Whiteout

On the one hoof, Flurry was preternaturally good at teleportation magic. Even as a foal, she could zap herself across the whole town at will, and Pound remembered her blinking them both around so much during childhood visits that he’d almost—almost—gotten used to the vertigo it sent churning through his gut every time.

On the other hoof, she wasn’t as intimately familiar with Twilight’s castle as she was her own—and on top of that, she’d technically been covered in cum less than thirty seconds ago, which had to be at least a little distracting. So all things considered, a bumpy landing on the floor of her guest suite wasn’t that much of an inconvenience. Easier than flying, at least.

“Ow,” she groaned as she untangled herself from Pound’s forelegs, her belly rubbing against his semi-stiff length as she did. “They moved the bed. We were supposed to land on the bed.”

Pound soothed her wounded pride with a kiss under her chin, taking a moment to get his bearings as he did. They’d reappeared between the room’s entrance and a canopied king bed set against the wall, a couple feet above a thickly woven rug that was thankfully much softer than the hard crystal floor around it.

“This works for me,” he said. “It’s a nice rug. Very plush.”

“Well, it doesn’t work for me,” Flurry said as she straddled him and then stood up. Undeterred, Pound moved his lips from her throat to her chest, hooking his forehooves around her hocks for leverage. “I’m a Princess. Princesses fuck on beds.”

“And in broom closets.”

“Sometimes we suck dick in broom closets. Different energy.”

As Flurry tried to walk over Pound towards the bed behind him, Pound slid his hooves up to her stifles and squeezed, his lips and tongue sliding down her stomach in the same motion. From this angle, he could see her lower lips protruding below the swell of her pelvis, wet with a need for attention they very much deserved.

“Do Princesses get eaten out on rugs?” he murmured as he reached her teats and slipped one of them into his mouth. Between tiny gasps that rose in pitch whenever he pressed his tongue into her nipple, Flurry managed to cobble together a reply.

“Not usually,” she sighed as she scooched forward, “but I’m open to new experiences.”

With some repositioning of his own, Pound was able to brace his shoulder against the side of the mattress as Flurry laid her front half across it, leaving her rear hooves on the floor and her pussy at the perfect height—once she squatted down a bit—for Pound’s mouth to reach. When his tongue brushed against her clitoris, she sighed again, and when he sealed his lips around it and suckled, she let out a moan to match the taste that flooded his mouth: tangy, thick, and utterly delicious.

He couldn’t hold this position for very long before his neck started to hurt, but he did his best to make the most of it, alternating between flicking and flattening his tongue on Flurry’s clit and groping at her ass whenever he heard a plaintive mewl leave her throat. Once he had to move, he did so decisively, rolling onto his haunches and pulling her tail over her back so he could bury his muzzle in her backside and thrust his tongue as deep into her pussy as it could reach.

Flurry gripped the comforter and arched her lower back, tensing up with each wiggle of the warm appendage tongue inside her. As Pound gorged himself, focusing on the rim of her opening and occasionally darting over to each of her outer lips, the pressure of his hooves against her barrel slowly moved her further and further onto the bed, until her hind hooves could barely reach the floor.

Once she lost contact with the ground entirely, Pound took the initiative again, rolling her onto her back and attacking her clit with rapid flicks of his tongue, forming an airtight seal with his lips around her cunt that drew a delighted squeal out of her lungs. Her groans grew louder and higher with each passing second, as did the force of her thighs squeezing around his ears.

He felt her start to squirm beneath him, then shudder, then convulse—and then she threaded her hoof through his mane and pulled him up onto the bed, so fast that his tongue dragged up to her navel before he could manage to look up at her.

“What’s up?” he asked, sucking one last taste of her off his lips before crawling up to look her in the eyes. “You wanna stop?”

“Fuck no,” she rasped back, still tugging on his shoulders. “I want you inside me.”

Pound couldn’t help but frown. Usually she loved when he went down on her—and he loved doing it. “You seemed like you were close.”

Another shudder rolled through Flurry as she kissed him. “I’ve been close all day,” she said. “Fuck me.”

Well, if she insisted. With a grin, Pound shifted himself forward, slotting his hips between Flurry’s spread legs and wrapping his forehooves around her shoulders. Slowly, gently, he slid his rigid length over her folds and onto her belly, relishing the pitiful whimper the small motion drew out of her. She was as wet as he could remember ever feeling a mare be, and his balls tingled as her juices washed over them.

“Pooooound…”

He moved back, and then forward again, pressing into her, feeling her outer lips tug against the head of his cock as, inch by burning inch, he entered her. She twitched the whole way in, bucking her hips to help him along, until finally his pelvis bumped against hers. Together, they each let out a quiet, satisfied sigh.

“Fuck me…” Flurry ordered him again—eyes squeezed shut, her voice barely above a whisper.

And Pound obeyed.

He started slowly, drawing his full length out of her with every pull back and bottoming out with each thrust that followed. Flurry’s hoof shot to his neck and hooked around it. He leaned down and kissed her, thrusting his tongue against hers as his hips sped up. She squeezed him—with both sets of lips—and let her other forehoof settle on his back, just above his tail, pushing him closer and deeper.

The soft smacks of his hips against hers soon became rhythmic slaps, and then increasingly damp squishes as her arousal spread over her thighs and soaked into the fur below his belly. Flurry threw her head back as her hooves slammed into the mattress, bunching the duvet where she desperately clutched at it. She writhed underneath him, flushed from forehead to sternum, moaning in meaningless syllables she couldn’t quite collect into words.

“Gah… fu… Po… ahhhh…”

Pound shifted a bit in place, gathered his legs underneath his hips, angled his next thrust up instead of forward—and Flurry’s eyes shot open as her speech returned to her.

“Ohhhhh, keep doing that! Just like that, oh f-fuck…”

He kept his pace steady, kept pushing into the spot deep inside her that he knew would drive her crazy—even as his hind legs began to quiver and a dull ache blossomed in his hips. Hot as this position was, it was also really uncomfortable, but he could tank through it for her sake. Just for a few moments longer, until…

“Mmmf!”

Pound felt Flurry’s hips pull away from his, and then felt her tail brush over his stomach. He sat back—giving his screaming thighs a crucial moment’s rest—and saw she’d flipped onto her belly and pressed her chin into the bed, ass raised and shaking with the aftershocks of his previous efforts. Her pussy glistened in the late-evening light, smeared with their shared fluids, trembling with desire. Pound unsteadily stood, clapped his forehooves against her flanks as he lined himself up, and thrust inside her again, fast and hard enough that it forced a shout out of Flurry almost shrill enough to be a scream.

There was no romance to this position, no chance for an intimate kiss or tender hoof to distract Pound from railing his mare’s absolute fucking brains out. And judging by the contracted, almost pained expression on Flurry’s face, he was well on his way to doing just that, and getting closer with every forceful crack of his hips against her ass.

She wailed beneath him, each breath halfway to being a sob, and when he pressed his hoof into the space between her wings and slammed her flat against the bed, the ecstatic squeak it forced from her lungs etched itself immediately into Pound’s mind as a memory he’d cherish for countless hoof-off sessions to come. This was what he’d been waiting for, what he’d endured days of total celibacy to take full advantage of: a pampered, prissy, pristinely coiffed Princess, desperate for him to destroy her. She was his, no matter how many limp-dick royals or starfishing starlets had wasted her time before, and he would make sure she knew it in body, mind, and slutty little soul.

On his next thrust in, he felt her start to peak—saw her wings begin to flare as her legs and back went stiff. Instead of maintaining his pace, he went slower and harder, driving into her like he meant to knock her off the bed entirely, and blasting her deliriously, deliciously, screaming into an orgasm that shot through her like lightning from head to twitching tail.

She bucked him off of her as she spasmed and shook, and he sat back and watched as her staccato shouts trailed off into shuddering sighs. Once the best of it had passed, he crawled forward and wrapped his forelegs around her, pulling her onto her side and into her chest so he could lavish her neck with kisses and slot his painfully stiff cock between her saturated thighs. She pushed back into him as the last of the tremors worked their way out of her core, and after a few breathless seconds finally found her voice again.

“Hooooooly fucking shit,” Flurry said through a shaky sigh. “That was… really big one…”

Pound almost said something snarky like “It was good for me too,” but caught himself just in time. No sense ruining a moment like this with small talk. Especially with Flurry’s warm, wet, silky-soft thighs feeling oh-so-good around his tingling dick. He couldn’t help but move his hips a little—more of a wiggle than a thrust, but enough to make Flurry giggle drunkenly and squeeze her legs together.

“Sorry I… kinda threw you off me,” she said in a giddy mumble.

“You’re good,” Pound murmured into her neck. He rephrased his statement a moment later. “You’re good?”

“You did good. Just… sensitive.”

Pound figured as much. Flurry’s climaxes tended to be like fireworks: loud, thrilling, and—much as she’d told him she wished otherwise—a capstone to whatever show they were a part of. Fortunately, her proverbial encores tended to be just as good as the main event.

“Did you cum?” she asked him, likely already knowing the answer.

“I’m fine,” he answered, with a playful nip at her ear. “I’ve cum inside a Princess before.”

Flurry giggled again, then let the bubbly sound lengthen into a sultry sigh. Pound knew that sound well—and his twitching dick knew what it usually meant.

“You fucked a Princess in the ass before?” Flurry crooned.

Pound’s dick jumped again, in time with his heart. He really had done good.

“I’m open to new experiences,” he said. Flurry looked over her shoulder, pecked him on the nose, and gave him a look that could have boiled lava and ended wars. No stallion alive could’ve needed further invitation.

In moments, Pound had maneuvered his hind hooves onto the floor again and braced his hooves on either side of Flurry’s head, his still-sticky cock laid over her stomach. She stroked it gently with her hoof, then squeezed it as she lit her horn.

“Hang on…” she muttered.

Pound didn’t see the spell land, but he certainly felt it. Magic washed down from the tip of his dick to the base and left a sheen of lubrication in his wake, and he felt a similar slippery warmth graze over his balls, where they rested gently against Flurry’s backdoor. This time, he seriously couldn’t help himself.

“Who invented that spell?” he wondered aloud. “Was it supposed to be for something else, and then…?”

“I don’t know,” Flurry interrupted, holding back laughter. “Maybe they were just impatient like me.”

“Point taken,” Pound said, as he slid his dick over her lower lips and pressed the head gently into the pucker below them. Slowly, luxuriously, she opened up for him, and as he slid inside her again, her lips parted and her breath left her lungs in a drawn-out sigh. She was tight, stretching just enough to allow him entrance and squeezing him from all directions at once, and so searingly hot that hilting inside her sent a chill up his spine.

“You good?” he asked softly.

“Mm-hmm…” Flurry hummed. She grinned up at him, but in a way that looked a bit like a grimace. Like a thunderbolt, it hit him: this wasn’t just her way of thanking a gifted partner for their efforts. This was just for him—just to make sure he got off too, in a way she knew he’d love.

Pound felt his chest tighten and his legs stiffen up. He almost said something. He thought better of it.

He rolled his hips, driving as deep inside Flurry as he could, and the Princess shut her eyes and moaned as he fucked her in the ass.

“Oh shi…”

Flurry trailed off as Pound thrust into her again, biting her bottom lip as he quickened his pace. With every stroke in and out of her, she relaxed a little more, until her ass felt nearly as soft and inviting as her pussy. If there had been any hint of pain on her face before, it was gone now, replaced by pleasure that grew each time his pelvis impacted against her overstimulated pussy.

Pound pulled almost all the way out of her, shuddering as she clenched around the head of his cock, and used each forehoof in turn to pull her right hind over his shoulder and then her left. Flurry gasped when he thrust in again, at a downward angle that pushed her into the mattress, and she clapped her hoof over her mouth as blissful little squeaks crept out of her throat.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he hissed down at her. He drew himself in close before she could respond with words, teeth gritted as he filled her completely and stayed there, humping gently until he felt her shiver and heard her moan.

“You feel so good,” she whispered back. “I…”

Pound didn’t let her finish—decided to do it himself. He pulled away and thrust back in, each stroke long and hard and tortuously good, and soon enough he felt the hard edge of her hoof under his flexing stomach. He looked down and saw her circling her clit, and felt her clench around him again as pleasure shot through her. She was getting off to this. She loved this—him—the way he was defiling her. His chest started to hurt. He was nearly over the edge.

And she could tell. She could always tell. She looked up at him, squeezed him, rubbed herself like this was all her fantasies coming to life at once. Maybe they were. Maybe he shouldn’t care. Maybe he should just think how about amazing this felt, how tight and warm and right, how close he was to filling a gorgeous girl with cum as she begged him with her lust-crazed gaze to do just that.

Flurry opened her mouth, started to say something—and Pound exploded inside her, sunken to the hilt, blasting rope after rope of cum until he felt like half his soul was filling Flurry’s ass. She cooed as his warmth spread inside her, lips rounded into a perfect O, and rubbed herself faster as his jets of sperm became weak and quivering trickles.

As he got softer, she got tighter, her face crumpled with determination—and after a few moments, Pound felt her grasp on his cock become a vice grip as she grunted with delight and moisture trickled down from her quaking, winking cunt. Finally, she fell back onto the bed, and Pound let himself settle on top of her.

He wanted to kiss her. He was half-flaccid, covered in sweat and jizz and who knew what else, still trembling from his second mind-melting orgasm in as many hours, and the only thing he could think of doing next was leaning down and taking Flurry’s chin gently in his hoof, and kissing her like he meant to never let her go.

But she would go. She had to. She was a Princess from a land a full day away by rail, and he was the son of small-town bakers who depended on him to keep their family business running. He knew that. He had to remind himself of it every time he was with her, every time he felt her writhe beneath or on top of or wrapped around every part of him. Every time he caught her eye in the quiet moments after they finished fucking each other, saw her sardonic and confident veil slip away as her lips curled into a goofy little smile, and thought—just for a moment—that she might want him to kiss her too.

And then, like always, the moment passed. Flurry chuckled and sighed. Pound did the same.

“I need a shower,” Flurry groaned.

“Yeah, I could use one too,” Pound admitted. He pulled out of her completely, sending droplets of cum splattering onto the duvet, and carefully backed off the bed. Flurry followed a moment later, a bit bow-legged but glowing with satisfaction.

On the bright side, this Castle’s guest suites had very nice showers. Big ones too.