Premarital booping (Warning, not safe for Woona) · 12:17am Oct 30th, 2017
When Buttermilk returned home, she found Copperquick asleep on the kitchen floor, and some kind pony had covered him with a blanket. Esmeralda was awake—though she was struggling—and her father had one foreleg wrapped around her. Buttermilk could see the foal looking at her with pleading eyes and inches away on the floor, out of reach, was her pacifier.
Sometimes, life was tragedy.
With a huff, she put her bags down upon the counter and then flew over to comfort Esmeralda. She landed, silent, and folded her wings, a gesture that required no thought. Looking down, she saw Esmeralda looking up at her, and the little filly appeared to be downright miserable. She had been crying and her face was still snotty, but since Copperquick was snoozing, her face had been left dirty.
Poor Copperquick probably needed the sleep.
“Mama?”
“Yes, Esme?” Buttermilk picked up the fallen binky, which was covered in a bit of snot and link. With a flick of her wing, she tossed it behind her without looking and it landed in the sink. A broad smile of satisfaction appeared on Buttermilk’s face and her tail flicked to and fro.
“Mama.” Esmeralda blinked and her eyelashes, crusty from crying, tried to cling to one another. Trapped beneath her father’s foreleg, she reached out with one foreleg, wiggled, and then bleated to protest her captivity.
“Poor, poor, Esme, snuggled to death,” Buttermilk whispered to the distressed filly.
“Haroo-oooh, Mama.” Somehow, Esmeralda managed to convey that she was indeed, quite cross, and had suffered long enough, thank-you-very-much.
“I’m having a hard day too, Esme… I just spoke to my old friend Ripple Rusher again, and I’m pretty sure that she lied to me.” Buttermilk’s ears went limp and fell against the sides of her face. “I also sent a telegram to your Godmother, Twilight Velvet, requesting that Miss Rusher be thoroughly investigated, because I fear for the welfare of her foals. I wasn’t too keen on doing the right thing, no I wasn’t.”
“Mama, foosh.” Esmeralda blinked again, trying to express her pressing need and then wiggled. “Foosh, Mama.”
In response, Buttermilk did two things at once: wings unfurling, she took to the air, but as she did so she also reached down to pluck Esmeralda from her slumbering father’s embrace. She hauled the foal free, hugged her, kissed her, and then flew off with her towards the bathroom, off to the toilet that went ‘foosh’ when the cord was pulled.
When Buttermilk returned to the kitchen, she found a sleepy looking Copperquick blinking his eyes and rubbing his nose. At moments like these, she adored him the most, because there was just something about him when he was only half awake and trying to make sense of his surroundings.
“She’s losing a milk tooth,” he said, mumbling out the words through stiff lips that didn’t want to cooperate.
“Oh, Moomy was right it seems…” Even as she said the words, she cringed, not wanting to think about what else her mother had been right about. “If she’s starting to lose teeth, it’s time to switch to solids.” Still holding the squirming filly, Buttermilk wanted to fly over to Copperquick, cling to him, and bawl her eyes out. Somehow, she managed to resist her overwhelming desire, but she did fly over to where Copperquick was and put Esmeralda down upon her blanket.
“No!” Esmeralda thrashed about, kicking and grunting, demanding to be picked back up.
“She’s miserable, Buttermilk.” Copperquick rubbed his eyes with his foreleg, still trying to sort himself out, and then with a sigh, he looked down at his fussy filly. “I couldn’t get her to take a nap. I don’t even know how she’s still awake.”
It was a struggle to hold everything in, and more than anything, Buttermilk still wanted to throw her forelegs around Copperquick’s neck so she could have a good cry. But now wasn’t the time for crying, it seemed, as Copperquick was just waking up, Esmeralda was cranky, Daddums would be home soon, and there just wasn’t enough time in the day to fall apart and weep about the potential destruction of her foalhood friendship.
Just as her eyes were starting to sting with tears, Buttermilk felt a light touch on her snoot. In response, her eyes crossed and as she peered through the lenses of her glasses, she saw Copperquick’s coppery pelt. His hoof was resting on snoot, but only for a moment, and when he pulled away, Buttermilk felt a great many things all at once.
There was a profound sense of love, first and foremost, and that felt good. She also felt a delightful tension in her loins as she thought about that light touch on her snoot touching someplace else: it could start as wonderful tummy rubs and progress to something better, something lewder. There was sadness too, because thoughts Ripple Rusher lurked in the back of her mind. Then there was the practical stuff; now emptied, Esmeralda would need to be fed and then maybe, just maybe, once she was fed, she might go to sleep.
And if Esmeralda could go to sleep, premarital booping with Copperquick could continue.
Reaching out, Buttermilk returned the boop and rewarded with an electric thrill. Yes, without a doubt, Copperquick was at his most attractive—at his sexiest—when he was half awake. Those half open eyes, his befuddled expression, the way his ears struggled to do anything meaningful, like standing up, Buttermilk nibbled her lower lip as her feeling of attraction spiked to an overwhelming level. What made a half awake stallion so sexy?
“Florp!” Esmeralda demanded, oblivious to the needs and desires of others.
“The toilet goes foosh,” Buttermilk said in response. “But I wonder what goes florp? Why does she associate that sound with being fed?” She watched Copperquick shrug, and even that was kind of attractive, just because he looked so out of sorts. He needed more sleep, by the looks of things.
To cheer herself up, she bumped snoots with Copperquick, engaging in snoot-to-snoot contact, and she took a moment to look deep into his eyes. When he outstretched his forelegs, perhaps hoping to grab her and hold on to her, she darted away and then hovered just out of his reach. Hearing a rumbling wicker of frustration, Buttermilk’s ears perked and she felt a tense heat radiating through her belly.
“I’m going to fix Esme a bottle,” Buttermilk announced, and then she flew away.
Chapter is progressing, but slow. Other chapters are also progressing. Many things are progressing.
Only peeps who don't mind you going at it slow are idiots and people with compulsion problems.