Furs

by MisterClacky

Rating: mature
Tags: Soarin, Comedy, Sex, Spitfire, Big Macintosh, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance
Length: 15882

Soarin’ isn’t allowed to give interviews anymore. It means he gets to ditch ‘Press Day’ and focus on finding something more enjoyable. Like hitting up the Townwide Stable Sale down in Ponyville for something fun.

It’s Press Day, the day where the whole of the Wonderbolts must report to the Canterlot office and submit for interviews. Soarin’ is not allowed to participate after he answered the journalist from Filly Fancy Junior’s question of ‘What’s your favorite hobby?’ with ‘I like to eat pie, you know, the little ones.’. Tale Spin, PhD of Strategic Communication and Wonderbolt Public Relations Director, has directly forbidden him from opening his mouth in the presence of any presstitutes digging for a story.

If Dr. Spin says it’s a day off, then who is he to argue?

Soarin’ has a plan. A little daytrip down to Ponyville to do some shopping and maybe pick up an apple pie. It’s his anniversary today and he hopes to find something special for Spitfire to bring home to help her unwind after a long day of captain’s duties. It’s just a matter of finding the right thing to pick up in Ponyville and beating Spitfire back to their Canterlot flat with it.

Chapters with sexual content will be marked [Explicit]

Published 2022-03-09 23:20:00 UTC
Last updated 2022-03-09 23:20:00 UTC

Chapter 2 – [Explicit] Is Best

Freckles are sexy.

He can admit that, in this moment, as the tawny mare sashayed toward his bed. She tossed the Stetson off to the side, making a ringer on the bathroom door’s handle. She flashed a confident easy smile on her well-shaped muzzle. Expressive green eyes, half-lidded and so like his, smoldered like emeralds in front of a flame. Thick blonde locks fell along her forehead with the majority of the remainder pulled back in a ponytail and bound at the end. For a mare that evoked the idea of ‘unbridled strength’, the effort of that tie was truly commendable.

He swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbing with the effort. It visibly disrupted the lie of the fur and brought an almost predatory smirk to the mare. He watched transfixed as she reared up and placed both of her forehooves on the mattress at the foot of the bed. An easy hop brought her fully up onto the bed, powerful hind legs hardly acknowledging the effort to propel her. She made a subtle motion with her hoof, staring at him intently, lifting it and moving it from side to side. Another swallow and then he opened his hind legs as he leaned back against the splintered headboard. His heavy satchel dropped to the mattress looking for all intents and purposes like a grocery bag with two cantaloups falling casually onto the bed. Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but apples certainly aren’t a fitting descriptive fruit. Oranges? Tangerines? Would that have been offensive to the owner of those sizable orbs? She licked her lips and let her eyes wander a bit higher to the full sheath and the pink and maroon mottled tip starting to come out.

She flipped her mane around, which was impressive in and of itself, and batted her eyelashes. “Gettin’ excited?”

He nodded, dumb and mute, as she crossed the distance between them. Her muzzle ran alongside his, a soft, intimate brushing of fur before a husky, lustful voice whispered in his ear, “Ah like excited.” Her forehoof lifted and rested briefly on his shoulder before following the limb down to the hoof. She gave it a squeeze and brought it over to his lap, pressing his fetlock to his sheath and guiding it in a few slow strokes. “Ah wantcha tah get real excited.” The nip at the tip of his ear brought him back to the here and now and his fetlock started to move against himself. “Good.” She pulled her head back, letting the fur of their cheeks intermesh and drag against each other as they part. She planted a peck of a kiss on his nose and turned away.

He doesn’t really want that, and he reached for her, but the surprisingly heavy tail batted his hoof away. “Not yet. Yah got yerself tah touch. Fer now.” Strong, well-proportioned hips retreated from him, the long tail swishing from side to side as she slowly walked to the corner of the bed. She looked back over her shoulder and tossed him a wink before an effort of concentration and tail control brings the limb between her hind legs, tucked under her like a scared filly, but it’s soon apparent any shaking isn’t from fear as she slowly draws it up and back against herself. She voiced a throaty moan that was perhaps half performative as thick hair and flesh was drawn across her nethers and was left slightly damper than before. She reared up and caught the post at the corner of the bed with her forelegs and made a slow gyration of her hips. The tip of her tail brushed her folds before flicking up over her back.

His gulp was audible.

Her tail flagged, falling in front of her hips as she surrendered control of it to gravity. She realized a little late that gravity had a lot of control over this particular tail and her dock pulled taut, the lightly furred underside of her tail tensed, the muscles underneath coming into stark relief as she tried to regain a bit of the surrendered control. The tug from above distorted the perky star below the tail, deforming the pucker into a tight vertical slit just above the other tight, vertical slit. The crack of a well-proportioned ass transitioned to a soft mound of fur. The slow swiveling of her hips caused a slight parting that revealed succulent pink flesh hidden away by the soft orange fur.

His stroking quickened and he licked his lips.

When she looked back at him, she winked. Twice. He heard his heartbeat in his ears. The stroking became fully automatic, absentminded. It was something he was told to do, and he continued it while his full focus is on the athletic mare presenting herself to him. It didn’t register just how long those strokes were becoming, the girth of the rapid emergence pulsing against his fetlock. He watched and he stroked, and he imagined what would come next.

For her part, she was no dancer. Not that kind of dancer, anyway, though she kept a secret about youthful ballet experience buried in her closet. This kind of dancing wasn’t a skill she’d honed other than in a few instances like this across the span of a lifetime. When there was passion and love, do you really need to jump through hoops to be arousing? Well, perhaps it would be better if she did this more often. There was something empowering about making the sensual movements, displaying herself for him and hearing the effects of her efforts on his breathing and the occasional soft moan. It emboldened her, increased the enthusiasm for each motion. Hips moving, tail swishing, bed complaining… her hoof went to step a bit more to the side to spread her out a bit more for his eyes and…

The corner of the mattress lacked a certain amount of real estate.

Wings she didn’t have try to flare out and it did very little. Her hard-won reflexes didn’t completely fail her, and she managed a strong grip of the post with a fetlock. She turned her fall into momentum and propelled herself around the post. The centrifugal force added enough juice to the motion to get her around the empty space and let her hind hooves find purchase back on the mattress. She even managed to make it look somewhat, if not entirely, intentional. She hugged the bedpost and leaned her head against it as she looked at him directly. “Wings would be good for balance.” She started to chuckle, though it died as she let herself really look at the crimson pony in front of her.

The red workhorse was huge, but not in the chiseled, manicured way of a professional body builder. There was no bulbousness to the body, no hard lines of starkly defined muscle. It was an easy, soft, natural strength that came through from that body. A feeling that it could go from soft to hard at any moment. That comfortable chest and thick limbs going from tender embrace to a steel grip in the span of an impassioned heartbeat. Soft to hard. Soft to hard.

Something else was definitely hard.

The ponderous pendulum that was the largest set of balls she’d seen in her life should have somewhat prepared her for the sheer scale of it. The soft velvet of his pouch was a deep red, almost to the point of blackness. The contrast from his brighter coat made the shaft cradled in his fetlock even easier to pick out. It seemed to be pressing out from within itself on all sides, pulsing with a desire to get even larger than it already was. Ligaments and veins popped under the skin, demanding attention as her eyes worked their way up from the base. The first splotch of pink caught her attention as her gaze tripped over the pronounced medial ring. The mottled splotches became more frequent up to a pronounced, fully pink tip. It gave the endowment something a bit whimsical and it almost makes her giggle. Pink on a cock, how adorable!

Something so large shouldn’t be thought of as adorable, or at least it should never be voiced to the stallion.

She gave a low whistle, and the air tickles his crotch. She hadn’t even processed that she’d closed the distance, had no recollection of settling down on her belly between his hinds. It’s so much bigger up close and reaching out to run her hoof up the underside of the throbbing member cemented the scale of it. “Holy hay…”

“Eeyup.”

She stretched her neck forward, rubbing her muzzle into the space between the base of his shaft and the top portion of his scrotum. She nuzzled into him and took a deep breath. His natural musk was almost intoxicating, the smell of clean sweat, hard work, masculine virility, and apples. She moved the hoof not exploring the underside of his length under his balls. The two biggest apples she’d every felt. They could only be apples now; no other fruit could possibly be compared. She kissed and nibbled his satchel, and he squirmed at the pleasure. A dribble of his building excitement rolled down the underside of his rod and against her hoof. She nodded to herself, though the action parted the boys with her chin, and she pulled back.

She wriggled herself over to the nightstand, leaning off the bed to rummage inside. Her rump bounced excitedly, giving the stallion ample proof of her own arousal as he sees a glistening path dribbled down the insides of her thighs. She came up victoriously with a tube in her mouth. She smirked around the obstruction as she almost pranced back to him.

He put on his most suave smile. “You know the best lubricant is…”

“Eenope.” There’s a singsong quality to the muffled word as she bit down on the bottle and squirted an excessive, messy stream of lube on his twitching stallionhood.

“Luna’s teats, that’s cold!” The words erupted from him without accent and the slow stroking of his erect member quickly increases in speed in the hopes some friction will jack the heat up.

She rolled her eyes and spat the bottle off to the side. “Don’t be a big baby. ‘Sides, a bit of shrinkage ain’t gonna do any harm with that thing.” She gave him a rather solid shoulder check that knocked him onto his side. The headboard might be a bit broken from earlier, but it still gave her something to hold onto. She braced her hind legs, spread a bit more than hip width apart and flagged her tail over her lower back. The far end of it dropped on his cutie mark as he struggled to his hooves. She drew a little heart around the apple there and lets her coy smile spread. Her eyes softly narrowed, going half-lidded and beckoning. “It’s plowing time. Git’up.”

He obliged.

The bed was of sturdy construction, but it couldn’t help but protest a bit as he rolled to his hooves and walked around the mare posted up against the headboard. It had been made for pegasi and even very enthusiastic pegasi experimenting together don’t find ways to emulate this kind of sheer mass. The bed seemed to give a little too much with each step and that might have worried him. However, so much of his blood was elsewhere that the thought just couldn’t find traction in his brain.

He approached from behind, stalking the femininely rounded but strongly built butt. A wink of encouragement and he crossed the remaining space between them. His muzzle tilted down, bringing the cool of his nose against her button and a quick flick elicits a muffled little gasp. His tongue slipped out and ran along the sensitive nub and she shudders. He continued sliding his tongue upwards, splitting the mound and gathering the wet, sweet taste of mare across the whole of his senses. His entire mouth was mare, and he loved it. He could live in these folds, but an impatient nicker and a light kick of a tawny orange hindleg against one of his fores had him raising his head more. He ran his chin along her croup then tucked his chin to give a whoomph out his nostrils and against her dock. It was a heavy, hot breath that surprised even him. Like bellows working deep inside. His arousal was at a peak and his eager shaft slapped against his belly.

She blushed at the sound of hoofless applause.

He mounted her, and he was deliciously heavy. Solid in all the good ways but still soft. The gliding of his soft fur against her rear, ruffling the fur against the grain. The orange hinds somehow resisted buckling under the stallion’s slow climb. A huge red forehoof came to rest beside hers, gripping the headboard and bracing some of the bulk not on her. The other hoof rested on her withers and rubs, right between her shoulder blades in a place where two sets could be. A place that would have driven a pegasus mad.

His voice was a low base, it rumbles in her ear as a foreign sound that takes a moment to find recognition in her mind. “Yer mah sister.”

Her ears perked and she suppressed an emotion. She also managed to hold onto the headboard which kept her hoof from striking her face. “You have a sister, let’s not focus too much on that aspect of this.” She started to add to the thought, but his cock tightened up, sending it to slap against his belly with arousal again, but this time she was in between it. It’s a solid slap between the teats.

“Eeright. Stick tah plowin’.” He pulled his hips back and altered the angle, prodding up toward her. The flat head of his penis slid up her thigh and pressed against her femininity. Against a very large percentage of her femininity all at once. Her eyes widened, sudden geometry working behind those green irises. Calculations on volume and elasticity and sudden concern as the head pressed against her. It kissed her entrance like Rainbow Crash kissed the runway on the first landing off a new trick. Her whole body rocked forward.

“Hey, easy! Slow.” She spread her hind legs a bit wider still. “You really need to aim that thing.”

She could almost hear the blush.

“Ee-ummm. Should I switch? There was a yellowy one with an apple mark that was smaller…”

His mouth gets closed by her forehoof reaching up to smoother his lips. “Ah ain’t tappin’ out, just be easy. Alright.”

“Sorry.” He postured up a bit more and looked down at her. She turned her head back to look at him best she can and her eyebrow quirked to a very impressive degree. “Ah mean… Eeyup. Just gettin’ used to the big tool. Ah reckon.”

“That’s more like it.” She turned back to face the wall. “That’s what ah want tah hear.”

Line up, let his tip track in on the wet heat to find the right angle into her waiting tract, a soft press to seat him against her then a firmer hoof to work his massive flare into her until he breaches her resistance and the head and a portion of the thinner shaft drive inside… that’s how it worked in his mind.

That would have been smooth… it was not smooth.

She was not strongly braced at the moment, having turned away from the wall to speak. She wasn’t quite ready. He was eager, lustful, and a bit careless. His broad tip rolled over her mound, and he needed to be inside her. He thrusted. His hind legs giving powerful force to the brash action, the overbroad tip misaligned. It jabbed upwards, not enough to rebound under her tail, but above the goal. Between two orifices, the most solid part of his flare found the space between and transferred the whole of the force into horizontal movement.

Her face finished off what her hoof had started earlier, the headboard snapping in two. Her forehead left a nice dent in the drywall.

“Buckitty fuckin’ appleshit!” She folded like a house of cards, cradling her head.

“Oh, shit!” He stood over her transfixed for a moment, wincing. “Are you…” He trusted himself to lift a heavy hoof and rub between her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

She wriggled under him, flipping to her back and still rubbing her forehead. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” The hangdog expression managed to drag down the whole of his face, it was a very large face.

“That was the definition of ‘not easy’ there, Champ.” She alternated scrunching up her face and stretching it out in a yawn, ensuring everything still worked.

“I know. I’m sorry. I got excited. Too excited. Didn’t know my own strength and..”

She cut him off with a forehoof pressed to his lips which slowly shifted over to rub his cheek. “’Ah’. Yer accent’s slippin’.” She winks. “Also, Ah was thar. Ah know what happened, aight? Now don’t you go worryin’ none, cause that dog won’t hunt.” She hoped that meant what she wanted it to mean.

“Eeyup.” His ears were still folded back, but he managed a nod.

“Good. Ah was worried yah was goin’ soft on me.” She smirked and proved that she still had all her teeth. None even looked loose.

“It’s just Ah care for yah an…” His mouth snapped closed, and his full body shuddered as something rubbed against his still dangling length.

“Ah meant more as a literal thing.” Her forelegs encircled his broad neck, tightening enough to bring soft orange lips to the confused red pair. Little encouraging pecks as first, pressing more insistently with time. Soft and supple against the rougher lips of the stallion. His slowly parted as his mind caught up, giving in to the insistence from below and deepening the kiss.

Beneath him, the smaller mare pulled her hind legs up, pressing one hoof to the side of his base, braced against his pelvis and giving her some easy control over the back half of his body. A little press and lift with a surprisingly strong hind leg had his hips back where she wanted them. It let her stretch up her other hind leg, running the softly furred pastern along the full length of his mottled pride. It hadn’t given up too much during the lull. Not going soft at all. Her hind hoof explored him, and she moaned muffled approval into the kiss. It elicited a similar response from him.

He broke the kiss to suck in needed air. “What…” He swallowed and his eyes close, his length jumped in her loose grip, slapping up against his belly with a meaty thwack. “What are yah doin’.”

Her smirk intensified into something blending cavalier and coy. “Oh? Just strokin’ yer dick and tryin’ really hard not tah compare it to tha size of mah hind leg.” The hind leg in question stroked down him then back up again, finding particular interest in the pronounced medial ring. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, living through the tactile sensation of her hoof along his girth and imagining what it could do, would do, to her.

He dipped his head down and tenderly nuzzles her cheek. She brought a hind hoof up on either side of it, hooking her fetlocks around it and pulled her hind legs in toward her body, the double grip between them working from his base toward his tip. Droplets of the excessive lube and his pre rained down on her belly. Little dots of cool landing on teats and pussy, a small pool forming in her navel. She hugged him a bit tighter and voiced something to him between a purr and a growl. “Fuck me.”

He nodded into her neck as shifted his bulk back. She splayed her hind legs, letting him settle down between them. His engorgement fell heavily on her belly, the bare rod of flesh hot against her. He drew it back, the underside smearing the dribbles and droplets along her taut belly as it plowed a furrow into her fur. An easily followable track along her midline going down to her most fertile patch. His medial ring tripped over her clit and she sucked in a pleasured gasp that brought a smile to the big red face hanging over hers. A smile like pride, playful and teasing. He continued the slow stroke back, the bottom of his flared tip digging into her navel, drawing a line between small teats, and again tripping over her pert nub before falling into line with her entrance. He reversed course and with abundant new caution, pressed his tip against her.

She’s drenched, and even slathered in lube it was almost not enough. He postured up, nearly sitting with one forehoof beside her to hold his weight. He looked down, the mottled rod straining against stretched lips that need to stretch further. It sent a twitch through the length of him that almost pulled him out of line. She had her forelegs curled up on her chest, biting her lip and with her eyes screwed shut, willing her body to relax in counterpoint to the look of pure concentration on her face. She was tall and long for a mare, big in a still feminine way. In this moment, though, she looked small, smaller than she had ever looked in this position. It stoked a fire and with his free foreleg, he swept up both of hers. He pressed them up over her head, pinning them both above her under his one huge hoof. Her thighs rested in the hollow between his stifles and his flanks, he snorted with an impassioned fire behind green eyes and thrusted into her. Hard.

The spongy ridges along the edge of his broad flare compressed as he drove it in, splitting her netherlips and stretching her entrance wide. The fleshy bulb of her clit stood erect as the flesh around it was pulled mercilessly tight as his fat head was rammed past her resistance. She couldn’t hold back a loud vocalization between a moan and scream as she was pinned to the mattress and penetrated. His head disappeared into her and the thinner rod that followed seems to give some relief to the abused entrance. Her labia folded around the intrusion as if to softly kiss the mottled red and pink cock in gratitude.

She wriggled under him on the impalement, forelegs pinned above her head by the singularly strong hoof. This bit of dominance was… new. Also, welcomed. “Celestia’s cunt… that’s a lot.”

A low base chuckle rolled out of him. “Ah thought you’d like it.” He scooted his hips forward, her hinds still stuck up in a V as they rode along the front of his thighs. He pressed in deeper, his medial ring kissing her lower lips. He held there a moment, both of them adjusting to it before a confident smile stretched across the mare’s muzzle and she gave a small nod.

He braced her hips in place by moving his supportive foreleg down and in, a flesh and blood piling locking her stationary before a hard push again split her flower near to sundering as the thicker ring is pushed through the opening. She bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper but stifled herself from calling out as it kept coming. It was easier once the ring was inside, and the comparatively thinner portion followed behind. She felt stuffed, full, and there was still more. There’s so much, so deep, she could swear she could taste his cock. By the time she felt a pair of heavy balls resting on her ass, tickling her dock, she thought he must be trying to push out the top of her skull.

“Holy… hay…” She gasped it out between ragged breaths.

“Ah think yah already said that.” The confident swagger and rakish smile could potentially have been grating if she wasn’t in such bliss.

“Gimme a minute…” Her insides contracted and shifted around him, giving way and adjusting to the need to accommodate the massive intrusion. “…and kiss me.”

He lowered his head down to hers, pressing firm red lips to supple orange ones. They parted and eager tongues surged forward to press against, to dance with, and to taste each other. The slow, passionate kiss quickly devolved into a randy snog full of need and a certain recklessness. It was nearly a battle, and the mare was surprised to be on the losing side. Perhaps she should not be so shocked as her forelegs remained pinned above her head and the big red stallion continued to take his liberties. No chivalry, no sweetness, just a lust-mad male taking pleasure for himself. She’d been trying to get him to let himself go like this for years!

He pulled away from the kiss, breaking it off with a lack of warning that left her mouth slightly open. He kept her forelegs pinned and offers a quick “Ready?”

He didn’t wait for a response.

Her open mouth let out a surprised moan as he drew himself back and slammed in again. The boys swinging into her rear like a pair of wrecking balls, the heavy satchel slapping against her ass audibly and sending shivers up her inverted hind legs. His hips made the hardest impact, jolting her whole body up toward the shattered headboard. It was the first precursor thrust to what had been a fast, piledriving rhythm that started to fuck her across the bed. He half-stroked back until his medial ring was just inside her and then slammed it home. He humped like a dog, fast and furious. The pinned forelegs above her head got more and more slack as the sheets bunched up under her and her shoulders slid farther and farther up in the bed.

His breaths came in deep, ragged drags like the bellows of a forge or the gasping power of a steam locomotive. His eyes were screwed shut and he fucked. Hard and fast. The mare mewled in pleasure under him.

“Don’t… go off… half… cocked…” She managed to fit the words between jarring impacts. It was a blitz of pleasure and the spasming of her insides around him give proof to the fact that she’s already rolled through one needy orgasm and is on her way to a second.

“Full cockin’ it is.” He pressed out through gritted teeth and with herculean effort he pulled himself back from the edge. He postured up again and pulls his hips back. All the way back. He left only his flaring tip inside and then pressed the whole of it back into her in a smooth, powerful motion. He couldn’t help but watch, almost hypnotized, as he repeated the process. Almost out then all the way in. So much of his glistening, drenched flesh pulling out of her and then disappearing inside that tight little athletic body below him. He pressed her forelegs deeper into the mattress as he shifted his weight to it. It freed up his other foreleg and he rested that hoof on her belly, just above her teats and below her navel. He stroked himself through her and he could swear he felt the passage of his flared tip within her as it slid under his hoof. It made him shudder as she moaned. “Eeyup.”

He shifted his hoof back, the heel of it just above her mound. He moved his foreleg above her head down to brace against her shoulder, holding her firmly in place and giving her forelegs freedom they hadn’t had in a while. She didn’t seem to know what to do with them and had a look of momentary confusion before he slammed into her again.

The clap of their hips was loud, like a cannon shot. The impact jostled her hips and drove her stretched and exposed clit against the heel of his hoof, sending a bolt of lightning from her sex to her brain. The pleasure short-circuited her for a moment where she didn’t even register his next stroke out. A second lightning strike of pleasure jolted her out of her freeze and she threw her forelegs around his neck. Her whole body tightened up as she threw herself into the embrace as he knocked the bottom out of her. Full strokes, hard and fast and each slapping of balls reddened her ass and drove her clit hard against the back of his hoof. She was on fire.

She was burning up.

She was tensed up in a ball, clinging on to the big red workhorse and screaming incoherent encouragements in his ear.

Her first easy orgasm had caused her breathing to lose rhythm and her insides to quake. They’d rolled right on through it to now.

Now she was cumming so hard she couldn’t think in words.

At some moment, with her hind legs braced against his, he’d foregone the mattress entirely. A foreleg sliding under her and pulling her up against him as he sat upright. Easy strength lifted her up as she clung to his neck and gravity brought her down again, into the hard upward thrust. Over and over. She’d never been marehandled like this before. She buried her face in his neck and made noises that can only be described as just that. She was gushing, her whole body made of lightning as every nerve sent ecstatic reports and overloaded what her brain could compute until a singular thought of ‘YES!’ was all that existed.

His nostrils flared and whoomphs of hot breath blew through her hair. She’d cum… was it one long one or several intensely following each other? She didn’t know and didn’t care. Her existence was pleasure until it all became simply too much, and she went slack. Her body was unable to keep up the tenseness causing her to cling onto him so strongly. She pitched backward to land on the mattress with a pleasured wail rolling out of her as she pulled her face from the muffling fur of his neck. She gasped for breath, precious oxygen that would allow her to think and process it all.

He pulled his hips back and the twitchingly hard length of red and pink mottled flesh came free of her. It was drenched with her climax, and he panted.

“Holy… hay…”

“That’s… the third… time you’ve said that.” She heard the smirk in his voice as he said it. She made a weak swipe at him but didn’t have the energy to make it connect.

“Have I sworn by Cadence yet?”

“Eenope, an yer accent is slippin’.”

“Cadence’s… Cadence’s perky…” She shook her head. “Fuck it… Ah got nuthin’. That was…” She managed to raise her head to look at him with a smile. It faltered as she looked at him sitting there, still proudly stiff and with her starting to realize there isn’t a pleasant warm sensation inside her belly and dribbling down her ass toward the mattress. “Did you not?”

His ears splayed back, and he looked guiltily down at his still erect member.

“Seriously?” Her eyebrow cocks impressively.

“Earth pony stamina?” He gave a light chuckle and shrugged.

She shook her head. “What am Ah gonna do with you?” She held up a forestalling hoof. “Don’t answer that. Ah know.” She wriggled herself out from under him and dropped off the side of the bed, her hooves hitting the wood floor with a distinctive clop. She seated herself off to the side of the bed and patted the edge with a forehoof. She flashed him half-lidded, bedroom eyes and beckoned him over as she opened her mouth wide.

His body started to move even as his mouth started to protest. “Are…” He seated himself at the edge and reached a foreleg over to stabilize himself against the bedpost. His impressive length arched out over her shoulder and she looked it up and down. “Are yah sure? It’s been…”

She shushed him and slipped a hoof under his sack. She started to lightly fondle his balls across the frog of her hoof, bringing her other leg up towards the middle of him and seized him in her fetlock, stroking slowly. “It was flavored lube and…” She locked her eyes on his and lowered her muzzle down until his tumescent member occulted her vision. She ran a pleasantly warm tongue up the underside of him from medial ring to the ridge of his flare. “Besides, Ah taste delicious.”

She rained light kisses and tender little nibbles along the underside of his arousal while slowly stroking from ring to base with her leg. Her other hoof rubbed up under ample balls, kneading the heavy orbs to ease any bluing from their escapades without release. Such good boys. His scrotum tightened and squeezed at the hoofplay, eager to erupt and be free of the full load gathered within. She drew her head back and looked down the barrel of it, the pink tip pointed right at her muzzle. The head nearing full flare, the ridged crown around the flat tip broad and swollen to vivid pronouncement. The small cleft acting as a valley between his hole and the bottom of his cock’s plateau diverted a bead of pre down. It threatened to surrender to gravity and fall to the floor. Her warm tongue slid under it and saved it that fate, taking in the salty bead with a slow lick and bringing it into her mouth for consideration. She made a show of taking the taste of it, spreading it around her mouth as she looked up at him. His heart tried to both stop beating and beat all the faster simultaneously.

She held it steady, kneading his balls while supporting the arc of his endowment with a hoof in the middle. She opened her mouth, wide and wider still. She could probably swallow an apple whole with this mouth, but it still seemed almost not up to the task. It took a bit of effort to avoid the intrusion raking against her teeth as she takes it in, and it was not a prefect attempt. He didn’t seem to mind the brief scraping against them, though, on his way to the warmth of her willing mouth. It was a bit easier once the flare was in, her teeth didn’t threaten the shaft behind, and her lips closed around it. Tightening up her mouth around him compressed his flare and redoubled the pleasure as she started to bob her head on him. Slow to start, pressing down until his impossible head kissed the back of her throat then pulling away until the back of his flare tickles the backside of her teeth. She pumped her grip on his middle back and forth in counterpoint to the motions of her head. Pulling her hoof toward her as she went down on him and pushing back as she leaned away. The pace quickened as she got comfortable with the motions and the teasing of his balls continued unabated and unaltered by the blowjob at the other end.

He bit his lower lip, already starting to struggle. He looked down at the pretty orange thing sucking him off, blonde mane falling around the act and partially obscuring his view. His hind hooves curled on the bed and he let out a deep, rumbling moan.

She enthusiastically increased the pace.

He rested a broad hoof on her head, pushing her fringe back between her ears so he could watch the streaks her lips are leaving on his shaft on each backstroke. The blitz before had nearly done him in and he was back on edge. Being cut ragged by it. His breath came in ragged gasps and his grip on her mane became tighter, verging on unpleasant. “Ah’m… Ah’m…”

He felt more than saw the little nod.

His sack tightened and the whole of him pulsed as he hit his climax. She felt the approaching torrent roll through his hose past her grip at the middle toward her mouth. His tip flared with it, pressing out in all directions and widening her mouth almost painfully. It altered the angle, and the first blast hit the roof of her mouth and blasted back toward her throat. It was hard to swallow with her mouth open and the first blast only partially made it down. There was a lot more coming behind it and she pulled back to protect her ability to breathe. The surges of hot spunk didn’t fully stop between spurts. As she pulled back, the stream coated her tongue and filled the trough of her mouth, dribbling lewdly off the front of her chin. Her tongue a little pink island in a lake of white. His second full-bodied spurt fired off as his tip went past her nose, painting her with a white mustache and threatening to clog her primary source of air as the thick semen shot with force into her nostrils. The tip was still on an upward arc as the second lull had him dribbling on the floor as she instinctively snorted to clear her sinuses, blowing cum back toward the edge of the bed and the pulsing balls she’s holding. Her’s eyes were luckily closed as his third spurt landed between them, splattering her forehead with an impact of jizz that was audible. She rocked forward a bit with a sputtering cough, her muzzle sliding under his tip as the remaining pumps of his climax launched ropes of white across her forehead and into blonde hair. He was still dribbling as she pulled away from his cock, white waterfalls rolling off both sides of her muzzle. She tentatively fluttered one eye open and squinted it again as a drip of spooge rolls down, falling from her eyebrow and landing in the long, defined eyelashes. “That’s a lot.”

He let himself fall back on the bed to pant with no answer. He heard the pulse of blood in his ears as he started so come down, and the sound of motion just off the bed. He didn’t have the energy to look. A weight settled itself down on his chest as his member retreated back into its sheath. He felt a hoof on his forehead, getting a grip, then an unzipping sound in his ears.

The orange mare leaned over the sweaty blue stallion’s face. She looked down with pretty green eyes and an orange face that was… quite a bit whiter now. Creamsicle. Several heavy drops of white fell from her face to land on his. He didn’t quail from it, not that he had the energy to if he cared. She smirked down at him. “So, Stud, how was it? How was fucking your Pie Mare?”

Soarin’ reached up with a still red hoof, wiping away some of his goo from her forehead and running his hoof back through her forelock. He found what he was looking for and pulled it, the somehow zipper pulling down to reveal the golden features below. He beamed up at her with love in his eyes. “Not as good as making love to my wife.”

Spitfire giggled, an actual true-to-Celestia giggle, and leaned in to press her nose lightly to his. “Good answer.”

The couple share a loving kiss.

Chapter 1 - Rise and Shine on a Special Day

Mornings were a blessing and not merely in the ‘thank you, Princess Celestia, for the day’ kind of way. No time was better than the early morning as the sun began its rise. The horizon catching fire and setting the sky ablaze in orange and yellow and casting light on the perfect ray of sunshine resting against Soarin’s chest. The sunrise outside could not hold a candle to the radiance tucked to his side and lightly snoring. He counted himself the luckiest stallion in the world to get to be the only one blessed with this view every morning. Spitfire’s wild, spiked mane tickling his chin where it wasn’t plastered to the side of her head. The cute way her eyes darted and shifted under closed lids. The endearing string of drool’s painstakingly slow descent toward his chest. Truly, he was the luckiest stallion in the world.

Sure, Spitfire latching onto him in the middle of the night while he had been stretching put him on his back in a somewhat uncomfortable position. There was also the way her well-built and surprisingly dense body laid across his outstretched wing, pinning it to the mattress. It cramped, severely, at least in those places it wasn’t tingling and numb. Waking her, though, would ruin the perfect morning. Not because her being awake was a less desirable condition, but simply for the fact that he took such joy in watching how she slept without tension or worry. It wouldn’t last.

The end began with a shiver along her spine and the ghost of a grimace moving across her face. Her hind legs stretched out and down and her back tried to arch without her forelegs moving from where they encircled Soarin’s neck. Those legs decided the best way to start the morning was to squeeze around whatever was between them which saw to it that he would not be saying ‘Good morning’ until after the crushing hug relented and let him breathe. She shook her head, rubbing it into the side of his chest and smearing moist drool into his fur. The motion at least loosened the grip around his neck.

“Morning, Spitz.” The dopey grin was audible in Soarin’s chipper voice.

“Uck murn’n ‘n th’ gert ash.” Spitfire’s muzzle found a home in the warmth of the joining of his chest and foreleg. Without the appeal of young recruits to torment, the Wonderbolt’s captain lacked a certain motivation to get up and meet the day.

“The goats don’t deserve that. Come on, I’ll make you breakfast while you shower.” Soarin’ found his progress out of bed impeded by Spitfire’s iron grip. Her face worming its way more firmly against him.

“Um ‘ith?” Said the muffled voice from deep within his armpit.

“Not this morning, hot stuff, you’ve got press day and I don’t.” Soarin’ didn’t mean for it to come out so singsong, but sometimes things just happened. The room seemed to darken, like a storm was fixing to blow in. The snuggly face buried in his chest found enough motion to turn narrowed eyes up at him. “Umm… Doctor’s orders?”

Spitfire’s trepidation in rising seemingly forgotten, the Wonderbolt surged to standing on the bed with wings flared. An angry Spitfire had a certain… aura… about her, like the whole world was one wrong word away from spontaneously combusting. Her glare game was on point, too. It took all the willpower Soarin’ had not to curl in on himself under that stare. That and the fact his wing was still too numb to fold up and that she just looked so cute when she was mad.

The eyes narrowed further, little specks of intense orange that interrogated without words. Sweat started to dampen the fur on his forehead, starting the process of oversaturating which would eventually allow beads of the incriminating liquid to roll down his face. Not yet though and Soarin’ swallowed in preparation for his well-reasoned response. “Sorry?”

Spitfire’s hoof met her forehead at a speed low enough not to cause any damage but fast enough to cause the fear that it had. She pinched the bridge of her nose within her fetlock. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“You did say yes.” Soarin’ started ratcheting himself into a more seated position with his forelegs stretched back behind him. “Well, ‘I do’. Three years ago, precisely. Happy anniversary.” He darted his head forward like a cobra and placed a peck of a kiss on the end of her nose.

The golden muzzle scrunched up instinctively as the mare behind it weighed the pros and cons of staying angry. With a sigh, she gave it up as a lost cause. Staying mad at Soarin’ was like staying mad at a golden retriever, it just wasn’t possible. Frustration? Now that was an emotion Spitfire could get behind. “Yeah, yeah. Happy anniversary, I love you, all that. You don’t get off the hook that easy though!” A hoof poked Soarin’s chest just below the level of painful. “Mutual shower privileges are rescinded!” With a huff and a swat of her tail against his muzzle, Spitfire spun and hopped off the bed in a smooth motion worthy of the Wonderbolt’s captain. She strutted out of the room with her nose and tail lofted equally high, leaving a much-bemused stallion in her wake.

He wouldn’t complain, he rather liked her sass. As much as he liked the two ‘s’ version or more. They really didn’t have time for shenanigans anyway. Soarin’ rolled out of the bed and made his own way to the kitchen to make breakfast while pondering the entertainment value of the word ‘shenanigans’.

000

The smell of hay bacon and flapjacks filled the kitchen by the time Spitfire made her way out of the bathroom with a towel around her neck and her still damp mane appropriately swept back. She closed her eyes and made her way to the stove by smell. Her wings puffed slightly, and a little flutter brought soft contact against Soarin’s side. A soft sigh escaped her, and she opened her eyes enough to make out the words on the stallion’s apron. She decided to oblige him with a kiss on the cheek. “You’re my favorite doofus, you know that?”

“I’m your only doofus.” A surprisingly skillful flick of the foreleg sent the flapjack into the air, flipping in a graceful arc that neatly deposited it back in the pan.

“Thank Celestia for that.” A golden hoof swept all but one piece of the crispy hay bacon onto a plate before Spitfire slipped around the other side of him to spear a couple flapjacks with a fork. She stuck close, her fur brushing against his, interlacing as she stopped beside him to drip syrup onto her short stack. Intentional or not, the light press and subtle motion of her hip against his side made Soarin’s breath catch in his throat. He nearly dropped the next flapjack. The smirk on her muzzle proved she was quite aware that she’s ‘still got it’.

Soarin’ poured the last of the batter into the skillet and waited for it to bubble as Spitfire balanced the heavy plate of hay bacon and her short stack of flapjacks on her wings. He risked his attention on watching her make her way to the table, outstretched wings perfectly level lest the syrup ruin the morning’s grooming. She caught him looking as she placed the plates in front of a low bench at the table. This just made the motions of her rear exaggerate as she sashayed to the refrigerator to pour a couple glasses of orange juice. Soarin’s flapjacks were bubbling significantly by the time he looked back, and the hurried flip finds the other side a bit darker than he’d like. A small price to pay.

The stack of flapjacks piled on Soarin’s plate dwarfed Spitfire’s portion. Slathering it with butter, Soarin’ poured an extravagant amount of the sweet syrup over top before dusting the whole thing in powdered sugar. The single piece of hay bacon looked more like a garnish than part of the meal as he balanced it on the edge of the plate and moved to join his wife at their table. He tucked himself in and smiled across the short distance between them. He had his somewhat dopey, quite endearing smile on. It was so hard to stay mad at that smile, but Spitfire had practice and resolve. He sipped his orange juice and leaned his head forward just slightly as he placed the glass back on the table. “Have I said ‘Happy Anniversary’ yet?”

A nonplussed mask of general disinterest settled over Spitfire’s face. “You have.”

“I’m sorry I can’t go to Press Day with you and have to stay home.” A slight twist up of the corner of this mouth was partially suppressed, but not enough for her to fail to recognize the smirk.

“No, you’re not.” Spitfire huffed. She brandished a piece of hay bacon like a weapon, thrusting it at him for emphasis. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think your little ‘slip ups’ were a deliberate ploy to get out of media duty. It’s dereliction of duty! You are dereliction of duty!” The way his muzzle scrunched up and the slight biting of his lower lip only increased the volume of her words and the emphaticness of her accusatory bacon pointing. “And don’t you dare laugh at ‘duty’! I’m serious!”

The snort was completely indeliberate, and the stifling of it a complete failure.

Spitfire plopped back down on her bench and popped her impromptu pointer into her mouth, crunching on it aggressively. She swallowed it down with her bubbling temper and exhaled it all as a resigned sigh. “I’m married to a foal. They are going to come any day now to drag me away in shame and scandal.” She used one forehoof to massage her forehead while the other reached across the table to swipe the slice of hay bacon precariously balanced on the edge of Soarin’s plate. She considered it his personal idiot tax of the day.

Soarin’ didn’t seem to mind, or at least it wasn’t clear if he did past his attempts to repress any inappropriate giggling over ‘duty’. The stallion had the capacity to be serious, it just wasn’t something he preferred to be. Besides, Spitfire worried and businessed enough for both of them. “I’ll visit you in prison. I’ll even bake you a file with a cake in it.” The groan and head rubbing intensified across the table. “Hey, don’t mess up your mane, you’re getting pictures taken today.” Was it needless needling? Yes. Was he aware it was needless needling? Also, yes. If you can’t torture the ones you love, though, who can you?

With a display of absolute willpower, Spitfire refused to rise to the bait. Soarin’ had skill in pushing her buttons, in some ways he was a master baiter, but it was the playful teasing of love. Mostly. Honestly, picking on each other was basically their love language and frustration seemed to be an efficient windup for some rather enthusiastic sex. Not today, though. Duty called.

“What about your day?” Spitfire preferred a direct route to swerving a conversation. “Going to stay home and paint your dolls?”

Soarin’ looked offended. “They aren’t dolls, they a wargaming miniatures. Wingblade: Discordant Era is a serious historical game system that develops a keen understanding of unit tactics and teamwork. I haven’t even assembled my new pegasi division yet. It’s nowhere near ready for base coating, let alone paint.”

“So, not painting your dolls?”

Turnabout, as they say, was fair play. The look of absolute offense on his face could do nothing but bring a smile to hers. “I love you.”

Soarin’s next words forced themselves out past a strained huff and over crossed forelegs. “Love you, too.”

Spitfire dabbed her muzzle with a napkin after downing the rest of her orange juice like she was shotgunning… well… not a morning beverage. “Well, whatever you do, don’t burn the place down and have fun. One of us deserves some today.”

He moved quickly, which was unsurprising as a Wonderbolt, coming around the table and pressing his lips to hers with a passionate fierceness which made the words die in her throat and her forelegs rise to encircle his neck. Her head tilted slightly to the side, muzzle pushing forward against his with equal intensity. Lips parted and an eager tongue slipped forward to gently brush sweet, somewhat syrupy, lips. A deep, maple-flavored, kiss wasn’t the worst way to say goodbye. Honey and syrup and things elsewhere... well… it sounded fun in the books until someone passed out in a sugar coma before even half of it licked up and the other had to spend hours getting crystalized sugar out of her fur. It was like getting sand in your uniform but times ten. That particular memory was quickly suppressed as a firm tongue slipped forward to battle. There were times for slow, meticulous strokes to slowly build a wave of sensation, this wasn’t it. This was a tongue war, and the competitive mare was determined to win. An armistice was declared when they bumped the table hard enough to cause an empty glass to fall over and roll off onto the floor with a crash. It broke them out of their passion and lips parted. Both looked at each other with soft smiles and warm eyes. Soarin’ dipped his head, angling to walk his lips down her neck in a trail of kisses but was quickly rebuffed with a swat of a wing. “None of that. You’ll get syrup in my fur. I’ll see you tonight, be careful cleaning up the glass.” She rubbed the back of his head with a hoof and darted her head in again to steal a last quick peck. “Have fun, I’ll be thinking about you.”

Her hoof’s playful boop on his nose as he pulled away spread a dopey grin across his face. The height of her tail as she walked to the front door brought a blush to his cheeks and threatened to send the excess of blood down to other regions. It wasn’t until she was gone and the glass was cleaned up that he considered himself fully in control again. She had that effect on him. Always.

It took willpower to have the following shower stick strictly to grooming. He managed it somehow. A good brushing of fur and a few strokes of a comb were all he spared himself as he stood in front of the mirror. The wind on the flight would handle the drying and styling. He fixed the stallion in the mirror with a serious look. “Well then, it’s time for…” Pause for dramatic effect. “The plan.”

000

Ponyville was a reasonable daytrip on hoof from Canterlot. The train made it a manageable commute for those who wanted to live a smalltown life while working a big city job. For both methods of transportation, a lot of effort and time was spent going up. The problem with a mountaintop city was dealing with the elevation change. More than a few unicorns and earth ponies found time to grumble that the views weren’t worth all the switchbacks, ramps, and Celestia-damned stairs. For a pegasus, though, one could almost glide from Canterlot’s spires to the growing town down below without beating their wings. The flight did require a lot more effort on the return, but even the most prismatic of pegasi couldn’t be lazy all the time.

Soarin’ carried a simple pannier-style saddlebag, draped across his croup. They obscured his cutie marks but it wasn’t a true attempt at concealing his identity. Generally, fans of the Wonderbolts would recognize one of primary triad regardless of disguises and the ones who weren’t fans wouldn’t recognize him regardless. There was a certain amount of anonymity attained by being out of the distinctive flight suit, though. Even a laypony would recognize the blue and gold, full-body suit. He didn’t expect any trouble as the town continued to get bigger and bigger in his vision. Ponyville had a certain ability to downplay the ponies who lived there or visited. It was already the home of a Wonderbolt and other Wonderbolts visiting was a regular occurrence. It also had a princess and the Elements of Harmony, who by all rights should have been celebrities of the highest order. What the town saw, though, was a somewhat obsessive librarian, a good-hearted fashionista, a hard-working farm mare. It was a special place, really, where who you were day-to-day counted for more than accolades or awards. That or the town had just collectively decided the nutjobs didn’t need obsessive fans and celebrity worship adding to what was already a disproportionate number of mental breakdowns among the group. Whatever the case, celebrity didn’t mean much to the residents of Ponyville, unless you caught them on an odd day.

As Soarin’ came in for a landing, he found the town a bit more active than he was used to. The hustle and bustle of the market had spilled out of its normal confines and ponies were wandering about the residential areas as well. A festive atmosphere hung in the air alongside the smells of festival food. He landed farther from his intended destination than he had planned. It meant more trotting around, but that wasn’t a bad thing and it kept him from offending anyone by landing on top of them. The chatter of happy passing ponies and the scent of baked goods reached him, and he smiled. He then wiped his mouth as the delectable scent of apple pie had him drooling, just a little.

Moving through the wide streets with a bounce to his canter, Soarin’ tried to figure out exactly what the celebration was. Perhaps they had warded off a monster attack or solved some sort of major friendship problem. Perhaps it was just a Tuesday and that was cause enough. His musing brought him past a busy candy shop, the cream-coated proprietor setting trays of little chocolate delights in the window to draw in the passersby. Precariously perched on the fence in a position that looked as painful as it did impossible was a mint unicorn watching the crowd. She hummed a soft tune as her hind legs kicked back and forth absentmindedly. Soarin’ put on his best smile and made his way over to the mare, rearing up to rest his pasterns on the rail. He cleared his throat and got only a small startle out of the unicorn as she was broken out of her ponywatching. She turned her head with an uncertain look on her face and brushed her fringe away from her pretty face. The partial scoot away had Soarin’s ears rotating back guiltily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wondered what was going on and thought you looked like you might know.” He reinforced his friendliest smile as much as he could, and it seemed to put the mare a bit more at ease. It was odd, then, that he suddenly felt like somepony had just walked over his grave and it coincided with the tinkling of the bell from the storefront.

The unicorn’s ear swiveled back toward the supportive sound and she gave a quick nod. Her response was a bit overloud, but her voice was rather pleasant. “Oh, you just want to know what’s going on in town today! That’s no problem!” The last words had a strange bit of emphasis that Soarin’ didn’t quite understand. She continued, “It’s Ponyville Stable Sale Day. We always have one in the spring and another in the fall. Everypony tries to sell what they are wanting out of their house, then they fill that space by buying what their neighbor wants out of their house.” The laugh that followed verged on a giggle and had the quality of a windchime. “And if the whole town is doing something, might as well make it a party. You should buy some bonbons. It’ll be good for you.” He didn’t understand the wink but leaned over to look at the display in the window. It was a bit hard to see with the scowling cream earth pony in the way.

“We don’t normally eat a lot of chocolate at home, but it’s a special occasion. It’s my anniversary today. I hoped to get something nice for when she gets home from work.” The mental image of Spitfire stuck in a room in a formal uniform giving meticulously constructed answers to journalists for hours sealed the deal. He looked back to the display and found the confectioner’s scowl had completely disappeared and the mare was heading back inside. “Yeah. I think you’re right. She definitely needs something extra special when she comes home tonight.”

“She sounds like a lucky mare.” The unicorn offered a very sweet smile.

“I’m the lucky one.” Soarin’ dropped his forelegs to the ground and trotted inside to pick out something nice, but chocolates couldn’t be all of it. No, he needed something bigger.

000

The candymare, Bon Bon it could be assumed from her seeming ownership of the store and the name on the sign, was entirely pleasant as he browsed the store and made a rather hefty purchase of a variety of confections to try. After all, variety is the spice of life, or at least that’s what Bon Bon insisted. They shared some small talk about married life and anniversary plans and she sent him out with a bundle of quality chocolates and a sample for the road.

The hustle and bustle of Ponyville on a festival day rivaled Canterlot during the commuting hours. Similar, but different. The ponies here were both more pleasant and less dressed. A few hats or accessories caught the eye, but most stuck to their own fur. He found himself looking for hats, especially when the scent of apple pie got stronger.

Soarin’ was a faithful stallion and his heart would always belong to Spitfire, but some part of him loved the Pie Mare. It was his stomach, in particular, but it was part of him, nonetheless. There was nothing untoward about using a few off hours to go a town over to buy a dessert. Nothing was wrong in frequenting one specific vendor. Having a favorite food was completely fine. He even shared sometimes. It didn’t mean he was immune to teasing about it. After once getting caught in the middle of the night sneaking a midnight pie, he found himself forty-five minutes later with Spitfire in a ball of sweaty pony and soiled sheets being asked if she needed to buy a hat.

He liked the hat, and even got to wear it sometimes.

It wasn’t the Pie Mare’s distinctive Stetson he ended up spotting, though, it was the sign over the service cart. A wagon stacked full of apple products was parked behind. A pair of ponies were working it, the small yellow filly standing up on the counter taking orders and the large red stallion behind her bagging them up. Large was an understatement. The red mountain of a pony was tall and thickly built. One athlete to another, he could appreciate the heavily corded muscle dancing under taut skin. The sheen of the stallion’s coat caught daylight and the little shine of the healthy fur added more definition to a strong body that effortlessly loaded apples into a patron’s cart two bushels at a time. The blonde mane was damp with sweat from a long day standing in the hot sun, but the smile didn’t leave the stallion’s face as he seemed bolstered by the very act of labor. A pony built for stamina and rough plowing…

“Uhhh… You lookin’ tah buy somethin’, mister?” The filly’s question drawled across his senses, and he blinked a few times before clearing his throat.

“Pie?” Soarin’s ear rotated back in embarrassment, though the filly didn’t seem to register it.

“Riiiight.” The red bow on the filly’s head bobbed with her head. “I reckon yer in the right place, then! Apple family pies are the best pies yah can stick yer muzzle in!”

Soarin’ continued to nod along dumbly at the sales pitch.

“Granny’s pie, AJ’s pie. Apple’s pies satisfies!” The filly beams. “Soon Ah’ll be able tah sell mine! Applejack says it’s not quite there yet, so it’s just fer family, but ah know ah’m close! An’ we’re diversified! Apple, pear, peach, cherry. Ah think mah cherry is closest tah ready… maybe next year… anyways! What can I do yah for?”

“Yes.” It was a word and about the only noise Soarin’ could push out. He’d never been on this side of so many inadvertent innuendoes before… he was beginning to come to a limited understanding of Spitfire’s headaches.

“We like a stallion with a good appetite! One ah each then! Big Mac!”

The red-furred face turned from the retreating customer, the lazy smile the only thing to appear lazy about the stallion. “Eeyup?” Came out as an acknowledgement and query both.

‘Pack’im up, move’im out!” The swat was probably a bit much gauging by the narrowing eyes and flaring nostrils on the red face. The filly blushed in embarrassment and eked out a ‘sorry’ under her breath as the four pies were individually boxed and tied up in a convenient package to be hoofed over. Soarin’ took the bundle in his teeth after sliding over the cost plus a good tip. The filly waved as he turned to leave, gaining back a bit of youthful exuberance after the stallion returned to his work and stopped staring his ire into her. “Come on back now, yah hear?”

000

Stable sales weren’t popular in Canterlot. The city preferred the spectacle of an auction. Small, expensive snacks, close confines in constricting clothes, and the feeling of superiority that came with spending more on some or another piece of art or history or art history or what-have-you than the next pony over. Canterlot ran on casual snobbery and any opportunity to inflate one’s own feeling of self-worth was pounced on by the Canterlot Elite like seagulls after spilled popcorn. Soarin’ liked to consider himself above the snobbery, but it had its ways of insidiously slithering its way inside you to pop out at inopportune times. He tried hard to keep himself grounded (not necessarily physically) and humble. It helped to be able to take off the suit and mostly blend in. To be just another blue stallion walking about a small, but growing, town. Below the attention of the ponies going about a festive day haggling over this or that doodad that they’ll end up trying to sell at their next stable sale. It was relaxing in a way that Canterlot never was.

Cloudsdale was worse. It didn’t have as much snootiness, but it had so many more true fans. Soarin’ loved the fans, they were why he could live a life where he could follow his greatest passion. He also got to fly. Their joy and appreciation paid for Spitfire to be captain, for him to be on her team, and for them both to live a comfortable life enjoying each other and the sky. There were few things as pure as the smile of a filly or colt getting an autograph. He stopped at every foal’s ward at every hospital in any city they visited to help bring a little joy to the ones who couldn’t stand in line for them. He wept every time he flew away from those meetings. He gave his whole heart to the fans, but they weren’t all the same. A ‘dad’ begging him to sign a filly’s cast that then ended up being sold as a set with the other casts she’d been wearing over the course of the day, the grown adult busting into the middle of a candlelit dinner in an upscale restaurant, the mare screaming herself into a froth that she should be able to buy out the whole event’s limited edition plushies just because she had the money… some fans were worse than others. Even the best ones could interrupt a quiet stroll, or a tender nuzzle.

In Ponyville, though, Soarin’ could be a pony. Just a pony.

“Hey! I know you!”

The excited, youthful voice broke him out of his thoughts even before the mixed smell of baked goods, marshmallows, and cotton candy. The grimace that creased his face was short-lived, a fraction of a second, but enough to put a hitch in the rapidly expanding smile on the pink face that just appeared well within his personal bubble.

“…Is what I would say if I recognized you as anypony but just a pony! Helloooooo, straaaaanger!” The stretching of the vowels exaggerated and singsong. “And welcome to Pinkie Pie’s Stable Sale! I was going to come up with a better name with some alliteration, but Pinkie Pie is two ‘p’s and Stable Sale is two ‘s’s, so it would be hard cause I can’t change my name and a stable sale is a stable sale and you can’t call it not a stable sale when its Ponyville Stable Sale Day, which isn’t an alliteration either. Pinkie Pie’s Ponyville Stable Sale gets up to three ‘p’s so maybe it counts but it doesn’t feel like it counts and maybe if I had some extra ‘s’s it would count. It could be Pinkie Pie’s Ponyville Super Serious Stable Sale cause the Cakes say I can’t keep my stuff in the attic anymore and so it has to all fit in…” It qualifies as the first breath he’s seen the bubblegum pony take and coincides with a furtive look around before his personal space is further violated as he’s brought forcefully into a conspiratorial hug. She’s soft and has a very strong grip… and something in her mane blinked at him. “…my super-secret party planning cave! It’s where I keep detailed information on everyone I know! It’s also kinda cramped so this is Pinkie Pie’s Ponyville Super Serious Stable Sale to Clear the Super-Secret Cave Some Space!” The blast of confetti and streamers covered the area in front of Sugarcube Corner and the hapless stallion still standing there. The banner was a nice touch, giving Pinkie something to be reared up in front of in a dramatic pose. She pronked down from the crate which had become her impromptu stage and brushed some streamers from in front of Soarin’s eyes. “Soooooo! Can I interest you in some slightly used streamers or a cannon?”

Soarin’s mind, still reeling, grasped at potential words to use and landed on the safety of repetition. “Cannon?”

The green suit and wide polka dot tie were less of a nice touch, and equally as inexplicable as the banner. More concerning was the way her mane managed to look slicked back and curly at the same time… and continued blinking at him. He swallowed mightily as the smile spread across Pinkie’s face, looking like the cat who caught the canary or the carriage dealer who caught the rube. Soarin’ took a half step back, eyes darting around looking for vectors of escape. There’s a storage building in Canterlot with two units rented out in his name due to high pressure salesponies. His wings start to flare…

…and are gently but firmly pressed back down against his back by the foreleg casually draped across him now. A pink cheek pressed against his in a complete disregard of personal space. Again. “Cannons! I bet a nice buck like you can find a reason for a party, right? You probably have been thinking of one all day! A special day! I can tell! I can smell the party on you!” Her nose is nearly touching his ear when she sniffs, his mane shifting toward the sudden intake of air. “Smells like… monogamy.”

Soarin’s misfiring neurons briefly flashed the idea that he needs an adult and that nopony in the vicinity truly qualifies.

The grip got tighter, and he found himself being led deeper into the piles of party supplies and boxes. “No… no… noooo.” The singsong voice suddenly decided for him. “You don’t need cannons. Blasting off in ponies’ faces is more of a me thing and not something you surprise a married mare with. That’s what Mr. Cake says anyway, but he also says it would have led to less mouths to feed, so your milage may vary!” The vice grip left him as Pinkie swirled herself around dramatically to pose beside a large crate. “No! You, mister monogamously married stallion! Need some spice for your night!” A skillful kick let the front of the massive crate fall forward to reveal the contents. Rows and rows of contents that seem to defy the dimensions of the crate they are contained within.

“What?” asked Soarin’, scholar amongst ponies and noted quick thinker.

“Collectibles! Everypony loves collectibles!” Pinkie beams.

“Ummm… are they… is it… real?”

“100% real imitation fur! I’ve got all of Ponyville, half of Canterlot, most celebrities, and even some ponies that are only figments of the imaginations of hideous beings on another plane of existence!” Her eyes shifted over to a point in space above and to the right of Soarin’s head and an extra broad smile spread across her face. “But, then again, aren’t we all?” She stared at the point long enough for Soarin’ to fluff out his wings in preparation to escape. Before he could, she turned to lock her eyes on him again. “Anyway…”

“What would we even do with them?” Soarin’ tilted his head to the side, still trying to wrap his head around what he’s seeing.

“You’re a clever stallion.” The elbow in the ribs was just on the near side of friendly. The eyebrow waggling gets rather dramatic as she reaches in and runs a hoof over an orange specimen inside the box. “I’m sure you can think of all kinds of uses.”

“And they… do everything?” A curious blue hoof reached out to feel the 100% real imitation fur.

“Absolutely everything! Tested in combat conditions in the Crystal Empire! Spy tested; foal approved!” Big blue eyes batted at him. “And quite reasonably priced! I’ll let go of the whole crate, at a loss! A stallion that I definitely don’t recognize as being a rich and famous stunt flier would definitely help a filly out, wouldn’t he?”

000

Soarin’ now owned a crate. The ropes wrapped around it allowed for a rudimentary harness to attempt to drag the thing, and they had cost him a hoofful more bits. He wasn’t sure if high pressure sales tactics or puppy dog eyes were more effective on him, but in unison they proved to be able to separate him from his personal ‘You get this much a check which I won’t judge your purchases with and I get the same’ fund. The Storm Manta for his pegasi army was going to have to wait.

It was too heavy to lift. He could fly with it a short distance, but not all the way to Canterlot. He’d be lucky to make it to the train station with it. He was already getting some glares for what dragging it was doing to the road and he’d only made it half a block. Looking back, the waving pink form still counting his bits didn’t help. He waved back though, no reason not to be polite. Still, he had to face facts.

It was too big for him to handle.

He hadn’t liked the admission, even in his head. It felt like failure, like if he could just grit his teeth and try that somehow, he could manage. He hadn’t gotten to the pinnacle of his sport by going soft when presented something hard. He was a Wonderbolt, and more than that, one of the primary triad. He made it by beating off all comers, by being the last stallion standing when other’s stamina failed them.

But this was too big and too hard for him. Physics could be the enemy, but it couldn’t be denied.

He needed help. Big help.

A smile stretched across his muzzle as the idea came to him. That Big Mac pony at the apple stand was big, burly and strong. He’d have no problem ponyhandling that box onto the train. He could probably hire him to make the trip and get it all the way to their flat. He’d probably need to write off buying the Cloud Titan for a while too, in order to pay the stallion, but that’s what you do for love.

Slipping out of the improvised traces, a quick flap of his wings put him high enough to get a good view of the town. His target was a big, red mass that would struggle to hide even if they intended to. Scanning the crowd brought his eyes first over the signage for the apple stand and then past to the big red pony working behind it. It didn’t take years of being a search and rescue ace before the ‘Bolts to complete this mission. His first instinct was to stoop into a dive, but dramatics would only hamper his plans. He circled the town square and found a nice roof to land on behind the apple stand. A quick drop put him behind the wagon with the last of the family’s goods.

Soarin’ rounded the wagon into the end of a family conversation as the Apples appeared to pack up shop for the day. Big Mac’s low baritone speaking gentle words of encouragement, “Yah did good, Bloom. Sold out as soon as Ah take the last bushels over to Sugar Cube Corner. Yah can go play with yer friends, just don’ get intah trouble.” There was a familiar kind of defeatist breath taken then. “An’ git back to tha farm by sundown. Yer sister’s about here somewhere, if’n yah need anythin’.”

The filly nodded her head fast enough to cause the oversized bow to blur and was off like a shot with dust kicked up in her wake. The enthusiasm brought a bemused smile and a slow headshake to the big red stallion. Macintosh’s eyes widened in confusion on turning and finding a powder blue pegasus stallion in his wagon. They still only managed to be about two-thirds of the way open, but it was a noticeable increase of the usual half. The arch of one brow cocking up dramatically added quite well to the look. “Ee…”

“Hey there, big guy!” Soarin’ offered a hoof toward the stallion, letting it hang in the air. “Big Mac, right? I couldn’t help but be impressed watching you work.”

Big Macintosh pressed a hoof to the one hanging in the air, giving a singular polite shake to the limb. “Thanks?”

“Let me get to the point. I need you.” Soarin’ flashed his most convincing smile and a little toss of his mane to clear his vision of a few stray hairs. It’s important to maintain eye contact when negotiating.

“Whoa there, Ah don’t think…” Big Macintosh let his hoof drop back to the ground.

“Don’t say no yet! Look, I came to town to find something special and now I’ve made a few impulsive decisions that led to me being left with a hoofful to deal with. You know how it is, right?” Rearing up brought both blue fetlocks over the edge of the wagon and his wings spread out like he was readying himself to pounce. The posture also evoked a level of enthusiasm that was hard to flee from.

“Right… but…”

“I just need a strapping stallion to help me handle a big package, and you look like you are a master of package handling.” His wings perked up and gave a little flap and he leaned further out of the wagon, face hopeful.

Big Macintosh’s mouth dropped open to give a response, but the only thing to fall out of it was a sprig of wheat he’d been nibbling on over the course of the day.

“So, how about you help me out? A little trip up to Canterlot? Hop on the train, spend the night? It’ll be my treat. You won’t have to worry about anything except putting your back into a couple jobs on the way.” Soarin’ knew that ponies always respond well to a wink.

“Eenope.”

“I’ll pay you.” Bits sometimes worked better than winks, though.

Big Macintosh’s eyes darted side to side, for once hoping a certain overbearing orange pony would show up to bail him out of an awkward situation. True to history, though, his sister appeared only able to appear and stick her nose in his business when he didn’t want her butting in. “Ah’m flattered you think Ah’d be a good choice but…”

“Come on, you’re perfect! It’s nothing somepony your size can’t handle.” Puppy dog eyes and a slight pouting of the lip. If it worked on Spitfire, it would work on anypony!

“Look, the barn door just doesn’t swi…”

“1,500 bits?”

“… Eeyup.”

000

In a cargo car toward the back of the train sat a rather large crate, leaning against it were two stallions. The red and blue sat shoulder to shoulder passing around a flask of applejack. Soarin’ took a slug off it before passing it back. Turns out he rather likes applejack.

Big Macintosh took the flask and a swig of his own before slipping it back into its place under his harness. “So, it’s yer anniversary and yah spent it in Ponyville without her?”

Soarin’ frowned, “I was looking for something special and it was my only real chance to sneak away. She’s got work all day.”

“Eeyup.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Soarin’s frown bunched up on one side. It was a perfectly acceptable plan to sneak in some shopping today! Sure, he had some fun, but there’s nothing wrong with having fun without your wife. He’s married, not dead.

“Nothin’.” A big, red hoof adjusted the harness around Big Macintosh’s neck in a way very similar to Tale Spin adjusting his tie before going to meet the presstitutes to explain Soarin’s most recent misspeak. “Just thinkin’ Ah’d have expected somethin’ in a smaller box, is all.”

“Spitfire doesn’t like jewelry, though. Earrings make her ears feel heavy, necklaces move around to much, wristlets get caught on treetops.” He snorted as dozens of prior gifts flash in front of his mind, each accepted with a smile and never actually worn. “I mean, there’s other places for piercings that wouldn’t get in the way, but she says those are for hussies and whores.” A blush climbed his face, and he quickly added. “No offense to whores.” Great save.

Big Macintosh chuckled. “Oh, saw my dock piercing, did’cha?” The blank expression on Soarin’s face froze, mouth open and at risk of catching flies. The punch in the shoulder rocked him out of his shock. “It’s a joke.”

Soarin’ snapped out of the mental image with nervous laughter. “Right…”

“Well, Ah hope the unorthodox gift works fer yah.” Big Macintosh spared a glance back at the large crate they were leaning against. “It was Pinkie’s?”

Soarin’ nodded. “Took up too much space.”

“Ah can see that.”

“Plenty of space in our flat, though. You’ll see.” Their Canterlot apartment had all the amenities a pegasus could want, and more to boot. The crate would slide in well enough to one of the unused walk-in closets.

“Cain’t say Ah’d figure Pinkie as bein’ one to have romantic second-hoof goods, though.” Big Macintosh scratched at his chin as he spoke, the sprig of grass moving slowly from one side of his mouth to the other.

“It’s neat. She’ll like it.”

“If’n yah say so.”

Soarin’s ears splayed back, and his muzzle showed a defensive little frown. “Well, Big Casanova, if you’re so good at gift giving, what would you give her?”

An easy smile spread across the red face beside him. “Easy. Yah got plenty ah things, right? If’n she wants somethin’, she can just go get it, an’ it dun sound like she’s all in tah fillin’ yer life up with stuff. Ah reckon a mare like that, she gonna appreciate ah new experience over ah new toy.”

The gears in Soarin’s mind turned, grinding along as his eyes went over the large acquaintance he’d made and employed for the night. “New experience…” Soarin’ gave a firm nod as a smile spread across his face. “So… when we get up to the loft…”

000

Spitfire trudged into the apartment complex and made her way to the stairs. She could have flown up to the loft and gone in a window, but her wings ached from all the posing and demonstrations of the day. Being the primary attraction of the annual Wonderbolt’s dog and pony show meant that Press Day was possibly the longest day of the year. It made her pine for the simpler days back in the Search and Rescue Corps. Back in the Corps, all she had to worry about was looking for lost foals in the mountains or putting down the occasional pegasi supremacist movement. Easy stuff compared to dealing with a ravenous press pool that dug into her personal life like the world’s most motivated archaeologists.

It wouldn’t be so bad, except for all of it. When it wasn’t Lurid Photo trying to convince her to pose for Playpony it was Nosy Parker of Better Stables and Gardens trying to figure out why she wasn’t knocked up yet. She had to get through the day without kicking anypony. Every year, smile and give the diplomatic answer. Subtly avoid Lurid’s wandering wingtips while being sure to smile. Her dress blues at least provided some armor against incidental contact with the most infamous of the sleazeballs.

She couldn’t even focus on self-preservation. All the Bolts, save for one lucky idiot, had to be in attendance and that meant she had to ride herd on the lot of them. Pull the leash on Surprise so the mare would stop talking at inappropriate moments. Keep Fleetfoot away from Lurid before she could work up her own scandal and/or centerfold. Keep the newbies away from the worst of them, mostly by offering herself as a living pony shield. Press Day was the worst.

At least she was almost home. A few… dozen… more flights of stairs and she’d be in her own loft apartment. She could relax, get out of her uniform, get her live-in idiot to massage her hooves and maybe pour her a bottle… glass of wine.

A smile quirked the sides of her mouth as she climbed and thought of her doofus. Soarin’ had the biggest heart of any stallion she’d ever met. He could be dense and that could occasionally lead to being inconsiderate, but he was never spiteful. He could manage all the malice of a golden retriever. A subdued chuckle slipped out as she thought about the parallel. Maybe they’d play fetch when she got home.

He had probably gotten a surprise for her, sweet as he was. It was their anniversary, after all, and presents were expected. Her own gift for the love of her life had been tucked up under the kitchen sink. As busy as they were, it had been easy enough to come up with an excuse to go to a private spa day. Then it was just a matter of finding a personal photographer who did those kinds of photo shoots. Not all of them were sleazeballs after all. Miss Boudoir Shoot was the kind who saw her art as a way to empower the mares she photographed, and the results would have been a year’s worth of centerfolds in all the magazines that catered to that market. They would never see print. A personal book for the one stallion who deserved to see her that way.

She hoped part of his plan was dinner. She’d made a few swoops of the snack bar during the course of the day, but it hardly filled her. A grumbling stomach was not the sexiest noise to hear under the covers. Especially when it would be followed with ‘Is there a bear in the cave with us?’. Celestia bless his heart, but he really did think he was clever.

A quick turn of the key in the lock and she was home. The first thing she noticed was the thick floral scents. “I’m home.” She called into the candlelit apartment as she walked in. She squinted through her sunglasses, the sunset through the windows giving her enough light to see the bouquet of flowers and the trail of rose petals leading off to the bedroom. She couldn’t help but smile as she took a step over to smell the bouquet and sample some of the choicer buds. Always a moment for a snack. “You’ve been busy.”

She trotted, almost pranced, toward the bedroom. She supposed they could engage in a bit of strenuous activity before he pampered her with a hoof rub. She swept into the bedroom and took in the wash of red sprawled across her bed. So many roses had to give their lives for the petals that covered so much of the bed. They went well with the coat of the rugged earth pony stretched languidly across the bed. The stud’s apple-marked butt was on her pillow.

His unmentionables were currently his very visibles.

They were apparently also his very strokables, because that’s what the stallion was doing. A base drawl crawled out of the stranger’s throat, low and husky. “I reckon yah might be fit fer plowin’.”

Spitfire’s mouth attempted to work, falling open as she took in the sights and the words. Then it closed. There was an awful lot to take in. A hoof moved up to her face and she pulled the aviators off. It made it easier to see details in the low light. Slowly she folded them up, one side then the other. She placed them on the dresser by the door. Her hoof spent a moment at the throat of her dress uniform, considering the buttons for a moment but returning to the floor. Amber eyes met brilliant green.

The air behind her nearly combusted with the force of the propelling wingbeat.

Green eyes widened and large bulk gave a rather desperate attempt and propelling itself sideways. The valiant push tangling limbs as the red stallion managed to fling himself off the bed as an orange streak of anger flew over his head.

The crack of hoof against wood was deafening and a shower of splinters rained down on the red stallion’s rump from the sundered headboard. He tried to crawl, chest on the floor and rump caught up in fabric. A fast military crawl couldn’t compare to the Wonderbolt captain’s agility. Four yellow hooves landed just in front of his face.

“You picked a bad day to pull this stalker bullshit, buddy.” Furious amber eyes glared down at the red stallion.

Green eyes reflected fear and a sudden realization that bad decisions had been made. “I can explain!”

A surprisingly strong hoof gripped him by the scruff of the neck and started to bodily drag him across the room. “You can explain on the way down, after I throw you out the window.”

Red legs kicked out, trying to slow the drag, but were still mostly caught up in the comforter being slowly pulled off the bed as he was drug across the room. “No! Spitz! I can explain.”

Furious eyes glared back, and the intruder didn’t appear to expect the kick across the face at all. His head snapped to the side and his forelegs came up to protect his head from the next strike. It appeared to be eminent as Spitfire reared up, ready to readjust the stallion’s face with a stomp. Or two. Maybe three. She could see going up to four.

A red hoof came up to the stallion’s fringe and paused there. Gripping something before coming down with a zipping sound. Then there was light blue… except where it was quickly swelling and getting darker. It was the face of an idiot, her idiot, and all four hooves returned to the floor. “Luna’s cratered ass… What?!”

“Umm… Happy Anniversary?”

000

It still looked wrong, the big earth pony body with the smaller blue neck and head sticking out. They’d returned to the bed, laying down to talk. Mostly it was Soarin’ talking and Spitfire doing a lot of very indulgent listening.

“So let me get this straight.” Spitfire pinched the bridge of her nose with her fetlock. “You bought a crate of these magical costumes from a crazy pony in Ponyville and thought they could spice up our sex life?”

“That is the short version, yes.” Soarin’ held a bag of frozen peas to one side of his face and rubbed the back of his neck with the other hoof. “Not that we need spice, but… I dunno… I thought something different would be fun?”

Spitfire moved her hoof to her temple to rub. “This isn’t exactly what I meant by roleplay, I… oh no…” Spitfire’s hoof slowly pulled down her face. “This is my fault, I put this in your head.”

Soarin’ remained dutifully silent for a time. “I love you?”

Spitfire couldn’t help but laugh. It started as a restrained giggle, the grew in intensity. A laugh, a chortle, a guffaw. There was even a rather unladylike snort at a few points. By the time the fit had ended, moisture rolled down her cheeks and she leaned forward with a hoof on his thigh to keep herself somewhat upright. “I love you, too, you big goof.” She took a deep, centering breath and smiled. “So, a big crate of costumes for roleplaying, huh?”

Spitfire hopped off the bed and started to unbutton her dress blues. She faced away and slipped free of the uniform with a lithe grace and a lot more movement of her rear than was exactly necessary. The neatly folded uniform was sat beside her favorite sunglasses and her svelte form moved toward the walk-in closet. “And it’s in here?”

Soarin’ nodded dumbly. “Yeah… yeah it is.”

With a nod, Spitfire disappeared into the closet.

Soarin’ sat on the bed, still mostly in his Big Macintosh costume with the head unzipped. That was the weirdest part, he decided. Looking down at the huge hooves he was twiddling and feeling everything like it was his but knowing his own were inside. Smaller. He quickly looked back toward the closet as those thoughts were rather uncomfortable. Maybe a ‘new experience’ wasn’t the best gift. Last time he’d trust old country wisdom.

The closet door opened to yellow, no, orange forelegs. Green eyes looked to him and a freckled muzzle flashed a warm smile. The mare tipped her hat and leaned against the doorframe. “Ah reckon yah might be fit fer plowin’.” She drawled, giving him a wink.

“The Pie Mare…” Soarin’ gulped, looking over the athletic earth pony. “Wait! We can’t do this! We’re related!”

She arched her eyebrow questioningly. A very exaggerate, dramatic motion. “Soarin’, honey. We aren’t related.”

He blinked a few times and eventually nodded.

“So, yah gonna plow my field?” She sashayed toward the foot of the bed.

Soarin’ gulped again and brought his hoof up to his chest, grabbing the zipper and pulling it up. “Eeyup.”