Every quarter, without fail, Midnight Dagger experienced the same bullshit. Her rotation with the Shadowbolt Reserves brought the gray batpony mare to HQ for a weeklong training regimen, and—every time—she would be forced to relive the same annoying failures: some twat would gawk over her perfectly normal wings, her height would become an issue, and she’d feel the insatiable need to put somepony in its place.

Apparently, the Shadowbolts had not gotten the memo the last time around and decided to bank two of those achievements during the process of checking in. The lime-green colt stationed at the registration desk stared at her wings in total silence for half a minute and then peered up at her towering figure to stretch that eternity well into the domain of discomfort.

She fashioned a scowl around her vibrant blue eyes, snapped her tail with a powerful flick, and slammed her black duffel bag atop the desk’s purple laminate. “I’ll take my key now,” she grunted, not wanting to bask in the idiocy any longer.

“Y-Yeah—” came the stumbling response as sloppy hooves scrambled through sheets of paper. The poor boy fumbled several golden keys before he triumphantly held up one attached to a diamond-shaped tag. “Midnight Dagger, you’re in Room 4 with Wing.”

“Wing,” she mumbled, scrunching her muzzle while her studded ear wiggled from the mounting curiosity. She snatched the key with one of her wing thumbs, chucked her bag onto her back, and trotted off. “What kind of name is that? Who in fuckin’ Tartarus would name their daughter Wing…”

The clean, modern lines of the tiled lobby gave way to a bolt-motif carpet and light-tan walls better suited for a hotel than a training ground. Not like she would complain. After enduring the hours of travel and the moron at reception, Middy wanted a bed to claim, and nothing was going to stop that. At least, that’s what the mare had hoped when she popped the deadbolt to #4 only to find the golden-brown gaze of a pegasus stallion waiting on the other side.

“Oh, fuck no.”

Stretched out on one of the two double beds, Wing blinked at the silhouette parked at the door’s threshold. The shadow only lingered there for a moment before it vanished as swiftly as it had arrived, leaving Wing in an unsettling aftermath where he pondered what exactly he could have done to deserve such an emphatic response. Though, during the fifth replay in his head, something clicked about the tone of his roommate’s voice.

Wing confirmed that hypothesis minutes later once Midnight returned. The contours of her cascading blue mane unraveled as she paced across the room in a brewing, festering huff that commenced the instant she dumped her heavy bag on the unoccupied mattress. Brief snippets of comprehension rose above the waves of barely uttered breaths that dripped from the batpony’s muzzle, and Wing knew well enough not to make an unsolicited intrusion upon an upset mare in the middle of a crisis.

“They won’t give me another room!” Planting a forehoof onto the carpet, she spun to glare at the sprawled Wing. “I’m a bucking mare! What is so damn hard to understand about that? I am not a stallion. I’m tall. Have they never seen the princesses? Do they seriously not grasp this? It’s the same incompetence every single time.”

Wing kept his sights homed in on her blue irises while the crisp punctuation that sandwiched the final three words drilled into his ears. Scorned sighs followed, betraying Midnight’s frustration to the one pony she likely had no desire to interact with at all. Still, the prone flier had the lingering suspicion that ignoring the elephant in the room would yield an even worse result.

Sitting up, the faded-lavender pegasus combed back his jet-black mane, flashed a quirky smile, and spoke, “Sounds like they screwed it up and aren’t willing to fix it.”

“No shit, Genius,” Midnight bit back. “What possibly gave you that idea?”

Wing timidly held up his forehooves. “The superposition of you and my knowledge of government bureaucracy.”

Midnight tilted her head at the response and blinked.

“Look, I get that it sucks,” the stallion continued, seizing whatever opportunity his nerdiness could garner. “Being stuck in a room with a stranger, especially a random guy, and especially at an event like this, is probably the last thing you want. You have every right to be pissed off. That said, I’m here to fly, so, if we’re going to be partners for a week, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure this situation isn’t a distraction.”

She blinked again, and the slightest hints of a smile began to tug at the corners of her lips. For the first time since she had started this trip, a pony hadn’t given her the odd stare or brainrotted over her physique. He was weird, but he probably wasn’t an asshole. He—was not formally introduced!“I’m Midnight Dagger.”

“Wing.” The stallion flashed another dopey grin. “I’m not sure if I should say it’s nice to meet you when the circumstances clearly suck, but I do hope that we have a good time flying together in spite of them.”

With another wave of calm eroding the awkward tension, the mare turned towards her bed and unzipped the gigantic black bag. “Most of the time, when I get called in here, ponies want to keep tabs on the bat or want to get my pussy. It’s annoying, but at least you’re bucking the trend.”

Wing snorted and rolled off his bed. “Well, it’s like you already said. I have seen the princesses. My lab partner is also a batpony, so I have endured more than a fair share of her mischief. There’s simply no need to keep tabs on something like that, especially not when I’m here to be the best flier.”

For a brief moment, Midnight Dagger paused her unpacking. She turned her attention to another compartment and glanced over at Wing to shoot a playful grin. “That’s too bad for you then because I’m the best flier here, and there is no way I’m losing to a nerd with a lab partner. You’re going to have to get used to being my wingpony, but I guess it’s just as admirable to shoot for being my Number Two.”

Her grin broadened when her hoof finally found the smooth metal bits she had been searching for. “Did you mean it when you said you’d do whatever you can to make me feel comfortable during this shitshow?”

“Promise.” He nodded. “I’m here for flying… not for, you know, chasing after your pussy.”

“Prove it,” she countered, challenging her roommate. She pulled her hoof from the bag and pitched a lockable chastity cage onto his mattress. “Put it on and give me the key.”

Wing still wasn’t sure if the cage worked well with his Shadowbolt uniform or not, but a promise was a promise. In the morning, he had performed quite the interpretive dance in front of the bathroom mirror to assess what the tight-fitting apparel revealed. A clumsy sequence of poses and pivots, the choreography managed to extract a series of giggles from his roommate as well, which painted a flustered blush across the stallion’s cheeks.

“If you keep acting like that, maybe I’ll keep the key instead.” The echoes of that teasing memory made him flutter, and a slow, burning breath streamed out of his flared nostrils. The morning’s experiment had at least determined that the suit concealed the equipment well, but—now that he was out on the field—he found that it also provided enough pressure to yield repeated reminders that the cage was there. Every stretch, every turn, every stroke—he was caged.

“You’re never going to be better than me with your head in the clouds,” Midnight yanked her partner out of his thoughts. “It’s your turn to take lead, and I’d rather not eat shit on a cliff.”

Snapping his neck to the taller pony, Wing jolted. “Eh, sorry,” he replied, briefly rubbing the back of his head. “It’s, you know, a bit—”

“Didn’t you say no distractions?” she teased again, wiggling her brows while Wing pursed his lips. “Surely, the best in the world can handle a little extra metal.”

“You’re right. You’re right,” Wing admitted with a heavy sigh. He stretched and shook out his limbs before crouching. “We’ll hit the obstacle course first, then double back over the grass field and arc out to hit the cliff range. There are some canyons I like. Just swap from the usual four o’clock position to seven when we near the face. It’ll be better for the turns.”

Slumping on the floor with his suit half open, Wing groaned, “The first day is always a bitch.” The exhausted stallion shuddered, his limbs quaking in lactic acid misery. His shoulders and wing joints twitched, and his lungs still fought through an onslaught despite having trekked from the flight grounds.

Midnight Dagger simply peered down at her partner and smirked. The blue-maned batpony fared far better than her pegasus counterpart, and she couldn’t help but feel a little taste of victory when it came to her performance.

“A physicist’s life is too sedentary,” Wing chimed with some additional commentary that subdued the mare’s swelling sense of pride. “I really need to get out of the lab more.”

“So, you were actually serious about that? You work in a lab for your day job?” Midnight asked as she vanished into the bathroom.

Wing waited for a few seconds while the sound of running water sent his ears into a gentle sway. His roommate emerged shortly after and placed a filled glass by his muzzle.

“Drink up,” she commanded, meeting his upturned gaze with a soft smile and a wink. “I can’t have my wingpony all dehydrated and tired.”

Pushing himself up, Wing corralled the cup with his namesake. “Mm, thanks. Hopefully, I’ll be in better shape during our next flight runs. As for your question”—he took a sip—“yes, I work in a lab in Canterlot. Sometimes I teach at the university or take a few students. It’s fun, but it’s not exactly a career that keeps you fit.”

Midnight hummed to herself and sat down on the edge of her bed. “Wow, you really are a nerd then! That opens up a lot of questions but explains a lot too.”

“And what might those be?” Wing probed once another sip of water slid down his throat.

“First”—the mare leaned forward—“what the actual fuck are you doing here? It doesn’t sound like you have to be, not with a job like that. But then, you also know your stuff. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still the best flier here. It’s just that good work is good work. You calculated your route, and you calculated it for me too. That’s talent.”

Heat swept across the colt’s muzzle when he fell victim to Midnight’s flustering antics once more. His hold on the glass tightened as he gave her his undivided attention, and his feathers pulsed with new life. “I guess I have lots of excuses not to be here, but I chose to be here all the same.

“I like pushing myself, and that comes with responsibilities. I think there are three types of ponies in the world: those who are the best, those who pretend to be the best, and those who admit that they’re not. The second category is where we get our dangerous dipshits. I’m not playing pretend. You were my wingpony today, so it was my responsibility to put you on the best path to shine—just like it was your responsibility to have my back.”

“I don’t know if that’s profound or profound bullshit,” the uniformed batpony replied with a chuckle, “but there’s no denying you put in the work today. You look like an absolute mess right now.”

Wing laughed. “Well, my ex loves to remind me that I’m the dumbest smart person she knows, so saying profoundly profound bullshit definitely fits the narrative.” He rolled his shoulders and squinted as the aches accompanied the uncomfortable sensation of sweat lingering beneath his loosened suit. “We should probably take showers and get some food before it gets too late. At this rate, I’ll start asking questions about you too, and that is a dangerous game that’s already tempting. After all, you haven’t told me what you do outside the Reserves yet, and I’m curious what kind of mare worries about stallions hitting on her but packs a chastity cage anyway.”

“Sweetheart, I have the word dagger in my name. Use your fucking imagination.” Snickering, Midnight sauntered towards the shower. She loitered by the door before entering the bathroom and planted one of her forelegs along the wall. A mischievous expression shaped the contours of her countenance, and her normal timbre yielded to something far more sultry. “Worry has nothing to do with it. I don’t like it when morons waste my time with their egos. I pack things on the off-chance I meet somepony who isn’t a moron.”

By the end of the week, Wing had survived the onslaught of Middy’s teasing along with the strain of the camp workouts. He genuinely felt like his old self on the final day of flying—as though the weight of years had been lifted off his body. Despite that, however, he had to admit that his partner was undeniably the best flier there.

Her wings generated an inspiring amount of power. Where others gaped at her height, all he saw was a pony in control of her body and capable of amazing things. The duo swept through the obstacle courses with towering corkscrews, timed barrel rolls, and sharp aileron ones. Rings passed by in streaking blurs, but—no matter the velocity—he kept pace with his lead and drifted to various sides of her haunches depending on what he thought her next move would be.

With the wind raking at their manes and coasting over their Shadowbolt uniforms, Wing’s spirit lifted beyond the sky. Midnight Dagger climbed in altitude too, literally taking him with her until dropping into a descent path that would carry their arcs through the final stretch of stunt hoops.

Wing naturally slid into the outside line, giving her the necessary freedom to pull to the inside if need be—and because her focus would naturally follow the path she intended to travel. Maybe he’d work up the courage to tell her how liberating it was to have her in charge and how it allowed his brain to enter what he could only describe as zen. The calculations didn’t have to run. He could just fly. All that mattered was that she got to shine, and he could devote all that extra energy to the sacred mission of guarding her back.

Amid their blistering glide, that duty encountered a real challenge. A pair of pegasi was quickly encroaching on the dive from Wing’s five o’clock, and they were utterly oblivious to the rocketing ponies hurling toward them from above. Wing snapped his gaze back to Midnight, who was, as expected, scoping out their path.

The calculations returned, assaulting the physicist’s mind with the plethora of options. Aborting could induce panic. Calling out would break concentration. Consequent delays, at this speed, could make things worse. Wing shifted his feathers, tweaked a few angles, and gained some distance from his partner. He darted down and forward, picking up some much-needed momentum for when they pierced the plane of another hoop.

In that instant, the first shouts of realization reached Middy’s and Wing’s ears from the contorted mouths of the fuckups. When the batpony looked down to grasp the situation, Wing’s frame pressed into her barrel, and a single strong flap provided enough Δv to lift the partners above the terrified idiots.

Instinctively, Midnight and Wing slowed along their new trajectory until they found themselves hovering above the landing zone. The latter broke the silence first, offering a simple and concise, “You alright?”

Midnight’s blue eyes darted about while her brain replayed what had just happened. Her experience swiftly filled in the gaps of what she hadn’t seen, and hints of red began to show on her muzzle. “You timed that to my wing flaps,” she mumbled, stewing for a few more seconds before she finally steeled her gaze and directed it right at her wingpony. “You had my back.”

The moment Wing stepped out from the shower, he popped the most embarrassing wingboner of his life. He hadn’t even been in there for long. He had barely gotten himself dried off, and yet, the Midnight Dagger he had left was not the same batpony mare he saw now. Merely staring at her made him twitch, and he shut his eyes while his shaft futilely battled that detestable cage.

But fuck, she looked gorgeous. Latex stockings covered her four legs with cuffs accenting both ankles and wrists. Black panties hugged the contours of her haunches, and the garment yielded infinitely more justice than their flight suits. Her chest, withers, and back were covered with the same shimmering material, yet this piece of apparel was framed by a collar, belt, and five-point harness. However, it was her smug expression that got him the most. “Wh-what are you doing?”

A rumbling purr fermented in Middy’s throat as she took a step towards her partner. “I told you already, Wing. I pack things in case I run into somepony who isn’t a moron. You’re not a moron, and judging by how stiff you are, I’d say it’s a good thing I’m still holding onto the key.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” the stallion retorted while his feathered appendages kept twitching to a nagging need that grew more fierce the longer he gazed at her smile. “Just because I said I didn’t come here to chase pussy doesn’t mean I won’t find a confident mare extremely attractive when she does”—he frantically gestured at her with one of his forelegs—“this.”

She took another step forward and batted her eyelids. “So, the nerd admits he finds his lead attractive? That just makes this easier.”

Wing was about to shoot back another quip when Midnight’s clad hoof pressed against his lips. Her expression softened as she peered at his face, and flickers of shyness shaved some of the curl from her cocky grin. “What you’ve done for me this week, what you did for me today, hasn’t gone unnoticed. You’re a wingpony I can trust, so I’m asking if I can lead you in a different way tonight. That is if you want to have some fun.”

“What kind of fun did you have in mind?” he asked in a muffled response, watching as the mischief blossomed across her countenance.

She withdrew her foreleg and walked to her waiting bag. “The kind of fun where you’ll be at the mercy of my nocturnal instincts. How much do you trust your lead pony?”

Wing shivered once Middy pulled out the first piece of gear and held it up on the edge of her wing. Black straps and metal rings connected a black blindfold, a bit gag, and more bands meant to be secured around his head and muzzle. His namesakes flared, splaying his feathers in a revealing demonstration that betrayed his arousal in a way his caged cock could not.

“Completely,” he answered while lifting his head to eye the beaming Midnight. Excitement caught his breath the moment she used her wings to pull the straps of the headgear into a suitable alignment. The blindfold, bit, and restricting bands dangled in front of the captivated stallion. All he had to do was open his mouth, which he did without thinking.

Behind the approaching dark fabric, the sparkle in the batpony’s irises held Wing’s attention. His heart thumped in his chest, and he wondered if she was relishing her position as the best—along with his submission. The darkness swallowed his sight, and the bit slid over his tongue. He huffed as the attached straps squeezed his muzzle shut—as the metal rings compounded that pressure.

The sensation contrasted with the great care Midnight took in tightening the blindfold and bridle straps around his head. She had tenderly executed the maneuver and firmly secured the opening act. Her wing brushed the stallion’s chin with an equal degree of delicacy. She held it up, practically giving her wingpony a new sense of pride before her voice cut through the colt’s elevated breathing.

“If at any point you’re not comfortable,” she spoke in a quiet, soothing timbre with her mouth placed directly beside Wing’s ear, “say ‘mango’ and I’ll stop. I’m sure you won’t forget it with me in charge. Now, let me hear you say it so I know the bit won’t be a problem.”

Unable to truly speak freely, Wing parted his lips and forced the syllables over his restrained tongue and around the invasive metal bar. “Mnnngo…” he grunted into the void. His ears flicked to the muted sounds of his own obedience and the shockingly giddy giggle that bubbled from Midnight.

“That’s a good boy,” she cooed, retracted her wing, and stepped towards her gear bag. “Lie down for me right there. On your belly is fine. I have some other things to prepare, and I’m not done with that nerdy body of yours.”

Again, the pegasus did as he was told. He shifted through the imposed blindness and carefully lowered his barrel to the carpeted floor. The firm material dug into his coat, and he fidgeted awkwardly while listening to the chorus of sounds Midnight produced. Something metal scraped against something hard. Dozens of soft whooshes coaxed his curiosity through a cadence of material flopping atop the mare’s bed, and shortly thereafter, the sound of her tapping a leathery substance caressed Wing’s awareness.

Staccato shuffles trailed Midnight’s hooves as she approached the prone pony. Her dexterous wings guided a black collar around the colt’s neck, and a satisfied hum quickly emerged. His namesakes grew stiffer, moans dribbled from his mouth, and his tail whipped vigorously while she buckled the new accessory. An argent ring was riveted to the collar’s front face, and the mare punctuated its placement by giving the loop a commanding tug.

Wing’s haunches tensed as the pangs of arousal darted up and down his spine. The clamping force pressing against his neck cemented his rank as her subordinate. It was the mark of an underling, a pet, or someone to be led. Except, for once, that was not an abstract concept born in some fantasy. He was living—drowning in it, and the swirl of emotions that kept his feathered appendages hard as stone also made his balls ache.

Midnight dragged a latex-clad hoof down his side, eliciting a gasp and a squeak once her meandering path charted a course along the edge of his wing. “Cute, but I haven’t even given you a reason to squeak yet. The night is just getting started, and I want to see how much I can make you squirm.” She jumped back to the bed and lightly landed by the assorted spread before plucking the next piece of hardware.

For the pegasus, the anticipation transformed the wait into an eternity of uncertainty and fluster. Twisting time, his imagination pushed his mind to amplify any perceived touch, and the torment alone made his caged cock yearn for escape. Meanwhile, his mistress effortlessly drove apart his hind legs and promptly revealed the source of those metallic noises when two shackles, separated by a spreader bar, clicked shut around his ankles.

“Nnnngh…” Wing moaned loudly as he wiggled his trapped limbs to experience how the bar corralled his movements. He barely had time to explore this new reality, for his right namesake got abruptly ensnared by the batpony’s embrace. Patters fell from the mattress when she grabbed something, and soon, he felt the soft windings of red paracord wrap around a wing joint.

The powerful mare pushed her prey onto his side with ease. She steered both of Wing’s forelegs towards the already-wrangled appendage, pinned his wrists together, and promptly tied the legs while using the cord from the wing as an anchor. A growl simmered in her throat in response to his lewd pleas, and she affectionately brushed his mane while a hoof directed the untied end of the rope to his chest.

Heated pants burst from Wing’s quivering figure as his brain grappled with the notion that the Reserve’s best flier was tying him up. Her limbs deftly moved around his shoulders, chest, and barrel, tracing lines into his short coat that were hastily augmented with paracord. She wove a harness around him, and he melted to each grazing she blessed him with while doing so.

Her ravaging onslaught did not end there. Separate strands claimed his knees before taught lines wrapped around the spreader bar. His left wing was stretched up and toward the other side of his head until it received its own set of windings. Even his tail succumbed to Midnight’s whims once a black wrap concealed his dock and three ropes segmented the lengths of hair into bulging bunches.

A rush of wind swept over the pegasus as the mare leapt into the air. She punched out one of the drop tiles in the room’s ceiling and laughed upon spotting what she wanted amidst the building’s true structure. In the final coup de grâce, she descended upon her helpless stallion. Straddling his back, she yanked a squeal from his lungs by nipping his neck with her fangs. She lingered there, letting him bear witness to the strength that kept him bound, and snatched a clump of his mane.

She tied up that part of his mane, too, and began collecting all of the unsecured rope ends. Once again demonstrating her superiority over the pegasus, she took off, fed the strands of paracord through a truss anchor on the ceiling, and hoisted Wing off the ground. With the final knots in place, the colt was utterly hers.

He dangled in the air with his head pulled up by that single line. His right wing pointed downward, where it remained affixed to his folded forelegs. His hindquarters rolled to the right once the ropes connecting his knees to the spreader bar, and the spreader bar to the ceiling, decided on which way to break symmetry. A groan slithered around the bit while Wing got accustomed to having his left namesake, left hind leg, and tail elevated above his head. He instinctively wiggled and realized just how vulnerable he was.

Midnight prowled her captive and snickered triumphantly. She watched pre drip from her wingpony’s cage, and her sights absorbed every twitch, shudder, and struggle his body made. He was certainly vulnerable, and he wasn’t alone either. She cradled his head with both of her forelegs and tapped her nose against his. “You look stunning,” she offered in a tone laden with grit and lust.

Redness surged around Wing’s cheeks and crept underneath the blindfold to his ears. His raised hind leg jerked, causing him to squirm once more. Needy whimpers fell from his mouth, and Midnight closed her eyes as she toyed with bits of mane that she hadn’t tied.

“There will be a lot of that,” she whispered and gently pushed Wing so he began to sway. The batpony revisited her bed to work a stretchy band over her left-front latex stocking. It settled into place near the top of the garment, and after a moment of resting there, a green gem affixed to the strap began to cast an emerald light.

Held by a magical aura of the same color, a riding crop lifted above the ridges and valleys of the bedspread. Midnight Dagger wielded the instrument like the weapon of her lineage. She directed the folded leather tip to Wing’s jaw and methodically drew a path under his wing base, over his belly, and to his exposed thigh.

Wing grunted and jolted at the sudden touch. The application of magic had made him the target of the mare’s stealthy advance, and his only choice was to endure whatever trial she had in mind. “Hnnnngh!” he wailed when the crop bit into his inner thigh. The slap of the strike echoed throughout their tiny room—as did the residual sting that radiated through his limb.

Midnight beamed after a line of red sullied Wing’s light-lavender coat. For a nerd, he kept himself in decent shape, and she’d be hard-pressed to deny that she loved the way he struggled in her snare. Bringing the crop down a little closer to those pent-up balls, she whipped him again and listened to his guttural cry.

He gasped heavily and tried to move his head into a different position, but the rope firmly clutching his mane restricted those maneuvers and prevented any defensive option. She struck him again, and his balls clenched. More pre dripped from his confined tip, and Wing violently fought the restraints. It was another contest he was destined to lose to her. She continued to crop him—until his limb felt like it was on fire and his cage was drenched with a want that she happily denied.

Tension plundered every muscle as he writhed. She laughed, and nothing could compare. Even in his blinded state, Wing could see her shine. It made him fight more—to ensure that she would see all the evidence of her victory. Though, Midnight certainly did not need his assistance.

She silently positioned another weapon of her arsenal and surprised the stallion with a soft, rubbery surface pressed against his caged cock. For a while, Midnight held it there without doing anything. Instead, she focused on Wing’s tics: the way his ears jerked, the subtle motion of his lips around the bit, or the popping puffs he made. He really had no need to think, and by the time she was done—

Vibrations rattled the chastity cage at the behest of a wand. Seismic shockwaves overwhelmed the captive’s aching balls. Muffled screams dashed from Wing’s muzzle, and the poor pegasus squirmed like never before. The longer she held the toy there, the more he jerked. She started ramping the intensity up and down to drive him even crazier, and it worked.

Those spread, stiffened wings pulsed and stretched as much as they could. His tip leaked in a pathetic display that betrayed how badly he craved this. His moans devolved into a stuttered chain of pitch-breaking whimpers. The week in the cage, the teasing, their friendship, her magnificence—all of it painted swaths of lust and reverence across his normally busy mind. He begged her for relief with that chain of sobs. “Mmmiddyyyy… -leeeaaseee…”

Midnight chuckled and pulled the vibe away from his cage. She stepped into him, rubbing her body against his as she drew her mouth towards one of his splayed ears. “Still cute, but now that I’ve seen you squirm, your fate’s sealed. You’re all mine, and I’m not letting my wingpony down until sunrise.” She laughed again when she felt him shudder, and she promptly tormented her catch by shoving the unpowered wand where his balls met the cage.

Held on the dagger’s edge, Wing gulped. At any second, she would resume the agonizing riling, and there was a lot of night left to give. He panted wildly as he basked in her radiant warmth, and he jerked when she set the wand on a low rumble. This was a brief mercy, and even then, it coaxed his arousal.

With Wing wriggling in her unbreakable grasp, Midnight went in for the kill. “Mmm, Wing, maybe—just maybe I’ll let you get off tonight if you make a second promise.” She paused, taking the opportunity to gradually increase the vibe’s strength until his squeals ascended an octave. “When the next quarter rolls around, write me down as your preferred roommate. It’s not really a request. It’s a command from the best.”

Incoherent syllables streamed from Wing’s mouth as Midnight supported his exhausted, limp body. Having freed him from the suspension, the batpony took great care in carrying her prize to her bed. He had survived her night, taken every strike from her crop, and outlasted the vibe—battery and all. She smirked just thinking about it, and because of his exemplary service to his lead mare, she graciously gifted three things to the handsome pegasus.

First, Middy utterly refused to free him from the chastity cage. That key was now a treasure, and every red, stinging line that marred the stallion only increased its value. Second, that collar was his to keep. She had no intention of taking it off at that moment, either. In the skies, he defended her, and in their room, he made her his Ruler of the Night. Finally, as her Shadowbolt subordinate, his wellbeing became her responsibility.

With the threads of day slicing through the gaps in the window curtain, Midnight sought to care for Wing in another way. She helped him onto the mattress and guided his head all the way to the soft caress of the nearest pillow.

A dopey grin stretched across his muzzle, reminding Midnight of when they met. However, this time, Wing’s relaxed, tired gaze shaped a much different impression. The filly found herself hovering over her prone prey. Her long, blue mane cascaded around his crown and enveloped him in a world where he saw only Midnight.

“You overdid it,” she whispered, running her hooves through his hair and giving gentle tugs to the black strands. The green gem on her armband flared at her thoughts, and within seconds, a filled glass of water and a jar of ointment were hovering at her side. A small voice in the depths of her mind urged the batpony to count the streaks she had whipped into Wing, but then she might be forced to confront her own statement and a subsequent pang of guilt.

Her stare wavered at the notion. His remained resolute. “Amazing,” he mumbled, directing his sore foreleg to lift so he could rub her cheek.

Wing stopped time and sheathed simmering doubts with a single touch. Blood rushed to Middy’s cheeks in its wake, and her adjacent wing moved on its own to wrap around his limb. “You need to hydrate.” She broke the silence and carefully rolled just enough to prop up the pillow and bring the glass to his lips.

The pegasus did not wait long to heed her command. He took paced sips that were regulated by her maneuvering of the cup. “Kind, too,” he murmured again while still getting accustomed to this sudden swell in pampering.

When he was finished drinking, Midnight pressed her hoof to his chest and reasserted his reclined position. “Tonight exceeded my expectations,” the mare admitted after lifting the cap off the ointment jar with her magical device. “You were a very good boy, and only the best boys deserve this level of kindness. It might sting a bit, though”—she twirled her hoof and scooped a blob of the creamy substance—“so try not to make too much of a fuss.”

Following the endless hours of being cropped and edged to oblivion, Wing fluttered as he melted to his mistress’s serene strokes. She hunted every mark on his body with the same diligent precision that put them there in the first place, and he couldn’t help but coo when she massaged his beaten thighs and fondled his haunches.

Midnight had been truthful when she said the lotion might cause some pain, but once the work was done, Wing felt like he was floating on the surface of a lake. The aches subsided. His muscles could rest, and his barely functional mind could focus on the beautiful bat.

Her smile enchanted him once more. Her eyes sparkled, even when his felt dulled by the rising need to sleep, and she tended to his wounds with a level of sincerity that ignited an inferno deep in his chest. She pounced on that flame in seconds, smothering his figure in an affectionate hug that involved every appendage Midnight had to deploy.

“Fuck, you’re cute,” she whispered in his ear while an errant hoof resumed playing with Wing’s mane. Having swaddled her stallion in a batwing burrito, Midnight could sense the low, rumbling purr that brewed when she raked his locks.

Wing inevitably succumbed to the larger pony’s wonderful embrace. He could live with being the little spoon if it meant basking like this. With every ounce of strength he had left, the pegasus pushed his muzzle towards the crook of her neck and kissed her cheek. The inaudible purrs emerged as a quiet hum, and Wing shut his eyes as he fully settled.

At the bourns of sleep, and obliviously in the presence of a now-flustered mare, Wing drifted off along with his precious thoughts of thanks. “You’re one of a kind…”

Author's Note

"Don't tell Wing but he's a total cutie."

Feel free to leave suggestions for adventures for these two, making Wing blush is a great pastime and we writers love our comments!