Wake me up darling, before you go-go
It's beautiful. Mornings in Ponyville, that is. In the city, back home, there were cars, noise, pollution, and traffic. Blaring car horns and colorful profanity couldn't hold a candle to the melodious chorus of songbirds every morning. Beautifully sung, you could only marvel at Fluttershy's talent to teach birds unique songs. You inhale a lungful of the sweetest air and give a happy sigh, mindful of the clear oxygen you're breathing and not the smog-filled filth in the city.
Yes, pretty much everything in life is better in Ponyville, and the best part is...well...her. You give another content sigh, peering down at your lovely wife nestled underneath the covers. She is an angel, beauty incarnate, and you still can't believe you ended up married to such a pony. Her beautiful indigo mane cascades down around her, and even in slumber, it looks as if her weighty locks had been perfectly set to drape down and around her head like a model. Twists and turns, spirals and curls adorned her head only to draw attention to the beautiful azure eyes she flaunted.
You reach out delicately and draw your fingers along an exposed ear, scritching in slow, delicate motions. It warms your heart when she smiles in her sleep, the sweetest coziest smile of contentment that you happily provide. She croons lovingly at the sensation, still lost in the fog of sleep and slumber to really make anything out of the sensation, simple bliss for a lovely little pony.
Gently, you curl your fingers down her neck, continuing your loving caress. Her fur is silky soft, a lovely alabaster that could very reasonably share its sheen with an angel's wing. Her fur was brushed and prepped, saturated with exotic soaps and expensive spa treatments. Running your fingers through it is like drifting them through spun satin and she squirms in deep sleep appreciation at your touch.
Her frame is svelte, slender and lithe. A model, you're sure. If she could have been anything than a fashion designer, she'd have been a model. She has the looks, that's for sure. Among ponies she possesses a striking beauty, but even stronger was her creative passion. No way would she, could she, give up her creativity for the glamour soaked life of a fashion model. It was one of the many things you love so dearly about her. You draw the blankets back more, marveling at the spike of sapphire that peeks out passed the fabric. Her cutie mark stands out strikingly, like blue diamonds in a white sky, they highlight the delicious curvature of her flank, along with the bouncy, curly spirals that dominated her tail.
You peer over her lovingly, wanting to scoop her into your arms and caress every inch of her with kisses. Your excitement has to wait, however, as you are sadly needed at work and as much as you would love to worship your wife's curves, she too has an important engagement this afternoon. You sigh, it's always difficult to get Rarity out of bed. As creative as she is, she spends far too long at the drawing table, and far to little time kissed by her pillow's touch (or you). Gently, you lean over and brush your lips gently across the edge of her ear.
You whisper to her. Softly. Tenderly. You tell her how much you love her, and it's time to get up. She makes a sound that kind of resembled an angry zebra and turns away from you. You frown, if you let her, she'd roll right back over to sleep. That wouldn't do at all. Slowly you lean back over, delicately leaning down to plant a delicious kiss on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry we're out of coffee and I need to improvise..." you whisper softly. You're not entirely sure if she heard you. That's fine. Technically, you DID warn her. Technically. You reach your hand down, slowly drawing your fingers along her back, towards the rounded globes of her upturned shapely ass. Those beautiful bare white cheeks create the perfect set of scrumptiously bouncy hills, and make the most pleasing CRACK when you strike it, like you're about to do now. You lift your hand and left gravity make your decision for you.
Gravity likes dat ass. A lot.
Mission Complete. Your wife is most definitely awake. Her supple, wobbly cheeks jiggle with an almost perfect crack that dances across the room. The scream that follows is music to your ears as is the laundry list of surprised expletives. The dark aura of magic that lifts up her bedside hairbrush, however, immediately makes you turn towards the door, hoping you can make it out before she removes a body part. One you'll miss. You duck out the door as quickly as you possibly can and grin to yourself. She'll be fussy for a little while but you know for a fact that by the time the evening rolls around and when you get home from work, you and her will make up in a kiss-ably sweet fashion, but for now you're content at dodging thrown hair brushes.
But the hairbrush wasn't thrown. There was no angry clatter of sound from the wall. No following smashes from things she continued to throw. No sharp angry cursing other than those first few surprised squeals. There was simply nothing. Nothing but a curious silence. A silence that cranked your curiosity to the max and forced you to open the door. Had she gone back to sleep? Was she cleverly setting a trap for you to walk into? No. No, she was simply laying there, resting on her belly, the hairbrush still levitating haphazardly in the air. Curiously enough the brush gently wafts over to you, resting softly against your palm. She peers over her shoulder at you, blushing warmly with her lower lip trapped beneath her teeth. She lifts her hips, that lovely derriere twists and wiggles invitingly slowly and she swallows.
"I didn't say stop," she purrs quietly, flickering her tail out of the way with a final roll of her hips.
You're going to be late for work this morning.
