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                 Hypnotism and Hypotheses                  
                       -by Marcibel-                       
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                 Hypnotism and Hypotheses                  
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Hypnotism and Hypotheses
"I believe that is all today, Raven?"
Princess Twilight looked upon the empty court with exhausted eyes while her magic worked a quill on parchment. Court had been rough for a Friday: receiving the ambassador of the kirins of the Peaks of Peril, hearing proposals on financial aid to a settlement in the Badlands that had been ravished by monsters, and of course more talk with the palace's interior decorator over Hearth's Warming. There was still much to be done, but that wouldn't be until Monday.
"Correct, Princess," Raven Inkwell replied from her side.
"Good. I'm beat." Twilight glanced at the royal aide before settling back on the parchment. A single hair, like chocolate twine, stuck out of place in Raven's hair bun. Twilight softly smiled. "And I can see you are as well." Twilight gripped the hair lightly with her magic.
Raven smoothed her hair with her hoof, as if that would put the stray strand back into place. "Nothing I haven't handled before, Princess."
"Of course." Twilight replied, expecting nothing less than stoicism from her, and formerly Celestia's, royal aide. The quill in Twilight's magic stopped, and after a quick once-over, Twilight rolled up the parchment, slid a band around it, and passed it to Raven. She smiled again. "Here you go. Your vacation time has been approved. See you in a month's time, Raven."
"Thank you, Princess." Raven Inkwell dipped her head in a shallow bow and trotted through a door to the throne's left.
Twilight was alone. But more importantly, Twilight was now off-duty and free.
Her horn lit up, and she blinked from the throne room. She reappeared a fraction of a second later in an antechamber in the palace's bowels. Stone gray still ruled the walls here as the various remodeling and refurbishing campaigns the palace endured never reached this section, and the only life these walls had seen was the occasional mason to check the bricks and mortar. In the past it perhaps served some use as a dungeon, but not anymore. Not in the current age. Over the later years of Celestia's reign here, it became a place of solitude, of silence, as the ponies strayed from such archaic forms of detainment.
And now it was a section for science.
The antechamber to which Twilight teleported was bare and monotone, save for two doors, an overhead light, a short table, and two coat hooks; a singular stark white lab coat hung from the left hook. Twilight kicked off her royal shoes, and her magic slipped off the rest of her regalia and placed them onto the table. At the same time, the coat bellowed as it was pulled from the hook and wrapped around Twilight. She dug into the breast pocket and fished out a hairtie.
With her tied back and forelegs slipped into the coat sleeves, Twilight pulled open the large wooden door closest to the coats, which protested being woken from its slumber. Stone spiral stairs illuminated with a string of electric lights running parallel to a large cable led downward. Twilight began her descent.
At the bottom was a door like the first. It, too, complained when Twilight opened it.
This door led into a room quadruple the size of the antechamber. However the amount of space was mainly taken up by all sorts of usual Equestrian laboratory equipment, from gas burners to a pop-up decontamination shower, to wind-aspected stones floating in the corner. An enormous table hogged the center of the room, holding mountains of books on aetherology, thaumaturgy, and evocation magic.
Across the door leading in was another leading out—although the latter was significantly more modern, made of thick glass. Just as Twilight was coming through the entrance door, a young mare was exiting the adjacent room. She was a unicorn, easy on the eyes, with straight white hair tied in a bun and fur the color of a clear evening sky. She was dressed in a lab coat similar to Twilight's.
"Hello, Princess!" greeted the mare. Her voiced flowed like honey.
"Oh, Miss Lucent Mist!" Twilight said in surprise. "You're already here."
Lucent Mist closed the gap between them and gave Twilight a bow. "Of course I'm here! A good scientist waits not when there's work to be done!" She tittered. "And I was just so excited to work with you on your project. Heck, I could barely sleep last night!"
Twilight arched a brow at her. "You did sleep though, right?"
Lucent laughed. And laughed. And laughed. As she came down with a sigh from her fit, she just replied, still grinning, "Nope!" while shaking her head.
Every muscle in Twilight's right foreleg tensed up, wanting to facepalm. She supposed that kind of toxic work ehtic is to be expected from one of the top aetherology students of Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorn. Heavens, that was almost how she was under Celestia's wing, before moving to Ponyville.   
Almost.
"Is Torn in there?" Twilight asked, tilting her head toward the door through which Lucent exited.
"The pegasus stallion? Yeah, he's in there, waiting for you. And gosh, Princess, just between you and me…" She quickly craned her head back at the door behind her. "he's super, super cute," she continued in a whisper.
Twilight stifled an amused snort. "And between you and me, he's also super, super taken."
Lucent Mist's perpetual smile faltered a little. "Aww…. Well, whoever has taken him is a lucky gal!" She paused and then added, with a shrug, "Or a lucky guy, I suppose! Either way, I'm going home!" Lucent gave a parting bow to Twilight and passed by her. "Have a good evening, Princess!"
"Make sure you get some sleep!" Twilight called after her. The door squealing shut was her only response. Twilight sighed and circled the table, grabbing a clipboard with paper as she passed. With her heart quickening in anticipation, she passed through the door into the next room.
Even larger still was this room; upon first sight of it, Twilight had thought it was a dining hall for the guards before one much closer to the kitchen had been constructed. It was longer, but never the less filled with as much equipment as it could reasonably hold. Much of the larger pieces were held here while not in use, but in the middle of the room was a mammoth of a machine. A tin box, larger than the average stallion stood as the centerpiece, with an overgrowth of tubes and hoses and wires coiling around it. One large tube ran into a tall forty-liter vat; it was empty. An enormous padded chair, which looked closer to a physician's exam table, sat low next to them, with a wheeled stool as a companion. In the far back, hidden away, was a water cooler.
Lying atop the chair was a pegasus stallion. He was lean and tall, and with his dark gray coat he looked like an ominous rumbling wall cloud. He had a whitish-gray muzzle stripe: the innocent altostratus cloud in this thunderhead, with more on both forelegs and his left hindleg. Lightning blue and electric yellow formed his mane and tail, flowing out from him in streaks.
Tornado Turbulence: a pegasus that spun a lot of ponies' worlds upside-down.
The first thing to which Twilight's eyes magnetized was his sheath.
Tornado beamed at her as she entered the room. "Hi, sweetie!"
"Hi, honey," she replied, walking over to him. "How was work?" She kissed Tornado on the top of his head, right between his ears.
"Tiring," he said. "It's peak season for Hearth's Warming, and I think if I see a box with a smile on it again…it'll be too soon." Tornado gave a tired little chuckle.
"Aww." Twilight patted his foreleg with hers. "Think of it this way, Hearth's Warming is only a week away. It's just the home stretch now."
Tornado sighed. "Yeeaah. Yeah..."
Twilight could tell her sentiment did nothing in improving Tornado's mood. "Well," she began, "I know one thing that will help you feel better."
Tornado cocked an eyebrow at Twilight. "Oh?"
Twilight kicked a pedal under the chair. The chair reclined, and Tornado's body flattened as he gave a yelp. Twilight ignited her horn, preparing a spell. Twilight climbed halfway onto the chair's head rest, looming over the pegasus' head. Her eyes locked with Tornado's and glittered magically. Twilight felt herself getting lost in his gaze, while Tornado was assuredly getting lost in hers, but she kept herself free of his grip. Once she was sure Tornado was fully and completely submerged in her will, she released the spell.
There was nothing dramatic, no explosions or booms or eye-searing light. No pulsing rings or chromatic swirls. There were only the steadying of Tornado's breath and the almost indistinguishable change of his eye color, from a vibrant medium purple to a darker shade that matched the eyes in which he was trapped.
Hypnosis was, by and large, a broad field. There were the usual ways to put a pony under a trance: moving pocket watches and soft speech; the manual controlling of pony's own breath; and one could never forget the myriad alchemical methods of suggestion.
And then there was the purely magical method, which was many things: difficult, as the spell demanded of its caster a strong will and could backfire upon misuse or incompetence; time-consuming, as there were many, many things that one would need to prepare ahead of time; and most of all, incredibly illegal, as the spell once long ago allowed an evil-crystal-assisted unicorn in the north to wage war and nearly enslave a cluster of ten towns. It involved luring the subject's consciousness into your soul, and then using a psychothaumaturgic spell to bind it to you until you dispel it manually or by death. It required either a weakening of the subject's will through torture or the like—a favorite pastime of many villains—or a deep connection and sense of trust of the subject in the caster.
The subject is also very much aware of their actions and senses. They could see, feel, and hear everything they were doing and being done to them, like looking at life through an surgery observation window.
Being put under by this method was also Tornado's favorite. As he once put it, "I already bend to the will of my princess; how's this any different?" before adding, "At least I get to gaze into your gorgeous eyes." The comment did not fail in bringing out a flattered squeak from Twilight.
Twilight gave Tornado a pat on his cheek as the pegasus rested so peacefully—he wasn't quite so tough without his special little sword. She settled onto the stool. Mumbling to herself, she jotted a few things onto a blank sheet of lined paper attached to the board: Tornado's name, the date, and a spot for production amount and the dozen questions she always asked.
"Alright, Torn, time for questions. First, what did you have to eat today?"
Hypnosis was not needed for this step, Twilight always thought, but it certainly helped. Tornado was always a bottler—not unlike a certain former student of hers—and hypnosis forced him to spill his thoughts and feelings.
"Two slices of toast," Tornado replied. His words were dry, matter-of-factly.
Twilight sighed as the pencil in her aura scratched in his answer. She had lectured him about the importance of breakfast before, and she would have to do it again.
Twilight liked to keep records of Tornado's health before and during harvesting days. Differences in things like diet, exercise, and such might have an effect on his product's properties. And if they might, then it was best to keep track of things, just in case something should affect the potency and magical properties. Heavens forbid he eat too much cholesterol and suddenly his product is as magically potent as an old prune.
Everypony had their kinks. Tornado's was femdom and hypnosis; hers was roleplay and science.
Twilight continued. "And to drink?"
"Two liters of water."
More pencil scratching. "Did you experience sexual climax today?"
"No."
"Good," muttered Twilight. No climax meant he would be pent up, and being pent up might meant he would produce more. And more was good.
"When was the last time you experienced sexual climax?"
"Last time we did this."
Twilight raised an eyebrow at that. Last time was before the holiday rush—almost two months ago. Twilight suppressed a grin attempting to spread across her face. Even better, she thought.
Twilight barraged Tornado with more questions, ranging from possibly important to her study to things a normal, less-thorough scientist would disregard for being irrelevant. Tornado answered them truthfully and plainly; his condition did not allow much, if any, artistic or flowery interpretation.
Tornado Turbulence was believed to be celestial, a being of unimaginable latent magic comparable only to that of an alicorn. He was a pony with powers unyielding, soul stalwart, and heart incorruptible: a rarity anywhere, in any era. And a hero was he, even without the full utilization of his powers, that he protected innocents and vanquished villains. Twilight's self-assigned duty was to help him fully realize his potential so that he may continue to service the good they both believed in—Harmony.
In the off-days between adventures, he delivered mail. Some would argue that was where his true heroism lay.
Twilight gave Tornado a sympathetic pat on the head. A part of her wanted nothing more than to whisk him away, take him someplace he can relax and recuperate for the holidays. No packages, no court, no appointments. But she knew he wouldn't accept it.
She shook her head. No sense worrying about it now, anyways. Both of them were off the clock, and she had things—important things—that had to be done to sate her ever expanding curiosity.
As she stood, Twilight commanded to Tornado, "Become erect." Risque visions and sensations ran through Tornado's mind. Sights like the perfect teardrop shape of a mare's vuvla, dripping with lust and winking with need. The smell of a room full of mares during the summer. The penetrating thoughts of a stallion heeding the call of biology. Tornado's dick slithered from its sheathe, widening as blood surged through it, hardened like steel. His wide wingspan unfurled, knocking over empty glass vials on a nearby counter.
Twilight reached with her magic to a device connected to the machine. It was a large tube as wide as two hooves and domed on the top end. From the top of the dome ran a trio of rubber tubes, and the inside of the tube was a thick, hollowed cylinder of malleable black silicone. The silicone jutted out from the bottom end, parting like the petals of a lily.
She grabbed a bottle of noncontaminent water-based lubrication from under the chair. Squirting a glob into an aetherial appendage, Twilight slathered it along Tornado's length and across the head, glistening it to a sheen. The excess lube she rubbed along the silicone, even inserting the magical appendage to spread the rest inside. He was ready—the procedure can begin. Twilight slipped the device onto Tornado's length.
As the silicone bottom hit the base of Tornado's rod, it fit tight. Always did. Twilight considered, a few times, to widen the sleeve, but never always decided against it. He said he liked it better this way.
"State your current record, Mr. Turbulence."
"Twenty liters," Tornado replied monotonously.
"Correct." Twilight double-checked to ensure the device was steady and secure before moving onto the machine's console sitting beside the stool. Unmarked knobs and buttons laid strewn about the console's face. She hit a button with her hoof; a light shone.
"And today, I want you to break that record." Twilight's magic gripped the dial and turned it.
The device purred to life, and Tornado's body tensed reflexively. Inside the cucumber-shaped device, within the silicone even, were tiny motors. Each motor gave off a small vibration and moved in short, shallow patterns along the silicone. Each one was nothing notable on its own—but each one was one of many. They were legion: an army of mechanical masturbators replicating the feeling of three or four appendages simultaneously stimulating his length.
Tornado lay on the table with a sober face. There was no command to emote, to pant, to grit his teeth under the assault; and so he did not. But his body worked automatically. The muscles in his flanks and around his groin. The instinct to breed and seed had been wholly unaffected by Tornado's hypnotized condition. After all, such instincts were a will of the body, not the soul, and as long as it could, it would.
Twilight used her magic to flap her lab coat in a vain attempt to cool herself. A twinge of excitement crackled down her spine and a heat radiating from its destination. Watching her boyf—her subject twitch and push against the masturbator had turned a spark into fire that bled all over Twilight's body.
A short, throaty breath heaved from Tornado. His idle humping grew erratic and powerful until he burst. His cock pulsed, his testicles leapt. Thick seed spurted against the dome of the masturbator, only to be vacuumed by through the hose.
And his seed glowed like the full moon.
Of all the things, of all the bodily fluids that a stallion could produce: his dick juice, his penis paint, his nutter buttter—that's what ends up having an insanely high amount of aether, to the point that it is pure liquid magic. Which doesn't exist naturally. What's furthermore mysterious and frustrating to come to a conclusion, Twilight after every test, still couldn't come to a conclusion whether Tornado's seed was fertile and capable of producing offspring. Only that it was as safe for any place a normal stallion's sperm would be safe.
But at the end of the day it was still magic; it was her element. And liquidized magic and the physical, chemical, and thaumaturgic properties thereof were her current obsession. It brought about an old spark of joy from discovery and experimentation and gave cause to renovating some of the oldest and untouched parts of Canterlot Castle into a makeshift laboratory.
But she had used up all of her supply for the fourth time and needed more. Much, much more.
Tornado's convulsions stopped, but the machine's ministrations did not. Tornado's erection held, too, not faltering when a plain stallion's might have. Of the flaws of the pegasus had, a lack of endurance was not one of them.
Minutes passed and another orgasm ripped through Tornado. More of the luminescent semen flowed through the tubes, dumping into the vat. Twilight took a glance at the vat: five liters so far. She thought that was good! That's more than what he would produce normally in two orgasms. Even with diminishing returns the projections were on track to produce well over twenty liters. Oh, she was so excited to be able to get back to her experiments!
And her body was oh-so excited in other ways, for other things.
Twilight's eyes glued themselves to the sight of Tornado's prick. They've copulated dozens of times, and still she would catch herself drooling. It was a real mare-and-stallion-breaker, the pulsing meat nearly thick as a hoof at the base and full flare. It bowed slightly in a way that made mounting positions the quickest and messiest, but missionary and cowpony were often slower, more passionate.
In her wayward thoughts, she suddenly noticed Tornado was cumming again. Another two liters were poured into the vat.
Twilight huffed. The milking procedure didn't make her this horny before, so why now? It was December, and while winter heats were possible, they were extremely rare unless you were constantly under intense lighting. And the last time they had sex was—
"Oh", she whispered to herself. "Right, it's been a while."
Over a month, in fact. November and December tended to be the busiest times of the year for Tornado, as millions of packages needed to arrive at their destination well before Hearth's Warming Day. All that rushing and stress led to his utter exhaustion every day after work.
That's not even mentioning her duties as a princess getting in the way of her personal time. Twilight's head swam thinking of all that has been done over the past two months, when even with regalia doffed there was work to be done.
He hated it. She hated it.
But today was the first day in so long which they had some time together. Twilight's train of thought jumped with an idea: if he was to gain so much satisfaction, why shouldn't she have a little as well?
Twilight leaned onto the chair next to Tornado. She glanced back at her hindquarters. A visible string of her plentiful juices connected her nethers to the stool's cushion. She felt the cool, moist air of the subterranean stone room brush against her sex. A shiver crept through Twilight's body.
Her horn ignited in its pale orchid glow. Magic clutched at the right part of her labia, pulling it to the side. A groan escaped her throat. Her clit winked. More of her juices gushed onto the stool. Her tail hiked itself. She had it bad.
Twilight's aura dipped into her vagina in tentative, shallow thrusts. Her right leg jerked; it felt good. But she wanted more—needed more. Glancing back at Tornado reclining helplessly on the chair, a naughty, dirty idea popped into her head.
Twilight kicked herself off the stool, rearing up and pressing half her weight onto the torso section of Tornado's chair. It felt sturdy. She further tested it, climbing over Tornado's chest and raising a hind leg. Still solid, so she dared to pull her final leg onto the chair, finding it able to support her full weight with only the smallest of creaking complaints.
Bringing herself to a sitting position, Twilight lowered her drenched nethers to within centimeters of Tornado's face. He stared, mind and thoughts absent, directly at her sex. A stray strand of mare juice descended like a drop of honey and hit him on the nose. His body tensed as another orgasm surged through him.
Twilight bunched up the tail of her lab coat to pull it away from her rear.
"Uhh…eat me…?"
Twilight was uncertain as to what was the correct command. She never had thought about how a pony magically hypnotized would obey slang. In the back of her mind, Twilight wondered if it was a matter of one's will or a matter of whether the target, under normal circumstances, would understand the command.
Tornado, as Twilight immediately discovered, did.
A sharp squeal escaped Twilight in her surprise. She felt movement beneath her and then against her as a stallion's muzzle lurched at her pussy. A broad, flat tongue dragged itself along the length of her vulva, starting from her clit, going upward. He repeated the action in reverse, stopping at his starting point. The tongue ascended again; however it stopped in the middle to press against the princess's royal entrance.
Twilight groaned and pressed her rear back at Tornado in heated desire. Glancing behind herself, she found Tornado's eyes open, still unfocused, but his mouth and tongue worked dutifully. The sheen wetness covering much of Tornado's lips and cheeks were her own juices, gushing ever so liberally as excitement built up watching a pony willfully under her control obeyed her command.
"Devour me like a gourmet vegetable stew," she growled.
Twilight Sparkle had never been good at dirty talk. She was excellent at a lot of various ways in which Ponish was verbally communicated: public-to-large-crowd ways, diplomatic ways, and even the small how-about-the-weather ways. Dirty ways though? Never. One would be better off finding Rarity. She would be quoting dialogue from bit-store romance novels, things nopony would realistically speak, but at least it's vaguely sexy and the metaphors make sense.
But despite that, it worked to Twilight's benefit. Tornado doubled his efforts, making attempts to be as unpredictable in his movements as possible. His tongue darted in and out of her vagina, only to glide down to boop her clit with the tip. He teased her, led her on, and backed off when things were too heated too fast. Tornado would then move far south and latch onto Twilight's left teat, drawing his tongue around her nipple.
How is he so much better at this while under the hypnosis spell?! Twilight screamed in her swimming mind.
Tornado transferred from teat to the other, giving it tiny pecks and little licks. He suckled on its nub while taking the whole of the teat into his mouth. He drew back, closing his lips as he retreated and using his teeth to give the nipple a soft parting bite. Traveling upwards, he found once again Twilight's winking vagina.
Twilight took to gripping the rolled-up sleeve of her lab coat with her teeth as Tornado's partaking of purple princess pussy proceeded persistently. It just felt so good, so heavenly, somepony finally scratching an itch she didn't know she had for so long. She pushed back against Tornado. He couldn't stop. She wanted more. Needed more. It felt so perfect, and the fire in her burned. Seared her. Maybe she was in heat—she didn't know. Didn't care anymore. Twilight just wanted release. Freedom. To cum her brains out from having her cunt lavished by her hypnotized boyfriend.
She was vaguely made aware that Tornado tensed again. Another load. She figured this was number…five? Six? She didn't know. She didn't know if he ever stopped coming. Frankly, she didn't care at that moment either. She was enjoying herself and Tornado's flat pink button-masher.
Twilight felt an intense wink. Tornado seized her clit, wrapping his lips around the pink bulb, and sucked.
Lights exploded in Twilight's vision. Electricity shot through her form, her soul, paralyzing her. Sparks flew from her horn. Her vagina gripped and squeezed an invisible invader and she shook violently. Marecum sprayed onto Tornado's muzzle, face, down his chin, wetting his mane and his neck fur. The air reeked, pungent with the smell of sex, and the only sounds were breathless moans and whimpers and a cock juicer working endlessly.
Twilight's head felt dizzy. In the throes of her orgasm, her body went limp and suddenly, she was falling. Though hazy, she instinctively reached out for something which to grab to support herself.
That thing was the control panel for the milking machine.
As she tried gripping it with her hooves, her right hoof slipped. It hit a button and spun the intensity dial, jacking it up to its maximum. But none of that helped to keep her from spilling over. With Twilight still half-heartedly grabbing at the terminal, it came with her on her vacation to the plastic-covered stone floor.
The whirring of the machine grew louder than she's ever heard it. Louder than she thought possible. It was like the roar of a hungry predator. Her sight glazed over examining the blurry form of Tornado's rod, vibrating and shaking and pulsing nonstop. More and more of the luminous seed flowed into the capsule of the milker and through the rubber tubes.
Twilight fought. For a good two or three mintues, she fought. She battled her biology to reassert control. She planted a hoof on the ground to push herself into a sitting position. She used a hoof to spin down the dial on the overturned terminal. The whirrings died. Only Twilight's heavy panting filled the silence of the former dungeon.
Twilight was frustrated. She messed up big time. She had put Tornado in danger, accidentally putting the machine on a setting that high. And she had lost herself in her lust; worse still, it did naught but fan the flame. The burning was now hungrier than ever after the morsel of an appetizer it just received. Her gut told her it would only be satisfied by one thing, and one thing only.
Twilight powered down the machine and rose on shaky legs. Feeling was returning slowly but surely. She propped herself up on the chair and scanned Tornado.
The machine was still, and eeriely so. Twilight stripped the masturbator from Tornado's length. It seemed that at some point Tornado began producing more than the vacuum of the hose could collect, leading to it backing up and coating everything inside the device and around its entrance in glowing seed. Much to Twilight's surprise, and the fire's delight, Tornado was still hard as steel. Though for how much longer, she couldn't discern.
"Quick shot, but with a large clip," was how Rainbow described it once. Twilight didn't know to what Rainbow was comparing it, but she understood the spirit of the analogy.
Twilight directed her gaze over to the vat. She squinted at the measurements along the side to gauge the total of his production. She made out thirty-five liters. He cleared the record by an extra seventy-five percent. Twilight was pleased. Thirty-five liters would go a long way.
Swirling his thick dick around in her magic, Twilight decided she would give Tornado a reward for being a good boy—and herself, a naughty girl. She brought her muzzle close to his tool. It had a heavy musk of burnt ozone. Like lightning struck. Her tongue lolled out and dragged across the side of it, snowballing a wad of glow-in-the-dark jizz in her mouth. It tasted electrifying, like sour candy.
Twilight's tongue lapped at Tornado's dick, in even upward strokes around its circumference, stopping at his half-flare. She collected every bit of the sample that had been spilled. None of it would be wasted. She swallowed in heaping gulps, until only the head was left. And she took that into her mouth in its entirety.
As Tornado's cock glided over her tongue and slithered into her maw, Twilight glanced at Tornado's face. He was still under the spell. She briefly considered dropping it. He wouldn't want that. Heavens, deep down, Tornado was probably enjoying this more than he ever has.
And deep down, Twilight had to admit: she was having fun too. She had never been much of dominating mare—she preferred to be a subby top more than anything—but switching it up was interesting and insightful. Power, in this environment, felt good.
As did the slab of stallion meat in her mouth.
Twilight's tongue danced over and around it. Pulled it partially from her mouth, and then double-backed. She repeated the shallow motion, diving deeper every descent. The head eventually hit the back of her throat. She fought back a gag, unsuccessfully. Twilight had never taken a stallion in her mouth so deeply before now. But she was determined to. Too stubborn not to.
Pausing and retracting just to catch her breath, Twilight tried again. Tornado slid so easily, covered so copiously in her saliva, past her lips until the head bumped her esophagus again. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she snorted defiantly. Twilight made an effort to relax her throat, trying to get let the intruder inside.
And it slipped inside, with visible results bulging from her neck as her lips slipped past the medial ring.
Twilight retched. Her gag reflex responded violently, and her whole body heaved to expel the violator snaking its way into her throat. She repressed it. She fought back, denying her body comfort and her lungs air. Her chest burned. She could feel her pulse in her temples.
Twilight pushed farther down, taking more of Tornado's meat. Inches felt like miles. Blackness encroached upon the edges of her watery vision. Her jaw hurt as if a minotaur had sucker-punched her. But she pressed onwards until her nose finally touched his hip.
Daring to break her concentration on not vomiting, Twilight conjured up a pair of pinkish-purple aetherial claws. They swirled around, grabbing the bottle of lubricant, one squirting a glob into the other. The claw with the lube glided down, underneath Tornado's scrotum as its partner vanished. The claw smeared it along the entrance Tornado's backdoor and gently pushed two of its aetherial digits inside.
It buried itself down to the knuckle, and the two digits curled upwards. The claw drew back slightly and then pushed forward, attacking a critical spot.
The effect was immediate. And intense. Tornado's pelvis thrusted against Twilight's mouth. She held herself steady under the assault, keeping up the pumping of the magic claw in and out of Tornado's rectum. It took between fifteen and twenty seconds for the result of the claw and the contracting ministrations of Twilight's throat. Tornado's balls jump and his dick pulsed.
Twilight made a mistake, however. She assumed the amount of semen Tornado would fire off next would be negligible—tolerable. Doable. Because a normal stallion after a dozen consecutive orgasms would be firing cloud dusts and red flags that read "BANG!" Tornado Turbulence was many things: courageous, stubborn, helpful, anxious, generous. "Normal" didn't make it on the list. It didn't even enter the mind space of the pony making the list. "Normal" was relative, and relative to him, Discord was normal.
No, Tornado Turbulence was not normal.
And that means when Tornado came, he came.
Panic shook through Twilight. Tornado flared in her throat, and it was painful. Tornado dumped his payload directly into Twilight's throat, into her stomach. She couldn't handle all of it; some was coming back up. Her whole body spasmed, and try as she might to push herself, she could no longer do it.
Twilight managed to pull herself free entirely of Tornado's length. She coughed, gasped, vomited even. Her body had to catch up on all the repressed functions that it wanted to do throughout that experience.
Twilight felt a little ragged, but more than that, she noticed the ache in her flank had grown impatient. The fire was burning, roaring, unsated. Nothing short of the full experience would snuff it. She worried that she may have somehow gone into a winter heat after all.
And looking at what stood before her, Twilight marveled: The stallion was still hard and at full attention.
Twilight clamered onto the chair, swinging a leg over Tornado's pelvis with her back to Tornado. She was no longer worried about the chair holding their combined weight. She settled her weight on the spot right above Tornado's cock, the base of it sandwiched between her plush teats. Tornado's dick measured up past her navel to an impossible depth. Her tail flicked in his face, but entranced he was, he gave no reaction to it.
This is what she's been needing all these months, what she's been missing. To some, a dry spell of a couple months might be nothing, but for her what it amounted to was nothing short of torturous. She was still a young, healthy mare with hot blood pumping in her veins, and there were some things a young healthy mare needed. Badly.
Rising on her hind legs, wings spread to maintain her balance, Twilight stood up and over her objective. Her pussy drooled onto his tool in hungry anticipation. She lowered herself until the flat, engorged head met her sex. She shivered. Her heart pounded. This was the point of no return. She wouldn't be able to help herself. If she was in heat, and his strange seed capable of siring a foal, this was going to only end in one way.
The idea twisted Twilight's heart in two. The idea of having a foal, being a mother, was something she always desired. Having taken care of Flurry Heart on many occasions only reinforced that idea. Twilight loved her friends; they were her whole world. But seeing how happy her brother, niece, and sister-in-law were, how joyful Pinkie Pie was—she wanted that for herself one day, royal status be damned.
However, Tornado did not. He had no plans to be a father. He was too much of a free spirit. He was unfettered. It broke her heart because he would be a fantastic dad. He had a kind, generous soul. He listened. He cared. But he was wild, and not even the sun and moon could tame that mustang.
But Twilight needed satisfaction. She forced aside her worries to focus on the now, the them, and the fact that she wanted so desperately to be speared upon his halberd.
Pushing down, Twilight felt his head pop inside. It was glorious. A shiver of exhileration rolled through her from just that much. Bending her knees, she lowered herself farther down, feeling flesh part and something scrap along her insides. She shuddered. Farther and farther down, deeper and deeper inside, it slid its way closer to her core.
Then her flanks landed on his waist and his cock head booped her cervix. Twilight huffed at how utterly full she felt. She ran a hoof over her belly, easily catching the spot where it bulged through her torso.
Twilight twisted her hips, feeling him shuffle inside, and lifted her flanks. She counted: one, two, three—and she slammed them down again with all the force she muster. Up and down; up and down. Again and again. She moaned, cursed into the wind, filling the air with the sounds of flesh where the sounds of machinery once ruled.
This was definitely it. This would scratch the itch, douse the flames within her. Twilight could feel every bump and fold of her cavity be graced with the touch of Tornado's cock. Oh how she missed this blessing. Her wings, still unfurled, flapped on her upswings, gaining her extra height, and thus, longer and harder strokes. It was a little trick Cadance taught her years ago.
Slaps of the hips and squelches of fluids. If the smell of love-making didn't permeate the air before, it was like a dense fog now, a haze falling over the room. Twilight's head buzzed. All she could concentrate on what filled her, the rhythm to which it did, and the crescendo that was still only on the horizon.
Then, out of mind-numbing horniness she whispered a phrase.
"Breed meee!"
And that was her undoing.
Because Tornado was not held down by anything. He was an obedient subject, and those obedient typically did not require restraints. So imagine her surprise when when the stallion underneath her was suddenly towering over her and she had gone from sitting upright in his lap to being pressed face-first into the leathery cushion of the chair.
Tornado had misinterperted simple dirty talk as a command. Hooking his forelegs around her hindquarters, the stallion mounted his mare and pumped. He thrusted at a blistering speed, his hips a blur, his wings beating to add to the force.
While Tornado wasn't able to hit as deep in a mounted position, the angle at which he drove into Twilight made sure that he always battered and raked across her g-spot.
And out the window went Twilight's plan to have a long-form orgasm. Her eyes crossed, her clit winked, and her cunt gushed. Fireworks exploded from her horn. Marecum splattered against Tornado's hefty sack and drenched the chair. Her cavern squeezed Tornado like vicegrip.
Tornado held on, and his assault not only continued unabated but Twilight's orgasm seemed to spur him onwards. He gripped her tighter, moved faster, pounded her deepest parts more viciously. Animalisticly. Like stallions of ancient times, he rutted his needy mare with single-minded dedication.
Twilight drooled dumbly as she felt no afterglow to her climax, no descent from her peak. Her pleasure plateaued, with one orgasm leading into the next. Her legs shook, and her knees buckled. But she didn't fall. Tornado's iron grip held her.
Leaning down, Tornado bit down on her withers and he gave one final push, hilting inside her. He flared against her innermost barrier. Twilight came from Tornado coming, and Tornado came from Twilight, creating an orgasmic feedback loop.
Twilight felt his molten seed splash against her insides, flooding her. She felt it overflowing, seeping through cracks between him and her, and running down her leg. She spasmed, her cavern squeezing Tornado dry as if he hadn't been milked enough that day.
Though numb, Twilight ignited her horn for a second, dropping the hypnosis spell. They didn't need it now. She was too exhausted, and she could feel him retract from her limply.
Tornado collapsed backwards onto the chair, panting heavily. Slowly, Twilight turned around to her stallion, seeing his eyes back to their normal shade of magenta. His staff was at half-mast and wilting slowly.
"Torn," she panted, "do you need anything?"
Tornado's voice was hoarse in his reply: "W-Water."
Of course, Twilight thought to herself. As much fluid he expelled today, and as intensely he expelled it, he would be dehydrated.
Twilight stepped off the chair and over to the water cooler. She returned with a paper cup of ice-cold water. He gulped it down thirstily, and she retrieved him more. Five cups later, he seemed better, though still out of breath.
Through his gasps, he asked, "Did I beat the record?"
Twilight smiled. Of all the things that he could be concerned about, he was worried if he did good.
Twilight told him so. "Thirty-five gallons—almost filled the vat completely," she added. Her smiled dropped. "But there's something you should know, Torn. I…may have been in season. I should get myself checked as soon as possible."
Tornado nodded at her, and she could see the gears were already turning in his head before she started speaking. "But it's winter. How could—"
"Winter heats can and do happen. They're typically triggered when the mare is under bright lights for a long period of time." Twilight offered him a sheepish grin. "And you know how brightly lit both the palace and my lab are."
Torn said nothing at first, only nodding. "We'll figure something out," was his reply upon mustering his words. He then smiled at her. He scooted over in the chair and tapped the open space on it next to him.
Twilight climbed up, and Tornado wrapped one of his wings around her. Twilight settled next to him, but she didn't relax with everything so clear and unclear now. She couldn't. She was worried. Scared. She loved this stallion, and her selfishness might have caused her to lose him.
"Torn, if I am…you know, what are you going to do?" she asked. Twilight knew Tornado just wanted to relax, put aside the manner of what-could-be's and focus on the here-and-now. But here she wanted an answer now. "I know you said you didn't want to be a father, but…"
Tornado looked away. She knew he was thinking.
"I don't know, Twi," he said. "We don't even know if you were in heat, and we don't know if my…stuff is even able to do anything."
"Hypothetically speaking then: what would you do?"
"Panic!" Tornado blurted out. "I'd panic, and I…I don't know. It's not really something I ever really thought about." He squeezed her tighter in his wing. "But I wouldn't abandon you. I'm not that kind of pony. As scared as I would be, I would be more scared knowing you didn't have me by your side." He craned his neck low and kissed Twilight passionately.
Twilight melted into the kiss. His words were reassuring. Only time (and tests) would tell if this hypothesis would evolve into fact. Right now, Tornado and Twilight only wanted to rest in the comfort of each other and enjoy the present.