When you're a grown-ass stallion, Soarin had realized, no one can tell you not to buy a big, fresh-baked apple pie and eat it for lunch.
That's even more true when you're a professional athlete. Sure, some of his fellow Wonderbolts hired trainers that oversaw their diets and personal lives, trainers who would have slapped an apple pie out of his hands if they'd seen him come home with it. Like some kind of brutal calorie dominatrix.
Soarin didn't need anybody like that. He worked out, he burned calories, he stayed in fighting shape. He was entitled to a warm, gooey apple pie whenever he felt like it.
He set the pie down on the kitchen countertop and dug a pie server - a stainless steel wedge with a rubber grip - out of a drawer. Setting a plate down nearby, he opened the pie box and lowered the utensil down into the latticed crust, slicing deep into the pie.
All the way from the bakery to his apartment, the fragrance of the pie had been wafting gently up from the box. Opening the box had released a bloom of cinnamon scent into the air - and now, slicing open the pie filled the air with sweetness and spice. Soarin moaned out loud, throwing his head back as the rich potpourri hit his nostrils.
Another pony, watching Soarin, might have observed that his appreciation of the pie looked borderline sexual. That wasn’t the half of it; Soarin felt his cock twitch in his boxers as he breathed in the pie’s fragrance. In months and months of patronizing the local bakery, he’d come to realize that his appreciation for apple pie was increasingly erotic in nature. Each bite made his dick harder, and after he filled his belly he needed to jerk off. Today would be no different, he could already tell.
Soarin had long since given up on forks, at least when it came to pie. They weren’t tactile enough for his tastes. He liked to pick up the whole slice with his hand, to feel its warmth and let its filling drip over his skin, and then lick his fingers clean between each slice.
His mouth watering, he lifted the first slice to his mouth and took a bite. Pure heaven, just like always. High Altitude Bakery was halfway across Cloudsdale from Soarin’s apartment, but it was always worth the trip; they sourced the best ingredients from all over Equestria, and - as their name suggested - they’d carefully adapted baking recipes to work at Cloudsdale’s altitude. The apples were crisp and sweet, the crust was light and flaky; every pie was perfect, a feast for the senses.
Soarin took bigger and bigger bites, overfilling his mouth, letting crust cling to his lips as he wolfed down the slice. With each bite, his cock suged, growing longer and stiffer, pulsing with the beat of his heart. With the last swallow, he groaned and stroked his crotch, feeling the length or his stiff cock. At twelve inches, it stood far taller than the average stallion’s - and it was quite the attention-getter when he happened to pop a boner in his skintight flight suit.
Soarin slipped a hand into his pants and felt up the length of his shaft - and when he touched the tip, his fingers came away with a smear of pre. He’d never gotten so hard so fast before. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold out long enough to finish the pie.
Stroking his erection with one hand, he took another look at the pie. With one slice gone, the pie was wide open, dripping, inviting… so warm and fragrant...leaning back in his chair, Soarin unzipped his fly, stroking the full length of his cock, groping his fat blue balls as his flaring nostrils breathed in the sweet scent. He stared into the pie’s insides; his mouth was watering, but another part of him needed satisfaction even more. He stood, pulling down his pants, letting them fall to the floor.
He didn’t exactly decide to fuck the pie - but as soon as his cock was above the tabletop, its shadow falling over the succulent pastry, he knew he was going to do it. He laid his palms flat on the table, positioning himself over the pie, and slowly lowered his hips - down, down until his cock entered the vacant space left behind by the slice Soarin had removed. With a single cautious motion, her touched his flared tip against the pie’s insides.
Thanks to his superlative flight speed, Soarin was able to get the pie back home while it was still piping hot. The first bite had nearly been hot enough to burn his mouth, but now, the pie was just the perfect temperature. Just a little warmer than a mare’s pussy. So he worked his cock deeper, pushing filling aside and making the crust bulge upward. Drawing in long, hissing breaths, he thrust his hips slowly in and out, careful not to break the crust. He wasn’t thinking very far ahead, but he didn’t feel like damaging the pie; something about leaving behind a presentable-looking dessert was appealing to him.
It felt incredible. It was so wonderfully wrong to fuck a pie, to take something so lovingly prepared for a specific purpose and just jam your dick into it. If eating a whole apple pie for lunch was a playful violation of society’s expectations, fucking it was a total rejection of them.
But what good was doing something wrong if there was no one there to catch you? Oh shit, what would someone say if they saw Soarin fucking a fresh, hot apple pie? The thought made his cock throb, and he followed the line of thinking further. Just who would find him like this?
Well, the obvious choice was his sister Fleetfoot - his roommate and fellow Wonderbolt. That thought got his hips moving faster; Soarin wasn’t weird or anything, but... every day of training he saw his gorgeous sister flying next to him, her trim, toned body just poured into that skin-tight suit. Every day at home, he saw her casually leaving the shower with a towel wrapped around her curves and blowdrying her beautiful snow-white mane. Of course he fantasized about her. And a fantasy that amplified the shame of his incestuous desires was even hotter…
In Soarin’s imagination, he saw Fleetfoot kicking open the front door to their shared apartment. “Sweet Celestia, what are you doing?” she demanded.
Soarin’s mind raced. What could Fleetfoot see, from her angle? She couldn’t see the pie, not yet, but she could see her brother’s bare blue ass moving back and forth over the kitchen table. There was no good explanation for that. Bare minimum, he was jerking off over the kitchen table, which would be a serious violation of their implicit boundaries as roommates. And he could only sell that explanation if he could convince Fleetfoot not to come any closer.
And he couldn’t do that - or rather, he didn’t want to. Because if he did, the fantasy would be over. So instead, he sputtered and mumbled, his hips still thrusting into into pie, as Fleetfoot stepped towards him. And his imagination, greedy for a bigger dose of humiliation, supplied another mare: Spitfire, the captain of the Wonderbolts, dressed in full regalia. She followed Fleetfoot into the apartment, pulling down her sunglasses as she beheld Soarin’s bare ass.
Soarin’s fantasies about Spitfire weren’t quite as shameful as the ones about his sister. He’d even flirted with her in real life and made some genuine headway; he wasn’t confident it’d go anywhere, but that was no reason to leave her out of his daydreams. “Damn,” she gasped, “Soarin, that ass looks even finer out of the flight suit.”
Soarin grinned. He was pretty sure he’d caught Spitfire checking out his butt in real life, so this seemed realistic. “Spitfire!” he yelped, “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing?” said Spitfire, stepping nearer. “What are you doing with your sexy blue ass hanging out in the open?”
“Oh shit,” yelled Fleetfoot, who had finally stepped far enough into the kitchen that she could see what her brother was doing. “Are you fucking a pie?”
“I, um, uh…” Soarin’s face was getting hot.
Fleetfoot grimaced. “Ugh, gross!” she said, “I can’t believe my brother is sticking his dick in an apple pie!” She cocked her hips, making her little skirt sway. “Soarin, I am your sister! We grew up together! And now, in the apartment you share with your sister, you’re fucking a pie?”
In reality, Fleetfoot probably wouldn’t have made repeated reference to the fact that she and Soarin were siblings. But every time Soarin imagined the words “sister” or “brother” while picturing Fleetfoot, his cock pulsed with arousal. So he was going to think those words as many times as it took to make him blow his load in this pie.
“Spitfire, you’re his boss,” said Fleetfoot. “Aren’t you going to discipline him for being a pervert?”
“Oh yeah, I’m definitely in the mood to punish Soarin,” said Spitfire, a smirk growing on her face as she laid a hand on her shoulder. “Soarin, you’re my fastest, best, hottest Wonderbolt, and you shouldn’t be wasting that big hard cock on a fuckin’ apple pie.” She leaned down to put her lips next to Soarin’s ear. “You should be fucking my red hot pussy.”
Again, this wasn’t exactly accurate to the way Spitfire talked to Soarin. But he sure wished she’d talk to him that way.
“Oh, come on!” said Fleetfoot. “Flirt on your own time, you slut! He’s never gonna stop fucking that pie if you don’t find some way to punish him! Am I gonna have to do it?”
“Yeah,” gasped Soarin, “you gotta punish me, sis. Smack my ass, smack my bare ass til I tell you I’m sorry…” In his fantasy, and in reality, he was fucking the pie harder, with less and less concern for its presentability. The latticed top crust was breaking up, and filling was spilling from its open section.
“Maybe I will,” spat Fleetfoot. “Maybe my bad little piefucker brother needs to be spanked. Maybe my bro’s tight blue bottom needs to be spanked red.” She raised her hand and planted a resounding slap on his right butt cheek. “Are you sorry, Soarin?” Another spank. “Are you sorry for taking your pants off in the kitchen where I eat breakfast?” Another. “Are you sorry for fucking a pie in the apartment where I sleep, and shower?”
“Mmmh, I’m sorry,” grunted Soarin.
“No you’re not,” said Fleetfoot. “You’re still fucking that pie! You haven’t stopped! What is it going to take for you to respect this shared space? What will get it through your head that your sister lives here and you can’t just do whatever you want with your cock?”
She jammed her hand between his legs and gripped his swinging ballsack. “Maybe I should fondle your big blue nuts while you’re trying to get off! What could be more of a boner-killer that having your sister’s hands wrapped around your balls? We grew up in the same house, lived together most of our lives… I mean, I know I’ve got a good body and all, but I’m your sister! You might be fucking a pie, but there’s no way you’re sick enough to be attracted to me!”
She squeezed his balls in her supple fingers. “Not enough, huh? Maybe I should make you fuck me! How would that suit you, Soarin? I bet even just thinking about your sister’s tight little pussy makes you sick! If I forced you to slam that fat blue cock into my sloppy wet cunt, I bet that’d put you off sex forever!” She tugged at his scrotum. “Do it, you coward! Pull your cock out of that sweet apple pie and fuck your sister!”
Soarin groaned, nearly driven over the edge by his fantasy. Gritting his teeth, he backed off and set the fantasy on another track.
“All right, no need to take things that far,” said Spitfire. She climbed onto the table and spread her legs so that the pie was between them. “All right, Soarin,” she said, “I always like to see ponies push themselves to their limits. And I like to put them through tryouts before I trust them with an important job.” She leaned forward and unbuttoned her shirt, revealing a black bra and deep orange cleavage underneath. “So why don’t you fuck that pie like you’d fuck my pussy, Soarin?”
Soarin nodded mutely and thrust his hips faster, driving his dick deeper into the increasingly messy pie. Sweet filling and tender crust clung to his throbbing shaft, and each thrust sent the smell of apples up to his nose. In his imagination, Spitfire nodded approvingly.
“Oh, that’s good,” said Spitfire. “If you fuck my pussy like that, I might just make you squad leader. Did you know that’s how I pick Wonderbolts, Soarin? Sure, they need to be fast, but what I really look for is tight asses and big hard cocks. How does that feel, Soarin? Knowing that you got your job just because you’re hot? Bet it makes you feel like a piece of meat…”
She scooted forward on the table, leaning so far forward that her chest was right in his face. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, Soarin, but I love abusing my power. And now that I’ve got you in a compromising position, you’re going to do whatever I want if you want to keep your job. Next time you’re showering in the locker room, maybe I’ll call you into my office… where I’ll have a big, hot, sweet apple pie right over my crotch. You’ll fuck your way through that pie and right into my sweet pussy, and you’d better make me cum!”
“Yeah,” gasped Soarin. “I’ll do whatever you want me to, Spitfire…”
“Glad to hear it,” said Spitfire, leaning even farther forward. Her tits were right up against his snout now, his nose buried in her cleavage. “Maybe I’ll just go mad with power and turn the whole team into my fuckin’ sex show. Maybe I’ll kick you from the team unless you fuck whoever I tell you to. You like Blaze, Soarin? How about Rainbow Dash? Or Surprise?”
“Yeah,” said Soarin. “I like ‘em all…” He was pumping his hips almost as fast as they would go now - and in his imagination his sister was still squeezing his nutsack, holding it tighter and tighter.
“Good,” said Spitfire. “Cuz first thing tomorrow morning, you’re gonna fuck all of them, one after the other, while I watch! I want to watch you shoot big sloppy loads in all three of their tight little pussies! And they better cum long and loud or you’re fuckin’ fired.”
“You know what,” said Spitfire, slipping her slim orange fingers down into her pants, “A real test of loyalty and performance would be making you fuck your sister. What do you think about that?”
“Ooh, I like that,” said Fleetfoot. “I get my punishment, and you get your test of loyalty, or whatever you’re after. This perverted little piefucker has to fuck his sister’s pussy every day at training, while the whole team watches! That’s your job now, bro!”
“Sounds like it’s decided,” said Spitfire. “Someone has to teach you that your cock belongs in a pussy, Soarin, not a hot gooey apple pie. So you’re gonna fuck your sister for me, Soarin. I’m your fucking captain, and what I say goes, and I’m telling you to jam that big blue cock into your sister’s pussy lips and shoot a big creamy load inside her.”
“Fuck yeah!” growled Fleetfoot. “Fuck, my brother’s balls are so big and full of cum, I want all of it, I want that whole load deep in my cunt!”
An intense physical jolt interrupted his thoughts, bringing the fantasy to an end. He was about to burst, his big blue nuts tightening against his body and his cock throbbing as it began to pump his load. Gasping and grunting, he thrust his cock into the ruined mess of a pie. He took hold of the gooey, sticky base of the shaft and pumped his hand up and down the lower half of his cock. His legs seized up, his gasps went briefly silent, and he came.
Through the thick cumvein beneath his fat blue shaft, a torrent of creamy cum raced to the tip. A powerful gush of spunk hit the innards of the hot apple pie, mingling with the oozing filling and dripping over the flaky crust. It wasn’t so dissimilar from how a baker might fill a pastry - although Soarin’s cock injected a fluid never meant as a baking ingredient. Moreover, he provided far too much of it, far too fast; Soarin’s balls routinely supplied big, messy loads, and this one was no exception. One pump of cum, then two, then three, and the pie was bloated, cum oozing from everywhere, dripping over bits of apple and crust, draining into the pan.
Soarin pulled out just in time for the next splatter of cum to paint the top of the pie white. The pristine latticed crust was broken now, nearly unrecognizable, and its final indignity was to be coated with Soarin’s hot load. As he stroked his gooey cock, it throbbed powerfully in his hands, still drawing more thick white cum from his balls, from their seemingly endless supply. Even after filling the pie with his jizz, there was still enough left over to glaze it completely, drenching it in his off-white stallion batter.
And then, with one final grunt, Soarin fell back heavily in his chair, his cock slapping against his thighs as his bare ass slammed down into the seat. He looked at the ruined, cum-soaked pie in its tin. He was a little regretful at heaving ruined a delicious pie, and a touch regretful that he wasn’t going to get to eat it - but in the end, this pie had satisfied him in ways that no other pie had.
He was still hungry, though. He supposed he could always fly back to the bakery and get a fresh pie. Two in one day was a lot, but it probably wouldn’t raise any eyebrows; they knew him over at the bakery. He was Soarin, the stallion who loved apple pies.
