Good Wonderbolts Know How to Follow Orders
“You wanted to see me, ma'am?”
Rainbow Dash made her way into Spitfire’s office with a careful measure in her step—the same nervousness that came out whenever she was offered a direct audience with her commanding officer.
The office was one she had never gotten used to; no matter how many times she looked over the decorative plaques and medals on the wall, she had a hard time reconciling that she was fortunate to be in an audience with her lifelong hero, let alone to see her on a day-to-day basis, to take instruction from her regularly. It had taken a few weeks after her first arrival to stop her shaking in Spitfire’s proximity—now she could settle for a little extra sweating and a nervous twitch or two, and as a result avoid any instances of demerit for misconduct.
Spitfire was sitting at her desk. She raised her eyes from the stack of papers on her desk and appraised Dash with one raised eyebrow, peering from behind her sunglasses.
“That’s right, Recruit. Close the door behind you, would you?”
Dash winced, but did as directed, pushing the door closed behind herself with a prod from one of her hind-legs. Even with her nonexistent tenure, Dash was well aware she was high enough in potential and standing to be referred to by rank other than ‘recruit’. And yet, that was what Spitfire always called her. Like it was a nickname, instead of a rank.
It made Dash tingly in a way. Like her wings were itching to flare out and launch her into the sky, to prove more than she already had that she was better than a lowly recruit. She knew she was. She knew Spitfire knew too.
Dash cleared her throat, noticing that Spitfire had returned her eyes to her papers. Spitfire made no motion to move. Enough time passed that Dash readied another throat clear, but Spitfire preempted her, finally standing from her desk. She lifted her sunglasses and set them on top of the stack of papers, but made no motion to walk around from behind the desk.
“Do you know why I’ve called you in here, Recruit?” Spitfire’s voice was no more harsh than usual, but that wasn’t saying much. Dash could barely remember the soft, familial tone she’d heard first at the Grand Galloping Gala. Now every word Spitfire uttered was an order, and Dash had to fight to avoid following instinct half the time to realize she was simply meant to respond, rather than obey.
“Uh... no, ma'am, I can’t say that I do. ma'am.”
There it was. Dash could feel the sweat forming on her forehead. Her wings tingling more than they already were. Her uniform clinging tighter to her body than it had a second ago.
Spitfire raised her forelegs and held her hooves under her chin. She stared at Dash for a moment, then turned and looked out the window. Dash stood as still as she could manage, watching Spitfire watch the clouds, or maybe the groups of new recruits finishing their mid-day flying drills. As much as she wanted to clear her throat again, Dash couldn’t find the means to do so—her mouth felt like sandpaper, and her throat besides. Clearing it would probably send her into a coughing fit.
So she waited.
After a minute, Spitfire turned away from the window. Dash tried to place the look on her face, but came up empty-hooved in her dictionary of facial expressions.
“The reason I called you here,” Spitfire began, making her way around the far end of her desk, “is because there’s a matter I need to discuss with you.”
“ma'am?” Dash stood frozen in place, only moving her head in the slightest as she watched Spitfire step closer.
Spitfire stopped a foot or so with a half-glare on her face.
“Recruit, you can lower your salute.”
Dash hadn’t even noticed her hoof had been glued to her forehead the whole time. She quickly lowered it to the ground, noting the slightly less damp spot it had been, unassaulted by her outpouring of nervous sweat.
“I’ve been hearing things about you, Recruit,” Spitfire said. She walked to Dash’s side. Dash followed Spitfire with her eyes, but stilled them at a disapproving glance from her commander. Dash returned her position to a forward facing pose, trying to ignore the anxious energy emmanating just from having Spitfire standing nearby.
“You have? —Uh, I mean, you have, ma'am?”
“Do you mind, Recruit? Let me get on with it, and you can talk afterwards.”
“Yes ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.” Rainbow Dash snapped her head straight and stared forward, hoping that a focus of concentration on some point far away might let her escape from the feeling like angry, molten butterflies in her stomach.
“You’re a good kid, Recruit. I like you.”
Dash felt an extra-large bead of sweat roll down her forehead and onto the tip of her nose. She tried to ignore it.
“The thing is... I’ve been hearing some things about you that make me a little uneasy. Reports from other recruits about... misconduct. Bad behaviour.”
Oh Celestia. Spitfire had walked all the way around and was only inches behind Dash. Dash could feel Spitfire’s breath on her coat, and tiny waves in the air as Spitfire gestured with her hoof, brushing it perilously close to Dash’s... to her body, anyway.
Dash squinted her eyes as tight as she could manage.
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Recruit? Permission to speak.”
“No ma'am,” Dash replied almost instantly. “I’d never do any such thing, ma'am.”
“Is that so?” Spitfire leaned in closer, closer, until finally, her hoof settled on Dash’s back, just above the base of her tail. Dash cringed and bit her lip, still squinting, trying not to let her wings out, trying not to squeal and fall into an incoherent mush on the floor.
“...y-yes, ma'am.”
“Hmm.”
Spitfire stood like that for a moment, barely moving her hoof on Dash’s uniform where it covered her coat. Dash could feel the cold press of Spitfire’s hoof into her fur, knew that her commander must be feeling the all-covering sheen of sweat clinging to Dash’s body like a film of water. Knew that she must be able to feel the quiver and twitch in Dash’s legs as they struggled to hold her upright.
“So you’re sure you haven’t been telling the other recruits anything unpleasant about your commanding officer?” Spitfire inquired, lifting her tone at the end of her sentence. Her hoof moved as she spoke, tracing up Dash’s tail all the way to the tip. Dash tried to withhold the shake aching to come out as a result, but failed, letting her tail twitch in her commander’s hooves.
“Yes, ma'am...”
“I see. Not even that—”
Spitfire’s hoof traced along Dash’s tail further until it went all the way around, reaching the base on the opposite side—and then lower, over Dash’s uniform, on her backside, and then down, further, right. Between. Her legs.
Dash hissed as she sucked in a mouthful of air through her teeth, her mane so damp it felt like she could have wrung it out like a damp cloth.
“—your commanding officer is a filly-fooler who loves teasing her favorite recruit until she’s begging for more like a helpless little hussy?”
As punctuation, Spitfire ground her hoof forward, pressing between Dash’s legs where, Dash realized, she was even wetter than the rest of her body covered in sweat.
Dash gasped as Spitfire’s touch found her pussy, so hot and sensitive it was practically throbbing against the confines of her uniform. Dash’s knees shook and threatened to give out, but she snapped herself back into position, albeit a little shakily.
“N-n-no, ma'am, I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t say anything like that, ma'am.”
“Hmm.” Spitfire withdrew her hoof suddenly, letting Dash breath out a huge sigh. Partly in relief, because she wasn’t sure she could take much more, but still some in wanting of Spitfire’s touch to stay. She always wanted it to stay.
“Take off your uniform,” Spitfire said, as nonchalantly as if it were an every day order.
That was enough to break Dash’s composure. She swivelled her head around with her eyes wide. Instead of her usual judgemental glare, Spitfire’s face was tempered with a playful smirk.
“In your office? No way! Anypony could walk by and see us! —Uh, ma'am.” Dash remembered herself just barely before her sentence was likely to dig her into a grave it would be difficult to climb out of.
It didn’t do much to save her from Spitfire’s stare though. Spitfire lowered her eyebrows, with an extra sharp sparkle in her eyes that would normally have been covered by her sunglasses. Dash felt a large lump work its way down her throat.
“I’m sorry, Recruit, I don’t recall saying I was asking for your opinion on the matter.”
Dash shifted her eyes in either direction, her hooves still in place like she was glued to the floor.
“Uh...”
“You did shut the door when you came in like I asked you, didn’t you?”
“Uh... yes.”
“Well then”—Spitfire was at Dash’s behind again, and her hoof suddenly jammed into place between Dash’s hindlegs, pressing so hard on Dash’s clit through her uniform that she thought she might pass out—”if the door is closed, nopony can see us. You’ll just have to be extra quiet, won’t you?”
“Mmmhmmm...” Dash whimpered an agreement through her bottom lip, which she had bitten hard enough to draw blood at Spitfire’s sudden attention to her love-button.
A smile crept across Spitfire’s lips again.
“Good. Uniform off. Now.”
Though Dash didn’t think it was possible, she felt herself get even wetter. Her uniform would be in dire need of cleaning afterwards.
Dash tried to focus on the clouds in the distance as she undid her front zipper with her teeth. If she looked away, she could maybe pretend for an instant that her commander wasn’t staring at her as she stripped naked. She was naked most of the time she wasn’t at the academy anyway, so why did it matter that she was bare now? Why did it matter that Spitfire could leer at her exposed body, seeing how soaking wet she was, probably dripping down her own legs without her uniform in place to hold back the moisture of her arousal. That she could see how flared her feathers were, how desperately her wings ached to be touched, how her lips must be quivering and engorged and dying to be touched...
Dash groaned as she slid forward out of her suit. The clouds in the distance drifted by lazily as she watched them out the window.
Wait, the window...
“Uh, Spit—er, ma'am... the door’s closed, but you forgot to shut the blinds on the—”
The last few words were knocked down Dash’s throat as Spitfire was on her from behind, pushing her forward, ramming her face first into the desk still covered in papers and official stationary. Dash braced herself against the hard wood, feeling a small cough escape as her stomach hit the corner. Not hard enough to wind her, but certainly hard enough that she felt it.
And she felt Spitfire on her, almost mounting her, grinding her pelvis forward like a stallion on a mare in heat waiting to be filled.
“You were saying, recruit? Something about how anypony could fly by my office window and see the school’s most promising young student being bent over a desk by her commanding officer like a mare at a cheap brothel?” Spitfire ground herself forward as she spoke, pressing her own sex into Dash’s ass over and over again. Even though there was no penetration, Dash bucked her hips backwards in response, winking furiously at the agonizing proximity of her commander’s body. She had never winked before Spitfire... and now it was a struggle to keep it from happening even when in full uniform.
“I... but... we shouldn’t...” Dash struggled to stammer out a protest, but her voice fell away as Spitfire pressed into her. Like she was prepping her to be pounded. Like she was teasing her with the head of her invisible stallionhood before she thrust inside oh sweet Celestia...
“Pardon me, Recruit? Were you just saying something about what your commanding officer should or shouldn’t be doing?”
“I... no ma'am.”
Dash gasped. Spitfire had pressed one of her hooves down at the base of Dash’s wing, and was now massaging it roughly, rubbing at Dash’s sensitive muscles and flared feathers.
“Are you sure? Because I thought I just heard you imply you knew better about something than your commander.”
“No ma'am!” Dash had to shout. She couldn’t keep herself quiet, as much as she wanted to, and it seemed better that her volume should come out in a response that at least sounded somewhat inoccent, rather than the flurry of moans welling up in her chest she was dying to let out.
Spitfire’s hips vanished without warning, as did her hoof. Dash stifled a groan of disappointment. Despite the absence of touch, her body took a moment to still itself, and even then, she could still feel her marehood twitching of its own accord, begging for more.
The flap of wings drew Dash’s attention. She turned her head with some hesitation, just in time to see Spitfire fly up and over her, landing with authority on the center of her own desk. Spitfire kicked away the papers underhoof with a brush of her foreleg and smiled down at Dash, grinning in a way that Dash could tell immediately could lead to no good.
“Move back for a moment, Recruit.”
Dash hesitated only for an instant before pulling herself away from the desk. Her legs were shaking, along with the rest of her, and she could feel her wetness seeping into the fur between her thighs.
With Dash gone from the side of the desk, Spitfire lowered herself. She sat on the desk with her hind legs swinging freely, resting her weight on her forehooves behind her back. As Dash watched, Spitfire spread her hind legs and gave Dash a full view of what was between them; her well-trimmed, bright orange pussy.
“Fifty demerits for that insubordination a minute ago, Recruit. You can clear them by eating your commander out like a private chowing down in the mess on Hearth’s Warming.”
Dash swallowed loudly and nodded. Even the tone of Spitfire’s voice made her quiver. Not only was she being ordered to lick between Spitfire’s legs with a reprimand in conduct besides, but she was about to do it in plain view of anypony who happened to peer through her commander’s window. Anypony who happened to look inside and see Dash with her face buried in pegasus pussy, going to town like her life depended on it.
A jolt ran through Dash’s body, starting at her head and ending between her legs. It was almost enough to make her cum on the spot. Her pussy winked in acknowledgement.
There was no need for preamble. When Spitfire said ‘eat pussy’, she meant ‘eat pussy’.
So that was what Dash did.
Dash inhaled deeply when her tongue hit Spitfire’s slit. The scent was unmistakable—as much as Dash had been dripping on herself the second she walked into Spitfire’s office, she could tell her commander had been wanting it too. The scent of Spitfire’s arousal was accompanied by as much wetness as Dash imagined was between her legs—like the idea of being tended to by a naked, horny recruit in plain view of any passerby was just as hot to Spitfire as it was to Dash.
“Mmm...” Spitfire let out a low, confident sounding moan as Dash’s tongue touched between her legs. Spitfire’s lips were nowhere near as puffy as Dash’s were, though the difference in want and arousal probably had something to do with that. Still, the difference was apparently no matter to Dash—she licked like she was lovingly caressing Spitfire’s marehood, instead of simply tonguing her pussy out of fear of further reprimand.
“Do you like the taste of your commander’s snatch, Recruit?” Spitfire didn’t even close her eyes as Dash licked. She kept them locked on Dash’s head the whole time, watching her sweat-soaked mane move back and forth as Dash worked her tongue from the base of Spitfire’s slit all the way up to the top of her hole, and then back down again. Dash knew that was the way Spitfire liked it, at least to start.
“Yes, ma'am,” Dash managed between licks. Her voice was shaky, shakier than Spitfire’s, even though she was the one doing all the work. She let her tongue slip between Spitfire’s lips, and pressed her nose into her commander’s mound. She couldn’t stop herself from inhaling, sucking in the scent of Spitfire’s arousal with a depraved gasp, and burying her face further forward as the smell of hot sex hit her. She wiggled her tongue inside Spitfire’s pussy, drinking in the taste of her, letting it wash over her tongue like ambrosia in a desert oasis.
“You can move up a bit, recruit. There are two parts worth your attention, after all.” Spitfire’s voice approached the first bit of breathiness as she gave another direction—still nowhere near a full-on give of her arousal, but less composed than she had been a moment ago.
“Yes, ma'am.” If anything, Dash sounded like the one being attended to. She let out her words in a half moan, her tongue wet in her mouth with Spitfire’s dampness, her wings twitching on her back as she caught another strong whiff of Spitfire’s scent. As directed, she lapped with her tongue over Spitfire’s clit, licking gently once or twice before really pressing down. Hard.
Dash’s reward was Spitfire’s first moan—a rough, almost guttural sounding half-grunt that made Dash imagine Spitfire as a stallion for an instant. The thought of being forced down onto her commander’s imaginary cock, letting it fill up her mouth with hot flesh and virile musk, was enough to elicit a shiver between Dash’s legs. Still, it was just as well the thought was only an imagining—Dash didn’t know the first thing about sucking dick, but she was beginning to consider herself an expert on pleasing her commander’s pussy.
“Mmm...” Another moan. That was a sign she was doing something right. Dash allowed herself another lap of Spitfire’s juices, tasting the subtly sweat-tinged aroma of Spitfire’s marehood before returning her attention to the engorged nub waiting for her. Dash pressed down hard with her tongue flat and swivelled her head in circles, pressing and grinding with her head between Spitfire’s legs. She could tell by the way Spitfire met her motion that she was doing it right—by the way she could feel the proximity of Spitfire’s hooves nearby, aiming for the back of her head but holding back. She would always wait until she was close, which left Dash torn; she wouldn’t have minded if Spitfire had forced her face-first into a mouthful of pussy until she couldn’t breathe. Just the thought made her want to beg for it—but, at the same time, she appreciated the consideration, and acknowledged that being deprived of oxygen more than once in a day was probably a recipe for an eventual injury of some kind.
“I can tell you’re... learning, Recruit...” Spitfire’s words began to break for the first time. Dash only responded with a nod before redoubling her efforts, licking like an eager cat at her commander’s sensitive nub. Spitfire responded with another groan and a press of her hips forward, grinding herself onto Dash’s tongue.
“Lick... lower this time, recruit.”
Dash paused for a moment, but did as directed after only a second to contemplate. She returned her attention to Spitfire’s dripping entrance, lapping at her lips and flitting her tongue inside, tasting the sweet pungent palette of her commander’s pussy.
“Lower, Recruit.”
Dash blinked, mostly to herself.
Lower? But she...
“Is something wrong, recruit?” Spitfire’s voice regained its usual composure as she noticed Dash’s hesitation. Dash heard the commanding inflection and peeked upward from between Spitfire’s legs, trying to look as diplomatic as possible.
“Uh, no ma'am. You just asked me to go lower, and I... you, uh...”
“Do you have a problem with being asked to tongue your commanding officer’s ass?”
Dash felt a shake in her knees, but pushed it away with the sheer force of her focus on following direction.
“Uh... no ma'am.”
“I was under the impression that recruits who got off from being bossed around like worthless nobodies were in no position to protest at being asked to do the one thing they happen to be good at. Do you mean to tell me after all the pussy you must have eaten in Cloudsdale that you didn’t once get your face shoved in some mare’s ass and get told to go to town?”
“I, uh...”
“Do you mean to tell me that the idea of licking exactly where your commander tells you to, until she gives you the thing you’ve been wanting all day and squirts all over your face before finally touching that desperate slut-hole you call a pussy, doesn’t sound like something you’re capable of?”
It was a struggle to keep herself upright. Dash knew she had to compose a response before diving in. She was sold now, more than sold, she would have done anything if Spitfire told her too, and the image of Spitfire holding her face-down as orange legs wrapped around her neck and came all over her was what she wanted more than anything in the world.
“Y-y-yes... I mean n-no, ma'am. I can do it, I’m sorry. Please, let me... let me do it.”
Spitfire squared up her mouth and nodded.
“Very well, Recruit. Let’s try that again. Lower.”
Dash did as directed.
She’d always admired Spitfire’s ass. It was hard to find any part of her not worth admiring, what with her perfect flyer’s physique, her meticulously groomed, brilliant orange coat that looked like fire in the sky—the glimmer of authority in her eyes, the shift of her voice from commanding to sultry, and sometimes both, the curve of her body in uniform until it rounded into those two perfect butt-cheeks that, yes, Dash had wanted to bury her face in, in a way.
As always, she knew she should be the one saying thank you afterwards.
Dash’s first lick was tentative, but the second came more natural when she realized there was no part of Spitfire that she wouldn’t enjoy the taste of. What was more, with every lick, Dash was at the perfect height now to see Spitfire’s pussy quiver, which it did, almost winking as Dash extended her tongue and slipped it inside Spitfire’s ass.
The groan that escaped Spitfire’s mouth was more visceral than any noise Dash had heard her make before. It sounded like a real, genuine loss of composure, and it only served to spur Dash on harder. She licked again, lapping from between Spitfire’s buttcheeks up to her pussy, then back down, slurping obscenely as she tasted every inch of her commander’s ass and pussy.
“S-see... I t-told you that you’d... be good at it...” Spitfire let her first hoof rest on the back of Dash’s head, and Dash licked even harder, knowing full well what was coming, and wanting it to come faster. Once Spitfire started stammering, there was no pulling back, and Dash dove forward like she was plunging headfirst into a sonic rainboom.
“Fuck... you’re gonna... make me cum... so hard... Recruit...”
Even in the throes of passion, she still said it. Dash’s pussy twinged in sympathy. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
Spitfire’s second hoof joined her first. Dash brought her own forward, and through some careful maneuvering, placed it above her head, right on top of Spitfire’s clit. She pressed down and rubbed as she continued her licking, lapping at Spitfire’s ass and the lower part of her pussy.
That was enough. Dash was robbed suddenly of air as Spitfire shoved her forward, pressing her hooves down into the back of Dash’s head and holding her in place.
“Oh, f-fffuck...don’t stop, don’t you dare stop...”
Dash couldn’t have if she wanted to, and she most certainly did not want to. She could feel the last few gasps of oxygen depleting as she licked, still licked, uncaring of her own ability to breathe, if only it meant pushing Spitfire closer, licking the tight ring of her asshole, rubbing her clit, feeling the clench of muscles and pressing down harder of hooves, so hard it hurt, and black was starting to creep in now, but still licking, tasting sweat and her own spit and the unmistakable smell and flavour of Spitfire’s arousal, she must be close, had to be close, had to be any second please—
Spitfire froze as she came. True to her word, her pussy clenched underneath Dash’s hoof, and she squirted, spraying a volatile spit of marecum into Dash’s mane and onto the office floor behind her. Her ass spasmed around Dash’s tongue, and her hooves pressed even harder, holding her recruit in place, pinning her there like a sex-toy to finish herself on, shaking and shaking and squirting again until she could feel the tingle between her legs begin to leave...
Spitfire let go, and Dash fell backwards with a gasp the moment her ability to breathe returned. She hit the floor with a soft thump and spread her wings out on the floor, letting the tingle of her feathers course through her body as she gulped in mouthfuls of oxygen.
Amidst Dash’s gasping, Spitfire took a few heavy breaths of her own. She only seemed to need a few before her composure returned, though her legs still shook from the after-tremors of her orgasm. For that reason, she waited a minute or two before lifting herself off the desk and attempting to stand. She smiled as she looked down at Dash’s writhing body, still deadlocked in the grasp of arousal, and only now just properly clinging to consciousness with the advent of enough air to remain awake.
“Good... good job, Recruit. Your ability to demonstrate applied knowledge in a new situation is admirable.”
“Thank you... ma'am...” Rainbow Dash acknowledged between long breaths. The shakiness in her breathing had mostly subsided, which meant any vestigial difficulty was likely due to her body’s heat and sensitivity, rather than an inability to breathe.
“I think that’s about enough to polish off your demerits for the day. When you can stand up properly, you may consider yourself dismissed.”
Spitfire turned and walked back to her desk like it was the most appropriate thing in the world. Despite the nonchalance in her step, her face wore the biggest grin she’d had all day. She hid it from Dash by staring out the window again, listening to the laboured sounds of Dash’s continued breathing.
The seconds passed slowly as Spitfire stood there. One. Two Three...
“Uh... ma'am?”
Spitfire turned with a nonchalant swivel of her head, as though she wasn’t still sweaty and covered in the remnants of her own climax from moments ago.
“Yes, recruit?” Spitfire raised an eyebrow, looking convincingly perplexed at Dash’s continued presence.
“I, uh... ma'am, I don’t mean to be... rude, but, uh... I was hoping you could... that you might...”
“That I might what, Recruit?” Spitfire turned properly and stepped closer, looking down at Dash from between the fallen pegasus’ legs. Dash shivered as Spitfire stepped closer, well aware that she was still completely naked and leaking on her commander’s office floor like a sweaty, desperate faucet.
“That you might, uh... well... when you... earlier...”
“Just spit it out, recruit, I don’t have all day. There’s something you want—what is it?”
Dash’s face flushed. For all her confidence till that point in life, all of it vanished the instant Spitfire spoke to her. All her bluster and brashness and self-assured ability went right out the window the second she heard the word ‘recruit’.
“I, uh... I want... uh—”
Dash sucked in a sudden mouthful of air as Spitfire stepped even closer, resting one of her forehooves right on Dash’s pussy. Grinding it down hard like she was a mat on the floor, meant to be stepped on.
A groan followed Dash’s gasp, accompanied by a wriggling of her body underneath Spitfire’s hooves, rubbing herself against the nonchalant touch.
“You wanted your commanding officer to touch your hot, dripping, desperate pussy—is that right?”
“Yesss... I mean, yes, ma'am...” Collecting the proper response was a struggle, but Dash managed in spite of her body’s urging to simply moan and continue thrashing on the floor.
“Well what on earth makes you think I should do a thing like that, Recruit? Do you think you’ve done something to deserve it?” Spitfire leaned forward, pressing more of her body-weight onto her hoof. Dash bucked up in response, needing a few seconds to gain the ability to speak again.
“I... you... I followed your directions, perfectly... ma'am.”
Spitfire raised an eyebrow.
“You followed my directions to work off the demerits for your insubordinate conduct. You don’t mean to imply that I should be grateful for your simple ability to follow instruction?”
“No, ma'am,” Dash gasped, pressing herself against Spitfire’s hoof like she was possessed. She knew Spitfire wasn’t even touching her like that. She was using her like a stool, a carpet, to rest her hoof on, and Dash didn’t care, it felt so good, let her be a doormat, please, just a little longer and she could—
Spitfire lifted her hoof away, and Dash couldn’t help but let out a sound like she’d been kicked in the stomach. So close, she’d been so close, couldn’t she just—
“You look pathetic, recruit. Getting off from barely being touched. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“Yes,” Dash almost cried. She didn’t care anymore. She would have already said anything, done anything, but now she did feel worthless, because there was no point in her being worth anything if Spitfire wouldn’t touch her, wouldn’t please touch her, please, that was all she wanted...
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Dash said. The word just barely escaped an accompaniment by tears, because Dash felt so awful, so worthless, she’d never needed anything this badly in her life, she couldn’t even think straight.
“Hmph.”
Dash started as she felt a shift in Spitfire’s position. The coolness of Spitfire’s hoof between her legs was replaced with warmth, and a touch on the insides of her thighs as well. Dash had to close her eyes, then open them again to be sure what she was seeing was real.
“Tell you what, Recruit,” Spitfire said. She fluttered her wings a bit as she got into position, spread her own hind legs and lining them up to interlock with Dash’s perfectly. “I like you. You’re a good kid, and I feel kind of bad for you. So, I’ll tell you what.”
Spitfire pressed herself forward, and Dash’s eyes almost rolled back in her head. She thought she might die. A warmth, Spitfire’s pussy, on hers, just like that, wet and hot and Dash was already so sensitive her brain threatened to catch fire oh Celestia in heaven that was the best feeling in the world.
“Not only will your commander help you get off—” Spitfire ground her pussy forward, and Dash answered it with a shaky movement of her own, though she couldn’t call it intentional—her body simply moved to answer, because there was nothing else it could think to do.
“—but I’ll let you get another touch of your commander’s pussy in the process. All you have to do...” Spitfire squeezed her legs together, and Dash gasped, squeezing back, shuddering in the process. “... is hold out until I cum again. Understand?”
Dash wanted to cry. There was no way. She had been close a minute ago, was close now, just the thought of getting to rub herself on Spitfire like this, pressing their sex together, letting wetness touch wetness, Dash’s lips swollen with heat and arousal and aching just from a tiny caress... there was no way.
“But... but I...”
Spitfire pulled back a bit, and Dash wanted to cry then too.
“Is that a no?”
“No, no... no, ma'am, I mean, it isn’t a no. I just don’t... I don’t know if I...”
“I know you, recruit. You’ll rise to the challenge, just like you always do.” Spitfire wiggled herself back into place, and Dash answered with another gasp. She let her head loll back, and in spite of herself, her tongue crept out the side of her mouth.
There was no way she could—
“Come on. I’m sure it won’t take more than a few minutes.”
With that, Spitfire began grinding in earnest. Dash’s breathing became a series of incomprehensible moans, blurring in pitch and focus. Words crept in at parts, but stayed mostly away because all coherent thought left Dash’s body without notice. Unlike Spitfire, whose noises of enjoyment were composed, and solid, almost guttural, Dash’s were completely detached. Her voice crept into its highest register, and her moans were so high-pitched her voice threatened to crack, and did on occasion. Sometimes she squeaked, depending on the angle Spitfire used in her attack.
In-between Dash’s moaning, Spitfire let out a low grunt or two, but Dash could barely hear them. She was torn between focus and disregard, knowing that if she thought too hard about what she was feeling, about Spitfire’s slick, sexy lips sliding over her own, about her clit pressing into her commander’s, about the girlcum still drying on her mane that she’d be rewarded again if only she could hold out... if she thought too hard about any of that, it would be too late, and she wouldn’t be able to enjoy any of it anymore.
Dash bit her lip and tried to think of something else. She began to breathe through her nose like she was hyperventilating, the flow of air through her nostrils sounding ridiculous and exaggerated, and still accompanied by her moaning and occasional squeak.
“You doing alright, Recruit? Don’t you flake out on me now. Hang in there.”
“Mmmmmmn.” Dash managed an incomprehensible moan of ascent in the middle of her delirious squealing. Spitfire smirked at her.
“You are so fucking sexy when you’re like this. Just at the edge of getting off... I could watch you moan and drip over yourself all day. Maybe make you press yourself up against the window so every colt in the academy could see you winking for their cock...”
“Nnnnn... don’t, please, don’t, I can’t...”
“Control yourself, recruit. You’re never going to get anywhere in life if you can’t...” Spitfire grunted as she gave an extra hard press of her slit into Dash’s. “... if you can’t show some kind of restraint...”
Spitfire forced herself forward extra hard, and her button hit Dash’s dead on, grinding fiercely and eliciting an extra broken sounding squeak from Dash’s mouth.
“I can’t! I can’t, I can’t, please, just let me—”
“If you don’t want another... set of demerits to work off... you’ll hold out, Recruit. Two minutes at the outside. Understand?”
Dash tried to nod in a composed looking fashion, but all she managed was a delirious sort of head-shake, closing her eyes and biting her lip in the same motion, praying through the pain of her teeth into skin that she might pull herself back from the brink of her climax. So good, it always felt so good, and being told to stay away only made her want it more...
Dash tried to think about something else. The only thing that could prove ever more enticing than an afternoon of beratement and bad behaviour being punished in her commander’s office: flying.
She thought about the way the wind felt when she began to pick up speed, whistling through her mane as it curled into a jetstream behind her. She thought about the coolness of her wings as they flapped, sometimes resting to let her coast on the current of momentum she would build up, gliding like a falling star on route to its target, breaking through clouds like they were silk to be brushed away, twirling with an open freeness that felt as simple as walking must to anyone else.
Spitfire grunted, and Dash bit down harder on her lip. She couldn’t keep track of the time, but it didn’t matter greatly; however close her commander was, Dash was hanging by a thread, ready to be nudged over by a only a simple direction.
Please, please, I need it so bad, just...
Flying. She thought about the way her uniform hugged her body when she did her morning drills, keeping her comfortable despite the biting windchill that was always present in the early hours. She thought about how she could feel a sweat gather on her body after the three-hundredth lap, making her yearn for a shower when she was done. She thought about how good the spray of the showerhead felt, washing every bit of her clean, making her feel like she was flying through a haze of waterfall relaxation, coaxing the soreness away from her muscles and making her clean again.
She thought about the taking off of her uniform before the shower, and when she had heard hoofsteps behind her as she sloughed off the last part to turn and find Spitfire behind her.
In the shower. Pressing up against her. Telling her to look forward, and not to speak. The shower. Warm. Spitfire, warmer. Rubbing her wings, water washing over her feathers, hoof, tracing along her back, backside, snaking underneath and making her shiver even though she was warm. Breathing in her ear. A tongue tracing along the side of her face, under her neck that spot on her neck oh celestia that spot and then nipping, biting, teeth that hurt better than anything, she had been ready then. But not then, Spitfire, leaning on her, touching her please touching her and she had wanted to scream but the sound of her whimpers in the shower was loud enough that she knew she had to be quiet because what if somepony heard anypony could hear and that had made her want it more it was too much and couldn’t she please just please she needed it so bad let her please celestia so good she was dying just let her
“Recruit... go ahead...” Spitfire choked through her languished breathing. “And you’d better make it a loud one.”
Rainbow Dash didn’t have the presence of mind to acknowledge that yes, if she was loud, all her fears and delicious worries of being noticed would coalesce. She wanted them to. She let her bottom lip fall from her teeth, a tiny trickle of blood dripping down onto her blue coat. Spitfire’s legs were locked to hers like a chain, and her lips besides, sliding inbetween Dash’s, so warm and hot and wet and then Dash felt it, and her mouth fell open.
“Ohhhh... I’m...”
Dash knew Spitfire liked to hear, but she couldn’t finish. The words died as the first shudder overtook her body.
Through some miracle of miracles, Dash managed to keep her eyes open. What she wanted to see was Spitfire, thrashing about like an animal in the one moment she was lapse in her restraint and composure. Dash, on the other hand, needed no excuse to let herself go.
She came with a noise she didn’t know she was capable of making. It started like a murmur she was trying to choke back, going higher until she held it breath, and then let it out all in one go, high-pitched and delicate and desperate all at once, the opposite of everything she tried to be around everypony else, but had no problem giving into when she was here, like this.
She tossed her head back for a minute, like her body couldn’t keep steady, but forced it back up after a few seconds, the noise still pouring from her mouth like her tongue was failing to keep it in. She saw it then, what she wanted to see—Spitfire, grinding her hips forward like she was rubbing herself against something, like Dash imagined her getting herself off when she might have been a young filly, frigging herself on a cloud-cushion before she knew enough to touch herself properly, only Dash was the means for her enjoyment now, and nothing else could ever feel that good. Spitfire’s mouth closed up when she came, and Dash felt the extra bit of wetness on herself, lower than it had been last time. She composed a proper moan through her squealing, and Spitfire answered it with a series of low grunts. She always sounded so masculine when she came, almost like she was in pain sometimes, and Dash loved every second of it. She wanted to coat herself in that sound, to wear it like it was her uniform, because every time, it reminded of how good it felt, how amazing it felt to be the recruit responsible for her commander’s happiness, the way nopony else could, it was her, and that noise was hers, and that was all she had ever wanted.
Dash’s breath gave out with Spitfire’s orgasm, enough to remind her body suddenly that it had been desperately screaming for air, unheard under the maelstrom volcano of volume that had been Dash’s climax. She answered it with a breath like she was dying, and fell backwards. Her lips still shivered against Spitfire’s, twitching in the residuals of her euphoria. The ground was a hard carpet, but it felt like a cirrus blanket begging to lull her to sleep.
The panting that filled the room was a mix of two voices as Spitfire took her own deep breaths—more measured than Dash’s, but just as insistent. She couldn’t not need air, after going through an explosion like that.
“Holy fuck, Recruit. You did not disappoint that time.” Spitfire raised a hoof to her brow and wiped away a curtain of sweat. The rest of her body shone with perspiration, which she neglected to wipe away.
“Thank you... ma'am...” Dash answered, managing the words between breaths.
As the perfect parallel to their station, Dash stayed lying on the ground, gasping for air, while Spitfire began to collect herself, never having fallen from her upright position.
“You gonna be alright, Recruit? Do you need me to take you for a lie down?”
Dash shook her head feebly, waving a hoof in Spitfire’s direction.
“No... ma'am. I’ll be alright... in a minute.”
Spitfire nodded. She waited a few seconds before pulling herself away. Her thighs rubbed against Dash’s, and she cringed a little at the sliding over or sore, sensitive, sweat covered skin.
After she got up, despite Dash’s insistence, Spitfire made her way to the panting recruit and wrapped a foreleg around her torso, hauling her up before Dash had time to protest. Dash took to the ground with shaky limbs, waggling underneath her like a filly taking their first steps.
Dash looked towards Spitfire, and Spitfire looked back. Their eyes caught each other, and Spitfire smiled, genuinely.
“...”
“...”
Dash tasted the spit on her lips before attempting to speak.
“Th... thank you, ma'am.”
Spitfire nodded.
“No worries, Recruit. You take the rest of the day off if you need to, understand?”
“Understood, ma'am.” Dash returned Spitfire’s nod, and her smile.
Spitfire held the smile for a few seconds before making her way back to her desk. As she sat to the assemblage of potentially soiled papers she had left behind, Dash collected her uniform from the ground. She knew enough not to turn back before she left—there was no negativity or negligence to the state of things. It was simply the way they were.
As Dash’s hoof touched the office doorhandle, Spitfire cleared her throat. Dash started, and turned her head toward the commander’s desk.
“Note that I might be by your quarters for an inspection later, Recruit. To, uh... see how you’re doing.”
Though Spitfire’s expression was stern, Rainbow’s broke out into a knowing grin. The mask of seriousness that countered her might have made a passerby wonder what joke Dash was in on that went unsaid.
“Noted, Commander. I’ll be sure to be ready for you.”
The corners of Spitfire’s mouth flickered upward, but only for a second.
“Very good, Recruit. Dismissed.”