Almost Alone All By Herself in a Shower On Her Own
It was nighttime, a time of day in which the sun has finally swung the earth around where a person of a certain perspective would face at least unparallel to the angle of sunlight; the time of earth's rotation where our destined lovers are facing away from the sun, and more towards the moon should it be within the angle of sight. Night being when the sun goes down and the moon goes up, it is the era following dusk that our lovers begin viewing the night sky and wondering whether they are not alone in this vast galaxy or if religion told them so. Irregardless, the night wouldn't last longer than this narrative, for it is longer than the night is young.
Our story begins not with the sound of your breath once you realize that you're now doing it manually but with the twinkle of the stars in our heroine's young listless eyes. Her name was Starbright Copperhoof, a young, legal and young pegasus pony with ample assets, listless eyes, and a vague disposition. She was an object, an object of beauty and grace, one what many would call a true doll in the eyes of the many young romantic men she had felt heartache from. She was jaded, but hopeful, that one day she would answer the call of the destined stallion to which she may fall in embrace to. It was snowing, also.
The snow was white and cold, frosting her arching, graceful back, frosting her succulent lips, which curved toward her graceful neck and along her arching spine, over her rounded, plush, firm flanks -- the mare had assets that rivaled the testaments of beauty. Her saturated, glazed eyeballs reflected the moonlight like water reflected the moonlight. Her passing sighs hid undertones of natural moans, rife with the desire to be met with the strong, gentle touch of a partner of destiny. Tonight, in fact, was that very night that she would be held in that strong, gentle embrace of destiny.
In the moonlight snow under her log cabin she brushed up against her porch pole and waited with anticipation for nopony in particular; she simply gently caressed her ample bosom section as she stared out listlessly into the abyss of the forest. She was expecting a mail delivery, but hoping for a male delivery... She perished the thought eventually and went back inside for her famous peanut butter and banana sandwiches. They were legendary for their sexiness.
She began by layering out the fresh white bread out on the table, moaning as she did so. The beaming moonbeams of light illuminated the succulent lips and expanding bosom, her hair tossing in the breeze emancipating from the kitchen window like a freed slave to the northern borders. The wind was also like that. She expanded her pulsing wings and moaned with effort as she slathered the nutritious nut sauce over the pale flakes of the porous breading, her assets growing more ample with every stroke. She was choosy enough to choose Jif, and yet open enough to slide a ripe banana fully in her quivering throat to soften it for appropriate usage. She carefully sliced the banana with her teeth, sexily, and spit it back out over the slathered, nutty goodness. She pressed the slices together with a thunderous smush as she whipped her head up, and in anticipation of its deliciousness, exploded into a banana buttered hunger-orgasm with sudden flashing thoughts of cramming the substance down her breathy, clouded throat.
Her sweat beaded on her ample assets like beads on a alphabetic bracelet that said O-R-G-A-S-M. She was hotter than before between the haunches for her meal, but was unfortunately too hot indeed to eat. Instead, she opted to wash herself off in her shower on the cold, frosty dusk approaching the full blooming night.
