Had a Rough Day
"But one griffin hath the body more great and is more strong than eight lions, of such lions as be on this half, and more great and strong than an hundred eagles such as we have amongst us.”
-Sir John Mandeville
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You extend your paws in a long, relaxing stretch and sigh in satisfaction. With a flick of your talon, you turn to the next page in the latest issue of Flight Sports Weekly as you sink deep into the well-worn cushions of the old couch. It just doesn't get any better than this.
Well, maybe if you had a brewski.
Suddenly, the unexpected sound of a rattling doorknob interrupts your reading, and you lower the magazine as you lift your eyes to the door. There stands Gilda, her crest ruffled and her fur dull with sweat. She barely gives you a glance before tossing her bulky canvas bag into the corner.
"Gil-babe?" you ask, your eyebrow raised as she stomps into the room. "What's going on? I thought you were supposed to be visiting that pony friend of yours this weekend."
You cringe as the door slams shut with a sharp crack. Her voice is tired and heavy with frustration as she replies. "Well,” she says, “I guess that didn't work out, did it, genius?”
With a concerned shake of your head, you set your magazine aside. You force yourself up from the comfortably ratty sofa with a sigh and head off toward the kitchen alcove. Behind you, Gilda mumbles to herself as she paces the floor, kicking aside the old aluminum cans and empty food pouches that lay strewn about the carpet. As you open the refrigerator and reach inside for a cold one, you hear the sound of a pizza box clattering against the wall and scattering old crusts about. "Hey, babe! You're getting garbage all over my junk," you shout back with a laugh.
"Go screw yourself," she replies.
You pop the bottle top with your beak and spit the cap onto the floor as you shut the fridge.
"Anything for you, babe,” you say with a grin. “I don't mind puttin' on a show."
Her angry expression softens, and the corner of her beak curls – just a little.
With a flick of your wings, you glide to the living area and plop down on the couch, one arm over the back and your feet kicked up on the old shipping crate you and Gilda use for a table. "Now, why don't you come over here and tell me what's wrong?"
She heaves a breath and sits beside you, reluctantly, her arms crossed and a glower on her face. "I don't wanna talk about it," she huffs.
"Huh. Well, if you say so," you say, smiling as you gulp your drink and watch her from the corner of your eye.
"I just don't get it!" she suddenly shouts, throwing her claws up in frustration and clutching at her crest feathers, "Those stupid ponies are just … argh!"
"Uh huh. So, what happened?"
"Okay, get this," she starts eagerly, "I'm hanging out with Rainbow Dash, and –"
"That's your pony friend?"
She pays no mind to your interruption. “Yeah. So like, everything is cool at first. But then out of nowhere, this crazy pink chick shows up and starts butting in. One of Dash's new friends or whatever." She groans. "And, oh dude, she was so annoying."
You twist your brow curiously. "Really? Like how?"
"Like … remember that dork your cousin married … Gilroy?"
"Ugh, yes.”
"She was even worse than that! So get this, I try to tell her to get lost, right? But she just ain't havin' it.” Gilda's gestures grow more and more animated with every sentence. “I'm thinking 'Hey, what the heck is your problem, dingus? Did you fly hours to get here? Are you visiting a friend you haven't seen in years?' I mean, seriously, who does that?"
"Well, that was just awesome of her. Not!"
"Oh, but that's not the worst part!" she adds, her hand on your chest. "Later on, they throw this big welcoming party 'in my honor.' Ha! Yeah, right! Turns out, it was all a setup! Dash and the stupid pink chick spend the whole time pranking me – in front of half the stinkin' town!"
You suddenly have a very strong urge to jump up and kick something. Your voice is tinged with shock and disbelief. "Dude, what? That is royally messed up!"
"I was totally humiliated! And then! Then, when I got mad, everyone totally flipped out on me for some reason! I couldn't even believe it, dude!"
Just as her fury seems to reach its peak, she pauses. Her angry expression seems to melt away and her shoulders droop, leaving her looking thoroughly exhausted and defeated as she slumps deeply into her seat. "Then Dash gets all indignant or whatever and says she'd rather hang out with those lame-o ponies than me anyway."
“Aw dang, dude. That just plain sucks.” You stretch your arm across her shoulder and gently pull her close. "But come on, Gil-baby, I can tell there's more to this than just some ex-friend from back in school days pulling a flip-flop on you. What's really bothering you right now?"
She pulls her hind legs up against her belly and wraps her arms around them anxiously. "It's nothing, I guess." she says. "It's just, I thought Dash was a real friend, you know? But then all this stuff happens and … crud, I don't exactly have a ton of friends or anything."
"Well – "
"You don't count," she grumbles. "And um, hey, I mean, it's not like I need friends or anything like that, but … I don't know, it just makes me think 'What's wrong with me?' I guess."
"Hey now, babe, don't be like that," you whisper, rubbing her shoulder as she turns her body about and drops her head upon your neck. Since she's so much larger than you, she has to lean down quite a bit to make it work.
"I bet you think I'm just a big, whiny wuss right now," she mutters.
"You know I could never think something like that, Gil."
You sit for a moment and tap your bottle contemplatively against your beak. "Hey, Gil," you start, "do you remember what I said to you the first day we met?"
"Uh, yeah," she says irritably, "you smacked me in the butt and yelled 'Whoomp, there it is.'"
"Yeah, and then you punched me in the eye," you say with a laugh, "but I meant at the end of the day. I told you that if you were my girl, I wouldn't treat you the way some dweebs out there treat their girls. I'd treat you like a real lady." You raise your bottle theatrically. "You'd be the first thing I thought of every morning, and the last thing I thought of every night. And you know why I said that?"
"Why?" she asks.
"Because that day I found out you were way more than just a bodacious, eye-punching hottie. I knew you were something special, babe. Special to the max. If those ponies don't see it, it just means they're blind and probably retarded."
Gilda gently snuggles against you, her body warm and soft against your side. "Jeez, dude, how are you always so poetic?"
"Who knows, baby?" you say with a smile. "Who knows?"
You sit there, relaxing in your small but comfortable home, a frosty cold-one in one hand and your girl in the other. And you've got to say, life seems pretty awesome at the moment.
You take a quick swig from your bottle and then pass it to Gilda, holding it for her as she takes it in her beak and finishes it off.
"You know," you say, tossing the empty bottle into the floor behind the couch, "speaking of friends, Geoff and Gertrude have a gig downtown tomorrow. We haven't seen them in a while, right? Think we should go check it out?"
"I don't know. Those guys are nerds," she says with a laugh.
"Ha! Yeah, totally."
The room is quiet, and the countryside in the window is just barely visible in the fading evening light. Her feet pulled up against your belly, Gilda begins to draw circles in your fur with one of her toes. "So, whaddaya wanna do for the rest of the night?"
You take a deep breath then let it out in a long, lazy puff. "I don't know. What do you wanna do, babe?"
Slowly, her arms, large and powerful, wrap around your shoulders as her beak nuzzles your feathers. "You know what? I have had one heck of a day," she says playfully, her words punctuated with a gentle prod from her beak. "I think I need to work out a little frustration."
You smirk as you bring your hands to her back. "Now that's an idea I can get behind."
Suddenly, you find yourself thrown down. Before you can say another word, you catch the smoldering look in her eyes as Gilda hovers above you, your arms stretched over your head and your wrists firmly in her grasp. The purple shadow about her eyes seems almost sinister. "I don't remember asking for your permission," she says with a smile.
You try to repress a smile of your own. Your pulse begins to quicken as you make a show of struggling, the full force of your muscles burning in your arms, a hot tension in your chest as you try to force her to move. She merely grins at you. Her grip tightens, her arms flex, the thick, heavy muscle holding you motionless under her body while the tips of her talons press into the flesh of your wrists.
"Is that it? Wow," she says, "that's pretty pathetic, dude. Sad, even.” She grows quiet as she leans forward, her beak once more nuzzling softly into the crook of your neck. "I mean, I could do just about anything to you." You gasp as you feel her tongue dart from her mouth, wet and hot against the flesh beneath your feathers. "Anything I want."
Suddenly, you cry out as you feel the point of her beak forced harshly into the flesh below your collarbone. Smothering your cries into quiet gasps, you hear Gilda snickering as she slowly draws her beak down your chest. You feel yourself struggling in earnest as a fiery streak burns its way down your body, a stinging ember followed by a long path of rushing warmth that spreads over your skin.
You look down to find pinpricks of blood rising along your feathers and into your fur. She pauses, lifting her head from your belly, looking into your eyes as she hovers over the scrape, and you watch as she blows softly upon the cut, cold and soothing and wonderfully tantalizing. She extends her tongue once more. And even now she stares up at you, her eyes never leaving yours, her mouth gaping as she pulls her tongue along your fur. It's rough and harsh, and it burns you with a sweet sting as she presses it hard against your broken skin and rises from your belly to your neck.
Immediately, she brings her face to yours and shoves that rough tongue deep into your mouth. You nearly choke at the force of her kiss, your mouth filling with the heat of her body and the iron taste of your own blood, and your wrists begin to ache as she crushes them in her excitement.
All at once her beak finally pulls away, and she releases you from her grip to rise from the couch. Standing to the side, her chest heaving, she stares at the crate nearby for just a moment, and then, with one hand, she tosses it aside. Her other arm she wraps around you, easily lifting you in a powerful grip from the sofa and dropping you roughly to the floor beneath her.
A talon stabs at your chest. "You think I'm special?" she asks with a smirk.
You nod dumbly.
Taking your hand in hers, she she lifts your talon, and a shiver runs through your body as she takes your finger into her mouth. The harsh touch of her tongue tickles the flesh of your fingertip as she sucks on it, slurps on it, and then slowly draws it out, leaving it still dripping with a thick coat of her saliva. "Then show me," she softly commands, running your moist talon through the feathers of her chest and along the center of her firm belly.
After taking a moment to come to your senses, you quickly scramble away and return unsteadily to your feet, standing before Gilda as she appraises you with that beautifully smug look of hers.
Restraining yourself as best you can, you approach her, lowering yourself reverently to the ground near her left claw. You raise your trembling hands to her forelimb, one hand inside, near her chest, and the other hovering above her shoulder. Gently, you close your hands upon her arm, and press the soft edges of your fingertips gently into her skin as you slide your hands ever so slowly downward, smoothly along her rich, brown fur.
From the corner of your eye, you can see her watching, but your focus is on her arm as you sit gazing, staring at the thick muscle as she flexes under the touch of your talons. The hot, firm flesh expands into your palms. You pause, and you wrap your fingers around the trunk of her forelimb. For moment after moment you simply sit there, lost in the feeling of her warm, wonderful body in your hands, subtlety delicate yet unyielding to your grip as your fingers flex and squeeze against the mass of her muscular limb.
Your eyes close as you raise your talons to her shoulder. Once more drawing your hands down the surface, you gingerly kiss her arm, savoring the feeling of each groove and striation as it flows across your fingertips. Her bulky, powerful form sets your mind swimming with every touch, each muscle so taught and perfect.
You roll your fingertips down, along the furry surface of her arm to the golden scales of her talons, and then quickly stand to your feet, your palms about her shoulders as you press your face to her back. You place a long line of hot kisses between her wings, your hands and the tip of your tongue gliding over the rippling surface of her athletic form, and you drift downward to the wide curve of her haunches where you immediately find yourself transfixed at the sight of her thick, muscular rump.
Her tail remains teasingly tucked between her legs, but it does nothing to dull your excitement as you hungrily clutch her hips. Your hands slip up and around, circling and stroking her hindquarters, your palms filled with the sleek fur and the meaty, firm flesh of her backside. She stretches a leg back. The mass of her thigh and the plush, velvet muscle of her ass rise and flex under your fingers and fill the tightening grip of your hand. You press and knead the hot surface of her rump, and with one hand squeezing her bottom, your other begins to slide upward. Your talons drift up to either side of her tail, running over the tiny dimples on her back, and then down, the tips of your fingers slipping smoothly into the valley of her haunches.
"You really like my butt, don't you?" she purrs back to you.
Finally releasing her ass to clutch eagerly at her thighs, you press your face firmly to her cheek. "Aw, you know it, baby," you say breathlessly, kissing lavishly the side of her rump. “You're amazing. I love every single inch of your hot, incredible body." You raise your hands to clasp her hips as you feverishly nuzzle and slide your beak up and down the outside of her leg. "You're just so perfect! I want you to sit on me! I want your hot farts all over my face!"
Suddenly, Gilda freezes and bursts out laughing. "Haha! What?!" she shouts. You halt your heated butt-worship, peeking aside to meet her eyes. "Oh, man! You creepy little pervert! Don't make me laugh, you're messing it up!"
A smirk on your face, you give her bum a quick slap. "Sorry, babe. Guess I got carried away."
Suddenly, her foot comes up against your chest, kicking you off balance and forcing you heavily to your back on the dirty surface of the carpet. She looms over you, rising up on her hind legs, her arms stretched above her and her wings spread, a powerful, majestic predator that holds you captive under her shadow. And she smiles down at you with that cutting smirk that you love so much.
Something slides along your belly, and you find her foot softly stroking your skin. Over your fur and feathers, her toes slide up to your chest and along your neck, smearing the blood of your still burning scrape into a long, wet trail. Your head is forced to the side as she roughly presses her foot down on your cheek. A shiver rises in your spine as she grinds her paw into your face, stomping and crushing her luscious foot into your feathers. As she wiggles it harshly against your beak, you hear her command. "Lick it, dweeb."
You don't hesitate for even a second, quickly grabbing her ankle, breathing hotly as you draw your tongue along the sole of her paw. The bottom of her foot is firm and warm as you lap at the thick flesh and short, rough fur. Soon, her toe pads are glistening with wetness as the tip of your tongue slips along their puffy, black edges.
Your beak closing softly upon her paw, you begin to gently chew on the meaty little pads, capturing each one in the press of your beak, covering them with lick after tiny, eager lick. With a hungry moan, you begin to take the toes of her paw two at a time into your mouth, suckling and slurping on them, rolling your tongue between the little black pads. You lie with your mind abuzz with the salty, bitter flavor of her dirty paw as you gently spread her toes apart and lick fiercely between each of her sweaty digits. Her smell floods your nostrils, and her thick toes seem to squeeze your tongue as you bury it, wet and ticklish, in the crevices of her paw.
You stare up at Gilda as you eagerly wash her furry foot. Her eyelids are heavy, one finger clutched in her beak, her tail passed through her legs, up and over her belly, and gripped tightly in her other hand. She gives it a tug now and again, her breath growing heavy as you fondle her paw, your tongue still buried between her toes, your thumbs squeezing and rubbing her fleshy sole pad.
Without warning, her foot is pulled from your grasp, and she's instantly upon you. You find yourself caught in her arms and twisted about, rolled upon your chest, and you can feel Gilda's body bouncing as she settles her thick legs on either side of your hips.
Lying steadily, heavily, upon you, she grips your crest in her fist and jerks your head to the side, her breaths passing over your neck in a hiss. A squeak escapes your throat as she forces her hand beneath you, dragging her claws in a brutal trail down your belly. She moans into your ear.
"God, I love those little sounds you make."
You feel her hips sliding slowly upward and then down against your haunches.
Your scalp begins to sear with pain, her fingers buried in the feathers of your crest as she forces your face into the floor. Her gasping breaths fill the room as she presses your hips beneath her own and squeezes you between her thighs. You release a choking sob as her claws dig deeper into your skin.
Her motions soon grow even more aggressive, more heated. She heavily slaps herself against you, up and down against your rump, her chest pressing down on your back and her head upon your shoulder. You can feel the vibrations of her moans and the heat of her breath on your cheek as her body grinds against yours, slamming your hips painfully into the ground over and over. Through the stinging, exciting haze, your mind is possessed with a rather wicked idea.
As she drops her hips once more, you suddenly lift your tail, jamming it hard against the bare skin of her body. She immediately stops her bouncing, gasping and groaning as she clutches the flesh of your belly.
"You … you shouldn't have done that," she says between heavy breaths, her hips once more sliding tremulously against your back. Giving your face a quick knock against the floor, she rises, being sure to leave a trail of scratches up your side as she pulls her talons from your belly.
You turn about and prop yourself on your elbow as she makes her way across the room. "Gil-babe? What's up?"
She sends you a smirk as she cranks up the stereo in the corner.
"Well," she replies, her hips swaying as she walks, "I don't want the neighbors listening to what comes next."
"Aw, let 'em hear. It'll be totally hot that way.”
"W-wha …?" she stutters. "You're such a pervert, dude!"
You reply with a grin. "Yeah, and you love it, babe."
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Gilda tosses another piece of popcorn into her mouth, passing the bowl in your direction as the two of you rest snugly together in the cushy center of the old beanbag. Watching the night sky outside is kinda lame, but the music is rockin’, and the company is pretty great.
“Jeez, babe,” you groan, popping a few kernels into your beak and cringing at a twinge of pain in your cuts “could you be a little more careful next time? What am I supposed to tell the guys when they see me all messed up like this?”
She grins. Her feathers are frazzled and sweaty but lack the distinctly bloody highlights of your own. “Not my problem. Tell ‘em you fell down the stairs or something, wuss.”
You laugh as you grab another handful of corn.
Sliding down in your seat, you lie lovingly against Gilda’s shoulder. Sometimes, it’s still hard to believe that a dweeb like you could end up such an amazing lady.
“Gil, you really are somethin’ special, you know?”
She laughs. “Well, duh.”
“So, how are you feelin’? Better?”
“Yeah,” she says. “You know what? Yeah! I mean, seriously, who even cares what some lame-o like Dash thinks?” She crunches her popcorn, careful to keep her eyes on the window. “I’m pretty sure she’s one of them girl-queers anyway.”
With a smile, you stretch your arm up and around her wide shoulders. “Hey, Gil, I might not count as a ‘friend’ or whatever, but you know … until you find all the friends you could ever want, I’ll always be here to keep you from gettin’ lonely.”
You feel her shift at your side. She leans down and places a soft kiss on your cheek.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I know.”
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A 9th century Irish writer by the name of Stephen Scotus asserted that griffins were highly monogamous. Not only did they mate for life, but if one partner died, the other would continue throughout the rest of its life alone, never to search out a new mate. - Various
