Leotards

Five small fillies stood in a row under warm studio lighting, their backs to a long wall-length mirror and a single bar for balancing. Before them, a wide-open floor with rubber mats to cushion falls, with few objects to get in the way, save for the odd table and chair against a far wall. No windows, but there was a single door, its backwards lettering through the glass reading ‘Ponyville Dance Studio’.

Each of the five were dressed in their proper attire. Leotards all, black leggings covering their hind legs, and pink shoes on their back two hooves. Tails were wrapped up in buns with small bows and ribbons, or cut short. Bands of stretchy fabric adorned either forehoof.

They chatted amongst themselves over the quiet drum of music playing at a low volume from the stereo in the corner. An old classical tune, one they didn’t recognize. Their instructor walked out, adjusted his own tight-fitting dance outfit, and as he gazed along the sets of eyes the voices fell silent and peered back with rapt attention.

It was hard to pinpoint how exactly he’d found himself in this position. Many moons ago, he’d stumbled upon the dance studio tucked behind his favorite café when he’d had a rare sweet tooth for pastries on a summer’s evening, and had seen the students leaving one after the other in their adorable, tight little uniforms, some of them smaller than they ought to be and tighter in all the right places, accentuated by tucked up and accidentally lifted tails. He’d visited that café around that time every opportunity he could after that, just to catch a glimpse of those views. He’d watch their little rears as they bounded away down the street in pairs and groups, trotting home with their friends. Something about those leotards and tucked-up tails, despite ponykind’s inherent nakedness, really fueled his imagination.

It had naturally happened that he’d run into their teacher from the studio, too. A younger mare around his age, she, too would stop at the café before heading home after class. After a while he struck up a conversation, for appearances and out of boredom, and they’d come to know each other through friendly chit-chat. He told her he’d taken classes when he was a colt, his mother had made him, and he’d never forgotten. She shared she’d been looking for a substitute so she could take time off.

Here he was, mere weeks after that fateful conversation, in a room alone with those fillies who he’d so daydreamed about. He played a tough game at first, turning down her proposal and showing reluctance, but in the end he’d let the mare win.

It’s just for a couple of weeks. They’re a bunch of little angels, I promise. They practically know their routines, you just need to guide them a little and be there to supervise. It’ll be a piece of cake!

Five sets of eyes peered up at him expectantly, waiting for his instruction and go-ahead. He’d nearly forgotten what he’d promised, the responsibility he’d taken on. He cleared his throat, gazed around the small crowd, and spoke.

“Er, hello everyone. I believe your teacher told you who I am.” The group nodded. “She said you know your exercises, yes? Why don’t you show me.” Best to start easy, figure out what they knew and how best he could use the time. He’d never admit it to anyone present, but he hadn’t a clue what he was supposed to be doing, not really.

To his surprise, the fillies rose to their hooves and formed a line along the wall. Each stood up on their hind hooves, balancing on the wall for support, and put a hind leg on the long bar. They stretched themselves out to what would be impressive for most adult ponies. Most importantly, though, was the five fillies with their flanks now in the air, stretching the limits of their uniform, and pointing their rears right at him, unshielded by tails. He had to snap himself back to reality lest he be reduced to being wide-eyed and drooling. Tempting fate, he stepped closer to the filly at the end of the line, closest to him.

“Good form, keep your back straight. Very good.” This one had a cute curly mane and a little cushion on her rear. He could see the faint outline of her fillyhood just prodding at the back of her leotard. A bit of sweat dripped from her forehead. He moved to the next in line.

“You’re wobbling, keep still.” Without thinking, he reached out with a forehoof and braced her back. She let out a breath she’d held back and went still under his hoof. This one had her tail up in a cute bun with a ribbon tied through it. He could see the outline of her vulva like the last, but also her small ponut just between the ridge of her crack, under the dock of her lifted tail. He allowed his hoof to wander back, and in front of the whole room, began to softly grope her pert rear.

He looked around. The other fillies were busy with their own stretches, a few giving pointers to each other. The one in front of him either didn’t know, or didn’t care, that he was touching her in a way that an instructor probably shouldn’t. She pushed herself to finish her stretch and even go beyond her limit from before.

He dared to go further as he cupped her bottom in his hoof. He squeezed it, tracing his hoof down to her hock and then back up. He looked back to her face and she still appeared unaware of the inappropriateness of it. He started to retract his hoof, but as he did he briskly grazed it past her fillyhood.

“Good work. You went really far!” He complimented. This earned a little smile, as she relaxed and went back to a comfortable position.

Moving to the next filly, he admired her in much the same way. Good form, great technique. Try these pointers. He’d make things up as he went, just to see her stretch farther, and it gave him a reason to touch another filly rump. He went down the line, each rump a different firmness and size than the last, each one just as delicious as the others. He was in heaven.

The fillies, for their part, seemed completely unphased by his wandering hooves or lack of proper instruction. They seemed to either not notice or didn’t care. He grew bolder with his hooves, until he found himself at the last filly in the line. Shorter than the others, she had a little extra pudge, but hardly anything too noticeable. It was endearingly cute in a way. She’d also forgotten her tights, instead wearing just her leotard.

“Is this your normal uniform?” He asked her, loud enough for the others to hear, as he batted away her tail to look at her soft bottom.

“N-no sir. Left my tights at home. In the wash. That okay?” The small filly looked back at him with a pitiful gaze, as if expecting punishment.

“I think that’ll be fine for now. Perhaps you’ll be...more limber this way. Can you stretch a little more for me?”

She did, and his eyes felt like they’d pop out of his skull. She leaned over and lifted her hind leg higher, and because she wasn’t wearing tights under her leotard to cover the rest of her hindquarters the singular fabric over her fillyhood was pulled tighter. It accentuated her curves more, let him see more of that delicious plot. He stared for long enough that the filly in front was starting to strain from her stretch.

A wonderful, horrible idea had come to mind. One that would certainly break the rules of the position he’d found himself in. It was not something he could come back from, or pass off as normal should anyone ask questions. He wasn’t sure he cared.

“A-alright class.” He cleared his throat as he took a step back, gazing at five rumps in front of him, and the five sets of eyes that peered at him from the other ends. “Back in Canterlot, before a big show it’s customary for the instructor to inspect their student’s uniforms for tearing.” He looked out at the row of faces again. Each of them shuffled in place.

“So I’m going to inspect your leotards.”

He moved to the first filly in line again, the only one who’s rear he hadn’t touched, and quickly rectified this with a soft squeeze. Like the others, she didn’t react much and clearly assumed it was part of the instruction. His horn lit up and a magical aura took hold of her leotard, grabbing the thinnest part of the garment between her legs, and tugged it.

He leaned close, as if to inspect her clothes for tears. He could see the waistband of her tights, the way they hugged her form, small bumps from where her teats would be just above her crotch. He let go, releasing his magical hold, and let it snap back into place. She jolted lightly but kept her pose valiantly.

The next filly got much the same treatment. Inspect her leotard, peek under her, pull it tight. He caught a whiff of wonderful filly smells, of playing outdoors and fruity shampoo. Satisfied, he released his hold, gentler this time, and moved down the line.

On the third filly, when he grabbed ahold of her leotard he didn’t pull it back as he had the other two. Instead, he pulled it up, high, giving her somewhat of a wedgie. The filly squirmed and bit her lip as the fabric rode up against her fillyhood.

“Good form. Stay on the tips of your hooves!” He ordered. She did her best to comply, but struggled as he pulled it higher. When he finally released his hold she dropped back down with a sigh of relief. “Good girl.”

By the time he’d made it back to the end of the row with the filly who hadn’t worn her tights, his heart was racing in anticipation. She was his favorite, the one who would offer him the best view. He wouldn’t have done this if it hadn’t been for her. He hesitated only a moment to appreciate the curves of her rear again.

His horn lit up, and his magical aura surrounded the back of her leotard. He took his time, being slow and careful, as he pulled lightly on the fabric and tugged it to the side, revealing her wonderful filly private parts for him to see, completely uncovered and unshielded. He was in heaven.

From the corner of his eye he briefly caught one of the other girls watching him, and he snapped to attention.

“Continue your stretches. You aren’t finished yet.” Each one quickly going back to their practice stretches as he addressed them, still pulling aside the leotard of the filly in front of him with his magical aura.

Turning back, he found himself breathless again. Her vulva was perfectly round, puffy in all the right places, little tinges of pink between those lips. He reached out with a hoof and despite his inhibitions, touched it. Stroked up and down along the soft flesh. Spread her lips apart.

“M-mister.” The filly asked, breaking his concentration. When he looked up, she was blushing and wide eyed. “I-is this part of the inspection?” She squirmed once.

“Yes, of course!” He nodded affirmatively, bobbing his head so fast his neck hurt. “And a pre-workout warmup.”

“Oh...okay.” She smiled, flashing a toothy grin that washed away whatever doubt he had left about what he was going to do.

“Now just hold still and keep that stretch going, okay darling? Keep your hoof up like that, spread your legs a little.” He helped her adjust her stance before ducking down behind her. “Now this is going to feel pretty funny and tingly, but it’s an important pre-workout stretch. Got it?” Another cute smile and a nod.

Wasting no further time he sunk his head between her thighs and buried his muzzle right against that soft, supple filly flower. He took a long whiff of her scent. His tongue poked forward, prodded at her petal and roughly dragged itself from the bottom all the way up to the top. The filly, who’s name he still didn’t know, squirmed but made no complaint.

He buried his tongue deeper, sliding past her entrance and wormed around inside of her. She squeaked and quivered, and he took this as his cue to work harder. His tongue lapped and slurped on everything it could get a hold of. Her firm, pink walls soon became slippery and shivering, struggling to clench around the intruder that wouldn’t stop slurping on her.

The filly keeled over on the bar, leaning on the wall with shuddering breaths, and he only followed her, keeping his muzzle between her legs and filling the air with slurping noises. The other fillies tried to pretend not to notice, chatting amongst themselves as they did their routines. They sauntered away from the bar now that they were done stretching and walked to the middle of the room and practiced their dancing. Only the filly who’d forgotten her tights and the stallion remained.

Her tiny clit had started to show itself, throbbing and poking out. He found it quickly, marveling in the effect it had on her in making her squirm and moan out, despite her apparent keenness on staying quiet. One of his forehooves had taken to stroking her rump and kneading it while he slurped away.

She started to breathe heavier and deeper as his tongue found deeper parts of her she’d never before experienced. It was like there was a knot in her chest that was quickly unravelling, reaching a high point where it would snap all at once.

Breathing through his nose, the stallion began suckling on her clit, making her love button throb with increased intensity. She lifted her rump up high as she began to feel herself unravel, and suddenly it hit her.

He slurped and swallowed a sudden onslaught of juices that began squirting out of the now writhing filly who was shoving her rump into his face. Juices dribbled down his chin and he struggled to keep up but it didn’t phase either of them. The filly convulsed and shook as she hit her peak and came crashing down. And then it was abruptly over, and she was basking in that warm afterglow, and she collapsed onto the floor panting and sweaty and exhausted.

Wiping his chin, he grinned. He beckoned for her to stand up.

“Great work. Perfect form.” He turned to her classmates. “Who’s next?”