Author's Note

Chapter Tags: Masturbation, Shower, Femboi Anal Play, Dub-Con Fantasizing

Oh my tap-dancing L Ron Hubbards... are those (^^^^^) smut tags up above?

Could that possibly mean that actual smut stuff is gonna happen in this chapter?

F'naaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Well, at least I tried. One reason why this "femboi re-branding" of SS&E literature has failed in 2019 is that I always get cold feet (among other limbs) at this point in the developing narrative. And, to be fair, it's not even a very pivotal moment. It's moreover a "teaser" of things to come(sic). Involving the index finger.

I can't promise that I'll be very erotic when I... er... try to be erotic. But you gotta start somewhere, right?

My apologies in advance for the jank to this wank. At least femboi Flash has a fun time... kinda?

Ikari Shinji Ain't Got Nothing On This Guppy (And Other Wet Bits of Pruning Self-Deprecation)

Blissfully hot water cascaded over Flash Sentry's tiny body in the center of the massive shower stall. As warm steam caressed his naked flesh and soapy suds cleansed his long sapphire hair, the boi wondered why he didn't do this more than once a day.

Because this wasn't his home—and he was lucky to have it.

Flash sighed. Sunset's shower was a wonderful place to relax in... and yet he was having trouble doing so. At most apartments that his folks provided for him, the shower stall was a typical size—which meant he could more or less position himself against a wall where he could lean and still feel the full front of the expelling faucet water.

Here—however—this wasn't quite so possible. While the toilet may have been designed for non-amazonian visitors small enough and untouched-by-magic-enough to use them, the shower was clearly meant to accommodate those of Sunset's ilk. This meant that Twilight and the other girls must have also frequented the bathroom (but mostly Twilight, Flash assumed).

Additionally, this meant that the poor boi had to stand towards the further half of the stall—an arm's length from any wall—in order to be properly soaked by the warm jet of water. It left him feeling awkwardly adrift in the otherwise-succulent moment, and his weak legs struggled to keep his delicate figure upright against the hot spray.

Flash Sentry typically showered in the dark—well, not pitch-black darkness. A single nightlight usually applied a low ambient crimson hue to the experience, and Sunset's bathroom was no different. Flash didn't think much of it, but at some point long ago he got into the habit of taking showers without a bright overhead light on. This was done for several unspoken purposes, some of which may or may not have had something to do with how hesitant the growing boi was in accepting the prissy, feminine body bequeathed to him by fate. But—more to the point—this dimness combined with the warm moisture allowed the young man to relax. And—most importantly—to think.

And the thoughts came onto Flash like the hot water droplets rolling down his nubile frame. The sheer heaviness of everything he had just endured that day stole the breath from him in tiny, pent-up gasps. Funny—he hadn't previously taken a moment to stop and let sink in just how bizarre an experience the “dreamwalking” was. Perhaps Flash could chalk it up to Sunset's guiding presence and his unmitigated trust in her. Maybe Flash was simply... accustomed to weird magical bullshit by now—which is why he didn't immediately freak out when Sunset merged consciousness with him.

In any case, even a sissy like him had to admit that he took the entire experience like a champ. But now—as he was naked and alone with his thoughts and breaths—he couldn't stop the monsoon of thoughts and worries and concern pelting him from up high.

He had—without a shadow of a doubt—exposed himself fully and completely to Sunset Shimmer. This felt like something more intense than trust; this was akin to complete and utter subservience. Any other self-respecting man would have told a woman like that “no, stay the hell out of my thoughts.” Either Flash didn't have a spine or he lacked an ego or... something... but he just allowed this tall monster of a valkyrie whom he hadn't seen in years just waltz into his deepest core and cartwheel around.

But perhaps it wasn't as mortifying as he imagined. Sunset Shimmer was every bit a... gentleman? Gentlewoman... … ...yes, that sounded better.

She hadn't compromised Flash's trust. She didn't do anything invasive, although it might look like it from an outside perspective. She first made sure that he was okay with the procedure and she had been kind and thoughtful and nurturing the entire time that they ventured through their combined mindscape.

Nevertheless, even Flash had to admit that there were too few opportunities for him to say “no.” The towering specimen of femininity had essentially whisked him off on a car ride and taken him into the middle of a rained-down high school without his say. What if he had said “no” at some point? Would she have respected it? Would the tall, towering, dominant amazon have relented to the twenty-year-old waif's will?

Could Flash even have summoned the strength to defy her? What if all of Sunset's kind words and gentle ways were merely a ruse—and she was just the same old valkyrie that once forced him to carry her books and take her places and listen to her rambling, powermongering speeches? What if all the niceness and pomp was just pretty fluff on the surface and Flash was being dominated and manipulated as selfishly always?

That would mean that nothing about this was healthy or right or wholesome. Sunset would just be controlling Flash like she always did, but this time with a soft and gentle and loving veneer taped to the outer surface.

And Flash...

Flash couldn't pretend that he didn't like the thought of it...

The boi shut his eyes, hanging his head against the hot flow of water. His fists clenched at his side, but not in anger. He felt himself flinching... his toes turning inward as his abdominal muscles clenched... sharply.

He thought about all the times recently when Sunset picked him up as if he was a small child.

He thought about how she'd position him on the bench facing her... how she'd sit him on her lap... how she'd hug him close to her bosom...

He thought about her silly threat to seat him like a little brother (or “sister”) before the webcam...

He thought about the times she offered him fruit snacks or tucked him into her extremely large bed or even reached over to buckle him into the car's passenger seat...

All these things—Flash had allowed, or at least he thought he “allowed”—because Sunset Shimmer had been incredibly nice enough to let him into her home and give him a place to eat and sleep after his parents and Magnolia had excommunicated him. Whatever job or hobby or acquaintanceship Sunset usually enjoyed—she was now throwing on the backburner in order to pay him exclusive and unbridled attention. From the very first time since Flash woke up to see her glorious amazonian self, he felt an unshakeable guilt... not to mention shame. And the coddling and loving ways she treated him only made it all the worse. So what if she did little (or large) things that made light of how tiny and demure he was? It didn't feel right to conflict with that, and Flash felt any masculine urge to resist her ministrations diminishing with each passing hour.

And... in more ways than one... he actually looked forward to seeing what she would do next... even if it would humiliate him.

Or... perhaps... especially if it would humiliate him.

Flash felt himself breathing harder and hotter in the warm wetness.

His thoughts lingered on the moments in the dreamscape when his subconsciousness brought memories of his months of dating a teenager Sunset Shimmer to the forefront. He meant it when he told Sunset Shimmer that he never meant to have the two of them relive those moments. However, those memories kept reappearing—and almost always to the modern Sunset's chagrin.

Flash never meant to hurt her. He was quite certain that there was no hidden remorse that was wishing to guilt or shame her while they had been dreamwalking. The truth is, Flash was more than convinced that his mind chose to relive those memories not because of the pain involved... but due to the pleasure. It may have sounded gross at first suggestion, but a large part of Flash savored the old sensation of being told what to do... being told where to go... being forced to walk to an authoritative voice's dictator decree.

But being talked down to? Being insulted? Even being slapped and shoved a few times by the terrible valkyrie of Canterlot High? He'd be lying if he said that he remembered those moments fondly. And yet—as pathetic as it tasted in his mouth to admit—Flash would also have been lying if he said he outright loathed those impactful moments all the same.

The boi knew there was something completely... sick about the whole issue. He knew it was nauseating to admit to appreciating “hard love”—otherwise known as abuse. Flash wouldn't wish such a thing on other people. And—as much of a sissy he had grown to be—he had enough self-respect to not wish it upon himself.

Nevertheless, looking back—especially now of all moments—Flash was starting to see those “dark times” with the old Sunset Shimmer in a far... hotter light... as hot as the steamy water flowing across his neck, chest, and ultra-sensitive nipples. It was far more complicated than a femboi like Flash needing a polar opposite person to justify his submissiveness. It was more than his fragile self having been sculpted by his unloving family to accept negative reinforcement.

The fact of the matter was...

...Sunset Shimmer had found him again. And she was so very angelic now... and motherly... and kind... and nurturing. All these amazing things that a partner—or simply a human soul—could ever possibly ask for, and there Flash was receiving it with no strings attached (as far as he knew), and he hadn't even asked for such gentle kindness.

And... as selfish as it sounded... Flash wondered... Flash fantasized...

...over what it would mean to receive all of that kindness... along with the “cruelty” of the old Sunset Shimmer as well.

A slight whimper escaped his cherub lips. He ran a shaky hand through his wet silk hair. Toes curled and uncurled against the hard tile as hot water droplets popped all around him.

How amazing... how blissful it would be for the old Sunset to toss him mercilessly around... only for the new Sunset to catch and snuggle him immediately afterward...

Flash's breathing quickened.

The whole thing sounded even stupider as his mind started rationalizing it. But it really wasn't up to his mind, per se.

At that point during the shower, Flash was feeling a familiar hotness spreading up through the core of his being. It was something he usually felt on his lonesome—in the comfort and seclusion of his own apartment. It was the same kind of hotness that led to many a ruined pillow case... and it closely resembled the insatiable adrenaline that ultimately escalated into The Great War of the Brush Handle.

Flash breathed. Flash shuddered. Flash soaked.

What if both the old Sunset and the new Sunset were embracing him at once? Playing a game of tug of war? Settling on taking turns. Being rough. Being gentle. Being abrasive. Being smooth. Calling him names. Cooing at him like a pet. Biting his neck. Nibbling his ear. Sitting on his face. Holding him to her bosom.

And before Flash knew it, the hotness had sunk back into his core—carrying with it a molten weight that cried for gravity to take over. Soon, Flash found himself sitting down on the hard tile floor of the stall, panting and panting harder into the hot spray of the shower that continued to pelt him from above. He knew what was going to happen next, and he knew there was very little he could do to fight it.

His right hand—his dirtier[ hand—wandered a silky, serpentine path down his body. It tickled past his ribcage and slithered down the slope of his hairless abdomen. Slowly, his legs spread, like a blushing bride's in the rain. He closed his eyes at times like this, as if protecting himself from the pangs of shame that were about to blossom—among other heart-stopping spikes.

Sunset Shimmer had done so much for him.

He tilted his head to the right, angling his nostrils away from the trickle of water running down his tightening face.

So very much for him...

His fingers fanned out, snailing slowly over goosepimpled wet flesh.

...if only there was a way to do something for her.

His breaths came quicker as his fingers wandered further down.

To please her...

The shower droplets grew to a thunderous volume, magnified by his fiery senses.

Even if it meant his own discomfort. Even pain.

Flash's thighs spread further. Knees locked. Calves tightened.

She deserved everything for what she had done... for who and what she was. This was Sunset's home. Her domain. Her sanctum. As long as a tiny thing like Flash was there with her, he may as well have been the same as the rest of her property. An object. A toy. A means to an end.

And then Flash's fingers ran into something in the shower-water. An obstruction—and a tiny one at that: a lost acorn in an ocean of steam.

His lips frowned beneath closed eyes. There was no denying the sensitivity and preciousness of his member, but—more often than not, and especially at times like this—he hated how it merely got in the way of a perfectly sensuous moment. The fact that it always refused to grow turgid only added insult to injury.

His fingers caterpillar'd delicately around it, sliding past his equally minuscule coin purse, until they feathered the edge of their lurid destination. Almost immediately, a gasp rose through Flash's body and his water-soaked torso rose with the humid breath.

Flash was no stranger to anatomy books. On that same note, the boi was no stranger to how... strange his personal erogenous zones were. But—as many an intimate, lonesome night of pillow-humping and comforter-hugging had taught him—he certainly wasn't one to complain about his petite anomaly of a body worked. Instead, he relished... as slowly and intricately as it took to relish: summoning feelings from far deeper than most young men his age could be arsed to—no pun intended, or perhaps every pun intended.

And with such a misty cloud of practice unleashed from his being, he began tickling and kneading the fringes of his perineum—starting at the base of his tiny sperm bank and stroking slowly towards the holiest of holies. He'd slide three dainty fingers towards that desperate hotness, only to stop halfway, pause for breath, then apply some pressure... gently kneading his way back to the testicles.

“Mmmm-ghhhh...!” Flash's vocalization was so laughably on point that it deserved its own bubble across a black-and-white doujinshi page. At least—that's how he would often “visualize” his own outbursts: perhaps to prevent himself from cringeing at how predictable and girly he sounded. There simply was no escaping it. The poor boi was a loose bottle of gasps and moans whenever he played with himself. And it wasn't for show—nor was it some exercise in roleplay to induce himself into a higher stage of arousal. Touching himself in certain places—no matter the mood, really—produced these sounds from his core. It was like the erotic equivalent of stepping barefoot over a nail, and his entire body jolted every time the sincere noises came from him.

But he realized he was overthinking this. That was Flash Sentry's biggest problem. Overthinking things... no matter how abstract or carnal. He had been a bouncing ball of anxiety ever since Sunset picked him up at the CHS campus. But now—at this very, very wet moment—he was desperate not to think at all. Just touch... treat... and violate.

The boi clenched his eyes tighter, and the rest of his body followed suit. His legs went tight as iron as he resumed the gentle strokes to his sissy taint. In truth, his fingers were only moving back and forth a few centimeters—but from the way his nerves frothed and crackled, he may as well have been swinging his arms wildly into a hot, immeasurable breeze. He felt his muscles liquefying, tensing, and relaxing in repetitive motions to match his naughty digits. The kegel muscles beneath his groin came alive—perhaps the strongest muscles in Flash's entire body—and he felt the splatter of shower water from his limp, waving manhood. His eyes were closed, but even he couldn't shake loose the familiar image in his head: a partially-coiled hose that flared more and more at the useless end, wanting for a hardness that would never come... that the boi long came to realize he would never ever need.

Flash Sentry's sexuality was special and unique. He didn't wield a hard steel sword that longed for impaling. Rather, it was as though he lived perpetually with just the sheath—and every once in a while he felt the desperate need to fill that sheath with longing... only to gently and lovingly empty it. And when the lust boiling hotly inside of him was finally released, it came in a slow, trickling flow... one that taunted and tortured him for sometimes minutes at a time.

He truly... dearly adored that “torture,” and oftentimes he would fight for an entire hour to achieve it. Such was an uphill battle that took the full arsenal of Flash's mind, heart, and body. It was a battle that he was quite accustomed to losing.

In many ways—Flash admitted—it was a battle he imagined women fought all the time. He didn't know if that made him unlucky, adorable, sad, or all of the above.

But right then—in that hot shower stationed within Sunset Shimmer's home—he fully concentrated on the battle once more.

“Mmmm-fffuuuu...” Flash tried clamping his own mouth shut. He failed. His lower body was rising—his tiny fanny lifting off the tile, dribbling with moisture. The position was causing his neck and shoulders to ache, but the pain merely pushed him forward—as he pushed is fingers further. Deeper. Hotter.

An insatiably hungry hotness lingered at the end of his wandering digits. He crested the edge of that forbidden horizon.

At this precise moment—almost every time—his frantic mind would leap to the same, reserve fantasy.

After a full night of glamour and dancing in the castle ballroom, a princely night in shining armor had taken the demure princess boi up to their bedroom suite...

Only, this time, something was... different.

...as the charming beau unbuttoned the princess' blouse and bodice, the hands possessed a fiery tone. The same could be said for a burning head of hair... contrasted by loving, turquoise eyes.

Flash's fingers reached the dip of his sensitive hole, slipping playfully towards the squeaky-clean sphincter, meeting resistance where shower water had collected. Hot. Practically boiling.

As soon as he made contact, a high-pitched squeaked escaped his lips. But his fingers weren't the only stimulus.

The knight tossed her hair back. She sat her Amazonian frame on the royal bed, smiling softly down at her lover. Motherly. And yet her arms were a vice-grip when she heaved the gasping princess into her embrace, cradling her to her bosom, enfolding with massive, strong limbs.

He was hyperventilating at this point. His tiny body was at a forty-five degree angle, his lower self raised against the falling shower stream as his fingers stroked cruel circles around his entrance. The muscles contracted, trying to deny himself the invasion his heartbeat so desired. So—he had to distract his body with more pleasure. Or pain. Or—goddammit—both. His left hand—a shaking instrument at best—snaked its way opposite of his right. It ran up his bare chest and towards his right pec... zeroing in on the diamond-hard areola.

Only it wasn't his hand.

Her massive palm slid up his palpitating chest. All the while, his gaze was locked in on her turquoise eyes. Penetrating. Shattering. And yet—she caught the falling pieces of the whimpering princess with her smile. The voice that came out of her was hot, breathy, predatory—and it chilled the knight's lover to the bone.

“Tonight, I'm going to make you wish I'd left you at the dragon's lair.”

Two amazonian fingers came together across the princess' left breast.

“Scream for me, your majesty. Get it out of your system now. You won't be needing a voice for what I make you do later.”

And with that conjured, Flash bit an invisible bullet... and pinched his right nipple.

He felt his spine shattering from head to toe. His knees buckled and his head rocked to the side as the shower stall vibrated with a deliciously anguished cry. His whole body rocked with pain. He felt his sphincter muscles tightening, clenching, then releasing.

That was the moment his hand needed.

Stealthily—without a second thought—he slipped his index finger inside himself. At long last, he was one with the hotness. His entire palm quivered, and yet he slipped the violation inward... deeper... approaching the first digit.

Already, the heat was leaking out of him, up through that limp manhood that anyone—including himself—might consider worthless. A drop of pre-cum had escaped, positively invisible against the overwhelming volume of shower water, and yet scalding enough... potent enough to implode an entire planet through its core.

Flash's butt shook in the wet air, but he applied more pressure to his nipple—giving it a twist. Another vibration, like a gunshot going off in an echo chamber. His finger slid past the second digit, finding room amidst that velvety tightness to bend... to caress.

It took little effort at this point, but Flash had found his prostate. The invisible lump felt enormous in the delicate sanctity of the moment. But this was no time to think—only for molesting. He kneaded and stroked it with growing eagerness, and he felt a second drop of flame birthed at his penis head... followed by a second. A churning fountain of pleasure was slowly manifesting in his groin, and he knew it would blossom into a long, slow burn, like the stamen of a flower perpetually ignited.

Whatever spirit that was along for the ride found itself jostled between the pain of his squeezed nipple and the discomfort of his penetrated hole. So it anchored itself to the tiny fluid slowly oozing out of him, and Flash allowed his fantasy to ferry that quivering soul into a land of ecstasy.

The valkyrie was laying completely on top of the yelping princess, hands wrapped around from behind and playfully assaulting her through her laughing weight.

The knight was forcing the princess' sobbing face into her bosom, moaning like a true amazon warrior in heat as she felt the tongue and tears struggling to please such aching breasts.

The conqueror was straddling the princess' head, squeezing her blushing cheeks with massive, womany thighs while her aroused sex grinded across the submissive's face.

The charming prince was kissing the princess so hard that the damsel scarcely had room to breathe, meanwhile her massive hand was forcing the boi's fingers down into her own sex, soaking both of their hands as the amazon moaned so loud that the sissy's skull might shatter—

There was a knock-knock-knock on the bathroom door.

Flash's bulging eyes flew wide open against the shower water.

The knocking repeated, followed by Sunset's motherly voice: “Flash? Is everything alright in there?”

“... … …!” Flash's body quivered at an awkward angle—one hand to his breast and the opposite finger stuck up his butt.

“I could have sworn I heard you calling me. Did you need something?”

Flash gnashed his teeth, stifling a whimper. He tried commanding his body to do three things at once. Unfortunately, the brain focused exclusively on un-sodomizing his rear, and the rest of the muscles simply went limp.

Thwap!

He landed like a cold piece of meat against the floor of the shower.

“Ouchies!”

The presence outside the bathroom door shifted. “... … ...Flash?”

“Uhhhh... uhhhhhm...” Aching all over, a tearful boi sat up and tried answering. He got a mouthful of faucet water, gargled, spat, then shifted position so he could summon the breath to sputter: “Nothing! I... uh... thought I had misplaced the soap, but... I-I found it now!” He grimaced. “In the... s-soap tray...!”

Silence.

At long last, there was a response: “Okay! Just checking on ya! Take all the time you need!”

With that said, Flash heard the footsteps of the telepath marching away.

The telepath.

He facepalmed hard. The shower water was still hot and steamy, but now it felt like knife-hard sleet. There was no telling how long he had been writhing there—like a pig in heat—mauling himself in another person's shower.

In another person's home.

The home of a friend... someone who had taken him in out of the goodness of their heart. And for a moment there, Flash couldn't give two shits about a heart. His mind had been focused on other organs, and none of them belonging to Sunset.

The boi was used to feeling waves of guilt after a... “personal session.” But this was different. He hadn't violated himself—he had violated the sanctity of the shelter his good, loving friend had given him. He knew that if he was in her position, he'd be grossed out by it. And with her telepathic abilities and all, there was no telling to what extent she was mortified...

...and to what extent she had decided to hide it.

A hot bead of moisture kissed the shower air—but it wasn't from his lower half. Flash felt the first of many sissy tears forming. Sniffling, he hugged his knees to his naked chest and shivered under the once-soothing shower water. Another sigh, and he hung his head in shame.

“... … …friggin' sicko.”

It was the brush handle all over again.

He couldn't get out and dry himself fast enough.