Soarin was done with the day's work. He had put all the new recruits through the Dizzitron, something he quite enjoyed, and seen how each handled it. None had done particularly well, of course, but it was still a good way to shake them up.

Slipping into the accommodation he shared with Spitfire, Soarin passed his captain as she was leaving the shower. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in her wet mane and tail in particular. There was something about seeing a mare in such a way that made her seem defenseless, open.

"Whatcha starin' at?" Spitfire, despite her sharp tone, enjoyed when Soarin looked at her hungrily. Not a single stallion dared to look at her in that way—not the leader of the Wonderbolts—but Soarin could get past that and just look. And lust.

"Hottest mare in Equestria. How was your day?" Stepping around Spitfire, Soarin made his way into the bathroom and straight into the shower.

Spitfire stretched for the sake of stretching, even arcing her wings out and spreading her primaries to help dry them. "Oh, the usual. Baking some cookies, looking after the little fillies and colts, and I even helped an old mare across the street." The sarcasm in her voice was heavy enough to fall through Cloudsdale.

"Ha ha." Soarin opted for a quick shower. Quickly working his wings under the water, he began shimmying and fluffing them to get the water to soak through fast. The greatest advantage to sharing a house on base with the Captain of the Wonderbolts was it was literally the best residence. The shower was huge, with multiple jets of water. In no time the grime and effort of the day was washed from his fur, feathers, and hair.

Stepping from the shower, Soarin grabbed some towels to start drying himself off. "Did you catch up to Rainbow Dash for that chat you wanted?"

"Yeah. About that…" Sprawled on the bed, Spitfire had her wings spread from where she had been preening them. "You wouldn't believe what I found. Sitting up in the sky, a few klicks higher than Cloudsdale, Thunderlane had Rainbow Dash trapped in a noctilucent that he had put together and kicked until it was hard."

Soarin froze where he stood and looked at Spitfire. "What?"

"I know, right?" Spitfire nibbled at one feather that had gotten a kink in it. "I mighta hung around a bit—they didn't see me—but you wouldn't believe the game they were playing. Thunderlane was pretending he was her master, and he could do whatever he wanted."

"But isn't that—"

"She actually stopped him. They talked normally for a bit, then got back into it." Opting to sacrifice the small feather as unsalvagable, Spitfire closed her teeth around the base and yanked it free.

"Huh." Soarin sat down and finished toweling off. "So they were both having fun?" The idea sounded interesting, and he couldn't help wondering about what it would be like to be in either position.

"You should have heard them, or seen them. Damn it was hot." The moment she said the latter, Spitfire's eyes widened. She lay there in absolute silence.

"So. Uh." Soarin tossed the two towels he used onto the hamper. "You—You want to try something like that?"

"Yes!" Spitfire covered her snout with both hooves. She had never been a shy mare, but for some reason this was making her feel really odd—in a good way. "Look at me? This has me worked up to Tartarus and back. If we don't do it, I'll be forever kicking myself."

Soarin stepped up and flopped onto his belly on the bed. "And here I thought the mighty Spitfire wasn't a newbie at anything?"

"You know I'm not a newbie. I've been with other stallions, even a mare in flight school, but this stuff is way different." Spitfire waved a hoof in the air. "So. If we're planning on doing this, how?"

"Wait, you really want to do this?" Soarin leaned forward on the bed and nibbled at the outer edge of Spitfire's wing for a few seconds. "Who will be tying up who?"

The ministrations to her wing by Soarin had cause Spitfire to slump down in bliss. Preening was an extremely personal thing, and having somepony she loved doing it to her usually resulted in a melted puddle of Spitfire. "Uh…" She had meant to continue, but Soarin started nibbling again.

Knowing that if he kept up nibbling on Spitfire's wings she would just stay on the bed all night, Soarin slowly backed off—after only a few minutes of turning his lover's head to mush.

"I'll be the one."

Both pegasi froze. Lifting their heads, Soarin and Spitfire met each other's eyes. Of course, they had both said it at exactly the same time in exactly the same way.

"How're we going to decide this?" Rolling to his back put Soarin neck resting against Spitfire's dock. He gazed up at the ceiling. "What about if we both think of a random number between one and ten, then say them at the same time?"

Spitfire barked a laugh. "You'll cheat."

"I won't. On the count of three. One. Two. Three."

"Five," Spitfire said.

"Seven," Soarin said.

"So. Which does what?" Shifting her hips a little, Spitfire made sure Soarin was comfortable.

Soarin appreciated the casual closeness with Spitfire; something they couldn't share on the job. "I don't know. I kinda hoped you would take charge and say what you wanted."

"Okay." Spitfire shook her mane. "Then you tie me up this time, and I'll do the shouting next time."

Soarin paused for a moment, then nodded—a gesture Spitfire would feel despite not looking at him. "And I have just the place."

It was not just full dark, it was the middle of the night. Spitfire walked, wearing neither her uniform nor flight suit, at Soarin's side. The landing strip, the barracks, everything was quiet.

"I told the pony on duty that they weren't to come out here tonight, that there was a top secret test." Soarin walked beside Spitfire, similarly clad (or not, as the case may be), and led her to the target. "Which is where this comes in."

"The Dizzitron?" Spitfire craned her neck at the device. It served two purposes for the Wonderbolts. The first use of the Dizzitron was to test how well a pegasus could pull out of a confusing and dangerous situation; it would spin up, whirling the pony around until they were almost whiting out from the force of the device, then it would catapult them into the air. The second use of the Dizzitron was to prepare Wonderbolts for such situations; an extra set of straps were added.

The Dizzitron, as it had been used during the day, didn't have the extra straps, but now it did.

"Shut up, newbie, and get ready for the ride of your life." Soarin kept his tone sharp. He glared at Spitfire, doing everything he could to play the part of hard-assed-Wonderbolt-instructor. When she didn't move at once, Soarin reached out with a wing and gave Spitfire's rear a smack.

Knocked from her daze by the swat on her flank, Spitfire took a few steps toward the Dizzitron before she even recovered her senses. "Honey-cakes."

"What?" The word was so odd that Soarin broke character.

"If I'm in trouble, or anything. I'll shout that. Anything else and I'm just having fun…" Spitfire took a deep breath and, on her exhale, relaxed herself. "…Sir."

Something about the situation really spoke to Soarin. A shiver ran through him, and he nodded. "Alright, newbie, get on the platform and let me strap you in. Tonight we're doing a special night-flying, distraction training session."

Spitfire walked up to the platform. The Dizzitron had been upgraded since she had last "beaten" it. She had ridden the older model for nearly twenty minutes, and when her squadmates lifted her out she spread her wings and flew. Tonight, Spitfire hoped that she might not be able to walk away from it—for a totally different reason.

After checking with the control panel that the Dizzitron was locked and safe, Soarin approached Spitfire. "Ass to the wall, newbie." Soarin stomped the last few steps and lashed out with his wing when Spitfire didn't move fast enough.

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Again the swat to the rump made her move faster. Spitfire thought back to her early days in the Wonderbolts, remembering how lazy she would be some days. She pressed her rump to the Dizzitron and waited further instructions—despite knowing exactly how to be strapped on.

Soarin walked around to Spitfire's side. Her body was so trim, so perfect, that it almost seemed wrong to berate her, but that was how you dealt with newbies. "This'll get you into shape, too, newbie." Using his hooves, Soarin slowly reached down to Spitfire's left-back hoof, then stroked it up to where the first leg-strap was.

Spitfire let out a soft huff when her leg was strapped to the Dizzitron. Soarin walked around her and did the other one. She was stuck, now, but she could have gotten free on her own still.

"Stand up straight, newbie." Keeping his motions slow, Soarin fastened the girth strap around Spitfire's barrel. "Okay, newbie. Wings out."

This was new to Spitfire, though she had seen others in the grip of the latest model of Dizzitron. She squirmed a little, stretching her wings out as far as she could to each side. "Y-Yes, Sir." Her voice caught in her throat as Soarin bound one wing then the other to the machine. The big, strong Wonderbolt inside her exposed her belly to her new master and shivered in delight at the simple act of that offering.

Soarin noticed a scent, and took a deep inhale. Spitfire wasn't a messy mare, but he could smell her arousal plain as day. "Getting a little worked up there, newbie. Maybe we'll have to help you out with that." He grabbed one of Spitfire's forelegs and pushed it up, strapped it in place. "I dare you to washout and tell me no."

Spitfire's heart was pumping hard, she reached the last of her free limbs up and pressed it to the straps awaiting it. "Sir. No, Sir!" As the last of her freedom was strapped to the Dizzitron, Spitfire—the mare with more endurance than sense—almost climaxed.

Not done yet, Soarin reached up for the last strap. Consisting of the front half of a safety collar, the strap supported Spitfire's neck and head safely, without harming her throat or the big veins carrying blood to and from her head. Just like the other straps, Soarin made sure it was tight.

"Now, newbie, we would normally spin the Dizzitron until you threw up, passed out, or screamed for us to stop. I'm a sporting stallion, though. How about a little bet?" Soarin reared up so his forelegs were on each side of Spitfire's head, just missing her wings that were spread out to each side. "We start with five rotations and then I test you. If you climax, we add ten rotations. Each five I'll test you again."

Spitfire's ears twitched at the words. She tried to make sense of the rules. "S-Sir. You spin me five times, test me, and if I c-climax you add ten more?"

"And then we keep stopping every five. What do you think, recruit?" Soarin's shaft was already hardening up. He looked at Spitfire, her whole body exposed to him, and couldn't keep a smirk from his lips. By the time she gave the slightest nod (her neck brace not allowing much more), he was hard as a rock. "Good."

Spitfire watched Soarin march over to the controls with the biggest hard-on she had ever seen him sport. She wanted him so much, but the crazy machine she was strapped to ignored her feeble attempts to break free. She squirmed a little more, and then the Dizzitron started.

The Dizzitron was designed to push even the most agile pegasus to the edges of their ability to keep conscious. Spitfire was hardly just an agile pegasus. But something was different. Normally Spitfire would sink her mind into the calm place that she used while flying, but all she could think about was how tight the straps were and how much she wanted to be touched.

By the time the Dizzitron finished five cycles, Soarin could see Spitfire was a mess. She was also upside down. The machine, every rotation, would spin the occupant one and a half times—the key being that half. "Well, well. Ready for your test, newbie?"

The world was still turning and all Spitfire's blood seemed to be rushing to either her head or her nethers. To her surprise, Soarin walked straight up to her and reared up. His forelegs planted on each side of her hips, and his head reached over her back-end. When the first lick came, Spitfire let out a moan to end all moans.

Licking his lips, Soarin was well aware of how excited Spitfire was. He had touched her once and she sounded ready to lose it. "So here's the test, newbie. If you can suck me off before I eat you to climax, you can get out of this thing. Ready? Set? Go!"

Spitfire had barely a moment before Soarin's shaft pressed to her lips, smeared a line of moisture along her cheek, and then pulled back. When he thrust a second time she caught him in her mouth and sucked hard.

With a mouthful of Soarin's shaft, Spitfire almost lost herself again when his tongue traced her slit. She groaned and bucked in the grip of the Dizzitron, but the machine was meant to hold a potentially struggling pegasus against the greatest forces it could apply. She relaxed, letting his tongue work its magic while she sucked.

Normally the race would be no contest. Soarin knew he had the shortest fuse in existence (all his fillyfriends had told him), but he had learned to compensate for it. Soarin didn't need to brag, he didn't need to prove himself, but he was pretty good at orally pleasing a mare.

Clenching her muscles, all of them, Spitfire strained in the straps even more. Soarin knew every sensitive spot she had and was taking advantage of it. Strapped down, unable to do anything but try in vain to suck him off, she felt her end rush onto her.

The straps creaked but held firm as Spitfire shook and trembled. She shook and could do nothing but focus on how amazing Soarin made her feel. The fantasy of being a young mare at her first training session, of getting a stallion who would show her how to fly was powerful, and she let the pleasure ride through her.

"Looks like you lost the bet, newbie." Soarin pulled back and dropped to all fours again. He was achingly hard, but this game was too much fun. He had never gotten Spitfire off before himself before. "So you have to give me ten more spins."

With the taste of Soarin's shaft hanging on her tongue, Spitfire watched (upside down) as Soarin walked back over to the controls. She opened her mouth to beg him, but it wasn't to be let loose. "S-Sir. Please, let me prove myself, Sir."

Soarin's head snapped around at the sound of submission. "You will, cadet. Five more spins and you can prove yourself." He pressed the button.

This time Spitfire was even more disorientated. The Dizzitron seemed to work better on distracted pegasi, and she was the epitome of that. When it finally came to a stop again—five turns later—she was panting hard and staring ahead.

Pressure against her sensitive entrance made Spitfire squeal and arch her spine as well as she could in the grip of the Dizzitron. She trembled and squealed as Soarin shoved up into her. Unlike the first time, however, Spitfire had the advantage.

Bucking his hips at an odd angle—almost vertical—Soarin felt when his end approached. He grunted hard and bent his head to the task. The last few thrusts were the hardest thanks to Spitfire's constant clutching at him with her pelvic muscles. "Good show… newbie."

Fire erupted in Spitfire. She felt the hot rush of Soarin's seed firing deep into her, and she smiled in sheer bliss. Her own recent climax had desensitized her a little, but despite that she could feel herself rising in pleasure again just at his fullness inside her.

Pulling down and back, Soarin disengaged with Spitfire. "Five more. You ready, newbie?"

Panting hard, Spitfire managed the smallest nod. "Sir. Yes, sir!"

The machine started again, Spitfire barely having noticed Soarin had left to operate it. The world spun and twisted, and her mind surrendered to the sensation. She was floating as a leaf on a very violent wind. The grip of the straps held her firmly in place—clutched like a lover.

When Spitfire stopped again, she let out a little groan. Upside down, she watched as Soarin's belly got closer. He wasn't hard this time, and she had to nuzzle at his sheath to get him to grow. Coaxing, suckling, Spitfire welcomed "little Soarin" back into her mouth with lavish licks. Above her, Soarin settled himself at her vulva like he was eating a pie.

Savoring Spitfire's scent, Soarin leaned down and started lapping at the one spot he knew always drove her wild. He could taste himself in her—not an uncommon situation given his propensity for a short fuse—and didn't relent once he began.

Spitfire felt Soarin swell into her mouth. She delighted not just in the feel of him, but the situation that brought on the unique position. She was strapped down, pinned and dizzy, and completely at Soarin's mercy.

Her eyes widening suddenly, Spitfire didn't realize how quickly her pleasure had grown. Her body started to tremble just as she felt Soarin's shaft flare in her mouth.

Mare and stallion, together for the first time, reached climax. Spitfire's mouth was impaled on Soarin's shaft, while her vulva was clutching at his tongue. Their bodies trembled and shook, each sharing the perfect moment with the other.

Panting, his body feeling like he had just spent two days in the air (flying hard), Soarin slowly backed away from Spitfire. The little whine she made when he slipped free of her mouth made him smile. "You need to go around again if you don't want to fall on your face."

"Don't care. Spin me. Fuck me. Just do what you want." Spitfire, for the first time since her graduation as a Wonderbolt, felt completely drained of both energy and spirit. She was spent in a way that felt better than anything ever had. The Dizzitron started again, slowly turning her around and leaving her right-side-up.

Soarin worked fast. He started at the bottom and unbuckled legs, wings, neck, and then belly straps. When the girth strap let go, Spitfire flopped forward.

Landing atop Soarin's back, Spitfire could only groan. She let her lover carry her back to their house, and didn't protest at all as he took her through a shower, and pulled her into bed. Cuddling, right after being undone so completely, was almost better than the sex.

Pressed against Spitfire, hugged to her like he was her big teddy bear, Soarin kept stroking her neck and shoulder. He watched as her breathing slowed all the way to sleep, and the relaxed smile she wore was worth almost everything to him. "Goodnight, cadet."

Author's Note

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Awesome ponies who are already helping to keep me in keyboards and rum:
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