Fishboobs vs. Ghost Penis
Sombra, mighty arch-wizard of the hellishly frigid north, carefully, precisely, let out the booming cackle that his latest, most nefarious ritual required, while with his hind leg he punted a baby seal through the air just so and smacked a lollipop out of a foal’s hoof with it.
The dastardly, wicked energy his descent into depravity had wrought surged through his thick, throbbing horn, spurting out into the ever-growing ball of churning white-hot magic floating in front of him.
Yes… yeeesss, very soon now…
He could feel the power flowing through him, feel the raw wickedness that was so eager to unleash itself upon the hapless world around him. He’d spent years on end measuring the positions of the most blasphemous stars, infused a massive array of carefully-laid runes with his essence. This night, and this night alone—his next chance wouldn’t come for half a dozen millenia—he could obliterate the Crystal Heart, the one thing that might one day—
“Hellooo, Sombra.”
That voice. That silky purr of a voice, caressing his ear, penetrating his mind—good lord, it was so—
Sproing.
He gazed down, horrified, aghast at the suddenly-erect dick between his legs.
Not again—curse you, siren witch! You and your succulent, buttery voice!
His dick got slightly harder.
It brought with it a very fleeting lapse in concentration—not a big one, not compared to the monolith of stalwartness that was his girthy will, just a small instinct that turned his head towards the siren and, admist a thousand cries of “destroy the Heart” filling his head, threw in just one little “I’d hit that.”
And that was enough.
The watermelon Adagio threw at his head didn’t help either.
The last thing he saw before his now-ruined spell showered him in a deluge of cloying magic was Adagio’s smug smirk.
Damn you, siren. You and your melons.
The last thing he did before blacking out was growl “Never again,” grip his dick with one hoof, and reach for the ritual melon-slicing knife he’d spent so many moons forging.
There were only two consistent rules for the sirens’ weekly game nights: by the end of the first game, somebody had to be topless, and after the first game, everybody had fifteen minutes before they weren’t allowed to be sober for the rest of the night. Fadoodling was not strictly mandatory, but neither was it discouraged.
Adagio looked between Aria, who was pantsless and wearing a deliciously snug tank top, and Sonata, who was too busy downing yet another shot of whiskey to be smug about being the only one with more than panties on beneath her waist (She’d worn at least five tops, the cheating cunt).
And, when Aria put down three jacks and scowled at the full house in front of Sonata, Adagio, who’d gone down to her underwear after the third hand, just rolled her eyes and flung her cards at Sonata, who promptly broke into giggles.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Aria muttered, almost inaudible over the sound of Sonata’s chortling.
Adagio shot her an indignant glare. “What’s so awful about this, exactly?”
“Those—” Aria put her cards down, leaned over and roughly prodded Adagio’s left breast, which was snuggled up cozily against her right one in a lacy violet bra “—are the smuggest fucking tits I’ve ever seen on anyone.”
Adagio lifted an eyebrow, then smirked and shrugged. “Maybe if you didn’t give them so much attention they’d settle down.”
“Oi,” Sonata chirped, resting a very very rosy cheek on her hand while waggling a sloshing, mostly-empty bottle of whiskey at Adagio’s mostly-naked chest. “Less talk, more boobs.”
Without ever taking her eyes away from Aria’s, Adagio singsonged “If you insist,” then reached behind her back, undid the clasp of her bra, and slipped the straps off her shoulders. Her ample breasts spilled excitedly out into the open air.
Coincidentally, a few minutes later, Aria not only got a drink without anybody noticing, but spilled a very small amount on herself, also without anybody noticing.
Much much later that night, after the sirens had all gone to bed in varying states of undress, a glob of bullshit Equestrian magic that’d gotten bored of faffing about in the ether snuck inside Adagio’s bedroom, underneath her bed, and came to inhabit her favorite vibrator—the one with “better than Aria’s fingers” carved on the side in fine cursive.
A few minutes later, Adagio awoke in her bed to the sight of a spectral, translucent, faintly glowing, extremely erect horse penis floating above her, staring malevolently at her with its flared bell end.
On the one hand, she was extremely flattered and quite pleased with herself that whoever it belonged to clearly found her attractive even though he couldn’t see her and was probably a completely different species.
On the other, holy fuck a ghost penis.
Every siren instinct told her to lie there posing seductively and admire her handiwork—tittywork? She was still topless; that was probably what’d gotten the phallighost so worked up, right?
… Is it getting closer?
Oh, fuck! Yep, definitely the boobs!
The ghost-dick thrust forward at her—she lurched away with a shrill shriek, falling headfirst off of the bed in a heap of bedsheets she quickly shucked in her dash towards the door. Out into the hallway she ran, where she very nearly ran into an opening door and actually ran into a partially-asleep Aria who’d been too busy rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with Stabby—her favorite ironically-named meat cleaver plushie—to see where she was going.
“Ow, fuck! Damnit, Adagio, what the dick are you—”
“No time, there’s a ghost penis after me!”
“… What the fuck are you—oh, bitch, you’re right!”
With the deadly, panther-ish grace of a… stalking ghost-dick, the hellish phallus swooped at the two hapless bombshells, who dropped flat against the door in a hurried cuddle to evade it, then scrambled to their feet as the phantom-dick wheeled around for another pass. With girlish shrieks and bouncing melons aplenty, they hustled alluringly down the hall. Adagio yanked the door to Sonata’s room open just in time for the whizzing ghost penis to impale clear through it and careen down the hallway past them.
“Where the bitchfuck did that thing come from?”
“How should I know? Quick, see if you can wake up—oh, dear, she’s gone and drunk herself into a stupor again, hasn’t she?”
“Me? Why should I do it? Fuck you—”
The ghost penis pierced through the wall.
With yet another shriek, Adagio hurled Sonata’s unconscious body at the ghost penis, which batted her aside with a mighty cockslap that left a smear of ectoplasmic yuck on Sonata’s cheek, but Adagio didn’t care, because she’d snatched Aria by the wrist and made a beeline for the door with her in tow.
Two exhilarating minutes later, Adagio and Aria were pressed nipple-to-nipple together, huddled in the smallest cupboard they could both fit in. Adagio peered through the ever-so-slightly ajar door, jumping a little when she caught sight of the ghost-dick on the prowl, bobbing gently as it floated about, throbbing as its abyssal urethra seemed to sniff the air.
“Do you see the fucking thing?” Aria asked; she wouldn’t see much but Adagio’s chest (Wouldn’t, not couldn’t).
“Shh,” Adagio whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. She watched the phallic enigma float around a corner out of sight, and let out a long, relieved sigh. “I think it’s gone for now,” she whispered.
“So what’s the fucking plan, then?”
“I don’t know.” Adagio bit her lip in a way that would’ve been adorable if she weren’t too busy being topless and preposterously sexy. “It looks like a ghost. Maybe if we knew why it was haunting us, we could find a way to make it go away? But why would a…” She groaned, then peeked again out the cupboard. “I don’t see it. I’m going to find Sonata.”
“Oh. O—okay. Sure—fuck, yeah, that—ahem.” Aria cleared her throat and constrained herself to only sidelong glances at the squishy garden of delights that was Adagio’s chest.
Slowly, carefully, Adagio cracked open the cupboard and slipped out, glancing to both sides before sighing with relief—
—and then shrieking as the ghost-dick sprayed ghost-seed all over her boobs. Off she ran in a blind panic, frantically swatting and dabbing at her jiggling breasts, quivering at the feeling of the sticky, translucent pseudo-fluid that smeared over her palm.
But then she froze.
On the skin of her palm, the spectral semen spelled the word “crystals.”
“Sombra,” she gasped before her eyes narrowed. “I should’ve known.”
She looked back and up to see the phallighost hanging in the air, looked slightly flacid—but hardening before her eyes—dazed and lethargic. Aria was staring up at it, paralyzed with dread until a wave of Adagio’s hand—and an accompanying jiggle of her tits—got her attention and made her scamper over. Adagio turned and led Aria away, peeking over her shoulder to verify that the penis wasn’t chasing them.
“Alright,” Adagio said when she’d closed the door to Aria’s bedroom behind them, sighing with relief when the ghost-dick was nowhere to be seen. “I think I have an idea of how we can make that thing go away.”
“Fuck, are you serious?”
“I think so. That thing,” Adagio cleared her throat and assumed a grave, solemn tone that did not make Aria forget for a second she was topless, “is King Sombra’s. It has to be. And, the last time we saw each other, he met his doom at the hands of my melons.”
Aria pointedly eyed Adagio’s melons and gave one an experimental prod. “How the fuck did he do that?”
“What? No—no, not these. I meant actual melons. Like the fruit?”
“Oh.”
Aria retracted her hand.
“That’s fucking boring,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Adagio covered her face with her palm. “Point is, he’s angry at my melons, and, if all this is any indication—” she gestured to her ectospunk-coated chest “—he also badly wants to sleep with me.”
“Really? Fuck, I’d never have guessed. Whatever.” Aria waved her hand. “What’s the plan, then?”
“I’ll take care of most of it. All you’ll have to do is distract that thing for a bit.” Adagio crept over to the door, cracked it open, and peeked out. When she didn’t see anything, she waved back to Aria. “I’ll go on ahead. If I run into it first, come find me and get its attention.”
“Fucking—fine.” Aria rolled her eyes, but nodded resolutely.
Getting back out to the kitchen went uneventfully. Adagio moved along at a dainty pace, bare feet padding lightly on the carpet beneath her. She shivered slightly, almost—almost—wishing she’d had time to put some clothes on before setting about putting her plan into action.
Nobody in the entire world would’ve disagreed that the plan took priority, though. If saving herself and her sisters from a ghostly erection meant tiptoeing about in just panties, that was a sacrifice she was prepared to make.
No sign of said penis so far. That was good. She swallowed, fixing her eyes on the untouched watermelon sitting out on the counter.
It was a bold plan, but she thought it could work. Quickly, silently, she took the watermelon and a sharp knife—one of the few for which Aria had neither scrawled pink hearts all over nor carved the handle into a phallic shape—over to the table.
She sat down, and saw something standing over her. With a startled squeak she barely muffled in time, she whirled around, clutching the melon to her melons protectively.
Aria flinched too. “Fuck, Adagio, what the cunt?” she whispered loudly.
“You—you startled…” Adagio tilted her head. Aria had exchanged her baggy shirt and pants for a snug tube top and tiny, flouncy skirt. “What’re you—?”
“You said you wanted a fucking distraction,” Aria said. “What was I supposed to—oh, fuck!”
As if on cue, the ghostly phallus zipped around a corner, hovering in malevolent stillness for a moment before speeding right towards Adagio’s tender lesbian vagina.
Which, Adagio noted, was actually rather encouraging.
That didn’t stop her from letting out her shrillest shriek and hoisting her watermelon. Fortunately, Aria seemed to have the situation well in hand. She darted, waving her hand, mouth open and doubtless ready to hurl slanderous profanity at the penis’ parenthood—
If she hadn’t instinctively tried to sneak one last peek at Adagio, she might have managed to divert the dick’s attention without tripping on her teetering stilettos and faceplanting.
Adagio’s heart raced. Sombra’s dick was right there, so thick and meaty and throbbing and oh she just couldn’t stand the sight of that ghastly—
It whizzed after Aria.
And so, with a… reasonable dose of concern for her sister’s well-being, Adagio set about her self-appointed task of carving a vagina into a watermelon.
“Are you done yet?” Aria said between pants as she darted past the table where Adagio was working; both her breasts had popped out of her top, which was now bunched up around her stomach, and flopped about merrily as she ran from a stalking ghost-penis.
Almost, Adagio thought, though she didn’t dare bring more attention to herself by saying it out loud. She moved the knife with near-surgical precision, sculpting the watermelon into an increasingly-detailed yonic image. Hardly ideal, as far as sexual gratification was concerned, but Sombra's dick was angry and the watermelon far less precious than anything fleshy of Adagio's.
A few more minutes of that—Aria looped through the house at least once or twice more, and had had to shed her skirt when the penis had wedged itself in the waistband—and she was done.
With her improvised Melonlight at hand, she laid in wait. The next time she saw Sombra’s penis, she bounced in place and watched in tense silence as it pivoted towards her. It hovered still for a brief second before lurching forwards, tip trained squarely at Adagio's chest. Her heart raced as it flew towards her and she held up the melon like a shield, hoping for the best.
Adagio stood in the corner of the room, breathing heavily, transfixed by the sight of the now-flacid penis lying limply in the splattered, ghost-cum-soaked wreckage of a watermelon.
“I think… I think it’s done,” she said. She ran a hand through her hair, cringing at the feeling of a few globs of ghost-seed that’d sprayed her when the dick’s explosive climax ruptured the back of the watermelon.
“G—good.” Aria said, before lowering her voice to a whisper. “What now, then?”
“Well, first of all…” Adagio looked down at herself, eying her breasts. “We should put some clothes on so it doesn’t get too excited again.”
“Ah, right. Yeah, totally.”
Adagio nodded, then felt something warm and looked down again to see Aria’s hand latched on one of her boobs. “You realize you hardly go a day without seeing these, right?”
“Yeah, but they’re right here, and they’re here now.”
Adagio rolled her eyes, but… well, she had just spent a fair bit of time carving a vagina into a watermelon so a ghost-penis could fuck it to pieces. Having her boob groped was downright heavenly after that ordeal.
And Sombra’s penis didn’t seem to be going anywhere just then, so… “Alright, fine,” she said. “But we are going to have to clean all that—” she gestured to the mess of watermelon bits and juices mixed with ghost-semen covering the floor—
“Hey, girls!” Sonata chirped from the side, yawning and rubbing at her eyes as she walked in wearing a black nightie—that was only opaque where it desperately needed to be—and matching lacy panties. “Whatcha…” Her voice petered out into a dazed mumble as her eyes landed squarely on Sombra’s penis, then turned wide and twinkled with the starry effervescence of someone who’d just had their life changed for the better.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
“Ow!” Adagio winced, covering her ears.
Sonata had rushed to the ghost-dick’s side, and now a babbling stream of giddy nonsense and disgustingly saccharine hypocorism spewed out of her mouth. She hugged the penis to her chest, nuzzling it happily and giggling when it left a sticky smear on her cheek.
Adagio raised an index finger, ready to question any or all of that, but when she saw—and felt— that Aria was doing much the same thing as Sonata, she just hung her head and sighed.
Adagio sighed softly, sinking into her pillow and enjoying the dreaminess of her languor, the silky delight of the bedsheets draped over her naked body, the—
—knocking on her door, apparently.
With a bleary-eyed scowl, she lifted her head. “What is it?” she groaned.
Sonata cracked the door open, wearing a skimpy shirt and skimpier shorts, with the large, partially erect ghost-phallus bobbing obediently by the side of her head.
Seeing the bowtie Sonata made it wear at the base of the shaft made Adagio groan louder. At least Sonata had accepted the duty of being the ghost-dick’s primary handler in exchange for getting to dress it up.
“Good morning, Dagi! I ran out of condoms, so I was gonna go down to the store and get some more. Want anything?”
Adagio muttered something vaguely resembling speech and waved Sonata off. The penis hovered in place briefly, its urethra pointed right at Adagio until Sonata swatted at it, flashed an apologetic smile, and then hurried out. “Hey! No staring at my sisters!” Adagio heard Sonata say, muffled by the door. “Take a good look at these instead, yeah? Right. Now if you're a good little penis, you'll get to play with them later, after I take you shopping.”
Living with a ghostly penis in the house was going to take some getting used to.
Around that same time, Aria must’ve woken up and gone straight to work, because Adagio felt something warm and wet tickling her loins. She relaxed, purring softly and letting the waves of arousal Aria’s tongue brought sweep her away. The last thought that morning regarding Sombra’s penis was a dreamy “whatever.”
