Chasing the Wind

You’d gone to bed without saying another word to Scootaloo. Now, you lay in your bed with the eerie white of the full moon filling the room. It figures, you decided to sleep much earlier than normal to try to relieve some of the stress on your body, but now, when you should be asleep, you couldn’t be more awake.

You lay there for what seems like an eternity before you decide to get up. The light filtering in through the windows illuminates the small apartment well enough for you to see as you wander into the kitchen. A quick flash of your horn and the fridge door flies open, illuminating the room further. Intent on finding something to help coax your sore body back to sleep, you rummage through the shelves and find yourself quite thoroughly disgusted with some of the things you find. Though, you push those things further back and move the good food towards the front. It was Rumble’s turn to clean the fridge out, after all. At one point, a low noise akin to a whimper perks your ears, but you write it off as yet another of your roommate’s foibles.

After fully rearranging the cooler’s contents you settle on a nice warm glass of milk to help lull you off to sleep, once again. Finishing off your glass, you place the carton back into the fridge and close the door; the room sinks into inky darkness as you do so. Unable to see to put your dirty glass in the sink, you decide to leave it on the counter and begin to stumble back to your room. When you pass into the living room, you pause for a moment to let your eyes get adjusted.

As you wait in the darkness, the enshrouding silence is broken by a sniffle followed by a repressed, feminine sob. You immediately freeze, standing stock still and holding your breath. Finally, your eyes lock on to the form of a certain orange Pegasus with her face buried nearly completely in the cushions of your couch. Quietly, you try to slink past her and nearly make it to the hallway before your hoof collides with a table just to the side of the entrance. As the resounding thud echoes its way through the room, you let our the breath you were holding, and spinning around, you are just in time to catch a view of the orange mare’s face pop up over the edge of the couch.

Her momentary look of surprise is quickly replaced by one of unabashed anger as her eyes lock with yours.

“How long have you been there?” she spits, jumping over the couch. As she lands, you can swear you see her flinch and lift one of her hooves from the ground. Though, as she advances on you, all your mind can process is the sudden urge to keep your distance from the seething mare. Thus, you back away, into your bedroom, but much to your chagrin, she doesn’t stop following you as you pass into the one bit of sanctuary you thought you had. Soon, your flank bumps against the wall, and with nowhere to go, Scootaloo is right up in your face in no time.

“You didn’t see anything, got that?” Her voice is dripping with venom, and she jabs a hoof into your chest with each of her last two words. In the moonlight, you can see the remnants of hastily wiped tears below the mare’s lavender eyes.

It’s then that something you’ve wanted to say for years comes out. As you reach your hooves around her neck, you say, “I’m sorry, Scootaloo.” Ever since you had grown up, your nightmares always ended with the screams of your childhood friend as she fell to what you thought would be her death. You fell for the little filly all those years ago, and to say that you didn’t still harbor those feelings now would be a terrible lie. Even with how she’s treated you, you still believe that same filly is in there, some—

Your train of though is broken when you’re roughly shoved up against the wall. “You don’t get to say that!” she shouts, tears roiling in her eyes once more. The way the moonlight shimmers off of her wet lavender eyes is mesmerizingly beautiful; though, you feel terrible for thinking that.

“Please don’t cry, Scoots.”

Your sentiment gets you thrown down onto your bed, where the mare’s forehooves shakily wrap around your neck. You can hardly breath, lying there with the seething mare looming over you. Even though her hooves seem to want to choke the life out of you, she doesn’t. Though, it doesn’t make the moment any less stressful. That is, until something you never expected to happen happens.

Scootaloo pushes her lips down onto yours so hard that your teeth nearly smash together. A couple cool, droplets splash against your cheeks as her eyelids shut, displacing the welled tears. The warmth of her silken lips against yours is amazing, but it ends all too quickly; in an attempt to keep up the wonderful embrace your try to lean up and keep your lips pressed to the orange mare’s. Though, she reminds you, very quickly, of the situation you’re in. Her hooves press against your throat, cutting off life-giving blood and oxygen, and she glares at you, sending a cold shiver down your spine as pressure builds in your head. A moment later, she relents, and you gasp for breath.

Before your burning lungs can catch up with your racing heart, her lips are against yours again. Scootaloo immediately takes advantage of your gaping mouth, shoving her tongue in. With your body still deprived of oxygen, you take in large gulps of air through your nose; the scent of cinnamon tickles your nostrils as you do so. At first, her tongue passes along the inside of your lips and along your teeth, but when you regain your senses, you catch her off guard and run your tongue along the crevice on the bottom of her warm muscle. She shivers momentarily, and then, she forcefully shoves her tongue against yours and pushes them both into the back of your mouth.

Kiss after kiss comes like this, with every move you make being quickly and roughly denied. Somewhere in the mix of this, Scootaloo has climbed up onto the bed and is now straddling your stomach. One by one, her hooves move up into your mane.

The orange mare retracts her face from yours with your top lip firmly grasped between hers; an audible pop fills the room as your flesh reaches the end of its elasticity and snaps back down into your teeth. Breathing heavily, you open your eyes only to see a slight smile on Scotaloo’s face. Though, when you reach up a hoof to play her mane, that look vanishes and is replaced, once again, with a scowl. Her hoof bats yours away before she slaps you across the face. Hard.

Instinctively, you cover the battered portion of your face with the same hoof you had tried to romantically run through her mane. Running your tongue over the inside of your cheek, a metallic taste overpowers the lingering taste of cinnamon. You open your mouth to protest, but the dominant mare presses her face up against you, once more. This kiss is softer and slower than the others, almost apologetic. You try to reciprocate the mare’s affectionate kiss by running your tongue along the bottom of hers, and just like last time, her whole body shivers. Afterwards, her hips begin to move ever so slightly back and forth. From this, you become acutely aware of a wetness building in the fur of your stomach. The tickling of her magenta tail across your own excitement makes you shiver nervously.

Knowing full well that you’re wearing a smug smile, you crack your eyes open in an attempt to look upon the eager mare. As your eyes lock with hers – the ones that you expected to be firmly closed, not alluringly half-lidded – the look of happiness fades from her face, and she pulls away mid-kiss, sitting up straight.

Lifting herself to her hocks, she spins around on top of you. She looks down at your exposed excitement, and the resultant snide laugh cuts you deeply. She shuffles forward on her hocks, dragging her tail across your face every inch of the way. When she is positioned over you, she uses a forehoof to get everything in alignment. Your mind wants to cry out when the most sensitive area of your body presses against her. The warmth coming from her is unbelievable.

But after a few long moments like this, you get the feeling something is wrong. You can feel her body shake, but not in the same way as earlier. You raise a hoof, reaching for the only part of her body you can get to from your position; softly, you run it down her leg, from her thigh to where her leg meets the bed. As you begin to run it back up, her free forehoof swats it away and pins it to the bed.

After that, she pushes her hips downward slowly. The pressure on your member builds steadily until all at once, the pressure vanishes and you slide into her. A gasp escapes your lips as the staggering sensation of her warmth envelops you. Where your noises are those of pleasure, Scootaloo lets out a pained whimper as her body slumps over forward. Though, her forehooves catch her before she can fall completely over. A warm liquid rolls down the bottom of your shaft, and out of instinct, you begin to pull out.

“Stop!” she says in what could best be described as a yelling whisper.

“Are you alright, Scoots?”

After a tense moment where the only sound in the room is her heaving breath, she responds with forced bravado, “Chh, Fine.” In the thick silence that follows, your mind tries to make sense of this situation – admittedly, it is a strange time for introspection, but this is the first chance you’ve really gotten since Scootaloo first attacked you, and since then, everything she’s done would make you think that she truly does hate you.

Do ponies do these things with ponies they hate?

As her hips slowly begin to move downward, your concentration is shattered. With every inch that you slide inside of her, the pressure of her velvety walls against your bare skin seems to increase tenfold. After what feels like forever, her flank rests against your groin, and you can already feel her muscles clenching around you in an almost hypnotic way.

The athletic orange mare’s breathing has already shifted to long, powerful breaths as she sits fairly motionless on top of you. You wish that you could see her face right now or know what she was thinking. Not knowing why she’s decided to take this big of a leap with you is – even now, when you’re buried completely in her – scary. Ever since you saw her, this morning, your colthood crush came back with a vengeance, and you’re excited – in more ways than one – that you get to do this with her. But, to say this was truly what you wanted from her would be a dead lie. A bit of uncertainty gnaws at your mind. Maybe she’s just using me for a cheap thrill. ‘Pop the Virgin’s cherry while being a total mule. Yeah, it’ll be fun!’

You raise your forehooves and grab her just above the hips, fully ready to pull her off of you and tell her to ‘get the hay out!’ She quickly ruins your plans by prying your hooves away and firmly pinning them with her own. Her hooves move slightly, searching for better purchase on you, and once she’s satisfied, she begins to rock her hips back and forth while lifting herself off of you ever so slightly. The view is nearly as good as the pleasurable sensations that shoot through your body. As she goes, her body grinding against yours, her flowing magenta tail is raised high enough for you to easily see your pink flesh slide into hers. A sheen of shining liquid encompasses every inch of your member as it glides, seemingly effortlessly, into her tight depths.

During one particularly spirited repetition, Scootaloo manages to slide all the way up your length before plunging you back into her, but during this, you watch two darkly colored streaks of liquid roll downward, into the fur of your groin. When your eyes see what’s there they go wide, and your heart seems to beat even faster than its already racing pace. In the fur around your colthood, a ring of dark red liquid rests, disappearing behind the mare’s orange flank as she, even now, pushes your member deep into her.

“Sco—” Your voice trails off into a long groan as a wave of pleasure that makes your leg twitch washes over you. “Is this blood?” She doesn’t answer for a long enough that even in your brain’s hazy, addled state, you worry. With your hooves still pinned to the bed, you lean up, draping your head over Scootaloo’s shoulder. Though, what you see isn’t reassuring; tears run over matted orange fur.

She turns her head away just as you whisper through heavy breaths. “Scoots. Please, talk to me.” As if in response, the gyrating mare slows, but she doesn’t say a word. Despite the tension between you, the slow, simple up-down motion of Scootaloo’s hips draws another groan out of you. Doing something that you’ve always wanted to do, you bury your nose deep into soft magenta mane and maybe even nibble on it, just a little. It doesn’t have some magical berry scent or something ridiculous like that. It simply shares the sweaty, musky aroma that pervades the room.

Her body shivers when you lightly tug on her mane, and it’s the first sign that she’s enjoying this intimate act in the least. In her one moment of weakness, you manage to pry one of your forehooves free of grasp, and you do the one thing you can think of right now; you raise your hoof to her face, push it around towards yours, and firmly plant your lips against hers. Her lavender eyes, shut through all of this, flutter open and lock with yours. Even as your tongues dance with each other and your bodies’ softest skin meshes in the most wonderful way, her glimmering lavender pools bore into you and your gaze stays locked on her. The tickling pressure that’s building in the pit of your stomach is only a footnote in your mind, because at that moment, you first see the softness in her eyes that utterly betrays her foul mood.

As the pressure builds, your free hoof runs through her mane over her shoulder and down to her leg. It finally comes to rest on her thigh, drawing little circles on her cutie mark. This coaxes a soft, throaty moan from the, now receptive, mare. Her vocalization brings that immensely pleasant pressure to the forefront of your mind. You try to pull back and speak, but Scootaloo presses forward, keeping her mouth firmly against yours. Still, her entrancing eyes keep you from moving your head too far, lest you lose sight of such beauty and it vanishes without a trace.

“Sco, uhhh—” is all you can mumble, from around the soft forcefulness of her tongue, before that building bubble of pressure seems to pop. Your eyes try to close as your entire body shudders time and again, but you fight to keep them open. Scootaloo’s eyes go wide and her cheeks flush brightly as the first jets of hot liquid gush into her. Smiling into the kiss, she continues to rise up and slide down your member as each wave of mind erasing pleasure washes over you.

When the ecstatic onslaught finally ends, you collapse backward onto the bed. A sticky trail of saliva follows you down, linked from the orange mare’s lips to yours. As you pant heavily, Scootaloo finally stops pumping her hips, and she slowly rises up, pulling inch after inch of you out of her.

“Aaahhh..” you squeak as your, still very sensitive, head slides out of her body’s tight grasp. With a noisy splat, you finally come free of her, and for a few moments she rubs her wetness over your over-sensitive member, drawing a few more groans and moans out of you.

As you reach down to run your hoof over her body, she climbs off the end of the bed and begins to slowly walk towards the bathroom. Her tail is widely cocked to the side, allowing you to see a trail of gooey liquid roll down her hind leg as her hips sway gently back and forth; it’s an image you sure won’t forget in a hurry.

A cone of bright light emerges from the bathroom just after she disappears through the doorway. You roll onto your side and wait for her to come back out, a wacky post-coital smile plastered all over your face. You’re not sure how much time she spent in there, but sometime before she emerged, your heavy eyelids treacherously slid closed, ushering you off into a relaxed sleep.