzzles up to you and you hold her nude body to yours. Her skin’s hot and sticky and all yours. You roll over on top of her, pulling some blanket over the both of you. Your back hits Bonbon’s chest, but she doesn’t object. Bonbon only helps you cover up and holds you from behind, pushing her big chest into you. Lyra’s nice little butt sleepily presses into your groin, but she still grinds a little.

You palm her amazing, small, perky tits and rock your hips back lightly. Nothing comes of it, however. All three of you are asleep within minutes, fully spent.

Cheerilee

The click-clack of your wing-tips echo throughout the large school room. The teacher, the woman with the pretty pink curls, is laboring through the chicken scratch that is kindergarteners’ homework. Your daughter and a boy fifty pounds and two grades older make silent, hateful faces, stopping a moment after you come in. You can almost see the halo over her beautiful little head.

“Sarah,” you say only a little sternly. “If you keep making faces, yours will get stuck.”

The teacher’s name you should know perks up, her young face stressed beyond her time. Her tired gaze perks up a bit when your eyes meet. She turns her head, but holds your gaze, and smiles softly, genuinely.

The little shit next to her, who’s undeniably a shit raised on shit, likely by some shit parents, or parent, picks his nose and pouts in a different direction. “Good,” Sarah sulks, her long brown hair dirty and messy. Her shirt is spattered with mud, but not torn up or anything.

“Have you been scrapping again, Sarah?” You move next to her and kneel down, the teacher is moving out to the front of her desk. “What did I tell you? Violence begets violence!”

“I know, dad,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Sarah.” You stand up fully, and take another look at shit-stain junior. He’s got a salty snack, fresh from the snot factory, and is chomping away. You can’t help but groan a bit in disgust.

“Jeremy,” the teacher says in her cute little teacher voice. “That’s a dirty habit. Blow your nose and sit back down.” She at least knows Jeremy Shitmeister is a shitmeister, too. Probably all too well. “Now, I’d say it’s good to see a familiar face, but I’d be lying. Unless the circumstances were different, I should say.”

The teacher, whatever her name is, walks over to you and leans her butt on a desk. You can’t help but take note of her respectable skirt, sexy as it is. Her entire self is very attractive. “Sarah, I’m sorry to say, socked little Jeremy right on the nose.” Cheerilee smirked, nearly tripping as she says “little”. “Thankfully, she’s only seven and can’t do too much damage. Jeremy said he wasn’t doing anything to bring about a violent reaction, but Sarah said, I quote... ‘He was being a total queef.’”

You blink, digesting. You look at Sarah, red-faced, hiding under her hair.. Jeremy is smiling, snickering, licking mucus off his cavity-riddled molars. “You, you said, that?” you ask, barely hanging on. Rage, embarrassment and sophomoric amusement blend together, making a physical reaction like trying to jam a trout, a bass, and a tuna through a keyhole.

Little Sarah just nods. “I said that to miss Cheerilee when I was trying to explain why I did it.”

“Did what?” you ask, happy to know the teacher’s name for now. She’s not wearing a ring, if that matters.

“Called Jeremy a queef.” Sarah hides her face as Shithead giggles. The fine miss Cheerilee squeezes the bridge of her nose and stands up.

“Sarah, that’s not appropriate langu-”

“I know, Miss Cheerilee, I’m sorry. I was just repeating what I said.” You kneel down and touch her far shoulder. She sniffs, but doesn’t cry.

“Sarah,” you say quietly, your slightly gruff voice sounding right. “I’m sure not-so-little Jeremy here did his part to deserve what he got. Just know this: he’s bigger, he’s meaner, and some day, he’s going to hate his life. You might too, if you keep going around punching qu-people like him. People like him have a lot of power in this world. But, if you try hard and you work at what you love, you’ll make a living doing it some day. Take a look at your dad. I’m running the hydroelectric plant up the river, and you’ve got a warm bed and hot meals. I work hard for you, and I hope that one day, when I’m old and grey, you’ll be doing something just as amazing, or even more spectacular than your old pop.” You stand up and move in front of her, squeezing by the fine Miss Cheerilee. “I got in a few scraps in my time. I even punched a few qu-er, well, you-know-who’s while I was in college, working a cruddy job and juggling my courses. But, they came back, with friends, and made me hurt. I don’t want Jeremy’s friends ganging up on you, not tomorrow at recess, not twenty years from now when you’re on your way home from a study session. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?

Little Sarah looks up at you, pulling her bangs out of the way. Her angelic, long, brown curtains move to reveal her adorable blue globes, watery oceans nearly ready to spill down her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry, daddy.”

No tears trickle down. “Now, Sarah,” Cheerilee says quietly, her motherly voice understanding and authoritative. “Who do you think really wants an apology?”

Shitstain is wiping his after school snack on his shirt. “Yeah? You hiiiit me-”

“Attitude, boy,” you bark softly. “Have some respect, she’ll be writing your checks before you know it.”

Cheerilee shoots you a worried, maybe agreeing look. “N-now, Jeremy, I think Sarah’s really sorry for hitting you and calling you a na-”

“What’s a queef?” Shitstain asks.

You and Cheerilee express disgusted disappointment. “Jeremy,” she says, fingers covering her eyes. “That is a swear word, and you do not use them in scho-”

“It’s after school! An-and Sarah called me a queef! Whatsaqueef whatsaqueef whatisit?!

“Ask your mom! And you’re getting three detentions for cursing in front of me, young man. Now, sit still, stop digging for gold and be QUIET!”

Jeremy Shitmeister the fourth sucks on his first digit and dries off on his crusty sleeve. If Celestia feels like banishing another person to the moon, let it be this pock-mark in the Equestrian gene pool.

“Now, Sarah,” Cheerilee addresses your daughter, her patience applaudable. “Do you have something to say to Jeremy?”

She nods, her eyes watery no longer, and a mild grin on her face. “I do, miss Cheerilee. Jeremy,” she says, turning in her chair and addressing Herr Shitmeister. “I think you’re gross, I think you’re really gross. But, I’m sorry for hitting you and calling you a bad name, even if you’re not very nice and really gross.”

Jeremy blinks, spittle drying into a filthy white crust on his bottom lip.

“S-Sarah,” Cheerilee manages to say, not as awestruck as you. “You and your father should stick around for a little. Jeremy, are your parents on their way?”

He scratches his fatty breast and knots his pudgy fingers in his curly hair. He shakes his head dumbly. “I walk home.”

“Then you’re free to leave. Be safe, I’ll see you after school tomorrow, and three days next week.”

Jeremy twiddles his sausages a bit more, then slinks out of his chair. He half-stomps out the door, likely just walking heavy and not throwing a tantrum. He flashes an inarticulate bird as he plops out the door.

Cheerilee shakes her head with her palm. “That kid,” she mutters to herself.

“Not in your class, I can only hope.” You take an undersized seat next to Sarah and touch her shoulder, but adress her teacher.

“No,” she says with an uplifting tone. “He’s not. Jeremy’s a sixth grader in body, a first grader in mind and spirit. Sarah’s in my class, the second graders. Now Sarah,” Cheerilee sits sideways in a tiny chair close to her. “I understand why you called him that name and I also understand why you hit him. But know that hitting someone will never solve anything, alright?”

Sarah nods, looking less remorseful than simply understanding, frustrated, bored. “Yes, miss Cheerilee.”

“Okay, then. What did you learn today?”

Sarah looks to you, but you simply cross your arms. She looks to her shoes, touches her chin. “Uh, that big, dumb boys aren’t worth getting mad?”

Cheerilee smirks, shooting you a quick glance. “I think that’s a great lesson Don’t you, Liam?”

“A life lesson if I’ve ever heard one.” You stand up and move to Sarah’s side. “So, Sarah, how are you doing in miss Cheerilee’s class? I know your homework can’t be easy.”

Cheerilee laughs softly and kneels down next to your little Sarah. “Sarah’s one of my brightest pupils, and one of the hardest workers! Just today, I gave the class twenty minutes to draw a picture of their houses. Most were okay, but Sarah was the only one to use a ruler and make all her corners at right angles. I think she’s going to be an architect when she grows up.”

“No, I wanna be an engineer, like daddy!” Sarah kicks her legs in her chair, smiling wide at you.

“Sarah,” you say, smiling wide. “Really? An engineer? Well, a father can only hope.” You kneel down and touch her soft, long hair. “You’d make your father proud, no matter what you do. You’re bright, you know. But being smart doesn’t amount to much if you don’t work hard, stay to your goals. I think engineering could be right up your alley.”

“You know, Liam?” Cheerilee asks like you’re old friends. “That’s awfully grown-up talk around a seven-year-old.”

You stand with Cheerilee and look her dead in the eyes. “Cheerilee. You’re her teacher. You should know that she’s a second grader in body, but a seventh grader in mind and spirit.”

Cheerilee chuckles and smiles, holding a hand to her modest cleavage as she sighs, her hand rising and falling with her gifted chest. “Oh, I think you’re right, Mister Gottshall.”

* * *

“Any questions?” Cheerilee asks the parents, including you.

Some balding guy steps forward. “But what about the kids? Why aren’t they excited to learn? I mean, my little Twisty just loves to memorize her multiplication tables, but she doesn’t care so much for the history.”

“Yeah,” some beak-nosed mom asks. “They just don’t care anymore!”

“Now now,” Cheerilee says. “While most students are plenty motivated, the problem is just the glazed eyes. The students seem uninterested, that’s all. Maybe if we could find some way to pep their step in the morning, like, maybe a better breakfast, walking to school instead of sitting in a minivan, uh, things like that.”

“What if school just, sucks?” you ask, your baritone carrying through naturally. The entire Parent-Teacher Alliance meeting goes silent, two dozen pairs of eyes on you.

“What I mean is, three o’clock is a sacred time of day, from kindergarten through grade twelve. After that, it’s five o’clock, or whenever you get off work. Now, I can’t offer a cure-all remedy to drowsiness and lack of motivation. To be honest, I don’t think that we need one. A warm breakfast and a walk to school isn’t a bad idea. I know that a mug of oatmeal would be a step better than some cornflakes, to me. But, school’s almost out for the summer, and the best we can hope for is that our kids try their best as summer vacation rolls in.”

Someone coughs, but silence rings through the room. A balding bespectacled male whispers something to Cheerilee, making her giggle. She’s damn adorable, even if she looks stressed. Maybe because of it.

Her cute green eyes catch yours staring, but she’s not upset. You look away anyway. “Well, Mister Gottshall sure raises an interesting point, or should I say point of view. Perhaps we should all take a second look at this issue through our children’s eyes. That’s all the time we have for tonight, folks, thank you so much for showing up, and a big thank you to the Apples for bringing tasty treats!”

A burly dude and his granny receive a modest applause and a few “thank you’s”. The apple fritter you had was pretty good, especially since it was homemade. You stand up and make for the door, eager to get some sleep and enjoy a day off tomorrow. You find yourself the last to leave, however, thanks to some shoulder jostling and short insulting quips and distractions. The barrel-chested redhead man gives you a solemnly hard pat on the shoulder, a knowing look on his face. He seems to agree with you, maybe.

You rub your newly sore shoulder and make your way around the childishly-hostile crowd and make for home. Shawn, your nephew, is babysitting, but he hardly needs to. You navigate around an aged bench The sun blinds you just before dusk and runs into a woman, sending her stumbling two steps forward.

“I’m so sorry, miss,” you genuinely say to her, blinking out the photons. “I didn’t see you there.”

The woman turns around and instantly beams at you. “Oh, oh no no no, you’re quite alright! I’m sorry, I was kinda blocking the way, huh, Liam?”

“Oh, uh, it’s all okay, just didn’t mean to bump into you. I’ll be on my way, Missus. Cheerilee.”

“It’s miss,” she corrects, stopping you in your tracks. “And, uh, how’s Sarah?”

You turn and stand still, analysing the dirt in the twilight sun. “Sarah’s, um, good. She’s at home with my nephew, she’s got her favorite cartoon on DVD and some coloring books, a few books for reading, too.”

Cheerilee takes a step towards you, her pink hair colored peach in the sunset. It’s nearly eight, the nights are coming later and later this season. “Oh, and your nephew is how old?”

You pause and say “Nineteen. No, eighteen. He’ll be nineteen a week before he graduates from basic training.”

Cheerilee is within arm’s reach, now. “So, he’s going into the military. Which branch? You and his parents must be proud.”

“Oh, we are. He plans to be a rescue swimmer in the Navy. Yeah, he goes camping out west of the Everfree forest three times a month to swim in the lake. Heh, brings his girlfriend, too. Sometimes I wish I could be eighteen again. Be young, full of all that energy, limber. Have to shave only three times a week.”

“And summer nights, warm, stars to watch, hands to hold.” Cheerilee sinks down into the bench, lost in memories. The Apples, the red-haired gent and his granny are slowly making their way to the road. “I remember my eighteenth. I went up to Sweet Apple Acres, there’s plenty of groves to just lay down and relax in, and my buddy worked there in the harvest season. Hard work, he’d always tell me. I brought out some moonshine, apple moonshine, and some friends. My childhood friend, Erik. He was with me, our designated driver. We camped out that night, so he drank too. Anyway,” Cheerilee sits up, making room for you. She smells, nice, and her appearance is very pleasing, too. “We, the, uh, six, no, five of us sat around the fire, drank some, I forget. The moonshine and some beer, it was, well, it was what it was.”

You shift your body and move closer one inch. “My daughter’s teacher was a deviant when she was younger? Well, I never!” You chuckle with Cheerilee at the quip.

She brushes her pretty hair behind her ear, her face illuminated beautifully with an orange glow. “Well, I wasn’t boring, for crying out loud. Besides, I had earned it! I was working forty hours and keeping up on my school work.”

“Well,” you butt in. “Maybe you did earn a drink on your birthday. Go on, I’m dying from suspense.”

“Alright, alright,” she continues, smiling, her memories bringing a slice of her youth back to the future. She’s not old, not even to a real slowing point in her life. Even now, late in the day, she seems ready to dance the night away.

You can almost see her, minus ten, fifteen years at the max, sipping liquor by a campfire. A scene of her dancing in a sundress, maybe even just a side-tie skirt, the blaze casting warm light all over her womanly figure. The sun’s orange-red glow is almost like the flickering light from a small campfire. The dark circles under her eyes are playful shadows cast by her rosy cheeks.

“I had had a few, and so had everyone. We were all having some sort of trouble standing, or in Chevron’s and Livewire’s case, sitting upright. Or, were they making out? Eh, doesn’t matter so much. I popped a squat on a log next to Erik, my best friend in the whole world. When we were younger, the two of us played soldier and caught fireflies together.We told each other our darkest secrets, our deepest hopes, our random thoughts. There were no secrets between us, none. I learned his last one that night. Little did I know, well,” Cheerilee trails off, smiling, saddened, picking up the years.

“What?” you ask her. “What was it he knew that you didn’t?”

Cheerilee turns in her seat, her beautiful green eyes bathed in warm sunset. “He turned to me, put his hand on mine, and said, ‘Cheerilee, ever since I got hard in the middle of the night, I’ve thought of you as more than a best friend.’ And, then he told me that he always thought I was the prettiest girl in the world. Like he even saw every girl in the world.” Cheerilee looks at her knees, rippling her skirt. “Then, I told him I’ve never thought of him like that, because I never did. But, he was always kinda lanky, he didn’t have the best skin, but, he was Erik, my best friend.”

Cheerilee touches her second knuckle to her eye, sniffs once, twice, then regains her composure. “Then, with his hand on mine, I scooted closer. He was devastated, I could tell. But,” she says though somber tears. “I didn’t let him go. I told him, I told him that he was cute. That wasn’t a lie, but, I didn’t want to lose my best friend.”

Cheerilee smiles and looks up to a passing cloud. You sit up and release a breath you didn’t realize you had held in, then slouch down next to her, touching knees. “His next words were some of the most memorable ones I’ll ever know. He told me, right there, that he thought I was beautiful, inside and out. I made him smile, but I also made him sad. I never knew. He told me, well,” Cheerilee takes in a long breath, then lets it out, her chest shaking. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? I can be such a chatterbox-”

“No, please, go on Cheerilee,” you tell her, making her sit still. Carefully, you rest your fingers on hers, holding her eyes. You’re the only two left outside the schoolhouse, the crickets have begun to tune up.

Cheerilee blushes deeply, grinning wide. “W-well, it’s sort of an intimate memory. I, AHEM! I guess, well, suffice it to say we shared a sleeping bag that night, alright?” Cheerilee’s face and bare shoulders are schoolhouse red.

“Alright, Cheerilee,” you say, holding up a hand and placing your foot on you knee. “I’ve got a decent imagination, I can piece together the rest of the night.”

“Ah! Liam!” Cheerilee slugs your shoulder hard, but not as hard as the pat you had earlier.

“Sorry, sorry! I was just trying to be clever.” You lean back on the armrest and look at Cheerilee, the crimson fading slowly from her face.

“You know,” you whisper. “I think you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

Cheerilee simply smiles and returns your knowing gaze. “For what that’s worth, thank you, Liam.”

You just look into each other’s eyes for a moment as the sun slowly says goodnight to Equestria. Cheerilee’s pretty smile never fades.

“So, I told you about my youth, you wanna share?” Cheerilee’s tone is somewhat intimate, genuinely interested.

You glance around, making sure you’re alone. The sun’s just starting to hide behind the distant hills. “It’s only fair, isn’t it?” you ask no one in particular. Cheerilee giggles a little bit. Her whole person is so peppy, positive, cheery.

“Alright,” you say with a clap of your hands. “On my eighteenth birthday, I cracked open an extra big bottle of vodka to myself, sort of mourning the recent breakup past-me went through. Not, not so pretty a chapter of my life, that. I was young, clever, driven but nïave. I was inexperienced in the game of love, hardly more than a novice when she came along. We had so much in common, it’s sad, really. I was sure we’d have a steady thing going, but I fucked up, someplace. She was busy with her family and her life, I had more time than I knew what to do with. I wanted to see her, be with her, she made me happy. Cured my loneliness. I didn’t go out and party, I only had one part time job.”

Cheerilee touches your arm, and you gently clasp your fingers over hers. “If you want to hear more, it’s a silly tale. All in the past, I guess. I still think about her, once in a blue moon.”

“Maybe some other time, Liam.” Cheerilee scoots over to you and rests her head on your shoulder. “I kind of wanted to hear a happy story, anyway.” You feel her closeness, hear it in her whisper, share her warmth, and realize the sun’s set. The earth is releasing its heat, and now it’s beginning to feel slightly chilly for tonight’s gentle performance.

“Cheerilee,” you say softly as nature finally begin this evening’s symphony. “Can I confess something?”

“May,” she says with a short laugh.

“May I confess something?”

Cheerilee shakes her hair out of her eyes, then sighs and looks to the sky, drinking in the passing violet clouds. “Yes, you can, Liam. What is it?”

You touch her hand on her knee, gently resting your fingers on hers. “Ever since I saw you, I thought you attractive. But now, sitting with you, drinking in the twilight and reeling in our memories, I’m compelled to ask: would you like to see me on another night? Perhaps doing something other than scolding my daughter.”

Cheerilee giggles cutely and cracks her neck. “Sure, I’d love that.”

* * *

“Actually,” Cheerilee says loudly, forced to by the echoey entranceway. “I’m only barely interested in one of these films. And I read it sucked.”

Tonight’s selection at the movie house is as follows: A family cartoon in 3D for twenty bucks a ticket, a crappy date movie, a crappier action flick based on a board game, and some mopey Jim Furlton “animated adventure”.

“Yeah, I’m not in the mood to pay twenty dollars for something I’ll see on TV in a year. Come,” you say, offering a hand. “Let’s skip the movie for now, move onto the dinner.”

“My pleasure.” Cheerilee takes your hand, following you as you move to the exit. Navigating the crowd is easy enough, but quite a few fifteen-year-olds, overweight mothers, their shit children and other mouth-breathers make the trip to the door a chore. At last, you can hear Cheerilee’s sexy little high heels clack on the cement outside.

“Ugh, did you see that one girl’s shorts?” Cheerilee asks on the way to your car.

“Those were shorts?” You ask, opening the passenger door for Cheerilee. You walk around front and climb into your Cadillac, imported from Detrot. “I thought she just had some denim panties.” You start up the car as Cheerilee tosses her eyes through the roof.

“Alright, Liam,” Cheerilee teases. “Since we’re skipping the movie, what did you have in mind for tonight?”

You buckle up, careful of your tie. “There’s this Germane restaurant just a few blocks down. I know a waitress, friend of my nephew’s. Great food, better beer,” you trail off, checking for pedestrians and cars as you pull out.

“Oh, is that Mikal’s? A student recommended that place to me, I never really bothered.” You look at Cheerilee as you idle, waiting for a mom and her kids to pass. Your pupils are sucked down to her chest like iron to an electromagnet. You look up quickly from the seatbelt parting her two pillows, not quick enough. Cheerilee blushes a bit, shyly smirking.

You cough and break eye contact, searching for a word or two.

“S-sorry,” Cheerilee stutters, adjusting the belt awkwardly. “It’s just, just more comfortable, that way, really. I wasn’t showing off or-”

“It’s alright,” you cut in, happy that she’s apologizing. “I didn’t mean to stare.” You check the rearview again, a ball of lard is hobbling the away from the door. “It’s, well, beyond the obvious... Miss Cheerilee,” you turn and softly hold her eyes. “I apologize if I notice your beauty now and again. However,” you shift in your seat, pausing for effect. “I sincerely apologize if I ever fail to notice, because that would be the real crime.”

The skin of Cheerilee’s giddy little face is a solid, warm, soft portrait of scarlet. “Well, then, when you put it like that, Liam, I guess it’s sort of flattering.” Cheerilee clears her throat softly and scans outside the passenger side window, then returns to the leather interior. You look behind you and find some elbow room, so you begin to back up. You jerk the wheel hard, then stop and shift to drive. Cheerilee catches your eyes and holds them. You sit still, lost in her pretty spring green eyes, surrounded by her pretty reddish face.

Suddenly, a loud horn blares for a full second, jarring you off your pleasant pedestal. You fumble with the shifter and slowly pull away, in no hurry to move out. You pull out of the lot and onto the side street, taking the back way to the restaurant. The thatch roof building looks not much different than a regular house, maybe a bit larger. About a dozen cars dot the small lot, leaving a few spots. You park and get out, courteously opening the door for your date.

Cheerilee’s little red summer dress impressions you again as she climbs out. Her slender form, her round behind, her gentle, youthful shoulders all lead to her slightly swaying hips as she walks. You catch up after a precious moment of drinking her in and trade doors to open.

The sadly casual ambiance hits like a fat tuba. The green carpets are pleasant enough, the decor is cute and homey, in a foreign way. The bar is well stocked with booze and patrons, a few families huddle in booths, either chatting or munching happily.

“Hi!” a spunky little blonde girl speaks to the two of you. “How many tonight, just two?”

“Yes,” you reply, parting your sport coat.

“Alrighty then!” Her pretty little smile and her funny blue eyes are a bit much. “We have tables, booths, and there’s space at the bar...?”

“Do you mind a seat at the bar?” you ask Cheerilee.

She doesn’t actively disagree, but you can see she isn’t in favor.

“Uh, a booth or a table is fine.”

Your booth is, thankfully, buffered by the empty corner booth and another empty spot. You take the leather and gold menus, like holy texts in their cover’s design. You order a pint of the Eichoof, a summertime special. A little pricey, but why not?

Cheerilee buckles, after just a bit of coercion, and orders a glass of Bay Pilsner. You smile at Cheerilee as the waitress leaves, not caring for the usual glance at the young behind. You feel a foot brush yours, Cheerilee smiles girlishly.

“Whatcha hungry for, Liam?” she asks quietly.

You lean forward a little, unable to do anything but stare for a second and beam right back. “I’m not sure, Cheerilee. What are you in the mood for?”

Your date hiccups, stifling a snicker. She blushes and grins a mile wide, hiding her eyes. Cheerilee collects herself quickly and rests her chin on her hand. “Would you listen to us? Chatting sweet nothings like teenag-”

“No,” you softly interrupt. “You had a rather adult thought, I can tell by the way you caught yourself.”

“I di-”

“No need to lie, Cheerilee, what was it?”

“It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” you ask, and lean in close, Cheerilee meeting you halfway, your lips just a few inches apart. You whisper: “Or something?”

Cheerilee giggles just for a second, then pulls you by the chin to her face. She kisses you passionately, her hot exhale and soft moan the compressed CO2 of a beer bottle shelved for far too long. You lean forward into her, sharing the sudden kiss, losing yourself to her soft lips and smelling her sweet, warm breath..

As quickly as it began, the kiss ends with a softly audible break. You open your eyes and un-tense muscles you didn’t know you were tensing. Cheerilee is biting her tongue softly, her longing almost spilling from her eyes. She’s uncorked her bottle, and you want relief just as bad.

“Sorry,” Cheerilee whispers, giggling innately. “Wanna know what I really thought about? It’s... vulgar.”

Cheerilee’s face is far beyond flushed. “I’ll die of curiosity if you don’t tell.”

Your date blinks once, slowly, and rests her head on her hand, hiding her face from the restaurant. She begins to speak, but just inhales and exhales hotly. “I, I was thinking that I was in the mood, mood for cock, and that thought traveled down a rabbit trail or two...” She trails off, looking down at the table. “It’s silly, I probably sound like a bitch in heat.”

“No, no no,” you console her softly, earning another look into her lustful eyes. “You’re still young and extremely attractive, I think it’s perfectly fine if you’re in the mood. To be honest, I couldn't get the image of your amazing breasts around the seatbelt out of my head if I tried, not that I’d ever want to.”

“Oh, stop!” Cheerilee suddenly cheers up, smiling, blushing, being adorably attractive. “You’re damn sexy, you know.”

“I wasn’t sure, until now.” A solid minute passes in comfortable silence, the hush of “Mikal’s” and some foreign poppy stuff from at least a dozen years ago the only noises about. You’re not desperate for conversation, neither is Cheerilee. The two of you are just enjoying each other’s company, not each other’s bullshit about the day, your interests, your hopes or dreams.

Cheerilee’s eyes hold yours for some of the time, then return to the menu. You remember that you’re hungry, and not just for pussy. The Späsekase sounds delicious, as does Rouladen, bacon wrapped around beef. A simple picture, surely taken right behind the counter, catches your eye. Hackepeter, a bunch of lightly fried pork inside a bread shell, filled with some beef broth. Your mouth waters for such a dish, and it’s reasonably priced.

You memorize the spelling and try to form the pronunciation in your mind and set the leather bound menu down, revealing a busty redhead, holding two different sized glasses of beer. The smaller is golden like blondie’s hair, the other a deep, light brown.

“Hello,” she greets you mildly. “My name’s Berry Punch, I’m your waitress for tonight, and I’ve got your brews. The Hoof for the gent, am I right?”

“Yes, thank you,” you say accepting the tall, cold glass. “Beautiful.”

“Bay for the lady?” she more confirms than asks, handing Cheerilee her drink.

“Thanks,” your date says, her giddy little voice truly uplifting.

“Okay then! You two ready to order?” She takes out her pad, not obstructing the view of her cleavage.

You glance at Cheerilee and watch her finger her selection. “I’d love the Karto, Kart-”

“Kartoffelnpuffer,” you finish for her.

“Kartoffelpuffer, close though!” Berry Punch smiles and jots down three letters. “And don’t worry, you’re miles better than the average Joe that sits down here. Especially sober. And for you?”

“Hackpeter mit Rindbrühe. Did I get that right?”

Berry Punch takes your menu and beams. “Perfect! Sounds great, I’ll be back when it’s ready.”

You thank her, happily watching her leave. Cheerilee pinches your arm, hard, breaking your gaze.

“Ow! What was that for?”

Cheerilee snickers just a bit, deepening her shallow laugh lines. “Admiring the view?”

“Well,” you take another quick glance, catching the final farewell of the sexy barmaid’s saunter. She smiles at you as she returns to her post at the bar, serving some other patron.

Cheerilee giggles softly and whispers: “I suppose I can’t blame you. As far as butts go, she’s draggin’ one hell of a wagon.”

You give Cheerilee a sly glance over the rim of your beer. You taste your drink, noting the strength of the brew. It’s far from bad, it’s damn good. Two gulps good.

“Can I ask you something?” Cheerilee nods and smiles, picking up her glass. “Since you’re obviously interested in me, do you swing both ways? Or do you just appreciate butts?”

Cheerilee almost performs a textbook spit-take. She catches herself just enough and sets her drink down. “Well,” she starts, wiping her nose on a napkin. “If I have to clarify, yes. I can appreciate a sexy lady plenty, I even had a nice kiss or two back in college.

“Well, actually, I met this girl, she liked girls more than me, but she kind of...” Cheerilee takes a long draft, a spot of foam sticking to the point of her nose. “Ah, that’s refreshing. She liquored me up and had her way with me all night long. That’s, heh, as far as my relationship with women has gone. Still,” she says resting her hand on her chin and looks toward the bar. “That is one hot bartender.”

“You should check out Sugarcube Corner,” you mention before moving on. “You said that happened in college? How long ago was that?”

Cheerilee turns back and happily answers: two years ago. This is just her second year in Ponyville, she’s twenty and six years old this September. She majored in elementary teaching, naturally, and minored in library science. Contrary to first impressions, the latter subject is rather interesting. Cheerilee even worked as a librarian in her college career for a time.

Teaching children, you learn, is her real passion. Ever since she was little, she wanted to learn and help others to bloom into their full potential. Throughout grade school, plenty of girls, and a guy or five, wanted to grow up and be teachers. Cheerilee knew what she wanted to do since grade one, and never faltered from that plan. She was an A student, almost valedictorian, save for not taking an AP calc class in grade 12. Boring.

Until college. At the University of Los Pegasus, she really came out of her shell. High school gave her little social freedom. Strict parents, nerd friends, tough classes, a part time job, a part time and a full time in the summer, Cheerilee didn’t have a wealth of time to fuck around. Cheerilee was ahead of the curb and had plenty of living experience and responsibility going in, so dorm life was less of a traumatic adjustment for her than others. In just three years, she racked up debt, like every student, but had more credits than most.

Her fourth year, however, she realized how stressed, and ultimately bored, she truly was. A new roommate, attending for a medical-type degree, you didn’t hold on to that nugget, pushed Cheerilee enough to allow a few friends over. A few girlfriends, a few guy friends, a few six packs, a few shots, a few bong rips, what could go wrong?

“So that’s the girl that took advantage of you.” you ask, watching for Berry Punch.

“I wouldn’t say ‘took advantage of’. More uh, opened me up to new things.”

“Not to mention your legs.” You sip your beer, the complex taste quite delicious. “Or do mention it, I love sexy stories.”

“That goes without saying,” Cheerilee says, her blush very cute. “I’ll have to tell you about it sometime.”

“Or don’t,” you tell her, pausing, gauging her response. She’s a bit confused, maybe deflated. “I want my performance to be my own, no cheating.”

Cheerilee giggles a bit and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “I can’t wait for the oral exam,” she says softly. “S-sorry, that was corny, wasn’t it?”

You wink and hold your first finger half an inch from your thumb.

“Well,” Cheerilee begins. “I can’t wait to-”

“Hackpeter?” A busty barmaid in a burgundy blouse butts in, balancing both bowls.

“Thanks,” you softly say. Your hunk of meat in broth lets off plenty of pleasant aromas as well as steam.

“And the Kartoffelpuffer,” she says, skillfully sliding Cheerilee’s order around her half-full glass.

“Thanks!” Cheerilee cheerfully says. “Looks delicious!”

“Great. Need anything else, just ask. Anyone want a refill? Some water, soda?”

“I’m fin-”

“I’ll have another, please,” Cheerilee says, sipping on her drink. “It’s good, I don’t normally go for beer, but this is very good.”

“Very cool,” Berry Punch says, dragging her fingers through her luscious dark-red hair. “You?” she asks, looking at you.

“Just some water, please.”

“Right on. Who’s driving, tonight? Not that I’m all that concerned over two beers, you just look, well, don’t hate me for saying this, but you look a little lightweight.”

“Ah-!” Cheerilee beams wide, obviously flattered. Probably genuinely. “Hate you? Oh, no, I take a compliment where I can find it, honey. ‘preciate it, though. He’s driving, no worries.”

Berry Punch looks more than amused, maybe interested? It’s tough to tell. “Thanks, miss. I’ll grab you a Bay. On the house, just cos I like ya.” She tosses Cheerilee a flirty wink, then about faces lazily. Both you and Cheerilee take in a long view of Berry’s round ass.

“God damn,” Cheerilee says softly. “Sorry, Liam, I think I need to get her number.”

“Right,” you say, equally interested in your food. “So you are into girls, then?”

Cheerilee gives a flirtatious little wave to the bartender. “Huh? Oh, well, not since college, really. I’m just getting back into the dating scene, actually.”

“Huh.” You dig right in, taking a hunk of pork right out of the soup. It’s tender, salty, spicy, a bit at least, and delicious. You down mouthful after mouthful as Cheerilee works on her food. You ease your fervor a bit, no longer starving. “Tell me more about your college days.”

Cheerilee sips down the last of her beer, moving the glass away and pulling her second up. “Alright, then, if you must know everything about me. We were at the-

“Just after THAT night.”

“Right,” Cheerilee says, swallowing a bite of her dish.

Years went by, Cheerilee managed to collect stress at school and a part time during the week, then blow it all away on the weekend. She found a boy, got with a girl, found another boy, got a scare, then stuck to her books when finals rolled around. She graduated third in her class, and couldn't be happier. A degree, a spot of experience in a daycare, a recommendation from a friend and professor, and landing an elementary teaching job in Ponyville was almost easy.

“But the principal here is kinda, well, terrible.” Cheerilee takes one last draft of her beer. “I think the fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Gemini, could have a real impact on the way things are run.”

“Really?” you inquire, still intrigued. “That battle axe? I’ve seen her in the PTA meetings, she looks fresh out of a mafia movie.”

“She’s a great teacher!” Cheerilee enthusiastically rebuttals. “Besides, the current principal sucks. I’m tired of talking about work. It’s summer! I why can’t we just enjoy summer vacation?”

“Good point.” You scoop up some bready-broth and digest your meat and beer, full, for less than a week’s wages. “I wish I could take the summer off. In most ways, I really miss school. In the Navy, you don’t get summers off from school. You get three weeks, usually in the fall.”

“Oh, you’re in the Navy?” Cheerilee asks, more than most of her food gone, and all her beer.

“Was. Machinist Mate, got out after eight years. Got some good benefits, GI bill for my daughter, great training, great on my resume. Landed my job at the hydro plant, actually.” You shift in your seat some, ready to see what Cheerilee’s bedroom looks like. “Saw a lot of the world, met some interesting people, my terrible ex wife, got paid well, got buff enough, got out.”

“Oh, wow!” Cheerilee leans forward, giving a generous view. “I mean, ex-wife, that sucks dick probably, but the whole other everything, sounds cool. Sorry, about bringing things up, I mean. I wa-”

“It’s alright, just stop there, please. The more you go on, the more awkward it gets. Not, you, specifically, just, talking about it. But, I did get my beautiful daughter and custody. Sarah goes to Manehatten four weeks a year to visit her mom. Tonight, she’s at her friend’s for a sleepover.”

“Oh, cute! I’m happy she could get a chance to have fun this summer.”

“Me too,” you reply happily. “It’s nice to see her interact and make friends. Sarah can have a hard time with things like that.” You finish your beer and analyze the last portion of your meal.

“It is nice. I’m a dad first, and I love Sarah with my whole heart, but sometimes I miss summer love.” You sip your water and decide to save the last bites for a midnight snack.

“Me too,” Cheerilee says. “It is summer, ya know.” Your eyes meet hers. Cheerilee winks slowly, rubbing her toes on your calf. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I had a few things planned. I just don’t know where, yet.”

Cheerilee’s shoulders slump a bit. “Oh, so you’re busy?”

“Likely.”

“Well, where at?”

You chew an ice cube into oblivion. “Your place or mine?”

* * *

“Ah, Liam,” Cheerilee softly moans. “You really know how to work me up.” She takes your hand in hers and follows your movements up and down her nearly-perfect stomach. The soft fabric of her dress is warmed by her skin. She grinds her hips a little, caressing your bulge with her tight butt. Cheerilee exhales hotly and moves your hands to her breasts. You have to adjust your left elbow, pull Cheerilee onto you a bit, but you take her healthy breasts in both hands and give her a gentle squeeze.

Cheerilee whimpers in delight, grinding her hips and moving her legs on the soft, wide couch. Cheerilee’s sectional provides an excellent place to make out, grope, sleep, fuck or just lounge. You kiss her neck and feel the bra cups through her dress as you squeeze her nice, big, round tits.

“Ahhh~” Cheerilee softly exhales as you work her breasts around, grinding into her and rubbing your hardness along the contours of her fine ass. You inhale her essence, indulging in Cheerilee’s presence. Her legs part some as you love her body. Your knee rises on its own, slowly sliding up her ever warming thighs. You feel a warmness and a pressure right on the end of your knee and press up a bit, pulling Cheerilee to you by her tits.

Cheerilee groans and reaches back to you, grabbing your ass in her right hand, holding you in place as she slowly strokes herself with your leg. You can feel a damp sensation, suddenly hotter through the pant leg.

Cheerilee sighs heavily. As quickly as the slight masturbation began, Cheerilee stops and gets up to kneel on the floor, facing you.

She touches the little damp spot on your knee and smiles mischievously. “Did I do that?” she whispers, smiling wide.

“Blame me if you want,” you reply. “I don’t care about these slacks anyway. We could always take them off.”

“Hm!” Cheerilee licks her lips and watches your strong hands undo the belt, the corners of her mouth curl up as it comes off. You toss it aside, careful not to scratch the hardwood, and undo the button. Cheerilee grabs the zipper herself and proceeds. She slowly dives into your pants and goes right for the prize, softly dragging her fingertips over your clothed and solid member.

She smiles up at you, her face and shoulders blushing. She carefully takes it out, fishing your erection through the hole in your boxers. Cheerilee crosses her eyes a little and covers her mouth at the sight. Soon, however, she’s beaming and gripping the base, slowly working up and down. Some sweat is lubrication enough for now.

“I-It’s been awhile,” Cheerilee stammers. “I don’t think I’ve seen a cock this size. Is, is that good?”

You nod, tracing the line of her jaw with a finger. “Great, take your time, but hurry up. I wanna do you, take my time, ah, yeah, a little faster. I wanna take my time, eat you out for hours. Maybe slap you around a bit, if you don’t behave.”

Cheerilee sits up and moves forward between your knees. “Oh, Liam, take me gentle tonight, please? I’m really ready, but I, I’m not so into the rough stuff.”

“You sure?” you ask, leaning your torso over her. “Have you ever tried it?” You put your hand on her pretty pink hair, messing it up in a cute way. You can’t help but smile at her when she smiles up at you. “I’d love to hear you beg some.”

You put your thumb on Cheerilee’s chin, making her open wide. With your other hand, you turn her head down to your cock and pull her towards you. She giggles and moves along happily, sucking you into her lips. She moans around your meat and bobs her head gently, taking no more than a few inches. You move your hand from Cheerilee’s face to the base of your member.

Bit by bit, you help Cheerilee pick up the pace, replacing your grip with hers. After a pleasant minute, Cheerilee comes up for air.

“GAH! Fuck, I forgot how much I love doing this.” Cheerilee strokes your slick shaft swiftly for several seconds. “Ah yeah, I love the little noise it makes. When’s the last time you, uh, took care of yourself?” Cheerilee asks just before taking a deep breath, going down on you again.

“Almost, oh yeah, deeper, if you can. Almost, two months, I think. I can’t bring myself to when my girl’s home.”

Cheerilee may have tried to chuckle, but cock occupies her throat at the time. Her hot mouth caresses your shaft wetly, moans, reverberating the sensitive flesh. Your rock-hard hardness pokes her throat with every thrust, prodding a bit harder every time. Cheerilee pushes on your waist, struggling against your grip. She wins, when and only when you let her win.

“G-GiGyAck!” Cheerilee sputters and coughs, holding her neck in her hand. She stares daggers at you as she catches her breath, her chest heaving, making both straps fall down around her arms. “You FUCKER!” Cheerilee jumps up and straddles you, your dick lightly staining the hem of her cocktail dress. “I was choking and you held me DOWN?! What’s wrong with you?! I could have fucking DIED!” Cheerilee drives her point home by slapping your face hard, quickly kissing you with enflamed passion. She sucks on your lip and drives her tongue in your mouth as you pull her dress up over her round, tight ass.

Cheerilee breaks away and pulls her gown over her head, letting it fall in your face. You inhale through her garment and watch her undo her large black bra. Your cock throbs and your eyes bulge as her heavy tits spill out of her brassiere, free from their prison. Her pretty pink panites, satin, by the looks, are stained right at the crotch.

Cheerilee smiles, her face screwed up with crazed lust. “Fuck my face again,” she whispers. “But if I tap you four times, let me up. Not three times, not even if I push as hard as I can.”

“Four taps,” you repeat, grabbing her hair. Her delighted yelp is muffled by meat as you thrust forward into her face. Cheerilee moans aloud as you use her face like a pussy. Your cock pokes her throat every time, then begins to slip in. You slow to a stop, nearly, and push your long dick as deep as it will go. Cheerilee’s hot, wet throat opens to your girth, taking you all. You feel three taps and a hand pressing into your lower abdomen, but you hold her face down even harder. You thrust and rock a bit, deep inside, making Cheerilee gurgle and drool. Her eyes go cross. You tilt her head back, watching as your thick cock bulges out her neck and compresses you harder. Cheerilee’s pretty eyes tear up a bit as she pushes as hard as she can. You hold her down, your military muscles more than a match for her might.

You pull out and let her breath. Cheerilee coughs, curses you and praises you, bordering on hysterics. “Fuck! Liam, god, fuck you! Just hold on, hold on.” Cheerilee tenderly kisses the glans, continuing to lick up and down. She clears her throat and swallows a few times as she strokes you, using her other hand to squeeze her breast. Cheerilee smiles and sits up, tosses the hair out of her face and gently takes you into her mouth again. Cheerilee gingerly sucks and bobs, using her tongue as about half your shaft is engulfed. She slowly moves up and down, her cheeks pooching in from suction.

“Ah, that feels great, Cheerilee.” You lightly rock your hips with her, moving your hand back to her head. Cheerilee winces and gags as you slowly force her down, but she taps four times after just a few inches.

“GiNGLK!” Cheerilee gags and sputters, more so than before. You move to the side and help her to sit up, when she’s done fighting her gag reflex.

“You alright?” you ask. Her drool is thick on your thick organ, but Cheerilee is in need of help.

Cheerilee nods, grimacing a bit. “Yeah, ugk, I’m alright. Sorry, it’s just been so long since I did that, forgot how much fun it was. Want, want mo-”

“I want you,” you interject. “It’s been far too long since I’ve made a beautiful woman scream my name.” Cheerilee grins wide.

“How’re ya gonna do that, big boy?” Cheerilee grips your slick stiffy and strokes swiftly, gripping hard and working the whole shaft. The pleasure’s unbelievable, an amazing emulsion of wetness and friction.

“I’m going to make you wet,” you tell her in a deafeningly gruff whisper. “Wet as a fucking ocean, hotter than lava, too. I’ll make your pussy purr, make you edge time after time until you’re hoarse from begging. Once you’re convinced that your demise will come if I don’t fuck you within two seconds, then I’ll penetrate you. My long, hard cock will push all the way in, make you cry from pain as it splits you in two. Then, I’ll fuck you.” You pause, gripping Cheerilee’s chin lightly. “I’ll fuck you until you can see your brain, your eyes rolled so far up in your skull.”

Cheerilee’s paled face turns crimson, shade after shade as you speak. She eventually sits back on her hands, stunned, a bit of the hardwood dampened by her wanting, and her wet palm.

“Which way to your bedroom?” you ask her in a casual, demanding hush.

Cheerilee merely smiles, sitting up some. You pick her up in your arms easily and make for the stairs. Cheerilee is beaming, your forearm supporting the hottest part of her upper thighs, right under her round ass. You drop her on the bed, a quilted and homely piece of furniture. The mattress squeaks as Cheerilee bounces to a rest, giggling and struggling with her gown. You rest both hands on her thighs and slide up, lifting her gorgeous gown from her beautiful body.

You’re pulling at her lacey pink panties before she’s got the hem over her eyes. The long-lost stench of dripping pussy wafts into your nose as Cheerilee happily helps you expose her slit. You smell the bunched up and damp satin, for nostalgia if nothing else, and feel your salivary glands rev to life.

“AH! Oh, haha, that’s go-ooooooood~...” Cheerilee falls back onto the bed in bliss as you lightly drag your tongue along her labia, savoring the nasty taste. She’s dripping, overflowing, hot and ready, but you don’t stop. Carefully, you pull on the shaved skin above her lips and watch as her tiny pink nub is unhooded. You can hear her stifling intense screams as you lick the bare bit. You slip in one finger and make your way onto the bed.

Cheerilee looks up at you when you pull your whole finger out of her tight, hot pussy. She smiles and looks at your rigid manhood. “We ready, then? Or do you wanna make me beg some?”

“Not sure, yet,” you flatly answer, unable to stop yourself from smiling wide at her. She’s too cheery, to genuinely happy to torture. You lay on her, compressing her tits under you. You kiss her lips, slowly, feeling her body and teasing her with a knee. She moans and exhales into your mouth with every little press into her hot sex. Minutes go by as you caress Cheerilee’s soft skin, feeling her hot body with flaming passion. She imprints you into her memory with matching fervor, touching your face and kissing you, swapping spit and fencing her tongue against yours, with yours, until she cannot carry on.

“Ah-hoh my god, Liam,” Cheerilee hoarsely says, you straddling her sweaty body. The covers have long since been tossed aside, the ambient temperature in the small bedroom far above comfortable. Yet, in a way, the heat fuels you, cooks your lust and your passion. Your member stands more rigid than it has ever been, or at least in a long time. Cheerilee slowly strokes you as you lightly rub her glistening petals. You gaze at her sex in the dimmed light. She’s youthful and pristine down below, clean and drenched. You feel her hand slide over you, some sweat the only lubrication needed. You slowly slip in your finger, leaning forward and resting over Cheerilee, standing on your free hand.

Cheerilee gasps lightly and smiles, then goes back to stroking some. “Liam, are you really going to make me beg f-for it? I really want your long, thick dick ramming my pussy. I’m so fucking hot for you, don’t you wanna feel my tight, soft little pussy around that hard, throbbing cock?” Cheerilee bites her lip and squeezes a bit around your hard-on and your fingers.

“That’ll do, I suppose,” you whisper, unable to not smile. You fall down on top of her again, kissing her deeply, rolling around and touching and grabbing and sharing breath. After some time, Cheerilee ends up in your arms, her nice, round ass pressing into your groin. You kiss her neck from behind and grab one of her soft breasts.

You bite her earlobe viciously, then flick it apologetically as she vocally responds. “Spread ‘em,” you barely breath into her ear. Cheerilee lifts her leg up, exposing her fuck-slit. You guide your head to her and roll your hips forward, penetrating in one thrust. Cheerilee cries out a little as your thick head penetrates. Her tight walls clench down as your rock back and forth, squishing her round ass in every thrust. Cheerilee moves along, massaging you with short, well timed movements. You build on her rhythm, already feeling your cock twitching, ready to blow.

“Fuck,” you can barely say. You swallow the lump in your throat and grab Cheerilee’s hip instead of her tit for better leverage. “Cheerilee, it’s been awhile sin-since I’ve done it. Like this. I’m, cl-”

“Me, too,” she says, panting a bit more than you. You speed up and feel her belly, nearly flat, save for the slight bulge right along the invisible line from her belly button to her clit. You press down, feeling her soft flesh compress you a little more. The way she moans, it’s apparent that Cheerilee loves it. The underside of your shaft is caressed by her hotness in an amazing way. You lengthen your strokes, risking cumming too soon. You slide your hand along Cheerilee’s midriff, beads of sweat making your palm glide over her skin like a package over a series of rollers.

“Ah! Yeah! Yeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!” Cheerilee suddenly voices her pleasure as you tweak her cum-button. You pinch and pull and roll it around in your fingers, concentrating on keeping up the pace. You find yourself sucking air, your core muscles dually inflamed by pleasure and fatigue.

“Right there, fuck me, right there!” You feel close to bursting and slow up, fucking Cheerilee harder and harder. You have to stop and suck in some hot air, repositioning once.

Cheerilee rolls onto her back and exposes her pink fuck-hole all too eagerly. “Don’t FUCKING stop again! P-please?” Cheerilee spreads playfully, using her second digit to play with her clitoris.

You shake some sweat off your brow and get down between her knees, slipping two fingers inside her without trouble. Cheerilee moans and coos approval as you make her pussy hot again. She’s so damn cute, so sexy, it makes you smile with pride and other good feelings. Your heart is warm as Cheerilee cooks your cock in her oven.

“OOooooooh,” Cheerilee moans, arching her back. “Fuck, I’m soooooo close. Fuck m-ME!” You shut her up by ramming home, hilting completely inside her. You bend your neck down and kiss her lips, lifting out of her slit and falling back in. Your rod nearly exits, then you hilt again. It takes a moment to get a rhythm, but Cheerilee’s smile soon turns to a clenched-teeth grimace of joy. Her knees shake as you pound away, your dick twitching like mad again. Cheerilee hugs you close, her nails digging a bit. Your chest flattens against hers, her bust pressing into your chest. You keep up the pace, even if your back is on fire. You speed up, even, as you come to climax.

“Fuck!” is all you can grunt as you thrust away, passing the point of no return. You muster up all your might, but can’t generate enough Newtons to break her kung-fu grip.

Cheerilee’s legs curl up as she finishes, pulling you in, forcing you to shoot inside. She hugs you with all her orgasmic might, including her tight cunt, not allowing you to pull out. You give up and fall into her, happily feeling nails dig into your back. Your core ignites, your balls ache, and then you feel it at last. The underside of your shaft catapults a long line of hot, thick sauce into Cheerilee. Her spasming orgasmic flesh quivers, pulling on you, making you shoot again and again and again, until just a few twitches remain. Your body unlocks and you can finally stop crushing Cheerilee with your pelvis.

You gingerly pull out, your member still twitching, and sit on your knees. Fatigue rolls in in droves. Falling next to Cheerilee is all you can do.

You watch, her side and elbow much in the way, as Cheerilee fingers herself a little, playing and getting your seed out.

“Sorry,” you whisper, your voice like a cat pawing at a window. You cough and lift your arm, touching Cheerilee’s midsection. “I couldn't get out in time.”

Cheerilee rolls over on top of you suddenly and shuts you up with a passionately slow kiss. You take her ass in both hands and play with her tongue for nearly a minute before Cheerilee sits up. You adjust your hardening shaft so the underside will press into her slit. Cheerilee smiles and wordlessly catches your plan, sitting her still milky slit on your drying tool. The warmth is sensational, but the sensation is comparatively slight.

“It’s okay,” Cheerilee says, bending down some. “I’ve got a few morning after pills, no worries.” Cheerilee kisses you again, much more slowly. You feel chilly, save for the warm body on yours. Like a mind reader, Cheerilee pulls her comforter over her shoulders and disappears with you under the blanket.

You feel around in the darkness and find a head of hair, pretty, soft hair, right at your crotch. Fingers curl around your shaft and pull on it, juices lubricating the work. Cheerilee says some words of praise, but they’re muffled by your manhood. She gurgles and spits all over it, using her tongue to caress the bulging underside. Your glans pop out of her lips with a loud smack, and Cheerilee coughs a bit, stroking and recuperating.

“Sorry,” she softly moans, giggling a little. “It’s a lot bigger than I’ve ever sucked.”

You simply pat her head and spread your legs a bit, feeling your knee press into one of her big, soft breasts. Cheerilee pushes back, and sucks you back into her mouth. She moans around you, making your erection vibrate in her mouth. Especially against her tongue, the humming feels amazing. Cheerilee picks up on this, it seems, and sucks you as deep as tolerable, humming aloud and bobbing quickly, compressing you with her tongue.

She tries to deepthroat again, twice, but can’t stomach the task. Bobbing up and down, sucking so hard and working so well with her tongue, Cheerilee’s oral is amazing without the throat. Soon enough, you rest a hand on her cute hair and breathe in the musty air under the covers, climax slowly rolling in again.

Cheerilee sits up quickly, gasping. The covers make a tent, then she throws that down, wrapping herself partially and lightly smothering you. You pull the covers down from your face and sit up, only to be pounced by a horny girl.

“Ah,” she whispers into your face. “Felt good?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, holding the wadded up comforter to Cheerilee’s back. Her large, lightly dampened tits press into your chest, her weight compressing yours. You reach around under the blanket and grab Cheerilee’s ass, not shy about the hot heat emanating from her inner thighs. The only noise you can hear is a duo of racing hearts, above normal breathing and an occasional dog bark.

Cheerilee gazes into your eyes, smiling as wide as possible. “‘sfun.”

“Yeah?” you ask, keeping the hush.

“Mmmhmm. You like eating pussy?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna eat me?”

You feel around her butt and touch her hot slit, watching Cheerilee’s cheeks tense up. She’s hot, and wet, but you can still feel your milky seed inside in lieu of the slimy pussy juice.. “Uh, I’m not on board with that, Cheerilee. I kinda already creamed your pie.”

Cheerilee is a bit saddened, but still tiredly beams. She pecks your lips once, twice, then gives in to a long kiss. After a thirty second Frencher, Cheerilee sits up and touches herself. Her fingers spread her lips a little, exposing her creamy insides.

“I thought I got most of it,” she says quietly. You pull yourself up and kneel beside Cheerilee and trace the contours of her belly. You kiss her cheek and venture south. Her hot slit is still very wet. You hold her from behind and watch over her shoulder as you pull on her pussy entrance with two fingers, her pink tinged white with thick goop. Cheerilee smiles and pets your head, pursing her lips as you curl two fingers up and into her.

A thick stream of cum comes out with your fingers. “Jeez, did I do that?” you half ask nobody.

Cheerilee giggles a tiny bit, then gasps as you push inside her again. You pull her body to yours and hold her breast while you finger her, pulling out streams of sticky semen out with every thrust.

“Oooh~” Cheerilee falls into your embrace, laying back into you. You pull her down to a sitting position by her chest. You straddle her from behind, your erection resting on her lower back. You kiss her neck, squeeze her breast hard, and rub your two fingertips inside her hot slit. The sheets are filthy, but that’s the last thing on your mind.

Cheerilee moans and tilts her head back as far as she can. You gently rock your hips and push your cock along the contours of her lower back. You feel inside her pussy for that spot, but it’s hard to find. In this position, it should be possible. You pull out and circle her clit some, making Cheerilee’s shoulders shudder a bit. You sit up tall, holding her quivering back to your chest, caressing her lumbar with your cock, and push inside again. There, just a few inches inside, you feel a tiny little nub, hardly bigger than your first fingertip. Cheerilee loves it as you push into it. Cheerilee lowers her head and leans back into you, squeezing her other breast and reaching behind herself, grabbing your thigh for her life.

“Right there,” she hoarsely whispers, gyrating her hips with your movements and inadvertently stroking you with her ass. You go faster and harder, sure you’re getting her g-spot.

Your wrist tires, but you go on. Cheerilee’s hot moans evolve into tense little cries within minutes. Your hand is sore and stiff, you have to stop and switch hands.

Cheerilee stops your fresh hand and turns in your arms. “S-stop, Liam, that was too good.” She pushes you down until you lay on your back, your leg hitting a wet spot. “You’re ready, right?” She lowers herself onto you, pressing your hardness into her stomach, compressing her tits, too.

You nod, stroking her side lightly.

“God, you know how to get me hot, don’t you?” Cheerilee smiles wide and sits up. Carefully, she guides you into her again. You inhale deeply as the head pushes into her hot, wet slit, slowly, inch by inch. Cheerilee throws her head around as you thrust your hips, filling her up completely. Cheerilee stoops over a bit, spreading her legs wide and pushing her pussy down as much as she can. You grab her ass and lift her up, then pull her back down. Cheerilee falls forward at the sensation, resting her head next to yours. You make her move some, and the two of you find a rhythm. The pace accelerates quickly, as Cheerilee started out with a head start.

Soon, she’s whimpering and begging to go harder, faster. You pull Cheerilee to you and sit up, panting less than her. You pull out and lift her up, guiding her to sit on her hands and knees. You stand on your knees behind her and pull her round ass to you. Penetrating is hardly a chore, and you’re ramming her from behind within seconds. Cheerilee’s elbows cave. Luckily, she’s face down in a pillow.

You grab both hips and go as fast as you can, as hard as you can. Cheerilee’s soft walls suck you in after every thrust. Her pussy feels so soft and tight, it’s unreal. You breathe harder and keep up the pace, watching her ass jiggle as your waist impacts it over and over again.

You hear Cheerilee whimper something and moan aloud into the pillow. She suddenly lifts her head as you feel your limit nearing. “YES!” she screams. “Oh, fuck yes! Fuck me, fuck me hard, ah, fuck me!”

You slap Cheerilee’s ass, making her cry out in joy. You feel close to exploding again as Cheerilee stands on her hands, her entire torso rocking with your thrusts. You let go of all restraint and ram her pussy, pulling her hips back for the maximum force. The sound of flesh slapping is sickening, but erotic beyond belief. Cheerilee’s pussy tightens up with every thrust, squeezing you hard as your cock flies in and out. You look down and watch the entire shaft get swallowed in her wet hole. The sight makes you slow down, rolling deep inside, pushing down into Cheerilee’s special spot with every thrust.

“Aaaahhooooh my god! Yeah, right there! RIGHT THERE! Fuck, RIGHT THERE!” You slowly pick up the pace, still transfixed upon your tool slipping in and out of Cheerilee. It looks impossible, but Cheerilee is gladly, and wetly, accepting you again, and again, and again. You slap her butt again and pick up the pace as she roughly laughs. Her hair flies around violently as you fuck her from behind.

Her silken insides feel suddenly amazing, milking your rod. You listen to Cheerilee bite the pillow and scream out in orgasm, unable to control her shaking. You can’t hold back any longer. Cheerilee’s sexy, curvy back, her round ass and tight pussy are too much. You grip her butt firmly and pull out, just in time. You grab the base of your shaft, warm and slick, and pull the trigger. Long shots, longer you expected, launch out in an uncontrollable volley. You try to aim as best you can and manage to get most of your generous series to land on her back.

After a few final twitches, you shake off the last dribble and wipe it on Cheerilee’s ass. The bed is a post-battle wasteland. Cum and girl juice pockmarks the dark blue sheets, staining them deep violet and sky blue in random speckles. Cheerilee rolls over, right into the most stained zone, revealing a cute red pillow with spit pools and bite marks. Her cherry is gaping, a little, exposing the pretty and soft insides. You feel a hunger for her sex again, but it’s opposed by fatigue. The soft, springy ground rushes up to meet you. A damp fabric hits your face with a soft “pomf”.

You can hear Cheerilee giggle and feel her hand on your side. She helps you roll over and kisses you quickly. Her leg finds its way between yours as her tongue slips into your mouth. You gladly share spit and pull her close, feeling her warm pussy with your knee. Cheerilee lazily laughs and moans in response, slowly sucking on you lips and slipping her tongue over yours. You caress her back and hold Cheerilee to you, pressing her breasts into your chest and stroking her labia lightly with your leg. You make out for a long time, you have no sense of time, long enough for Cheerilee to get chilly and pull the covers over the both of you.

It’s Cheerilee who at last pushes away. She stares into your eyes for a bit, her little grin the epitome of happiness. She bats her eyes a little bit as you stroke her warm sides. Under the blanket, you’re both a bit sweaty again. Cheerilee bends down and pecks you on the lips, then sits upright once more.

“That was amazing,” she whispers, running her hand down your chest. “Definitely worth skipping the movie.”

“I couldn't agree more.” You reach for her butt and squeeze lightly. Cheerilee flinches playfully, moving her knees to either side of your chest. “We made a little mess, didn’t we, Cheerilee?”

She looks around and is visibly shocked at the sight. “Maybe, no biggie. Tomorrow’s laundry day, anyway.”

“Really?” you ask, stroking her sides.

“Well, now it is.” Cheerilee laughs with you a little, then stoops down for another wet kiss. You hold her face for a minute, dreading the absence of her sweet breath. Eventually, though, she breaks away.

“Thirsty?” she asks, an inch away from your face.

You nod slowly and touch her sticky back.

Cheerilee notices, it seems, as she sits up again to scratch some crusted residue off her lower back. “I could use a shower,” she states softly. “I bet we both could.”

“And, a drink?”

“Right,” Cheerilee says with a cute grin. She crawls off the filthy bed and you follow suit, stretching out and airing out. The room reeks of sex and sweat. Cheerilee’s saunter leads you to her bathroom. You get a long drink of cold tap water, unbelievably delicious.

You step into the shower after Cheerilee and hug her close as hot water cascades down her back. You stroke her skin, wiping your mess away and kissing Cheerilee. Her full lips are perfect, supple and soft. Before you can even borrow her girly shampoo, the two of you are making out passionately, leaning against the wall, lifting legs, licking chins and kissing cheeks. The two of you are forced to copulate once more, the steamy room making you both hot. Cheerilee wraps her legs and arms around you as you hold her against the wall, the shower head aimed at the two of you.

Cheerilee moans hotly as you fill her again, her bangs wetly hanging down over her face. Hydrated again, you find the energy to hold Cheerilee and fuck her right. You watch her lower lips spread for your cock, pleasuring you as you thrust into her. Your tool finds itself all the way in over and over again. You’re sure you’re hitting her spot in this position. Your thick head has to, and Cheerilee’s whimpering like she’s about to faint.

You kiss Cheerilee’s neck as you lean forward, letting her rest her head on yours. The new position makes her body press into yours. Cheerilee moans into your ear as you resume your rhythm. Her hot, wet body feels amazing. Holding it, loving it is all you care about right now. You rock your hips a bit slower, feeling Cheerilee’s soft insides milk your long, hard shaft. You can feel every bump and groove, especially the ultra-sensitive cum button hidden just behind her clitoris. You pull out a bit further now, making sure the rim of your helmet flicks Cheerilee’s spot with every thrust and also slide all the way inside, pushing on her cervix.

The hot water and Cheerilee’s hot pussy make fucking a terminal effort. Cheerilee’s moaning like crazy, but you’re nearing your personal finish line as well. Cheerilee tosses her wet hair around, her moans shaking from your thrusts.

“Liam!” she shouts. “YES! Right th-There!” Her cute grin is screwed up into a blissful scowl. You secure your footing a little more and pick up the pace, ready to unload.

“I’m close, too, Cheerilee,” you softly say into her ear. Cheerilee’s arms wrap around your neck tighter and tighter, lifting her back from the tiled wall. Shampoo bottles fall to the floor as you ram her pussy hard, sending out screams of terrible bliss into the rest of the room. The world is condensed into one bathtub/shower combo for a moment as the two of you reach climax. Cheerilee’s entire body seizes up in a shuddering orgasm, her throat fixed in elation. You cum with her, shooting again deep inside. Your teeth grind against each other as your cock spurts for what seems like minutes.

The minutes turn to seconds, and the sound of panting can be heard through the hot waterfall. Cheerilee carefully stands on her own feet, letting you slip out. You stand behind Cheerilee and touch her breasts softly, kissing her neck as you both cool down under the hot tap.

The two of you lather, rinse, repeat and wash your sensitive bits extra carefully. You step out and towel off quickly, not too worried about being thorough. Cheerilee’s hair is a disaster after she towels it dry. Her messy mane makes you laugh, just a bit. She touches her hair and moves to the mirror, wipes a stripe dry, and laughs heartily.

You sit on the pot and watch her fix her hair, in no hurry to do anything in particular. After a minute of standing and spooning, Cheerilee pushes you back.

“It’s almost dawn,” she says softly in the steamy room. “I assume we shouldn’t lay back down in my bed. That’s a mess. We could, cuddle on the couch downstairs? I don’t know, I don’t have anything but a few chores to do today. How about you?”

You glance at the glazed window, noting the first orange-yellows to filter through. “I think this warrants one of my sick days.” You take Cheerilee by the hand and grab the doorknob. “Hold on tight,” you command. “It’s gonna be cold.”

Cheerilee sucks her body to you quickly, especially her ample breasts. The door opens out, letting a rush of slightly colder air fly in. “Come on!” you quietly scream. “We’ve only got seconds to get downstairs and find warmth. You’re fading, Cheerilee! Hop on, I’ll get you to safety.”

Cheerilee laughs as you pull her onto your back and make for the stairs, taking slow steps like you’re fighting a blizzard. You make your way down the stairs, nude, and fall onto the couch, bouncing with Cheerilee on the wide cushions. She crawls on top of you, her ass on display to the entire living room. You cover her with butt with your hands and kiss her smiling lips, her curvy body warm on yours.

You barely begin to salivate when three raps on the door ring through the house. Cheerilee cranes her neck and looks. She has to get up to look out the window.

“Ssssshoot! I have no idea who’s car that is. Uh, get upstairs and, toss me a shirt and some pants, quick!”

You spring up, nearly blacking out from the head rush, and take the stairs two at a time. You rifle through Cheerilee’s drawers and find a loose t-shirt and some sweats. You toss them down the stairs as the mystery visitor knocks four more times.

“Coming!” you hear Cheerilee shout as she pulls her pants on. You find your clothes and slip into them, just in case.

“Hi!” Cheerilee says cheerfully. “Can I help you?”

You sit on top of the stairs and listen closely. “Hey, Cheerilee. Long time no see, girl. Remember me?”

A gasp. “No way. No way! Get out! Colgate, how did you, how are you?”

“Great! Good to see you! What’s up this morning? Sorry for coming by so early, but you were always a morning person.”

“Yeah, I suppose I am. Hey, uh-”

“Oooh, who’s wing tips?”

Fuck.

You hear an awkward silence, and some shuffling feet. Ten seconds of silence, fifteen. Then, “Uh, a friend’s.”

“Who? Where’s the strapping young lad at?” Colgate, that’s her name, asks in a hushed and hurried tone.

Cheerilee laughs uneasily. You are just as unsure as to what to do. “Well,” she starts, probably blushing adorably from embarrassment. “I, uh,”

“Oh, come on!” Colgate interjects, inviting herself in. You peer around the corner as she takes in the decor. “Well, Cheerilee, your home looks amazing. But, seriously?” In a near whisper: “Who is the guy? Come on, I won’t judge, you know me.”

“Alright, alright,” Cheerilee says. “It’s just kinda awkward timing, is all. And, kinda unexpected, you know?”

“Oh,” Colgate replies. “I, well, I suppose. I’m sorry for barging in and stuff-”

“Don’t be,” you reply, peering over the railing and down the hall. “We were just about to get some sleep, is all.”

Colgate, a cute girl, likely just as old or younger than Cheerilee, smiles wide and laughs aloud. Her fantastic smile is the first thing you notice, after her curvy figure. “Okay,” Colgate says, nodding and smiling. “Apology, retracted. Cheerilee, care to introduce us?”

Cheerilee sighs heavily and squeezes the bridge of her nose. “Alright. Colgate, Liam. Liam, Colgate. She was my roomie back in college. What she’s doing here in Ponyville is beyond me. What she’s doing in my hallway is a bigger mystery.”

You descend the stairs fully and walk to the kitchen with the girls. “Oh, don’t you know? The Summer Sun Celebration is in Ponyville this year!”

“That’s right!” Cheerilee perks up instantly, giddy as ever. “I can’t believe I forgot. It’s in three Saturdays, right?”

“The twenty-third,” you confirm.

“Well,” Colgate continues. “My old dentist got fired for something, gross, so I had to move out of Manetana.”

“That’s right,” Cheerilee adds. “You’re a dental, something, right?”

“Hygienist,” Colgate replies flatly. “Anyway, I met this cute guy on the train in, that’s, why I’m here so early, and we’re going on a little expedition today. Us as in me and that dude, not, dragging you both along. You look beat, by the way. He was telling me about things to do in town, mentioned the school, weirdly. I asked about you, and I guess he knows of you or something. I couldn't pass up a chance to talk at my gal pal, so, I looked you up in the phone book, and, here I am! You should put a sock on the door or something next time, though, really.”

Cheerilee blushes again. “Like I’d put a sock on the front door!” Cheerilee pulls her bangs out of her red face. “Besides, I kind of just got back on the horse, so to speak.”

“Good for you,” Colgate says happily. She’s pretty damn cute, but her bust is considerably smaller. Besides, Cheerilee looks cuter in her old band shirt and black sweats. Sleepiness wades into your head from behind, taking over your mind bit by bit as the two women catch up after so many years. Topics range from plans for dates, good shoe stores, boring things. You don’t hold on to much of anything at all. Sleep is what occupies your thoughts the most. Sleep, and breakfast.

You yawn and walk to the fridge and pull out your leftovers. Cheerilee only breaks her conversation to acknowledge you. You sit by and half listen, half mentally-undress Cheerilee again. You know she’s nude under her clothes, so it isn’t hard at all. You find yourself hard, however, when the microwave beeps.

You take out your snack and grab a fork. “Cheerilee,” you interupt. “I’m going to eat in the living room.”

“Okay, hun,” Cheerilee says with a big smile. “Colgate, when are you going on your date thing?”

“Not ‘til noon. Why?”

“Because I was gonna kick you out. Liam and I kinda had a long night, if you know what I mean.”

“Not done with him?” Colgate asks. You hear some giggling as you turn the corner. You sit on the couch and listen, as closely as you can.

Cheerilee says something softly, and you can hear some feet shuffling. “I mean, we didn’t get a wink.”

“So he’s that big, huh? Looked like it, the bulge, I mean.”

“My god, I know, right? I don’t know if he does it on purpose, but when I even THINK about that tunnel snake, ah, I don’t even think I need to tell you how fucking wet I get.”

“You don’t need to, but you could,” Colgate giggles a little bit, you hear some shuffling. The meat is on fire on the edges and lukewarm in the middle.

“Come on,” Cheerilee says softly. “I mean, how long ago was that night? With the Jägerbombs and the body shots and the six hundred dollars?”

“Wh-oh, OH!” Colgate snickers knowingly. “I remember now.”

“Four years, right?”

“Shit, uh, yeah, sounds right. What about it?”

“Well, if you’re back in town,”

“Wait,” Colgate interrupts. Your breakfast is almost gone. “You just met this guy, and I just met another guy...”

“So?” Cheerilee laughs softly and says something inaudible, making Colgate chuckle.

“Really? ... That sounds hot, really hot. Think, you think we...”

“Mmhmm. I’m sure he’s down for it, too. You saw that package.”

“You’re damn right I saw it. It’s no fair! You always lucked out with your boy toys and got the well hung ones.”

“What about Erik?”

“Well, okay, I guess you said he was kinda small.”

You stand up and wipe your mouth with a forearm. “But Liam? He’s hung like a hor-”

“You flatter me,” you say flatly, leaning in the doorway. “You could gossip a little quieter, you know.”

Cheerilee’s face is a smiling scarlet, matching Colgate. Cheerilee isn’t so much hiding her face, however. “Who said we wanted to?”

You shrug and place your fork in the sink, moving close to Colgate to throw away the styrofoam take-out box.

You stand between them, close to both women. You lean on the countertop and turn to the blue-haired girl. “You wanna know something cool, Colgate?”

She pulls her two-tone bangs out of her eyes. She’s damn cute. “Lay it on me.”

“Shoes. Look at a guy’s shoes. Size eleven and up, they usually are well hung. It’s not a perfect way to tell, but it usually works.”

Colgate’s cheeks go red when she looks down and sees your feet. “What size are you?” she asks softly.

“Ten.”

Colgate looks up, confused. “Inches, I mean.”

Cheerilee laughs as Colgate covers her mouth. You catch her as Cheerilee drapes her arms over your shoulders, pressing her breasts around your arm. She kisses your cheek and rests her head on your shoulder from the side.

“Speaking of,” you continue levelly. “I think Cheerilee and I were about to retire to the couch.”

“That’s right,” Cheerilee chimes in, rubbing your chest sleepily. “We were, weren’t we?” Her hand travels south along the buttons of your dress shirt. The white garment is wrinkled and obviously not as clean as it once was. Not soiled, by any means, but less than presentable.

“Oh,” Colgate starts, considering, or maybe just visualizing.

“You don’t have to go, Colgate,” Cheerilee whispers in the most seductive tone you’ve ever heard. “Want a snack before your date?” Cheerilee asks, lightly cupping your package. The heel of her palm digs in perfectly, rubbing the half-hard underside and pressing into your sack as her fingers curl underneath.

You reach down and gently caress her ass, squeezing softly. Colgate’s blush deepens, she even exhales hotly as she spies your member.

“Well,” she starts. “I guess, I, a little fooling around couldn't hurt.”

Cheerilee laughs a little bit into your ear and pulls you and Colgate by the hand to the living room. In seconds, your one-night stand is on top of you again, unbuttoning your shirt and fighting your tongue for oral supremacy. Colgate simply sits by, watching your body lose clothing. You lift Cheerilee’s shirt, exposing her bare chest. Colgate audibly gasps, remembering her friend’s cup size. You slip your hands down Cheerilee’s tight sweatpants and slide those down, exposing her wet slit. You leave her pants on up to the mid-thigh, out of the way enough.

Cheerilee loses the tongue duel as you cheat stroking her labia firmly. Colgate slips out of her blouse, not fully content with spectating. Cheerilee sits up a bit and holds her breasts. You take one quickly and suck on the nipple, hard, making her moan a bit more.

“That’s it,” Colgate says quietly. “Can’t fucking take anymore, you guys.” She takes off her small bra, showing you her perky tits. She’s very attractive with her long, slender waist.

Colgate slips down onto the hardwood. Cheerilee’s butt lifts up without your or her effort. Before she can react proper, Cheerilee cries out in pleasure. You look down and watch Colgate’s fingers, three of them, slowly grind around inside Cheerilee. Fluids begin flowing down her thighs, staining your slacks.

Cheerilee leans into you, standing taller on her knees. You lose your line of sight, but gain better access to her big tits. You blindly reach down and feel for her slit, finding her glistening lips and three fingers slowly pumping in them. You touch her lips as you suck and bite Cheerilee’s nipples, then rub her clit. Cheerilee’s moans are quiet, yet deafening. You can her her pussy purr as two hands fuck it.

You squeeze Cheerilee’s tits harder as a hand works on your zipper. You watch Cheerilee’s face as she comes back around, no longer getting fingerfucked, and fix that right away. Her teeth clench shut and her eyes explode as you push three fingers inside, filling her much more than Colgate. And better, it seems. You slowly stroke inside, rubbing against her special spot.

“Oooooh yeeah,” Cheerilee moans, moving her hips with you. You feel fingers wrap around your member and carefully pull, then cold air as it stands up into the room.

“Got a good angle, Colgate?”

“Great,” she softly says. You feel the chill of Cheerilee’s juices cooling on your tool, lubricating you all the same. You manage to adjust to get your head to prod Cheerilee’s clit, making her whimper in delight. Colgate sees your tactic and strokes faster. She stops to wipe up the precum and coat your head. That sensation is beyond amazing, and soon your new favorite of the session.

After a bit, you can feel Cheerilee shaking some on top of you, mainly her large breast in your dry hand. “You close, honey?”

“Yeah!” Cheerilee quietly screams in your ear. You fingerbang her faster and thrust up into her clitoris.

“Oh, fucking cut it out and just put it in, for fuck’s sake!” Cheerilee stands tall on her knees, her hand reaching down to guide your cock. Her pussy lips part for you easily, but her insides are tight as ever. The slimy walls hotly compress you as you descend up into her slit. Inch by inch, the progress is slow but constant. You have to bite back your pleasure as Cheerilee accepts you in, her silken walls so hot and tight.

At last, Cheerilee accepts all of you, and can’t help but convulse a bit. You hold her shuddering shoulders to you and feel her quiver for twenty seconds or so. The shaking is like a vibrator, a soft, wet, spasmodically tight vibrator around your entire organ.

She stops, finally, and pushes herself back, leaning fully onto your girth.

“You cum or something?”

Cheerilee smiles wide and nods. “Yeah, or something. Fuck, I can’t think straight, Liam.”

Colgate appears on the couch to your right again, nude, save for her cute little blue panites. The little navy blue spot draws your eye easily.

“How do you wanna, uh,” Colgate looks up and down the two of you, drinking in the sight. “I mean, if you two wanna.”

“I wanna. How about you, Liam?”

“Sure,” you say as you stroke Cheerilee’s back, her tight pussy still squeezing on your erect member. “What are you wet for, Colgate?”

“Cock,” she quietly says. You hear her just fine, but her voice is extremely erotic.

Cheerilee smiles down at you, but you feign ignorance. “What was that?” you ask.

“Cock,” she says again, still shyly.

“Louder, honey.”

“Cock! Liam, pull out of her and ram that fucking thing in me, NOW!” Colgate covers her mouth and leans back into a pile of pillows.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Cheerilee laughs again, distracting you for a moment. You can’t pass up a long, intimate kiss before pulling out. After a thirty-second embrace, you gently push Cheerilee back and help her off of you. Her cunt sucks at your solid tool like it doesn’t want to say goodbye. You can hear a tiny wet noise as Cheerilee finally unimpales herself.

You turn to Colgate, her face red and her knees touching. You can see her wet and blue panties from this angle, however, and the sight is very hot. You get on your hands and knees and move to her. Colgate sheepishly spreads her legs as you touch her knee.

She’s soaked. Her upper thighs are slick and smell wonderful. You run your fingers up her leg, trace her labia lightly through the fabric. Colgate tries to stifle her moans, in vain.

“She’s really sensitive,” Cheerilee says, standing nude behind her. “Right? How many times did what’s his name make you cum? Twenty?”

“Uh, the drummer, right? Yeah, something like twenty. I think you got me to like, ten, twelv-”

“Fifteen!” Cheerilee bends over and kisses Colgate right on the lips, upside down. You pull at her panties in the meantime. Colgate puts her knees together and lifts her ass to help out. Her pubic hair is trimmed to a cute little swirl, or some shape. You touch it briefly and run a finger down to her clit and circle it. Her entire body reacts, but only a little bit. Cheerilee reaches down and touches her breast as you familiarize yourself with Colgate’s fresh pussy.

She’s absolutely drenched. Slipping in two fingers in between her glistening petals is easy, until the second knuckle. Colgate quietly shrieks, arching her back and grabbing at the backrest of the sectional. Colgate grabs a pillow and bites down to stifle her screams. You twist your wrist around and touch her special spot, comparatively easy to find, and tickle her. A tiny bit of girlcum trickles out, off-white and mostly transparent.

“See? Fucking sensitive.” Cheerilee licks Colgate right on the cheek and moves around to you. You pull out your two fingers and let Cheerilee suck the juice off. Cheerilee takes over for you, so you move and let her work. You just sit back behind her, her cute ass sticking up right at you. You touch Cheerilee’s twat as she eats out Colgate.

You kneel behind Cheerilee and stick three fingers in to start. She moans, almost as much as Colgate does.

“Put it in, Liam,” Cheerilee begs over her shoulder.

You don’t fuck around anymore and set to fucking Cheerilee from behind. You slowly push in, feeling her pussy slowly suck you in again.

“Fuck, Cheerilee, you’re so damn tight.” You swallow hard and grab Cheerilee’s hips. You push until your hips hit Cheerilee’s nice round ass. You catch Colgate’s eyes as Cheerilee works on her pussy. She smiles up at you with perfect teeth.

You grin back, then look down at Cheerilee’s ass. You hear the girls moan out loud and watch your cock slip deep inside. You begin to thrust a bit as Cheerilee fingers Colgate roughly. In under a minute, she’s orgasming again. You watch Cheerilee lick up the excess fluids and go right back to it.

Finding a rhythm this go around is a bit tougher, with Cheerilee more occupied than before. You grip her hips and try your best, and eventually get a quick pace with long strokes. You nearly pull out, but then ram your cock back in three dozen times. Cheerilee’s tight pussy makes it tough, but rewarding. She begins to help out with the humping, finding a way to better please Colgate with her fingers. The new girl, the newer girl, is already convulsing again. She’s adorable when in agonizing climax.

Cheerilee comes up for air and cranes her neck around to look at you. “It’s great, baby, but could we take a little break? I think Colgate wants a turn.”

“Ah, yeah yeah!” Colgate sits up, panting lightly. “God, I’m not even close to done with the two of you.”

“What about your date?” Cheerilee quietly inquires.

“Fuck that,” Colgate says as she stands up to stretch. She touches her toes in front of you, showing off her fantastically petite body.

“Damn,” you hear Cheerilee whisper as she pulls your cock out from her. “Okay, now what?”

“Now, Colgate gets fucked.” You grab her little waist and pull her down, screaming and giggling to the couch and lay her down. Cheerilee kneels over her face, smiling down at her.

“Ooooh, Cheerilee, you look gooooood.” Colgate happily closes her eyes and opens up for her girl’s cherry-pink pussy. You prod Colgate’s tight entrance and watch Cheerilee’s glistening petals get parted by Colgate’s quick tongue.

You start to push inside, feeling Colgate slowly accept you, but she stops you before your head pops in.

“Ow, ow ow, no way, Liam,” she says quickly. “It’s, it’s too big, I can’t. S-sorry.” Colgate covers her pussy with four fingers and looks up at you, tears in her eyes.

“Fucking...” You stroke yourself a bit, thinking of a position to ease into things. Cheerilee shrugs and lays on her back for Colgate. They go right onto oral sex, Colgate devouring Cheerilee’s delicious slit. You grab Colgate’s tight ass in both hands and spread her cheeks for fun. You spy her dark rim and get an idea.

“AH-!!!” Colgate cries out sharply, muted instantly by pain. “Oooooww! Who said anything about there?!” Her shrill voice is desperate, edging on desperate. She’s drenched, still, obviously horny as hell.

“Just a finger,” you tell her in a low tone. You pull your first digit out of her anus slowly, watching as it clenches around your finger. You rifle through your wallet and pull out your first rubber of two. Carefully, you roll it onto the first to fingers of your weak hand, the one with one soiled finger. Colgate and Cheerilee watch intently, and worriedly, as you push inside her pussy.

Colgate’s little hips shake some as you fingerbang her with protection, still able to finger her hardened and slightly bulbous g-spot. She bites her lip and falls forward into Cheerilee, clearly going crazy.

Colgate seems to faint a bit when you really push into her g-spot and wobble your fingers around forcefully. Her breathing turns into rapid panting, then desperate moaning. You stop to gently spread her walls and try again at penetrating, the condom still all the way inside. Colgate doesn’t object as you begin to push, nor when your head finally slips in.

You wipe your dirty finger on a napkin and toss it aside, to Cheerilee’s annoyance. “Would you rather have it in your ass?” you ask Colgate. She can only moan, so you’re unsure. Either way, her cunt is like a hot vise grip. You can only push in about four inches before it becomes too painful. Cheerilee fingers herself, making another mess on her sofa. Colgate’s useless to resist or give.

“Bored?” you ask Cheerilee through clenched teeth. Colgate’s so tight, but definitely loving just the comparatively mild fucking.

“A bit,” Cheerilee answers, rubbing her labia slowly.

You pull out and roll Colgate on her side, then lift her leg up, her tight ass facing the back of the couch. Colgate comes back around to coherency and lays her shoulders flat to the cushions. Cheerilee then hops up and kneels over her face again, moaning in two seconds as Colgate’s deft tongue resumes. You pull out the protection, surely not needing it, and hold Colgate’s shapely thigh high and try to press into her pussy. It takes some major adjustment, but this way, her cunt isn’t too unfuckably tight. Colgate moans hotly as you push deeper inside than before. Once you make a little headway, both literally and figuratively, you smile and lean forward to steal a kiss from Cheerilee, impaling Colgate about seven inches.

“Better, baby?” you whisper. Cheerilee nods, her face red and inches from yours. You lift Colgate’s leg and thrust a harder, audibly pushing deeper.

You gently roll your hips forward and back, making Colgate cry out into Cheerilee’s groin. A generous amount of fluid trickles down her thigh and over your hand as you try to collect some. You lube up the portion of your shaft that’s still exposed as Colgate cums around it. Her soft, tight cunt squeezes and spasms around your maleness, making you clench your teeth again. It’s so good, so hot, so wet, so tight, you can’t bear much more.

Regardless, you try, even through Colgate’s prolonged climax. Her pussy clenches down on you, stroking and sucking and squeezing your cock as you find a shallow rhythm.

“Fuck, Colgate,” you say in unison with Cheerilee. The two of you look up and into each other’s eyes. Cheerilee smiles and goes back to riding and squeezing her breast, dropping her gaze to the penetration.

“Jeez, that looks kinda painful. Hot, but painful. God, ah, she’s so wet, too. Did she just cum?”

“Mmmhmm!”

“Yeah she did,” you say, holding Cheerilee’s free breast in your strong hand. Colgate whimpers as you roll your hips forward and pick up the pace. “She’s gonna cum again, too.”

“God, when she does, her tongue goes crazy! Make her cum, please? Please, Liam, I’m so close!” Cheerilee rubs her clit some and pinches her nipple, you pinch her other one, and hard.

“YES! Oh, fuck! Liam, fuck Colgate and make us cum, then cum on my face. I love facials, I love thick, hot semen all over my face!”

You feel your limit nearing with every thrust and every word. You twist Cheerilee’s nipple and squeeze as hard as you can on instinct, thrusting even harder and faster. “YES! OH, YES! Again, harder! Fuck, Colgate, yeah suck and lick that, just like that. I’m gonna, so close!”

You squeeze and twist again, feeling a tightness in your core muscles. “YES! YES, FUCK YES!” Cheerilee screams out at the top of her lungs and falls forward into you. You easily catch her and fuck Colgate as hard as you can. She cries out in pained pleasure as well, but she’s muffled by Cheerilee’s wet, spurting pussy. You look down and watch at least eight inches of cock ram into Colgate. You think you can feel her cervix, but it’s hard to tell. Either way, it won’t last long.

Colgate cums next, and Cheerilee is awake enough to push on your stomach and make you pull out. You can hear Colgate’s cries in full, now. She’s a quiet screamer, but this orgasm’s a big one. Pussy juice squirts out like an explosion, drenching Cheerilee’s face and splashing all over. Papers on the coffee table are dotted, your thighs and stomach are sprayed some, the couch is soaked, completely drenched nearest where Cheerilee’s bangs hang down. The sight, warmth and aroma make your cock throb dangerously.

You pull Cheerilee’s face up to look at you, and she sucks your cock into her mouth the first second she can. Your brain ignites at the sight and sensation of Cheerilee’s cheeks caving in from suction. You push her down and grab your canon simultaneously, aiming for her wet bangs.

“I want my cum!” Cheerilee shouts and opens wide, showing off how much she can hold in her mouth. You pull her down onto the floor and make her stand on her knees. Just as Cheerilee positions herself in front of Colgate, still twitching and mumbling, you stroke your whole slick shaft. It takes two seconds to explode. More cum shoots out than earlier, even than the first shot. A dozen ropes launch and land on Cheerilee’s face, tits, hair, eyes, most shots are quite long. Cheerilee opens her cleaner eye and sucks off the dribble, then cleans your fingers.

“Wha a -agkin’ woah, Wiah.” Cheerilee beams, slouching in victory, rubbing the cum on her chest into her skin. You sit down next to Colgate and get a free dick-cleaning. You watch Cheerilee turn and sit on the couch, her face a mess. She drools your seed into her hand and wipes her eye with her other hand.

“Holy shit, Liam. That was, what, number four? Still so much for me, I feel pretty.” Cheerilee smiles wide and chuckles, cleaning her face off tissue by tissue.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess, Cheer,” Colgate says softly, taking a short break from sucking on your spent rifle. “You knew how wet I can make thin-ah, things. Sorry.” You lay back and let Colgate move up to rest her head on your chest, your tool now covered in spit alone.

Cheerilee drops a tissue in the growing pile and grabs another. “I’ll have to do some cleaning, sure, but it’s definitely worth it. Colgate, it’s been too long, girlfriend.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Colgate sighs, contented. Her delicate and dexterous hand lays flat on your chest as you half-fight your eyelids. Cheerilee wipes her face with one last tissue and grabs the pile in two hands, unable to carry them all. You yawn and get up to help. The two of you make it to the trash can in one run, but Cheerilee gets first dibs on the downstairs bathroom.

You climb the stairs and use the master bath. After leak and a wash up and a trip back downstairs, you find Colgate putting her underwear back on. You lay down on the couch, still nude, and hold her as she sits in your lap.

“You alright, Colgate? You really seemed in trouble back there.”

“I’m alright,” she says quietly. laying down with you. “You’re just well hung, is all. I’m tight, and my doctor said I have a condition, but it’s not really treatable.” Colgate grabs her purse and pulls out a lighter and a pack of Marelboro reds. You take a cigarette, even if you don’t smoke.

“Yeah,” she continues, relaxing into your embrace and blowing towards the ajar window. “I cum at least twice during every visit, actually. My gynecologist is a pretty cute guy, says my condition is rare, treatable even.” Colgate takes a drag and ashes into a glass candle lid.

“Why would you wanna?” Cheerilee asks, nude in the doorway to the kitchen. She saunters over and lays on your other side, nuzzling close. Colgate rolls over on top of you, pressing her petite butt into your groin.

“Exactlly,” she says softly. “Anyway, he says my condition is hardly an issue. I just have, like, too many nerve endings or some shit, I forget. For all intents and purposes, I orgasm at least three times a day, sometimes in public.”

“That’s hot,” you whisper, stroking her torso. “How many did you have today?”

“Shit, I don’t remember. At least seven, I lost count.”

“And she’s a squirter,” Cheerilee adds, chuckling and taking your cigarette. You’re done with the thing anyway.

“I know, I’m laying right in the wet spot.” Colgate and Cheerilee laugh a little bit and both wriggle around some, adjusting to get comfy and to touch you and each other. Cheerilee slowly kisses you, trading breath for tongue and spit. She brushed her teeth, it seems, as her mintiness spreads to your mouth. The flavor of breakfast mixes sourly, but it’s not that bad. You hold Cheerilee closer and kiss Colgate’s neck. Your eyelids fall at last, tiny pencil leads weighing them down. Colgate and Cheerilee whisper some pillow talk as you drift off into post-coitous slumber.

Author's Note

It's not essential, but if you pretend yourself to be a young, hunkly Liam Neeson, I think the story is way more fun. I reread part of this while investigating a plagarism claim and found that pretending to be Dad from fallout 3 dirty talking Cheerilee was great.

If not, you can't unhear it, sue me.

Octavia (part 1)

“No,” Seventh String says. “It’s in minor, there.” He plays the chord, one string at a time, creating the haunting tone. You tap a bit on your knee and watch Noteworth and Seventh hammer out that measure. Octavia stands to the left, cracking her neck. She adjusts the strap on her bass, a damn sexy instrument. The neck and frets are obviously worn, but that’s more than fine. It’s blood-red and white body have fantastic, jagged patterns, but it’s more than art.

You scratch your back with the drumstick and tap a quick beat on the bass drum impatiently. Medley clears her throat and tests her microphone as the two guitarists start rocking. The wanky little tune Seventh wrote is pretty cool. You tap on the rim to keep his crazy 9/8 time. Octavia rolls her eyes as he continues to lose Noteworth.

“Waitwaitwait,” the grey-haired guy says. “Where the shit is one?!”

“RIGHT, HERE!” Seventh shouts over the shrill tones of his amp. It’s not his fault, or the amps, or the pickups or the guitar or any of the equipment, he’s just playing a harsh pair of notes.

“What? Why don’t we just do it in five and then four?”

“That’s what I AM doing!” Seventh keeps up the lick, strumming extra hard on the accented beats.

“Like this,” you say. You smack the snare five times, sixteenth notes, then syncopate the next four beats. The last four beats are straight sixteenth notes, alternating arpeggios, on the guitars naturally. The drum can’t arpeggiate, so you just switch every note between the floor tom, snare, and three other toms. Cool stuff, if only everyone could figure it out.

“Oh,” Noteworth says. He tries it, slower, and picks it up the first go.

“Awesome!” Seventh says. “Wank with me, brother!” The two of them instantly pick up the riff, almost humping the air between them. It’s excessively gay, in a way, but also sweaty and kick-ass.

Octavia walks over and stands next to the cracked cymbal. “Do you like that part, Slav? I don’t think it fits that well.”

You struggle to feel the odd time. If it were in seven, you’d get it no problem. You thud the bass along in time, feeling it more and more. “It’s wanky, really wanky, but if those two nail it, I guess we could use it. What if you were with them, but playing something a bit harder and and easier to listen to?”

“Do you mean harder as in harder, more heavy and like an impact, or harder as in more difficult?”

“Heh, the former.” You catch yourself looking at the cymbal, right next to her chest. You force your eyes elsewhere, lest you get distracted.

“I assumed, I just, heh, wanted to clarify.”

“It’s cool. Yeah, but, what if you did a rhythm not as syncopated, and I did one really syncopated, that way we’d have a constant gallop going on? Oh, and leave out the ninth beat, that will showcase those two some, and keep us all on track. Ya dig?”

“Sure,” Octavia half-shouts. “That actually sounds really cool. Care to show me what you mean?”

“Yeah yeah,” you yell back at her. You feel the for the ninth beat as Seventh String tries his best to keep the tempo up. You burst out eighth notes hard on the snare, bass drum, and crash, then set up a simple little gallop on the cymbal, rolling out on the snare and tom until the ninth beat, then you silence everything and burst again on beat one. You follow for four bars until Seventh String and Noteworth do the arpeggiated riff. For that part, you do a punky bass and tom trade off, careful not to overpower those two, not that it would be easy to. The 9/8 picks up again, this time with Octavia slapping and ramming out a bassline in time. She’s the perfect emulsifier between the hard drums and the infected guitar riff.

The four of you get a great groove going, and soon the ninth beat develops into a sacred security of semi-silence, no bass or drums on the Sabbath beat. The arpeggiated riff, fucking beautiful and gnarly as it is, carries on for double the length, ending with a simpler solo in eight to carry on to the next part of the song. Everyone rides the train without any trouble, and the crushing wall of sound makes your spine tingle and your balls jiggle with joy.

The consistency everyone delivers, especially after the experiment, is unbelievable. Your double bass has never been more solid, Seventh’s vocals and riffs are spot on as well. You catch yourself watching Octavia during the songs, always concentrating hard and digging into the music with all her might. She’s not completely consumed by her parts, so she can add plenty of stylistic additions that make it so much easier to follow and listen to. Constantly, you think about her lines. The lyrics flow through your head like the train of the entire song, making the message and the sound carry through your sticks and feet perfectly.

Finally, the symphonic-quality ending rolls along, and you dial back the volume some. Octavia’s voice carries back to you just enough to be audible, and her perfect alto tones are far beyond beautiful. You almost lose it all, listening to her quiet backup singing. She needs to have more singing lines, you’re sure of that fact like it’s common knowledge.

“FUCK!” Seventh String screams out, fixing his glasses and grinning dumbly. “THAT SHIT WAS INTENSE!”

“Fuck yeah, it was,” you hear Medley scream. She’s a talented vocalist, but rather homely looking and annoying. The entire band, you figure, looks fairly unnatractive, save for the bassist. You consider yourself average or better, but humble pie is the side served with the mixed results your band has been given.

“We still need a title for that song,” Octavia adds, wiping sweat away from her brow. You undo the wrist weights and stretch some as Noteworth fiddles with the licks. He’s always fingering or strumming a minor.

“We’ll think of something, Medley,” Seventh String added solemnly. “I mean, it’s about a giant space battle, we’ll think of something.

“About that,” he continues to Medley. “My friend said he had a bunch of caps, and he’d give us two grams for a ticket.” Seventh kills his amp and begins to set his stuff down. He isn’t particular, this is his music room, after all. The well decorated and acoustically tuned room is a blessing.

You undo your ankle weights, now sure you’re done with those. Your shirt is stained at the pits and collar from sweat. Seventh’s thick writing always makes each rehearsal a real workout. You stretch your calves some and think about jamming some more. You begin to drum out a simple swing beat on the high hat. Octavia turns, smiling softly and making deep eye contact. She begins an insultingly simple twelve-bar figure. Noteworth fucks around until he finds the key, and the three of you smile and rock your heads left and right, creating a dumb little song. Seventh and Medley dance like retarded monkeys some, only raising the ambient temperature. You and Octavia look at each other, grinning wide with amusement.

You catch Noteworth’s eye and make a serious, murderous face. His grin screws into a hateful grimace, and the two of you keep up the look and look at the bassist. Her smile falls to a stern frown, and you begin to slap the snare a bit harder. Noteworth adds some hateful triplets here and there, and Octavia switches to a minor every twelfth bar.

You nod at her on the next fourth phrase and they stop, letting you switch to a hard, hard bass pedal. You keep the swing, but slam into each and every beat like it insulted your mother. The guitarists come back in and create an oozing sound, and Seventh and Medley go from a jitterbug to a stupid, happy dance, praising Nightmare Moon, or praying before sacrificing the last virgin to the angry Star gods, whatever pagan ritual fits best.

Octavia turns her amp up some and rattles off a haunting little melody, making Noteworth take note. You use your double pedal to keep up with her little song, not caring about anything fitting. The sounds made are kind of lame, not really inspired or cool, but fun and fun to make. After a ten minute cool down of just simple musical masturbation, the five of you stop for the night. You find yourself loving the break, no longer sweating or breathing hard.

“So, Slavik,” Medley says seductively. You cringe at the natural thoughts of her topless, her unshapely form exposed to you. “Strings and Notes and me are gonna hit up C-top’s place, get some fungus. You in?”

“What?” you ask, genuinely confused. “You mean mushrooms? Or, STI’s, what?”

“Shrooms, meng!” Seventh shuts down his pedal switches and puts some stuff away. “We’re gonna go trip balls, man. You in? I’d ask you, Octavia, but I know you’re not into that.”

“I appreciate your offer, I suppose,” she says. Even though she’s in a death metal band, she’s so posh. Not posh, per say, but still grammatical and, what’s the word? Regal? No, not posh and regal, but correct about herself, true, not nerdy. Well, a bit nerdy, but that’s a-okay.

“Nah,” you say, more than happy to get home for some rest. “I’m pooped, I worked a full shift earlier.”

“Alright, then,” Medley attempts to say sexily. Her weak advances are most unwanted. She’s either just flirting, or genuinely in need of a dicking. You couldn't care less. Now, if Octavia made advances-

“Be safe, everyone,” Octavia adds, turning off her equipment. “And are we recording here next week, or at my girlfriend’s studio?”

Fuck, that’s right, isn’t it? Octavia’s claimed already.

“My mic’s are shitting out, lately,” Seventh says off-handedly. “Can we really use her studio? Wait, she has a studio?”

“Er,” Octavia fiddles with a switch on her instrument. “It’s the label’s, but she gets time there. She doesn’t need it, really. She uses sound bytes and doesn’t need to record much at all. Still, she finds uses for it.” The subtle redness in her cheeks can’t be innocent. Well, maybe they can be, but you decide to assume the hottest. You’ve seen a few pictures of Vinyl Scratch, wearing not much at all. She’s damn hot, and her girlfriend’s model material, easy.

“Dude. A professional studio, for us!” Noteworthy adds. “Whatever we do, we have to max out EVERYthing. I mean, not our shit, let’s make the lines turn red, amirite?”

“Fuck yeah!” you add, hyped about crushing things with an unstoppable force of pure sound.

“Whateva niggas. Everyone’s kicked out of my house. Have fun knitting or whatever you pansies do,” Seventh String says as he grabs his keys,chuckling a deep, nearly pubescent laugh, heading for the stairs. You stand and follow him and the others while Octavia brings up the rear..

“But nah,” String adds in the foyer of his parent’s spacious house. “It’s cool, you two. It will be kind of lame without you, though.”

You bump his fist, the summer’s duck air cooling the sweat all over your torso. “Whatever, man. Have fun, don’t play in traffic.”

“Just think,” Octavia adds, adjusting the strap on her bass carrier. It falls between her sizeable breasts, making you groan inwardly with loneliness, or some comparable feeling. “Without us, there will be more for the three of you.”

“And C-top and what’s-her-face, Blondie,” Medley adds, lighting a cigarette. Menthol, of course, nasty.

“Right,”Octavia adds. “I’ll hit you up tomorrow, mach Spaß, Bubs.”

“Da,” Seventh replies, saluting with a backwards middle finger and a silly smile. He fixes his blond pony-tail and about faces, his sneakers crunching the gravel. The three bandies hop in his shitty sedan and peel out, leaving you and Octavia in the dust.

The two of you stand in silence, watching as the blaring music and red tail lights fade away. You take a look around, thinking the obvious, but not moving.

“We, should have-”

“Yes,” Octavia finishes. “It’s three miles back to town and I’m wearing my sandals.”

“... should have gotten a lift,” you say, scratching your neck. “Sorry,” you say to Octavia. “I completely forgot that my friend gave me a ride to Seventh’s place. What time is it?” The sun is gone, but just barely.

Octavia pulls out a cellular from her bra and opens it, assaulting her face with manufactured light. “Almost nine,” she says with a sigh. “And my ride’s in Manehattan still. Well, it looks like I need to walk home tonight.”

“Yeah,” you say just as disappointed as she, down, sharing the boat with her. You both made a mini-fuckup and no one’s to blame but yourselves. “That sort of sucks, doesn’t it?”

Octavia looks to you in the driveway, the dusk darkening around you both. “Well,” she begins with an uplifting, down-to-business tone. “At least Ponyville isn’t so bad at night. Manehattan, however, that’s a town you don’t want to be stranded in. You live in this direction, right?”

You take her pace and make for the street at the end of the driveway. “Naturally. Oh, wait! Let me try Seventh’s phone.”

You fish out your cellphone from your pocket and find his name, then hit call. It rings for thirty full seconds. You try again, then Noteworth, then Medley, you don’t look forward to her noticing a missed call from you. Nothing. You send Seventh a quick text explaining, resigning to your hike-filled fate.

“Nothing?”

“Not one.”

“Not one what?” Octavia asks.

“Thing,” you reply. “No thing. Hey, we must be lucky,” you say, beginning down the driveway. “Where I’m from, there’s a curfew, and we’d either be hiding out here or sleeping in jail. Or, worse. Dead, beaten, maybe raped a bit. If you were pretty.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Octavia says, the gravel crunching softly under her feet.

“The last part was a joke, you know.”

“Uh,” she says, hiding a smile. “I knew, I just... uh, didn’t know how to respond, really.”

“Hmm. Hmm. I’d call my friend, but he’s working at the moment.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. Where at, may I ask?”

You remember your friend and savior’s words: “Re-living my girlfriend’s university nights.” He’s fucking, you forget her name, but he’s busy regardless. Liam would walk home in your case, so you spare him the trouble. “He, uh, works at the hydroelectric plant.”

Octavia looks at you as you turn onto the street, heading into town now. “At sunset?”

“He-he’s the foreman, or whatever the manager-type position is called. He is required to be there.” You think you got the Equestrian right.

“That’s a bold-faced lie, and you know it,” Octavia says with a smirk. She stops to pick a pebble out of her shoe, then picks up your step again. Her fragrance is naturally intoxicating, and you’re thankful for the still wind tonight.

“We-okay,” you surrender. “He’s just busy, and I don’t want to disturb him, alright? He’s an old friend, Liam is.”

“Did he know you when you were in Soviet Unicornia?”

“Yes,” you say, almost stunned. If you hadn’t been required to recite the national anthem for the other band-mates, you’ve been able to keep that segment of your life, the entirety of your upbringing, under a sheet of ice.

“Well, then he must be a close friend. I, well, I suppose I’d be lying if I knew how that felt, but it’s a respectable consideration.”

“You know,” you say, watching for the main street. “You talk with a lot less, um, slang, than most others I’ve met here in Ponyville.” You’re both easily a mile from the main road, and you’re three more beyond home.

“That’s because I’m not from Ponyville,” Octavia says flatly. “I’m from Manehattan, like Vinyl Scratch.”

“But her speech is a lot like people from here.”

“If you know anything about linguistics, you’d know that one’s manner of speaking is nearly entirely dependent on one’s close ones during infancy and early childhood. Ergo, your accent, and my more proper vernacular.”

“Um, well, that makes a lot of sense, actually. I just thought it was interesting, is all.”

“Of course,” Octavia lightly says, not mocking or downplaying you, but truly understanding. Her tone sends your heart in a small trip towards your throat. Such a beautiful voice, face, body, she makes you dumb with admiration. If only she weren’t spoken for! You curse anything, everything holy. And her mind! That beautiful, smart, fun mind! You wish you could walk home with her every night.

Silence continues, save for the soft footfalls. You turn the corner and come across a gas station, one you’re familiar with.

“Hey, you thirsty?” you ask Octavia.

She gives a shrug. “I suppose. I’ll just get some water, I have sparkling cider at home.”

“Sarsaparilla, two for a bit!” you read and walk a bit faster for the door.

“Hey,” the sleepy cashier says as you hold the door for Octavia, catching up.

You wave brightly at the dude, navigating around the coworker lazily restocking shelves with tiny packages of shampoo, pills, condoms and other things. The bottles of Sunrise Sarsaparilla are big and cold, two for one buck! You take two out and make for the register.

The clerk rings up your stuff, easily convincing you to get some gum. You thank him and turn to find Octavia walking away from the condom aisle. Hands in pockets, she’s not buying anything it seems.

“Ready?” you ask her, offering a glass bottle. Her fingers grace yours just a bit, even if she could have grabbed anywhere else on the bottle.

“Yes,” she sighs, a bit of red in her cheeks. “Let’s.”

“Something over?” you ask her, feeling wrong. “Or, up? Is that it?”

“It’s... Yes you’re right, up. I just miss Scratch, is all.” Octavia takes the lead, and you follow, coincidentally taking the fastest route to your home.

“And why is that, if I am allowed to ask?” You take a swig of the brown drink and realize why it’s so cheap.

“I,” Octavia hides her face a bit in the darkening street as you catch up. “Nothing. No reason.”

“Don’t do this, Octavia! I’m going to die of curiosity.”

She smiles, you can tell, a rare and precious sight. “Fine, Slavik, if I must.” She sighs again, falling into your step. “We haven’t seen each other in over a week, and I have, um...” her voice trails away quickly.

“Yes? You have, have what?” You feel a bit rude for prying, but she’s rude for piquing your interest! “Close friends shouldn’t keep such secrets, Octavia.”

“N-no, you’re right. I should fill you in.” Octavia looks straight ahead and stops walking, the sudden absence of pebbles being kicked is deafening. “Vinyl knows just how to touch me, and it’s just not the same by myself.”

“That’s all?” you ask softly, standing an arm’s length away, just close enough to sense her essence. The light perspiration, her natural scent and maybe a bit of perfume, it’s intoxicating.

“T-that’s all?” she quietly screams. “Yes, yes I imagine that’s all.”

“She’s your lover, yes?”

“Yes,” Octavia says, beginning forward again.

“Then that’s hardly an embarrassing feeling,” you softly say. “I miss my lover nearly everyday. I loved it when she touched me, and I would gladly have a woman give me a hand than take care of myself!” You laugh heartily, the vulgarity taking just enough root to instill a smile on the bassist’s face.

“Come on,” you say lightly. “I’m funny, sort of. Sometimes. Okay, maybe just to me, but still! I try!”

“It was... humorous, Slavik.” You can almost feel the heat radiating from her cheeks.

“Want to maybe... talk about it?” you ask, offering conversation more than anything.

“About what?” Octavia replies. She’s smart, but perhaps a bit new and uncomfortable with the topic.

“Um... sex? I mean, if you’re not in the right way to talk about such a thing, I mean, that’s fine. I’m just trying to make conversation with a close friend. Me and my friends back in the village, we’d always make up crazy stories. Mine were usually lame and truthful by comparison. This one night, one of the oldest boys said he bedded three supermodels while he was in Stalliongrad.” You look to Octavia, gauging her interest. She’s humoring you, at least, so you go on.

“What three supermodels were doing there, in that tourist trap of a shithole, is a mystery. Why they would want to be with that ugly son of a dog is pure fiction. He spun some lie about saving them from undead Germanes, raised by some American radiologist, killing four zombies with a single cartridge! Sascha, that was his name, I remember, he was always overflowing with manure. Oh, wait, I messed up a word, but you know what I mean, yes?”

Octavia smiles and rolls her eyes. “Yes, I understand just fine. If you mess up an expression, I’ll likely get the gist.”

“The what now?” you ask, red flowing to your face.

“The um, general idea.”

“OH! Oh, right, I was confused, heheh. Right. So, I’ve told you a story, your turn.”

“Hmm?”

You hold out your hands and explain. “Back in the village, we’d always move at night. We’d do what we needed to do, get what we absolutely needed and not much more, then sleep in the day. During dawn and dusk, that was when we had to just wait. That was when we had time, and that was when we were together. That was when we told stories until the sun came up, or went away. It was tradition, to tell stories and make plans during dawn and dusk. We traded stories to make sure no one was too popular and no one was too lonely. Look at me! I’ve gone twice, now you owe me two.”

“Oh, right, interesting! I’d love to hear more about you, Slavik. But, I suppose I do owe you some tales, don’t I? Do, do they have to be non-fiction?”

“Huh?” You look around out of habit, knowing your bearings perfectly already. “No, no, we’re not rubbing anything.”

“Fiction!” Octavia clarifies. “Not frictio-”

“Right! I’m sorry, go on. Oh, no, they can be tall tales or recollections, or either.”

“Either/or,” Octavia calmly corrects. “Alright, I think I have one,” she goes on before you can complain.

Octavia tells you about her childhood, and her first musical instrument. Back in early grade school, her well-off parents forced her into different fields of study. She was not very good with crayons or colored pencils, proficient at math, passable at piano and a promising vocallist. However, she was a natural with a viola. Despite her small stature, the sizeable instrument obeyed her plaiting fingers.

While other kids scraped knees, traded scabs and caught colds from contact, Octavia learned and learned music theory. She even wrote some pieces when she was ten. Ten! She still writes, mainly for the band, however.

As she grew, so did her affinity for the bass clef. She rented a cheap cello, then quickly was given a priceless antique from her great aunt, a mildly famous cellist and arranger. On the fast track to college, Octavia had very few friends. You listen intently as she tells about her first year at college, and how she met Vinyl Scratch, the famous DJ P0n-3.

Admittedly a silly name, Octavia had a soft spot for her ever since they hurled insults during week one. Their relationship evolved from an understanding, side-by-side secret trust to an against-the-world comradeship. They laughed together, they conspired together, they sent sappy messages in the waning hours of the morning. Soon, they were holding hands, shopping together, counting the hours until they could be together, rescuing each other from trouble as fast as making it.

Then Octavia’s mother found out. Such a cruel, limiting beast was unknown to you, and the acts under the regime of the the terrible and great Vladimare Ilyich Lenin IV have been deemed war crimes this past year. Apparently, half of the college faculty had an ear to the ground for the prized daughter. Word of a possible lesbian relationship spread to her eventually, and there was hell to pay.

But not before she lost her virginity, of course. Not her actual virginity, but her first sexual encounter was with Vinyl. Octavia lets out more detail than you’d expect, about how Vinyl struggled at first. You listen to how they learned each other’s bodies, and how to best please each other. Before you know it, you’ve been given a crash course on how to make Vinyl’s eyes, beautiful and radioactively red eyes, go cross with a single finger.

“But,” Octavia goes on happily. “When she tried it on me, it wasn’t that great. Not compared to the thing she did with her first finger inside, anyway. I mean, do you know about that spot? It, it’s just amazing.” Octavia dreamily sighs, clasping her hands in front of her, her shoulder nearly bumping your arm with every step.

“Yeah,” you answer. “I’ve found that spot, Octavia.”

Her reaction is priceless. She was so absorbed in her memories that she must have nearly forgotten about her traveling companion. “Oh! Dear Celestia, I’m such a chatterbox!” Her voice is tiny and tense, thick with stress. “I’m so sorry for rambling, I, I-I-I don’t even, oh, you probably think I’m-”

“My opinion of you has only gone over. Or, up, I mean. That counts for quite a few tales, Octavia, I think I owe you my first time story. It’s a good one, to be sure.” By the street names, you guess you’re less than a mile from home. Actually, just ten or so streets down.

Octavia’s blush is hardly visible in the dark shadows of the tree-lined road, but it’s definitely there; you can feel it like heat from a dead fire yearning for a fresh twig. “S-sure, Slavik, I’d like to hear it sometime.” Octavia swings her empty bottle around a little as she walks.

“Before I do, Octavia, I have a question, a personal one.”

“Um,” she starts. “I think that’s alright, Slavik. Um, what was it?”

“Scratch and you really became quick friends, huh?”

“Yes, of course,” Octavia says, nearly bored.

“And, you became lovers.”

“Yes, where is this going?”

“You love her, then?”

Octavia pauses, and stops walking, three intersections from your home. “Without a doubt. When I wake up and remember who I am, I smile, knowing that she’s mine, and I’m hers.”

You smile and put your hand on Octavia’s shoulder, keeping your arm straight. “That’s as good an answer as I’ve ever heard, Octavia. I’m truly happy for you.” You let her go and look towards home. “But, that wasn’t THE question.”

“Uh, alright, then. What is it, then?”

“Are you a lesbian?”

Silence for three solid seconds. “I, y-yes, I be-”

“Or, did love find you so quick, that you were forced to become a lesbian?”

“I don’t see how both can’t be true.”

“No, no, I should clarify. Were you into women before you met Vinyl?”

Octavia stands, semi-stunned. “I, well, I never had very sexual thoughts before I met her.”

“Horse shit,” you say softly. “No, bull shit, whichever. I find it impossible to believe that you never thought saw other humans as attractive until after high school.”

“Well,” Octavia says, cornered a bit. “I, I think, I think you owe me a few stories before I answer.”

“Dammit, dammit.” You smile through the palm over your eyes. “You know, that’s fair enough.” You turn and contemplate just heading home. “Uh, where are you headed, Octavia?”

Octavia gestures to a small house, a quarter acre plot with a small yard. “We’re at my place, now.”

“Really?” you ask neighborly. “I live just a stone’s throw that way. I never knew we were so near.”

“Oh, that’s really cool. I’m beat, though. You can come in, if you wish. I was just going to watch a movie and fall asleep.”

“Alone?” you ask, moving closer to her.

“Um, I... it’s sort of warm out tonight, isn’t it? Y-yes, I am home alone, tonight. You can stay for a while, but you’d have to sleep on the sofa, if you wanted to stay for... the night.” Octavia nearly whispers as you stand close to her. You mentally take her hands, then pull her by her hips to you. The urge to grab her close and plant your lips on hers, show you how much you miss beautiful women, it’s unbearable. You swallow your cheap lust and focus, the intense gaze of Octavia’s magenta eyes making it difficult.

“I live just a few blocks away, I’ll be fine to walk. I’d love to watch a movie, though.” You try to sound innocent, yet interested. It’s tough, especially in a tongue not native to you.

“Of course.” Octavia says resolutely, looking away. You can taste her breath just the slightest bit, it’s delectable. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”

Octavia leads you inside, teasing you inadvertently with her nice round bottom. Her house is nice and tidy, homely, but well lived in. The conflicting choices of decor really showcase the inhabitant’s differing tastes. A poster of a famous cellist, you have no clue who, hangs above a cracked and reassembled vinyl. The main room is a combination of a kitchen and a living area with a staircase leading up to the bedroom. Above the kitchen is a small walkway, accessible by the stairs. The television in the living room is definitely the most modern piece of machinery in the room. Many other pieces hang and stand around, the humble plot is well decorated. You comment about it, and receive a genuine thank you.

“I made some chorizo this morning, there should be just enough for two. We could make some burritos, I suppose, I have some corn tortillas.” Octavia takes off her light jacket and tosses it on the rack. Her home smells wonderful.

You kick off your sneakers and push them by Octavia’s, then lazily make your way to the kitchen. “I forgot I was hungry, Octavia. That sounds great.”

You wait for Octavia to retrieve the leftovers and flash her a smile when she turns around, the light from the fridge falling into the hungry maw of the refrigerator behind her. “My pleasure. It’s the least I could do. For a neighbor, and all.”

“Thanks,” you say, gladly helping to spoon some of the egg and sausage mixture, as well as some cheese and salsa, into both tortillas. Octavia’s well enough as a chef, at least in comparison to yourself. As a bachelor, you’re hardly capable, anyway.

Once the leftovers are steamy, the two of you venture to the living room. Octavia sits at a tall table, pulling up a bar stool. “So,” you ask, a mouthful of deliciously spicy dinner-breakfast nearly burning your mouth. “What’s showing tonight, O?”

Octavia swallows her food before speaking. “I was recommended ‘Almost Heroes’ by .Vinyl, but I was hoping to continue our discussion from earlier.”

You wolf down two more amazing bites before you catch yourself acting like a slob. You smile and wipe your lips with a napkin and sit up a little. “Sounds good, Octavia. Are you in the mood for some music, too?”

“Of course,” she says, slyly smiling and noticing your improvement. “If I may,” Octavia says as she hops off the stool. You sneak a gigantic bite while she turns her back to grab a remote. The flat screen clicks on and comes to life with a little melody. The sudden barrage of photons is painful, a white startup screen cuts through the dim.

“Heh, sorry,” Octavia says, returning to her seat. You watch her select a music library with the remote, the TV is hooked up to a computer or something.

“What are you in the mood for, Slavik?”

“I can think of a few things,” you say suavely, taking a small bite of brinner. “Oh, you meant music? Damn. Um, surprise me. Try your best to make me listen to something new.”

“No problem there,” Octavia says with a small chuckle. It’s painfully adorable, you feel an intense urge to get up and hug her close. You scoop up the last of your meal and watch Octavia scroll through her search inquiry: “Dashing Young Colts”. She picks a track called “Up Far in the Pleasure”, and clicks on the speakers. Immediately, the room erupts with a crushing wall of jazzy, metallic sound. The volume falls a bit with frantic adjustment on Octavia’s behalf, then it stops as she starts the song from the beginning.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “It’s a really cool song, though. Uh, where were we with our previous track?”

“Um,” you begin, recalling. “You were just about to tell me about how you love me and want to bed me this second. I think, is that right?” The vocals of the song kick in, making you wish you could sing worth a damn. The synth fits too perfectly, the beats are complex yet really groovy. You find yourself drumming on your knees before you even hear your hands hit your legs.

Octavia smiles and nods along with you, enjoying the weirdly happy tune. “Um, not quite as I remember it, Slavik.I’m flattered, though.” Octavia’s... flirting? Her cute little chuckle at the end confirms it: she’s flirting! You grin and mop up some salsa with a bit of tortilla.

You manage to just listen to the killer track, getting immersed in the great vocals and guitar work. While the stars are the voice and weedling guitar, the thumping drums are just spot on, making the entire song really explode. The bassline isn’t bad either.

You watch Octavia swallow a bit more food, yours long gong. She takes your empty plate and puts it under hers, just a bite left. You stop her from going, still hungry, by holding the plate. Your fingers overlap. You stand still, frozen, the accidental touch too distracting. You look up, and your eyes are caught in the magenta circles. Octavia breathes in slowly, her mouth going slack. You can’t feel your jaw.

Then the song ends. The silence breaks the frozen stupor you find yourself in. You take the black plates and close your slack jaw. Your face feels hot as you dive deep down to find the thought you had before you touched Octavia’s fingers.

“I was going to, um,” you gulp hard. “I was still hungry,” you manage to say softly, a half-step away from Octavia.

She blushes as the silence continues. “Y-yeah, sorry. I should have asked. Would you, um, put those in the sink for me while I pick the next song?”

“Sure, sure!” You say, eager to get on with the night. You scoop up her food with her fork as you walk to the kitchen sink. You savor the taste of her cooking, and give in to the depraved enjoyment of the faint flavor of her saliva, before you rinse off everything and head back to the couch.

Octavia is laying on her side, her long black hair hanging a bit in her face as she scrolls through her library.

“Delicious,” you say as you bend over the couch. Octavia smiles up to you, her face happy and so close to yours.

“I’m glad you liked my cooking, Slavik,” she whispers in the silence. You laugh down at her happy face and stand up.

“Incoming!” you cry out. You vault the couch easily and land in front of it, then fall back on your ass, landing on Octavia’s calves.

“Ah-!” Octavia giggles and sits up, wriggling her legs out from under you. She shoves your shoulder and lays back again, smiling wide.

“What? I said incoming,” you say, claiming the other side of the sofa. “Come on, it’s too quiet, play something else.”

“Okay then. I’m not really in a metal mood, though. Do you like symphonic stuff?”

“Um,” you shrug and look at her current list. Besides a few, the names are all unfamiliar. She clicks on a track titled in Germane, you’re not sure at all what it says. The song starts off with silence, but some violins come in. It’s all very pretty, but boring.

“Don’t worry,” Octavia says softly. “It picks up, and it’s all amazing.”

“Right, sometime in forty minutes?”

“Oh yes, sometime in forty minutes. That way, we have plenty of time to talk. And, stuff.” She’s so awkward, with her red cheeks, it’s painfully adorable. “Alright, then, Slavik. What’s on your mind?”

You, undressing you, squeezing you close, kissing you, fucking you, fucking you hard, fucking you soft, eating you out, feeling your tongue on my dick, humping all ni- “Um, a lot, actually. I wanted to ask you a bit of a personal question, if I may.”

“We’ll see. Shoot.”

“Um,” you search for the right words. “I was curious about your relationship with Vinyl. Is that a touchy subject?”

“Depends on the time of day,” Octavia says with a smirk. “I mean, oh, uh, heh, I mean, no. We can talk about it. What did you want to know?”

“Good one, by the way,” you reply, smiling and snickering at the sophomoric humor. “It’s good that you have one to be intimate with, I’m truly happy for you. I was just wondering, how much of her do you see?”

“Hmm? I don’t understand.”

“She’s out of town, yes?”

“Yes.”

“How long has it been since you kissed her?”

“Um, two weeks. She’ll be home from her tour in about, uh, a week before the summer solstice.”

“The Summer Sun thingy?”

“Celebration, yeah. Oh, that’s the night of our release show, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” You slouch some more into the armrest opposite Octavia, finding it hard to have room and also not touch her.

“Oh, sorry,” she says and moves her feet. You sit up and curl up on the couch, wanting to tangle your feet with hers, maybe drag your toes along her thighs...

Octavia smiles cutely and tickles your calf with her toes. You give her a toothy smile and let her, then attack back, getting the arch of her foot good with your toes. She yelps and tosses her hair around. She yields quickly, smiling extremely wide. “Stop! Stop!” she begs, tears in her eyes already.

“Ticklish, Octavia?” You hop up onto your knees and pluck up her leg and tickle her, ignoring her cries and laughter and kicking.

“S-stop!” Octavia shouts. “I-I can’t take it! P-please, Sl-ahahavik, stop!”

You cease for a moment and look at her. “Oh, fine, but just because you’re cute.”

You let her go, but keep her feet in your lap, just as planned. “You pumped for it?”

“For what?” Octavia says, rolling onto her side to get comfy, facing into you a bit. There’s that red in her cheeks again.

“Our album-dropping, on the solstice!” You slap her calves a little bit to the infamous 9/8 the two of you worked out earlier, it’s almost second nature, now.

“Oh yeah,” Octavia says, grooving with you. “S-stop, I like this part.” You sit in silence and listen to Octavia’s music. It’s moving, really, like a stream moving a leaf. It’s a far cry from moving a body with a crushing wall of sound, but powerful nonetheless. You can imagine Octavia’s bobbing head in any context, but all images lead to her leaning into you, clothing optional.

You shake your head and force the motherland into your mind’s eye. The image of a clean stream fits in with the music much better than love, the minors and patterned majors in make the whole movement uplifting and inspirational. Before you know it, the music stops. It picks up soon with a new melody, but a similar theme. It’s softer and slower, and you find yourself stroking Octavia’s legs slowly, tracing the lines of her tight jeans with your fingertips. When you open your eyes, you find Octavia smiling, blushing a bit, just like you think you are. She flexes her knees a little, enticing you to scoot in a little bit.

Octavia’s eyes open for just a moment and meet yours. You stare at her, she stares at you for the duration of the movement. When it ends, Octavia sits up, her entire face tinged red, and lays her head in your lap. She giggles a bit as the third movement picks up, but doesn’t say anything. You find nothing to say. Octavia offers her hand, however, and it’s hardly a choice to take it. You sink into the amazing couch and listen to the symphony, Octavia’s fingers wrapping around yours. Without thinking about it, you play with her hair a little.

“I love this song,” Octavia says dreamily, her chest rising and falling ever slower. You watch as her breasts rise and fall in her shirt, imprisoned as they are.

“I think I’d love latin death jazz, if I get to listen to it like this.”

“I have that, don’t be surprised if you love it,” Octavia says with a smirk, leaving her eyes closed. Her long eyelashes are pretty.

“I was just making up the most random genre, you really have something like that?”

“It’s... avant garde metal, but yes. Essentially: latin death jazz. Metal drums and guitars, but also a swing orchestra.”

“After this, we should listen to that,” you say softly, tempted to lay down with her on the couch.

“It’s nearly over, that sounds great. I think you’d love it, actually, Slavik.”

Again, she says your name. Octavia’s voice speaking your name, it sounds amazing.

The song’s fourth movement seems like it’s straight out of a classic monster movie, then a battle scene from a triple A blockbuster. Every single intricate phrase inspires colors and images in your mind. During the hectic, depressing and laboring opening, you can almost see slaves dragging chains through a hellish canyon. Then, it lightens, zooming in on a young man, scarred and starving, finding a stray key. He sneaks it into his mouth and slaves on. That nightfall, he slips out of his shackles and frees everyone, every single slave.

The impromptu movie in your mind changes settings and characters several times, but it ends with Octavia, sitting in a concert hall, dressed in her finest dress. You picture her perfectly. She has a black gown of unspeakable beauty, small pearl earrings and only a touch of makeup. She has long, dark grey elbow gloves. She stands from her stool as you walk to her. The glorious brass fanfare fades away, leaving you and her in a spotlight. An oboe and a cello remain, flittering on silence. The long, dark tones of the cello mingle with the smooth, gap-filling sound of the oboe. You feel a lump in your throat as Octavia reaches behind her head and smiles softly. That smile, her lips, her face, her entire body, her gorgeous hair belong in an aged oil painting of household recognition and artistic worship. She, Octavia’s beautiful mind and face and body, belongs in the most loved art. On stage, as the cello holds one last, perfectly tuned and reverberating tone, Octavia unclasps her dress and lets it fall to the lacquered black stage. The spotlight goes out just as you sip her image.

Then, darkness, pitch blackness. Not a wave of sound can be heard, save your quick heart and shallow breath. At last, twenty full seconds after the symphony has ended, you open your eyes.

“Slavik?” Octavia whispers, not breaking your solemn state.

“You’re beautiful Octavia,” you whisper without a thought. “That was absolutely... perfect.”

Octavia sits up and slides close to you, hugging you from the side. You finally unthaw and let her embrace you, her breast pushing into your arm. You gladly lean your head on hers, taking in her sweet essence. Octavia lets up and sits back, looking into your eyes. You see her magenta beauties holding water, and you feel a bit teary as well. On instinct, you hug Octavia tight, holding on for life. She hugs back just as hard. You hold her tighter and tighter, until it feels too much. You simply hold her for a few more seconds, failing to keep a manly tear from rolling down your face. You hear Octavia sniff once, so you hold her a bit longer so she can collect herself.

Twenty seconds more of feeling her blouse and sharing her warmth, Octavia lets you go. You hold her sides and look into her face, she’s smiling wide, her cheeks high with happiness. You feel a coolness on your cheek as her warm breath graces the path your unintended tear took.

Octavia makes the first move. She comes in for a slow kiss, you moan softly and kiss her back. The first one is a bit sloppy and quick. You pull back and look her in the eyes again, they’re too pretty. You kiss her again, pulling her down on top of you. Octavia moans lightly and locks her lips with yours, tasting your breath, sucking it into her chest slowly. You touch her back, feeling her slender and warm torso. You feel her surprisingly tiny bra strap and continue down to the small of her back, then move back up. Octavia adjusts herself and kisses again, passionately. You take a quick breath and kiss again, and again.

Octavia sits up when you offer your tongue. “W-wait,” she barely whispers, straddling you with her shapely legs.

“I’m sorry, Octavia,” you whisper back. “I, it, the whole-”

“No,” she replies quickly and quietly. “No, I’m sorry, I instigated the entire thing. I shouldn’t have, I’m in a relationship and I should have not been so cozy with a friend.”

“A friend?” you ask, sitting up, wanting nothing more but to hold her tight and try another opus, whatever those are.

“Y-yes,” Octavia says, slumping down on her knees. “I don’t have many friends besides Vinyl and you. I’m not much of a social butterfly, I think I would love the communal system of socializing you explained earlier.”

“Octavia,” you begin, hungering to put a hand on her leg or hip. “I really do like you, you know. You’re, so intelligent and gifted, and beautiful. I mean that with all of my heart. I haven’t had many friends since I arrived in Equestria when I was fifteen. I’ve been...” you shut up, saying too much. You slouch and accept your silence, doom impending.

Octavia sits back against the armrest and wraps her arms around her knees. “You’re lonely as well, then?”

You nod, your heart trying to force it’s way out of your throat. “And single. I’ve had one summer romance, and that’s barely a memory.”

“Slavik, I,” Octavia falls forward and forces a hug onto you. You can’t mope it away, she’s too warm. Your face cracks a smile, you happily embrace her again.

“What happened just now, Octavia?” you whisper.

“I have no clue, but I love it.” Octavia kisses your cheek again. You offer for another kiss, but Octavia simply wants to be held. You gladly oblige.

You select the next song. You find something cool by a favorite band and Octavia gladly drums on your forearm as you lay with her. The two of you settle on a good movie and fall asleep halfway through.

* * *

You open your eyes and see black hairs everywhere. Not everywhere, just in front of your face. You smell a familiar and wonderful scent: Octavia’s gorgeously long hair. The bassist stirs in your arms, but falls still again. You slowly sit up a bit and look at her. Octavia’s normally prim and perfect hair is messy and off-kilter. Her grey blouse is wrinkled a bit, especially around her waist where your hands were.

You smile to yourself and check your watch. Three hours until work at the hydro plant, two until Liam would be by to carpool. One more hour of snuggling, that would have to do.

When you open your eyes again, Octavia’s not there. You hear a rustling and a clinking of pans in the kitchen as well as a running tap. You rub the sleep from your eyes and check your watch again. Still two and a half hours until work, all is well.

You drag your feet underneath you and shuffle to the kitchen. Octavia’s doing some dishes, wearing nothing but slippers and a purple bathrobe.

“Dobroye utro, krasivaya,” you say, wanting nothing more than to take her from behind and wrap your arms around her. You settle for a small hug, frontal, and stand aside.

Octavia drops a glass into the dishwasher and smiles at you, deeply confused. “Gesundheit?”

“U menya yestʹchas do raboty, no, wrong language, sorry.” You laugh lightheartedly and lean back against the counter. “I said good morning... Beautiful.” It’s hard to force the Equestrian out of you mouth, but it comes.

Octavia sighs and looks at you, blushing again, just a bit. “You really think I’m that pretty?”

“Pretty?” you ask, folding your arms. “Octavia, at the risk of sounding too direct... I think you’re beyond gorgeous. You have the face and physique that nations have gone, are going, and will go to war for. You’ve got such an amazing, creative mind as well, and somehow, that may just be more alluring.”

Octavia stands, holding herself still. “You, do you really mean that, Slavik?”

You stand and move next to her, offering a gentle embrace. “Every word and more.” You yearn to pull her close again and spend another night as a lumpy pillow.

Octavia puts her hand on your hip and stares into your eyes, hers just below yours with no shoes on. She hugs you close and slowly rocks back and forth. “That’s the nicest, most kind thing anyone has ever said to me,” she whispers, tears nearly spilling out of her eyes.

“Not even Vinyl?”

The black haired beauty shakes her head. “She has tried, but, her vernacular is a bit... common.” Octavia smiles dejectedly at belittling her lover. “I shouldn’t speak ill of her, I suppose. I do love her, and, she...”

“You really miss her, don’t you?”

Octavia sighs and rests her head on your shoulder. “Back in college,” she begins softly. “We had four years to spend together. Those were four years of sharing a bed, kissing and cuddling, touching, being intimate, even if one of us was...” Octavia chuckles softly and pushes deeper into your arms. “You know.”

“Riding the red tide?”

“That’s the expression she uses, yes.” Octavia looks up at you again, her magenta eyes less watery but no less absorbing. “It’s amazing,” she whispers. “You have such a grasp of this language. And most times, you express yourself so, eloquently, so dignified, yet indignant. Slavik, it’s fascinating. You speak like a music professor one minute, then throw in an idiotic idiom that fits perfectly the next.” Octavia rests a hand on your shoulder, her body warm against yours. You lean back against the counter and hold her, not too tight. “I guess what I’m trying to say, Slavik, is... You’re special.”

Octavia brushes her bangs back, her hair is yet to be rectified this morning. It’s cute, and sort of sexy. “Thank you, Octavia. That truly means a lot to me. I, I find it hard to be so correct all the time.” You look into her eyes, fighting to let out the real words. They don’t translate well, but it’s all you can hope to do to express your feelings.

“Octavia,” you say, holding her head lightly in one strong hand. “I, this is difficult, but I need to say it. Moving in between you and your girlfriend is not what I want to do. I do want, however, to be near to you. Does that make any sense?”

Octavia smiles and makes a small nod. She leans forward some, obviously new to the embrace of a man. Her feet find their spots, then she moves in. You kiss, slowly, once, a long and intimate peck.

You let her lock her lips with yours again for as long as she wants, which is far beyond ten seconds. You stroke her back, noticing her lack of a bra, and let Octavia breaks way. She holds her face close, looking into your eyes.

“You really like me, then.”

“I do, I have since I met you.”

Octavia’s blush deepens some, and her fingers curl around your loose shirt a little.

“You like me then, Octavia.”

She nods. “I, this is, just...” She sighs with frustration. “I’ve never had feelings for a man before you,” she says softly. “I’ve never really had feelings before I met Vinyl Scratch, but I know those feelings now. I, if we spend some time together, I fear for my relationship with her.”

“She had a guy over here after our concert last month, right?” You hold your hands on the small of her back, simply holding Octavia’s warmth close.

She nods again. “He was a ‘one night stand’, her words. Just a dick and a body.” Octavia’s casualness is obviously forced.

“You felt betrayed?”

“I, well, yes. How could I not? The woman I’ve loved and lived with for nearly five years is neck-deep on man-meat, how am I supposed to feel?” Octavia sinks her head into your shoulder and sighs deeply. “Yet, even after how I felt, she convinced me to play with them.”

“What happened?” you ask, aroused and curious, even this early in the day. You still need to drain your morning lizard.

“Sex,” she said softly, like it was as common as a crossword. “Vinyl and, I can’t recall his name, they did it. Vinyl took care of me at the same time, sort of. It was, well, less than bad. Not the most fun I’ve had with her, though.”

You stroke her back, feeling her long hair in the way of her shoulders. “Doesn’t sound all that bad, but I can see your point. So, it wasn’t the fact that it was a man, just a new man, someone you’ve never seen before, about to violate your lover. No?”

Octavia leans back and looks at you. “N-yes. I think. It’s, it’s all a bit tough to explain.”

“Then don’t”, you say, standing and pushing Octavia’s shoulders away. You feel cold without your favorite blanket, a sexy and near-genius blanket. “It’s perfectly fine to leave complexities alone. I know it’s not in our nature, being in a progressive metal band and all.”

Octavia squeezes the bridge of her nose and holds in a hearty laugh.

You step around her and weigh your options. “Hey, I have to go home here to get ready for work,” you start, opening her fridge. “I was wondering if you wanted to have breakfast, first, maybe talk some more.” She has some groceries, but it’s clear that tomorrow is shopping day.

“Sounds perfect, Slavik,” Octavia says, glad to be out of the deepest part of the conversation.

“What have you got...” there doesn’t see much more than milk and condiments and tortillas.

“Not a whole lot,” Octavia says apologetically. “Do you have time for a stop at the coffee place five streets down? They’ve got paninis, pastries, other stuff.”

“Pay who now?”

“Come on,” Octavia says with a gentle smile. “I’ll lead the way.”

* * *

Octavia (Part 2)

“Go, just get out,” Liam sternly commands. “I don’t know how you managed to fuck this up THIS bad.”

A silence.

“GO!” The new guy flees into the break room, bumping into you and nearly spilling scalding hot coffee everywhere. You get a large splash right on your chest, burning you, but it’s not intolerable.

You stand, coffee stains ruining your new blue work shirt, and give the chubby dude a look. He’s obviously had a day and a half before noon. A chewing out from Liam, even as concise as that, isn’t easy to take. You’d know more than most.

“Sorry, w-I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He fixes his thick glasses and knocks over the creamer, spilling white powder all over the countertop.

“You don’t say?” You grab a big handful of napkins and begin damage control on your shirt.

“I do say.” Jeez, Equestrian must be his fifth language, due to that thick accent. He’s not Unicornian, Germane, anything you’re familiar with. “I, I should just go home.” He smears his glasses in an attempt to clean them. You watch his eyes, attempting to stare the incompetent one down, failing to make eye contact. His brown eyes change color when he takes his glasses off. His pupils change shape as well. You find yourself staring from instinct born of militaristic alertness. They’re like a cat’s, slender and pointed.

The new guy, his name you couldn't be bothered to learn, snaps dumbly and puts his specs back on. “Uh, bye.”

“Don’t trip on your shoe-laces.” He nearly does just that. A clutz making it into Liam’s proverbial power plant platoon was more than a rarity, it just plain didn’t happen. The fifty of your coworkers are predominantly well trained and experienced. And his eyes, that was such a strange image.

You sip your still boiling coffee and take off your shirt. Liam comes and mops up some of the mess with napkins. “I suppose we’re letting any dumb mother fuckers into the plant nowadays.”

“Must be,” you say, wishing you brought another shirt today. It’s near the last thing on your mind however. You glance at the clock, dreading every minute.

“Clean up and shape up, Slavik,” Liam says as he tosses his brown napkins away. “You’ve got to do Dom’s calibrations and get number four spinning again. If that turbine doesn’t get rolling soon, there will be too much force on the others, an-”

“And we’ll have to bleed water through a dumb drain.” You shake your shirt and slip it back on. “I can still take off at sixteen-hundred, right?”

Liam cracks a smile, knowing the hydroelectric plant has one competent worker. “If you can get everything running and calibrated smoothly, you can take off when you’re done. I can keep things going well if no other engineers shove sticks up their asses.”

“Uh, right.” You toss your cup away, not in the mood for hot brown water anymore.

“Hush up, Slavik, it’s an expression.” Liam slaps your back and grabs a donut, then sets it down.

“Watching your girlish figure, devushka?”

“Zatknis’, Scheißkopf. I’m not single like you, I have to watch my gut.” Liam laughs with you and slaps his stomach, not much flab at all there. He’s not quite the strapping young lad he was as a sailor, but he’s fit enough. You know you’re stronger and faster, definitely more creative.

“I see you’ve not forgotten all your Unicornian, at least the curses. What about the Germane? Where’d you pick that up?”

“Around,” he says flatly, eyeing a bear claw that lies in the communal box. He grabs a cheese stick from the fridge and looks out at the plant, the torrents of water muffled behind massive walls of concrete. “I have a new favorite bar, they’ve got Germane beer and dishes. We should go sometime.”

“I’ll bring my new girlfriend,” you say, enjoying a break to ‘shoot the shit’, as Vinyl said once.

Liam chomps away, ignoring the proper operation of string cheese. “No way, huh? Finally acquired a taste for Equestrian, huh? Or is she a foreign girl?”

“I forget. Where’s Manehatten?”

“City girl!” Liam smiles and leans back in his seat. “Manehatten is on the east coast of Equestria.” Liam’s always been kind with sharing common knowledge, unlike the band or any internet forum.

“Yeah,” you continue. “She’s new to Ponyville. Octavia’s her name. She’s in the band.”

“In? Your band?”

“Yes.”

“Not the one with the piercing and the THC molecule on her back, right?”

“No. Oh, no, God no. No, Octavia is the bassist, writes a lot of stuff too.”

“She the foundation of the band?” Liam says with a chuckle.

“I, suppose. You know we’re playing tonight, right? I know you’re old and don’t like any music over fifty decibels, but you could at least buy our CD.”

Liam shakes his head. “I could, but I’m old. I don’t know how to work that compact disk crap. I’ll buy it when you’ve got a vinyl I could use.”

“A CD player is a LOT less complex than a nuclear reactor, asshole.”

“So is your mother.” Liam crumples up his wrapper and tosses it at the trash bin, missing. “Damn wind.”

“Careful, you might break it.” You feel suddenly bored of your old friend.

“Huh?”

“The wind? You know, farting.”

“You’ve got a knack for humor, you know that?” Liam gets up and stretches some.

“I thought it was rather bad, actually.”

“That was sarcasm, Slavik. Don’t you have some calibrations to do?”

* * *

You heft the last bass drum in place, and find yourself in a storeroom with two other roadies. A band from Baltimare has a lot of grungy, beat up equipment, hardly worse than your set.

“Fuck,” you say to no one, wiping your brow. Your work shirt is still coffee stained and now sweaty. You step over some crap and ignore the two guys getting friendly on stuff that isn’t yours. You walk out into the dim hall and turn right. You run into Octavia, chest first. She catches herself and moves to you, apologizing almost as quickly as you.

“I wasn’t watching, sorry Octavia!” You grab her arm on a whim and stand with her.

“It’s alright, Slavik.” She makes you smile every time she says it. “It was one of those slo-mo, watch-it-happen-but-can’t-stop-it type of things.”

“Weird, those are weird, yeah.” Your mind is racing again with your plans. You have to ask.

“You look like you had a fun day at work,” Octavia says, standing very close.

You look down and remember your coffee explosion. “Oh, yeah. This new guy at the hydro plant fucked up pretty bad. Made my whole day busy cleaning up his mess. He single-handedly disabled two turbines, we need an extremely expensive part for both. I, I don’t want to bore you. I’m kind of tired, too.”

“I bet,” Octavia chuckles and drags a finger along your sternum, making a slalom with your shirt buttons. “We still have to play at midnight, you know.”

“I know.” You grab her hand when she’s done doing the little race back to your collar. “Are we still on after?”

“As long as you got the, protection.” Her blush is too cute. A busy woman power walks by, near invisible to you.

“I think we’ll be fine.” Her expression is less than expected.

“You DID get it, though-”

“Yeah, yeah! Oh, I see how you... yes, I have condoms.”

Octavia snickers and grins wide, but doesn’t look away. She plays with your fingers for a second.

“So how did Vinyl react?”

Octavia slinks one half step closer. “Well, she, um...”

“Slavik?” You beam.

“Does she know about, us?”

Octavia looks away. “It just, hasn’t come up.”

You slip a hand to her hip. “Octavia, if you and me are... a thing, and you and Vinyl are a thing, something’s gotta give.”

“I know, Slavik,” Octavia says in a slow sigh, resting her head on your shoulder. She looks up, after looking around the seemingly deserted hallway. “I was thinking, I like you, and I really want to spend the night at your place again. But, if we can, can we keep this secret?”

Octavia squeezes her hand in yours, you squeeze back a little more. “I’m not just a one night stand, am I?”

A hurt look comes over Octavia’s face. “Of course not! Slavik, you really are something.”

“I know, and you’re amazing too, Octavia. I just wanted to tell you that even though you have a good thing going with your girlfriend, I’m glad we’re going to do this.”

“Let’s focus on selling albums until then, alright? We have all night, Slavik.” Octavia presses her body to yours, wrapping her arms around you. “All night.” She smiles and looks up into your face.

“All night to take our time, see how many times we can do it before passing out for the entire day.”

Octavia blushes and sinks into you again. You hold her closer and slide your hands down her back to her tight little ass. It’s rounder than her girlfriend’s, just a touch. You squeeze her cheeks and lock lips quickly. You taste her sweet, sweet lips again, sending you in a tiny trip of ecstasy.

You let her go, knowing your lusts will be properly indulged soon enough. Octavia moans softly as you break the kiss. A tiny bridge of saliva links your and her lips for a small moment, then falls. Octavia’s cheeks are scarlet, and her shoulders are anxious.

“Been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Octavia smiles meekly and nods. “Scratch has been touring and whoring her name out a lot. She sent home her whole advance though. More money than if we sell every fucking cd tonight.” Octavia’s face shows how dejected and jealous, yet proud she is.

“The band will survive, Tavi. As for the performance, we’ll kill it, we always do. I just hope I can survive ‘Manchmal’ without Medley’s tits falling off. I mean, out.”

“She said she’d be careful!” Octavia scoffs, remembering the “wardrobe malfunction” two sets ago.

“Yes, but we should taste her drinks and make sure she’s not getting drunk beforehand. Honestly, Octavia, you should do vocals. Sleigher has the bass player do vocals.”

“But he doesn’t have to keep the band going through fifty two chord changes and seven time changes.”

“Good point...” you lean back against the wall and rest your eyes.

“Slavik,” Octavia barely whispers in your ear, eliciting a physical response from you.

“Yeah?” you answer, not opening your tired eyes.

“Want to make out for a bit?”

“As long as we get to nap, I’m under for anything.”

Octavia chuckles and kisses your earlobe, sucking it playfully. “It’s down, not under, sexy.”

You grab Octavia’s nice butt and pull her to you, making her giggle even more. “I’ll go down on you if you don’t stop correcting me all the damn time!”

“Oh, please do!” Octavia laughs as you pin her to the wall, still not a soul around. She smiles wide up at you, holding her shoulders to the wood paneling.

“Where could we go to get a quick nap, Tavi?”

“One of these storerooms, maybe? I’ve got my soccer mom van, too. Just got out of the shop.”

“Oh yeah, you have that van. How convenient.”

Octavia rolls her eyes as you force her to stay still. “You’re telling me. Stop that, come on. The back seats aren’t in there, so we have plenty of room.”

“Oh, baby.” Octavia rushes forward to meet you as you let her go. You give her all your sleepy passion in one embracing kiss. Your hands roam as much as hers. Octavia lifts her leg high, wrapping her foot around your leg. You send your fingers between her upper thighs from behind, feeling yourself stiffen as she warms your fingertips. Octavia moans as you push your tongue into her mouth.

Making it to the van while concealing a raging russian is tough. You nearly dive in when Octavia unlocks the door. You lay back on the grey floor of the unsexy mini van and begin immediately lifting Octavia’s cute little sweater vest. Octavia giggles as you touch her bare skin as she straddles you, letting you take her breasts in your hands again. She squeezes with you, her hands on yours, tossing her hair out of her face. She smiles wide and moves a little as you caress her breasts. Octavia winks seductively and lowers the straps, showing you her nude torso.

“Ah, I remember these fondly.” You reach up to grab them again, ignoring the bra landing on your face.

“Heh, nice word choice there, Slav.” Octavia lets you squeeze her nice, soft breasts a little longer. Her dark nipples are sensitive, you’ve recently learned, and she loves when you pinch them. Especially hard. Octavia holds her hair up above her head, then shakes it around. You feel a bit of spit pool in your mouth at the sight.

Octavia leans down, her face a peachy pink. She puts her fingers on your collar and begin working on your shirt. “I admit, Slavik. I love your natural, musk, or whatever it is.” Octavia smiles and runs her fingers along your stubble. “When I’m with you, you make me so, you make my chest feel... Slavik, you make me want you so bad.”

You pull her face down and give her the cue to shut up, just a bit of tongue. Octavia moans softly and leans her whole body on you. You barely have time to suck on her tongue before she gets up.

“Sorry. Buttons,” she manages to communicate. You help her take your shirt off. Octavia falls on you again, smiling and giggling with you as she runs her fingers over your chest. She kisses your neck and settles into your chest, sighing every now and then, stroking your side.

“Am I a half decent pillow? Because you make for one amazing blanket.” You feel sleep tugging at your eyes already.

Octavia nuzzles closer, nodding, rubbing her face into your slightly hairy chest. You wrap your arms tight around her and entwine your legs, her soft dress pants so good to slide against. “Don’t you want to fool around some, Slav?”

“I’m tired, hon. Maybe you can convince me...” you trail off, your stirring groin battling your tired mind for dominance. The nethers gain a strong boost from a gentle brush of Octavia’s upper thigh. She straddles your leg, her womanly warmth seeping through. The heat of the car makes itself known when you take a deep breath. You force your eyes open, only to see her black hair moving back and forth slowly as Octavia slides her womanhood up and down your leg, pleasing herself as much as pleading you.

You grab her ass greedily and feel as she continues with more enthusiasm. You kiss her earlobe and encourage her more and more, until she’s dry humping you to the point where it’s just silly. Octavia sits up and rides your thigh like her whole sex life depends on it, complete with hot moaning action. Octavia’s round breasts move with her, swinging a little with the rolling motions. Octavia’s face is deep red when she finally stops.

“A bit much?” she asks in a hush.

You touch her hips softly, touching her warm skin. “Yeah, maybe.” You sleepily slip your fingers up and down her sides as Octavia giggles softly, stradling you again.

The sexy musician stands on her hands, her soft breasts hanging down over your collar. “Well, Slavik? What do you want to do?”

You smile and lazily take one globe in your hand, then squeeze it softly. “Honestly, Octavia,” you say, watching her smile. “I was just hoping for some spooning action. I’m very sleepy. I would love to sleep with you.”

The response Octavia gives is delayed, but concurring. “Me too, I want to nap some too. I mean, we basically have to if we want to stay up until dawn. I was up with Scratch this morning helping her pack.”

“Another concert?” Octavia flops gracefully onto her side, her upper body still nude like yours.

“Yeah, all the way in Fillydelphia.” Octavia rolls over and scoots back into your arms.

You nuzzle into her hair and kiss the back of Octavia’s head apologetically. “Is she at least good to you when she’s here?”

“I wish,” Octavia whispers, her voice heavy. “She’s usually PMS-ing over every little thing, saying I’m too posh, saying she won’t ever be really famous.” Octavia stirs a little in your arms. You pull her close, sharing as much intimacy as possible. “Vinyl wants to move to Los Pegasus, or be a big shot in Applewood. I, I could never do that. I would be miserable. That town’s built of plastic and facades, alcohol and decayed morals. Fuck that, I just want to stay in Ponyville. Be a big fish in a small pond.”

Octavia sighs heavily, her shoulders shaking a little. You nuzzle into her again, wishing you could get closer than touching her with her whole body. “It’s alright, Tavi. Things will work out, I’m sure. I promise.”

“Slavik,” she barely breathes, her slight sobbing starting to teeter on the edge. She rolls over and looks at you, her beautiful magenta seas beginning to swell with tears. “I, why can’t she be like you? So honest, grounded, and still beautiful and sexy and talented?” Octavia kisses your cheek and hugs you, tight. Very tight. You hug her back, then tighter. Her tears spill over and disturb your own tumultuous swirl of emotion. You hear her stifle her sobs, but you don’t shy away.

“Slavik...” she whispers, breathing in deep, making her chest expand in your embrace.

“Yes, Tavi?” you barely breathe back.

She breaks away, her slight mascara running down her face in horrible little streaks. Her pained smile is strong. “Thank you, so much. You’re the best friend I could ask for, and then some. I think you really deserve someone, really someone special.”

“I’ve got one in my arms right now.”

Her smile grows into a gleeful beam, a terrific sight. Octavia pounces, hugging you close again. She rolls on top of you again, smothering you. You let her coat your cheeks, chin, forehead, neck, collarbone, then your chest in wet kisses. Octavia looks up at you and crawls back up to your face. “Slavik, I don’t know what to think.” She rests on you again, her soft tits pressing into your chest.

“On one hand,” she begins, resting her lovely head on your chest. “Scratch is fun, makes plenty of money, and my first. She’s a music fanatic, and loves to party. I, I guess I like partying too. It’s just, when I picture us in five years, I can’t see anything different. Her on the road, touring, me maybe with her.” You have to work not to chuckle as she turns her head to rest her other cheek on your chest. “On the other... you’re a strong, stupid sexy man. Tall, handsome, intelligent, funny, fun, talented, have a steady job with advancement and benefits, your own place, you’re hung, in my band, have such a good ear for music, you are creative, uh, don’t do a ton of drugs, what else?”

“I’m single,” you add, trying to keep all emotion out of your voice.

Octavia lifts her head, her black mascara smudged and grey on her cheeks. Some makeup is on your chest. “T-true.” She drops her head on your chest and sighs heavily again. “Slavik, I just don’t know what to think of this.”

“Then don’t. Let what happens to happen, just happen.” You stroke her back some, feeling her cute curves.

Octavia sits up and looks at you, a defeated expression upon her face. “Really? I mean, you really think that I should just, let go, listen to my instincts?”

“Yes, of course. I say, in situations where two outcomes are drastically different, but just as desirable, flip a coin. Don’t think when it’s in the air. When you catch it, don’t look. Just listen, what do you want it to be? That is what you want to happen. It works for choosing a pizza topping, drumstick buying, role playing game choices, even romance.”

Octavia blushes, her cheeks dirty crimson. “But, I really want both of you,” she whispers.

“I want you, Octavia. But, I know that I want you to be happier even more. Even if we have to remain a secret, even if we have to cut this off, I want you to wake up in the morning with a grin, knowing you are with the one you really want to be with.”

She stirs, then lays still, her pretty magenta eyes fixed on yours. The silence is thick as the stuffy air. Octavia smiles, only slightly, making your heart race. She sits up and rests against the back door, sighing and thinking.

You sit up and feel cold without her. Octavia’s nude upper body looks strong, able, untested, but still young. She’s got love to give and a life to live, and she doesn’t need anyone.

Yet, you need her. You’ve fallen asleep at night with her in your thoughts for months. Octavia’s creative genius, her dry wit, her surprisingly dark humor, her pretty face and beautiful hair, her scent, her touch, cute smile, her preciously rare laugh, her round ass and perfect breasts, her sensitive slit, her slit! You watch her breath the warm air and picture the one time you’ve touched her. It wasn’t long ago, and it wasn’t for long, but it was a priceless chunk of time. Octavia’s pink petals were, or are, very easy to wetten. The memory of her convulsing and moaning and soiling her own sheets awakes your lust again. You almost feel guilty for so greedily desiring a taken woman, but it doesn’t feel that wrong. She loves the things you love, is so interesting, so beautiful, so... perfect!

You can’t take the silence. You move to Octavia and grab her hand, looking deep into her eyes. Her deep thought is broken, and so is her frown. She smiles, looking into your eyes as you gaze back. Her deep magenta oceans suck at your soul, making your heart race and jump up into your throat. The way they’re focussed on yours makes you feel powerful and wanted. Not just wanted, no, desired. Invited.

Needed.

“Octavi-”

Her delicate finger touches your lips. “Don’t spoil the moment... Slavik.”

You drift together until Octavia suddenly lunges forward, her bare body engulfed in your embrace. You hug her close, then pull her tighter. You feel her breath on your back, her heart beat faster than yours. Octavia sighs and breaks away, a genuine smile, soft and gentle fills her normally solid face. She melts into your arms and locks her lips with yours. You feel and hear her moan a little as you kiss her again, sharing all your love.

You find yourself laying down, losing yourself to Octavia’s soft moans, returning a few yourself. The interior of the van was cold without her touch. Your head rests against the flooring as Octavia lightly flicks her tongue on your lips. You let her do it again, inviting her into your mouth with a hand sliding down her back. Octavia tenses with good sensations as you grab her round ass gently, her tongue slipping into your lips. You suck on it, pulling her closer still, nearly forcing her to straddle your leg again.

Octavia’s hand traces your chest blindly until it rests on your abdomen, palming the newly shaved happy trail. She breaks away and looks at you, her fingers hooking into your pants. She looks down and smiles, then looks back up, making you grin.

You give her a slow wink.

Octavia takes a quick breath, then looks back down. She gulps hard as she works on the button. You allow her to do all the work, you’re tired, after all. Octavia pulls down your zipper and cautiously puts her hand down your pants. Your hardness is poked blindly as she works to pull it out of the hole in your boxers. Her novice grip is far from unwanted.

Finally, after some pinching and struggling and constricting your testicles, Octavia gets the shaft to stand fully erect in the early evening air. She wraps her fingers around the base and grasps it just hard enough for you to feel a pulse.

“Dear Celestia, doesn’t that hurt a bit, Slavik?”

“A, a bit, I suppose. Just treat it gently but firmly,” you say, lightly rubbing her free arm.

Octavia smiles and begins to move up and down, her first finger and thumb doing most of the squeezing. It feels great, but it does hurt. It hurts so bad just to wait, not to ask for more.

Or more skill.

Octavia goes a bit faster, obviously somewhat uncomfortable. She moans softly, gripping your tool and stooping over a bit. “Slavik, do you want me to suck your cock?”

Her small, sexy voice is the best. You feel your cock throb as her long hair lightly brushes against it. You just smile and nod.

Octavia gets down until her hips touch the carpeting. She sort of smells the tip, a blush and a grimace form on her face. You watch her timidly put her lips to the tip, then look into her eyes as her lips wrap around the head. Her warm breath graces your sensitive skin as she sucks you into her untrained mouth. Octavia’s hand goes flush against your hip and her eyes squeeze shut as you slide deeper into her mouth, nearly a third of your girth is inside her face now. The hot, wet sensation drives a railroad spike of pleasure through your brain.

Octavia moans, vibrating your sensitive member some, then lets you go, letting her saliva fall in thin strands. “Ughk, that was, well it was, fun. Was it alright, Slavik?”

Again you smile wide. “It was fucking fantastic, Octavia. I can’t wait for my turn to please you.”

She smiles and sits up on her side, unknowingly seductive. “You really liked it? I could keep going, if you want.”

“Yes, I want! P-please.”

Octavia giggles a little, then sits back on her knees. “If you could kneel, that would make it easier for me, baby.”

Baby?! “Of course, love.” Octavia beams and blushes as you get up and remove your pants. You leave the boxers on for now. Octavia gets on all fours and grips your shaft in her right hand. She licks her lips, burps behind a posh hand, then opens wide. You feel her wet and hot tongue grace your sensitive member lightly as she sucks you into her mouth. Her luscious lips suck gently at your member as she pulls away, moaning softly. Octavia goes down again, gagging just a little bit. You watch her suck harder, then pull back, knowing that it feels great. Her shoulders shake a little when she inhales through her nose, your meat filling up her mouth. You stand tall on your knees as Octavia loses herself in you.

You find your hand on her gorgeous hair, riding her head as it bobs gently back and forth. The slick sucking accelerates slowly, and Octavia’s started to slurp up her saliva. She’s really drooling now. You’re tempted to buck your hips and fuck her face, but that would be cruel to a first timer, especially one with such knack for oral.

The bassist stops for a breath and to rub her throat. “Sorry, I need a second.”

“No, no it’s okay, Octavia. No, not okay, fucking wonderful! Tavi, that was amazing.” You sit back down as she rests, sitting in such a sultry position. You ache to jump and fuck her right now. You think you might just turn the tables and eat her out for a few hours.

“R-agk, really? I, you know it’s my first time,” she looks away, blushing hard.

“Really really. Do you want to continue?”

Octavia licks her lips and takes a deep breath, then flashes you a seductive look. “I’d love to.” She takes your steel shaft in her hand and pulls on it, then forces you to penetrate her wet grip again. She jerks like this for a bit, finding that it brings you the most pleasure. You lay your head back and feel your pleasure grow with every strong, slow stroke.

“That’s not too hard?” Octavia asks with a whisper. You simply shake your head.

“No,” you reply, looking back down to her from your half-sitting position. “That’s great, Octavia. Could you, uh, use your mouth, soon? It does feel fantastic, though.”

Octavia smiles and nods. “Of course, Slavik. But, it’s too fucking quiet for this.” You watch her get up and crawl to the front of the van, fumble with some things. Octavia turns on the stereo, blasting some classical piece. She turns it down, changes the CD, then comes back. A familiar album by a favorite band of yours picks up. You instantly recall the rhythm of the first track.

Watching her climb over seats topless, in her tight black pants, is very erotic. You get up and needlessly help her, “accidentally” pulling her giggling body to yours. Octavia’s tight, round ass grinds your dick some as you kiss her neck and touch her torso. Your fingers find her nipples and gently pinch, then meander around to hold her breast and play at her pant’s button.

“Ah, already?” she moans out, giggling and moaning and grinding and gasping as your fingers slip into her wet panties. “I thought you would enjo-oh, enjoy ejaculating on my chest.”

“It’s cumming,” you say, resuming sucking on her neck.

“Right!” Octavia spits out quickly, struggling to stay coherent as you touch her wet clitoris. “Where w-was I?”

You stop and let Octavia up, smiling back at her smile. She blushes as you stick your wet finger in your mouth without a second’s hesitation. The flavor makes you recoil a bit. It’s not as harsh as you thought it was, but the suddenness was a shock.

“Mmm, tasty,” you say with a cheesy thumbs up. Octavia rolls her eyes and giggles, then sits back on her haunches.

“Okay,” she says, digging into the music with you, lightly touching your erection. “I’ll just pick up where I left off, then...”

You spread your legs wide and let Octavia lower her mouth to you. Her hot breath precedes her warm, wet tongue. She’s much less shy, now that she’s used to the flavor. Octavia moans and sucks you deep in her mouth. Now, it seems she’s much less bashful. Music and your touch being the only variables in this new environment, you decide to leave the specifics of Octavia’s new fervor in mystery.

You rest your palm on her cranium as she bobs up and down. It feels more amazing than before. Octavia sucks hard and pulls up, pulling wetly on your sensitive skin. Then, she pushes your curved head into the roof of her mouth by pressing hard on the underside with her soft tongue. The bumpy surfaces of her tongue and mouth are different yet mind-numbing. Before you have time to realize it, you’re nearing your limit. Octavia’s a natural, it’s as if she’s studied the anatomy. Maybe she has.

Octavia stops for a moment and rests her chops. “Ah, was that good, Slavik?”

You look down at her, her sexy magenta eyes all yours. “The best, Tavi. I was really getting close.”

“A-alright, do you want me to finish you off, or do you want to, do it yourself?”

You play with her dangling black strands of soft, shimmering hair. “You brought those tissues back here. Do you want me to frost your great tits?”

Octavia loses it, breaking down in a snicker. She hugs your waist, your spear standing against her neck. You let her chuckle for a bit, drumming on your waist with the fastest song on the album. Octavia rocks her head a little with you, basically forcing you to thrust your hips a little.

You don’t stop when she stands up on her hands. She doesn’t say anything during a delicious breakdown, just stares at you. Octavia bites her lip and goes back down. She grips the base of your slick cock and licks the underside with her flattened tongue; she’s the antithesis of bashful.

The song goes to a slower part, so she gently sucks you deep into her mouth again. Octavia looks up with her beauteous eyes, grinding and twisting and moaning as she slurps up all her spit. Octavia takes a quick break to stroke you skillfully, then goes back down. She closes her eyes and strokes you with her hand as her head bobs up and down, accelerating.

You force yourself to breath deep and enjoy her mouth for as long as possible. Your erection is throbbing painfully now, aching to flood her mouth with your load. You grunt and thrust your hips involuntarily. The track changes once more, your favorite song on the record is on now. Octavia goes faster now, sucking so hard her cheeks are caving in. Her speed is faster than the brutal beat.

Grunting is as common as exhaling. Octavia is too good, she’s a prodigy of pleasure. You just want to force her face to go faster, but she might not be so willing and amazing. You feel a stopper in your lungs, preventing anything than half of your chest cavity to fill with air. You pant shallow breaths and hold back the detonation. The sensations of Octavia’s wet lips sucking on your dick sends sharp spines of surreal pleasure throughout your core. You begin to feel your sack ache in your trousers, so you pat Octavia’s head gently in warning.

“Ah, that’s good! G-gonna shoot soon, Octavia. Where?” You feel her saliva cool on your cock, it’s a true battle not to force her face to the carpet and paint it right then.

“Here!” She says, sitting up and holding her perfect C-cups together.

You get up and stand tall on your knees, forcing Octavia to lay down. You grip the base of your rod and grip hard, not pulling quite yet. The noiseless picture of Octavia staring up at you, helpless, waiting for you makes your breath catch. No. Not helpless, willing, skilled, beautiful, but perfect. Consenting, wanting, maybe even needing.

“Come on, Slavik. Blow your load all over my chest, cover my tits in your hot, sticky... cum.”

She just mouths the last word, but it makes your ears and busy mind ring silent. You stroke only twice before feeling your tool work. The entire organ fires, launching a thick volley. All of the ten shots hit Octavia’s chest from short range, some longer, stronger and more voluminous than others. You relax and sit back on her hips gently, spent, your rod sticky with spit and sperm.

Octavia giggles and wipes her cheek with a forearm. “Holy fuck,” she says, fighting the music. You reach back and turn it down some, suddenly too loud.

When you turn and inspect the damage again, you’re surprised. You expected a decent coating in one area, but that’s not the case. Octavia’s left hand as well as her breasts are plastered. Your thick seed, flying as blindly as it was, mostly coated her chest on her left side. You grab the box of tissues, thankful that it’s full, and steal a few before letting Octavia wipe up.

“Sorry,” you softly say, hypnotized by her slow work. “I, it was... nice.”

Octavia shoots you a strange glance, but not an angry one. She sits up and wads up some more tissues. “I’m glad you liked it so much, Slavik,” Octavia says, her face blood red.

“Heh, well, I guess I’ve kind of saved up, too.”

“Oh. Really?” Octavia’s snideness is not unwarranted. You still feel proud..

You take some of the dirty tissues and stuff them in a plastic bag. “You were amazing, Octavia. Beyond amazing. I never knew oral could be so good.”

Octavia’s blush moves through her shoulders. She looks up to you, some semen dangling from a tissue, threatening to land on the carpet. “You really, really liked it then?”

“Absolutely loved it.” You take a tissue and finish up the last of the mess on her breast, taking a slow, generous handful. The two of you use a pocket-sized bottle of hand-sanitizer to clean your bodies. You leave your dick messy, knowing how greatly rubbing alcohol and genitals mix.

“Every second was pure heaven, Octavia,” you say, rubbing your hands over both of her breasts, the small amount of alcohol freezing on your skin. Judging from the look on Octavia’s face, it’s just as cold on her chest. “Just like every second I get to spend with you. I only wish...” you move in and kiss her cheek, then move to her ear. “That I could return the favor.”

“No,” she whispers. “Some lotion, first, that sanitizer stuff dries my skin out like crazy. And,” she continues more lightly. “You can rub my tits as much as you want.”

You take the bottle she points at, squirt some of the lotion in your palm, then work her breasts for at least two full songs. Octavia moans and spreads her legs, encouraging you to go all over. After a bit, however, she stops you.

Octavia smiles wide as she leans back, pulling you down by your hand. You stand on your hands and knees. After putting your package away, you kiss Octavia on her clothed knee. She covers her chest, erect nipples rock hard, as you slip your hands down to her waist. You hook your fingers in her pants and pull, lifting her by her nice little ass. Octavia’s soft pants slide off easily, exposing her shapely, sexy, soft legs. You feel your dick harden again and your salivary glands roar to life. You have to stop yourself from diving on Octavia and ripping her panties off.

You manage to seductively lick along her thighs until you get to her underwear. Her scent is so strong, it’s invigorating. You inhale deeply and shut your eyes, hovering above her soaked panites. You kiss her labia through the fabric, gently pursing your lips, pulling through the cotton garments. Octavia loves that, leaning hard into the interior of her auto. You look up and lick her nub as she squeezes her bare nipple a bit. You manage to catch her eye once before going back down to move her underwear.

Octavia grins meekly and covers her bare slit. You sit back, her soaked panties in hand, and watch as she slowly spreads her lower lips for you. “You don’t have a rubber on you now, do you?”

You shake your head. No lying now. “No, they’re still in my room. I forgot, I suppose I should have brought one, just in case we, uh-”

“Slavik, you’re rambling. Let’s do this, please?” Octavia demands with a smile that you get to work.

You oblige silently and get back down to her exposed pink. You replace Octavia’s spreading fingers with your own, parting her fat labia easily. Her puffy lips are hot and soaked under your strong fingers. Octavia sighs deeply as you kiss her nub, then suck it into your lips. You nuzzle your knuckle againsts her little entrance and lean into it as you play with her clit. The moans increase bit by bit as you speed up and push harder into Octavia’s pussy.

You rest your head on the soft skin above Octavia’s shaved pussy and kiss her, pushing your first finger into her. She grabs your hair as your fingertip pops inside. Your rigidness throbs as her tight, hot pussy squeezes your first digit. Octavia moans more as you push deeper, then all the way. She thrusts her hips just the slightest bit as you pull your finger back and then push in again, feeling her ribbed flesh suck on you. You can feel every little bit of her insides; your cock is painfully hard with envy.

You move down again and gently kiss the musician’s penetrated lips. You catch her smile and flash one of yours before licking her super sensitive nub. Octavia rests a hand where your head had rested before, rocking her hips as you finger her faster and faster. You spin your wrist around and feel for her special spot, but it eludes you. Octavia tenses as you attempt another finger.

“N-no,” she softly says. “T-two’s too many, ahmmmmm your fingers are too thick, Slavik.” She smiles, panting, and looks down.

You flick Octavia’s clitoris in response, eliciting a tiny spasm from her core. You hear the song change, making you aware that there is music playing. Again. You breath through your nose, sure Octavia can feel the warm air on her femness, and push inside again. She moans hotly as you slowly pump her pussy, grinding around, massaging the “roof” of her vagina with the length of your thick finger. You bend your finger up towards her stomach, wrist up, but keep your finger straight, moving left and right. She really likes that. You smile and bury your lips into hers, kissing and sucking blindly. You love this sensation, her warm, wet sex all around your finger. She’s very tight, especially at her entrance. Octavia begins moaning as the song takes a more mellow turn, letting you hear her better.

You lose yourself to her, to touching her, loving it nearly as much as she. Fingering Octavia is a joy and a privilege, not mere foreplay. It’s definitely not a chore: her wet womanhood loves your touch. Before the seven minute song is over, Octavia’s rolling her hips around with you. You sit up and hold her, fingering her from behind. The ball of your palm presses into her labia as your first finger curls up inside. You are forced to switch hands, but your ambidexterity allows for a perfect replication. Octavia moans as you suck her neck, then her shoulder. You know her sweater vest won’t cover the hickie, but you don’t care much at all at the moment.

The music bathes the both of you in chordal ambiance. You listen to Octavia’s moans become ragged from point-blank. She lays her head back, showing her delicate neck to the universe inside the vehicle. You touch it lightly with your sticky free hand, watching Octavia immerse herself in the pleasure your fingers bring her. You lay her down on the carpeting and move again between her gorgeous thighs. She doesn’t look down this time, too close to her climax.

You clear your throat, crack your knuckles, crack your neck, then get down to business. You use your thumbs to pull Octavia’s lips apart and gently lick her exposed pink. So far, Octavia’s been quiet, save for her sexy moans. You kiss and lick her clit some more, too, loving her little hip movements. You take your right index and penetrate again, making Octavia gasp with pleasure. You turn your wrist up and move your body to Octavia’s side Your palm on the skin above her slit as you pull your first digit out and push in with your second, bathing the dry finger instantly in her heat. Just as quickly, you find her g-spot without trying. The absent spongy bulge presents itself to you now, and now you circle it and stimulate it like it’s the most important thing in the world. Octavia shakes and shudders at your touch, moaning, grabbing your free arm on the other side of her.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, yes! O-oh, Sc-Slavik, just like that, yes, yes yes yes YES!” Octavia bites her lip and tosses her head around, her hips wildly lifting and falling. Her animated body moves as the music picks up again. You watch her right hand clasping at your thigh, and an idea hatches in your brain. You slow your playing finger some and take her hand and make it slide up your hairy leg to your groin.

“Ah, alright,” she whispers, smiling up at you. Octavia grins and grabs your crotch gently, feeling for your stick. You pull it out of your shorts for her, but she finds it on her own. Octavia grins and bites her lip as she slowly tugs on it. You bend your neck down as she strokes you well and suck her clit into your lips. You middle finger pumps her pussy deep and hard as you play with her clitoris, determined to make her scream.

Octavia’s hand works very well, making you feel fantastic in no time flat. You punish her with pleasure for her deed. “G-god, that feels good, Slavik. Yes, do that, JUST like th-hahh...” She trails off, her hand limp and hovering in the air near your tool. You feel Octavia zombify as you rub her special spot. All Octavia can do is pant and moan and thrust her hips a tiny bit. You use your other hand to please her clit, straining your back to keep yourself in such a position. Octavia’s tiny pussy milks your finger, not knowing. Her lips begin to spasm with her hips, she’s going to cum.

You wonder if she’s a squirter, like those porn stars. You hope so. If so, she’s aimed at the door, so nothing important will get soaked. You rub her clit more and circle her g-spot a little lighter.

“G-ah! More, Slavik, I’m so close, I’m, so close!” she screams over the music.

You squeeze her clit cruelly, relishing her cry in pained pleasure. Octavia thrusts her hips forcefully as you pinch and play with it enthusiastically, still holding back with her other spot.

You feel her hips tense up and her pussy quake around your finger, so you push into her spot hard, rubbing like crazy. Octavia cums, and she cums hard, stifling her screams into her arm. Her whole sex shakes and she arches her back. You watch her whole body spasm and her toes curl as she cums, leaking out some clear, off-whitish fluids. She calms down quickly, moaning and rubbing herself. You leave your finger in until she looks up at you with her beautiful magenta circles. You get down and kiss her deeply, touching her sweaty body with both slimy hands.

Octavia pulls you down and rolls over you as silence at the end of the album carries on. The only noises are your tongue slipping over hers and some light moaning. The darkness of silence eats at your consciousness. The world’s best blanket slows down on top of you until you’re both resigned to gentle kissing, sucking on lips lightly and eventually stopping. You open your eyes once and see her, tracing your chest with a finger.

“You almost made me make my van very dirty, Slavik.” Octavia whispers a different pronunciation this time, the “I” sounding like “ee”. It’s very cute, coming from her.

“Prosti, moya krasivyy.”

“Tu sei il mio stallone” she whispers back. The language barriers are impenetrable for now, but you can work on that later. For now, there’s time to cuddle and nap.

Octavia kisses you once before rolling onto her side, offering her nice butt to move against. You hold her waist and rest on your elbow, very happy to be nude with Octavia.

Silence slowly begets sleep.

* * *

It’s hot, sticky, and something’s tickling your nose. You puff it away and try to flip over, but something’s pinning your arm. When you attempt to move, an army of freezing needles pierces your forearm, erupting in annoying pain. You open your eyes and roll back anyway, only to see a mass of long, messy dark hair.

The woman keeping your armed pinned and asleep stirs and then rolls into your chest, nuzzling closer. She’s very attractive, and very hot to the touch. Carefully, you fish your arm out from under her and hug her close, finally starting to blink through the morning amnesia.

But it’s not morning. The sky is dark outside the curved windows. The both of you just had hand and mouth sex in Octavia’s dorky van, you remember. You shake your head, dying of thirst, and hold Octavia’s sleepy form close, drinking in her soft moan of content.

You can’t hold back a huge smile as you rub her sticky back. You can’t deny yourself liquid refreshment for long, but for now a glass of water can wait; there’s snuggling to do.

Octavia kisses your cheek and wraps her arms around your chest, holding hers close. You rub your face in her nice dark hair, softly breathing her naturally overwhelming scent. You listen to her breath on the silence, occasionally moaning just the slightest at your touch.

After a very comfortable time, Octavia gets up and rubs her eyes. You lay your head on your hands and watch, unashamed completely to the lack of clothes. Octavia blushes some, but doesn’t hide herself or look away. She even smiles as she looks over your flaccid length.

“G-good morning, Slavik,” Octavia says softly, clearing her throat hard.

“Morning, my beautiful Octavia. I think we should get going to get some water, yes?” you ask, sitting up and pulling your underwear from under your pants.

Octavia shakes her hair and leaves it in a furious tangle. “Yes please. Oh, what time is it?” You pull on your shorts as Octavia hunts for her cellular. You smile and help, tempted to kiss her and eat up all the time you can. Instead, you find it wedged between the driver seat and a bag.

“Twenty-three hundred, we’ve time.” Octavia sighs with relief and sits on her knees, letting you drink in her nudity for another minute. She sits back and rubs her knees, red from rug-rash.

“Sorry for the harsh carpeting. It’s like steel wool on my knees, jeez.” Octavia slips on her panties, blushing as she does so.

“No joke,” you reply, your elbows a bit raw. It’s hardly an issue. You’re tempted to stop her from getting less naked and kiss her, then slip a finger down to her perfect womanhood. You lay still instead, watching with all intent as Octavia fills her skin-tight pants.

You accept her into your arms after she finds her sweater vest. As nerdy as it is, the argyle garment fits perfectly on her and just as well on stage. She’s really cute with just that on, you remember with a devious grin.

Octavia moans softly, sighing, as she falls into your sleepy embrace. Your mind is still booting up and your eyes still have boogers, but they can wait. Octavia smiles and laughs seductively as your hands find her breasts.

“Mmmm, Slavik,” she softly coos. Octavia communicates without any more words that she wants to sit on your lap. You lean against the side of the interior and kiss her neck. There’s a sizeable hickie there from earlier, purple already. You can’t help but grin, knowing she’s carrying proof of your afternoon delight.

You hum the familiar tune, eliciting a spiteful chuckle from Octavia. She strokes your chin, feeling the five o’clock shadow as you gently caress her breasts. Octavia moans just the slightest bit as you squeeze them harder, then harder still. She sighs and lifts her head as you venture south. You kiss her neck and feel your pants begin to grow uncomfortable as you lightly cup her womanhood. The warmth is fantastic.

“Ah, maybe water can wait...” Octavia says softly as you stroke her hot femness through her pants. She melts like butter to your touch. The heat intensifies a bit, the liquid seeping all the way through.

You slip your hand under her pants slowly, drawing out a hot gasp of delight. Octavia undoes the button of her pants with a little pop and shrieks.

“Medley!”

“That’s an odd thing to shout during, Octavi-oh.” Medley stands outside, looking at the two of you with her jaw on the gravel. Octavia scrambles to fix her pants and hide while crickets chirp and guitars play behind a parking lot and a heavy wooden wall.

“Slavy!” Medley finally shouts, her melons heaving in their heavy-duty holster. “What the FUCK?! I thought we had something!”

You wipe your slightly damp fingers on your khakis and stand up on your suddenly stiff knees. “No, no, we do! We, wait, we?” you ask. “What’s this ‘we’ shit?” You gesture to both Octavia and the exasperated Medley. She looks particularly drunk tonight, her hair horrible and her makeup extra-whorish. “We as in you and me, or we as in Octavia and I?”

“Asshole!” she shouts. “Get the fuck out here, you fucking prick, I awta kick yer ass. You too, bish.”

“No, I’m not going out there,” Octavia states.

“Why not?!”

“Because,” she says. “You’ll assault me, that’s why.”

“Damn STRAIGHT!”

“Girls,” you interject, loathing the altercation already. “Calm down, let’s go inside an-”

“YOU calm down! Fucking scumbag, get your ass backstage, we go on in like an hour and I’m not near drunk enough.”

You give Octavia a look and crawl outside. The cool air is a comfort and a pain, bringing new life to your lungs but killing the musty and lusty heat. Medley trods heavily in front of you. Octavia climbs out and follows, locking up.

The parking lot is packed. Pods of partiers drink and smoke and wait and refresh outside in the clear, warm night. The summer night is not cold, but it’s not the heat of a sweaty van or the cooked stage. You give the burly guy at the back door a nod, but you don’t need to. Ponyville’s small enough and you’ve played here so much that he might as well be an old friend. Too bad you can’t remember his name.

“Can’t believe this shit...” Medley mumbles loudly as you head to the equipment room. The band on at the moment is not slowing down at all, they’ve got a very dark and grandiose energy. You hold a hand behind you and make Octavia covertly stop.

You turn and give her a nod, receiving a smile. Medley half-stomps to the back room as you and Octavia sneak into the thickest part of the crowd, disappearing immediately into plain sight.

“WE, THE, PEO-PLE...” the singer screams out at the top of his lungs, the entire ensemble engaged in an epic set. You resist the urge to dive into the pit and shove the sweaty teens around; you’ve got to avoid bruises and bumps and broken bones for tonight. Octavia is beaming at your side on the outer rim of the mosh pit, however. The song seems to be coming to an end, but it just falls out to a slower and somehow louder section. Like some of the symphonic music Octavia forced on you, it sprouts a smile on your face and a lift in your gut. The feeling is amazing, without equal.

Octavia sneaks her hand to yours, and you look down at her. The bassist and cellist’s face is flush, she’s feeling it, too. This music is like the best of both worlds: thumping bass and hard, abrasive guitars with intense polyrhythms, and the soul-wrenching quality and professional precision of a world-renowned orchestra. It’s as if 18th century composers passed their genius onto hate-filled adolescents. Octavia’s pretty face makes everything that much more meaningful. You hold her hands and just want to hoist her up as the song progresses through cheering and a little drop-off.

The vocals smooth out fantastically, giving rise to an alien, high-tech feeling ballad. Majors precede minors, and the uplifting feeling turns into cement. Octavia smiles wide and laughs out loud, a precious sound heard in the crowd.

“What’s funny?” you ask, nearly shouting.

“You!” Octavia gives you a quick peck and a hug, then leads you to the back of the crowd. “Your face when you were looking at me, it was hilarious!”

The both of you find a little railing near less people and lean. “What do you mean?”

“You were grinning like a dumb monkey, is what I mean. It’s cute.” Octavia gives you a quick peck.

You feel her body nuzzle closer as you bump hips. “I couldn't help it, the music, it... it was nice.”

“No, you’re nice,” Octavia says resting her head on your chest. You just want to skip the show and spoon for a few hours.

“Are we on next?” you ask Octavia quietly, not sure if she can hear. She nods, rubbing her face into your stained shirt.

“Fuck yeah. Hopefully Medley isn’t too drunk.”

“I know, right?” Noteworth adds. “She’s full on rustled, I tell ya. Hey, you two uh, a thing then?”

You look up and see the guitarist with a nonchalant look. He’s got his work shirt on too: a greasy navy blue mechanic button shirt with a stained wife beater under. “Where the hell did you come from, Noteworth?”

“A place. Er, backstage. Like I said, Medley is in a bad way.” He scratches the back of his head, looking around awkwardly. “Er, so... yeah. Let’s go back and make sure Medley doesn’t break a bottle of schnapps over a snare, okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, remembering the gravity of the situation. “Yeah, let us go, then.”

Octavia remains silent as she follows the two of you backstage to the room by where you met earlier. You can hear shouting long before you get to the door.

“And if I have to fucking haul your shit around ONE MORE TIME, I’ll hold your puny putrid cock and cut off the rest of your ugly fucking body!” Medley continues screaming at Seventh String. It looks like he’s just watching the paint slowly rot on the wooden walls, ignoring the bullshit she’s spewing. The last comment hit home with you, however.

Noteworth tries to sneak a word in. “Medley, calm dow-”

“No, you!” You shout back, drawing a sudden silence from everywhere. It’s as if the band heard you. “Shut your dirty mouth, Medley, and open up your waxy ears, because I have something to tell you.” You take one step closer, blocking the door. “You and me, we never had a damn thing. You batted those eyelashes at me and you might as well have been trying to tickle down an iron curtain. Second, you have fucking horrible taste in music! Take that song you forced the band to listen to a week ago. ‘Back in the Saddle’? That’s fucking... lame. You, how you look, how you talk, how you act, how you sound, how you ‘sing’, it’s all described aptly by one four letter word: lame.” You turn in place and squeeze the bridge of your nose, eight familiar eyes fixed on you and broiling your rage into a high-pressure steam.

Medley leans heavily on an expensive bass drum. “B-but you always texted me back-”

“Because you’re fucking pathetic and you seemed like you wanted the recognition! Stand the hell off my stuff, it’s worth more than you. Go out and buy a real damn metal album, you dizzy bitch.”

Medley tears up some more, her cheap makeup already all over her face and skimpy top. Eight eyes are on her, and she’s too weak of constitution to stomach it. “F-ff-” she can’t even mumble a rebuttal before she storms out, nearly hitting the door frame.

“Holy...” Noteworth whispers. “Dude.” He walks over and clasps you on the shoulder. “Dude! Dude, you just, dude!”

“I think what he’s trying to say is ‘nice going, getting rid of the dead weight’.” Octavia grabs your other shoulder gently, convincing you to look up at her.

“Yeah. Uh, thanks.” You look up and see Seventh String offer a fist. You bump it and crack your neck. “I’m sorry, I gue-”

“No, man,” Seventh says. “We’re sorry. Me, mostly.” He takes up his guitar case in one hand and takes one step to the door. “Sorry for letting that girl in the band. She did know how to suck cock like a pro though.”

“No way!” Noteworth shouts. “You too? Oh man!”

“Slut,” Octavia barely whispers under her breath.

“Indeed.” You feel validated, to say the least. Octavia stays nearby and averts her eyes. You accept her hand with a smile when she sneaks it to yours.

“Uh, I just thought of something,” Seventh says. “Who’s gonna do the vocals?”

“You, like always?” Noteworth states like it’s hardly an issue.

“No,” you but in. “The singing. The girl’s part is kinda important.”

A silence carries throughout the room. Noteworth and Seventh String look around, ignoring the coming showtime. Octavia squeezes your hand and catches your eye. Her magenta orbs are unsure, but capable. You know she can sing, but, can she do it?

“Octavia,” you say without much thought.

“N-no,” she says instantly. “I, uh.... no, I couldn’t...”

Noteworth and Seventh String look up now.

“Uh, Octavia?” Seventh String asks. “Can you... sing?”

She nods. “Yeah, I took ten years of choir.” Her tone is begrudgingly confident, as if she is absolutely sure of herself and her abilities, yet doesn’t want her neck on the line.

“And you know the lyrics?” he asks.

Octavia’s level stare is like stone.

“That means yes,” you whisper, flicking Octavia on the side. She erupts in an adorable little fit, protecting her ticklish sides.

You laugh and deflect her retaliation with your forearm, backing off and sneaking in another pinch or two.

“Alright!” you say, holding Octavia at arm’s length. “Alright, so Octavia will do the vocals tonight with you, Sevy.”

“Right,” he says, half paying attention. He had pulled out his tuner sometime and began wanking around, running through a few riffs with ease. Noteworth was gone in the bathroom, and Medley was likely in the women’s room, blowing chums for cash.

Not really, you assure yourself, but who cares? “Alright,” Octavia whispers, finding her bass.

“Nervous?” you ask quietly, getting your crap together. The red digital clock on the wall says you’re on in ten, but the band on is still going strong.

Octavia opens her case and begins getting ready herself, the band on still blasting away. “I’d be lying if I said no. But,” she continues with a little sigh. “I think no matter how we do, and I’m fairly certain we’ll do great, I’m certain tonight will be a fantastic night.”

You give her a little wink and sit on a case, not much to do while the other band is up. “So you’re excited then?”

“My heart’s beating like a damned humming bird, yeah I’m excited!” Octavia crosses her legs and rocks in her seat some. “Maybe a bit nervous as well.”

“Don’t be,” you reassure her, looking for a proper place to pop a squat. “I’m sure you’ll kill it tonight. We all will. Without that dead weight you’ll have to work a bit harder, but... I’m sure you’ll do great. Fantastic, and if you don’t feel like singing any particular part, just let Seventh do it.”

“Yeah?” she replies. “I guess.”

“You guess? Bullshit, you didn’t convince me!”

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Eh, good enough.” You give up and sit on the floor in front of her, hungry for another taste of her pie. You take off your buttoned shirt and lean against her chair, resting between her knees. Octavia rests her bass on your head, but you couldn’t care less.

A little time passes with no noteworthy occurrences. Octavia plays some bits unamplified, all but a few melodies escape your recollection. Before long, however, you’re woken up by a sudden cheering. The blasting music has finally ended, it seems.

Before any time at all, it seems like you’re on stage and ready to perform. The crowd is definitely warmed up, the last set must have been pretty great.

Some fit guys and girls are already at work moving the heavier stuff when you get to the back door with Octavia. You help adjust the drums and other stuff to your liking, mostly. You’ve got a fairly standard metal drummer’s setup, but a few personal modifications. Two china cymbals, for example. There’s a special stick bag hanging from a tom, you smile and think of the twenty-minute long song that will be used for. The band mills around on stage, letting the crowd collect again after a bathroom break, smoke break, shot break, breather, whatever. The large hall is stuffy with sweat of a few hundred. The turnout is the biggest you’ve seen, and you’re the headliner. It’s fucking beautiful.

Seventh String catches your eye. You twirl a stick and give him a little nod. You smack every drum seven times, making sure it’s tuned. Luckily, they are. Octavia cracks her neck and rolls her sleeves up. She has her sweater vest over a nice lavender blouse, deep pink in the reddish stagelight. The theme for tonight’s show is purgatory, just like the name of your album. Purgatory, by Fallen is Babylawn. Has a nice ring to it.

Noteworth wanks some, tapping up and down the frets in a nearly random pattern, drawing a few hollers from the teenage sluts in the crowd. He plays the 9/8 riff twice, then stops to stretch his fingers.

At last, when you’re just getting in the zone, Seventh String plays a chord and steps to the microphone, his long blond ponytail grotesquely neat.

“Good evening, ladies and gentile genitalia. How the fuck is Ponyville tonight?!” Seventh String shouts into the mic, getting a huge response. “BULLSHIT! I can’t hear a damn thing! I guess Silence is Spoken took your balls, huh? Let’s hear it for those fuckers, they’re fresh from Baltimare and came all the way on their own tour just to see little old you. Ain’t that kind? Come on, were they killer or were they FUCKING KILLER?!”

The crowd erupts again, maybe a bit louder. You pound a little double bass, just to make sure your testicles are functioning at full capacity. “NOW IS THE TIME!” Seventh screams. “NOW IS-actually, one announcement.” A few boos, mostly playful. One “get on with it” can be heard. The voice is a little familiar, but you shrug it off. Octavia strolls around, shaking her long black hair about some. The view from behind is pretty nice.

“Before we go on,” Seventh goes on, “those of you with any mathematical prowess may have noted our diminished sum upon this performing platform. Our vocalist Medley couldn’t make it, and I’m not sure if she’s coming back. But,” he says. “BUT,” he shouts, “IF YOU SEE HER, SEND HER A BOUQUET OF RADIOACTIVE DICKS!” Seventh lightens up and pulls the mic close to his face. He speaks in a timid tone: “She’s out of the band.” He regains his stage presence and takes a short walk around. The crowd is chirping and buzzing with some confusion, at least those who actually know the band and it’s members. Three, well, two of the band members actually grew up here.

“Eeyup, she dun fucked up. Long story short, we’re a four man group now!” The crowd cheers some, inquiries fly above those. Some accusations even trickle through to the back of the stage where you sit, ultimately bored.

“But NOW IS THE TIME! FOR TOMORROW, IS THE SUMMER SUN CELEBRATION! Be sure to head up to the library for the afterparty! But DON’T TELL ANYONE, CUZ GODDAMN IT’S A SURPRISE!” Seventh’s vocal stylings are really a credit to dementia. “NOW HEAR THIS! BEYOND THE STARS, LIES YOUR DEMIIIIISE!!”

The crowd screams their lungs out, finally getting what they paid for.

You take in the biggest breath you can and roar as loud as possible: “YOU WANNA SEE FUCKING CRAZY?!” Three quick slaps of the china and the first song explodes into the air. A grueling, yet clockwork-precise blast beat crushes everything in it’s path, a double bass and cymbal and snare and tom earthquake blasts forward. You keep the pressure on, already making yourself breath hard. The bass amp is next to you, just like it should, bathing you in a brutal and perfect and constant chordal progression in a complex rhythm. You finish the fill with a spastic and perfect roll then a one-bar blast, then take it down a notch.

The chaotically organized opening was picture perfect, and you can only assume the audience looks like angry hornet soup. Seventh String and Noteworthy take the lead with their dual solo, a perfect melodic line with a perfect harmonic above. Octavia loses herself to the metal, a precious sight, when you can see it. You never lose a note of her heavy sound, however. Some say the bass is the foundation of the band. Dammit, it is, and that’s fucking important. You grin and run along, keeping the double bass spot on. This whole song is reminiscent of a giant, maybe ancient train on a prophetically unstoppable path to a divinity’s unbreakable temple. The analogy Seventh String came up with made more sense to Octavia than you, but the image became clearer once you heard the song they composed.

This song was one of four that they wrote together. The other five were written individually; Octavia wrote three. Technically, you remember as you blink away a bead of sweat, she’s the lead writer. Except for the intense solos, the chords of which are her brainchild, Octavia really did make the band. You risk a look and catch her looking at the ceiling, sure and trusting in herself and her bandmates. She carries on, just like you, in the background. Like a nuclear engineer on a submarine, she forces the ship into violent waters.

Before you know it, the song’s headed into another, just like you’ve all practiced. The next song starts off slower, and you get a chance to catch your breath. Octavia plays a broken chord, each note perfectly tuned and in minor to the last. Then another, progressing on to a crowd of cheering fans. Not a huge one, each scream of praise can be heard individually. But they’re dedicated, earned, and ever growing.

Octavia steps to her, Medley’s, microphone and takes a deep breath. Without even needing to hum the pitch or anything, she hits it dead on. “This life,” she begins softly, knowing the true way to sing it. Medley always butchered the tone for the sake of sounding deeper than the shallow kiddie pool she was. “... Is destroying all my dreams. It tears the seams at what seems like it should last, making dust from perfect slabs. This life,” she goes on, you and her the only ones playing at this section. “... Erodes this life, taking our work, labors laid to waste. This love,” she sings, dropping into the darkest, most harsh chord ever. It’s a lochryan, she says, whatever that is. “... is a paradox of needing. This life, dank and rife with loneliness, we live... love... learn to keep our matches dry.” You play a small fill as the other two join in, riding shotgun to the vocals and the haunting melody.

“Metaphors fail the wit, scraping dirt just for a hit, who gives a shit who’s getting fucked? An orchard can’t heal the sick, but medicine can’t feed the thin, the fatties can’t see us beyond their chins.”

You blast away a thick fill, beating out a double bass and smacking the crash on the dome at the end, creating a cute little “ting” at the end of a heavy, complex two-bar rhythm. You unleash the monster and just go, letting the fury of your hate flow forth with practiced and intelligent precision. The others come in when they’re supposed to. You come off the solo and level out onto a complicated and double bass heavy section, you the churning wheels of a speeding, bass-fueled locomotive.

“LIIIII-VING...” Seventh String shouts into the microphone. “IIIIIS KIIIIILIIING LIIIIIIIIFE...” he finishes the verse, you slapping out a fill after every line. Some are thicker than others, some are more syncopated.

The next section is a favorite. A harsh breakdown, lengthy and with all three guitars in unison, on harmonies and all, push out a crazy Mozart-esque arpeggio. The rush of a perfect song, it’s unparalleled. Unlike accomplishing avoiding a member of the secret police, you aren’t left in the heart-racing purgatory of doubt and fear. You’ve won, and there’s no downside or worry.

The breakdown breaks down, and instead of finishing strong, it decays, acid melting the chordal structure and nipping at the tempo. It’s tough to master, but the four of you find faith in Octavia’s lead, her amp right behind you. As the notes slowly fall away forever, you feebly lay down a few more hits.

A gross little noise plays in your ear, Octavia’s final sounds eek out, if they can be called that. A truly brutal ending.

The crowd erupts at the ending, bringing you back from the zone. You smile wide, wiping some sweat away, and immediately notice Octavia to your right. She smiles at you, her long black hair looks like she just went a few rounds with a leaf blower and lost. Her face reflects the stage lights with some healthy sweat, making some of her bangs curl on her forehead.

Ponyville is still cheering when she approaches you, setting her bass down on the ground. Octavia steps on the set platform, leaning over some. Her lips, her luscious lips move some, but you can’t hear a sound over the crowd. You gesture your deafness, and Octavia just smiles, rolling her eyes. Suddenly, the bassist lifts her sweater vest over her head and drops it at her feet. She rips her blouse off, pulling the buttons clean off. Octavia stands in just a bra in front of you, her face blood red and smiling. Octavia quickly pulls her sweater vest back on to some booing. You thump the bass pedal a few times like a heart, “lub dub, lub dub.”

Octavia furiously flips you a finger, her lips curled up in an enraged grin in spite of her embarrassment. Funny, she’s hardly bashful when she turns around and bends over, slowly picking up her bass. You stop the heart gag and watch her stand up and strut to her microphone. Her little argyle vest fits her like a glove, almost. You’re jealous of the crowd, who has a better view of her front. You do, however, get some quality time to drink in the shape of Octavia’s legs in her tight pants.

A wolf whistle penetrates the cheers and shouts. Seventh string whips his hair around, letting it hang around his face and microphone. “Your faces melted yet, can we go to the afterparty and get blitzed now?” The crowd shouts again, voices louder and happier than others.

“No?!” Seventh looks at Noteworth in a mock questioning. “Are these fuckers serious, we gotta keep playing? FUCK!” He grabs the frets and screams, strumming harsh chords. “WE’RE FUCK-ING BROKE!” You brap out the double bass rhythm with that lick, the hook of your song “Fucking Broke”.

“WE’RE!” Fucking broke! a few of the fans chant, actually knowing you or your music. “YOU!” Fucking Broke! A few more join in. “FACE!!” FUCKING BROKE! Nearly every tired and sore-throat body in the crowd shouts this time. You play a signature of yours, a triple bass intro to your personal second-favorite song. Like tying your shoes, the rhythm is so engraved into your mind, you could do it blindfolded. It’s a short intro, but fucking powerful nonetheless.

The more stable song starts out, even if the riffs are insane. Seventh starts the song, after your lead in, with a very catchy and original melody. This song is your barn burner, your jam session. It can go for the allotted three minutes, or it can go for fifteen if everyone takes a lengthy solo. Tonight, it takes seventeen minutes up. Octavia’s controversial addition to this chart is what makes it the best. After two choruses and three verses and two solos, the song breaks down to a really catchy little bassline. Instead of a heavy metal track, it’s more like ska. You considered a trombone solo, maybe a trumpet, but that might not be fitting. Medley said she knew a chick who played trombone, but, well, she’s not here now.

While the punky section is over, a little rest is given. The music rises slowly on a crescendoing drum roll. Then, the “bass drop,” as Octavia put it, comes. The tempo nosedives and the volume explodes. The triplets are excruciating on your calves. They burn a deep, good burn for the seventeen second long bass drum “roll”. The guitar solo is a dual one, Noteworth playing the upper harmony this time, all the while you and Octavia driving them on. The ending leaves an unrelinquished wanting in your heart, even if the organ is beating upwards of two hundred times a minute.

Seventh and Noteworth stumble and meander on stage after the marathon, sweating hard. Octavia bends over a little, spreading her feet just past shoulder-width. You, with a seat built in, just go half limp. The crowd, which you can only see the craniums of, looks almost just as beat.

“Danke,” Seventh String says tiredly into the mic. “That’s a favorite, as you all may or may not know.” He takes a deep breath, setting his guitar on a stand and removing the mic from it’s home. He takes a deep breath and continues conversing with the crowd, considerably endowed with it’s numerical composition. “We here at Fallen Is Babylawn Corporation would like to thank each and every one of you mighty masturbators for coming out tonight, for without you, we are nothing. And without us, you’re nothing. And you know what else, lovelies? You need us, that’s right. Indeed, you need us like food, because, we know you.” He turns and gestures at Octavia, sweat on her gorgeous face. “And we know you need tits. Well, we got ‘em. And we know you need dicks. Well, we got too many, please take one as you leave tonight.

“But, above aaaaaallll genitalia, we are certain you need this more than anything: Purgatory.” He stands up and replaces the microphone and throws his shirt down. “BECAUSE!” he shouts over some feminine screams. He’s so damn lanky, you can’t imagine why he’s the “cute one”. “Because, we know you need to shovel some more dirt onto your moral high ground!” A brief pause hangs in the air.

“No? Nah, fuck that, am I right? Anyway, a ticket lets you hear us once. An album, now THAT, ladies and gentlesquatches, will let you listen to us in the home, in the car, on the john, while you’re reading, while you’re fucking, while you’re jerking off, while you’re jerking off in the shower, while you’re at one of our shows, while you’re jerking off at one of our shows, while security tosses your perverted ass into an alley for jerking off in public, on a walk, while you’re jerking off, while you’re watching us jerk off, while we’re playing the damn music on the album-folks, fucking grab one! They’re like, twelve bucks and they’re still warm from the oven! Now, I remember while we were mixing the ingredients to make ours-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Even you can hear Liam as he shouts, his voice is man.

Seventh stands up fully and steps back some. “Fine, be that way!” He says with a little chuckle. “Fine, you want we should another song for ya?” He strolls back around and hangs up his mic, then finishes his water and grabs another. “Fuck I gotta piss. We’ll be concise for ya, but not TOO MUCH!”

“Bitch, eyo bitch,” Octavia says into her microphone, hardly shy on stage.

“The FUCK do you want, Octavia?” Seventh grabs his guitar again, Noteworthy cracks his neck.

“Hey, let’s play the cover we were doin’ two weeks ago. Exiter, wasn’t it?” A single voice in the crowd screams something, you can’t hear it.

“Fuck, the one with the... yeah, hell yeah!” He steps away from the mic and nods to Noteworth, and it seems he remembers the song just fine. You’ve actually just listened to it, making out and getting head from Octavia. You laugh to yourself a bit, catching Octavia’s wink. You return a big thumb. It looks like you’re all going to do the faux encore with a twelve minute masterpiece written by an older heavy metal band from right here in Equestria.

“Pretty ladies and the paling competition,” Seventh says in his announcer voice. “Please strap on your favorite phallus and ream your favorite butt to tonight’s last tune: Exiter, by Lunar Priest!”

A few people in the crowd explode, sending the rest tumbling in an uproar of cheering. Seventh String starts off with a riff from another song, but that’s the way Exiter started off in the practices. You get the tempo from Octavia’s accompaniment, then join in, officially starting the song.

The beginning gallop is easy enough, but still fucking killer. You allow yourself some time to admire Octavia’s slick body as she rides the wave. You let them play the broken chord four bars, then hit the road running. You don’t have to strain yourself with the intense section for long as the first verse begins.

“Rising to the heavens, postponing the dawn, looking like a shooting star, breaking through the mold! Darkening the horizon, damning all the land, no longer is she among us, eternal night’s at hand!

“Stay up for Exiter! Evil is her task, wake up for Exiter! Morning begs to ask...” The chord progression isn’t very easy to digest completely, but fun as hell to hear. That makes the music hard, but sound easy. Octavia’s adding all sorts of interesting stuff, too, like accents and things on different beats. You catch on to her patterns during the verse, and play on those some. Octavia moves a bit closer to you and slaps out her syncopates stuff even harder. You hear her eighth-note figures and raise her sixteenths, making a crazy sound appear. The rhythm doubles on itself when you hit the second and fourth sixteenth notes as Noteworth takes the first solo section. Just a classic arpeggio, but the melodies sound really cool.

What you and Octavia do there actually create a weird constant cycling of sixteenth notes. You strain and keep it up, staying atomically precise. Octavia stomps as the solo finishes and backs off, relenting to the previous pace. You gladly ease up on the snares and go back to riding along, neither pushing forward nor pulling back.

Octavia stands in front of her mic and sings backup for the next verse. Her bass playing doesn’t degrade one bit from perfect. God, she’s like a robot with how consistent she is. It’s truly inspiring. Octavia’s perfection is it’s own unintentional leadership. “Everything she touches, freezes in her grip. Let her see you sleeping, well ain’t that a gyp?! First you’ll snore and slumber, hump and light a cig, the very way you live your life will be forever dimmed! Wake up for Exiter! Damnation is her task, stay up for Exiter, here she comes now, DROP TO YOUR KNEES AND KISS HER FEET, IF YOU PLEASE!”

You pick up the silence left after the shout with a drum solo, only Octavia galloping through the chords with you. The next verse comes in like a comet. “Who is this new mare?! Where is she from? Exiter comes, for everyone. You’ll never see her, but you’ll feel the purple haze blaze through your hair!”

The crowd cheers as you move through to the next section, it’s damn impressive how the nearly religious chords make the stage shake. “She’s come by to break you all, make you fucking snap. Look up and see only the moon and stars. So much self-indulgence in her fairytale grin, complacency becomes prevalent, just like white lies.”

The chorus rings out again, and you can hear Seventh’s voice becoming a little hoarse. Octavia’s rings true with his, however, allowing him to back off a bit. Noteworth plays the next solo as Seventh gets a quick sip. Octavia chokes her hand up on the neck and plays an octave below, perfectly mirroring Noteworth. The solo is more or less exactly like it was on the original LP, but you’ve tweaked it for the next section. Seventh comes in, sweeping arpeggios in the chords. He even adds some pelvic thrusts as he wanks away, dominating the stage again. The solo comes to an end, but he keeps at it, tapping away some, letting Octavia lead the next verse.

“When she leaps among us, with her royal yell, all shall hear the ringing in their ears, a special brand of hell! Devouring the children, or the fable goes, only when there’s night and candy shall we not be her foes!

“Stand up for Exiter! Damnation is at hand, wake up for Exiter, here she comes now, DROP TO YOUR KNEES AND KISS HER FEET, IF YOU PLEASE!”

Solo follows solo and before you know it, Seventh gives the riff for the end of the song. Everyone waits until he’s done, then blasts out a unison rhythm in 9/8, just to fuck with everyone. You and Octavia lead Noteworth and Seventh String to speed up as they go. If you could see at all beyond the mini-jungle gym of metal in front of you, you think you’d see smoke coming off of the fret boards. Then, with one sudden bang, the song ends perfectly. The last chord rings throughout above the cheering crowd.

“FALLEN, IS, YOUR BABYLAWN!” Seventh shouts, kicking his stained shirt into the front rows. You try to stand a little to alleviate your knees, sending a pain up and down the side of your legs. Yeah, they’re a bit stiff. Your ears are ringing despite the plugs. You bend down and pick up a dropped stick when a white, sweat-traced garment lands on your head. You take Octavia’s blouse off your head and fling your shirt at her with your stick, missing by a few yards.

The crowd quiets voice by voice. That was easily the best set ever. The best part is that now, you can leave. You force yourself to stand and hear what Octavia has to say. You take the plug out of one ear and lean close to her, her mouth close enough to grace your hot ear with her breath.

“H-hey,” she nearly shouts over the ambient roar.

“Hey!” you shout back.

“C-can we get out of here? Like, now?! I, fuck, I...” Octavia looks around some. You follow her eye and notice some roadies waiting to rush out and grab some gear.

“See you fuckers two blocks down for the afterparty!” Seventh String shouts into the microphone. “We can’t wait to smoke your weed and drink your booze!” The house lights come on and some lame music comes on the speakers. The groupies rush out onto the hot stage and begin taking stuff back piece by piece. None are in a huge hurry, and all smell strongly of cannabis. You step back and pull Octavia backstage as some friends of Noteworth come onstage and mill around, planning. Seventh String helps pack and also hovers some, chatting, slapping hands and stuff.

Bass case in hand, Octavia drags you by the arm away from an acquaintance and adoring fan. Spin Disk, one of the other band’s guitarists and an amature percussionist. You sort of resent Octavia for pulling you away from him, but she makes up for it the second you step outside into the slightly cooler air. A fresh breath is very invigorating, nearly as much as a sudden and wet kiss. Octavia doesn’t even wait until you’re to her van to pounce. You catch her and lead the short way to her car. She furiously moves her lips with yours, shoving her tongue into your mouth and sucking hard on yours.

You help her get the rear door open and slide her instrument in, certain the set is in good hands. It’s Seventh String’s as much as yours.

Octavia slides out of her van and hugs you tight, grabbing your butt playfully. She laughs a little and walks around to the driver’s side. You hop in the passenger and head out to your neighborhood, more or less ignoring the big “HORE” written in red lipstick on the back window.

You put a hand on Octavia’s warm upper thigh as she drives. Your shirt is in back with hers, you look back and check. Before you know it, you arrive at Octavia’s place. You hop out and wait for Octavia to unlock the door, slipping back into your shirt,then pin her to the wall the second you’re inside.

Octavia moans in your constraint. “Got that protection on you, stud?” she whispers.

“No, it’s in my night stand.”

“We’re going to your place then, Slav.”

You pull her wrists to your side and share a deep, passionate french kiss with Octavia, feeling her melt in your arms. You taste her tongue properly this time, sharing your spit. Her delicious lips have their own unique flavor; it tastes like Octavia.

You don’t bother with the car since you’re only going to walk two blocks. Or, run. Octavia races you, her in sneakers and you in boots. She wins, only by a hair, but you’re less out of breath. Even after tonight’s intense workout, you’ve more endurance than her. You smile at that tidbit as you find your apartment key on the ring.

Octavia pulls you down to the couch. Luckily, you manage to kick the door closed on the way down. Her sweet lips carry a faint salty flavor from her sweat, and her body smells strongly of her natural odor. Octavia doesn’t smell bad. In fact her natural “musk” drives you mad with lust. The silence of your darkened living space is filled with moaning and smacking lips and slight sounds of friction of fabric running against fabric.

You roll over and nearly fall off the sofa, but catch yourself on your hand. “Follow me,” you say before Octavia can complain. She leaves her blouse on the couch and follows you to your bedroom in just her pants and sweater vest.

You open up your computer and play the last album that was playing, a favorite band. The music picks up mid-song on some quality speakers.

“Holy shit,” Octavia says, sitting on your lap, making your bed creak just a little. “This, is this STARS?”

“Yeah, it is-” Octavia pushes you down onto the covers. She smiles seductively down at you.

“Good choice,” she whispers. “I’m still riding a high from the show, Slavik.” She moves her body back and forth over yours, slowly moving to the brutal metal. “Ah, oh my god,” she closes her eyes and moans as you lift your leg against hers, your knee gently pressing into her sex. Octavia sits up on it, biting her lip as she grinds on your knee a bit. She’s on fire down below. You play with her like this as Octavia removes her top, then nearly tears off her bra. Octavia’s great tits fall out bouncing. She comes down again to let you catch her breasts and squeeze and pinch and bite them. Octavia’s moaning is too sexy as you suck on her beautiful breasts. She groans softly as her hand reaches to your crotch, cupping and pressing into your genitals. She undoes the zipper and massages the underside of your erect girth with her palm through the underwear.

Octavia pushes back and looks you in the eye as she licks her palm, then goes down to the ground. You sit up as she kneels before you. Octavia quickly pulls your pants off and then your underwear, leaving you in your shirt. She sighs heavily with hunger as she spies your full package. She lowers her head and kisses the base, licking all around it.

“Mmmmmm...” Octavia strokes and licks your whole organ hungrily as the music plays on a softer, sadder song. Magenta eyes hold yours as Octavia purses her lips around the tip. She holds your head in her lips and licks the thick, bulging head, lightly squeezing your sack in her hand. Octavia opens wide and sucks more of you into her mouth and pulls back, sucking hard. She goes down and sucks as she pulls back a few more times, the sensation is unbelievable. You lean back some and cup her head in one hand, letting her work. Octavia pushes her head down far and circles your cock with her whole tongue, taking extra time to play and suck on your head.

How Octavia is such a master cock sucker is a mystery, but you’re incredibly happy to have her work her magic. The music puts her in a weird trance, the melodic changes like signals to a sleeper cell. Octavia drools all over your hard, thick member. Her slimy spit falls from her lifted lips in strands to your wet dick. She lets them fall and jerks you off fast, her thumb and first digit squeezing your head with every downstroke.

When most of her saliva has fallen to her hand or her play thing, Octavia looks up, panting, her face a crimson. “Does that feel good, Slavik?”

You nod and sit up taller. “Fucking unbelievable, Tavi. I’m actually getting sorta close already.”

“Ahmm, oh god, tell me more.” Octavia looks up and gulps, staring at you and stroking you off swift and gripping hard. “Tell me about how I’m going to make you shoot your cum all over me!”

“Fuck, Octavia,” you say, suddenly close to climax. Her soft, wet fingers provide an amazing balance of friction and pressure. “Yeah, your hand is amazing. Suck it again, I love the way your spit looks when you let it fall like that. Ah, yeah, yeah go as deep as you can. It’s okay if you gag.”

Octavia can’t breath as your tip presses into her esophagus. She can only gurgle a little bit and go even deeper, filling her throat. She’s so tight and warm, until she comes up again. Octavia gasps for air, leaving her lips open wide. Spit clings to her face and your cock, creating several shimmering bridges. She makes a kissy face , joining the strands into one thick one. She picks it up with a wet hand and catches it in her mouth. She seems to savor the taste a little before kissing your head again, squirting her saliva onto you again. Most of her thick, slimy spit rises into the air as she pulls away. Octavia plays some more with her food, spitting and slurping and never swallowing.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s hot, Octavia. God, wanna make me cum? I’m so fucking close, where do you want me to cum?”

“M-mouth-?” Octavia says through a thick mouthful of meat. She sucks the head hard, gently moaning and going down again. She pulls back on your cock with your lips rapidly, stroking most of the length in a seemingly practiced motion. The sensation is unbearable. You place your right palm on her cranium groan as she goes on, fellating you to the finish.

“O, O you’re amazing, I’m gonna bust, ah, yeah just a little mo-oh... wait, waitwait, hold up!” Octavia lets go and swallows hard just before you reach the peak. Your cock throbs hard, but only leaks out a little cum. You hold back the sensations as much as you can, but it’s tough. You win, somehow, and hold off. Not cumming makes your balls ache fiercely.

“Sorry, Slav,” Octavia says, touching her neck. “I couldn’t take it, I, I just want more! I... uh, I also learned that ‘edging’ will make you ejaculate more.”

“From fucking where?”

Octavia moves her lips gently against the throbbing base of your shaft apologetically. “Um...” she says, humming and kissing your wet cock. “Internet.”

“But why?” you ask, leaning your head back as Octavia groans, sucking on your balls. She doesn’t even mind the short hairs.

“B-because,” she stammers, slobbering all over your genitals. “I, the taste, it... because.” Octavia grabs your dick and rubs the underside against her cheek. She strokes the defeated softness out until you feel ready to burst again. “Do, do you wanna shoot your cum in my mouth?”

“Fuck me, Octavia, when did you get so dirty?” You grin and sit up some, encouraging Octavia to continue.

She seems to take it as being put off, unfortunately. “I... I thought you would like it. Do you want me to be qu-”

“No, no not at all! Octavia, you’re so fucking sexy. Yeah, O, I wanna bust a huge load right in your cute little mouth. What do you wanna do with my cum, Octavia?”

The bassist perks up a little, smiling as she squeezes your throbbing organ by the base. “Swallow?” she says softly. Octavia moans aloud as she licks the base again. She just loves doing it, it seems.

“If you want! I’ve got tissues, just in case, so no worries.” You lean far back and knock a nearly empty box of white tissues down from a suspiciously convenient shelf. Octavia giggles some as you bring it to your side.

Octavia sucks at the base of your cock again, unashamed at flicking her tongue up and down the bulging underside. “Mmmm, alright, love. You getting close again?”

“Yeah, yeah. Octavia, work your magic, make the pain go away,” you facetiously plead. Octavia grins wide as she goes down again. Your unbelievably rigid member disappears into her wet, hot mouth again, making you feel that warm, trembling feeling in your core again. You buck your hips just the slightest as she finds her quick pace again. Octavia moans around your shaft, vibrating it some as her tongue caresses the sensitive bulge on the underside. You feel your sack clench up a bit just before your dick twitches.

No need for a warning as you cum hard. Octavia doesn’t slow her bobbing head one bit, maybe even speeding up some. Thick spunk shoots right into her mouth in an angry volley. You do your best to stay silent as Octavia seals her lips around the tip and strokes your slimy stick. She moans and quivers some, grabbing her breast hard as she tastes your sperm.

Octavia sucks out the last drops of hot jizz and leans back on her haunches, touching a finger to her lips. She clamps her eyes shut and wears a grimace as a gulp can be heard over the music. Octavia opens her eyes and looks at the ceiling, then tilts her head back and swallows again.

“Aaah, I got it,” she says with tainted pride. “W-was it too kinky, Slavik?”

You unclench your hands, whose muscles you had no idea were tensed, and touch Octavia’s hair. “No way, Tavi.” She blushes deeper at the pet name. “That was extremely sexy. Uh, just don’t expect a kiss.”

Long black hair hits your hand and knee as she smacks her palm with her face. Octavia gets up and sits on your lap, moaning just a bit as you kiss her neck. Octavia giggles softly as you grace her ticklish spot on her hip, sliding a hand up her slightly sweaty back as you lay her down. You take one large, round globe in your hand and squeeze hard, feeling her squirm with anticipation.

“G-go get some water, before I eat your pussy out for hours.” You nearly shove Octavia off of you. She gets up, reluctantly, staggering at first.

“Wait, Octavia,” you say, getting up behind her. You kick your pants aside and grab her close. “You look like you’re about to die from an unsated libido. Get naked, start warming up. I’ll be right back with some liquid refreshment.”

Octavia just smiles and sits down, sliding her hands over her chest. You watch just for a second, then take off in the buff.

You toss your shirt into a dirty clothes hamper and take the stairs two at a time as you head for the kitchen. You gulp down two glasses of water, replacing fluids you just now notice you’ve lost. It must have been a sizeable load. You grab three reused bottles of water and take the stairs three at a time back up.

When you return, Octavia’s sitting on her side in just her lacy black panties on your bed. You nearly drop your water in shock. There’s a saying that roughly goes “a woman’s body is a temple”. Octavia’s is a god damned perfect palace of precise proportions. Her round breasts are full, soft, youthfully perky. The way they hang slightly brings about a physical beauty that defies your first attempts at rationalization. Her sizeable chest accentuates her slender, long waist. You hunger to touch her sides almost as her tight, round ass, her shapely thighs and her pristine, and now wet womanhood.

“Oh, hey Slavik.” Octavia says with obviously false causality.

“H-hi,” you manage to say back. You gulp at your heart, hoping it will fall out of your throat and back to your chest. “G-got some water...”

“Danke,” she says laying down and stretching. You find your leg’s controls and make for your bed as she flips over and puts her great ass in the air, rolling forward and stretching like a cat. It’s adorably sexy. On the way, you change the harsh death metal to something a little more pleasant. You change the track from “Fungi Explosion” to “Darkwood Weir”.

“Oooh, that feels good,” Octavia says, stretching again. You set the water aside and kneel behind her, fully erect once again. You just grip her hips from behind, pulling her butt to your hips. Octavia yelps a little, then giggles, moaning softly and encouraging you to slide your cock up and down between her round cheeks. She looks back and bites her lip. “That feels even better, though.”

“Stand up on your knees, please” you say softly, holding Octavia close from behind as she does so. You spoon with her for a moment, holding her bare breasts in your hands and kissing her neck. She shudders and moans to your exploring fingers slipping further and further south, your other hand still holding one of her perfect breasts.

Octavia’s a waterfall down there. Her upper thighs are coated with her warm, slick, strong juices. You pull at her panties and pinch her sensitive, ticklish nipple. Octavia moves her nice ass around, grinding right into your girth, lightly coating it with some sweat and vaginal juices. You quickly adjust your rod so that it rests under Octavia’s wetness, the anatomy making it lift up into her flatly. You exhale as Octavia suddenly closes her thighs, trapping your cock in a hot, soft, moist embrace.

“Feel good, Slav?”

“Not bad, love,” you whisper in Octavia’s ear. You can’t help but groan softly as Octavia’s warm, slick thighs love on your manhood. Your hips move on their own, pushing into Octavia’s round ass and stroking her wet, hot panties with your helmet. The soft, satiny fabric does nothing to contain her overflowing womanhood.

Octavia reads your mind and bends over onto all fours. She flips over and rolls onto her side, reaching for some water. You don’t waste one millisecond. Octavia giggles as you pull her panites off. Her wetness stings your nostrils with a strong, strong scent. You exhale hotly onto her lips, absolutely sure she can feel every molecule of air passing over her petals. You drag your lips along hers, her little clitoris already hard to the touch. You lick her nub, eliciting a gurgle of surprise.

“Pf-gl-avik!” Octavia sputters, spitting out a mouthful of water onto herself. “I was d-drinking!”

“Sorry, O, I was eating,” you say with a wink. You look up at her apologetically, holding her nice, shapely thighs around your head. “You’re sensitive, I know,” you say to Octavia as you sneak a hand up along the underside of her upper leg. “The last thing I’d wanna do is make you... cum!”

You bite your lip and push your finger into Octavia’s pussy. She screams in surprised delight as your first digit sinks in far past the second knuckle, writhing around as Octavia squirms feebly. You would have her by the short hairs, if she wasn’t clean shaven. You lick her belly and wrestle her down, forcing your finger all the way inside. Octavia moans and twists around in pleasure, her hot twat is a wet fire around your digit.

“Yeah, ah, Slavik, that feels great...” Octavia churns the blankets up with her arms and legs. Your manhood is yearning for some moisture as you begin to force in a second finger. In her blissfully catholic state, Octavia’s throat catches cutely in pained joy, her mouth agape and smiling from ear to ear. You drink in Octavia’s facial and bodily reactions to two fingers like ambrosia.

“Ah-!” she finally says when you push harder into her vice-like tightness, Octavia’s hot, ribbed walls gushing with her juices.

You pull out your fingers and give her senses a break, even if it seems she just wanted more.

“You alright, Octavia?” you manage to ask, your entire being consumed with conflicting lusts. You urge to primally mount her hard, fuck her raw, cum in and on all of her. However, your soul, your heart just wants to take her slow, make Octavia reach orgasm after shaking, sweating, screaming, squirting orgasm. Both images make you hungry for the other.

“Yeah, Slav,” Octavia speaks softly. “That, that was great, b-but thank you for stopping. It, kind of hurt.”

“Bad?” you ask. Octavia moves to your side hugging you close. She nods, rubbing a wet cheek on your chest. “T-that bad?” you whisper.

“No,” she replies, sitting up. “I, it was, it hurt, a... quite a bit. But it’s gone now, it’s okay. I’m alright, really. Come on, Slav... you still, you’re still rock hard.”

“Yeah, how can I not be?” you say with a wink, licking the slime off your fingers.

Octavia takes your wet digits and sucks on them individually, hard. With a free hand, she strokes your strong member slowly. “Ah~” she says with a sexy little moan, letting your fingers pop out of her mouth. Octavia draws you in and kisses you deeply, sucking on your tongue when you offer it. In one motion, you find yourself under Octavia. She’s straddling you, holding her dripping twat over your wide chest. You reach under her thighs and encourage her to sit on your face.

You take a deep breath as Octavia lowers herself down. Her nice pussy smells so hot and tastes so good. You find yourself humping at air as you roll your tongue back and forth against her pink. You grip Octavia’s slender hips and suck on her clit hard.

“Aaah, Slav...” Octavia whispers, gripping your short brown hair and squeezing her thighs lightly around your face, lifting herself up. “S-so... so good, but can you finger me again? I wanna feel you hit my g-spot like you did, that was too great.”

“Like this?” you whisper back up at her, sucking on her clit, sliding your first finger inside. The position is a bit awkward, but you manage to turn your wrist in a way so that you can sweep back and forth, covering her special orgasmic place.

“YES!” Octavia cries out, undulating her hips back and forth on your face. Her fluids leak all over your chin and neck, soaking your stubble. The brunette cries out some more in pure joy as your wrist begins to tire. Octavia leans back some, letting you breath and relax.

You sit up as Octavia kneels next to you. She immediately pins you down and kisses you deeply, unashamed as she tastes her own juice. Octavia moans a little as you hold her breast and breaks away. She mops up some of her juices from your neck and chin, then swallows hard, showing off her throat to you.

Octavia straddles you again, laying her hips against yours, spreading her legs wide. Her hot body is all on yours. Octavia kisses your lips once, seductive and slow. With just the faintest bit of breath, Octavia whispers: “Fuck me, now.”

You slide your hands down Octavia’s back to her butt and pull her up to you for a deep kiss. Her firm, round ass is yours to command. After feeling her tongue and the heat of her mouth, Octavia pants hard and sits up, her wet twat laying right on your girth. Her soft petals squish under her weight.

“Let me get the rubbers, love,” you say to Octavia, lifting your hips gently and pressing up into her pussy with the base of your shaft. It feels natural, so good you can’t wait to get it in.

Octavia reluctantly gets off, likely getting off just like you at the rubbing. Your dick is crystalline as you get up and go to your dresser. The music continues as you grab the brand new package of twenty large condoms.

“Slav,” Octavia says softly, sliding back to the wall. “H-how many times did you wanna do it tonight?”

“Oh, I’ve got a crate downstairs, this is just gonna be until we go to the fetish room.”

A stare, harsh, then melting. Octavia smirks and unwinds her undue tension. “You’re getting a hang of that humor thing, love. But really, why twenty?”

You kneel down in front of Octavia and put your arms on her knees, then your head on your arms. “It was either three or twenty, and the price wasn’t much different. So why not twenty?” You sit up slightly and wind up your muscles, placing a strong palm on Octavia’s knee, the other hand still holding the package. “We’ll just go one by one, see how long it takes to run out.”

You carefully tear one of the dark-red packages open and roll it on carefully. It doesn’t go all the way to the hilt, despite it’s acclaimed “large” size. Octavia mentions this, and all you can offer is a surprised and indifferent shrug. You move to her again and place both hands on her knees.

Octavia bites her lip as you pry her knees open. You give her a kissy face and go down on her again. Octavia immediately grabs your head and rolls her hips into your face as you lick her pussy again. Her shakes and moans and giggles get you harder than hard. The cardboard box full of rubbers is lost in a mish-mash of blankets and limbs and saliva as you put a finger deep into a twat.

Octavia quivers some as you rest your head on her stomach. You stroke her thigh as her legs spread wide in the stuffy room, her great ass caressed by the soft, freshly stained sheets. You kiss Octavia’s stomach and stand back up on your knees. The effort is taxing.

“S-slav,” Octavia says in a hush. “Faster...”

You can’t help but beam and look into her eyes, Octavia’s round breasts rising and falling with her shallow breathing. Accelerating is easy, now. Octavia moans louder and deeper as you move your finger along her g-spot, your thumb compressing her clit. In seconds, Octavia’s twitching lightly and her nipples harden. “O-oh, oh yeah, Slavik, right there!”

Octavia arches her back as your finger becomes a blur, fucking Octavia as hard and fast as pleasurable. Octavia’s shoulders shake violently, then her whole body spasms, her hot, tight twat clamping down around your finger. You can’t even fully appreciate her orgasm before she squirts a long line of almost clear fluids all over your arm and bed and crotch. The hot fluid doesn’t have time to cool before your dick is bathed in another wash of Octavia’s girlcum. She shouts again and squirts another time. You move your rod in the way, your hard abdomen catching the rest like a backboard. Her essence drips into your cupped free hand as she spurts a fourth and smaller time. Octavia shivers some and squirts one last little shot, falling short and adding to the wet spot.

“F-fuck,” Octavia can barely whisper as you continue stroking her g-spot. Your finger was squeezed hard, but it still felt great. “Y-yes, oh my fucking god... Slavik, I’m so sorr-”

“Thank you!” you nearly shout. “Octavia, can you do it again?”

She nods, smiling and resting her head back. “Glad you love it, Scratchy hates squirting.”

“Fucking how? Come on, cum again!” you find your volume too high, but you can hardly help it. Octavia giggles a sorry, sad little laugh as you suck on her sticky clit. “Get some water if you need to, by the way.”

“Dank-oh, thanks...” Octavia goes mostly limp again to your finger.

You mastubate Octavia gently but quickly, touching her cervix and pulling out to the tight entrance. Her back arches in no time flat.

“G-god, yes!” Octavia softly screams. “Yes! Mmmmmore, more Slav, y-yeah... fuck, I’m gonna cum again. W-when you do that... that... that, so good, when you do... that... harder... push into, it... harder, yeah, yeah, yes! Oh, FUCK me!”

Octavia’s hair flies around in a messy whirlwind as your curl your finger up on every downstroke, pulling on her spongy little spot with every movement. Octavia sits up, making it a little more difficult to suck her clitoris, but she pushes your face away anyway.

“God, Slav, I’m gonna cum again, hard... where should I, s-”

“Squirt on my cock,” you hoarsely whisper. Octavia just smiles and sighs, her sweet breath gracing your filthy lips again.

You smile back at her and carefully prod her clit with your erection, managing to finger her at the same time. Octavia grabs an ergonomic marker from it’s cup on your desk and sticks it inside herself, after wiping and licking and seductively sucking it clean. You grip your shaft hard and slowly stroke as Octavia clenches her eyes and teeth, sitting up, stimulating her special spot for you. She makes the grey plastic tube turn to a blur inside herself, but slows down in defeat after just a little bit.

“C-can’t do it,” she nearly whimpers, her voice carries a tinge of pain on it. You just sit and watch her try, drinking in her edging pleasure. Seeing her so close is a bittersweet delight. After thirty solid seconds of watching Octavia rub her clit and fuck her pussy for you, you cave and give her a finger. Octavia smiles for a second as you lick the dirty marker clean, then drop it. She lifts her thighs over yours to let you get closer. Octavia rubs her clitoris furiously as you dip your finger inside again. Just ten seconds after you touch her, she seems on the verge of exploding. This angle, this glorious angle, isn’t going to work.

Octavia nearly screams as you roll back and pull her over you. Her cries of surprise and pleasure are muffled by the sheets near your head. You can hear her moans and her breathing again as Octavia lifts her head and cums. Your finger digs into her spongy little spot hard, forcing her to squirt immediately. A long pair of spurts come out and hit your protected rod, drenching the fake lubricant with real stuff. You move Octavia’s quaking hips down and force her to spurt all over your length at point-blank range. The heat comes through the rubber with no problem at all.

Spent again, Octavia goes limp and lays awkwardly on your torso. You stroke your throbbing organ until she comes back, her hot, sweaty body too good to keep still.

“J-just one more,” she whispers, breathing deeply. “One more, then we leave for my place so I can brush my teeth.”

“Works for me,” you reply with a tender kiss on her neck. “Then we can use your fetish basement. Mine’s a bit dirty at the moment, I’ve got to get the gimps to tidy up this week.”

Octavia shuts you up with another kiss, then looks into your eyes with her gorgeous, sincere, precious magenta rings that shine with a beauty that can only come from within.

“It was funnier the first time, Slav,” Octavia says softly. She lets her head fall and rest against yours as she stands on all fours, obviously tired. You let Octavia collect herself, her precious girlcum drying on your tool. You can’t help but jerk off as Octavia’s juice lubricates you. Your hand feels great, but you need the real thing.

“Octavia,” you whisper. “Do you want me to take over?” You lift your rod up until the tip graces her clitoris ever so softly, making her jump a little.

Octavia sighs deeply, her warm breath blowing gently past your ear. “Sure, Slavik. Take me any way you want. I’m yours, completely. Just, be gentle, please.”

You kiss Octavia’s tender neck again and roll her over, pinning her down with your body. You can taste her juices still on her lips. Her round breasts push into your chest until you sit up and stand on your hands, looking up and down her upper body.

No words are spoken as you push your tool into Octavia’s tight pussy. She closes her eyes and tenses up as your cock slips in, further and further. You feel her cervix just before your tool can go all the way into Octavia. You sit still and let your manhood fill her up, her soft pussy squeezing the base especially hard.

You can’t hold in a small moan at the pleasure pulling out brings. Every single inch of your girth is sucked on by Octavia’s tight, wet, hot vaginal walls. You push in once your head begins to slip out. Penetrating again is unbearably great fun.

“Oh god...” Octavia mumbles as you begin to move consistently. This position isn’t easy on your arms, but it’s still very fun, extremely intimate. You look down and watch Octavia accept you in over and over. You speed up, watching her wetness coat your length with every plunge. Soon enough, you find yourself breathing harder and moving faster. Sex with Octavia, so far, is miles better than the best you’ve imagined.

After a minute or so of closeness and slight sweat, your knee slips off the side of the bed. Octavia smiles up cutely as you stand, still mostly inside her.

“N-no,” Octavia says, grabbing your shoulders. She clasps her hands together behind your neck and lifts her hips some. “Do me like this,” she barely whispers.

You peck her lips once before standing and fulfilling her request. Octavia’s cute, smiling eyes close shut in ecstasy as the heavy music drives your blood, fueling your muscles to fuck her deeply. You speed up more and more, feeling all of Octavia’s tight, hot, wet insides. Even through the thin rubber, it feels so great. The sensations grow and grow in greatness, especially when you pull out and penetrate again. Octavia’s legs curl around your posterior and tense up every time you push into her. You imagine the visage of you in her, going from waist deep to just the tip and back in with force. Her tight fleshy walls yield to you with a considerable fight, but she loves it just like you. Octavia’s insides are so hot, it saps your energy. You suck air, not caring if Octavia sees you sweat.

“O, I’m getting close,” you pant softly, humping Octavia hard. Octavia just reacts with a tense moan, you think she might be near as well. On an impulse, you pick her up, carefully hugging Octavia as she giggles with amused delight. You feel her weight in your tired limbs and you absolutely love it. She’s still wrapped around your body for dear life.

Octavia kisses your cheek, neck and ear, then whispers. “Cum inside, baby. I’m... I came at least twice, an-ah...” she trails off as you lift her up and lower her down, stroking yourself with a one-hundred-twenty pound body. “I’m so close, too!” Octavia whispers in a tense little whisper.

“I’m gonna cum, Octavia!” You pant hard, hugging her close and humping into her as she rises and falls with you. You spread your feet some as your knees shake before climax. You pull out to her entrance, then let Octavia fall hard onto your rod.

“Ah!” Octavia’s spasming and short scream send you over the edge in an instant. You feel your muscles turn to jelly for a bit right when you explode. You regain your strength and then some as you hold Octavia close, humping just a bit as your cock spews thick spurts of cum. You grunt as Octavia shakes in your embrace, her nails digging harshly into your back. The explosion of senses fries your brain. Octavia shudders in your arms, her tight pussy shaking with her entire body, stroking you inadvertently. The feeling of Octavia on your tool is so great, so fantastic, it draws your orgasm out for at least twice as long.

You relax at last, spent. “Ah, easy, girl.” You kiss Octavia’s tense neck and lay her down gently. She still shivers gently, a wide grin on her face.

“Oh my fucking god...” she whispers, staring past the ceiling. You pull out and watch her face light up, then her eyes close with content. You gladly roll over and hold her as she comes down from her mountain top. Her lower lips are fucked red, but not bleeding or too raw. Octavia probably got more than she bargained for.

You kiss her cheek and pull the blanket over her, glad the next album in the rotation is made of softer stuff.

“Mmm, thanks so much, love,” Octavia says, nuzzling into your embrace and tucking herself in tight under the heavy blanket.

“You’re so welcome, Tavi.” You pull yourself to Octavia’s slightly sweaty back, leaving the pink-tinted rubber on for now. You feel tonight pulling hard at your eyelids as you smell Octavia’s soft hair in your face once again.

“Love you, Slavik.”

“Love you too, O.”

Despite the fuzzy feeling in your heart, you can’t deny yourself a few touches of Octavia’s tender sex. She sighs and moans some, heat returning, but you just tease for now.

Your hand slides up Octavia’s sticky skin to rest on her stomach. It moves on it’s own to her groin again, and there it rests for several hours.

* * *

A blast beat gently pushes you off of the comfy cliff of sleep and into the tumultuous valley of waking. You roll over and find the floor, face first. You pick yourself up and slowly remember who you are, again, and kill the music. The computer screen murders any night vision you had, rendering your dark room more or less pitch black. You turn on a desk lamp by feel, carefully avoiding several empty cans.

You scratch all over, still nude from last night. The constricting rubber on your manhood, as well as the general stench of the room, makes you smile a tired little proud grin. You run a dirty hand through your short brown hair and answer nature’s call. You’re tempted just to hop in the shower now, but Octavia definitely would appreciate a hot bath as well. Maybe more, after her protein shake.

“Heh... gross.” You meander back to the bed in the not so dim light and find Octavia, stirring gently. You get down and get in bed. She flips over and sighs, reaching a capable hand out to you. Gladly, you let her grab you and pull herself close. Just as her hand traces your chest, Octavia stops and looks up, shocked. Her eyes meet yours, she’s paralyzed.

“Octavia?”

A brief pause and a few blinks pass.

“God dammit, Slav,” Octavia says with a light tone, exhaling with a soft, relieved chuckle.

You hug her close, and she immediately kisses your neck and hugs you back. “Sorry,” she whispers with a little kiss on the ear. “I was expecting a girl to climb in bed.”

“Oooh,” you simply say lightly, happily letting Octavia lay on you. She moves her leg over yours and lifts her head. You smile at her, and she smiles back. You touch her, she touches you, Octavia’s eyes are gorgeous this close.

“Octavia, I love your eyes.” You stroke her cheek and watch them watch you.

“Aw,” she says in a quasi mocking way. “That really is very sweet, Slavik. But what time is it? I actually want to go home and clean up, maybe stay up and watch the sunrise.”

“Is that the tradition?” you ask, feeling her nice round ass, but not groping.

“Mmhmmm,” Octavia nods. “Amazing sex, too. Come on, do you think you have some more fight in you, tiger?”

“For you, eh...” you sit up and pull Octavia down, rolling over in a lazy wrestling match. You pin her face down, ass up. “I could go all night, Octavia.”

“Ah! No fair!” Octavia wiggles out and sits back, slightly exposing her womanhood to you. You move to kiss her lower lips, finding a still damp spot.

You open your mouth to speak, but it’s dry. Painfully so. You lean back and find some water you brought earlier. Octavia gratefully takes a couple of swallows as well. You find your mind much sharper with some water in you. Octavia agrees to a short makeout that turns into a quickie in no time. You’ve barely got the rubber on before her nose touches your belly again. You convince, or suggest, that you form a sixty-nine, so you can share her oral fervor.

Fortunately, you’re a hair more skilled, and she yields first. Octavia pretends to be reluctant at least, making you kiss and lick her legs before she parts them. You drive your finger deep in her a few more times before pushing your rod inside her femness.

The sight of Octavia’s pristine petals parting for your pulsing pink-tinted penis is indescribably erotic. Octavia confesses her love to watch as well, so you lean back and let her. You consider taking pictures, strongly, but decide against even asking. The mental image and sensations are photographic enough.

Octavia’s tight twat sucks at your girth hard again, making you grit your teeth fairly soon. She’s riding it now, lifting herself up and dropping down, leaving you to just lift your hips to help. Sweat covers her body, Octavia’s slick skin reflects the lamplight gloriously. She has to lean forward after a bit, her hips spasming some, her breath tense.

“Oh god, oh my god, Slavik...” Octavia trails off as you take over nearly completely, fucking her hard. You grab her round ass in both hands and hump faster and harder, driving your tip home inside Octavia. “Oh god, almost, almost again...” Octavia mumbles a little more, but it can’t be heard. Her nails dig into your shoulder some as you hump her hard, your own muscles aching.

Luckily, Octavia begins moaning and shaking like crazy, her pussy vibrating around your rigid manhood. You just push deep, deep into Octavia and try as hard as you can not to cum. The slight resistance makes the release so much more powerful. Even if it’s the fourth time tonight, depending on how you analyze tonight, this orgasm feels as good or better than the rest. With a great effort, you push with every shot, feeling your cock shoot out every individual white snake. Even if this volley is more concise than the rest, it feels just as amazing. The climax’s resolution leaves you in a resolving fatigue. Resisting sleep seems a futile struggle you find little want for. Octavia, however, has a different agenda.

“Come on, stud,” she whispers in your ear. “Get your tight ass up, we have to stay up all night.”

You throw aside the little pencil leads on your eyelashes and take a deep breath. Octavia lands a kiss on your cheek as you touch her bare body, her hot tunnel of love still warming your waning erection.

“No...” you moan, hungry for sleep. “You. Do the thing, I don’t wanna.”

“Get up, Slavik!” Octavia says with a little peck on the cheek. The bed creaks in the silence at the end of the album as Octavia fishes your half-flacid phallus out and stands up.

“But why?” you moan, rolling over.

“Be-CAUSE!” Octavia shouts, pulling you off the bed by your feet. You’re jolted awake as your ass is taken by gravity to the carpet. You catch yourself just in time with your hands on the bed behind you, your feet on the carpet ahead. Octavia giggle as you get up.

“Come on, Slavik,” she says with her sexy-weird way of saying your name. “I really think you’ll love this. We’ll stay up until dawn, just the two of us, doing... well, whatever.” Octavia sucks herself to your chest as she helps you up. You hold her tight and plant a kiss on her forehead.

“We can get a little coffee,” she starts off softly. “Then we’ll take a little shower. I, uh, you kinda reek, sorry.”

“Don’t be, I do,” you inject.

“Mmm, then we’ll watch a movie, play a game or something, and go up to the annex to watch the sunrise over city hall.”

Octavia turns her head and kisses your neck, then stands back to look you in the eye. Her beautiful orbs are as alluring as ever. “Have you ever seen a Ponyville sunrise, Slavik?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I was up all night at a convenience store on the south side for a while as a seconds job. I hated it, but not the work. I got so lonely, staying up all night alone, sleeping in the morning, alone, and working afternoons, usually talking to no one at the plant.”

“Oh Celestia, I know how terrible loneliness can be, Slavik,” Octavia adds, hugging you close.

“I know, Octavia. I know,” you whisper back, truly grateful for her embrace. You can’t help but hug her tighter and tighter. You know all about her high school days. The studying and tutoring and tutor sessions to attend never ended. After a lengthy pause, Octavia’s warmth reminds you of the cozy joys of sleep.

She breaks away before your eyelids begin to glue together again, thankfully. “Come,” Octavia whispers, holding your hands and looking over you body, groaning so softly as her eyes grace your entrapped penis. “Put some pants on and we’ll get naked at my place. Hm, I can’t wait to get my sheets dirty.”

Octavia kisses you briefly before bending over to grab her shirt. You watch her round ass as she does so, then move to grab your things. You do, however, clean off your dick before getting dressed.

After covering up hastily, you turn off your computer and lead Octavia down the stairs. You offer to bring what snacks you may have, but Octavia waves you off, claiming to have something much better.

The two of you, tired and hungry for more, walk closely to Octavia’s. In the open air, you grab Octavia’s fantastic ass hard, making her jump and yank on your waistband. You latch onto her for support and hook your fingers into Octavia’s panties, then pull up slowly. Now nearly at Octavia’s door, she leans on the tree out front and lets you play with them. She’s hot and wet again, already. You kiss Octavia deeply and let her kiss you as your hand slides down into her tight dress pants.

“Ah,” she moans softly in the warm summer night. “Oh Celestia, Slavik, that took no time at all. Fuck me inside, we’ll fold out the sleeper out of the couch and fuck like rabbits.”

Octavia smiles and laughs softly as you offer a slick finger to her. She takes it and licks it, maintaining eye contact. Once her slime is all over her tongue, Octavia grabs your face and spits it back into your mouth. You regretfully swallow her saliva and pussy juice before savoring the taste.

Octavia’s door flies open in a fury as you nearly crash through it, carrying Octavia to the couch. The cushions are off and the bed is out and made in just a little more time than it takes to get naked again. Octavia moans and kicks around in the soft silence, feeling the softness of the sheets and blanket the two of you laid out for tonight. As you kiss your way down to her wet slit again, Octavia fumbles with the tv’s remote. A childish song blasts through the surround sound, then is muted as quickly as it comes.

“Sorry, Sl-ah...” Octavia scrolls and scrolls as you suck on her little clitoris, your cock hard as a stone once again. This time, it’s nearly painful being erect.

A heavy song plays now, a hauntingly complex chord progression ringing true through the dimmed room. The television’s light is the only illumination to be had, and looking up from between Octavia’s lovely legs shows the image of her laying on a pile of throw pillows. Her milky, just barely browned skin is warm, yet looks icy in the grey light.

As soon as you notice her beauty, again, Octavia pushes your head back. “Let me taste your cock,” she whispers, “then let’s fuck again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you softly say to her, the music really bringing up deep longing for Octavia’s intimacy.

Octavia smiles as you stand on the bed, casting a stark shadow across her. The reflected light shows just enough of her silhouette for you to watch as her luscious lips wrap around your throbbing dick. Her warm breath and soft lips make you groan with pleasure instantly. Her lips smacking, Octavia moans out, thoroughly enjoying it as well.

“Ah,” she gasps, stroking your long cock. “Fuck me, Slavik. Do me, mount me, ram me, nail me, rail me, fill me, thrill me, dick me, rut me, I wanna feel your huge cock just ream me.” Octavia pants softly and kisses your cockhead, then sits back. “Too much?”

You look down at her as the song breaks down into a very tasty and dark-roasted metal riff. “Bend over, Octavia.”

With a huge smile and a cute shrug, Octavia turns around lays on the pile of pillows, collecting and positioning them just right as you slip in a finger. Octavia whimpers a little as you slip in a second, but she just lets out a big sigh and rests her head on her arms. You clean your fingers off with your mouth and grab your shaft. Octavia’s taste has become very familiar to you by now.

“Mmmmm...” Octavia moans under an amazing section. Whatever band is playing, it’s too perfect. You push into Octavia’s tight pussy, your thick head slipping in. Her wet labia isn’t nearly as wet as the tight love tunnel inside. Your bare cock flies in in an instant, squeezed hard by Octavia’s wet, hot, ribbed walls. The throbbing resumes, painfully surging through your cock in constantly random jolts.

You pant through the fantastic pain, finding a quick rhythm to hump Octavia with. She begins to whine in delight as your hips smack her round, tight ass. The songs continue, now under the two of you in volume. Octavia begins moaning like crazy and looking over her shoulder, breathing hard and watching your strong body pump into hers. Her eyes shine in the little light there is.

As your throbbing member begins to twitch with the first pangs of release, Octavia sits up some, standing on her extended arms, her voice lifting higher and higher.

“Ah! Hahhhhoh my god, yeah, yeah, yes! G-gonna... I’m gonna cum, Slavik!” Octavia grinds her hips around and moans out bliss as you grab her by the chest and pull her tight. You squeeze one breasts hard, very hard, and try to make every stroke as long as possible. Your cock nearly slips out as you ream Octavia, her hips quivering and her voice tiny with tension. As you pick up the pace, suddenly more than twice as fast and even more forceful, Octavia’s miniscule cries of joy transform into extreme shouts of pleasure. Octavia’s newest orgasm blossoms into a full-body quake, making you work to even keep your cock inside. Just that, however, is enough to send you into a personal heaven.

As Octavia calms down, her girlcum drooling out in long streams, you pull out and watch as she flips over instantly, sucking all her climax off. Octavia moans throatily and strokes your slimy cock as quick as she can.

“Want me to move so you can watch your cum all shoot out onto my face?” Octavia asks in a hush just loud enough to hear.

“Fuck yeah,” you reply, also quietly. Octavia shuffles around as you jerk off quickly, keeping your ejaculation on a hair trigger.

“Mmmm, do you wanna cream my little face?” Octava whispers in a voice that somehow fits her. She isn’t a cumslut, you know that, and the meaningful, intimate sex is hardly the same as this. Even as you wank, watching Octavia touch her breasts and lick her lips, you wonder how this can be the same girl.

You don’t wonder for long as Octavia opens wide, showing off her throat. The sight sends you over the cliff’s edge in an second.

“Gah! Hnn-nnh...” you grunt as you send a few white ropes right onto Octavia’s face, laying a long strand from her forehead to her lips, bridging her pretty eye. With the rest, you coat Octavia’s nose and chin and lips and teeth.

Octavia happily sucks the last drops out, then sits back, contented and relaxed. You sit down next to Octavia and rest. It felt great, fantastic, but now your groin feels like it just got kicked.

“Mmmm,” Octavia groans, a disgusted look on her face shines in the light of the dim tv screen, her fingers and face stained in a disgustingly kinky way. “I think it’s about time we took that shower, Slavik.”

“Yeah,” you reply flatly.”That was great, though, Octavia,” you whisper, moving behind her and stroking her soft thigh. “I mean, really kinky too.”

“I just hope you don’t think I’m like that all the time, Slavik.”

“Of course not,” you tell her, resting your hands on Octavia’s stomach as you place your legs on either side of her. Octavia leans back in your embrace, careful of the spunk on her face. You hear her gulp, and you’re curious as to exactly how much she really enjoyed it.

“I,” she starts. “It’s... weird. I love the the smell of it, but, it’s also absolutely revolting. Slavik, I’m not a slut, I’m not! But, when I’m with you, I just... I just get so wet, I can’t explain it. And when you hold me, it’s so nice. And when you ram my little pussy, oh... Slavik, I just lose my mind. I can’t count how many times you made me cum tonight, but I’ve never squirted like that. Like, you saw, earlier.”

Octavia wiggles out of your arms and wipes her face with her discarded shirt, unashamed as she bends over to pick it up. “Tomorrow’s laundry day, anyway,” you hear her mumble.

The bassist sits near you again, curling her legs in close. “You don’t think I’m a dirty whore, though... do you, Slavik?” Octavia wraps her arms around her legs and sits still. You instantly move to her side and hold her with one arm.

“First off,” you begin. “No. And that’s all I have to say about that.”

Octavia smiles, but isn’t satisfied. “Slavik, I... know a girl should be sexy and willing an-”

“First off,” you interrupt. “No. A girl is supposed to be what she is: a person. Octavia, you’re an amazing, cute, intelligent, cultured, talented, loving person. And a great, great friend. Now, don’t get me wrong, I still wan-need to make your toes curl. That’s part of it, the intimacy and the passion, but I love being with you because not only do you make me smile with your body, but you fill my heart with helium and make me swallow it back down. When I look at you after we’re done humping, I don’t see a hunk of soft flesh, I see Octavia, the prettiest, smartest, most talented girl ever.”

Octavia goes in for a quick peck, but stops, only to laugh a little. “T-thanks,” she whispers as the long song ends, fading out to never ending silence. Octavia relaxes and leans into you, grabbing your hand, her light breathing and your thumping heart the only noises to be had.

“Come on,” Octavia says with only her breath. She gets up off of the lumpy fold-out bed and pulls you with her. You’re forced to trust Octavia in her darkness, heeding her warning of the stairs. One step at a time, you find yourself giddy as the two of you step into the bathroom.

Octavia flicks on the light, bathing her master bath in white light. The white tiles contrast with the black countertop, likely of a pricey dark-colored polished marble. A typical female shitstorm covers most of the sink area. Brushes, combs, curlers, makeup, teeth cleaning equipment, face cleaning equipment, cords, cans and stuff you have no idea of the original purpose of are scattered about randomly.

“I figured we could shower together,” Octavia says. With a flick of her wrist, she turns knob and water rains down from a wide shower head in a gentle downpour. Steam fogs the mirror in less than a minute as Octavia brushes her teeth. You take the opportunity to urinate, unashamed to Octavia. Still, even after a night of ramming her and cumming on her, Octavia blushes and looks away from the sight.

You wash your hands quickly after Octavia spits and rinses. You follow her quickly into the warm shower, the wide cylinder of warm water cascading down onto the both of you. You hold Octavia from behind immediately upon entering, holding your body as close to hers as possible. Octavia’s wet hair sticks to your face, but you just smile through it and hold her even tighter. Octavia relaxes in your embrace as the water begins to drench and warm the two of you.

After a bit, you feel Octavia gently move in your arms, pressing her ass into you. It’s impossible to ignore. She breaks the embrace and bends over a little to grab some shampoo. Wordlessly, you work a delicious smelling handful into her long black hair. You lather her up, rinse, and repeat twice. Octavia touches her breasts with her eyes closed, suds making her sopping-wet sweater puppies all slippery. Her mouth opens with a smiling gasp as you grab them for her, squeezing and feeling her tits slip around in your wet fingers.

Once more, you feel an undeniable stiffness. Octavia, with her beautiful hair now soft and clean, takes notice.

“Again?” she asks in an excited hush.

You turn a little and show off. “Yup.”

Octavia giggles and grabs a different bottle, this one a bronze hue. The wet bassist pushes you out of the wide waterfall until you stand in the cold corner. She doesn’t deny you warmth completely, however.

With just a kiss and a wink, Octavia gets on her knees in front of you, water cascading down all over her. She squirts some of the stuff, whatever it is, on her hands, a generous amount. Octavia begins to carefully rub it into your wet erection, the lotion instantly taking the soft out. She sighs heavily and squeezes harder, biting her lip. A warming sensation ignites on your member as Octavia rubs the lubricant into your cock. She pants a little, staring intently at the throbbing head. It feels so amazing, the way her hand works in the special lotion. Octavia uses both hands, squeezing very hard as she pushes her hands down your shaft. She squeezes hard as she pulls back as well, the pressure and the warmth and the slick sensations all adding up to more than the sum of their parts. Even after so many loads tonight, this particular erection feels as mind-numbingly great as the rest.

“I can’t believe you’re so hard again,” Octavia mumbles softly.

You lean against the chilly wall and grab Octavia’s head lightly. “How can I not be?” you ask her. “The sexiest, smartest dame is working my cock like a pro with some magic boner ointment.”

That made her smile her precious smile.

“Wanna fuck me raw, Slavik?” Octavia asks with a little kiss on your bulging cock head. The sound of hot water falls into the background as Octavia stands up, pulling herself to you. Her slick hands hook together behind your neck as you grab her waist. You give Octavia a deep, passionate kiss, tasting the mintiness, and groan. You find yourself more and more in need of her hot touch.

You break away and lift Octavia’s leg up to get your dick into her again. With the warming lube, your tip slips in like a hot knife into butter. Octavia melts all over again, her warm pussy heated by you, this time. You take her entirely in your arms and turn left and push her up against the shower wall, hot water finally heating your chilly back.

Octavia moans out loud as you begin moving, pushing her against the wall. You kiss her cheek and begin to take her weight a bit more in your arms, lifting and lowering her body on your tool. The tingling, warming sensations the lubricant bring you feel amazing, making the painful feeling of being hard once again fade quickly enough under mind-numbing pleasure. You feel hot all over as you begin to really give it to Octavia. She writhes in your embrace, moaning and twitching like mad.

“God damn, Octavia,” you say to her, barely more than a breath. “You feel so amazing raw, and this... whatever.... good....” You actually feel your thoughts slipping away and your ejaculation come closer and closer.

“Cum, ah... Octa-”

“Not inside!” she nearly shouts. You feel a deep burning in your tired arms and back, and a tasty little noise escapes Octavia as you lean back and let her fall some. You look into her eyes with a wide grin, sucking hot, moisture-laden air as you change your angle of attack a little.

Octavia stops you with a hand, bringing you back into the world of the sane. You exchange smiles as she stands on her own again. “There,” she says softly, pointing at a flat space for seating. How you never noticed it is a mystery.

You sit down on the shelf, obviously designed with couples in mind. Octavia turns around and carefully sits in your lap, sighing heavily as your flaming rod fills her up completely. The two of you immediately negotiate a quick pace, you guiding her with your hands on her wide hips. Octavia has to stoop over quite a bit, so you don’t get to enjoy the gift of her tits or her face. The mind-numbing wetness of her pussy will have to do. Octavia moans out in pleasure as you begin bucking your hips against her, dipping your burning tool all the way in her ribbed insides.

After a little bit of great fucking, Octavia leans back and lays on your body completely. You are forced to sit up and catch her, unable to move. Octavia whimpers and shakes for a second, her pussy spasming around your cock, then she regains her composure.

“Sorry, Slavik,” Octavia says softly. “I, I just came so hard.”

The way your sack is now coated in girlcum would atest to her truthfulness. “Let me take care of that big problem, baby.”

Before you even get a chance to think, Octavia bends over, showing off her red-lipped pussy. She comes back and gets on her knees before you, the bronze bottle of the best lube money can buy in hand. Just before she pours some out, Octavia stands and adjusts the large shower head so that the two of you are in a hot waterfall.

“Careful,” she says to you. “This stuff is expensive and water soluble, so lets try to keep your cock and my tits out of the water.”

“Oh, Octavia, that’s the opposite of a problem. I’ll buy a fucking keg of this stuff if you’ll just promise to come over and use it.”

“MMmmm...” Octavia trails off, staring up at you. “Yeah, I promise to do just that, Slavik. It feels so good, when your cock’s covered in it and is ramming my little pussy. I bet this special warming lubricant will feel great on my tits as you titfuck me, too.”

Your dick throbs some at Octavia’s seductive voice. With a wink and a flash of her tongue, she pours a whole glob of the yellowish gel onto her palm. Octavia cups her breasts and rubs it all in, a lot of it dripping down. You get on the floor and stop it from dripping too low. Octavia sighs and stops you, looks you in the eyes, then stands you back up.

“Ready, big boy?” she whispers, holding your dick in another searing embrace.

You just nod down at Octavia dumbly as she smiles and takes your throbbing organ between her tits. Both hands slip over her breasts as she tries to squeeze them together, a little twinge of pain flashing across her face. The feeling of her soft melons pressing on either side of your rod feels amazing, however, once Octavia manages to cradle it effectively.

Octavia crosses her arms across her bust rather awkwardly, but she squeezes the fuck out of your shaft regardless. The warming lube makes every stroke that much more amazing. As Octavia begins to pick up the pace, moaning and panting softly the entire time, you feel in your groin that special feeling. You’re going to hit the limit, and you just sit back and let that moment come.

“Octavia,” you say calmly. “Go faster, it feel so good. I’m gonna cum soon, O. Where do you want it?”

“Just cum in my tits, Slav,” Octavia says in a tense little whisper. “Does it really feel good, Slavik?” Her knowing little smile turns you on when she says your name in her special way. “Does fucking my oiled up chest feel good on your big, rock hard cock?”

“Fucking hell, Octavia!” You buck your hips with her some, making your dick feel like it’s on fire. The tingling sensations drive you crazy, igniting your brain as well. Octavia’s gorgeous little face, covered with water and black tendrils that are her wet bangs stare lovingly up at you, encouraging you to explode your love all over her.

“Do it, Slavik!” Octavia quietly screams. “Cum on my chest, paint me white.”

You remain silent and surprise her, not letting on that her dirty talk sent you over the threshold. Your brain melts instantly to burning mush. Octavia moans out thickly as you shoot again, covering her cleavage in thick cum. She sucks on your cock and teases out every last drop. She spits your last drops onto her chest, adding to the pool.

“Fuck, Octavia,” you say, suddenly tired beyond what you’ve felt all night. “That’s it, I think I’m spent. God... Celestia dammit, is that how you say it?”

“Yeah, hmm...” Octavia wipes your spunk off of her chest, succeeding at covering her fingers in hot cum. “Is that... when you cum, does it usually make you tired?”

“Me, or guys in general?”

Octavia stands and rinses her hands and body, forsaking her speech about the lube prices these days. “Uh, both.”

“Well,” you say to Octavia as you stand to hold her from behind, fighting the tunnel of darkness. “When a guy cums, and I’m a guy, it really takes a lot out of him. Not just, ya know. Literally. Mentally, too. Emotionally as well.” You hold Octavia’s still hot, slippery tits and get cozy behind her. “There’s all that buildup, and of course the intimacy. But, mostly it’s just the energy it takes to shoot all that cum out.”

Octavia just moans in response. You rub her breasts until that warming lube is all washed off. You still feel some heat on the palms of your hands, but it’s hard to say where Octavia’s body heat ends and the artificial stimulation begins. Your cock, however, still feels like it’s on fire, in a good way.

The two of you wash up in near silence, stopping to kiss or fondle every several seconds. Octavia sighs heavily when your fingertip graces her little clit, but the hot water is already running out. You have to deal with lukewarm water just to wash the last of the suds from Octavia’s supple body.

Octavia towels off, letting you touch her now. You lay her on the bed in her room, ignoring the mass of wet hair, your own body dry enough for that. You can’t help but get hard again, but Octavia leaves it alone. You’re not sure if that’s a good or bad thing at the moment.

Your fingers dip deep into Octavia repeatedly, making her moan and giggle and scream sequentially. You rest your head on Octavia’s clean, warm, just damp stomach and wrap your arm around her delicious thigh. She pants hard when you slip in your second finger, her twat amazingly tight. Octavia lays her head back on the neat covers and moans out loud. You kiss her soft skin and just go a little faster and harder, paying special attention to her spot.

“If you feel it coming,” you whisper into Octavia’s tender neck. “Just let go. Don’t worry, just cum, cum all you want, baby. Mmm, your nice, hot pussy feels so good, Octavia. That lubricant is still in there, it feels like my hands are on fire.”

“I know,” Octavia says in a little hush. She’s in a world of bliss and agony, it seems. You lick along her collarbone and feel the cool softness of the blankets. Octavia’s hips begin to tense up and shudder a bit, but that’s the only warning she gives. Octavia cries out softly and squirts again, spraying a few spurts of girlcum out towards the bathroom door, drizzling her carpet with a little clear fluid in the light shining in from the open bathroom door.

Octavia calms down fairly quickly, smiling wide and panting. You suck your fingers clean and are pushed away as you try to hug Octavia close.

“Nuh-uh,” she says, her palms pushing you away. “Not after I just showered. Come on. Wash your hands and we’ll talk.”

Too tired to argue, you walk off to the bathroom and quickly rinse your hands. You look back and see Octavia slipping into some sweat pants. You want to stop her from getting dressed, but your testicles ache in protest.

“Come,” Octavia beckons you as you step into the room. “I’ve got some dinner downstairs, and we can get tea and relax some. You, uh, if you’re chilly, there’s a robe hanging in the bath.”

You take her up on the offer of the robe, letting Octavia proceed downstairs before you.

After gazing down the balcony at the topless Octavia, you descend the staircase to meet her. Octavia has a kettle on the stove and some bacon frying. You spy an apron and give it to her immediately. With a kiss on her cheek, you help her pick out the rest of the meal. A fantastic breakfast of bacon, hot tea, orange juice, eggs inside of potato bread, toasted to crisp perfection is prepared rather speedily. The eggs inside, however, are a specialty: tiny one egg omelettes, loaded with spicy peppers and onions and cheese. You get the hang of making them, and end up using up half a carton of eggs. The stark flavor of the tea wakes you up with it’s aroma alone.

Octavia brings out a little radio and sets it on the high top table so you can dine with some progressive metal track playing.

“My god, Octavia,” you say with a mouthful of lean bacon and bread and crisp hash browns. You chew and gulp some down with a sip of hot tea. “I, words fail me right now.” You shut up and stuff more hot food in your mouth. You bob your head and drum along between bites.

Octavia laughs and swallows her mouthful. “It is pretty good, isn’t it?” She wipes her mouth on the apron and lazily drapes it over the back of her chair, giving you a full view of her torso.

The two of you dine in silence, save for the music and clink of forks and gulps. After two “grampa eggs”, as she called them, you finally start to feel less than starving. Octavia’s plush robe begins to get a bit ridiculous, so you shed that and go all nude for her. Despite your ferocious hunger, Octavia’s breakfast feast was too much for the two of you. Your plate is nearly clear by the end, but you can’t scarf down the last bits of crust and such.

Reluctantly, you bag the two omelettes in bread, a couple thick slices of bacon and a generous pile of hash browns. Once the leftovers are in the fridge and the dishes soaking in the sink, you turn to Octavia and hold her close. The song playing is very slow and intimate, unlike much of the rest of the album. You comment on it, and Octavia tells you a quick story about it.

The band’s bass player had been going through a fit of alcoholism over a girlfriend. Octavia continues talking about how that girlfriend had taken his money and pets and everything, and he was couch surfing when they weren’t on tour. He came up with that song, and the melancholy tone really showcased his emotions. Octavia plays it again, and you sit with her on your lap, drinking in the heartache. Despite it’s somber story and chord progressions, you find yourself smiling and kissing Octavia’s tender neck.

“Oh, the sun’s going to be up soon, Slavik,” Octavia whispers back, denying your hands the weight of her breasts. Octavia hops up and pulls you to her room again. You, sleepy like a bear ready for hibernation, grab the blankets she gives you.

“Huh?” you ask. “What’s, why, what are we doing, Octavia? Don’t you wanna get some sleep?”

“No, Slavik,” she says, holding the kettle carefully. You just realized she was carrying it this whole time. “We’ll go up on the annex and watch the sunrise. It’s an Equestrian tradition to stay up one night every year and watch the sun rise on the longest day of the year. It’s the summer sun celebration.”

Octavia waves you over with a smile to the old bookcase in the corner. You help her push it aside, revealing a narrow door. She jiggles the hatch some and opens the creaky door. You follow her into the near blackness.

The secret annex is musty and cold, furnished only by a few shelves with junk and a couple of chairs. The only window faces east, overlooking a small back yard and a stream beyond that. Trees cover everything else, but the iconic tower of the town hall rises above all, a defiant pillar in nature. You lay the blankets down while Octavia makes another trip for mugs, sweat pants, and the little battery powered music player.

“Here,” Octavia says as she hands you some soft cotton pants. “As much as I just love seeing your junk hanging out like that, I thought you might enjoy some pants.” You laugh softly with her. Octavia pours two steamy cups of hot water, then dips two bags in each black mug.

You sit up and listen to the symphony Octavia picked out. The first sounds are stately and prim, boring to you, but relaxing and intriguing in another way. Soft as they are, the gentle melody is inspiring. Octavia nuzzles close to you, laying her head on your shoulder. You lay your head on hers and stare out the window, half watching the violets of night fade to dull greys. The dusty air tickles your nose some, but you don’t sneeze. You’re too tired.

“Vinyl will be over sometime today,” Octavia says with a sigh.

You rub her soft, bare shoulder knowingly. “Everything will be alright, Octavia. I promise.”

“I... I just don’t want to kick her out, Slav. We’ve been so close for so long, and even if we’ve been growing apart the last few years, it still feels like I’m a huge traitor. I just, Slavik! I just can’t!”

You hold Octavia tight as she tries to stifle her sobs. “Things would have never gotten much better,” you tell her. “Now that Vinyl’s famous, or DJ PON-3, you won’t have that intimacy or passion. Octavia, we’ll make it as a band, I know we will. With you in the group, and your ingenious writing, we’re going to be big.”

“And I’ll have you,” Octavia says softly, violins barely audible now.

“You’ll always have my stinking ass to deal with.”

Octavia chuckles and sniffs. “Yeah, I’ll have you to deal with. My handsome sexual god of rhythmic, genetic and intilectual superiority.”

You rub Octavia’s back and look down at her for a little while in silence. The symphony’s second movement, a symphony you now recognize, begins as Octavia’s breathing starts to become slow and regular. You find yourself entranced in her. Everything about Octavia is beauteous. Her warm skin, her soft hair that’s nearly dry by now, her little moans as you wrap your arms around her, all of that and more transforms your heart into a pitiful butterfly trying to escape your trachea. You carefully take the barely sipped tea out of her hands and stare forward. The second movement of the symphony drags on in a lullaby of sweetness. Your open your eyes when they fall closed and watch for that yellow disc to rise over the brightening horizon. The music, however, has other plans.

You shake your head and sip some hot tea in a futile effort to stay awake. You set your mug down to the side safely and let your eyes fall. You lay down with Octavia, burying your chin in her cool, messy, soft hair and fall asleep.

* * *

Tiny ice needles wake you with deep stabs into your fingertips. You try to flick them away with your thumbnail, succeeding in only bringing their wrath in a greater magnitude. Driven to drastic measures, you have no choice but to try to move your arm. A body stirs when you do, and it rolls over and hugs you. The tiny needles flee; this was a great victory.

You adjust some and hug the body back, grateful for the warmth and the embrace as your back digs into the cold ground. What’s strange is that you are cold, wet, especially in your toes and hands. Unease wakes you up more, enough until you can open your eyes. You see a lot of dirty, long brown hair, and you smell a familiar body’s scent: it’s Anastasia.

“Where are we tonight, Anastasia?” you whisper, it being the first question to come to mind. A hundred fly by in the next instant. How did you get here? Where did Anastasia come from? Why were you so cold, even in winter? Is it winter?

Ana stirs a bit, but settles, her young body pressing into yours ass to lap. Instead of reaching around and capitalizing, you sit up, your libido far beyond sated for now. You clear your dry throat and rub the rest from your eyes. You sniff your nose clear and spy a shadow move in your blurry vision.

You freeze.

In the spindly pine forest beyond the miniscule clearing, in the shadowed daylight, is a tiny shape, barely as big as a loaf of bread. You get up to a crouch, then move to the object. For some reason, you’re compelled to investigate.

You leave Anastasia in the clearing and adjust your trenchcoat, three sizes too big and soaked in places. Avoiding any twigs or leaves, you silently make your way to the bush where you saw movement. As you approach, you hear the noise of a small girl whimpering. It’s unmistakable, the sniveling noise sounds exactly like that of a little girl who skinned her knee, or was punched by a boy or something.

You subconsciously let your guard down some as you pull the thorny bush aside. Right there, in a red-splotched patch of snow and leaves and twigs and dirt is a tiny blue horse. A pony, but it’s marred. Not too badly, as it seems. Still, it’s a baby.

You carefully reach in and pick the pony up, mentally crying at the sick noises it makes. Even a mother’s blood-curdling screams pale in comparison to the grim noises the crying foal make.

Knowing next to nothing about horse anatomy or medicine, you merely wipe away the dirt and thorns with fluffy snow, cringing as it whimpers in your arms.

For the first time, you notice several things wrong with the equine in miniature. First is the horn, then the wings, then the buggy eyes, then the mark on it’s rump. Only once do you see her large eyes; it’s a she. Her pale mane is matted with tears and melted snow and muck. It seems superfluous, but you gently pull some of the mud and twigs out of her hair.

Forsaking your own shaking bones, you wrap the pony in your coat. It must be twenty below, even in the sun. She seems to stop crying as much. The cuts on her legs and body were pretty light, so you leave those. Still, you put the outside in to avoid staining the stained inside.

“Ana,” you whisper, looking behind you. As gently as possible, you pick up the bruised blue foal and make your way back to where Anastasia is laying. She stays silent and unmoving as the tiny horse yelps when you set her down. It’s a tired, defeated cry, short and not very sincere. You unroll your coat and check on the puny pegasus unicorn anyway.

There’s no way this is real. You feel a sort of warm feeling inside as you brush off the blood with some more snow. It works very well as a cleaning agent, but cuts your skin with searing, chilling pain.

You let the little thing whimper as you turn to Anastasia again. “Wake up, sleepy,” you hiss as you push her shoulder. Anastasia’s beauteous brown hair is dirty, as usual. Still, it’s pretty, like her. If and when she’s clean, Ana is quite magnificent. You tap her some more, noting how her pants are hanging low, not fixed properly from last night. It’s a shame you can’t recall it clearly.

The blue pony’s whimpers have subsided some, so you turn to your sexy partner. You kiss Anastasia’s tender neck, not elicting any response. You reach around and gently cup her small breast, but still nothing. She’s cold, too cold. You hold her freezing body and try to warm up with her, but she’s freezing.

You scoot back and roll her over. What you see shocks you, jarring you completely. Her eyes are gone. The lovely hazel eyes that looked at you with adoration are bloody caves teeming with insects. You shake in place, turning just in time to vomit. You wipe your mouth and hold back another lurching expulsion. You block the image you just saw and turn to the blue pegasus.

Instead of sniveling, it, too, is silent. You touch it gently on the back, she’s breathing still.

“Come on, little pony, we have to go... away from here,” you say to yourself as much as her. You attempt to haul her up into your arms, but the limp body lurches out of your grasp and lands sickeningly on the frozen earth. You stand and back pedal a little on instinct, no more than two steps.

The little blue thing struggles to get it’s shaky hooves under itself. You kneel and want so desperately to help, but she’s so weak.

But she isn’t weak. No, the miniscule horse is strong, you see. Very strong. It begins to laugh, like a human. Like a ten year old supervillainess. Quietly at first, but her giggle crescendos into a maniacal laugh of pure evil and menopausal resent. You blink, and the creature hardly as big as a pillow grows to the stature of a mature tiger, likely just as agile and fierce.

You take another few steps back and trip over a corpse.

“Why do you sleep during the day, human?” the midnight black mare asks, looking away. Armor of a pale teal hue materializes on it’s haunches and torso as you struggle to find words. You try to speak, but thoughts turn into oatmeal as the travel from your brain to your throat.

“And why do you not sleep at night? How peculiar a creature of the night is, no?”

The accent is so strange, yet perfectly Equestrian. How the monster speaks in a mature woman’s voice is off as well. Again, oatmeal.

“Is it because you are a deviant? A criminal? A ne’er do well, a murderer, thief, rapist, predator? Do you thrive in the strife of others? Do the ‘normal’ folk despise and curse and scorn and shun you? Are you unable to fit in?”

Gruel.

The supervillainess turns in place, revealing her fangs to you. “Are you like us, the princess of the night?” Suddenly, that cute little horn isn’t cute at all. “Rubbish! You know NOTHING! You are NOTHING! Your work is deplorable and no one loves you! You are living rubbish, not even fit to feed the maggots that consume those who you fail to protect! YOU ARE NOT WORTH THE RESOURCES YOUR OPPRESSORS RIGHTFULLY EXPEND TO TRACK YOU!”

In one blur, you feel weightless. Your body lifts high into the air, fast, and in just one second, the snowy clearing turns into a tiny spec. You look up and see the curvature of the earth, and further, you can see stars. You feel cold, colder than ever, and you breath in nothingness. Just as you begin to choke, your eyes feeling like they will pop out, you feel warm, too warm, extremely warm. Your winter scraps burn up before you even realize it, and your vision is charred with burning air. The last thing you see is a blue form with a needle-sharp horn rushing up to meet you. Your chest explodes with pain, the rest of your body flies beyond it with it’s own momentum.

“NO!” you shout, feeling terror consume your body.

Next to you, Octavia rolls over and faces you, pulling the blanket over her body tighter. “Nmmm..... five more minuns....” You’re back from Siberia and under some blanket in Equestria, you observe gratefully.

You smile, your body shivering as sweat cools your torso. You lay down and wrap your arms around Octavia, infinitely happy to be with her, not freezing and your belly full of homemade delicious. Just when you feel your smile settle in, another shot rings out, making you jump.

“Mnough,” Octavia whimpers. “mback, pweez...” She trails off, hugging the blankets in front of her. Just as your heart melts again to her cuteness, another shot rings out. It’s not a shot, you realize with a curse, it’s lightning. Just a plain, boring, lethal discharge of static electricity, nothing to worry about. Still, you look out the window. The sky is black and star-studded. Questions run through your mind in dozens, compounded by the lack of lights in any other buildings.

You stand at the window while Octavia grumbles, taking all of the blankets. The entire city, from what you can see, is blacked out. A softer noise rings out, likely another strike further off. A brownout now seems too odd, and you wonder why it happened. Naturally, you recollect the busy day at the plant.

You remember back to the hydro plant, the turbines. Everything seemed okay, except the water it took to get the turbines running seemed at least double what it should have. Still, you hardly see it as a problem, just an oddity while starting up. Your thoughts, you remember, were mainly of a female at the time.

Shaking off a smirk, you feel your heart racing with guilt-laced panic. What if snake-eyes fucked something up? What if Liam couldn’t take care of business? What if he, too, was waist deep in his girlfriend? What if it was just a storm, or someone crashed into a power substation thing? Other explanations calm you some, but panic is still teasing your thoughts.

A shuffling noise turns you from the window, eerie thoughts still plaguing your mind.

“Octav-ia...” You trail off. The hurricane of worry in your head calms quickly when Octavia rolls onto her side and curls up in an adorable ball.

“Five mims...” The town can burn, for all you care. Questions remain unanswered as you wrestle with the blankets. Octavia groans and flips over as you lay next to her, and you take the chance to hold her from behind. Your sweat has cooled and dried, but Octavia’s warm body heats you up under the covers very quickly. Octavia moves a little in your arms, only making things hotter. Your crotch cradles Octavia’s nice round ass as your hands cup her warm breasts, or slip over her sweat-traced stomach. Octavia moans just the slightest and moves her legs as your finger slips down the counters of her womanly hips.

Another moan escapes Octavia’s lips as your fingertip gently presses into her hard clitoris.

“God dammit, Slavik. You know just how to make me hot,” Octavia whispers softly.

You press your stiffening member up into Octavia’s backside, just holding her close and rubbing along the curves of her ass.

“I can’t believe you wanna go again, Octavia.”

She only moans in response, tangling her legs with yours. Your fingers are coated with Octavia’s fluids as they play with her labia. She tenses up slightly at your touch, gyrating her sexy hips against yours.

Your mouth waters at Octavia’s whines and moans. Licking her ear just isn’t enough.

In a giggling tornado of blankets, sweatpants, sweat and limbs, you dive under the covers and wrap your face in Octavia’s warm thighs. Her perfect olive skin, tasty and tanned and soft is slick with her feminine juices and saliva. The sharp taste excites you into a trance of lust. Your tongue moves autonomously, yet intelligently. Octavia mumbles something as your mouth’s muscles begin to tire, her message lost in the thick comforter.

Just as quickly as you trapped yourself in the stuffy, damp, and vulgarly delicious grip of Octavia’s legs, the blankets around you fly off. Octavia jolts up a little, nearly as much as yourself.

“What gives Octavi-oh. Uh, hi... Scratchy.” You lick the vaginal fluids from your lips and look up at Vinyl Scratch. Her tight tank top is stained all over, and her jaw is slack. In one clenched fist is a corner of the comforter.

A blanket of silence covers the little secret room. Octavia lays still, propped on her elbows, Vinyl standing next to her large friend by the door. The tall, lean man, nearly six feet in stature, has a little grin on his face.

A short snicker escapes Scratch’s lips, then a chortle. She guffaws, then explodes with drunken laughter. Her large dark skinned boyfriend joins in a bit as well.

“What’s so funny?” Octavia asks, covering herself with your pants. You take hers, the lighter colored pair, and slip them on, only mildly embarrassed that two strangers have seen your package.

Vinyl calms down and leans on her boy toy. “Cuz, O. Here I am, just got home from Manehatten with my boy Firestorm, and I see the... uh, shit. The room, the... this room’s open. Huh- so I come up and I see you gettin’ off, right? Stormy, you thought she was wanking, right?”

“Yeah-”

“Pfsh! I KNOW, right? Yer so cute, O. But yeah... where was I saying?” Vinyl grins wide and throws her head back. You notice the dark hand grabbing her ass, somewhat hard. Vinyl sighs, pushing her hips sideways into Firestorm’s.

“You’re drunk, Vin-”

“Shyeah I am. Summer sunny thingy’s like... th’best night, baby. Get drunk, get laid, yeah! Who’s this naked guy, Octavia?”

“Slavik,” you say, moving your hand covertly to Octavia’s. “Nice to see you again, Vinyl.”

“No, nono, your name, dude.” Vinyl gasps a little when a finger finds it’s way between her legs. “One sec, jeez,” Vinyl hisses at her new friend.

“No,” Octavia butts in, her great breasts hiding behind a pair of pants. You remain seated at her side, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the blanket. “He’s the percussionists in our band.”

“Percuss-just say drummer, jeez,” Vinyl says. “Anytits, he’s kinda cute. Slavi ‘n Tavi, you’re kinda cute tog-holy shit, Firestorm! Touch me one more time and I’ll... something!” Vinyl giggles seductively and lets Firestorm get a bit handsy. It’s not such a bad show.

You turn to Octavia and watch her slip on her sweatpants. “What do you want to do now, Octavia?” you whisper. “How shall we handle this?”

Octavia takes a deep breath as the other two swap theirs. She closes her eyes, seemingly doing a better job than you to ignore the mutual groping. “I don’t know how to do this Slavik,” Octavia whispers, her small voice shaking some. Water in her eyes, Octavia looks up into yours. Determination and tired desire burn through the morning-night air, showing her steel resolve. Octavia comes forward and kisses you deeply, passionately, but briefly.

“But,” she barely breathes in your face, black tea lingering on her breath. “I can figure it out.”

She squeezes your hand, hinting at her mortal weakness, doubt, and terror. Octavia stands up in the darkness. She steps into her pants thereafter.

You get up as well, finally drawing Vinyl and Firestorm’s attention. “So,” Scratch asks, her shirt on the floor and her pants undone. “We fuckin’, er... what?”

“No, Vinyl,” Octavia says steadily, softly. “As you can see... I found someone else.”

“Duh, that’s how group sex works.” As saddened as you are that you will never get to hear Vinyl scream, Octavia has words that need saying.

“Vinyl, that’s not happening tonight, er... today, I really am not sure. Not with Slavik and I, anyway. I’m not sure how to put this softly, so I’ll be blunt.”

“Heh, what’s this about a blunt?” Firestorm injects.

Octavia ignores him completely, even the little spank he gives her lover. “We’re through. I hate to say it, Vinyl, I really do, but I’ve found someone else. And the both of you in my life... there’s no way we can stay together. You’re on the road, you’re famous, you’re stupid sexy, and so, so talented But, I’ve got my own life to live now. I can’t sit back and be DJ PON-3’s girlfriend. I don’t plan on sitting with my thumb up my ass while you live your life. No, I have my own dreams, now. I’m twenty-three, and for the very first time since we kissed, I’ve found my new direction. I’m a writer, a musician, a damned good one, a performer, and I’m no longer a hopeless teenage rebel. Not your groupie, not my backwards mother’s blacksheep daughter, not your threesome mate, not anything but an ex-girlfriend. Vinyl, I’m... I, I’m so sorry. You’ve been so huge in my life, never forget that. Instead of being some bored, boring, lonely cellist with zero friends or social skills and ambitions that were instilled by my parents, you gave me the gall to say ‘fuck that, fuck you, fuck all of you’!

“Scratchy,” Octavia continues after wiping up a tear. “You’ve been so kind to me, and don’t you ever, not for one stupid second, think that I never loved you.”

Vinyl Scratch’s face bears a mixture of extreme emotions. Rage, confusion, disbelief, frustration, more deep feelings you feel rather awkward for even observing. Seconds of silence last for centuries as Octavia’s partial nudity still draws your attention.

“Tavi-”

“Scratchy, I know the timing is all fucked-”

“It IS fucked, O!” Vinyl blurts something and stomps off to the bedroom, kicking away her tiny shirt in frustration. Octavia follows after giving you a quick, apologetic, strained look.

Firestorm raises an eyebrow at you, but not in hostility. He seems like he was wholeheartedly expecting to get laid, and enjoying the company of a new possible friend. A new bro is hardly on your mind, even if the events to come likely involve you sitting and listening. You move into the untidy bedroom as he lazily follows.

“... just god dammit, Tavi,” Vinyl continues. “You can’t-can’t just-I... I WAS going to be all sorry and shit, but... Okay. the plan was to surprise you and make you the whole item of worship in the threesome, and then say I WAS gonna get a loft in Manehatten and work on a new EP, maybe a fucking LP so we could, ya know... be together for once.” Vinyl lays her head in her hands. “But I guess your band’s more important than your first puppy love, right?” She would be sobbing, if not for the tears and palms in her face.

“Oh...” Octavia tries to respond, sitting still on the other side of the bed they’ve likely done a lot of intimate things in. “Oh my fucking god, Scratchy.” She’s close to tears, but denies herself and her newly former girlfriend an embrace.

“I never asked for this shit,” Firestorm gumbles, his voice more manly and deep than even his considerable size lead you to imagine. You move to the computer chair as he finds the stairs. You lean back and immediately hate the faux-leather that turns sweat into glue.

You look on as Vinyl and Octavia sit next to each other, Octavia holding her own, somehow. Vinyl is all but bawling at this point, but quietly. Octavia gives in, and slips a hand to her partner’s. “Vinyl, we can still be friends.”

Vinyl Scratch snatches her hand away and stands up, her face and hair a mess. “No,” she says, choking on tears. “You can’t fucking do that! Octavia, I’m either your best friend, or nothing! Fuck this, I need a drink, fuck. Octavia, I-GOD DAMMIT! You and I were so good! We were... were so close. God, how can this end like this? I... I should just shut up before I say something bad. Fuck me, just, just go. I don’t fucking care where, just get the hell out.”

“Scratch,” Octavia says, water falling out from her beautiful eyes. “L-look, we were really close, and you helped me so much, but now... I’m holding you back. I, I’m too busy, you’re too busy, but that’s okay.”

“Yeah? It’s okay that my new plans just happen to involve slowing down so we can spend more time together?”

“In a city a thousand miles from here, while my band does what? I’m a big part of Babylon, Scratch. We need four people, unlike you. You’re a geni-”

“Don’t, O. Don’t even start with that. We know you’re smarter than me, so maybe it’s the SMART thing to just fucking leave me.” You hold back the tidbit about how Vinyl missed the implied reduction in the number of bandmates.

“Scratch,” Octavia begins, then stops, subsiding. You sit still, ignored for now.

“Tavi,” Vinyl replies with a tear. She just looks away and slinks off the bed, falling with a thud.

Octavia rubs her eyes, clearly exhausted. You feel drained, too, but you can only imagine the emotional toll Octavia’s enduring. You feel a twinge of guilt, technically the reason for the breakup. Still, Octavia chose her path, and Vinyl is mostly upset with herself, it seems. None of that does anything to quell the self-hatred you feel, but it passes the buck, in a sense. You feel like you can deal with it, you know you can. After losing Ana so many years ago, you know you can do anything.

You wince and stand up off the chair, checking to see if you left any peeled skin behind. You sit on the bed next to Octavia, instantly getting a little side hug. You feel water come to your eyes as Vinyl turns, shuddering with extreme sorrow.

You nearly pick Octavia up, knowing she needs to leave, and now. She stops and turns in your arms, but you just pick up a shirt from a dresser and give it to her. “Come on, Octavia,” you barely whisper. “We’ll deal with this in the morn-uh, tomorrow. Alright?”

She just nods and wipes up a tear as you step through the door to the balcony. You grab your pants and shirt and acknowledge Firestorm, who’s eating your lukewarm leftovers, the selfish bastard. You have sandwich stuff and other things back at the domicile, but still, those were good eats.

“See ya, lil nig,” Firestorm says as he swallows your hash browns. You just toss him a little wave as you pull on your shirt.

“Tell Vinyl to call me tomorrow, please,” Octavia says softly, holding the door for you, wearing the top she brought over. You check your pockets and find everything, a whopping total of nothing, all you brought over.

“Yeah,” Firestorm says with a little nod.

You leave with Octavia, merely holding hands, saying no words. You arrive at your home and catch Octavia as she breaks down. For a dozen or so minutes, you just sit still on the sofa and hold her. Water slips out of your eyes too, you can’t help it. Octavia whimpers a little in the darkness, leaning heavily into you. All you can offer is a shirt to stain and a hand to stroke her back. Octavia’s long, apocalyptic black hair is still cool, a little damp.

Despite the overwhelming emotions swirling around the two of you, or perhaps because of it, you feel your eyes get heavy as Octavia’s full figure weighs into you. Her sniffling slows, but doesn’t quite stop. You take a quick breath and smell Octavia’s fragrant shampoo fresh on her hair. You rub Octavia’s back, slipping your hand under her shirt, feeling the soft, tender skin. You sigh and drink in her beauty, doing all you can not to take it for granted.

Octavia stirs and stands on one arm, looking into you. “Come on, Slavik,” she whispers. “I’m sorry you had to be there, but thanks for the help. Let’s just get some good sleep and worry about moving tomorrow.”

“Alright, love,” you whisper back, tracing Octavia’s beautiful jaw with a finger, blinking her long hair out of your eyes.

You follow Octavia as she gets up to walk the short distance to your room. You close the door and debate putting on some music. When you ask Octavia, she shakes her head in the darkness. Then you recall that the power is out, so you shake your own head and take off your shirt, then pants. Octavia mumbles something as you do so, but still removes her top, leaving the comfortable sleep pants on. Octavia’s soft hair covers your face as she snuggles into your arms, her butt pushing into your lap. This time, your erotic thoughts have no momentum, and a tired, drained sleep engulfs you in moments.

Vinyl Scratch

Pinkie Pie and that one guy who was on stage earlier hurry backstage hand in hand. You watch, dumbstruck and only mildly buzzed. You bump elbows with your chap Andre and point out the way that fine ass looks. He snickers and slaps his knees hysterically, nearly falling over. That guy could never hold his damn liquor.

“DAT AZZ!” Andre says too hoarsely before doubling over again.

You finish your fourth drink and watch “dat azz” jiggle as Pinkie literally skips up the stairs. It’s funny, in a crude sort of way, but beautiful at the same time. You shake your head in envy and admiration. You take another sip, but there’s no booze left. Time for another to reinforce your buzz.

The bartender is a cute slice of pie, but her eyes are downright creepy. The brassy irises encircle pupils that move on their own. Sometimes, they even look at you through her long blonde bangs.

“Hey!” she says in her little bubbly voice. “Thirsty again?”

You reply without missing a beat: “Nah, I just wanted to see how many times I could fill this glass.” The last drops of your obituary trickle and drip down into your mouth as you hold the cup over your lips. You swallow the tiny bit of liquid and slam the glass down.

“Well, you can only fill a glass once, ya know,” the airy one says. “I, wait. Was, um. . . .” The little bartender touches her chin and gazed at the ceiling and the stage at the same time. “Uh, want another cocktail?”

“No,” you say, feeling almost mean. “I want an obituary. Today’s paper, if you got it.” You can barely keep the smile off your face.

“Look, mister, do you want a drink or not?” She slaps a palm on the bar for emphasis. Her tone is as snappy as it is playful.

Your poker face breaks down quickly under her almost-harrowing glare. “Yeah, yeah that’s exactly what I want.”

The bartender’s face eases up in an instant, making her little smile actually quite cute. Your mind’s eye conjures up an image of that smile being filled with an organ while she slurps and looks up. You linger on that image while she turns and grabs the gin, vermouth and absinthe. Her little butt is punctuated acutely by her little white thong.

One of those wild eyes catches you staring, but she’s far from upset.

You get your drink and charge it to your tab. You take a peek straight back at the dark area behind the stage. A burly buddy of yours is standing in the entryway, but that’s as far as security goes. You get some whiskey and coke on the rocks, make that a triple, and take that in your other hand.

Geoff, you remember, gives you a tough guy nod as you walk up to him. “Hey buddy, what’s shakin’?” he asks you with a fake Bronx accent that sounds more like a Bostonian.

“My pale white ass, Geoff. Hey, I know the bass from Baby-lon, and she wanted an obituary. Ya mind?”

Geoff puts his sausage fingers on his sides and spreads his feet one iota. “Oh really? What’s her name?”

Fuck. “Octop-uh, Octavia! Yeah, that’s it, Octopus.” Fuck yeah, you think to yourself, I remembered.

Geoff raises an eyebrow on purpose, but the corner of his mouth curls up, too. “Fine, funny fucker, but I don’t usually let guys I know backstage just because they know someone in the band. If I hear ya squealin’ and stirrin’ shit up, I’m the guy who’s gonna throw you into the alley ass first. And gimmie that.”

His greasy hands steal the whisky drink. Geoff takes a generous gulp, badly hiding the burn. He hands you back the glass and looks straight ahead like you’re not there.

You take back your backwashed-bribe from the burly bouncer and begin backstage. Three conversations fly around a couch, a bong, and a green glass bottle. The first person you recognise in the black light is Vinyl Scratch. Her hair is a radioactive two-shade blue, standing straight in the front and just messy in the back. The medium-long length might just reach her shoulders if it was wet enough to hang down.

She coughs out into the circle of sweaty musicians and Pinkie Pie with her boy toy, picking up mid-sentence. “So-Ough I w-as saying, ahem, then she switches to her desktop the instant I walked in and killed the volume. I played coy, but I knew what it was. O was totally watching po-”

“Marcus!” Pinkie Pie shouts and waves from her spot on the other side of Vinyl Scratch. “Great to see ya, enjoying the show?”

“-nies. Pinkie Pie, you totally interrupted me!” Vinyl says, managing to sound like a badass and a whiny little sister at the same time.

“I was,” you say back to Pinkie Pie, the veritable hostess for the entire damn town. “Up until the failed actor over there decided to sample my drink. He must have felt bad, because he decided to give most of it back.”

“Scratchy,” the dark-haired girl says quietly. “I told you to never, EVER tell anyone about me watching po-”

“No one calls me that!” Vinyl snaps quickly at her. The lady with black hair shies away a bit, but holds an annoyed look like she was born with it. “Oh wait, you call me that.”

“Yuck!” Pinkie Pie says, falling heavily back onto the guy she’s with. “I’ll make Geoff pay your tab. I hate it when he’s a jerk.”

“Me too.” Having paid her mandatory greeting, Pinkie Pie leans over and has her ear bitten. She jumps a little in his lap, quietly giggling as his tan arms wrap around her chest. His name was Accelerate or something kinda stupid like that, you can't remember. He was a badass with the bass, though. His set earlier was pretty damn awesome. You remembered dancing like a moron and suddenly being shoved to the ground during his set. That was alright, because you had soon Irish whipped a tubby guy right into someone else, creating a satisfyingly slapstick collision.

You walk around the pow-wow and stand next to Vinyl Scratch. She exudes an agile sexiness about her no matter how she sits. Her grin is huge as ever, and her eyes are probably bloodshot behind those ridiculous trademark shades. She scoots over so you can sit. It’s hard to not let on to the fanboy drooling inside you.

“Death notice?” you say and offer her your obituary. You sneak a glance at the skin-tight cotton t-shirt while she’s chatting with the admittedly sexy bassist. Vinyl Scratch’s tits are almost exploding out of the white fabric. They’re small, her breasts, but they still deserve worship.

“No way, the orange one’s a bitch and you know it. Huh?”

You grin and fly casual. “Obituary? It’s a cocktail.” You move your hand in a tiny inviting circle.

“Oh, oh yeah! Hell yeah!” Vinyl Scratch takes it from you, thankfully not careful about missing your fingers. Her hot tips brush against yours as she takes the green drink. “What’s innit?”

“Gin, vermouth and dragon piss. Fucks you up pretty quick, I like ‘em.” You contemplate whether or not to drink the whiskey. You look in the glass. Nothing is in the drink but copper brown cast in a purple light. Eh. . . fuck it. You sip and labor through the whiskey. It tastes fine, but like liquor. You manage to gulp and chew an ice cube.

“The hell?” Vinyl says as she stares accusingly at the cocktail. “Tastes like, well, actually it tastes like gin and absinthe.” A scrawny guy with bad skin and teeth struggles someplace beyond where Pinkie and Ritardando sit.

“It better, that’s what she put in there.” You drink again to your snideness. You wonder what Vinyl’s set will be like.

“This fuckin’ guy,” Vinyl says and shakes her head, her big purple sunglasses remain in place. She takes a sip, then a sizeable swallow. “Ah, ya know what? This ain’t half bad. I’d rather stick with Jäger, but change is good.” You and Vinyl take a drink together. “Ah, like tonight. I’m playing with a bunch of new buds, I’m almost broke again, but I’m back home in Ponyville performing for my favorite friends. Free booze, somewhat free bud, some of the best bud ever was in that bong ever and I got fuckin’ ripped on that, then some awesome music. Oh, uh, hey, guy who gave me this drink, you see that dude making out with Pinkie?”

You noticed. “A little.” The bong she mentioned is making its way around, slowly but surely. The five bandmates are all taking their damn time. All but two are sweaty and less than fully dressed. Octavia and the rhythm guitar are still clothed from head to toe. Octavia, the only woman in the group, is wearing a sweater vest with no shirt. Or bra. She wears her grey argyle patterned vest damn well.

“Were you around for his set?” Vinyl takes another sip and doesn’t even gag.

“Yup, I even threw a fattie into this guy who elbowed me. And at the end when he was all bangin’ his head, that guy macking with Pinkie Pie, aw man, the beat was just killer, ya know? There’s great music, and there’s music that’s just pure orgasm-inducing wall of sound that crushes everything.” You drink two swallows.

“That,” Vinyl snickers to herself briefly, almost spilling her preciously expensive obituary. “That’s fucking rad, dude. You should write that down,” You catch the glass out of Vinyl’s hand as she doubles over in a fit of inebriated laughter. “Ah, fuck, I hope I can do that here in a minute.”

“Hey,” you say, sipping some gin. “These metal heads love that shit. But you could take your shirt off, too. I’d bet that’d go over big.”

Scratch rocks back and forth, snickering the entire time. You can’t help but stare. Her skin tight shorts make a certain organ of yours fully prepared for its periodic purpose. You sip your obituary and wait for Vinyl to calm down. The cold drink does very little to stifle your urges. Your sexual drought has never felt dryer.

Vinyl Scratch takes the bong from Octavia, the big breasted bassist. Octavia gave the bowl a good glance, but passed it on regardless. Vinyl holds her face for one second more before leaning over and whispering into your ear. “You do know why the end of Accelerandea’s set was so kick ass, right?”

You shake your head, “accidentally” making Vinyl’s nose brush against your ear.

“Pinkie Pie sucked his cock, right there on the stage. She told me all about it.” Vinyl leans back quickly and sneaks a look to the couple using the couch. You look as well, not really sneaking anything about your gaze. The contours of Pinkie Pie’s ass are bare to your eyes. The way she lays on her guy makes her skirt ride much too high. Unfortunately, she was wearing panites. Fortunately, you got a good ten second stare at the blue beauties.

“Ya know what else?” Vinyl whispers again, her hot breath gracing your ear with its presence. “I don’t even wanna know your name. Tell me, you good at eating pussy?”

You pause for comedic effect by sheepishly letting your face redden and averting your eyes. Vinyl is about to look like she’s talking to an idiot, but you assure her by quite loudly saying: “Either I’m a professional, or I’ve dated a lot of oscar-worthy actresses.”

Vinyl erupts in laughter again. Her elbow strikes the neck of the three foot bong standing in front of her, sending it on a one way trip to the black-painted hardwood. Your hand shoots out before your brain tells it to, deftly catching the glass long before it was in mortal peril. The near empty glass of greenish liquor clinks down unharmed, deafening in the near silence.

Vinyl, Octavia, the shirtless dudes and a young guy picking an unpowered guitar, and Pinkie Pie’s exposed ass, all stare at you in slack-jawed surprise. This new guy, this sorta lanky dude with hands full of booze just saved the day with lightning hands.

A pair of female hands take the bong by the neck. “Nice catch, dude.” Vinyl quickly pulls the ash through the bowl into the water and releases the meager amount of smoke she gets through.

“Axel!” Vinyl shouts, smoke puffing out of her nostrils and lips. “You got any glock left?”

His meandering hands and smacking lips stop in one garbled “Mrwuh?” Pinkie Pie sits up, her thin pink shirt falling back down to hide her industrial-strength bra strap. Her hands hastily slip into the side pocket of Axel’s cargo shorts and fling a small baggie right in your lap. Inside the flimsy plastic is what looks at first to be money, shredded into a pulp and soaked in paper mache paste and clumped together. The white bits soon separate in your mind’s eye, creating tiny fibers. The neon-green bud underneath them is splotched with purple, red and orange.

You load up the bowl without hesitation. The grass is so sticky, it might as well be covered with paste. The stuff reeks like fresh skunk roadkill. You waft another noseful of the smell and empty your lungs. Slowly, you fill up your chest again with smoke. The large chamber turns opaque, then you let the hit rush inside as you remove the hot bowl. Just a corner of the green is charred, yet the chamber is impossible to empty; the smoke smacks your windpipe like a 12-gauge slug.

You take the hit like a punch and keep inhaling. The white smoke burns like hell, but its effects are already starting to take root. At last, the discomfort ignites into searing pain, and you can’t go on. Nearly all of the smoke you pulled ejects out your face hole, expelling a thick white haze in the general direction of the increasingly sweaty couch.

Vinyl Scratch rubs your back as you cough into your elbow for a few seconds. The “glock” or whatever is laced, you’re sure of it. Your entire body feels like nothing, you can only feel your spinal column as you watch your vision recede into a dim circle, then black out completely.

You try to blink, but don’t feel anything but a hand tracing your back, and a tube in your hands. All you can hear is a woman’s voice and some wet noises. It’s Pinkie and Ritardando going at it still. The hand, you remember with a smile, you think you smile, is Vinyl’s. Another touch on your face brings some blood back, and your vision and sense of balance begins to return. You think you can see a hand go down in front of you and pick up something, likely the bong or the weed or something.

Vinyl says something else, but you can only hear wet smacking noises and the blood in your new erection pump. You sit up some, careful of the bong, it was a bong!, and try to hide the growing tunnel snake.

Vinyl’s words drift into your stoned and reeling mind at last. “After my set, meet me back here. And you better have a rubber for that.” Her warm breath tickling your ear registers before her words do.

Your vision and other senses snap back instantly. Vinyl’s tight ass and low riding shorts carry your eye as she walks out to the crowd, tired from three great performances, chanting her name. “PON-3! PON-3! PON-3” Her little red thong is a fucking lure on the end of a fish hook. You want nothing more than to slink out and pull those slacks down and grab that thong and pull. Up, down, it doesn’t matter. Her tight ass is begging to be played with.

You feel a tiny tap on your left shoulder. You let your eyes linger for a moment longer as she drops those shades to her eyes and puts on those big purple headphones. Vinyl and her tight ass put a record on the turntable, scratch twice, and let it play. It’s one from earlier, from when Axel was on, all minor and fun and scary. Then she scratches a second record, making a sexy woman’s voice say “Mmm, yeah!”

And then the drop. Vinyl sticks her hands out to either side and suddenly jumps in the air, landing hard right when the bass comes to life like a roaring leviathan suddenly awaken from the murky depths. Vinyl Scratch bends over her set up and adjusts something, sticking her amazing but up into the air. She bobs and wiggles and sort of dances. You feel drool in your dry mouth.

There’s another two taps on your left shoulder. You acknowledge them this time. It’s Octavia, the bass player. She looks at you, then past you to the stage, her face rosy red.

“Um, excuse me,” she says, amazingly articulate.

“Yeah?” you almost groan. You clear your throat and try again. “You may be excused.”

A tiny smile is poorly hidden on her face. “Are you going to be waiting around for Vinyl Scratch?” She shifts on the floor where she sits, uncomfortably alone. Her band’s gone and Pinkie Pie has just left with her date. It’s a shame how you were too busy staring at Vinyl to watch Pinkie Pie leave. Nah, you reason. Scratch’s ass is better. You mull over the wording your brain used for a little while, gazing intently at the barely covered cheeks.

“Hey. Hey!” The cute sweater vest chick snaps her fingers, breaking your staring again. You shift on the floor and move the bong to your side. The music is really distracting. “Tell her that I have to go move equipment and stuff, then I’ll be over. Got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Hey,” you let your words fall. It seems like the right thing to do. The floor feels like it’s wobbling, just a bit.

Octavia stands in place, stretching her back in every way. When she arches her back, placing her hands on her lumbar, her sweater puppies press against their cage in a magnificent way. “What is it?”

“Where’s over?” you lay down on your back, stretching out the vertebrae and feeling the wub wub through the floor.

Octavia bends over to pick up her guitar and inadvertently show off her nice ass. You think she needs to invest in pants like Vinyl Scratch’s, even if her thighs are a little less petite. She turns around, wiping her slightly sweaty bangs out of her eyes. “Scratch’s place down the alley. Are you coming, too?”

You glance at the bong, sneaking a look at Vinyl’s tight ass. “Not yet, no one’s even touched the poor thing! How about you, how close are you?” You snicker and lay your head back on your palms.

She simply stares stilettos at you, struggling to stifle her smile. “Just tell her I’ll be waiting at her place, alright? Uh,”

“‘sMarcus. Just Marcus.” You hold up your left hand.

She offers her right, but quickly gives her left. “Octavia. I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

You roll over and lift your hands and legs like a superhero, drinking in the beats with your ears and your bones. “Eeyup, and nice left-handed handshake. Now I know your cool. Yeah, I come to almost every baby lawn show. Learn about lawn mowers, find the best deal on a baby lawn mower. You know, in the summer, you should leave the mulch on and let the dead baby bits fertilize the lawn.”

Octavia blinks twice. “What the fuck?”

“Babylon?” you say, holding out an upturned palm. “Baby, lawn? A lawn, of babies? They grow in the warm months, so you have to mow to keep your lawn tidy.”

The song ends abruptly, making her covered laugh just audible. I’m in, you think to yourself. The world still feels kind of spinny and your stomach feels light, so you remain on the floor. Sitting up isn’t very hard now, but it’s not easy. The “glock” or whatever is extremely high caliber. You do just that and sit criss-cross-applesauce.

“Right,” Octavia says, feigning aggravation. “Tell Vinyl I’ll be home. Are you going to be there?”

“Not if I try to take another hit like that,” you reply.

Octavia flips her long, messy hair over her shoulder. “Well, I’ll see you when I see you, Marcus. So. . . see you.” Octavia turns and exits, rather awkwardly. Her pants hug her butt tightly, giving new life to your tunnel snake.

* * *

Vinyl’s shaking chest sinks into yours, her signature purple shades flying through the air to a couch. Your lips touch at the same moment your back slams into her living room wall. Vinyl touches your face and your shoulders, kissing your lips and your chin when she misses. Your hands wander all over her back. One paws at her shoulder-blade while the other massages her lumbar, struggling to pull her amazing, petite, sexy body to you. Her soft skin is slick with sweat from the show. You grab her ass hard and feel her tongue snake into your mouth. Her spit tastes sort of sweet, her skin smells like sweat. Her natural scent drives you crazy with lust.

Vinyl Scratch breaks away and stands the both of you up. She immediately brings her lips back to yours, moaning softly into your mouth. You almost fall three times as you both stumble up the stairs.

Things move in a flurry of flying fabric and soft touches. You find yourself standing shirtless in Scratch’s warm room, the silence only stopped by soft panting. Vinyl looks up from her knees and stops playing with your belt.

“We need some beats,” she says flatly. Vinyl stands and bends over a surprisingly large setup. There’s dials and knobs and sliders and switches all over the place. Vinyl Scratch wiggles her ass just the slightest bit, now nearly bare, as she rummages through some records. Her bright red thong deliciously sits between her tight cheeks.

“Got it!” she says. “Yeah, this should get us in the mood.”

“Scratch,” you reply. “I’m already hard as fuck. Let’s just get naked al-”

“Shut up!” Vinyl cranes her neck and glares at you. “Trust me, this will be worth it.” Vinyl Scratch powers on the two heavy speakers she uses as a table for the entire setup and puts the record on. Immediately, the bass tears the house a new one. The excruciating volume ceases as suddenly as it started.

“Sorry! Sorry ‘bout that.” Her voice carries through the ringing in your ears. Scratch slowly adjusts the volume until it’s just a bit too loud, then one bit louder. The thudding bass makes your heart feel funny, your entire chest feels light and watery. Scratch starts to sort of dance with the music, moving her hips and letting her hands go wherever they want. Scratch’s hair flies with her wild movement to the nearly abstract beat. It’s nearly impossible for you to feel.

She meanders up to you, shaking her tight ass right in front of you in time. Vinyl doesn’t need to say what’s she’s thinking. You grab her hips and grind your rock hard bulge between her cheeks. You only get to do this for a minute before she stands and holds her back to your chest. You gladly reach around and take hold of her small breasts, squeezing them softly. Vinyl’s butt presses into your groin as hard as you squeeze. While your right hand cups her breast, your left slides down to her inner thigh. Her soft skin is hot and fun to touch. Your fingers move in circles, feeling the heat increase as you nearly brush her barely clothed lips. Vinyl moans as you slowly kiss her neck, still moving hips and circling around her slightly slick upper thigh. You really clamp down to see what happens. Vinyl just moans out in pain and nearly falls over, her entire weight pressing into you.

Some words try to sneak out of her mouth, but Scratch can’t be heard over the thumping bass and wub wub. She falls over onto her knees, and now you see why. Her red thong has been digging into her soft lips. The soft cotton is drenched.

You play with the fabric and watch the way her lips move over it. Scratch is having trouble just standing on her hands and knees. You pull up, fixing the placement, and help Vinyl to stand again. She kisses your neck gratefully and makes her way down your chest. Her tongue flatly licks the smooth skin above your pants button as she works to undo it.

Your heart skips a beat as Vinyl undoes the zipper. She quickly yanks down your pants and bites her tongue, her eyes working over the rock-hard thing in your shorts. Scratch lightly plays with it through the fabric, but pulls those down soon enough. The dark-pink head bobs up as the waistband no longer restricts it.

Vinyl can’t hide her longing. She sort of laughs and hunches over, staring at the glans and the shaft. She takes the base of it in her long, slender fingers and just slowly strokes, using barely any pressure. The soft skin of her hand feels good, really good. You idly look up at the ceiling and roll your head all around, stretching out your neck muscles. Your face the door to your right and find that it’s open. Your eyes meet Octavia’s for one long second.

She squeaks, her face crimson. Her long black hair whips around as she flees.

Scratch immediately stops stroking and struggles to chase after, stumbling some. You hear the dual pattering of feet downstairs, and a few distraught words from either woman. You pull your shorts and pants back on and investigate.

“...you were a lesbian!”

“Well, about that,” Vinyl says in her cool way. “I am, but I also like dudes sometimes. What’s wron-”

“What’s wrong?” Octavia’s normally alto voice is a trembling soprano. “I let you get intimate with me, only to see you eye to eye with, with a penis?!”

You and Vinyl can’t hold back a little snicker. “S-sorry, you said penis. But O, ya gotta listen to me. This guy is pretty fuckin’ cool, okay? O, O, ya with me? I forget his name, but he’s really funny and cool. I was just gonna give him a little head, get some head back, and that’s it! All casual, no worri-”

“Marcus. That guy’s dick you were about to taste is named Marcus.”

Vinyl smiles as she buries her face in her palm. “Sh-sh-I knew that.”

“And you’re drunk!”

You stoop over the railing of the balcony and look down. “Hey, I never said I wasn’t!” Octavia is standing in front of Vinyl, her arms crossed and holding up those nice breasts. The loud music is quieter out here, but the conversation is still audible. “And you aren’t? Come on, you just played an amazing concert, have a drink and a smoke and come upstairs. I’ll make it up to ya, I promise.” She whispered the last word, making Octavia sort of shudder.

Octavia shifts her weight, still staring at the barely clothed DJ. “Get off the counter,” she says. “You’re getting it wet.”

You and Vinyl bust out laughing at precisely the same time, just a short moment after “wet”. Octavia, blushing deeper than before, stares up at you.

“H-hey,” you try to say down at her. “You did say it. And just because I have one of these things doesn’t mean I don’t know how to play any woman’s pussy like a fiddle.”

Now it was Vinyl’s turn to double over in laughter. “W-wrong clef, Marcus! Hey, O, I’m sorry, okay? I like you, I really do, and it isn’t like I’m going anywhere. I should have warned you, put a sock on the door or someth-”

“Or something.” Vinyl hops off the countertop and walks over to the stairs. The house is quite small, and she sways a bit as she navigates the crowded living room.

Vinyl ascends the staircase swiftly and stops at the top, looking down to her girlfriend at the bottom. “O, you don’t have to play if you don’t want to.” Scratch suddenly stoops over and takes off her little red panties, wet as they are. “But you’re more than welcome to watch, you know. Marcus,” she shouts and snaps to attention, twirling the thong around. You can smell her pussy from ten feet away. “Get in that room and take off your pants!”

You do as you’re told, spanking her butt as she puts it out for you. Vinyl doesn’t close the door behind her, letting the bass into the entire house. The door wouldn’t have been much of a barrier, in any case. You drop your shorts and help Vinyl with her little sports bra. It comes off fast, and you’re quick to palm her small breasts. The small nipples are hard and sensitive to being pinched. Scratch arches her back and moans every time you compress her little pink nips. Vinyl stifles a shriek and makes you stop, her blood red irises catching your stare.

“You can stop pinching, now,” Vinyl says just barely over the music. She shakes her hips to the beat again, still gazing at you with her big eyes.

“I never noticed those before,” you almost whisper, dumbly caught in her stare. Suddenly, DJ PON-3 gets on her knees and stares up at you, her mouth slightly open. Without a word, she pulls your underwear down again, moving her head left and right with the music. Vinyl grabs your erection by the base, gripping hard. A wicked little grin spreads on her face.

“Ready for this?” she asks.

You need to only nod; there’s not much else you can do. Scratch moves her shoulders and her hand with the crazy weird beat, stroking in a weird rhythm and varying speeds and pressures. She sits up and spits on the head, using her thumb to spread it around your hot helmet. Her skin slides over yours, hot and fast. The sensation is incredible, so strong and sudden. Vinyl uses her hand to stroke, almost entirely coating your shaft with saliva. It’s amazing lube, until it heats and dries up a little. Scratch opens wide and sticks out her tongue, then slaps your dickhead on her flat tongue.

She re-grasps the base and slaps twice more, smiling and giggling a little. You put a hand on her hair, staring at her glowing, crazy red eyes. It’s an amazing sight, Vinyl sucking on the very tip. Her blood-red eyes pierce your mind as her cheeks cave in with suction.

Suddenly, the music breaks for a second, letting a female voice moan out: “Oh, yeah!” Vinyl suddenly opens wide and sucks your entire cock into her hot mouth. She takes it all, her nose even touches your stomach. Vinyl gags and moans, massages the underside of your shaft with her entire tongue, then pulls back to stroke your slick shaft and recoup. Her hot spit cools on your shaft, but her hand moves quickly over the slick skin. Her fingers are a blur, and are giving the perfect mixture of softness and friction. You feel your cock getting hot again.

Vinyl slows down some, thankfully, and looks to her right towards the door. Octavia is sitting, shirtless and red faced. Vinyl goes back to stroking and bobbing her head with the beat. You grab her hair again and push her lips to your cock again. Vinyl smiles wide and sucks again.

Her lips nearly reach the base on every downbeat. Her rhythmic bobbing feels amazing, especially when her tongue is randomly flicking and massaging and slipping wetly over the hard organ in her mouth.

Vinyl Scratch suddenly picks up the pace, sucking hard and rocking back and forth. You throw your head back and feel the pressure, the heat, the wetness and the moving flesh on your tool. Her tongue laps along every inch of the soft skin atop the rock hard organ underneath. You can’t hold on anymore. Scratch's throat is too good. You tap on her head three times and utter a warning, you can feel yourself about to blow.

She lets up and gasps for air as she grasps the base of your ready cock. “Ah, god Scratch, you’re fucking amazing. Where should I shoot it?”

Scratch just strokes the slick shaft slowly and smiles up at you, her red eyes searing your soul. “You mind?” she asks.

You just shake your head and gaze right back down at her. Those eyes, fucking hell, those eyes! Scratch giggles and licks her lips. She strokes twice as fast and watches the precum dribble out. Vinyl grabs her breast in her other hand and leans back, looking up again.

Vinyl jerks as fast and as hard as she can, her saliva makes the best lube. “Come on, fucker! Gonna cum? Ya gonna shoot a big fuckin’ load for me? Oh, come on, cum for me, just blast all you got! Oh my god, just give me all you’ve got!”

The stroking, the throating, the fucking bass and the dirty talk speed things up. You feel your core tense up, and at last you blow. A thick shot flies right into Vinyl’s bare tits, splattering and dripping. She moans and laughs as thick ropes launch out and land on her soft skin. Your mind goes blank, your chest seizes up as you ejaculate all over DJ PON-3’s chest.

“Oh, oh my god!” Vinyl says, wiping some sperm away from her eye. “You were holding back, weren’t you? Ah, I bet that felt so good.”

You swallow hard and look down at Vinyl. “Yeah, it was okay,” you mutter. The awesome bass is now blaring, annoying and too loud. Her B-]cups are spattered and coated in places, and her face has one thick line of cum right over her right eye. Some semen clings to her crazy hair, bridging the shades of blue with a few lines of white.

“Get a drink,” Scratch says, holding some sperm on her fingers. “Then clean this up. And grab a towel.”

“Paper towels,” Octavia nearly shouts over the music.

* * *

“O-okay. For you, Scratchy,” Octavia mutters in the soft tones of a much gentler song.

“Tavi,” Scratch says from the bed. “Thanks for keeping an open mind.”

You scratch your neck and watch Octavia undress. “O, no no no, allow me.” Scratch rolls forward and holds her hands out, sitting on the end of the bed. You sit down behind Vinyl and simply rub her back. Her soft skin is dry again after a quick shower. As fun as it sounded, Vinyl only washed her chest and ass in the shower. Octavia helped, but only after the semen was washed away.

The glass door of the shower fogged up quickly, but Vinyl or Octavia’s round ass would usually be pressed up against it. Vinyl actually convinced Octavia to press her bigger breasts to the glass in a glorious way.

Before you knew it, Octavia and Vinyl Scratch stepped out, sopping wet and extremely sexy. You don’t even bother fighting the urge to touch yourself at the sight. Octavia blushes red again and looks away, but Vinyl, her wet blue hair weighed down, winks and spreads her shaved pussy once for you. Octavia’s hair was also stuck to her body, a long black mass hanging down to her lower back. She was shaved, also. Her pussy lips look just as inviting as Vinyl’s, if not more so for their forbidden status.

Vinyl Scratch and Octavia towel off, with a little aid, and return to the bedroom. Octavia began to put her clothes on until Vinyl Scratch helped her to take them off again.

They soon were on the bed, kissing deeply and slowly. You sit still and watch in a comfortable chair. You watch from behind as Octavia, her round ass a bit meatier than her girlfriend’s, bends over and kisses Vinyl’s neck slowly. Their skin is fresh and clean, not sweaty anymore. You really want to just get up, stick a finger in Octavia’s nice, slick vagina and slide your cockhead all the way in.

Resisting the urge is powerful, but Vinyl speeds things up by slipping a finger to Octavia’s glistening petals. You kneel at the foot of the bed and, after getting used to the smell, play with Scratch’s lips. She moans and moves as you tickle her entrance and her clit.

Octavia rolls off and looks into Scratch’s bright red eyes. They share one more slow kiss, really taking their time. At last, Scratch breaks away and whispers something that makes Octavia smile and shake her head.

“No, Scratch, that’s silly. Not tonight, okay?”

Vinyl sits up and looks at you for just one second, making waiting somehow bearable. She turns and pounces on Octavia, pinning her down and kissing her all over. She quickly moves down Octavia’s chest, stopping to play and suck on her big breasts, and continuing down until her feet touch the footboard.

You stand behind her, your toes almost touching the wooden end of the bed, and put both hands on Scratch’s hips. You slowly massage up and down, feeling her warm, smooth skin.

Scratch sits up, her nice butt lightly touching your rigid penis. The back of Vinyl’s head is very nice, too.

“I like your style, guy. Just hold up for one minute and go into the black dresser over there. The top shelf, on the left, there’s a box fulla ties and shit. Get the pink one ou-”

“SCRATCHY!” Octavia shouts. “No way! Those are for my performances!”

“And when we share a bottle of that peanut wine.” Vinyl snickers and looks over her shoulder at you, giving you another valuable look at her red irises. The whites are a little pink as well.

“It’s Pinot Grigio, and you know that was special!”

“Alright, alright,” Vinyl submits. “No bowtie, sheesh. I think you look so cute in them, Tavi.”

You can’t believe your boredom, considering your cock is inches away from a hot pussy and another gorgeous woman is laying right in front of you.

“Can we get started, already?” Vinyl asks. “I can’t believe how bored I am when my girlfriend is nude below me and there’s a nice cock right behind me.

Fucking hell! You grab Scratch’s tight ass to relieve your boredom. The soft flesh yields, and Vinyl lifts her butt up for you to play with.

“Hey, uh, Marcus?” The time between “hey” and “Marcus” shows how good she is with names. “I was thinking about this in the shower. Sit down in the chair, but move it right in front of the bed. And Tavi? Get that thing in the nightstand.”

“Why do you want my boo-oh. Oh! Oh, yes ma’am!” Octavia swiftly rolls over and pulls open a drawer. You take the big office chair and roll it over the thick carpet to the foot of the bed. Your bare skin sort of sticks to the leather already, so you take Octavia’s sweater and lay back against that.

Vinyl gets off the bed and puts a hand on your shoulder, but you manage to watch as Octavia pulls out a slick black vibrator. Little can dislodge that thing from your vision. Octavia tries to hide it by laying it in her lap and looking away, but it’s almost as if you have x-ray vision. You can almost see it perfectly through Octavia’s hands. Like magic, you imagine the thing slide between Octavia’s nice, wet thighs and sneak to her entrance. Your mind’s eye paints the moving picture of black plastic sliding into wet, hot flesh perfectly. A cross section of Octavia’s nice cunt getting penetrated stays in your field of vision as you look to the side.

Vinyl Scratch’s fine ass is right in your face. You reflexively reach up and quickly grab her by the inner thigh, making her yelp and laugh playfully. You smile and lick her cheek, and then just nibble.

“Ah, Marcus,” she half moans. “J-just fuck me, okay?!” It’s physically and obviously evident that she’s fucking horny: her upper legs are slick with fluid. You tickle her soft petals and slide one finger along her slit, diving into her hot folds. Your finger slides back and forth, searching. You find her clit, the hard little knob, her hot entrance, and the soft skin above her slit. It’s completely smooth, no bumps or anything.

Vinyl lets out a slow, hot moan as you slip one finger in. You push up, going as deep inside of her tight cunt as you can. Your finger can hit every spot inside her with one twitch.

“Muh-Marcus, ah,” Scratch manages to say. “Ah, O’s getting jealous. Just let me do my thing, alright?”

You notice that, despite her request, Vinyl doesn’t want you to stop. She’s using either hand to grab her breasts and play with her clitoris. You retrieve your finger, sampling the sex juice on it. The flavor is like the scent, organic, nasty, and otherwise tasteless.

Vinyl Scratch beckons over the other woman with a finger and carefully sits in your lap. You slouch a bit and grab her upper thighs from behind. The warm skin is so soft, so inviting. Octavia shuffles over to the edge and, with encouragement, slowly spreads her legs. The soft music is nice and calming, almost embracing, in a way.

“Don’t worry, Tavi,” Scratch barely whispers. “You’re so wet, mmmm do you think you need some lube or lotion or something?”

You stop slowly caressing and stare as Octavia touches her clit and massages herself. “N-no, I think I’m ready. J-just keep it on low to star-”

“And be ready to crank it up later, I know how it goes, O. Let’s do it!” Vinyl opens her legs nice and wide to lean forward. She bends her neck down and, surprisingly, takes one big lick to start off. Octavia moans and shuts her eyes. She seems to love Vinyl’s tongue.

You can’t take it anymore. Getting head wasn’t close to enough. You dip one finger down and tease Vinyl’s holy entrance, but the angle makes it difficult and awkward. Scratch moans and sits up a little, allowing your cock proper entry. You gladly take the opportunity.

The very tip prods Vinyl’s tight hole, making you and her react vocally. The head slips in suddenly, and her hot walls engulf the first inches of your head with excruciatingly fantastic pain. The pressure lets up a little, and Vinyl can only barely hold herself up. She tries to say something, but only nods and moans as you lift up her thighs and knees some. It’s hard to hold her at this angle, but you won’t have to for long.

Slowly, your dick pushes deeper and deeper inside while Vinyl plays with her girlfriend. Octavia is moaning and laying back as you focus on humping to ease your way in. Vinyl’s blue hair bobs up and down like earlier, in rhythm.

Her pussy feels unreal. Your head keeps pushing further and further in until you’re fully engulfed inside her petite body. Once all the way in, you let her weight down onto your lap to rest your arms and shoulders. She’s small, but not weightless. Vinyl finds the floor with her feet and sits up, still pleasuring her girl. The position is still awkward, the chair is too upright.

When you mention it to Vinyl, she simply lays back into you, still impaled fully, and says over her shoulder: “It reclines some, just lean back and put your feet up on the wood. Oh, oh, oh yeah that feels goood, oh Marcus, lock the wheels, too.”

You do as she says and kick one of the wheel locks into place. Now the chair won’t roll away on the plush carpet. Over her shoulder, you watch Scratch work on Octavia. The dark plastic is humming away deep inside Octavia, making her moan and exhale praise. She lets out little peeps and squeaks when she fails to stifle them. Vinyl plays with the clitoris some as well.

As best you can, you try to lean back. With the chair held in place, it’s easy to get the leather chair to recline roughly thirty degrees. Vinyl is lifted up and back some on top of your rigid organ. She carefully leans forward, using the bed as leverage, and lifts her ass in the air. Almost all of your shaft is exposed before she falls down and tests the hydraulic spring.

“Fuck,” is all you can say when she does it again. Her wet pussy slides hotly around your tool every time Vinyl Scratch lifts up her tight ass. She moans and goes faster, her hips sort of wavering. She might be close to orgasm, you can’t tell. You know for a fact that you won’t last for long, not the way the chair bounces and encourages you to hump back.

“Mmm Scratchy! Oh god! Oh, right there!” Octavia moans and flips her hair out of her face. “Oh, oh yes, ah, y-yes! Yes, there it is! I-I’m close!”

“Ffuck, I am too, Tavi.” You grab Scratch’s tight ass and lift and let go, making her fall faster and harder than before. “Ah! Ah, god, that thing’s gettin’ all the way up in there, isn’t it?” Vinyl mumbles.

You remain silent and focus on not shooting inside. You pull down on her hips and just hump, not moving far, but push deep inside. Your hot tip hits a fleshy wall. You feel pleasurable pressure turn uncomfortable. Scratch has to sit up to maintain her self, relieving some of the force. You reach up and grasp her little breasts from behind, guiding her so you can fuck her vertically, still deep inside.

Octavia and her girlfriend are going at it as fast as they can, riding and pushing and moaning and panting. Suddenly, Vinyl’s vaginal walls clench hard and randomly. The muscular compresses drive you wild, but also hurt enough to keep you alert. You’re going to cum, too.

With the last of your strength, you lift Vinyl Scratch up and off of you and release. It was close, too close. But instead of coating Vinyl’s fleshy, flexing walls in gravy, you spatter her arms and the bed with random gobs of sudden, unaimed cum. You just flex your core muscles and feel the load launch as you semi-consciously ejaculate. Your brain bubbles into a broth for a moment, hot and steamy. Vinyl’s mind is in some similar state as she convulses a bit in your lap. you sit up and just hold her, feeling your dick throb and lazily spit a few more droplets of precious DNA on the floor. Your tired chest embraces her sexy back as she relaxes, falling into you. You lay back, enjoying her weight on top of you.

When you can open your eyes, you kiss Scratch’s lips immediately. You finally feel sleepy tonight, holding a talented, sexy lady in your arms. You can hear a faint buzzing over Scratch’s soft moans, but that’s not very important.

It is to the DJ. She breaks the kiss, her vibrant eyes linger for the shortest moment ever. “Oh, Tavi! How you doing, girl?” Vinyl hops up and touches her fingers to Octavia’s stomach. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

Octavia merely laughs softly and looks up. “J-just t-take i-i-it out, S-S-Sc-cra-a-tchy.” She can barely talk at all; and now you see why: the big black plastic tool is vibrating inside her like a jackhammer. Vinyl quickly yanks it out, letting the faint hum explode to a loud, rattling, buzzing noise.

“I’m so sorry, Tavi! I would have stopped, but, but I was cumming, too. Oh, are you o-”

“Scratchy, I’m great. It only hurt a little at the end.”

“O,” Vinyl Scratch whispers. “That was some serious fun.”

“Okay, Scratchy,” Octavia whispers back. The pet names are getting old. They hold each other, letting the drenched vibrator chill, now still on the bed. You watch from the leather chair as they kiss with slow, loving passion.

While it’s hot and all, you find yourself thirsty, bored, tired, and in need of a piss. You decide to leave the bits of semen all over Octavia’s feet and shins as an inconvenience for a later time.

You slowly peel yourself out the the chair and use the toilet and wash up, then return to the bedroom. Octavia and Vinyl Scratch are spooning under the covers. You’re envious of the DJ who gets to cop a feel all night long.

“Uh, ladies?” you say to neither in particular. You don’t know who wears the pants in the relationship, but you presume the party-animal DJ has some warrant over her reserved girlfriend. “That was just, a gay old time. I had tons of fun. Scratchy, Tavi,” you tip your invisible hat and find your clothes.

“First off,” Vinyl says from her back, her right hand till wrapped around her girlfriend. “No one calls me Scratchy, and no one calls her Tavi. Second,” Vinyl Scratch pauses, “you said gay. Third, you can sleep in this bed.”

Your grip on your boxers relaxes a bit. “IF,” she continues, ” you don’t try anything on Tavi. She’s mine.” Vinyl’s face scrunches up and her amorous hold on her girlfriend turns into that of a child protecting a teddy bear from bullies.

A smile forms on your face before you think to make it. “What if,” you pause, “I get one nipple touch.”

Vinyl remains stone. “No.”

You pause, pretending to weigh your options. “I begrudgingly accept your offer.”