Anything in Return

by themoontonite

Rating: mature
Tags: Fiddlesticks, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Fetish, Other, Romance, Apple Fritter, Porn, Sex, Braeburn
Length: 10764

Each year, the Apple family holds a charity drive. Each year, the two highest donors get picked as winners. Each year those winners get treated to a night of passion.

Fiddlesticks place within the Apple family had been rocky for years. As she came to terms with her adoption she slowly grew closer and closer not just to her sister Apple Fritter but to the rest of her massive extended family as well. Comfortable enough to eventually enter into the yearly charity drive, where the winning mare was treated to a very special night indeed.

The years continued and so did her generous donations, eventually solidifying her position amongst the Apple mares as the true bottom bitch.

This year would go down as one of her favorites.

Written as a commission for an anonymous commissioner and my dear friend Melesse Lindenya. Proofing done in part by Kimberly e.a.b. and a friend who'd prefer to remain anonymous. If you're interested in a commission like this, you can find my details here.

Kinks for each chapter are as follows:

Chapter 1: Chastity (present throughout the entire fic until the final chapter)
Chapter 2: Femmedomme, spanking, waxplay
Chapter 3: None
Chapter 4: Incest, hoofjob
Chapter 5: Incest (mentioned)
Chapter 6: Femmedomme, piss
Chapter 7: Orientation play

Characters are as follows:

Fiddlesticks, Apple Fritter, Lavender Fritter, Candy Apple, Apple Cider, Apple Split, Apple Core, Apple Cinnamon, and Braeburn.

Published 2022-11-14 01:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2022-11-14 01:50:00 UTC

1- So Many Details

Cool metal on warm skin. The rushing of blood. A single pair of eyes, piercing right through her. A familiar hoof caressing the curvature of her body, navigating it like the explorers of old.

Fiddlesticks was burning shame and fiery arousal and the freeing realization that for the rest of the night, she would be free from the burden of day-to-day life. No need to decide how to use her body or what to say; only listen and do as she was told.

The jangle of a ring of keys pulled her out of her reverie and back to reality. Reality was a spacious bathroom in one of the guest houses that the Apple family had built for their reunions. When not in use it was used to house travelers or parties, a common occurrence in the surprisingly populous town of Ponyville.

Reality was her sister Apple Fritter in front of her, holding two silver keys in front of her. Keys that would find themselves hooked onto a necklace that Fiddlesticks was wearing, a small reminder of the control she had surrendered by agreeing to this. Reality was the feeling of her marehood restrained by cool stainless steel, locked by the keys that now hung around her throat.

Reality was being told to walk through an open door into a room full of hungry eyes. Reality was being devoured from a distance, appraised like produce at the market. She held her head up high despite the flush of red and hot embarrassment that painted her cheeks and ears. There were appreciative coos and a few whistles; exactly the sort of jeering you’d expect from a room full of mares who knew what they wanted.

Mares who knew who they wanted.

“Does she do any tricks?” Lavender Fritter’s voice was unmistakable, sharp and clear like the sound of a guitar in an empty room. Her voice had an edge of Canterlot sophistication; apparently being married into the Apple family couldn’t dull such things.

Apple Fritter smiled, turning her head to lock eyes with Fiddle. Her eyes were full of a playful energy that perfectly complimented her mischievous smile. “I dunno Fiddly, do you know any tricks?” A pause punctuated her question.

Fiddlesticks nodded, her quiet affirmation barely audible.

“She’s real obedient, folks; watch this. Fiddly, turn around and present.” Any warmth in Fritter’s voice was gone in the last half of that sentence, replaced with a cold air of authority that made Fiddle’s heart race.

She did as she was told, turning around and folding her forelegs up underneath her. She docked her tail to one side, displaying her entire backside to the room. The ceiling fan that whirled above them blew a breeze over her exposed flesh, sending shivers racing down her spine.

The catcalling returned with a vengeance as the assembled mares drank in the sights. Apple Fritter’s voice cut through the clamor with the ease of a practiced showmare. She cleared her throat at the same time that a firm hoof clapped down upon Fiddlesticks' ass, drawing out a surprised yelp.

“Ladies, please; you’re more than free to touch the merchandise.”

Fiddlesticks couldn’t see anything besides wooden flooring, leaving the rest of her body to work overtime. She heard the shuffle of hooves, felt gentle touches caress and prod at nearly every part of her. They started out reserved; scratching behind her ear or tracing the line where her barrel met her haunches.

Reservation soon gave way to a sort of quietly frenzied excitement, a nearly palpable lust. She felt hungry teeth nip and nibble at her neck or the very tips of her ears. She felt hooves knead into her backside, appraising the quality of her rear. She personally thought it was fantastic; her and Lightning Dust went jogging pretty regularly to keep both of them in shape.

Somepony had procured a riding crop from somewhere, gently tapping it against her inner thigh. Fiddlesticks got the memo — this certainly wasn’t her first rodeo. She parted her legs further, shaking her ass enticingly. The invisible set of hooves chose instead to cup her balls, remarking on the quality of the chastity cage that her eager marehood now struggled against.

The attention she was being lavished with continued unabated, a slowly-building wave of passion that threatened to drown Fiddlesticks entirely. To think that this was just an appetizer, nothing more than a suggestion of things to come; that the Apple family mares could have any desire left in them after this would’ve shocked a lesser pony. But Fiddlesticks was no lesser pony.

“Wow, Fiddle, you’re really enjoying this.” A dangerously seductive voice spoke up right by her ear, a faint whisper intended only for her. “No wonder you always put so much money into the pool every year.”

“I know what I’m a—” All coherence was driven from Fiddlesticks' mind as she felt a warm mouth close in around one of her balls, suckling it gently. “a-about. I know what I want.”

The voice, identified from her peripheral vision by her pale green coat, was Candy Apple’s. Candy nipped at Fiddle’s ear before continuing. “Yeah? You like getting worked over by your cousins for an entire night so much that you’re willing to cough up two thousand bits for it?”

“It’s for a good cause!” Fiddle whined in protest, trying and failing to convince Candy that this was anything but self-indulgent.

The fact of the matter is that she and Lightning had a wonderful sex life. It was safe and warm at times and white-hot at others; unpredictable like the lightning from which her beloved earned her name. They knew each other's buttons in and out, indulging every fantasy the two of them shared. Despite all of that, Fiddle couldn’t help but want more. She was a glutton for punishment in the most literal sense. Sometimes a filly wanted the intimate sight of her wife holding a crop; sometimes she wanted to be in a tangle of bodies intent on pushing her to her limits.

That’s what these Apple family afterparties were perfect for — they delivered the sort of thrills that Fiddlesticks craved with the safety and surety of being amongst friends. Friends and family, she supposed; none of them by blood but rather choice. Not that it made the idea of eating her sister's pussy any less devilishly delightful.

She supposed she provided an outlet for some of these mares as well. It was a win-win for everypony involved. She had grown to truly care for and respect many Apple family cousins she otherwise would’ve glossed over had it not been for the intimacy shared year after year in these walls. It was more than just sex; it was everything afterwards too. Tender aftercare, the sublime bliss of mares sharing in the bounties of each other's bodies free from judgment or care; even if only for a night.

Fiddlesticks slowly surfaced from above the waterline of her thoughts, becoming steadily more and more aware of her surroundings. What she was most aware of was the lack of sensation, the absence of hooves and mouths and heat. She waited for a command, for a word, for anything to shake her from her reverie completely.

Apple Fritter provided graciously, a kind voice that cut through the haze of lust that clouded Fiddle’s mind. “You can stand up and turn around now, Fiddly.”

Fiddle did as instructed, pushing herself up onto unsteady legs. Fritter was there to help her up, a sturdy foreleg against her barrel giving her some much-needed support. Fiddle let out a shaky breath, an exhalation of all the stress of the day that still lingered. “Hey girls.” She smiled sheepishly.

A chorus of voices greeted her in response. This year’s group was a little lighter than it typically was, numbering only five mares. That made sense. There had been a few marriages and fewer divorces. To tell the truth, Fiddle didn’t mind the smaller years — she liked the one-on-one or one-on-two stuff more than anything else. It was a lot easier to please two mares than four, that much was for certain.

“So! Who’re ya startin’ out with first?” Apple Cider chirped, waving an overturned hat at Fiddlesticks.

She peered inside the hat, seeing an assortment of folded slips of paper. Simple enough. “I think I’ll just start with one of y’all for now; gotta get warmed up before we jump into anythin’.”

The rest of the room nodded in agreement.

Fiddlesticks reached a hoof in and pulled out a name. She cleared her throat, a smile already evident on her face. “Guess Candy gets me first.”

Candy whooped and hollered all the way to the bedroom next door.

2 - Say That

“So.” Fiddlesticks allowed herself the briefest of pauses between hungry kisses, her mouth taking just enough of a break from wandering the hickey-marked expanse of Candy Apple’s throat to form words. “Whatcha got planned?”

“Depends.” Candy purred just as much as she spoke, luxuriating in the attention that Fiddlesticks was lavishing her with. “Those nipples of your’s still as sensitive as they were last year?”

Fiddlesticks took her sweet time answering, choosing instead to trail playful nibbles across Candy’s collarbone. “You’d think that after everything Lightning’s put them through the answer’d be no but what you hear next may surprise you!”

What was heard next was not words, not in any classical sense at least. It was instead a yelp of surprise followed by the special sort of moan one could only draw out of a mare who treated pain the same as pleasure. Candy had reached a hoof down and pinched one of Fiddle’s nipples, twisting gently before pulling away.

Fiddle’s concentration broke, collapsing against Candy’s chest. Candy seized the initiative here, rolling Fiddlesticks onto her back.

“So as you can tell: still very sensitive.” Fiddle’s voice was playful, eager to see what sort of fun Candy had in store for her.

Fiddlesticks had a few guesses, if the low-heat candles, nipple clamps, and variety of spanking instruments that sat in waiting were any indication. Candy was a tried-and-true sadist, a regular master of her craft. So impressed was Lightning after the first time Fiddlesticks and Candy had ‘met’ that she endeavored to schedule a private session for the three of them.

They all learned a lot about each other that day. Lightning learned how much she enjoyed inflicting pain upon her wife, Fiddlesticks learned how much she loved being hurt, and Candy learned that Fiddlesticks could hold her breath for two entire minutes.

“Good. I hope they stay that way. You make some of the cutest noises.” As if proving her point, Candy nipped at the same nipple she had pinched just a minute prior. Fiddle squirmed in gentle ecstasy, her voice escaping unbidden in a heady moan.

It was nice to cut loose and make as much of a racket as she wanted. Or as much of a racket as she was capable of making as Candy redoubled her efforts. What was at first an isolated nibble became something else entirely. Candy closed her lips around Fiddle’s petite teat, suckling insistently.

Fiddlesticks kicked her legs weakly, trying and failing to shake out the pleasure that was starting to course through her body. The pressure only grew as Candy now shifted her focus to Fiddle’s left teat instead, opting to leave a hoof to toy with the right. She was relentless, a quality Fiddlesticks admired in a mare. It was one of the things that drew her to Lightning Dust in the first place; that sort of dogged determination made her heart sing.

What was making her sing at this moment was Candy. Sing in pleasure, in pain, and then finally in disappointment as she pulled away. They each took the moment of respite to compose themselves, sucking in a few deep breaths. Candy slid gracefully off of the bed and sauntered over to the table. Fiddlesticks enjoyed the view as Candy docked her tail to the side, her marehood slick with lust and winking eagerly.

The show continued as Candy took turns hefting a few implements of impact play, teeth clamping down around the handle as she swung them through the air. Fiddlesticks' breath couldn’t help but hitch in her throat as each tool completed arc after arc. It was impossible not to imagine the sort of sounds they’d make when they struck her or the sort of marks they’d leave behind.

Not to mention the pain, Oh stars the pain was sublime. The sting, the bite, the dull heat of bruises forming; all of it scratched an itch that proved nigh-impossible to satisfy elsewhere. It was lucky for her then that she wouldn’t need to simply contend with these fantasies in her imagination as Candy’s voice cut through the muddled miasma of her thoughts.

“Present, slut. Now.” There was something about the tension evident in her voice, of the rough edge of a mare who knew she was in control that made Fiddlesticks’ brain go fuzzy. Slut. Such a simple word wielded with an elegance that belied its crass nature.

Fiddlesticks wasted no time in doing what she was told, rolling from her position on her back to one where her groin was pressed against the edge of the bed, hindlegs pressed firmly against the floor. She focused on her breathing, trying to steady the nerves that arose despite having been in this exact position dozens of times.

It never got any less nerve wracking, really. She supposed it was something she should be happy about. The thought that someday such triumphant pleasure might be relegated to nothing more than rote, a carnal desire fulfilled and nothing else; such an idea sat poorly with her. She’d rather the nerves, the excitement, the tingle of gooseflesh as she felt Candy approach.

Mistress Candy.

Her voice was a husky whisper, dripping with need. “Safeword is strawberry, okay?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Fiddlesticks had not needed to use a safeword in several years. It took some work to get to a point where everypony understood each other's boundaries, sure, but that was part of the fun! Getting to explore the limits of one's sexualities, to truly indulge in each other's desires; that was worth the risk of getting hurt. Hurt could be learned from — silence in the face of hurt was like poisoning the well.
“Good girl.” Candy’s reply came with a firm clap of hoof on ass, drawing a delightful yelp from Fiddlesticks.

Fiddlesticks liked being a good girl. Being a good girl meant that she got to get her ass beat.

Another clap bounced off of the room’s pale orange walls, punctuated by a hiss of pain. Behind her Candy tsked, clearly disappointed in Fiddlesticks' performance so far.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re not counting, toy.” Candy backed up her statement with another smack. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

“One! Sorry Mistress; it won’t happen again. I promise.” Fiddlesticks loved the counting to be honest. She loved keeping time, falling into the rhythm of call and response such an activity demanded.

Such a rhythm was quickly established. Candy had a skilled hoof, knowing when to strike and when to languish on Fiddlesticks' tender rump. Her work was steady and precise, befitting of a trained farm worker such as Candy. That was the sort of thing Fiddlesticks really enjoyed about the Apple family — they knew how to use the talents they’d been given in all aspects of their lives.

Far too often had Fiddlesticks taken a unicorn or pegasus lover in her youth only to find herself disappointed when their bite didn’t match up to their bark. Lightning Dust was definitely an exception; that mare talked a big game and delivered every time. The Apple family was typically a more humble bunch, choosing instead to let their actions do all of the talking for them.

So it was that Fiddlesticks’ was more than content to fill the otherwise dead air with her wavering voice as she slowly counted up and up and up. Her ass burned, raw with pain; even if her mind knew that this was just the warm up her body had yet to get the memo.

“How many are we at so far, hmm?” Candy’s voice was measured, asking a question she knew the answer to.

“Forty. Twenty for each cheek, Ma’am. Why do you ask?” Fiddlesticks couldn’t hide the hopeful edge to her voice even if she tried. She didn’t need to look behind her to know that Candy was taking her time carefully selecting another implement of pleasure.

Candy had apparently found what she was looking for as the wide and unrepentantly flat surface of a paddle cracked against her rear .

“Shit!” Fiddlesticks hissed in equal parts surprise, pain, and pleasure. Despite the shock she didn’t forget her role for a moment. “One.”

Another clap, the peal of leather against flesh hanging in the air. “No reason.”

Candy began to let some of her reservations slip as she continued. The blows were less carefully measured, less agonizingly paced; Candy now worked with a palpable fervor no doubt spurred on by the undeniably crude language that spilled ceaselessly from Fiddlesticks’ mouth.

No longer content on simply beating her ass, Candy turned her attention to the thick but firm expanse that was the back of Fiddlesticks'’ thigh. That hurt in a way that made her loins burn with a desperate longing, a fiery lust that burned hotter than the throbbing pain she was currently experiencing.

Fiddlesticks was grateful that Candy seemed to favor her ass, at least; the occasional thigh blow did a lot to add spice but would’ve been entirely too much otherwise. Counting was proving to be an ever more difficult endeavor — the cocktail of pain and pleasure made it difficult to keep anything in her brain organized. Such was the peril of subspace, she supposed.

No sooner did the twentieth count leave her lips when the relentless attacks ceased. Candy, it would seem, was feeling something approaching mercy towards her beleaguered charge. Mercy gave way to a brief moment of kindness, not at all unusual in this sort of environment. “Need any water?”

“Yes please, Mistress.” Fiddlesticks took the cup she was offered, drinking greedily. Feeling refreshed, Fiddlesticks returned the now-empty glass. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, slut.” Candy planted a demure kiss on Fiddlesticks’ cheek before returning to her position at Fiddle’s rear.

Fiddlesticks heard the whoosh of a riding crop cutting through the thick air before she felt its bite, a brutal sting that drove any coherent thought out of her mind in an instant. That she could still count was a testament to her dedication as a sub, desperately clinging to the only instruction she had been provided like a lifesaver in the middle of the ocean.

There was a certain charm in getting lost in the sensation, sure, but that absent-minded pleasure was better saved for later in the night. Pain of this caliber demanded at least some level of awareness; if not for her own good then at least for Candy’s. She was a delightful mare, a shrewd bookkeeper who could drink you under the table without batting an eye. She was also surprisingly sensitive, as fragile as sugar glass at times.

So, Fiddle promised herself that she’d be honest with Candy before anything else. Honest about her feelings, her intentions, and about the moment at hoof. Were she asked to honestly describe her feelings regarding their time spent together tonight, Fiddlesticks would have only one word in response.

“Fuck!” Fiddle slurred as much as she spoke, any meaning dissolved by the constant stream of expletives and delirious mumblings that it swam amongst.

Candy had abandoned any pretense of care, now thoroughly enjoying whipping Fiddlesticks’ hindquarters. If Fiddle was counting on Candy getting tired at any point she was terribly mistaken; time had apparently only served to improve the force and vigor she leveraged.

After a certain point Fiddlesticks gave up on counting. She gave up on coherent speech of any sort, opting instead to moan desperately into the thick cotton blanket she rested on. Her entire world was on fire, a burning haze of masochism that permeated every fiber of her being. The moans slowly gave way to begging as Fiddlesticks tried to plead with her tormentor for just a moment of peace. To her credit, Candy relented.

If only for a moment.

That moment passed as quickly as it came as Fiddlesticks felt a hoof tangle itself in her mane before yanking upward sharply, pulling her muzzle out of the comfort of the bed and into the warm air.

“Have you had enough, whore?” Candy growled through clenched teeth, playing the role of a villain remarkably well.

“Yes, Mistress. Y-your toy would like to be finished now.” Fiddlesticks could only barely manage to choke out a reply, the corner of her eyes welling with tears.

Candy relented, this time in earnest. Fiddle collapsed into the bed as her mane was let free, letting her hindlegs go limp underneath her. She only stirred when she felt a cool glass of water against her hooves.

“You did fantastic, dear. Just wonderful.” Candy took the empty glass and set it on the nearby nightstand. “Want to go for anything else?”

Fiddlesticks chewed on that question, her brow knitted in thought. Her eyes scanned the room, looking over the instruments of pleasure and pain that littered its various surfaces. Her gaze rested on the clamps and candles and it was a simple process for Candy to follow the direction of her eyes.

“Use your words, dear.” Candy idly stroked Fiddle’s mane, enjoying the brief opportunity to be more delicate with her affection.

“The… the clamps and the candles. I want those, please.” Fiddlesticks leaned into the tender touch that was offered to her like a lifeline, clinging to it in an attempt to soothe the burning pain that ebbed throughout her hindquarters. She thought for a second and made one last request. “Some aloe ointment would be nice as well, please.”

Candy hummed happily, staying in that window of sapphic bliss for just a moment before pulling a way to attend to her sub. From the loosely-organized pile of sex toys that lay on the table across from them, Candy pulled out a bottle of ointment, a set of clamps, a box of matches, and a few low-heat candles.

The bottle clicked open and moments later Fiddlesticks cooed in appreciation as a cool gel was spread carefully across her tender ass and thighs. The subdued smell of aloe lulled her into a quiet trance, losing herself in the feeling of a soft hoof rubbing small circles on her sore body. The effect was immediate, helping to dampen the pain a good deal.

Fiddlesticks heard movement as the hooves left her body and opened an eye to see Candy holding a pillow, waiting expectantly.

“Could you scoot closer to this side of the bed for me? I’m gonna give you a pillow to rest your tailbone on so the aloe doesn’t come off.” Fiddle did as she was told and Candy tucked a pillow in underneath her, keeping her rump and thighs elevated from the rest of the bed. “Now then, I think I have a sub to play with…”

Fiddle could only nod in response, that familiar swirl of lust beginning to churn in her stomach yet again. She sucked in a breath as Candy fixed a pair of rubber-coated clamps to her nipples, letting out a sharp hiss. They were just tight enough to be the perfect kind of uncomfortable, the gentle sort of pain that would quiet over time but never leave the symphony of sensation that lovemaking brought with it.

Fiddlesticks squirmed against the sweat-soaked sheets, letting out a nervous giggle as Candy lit a match. The smell of sulfur mingled with the thick aroma of mare musk that clung to the air, bathing Fiddle in sweet dopamine. She fixed a careful gaze on the softly-burning candle, watching as her dom moved it gently through the air.

Candy held it there, suspended above the soft fur of her stomach for what felt like ages. When the warm wax finally hit her belly, the wait proved to be worth it as she sang out in masochistic bliss. It was, for a brief moment, like a white-hot pin piercing right through her tender flesh. After that brief moment subsided and her body grew accustomed to the heat, the feeling changed. Each successive drop of wax felt more and more like a drop of warm water with the heat pooling in her groin as the bucket below.

The dull burning of the wax mixed with the constant sharp presence of the nipple clamps perfectly, creating a rising cacophony of pleasure that coursed through her fidgety body. Candy was adept at conducting this wall of noise into something more resembling a symphony, toying with Fiddle’s caged hen even as she carefully metered out drops of hot wax. Fiddlesticks had nearly given herself over to the sonorous tones of pleasure that dominated her frazzled brain, stopping herself only when she realized the steady dripping of wax had stopped.

Candy had snuffed the candle out, brandishing a new one in its place. Seeing the quizzical look on Fiddle’s face, Candy answered the unspoken question present in the air. “I’m getting a new candle that should make a slightly cooler wax. I intend on using this one on your teats while I facefuck you, hole.”

Hole.

Fiddlesticks smiled at the word, letting it seep deep into her dopamine-addled brain. “Just tell me where you want me, Mistress.”

Candy smiled back, eyes alight with a sadistic fire. “Turn to leave your head hanging off of the bed and open your mouth for me.”

Fiddlesticks dutifully did as she was asked, enjoying the admittedly disorienting view as she did so. Her Mistress’ cock was the same deep red as her mane and hooves and the aroma coming off of it was enough to drive out any thoughts left lingering in her head. Again the smell of sulfur filled the air as a match was lit. There was a brief moment of solace as the candle ignited and Candy positioned herself.

The solace was broken as Fiddle eagerly accepted her Mistress into her mouth, lips wrapping greedily around her thick shaft. The taste was divine; salt and musk clung to her tongue as Candy began to properly fuck her face. Each stroke forward was accompanied by a drop of wax on her sensitive teats, sending her body into a frenzied squirm as she tried desperately to acclimate to the sudden change in temperature.

It was almost too much to bear, a sensory barrage that left Fiddlesticks a frazzled mess of crossed wires and wayward neurons. As her body grew used to the biting heat of wax, Fiddle grew aware of just how deep Candy’s cock was in her throat. Each rock of her hips brought her marehood all the way to the base, where it remained just long enough for Fiddlesticks to enjoy the intoxicating scent of her Mistress’ balls before pulling away.

So it was that Fiddlesticks was locked in place there, a mare pumping away at her throat while she dripped wax onto her teats. She felt her own marehood strain desperately against its enclosure, leaking a steady stream of lurid fluid onto the bed sheets below. Her thighs were slick with lust, distributed in a thick coating by her constant squirming.

Then, before she knew it, Candy bottomed out in her mouth one last time. Her Mistress let out a sharp expletive of pleasure as her cock twitched, spilling hot cum down her throat. She pulled back, letting the last few pumps coat Fiddle’s mouth in her seed. It was rich and salty, a delicious treat for a well-behaved toy like her.

After a few moments, Candy carefully pulled back her now-flared cock, letting out an appreciative moan as she did. Fiddle pushed herself back onto the bed fully, head still reeling from the relentless fucking she had just received. They both took a moment to compose themselves before the scene slowly set back in.

Candy gingerly removed the nipple clamps, Fiddle letting out a quiet whine as she did so. Their presence would be missed. Next Candy put away the candles and matches, trying and failing to rearrange the messy toy table.

Satisfied with her work, she returned to the bed, a soft smile on her face. “Was there anything I could do for you, sweetheart?”

Mustering what strength she had left, Fiddlesticks turned onto her side and gave Candy a weak but genuine smile. “More water and some cuddles, please.”

Candy nodded eagerly, her demeanor a ray of sunshine breaking through the dark atmosphere they had built together over the last hour. “I’d be more than happy to.”

4 - How's It Wrong

This wasn’t the first time Fiddlesticks had somepony eat her ass. It wasn’t even the first time this month! It was definitely the first time her sister’s wife had done it, however, and Fiddle couldn’t help but commend her on her work. She moved with a languid precision, a slow but steady pressure that served more to push her gradually to the edge than provide any sort of intense sensation.

With her forelegs bound behind her back and her cock still struggling against its enclosure, she was made to watch the most exciting scene she had seen in a while. While Lavender busied herself with Fiddle’s rear, her wife Apple Fritter was giving Lavender the most enthusiastic hoofjob Fiddle had ever laid eyes on.

Fritter moved her hooves with a fluid grace that Fiddlesticks didn’t know was possible from an Apple. So much tenderness, so much care… Fiddle allowed herself to get lost in the rise and fall of Fritter’s hooves as they caressed Lavender’s shaft. It was all she could really do, helpless as she was. Lavender’s patient tongue rendered Fiddle into an observer, a toy to be played with as Lavender herself was made to be the centerpiece of the room.

Fritter really was blindingly attractive. So immersed in the scene, so focused, she took on the features of a subject in a classical painting. Her countenance was ablaze with lust, a self-assured smile perfectly complimenting her sweat-soaked brow. Fiddlesticks was allowed, from her position, the opportunity to fully appreciate Fritter’s toned stomach and strong, thick thighs.

That she could wield her hindlegs with such ease and fluidity drew something resembling a pang of jealousy from Fiddlesticks. It was a hard feeling to pin down, to be perfectly honest. Lavender had only emboldened her ministrations, her tongue pushing deeper and more insistently inside her. Fiddle had only grown to appreciate the g-spot she had been born with more and more as she transitioned.

It might’ve required a little more prepwork and cleanup than some other things one could do with a pony’s body but there was something so primally intoxicating about being penetrated. It hardly mattered by what or whom; to be used for her holes made the part of her brain responsible for rational thought go haywire.

So it was that her hips began to gyrate almost completely on their own, rocking her ass back and forth slowly. This drew an appreciative noise from Lavender, while Fritter only fixed her with a coy look. The room was steeped in quiet, lewd noises. The unmistakable slurp of lubed hooves gliding along a mare’s shaft, the burble of pleasured noises spilling forth from Fiddle’s mouth; it all blended together to form a reserved symphony that lilted through the lust-heavy air.

The trio carried on like this for some time, Lavender slowly becoming more intense with her tongue work and Fritter moving her hooves with a palpable intent to make her wife cum. As the minutes passed and the aura in the room grew increasingly frenzied, a crescendo of pleasure began to build in Fiddle’s stomach. It pooled in her groin, causing her marehood to twitch against its cage. No sooner did Fiddlesticks find herself on the precipice of orgasm did Lavender tap her flank, silently instructing Fiddle to dismount.

Dejected, Fiddle did as she was told. The pleasure that was coursing through her veins just moments prior was left with nowhere to go. Her cock leaked futilely onto the sheets, sitting as-of-yet unfulfilled. Lavender was smiling, her face equal parts sadism in depriving Fiddlesticks of orgasm and raw pleasure in enjoying Fritter’s hoofwork. A pleasure that was quickly brought to a head as a cry of pleasure rang out, bouncing off of the walls.

Lavender squirmed in ecstasy as she came, her movements only being constrained by her wife practically holding her lower half down with her legs. Fiddlesticks watched with equal parts bittersweet jealousy and rapturous enjoyment as Lavender rode the last few waves of her orgasm. As Lavender finished with the waves of pleasure that flowed through her, Fiddlesticks was given more than enough time to appreciate the sheer mess the mare had made.

Fritter’s hooves were slick with lube and cum, thick white strands clinging to their hooficured surface. Her sister noticed Fiddle staring, her voice laced with a gleeful sort of sadism. “Ready to make yourself useful, sis?”

Fiddlesticks nodded carefully, her brain too addled from lust to form coherent sentences even if she wanted to. Sensing this state, Apple Fritter’s tone softened slightly. “Why don’t you slide off of that bed and get on your knees for me, hmm?”

She obliged, grateful to have a set of directions to follow. She placed herself squarely in front of Apple Fritter who had since turned to face Fiddle, legs dangling off the side of the bed. No direction was required from Fritter as Fiddlesticks leaned forwards, cautiously dragging her broad tongue against the underside of her sister's hoof.

Lavender’s cum was thick and rich, filling her mouth with an unmistakably salty flavor. It was a pleasant taste, all things considered. Apple Fritter had cleaned her hooves prior to this engagement but it didn’t stop the shame inherent in the act from burning Fiddlesticks' ears.

“I’m not seein’ the enthusiasm I’m expecting, sis.” The way that word slid out of Apple Fritter’s mouth only served to further confuse the maelstrom of pleasure and shame that was churning in Fiddlesticks' gut. “Lavender, would you mind givin’ dear Fiddly some encouragement?”

Fiddlesticks' eyes tracked Lavender as she slid off of the bed before coming to rest directly behind her. She was warm, and soft, and smelled like a heady blend of sweat and her namesake. Fiddlesticks let her eyes flutter closed for a moment as Lavender’s lips roamed the surface of her shoulder, leaving an aimless trail of kisses as she went.

At the same time that Apple Fritter pressed her hoof more insistently against Fiddlesticks' snout, one of Lavender’s errant hooves found her small teats and began idly toying with them. Fiddle let out a breathy moan, assailed as she was on all sides by a cavalcade of sensations. She gave herself entirely into her lust, losing whatever inhibitions still clung to the rafters of her mind. Holding Fritter’s leg steady in her hooves, Fiddlesticks traced her tongue around the frog; this drew an appreciative little noise of pleasure from her sister.

That was what Fiddlesticks needed to properly embolden her tongue, letting it swirl in lazy circles as she fastidiously licked the cum clean. After a certain point there was no more hoof left to clean, to tell the truth. Sure, there was a whole other hoof sitting in the wing waiting, but Fiddlesticks wanted to give this one the reverence it deserved.

Revere it she did as her tongue gracefully traced the edge of Fritter’s hoof. Fiddlesticks planted gentle kisses from the very tip of her hoof down to her fetlock, locking eyes with Fritter as she moved to the other hoof. Behind her, Lavender had only grown more insistent with her lovemaking, now further sowing the field of lovebites that Candy had started. Her hooves pinched and pulled at Fiddle’s nipples, trying in vain to shatter her concentration.

Fiddlesticks was, at this point, entirely dedicated to servicing her sister's hooves. There wasn’t a trace of Lavender’s love left but still Fiddlesticks dragged her tongue hungrily across the hard keratin, placing a string of kisses around the rim of her hoof. Having exhausted the now thoroughly spit-soaked surface of Fritter’s hoof, Fiddle ventured to her sister’s hindleg. She kissed away idly until her lovemaking was interrupted by a gentle tap on the head.

“I think you cleaned ‘em just fine, Fiddly.” Fritter was smiling, a quiet thing that made Fiddlesticks' heart melt.

“Got a big carried away there, didn’t I?” Fiddlesticks folded her ears back, trying to turn her head away in shame.

Apple Fritter guided Fiddlesticks' gaze back to hers with a firm but careful hoof, a devious glint in her eyes. “Gonna have to remember that for next year, sis. I gotta say: you got some pretty fancy tonguework.”

Fiddlesticks let out a little contented sigh as the raw lust slowly drained from her body. She let her shoulders go limp and slumped gently into Lavender behind her. This… this was nice. A mare could get used to this. “Only the best for you, sis.”

5 - This Unfolds

Fiddlesticks wasn’t in any hurry to get back to the festivities. She was beyond comfortable here, luxuriating in the large shower the Apple family had seemingly purpose-built for groups like theirs. On the hewn stone bench in front of her sat her sister, Apple Fritter, and her fiance, Lavender Fritter. The steam around them billowed and coiled in the heavy air of the bathroom, clinging to the cool stone surface and leaving them slick with condensation.

She always tried to get a shower in the middle of everything; not only was it good to get cleaned up before what was bound to be a messy finale but it was nice just to destress a little. It was… easy to get carried away during nights like these. The first few years saw her overextend in a lot of ways, hurting not just herself but some of the other girls as well with her overeager attitude.

As much as she wanted to launch herself right back into the debauchery, her brain and body both needed rest. What better way to rest than take a shower with a mare she had known since they were both fillies? Apple Fritter seemed truly at peace here, a quiet contented smile across her face as the warm water cascaded down her legs.

Growing tired of merely sitting in the steam, Fiddlesticks pulled herself closer to where the other two mares were sitting. She let out an appreciative ‘oooh’ as the warm water fell down her back. The noise prompted Apple and Lavender both to open their eyes.

“Whatcha plannin’ down there, sis?” Apple’s voice was gentle, nearly hidden by the sound of water hitting tile.

Instead of answering the question that was posed with words, Fiddle reached instead for a loofa and some shower gel. Squeezing some of the rich-smelling stuff onto the loofa, she got to work. Carefully taking one of her sister's hindlegs and resting it on her thigh, she began to scrub with a fastidiousness she never employed in her own showers.

The process was almost meditative, recalling the countless showers taken with her wife Lightning Dust. Dusty was very much a mare focused on raw efficiency, scraping away at any additional seconds available to her during the day. So it was that Fiddlesticks made a point to sit Lightning Dust down at least once a week in their shower to really clean her; to scrub away not just the dirt and grime of the body but of the mind as well.

These long showers became a ritual for the two of them, a way for Fiddlesticks to show her devotion to her beloved and a way for Lightning Dust to learn and accept that sometimes taking things slow was the best way to take them. Fiddlesticks intended on imparting this same lesson, at least in some small way, upon Fritter.

So it was that Fiddle took her sweet time washing her sister, the smell of patchouli and orange filling the air. Once she finished with one leg she turned to the other, scrubbing it clean with the same dedication and tender intimacy. Once Fiddlesticks had cleaned Fritter’s legs, she trailed up the rest of her body.

The pelvic region was cleaned with the same sapphic reverence; devoid of eroticism but charged with an almost overbearing romance. It was with great care that Fiddle abandoned her loofa, washing Fritter’s sheath and balls by hoof. To be entirely honest, it was one of Fiddle’s favorite parts of washing her wife as well.

Lightning Dust was surprisingly jumpy around her intimates, seemingly never expecting even her wife of several years to handle anything down there. Fritter had no such qualms, even going so far as to spread her legs to give Fiddle even better access to those more sensitive areas.

Satisfied with her work, Fiddlesticks pushed herself up on the bench to wash Fritter’s chest and forelegs. Fiddle didn’t miss the envious glances that Lavender was sending their way.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have your turn once I’m done with her.” Fiddle’s voice was playful. “Speaking of: sis, could you turn around? I gotta wash your back.”

Fritter obliged, planting her forelegs on the bench she was previously sitting on. She wiggled her hips, taunting Fiddlesticks. Fiddle, to her credit, simply ignored her.

As Fiddlesticks washed her sisters flank and haunches, she let her mind wander. For all her work as a baker, Fritter had earned a comfortable amount of pudge. Fiddlesticks couldn’t help but lose herself in the way the soap clung to her coat, watching as rivulets of water rolled down her soft body.

“Sis, I think you’ve washed the same spot about four times now. You daydreamin’ back there?” Fritter pressed her rear against Fiddlesticks' pelvis, a rather crude attempt to drag her back to reality.

Fiddle pressed back, leaning across her sister's soapy back as she began washing her shoulders. “Got a lil sidetracked, yeah. You’re pretty hot.” Fiddlesticks punctuated this statement with a kiss between Fritter’s shoulder blades before pulling away, her work finally finished.

“Yeah I am!” Fritter stepped into the running water as Fiddlesticks moved aside, coming to sit in front of Lavender now.

Fiddlesticks found her mind wandering even further as she got to work washing Lavender. Was it right to be doing this? Was any of this okay? To sleep with your sister and her wife, to get up to as much as Fiddle did; was any of it a good idea?

"Fiddlesticks." Lavender's voice was firm but gentle, taking on the tone of a loving mother. "If you keep getting stuck in your own head, I'm going to make you clean me with your tongue."

Fiddle giggled, stretching languidly up Lavender's thigh. "Fine, fine; I guess I'll just tell you what's been eatin' me." To her credit, Fiddlesticks managed to stay focused as she scrubbed. "I just… I guess I wonder if this is all okay. I know everypony says they're okay with it and even Dusty seems pretty enthused – I just worry, is all."

Lavender looked to Apple Fritter and then back down to Fiddlesticks, a sympathetic look on her face. "I worry too sometimes! As exciting as this all is, it can feel… wrong sometimes." Lavender turned her gaze away from both Fiddle and Fritter, opting to stare down at the cool granite wall instead. "It's hard to unlearn the things we've been taught, y'know? If it helps, this kinda ‘free love’ stuff has been a thing since way before any of us. I guess at a certain point modern ponies got an idea of what love was like and just… stuck with it.”

Fiddlesticks nodded in silent agreement. She didn’t really have much else to say; her fears and doubts were still there but she had been given enough room to think for now. The sound of running water, the brush of loofa against a pony’s coat, and the occasional appreciative noise from Lavender were the only sounds that could be heard. This was the sort of respite she needed, knowing the finale of the night was coming to an end.

She got lost in the scent of the mares around her to the extent that she hardly registered the knock at the door.

“Come in!” came Fritter’s voice, shifting slightly on the granite bench.

Cautiously opening the door, Apple Cider poked her head in. “Hey, y’all almost done?”

Fritter looked down at Fiddlesticks, who simply nodded and smiled in response. “Yep! Just give us a bit of time to dry off and we’ll be right down.”

6 - Touch

“Do I have to wear this ridiculous getup?” Fiddlesticks picked petulantly at the straps of her garter, quietly relishing in the snap that echoed through the air as it made contact with her flank. It chaffed a little at her bruised hindquarters, a necessary evil that lingerie brought with it.

Apple Cider was currently making slow laps around her, studying every angle and making sure everything was in place. Fiddle never figured Cider for the lingerie type; not that she was complaining! Just that none of the extended Apple family seemed too keen on the pomp and circumstance that lace brought with it.

“You do! You’re mine for the next little while, remember?” Apple Cider stopped in front of Fiddlesticks, tilting her chin up with her hooves. They locked gazes, an animalistic passion burning in Cider’s eyes.

As if to punctuate this statement, Cider pulled her in roughly for a kiss. Their lips collided and Fiddlesticks melted into the touch, surrendering whatever illusion of control she had to her better. This was how this was meant to go, after all. A pretty girl stuffed her tongue into Fritter’s mouth and she handed the reins over in an instant.

“Now then,” Cider’s voice was husky, dripping with intent, “who do you belong to?”

“You.” Fiddlesticks knew she had that traitorous dopey look on her face, those half-lidded eyes and that corny smile writ large across her muzzle. It was a dead giveaway for her buttons being pressed, a klaxon call alerting any interested domme in the area to make their move.

“Good girl. Now get on your knees.” The lust in her voice remained, tempered with the firm tone of a mare in charge. Fiddlesticks gleefully complied.

As she settled into a kneel, she turned her thoughts briefly to the tarp coating most of the floor. It was a good couple feet across, spread neatly across the rug it covered. Given what she remembered of Apple Cider’s predilections from last year, the tarp’s presence made a lot of sense.

Fiddlesticks came face to cock as soon as she tore her eyes away from the tarp she was laying on. Cider’s marehood was just barely visible in its sheath, hiding a considerable length. She didn’t need to wait for instructions before she opened her mouth eagerly, letting her tongue loll out of her mouth in anticipation.

Her anticipation would be rewarded as, wordlessly, Apple Cider advanced. She shuffled forward until she was straddling most of Fiddlesticks, the brow of her head brushing against the middle of Cider’s barrel. Slowly Cider’s cock freed itself from its sheath. With a steady and gentle rock of her hips, Cider guided her cock forward and into Fiddle’s waiting mouth.

The moan of appreciation that spilled from Cider was enough to make Fiddle smile around the mouthful of cock she was currently enjoying. A few more awkward thrusts and the two of them had finally found their rhythm, settling into a steady facefucking that suited them both perfectly.

After the comfort of the shower she shared with Apple and Lavender Fritter, Fiddlesticks was honestly excited to be put back to work. As much as she loved the brief intermissions between the hours of lurid passion that awaited her, the most degenerate part of her soul yearned to be yet again made an object of pleasure by another mare. Or mares. Or stallions even, if they played their cards right.

It was only as Cider began to pick up her pace that Fiddlesticks remembered the tarp that she was laying on, the crinkle of it ever present as Cider thrust eagerly into her mouth. There was a dull burning in her loins, different from the raw pleasure that even now coated her thighs with marecum. This was…

Fiddlesticks’ hurriedly tapped her hooves against Candy’s flank, politely requesting that she pull back for just a moment. Thankfully Candy complied, stooping down for a moment to come face to face with Fiddlesticks.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but… I really have to pee.” The second those words left her mouth Fiddlesticks knew she was going to regret saying anything. To call the look in Candy’s eyes sadistic was a dramatic understatement.

“Is that so? Guess you’ll just have to wait till I’m done to go. Unless you think you can’t hold it til then, in which case there’s a tarp on the floor for a reason.” Her voice had a genuinely evil edge to it, making it clear that no reprieve would be granted.

Instead it was right back to work for Fiddlesticks. She made it a point to focus not on the growing pressure on her bladder but rather the sensation of the cock in her mouth. Apple Cider had clearly been busy elsewhere if the taste of sweat that coated her tongue was any indication. Fiddlesticks had always been curious what the girls got up to when she wasn’t there to entertain them.

Beyond the taste was the scent as well, as each thrust brought Fiddle’s nose closer and closer to the base of Candy’s marehood. The aroma of a day's worth of work and arousal clung to her nostrils, soaking her world in a thick veneer of musk. It was intoxicating, the sort of smell that Fiddle could get lost in.

Lose herself she did, her entire consciousness fading away until nothing remained but the taste and smell of marecock. No sensation was left except for the kinetic experience of meeting the base of Candy again and again, her mouth and throat reduced to nothing more than a hole to be used.

That was, until something started nagging more insistently at her, managing to break through the lust-drunk stupor that pervaded her senses otherwise. Not even the moans and exaltations of pleasure that trickled from Candy’s mouth were enough to distract her anymore. She really, really needed to pee.

It seemed Candy sensed this as well, no doubt picking up on the way Fiddle’s body tensed as their time together continued. To this end, she picked up her pace even further. Gone was any sort of tact or measured movement, in its place was a frantic hammering away at Fiddlesticks that she could barely keep up with. So preoccupied was she with steadying herself against Candy that she fatally failed to account for the pressure on her bladder.

Her blood ran cold when she realized what was happening, but by then it was too late to stop it. It was wet and hot, in extreme contrast to the icy shame that ran down her spine. The smell was unmistakable, pooling as it did around her hind legs and soaking through her panties. As Fiddlesticks succumbed to her base needs, so too did Candy.

Her thrusts had grown more and more insistent until finally, with a brief moment of respite as she pulled back, Candy came. It was warm and salty and before she had a chance to greedily swallow, a voice commanded her to wait. So wait she did, a load of marecum on her tongue and a puddle of piss underneath her.

“Stand up.” Fiddlesticks did as she was told, pushing herself to her legs shakily. Her coat was slick with cum and piss. The smell of the two mingled, creating a powerful aroma that dominated her senses.

Candy walked around to behind Fiddlesticks, roughly yanking her panties down and pulling them off of her. She knew where this was going before it happened but it still didn’t prepare her for the sensation of cotton soaked in piss to fill her mouth. She did everything in her power not to gag as her own lewd fluids dribbled down her chin and coated her tongue.

“There! Isn’t that better? You can’t taste anything except my cum and your piss, just as it should be. Although, I think something’s missing…” Candy tapped her chin for a moment, studying Fiddlesticks with intent. “Kneel back down and close your eyes..”

Again Fiddlesticks did as she was told, receiving the harsh reminder that just moments ago she had, in fact, pissed herself. It was demeaning enough to have her mouth stuffed full of it; to be asked to sit yet again in a pool of her own shame was… electrifying, honestly.

The degradation only deepened as she felt a stream of hot piss hit her muzzle, soaking into the cotton gag that occupied her mouth. Seemingly satisfied with the bit of extra flavor added, Candy directed the remainder of the stream to her mane, coating her in the rich stink of a mare who needed to drink more water.

It was… powerful, being owned so completely by another mare that the only thing you could smell or taste was her piss. Fiddlesticks reveled in this feeling, secretly hoping she could stay this way for just a little while longer. Her wish would be granted as she heard the sound of coat-safe bondage tape being unrolled.

She held her head straight and level as Candy carefully began wrapping it around her mouth, holding the cloth gag in place and sealing in all of those flavors that Fiddlesticks had come to be so familiar with. Candy took a step back, seemingly admiring her work with a sadistic gleam in her eyes.

“With that done, why don’t you follow me to the barn? Don’t want to keep the boys waiting too long, eh piss slut?” Without waiting for a response Candy heel-turned and began walking, confident that Fiddlesticks would follow.

And so she did.

7 - High Living

The barn… This place held so many memories for Fiddlesticks. From her days as a filly spent orbiting the outer ring of the massive Apple family reunions, still unsure of who she truly was all up until now, fully assured of her place within their ranks. The air was heavy with the smell of old wood, hay, and sweat. It was a cloying musk that curled in the air, each body present lending their own particular scent to the affair.

The furnishings were sparse, just two padded tables with leg straps on each side and another table for refreshments and sex toys. Braeburn, a favorite of the gay side of the family, was already getting situated on the table furthest away from her. Gathering around him were a few familiar faces from Fiddlesticks’ fun tonight; Candy Apples and Apple Fritter had both gathered around Braeburn.

Standing by her table looking only a little bit sheepish were Apple Split, Apple Core, and Apple Cinnamon. Cider paused for a moment to ungag Fiddle, who was grateful to finally taste something other than cum and stale piss. As Cider left to join her compatriots, Fiddlesticks began helping herself onto the table.

“You boys want me on my stomach or my back?” She kicked her hind legs idly, sizing up the group of Apple stallions.

Core spoke up first. His voice had changed a lot since he started hormones and Fiddlesticks fondly regarded the patchy beard he was growing. “If you could lay on your back, that’d be great.”

Fiddle did as she was asked, rolling from her sitting position onto her back. The table was surprisingly comfortable, all things considered. She stretched out her legs as she settled in and without a word, the assembled stallions started to strap her down to the table.

The restraints were snug, something she tested by giving each of them a tug in turn. It was only when she started to pull at her restraints that the reality of her situation set in. Here she was, a lesbian strapped to a table and about to be fucked by stallions. Next to her was her gay cousin, similarly about to get worked over by a few mares.

About to? Truth is he already was; Cider was nearly balls-deep inside his mouth already while Candy was already pounding away at Braeburns pussy. Fiddle bit her lip at the sight, a pang of jealousy washing through her. Not that she hadn’t already spent a few hours with the mares of course but surely a few more hours wouldn’t hurt…?

Fiddle was returned to reality by a hoof gently tapping the side of her muzzle. As she looked up, she met the blushing face of Apple Split. He was new to these sorts of parties, relatively speaking, and was still finding his bearings. Fiddle was more than happy to show him how things were done around here.

“Need somethin’, hun?” To tell the truth, she was starting to get a little impatient she wasn’t getting fucked yet.

“I ah, I was hoping you could scoot back a bit? I was going to sit on your face but… didn’t want to break your neck.” Fiddle did as she was asked and Split climbed up onto the table gingerly, planting his plot directly onto Fiddle’s muzzle.

Split was soaking wet and Fiddle quickly found her face slick with arousal. She had only just found a comfortable rhythm with her tongue when Core planted himself on her cock. That was an experience she was wholly unprepared for and her body responded in kind as she bucked desperately into the sudden sensation that wrapped her eager shaft.

The rough voice of Core barely cut through the lurid noises that otherwise filled the room. “Y’know, for a dyke you sure do like gettin’ fucked by stallions.”

That word. That one little word was enough to scramble what few thoughts remained in her lust-drunk brain. Her brain would remain scrambled as the final stallion joined the party proper, pressing gently but firmly inside her. Cinnamon was thick, slowly filling her with the sort of warmth that only cock could provide.

What Fiddlesticks was experiencing could only be described as complete and utter sensory overload. It was all she could do to maintain any sort of tongue work, shakily lapping away at Split’s tender folds. That was it. That was what she would choose to focus on. Not the wet heat of Core’s tight pussy nor the steady pumping of Cinnamon inside her, just the act of eating Split out.

That plan lasted for… a few minutes, maybe? Time was impossible to keep track of in this sort of situation, her entire body being consumed by pure horny energy. To her credit, Fiddle was at least able to maintain some sort of mental cohesion. She was otherwise a complete mess, trying her hardest not to cum.

It seemed that Core picked up on this tension as he only increased his pace, riding Fiddle with a passion she hadn’t experienced in months. At the very least the assembled stallions seemed to be similarly close. Split’s breathing was starting to run ragged and Cinnamons thrusts were growing more and more erratic.

Whether or not she would outlast any of them was the big question, however. For the first time that night, she felt an unmistakable pressure starting to build in her groin. Was this really the first time she had been allowed to cum all night? That didn’t surprise her at all in hindsight. Determined not to be the first at the table to cum, she gripped Split’s ample flanks with her hooves and redoubled her efforts.

This earned a sharp appreciative moan from him, a clear sign that she was going to win this little contest she had made up. She just needed to hold out a little longer…

A little longer was not very far away it turned out as a cry of pleasure rang out through the thick air of the barn. If any of Brae’s partners had came already Fiddle was unaware; the thighs she was currently wearing as impromptu earmuffs did a lot to dampen the sound of anything except her muzzle deep inside Split’s stallionhood.

Speaking of, she was completely and utterly soaked as he rode out the last of what was an apparently earth-shattering orgasm, if the trembling deep in the core of his stomach was any indication. Fiddle made no effort to stop her tongue’s efforts, choosing instead just to slow her pace as she was rapidly reaching her own climax.

Though she was unaware, the muffled groan that escaped her lips was loud enough to draw the attention of everypony in the room. She jerked her hips into the air, hilting as deep inside Core as she could before cumming. Her body tingled with white-hot lightning and her head went completely blank for nearly half an ecstasy-drenched minute as an entire days worth of pent-up sexual energy flooded out of her.

All the strength had faded from herself and the stallions on top of her by the time Cinnamon finished, filling her guts with an unmistakable warmth. The assembled Apple family members remained quiet for a few moments, all of them slowly collecting their wits and energy as the fatigue of the night set in.

Split was the first to dismount, landing unsteadily on his hooves. Cinnamon was next, pulling out of Fiddle’s rump with a lewd slurp. Core followed shortly after, leaking a thin trail of Fiddle’s marecum as he went. Even after Cinnamon undid her restraints, she chose just to lay there instead, equal parts unwilling and incapable of moving a muscle.

“So,” Apple Fritter was the first one to speak, breaking the comfortable silence. “Shower, cider, then cuddles, yeah?”

3 - Circling

“Wow Candy, you really did a number on her!” Lavender murmured with a sort of hushed reverence as she appreciated the steadily developing bruises that marred Fiddle’s ass and thighs.

It was anypony’s guess what they looked like right now — she had been denied a mirror with which to apprise the no doubt sore state of her backside. Despite that she could certainly feel the fruits of Candy’s labor. It was a nightmare just getting herself back onto the bed and she was eternally grateful for the company that joined her.

Behind her was Candy Apple, one foreleg draped over her chest as she buried her muzzle into Fiddle’s mane. In front of her was her sister who was laying down and facing towards her, a dopey smile on her face. Fiddlesticks couldn’t even begin to imagine the sort of plan Fritter had concocted in her absence.

Lavender Fritter, who was Apple Fritter's wife, sat in a nearby armchair. Fiddlesticks had drawn her sister's name from the hat next and apparently that meant including Lavender in their fun as well.

“Thanks! Fiddly is such a willing canvas. She makes me feel like a regular Canterlot artist whenever I get my hooves on her.” Candy responded, the gentle tone of her voice devoid of any of the venom or vitriol that was present only a short while ago.

It was these moments that Fiddlesticks lived for; the brief calm in a life frequently devoid of it. Right now, nothing existed beyond the walls of this room. She allowed herself, however fleetingly, to bask in the tender affection she was receiving. Her mind drifted naturally to the rest of the night. The Apple family was nothing if not inventive in their preferred methods of tormenting her.

She rolled onto her back, grimacing at the dull roar of pain that came from her bruised ass. Pushing herself up in bed, she turned to face Apple Fritter.

“I think I’m ready, sis.”