She tugged on the chain and the leash tightened around his neck and he let out a strangled sound of barely-contained pleasure.
"You like that, pervert?" she sneered.
Spitfire could feel the rhythm of her hips right through the thin walls. She did her best to brace herself, though her entire bed shook with the motion in the next room over.
"Y-yes!" Strained by the leather at his throat and the panting almost-fear in his voice.
"Yes, who?"
"Yes, Miss Cheerilee!"
Metal clinked as the leash slackened.
A soft thud as his chest hit the mattress. The sound of his breath leaving his lungs in a sudden rush. No doubt a strong hoof was pressed between his shoulder blades, holding him down.
He moaned softly. Tried to disguise it as surprise.
Cheerilee did not react. "Are you going to take it up the ass like a good boy, Soarin?"
Her voice was muffled through the wall. It was a bit like hearing your parents cuss each other out, Spitfire thought, only this didn’t make her cry. Didn’t make her cringe. Didn’t make her feel anything she could begin to identify.
Spitfire set her jaw and swallowed hard.
She pressed one ear to the wall and listened.
Cheerilee tugged on the leash again. “Answer me.”
"Yes.” Then, a quick correction: “Yes, Miss Cheerilee."
A pause.
Almost too long.
Then, up from nothing, a long and wavering moan.
Even from here, on the other side of the wall, eyes screwed shut, Spitfire swore she could see the way her coltfriend shuddered, the way that grade-school teacher pressed her plastic cock into him, the way his eyes rolled back in his head… all from the sound alone.
Spitfire allowed her head to fall against the adjoining wall. Cheerilee's humping shook the bed, which shook the wall, which shook Spitfire’s bed, and so Spitfire could feel each stroke through her whole body.
She tried to pretend she was on a train. That the rhythmic shuddering of the bed was the clacking of the car over the train tracks. Maybe she could just drift off to sleep here in the dirty motel bed like she'd just gotten a little too drunk on tour and needed a place to crash.
But Spitfire was uncomfortably sober.
More sober every minute.
"F-fuck…" Soarin murmured.
The chain clinked again. The leash pulled tight. Soarin choked on it.
"Good boys don't swear."
He struggled to speak, despite the leather cutting into his throat and Cheerilee's merciless assault from behind. "S… s-sorry…"
Another clink.
The leash tightened.
Cheerilee didn't even speak this time.
"I'm sorry, Miss Cheerilee!"
The leash relaxed.
Cheerilee picked up speed.
Spitfire rocked with motion. The squeak of the bed. The high metallic rattling of the chain. Soarin's desperate huffing.
She wished that she was surprised. She wished that she felt anger, or shock, or hurt, or anything other than the numbness that washed over her.
There was a single, hard thrust. Hilted for sure.
“Fuck!” Soarin shouted. Then, immediately: “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“Do you want a sock in your mouth?”
“Mn-mn!”
“Two strikes, mister.”
An impact.
Spitfire jumped.
Soarin braved it silently.
“If you want me to touch you the way you like, you’d better not reach strike three,” Cheerilee reminded him, soft but firm.
Soarin made a weak sound of acquiescence.
“Do you remember what happens when you get three strikes?”
“Mm-hm.”
Tugged collar.
“What happens?”
“I-I choke on your—”
Tugged collar.
“I can’t hear you, Soarin.”
“I choke on your dick, Miss Cheerilee.”
She chuckled darkly. As empty and put-on as it sounded, Spitfire still felt a pang of unease. She curled up tighter, pulling her rear hooves onto the pillows, and leaned fully against the wall.
“Good boy,” she purred.
Soarin cried out suddenly—in pain or pleasure, Spitfire couldn’t tell. Maybe a little bit of both. She pictured Cheerilee pulling his mane, his tail. Cheerilee squeezing his testicles. Cheerilee yanking his leash so tight that it hurt. Cheerilee running her hoof along his undoubtedly stiff—
The rocking resumed. Slower again.
And, as Spitfire leaned hard into the wall, she realized that at least some of the complex storm cloud of feelings blooming in her was owed to lust.
She could swear she smelled it. She’d had sex with Soarin enough times to know his musk as well as her own, and she could swear she smelled it, even through the wall.
She certainly smelled her own.
For a moment, she was guilty.
She was guilty for being turned on by her own misfortune and her partner’s infidelity. She was guilty for following him out here to test his loyalty to her. She was even guilty for the wetness she could feel building in her groin, and for the way it would surely stain the pillowcase.
Then again, this was a motel.
This is where shit like this was meant to happen.
Soarin continued moaning into the mattress, just barely under control. The sounds of the swaying bed, the rattling chain, the two panting voices, and the fleshy connecting of hips blended together into a single wall of sound. While muffled and distorted through the wall, it still afforded Spitfire a great amount of detail… or maybe the pictures that flashed through her mind merely came with the years-long courtship she shared with the stallion on the other side of the wall.
She closed her eyes.
She could see him. All splayed out on the sheets, his impressive wings fanned, his rump in the air. She could feel the tight muscles of his flank. She could smell the salt of his sweat, feel its dampness in the places it always gathered—particularly the frogs of his hooves, softer than down.
Oh, to take him that way. To dominate Soarin. She’d always wanted to peg him, both because she thought he’d enjoy it and because she wanted to take that position over him. To press on the bundle of muscle between his wings until he couldn’t get up. To tease him with one hoof and drive his hips with the other.
And now she could feel another mare doing just that. Just on the other side of the wall…
Spitfire rolled to one side, back to the wall, exposing her marehood to the artificial coolness of the window unit. It chilled her, but the chill gave her a little rush, and little zing.
She reached down and laid a hoof on the inside of her rear leg.
She closed her eyes, and she could see the way Soarin rocked with the thrusting of Cheerilee’s—of her own—strap-on cock. The way he grunted with each hilting. The way he twisted his hooves into the sheets to hold onto something, anything, that could keep him from exploding.
“Mm, that’s a good boy… so quiet for teacher,” Cheerilee cooed.
Soarin made a muffled shuddering sound. Spitfire guessed he had buried his face in the mattress.
Cheerilee picked up again. Points for good behavior.
Spitfire sucked in a long, slow breath, and resisted the urge to let her hoof drift.
Soarin growled softly. Spitfire knew that sound well—it was his attempt to contain himself, to keep the moans and the exclamations in his chest.
One slipped out. “Ah, shit…”
The rocking stopped.
Soarin’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t realized. “I-I’m sorry, Miss Cheerilee, I—”
“Three strikes.”
The next sounds were hard to make out. Spitfire imagined that Cheerilee stayed precisely where she was, instead forcing Soarin to scramble, to turn, to look pathetic as he struggled to come face-to-face with the dominatrix.
Spitfire heard the tell-tale snap of a condom torn away.
“Open.”
Followed by a gag.
Spitfire sucked in a breath. She could see his face, see the strain in his eyes as the Celestia-knows-how-big plastic member forced its way down his throat. The way he must still be looking up at her, begging for forgiveness, eyes sparkling with desire, spit running down his chin…
And for what? Not for her pleasure. Not for his.
For power.
For humiliation.
For domination.
Spitfire’s hoof drifted towards her marehood, its wetness now more than obvious to her in the breeze which sputtered through the dingy room.
Soarin pulled away and gasped for air.
There was an impact. Cheerilee smacking him across the face. Spitfire was certain.
Before he could even react, she yanked on the leash and he choked again.
“I tell you when to stop, Soarin,” she growled.
Spitfire’s hoof found her slit, desperate and fumbling.
She was soaked, like it or not. Her hoof slipped along the length of her slit with ease, and it sent a different sort of chill up her spine.
She could see it. A hoof in his mane, a hoof pulling the leash. Thrusting her hips into his face. Watched as his eyes watered, as he begged for air, as—
Spitfire stroked her clitoris. She could have sworn sparks flew.
A shaky moan escaped her before she clapped a spare hoof over her mouth. Thin walls went both ways, though she doubted the sound of her solo escapades would discourage the ponies on the other side in the least.
“You want me to touch your cock?” Cheerilee asked softly, almost lovingly.
Soarin forced out an eager reply, though it was hard to understand around the strap-on and through the wall.
Still, Spitfire could hear the way his lips stretched over the plastic dick. She ran her hoof in tiny, slow circles over her clit as she imagined Soarin’s face buried there. Breath held. Throat straining.
She murmured something foul into her own hoof and didn’t let up on her clit.
“Why don’t you tell me how much you want it?”
The restraints relaxed, and Soarin pulled away. “Please, Miss Cheerilee.” His breath was thin, and his voice was hoarse, but all of it only served to ratchet up the desperation he was expressing.
“Please, what?”
“Please touch my cock, Miss Cheerilee,” he murmured. “Please. Please suck it.”
“Hmph.” Cheerilee sighed. “Why should I?”
Spitfire held her breath.
“I-I’ve been good,” Soarin said. “I’ve been so good for you Miss Cheerilee.”
Cheerilee scoffed. “You’ve been naughty today,” she said. “We almost never reach three strikes.”
“But I sucked your cock so good, Miss Cheerilee,” he said. “I said I was sorry.”
There was a wet sound as Soarin bent down to give Cheerilee’s strap-on another long, luxurious stroke of his tongue.
Spitfire could picture the way his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he pulled back, the tip of the fake cock laid out on it, wet and shimmering with his spit. She dug her hoof in harder and held back the quick breaths that threatened to float through the wall and into the relative silence on the other side.
Cheerilee purred her approval. “That’s true…” she mused.
“Please?” Soarin whispered. “Please touch my cock?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, Miss.”
She scoffed again. “Pervert.”
Spitfire bit back a moan of her own.
“Not today.”
“But—”
“Not today, Soarin,” Cheerilee cooed. “You were naughty, and naughty colts have to be punished. You know that.”
“But I—”
“You have hooves,” Cheerilee said coolly. “And I assume you’ll be wanting to see me next week.”
Soarin was quiet for a moment. The reality of his blue balls were beginning to sink in. “Yes…”
“Well…” Cheerilee paused. The collar clicked softly as it unlatched. “Then you’ll find a way to keep yourself busy until then.”
Sheets rustled.
Spitfire’s hoof slowed. The fire died down.
“Wait.”
Soarin leapt from the bed. Four hooves hit the pounded-flat carpet.
Cheerilee chuckled to herself. Buckles and latches clicked and snapped as she undressed herself. “What?”
“Please, Cheerilee?”
“That’s Miss.”
“Miss Cheerilee,” Soarin offered graciously. “I… I thought that—”
“Your recklessness has consequences, Soarin,” Cheerilee said simply. “You pay me to uphold those consequences, remember?”
Soarin sighed lightly. “Yes…”
A zipper rasped. Items in a bag.
“Then I’m giving you your money’s worth,” Cheerilee reminded him.
Spitfire’s hoof withdrew completely. She twisted to press her ear against the wall, possible orgasm abandoned.
"What if I—"
"Don't offer me money for an orgasm, Soarin," Cheerilee chided. "That's not the arrangement. I won't take it."
Soarin made a small, dejected sound. For a moment, Spitfire could honestly see him as a schoolboy, as much as the thought made her cringe. “What about—what if I gave you—”
"I can handle myself," Cheerilee said snidely. "Believe me when I say I don’t depend on you for pleasure."
The door clicked open, then slammed shut.
For a long moment, all was quiet.
Spitfire wiped her hoof dry on her cutie mark and hauled herself closer to the wall, not wanting to miss a single detail.
Soarin plodded back across the room and climbed up onto the dirty mattress. He shimmied up to the headboard and fell against the wall, which made Spitfire push away.
He snorted roughly.
He began masturbating.
Spitfire, on the other hoof, had lost all urge, despite her lack of orgasm. Soarin's private moaning was still strangled and strange, though she caught one word with complete clarity:
"Cheerilee…"
And that was it.
Not heartbreak. Not anger. Spitfire wished more than anything she could tear apart this motel room, could take out whatever it was she was feeling on her material surroundings and just shell out to the guy at the front desk.
She wished she could pay away the ache in her chest. Like Soarin had.
He moaned again. "Oh, Cheerilee… fuck…"
Spitfire cursed under her breath and rolled off the bed.
"Idiot," she muttered to herself. "What did you think was gonna happen?"
There, of course, came no response.
She grabbed her saddlebags—empty, save for a few bits and her ID, since she didn't really know what to bring on a stakeout—and headed for the door. Soarin's masturbation, while vigorous, faded into the background.
She marched towards the door, then paused there, hoof hovering above the handle, the barest hints of Soarin's moans floating through the wall to her.
She would have to talk to him… right?
What in the world do you say?
Is it a confrontation? A conversation?
Or do you just disappear?
And, as if all of that weren't bad enough, the heat and the wetness still lingered between Spitfire’s legs.
She sighed roughly.
Spitfire looked back at the wall, wondering what Soarin did when the encounter was over and the post-coital clarity set in.
She decided she didn't want to know.
She pushed out of the room.
Spitfire hiked her bags into place as she passed out of the lobby and into the cool night air.
Summer was winding down. The air, while still heavy with humidity, was starting to crispen. Spitfire took a long, deep breath, and the night’s fingers curled into her lungs. The pure, fresh air would clear her mind. Would help her figure out what to say and what to do and what to think and what to feel.
But the air wasn’t pure or fresh. It smelled of cigarettes and hard booze out here, all of it undercut by the thick, sharp stench of chlorine from the motel pool.
In fact, she could hear the pool from here: that soft rushing of filters and rippling of perpetually disturbed water that sat under the symphony of wind and leaves and insects coming from the other side of the street.
It sounded… nice. Refreshing.
At least compared to what awaited Spitfire at home.
Spitfire turned and looked back at the motel. She could see the sickly blue-green glow of the pool undulating on the side of the building. Just a quick swim. She’d paid for the room, after all. A bit of alone time to cool off—both physically and emotionally—would put her back in her right mind.
Right?
“Right,” Spitfire said to herself.
She glanced to both sides, watching for any sign of Soarin or the teacher, and saw no one. Not one living soul.
Spitfire crossed the packed-down dirt carriage lot out front and approached the pool. It was surrounded by both a chain link fence and shorter wood fence with spaced pickets; almost private, but not quite. She figured that was probably to the liking of the perverts who used this motel to hook up.
The gate had a simple latch on it, though Spitfire still struggled briefly to find it in the dark. The chain link rattled intensely as Spitfire swung open the gate, and it ricocheted off the too-close side of the building.
The pool was rather small. Not big enough to really swim laps or anything. It wasn’t very deep, either—less than two meters for sure, possibly closer to one. Across the way, there were a few steps leading down into the water on one corner, rounded and fanning out like a sunburst.
And there was a pony sitting on the top step.
Spitfire froze completely solid as the gate slowly creaked back in her direction, staring at the mare who sat on the edge of the pool. Her cutie marks were submerged in the artificially teal water, and her tail floated across the surface and curled around her front. Her rear hooves were suspended, as if immune to gravity, kicking slowly. One after the other. So gentle that the water didn’t seem to distort around them at all.
She looked up, surprised. “O-oh!” Her tail curled even tighter around her. “Spitfire! I mean—Captain! I mean—I’m sorry, I don’t really know what to call you! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Since grade school?” Spitfire coughed. “Yeah. I’d say so.”
Cheerilee bit down on her lower lip, though she didn’t break eye contact with the Wonderbolt. “Um… going for a late-night swim?” she asked sweetly.
“Something like that,” Spitfire said.
The mares stared at one another.
Both knew.
Both knew that the other knew.
And yet neither of them could find it in them to speak at all.
Cheerilee was the first to look away. She swallowed thickly and scooted against the wall of the pool, trying to make herself as small as possible.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” she said. She forced a laugh. “I’m just having a soak. It’s far too hot out for my liking lately. Even at night.”
“Mm-hm.”
Spitfire didn’t move.
Cheerilee gathered her tail in both hooves and drew it in towards her chest, much of it soaking and sinking into the pool.
“What are you doing out here, Cheerilee?” Spitfire asked.
Cheerilee may have flushed, though the tone of her fur made it hard to tell. “Um. I assume the same thing you’re doing out here,” she said carefully.
Spitfire scoffed. “Touring?”
“Ah.” Cheerilee smiled, strained as it was. “Maybe not, then.”
Spitfire eyed her a moment longer, waiting to see if she would break. Cheerilee only stared down into the water, watching her hooves kick. One after the other.
It was clear that Cheerilee wasn’t going to offer anything up that easily. That was probably fair, Spitfire figured—when you’re being paid for sex, you probably do your best not to go blabbing all over town about it. Especially not to your client’s commanding officer.
Spitfire sighed lightly and dropped her saddlebags at the side of the pool. She stepped into it, as if the water would carry her like pavement, and plunged into its chilly depths all at once.
Under the water, it was both quiet and screaming loud. The filters roared in her ears. Nothing audible above the ambience of the pool. She pushed forward, and her mane flew out behind her like a flag. She crossed the very short pool underwater and resurfaced beside Cheerilee.
Cheerilee was not looking at her. She was gently poking her tail hairs down under the water, watching the mass sink deeper and deeper.
Spitfire didn’t think it was guilt, exactly. As far as she knew, she had nothing to be guilty about.
It was more… embarrassment.
Or maybe just dissociation.
Spitfire recognized it. The glassy-eyed look and the phony smile as she greeted her rabid fans after yet another perfectly formulaic show.
“Are you good?” Spitfire asked.
It just tumbled out of her mouth. She hadn’t really meant to say it at all. She wished she could jam it back inside.
“Hm?” Cheerilee looked up. “Oh. Of course!”
Spitfire pulled her wet mane back from her face. She didn’t respond.
Cheerilee rolled her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Spitfire scoffed. “Look, I know what kind of place this is,” she said glibly. “I’m asking if you’re… okay.”
“Oh.” Cheerilee locked eyes with Spitfire and said, firmly: “Yes.”
“Good.” Spitfire melted down into the water. Up to her chin. “I just—good.”
Silence fell between them.
Cheerilee forced the rest of her tail underwater, and it draped over her privates like a heavy curtain. Spitfire sunk as far as her lips under the water, breathing only through her nose. Only that sting of chlorine.
“What about you?” Cheerilee asked softly. “Are you okay?”
Spitfire didn’t move, just glanced in her direction.
“Not to pry,” Cheerilee corrected quickly. “Just… returning the sentiment.”
Spitfire rose from the water. “Fine,” she replied. “Not great. But as good as I could be given the circumstances.”
“Circumstances?”
“I tailed my coltfriend here,” Spitfire said.
There was a long pang of quiet. Just the filters and the sound of the water.
Cheerilee’s breath quickened as she put the pieces together. She stiffened, her whole body, and flapped her mouth open and closed like a fish a few times. She only managed a few meaningless syllables.
Spitfire sank back up to her lips in the pool water. She tried not to think about what might be floating around in here, this being the sort of place she thought it was.
“I’m… sorry,” Cheerilee said simply.
Spitfire shrugged.
“If it helps, I—”
“It doesn’t.”
It really didn’t.
Cheerilee shrank back a bit. She didn’t say anything.
The filters rumbled on. Spitfire drew her wings in slow strokes through the water, feeling it rush between her feathers. The feeling wasn’t a bit like flying, as so many non-pegasi love to claim. It was simultaneously heavier and lighter. Her limbs floated without effort, and yet moving was so much effort.
Spitfire pulled her forelegs out of the water and settled on the edge of the pool. With her wings spread just under the water’s surface and her chin resting on her front hooves, she figured she might remind Cheerilee a bit of the stallion she’d fucked just a few minutes earlier.
“I just wish he’d talked to me,” Spitfire said.
Cheerilee looked over at her. “Oh?”
“I mean, I think I do,” Spitfire corrected. “I dunno. I’m, like… embarrassed. Ashamed. That he couldn’t talk to me about what he needed.”
“Hm.” Toneless. Meaningless.
“Like, I don’t even really care that he paid,” Spitfire went on. “I don’t care that he… that he needed someone else. That’s fine. But why couldn’t he tell me? Was he so scared that I was gonna—that I wouldn’t get it?”
Cheerilee said nothing. She only watched as Spitfire paddled her wings into the water, fighting the resistance.
Spitfire nickered dismissively to herself. “Fucking idiot.”
Cheerilee made a small sound at that. “I-I don’t think he meant to—”
“Not him, me,” Spitfire replied. “I should have listened. I must not have been listening, or he didn’t think I would. How could I not know that…?” She trailed off, leaving the details wordless.
But… no.
That was the coward’s way out.
“He always told me he didn’t want that. He didn’t want power plays,” Spitfire said firmly. “Especially not this fucking… student-teacher sado-masochist bullshit.”
Cheerilee was quiet. She watched as Spitfire hung there, staring up at the night sky. No stars, of course. The light from the pool was enough to wash them all out when you were soaked in it.
“I didn’t realize you were allowed to date your subordinates,” Cheerilee said.
Spitfire grunted.
The acknowledgement.
The non-acknowledgement.
“Yeah, well.” Spitfire pushed away from the wall. “Guess there’s a reason you didn’t know about it.”
Cheerilee sighed. “I’m not supposed to know about any of it.”
It was the most genuine emotion she’d allowed herself all evening. She seemed to realize it, take it as a pang to the chest, and slipped down another step into the water.
She shivered audibly. The water was up to her chest, lapping at the denser fluff that bloomed from her collarbone. Leaving it wet and limp and dark.
“Why not?” Spitfire asked. “I mean… I’d wanna know.”
“Would you?” Cheerilee asked.
Sharp.
Biting.
Spitfire thought about it. She thought about the other side of the cheating and the lies. About the sickening fantasies of regular, everyday ponies—many far worse than a little teacher-student playtime.
About the money.
“I… I dunno,” Spitfire murmured.
Cheerilee was silent.
“So… why do you do it, then?”
She scoffed. “Why?” She shook her head in utter disbelief. “It’s a reliable income. It’s after hours. I’m an unattached schoolteacher who can commit to the part these stallions want me to play. I don’t enjoy it. I don’t get anything out of it. I just… need the money. Simple as that.”
“Oh.” Spitfire spun around and looked at Cheerilee once again.
And then, for some reason, she said:
“You’re good at it, though.”
This time, Spitfire could see the flush. Even through the magenta fur on her cheeks. Even through the teal underlighting of the pool water. Even though she shouldn’t have been able to see it at all.
“I… I was in the next room,” Spitfire admitted. “I shouldn’t have been. It kinda fucked me up, t’be honest.”
“Why?” Cheerilee asked, the shadow of incredulous laughter lurking in her voice.
Spitfire thought about that, then shrugged. “I dunno, really. I guess I just thought… I must be missing something,” she said. “He’s not the type to go to all the trouble for no reason. He’s not smart enough for all that. I thought it must be something I couldn’t give him.”
“And…” Cheerilee sighed. “It wasn’t.”
“I’m his commanding officer,” Spitfire said. “I could fuck him six ways from Sunday while rattling off, chronologically, every single stupid thing he’s ever done under my watch.”
Cheerilee snorted softly. It may have been laughter.
“And, honestly, I would have loved the opportunity,” Spitfire went on, now more in the cadence of a boast. “I told him as much. And he told me no.”
“Hm.”
“But… you’re pretty good at it,” Spitfire mumbled. “So I’ll give you a pass, I guess.”
Cheerilee smiled joylessly. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“But I honestly hate it.”
Spitfire paused. “You… do?”
Cheerilee shrugged. “I’m not that kind of mare,” she admitted. “I never have been, and I never will be. But, even back when I was dating, everyone I took home always expected me to be this… this demanding, sadistic, mommy-dearest type.”
Spitfire scoffed. “You’re kidding,” she said. “What, because you’re a teacher?”
“I’m in extremely high demand in certain circles,” Cheerilee said with a humorless giggle. “I was in even higher demand once I started charging.”
“But you don’t get off on it?” Spitfire asked, as if she were exchanging sleepover secrets with another whispering, giggling filly tucked up in a sleeping bag.
Cheerilee shook her head. “It’s better that way. It’s about control. If I’m not interested, I’m in control.”
“Huh.”
Spitfire floated there, out in the center of the pool, her limbs suspended as if in amber. Cheerilee, still sat on the step, only watched. Stared. Eyes wide. Chest soaked.
The water lapped over Spitfire’s shoulder.
She reached out, into the empty space, and glided towards Cheerilee. Slow and steady. Directed. Unbroken eye contact.
Cheerilee, at first, didn’t react. When she realized what was happening, she shrank back into the pool wall, averting her eyes.
Spitfire stopped a leg’s length away. “Hey.”
Cheerilee glanced up, then right back down. “Hey.”
“It, uh… it sounds to me like neither of us are getting what we want,” Spitfire said.
“Mm.”
“That’s pretty fucked up if you ask me.”
Cheerilee sighed. “Maybe so.”
“I think our wants are, uh… compatible, though.”
Spitfire pressed forward ever so slightly.
Cheerilee did not back away.
“Maybe so,” she repeated.
Spitfire waited a moment. Waited for more. When she didn’t get any, she pushed gently off the concrete floor of the pool and closed the distance between herself and Cheerilee.
She didn’t touch her. She only floated there, right in front of her, only a breath between them.
She could feel her breath. Sense it picking up, every so slightly, as her heart began to thud with anticipation.
She could smell Soarin on her.
Cheerilee reached out—slowly, silently, even through the water—and pressed her hoof into Spitfire’s chest.
“You want someone to put you in your place, huh?” Spitfire all but growled, pressing even closer.
Cheerilee leaned back, sinking deeper into the water. For a moment, it was like all she could do was breathe—quick, like a hummingbird. Like a field mouse. Like—
She nodded.
Spitfire smirked. “Good girl.”
Cheerilee gasped softly, in just enough time to find herself pushed under the water entirely, chased quickly by Spitfire’s eager lips and tongue.
The pair fell against the stairs. Cheerilee, beneath the fierce wing-flaring Wonderbolt and completely submerged, let a precious burst of bubbles go in a small sound of surprise before Spitfire’s lips were on hers, her tongue thrusting into her mouth, the taste and sting of chlorine flooding her senses.
Spitfire only held her there for a moment before she thankfully, mercifully, allowed Cheerilee to push back on her chest and the pair breached the surface once more.
Cheerilee gasped, hard and deep. Pool water flew in tiny white flecks from her lips and the ends of her hair.
Spitfire, likewise, sucked in a breath, though hers came in between tiny bouts of excited laughter.
“Oh, my—” Cheerilee put a hoof to her chest. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”
“Deep breath, princess.”
She stopped right there, mid-syllable, to draw in the deepest breath she could manage before she was pushed underwater a second time. This time, Spitfire bore down on Cheerilee as much as she could, until they were chest to chest under the water, tongues slowly and nervously probing between each other’s lips.
A burst of bubbles here. A chest-bound moan there. All of it strange and alien underwater, warped by the thrum of the filters and the heater and the roar of water alone and the bubbles that engulfed Spitfire’s face each time Cheerilee lost herself in the kiss.
Weightless. Airless. Aching for it.
Cheerilee pushed her hoof into Spitfire’s chest.
Spitfire only pressed down harder.
Cheerilee’s eyes sprung open in a momentary panic. Another small column of bubbles escaped her mouth before Spitfire forced her way deeper, her lips stretching, straining at the corners of her mouth.
Cheerilee tried to make a sound, but it was small and strangled and desperate. Confined in the center of her chest, right where the burn must be. The ache. The need.
A little longer.
Another choked moan.
Three.
Cheerilee thrashed.
Two.
More bubbles.
One!
Weight released. Cheerilee shoved Spitfire away from her with all her might as both mares sprang up from the floor of the pool, gasping and spluttering hungrily.
It took Cheerilee several huge, deep breaths to tamp down the panic that had bloomed in those moments. Yet, as frightened as she looked, an excitement sparkled in her eyes. A different sort of hunger. A different sort of need.
She looked up, eyes locked with Spitfire.
She lunged.
Spitfire dodged. “Ah-ah,” she chided. “I’m not done with you yet, Cheer.”
“Fuck you!” she shouted, albeit playfully.
“Oh, you’re a little brat, huh?” Spitfire asked snidely. “Well, just for that, we’re gonna stretch your lung capacity a little further.”
Cheerilee shrank back a bit, though her eyes still glistened with a ferocious curiosity.
Spitfire spun herself upright and pressed her back against the wall of the pool. She propped herself up on her elbows, lifting the curve of her chest and everything above it clear from the water’s surface. Her wings drooped in the water, sinking down and open in a fantastic display of vibrant color.
“Wh-what do you want me to do?” Cheerilee asked, her voice tiny.
“I want you to take a deep, deep breath, brat,” Spitfire said. “Because you aren’t getting another one ‘til I come.”
Cheerilee went stiff. Her eyes trailed down to Spitfire’s wide-open, if submerged, lower half.
“On three, Cheerilee,” Spitfire warned, resting a single hoof on top of the teacher’s head.
Cheerilee began taking small breaths, tiny, hiccuping ones. Ramping up. Testing her lungs.
“One…”
The breaths became more desperate.
“Two…”
Faster. Faster. Deeper. Faster.
“Three!”
A huge gulp, deep as she could, as her Captain forced her under the water and buried her face in her marehood.
Cheerilee wasted no time. Her tongue, delicate and pink and perfect through the sheen of the pool water, stretched out of her mouth and took a long, slow lick up, up, up Spitfire’s slit.
She shuddered. The mere idea of it had caused a heat to bloom in her nethers, and now she had the mare’s tongue slipping in and out of her. Probing thoughtfully, fluidly, expertly. Teasing apart the folds of skin and diving into the cavern that likely still retained her taste.
A small column of bubbles broke the surface, and Spitfire looked down into the water.
Cheerilee was looking up at her. Eyes wide, even in the water. Pleading. Begging.
“Fuck…” Spitfire growled.
Exactly as hot as she thought it would be. Exactly as enticing and forbidden as she’d imagined it with Soarin.
Or… maybe more.
Cheerilee blinked, and even that seemed so slow and deliberate under the water that Spitfire wondered if she would even get close to finishing before she needed more air.
The thought drove Spitfire even closer to the edge.
She pulled Cheerilee in closer, and she protested with a burst of bubbles and a gentle push against Spitfire’s haunches. She wasn’t trying too hard, though. She was conserving her air. She’d learned already.
Spitfire almost couldn’t believe the shudder that ran through her as Cheerilee struggled, then settled.
Panic. And control.
Cheerilee adjusted to the new position and gave her Captain what she wanted: harder. Faster.
Her tongue brushed Spitfire’s clitoris.
“Fuck, that feels good…” Spitfire moaned, though Cheerilee surely couldn’t hear her.
Cheerilee’s eyes closed as she continued her methodical assault of Spitfire’s clit. Desperate for release, Spitfire bucked into her face, rubbing her clit against her submissive’s tongue at her own speed. Cheerilee, of course, allowed it. She allowed Spitfire to tangle her hoof into her mane and force her harder, faster. She allowed another tiny gasp of air to escape her mouth and bubble up to the surface.
A moan, maybe?
Was she as hot for this as Spitfire was?
She had to imagine that she was.
She kept a good pace for a while, and Spitfire rode the razor edge of her orgasm for a blissful minute. Or maybe two or three…
Then her pace changed.
Quick.
Erratic.
Desperate.
She was running out of air.
It had snuck up on her, apparently. That burning in the center of her chest. That ache. That heat. A need twice as bad as the one she’d been ignoring for Celestia-knows how many years.
Spitfire thought about letting her up. As her work grew more and more frenzied, it was less effective. Less pressure in just the right places. More just a mad scramble for survival.
Then, Spitfire had a brilliant idea.
She took firm hold of Cheerilee’s hair and hauled her up to the surface by it.
She gasped. She spluttered. She tried to say something.
“Deep breath,” Spitfire instructed.
Barely time.
Back under.
Cheerilee, her resolve renewed, adrenaline kicking in, wrapped her forelegs around Spitfire, cupped each flank in one hoof, and absolutely buried herself in Spitfire’s—
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!”
The orgasm came.
It tore through her, less an explosion and more a powerful wave crashing down on the shore. Explosions were sudden, destructive, unexpected. This was restorative. This was inevitable.
This would happen again.
Cheerilee, despite her dwindling oxygen, held onto Spitfire as one might hold onto an unruly steer. She used her whole body to clamp down on Spitfire and tease out every last drop of her orgasm.
She could feel it, somehow. Cheerilee’s tongue moved in perfect rhythm to the orgasmic aftershocks which ebbed, melted, and disappeared.
Spitfire shuddered as she slipped back down into the cool water of the pool. Her hoof withdrew from Cheerilee’s head, and the teacher sprang up out of the water, coughing and hacking and spluttering as she pawed at her mouth with both hooves, trying to wipe away the chlorine and breathe fresh summer air.
Spitfire watched for a moment, her lips curled into a smile both of satisfaction and of lingering sadistic pleasure. Cheerilee was trying to pull her mane out of her face, but her shaking hooves and pounding heart made it a bit of a difficult task.
“Here,” Spitfire said, pushing off the wall and wrapping a hoof around Cheerilee’s waist. “Let me help you.”
Cheerilee, at first, tried to pull away. But Spitfire only lifted her wing and gently brushed her limp wet bangs out of her eyes with a feather touch.
Her eyes.
Spitfire’s breath caught in her throat as she locked gaze with those eyes, and the fire in her chest began to crackle once again.
They were beautiful, of course. They were sparkling. Wide and trusting.
And pleading.
And helpless.
And—
“Spitfire?” Cheerilee murmured.
Spitfire blinked. “That’s ‘Captain’ to you.”
“Captain,” Cheerilee repeated. “Did I—I mean, was it—”
Spitfire remained stony as Cheerilee fumbled for the words.
“I’ve never done that before,” she said at last.
Spitfire scoffed. “Which part?” she asked snidely.
Cheerilee smiled. A tiny, hopeful thing.
“You did good,” Spitfire admitted gruffly, stroking Cheerilee’s side with one hoof. “Good enough for a reward, I think.”
She didn’t gasp or say a word. Her face relaxed. She looked rather peaceful.
“Where’s your, uh…” Spitfire pulled Cheerilee in close, their hips touching. “Your bag of goodies?”
Cheerilee bit her lip and nodded to a black duffel bag at the edge of the pool. It had so perfectly blended into the misshapen darkness of haphazardly piled folding chairs that Spitfire hadn’t even noticed it until now.
Spitfire smiled.
Her hoof traveled up Cheerilee’s back, now pressing their chests together and drawing their faces near.
Spitfire looked down into Cheerilee’s eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you with the strap you pulled out of my coltfriend’s throat.”
Cheerilee’s lips parted, but she didn’t make a peep. She only breathed in. Softly.
“Does that sound good?”
“Y-yes.”
“Yes, who?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Spitfire’s grip relaxed and Cheerilee drifted away from her, her hooves drawn in, her sopping wet mane sticking to her neck.
In a few strokes, Spitfire crossed the pool and hauled herself up onto the edge beside the duffel bag. She was surprised to see that there wasn’t much in it: some humiliating outfits, a ball gag, and a riding crop were obvious to her right at the top. Tucked off to one side was the strap-on—an unassuming thing, hardly above average length and not at all above average girth, in a dark purple coordinating with Cheerilee’s coat.
Custom made, perhaps?
Spitfire smirked at the thought and snatched the strap out of the bag. After a bit of adjustment, it fit snugly over her flanks. A little nub on the inside of the strap settled against her clit, and Spitfire felt a renewed sense of excitement. The member had a bit of flex to it, and so it dipped at its end as Spitfire stood, stretched, and ran one hoof over its length. Satisfied, Spitfire flared her wings and leapt back into the pool.
Cheerilee shielded herself from the splash, though not so thoroughly as to disguise the way she gazed at the plastic member dangling between Spitfire’s legs.
Spitfire resurfaced, shook the water from her face, and surged towards Cheerilee. She could see Cheerilee’s breath quicken from here.
“You think you can handle this?” Spitfire asked.
“Yes, Captain.”
Spitfire lifted Cheerilee’s chin with one hoof. “That’s what I like to hear,” she muttered. “Now let’s turn that pretty face blue, huh?”
Cheerilee’s eyes widened a bit, ready for the deep breath and the plunge.
Spitfire scoffed. “What, you thought I was gonna fuck you without a little foreplay?”
“I-I thought—”
“Shh.” An order. Cheerilee’s lips snapped shut. “Here’s the deal, princess: you’re allowed to touch yourself, but only as long as you’re not breathing.”
Cheerilee remained stony.
“Still think you can handle it?”
She hesitated, biting her lip, before finally breathing out: “Yes, Captain.”
“Good girl.” Spitfire wrapped a hoof into Cheerilee’s mane and gave a small yank, just as a reminder of who was in control. “Deep breath.”
Cheerilee did as she was told.
Spitfire dunked her hard and fast under the water.
Her hoof found her clitoris quickly, and she wasted no time in warming herself up. Cheerilee hoofed herself hard and fast, quick circles that wracked her body with waves of pleasure.
Suspended, weightless in the water, Cheerilee’s body was free to move in ways that it couldn’t have in the bedroom. Her back arched. Her lungs ached and seized. Her entire form rocked with the rhythm of her pleasure.
“Fuck, that’s hot…” Spitfire murmured to herself.
She tightened her grip on Cheerilee’s mane.
Cheerilee let loose with an explosion of bubbles—obviously one she hadn’t meant to release. Her eyes sprang open in a momentary panic, and Spitfire hauled her up out of the water.
“Aw, c’mon.” Spitfire pulled loose strands of wet mane out of Cheerilee’s face as she coughed and spluttered. “I know you can do better than that.”
Cheerilee nodded. “Yes, Captain.”
She coughed once more, then breathed in deep, and Spitfire plunged her under the water once more.
This time, though, she wouldn’t be getting off so easily.
Spitfire dragged Cheerilee through the water, positioning her just-so in front of the tip of the strap-on. When the member bumped against Cheerilee’s lips, she looked up at Spitfire in surprise.
“Open up, princess,” Spitfire commanded.
Though Cheerilee likely couldn’t hear her Captain’s order, her lips parted obediently and the plastic cock was forced between them.
Spitfire rocked gently into Cheerilee’s face, watching in perverted glee as she struggled to take the strap further and further into her mouth. Still, through the struggle and the lack of oxygen, she seemed to be enjoying herself—her eyes rolled back in sheer pleasure, and her hoof slowed despite the massive shudders which ran through her entire body.
Still, Spitfire thought she could take it further.
She took tighter hold of Cheerilee’s mane and slowly, gently, drew her in further.
Spitfire could feel the resistance as the strap bumped against the back of Cheerilee’s throat. Another soft burst of bubbles enveloped the member before Cheerilee tilted her head back, ever so slightly, and took it into her throat.
There wasn’t much left. The cock hilted about an inch down the teacher’s throat, but it was enough. With her face pressed into Spitfire’s groin and her esophagus pinched shut, she was now totally cut off from even trying to take a breath. Different than just being submerged, Spitfire thought. It was now an inability. A complete impossibility.
Cheerilee kept on, rubbing her hoof in slow circles over her clitoris even as she sat on her haunches at the bottom of the pool. She began bobbing her head, letting the strap in and out of her throat at a steady pace.
Her body still wracked with the pleasure of it, back arching, tongue peeking out on longer strokes, but something about it was slowed. Nearly stopped.
Then she started to pull back even further.
Her hoof slowed.
Her eyes drifted open, and she looked up at Spitfire helplessly as another column of bubbles broke the surface.
She was nearly out of air.
The realization made Spitfire’s heart race.
She held Cheerilee’s gaze another moment.
Another two.
Milking those seconds of euphoria and peace when the oxygen was gone and the world started to go dark. She knew the feeling well—it happened at too great a height, at too many Gs in a dive.
She reveled in the fact that she was at the center of Cheerilee’s tunnel vision.
Cheerilee didn’t even struggle. Didn’t thrash. Didn’t beg to be saved—she knew she would be.
She trusted her.
With seconds to spare, Spitfire yanked Cheerilee out of the water.
She breathed, deep and strong, air flooding her lungs.
Spitfire withdrew her hoof from her hair, instead holding her around the waist, one hoof on her chest to feel her fluttering heart and powerful breaths.
“Good girl,” Spitfire cooed. “Good girl.”
Even now, Cheerilee basked in the glow of praise. Her eyes closed gently as she leaned back against the concrete wall of the pool. A tiny smile curled on her lips. “Thank you, Captain,” she wheezed.
“Are you ready for your reward?”
She nodded. “Please fuck me, Captain.”
Spitfire leaned in to kiss Cheerilee’s neck. She threw her head back and moaned, soft and feminine, as Spitfire lifted her out of the pool and laid her out on the concrete. Spitfire leapt out afterwards, shaking herself dry.
Cheerilee pulled her forehooves up towards her chin and spread her rear legs chastely apart, pussy on display for all to see.
Spitfire wondered briefly if it had been on display for all to see.
Had anyone seen them?
Another patron?
The owner, maybe?
Soarin?
She quickly decided that she didn’t care. Not in the least.
Beads of water and sweat blended together, running down Spitfire’s face and landing gently on Cheerilee’s soft form. Here, splayed out and vulnerable, Spitfire could see just how beautiful the mare really was.
She was certainly trim. Small and compact. But she had that little bit of extra softness and roundness that befitted a schoolteacher.
She could see why stallions were willing to pay for an encounter with such a mare.
Suddenly, she felt very lucky to be having an encounter for free.
Spitfire lifted the member with one hoof and gently slid it along the outside of Cheerilee’s slit. Despite her time in the pool, the plastic cock slipped easily through Cheerilee’s aroused folds. She hummed and moaned and rolled her head back and forth along the ground, reveling in the unpunished pleasure. In the air she breathed so easily.
“When was the last time someone fucked you, Cheerilee?” Spitfire murmured in her ear. “Not this paid crap. I mean, really fucked you?”
“Too long ago,” Cheerilee replied, breathless. She threw her forelegs around Spitfire’s neck and rocked into her strap. “Fuck, I need this.”
“Good girls get what they deserve,” Spitfire growled.
Cheerilee gasped softly before her mouth was filled with Spitfire’s tongue. Spitfire moaned in response, low and guttural.
The pair kissed passionately, all as Spitfire continued to slowly, gently rub her member along Cheerilee’s clitoris. She gasped and hummed softly, almost purring. Every now and then, the strap would catch her clit just right, and she would break from the kiss to moan more openly, to breathe more heavily. Spitfire would bite onto her lower lip, or bury her face in Cheerilee’s neck, nipping and sucking devilishly at whatever remained.
“You ready to take my cock like a good girl?” Spitfire whispered.
Cheerilee could hardly find the breath to respond. “Y-yes, Captain.”
Spitfire reached back with one hoof, positioned the tip of the cock at Cheerilee’s entrance, and pressed slowly into her.
Cheerilee let loose with a long shuddering moan, which quickly dropped down an octave as the cock drove deeper and deeper inside her. She held tighter to Spitfire’s neck. Her head rolled back on the concrete, and her back arched with the simple pleasure of fullness.
“Deep breath,” Spitfire teased.
Cheerilee laughed breathlessly, but the laughter was lost to another moan as Spitfire began to rock her hips.
No tricks. No gimmicks. Spitfire withheld her desire to press a hoof against Cheerilee’s lips, or even to bear down on her throat, once again cutting off her air and sending that jolt of fear through her.
This was the reward.
This was the prize.
Spitfire quickly realized that it was just as much a prize for her; the little nub on the inside of the strap’s harness rubbed pleasantly against her clitoris, and she found that between that and the memory of their vigorous foreplay she stood a good chance of having her second orgasm of the night.
“Fuck, that feels good…” Cheerilee murmured.
“It’s your cock, princess,” Spitfire reminded her snidely. “You have good taste.”
Cheerilee laughed again, just as breathless as before.
Spitfire pulled back, running her hooves down Cheerilee’s sides and bringing them to rest at her hips. After a moment here, she slid her hooves under Cheerilee, and hoisted her rear upwards.
Cheerilee quickly moaned her approval of this twist on the position and wrapped her rear legs around Spitfire’s hips. She let her forelegs drop to the ground, where they intermingled with wet hair and puddles of pool water.
“Do I fuck you better than those stallions?” Spitfire asked.
Cheerilee opened her mouth to reply, but a moan spilled out instead. “Oh, yes, Captain.”
“Do you ever even let those stallions fuck you?”
“Not after tonight,” Cheerilee murmured. “Fuck that feels good.”
“You forgot what good sex feels like,” Spitfire said, pressing deeper and rocking faster. “Don’t worry. I’ll always be around to remind you.”
Cheerilee didn’t reply, merely moaned with greater urgency and bucked her hips up into Spitfire’s, encouraging her to plow even deeper.
Spitfire grabbed Cheerilee by her cutie marks and hilted inside her, pausing there briefly before picking up pace once again. Cheerilee cried out in delight, then reached up to rub at her clit with one hoof. Tiny circles. Quick. Frenzied.
The depth and the hilting caused the nub inside the strap to hit all the right places on Spitfire’s own clit. She found herself huffing, tongue lolling out of her mouth, heavy breaths coming out in noisy puffs.
“Are you gonna come for me, Cheerilee?” Spitfire asked softly.
Cheerilee nodded. “Soon. Soon,” she said earnestly.
Spitfire closed her eyes and moved in shorter, faster strokes. All the while, the images of Cheerilee’s helpless face drifted through her mind. The desperation for oxygen and pleasure alike. The uncontrolled seizes of her body as her lungs begged for air.
She hadn’t even known how hot for it she was. How badly she wanted to dominate someone like that, but also to be given that trust. And in a complete stranger.
Well… not a complete stranger.
Cheerilee had, after all, rammed this same cock down her coltfriend’s throat less than an hour ago.
“I’m gonna come, Captain,” Cheerilee whimpered. “Oh, I’m gonna come!”
“Come for me, good girl,” Spitfire cooed.
Cheerilee huffed small, light breaths—just like the ones she’d used before diving under the water. Testing her lungs. Testing her willpower.
Then Cheerilee came.
Her back arched. She let out a long, low moan of pleasure, something that came from a point buried deep in her chest. Her hooves pawed at the ground, searching for anything on the smooth concrete to hold onto and finding nothing.
Spitfire hilted inside her once more, watching as she seized around the member, and finally, slowly, pulled out.
Cheerilee collapsed onto the concrete in a spent heap, her chest heaving, her eyes closed a tiny smile on her face.
“Just the face I was hoping for,” Spitfire said.
She wasted no time in slipping out of the strap-on’s harness and dropping it onto the ground. She then shook like a dog, stretched her back like a cat, and turned to slip back down into the pool once more.
Cheerilee watched, though did not follow. She only lay still, one hoof on her chest, trying to regain control of her breathing.
Spitfire spun around and placed both forehooves on the pool’s edge and watched.
She wasn’t sure what she was watching for, exactly, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the rise and fall of Cheerilee’s chest. Cheerilee, for her part, did nothing but lay still and breathe for a minute, maybe two.
Once again, the sound of the pool filter overtook them both.
Spitfire reached out with one hoof and rubbed Cheerilee’s foreleg affectionately.
Cheerilee rolled her head to the side and looked at her. “Did you mean that?” she asked, her voice even for the first time since Spitfire had even been near her.
“Uh… mean what?” Spitfire asked.
“That you’d always be around,” Cheerilee said. “To remind me.”
Suddenly, the words were taboo once more.
It’s funny how that happened.
“Oh, uh…” Spitfire withdrew her hoof and rubbed the back of her head nervously. “I mean, it was just talk. It… it sounded right. It felt right. I wasn’t trying to—I didn’t think that this was—”
“I’d like it if you were.”
Cheerilee smiled. A peaceful, afterglow smile that softened her entire face.
Spitfire blushed fiercely and sank into the water to disguise it.
Cheerilee only chuckled. “You should talk to your coltfriend about it,” she said coolly. “Something tells me that arrangement may work out for him.”
Silence fell.
The pool filters whirred.
Cheerilee breathed.
Spitfire tried not to.
“You don’t have to, of course,” Cheerilee corrected.
“No!” Spitfire replied, a bit too eager. “No, no. I… I’d like that.”
Cheerilee nodded to herself, only looking up at the stars. “Good,” she said. “Good.”
Spitfire’s heart thrummed.
She felt, strangely, liked she’d lost the control she felt she’d found. Suddenly, without her knowing, the reins had been given back to Cheerilee.
It felt scary.
But it also felt strangely peaceful.
Safe.
“Would you, um… want to get back in the water for a bit?” Spitfire offered. “Nothing unsavory. Just for a swim.”
Cheerilee flashed her a lop-sided smile. “I’d love that.”
