It’s dark. It’s dark, and you feel horribly cramped. You think your foot might be just beside your head, but your legs went numb so long ago it’s hard to tell.
It wouldn’t be so bad if you could move, just a little bit, but you’re stuck. You’ve been stuck like this for at least an hour. She said it wouldn’t take that long, that it would be just like playing hide and seek for a bit, and then you could come out. But you don’t remember ever playing hide and seek for this long, and at this point you’re ready to cry and give up and let whoever else might be playing find you.
It’s with that thought that the cabinet door opens.
You fall forward inelegantly, though you don’t suppose there’s a way to fall out of a cabinet with grace. The best you could hope for would be a sort of controlled, awkward tumble. Instead, your feet, which have been misplaced for as long as you remember being in the cabinet, end up near your head again, and the rest of you ends up flat on the floor. It’s not a hard enough fall to knock the wind out of you, but it does make your stomach hurt a bit.
You don’t have time to properly collect yourself before someone else acknowledges your presence; not with a hello, or welcome, but with a gasp.
You look up, and, for the first time, see two fancy-coloured ponies standing in front of you instead of one.
Lyra smirks at you. Her spiky green mane hangs over one corner of her face, her bangs in dire need of a trimming. The pony next to her isn’t quite what you prepared yourself for mentally; she’s bigger than Lyra, for one thing. Not in a taller or stronger looking way, but in a... wider way. She’s a fair bit pudgier, to the extent that you can see a bit of her belly bulge out from where you’re lying on the floor. Not a huge, giant stomach, but enough of one that it’s worth noting.
Her fur, instead of the minty colour you’re used to seeing, is an off-white cream. And her mane is... something special. It’s a blend of dark blue and pink, and its bobbed over her forehead like the swirl at the end of an ice cream cone, or maybe a freshly pulled strand of taffy looped around on itself.
She’s staring at you with her mouth wide open. Lyra is standing next to her, grinning.
“Welcome to Equestria, hun,” Lyra says.
The discussion about the cabinet was a lengthy one. Lyra needed to go back home for a bit; she was insistent. The two of you talked as much as you could between the needy kisses and frantic touching your conversations always devolve into. It’s a nice formula, because there isn’t anything either of you can think of to stay angry about, or even begin to get angry about in the first place – but it does make coming to conclusions about things like this a bit difficult.
In the end, you decided on the morning of Lyra’s departure. The word ‘wait’, left your lips before she walked out of the bedroom.
Okay, you said. I need to come with you.
Lyra had agreed it was a good idea.
After what happened in her absence last time, Lyra was the one who had suggested bringing you with her. She wouldn’t leave if she didn’t need to, she had said, but while her job let her slouch off and spend time with you almost as much as she wanted, occasionally the Equestrian government did need her for something, which meant a trip home. Usually, she tried to do as much as possible while she was there so she could come back and lounge around with you without the guilt of an unfinished job in the back of her head.
Being self-employed, you’re not familiar with the concept of external obligation, but you’ve always been understanding. There’s just no way you’re going to go another week without her. Lyra agreed with your sentiment, citing specifically the state of your bedroom and personal hygiene when she’d returned from her last trip. You balked, but Lyra grinned as though the whole thing was already a fun memory, and you’d tackled her to the bed, unable to resist the sexiness of her smirk.
And she had smiled when you said you wanted to come with her.
A cabinet hadn’t been what you were expecting. But, yet, here you are. In Equestria. Ponyville, to be specific.
She’d warned you about the other pony before you arrived, but that hadn’t really properly prepared you for seeing her.
“Her name is Bonbon,” she’d said. “She’s my roommate.”
“I’ve already talked it over with her. She’s not super hot on the idea, but she promise she won’t tell anypony,” she said.
“Is that worth noting?” you'd asked.
Lyra had nodded.
“Not that I don’t love you, but I don’t think Equestria’s ready to know about humans yet. Or how one managed to get here in the first place.”
That’s fine with you. You don’t have a problem hiding out in Lyra’s house for a week while she takes care of business.
That means cohabitating with Bonbon though. You’re not sure what to think about that.
Lyra’s first day at work is a good chance to get to know her, at the very least.
You try to familiarize yourself with the house before introducing yourself properly. It’s a quaint little hovel with colorful paintings on the walls here and there, and a nice, well-stocked kitchen. You’re not sure about Bonbon’s bedroom, but Lyra’s has a bed that’s bigger than yours, and fancy furniture and other accessories all around. Billowy curtains and brilliant bright lamps and silky soft sheets that make you want to melt away into the covers.
She says that government work pays well.
You catch a sight of Bonbon just as she’s preparing to leave. You haven’t had a chance to ask her about what exactly it is she does, though given her namesake and the arsenal of unfamiliar implements in the kitchen, you figure it might have something to do with cooking, or baking. The three wrapped sweets on her flank serve as a further hint. You wish humans were this easy to understand sometimes.
“Hey,” you say, causing Bonbon to pause with her hoof just on the door handle. “Sorry to bug you just as you’re heading out. I just figured it might be a good idea to introduce myself properly, seeing as you’re being nice enough to let me chill here for the next week.”
While you’re aware of the potential awkwardness of a hand-on-hoof shake, Lyra’s never had a problem with it, and you can’t think of a better way to introduce yourself.
You extend your hand, and Bonbon eyes it suspiciously. She considers the length of your arm, and then the rest of your body, with a look you can only classify as disdain. Her eyes narrow and her mouth shrivels up like she’s eaten a lemon Warhead.
“No thanks,” she says.
Before you can recover the politeness of your attempt to introduce yourself, she’s out the door. She slams it harder than you feel is necessary.
Your first day in Ponyville is not off to a particularly swimming start.
You try to brush off your first encounter with Bonbon. It’s possible she was just in a hurry, or already having a bad day. She might just have something against humans, which would be a little tricky considering you’re the first one she’s seen; though, some people develop prejudice unnaturally fast. Maybe that’s also true of ponies.
You don’t mention it to Lyra. You’re just happy to see her again. The minute she walks in the door, you’re there with a hug and kiss, and she giggles as you shower her in tiny pecks down her cheek and neck.
It doesn’t take you long to head to the bedroom.
Having sex in Ponyville feels different than on Earth. For a reason you can’t quite place, it feels more... special. Magical, almost.
You’re not sure if Lyra can tell the difference. If she can, she doesn’t show it; her noises and the face she makes when she finishes and soaks her fancy bedsheets looks just the same as the one you recognize from your place.
It’s comforting, in a way.
The next day is another opportunity. You decide to strike before the possibility of timing or logistics makes the situation awkward. Lyra’s already let you know that, technically, it’s the weekend in Equestria (why the days are different you can’t be sure), so Bonbon will likely be about the house for the next twenty-four hours at least. Lyra, on the other hand, doesn’t work on a normal clock, and gives you a quick kiss before she dashes out the door, mumbling something about transistors and magical resonance fields.
You didn’t have her pegged for a science dork, but it’s easy enough to suppose that she’s smart enough to keep it under wraps around someone not properly equipped to understand. Frankly, the way her horn works is still a bit of a mystery to you.
That gives you a good chance to talk to Bonbon though. Maybe to clear the air. Or just to apologize for taking up a decent chunk of her living space. You’ve tried to keep yourself the ideal house-guest; cleaning up, making yourself as invisible as possible. You’ve even let Lyra know you’d be happy to try cooking once you can figure out exactly how to prepare the fridge full of daisies and other grass and flowers. Lyra had grinned at the idea, and said she was sure you’d figure it out soon.
Bonbon is in the kitchen, at the table. She’s leafing through a magazine with a disinterested look, her eyes half-open as she scans from page to page. She looks almost like she’s bored in a waiting room. Maybe this month’s articles don’t contain anything interesting.
You brace yourself and put on your most cheerful demeanour. It’s difficult to find a middle ground between ‘friendly smile’ and ‘creepy grin’, but you think you manage to do an okay job.
“Hey,” you say, walking into the kitchen. Everything around you is a bit smaller than you’re used to, the result of being designed for ponies instead of people. It’s still a bit weird. Gonna take some getting used to.
Bonbon doesn’t acknowledge you. Her eyes scan over to the next page of her magazine.
“Whatcha reading?” you ask.
No response. Bonbon licks her hoof and turns the page, making a soft rustling noise ring out through the kitchen.
It’s oddly quiet otherwise, you notice.
Plan A isn’t working. On to Plan B.
“Look,” you say, walking closer to the kitchen table. You pull out the chair opposite Bonbon and do your best to sit, making considerations for the chair’s size relative to your body. Perplexingly, chairs in Equestria look exactly like the ones on Earth do, if a bit smaller. You have no idea why; it can’t be comfortable for ponies to fold up on all four legs when the posture of the wood is designed for sitting upright. Lyra’s said she’s one of the only ponies she knows who actually enjoys sitting like that though; she says it gets her weird looks.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot the other day. I didn’t mean to bug you as you were on your way to work. I just feel like, if we’re going to be around each other for the next week, I’d like to at least feel like there’s not some kind of weird tension. I realize having someone here for a week – a person, no less – probably isn’t your idea of fun, but I promise if you’ll cut me some slack I’ll try my best to stay bearable.”
No response. Another page turn.
It’s like talking to a brick wall.
You want to groan in desperate frustration, but you still realize you’re the one on off-footing here. Gotta be pleasant no matter what.
“Do you wanna tell me a little bit about what you do? Maybe if we got to know each other better–”
Bonbon closes her magazine as loudly as she can manage given the relative lightness of the pages. She sets it down on the table and, for the first time since you entered the kitchen, looks directly at you. Her eyes are still half open, but they now look more like a glare than a haze of disinterest.
“I don’t wanna talk to you,” she says.
The words settle in the air uncomfortably. You can feel her eyes on you, making your skin crawl with the sudden appearance of hostility you weren’t prepared for you. You swallow a strange feeling in your throat and try to assemble a rejoinder.
“Look,” you start, “I know–”
“Stop,” she says. “I said I don’t want to talk to you.”
“And why is that?” You have to ask. If she’s going to be that way, you need to find some way to worm your way into a conversation.
“Because I don’t like you.”
Her voice is, you notice, a bit peculiar. You haven’t heard her talk much since your arrival, but she’s not what you were expecting. Her inflection is almost comical, with a sort of valley-girl esque lilt to her speech. Hearing it wrap around such a serious sentiment is a bit jarring. You imagine you might describe her voice as ‘sugary’ if she was using it to say something nice. At the same time, she’s using it almost in a monotone, like she’s trying to bore into your soul with the bluntness of her intonation. It’s a bizarre contrast.
“Why?” you ask simply.
“Because.”
She seems fairly insistent on not giving you much to work with.
“Is it because I’m showing up all of a sudden and taking up half your house? I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help out with food, and I’ll make myself scarce if you don’t want me around–”
“I don’t want you around at all. I wish you’d go back home.”
This is a lot of hostility to deal with at one time. Bonbon hasn’t shifted once from her squashed posture atop her chair, and she’s still glaring at you with a disarming sort of deadpan.
“We don’t even know each other. What did I do to make you dislike me so much?”
Bonbon pauses for a moment. She scrunches up a mouth a little before opening it to speak.
“Lyra,” she says simply.
You weren't expecting that.
Your eyes fall the table. You’re not really sure what to say back. Luckily, Bonbon picks up before you’re forced to think of a response.
“I’ve lived with Lyra for five years,” she says. “We met in high school, moved in together, and we’ve been roommates ever since.”
Bonbon pushes her chair back from the table and hops out, shaking her head and bouncing her mane for a second before turning back to you.
“Lyra deserves someone better than you.”
“And what about me is not to your liking?” you ask.
“Everything.” Bonbon ambles around to the side of the table, making the proximity of her glare feel even hotter on your skin.
“That’s a bit much, don’t you think? You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough about you. I know you’re a weird, creepy human who thinks it’s okay to have sex with ponies, for one thing.”
Well, she has you there.
“You’re too tall. You look weird. You have hands instead of hooves, and gross little fingers on them. You’re too loud when you walk, you can’t fly or do magic, you don’t have a special talent, and you drag Lyra away from her job every month so she can go to your dumb... wherever. Just like you. You’re dumb.”
Bonbon is, you note, not particularly articulate. Still, you can’t object to most of her criticisms, though they’re not what you’d expect her to have a problem with.
“Okay,” you say. “So I’m a human, and that’s a problem?”
“It’s weird. You shouldn’t be in Equestria, or Ponyville. You shouldn’t be in a relationship with a pony.”
“I’ll have you know that Lyra was the one who came on to me.”
Bonbon doesn’t move her glare an inch, despite what you’re fairly sure is a decent counterpoint to her sudden antagonism.
“Doesn’t matter. I still don’t like you.”
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”
Bonbon leans towards you. She leans until her face is so close you can make out the blue of her eyes, and see the strands of hair in her multicoloured bob.
You feel a bead of sweat drip down your forehead.
“Yes. You can leave.”
“Other than that?”
“Don’t bother me until you’re gone.”
Bonbon turns with a flick of her tail, and the three coloured curls bop you on the face. The hair on your nose makes you tickle, in addition to filling your nostrils with a scent like gummy worms and sour sugar. You give a small snort in disbelief.
Bonbon trots out of the room before you can say something to make her reconsider.
All in all, not how you were hoping things would go, and you still have at least five days left in Ponyville. Seems like it’s going to be a long week.
The next few times you run into Bonbon are as awkward as you’d expect. As much as you try to keep out of her way, whatever appointment she was running off to that first day seems to have been a fluke, because she doesn’t leave the house once more that you can tell. And every time you see her, which is often, considering the relatively small size of the house and your lack of anything to do other than wander pointlessly, she has a choice remark for you to accompany her disdainful glare.
“Do other humans know you’re doing it with a pony?” she asks one day as you’re helping yourself to a cookie from the jar in the kitchen.
“Uh,” you say. “Not really.”
“I have a feeling there’s a good reason for that.”
“You know that me being with a pony is just as weird as Lyra being with a human, right?”
“No,” Bonbon says, shaking her head. “You’re grosser.”
Well then.
She’s talking to you, but it doesn’t seem to be much of an improvement.
You decide to let the vestiges of your conversational engagement collapse and content yourself with a glass of milk to go with your cookie. You sit down at the table, facing away from Bonbon and towards the living room.
As you swallow a mouthful of milk, Bonbon appears to the side of your periphery, leering into your sphere of vision like an alley cat popping up over a fence.
“Why are you guys so loud?” she asks.
You struggle not to spit your milk out, and settle for holding your glass up and letting some of it dribble in as your mouth attempts to expel it in your surprise. You hadn’t been expecting such a ‘forward’ question.
“Excuse me?” you say, trying not to choke on the errant crumb of cookie now lodged in your throat.
“You and Lyra. You’re loud. It’s annoying.”
“You mean during–”
“When you’re doing it.”
She’s succinct, at least.
“Well... I don’t recall being particularly loud.” The subject isn’t one you imagined you be discussing with anyone, let alone the candy-headed roommate of your pony girlfriend. The best you can hope for is steering the conversation somewhere where she’ll leave you alone.
“Lyra is though.” Bonbon pauses for a moment. You turn your head to her properly, and look her over once or twice. You can’t quite place her expression; it’s narrowed with the disdain you’ve taken to be second nature when you see her around the house, but there’s something else there. A concern for her friend, maybe? An interest in whatever justification you might have for your lamentable volume?
“It sounds like you’re hurting her,” she says. Her voice is cold, and sharp.
You almost laugh, but catch yourself, not wanting to soil Bonbon’s perception of you any further by laughing in the middle of what she seems to be treating as a serious conversation. Do ponies know about sex? Lyra certainly doesn’t seem uneducated, but the way Bonbon is angling, she sounds more like an uneducated young kid than a mid-twenties mare.
“I assure you I’m not hurting her,” you say, the faintness of a chuckle in your dismissal. “At least... not unless she asks for it, anyway.”
Bonbon’s face turns sour. She grimaces at you like she’s noticed a moldy piece of cheese dangling from your face and the smell has suddenly hit her mid-conversation.
“You’re gross,” she says.
You shrug.
“You must be doing something weird to her. Some weird human thing. Normal ponies aren’t that loud.”
“Maybe she’s just enjoying it,” you say. “Maybe she just likes to be loud.”
Bonbon shakes her head.
“No, you’re doing something.” Her justification is as simple as that. It is simply because she says it is. Hard to argue with logic like that.
She leans closer to the table, and to you, peering at you like you might suddenly open up like a secret cabinet and reveal the full extent of the secrets inside your devious human mind.
“What is it?” Bonbon asks, her voice unfaltering from her low, disdainful tone.
You wrack your brain to think of an answer that might fit the question. Is there anything in particular you’re doing during your intimate time with Lyra that causes her to be so vocal? Furthermore, is it anything Bonbon needs to know about?
Well, there is something.
Without speaking, you raise your hands from the table. You hold them in front of Bonbon’s face and waggle your fingers, letting their movement cascade back and forth like a tiny wave. After a few seconds, you lower your hands.
Bonbon blinks at you. You hold back a sigh.
“Hands,” you say simply. Bonbon grimaces again.
“Hands are gross,” she says.
“I disagree.”
“They are so,” Bonbon says, pointing a foreleg at one of your uniquely human appendages. “They have weird waggly things at the end and they bend in gross ways and have sharp nails growing out of them and they’re just creepy. They look like spiders made of skin.”
You take a moment to have another sip of milk.
“Mhm. Well, I think they’re more useful than hooves, regardless of how they look.”
“Uh-uh.” Bonbon rejects your refutation with a two-syllable shake of her head.
“Yuh-huh,” you say back childishly. You hold up your hands as an example. “You can’t hold anything with hooves the way you can with hands. It’s a fact.”
“No it’s not,” Bonbon says. She grabs a nearby coffee cup and holds it up between her hooves, shoving it towards your face in triumph. “See,” she says.
You roll your eyes.
“Okay, fine. But you can’t do this with hooves.”
You take your glass of milk in one hand and dip the index finger on your other hand into your milk. You let it soak in the half-full glass for a second before withdrawing it. With relative aplomb, you draw two small lines and a semi-circle on the table, looking in Bonbon’s direction. A smiley face.
“See?” you say, countering her earlier summation.
Bonbon scrunches her face together. She pulls the glass of milk towards herself with two hooves and studies it for a moment. She puts one hoof at the mouth of the glass, but finds it too big to fit. So, she tilts the glass towards her hoof with her foreleg and covers as much of it as she can in milk, then sets the glass back down. With painstaking scrutiny, she drags her hoof across the table.
A horrifyingly distorted face five times the size of your original stares back at you. The eyes are misshapen, and the smile is crooked.
Bonbon frowns at you, as if she’s delivering the final conversational blow with her crude hoof-sketch.
You roll your eyes.
“Alright, fine. But hands are still better. You can do things with them that you can’t do with hooves, like... grasping, and poking, and using all of your fingers at once.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
You look at Bonbon for a moment. You take in the sight of her at the side of the table, leering at you with a hint of curiosity in her eyes. You look over the rest of her; the length of her multicoloured, candy-bobbed mane, the poofiness of her tail at the end in the same fashion, and the curves and bit of pudge around the edges she’s likely collected from a special talent involving sweets. Just the same as Lyra, her fur looks soft. The cream coat especially makes you think of kneading a big ball of dough. You let your eyes flit down to her tummy, which is protruding enough to be notable. Her hindquarters are in a similar shape.
You smile and move your hand forward.
Before Bonbon can react, you wrap your fingers around her right hoof that’s still on the table.
Her eyes widen immediately, filled with visible terror at the unfamiliar sensation of your fingers.
“What are you doing?!” she asks. But she doesn’t move, perhaps because she’s paralyzed at the fear of your spindly digits.
“Like this,” you say, and unwrap your grip. You trace two of your fingers up the first half of her forearm before making your way back down when you reach her elbow. You walk your fingertips down her fur until you reach her hoof again, where you trace every one of your digits softly against the base of her hoof, making circles against the worn but still somehow soft material of her foot. You can feel her foreleg shudder under your touch, and you wonder how much longer you might be able to keep going before she snaps and punches you in the mouth.
You decide to break off early and withdraw your hand, leaving a tiny trace of your index finger on her trimmed fetlocks before you pull your hand back.
“See?” you say again.
Bonbon’s expression is hard to read. It’s a fixture of permanent resentment, but there’s so much brimming beneath the surface that you can’t place it. She stares at you for a moment, mouth agape, before withdrawing her foreleg. She clutches it to her chest like you’ve serrated her skin, and then turns abruptly. She dashes from the kitchen, her hooves making clicking noises on the tile. You hear the slam of her bedroom door a few seconds later.
Well, at least she’ll be sure to leave you alone for the rest of the day.
That night, in bed with Lyra, you try to think of a way to broach Bonbon’s conduct. You’re not sure how considerate you have to be, given that Lyra and Bonbon have been roommates, according to Bonbon, for five years. There’s a certain amount of tact necessary, which is difficult. Mostly you just want to tell Lyra that her roommate is a bitch.
“I don’t think Bonbon likes me,” you say as Lyra snuggles her head into your chest, using you as a pillow. She smiles at you through her spiky mop of minty green hair.
“I don’t think she dislikes you. Bonbon’s just sort of... prickly. She takes some getting used to.”
You consider telling her about Bonbon’s speech, and how she’s made it her job to antagonize you at every opportunity. You think about asking if there’s something more going on than two roommates sharing a residence, and if maybe there’s a deep-seated resentment Bonbon’s hiding because of feelings for Lyra that may or may not have been realized. You think about asking for advice, or if you should even bother doing anything, rather than just letting the whole thing blow over and returning home when Lyra’s done her work.
In the end, the only sound that passes your lips is the soft rush of air as you part them, locking your mouth to Lyra’s and pulling her towards you.
Just for Bonbon, you and your hands make Lyra extra loud.
Over the next little while you take to spending your time in the kitchen. You’re not sure what it is you like about Bonbon’s scathing quips as she passes by, but they’re definitively more interesting than busying yourself with whatever books might be lying around the house. Equestrian script is barely recognizable as English, which probably makes sense given the lack of hands to write it. Though you didn’t watch much of it back home, you sorely miss television. Or, even more so, the internet.
You’re taking your time trying to parse out some meaning in the foreign looking novel you pulled from the bookshelf when you hear the sound of hooves on tile. Lyra’s not due home for another hour or two, and she always makes her presence well known, throwing open the door and screaming “I’m back!” or some derivative thereof. That’s your cue to barrel towards the door and smother her in affection, and most of the time to drag her to the bedroom for a late-afternoon roll in the hay.
You look up over the cover of your book and find Bonbon standing there. Her back is turned to you like she walked into the room backwards. She glares back at you over the length of her body. Over the big protruding obstruction of her generously sized behind. You give her a once over before returning to your book; even though you might like to get a better look at what are some admittedly delectable looking curves, most of your attention is reserved for Lyra’s body. You can’t imagine any good coming of ogling someone who’s repeatedly professed their hatred for you, in any case.
“Stop staring at my butt.”
If you had your glass of milk handy you’d spit some out right now, but only a tiny trickle lingering from your last sip of water is available. You settle for an incredulous cough, and lower your book to get a better look at your accuser.
Bonbon is still staring at you, her eyes half-narrowed over the spherical imposition of her buttocks.
“Excuse me?” you say.
“I saw you staring at my butt. Not just today. You do it all the time.”
“I... what?” You try to puzzle out where this accusation is coming from. Surely letting your eyes linger for a second doesn’t count as staring, and you can’t think of a single time in the last few days that you’ve given Bonbon even more than a passing glance.
“You’re a pervert, you know? You’re supposed to be dating Lyra... not that I think that’s a good idea either.”
“I am dating... well, I guess I’m... whatever. Look, I wasn’t staring at your butt.”
“Were too.” Bonbon’s logic is there again. Always, just like that, because she says so.
“Why would I be staring at your butt?” You know there’s an obvious answer to that, the least of which that, yes, it is a very nice butt, but you figure rhetoric is a better approach than flat out refusal.
“Because you’re a perv. You’re a gross human who likes ponies, and butts. And pony butts.”
Right.
“Doesn’t mean I’d be staring at yours. Just like you said, I have Lyra’s butt to pay attention to.”
You’re not sure if you’re hearing properly, but you think you catch Bonbon letting out a small ‘hmph’, or maybe just a wordless exhalation of air. She moves in one way or another, in any case.
“Her’s is small,” Bonbon says matter-of-factly.
She’s not wrong. What Lyra’s butt lacks in size, it makes up for in squishiness. It’s not Lyra’s best feature though, by any means; that would be her entire body, so slender and soft and easily fitting into any position, and the smile and laugh that go along with it, and that hungry look in her eyes when she really wants something and you know you’re not going anywhere for the day until you smell like sweat and something else much more pungent.
“So?” you say.
Bonbon looks at you expectantly. She turns a bit, which you note brings attention to the origin of her awkward pose in the first place. How could she expect you not to stare when she came and waggled her butt on display like that? She ends up standing in a profile view, though her back end is tilted more towards you than away.
She tilts her head at you, as if she’s demanding an answer to a question she hasn’t asked.
“And yours is...?” you start, unsure of where she wants you to go.
Her eyes lead you on, softening ever so slightly from their usual steel-hard temperament.
“...bigger?”
Bonbon turns about again, facing away from you for a few seconds. You want to say that she gives a little shake of her rear, but she’s turned around to quick to be certain, looking directly at you.
“I told you you were staring. Cut it out.”
And with that she dashes out of the kitchen.
The next day you decide to try something different. You think you’ve finally studied enough, combined with advice from Lyra and some strange looking cookbooks, to try preparing some of the naturalesque greens in the crisper of Lyra and Bonbon’s freezer. You’re not up to the task of cooking dinner for the whole house, but you figure a nice light lunch might be a good proving ground for your theoretical culinary skills. You’ve managed to keep up a good record of grilled cheese sandwiches at home without burning anything down; how hard could it be to cook vegetables?
There’s more than enough in the fridge to feed you for a month, so you select just a few likely looking leeks and whatever else those weird leafy things might be.
On a whim, you grab a few extra veggies and add them to your meal plan.
Bonbon walks in just as you’re finishing your stir fry, spooning the vegetables onto your plate by the stove, as well as an extra plate which you load up with a smaller portion.
“Why are you eating two lunches? That’s weird.”
Bonbon’s voice is unmistakable. You’re starting to appreciate the dissuasive bite instead of dreading it. You keep your eyes on your plate as you make your way to the table, and set the second one down on Bonbon’s side of the room.
“That one’s for you.”
Bonbon stands still as you raise your fork, the one Lyra brought especially for you in lieu of proper human utensils available in Equestria.
“I didn’t ask you to make me lunch.”
“I know.”
Bonbon stands for a while longer before cautiously approaching the table. She keeps her eyes on you as she sits and uneasily settles into her chair. She looks at the plate of fried greens in front of her as though they might suddenly come to life and leap up onto her face. She prods a suspicious looking leek with her hoof.
“It’s not poisoned,” you say with a carrot in your mouth.
“How do I know that?”
“Well, I’m eating it.”
“It could be pony only poison.”
“Fair enough.”
You try your best to enjoy your meal with Bonbon’s study of her own plate demanding your attention the whole time. All in all, the veggies are pretty okay. You’re going to treat yourself to a burger as soon as you get back to Earth, but this isn’t bad in the mean time.
You smile to yourself as you see Bonbon dip her snout onto her plate and pick up a vegetable. She chews on it for a while, her face flashing with a multitude of potential reactions. Eventually, she settles on her normal, expressionless stare.
“These aren’t as awful as I thought they would be.”
“I’m glad.”
The two of you eat together for a moment, in relative silence save the sound of your chewing.
You finish first and jump up from the table to bring your dishes to the sink. You can see Bonbon chewing the last of her lunch as you put your plate and fork on the rack to dry. You walk back to the table and reach out for Bonbon’s dishes. She eyes your hand with an uneasy suspicion you’re starting to get used to.
“Can I take your plate?” you ask.
She doesn’t respond. She just stares at you, and your hand.
After a few seconds you sigh and pick up her plate anyway. She watches you the whole way to the sink, and still watches as you wash away the soy sauce and other remnants of the meal. You stop paying attention to her when your focus is drawn to the sinkful of suds. It’s not like you were expecting her to respond positively, but at least she isn’t yelling at you.
You pull the plug on the sink and leave it to drain. You don’t manage to get more than an inch away before you bump into something, and the sudden appearance of an obstacle elicits a small gasp.
Bonbon stares up at you with her perpetually disapproving glare.
“I’m not gonna say thank you. I didn’t ask you to make me lunch,” she says.
You can feel her just inches away from your body. Your stomach is still a little tingly from where you bumped into her head.
“I know,” you say.
Bonbon studies you for a second as though she’s trying once again to deduce what you are, or what your purpose in her house might be. You stand still as she gives you a once over and ready yourself to move as she turns around towards the living room.
To your surprise you’re stopped again, by another warm something.
Bonbon is pressing herself back against you. She’s aiming the center of her body right at your side, where you let your arm hang and your hand rest. She’s pushing back and smooshing her big, squishy but right into the palm of your hand.
You’re taken aback. There’s no appropriate response, regardless of what her possible motivation might be for ramming her backside into you anyway. You feel almost frozen in place – and she doesn’t say anything. She just presses back further. You see her give you a look over her shoulder as she squashes her rear against your hand.
Your hand moves involuntarily. The presentation of such a squishy, squeezable thing right in the center of your palm is too much to resist. If you weren’t staring before, now you’re transfixed on the pudgy set of pony buttcheeks pressed up against you.
But she moves away before you can clench your fingers. She pulls her body away, and your hand is suddenly holding nothing, grasping at the air for want of the pliable posterior you almost held a second ago.
Bonbon presses herself back again, and this time she aims squarely at the front of your jeans. You get a few seconds of her ass grinding on your crotch before she pulls away again and turns around to look at you.
“Stop staring at my butt,” she says.
You blink, aghast.
“Pervert,” she says. You don’t have time to respond before she trots out of the kitchen.
She’s right though. And you can’t imagine she didn’t feel how hard you were through your pants.
The next day comes with an almost bated anticipation. Not quite like the Christmas-Eve syndrome of a new toy to play with, or somewhere wonderful to be, but enough that you’re up early considering what to do with yourself. You watch Lyra for a bit as she sleeps early in the morning. When she snores, which she does with a decent volume, her breath rustles the tuft of her hair that’s hanging over her face.
You smile and tuck the blankets up over her chest before you leave.
The rest of the day leaves you at home, as usual, with only Bonbon for company. Unlike every other day, however, when she’s tripping over you in every room you walk through, now she’s nowhere to be seen.
It’s lunchtime, and you feel like taking another crack at the crisper.
Potatoes this time. Lyra picked them up special for you after you mentioned how challenging you’d found the selection of vegetables you didn’t even have the names for. Potatoes are easy. You know potatoes.
Again, perhaps out a vague hope in the back of your mind, you make a little extra.
Bonbon is nowhere to be found when you take your seat at the table with a plateful of fried potatoes. You leave a plate across from you anyway, the steam from the freshly cooked root wafting up into the air. You wait a minute before digging in, hoping you might hear the telltale sound of hooves on tile to usher in your prickly companion, but no such luck. Resigned to your solitary luncheon, you take your first bite of your meal.
“You made me lunch again?”
Practice has taught you to keep the contents of your mouth in when Bonbon chooses her moments to interrupt, but the heat of the potatoes against your tongue as you almost cough them up is more than a little unpleasant. You swallow them with a subtle difficulty.
“Yes,” you say with a thick voice, pounding your hand on your chest to clear the potatoes on their way down.
“Why?”
You shrug.
“Not used to cooking for one anymore.”
You don’t let out the rest.
Bonbon walks slowly around the right of the table to her chair. She moves slower than usual, and this time you’re not ashamed to admit to ogling her as she walks past. After getting a good, solid feel of just how squishy and squeezable her butt is, you can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to take both cheeks in your hands and knead them until your erection burst out of your jeans of its own accord.
Bonbon glances over her potatoes with a less discerning gaze than she eyed her meal the day previously.
“I saw you staring at my butt,” she says before taking a bite.
You both eat in silence after that. Bonbon stares at her potatoes like they’re the ones offering the conversation, and you give up after several glances over your fork. You both finish at the same time, Bonbon being evidently happier with your potatoes than your leeks. You take her plate without speaking and walk the dishes to the sink. You set them down on the counter and turn for a moment to grab the dish soap.
Bonbon is already there, staring at you with the cold disapproving look you’ve come to expect.
“You’re gross,” she say simply, as if it’s a sentiment she hasn’t expressed before.
“Oh?” you ask. You’re not in the mood to play into her accusations, even though you can see where they’re going.
“You’re a pervert,” she adds, her expression unchanging. “I felt your thingy get hard when I let you touch my butt.”
You feel a slight hint of blush on your cheeks, but you try to hang on to your nondescript expression.
“Did you now?” you ask, keeping as ambiguous about your arousal as possible.
“Your thingy shouldn’t get hard from a pony, or a pony butt,” Bonbon clarifies. She walks just a tiny bit closer to you, maybe just a hoof’s distance. Her stare is still there.
“Says who? Lyra doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.”
“Then you should be staring at Lyra’s butt,” Bonbon says, narrowing her eyes.
You shrug.
“Yours is bigger,” you say.
“And softer,” Bonbon adds in a nonchalant voice.
You can say even from a brief comparison that she’s right, but you won’t. The real question is why she knows how soft Lyra’s butt is.
The two of you stand there for a moment, you with your hands against the countertop, Bonbon frozen in place, glaring at you up and down like she’s waiting for you to spontaneously combust. Eventually, she breaks the silence.
“I bet you wanna touch my butt again.”
You throw your hands in the air effusively.
“I’m not going to give a position on the matter,” you say, and hope Bonbon doesn’t notice the half-shaft in your jeans that’s built up from her repeated use of the word ‘butt’. For some reason the way she says it is intoxicatingly arousing, like it’s pieced together by someone who doesn’t have any naughtier way of saying it. It's adorable and sexy at the same time.
“That’s why you made me lunch, isn’t it? You wanted to touch my butt again?”
In the back of your mind that was certainly a possibility, yes. You figure it must have been mostly subconscious though. The first lunch you made for Bonbon was out of courtesy; and, while you can see yourself enjoying another chance to enjoy her squishy backside, you certainly didn’t plan to bribe her into another rump-touching session. But, she is right; the idea is a pretty attractive one.
“I can’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind,” you say, settling on the closest amalgamation of the thoughts jumping around in your head.
Bonbon makes a small ‘hmph’ noise. She walks up to you face first and raises her head, staring you straight in the eye as you turn your face down to meet her.
“I’m not gonna say thank you,” she says. She gives you just a second to reconcile before she spins around and smooshes her butt into your left hand.
You don’t want to let the chance slip away again, but you feel paralyzed by the sudden softness. You want to squish and squeeze and grab, but something holds you back, like the knowledge that if you grab too much you might just scare away this perfect butt, like a squeezable cream-coloured squirrel startled by a loud noise.
Bonbon makes no qualms about moving herself this time. Instead of just pressing back, she bobs back and forth, grinding her rump all over your fingers and the side of your jeans. She shifts after a minute, planting her two perfectly round globes right on your dick, masqued only by the thick denim of your jeans.
It takes most of your effort to hold back a groan, but you manage to do so, as well as to keep your hips still in the face of Bonbon’s sudden grinding.
“You’re really gross,” she says, pushing back with a sudden emphasis. “I can feel how hard your thingy is. It’s pressing up against my butt.” Bonbon plants her body weight and grinds on you for emphasis, sandwiching the outline of your erection between her cheeks and bobbling back and forth. Again, you force yourself to suppress a groan.
“The fact that you wanna do it with a pony is gross enough, but now you wanna do it with me? And with my butt, no less. You’re really disgusting.”
You can’t argue. You’re not sure how to come up with a justification for your ponyfuckery in the face of Bonbon’s accusations while she’s massaging you with her pudgy butt, but you’re not really interested in trying. If she says you’re disgusting, you can be disgusting, as long as she doesn’t stop.
That’s enough waiting though. You have to touch them.
You move your hands before Bonbon can notice them disappear from your sides. In an instant, both your hands are on her, one buttcheek in each palm; one handful of squishy, slappable ass between both sets of fingers. You only wait a second to feel how warm they are before you squeeze, hard.
“Hey!” Bonbon turns her head over her shoulder as she feels your fingers sink into her skin. “What are you doing?”
“Can’t help it,” you say, hoping it’s a sufficient explanation. You squeeze down hard on Bonbon’s right cheek and pull her ever so slightly closer, muffling another groan as you feel her against the hardness underneath your jeans.
“You are so gross. Are you gonna shoot your stuff all over the place from touching my butt?”
Bonbon’s ass is nice, but it’s not that nice. Considering the fact that you’re usually good to go for more than a few rounds when Lyra’s in the mood for a long romp, you’re not about to cum from some dry-humping, no matter how nice Bonbon’s ass is.
“No,” you say.
“Hmph.” Bonbon pulls herself away almost instantly. You regret not lying, if only just to keep her there.
“Sit down,” she says, and points to the kitchen chair you ate your lunch in.
You’re not about to question her direction. You sit down and put your hands in your lap, hoping to hide your painfully obvious erection, though Bonbon’s already shown she’s aware of how turned on you are.
Bonbon gives you a once over as you sit down. She scrunches her face together in sudden disapproval, more exaggerated than usual.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” she asks. You blink at her in puzzlement for a second until she points towards your legs, and your lower body in general. “Your pants. Don’t they hurt your thingy when it gets hard?”
Even the way she says ‘thingy’ is delicious. It’s the icing on the cake of her bizarre juxtaposition of miserable uncooperative bitch and uneducated but curious, salaciously squishy roommate. You’re beginning to like how both parts come together.
“Sometimes,” you say, shuffling noticeably in your chair to prevent the discomfort she just mentioned. Bonbon looks your movements over like she’s waiting for you to disarm a bomb.
“You should take them off,”she says.
Not what you were expecting. Bonbon has a habit of making you wish you had something for a proper spit take.
“Excuse me?”
“Take them off,” she repeats, pointing at your pants. “If they hurt, it doesn’t make any sense to keep them on.”
You can’t tell if she’s goading you on or earnestly suggesting you suddenly rip off your jeans and show her the size of the thing she’s created with her waggling booty. Your hand reaches for your zipper, but you hesitate, wondering if there’s any reconciliation if this whole thing turns out to be some strange dream.
You close your eyes and pinch yourself. It hurts.
You open your eyes. Bonbon is staring at you impatiently.
“Well?” she says.
Your hand pops the top button of your jeans open. You feel like you’re in a bizarre game of strip chicken as you lower your zipper and stand up, but Bonbon doesn't look like she's going to blink.
Bonbon hasn’t said a word. She’s still staring you, bemused as you slip off the clothes around your body that may as well have been your skin for the last few days.
You slough off your jeans and kick them behind your chair, leaving you in just your checkered boxers as you sit back down.
You’ve no sooner felt the coolness of the wood against your body than you hear Bonbon pipe up again.
“What are those?” she asks, pointing towards your boxers.
“Those are... underwear. You wear them so people – ponies – can’t see your... thingy... when you take off your pants.”
Bonbon shakes her head.
“That’s dumb. You should take those off too.”
Is she leading into getting naked just for her own benefit here?
“You want me to take off my boxers?” you ask.
Bonbon shrugs.
“If you want to.”
You do want to. Some weird part of you wants to rip off your boxers and show Bonbon how just the slightest feel of her butt against your dick got you as hard as you’ve ever been in your life. And... she is asking for it, in a way.
Why not.
With a motion as quick as pulling away a painful band-aid, you take off your boxers and throw them back to the pile that contains your jeans.
Bonbon leers at you wearily, paying attention to the noticeable conversation piece sticking several inches out from your crotch and practically staring her in the face.
She chews on a few words before finally speaking.
“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” she says.
“Thanks,” you say, though you’re not sure it’s appropriate in this situation.
“Well, sit down,” she says again. You comply, and the chill of the chair against your naked backside is a little disarming.
Bonbon’s butt on your naked dick is equally disarming.
“Jesus!” You say the first exclamation that comes to mind, profane although it might be.
“What’s a ‘jesus’?” Bonbon says. She presses her butt back as she speaks, squishing both her cheeks around your erection, then bounces her hips up and down, hot-dogging you with her ass.
it’s a complicated question, and the most coherent thing you can think of is a groan.
“It’s a... human term. Means sort of like... ‘gosh’, or ‘wow’.”
“You just said ‘wow’ to my butt?” Bonbon asks, shaking herself on your cock for a few seconds to emphasize the rhetorical nature of her question.
“Yes,” you say. Bonbon shakes her head at you.
“It’s not my fault,” you counter, still needing to focus through the haze of ‘unf’ that is Bonbon’s sort of lap dance. “It’s nice, and big.”
“And soft,” Bonbon adds nonchalantly.
“Yes, and soft,” you say.
“You’re gross,” she says. But she keeps bobbing her butt up and down, smooshing her big, soft ass onto your dick over and over again. You can’t hold back your noises completely, and you let out an almost pained sounding groan as the feeling of her squishy fur and skin envelopes your shaft.
“You gonna shoot your stuff?” she asks, and then adds after thinking for a second, “Perv.”
Her butt still feels awesome, but there’s little to no chance of you finishing like this.
“No,” you say. Bonbon huffs at you again.
Almost subconsciously, you move your hands to her butt and take a handful in each palm. You squeeze, and Bonbon jumps at the suddenness of your touch.
“Hey,” she says over her shoulder, glaring at you but not ceasing her movement. “Don’t.”
“Sorry,” you say. But you don’t stop.
Bonbon doesn’t force you to either. Her movement, to your surprise, even becomes a little more erratic, with her focus more on grinding back into your hands than on paying any attention to your erection. She slides up a bit further and further each time, meaning you can feel her crack all the way up your shaft, and the rest of her against the base of your dick, and a little bit on the inside of your thighs. You can even feel...
You clench your teeth to keep your mouth from falling open, but you definitely feel it. You can feel it on your dick when she goes all the way up too, a wetness that’s trickling from between Bonbon’s legs and getting all over you.
Her eyes are closed, and she’s breathing heavier than when she started.
You give an extra hard squeeze and pull her back. You’re rewarded with a particularly loud exhale and a shiver, but she pulls away, far enough that her butt escapes from your hands for a minute.
“What about now?” she asks, sounding impatient.
You shake your head.
“Sorry.”
Bonbon scrunches her face up and glares at you extra hard. She lines herself up a second later and presses her butt all the way over your dick. You can’t do anything other than gasp as you suddenly feel her soaking wetness on your cock already well-lubed with precum.
She slides up and down once or twice before lifting her hips all the way.
“This is just ‘cause you made me lunch,” she clarifies.
She pushes herself down, and you grit your teeth to try to keep in your groan. You’re unsuccessful.
To your surprise, Bonbon makes a noise as well. It’s a kind of pained sounding exhale, like she’s struggling with something. In fact, you can only feel a few inches of her wetness on top of you.
“You feel bigger than you look,” she says, swiveling her hips from side to side as she tries to grind down on your pole. The tightness of her pussy is mind-blowing, even with just the tip and first inch inside.
“Stop being... so hard,” she says with a breath in the middle of her sentence. “It’s hard to get the... whole thing... in...” Her strange request is punctuated by panting, the noise of her struggling to get herself down and properly get all of your dick inside.
She figures it out after another minute. You feel yourself twitch at the slap her butt makes against your skin when she pushes all the way down. You twitch again when you’re consumed by the heat and wetness of her pussy wrapping around your shaft.
She’s breathing extra hard, but she still looks like the same Bonbon you’re used to. She just happens to have your dick inside her.
“Don’t move,” she says. You’re hard pressed to keep your hands off her butt as you watch it rise with her ascent, but you respect her wishes despite every muscle in your asking you to reach out and grab her butt and thrust your hips up and slam her until she can’t speak anymore.
It’s difficult. Bonbon’s riding is slow, and the view in front of you isn’t helping your restraint. You put up with a couple more awkward bounces before you can’t take it anymore. You plant both your hands firmly on Bonbon’s butt.
“Hey–” she starts. Before she can get further into her reprimand, you stand up.
You use your hands as leverage to keep Bonbon in position as you suddenly get up from the chair you’ve been sitting in the whole time. Bonbon looks understandably panicked, but you keep her held that way regardless. You walk forward with her like that, your hands on her sides, until you come the counter again, and Bonbon reaches out to hold herself against the sudden barrier.
Ponies are the perfect height for this.
You’re still inside her, so wrapping your hands around her waist and going to town doggy style isn’t too much of a stretch. Lucky for her, you're enjoying yourself too much to just start pounding away mindlessly..
Bonbon doesn’t seem to care what you do. Despite the wetness of her entrance around your dick, she turns her head back and glares at you.
“I said no moving!” It’s the first time you can hear evident emotion in her voice, even if it’s anger.
“Sorry,” you say, but don’t really mean it. You pull out with the ‘s’, and thrust back inside with the ‘y’.
Bonbon shudders. She shakes with every in-stroke after the first, and you’re delighted when you hear her breathing pick up as well, breaking her relatively stoic demeanour with at least a hint of indulgence. You can’t help but get a little more into it than seems reasonable, especially when the sound of your hips against her ass makes such a satisfying ‘smack’.
“Are you... gonna... now?” she asks between thrusts, bracing herself with one hoof against the wall.
You’re tired of giving her disappointing answers.
But, maybe there’s an alternative to letting her try her best to coax you to the finish line.
You consider your hands for a moment, one currently on her left ass cheek and squeezing liberally, and the other around her side, your fingers touching her soft pudgy tummy.
There are more exciting things to be doing with them.
You have to move before she can react, so you do just that. In an instant, you one hand is gone from her stomach and moved further down, snaking it’s way along her belly and in-between her legs.
You can see the hesitation in the look she gives you as she turns her head around.
“What are you–”
You find, in that instant, her clit, and press down with your the tips of your index and middle finger.
“Ahh! Wh-what... what are you doing?” she manages to finish the question with her voice sounding panicked, shocked at the sudden arrival of your human digits on her love button. You ignore her, and circle your fingertips around slowly, massaging her clit as you keep going in your current position.
“Don’t,” she says, and you’re unsure if it’s a real protest or just her rejecting an attempt to do anything nice for her. “D-don’t,” she manages again, stuttering a bit as you keep up your work. “Cut it... c-cut... cut it out, oh, don’t, don’t don’t don’t–ahhhhhhhh!”
She loses her words into a high-pitched moan. She’s not a squirter like Lyra is, but you can tell from the way she’s clenching and spasming around your dick like she wants to pull you further inside that she’s cum. You let her ride it out, giving her one or two small thrusts and slowing your pressure on her clit until she comes down.
When she does, she’s panting, and her legs are wobbling right in front of your eyes. Her hind legs are wiggling, and she’s barely managing to keep herself upright. You do her a favour and slide yourself out. Your dick is slick and shiny with your own precum and the sudden slight increase of arousing fluid brought on by Bonbon’s climax.
She can’t manage to ask you if you’re close.
“Was that good?” you say, sounding more smug than might be advisable.
Bonbon pants for a few seconds, leaning against the wall as though she’s just been through a fifty thousand mile marathon. She stammers over a nothing word for a minute before turning towards you, her eyes as much a glare as they ever have been.
“I told you, not, to move,” she says, still gasping for breath after her orgasm. You can’t help but grin.
“Sorry. That big, soft butt of yours looked so poundable, and your clit was right there to play with... I couldn’t help it.”
“What was that thing you did?”’ Bonbon asks. Her voice is filled with genuine curiosity, and her eyes are wide as though she’s asking you explain an unspeakable mysticism you’ve used on her.
“What, you mean that thing with my hands?”
Bonbon nods.
“Uh huh.”
“Did you like it?”
Bonbon nods again.
“You should do it again.”
You were already mentally preparing yourself to collect your boxers and jeans, but your erection is eager for more attention, bobbing out in front of you like a fleshy fishing pole.
“What, you mean right now?”
Bonbon shakes her head up and down with more enthusiasm than you thought she was capable of.
“Yeah.”
You’ve never been one to turn down a lady’s request.
“Well, alright.” You walk back to Bonbon’s backside and move your hands forward to get a grip on her sides for leverage, but she wiggles out of the way, turning and looking at you with her eyes still wide.
“No,” she says, “I wanna lie down this time.”
“Like, on a bed?”
Bonbon answers your question with a movement and lowers herself to the kitchen floor. She lies on her back with her head propped up against the cabinet behind her, and spreads her hind legs wide. You get, for the first time, a view of her pussy, which is dripping wet. Her lips look puffier than you expected, like they’re designed to wrap around your cock perfectly, and her fur glistens around her hole where it’s slick with her arousal.
“No, it’s fine here.” She doesn’t blink in even the slightest embarrassment, but beckons towards herself with one foreleg.
“Come on, hurry up,” she says.
Once more, you’re compelled to oblige. You kneel down on the kitchen floor and try to ignore the coldness of the tile on your knees as you inch closer to Bonbon, taking your cock in one hand to line yourself up with her dripping hole. You start to move forward, but Bonbon stops you, holding her hoof over her sex and waving you away.
“Don’t you wanna put it somewhere else?” she asks, a sparkle of implication in her otherwise normally empty voice.
“Somewhere else?” you ask, keen on where she might be going but not wanting to jump to conclusion.
Bonbon nods.
“Yeah. Don’t you wanna put it in my butt? I know you like it.”
You’re a bit incredulous that she’s being so forward, but your cock jumps when she posits her speculation, and you’d be hard-pressed to disagree.
“Do you want me to?” you ask, feeling her out with an uneasy tone in your voice.
“Yeah,” she says simply, and lies back a little more, presenting an eyeful of her ass and the tight backdoor entrance below her first.
“So you want me to fuck–”
Bonbon scrunches up her face at the sound of your curse-word, noticeably enough that it gives you pause. You still your tongue as she glares at you.
“Don’t use that word,” she says.
So asking you to put it in her ass is okay, but the word ‘fuck’ isn’t? You’re not surprised, honestly. Bonbon is nothing if not peculiar.
“Sorry,” you say, and start again. “So, you want me to... put my thingy... in your butt?”
“Isn’t that what I already said? I know you want to. You’re a pervert. You like pony butts. So hurry up and put it in already.” Bonbon waggles herself at you, swaying her hips back and forth and shaking her squishy behind figuratively in your face.
You think on the matter for a second.
“Do you have any lube?” you ask.
Bonbon nods.
“Top cupboard, on this side.” She gestures with her hoof to your left.
You stand over her awkwardly with your erection still swaying in front of you. You open the top
cupboard to your left, as directed, and find Bonbon’s lubricant; a bottle of vegetable oil.
It will do, given the circumstance.
You kneel down with the bottle of oil in hand and unscrew the cap. With little concern for the cleanup necessary later, you pour a liberal amount onto your cock. You feel a tingle shoot through your skin as the cool oil cascades down on your engorged member, but put it out of mind as you turn the bottle to Bonbon. You can see her shiver as the oil pours over her butt and in between her cheeks, making them glisten in the light.
“It’s cold,” she says.
“I know,” you say back.
You make sure she’s nice and well oiled before setting the bottle down and screwing the cap back on.
With your cock in one hand, you nudge yourself closer, aiming your head squarely at Bonbon’s slickened rosebud.
“Careful,” she warns, but doesn’t give direction further on the matter.
“I know,” you say again.
To your own surprise, you’re quivering the way you expected Bonbon might be when you press the tip of your cock against her hole. She wasn’t wrong about you really admiring her butt, but you suppose the idea of getting to fuck it properly didn’t really enter your head until just this second. You steel yourself and grit your teeth as you push forward, slowly, and carefully, just as Bonbon requested.
“Ooh...”
Bonbon lets out a soft cooing noise as your head pops inside her. It goes in much easier than you expected, likely helped by the liberal helpings of vegetable oil aiding the task. So, without too much hesitation, you slide forward, slowly, and clench your teeth even harder when you plunge almost all the way in with a single, painfully sensuous stroke. Bonbon’s pussy was nice, but her ass is tighter, and hot, blazingly hot, and you can feel yourself already struggling to control your composure as she clenches around you.
You raise your eyes from the sight of your dick sliding inside her and meet her eyes. They’re open wider than usual, and you can feel her body shake slightly as she draws in elongated breaths, her off-white complexion flushed with a sudden redness on her cheeks.
She stares at you as you pull yourself out, still slowly. She doesn’t blink the whole time, until finally, with just the tip of yourself inside her, you push back in, and feel her ass swallow your cock. Then she blinks, and scrunches her face together. She makes a soft little ‘hnn’ noise, and opens her eyes again once you’re all the way in.
“You’re gross,” she says, her face flushed.
“I know.” You acknowledge her as you slide out, then bury yourself again, savoring the slap Bonbon’s butt makes against your skin as your bodies meet. Bonbon makes her little ‘hnn’ again.
“You’re doing it with a pony. You’re a pervert.”
“I know,” you say again, and slam yourself home once more, extra hard this time. Bonbon squints her eyes together for longer, and her cheeks are extra rosy when she finally opens her eyes. She holds her tongue for a bit as you try to pick up a rhythm, still going as slow as you can manage without the velvet warmness of Bonbon’s tight ass making you shoot off too soon; though, you’re sure she’d like that. She keeps making those ‘hnn’ noises, like she’s trying to muffle her enjoyment.
You find a medium pace, slamming yourself inside her every few seconds and revelling in the delicate constrictions of her butt, when she pipes up again.
“Aren’t you gonna... do that thing again?” she asks, taking a breath as you pound into her mid-sentence.
“Huh?” You stop for a moment, half your cock still inside her.
“You know. The thing. With your... hand.”
Oh, of course. You follow the glistening length of the visible half of your shaft up to Bonbon’s still dripping pussy, and of course, her little love button right above.
You move your hand towards it, but stop a few inches from your destination. A sudden, wicked idea pops into your head, and Bonbon’s focus on your hand means she can’t see it in your eyes.
Delicately, you rest your hand overtop of her clit, letting your palm hover inches away from her nub.
Bonbon’s moves her hips to meet your next thrust, and moves upwards with her ‘hnn’, trying desperately to get you to touch her the way you did last time.
“Why aren’t you... doing it?” she asks. Her voice has gone from bitter direction to needy wheedling, and it’s a change you’re already in love with.
“Oh, I dunno. I just thought it might be fun to get you to ask me to keep going before I gave you what you want.”
“I already said, dummy. I said do that thing.”
“That’s not what I wanted you to ask for.”
You pull yourself almost all the way out, leaving just the tiniest bit of your head still inside Bonbon’s ass. You lower your palm a bit, with only a centimeter between your skin and Bonbon’s clit. She groans at you and grinds her hips upwards, but you counter her advance with your own movement, and pull your hand away.
“So I know you want my hand... but what else is it you want me to do? What do you want me to do while I touch you there?”
Bonbon glares at you, her face bright-red.
“I already said that too! I want you to... to put your thing, in my... my butt.”
The ludicrous vocabulary she uses make her admittance even more absurd, and you feel yourself twitch against her entrance.
But that wasn’t quite what you were angling for.
“I thought you wanted something else,” you say, and lower your palm, just lightly brushing against Bonbon’s clit. She gasps and tries to keep contact with your hand, but you pull away again. You rock your hips forward a little at the same time, teasing her with just the head of your cock inside her ass.
“What was that word you didn’t want me to use? That word for what it is you’d like me to do right now, so I can do that thing you like so much with my hand...”
“Don’t,” Bonbon says, whiny and agitated. She tries to catch another touch of your hand as she moves her hips, but you pull away with both your hips and palm, leaving her wanting in her hole and elsewhere.
“Come on,” you coax, tracing one of your fingers in circles around Bonbon’s love button, which makes her squeal wantonly underneath her breath. “If you ask, I’ll do it. Just tell me what it is you want me to do, and I’ll touch you with my hand too.”
“I don’t... don’t wanna...” Bonbon is starting to pant between her words. You can feel the desperation in her voice, and in the way her whole body is shaking. The way her asshole keeps clenching on the tip of your cock, begging for more of you to go inside, but receiving nothing.
“It’s not hard. Just say it, and I’ll do what you asked. You do want me to, right?” You flick the tip of your finger over her clit, and Bonbon gasps again, rocking suddenly towards you.
“Yesss...”
“Then just tell me. What do you want me to do while I touch you there?”
Bonbon grits her teeth and sucks in a long breath through her nose. She glares at you, but can’t stop the involuntary shaking of her body in your direction.
“I want you to put your thing–”
“Ah ah ah. Using grown up words this time.”
Bonbon’s glare intensifies, but softens as she realizes it will do her no good. She’s completely at your mercy, and no amount of angry stares or bitter sneering will get her what she wants. As the wave of understanding creeps over her, her face becomes even redder, shining bright like a ripe tomato.
“I want... I want you to...” she hesitates, lingering on the word she doesn’t want to use, for what reason you can only guess.
“Yes?” you coax, giving her another tiny touch with the palm of your hand. She hisses a breath through her teeth, and scrunches her face up for a second before continuing.
“I want you to... f-f... fff-f.. f-f-ff...”
You give her a quick, two second rub with your hand, sliding the base of your palm over her soaking wet clit.
“...Fuck!” she finishes, punctuating her sentence before she can conclude her thought. “I want you to f-f-fuck my butt...” she tapers off, thrusting her hips at you desperately, abandoning all pretense of her restraint as she begs you for more attention.
And still you stay your hand.
She looks up at you, pleading, and you answer her with a smile.
“...please?” she says.
You grin wider.
“Well, since you asked so nicely.”
You don’t slam inside, but you do move in one, long, continuous, hard thrust. And you lower your thumb as you do so, finding your place right on Bonbon’s swollen clit and rubbing in a circle.
“Aaaah!”
Bonbon’s moan comes out like a flood from a burst damn, and you feel her whole body shake as you bury yourself inside her. You don’t give her time to recover before you pull out and push forward again, fucking her just the way she asked, rubbing her clit the whole time.
She starts panting and moaning together, and shuts her eyes as her body shakes with the sudden onset pleasure of your dual attentions.
“Does that feel good?” you ask amidst the slap slap slap of your hips against hers.
“Uh-hunh,” she says through a moan, biting her lower lip as you continue pounding her.
“Is it gonna make you cum again?” you ask, giving a particularly emphatic caress to her love-button as you continuing slamming yourself inside her.
“Uh-hunh,” she says again, higher pitched this time, her whole body quivering as you rub her and pound into her soft, tight butt over and over again.
“Whenever you’re ready,” you say. You’re trying to act like you have some control on the situation, but the sight and feel of Bonbon shivering on your cock is already too much to bear. You think you can hold out a little bit longer if you need to.
Bonbon clams up suddenly. She bites down hard on her lip, and her whole body goes tight. You can feel the rigidity of her muscles as you keep fucking her, like she’s welling up with a force that’s begging to explode.
Her mouth parts, and you hear the tiny beginnings of a sentence amble out over her trembling tongue.
“I’m–”
You lean forward and kiss her before she can finish, and feel the shudder run through her body in that instant.
“–home!” finishes another voice, several feet away.
Lyra’s voice.
“Mmmmm!”
Bonbon’s sound into your mouth.
Bonbon is lost in the eruption of her orgasm. Her ass clenches around your cock and pulls you over the edge with her. She moans into your mouth so loudly it’s a wonder you can hear yourself think overtop, but your thoughts are washed away with your own climax, so it doesn’t matter. Bonbon squeals into your tongue as you shoot off inside her, firing the first spray of your cum deep in her ass while it twitches and spasms around your shaft. She arches her back uncontrollably, thrashing up against you, and you let one or two more sprays loose before you pull out, her body still twitching as she rides out the rest of her orgasm. Your thumb moves gently on her clit as you lower your other hand to your cock and coax the rest of your load out, shooting two strands of cum onto her pudgy stomach. They blend in perfectly with her coat, only visible due to the light overhead that catches their wetness.
You break the kiss as you feel the final shivers of Bonbon’s pleasure, and she lets out a depraved sounding ‘ah’ as your mouths part, a tiny strand of saliva hanging between them. The rest of both of you is covered in sweat, vegetable oil, and the juices of your collective arousal, Bonbon’s pussy leaking onto the floor, and your cum sprayed across her stomach and inside her butt.
You turn your head towards the entrance hallway, knowing what’s waiting there for you.
Lyra doesn’t look shocked. Her mouth isn’t hanging open. She almost seems... amused.
You take a few deep breaths before attempting to speak.
“Welcome home,” you say, and pull yourself up off the floor where Bonbon still lays, twitching.
You’re under Lyra’s magnificent bedsheets. They feel almost like clouds, or what you imagine clouds must feel like. Lyra says they’re made of a special magical polymer. Either way, they’re smoother than silk against your skin, which is bare other than the pair of boxers you’re wearing.
Lyra smiles at you and snuggles up against your chest, cooing softly as she nuzzles her snout into your shoulder. You return the gesture and rub your nose against the top of her head, nudging the base of her horn, which makes her giggle.
“He touched my butt.”
A voice punctuates the serene couple’s embrace, and you open your eyes, looking overtop of Lyra’s body. Your hands arms are underneath her and around her back respectively, but you didn’t feel anything on the other side.
Bonbon stares at you from her place on the other end of the bed, turned towards the wall but glaring at you from over her shoulder.
“I did not!” you protest, confused as to how you’d even manage such a logistical complexity. Maybe if you reached really far out.
“Did so. I felt it. Right here.” Bonbon lifts the covers and points to a spot on her flank where her pudgy behind is nestled almost against Lyra’s backside.
Lyra grins and giggles, and brings the covers back to the bed.
“That was me, Bonbon,” she says. Her horn shimmers, and Bonbon’s eyes widen as she feels whatever she felt a moment ago, evidently a pinch on the rump from Lyra’s magic.
“Oh,” she says, suddenly deflated.
You and Lyra share a chuckle. You both turn to Bonbon, taking in the sight of her sudden addition to your bed.
“Though, if you want him to touch your butt, that can be arranged,” Lyra says with a playful tone in her voice. She reaches her hoof back towards you as she speaks and rubs you through your boxers, tracing her touch over your emerging hardness.
“I didn’t say that,” Bonbon says, huffing her face up and turning towards you and Lyra. Lyra grins at her, and before Bonbon can react, she’s pulled closer. Lyra disappears suddenly under the covers, and after a few seconds reappears on Bonbon’s other side, her face beaming.
“Hey–” Bonbon starts, but is cut off suddenly by Lyra’s mouth on her own, a quick kiss out of left field. You take Lyra’s sense in initiative and move your hand over to Bonbon, starting at her neck and tracing down over her tummy, paying special attention to her softness as you make your way between her legs.
“D-don’t,” Bonbon stammers as Lyra breaks the kiss. She squirms at your touch, but doesn’t pull away as your fingers find her slit, which is soaking wet already.
As she draws her first quickened breath, you lean overtop of her towards Lyra, who meets you without objection, kissing you open mouthed. Your tongues dance together as your fingers move on Bonbon’s clit, slipping down occasionally to the wetness of her hole, teasing between the two.
You find Lyra’s hoof beside your hand after a few seconds, and the two of you move together, caressing Bonbon as a single entity.
Lyra did say you could stay in Ponyville longer than a week, if you wanted.
You might just take her up on that offer.
