Fronkby kudzuhaikuChaptersDocking manuversDirty talkSun strokeSo much for the aftercareDocking manuversBig, round, and captivating with a strange appeal: this was the only way that Gosling could describe Celestia’s thigh, which was inches from his nose. His eyes kept darting off to one side to look, he couldn’t stop, he was unable to help himself. Seeing that smooth, velvety limb of pale alabaster filled him with strange horse wants, peculiar horse desires, and weird horse needs. It was dreadful having horse needs, as horse needs weren’t necessarily civilised needs. That fleshy, meaty looking thigh had quivering muscles that mesmerised him, beguiled him, there was something about it that bewitched his mind. Especially that part where the thigh connected to the body, and that thin webbing of skin. It was in that spot that the softest, silkiest hairs could be found, and he loved to bury his snoot there and snort. There was a faint rustle of paper when Celestia turned the page of her book and Gosling’s ears stood tall. She was distracted. Without warning, Gosling suffered a horse moment: while twisting his neck around, his mouth opened wide and he clamped down upon the soft, tender flesh of the white mare’s thigh. It was satisfying like little else, and an electric thrill shot through his body while her flesh tensed against his teeth. “AAAAAAAAARGH! Gosling! Why?” “Horse moment,” he replied and he craned his head around to look up at the big white mare lying beside him on the bed. “That’s my excuse! Go get your own!” Celestia’s lower lip quivered as it protruded, and her muzzle wrinkled as a magnificent pout overtook her features. “I keep telling you… when I bite or nip you all of a sudden, I can’t help it! I have strong instincts!” “So do I.” Rolling over onto his back and spreading his hind legs to get more comfortable, Gosling focused on the now upside-down-in-his-vision Celestia. “It was just there… and so tempting to bite. I had a horse moment.” He kicked his hind legs up into the air and began scratching his croup against the bedspread, enduring yet another horse moment. Butt-scratchies made his horsey hindbrain happy. “That was my thigh!” Celestia’s voice was husky with pain, and her eyebrows furrowed as her pouty face intensified. “No warning, no nothing, just chomp!” “Well, yeah, that’s kinda how a horse moment works—” “Luna is right, you’re a ruffian!” Celestia’s eyes lingered just a little too long on Gosling’s exposed stomach and reacting to what she saw, she began to gnaw on her lower lip. After a moment, when her mouth opened, her lip slipped free and it was darkened with moisture. “Now my thigh is all hot, Gosling… blow on it.” Wiggling on his back, he tried to reposition his head to a better angle, and his struggle upset the blankets. There were red teeth marks in Celestia’s thigh, which was exciting and enticing. Something about how the redness stood out against the soft, supple pink flesh that lurked just below the short, fuzzy hairs of her pelt. There was another place on her body that changed from pink to red when nibbled on and he thought of that now while he pursed his lips and blew. Then, he heard the sound of a page being turned, and knew that she had gone back to reading. This was how the game was played: ignoring one another until such a point was reached that it became impossible. There were no rules, and just about anything was fair. Celestia was better at this game by far, and she had multiple spans of lifetimes to practice being a pest. Once more, Celestia’s thigh was inches away from his snoot, and she had gone back to reading. Gosling didn’t have eons of practice at being a pest, but he had all of the eagerness of youth, and a healthy dollop of stupidity as well. That tender thigh was awful tempting, the downy fuzziness of it, the chewy muscle, it all proved to be too much for the young, brash, foolish pegasus. CHOMP! “OW! YOU FEATHERBRAIN!” Celestia’s book snapped shut with a righteous rustling of its pages and she turned her baleful gaze upon her mate to glower at him with all of the celestial fury she could muster. “Did your mother birth a tarrasque? What’s wrong with you?” “Horse moment,” Gosling replied, his ears almost ringing, and he borrowed Celestia’s excuse once more. “I should throw you in the dungeon.” One eyebrow arched, the other eyebrow bore down, shading Celestia’s left eye, which now squinted with focused fury. With his front legs, Gosling gestured at the room around him. “This is the nicest dungeon I’ve ever been in, and I’ve been in a few. Too bad I don’t have a more attractive cellmate though. A real shame. Oh well, at least we have pillowcases.” Now, both eyebrows bore down, forming an angry ‘V’ just below the length of Celestia’s magnificent horn. Nostrils flaring, ears quivering, her dock began to wiggle, which caused her ethereal tail’s gentle flow to become erratic, almost fractal in nature. Extending one wing, she stuck out one primary feather and then stabbed Gosling right in the nose with it. The sooty dappled pegasus sneezed and all four of his legs kicked upwards into the air. “Cheating!” he managed to say in between a burst of sneezes. “Dirty”—more sneezes spilled forth, and he wiggled on his back as the sneezes racked his body—“cheater!” Whipping his head around, Gosling fought back the only way he could: he pressed his muzzle into the soft webbing where Celestia’s thigh met with the bulging curve of her stomach, and he sneezed. “Ugh! This backfired! Horrendously!” Disgusted, covered in snot, the now soiled white alicorn let out a groan of dismay as the sticky, slimy consequences of her actions now coated her belly. He might have lost the battle, but Gosling was winning the war. The shower or the tub was a far, far better battlefield for him, because a wet Gosling was a sexy Gosling. Some ponies were sexier in the rain than out of it, and he was one of those ponies. Overcome by sneezes, Gosling continued to use Celestia as a tissue, hoping to leave her so soiled that she had no choice but to retreat into the battlefield of his choosing. The steady thrum of water against the tiles of the shower sounded a lot like rain. Droplets came down from overhead and helpful jets sprayed water from the sides too. These were useful for cleaning things like wingpits, hard to reach places, and that tough to clean spot just beneath the dock. Celestia’s shower was as big as some ponies’ living rooms or parlours, because she was a big behemoth of a creature that needed a lot of room to spread her wings. The big white alicorn’s pale pink skin was now more of an exciting hot pink, made so by the hot water. The enclosed shower was filled with steam, the heavy kind of steam that opened up the pores and made the skin sting in just the right way, making a good scrub all the more satisfying. The larger alicorn and the somewhat smaller pegasus kept a wary eye on one another, as each knew the tricks the other was capable of. The battlefield was Gosling’s, after all. Water ran down Celestia’s sides in glistening rivulets, following the swollen curve of her belly. Her current condition was evidence of earlier conquest, which, surprisingly enough, had also started off with a bite, only she had bit Gosling on the neck while suffering a ‘horse moment’ of her own. The pent up pegasus paid her back the only way he could, and her current rotund condition was the end result. Turning about, Gosling braved exposing his backside to Celestia so he could focus on hers. He brushed up against her cutie mark and could feel the weird magic tingle of its projection through her pelt. It was electric, alluring, spurred him onward to seek other sensations. Rubbing his cheek along the wet, somewhat clingy curve of her generous backside, he moved his head upward, going against the grain of her pelt, and only stopped when his snoot was a few scant inches from her dock, which wiggled in anticipation of his lavish affections. Stretching out his neck a bit, his lips extended and reaching, Gosling took Celestia’s fragile dock into his mouth. He nibbled along the edge, and the sensation of his teeth pinching the flesh ignited his brain with desire. He could feel the hard bones of her dock just inside the thin skin, and he was careful, mindful of how sensitive this area was. His ministrations were tender, kind, and affectionate. Celestia’s left hind hoof stomped against the tile with the soft force of a distant thunderclap, and the sound echoed and reverberated off of the many white tiles. Gosling continued his nibbling, pulling and stretching the skin as tight as a drum about the tiny bones inside, he continued to provoke a reaction, delighting in how his mate squirmed from his attention. But this was not enough. After a good squeezing nip that made Celestia moan, he let go, opened his mouth, and stuck out his tongue, which vanished into the fuzzy hollow that existed just below Celestia’s white, velvet dock. Using the edge of his tongue, he grazed the cluster of nerves that he knew lurked within there, and was rewarded by a full body shiver from the sopping wet, steaming alicorn. When she squirmed too much, he pulled his tongue away and waited, allowing the anticipation to build. Being the impatient sort, the big mare took a half step backwards, eager for Gosling’s probing tongue to continue its work. There was a flash of orange and once more, Gosling invaded the secret folds of her flesh with his most dextrous organ, which he moved like a paint brush across her most sensitive areas. It was clear that he was driving her wild, because her dock flagged, rising high to grant greater access, and then squeezed down, trying to shield herself when the sensation became overwhelming. “No other…”—Celestia’s words were gasps, almost pants—“pony has… ever done… what you… are doing… right now!” Her back arched, all of her muscles spasmed, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “This is… an itch… I never… knew that… I had!” Against Gosling’s cheek, he felt a radiant heat that penetrated into his jaw. Already, she was showing signs of need. Her tight little pucker was vivid pink and clenching, tickled by the velvet of his jaw. Just a bit lower, her slit needed a little more coaxing. Her hidden lips—a clean, neat, almost unnoticeable folded-shut cleft—had turned a garish bubblegum pink, but had not yet grown puffy, nor was anything winking. To ignite the sun with burning lust, Gosling applied more pressure while he pushed hard into the hidden folds beneath her dock. The skin—some loose, some tight—was kneaded by his tongue, stretching it, pulling it from side to side, up and down, and then, knowing it would push her over the edge, he began to make a circular motion. Just below his ear, he heard a lewd, wet squelch, his reward for a job well done. The water from the shower pounded against their bodies, almost unnoticed. It ran down through the many tiny wrinkles that formed when Celestia flexed and wiggled her dock, then cascaded over Gosling’s probing, curious tongue. Celestia’s voluminous, expansive hindquarters swayed from side to side while the muscles of her hocks tugged and jerked. Gritting her teeth together, she pressed the side of her face into the hard edge of the soap shelf while trying to ride out the demanding need for release, for relief. The faint lapping sounds of Gosling’s eager exploration were almost drowned out by the steady rhythm of the falling water, but the moist sounding squishes that came from Celestia’s hot, excited crotch almost echoed off of the shower walls. Her lips were now puffy, swollen, more than doubled in size, and her tight, compact slit—almost invisible in the vast expanse of white that was her hidden places—was now a visible, inviting place, begging for attention. A tiny pink knob popped out like a silly looking cuckoo peeking out from its clock, and then vanished once more with a clingy slurp that sounded like a knife being dredged through a jam jar. The scent of vanilla now blended with the citrus scent of soap as Gosling continued with his task. The underside of Celestia’s dock would be the cleanest in all of Equestria—at least until he made a mess in it. Celestia’s winking nubbin made another appearance, then another, and it wasn’t long until it moved with metronomic regularity. With each teasing wink, droplets of oily squalene mixed with running water and glistened in the faint glow of the overhead light. There was a screech as Celestia’s horn scraped along the tile, leaving behind a score that would need a repair spell to fix. Stretching his neck, Gosling pulled away, gasping for air and filling his lungs with fragrant steam. Celestia wasn’t having this, not at all, and she waggled her backside from side to side with her dock flagged straight up while her ears drooped into a submissive, almost pleading position. Taking a moment to unkink his neckbones, he took a little break to sort himself out so he could prepare for what came next. His movements caused his hardened length to slap against his belly, an almost painful sensation made worse by the sting caused by the hot water. Being young, he was always almost full to bursting with need and there was already a dull ache in his balls that he struggled to ignore. That ache would be tended to soon enough, one way or another, but for now, if he wanted to make the sun go down, he first had to make her shine. Author's Note I have some real doubts about posting this. Reservations. This is part of a much larger, much more involved story, with in jokes, and context, and all manner of little silly, endearing things. This isn’t just ~~clop~~ equine erotica, but the continuation of a story. If you came here looking for mindless, formulaic dirty clop, you’re going to be sorely disappointed, and I offer you my most sincere apologies in advance. But if story matters, characters, content, context, and feeling, then I hope you’ll give this a chance. It’ll be a few chapters long. Thank you, gentle reader, for choosing to have a look at my work. Dirty talkAn immense task stood before Gosling, and her name was Celestia. There was only one sure way to bring a giant down, and that was careful, considerate attention. She was sensitive, far too sensitive on that one little spot, and she got off on indirect stimulation. This was, perhaps of all of his lessons, the most difficult, and the one he was still trying to sort out. Standing in the hot, flowing water that pounded against his taut-stretched skin, Gosling watched while Celestia winked, knowing that the best way to get her to climax was to somehow manipulate and harness her own natural movements in such a way that left her with a surplus of stimulation. The slick, swift motion of her flesh against itself had to be controlled in such a way that it made her climax. She stood with her dock flagged, quivering, aroused to the point that some of the strands of her tail had become physical again. Saturated with water, these strands clung to her flesh, her crevices, and her cleft. While her dock strained, pulling tighter to rise higher, the awe-inspiring asterix of her pucker was stretched lengthwise, which further pulled on the fevered, inviting folds of her slit-split cleft. Gosling knew that Celestia could work herself into orgasm just by flexing her own dock and drawing her skin tight back here, tightening it around her winking, excited clitoris, because she had once given him a demonstration. “Don’t just stand there…” Celestia’s words were breathy, husky, and punctuated with pleading pants. “It’s not fair to take me this far and then not finish the job. Please your princess!” Well, yes, but how? Stick with the old tried and true? Attempt something new? Perhaps something risky? Push the boundaries between pain and pleasure? A bite had started this, perhaps something just as titillating could take this to as of yet unexplored plateaus of perversion. Closing his eyes, Gosling allowed his other senses a treat: the scent of the soap, the vanilla musk that came from Celestia’s overexcited anal glands, the sounds, all of them, of which there were so many that it was overwhelming, an assault upon the senses. With his eyes still closed, he could feel the fevered, desperate heat that somehow stood out against the steam of the shower. He used this warm glow against his face to guide himself in, seeking the very warmth of the sun itself. When his snoot touched against hot flesh, Celestia jumped and let out a shrill whinny. Still blind, he felt his way around, trying to imagine what it was that he was touching, trying to see it in his mind. The skin was hard in places, engorged with blood, and he could feel a pounding pulse in the rock hard patch of skin that he knew was located just below her flexing anus. With all of this blood flooding this area, fueling the machinery of arousal and reproduction, Gosling thought of what it felt like. Penetration was the worst and hardest thing, perhaps the most difficult part of loving an alicorn. The blood sang at a higher temperature than the other tribes, and thrusting into her in an over-eager manner was a good way to hurt himself. It was like getting into a too-hot tub, one had to ease themselves into it a little at a time or be punished by the stinging pain. The heat—her heat—was something best faced with caution, lest one get burned. He allowed his nose to go down, following along the gentle, pleasing curve of her body. His snoot traveled over a slick, oily patch that quivered at his touch, enticing him to linger and explore. The flesh of the two lips that brushed against his muzzle was hard as iron, an impenetrable door that only opened to the invited. During his slow, lazy passing, he gave one of the lips a little nip, just a gentle, loving nibble to let it know that he would return. Each of Celestia’s winks caused a red-pink almost heart-shaped knob to appear, it pushed out between the tight, well sealed doors of the fortress of her femininity and then withdrew, behaving like a shy debutante that didn’t know if she wished to participate in the coital cotillion. When he passed, Gosling felt it slip out and grace him with its touch, a little clitoral kiss, a reminder to drop in and say hello. The heat from it was searing. Feeling Gosling’s fuzz against her sensitive, secretive organ, Celestia started and her body went rigid for a time. The skin turned from hard to soft as Gosling slid his muzzle along the curve of her crotch and slipped beneath her. When water trickled into his nose, he snorted, which caused Celestia’s legs to kick out a bit, widening her stance. There were teats back here, along with the gentle swell of her stomach. There was life in there, life that he had helped make, a fact that still blew his mind all these months later. Sticking out his tongue, he flicked at one teat, then the other, and was rewarded with a hiss. Rewarded? Warned? It was hard to tell. Right now he stood with his head in the most dangerous of places, sandwiched between her thighs, powerful, meaty thighs that could crush marble blocks betwixt them. Retreating a little, he traveled back up the perfect curve and his slow, teasing movements caused Celestia’s back to arch. When his eyes opened, he found himself staring at a sight that flooded him with desire. His own spasming muscles caused his length to slap against his stomach and the hot water trickling down his sides made the skin of his member sting. The pain only added to his arousal, but he had to ignore it. “Gosling”—Celestia’s voice was every bit as needy as it was commanding and demanding—“I need for you to tongue-fuck my foalhole, and I need you to do it right now! Along the top and not the bottom! I’m overstimulated!” “Yous a dirty girl, yous knows that, right?” His words alone caused Celestia to clench tight and he knew the power of his Broncs accent over the magnificent white alicorn. “Gosling, do you wish to hang my velvet drapes upon your curtain rod?” Celestia asked in a sweet, almost cloying tone while one hoof made an impatient splashy-stomp against the textured, grippy floor. The wily pegasus was slow to respond: “Well, yeah, probably—” “Well, get to licking! Please your princess and I will reward you most handsomely!” Scowling, rebellious, being young and foolish, Gosling would not be told what to do. His tongue appeared, a dextrous infiltrator, a slippery invader that liked to wiggle into exciting new places. He pressed the tip of his tongue against the rock hard patch of skin that existed just between Celestia’s puffy, swollen vulva and the pinched, puckered entrance of the smaller temple, the secret chapel where he worshipped. Instead of going down, as was expected of him, he ascended, going up. He felt the tight wrinkles and bumps against his tongue, and there was the faint taste of vanilla to greet him. Celestia let out an equine bellow, her sides expanding considerably when she filled her lungs with steamy shower air. The rough, bumpy texture of his tongue had a pleasing friction against the unyielding, wrinkled texture of Celestia’s flexing anus. The vanilla taste—the castoreum from her anal glands—wasn’t so much sweet as it was a pleasant, savoury bitterness. He made slow, lazy circles, but also tugged upwards, drawing the puffy folds of her vulva ever tighter around the winking royal jewel tucked away in the deep, inviting folds of the royal vault. After a few licks, he was rewarded with a whimper and settled in for what was sure to be a time consuming task. Lapping at the rubbery sphincter of flesh just below Celestia’s dock, Gosling enjoyed his little treat of vanilla, the scent filling his nose even as the flavour flooded his mouth. Celestia’s tight, pink, perfect little pucker deserved some loving too, and Gosling was wont to do it. Circles were made, then crisscrosses, then more circles, followed by more crisscrosses, but the entire time, he maintained upwards pressure so everything down below would remain stretched taut. Celestia’s muzzle was pointed upwards at the ceiling now, her long, slender neck and her back were one long continuous arch. Reaching back with her wings in an almost double-jointed manner, she grabbed her hips, the generous, curvaceous swell of her well endowed hindquarters, and she spread herself, pulling her velvety cheeks apart to give Gosling a little better access. She wanted to be tongue-fucked? That could be arranged, but Gosling had no interest in her foalhole at the moment. He was almost hypnotised by the curious—almost-chewy—texture of her anus. When he pressed his tongue against it, she clenched tighter and the flesh pushed back with delightful resistance. Tilting his head, he changed tactics and began using the side of his long tongue like a saw, drawing it back and forth along the entrance often hidden by her dock. A flood of clingy, slippery liquid gushed from Celestia’s gash, which was now an angry, lurid red, the colours of an angry, seeping, furious volcano. The pace of her clitoral winking was now like a steam-driven piston rod and moved with the speed of a chugging locomotive barreling down the tracks at full burn. The hypersensitive knob of flesh was forced to push its way past barriers determined to remain shut tight and each appearance of Celestia’s perverse princess pearl was accompanied by a lewd squelch rather than the blast of horns that blared deafening proclamations of princessly arrival. And Celestia certainly needed a declaration that she was about to arrive. No longer content to tease the entrance, Gosling made a concerted effort to batter down the back door and set his tongue to work. The tip of his tongue was like a key, poking, prodding, seeking the welcoming slot that would allow it to slide in. He was rough and abrasive, with no gentle movements, not now. Hard aggressive action was needed and his actions caused Celestia’s cleft to be stretched tight as a drum. He pushed and shoved not just with his tongue, but with his muzzle and his snoot, slamming against the searing flesh that offered token resistance. Gosling was determined to break into Celestia’s vaunted vanilla hidey-hole and when the flat, flared tip of his tongue found just the right angle, he thrust forward. She resisted him at first—she always did, it was reflex—but his persistence was rewarded when she relaxed her sphincter just enough for him to disturb the sanctity of the hidden chapel of secret vanilla delights. She was grippy and little bumps just past the entrance ground against his tongue, offering delightful friction. He had to push harder to keep going and as he probed deeper, he could feel her closing tight around him, grabbing him, and squeezing him during this weird, intimate kiss where he touched her most secret, vulnerable places. After making a few penetrating flicks with his tongue, he retreated before he pulled a muscle or got a cramp. It was hazardous to explore this ancient chapel, this hidden temple, and perhaps one day when he was a well seasoned explorer, he would plumb its depths. But today was not that day. He retreated with a wet pop, a sound very much like a cork shooting out of a champagne bottle. “Yeah, yous a dirty girl, ain’t yous… I just invaded your salad shooter with my mouth dick—” Gosling never got a chance to finish because he was squirted in the face by a copious stream of squalene, some of which had gone right into his eye, which stung and made the muscles of his face quiver with pain. He angled his face up towards the shower head to rinse out his eye and another stream of greasy, musky liquid was squirted from Celestia’s seizing vulva. This time, a flood came forth, soaking Gosling, leaving him slick and glistening in the soft warm glow of the overhead light. The third blast produced a firehose gush that came out like a flood for a second that seemed to stretch into an eternity, then reduced to a steady trickle that dribbled down between Celestia’s quivering, trembling hind legs. The liquid was viscous, clingy, and hung down in long stretchy ribbon-like strands that seemed to stretch impossibly long before breaking. “Did you… did you just cum at the sound of my voice?” Gosling asked while the vanilla-acrid scent of alicorn sexual secretions assailed his nostrils. He waited, but there was no reply from his mate, who seemed to still be lost in her climax. His eyes, greedy for the sight of her in this pose, drank her in, and he stared at her wet, glistening neck, his favourite part of her. She was beautiful, perfect, and just as he was about to say so, he was sprayed yet again when Celestia wiggled her bottom at him. He was marked by the alpha mare of alpha mares. She was panting, her tongue out and dangling from the side of her mouth while her muzzle still pointed upwards at the ceiling. Her sides heaved like blacksmith’s bellows and her parted backside was released when her wings sagged down to the floor of the shower. Her feathers were rustled, mussed, and still somehow perfect, evidence of a sexually flawless creature. The jerking muscles of her hind legs made her wobble and the musky flood continued to ooze from her spasming cleft. This was a lesson learned for Gosling, further evidence that one did not need to pounce upon the clitoris and begin gnawing. Indirect stimulation had brought her to one of her most powerful orgasms yet, based upon the evidence of what he was seeing. A flatulent squish could be heard, followed by a queef of shuddering relief that echoed from the tile walls. Like an eager student, Gosling looked up at his teacher with wide, adoring eyes, watching her every movement as she recovered. Even now, she was majestic, with her dangling tongue, her crossed eyes, her fluttering eyelids, and the soft, squirty post-orgasmic expulsions of her musky, nostril-crinkling feminine secretions that threatened to provoke Gosling into a dignity destroying flehmen response. Even though he knew he had done well, there was a part of him that sought praise, but Celestia was in no condition to give it. Grinning, cocky, confident, Gosling took a step back and allowed his mate to recover. Author's Note Foreplay! It exists! Sun stroke“Your eye looks a little red, Gosling,” Celestia said to her shower companion while her hind hooves clicked and clattered against the textured stone floor. “You will, of course, not explain to anypony how your eye came to be in this condition.” Her dock was still flexing and a ribbon of semi-clear liquid still dribbled down from her over-excited nethers. “Yeah, my lips are sealed,” Gosling replied while looking up at the big white mare with a grin. “Too bad yours weren’t.” When the mare beside him began to titter, his ears perked and his grin widened. He sidled up closer to his wife and rubbed his dappled body alongside hers. A wicker of appreciation could be heard in the base of his throat and then with a saucy eyebrow waggle, he did what he did best, and that was be a shameless flirt. “When it comes times to look after me, I’ll be a bit more mindful of where I aim.” Perhaps tired of the smaller pegasus’ sass, Celestia silenced him the only way she knew how: she kissed him, bearing down on him with her height, weight, and strength to make him submit. Of course, Gosling pushed back, even as his legs wobbled while the sounds of flesh slapping together down below filled the air, a sound that made Celestia’s ears pivot and rotate with keen interest. Without warning, Celestia invaded him, but he should have been expecting that. Her tongue had surprising strength, an earth pony feature no doubt, and it was all he could to endure her affectionate assault. Already a bit sore and a bit tired from his efforts, he submitted to her dominance while her brutish tongue flailed along the roof of his mouth. She pushed against his lips with an almost brutal savage ferocity and with a mighty pull of her lungs, she sucked the wind out of him, overcoming him with lightheaded dizziness. His legs felt like rubbery noodles and his balls had a mighty, mighty ache. It felt as if he had two new hearts beating in his trim scrotum, the most fragile part of his anatomy that was tucked high up under his tail, a feature unique to pegasus anatomy. When Gosling pulled away so that he could breathe again, he glared up at her with submissive, yet defiant eyes. His sharp inhale almost whistled and a low equine rumble could be heard in the thickest part of his neck. The sting in his eye was distracting and made it difficult to stand in brave defiance. “You just wait, mare, one day I’ll bring you down.” Celestia let out a haughty sniff—a warm up—and then she let out a mighty snort that sent water spraying in a fine mist from her nostrils. She tossed her head around, her ears angled forwards over her face, and a dreadful sense of fun blazed in her eyes. Hooves clopping, her hind legs still seemed to have a mind of their own and she drew herself up to her full height, towering over Gosling. For a moment, it seemed that her horn would scrape the wide rainmaker showerhead. “I am Sol Invictus—” “Yeah, yous is the Unconquered Sun, but I can make you moan like a dirty little secondary school filly, ya smarmy broad.” Fearless, Gosling’s eyebrow raised and he stared up at his much larger mate with all of the bravery and stupidity of youth. The only thing that saved him from utter destruction was the fact that he was pretty, and he clung to this knowledge like a shield. “Don’t make me destroy you.” The suggestion of a spectre of unspeakable sexual deviancy lurked in the depths of Celestia’s cold-spoken, deadpan words. “I have been gentle so far, but I can be cruel.” “Eh, I ain’t afraid of you, do your worst, Big Spoon.” The moment that the word ‘spoon’ left Gosling’s mouth, he knew that he had gotten under Celestia’s skin. A whispering voice in the back of his mind begged him to think about his own self preservation, but as he stared into Celestia’s mouth, a perfect round ‘O’ of shock, he ignored that annoying little voice and thought about how Celestia looked when she looked up at him from between his legs. It was far more fun to poke the dragon. “Yous look cute with your mouth open like that,” Gosling said, continuing to fly into dangerous, unknown skies. “If yous is gonna talk me into submission, I gots something to keep your mouth busy.” “Gosling…” During the long pregnant pause that followed Celestia’s single-spoken utterance, Gosling felt the hot prickle of magic wrapping around his length and the alicorn’s horn now glowed with a light to rival the sun itself. He was forced to squint and then to turn away, and ears perked when he heard the rest of what his mate had to say: “Stand at attention, soldier!” Even as something was being squeezed, kneaded by invisible forces, Gosling’s training took over and he snapped to attention. The tickle-prickle of magic was quite warm and now the sensation crept over his balls, which made his groin muscles have fits. Celestia was lowering her head down to be closer to him, and her eyes held the promises of ten thousand unspeakable cruelties that could be done in a single night—an endless night—because she controlled the sun. “Little Spoon must learn his place and he shall remain at attention,” Celestia said, her lips brushing up against Gosling’s ear and causing it to twitch. “At least you have presented your weapon for inspection, Little Spoon.” “So, uh, yous wanna help me polish my pike?” Gosling asked, wondering just how far he could push the limits. “It could use a little spit shine—urk!” There was a gentle but commanding tug on his cock that made the next words he was about to say die in his throat. Now he felt swimmy headed, an odd mix of pleasure and pain. An undulating sensation traveled up and down his length, squeezing at the base, relenting along his shaft, and then jaw gritting pressure was applied near the tip. He had to fight to keep his dock from flagging, and when his balls were squeezed, his hind legs tried to betray him. It felt so good that his eyes almost rolled back into his head and he swayed in place. There was another painful tug that made his whole body go rigid and he braced at attention, wanting the pleasure, and not the pain. A golden glow shone from his belly and his backside, a blinding, brilliant light, and Celestia’s magic continued to manipulate him in ways that he could not even begin to comprehend. His hips bucked and a few involuntary humps escaped him. The urge, the driving need to mount something was already driving him crazy. There was a hollow ache along his stomach that could not be satisfied with anything less than a warm, eager, willing body writhing against him. The pegasus was filled with a desperate need to not give his mate the satisfaction of watching him squirm, but he was powerless against her sexual sorcery. Along his back, he could feel his muscles contracting, tensing, and then down below, things began to feel weird. Celestia’s magic was… creeping… down the entrance of his cock, slithering into his urethral opening and burrowing its way inside. A pleasing vibration teased him from within, sapping his strength and robbing him of his will to resist. The heat was hot and it poured down inside of him like a cunning liquid, touching him in places where he had never been touched, and it buzzed like a whole swarm of bees setting up a hive in the hollow of his groin. Celestia whispered into his ear, “Submit to me, Little Spoon, and I will be merciful.” To respond, Gosling was forced to gasp out a lone syllable: “No!” “So be it.” Celestia’s lips nibbled on the edge of Gosling’s ear and there never was a sweeter, more well-intentioned tormentor. “Now you will learn a dreadful lesson, my student.” Something crawled up his backside and there was a most curious sensation that seemed to slither over his tailhole. Now, he felt pressure, something pushed, something unseen and demanding. The tables had been turned and Gosling was determined to explore this new frontier with all of the bravery he could muster. He whimpered when he felt himself parted and something pushed inside. Now, something thrummed against what felt like the root of his cock from the inside and it filled his hindgut with previously unexperienced warmth. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and with a cry, he broke. Reaching out, he clung to Celestia’s front leg, pressing his neck against her, and he would have fallen to the floor had she not been holding his hindquarters up. One foreleg wrapped even tighter around Celestia’s elbow, and Gosling’s tongue unfurled from his slack jaw. The sensation inside of his urethra was like flossing, but had a pleasant pulsating sensation that traversed the length of his shaft, moving to and fro. He only had a vague awareness of the fact that his tail had been lifted and pushed aside. Something thumped like a pounding heart just inside his anus, and that something had an incredible heat that made his balls ache with the need to empty. As for his balls themselves, they were being squeezed and kneaded within his scrotum; when the pressure peaked, his hind legs bucked and stomped in response. “Be brave, soldier, just a little longer now,” Celestia whispered, and her words were like an intense flame that burned his ear. “This will be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, I promise.” Gosling did not know it, but his prostate was being manipulated. Charley horses ran up and down Gosling’s hind legs, rendering them useless. The muscles drew so taut, so tight, that his legs buckled and folded together, trying to shield his tender groin from further sensation. Stars floated in the black depths that were the inside of Gosling’s squeezed-shut eyelids. He was powerless and it was all he could do to just remain conscious while this continued. There was a tremendous feeling of pressure from within as something mashed hard against the soft, meaty places hidden near the root of his fine, streamlined pegasus prick. It proved to be too much and the floodgates broke. The single largest wad of semen that had ever shot out of Gosling came forth like a cannon blast, propelled by immense pressure. Every stomach muscle clenched, crushing the air from his lungs, and the flood of semen hit the floor with enough force that it threatened to crack the stone tile. The sound it made was terrific, a violent, forceful sound as it spattered, and Gosling’s back arched while his body braced for a second ejaculation. Somehow, the second was even worse than the first, which as it had turned out, was just his body clearing the way for what was yet to come. A gibbering cry escaped from between Gosling’s clenched teeth and the second blast began to tear its way free. It rumbled down his urethra like a cannonball that was almost too tight for the bore of the cannon. The pressure bearing down on him from just inside his tailhole increased, and Gosling knew what it felt like to be a lemon squeezed for juice. The second shot hit the stone floor with enough force to bounce, and it broke into a thousand tiny droplets that got washed away by the steaming, streaming water. Swirls and eddies of white circled the drain, along with a multitude of fine white and gradient grey hairs. Gosling couldn’t even thrust his hips, he was paralysed by his own ejacution, which now came from him rapid-fire. The wet splats of it hitting the floor could not be heard by Gosling, who was almost deafened by the blood roaring in his ears. His muscles ached as the Charley horses ran rampant, galloping up and down the lengths of his legs, their cruel hooves cutting deep into his flesh. Lost in the terrible throes of the most intense orgasm of his life, Gosling cried like a foal and bawled into the soft fuzz of Celestia’s perfect white leg. Semen continued spurting from the tip of his cock for a good thirty seconds at least, strong bursts at first, which tapered off into high pressure droplets propelled outwards by the powerful forces of constriction that wracked his insides. The pleasure and the pain melded into a pleasant, almost intoxicating warm fuzz and Gosling felt as though he was drifting away on a warm cloud dappled with summer’s sunshine. Celestia held him in her magic, his tremouring, trembling body lifted away from the floor while his copious, stringy ribbons of semen formed spiral patterns as it circled the drain. Like a drunkard given too much wine, Gosling was wasted and he wept while his cock twitched and waved like some mad conductor’s wand. At long last, he began to soften, and he felt a soft kiss against his ear, followed by the words, “I think it is time I took you to bed, Little Spoon.” Author's Note One more chapter to go... So much for the aftercareIn all of his short life, Gosling had never known such cavernous emptiness within himself. His legs still ached, still quivered, still spasmed, and his stomach was almost too tender to touch. Like so many others, he had flown too close to the sun and had been burned for his efforts. Not that he minded—indeed, this experience had been an eye opener for him—and torrid thoughts lurked deep within his brain, feverish fantasies of what other new encounters awaited. When he recovered, he would have to challenge her dominance again just to explore the consequences. Celestia had been a fertility goddess, after all, in another life, another time. Which brought to mind a question that his brain demanded be asked: “Sunshine, how did you learn how to do what you just did?” “That was magic born of necessity,” she replied and her voice sounded drowsy. “Sleep now, Little Spoon.” “How was that a necessity?” He felt Celestia’s warm body snuggled against his back and in bed, this position in particular showed just how much she dwarfed him. She was big, she was intimidating, she was ancient, she was the Big Spoon, and he loved her more than words could say. “Diet, poor health, disease... those were hard times, Gosling, and it was difficult for stallions to ejaculate. Luna and I both had to help them, sometimes. Posing as fertility goddesses, we used magic to coax out every precious drop and we brought the tribes back from the very brink of extinction.” Stretching out his neck, Gosling searched for a cool spot on the pillow to rest his cheek. When he strayed a little too far, Celestia pulled him back, no doubt desiring him to remain close. One foreleg shifted his body with an almost maternal gentleness. Had Gosling more of a presence of mind, he might have marvelled at how somepony so strong could also be so gentle. “Why can’t I ever snuggle up against your back?” Gosling asked, filling the dark bedroom with his words. “Because you are the little spoon,” she replied, and then she let out a mighty yawn that could challenge any dragon’s. “And because I don’t want to wake up in the morning with something poking me in the middle of my back. You’re too little… there is no comfortable place for you.” Bothered by this answer, Gosling squirmed and thrashed in bed until he had rolled over onto his back, and he turned his head until he was almost snoot to snoot with the big white mare beside him. His body felt like lead and his efforts to move caused considerable pain. At least it was a good pain, the pain of accomplishment. He lay there a moment, breathing in the air she exhaled, which smelled like hot cinnamon toothpaste and sort of burned the delicate skin just past his nostrils. “The things you’ve seen.” These words came out much sleepier than Gosling would have liked. “All of that history. The rise and fall of nations. Triumphant successes and spectacular failures. I wish I could know even a tiny fraction of what you remember.” “If I give you a tidbit of history, will you go to sleep?” Celestia asked in a sweet, sleepy voice. “The time to raise the sun is mere hours from now.” “I don’t want to hear the hot buttery pony story.” Though he didn’t wish to admit it, his eyelids felt heavy. Being this warm, this exhausted, this empty, he wanted to go to sleep and then wake up to a hearty breakfast. Now on his back, he didn’t feel the pressing need to find a cool place on the pillow for his cheek. Celestia’s hoof moved beneath the heavy comforter and the edge of it came to rest against Gosling’s neck. She began to make slow, lazy circles with it, over and over in the same spot, and this worked out a tired, worn out whicker from the supine pegasus. If she kept this up, Gosling knew that he would lose the battle against sleep, and he would tumble into Luna’s realm. “There is a story of the most impressive success that was also a failure,” Celestia began, and she kicked out her hind legs, stretching them to get herself more comfortable. The whole bed creaked when she shifted her bulk, and settled the rotund bulk of her foal-filled stomach in a position that was a little kinder to her spine. “There was once an immigrant pony from Fancy that produced a garlic flavoured toothpaste—” “Really?” Gosling’s eyes flew wide open in the dark. “Are you pulling my wing?” “Little Spoon, be quiet, and let me tell my tale.” “Big Spoon, your tales are often half myth, if you can forgive me for saying so.” This coaxed a big husky chuckle out of Celestia, that made the whole bed shake. Gosling’s innards weren’t prepared for this sudden movement, and everything throbbed as a reminder to keep the bed still, or else. The hoof making pleasant little circles against his neck never faltered, never slowed, and with the pain in his groin, her light touch gave Gosling goose bumps all over. The contrasting sensations filled his body with shivery tingles. “This pony from Fancy,” Celestia said, while doing nothing to defend her reputation, “he was convinced that garlic flavoured toothpaste would be the next big thing. The next great innovation. He was convinced that ponies would love the taste of garlic flavoured toothpaste so much that there would be a revolution in dental hygiene. Because he loved the flavour of garlic so much, he assumed that all ponies shared this trait.” Ears pricked, Gosling waited for the punchline, the gag, the plunge into absurdity so common to Celestia’s stories. He loved her for her stories, her jests, this mare who had survived so much history had embraced the absurd, the preposterous, the risible nonsensical, farcical silliness that was the byproduct of civilisation. It occurred to Gosling that Celestia had squeezed his seed out of him like toothpaste from a tube. “Never once did he think about the fact that ponies brushed their teeth to get rid of pungent reeks like garlic and stinky cheeses.” Celestia sighed, a wistful sound in the dark, and the hoof that made little circles against Gosling’s neck drifted to another location, moving down and pressing against the defiant scruffle of his chest fluff. “He followed his dream, and he laboured, and he sacrificed everything to make his dream happen. He worked many jobs, he made a name for himself, he established a reputation, and when the time was right, he borrowed and invested his own fortune into the creation of a toothpaste factory in the city of Fillydelphia.” The soft, soothing murmur of Celestia’s voice was doing a number on Gosling, and his eyelids grew heavy. The light, affectionate touch of his wife’s hoof against his handsome scruffle somehow caused all of his tight, bunched-up muscles to loosen. The bed was warm, too warm even, and this contributed to an overwhelming sensation of drowsiness. “The public saw it as a novelty, a gag, a joke… and much to my own surprise, ponies bought the toothpaste. Stores ran out of it and there was a struggle to keep the shelves stocked. This pony believed that he was on the very brink of the dental hygiene revolution that he had dreamed of. His dreams, no doubt, seemed just within his reach. Just like little happy go lucky pegasus foals that think they can fly to the moon somehow. There are always a few that try so hard to achieve this dream, and so too did the pony from Fancy.” Gosling allowed one eye to close, but not the other. The story was interesting and now, he had to hear it out. Celestia, like a storytelling spider, had trapped him in her web, and he was powerless to resist her now. He stifled a yawn and snuggled a little closer to his mate, delighting in the inviting curves of her body. “Even I took part in the joke, and left many tubes of this toothpaste in the rooms of my students. Alas, the gag wore off, the joke ceased to be funny, and leaving tubes of garlic toothpaste in the bathroom could only be funny for so long. All of Equestria waited for the next gag novelty… and this pony from Fancy, his dreams were crushed when he realised what had happened.” “What happened?” Gosling asked, his words slurred from the need for sleep. “A great failure,” Celestia replied, “as one dream died, crushed, extinguished and smothered. This dream was not to be… but where one dream ended, another began, and this pony from Fancy, he picked up the pieces to see what could be done with them. Rather than quit, rather than give up, he chose to work with what he had… and what he had was the beginnings of a gag empire. From humble beginnings and a silly idea, a mighty empire sprung, and all of Equestria was made a better, funnier place because one little pony dreamed of garlic flavoured toothpaste.” “That’s actually pretty neat.” “Yes, Gosling, he brought laughter to millions and became a much-beloved public figure. Fillydelphia grew as a city to support his industry. Even now, long after he is gone, his empire lives on with his sons and his daughters. Tarte Normande Pie dared to dream of garlic flavoured toothpaste, and the world was made better because of it.” When Gosling went to respond, all that came out was a yawn. “Goodnight, my beloved silly little pegasus.” With these words came an affectionate kiss upon the cheek. “Wait…” Gosling struggled against sleep, which threatened to overcome him like a suffocating blanket. “Wait… that name… Tarte Normande Pie… that seems a little off, don’t it? Redundant.” “Immigration, Gosling.” These soft spoken words tickled Gosling’s ear. “Names were standardised when ponies immigrated.” The heaviness of his eyelids proved too much to bear, and Gosling began to drift. Like any pegasus, he soared away, adrift among the clouds of slumber, and his wings twitched against his sides. Luna’s realm beckoned, and the last thoughts of his conscious mind were hopes that he would see her, that maybe he could spend time with her, that perhaps they could play beneath the stars in the endless universe of dreams. Just as he was about to be severed from reality completely, Celestia’s fine, perfect teeth clamped down upon his neck, and his eyelids flew open while he let out a shrill, reverberating nicker of pained surprise. The bite was painful enough to throb, and right away, the skin grew hot, too hot. “Sorry,” was Celestia’s sweet apology that she whispered into his ear. “Horse moment.” Author's Note This is my favourite chapter of this story. Thank you for reading. Perhaps we’ll do this again sometime.
Docking manuversBig, round, and captivating with a strange appeal: this was the only way that Gosling could describe Celestia’s thigh, which was inches from his nose. His eyes kept darting off to one side to look, he couldn’t stop, he was unable to help himself. Seeing that smooth, velvety limb of pale alabaster filled him with strange horse wants, peculiar horse desires, and weird horse needs. It was dreadful having horse needs, as horse needs weren’t necessarily civilised needs. That fleshy, meaty looking thigh had quivering muscles that mesmerised him, beguiled him, there was something about it that bewitched his mind. Especially that part where the thigh connected to the body, and that thin webbing of skin. It was in that spot that the softest, silkiest hairs could be found, and he loved to bury his snoot there and snort. There was a faint rustle of paper when Celestia turned the page of her book and Gosling’s ears stood tall. She was distracted. Without warning, Gosling suffered a horse moment: while twisting his neck around, his mouth opened wide and he clamped down upon the soft, tender flesh of the white mare’s thigh. It was satisfying like little else, and an electric thrill shot through his body while her flesh tensed against his teeth. “AAAAAAAAARGH! Gosling! Why?” “Horse moment,” he replied and he craned his head around to look up at the big white mare lying beside him on the bed. “That’s my excuse! Go get your own!” Celestia’s lower lip quivered as it protruded, and her muzzle wrinkled as a magnificent pout overtook her features. “I keep telling you… when I bite or nip you all of a sudden, I can’t help it! I have strong instincts!” “So do I.” Rolling over onto his back and spreading his hind legs to get more comfortable, Gosling focused on the now upside-down-in-his-vision Celestia. “It was just there… and so tempting to bite. I had a horse moment.” He kicked his hind legs up into the air and began scratching his croup against the bedspread, enduring yet another horse moment. Butt-scratchies made his horsey hindbrain happy. “That was my thigh!” Celestia’s voice was husky with pain, and her eyebrows furrowed as her pouty face intensified. “No warning, no nothing, just chomp!” “Well, yeah, that’s kinda how a horse moment works—” “Luna is right, you’re a ruffian!” Celestia’s eyes lingered just a little too long on Gosling’s exposed stomach and reacting to what she saw, she began to gnaw on her lower lip. After a moment, when her mouth opened, her lip slipped free and it was darkened with moisture. “Now my thigh is all hot, Gosling… blow on it.” Wiggling on his back, he tried to reposition his head to a better angle, and his struggle upset the blankets. There were red teeth marks in Celestia’s thigh, which was exciting and enticing. Something about how the redness stood out against the soft, supple pink flesh that lurked just below the short, fuzzy hairs of her pelt. There was another place on her body that changed from pink to red when nibbled on and he thought of that now while he pursed his lips and blew. Then, he heard the sound of a page being turned, and knew that she had gone back to reading. This was how the game was played: ignoring one another until such a point was reached that it became impossible. There were no rules, and just about anything was fair. Celestia was better at this game by far, and she had multiple spans of lifetimes to practice being a pest. Once more, Celestia’s thigh was inches away from his snoot, and she had gone back to reading. Gosling didn’t have eons of practice at being a pest, but he had all of the eagerness of youth, and a healthy dollop of stupidity as well. That tender thigh was awful tempting, the downy fuzziness of it, the chewy muscle, it all proved to be too much for the young, brash, foolish pegasus. CHOMP! “OW! YOU FEATHERBRAIN!” Celestia’s book snapped shut with a righteous rustling of its pages and she turned her baleful gaze upon her mate to glower at him with all of the celestial fury she could muster. “Did your mother birth a tarrasque? What’s wrong with you?” “Horse moment,” Gosling replied, his ears almost ringing, and he borrowed Celestia’s excuse once more. “I should throw you in the dungeon.” One eyebrow arched, the other eyebrow bore down, shading Celestia’s left eye, which now squinted with focused fury. With his front legs, Gosling gestured at the room around him. “This is the nicest dungeon I’ve ever been in, and I’ve been in a few. Too bad I don’t have a more attractive cellmate though. A real shame. Oh well, at least we have pillowcases.” Now, both eyebrows bore down, forming an angry ‘V’ just below the length of Celestia’s magnificent horn. Nostrils flaring, ears quivering, her dock began to wiggle, which caused her ethereal tail’s gentle flow to become erratic, almost fractal in nature. Extending one wing, she stuck out one primary feather and then stabbed Gosling right in the nose with it. The sooty dappled pegasus sneezed and all four of his legs kicked upwards into the air. “Cheating!” he managed to say in between a burst of sneezes. “Dirty”—more sneezes spilled forth, and he wiggled on his back as the sneezes racked his body—“cheater!” Whipping his head around, Gosling fought back the only way he could: he pressed his muzzle into the soft webbing where Celestia’s thigh met with the bulging curve of her stomach, and he sneezed. “Ugh! This backfired! Horrendously!” Disgusted, covered in snot, the now soiled white alicorn let out a groan of dismay as the sticky, slimy consequences of her actions now coated her belly. He might have lost the battle, but Gosling was winning the war. The shower or the tub was a far, far better battlefield for him, because a wet Gosling was a sexy Gosling. Some ponies were sexier in the rain than out of it, and he was one of those ponies. Overcome by sneezes, Gosling continued to use Celestia as a tissue, hoping to leave her so soiled that she had no choice but to retreat into the battlefield of his choosing. The steady thrum of water against the tiles of the shower sounded a lot like rain. Droplets came down from overhead and helpful jets sprayed water from the sides too. These were useful for cleaning things like wingpits, hard to reach places, and that tough to clean spot just beneath the dock. Celestia’s shower was as big as some ponies’ living rooms or parlours, because she was a big behemoth of a creature that needed a lot of room to spread her wings. The big white alicorn’s pale pink skin was now more of an exciting hot pink, made so by the hot water. The enclosed shower was filled with steam, the heavy kind of steam that opened up the pores and made the skin sting in just the right way, making a good scrub all the more satisfying. The larger alicorn and the somewhat smaller pegasus kept a wary eye on one another, as each knew the tricks the other was capable of. The battlefield was Gosling’s, after all. Water ran down Celestia’s sides in glistening rivulets, following the swollen curve of her belly. Her current condition was evidence of earlier conquest, which, surprisingly enough, had also started off with a bite, only she had bit Gosling on the neck while suffering a ‘horse moment’ of her own. The pent up pegasus paid her back the only way he could, and her current rotund condition was the end result. Turning about, Gosling braved exposing his backside to Celestia so he could focus on hers. He brushed up against her cutie mark and could feel the weird magic tingle of its projection through her pelt. It was electric, alluring, spurred him onward to seek other sensations. Rubbing his cheek along the wet, somewhat clingy curve of her generous backside, he moved his head upward, going against the grain of her pelt, and only stopped when his snoot was a few scant inches from her dock, which wiggled in anticipation of his lavish affections. Stretching out his neck a bit, his lips extended and reaching, Gosling took Celestia’s fragile dock into his mouth. He nibbled along the edge, and the sensation of his teeth pinching the flesh ignited his brain with desire. He could feel the hard bones of her dock just inside the thin skin, and he was careful, mindful of how sensitive this area was. His ministrations were tender, kind, and affectionate. Celestia’s left hind hoof stomped against the tile with the soft force of a distant thunderclap, and the sound echoed and reverberated off of the many white tiles. Gosling continued his nibbling, pulling and stretching the skin as tight as a drum about the tiny bones inside, he continued to provoke a reaction, delighting in how his mate squirmed from his attention. But this was not enough. After a good squeezing nip that made Celestia moan, he let go, opened his mouth, and stuck out his tongue, which vanished into the fuzzy hollow that existed just below Celestia’s white, velvet dock. Using the edge of his tongue, he grazed the cluster of nerves that he knew lurked within there, and was rewarded by a full body shiver from the sopping wet, steaming alicorn. When she squirmed too much, he pulled his tongue away and waited, allowing the anticipation to build. Being the impatient sort, the big mare took a half step backwards, eager for Gosling’s probing tongue to continue its work. There was a flash of orange and once more, Gosling invaded the secret folds of her flesh with his most dextrous organ, which he moved like a paint brush across her most sensitive areas. It was clear that he was driving her wild, because her dock flagged, rising high to grant greater access, and then squeezed down, trying to shield herself when the sensation became overwhelming. “No other…”—Celestia’s words were gasps, almost pants—“pony has… ever done… what you… are doing… right now!” Her back arched, all of her muscles spasmed, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “This is… an itch… I never… knew that… I had!” Against Gosling’s cheek, he felt a radiant heat that penetrated into his jaw. Already, she was showing signs of need. Her tight little pucker was vivid pink and clenching, tickled by the velvet of his jaw. Just a bit lower, her slit needed a little more coaxing. Her hidden lips—a clean, neat, almost unnoticeable folded-shut cleft—had turned a garish bubblegum pink, but had not yet grown puffy, nor was anything winking. To ignite the sun with burning lust, Gosling applied more pressure while he pushed hard into the hidden folds beneath her dock. The skin—some loose, some tight—was kneaded by his tongue, stretching it, pulling it from side to side, up and down, and then, knowing it would push her over the edge, he began to make a circular motion. Just below his ear, he heard a lewd, wet squelch, his reward for a job well done. The water from the shower pounded against their bodies, almost unnoticed. It ran down through the many tiny wrinkles that formed when Celestia flexed and wiggled her dock, then cascaded over Gosling’s probing, curious tongue. Celestia’s voluminous, expansive hindquarters swayed from side to side while the muscles of her hocks tugged and jerked. Gritting her teeth together, she pressed the side of her face into the hard edge of the soap shelf while trying to ride out the demanding need for release, for relief. The faint lapping sounds of Gosling’s eager exploration were almost drowned out by the steady rhythm of the falling water, but the moist sounding squishes that came from Celestia’s hot, excited crotch almost echoed off of the shower walls. Her lips were now puffy, swollen, more than doubled in size, and her tight, compact slit—almost invisible in the vast expanse of white that was her hidden places—was now a visible, inviting place, begging for attention. A tiny pink knob popped out like a silly looking cuckoo peeking out from its clock, and then vanished once more with a clingy slurp that sounded like a knife being dredged through a jam jar. The scent of vanilla now blended with the citrus scent of soap as Gosling continued with his task. The underside of Celestia’s dock would be the cleanest in all of Equestria—at least until he made a mess in it. Celestia’s winking nubbin made another appearance, then another, and it wasn’t long until it moved with metronomic regularity. With each teasing wink, droplets of oily squalene mixed with running water and glistened in the faint glow of the overhead light. There was a screech as Celestia’s horn scraped along the tile, leaving behind a score that would need a repair spell to fix. Stretching his neck, Gosling pulled away, gasping for air and filling his lungs with fragrant steam. Celestia wasn’t having this, not at all, and she waggled her backside from side to side with her dock flagged straight up while her ears drooped into a submissive, almost pleading position. Taking a moment to unkink his neckbones, he took a little break to sort himself out so he could prepare for what came next. His movements caused his hardened length to slap against his belly, an almost painful sensation made worse by the sting caused by the hot water. Being young, he was always almost full to bursting with need and there was already a dull ache in his balls that he struggled to ignore. That ache would be tended to soon enough, one way or another, but for now, if he wanted to make the sun go down, he first had to make her shine. Author's Note I have some real doubts about posting this. Reservations. This is part of a much larger, much more involved story, with in jokes, and context, and all manner of little silly, endearing things. This isn’t just ~~clop~~ equine erotica, but the continuation of a story. If you came here looking for mindless, formulaic dirty clop, you’re going to be sorely disappointed, and I offer you my most sincere apologies in advance. But if story matters, characters, content, context, and feeling, then I hope you’ll give this a chance. It’ll be a few chapters long. Thank you, gentle reader, for choosing to have a look at my work.
Dirty talkAn immense task stood before Gosling, and her name was Celestia. There was only one sure way to bring a giant down, and that was careful, considerate attention. She was sensitive, far too sensitive on that one little spot, and she got off on indirect stimulation. This was, perhaps of all of his lessons, the most difficult, and the one he was still trying to sort out. Standing in the hot, flowing water that pounded against his taut-stretched skin, Gosling watched while Celestia winked, knowing that the best way to get her to climax was to somehow manipulate and harness her own natural movements in such a way that left her with a surplus of stimulation. The slick, swift motion of her flesh against itself had to be controlled in such a way that it made her climax. She stood with her dock flagged, quivering, aroused to the point that some of the strands of her tail had become physical again. Saturated with water, these strands clung to her flesh, her crevices, and her cleft. While her dock strained, pulling tighter to rise higher, the awe-inspiring asterix of her pucker was stretched lengthwise, which further pulled on the fevered, inviting folds of her slit-split cleft. Gosling knew that Celestia could work herself into orgasm just by flexing her own dock and drawing her skin tight back here, tightening it around her winking, excited clitoris, because she had once given him a demonstration. “Don’t just stand there…” Celestia’s words were breathy, husky, and punctuated with pleading pants. “It’s not fair to take me this far and then not finish the job. Please your princess!” Well, yes, but how? Stick with the old tried and true? Attempt something new? Perhaps something risky? Push the boundaries between pain and pleasure? A bite had started this, perhaps something just as titillating could take this to as of yet unexplored plateaus of perversion. Closing his eyes, Gosling allowed his other senses a treat: the scent of the soap, the vanilla musk that came from Celestia’s overexcited anal glands, the sounds, all of them, of which there were so many that it was overwhelming, an assault upon the senses. With his eyes still closed, he could feel the fevered, desperate heat that somehow stood out against the steam of the shower. He used this warm glow against his face to guide himself in, seeking the very warmth of the sun itself. When his snoot touched against hot flesh, Celestia jumped and let out a shrill whinny. Still blind, he felt his way around, trying to imagine what it was that he was touching, trying to see it in his mind. The skin was hard in places, engorged with blood, and he could feel a pounding pulse in the rock hard patch of skin that he knew was located just below her flexing anus. With all of this blood flooding this area, fueling the machinery of arousal and reproduction, Gosling thought of what it felt like. Penetration was the worst and hardest thing, perhaps the most difficult part of loving an alicorn. The blood sang at a higher temperature than the other tribes, and thrusting into her in an over-eager manner was a good way to hurt himself. It was like getting into a too-hot tub, one had to ease themselves into it a little at a time or be punished by the stinging pain. The heat—her heat—was something best faced with caution, lest one get burned. He allowed his nose to go down, following along the gentle, pleasing curve of her body. His snoot traveled over a slick, oily patch that quivered at his touch, enticing him to linger and explore. The flesh of the two lips that brushed against his muzzle was hard as iron, an impenetrable door that only opened to the invited. During his slow, lazy passing, he gave one of the lips a little nip, just a gentle, loving nibble to let it know that he would return. Each of Celestia’s winks caused a red-pink almost heart-shaped knob to appear, it pushed out between the tight, well sealed doors of the fortress of her femininity and then withdrew, behaving like a shy debutante that didn’t know if she wished to participate in the coital cotillion. When he passed, Gosling felt it slip out and grace him with its touch, a little clitoral kiss, a reminder to drop in and say hello. The heat from it was searing. Feeling Gosling’s fuzz against her sensitive, secretive organ, Celestia started and her body went rigid for a time. The skin turned from hard to soft as Gosling slid his muzzle along the curve of her crotch and slipped beneath her. When water trickled into his nose, he snorted, which caused Celestia’s legs to kick out a bit, widening her stance. There were teats back here, along with the gentle swell of her stomach. There was life in there, life that he had helped make, a fact that still blew his mind all these months later. Sticking out his tongue, he flicked at one teat, then the other, and was rewarded with a hiss. Rewarded? Warned? It was hard to tell. Right now he stood with his head in the most dangerous of places, sandwiched between her thighs, powerful, meaty thighs that could crush marble blocks betwixt them. Retreating a little, he traveled back up the perfect curve and his slow, teasing movements caused Celestia’s back to arch. When his eyes opened, he found himself staring at a sight that flooded him with desire. His own spasming muscles caused his length to slap against his stomach and the hot water trickling down his sides made the skin of his member sting. The pain only added to his arousal, but he had to ignore it. “Gosling”—Celestia’s voice was every bit as needy as it was commanding and demanding—“I need for you to tongue-fuck my foalhole, and I need you to do it right now! Along the top and not the bottom! I’m overstimulated!” “Yous a dirty girl, yous knows that, right?” His words alone caused Celestia to clench tight and he knew the power of his Broncs accent over the magnificent white alicorn. “Gosling, do you wish to hang my velvet drapes upon your curtain rod?” Celestia asked in a sweet, almost cloying tone while one hoof made an impatient splashy-stomp against the textured, grippy floor. The wily pegasus was slow to respond: “Well, yeah, probably—” “Well, get to licking! Please your princess and I will reward you most handsomely!” Scowling, rebellious, being young and foolish, Gosling would not be told what to do. His tongue appeared, a dextrous infiltrator, a slippery invader that liked to wiggle into exciting new places. He pressed the tip of his tongue against the rock hard patch of skin that existed just between Celestia’s puffy, swollen vulva and the pinched, puckered entrance of the smaller temple, the secret chapel where he worshipped. Instead of going down, as was expected of him, he ascended, going up. He felt the tight wrinkles and bumps against his tongue, and there was the faint taste of vanilla to greet him. Celestia let out an equine bellow, her sides expanding considerably when she filled her lungs with steamy shower air. The rough, bumpy texture of his tongue had a pleasing friction against the unyielding, wrinkled texture of Celestia’s flexing anus. The vanilla taste—the castoreum from her anal glands—wasn’t so much sweet as it was a pleasant, savoury bitterness. He made slow, lazy circles, but also tugged upwards, drawing the puffy folds of her vulva ever tighter around the winking royal jewel tucked away in the deep, inviting folds of the royal vault. After a few licks, he was rewarded with a whimper and settled in for what was sure to be a time consuming task. Lapping at the rubbery sphincter of flesh just below Celestia’s dock, Gosling enjoyed his little treat of vanilla, the scent filling his nose even as the flavour flooded his mouth. Celestia’s tight, pink, perfect little pucker deserved some loving too, and Gosling was wont to do it. Circles were made, then crisscrosses, then more circles, followed by more crisscrosses, but the entire time, he maintained upwards pressure so everything down below would remain stretched taut. Celestia’s muzzle was pointed upwards at the ceiling now, her long, slender neck and her back were one long continuous arch. Reaching back with her wings in an almost double-jointed manner, she grabbed her hips, the generous, curvaceous swell of her well endowed hindquarters, and she spread herself, pulling her velvety cheeks apart to give Gosling a little better access. She wanted to be tongue-fucked? That could be arranged, but Gosling had no interest in her foalhole at the moment. He was almost hypnotised by the curious—almost-chewy—texture of her anus. When he pressed his tongue against it, she clenched tighter and the flesh pushed back with delightful resistance. Tilting his head, he changed tactics and began using the side of his long tongue like a saw, drawing it back and forth along the entrance often hidden by her dock. A flood of clingy, slippery liquid gushed from Celestia’s gash, which was now an angry, lurid red, the colours of an angry, seeping, furious volcano. The pace of her clitoral winking was now like a steam-driven piston rod and moved with the speed of a chugging locomotive barreling down the tracks at full burn. The hypersensitive knob of flesh was forced to push its way past barriers determined to remain shut tight and each appearance of Celestia’s perverse princess pearl was accompanied by a lewd squelch rather than the blast of horns that blared deafening proclamations of princessly arrival. And Celestia certainly needed a declaration that she was about to arrive. No longer content to tease the entrance, Gosling made a concerted effort to batter down the back door and set his tongue to work. The tip of his tongue was like a key, poking, prodding, seeking the welcoming slot that would allow it to slide in. He was rough and abrasive, with no gentle movements, not now. Hard aggressive action was needed and his actions caused Celestia’s cleft to be stretched tight as a drum. He pushed and shoved not just with his tongue, but with his muzzle and his snoot, slamming against the searing flesh that offered token resistance. Gosling was determined to break into Celestia’s vaunted vanilla hidey-hole and when the flat, flared tip of his tongue found just the right angle, he thrust forward. She resisted him at first—she always did, it was reflex—but his persistence was rewarded when she relaxed her sphincter just enough for him to disturb the sanctity of the hidden chapel of secret vanilla delights. She was grippy and little bumps just past the entrance ground against his tongue, offering delightful friction. He had to push harder to keep going and as he probed deeper, he could feel her closing tight around him, grabbing him, and squeezing him during this weird, intimate kiss where he touched her most secret, vulnerable places. After making a few penetrating flicks with his tongue, he retreated before he pulled a muscle or got a cramp. It was hazardous to explore this ancient chapel, this hidden temple, and perhaps one day when he was a well seasoned explorer, he would plumb its depths. But today was not that day. He retreated with a wet pop, a sound very much like a cork shooting out of a champagne bottle. “Yeah, yous a dirty girl, ain’t yous… I just invaded your salad shooter with my mouth dick—” Gosling never got a chance to finish because he was squirted in the face by a copious stream of squalene, some of which had gone right into his eye, which stung and made the muscles of his face quiver with pain. He angled his face up towards the shower head to rinse out his eye and another stream of greasy, musky liquid was squirted from Celestia’s seizing vulva. This time, a flood came forth, soaking Gosling, leaving him slick and glistening in the soft warm glow of the overhead light. The third blast produced a firehose gush that came out like a flood for a second that seemed to stretch into an eternity, then reduced to a steady trickle that dribbled down between Celestia’s quivering, trembling hind legs. The liquid was viscous, clingy, and hung down in long stretchy ribbon-like strands that seemed to stretch impossibly long before breaking. “Did you… did you just cum at the sound of my voice?” Gosling asked while the vanilla-acrid scent of alicorn sexual secretions assailed his nostrils. He waited, but there was no reply from his mate, who seemed to still be lost in her climax. His eyes, greedy for the sight of her in this pose, drank her in, and he stared at her wet, glistening neck, his favourite part of her. She was beautiful, perfect, and just as he was about to say so, he was sprayed yet again when Celestia wiggled her bottom at him. He was marked by the alpha mare of alpha mares. She was panting, her tongue out and dangling from the side of her mouth while her muzzle still pointed upwards at the ceiling. Her sides heaved like blacksmith’s bellows and her parted backside was released when her wings sagged down to the floor of the shower. Her feathers were rustled, mussed, and still somehow perfect, evidence of a sexually flawless creature. The jerking muscles of her hind legs made her wobble and the musky flood continued to ooze from her spasming cleft. This was a lesson learned for Gosling, further evidence that one did not need to pounce upon the clitoris and begin gnawing. Indirect stimulation had brought her to one of her most powerful orgasms yet, based upon the evidence of what he was seeing. A flatulent squish could be heard, followed by a queef of shuddering relief that echoed from the tile walls. Like an eager student, Gosling looked up at his teacher with wide, adoring eyes, watching her every movement as she recovered. Even now, she was majestic, with her dangling tongue, her crossed eyes, her fluttering eyelids, and the soft, squirty post-orgasmic expulsions of her musky, nostril-crinkling feminine secretions that threatened to provoke Gosling into a dignity destroying flehmen response. Even though he knew he had done well, there was a part of him that sought praise, but Celestia was in no condition to give it. Grinning, cocky, confident, Gosling took a step back and allowed his mate to recover. Author's Note Foreplay! It exists!
Sun stroke“Your eye looks a little red, Gosling,” Celestia said to her shower companion while her hind hooves clicked and clattered against the textured stone floor. “You will, of course, not explain to anypony how your eye came to be in this condition.” Her dock was still flexing and a ribbon of semi-clear liquid still dribbled down from her over-excited nethers. “Yeah, my lips are sealed,” Gosling replied while looking up at the big white mare with a grin. “Too bad yours weren’t.” When the mare beside him began to titter, his ears perked and his grin widened. He sidled up closer to his wife and rubbed his dappled body alongside hers. A wicker of appreciation could be heard in the base of his throat and then with a saucy eyebrow waggle, he did what he did best, and that was be a shameless flirt. “When it comes times to look after me, I’ll be a bit more mindful of where I aim.” Perhaps tired of the smaller pegasus’ sass, Celestia silenced him the only way she knew how: she kissed him, bearing down on him with her height, weight, and strength to make him submit. Of course, Gosling pushed back, even as his legs wobbled while the sounds of flesh slapping together down below filled the air, a sound that made Celestia’s ears pivot and rotate with keen interest. Without warning, Celestia invaded him, but he should have been expecting that. Her tongue had surprising strength, an earth pony feature no doubt, and it was all he could to endure her affectionate assault. Already a bit sore and a bit tired from his efforts, he submitted to her dominance while her brutish tongue flailed along the roof of his mouth. She pushed against his lips with an almost brutal savage ferocity and with a mighty pull of her lungs, she sucked the wind out of him, overcoming him with lightheaded dizziness. His legs felt like rubbery noodles and his balls had a mighty, mighty ache. It felt as if he had two new hearts beating in his trim scrotum, the most fragile part of his anatomy that was tucked high up under his tail, a feature unique to pegasus anatomy. When Gosling pulled away so that he could breathe again, he glared up at her with submissive, yet defiant eyes. His sharp inhale almost whistled and a low equine rumble could be heard in the thickest part of his neck. The sting in his eye was distracting and made it difficult to stand in brave defiance. “You just wait, mare, one day I’ll bring you down.” Celestia let out a haughty sniff—a warm up—and then she let out a mighty snort that sent water spraying in a fine mist from her nostrils. She tossed her head around, her ears angled forwards over her face, and a dreadful sense of fun blazed in her eyes. Hooves clopping, her hind legs still seemed to have a mind of their own and she drew herself up to her full height, towering over Gosling. For a moment, it seemed that her horn would scrape the wide rainmaker showerhead. “I am Sol Invictus—” “Yeah, yous is the Unconquered Sun, but I can make you moan like a dirty little secondary school filly, ya smarmy broad.” Fearless, Gosling’s eyebrow raised and he stared up at his much larger mate with all of the bravery and stupidity of youth. The only thing that saved him from utter destruction was the fact that he was pretty, and he clung to this knowledge like a shield. “Don’t make me destroy you.” The suggestion of a spectre of unspeakable sexual deviancy lurked in the depths of Celestia’s cold-spoken, deadpan words. “I have been gentle so far, but I can be cruel.” “Eh, I ain’t afraid of you, do your worst, Big Spoon.” The moment that the word ‘spoon’ left Gosling’s mouth, he knew that he had gotten under Celestia’s skin. A whispering voice in the back of his mind begged him to think about his own self preservation, but as he stared into Celestia’s mouth, a perfect round ‘O’ of shock, he ignored that annoying little voice and thought about how Celestia looked when she looked up at him from between his legs. It was far more fun to poke the dragon. “Yous look cute with your mouth open like that,” Gosling said, continuing to fly into dangerous, unknown skies. “If yous is gonna talk me into submission, I gots something to keep your mouth busy.” “Gosling…” During the long pregnant pause that followed Celestia’s single-spoken utterance, Gosling felt the hot prickle of magic wrapping around his length and the alicorn’s horn now glowed with a light to rival the sun itself. He was forced to squint and then to turn away, and ears perked when he heard the rest of what his mate had to say: “Stand at attention, soldier!” Even as something was being squeezed, kneaded by invisible forces, Gosling’s training took over and he snapped to attention. The tickle-prickle of magic was quite warm and now the sensation crept over his balls, which made his groin muscles have fits. Celestia was lowering her head down to be closer to him, and her eyes held the promises of ten thousand unspeakable cruelties that could be done in a single night—an endless night—because she controlled the sun. “Little Spoon must learn his place and he shall remain at attention,” Celestia said, her lips brushing up against Gosling’s ear and causing it to twitch. “At least you have presented your weapon for inspection, Little Spoon.” “So, uh, yous wanna help me polish my pike?” Gosling asked, wondering just how far he could push the limits. “It could use a little spit shine—urk!” There was a gentle but commanding tug on his cock that made the next words he was about to say die in his throat. Now he felt swimmy headed, an odd mix of pleasure and pain. An undulating sensation traveled up and down his length, squeezing at the base, relenting along his shaft, and then jaw gritting pressure was applied near the tip. He had to fight to keep his dock from flagging, and when his balls were squeezed, his hind legs tried to betray him. It felt so good that his eyes almost rolled back into his head and he swayed in place. There was another painful tug that made his whole body go rigid and he braced at attention, wanting the pleasure, and not the pain. A golden glow shone from his belly and his backside, a blinding, brilliant light, and Celestia’s magic continued to manipulate him in ways that he could not even begin to comprehend. His hips bucked and a few involuntary humps escaped him. The urge, the driving need to mount something was already driving him crazy. There was a hollow ache along his stomach that could not be satisfied with anything less than a warm, eager, willing body writhing against him. The pegasus was filled with a desperate need to not give his mate the satisfaction of watching him squirm, but he was powerless against her sexual sorcery. Along his back, he could feel his muscles contracting, tensing, and then down below, things began to feel weird. Celestia’s magic was… creeping… down the entrance of his cock, slithering into his urethral opening and burrowing its way inside. A pleasing vibration teased him from within, sapping his strength and robbing him of his will to resist. The heat was hot and it poured down inside of him like a cunning liquid, touching him in places where he had never been touched, and it buzzed like a whole swarm of bees setting up a hive in the hollow of his groin. Celestia whispered into his ear, “Submit to me, Little Spoon, and I will be merciful.” To respond, Gosling was forced to gasp out a lone syllable: “No!” “So be it.” Celestia’s lips nibbled on the edge of Gosling’s ear and there never was a sweeter, more well-intentioned tormentor. “Now you will learn a dreadful lesson, my student.” Something crawled up his backside and there was a most curious sensation that seemed to slither over his tailhole. Now, he felt pressure, something pushed, something unseen and demanding. The tables had been turned and Gosling was determined to explore this new frontier with all of the bravery he could muster. He whimpered when he felt himself parted and something pushed inside. Now, something thrummed against what felt like the root of his cock from the inside and it filled his hindgut with previously unexperienced warmth. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and with a cry, he broke. Reaching out, he clung to Celestia’s front leg, pressing his neck against her, and he would have fallen to the floor had she not been holding his hindquarters up. One foreleg wrapped even tighter around Celestia’s elbow, and Gosling’s tongue unfurled from his slack jaw. The sensation inside of his urethra was like flossing, but had a pleasant pulsating sensation that traversed the length of his shaft, moving to and fro. He only had a vague awareness of the fact that his tail had been lifted and pushed aside. Something thumped like a pounding heart just inside his anus, and that something had an incredible heat that made his balls ache with the need to empty. As for his balls themselves, they were being squeezed and kneaded within his scrotum; when the pressure peaked, his hind legs bucked and stomped in response. “Be brave, soldier, just a little longer now,” Celestia whispered, and her words were like an intense flame that burned his ear. “This will be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, I promise.” Gosling did not know it, but his prostate was being manipulated. Charley horses ran up and down Gosling’s hind legs, rendering them useless. The muscles drew so taut, so tight, that his legs buckled and folded together, trying to shield his tender groin from further sensation. Stars floated in the black depths that were the inside of Gosling’s squeezed-shut eyelids. He was powerless and it was all he could do to just remain conscious while this continued. There was a tremendous feeling of pressure from within as something mashed hard against the soft, meaty places hidden near the root of his fine, streamlined pegasus prick. It proved to be too much and the floodgates broke. The single largest wad of semen that had ever shot out of Gosling came forth like a cannon blast, propelled by immense pressure. Every stomach muscle clenched, crushing the air from his lungs, and the flood of semen hit the floor with enough force that it threatened to crack the stone tile. The sound it made was terrific, a violent, forceful sound as it spattered, and Gosling’s back arched while his body braced for a second ejaculation. Somehow, the second was even worse than the first, which as it had turned out, was just his body clearing the way for what was yet to come. A gibbering cry escaped from between Gosling’s clenched teeth and the second blast began to tear its way free. It rumbled down his urethra like a cannonball that was almost too tight for the bore of the cannon. The pressure bearing down on him from just inside his tailhole increased, and Gosling knew what it felt like to be a lemon squeezed for juice. The second shot hit the stone floor with enough force to bounce, and it broke into a thousand tiny droplets that got washed away by the steaming, streaming water. Swirls and eddies of white circled the drain, along with a multitude of fine white and gradient grey hairs. Gosling couldn’t even thrust his hips, he was paralysed by his own ejacution, which now came from him rapid-fire. The wet splats of it hitting the floor could not be heard by Gosling, who was almost deafened by the blood roaring in his ears. His muscles ached as the Charley horses ran rampant, galloping up and down the lengths of his legs, their cruel hooves cutting deep into his flesh. Lost in the terrible throes of the most intense orgasm of his life, Gosling cried like a foal and bawled into the soft fuzz of Celestia’s perfect white leg. Semen continued spurting from the tip of his cock for a good thirty seconds at least, strong bursts at first, which tapered off into high pressure droplets propelled outwards by the powerful forces of constriction that wracked his insides. The pleasure and the pain melded into a pleasant, almost intoxicating warm fuzz and Gosling felt as though he was drifting away on a warm cloud dappled with summer’s sunshine. Celestia held him in her magic, his tremouring, trembling body lifted away from the floor while his copious, stringy ribbons of semen formed spiral patterns as it circled the drain. Like a drunkard given too much wine, Gosling was wasted and he wept while his cock twitched and waved like some mad conductor’s wand. At long last, he began to soften, and he felt a soft kiss against his ear, followed by the words, “I think it is time I took you to bed, Little Spoon.” Author's Note One more chapter to go...
So much for the aftercareIn all of his short life, Gosling had never known such cavernous emptiness within himself. His legs still ached, still quivered, still spasmed, and his stomach was almost too tender to touch. Like so many others, he had flown too close to the sun and had been burned for his efforts. Not that he minded—indeed, this experience had been an eye opener for him—and torrid thoughts lurked deep within his brain, feverish fantasies of what other new encounters awaited. When he recovered, he would have to challenge her dominance again just to explore the consequences. Celestia had been a fertility goddess, after all, in another life, another time. Which brought to mind a question that his brain demanded be asked: “Sunshine, how did you learn how to do what you just did?” “That was magic born of necessity,” she replied and her voice sounded drowsy. “Sleep now, Little Spoon.” “How was that a necessity?” He felt Celestia’s warm body snuggled against his back and in bed, this position in particular showed just how much she dwarfed him. She was big, she was intimidating, she was ancient, she was the Big Spoon, and he loved her more than words could say. “Diet, poor health, disease... those were hard times, Gosling, and it was difficult for stallions to ejaculate. Luna and I both had to help them, sometimes. Posing as fertility goddesses, we used magic to coax out every precious drop and we brought the tribes back from the very brink of extinction.” Stretching out his neck, Gosling searched for a cool spot on the pillow to rest his cheek. When he strayed a little too far, Celestia pulled him back, no doubt desiring him to remain close. One foreleg shifted his body with an almost maternal gentleness. Had Gosling more of a presence of mind, he might have marvelled at how somepony so strong could also be so gentle. “Why can’t I ever snuggle up against your back?” Gosling asked, filling the dark bedroom with his words. “Because you are the little spoon,” she replied, and then she let out a mighty yawn that could challenge any dragon’s. “And because I don’t want to wake up in the morning with something poking me in the middle of my back. You’re too little… there is no comfortable place for you.” Bothered by this answer, Gosling squirmed and thrashed in bed until he had rolled over onto his back, and he turned his head until he was almost snoot to snoot with the big white mare beside him. His body felt like lead and his efforts to move caused considerable pain. At least it was a good pain, the pain of accomplishment. He lay there a moment, breathing in the air she exhaled, which smelled like hot cinnamon toothpaste and sort of burned the delicate skin just past his nostrils. “The things you’ve seen.” These words came out much sleepier than Gosling would have liked. “All of that history. The rise and fall of nations. Triumphant successes and spectacular failures. I wish I could know even a tiny fraction of what you remember.” “If I give you a tidbit of history, will you go to sleep?” Celestia asked in a sweet, sleepy voice. “The time to raise the sun is mere hours from now.” “I don’t want to hear the hot buttery pony story.” Though he didn’t wish to admit it, his eyelids felt heavy. Being this warm, this exhausted, this empty, he wanted to go to sleep and then wake up to a hearty breakfast. Now on his back, he didn’t feel the pressing need to find a cool place on the pillow for his cheek. Celestia’s hoof moved beneath the heavy comforter and the edge of it came to rest against Gosling’s neck. She began to make slow, lazy circles with it, over and over in the same spot, and this worked out a tired, worn out whicker from the supine pegasus. If she kept this up, Gosling knew that he would lose the battle against sleep, and he would tumble into Luna’s realm. “There is a story of the most impressive success that was also a failure,” Celestia began, and she kicked out her hind legs, stretching them to get herself more comfortable. The whole bed creaked when she shifted her bulk, and settled the rotund bulk of her foal-filled stomach in a position that was a little kinder to her spine. “There was once an immigrant pony from Fancy that produced a garlic flavoured toothpaste—” “Really?” Gosling’s eyes flew wide open in the dark. “Are you pulling my wing?” “Little Spoon, be quiet, and let me tell my tale.” “Big Spoon, your tales are often half myth, if you can forgive me for saying so.” This coaxed a big husky chuckle out of Celestia, that made the whole bed shake. Gosling’s innards weren’t prepared for this sudden movement, and everything throbbed as a reminder to keep the bed still, or else. The hoof making pleasant little circles against his neck never faltered, never slowed, and with the pain in his groin, her light touch gave Gosling goose bumps all over. The contrasting sensations filled his body with shivery tingles. “This pony from Fancy,” Celestia said, while doing nothing to defend her reputation, “he was convinced that garlic flavoured toothpaste would be the next big thing. The next great innovation. He was convinced that ponies would love the taste of garlic flavoured toothpaste so much that there would be a revolution in dental hygiene. Because he loved the flavour of garlic so much, he assumed that all ponies shared this trait.” Ears pricked, Gosling waited for the punchline, the gag, the plunge into absurdity so common to Celestia’s stories. He loved her for her stories, her jests, this mare who had survived so much history had embraced the absurd, the preposterous, the risible nonsensical, farcical silliness that was the byproduct of civilisation. It occurred to Gosling that Celestia had squeezed his seed out of him like toothpaste from a tube. “Never once did he think about the fact that ponies brushed their teeth to get rid of pungent reeks like garlic and stinky cheeses.” Celestia sighed, a wistful sound in the dark, and the hoof that made little circles against Gosling’s neck drifted to another location, moving down and pressing against the defiant scruffle of his chest fluff. “He followed his dream, and he laboured, and he sacrificed everything to make his dream happen. He worked many jobs, he made a name for himself, he established a reputation, and when the time was right, he borrowed and invested his own fortune into the creation of a toothpaste factory in the city of Fillydelphia.” The soft, soothing murmur of Celestia’s voice was doing a number on Gosling, and his eyelids grew heavy. The light, affectionate touch of his wife’s hoof against his handsome scruffle somehow caused all of his tight, bunched-up muscles to loosen. The bed was warm, too warm even, and this contributed to an overwhelming sensation of drowsiness. “The public saw it as a novelty, a gag, a joke… and much to my own surprise, ponies bought the toothpaste. Stores ran out of it and there was a struggle to keep the shelves stocked. This pony believed that he was on the very brink of the dental hygiene revolution that he had dreamed of. His dreams, no doubt, seemed just within his reach. Just like little happy go lucky pegasus foals that think they can fly to the moon somehow. There are always a few that try so hard to achieve this dream, and so too did the pony from Fancy.” Gosling allowed one eye to close, but not the other. The story was interesting and now, he had to hear it out. Celestia, like a storytelling spider, had trapped him in her web, and he was powerless to resist her now. He stifled a yawn and snuggled a little closer to his mate, delighting in the inviting curves of her body. “Even I took part in the joke, and left many tubes of this toothpaste in the rooms of my students. Alas, the gag wore off, the joke ceased to be funny, and leaving tubes of garlic toothpaste in the bathroom could only be funny for so long. All of Equestria waited for the next gag novelty… and this pony from Fancy, his dreams were crushed when he realised what had happened.” “What happened?” Gosling asked, his words slurred from the need for sleep. “A great failure,” Celestia replied, “as one dream died, crushed, extinguished and smothered. This dream was not to be… but where one dream ended, another began, and this pony from Fancy, he picked up the pieces to see what could be done with them. Rather than quit, rather than give up, he chose to work with what he had… and what he had was the beginnings of a gag empire. From humble beginnings and a silly idea, a mighty empire sprung, and all of Equestria was made a better, funnier place because one little pony dreamed of garlic flavoured toothpaste.” “That’s actually pretty neat.” “Yes, Gosling, he brought laughter to millions and became a much-beloved public figure. Fillydelphia grew as a city to support his industry. Even now, long after he is gone, his empire lives on with his sons and his daughters. Tarte Normande Pie dared to dream of garlic flavoured toothpaste, and the world was made better because of it.” When Gosling went to respond, all that came out was a yawn. “Goodnight, my beloved silly little pegasus.” With these words came an affectionate kiss upon the cheek. “Wait…” Gosling struggled against sleep, which threatened to overcome him like a suffocating blanket. “Wait… that name… Tarte Normande Pie… that seems a little off, don’t it? Redundant.” “Immigration, Gosling.” These soft spoken words tickled Gosling’s ear. “Names were standardised when ponies immigrated.” The heaviness of his eyelids proved too much to bear, and Gosling began to drift. Like any pegasus, he soared away, adrift among the clouds of slumber, and his wings twitched against his sides. Luna’s realm beckoned, and the last thoughts of his conscious mind were hopes that he would see her, that maybe he could spend time with her, that perhaps they could play beneath the stars in the endless universe of dreams. Just as he was about to be severed from reality completely, Celestia’s fine, perfect teeth clamped down upon his neck, and his eyelids flew open while he let out a shrill, reverberating nicker of pained surprise. The bite was painful enough to throb, and right away, the skin grew hot, too hot. “Sorry,” was Celestia’s sweet apology that she whispered into his ear. “Horse moment.” Author's Note This is my favourite chapter of this story. Thank you for reading. Perhaps we’ll do this again sometime.
