Caught
A set of mahogany doors swung on its hinges and slammed against the cream wall; the sweaty stallion who flung them hastily entered the small square room and whizzed his head from corner to corner. The antique furniture seemed untouched, hoofprints were absent from the velvet rug, the three large windows that illuminated the room were closed and locked, with snow piling onto the sill.
Sour Note whipped his handkerchief from the breast of his vest to wipe his forehead, then tossed it on the sofa next to the wall on his left. He moved to the cabinet nearest to him, gripped its doors, and flung them open. Sour briefly examined them, then moved onto the next, one by one, until only the wardrobe on the far right remained unchecked.
As he was about to peer inside it, the foot of the couch screeched against the wooden flooring under the carpet. Sour bit his tongue and sprinted behind the seat. He caught the faint glimpse of a yellow hoof right before a flash of light dazed him for a split second; when he came to, there was nothing for him to find. Though he rubbed his eyes for mere moments, another flare burst from behind him; the wardrobe’s doors had flung open, old trinkets and such spilled from its belly.
Multiple stomps hurried up the wooden steps of the stairs on the hall outside. Sour spat a curse and snatched his hanky from the pocket on his vest, and in his haste, dropped a pristine silver to the floor, springing open. His eyes lingered at the portrait hung inside of the object, if only to briefly look at the incandescent smile of the mare next to him. Sour sluggishly pocketed it, then made his way out and up the stairs.
At the top, the racket ahead of him turned ghastly silent as soon as he reached the last step. Sour scoured room after room after room, lacking results. Regardless of how close he got near his target, his chances always slipped away in a flurry of glitter. Hooves clipped against the floor tiles from his left to his right, the wooden flooring creaked ahead and behind him, echoing madly continuously and simultaneously.
“Come out!” Sour said. The sounds spun his head - the moment a porcelain tea set rattled, the christmas tree branches rustled; the door to a room slammed shut at the same time that something tugged his tail just before vanishing. Thanks to his alert state, Sour was able to grab an eccentrically shaped vase barely before it hit the floor. If any of his father-in-law’s antiquities break because of this ruckus, he’d have his head, for sure.
A lock of aqua hair sneaked from the other side of a red-furnished table, but it too disappeared before the stallion had a chance to catch up. “Alright, enough of this!” Sour said, “I know that it’s hard to master trills, but your father is expecting you to play at tonight’s party. Class was supposed to have started long ago, and I don’t have all day to teach you. Behave just this one time.” He sighed, then added: “Please.”
In spite of his complaint, Sour was pushed from behind. The stallion stumbled onto a table, then spun around, ready to catch somepony, but all that greeted him was hot air and dying sparkles. The split second that his head was turned, somepony threw a wreath at his head, which spiraled down his neck, then vanished once more.
Sour grinded his teeth and tossed the greenery blindly at the room. Just as he was about to raise his voice once more, the glimpse of a yellow hoof sneaked through the door outside. Sour sprang around the counter and after the pony. Foals are too much trouble for what they’re worth.
Thanks to his haste, he saw the same hoof enter the space next door before an emerald light slammed it shut. The music room! Even if he were blindfolded and plastered, Sour could trot across that room without even slightly grazing anything inside. It was about time he caught a break from this hassle.
Though in a hurry, Sour paused at the room’s threshold. The drapes blanketed the insides in shadows, the candles were unlit. Still, there was no reason to worry - the grand piano was ten paces in front of him, the seats six to the sides of the instrument, and there were no cabinets or some such objects one could hide inside.
Sour took one, two, three steps forward, then the world spun in front of him. His side stung slightly, and his legs clung to each other, tangled up on something. He rolled and struggled, but a pale green light tightened the grasp of the cords that coiled him like a snake. The magic which coursed through the rope gave life to dozens of blinking little colorful bulbs that dangled from it.
From behind the massive instrument, shrouded by darkness, approached a spark of the same color, channeled by a small aqua horn. The appendage shone brighter, shot a glittery trail towards the fabrics blocking the sun, and opened them.
In front of Sour danced an aqua filly with yellow combed mane, Minor March. Her little hooves stomped in place, and her smile permeated glee at his expense. Exhausted, physically and mentally, Sour sighed.
“Having fun?” Sour said.
The aqua foal blew a raspberry uncomfortably close to his face, then silently giggled at him. Sour helplessly struggled in vain to remove the bundle of lights that tied him, while his assailant jovially circled him, each one of her steps filled with mischievous intent. Pretentious little devil. He’d brawled, thrown insults and gotten pummeled by drunken, no-life stallions, with not an ounce of respect to their name on dirty and muddied streets before. But this? The humiliation of being treated like a foal’s - nay - a filly’s toy was by far worse. Bile should have risen from his stomach, but there was little heart left in him.
She approached his face with a combination of half-lidded eyes and a smug smile. “What’s it gonna take this time, March?” Sour asked.
March’s horn shimmered once more, and in between their muzzles floated a mistletoe. Sour’s eyebrow narrowed.
“Is that all?”
Though her smile was steadfast, March’s eyes shot to the ceiling. As much as he hated it, she kept all of the bargaining chips - there was little room for him to refuse this deceit-stunk mercy. Sour sighed, a habit of his whenever she’s around, and relented. “Fine. Have it your way.”
Sparkles spread across March’s pupils. The filly closed the gap between their mouths and pecked him. March showered him with kisses - innocent ones. Her lips were soft and warm, and despite the sweat that clung to her frame, she still smelled of her delightful perfume. The situation was nothing but bitter. Still, it’s better to endure her naivety in silence than to let her discover more things she shouldn’t at her age.
Bit by bit, the bondage around Sour loosened, barely enough to remove the ant-tingling feeling in his limbs. Meanwhile March, immature little schemer that she is, continued to kiss him with fervor. Her little nose tickled his muzzle and inspired much of his breath. Her enthusiastic eyes and her intensity could bring joy to any stallion with a pulse, but he wasn’t feeling it. He wasn’t that sick. Yet, probably.
Her mouth smelled of mint, fresh and inviting. Her loft lips were an adorable hue of red…Would her tongue also taste of mint? Sour’s started to sinfully loosen when March stopped and nuzzled him. Be a better stallion, Sour.
The lights around his legs had crawled off of him, animated by March’s magic. Before Sour could regain his footing, however, her emerald light pushed him back to the floor. Had to be a deal with the devil.
“What? What is it?” he said.
At a harsh click of a key behind Sour, he spun his head. When he looked back to March, her butt swayed from side to side, tail raised tall, mistletoe tied at her dock; the pink tint of her pussy glowed on her blue-ish fur, the green of her magic tugged her lips apart to reveal her red twitching walls.
“March, you-” Sour said. His words stuck to his throat carefully while his eyes shifted between the floor and the forbidden flower dripping sweet perfumes near his nose. “You know that this is wrong. You kissed me already, yes? If you want a practice partner, I could let you do that a few more times. But you- we must put a stop to this. We have been past the limit for long enough!”
Impatient, rather than disappointed, March faced him and moved her forehooves in practiced, careful motions. Each position that she made eroded the struggle that Sour had left in his eyes, who looked remorsefully on the floor ahead of him.
“Lick me like there again, else I’ll tell cousin.”
Had to be karma that brought her to find him interlocked with that maid in the closet. He should have been more strict. Maybe he just was dealt a shit hand.
“Please? It’s fun!”
“The deal was that you wouldn’t tell my wife,” Sour said with little breath in his chest. A red-faced March pouted, eyes tracing the corner of the room. Her shaky hooves traced the air, hesitant to form some of the words.
“The promise was that you’d do what I asked.”
Sour’s molars grind the insides of his cheeks. “I didn’t promise to go this far. I won’t keep doing this forever,” Regardless of her threats.
March, more or less satisfied with the response, sprawled her blue body belly up on the soft red carpet, legs spread out in front of Sour. The Mistletoe floated right above her rosy rose. Her head rose up to look him in the eyes, then signed him “Please?”.
Without many alternatives, Sour dragged himself close to her open rear and laid down on the floor. His nose had just caught up a savory whiff of her young mound when a snap and a flash blared behind him. Something atop of him pushed his muzzle against her clenched ponut, dock and tail. She had used strawberry shampoo that day. He could see clearer details of her anatomy than what he thought he ever would have.
Warm air prickled his left ear, then something clamped it. It wasn’t completely unsatisfying. Despite the added weight at the back of his neck, Sour raised his head. Almost like a mirror image, or something out of a foggy memory after a night out with a couple of mugs of ale, Silent Way, March’s sister, of yellow fur and blue mane, nibbled his ear like, as if she were an intimate lover.
The twin had spun his head the first time they’d met. Colors aside, they had many similarities, which took him some months to familiarize himself with. The exact same combed hair, but a few inches shorter; the exact same green eyes, but timid; the exact same talent, but leaned more towards the classics; the exact same mischievousness, but cautious.
“Nopony on this side of the mansion,” Way let go of her teacher and spelled.
“What about the maids?” Her sister shot back.
“The maids will be distracted for a while.”
“And to think that I trusted you the most, Way,” Sour said, solemn eyes cast on her emeralds. “What is it that you want today.”
“I want to taste you, Note.”
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Do what you want, perverse filly.”
A green ripple surrounded Way and brought her to ground level. She gaited to his behind, mistletoe in tow, head likely filled with wicked thoughts. Sour took a deep strawberry scented breath, raised his mouth up to the eager March’s pussy and pressed his lips onto hers. March’s gasp of joy was barely audible, but the shiver that coursed through her body, and the embrace of her hindlegs instead spoke for her.
There was a sharp tug at Sour’s tail, then the constriction of something tying at his dock. Damned Christmas traditions. Way sniffed his flank shortly before her tongue invaded him. Calm yourself, Sour. It’s a little filly, not some stallion. This isn’t gay. It’s horribly wrong and disgusting, but it’s not gay.
While Sour softly licked March’s clit, Way stuck out her muzzle deeply against his flesh. Her tongue prodded anywhere it pleased with total assurance. Sour paused - his legs twitched and his ponut tingled. This wasn’t him, it felt too strange. An incessant prod from March made him resume his work.
March’s folds were already wet with dew when Sour had started; now she trickled juices like a spring. Each single time that his tongue parted her lips, droplets of her perversion spread across his taste buds. Whilst Sour’s mouth was preoccupied with pleasing a twitching filly, his mind uncomfortably thought of how the foal on his backside unconsciously mimicked his own gestures.
Way was anything but awkward. Sour’s ponut clenched and pulsed, desperately trying to close down, but Werg’s flesh enlarged them instead. Her kisses made Sour’s legs feel queer. Unluckily, she would prod against a tiny knob deep inside of him, which not only caused his rear hoofs buckle, it made his cock shoot out from his sheathe like a push pop. This wasn’t him. This should not be enjoyable. He’s straight, damn it all. It’s just a filly, not a stallion, just a filly, not a stallion.
Sour’s cheeks sagged with the amount of nectar that had accumulated. Taste wasn’t the problem, it was anything but foul. If it spilled out, it would be hard and embarrassing to invent a believable story for the stains on the carpet. The pleasant smell started to ground itself into his maw. Sour steeled himself and swallowed. It was rather sweet.
Although mute, March’s breathless gasps weighed on his ears. Way’s hoof slid and splashed against her leaking pussy, even after she had come twice already. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to convince the maids that the fragrant smell on the ground came from a tea mixture.
Both of March’s legs fidgeted erratically around Sour’s neck - until she isn’t short of going limp, she’ll just put him into a chokehold again. Something damp trailed his backside, then a muzzle whiffed and worshiped his jewels. Despite all the sweat that he shed during his chase, Way tongue-bathed him as if she were desperately thirsty.
The smell, the taste, the - the incessant licking and prodding - Sour’s steel cock slapped against his belly. He should have resisted better. It was wrong for him to be so enamored by it all, even if his hooves were tied, figuratively. Good teachers didn’t tease their students ruby-red erect cliotris, until their labia spread out with desire to be bred, nor swallow their cum by the mouthful. A good brother-in-law wouldn’t lay crumbled on the floor and let his in-laws rim and suck him like a 10 bit saloon whore.
March gasped and gurgled, then came a wave that crashed against Sour’s muzzle. It should have been enough, but she kicked his neck down when he tried to rise from the floor. Greedy little devils, is what they are. Sour’s patience, vast as it is, whittled down fast, faster still now that a filly with a weird fetish suckled the side of his penis, fondled his balls and her winking flower with her magical touch.
Curse this filly! If she wants to cum so badly, then she will. Sour lashed out at her button in retaliation - licked, sucked, nibbled, strangled the poor thing. March, unaccustomed and unable to talk, could only gurgle unlady-like sounds, gasp rapidly, and clamp down on her lover. Way, meanwhile, traced the veins on Sour’s cock with her green aura, as her mouth greedily licked his girth and pre-cum as if he were as addicting as ale.
Sour puffed fiercely on March’s diminutive tits while he sawed the filly with his tongue. Suddenly, she pulled the carpet from under her and gasped deeply. Her cunny drenched his face with her sticky nectar.
Finally, after so much trouble, Sour managed to free his head from March’s limp legs. Slowly, he raised himself from the stiff position and massaged his poor neck, only to realize that not only that his face was still connected to the lecherous filly through several strings of thick juices, but also that her smell lingered on his nose.
He wiped his face vigorously, but her perfume remained. His hankie was drenched in it now too. it seeped into the frame of his locket; his wife was now bathed in a pool of her cousin’s cum. Despite the vivid colors of their coats and manes, he could only recognize the shades of pink and red spread on her rump. The pulse and bob of his cock matched his own heart, the fullness of his balls weighed him down.
He shouldn’t. He never wanted any of this. He isn’t a single minded beast, yet - he’ll still do it. He’s still aware of his mind, but he’ll do it anyway. At this point, the only way to go is downwards.
“Move, Way,” Sour said, “Flip your sister over.”
For somepony so attached to his bits, Way zoomed to March and shakily levitated her sibling on all fours. Though March’s front hooves were too wobbly to help her stand, her hindlegs mustered the strength needed to raise her flank up as far as possible. Her dripping tail moved to present her flushed crimson lips, spread wide and begging for cock. As if her winking pussy weren’t enticing enough, Way laid in front of the flower and caressed her sister’s clit with her tongue.
Sour’s frame towered above March’s, his erection easily found her pussy as if magnetized by it. Its head, which already had racked up tension from her sibling, found little resistance at her narrow entrance, slipped in and spread her whole. For her first time, she took most of his length without any hiccups - if Sour were a religious stallion, he’d probably thought that she was a temptress demon.
Compared to her Way’s mouth, March felt like hot magma. There were no sensual curves, nor any delicious folds inside of her, March was all but a sweltering hole tighter than anything that he ever felt. Her walls squeezed him from all angles with a vice grip tighter than her legs, her labia sloppily kissed his screaming medial ring and her- her womb. It toyed with his tip, asking for his seed.
March already had his pleasure, now it was time for Sour’s. Steadily but quickly, he punched her innards with his massive member without any thoughts on his mind about her safety. March was overwhelming, narrow, sweet, perfumed, and Sour wanted to bury his cock so deep inside of her that he’d break her body. So strong were the sensations that he almost missed the lap of Way’s tongue tasting his cock as she teased her sister’s abused button.
Their hips couldn’t meet, though Sour attempted anyway. His balls were damp, his ponut clenched madly. The inside of his ass was wet, stretched. It twitched. He still felt the appendage inside of him. Curse these two fillies, curse their mouths, and their flowers, and their flavors, and their smell! They’ve put him under so much stress, just to toy with him, to belittle him like this!
Sour’s nose expelled wave after wave of hot air, his teeth clenched on March’s mane and yanked her head upwards. Her whole body convulsed, then constricted him. His flare exploded, unloading a weeks’ or so worth of boiling seed deep inside of her, overfilling her developing womb, which pushed against the millimeters worth of space left between his cock and her tense walls.
Unwilling to let the feeling go, Sour pushed his hips onwards, riding out on the waves of cum that he shoots almost endlessly into her cunny. Only when his balls had been emptied did he let go of the lock of hair and breathed in gallons of air - his gasps were as desperate and ragged as the two under him. He tried to exit himself, but even still, March proved to be a pest and refused to let him go. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like his member wanted to relax, either.
Only after a short breather did his cock managed to pop out of the pink-white hole, so loudly in fact, that it sounded like champagne cork. His seed oozed out like a stream, and Way, the shameless filly that she was, stuck her muzzle as far into her sister’s pussy as she could to gulp his overflowing seed. Under her there was a huge damp splotch of her own juices, that seeped from her blushing vulva as she absentmindedly tickled it with her magic.
Sour sat, breathed, and waited for his boner to calm down. The mess that they made was inexplicable to anypony else but them. His hooves shook, grasping his face as he shuddered. He laid there, unblinking, thoughtless, for whichever amount of time that passed while the twins recovered.
“What a mess I am,” Sour says.
He waited, waited until his students - his in-laws caught onto their breaths. March, poor damned filly, was too weak to stand by herself. Sour tried to help her stand, but her wobbly hooves and stiff backside were wrecked. She signed something to him, but it was all incoherent babble.
Way, though still basking in her own glow, managed to retrieve her footing, if barely. Her horn sputtered, too buzzed to channel her magic. A mask of cum - both his and March’s - covered so much of her face, that she had to wipe it off before it seeped into her eyes.
“I love your taste so much,” Way signed. “Marry me too?”
“Keep talking and I’ll fuck you next, filly.” Sour said. Way’s ears sprawled to the back of her skull and her tail whipped her juices onto the piano as she tried to cover her damp bits.
“We’re… Such a mess. Let’s-” Sour said, sighed deeply as if his soul had left his body, and closed his eyes. “Let’s get you two cleaned. Then we’ll practice the songs that we’ll play for tonight. You’ve had your fun. So now do as I say. Else you’ll kill me.”
Both sisters nodded. Sour covered their puddle with couch cloth - it wouldn’t do much, but at least it was slightly out of sight. The place still stunk of brothel, unfortunately. As gently as he could, Sour draped the unconscious March on his backside and slowly led the way towards the mansion’s bathhouse, with little Way trailed closely, rubbing as much of herself as she could on him.
“Are the servants away?” Sour said.
Way nodded. “Shouldn’t stumble on anypony until sundown.”
“That’s- I don’t know what you two did this time, but that’s slightly comforting.”
“Marry us?”
“Shut up.”
It would probably take forever for Sour to bathe these two energetic and lecherous little demons into a presentable state. Though they seemed to be in the clear, Sour made as little noise as possible, stepping around creaky floorboards and listening intently for anypony. He thought of asking one of the maids for help dressing them up, but that’d probably open a can of worms that he has no patience to clean up after anymore. This family was a handful.
Speaking of family, Sour took out his locket and cleaned it with his vest - his hankie was beyond saving at this point. His wife, lovely mare that she was, deserved better. Maybe…
Perhaps if he borrowed one of her perfumes, it could mask the smell of illegal sex in the music room until somepony else cleaned it up. Or probably not. It could barely hide another stallion’s smell from her shiny coat. Celestia above, for everything that’s of worth in his life, please let her be untainted at tonight’s party.