A Canterlot Grape Vine

Canterlot Grape Vine: Chapter Two - The Gentle Spirit

Outside the city limits of the Canterlot, in the farming lands between there and the ever quaint Ponyville the moon hung in the sky. The stars and natural light were a sight to behold with only a candle stick or lantern to pollute the scene. A lone farmer lies curled up in a heap on the bed of tossed blankets and weathered mattress. The light cast its majesty on the humble room, the Spartan room leaving little to illuminate. With bittersweet fur, the colt wrestles with a night terror; his eyes dash in his skull as if to escape. Rolling on his back, the male groans in need. Piety in his gasps he feels held, pinned by an unseen force. Whimpering pathetically, the male breaths heavy, waiting for the falling or worse…

Dream “death” does not wake the man but instead he is calmed, eyes gradually coming to rest. A meager weight lies on his chest, fear persists but the peach man dares not look. It moves swiftly but frivolously across his front. His lips open, but are silenced by a spell. “Relax,” echoes in his skull. The spirit beings to message him with tender brushing pressing into each tired, knotted muscle, and its effect beings to take hold and start warming the colt. It’s as if this once harmful force soon took hold has merely a jesting one. The sprite’s playful nature turns wayward and rolls itself into the chocolate fur of his grapes.

Rosey tones spot his sharp muzzle- looks like the shade has other motives. An almost shameful arousal being to fill his mast with life as its fire is stoked. The muscles creamy, near spotless coloration shined like a beacon in the darkness of night. Equally hard grip slides up it, scraping his medial ring, and holding it tightly. Tongue hanging out of pure wanting, the member comes to full size to meet the pulpy ghost above. Squishy muscles meet his dong and pass it through the gate. It snares his rod with its sheer tightness, and traces against every single crevice and vein of the shaft. Desperate hooves grip into the scattered sheets as the electricity of being so completely surrounded edges into the brunette stallion. His tan balls grew taut and his flare expanded, climax shooting through the trapped colt with a mere gasp; the used male felt the spongy weight fall against him as he was released to the first rays of sunlight.

Gold irises peaked through the slits of his eyes, confused and groggy as to this constant late-night terror (or loving, if hungry friend). Sitting up, his spent muscle lazily falls to its side- leaving a sizable mess across his sweaty, mated body with a puddle against his torso. At least he was use to waking with little rest. Stepping to the small cleaning room, he hastily cleansed himself of his more primal emissions. Stepping out to the field, not even bothering with breakfast, he takes to his daily choirs. Just by looking at the trees, he could see the harvest was to come soon. Purple and green stretched for acres of land. Thankfully the moths hadn’t struck down his grape crop; that is one tragedy one does not wish to see twice. Inspecting the fruits of labor, it was clear these beauties would become very fine wine.

Work and love for the job is what kept everypony out here sane. The constant oddities that seemed to grab at the world of Equestria through the places like the Everfree Forest was an ever-present threat, and all those who made the food for the nation had to stand ready for anything. It wouldn’t be a far stretch to utter these nocturnal-emissions has some connection to a mischievous trouble maker of nature. Or maybe it was just the loneliness of this beautiful, yet seeming desolate patch of land finally scrapping his sanity back. Shaking his head, he casts aside the thought, and regains his focus. Till the fields, do your job, and then worry about your personal problems. Leaning against a tree he wiped his brow, flicking his flowing Choco-colored mane before it covered his face in woe.

The day seemed to pass like an hourglass of sand. A heavy sigh escaped him as he ponders, “Why can’t e’erything be normal, like before this invasion?” Surveying the grove, the farmer boy nods to himself satisfied with his daily grind. Maybe a shot of soothing wine could settle his racing mind; the shipment for tomorrow could be a glass short or two. Being sure to clean his hooves of the daily grime, the colt carefully stepped into the cellar of his small, faded home. Leaning up against the wall, the wine maker tastes his product; sips of the well-aged wine to remember fondly turning into hard shots to numb his body. After a couple of glasses, the brew had the strong worker woozy, stumbling to his bedding. Darkness will come and so does the haunting once more.

Groggy from the mild hangover, throbbing pain pluses through the farmer colt’s skull, he wakes to his internal morning clock. As if scorning the caramel stallion, his groin ached with the frustration of in-ability to release his stress. Why must everything be so confusing for him? These thoughts swirling he dare not speak or even repeat. The water was chill in the showers. At least the sunshine left some ray. Why must sweet release come with such feelings of contemplation of one’s place? It was awfully haunting in those wee hours of the morrow- all the same for poltergeists on a mission. Stepping into the warm sun, the humble grape farmer prepped for his journey to deliver his share of the crop. Next stop Canterlot.

It was a lazy Sunday late-morning for the ever sleeping artisan overlooking the crowded city-scape. Drawings of equines ranging from studly to hourglass figures in very exposing, near raunchy poses littered the floor in a burst of playful fantasy, insomnia, and a naught desire. Haphazardly lying face down in a scattered pose, Silver Tip casually held his pillow close to his face- careful not to move so the blanket covering his face didn’t spoil his slumber. It was actually surprising he had no nocturnal visitor that night or even thought of it as he nuzzles into the pillow. Okay that doesn’t count.

The devilish siren of the alarm clock even seemed forgiving today, letting the weary horse to rise up in a comfortable pace. Sitting hunched on the edge of the dark sheets that seemed to cling to his fur like a succubus to a target. Kicking the static-stuck cloth, he falls to the floor with a quiet clapping of hooves on wood; green and purple mists of radiation envelope the sketches in disarray into his drawer of scantily pictures, which seemed to jump in size during bouts of stressful examinations and long projects of technique. Looking at each passing drawing the self-critique wanted to trash a good portion of them for either roughness or just the shock of drawing other ponies in such intimate sutras. “Hmmm… This one could be better if its angle was just so,” the still waking pony conjectured. Maybe just five minutes to fix this one- for practice purposes of course.

The sun sat heavy in the sky, longing to touch the twilight. Long, faded shadows seem too droll on against the concrete as the sun lazily rolls to the metaphorical other side of the bed. Wine barrels clunk down the make-shift raps of all the happening and underground distributes, ready to shelter both the elite and petulant from the dark with a numbing beverage to take the guilt of one night stands. “Thanks for the delivery Mr. Stone,” said the said in a very vintage voice as old as the brew. “Marl Stone” read in bold Ariel lettering across his tag. “It is my job Mr. Boulder.” Making a heart chuckle, the old man nudges the Twany male, “Heheh, loosen up me boy! You look like you’re doing a bad impression of one of the guards.” Leaning in close with the stench of rinsing with gin for decades, “You think the wine would have showed you to how to relax a little.” Smashing Stone’s coca bean hair into a static mess, the grandfather-like figure. “Any who, take care for now- I have a date with a jaunty little thing! Oh, and Mr. Stone…” Pulling his mane to a presentable manor, he turns his attention back the old man. “Try to relax.”

The sun became to reveal itself of its post as the twilight starts to come. The swishing of granite on paper flew across the thin surface was the only sound the small room held. Had the candle been burned so soon? Massaging his tired eyes, a rolling knock comes at his door. Oh, there is only one pony that could be! Jumping to meet the noise, the artist abandons his drawings for a moment. With a quick peep the happy pony opens the door wide and grabbing the un-expecting thing in his hooves.

“Hey, it’s so good to see you again, Marl!” The colt said like it has been years since he saw the wine maker, even though it was only two weeks at best.

His erstwhile friend groans, sliding out of the hug and rolling in place.

“Rough day?” The brown male walks in and the entertainer shuts it with but the click of a latch. The aching of pulling and unloading the wine made him want to do something not related to his career at all. “I know just the thing for a grumpy guy such as yourself,” he teases. A cardboard box flops against the table, “Settlers of Civilization” reading along its side in Times characters with bright gold lettering.

“I call the blue pieces,” Silver cheers. Marl sits up, cracking his neck.

Ballistas shot down the chiseled stone walls of the great Romane Empire, destroying the well cut stone to rubble. Armies of blood thirsty men stood at the gates of the cultural power house. Sadly, paintings to inspire ahh and to fill the soul with new seeds of intrigue could not stop a piercing blow of the sword. The final city fallen to the horde, the loyal ruler kneels to meet his end; taken in deaths grip, sparred to have to witness his people’s final moments.

“Awww… You win again. If only I had a few more turns to finish my obelisk. I was so close to a culture win!” Silver’s ears dropped as he fake pouts.

“Sorry buddy, but you’re goin’ to have to build some soldiers to defend y’urself. You can just keep e’erything inside a wall.” Picking up a Romane piece in a noble, proud stance he adds, “I mean you get one of the best units in the game!”

“I know, I guess I don’t like fighting. Plus I just gathering resources and making stuff. You have to admit, though, those arch mercs sure came in handy. If only they’d lasted three more turns…”

Marl pats the defeated’s shoulder. “It’s okay, maybe someday you can be a master strategist, like me.” His grin would make the smuggest of super villains cringe.

The once mighty “Silver the Wise,” according to the rule’s placing titles, sweeps the plastic and wood pieces to their starting poses. “Up for another round?”

Taking a sip of his water he looks outside, grumbling as he ponders the past play time already, “Darn, I think I dog-gone let the game go on too long. It’s gonna be not but retched to get a decent place to stay now. Carts probably all locked up too.” The street lamps lite up, the might royal bell rings to signal that night fall was there.

Gasping the unicorn kindly offers, “You could always stay here! I’m sure I can work something out.” His deep brown dart around as he thinks. Smiling ear to ear, the good home owner gleefully clops his hooves, “Yay, a slumber party! I don’t think I’ve done something like that since I was a kid.”

As the ecstatic male looks around for blankets and pillows, Marl tries to take his first turn of the new game.

SEVERAL DOZENS OF TURNS LATER…

“Well, there really isn’t much we can do now.” Making a stupid face, the earth pony slyly mutters, “Unless of course you’d be up for some anal bucking?” As he chuckles, Silver freezes in place, almost dropping the spar supplies.

Not turning around he replies, “You’re into that kind of stuff?” His voice was heavy, hard to even let the question out; it carries with it a hint of surprise, hesitation, and intrigue.

Sensing no anger in the tone, Marl stutters, surprised by the response he got some, “Y-yeah, I suppose I am.”

Turning to meet his best friend’s bright, golden eyes, Silver creeps closer back to the war room. Sitting next to him on the now incredibly claustrophobic feeling couch, the curious boy questions, “Would, by chance, be up for changing the game then?”

This certainly was a surprise. A rush of emotions hit him, but the only one with a voice now spoke up. “Sure, I mean, if you’re sure you-.” Silver places a hoof on thigh and nods at him with a very new expression on his face. “B-but let’s take it slow.”

Like a doe paralyzed in a lantern’s light, the blue equine shuffles toward his fellow, cutie marks within inches of each other. Silver shuffles in-place, waiting for a sign. “There's no reason to rush things. We can... work our way up...”

The guest’s hoof traces up to touch his friend’s thigh, causing his body to twitch at the new sensation. A small smile comes while it touches the forbidden fruit. Running his arm against his neck, letting it come to rest at the side of his neck. Silver shivers once again.

“A-alright.” Lungs breath deep as he readies himself for the unknown. Leaning closer to the chocolate colored, mystified a tad with the escalation, he slants toward the inquisitive pony. Their muzzles make contact in a docile touch.

As if in a trance, Silver presses his lips against that of Marl’s. His first kiss; but a peck- yet it carries so much. A map would be nice to rectify this lost sensation. Warmth invited him in deeper into the uncharted territory. Wonder makes his eyes flutter like a graceful butterfly. Any fear of the dark was banished by a course hoof on his neck. Tickling bolts of relieve the tension. Sparks flair at the epicenter; jolts of excitement travel down the virgin. OH, dear.

“I-I'm sorry... I thought I would've had more self-control my first time." A blush overcomes powerful enough to be seen through his light blue coat. Black and white marble flesh makes itself known between the two of them.

Expanding his gaze enough to see excited mass leave its sheath, with a nervous chuckle that trademarked him, Marl says, "Hope this isn't too slow fer ya." Leaning forward and leading with a confident hoof, the wine mark grabs hold of the molted piece of flesh before him.

The jester was swift in its touch. With groans of approval the unicorn eggs on the clearly more experienced male. Caressing was welcome, his twitching member wanting more. Any question of what was happening in this moment was lost. A big button presents itself in the closeness of the pair.

Hushing a gasp, Marl find his own member receiving a tentative touch. His hooves decrease their contact, letting the newbie take a crack at it.

Trembling, Silver feels the cock grow in size before his very eyes; poking his side with a hearty flex. In the beginning he simply holds the shaft in his grip. Testing the weight, it flops in his inexperience hoof. It quickly stops its limpness after a few seconds of the treatment.

Coco hooves playfully strokes the white mane. Nudging the learning colt, Marl rests against the arm of the couch. With a tap of the intimate flesh, it briefly scraps against his for but a tantalizing moment.

Chasing after his lover, dyer menstruations forward the movements toward his erection. Unable to quite reach in for a proper embarrass, his right hoof takes some initiative and cups the orbs below. They feel like heavy bags of doe- spongy but with a very satisfying heft to them.

Difficulty in maintaining the foreplay was starting to ramp up. “Ohhh… good,” he coos softly. His hips buck up a touch, wanting to be felt more. Using his strength, he takes his old friend to against his barreled chest. His hooves hold the younger equine’s neck, hoisting the adventuring man closer to his muzzle. Noting their position his teeth come through with a grin, “H-hey, grin your hips a little for me.”

Curiosity peeked; mechanically his slender form sways into the hard, pulsing muscle. Nostrils flair as a brisk breath in from the sensitive bundles collide with each other.

Lending a helping hoof, the grape smasher expertly hands the fencing swords. Marl nearly bites his lip from handling the veiny dongs. Their sizable sacks kiss with careless abandon. Something unfolded to his numb mind from the constant rocking of genitals.

A tiny smile is plastered on Silver’s as his contrasting cock shadows the light pink penis under it. It wasn’t much, maybe an inch in length longer and almost three-quarters of an inch bigger in diameter; it was shocking really. The shut-in stick twiddler never had given much thought to his equipment. However his friend seems to love it.

Marl’s eyes dilated, taking in what felt like a prodigious difference between the two. Blushing, his golden eyes shyly look up at the unicorn. Lifting up his chin he asks, “C-come here for a second.”

Diminishing his speed, the keen boy brings his lips closer to the crimson colt. “Yes… Marl?” He muses, playing with the distance of the in-zone. Hearts beat, resonating through their trudged genitailia. Just lying there, enjoying the closeness- the pause was quite pleasant.

Unable to hold back, the heated wine maker takes the big gulp and intensely kisses his lover. They dance with their mouths like a song was playing just for them; and it was.

Crashing at the gates was the conqueror, wanting to take the spoils of warfare and sacrifice. As the walls crumbled from the constant feverishness of desperation, the opening was made. Accepting defeat he took to its mercy.

Intertwined in their free expression of blithe, the falling of countless men and sacrifices that lead to this vanishes into bliss intimacy. Wanting hooves roll up and down all the curves of his rival now darling flame. Such fury misplaced could be compared to that of a battlefield. Stoking his iron in the kiln for too long the victory pulls away.

A cliché strain of salvia connects the allies. Silver looks down, at first concerned he was doing something improper, but the reflection in his friend’s eyes tips him off. The phallic bone on his head glows, flickering like an exposed candle. “Wow,” he simply utters. A tiny peck on the forehead shows his gratitude.

Fidgeting under the other male’s mass, Marl Stone’s fire burns for more a potent fuel to take. Smiling back up at the virgin ask, “So… would y’all fancya taste of my grapes?” The joke was crude, and even made him cringe inside. However, one could be forgiven for spontaneity in such personal affairs.

Sliding back, the flesh tone rod is left to show itself in all its glory. Flickering lights illuminate the form of the member ever so slight; beautifully showing ever bump, curve, vein, and “imperfection” of its shade. A pungent musk pours of the genitals- it wasn’t like one would expect this area to be. Heavy, yes, but it was piercing and sweet. The colt couldn’t get enough of the primal scent. “Such a fine specimen- I can only dream of emulating such beauty,” he compliments.

Amazing- Faint glances of the cream-brown eyes of tantalizing bachelor just tease the pinned male; his shaft blocking all but a slit of his face. The earth pony cries out as the tongue slides up to the sheath- Hard teeth meeting his protect gland and nibble at it lovingly. “Ohhh,” he pants out scantily from the suction on his testis.

If the stallion was so easily provoked by mere a playful tugging of the oval orbs, the testing wondered what the rest could do. “Mmm, I think I could snack on until the moon fads and the sun raises once more, and even beyond that.” Poetry wasn’t really his thing, but it was fun to try. Tasting from the tesitcles, the tongue laps at the log of meat; taking the time to savor every wrinkle of the hid all the way to the tip.

"Nnneigh… Oh, buck, nopony's taken such a fancy before.” Pathetically the skilled tactician rolls in a stupor on the impromptu loveseat. “You're certainly not like the orchard ponies I imagined a quick roll in the barn would be like.” That scoundrel… His muzzle just sits there, with his lips on the rim of his head, how cruel. “W-would you,” he stutters, “With y’ur mouth?”

With a cat like grin of mischievousness the now very loose cock tease nuzzles the bumpy head. “You mean like this?” Silver Tip’s quick wiped tongue licks his lips, reliving the taste of his grapes. He opens his muzzle wide and floats above the mountain-like peak. Curling his tongue around the tip, he gives the head a proper thrashing.

“N-no,” slurring a little he says. “Try giving it a hard kiss instead.”

Scrolling over his lips, the servant pony does as the critique demands and adjusts. Sinking down comes easy for the most part. Coming back up, the ridges of his oral cavity scrap the easily-pleasurable ridges of the anatomy.

Helpless, all receiver can do is make very applauding noises and take everything in. Getting head. From somepony he’d known for little over two years. Out of the blue. And it felt just exquisite.

Feeling the victor grasp his head, the teasing male bows and takes it until his mouth can hold no more. Which was a tad underwhelm as Silver’s throat resists instinctively. Not even to the medial ring.

Marl admires the fever with the oral assault. If to kiss and tell, the warm lighten king couldn’t say in the slightest that the kid didn’t give it his all. If his arms could do anything but sooth his lover or violently grip the sheets, he’d applaud his stick-to-it-ness.

Rolling his hooves around the untouched lower shaft, frustration turns to desperation. Unable to break his natural instinct, familiar territory comes to mind. Slurping like the penis was a straw in the tastiest treat; a Zen-like mental state takes over. As if satisfying those few inches of cock was all there was.

Rocking his hips in rhythm with the pumping vacuum seems just as casual as breathing. Nothing was in sight about worries or doubts on the psychic horizon. By the looks of his friend’s glowing appendage it was getting to him also.

The texture and taste of the half-published muscle was as strange as the young colt thought. In his short life his brain couldn’t find a suitable simile of either. Wonder abounds as the life-blood just vibrates through the body. Every bump, vein, and pour radiates under his exploring hoof. Lost in the awe of the moment, misplaced concern fails to gather actual size of the head.

Orgasm could be brushed up against like a drunken relative at the town fair’s dance. The preview of the show to come oozes from the problematic tip. Slowly finding the moist, humming hole to becoming most cramped, the grape branded stallion does the impossible necessity. With a forceful pushing back, he stops the rampage on his lower half.

Coming back to a reality without having such a thing as fantastic member in his mouth, the quill clade equine looks half-sleeping, half-quizzical at his latest muse.

Scooting forward, the worked stallion raises up lantern of a man. The radiation of the spiral appendage sparks titillation in the simple farmer. “Ah, yer tryin' yer unicorn magic on me?” he accuses in a wavy manner.

Seeing the opportunity, he nods and carries on, “Watch in amazement as I use my awesome powers to move you.” Sliding off the secluded sofa, the beacon reveals the path. Free flowing like water, seduction shows itself in stride- Bouncing hips dance, slaves to the silent music of dark hour. Like a flatter, the silver tail sways, and glances of his last prize came in and out of sight.

Dark blue and black silhouettes leave much to the imagination. Fleeting glances test his vision. One portion, the crowning jewel, was clear; the spoils of war being jaunted about illusively.

“You just going to gawk, my lord?” Pouting, an ephemeral hoof beckons the rebel. Confident, calculated struts accentuate the bending curves of muscle under fur.

Needing no more initiative, a spring comes to the chief’s step like that of a child on Heart’s Warming Day. Down the corridor, a moonlit stallion stands patiently. The brown eyes shine like a polished copper.

Coming into the light, it was something that Silver Tip had done on many a night. Seeing another past through his chamber was a sight that would be long off.

A glimpse into the art’s mind is revealed with the enthralling imagery scattered about. Lusting feelings displayed for all to see. So open, vulnerable.

Stepping up, the light holds onto his partner by the neck. Reminders of his need smack his stomach. The light flairs like a new log on a campfire, kissing the earth pony again; not as feverishly as before, but still with great admiration.

Stone squeezes the tempting booty- causing Silver jump in place. “I t’ink it’s time we went to ta main event.” With a hinting push, the blue form tumbles to the bed; leaving that glorious ass hiked up. Why had his gaze never seen it before?

Face down, ass up- Just like the spirit of nights and weeks past. The primal fetish makes him blush harder still. He looks back to be greeted by the coated meat slide between his buns. “H-hold on.” A hidden bottle reveals itself. Uncaringly, it pours on his rump and the stallionhood, making them shine under Luna’s blessing.

Nodding in approval, assisting in the slippery foreplay coats the tight, puffy ring of flesh in lube. Confident in pre-work, it was time to dive in. Climbing up the dual peaks, he cradles his unusual associate.

Pits of his desire kindled and crisped for it. Worry was suppressed. Only taking that dick that was, oh, so close comes to the surface. Like a steel beam, Silver’s rod slaps the edge of the bed frame.

Clopping hooves adjust and the tip of the large probe knocks on the sphincter. Reactions of shivers jump under him. Cheeks brush against each other, in a hush voice the grape tattooed colt says, “Just relax... I ain’t gonna hurtcha. This part'll be over soon.”

Like breathing in an aroma of soothing salts, the pressure inside the pinned male is stated for a moment. Swishing sounds abound as the siege weapon raps. Reaching back, antipacting the coming infiltration, his hooves pull back the veil of his fertile rump and backs into the spear. Needy, meek whimpers call forth.

Tension builds as the ring of muscle agonizingly parts before his lance. Dainty gasps grow less and less spaced apart from the muffled unicorn. Will was strong in the immunity system of the flesh, but he was the alpha here and it was his to use.

“Please... I-I need your magnificent shaft in me so badly,” said the starved in a breathless whisper. In those words, the wish was granted. Escaping the initial burst of feeling, his natural instinct wants to run; turning away into the feathered mattress. Toys and fever dreams were nothing in the wake of reality. One of his eye’s let out a little bit of water, which trickled down his face.

An undistinguishable groan of approval burst forth. Tears wiped away with easy by a wet lick. Staying still, waiting for resistance to wear out, the wine-maker turned aggressor comforts the wounded. “How do you feel?”

Pain subsiding, collecting thoughts return. “I-I’m okay.” Pushing down on the stalk a request comes, “More, please. Give me your all.”

Growling as a panther would at the scent of fear, the brute starts to pull out to his cone-like tip. Gold irises piece the night, looking upon the pleasing male with unabashed yearning. Amazing, rolling waves impel the fucking, make the quest for depth that much more enticing. Snapping flesh grab it, failing to do anything but stimulate the trespasser and cause their exhaustion.

Silver’s hips rock against the cock- curse his intestines and their lack of elasticity. A fire burned in his gut and it needed to be quenched. Every sound of frustration and lust just made the constriction evaporate in spots. Blankets gave his restless fore-hooves a grip; he couldn’t hold on tight enough.

They were on the ropes. It was the last passage before hilting his sheath. Reassurance and careful thrusts unlocks the inner depths. Perhaps it was not denial? The hole just chocks his cock at every opportunity. A wicked prospect comes forth to sooth them.

The useless member, black as night and bright as stars lies hidden beneath the tender gentlecolts, waiting for some contact. Just as it crosses the mind, a sneaky rogue flanks him! Raising his head up he calls out, “Oh, Marl.~” A war of two fronts- Oh, how the plot thickens!

Doubling his efforts brings him to briskly pumping the loosening anus. The earth pony begins to fall to primal urges; kisses of comfort transform to nibbles. A stray blue ear falls prey first. By the Princesses, those noises… An owning hoof cradles Silver’s neck.

Tighten grip betrayed the wine maker’s surprised desires. Once playful contacts became more assertive fondles. Can’t say that was a complaint. Unf… he wanted more. Labored breathing trails down his neck, making his coat stand on end. Face contorting in a twinge of discomfort, the last wall falls; all doors were unlocked.

“Rrrr.... Nnng, buck!” Trapped by the bundle of fibers, Marl quivers and jerks to free his engulfed head; gritting his teeth, roughly he pulls back, an audible pop signaling his freedom. This dubious hole needs some punishment. Growling deep in his throat, long, firm strokes slam through the pulsating tunnel.

Creaking like it was a century old, the bed smashed the walls. It was a metronome that drove his perception of just how rough things were. Every ridge and vein of the powerful cock being so kept at beastly pace. All that was left was to just take it. The light atop him was like that of a raging bone fire, and his hormone inducted euphoria just added fresh logs.

Raining in the prized booty by the pulsing, hard penis, it becomes clear just how pent up the vent was. Good. Breeding the wrecked plot hole just made him want to explode. It was his now, to do as he pleased.

In a sudden expansion, a large burst of meat deep inside him rectum makes Silver whale in moans. If there was an untouched nerve inside that poor boy, now that was no more. “Gawd t-that monster,” he coos sultry. Now the behemoth just seems to roll through, not even penetrating physical flesh anymore.

A singular, rough patch of muscle jests when his inflated head pass; it saying, “yoohoo,” before disappearing. Wanting to milk his infatuation, his hips ramp the stem up into well-spread hole; leaving pressure on the delicious spot for lip biting amounts of time.

Heavy, full balls smack from the impact of the robust bucks. Wanting to scream, only voiceless cries leave his gaping mouth. There wasn’t enough security in blankets to keep the mixture of signals in check.

If only the little, tall man could see the not so little puddle the fruit if his loins created under them. Exploring the starry horsecock, its unique anatomy was easy to notice. Stopping his outright masturbation, a more traditional position for leverage assists him.

Hooves on his haunches, the taken meets the reproductive organ with a quickening buck. Standing on the tips of his legs, the two weave their ever closing and opening slots and poles. Free spasms display his coming outbreak of built of pressure.

That heavy rump slamming into his base makes louder and louder smacks as agony of built up yearning forces it to channel itself. Animalistic growls warn of the coming climax. “Sexy, flamboyant, plot," he snarls with mirth. Squeaks of that metronome of a bed, like a hammer on wood really, drove the breeding stallion wild.

Wet schlicks of velvet organs smashing together ring in his perked ears. Poor pony prostate pulses from being hit on by the bully-cock; the point-of-interest aches, but more from not letting go than the long, flared cock plowing and scraping it. White hot fire burns on his torch.

This pink hole just made the humble earth pony want to scream. More importantly, he just needed to cum. Like a cunning trap, the wave was at the lock door. Practically hyper-ventilating, freeing the beast was all that remands. Then, able to call out, the rutting alpha-male bites his partner on his long neck.

The lust drunk pony didn't have much time to respond to Marl's warning. The flood of fluids shot out of the tip like a broken hydrant or a tide-wave. Silver’s dark blue sphincter traps the dick, not wanting to lose a single drop. Such a voluminous influxes sperm was just too much to take. To Silver's own surprise, his lips let past a primal roar as he reciprocates the display; his molten cannon erupts with his juices. Sparks fly from his horn, signaling his orgasm for all the denizens of night.

The force of his blast causes a fair puddle to form under the newly mated coupling; mixing with the pre spots on the old, wood flow. As the colt gone feral pours out his glass, the creamy juices that cannot fill the crater spray out between the flushed cracks. Suddenly woozy, the wasted colt collapses against his friends back with his full wait.

There would be a lot to discuss, but for now, it was best to just rest.