Title:           Dash 1
Author:          HoofFetishWritefag
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/z0j4HcdQ
First Edit:      Tuesday 17th of July 2012 09:15:23 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Tuesday 17th of July 2012 09:15:23 PM CDT

This was a shitty short-form story I wrote like 2 years ago for one of the proto-/ptg/s that popped up every once in a blue moon. It's not very good, but I kept it here for memory's sake.
 
 
 
You're a resident of Ponyville. For the longest time, you had watched Rainbow Dash perform her tricks, thankful that she was around to perform the kind of stunts that would otherwise require the Wonderbolts to come to Ponyville (and they didn't come to Ponyville very often). The way she could gracefully execute complex aerial maneuvers, yet achieve speeds that belonged in the record books, had left you gaping in awe more than once. Sometimes, you even played with the fantasy in your head that you would spend time with her, even as a friend to hang out with, but being an Earth Pony whose work (per your cutie mark) consisted primarily of being a bartender, the only chances of interaction with her were occasional visits by her and her friends to have a fun night out, in which cases you had to be on your most professional behavior. Your luck suddenly changed, however, one night at closing time. As you walked around, locking up the bar, you heard a knock at the door. Sighing, your eyebrows drawing down, you get ready to go yell at whatever wretch was trying to get back in for more booze -- your bouncer, Strongarm, had tossed out quite a few guys deep in the drink that night. You were stunned to see that it wasn't an inebriated pony, though (you were sure it would be Berry Punch), but Rainbow Dash, her expression mournful to say the least. Tentatively, you open the door.
 
"Can I help you?" You ask her casually, despite the fluttering feeling in your gut. She says nothing, instead tottering in unsteadily and sitting at the bar. You follow, uneasy, with no idea what to say in reaction. Before you can come up with something else to say, she speaks.
 
"They told me to try again next time." The cyan pegasus's voice is misery incarnate. "One mistake, one step wrong, and they decide to can me then and there."
 
It takes you a moment to remember... the Wonderbolts audition. The one you had had to miss. They had come searching for skilled pegasi to join the team, and of course Rainbow Dash herself had leapt at the opportunity... not that you had the chance to watch, since you drew a shift at the same time as the events. Dash's voice breaks your reverie.
 
"To be fair to them, they were right... the kind of stuff they do, even the slightest mistake can end badly. It's just..." She ended with a deep sigh.
 
You tentatively put a hoof on her back. It wasn't the first time you cheered up a despondent pony, but this was Rainbow frickin' Dash.
 
"Ma'am," you say awkwardly, "for what it's worth, I think you're a damn good flyer. You don't need to let this eat at you like this."
 
She gives you a forced grin. "Look, I just want to drown myself in alcohol. Do you think you can help me out?"
 
You hesitate. You liked to think of yourself as a good colt, not letting people drink themselves into a bottle, but Dash wasn't exactly a chronic drinker. And besides, the sadness on her face was like a knife through your heart. You grin, and nod. "Yeah, let me see what I can put together."
 
And so you find yourself sipping scotch on the rocks while Rainbow Dash is tossing back a gin and tonic. To your surprise, the conversation you have is informal, and neither of you have even started feeling the liquor. You regale each other with funny stories, you of noteworthy patrons whose drunken antics would never leave your mind, and she of her friends' own shenanigans. One drink turns into 2, which turns into 'several'; an hour later, you're both well into your cups. Neither of you can even hold your heads up.
 
"So, there's the Princess, you know, the white one," she says, slurring uncontrollably, "just standing there with the dumbest expression as Pinkie Pie is marching past with those parasprites." Both of you laugh, you a chuckle, her an adorable crackling giggle. A silence falls, not an awkward one, but the casual one of two friends who are just enjoying one another's company. You push a peanut shell around idly with your hoof, looking up to see Dash staring at you.
 
"You know," she said carefully, "I don't want to seem like a filly running away from my problems with drinking." You shake your head, mind too cloudy even to assure her that you don't believe it; she seems to pick the fact up anyway. "It's been too long since I've been able to just... you know, let it out. Talk to somepony." She sighs. "Sometimes I wish I could do more than talk." She pushes back her stool, stands teetering for a moment, than falls onto her haunches on the ground. You raise an eyebrow inquisitively. "But," she continues, "I... ugh, I feel silly even saying it."
 
"Saying what?" you manage to finally get out.
 
She stares at you, eyes unfocused. The sobriety left to you tells you that you are probably just as drunk-looking, even as the booze washes away what comprehension your mind has left.
 
"There's... something I like." She is having visible trouble saying... whatever it is she's trying to say. She wraps her front legs around herself. "Something that makes me feel... good."
 
Your jaw drops, and immediately dirty thoughts race through your head. That inkling of sobriety you have left screams that it's time to end this, now, that taking advantage of a drunk filly is a terrible idea.
 
You brace yourself as she opens her mouth to speak again; she struggles with whatever she's trying to put into words. "I... can you... can you give me a hoof massage?"
 
The "no" you had prepared disappears in a wave of confusion. Say what now? Even as you attempt to process what you heard, Dash has begun a rant in only the way drunk fillies seem to be able to do.
 
"See I like ponies touching my hooves because it feels so awesome, right? Except that's such a girly thing and, well, I don't like anything messing up my reputation -- heck, remember that Gabby Gums stuff? If it gets out that I like something so girly, I'll never hear the end of it, and--"
 
"Okay," you say quietly. She stares at you.
 
"What?"
 
"Trust me, I won't tell anyone," you say, meaning every word. "And, to be honest, I hate seeing a filly like you so down in the dumps. If it'll make you happy, I'll do it."
 
A few moments pass. How do you even begin to make good on her request? Her front legs are still wrapped around herself, rear legs splayed out, her admittedly cute hooves -- like all pegasi's hooves, much more dainty than Earth ponies' -- facing right towards you.
 
You tentatively reach out one of your own hooves towards one of those adorable little legs -- and she reflexively draws them in, tightening her front legs around her body uncomfortably. You pause, unsure of what to make of it.
 
She bites her lip. "I'm sorry," she says, "I'm just so used to..." She trails off, and then extends her rear legs once more, squeezing her eyes shut.
 
You try again, noticing she is actually shivering a bit. You sigh. "Look," you say, "If you don't want me to--"
 
"Yeah, I do," she says fiercely, and even she seems surprised by her adamant response. Even so, she goes on. "Just... do it. Please."
 
The last word is almost begging, and you shake your head in bemusement. All the same, you extend your hoof, reaching out, almost touching...
 
As your hoof brushes hers, she draws in again, this time accompanied by that wonderful giggle of hers. "I'm sorry," she says, "that just tickles." Before you can say anything, the leg extends again. "Don't stop, though."
 
This continues for a minute or two, your attempts to give her a hoof massage turned into you tickling her -- while you can't say it isn't enjoyable, you sense that it isn't quite what she was looking for. Perhaps it's the alcohol, but you suddenly decide that it's time to be more forceful. You hold her leg back with one hoof while massaging with the other, and she bucks with laughter, but you continue regardless; as you go on, it apparently stops tickling so much, and before long you are working both hooves over hers, her laughter giving way to slight moans.
 
"Oh, Celestia," she groans, "Why did I not let this happen sooner?"
 
The massage is enjoyable to the both of you, but you decide it's time to break the tedium. Without so much as a second thought, you lean over and lick her hoof.
 
She stares at you in wonder. "That's so... eww, why would anyone do something like that?" You freeze, ready to have her berate you as a pervert, already imagining that she puts around town that you're some sort of deviant, but your thoughts crash as she bites her lip mischievously. "I can't say I don't like it, though..."
 
So now you're lapping at her hooves like a dog, and she's making no secret of the pleasure she's experiencing. You ignore the hoof she has between her rear legs, telling yourself again that this isn't the sort of thing you want to do with a drunk filly... but indulging in your own unusual fetish with a willing companion will do for now. Time draws on as it does when one is drunk, and an indeterminable time later, you finally give up, both her hooves covered in your saliva, she now openly pleasuring herself, and you marveling at your own luck. She realizes you've stopped, her eyes opening, and looks up from whatever world she was imagining herself in, and her eyes ask a question, THE question. And this time, your answer is ready. Who said an Earth Pony and a Pegasus can't have a meaningful relationship?
 
"No." Her expression falls, but you aren't finished. "Maybe next time." Her eyes light up.