The Touch Of The Pony

by Natalya Nurmatovna

First published 24th of September, 2020

You and Rainbow embrace sexually in the morning.

Instead of making coffee you like to embrace with Rainbow in the morning so that, feeling happy, light and carefree, you can spend the rest of the day with levity.
Commission for a friend.

The Touch Of The Pony

You harden as you observe Rainbow standing by the window, her forelegs on the sill, her head bathed in primrose morning light with liquid ephemeral gold dancing up and down the curves of her prismatic mane, caressing the orange and yellow strands of hair, glinting on the unruly tuft of red.

As you prop yourself on your elbows Rainbow perks her ears, turns her head right and stares at you. Her big smile, showcasing her beautiful white teeth, pristine white as the lustre of a full moon on a clear night, infects you with its energy and zeal. You smile in return, your chest warm from seeing your hoyden horse so happy and content.

“Come on,” she says. “You’ll miss the whole sunrise.”

“Oh, it’s nothing special, really,” you say, smiling.

Rainbow lifts her left eyebrow. “Really? The most beautiful sunrise in your world – the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen – and it’s nothing?”

“I’ve seen plenty,” you say. “Especially here.”

Rainbow winks. “But all alone and without me. You know it’s not the same. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

That is true.

Rainbow adds a new flavour to the familiar sights under the roof and outside: a touch of levity and a zap of electricity to the bedroom and the kitchen, a pinch of intimacy to the living room where she likes to rest and read the books you have on the shelves, and a healthy dose of splashing when she jumps into the transparent aquamarine water of the ocean or submerges slowly into the square pool on the patio and splatters water over you as you go out of the house to join her in her fun.

Your eyes, however, feast on another delicacy than the virgin sea, transparent and crystal clear. With a watering mouth and itching hands and a hard rock bolt, unflinching, you observe the curves of your friend. As Rainbow stands on her hindlegs, her forelegs propped against the windowsill, you enjoy the ogee shape of her spine – a perfect S that you never tire to traverse – and the svelte shape of her hips, perfect athletic curves, tight and smooth, housing in the shade between them that tantalizing fruit. Your hands itch to pass over her marks on both of her flanks: a thunderbolt, tricoloured, zigzagging, coming out of a white cloud.

Your hungry stare trails her tail, lifted but not high enough to reveal her land of love: a multicoloured waterfall frozen in the most perfect flow. You always like to sift your hands through its texture, gossamer and silky, and split the colour bands apart – to shift your fingers from violet to red, to drown them in the streams of vibrant colours scintillating as if they were made from a chiliocosm of adamantine beads.

Having reached the end of Rainbow’s luscious, lustrous tail, you shift your attention to her lower legs: a part of her body that feels a little bit alien. Foreign. The bony protrusion that was the point of hock, right behind her knees, always feels weird to your fingers that are adjusted to softer curves; but the dimple behind that becomes pronounced when Rainbow bends her legs or sits is one of Rainbow’s special points. Every time you stroke it with your forefinger, moving your finger up and down from the curve of Rainbow’s butt to her joint, Rainbow’s groin turns wetter than before, becomes a veritable swamp with spindly rivulets flowing down her thighs and droplets gathering at the edge of her lips like raindrops at the edge of a windowsill.

Your eyes go up again, return to Rainbow’s land of love, now occulted by her rainbow tail. Your thunderbolt twitches. You feel wetness on its tip.

Rainbow turns her head right, glances at you. Her eyes fall from your sleepy face to the tent between your legs and she, giggling, smiles. She lifts her right hindleg a little, moves it to the side. Then she raises her tail: a languid rainbow trickle turning into a high pressure stream.

The moment you see Rainbow’s land of love, shadowed between her thighs, your thunderbolt new heights achieves. Rainbow pinks lips protruding slightly from the calyx of blue look like a delicate pink flower spurting from between a tight fissure in a rock: a vibrant splash of colour, an explosion of life, amidst a texture of sterile grey.

Uncountable times you’ve seen, touched, tasted, licked, penetrated Rainbow’s little lotus, her efflorescent pink bloom, and yet every single time you’ve been enthralled by the lips, the gem, the hood – by the overall slick wetness and the attractive gradient of red and pink.

“How about the whole thing?” Rainbow asks playfully. “It’s been ages since the last time we did it.”

“You’d get bored half the way in,” you say.

“With your hand and with your tongue it’s impossible to get bored. So, are joining me or what?”

“Coming. Coming,” you, excited, say.

Unlike the life of other pairs, human and equine alike, you and Rainbow developed the habit of enjoying each other in the morning, not in the deepest blackness of the night, loving awkwardly and quickly underneath the sheets, making blunt mistakes due to the absence of the light.

Under the brightness of sun you can enjoy Rainbow thoroughly, beginning with sight, ending with taste, before diving deeply into her and dissolving in her calmly throbbing warmth. You like seeing every detail of Rainbow’s body as the morning rays of light swallow the shadows and turn the atmosphere in your bedroom ephemeral and highlight every mote of dust that swirls into their beams: her loving eyes, either playful and half-lidded or happy, shining and wide open, pupils large, liquid gold bouncing of her irises, highlighting jewel-like every single strand of theirs; their colour that shifts hues in the same manner like the sky through the passage of the day, going from grenadine most succulent to red; her lovely smile, always sincere and never seducing, a daredevil daring grin, a zesty grin of happiness and joy, never failing to show her beautiful white teeth, moon-like in their sheen; her mane, a crow’s nest of all the colours of the rainbow, strands and spikes jutting haphazardly from all sides, forelocks of orange and of yellow waiting for your hand to move across her forehead and tuck them away behind her perked ears, with light running down in golden blinding creeks along the curves of azure and violet and green that drape her shoulders and her back; and her body, uniform and azure, a reification, a condensation, of the morning sky outside, little dots of sunshine scintillating over her pelt like stars sparkling in the night, stars occulted by the daily light yet always there in the background of the veil of blue.

In the morning, heated by the deepest, most delicate, most intimate love, holding Rainbow in your lap, your arms wrapped, decussated, around her spine, you see Rainbow as the perfect glyph, the living symbol of the world. You see the cracks of earth bursting in her red, the water rolling in her orange, and the spark of fire in her saffron yellow strand; the whirling of air in her greens and the emptiness of the sky in her blue that deepens into twilight in her indigo and reaches midnight stillness most supreme in her violet; and all of it erupting, waving, all aflame, an explosion of sevenfold shades, out from the colour of the morning sky: a colour most intimate and transcendent, embracing everything with total equanimity. With love.

And her lotus…

If Rainbow lays with her thighs pressed together or with her hindlegs lifted but pressed tight against each other, her outer petals peak from between her legs like two plump and juicy lips that demand to be kissed. But the real beauty, the most delicious and scrumptious sight, greets you when Rainbow, propped on her elbows, her back perched against the headboard, moves her legs apart and morning light falls on her groin and limns her inner folds, delicate pink petals that rest deep within her puffy lips of blue. Your thunderbolt always throbs and your mouth always moistens as you put your fingers lightly on Rainbow’s outer folds and gently part her puffy folds to reveal the appetizing pinkness within – Rainbow’s inner veils whose tiny little creases stand out like minuscule golden hairs under the light of the morning sun, Rainbow’s inner gem a little rosy rock that always makes Rainbow hum and writhe from pleasure as you manipulate it with the tips of your fingers or the tip of your tongue – and then observe how that gentle roseate hue turns red, the inner lips engorge and fluid, sticky and transparent, trickles into her valley from her cavern, from between her veils, from the inner surface of her lips.

The most mesmerizing is the overall effect. Rainbow’s lotus, pink in rest, in arousal bright red, stands apart from the overall azure of her skin and never fails to attract your attention. It indeed looks like a lotus floating on the aquamarine surface of a mountain lake, virginal, pristine, by humankind untouched. It’s an amazing feel – a swell of pride threatening to burst your chest – to know that you and only you are allowed to touch its petals, to gather viscid dew from their surface, to drink the dew from the source, from its deepest centre rimmed by those vibrant and delicate leaves.

You can’t – simply can’t – contemplate Rainbow’s private circle under the cover of darkness sparsely slashed by the whiteness of moonlight. Even the candles aren’t enough – they create shadows rather than withdraw the darkness from the places that need removal most.

You feel that daylight makes the embrace more intimate and meaningful than the rough, uncoordinated tumble in the night. Rainbow is still present in the darkness but her presence feels limited, circumscribed by the absence of light. Although the fuzziness of her fur and the warm of her breath, the touch of her hooves and the humid kiss of her lower mouth, are inimitable in their goodness – a veritable touch of heaven upon the earthly plane – you long to see Rainbow illuminated by the sun for under its rays she truly looks like an angel that has descended to Earth to give you and only you the ecstasy reserved for the hidden and the few.

You blink and return from the past back to the now, intensified by Rainbow’s beauty.

Ever the showmare, Rainbow looks at you, then grins. She raises her tail and lifts her right leg, flexed, into the air. A little.

As your eyes widen from the glinting sap gathered in the upwards pointing triangle that is her secret land of love – made of a single valley, bright red, and low hills surrounding it, blue coloured but now flushed pink – Rainbow puts her leg back down and lowers her tail.

“Speed up if you want to see the rest,” she says, smiling.

By such a simple act Rainbow reminds the main reason why you liked to dally in the morn and not under the cover of the night. The evening is a time when you, after writing, and Rainbow, after training, teaching or performing, both feeling tired, limbs heavy and minds not exactly cloudy but closer to the state of sleep, want nothing but to sit down on the coach or on the floor, Rainbow either in your lap with her back against your chest or sprawled belly down across your legs, and enjoy by talking and by reading, you some serious academic work and her genre fiction both earthly and equine, the stillness of the night. Sometimes you fall asleep, Rainbow first and you, afraid to disturb her rest, second.

The morning, however, is a time of delight for, recharged, you and Rainbow are full of energy that needs to be released. And what better way exist to discharge excessive energy than loss of control and dissolution, the return to the protoplasmic state, in the warm embrace of your beloved who loves you just as religiously and madly as you love her? The whole long day after such a sweet embrace passes lightly as a breeze, neither worries nor troubles clinging onto you, your steps light and your soul free, in ecstasy.

Like usual, Rainbow initiates the ordeal. You’re content with lying underneath the sheets, your bolt hard and throbbing, and luxuriating in the erotic reveries of hypnopompic dreams. Rainbow, always ready for action, demands active satisfaction of her fancies.

You had some of the best sensual experiences of your life because of her peremptory demeanour, all of them in the early hours of the morn, with Rainbow already wide awake and flowing with desire, using all her powers to shift you to the waking state from that of sleep.

She always succeeded.

Always.

Even with Rainbow waiting by the window, basking in sunlight most fresh, so impatient that her right hoof isn’t present on the sill but nestled between her slightly parted thighs, shuffling back and forth, making faint shlicking sounds akin to sticking a pair of fingers in a jar of marmalade and moving them in and out, sounds that pleasantly disturb the morning stillness of the air and the breaking of the waves against the beach, you can’t help yourself and travel down the paths of memory, partly to remember the wild times of freshly kindled love, partly to further flame yourself for the incoming bliss.

One of the wildest dalliances that you always remember with pleasure involved waking up to the sight of Rainbow about to sit on your face.

What brought you back to reality from the world of dreams was the brushing of something warm, furry and silky against the sides of your head – a sensation like that of a carpet with short pile skimming down your ears – and the dripping of something gluey and viscous on your cheeks.

As the dream faded, a smell most bodily but pleasant filled your nasal cavities and excited all your olfactory cells. You would recognize that pungent and heady musky scent, thick as incense or as fog, warm in texture and piscine, everywhere on this world, in the food market’s busiest streets as well as amid botanical gardens and the many-scented trees.

Together with the smell came the heat, southern and infernal: a wavy pulsing swelter as humid as the air in a rainforest or in sauna. Rainbow’s thighs, well shaped and athletic, only strengthened the warmth, kept it wrapped in the space between your face and her crotch. For a few brief seconds you imagined that you stood next to a furnace or a forge and were about to get melted, reshaped into a new form.

Finally you opened your eyes and, although you had already understood Rainbow’s trick, you were surprised to see her, like a daredevil smiling, her eyes shining, her forelegs propped against the wall, right above.

Your eyes shifted from Rainbow’s svelte body perched over you to the sight between her hindlegs that pressed against your temples and rested, folded, on the bed. By the grapefruit pink and swollen folds turning red from arousal, by the blooming jungle flame dripping dabs of nectar onto you, by same nectar rivuleting down Rainbow’s thighs and sparkling in their shade, you were enthralled like a moth by the glowing of a bulb.

Hard and pining for her lotus, you lifted your hands and pressed them against her flanks, covered her marks, then nodded.

Rainbow giggled and descended. Slowly.

When the tip of your nose bumped into her hood, pink and swollen, sticking out like a beak, Rainbow stopped her descent and, her wings flapping, hovered above you to keep her excessive weight from crushing down upon your head.

Everything – the sight, the smell, the touch – everything was pleasurable. Beyond sweet.

Rainbow’s furry thighs, the most delicate part of her legs, lightly caressing your ears, Rainbow’s excited beat pulsing strongly through their skin; Rainbow’s occult smell that was revealed only to you and no one and nopony else, thick, heated, and marine; Rainbow’s incredible warmth, humid, torrid, pulsing in tact with her heart, making your cheeks tingle and your tongue crave contact with the source; Rainbow’s lower mouth, its lips engorged and enlarged and deep pink, borderline red from arousal, parted, open, preparing for a kiss, revealing the secret entrance hidden within, the hidden doorway into Rainbow’s heart reserved exclusively for you, and her dot above the upper junction of the lips swollen, sticking out, catching your attention like the pole-star at night, enrobed by a pink and flushed hood, and all of it enclosed within two puffy hills of blue, now tinted red and flooded with her juice.

You could wake up each day to such perfection, to such beauty, to the sight of the circle most hidden, most supreme.

Aroused, you inhaled, then exhaled. Slow.

Rainbow’s thighs pressed tighter against your ears. Rainbow shivered, emitted a barely audible aaaah with the final h turning into raspiness – a raspiness that always made your bolt twitch – and then into the void disappearing.

You moved your hands over Rainbow’s perky butt and placed them on her smooth, taut curves.

You being you, always desiring to grant Rainbow erotic bliss, you didn’t start by collecting liquid pollen straight from that beautiful ripe lotus above you but turned your head left and nuzzled with the tip of your nose the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

You enjoyed the warmth pulsing through her skin, an echo of Rainbow’s excited heart, and the smell wafting from her skin, an aroma that felt similar and texture and in taste to the scent underneath one’s chin, and the occasional pressure of Rainbow’s muscles contracting from the little bursts of bliss that you brought to her, a light pressure that was present one second and already gone the next.

After rubbing her skin you kissed Rainbow’s thigh: light soft pecks that went up and down, closer to the volcanic warmth that was Rainbow’s groin and then away, down towards her knee, and that enjoyed the light pile of of her coat and the echo of her heartbeat beneath and, most of all, the trickles of her lovely sweat: trails of sticky sap whose mild taste, sometimes tinged with copper and sometimes with something sweet, always flared your hunger and your bolt whose tip, nothing but a field of electric tingles through and through, pleaded to be put against Rainbow’s lower mouth and be submerged deep within her humid, sticky, gluey warmth ever throbbing with her pulse.

Finished with one thigh, you turned your head up but, instead of going straight for the next, you decided to give Rainbow a little pleasant shock. You lifted your head and passed your tongue over Rainbow’s ruby from right to left. A little flick of tongue that sent Rainbow waving: a wavelet of pleasure that made her pelvis move back and forth, once, and her whole body up and down, once: a wavelet that, when it hit her head, lifting it up then bringing it down, made her voice a barely perceptible sigh, a ghostly ah most sensual and erotic.

Satisfied with the result – a torrent of secretions that formed drops that dangled on thin filaments from the crest of her inner lips and that fell, hot and viscid, on your cheeks – you smiled, then turned right to satisfy Rainbow’s left leg.

Like with the previous leg you rubbed it with your nose first then peppered it with kisses – soft, small, dry kisses – while enjoying its warmth, its strong beat, the way her muscles tensed from smooth and pliant to hard as wood, and consuming Rainbow’s recompense for the pleasure you brought to her – the brooks of viscous sap trailing down her thigh and sparkling in the morning light.

When you felt that Rainbow legs had received enough attention and noticed that the juice streaming down Rainbow’s inner thighs had intensified from mere trickles to continuous streams, unceasing, you understood it was high time to supper on the main delicacy, the most important dish.

As you observed Rainbow, staring at the wall in front of her, her eyes closed and her mouth open in a smile of overwhelming rapture, am idea crossed your mind. You had left one place unattended, after all.

With your left hand resting on the curve of her rump you shifted your right hand to the middle of her back till you sensed the bumps of her vertebrae underneath your fingertips, and then you brought it down to the root of her tail. Your forefinger rimmed her tail, then vanished beneath.

Compared to the rest of her body, covered in short but voluminous hair, Rainbow’s dock was hairless, smooth. As a consequence her dock was an incredibly sensitive place that, by the help of your careful circles and delicate caresses, delivered Rainbow a hefty dose of pleasure that manifested by the waving of her body and the reddening and the flowing of her bloom.

After a few swirls of your fingers across the silky surface of her dock Rainbow went mobile – weak swings of her pelvis with a small amplitude – and her lotus, turning an appetizing shade of red, intensified its drip.

With your forefinger resting on her dock, batted lightly by her gossamer-like tail, you lifted your head up and stretched your tongue forward and plugged the bottom of her valley.

Your face simmered from Rainbow’s throbbing heat, chtonic and volcanic, and your nose breathed nothing but her scent: a fog made from the strongest, most aphrodisiac smell on earth: a thick, almost visible, humid smell redolent of things piscine. But the strongest experience of Rainbow’s bloom crushed upon the tip of your tongue submerged in her geyser spewing liquid sulphur from her core. Her heat was tremendous and her esoteric flavour – blandness with traces of sweetness intermixed – suppressed every other taste. Most of all you liked Rainbow’s heartbeat reverberating in her walls and how her walls squeezed your tongue in an effort to keep it within Rainbow’s most secret mouth.

The walls relaxed. You let your tongue out.

You let it rest on Rainbow’s vestibule, between her inner lips: her swollen, engorged, from excitement parted lips.

The smell, however, drove you on. You moved your tongue up and carefully lapped her gem. You brought your tongue back down, to the lower junction of Rainbow’s lips, and repeated the motion, ending it with a light flick of her ruby, protruding, swollen. Red.

And then you repeated the motion.

And then again.

You kept going up and massaging her gem, sometimes shuffling your tongue up and down the sides of her hood, till Rainbow’s waving movements in frequency increased and that little flushed pole-star, overstimulated by your touch, hid beneath her hood from your prying lustful tongue.

Rainbow reached maximum arousal. It was time to stop.

And you did.

By changing your attention to her lips, the only source of morning pink and sunset red across the sky-blue of her body.

To your gaze, inflamed, Rainbow’s nethers looked like a lotus or a rose, downturned, growing from the sky, dripping heavenly ambrosia, the elusive soma, upon you. You decided it was time to explore the manifold petals of Rainbow’s lotus and pressed your tongue against her left lip, heated from her passion, velvety in texture, bland and sticky to your taste.

Counter-clockwise you moved, ascending, passing up and down her ridge, descending down Rainbow’s right lip till you returned to the bottom of her valley, to her source. Then you changed direction to clockwise. For some time you gathered sticky nectar from her petals – from the inner ones as well as from the nooks between the inner set of petals and the outer set and even the outer petals themselves, puffy, tinted pink.

Sometimes you increased the pressure of your tongue, sometimes you dialled it down to the soft brush of a feather. Sometimes you pursed your lips and lightly blew across Rainbow’s land of love.

Because of your light approach Rainbow’s ruby emerged from hiding and stood prominently at the end of her hood. Once it peeked and Rainbow’s undulations diminished, a little, you returned your tongue to her gem.

Up and down you licked. Left and right you slurped. All around you swirled. And then rested on her hood.

When Rainbow’s waving sped up and her breath deepened, her exhalation ending with wordless sighs and trailing ahs, and her gem vanished again, you ceased your exertions and returned your attention to her lips.

Several times you repeated this pleasant game, caressing her pearl when it was out, lapping dew from her lips when it hid from you.

You knew it was time to proceed when Rainbow, during your last break, pressed her thighs against your head the moment you withdrew your tongue from her gem. You looked up and saw Rainbow’s blissful face, smiling, eyes half-open.

Her smile widened. She nodded.

You smiled in return, stuck your tongue out, pressed it against her hood. Light.

You enjoyed the hardness within her hood – her hidden ore of bliss lying beneath a pink-red ridge – then set your tongue to work.

Without breaks you swished your tongue from left to right, from right to left, circled it around her gem, and enjoyed how her body sped up – a sea lightly waving turning into an agitated storm, waves coming faster, with wider amplitude – and how her cries, little whimpers and proud moans, increased. When Rainbow’s jewel vanished you applied your tongue to the ridge instead, never breaking contact with that most erogenous zone, and glided down its left and right slopes, enjoying its texture, not as hard and rubbery as her ruby, closer to the heated velvet of her lips but protecting tight hardness within.

Stimulated by the intensified scent and the torrent of her sap – hot and sticky trickles sluicing down your chin, escaping from the corners of your mouth – your own erotic bliss solidified at the tip of your thunderbolt, formed a tingling bubble in your groin that was about to burst. The light dabs of her tail batting rhythmically against your chest – one moment a hit of silk, the next moment a whiff of chilled air – and the brushing of her thighs against your ears – a pleasant hairy warmth that shuffled your ears up and down a bit – and even the agitated flapping of her wings – a flap, flap, flap that only gained speed as Rainbow approached her release – only heightened your bliss.

Once more you flicked Rainbow’s hood, and Rainbow vanished. Her waving became a storm unrelenting, pelvis going back and forth, her lower mouth kissing you one moment and gone the next, her thighs tugging your ears in tact with her orgasmic pulsing, her whole body undulating, going up and down, as serpentine waves of pleasure passed from her coccyx to her head, her head rising on the swell and falling on the through.

As her pelvis swung a stream of liquid spurted from her well like water bursting from a geyser: her hot and sticky essence, thick, tinted with the piscine scent of her lotus but overall tasting bland on your lapping tongue removed from her ridge and slurping round her source.

When Rainbow movements abated a little you returned your tongue back up and swivelled it around her ridge and sent Rainbow, moaning, oscillating, back on the apex of natural bliss, spilling her plasm most precious and most secret onto you.

And once her motions weakened you set your tongue to work again. Like the previous time, Rainbow’s body sped up its undulations and Rainbow’s moaning gained strength – moans of delight that sounded both whimpering and pleading, straddling the fain line between wanting more and unable to tolerate the tremendous charge of pleasure drilling every cell of her body.

The moans turned into silence, punctuated by deep sighs, rhythmic, full, pregnant with relief. Rainbow’s storm lost its strength. Her body calmed down, and then it reached stillness most serene.

Rainbow rested on top of you. Her furry and sweaty thighs were pressed against your ears, the beat within them a tranquil thump-thump-thump. Her lotus was poised above your nose. It was quickly detumescing. Her lips lost their redness and their size. They turned pink.

Not wanting to break Rainbow’s trance of release, you remained trapped within her most pleasurable vice, enjoyed the texture of her thighs, her lingering sweaty and fishy scent in the air, the taste of her liquid knowledge on your tongue.

Rainbow giggled, broke the silence: a light giggle, bubbly, happy, light like the rising sun.

“That felt amazing,” she said. “Let’s do it again.”

“Nor right now, okay?” you said. “My neck is cramping.”

Rainbow cocked her head. “Tomorrow, then?”

You nodded.

Rainbow giggled, nodded. She lifted herself up, then hovered till her shadow fell on your chest. Her tail tickled your belly and, when Rainbow lightly sat on your chest, covered lightly your thunderbolt, throbbing and erect.

Rainbow giggled once again, bent her trunk above your head.

Then she slid down. Slowly.

You enjoyed, turned on, the humid sticky pulsing warmth of her nethers kissing your chest and then sliding further down your body, their heat growing and their viscous trail getting thicker the further south they went.

The trail of sticky slimy hotness ended when Rainbow’s groin reached your navel and reappeared on the tip of your thunderbolt, purple and disrobed: fierceness meeting fierceness: hardness plunging into softness.

From the assault of shivers unleashed from your pelvis to run unchecked through your body, swirling across your skin, you closed your eyes and relaxed all of your muscles from the tip of your head to the balls of your feet.

Rainbow’s warm breath skimmed across your lips, then the silky warmth softness of her lips met yours and silky strands of her mane tickled your forehead. She wrapped her hindlegs around you waist and slowly moved her hips down, letting your thunderbolt sink inch by inch within her warm and humid void.

You hugged Rainbow, then moved you hands, fingers spread, palms open, to the roundness of her rump, svelthe, athletic. Lithe.

Once your hands settled on her curves Rainbow moved slowly up and, letting out a hoarse squeak, slowly slid back down. Your body, from the waves of tingling pleasure stimulated, pleasure sparkling and electric, moved in the undulating pattern of pure bliss, your pelvis pressing into the bed as Rainbow went up and uncovered your bolt, your pelvis going up as Rainbow fell back and swallowed your bolt.

Due to your tremendous level of arousal, overcharged by the recent ordeal most pleasant, most unique, it didn’t take long for you to vanish in Rainbow’s inner darkness, unfathomable darkness, unintelligible darkness, darkness fully yours.

You blink, shake your head, then focus upon Rainbow, still standing upright, her forelegs flexed, hooves resting on the windowsill, her eyes mesmerized and her mouth open in a light and rapturous smile from the beautific morning vision unveiling outside: the ascent of the sun accomplished on its own: a concept for Equestrians most puzzling, most foreign.

You smile.

You shift right and put your naked feet upon the floor, wooden, cold. You check the floor as you remove the blanket, striped white and red, from your legs and unveil your unflinching thunderbolt to the morning breeze whirling in the room.

By the footboard you notice a very special object: your personal fetish.

Your bolt, already hard as meteorite, new levels of hardness achieves. You feel drop of pre flow down the back of your head.

Rainbow’s bikini, striped in horizontal stripes of all the colours of the Rainbow, their inner side up, transparent, pristine white, lay caught in a rectangle of sunlight.

The memories the bikini brings...

Like usual, your mind wanders to the pleasant dalliances of the past. This time to a fresh memory of a pleasant union consummated midday at the beach.

The Wonderbolts were between seasons and you were mid-work, in that liminal period of nervous rest between one novel and the next, taking a break from the laptop and the pen but at the same juggling ideas and brewing them into a broth that would congeal into a future book. Rainbow on vacation and you in a period of incubation, you spend your time visiting the town, going to the full-moon parties in the north or wandering down the beach, you on foot, Rainbow hovering to your right, till you found a spot beautiful enough for you to crash. Once such place had been found you liked to play in the azure water of the ocean. To swim and splash like kids. To hug and kiss like adults. And like fervid teenagers to mesh.

When the pressure between unions reached critical point Rainbow wore some clothes that you had bought on her demand, clothes that had two aims: to be adjusted, somewhat, to the mores of the human world; to excite you, to titillate you, to drive you, a usually sleeping passive self by contaminated reality untouched, a silent witness of the world, to action.

If her aim was to awaken you Rainbow usually bikinis wore, striped red and white or the rarity that she had found in a local store, striped all the colours of the rainbow, suiting perfectly the flawless work of art that was she.

On that trip Rainbow wore the special prismatic bikini, which meant the day would end up in the deepest trance of union.

As you walked down the beach, listening to the crashing of the waves and soughing of the leaves, your attention wandered neither to the sapphire sea, glinting gold, nor to the deep emerald of the canopy, scintillating as the trees were touched by the breeze, but to plumpness between Rainbow’s legs highlighted by the rainbow bikini, tight and taut: a prismatic egg between her thighs, athletic and light blue.

You were pretty sure Rainbow hadn’t decided to fly before you without rhyme or reason. Her flight, her flanks lightly swaying, her tail half-lifted, had a single purpose that would come to fruition soon.

By midday you found a pleasant spot to rest by the edge of the town beach, nearby a changing cubicle, rectangular, made from straw.

Rainbow asked to play ball and you joined her and her ball, large, inflatable, featuring alternating slices of red and white. You threw the ball into the air and, when it fell, you stretched your arms, interlocked your hands into a fist and sent the ball to Rainbow. Rainbow, hovering mid-air, bumped the ball with her flank, sent it back to you. Because her hits had immense force behind them you often run after the ball, arcing in the air, and often you missed it and the ball hit the sand with a dull thud, leaving a concave imprint on the beach. Rainbow, on the other hand, had no trouble calculating the trajectories of your hits. Never did she miss the ball. But what to expect from a Wonderbolt, after all.

You played for a while until Rainbow let the ball pass near her flunk and fall, thudding, bouncing, on the fine yellow sand behind her. Incredulous, you looked at her, but then she cocked her and winked.

She turned around, descended upon the ground, placed her forelegs on the ball and bent forward. When she lifted her tail – which always looked to you like a stream of white light that had passed through a prism, had been split into prismatic beams and then frozen to a solid form – a frozen stream of light, rainbowcoloured and sparkling – you looked upon the plumpy puffiness between her thighs and veiled by her panties. From the sight revealed to your eyes your bolt stirred into life.

A small circle of dampness, quickly spreading, darkened the taut fabric of her bikini at the place where it disappeared into her crack. The sight alone of that patch of dampness, of that blob of absorbed juice, made the tip of your nose and the tip of your tongue tingle from the desire to give it a sniff and then give it a lick: a deep sniff and an even deeper lick, a lick that would taste that circle of wetness from its circumference to its centre and then back to its circumference again. Most of all the tip of your bolt tingled from the want to move the damp fabric aside and vanish, slowly, tenderly, with love, within the deepest moistness of her bloom.

You smiled.

Rainbow nodded in return.

You walked languidly towards her.

Your bolt hardened with every single step you took; and it was hard solid by the time you reached Rainbow and wrapped your arms around he trunk and pressed your groin against her rump. Your left hand enjoyed the ribs of Rainbow’s chest while you right hand circled the softness of her belly, slowly rising and falling slow.

You were about to move your hand downwards, beneath the little dimple of her navel, towards her plumpness, ripened and juicy, when Rainbow placed her right hoof on top of it and stopped it when the tip of your fingers grazed the rims of her swimwear.

She looked up, smiled and, cocking her head towards the changing stall, said, “Let’s go there. It’s more private. It would be really embarrassing if somepony were to catch us.”

“It’s pretty quiet here” you, playful, said. “I don’t think we will be disturbed.”

Rainbow straightened, moved your adventurous hand up. “It takes only a colt to spot you underneath the wrong tree and then the whole world knows about your shame. I don’t want that. Even if it’s Earth.”

“Okay! Your word is my command,” you say, then unwrapped yourself from her.

Rainbow lowered her tail, hovered in the air, and flew like an arrow to the stall. You followed her quickly.

Rainbow landed between the inner and outer panels of the straw stall, then trotted to the other side of the inner panel. Swiftly, like beads of mercury running on a declivity, you entered the stall and just as swiftly turned around the stalls’ dividing wall. On the private side of the stall you saw Rainbow standing with her tail lifted high and her forelegs propped against the straw.

With shiny and bright eyes, shimmering and rippling from the light, Rainbow looked at you: her stare so innocent and light it melted your heart away and spread pleasant warmth throughout your chest. Just for the pleasure of that stare, so open and so loving, you were ready to excel in the art of bliss: to kiss and caress Rainbow softly, to enter Rainbow gently, to turn and wind your fiery pegasus tenderly, with love. She deserved the best; and only tender touches and faint kisses, full with simple love, bring the best to the fore.

Rainbow cocked her head. Smiled. Giggled.

“Let’s do it quick,” she said. “And then let’s go slower, okay? I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too, Rainbow,” you say. “I missed you, too.”

With your heart aflame you stood behind Rainbow, bent backwards, forelegs stretched and propped against the stall, her tail swished to the right, and put your right hand right on top the plumpness between her slightly parted thighs.

The moment your fingers, pressed together, touched the sodden surface of her swimwear they felt the tremendous wetness underneath. You glided your fingers across the rainbow drupe that was Rainbow’s groin, enjoying the slickness of the nylon soaked in her juice. The wettest stickiest place was at the back of he lotus and around her well, the material being so drowned in Rainbow’s sap that drooping arcs of fluid appeared, quickly breaking, when you removed your fingers.

You removed your hand, placed it on Rainbow’s right side, then kneeled and brought your face to her nethers till the swelter of her arousal and the cloud barrage of her scent caressed your cheeks. You took a long deep sniff amidst the waves of fish and waves of heat. One inhalation was enough to send you swooning, your head swimming, your senses reeling, into the deepest chasms of bliss.

With your thunderbolt so hard it ceased throbbing and turned into rock you stood up, pressed against Rainbow and moved your hands on her belly till your fingers intertwined above her navel. You pressed lightly your chest and belly against Rainbow’s back and Rainbow, slowly, moved forwards and straightened, unbent.

Your nose nestled deep within her mane, her ozone smelling mane, and your lips enjoying the gossamer like texture of the mane, her iridescent mane, the envy of every woman and every mare, you plunged your right hand down towards her warm treasure, her sticky gorge, her bloom. Your hand slipped over the rainbow fabric and found itself on top of her ruby, rubber like in feel, solid among the velvety softness of her lips.

Using the tip of your forefinger you circle her pellet and, when Rainbow began to wave from the increase of pleasure, you slid it either down or left and caressed the side of her ridge, an upwards stroke that ended with you flicking languidly and lightly the jewel of her body.

Since Rainbow’s desire was for the embrace to be quick you, to your disappointment, couldn’t engage in the thorough erotic play that was the trademark of your unions and had to go straight to the source, heated and most wet. You moved both your hands to Rainbow’s sides and slid her swimwear down.

You slid your right hand back up and pushed the fabric of your trousers down with your left hand. While your left hand jumped from your left side to the right and pushed your Hawaiian shorts down, a tug on one side, a tug on the other, Rainbow put her right hoof on top of your right hand.

Thunderbolt in your left hand, erect and engorged, the purple tip swollen and disrobed, you stopped all your actions and shifted your head to the right, away from the thicket of her mane.

Rainbow turned her head and, smiling, asked, “Can you please come outside this time? You know how much I love feeling you over me. Then, once you’re recharged, you can come all the way inside, ‘kay?”

How could you say now to her, a horse with such wonderful eyes, open and innocent and loving, and such wonderful giggles, bubbly as a vernal spring. Your whole being was pliant to her will, which often wanted nothing but a satisfaction of her innocent whims.

To affirm your agreement with her command you kiss the silky surface of her neck, warm and lightly pulsing with her beat. Afterwards you bent and guided your bolt against her bloom.

As the tip of your bolt ensconced between the sticky wetness of her lips – ensconced between the smooth and velvety texture of her veils – you stopped moving and performed several deep breaths: so strong was the burst of tingling pleasure that rushed through your body that you needed to calm down a bit lest the embrace end to soon with Rainbow unsatisfied and her wish unfulfilled.

Once the swell of pleasure retreated you restarted. Instead of going immediately inside and cosily snuggling in Rainbow’s deepest fertile depths you glided your thunderbolt across Rainbow’s lotus, slathering its whole hard and venous length with Rainbow’s abundant juice. Your tip slid, making sticky shlicky squashing sounds, till it reached the bumpiness of her gem and then retreated till it reached the entrance of her well.

To spice things up you moved your bolt, holding it with your left hand, against her left or right lip and, when it reached her pink nub of joy, moved it up and down her hood. When you tired of moving your thick bolt around you let the tip rest against the rubbery hardness of her gem: erectile tissue meeting erectile tissue and giving bliss to both.

When you reached the bottom of her lotus where her entrance lay hidden you plunged your bolt within that tight and throbbing darkness moistened with the liquid plasm of love. Once inside you wanted to let your control go and let the body move as it pleased in the natural and reflexive swing of bliss, but Rainbow had demanded a particular kink and you had no other choice but to obey. In the end, her happiness was your happiness. Likewise with joy.

You withdrew your wonderbolt from darkness most intimate yet utterly foreign and glided all the length of it between her oily sticky lips, soft and warm and lightly pulsing.

Unlike you, who had to keep still, Rainbow moved in the involuntary motions of love, pelvis forward, pelvis back, the motion of lotus shuffling up and down your bolt solidifying the tingles of bliss within your groin.

You felt the balloon of bliss, tense and tingling, form in your groin and then burst, spreading tingles through your body and emitting seed. Instead of allowing your body freedom of movement you stood still, all the muscles held back and tense, your left hand pressing your bolt against Rainbow’s lotus as it poured your seed lunar and mercurial upon her fiery and sulphurous pit.

Because you had to keep your body rigid your release ended prematurely and, unlike the times when you let your control go and allowed you body to move as it pleased, left you hungry for more.

Rainbow, however, enjoyed the pleasure you had brought.

She put her right hoof on top of your right hand that still caressed her side.

You withdrew.

As your bolt lost its virile strength you observed your seed, milky white, flooding out of Rainbow’s land of love. The hood had received the main part of your load. The beak that was Rainbow hood was all covered by your sticky and gluey and glutinous essence while her lips received the last spurts of your sperm: thin and anaemic filaments that clang to their crests. Looking at the way your viscous sap drooped downwards made your tongue tingle from the desire to feast upon the red and white dish that was Rainbow’s bloom.

Rainbow grabbed her panties with her right hoof and moved the front back up. She shuffled them back and forth and circled them around, the sticky sounds of her movements breaking up the natural silence of the stall, the swinging of her pelvis increasing with every swiping of her hoof. Each time her hoof retreated forwards it withdrew the fabric from the rest of her bloom and you, hungry and anew erect, witnessed how more and more of your whiteness covered the vibrancy of her own natural and excited red.

A few strokes, a few sticky shlicks, and her legs quivered and she fell, bent and trembling, on her knees. Rainbow waved up and down like a serpent ascending into the sky, hips and head back and then hips and head forwards, her mane hitting her on her back and head, whimpering, unable to keep silence from the assault of bliss.

Gradually her motions subsided, lost their amplitude and force. For several long minutes you enjoyed the quiet swells of Rainbow’s frame as the last wavelets of pleasure went up her coccyx to her head and, when Rainbow’s motions ended and a satisfied smile spread across Rainbow’s face, you smiled.

You sat on your knees and hugged Rainbow, wrapped your hand beneath her forelegs and around her chest. She rested still, her eyes closed, her chest moving slow, her left hoof on the wall and her right hoof lodged between her legs. You put your head on her right shoulder and closed your eyes, enjoying the fuzziness of her coat, the warmth of her body and, most of all, the piscine scent of her arousal intermixed with the detergent smell of your sperm.

Rainbow broke the silence first.

“Thanks,” she said, her tone bubbly, light.

You grinned.

Rainbow put her right hoof on the stall and lifted herself up.

You didn’t unwrap your arms from her body but let them reach her sides and, when Rainbow stood full height on her two hindlegs, on her croup you let them rest, covering her marks. You took them away the next moment because Rainbow turned right. She swivelled till your face met her groin, shadowed by her bikini darkened by your combined secretions and smelling strongly of your scent.

She smiled.

“Now you can come inside,” she said.

You smiled, put your hands on the white stripes that was her bikini between her back and her front, then pulled them down and unleashed her land of love, still swollen, still dripping, still red, but now all covered in long sticky strands of your private latex.

Totally oblivious to the passing of time you collected from Rainbow’s geyser the liquid cinnabar of your love, thick as yogurt and tasting bland; and just as oblivious to the space and time outside the stall you entered deeply within Rainbow’s secret heart, your hands on her thighs, her head resting on your right shoulder, her forelegs around your neck; and this time you relaxed all your muscles and let your body move in the delicate, involuntary, most natural and primordial rhythm that ever was; and this time within Rainbow’s deepest darkness – a moist and full darkness, darkness beyond all of understanding, darkness most throbbing and most still – you came.

You blink, return back to the present, to Rainbow standing patiently by the window, one hoof on the windowsill, the other moving languidly once again between her parted legs, and admiring with shining shaking eyes the pink and yellow of the sunrise.

You smile, energized and light.

It’s time to do it.

You stand up, and in one fluid swerve you are already behind Rainbow.

You close your eyes and put your nose in the middle of her mane, dishevelled and fuzzy. You enjoy the ever-present smell of freshness, smell of ozone, in her mane and you enjoy the silky softness of her hair, the tingling of their ends as they poke against your face, especially your cheeks.

Light-headed from the inhalation of high altitude air perpetually present in Rainbow’s mane, your hands on her shoulders, your bolt pressed against her shapely and furry rump, you peek past her right side at the golden dawn unravelling outside.

The whole horizon in the east is a fan of the deepest softest pink that consumes slowly the overall brightening blue – a pink that carpets the quiet surface of the sea in its shade and inverts the balance of light and darkness with the crests of waves looking black instead of reflecting golden light and the background water daubed pink – a pink that brings to your mind, by passion seared, the sight of Rainbow’s lower lips with their usual vibrant rosy shade that quickly turns red as a jungle flame when Rainbow is aroused and ready for the bliss conjoined – and a few inches above the waters, the hitheringthitering waters, floats a disc of, a coin sized disc of. Light.

From your point of view the sun looks like a small hole in the sky through which the gold of light, soft, diffused, pours onto the universe after the darkness of the night. The softness won’t last for long. Half an hour and the sun, having achieved full strength, casting a thoroughfare of gold across the sea, would be unbearable to watch.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Rainbow says, enraptured and smiling, staring warmly at the sea. “I still can’t believe the sun does this on its own. It’s weird. Kinda.”

“Have never seen a sunrise like this before?” You ask.

“Believe me or not but I’ve never been to the sea. Stayed ‘round Cloudsdale and Ponyville.”

“Why?”

“It’s neared to the Wonberbolts. And my friends. Don’t tell them but I don’t like being very far away from them. I always keep thinking what if something will happen and they’ll need my help and I’m not around to help them.”

“That’s sweet,” you said and place your nose in groove between her ear and head. You move it up and down, blow warm air on her lobe.

“But that’s secret, okay?”

“Why?”

“I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you see? I don’t want to be seen as soft and mushy – it will create only rumours.”

You move your nose down, kiss the pulsing smoothness of her neck, then say, “And what’s so special about Earth?”

Rainbow giggles as you wrap your left hand around her chest and press yourself closer to her. “It’s far away from home – not really far away ‘cause I can be there in a flash – and… because of you. I don’t need to play pretend with you because I know you’ll love me no matter what. It’s in your eyes. That’s why I got together with you in the first place back then.”

You move your right hand on top of her head and ruffle her mane. “What’s there not to love. You're an angel. Harmony, perfection, beauty. The philosopher’s stone and the elixir of life.”

As Rainbow giggles you send your hand across Rainbow’s forehead and down the curve of her muzzle. You enjoy her humid warm breath coating your palm while you caress with the tip of your fingers the tip of her nose, making circles, spirals, swirls.

As slow as the breeze blowing from the window and bringing the last remnants of night’s freshness into the room, as slow as the sun rising in the east, you bring your fingers down the curve of her chin, down her neck, till their reach, ascending and descending Rainbow’s ribs, your left hand resting on the middle of her chest.

For a while you stay like this, your fingers intertwined, savouring the steady rhythm of her beat, your head resting on her right shoulder, your eyes darting from the pink explosion on the horizon to Rainbow’s soft and loving stare that’s full of wonder and full awe, your bolt pressed against the silky softness of her tail, your scrotum tight from the sweltering heat pulsing from her groin, and enjoy the stillness of the morn. Although Rainbow is strong enough to cave in a skull with a single kick you always feel an incredible need to protect her, a need which becomes pressing every time you hold her within your arms. The steady thumping of her heart alone reminds that, despite all her strength and all her heroic deeds, Rainbow isn’t that far away from the fragility of a human being; and you want to hold her strongly and hug her tightly to keep her fragility intact and away from the big wide world where dangers lurk in every single nook and cranny and roam fearless through the open fields: to snuggle her against your heart, the only place where she can let her armour drop and let herself be, just be: the only place where she can cease all the play-acting and can stop being any personality at all and rest in the reality and equanimity of being, simple, innocent, non contrived being, ever present, immaculate and free.

Rainbow puts her right hoof, covered in tepid sticky wetness, on top of your right hand and pulls it down, away from your left hand resting right above her pulsing heart.

You understand her desire and move your hand languidly on top of the softness of her belly. Lazily your hand glides downwards, lazily explores the little gouge that was her navel, and lazily crosses the remaining distance to her nethers.

Her nethers announce their presence by their heat as your hand enters Rainbow’s pubic zone. At first its warm swirls and eddies wrapping your fingers but, as your hand moves further up her mound, the heat turns into a cloud. Once your avid fingers touch the velvety rubber that is Rainbow’s hood you slip your hand between her thighs, from her emission sticky, warmed by her aroused source.

Manifold sensations cover your palm: overall sticky wetness clinging to your skin that turns the rubbing of her nethers into gliding just as smooth as surfing on the waves of a quiet bay; the swampy humid heat that hangs as a cloud around her lotus and radiates from her lotus in perfect rhythm with her excited beat; and the throbbing texture, like fleshy silk or fleshy velvet in its feel, with only one ridge and one little nub at the end of the ridge that feels rubbery and solid.

To begin you merely shuffle your palm up and down her flooded land, her crevasse that now sends floods and floods of thawed essence onto you. With every single sweep you take one finger away till only your forefinger remains gliding up and down her folds.

Your finger ascends and on the left side of her hood finds rest. You give Rainbow a brief respite, then flick your finger upwards. You press it against the right side of her hood and repeat the same motion, ascending her ridge in a curve, flicking her gem, ending with your forefinger in the air.

Rainbow closes her eyes. Her hips lightly swing.

You smile, kiss her neck, then place your forefinger back on her ridge and circle her ruby, her little gem made from solidified bliss which has no other purpose but to grant Rainbow joy. When your finger goes south and plunges in the sloppy stickiness of her vestibule you scratch the bottom of her bloom and then, your finger well lubricated, bring it back up and gyrate her little nub of bliss and spread her mucilaginous secretions down the slopes of her ridge.

Rainbow’s swinging intensifies. Louder her exhalations become: heavy sighs with the ah of pleasure implicit in them. Just hearing that sigh, loud, hoarse, with the ghostly inchoate ah amid the rush of air, makes your hair stand up and your bolt emit a drop of pre.

You inhale, then exhale, bring all your attention to your forefinger, hot and sticky, rubbing rubbery hardness, resting between Rainbow’s legs.

This simple manipulation is one of the things Rainbow likes most about human pleasure. Ponies being ponies, having wide and rotund hooves, they can’t hit the minuscule but so powerful erogenous zones present in a mare’s nethers and cover the whole land of love instead, which results in pleasure diffused. Weak. Human hands, on the other hoof, with their long pointy fingers that can sneak in all the crannies of their bodies and stimulate the most hidden zones of pleasure so small and occult that the mares themselves don’t suspect that they exist, can titillate the ruby and nothing but the ruby or that special spot within that causes a lot of moaning coupled with a lot of flooding and thus grant heights of bliss that a stallion, even a unicorn, can’t never give.

So strong is the power of your hands that, when your unions with Rainbow began, Rainbow demanded nothing but your fingers for some months, expecting your touch several times a day, achieving several orgasm in a row – such was the addictive power of bliss releases by your touch most precise, most tender and most loving.

You asked about unicorns, suspecting that they could use magic to stimulate the little foci of pleasure inaccessible by common means, but Rainbow, eyes aglow from release, said that the feel of magic wasn’t the same as the touch of something living against her bloom and her pearl ensconced within. Magic felt like an electric tingle while the human touch, warm and pulsing, came with innate magic that made all the probings and all the glidings feel strong. After her explanation Rainbow looked at you, her left ear drooped, her eyes half-closed, a drunken smile on her face, and you brought your hand back on the rosy goodness that was her bloom.

When Rainbow’s undulations speed up and her every exhalation turns into a whimpering ahhh or a moaning ohhh you withdraw your hand from her lotus and bring it, cupped, to her nose.

Rainbow sniffs, smiles, then licks your hand: a wet warm line across your sticky heated palm. She finishes her licking, bends her head to the left and takes your forefinger in her mouth. First you feel moistness and the heat and then pressure as Rainbow swivels her tongue around your finger: a meaty mass, strong and thick and hot and wet as well as throbbing with her beat, that strangles like an anaconda your little puny bony fingers. Rainbow sucks her cheeks in, then moves her head backwards and lets your finger out.

As your forefinger cools in the morning breeze you uncurl your middle finger. Rainbow’s sap droops in small arcs from its bottom. Rainbow moves her head forwards and swallows it.

In such a way Rainbow cleans all your fingers from her own essence, wrapping her tongue around each them and collecting every little sliver of her sap from their skin.

When your hands is clean you stretch it forwards, back side up, fingers serried, and ask, “Are my nails okay?”

Rainbow tilts her head.

“Yup! They’re good,” she says.

You press against Rainbow, your left hand still above her heart, the tip of your bolt still lost within the strands of her tail but desiring to press against the plump softness of her dock, and return your right hand back to her source.

This time, however, instead of flicking her little gem you shift your forefinger down, down to the bottom of her valley, deep within her folds, her swollen engorged viscid folds.

Your forefinger finds the entrance, bumpy on the borders, and then you plunge your finger carefully, lightly – with the lightness of a feather falling on the ground - within. Although you try to keep your descent slow to let Rainbow acclimatize to your finger you’re amazed by the wet smoothness inside which makes it easy to plunge right to her core in one single stroke. And the heat…It’s more pulsing, more intense, than the swelter within her mouth, made stronger by the throbbing walls pressing on all sides: squeezing from the left and from the right, from the back and from the front.

Your aim isn’t to get deep inside, though. You feel the bumpy ring of her entrance around your second joint and stop. For your purpose that’s enough.

You press your forefinger against her front wall and bend it as if scratching the particular stretch of her cave. Your finger bent, you move it out of her cave and, when the first joint greets the air, move it back again.

Rainbow lets out a long moan on her exhale, her brows furrowed, her eyes closed, her mouth in rapture open.

All good signs.

So you proceed.

In the beginning you have to move your finger in and out on your own but, as Rainbow’s hips pick up their swing, you stop moving and enjoy the way Rainbow’s inner core glides up and down your finger, spurting hottest juice on your finger and her bloom, making squishy shlicky sounds similar to a kitchen utensil stirring something viscous like porridge, marmalade or jam. Sometimes the flow of Rainbow’s essence is so strong that drops run down your hand – down your fingers, down your palm - and dangle on long thick filaments and then fall down on the floor. Drip.

With Rainbow propped against her sill and her hips moving back and forth, stimulating your aroused bolt, you enjoy her pleasant motions around your forefinger, the quick change from chilling breeze to scalding hot, how her walls seem to swell and press around your finger as her swings increase in amplitude and speed, and the way she either whines or moans on the exhale as her pelvis moves forwards and swallows your finger.

Your enjoyment ends, however, when Rainbow stops moving and puts her right hoof on your right hand, cupping her secret land of love.

“Let’s move to the tongue,” she says, smiling, her voice excited. Loud.

You kiss her behind her ear, then run your nose up and down in her groove between her ear and head and then, finally, remove your hands from her: from her secret heart and from her chest.

A shlick breaks the lapping waves as your finger emerges from within her into the pleasant coldness of the morn.

You move away from Rainbow.

She turns around and looks at you, smiling.

Rainbow giggles, props her forelegs on the sill, then hoists herself up. She sits on the sill with her legs spread and her bloom dripping languidly her juices on its polished and varnished wood.

Mesmerized, you look how the sun, eclipsed by her body, creates an aura around her, ephemeral, heavenly, from gold. The sun adds an additional layer, hazy and transparent, to her iridescent mane and makes her vibrant colours stand up against her blue, sparks appearing and disappearing in the rivers of green, violet and blue, in the stream of indigo, red and yellow, in the flow of orange hue. The golden mist spreads dust like around Rainbow and the small rays of light peeking from behind her frame turn Rainbow into your personal angel sent from above to guide and love you and only you and no one else.

With your heart exploding from tender loving warmth you observe Rainbow sitting on the sill, bathed in the morning sun, and with a smile breaking across your face you bring your right hand, covered in her essence, to your mouth.

The smell is still the same: that wonderful mix of genital pungency and musk, piscine.

Without delay you put your forefinger in your mouth and suck Rainbow’s juice from its length. This time Rainbow taste a sweeter than usual.

You clean your fingers one after another, then look at her, sitting, hindlegs apart, her bloom kissing the wood, forelegs by her sides.

“Are you sure you won't fall out of the window?” you ask.

Rainbow looks up, lifts her forelegs and grasps the window, framed white. She brings it down till the middle, then props her head against it. She bends her body backwards and lifts her hindlegs. Instead of looking down her lotus, engorged, wide open, stares at you: her most mesmerizing third eye.

An unpleasant twist passes through your chest because the thick glass of the window took away the solar corona from Rainbow. She looks solid now, more earthy, less angelic.

You smile, move forward till your thunderbolts pricks her belly below her navel and your jewels are enveloped by her humid heat, and kiss the tip of her nose.

Because of her shape you found it hard to kiss Rainbow properly – you can kiss only part of her lips and she can douse your mouth in saliva in one single sweep, her tongue rough compared to your own – so you decided to focus on nose kissing and nose rubbing instead. Rainbow likes it. Rainbow likes it very much.

You kiss her nose, then your shuffle your nose against hers.

Rainbow giggles. Smiles.

You stop, look at her, place both of your hands on her temples and move them up towards her perked ears.

While you scratch behind her ears, twiddle their tips, move your fingers up and down their conchs, you breathe in Rainbow’s moist warm breath and exhale your own breath upon her. Every time your breath hits her face Rainbow closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She holds the breath within, then exhales slowly. She smiles at the end of every exhalation a peaceful and content smile as if she were in a spa and has received the most relaxing massage ever devised.

You stop fiddling with her ears, lying drooped against her head, and stare at her half-closed eyes, luminous, intoxicated.

Rainbow giggles.

“Go down, please. I’ve calmed down,” she says.

You nod, smiling, then kneel.

You place her hindlegs, lithe, on your shoulders and, starving for sensations, focus all your attention at the bloom in front of you.

Rainbow nethers look like a drop of lemonade, cordate and bright red, and a jungle flame, blooming. Her sepals, swollen, tinted red, with her oily secretions all around them spread, enclosed her corolla of flesh, petals engorged, parted, from arousal bright red, and between them her entrance from your fingers stretched. At the northern junction of her petals her nub stands, bigger than usual, in Rainbow’s essence washed.

After the sight you feast upon the waves of heat and clouds of scent. The closer you bring your face to Rainbow secret heart, by her parted legs bewrayed, the stronger both the smell and heat get. When you are right where you need to be, your nose poking her hood, your whole head seems to throb from her tremendous cloud of heat: fiery, solar, strong enough to obliterate your sense of self that like the moon overlooks in isolation the rest of the world from within your head and send it dripping down into the fire of love kindled beneath your navel by your lover and your friend.

And the smell…

That thick cloud of Rainbow’s musky and marine scent, suggesting fish yet so exciting at the same time. One sniff is enough to make you forget about slowness and sensuality and want to plunge, tongue dangling, into it.

You’re cunning, however. Cunning and devious the extreme when it comes to elevating Rainbow to the highest realms of bliss.

You purse your lips, then blow air on her gem. From the assault of pleasure Rainbow’s hips began to swing but, as they move toward you, you bring your lips to her right thigh instead.

Her pelvis relaxes. Rainbow stops moving.

“You’re such a tease, you know that?” she says, her tone light.

You continue kissing the soft skin of her inner thigh, covering it in light dry pecks, enjoying the tingling on your lips caused by her short hair.

Finished with one thigh, you move your head forward and blow some more air on her bloom. Like the previous time, the moment her lotus is about to hit you in the face you turn your head left and pepper with kisses her right leg.

Tired from her legs, you shift your whole attention to the main dish, the main delight, rosy red and dripping.

You stick your tongue out and put it between her parted inner veils, volcanic hot and throbbing, at the bottom of her bloom. Once your tongue adjusts to the taste and the heat you move your tongue straight up. Your tongue passes past the bumps of her cave, across the smooth surface of her vestibule, and flicks the rubbery hardness of her clit.

You return your tongue the bottom but press it against her left lip. Like the previous time you ascend, and with a flick of the left side of her ridge you finish your trip. Then you repeat the same beats with her right lip.

You move languidly, you move slow, giving upwards licks to Rainbow’s blooming bloom and flicking either her ridge or her clit. To show the diversity of your skills you change your strategy when you get tired of the upwards strokes and focus on the only knot of hardness inside the entrance to her womb: her pleasure giving ruby.

You circle her ruby. You shuffle her ruby. You enfold her ruby with your tongue. Savour its rubbery hardness and its heat. A connoisseur of Rainbow, you never put too much pressure on her gem, knowing well how delicate it is, knowing that the only way to bring its full power is by being as gentle and tender as a human can be.

Although you started slow, you increase your speed in tact with Rainbow’s swings. The faster Rainbow waves, the faster you apply your tongue. Her moans – high pitched broken whines and whimpers quickly stopped, long and hoarse ahhs and haas full of raspiness and grit – hasten your avid tongue adroit at awakening pleasure within her.

So enraptured you are by Rainbow’s land of love – as focused as a bee that collects from flowers pollen, careful not to break them and keep them for future meals – that you only stop your swirling, your licking and your lapping when Rainbow places her right hoof on your right shoulder.

“Please, stop,” she says, her voice deep and dreamy, lost in sensual haze. “Leave the release for the end. Can you come in me right now?”

You disengage the tip of your tongue from the tip of her hood behind which her ruby, too stimulated by your fervent kisses, hid.

You inhale deeply the heat and the piscine scent of her bloom, then exhale slowly over her nethers. Rainbow thighs press against your ears and shudder.

You move back, drop Rainbow’s hindlegs from your shoulders and stand up to be greeted by her tilted head, her shining eyes, her blissful smile, mouth open, showing the edges of her perfectly white teeth.

“Your tongue… boy, it’s something else,” she says, then rubs her nose against your lips.

That’s true.

Once Rainbow got tired of your fingers she shifted to your tongue. And reeled from the pleasure it delivered, far stronger than bliss by hand derived. Unlike the tongue equine, flat, its end a curve, which could only lap across the whole slit, leaving the most important bits unattended, giving to mare mere echoes of the pleasure they could bring, the human tongue, pointed, shared the agility of the human hand and was able to enter where no equine tongue had ventured before.

Until Rainbow got accustomed to that new heaven she demanded nothing except your tongue. Nothing. No hand. No phallus. Only your tongue. Applied several times a day, before morning, after dinner, both outdoors and in the shower, to her thirsty bloom.

You spoiled her with pleasure because you yourself became an addict, a slave to her lotus, to her juice. But most of all a slave to her hugs, always strong as vice, and her eyes, twinkling with unadulterated joy. For that stare most tender and most loving you would exert yourself in the manifold arts of love.

And such stare is present right now within her eyes, dazed and half-closed yet still glittering with that mad but delicate love directed toward you and only you. You have never seen Rainbow look at someone with this serene and peaceful and blissful stare – not at her friends, her sister Scootaloo, not even at the Wonderbolts or that equestrian stallion with a light brown coat and brown mane, with white hooves and white tips of his ears and a snip – except you, Anon, and only you, Anon, and no one and nopony and no creature else.

Only you, Anon.

Only you.

You smile and rub your nose against Rainbow’s, enjoying her warm breath mingling with yours.

You disengage from her, kiss her gently on her nose, then ask, “I come first and then go down on you and make you come?”

Rainbow shakes her head. “Not needed. I’m almost there. Just come inside.”

You nod, grab your thunderbolt with your right hand, and move closer to her.

Before beginning the main act you take a look at Rainbow’s nethers, which looks so vibrant, so arousing, amidst her overall hue: a flower, a red flower, a languid flower, blooming and juicy, bedabbled with dew, floating upon an endless sea of blue: a flower towards which your father of thousands approaches, erect.

Before entering Rainbow you put your thunderbolt across her valley, rest your tip next to her gem. Even this alone, with the viscid folds caressing the back side of your shaft, is enough to send on the brink of release.

You inhale slowly and then slowly exhale.

Rainbow must come first.

Desiring to excite Rainbow a little bit more – to tease her sensually in that tender, light-hearted way lovers are wont to do – you wrap your fingers around your tip and wiggle it languidly above Rainbow’s clit but careful enough not to put too much pressure and bring Rainbow pain, the last she needs right now, so aflame and near the most pleasant end.

Rainbow’s body turns mobile from your waggling. Whines and moans escape her lips.

Once Rainbow’s motions turn frantic and your whole bolt becomes electrified, full of tense and solid bliss, you stop your play and bring your thunderbolt down to the bottom of her well, still spurting forth her essence in its purest state, large splashes of liquid, transparent and gluey, that turn to brooks and rills once they’re outside the confines of her rose and dribbling down her groin to vanish in the pool of sticky juice on the wooden sill below.

The tip of your thunderbolt, brimming with pleasure, inches away from hanging precariously over the bliss of no return, slushes as it goes down to the bumpy border of her cave, enjoys the swelter and the wetness reverberating with Rainbow’s beat. Some of Rainbow’s sap runs down the back of your shaft and you quaver from the pleasure its sliding brings.

Your thunderbolt finally rest over Rainbow’s cave and you push its tip, using your hand, inside Rainbow’s inner void.

When your whole tip is inside her, wrapped by her tight and warm and slippery muscles, you move your right hand away and put it on her chest, beneath her left foreleg. You put your left hand on the right side of her chest, then push yourself carefully forward.

Inch by inch your thunderbolt is swallowed in that throbbing wetness, in that pulsing humid love.

When you reach Rainbow’s deepest void you stay still for a while, acclimatize to the humid pressing heat wrapped around your shaft like a glove around a hand and stare, enraptured, at her.

She smiles and giggles so innocently and pure that you feel like a child, bubbling and sparkling, with elan vital abundant, feeling the natural of bliss of union with nature, sharing a sense of silent communion with the bushes and the trees and the ants and the birds and even with the spiders and the snakes, with sister Sun and sister Moon delighting, before the adults, automatic, through personality existing, to the waves of life forever closed, will induct her to the rules of their shadowy world, hallucinatory, utterly delusional, as real in its values and its aims as swirls of dust above a barren field, and thus close her way to the innocence of nature that is so much like the innocence of heaven through all ages desired and extolled. Purity and innocence rarely found in human close relationships Rainbow shows; and to keep her clean of the perversion of mankind, from innate purity fallen and in armours and personalities entombed, you are ready to hug her always, to keep within your arms near the bright flame of your heart everlasting for ever and ever, through aeons and aeons and even after the last of beings has jumped from the wheel of rebirth and the universe has to ashes dissolved.

Smiling like a child without a single care in the world you hug Rainbow, mimicking the depth of the hug that she is giving to your being with her mouth below.

Then you feel it…

The base of your bolt is first squeezed by her entrance and then the pressure moves deeper, crushing your bolt with its deliciously wet and infernally warm hug, sucking your shaft of every single drop of pre that rests within, till it reaches the end of your tip.

Once the pressure has undulated along the whole the length of your thunderbolt, it reappears at the threshold of her well.

And you are vacuumed again.

It takes a lot of will not come from this amazing and heavenly massage – this sucking – performed by Rainbow’s athletic muscles, well trained. The first time Rainbow had performed this trick upon your unsuspecting shaft you came buckets the moment the pressure reached the tip of your bolt lodged deep within her. You have learned how to keep your bliss low since then and, as a result, you can enjoy this milking for long stretches of time before succumbing to the throes of bliss.

When Rainbow ceases vacuuming, you know it’s time go.

You push your nose against hers, then move your hip back and forth. Slow.

Apart from this little push you don’t need to do anything at all. Once the body gets the rhythm its time to let the commanding self go and into involuntary motions cease to interfere. That way result in a well know maxim: post coitum animal triste. The way of natural motion, free from all control, leads to joy supreme and everlasting love.

In response to your motions Rainbow picks her rhythm.

Now its both of you in tandem moving, even in tandem breathing, your hips and heads moving apart on the shared inhale then meeting together, nose against nose, thunderbolt deep within her lotus, on the shared exhale, yours quiet, hers tinted with satisfied moans. Your eyes are open and half closed and staring deeply into each other, you feeling swallowed within the loving black of her pupils, feeling as if it’s not you looking at Rainbow but Rainbow staring at a reflection of herself of her own creation for her own delight. Your ears are attuned to the squishy squashy shlicky sounds coming from between Rainbow’s legs, wrapped decussate around your hips; and your nose picks nothing but the pungent fishy smelling scent of union tinged with ghostly whiffs of sweat.

Somewhere in the process you close your eyes and feel as if your whole being is deep inside Rainbow and hugged from all sides – in and out, from right to left and from back to front – by Rainbow’s deepest embrace: pure love, pure warmth, every moment present and aware, pulsing, throbbing with that light but pleasant beat that seems to fill all the limitless space of this paradoxically full void: a two beat rhythm of contraction and release that happens everywhere and endlessly in the absolute silence and stillness of the void, the rhythm itself being the void, and your yourself being nothing else but this rhythm and this void, being nothing else but her, your personality a mere mask to hide this very simple and very obvious truth.

The union proceeds with you getting deeper and deeper into the void and vanishing in the deepest cell of Rainbow’s secret heart.

Rainbow wasn’t laying when she said she was near the brink.

As you pick up speed and feel tension in your tip Rainbow’s swinging increases in strength and her moans get louder with every breath.

Before you realise it Rainbow’s undulations achieve the heights of their amplitude and speed.

Rainbow explodes.

With wide waving and wide bouncing she explodes, breathing rhythmically and deep with loud and raspy ahhhs escaping with her every exhale into the air and her walls quivering around your shaft and pressing tightly then letting go to press even tighter the next second.

Unable to withstand the assault of pleasure on your shaft, your back and forth movements increase and the tingle of electric pleasure on you tip solidifies, then bursts.

You lose all control over your body which swings out of your volition but in tact with Rainbow’s orgiastic rhythm, hips and head moving apart, hips and head coming together, like a snake upwards undulating, as waves of electric tingles rush all over your body and obliterate the last vestiges of your self already made brittle and porous from the union prolonged and extended far beyond common human times.

And Rainbow’s ahhhs…

As your mindstream gives up you experience nothing but awareness impersonal but forever drunk on bliss whose only sound, whose only letter, is a long ahhh: an ah that interpenetrates all the other letters and an ah that binds on the deepest level the whole world.

Who and when and where don’t matter to you at all. There is only this. This awareness. This enormous, incomprehensible, invisible and indescribable by any sound or letter awareness: an awareness pregnant with the all: a peaceful awareness filled with love: an awareness that was her. Nothing else.

Gradually your movements subside and the electric bliss ceases to flow.

You become aware of your body. Of the thumping of your heart. The roaring of your breath. The tingly and chilled confines of your skin. The gooey warmth around your bolt.

Your thoughts restart.

You become yourself.

You open your eyes and smile. Your nose rest against Rainbow’s nose. Your eyes stare into the loving depth of her eyes, a rich and shining magenta.

You lift your hand to her forehead and push the wayward strands of orange and yellow behind her right ear.

Rainbow cocks her head, kisses the tip of your nose.

You smile in return. Hug her tight.

You enjoy the peace for a while, smiling, feeling light, as if from heavy weight relieved. Your heart tingles with that pleasant warmth that makes you smile wider and hug Rainbow tighter. Which you do. Gladly.

Everything feels perfect, infused with peace. The waves thrashing against the beach, the soughing of the palms, the inchoate warmth of the day on your arms, the cries of seagulls and the distant kick drum of party: all is perfectly fine as it is, not a single atom out of order, out of beat.

“You’re the best, you know that?” Rainbow breaks the silence.

“No. You’re the best,” you respond. “Because you bring the best in me.”

You bolt loses its hardness. You move back, and it plops out of Rainbow’s core. The peace you feel is so strong, however, that you barely notice the wind chilling it slippery and viscid skin.

Rainbow removes her arms from your back and puts them on your chest.

You unwrap yourself from Rainbow and move away. You look at the crevice hidden between her thighs, not a jungle flame any more, red and swollen, coated in voluminous and thick secretions, but a pink rose, closing before sunset, with a white trickle dribbling slowly from between her folds.

“What are you going to do today?” you ask.

Rainbow lands on the floor. Clop!

“I think I’m going to take a shower,” Rainbow says. “And then I’ going to read that book. I still can’t get over the fact how the brothers are so like Celestia and Luna.”

“What do you mean?”

Rainbow flaps her wings, then hovers in mid-air, her legs dangling, her face next to yours.

“Well, one is liked, the other not. One stands for order, the other is a boring introvert. One is at home, the other is in exile somewhere in the south. And then the play.”

“What about the play? It’s just a play.”

Rainbow shakes her head left and right. “Nu-uh. It’s straight from Equestrian history. The travelling boy in the play wants to be liked by the rainbow girls just like Luna wanted to be liked but the girls make fun of him and appreciate his brother more and then the loser boy gets in a fight with his brother and, it seems, that later in the book the loser brother is banished – he kinda disappear from the book – and the good one becomes the main hero, just like with Luna making a mess and Celestia banishing her to the moon. It’s amazing. And I want to see what happens next, though I think I have a clue.”

“Really?” You ask, curious. You like to see Rainbow excited about Earth culture, her wings wildly flapping, her speech fast.

“Yes! It says in the book that the after the kerfuffle the boys are carried off the set and brought home to be well soaped, sponged, and scrubbed,” Rainbow says. “And I can imagine little Celestia and little Luna being washed by their mom, you know? It makes them relatable. I want Twilight to see the book. It’s Celestia and Luna’s story but with brothers instead of sisters. And what are you gonna to do?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, really?”

“The usual?”

“Maybe.”

Rainbow taps you on the back. “You’re so boring but I still love you very much.”

She kisses you on the cheek, then hugs you. Tight.

“Love you, too, Rainbow. Love you, too.”

You don’t really need to do anything or be anywhere for your absolute heaven and your absolute truth rests within your arms.

Right here.

Right now.