"Get to it, newbies! I want to see every one of you doing laps as fast as you can fly, got it?!" Rainbow Dash had never gotten why Spitfire enjoyed yelling so much—until now. "Move it newbie! What do you think this is, your first tryout?! MOVE!"

Landing at Rainbow Dash's side, Soarin tried to stand straight and proud—it mostly worked. To the casual eye he was the proud commander of the lead wing of the Wonderbolts. Anypony who knew him knew he was slouching just a little and had his tail arched a touch more than normal.

Rainbow Dash knew Soarin well enough to notice these things.

"Did Captain Spitfire like my present?" Slipping Soarin a grin, Rainbow Dash immediately turned her attention on one young stallion flying loops over their heads. "What do you think you're doing?! You call that flying?! I call that failing! MOVE IT!"

"You're really getting into this. And yes, she did." Soarin kept his voice low to keep from confusing the new recruits—they only needed one voice yelling orders at them and Rainbow Dash's was that voice for the moment.

Fluffing her wings in the high-altitude air, Rainbow Dash raised her voice, "I've seen unicorns fly faster than this! Gusty! Great flying! Keep going!" She turned to Soarin. "How was it?"

"I didn't tap out or anything, but it wasn't as fun as I'd hoped. There were other things I did like about it, but the toy being in—I don't like things going in there." Part of Soarin's promise to Rainbow Dash, when he'd gotten her help setting things up, had been to tell her everything. He'd thought she was going to be into hearing it, but she seemed more like an instructor than ever.

"You told her, right?" Rainbow Dash asked.

Soarin nodded. "Yeah."

"What did Spitfire say?" Rainbow Dash barely got the words out when she spotted one of the recruits talking to another. "Is this a social club?! Did I tell you to slow down so you could talk?! Move those wings!"

"She said we could do other things. That I didn't have to do it." Other things, Soarin was pleased to remember, had worked out well. "But she was enjoying it when we did it."

Rainbow Dash was about to yell something, but stopped when the recruit she was about to chew out self-corrected. "You have three options then. Either she doesn't do it again, you find a way of making it fun for you too, or you find somepony else to help her scratch that itch."

"What?!" Soarin took a step back from Rainbow Dash. "Y-You mean get another stallion—"

"Or mare." Rainbow Dash held up a hoof at Soarin. "Not it, by the way. I'm spoken for. Talk to Spitfire—these kinds of games are all about communication and fun. Would it be fun if you and Spitfire both nailed the same mare at the same time?"

The idea sparked an old, long-buried stallion desire—to have a harem—but Soarin was still a little in shock at the idea of being with anypony other than Spitfire. "I-I'll talk to her about it." He returned to stand at Rainbow Dash's side.

"Good answer. Like I said, communication." Pointing at one of the trainees swooping overhead, Rainbow Dash nudged at Soarin. "Check out her wingspan."

Blood rushed to Soarin's cheeks. "I'm not going window shopping for—"

"Business first. I'm talking about her flying potential, Sir, not her tail." Rainbow Dash worked hard not to let her demeanor break. She managed it, but only just.

"Oh!" Soarin studied the recruit in question's flight, narrowed his eyes a little against the light and nodded. "She'll be one of the best in a straight line, but she's going to need to build wing muscle to get her aerobatics up. And she's got an old injury in her right wing—look at the way she favors the left when turning."

The last bit made Rainbow Dash blink in surprise. She hadn't noticed the asymmetry at all.

Three weeks had passed since Rainbow Dash had taken "light duties" at Wonderbolt HQ. Light duties had included saving a pony who'd been tumbling out of control after the Dizzitron sent them tumbling more than they could handle, shouting a lot, and fending off Thunderlane's fatherly advances.

Her midsection was bigger than ever, and she was nearing the date when Dr. Horse had given her as when she was due. Half her class had washed out—which wasn't uncommon—and she was pushing the rest harder for it.

There were two ponies who'd joined a special class with her, one that lacked a classroom, but had a lot of practical classes. Looking up into the air, Rainbow Dash almost missed her captain walking up to stand at her side.

Spitfire craned her head back and looked at the eight pegasi flying in tight formation above. "I hate this."

"You were the one who said I should do light duties. 'Train the new recruits,' you said. 'It'll give me a chance to do all the paperwork,' you said. You say a lot more than you yell now, right Cap?" Extending a wing up, Rainbow Dash shielded her eyes as the formation swung into the western part of the sky.

"Damn it all to Tartarus, yes. Look at these wings," Spitfire said, spreading her wings wide. "Do these look like the wings of a desk-jockey?"

"They look like the wings of a mare who does more flying than any desk-jockey ever would. You haven't lost your edge, Cap. Get that formation tighter!" Rainbow Dash had to raise her voice a lot to be heard by the recruits, but she managed. "How was last night?"

Spitfire sighed. "He wants to try again. I don't give a crap about how fun it is for me, if Soarin isn't enjoying himself, I'm not enjoying myself."

"Have you tried letting him top while you wear the toy?" Rainbow Dash asked.

"Twice. It doesn't work." Spitfire sighed. "And he won't get it out of his head. We talked about inviting somepony else, but both of us are unsure in that regard. How's the foal going?"

When the pregnancy had started, Rainbow Dash assumed she would get sick of ponies asking after her and her foal—the opposite had happened. Every time she was reminded of the life growing inside her (which was every step she took, as well as verbal cues), Rainbow Dash's excitement grew. "They started kicking when I fly. Sometimes I pump my wings in the hope of getting a few pokes back, but they didn't fall for that."

"They'll be flying themselves soon—taking after their parents. How is Fluttershy doing?" Spitfire wanted to avoid the topic of her bedroom life. It'd taken her time to even accept that in this one thing Rainbow Dash was her senior (knowledge wise).

"Her parents moved in to help her get ready. Thunderlane's wearing himself out flying between Ponyville and here to see us on alternating days. He must be building great muscle in his wings." At mention of her husband's wings, Rainbow Dash felt a stirring of arousal. She didn't care how pregnant she was, she wanted her stallion. "Have you considered taking your ward off?"

"A foal? Me?" Spitfire got just a single guffaw of laughter out before Rainbow Dash's hoof poked her chest. "Not going to happen, Crash. I don't care how awesome it feels. I like flying too much. And I think Soarin would flip out if I talked about it."

"Might distract him from that toy. It's not all bad. I can still fly, it's actually easier to get around flying than walking." Rainbow Dash winced when she got a little kick from her foal, only rather than the cute kicks most were this one was right into her bladder. "I'll be right back!"

Spitfire laughed. "That's another reason I won't!" She turned her eyes skyward as the recruits flew past at their highest speed. She couldn't stop herself—Spitfire whooped in excitement and shot into the air.

"And then I led their formation. I had them swap positions each turn… It was great, Soarin." In the shower of their shared home, Spitfire fluffed out her wings in the falling water to best work it between her feathers. "Why don't we mix things up?"

Soarin poked his head into the bathroom. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you top again tonight, and we continue the game we started last night." Spitfire turned in the shower, making sure her back-end was aimed at Soarin. "I'll be your slutty little slave filly again."

It had been an ongoing game that Soarin had greatly enjoyed. He started getting hard just thinking about it. "Okay, but we both are talking to Rainbow Dash tomorrow about my plot." He turned and walked to their special toy chest. Flipping the lid, Soarin listened vaguely to Spitfire's assent to his demands while he pulled out his little pet's collar.

The bat pony—Spicy Hot was his name—had quickly earned two customers that returned every week for more things. Soon, Soarin and Spitfire would need their own chests.

Spitfire was just climbing out of the shower when she watched Soarin walk up to her directly. He didn't seem to pay any mind to her as he wrapped the thick collar around her throat and closed the locking clasp to seal it in place.

"Dry yourself off and then get under me." Soarin loved using commands with Spitfire. He loved giving them, he loved it when she followed them, and loved it even more when she messed up. Looking in the mirror, Soarin checked his teeth and face, picked up the trimmer and started neatening up the fur around his jaw.

Hurrying to dry, Spitfire ended up foregoing part of her normal routine to drop to her belly on the floor. The squeeze around her neck was all she needed to slip completely into her role. Her master's shaft was barely poking out of his sheath—that wouldn't do. Nuzzling along his belly fur, Spitfire pressed her lips to the tip of his chubby member and opened her mouth for him.

Soarin grew in Spitfire's mouth, his shaft responding quickly to her ministrations. Though as she worked at "cleaning" him, Soarin noticed Spitfire hadn't dried herself off completely. Smiling into the mirror, Soarin lifted his back leg to give Spitfire better access. "You're a good worker, but I'll be damned if you're going to get off lightly for disobeying me this time. I told you to dry off."

Spitfire tried to work herself off Soarin's shaft so she could apologize, but as she tried to pull back he shoved forward. Her eyes widened—Spitfire realized she was not going to be allowed to beg for forgiveness. Surrendering to her task, and accepting that she would be punished, Spitfire let the warm blanket of submission wrap around her.

Humping his hips, Soarin pushed himself into Spitfire's mouth—used her simply for the hole she provided, while he wasted as much time as he could with his fur trimming. Her lips dragged at his flesh again and again, and though he wanted nothing more than to just take her, he had a role to play.

Only just getting warmed up to her task, Spitfire felt the rush of Soarin's seed flood her mouth. Above her, he didn't so much as let out a groan at the release—he just kept thrusting. Gulping down what didn't leak from the corner of her mouth (and stain her cheeks), Spitfire swished her tail at the simple pleasure of doing a simple task well. Even if that task was providing her master with a hole to fill.

Soarin had to bite his lip to not show an ounce of his pleasure. Long nights of practice had given him the stamina to continue pleasuring a mare, or taking his own pleasure from one. The game was on, and he'd just come up with his punishment as a lightning bolt of pleasure stabbed through him. He grunted this time, shoving forward into Spitfire's mouth as he delivered his second load to her. "Get up. It's time we see about your punishment."

As soon as Spitfire's mouth was free she licked her lips clean, but it was too late—she had a sticky moustache of Soarin's seed around her lips, and some of it had started to mat into her fur. "Yes, Master." It was all she could say in answer, the only two words she was allowed to use apart from her safe word. She got up from her belly and followed Soarin into the bedroom.

"On the edge of the bed. Lay on your belly with your back legs off the side—here." Soarin gestured to where the two rings were on the floor. While Spitfire got into position, he fetched the cuffs, wing straps, and a bridle and bit. When he turned back and saw Spitfire positioned exactly how he'd told her, he smiled.

Spitfire had no warning for Soarin walking over the top of her, pressing his belly into her back, and shoving himself into her—admittedly wet—vagina. She arched her back and let out a wordless cry of pure bliss, only to have a firm piece of metal shoved into her mouth, forcing her tongue down.

Eyes suddenly wide, Spitfire didn't know Soarin had gotten anything quite so kinky as a bondage bridle. She felt the straps pull around the sides of her face, a single strip running up between her eyes. He secured it over and behind her head, and she heard a final click as a lock drove home. She tried to say something, anything that wasn't her safe word, but all that came out was incoherent grunts and gasps.

"Your left foreleg will be kept free." Having secured Spitfire's mouth, Soarin left her a way to get his attention—he would endeavor to keep an eye on it.

Tight straps locked around all four legs one at a time. Spitfire felt Soarin dismount her once he had both her forelegs locked up (one merely cuffed, not folded and strapped uselessly), then he attached the rear cuffs and, when Spitfire tried to lift her back legs, had fastened them to the ring bolts in the floor.

She spread her wings in defiance, flapping them without putting any air under them, only to have Soarin gather up her right one. Folding it, bending her limb carefully at the joints, Soarin wrapped the first wing restraint around her limb—then the other one.

Spitfire was immobilized except for that one foreleg—which she kept firmly still and pressed to the covers. Behind her, she could feel Soarin doing something with her tail, wrapping something around it again and again. Then he pulled her tail upward, whatever was around it was now what he used to control the plume of hair.

Tying the ribbons leading from Spitfire's tail to another ring in the ceiling, Soarin looked at his lover. She was completely restrained, bound, and gagged. The blinkers on the bridle he'd used would keep her from getting a good look behind herself. Lining his mouth up at her slit, Soarin blew gently over her folds. It was time to play.

Squirming in the bondage, Spitfire struggled to move, to free herself of the now hated restraints. She bucked and grunted, shifted her hips again and again, but all that happened was Soarin blowing over her nethers. Finally, slumping in the restraints, Spitfire gave up and surrendered herself to what she thought was inevitable—she was not going to get sex tonight.

Soarin waited for the exact moment when Spitfire slumped. She would fight him to the bitter end if she thought she had a hope of winning, but he knew that if the bindings were secure, Spitfire would surrender. Which was when he shoved the dildo between her folds.

The lance of rubber into her body had Spitfire in motion again. She squirmed, shoved herself around, and fought to say anything as Soarin pushed the thing deeper into her. She knew it wasn't his shaft, she knew it would soon go still, but as the toy spread her insides, Spitfire wanted to beg for more.

When the big toy kissed the end of her passage, barely touching Spitfire's cervix, the pressure ended. She whined and whimpered like a dog, fighting the bridle and bit for the ability to speak. She had thought—when Soarin first mounted her and began tying her up—that this wasn't punishment, but her lover knew her desires too well.

Soarin didn't touch Spitfire after he hilted the toy into her. He watched her body squirm and shift as she tried in vain to get more stimulation from the very passive toy. Again she slumped to the bed.

The touch of the rubber toy against her anus made Spitfire jerk in the bindings again. No no no! she cried in her own head, Don't put another passive toy in me. Please, Master, I'll be good! The words echoed in her head, Spitfire now firmly in her submissive place, the place where she belonged to Soarin completely.

As the toy rubbed around her sensitive rear, Spitfire kept begging Soarin to spare her from her fate, from the fate of being a worked up and defeated bitch tied to the end of his bed all night. She twitched, but she didn't dare try to pull her rump away from the toy—that would only ensure more punishment.

The thick bulb of the plug started to push into Spitfire, and she moaned into the gag as it stretched her. She could feel a warmth to it and knew Soarin had used the magic lube again. The stuff tingle and inflamed the pleasure in her rump to the point where she was begging for him to push the toy all the way in so she could squirm in needy pleasure. But the toy pulled out.

"As much as I want to punish you all night, pet, you do give great blowjobs."

Spitfire began crying in pure bliss as Soarin's flared tip kissed her anus. Tears met dried ejaculate on her cheeks, and Spitfire could only think of two words to say to her master: Thank you. He moved slowly, more hot lube shoving ahead of his shaft as he stretched and claimed her rectum. Spitfire didn't jerk and squirm—as she might have done when they first started these games—this was her reward.

Only when Soarin's medial ring stretched her sphincter did Spitfire know that he was just past the midway point. She welcomed her master's bulge deeper, her mind unraveling as he finally settled his groin against her croup.

Holding Spitfire's tail to the side, Soarin brushed her mane with one hoof. "You're my good filly, aren't you?" She nodded under his hoof. "My good filly should make sure she follows her owner's commands completely, shouldn't she?" Another nod. "Good. I want my good filly to remember this, and what good fillies get."

Spitfire's eyes flared wide open as Soarin pulled back, then shoved into her again. She squealed, cried out, fought against the restraints with everything she had, and took Soarin's shaft again and again. Her mind was lost to her as her body was rutted like a wild animal. Rough, fast… satisfying.

But Spitfire had never gotten off from anal sex alone. A small part of her mind knew this, knew that no matter what Soarin did, how energetic and how long his attention on her rear would be, she would not be getting a climax tonight unless he changed things around. And that's my punishment, Spitfire realized.

Soarin had a great time. He spent himself within Spitfire again and again. He rode her like a beast for nearly two hours. He didn't feel the telltale clenching of her body in orgasm once.

Dismounting, Soarin walked into the bathroom and cleaned himself down. He took care of Spitfire too—washed her down and made sure her vulva and anus were clean of any mess. Her fur he left, he knew she liked a little mess.

Spitfire was aware of the cuffs around her legs being removed—forelegs and back. She didn't feel him unwrap her wings because he didn't, nor did he deign to remove the bridle. Her tail was unbound, and with that Spitfire slumped to the bed.

"Windigo." Soarin said, looking into Spitfire's eyes as he said the signal that ended their game. She wasn't out of the woods yet, of course. Soarin wrapped Spitfire in a blanket and reached for the bridle.

Shaking her head, Spitfire lifted her hooves and playfully batted away Soarin's. She smiled around the bit and nuzzled against his chest.

"And I suppose you don't want your wings out or the toy removed?"

Mention of the long toy in Spitfire's depths reminded her of it. It moved with her body, filling her, completing her. She shook her head and snuggled against Soarin, content to let his legs and wings pull her close and hold her until morning.

Author's Note

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