Noisemakers

"Safe room. Now."

That was all it took. Golden Tongue was awake.

His body moved before his mind did, compelled by the fear and urgency in his wife's voice. In a semiconscious haze he flung off the covers and tottered up, struggling to parse reality from the dream he had moments ago occupied. Automatically he stooped to pick up his nightgown; Honey Cake materialized in the slowly expanding ring of his awareness and grabbed his hand instead, yanking him none too gently toward the door. She spared only a single glance backward before all but running down the stairs with him in tow.

It was once they were on the ground floor that it registered that Golden had absolutely no idea what they were running from.

He tried to sign his confusion to his wife with his free hand, but almost tripped as she pulled him along like an overgrown toddler behind her, and in any case she wasn't even looking at him. In lieu of that, he tried to piece together that had happened last night. He was naked, and Honey was still wearing the lingerie that she pulled out on "special" occasions, which were becoming increasingly frequent now that they were trying for a baby. It was a saucy little number, black from stocking to bra with heart-shaped holes for her nipples and the matching panties long since discarded, putting her well-used ass and pussy on full display for him. It didn't send him into the state of stupefaction that it had on their wedding night, but the sight of her auburn tail swishing in front of her bare, well-rounded bottom was enough to make his semiconscious brain wonder if this wasn't some naughty game of hers. He reached out a playful hand to give her a squeeze - nope, when they reached the basement stairs she shot him a look of pure terror and pushed him in front of her. Not a game.

What had happened last night? A pleasant night in, as far as he could recall. They'd had dinner by the fireplace, chatted about his latest woodworking project, he'd led her by the hand upstairs and fucked her brains out, and they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms. If Honey had known something was coming, if there was anything she was afraid of, she'd given no sign. So what was prompting this reaction in her now?

Once they were at the bottom of the stairs, Honey Cake finally threw on a light. The basement was Golden Tongue's woodworking studio, littered with tools and half-finished projects, including a crib that he swore he would finish before the big day finally came. What's happening? he signed, only for Honey to run past him. She practically hurled a blackboard off the wall and threw open the door that it disguised. "Inside, now!" she hissed.

Some part of Golden hesitated. Not enough to make him stop. The hidden safe room was just as he'd left it, albeit a little dustier: cot-toilet-shelf and just barely enough room for two people to stand. He ran inside and pressed himself against the stone wall, fully prepared for Honey to follow. Instead, she shut the door behind him.

Stupefaction followed. In a panic he raised a hand to knock on the wall... and then lowered it. Through the thin wall he could hear Honey Cake replacing the blackboard, first throwing it on frantically, then adjusting it. She took two steps back, presumably inspecting her work, then ran for the stairs.

And then, silence. Silence and the dark.

Golden Tongue blinked. Now fully awake, a deep, gnawing terror was starting to settle in - and with it, the cold. When his grandfather had built this house, he'd clearly had sunnier days in mind. A bare body pressed against the cold stone of an autumn night was hardly what the paranoid old stallion had had in mind. Golden unpeeled himself from the wall and sat on the cot. Mercifully, this was no spring-laden prisoner's mattress, but a soft and well-built bed in miniature. He pulled the dust-coated blankets around himself, shivered, and waited.

What felt like seconds later, he heard Honey Cake's voice faintly through the wall, casual as could be. "...his workshop. He doesn't like it when I come down here, so I wouldn't know if anything's missing."

And then another voice, equally familiar but in a hauntingly different tone. "Tch. Typical stallion. Think they own everything."

A pair of hoofsteps clopped closer and closer to him. He didn't dare to breathe. "When did you see him last?" the second mare asked airily.

"A couple of nights ago," Honey answered. "He seemed pretty normal. I mean for a stallion, anyway. Boasting about his tools, drinking too much. He went out to the bar at the usual time, or at least I assumed that was where he went. Never came back."

"I see. Is there a reason you didn't report his disappearance to the authorities?"

"Why would I? I was hoping to never see him again, the bastard."

"You won't. Or if you do, it will be under very different circumstances." The hoofsteps turned away from the hidden door. "Rest assured, if Golden Tongue ever shows his face again, he'll suffer the same fate as all the others. If you're up to it, I might even let you hold the knife."

Golden's blood ran cold.

"That's a tempting offer," Honey Cake purred. "I might have to take you up on that."

"And if you keep flashing me like that, I might have to take you upstairs." They both tittered. "Maybe another time. Duty calls. A lot of wrongs to right tonight. In the meantime, if you're ever in trouble, just make some noise. Help is only seconds away."

"I appreciate it. Really. In fact, come here... one for the road?"

Hoofsteps. Silence. A self-satisfied moan. Silence. A pair ascending the stairs together. Silence. Silence.

Golden Tongue sat shivering. He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

She didn't come at dawn.

She didn't come at noon.

Light filtered in through the floorboards above, barely enough to see by. Golden lay on his back, drifting in and out of sleep, and thought.

Last night was not an impromptu act. Honey Cake had been prepared. She'd known exactly what to do, exactly how to act, exactly how to hide him. But why? And how? She'd talked about him like he were the worst kind of criminal. What did they think he'd done? What could he possibly have done? And if Honey had known about it, why hadn't she told him?

Seeking answers, he trawled backwards through time in his mind, searching for the last time Honey had lied to him.

Last night was just one night of many, and, he'd assumed, many more to come. They were both farmhands, though he was a picker and she a supervisor, assigned to a rotating crop of different farms as needs arose. But autumn had fallen early this year, the harvests were wrapping up, and he'd been spending less time assisting with wrapping up before winter and much more time on the arguably more important task of planting his seed in her. Getting Honey pregnant was the main project they'd agreed to work on before winter fell, and as other responsibilities faded away they'd been working at it day and night.

They weren't the secret-keeping types. If anything, it was abnormal how much they shared with each other. In his case, much as he disliked admitting it, it was likely because aside from her he didn't really have any other friends. Pals at work, perhaps, but none of them understood any more than the most basic of sign language, far too little to have a meaningful conversation. And as for Honey, she'd confided in him, as she confided everything else, that it was comforting being able to share her secrets with someone she knew would never reveal them.

The closest they'd come to secrets had come to light almost two years ago, on their first anniversary. She'd put on that jaw-dropping lingerie for the second time ever, fumbled around with his cock in her mouth, and shyly made a very particular request. That was when they'd had the adult version of The Talk and it came to light that they were both much kinkier than either had been letting on. He liked to choke her. She liked to be dominated. They'd both been shy about suggesting anal. After that, nothing was off the table.

The first year of their marriage had been much more vanilla. She was the strong, outgoing businessmare, he the mute, supporting husband. They were practically a caricature of the perfect Equestrian couple, and neither of them were happy about it. This had probably been best exemplified by their wedding night, when, despite her riding him until dawn had broken and their crotches were rubbed raw, neither of them had reached a climax. Not unenjoyable, but missing that special little touch that they had now. Naturally, her nosy mother had somehow found out and made a fuss about them ruining their first time, to the mortification of all.

The mind's eye rolled back further. No, their actual first time had been a year and a half before that. Barely out of high school, she'd gone out with him only because of a dare issued by a now ex-friend. Even back then, she hadn't pulled any punches, confessing the dare in the same breath that she asked about his availability, and later admitting that she was curious if the rumours were true about what he was packing in his pants. For three straight months they'd teased each other until his grandfather died and left him a house built to withstand the apocalypse on the edge of town, and finally having privacy caused the fountain of lust to erupt hard enough to give them both bruises. Every weekend for the next year they'd squirreled themselves away in there and explored each other's bodies until marriage inevitably took them and cast a temporary shade of acceptability over their lovemaking.

Before that? They'd known each other in school, but hadn't been in the same circles. She was steadily working her way up to being one of the popular girls, a position that she'd never actually achieved, while he was at the bottom of the totem pole as the weird kid who couldn't talk. They'd lived and loved and had their own first times, respectively, with the captain of the hoofball team and a girl who liked to eat chalk. (Reportedly, those two had also gotten married to each other, which may have been of interest to certain love scholars, but presently seemed neither here nor there.)

There was more, but Golden Tongue trailed off. Life before Honey Cake didn't seem worth exploring.

The day trailed on. She didn't come in the evening.

Midnight. Was it midnight? It felt like midnight. Golden Tongue chose to believe it was midnight. He was awakened by the door opening.

He cracked an eye open. Honey Cake peeked inside, then entered slowly. She carried a candle, the brightest light that he'd seen in twenty-four hours. Gone was the lingerie; in its place was a floral nightgown, and he knew her body well enough to tell that there was nothing under it. Rising from under the covers, he tilted his head toward her and let his questioning look do all the talking that was necessary.

Honey trembled. She shut the door silently and sat on the edge of the bed, refusing to meet his gaze. The candle dropped to her lap. I'm sorry, she signed.

Golden waited, but nothing more seemed to be forthcoming. Why? he signed back. He had other questions, but they were all encapsulated by the one word anyway.

Mares. She trailed off. Slowly, she rose again, putting the candle on the floor, then took a step and sat again, this time right by Golden's side. Instinctively he put an arm around her, shuffling to pull her further into bed. She leaned on his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you. And I'm never going to stop loving you. Okay?"

His response was automatic, but genuine. He traced his free hand up her leg, under her gown, and drew a heart on her thigh. She laughed a desperate, sobbing laugh and clung to him tightly. "They've all gone crazy," she whispered. "Everyone in town. Maybe everyone in Equestria. Something's... something's wrong."

He drew a question mark.

"The mares. They think... they think you're a rapist, Golden. They think you've been raping me. They think all stallions are rapists. So they've been gathering them up, and cutting off their..." She shook. "I won't let them do that to you. I won't."

He blinked, slowly. A sickening dread crept up over him. They thought he was... no. Never. But more than that, he thought of the stallions he knew. He thought of the mares he knew. The very idea of one attacking the other - of brutalizing the other - of being turned into-

He drew a frowning face. It didn't seem sufficient.

"So I'm going to keep you here, okay?" Tears fell onto his shoulder. "We can't make noise. And I can't visit when it's light out. They're watching the house, in case you come back. But I'll come as often as I can, and bring you everything you need to keep you safe and happy, okay?"

With shaking fingers, he started to draw a check mark. She grabbed his hand and slid it up further, until his fingertips were brushing the edge of her pussy. "Everything," she said. "That's a promise."

A mote of confusion was edged out by the sharp growling of his stomach. "Oh... starting with that. Is there no food in here?"

Regretfully, Golden withdrew his arm. Just water, he signed. Everything else is expired.

"Then I'll bring you a feast, as soon as I'm able. And better blankets, and books to read. It'll be your own private cave away from the world. Doesn't that sound nice?"

There was desperation in her voice. Golden nodded vaguely. Despite having had all day for it to sink in, the reality of his situation was only slowly worming its way into his head. "I'll be back soon," Honey whispered. "Until then..." She reached around him and pulled him into a deep kiss. "Be strong."

She stood and picked up the candle. Almost too late, Golden leaned forward and touched her wrist as she turned to leave. How did you know? he signed at her.

She stared back at him, a kind of horror written into her eyes. "It's better if you don't know," she said quickly, then backed out of the room and shut the door.

When Golden Tongue next awoke, there was a basket of vegetables at the foot of his bed.

After gorging himself, he set about exploring his confines. The previous day, he'd been paralyzed by sleeplessness and terror during his waking hours. Now, it was finally starting to sink in that he was in this for the long haul. He still held out hope that, whatever was going on out there, some brave party of heroes would find a way to fix it within the next few days. But, on the slim chance that that didn't happen, he needed to be prepared to hold out for longer. Possibly a lot longer.

Already, he missed Honey Cake. It had been a long time, possibly years, since he'd woken up without her sprawled over him in a state of undress. The closeness of her warm body was the perfect way to start the day, either with a quickie before breakfast to perk them up or, if they had the time, teasing each other awake with rubs and kisses before he would roll over and sink softly inside of her...

He shook his head. Couldn't focus on that now. His world had shrunk, become cold and hard, and he would have to adapt to it or go mad. New routines, new focuses, new ways of occupying himself were required. It was, he glumly supposed, going to be pretty miserable. Ponies were social animals by nature, and going without seeing anyone for prolonged stretches would wear on him pretty fast. Still, the promise of seeing his wife again soon gave him hope. And whatever happened, it couldn't be worse than the consequences of going outside. There was, after all, a big difference between solitary confinement and being imprisoned.

In place of his usual morning "exercises" with Honey Cake, he satisfied himself with a series of push-ups, sit-ups, and jogs in place. Honey was a big fan of his physique, and while she was doing her part to protect him, he would do his to make sure he didn't go to waste. That ate up about half an hour. After that, he made an inventory of everything on the shelves above the bed. Mostly it was cans, all of which had passed their best-before date a decade ago - not, he noted, that he had any means of opening them.

There were also five books of varying thicknesses. Two were almanacs from years gone by, even their predictions for years to come long since passed. The third was written by his grandfather, a massive tome filled with information (but mostly misinformation) about how to survive the end of the world. Golden had read another copy in his teens and come away with an awkward phase where he saw danger around every corner and was certain that diamonds would be a solid investment when society came crumbling down. Ironically, he mused, now that mares had taken over he might actually have been on to something. It was a shame that of all the scenarios that his grandfather had predicted, this hadn't been one of them.

The final two books were of much greater interest to him. The first was a weighty graphic novel of some kind - emphasis on graphic, going by how much cleavage the mare on the front cover was showing. He flipped open a few pages... yep, there she was, already getting double-teamed. Porn. It wasn't his usual choice of reading material, but maybe it would make the long days away from Honey Cake more bearable. A few of the pages were stuck together, which he tried very hard not to think about.

The fifth book was the most promising of all. It was an adventure novel, promising excitement, thrills, and a journey into a faraway land. When he picked it up, however, it sloshed. It didn't take long to see why. Someone had glued the pages into a solid mass and cut out their middles - the perfect place to hide a mostly-full bottle of deep amber whiskey. Disappointment mingled with excitement as Golden turned the bottle over. This, he knew, he would be saving for a special occasion. Maybe he would open it when he finally got out.

And that was it. There was nothing else to explore.

With an almost inaudible groan, he sank back onto the bed. This was going to suck. He'd need some kind of hobby if he was to survive - perhaps Honey Cake could sneak him down some drawing or writing supplies. Although... surely no one would mind if he snuck out into the basement and carried on his woodworking?

He chewed his lip. No. If the house was being watched, or especially if someone was in the house without his knowing, there was no way he could carry on his work without being overheard. Besides, there wasn't even a way to open the door without knocking down the blackboard. Better to stay secret. Better to stay safe. At least until the boredom got the best of him. And until then...

He reached up and felt around for a book. Grasping the first one he touched, he pulled it down. It was an almanac. Groaning in resignation, he started to read.

Midnight. Midnight? In some indeterminable way, it felt like midnight.

This time, he was fully awake. He'd spent the day drifting in and out of sleep, alternating between reading and exercising during his waking hours. So far he'd tricked his brain into thinking this was just another lazy day, anything to stave off restlessness. But in the end, it was the promise of seeing Honey Cake again that had gotten him through. After the unbearable wait, he needed this. He needed her.

He was not disappointed. In the still silence familiar hoofsteps descended the stairs. The blackboard shifted. The door opened. There was no candle this time; they were in complete blackness. For an instant he doubted it was her until a reaching hand brushed against his bare chest and she fell into his arms. "I missed you," Honey Cake whispered.

He squeezed her ass through her nightgown by way of response. She giggled. "I brought more food," she said. "And a book. I'm sorry if it's not enough. I can't move things around too much or my guests might notice. They're always coming round."

Her tone turned soft. "They really care," she continued. "That's almost the most frightening part. They really want me to be safe from you. They're doing everything they can to make sure I'm never alone 'in this difficult time'." She shuddered. "Tomorrow we're burning your clothes. It's supposed to by symbolic, or something. I'm sorry. I don't know if I'll be able to save anything for you."

Don't apologize, he wanted to sign to her. This isn't your fault. In the darkness, all he could do was kiss her instead. She moaned softly into his mouth, and together they sank down onto the bed, Honey shedding her gown as they went.

Naked, together, they pulled roughly at each other, as though they were both trying to crush their bodies into one. As one their hands went lower, grinding each part of her deliciously soft body into his hard one. And hard he was - already at half-mast from anticipation, his stallionhood quickly grew to its full length and nestled between Honey's thighs. She rode him gently, smearing drops of wetness from her pussy onto the top of his cock, gasping with anticipation. In a single motion he rolled them over until he was on top of her and raised up his hips, changing the angle for that final stroke of much-needed penetration.

But instead of sliding inside of his wife, the blunt head of his cock met the barrier of the back of her hand. "We can't," she whispered.

Animalistically, he snorted at her. She grasped the middle of his length and pulled him closer, pressing it against her navel. "I want it," she said. "I want it so much that I can't bear it. And I know you want me just the same. But if I make noise, if I scream, they'll kill us both. And I... I can't take that risk. I'm not strong enough." Even so, she ground her hips against him, the hood of her fully-engorged pussy making itself known near his base. "Oh Celestia, I want this big fucking cock inside me so bad," she moaned.

Golden clenched his teeth. He knew that what she was saying made sense - their lovemaking wasn't exactly quiet - but the thinking parts of his brain weren't in full force. It would be so easy to grab her wrists, hold her down, pin her just the way she loved to be pinned, and rut this sexy mare. To fuck her like she wanted to be fucked. To breed her as she screamed for more, and more, and more...

"But I can do this for you." She put a calming hand to his cheek. "And maybe it can be enough for both of us. Roll over."

It was hard to do so, in the confined space, only some shuffling keeping him from falling off the bed as he flipped onto his back. It was harder still for her to turn around, bumping and sliding against the cold stone wall. But it was worth it. His nostrils flared as Honey's ass lowered itself towards his face, and his pre-dripping prick stood painfully hard as her lips brushed against his tip. Honey Cake mumbled something lusty and inaudible and they both, on a mutually understood signal, opened their mouths wide.

Golden Tongue was a family name. It hadn't been meant ironically, and, once it had become clear that he was never going to master the art of speech, he'd been given several opportunities to change it. Some gut feeling had caused him to stick it out, and, after eventually meeting Honey Cake, he'd gained a newfound appreciation for it. Honey bragged to her confused friends about his oratory skills; she slyly referred to it as his third special talent. For, although he'd never gained the gift of the gab, it had soon become abundantly clear to them both that Golden Tongue was exceptionally skilled with his mouth.

"Ghmmmmf!" Honey belted out as he drew circles around her clit, her throat safely plugged by his second special talent. Golden had little idea of how he stacked up to other stallions below the belt, but Honey had wasted no time filling him in: He was packing a monster. One of her favourite games early in their relationship had been to hold up her forearm next to it to marvel at its length and girth, and even now, whether he was slamming into her ass, throat, or pussy, it was enough to test if not outright break her considerable limits. Cock worship was one of the foundations of their relationship, to the extent that Honey sometimes claimed she could orgasm from sucking his prick alone - not that Golden would ever let her go without help in that regard.

After a day apart from each other, both were out in full force. Honey Cake spat and drooled around the obscene girth stuffing her plump lips, letting out snorts for air and muffled whinnies of appreciation. In the pitch black Golden could visualize her easily, lips concave from sucking and her eyes rolled back in pleasure. But inevitably, he took control. One hand slid down her back to grip firmly at the round softness of her ass, while the other planted itself on the back of her head. She instantly relented to him. At first he guided her gently back and forth, enjoying the smooth suck-strokes along his pole - then without warning slammed her down and sliced his tongue across the entire length of her gushing cunt. A strangled noise reverberated along the walls; unable to scream, she squirmed against him while he ate her out with gusto, bringing her almost to the peak before relenting and drawing her up for breath.

They went like this for several rounds - rising and falling like tides, alternating between gentle caresses and cock-muffled ecstasy. At the start of the third time, he began running a fingertip around the ring of her asshole; by the end of the fifth, she was clenching hard around two fingers stuffed inside her up to the second knuckle. She was getting close, he knew from the way her legs were beginning to tremble. One more assault was all it would take.

So it was a surprise to him when Honey struggled against him, lifting her hindquarters away from his face. In confusion he let her go, and she swiftly popped off of his cock, lines of spit still connecting his tip to her lips. "No!" she gasped out, struggling for air. "No. No. We can't."

Mute disappointment filled the air. "I can't," she corrected. "Sweetie, you're too good at this. If you make me cum now, not even this-" She lovingly stroked his cockhead. "-is gonna be enough to keep me quiet." She sighed deeply. "Fuck. Fuck!"

He felt her looking back at him over her shoulder. "I refuse to leave you blue-balled. You've been trapped in here all day. You deserve better. So use my face, okay? Just..." Regret and despair filled her voice as she forced out the unnatural words. "Just don't touch anything back there. Tonight's about you."

There was a part of him, deep down, that wanted to refuse. They were a couple. A team. They should bear this burden together. Whatever part that was, though, was buried under a mountain of pent-up desire. All too eagerly both hands found their way back to Honey's mane, and she purred as he smeared his spit- and pre-covered cockhead across her face. Then in a single gulp she swallowed his length, tongue lapping for even more.

Her sweet-smelling pussy was tantalizingly close. But he couldn't focus on that. Now, all of Golden's attention was on using his wife's throat to give himself pleasure. She swallowed repeatedly, convulsing around him, while her lips glided up and down around his midsection, closer and closer to the base. Like the well-trained mare that she was, she stroked with both hands at the parts of his cock that her mouth didn't reach, only breaking away to heft his fat, cum-bloated nuts in her palm.

It wasn't enough. He lifted his hips and thrust up into her, replacing her gentle caresses with a solid facefucking. His hips clapped her muzzle, his rock-hard cock pulsing all the way down her bulging throat. All the while she sucked like a queen, totally dedicated to being a toy for his enjoyment, still where he held her but otherwise squirming with pleasure and desire. Her hot body rocked against his own. Heat blossomed around his crotch, building, building as he fucked her faster and faster, until the boundary of inevitability was crossed like the dropping of a stone, and-

A rare sound passed through his lips, a nearly-silent sighing croak of release. It was deceptively short. Unbridled relief flooded him as a seemingly never-ending river of cum flowed up and out of his cock, only to be greedily gulped down by Honey Cake. With practiced ease he slowly, slowly slid her up on his cock, wringing himself out further, and depositing the last few mouthfuls directly onto her tongue. She moaned in delight, suckling on his cockhead well past the last drop.

Spent, Golden Tongue flopped down onto the bed. He lovingly caressed Honey Cake, tracing her curves from her shoulders all the way down to her thighs. As his softening shaft popped out of her mouth, she let out a happy sigh of her own. "I love you," she whispered, and kissed his cock.

In answer, he drew a heart on the expanse of her ass and placed an ironically chaste kiss on her clit. This sparked a bemused "Oooh!" and an even sloppier kiss from her. For a time they simply lay there, lazily making out with each other's intimate parts.

Breaking apart was difficult, but necessary. Any longer and he would be hard again, and the desire to turn her around and make her cum would be overpowering. They stood together in the dark, fumblingly collecting Honey Cake's nightgown from beneath their hooves. "Every night," she promised him. "I won't let you go a single night without me. It's going to be okay."

With a final, farewell fondle, they parted. "I'll be back tomorrow," Honey Cake said. "For another midnight snack." Then she closed the door.

Golden Tongue stood there in the dark for a while. He only haltingly returned to bed. Fulfilled as his body felt, he was achingly aware that for the first time in a long, long time he'd ended the night with an unsatisfied wife. Maybe his own pleasure would be enough? It didn't feel right. But then, nothing about this situation felt right.

It was only then that he realized he'd forgotten to ask for extra paper.