Twilight glanced at Rarity, as she hurried past. “Yes? Me and Trixie are very busy right now, recreating our bit formula while evolving it to add monitoring.”
“Then I shall be brisk,” said Rarity. “May I have my red lipstick back?”
That stopped Twi. “What?”
“Understand, I am not cross—much. I don’t use that shade as a rule; it is for what you might call extreme glamour emergencies. I do, however, expect things to be restored to their proper places…”
“I didn’t take anything,” said Twilight defensively.
“Well!” said Rarity. “In that case, you may wish to discipline naughty Mistress, because ransacking a bathroom for beauty aids brings with it certain responsibilities! A place of grooming is very personal, a tiny oasis of peace and control, and whilst I am all sympathy toward the desire to preen…”
Twilight blinked, and called upstairs to her bedroom. “Trixie! Did you take Rarity’s red lipstick?”
“Trixie most certainly did not!”
Rarity squeaked, and stepped back a pace, as Twilight’s eyes gleamed triumphantly.
“Now who’s naughty?” she said. “Naughty for interrupting our work over nothing, that is. And naughty twice for unfairly judging Trixie, your own Mistress. Oh, Rarity! What, and understand I ask largely hypothetically—what, oh what, shall we do with you?”
Trixie clattered down the stairs, hearing the tone in Twilight’s voice. Her mane was disheveled, and she whiffed of pony horniness. “What’s happened, Twilight? What has she done?” she called, gleefully.
“Why, our little miss Rarity seems to think she can accuse you of stealing—and not, as might be thought, her heart!”
“Really!” breathed Trixie. “How extremely bad of her. Trixie is appalled at such behavior and will stripe her lovely behind, quite beyond her capacity to use makeup to conceal it!”
Rarity gasped. “Oh my!” she squeaked. She backed up a step. “But, you know, this isn’t a ploy, I’m perfectly serious…”
“Girl!” demanded Trixie. “Behave!”
“No, listen! This lipstick was contained in my second auxiliary grooming cabinet. My second auxiliary grooming cabinet! You ponies are over constantly and go everywhere in my boutique, not excepting my private areas: indeed, you go most eagerly into my ‘private areas’, and well you know it! Hence, you might have been aware of this cabinet. Who else would be privy to such knowledge?”
“Sweetie Belle,” suggested Twilight.
Rarity’s ears wilted. “Oh. I suppose.”
“Hah!” said Trixie. “Accuse Trixie and Twilight of lipstick theft, only to discover your daughter was the true culprit, eh?”
“We don’t know that,” began Rarity, but Twilight interrupted her. “I’ve never seen Sweetie wearing lipstick, though, what could she want with it?”
“Better winking at that little pegasus?” replied Trixie, smirking. “Did you check all of her lips?”
Twilight squeaked in dismay. Rarity’s eyes flashed, and she stamped a forehoof. “Consarn that revolting talk! Consarn, I say! Stop that this instant!”
Trixie pouted. “Oh, for…”
“No, we’ve agreed to not focus on Sweetie in such areas,” said Twilight. “You remember, Rarity even wrote it into her bondage contract and we both signed it. And ‘consarn’ is her safeword, don’t you pout about it! Drop the subject entirely.”
“But,” protested Trixie, “it’s not as if Sweetie Belle is behaving chastely in the least, so how can it be so wrong if Trixie makes flippant remarks…”
Rarity glowered. “Uht! It just is, Trixie, dear Mistress, it just is. But if the lipstick thief is not you, or Twilight, or Sweetie, then who could it possibly be?”
“Big Macintosh!” cried a voice.
Rarity’s jaw dropped. “Well, if you wanted to suggest the most outlandish possible candidate…”
“Big Macintosh is back! Hooray!” cried the voice. It came from outside, and it was Apple Bloom’s voice, and Big Macintosh was back in town.
The three unicorns went out to see, and froze in shock, all three of them. Big Macintosh was walking bashfully down the street, but he wasn’t alone. He’d arrived with somepony else.
Lyra was back in town, too, holding her head up proudly and high, as if to show off her shockingly burned-away stump of a horn. She walked like she was a little bit more royal than the other ponies—or, specifically, that there was royalty in her. Not royal blood, perhaps, and not at the moment, but all the same, evidence suggested royalty had been in her—deep in her.
“Sweet Celestia, she did it,” gasped Twilight.
“You were the one thinking it would not burn her up and kill her!” argued Trixie, staring.
Twilight was staring as well—in fact, every unicorn within sight was staring. Normally, if a unicorn mare was having really dramatic sex, and got an intense magic arc from her stallion’s horn to her own, she might experience some charring of the tip of her horn as it catalysed his magic ejaculation, the arcane portion of his orgasm into her.
To suffer such extreme burning spoke of erotic experiences far beyond any unicorn’s imagining, except mad Lyra who’d become obsessed with finding romance with Princess Luna. They’d even had a conversation with her and debated the safety of arcing with an alicorn lover, Twilight claiming the horngasm could still be catalysed, Trixie vowing that the bolt of horncome could cut through rock.
It seemed they were both somewhat right.
Big Macintosh swept Apple Bloom up in a hug, and hurried to Sweet Apple Acres without even a glance at the unicorns, but Lyra headed right for them, trying unsuccessfully to avoid smugness.
She trotted up, as Twilight, Trixie and Rarity all stared at her horn-stump. “I suppose first I should thank you, for everything you did both good and bad in bringing us together…”
“Oh, Lyra! Your poor horn!” cried Rarity.
Lyra’s smugness burst forth unrestrained. “Mm-hmm!”
Trixie glowered at her. The spring-green unicorn had disrupted the cozy relationship she had with Twilight and Rarity, and had upset Rarity dreadfully with her powerful blasts of horncome. Though both Trixie and Twilight found being magically ejaculated into, erotic, Rarity had issues around it from her checkered history. She’d been shattered when Lyra ‘impregnated’ her, and Trixie had been unable to protect her from that trauma.
It was maddening to Trixie that Rarity seemed to hold no grudge about this: Girl was both frighteningly dark and astonishingly sunny within her complicated and twisted personality, and somehow Lyra seemed to bring out the sweet and generous Rarity, rather than the haunted Mistress of pain and domination. Trixie did not think Lyra deserved to see that Rarity…
“Trixie!” snapped Twilight. “Both of you! Stop that!”
Trixie blinked, and realized she’d locked gazes with Lyra, whose chin was up and who stared back with arrogant cool. She dropped her head, sullenly. “Yes, Mistress.”
“You’ll scare her,” began Twilight, and then saw Lyra’s expression. “Or… not. Sweet Celestia, Lyra, what’s happened to you? Or maybe that’s a bit of a dumb question!”
“Princess Luna happened to me,” said Lyra. “Again, I must thank you. I haven’t been able to tear myself away, she won’t leave the castle, but she insists I must put my things in order after my hasty departure.”
Trixie smirked, not looking at Lyra. The hasty departure had been a terrified fleeing from vengeful Trixie and her telekinetically wielded whip.
“I’ll head back soon,” continued Lyra, “I don’t like to leave Looney unattended because she frets and thinks bad things about herself.”
Rarity’s jaw had dropped. “Did you say… Lyra, there is such a term as lese majeste! I understand you have always been wilful but surely there are limits?”
Lyra’s smug look intensified, and it became more obvious why she no longer feared Trixie, or anypony in Ponyville. “I used to think there were limits, yeah. Limits are for breaking. Look at my horn, I could have died if she burned all of it away! I took Princess Luna in every way, and now I’m hers, forever.”
Twilight looked unsettled. “Soooo… I guess the bits work on alicorns, huh? That’s experimentally proven?”
Lyra blinked. “They were made for her! You didn’t know that?”
“Well, I hadn’t tested it!” retorted Twilight, her ears back.
Lyra smiled fondly. “They were made for my Luna thousands of years ago, and they work wonderfully, just wonderfully. Both on her, and by her. Just trust me on this one, okay?”
Twilight couldn’t take her eyes off that burned-off horn. “But me and Trixie sort of reinvented them—and Trixie thought she’d invented the first one from scratch. She didn’t know she came from a legacy of unicorns who used to serve Luna that way. We’re still not quite sure how they work, they run off the power of love but mine just exploded.”
Lyra blinked. “What?”
“Exploded violently,” confirmed Trixie, brightening. The news had made a major dent in Lyra’s smugness. “Kaboom!”
“We narrowly averted damage to my coiffure!” added Rarity.
Twilight gulped. “Be careful not to bite yours too hard, I guess?”
Lyra frowned, dropping her gaze, and for a moment she looked less like a haughty noblepony, and more like the young mare she was, a slim unicorn with major sex-induced horn injury and no real security outside her spectacularly powerful and capable lover. She looked up, her golden eyes worried. “Luna said she thinks these new ones are stronger.”
The smugness was on Trixie’s side now. “If you cannot handle it,” she said, “Trixie understands. Not everypony is so powerful—or so great.”
Lyra bridled, fixing her nemesis Trixie with a gaze that combined resentment and fear, and then she’d whirled and was running off, back to Canterlot and her royal lover.
“That wasn’t very nice, Trixie,” said Twilight. “We didn’t even get to tell her that it was clamped in a big vise and stressed to the metal’s yield point. That’s kind of relevant!”
Trixie smirked. “Ha! Trixie sorted HER out! Let her run from the Great and Powerful Trixie!”
“Oh, honestly, Mistress, she’s not even in the Relationship anymore!” said Rarity. “I do not think her quite stable enough, to be honest. Perhaps she and Princess Luna deserve each other. Twilight? What’s troubling you, dear?”
“It’s probably nothing,” muttered Twilight, pecking at the dirt of the street with a forehoof. “There’s no point in me asking.”
“Twilight?” coaxed Rarity.
“Oh… I was just going to ask,” said Twilight, and her gaze yearned, “…what it was like?”
To this, Trixie had no answer. She knew Twilight found taking a horngasm erotic. She knew she’d come in Twilight very forcefully, and that Lyra had done it even more fiercely, and that Twilight had got off good and hard at the sensation of their magic flooding into her through her own horn.
But none of them had ever taken the unbearable orgasmic blast of an alicorn Princess coming in them—and now Lyra plainly had—and all three unicorn mares could not help but feel inadequate, like a pony who craved warmth and stared into the face of the Sun where she could not go.
Trixie sighed, looking cranky. “Come on. Mistress? Research?”
Twilight brightened, and they headed back to her tree house.
“My sakes, Big Macintosh,” said Applejack, “where the hell ya been? We was all worried about you—even Rainbow Dash!” She winked.
“Uh,” said Big Macintosh, “out west—I mean, east!”
“You was comin’ around the side of Town Hall, Apple Bloom says, with that Lyra. Droppin’ by Carousel Boutique instead of greetin’ your adoring family what missed you a whole bunch?”
Big Macintosh’s eyes widened. “Nope! No no, not there! Weren’t east then, it was west, now I remember. Uhhh… Manehattan. Not comin’ by Carousel Boutique at all.”
“Y’ don’t say. Pity you weren’t all the way out to Appleloosa, you could greet our cousin Braeburn. Ain’t seen him in ages. Manehattan, you say?”
Big Macintosh nodded. He gulped, and made an observation.
Apple Bloom just sat, silently studying her big brother. His story was clearly a load of crap, but that wasn’t the only new mystery about Big Macintosh.
She’d bumped against his rump while trying to gleefully shove him homeward to be welcomed, and some of the red color had come off on her shoulder. Apple Bloom wasn’t at all sure who she could ask about that, but all the same she needed to ask somepony.
What sort of markings would Big Macintosh be painting his butt red to conceal?
Flight Lightning saw him as she flew out over the Everfree Forest. For a moment she wasn’t sure—his hair was longer, and she mistook him for a mare because there was a bite mark on his ass, but then she was certain, and she swooped down at speed, and the closer she got the more certain she became.
It was him—Braeburn!
He was trotting home to Appleloosa with that prairie gait of his that covered a lot of ground with little effort, and his head was high and proud, that cowpony hat tilted rakishly.
Flight Lightning grinned and switched to a glide, cruising in with owl-like quietness. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to surprise him, for he was as alert as ever, and scanned the horizon in all directions for varmints and stray cows, but she swooped in directly behind him, getting a fine look at his well-muscled ass and the incongruous bite-mark, and she reached out her forehooves and grabbed his flanks with a ‘Gotcha!’
Braeburn shrieked, and took a tumble when he tried to whirl around without breaking stride, and Flight Lightning was right on top of him, laughing hysterically.
“HOLY CRAP!” he yelped. “What the… Lil’ Bird!”
“It’s me!” whinnied Flight Lightning, grinning her face off. “Sweet Celestia, is it good to see you! What are you doing out by Ponyville?”
“I ain’t doin’ nothin! Or,” he said with that irresistible cocky grin, “maybe I ain’t doin’ noPONY. Do you b’leeve that? If ya do, you’ll b’leeve anything and that’s the sure ‘nuff truth…”
“Oh, Braeburn!” laughed Flight. “Same as ever. Still jumping all the ladies, half the boys and a few of the cows, huh?”
“Ain’t no cows, missy!” objected Braeburn, with mock outrage. “I won’t jump no cow. I denies that part to the last bone in my body.”
“Oh, you mean the bone between your legs?” teased Flight. “That bone?”
“Aw, that ain’t the last bone in my body,” crooned Braeburn. “You know that ain’t true. I denies that part as well.” He shook his head, gazing deeply into her eyes.
“Oh, sorry,” said Flight Lightning. “I should have said, the first bone in your body.”
“Ah think you mean… the first bone in YOUR body.”
Flight blushed an even redder magenta, fluffing her wings at the earnest lust in his gaze. Braeburn could always make you feel like a drink of water in the desert. That little wicked smile, while he stared into your very soul without blinking those luminous green eyes, russet locks framing that gorgeous pony face nearly too pretty to be a stallion. And yet what a stallion he was—and this, his gaze somehow communicated as well.
“Ah know, Ah know… you tell me I ain’t rightly your first, but you know I cain’t believe a word of it, you luscious lil’ filly, you. Fresh as a daisy, ripe for,” and he licked his lips, “pluckin’. That why you swooped down to catch me, Lil’ Bird? Comin’ back for that best bone in your body?”
Flight Lightning sagged a little. “More like, last bone in my body.”
Braeburn stared for a moment, uncomprehending, and then his eyes widened in dismay. “That ain’t true! That can’t be true! Aw, Lil’ Bird, no!”
“It is true,” she admitted. “You were my last. It’s been a while.”
“It ain’t possible,” vowed Braeburn. “You’re the loveliest Lil’ Bird on the prairie, you jes’ GOT to have stallion company. The hell you been doin’, girl, sayin’ such a thing? I can’t believe it! What happened to th’ stuffy ol’ coot you had back at home?”
“He left. Stuff came up. It’s so good to see you again, Braeburn. I’ve been flying so hard trying to keep up with everything, I swear I’ve forgotten what it’s like to get a really great lay. I’m sure it makes me crankier than I want to be.”
“My poor darlin’,” sighed Braeburn, his eyes filling with sympathy. “How ‘bout we fill ya up with, uh, the milk of pony kindness? Now it might be some strange milk, sugar. Y’know, more sticky an’ thick than you’re used to. And th’ method of drinkin’ it may seem unorthodox but if ya hold still for a minute…”
“I’ve got somepony I’d like you to meet,” blurted Flight Lightning.
His face froze, just for a moment, and Flight’s heart stopped.
“Now, why would you be sayin’ a thing like…”
He was sharp, sharp as a tack on an unexpected seat, and she watched him put it together and frantically tried to get on top of the situation. “I mean, if you want! I think you really should. It would mean so much to her. You know, while you’re out here in Ponyville.”
“Somepony I know out Ponyville way? Her? Y’mean Applejack, my cousin?” he said, warily. “What’s got ya thinkin’ about cousins, anyway?”
“I didn’t say anything about cousins! Oh, Braeburn, never mind, okay? So are you going to be around here for a little longer, you know, in the vicinity? Or are you going straight back to Appleloosa?”
She winced at the look he gave her. It was a cheerful, open gaze, as wide as the whole outdoors, and yet she could tell she’d screwed up again. He could guess why she wanted to know where he’d be. He had guessed, and she was looking at the bland face of pony evasion.
“Lil’ Bird,” he said, “don’t you fret. Everythin’s going to be jes’ fine. Why, I’ll be around like tumbleweeds in Appleloosa, I’ll turn up when ya least expect it!”
Only to blow away and be gone, thought Flight Lightning. She didn’t say it, she tried to keep her face from showing it. She was not at all sure she’d succeeded. Braeburn was a poker player, and he read right through you while revealing nothing. His face said he wanted nothing more than to be there with her, and her soul told her that was suddenly an outrageous lie. She didn’t dare even look away from him, for fear he’d be gone.
She began to cry. She was no fool.
“Aw, Lil’ Bird!”
Flight Lightning fought to pull herself together. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long, and I’ve missed you so much…”
“I’m here now, Lil’ Bird. Ain’t I?” He put out a forehoof, stroked her cheek, wiped away a tear.
Flight Lightning looked helplessly at her earth pony lover, father of Scootaloo, the stallion of her dreams but the source of so many of her troubles. He was sharp, but so was she—the very earnestness of his countenance warned her. He probably realized that too, but there was nothing else he could do. He was going to put on that face until he could make a break for it, and then he’d flee as if she was his own personal Nightmare Moon.
He’d mentioned crazy fillies after him, back in the day, and Flight had understood exactly what he was saying. They’d had a taste of his pony thunder and fallen head over hooves for him, and wanted to tie him down, and that was the one thing he could not abide. Flight Lightning had always been able to reassure him that she had a husband, which he liked to hear, and that she was playing things just as loose and casual. She’d never suggested she would put down roots in his life, so she’d been able to visit it freely.
She’d just blown that wide open, and crossed to the other side, and it was a one-way journey.
Or at least, that was the way he usually worked…
Flight stared hard at Braeburn’s earnest, smiling face, and her look of helplessness eroded, a determination steadily replacing it. Her tearful eyes gleamed, then burned, as she took in every detail of his features like she was committing them to memory forever, like she was aiming to hunt him down no matter where he went.
There was no point concealing it: she was.
“Ya scarin’ me, Lil’ Bird,” he said, shifting from hoof to hoof.
“It’s been a long time since I was laid, Braeburn. I was busy. You’ll see why.”
Braeburn quirked an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face, a reaction too strong to suppress. Like hell I will, it seemed to say.
She kissed him. “Oh, Braeburn. Listen. Give me one thing. I bet you can.”
“Now, what might that be?” he said, softly.
“Fuck me, Braeburn.” She gulped. “Fuck me like it’s gonna hold me for the next ten years. Like it’s gonna hold me for the rest of my life. Do you understand?”
“Aw, Lil’ Bird…”
“Do you understand, Braeburn?” demanded Flight Lightning.
He dropped his gaze, not meeting her eyes, as if ashamed to be called out so directly, but then those incredibly green eyes were gazing into her soul again.
“Yes, ma’am.” The eyes twinkled. “Are ya ready, Lil’ Bird?”
“I was born ready,” said Flight Lightning. She gulped, and then dared to say it. “So was my baby.”
“Now how could that happen?” said Braeburn, as if it didn’t really matter very much to him. “I thought you explained to me that if I din’t touch those lovely wings, you wouldn’t get pregnant? I’m sure you promised me something like that, didn’t you?”
Flight snorted. “Wasn’t my fault! Stupid husband jumped me the instant I got home, I felt that needle dick go up me, and he bit right down on my wingbase. He’d decided he wanted us to have a kid because I’d been so good and obedient and faithful. It was supposed to be a surprise, he thought it’d be a more exciting reward that way.”
Braeburn gasped. “Y’ don’t say?”
“Surprise was on him, I’ll tell you that much. Fucker.”
“Poor Lil’ Bird! Aw, baby, if there’s anythin’ I can do…”
He trailed off. The way she was looking at him, he had to. He was sure he’d made it sound totally convincing, but she just knew him too well, somehow.
“Oh,” she said, “you will. I won’t say it’ll be easy, but you will.”
“Poor Lil’ Bird,” he said, shaking his head, and that time he really, truly meant it.
She wiped away another tear. “Enough. I asked you for a balling, one to remember. You can do that, can’t you? Give me one more great bucking and then… we’ll see. Won’t we?”
“Yes we will,” said Braeburn, studying his lost pegasus lover. “Lil’ Bird, will you promise me something too?”
“What, to not get pregnant again? To not come after you with a kid in tow?” she said.
His gaze was stern. “Seem like you made that promise before!”
Slowly, a wicked smile crept onto Flight Lightning’s face. “Oops.”
Braeburn sighed. “You’ll be th’ death of me, Lil’ Bird. But no, y’all fucked that one up already. You’ve asked me for one thing I can give, I’mma ask you for one thing that you can give. Fair enough?”
Flight Lightning studied him, skeptically. “What?”
“Don’t you ever let me play poker against you. Ever!”
She laughed, and suddenly they were hugging, she was nuzzling his neck and he was nibbling her ears, and her heart was pounding and she drank in his scent, hide of the frontier cowpony stallion and she could tell he was taking her in as well. It wasn’t about her not being sexy, this impending situation of him running away. She knew she excited him. It was just the thing with the kid, the putting down of roots, and he wouldn’t have it.
She flicked her tail, and he sniffed under it. There were some things he would take like a stagecoach highjacker, whatever the risk. In a way, that bravado was the sexiest thing about him.
Pain lanced through her rump, and she squealed and laid her ears back, bracing herself. Braeburn was a nippy stallion in the sack. He liked feisty girls to hang out with, but he wanted ‘em totally passive before he’d mount, and he didn’t hold back when he set out to dominate a mare.
She began to glance back, wide-eyed, and he snorted and bit her again, and she let out a throttled scream and kept her eyes straight ahead, ears plastered back against her skull, and her pussy began winking and dripping like mad because it knew exactly what that meant, it remembered as well as she did.
It had only seconds to prepare itself before his weight came down on her rump, and she was never able to wholly prepare herself for it at all.
He went slow, not out of sentimentality but because he didn’t propose to stop once he started. His pleasure was not dependent on that of his mare, but he liked a slick juicy feel once he got worked up and started bucking in earnest, and he knew it wasn’t difficult to get that with a little care and attentiveness.
“One for th’ ages,” he breathed, in her deliciously panicked ear, and his hips swung firmly forward.
It always seemed like it wouldn’t be any trouble to take Braeburn, for the first few inches. His flare almost wasn’t a flare, and the end of his stallion cock tapered down to a manageable size, and it poked into Flight Lightning’s frantic, oozing vagina very comfortably, as if to say, hello! Nothing to worry about here!
The term ‘thin end of the wedge’ came to mind.
And Flight Lightning came, then and there, for Braeburn didn’t stop at just the tip of the horsecock. He kept right on going, obviously without a moment’s hesitation, and Flight screamed as he took her.
Braeburn’s cockbase was just plain frightening. His length was more than enough to fill a mare, in the normal stallion way, but his girth was special—as he firmly shoved it in, the bulk pried Flight’s pussy wide and sent agonizing shards of searing sensation right up her spine. It was always just on the verge of unbearable, as the bulky area wedged into her, and it didn’t keep thickening more and more towards the base—if it did, her tightness would push him out. There was an area that was the tiniest bit less bulky, just about at the point where he was thumping her cervix, and Braeburn clutched her body and shoved deeper and deeper until he reached that point, his nostrils flaring as he savored the intensity of the sensations around him.
Flight Lightning held her head high, panting, heart pounding, staring wildly into space. She’d totally forgotten how harrowing it was. She glanced behind her, for just an instant, to see his face. He was grinning a savage, wicked outlaw grin, and she realized what he was gonna do to her. She couldn’t chase him, if he reduced her to such limp jelly that she couldn’t walk. Win/win situation, for him, fulfilling her request in the most treacherous way.
She’d meant to glance for just an instant. She ended up just staring back at him, her eyes wide and shocked. His twinkled.
“You’ll remember this, I reckon—up to when ya pass out. Bye bye, Lil’ Bird. Sweet dreams of sexy cowponies, and don’t say I never gave you nothin’.”
He tugged that swollen horsecock part-way out, and slid elegantly to her depths again, and Flight Lightning reeled. The game was on: outlaw versus outlaw, in a fucking battle. Pleasure was not the prize. Pleasure was the weapon. Her challenge was to endure the pleasure he could cause. His prize would be to leave her so incapable that he could tip his hat and vanish away while she lay there, a helpless puddle, unable to rise…
Braeburn was a canny one, and he knew better than to simply take Flight by storm, for it’d give her ways to resist him, it’d deliver more shallow climaxes, ones she could withstand. Instead, he nuzzled her neck, working that swollen stallionhood gently within her, and he crooned, “Mmmmm… ya always did feel so good, babe, you’re better’n ever.”
“Even after having a…” began Flight, but then she stopped, feeling his teeth on her ear. Not so hard as to hurt, but reminding her who the stallion was, that she was in his grip and taking his cock and his lovemaking. And it was lovemaking, too: though he dominated through nips and bites and force of personality, it was a means rather than an end. The end goal was a quivering, juicy mare he could buck the heck out of, safely and with pleasure for all. It took some building up to.
Braeburn began to build.
His lean, muscular hips began to swing back and forth, at first slowly, and Flight heard the obscene juicy noises that produced. Braeburn enjoyed describing his cock as ‘swole up fit to bust’, and the middle of the swelling was also the middle of his swing, either by happy accident or as something he’d practiced. Flight Lightning had never asked him. She braced herself, licking her lips, eyes wild at the eye-popping sensation of that bulkiest part of him being tugged out of her slickness, and then shoved firmly back in again. No other pony had ever delivered the like. It was like the wedging, widening sensation of carnal entry on both the out-stroke and the in-stroke, and Flight gasped for breath, letting out little wails and shrieks, as Braeburn got into his stride.
He let her ride that for a surprisingly long time, let her wallow in the sensation until she’d exuded so much pussy juice that there was a puddle below the slurping, squelching grip of her maddened vagina. She’d gone beyond winking around the plunging massiveness, to full-on orgasm and clenching at it rapturously with shrieks of breathless delight, and if that was all Braeburn had, it would’ve been more than delightful.
Flight Lightning shuddered, wobbling on unsteady legs, amazed that Brae had kept it up that long, that he’d fought off his own climax minute after minute just to deal her an orgasmic hand beyond belief. She sucked in a deep breath, and heard herself squeal a quavery little cry that clearly hinted of the overwhelmed—beyond her lusty shrieks of joy, to a zone that felt a little more vulnerable. Her voice said, maybe that’s enough, but don’t stop, except maybe stop?
He’d been waiting to hear that tone of voice. He’d been saving it.
Braeburn snarled, shaking his mane, and Flight felt his forelegs clasp her body tighter—and then he was humping her like a rabid Diamond Dog on fast-forward.
She screeched, her heart leaping to her throat. The noise was beyond belief, an obscene juicy squelching that seemed impossibly loud, but how could it not be with a thing like that churning in her? And he was churning, there was no other word for it, he was managing a couple strokes a second and they weren’t little strokes, either, they were the same eye-popping full depth plunges of massive swollen stallionhood from her entrance to her depths, and the same wrenching of deeply buried hard-on from her depths to just the cock-tip entering her. Only her extreme juiciness helped her endure it. Braeburn fucked her savagely, and Flight Lightning screamed and tottered and came and came and came…
He roared a wild whinny to the air and he throbbed heavily as he gushed horse-come against her insides, ramming it as deeply as it would go and jolting her with repeated thumps of her cervix, his body convulsing as he topped it off with brutal, animalistic thrusts into Flight’s churned, clenching, climaxing marehood, and she gave out with a long, ragged shriek and lost her balance, falling over.
And he fell with her, and even lying on his side in the dirt, he rammed that throbbing and gushing horsecock into her as far as it would go, snarling and jabbing with it as Flight writhed and kicked…
…and fainted, going limp.
Braeburn panted, his vision blurred and stars floating before his eyes.
“Dang,” he said. He hesitated, and then leaned forward and kissed the back of Flight’s ear as she lay against him.
“Such a sweet baby… an’ so wild!” he breathed. “Well… all right then. Ain’t it?”
Quietly, he drew his hips back, and his deflating and sore erection withdrew from Flight’s vagina, which looked like an explosion in a lube factory. He smirked happily at the sight, and stood up, though it involved him staggering drunkenly to the side and catching himself.
He tipped his hat. It was only right, at times like this.
“Be happy, darlin’, where-ever you do end up. You’re beautiful. But I got to… to…”
He trailed off. Her disheveled wings were stirring. Her legs kicked feebly. His eyes bugged out.
Flight Lightning twisted her neck around, and grinned dazedly up at him.
“I won’t be far. Maybe you should start running. I can fly pretty fast, you know.”
Braeburn hadn’t waited for her to finish. He was already galloping for Appleloosa and points west, as fast as he could, on his shaky and stumbling legs.
“Come on, Lightning!” said Flight. She got to her feet, and promptly fell on her face, her own legs not able to support her. He’d left her such a pile of jelly that she couldn’t walk.
But she was a pegasus, which he’d apparently forgotten.
Flight Lightning staggered for just a few steps and flapped madly as she began to faceplant again—and up she went, flying a crazy drunken path of sloppy swoops, dripping pony juice and Braeburn’s come as she went, but she fought her way into the sky and she headed for her house, begging Celestia or any listening Princesses to smile upon her and her kid and have Scootaloo be there…
“Mom? Mom! What’s going on? Yeesh, you reek!”
“Shut up, come on, right now, this instant!”
“What, into town?” protested Scootaloo. “More flight lessons? What have you been doing?”
“I’ll grab you! Come on! Braeburn, I found Braeburn!”
Scootaloo blinked and glowered. Flight had never shared that detail, she’d played everything down for so long that they’d not talked about it, out of habit.
“Your DAD!” yelled Flight Lightning. “Come on, right now!”
Scootaloo needed no more explanation. She was already running out of the house. Her wings buzzed like a demented bee, and then her mother had snatched her out of the air and was blasting through the sky towards Appleloosa, scanning the horizon in every direction.
“Look more!” begged Scootaloo.
Flight Lightning panted. “Baby, honey, I can’t… something’s wrong here…”
“Yeah, you promised me my Dad was here!” wailed Scootaloo.
“Damn it! I know how fast he can go. We’re out on the plains and we’ve been over twice the area he could cover on hoof. I’ve been going flat out for half an hour, I literally can’t fly any farther. I’m sorry, baby, I know it must hurt. I hurt too.”
Scootaloo stood, trembling all over, looking at her mother, and began to silently weep, even while she glared. She said, in an unsteady voice, “And now you’re gonna be mad at me for being a big crybaby, huh?”
Flight Lightning’s lip quivered. She held out a foreleg. “Not this time. Maybe I’ll join you. C’mere.”
Scootaloo hesitated, for it was an awfully big rules change, but she saw the expression on her mother’s face, and she could tell all the rules and all the self-reliance and all the toughness were being thrown out the window, just this once. Her face worked, and then she rushed into her mother’s embrace and gave herself over to a helpless bawling that shook her little body with its horrible force, while Flight cuddled her close, protecting her while the emotions tore at her, enduring her own flood of desperate and sad feelings.
“I swear to you, kid,” vowed Flight Lightning, “I’ll find him for you. I don’t care what it takes.”
Eventually, Scootaloo quieted. Eventually, she and her mother shared a glance that said they wouldn’t talk about their big emotional cry-fest they’d shared. Eventually, the two pegasi walked feebly back to Ponyville, the small one because she was emotionally devastated, the big one due to sheer physical exhaustion.
By the time they were halfway home, they were leaning on each other to keep from falling: by the time they were home, they were too weary to cry, and they slept, both piled into Flight’s bed, like they had when Scootaloo was a tiny foal. Except, Scootaloo curled up against Flight’s back, where her dock met her tail.
She could smell her father’s scent on her mother, there. She started crying again when she explained that. Flight didn’t object.
Halfway to Appleloosa, where the Everfree Forest ends, the hills of Mareheim begin to suggest the Western plains. There’s sand, and broken ground, and little scrubby bushes.
One stirred, and flopped over, revealing it had been uprooted.
Braeburn peered up out of a hole in the ground, completely covered in dirt, and scanned the sky. It’d been hours. The search was probably halfway to the Leylands by now.
“If ya can’t keep ahead of th’ posse,” he mused quietly, “best keep behind it.”
He glanced at his filthy hooves, knowing his entire body was brown as Mareheim dirt. It was a side effect of the hiding place, and meant he was no longer his recognizable color.
“Son, once you’re in Appleloosa schemin’ out where to jump next, you’re takin’ a bath—but not until then!”
With that, he began to trot off to the west, whistling a little tune.
Some minutes later, he returned, glancing nervously at the sky, and replanted the hapless bush that he’d used, giving it a comforting pat before hightailing it once more.