Octavia shuddered, baring her teeth in sensual bliss.
She also quivered. And trembled, and wiggled… because Octavia was a generous mare, and wished her pleasure to be shared.
Under her lay her heroic stallion, Stout Heart: Royal Guard, trusted security horse to Princess Celestia, and her inspiration… well, part of him.
Octavia was a noted celebrity, a gifted cellist whose life had been transformed when she began composing music, bold and emotive music, dedicated to the glory of her lover’s penis. She’d built a burgeoning career upon this girthy foundation, and rejoiced in continual return to the source of her new themes. And she shuddered again, ostentatiously, and then the breath hissed through her teeth as he swelled within her so fiercely as to almost make her vagina creak with the strain.
She’d meant that, on two levels.
Firstly, Octavia was a generous mare in more ways than one. She was riding Stout Heart in reverse cowpony position, and he was staring with hungry eyes at her soft, plump rump. Every exaggerated shudder sent ripples of flesh through her quivering buttocks, and she knew her Stout Heart loved nothing more than her curvaceous plumpness, and she was doing it on purpose to excite and please him as much as she possibly could.
The other part was this: Octavia was about to leave him, so she’d pulled out all the stops and meant to leave him with an experience he’d not soon forget.
He surged anew, as she knew he would, and her breath caught in her throat as the mighty cock swelled… and Octavia let out a little pony shriek, for Stout Heart knew his mare. She could clamp down on him in a fervent coital embrace, but not if he resorted to jouncing, and this he did.
And as Stout Heart jounced his burly guardpony hips upon the bed, his unthinkable bulk slurped deeper into Octavia in a lively rhythm… a rhythm that her sly composer’s mind took particular note of, with attention to tempo, touches of sforzando as the tender pounding shook her insides, accelerando…
Octavia squealed, her eyes rolling back in her head and composition (mostly) forgotten, and exploded into a building crescendo of orgasm, her body spasming enthusiastically until she nearly toppled over.
As she did, Stout Heart’s eyes widened to take in the radiant sight: not merely the joy of his beloved coming her tail off, atop him. Better than that. His trusty jouncing had sent her so mad with release that she’d lost all control of her voluptuous body. A scrawnier mare might have thrashed, or bitten. Octavia’s outburst was far more glorious than that. She rattled and shook incoherently like a cart racing over bad country roads, and since he was gazing upward at her lushly padded hindquarters, his view wasn’t of shuddering hocks or hooves clattering against the ground.
Stout Heart saw only his beloved’s ‘fat mommy hips’, as he fondly considered them, and Octavia’s ass was far too soft to rattle. Instead, as her tail thrashed silky waves of dark horsehair across his face, Octavia’s butt burst into exaggerated quivers like horny Jello, and even as he felt her enthusiastic clenchings, he watched her whole body ripple in waves like a stormy sea…
Stout Heart went off like a mighty cannon, unable to control himself or delay it for the slightest moment, his balls clenching and blasting his mare with a single huge burst of horsecome. Octavia’s squeal instantly went up two octaves, and her tail cracked like a very soft and bulky whip, and were she a scrawnier mare, she might have been blasted off him or simply flung herself clear in her own hysteria.
But, of course, neither of them wanted that, and she was not in the least a scrawnier mare.
So, Octavia hovered for a moment, soaking up the impact of Stout Heart’s explosive release and churning like a water balloon tied to a jackhammer… and then fell helplessly back against her lover, impaling herself deeply with a cry of lewd satisfaction.
Stout Heart scooted his butt back a few inches, just to make sure she was comfortable, though he was already beginning to subside. Octavia panted, her eyes still unable to focus. Stout Heart couldn’t hug her, for her head was down by his rear hooves. He consoled himself by caressing and petting her soft, ample posterior.
Octavia smiled groggily to herself. She knew her stallion well. They would kiss goodbye in public, face to face, and not shock Ponyville’s admittedly lax standards. Privately, their attentions could be more specialized.
Just as she bid farewell to his glorious cock, she owed it to him to let him bid goodbye, in his own way, to her fat, voluptuous ass.
Stout Heart fondled his lover in her post-coital stunned-senseless state for as long as he dared: there’d been times when he’d offended Octavia by such attentions, especially if he got lost in the experience and took hours. Then, his ears perked forward attentively, he directed his gaze to her lovely face, still turned away.
“Honey?” he ventured.
Her head turned, and he saw tears.
“Octavia!”
Octavia’s look was tragic. “Oh, I can’t bear it!”
He gave her a worried smile. Being the husband of a great artist sometimes called for careful handling. “Bear what, my love? What’s the matter?”
“How can I roam so far from you? My heart cries out!” She pulled free of his softened phallus, and turned to face him. “We’d better call the whole thing off.”
“But… the tour!” protested Stout Heart. “Haven’t they booked dates?”
Octavia blinked. “They? Just a moment, what do you mean they? Who is they?”
“You, of course,” said Stout Heart, “and DJ Pon-3 and I suppose your roadie and… um…”
As he pondered, Octavia frowned at him. “I’m no booking agent, dearest. Scratchie promises we’ll be fine. She’s from Neighpon, you know. She’s always so eager to find booking agents, but in this case she swears we won’t need them. We shall be iterant performers, traveling the countryside with our roadie and our instruments. There are no dates, and no booking. It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
Octavia heaved a great sigh. “I just can’t bear to leave you… even for the most glorious tour I’ve ever embarked upon. And I know you will be heartbroken without me!” She sighed again, even more ostentatiously. “There’s nothing for it, I must stay home.”
Stout Heart was a simple pony, but not simple-minded. The hint of a smile played about his lips as he studied his romantic, creative, impassioned, complicated beloved. His eyes narrowed, indulgently.
“Bullshit.”
Octavia’s sensuous eyes widened in outrage. “I beg your pardon?! Ah… why do you say that, my most precious love?” She favored him with an equally outrageous pout.
Stout Heart smiled more openly. “You’ll love it. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve been walking on air for weeks. You’ll go, and you’ll love it, and you’ll have a wonderful time and make legions of new fans.”
Octavia pouted harder, scrunching her nose.
“You can’t wait,” teased Stout Heart. “Go on. You’ll be a huge success.” His wry look softened. “I’ll be so very proud of you. Go. Go and show them what beautiful music is.”
She stared at him, undone by his sincerity, and deeply disconcerted by his attitude. “But… our timeless romance? How can I…”
“Didn’t you tell me that art and desire are bound together, but remain separately alive?”
Octavia boggled. “Stout Heart, darling! I was talking to a critic!”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Stout Heart resolutely. “It’s one of the wisest things I ever heard. And it explained a lot, Octavia. I love you. Go to Neighpon on your tour, and give some love to your art. I’ll wait.”
She gulped. “But how will I bear the separation from you?”
He winked. “Wait until you get back before you compose anything. We can’t have anypony else’s dick inspiring you too much, right?”
Octavia glowered at him. “It’s NOT just that!” Her lip quivered, and a tear came to her eye. “Do you not think I notice your kindness, your strength, the gentleness within you? Your wisdom, even now? Sex is most of my art but life is all of these things and more. I’ll miss you, Stout Heart. I really will.”
“Awwww,” said her lover. “But I still want you to go and have a wonderful time.”
“I’ll miss you,” said Octavia earnestly.
“Will you miss Ponyville?”
Octavia blinked. “Oh, Stout Heart. You know I’ve toured before. Half my heart’s in Canterlot, I know it as well as home. I am not some farm pony, to be lost immediately to homesickness. No. It’s you I’ll miss. Look, look, do you see my room?”
“It’s so empty. Without your cello, I mean.”
Octavia pouted. “The point is, my home is within my music, not house furnishings! It’s been ever thus! My cello is over at Sweet Apple Acres. Big Macintosh asked to have it early, so that he could practice fitting it carefully on the cart.”
From the other room, a brazen little voice called out. “You’re nuts!”
Octavia’s eyes widened, and she drew a deep breath. “Scratchie! You hurt his feelings when you refused to let him have your decks.”
Vinyl Scratch, much celebrated as DJ Pon-3, and trying to get some sleep before they embarked upon their big tour, made a face from under the pillow she was using to suppress the noises of her housemate and housemate’s mate. “I gave him all the heavy speakers! And I showed him how big a space the decks will need. You can’t ask them to be away from me the night before we travel! And you’re gonna owe an apology to your…”
“Shush!” decreed Octavia, knowing Scratchie’s quirks and her strangely protective relationship with her turntables. “We’ll sort it out tomorrow. And I know my cello will understand. We will travel Neighpon together, so she is letting me focus on my pony love for my last night in Ponyville, and rightly so.”
DJ Pon-3 snorted. “You should be with your instrument on a big night like this, not… whoring it out to our roadie!”
Stout Heart inhaled, ready to scold the recalcitrant Scratch, but then he found Octavia’s hoof tenderly touching his lips, and he remained silent.
“You’re nervous,” said Octavia into the darkness of Scratch’s room.
A pause, as Octavia and Stout Heart held their breaths.
“Yeah,” admitted Vinyl, a quaver in her voice.
“I trust you,” said Octavia. “Try to trust yourself enough to sleep, okay, honey?”
A smaller pause, more easily traversed.
“Okay,” said Vinyl, reluctantly.
She made no further request or demand, but Octavia and Stout Heart looked at each other, and Octavia added, “We’ll be quieter. We’re done.”
Octavia’s lip quivered in woe at the thought, and was kissed into quiescence.
She and Stout Heart snuggled close, and Vinyl Scratch resumed her attempts to sleep.
“Can’t you hold that more steady, Oakback?” demanded Applejack.
“Ain’t th’ steadiness,” said Big Macintosh. “That’s one of th’ big-size wagon wheels you got there.”
“Dang it! You’re right,” said Applejack. “Okay, let ‘er down, Oakback!”
The half-built wagon tipped, settling onto its unshod axle.
Two pairs of Apple eyes widened.
Big Macintosh flung himself onto the dirt, forelegs outstretched, and caught the toppling cello.
Applejack took off her hat, and wiped her brow with the back of a hoof. “Ah meant onto the dang hay-bale, Oakback, you blinkin’ idiot. All right! I think we’ve had enough pony carpentry for th’ moment. Nice save, Big Macintosh!”
“Apple Bloom kin put them wheels on,” suggested Oakback. “She’s gosh dern clever with a hammer.”
“Reckon you’re right,” admitted Applejack. “We’ll pick this up in th’ morning. You okay, Big Macintosh?”
Big Macintosh continued to hold the cello, his eyes wide, his fetlocks trembling. “Eyup.”
“I think we got your harness all fitted up,” said Applejack. “O’ course, stands to reason, don’t it? Harness is the same, cart’s all different, but it’ll be fine in the morning, ain’t that right?”
Big Macintosh rested the cello tenderly on a haybale, without a word. He stepped away, glanced at what remained of the old cart, and winced.
“Aw!” said Applejack. “Don’t you worry about that! First of all, what good would our Apple cart be without our Big Macintosh ta pull it, I ask you? An’ secondly, we are honored to help our Ponyville musical-ponies go on their journey. Don’t you worry, y’all be home before you know it, and you’re giving a beautiful country a taste of some beautiful music while you’re at it.”
She smiled, but Big Macintosh wasn’t smiling. Applejack cast about for further reassurances. “Are you worried about that Vinyl Scratch not letting us pack her record players? Aw, sugarcube, don’t you know that mare’s kinda funny about those? Prob’ly about the most easy-going unicorn crazy I ever did see, but for all that you won’t shake her on it: she weren’t NEVER gonna let them things out of her sight and you’re a fool to take it personal.”
Big Macintosh looked even more woeful.
Applejack tried harder. “I’m telling you, Vinyl Scratch don’t dislike nor mistrust you, not a bit of it, it’s jes’ her little ways. And Ah got a sense of how big them record players were and we’ve got it sorted, they will fit jes’ fine and we made a place for them already. Your lil’ tour won’t git marred by angry unicorns, so put your mind at ease. …okay?”
Big Macintosh tried to smile, but a sister knew. Applejack gulped.
“What’s hurtin’ ya, Big Macintosh?” she said. “Is it Braeburn? Ah shouldn’t tell you, he asked me not to tell, but ah happen to know that ol’ cowpony rascal, he’s waitin’ for you in bed. That’s why you ain’t seen him, honey, he wanted to give you a surprise. Don’t you fret, all right? We’re done here for now. You go on. He’s a-waitin’ for you, I promise.”
Big Macintosh’s ears laid back in distress. His lip quivered.
“Aw!” said Applejack, trotted up, and gave him a little kiss. “Ah called it! Din’t I call it? Go on. Braeburn wants to give you a lil’ send-off, and he’ll be waiting for you, and th’ tour will be done before you know it, and you’ll come home to your special pony jes’ as if you never left. Okay?”
Mac’s lip quivered worse, and then he was bawling as Applejack hugged him, confident in her diagnosis, soothing him earnestly. “Pore ole Big Macintosh! Ah know it’s hard to leave home, but it’s only for a while, an’ it’s a proper good cause! Should’a seen this coming, indeed I should, you ain’t never been farther than Fillydelphia! Or Canterlot, I guess. Trust me, folks is the same all over. Jes’ remember, we love you, an’ hold that in your heart! Everything’s gonna be okay.”
With that, she half-led, half-wrestled him out the big doors, around the side of the barn, and into the room that Big Macintosh used as a bedroom. Inside, Braeburn the fabulous cowpony lay across his bed, a rose held in his teeth… but he spat it out with a flailing of limbs and leapt to his feet in dismay at what he saw. “Princess!” he cried.
“It’s all right, Braeburn!” called Applejack. “Ah reckon it’s your magic we’re needin’ tonight.”
“What happened?”
“Big Macintosh misses us already, an’ he ain’t even left yet, much less come back!”
Braeburn took in the situation at a glance. “Applejack? Ah got this. Thankee kindly…”
“Ah kin stay an…”
“You kin leave,” said Braeburn firmly.
Applejack gasped. She glanced between Big Macintosh and Braeburn. Her jaw tightened.
“Hmph! Jes’ so’s you know, Mister Braeburn, there’s more to life than randy fuckin’.”
A new voice squeaked out from behind Applejack as she stood in the doorway. “Since when?”
Applejack didn’t budge. “Dashie, you settle. This ain’t nothin’ to do with you.”
The cerulean pegasus peeked over her, nuzzling Applejack cheek to cheek. “If there’s randy fucking that isn’t, I totally demand an explanation… oh hi Big Macintosh, Braeburn… hey, what’s up with Big Macintosh?”
“He’s goin’ on that big tour,” explained Applejack, “an’ he’s fretful.”
Rainbow Dash gawked. “Seriously? It’s not that far. I could fly there in a couple days if I really went for it… well, weeks, I guess. Nah, not more than a week.”
“Some of us got to go on hoof,” chided Applejack. “Or on a boat, which I got to say I’m kinda looking forward to. I bet you I’ll get my sea hooves right quickly! But the difference is, I’mma turn around and go right home again, and Big Macintosh has a tour to do first.”
“But that’ll be awesome!” argued Dash. “He’s helping the arts, with cellos and dance music. And he gets to see Neighpon, remember when the Kirin came to visit us? It must be an awesome country, so pretty, plus Twilight says they’re a kinky bunch and she showed me some pictures. I didn’t even know you could do that with a unicorn! Now I want to go.”
“Rainbow Dash! Back to the randy fuckin’ as usual. For your information, Big Macintosh is servin’ as a roadie, not some fancy foreign stud-pony, plus you know it’s more complicated than that. Ain’t you seen that Octavia around town, spendin’ all her time with Stout Heart the guard-pony? She’s goin’ on tour right enough, but she’s in love an’ I’m here to tell ya, and you should remember cos’ you’re part of the family, it ain’t so different between Big Macintosh and our Braeburn.” Applejack gestured with a hoof. “This seemin’ly wanton and wild-ass cowpony…”
“Wants some gosh dern privacy!” interrupted Braeburn, with an outlaw look in his eyes.
Applejack’s jaw dropped. She glanced, startled, at Braeburn, and was met with a hoof-stomp. Big Macintosh wouldn’t meet her eye.
“Uhhh…”
Rainbow Dash burst out into her squeaky little laugh. “For once I’m not the rude one! Come on, Boss. You’ve got tomorrow to say goodbye.”
“Ah guess,” conceded Applejack, scraping the dirt with a forehoof.
“Seriously, come on, give them some space,” insisted Dash. “I get that you want to say goodbye to Big Macintosh, but it’s even more crazy because you’re going on the boat with him!”
“I like boats, dang it!”
“You earth ponies are so into your family ties that it’s like you never go anywhere or see anything,” said Dash.
“He’s BEEN to Fillydelphia,” argued Applejack. She glanced to Big Macintosh for support, and he still wouldn’t meet her eye, and Braeburn lifted a hoof for more stamping. “Fine!” she said. “Good night, all. Enjoy yer randy fuckin’ an’ don’t stay up too late.”
Then, Applejack reared and squealed, for Rainbow Dash had her by the ear. “Yeee! Dashie, the hell?”
Rainbow released her. “Got your attention?”
“Jes’ a bit!”
“Good,” retorted Dash. “It takes a lot to distract you from their randy fucking.”
Applejack snorted. “They ain’t started! And I wouldn’t hang around watchin’ if they did, ma’am.”
“But you’ll hang around stopping them from starting,” teased Dash.
“What kinda talk is that?”
“Shh,” said Dash, her wings lifting. “Come away from there. I know how to distract you from randy fucking.”
Applejack began to sidle back out of the door, her ears curious. “That so? How you figure?”
“Oh, I think so,” purred Dash. She leaned in, and whispered, “All I have to do is give you some randy fucking of your own!”
Applejack canted her hips coyly, and swished her tail. “My own?”
“Our own,” corrected Dash. She went to nip at Applejack’s ear again, and drag her away, but her country marefriend frisked aside and pranced back out the door, calling out, “Ah’d like ta see you try!” Then, there was just the sounds of flapping pegasus wings and galloping hooves toward the farmhouse.
Braeburn glanced at Big Macintosh. Then… the sounds of wings returned, and a blue wing could be seen gently but firmly closing the door, and off Rainbow went in pursuit of her special somepony.
Big Macintosh gulped.
Braeburn went over to him. “Never you mind, Princess. They love ya too. Let me soothe your mind.”
And indeed it was a special thing, thought Braeburn. Big Macintosh, his ‘Princess’, stood shyly. He—or sometimes ‘she’, it depended—was so precious, somehow fragile. Others didn’t have that Big Macintosh, though Princess had got better about letting them know him. Granny had been a tough case, initially hostile, though as she learned better she permitted Princess to exist, and took pride in giving things like gifts.
Princess was shy, but hopelessly romantic. Princess made love like he was, perhaps, not allowed to. Princess was passive, receptive, but needed to be enclosed in a special and protective world just large enough for one massive, bashful farm horse and his outlaw cowpony lover. Their love was as big as all the prairie, and as secluded. It didn’t fit in towns and societies and… families.
And then, impossibly, Rainbow Dash had come to bring the two gay lovers home again. Princess was loved by more than just Braeburn. Loved so much, that they’d accept Braeburn just as he was, roguish fellow, to get their Big Macintosh back. And that was how it had gone, and the outlaw cowpony had taken up residence in Ponyville, in a little house that faced the sunrise.
The door didn’t open in the direction of town. Braeburn’s house turned its back on Ponyville, and opened to the wild prairie and Appleloosa beyond.
But it was always open to Princess.
And, in Big Macintosh’s bedroom, Braeburn without a word sought out Princess, with touch and petting and quiet, tender sounds. And, eventually, more… and as always, Princess didn’t cry out or carry on, even as Braeburn tenderly, firmly slid up her quivering tail-hole and held her close while the thunder steadily built to a crescendo, his powerful outlaw hips a poem of gestural caresses, too gentle and cautious to be the bold statements delivered to a female mare.
Princess didn’t make a sound, but as always her body in its glorious maleness responded with that beautiful, outlaw-sized erection… and, as Braeburn grunted and spasmed his gift into his only true love, also with a fantastic cum-shot that sailed right across the room and painted the wall. Big Macintosh always came hardest on the end of a horse-cock. Before Braeburn, this had been a source of horror. But before Braeburn, there had been no Princess…
Braeburn sagged, panting, sweating.
“Mmm?” whimpered Big Macintosh. His clenches, as he’d fired his own ejaculation at the wall, had pret-near crunched Braeburn’s dick clean off.
“Mmmmm…” reassured Braeburn.
Big Macintosh cried. Braeburn let him, whispering soothing words, cuddling. It had to be wrenching, to go on a tour like that. Once, Princess had returned to Ponyville and then couldn’t keep quiet about things, had to kick up a fuss and run away again to rejoin Braeburn, even if it had to be out on the lonely prairie. Braeburn hugged him closer, remembering those days, murmuring assurances.
“It’s okay… over ‘fore you know it… p’raps you’ll make some nice mares happy, won’t that be nice? We’ll be waitin’ for you.”
Big Macintosh’s eyes, full of tears and woe, met his. Princess was always so undefended, so earnest. Something about that bath of adoration and love, it gave you a real foundation on life, made a cowpony feel like a real stallion. You wanted to live up to it, that uncritical worship.
Braeburn smiled, his eyes crinkling up irresistibly.
“Ain’t jes’ your family, Princess. Somepony more than that. Somepony who will never leave you. Go on. Who’s your very most special somepony?”
Big Macintosh… looked away.
At that moment, Braeburn’s heart froze.
He covered for it, instinctively, saying “O’ course your family, well, that’s the most special thing of all, ain’t it?” He talked on, a lifetime of outlaw treachery coming to his aid, helping him not reveal his private feelings. At all costs, he could not dig deeper into the tiny crack that revealed the loss of all his foundations. Everything he knew, everything he was, united in screaming their warnings and he smiled and soothed and revealed nothing.
Once, Braeburn had shared his joys with a pegasus mare, and she’d got pregnant and set out to find him and keep him, and that was just hard luck, wasn’t it? That wasn’t the way the game was played. At the time, he’d clued in to what she was suggesting, and he wasn’t having any of that from a rogue mare who’d let herself conceive in spite of everything he’d intended.
It was easy to tell. He’d smiled then, too… smiled with a bright and innocent gaze, that hid the certain truth: he was going to leave and she’d never see him again, and he could see it in her eyes, see the realization that the sexy outlaw was moving on. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know. Her eyes were pits of quicksand, were snares… she would chase him until he dropped, because she wasn’t her own any more. She was his, body, heart and soul, whether he wanted it or not.
Braeburn fought desperately to keep that same look out of his own eyes. One glimpse into Princess’s truthful gaze had warned him, and he knew in his bones if he revealed his own weakness, it was over. Something had happened, and Princess wasn’t his, and he had to stall for time until he could work out what to do.
The prairie had all the time in the world. An outlaw cowpony knew that sometimes, you needed time.
He would need all the time of his whole life if he meant to exist… after Princess.
Braeburn smiled, gutted, as Princess looked away.
Big Macintosh, his bum throbbing delightfully, wept and stared at nothing.
There seemed nothing comforting he could possibly look at. His fate was too terrifying.
He would miss those he loved in Ponyville, sure enough. That was only the beginning of his problems.
Big Macintosh had lost his heart when a Kirin came to Ponyville. She’d been his lover, and they’d parted bravely, each realizing their worlds were too different, that they could not be each others’ special someponies. He had a home. She had… responsibilities.
As far as she’d known, he accepted this. And then, hearing that Vinyl Scratch and Octavia needed a roadie for a Neighpon tour, his world had ground to a halt in an instant, and become a stale puppet thing in the face of his grand new vision. And since then, he’d lived like some sort of spy: protecting his plan, but unable to tell any of the ponies he loved about it. This didn’t come naturally to him, but he wasn’t a big talker and that helped.
Big Macintosh wept. He would miss Ponyville, of course. But he was leaving on a boat bound for Neighpon the next day. He simply had to keep the secret, for himself and for Hina his Kirin true love, whom he would find in Neighpon… somewhere.
And he would learn to love her home and share it with her… for he would never return to Ponyville.