The house smells like shit again.
It’s a smell you’re used to. It’s not as though you haven’t tried cleaning the place, or that she hasn’t, or that there’s some conspiracy between the two of you to keep the place mired in filth. If anything, the floors, walls, and furniture are all spotless. But that has nothing to do with it. It’s those goddamned animals she insists on keeping that do it, and there’s no getting rid of those no matter how much you clean.
You try to ignore it, but the stench hits you in a wave the second you open the door. The smell of unwashed fur and animals tracking their own feces through the house. You’ve asked her to keep them outside, but then the whining begins—if they stay outside they’ll get lonely, the bunnies don’t have big enough coats to keep warm at night, the chickens are frightened in their cage, can’t they just come in for a minute... it’s not worth arguing about anymore. You’ve given up.
The smell that mingles with the ever-present aroma of animal waste isn’t one that compliments it; she’s tried cooking again, apparently.
You kick off your shoes in the door, trying to avoid any of the suspicious patches of what might just be dirt as you leave them in the hallway. You hang up your coat, though you imagine you’ll be putting it back on as the night goes on. If she starts crying, anyway.
The kitchen table is laid out with an attempt at a proper meal; there are three plates to each side, all of them with different entrees that all look the say. It’s all grass, essentially. No matter how she tries to spin it, it’s all horse food. Rabbit food. Green clumps pulled up from dirt. At first your agreement to keep animals off the plate was out of understanding, or empathy. You couldn’t look at her so upset and say it made sense to want to strip the flesh from an adorable woodland creature. Now you find yourself wanting to skin the things in front of her, and eat the meat raw. But you don’t. When the day comes that you decide something like that is necessary, you may as well just walk out. You’re not cruel, after all.
Fluttershy tries to smile at you as you take your place at the table. Her grin wobbles as she brings a plate of steamed carrots to the center of the table.
“Oh, you’re home,” she says. She says it like she’s surprised. Maybe she is. Every day you walk in the door is a surprise to both of you.
Yes, you’re home.
“I made dinner,” she says. As if that wasn’t obvious.
You saw.
“I hope you like it...” Her sentence trails off. You don’t respond. You look down at the plates heaped in what may as well be well-cooked compost.
Something else at the table catches your eye. There’s another something at a chair—a white thing, peering over the table and reaching for the carrots.
What have you said about him eating here?
“Well... I-I know, but I just thought that... these were the last carrots, and he’s been asking for so long...”
You push your plate forward and stand up from the table.
You’re not eating if he’s at the table. You’ve had this discussion before.
“No, wait!” Fluttershy jumps up from the table and rushes over to you. her wings flap to push herself along, her eyes wide with the fear that you’ll be out the door before she can say ‘stop’. That if you walk out the door, this will be the last time she sees you.
“It’s... it’s okay. I’ll put him outside. Okay?”
Oh?
Fluttershy nods.
“Of course. He... it’ll be fine. He’s a trooper.”
You don’t respond. Fluttershy smiles at you, and you stare back at her. Her eyes are green.
You forgot how green they were. Like the reflection of a turquoise ocean on a summer beach.
Alright.
Fluttershy darts back to the kitchen before you can move. You can hear her negotiating in hushed tones beside the table. Directing, then asking, then pleading. You can hear the shake in her voice as she begs with her eyes wide, staring at that asshole rabbit with his arms crossed. Eventually he gets down from the table, but you can tell from the sparkle in Fluttershy’s eyes that she’s made him mad. That he might not speak to her for days.
You sit down at the table and pick up your fork. You try to decide what looks the least unappetizing, and settle on a purple root mixed in with some leaves.
It tastes the same as everything else—like dirt.
Fluttershy watches you as she eats. She picks up her mouthfuls of greens almost happily, free from the use of a fork. At one point you thought the way she leaned in and nibbled on her salad was adorable, but now you just want to walk across the room, yank her head back by the hair, and scream at her to eat like a civilized being.
You eat your meal in silence, save the crunching of greens. You don’t manage to get down more than one plate. Fluttershy finishes all of hers.
She’s been putting on pounds lately. You’ve mentioned it once or twice, but not enough, apparently. She’s not a butterball yet, but you can see the rolls there when she walks, her tummy jiggling as she moves around. Nothing that a little willpower and exercise wouldn’t cure, if she didn’t spend all day sitting on her ass with the little furballs that have made it their mission to cake your house in shit.
You push your plate away.
Thanks.
“Wait,” Fluttershy says. She scrambles up from the table again. You hear a jostle of the plates and silverware as she bumps against the wooden edge—presumably the fifteen pounds or so she’s put on giving her enough pudge to get in the way. The thought makes you chuckle under your breath for some reason, but you wipe away the brewing smirk as Fluttershy bounds over to you again.
“Would you like anything for desert?” she asks.
No.
You see her face deflate, but it only breaks for a moment before she remembers her plastic looking smile.
“O-okay,” she says. “I’ll clear the table then, um, if that’s alright.”
Fine.
You let her scurry around the kitchen, picking up too many plates in her mouth at once and cradling them awkwardly with her wing until she can hobble to the sink. You pause for a second at the kitchen doorway to watch her jiggle as she collects the last of the dishes and begins running the water.
For a second, you almost want to walk over and grab a handful of her, pulling her close and feeling the squish of her stomach in your hand and the pliable padding of her butt against your pants.
But you think on it for a second. Not even a flicker of spark passes across your skin. You feel as flaccid as you have for months.
You turn and begin to walk towards the stairs.
Her voice interrupts you mid-step.
“Would you, um, like to do something after I’m done the dishes?”
No, not really.
“I was, um, thinking we could go for a walk, maybe? The moon is beautiful tonight, and the night-flowers have just started blooming on the side of—”
No. Pretty tired. Gonna call it an early night.
“Oh. Well... alright then. I hope you... sleep well.”
Thanks.
You walk upstairs, avoiding suspicious patches in the carpet as you head to the bedroom.
The creak of the wooden steps isn’t loud enough to muffle her sniffles that turn into cries as you reach the bedroom, nor is the running of the water into the sink.
You think about how soft your pillow will feel when you lie down.
You don’t know how long you’ve been asleep for. Your eyes open in the way they do when your dreams are interrupted, groggily half-blinking and struggling to work out the time of day, wondering if you’ve missed something important.
You feel something against your back. Something much warmer than the goosebump chill of your bare skin.
You turn over, still barely awake, and see a patch of yellow in the darkness of your bedroom.
What’s she doing here?
“I’m sorry.” She squeaks it out in a whisper, as though if she’s quiet enough she won’t wake you up further. “I was having trouble getting to sleep, and, and, and I thought since you were asleep I could come in and not wake you up...”
She has her own bed.
“I know,” she says, whispering like she’s at a library. “I just... can’t I sleep here, just for tonight? I promise I won’t wake you up again.”
You think about throwing her out. About declining, and kicking her back to her bed, knowing that the weight of another body on the mattress will keep you from getting any sleep at all.
It’s not worth it when you’re this tired.
Fine.
You roll over and try to ignore the already bothersome heat emanating from behind you. You try to focus on the softness of your pillow, and the closing of your eyes bringing back the fog of unconsciousness that her touch pulled you from.
After a minute or two, you’re still awake. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. More than that, you can hear her breathing. It’s sharp and shrill, even though you can tell she’s trying to do it as quietly as possible. It sounds like she’s hyperventilating as a result, or at the very least worrying herself with every breath, staring wide-eyed at your back and clutching the blankets to her chest, praying that she won’t annoy you and get sent back to her own room.
You sigh and close your eyes again.
“Am I keeping you up? I’m sorry. I can go if you want...”
It’s fine.
You try to focus on your own breathing instead. It’s an almost metric rhythm. In and out, each one with the rise and fall of your chest, counting seconds like sheep. You shut your eyes extra tight, then loosen them, letting the spots dance behind black as you keep your eyelids closed. In and out. One, two.
You feel a warm something against your back again. Two hooves, pressing down into the base of your spine.
You turn over, evidently faster than she’s expecting. She gasps and pulls her hooves away, clutching them tight against her chest as though she’s worried you’re going to chop them off.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to... I just... I just remembered when you... I remembered you used to like that sometimes, when you couldn’t get... to sleep...” She stammers over every word. Perpetually afraid. It’s tiresome.
Just... don’t.
She holds her hooves to her chin. Her green eyes get bigger, and even in the darkness and the soft moonlight you can see them sparkle at the edges.
“I’m sorry...” she says.
You turn over without saying anything.
Please. All you want is to go to sleep.
You hear her breathing replaced with sniffling, the soft sound of sucking in tears and a stuffed up nose.
“I... I remember when you used to like me touching you...” she says. Her voice shakes like it’s holding back a damn, and you can feel her trembling against the mattress in tiny little wobbles that resonate to your side of the bed.
Goddamn. This is exactly what you didn’t want.
You turn over with a huff of breath. The act of facing her seems to tip her further over the edge, though you imagine if you left her to her own devices she’d break down eventually anyway. But at least then you’d have the benefit of ignoring her in hopes of falling asleep.
Her eyes are full of tears now, and they’re trickling down her cheeks and presumably onto the blanket underneath. You try to settle on an appropriate facial reaction, and eventually settle on exasperation, which you imagine she was expecting anyway.
“Why... why don’t you want me anymore?” She howls the last word like she’s been shot, letting it spill out of her in an anguish of tears. She’s full-on crying now, sobbing and clutching the bedding like she wants to reach out for you but can’t. You don’t know what you’d do if she did anyway.
This is exactly what you didn’t fucking want when she showed up in your bed in the first place.
“I’m sorry!” she says through more crying. “I didn’t mean to... I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”
Enough. You know she’s sorry. Can she just shut up so you can get some sleep?
That only makes her cry harder. You should have figured. You sigh.
She can’t see because she’s leaning into herself, but you roll your eyes as you reach your arm out towards her. You place it on her shoulder, and rub down her back until your fingers reach the base of her wing. You move it back and forth a few times, hoping the gesture will stem the tide of her bawling long enough for you to get her out of the room.
“What is that’s wrong with me?” she says, pulling her face up and staring at you through tear filled eyes. You have to force yourself not to turn your head in disgust. Against your better judgement, you keep your hand on her shoulder, though you stop moving it.
We’ve already talked about this.
“Is it the sex? I already said I’m sorry, I can do better. We can do it every night if you want, even if I’m not in the mood, please—”
Stop. Not now. You don’t want to do this right now. Can she please just calm down and go back to her—
“No!” She moves her forelegs suddenly, throwing your hand off her shoulder. “Please, I want this to work, don’t throw me out, please...”
She throws her forelegs forward and clings to you like an infant animal scared of death, holding onto its mother because it knows nothing else. You look down at her and see her face scrunched up, staring back at you. Her fur is wet with tears, and her mane is a mess, disheveled from tossing in the bed and god knows what else. When she breathes, you can hear the wad of mucus that’s built up in her sinus from her crying.
You don’t speak. What could you say?
“Please,” she says again. “Don’t... we can... we can make this work somehow.”
Can she just leave?
“Don’t!” she howls. She buries her face in your shoulder, and you feel the hotness of her tears as they dampen your skin. You try to pull away, but she locks herself there, holding onto you like a plank in a storm. Her wings flap meekly under the blankets, and you can already imagine the yellow feathers you’ll turn up there in the morning. You look around the room, staring at the walls, and put a hand on her back, rubbing in small circles underneath her wings. You don’t want to, but you’ll do anything if it will just get rid of her.
“If... if we had sex, could I stay? Just for tonight?”
What? No, we can’t—”
“Please!” she says again. “I know you always... always said I was too cold, like a fish. Please, if we... if we have sex, can I sleep here? I just want to lie in your bed next to you, just for one night...”
Listen, we’re not going to—
She throws herself forward, pushing you from your side onto your back, and plants herself right on top of you, resting most of her weight on her chest. She used to feel like a soft down pillow when she did this, but now you can feel the extra pounds, squeezing some of the air out of your lungs. She stares into your face like she’s starving, dying, and you’re the only one who can keep her alive.
“Please,” she begs, breathing it out like it’s her last gasp of air. “I’ll do anything. I know I’m not worth it. I’m horrible and awful and I know why you don’t want anything to do with me. But please... just tonight, let me stay. We can have sex, do whatever you want. You can hit me, call me names... you can cum in ten seconds, or fuck me in the ass and make me lick it off, I don’t care... just... please... let me stay here. Just for tonight.”
She pants, out of breath from her raving, begging you with her eyes, with a folding of her wings and the way her hooves dig into your chest like she’s trying to drag you closer. She mouths the word at you. Please.
“Just let me pretend you love me for one night,” she says.
You close your eyes and take a long, deep breath. The air feels warmer now that she’s here. The coolness of the night is gone, and the room is beginning to heat up like a hotel room with tossed aside bed-sheets and two-day-vacations away from the world.
She’s on top of you. You can remember what she feels like.
You still don’t feel hard.
Alright.
Her face brightens. Her eyes beam so wide you can almost see into another world inside them, and her mouth hangs open like she’s building a scream on the back of her throat. But she keeps it there for her words instead.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She leans forward and kisses you. You kiss her back with the least effort you can manage, barely pursing your lips as she presses her face against yours. Her kiss tastes like something between an awkward puritan gesture of affection and a nervous young girl trying to pretend she wants to fuck you.
Which is exactly what it is, most likely.
She doesn’t waste any time. After a few seconds of rubbing her body against yours, she snakes down the bed and throws the blankets to the side. You’re naked, so she doesn’t find anything between herself and your junk. Just as you expected, you’re as soft as you’ve ever been. For a second you hope she’ll see that and give up so you can go to sleep, but she looks up at you from between your legs. She squints her eyes like she’s trying to be sexy, but she just looks awkward, like she has some kind of brain disorder.
“H-here... let me,” she says. She stammers like the idea of even touching your dick is foreign to her.
Which it may as well be.
Right away, her mouth. No warm up, no hooves, licking, caressing. She takes your penis into her mouth and sucks on it like she’s trying to pull it to life. The warmth of her tongue and lips is nice, and you feel a little tingle, but you’re not going to get hard anytime soon.
You don’t tell her. You close your eyes and try to will yourself to hardness. You clench your legs and flex your muscles and try to imagine that she’s sucking you off properly, or that you’re already hard, and she’s lapping up and down your shaft the way you like but she never did, and after a few more licks she’ll grin at you and crawl up you body and plant her pussy on top of your dick and she’ll be wet for once, and she’ll stare into your eyes as you press her down and slide inside, and she’ll gasp and curl into you, and the two of you will fuck until you both come at once, and she’ll kiss you and murmur into your mouth, and the two of you will pass out in post-coital bliss, wrapped in each other’s arms.
You open your eyes.
Still soft.
She’s not oblivious. She pulls her mouth away and stares up at you like she’s not sure what to do next.
“I’m... I’m sorry. Am I not... doing it right?”
She’s not... here, just get up.
Her eyes brim with panic for a moment as you sit up, like she thinks you’re going to call the whole quits and throw her out, but you silence another ‘please’ before it can arrive by placing your hand on her neck and leading her up the bed. You take her place at the foot, and leave her standing on all fours, staring at the headboard. Her wings are folded tight against her body, and her tail is hanging limply between her legs, covering everything up.
You ask her to move her tail.
She squeaks and shifts her tail to the side, doing it without hesitation only because it’s so simply. Immediately, you can her ass and pussy, staring at you, taunting you in your softness.
Your hand feels rough on your dick. Either your fingers are callused, or you’ve forgotten what friction is.
You hear her breathing as you stroke yourself. It’s sharp and nervous sounding again. Her legs twitch a little—not from arousal, but simply from the act of holding herself there. Curious, you reach out a hand and plant it between her legs, rubbing your two fingers along her snatch.
Just as dry as the rest of her.
Still, you keep rubbing, while stroking yourself with the other hand. You press the tips of your fingers into her clit and move them in a circle.
“Ooh...” She makes a noise that sounds more like surprise than anything. You can feel her intonation shift as she nears the end of the syllable, from a perplexed discomfort to what she probably imagines might sound sexy. You try to ignore the sound and focus on the feeling of her pussy under your hand—though, if she stays this dry, there’s no way you’ll be fucking her in any way shape or form tonight.
And you’re still limp.
She did say you could do anything.
You pull your hand away from her pussy, still dry. You bring your fingers to your nose and sniff. A whiff of her scent hits you, unwashed and filthy, as she usually is. You imagine it’s been a week at least since she’s taken a bath, though you haven’t been keeping track. Just like the whole rest of the house, her smell is joined by the scent of disgusting animals and their shit. It mingles with a hot sweat that only comes along with unwashed fat, and just a hint of what you imagine might be arousal, now, or at some point in the far distant past.
You suck on your fingers for a moment anyway. You feel a little twinge run through your cock, and maybe just a slight hardness. You try not to overflex, in fear that it might go away.
You switch hands and bring the other one to her ass. You squeeze for a moment and attempt to relish the feeling of her pudge underneath your fingers. She exhales in a forced-sounding fashion, like she’s uncomfortable even from your proximity. The response is almost enough to make you pull away and kick her right in the stomach, but you restrain yourself. You pull your hand back a few inches and slap your palm against her ass. Her oversized rump makes a satisfying ‘smack’ sound when you strike it, and she lets out a noise of genuine discomfort, like the tiny blow has delivered her into a world of immense pain.
You feel another twitch.
You pull back further and smack her again. This time you feel her body shudder as your blow ripples through her fat ass.
“Ow,” she says. She leans her head forward and plants her forehead against the headboard. She says it like she’s trying to muffle the noise under her breath, but it’s loud enough to hear, because the only other sound in the room is the creaking of the box-spring as you lean forward on your knees, and the scraping of your rough fingers against the dry skin of your budding erection. You feel it a little bit, at least—a half hardness that wasn’t there before.
You smack her again, harder. Her body jostles sideways with the blow. She doesn’t say anything this time, but she makes a high-pitched squeak, into the pillow maybe. You don’t really pay close attention.
Her asshole looks tight. You feel yourself getting harder now.
There’s no lube. You don’t even bother looking—there’s no reason for any to be in the house.
You gather up as much saliva as you can and tilt your head down. You spit, and most of it misses, though some manages to get on the head of your dick. You have to stop moving your hand for fear of wiping it away. You let the dob of saliva stay where it is and try to gather up a little more.
You move forward until you’re closer to her. Her ass is a little red from where you smacked it. You kneel down further until your face is level with her ass. The scent of it hits you full force, and it’s almost enough to get you hard. You imagine what it’ll feel like to put your dick inside. You scrunch up your mouth and spit. It’s a loud sound, like chewing tobacco, and she flinches when the gob hits her right on target, coating the ring of her asshole with dampness.
You look down at your dick, which is almost dry again. It’s not hard all the way, but probably enough. You try to dribble out some more spit and manage to get a few drops. You lift yourself up a little bit, still on your knees, and try to line up to her hole.
She clenches up when your head touches her ass, like she wasn’t expecting you to go through with it. You can feel the shiver along her skin as you point the tip of your cock right at the wet part of her hole. You’re not stupid enough to just ram yourself forward, but as you try sliding in slowly, your dick bends, reminding you that you’re not hard all the way. You take your left hand and hold the base of your dick as you line it up again, and try to guide it inside. You get just a millimeter in, and she squeals and pulls away.
Goddamnit.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m just... I’m sorry. I’ll hold still. Please, go ahead.” She shoves her face into the pillow. You can hear the sound of the pillowcase as she clenches it between her teeth.
You try to line yourself up again, but you’re already going soft again.
Fuck.
She lifts her head up and looks back at you. You can see a shimmer in her eyes again, like she’s reading your word in the air and seeing its tone as she deciphers it.
The frustration begets more frustration. You’re limp again, and her asshole is there, staring at you, on her disgusting shit smelling body.
She starts to cry again.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, babbling it through tears. “Here, if you let me—”
You shove her forward until she’s against the headboard. Her head thumps into the wood with a clunk. She makes a tiny squeak as you push yourself against her. Your limp dick presses right into her crotch, lined up with her pussy, the one you’d fuck if she was wet and you were hard. She tilts her head to the side to try to look at you, but you grab her before she can move. Your hand cranes over her wings until your fingers find her neck. It’s a natural fit. You tighten your grip.
“Huhhhh...” she sucks in a breath of air as she feels your fingers clamping down on her throat. The gasp turns into a squeak as you press down harder. You can feel her shudder as she realizes the tightness of your grip. You push yourself into her again. You feel a little twitch as your cock rubs against her slit, which is still bone dry.
She tries to look at back at you. You think she might be trying to smile, but you can’t tell. You don’t care. You squeeze down harder. A tiny murmur of breath escapes her lips.
Fuck. You feel yourself getting hard again. The head of your cock manages to slip past the outside of her lips, though she’s not wet enough to let you inside with more force. You content yourself grinding up against her, still holding on. You can feel her posture begin to soften as her oxygen slips away. Still, you hold on, even tighter, feeling the give of her windpipe beneath your fingers.
“Mmmnmmn...” she murmurs something unintelligible through her breathlessness. Her eyes are almost closed. You shake her with your arm and her body wobbles like a boneless chicken. You’re stiff now, jabbing up against her cunt, getting almost a whole inch inside, far enough that you could pushing and feel your dick scrape as it went inside her, and then fuck her until she was raw.
With your hand still on her neck, you adjust your hips until you’re lined up above her pussy. You feel the spit against the tip of your cock. Your mouth is damp, so you spit again. The glob lands right in place on your dick.
Her body shudders forwards. Her legs give out.
You let go of her neck. She doesn’t even gasp for air. She has to crawl back from unconsciousness first.
You take one of her asscheeks in each hand. You squeeze down and feel how soft they are. You think about just fucking them until you jizz all over her back.
You feel hard enough now. You nudge forward a little bit, and your tip slips inside.
So goddamn tight. You push forward further. Her body is against the bed, but she’s slumped forward at an angle, so you can keep going. The spit is barely functional as lube, but it’s enough to let you get inside. Halfway, and then all the way. You can’t believe how hot it feels. That’s the thing you didn’t expect—how it feels like a furnace is clenching around your dick. And fuck, so fucking tight. You try to pull back, but you can barely move. You manage to get a few inches before you just jam back inside. Your pelvis hits her ass with a smack. You can smell her unwashed scent wafting up to meet you. Its mixture of animal shit and sweaty rolls of fat manages to make your dick feel even harder. You draw one of your hands back and smack her on the ass again.
“Uhh, nnn...” She comes to like she’s waking up from a dream. She tries to lift her head, but she isn’t strong enough right away. She doesn’t even realize for a second that you’re fucking her, until you grab down extra hard on her ass and shove yourself forward, and then she must feel your cock poking up into her bowels, because her eyes open more clearly, and she pulls her head up properly this time, though she hits it on the headboard before she manages to get back onto her forelegs.
“Ow,” she says in a soft voice. You pull back another few inches and slam inside again.
“Ow,” she says again. It sounds like she wants to cry. Her ass grips you like it’s trying to force you out, but you’re lodged so far inside that there’s no way that’s happening until you’re soft. You can barely move without the friction burning your dick off now, so you settle for jostling your hips backwards and forwards. The scrape feels like an awkward masturbation against a rough couch-cushion, but a million times warmer, and a million times hotter. You slap another handful of her ass and press your palm into her fat flank.
Fuck.
“Is... is that good?” she asks. You can hear the tears on the edges of her words.
Yes..
“I’m... glad...” she squeaks the second word through a squeal as you push forward extra hard and swivel your hips side to side, using her ass like a plush-furnished hole for you to grind your dick inside.
You reach forward and grab a handful of her pink mane. You pull her backwards, and she cringes and grits her teeth and sucks in air with a hissing noise. Her eyes look half-open, like she still hasn’t come to completely.
You tug on her hair extra hard as you rub yourself inside her, barely moving, like you’re thrusting in tiny micro-inch shudders.
She clenches her ass suddenly, and you don’t have time to think. You cum instantly. Fuck. Her ass feels so warm. It’s so tight, you can feel the head of your cock getting wet as you jizz inside her. You can feel her ass clenching around you in what you can only imagine is reflex. You pull on her hair to feel it yank against her scalp.
“Ow,” she whispers, shutting her eyes. You can tell she’s trying to push some of your cum out by the way her ass is squeezing. But it only makes you cum harder. You feel like you’re painting her insides with your jizz.
It’s been a long time. It’s nothing magical, but it’s about as good as you imagined it would be.
When you’ve emptied your balls, you begin to pull out, but push back in after a few inches. She’s slick enough now from your cum that you can thrust properly, though you’re rapidly going soft. You manage a few more pushes before you pull out, and a bit of your cum comes out with your dick. It dribbles down her ass and into her pussy, which is shivering with the rest of her. She looks, for a second, almost attractive.
You nudge her to the side as you collapse onto your side of the bed. Even when she isn’t there, you have a side. She stands there for a minute, still shaking, until she eventually lays on her side as well. She moves like her limbs are injured, or maybe like the whole rest of her is—as if, if she moves too fast, she might shatter into a million pieces.
You sigh and lie back on your pillow. You feel an itchy tingle on your legs from the sweat that’s built up there. Your cock is slippery.
Fluttershy leans towards you. Her touch is shakey when she rests her hoof on your chest, still holding herself at foreleg’s distance.
“Did you still want me to...?” She takes a sharp breath at the almost-end of her sentence. She gestures towards your crotch.
No, she doesn’t need to...
“Are you sure?” she asks.
The thought enters your head. Making her clean her own disgusting ass taste off your dick, and lick up your cum besides?
If she wants to...
“Okay,” she says. She picks herself up with still shaking limbs and crawls over your torso until her mouth is by your dick. Her position gives you a good view of her pussy, which still has the remains of the one strand of cum that leaked from her asshole. To your own disbelief, you push your face forward and lap at her cunt. She makes an ‘eep’ sound and pulls slightly away.
The taste of your own cum doesn’t bother you, but the taste of her does. Sour, like bitter, spoiled tea, or sour milk. You wipe your tongue off on your arm, which just tastes like sweat, and lie back with your hands behind your head.
She takes a second to study your dick. You can see her squint her eyes as she leans forward, like she’s preparing for a bite of an unwelcome meal. She lets out a tiny ‘nnh’ before her mouth touches your cock, and then her lips are there again, and they feel as warm as the first time, though not as warm as her ass. You think about fucking her ass while she takes your cock between her lips. It feels good. Better than you expected. You feel a twitch in your balls again.
Fluttershy pulls her mouth back. Her eyes are wide, like she’s surprised. It takes you a second to realize why—you’re getting a little hard again. She looks at you with a worried expression, but turns back to your dick after a moment. She stares at it, but it doesn’t rise beyond the first tiny bit of chub. She dives in again and makes a gross slurping noise as she sucks off the remainder of your cum. Her lips feel soft against your shaft, and it’s better than you remember.
She makes an ‘aah’ when she pulls away this time.
“There,” she says. “All clean.” She says it with a sparkle in her voice. With a sing-song tone that you think she almost believes.
You don’t feel like going to sleep yet.
Turn over.
She blinks at you. She looks into your eyes, and then to your chest. She follows your arm down as it moves, watching you place your hand on your dick again. You’re still mostly soft, but you manage a rubbing motion over the slickness of your shaft.
She takes a big breath and holds it as she turns around.
You grab her ass with your free hand. You jerk yourself off frantically as you palm her buttcheek, squeezing and pressing it and rubbing the head of your dick up against her crack. You still barely feel hard, but your orgasm comes faster, surging up out of your balls like a lightning bolt. Only when it hits your cock do you start to get hard, and then you cum, all over her ass. You still manage to spurt, much to your own surprise, and the first few globs land a little bit up her back, until they start to dribble, and you wipe your cockhead across her ass and in her ass crack. You groan as you cum, a low, heavy, animalistic sort of noise. You can feel her cringing when she hears it, like it’s poison to her ears.
Part of you wants to get hard again. You have her ass here, and it’s easy to forget what it’s attached to. You want to pry her cheeks open and tongue your own cum out of her ass until you’re hard enough to fuck her again, and then make her take a load right in the face, so she can go to sleep with it coating her cheeks.
But you’re tired. Mostly, you just want to go back to sleep.
You don’t say anything as you turn over. The blankets are on your side. You spread them out over your body, and your skin prickles with goosebumps as the cold material touches your arms and legs, which are hot and slick with sweat. After a few seconds of adjustment, you’re covered all the way. You pull a little bit extra up and push it in her direction.
After a few seconds, you feel her hoof on the blankets, pulling them closer into position. You hear her wings ruffle against the mattress as she turns over.
You let your head rest against the pillow and close your eyes.
Your breathing is heavier now. Hers is soft, blurring into the background.
After a minute, you feel her hoof touch timidly against your back, but it pulls away after a few seconds. Another minute later and it returns. You stay almost completely still as she snakes her foreleg under the crook of your arm, eventually wrapping it around your chest. The rest of her body follows, warm and soft and feathery against your back. You feel her new rolls of fat pressing up against your skin.
You close your eyes and count your breathing. One, two. Three, four.
“I love you,” she says, in a whisper into your ear.
I love you too.
You’re not sure how much you mean it. But, for tonight, it’s enough.
When you get to ten, the waking world fades away and you fall into sleep again.
