The Merry Llewd

Chapters

Abbess Interruptus
A Conversation in the library
Of Pastries and Sleepovers
Stilts, Stocks, and Dresses
One Ring to Rule Them Both
Merry Llewd
Breaking in the Stallion
Avitaric Apotheosis and Other Annoyances
Dew on the Fern
Over the Wall
Arrival of the East Wind
Tributes
Enter the North Wind
Consummation
Absorbancy
Containment
Snow

Abbess Interruptus

There was a knock on the door and then the Abbess let herself into the wood paneled office.

“You forgot to put the ward on the door again,” she said, placing a hand on her hip and shifting weight to one hoof. She took the scene in with a smirk.

One of her bosses, Cinnamon Music, was laying on the desk, exposing much more of her dark purple pelt than usual. Her bat-like wings were spread wide, clearly having scattered papers from the desk onto the floor. With a gasp, she tilted her head back over the edge of the desk and took in the interloper with pink/violet eyes, her mouth was an “O” of shock, but her slit pupils were still wide with arousal. Her tight, tri-colored curls dangled and bounced loose down the front of the desk.

“Oh” she panted. “Abbess.” She recovered her shock quickly and smiled. “Maybe we were hoping you’d join us,” she said breathlessly. Her large, round breasts had been freed of their bodice and were heaving. Large, firm, dark nipples pointed toward the ceiling.

“Hmm. It has been a while,” The Abbess smiled and walked deeper into the room. Her austere, business-like dress rustled, and suddenly felt a bit constricting in places over her dark blue pelt.

Count Patagium, The Abbess’ other boss was just catching his breath. He was standing behind the desk, holding his wife’s fetlocks in his hands. Cinny’s dainty hooves pointed toward the opposite corners of the ceiling. “You’re always welcome, Abbess.”

“I’d love to, but there’s a slightly pressing matter. Besides, Chatter Lee and I broke in the new guard recruit just this morning. I think the poor fellow is going to be standing on wobbly legs for the rest of his watch.”

“Just try not to break them too badly.,” the Count said with a chuckle. “Well,” he sighed, “duty calls.” He pulled his stiff member out of his wife with a shloomp. It sprang free, trailing a mix of pre and her juices. He sat back in his chair and began to button his dress shirt. He only made it halfway up before his nimble fingers fumbled with bare fabric. Then he glanced around the room and shrugged with a sigh. “Guess I need a new shirt. Cinny, I think you keep the button merchants in business.” Fortunately, the royal seamstress was experienced with this kind of repair and ordered the specialty, imported buttons by the gross.

“Celestia! Such a tease,” Cinny ejaculated. She shot a glance at the Abbess, who did her best to look contrite and sympathetic. The Count’s ability to hold back and keep the mares on edge was well known throughout. He always delivered eventually, but more than a few mares had been brought to begging.

Cinny sat up pointed a finger at him. “This isn’t over mister.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he said obediently, then stood and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips, then another long, tonguey kiss on each swollen nipple that elicited a guttural “unf” from both mares. “Such a tease,” Cinny muttered again.

The blue unicorn nodded. “I think the Count likes keeping as many mares in the castle wet at any given time as possible.”

“Kind of like you and Chatter Lee do to the stallions?” Cinny retorted playfully as she reluctantly began tucking herself back into her bodice and straightening her dress.

The unicorn chuckled. “I do my best, but I’m hardly in her league. “I had to whip up a special performance potion for her husband that time you took all the castle guards out for a training weekend. Poor guy.”

“Heh, Poor guy indeed.” The Count gave a knowing and sardonic smile as he, with some difficulty, maneuvered himself back into his pants.

Cinny finished putting herself back in order. Her horn glowed briefly. The glow spread over her disheveled purple, blue and pink curls. They writhed like snakes, reassembling themselves into neat, tight curls. “So what is this pressing matter?”

“Well... There are two actually. One is that the survey of the grain stores came in. It’s going to be a hard time if spring is late this year.”

Count shot a concerned glance out the diamond-paned window. It certainly didn’t look like their average winter outside. Their normal covering of snow was absent, leaving the streets and rooftops bare. Even worse, the fields on the slopes leading up to the surrounding mountains were bare, the tilled earth looking brown and ugly, exposed to the eroding winds. Spring would be dry without the snow melt from the mountains. Crops were going to suffer. If it was late as well, things could be bad. “Something’s not right about this winter, something vaguely familiar.”

“Count...” Cinny said with a touch of exasperation in her voice. “You’re off in your own world again?”

“Sorry…” He turned back to the royal apothecary, sometimes secretary, sometimes play partner, and always trusted advisor. “…lost in thought. This weather has been brutal lately, so cold, but so dry. ‘Too cold to snow,’ as my gran used to say. No more than the occasionally flurry in weeks. If we have to, we have to. Let’s start pricing replacement grain from the western plains.”

“I just suggested that.”

“Oh buck, I’m sorry.”

Cinny patted his shoulder. “This weather really has you concerned doesn’t it? You get too involved in things sometimes.”

“Heh. You should talk. But yes. There’s something about this winter that I can’t quite place. Like there’s something I should remember but I don’t.”

“If you want,” the Abbess cut in, “I can put Iron Gall to searching the archives.”

Cinny adjusted the buttons on her bodice once more. “That sounds like a good idea. Without the visitors we get in the warmer months, he’s getting a bit stir crazy as it is. He could use a good research project. You’d think there’d be a record of this if it’s happened before.”

The Abbess pulled out a long strip of telepyro paper, and scanned it with her deep blue eyes. “Which brings me to the other thing. It’s probably nothing more than a drunk guard, but if this report from Alpine Berry has anything to it, this winter is about to get stranger.”

She passed the paper to Cinny who scanned it quickly, sliding the long ribbon through her fingers. “Maybe it’s time to recheck the outpost for her cider stash.”

“Already suggested that to the next supply porters. She might be partaking while on duty again. They’ll be discreet though.”

Cinny passed the ribbon to count. “Giant cloven hoof prints? And rendered mares? What is that about?”

“Did you get to the part about tree horns? I can’t be him, can it?”

Count ran the last of the long strip through his dark grey fingers. “Hmm. I doubt it. Why mess with a distant guard outpost when you can teleport right into town and cause all sorts of trouble.” He put on his reading glasses and took a closer look at the paper. “Might also be worth checking that the telepyro is fully operating. This isn’t making a lot of sense.”

The telepyro involved a collection of magically linked pairs of lamps. Once linked, they could be separated by leagues, even continents, yet interfering with the one flame would effect its mate. With careful adjustments, the perturbations of one set of lams could cause another to scorch patterns into a strip of paper passing over them. A small set of keys controlling the flames could then be used to send messages.

They were finicky, requiring careful calibration and gentle treatment, but they were nearly impossible to eavesdrop on. They were also usually free from interference, except when large scale magical events were happening. “I think maybe the way the “e’s” are being transmitted—” the count started.

“Magical interference would only make it unreadable. It wouldn’t make it unintelligible like this.” Cinny looked to the Abbess for confirmation.

The Abbess shrugged. “I’ll send someone up to relieve Alpine and give the cabin and equipment a once over. He’s due for a break anyway. I we’ll figure this out.”

A Conversation in the library

The answer came in less than an hour.

“Your majesty, there are some visitors.” The words came quickly and with an urgency that caused her hackles to rise. The staff was seldom flustered, but the head maid was clearly put out in some way. The look on her dark green features and (blue?) eyes showed more confusion than concern though.

The princess rose from the desk in her lab and started down the hall. “Something up?”

“I don’t think so. Well. Maybe. The guards told them they should wait, but they just kind of barged in. It’s really cold out, you see, and there didn’t seem a lot of harm in them, but she just has a way, you know? The one, she … I don’t know… She’s just an old mare, well… not mare…” She paused and shook her head, clearly befuddled. “Anyways we showed them into the library.”

“Aren’t the twins having lessons in there.” Her lips curled back slightly involuntarily, revealing sharp fangs. Her dark, bat-like wings and smooth, ears splay slightly.

The small maid quailled. The princess was a kind and generous leader, but could be fearsome when crossed. The result of a misguided and almost successful experiment to convert a pegasus into a vampony queen via dark magic, she maintained control of her more violent urges, but could unleash vicious and spectacular violence on foes that threatened her family or adopted homeland.

She looked down at the shocked maid and forced a smile at the young mare. She was a new staff member, barely out of training. Obviously the road apples had rolled downhill to give her the task of telling the boss about this breach of protocol. Or maybe, he thought more kindly, they left the senior staff to keep an eye on things. That makes more sense.

“Nevermind. Let’s go get to the bottom of this.”

As they approached the library, the figures inside by the fire cast large, dancing and misshapen shadows on the walls. There was the appearance of trees, or waving tentacles reaching up from the shapeless from of their bodies. Unconsciously, Cinny picked up the pace, her hooves clopping on the marble floors of the entry hall. Rounding the door frame, the figures inside were far more prosaic.

“Oh. A pair of does.” she muttered under her breath, then breathed out, letting some of the coiled tension leave her muscles. “Reindeer mares. Not rendered mares. Alpine never could spell.”

Chatter Lee, the twin’s nanny, was there, obviously in control of the situation. Leave it to the diminutive earth pony to quickly diffuse any situation. She’d sent for refreshments, made the visitors comfortable, placing them by the roaring fire to warm. There were still small puddles around them on the flag stones, evidence of the caked snow they had carried in their fur. They must have come in a hurry. The nearest snow of any amount was up in the high passes.

What fur they had, thick and luxurious. Cinny felt a small pang of envy. Her thin sleek coat was fashionable and smooth, but did little against the frigid winter they were having. A part of her wondered what it would be like to sink her fingers into that thick fur.

A quick scan of the room showed that the twins were on the hearth rug, playing a board game, shooting curious glances at the newcomers. No doubt Chatter Lee had already warned them about peppering the newcomers with questions.

The two mares, no does, turned. The light from the hall reflected back in their eyes a deep, uncanny blue hue. One was young and lithe, the other older, taller, wiry and imposing. The grayness in her muzzle was offset by a flintiness in her eyes. Any litheness she may have once had had long ago given way to wiry gauntness. They both sported full sets of antlers. The younger doe’s were still fairly small and elegant, a symmetric set of 6 points, directed toward the ceiling. The older one’s antlers were an imposing tangle, symmetric and weird. Ones side was a tangle of at least 8 points, the other had points and the start of a crenelated plate like you’d see on a moose.

“Greetings,” she said, moving forward and extending a hand. “I’m Cinnamon Music. Welcome to our castle.” The young doe stepped forward and took it, smiling up at her. She was pretty in an exotic way. Brass bells jingled lightly when she stepped forward. There were bells hanging from the hem of her dress, and braided into her fetlocks. Her feet were large and splayed, like natural snowshoes. Cinny remembered the part of cryptic message about large cloven-hooved footprints, and silently apologized to Alpine Berry for suspecting drink.

“Thank you for taking us in so quickly, it’s been a long, cold journey. I’m Fernella Graupel. You can call me Fern. This is Cladonia Zastruga, but most of us just call her Clady. I’m sure we’re not the usually traveler you see. I mean it’s been decades since, one of us—“ the tumble of words was cut short by the older mare clearing her throat impatiently.

The older doe was standing her ground, large feet splayed as she looked the vampony up and down, taking in her dark coat, leathery wings, and settled on her pale pink eyes. She held them for a long moment, giving Cinny the distinct impression her entire history was being read. Read and judged.

“You’ve been touched by some wild magic, I see. You’re not quite one thing or the other,” she said appraisingly.

“Well. No. I suppose I’m not, but—“

The old doe waved it away. “No matter. I can see where you keep your contentedness.” Her eyes went to the playing twins and her face softened incrementally. “Your hospitality is appreciated, and I can see that Ponyvania is is good hands. This is a lovely castle you have here, and a lovely family.” Her eyes scanned over the twins, who were in the process of beating Chatter Lee at their game, and then moved to the doorway. Cinny followed her gaze, but there was no one there, for a moment. Then the Count entered, hoof-falls inexplicably silent, as usual.

The set of his wings and the position of his ears made it clear that he must have received a similarly unsettling summons, but he quickly relaxed noticeably to see his formidable wife already had the situation in hand. Cinny waved him forward and made the quick, if still a bit awkward, introductions. When she came to Cladonia, the old doe gave him much the same appraisal. Her scan went from his polished hooves, currently wearing his laced-up slippers he often wore in the castle, then up over well-trimmed fetlocks, his more casual, every-day-business suit, and slate-blue coat. She barely stopped at his blue-green slit eyes and settling on his mismatched orange and cream horn. “You’re even less singular than she is.”

“Pardon?” Count gave her a confused smile.

“Not quite one thing. Fishy, some might say, but no matter. You two are in charge of this valley? What exactly are you supposed to be.”

It felt like a trick question. He straightened his back. “I’m supposed to be the magistrate of this small community. And protector when needed. If you mean my lineage, my family has been mountain bat ponies back to Chiros. I’m a simple bat pony, um, plus a bit.” He reached up and tapped his horn.

She gave a short terse nod. “Bat pony, eh? Let’s see a wing.”

“Uh...Alright.” This strange reindeer clearly saw things, and brooked no nonsense. It seemed like a good idea to stay on her good side. He spread a wing out enough to give a cursory view. Without a word, she stepped forward, taking his phalanges in a cold iron grip and pulling his wing out with a snap.

“Clady!” the young doe gasped at the sudden imposition, but there was no indication she was heard. Count could feel the old does breath on his sensitive membranes as she examined him closely. Count looked to Cinny, but she could only shrug. Finally, the old doe gave a satisfied huff and straightened, turning away. “Stories indeed. Ah. Pastries!” she exclaimed at the site of the cook wheeling in a tray of refreshments, dropping the wing and the subject with a head spinning quickness. “I’ve heard good things about Ponyvanian bakers.”

She moved to intercept the cart and help herself, piling a plate high with baked goods. Cinny leaned in close to the Count. “Any idea what she meant about ‘stories?’”

There’s an old saying. “I guess it’s the old saying. ‘You can read a bat pony’s story in his wings.’ I haven’t heard it in years.”

The warm spiced cider and pastries were consumed with pleasant, if somewhat stilted conversation. The younger doe seemed to alternately be at a loss for what to say, and running on in a tumble of words about one subject or the other. The older reindeer obviously felt it wasn’t her job to keep the conversation going. Cinny couldn’t help but notice the old doe’s ability to pack away cookies like a bear preparing for winter, and marvel that such a sweet tooth could be housed in such a wiry frame. The children were given theirs refreshments, and then ushered off to bed. Clady watched them go with a thoughtful expression, then cleared her throat.

“So, ah,” Fern ventured, looking into her cup, the flesh of her nose, reddening. “What sort of winter celebrations do you have here?”

Cinny put down her cup, and leaned forward. “Oh we have quite the Hearthswarming. You just missed it. We decorate the entire castle, and the children’s choir comes. Count has a spell that ensures the north bay is frozen enough to skate. We light the area, so skating goes late into the night. The past few years, a school of the thaumonautiloids come up under the ice and put on a bioluminescence show. It’s amazing to see. The night before we have a feast—“

Cladonia leaned forward. “That is good,” she cut in. “Very good. It’s always good to keep the old ways in these modern times. But we have to wonder if you keep very old ways.

“Older than Hearthswarming?”

Her eyes went to the Count. “The ways of your folk. The mountain ways.”

Count looked at her, then toward the windows. The wind was rattling the panes again. If this kept up, some would have to be refitted before spring. By now, the courtyard was probably all but impassible for the wind to take you off your feet. “You can’t mean something about Lohowlen. Those are just old faery stories.”

The two reindeer exchanged a glance, and then both sets of antlers bobbed with the nodding.

Cinnamon looked back and forth. “Lohowlen? Is that a pony? I don’t know this story.”

“That’s because it’s ancient bat pony mythology, told on long dark nights to scare foals. I don’t remember much of them. My great gran told me a few. Lohowlen was a powerful witch-queen living on Mount Pohl, north and west. She was the leader of the race of alpine bat ponies. She could control the weather, and... something about the sun and the moon.”

The old doe nodded. “She tampered with the natural order. As the story goes, the Sun and Moon moved of their own then. Her tampering broke the...” She paused, then her eyes fell on the grandfather clock by the door, and she gestured toward it, “she broke the clockwork.”

“This sounds pretty fanciful,” Cinny said.

“Maybe that part is, but there is wild magic at work here. Whether it’s strictly true or not hardly matters. What matters in that it’s narrative. A narrative with weight. Like a heavy cart on a muddy road, it leaves a path in the magic of the mountains. A deep one. ”

The Count was out of his chair. His hooves clipped quickly and almost silently across the oak floor as he left the small, cozy carpeted area near the fire and disappeared into the darkness of the stacks. “I know we have it up here. Unless Iron Gall has moved it back into the main stacks,” his voice echoed out. The glow of his mismatched horn sparked to life and dimly lit the rows of shelves and glinted off the brass fixtures and ladder tracks. There was a sliding sound, some clanking, then...“Got it!”

He hurried back, holding a book open, his prince nez already perched on his muzzle and already skimming. “Oooh. The North Wind.”

“Yes!” Fern brightened. “That’s exactly it. She...meaning Lowhowlen, took the mantle of the East Wind to seduce and subdue the North Wind.

“Seduce?” Cinny asked.

“Well yes. It’s a kind of fertility rite as well.” She said it brightly, then realized herself and her fleshy nose blushed beet red.

“There’s mention of something like that,” the Count cut in. “The Merry Llewd,” but I don’t see many details.

The old doe pulled an ancient and battered tome from he bag, and held it out carefully. “This should have everything you need.”

The Count took it and then breathed a long breath. “The Chirovala. I didn’t know any copies of this still existed. Wi-with your permission, I’d like my scribes to transpose this while you’re here.”

“Yes Yes. Of course,” the old doe waved a hand dismissively. “What is more important is that the ceremony be observed. The wild magic is taking form, and the North Wind is having its way with this region. Mark my words,” she leaned forward and looked back and forth between the two of them with an unnerving intensity, “there will be suffering if the old ways are not revived.”

Of Pastries and Sleepovers

The old deer's statement was so firm, it was clear that there was little choice, and there was little time for preparation. Saturday would be the first full moon of the new year, evidently the optimal time for the event. The route was set, the families along it were notified. Those who would opt out were given the opportunity. In some cases friends or relatives could step in.

The event would start and end at the castle, looping down High Street, and up Market. The final destination, the courtyard, was a beehive of activity. Carpenters, weavers, thatchers and even the royal blacksmith were recruited. The costume was prepared, as was the platform. Clady turned out to be a tough task master. Some of the braver workmen had developed the habit of replying “Yes deer!” to her commands, something she tolerated as long as they were keeping up with their jobs.

Fern, with her gentler touch moved from house to house on the route explaining to blushing wives and husbands just what would be required from them. She was met with some resistance, but also a stern determination to do what was right for the community. Chatter Lee, with her no-nonsense approach, proved to be a strong asset here. After all, this was as much a celebration as a rite. If the townsfolk derived some enjoyment from the festivities, well, that was all the better.

The Abbess would be put in charge of the children.

“What? Me? Chatter Lee is the nanny. I’m not good with foals!”

“You’ll be fine,” Cinny said, trying not to laugh at the obvious dismay children caused the mare. “You’ll have some of the maids and other volunteers to help out. You just need to keep things organized.”

“And keep them out of the way.”

“Yes,” Cinny nodded. “And out of the way. This is hardly kid friendly event.”

“I suppose I can handle it. Though I’d rather be in on the event.” She smirked and her ears splayed slightly in embarrassment.

Cinny winked and reached across to pat the unicorn’s light blue arm. “You work on pulling this off, and I think the Count and I can figure out a special event to reward you.” The Count was across the desk, focused on his planning papers, but the blush on his nose betrayed what he’d heard.

“Once we’ve recovered,” he muttered from his position behind the desk.

True to form, the Abbess turned the kids event into something as complicated as the adult one. A massive sleepover in the Ponyvanian Museum would be planned.

The bakeries were working overtime to meet the demand for the children’s event, which produced even more work for the Abbess. Daven, the resident dragon, had been called upon to light and maintain the baking, brewing and distilling fires to such a degree that he’d developed throat issues. She found herself with a rather unusual research project in searching for dragon remedies. It turned out that dragons were not big on medicine, and what little information she could find called for inaccessible ingredients. She had to improvise. The final concoction included honey, minerals, and spectral peppers. A recent import from the southern griffon lands, the last ingredient was best handled with tongs. The thick fluid required transportation in a glass-lined, iron cask.

Stilts, Stocks, and Dresses

Finally the day arrived. Nervousness was mounting, and a sense of tension filled the castle and most of the village.

“Have you thoroughly reviewed your roles?” Clady was sitting ramrod straight on a stool in the study. Cinnamon was on another stool, naked and being fussed over by carefully picked attendants working under the careful direction of the deer. A dozen or more spirals had been painted on her muzzle, her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders; and, embarrassingly, around her prominent nipples, and her naval. The images of a crescent moon and three shooting stars that normally adorned her backside had been colored over and replaced with a pair of large spirals.

It occurred to Count that apart from the first night, he wasn’t sure he’d seen the old doe sitting down. Even now it seemed like an unnatural act for her. She seemed more accustomed to being on her bread, split feet, giving orders, and somehow seeming to tower over ponies a full head higher than her. The massive and misshapen antlers helped.

Cinny nodded. “I have and…” She looked uncertainly at Count. “You’re sure you’re OK with this?”

He put a hand on hers and gave it a squeeze. “I know who you’ll be coming home to at the end of the night. That’s all that matters to me. That and the fact that this might help our community if there’s something too this.”He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Besides, there seems to be a lot of woo in those writings. I suspect there’s some sort of ceremonial representation. Nothing real, you know? It’ll be fun.”

The doe huffed. “Fun it may seem, and fun it may be...at times, but don’t forget that this is real and serious business. You will be the walking avatar of some powerful spirits. There may be some,” she paused as though searching for the words. “Mild discomfort and odd feelings.”

The two ponies exchanged confused looks. Count raised a finger and opened his mouth, but before any words could come, Fern appeared in the door. A dark, royal blue dress was offset by bright red neckline, brocaded in gold in intricate patterns and cut low to show a tuft of cleavage fluff. Sprigs of holly had been attached to her antlers. “You’re not dressed Clady?”

“Quite right. Help the princess into her costume and I’ll prepare.

And what a costume it would be. The princess would be walking through the streets on stilts, well over 3 meters tall. The base of the stilts had broad, hoof-like bases, but that could only add so much to their stability. She’d only had a few practice sessions on them, and that was without the encumbrance of the rest of her costume, which needed to come first. Fern produced her only undergarment, a band around her middle, running from just under her breasts to just below her navel. It covered and immobilized her wings. Apparently wind spirits do not require such appendages.

Then came the dress, which turned out to be far too long, and not by a small amount. The hem lay bunched on the floor. The sleeves almost reached the floor too, having long, trailing cuffs. The color of the dress was a plain white, but with red and gold embroidery of spirals that roughly matched the ones Cinny wore under it.

“Why strip me down and paint the spirals if you just cover them with the dress with the same pattern?”

“It’s important that the emblems are always present,” was all the reindeer would say.

With the Count’s help holding the hem, they made their way down to the courtyard. “I feel like the foal in a wedding behind the bride.”

Cinny felt a pang of embarrassment shuffling along with the bunched up dress, an earning curious looks from the staff that she passed. Upon entering the courtyard, the cold air swirled around her and cut through the fabric. “Eyes front mister,” she said playfully to the Count, who had noticed the prominence of her hardened nipples pushing through the smooth fabric.

The courtyard was all but deserted. Large braziers had been set up around the perimeter, providing both heat and light in the cold night. A platform had been constructed to be part of the beginning and end of the ceremony. With some help from Fern and the Count, she mounted the steps, then the doe turned to the stallion.

“You should go prepare your costume as well. We’ll have it from here.”

“See you later, East Wind.” Count gave her a peck on the cheek and then returned to the warmth of the castle.

Fern gestured. “If you’ll step into the stilts, I’ll strap you in.”

Standing at the stilts positioned Cinny directly in front of a small, narrow table, padded with red felt. The end of the table was no wider than her hips, and positioned just in front of her pelvis. She bunched up the dress and rested it on the table. Risking a small lean to either side, she saw the rest of the apparatus for the evening. Near the far end of the table, a pair of leather straps waited, sized perfectly to hold a mare’s wrists securely. This is going to be a night to remember, that’s for sure.

Cinny slotted her hooves into the custom constructed cups in the top of the stilts, and she could feel the nimble fingers tightening the straps. The stilts were blessedly stable, as they were confined to slots in the platform only wide enough too accommodate them. Looking behind her, she could see the mechanism holding them. The front of the platform was a trap door. When up, it blocked the stilts into their narrow slots. Once the trapdoor was dropped, the stilts wild be free to slide out of the slots and Cinny could be on her way.

“Try wiggling your hooves please.”

Cinny obliged. The straps around her pastern and cannon held her in place securely. The only movement she could manage was the small amount of play that the slots in the platform allowed the stilts.

“Ah good. She’s all strapped in.”

Cinny looked up to see Cladonia had returned, wearing a severe dress over her gaunt frame, deep blue with the same red and gold embroidery around the neck line, which was not as deep and revealing as the younger doe’s. She carried a gnarled holly staff, festooned with leaves and large, round, brass bells. The old doe looked up at the sky and sniffed the air for a long moment.

Cinny found herself looking up to see what had so interesting, but could see nothing. Only then did she notice. “The night is so still. No wind.” She’d stopped even noticing it, and now it’s absence seemed louder than it had ever been.

Cladonia nodded. “You are in the dress, and on the stilts. The wild magic is waiting. Watching. You’ve started your path already, now there is only the moving and the doing.” She reached up and pulled a pin from the platform. The trap door fell away with a bang. Caught off guard, Cinny found she was no longer being supported from behind her and took a step backward to compensate, swinging arms wildly. Her ability to recover was further hampered because she was down two limbs. Her wings strained uselessly against their confines. The dangling cuffs of her sleeves swung in great spirals. As she stepped back the bunched up dress was pulled off the small table and fell heavily. The weighted hem came up short just above the cobbles and there was a floomp, like the sails of a tacking ship.

The broad, hoof-like bases of the stilts shifted on the cobblestones. A sudden gust of wind playfully caught the long dress and threatened to topple her. Just as she thought she would go over, however, the wind shifted the dress billowed out and pulled her upright again.

The whole process took only a few seconds to play out. Cladonia was watching with a dispassionate eye. As Cinny found her footing, she gave a small, terse nod. “Very good. Fern, help the Count with his costume. Then follow on the signal.” She shouldered a large carrier bag and led the apparition that was Cinny out of the courtyard and into the streets, followed by three guards turned porters for their supplies.

Old Iron Gall, the librarian, watched from an upper window. He gave a small nod as they disappeared out the main gate and turned to the stallions assigned to him for the evening. “Time to get to work.”

One Ring to Rule Them Both

Fern found the Count in his study fumbling with the clasps on his costume. For all the care and detail that had gone into Cinny’s preparations, his was relatively simple. He’d walked into his office to find a long cloak that almost reached the floor, roughly matching the style of the two doe’s dresses: midnight blue, with red and gold brocade around the neckline and lapels. “That’s it?”

Putting on the coat took moments, but when the doe entered, he found he’d still managed to overdo is costume.

“You still have your pants on.”

“What?”

“Your pants, and everything else needs to come off. You just wear the coat. Princess Music wears just the dress and you wear just the coat. It was in the program.”

“Oh. Sorry. Just being absent minded.”

There was a change in her demeanor, a hint of playfulness that he hadn’t noticed before. She’s learning the craft, Count thought, but she’s also enjoying this. He opened the coat and started undoing his belt, then felt an uncharacteristic wave of self consciousness as he realized he’d have to take the coat off to get to his shirt. Clearing his throat, he turned his back on the doe who was leaning against the door frame with a small smirk. Off came the coat, then to the shirt. Working too quickly, he fumbled with the buttons in the small of his back. The shirt was hand crafted from the local tailors. It buttoned down the front just like any shirt worn by an earth pony or unicorn, but also had two slits in the back to accommodate his wings, much like a pegasus would require. The slits buttoned up close below the wings to form two, well fitted holes around the base. A pegasus’ shirt could do in a pinch, but the wing holes were typically too large for a bat pony, and made it look like he was trying to show off his powerful flight muscles. That just wouldn’t do for a professional.

“Let me help you with that.” Fernelia stepped forward and undid the buttons.

“This is a lovely fabric. So soft.” She brushed her fingers up the strip of fabric between his wings.

Oh Crumb! Not that spot! Count stiffened as her touch sent an electric jolt down his spine and straight to his nether region. He could feel his stallionhood unsheathing.

“Uh. Thank you.” He stepped forward, just out of reach, and cleared his throat. “So how long have you been apprenticed to Cladonia? If that’s the right word.”

“Hmm.” She thought for a moment. “Oh! It’ll be 10 years this spring.”

“Ten years!” He looked over his shoulder in surprise. “You must start young.”

“You never know when a gwinoit will manifest. That’s usually when we start apprenticing. It’s pretty light when you’re young, but it keeps you out of trouble.”

Count was uncharacteristically self conscious undressing in front of this near stranger. It came out as attempts at banter. “Oh? Are you the ‘trouble’ type.” With his back to her, he quickly dropped his trousers and stepped out of them, reaching for the coat.

When he glanced over his shoulder, there was a small smile on Fernela’s muzzle. Her eyes were clearly fixed on his backside. “Oh I can be. There are a lot of ways to be trouble, and I’ve found a few. Cladonia is tough to work for, but it’s a good thing she found me when she did.”

Count buttoned up the long cloak, and turned spreading his arms. “How do I look?” He was acutely aware of his nakedness under the robe, but at least he was coved to any outside observer.

“You missed the most important piece.”

“What?” Count looked down at himself, and back up, but the doe was pointing at the coat rack. “I don’t see —. What is that?”

It was hanging on the same hook the coat had been on, but had previously been covered by it. It appeared to be a brass ring, ornately carved, and big enough to put two or three fingers through.

Fernela picked it up and held it in front of him at waist height. “It goes around your scrotum, above your tentacles.”

“But how is it going to go on? Oh. Oh my...” Even as he was asking, she pressed a portion of the carvings and a clasp opened on a nearly invisible hinge. In a deft motion, she parted his robe and lifted the flaccid tip of his stallionhood with a warm hand. He soon felt the cold metal against the skin of his scrotum. There was a noticeable and final click that he felt as much as heard.

She came up and looked up at him with a perky, (or was it mischievous?) expression. “All set!”

Did she give me a squeeze on the way up? This is a new side to her I haven’t seen before. He could still feel the warmth and pressure of her touch on his shaft, which was responding by sliding further out of his sheath. He tried to divert his attention before it became difficult to keep it contained with in his coat, but wasn’t helped by her knowing smirk.

“I do believe that you can be trouble.”

She chuckled. “Maybe that’s why I’m the best choice to keep you out of it tonight. I know my way around bucks like you.”

“Is that what the ring is for?” He could feel it, cold and heavy weighing down his tentacles.

She gave a short nod. “Mhm. You’ll see.” Then she went to the window and stared out into the night.

Merry Llewd

Cinny lost her footing twice before reaching the first house, only managing to right herself with a great effort of core muscles and swinging arms. Once, she had to use the head of one of the three guards that rounded out their precession. He’d staggered and nearly dropped the large covered basket he’d been tasked with carrying. This is going to be a long night if I don’t get used to this, she thought.A small crowd had gathered in the street near the first house.

Some of the husbands and wives from further along the route wanted to see how the proceedings were supposed to go. They gave Cladonia a wide berth. The gaunt doe’s intensity seemed to create a palpable exclusion zone around them.

Cladonia lead their procession up to the break in the garden wall, and then went forward to knock on the door while Cinny did her best to keep her balance. Because of the importance of setting the tone for the evening, the mare that appeared in the doorway was coached, and comfortingly familiar.

“Yes? What is it?” Chatter Lee was a gruff apparition as she flung open the door.

Clady stood her ground, holding her staff up. She shook it as she spoke, the sound of brass bells ringing in the night.

“Gwyntdwyr has blessed your house with her presence. Will you provide hospitality and tribute.”

“Why should I?”

“With your generosity, she will contain Gwyntgogle and bring order to our skies. Will you offer your husband as tribute?”

“You can’t have him, she said flatly. I’ve used him up.”

This brought a titter of laughter from the crowd. Chatter Lee’s appetites were legendary, and the idea of an exhausted and “used up” husband was a believable image. “All we have is this cider. “ She presented a steaming mug.

“Then let me offer hospitality in kind, for you both.” Cladonia pulled a flask out of her bag.

Chatter Lee moved out onto the walk, and her husband followed. He was a burly stallion, with thick forearms from his work as a blacksmith.

“Join us in toasting the night. The wind is light and the air is clear.” She took the cup from Chatter Lee and added some liquid from the flask. Then she brought it to her lips and drank before passing it back to the mare.

Chatter Lee brought it to her lips and took a swig, Her eyes went wide and she coughed. Then she released an appreciative murr. Her husband followed. After seeing his wife’s reaction, he took more care as he sipped the liquid, then drew a whistling breath. “That’s a thing,” he muttered. The doe took the cup and passed it to Cinny. “Just a sip,” she muttered under her breath, ”you’ll be having enough sips tonight.”

Before even reaching her lips, the warm vapors coming off the liquid burned at her eyes. The fire hit her tongue with a sudden ferocity, and the warmth ran to her cheeks. The spices were both familiar and unfamiliar together, containing hints of spiced cookies, and dark, ancient fens. It was both frigid and warming at the same time. After she swallowed the small sip, the warmth ran from her burning throat and chest and out to her frogs and fingertips. . She breathathed out a long “Waw.”

Chatter Lee nudged her husband’s side. Blushing and stammering, he said the words. “You’re offer of the bounties of the wind are great, and I offer myself as a tribute.”

There was a small gust of wind that ran up the street. It caught Cinny’s dress, making it billow like a sail. A murmur went through the small crowd. Some would later say that they saw the spirals on Cinny’s dress glow a blue-green for a moment.

“Your tribute is gratefully accepted. As a thanks, take this. It will bring luck and bounty upon your household. “She turned to one of the guards and reached into his basket to pull out a small citrus fruit, studded with cloves. “Place this on your door and accept the bounty that it invites upon your household.”

“That I will,” Chatter Lee said, with a wink at Cinny.

As they stepped back into the street, Clady turned toward the castle. A flash of green light shot between her massive antlers, and up into the sky.

In the Count’s study, Fern turned from the window and gave him a winning smile with no hint of the shyness he’d associated with her. “Show time, stud!”

Breaking in the Stallion

Chatter Lee gave her husband a pat on the rump as he left. “Do us proud, schnookums.” Then she set to work. She hung the pomander over the door with a bit of wire, stoked the fire, did some quick tidying, and then used her small mirror to check herself over. “This will have to do.”

The whole time, she could feel the warmth of the strange reindeer draught spreading through her. It started as a glowing knot in her belly, and then spread outward until her cheeks felt flushed, and her fingers felt strangely warm and nimble. It spread down through her legs until the frogs of her hooves felt like they were warming the flagstones beneath her with each step. But by far, the effect that dwarfed all the others, had nothing to do with how far the warmth had travelled, for the trip was quite short. The core of the heat in her belly had sent out an intense pseudopod downward to settle into her loins. The heat brought dampness and need. She let out a small moan as she waited.

Fern lead the count down the street. He felt ridiculous in his heavy, yet billowy robe. If he stepped too far, his legs would push out the robe, and the expanding space would suck in the frigid night air. It would swirl up his legs to his unprotected genitals. Its chill was retained by the large, ornately carved, brass ring the shockingly unembarrassed doe had place around his scrotum. He could never not be aware of it. It sat there, not constricting, but cold and heavy; always present.

It was the one island of resistance against the warmth. As the had left the castle, Fern had pushed a flask into his hand and commanded him to drink. “Just a sip.” A sip was all that was needed, apparently, for the burning heat was still flowing through his body. The cold was intense against his bare sheath, but did little to quell the heat that was building there. As his tip peeked, unbidden from his sheath, it would occasional rub the soft fabric that lined the cloak, only making it more aroused. He found his attention pulled to the backside of the doe in front of him. Heh. Or hind. They’re also called hinds. Seems more appropriate right now. Unlike the mares of the village her tail was little more than a tiny tuft, pointing upward. It gave him an excellent view of the curves of her hips. Hips that seemed to be swaying more than strictly necessary for walking down the street.

Eye’s front, Patagium. He quickly refocused on the mortar work of the garden walls, the small snow drifts that had managed to form against them, despite the dryness of the winter. He looked for anything to pull his attention away from the inviting curves in front of him, and his growing stallionhood, wanting to push out of the precariously fastened robe.

Fern consulted her map and looked up at the citrus above the cottage door. “This is the place. Now remember the rules.”

Count saluted. “Leave only smiles.”

She tilted her head slightly as she parsed his words. Damn, the way her antlers moved with her head were cute. “That’s right. You’re saving yourself for later, no matter how tempting it may be. The ring will help you remember.”

As if to punctuate her words, the ring was suddenly in his consciousness again, cold and hard. If anything it seemed tighter. Without looking away, Fern reached out and knocked on the door in a quick staccato. The sequence was truncated before the fourth rap when the door swung quickly away from her hand.

“Count!”

A dark pink hand reached out and pulled him inside. Fern had to step lively to not be closed in the door. Inside, the space was warm, dimly lit, and cozy, with heat radiating from a low fire, and also off the body of the voluptuous dark pink earth mare. Chatterlee had always tended toward what some of the guards referred to as “thicker than treacle in winter.” Her figure was only accentuated by her fondness for corsets. She was wearing one now, and nothing else.

“Oh hello deer. He he.” Chatter Lee giggled at the doe as she slid through the closing door. “Are you part of the festivities too?” Her voice was deep and sultry. She was already pressing her voluminous breasts against Patagium’s chest. A hand had expertly found its way through the folds of his robe and had clamped almost painfully tightly around his shaft, which immediately pushed back with swelling and stiffening.

The doe’s pupils shrank and her ears splayed. “I-I’m here to officiate. I need to make sure the Count is properly prepared for the ultimate ceremony.”

The experience was intense and unbalancing, and it gave Count a small bit of pleasure to see the doe taken off balance too. He gave a small chuckle, but it turned into a moan as Chatter Lee’s hand started to move expertly up and down his shaft. The mare looked up. Her smile was both sultry and wicked. “Oh I know. I know all about how to prepare him.”

“I suppose that’s why you were the first stop. You’re going to break me into the routine easily.”

“Ha. Nothing easy about it, my dear.” She pushed him back against the closed door and pulled at his robe until the clasps let go and he was bare from the chest down. “I don’t know what was in that potion that old witch gave me, but I sure hope she gives the recipe to the Abbess before she leaves. It is warming in all the right ways and places. Care to feel?”

She raised a hoof up to rest it on the doorknob, showing a flexibility that was surprising for someone of her Rubenesque stature. She pressed forward, and guided count’s tip against her waiting lips.

“Oh my... That is hot...”

“Mhm. Time for you to help put it out. No teasing this time. At least not from you.” She stepped back and squatted until she could rest his tip against her lips. Her tongue lolled out and circled his urethra. In a swift motion, she pushed her head forward until his shaft was deep in her throat, and her muzzle pressed into his belly. He could only gasp in response. She gave two quick bobs, and then stood, spinning around and bending forward, grinding her broad backside against him, his stallion hood resting in the crevice. She reached between her legs and guided his tip into her wet and winking pussy lips, pressing straight back. Both ponies faces formed an “O” as she slid back until her broad butt pressed against his pelvis, and her walls throbbed and clenched down on his shaft, which throbbed back.

“Oh.. Buck...” He muttered.

“You like that, County? Bet you’re already wishing you could fill that hot tunnel...” She clenched down on him to punctuate and moved up and down on his shaft, making them both pant slightly. “...but not tonight, deary. I get to be the tease tonight.”

She gestured the doe forward, reaching out and taking her hands. Using her for support, she started pushing her hips back over and over, taking the hard and throbbing shaft. Her broad, fleshy hips flexed and bounced with each impact against counts hips. The door began to rattle and bang in the frame.

Fern blushed profusely at suddenly being physically involved in this lewd display. Soon the mare was hugging her closely, panting in her ear. The mares large, soft breasts practically swallowed her small pert orbs in their warmth.

“Count is a real gentlecolt,” Chatter Lee huffed in her ear, “but he can be a horrible tease. He can hold back better than any stallion in the castle. He likes to make us mares beg. That’s what makes the thought of how pent up he’s going to be so delicious. Tonight is Revenge of the Mares, hehe, Ohhh! No fair.”

Her explanation was cut off by count grabbing her dock and taking over the thrusting. His balls swung and smacked her clit with each thrust. His stallionhood seemed to grow even more and rub her walls. She arched her back as she felt the electric tension grow within her loins.

With a sudden whim, she grabbed the doe’s face in her hands and pulled her into a kiss, tongue suddenly invading her mouth, just as the waves of pleasure ran through her body and a deep moan escaped into the other mouth.

For Fern’s part, her eyes went wide and her ears went back. Then her lids fluttered. She could still taste some of Clady’s elixir on the mares lips and tongue, along with remnants of the virile stallion’s pre and musk. She felt a blush going to her cheeks and a hint of the warmth the mare must be experiencing in her nethers.

Count was holding the mare’s dock tightly, looking down at the enticingly lewd flair of her hips as they bounced from his thrusts. His dark stallionhood was glossy with her mare juices. He could feel the familiar pull and pressure in his balls and at the base of his cock. Combined with it, however, was a new sensation. The cold ring around his scrotum refused to warm to his body temperature. Its weight made his balls swing furiously, and it felt tighter than ever. The higher his arousal, the tighter it seemed to get. If he approached the edge of ecstasy, it seemed to transition into something cold, small and incredibly dense, pulling down on his bollocks, and cutting off any hope of completion, even as Chatter Lee’s hot and tight marehood clench around him and her juices flowed freely.

Finally, Chatterlee pushed back, pressing him against the door and taking him so fully into her, that he could feel the hard nub of her cervix kissing the base of his tip. She clamped down on him tightly, and brought him to the edge. It felt like his plumbing straining to release, but no release would come.

Chatter Lee released the slightly panting doe and stood, arching her back and putting an arm up around the stallion’s neck, nuzzling into his neck. “Thank you, County. I could do this all night, but I guess I should leave some of the other mares. She slid slowly forward, until his stallionhood sprang free.

Chatterlee staggered slightly, putting a hand on Fern’s shoulder to steady herself. “I hope hubby has as good a time. I don’t envy you, watching all this and no none for yourself. You’re going to need a little something by the end of it. Feel free to stop by if you need a little help with that.” She gave a wink and stepped over to collapse in a chair by the fire, sweat glistening on her fur and breasts still heaving.

Patagium was still leaning against the door, panting and slightly wild eyed. He had yet to make it more than a pace into the cottage. His stallionhood pointed outward and slightly upward, reaching further than the rest of him had yet to come. It was bobbing with his rapid heartbeat.

“Ah- Are they all going to be like this?”

Fern stepped up next to him. “They’ll all be different, of course, but there might be a theme for the night.” She produced a flask and a small flannel cloth, tipping the flask and moistening the cloth with it’s contents. She then proceeded to wrap it around his shaft and wipe it up and down. Count stiffened at her touch and the movement of the soft cloth. The cold liquid quickly seemed to warm his sensitive skin. “Oh my....”

“Just a bit of hygiene,” she smirked up at him. “Nothing to get too excited about.” She gave a small giggle as his stallionhood throbbed in her hand and release another small dose of pre, which she teasingly wiped off his sensitive tip.

Avitaric Apotheosis and Other Annoyances

She’d already lost track of houses. Moving through the night became a blur. Sometimes Cinny would knock on the door, sometimes Cladonia. She’d forgotten about her stilts, and movement through the streets had become free and easy. It was as if she could sense every irregularity of the cobbles through her wooden appendages. The entourage of stallions joining her party had grown to over a dozen, until Clady had deputized the baker to take most of them up to the town hall to prepare.

As the stallions stumped up the hill passed her, Cinny’s nostrils flailed. She could smell each one, the musky stallionness of each on them. Each different and each uniformly cravable. The old ones, the young ones. Some thin and some fat. Unlike normal times, she could smell them, and it made her crave.

And from their looks, she could see both trepidation and craving. That only made her crave more. Her reverie was broken by the barking of a small dog. From the most recently opened door, a small dog charged out, narrowly escaping the hands of the mare who had opened the door. He ran out into the street and immediately clamped his jaws around Cinny’s ankle, just above the pads. A jolt of pain shot up her leg and she kicked out. The dog flew a short way and landed with a yip. It was up again instantly barking and snarling, but his second attack was prevented by Cladonia’s hands wrapping tightly around his barrel.

Its feet flailed at the air furiously and its growling was redirected at its captor but there was nothing it could do as it was swiftly passed back to the mare of the house and transported to a back room, where its barking was muffled and distant.

“Let’s see the damage,” Clady leaned in to inspect where the dog had bitten. Cinny lifted her foot easily, finding her balance to show the doe.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine now. The pain was mostly gone is soon as he let— Oh...” As her foot moved forward and cleared the fabric, there was an odd swooning sensation as what came into view looked like an enormous cloven hoof; clearly not her own. Then, like the drawing of a young mare, suddenly becoming a hag; or the silhouette of two ponies becoming a vase; it changed without a single line or mark shifting, and was the wooden construction she had been provided, although now with gnaw marks and a crack formed down the middle.

She was suddenly aware of the straps on her legs and wobbled. The old doe quickly stabilized her. Then with a shocking nimbleness she leapt to the crest of the garden wall. Reaching up, she took Cinny’s muzzle and pulled her face down until they were almost nose to nose. Cinny’s pink eyes were transfixed by the bottomless midnight that hid within those pupils.

“You feel that warmth inside. You hang on to that. Feel it?” The doe’s pupils seemed to flash a deep blue, like a vast ocean, lit from the depths. The warmth from the drinks had settled into a small, hungry furnace of heat, just below and behind her navel. Like a wild, angry animal being poked, as her attention touched it, it flared. The straps and trappings were forgotten. Her attention shifted to the few stallions standing by. She gave them a broad almost predatory smile, then she gestured for Clady to complete the ceremony at this house and lead her to the next.

Each of the stallions saw something slightly different looking back at them. To the cobbler’s apprentice, the princess’ already attractive proportions were ever more pronounced each time a breeze wrapped the fabric of her costume tightly around her body. She smiled down at him with a grin decorated with fangs even greater than she normally sported. The cooper, an older gentle colt, noticed the playful, mischievous shine her her eyes, and couldn’t help but envision what it would be like to be looking down into them while her lips and tongue played with his member. To the spice merchant, it was the suppleness with which she moved, the fine curve of her neck, accentuated by the painted-on spirals, which seemed to be pulsating and glowing in a lascivious way.

To a stallion, they all saw her large, split hooves protruding below the billowing fabric. And her smell! The smell of winter spices, old apples, and heat; both the heat of a forge and the heat of a mare. It drew you in and threatened to burn you, and you found that you didn’t care. They followed up the street to the next house, like ducklings after their mother.

Dew on the Fern

Fern was getting an education in bat pony anatomy. At first glance, their long wings, with their fine fingers and thin membranes, look weak and insubstantial. That was obviously not the case. The small, pink bat pony was standing on a step stool, legs locked. Her waist was bent at 90 degrees. She was being kept from toppling forward entirely by her wings, which were spread up and back.

Count had a firm grip just above the odd clawed thumb that they all sported, and was bouncing her mercilessly on his pelvis. Each time she bumped forward, the lower half of his shaft would briefly come into view before plunging home and impaling her again with a wet slap as their bodies came together. Her pert breasts bounced and clapped together with each thrust, and her tongue lolled out. He back was arched and her tongue repeated lolled out as she panted and moaned.

Without expecting it, Fern felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Clady had brought her on this expedition because of her “aptitude with such matters.” If Clady had ever been with a stud, she wasn’t letting on, and Faun, the third member of their little coven, would probably faint if one so much as kissed her.

Just a second or two won’t hurt. Her antlers lit and there was a brief moment of displacement. Suddenly, her sensations matched the mares. She was bent over, suspended by phantom limbs. A massive member was driving itself all the way up to her innermost barrier. Her vulva was being smacked repeatedly by those swinging balls, the hard, textured surface of the ring was landing on her clit.

With a shock, she broke the spell. She was suddenly back in her body. The enormous cock disappeared. Or more correctly, it was no longer inside her, but back across the room, railing that lucky bat pony. Under her dress, she could feel her own heat and moisture, had grown exponentially. What are you doing? You need to keep focused.

This was going to be a difficult night to hold in her natural tendencies and urges.

Over the Wall

They weren’t all like the first. Chatter Lee and her husband was known throughout the castle and into the village for their adventurousness, although her more than him. Just the same, all the mares were willing and ready when he arrived.

“What exactly is that old doe giving them?” The count panted leaning against a recently closed door. “We might need that recipe.”

“Herbs,” the young doe said unhelpfully. “I doubt it would work so well outside tonight. Look.” She pointed up at the sky.

The night was cold, bitterly so, but the air was still. It was the kind of dead still that you could stand naked in and barely feel the cold, letting the air around you body warm, and just slowly drift upward. The stars were out, bright and sparkling with an unnatural intensity. The only clouds were a dense bank, squatting like a cottony beast up on the peaks of the northern mountains.. “It’s still,” the count said. “Beautiful.”

“It’s waiting. This is the night of the dwyregwely. The Merry Llewd. There’s powerful wild magic at work here. It waits to see of you’re worthy of it’s gift.”

“Gift?”

“Snow, Wind. Spring.”

Count’s mind pictured The image of a long winter, The brown earth exposed like a wound. Cold dry spring that never seemed to come. Crop seeds refusing to grow. It would be a disaster. Deadly even. He Gulped and then straightened his shoulders.

“Then let’s get on with this.”

What was there to complain about, after all? He was working his way through the village, meeting mare after willing mare. Yet frustration was mounting. The cursed metal ring sat cold and heavy around his ball sack, pulling down continuously and apparently contracting with each visit. The more aroused he became, the tighter it would become, until the rising pressure would be pushed back. It was infuriating.

They stopped in front of a cottage with a colorful sign depicting a read and white spiral hanging from its eaves. “This can’t be right. It’s the candy maker’s.”

“Is that a problem?”

“She doesn’t have a husband. She has a wife. Who did she send with Cinny?”

Fern consulted her map. “Oh yes. She has a brother who was willing. The details are not critical so long as the ceremony is observed.

When he knocked, the door swung open on its own. It had been left unlatched. “In the kitchen,” came the voice. Count ducked under the low transom and stopped. The tan earth mare was on her back on one of the low tables, moaning. her legs were up until her knees were either side of her pert breasts. Her tail hung down to the floor. Her wife was on top of her, a lime green unicorn. She was equally naked, and grinding. The two mares wet and swollen labia slid and ground against each other.

The unicorn looked back with a wicked smile. “We couldn’t wait. Now get over here!” As soon as he was in arms reach she pulled him over and into a kiss. It was the wild, wanton kiss of a mare in heat and the throws of passion, all hot lips, tongue, and even the threat of teeth. Two differently sized hands wrapped around his shaft and started squeezing and pumping. Counts hands found their way down the mares back and over her rump, finding the heat and dampness they had been so industriously been building. He could slide his fingers easily between the twin pairs of wet labia.

“Silly.. That’s not what goes there.”

With no more coaxing, he positioned himself behind. The mare lifted slightly, letting him slide easily between the twin valleys. The already-built heat and wetness was a shock after the cold of the night air. His stallionhood throbbed and swelled almost painfully. The brass ring seemed to give a warning tug. “Oh, Buck...”

“What? The unicorn looked over her shoulder, flipping her golden mane. “You never fucked two mares at once before, Count?” As she spoke, she bore her weight down, compressing the space his member was trapped in even tighter.

“Hng! Not like you two,” he said playfully. His hand wrapped around her dock, and he started thrusting. He could feel the nubs of their clits bumping over his swollen ring halfway up his shaft. There was the sound of moaning, and wet, wanton kissing as the mares made out. The Count was little more than a sex toy for this pair, and that was just fine with him. The thought excited him, triggering another throb, and another tightening of the heavy, cold ring constricting his balls.

A wave of frustration swam over him. He desperately wanted to release a torrent of hot went semen onto the taught bellies of these two mares, splatter their navels, and let them continue their wanton night, stuck together by his contribution.

But the more he thought about it, the more excited he got, the tighter, heavier and colder the prawnfingled ring became. It was infuriating. If he just continued, would it eventually fail, or would it pinch off completely, emasculating him like the palace geldings he’d seen in far off lands?

With a frustrated grunt, he stopped thrusting, panting, but the two mares continued, kissing and grinding on his shaft, using it like a self heating, self lubricating, self throbbing toy between them. The green mare on top let out something like a whimper, and her body jerked as a gush of warm fluid flowed over his stallionhood.

There was a long moment of just panting. The sounds of kissing stopped. “Honey,” came the candy mare’s breathless words. “I’m ready to try it.”

The unicorn looked over her shoulder, pupils dilated, mane in disarray. “You ready to be gentle Count? There’s a pony here who needs to know the feel of a stallion’s cock.”

Count paused, leaning over to get a clear view of the cream-colored earth pony. Her nose was flushed, her ears splayed, her normally tight curls a fizzy umbra around her head. “You mean you’ve never...”

She gulped between gasped and nodded her head. “Never. Only insane mares like this one.”

“And you’re alright with this?”

She nodded. “Give it to me Count.”

The green unicorn swung off her wife, and stood beside her, taking her all in, from wet pussy to heaving, pert breasts, to her panting and slightly crazed looking visage. “You heard her Count.” She slid a hand down and spread the her creamy pussy lips to reveal the pink within.

Count needed no other encouragement. He settled his tip into the hollow of the mare’s spread pussy, moving it back and forth. The heat was intense, and he pushed forward.

“Hmm. That’s it,” the green mare spectated. “Spread those folds. You feel that sweetie? That’s a real, big stallion’s cock spreading you out.”

“Ohh. I feel it. Give me more Count.”

He obliged. His sensitivity seemed to be dialed all the way up. Each fold and ridge was discernible. It had been a while since he took in the view of a mare spreading to take him in. He started moving in slow, small thrusts.

“More!” Her hooves suddenly dug into his backside, driving him forward. He thrust deeper, and gasped at the sensation of her muscular tunnel clamping down on him. Her back arched and her juices flowed.

The green unicorn giggled and reached down to spread her juices up the rest of Count’s shaft. “Beautiful.” She looked at the doe. “Enjoying the show?”

Count glanced over just in time to see the doe quickly pulling her hand out from under her dress, fingers glistening. Her nose blushed a bright red. The air currents carried a new scent to Count’s nostrils. The scent of the doe’s juices was equally enticing but distinct enough to discern from the copious fluids from the two mares. His nostrils flared and his stallionhood throbbed painfully for release. He began thrusting hard into the mare, who responded by arching her back and letting out long guttural moans.

His thrusting continued for some time, excitement mounting, at the sight of this gorgeous mare squirming under his attention. A pair of green fingers squeezed and played with her clit at the same time, only making her groan more.

“I can’t take this any more,” the unicorn said suddenly. She hoisted herself up onto the table, straddling her mate and standing straight. She looked down and brought her marehood into direct line with Count’s muzzle. He needed no hint of what was expected, and his long, almost prehensile bat tongue soon went to work. The mares hands went through his mane and ground his face into her marehood as she moaned.

Then she suddenly pulled back, turning around. Planting her hooves on either side of the prone mare’s hips, she bent, muscular legs locked and showing an impressive flexibility. Her marehood was once again in Count’s face, and her face was inches from her mate’s. Their tongues reached and met and they kissed, moaning into each other’s mouths.

The lewd display was too much for Fern, who began to service herself again. She had no idea that tonight would be as difficult to get through. She’d heard about the lascivious nature of the ponies to the south. Now she was seeing it first hand.

Count, for his part, found the pussy in front of him to be the perfect distraction from the hot, tight marehood that was threatening to either drive him over the edge or into a life as a gelding. He focused his attention on hitting all the appropriate spots, changing order, listening to her moans to find this particular mares most sensitive points, and favorite motions. It was a poor distraction however. The smell and taste of a mare in a state of ecstasy was far too stimulating. She let out a shout muffled by her wife’s lips, and a gush of fluid hit Count’s lips and tongue.At that moment there was another round of clamping, rhythmic pressure on his tip and shaft, the familiar pressure started to build in him, combated by weight and tightness of the ring.

His balls were swinging, spanking the mares plot with each thrust. His tip was swelling, but so was the pain.

He gradually became aware of someone speaking.

“Count. You need to stop now. Count!”

“Grahhh!” He pulled out of the mare and stepped back. His breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked around wildly. Fern was standing there looking both concerned and stern. The green mare collapsed on her mate. They both looked up at him with sultry but satisfied expressions. He didn’t know what else to do but bolt from the cottage.

The cold air hit him with a shock, but did little to quell the fire. His cloak was still flung wide and his stallionhood swung from left to right with each step. This cottage’s garden wall was taller than most; almost shoulder height. He leaned against it, panting.

That was where Fern found him. His breath came out in gouts of white vapor in the cold night air. Similar curls of white were coming of the hot moisture of his stallionhood, still out, erect, and visible.

“Enjoy the show?” he said, not turning around. His voice was deeper, with eldridge overtones.

“You know I did. I can’t hide that. I know this is difficult. Trust me. I really understand.” She thought of how wet she was and how much she had started to envy each mare as she watched her being taken my this stallion. “At least you’ll be getting some release at the end of the night.”

There was a long tense moment as count turned to her, looking her up and down. Twin jets of vapor were coming from his nostrils. His stallionhood pointed at her, steaming in the moonlight. With a sudden movement, Counts hands were on her narrow waist, lifting her and pressing her back against the rough wall. His lips were on hers. She could taste the mare he had just been servicing on his lips. This wasn’t to plan. This was wrong, but the heat in her loins only increased. She could feel his stallionhood pressing against her.

Then there was a dizzying moment of acceleration. He thrust her upward in his strong arms. Her cloven hooves flailed in the right air, and she grabbed the only thing she could for balance and support, which was the top of the garden wall. The stone was could and rough against her hands. Snuffing at her musk, his muzzle probed under the hem of her dress, lifting it. Following the warmth and moisture.

His tongue played over her inner thigh, further and further, and then found her moistened folds. Her dress was bunched on his muzzle, and his eyes, grey in the moonlight, looked up to find hers with a questioning expression.

“Please,” she breathed, and then gasped as his tongue ran up the length of her slit and immediately set to running complex patterns over her clit. Almost immediately, she felt the wave of pleasure overtake her. She had been on edge for many houses, and nearly brought herself some release in the last one. Her body was ready. Her hands moved to his head, both providing balance and pushing him closer. There was something under her fingers that didn’t belong. Behind his usual mismatched horn, hidden within his mane, were two bony plates. They clung to the contours of his head, down behind his ears, and then swept outward like a pair of handlebars on a bike. They seemed to grow even as she felt them.

A chill ran through her even as her body tensed and her mouth involuntarily formed an “O” directed at the heavens. His tongue reached inside her, exploring her. She could feel her walls clenched down on the muscular appendage even as it reached further in, much further than she’d ever had a buck or a doe reach. Thoughts of comparison disappeared however, as a cold, electric pleasure ran through her and she lost herself to it.

Slowly the world came back into focus. The stallion’s breath was still hot on the soft down of her inner thighs as he lapped at her flowing juices. Then with a grunt, he put her down on wobbly legs. She looked up at him, looming over her. His priapism pressing against her belly. His hands slid down over her hips and started to lift her dress. This was it. The folk tales she had studied where come to life. She would be taken by Gwyntgogle, the north wind. She would make it her plaything. She would be mistress of the North Wind. All would cower before her, mighty pow—

“No!” she said firmly, her hands going to his wrists. “Not here. Not with me. Not right now.” A coruscating green flame seemed to lick over her antlers. A blue flash shot from her eyes. Count stepped back, looking momentarily stunned and confused. Then he straightened his back and let out a long, shuddering sigh.

“Of course. Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do. There’s nothing to be sorry about, but you must keep control of yourself for a bit more.”

He nodded. Somewhat comically, the motion made the steaming tip of his stallionhood follow bob as well, as if in agreement. “Next house then?”

“Next house,” she agreed. They started up the street, side by side.

“And...” she looked away, suddenly coy. “Thank you. I needed that. Perhaps,... when this is all over.... if the princess.”

“Yes.” He said simply. “Please!”

Arrival of the East Wind

The stallions stood around the courtyard. Barely a word was spoken. The braziers had been piled high. Radiant heat fought with the cold air. The worst of the rising wind was blocked when the large oak doors to the main street had been swung closed. They creaked at rattled as the gales rose.

There was a quiet excitement mixed with trepidation. Old Iron Gall, the town librarian, looked around and stroked his finely trimmed beard. “This is good. Everything is in order.” The smell of spices was in the air as the ceremonial wassail simmered over a fire pit. The old doe had provide sachets of mysterious collections, which now bobbed into and out of view in the hot cider. The Count had insisted that one of his best casks be broken open for the event. The cook had balked. “That’s not cooking cider!” In the end, though, the importance of the event had become clear.

Iron Gall took one last peak out the smaller door, set in the gate, grunted, and moved to the makeshift platform. Another keg was broken open and a toast offered. All had changed into ceremonial smocks: pure white, trimmed with red and green. Some had briefly balked at the requirement that they wear nothing underneath, but all had complied.

The librarian pulled out a slip of paper as he held up his cup. The crowd grew hushed. “The matron of winds approaches. She will not be contained, save by our tribute. She will be ravenous, and wanton. She will be desirous. We all know our duty, and we will fulfill it.” Then he looked closely at the paper, carefully reading the words that had been phonetically written.

Yatamay hanet tootivie siks mutta haluamay

Roo ah key too moota hemoo

Ya sitten toolian kuningas lowtah hanet

There was a gust of wind, a long wailing blast that whistled through the parapets. All the stallions looked up pensively and shivered. A loud, booming knock came on the massive oak gate doors. Silence and anticipation fell over the crowd. At a signal from the librarian, the ostler’s apprentice ran to unbolt the door. As soon as the rod was pulled back a gale swung the door open with crash and sent a swirl of mist and snow scoured from the streets into the courtyard. The braziers flared and the flames shot up in the moving air. The snow swirled into vortex column of crystals. The pillar of snowy air engulfed the platform, and rose up, growing narrower, denser and higher, until it reached above the rooftops.

Down in the street, Fern’s antlers tilted, then she looked up to see the crimson column, lit from below. Count didn’t notice. He was lost in his own mix of arousal and frustration. She just gave a small nod and moved on, confident that plans were in progress.

In the courtyard, the wind died suddenly. The snow sprinkled down over the crowd like a chilly blessing. As the flakes settled on heads, snouts and shoulders, a wave of arousal ran through the crowd. Each stallion stood a bit more erect. The cold, descending air brought a rise to the fine hairs of their pelts. It had a fragrance of an early spring, and tilled earth, and spices, and a warm hearth. Then the heat from the braziers reasserted itself. Such heat that made each of them think of their first time with a mare.

Silhouetted in the door against the glow of a rising moon was an apparition. The wind rustled the fabric, revealing the curves below. She clipped in on huge, split hooves. Spiral forms on her dress glittered and glowed.

Wordlessly, she came forward, lead by the old doe holding up the festooned staff. There was the sense of immense power, barely contained. And immense hunger. Her steps took her too the platform. Its height was such that a normal stallion, standing on the boards, would find himself face to face with this high apparition. Her slow, clopping steps took her to the cut in the platform. The Librarian watched, eyes wide, sweaty palms on the release lever.

As her front bumped the small table on the platform, he muttered a little prayer that his rigging worked and pulled hard on the lever. Sandbags fell, and the trap door swung upward banging into position. The imperious old doe slide the thick pins into place, trapping the feet of the Matron of Winds.

Cinny let out a long low growl that shook the stallion’s bowels. With surprising nimbleness, the old doe leapt onto the platform and was in front of her, holding up her staff. Cinny looked left, then right, taking in the crowd. Then, with a predatory grin, she slowly bent forward, laying her torso onto the provided support, her hands fell down to the leather shackles, and the doe quickly bound them.

Tributes

“The time for tribute is here,” The doe intoned. “You. And you.” She pointed to the librarian, and the carpenter in turn. “You shall be first to give tribute.” She beconned them up onto the stage and positioned one in front and one behind their writhing princess.

Cinny looked up at the librarian without recognition. She had a hunger in her normally pink eyes as they flashed gold. Her nostrils flared and she ran a long, muscular tongue along her lips. Unbidden, the Librarian felt his stallionhood unsheathing and pressing against his ceremonial smock. Tenting the front.

The doe produced a short, cruelly hooked knife and held it up, glinting in the firelight. “With the blade of Lo-aki, I release you to your task.” She cut the strips holding the back of the smock, then grasping the hem of his neck, pulled it down and away. The old stallion was left standing naked on the stage, his member bobbing in front of the princess.

Deep within the apparition, Cinny remained. She felt like she was riding in another’s body, sharing its sensations, but now also its cravings. The sight of the stallions tip inches away, sent a craving through her. She reached out with her tongue, just barely lashing the tip.

The old stallion needed no more encouragement than the thrill of ecstatic pleasure than ran through him at the touch of her smooth tongue. Moving forward, he let her warm lips hungrily wrap around him. She ran her tongue out and over the veins on his underside, stroking him even as she sucked hard, as if to pull him forward by suction alone. Within moments, the stallion was moaning and bucking, his hands automatically going to her head, holding her as he started to fuck her face.

The doe moved to the stallion behind, performing the same operation. His priapic stallionhood twitched with his rapid heartbeat. Throughout the room, every watching stallion felt the same sensation of hardness and stretched tissue, pressing against their smocks.

Then she moved to the princess, bringing the knife down to the base of her neck. There was a collective gasp from the crowd, then the zip of cutting fabric, as the knife travelled from neckline all the way down her back and out to the hem. The fabric fell away, revealing the princess, naked. Pendulous breasts hung down from her chest. Her tail sprang free from the confines of fabric and swung agitatedly, spreading the scent from her wet, winking and clearly heated marehood. There was a sound from the crowd: a combination of a groan and a moan and hum, and something like “ung” as dozens of stallion members strained and ached with the pressure of them.

The carpenter, wasted no time, and stepped forward. He rested the tip of his shaft into the crevice between her round and broad cheeks, pressing it down into her warmth. In response, she bucked her haunches upward, rubbing her plot against his underside enticingly. She growled around the librarian’s shaft. The message was clear. “Get on with it and fuck me!”

The carpenter placed a hand on the top of his shaft pressing it down between her butt cheeks, then pulled back, letting his tip slide down over her plot, making her give another small buck. Then his tip came to her wet pussy lips. They flexed and fluttered against him. Pressing forward, they easily opened and took his tip in. The heat was intense, and as he pushed further, she bucked, and moaned. The walls of her vagina clamped down on his shaft and spasmed and a squirt of hot liquid hit his abdomen and balls.

“My princess is eager,” he muttered. “Well, Let’s give her what she wants.” He thrust forward, hilting himself in her. There was another spasm of contractions around his shaft that threatened to drive him over the edge already.

Forward, the princess had hungrily lapped the salty-slick pre from the Librarians hard stallion hood, and then began sucking hard, probing the pulsing veins on the underside with her tongue. She thrust her head forward, taking him further into her mouth. The sensation sent warm, electric jolts to her nipples and pussy, only reenforcing the pleasure she was getting from behind. Her horn glowed and an umbra of green magic wrapped around the stallions wrists, pulling his hands forward, his body followed and she took his tip into her throat. His hands were pulled to her hard, aching nipples. They were desperate for attention, and he responded with deft and talented strokes and tweaks.

Cladonia watched both stallions with an expert eye. Soon it was clear that the Librarian couldn’t take much more of the hungry mares tight and gulping throat and lapping tongue. The telltale contraction of his swinging balls, the grit of his teeth, the tenseness of his buttocks…. She picked up the discarded smock. Cinnamon’s eyes were rolled back, her tongue lolled out under his shaft as he thrust into her throat. The stallions to either side could see the bulge of his tip moving. At the critical moment he performed the most difficult duty of the night. He pulled out.

Cinny let out a whine and her tongue reached out as he grunted and stallionhood throbbing, fired strand after strand of thick, white seed onto the proffered cloth of the smock. When he was finally done, Cladonia bunched up the wet fabric and held it up for the crowd. “The first tribute of the night.” Ceremonially, she walked to the edge of the stage, and dropped it into an open barrel, positioned to collect the tributes.

The carpenter’s time quickly approached. His fingers dug into her flanks as he gripped her thick thighs and thrust deep inside her. His tip swelled and his balls contracted. Cinnamon let out a long, deep “Oh...!” As another wave of pleasure ran through her. She could feel his approach and craved the feel of his hot cum, but at the last moment, came denial. The smock was presented and he pulled out at the last moment. He made a few more strokes with his hand to complete his transition to a moaning, clenching fountain. The soiled fabric joined the other in the barrel.

Enter the North Wind

The next several hours were a rapturous blur for Cinny. Stallion after stallion took her by her mouth and by her marehood. At one point a stallion was stopped by Cladonia, pausing with his member throbbing deep inside her. She used his smock to spread some of the copiously flowing and squirting juices up and over her plot. Soon there was the sensation of a hard, hot, and wet stallion’s tip pressing into her backside, spreading her,. With a sudden shock her anus gave and he slid in. He grabbed the base of her tail and began thrusting hard and deep.

She longed for the sensation of a stallion coming deep in her backside,the sudden jerk and the throbbing, and sense of a hot pool of cum forming just behind her dock... It was all she wanted. But again she was denied. She almost bit down on the stallion in her mouth out of frustration.

Two and even three at a time, the stallions came to her. Many she knew. She had passed them on the street or bought produce from them, or discussed important town matters with them. The embarrassment of seeing them this way, stallionhoods out, dripping pre; and then feeling them penetrating her, or tasting their delicious saltiness… it all dissolved away into something that only added to the wanton debauchery of the event.

She wanted them. She wanted all their cum, but when they came, it was in the smocks. It was frustrating, then infuriating. The soiled linens soon filled the barrel, then another on the other side of the platform. Cinny’s flowing juices started to pool on the platform and dripping through to the cobbles below. Yet her only taste was pre, and the occasional, welcome, drink of cold water offered by Cladonia to replace the copious fluids she was losing.

Some stallions, mostly younger, but many of the older as well, rejoined the line. The fucking she got from them a second time was even stronger, and longer lasting. Her pussy muscles ached deliciously from the repeated contractions around the many many stallion cocks, some smallish, some narrow, some fat and ripe for clenching around. Her backside was tingling and sensitive. And she was hungry. She had been denied at every turn. She wanted that sensation of hot cum spilling into her. Instead, the undeserving casks were getting it all.

Cinny had on of the night guards holding her ears and thrusting into her throat. She found she could control her reflexes, and also control the pressure on them. His tip was swelling, she could see his abs tensing. She looked up at him and her eyes narrowed with a predatory mischievousness, as she tightened her throat and jaw around him. Her fangs closed around his shaft and held him as his shaft started to throb. He was trapped, and she would have her first taste of cum.

“No!” An electric jolt ran through her as Cladonia’s staff struck one of her buttocks. She gasped and the young stallion pulled out. A long glistening white string of cum shot out and landed on her muzzle. She quickly lapped it up. It only fueled her desire. She wanted more! But the rest was being spilled into yet more fabric.

She let out a primal roar. It echoed around the courtyard and up to the towers of the castle. The echoes died away into a long silence. Was this the end? Would she be left in her unending hunger?

Then a bang on the door rang through the courtyard, then another. Five echoing bangs filled the space. A gust of wind came up and whistled around the castle, windows rattled, and abutments whistled. In the blast, the door flew open. Silhouetted against the light of a rising moon, stood the Count. He seemed to tower over the small antlered figure next to him. To many of the onlookers, even his silhouette had changed. A pair of horns sprang from behind his temples, curving downward and outward. His mane was disheveled, blowing upward in the wind as if by the updraft from a flame. It was longer and darker than anypony remembered it being, as was his pelt.

He stepped into the light, and another feature became evident. Entering before him, his firm priapism stood proud from his cloak. It swung left, then right, with his step. His nostrils flaired as he took in the smell of heat and sex, and if anything, his already massive errection seemed to grow. Up on the stage, his princess whimpered and strained at the frayed bonds holding her.

“I am here for you! I need!” her voice was filled with deep harmonics, and echoed through the town. All the way down in the boat house, Little Red, the coffee proprietress was singing to the children. Her eyes flicked upward toward the main square and she sang a louder to try to cover it. Each stallion of age still left in the town within earshot, from the guards at the north gate, to the baker’s apprentice, left to build the crockenbush for the next day’s feast, heard the words and felt an involuntary stirring in their loins.

Cinny could not see the Count, but she could smell him, and feel his presence. Her abused, yet still deprived and hungry marehood dripped and winked. Her nostrils flared as his musk filled the room. She strained against her bindings as his feet clopped up onto the stage. With each step, his member bounced. Small drops of pre fell from the tip. He came to a stop in front of her and there was a long pregnant pause as their eyes met. Then hers fell to his tip, just out of reach in front of her snout. It was a stallions member. A swollen ring ran around the flattened tip, the low set urethra oozed another small squirt of pre as the stallion took in the sight of his mate.

His eyes roamed back from her face, over her mane, now disheveled and damp with sweat. Her bat-like wings had come free of their bindings and were stretched and quivering in anticipation. His eyes traveled down over her muscular back, small waist, and the outward flair to her wide enticing hips.

With a smile he stepped forward. She took his tip into her mouth eagerly, sucking the salty-sweet and slick mixture from it. Her tongue lapped out and wrapped around it. She sucked hard pulling him forward, aching to take him all. Her marehood ached. Her throat felt empty. Yet he stood firm. Of all the times to tease her!

A low, straining growl came from her, the muscles on her arms and shoulders strained, and her hands shot out. The leather straps were torn free of the bolts holding them to the post, and were still around her wrists. Her hands went to his muscular hips and pulled him in with a sudden force, her fingernails digging into his hide. He came forward with a yelp, and then a moan as his tip travelled down her throat.

His hands went to her head. He held her tight as he started fucking her throat. His thumbs rubbed the cups of her ears as his tip moved repeatedly between the back of her tongue and her gullet. “Oh… Buck….” Her eyes rolled back and her tongue lapped his balls each time he throated her.

Every stallions member stirred again at the sight. Cinny lifted herself from the stave that had held her, and began to bob her head with the Count’s thrusts. Her breasts began to swing in opposition to his large, full balls. He reached forward, wrapping his fingers around the base of her wings, his thumbs digging into that spot between them that always drove her wild.

“Mmmofff!” She mouthed around his shaft, and the crowd saw a spray of mare cum arch out behind her. Some started stroking themselves at the site. Any embarrassment or shame was misplaced here after the events of the evening.

Cinny cupped and squeezed his balls. Her fingers found the ring. At the touch of the Avatar of the East Wind, the ring sprang open. It was tossed clear, falling to the platform, where it snapped closed again from the impact. It rolled to the edge and clattered to the cobbles below. It eventually rolled to a stop, spiraling with a metallic ringing town, growing higher and higher, and oscillating faster and faster until it came to a stop.

With a sudden gasp, the Count drove his shaft forward, pushing Cinny’s muzzle into his belly. His backside dimpled and his abs clenched as his scrotum contracted. Cinny’s eyes rolled back as she finally got what she had been craving. She could feel his hot cum deep in her throat. She pushed him back, and gleefully letting it fire against the roof of her mouth, onto her tongue. She gulped greedily at the thick saltiness. Finally!

The orgasm was long, and voluminous. There was so much pent up semen. As the jets eventually trailed off to a dribble, she lapped the last of it off, and pushed him back, giving his still hard member a playful nip with her fangs, before looking up at him. “Now fuck me. Hard.”

Without a word he walked around her. Coming to her hindquarters, he bent and released the buckles securing her hooves to the immobilized stilts. Her legs shot out, stretching. “Oooh. Much better.” She pointed her hooves out behind her. A few more started stroking watching her flex and move her glutes. She got up slowly and turned, stretching and twisting her spine after the long confinement, and clearly enjoying the show she was putting on for the stallions. She came in close to her Count until her large round breasts were squished against his chest. Her muzzle came up and her mouth opened just as his came down to meet her. Their tongues reached out and found each other, wrapping together, and then disappeared as their lips met for a long and passionate kiss.

Her hands came up to caress his face. Her fingers ran up into his mane. That was where they met the bony plates protruding from his scalp. She broke the kiss and looked upward as her fingers traced outward where the plates narrowed into thick, recurved, smooth horns that came down on either side of his head, swooping down, outward, and upward again to stubby tips.

“Well this is a new look for you.”

“Like it?” He smirked down at her, a hint of the goofy battiness coming through the virile apparition.

“I think I could get used to this.” Her fingers wrapped around horizontal portion of each horn. Her biceps bulged, and she hoisted herself upward. He grunted, but took her weight. Her cleavage surrounded his muzzle, and he huffed as he breathed in her musk. His tongue flicked out to taste her sweat. He reached down, around her thick thighs and directed his member upward, throbbing and waiting for her to ever so slowly lowered herself down. She let out a guttural growl as she felt the heat of his tip first part her lips. His hands went to her thick thighs, taking some of her weight as his fingers dug into her. She started to rock her hips stirring his shaft inside her, moving the tip against her walls. It was maddening.

Out in the crowd, there was a collective sound of tight appreciation at the sight of the princess’ hips rocking and flexing, and her juices started to flow down the stallions shaft.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as she lowered more, feeling his ring moving behind her clit and sending more electric jolts out to her hooves and fingertips. She continued to rock as the tension within her built, like a wave building to crash until it blocked out the sun. Finally she couldn’t take it any more and she dropped until her shaft was buried in her, his pelvis grinding her clit. Her head went back and her mouth formed an “O.” “OH BUCK ME!”

The stallion started bouncing her on him, giving her moans a staccato flavor as a wave of her juices gushed over his balls and down his legs. At last the waves subsided. Without a word, his hands moved to her small waist and lifted her up onto the platform that had previously been her prison. He slowly pulled out of her, his member springing upward as it popped free.

Consummation

Her legs went wide and she leaned back, looking down at the throbbing stallionhood before her. She looked up at him with a pleading expression and reached down to line it up again. He rubbed the tip up and down her wet lips. She cooed and whimpered, and then let out a long low moan as he finally parted her lips and slid inside. His hands found her knees and lifted and parted them. Spreading her wide for his member as he started slowly thrusting his tip in and out.

In the crowd, many more stallions found that they had started slowly stroking themselves at the wanton display. The count started stroking deeper until the ring midway around his member was bumping past her vulva and clit, eliciting more moans from both of them.

Cladonia reappeared from the background. She silently beckoned two of the stallions up onto the stage, positioning them on either side of the princess, tasked with holding her legs up and apart. Free from holding them, the Count redoubled his thrusting, huffing hot breath from his nostrils that formed steamy jets in the cold air. His hands went to her narrow waist, holding her tight as he thrust greedily.

More stallions came up. Gathering around her. With each thrust, her sensitized marehood clamped down on the member of the stallion/apparition before her. The crowd around her slowly entered her awareness. She was surrounded by stallions; by stallionhoods. She could reach out and touch any of a dozen firm, warm, pulsing shafts. All were pointing toward her, all engorged and priapic because of her. She was the center of their carnal universe. She reached out and blessed each one she could reach with a tight squeeze of her hand and few rapid strokes. She thought she could feel them grow even harder and larger with her touch, as though some form of sexual energy was flowing through her. The heat from the stallions bodies radiated off them like an inferno. Benedictions given, she pressed her breasts together, giving them a show of bending down and licking her hard, sensitive nipples with her long tongue. There were subvocalized moans and the sound of rapid fapping was like appreciative applause.

She looked up at the Count and their eyes met. He smiled at her through panting lips, and she smiled back. She would make him hers and he would make her his. This was right. This was how it should be. His hands were holder her in a bruising grip. She could feel his tip swelling against her walls with each new thrust. His speed was increased, and his balls slapped her plot as he hilted inside her, pressing against her innermost barrier. Around them, the stallion’s eyes followed the ebb and waning of the telltale bulge in her tight belly with the movement of his tip.

A wave of tightness went through both of them. He gritted his teeth. The muscles of his abdomen stood out. Cinny could feel herself tightening, her hooves curled. She reached out for something, anything to grab, and two stallions grunted as she ferociously gripped their shafts. Her head went back, and— “AH!”

Her shout was accompanied by a wave of pleasure and tension running through her body. Her pussy clamped down on the Count’s shaft as he hilted himself, and with an accompanying shout, his shaft throbbed and a forceful hot jet of cum splashed deep inside her.

FINALLY! Like a second wave of cum on top of the first, she started to quiver. She was finally being filled. The release spread through the room. Like a hot rain, globs of cum were landing on her belly, her breasts, her neck, her chin… Her vision cleared just enough to see a stallionhood just in front of her. Who it belonged to was unimportant. She reached out and pulled, taking him into her mouth just as he came with a surprised squawk. It was hot, and salty and sweet and exactly what she needed. She sucked hard and gulped it down.

The frenzy could not have lasted long, but it seemed to exist out of time. At last, panting and spent, every pony paused and took in the scene. Cinny looked down at herself, small pools of cum filled her navel. A river ran through the valley between her breast. She could feel it running down her sides and dripping to the floor. It was still warm as it clung to her. Giving her power. Further down, just below her navel, there was a noticeable bulge. Had the Count cum that much? Of course he had. This was fucking magic sex!

Inside, the pool of cum was so hot it felt like burning. The heat grew and spread throughout her body. With it came of another wave of ecstatic pleasure. “Oh, buuuu…” was all she managed as it overcame her. Her arms and head back, her eyes emitted a golden light. The semen covering her seemed to glow ivory swirling patterns and spirals. The light radiated off her. To either side of the carnal dais, there was a sudden roar. Twin pillars of blinding blue-white light shot up for the barrels and into the sky. The collecting clouds glowed with reflected light.

Absorbancy

Out in the village, life was slowly getting back to normal. Kids, and some adults, were careening down the slopes on sleds. Business owners were knocking off ice sickles as the bright sun melted some of the copious snow on their roofs. The mares and stallions of the Merry Llewd had awoken the next day feeling tired, perhaps a little sore, but also satisfied. There was an air of renewal blowing on the wind. There were greetings and salutations between neighbors as they all cleared their front walks of snow and contributed to the effort to clear the roads enough for commerce to return.

Things were quiet in the castle. There was the sense of recovery as if from a massive ball. The platform was dismantled. The braziers returned to their storage. The snow was cleared from the courtyard.

Some time later, Princess Cinnamon Music, highest ranking regent in the Clopathian mountain range, came out of the library. She was shambling, wrapped only in a blanket. Her mane looked like ospreys had used it as a nest and then abandoned it for something tidier. On seeing her, the footman quickly scurried off, and Chatter Lee quickly appeared.

“Good day, Princess. I trust you’re well rested.”

“I - I am. I think.” Her voice was a hoarse croak and she cleared her throat. “Good day? Not morning? What time is it?”

“It is half two...” she smirked. “...in the afternoon,” she added needlessly, as Cinny was shielding her eyes from the blinding sunlight coming in through the windows and bouncing off the high ceiling. It was the blinding, diffuse light that you only got with bright sun bouncing off the surrounding snow covered slopes like a giant solar collector.

The cook bustled in and pressed her “Best Princess” mug into her hands. The blessed smell of strong coffee met her nostrils and she drank gratefully.

“Ah... Thanks. You know just what I need.”

“I bet I know what you’ll be needing next. I’ve been keeping the bath water hot since yesterday morning.”

“Ahh. Thank Y-. Wait. Yesterday?”

“It’s Monday Princess. You slept through yesterday.”

“Goodness!”

Chatter Lee leaned to one side to peer behind Cinny and into the relative gloom of the library. “Another coffee, Prunella. Better make it a big one.”

The Count leaned against the doorframe, holding up a wing as a parasol against the intense glow. “And keep them coming,” he said. “Maybe take them straight up to the bath.”

Some time later, two ponies were relaxing, wet and satisfyingly clean, in either end of a large bathtub. Their recovery had been surprisingly quick, even (or especially) to them.

“Really?” Cinny said suddenly. “You’re ready for that? After all we did?”

“When you’re around, I’m always ready sweetie.” He chuckled, but pulled his hoof away from where he’d been playfully massaging her marehood.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” she said with a smile.

There was a tentative knock on the door, and with Cinny’s call, Fernela moved cautiously into the room. “I just wanted to do a quick check for any lasting effects. If you’re sure you don’t mind…”

“Of course not,” You’ve seen everything at this point. “In fact, from what Count has been telling me…” She rested her chin on the edge of the tub and looked up with a wicked smirk, raising her eyebrows.

The doe’s ears splayed and she stammered. “I.. It was…”

Cinny waved a hand. ”It wouldn’t be that big a deal even if there wasn’t massive wild magical energies at work.”

“Thank you for your understanding.”

“In fact… If I remember the full story, I think you and Count have some unfinished business…”

Her ears splayed again and the exposed flesh of her nose went bright red. Some hours later, the staff had to mop up a surprising amount of water from the floor. It turned out reindeer fur was every bit as soft and luxurious as Cinny had imagined, and it also could hold onto a great deal of water and leave an impressive trail from the bath all the way to the royal bed chambers.

Containment

The houses were interminable. They had completed their descent of High street down to the docks, and were now making their way up Market. It was a straight shot to the castle. Having the destination in plane view, but only growing incrementally larger was excruciating. Worse, another, much smaller party had rounded the bend by the docks. Periodically, the wind would shift and a gust would carry the scent of stallion musk and sex up the street. Cinny’s nostrils would flair and she would feel the warmth in her lower belly flair.

Each sip of mysterious doe’s elixir only fed the flames. With each new stallion joining the ranks, her cravings expanded. She had become intensely aware of her own wetness. The heat and wetness down there became sensitive to every movement. Each shift of the wind brushed the fabric of her loose dress across her hard and sensitive nipples, sending another jolt straight to her loins.

An unusually tall unicorn stallion came out the next cottage. While most had shown trepidation, he looked up with lustful smile. He obviously liked what he saw. With a deep murr Cinny pressed him against the wall of his cottage, burrying it his face in her cleavage. Her hand wrapped around the stubby spiral horn protruding from the center of his head, and she roughly guided his lips to a fabric covered nipple.

There was a sudden yank on her tail, hard enough to pull her back, staggering. Before she could fully right herself, Claddy was there, between her and the stallion. “Not yet, princess.” She stood with arms out, forming a barrier between Cinny and her current desire. In Cinny’s new form, the doe barely reached the base of her breasts, which had seemed to grow during the night.

The voice that came from Cinny was like her own, but deep and with an eldritch and powerful resonance. “Do you think to stop me, little deer. I NEED.”

A green and red light coruscated up over Clady’s impressive antlers. Small silent bolts of something like lightning arched between the points. A gust of wind rose and suddenly swirled around them. The doe’s hems and ribbons danced like flames and she was born upward, bringing her to Cinny’s height. The entirety of her eyes sparked the blue of a deep winter sky.

No words went between them, but their eyes were locked in what looked like a long struggle. Then, as suddenly as it started, the wind died, the lights went out. The doe dropped to the pavement like a stone, but landed lightly in a wide stance. She stood straight, and quite suddenly, she was just an old doe, walking with a stick, bent but unbroken.

Cinny was frozen save for heavy, ragged breathing. “Very well.” She said, after a long moment. Her voice retained the resonance. “Proceed.”

Snow

The light faded. The crowd stood there, not knowing what to do. All the cum, even the smocks, were gone. The ostler’s apprentice was the first to turn around. “Look!”

The Librarian hurried over to the side of the platform and looked down. Where one of the tribute barrels had been, there were only the metal rings used to hold it together, laying in a concentric pattern on the pavement. They glowed dull read and emitted the occasional ping of cooling metal.

Then every snout turned up as a new sensation reached them. It was snowing. The wind had died completely and the snow came down, thick and heavy. In the silence after the storm, the only sound was the white hiss of a million flakes landing.

In the middle of them was the royal couple. They were curled together on the small platform. There was no sign of consciousness. Snow was already collecting in their manes.

“Bring the stretchers.” Clady ordered. The two were shaken from their stupor just long enough to be helped down from the platform, though only partly under their own power. Once down, they refused to be parted. Curling together again on a single stretcher. Fern shrugged. “Twice the weight, but half the trips.”

A group of deputized group of stallions bore them into the castle. It was an odd procession. On the stretcher was a tangle of arms, legs and wings wrapped together, being carried by a group of naked stallions, their members semi flaccid, but still long and swinging.

Rather than try to navigate the stairs, they were taken into the library and set by the fire, with additional pillows and blankets. A small collection of nourishing foods and drinks were placed nearby. Then they were left there, with strict instructions not to be disturbed. They spooned together in the semi dark, the only sound was their steady breathing, the crackling of the fire, and the gentle sound of snow hitting the windows.