Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo
You take a nice, long breath as your hands slide down the length of your nightgown, fingers brushing down against its frilly blue edges. Looks subtle... but not overly subtle... right? You glance once again at the bathroom mirror, having to lean quite a bit since it was made for those short ponies and all, and your eyes dance along the smooth, pastel colored fabric. It looks inviting, but not too inviting... eschewing the 'slut' look for a courtsean'-ish look, hopefully.
You cough anxiously, still watching your figure in the mirror. The bathroom looks plain enough, the hotel where you stand being on the cheap-side, and the gigantic mirror has to suck up everypony's attention even if they just want to watch their hands. You close your eyes and feel your ruby-red lipstick on your face as well as the smooth lotions slid along your legs and arms. "Alright, come on now," you mutter, "the longer I look in the damn mirror, the more I'll revert to thinking of myself as consisting of nothing more than thighs and a butt." Be positive about yourself at least once, girl!
The chunky-ish sensations there contrast, to your great frustration, with the relative flatness on your chest. You slide open your eyes just a little bit and hold your hands along the top of your nightgown, your mouth folding to a frown. The pretty tassels and other things seem to do a good job obscuring your lack of size.
Still, it just nips at you, much as you look forwards to your big night in just a few minutes. Flat! Plain! Plain and flat! Your hands move up to your long, frizzy hair, something like an alien being on your hand with locks that Equestrian brushes and conditioners can barely get a handle on. "Plain," you whisper, pressing your forehead upon the mirror, "what the hell would Big Mac see such a plain jane girl, anyways."
You take another breath, and you twist over towards the door. You make as if to punch the mirror for a moment, pressing your lips together as you hold your fist up. Enough of this, seriously! I'm fine. I'm more than fine. You just have to silence those pestering little voices in your head that have kept you shy and in the corner for years and years, just watching as the stereotypical bombshell-ish girls hooked-up with the 'bad boys'. Whatever the hell anyone said on Earth, this is a whole other goddamn planet, after all!
You make your way across the simple hallway and look over at Room 101, smiling brightly. You can feel yourself already blushing as you think about what you have planned. So what about those whorish chicks and their bad boys? You have the exact antithesis of those 'bad boys' right behind this hotel room door.
"And there you are," you murmur in a low, hopefully seductive sounding voice as you slide yourself in the room. Your eyes drink in the atmosphere-- shifting around from the big brown burning candles to the bowls of cinnamon-flavored potpourri to the massive purplish-red bed sitting in the middle of the room. Your smile builds as you stick out your right hand and point over at the object of your affections, that amazing stallion with the powerful hooves and the handsome features.
"Eeeeeyup," Big Mac replies, sliding down along the bed-sheets ever so slowly. He looks up with you with those huge-looking eyes of his, such tenderness and sweetness shining off of them. You can hardly imagine any other guy-- human, pony, griffon, or otherwise-- looking his handsome.
You silently bend your fingers over, running your hand along his thick, orangish-yellow mane. Your body curls all around his without a second to even think, both hands of yours now brushing through his mane. It looks brighter and more colorful than usual, no doubt something recommended to him by his always advice-full younger sister.
"Mac," you mutter, nudging your face against his cheek. His front hooves gently rub against the front of your dress as your fingers keep on sliding through his mane. You move them on over along his back, massaging him as the stallion seems to try his best not to moan with pleasure.
"Oh, you," he whispers, his tail flipping over and petting against your back. You lay a trail of soft kisses along the back of the stallion's neck. He closes his eyes and slowly breathes out. Both your arms pull him close into a deeper embrace, and his smile grows even wider.
"Oh, you big lug, I wish you'd just admit that you like being hugged, cuddled, and hair-brushed as much as any mare," you remark, making pinkish shades appear upon Mac's cheeks. Your fingers dig into his body, going along his back over to his belly and chest. His front hooves, clearly so powerful yet so measured and cautious draw spirals upon the front of your nightgown.
As much as you love this moment, being there in the close grip of the stallion that saved you when you first popped in Equestria, you find your mind flashing back to the past several days. The night at Rarity's boutique, with him even trying on my dresses on himself! That 'Happy Immigration' party at Pinkie's house when he asked me to dance! That stay in Nurse Redheart's clinic, with his hoof resting against the side of my bed all through my recovery! You literally fell out of the sky with him to break your fall.
Not even a Stephanie Meyer novel could sound that trite and melodramatic, and yet it all had come true for you. His hooves slide down your sides as your kisses upon his neck become more and more messy, your tongue running over to his cheeks, and you feel coated with his fluffy aura of total bliss. In his eyes, he has found a bewitching alien seductress with her talented skills from her interplanetary parts, especially your gentle fingers.
In your eyes, you've gotten a true gentlemen (or gentlepony, whatever) with such old-fashioned ways, having patience like a stoic as well as strength like a machine. Both of you can't be happier, you know that. Mac pulls up your nightgown, looking up at you anxiously to be sure that you want him to proceed. His begging face seems so unbelievable cute, especially with his flickering eyes.
"Eeeeeyup," you playfully comment, and Mac takes the blue fabric right off of you. You pant a bit, feeling pangs of nervousness with your now-naked body totally exposed, and you lean back as Mac positions himself on top of you. You can see the sweat starting to dot along his forehead.
"I love you," you murmur, running your right hand along his cheek. He doesn't hesitate for even a second, pressing his head down. Your lips meet. Pleasure shoots through both of you, tongues dancing.
He breaks the kiss to nudge his head down, slobbering along your neck. You let out a soft whine as he reaches your breasts, lips pressing against your skin. He's not holding back in the slightest. With his hooves brushing against your sides, making sure that your bodies have locked, Mac suckles your chest for what feels like years and years. Your mind seems to float off into the distance from the total bliss.
"You like suckling from extraterrestrial breasts?" you taunt Mac, your breaths filled with pleasure soaked gasps. You sense his hooves pushing along your belly over to that most important area between your legs.
He makes something like a muffled "Eeeeeyup" as his face slides between your breasts, his tongue flicking against your nipples. His hooves brush against your womanhood for the first time, both of them getting quite wet. You groan with total abandonment.
"Than are you prepared for your close encounter, Mac?" you moan, giggling afterwards both from Mac's lips slurping against your belly and from you realizing the silliness of your dirty talk.
"Oh, you... you're something... else..." Mac whispers, emotions just dripping off of his face as he gazes upon everything between your legs. Your exotic nature has to have brought him to some sensual high unlike any of his equine girlfriends. His hooves brush up and down along your thighs.
For your part, you can count the number of previous sexual experiences you had back on Earth on just one hand. You feel so attracted to Mac's great personality as well as his handsome stallion body; it's totally impossible to separate the two. His mane flops along your leg, his tail stroking your feet, as his lips meet your vulva. He tries nothing more than a simple kiss.
Then another.
And then yet another.
He steps upwards suddenly, his body lifted above yours as you lie upon the massive bed, and you know that he feels like he can hardly wait another second. You close your eyes for a second, breathing in steadily.
"Now, I know that you might be wondering about," Mac begins, and you open your eyes once again, "things in terms of 'fitting'." He shifts his head to the side a bit, his expression letting out some shades of smugness. "I can assure that--"
"That what?" you say, trying to look down Mac's body. Hold on a moment here... He seems totally slender and smooth with no parts attached on him, looking like a Ken doll or a Macy's mannequin. Uh...
"That I'll be gentle," he goes on, a smirk appearing on him with his tone going into full smugness, "you'll be overcome a bit, but with--"
"Hey!" you suddenly call out, leaning up a bit and pointing.
"What?" he asks, his features turning towards complete confusion.
"Oh, there's your dick!" you yell, your fingers brushing up against his chest and pointing between his legs.
"Uh, yes," he mutters, blinking rapidly.
"It was so small that I couldn't see it at first," you say, not even putting a single second of thought into your words.
"Okay," Mac replies with a light, almost mouse-like voice. His face melts into a look of deep pain as if he had just gargled razor blades.
To make it even worse, you find yourself reflexively smiling brightly. "But I spot it now."
Mac's eyes narrows, with him looking about to cry at any moment, and he nods, his mane flipping about his neck.
"So, ah," you mutter, the full repercussions of this recent conversation starting to hit you. Fortunately, you seem to have a delayed reaction, your hands running along your frizzy hair.
"Yes," he whispers, sitting upright now with his back straight and both hooves facing you. He stares straight at your face as you stare straight at the area on his crotch.
"You can just go ahead and, ah, you know," you say, trying to put the seductive tone back in your voice. You spread your legs a bit wider, your hands cupping your breasts as your head brushes against the pillows behind you.
"Alright," he says, although he remains about completely still. His colthood has shrank for a while now, and it seems as dormant as a existent volcano right now. "It's just..." He finally scoots himself closer to your body, his ears flicking around in circles. "I'm used to mares."
"Right."
"And mares, you know," he brushes his neck nervously as he goes on, his blushing getting so intense that his cheeks seem pink as Pinkie Pie, "they're only like-- ah--" He takes in a torrent of small breaths. "They have tiny spots on their plots."
"Okay."
"So, well, when I'm with a mare, and I'm about to... do... things... with them... they usually, you know, they start by spending all this time being shocked and worried about, ah... They go: 'Oh, it'll never fit'. They go: 'Oh, that'll tear me apart'. And the like..." Mac says, his voice getting even fainter than the air-conditioning noises. "So, I'm, ah, used to girls giving me that reaction."
"If we get scientific," you say, and you immediately regret that choice of words but you resolve to keep going, "you're like three feet two inches tall as well as like one-hundred-fifty pounds." You take a gulp, your hands anxiously rubbing against your knees. The area between your own legs feels a lot drier than you'd like it to be. "The average man, at least in Equestria, stands like five feet eleven inches tall and weighs just a bit under two-hundred pounds. Since you're a pony, well--"
"You know, you don't have to, ah, you don't have to keep talking about it." Mac holds his face in both front hooves in shame.
You bounce over to his side, caressing his back and brushing your head against his neck. You try to put on a soothing tone of voice. "Mac, look, there's nothing wrong with you! You're made for ponies!
"Whatever," he groans, tiny sloshes of tears going upon his hooves.
"There's nothing wrong about being only three inches!"
He makes something like a set of light chirps, like a downtrodden bird, and he curls up into a ball upon the bed, breaking from your embrace. He shifts over to the opposite side of the bed.
"Sweetheart," you say, looking up at the ceiling and lying flat on your back, "you need to know something."
"What!" he bursts out in a mixture of sadness and anger, clopping his hooves against his chin as he glares at the floor.
"You can still keep going, you know?" you say, "it still fits." You pause, knowing that you're talking in an unenthusiastic monotone, and you creep over on all fours upon the bed.
Mac begins, "It--"
He lets out a groan as you reach across from behind his back and start stroking his flat stallionhood. It inflates back from its one and a half inch slumber into its three inch glory. Mac's face contorts, pleasure rippling across it, and his hooves shiver.
"When I said 'I love you'," you murmur into Mac's left ear before giving it a nice slurp from top to bottom, your fingers dancing up the stallion's member, "I meant that I'd love you forever."
Mac turns his head over, and you kiss once again. Your fingers curl against the tip of his stallionhood as your lips messily rub against his. After just a moment, he rubs down your belly over to your womanhood, and you feel ready to go once again. You break the kiss first, seeing him smile widely. You smile back.
"This time, with feeling," you awkwardly joke, pulling your body to the side. You position yourself over him with your eyes locking against his as his small yet throbbing stallionhood nudging right underneath your soaking wet slit. He's sitting up at full attention, his mouth open with his tongue hanging out.
You close your eyes as your prepare to ride your stallion like a true cowgirl. You let out a deep moan, pressing downwards. His hooves brush up to your breasts as his body shivers in pleasure. Amazing sensations fly through your mind as well as you take him in.
Finally, sliding all the way downwards, you feel his whole thing pulsing inside your womanhood. Mac's face buries against your neck. You simply groan. He drools upon your bare skin as your fingers grip the back of his shoulders.
You slide yourself upwards ever so slowly. "Oh, God!" you call out. You can't believe it. Despite everything, you feel more than ready. Your coltfriend has got you gripped closely, he's crying out in total bliss, and you just love it. Your body shifts off of Mac, prepared for another passionate pump. "Oh, Mac-- baby-- I'm ready for a long, and full, night of--"
*Unnnnnnf*
You blink. You hold your hands up, wiggling your fingers. It all seems like an out of body experience for a moment.
"What?" you mutter, looking down. You see Mac panting loudly, his hooves rubbing up and down against his face. His now limp stallionhood flops over upon his thighs as Mac lays prostrate upon the bed. "Oh, you have..." You look down at yourself, seeing a few scattered drops of white film upon your womanhood. "You have got to be..."
Mac makes something like a light coughing sound. You glare over at him as his eyes shut and a low, buzz-saw-like snoring sound begins. His body curls over to the side, brushing up against the bed's fluffy pillows.
"You have got to be kidding me!"
Several minutes later, at Rarity's place…
Spike gives you a thumbs-up sign, and you stick your head out of the shower stall. You clear your throat as you clutch the bottle of 'Bubble Berry's Champagne Conditioner' in your fingers, wondering why the hell anypony could have thought up that licensing deal. Spike holds up his scroll, looking halfway at you and halfway at the smiling reflection of a baby dragon coated in Sweetie Belle kisses. You wonder why some ponies have all the luck in their love lives before clearing your head.
Dear Princess Celestia,
Today, I learned that it’s deeply wrong as well as just plain silly to think that beings that are from planets literally thousands and thousands of light-years apart can have sex.
Really, what the foxtrot uniform charlie kilo was I thinking?
Your faithful servant,
"Hey, wait a second," Spike says, cocking his head and holding a paw against his cheek.
"What?"
"What the hay is a 'foxtrot'?"
"I'll tell you when you're older," you say, popping yourself back into the shower and sighing.
The End