The Adventures of Sir Morning Glory the Dildo

by psp7master

Rating: mature
Tags: Comedy, Random, Slice of Life
Length: 1971

Sir Morning Glory is many things. A gentlecolt; an avid admirer of arts; a distinguished apologist of existential philosophy. But more importantly, he is a dildo. Octavia's dildo.

Sir Morning Glory is many things. He is a refined gentlecolt, despite not really being a colt. He is an avid admirer of fine arts. He is a distinguished apologist of existential philosophy. But more importantly, he is a dildo. Not just any dildo, mind you! No, Sir Morning Glory belongs to the most spectacular classical musician in all of Equestria - Octavia Philarmonica. He is content with his life, and his current job. However, all of that changes when his mistress brings home a peculiar white unicorn…

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-03-29 19:50:02 UTC

The Adventures of Sir Morning Glory the Dildo

~The Adventures of Sir Morning Glory the Dildo~

***

Early sunlight fell upon the bedroom, peeking into the fairly-adorned room through the red curtains, colouring the light a violet-tinted mix of bordeaux and lavender. The flat was silent, basking in the wee hours of the morning: the lonely bed breathed with silent tranquillity, and the various shelves yawned under the weight of books and collections of sheet music. The velvet chair in the corner of the room woke up, breathing heavily against the numerous cello cases propped against its back.

At least, that's how Sir Morning Glory pictured the morning as he woke up in the drawer next to the bed. He couldn't see the surroundings, but he could very well feel them: the crampness of the piece of furniture that he called home, the dark coldness of the wood, the numbness of steely bolts keeping the wood in place.

Sir Morning Glory wished he could go for a stretch, or open his non-existent eyes, feeling the light upon his eyelids, or just roll about the place, bathing in the uneventful morning. However, being a dildo, he couldn't do any of those things. He could just lie in place and wait until Octavia came home.

If the noble sex toy could sigh, he would probably do so right now. Octavia was a very nice hostess, letting him use her drawer as his humble abode, in exchange for doing certain favours to her. Like letting himself to be used as her primary source of pleasure. Sir Morning Glory couldn't say the job was always pleasant, but noblesse oblige, and he knew ever so well that he was making the kind grey - he knew she was grey, from a conversation - mare happy. Could he wish for more?

Well, as a matter of fact, he could, and did. For one, he would be very grateful if somepony granted him with eyes; not just for the plain ability to see - though, he did want to see Octavia in all of her glory - but because he had always wanted to wear a monocle. Of course, he didn't know what a monocle was, but more than once had he heard guests coming to Octavia's house converse in such a manner that clearly showed the importance of a monocle in a gentlecolt's life.

And Sir Morning Glory considered himself a gentlecolt, indeed. Of course, he wasn't a colt per se, nor was he a stallion, but the wonderful cellist Octavia Philarmonica had officially gifted him with a royal title, and he was anxious to live up to it. Many a time had she talked to him, and when she wasn't shrieking something along the lines of, "Deeper! Oh Celestia, deeper!", the mare shared her troubles and woes with the dildo, letting him know her deepest secrets. He felt grateful to her for that. Oh, if only he could tell her about that!

Sometimes he wondered if Octavia viewed him as a simple means of pleasuring herself. No matter how hard he tried to drop the issue in his mind, it evoked a stream of consciousness that inevitably led him to speculations. Being a firm apologist of existential philosophy, Sir Morning Glory couldn't just shrug it off. Wherein an idea lies, the arguments for it lie as well, waiting to be picked up. Was he just that - a toy? Maybe. Maybe he was. Though, aren't we all mere toys in Destiny's clumsy hooves? he would ask himself after a sastifying sex session with the grey cellist, after which she'd always wash him up and let him rest for the night on a soft pillow, instead of the cramped drawer.

Sir Morning Glory wasn't the one to lament, though: he had a decent life, a stable job, and a very kind hostess. What if he had to enter a tight hole once in a few days, or, to be more exact, up to a few times a day? For some reason, it pleased Octavia, and, being the gentlecolt he was, Sir Morning Glory took pride in his ability to satisfy a lady, no matter what her alignment towards him might be.

Speaking of the lady in question, she really was worth dying for - or, more specifically, worth living for. If only he could see her for once in his life! If only he could look into her eyes! Sir Morning Glory always imagined them lavender; he didn't know much about colours, having never seen them, but he simply knew that they had to be lavender. However, he could hear her; this gift had been bestowed upon the noble dildo, even though he didn't have any form of ears.

He could hear her, and her voice was the sweetest music to his... erm, lack of ears, compared to only the music she would play, teaming up with her intrument, the cello. Sir Morning Glory imagined the cello as a very uptight, noble instrument; from what he could gather, it also had 'strings' - the harbingers of sound, and a 'bow' - the conductor of melody. He would die to see them as well.

For now, however, the hostess was away, and Sir Morning Glory could do nothing but lie in his drawer, speculating upon life, literature that Octavia sometimes read aloud or discussed with her guests, and music that he had been blessed to have listened to.

***

The door opened with an audible screech, drawing Sir Morning Glory from his contemplative reverie. He could hear laughter coming from the doorway; not just Octavia's sweet, tingling laughs, but also somepony's barking chuckles, which, to him, seemed rather distasteful. The lofty dildo made out steps resonating across the tiled kitchen floor which signified that his kind hostess wished to speak with her guest in private.

Usually, such occasions were long-lasting, with Octavia conversing for hours before she finally said her goodbyes and came into the bedroom to tend to Sir Morning Glory. However, this time, the door to the bedroom opened in a few minutes, letting in a mix of laughter and hiccuping. A lugubrious thought struck the distinguished sex toy: his hostess was drunk, that is, she had consumed a fair amount of so-called 'alcohol'. While Sir Morning Glory didn't know its nature, he knew that alcohol brought about unpleasant changes in Octavia's behaviour, like her shoving him up her hole with more fervour and roughness than usual, and leaving him on the cold floor without washing-up.

"Mmm, Vinyl~" Octavia's voice cooed, and wet, slurping sounds followed afterwards; the kind of noise that erupted from the cellist's hole when Sir Morning Glory was at work, but not quite. Yet, he did not feel like pondering over it at the moment. What did occupy his mind, however, was the name Octavia called her guest. Vinyl? Yes, he had heard this word before; it was used to describe a record - a piece of vinyl that contained music, the sacred music. Was this pony's name also Vinyl? Did that mean she was sacred too, in a way?

Soon, after a few minutes of muffled murmurs and occasional moans that made him believe that Octavia was pleasuring herself in front of her guest - what else could it be? -  the drawer opened, and Sir Morning Glory felt a familiar pressure of a hoof on his form as Octavia took him out, whispering softly, "Sir Morning Glory, time to impress my new marefriend."

Marefriend? Sir Morning Glory strained his wits to reminisce the meaning of the word. Ah, a marefriend, or a coltfriend, was a very special somepony, somepony that a pony could rely on, and talk to, and also whom they could... pleasure. A realisation dawned upon the dildo as he was licked on top by Octavia's gentle tongue. She decided to pleasure her marefriend, Vinyl; and she also resolved to make the best of it, thus briging him into play.

This wasn't a pleasant thought, Sir Morning Glory mused as he was being sucked on by the cellist. Previously, he'd thought he would only satisfy Octavia, only her, and nopony else. But now his hostess's intentions were clear: she wanted him to do the same to Vinyl, whether he wanted it or not.

Suddenly, Sir Morning Glory felt a disturbing presence of another tongue on his tip. This tongue was more rough than Octavia, more sturdy. It tickled him as this Vinyl lapped at him like a madpony. Then, without warning, he was brought to a hole.

Only it wasn't Octavia's wonderful, painfully familiar hole that he was to face. No, as he was shoved into it in a fast, fervent stroke, he felt that this hole was different. It was loose, and wetter than Octavia's hole had ever been. He didn't feel like exploring, though: the very concept of satisfying another pony was alien to him, even though his actions were guided by Octavia.

Pants and moans dominated over his hearing for a while as he was thrust back and forth the loose hole, desperately trying to pretend that it was Octavia whom he was giving the pleasure. Soon, the walls of the hole twitched, and, accompanied by a loud yell from Vinyl, her juices poured upon him. Usually, Sir Morning Glory liked to be wet after pleasuring Octavia; now he was disappointed. These weren't Octavia's juices. No, not in the slightest.

Just as he thought that he was done for today and could return to his drawer, to delve into speculations about eternity and the role of one dildo in history's course, he heard a faint whisper. He couldn't quite make out what Vinyl was whispering to Octavia, but he was sure it included something about 'returning the favour'.

An approving moan from Octavia was followed by Vinyl sliding Sir Morning Glory into the best hole in the world - Octavia's hole. If Sir Morning Glory could breathe, he would have let out a sigh of relief as the familiar surroundings greeted him with their usual hot desire. Now he was doing his job. He enjoyed rubbing against the walls of the cellist's hole. It was tight, but it was home.

The bliss could last forever; Sir Morning Glory knew every nook of Octavia's hole, and he so desired to make her feel good. He rubbed, and rubbed, and rubbed, exploring the deepest cores of the cellist, until he was withdrawn. That was strange. He had never been taken out before Octavia sprayed her juices on him... What was wrong this time?

Then, he understood it. In an instant, he faced a very tight hole; much, much more tight than Octavia's hole. He slid there with unease, guided by Vinyl's hoof. He assumed that this hole belonged to somepony else, but a delighted, prolonged moan from Octavia crushed his assumption. This... This was Octavia's hole too. However, it wasn't the hole he was used to. It was dark, and very tight, as if the walls were threatening to crush him. He could feel it.

Sir Morning Glory started to panic. He didn't sign up for this! Still, he was forced to rummage the hole, exploring it against his will. This hole wasn't home; far from it. It was a deep dungeon, and he wanted out. It was scary. It was terrifying.

A shriek from Octavia brought about a tidal wave of juices, which, to the dildo's displeasure, weren't directed at him. Still, he was freed from the dark dungeon of the myserious hole, and he couldn't be more grateful for that.

As expected, he was thrown onto the floor as Octavia and Vinyl continued to moan into the night. Lying there, alone, Sir Morning Glory came to a conclusion.

He definitely didn't like Octavia's new marefriend.