"He said he might have found somepony who's compatible," Soarin said while his hooves rubbed Spitfire's shoulders. Her wings were splayed out from where she lay on the bed. She was the very picture of relaxation when wearing her bridle (a custom-made and fitted piece that Soarin had gotten for her birthday).

Thankfully for Spitfire—and their conversation—the bit was hanging loose from the corner of her mouth. "That bat will be the end of us. Did he say who?" Since escalating their relationship and bedroom activities, Spitfire had learned a new level of calm, and it relied entirely on Soarin. That her best wingpony also showed more pep and excitement showed her how much synergy they had.

But, there was a slight fly in the ointment that was Soarin and Spitfire's private life: they each had exotic tastes the other wasn't into. Spitfire loved pegging, while Soarin didn't like anal; Soarin had discovered a desire for much more messy things than Spitfire would tolerate even at her most submissive; but what had become the reason they talked to somepony else was that they wanted to both be on top for once.

"No. All he said was that if we're interested, meet him at his shop just before closing time." Shifting his hips, Soarin felt his shaft—deep in Spitfire's ass—tug his medial ring toward her sphincter. He pushed forward again while his forehooves kept up their massage.

Spitfire let out a happy moan at being filled back up with Soarin's shaft. She twitched both wings before her body once more relaxed. "Mare or stallion?"

Soarin lay still. Even his forehooves stopped moving. "I don't know and—and it excites me more."

"Does my stallion like the idea of me claiming another stallion as my mare?" Turning her head, Spitfire looked back at Soarin. Her normal guide for when her stallion was excited was presently occupied. She gazed into Soarin's eyes and saw hunger. "I take that as a ye—"

"Mare or stallion, so long as we do it together." Soarin shoved as hard as he could and leaned over Spitfire's back to nuzzle her neck. For a while, words failed both of them as their bodies shifted to an ancient rhythm.

When Soarin pumped her rear full of his seed, Spitfire let out a happy groan and used her forehoof to shove the bit between her teeth—latching it on. With her words suitably muffled, she grunted, panted, and whinnied in bliss as her mate took her again and again.

Knowing he wasn't going to get Spitfire to orgasm, Soarin pounded her for all he was worth. After the first time he'd bound and denied her, Soarin had discovered that when Spitfire loved to be toyed with when she was submissive.

Shivering in orgasm for the fifth time, Soarin slumped against Spitfire's back and nibbled at her neck. "There's still an hour before he closes. I could fuck this ass some more, or we could go early and do some shopping."

Whining into the bit, Spitfire could neither get any words out nor remove the locked-on accessory herself. Enchanted toys were expensive, but a bridle that the wearer couldn't remove had been one thing she had been willing to spend all her bits on. Not that Soarin-her-master wanted her input, he was telling, not asking.

"As if there was a choice. Ha!" Pulling his hips back, Soarin slammed forward again and began to rut his mare once more.

Spitfire practically melted.

Spicy Hot would normally have deployed his wittiest banter when the doorbell rang right on close. His mouth opened, ready to deliver a "coming late" joke, when he spotted his two newest favorite customers. "Spitfire, Soarin! Darlings, do I have a playmate for you."

It was her signal. Putting one hoof before the other, she walked from the back room to the shop floor. Her fur was dyed a light brown—feathers too. With her mane trapped under the tight, black rubber hood, nopony could see her features well enough to recognize her. Even her tail was carefully groomed and tied up, wrapped in a tight sheath to hide her identity. But, she recognized the two ponies.

Soarin stared at the hooded mare. "This is a little much, don't you think?" He looked at her, studied her eyes, and could recognize hunger in them—a shiver ran along his spine. He paid careful attention to her mask: it looked almost like a Wonderbolt one, except black rubber. The gag she wore was prominent, and it obviously had a clip to remove it for extra access.

"Who is she, Spicy?" Spitfire pulled her own eyes away from the anonymous mare to look at Spicy Hot.

"She doesn't want her name revealed until you have not only decided, but possibly had a night with her." Recognizing a hint of interest in both Soarin and Spitfire, Spicy Hot continued. "The important bits. She has a husband, and he is okay with this (I spoke to him myself). She isn't related to either of you, but you definitely know her. And, as you asked, she enjoys getting messy and is a consummate submissive. She has a safe gesture, though she is gagged within that hood. Any questions?"

"This is a two-way street, Spicy. She's giving us a lot about herself, but we'll be revealing ourselves to a strang—someone we know. How can we trust her?" Spitfire, now, couldn't take her eyes off the mare. Something in her hungered for this nameless, voiceless pony.

"There's the test," Soarin said.

Spitfire scoffed. "To a complete stranger?"

"She's not a stranger, Spicy just said. I can already tell she isn't a Wonderbolt, but she also has well-developed wing muscles. I think she'll be worth it." Stepping closer, Soarin lifted his forehoof and held it upside down under the mare's jaw.

Looking into Soarin's eyes, the nameless mare gulped a little, unsure what he was going to do. For nearly a minute he looked at her, his eyes tracking hers, while her heart seemed to speed up more and more.

Soarin had done this with every recruit that had almost washed out of the Academy. He held her complete attention, studying the slightest movements of her eyes. "You aren't going to screw us over?" When her head shook slightly from side to side, Soarin didn't blink in his assessment. "And you are going to make sure we know if we're going too far?"

That was the crux of Spitfire's real fear. A pony without a mouth couldn't scream at her if she was doing something horribly wrong. She watched the mare nod with a little relief, and Soarin's smile grow with more. "We can't promise this will be a regular thing, or even a more-than-once thing. We want to try something and needed somepony else to do it."

"She's fine with it being a one night stand. In fact, if it will be more regular she'll need to talk to her husband again." Reading from his notes, Spicy Hot tilted his chin up and looked at the two Wonderbolts. "So? Need to confer before you take her home?"

Soarin made up his mind but for one last thing. "Are you absolutely sure her partner is okay with this? Does he know who we are?"

Nodding her head then shaking it, the mare ached to tell the two ponies she would do anything for them, and let them do anything to her. Her gag was not just a source of kinky delight, but a curse. She was only able to make a soft whine and beg Soarin and Spitfire with her eyes.

"We'll take her," Spitfire said. Her eyes were looking at Soarin's. The bond of wingponies was as tight (in different ways) as that of special someponies. She knew Soarin's mind was made up to take the mare, but he wouldn't have voiced it until she had agreed. "Anything else we need to know? What's her safe gesture?"

Spicy Hot smiled almost as much as he knew the nameless mare was under her hood. "Left foreleg, like I told you two to always use. Even if you have a word, a gesture is more noticeable—emphatic." He didn't like giving lectures, particularly not to two ponies he'd come to consider friends, but this was something very special. "She trusts you, and I trust you. You have twenty-four hours of playtime. You can take off her hood if you want, or leave it on and escort her back here."

"You mean we could just—just fuck her, play with her, and then never know who she was?" The scenario had a definite effect on Soarin. "Maybe we'll do just that. Take her all night and day, then toss her back here." As he spoke, Soarin watched the mare's eyes not just sparkle, but she winked at him. "Come on."

The walk through the dark clouds of Cloudsdale, at midnight (when Spicy's shop closed), was a little eerie. Doubly so that she was being led by two ponies who neither knew who she was nor apparently cared to find out.

Tingles of excitement ran through her body, and she could feel damp, inflamed flesh under her dock. She ached for whatever these two amazing pegasi wanted to do to her, but she had to keep her mind sharp: her husband wanted a full blow-by-blow account of things. That was why he agreed.

Spitfire's nose was working perfectly—she could smell the aroused mare's feminine odor on the cool, dark night. Luna's moon was a dark, barely-showing sliver, and the stars were brighter for it.

"Almost there. We share a house attached to our offices at Wonderbolt HQ." Soarin didn't often get hard in public. It was a given for ponies that sometimes a stallion got excited and put on a bit of a show. It was also not polite to talk about it. From the time he'd left Spicy's store to when they reached the shared home, he was hard as a rock.

"You get her warmed up, Soarin. I need to get some things on." Spitfire leaned across, over the mare's shoulders, and kissed Soarin. She used one hoof to stroke the mare's side from neck to rump, and gave the firm rear a good smack with her hoof.

Breaking the kiss with a longing sigh, Soarin turned his attention on the mare. "We're both going to ream you out. Spitfire loves pegging, and I know a mare whose rump is going to spend more time being stretched than empty. I'll give you a hint, she's you." He found the collar of her restrictive hood, but it had no rings to attach bindings. "Darling, she has no collar."

"Well, lock one on her, Soarin." Spitfire loved how it felt to have a collar locked on, and she would bet this mare did too. She opened her personal toy chest and lifted out exactly what she needed.

"You heard her. Offer me your neck." Soarin judged the masked mare's neck to be the same size as his own, so fetched his collar. Closing it around her throat, he saw her shudder a little at the audible click it made. "We don't go in for those mechanical things—too much can go wrong with them. Our bindings are enchanted properly so that the wearer cannot remove them."

As the collar closed and locked around her throat, the mare fought not to cry out. She shuddered in submissive bliss as the feel of the collar settled not just around her throat, but the concept of it filled her thoughts. She was theirs, she belonged to them, she shouldn't hold anything back.

"There's a practice among stallions, an old one, of marking their mares. Spitfire is less than enthusiastic about it, but she lets me mark her occasionally. She washes it off quickly, and I can barely smell myself on her by morning. You are not going to get quite so clean." Pushing and shoving, Soarin had the mare falling sideways onto the big bed he and Spitfire shared.

"Are you marking her?" Spitfire asked.

Soarin looked over to see his wife buckling the strap-on to her hips. "Of course. She belongs to us until tomorrow night, but she can take this present home with her." He positioned himself over the mare, made sure she was facing his rump while he curled his wings under his belly and started stroking himself.

She'd let her husband do this, but that was a tame act compared to letting another pony mark her. Arching her back, the nameless mare looked up at Soarin's balls. With the way he was aimed, he was going to mark her from withers to croup.

Having worked himself up on the walk home, Soarin was already on a short fuse, and given he was prone to quick actions he was barely getting into stroking when he felt the fire bubble down his spine and between his back legs. Directing his shaft with his wings, Soarin exploded.

Spitfire, her favorite toy strapped under her so that the nub of it pressed between her folds, watched as Soarin launched his seed onto the mare's back. Fur already stained was now awash with thick seed, and the smell in the room quickly shifted from "aroused mare" to "stallion musk." In the past that smell meant Soarin had asked her for permission, and she'd given it, to mark her. Spitfire didn't like getting dirty, but this was different. "Rub that in, Soarin. Make sure she knows where she belongs."

Lifting his hoof, Soarin rubbed along the mare's spine, working the semen into her fur until his own hoof turned a light brown. "The dye's a little soluble."

"Light blue." Spitfire looked at the spiky, sticky fur with interest. "So that narrows it down to about a third of Cloudsdale. Maybe we can narrow down her identity like a game."

Soarin walked around the mare until he was in front of her. "Don't say a word," he said to her and unlatched the gag. Removing the long toy that had been locked in place, Soarin eased it out from between the masked mare's lips. "Don't worry. I'll fill that mouth again."

Staring up at Soarin, her back still damp with his seed, the masked mare nodded—but he'd already moved on. She could see his shaft, hard and ready again, lining up toward her as he simply stepped over her head. She opened her mouth and took him.

Fighting the urge to hump the mare's face, Soarin reached a hoof down and grabbed her rump. "Get that up, come on. Spitfire has a present for you." The mare worked with him, lifting her rump and bracing her back legs. "Good girl. Now, Spitfire, fuck that ass."

But Spitfire had her own plan. She nosed up under the masked mare's dock and wrapped tail-skirt and licked along the line of her vulva. Nuzzling, licking, Spitfire built the mare's lust up and finally licked higher.

Gasping around the shaft in her throat, the masked mare felt as Spitfire's tongue penetrated her anus. Spicy Hot had been most insistent about how she clean herself for tonight, and her preparations didn't go to waste given the present attention. She closed her eyes in bliss, unable to be anything but aware that it wasn't her husband shoving himself in her mouth or licking her asshole.

"Enough of that. You're clean as a whistle and ready for me." Climbing up on the mare's back, Spitfire adjusted her hips and drove forward. The positioning gave her the perfect angle to nuzzle at Soarin. "How's her mouth?"

Soarin whickered and fluffed his wings. "Not as good as yours, but we have time to train her. How's her ass?"

"Tight. Her husband hasn't been giving her enough. I can fix that." Chuckling at the mid-coitus conversation, Spitfire adjusted herself one more time and started humping. The feedback from her toy played up and down along her vulva, stimulating her in return for each driving grind forward.

Seeing his lover abandon herself to lust, Soarin did the same. He used the mare's mouth, humped and hammered at her muzzle like she was a convenient slut. He loved the smell coming from the masked mare's fur. Something, however, tickled at the back of his mind.

Taking her at both ends, the mare was trapped in a delicious fantasy. She had two of the most skilled fliers in Equestria double-teaming her, and all she could think about was how full she was, and how great she smelled.

A rush of heat filled the masked mare's mouth. She opened her eyes wide and gulped down at Soarin's seed. Shivering, expecting him to dismount her, she was shocked when the climax only seemed to incite the stallion to go faster. She could have tapped out—her foreleg was carefully resting against Soarin's back leg—but doing that was the last thing she wanted.

Some time around dawn the masked mare woke up to the sound of the shower. She had no clue how much sleep she'd gotten, thanks to a night of being used by both ponies. Lifting her head, she found that she was bound a little more than how she remembered when she'd passed out—there was a chain running from the collar around her throat to a heavy steel eye-bolt in the wall.

The smell of Soarin's musk was everywhere, pervading her sense of smell to the point where it seemed etched into her brain. She reached up to her mask, but the collar now kept it on.

Fumbling at her collar, she found the latch and tried to pull it. Soarin's words came back to her as the thing wouldn't budge. Enchanted. Settling back in place on the bed, she awaiting her masters' return.

Prancing out of the bathroom, Soarin fluffed his wings and headed over to the bed. "Good morning. Would you like some breakfast or did I feed you enough last night?" He loved the sight and smell of her coat. His seed stained all up her back, and had dried within her fur to taint it with his smell.

"Mmff!"

"You want your gag out? Going to tell us your name early?" Watching the mare nod, Soarin reached out and unlatched the gag. "Here you go, but I don't care about—"

"This has been so great! I can't believe two of the greatest Wonderbolts ever are my owners!" Turning her cerise eyes up to Soarin, Windy Whistles was sure he'd worked out who she was by her voice. "You still have me until midnight."

Shaking off his initial shock, Soarin did what his instincts told him—he pushed the gag back in Windy's mouth and latched the gag in place again. "Like I said, I don't care. I wonder if the mother of the greatest flier in Equestria is ready for another foal?"

Spitfire stepped into the room, still working a towel over her head with one wing. "The what-now? Did you work out who she is?" She got to watch as Soarin climbed on top of the masked mare again. This time he sank balls deep in her vagina.

"Yeah," Soarin said, starting to buck deep into Windy's body. "It's Rainbow Dash's mom."

"You're… Pony feathers…" Spitfire's mind tried to assemble a path of action that didn't involve her standing still. Being leader of the Wonderbolts she worked it out quick enough. Unbuckling the gag, Spitfire lay down in front of Windy. "Lick."

"Yes, Mistress!" Windy wasted no more time than needed to exclaim happily before sinking her snout under Spitfire's tail.

Author's Note

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