Town Bicycle Day

by darf

Rating: mature
Tags: Porn, Sex, Fetish, Profanity, DJ P0N-3, Narcotics, Anthro, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Other
Length: 2749

Vinyl Scratch lounges around her apartment and gets fucked in the ass while she does drugs. FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY.

The act of necessitating a long description in addition to a short description fills us with rage from an indiscernible source.

Vinyl Scratch has drug-sex. And low self-esteem.

This is what the world has created in us.

Content Warning: drug use, anal, free use, kind of existentially draining/trippy, that weird skin thing we have

If you enjoy our writing, you can support us on Patreon. Or commission us. We're very busy right now, but we're always open to discussing potential projects.

Big thanks to our current patrons: Sorden, carcinoGenetecist, Jake, David Griffin, infernap42, and Nick. Y'all are awesome. <3

Published 2020-05-28 23:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-05-28 23:20:01 UTC

Gimme that El-Es-DEEEEEEE

It's late. 2:48AM, when 'late' cycles over into 'early' again. There is the mythical space between, at convenience stores staffed by a single pony behind a bullet-proof glass screen, in the twenty-four-hour coffee place, each table an island with blossoming tendrils underneath the surface of the flecked linoleum water.

Vinyl Scratch is lying on her bed, mostly naked. She feels a particular animosity to the word 'lying', has never understood the uncomfortable overlap of meanings and usages. Laying, lying, sprawled out all over. She's wearing a pair of bright red boxer shorts tight around her cream-white butt, a hint of cameltoe peeking between her legs as she dangles one over the side of the bed—but nothing else. Her breasts are bare, occasionally pressing against the scattered bedspread. Her mane is toussled, and her breath smells of oranges, chewed toast, and sour backwash. She coughs, and turns around a little, presenting her butt better at the edge of the bed and burying her face in one of the pillows that's wound up underneath her head.

Her right hand is roaming around her body. Fingers searching over fur and skin, passing over the most miniature bumps and protrusions in search of a more rewarding goal. Finally, maybe out of desperation, she finds a version of what she's looking for—a rough, dry patch of skin on her foot. That is to say, both her feet are rough, and dry, and frayed around the edges like someone's trimmed the skin with a pair of fabric scissors. That's where her fingers find the crack—what begins as a tiny fleck parts under her fingers, a flesh ocean moved nick by nick until the patch she's dislodged is as big as her fingernail. She digs further, deeper, scratching at the sandpapery spot and shedding tiny fragments of skin over her bedsheets. The main piece moves slowly, creeping in miniature waves, until she could grab a hold of it, and then pull, and then yank, until she was really fully and completely yanking off a strip of her own skin, that feels like the bark of a tree, that feels like an old layer of paint atop an aging grandfather clock. That feels like scraping off her face, from the surface down.

The piece that she rips off isn't much larger than a quarter. It feels like a new foot is already growing in its place. She savours the hard, shell-like exterior of the edges and heel—the deep, sinewy cushion of the parts that fold and crinkle the most. Those ones would come out soft sometimes, amongst handfuls of blood and a ringing sear between the toes that made it hard to walk properly for days. She would refuse to wash her hands afterwards, savouring the red tinge that got darkest underneath her fingernails.

She's staring at it between her fingers when she hears the door open. Doesn't consider twice hiding the thing or making it less obvious what she had been doing. Her chest feels tight and hot, and her head feels dumb and swirly, embarrassed and exposed like a toddler caught sucking their thumb. The footsteps in the hallway darken the depths of the black flame burning inside her. The steady, certain approach of another living thing fills her with hot, lustful shame.

He knocks, at least. The door is open, and still he knocks.

"Come in," Vinyl says, her tongue as dry in her mouth as the skin is on her foot. "It's open."

"Just wanted to make sure you were conscious," the stallion says. He's tall, almost as tall as Vinyl's doorway, he ducks a little on his way into her bedroom—a pegasus, brown fur, silver-white mane, and a cloud-oriented cutie mark she doesn't recognize. The cutie mark is usually the easiest to remember them by... but a lot of them have started to blur together these days.

"Wouldn't have bothered me if I wasn't," Vinyl says. "Just make sure to shoot it somewhere I can enjoy afterwards." Vinyl wiggles her booty under her boxers. "Nothing like waking up with a mouth or faceful of sticky cum." She giggles.

"You want me to eat you out or anything?" the stallion asks. He's already taking off his clothes, tossing his jeans and t-shirt onto the bedside table, littered with empty pill-packets and a half-full glass of water. He gets up on to the bed, leisurely, and puts a hand on Vinyl's ass. Starts squeezing her, one cheek, then the other, drawing out low moans muffled by her pillow.

"Naw," Vinyl says. She reaches back and pulls her boxers down halfway until just a hint of her slippery vag is peeking out between her legs. Her ass is on full display, and it jiggles as she bounces it up and down in front of the stallion's face. "Just stick it in. Ooh! But before you do, do you have any—"

"Never leave home without 'em," he says, reaching over to his jeans and rummaging through the pocket. "Not when I'm coming to see you, at least. Here." He tosses a small, plastic packet over to Vinyl, about the size of a pack of chewing gum, translucent with something white in the center.

Vinyl's eyes light up like a wolf's at midnight, and she rips the pack open at the top, almost greedily, smelling the air and savouring the ripe nothing that emanates from the white, paper square.

"Oh yeah," she says, and pops half the sheet into her mouth. "That's the good stuff."

"You wanna wait for it to kick in?"

"Nah." Vinyl turns around, her shorts still half-off, her butt now tilted towards the window, while her head is level with the stallion's mostly flaccid, but still impressively-sized penis.

She takes the head into her mouth and sucks it playfully, like a kid with a lolly, wrapping her tongue in circles and lapping at the tip, making the stallion groan back in a mimicry of Vinyl's earlier butt-massage performance. After only maybe half a minute of sucking, Vinyl pops the head out of her mouth, drooling spit down her chin, and grins up at the stallion.

"Bet I can blow you without swallowing my tabs," she says.

"You're on. I'll smoke you up before we fuck if you can."

"Deal. Tell me when you're gonna cum."

"I remember the rules," the stallion says. He puts his hand on the back of Vinyl's head almost instinctively, sliding his fingers through her mane and resting firmly, but not aggressively, as she moves forward and begins to take the length of the stallion's cock into her mouth.

"Mhmm," Vinyl murmurs around the shaft, then pulls her head back again with a satisfied-sounding ahhh. "That's good. You gonna get nice and hard for me?"

"If you keep sucking me like that I will." The stallion runs his hand through Vinyl's mane and groans as she goes in for another dive. This time, she gets far down enough that her lips are almost pressed against the base of his cock, and her horn is just barely poking him in the stomach. It's not unpleasant, just like a hand resting there while she slurps around the length of his dick, making little 'mmmhm' noises to herself and rocking her hips back and forth.

True to his word, it doesn't take the stallion long to get hard. At full-size, he barely fits in Vinyl's mouth, she has to put the back of her throat to good use. She's no stranger to sucking cock, but she catches herself gagging a little as the head pokes her sharply. Still, she can't help but going down all the way, murmuring and licking and tonguing the stallion's balls as fiercely as she's swallowing his dick. She catches herself wanting to slam her hips down into the bed and start grinding, pillow between her legs, like she did when she was a filly and had nothing better to put there.

It seems like, if she wanted to, Vinyl could make the stallion cum. She could keep sucking him, bobbing her head up and down on his cock and massaging his nuts and eventually squeezing a big fat load out of him. But she's already dreaming about her pussy being filled up, and that's only the start of where the tangled tapestry in her head is leading. She wants him to yank down her shorts and plow her until she's a fixture on the headboard. Maybe the tabs are starting to kick in a bit—a voice in her head says 'we wanna fuck his brain'. Another one says 'what's his name?' Vinyl doesn't care for that last one.

Vinyl pulls off the stallions cock with as much gratuitous slurping and slobbering as she can manage, leaving a virtual torrent of spit cascading down his shaft and dripping down his balls onto the bedspread. A thin line of spit remains connecting Vinyl's lips to the head of the stallion's cock, and she giggles before she licks her lips, breaking it like fine gossamer1.

She turns around, and waggles her juicy booty in the stallion's face.

"Wanna put it in?" she asks, her head turned over her shoulder, tongue hanging playfully out the corner of her mouth.

"Hell yeah," he says, already getting into position. He takes his cock in his hand and lines it up from a few inches away. "Which hole do you want it in?"

"Surprise me," Vinyl says. "Oh yeah—" she sticks out her tongue, and all six pieces of tiny serrated paper are still there.

"Fuck," he says. "I didn't cum, but that's still quite a trick. Do you still want me to smoke you up?"

"Only if you can do it while you're fucking me. I'm getting antsy over here." Vinyl reaches between her legs and above her pulled down boxer shorts and spreads her pussy apart with two fingers. She's soaking wet, and the sheen of moisture dripping from her slit glistens under the fluorescent apartment lighting.

"One sec," the stallion says. "I can totally do that."

He jumps up from the bed and grabs his jeans again, rifles through the pockets until he produces a small wooden pipe and a tiny baggy of green herb.

"You'll have to hand-pick it," he says. "Unless you have a grinder handy."

"Whatever," Vinyl says. "Just put that pipe in one end of me and put your pipe in the other end." She waggles her butt again, and slaps her right butt-cheek loudly for good measure. "And use lube if you're gonna butt-fuck me. There's some in the top drawer of the night-stand."

"Brought my own anyway," the stallion says. He's picking apart the tiny green flowers with his fingers and putting them into the bowl of the pipe. Then he hands it to Vinyl, who puts it in her mouth, and waits for the light, uninterested in doing it herself. The stallion does his job, flicks the flame into the flower, and in seconds, Vinyl is inhaling and exhaling a spiral ring of smoke that blossoms and spreads out through the dingy lighting like particles of fine crystal scattered into the air.

"Mhm," Vinyl says between puffs. The bowl is glowing red hot, turning into white ash at the edges, and Vinyl takes a deep toke, pulling the smoke far into her lungs, before she lets it out again. "This is good. Tastes kinda citrusy."

"It's always either that or earthy," the stallion says. He's lubing up his cock with a healthy helping of warming lube, the kind Vinyl says she likes and that he has to go to a certain pharmacy to buy. It's orange and smells like mangoes.

Then his cock is lined up with Vinyl's ass. He puts the shaft between her two bulbous cheeks and slides it back and forth, matching the sound of Vinyl's smoking with the slick, slippery noises of his cock between Vinyl's well-lubed ass. He squirts a bit of the lube between Vinyl's cheeks for good measure, and rubs it in, eliciting a low, throaty moan directly from Vinyl at the movement of his fingers.

"Ooh," she says, not bothering to turn her head, now puffing down the last of the first bowl and getting ready to finger-pick herself a second. "You gonna get me all slippery and then stick it in my butt?"

"That's the plan," the stallion says. He's taking his sweet time with the preparation, languishing and drinking in the sight of his shaft sliding between Vinyl's cheeks. Her butt bobbles and bounces out like a beach-ball, it's two perfectly-carved halves of the same sphere. The stallion savours the hot-dogging for a few more thrusts before finally grabbing his cock and pushing the head down until it's lined up with Vinyl's tight, puckered butthole. He puts his other hand on Vinyl's back, steadies her there as he begins to move his hips forward and the head of his prick pops inside.

"Mhmmm, I love a good butt-fucking," Vinyl says. She waggles her hips back and forth, clenching her butt and squeezing the head of the stallion's cock to an accompanying long groan. "Can't wait for you to shoot it in my ass... I bet you've got a big, sticky load for me, don't'cha?"

"It's been a few days," the stallion admits. He's pushing further in, gritting his teeth to bare the pleasure as he slides inch-by-inch into Vinyl's tight, hot butt.

Her ass won't stop bouncing at him, she won't stop moving her hips up and down and side to side, she's forgotten about her second bowl entirely and seems just fixated on maintaining her jiggle-butt as the stallion does his best to get his cock all the way inside her.

Vinyl has her eyes open, but they are't looking at anything in her room. When she closes them, the dark, familiar space is replaced with an endless interaction of lights, none of which hold a colour she can recognize or identify. Her hand clenches a fistful of blanket, and it feels like liquid. She wonders if somepony could cry through their skin.

"Do you like my butt," she hears herself say, a body in a room somewhere her brain is located. "Do you wanna bust a nut in my big fat butt?"

The stallion just groans. His dirty-talk library is woefully incomplete, and his insufficiency exposed. He compensates by thrusting harder, faster, an irreplaceable motion founded on muscle groups and the expending of calories over time.

"Gonna cum," Vinyl says, heard, says heardself. She loves when mares would say it, the way they'd lose focus and control and their voice detaches from their bodies so significantly and purely and yes, that, and also, true. She loves the way they break apart, the way the hand of Celestia reaches down to rip them into shreds, the way their body shakes and seizes and the lightning tingles through their nerves and the great relief washing over and yes, please, that's the only time she ever remembers to

breathe. Gonna cum, gonna cum, gotta let him know so he can have the feeling, he can hear it, gonna "cum, gonna cum, gonna—"

The stallion heaves and his voice plummets, Vinyl remembers cave-paintings and the sensation of fire as the most important thing in the world. The stallion grunts, and groans, and slaps Vinyl's ass, as he fills up her butt with his cum, his balls twitching, clutching up against his pelvis as they help his prostate squeeze cupfuls of rich, sticky semen into Vinyl's impregnable ass. Evolution frowns somewhere, but concedes after a while that it designed anal sex in the first place. Maelstrom.

"I'm cumming," Vinyl says, as her body is cumming. She lets the sensation work over her, and warp the edges of her understanding. "I'm gonna cum." She's already cumming, has already cum. She's cumming with some stallion's cock up her ass. That's just right now. What is tomorrow?

"Me too," the stallion says. He's cumming, that thing stallions do when you rub their cock enough. That thing anyone does when they're near death.

Vinyl hates writing poetry.

After fucking, he can't get a sensible conversation out of her. She just keeps going on about the words for numbers, and what they were a long time ago. He leaves her like that, ass still out, dripping with his cum.

Author's Note

1: Yes, we found a legitimate instance for a usage of 'gossamer'. Maybe. - Ed.