The Butt Fetish Collection (Of Butts)

Chapters

Siblings Are Weird
Good Morning, Pinkie Pie
Goodnight, Fluttershy
Derpy Panic
A Romantic Story About Farts

Siblings Are Weird

“Spike! Guess what I just bought!”

With just a hint of curiosity, Spike peeks over the edge of the little balcony that separates the loft from the entryway of the library. “What?”

Twilight's face bears a wide and happy grin as she replies. “Pants!”

“... Seriously?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. Obviously he should have expected something like that. Twilight is basically his big sister, and like all big sisters, she has a tendency to do weird things.

“Okay. So?”

“So? These aren't just any pants; these are brand new and totally fashionable! Rarity says they're the latest craze.” She gives Spike a proud smirk as he waddles down the stairs. “See? I can be hip, too. Say goodbye to Twilight Sparkle the square, and say hello to Twilight Sparkle the happening cat!”

“Pffft!” he scoffs. “Okay, 'happening cat,' let's see these amazing magical pants then.”

She gives him a sharp frown. Sometimes annoying little brothers just don't get it.

“You'll be singing a different tune when I'm the coolest and most popular pony in town.” With a flick of magic she presents a pair of shiny, rubbery shorts. “Ta-da!”

“What? That's it? They don't look all that impressive to me.”

Twilight stares down her nose, looking at him with a very self-satisfied expression. “Well, maybe you're not as fashion savvy as you thought, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, “so are you gonna try them on or not?”

“Try them on. Right.”

Her tongue pokes thoughtfully from the corner of her mouth as she studies the little pair of pants. Two holes for the legs, one on the other side for the waist …. Seems simple enough. She places her hind feet in one at a time and begins to pull them up her legs with the violet glow of her magic. The pants glide over her lightly fuzzy skin with little difficulty until, suddenly, she encounters a problem.

“Um … huh?”

“What's wrong?”

“They seem to be … stuck.”

Tug after tug, yank after yank, she tries to pull the pants over her haunches, all to no avail. They remain planted firmly half way up her legs. Already, they squeeze so tightly that little bulges of lavender flesh have formed beneath, her flabby thighs practically oozing from the bottom. They fill the shorts so tightly that they've begun to resemble a pair of shiny black sausage links.

“Are you sure they're the right size?”

Twilight stops her struggles and meets Spike with a withering glare. “Are you saying I'm fat?”

“What?”

“I got the same size I've always worn. There's no reason that they shouldn't fit.”

Spike looks on uneasily. It's quite obvious that all the studying and snacking has not exactly been kind to Twilight. She has grown a bit of a pudge, after all – a little belly that tended to squish just a bit from her sides when she lay reading. Although it seems that the majority of the weight had gone to her rear. Her hips had become thicker, and her backside had grown fairly plump, leaving her with round, purple butt-cheeks so wide that they could literally be seen from the front.

He cringes as she struggles with the shorts that remain tightly pressed about her hind legs, her violet rump wobbling and bobbing with each tug of her magic.

“I'm just saying that, you know … ponies don't always stay the same size forever is all.”

Twilight just grumbles. “Oh, be quiet and help me with these.”

“Help you?”

“Yes, help me. You have little hands, so you can reach down there and really get a good grip. Come on.”

After a moment of thought and a quiet sigh of resignation, Spike plods to her side. “Fine. Let's just get this over with.”

He deftly climbs to her back and looks down, past her tail and over a cliff formed by two wide, rolling lavender hills.

The pants are nowhere in sight.

“This is … not going to be easy.”

“What was that?”

“I said, uh … lean forward so I can see.”

Twilight shuffles her forehooves, leaning her body downward just a bit and extending her hind legs back.

“Okay. Here we go,” he says as he scoots his body along her hips, the strands of her tail shifting under his belly as he comes to the edge of her backside. He reaches down to clutch the top of the stretchy shorts in his claws, his arms extended over the cheeks of her ample rump and sinking just a bit into the soft flesh. The dark purple crack of her butt lies frighteningly close to his face, his chin brushing lightly between the deep valley as he begins to pull at the pants in his grip.

“Hey, could you wrap your tail around me or something so I don't fall in?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Spike.”

He quietly mutters to himself as he continues to pull. “Who's joking?”

Yet no matter how hard he tugs and jerks at the waistband, the rubbery material doesn't seem to budge.

Very carefully, he shuffles his feet forward and places his hind claws down on the edge of her backside. With a mighty flex of his tiny muscles, he draws himself up to his full height, the rubbery material in his claws stretching upward in his grasp, his face quickly growing pink from the exertion as the shorts fight him every inch of the way. Still they hug so tightly and hold so firmly that Spike can feel himself sinking, his feet pressing into the surface of Twilight's backside, each fleshy cheek squeezing between his toes, her warm lavender skin rolling over the tops of his scaly feet.

“Ouch! Okay, okay, stop!”

Spike falls tiredly upon Twilight's back. His breathing is heavy and his arms are aching. Even now, the shorts remain stuck midway up her backside, leaving half of her rump squished into a tight skin of rubber and half pouring over the top like two big, blubbery bubbles.

“You win this round, pants,” he murmurs.

Twilight's determination, however, remains firm. “We need to look at this problem scientifically,” she says as she lifts Spike from her back. “Clearly, we haven't properly prepared.”

Spike quirks an eyebrow as she falls to the ground and wriggles herself free. “Prepared? For putting on pants?”

“Well, these are extraordinary pants, right? So…maybe they need extraordinary preparation.” The shorts fly from her hooves in the grip of her magic. “And I think I know just the thing.”

Spike waits with a morbid sense of anticipation as Twilight trots into the bathroom. After a few moments of loud and distinct rummaging, she returns, a bottle of clear liquid floating by her side.

“What's that? Soap?”

Twilight shakes her head, her self-satisfaction undiminished by the prior setback. “Nope. Mineral oil.”

“... Why do we even have that?”

“Emergencies, Spike. Emergencies,” she replies. “Now,” she says as she plops her belly down on the floor and flicks her tail over her back, “apply the oil liberally to the affected area.”

Spike stands to his feet and dusts his hands. “Well, good luck with that. I'm outta here!”

“Oh no you don't!” A glimmering mist of magenta magic lifts him bodily from the floor and drops him down at her side once more.

“But, Twilight!” he whines. “You have magic! Can't you do this yourself?”

“You know magic doesn't work that way, Spike. Now stop complaining and start oiling my butt.”

Immediately, his eyes go to the front door. If anyone were going to burst in and cause some sort of hilarious misunderstanding, now would be the time.

After a long, disappointing moment, he picks up the bottle of oil.

With a roll of his eyes, he squirts it carelessly over her hindquarters, shaking the bottle from left to right and producing a heavy stream that splashes in long, dripping lines over the bulging cheeks of her rump and the thick trunks of her thighs.

“There, it's –”

“Now you have to rub it in. An uneven coating may prevent proper lubrication.”

“I – you – what?” He groans loudly. “Fine. But you owe me big-time for this.”

Spike shies away from her body, casting embarrassed eyes elsewhere and grimacing as his hands meet her skin with a wet squelching sound. Her skin is already hot and slick under the smothering, glistening oil that drizzles over her haunches and drips into the darkness of her long, deep crack.

He slides his palms up, gently, pressing against her body as lightly as possible, though on the delicate softness of her backside, his fingers still sink slightly into her pillowy flesh. He feels the warm, rolling touch of her skin under his fingertips as he draws his hands up, from her hips to the small of her back, then back down, his thumbs passing along the valley of her rump as he brings his palms to her legs.

With sloppy motions, he rubs the oil over her thighs, circling around both sides and wrapping them about with his claws, squeezing both in his grip as the excess oil runs through his fingers. Her thighs are a bit firmer than her backside, though still covered with pudgy, soft flesh built by laziness and too many cookies.

His hands travel upwards one final time, the force of his strokes lifting her butt-cheeks and letting them fall back with a jiggle. “There!” he says as he steps back, flicking the oil from his hands. “Done and done.”

“Alright!” Twilight stands cautiously to her feet, unfazed by the gluteal massage and eager to continue the experiment. “Now, let's give these little babies another try.”

Once again, she steps into the heavy, elastic shorts. They still squeeze about her as they rise, though this time she finds little difficulty in getting them up and over her legs. She grunts and squirms as the force of her magic pulls them over her haunches, the pants stretching and flexing all the way, filled nearly to bursting as they rise to swallow more and more of her oversized rear.

“And … there!”

Her chest heaves, her brow beading with sweat as she rises to her hind feet and turns to Spike with a hopeful expression. “Well? How do they look?”

Spike is completely at a loss.

The gleaming black rubber circles her hindquarters. Two round bulges of wet, lavender ass spill over the top. The edges of the shorts seem to cut into her flesh, squeezing her flabby thighs from the bottom and leaving her tubby, purple paunch falling over the top of the waistband.

Even now he can still see her pudgy body fighting against the taught, bloated, rubbery pants. He watches as, ever so slowly, the fat of her thighs seems to push the bottom edges upward while her slick ass-cheeks lazily force the waistband down.

Soon the pants would remain little more than a black rubber band around her butt as her chubby body gradually retook its lost territory.

“Twilight, that doesn't look very healthy. I think you should take 'em off before you hurt yourself.”

Her forehooves fall back to the ground with a clop, and she lets out a pained huff. “That's impossible, Spike. I look … whew … I look totally hot.”

Without warning a loud 'pop' rings out and the center of the shorts splits wide in a bulge of pressurized butt-crack, leaving two bubbles of slick, purple cheek flowing from the newly formed hole in the rubber.

“Pbbbff! Ah ha ha!” Spike falls to his back and begins to roll with laughter as Twilight stands there, her face red and horrified.

“It – it was just,” he struggles to speak through the hilarity, “it was just like popping open a can of dinner rolls! BOOF!”

Her angry expression only makes him laugh harder. But as she stands there, her backside dripping with oil and practically squirting from a tiny pair of rubber pants, it strikes her just how silly this whole thing had become. Her frown relents, and she begins to snicker in spite of her fading blush.

“Oh, okay. I get it, Spike.” She takes a reluctant look back at her rear end. “I guess maybe I have put on a teensy bit of weight after all.”

Spike finally rises from the floor, wiping the tears from his eyes as he continues to giggle. “Yeah, maybe.”

Twilight sighs. “Well, there's no point in keeping these old things around. I suppose I'll have to go back to Rarity's later and buy a pair in a … larger size.”

He responds to her slightly downcast expression with a soft smile. “Aw, cheer up, Twilight. It's not a big deal.”

“I guess so.”

Spike's mouth twists into a frown for just a moment, and then slowly, it grows into a wicked grin.

He approaches her from behind, her rear end looming before his face. His eyes go to the split down the middle where her crack lies blorping from her shorts in a fatty display of pressed purple cheeks. With a quiet chuckle and a quick movement of his arm, his finger darts out.

His hand slides into the warm space of her backside through the press of hot, oily skin that squeezes hard on either side of his gathered fist. His arm sinks up to the wrist into the flesh of her butt-crack, and all at once the tip of his finger passes the slick, firm, rippling ridges of her anus, poking just a bit into Twilight's tightly gripping pony-hole.

“Gah!”

She shouts and jerks forward in surprise. Her hooves quickly loose their grip on the oil covered floor and slip, sending her flipping wildly through the air.

Spike clutches his aching sides, laughing with abandon as Twilight plops to the ground and drifts across the library in a spinning, slipping pile of embarrassment.

She growls at him from the floor. “Spi~ke! Ew! That was gross!”

He ignores her frustration as she rises and stomps across the room. She glares, her eyelids dropping to a foreboding squint as she silently plots her revenge.

“Alright,” she announces as she turns her backside to him once more, “two can play at this game!”

Spike stifles his laughter. “Huh? W-wait!” he shouts as her magic rips the remains of the shorts from her body, spilling forth her pillowy cheeks in a bouncing torrent as the constraining rubber falls away. He's forced to watch as her still jiggling backside begins to lower itself with terrifying quickness.

“Agh! No!”

With a wet slap, she falls heavily upon him, and he's pinned, powerless beneath the split of her massive, fleshy rump.

Twilight laughs, and even Spike laughs in spite of himself as she slides upon his chest. He tries to push her away but his hands slip from her body, pressing deeply into the big, soft cheeks that engulf his chest, gliding in long trails over the slick, oily surface of her skin. Her rear end is so wide that it seems to nearly wrap about his small body, enveloping him as her cushiony mounds glide up and down his belly.

Suddenly the front door clatters against the wall as Rainbow Dash bursts in.

“Hey, Twi, just had to drop off this ….”

Spike and Twilight sit there, covered in oil, her hind-end splayed upon his chest, and they share a long, awkward look. They watch, dumbfounded, as Dash slowly places a book on the floor and walks out, her eyes wide as she quietly shuts the door behind her.

Recovering quickly, Twilight scrambles from the slippery floor.

“Rainbow Dash! Wait!” She rushes to the door and throws it wide. “This was all just a hilarious misunderstanding!” Spike watches as she droops and heaves a heavy groan. “Oh … horseshoes!”

She feels a reassuring pat on her shoulder, and Spike looks up at her with a thoughtful smile. “Don't worry about it, Twilight. We'll get this whole thing sorted out.”

She shuts the door and breathes a troubled sigh. “I guess you're right. But, it really wasn't, y'know, like … like that, or anything.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says.

They sit there, their cheeks slightly pink, as the pause stretches into a long, uneasy silence.

Finally, Spike perks up. “Hey, you know what would be good right about now? Some ice-cream.”

She smiles. “Now that is a good idea.”

Spike walks to the kitchen side-by-side with his big sister, his hand on her shoulder and a grin on his face.

“You know that thing with Rainbow Dash? Well,” he remarks, “actually, I knew something like that was gonna happen.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. Twilight, I think I might have like, powers.”

“Powers, huh?”

“Yeah, like Pinkie Sense or something.”

“Oh, don't start on that stuff again.”

~The End

Good Morning, Pinkie Pie

As you pull your shirt over your head, your hair still damp from your hot morning shower, you suddenly notice the sound of rapid hoof clops on the floor outside. You open the door of Pinkie Pie's bathroom to find her wearing a yellow and green aerobics outfit, jogging in place, her fluffy mane and tail bobbing with every step of her little hooves.

She's really pushing herself. You can see her cheeks puffing with her heavy breaths. Her forehead glistens with beads of sweat. It's already wetting the chest of her workout shirt. And at her backside, a stain has begun to spread, her high steps pressing and rubbing the stretchy cloth along the inner surface of her moist bottom, darkening the green of her shorts in an ever widening splotch.

You draw close as she pauses to rest, her body falling to the floor in exhaustion. You kneel, and she meets your eyes as you place a hand upon her and slowly bring your palm down toward her tail. You can feel her heaving, tired breath as you delicately stroke along the soft surface of her back.

“Are you … gonna join in … the workout today?” she asks as she pants.

You grin.

“Well, maybe something like that.”

Slowly, your hand slips into the waistband of her shorts.

As much as you're tempted to just let your fingertips linger at the tantalizing upper edge of her cheeks, you begin to slide your hand deeper into her pants.

The tight, elastic cloth forces your fingers deeply into the plush flesh of her backside. Your palm slides over the soft surface of her rump, both cheeks pressed firmly together, the crack of her ass along the center of your hand as it rides sandwiched between her shorts and the damp, fuzzy pink skin beneath. Inside her shorts, you can almost feel the moist, steamy heat rolling from her body.

And you can see from Pinkie's expression that things may be getting even hotter very soon.

She heaves a heavy sigh as you gently slip your fingertips into the sopping crack of her ass. Two thick, soft mounds of flesh press firmly against your fingers as you slowly draw them up, savoring the feel of the wet bare skin beneath your touch and the plush, fuzzy buttcheeks that squeeze along your knuckles. And it's not just damp, but positively dripping. Sweat rolls over her body and pools under your fingers as you slide them along her ass.

You hear her squeak as you reach the rim of her anus. Your already languid motions slow even further as you take your time, savoring every tiny ridge, every wet bump of her bulging pony asshole under your fingertips. It flexes under your touch, her thick, muscular ring pulsing under your hand as you continue to stroke, circling about, pressing and squeezing it gently, drawing a light spiral with your fingers as they slide over her slick skin and draw ever closer to her tight, puckered hole. She begins to squirm as you gently tap at the center of her ring, striking her hole, each time making a tiny, wet 'pop'.

A growl rises to your throat as you thrust your hand back down along her crack, sliding it roughly over her rump. Ignoring her heated giggles at your sudden ferocity, you grasp her between her legs and lift her up from the floor.

Returning Pinkie Pie to her feet, if just barely, you bring your hand up and hook your fingers into the waistband of her shorts. And with an eager tug, you begin to strip her pants off. The tight material squeezes and squishes her rump beneath it, leaving a continuous bulge of pink cheek rolling over the top – pouring over the waistband as you slide it off her slick haunches until finally, her round, plump backside is bared. You slide the shorts down along her thighs, her hocks, and off her hooves. With a careless toss, you throw them into the corner.

Pinkie gazes over her shoulder, still short of breath but clearly hungry for whatever you have in mind. She chews her lip and flips a curl of mane from her face as you hover over her backside.

You give her ass a firm slap. The sound it makes echoes with satisfying wetness, her meaty cheek still in your hand as you squeeze and kneed and pull it aside to bare the dark skin of her sweaty anus.

A smile on your lips, you suddenly grasp her hips and hold her firmly on the floor.

“Pinkie, are you still in the mood for a workout?”

”Hmm … ma~ybe. What did you have in mind?”

You dig your fingertips into her rump and lower her back-end down toward the floor.

“How about … squats?”

Pinkie grins coyly as she continues the up and down motions, your hands still squeezing her hips as she drops her haunches to the floor and raises them once again.

”Like this?”

“Yeah, just like that. Keep going.”

She continues to do just as you said, and you let go. You lower yourself to the ground and roll to your back, and with a kick, you slip yourself past her tail, leaving her hooves just to the left and right of your head.

Pinkie gives you a funny look. “What are you doing back there, silly-billy? If you don't move, I'll sit on you!”

You just smile.

“I thought we were working out, Pinkie. I don't remember telling you to stop ….”

You lie there and wait, heart pounding with anticipation as you watch Pinkie's thick, wide backside growing ever closer as she lowers herself down, her thighs flexing, her curly tail flipping and tickling your bare chest until, finally, her big, plump butt slowly presses down upon your face. Her soft cheeks slip down. You can feel them sliding gently past the corners of your mouth. Her belly shadowing your vision, you can feel every moment as her muscular pucker meets your lips. The bulging cheeks of her ass lie softly upon your cheeks, her skin still damp and hot. Your nose is, as expected, flooded by the strong smell of her pony arousal and the thick, pervasive, sweetly-sour odor of her sweat.

Her weight comes down, her wet, warm flesh heavy upon your face. Your lips feel every ridge and wrinkle of her firm asshole as it flexes and stretches against your mouth. And with a breath of her sweaty scent, you pucker up and give her a forceful smooch good morning.

~The End

Goodnight, Fluttershy

Fluttershy yawns as she hobbles into her cottage. This, of course, causes you to yawn as well as you follow her inside and pull the door closed behind you, shutting out the cold breeze of the winter night.

“Goodness, what a day,” she says, quietly flitting through the air and onto the sofa.

“You said it.” You lay your heavy bags in the corner with a sigh and give your knuckles a satisfying pop before plopping yourself down at her side.

The both of you sit there silently as the warmth of the little house slowly washes the cold from your tired bones. Normally a moment like this would be a perfect time to pet Fluttershy – it's actually quite soothing. However, she hasn't even bothered to remove her fuzzy green sweater, so instead you'll have to be content with running your fingers through her mane.

She shifts a bit and lifts her head onto your knee, making a sound somewhere between a sigh and a squeal as she nuzzles you with her cheek.

The house is oddly quiet. It seems that all of her animals are already asleep. A glance at the clock reveals the reason why. “Whoa, it's pretty late, huh?” Your hand rises to your mouth as you release another heavy yawn. “Oh man. I don't know about you, Flutters, but I am going straight to bed.”

Fluttershy rolls over on your lap, and fixes you with a fragile stare. Her lips move for a moment as her cheeks grow red. Finally, she stutters out, “Y-you know, you can always sleep with me if … if you want.”

You can't help but grin. The poor girl has it bad for you.

And she's certainly not subtle about it, either. Subtlety pretty much went out the window the time she “accidentally” pulled down your trousers when you were buying groceries – then “accidentally” stole said trousers.

In fact, she's so obsessed that she might even be considered dangerous. A dangerous little yellow stalker.

Oh no, what ever shall you do?

With a gasp, she freezes as you clutch her mane in your fist and bring your other hand to her chin. You turn her head aside and lean in close, your breath hissing through your teeth. “No,” you whisper, “I don't think I'll be doing that, Flutters.” With your grip tight about her head, you run your tongue deep into her ear. You have to stifle a laugh when she squirms and squeaks as you flick your tongue against her skin.

Suddenly, you pull your hands away and stand, leaving Fluttershy to flail about, nearly falling from the sofa, her face red and her wings stiff.

“I guess I can walk you to bed, though,” you say with an innocent, cheerful smile on your face as she finally manages to rise to her hooves. Without waiting for her reply, you head upstairs.

By the light of the moon streaming through the open window, you turn down Fluttershy's fluffy blankets and help her to pull her sweater over her rigid, trembling wings.

You may or may not have run your fingers over them as you did so. Fluttershy may or may not have noticed.

With a little hop, she steps onto the bed.

“Goodnight, Flutters.”

“Goodnight.”

You turn around and take a single step before a quiet noise stops you.

“Um ….”

“Yyyyes?” you ask with a long, curious drawl.

The bedsprings squeak as she fidgets about. “Could I have a … a goodnight kiss?”

You face her with a cautious, thoughtful expression, your arms crossed defensively upon your chest. “A kiss?”

“Y-yes,” she says. Gathering her courage, she continues, “On the lips.”

“On the cheek.”

“Okay.” She immediately shrinks away. “B-but, more than once.”

Your face is impassive. “So, twice?”

“Three. Um … three kisses? If that's okay.”

“Deal.”

She may be somewhat disappointed, but she's still quite eager. Her mouth quirks into a shy smile as you walk to her bedside. She leans forward just a bit as you come close.

But her eagerness turns to confusion as you pass her face, instead walking along her flank. You reach behind her body and grasp her hip.

“Wha-wha-wha –” Fluttershy stumbles over her attempted words as you bring your fingers across her belly, slipping them in a trail just under her sensitive wings and down to her pretty pink butterflies.

Pony hair is short, like the fuzz of a peach, but as soft as cloud fluff; and pony flesh really is like marshmallow – like a warm, thick marshmallow pillow under your face as you lay your cheek on the side of her rump.

“A kiss on the cheek,” you whisper as your mouth hovers over the surface of her backside. Softly at first, you press your puckered lips to her yellow bottom, gently stroking her with your fingertips as your lips and the tip of your nose press into the plush, supple flesh of her rump.

You give her a smirk as you pull away. She's biting her lip, her face still blazing red and her movements frozen as she stares over her shoulder.

“That's one,” you count.

You lift your hand from her hip and pull her tail aside, leaving the other to stroke wide, gentle circles on the plump cheek of her backside, your palm cupping and pressing soft shadows into her moonlit skin. You can feel the heat of her flesh as you lean in, your face lying across the valley of her backside, and you lay a kiss on her other cheek just inside the space of her shy, yellow buttcrack.

But you don't stop there. You continue across her rear, placing kiss after kiss on her delicate rump, each one sinking just a bit deeper into the supple skin of her backside.

And at the center of her cheek, at the fullest point of her haunch, your lips part. You press your mouth over the skin of her rump and begin to gently suckle. Your lips are wet upon her hot skin as you softly bite and tease at the bit of flesh in your mouth, your tongue slowly passing over it, rubbing and pressing at the luscious, fatty meat of her ass.

With a wet 'smack,' you release her.

“That's two.”

By now, you're practically holding Fluttershy aloft by her tail. Her forehooves have collapsed beneath her leaving her face down on the comforter of her bed.

She chokes a quiet, tremulous moan as you nuzzle beneath the dock of her tail. In the darkness of the bedroom, silent but for your breath and Fluttershy's squeaking sighs, you can see nothing but the thick, black shadow of her crack.

You press deeper. The warmth of her backside gives way to a feverish heat that you can feel pouring over your skin. Her thick cheeks envelop your face, her tail cascades down your back, and under your lips, you can already feel the barest touch of her hot, honeyed flesh.

“Ah!”

She gasps as your open mouth presses against the dark, plump rim of her asshole. Her pony anus stands out from her body, thick enough to wrap your lips around. You give her a poke with your tongue. You feel it quiver and tense under your moist lips as you slowly draw them down, being ever so careful to bring them to a close at the very center of her puckered ring.

You drop her to the bed and step to her face. She gazes up, her hind legs sliding over her sheets. And you lean down, and give her a peck on the cheek.

“That's three,” you say. “Goodnight, Flutters.”

She paws desperately at your shoulders with her forehooves, wordlessly begging you to stay, but you brush her off gently and turn away.

You shut the bedroom door behind you, and you think more about her hungry, loving, lustful eyes shining in the silvery moonlight as you run your tongue across your teeth.

The poor girl has it bad for you.

Derpy Panic

You're somewhat surprised when you open the door to find the googley-eyed face of Derpy, the mailmare. The mail was already delivered hours ago, after all.

“Hi, Mr. Spike!” she says with a little wave.

“Uh … hi,” you reply.

Suddenly, you hear a voice from upstairs. “Spike, is that Derpy? I have everything packed up and ready to go. Just send her on up.”

Ah, that explains it; she must be here to pick up those rare books that Twilight was sending back to the University of Trottingham library.

“Well, you heard her,” you say as you send her a smile and wave her in.

“Okie dokie!”

With a wobbly flap of her wings, she makes her way to the loft. Meanwhile, you return to the base of the stairs where your glass of lemonade and comic book awaits.

Unfortunately, before you can find out if Captain Starbuck will make her way out of the alien fortress using only the power of her wits and two hind hooves of alien-bucking fury –

“Derpy! Watch out!”

“Huh?”

You look up just in time to see a gray pegasus stumbling backward and a box of rare books flying across the library. And for whatever reason, she seems to have forgotten how to fly.

“Uh oh.”

A sharp pain in your head, a loud noise, and the next thing you know, you're on your back, your snout aching and your entire head enveloped in some heavy, hot mass that blocks your hearing.

As your mind begins to catch up with your body, you suddenly realize that the heavy mass is Derpy. She must have landed directly on top of you.

You think you roll your eyes but you can't be certain, since you're pretty sure your eyes are closed. Even though you're still a bit ticked off at being, you know, squashed, you reign in your temper and gently lift your hands to push yourself free.

Except you can't.

You press against the soft, meaty body, only to find that she's heavier than you thought, and your hands keep slipping from her coat. You grasp this way and that, you twist your hips and push with your feet, trying to somehow slide yourself out. In your flailings, your hand passes above your head and finds itself caught in a silky cascade of hair.

“Wait … is that her tail?” you think to yourself as your hands come back to your sides and give her a firm squeeze.

“Is this … is this her butt? Aw, gross!”

The idea of having your face squished into a pony's butt fills you with a strange and complex feeling that you'll deal with later. Right now, you just know that you want it off.

In a terrifying flash, it occurs to you that in all the time you've struggled, you haven't taken a breath. You try to inhale, only to find your snout pressed too tightly into her skin. Her fat gray butt is like some kind of monstrous blob. You're suddenly aware of how completely it smothers you, every surface of your face squeezed under her heavy rump, her cheeks splayed wide over your head, her soft, warm skin pouring over you and threatening to fill your every orifice. Sure enough, you struggle to open your mouth, only to feel your lips overwhelmed with a backflow of hot, fatty flesh.

“Why isn't she moving!?”

You can already feel your heart beating faster as an acute pain begins to burn your lungs. You shout out, your jaw barely able to move under the mass of pony rump, but your voice is muffled. Your lips wiggle ineffectively, blocked by the soft flesh of ass cheeks and pegasus taint. The unrelenting heat and moisture that constantly covers your face begins to draw a tingling sweat to your scaly skin.

All too soon, you begin to feel lightheaded, and your struggling turns panicked and wild. Your hands fly about, slapping ineffectively against thighs and hips. Your eyes begin to fill with tears as you fight and scream and beg, all ignored.

You aren't thinking anymore. Her flesh has filled your nose and locked your mouth. Your skin burns with the heat of fear and pain – pain in your head, in your snout, in your muscles and chest. With your puny baby dragon claws, you lash out. You buck your hips and kick your feet. But still she remains atop your face.

Just as your vision begins to fade into a buzzing field of multicolored starbursts, all at once the weight is lifted.

A burst of cold air fills your lungs. You roll to the side, coughing heavily as your tears roll ticklish trails down your cheeks. Your eyes open to the blurry sight of Twilight staring down at you.

“Spike! Are you okay?”

You refuse to dignify that with a response as you sit up and wipe your face. Not far away, curled up on the library floor, Derpy lies on her side with a blushing, exhausted expression.

As much as you'd like to be angry with her, at the moment you're simply too happy to be alive.

“Twilight, what just happened?”

She looks troubled. She dithers about for a moment before she turns to you with her lip clutched nervously in her teeth.

“I … I think you just had sex with Derpy.”

You cough and sniff as you wipe your dripping nose with your arm.

“Awesome.”

~The End

A Romantic Story About Farts

Her shoulders tightly flexed and her lips curled in a slight grimace, Celestia, the immortal Princess of Equestria, strains under the force of her magical power as she lowers the sun past the distant gray of the mountain horizon. And as always, you stand at her side, your arms already tiring from a long day of holding your clipboard.

The two of you wait and watch from the open balcony as the moon rises into the sky. It was another perfect performance, and yet, for some reason, the princess' expression is strangely uneasy.

“Something to note, Majesty?”

She gives just a tiny start and quickly puts on a smile. “Oh, it's nothing, scribe,” she replies with her regal mien once more in place as she turns to the throne room. “I'd say that was a rather successful sunset. Wouldn't you agree?”

You scratch down the appropriate records and quickly follow. “Definitely, Majesty.”

As you enter, your long steps carrying you carelessly past the little pony guards on either side of the alcove, you can't help but notice that strange uneasiness once again evident upon her face.

“Princess! Another gorgeous evening!”

At the center of the grand hall stands an elderly stallion, grinning ear to ear. His heavy robe trailing along the red carpet, he's the very picture of self-satisfied Canterlot nobility. “I do hate to bother you so soon after your evening ritual, but I'm afraid that politics waits for nopony. As you know, the Solstice Summit is nearly upon us; I was hoping to have a word with you regarding the –”

“Forgive me, Minister, but I'm afraid that I simply don't have time for any more business today. I'm sure that there will be ample opportunity for this discussion in the morning.”

Her hoofsteps pat upon the floor as she quickly passes the sputtering old pony.

“But, Princess, I must insist!” he roughly responds as he trots to her side. “This is a very serious matter! Why, this sort of capricious behavior –”

“Is completely within my rights, Minister!”

He tumbles to the ground as she turns upon him with an angry stare. The room falls silent, and each person, whether human or pony, gazes anxiously at Celestia, her eyes flashing and her mane whipping furiously in the sudden wind. “You will trouble me no further this night, do I make myself clear?”

The quivering stallion struggles to reply. “Y-yes, Highness!”

With marked brusqueness, she turns and starts once more toward the entryway, leaving the heart of every witness pounding as you rush to follow.

Whatever thoughts you may have about the Princess' uncharacteristic bout of temper, you keep them to yourself as the two of you make your way through the halls of the palace. Her golden shoes tinkle cold echoes down the marble walkways as you continue on, past the ancient tapestries and the darkened windows of stained glass, to finally arrive at the doorway of Celestia's bedroom. There, you follow her through the heavy doors, the guards, of course, taking no interest in the presence of the Princess' personal scribe.

When the door is safely shut behind you, the princess quietly releases a tired sigh and allows her head to fall upon your chest.

“Celestia? What's the matter? You've seemed troubled this evening.”

She lifts herself up and touches her gentle lips to your cheek. “It's nothing, sweetie. Just a bit of a tummyache is all.”

You watch as she gingerly moves toward her bed and steps one by one out of her shoes. “Should I fetch a doctor?” you ask.

“Oh, no. I'm quite fine, really, it's just –” Her teeth suddenly clench in obvious discomfort as she lifts her crown and regalia over her the luminous waves of her mane. “Just something from the evening meal that's disagreed with me.”

As she steps to the side of her bed, you lay aside your documents and slowly run your fingertips through the majestic locks of her mane. “Is there anything I can do?”

With a quick shake of her head, she pulls away. “I think I'd actually like to take an early night, tonight. I hope you … understand.”

“But I –”

“Please!” she tersely interrupts, “I merely need a good night's rest. Now if you would just –”

Her hind leg still lifted to step into her bed, a sudden heavy bass note sounds out from her backside, ripping for just a moment through the silence of the room. Slowly, the unbelievable fact dawns on you that, Celestia, the immortal alicorn princess of the sun … had just broken wind.

With a sorrowful groan, she buries her face in the fabric of her bedspread. For quite some time, the only sound to be heard is the soft noise of the city far below carried upward on the evening breeze.

Finally, the muffled voice of the princess quietly rises through the sheets. “Please excuse me,” she mutters. “I'm sorry you had to … hear that.”

“Celestia, is this what's been bothering you? You just have a bit of –”

“Yes!” She turns to you, still slumping heavily upon her bed, her cheeks blazing in shame. “Now go! Can't you see how embarrassing this is?”

It's quite unlike you to disobey the princess' wishes, but for once, you choose to ignore her command. Instead, you kneel down, and you place a gentle hand upon her back. “Tia, you know there's nothing to be embarrassed about; it's a perfectly natural thing. And besides ….”

Your fingertips begin to drift over her silky coat, along her wing and down the delicate flesh at the side of her belly. “Am I not already fairly familiar with … how your body works?”

She draws back just a bit from the touch of your hand. “This is different. Natural or not, it's just so … undignified.” In spite of her distress, you can hardly restrain a chuckle. Whether she realizes it or not, her lips have curled into a distinct pout, and her voice carries all the authority of a petulant child.

You lift your hand to her cheek. “Let me help you, princess. I only want to make you comfortable. Please?”

Perhaps she knows that your mind is made up, or perhaps the ache in her belly has simply worn away her remaining patience. Whatever the case, she quietly relents, even as she hides her face in your chest. “Oh … alright.”

A smile of satisfaction on your face, you fall back upon the bed and pat the space at your side. The princess follows soon after, sinking into the plush satin of the bedcovers, shifting and shuffling along on her back until she finally lies next to you.

“There.” You gently draw your hand along her belly. “Just relax and let it out. It is nothing but air, after all.”

Celestia can't even meet your eye. Her sullen face turned away, she quietly huffs and flicks her tail back and forth beneath her upstretched legs. Suddenly, you feel her stomach rumble and tense as a quick squeak escapes her rear.

Her chest rises and falls under your touch as you lay long, restful strokes along the fuzz of her skin.

“I feel absolutely ridiculous,” she grumbles.

“Now, don't be like that.” You lean in, your lips brushing her ear as you whisper. “I'll be honest, Tia, I actually find it rather … let's say, romantic.” Your fingertips drift downward over the slight bulge of her belly, and they settle low, gently tickling the space between the almost imperceptible nubs of her teats.

“Romantic?” Her nose scrunches, and she lifts a delicate eyebrow. “Well, I can't say I understand why. But … well, I suppose ….”

Her disheveled mane hangs in strands of blue and green over her face, and her cheeks are a masterpiece of pink. She smirks and clutches her lip in her teeth, her expression mischievous and tinged with just a bit of uncertainty. The musical report of her fart rings out from below as she stares into your eyes. You listen happily to the alluring sounds of her body, and you give her a peck on her mouth and lay your head against her neck.

The two of you lie there in the peaceful light of her bedroom, her forelegs holding you close and your fingers drawing lines and tiny circles on the warm surface of her skin.

But then she sighs, and her hips shift about. “Sweetie, I don't think this is working,” she says. “I just can't seem to relax.”

Your hand still lightly upon her belly, you purse your lips and give the situation a bit of thought. After a moment, you rise to your feet and, without a word, take her by the hoof and coax her from the bed. Quickly snatching up one of her large seating cushions on the way, you lead her to the balcony.

From here, the lights of the city float below like tiny flecks of moonlit gold, and the sounds of carriages and music and happy ponies going about their business drift slowly upward to the palace through the cool of the evening. It would be hard to find a more lovely or relaxing place in all of Canterlot.

With this in mind, you set the cushion on the tiled floor and sit down, your back resting on the wall, and motion for Celestia to join you. Her tail floats and flicks against your chest as she stands in front of you, her rump waving ever so slightly from left to right, and your hands slide up along her hips and close about her belly as she lowers herself into your lap. Her body is slender but sweetly soft as she settles against you.

“This is nice.” She shuts her eyes and breathes deeply as the cool dampness of the night wind blows across her cheeks. “The air is so sweet out here.” She giggles for just a moment and adds with a grin, “But I suppose I'll soon be putting an end to that, won't I?”

There's a smile on your lips as you press them to her neck. The darkness hides her blush from your eyes, but you can feel her heat in your kisses. Her rump seated heavily upon your lap, a sudden deep, heavy vibration shakes your body, and the princess sighs in relief as her wind bubbles out against you.

“Better?” you ask, your palms rubbing short strokes on the sides of her delicate belly.

“Mhmm,” she answers as she wiggles her hips to lay her body more fully against your shoulder, the large, soft cheeks of her backside slipping aside to enclose your thigh between them. “Could you rub a bit harder, sweetie?”

You simply nod, and your strokes upon her belly grow firm, her stomach wonderfully plush beneath your palms yet still a bit taught with bloat. Your hand travels along her shimmering, fuzzy skin, and you feel every movement of her rolling insides, every warm, enticing pulse of her anus upon your thigh and the hot pressure of her gas as it escapes in a rumbling, noisy burst on the thick of your leg. The sounds and feel of her gassy belly make her seem so simple and delicate, like just another insignificant little life that wakes, and walks, and sleeps, and fades out in a blink of an eye. Celestia ... your sunrise.

As you prod fervently at her jaw, peppering her neck with kisses and dropping your fingers from her belly to grasp at the flesh of her supple backside, Celestia's eyes turn to the night sky. Alone on the tower, the two of you sit above the mountains – above the world – together upon an endless star dusted ocean that melts into the black of the horizon.

“Sweetie,” she says, “what did you mean when you said that my … sounds … were romantic?”

You pause for only a moment, then quietly laugh as your hand slips over her thigh and tightly grips the joint of her hock. “Maybe I'll tell you sometime, Tia. But not tonight.”

She squeaks in surprise as you suddenly give her hock a tug to bring her hoof high, lifting her legs, roughly spreading them apart and baring her naked hindquarters to the cool night air. You clasp her tightly to your chest. You kiss her – a firm, deep kiss. Her soft moan tingles your tongue as a long, hissing puff escapes her tightly puckered hole.

And for a moment, the sun is just another little star.

~Fin