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                    Fast on Your Fleet                     
                    -by Vis-a-Viscera-                     
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                      Start to Finish                      
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Author's Note
Looking for a FIMFic commission from me? Just follow this handy link (https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/908918/vis-a-visceras-commissions-page).
Start to Finish
One of these days, ma déesse, I swear; these rank tail-holsters will find their way upon a nice, homely, flaming grill!
Oh, sorry. Please, pardon my Prench. Such a beautiful language should never be sullied with uncouth threats. And I, Photo Finish, have had difficult subjects before this I have pulled far more from with the snap of a shutter. It is just that today, without fail, I find myself staggered by the habits of… of…
Madame Fleetfoot.
By Luna’s stars, even voicing her name is enough to scatter my brain! Just those two syllabes rolling off my tongue, or seeing her shock of a mane in my view, and my objections to this pegasus fail! I have had the honor of immortalizing her magnifique frame—it is the closest to Mt-Everhoof-chiseled-granite any pony could ever capture. Every trained abdominal, every pronounced bicep; countless years of stories and stress must have gone into this Princess-graced body of Fleetfoot.
Ironic, no? That this is why I have lowered myself to being a handymare for Fleetfoot? A story?
Even now, I am busy keeping up Fleetfoot's good impression of me, by fixing up this statuesque yet slobbish Wonderbolt’s bed. A sea of shimmering greens and whites stares back at me, nary a wrinkle within despite the unglamorous lump they occupy at the foot of the bedframe. And I know if I look down, the rug covering this floor will be ten-thousand-bit, silver-infused yak hair. That Yakyakistan could make something so beautiful from sheddings is a marvel all its own.
That Fleetfoot’s scattered socks, boxers, and shirts nearly mask that carpeted floor from view is also a surprise… for a far different, teeth-grinding reason.
Yet I know what drives this—besides my accursed curiosity. I can still remember the bang of the Canterlot Times’ printing presses as they chugged their last. I remember how long I pleaded with Hoity Toity to not let this chance for a Wonderbolt exclusive pass us by. I remember his words about ‘embedding’ and ‘learning opportunities’, and ‘legendary dedication to the craft’.
And I remembered chuckling imperiously, sure that the readers of this paper would eat up those words like Zap Apple pies.
If I only knew.
Those flowery words were as meant for me as the readers. I also know why Hoity did not mention which Wonderbolt we secured a curtain peek with until I was on the airship. That puffed-up, cheeky crétin.
Still, the Wonderbolts are notably secretive about their personal lives. It took me until I was on the runway to know Fleetfoot even made enough to have a personal airship! Even now, I remember the opulent curves of wood and iron that twinkled in the sunlight like diamonds. I had thought it a dragon of old when I first saw it touch down before me.
And what Fleetfoot offered for some… ‘light upkeep’ aboard this majestic vessel is still worth its weight in bits! A chance to know the secret materials behind their trademark uniforms! Canterlot has been dying to find out those fabrics for decades! Plus, a once-in-my-lifetime chance to capture Fleetfoot in the Wonderbolts’ Halloween-altered takes on these works of art!
A month before Nightmare Night, even!
It is that thought of my photo—Fleetfoot posing in that outfit, beaming as brightly as my future—that keeps me from noticing I have already finished making that very mare’s bed. Apparently, time flies when you’re having fun. But I know that the Wonderbolt will be returning from her newest spot of fun soon—one of her countless ‘newb-crushing scenes’, no doubt.
I sweep my hands over the floor, Fleetfoot’s dirty clothes soon filling a basket next to the bed. The work feels so unheard of, but I know that Fleetfoot would have lessened my workload if I dared to ask. And I should have. By Luna, I should have.
But of course, the mare that so often fills her floors with her clothes and the sink with dishes also traipses around in little more than her underwear! And each time, I… cannot find it in myself to bring up Fleetfoot's habits. My mouth is always dry, my mind is overclocked.
Oh, how my hometown of Maredrid would laugh at how easily this pegasus stilled my tongue!
“Yo, Miss Finish!” And speaking of tongues, here comes Fleetfoot’s cultured tongue, as cocky ad captivating as ever despite it coming several meters from the parked airship. Mon ami, I know not if my shudder upon hearing it is from irritation or infatuation. “Starting up the engines, hold onto your rump!”
I clench the bed’s hoof-rests immediately; I wouldn’t dare risk losing this chance at a closeup because I was sent tumbling out of a window. Soon, the welcoming throoooosh of the engines firing up fill my ears, still as magical a sound as when this ship first landed before my wide eyes.
Soon after, I hear Fleetfoot’s deft fingers tap on the door. She doesn’t wait for me before barreling through it. Between her equally-speedy peers and the fans that she plays like finely tuned lutes, I don’t think Fleetfoot has ever known what it feels like to wait on anyone.
Present company excluded, naturally.
“Photo?” It doesn’t take long for her telltale hoofsteps to reach my ears. “Sweetness, I didn’t know I had that many clothes! And that bed looks sweet right now; might take it for a spin in a few.”
I barely register this; my eyes are again stolen by Fleetfoot’s rugged beauty. She’s dressed more modestly thank usually in a midriff-baring turtleneck and training shorts. But par la grace de Celestia, this Wonderbolt’s secretions and horniness have undone even that! There is an obscenely large yet… virile… bulge straining between the folds of her black shorts; one that seems to grow with each shift of her sinewy hips, even! Her shirt is almost see-through now with all the sweat her mammaries threaten to breach through that dam of sodden clothing.
Assuming the jade-hard nipples on each of her breasts do not stab through that cotton first.
“Oh yeah; think you dropped these Photo.” Fleetfoot bends down for a quick second—a second that I shamefully admit was wasted imprinting the swell of her half-bared ass to memory. Then she is dropping my beautiful rose-tinted aviators into my shaking hands. “Wouldn’t want you to lose track of that on my account. At first, I thought those looked dorky, but…”
She drifts off. I swallow thickly, my elite mind scrambling unceremoniously for a topic to land on. At least, one that doesn’t wither into mush the second Fleetfoot purses her perfect, shiny lips.
“Madame F-Fleetfoot…” I begin, my voice slipping into a damnable stutter. Will my disgrace know no end?! “I… I…”
“Got two of ‘em, spit it out b’fore they get too heavy,” Fleetfoot saucily says.
I gulp, even though I know this is likely a fable by Fleetfoot. Almost nothing seems to put her down once she’s out of those covers—she has even saved a burning building’s worth of kittens right after putting down my weight in sherry the day prior. But I do not want to risk turning the impish curiosity flashing behind her eyes to anger. With the foot-and-a-half she has on me…. “I o-only wish to know exactly when we will be sitting down for that heart-to-heart, as you say?”
A beat skips through this room, Fleetfoot blinking those cloud-soft eyelashes of hers. Then another.
And finally, Fleetfoot untucks the buckball she has under her arm, tossing it from one hand to another. Good news, so I believe; that usually means she’s trying to keep her answer from being scattershot. “Well, you have been a doll lately, helping me keep up appearances here. Wouldn’t believe how much the Captain gets on my ass on my ’slovenly tendencies’—her words, not mine—and I really don’t need her harping on me when I touch down in Manehattan, y’know?“
Slowly, I nod. I am not entirely sure Spitfire would much like hearing just how Fleetfoot kept her quarters spotless these last few days.
Of course, Fleetfoot is fast to give me a reason I might not get anywhere with such a confession to the Captain. “Plus not gonna lie; I thought you were like all the other medicart-chasers we’ve been battling off those last few weeks, only after us for some little headline-or-other. Spits even approved the request for these personal mini-ships to avoid those clod-hoppers.”
I sorely hope the color draining from my face isn’t too obvious. “W-well, I can tell you now, I am not like that! Only the strictest of professional reasons is behind my assignment with you!”
“Sweet. S’no fun hanging with someone who’s just down-to-business, anyway.” Fleetfoot finally stops passing the buckball between her hooves, choosing to chuck it over the bed instead. It ends up clocking a very expensive-looking bottle of wine, and the crash makes both our ears crinkle in embarrassment. “Shiiiiit, and Misty gave me that one after…”
Now my ears are perked for a different reason, and unfortunately, Fleetfoot catches herself before she could let more secrets spill.
“...well, never you mind about that, Photo.” Fleetfoot’s cocky grin hitched a ride back on her face. “Anyways, we’ve got another guest for the last leg; you got those bottle pieces for me? My word, we’ll have that exclusive the second we touch Manehattan soil.”
As good a promise as the other ones she’s made, I suppose. And so I let out a “Yes, of course…” that sounds like air from a leaking tile, but Fleetfloot is already too busy darting into the closet to hear that.
So I mop at that stain with one of the countless towels Fleetfoot leaves dangling from every ajar cabinet door here. And I try not to lose myself in the jiggle of my own impressive rack. And, I whisper curses to myself for still wearing polyester to this stuffy cabin.
After my mop-up of that drink, I’d happened upon another unpleasant surprise in Madame Fleetfoot’s quarters; a ball of wadded and still-damp tissues. Fleetfoot of course, promised to launch them out the window immediately, but I was out of her earshot before her sentence could finish for once. I had intended to drown myself in another of the countless types of liquor Fleetfoot squirrels on this ship. Perhaps that would keep me from gnawing that insolent Wonderbolt’s snout off.
Or asking myself just what was with the pink blush she had sported over some filthy napkins.
All around me, a series of clanks followed my hoof-dragging form, as if to spirit me to my date with some spirit. The clatter of broken glass as I emptied it into a trashbin, the ice as it dropped into an intact glass, the shockingly well-preseved flask of 87’ that caught my eyes on the top shelf of the mini-bar.
So of course, when I let that first sip of liquor wash beautifully over my tongue, that I hear another pair of hoofsteps coming from a room behind me. It soon stops, before settling into a seat at the island.
Still, I would rather not deal with more buffoonery this second. So I, for once since this trip began, have some exquisite Prench insults budding on the tip of my spirit-soaked tongue.
Of course, the pony I see across from me when I swing in my seat is not Fleetfoot.
It is, most likely, the only thing I rue more than the changelings, Tartarus and Hoity put together.
“Oh, Photo, Photo, Photo…” And the voice that dares to assault my eardrums is somehow heavier than the alcohol still pooled in my gaping mouth. “How quickly we meet again, hm?”
Suri Polomare, in the plum-coated flesh, is sitting across from me right now. My eyes shoot down to avoid the taunting tenor in her eyes, two chips of amber gold that have looked down on me since we were in high school. She is a glory-chaser, she is shameless, she is everything wrong with Manehattan rolled into one beehive-shaped mulberry mane—
—and she is somehow on an airship heading to Manehattan?
"H…how are you even here, Polomare?” I growl, and this time, I make sure she hears the guttural tilt to my voice. "Last I checked, there isn’t a single boutique in Filydelphia; are you not scared you’ll chip a hoof?”
“Not as scared as I am that you’ll give the Manehattan Mare Statue a shower with your flopsweat, Finished,” Suri said airily. By flock, she’s an imbecile, through and through. "How a Wonderbolt’s put up with you for so long is beyond me! But I assure you, once my business with Fleetfoot is over, your little playdate will be behind me too.”
That part gets me silent for another second, mulling over Fleetfoot’s words from before. She did say she was taking on another passenger. But for what end? “Just what are you planning?”
“Oh, nothing much—just the newest revolution in stunt-flyer design,” Suri tittered, whipping out a flask of her own and taking a hearty swig from it. Even from here, I know it is cinna-mint tea; how she isn’t hacking it across the tabletop is only proof that she is a Tartarus-spawned scoundrel. “After all, I would only show the best of Manehattan-made fashion to such a pioneering peer.”
“So much so that you throw yourself in front of Fleetfoot?”
“Whatever do you mean, Finishe-”
“And it is Photo Finish to you, ma petit gaspilleur,” I shoot over her mockery of a name, smiling grimly when I see her eyebrows shoot up in shock. Today is not the day, Surly. “I don’t know just how you’ve gained better scoops than me this month, but your luck ends today. Fleetfoot is mine, and so is her tell-all on Wonderbolt tailoring! Which will soon put your over-stitched abominations to shame, no doubt!”
Suri simply rolls her shoulders in that infuriatingly lazy way, letting the bob of her definitely-plastic-enhanced breasts sweat in the grasp of her dress. Her admittedly formfitting, sky-shaded little blue dress.
“That’s what you’re here for, is it?” Suri finally says. “Well, I won’t pretend that you haven’t shed sweat or tears for such a lofty profile—for soon, that will be your roll-on deodorant’s job.”
My face is so red now I am certain I could fry Fleetfoot’s breakfast on it.
“But I doubt you’ll keep her attention long enough to bear that fruit,” Suri cooed. “After all, Fleetfoot isthe most eligible bachelorette in the Wonderbolts. And I am one of Manehattan’s fastest rising designers.” Suri flutters her fingers at me, and I resist the compulsion to chew them off. “Who knows what topics we could pass the day with to strengthen our… partnership? We’d be as tight as a tire on an axle, really.”
“Oh, that I have no doubt!” I shoot back. “One of you is full of rubber, and the other hot ai—”
It is not Fleetfoot’s arriving shadow that stays my tongue, triumphant as Suri’s grin is in her misguided victory. Again, I have spent a bit too much time focusing on Suri’s exact words. Specifically, words that told of her and Fleetfoot chattering like old college buddies.
But that can’t be, because—
“Easy, you two! Sheesh, the way you bat back n’ forth, you’d both think you knew me for years instead of two days!” Suri’s lips stretch into an ‘O’ as she takes in both Fleetfoot’s presence and her aside at their ‘bond’.
My jaw juts open too, for a different reason. Fleetfoot is now in nothing but a towel that is somehow even tighter then Suri’s dress, her mammaries fighting futilely for release. Goodness, is there anything Fleetfoot could saunter around in that would not look sexy on her?
“Anyways, nice to know you two are familiar! Go on Suri, shake Photo’s hand—she’s been a lifesaver for me these last few stops,” Fleetfoot says, beckoning Suri on. “Been a while since I’ve had so many accomplished mares wanting a piece of ol ‘Pec-Deck’ Fleetfoot!” Tittering at her nickname, Fleetfoot went on. “Well, so many mares that aren’t filling out a blue bodysuit!”
With a tension that could bend the metal lip of the island we’re still seated at, Suri and I shake hands. Seeing Fleetfoot’s grin widen at our ‘camaraderie’ brings a new flutter to my heart.
“Gonna guess you had some after-game stress to soak out, Miss Fleetfoot?” Suri asks.
Fleetfoot only chuckles. “Have, Suri. Present-tense. You think I’d be caught dead in front’a two knockouts without this perfectly shaped-up?” Fleetfoot swept a hand over her slicked mane, and I’ve never wanted more than to be somepony else’s locks more. “Just wanted to see if you two wanted to stop for anything after. I know this sweet dig just outside of Filydelphia, from this traveling cook named Saffron; her chili-flake cheesewich’ll knock you on your as—”
“Oh, that’d be lovely, Fleetfoot.” The exaggeration in Suri’s makes my stomach twist. “But I would never infringe on your hospitality after I’m already in your… hot-spot. I insist on paying—for all of us. My treat.”
“Dinner and a showing? Is it Hearth’s Warming already?” Fleetoot has stars in her eyes as she turns to me. “What about you? Anyplace special you wanna see?”
A thousand suggestions barrel into my mind, and all falter in the face of Suri’s smirk. I need to one-up this trollop, no matter what. “Well, Madame Fleetfoot, Iknow of this lovely masseuse near Manehattan! She is in high demand despite her ever-changing abodes; I have even felt one of her backrubs myself before one of her shows. Her name is Trixie, and—”
My hands slam shut over my lips, and Fleetfoot only cocks an eyebrow in anticipation for the rest of my sentence. But with how wickedly high Suri’s grin hilts she almost certainly knows what it is I dare not let Fleetfoot know about with Maud.
And mon dieu, despite the plea in my eyes, she drops the bombshell in mere seconds.
"Trixie, my dear?” Saints preserve me, even Suri’s tone is as sharp as a guillotine! "Is she not that fraudulent show-pony who summoned giant fishbowls over that quaint little village south of here about a month ago to keep everyone in?”
Fleetfoot’s eyebrows are now lost in her mane; I am simply lost for words. Horror floods my very being, and despite the dozen excuses on the tip of my tongue—that Trixie had left Ponyville in better regard than last, that whatever an Alicorn Amulet is made her do it—I cannot voice them. Not with this oversight of mine hanging so heavy over my head.
“And then got outwitted by a unicorn with a door-stop?”
“Thank you, Polomare!” I growl out between gritted teeth, and thankfully for Suri’s sake, she stays silent this time.
But it is too late; she is not the only one staring at me now. “My god, Photo…” Fleetfoot pants.
My ears droop, and I prepare for my walking papers. At least, I shall take my loss with dignity, little as Suri cares for that w—
“...I knew you weren’t the stuck-up Suri said you were!” Fleetfoot’s dumbfounded expression shoots into a grin just as fast as Suri’s own smile whips off of her face. “That sounds amazing! Didn’t know you had connections to such feisty little firecrackers!” “Know what, Photo? Second I get out the shower, forget Saffron’s stand; I’ll be posing for your exclusive immediately!”
Question: is a pony heart supposed to feel like it’s about to leap out of the chest and stop cold at the same time? Whatever the answer is, my mind is working too fast to request it, as I shake Fleetfoot’s hand so vigorously I fear one of them will fly into the sink.
“Of course, Madame Fleetfoot! I will have all my equipment ready in a flash!” I gasp, almost missing the scowl flashing across Suri’s face for a split second. She’s good, though; shuttling it away into a far-too-pressed-but-still level line as she cocks her head.
“Sweetness! Gotta get that shower first, though. The water in the fridge like I asked?”
Immediately, I switch back to my calculating self. “Fifteen degrees, shaken lightly, underneath the ice chest’s lid.” I reiterate, turning to retrieve that elusive bottle of water. Freshly filtered at Rainbow Falls, infused with lime from Trottingham; there is no doubt it is incredibly invaluable to this Wonderbolt.
As I turn to give it to Fleetfoot, however, I notice something. Fleetfoot is whispering in Suri’s ear now, and that fashionista’s expression is no longer dripping confidence and ego. Non, she has a finger to her lips now, though it is knuckled at her size the second Fleetfoot’s vision wavers.
I again wonder; just what relationship is it that they have? Or rather, that Suri wants them to have. If this was just to incite me, she would not bother with such heated yet careful gestures with my back turned.
Regardless, the more I keep Suri on my toes, the better. I am not out of the woods yet; Suri is just as talented a negotiator and hob-nobber as I am. So I jut out the water bottle, and Fleetfoot takes it with a grateful grin.
“Mmmm, Fleetfoot…“ Suri purrs, resting her head on the Wonderbolt’s elbow. “Should I ask what that’s for, if you’re still gunning for a shower?”
Fleetfoot shrugs nonchalantly. “A pick-me-up. Always gotta control the water intake if I want these—” And Fleetfoot plucks a corner of her snow-white towel, again revealing the tightest pair of abs I have ever seen, to both our gaping delights. “—nice and prominent. Rainbow Falls springwater’s the only thing that quenches thirst and dehydrates the body, so I pound down the stuff when I’m between venues.” Then Fleetfoot folds her arms proudly. “Like now, for instance.”
Naturally, I am astounded. “I’m… surprised to hear you take so much consideration in your diet,” I confess. It really does seem like Fleetfoot is a tightly-regimented pegasus, even despite her lackadaisical upkeep skills.
“Right back a’cha, Photo! Fuck, you even picked the lime water I’ve taken a shine to.” Fleetfoot is quick to notice the feather-light titter Suri gives, though. “Hey! None of ya tell the Captain about this! She’d have my pilotfeathers if she knew I spent fifty bits a bottle on Spectra-infused water.”
Suri brushes it off with a flick of her hand. I am suddenly plagued with the picture of Spitfire bending this statuesque Fleetfoot over her knee and hissing that the lieutenant needs punishing.
Ahem. I said plagued, inner Photo. That means no sliding your thighs together at this thought!
“Right, gotta jet. Keep those flashbulbs warm for me, Photo.” Fleetfoot is soon a blur, racing out of the kitchen and nearly upsetting my and Suri’s drinks.
Thankfully—or unthankfully—Suri keeps her flask well-gripped as she turns to study me again. “Even getting down her tastes, Photo? Are you sure you wouldn’t fare better as Fleet’s maid?”
I round on Suri, cheeks and temper flaring. The buzz of the alcohol helps keep my words short and sweet though. “Is the great Suri Polomare angry that somepony else got between her and a camera for the first time in her life?” I tauntingly bat my eyelashes at Suri, and revel in the sucking of teeth she does under her breath. “Good.”
At this point, I expect Suri to, as she usually does when frustrated, storm back to her mini-tapestries and leave me be. And yet, once more, I continue to be met with surprises. “Ohoho, Photo. You have stepped it up since I started claiming your fanbase. Nice work.”
Suri, giving me praise? I steal a glance at the window, to see if the pigs has acquired flight. Alas, Suri Polomare remains unique in that regard.
“Gotta ask though, for all of Fleetfoot’s habits that you’ve got an inside look on…” And Suri draws a cultured nail along the rim of her beaker. “Has her sex habits been one of them?”
I almost face-fault into the island. “What?!” I near-bellow, “That is a preposterous thing to as—”
Suri then stands up and lays a finger on my snout, my speech dying out at the unmatched amount of cheek it took for her to do this. “Oh, don’t fret, Photo. My question was only to see how much of herself Fleet’s bared to you? Since, of course, you’re so sure her wardrobe will never want for improvement from Manehattan’s Most Wanted.” Suri jutted a finger at herself.
I simply straighten out my frilly dress, and prepare to take my leave to prepare the photo set. Equestria knows I’ve suffered enough of Suri’s snideness and vulgarity to last five lifetimes. "Madame Fleetfoot is the bluntest pegasus under Celestia's sun, Surly. If you've no insides to face her as she is, you've wasted your time here."
But Suri’s words follow me, as dogged as the Wonderbolt I’ll soon be capturing on film. “I see. Maybe it's time I confirmed that then, hm?”
A part of me wonders just what it is that Suri is up to. She's already in this airship, Fleetfoot has already agreed to the interview; what more does this designer want from that Wonderbolt?
As that damned mare turns to leave, shooting a “Good luck, then! I have my own ways of getting close-ups, anyway…” behind her, all I can think of is Fleetfoot. Zigzagging as my opinion of the Wonderbolt has been, there’s no doubt that Fleetfoot is an interesting enigma. She at least seems  good-natured, quick to make friends, and even quicker to wrap them around her fingers.
Which would make a contest between my critical, collected eye and…. Suri, be no-contest.
Normally.
But nothing has been normal since Suri stepped into this little airship. And the longer I sit setting up my stands, the longer I swab at camera lenses and prepare interview questions, the more I feel there’s something I should be on top of here.
Something Suri almost seems to be daring me to stop now.
It is with this realization, my mini-studio only half-finished, that I again oblige my greatest beast of burden; curiosity. Shuffling to my hooves, I straighten out any creases in my dress, hauling up my hemline so it cups rather than lingers over my cleavage. Then, I take my glasses, pull them off, put them back on again, and make my way back to Fleetfoot’s room.
Where Suri’s hoofsteps took her only seconds prior.
Maudissez ma curiosité,  I must know what Suri wants with Fleetfoot.
And if possible, I must come to terms with what it is I truly want from this amazing pegasus as well. Besides the scoop of the century.

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                      Water Polo-mare                      
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Water Polo-mare
I knew it was worth goading Photo Finish so I'd have time to see this.
I’m barely at Fleetfoot’s bedroom door before I hear the hiss of her showerhead as it starts up. So much steam leaks into this room that it feels like a second coat—and let’s be real, it feels almost as opulent as the one I already have.
Of course, what wouldn’t look gorgeous on the Suri Polomare, expo equine extraordinaire?
I’m so lucky Fleetfoot’s so quick to embrace friends ready to drape them in luxury. Especially those conducting a Filydelphia visit with only the best fabrics always on them to dazzle those as well-built as Fleetfoot. After all, it took quite  a bit of effort to get this combo platter of satin and suede samples together.
Not a moment too soon either, it seems, if that dolt Photo Finish is playing housesitter already. How did that high-snouted harpy even know Fleetfoot was taking her own way to Manehattan? I was supposed to be shocking her by emerging from this ship at Fleetfoot’s side, not the other way around!
And Photo's gotten some cheek too.
That makes my heart thrum something fierce beneath the mini-dress I'm wearing. Makes what's underneath get a little damp, too.
Alas, the true reason for being here is already Coco means well, but she’s such clumsy company. Some things in this life take the caress of a fine lady’s touch, as Rarity would say.
And if my wait was long enough, I think right nooooow, Fleet should be—
I clasp my hands over my mouth and shudder in joy. Oh! Oh yes! Fleetfoot’s already midway through her shower.
With the sight in front of me, though, I’m certain I’ll be wetter in a few minutes.
I almost want to step in now, but I don’t; delicacy is the name of this game. I need to make sure I commit everything before my widening eyes to memory.
Not like it’s hard; every inch of Fleetfoot’s scrumptious skin looks like it was carved from the Rockville mines themselves. An endless series of trim pebbles others would call abs but which I call a jadeite brick road leads up to two heaving breasts, the water keeping them nice and shiny. Fleetfoot’s trademark primped mane is around her eyes now, that curtain of white only making her look hotter. Then there’s what lies between her shifting thighs.
This Wonderbolt’s always been catty about it in interviews, but between every sentence about how she could break any stallion or mare was always this curt eye-roll. Most ponies would see that and think Fleetfoot was kidding to make some poor reporter blush, but me? I always knew the true meaning of that.
It’s the confidence of a dickmare.
And the proof is in the pelvis.
Tapping at Fleetfoot’s thigh and almost half as thick is one of the juiciest cocks I’ve ever seen. Mottled green skin and veins taper out to a bright, pink hammerhead; a pulsing shaft that seems to grow an inch in length each time the shower spray beats down on it. And the scruff of white hair at the tip; oh, I knew that mane Fleetfoot sported wasn’t a dye job!
I’m learning so much about Fleetfoot already, but it’s only fair. I’ll be returning the favor very soon.
That’s the difference between Photo and me, you see. Photo Finish, for her oh-so-vaunted photography skills, prefers to talk. All the time, even! She’s the biggest square in Equestria, in more ways than one, and Fleet’s a round hole. No, Fleetfoot’s is clearly a mare of action. And Photo may have kept her curiosity until now…
But here? It’s time for me to make my move.
My fingers hook in the straps of my dress and I push them over, then down. Immediately my tits breathe a grateful sigh, these buns almost smacking me in the chin.
Oh Photo, dearie; of all the things on me you could’ve called fake, you went for these? Even as I jostle them, feeling their all-too-real heft, those telltale sparks of arousal shoot right to my core. If I continue this much longer, I’ll be soaked with sweat from all the heat building in me.
Good thing there’s a running shower close by then, hm?
I make it there in three strides—this is a cozy little airship, after all—and feel the steamy hotness envelop me. Whether it's the shifting muscles of Fleetfoot or the steam of the shower beating off her, it’s a wonderful turn-on.
Feeling those muscles tense as Fleetfoot realizes the mass behind her isn’t the ebony tiles is almost as titillating. Oh my, and she’s even using a loofah the same shade as my fingernails! What a fitting flurry of royal blue to complement my newest venture!
Not to worry Fleety baby; soon, your sponge and my fingers will be roaming all over your body.
“Wha-Suri?!” Fleetfoot splutters, turning to face me in a spray of water. “W-when did you get in he-oooh…”
See that? When I got into the shower with her? No protest that she’s showering, or that I’m naked, or that my hands have found their home around her pulsing dick’s shaft? I don’t know if it's her sigh or mine that’s louder; or more deserved. This is where being as in-demand as I really pays dividends; when I'm all over a potential client’s body.
Of course, Fleetfoot having such a… welcoming reputation made me a little extra daring today. But I'm confident in my forwardness, and the flutter of her wings and eyelashes let me know they’re well-received.
“I’m so sorry, Fleetfoot…” I croon, biting my tongue salaciously as I nuzzle my face into her back. “I mean, I was so worried about your new guests, about losing out on my clothing opportunities… that I remembered that there’s one spot of you I haven’t measured yet….”
“T-that right?” Fleetfoot huskily whispered. “And here I w-was, thinking you were as much of a tight-ass as the other Manehattan stylists-oh!”
I pull one of my hands back from her girthy rod, enough to let Fleetfoot fully gape at me. Already the mischievousness in her smile is rubbing off of me; so is the soap she uses, if the trails of lather over my breasts and arms are any tell.
“Well, you’re not wrong…” I coo, letting Fleetfoot wrap an arm around me. I’m so close to her, so close to such perfection, and it’s making my brain short out. “But I’m also quite flexible.”
Fleetfoot’s eyes dilate, and I swear I can taste the breath she sucks in before she brings one of my nipples to her mouth. My hands go right back to work on her member, and it feels so insane I’m already this close to such a major celebrity. I knew I’d done my homework on Fleetfoot, on where seemingly impossible tastes and routines; but I’d never imagined any pegasus could be this sex-hungry!
Of course, looking down at her jade-sculpted body, I can see why. Heavens, I’d fuck me with curves like this to look at every morning.
And speaking off, they speed past my eyes as I sink to my knees; again, it’s a bit of a tough fit; this shower is not that big, and Fleetfoot fills half of it with her frame. My lips are now level with the fattest fuckstick I’ve ever seen, though; it’s worth the itch at my knees.
Especially when I take my first slurp, my lips forming an airtight ring around Fleetfoot's green cumpipe.
“Sweet shit, Suriiii…” Fleetfoot whispers, her voice still a harmonious purr I can hear over the hiss of the showerhead. Her pose stiffens, a rock-solid base to help me impale myself more on her cock.
I take the opportunity to study more of Fleetfoot, my eyes greedily committing every inch of the Wonderbolt’s muscles to memory as I easily take more of her down my gullet. For how defined Fleetfoot is, she definitely has a swimmer's build; her chest and arms are long, yet slim. My hand that’s not sweeping up and down her delightfully thickshaft easily wraps around her thigh, not a hint of a shiver felt through the sinew. The pegasus’s wings are a different deal, though; fanning the shower’s spray away from me as I noisily gurgle around Fleetfoot’s fucklog.
But eventually, I long for more of Fleetfoot’s cock inside me. Normally, this would be the time I spent getting that dick around me nice and thick with my saliva, adoringhow it shines around my eager lips. The shower has beaten me to the punch though, Fleetfoot’s body already a glittering altar of fertility as she bites back her moans.
And frankly, I'd love feeling Fleetfoot around my heaving tits.
So I pull my mouth off of Fleetfoot’s erection with a pop, offering up my mango-sized orbs of chestmeat for her to skewer. I idly note that in my haste to get the dress off, my necklace is still on, a silver thread nestled enticingly between my cleavage. But I could care less—I want Fleetfoot to give me some pearls to go with this silver.
And with what’s burbling at the tip of Fleetfoot’s twitching tool, she’s clearly got plenty to spare.
“Go ahead, then, Fleet….” I gasp, squeezing my breasts together. “Let’s see how much material it takes to make your dick disappear.”
Fletfoot flicks a couple of fingers to her lips, and the cutest squeak seeps from between them. By Luna, it even sounded like that pipsqueak Photo Finish’s, right after a...
Wait.
My gaze shoots over to the still-open bathroom door. Nothing greets me, except the steam and fog from the shower. Well, that theory’s quashed; Photo’s not peeping on us. Or she’s too fast for me to catch in the act, but what’s the chance of that?
Regardless, I sweep back my still-dry locks (again, Fleetfoot is staggeringly tall) and smile at Fleetfoot as her cock slips into the valley between my tits. Immediately, my pillow-like rack molds perfectly around her fucklog. I’m soon a drooling mess seeing Fleet’s dick-tip tap at my chin impatiently. It feels like that meatpole’s about to slip into my mouth again, to let those beads of pre-cum at its slit bathe my pretty little throat.
But right now, that throat of mine is busy with other things.
“Oooh, Fleetfoot, you’re so big… “ I purr, my pussy getting slick from the speedier thrusts she gives into my cleavage in response. “Cooped up for so long… and with so little time to get yourself off!”
Fleetfoot doesn’t respond—with words, anyway. My Wonderbolt’s teeth are gritted, her hip muscles bunching, and she’s pistoning her prick in and out of my mammaries. She’s clearly in her element now; hard at work, luxuriating in pleasure.
Batting my eyes at Fleetfloot, I take a special sense of pride in how much energy surges through her—how much purpose to pound me is stoked in one instance. Fleetfoot’s hip-thrusts slowly get more sporadic; she’s humping my face as much as she is my fun-bags. But I don’t mind; Fleetfoot’s dick is getting slicker with every grind, and so is the spot between my thighs. The longer they go without meeting, the more my mind rends itself in anticipation.
I stand up in a flash, letting Fleetfoot’s left leg tap against my thigh as I kiss her. Our tongues tangle, soft smacks filling the stall, my ears perking at each one like plucked oboe strings. Of course, this carnal concerto comes to a halt as she pushes me against the wall leading to the porthole window—and the inch-thin bench under it.
Am I put off by this?
Like fucking Tartarus I am.
“Hm?“ I ask, my legs spreading to show off my dripping peach to Fleetfoot. I swear I can hear the Wonderbolt's lusty sigh over the shower’s beat. “Maybe you need a view to go with your workout?”
In a whirl of wind, Fleetfoot has my hoof propped on the bench, leaning in with sensually sinister intent. By fuck, her cock feels like it’s doubled in size as it wedges at my pussy lips.
“Workout?” Fleetfoot growls. "If they were all like this, I'd never stop doing them."
I try to shoot back something cocky—something perfectly, alluringly me—but all faded into a burbling hiss of bliss. My hands speak for me instead, spreading my ass-cheeks to accommodate her pulsing cock. She’s hilted in me at last! Oh god, it’s so much, and I thought it was overwhelming in my throat!
Suddenly I’m grateful for how cold this shower’s spray has gotten. Without it I might have melted apart, impaled on Fleetfoot as I am. I’m an endlessly moaning toy for Fleetfoot's unstoppable libido, leaning against the wall to keep up with her.
And wouldn’t you know, Fleetfoot doesn’t suffer an inch of shrinkage in this icy waterfall. Perhaps she draws all the heat she needs hearing my sweet wails. Maybe she holds it in as tightly as her hands clench, winding around my hourglassed waist as she snuggles against my back. Or perhaps the friction of her dick, burrowing deeper in me with every scooch of her hooves, is keeping her fire going strong.
Then she pulls back and pistons, and thinking is the last thing on my mind right now. Assuming I could keep it in my skull from the power of her bucket.
“Fleet~!” I can’t even finish the sentence. Fleetfoot is filling me with her love as fast as she’s banishing the air from my longs, her fingers treading everywhere on my back as she works. My cunt weeps at the gift with fluids far stickier than anything the shower and soap could provide as it wraps around Fleetfoot’s length. I want to say that I don’t know where I end and the Wonderbolt fucking me begins, but that’s a sorry lie; every ripple of my gorgeous rump reminds me with fucking authority just how I’m joined to this athletic marvel.
“Deeper,” is all my ecstasy-wracked mind lets me say.
As I turn back to purr that word into Fleetfoot’s panting face again, I feel that sense of surrender flaring through my body. More than anything I want Fleetoot to have me any way she wants, and the pull of her hands—now holding my glutes—says I can do so much more. One of my hands wraps around my knee, keeping me properly moored so Fleetfoot can get further in me.
I’m wide open for the deepest of dick-drilling, and Fleetfoot seizes the opportunity with gusto, spearing my gushing snatch. I scream and vibrate in her grasp, my lips successfully seeking hers to feel more of her passion. Soon, I’m plundered at both ends, by Fleetfoot’s tongue up high and her titanic trencher below.
And it’s in that moment, curled around for my Wonderbolt, tongues tangling and Fleetfoot as deep as she can go, that I come.
Time seems to stop at that moment, space itself shattering into white before my eyes. My gash bursts its gates, syrupy juices splattering down my legs and over the stall. But below, reality still bears its virile might against the tides of chaos—because throughout all this Fleetfoot never stops driving into me. The pressure turns my snatch into a sprinkler, extending my orgasm further with each squelching echo.
Soon, I slump against the shower wall again, spent for the moment. Fleetfoot stops soon after, still buried around me her pants clouding the port window above me. Even now, after feeling me break apart around her breeding tool, she looks larger than life.
“Shit…” Fleetfoot begins, her voice only barely fatigued. “Didn’t think you had it in you, girl.”
I still scarcely believe it, it feels like it’ll tear me in two now that the tremors have fad—oh wait, Fleetfoot means my orgasm and not her cock. Ah, well. “Well… I do so love getting personal with big c… clients like you.”
“Sounds like I better run up the score, then,” Fleetfoot whispers in my ear. I mewl throatily feeling that rumble flowing through my soul. “Up for round two?”
I wanted to say yes. Fuck, I started all of this. But sanity, fleeting and frustrating as it is, bleeds through at that moment. I haven’t exactly been quiet, Fleetfoot’s clearly been in this shower a while...
“If Photo hears, she might-”
“Photo’s busy, isn’t she? Whole set-up and all.” Fleetfoot wiggles her eyebrows salaciously. "Plus, she’s a cutie too. Woulda asked for a date or two after the shoot, but I… really… love your enthusiasm.”
Jealousy flares its wrinkle-spawning head for a second, but I keep from letting it twist my smile. Instead, I push back at Fleetfoot until I feel her marvelously snug dick slide out of my slit. “Forget her, Fleet. I’m all you need now. And right now, you’re all I need, too.”
“Ooh, I don’t knoooow…” Now I know Fleetfoot’s fucking with me, even as she leans back on the seat in this shower. “Might need to really keep me going to forget about someone as important as Photo.”
I look down.
Luna’s leaking labia, Fleetfoot’s still as thick as a streetlight and almost as long down there. And her cock’s head is now bubbling with her cum and mine, a milk white sheet that beckons to my parched lips with every lewd bob.
My irritation flits away in a flash; I need to feel what it’s like for this Everhoof-chiseled pegasus to jam her masterpiece into me. My hips twitch at the mere thought, turning me around until the cleft of my ass is comforting Fleetfoot’s dick.
“Okay then, Fleetfoot…” I respond as my tail flags, flicking at the snout of the hottest futa I’ve ever seen. “Hope you’re ready to see this fitting through then.”
And I sink down, my walls greedily clasping around that shaft again.
This time, both of my hands brace against the shower walls to help me as I bounce up and down. The sting of the still-arctic waterspray on my chest does make the build-up slower, but seeing my fun-bags roll and bounce makes it worth the wait. Soon I’m howling in indescribable joy, even more so when Fleetfoot’s hands move to stretch my pussy lips further. It’s not long before that fleshy intruder is barreling into my deepest depths, somehow getting further along with each hop I take onto it.
Wait, intruder? At this point, my bliss-baked brain would have this part of Fleetfoot over every day, twice on Sundays.
As the minutes roll past, I just soak in the sensation, in every sense of the word. Fleetfoot’s hammering into me now, joining in my frantic twerking as I feel her tap at the entrance to my womb. My gaze is locked on Fleetfoot’s cumsacs when I’m now throwing my head back in elation just before seeing how heavymy Wonderbolt’s balls get. I can feel their magma-hot load brimming, trembling around every vein of the cock claiming my cunt.
And Fleetfoot’s hands are working magic all their own, seizing around my tits to twist at my nipples like foal’s bottles.
“Yes! Yes!” I scream, letting my eyelids flutter shut at last. It won’t be too long now, not before that scorching heat is too stuck in me to do anything but fill me. I bend backward into Fleetfoot’s touch, my wet mane drifting over her nostrils. I hope she’s as drunk on my fragrance as I am on her thrusts. I hope that all I feel for the rest of my life is the ripple of her muscles as they grasp and gape open my most sensitive parts.
But above all else…
“F-fleet…”
…For the sake of a wet-wish welling faster in my groin than my second climax…
“Ohhh!, s-SHIT! Ahhh!!”
…I want Fleetfoot to flood my swollen, slutty cun-
“...Madame Fleetfoot! The cameras are all ready! Are you not yet finished with your shower?”
It takes until that scrumptious warmth vanishes from my plumbed pussy for me to come back down to planet Equus. Flettfoot is shifting behind me, and a first I think it’s to find a new position to drill him. Then I see how bone-white her face has become. And how much she’s scrambling for the door.
And that the final invoking of Fleet's name was not from my lips.
My next question is obvious. “I-is that PHOT-”
Thankfully Fleetfoot’s hand slaps over my lips to keep me from giving myself away. How I have not done so beforehand is nothing short of a miracle. One that Fleetfoot is currently trying to keep alive. “N-no, not yet!” she hollers. “Don’t come in, I’m not decent!”
‘You and I both, Fleetfoot,' I think despairingly.
It’s with dreading realization that I also see how ajar the bathroom door is. Goodness, Photo doesn’t even need to get past it to see my dripping, naked self! By Luna, I’m so fucked!
Photo’s voice continues in a tauntingly close tempo. God, just one step and she’ll know! “Well, very good then. I was… hoping you could see me as soon as you could.”
“Y-yeah! Of course!” Fleetfoot’s hand scrabbles on the door hand, still too scared of possibly making Photo take another step to risk opening it entirely yet still in desperate need of the towel hanging on its outside bar. “
“Oh. I heard your yelling, and thought you had found some trouble.” Again, not a hint of that blue-balling photographer shows beyond that listing door. “By the way, have you seen Suri?”
Fleetfoot and I shoot each other nervous looks. Would saying yes get Photo away from that accursed door? Eventually, I shake my head, and Fleetfoot gets the message.
“Not a hair nor hide, Photo!” Fleetfoot said, though her dick jumped at my name as if in silent protest. I almost chuckled in pride. “You sure you didn’t see her on the way over?”
“I… think I would remember such a dreadful encounter,” Photo’s voice sounds more strained now. Distant. Is she doubting Fleetfoot now? But it is only for a split second, and then… “Well, come on out then. I simply must see what attire you have picked for the spread!”
Fleetfoot gulps. "S-sure I can’t wait? I mean, I usually have this whole moisturizing routine an-”
“Right now, please!” Photo shoots back insistently. “The sooner I lay eyes on you as you deserve to be seen, the better!”
And finally, Fleetfoot concedes. “Alright then! Wait by the other door, please!” Then she turns to me, and her twinkling eyes scramble for a plan. No way am I leaving now, with Photo almost certainly about to spend the next few minutes playing house. If my coat gets pruney, I’m going to fucking scream.
“Alright then, Madame Fleetfoot…” I taunt her cattily, flicking the bead at the head of my necklace. “How do you plan to get Photo out of my mane this time?”
It takes seconds to get my answer; I should have expected as much from such a whipsmart Wonderbolt. “Alright, I go out, get through one outfit, pretend to twist a hoof slippin’ out of it,” Fleetfoot offers. “And just like that, I’m off to the kitchen for some ice. Three minutes, tops.”
“Three minutes,” I staunchly repeat; I’m holding her to this. Pony fashion itself is on the line. “And after you're done cleaning her drool off your lap, maybe…?”
Fleetfoot’s breath hitches in recognition of what the waggle in my hips implies. “Maybe,” she whispers. “Kiss for good luck?”
I lean forward and pucker up. But unfortunately—or maybe not, considering what a rush it brings to my core—Fleetfoot swoops down to give an open-mouth kiss to one of my heaving nipples.
Immediately, I‘m back in the mood, but the shower only gets all the colder as Fleetfoot bolts from it. Wrapping a white towel around herself, and her still-erect marehood, Fleetfoot shoots a thumb-up as she disappears around the door.
I stay where I’m at, wringing my hands over her latest stunt. By the Princesses, that was dirty! I turn the knob of the shower all the way to the left, sighing in relief as the water drowns out that noise.
Then, my hands settle at my well-stoked snatch, and I suck in a breath as my sea-green nails ghost across spongy flesh. I look to the door, relievedly closed now. I barely hear a sound; surely they’re already starting. But I’m still starved for some contact, my thighs ablaze with more than the steaming water drenching them.
And, well… I didn’t hear anything from that sexy Wonderbolt about me having some fun waiting.
I lift a finger to my lips, biting it softly to ensure I have a stopgap for my pleasured pants. My other hand’s fingers go to four and seven a.m., stretching my puffy clit out like a diamond. Oh yes, I still see it gape with every breath I take, as if still hungry for the ponderous length that crammed it mere minutes ago.
The digits treading there now will simply do with precision what Fleetfoot’s dick did with size.
After all, I know just what press and where can speed me through to the mountaintop. I’d explored them so very thoroughly in my study of the Wonderbolts, seeing all their appetizing curves… and bulges.
Even now, it’s images of these Wonderbolts—one in particular—that grace my mind as I rub circles around my needy clit. Between my muffled gasps of pleasure, Fleetfoot still makes my heart sing, even if only in spirit. Killing it in a bright orange bikini, looming high in my mind with a feathery white coat swept around her like a cloud. Pushing down the tab of a zipper of her Wonderbolt suit, jade-sculpted muscle blossoming from between a ‘V’ of silver teeth, getting tantalizingly close to her straining crotch. Silky scarlet bonds binding my Wonderbolt's wrists and hooves as she smirks around the card between her teeth stating Happy Hearts & Hooves.
And every one of those Fleetfoots with their gazes set upon me, smoldering and slatternly as I thrash and undulate before them.
Instantly, my body grew hot as the sun, that vivid mimicry making me speed up my fingering. Sweet, fuck, finally the adulations I deserved after grinding for so long. And how fitting, how beautiful the luck, that it comes from such grinding on my gash! I continue my stroking, loving the blur my digits become as they strum across my lower lips. Sometimes I even stop to spread the petals of my pussy open, and I don’t know if it's the pitter-patter of the water upon my slit or in my heart that beats louder in my ears.
“Fleeety…” I coo, fighting back the urge to just thrust my fingers into my cunt. I’m so close already, and I will not risk losing a nail now. “So much… so rough…”
And close is exactly what this whole encounter has embodied—that flow of danger and desire that mingles with the now-lukewarm water washing over me. How many risks have I undertaken, worshipping that thick altar of Fleetfoot’s the second I had her alone? How close have I come to little Photo no of my dirty little secret? How close even now, barely feet from those two and fanning my twat with reckless abandon. Already my green nails stroke at a pair of lips that are endlessly ravaged by water yet thirst all the more.
…Fuck, maybe I want Photo to hear me. To know the stifled moans that can only come from taking Fleetfoot’s ponderous fucklog. To finally stretch out of her taffeta-skirted shell and crown that green Wonderbolt cock as did. My fingers pinch madly at my pussy lips as I dossy up that vision, and within seconds, an incoming orgasm soon teetering on the edge.
My limbs clatter against the showers’ walls, but I’m long past caring. My left hand is fully collapsed over my mouth; else, all of Manehattan would hear my cries now. As it is, only a painfully mouselike squeak slips from my maw as I wring my clit for all its worth. The slick thwickthwick is all I hear in this water-thudding din, now.
Then my thumb flicks madly at the bead atop my center, before hooking around it and pushing down like the lever of a cash register.
And by fuck, do I open all the way up.
“Fleeeetfooooo~”
This too dies around my lips. My climax is thankfully not as subdued, hot juices splattering from my snatch. I adore seeing my fucksap slosh against the wall, making them glitter as my knees wobble dangerously against those tiles. Soon I may lose my balance, not in the least because white has nearly filled my vision again.
But even wild elephants won’t stop me from riding this fucking release out.
Yet, just as soon as I am cresting that peak, I’m over it again. Fireworks fade before my eyes, and I am once again a mare, rather than a monument to the Wonderbolt’s promise of cock. Now it’s just Suri again, and the glossy curtains of her mane fluttering under her heavy breaths, and her fat tits grown heavy under the torrent still pounding upon them.
At least I know this; it’s been far more than three minutes.
Licking my fingers as I give one more look to my swollen lower lips, I soak in the feeling.
Wait… is that Fleetfoot I hear? And Photo? Why are they still here?
And… why is Photo gasping so loudly?
A very unorthodox ‘what the fuck’ silently spills from my mouth as I twist the knob and banish the shower’s stream. It’s only growing louder, that all-too-perplexing noise—I know that my Wonderbolt was supposed to have faked that injury ages ago! What gives?
Far be it from me to leave that mystery be.
So after I pull down a towel and wrap myself in it.—and conceal myself behind the dresser just in case Photo realizes the sudden muteness in this room—I make my way to the door. It feels like forever, but those maddening noises keep repeating, and I finally dare to look.
And my jaw might end up taking the express route to Manehattan, it’s dropped so low.
Pardon my Prench, but there’s no fucking way.
Yet as I storm out into the scene before me, Photo lets another whinny as the figure under her finally stops moving. Fleetfoot’s just as white-faced as she was when we first heard Photo, but this time I’m its cause.
Well, that, and all the blood still caught up in her fuck-rod that the very naked Photo is still hopping on!
A million different thoughts flood through my mind, but given how my latest rendezvous with Fleetfoot went, the offense I want to take at her actions just falls flat. So of course, my ager finds a better target.
An old target.
A familiar, blue-coated, wide-eyed, dick-smuggling target.
“What is the MEANING of this, Finish!?”

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                    The Game Is A-Foot                     
//-------------------------------------------------------//
The Game Is A-Foot
Seventeen Minutes Earlier…
Crapcrapcrapcrapcraponacufflink! Just imagine how the Captain would think of me now if she found out what just happened!
“So let me get this straight, Lieutenant Fleeetfoot—you bring two ponies on the airship I only let you use for emergencies! And you somehow! Fucked one of them! Again?!”
…Yeah, I’ve had this back-and-forth with the Captin a lot.
But I swear! This time, it's different!
Didn’t even think a suck-up like Suri was going to be… well, that eager to suck up! And the way she just seemed so rarin’ for more… not gonna lie, think it really might be me and not my credit she’s looking to push to the limit!
Still, Photo was right outside this bathroom door and I need to play dumb before she gets suspicious.
So yeah, I let Suri be in the shower—after one last taste of those dusky nipples, shit they’re sweeter than they look—and make my way to the door. Shit, I felt so guilty already; it's making my wings fuzz out. I mean, not over the fucking—you had a body like this, you’d have better ponies to hold it against than just yourself too—but for wasting Photo’s time to do it.
Shit, it’s just… Photo Finish’s so sweet. So dutiful. And at first, I thought it’d be nice to see how far it went, just to rib her, but… I meant every word I said in that kitchen. She’s a master with a camera, and that she wants to get deeper with me of all Wonderbolts ain’t something I wanna pass up.
Well, verbally at least. Much as Spitfire bleats about ‘fraternization’ and ‘hard partying’ and ‘not sticking your pole in everything like it’s an Equestria Games javelin toss’, I know better. Misty Fly likes being spit-roasted so much that Surprise is taking bets on whether she’ll be burping cum bubbles by next month. Thunderlane’s got every mare in Ponyville wrapped around his finger—if not his far bigger appendages—every second he shows up and Big Mac’s buggered off!
And Spitfire? Let’s just say Soarin’s assured me that the first syllable of that name’s painfully inaccurate.
But enough about Captain’s swallowing habit, let’s talk about the humble pie I’ve gotta develop one for. Even now, I keep the plan fresh in my mind, despite myself—greet Photo, find one outfit in the closet to throw on ‘twist’ a hoof getting it off, and whisk her to the kitchen for icing up.
I take another swig of the water bottle I took along with me, solder myself, and whirl in. A click to keep the door shut, and I spin on my hoof to greet Photo…
And the first syllable doesn’t leave my mouth before my sanity takes a hike.
Because Photo is on my bed right now.
Correction; Photo is curled up on my bed like a cat right now.
Know what, elaboration; Photo Finish and no other article of clothing below her glasses is staring expectantly at me while curled up on my bed like a cat right now.
For a second I start blinking, sure I’ve finally lost my marbles. The second I stop that blinking, however, the scene before me remains unaltered, and yet it’s still utterly bizarre. Naked Photo Finish. On my bed. Right now.
“Photo… Okay, um…” Yeah, I have no coherent response for this.
Not like she isn’t stunning, though! I mean Suri had curves for days and a mouth like a vacuum, but Photo… I mean, wow! For starters there has to be some stitcher in Canterlot nursing some sore-ass wrists right now, getting this mare a top that hid those breasts from me for so long. They’re as big as her head, and her pink areolae (that the word?) sharply defined against her blue fur, like bullseyes. Her thighs are less jiggly than Suri’s, but good fuck they frame her heart-shaped ass perfectly. And I don’t know how but those bangs over her eyes are long glow, tucked back into a mane that’s otherwise unclipped and flowing around her shoulders like milk.
No, manna.
Manna from the heavenly body of this snapshot-scoring seductress.
“Well, wait are you waiting for, Madame?” The hell with the irritation in Photo’s voice, I’d shear off one of my wings to hear that title drop off Photo’s tongue in the sexy hitch it did. “We doing this, no?”
Okay, now my sane mind’s catching up for me again. “Photo… but why all of this?” I finally get out.
Is that a hint of a blush on Photo’s cheeks? Maybe this wasn’t as orchestrated as I thought. But she doesn’t let it reach her voice.
“Well, because…” Photo swallows thickly, then continues. “I overheard that this is what gets you to open up. So… here I am.”
“But… I… No way!” Even with that close call with the tissues before, ain’t no fuckin’ way Photo knew about my libidinous urges before today! “L-like, I would never-I mean, there’s no way you’d even-”
It’s then that I notice the slight hints of clouding on Photo’s glasses, drawn to them by the sooty lashes flickering madly behind them. I knew that fogging was not there when I first left for the bathroom. That could… oh no.
That could only come from one thing this airship could have produced.
I slowly aim a shaking figure at the bathroom door. “D-did you see…”
Photo cocks an eyebrow at me, but I see those eyes widen behind her shades. Sweet fuck. She saw me and Suri do it.
“Oh my Celestia…” I groaned, sliding a hand down my face. And feel the towel slacking around my gorgeous tits, threatening to slide right off. But that’s far from my biggest issue now.
And the real biggest issue is not sitting straight up in my bed. “A-and what if I have, mon dieu! I-”
“Seriously first Polomare’s on my nuts and now you?” I don’t even care about the scandalized look the nude photographer shoots my way. “By Celestia, if there’s any pony who doesn’t need to do this-!”
“I am not trying to one-up Suri, curse it!”
That gets another started jolt out of me. “W… what?” I stammer.
“I… do not do this… out of some crazed need for attention or superiority, Fleetfoot.” This time, Photo goes face-to-face with me. “Madame, when I saw how thoroughly Suri was lost in the throes of pleasure, it… reminded me of so much I tried to hide from.” I could see the memories dogged Photo with every twitch of her brow, but she bravely continued on. “I remember how often I was teased and prodded at Maredrid, how often I ignored the papers gushing over your groups’ escapades… all the times I really looked at you, Madame Fleetfoot.”
“Wait, you really… looked at me?” I asked. God, I knew I was a shameless flirt, but I thought it was water off Photo’’s surprisingly curvy back. Did she?
Photo pursed her lips. “Yes, Madame Fleetfoot. You are so… down-to-Equus, your habits can grate, but… there is no doubting the effort you give in everything you do. And I was so incensed at Suri for bringing it up so repetitively, but see how lost she was in you and how… hungrily… you took her…” Oh, that sex, heavy tenor to Photo’s voice has started up again. Be still my beating heart! “I think what I truly hated… was… was…”
I can’t help myself I lean ford on the bed, straining to hear Photo’s words as she cowers before me. It’s so shocking and yet… so cute.
“...wasSuribeingrightokay?” I don’t need to ask her to repeat herself, and the satisfied slump of Photo’s shoulders let me know she appreciates me not pressing it. “So… I wish to see what Suri has seen. To indulge… as she indulged. Unless…” A lump begins its slow journey down Photo’s throat. “I am intruding, Madame?”
In an instant, I take up the Prench mare’s trembling hands. “Not a fuckin’ bit, Photo,” I said, and I almost fall apart seeing the relief shine in her dilating eyes. “I. just… wish I knew of your curiosity earlier.”
It takes an eternity for Photo to respond, it feels. “Really?”
“We get around to that interview, I’ll happily spill to you about the new fetish Dust acquires a week.” Finally, pride is seeping back into my voice, and I can’t help but cock a hip thinking of it. “Swear, I don’t know if she or Dash is spending too much time around the other-whoa!”
This time, it’s Photo’s next move that leaves me bewildered; her fists ball into my towel, almost about to tug it off my body. My dick slips out from under its slackening cocoon, and it’s already hardening as I struggle a bit—but it’s half-hearted, shock instead of shame making me want to take this slow.
“W-wait! Photo!” I get out. “Don’t you think that this is a bit fast-?”
But shit, Photo is not having it. Determination and desire battle fiercely in her eyes, and her mouth is moving a mile a minute. “Even if Suri was not a room away, and even if I was not summoning all my nerve for this, and even if I didn’t need to feel you in me as soon as able…“ Photo stares at me again. “...Do you think I have not seen all of this before, Madame?”
At that point, I stiffen up, almost wanting to concede that point. True, the amount of square inches of clothing I’ve had around Photo has been in single digits.
Then Photo finally gets that towel off me, and I’m treated to the most mouthwatering sight of all—seeing somepony else drool over my ripped body.
Or my massive member, that too. It still startles me that my cock’s almost as thick as the wrist of the mare pumping it now. Every vein, every ring of flesh that Photo’s fingers wrap around, sends electricity bursting into my brain. And seeing Photo’s lips drift closer and closer to its tip, becoming oh so flush with blood and that tell-tale bead of pre-cum…I almost want to moan when they finally connect.
Thankfully, Photo’s as impatient as Suri was. “I do not… believe it,” she whispers, her eyes following a dollop of natural lube at the tip of my ramrod. “Have you always been like this?”
I shrug. “Pretty much. So are most of the Bolts. Save Misty and the Captain.”
Photo’s eyes meet mine, and there’s a hint of mischief bumming behind them. “No, Madame, I… well, yes. I was curious at times what was straining under all the shorts you wore,” she admits. “Alas, right now I am not using my words properly. I mean, has it always been… this thick?”
Before I can beg Photo to say ‘Madame’ in that alluring accent again, her mouth wedges around my cockhead. And suddenly, I’m not begging Photo for much at all—she already fulfilled my dirtiest dreams, with my dick now throbbing in her hot cavern.
“Urrrgggh…” I growl, summoning every shred of strength I have—and I’ve got plenty, natch—to keep my hips still. I thrust into Photo now, worked up as I am, and she’ll be ping-ponging around this room in seconds.
But fu-u-u-ck, it’s so tempting. The fit’s not as tight as Suri’s, but there’s so much drool, so much heat! And Photo's so slow and deliberate… it's definitely a spur-of-the-moment thing for this photographer.
All I have to say is; Photo can take all the time she wants.
Already I can feel the hot load I’ve been holding back for so long come brimming, with sparks of ecstasy flickering behind my every blink like coals. How I came so close with the drilling I gave Suri was something mind-blowing; usually, it takes at least three mares before I’m boarding the Foalbatter Freeway. But seeing how Photo’s cheeks hollow with every slurp, seeing the grit shine in her eyes as she impales herself further and further, and damnit there’s that tightness now!
Yeah, she’s speeding me the rest of the way to that promised land in record time.
Slowly my hips betray me as they move at last. But it’s in slow, deliberate circles, screwdriving my shaft into the saliva-burbling maw of Photo. The shudder in her eyelids, the twitch in her thighs; I can tell that Photo’s enjoying it almost as much as me. For the first time on this trip, though, it feels so… inadequate. I want to make Photo Finish fall apart with that sordid seed budding in her brain! I want her to gasp and gurgle for me, not just around me!
But that sweet release is snatched away from me in a whiff as Photo pulls back. I can see the hints of her black-cherry lipstick, a splotchy ring only bare inches from my medial one. But Photo’s concern sure ain’t over that milestone, it's with the rivers of drool she’d been letting slip. She swipes a finger along it even, looking at it like it was her blood  seeping down her chin.
Is she… is she embarrassed by this still?
“Merde,” she finally gets out, her chest heaving all alluringly and shit as she pants. “I did not think… I would be so messy. That…” a hundred different things bud around her tongue, her lip trembling as she stares at my breeding tool.
But I’ve heard enough sad-sacking for a lifetime. Soon, Photo’s tongue is occupied by a different thing; my own, twirling around hers as I kiss her heatedly. She squeaks, and I fall in love with that voice immediately, winding my arms around her to deepen our liplock. Soon, she’s sensually squirming in my grasp. Yeah, that’s right Photo; bend and writhe in my sinewy arms like you can’t get enough. Let me plunder your mouth so thoroughly that my dick jumps in raw need.
It’s almost misery when Photo pulls back, her eyes still locked on me as I stand back up. But I flex, and my abs flutter, letting my apprehensions fly away on a sea of rippling pec-flesh.
Photo sucks in a breath at the sight. “I… do not think you shall need to calm me any further,” she said.
My smirk might cut my face in two now, it’s that damn wide. “Gotcha, Photo..” I reply, patting her head, and letting my fingers toy with her alabaster curls.
Then I fist into that mane just as Photo’s hands journey back to my cock. This time, Photo is somehow less subtle than Suri, as she takes me right down her throat without another word. Yes, even past my medial ring, making it sixteen inches of Fleetfoot fuckstick getting embraced by what feels like a vice of gaping, tight flesh.
And then Photo’s other hand clenches expertly around my fat balls.
Immediately they let loose their cargo, and a growl that’d be better suited for a manticore spills from my mouth. Orgasm hits me like a truck, but I remain rigid and upright, as hot seed bursts right into Photo’s stomach. She gurgles around my girth, and I don’t know if it’s from the shock of my load or her joy at taking it. I just know that I can feel the vibrations of it rocking into my chest, down my limbs, around every vein of my meatpole she’s still orbiting with her tongue.
But I don’t leave it lodged in there long. Clarity’s speeding from my mind fast, but I know I’ll turn Photo into a balloon if I keep cumming into her gullet. And I can’t stand to see that impossibly flat tummy of hers swell out because of my dwindling restraint.
Yet, anyways.
So I pull back, with Ironhoofian effort, and take a hand around the base of my member to aim it proper. Several more strings of burning spunk dance over the photographer’s cheeks, drawing her nipples in goopy white. Then I aim lower, smiling when my last load successfully splatters home in that blue mare’s bullseye of a belly button. The force of it even forces a giggle-snort from Photo’s lips, and despite the scandalized blush that rips across her cheeks soon after, I don’t see her an inch lower for it.
Image-wise. I mean.
In the literal sense, you better believe I’m mapping out every nook of this wonderful lady that I can lavish with kisses and cum alike.
“So…Madame Fleetfoot…” Photo asks, before her tongue flits out to catch several more strands of mare-jizz still on her lower lip. “My closeup was as stunning as expected, yes?”
“Everything I wanted and more.”
I see a flare of relief in Photo’s eyes as she draws her glasses further down her snout. I didn’t think pink could shine fiercer in those irises than it did in those shades.
But today’s proving to be a fuckin’ field of surprises.
“Well… I am glad I could do all this for you.” Photo says. Then she looks at the rest of her sperm-soaked self, half-amazed at how little of her blue fur showed around those thick strings of seed. “Maredrid have mercy, I… do not think that all this was needed though. It’s… so much…”
My ears droop a little. “Oh. Sorry. I tried to avoid the mane, most’a my partners don’t like that no matter how many of Cadence’s… other archives say otherwise.” Seeing the confused look on her face, I scramble for an explanation. “Sorry. Rambling. Long story. Crystal Empire visit. Didn’t know it was a sex ed workshop till…”
“I understand, Madame,” Phooer “Maybe I should elaborate instead.”
“Feel free, Photo.” I sheepishly knot my hands behind my back. “Not as if I can… can…”
All that my mind focuses on is the enticing musk from Photo’s bush as she leans back on the bed. Photo’s legs spread apart, exposing her puffy slit to me. She almost looks at home here, with how her mane fans over the opulent blanket. Almost like it’s one with this mare.
At one with the cum I’ve so generously drenched her with.
“Perhaps you could try again… in a more appropriate stop, non?” Photo offers, her voice as husky as it is hitch-less now. Whatever restraint she has about this, they’re as ruined as the carpet I’m still stuck on.
Not for long, though. “Shoulda started with this in first place…” I purred, crawling over the photographer and letting my concrete-hard cock tap against her clit. One of Photo’s hands even comes to grab my length again, dragging it over her folds, teasing us both.
Photo grits her teeth as she growls, hot breath washing over my face as I steal another kiss from her. This time, my finger dips right into her waiting snatch, rubbing in circles as I feel her pump my dick to its full length. The second I feel Photo arch her legs back, I lean down and dip, thanking my insanely flexible body as I take my first lick of pony pussy today.
And shit is it worth it.
Sunshine, sunshine, bubblegums and cake.
No, that’s what Photo’s delectable center tastes like, get out of my head, Cadance!
I don’t think I’ve met anypony more perverted, I swear.
Course, I might be getting close to that threshold myself, the way Photo moans as I serve her with my tongue. I let my lips ghost along the rim of her slit, messily kissing and slurping as I bask in her wails. It really dead-ass reminds me of bubblegum, right down to how sticky it feels against my cheeks and lips.
But as amazing as it is to draw these purrs and gasps from Photo, I know I can do more. I’ve always prided myself on how unique the sounds I get from other mares are after I log in. Even Suri’s voice is one I’ll never forget; a waxing swell of melodies that even her cunt trembled in reverence of. I wonder what Photo’s wails will be like—as soft and sweet as the inner thigh of hers that I’m laying soft bites upon? Or as tight and hot as the coil of desire crimping in my gut?
I pull back from Photo at last, align my cock right between those petals, and push forward.
“Fleetfoot, d-do not keep me waiting—oh, mes étoiles, yeeessss…”
Fucking the Prench back into Photo’s voice it is. Couldn’t even imagine such a possibility, and yet those trills are making me hot and horny; that’s Photo Finish for ya.
My hips wiggle and thrust immediately—I only have the head in and Photo’s arcing into me like a wanton whore. My arms wrap around her plush thighs, bringing her closer as I wedge more of my prick in her. Shit, I need her to feel my grinding, every time my fingers clench around supple skin. She’s so burning hot to the touch, a different yet equally satisfying contrast to how the shower’s spray stung at me as I’d fucked Suri into incoherence in it.
I can feel that heat lull me, daring me to just stay and luxuriate in the feel of Photo’s velvety insides. She’s gripping at her tits already, her other hand flush at her crotch, feeling how it bulges around my hot shaft. Her head cocks back, a dopey smile creeping on her lips as I adjust. It feels like her tunnel never ends, miles of hot flesh milking me for all I’m worth.
And then I hear that telltale pop of my medial ring finally slipping into her walls. The hardest part of this is over; Photo Finish is now full of me, and the way she’s hugging her rack with one arm like it’s a life buoy tells me she’s overjoyed. The fingers on her other arm moves to feel the life surging in her slit, rustling through the bush at her crotch that even now tickles at my pelvis.
I still remember it tickling on my snout as I ate her out.
Maybe I should do more of that often.
“No time like the present, huh?” I ask.
“Speaking of time…” Photo’s eyes flick concernedly to the bathroom door. “Make haste, ma cherie.”
A tiny spark of thought—faint but ferociously loud—reminds me of the mare who’s likely waiting for me back in the bathroom. Then it’s drowned out by Photo’s next cat-like moan, and my hips are too busy flicking in and out of her to bother with any more complex thought.
Over and over, I piston myself into Photo, and like a master cameramare, she knows just how to work her fingers for the money shot. The hand of hers at her crotch rubs up and down in perfect sync with my thrusts, pleasure flickering across Photo’s snout as she whispers in that sexy Prench for more. Or moi? I can’t tell, it all sounds so thrilling to me.
So is the pendulum-like sway of her tits as I buck rougher into her, her legs jerking and curling deliriously.
“Fleet…foot…please…!” she cries, before we’re lost in another bruising kiss.
With my next growl, I obey Photo’s unspoken wish. Seizing her flanks, I hoist them so her hooves dangle over my shoulders. Then, I drill her so fast my hips are a blur, the plapplapplaps of skin meeting skin and the ripple of her thighs my whole world right now. It’s a very familiar sound and sight—with Suri, most vividly—but Photo doing so much to help me get further in her is about to rival the intensity of that moment in the shower.
This time, though, it’s Photo who’s close to falling off her peak first. Her pussy’s iron-tight now, the smoky stare she’s fixed me with sending my libido past Cloud Ninety-Nine and beyond. Thing is, I’ve cum already. Much as she’s stoking me to a second orgasm, it’s her loins that are gushing and spraying now, a carnal shower that makes my nostrils flare in delight. All my cock’s doing now is stoking her fire, making her draw her knees up to her tits, bring her hands around my head to cling to the dickmare plowing her dry.
“You… you close now… Photo…?” I growl, my hips picking up speed. ”I can feel it…”
And Photo happily answers me. “Ohhh! Yes, Fleet! So much, ma amour don’t stop~”
I don’t plan to, no matter how much my mind nags at me to. Photo’s insiders are too volcanic, way too inviting for me to not bury my fuckstaff into. I’m a Wonderbolt, dammit, satisfying fans like this is my lifeblood!
And I know how good a job I’ve done when Photo’s back rockets off the sweaty covers in one final stroke. Her cry of passion echoes for an instant, before it goes off into a soundless gape as her pussy erupts over my dick. I feel her insides swell with wetness even before they paint my abs and bedspread, in waves of glittering glory I don’t think Rainbow Falls can compare to.
Photo’s orgasm ends far faster than Suri’s, her eyes soon focused on me as my hip thrusts slow to a crawl. But the same can’t be said for my libido, especially when I see how much she glows with the sweat and seed still sticking to her chest. I have to see her bob and sway more under me, in every way I can think of.
And for once, my long-treasured Wonderbolt endurance training kicks in.
Sweeping Photo's legs to the side, I curl in against her, spooning this purring photographer against my front as I let her ride the last waves of orgasm. Then my lips settle along her neck and collarbone, inky marks rising over every wet spot I leave. Photo cries in raw need, still feeling my cock stir between my walls, pressing against my greedy hand as it fondles one of her nipples. I work her like a clay vase, twisting and pinching with hands and teeth alike until I feel her pussy start to grip my cock hard again.
Then my hips roll in deep with newfound purpose.
Photo’s head shoots down, desperate to see the flash of my fucklog flicking in and out of her slit. She even licks one of her hands before driving it to her clit, madly mashing her mound side-to-side as I pound her ruthlessly. Her other hand guides my fingers to her mouth, and she slurps on them too, her gasps and shouts silenced by my digits at both ends of her.
It’s such a perfect picture this Prench mare’s putting together, right here and how.
For a while, I let Photo feel every inch of strength I can muster. It’s exhilarating, feeling the burn creep its way around my fingers, ebbing along my sinewy thighs. Knowing that I have limits, that those close to me are pushing me past them; it’s what drives my ‘insane’ sports and exercise kicks. Whether it’s a young stallion racing their heart out against me to stop my drive to the rim, or a Canterlot cameramare slamming her hips back against my futacock hard enough to crack plaster, I love being at the center of such effort and passion!
“Photo… so fucking hot…!” And I voice my thanks to her for helping so much, before my teeth nibble her ear sensually enough to rip another cry from her.
Then I pull up Photo so she’s sitting on me, impaled on so many inches of dick. My eyes followed the glistening dips and divots of her back. Lo and behold, I musta taught Photo some ESP, because she’s flicking her hips up and down on my shaft without even asking.
Seeing the beads of sweat bounce down her jiggling body is more than enough for me, as I recline and watch this maestra work herself to another orgasm. (See, I know some Prench too! Told you I wasn’t sleeping through all those workshops, Captain!) I don’t know what’ll draw that sparkly sap from Photo’s snatch more: her fingers as they knead at her ass and tits? Her dusky nipples that Photo brings to her mouth every other second to suckle at?
Or my cock, swelling to an unfathomed width seeing this mare squirm and shout my name?
Whatever it is, I want to share this climax with her. And it won't take long; Photo’s voice is coming over louder and clearer. Photo’s hips are vibrating with the need to cum, to slam herself harder on my crotch rocket and ride it to the stars above. Fuck, even my hips join in again, the pond-like ripple of Photo’s rump that that motion stirs up something I’ll never forget in a century.
And those eyes… those hypnotic, rose-colored eyes, burning holes through me hotter than the feeling welling behind my testes. I chase the relish threatening to engulf me whole in Photo’s beautiful eyes, grip her sides tighter than ever as I plow her harder. Her snatch weeps, warps, and widens to take in more of my erection, soon finding that it’s as suffocating a fit as ever. And through it all, I never lose contact with that stare, even while tears sting at my eyes.
They can flicker all around my room, they can widen to dinner plates, I just want them on me when Photo finally cu-
“What is the MEANING of this, Finish!?”
Wait, what?
My eyes snap over to the mare in front of me, details slowly stitching themselves together in my mind. Coral-pink coat, a towel much like mine from which two E-cup beauties were ready to spill from…
Oh no.
And then, her name clicks in my now fear-stricken mind.
OH NO!
“S-SURI?!” I bellow, my libido instantly on vacation as I realize what I failed to do in the… let me check that clock on my dresser… seventeen-minutes I’ve been hilted in Photo Finish.
But at that very moment, as if Tartarus itself wanted to taunt me further, the mare I was still rooted in came in a flurry of Prench curses. Oh, and sticky nectar. Lots of it, too, flowing over my twitching thighs and damp sheets as Photo kept swirling her hips. More contact. As if the Suri Polomare was not standing in incensed shock at her new positioning, right the fuck now.
“Suri, I -ah!- I swear I came in and Photo -gah!- was like this! On my gran’s grave, on -oh shit- on her gran’s, on…” My explanation fails on shuddering lips as I silently beg Photo to stop cumming for one freaking second. Just one, before we’re both out of this airship in the worst way!
But Suri’s eyes stay locked on Photo. The cameramare’s damn sure noticed our new guest now as her release came to an end. Photo’s hands are braced hard enough in the bed sheets to whiten the knuckles as she cranes away from the laser-like glare Suri’s putting through her.
Her lips quiver to deliver an answer too, but Suri beats her to it.
“Photo, you cheap little dick-thief!” Okay, not the insult I thought Suri would go for, but… “Did you have this in mind the whole time you were here, harpy?”
“-Oh! How dare you try that line after you had her up your drains in a shower!” Photo shot back in a way I’d be oohing at if were she not still atop my throbbing cock. “Go on, crétin, try to deny it! Madame Fleetfoot has already exposed you, much as you’re starting to love that lately!”
“Wha-?! You were snooping on us, huh?! Should have expected such perversion from a two-bit Maredrid floozy!”
“And what curb of Manehattan made you such a meat-hungry trollop?!”
“The same one I should have kicked you to the day we first met!”
“I’d like to see you try! Assuming your hoof doesn’t fall off from those shoes you had on!”
“Ha! Mad I’m such a master of fashion, Finished?”
“I am elated that asphyxiation will finish the job your wine-filled liver couldn’t, Surly!”
“Imbecile!”
“Wretch!”
“Horndog!”
“Sewer-mouth!”
Suri’s hand flew over her mouth. Then, down came the boom. “Cock-mongrel!”
Photo’s eyes flashed dangerously. The smile that soon stretched underneath, though, had me getting a cold sweat. “A cock-mongrel, am I?” Then she stared right at me again, like a starving jackal. “Well, Polomare, let me show you how a true icon of media and fashion handles one!”
And then—no fuckin’ lie, this is really what a two-minute volley of insults ended in—Photo pumped her hips up and down on me again. Right on my still impossibly hard cock. She… really was enjoying getting off my mammoth member! Right in front of a mare that she couldn’t shoot enough heat at several minutes ago!
Why the fuck was this getting Photo so wet?
…why the fuck was it getting me so hot?
Folding her arms, Suri waited for Photo to finish. When it became clear that flurry of wails wasn’t gonna let up, though, this Manehattan designer decided to get more physical.
And by that I mean Suri whipped off her towel, her body still sparkling from the spray that the shower and I gave her, and stormed onto the bed.
Right over my head, in fact.
“Suri…”
“I’m already over it, Fleetfoot.” Suri’s voice was crisp and curt, even as her fingers knuckled harshly in my mane. “Now, it’s time you put me over again.” Then, a downright debauched smirk dominated Suri’s face, just before she dragged mine to her soaked clit. “Photo Finish does not get to cum again before I do. Got it?”
Even if I wanted to protest, even if two smoking-hot mares weren’t currently weighing me down, the berry-like aroma of Suri’s pussy was sending me into overdrive. My answer was clear, clearer than the juices still coating Suri’s inner thighs.
“Time I get to work then, Suri.” And I shoot her back an equally feral grin, before I plunge my tongue into her taffy-soft twat.
Suri should not have still been this tight, I just know it. Not after I’d spent so many hours filling her to bursting with my cock. Of course, a Wonderbolt should be the last pony to be demanding physics make sense, considering how I’ve made it my bitch long as I’ve been breathing. And hearing Suri’s husky yelp as I lapped at her folds, I suddenly found myself happy that I still had to work my muscle into her cunt.
Guess I’m not the only one here with a body built for the long haul.
Speaking of, Photo’s not leaving anything to chance either. Already she’s making that ass clap as she twerks on my stiff rod, one of her expert hands busy sliding over my abs. Shit, I was kidding with that ESP quip before, how’d she know I love the feel of her fingers kneading my pips of muscle?
I pant into Suri’s muff, and she rewards me with a throaty purr, grinding herself on me. My lips join in the party, teasing this designer’s lower lips and drawing every drop of moisture I can. Definitely should have gotten my face in here earlier, Suri’s a honeypot and a half down here! Her juices are tangy and tart, a bittersweet mix that melds perfectly with Photo’s nectar.
Makes me regret the loss of Misty’s liquor a little bit less.
Actually; nah, a lot less. Bury me in this bomb-ass cuntsap, Suri.
Now my hands pull double-duty, hard as it is to keep so many thoughts in my sex-soaked brain. I know that Suri loves it when I play dirty, so one of my palms cracks off the swell of her sweet ass. My name shoots off her tongue, right before she sucks in her bottom lip and her eyes scream at me to do it again. Meanwhile, my other palm finds a different mare’s asscheek; Photo Finish’s. she lets out a sultry coo as my thumb massages the cutie mark on her flank.
“Mmmph—so close, Fleetfoot, so cloooose…” Photo hisses.
My breeding tool pulses achingly in hopes of orgasm, ready to shoot a wave of spunk right into Photo’s waiting cunt. I let Suri know how close I am, as my tongue lashes erratically into her weeping center. Any time I’m not slapping those generous glutes of Suri, my left hand’s mashing every inch of her slit that my lips can’t reach. I particularly like teasing that nub of flesh at the top of her clit; it’s been the way I’ve drawn so much lovely noise from Suri, and now is no different.
“Fuuuuck, Fleet…” Suri gasps, her tits and voice wobbling as one. “Just like that! Give it to me, r-rock my damned world!”
Weird, it’s my world that feels like it’s being shaken to its core. Between Suri’s trembling hips, Photo’s tail as it brushes over my crotch, and my own bliss-baked vision, I’m about to come apart. But the two mares arched above me will beat me to it. Suri’s panting, her tongue lolling out, eyes rolling into her skull at the pleasure that my tongue’s carving from her velveteen walls. My hips are rolling into Photo’s every hip-drop, the flare of my cock lodging firmly inside her walls. Every time it brushes up against this spongy pack of nerves inside Photo’s snatch, she staggers on her perch like she’s been shocked.
Then I give Photo one last thrust, drag my tongue out to crush against the bead of Suri’s slit, and both of these fine mares come undone.
Suri climaxes first, as she demanded, a wave of maresap gushing over my mouth and chin. I happily gurgle it down, my hands digging hard into her tenderized assmeat to keep her locked to me. Photo and I fire off right after, and I can feel how thoroughly my flood of seed caulks her insides, swiveling my hips as she howls and thrashes. Soon, it’s too much to hold both my seed and my shaft inside Photo; my erection rockets out of the cameramare and dumps its last sticky strings down her and Suir’s backs.
Soon, Suri’s snatch-surge slows to a trickle, and I gently help her off of my face. My jaw hurts a little, I know I look like a drowned rat, but it’s clear that both of these fine icons are sated. No way they can take any more of this sweet Wonderbolt muscle; Suri’s curling over to rest and Photo’s resting a hand on her half-swelled stomach.
No fuckin’ way they have more in their tanks now.
No way.
So why in the fuck is Suri perking her ass up at me?
“N…nice job, flygal,” Suri pants, her tail flagging up to reveal the one hole of hers I haven’t plundered today. “But… if Photo got to feel your hot seed… then… then…”
I don’t need an encyclopedia to see what Suri still craves from me, and where. Don’t need Neighagra either, apparently, as my cock stirs to life just as I pull myself up against my headboard. By the time I’m done getting my dropped jaw off my thighs, the veiny spire between them is raging hard again. And the throb’s making my eyes twitch; I know I probably shouldn’t be slamming more spunk home this soon.
But, you know me, and clearly so does the sex-starved Suri; she knows her tail’s like a checkered flag to my eyes. I never back down from challenges, exertion be damned. And Photo’s looking at us both with dinner-plate-sized eyes, sucking her jism-wet fingers as she waits for my next move.
I check the clock again. Okay, pushing it this time, but I know how well the autopilot on this craft works. If I’m fast enough, rough enough, rut-happy enough…
“Photo… I have to handle this,” I pant, shuffling closer to Suri’s enticing ass. “I know you’re real hungry for some more action but… s’only fair right? I slammed a couple of foals in you, and…”
Photo immediately flips up a purple and pink pill between her fingers. Her askew shades did nothing to hide the mirth in her eyes.
“Kay, never mind that last part.” I sigh blessedly. “Suri?”
“With where I want that lovely cock of yours… that won’t matter...” Suri gasps.
Ah, it’s the hole right above that puffy flower that my eyes zero in on now. Suri’s pout does seem like it’s been waiting for me for so long, a ribbed little rift that gapes wetly as I drift my fingers over it.
I gather Suri’s tail in my hand, pulling it up slowly. Her puckered plot beckons me even further, and the Manehattan outfitter’s moans make me bare my teeth lustily. Fuck yeah, I’m gonna love cramming my scepter inside that thick Polomare booty.
Groping hefty handfuls of Suri’s rump, I rub my dick up and down that ballooning butt, slicking it up with the seed still dribbling from my shaft's head. It drizzles lazily around Suri’s snatch and down her shapely thighs, calling for me to lick it up like a good Wonderbolt. So I do, letting my tongue linger a second along the rim of Suri’s gash—and savor the tremble it brings from the designer’s lips like currant—before I thirstily lap at her ponut.
“Ohmifuckyes! Nnnph, keep going~”
It’s only for a short minute, but I love being all up in this hefty ass of Suri’s. Feels like rising breadloaves cushioning my cheeks, letting me have a nice rest as my tongue darts around her puckered hole. And the way she rides my face with every gyration… damn, she’s almost as DTF as that cadet Dash is. Really gotta introduce these fuckmates of mine to the other Wonderbolts one day.
The day after I’ve screwed them both senseless, perhaps.
I whirl away from Suri’s well-prepped backdoor, my cock soon tapping against her fleshy ring. With a savage growl, I haul myself into this wailing mare. Suri’s bent over right now, but the more of my mare-meat slips into her, the more she pushes into me. It’s awesome as shit, seeing somepony so eager even as her ponut struggles to take the seventh, eighth, twelfth—
“Whoa, shit!” I shout, the rest of my barreling inside Suri in a flash.
I don’t spend time waiting to get over the tightness—time’s against me at this point, and I really want to see Suri beg for my spunk now. My thighs are like a jackhammer, and Suri mewls helplessly as I drive her into the mattress. The jingling tempo of Suri’s necklace only spurs me on, tugging on her tail and squeezing her cheeks. And I know Suri’s biting her lip to keep from cracking the glass with her lewd screams, but the tightness of her ass-cunt only makes my voice start to rise.
“Harder…” Suri growls, propping up on her arms now.
Hoisting up one of Suri’s legs, I present her dripping holes to Photo’s very appreciative eyes. Those fuchsia pupils dart between the blur of my pummeling shaft and the lust-twisted face of Suri, and I can’t get enough of it. And Photo starts fingering her pussy furiously as I lick trails up Suri’s back, the flutter of my tongue only slightly faster than those well-manicured fingers.
Once again, orgasm steams close to my station, and I clutch Suri close to me. My teeth are giving this desire-drunk designer the same treatment they gave Photo, only now it’s over Suri’s chest as she twists and twerks against me. A roll of Suri’s hips, and we’re soon bucking front-to-front, Suri gritting her teeth and panting like a draft stallion.
“Fleet-coming-oh my, oh my sweet, coming~!” she screams.
Behind me, Photo’s got two fingers deep inside her, and adds a third when I take Suri’s lips. Then my attention is all on the mare letting me ravage her mouth, especially when I bite Suri’s swollen lip on the way back.
With a shattering wail, I come. This time, I don’t stop thrusting, especially with how much of her cavern I get to fill with my virile jizz. Pearl-white goo bastes everywhere it can reach, and ever thrust packs it deeper into this keening designer. My grin turns rictal as I see Suri lose herself to ecstasy, and the blazing seed I’m filling her with edges closer to my sheath.
Then I see Photo’s hands weave around Suri’s voluptuous funbags, the photographer right up against Suri’s back. She brings one of Suri’s erect nipples to her mouth, then the other, sucking wildly as her eyes still scorching into mine. I break the kiss with Suri, watching as Photo’s face stretches into a licentious grin around those thimblefuls of soft purple tit-flesh.
And in one swift motion, Photo’s cheeks hollow out.
Suri doesn’t stand a chance. Her sordid shriek signals her last orgasm of the day, fucksap sputtering from a pussy well-plumbed by every pink muscle I’ve got. She thrashes in bliss in my grasp, but the look she shoots Photo is needy as fuck. Photo returns that smoldering gaze as she continues to slurp on the designer’s nipples, teething at Suri’s sensitive nubs.
Hottest sight I’ve ever seen, bar none. Suri spasming over my cock and balls, Photo nurturing this Manehattan mare’s chest melons, and the feel of my seed trickling out of Suri’s vice-like ponut. I almost regret it when I pull out of her entirely with an ear-popping schlorp, sweat stinging at my eyes as I finally sink back into my pillows.
Suri goes sprawl-eagled right next to me, even her eyes invisible under her mane as she breathes heavily. At long last, she’s spent, though the words she’s mouthing to me show that it’s not for lack of want that she’s taking a breather. Lots of ‘fucks’ and ‘wows’ in there.
Then Suri looks past me, her eyes widen, and she’s out of the room in a blur of wheeling limbs.
I only wonder why she’s legged it and where Photo is for half a second, sanity molasses-slow in its return to my blitzing brain. Of course, that half-second of thought ends when Photo pops up at bedside, her hand grasping my over-sensitive cockhead. Soon, Photo’s right back where our whole shindig began; slobbering on my knob and cleaning every drop of liquid off of it.
Guess it’s how our whole time together began, too, if you think about it. Photo keeping everything spotless waiting for her moment, me increasingly grateful for her selfless efforts.
Then I see Photo shimmy up my body and rested her own tits in my face.
“Aww, for me?” I ask, my tongue leaving dripping crescents around one of Photo’s puffy areolas. “Such a doll…”
“Y-yes, Madame Fleetfoot…” Before I see Photo’s hands sneak between our sweat-soaked bellies, I know what she’s gunning for. It doesn’t take long for those dainty fingers to wrap around my shaft. “All for you.”
Not gonna lie, I have no idea where this last scraplet of will sparks in me. But when feels like a mirage-like haze, I’m again on my knees on the edge of the bed. Photo’s head and shoulders on the flower, the rest of her hooked to my fat dick, gutturally moaning as I hilt in her rump for once.
It feels like a dream, and yet it isn’t, not with the thunderstorm slamming through my fatigued body. Every one of my muscles buzzes with exertion, even my wings flicker as I drive harder and harder into the near-vertical Photo Finish. She can barely see me around her cleavage, her still seed-stuffed stomach, but she bucks into my every jab.
I’m dead-ass positive that Photo came halfway through this, but I don’t even notice it now. I’m covered in so much hot fluids, and so is she, and we’re taking in each other moans too blindly to give a shit. But I keep aiming true, brain on autopilot as I let my rutting instincts guide me to my final release.
I let out a broken cry as I pull Photo off of my shaft. It’s not even that I don’t want to cum in her tight ass; I’d crave it more than air itself, despite my lungs’ complaints otherwise! But there’s one spot of Photo that I’d love to see my seed coat more. One that even she’s up for now, as she gets onto her knees and lets her tongue flag out.
The first loads of my cum barrels onto my sexy photographer’s tongue, a messy feast that Photo swallows with a gusto I don’t think I’ve seen in any pony then or now.
Then I hear a thundering rumble of hooves, and Photo is launched away from my spewing fuckstick at near warp speed. And now it’s Suri before me, in the same spot Photo was in on the carpet, even wearing Photo’s shades as her mouth opens for the rest of my gift. My spunk quickly speeds out, pasting over her face, glasses, and the hem of her opulent blue dress. Her lips purse as strings of sperm stain her over and over, before sweeping up in a satisfied grin.
Even at the other end of the ship, Suri found a way to steal Photo’s thunder. Don’t know whether to be impressed or insecure; that’s the type of passion I long to embody.
I give Photo an apologetic gaze, her mouth still in an ‘O’ at how fast Suri a) dressed, b) took her spot before my weeping erection, and c) recovered from the bucking to take my scorching seed. Photo’s mouth moves up and down, but no words come out. But damn, is she still a break-taking sight; her legs crossed on the floor, her hands still braced against her pert breasts, the hints of my previous seed-storms still framing her tits and pelvis perfectly.
“Okay… how!?” Photo finally cries, though it’s shock more’n outrage making her voice squeaky.
Suri only shoots me a bushy smile before she speaks. No shit she’s blind to the blue-coated mare denied her fuckbatter-feast literally at the 11th hour. “Oh, Fleet… I can’t put in words how good you’ve been to me today,” she bubbles. “To the both of us.”
I wearily nod, glad she’s not inviting another position. My maredick stays limp this time, wrinkled and withered as it taps against my thigh.
“Good.” I get out.
“I…” Photo’s mind scrambles for more answers, but her shoulders slump as she realizes none will come. Not with how dreamily Suri is still staring at me. “Never mind. I just… want to take a break, Madame Fleetfoot. I can schedule my interview for later.”
“Say the word and I’ll be there,” I pant.
Suri’s eyes darted to the door leading out of my cabin and into the hall. “Right! So, do you want the good news or bad first, my dear Wonderbolt?”
I narrow my eyes at Suri, realizing just how wide that grin of Suri’s is stretching. Way too wide to not be hiding something. “Good, please.”
“Right; so we’re not gonna crash in Manehattan! I saw the clock in time and stopped the engines!” Suri begins. “Might be off my hooves for… a week, but we’re right on the airstrip now.”
Blinking several times, I consider this new fact for a second. The slight buzz of the airship that it usually has while in motion is gone. And the clock next to me blares a very prominent 4:20 PM; five before I should have been at that helm to guide the airship. It seemed Suri had left to make those last adjustments in trajectory.
All the more impressive that it came after being railed hard.
“Um… thank you,” I say, reaching down to slip on a pair of capris so thin it may as well be a belt.
Photo follows suit, not even bothering to cover up her birthday suit. “I find this incredibly hard to believe. You? Knowing aviation tech?”
“Well… no.” Suri’s eyebrows wiggle suggestively. “But you showed some tricks of the trade that time before you noticed me on the ship, so… to-may-to-, to-mah-to.”
Rolling her eyes, Photo follows us out of them. Our shared journey toward the ship’s cockpit is almost silent, with me trying to get that weird buzz out of my head as we moved.
Then Photo pipes up again, her voice even more clipped. “So what’s the bad news then, Polomare?”
Quickly shifting in front of the door leading out of the airship. Suri’s grin drops completely. ”Well, that’s what I want to tell you about before you leave the ship, Fleet-”
“Suri,” I half-growl, settling a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Right now? My limbs feel like dead batteries, I’m totally dehydrated, and I know there’s a pizza shop one block from where we’re supposed to land. So before I have to deal with the Captain’s shit, please, let me pass, I promise we can continue whatever vertical tango you wanna do later.”
Despite Suri’s stammers, I easily move the designer out of the way and throw open the door. The buzzing only gets louder, and it's only after a second of dawning horror that I realize it's not in my head that I'm hearing it.
I reel in the face of two dozen snapping cameras, capturing me and Photo’s topless forms. To Photo’s credit, she’s fast enough to hide behind one of my flaring wings, to keep everything below her navel covered. Suri had no issues with this, her dress still wrapped around all her assets. Me, however…
“See…” Suri says. "I had hunger issues too. Ones that struck too fast for me to give the paparazzi a good excuse, dear Fleetfoot.”
Her finger jabs errantly at my crotch, and I realize with growing dread why she’d barreled back into my cabin like a bat out of Tartarus.
I’m still frozen in shock, only barely remembering to flip a hand over my rack in the face of those infamy-immortalizing cameras. Photo meeps again, her tits molding into my back - and making a tent rise in my capri that also starts getting snapped in record time.
“Guess we’re eating in, then?” Suri asked.
I gulp, staring bleakly back at the Manehattan native. Yeah. Going to be staying holed up in this ship for a while.
Rest of my life, possibly, the second the Captain finds out about this.