Storm clouds hung over Canterlot, on a day that had begun so bright and sunny for one of the many parties through which Equestria had carved a name for itself. But while in all the streets surrounding the Palace, ponies were being led away by the invading forces to lament the eclipsing of the Sun, one conquering mare stood up above in the throne room, and she had her eyes only on the Moon… So to speak.
Raising her head past her shoulder, Tempest lovingly drank in her reflection in the mirror.
The fleshy smack of her cheeks clapping together was music to Tempest’s ears. The sensation of her rippling, wobbling booty flesh travelled up her back and throughout her body. She couldn’t chew her bottom lip any harder lest she’d pierce the flesh. Those two enormous mounds of purple flab pressed together she proudly called her brand-new ass. The torn-open fabric of her now-ruined tights, having stood no chance at all of containing her voluptuous gals. She started twerking harder, and the sound of clapping rang up and down the throne room’s walls.
Her lord had given her such a generous reward. She was tempted to say he was spoiling her, but no, she’d more than earned it. The Storm King’s army had invaded and successfully occupied Canterlot in less than five minutes. Equestria was on its knees, all four of its reigning princesses captured and petrified, and he owed that entirely to her leadership.
There were plenty more rewards coming her way, Tempest inwardly smirked, provided everything went according to plan over the next three days… Her eyes travelled up towards that broken stump where her horn used to be. She fixated on it lovingly for a moment, almost forgetting about how big and beautiful her cheeks now were. Next to her horn being restored to its rightful glory, they were but a loving gift. The kind she was entitled to.
After all, didn’t such a strong, stunning mare like her deserve only the best?
Yes, the exhilaration was still fresh in her mind. When she had spoken to his image in the blue fires of the brazier, the Storm King had merely needed to lift his forefinger and, from a digit pointed at her half a world away, released a stream of energy that enveloped her entire figure. She’d known he wouldn’t return her horn until he got everything he wanted, when he arrived. But this was fine advance payment.
“Mmh,” Tempest hummed to herself, smacking her lips, a departure from the stern facade she kept up around the rank-and-file.
Tempest Shadow knew better than to get too complacent. They weren’t done yet. Still, being so close now, she could afford to loosen up a little. With each of the princesses secured, confined to the form of obsidian statues in the centre of this very room, the next three days could be spent preparing in a special way.
Finally, she had time to kill, to start acting a bit more carefree, after all these years. It was only with slight reluctance that she turned away from the mirror. She’d be seeing a lot more of it, while counting down the hours until the Storm King’s arrival.
“Grubber,” Tempest called out, towards the double-doors. “Come in here.”
On cue, the doors opened, her little hedgehog assistant trotting in. Tempest didn’t even mind it when Grubber froze stock-still as he entered, eyes gone wide as saucers, gazing mesmerised at her swaying, exposed behind.
Let him ogle. When push came to shove, she’d lost none of her authority as his superior.
“How do matters stand in the city?” Tempest asked, resuming her customary tone of command. She had the self-awareness that this was at odds with how she now looked, as she could feel the weight of her backside pulling her down, barely balanced by her remaining armour, but it couldn’t be helped. “Orders are clear, the area must be secure for when His Excellency arrives.”
Snapped back to reality, Grubber tore his gaze away, to look her in the eye.
“Ah, thtill getting thmall pocketth of rethithtanthe,” said Grubber, with that irritating lisp she’d long had to get used to, “but I don’t think it’th anything the boyth can’t handle. After all, the printhetheth are all gathered up and collected, who elthe ith gonna thtop uth?”
Tempest nodded. “Good. I agree. Nonetheless, you know the drill. Constant vigilance.”
“Will that be all?” Grubber said after a moment, still carefully keeping his eyes on hers.
“Pretty much,” said Tempest. “That and just one more thing. Have the boys fetch my wardrobe from aboard the ship. I fear that I’m in need of a change of attire.”
“Right on it, Tempetht,” Grubber said, saluting smartly. “Oh, wait. Think you’ll be wearing a hat?”
Tempest rolled her eyes. In the past, whenever Grubber had passed a comment on her looks, it inevitably came down to her broken horn. On occasion, she’d tried hiding it by wearing different forms of headgear, none of which suited her. Other than an armoured helmet, of course, but unicorn helmets were designed to leave the horn exposed.
Even now, the little hedgehog was still bringing this up. Mind you, at least he wasn’t commenting on the most obvious aspect of her new appearance, despite having noticed it when he’d come in.
“No,” Tempest replied. “Just the reserve britches. Although…” She paused, peeking back at the mirror and her figure, spotting a twinkle in her eye as a lovely idea dawned on her. “Yes... Bring me the special attire, Grubber. All of it. I’ve got plenty of time to try it on…”
* * *
Three days later, the Storm Forces’ occupation of Canterlot had passed by without incident, and the Storm King’s flagship appeared in the skies, the gigantic vessel casting a long shadow over the ertstwhile capital as it came to dock at the Palace’s landing platform. The event was held with the ostentatious ceremony typical of the hulking warlord, with Grubber loudly announcing his incoming presence over the megaphone, all to an unfurling of banners and spread of confetti. That said, the only ones to await the Storm King on the platform were a handful of his guards, headed by his trusted pony lieutenant.
Having safely docked, the ship extended its boarding ramp, from the circular master hatch upon the curve of the great hull. It mechanically swiveled open in the manner of an iris, a display of the technological ingenuity of the ship’s esteemed occupant.
Preceded by a billow of smoke, which had more to do with theatrics than industrial residue, the notorious warlord himself came into view. Taller by three heads than the average pony, a bipedal personage of a white-furred constitution and simian features, although his head was adorned by black horns more reminiscent of a yak – with the crooked legs of a goat and a swishing fox-tail, there into subjugated Canterlot strode the Storm King.
Stepping off the ramp, Tempest Shadow’s beloved lord looked around, tapped his iconic staff to the marble-topped ground three times, before taking a deep breath of the air, and softly blowing it out through his lips.
“Well,” said he, placing a hand to his chin reflectively, “a fine tourist spot this’d make, wouldn’t it? Oh, the locals must still be reeling from the change in management, I’m sure, but once they’ve been given clear direction, they’re bound to get in with the programme.”
“I believe so, Excellency,” Tempest said, marching up to him. “The thing about ponies is, you’ll find few people so fond of razzle-dazzle.”
Case in point. Instead of the armour she’d worn for years, Tempest had dressed for the occasion.
The Storm King took notice, glancing down at her. “Well, you’re looking fine, my dear.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d addressed her thus, but nonetheless, Tempest was surprised to find herself blushing girlishly, having to hold down an uncharacteristic giggle. Perhaps it was true how the saying went, the clothes maketh the mare. Shedding her armour for the attire she’d chosen to greet him in today must have brought out a long-suppressed side of her.
Tempest still wore no hat, and her mane remained the same cool mohawk, yet otherwise, she’d given herself quite the makeover.
From the contents pulled out of her private wardrobe, she’d at last settled on a skin-tight, glossy banana-yellow leotard that covered her figure from the neckline down to her enlargened, globular backside. Yellow was the colour she’d ended up selecting for how juicily it complemented her natural deep purple, and judging from the Storm King’s toothy smile, she had indeed made a judicious choice.
She hoped he liked her shoes and stockings. Picking these out had been the harder decision, proud as she was of her long, well-toned legs. In the end, she’d gone for simple see-through fishnet-stockings that left her legs visible for admiration. But it was the shoes that marked the biggest change-over from the fearsome Commander of her lord’s armies. Banana-yellow as her leotard, with an extra layer of scintillating gloss, this here at least was a first for Tempest Shadow, her experimenting in wearing high-heels.
To be honest, Tempest was slightly regretting that last decision, as she found the high-heels restrictive and impractical, even upon the smooth surface of the marble. The contours were beginning to chafe her worse than padded armour ever had.
Yet of all the looks she’d tried in three days, this was the one she’d marveled at most in the mirror, hence she’d resolved to stick to it. She may be a Commander, her broken horn may not be restored yet, still she wanted to show up looking her best for the Storm King on his special day.
Tempest returned her lord’s smile. “How do you like it, sire?” she said, batting her eyelashes, while letting her butt subtly sway to and fro, pleasantly enveloped by the body-hugging fabric.
The Storm King pretended to ponder the question, yet it didn’t evade Tempest that his grip tightened around the Staff of Sacanas.
“You always know how to please me, Commander,” the Storm King said at last. “But I trust this is merely a foretaste of what awaits me?”
Tempest winked at him, using her scarred eye. “You do mean the alicorns, right?”
“Uh…”
And to her delight, the Storm King seemed noticeably flustered by her cheeky remark, leaving his icy-blue eyes to dart around anxiously. Fortunately for him, the Storm Guards knew well enough to stay standing stolidly at attention.
Only Grubber, his megaphone tucked under his arm, couldn’t hold back a snigger.
“Alright, alright, my dear, enough chit-chat,” the Storm King said, straightening himself up and making a show of resuming control. “You know exactly what I want. Bring me to the alicorns, then we can continue this little discussion. I haven’t forgotten, promises must be kept.”
“You’re so sweet,” said Tempest, beaming at him, as she turned to lead him inside the Palace.
Naturally, taking the lead served, unintentionally or not, to give the Storm King a view of her bountiful, bobbing ass, tastefully clad though it was in the skin-tight yellow fabric. She made sure to sashay like a snake as she trotted, a far cry from the disciplined march he’d normally associate with her as his Commander.
When they came to walk down a hall of mirrors, Tempest surreptitiously glanced at the reflections upon the wall, through the corner of her eye. Even if her glance were to be noticed, it’d most likely be taken as her indulging in the vanity of admiring herself, but this was not in fact what she was doing. She wanted to gauge the Storm King’s expression.
Her heart skipped with glee when she saw he was tugging at his armour’s neckline, evidently gone hot under the collar. Try as he might, her lord couldn’t take his sights off the very gift he himself had bestowed upon her, a naked hunger in his eyes which she’d previously only witnessed when he spoke of stealing magic for himself.
Now, Tempest had been granted by him something approaching that sort of desire before. She’d heard him whisper the words “my dear” into her ear on many a night, after she’d worked on a hard day’s drilling the troops and especially after she’d made another conquest for his empire.
But this, this was different. This was on a new level. Maybe it had to do with how she’d changed. Or, and she ardently hoped this might be the case, seeing as any other reason would be shallow... The fact he owed the imminent fulfillment of his dreams all to her had planted the seed for something meaningful. Something beautiful, like she was.
… Actually, if Tempest could make him feel this way, how much did she need her horn back?
It was while she was thinking these thoughts that they reached the throne room’s double-doors.
“Stop,” spoke the Storm King, a command she obeyed. He strode in front of her, pressing his hand upon the doors without pushing them open, then turned to look back at her. “Wait for me here. The moment is precious. I want to be alone.”
Tempest couldn’t hide a sigh of disappointment. “Really?” she said softly, her lip wobbling. “I… I thought that we…”
Seriously, this was most unlike her, to act so emotional. In a manner so different from the raw fury she’d oft channelled into combat, anyway.
The Storm King must have spotted her disappointment, however, since the intensity in his gaze melted into a softer expression. He removed his hand from the doors and knelt, to place a large forefinger beneath her chin, cupping it so she could meet his eyes.
“I know, I know,” the Storm King said gently, “you want to watch the spell invigorate me, right?”
Wordlessly, Tempest nodded, her emotions starting to soothe anew under his touch.
“Then just think of it as a… surprise, my dear,” said the Storm King. “A nice surprise, like that fancy outfit you’re wearing. I want to surprise you too.”
Tempest sniffled a bit. “You mean it?”
“Of course,” the Storm King said, smiling. “You know I do.”
He took away his spare hand from her chin, so he could reach over her and, delicately yet firmly, the Storm King gave her butt a squeeze.
Tempest gasped softly as the signal crawled up her nervous system, exploding into her brain. Again, she remembered getting caressed like this by the Storm King before. Caressed and more. Yet there was no doubt that now something was different.
If the gleam in his eyes hadn’t said so, reaching through the jaded layers she’d built up since exiling herself from her homeland, a hardened shell which had slowly loosened over three days, then the feel of Storm King’s hand upon her told her everything. His grasp was not one of possession, but genuine affection.
“O-okay…” Tempest said slowly. “You do you. I’ll be waiting… Stormy.”
The Storm King blinked twice, whereupon he chuckled heartily. For her part, Tempest once more wondered what had got into her. She’d never called him by that nickname before.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she told her lord, “It’s stupid, Equestria, I guess it’s getting to me…”
He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “Hush. And don’t you worry,” he said thoughtfully. ‘Stormy’, huh? Y’know, that’s kind of cute. Should ask the suits what they think of it, I expect it’d make a killer in marketing to our younger customer base…”
Her own embarrassment dissipated at that display. She had to smirk. For a feared warlord, the Storm King always got so endearingly silly about his brand.
“Well, if this is you in Equestria,” noted the Storm King, standing up, “then I like this new you, my Commander. Just as I feel I’m gonna like Equestria.” He held aloft his staff. “But first, I’ve still got this business to take care of. So, do as you said, and wait for me. I won’t be long.”
“Right,” said Tempest, absent-mindedly tapping her shoes on the floor. “And then what?”
“And then?” A crafty grin split the Storm King’s face. “My dear, should all goes precisely as I want, I’ll be meeting you back here, and I can promise you tonight will be most… electrifying.”
Tempest sensed herself grinning back. “But wait,” she said, her grin fading marginally. “Tonight? It’s the middle of the day. You’re stringing me along…”
“Tut-tut,” the Storm King said, wagging a finger. “I thought you knew me better than that. If the ritual works, I’ll be controlling night and day, remember? You may find, if what happens next gives me reason to be happy, tonight shall come faster than you think…”
* * *
Scarcely half an hour had passed, and the Moon rose over Equestria and Canterlot Palace, become the seat of the Storm King’s ever-expanding empire. But for once, in contrast to the conqueror’s habitual means of celebration, the rising of the Moon sufficed to declare his victory. While down in Canterlot proper, Grubber, in the absence of Commander Tempest, invited the joyous Storm Guards out for roistering and pizza parties on their jovial lord’s dime, the Storm King himself had retired to make merry in private.
His sole company, here in the quarters that formerly belonged to the princesses, was that of his precious lieutenant and lover, whose untiring efforts had made all of this possible.
“Wow…” the Storm King breathed, admiring himself. “Tempest, this is perfectly delightful.”
Tempest chuckled to see her lord preen just as she had, upon sighting the gifts he’d given her. With him, the changes had been subtler, more straightforward.
For one instant, Tempest did silently wish there’d been other changes. Much as she loved him, even she had to admit her Stormy was hardly anyone’s idea of classically handsome. She realised how rich this was coming from her, what with the scars she bore. Still, after having stood faithfully at his side for so long, she truly thought that if nothing else, he did look kind of cute. And never more so than tonight.
The boost from the alicorns’ magic had granted the Storm King an extra layer of muscle, visibly rippling beneath his fur. To Tempest’s amusement, his horns had grown exponentially, a detail which to her mind was the greatest affirmation of his masculine magnificence.
“Isn’t it just?” she said. “Why, I daresay, you look absolutely yummy, Stormy.”
He laughed. “This coming from the mare dressed like a banana. Was that on purpose?”
“I’d say it was,” Tempest told him, though in truth, she’d only now made the connection. “But enough small talk. How about we get to reaping my reward?”
“Check, check,” said the Storm King, waving his hand airily, before clenching it into a fist-pump. “Should be no problem whatsoever. Ohhh, I’m so full to burst with energy!”
“I bet you are,” Tempest sniggered.
“Yes, alright,” the Storm King said with mock-annoyance. “If you can save it just another minute, we’ll get this done, and then we can get to the real good stuff.”
Smiling, Tempest trotted closer to him, palpitating with anticipation. Gravely, with an attitude that reflected the moment’s significance, the Storm King placed his forefinger on the stump of Tempest’s broken horn, pressing down slightly. Cautious as his motions were, it still sent a couple of sparks flickering.
Tempest waited, eyes closed, for him to speak the words. And waited. And waited.
But nothing came. Gradually, Tempest opened up her eyes again, a slow anxiety filling her. She glanced upwards to see the Storm King still had his finger touching her horn, just as she could feel that he did, yet he wasn’t saying anything. His gaze, often so piercing with those blue eyes, had turned distant and faraway. To her surprise, her lord even seemed regretful.
She felt her chest tighten. Surely, surely he could heal her horn? He’d shown he had that power, when he’d altered her figure, presenting her with a gorgeous backside, the very backside she was currently sitting with. He couldn’t possibly have lied to her about doing this. It simply could not be true, it was impossible…
And still, nothing.
“What’s wrong?” she murmured. “Honey, what’s the matter?”
The Storm King blinked with both eyes, his attention turning back to her. There was still an odd look in them. Sighing, he pulled his hand from her horn, much to her dismay.
Whereupon he again knelt in front of her, and she was surprised to see he seemed abashed, practically sheepish, like a schoolboy who wants to say something he’s ashamed of.
“I… I can do it. But,” the Storm King mumbled. “I was thinking, I… I’m gonna miss this.”
Relief flooded Tempest. Relief, and annoyance. “Yeesh. Is that all? Could have told me, you know. Would’ve spared me a lot of worry.”
“I’m sorry!” the Storm King said, holding up his hand. He’d probably spoken louder than intended, because his next words were softer. “It’s just… I’ve got used to it. You, like this. And the things we can do.”
Tempest inhaled through her nostrils, releasing the air in a snort.
“Fine. Well, if it means that much to you, Stormy… We can do it that way. One more time.”
The eagerness which filled his face was so like a happy puppy, Tempest decided she couldn’t stay mad at him for long.
“Really?” he said, incidentally echoing her words from earlier.
“Yeah, really,” Tempest said, sticking out her tongue. “Sure, I would sooner have my horn back before any of that, but… Hey, I’m not the only one who deserves to be treated well around here, with all you’ve done for me. Look, I’ll go set us up. Come meet me at the bathing-pools in about ten minutes. We’re gonna have some fun.”
* * *
These bathing-pools had once been Princess Luna’s, and it showed. Directly adjacent to the Moon Princess’s personal bedchamber, the domed marble room still bore decorations of the Moon, which Tempest hadn’t taken the time to remove during her three-day wait for the Storm King. She hadn’t felt the inclination to, because honestly, the ornamental design was pleasing as it was. Such was the case for most of the Palace. Tempest disdained the sugary-sweet aesthetic so prevalent in Equestrian architecture, but mercifully, Luna had shown more discernment, choosing to adopt comparatively understated shades and tones in her quarters.
At the centre of the room, a vast circular pool was steadily filling with pristine mountain water, poured in from upturned vases held by sculpted alicorns, a sight which reminded Tempest of the four petrified princesses left in the throne room far below. In order for the Storm King’s ritual to take place, the princesses had been positioned at the ends of the four petals which composed the engraving of a flower upon the throne room’s floor. A nice detail of the bathing-pools, Tempest thought to herself, was how the main pool was placed in the centre of the design of a lunar insignia, the “face”, its engraved rays spreading along the floor.
She was still wearing her banana-yellow leotard. Had she expected this, she’d have switched to a full-body bikini. After all, this was another of the seldom-worn outfits kept in her wardrobe. But it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be wearing it for much longer.
Taking off her high-heels and placing them by the door, Tempest walked to the edge of the pool that had nearly filled to the brim. Gingerly, she dipped a stockinged hoof into the steaming water. A couple of seconds sufficed to convince her it was warm enough.
Nodding, Tempest reclined herself by the edge, facing the doorway, and called.
“Stooormy~” she chanted, “come on in.”
Curious souls might have wondered how the Storm King could fit through those doors. While Princess Celestia was tall and much of the Palace was built to accommodate larger visitors, or maybe it was simply the grandeur expected of a royal dwelling, the Princess’s private quarters weren’t designed with the same elevated dimensions. And since the Storm King stood taller than the alicorn princesses, he shouldn’t normally have fit, even by stooping.
Luckily, her lord didn’t harvest magic purely for raw material. He’d learned a few tricks, too.
The figure who emerged into the low-lit marble room was recognisably the Storm King, buffed up by his recent harvest, yet grown a lot shorter as well, only about a head higher than she. As per the workings of the magic, his armour had shrunk to match this change. Although frankly, he barely need have bothered, considering.
When he took in his surroundings, complete with the sight of her sultrily reclining self, he was obviously gratified by what he saw.
The Storm King whistled, coming to sit by her, squatting. “Nice.”
In response, Tempest touched his cheek. “Yes. And you’re a more manageable size,” she stated, “except for… where it really matters, hmm?”
“Wanna find out?” the Storm King smirked.
“You’ve kept me waiting long enough, you bad boy.” Tempest inclined her head, bringing her broken horn into his field-of-view. “Now let’s get started.”
“Your wish is my command, my dear,” said the Storm King, licking his lips.
Delicately, he took hold of her horn between his thumb and forefinger, and Tempest Shadow let her eyes close, having nothing further to do except wait for her lord to commence his foreplay, an experience she’d grown so familiar with.
There was a buzz and a jolt that rippled through her forehead, causing her to catch her breath.
As on many a past night, the Storm King was busily running his tongue across the broken stump, eliciting a number of sparks she had no control over.
Yet, true to his name, instead of getting pushed away by the shock, if anything, he seemed to relish the electricity his tongue’s motions sent coursing from her horn and onto his palate. He only licked her harder, sending stronger jolts through her forehead.
“Ohhh…”
Her pleasured moan must have excited him mightily, as he brought the tip of his tongue to slide in deep as he could into the sparking recesses of her horn.
Tempest heard herself grunt, shuddering from the electric release, that was causing a steadily intensifying tingle throughout her nervous system as well. It was enough to make her scrunch her eyes shut and grit her teeth, yet she had no wish for him to stop. Nor did he. While his hands pressed her cheeks to keep her head firmly in place, the Storm King’s lips closed around the jagged, stumpy remains where her horn should be, punctuated by a wet smacking sound. And there he began to suck, like one drinking in her reserves of mana.
He might as well have been, considering how each burst of static was wearing down Tempest, who could already feel her legs wobble, and not solely due to the Storm King’s weight. A lesser unicorn, whole or no, might have collapsed already.
Even in the smaller stature he’d adopted, Tempest was acutely aware that with those jaws, particularly that underbite, one slip and the Storm King could have accidentally bitten off what little remained of the horn she’d so long yearned to replace.
Peculiarly, this thought never killed her stimulus. On the contrary, she’d only found it enhanced. As if the risk of losing all she’d sought for, in an intimate moment shared with the one who could give it to her, was a freefall Tempest embraced, a self-chosen defiance of reliving what cruel fate had once taken away.
And, moreover, it was this selfsame animality which had drawn her to the Storm King…
Some time passed, in much the same manner. Tempest wondering how much longer she could take it, wondering if every burst was the one that’d wear her out. Willing herself to remain upright a bit longer, holding down a snappy remark that this was only foreplay. Eagerly expecting the next burst, telling herself just one more couldn’t hurt. Awaiting the followup.
Finally, the Storm King pulled back.
Although it was clear to Tempest his playing around had taken more out of her, he himself must have expended a great deal of stamina on it. He was perspiring as she was, and his breaths came out in a series of inhalations and exhalations that matched her puffing, panting respiration. She saw he had to hold his hand to his chest for a moment, before he could talk.
“Did you… Oof…” the Storm King began, interrupting himself as he took another gasping breath. “Did you like it, Tempest?”
Rather than a straight answer, Tempest consciously chose to not to respond verbally.
Instead, the Commander of the Storm Forces allowed her brow to lower, slipping back into an expression she hadn’t worn since she’d been gifted her new assets, the simmering scowl which had made her worthy of that title.
It did not escape her that he seemed to notice. But while ordinarily he wouldn’t have thought twice about it, the Storm King actually looked nervous, having found himself on the receiving end for a change.
He was still bigger than her and still her lord, but he did nothing except swallow when she placed her forehoof under his chin, divested of either high-heels or boots, yet still capable of delivering punishment with one swift blow. Even through the stocking.
Tempest met no resistance as, subtly, she pulled him in by the chin, so he’d be facing her with eyes only a hair’s breadth apart from the glare burning within hers.
Her lips curled, the Storm King didn’t even dare blink…
… Before Tempest grinned, and she leant in to press her lips against his own.
She held the kiss a while, basking in the Storm King’s gulp of surprise and his initial bewilderment, which slowly and quietly receded as he eased up. Time enough for him to regain the confidence to place his hand behind her neck, with him now the one to pull her further in, returning the kiss tenderly.
It was Tempest who eventually chose to break it, however, nudging her head to indicate he ought to release his grasp. Careful not to push his luck, the Storm King optemperated.
Tempest shook her head slightly, though she was smiling. “You’re a naughty boy, you know,” she chided him, even while a forehoof stroked his cheek. “Almost overdid it there.”
The Storm King loudly sighed, relieved. “Yeah… Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Guess I was pushing to see just how far this new body could go.”
“You want to save it for the real thing,” Tempest said in reply. “We haven’t even got there yet.”
“‘Kay, okay.” He glanced towards the bathing-pool, almost forgotten in the course of their petting. “So, you wanna start with a dip, or…”
“Eh,” Tempest grunted. “Let’s see how it goes. Still haven’t finished preparing ourselves…”
His eyes fell upon the banana-yellow leotard she’d been wearing all along, and he instantly cottoned on to her meaning, as evidenced by him patting his armour.
“Oh, yes…” whispered the Storm King, whose countenance had fully reverted to his typically cocksure, one might say bouncy demeanour. “Yes, yes, indeed… Who’ll go first? Actually, wait, let me answer that, my dear. I’m itching to–”
“Please, sire,” Tempest said, raising a forehoof, her renewed formality shushing him instantly. “Let’s not make any witty quips about peeling me here, there’s no time.”
The Storm King puffed his cheeks discontentedly. “Bah, you’re no fun.”
But Tempest merely flashed him a smile. “Allow me to dissuade you of that notion,” she said, reaching for a hidden clasp she knew was on his armour. “What do you say about this? We both get ourselves comfortable… Sound like a good bargain, honey?”
“A fine bargain, if I may say so, my dear,” replied the Storm King, responding with all the toothiness of his smiling face, which never failed to make her heart melt.
Tempest was ahead of him, though. She’d found his armour’s clasp, and was only mildly inconvenienced by the stocking on her forehoof as she unlatched it.
The neck-guard came away instantly, popping open and dropping to the tiled floor with a resounding clatter of metal. He was still kneeling, rather than truly sitting or lying back, but the Storm King glanced towards the neck-guard, then at Tempest, as if he were silently asking her how best to proceed next.
She gave him a quiet nod, letting her forehoof trail further down his armour. Understanding, the Storm King gently lay himself back, elbows touching the tiles so he could still keep his torso raised a few feet above the floor. Even as he did so, his fingers busied themselves with shedding Tempest of her attire.
He started with what was closest to hand, while her forehooves were otherwise occupied, and tugged at the stockings on one of her hindlegs. In their current position, she was standing with her hindlegs between his legs, which were spread akimbo as he reclined. It must have been hard for him to see, but after a few tugs, he pulled down her stocking.
Tempest had begun working on his pauldrons, when she felt the Storm King attempting to remove the stocking off her other hindleg.
Felt it rather sharply, in fact. “Ack!”
To her shame, Tempest was unable to stifle a gasp of pain as the claws on his fingers accidentally nicked her hindleg.
Realising what he’d done, the Storm King instantly pulled his hand away. She saw his cheeks flush red with embarrassment, somehow, beneath the grey fur of his simian features.
“T-tempest, I’m sorry!” he mumbled. “I must have slipped–”
Tempest took a calming breath. “No, it’s okay,” she said, looking him in the eye, this time to reassure him he was forgiven. “Just– I wasn’t expecting it, right then. Be more careful.”
“I will,” the Storm King promised. “Shall… shall we continue?”
Nodding again, Tempest got back to business.
Without the Storm King’s neck-guard holding them in place, his pauldrons came off easily. She found it almost contemptuous, how little trouble she’d had unlocking them. A little of her finely-honed warrior’s instinct shone through then, reflecting that if she’d wanted it, the Storm King would have been child’s play to take out when she knew his weaknesses.
But then again, wasn’t that exactly what she was. Her lord’s greatest weakness. It was a notion Tempest found oddly pleasing.
That being said, removing his armour proper was going to be the toughest part. She decided that while stockings still covered her forehoofs, she’d only be making it harder on herself. As it was, the Storm King had just finished taking care of this on the hindleg he’d so unfortunately nicked.
Tempest stopped in the midst of what she’d been doing, in order to straighten herself up. When the Storm King noticed, she raised both of her forehooves to show him.
“A little help here, please?” Tempest asked him. “I won’t get mad, so long as you be careful.”
He did it as fast as he could. Once her forehooves had each been extracted from the nets of silk, Tempest motioned at him to resume what he’d been doing, while she did the same.
This remained a delicate operation to coordinate, not least as it involved getting her out of her body-hugging leotard in conjunction with removing his armour. A task further complicated, needless to say, by how bountifully her lower body had filled out, thanks to his gift.
“Hold on,” Tempest said. “I… yeah, I need to free my forehoof.”
On this occasion, the Storm King did not need her to give him directions. Here was where it came handy that he had fingers, since he could simply pull at the stretch of fabric separating the neck-hole from the arm-hole, aiding her to wriggle a forehoof past the neck-hole.
It was a tight squeeze, because such was how the leotard had been designed, particularly to enhance her generous new assets – but after some tossing and turning, Tempest had yanked one forehoof from out of the leotard, her first step towards ditching it completely.
“Right, that’s better,” puffed Tempest. “Shouldn’t take long now.”
Her free forehoof returned to the gradual task of unpacking the Storm King from his armour, while the guy continued to slowly peel Tempest herself, working from the neck downwards.
Since they were getting close, and because Tempest trusted they could each go forward relying upon muscle memory past this point, she decided she no longer had to keep her eyes on what her hooves were doing.
She instead brought her face level with the Storm King’s and kissed him again. It was a gesture he paid back in kind, closing his eyes as she did hers.
They went on like this throughout the remainder of undressing one another, punctuated by little butterfly kisses.
… At long last, Tempest and he reached the stage where whatever they’d been wearing, nearly the whole of it had been left strewn on the floor around them. His black armour with the storm emblem, pauldrons and all, none of it offering him protection any longer. Her banana-yellow leotard, pulled down to her hindlegs by his ministrations, leaving her uncovered.
With a couple of expert backward kicks, only mildly weighed down by the jiggling of her behind, Tempest readily discarded the last of her clothing. As if magnetically drawn to her since she was fully exposed, the Storm King’s hands went to her backside, stroking it vigorously.
Tempest couldn’t resist throwing her head back with relish at the feeling, although she managed to keep it low-key, her jaws stretching out into a silent moan. Again his claws raked the skin beneath her dark coat, but this instance entirely conformed to her expectations, the slight pain merely adding to her pleasure.
After a moment, her throat had released its pent-up cry, and Tempest slowly looked back down, towards the creature under her, who was now lying on the tiled floor of the bathing-pools.
Whereas she might be fully naked, the Storm King hadn’t quite been stripped yet. Sure, the removal of his armour gave her a gorgeous view of the fluffy white fur of his chest, as adorably billowy as the fur on his neck and cheeks. But he still wore one or two items. The black wrist-cuffs, Tempest could let slide. It was what he wore around his waist she wanted gone.
“Alright, Stormy,” Tempest smirked at him. “Let’s see about getting that tunic off you.”
She didn’t give him much response time, before she swiftly leaned down and grasped the Storm King’s tunic in her teeth. It enveloped not only his waist but his groin, yet she was wholly past caring for a slow and steady approach. All it took was one sharp yank of her teeth, and Tempest Shadow had torn off his tunic, tearing it clean off of him. She turned and spat it away.
Ignoring the Storm King’s startled gasps, Tempest swivelled her head back to look him over, all the better to behold what she had unveiled. Her eyes travelled down, deliberately down, towards the space below his waist.
A little smile tugged at her lips.
“He’s beautiful…” Tempest whispered, more to herself than to him.
There was no doubt in her mind on what to do next. He’d stimulated her to open this intimate evening with, she could do the same for him. And that still would only serve as a prelude to how much they were capable of when joined together. Years of experimentation from romp to romp were testimony to that.
She granted the Storm King just enough time to recover from her forwardness in robbing what had been left of his modesty, whereupon she leaned forward once more, placing her head between his thighs, and commenced.
As an exercise in arousal went, this one required more effort on her part than what he 'd done to the stump of her horn.
Tempest was aware there was a joke to be made there somewhere. Goodness knew that her lord, with his joviality, hadn’t spared an opportunity to make an easy crack at it, unless she managed to shut him down beforehand. She loved him, but that didn’t mean she had to share in his sense of humour. He was as much the king of bad puns as of storms.
It was not solely a question of what her mouth was doing, however. Tempest Shadow copulating with the Storm King was never complete without an electric charge getting involved.
"Oh, yes, Tempest…" she heard him groan, from above her. "Ungh… Keep going…"
He wanted her to do it. So she obliged. That was where the true effort came in.
Focusing the residual energy within her jagged excuse for a horn, Tempest fired up one of the raw concentrations of ball-lightning that was within her power to summon. Learning how to wield and aim this hap-hazard energy had been arguably the greatest challenge for her to overcome after losing her horn. It certainly counted as the best thing she felt grateful to the Storm King for teaching her how to do.
Especially when it lent itself to such special uses.
She furrowed her brow as she channelled the energy inward, a redirection which set her teeth on edge even before the electric current reached her molars. A unicorn’s horn was, after all, a natural conductor. So too was a unicorn’s whole being if they knew how to apply themselves.
The sparks of static danced at the edge of her teeth, and passed on into the Storm King.
Her lord responded in a manner she found most gratifying, culminating in a primal scream which commingled pain and ecstasy as only rapture could provide.
Once he’d died down, Tempest raised herself, idly wiping the corner of her mouth.
“How was that, for an appetiser?” she asked.
He looked slightly shaken. It took him a minute to gather his breath, chest heaving. “What was…” the Storm King gasped, sucked in a lungful of air, and had to collect himself again. “What was it you were saying about saving it?”
Tempest let herself giggle, feeling impish. “It can still go further. A lot further. You know that.”
“Oh, don’t I ever,” the Storm King said. His shakiness was dying down, a deeply cunning look taking its place. “Give me a mo’, my dear. I’ll show you just how much I’ve been saving it.”
“I cannot wait.” Her gaze wandered towards the pool. “Well. Whenever you’re ready. You know where to find me.”
Not like he’d be going anywhere, in any case.
She stood and waddled over to the pool’s edge, taking a careful step that left her forehoof briefly hovering over the surface of the water, before simply throwing caution to the wind anew and choosing to plunge right in.
Tempest felt her body’s mass hit the water with a satisfying splash, undoubtedly accentuated by the recently-accumulated pounds she was dragging behind her. It occurred to her she’d done a lot more smiling in the past week than she had in years, yet she didn’t refrain from allowing this too to make her smile. She hadn’t yet tried out swimming like this. An odd sensation for her to get used to, for sure, but kind of wonderful, feeling herself bob above the water.
With those thoughts in mind, Tempest waded to the opposite end of the pool.
She was waiting, with her forehooves crossed and her chin resting upon them, when her ears picked up the telltale splash that let her know the Storm King would be joining her. A blissful hum passed through her lips as she stayed where she was, not even looking back. She felt content to give herself a temporary respite as well, before they picked up where they’d left off. The night was still young.
So, while Tempest didn’t see the Storm King come up to her in the pool, she certainly heard him. Felt him, too, when his fingers gave her wet mohawk a ruffle, dampening it further.
Yet his fingers soon moved away from her mohawk, going back to a favourite spot of theirs.
Tempest felt the Storm King’s hands clawing into each of her buttocks, pressing them apart. She could sense, from the tickle of his fur against the fuzz upon her rump, that he himself must have his groin pressed close to hers, awaiting only the signal to thrust.
“Spark it up, sweetie?” the Storm King asked in a whisper.
Tempest dutifully nodded and renewed the buildup of energy fluctuating inside her shattered, but still so potent horn.
Electricity on its own, in static form, was a powerful stimulant. Except if there was one thing every child knew, it was that electricity strikes the nervous system all the harder when transferred through a conduit. And water was a particularly strong conduit.
This was the point of no return, Tempest knew. It would only get better from there.
* * *
Time had gone by and the Moon hung in the zenith over Canterlot.
From this angle, a sliver of the night orb’s rays still fell through the skylight atop one of the bedrooms set highest in all the Palace, illuminating the space below. The former quarters of the Princess of the Night, with an interior aesthetic to match, a mix of dark blues and cool white that covered the walls, the curtains, the bed covers – everything.
The curtains before the balcony were not drawn, leaving the room open to exposure, but this brought no trouble to either of the new occupants' peace of mind. They knew of none left in Canterlot, after all, who could pose a genuine threat to them between these walls.
Sighing contentedly, Tempest entertained herself by imagining what a sight the pair of them must have made, lying together in this king-sized bed.
Those last few hours had been wild. The singed, manic frazzle which her mohawk had been reduced to, covering even her ruined horn, was a reminder of it. Much of it had been spent in the bathing-pool, where they had taken it furthest. But even once they’d tired of that, and gradually retreated to the bedroom, there’d been a flurry of pawing and kissing, until finally he’d fallen upon her in bed and they did it all over again…
Now they were truly done for the night, mind. She’d long pulled the covers over them both, noting with amusement how easy she was to spot by the mound protruding from beneath. The Storm King himself had spent his remaining stamina on regaining stature, settling on somewhere halfway towards his normal height. He was presently lying underneath her, one hand caressing her back, his other arm wrapped around her waist, just as her forehooves were around his.
“Mmh,” purred the Storm King, with his chin upon her forehead. “Ahhh... That was… exquisite.”
“I aim to please you,” Tempest replied softly. “I always have, my love.”
The Storm King nodded. The gesture led his chin to brush against the stump of her horn.
Up until then, Tempest had felt her eyes beginning to droop, carried down towards slumber by the evening’s bliss. But feeling it that she was still missing something got her eyes to widen. She felt sincerely surprised. Amidst all the physical delights, she had quite forgotten she was yet to be made physically whole.
She briefly wondered whether to bring this up. Except she had to. It was his promise to her.
“Stormy…” Tempest said tentatively, looking up at him. “Wasn’t there… one more thing you wanted to do for me?”
Tempest had sensed the Storm King to be on the verge of sleep as she was. At her words, however, he shifted his head to stare back down at her, his gaze fully alert. Something odd lurked behind his eyes. Something that sent a small shiver down her back, making her feel strange all of a sudden, to be clasped so close to the warmth of his body.
Never before had he been able to conceal his feelings like this. Least of all from her.
Whatever was going on within his mind, nonetheless, the Storm King seemed to reach a decision.
“You’re right,” said he. “It’s time.”
Slowly, he lifted a hand that had been touching her. Again, Tempest felt him place a forefinger upon the spot where her horn should be. She scarcely dared breathe as the Storm King, after lightly kissing her forehead, began muttering words too low for her to make out. Some incantation, most likely. A spark appeared in the air. But this time, it was one that would travel from the tip of his finger and into her.
Here at the threshold, Tempest Shadow realised she felt nervous. Had she been able to, some instinct might have made her wriggle away, if only the grasp of the Storm King’s other arm had not then tightened around her waist.
The Storm King’s spell flowed into Tempest. She grunted, teeth clenching and eyes scrunching at the sensation of a flame searing her forehead. And then it was gone.
“There,” echoed the Storm King’s voice from above. “Done.”
Her eyes had gone watery. That, too, was different for her. Tempest blinked several times, trying to pierce through the haze which the room had turned into, not aided by the dim light of the Moon. It took a little while before things swam back into view.
As she gathered her senses, Tempest pressed her forehoof to her head. She could feel something was there. She tapped it over and over.
Each time, she tapped as if not believing it’d still be there the next.
“Maybe this will help,” the Storm King said gently. “Here, take a look.”
With both hands, he picked up a large handheld mirror, lying on the bedside table. He held it up to Tempest for her to see her reflection. And there it was.
Even more magnificent than any other gift of the Storm King’s, Tempest beheld her horn, restored, its sharpened point thrust upwards, as if defying the heavens. Because, after a fashion, was that not the very thing she’d done by bringing the Storm King here, to the doorstep of the Princesses of Equestria?
Yet she spotted this was not all.
“Sire…” Tempest murmured, her own voice coming out falteringly. “Is that…?”
She tore her gaze away from the mirror, to look back at him in wonder. His eyes were not unreadable now. A gleam shone bright within them, a gleam she recognised from this morning. How it startled her, that she’d noticed it, yet still failed to discern just how much it meant.
The Storm King blessed her with a big, wide, goofy grin. “My dear, forgive me… I put this off for far too long.”
Now Tempest understood why he had hesitated, on his first attempt to restore her horn. One more time, she glanced at herself in the mirror, like it would confirm what she saw was real. She’d got more than her horn back.
Around its base, the Storm King had placed a silver ring.
“Dearest Tempest~” chimed his voice in her ear, tickled by his breath, which she did not even try to stifle a giggle over. “Will you be my Storm Queen?”
“Oh, Stormy…” Tempest whispered. “Yes. But…”
She paused. Here was something special she had left to share. He’d done as promised, fulfilling this ultimate wish of hers. That one last thing. Yet it so happened that she, who had done so much for him, might have just one more thing she needed to do.
Tell him the truth. He deserved it so.
“I… haven’t told you everything. Tempest Shadow… is not my real name.”
The Storm King shrugged, his face the picture of understanding. In all likelihood, he must always have suspected the name she’d told him all those years ago was an alias.
A name chosen to fit in with his circle. To think, it had laid the foundations for all that followed.
“Well, if we are to get married, I should know your real name,” said the King. “Shouldn’t I? What is it, then, my dear?”
“It’s Fizzlepop Berrytwist,” the unicorn said, smiling at her life’s love. “And what’s yours?”
