Watching Soarin work his art was a treat Spitfire never grew tired of. She was reclining on their bed—on her back—while Windy Whistles rocked herself forward and back onto Spitfire's latest toy. "Look at him, pet."

Windy had to turn her whole head, and only did so at Spitfire's command. The blinders on each side of her cheek limited her focus, but she could see Soarin at the bottom of the bed. He was straddling another figure, pinning them down with his belly and dominance.

"I love this bit. Look how his little bat squirms. Soarin's rock hard, I bet, and the batty can feel it. But he won't get a reward until he's been properly fitted." Spitfire purred as Soarin fitted the bridle over Spicy's head. The bit—a ring gag—pulled into Spicy's mouth and Soarin quickly tightened all the straps to lock the headgear in place. "You can climax now."

As Soain bore his weight down harder on Spicy, he forced the bat's belly to the floor and then leaned down to bite his neck. A low growl had become something he'd learned bat ponies liked to hear when submissive—or maybe it was just Spicy. Growling a little louder, his ears twitched as he heard Windy Whistles whine and moan around her gag.

On and on Windy sang, so much that Soarin knew that Spitfire had to have been keeping her on edge for quite some time. Letting go of Spicy's neck, Soarin licked the mane there as a reward for holding still. "You're next. On the bed, tail up."

Slinking up from his belly, Spicy squirmed his wings in the straps holding them at his sides. With a whine he raised his tail to the other stallion and crawled onto the bed. Under him, his shaft rubbed along the soft sheets—hard and ready—but he knew the masculine master of this bedroom had no desire to play with what he had. That suited him more than words could express.

Looping a strap around the base of Spicy's tail, Soarin pulled it forward more and secured the other end to the back of the bridle. "Head up up you'll do your tail an injury." The cascade of dark hair spilled over the bat's back and made Soarin even harder. "Swap."

"I thought you'd never offer. I'm about as lubed up as I'm going to get from this filly, you think I could hilt him in one stroke?" Spitfire asked.

Windy knew what her mistress and master wanted, and quickly climbed off Spitfire with only a little whine when the ridged member pulled from her body. The bit in her mouth kept her tongue clamped down firmly, but it didn't stop her making all kinds of happy noises.

Too ready to wait, Soarin stepped forward and across until he was over Windy. There was something powerful about being able to just grab a mare by the shoulder, roll her to her belly, and shove into her. "Grip." The command was one he knew Windy was proud to obey. She'd spent months working on her pelvic muscles, and the squeeze he gave her was a testament to her efforts. "I'm going to get rough."

For Windy, the words were a warning and a question. Rough wasn't always something she was into, but after spending almost an eternity fucking herself in Spitfire's lap, she was hot enough for anything. She nodded her head, all she'd ever need to do to give her assent to Soarin. A kiss on her neck surprised her, but then his hoof grabbed up her mane and jerked her head up.

Held, forced, fucked—Windy Whistles moaned as Soarin did exactly what he'd promised. She felt more movement start to rock the bed, and didn't need to look around (not that she could) to know Spitfire was now railing Spicy, using Windy's fluids as lubricant.

"Squeeze tighter!" Soarin's voice was a growl again, though he hadn't felt the urge to bite Windy yet. Wings gave a pony so many advantages. He could pull her head back with one hoof, brace the other to keep him upright, and still reach down and grope Windy as he drove himself in and jerked almost free of her body.

When Windy heard a new growled command from Soarin, she quickly obeyed and rolled her hips to her left side. One of his wings grabbed her right leg, while the other reached behind her belly to stroke her tight udder. He knew her too well.

"There's your voice. I could make you sing for hours just by doing—this." Soarin flicked his delicate and precise feathers over each of Windy's two teats, playing her body like an instrument. "Maybe I will. No more rutting, just gentle stroking."

For nearly five strokes of Windy's body did Soarin leave her waiting, then he began to thrust again. She moaned, her body shoved close to orgasm again. She looked down her body when Soarin let up his grip on her mane, watching him as he relentlessly bred her.

Grabbing Windy's mane again, Soarin yanked on it to make her look forward. "What are—you looking—at? You like—watching me—fuck you?" Soarin knew the answer, but he loved to see her nod her head. "Then watch. I'm not going to stop until you're carrying my foal this time."

The addition of impregnation play was all Windy needed. Her mind and body were in agreement that it was the perfect time to climax. She almost closed her eyes while she shook in Soarin's grip, but kept her vigil of him plowing into her again and again. She knew he wouldn't stop until he was ready.

"Soarin?!"

Spitfire's voice broke Soarin from his zone. He'd shoved his seed into Windy—he couldn't remember how many times—and was about to again when Spitfire's shout made him look back. Spicy Hot looked like a bat undone. His tongue hung from the side of his mouth, and both eyes were closed in submissive bliss. "What?"

"Fuck this bat's mouth. He needs a good feed." Spitfire's muscles were well trained to thrusting now. Gone were the days where she humped like a girl—each buck she delivered pushed Spicy along the bed a little, and each sharp jerk back yanked her free again.

Spicy's eyes cracked open and adjusted to the shadow under Soarin's belly. He didn't need to open his mouth—the ring bit ensured he was gaping already—but did tilt his jaw to take Soarin.

Leaning over Spicy Hot's head, Soarin got far enough forward on his first thrust to press his lips to Spitifre's. Kissing the mare that matched his spirit so perfectly, they both climaxed and drove their hips forward at the same time.

Author's Note

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