The Casting Couch
“So, you think you have what it takes to be a Wonderbolt?”
Soarin is staring down at me with an unparalleled intensity in his eyes and I feel kind of nervous about that.
There are little beads of sweat that I can feel forming on my flushed face, I feel the wetness in my coat as these drops of sweat build up and then start to drip down my body. I sense that Soarin has to notice as well, because he’s staring at me like I’m being exceptionally stupid or something. The way he’s staring bugs me but, I don’t bring it up.
There’s a cocky sort of grin building up on Soarin’s face. It’s that same stupid ‘Hey, look how cool I am for not caring.’ smirk that’s spread across his bright blue cheeks on the poster of him I have sitting above my bed in my room back home; the same poster I’ve seen a million and one times, sometimes I’ve even fantasized too while subconsciously wondering if this colt; this living legend, is like me; a wild, reckless spirit who’d kill to push a pony past his limits.
Now, staring at the colt who was (And still is) my idol, who now is on some kind of ego trip, and who is grilling me about ‘Loyalty’ and ‘Commitment’ like he’s the most battle hardened Royal Guard Captain there ever was, all I can think about is just how silly this whole thing is.
“I can’t hear you, recruit!” he barks at me.
Soarin, for all intents and purposes, is certainly taking this seriously. Like, really seriously. It was almost startling at first, hearing the colt who, for as long as I’ve known him--And, granted that hasn’t been as long as either of us would like--has been flippantly either immature and goofy, or cocky and headstrong, suddenly just go on this totally uncharacteristic power trip with me caught in his crosshairs.
It’s actually kind of arresting, and, maybe even more than that; exciting.
Soarin’s frown has deepened. The intensity in his eyes certainly hasn’t wavered and now he’s moving, step by step, closer to me. They’re long, drawn out steps that from anypony else in the world would be wildly intimidating, but from Soarin, well, they’re just downright scary.
I feel myself back away hesitantly.
“I asked you a question, recruit.” the last word is whispered, almost erotically.
He’s not known as a pony who repeats himself, I know this by now, and even if I didn’t there’s a hoof-full of would-have-been recruits who’d shamefully tell me that fact themselves if I somehow manage to join their ranks; if I manage to fail Soarin’s tests, if I can’t jump threw his hoops and earn his respect.
For my part I just keep trying not to sweat in front of him.
“Oh...Um...Yes, sir! Ah’ think ah have what it takes...um...sir?”
It’s all I can manage to get out; I feel drained just staring at Soarin. It’s as though he has some kind of power over me or something. There’s this unspoken feeling of dominance he has over me that I feel obligated to submit too, and I get the feeling he knows it too.
I kind of expected a smile from him while I play along. I mean, not a big one or anything, but at least a little cheeky grin or something. Instead, I get nothing. Stone faced Soarin just continues to glare at me.
“That doesn’t sound very convincing, recruit.”
I frown, at least, I think I do. It’s actually kind of hard to tell because my whole face feels soaked at this point and I reckon it’s on account of the buckets I’m probably sweating as Soarin continues to take this way too seriously.
He really is going to make me work for this, isn’t he?
“Um...Ah do, sir! Ah really, really, really wanna be a Wonderbolt!”
I’m desperate now and I guess Soarin can tell because he just keeps on pacing towards me.
“Prove it.” He says.
And now Soarin is close enough that I can feel the aura he’s giving off; which I know sounds kind of stupid, but it’s definitely there. It’s like an invisible force that he’s exuding from his body that’s making my head get all cloudy and my mind kind of go all mumbo-jumbo; Mentally, I’m drawing blanks and I just continue to stare up at him.
It makes me feel kind of selfish, knowing how much I’m enjoying him being this close to me. Then, dragging my eyes from the ground and up to his face, I realize he must have noticed this because he moves even closer to me and raises a hoof—his right one—and presses it firmly against my chest. There’s a moment where I almost verbalize my confusion, but I don’t get a chance to because he pushes into me and before I know it, I’m being forced against the back wall of the trailer.
We’re both standing upright on our hooves and Soarin is so close to me now that I can feel his breath—which is exhaled in sharp bursts through his nostrils—brush up against me. It tussles the fur on my chest and I crack a grin, stare up at Soarin and he’s still just as deadset and serious as he’s been since this started.
This worries me.
“I said,” Soarin begins again and I get the sense that as he’s saying it, he’s building a smirk on his face. “Prove it.”
Prove it? How?
There’s this twitch of ice that shoots up my spine when I feel Soarin slam his left hoof into my left shoulder. The force mixed with the shock presses me flat against the back wall of the trailer, harder than I was before. Soarin’s face is now only a few inches from my own. There’s a complete and total shit-eating smirk on his lips that I’m kind of glad has replaced his stupid ‘Oh, look at me using my stupid authority to my advantage.’ grin he wore earlier.
I can feel a lump in my throat as I swallow hard. The confusion and the anticipation of whatever happens next makes me stare up at Soarin with a pleading look on my face that I can see reflected in his eyes. I want to say something--anything--but, nothing comes and I feel even more helpless as I notice Soarin’s smirk has now morphed into a very predatory grin.
“I want you to show me how bad you want to be a Wonderbolt.” He purrs.
I realize my mouth is going to go bone dry at this rate if I keep nervously swallowing back my apprehension. Then, a sick and totally twisted thought enters my mind and realizing it’s my best course of action, I jump on it. I lunge my head forwards, catching Soarin off guard, and just plant my lips on his. As we kiss—and believe me, Soarin is as much into this as I am by this point—I take the time to bite, gnaw and chew on his lips with the intention of leaving marks.
When he opens his mouth, I think in either shock or acceptance, I do the same thing to his tongue; bite, gnaw and chew. I’m being aggressive, and it feels good knowing that Soarin is too startled to do much else but accept this for what it is.
I’m proud of my work.
After a short minute of borderline sexually assaulting Soarin’s mouth with my own I gently break my lips from his, but dive forward just long enough to give him a peck—just a quick little kiss—on his now very much romantically mangled lips before I’m done. I lean my head back and stare; there’s a dazed and confused look on Soarin’s face that makes what I just did so totally worth it.
I think Soarin might have liked it too because the shock and awe has kind of washed away from his face now. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say that Soarin really got off on it; he looks kind of stoned and pretty content; his jaw is slacked and his eyes are glazed over. I realize that this is the face of a pony in the thralls of lust.
I really like this look on Soarin.
He takes some time to reform his face. He doesn’t go back to the self obsessed and serious look, nor the satisfied half-squint either; this new look is a gentle compromise of relaxation and discipline that I find very much attractive.
I feel his hooves move from my shoulders, they rise up and I can feel strands of my sweat stained fur cling to them when he does. Then, his hooves fall back down onto my longingly tense shoulders that he begins to cool by giving a simple, but much appreciated, massage. It’s a short while of this gentle, romantic, embrace before he begins to tensely drag his hooves down my back. His touch is a tauntingly slow and teasing affair that I yearn for; the feel of his cold hooves send more shivers of ice jolt through me. It makes me want to moan.
But I don’t.
I just wait.
His hooves, those cold rocks, graze along my back, down my spine, brushing past my hips, then finally find a resting place on both cheeks of bottom. They pause there while I stare up at Soarin, who’s still just grinning like a sexy dolt, until he squeezes my ass. Hard.
I cave in and give out some kind of ‘Yelp’ that sounds weak and effeminate. I’m a little ashamed by this, and just turn my head away from Soarin’s face. I’m more than convinced Soarin is getting off on this, and that’s probably where the shame comes from. I don’t want him to enjoy this as much as I do--I mean, I do want him to enjoy it, but, it also seems very self-defeating to not put up a fight and just submit to him like I am.
He presses forward and his chest grinds into mine. Without the stupid flight suit that he’s always wearing I can feel every single inch of that fit, tight (And sexy) athletic body of his as it brushes against me. The fur of his chest rustles my own and makes me cringe and stutter, I bite my lower lip and try to pretend that it’s not as exciting as it is, but I know I’m failing.
Soarin’s just grinning, and presses harder against me. He’s still squeezing and gripping the flesh of my cheeks, and, when now I can feel the inches of Soarin’s hot naked flesh that slaps against my lower left thigh. It feels so delightfully warm rubbing into my fur, and, for the first time that I think I’ve heard from him all night, the faintest shudder of a moan comes from his throat; it sounds gravelly, like rocks thrown in a quarry, or a record skipping, and I silently and internally take pride in it.
Soarin’s flesh—his ‘Cock’ if we’re done with the colourful semantics—rubs against the fur of my thigh, moves past it, until it’s almost to the point where it’s touching the tip of my hole. I can feel myself grow hard and I’m being driven almost crazy as Soarin keeps grinding his body against mine, saying nothing, just purring that low and throaty howl of his in my ear.
I love it.
“I want you.” He manages to whisper in my ear. I can feel his want; there’s this heat and warmth coming from the head of his cock that prods against my thigh, the bottom of my shaft and growing nearer and nearer to my flank. His hooves are squeezing my flank so tightly that I can feel the circulation being cut off and all I can think to myself is that I couldn’t agree with him more.
Then, Soarin attacks my face. It starts off as small bites; little nibbles on the tips of my ears; then he presses his lips against my cheek and goes to town with everything he’s got, tongue, lips and teeth; at first it’s wet, his tongue lashes, licks and drools all across my face, and I’m absolutely in awe. His tongue drags against my cheek, his teeth gently nip my flesh, and then he leaves—much like I did—a gentle kiss, like some kind of stamp.
I moan a little louder.
His kiss moves past my cheek, towards my lips and when he reaches them he kisses me hard. We’re both swept into a feverish little lip lock and each of us is trying to outdo the other using everything we’ve got. Soarin bites down on my lower lip so I try to bat his mouth away with my tongue but, he just bites down on that too. I give a low groan because it kind of hurts a bit and, he becomes sympathetic; he rolls his tongue onto mine and I use his momentary lapse in judgement to make an attack; I wrestle my tongue against his and try to overpower it, but he’s too passionate for that and he squeezes my ass even harder to prove it.
He breaks off the kiss and huffs a conceited sort of chuckle.
I can’t help myself at this point; I wrap both my forelegs around his waist, gripping him firmly and pulling him as close to me as physically possible; his cock is now pressing up against my hole and Soarin and I are both in a mutual sense of understanding that, that is where this is going and I doubt either one of us could be happier about it.
I moan again.
He moves back down to my lips and, whereas I bit violently when I kissed him earlier, he’s entirely more romantic now; he’s just peppering my mouth with these gentle little butterfly kisses that are driving me up the walls. I want... no, need more and I get the sense that this is what he wants because he’s started to work it into his favour. His ‘cock’, ‘penis’, ‘throbbing erection’—whatever you want to call it—is flaring and pressed against my own. He slowly picks me up, his hooves grip my waist firmly and I’m lifted up and carried like a blushing bride to the faux-leather couch he has in the centre of the room, where he just drops me like a sexually aroused sack of apples.
I crash onto the couch, not really caring too much about being so carelessly dropped by him. I get into a sitting position and then lean back into the couch. I spread my legs in a way that makes my now throbbing and uncared for erection stand at full attention. I pop my shoulders backwards, relax further into the couch and, in a totally cocky and conceited way, drape my frontmost hooves over the top of the couch.
“Your move, Soarin.”
At this point if there’s anything more erect than my crotch, it’s most definitely my ego.
“‘Your move, Soarin.’?” He scoffs, “Really, dude?” He kind of rolls his eyes, like he’s expecting me to say something in my defense, but I don’t; I just grin and motion towards my untouched member with my hoof.
Soarin frowns,—it’s not a defeated frown, more of an understanding and comprehending kind of frown—and plays his next move.
Staring me dead in the eyes, he moves between my legs, places his right hoof firm into my chest and leans forward; capturing my mouth with his.
It’s a hungry kiss that doesn’t really last long enough because just as I really start to get into it Soarin is pulling his head back, breaking his lips off of my own, and this makes me pout like a foal.
With his right hoof still on my chest and his head drawn back, I feel the cold tip of his free hoof touch against the flesh of my aching crotch. A shudder seizes my body, and I desperately fight back a moan. He’s not even doing anything, his hoof is just touching—not jerking, stroking or even rubbing, just plainly gently and tenderly touching—my cock and he’s staring at me with that hungry look in his eyes.
His hoof in my chest slacks a bit, then I feel him trace the underside of my erection with his left hoof; it’s a light and almost contactless touch, like he’s dusting my member for evidence or something. He smiles. I smile back, he tightens his grip tightens around the entire length of my member and then he builds up a steady pace—it’s not too fast or too slow, more so, just right—as he starts to jerk me off.
It feels good, not amazing, just like, really, really, really good. I toss my head back and kick my lower legs out, giving one heavy thrust into his hoof. I can hear him chuckle something, then I hear nothing, just feel a pair of lips bite down on my neck. I want to stare down but his hoof is working my dick faster; he’s pumping away with such a practiced professionalism to it that I wonder how many other recruits can say they’ve gotten some kind of friction burn on their junk from Soarin?
I feel Soarin take his lips off of my neck. I sigh. He chuckles. Then a short second later he kisses my chest. It’s soft and gentle, not unlike the dozens and dozens of kisses he’s planted on me since we started getting intimate, then he starts to bite.
It feels so good when his teeth clamp onto my chest and he pulls away. I can’t help myself anymore, I’m thrusting away into his awaiting hoof—which is still jerking me off—and I’m moaning worse than a Grade-School-Filly. Soarin starts to bite way down my chest, and all I can think to do is grind my neck against the pillows on the couch and try desperately not to moan so loudly.
His lips brush past my chest. I can feel those little love bites of his that are driving me wild getting closer to my waist; then, there’s a wet sensual bite above my navel, slight pause, another bite on the navel, slight pause, one below, pause, and then nothing.
I exhale a sharp breath of air and tilt my head down. Soarin’s mouth is hovering over my penis now, while his hoof is still gently stroking my length. I can feel his breath just graze the tip of my shaft and I sigh. He locks eyes with me, his are half shut and there’s a slow fire burning in them. Mine, I can’t really see for good reference but I’m sure they’re not much different.
Slowly, ever so tantalizingly slowly, he lowers his muzzle down to my length, causing this low groan to come from my throat. As he prepares to give me a bout of great head, I feel his tongue first. It’s like an opening act for his mouth—a local band playing a set before the act you really came to see comes onstage. He starts by touching the bottom of my shaft with the infinite wetness of his tongue and then draws it across the length. It’s so agonizingly slow that I have to fight back the urge to thrust up into his mouth.
He reaches the head, where he gives a soft lick across the slit--I feel my right leg kick in response--then, he absorbs the engorged head of my prick in a gentle kiss.
This, is what I’ve been waiting for.
His eyes are still locked up at me, and there’s something about staring down at Soarin, with his mouth firmly puckered around my member, that makes me giddy like a newborn with keys; I’m still fighting the urge to just hump my dick into his mouth; to skull-fuck him, hard, but I’m too greatly enjoying making him and not me work for it today.
The feeling of a warm mouth on my own member is something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. Slowly his mouth makes the length of my member disappear, and I’m almost surprised he can make it all the way to the hilt—I am after all quite ‘large.’—though, I’m far from complaining about it. When he’s at the base of my dick, he lashes his tongue against my shaft, licking up the underside and then back down, and soon afterwards he starts bobbing along my length; the sensation is absolutely incredible.
His mouth has formed a vacuum like seal around my cock and he’s started to pick up his pace so that he’s bobbing his mouth up and down my cock; slathering it with saliva and making it easier for me to slide in and out of his mouth.
It just now hits me that Soarin—Soarin the Wonderbolt that every colt would kill to be, Soarin the Legend—is giving me maybe the best head I’ve ever gotten in my life, and I’m loving it.
I decide after all, that if he’s gone this far he won’t mind if I go a little further; I think that now it’s ok to start to start feeding myself into his waiting mouth and I begin to grind my hips forward; humping my dick into his mouth. This kind of startles him at first because I can hear him give a gentle ‘cough’ but then he grows used to it and I feel guilty so I reach a hoof down and tenderly stroke his cheek.
I can feel him smile around my shaft.
“Oh...Goddess...” Is all I can verbalize at this point and even that’s in between the stuttering, panting and moaning I’m doing like some kind of dog—a big one, like a Black Lab or Golden Retriever.
I have no clue why that suddenly came to mind.
Soarin keeps bobbing up and down the length of my dick, though he’s kind of slowed down a bit. I don’t really like this too much, so I put both my hooves on the back of his head; grabbing as much of his mane as I can in each hoof, and decide to take charge.
While he lets my dick slide out of his mouth, again taking my head into a kiss, I force his face down fast and hard; it startles him; his eyes go wide and I’m a little past the point of caring. I push his head down until his lips touch against the base of my cock, then lift his head up to my flared head; where he still somehow manages to kiss the tip of my dick, then I force him back down again.
I’m in complete control of the powerfully good face-fucking I’m giving him, now, and from the look on Soarin’s face, I get the sense that he doesn’t mind too much.
As I’m feeding him my rod, I take a hoof off of the back of his head and run it down his spine, petting him, letting him know it’s me who’s in charge and it’s him who’s playing the role of the ‘Cocksucking Slut.’
Something in Soarin finds offense to this revelation. A light-hearted sort of anger builds on his face and he bats my hoof—the one that’s forcing him to gag on my cock—away from his head. He makes one final and distinct trip up the length of my dick, dragging his teeth along my flesh so that I cringe, before he pops off with an—actually kind of sexy—’plop’.
There’s a trail of saliva that links the tip of my penis to his mouth when he pulls his head away.
“Dude...” He huffs in between breaths. He wipes the saliva off his chin, then continues. “What was that about?”
I realize now, from the look on his face, that Soarin’s going to make me pay for this; but, no matter what he does to me—even though I know I’m going to love whatever he does to my lithe, delicate, body—I’ll always have the mental image of me face fucking Soarin’s mouth with my hooves on the back of his head and him choking on my dick, for the rest of my life.
I smile, sheepish knowing this.
“Well then, recruit.” He barks. I’m amazed at how well Soarin can recover that douche baggy attitude after literally having just spent the last few minutes with my cock down his throat but, it doesn’t surprise me either. “I guess you’re about ready to earn your stripes.”
I guess this is what all this has been building up too.
I don’t have to be told what to do next—and I don’t really want to be, either.—I just grin and rise off the couch. He moves to me; presses his body against mine and I let him guide my movements with his hooves. He starts by rubbing his hooves on my thighs and, once he has a firm grip on my waist, he delicately spins my body around, pressing his erection into my backside when he does. I love that feeling; that fleshy warm package of his pressing up against my ass. I feel him drop his body against my back, preparing to mount me, and I sigh melodramatically.
“Rut me, you stallion.” I breath. Soarin chuckles and, with his hooves on my back, begins to bend me over. My face is forced into the couch cushions and my rear—my sexy well toned ass cheeks and desperately awaiting hole—rise into the air. Soarin’s hooves trail the small of my back, I feel him lean against me, feel his hot breath on the back of my neck; how it rustles the fur and tussles my mane, then he bites hard and heavy into my throat, from behind, and rubs his erection against my hole.
Just when I expect a wonderful burst of pain and pleasure, I get nothing. I feel his tip leave the outskirts of my entrance and I bite my lower lip.
Just do it already you fucking jerk!
“I dunno,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “I kinda want to hear you beg for it....”
Oh, you have got to be kidding me!
“Hmmm, yeah.” he muses. “I mean, how do I really know you want this? I just feel like you’re using me, you know?”
I grumble and push my flank back into his waist; desperately trying to find something to grind my ass against, but Soarin by now has fully drawn back and I realize that I’m far too drunk on lust to let pride factor into this.
“Please, Soarin?” I pipe up.
I feel Soarin draw a little closer, so that his cock is just bobbing against my left asscheek.
“Better, but, I don’t really feel it.....”
“Please, Soarin...Ah really want it.” I try again. Again, he moves closer, his dick brushes from my left asscheek, along the flesh and just gingerly touches the tip of my hole.
“More...” He whispers in my ear.
I can’t help but feel like he’ll be getting off to this more than he will the eventual hardcore fucking he’s making me beg him for.
“Ah really want it...” I purr. “Ah wanna feel your thick, hard cock fill me up, Soarin. Ah wanna feel every inch of you inside me...”
I can’t help but feel ashamed; my cheeks are burning and I’m convinced that Soarin is going to bust just from the joy he gets from turning me into a porno cliché.
“I think I can help you out with that,” He grins. There’s a small part of me that wants to assert some form of dominance knowing he’s just so thoroughly humiliated me, but that passes when I feel the cold touch of liquid—K.Y., if I had to guess from the smell—on my hole.
Soon after that, comes a warmer brush of the fur on Soarin’s face as he graces my flank, and I cringe and bite my lip as I feel him spread the lube across my ass then a small glob enters my hole and I’m biting my lip so hard I feel it’s a miracle I don’t chew it off.
Then, after all the talk and all the stupid head games, I feel it; his dick. It presses firm against my soaked hole and Soarin leans into my back, again.
“Ready?” He asks. There’s a tenderness to his quarry that warms my heart, kind of.
I nod silently. He leans his head down and kisses my cheek.
“Ok,” he says.
It hurts, at first; there’s a warm and filling fire that burns in my ass as I feel myself clench and tighten to accommodate him. I’m certainly not a virgin. Neither is Soarin. But there’s nothing that can properly prepare a colt (or, I suppose a very adventurous and open minded mare for that matter.) for the feeling of being, well, sodomized. To be point blank and honest; it hurts like a bitch at first, then, it gets so much better. But, we’re not there yet.
I know soon that this pain will become pleasure, and for what it’s worth Soarin is being kind and gentle in an effort to accommodate me. After his cock-and-bull show earlier I kind of expected a rough and careless entrance, but he’s moving slow; he slides in slowly and always a maintainable length of himself and then, whenever I wince or breath heavy, he’ll lean down and kiss me; sometimes on the cheek, but other times he catches my mouth in a deep and passionate kiss and it makes the pain go away for that short second.
It takes a while, but eventually, Soarin is mostly inside me and the pain has subsided. He pauses, just to make sure I’m alright, then with his face against my ear, he presses his lips against my cheek once more and I feel him slide out a few inches. I breath a sigh, he pushes forward, I cringe, slightly, he bites my neck, I sigh contently, he inches out, pushes forward, inches out, pushes forward, inches out.
The pain is entirely gone now; in fact, it’s actually starting to feel good; like, really good. He’s thrusting into me, filling me up and I’m on cloud nine. My eyes roll back and I hear a low and guttural moan escape from my throat.
Oh Celestia, it feels so fucking good.
I bite into the pillow—realizing as I do, I’ve become the living embodiment of the ‘Pillow Biting Colt Cuddler’ ponies accused me of being in high-school—and grind my hips back into him; I’m trying to meet his rhythm but it’s hard to do because he’s moving so wildly now. He’ll pump into me, fill me up as much as he can, then pull out a few inches. I’ll breathe a sigh of relief and purr, then he’ll give it to me again; harder, faster, and longer than before. Sometimes when he’s filled me up entirely, he’ll even do this abso-fucking-lutely amazing thing where he kind of wiggles and rolls his cock around inside my ass; that, whatever he wants to call that move of his, makes me moan the loudest that I have so far.
I feel his hoof caress my mane, softly petting past the fur and into my scalp and it makes me feel like a cat—or any other pet, I suppose—when I roll my head to meet the touch of his hoof.
Soarin has this effect on me, it’s mesmerizing, really. I know they say that only Unicorns have magic, and that there’s a library of text to prove me wrong on my theory; but I feel that Soarin must have some kind of inherent ‘Sex Magic.’ because I’ve never enjoyed being rutted by anypony as much as I do being rutted by him.
“Ugggghghg....” I manage to get out; it vibrates around the pillow and Soarin leans down again.
“Didn’t quite catch that...”
“Ah...Uhh...Ah, said...” I pant, managing to unclamp my jaw from the pillow. “Ohhhh... Faster!”
Soarin doesn’t disappoint; I feel his body lift from mine, then, I feel the ripple in the sofa as he stamps his right lower hoof on the couch cushion beside my ass. He slides slowly and gracefully out of me for a second, and I want to pout, but I know he’s just getting into a better position and I lay waiting eagerly, then, when he’s finished fixing his angle, he presses the tip to my hole and, when the tip touches my entrance he slams into me and all I do is squeal like some kind of farm animal.
He’s built up an intense flurry of in-and-out now; his pace is impossibly fast and I become a moaning, squealing and drooling—I’m a little ashamed to admit that, but it’s happening and the stains on the couch cushion I’ve almost mangled beyond repair with my teeth is evidence of this—mess underneath him.
Soarin is pounding me now so intensely that it makes my eyes roll back and I can’t do a damn thing about it, not that I would even want to. I just enjoy it. I keep trying, feebly, to match his movements with my hips; realizing even though I can’t, Soarin is certainly loving the feel of me bump and grind my ass onto his cock.
Above me I can hear Soarin express his joy; he’s alternatively panting and huffing, and both of those sounds are so hot to hear coming from him that it almost pushes me over the edge.
It’s not long before the room fills with the very distinct sounds that come from such a good old fashioned fucking; there’s the liquidy ‘Thwap’ noise that erupts from my rear each time Soarin thrusts into me; his heavy panting, which comes out in breaths of ‘Hmmmphh’ and ‘Arghh’ and my heavier more uncontrolled moaning, which sounds a lot like [b'Fuck me harder, Soarin!’.
I love the feel of it; Soarin, fucking me. I clench myself around his cock each time he enters into me so that I can feel each and every detail of his perfectly sculpted cock—and it really is a perfect cock. It’s sleek, thick, and just the right size. By now, I’ve mapped out and memorized every single inch, I know every vein and every fold of skin like it were my own.
I realize that Soarin, for all intents and purposes, hasn’t yet hit my prostate, but that’s hardly keeping this from being the most enjoyable sex I’ve had with a stallion in a very long time. It just seems odd, we’ve been going at it for a while and I would have suspected that was his first and only goal.
But then, just as I’m musing about it in my mind; it happens; Soarin’s flared tip touches that small little nub in my rear that sends pulses of pure joy and pleasure throughout my body; he’s reached my prostate and is slamming into it with so much force that I actually think I might cry—A good kind of cry, though.
“Ugghgh... F-F-Fuck!” I moan around the pillow. I feel Soarin’s sweaty body roll along my back and his mouth grabs my ear; he bites hard against the flesh then licks an apology for any pain he might have caused.
“You...Oh...Fuck!...You like that, babe?” He whispers in between pants in my ear. I love the way he calls me ‘Babe.’ the way the word rolls of his tongue and into my ear; the way it makes me feel like a whore; Soarin’s whore to be exact.
I’m well past the point of caring about who’s got mental domination over who; right now all I need is for Soarin to keep butt-fucking me until I have to walk funny for a week.
He slams into my ass, hitting my prostate again and I squeal something awful; it’s this high pitched noise that’s both flamboyant and effeminate and I’m startled that it came out of me. I didn’t even know I could hit octaves that high.
I can’t even begin to describe just how amazing Soarin is making me feel in this moment; each thrust—each time his dick works it’s way up my tight hole and touched my ‘special place’—is better than the last; he’s started rubbing my ass cheeks with his hooves, digging his grip into them in a pinch and rolling them clockwise.
“Babe...Ugh...Babe!” He groans as he slams into me, pulls out, slowly, then pushes back in. “I...Ugh...I think I’m getting close!”
Music to my ears.
His hoof grips my dick and unlike before, he starts beating me off in a reckless frenzy; though, it still feels incredible, especially when he finds the perfect rhythm to compliment his butt-fucking; thrust into me, stroke down my cock, pull out, stroke up my cock, thrust in, stroke down, pull out, stroke up.
Soarin’s head leans against my neck and he grabs a huff full of my mane with his teeth; I can smell his musk—it’s a mix of fresh sweat hints of his Old Spices aftershave and Aqua-Velvet cologne. The smell stings my nostrils so wonderfully.
He pulls back on my mane, I almost yelp when he does, but then I feel his free hoof slam down onto my right cheek and it shuts me up entirely. It sends jolts of a good kind of hurt through my body and I groan/moan/pant when he does it again.
It occurs to me that Soarin is fucking me--hard--, jerking me off, biting my mane and, now, spanking me.
He’s quite the multi-tasker.
All of this; him; the hoof on my cock that’s stroking me off, the traces of his musk I whiff from time to time, his hoof slapping against my flesh and, especially, him pounding me senseless, is starting to become too much and, like Soarin, I can feel an orgasm to shake the heavens approaching.
“Guggghh.” Is the sound that comes out of Soarin’s mouth when he makes his final thrust into my bottom; his cock jerks, twitches and I feel jets of hot fluid fill me.
I’m a little disappointed he came before I did, because I’m so fucking close, but his cock is still half-hard and inside me, and he’s still thrusting and continuing to to jerk me off; and a short minute of this is all I can take before I’m also pushed over the edge.
With a loud “Ugh....Gah!” I spray the couch with a geyser of pearl white cum, before collapsing into it when Soarin presses his weight against my back. We both fall onto the couch, which isn’t really big enough to hold both of us, so we’re ‘forced’ to press up against each other in a cuddle.
It’s nice.
We lay like that, naked, parts of us soaked in drool, other parts stained with cum, but neither of us really care at this point. Soarin’s hoof is around my waist, holding me to him and my face is in the crook of his neck. He’s rubbing my chest and I gently press my lips against his neck; not biting, just giving him a few lazy kisses.
I see him smile.
“Goddess...that was...something else.” he says after a comfortable silence. “I...” he pauses, “...Thank you for doing this...”
“Yer welcome.” I say, trailing a hoof across his chest until it reaches his face where I gently stroke the side of his cheek. “Happy Birthday, by the way.”
He turns my face to his with his hoof, and while we’re locking eyes he kisses me; not hungrily, not lazily, but with a loving passion in it; we sluggishly wrestle our tongues, then he pulls back and plants his trademark little peckish kiss on my lips.
“Brae’,” He says as I crane my neck against his and start to kiss his chest. “You’re the best for agreeing to this.”
I just chuckle.
“Yeah, well, we’re doin mah ‘thing.’ when it’s mah Birthday,” I say as I take a nibble at his throat. “An’ yer bein’ the helpless school-colt stuck in detention.”
Soarin chuckles.
“So, I guess that makes you the uptight math teacher?” he asks.
“‘Geography’ teacher.” I correct, jokingly.
Soarin leans down and kisses my mane, I crane my neck up so that I catch his jaw with my lips and give him a few lazy kisses on the throat.
“You’re too good to me, Braeburn Apple.” He says as I lick against the fur of his neck.
“Yeah, Ah know...” I say, “But, you’re a real handsome colt an’ Ah reckon part of being your special somepony means Ah have to put up with you an’ yer’ shenanigans, even if that means Ah have to play the role of ‘Helpless Fresh-Faced Recruit’ on yer birthday.”
He chuckles and I feel it vibrate against my body.
“Well, for your part you’re a pretty good actor.” he starts “I mean, you really had me convinced that you wanted me to pound your cute little ass.”
With that he gives my flank a quiet pinch and I give a little ‘yelp’.
“Ah, shucks.” I grin. “Ah guess Ah’m just a natural.”
“Yeah, you could probably even get into Camden....” he says in reference to the infamous ‘Arts School.’ of flourishing thespians. “You could even channel your inner ‘Slutty Wonderbolt Recruit’ into your audition.....”
“But then Ah’d have less time to run around and play silly little sex games with egotistical celebrities.” I toss back, casually. “An’ Ah know how lonely those Wonderbolts tours can get without somepony t’ keep yer’ bed warm.”
He doesn’t say anything, he just tilts my head up to his face with his hoof and captures my mouth in the most passionate kiss I’ve gotten from him in a long time; there’s no tongue, biting or fighting for dominance, it’s a just ‘him expressing his feelings’ kind of kiss that I melt into.
“I love you, dude.” He says after he pulls back.
“Ah love you too, ya klutz.” I croon back.
We lay on the couch for a while longer, I snuggle into the warmness of his chest and Soarin rests his head atop of mine, breathing in the smell of my mane. A few minutes of this pass before I hear Soarin start to snore and I realize I'm not far behind. As my eyes grow heavy and I feel the Sandmane come for me, I take a quiet, alone, moment to thank The Powers That Be that I have Soarin, that he has me, and that we're both happy with this arrangement.
I fall asleep and dream of castles, knights and faraway lands.
Author's Note
There are a lot of people I'd like to thank for making this more than just a dumb idea in my head, but, none more than ShamelessBrony, Salvanas, Avorin and Werewolf435, who helped write, edit and spell check the shit out of this. So, thank you so much for that.
If the ending seems kind of too cheesy for a clop fic....it's only because I cracked under the pressure and couldn't come up with anything better; Don't hate the playa, hate the game!
Thanks for reading.
