Closer Than You Think
Closer
Than
You Think
Spitfire went over the definition of, ‘bored’ in her head. Bored: when one feels weary due to the lack of activity, or having nothing to do. She definitely fit that classification. Today she did not wear her flightsuit, had no practice sessions to attend, no shows to perform in. Being the captain of the Wonderbolts almost ensured that bored was a word she would most likely never experience. But what would happen were she given a day off? Maybe, a day off for a sprain in her wing obtained from a rather painful meeting of the ground.
The golden pegasus flared her wings and flapped them experimentally from where she lay on the cloud. A twinge in her back told her that prolonged flight was still not an option. Although she had no duties today, she had still come to the stadium, simply just to watch the progress of the others. They were good, and they had had a very nice practice session, even without her. Fleetfoot had been fast. Rapidfire, agile. Soarin’, a bit lacking in agility but he made up for that in strength.
But they had all left now. The sun was near setting and shone horizontally across the clouds, lighting their tops almost the same color as her coat. As she lie there, she tried to ignore the churning feelings in her belly, and the even deeper feeling a little south of that. It had been a while, and watching the practice session—the sleek movements of her colleagues—had set her mind in a peculiar state.
Standing up, she stretched, one leg after the other, having lain for much longer than she had planned. The cloud she had perched on floated happily above the cloud stadium. Trying to take her mind off of her mixed feelings, she flared her wings. She had been specifically told not to fly, but really, the doctors knew that she wouldn’t listen. Dropping from her cloud, she spiraled downward on the wind, putting no effort into the flight.
The stadium always did look lonely when it was empty. Normally, it had no floor, but today it did. There had previously been several activities here where the floor had been required and the thick bottom of cloud had not yet been removed.
She always liked visiting the stadium. Without the hordes of screaming and cheering ponies, it was a calming place, a place where she could simply be. However, today, she wished for the exact opposite of quiet.
She touched down on the clouded surface of the stadium floor and looked around. Not a pony in sight. Anything. She begged for anything to happen. Even the appearance of an annoying, obsessive fan would be a welcome. Anything to take her mind of the boredom, to take her mind off the itch.
“Hey, mare!” somepony yelled. Spitfire looked up eagerly, only to fold her ears at the sight of the stadium’s lateshift security guard hovering above. “You can’t be here!” he called down at her, pushing his hat back on his his head as he yelled around his few remaining teeth.
“It’s okay,” she called back. “I’m a Wonderbolt!”
He removed his hat and scratched his head with the bill. “Oh yeah, yer that yellow one.” He returned the hat to his head and shrugged. “Say, how long are you stayin’ here?”
She shrugged. “I’ll probably sleep in the lounge. I don’t feel like leaving.”
He cracked a wide smile. “Well shoot, hope y’all don’t mind if ah just take myself a little paid vacation tonight.”
She waved him away. “I won't tell anypony.”
He tipped his hat to her. “Why thanks!” He hitched in the air and turned tail, making haste for the skies.
With a little smile and a shake of her head, Spitfire set a trot for the edge of the stadium. She admired the old guard's spirit. He reminded her a little of herself years ago, before she took on the responsibility of team captain.
The door to the inner stadium was just ahead now. It stuck out, a blue door against the white of the cloud. She knew it was unlocked—it always was. The door lead to a small hall, then the hall lead to several dressing rooms and the lounge. The lounge wasn’t much, reserved for staff and whoever else requested its use: a couch, an icebox, that was about it. It hardly deserved the name 'lounge'.
Reaching the door, she pushed her way through into the inner hall. The lights were on, which was strange, considering the stadium hadn’t been used for an event in a few days. They were on timers; you hit the switch and they stayed on for about an hour until they shut off on their own. Putting the thought aside, she traveled the hall’s short length past the dressing rooms and to the door at the end. The door had been left cracked and the lights inside were off. She pushed it open with a forehoof and plodded into the room, feeling as the floor below transitioned from linoleum to carpet.
She never knew how they managed to get things such as carpet or stone to stay in the clouds, but somehow the pegasi managed it. It was never big things though, a bit of furniture here or a room there, never whole houses or buildings though.
She flipped the light switch on the wall to be greeted with an unexpected sight. A light-blue pegasus with a deep-blue mane, curled up on the unattractive green couch. His mouth hung half-open and a line of drool had settled on the cushion. One hoof hung over the edge of the couch, dragging on the ground. Spitfire blinked, then looked to the white walls, then the dark blue carpet, then back to the sleeping pegasus.
“That’s my couch,” she murmured. It took her a moment, but she recognized the pegasus as one of the members of her team, Soarin’. She hardly recognized him out of his flightsuit. Now that she thought about it, she had never actually seen him out of his flightsuit. Inexplicably, her eyes were drawn to his cutie mark: A winged lightning bolt. Well that was different. She had always thought it would be a pie. Ever since that one night at the Gala she had known he had a thing for pies.
Out of all the Wonderbolts, let it be said, Soarin’ was sort of the oddball. He tended to stay out of their business, and they all tended to stay out of his. The pegasus would show up for practice, do his routines, and be the first to leave when they were done. He would never hang around and socialize after shows. Occasionally, he would hang back and smile for the aftershow, but he would never speak. The only time she could remember having a sustained conversation with him was at the Gala last year, and he had been silly and awkward then.
And he was on her couch. Reaching back, she purposefully slammed the door, trying to wake him. He didn’t stir. With an internal groan, she approached the couch and gave him a sharp jab in the ribs. “Soarin’, wake up.”
He snorted and threw out a hoof at his attacker. Spitfire ducked with minor annoyance and jabbed him again. He jumped and rolled in her direction. She stepped back as he slid off the couch and thudded to the floor. “Wha...” He opened his eyes and looked around tiredly. “Whoareyou?”
She looked bordley down at him as he rolled over onto his belly to face her. “Oh, no one really.”
Soarin’s eyes widened. “Sp-Spitfire you’re-you’re here.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and you were drooling on my couch.”
He rolled to his haunches and squinted at the worn-down couch. “Y-your couch?”
“Well,” she shifted her posture and swished her tail, “Not my couch... But I sleep on it a lot.”
Soarin’ cracked a smile. “Wait.” He pointed to her, then the old couch, then back to her. “You? There?”
She sat back and crossed a hoof over her front defensively. “Yeah, sometimes.” Although Soarin’ always acted the oddball, here he seemed perfectly normal, and it was throwing her off a little. “Is there something wrong with that?”
He clicked his tongue, looking for the most polite way he could put what he wanted to say. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with it. You know, you’d just think, being the captain of the Wonderbolts and all, you’d have a bed, and probably a house.” Okay, maybe it hadn’t been as nice as he had thought it to be.
The sarcastic tone the stallion had used sent shivers through her belly. He hadn't been rude, but he wasn’t trying to kiss her hooves like she was some sort of goddess like most other ponies did. He was treating her... just like another pony. “I have a house,” she returned. “I just...” She lowered her voice substantially. “I just like to pretend I don’t.”
Soarin’ stood up and flopped back over on the couch, taking a relaxed posture. He never seemed to stop smiling. “So, let me get this straight. You’re the captain of the Wonderbolts, loved by just about everypony in Equestria; you probably have enough bits to take a bath in every night... and you like to pretend that you don’t have any of that?”
She nodded guiltily and looked to the floor. “Are you some sort of undercover therapist or something? Because this feels like its turning into a therapy session.”
He shook his head, no longer smiling as she stood up and flopped down on the couch beside him. “No, I just pay attention. Like I saw how you sleep here a lot, or you hardly ever smile when you’re around your fans.” He kneaded his hooves restlessly. “You act like you don't’ like the fame... You seem lonely.”
Spitfire had somehow allowed this to turn into some sort of cliche therapy session. What the hay was she doing? One second he was sleeping on her couch, the next he was reading her like an open book. But even as her mind was blaring away, so was her mouth. The little pony in her mind screaming for her to confide her troubles in somepony had found somepony to confide in. “I know, it’s just that I’ve never really liked the fame and I have no idea why I volunteered for team captain. I’m actually really submissive but other ponies don’t know that so—” She stopped herself, a thought striking her. “You knew I came here?”
He gave an embarrassed smile and seemed to slump a little on the couch. “Eh... yeah.” He mentally bashed himself for blowing it.
Spitfire felt suspicion building in her mind. “Then why are you here?”
“Oh, well I was tired after practice and—”
She cut him off with a wave of her hoof. “Why are you really here?”
He was actually blushing. “Well, I really was tired, but... I knew you’d probably stop by and... you know, maybe get I’d get a chance to talk to you...” He trailed off, smiling nervously. “Well, it worked.”
She didn't know whether to be annoyed or flattered. She looked over at Soarin’, saw his blush, and felt her own face begin to heat up. She became painfully aware of the fact that they were both in a room, alone... with nopony else around. “Yeah.” she laughed awkwardly. “It did work.”
“You know, you’re always surrounded by fans, or the other members. I just wanted to find a time to talk to you alone, where nopony else would hear me.” He looked her in the eyes, never looking away.
She looked back into his green eyes. Curiosity spiked, she raised her eyebrows in a sign of attention. “What did you want to tell me?”
He hesitated, wondering if what he had to say would anger her. “Well, it’s kind of like what I was saying to your earlier. I’ve kind of been paying attention to what you’ve been doing. You never seem to enjoy what you do... Once you take the flightsuit off, it’s like you take a mask off too.” He flushed and looked to a spot on the wall. “I know you’ve been with a few... more than a few stallions, but you never really stay with them. You just sort of...”
Spitfire gave him a glare. “Have you just been watching me?”
“No, no,” he added hurriedly. “I haven’t been like, stalking you. I’ve just been listening. You know, hanging back, listening to gossip. You know that every stallion that’s ever slept with you is going to brag about it to Equestria’s end...” He was finding the direction he was leading himself very uncomfortable. “I was just wondering...” He swallowed “I was just wondering why you don’t meet a stallion you can stay with.”
Spitfire knew exactly what he was speaking of, and she had asked herself the same question many times. “Well...” She took a long moment to think. “I’ve never liked a stallion before.” She sighed, still not believing that she was speaking to him about this. “I mean, I like sex... but I just haven’t met a pony that I can bring myself to care about. The one’s I’ve been with just wanted me because I was famous and good-looking. They don’t want to get to know me; they just want to get to know my insides. It started bothering me a while ago and I haven’t even been with a stallion in months... They don’t really like me. They just like what I do, who I pretend to be.”
Soarin’ scratched his neck, then looked over at the mare who sat beside him. She was looking at him. This would be so much easier if she weren’t looking at him. “Well, I like you.” His stomach curled into a ball as she cocked her head. He had blown it. He had totally blown it.
She smiled at him. “You’ve been flying right beside me for over two years, and you’ve never said that before?” She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “You know, I’ve had stallions tell me that before, but I know you aren’t lying.”
He silently cheered inside at his success. “How do you know?”
“Because a pony wouldn’t bother to learn my personality if they just wanted to have sex with me.” She looked away. “Well, of course you’ve thought about it.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, I’ve thought about it.”
Soarin’ was bidding the chances. He could try, and possibly be shot down and lose his chances forever. She was in a bad way right now, believing stallions only wanted her for sex. If he even asked to see her again, he could set her off.
He could wait, see if Spitfire shared any of his feelings. He could bide his time. But looking at the mare’s body language told him she was at her weakest. The way she constantly shifted her posture, or the way her wings would jitter or flare up the tiniest bit; she was riled up. Trying anything right now would be like taking advantage of her. As much as he had always dreamed, fantasized about her, he just couldn't bring himself to try anything tonight.
“So, do you want me to leave, so you can settle down?” he asked courteously. Somewhere inside him, his dreams were beating the snot out of his conscience.
“No.” Spitfire drew her legs in and wrapped them under her belly. “I don’t mind if you stay.” The emotions she was feeling right now were unexplainable and ones she wished she could shoot down. He knew her; he liked her because she was her, not because she was famous or good-looking. He liked her for being her. “I-I wouldn’t mind if you stayed.” She shifted her haunches: an obvious sign.
Soarin’ caught her motion, then looked up into her eyes to be sure he wasn’t misreading. The sparkle in her eye and the nervous look on her face told him she wasn’t. The fact that she was, more or less, asking him, set his conscience at ease. He had been with a mare or two before, but they weren’t Spitfire. She was, well... she was better. To be explained with an analogy, she was hotter than the afternoon sun in July. And under that beautiful coat was a real pony, not just some high-strung showmare.
He went for it.
Leaning over a little closer to her, he tried to keep his voice level. “So, you said you were more of a submissive type.”
Spitfire’s senses froze. He was really asking her... and she was going to let him. Soarin’ the oddball, and she was going to let him. She was either crazy, or her nethers were driving her mind to unimaginable concepts. But he had actually taken time to get to know her, even if she hadn't known it herself. Unlike her other fair share of dine ‘n dashers she had met, he was genuine
“Just because I’m team captain doesn’t mean I like to be the leader all the time.”
Soarin’ put on his best smile. He turned on the couch and placed his forehooves on either side of her shoulders where she lay. “Well, you don’t have to be.”
Spitfire sat up, letting herself be lost in that cheesy smile that he thought was supposed to melt a mare’s heart. It really looked like he was straining every muscle in his face just to drop his lower lip a bit. She gave her head a shake and laughed. “Just wipe that cheesy smile off your face and kiss me.”
He frowned. “Cheesy? Really, I thought it was pretty—”
“I thought you were supposed to be dominant!”
He placed his hoof behind her head. “Right, sorry.”
Spitfire closed her eyes as he drew her towards him. Her lips met his and she shifted herself, allowing him entry. Ugh, he kissed like a dog, and she could speak from experience (a party joke that she had later come regret). She pushed his tongue from her mouth and instead invaded his own. She flicked in and out of his mouth, then ran along his teeth, which had been recently brushed, by the smooth feel of them.
After what seemed like only a few seconds, they broke apart, a strand of saliva trailing between the two. Spitfire wiped her mouth and gave her best seductive smile, which was much better than Soarin’s. “Maybe you should take some pointers from me; you are a terrible kisser.”
He folded his ears and blushed. “Well I don’t do that much kissing, so...”
Balancing on her haunches, she reached forward and wrapped both hooves around his neck, drawing him in close. “Now try again.” Once again the two embraced. Spitfire sighed and tilted her head back as he kissed her. And he was the one kissing this time. He still wasn’t perfect, but he was better.
Soarin' did his best to emulate Spitfire’s methods. He flicked his tongue in and out a few times and focussed on staying gentle. He felt as she relaxed in his grasp, and pretty soon, he was supporting her as she went limp, letting him take complete control. The kiss lasted much longer this time, and when they broke apart, Spitfire’s face adorned a dreamy smile and her wings had unfurled, now hanging limply to her sides.
“Now that’s better,” she breathed.
Soarin’ blinked. “I just kissed you... twice.”
She laughed. “Well, believe it, because it just happened.”
He rubbed his face. “I believe it. I’m just kind of shocked that you let me kiss you.” He tried to force down the stirring in his loins. It was too soon for that. What kind of a stallion would he be they went at it now? He would be just like the others she’d been with.
Spitfire, however, noticed his arousal and rolled back, spreading her hind legs a little. “So what do we do now?” she asked in an innocent voice.
Soarin’ began to push to his hooves. “Well, later I was thinking—”
She grabbed him around the middle and pulled him back down. “What the hay are you talking about?”
He stumbled, searching for words in his disbelieving confusion. “Well, we... I thought you— What?”
Rolling her eyes, she reached around and gave his underside a tender prod. “Does this clarify?”
He jumped at the sudden feeling and tried to keep his breathing normal as her hoof worked its way down the length of his belly. “Well, I thought you wou-whoa!” He took a sharp intake of breath as she found her mark. “Want to give it some time.”
She leveled her gaze with him. “Soarin’, you’re the only pony I’ve met who... well, gets me.” She prodded him again, enjoying the way his eyes rolled in his head. “I don’t want to take it slow, and I highly doubt you do.”
He nodded in agreement. “What stallion in their right mind would want to take you slow?”
“Exactly.” She withdrew her hoof, grinning, proud of the length she had coaxed from him.
Soarin’ peered down, now perfectly aware of what Spitfire had done. “Well,” Spitfire prodded. “Are you going to do something with that or are you just going to look at it?”
He gave her a sour look. “Slow down. I’ve only done this a couple times before.” Breathing heavily, slightly nervous at the idea that he might be bad at this, he placed his hoof over her back and drew her in close to him. “So how should we do this?”
Spitfire brought her hoof up to meet her face.”You’re not supposed to ask me, you just have to do it.” She sighed. “Okay, put it this way. Pretend you’re the captain.”
He grinned a little, then spread his front legs from his sitting position. It was a hopeful gesture, one he didn’t expect to have taken. His wings slowly extended from his sides, flaring to full length. She smiled a glare at him. “Oh you’re sneaky. Sure, but you’re paying me back.”
With her target in eye, she scooted across the couch and ducked in between his forelegs. Why was it always the timid type that were the largest? She had met plenty of outgoing and charming stallions, but half of them couldn’t back their words with endowment. Soarin’ certainly had more bragging rights than any of other stallion she had met. She took the first inch of him no problem. The muscular stallion around her trembled and gasped as she worked her tongue. Working her head back and forth, she pushed a little further, managing to take about four inches.
Soarin’ was having trouble swallowing the whole situation. Spitfire was, right now, below him, and she was... A bolt of pleasure shot through his skull as she did something marvelous with her tongue. “Spitfire,” he groaned, “I’m not going to last very long with you doing that.”
She withdrew him from her to speak. “Exactly. It’s so you’ll last longer for the second go.”
“Wait, so you’re—” He gasped as she went back to it.
Spitfire was really getting into it now. She bobbed her head back and forth, working her tongue in circles. She could feel him tense around her, feel him tensing inside her. He really wasn’t going to last very long. She took a deep breath and plunged, managing to get a little past halfway before she had to stop at a jab in her throat. He was bigger than any stallion she had met, and she wasn’t used to him. The pony above her gasped and nearly fell over as a wave of pleasure racked his body.
“Spitfire,” he managed to breathe. “I’m—”
She took a deep breath through her nose and pushed further, trying to ignore the pain as her throat was stretched. She had nearly all of him, but she also couldn't breathe. Retreating, she took a deep breath then dived again, slowly working him into her. Her nose hit his belly and the little daredevil pony inside her did a backflip for the cheering crowd.
Soarin’ could feel him inside her, all of him inside her. Somehow the beautiful flier had managed to fit all of him in her mouth, down her throat. He caved. Pleasure surged its way through every limb and a moan escaped his vocals. He twitched and bucked and thrust his hips forward, knowing just what the mare below him was taking in.
Spitfire withdrew slightly, feeling the warmth in her throat and wincing slightly at every one of Soarin’s spasms. She could feel his pulsations, and marvelled at every one. She had caused him this pleasure, and she would take what he had to give. Despite her inability to breathe, she forced herself to stay where she was, letting the warmth fill her throat. When she was sure he was done, she withdrew, swallowing hard and noting the somewhat-bitter taste she had experienced before. She scooted backwards and raised her head again to look the light-blue pegasus in the eyes.
He gave her a dumbstruck look. A new admiration for her as she licked the strand of dangling semen from her chin. “I can’t believe you just—”
“Me neither.” She leaned forward and kissed him once on the lips, making sure to give him a good taste of her tongue. “Now it’s your turn.” She grabbed him around the neck and rolled off the couch. The both of them thudded to floor, Spitfire on top of the novice stallion.
"You ever had a mare do that before?" she asked with a sparkle in her eye. She was pressed against him, and she could feel his length pressing against her belly. That would be inside her next. She silently wondered how she would take it; the thing was half as long as she was. Her throat was one thing—that's what necks were for. But her other end, that just led right into her middle.
"No," he breathed airily. "I never even expected you to agree to that. It was supposed to be a joke."
She gave him a nuzzle. "Well I guess the joke's on you." She smiled down at him, waiting.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked after a moment, letting out a shuddered breath as Spitfire purposefully ground herself on his belly.
She rolled off him and stood up with slow, exaggerated movements. Lowering her front section down on the couch, she stood on her hind legs, swaying her haunches a little. “You’ve got a tongue don’t you?” She swished her tail back and forth, giving Soarin’ his first real view of her.
He climbed to his hooves and approached her, trying to hold down his excited jitters. He lifted one hoof and held her tail away, placing both his hoof and orange-gold strands over her back. Experimentally, he stuck out his tongue and gave her a little swipe. Spitfire immediately tensed and took a breath of air.
Soarin’ smiled. He could really tease her this way. Slowly he worked around in circles, bringing his tongue lightly over and around her haunches. As he worked, Spitfire almost seemed to be falling into a sort of trance. Her head bobbed to one side and her eyes closed, lids fluttering. Biting her lower lip, she focused only on what the pegasus was doing behind her.
After a moment more of circling her, Soarin’ went in for what he could only assume was the kill. He flicked her twice with his tongue, marveling at the way she buckled under his influence. He lapped up her entrance slowly, allowing himself a smile at the moan she produced. He was making Spitfire happy. Spitfire! He was making Spitfire moan! He traced around her once more, then plunged his tongue in, wondering if she actually tasted sweet, or if it was only his imagination. Not only was she vocally expressing her pleasure, but she was seeping now, literally seeping.
He felt himself growing rigid again as the mare’s liquids began to wet his muzzle and front, and he longed to get to it. After a few more cycles, Spitfire lifted her head, cheeks as red as apples. “That’s enough.” She took a deep breath. “Are you ready, Soarin’?”
He nodded, then realized she couldn't see him nod. “I think I’ve been ready for a while now.”
She looked so cute as she dropped her head back to the cushioned surface and smiled. “Go for it.”
Tentatively, he moved forward and reared up, placing his hooves on either side of her middle. Slowly, he drew himself forward, searching. After a moment, he found her, procuring another gasp from the golden prize. “Ready?” he asked gently, nuzzling her neck.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice a decibel higher. “Just take it slow at first. It’s been awhile for me and you’re a little bigger than I’m used to.”
Gently, he pushed forward, only to stop as the mare beneath him cried out in pain. “No, don’t stop,” she urged. He swallowed, and pushed a little further. Spitfire let out a constant moan, as he slowly slid into her. She pinched her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, a tear rolled down her face.
“Keep going?” he asked skeptically. She whimpered and bit into a pillow on the couch, but nodded her head vigorously. Soarin’ was now about halfway, and he had never felt anything greater in his life. The two mares before, were nothing compared to this. Having the golden flier beneath him, under his spell, was more than he had ever dreamed. Feeling himself inside her, her hot walls caressing him with such a passion he had never known, it was indescribable. He was with Spitfire, the mare he had always dreamed about, and he was making love to her.
He pushed himself the rest of the way forward and came to her end with some of himself to spare.
“That’s it,” she groaned, trying to laugh but only having it come out as a sort of coughing sound. “You’ve got numbers on me.”
Soarin’ leaned down and kissed her neck. He could feel every twitch of her body, every breath she took. He could actually feel her heartbeat next to his, racing. Slowly, he drew himself back, almost feeling cold as he left most of her. Then he pushed back in, a little faster than he had previously. Again, he hit her end and she cried out in pain and arousal.
Spitfire was losing herself fast. The pleasure inside her was one she had never experienced before. This was more than just sex, there was passion behind it. She and Soarin’ were making love. Her insides bubbled as he kissed her neck again, right before he delivered a hard thrust that set her insides on fire and caused her legs to buckle. She no longer had control over her own body. Soarin’ was her master and she belonged to him. With every thrust of his she cried out, wondering how much longer she could go on. He worked himself further and further until she felt the bump of his legs against her haunches, the slap of his hanging weight between her legs with every forward thrust.
Soarin' worked himself back and forth, keeping his movements firm but gentle. His body was a bit larger than hers was and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. With every forward thrust of his, Spitfire would slide herself back, a sign that she wasn’t completely immobile. He felt the building pressure in his loins, but tried to fight it as best he could. Spitfire had to go first. She had to get what she needed out of this and there was no way he was going to accidentally jump the gun.
Spitfire could feel his signs through herself. His movements were growing faster and harder. His breathing was rapid and irregular. Thinking about his progress filled her with a feeling of her own. She could no longer keep her wings limp and they now flared out, the muscles strained. There was a deep feeling in her nethers, a tightening. Even as she tried to fight it, tried to hold out as long as she could, it was ever building. Her whole body jittered as the feelings began to carry their way to her brain, then out to the farthest regions of her body.
Soarin’ gasped at the sudden clenching of the mare beneath her. He had been close, holding back. Now she was squeezing him, growing even hotter than before. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and moaned. He bucked hard, driving himself deep into her .
Spitfire cried out as a wave of pleasure enveloped her body. Soarin’ pulled far back, and slammed himself in again, fueling her pleasure as pure bliss surged through her. Soarin’ let loose as the golden flier’s liquid’s began to leak around his length. His second time was even more powerful than the first. He drove hard thrusts into her with every pulsation. As he drew back, the warmth spread, and when he pushed back in his liquids seeped from inside her, wetting his legs and layering her golden coat.
Spitfire screamed in ecstasy, losing what tiny bits control she still had over her body. Her legs gave and she collapsed to the couch as Soarin’ continued to work her, somehow matching her convulsions with his thrusts. Tremulations overpowered her as she meekly pushed back at him, having not the strength to even cry out again.
After what seemed like only moments, it was done. He worked himself back and forth a few more times, savoring the tingling from between his legs and pleasuring himself with Spitfire’s subsiding moans. With one final thrust, he collapsed on her back and rolled them both over onto the couch. Spitfire was still completely disabled, working off the quakes that held control of her body.
Soarin’ lie below the mare. She smelt of love and sex. Gingerly, he lifted her and turned her over so she lie on his belly. He slid out of her and felt a wetness against his coat as both their liquids seeped from her.
“Spitfire?” he asked lightly.
She blinked her eyes open, having nearly dozed off. She looked down into Soarin’s smiling face. The smile wasn't cheesy this time; it was genuine and she couldn’t have found it more attractive. She shifted her weight on him and twitched at the tingling she felt in her belly. “You were the best,” she whispered.
He wrapped a hoof around her neck and drew her into a kiss. “Does that mean we get see each other again?”
She closed her eyes and went limp on him, exhaling a long, exhausted breath. “Yeah, but next time but you’re going to have to take me to dinner first.”
He smiled and closed his eyes, pulling the mare into an embrace and savoring her sweet scent. She nuzzled into his neck and made a little moan. Somewhere, deep down inside him, he knew that she was his. “Yeah.” He brushed her mane with a hoof and ran it across her back, feeling her, making sure she was still there. But she would always be there, and he would always be there for her. “I can do that.”