Spitfire sighed, no longer trying to conceal her irritation, and slid up her dark glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. It was rude to be wearing them indoors in front of a visitor, but she didn't particularly care about that, either. "Frankly, Gilda, I don't know what you expect me to do for you."

The powerfully-built griffon stood before her desk, a smug expression on her face which, to Spitfire, seemed entirely unearned. A short denim skirt and a cropped, black tanktop that barely covered her breasts gave her the absolute minimum of coverage necessary to go out in public; clearly, she was proud of her body and wanted to show it off. Admittedly, she had an impressive set of wings, but given her obnoxious personality, Spitfire wasn't minded to give her any slack for that.

"Like I said, cancel your fucking training and let Dash goof off with me," Gilda said bluntly.

"And as I've told you, I don't cancel Wonderbolt training sessions for anypony. Especially not so one of my trainees can 'goof off'," Spitfire replied shortly. "Especially when Rainbow Dash has already told you she is focused on her training. Now, if we're done here, I have training work to do myself."

Gilda shrugged, letting her amber eyes trail slowly over Spitfire and lingering on the modest swell of her breasts through her blouse and medal-laden blazer. "Oh, well. Fuck it. Guess it's you, then."

Spitfire bristled. "Just what are you talking about?"

Gilda curled her fingers around the bracelet she wore on her opposite wrist. It was an oddly formal looking piece against the rest of the griffon's outfit, mingled gold and silver and quite ornate. She stroked the patterns. "You should be nicer to your guests. Isn't that what ponies are all about?"

Behind her dark glasses, Spitfire blinked, a wave of dizziness passing over her. "...well, I... you don't make it easy. You'd be treated better if you acted with more respect."

"Yeah, but you respect me, so that makes it easier," said the griffon firmly.

Spitfire shook her head slightly to clear it. Well, of course she did. Gilda was physically imposing; a lot of work had to have gone into that body. Of course she'd respect that. Spitfire sat up a little straighter. "I do respect you, Gilda. All the same, I can't allow anyone to interrupt the training schedule, not even you."

"Forget about that; I'm not asking you to do that right now. Take those sunglasses off, already; it's rude."

What had they been talking about again? Something about training, and Rainbow Dash... she could almost remember, but it was blurry. Maybe she'd overtired herself. Oh buck, and she was wearing her sunglasses in front of a guest! Reaching up to remove them, Spitfire laid them aside and gave Gilda a brief, apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to disrespect you."

"Yeah, no sweat," replied Gilda casually, still fiddling with her bracelet. "Actually - no, that was rude. Stand up and come around here, I wanna take a look at you."

A frown creased Spitfire's forehead. Even coming from Gilda, that was crossing a line, especially the way she'd said it. "Gilda, I'd prefer you to-"

"Nope. You're happy to stand up and show off your bod to me. It's totally normal for you."

Spitfire rubbed her temple with two fingers, an odd feeling of confusion settling over her. "It... is?" she asked, mostly to herself.

"Yeah. It is totally normal for you to pose for me," Gilda repeated firmly.

She really was working herself too hard. Of course, hard work was good, but not if she pushed herself to the point she started looking like a scatterbrain in front of the cadets. She'd have to watch that. Spitfire pushed her chair back and rose to her feet, with a respectful nod. "Of course. Apologies."

Circling the desk, Spitfire stood at ease in front of it, ruffling her wings before settling them neatly against her back. Nodding at Gilda, she added, "Look at me all you want."

"Don't mind if I do..." purred the griffon, with something that sounded an awful lot like smug satisfaction. She strolled around Spitfire, taking her in from every angle, and added lazily, "Turn around. I wanna see your ass."

...that made sense, didn't it? Spitfire turned around, planting her hands on the desk and pushing her ass out slightly. She wasn't expectingGilda to grab her buttocks with both hands; the pegasus yelped in surprise as her firm behind was squeezed possessively.

"Nice. For an older mare, that is one Grade-A ass, right there," remarked Gilda, behind her.

"Hey!" protested Spitfire sharply. For some reason, it took her a second to persuade herself to break the pose she was in, but with a wrench, she pulled her hands off the desk and twisted around. "I am not an older mare, and nopony said you got to touch the goods! That is crossing a line, missy!"

"No, it's not," replied Gilda lazily.

Spitfire scowled. "It absolutely is! I think I've made up for any perceived rudeness, so I have work to do."

"Oh, duh. Right." Gilda crossed her wrists, wrapping her fingers around the bracelet again. Toying with the indented patterns, she said more firmly, "It's totally fine for me to touch you up while you're showing yourself off to me. In fact, it's just fine for me to touch you up."

Spitfire's mouth opened, but the protest died in her throat. Why was she angry? It was fine for a respected griffon like Gilda to touch her up. Gilda could put her hands on her anywhere she wanted. Struggling to cover her confusion, she replied slowly, "...yes, it is. I'm still a young mare, though."

Dismissing Spitfire's protest with a flip of her hand, Gilda replied casually, "Whatever. Stick out your ass and wiggle it."

That... wasn't covered by posing, was it? That seemed too sexual. She couldn't be expected to do that, right? "But-" Spitfire began.

"Oh for buck's sake," interrupted Gilda, exasperated. "Aren't you regimented types supposed to just follow orders?"

"You're not my commanding officer. My commander is-"

"Me! I'm your commanding officer. You do whatever I tell you to do. You're super obsessed with following my orders." Gilda gave her a hot, possessive look.

Spitfire's eyes widened. "Wh-what? But you're not-"

"I'm your secret commanding officer. Nopony knows about me except you, but when I give you orders, they're totally more important than anyone else's."

Spitfire screwed up her eyes, grimacing. It felt like there was a pressure in her head, like the beginnings of a headache. "That makes no sense-"

Gilda stepped closer, pushing her face almost up against Spitfire's. "I'm your secret commanding officer. You do whatever I tell you to do. You obey my orders, got that?"

"I... I..." stammered Spitfire, her eyes wide. That made no - but it was true - it made no sense - it was true - it was true - it was true. Shock flashed through her as she realised the position she was in, and she jerked upright, back straight, snapping to attention. "Ma'am! Apologies for my slovenly posture, Ma'am!"

"Oh, that is too buckin' good..." breathed Gilda, her beak parting and her tongue flickering out for a moment. "When I tell you to do something, what're you gonna do?"

"I will obey orders, Ma'am!" snapped Spitfire, in clipped, brisk tones. She had a confused memory of being rude to her commander, and all she could do now was to ensure she gave the best possible impression.

"Yeah, you will. Strip. I want to see that juicy ass and cute little tits." Gilda stroked her bracelet and added, "You're my secret Fuckbolt. You love being given sexy orders. Turns you on so bad. Being my hot, fit whore is part of your duties, got that?"

A rolling wash of heat broke over Spitfire, her mouth going dry. Her nipples stiffened behind her compact sports bra, and a tingling rush of sensation between her legs betrayed the truth of her sudden, urgent lust for the firmly muscled griffon before her. She desperately wanted to stare at the big, brown tits so inadequately covered by her commander's tanktop, or her wide hips and muscled ass, but she disciplined herself, keeping her gaze fixed at eye level.

"Yes, Ma'am!" she replied crisply. Shrugging out of her jacket, she laid it across her desk, then unbuttoned her blouse with an efficiency that bordered on almost indecent haste. Expensive shoes were kicked off, her pants pushed down, leaving her in her neat, functional underwear. Giving in to temptation long enough to give Gilda's body one long, hungry look, Spitfire bent over to slide her panties down her smooth legs, and stepped out of them. Unsnapping her sports bra, she laid it on the growing pile of clothes and snapped back to attention, hands clasped behind her.

She was lithe and fit, she knew, her yellow skin smooth and relatively free of blemishes. Firm, high breasts were capped by darker brown nipples, jutting stiffly, and her neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair glittered where droplets of wetness had settled. Gilda's eyes tracked over her hungrily, and Spitfire shivered with pleasure as her commander's taloned fingers ran over her bare breast.

"You guys always have such little tits," snorted Gilda, amused.

"Ma'am! I am considered to have large breasts for a pegasus, Ma'am!" Spitfire replied instantly. Sure, they couldn't compare to the heft of some unicorns, or earth ponies - or that friend of Dash's, Fluttershy, for some reason - but she was proud of what she had.

"Settle down," chided Gilda in an amused tone, cupping Spitfire's breasts in both hands and squeezing them. "Didn't say I don't like them. You any good at eating pussy, Spitfire?"

"Hnnn," groaned Spitfire lustfully, her knees quivering. "I am an exceptionally talented cunt-licker, Ma'am! I'm certain you expect nothing less from your personal Fuckbolt, Ma'am! It would be my honour to drop to my knees and shove my tongue into your pussy, Ma'am!"

"Buck me," breathed the griffon, shaking her head slightly. "I was totally gonna try this out on Dash, but you'll do just fine. Yeah, get down there and eat me out. Show me your devotion to duty, all that. Oh, and finger yourself. You're always turned on when you're obeying my orders."

Ecstatic delight flashed through Spitfire, and she snapped off a salute once more, her nipples achingly hard and wetness beginning to inch down her thigh. "Yes, Ma'am! I can't tell you how turned on I am, Ma'am!"

Dropping smoothly to her knees, as she'd hoped, Spitfire ran her hands up Gilda's muscled thighs, stroking and caressing with worshipful attentiveness. Sliding her fingertips under the edge of her short skirt, Spitfire reverentially lifted it up to expose Gilda's pussy, barely covered by an incredibly slender black thong. With a moan that she didn't even try to hide, Spitfire groaned, "Your pussy is gorgeous, Ma'am, it's the most beautiful pussy I've ever seen! Thank you for entrusting your pleasure to my tongue, Ma'am!"

Gilda slid a hand up under her short tank top, pushing it up to reveal her naked breasts. Grabbing a handful of one and squeezing, smug delight on her face, she replied with playfully amused dismissiveness, "Yeah, yeah. Just show me those skills, already- fuck!"

Spitfire hadn't even hesitated. Shoving her head between Gilda's thick thighs, her tongue tugged the slender strand of damp fabric aside, and she began licking and lapping, alternating feather-light teases with stronger, deeper strokes. All the devotion to duty and attention to detail that had carried her to become the youngest ever captain of the Wonderbolts was now focused into a single, overriding task: to make her commanding officer cum all over her face. Nuzzling and kissing hungrily at Gilda's pussy, Spitfire slid her hand down to caress her own hot, dripping sex; not because she was unbearably horny - though she was - but because it was part of her orders.

She always obeyed orders. Obeying her commander made her feel so horny. Nothing would ever, ever stand in the way of pleasing her commander, and carrying out her duty to be Gilda's secret, utterly compliant whore. Spitfire's fingers slid into herself, with a smooth, practised motion, and she began riding her own hand roughly, hips rocking and grinding back and forth. The griffon's cunt was everything to her; the taste of her pleasure, the scent of her musk, every little quiver and cry of pleasure she urged from her commander's throat.

"Know what - fuck, for a little pony bitch, you sure are good at that; eat my cunt, you whimpering bitch - know what you're gonna do for me?" panted Gilda, grabbing the back of Spitfire's head and forcing it harder against her pussy. "You're gonna take this magic bracelet I've got, and you're gonna use it to totally fuck Dash's mind for me. Make her think she's got to do what I tell her; make her a crazy devoted Fuckbolt like you."

Spitfire's urgent lapping slowed, then came to a complete stop as she paused, flooded with a sudden uncertainty. Of course she always obeyed her commander, and would never do anything to displease her, but Rainbow Dash was her trainee. She couldn't do something like that to her. "...Ma'am, surely there must be another way," Spitfire said slowly, hesitation in her voice.

The hand buried in her mane let go, and a snort of exasperation came from above. Spitfire winced internally. She truly hated to disappoint her commander, but there were points of principle even her orders couldn't override.

"Nah," said Gilda, impatiently. "You don't wanna do things another way. You want to mindfuck Rainbow Dash into a compliant whore like you. You want to teach her to obey her commander, don't you?"

Another wave of dizziness struck Spitfire, and she grabbed at Gilda's thigh to keep herself upright. "I... should teach her to follow orders," she said, slightly confused at her own resistance to the idea. That was what she was there for, wasn't it? To teach recruits discipline?

"Yeah, you should. It makes you horny. Obeying all my orders makes you horny, and I ordered you to turn Dash into my whore, so it makes you horny to fuck her mind and make her obey me."

It did. It absolutely did. Spitfire was suddenly swamped by images of Rainbow Dash standing naked at attention, ready to offer her mouth, cute little tits and cunt to her commanding officer, all because she, Spitfire, had carried out her orders. She loved to obey her commander's orders. Without realising it, she'd started rocking her hips against her fingers again, a moan slipping from her lips. "Yes... Ma'am," she agreed huskily. "I can't wait to make Rainbow Dash your obedient Fuckbolt."

"Yeah, that's fucking better," sneered Gilda, spreading her legs to stand a little wider. "Now get your tongue back in my cunt!"

Shuddering with lust, barely keeping herself from orgasming just at the sheer glory of doing as she was ordered, Spitfire lunged forward and began sucking Gilda's clit, flicking it with her tongue and gently grazing it with her teeth. Lost in a haze of utter devotion, she heard her commander declare from above, "Fuck it. You're not just gonna do it to Dash. You're gonna do it to all the hot Wonderbolt bitches. You'll make sure every last one of them is ready and at attention, naked. You'll train them to eat pussy, make me a whole squadron of obedient cunt-lickers. What do you say to that?"

Her mouth and chin coated in Gilda's gleaming juices, her mane mussed, desperately fucking her own fingers, Spitfire screamed into her commander's cunt as she came.

Author's Note

All week, I wanted to do something with Gilda, and with Spitfire. I saw both of them turn up in generated prompts, but none of those clicked. As I hit day six, I shrugged, and put them together. This one's also something of a favourite.

• Proofing by Djmill and JustTheBast
  Suggestions by DbzOrDie