My heady elation at exercising with Dr. Ace slowly fades over the afternoon. I’ve got to at least tell Rarity, somehow. She could keep a secret, couldn’t she? No, no that’s just the opposite of what she’d do. Besides the fact that Rarity is enough of a gossip queen to actually rifle through my saddlebags to get a copy of the Foal Free Press, this is Sweetie Belle’s sister. She’d totally freak! Maybe I should tell somepony besides Rarity, like any pony besides Rarity. Is she going to... it was just so scary the way Luna exploded that nightmare, like it was nothing. Is Luna going to do that to me? Just, blow me out like a flickering candle, strip me off of Sweetie Belle like an ugly smear of pond scum?
My frie–Sweetie Belle’s friends aren’t much help for my declining mood either. Rarity takes me to the playground again to find them. Both Scootaloo and Apple Bloom are super excited, the first time they see me that afternoon, but I can see the disappointment fill their faces when they learn that I can only just barely toddle around, and only if I am paying all my attention to walking. Rarity leaves me with them though, and I apologize of course. And of course they pretend that it’s no problem, but I can see it in their faces. We can actually sort of look normal, while walking. Even though I sort of look like a robot while I’m trying to walk. Many of the foal groups... cliques? are walking around the playground. But mostly me and the other two just sit there by the swings, and talk about stuff.
We don’t talk about anything in particular, but it’s really kind of neat what eight or nine year old girls are interested in. Mostly I just listen to them. They’ve got a fresh feel to their attitudes, with not a lot to go on, but a lot of enthusiasm to go. Scootaloo likes talking about her scooter (duh) but also about a sleepover that she and I had at my... my actual house. Both Apple Bloom and I get the details from her what happened, though it’s kind of vague at what point the party games stopped and the sleeping began. Apparantly Scootaloo and I kept sneaking downstairs to try out things that we hadn’t thought of during the day, and only got caught when my father—when Sweetie’s father came down to get a glass of water.
And Apple Bloom doesn’t exactly have an encyclopedic knowledge of her family’s crops, but she does love what she’s learned about all the things you can eat. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, the Apple family has a lot more crops than apple trees, and equally surprisingly or unsurprisingly they make all their bits from the apples, despite the staples being more strictly important for survival. It doesn’t bother Apple Bloom, because she says that means her family’s apples have more happiness in them, whatever that means. She also is eager to talk about her plans for the clubhouse, and for how much fun she found Equan-do after Rainbow Dash got her interested in it.
That gets Scootaloo started on Rainbow Dash, which... she can pretty much go on forever like that. Honestly her knowledge of the exact aerodynamics of Dash’s flight moves, is kind of impressive. She actually manages to explain how Dash could perform a perfect 90 degree turn after hitting supersonic speeds, in a truly marvelous proof that even a filly could understand.
But, talking does wear on, and I don’t have much... time. I look up at the sun, still high in the sky. At the first lull from Scootaloo, I say a little hurriedly, “Why don’t we go do something?” ...managing to jump to my hooves.
“Like what, Sweetie?” Apple Bloom asks plaintively, “You caint even walk ye—” she blushes and ducks her bangs over her eyes saying, “Ah mean you cain walk just fine ah didn’t mean to imply that you caint.”
“Psst,” Scootaloo says subtly, leaning over to Apple Bloom’s ear, which perks towards her in response.
“What about the ring thing?” Scootaloo whispers loudly, glancing at me furtively. Apple Bloom’s eyes widen and a smile breaks across her face, “Awright, ah forgot about that!” she exclaims, turning to me eagerly. “Hey Sweetie Belle, ya wanna see something we thought up, it’s gonna be real cool!”
“What is it?” I ask with justifiable suspicion. It’s hard to look straight at them when I’m feeling wary. I kind of shift sideways a bit, just in case, because I really don’t like the looks on their faces.
“It’s a surprise,” Scootaloo grins goofily with a little hoof dance.
I start to shake my head, and Apple Bloom cuts in saying, “Y’don’t have to, just come on and check it out and tell us if you want to try it. Even if it ain’t your cutie mark, it might be mine, and ah think you’re gonna love it when you see it!”
“Well... maybe...” I say. Maybe I can at least keep them from killing themselves since they seem to be otherwise completely unsupervised. “Where is it?” I ask testily.
“At the um...” Scootaloo leans closer to me, whispering, “You know, the secret place?”
“The clubh–” I say excitedly, immediately subject to dual filly hoof plug. When released, I say excitedly, “Yeah, that sounds great! Let’s go!”
10 feet later, I’m picking myself up again, and they’re looking back at me unhappily. Scootaloo’s just barely dragging along on her scooter, and Apple Bloom can’t even walk slowly enough that I don’t fall behind. “We’re never gonna get there,” Scootaloo moans, knocking her forehead against the steering bar.
Apple Bloom looks between us awkwardly saying, “Yeah, I... dunno...”
“Yeah, I can walk a little, but...” I look down at my uncooperative hooves, sighing. “Sorry. I guess I just need more therapy. This morning was amazing, but... I’m not going to win any races for a while.”
Scootaloo pauses, then stands and clipclops over in front of me, asking me with a curiously nervous tone, “How did your therapy go this morning?”
I give her a little look, and say obviously, “I’m walking?”
“Well y–” Scootaloo hesitates, taking a half step back as she looks down, and then up again with a... hopeful expression. “You saw Dr. Ace though?”
“Um... yes?” I admit hesitantly. “He is the doctor after all.”
“What was it like?” Scootaloo asks, with the perkiest ears.
One of my own ears turns askew in confusion. “What was what like?” I ask, “The exercises?”
“No, it–” Scootaloo is blushing now. “I mean Dr. Ace. I was wondering how he uh, felt.”
Oh. Oh. Oh dear. Is– is it normal for her to ask this? Is it because I’m a girl? Do girls ask each other this? How much does she know? She doesn’t think I fucked him?!
“He felt um... we didn’t do anything. I wasn’t touching him?” I say, unable to resist shifting back and forth, hip deep in a growing sense of dread.
“Well it’s just I mean, you sort of know about ...boys,” Scootaloo hoofs at the ground, and her tail dips down, and her wings are um, sticking up. Does that mean what I think it... is she getting a wing boner?! “And I wondered what it would feel ...like.”
“I mean I don’t feel like that,” Scootaloo adds quickly with a hair toss, maybe mumbling afterwards, “...yet.”
I look at Apple Bloom, standing now at Scootaloo’s flank, who just shakes her head slightly giving me a look of uncertain desperation right back. I am not qualified to give advice on this! I am like the least qualified creature of any age, species, sex or universe to offer relationship advice to a little filly! I try to smile at Scootaloo soothingly, saying to her with honest confidence,
“Scootaloo, you will feel nothing like I do.”
And she just rolls her eyes at that. Great. “I know everyfilly feels different,” Scootaloo clarifies roughly, “I just—”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” I say with a quick head shake. I’m not even a filly. But how do I even tell her that?
“What then,” Scootaloo says looking at me with an exasperated glare, “Because I’m not pretty like you?!”
“N-no I mean,” a tremble is creeping into my voice, so I stop talking, and put my hoof down. When did I lift that thing? “I have...” my ears tilt. I untilt them, deliberately.
“I don’t feel like a girl is supposed to feel around boys,” I say straight to her. “I mean, even an older girl feels different than I do. I get more nervous and um... you won’t feel like it’s weird and wrong like I do. At least I hope not.”
“It is pretty weird,” Apple Bloom puts in, “If’n you wanna be someponies with Dr. Ace. He’s what, like five times your age? I wouldn’t say it’s wrong though?”
Wow Apple Bloom that—that’s actually a pretty freaking big multiplier there. “I don’t want Dr. Ace as my sp...ecial somepony,” I tell her. “He just makes me feel funny.”
Hello blood, I was missing your entire presence in my face!
“Funny, how?” Apple Bloom asks me skeptically.
Without making eye contact, I manage to say, “W-w-ell I see, it–I was just, when I t-talk to him he’s really nice a-and that makes me all um... inside my... tummy feel... fuzzy.” Yeah this is going well. I think I’m ready to submit my dissertation now, professors. Cool as a cucumber. “A-and he helped me and he s-smelled good and I um...” I really should stop talking. Actually, I really should cause my head to spontaneously explode. That would be a good solution. “He helped me to walk,” I finally manage to say coherently, “And I just had to rub...” oh god I don’t want to say this, “rub against him, and I shouldn’t and... funny! You know, funny!”
Apple Bloom squints at me, saying with curious surprise, “You mean like yer cheek?”
Well, I sink down, and hide my face, but I manage to nod despite being crouched there, saying “Y-yeah.”
“So he helps you to walk,” Apple Bloom remarks speculatively, walking around me a pace, “It makes yer tummy feel fuzzy. An’ you rub on him, because he made ya feel good.”
“...yes.” Something about her skeptical tone is making it hard to stay alarmed. I look up at Apple Bloom, and she’s looking quite confused at this point.
“Ah don’t get it,” she says with a wiggly tail hip sway, “When did you start feelin’ funny?”
“Rubbing against a stallion isn’t funny?” I whine at her with a frown.
“For you Sweetie Belle?” Scootaloo exclaims next to Apple Bloom in severe disbelief. “After he helped you to walk?”
“Golly Sweetie,” Apple Bloom says with a half smile, “Ah rub up on ponies all the time! What’s so strange about that?”
“...because he’s a stallion?” I ask and claim. Apple Bloom just doesn’t get that it’s a stallion, and you can’t do that to stallions or they’ll have sex with you. It’s obvious, right?
“Ah rub up on mah brother every evenin’ when he brings all the apples in,” Apple Bloom says smugly, “An’ he rubs up on me too, and so does Applejack. We’re all family!”
“Yeah but, Dr. Ace is not my family,” I try to clarify. “It’s different when it’s family.” At least I hope it’s different. It would be so hot, if it’s not.
Apple Bloom hesitates, but shakes her head saying, “It really ain’t, Sweetie.”
Scootaloo nods at that. “Yeah, I’m the weird one there, not you.”
“It feels homier when it’s family, sure,” Apple Bloom says waving a hoof offhanded...hoofedly. “But it’s just natch’ral. There was a stallion the other day at the market who got a whole basket of apples for his friends’ birthday, and ah felt so good t’be helpin him out ah was rubbin’ on him without even knowin’ him!”
I stare at Apple Bloom in enough disbelief that it’s hard to even wrap my brain around the concept. She was rubbing herself all over a strange stallion just because he bought some apples?
“An’ so was Applejack!” she says to me challengingly.
Taking my blank eyed silence as disbelief, Apple Bloom adds submissively, “An’ maybe not as much, ‘cause mah sis stopped after a sec, and stopped me an’ said to stop botherin’ the poor stallion, but everypony feels like that.”
“Maybe everypony who’s a wimp,” Scootaloo says with an eyeroll.
“Who’re you callin’ a wimp?” Apple Bloom challenges her. “It’s just rubbin’ and showin’ affection. Ain’t nothin’ wimpy about hugs!”
“Yeah, well anypony touches this, and they’ll get burned because it’s hot as fire,” Scootaloo says, pointing a hoof at her hindquarters. Touching her hoof down, she adds, “Tsss!”
It’s just so absurd that I have to laugh. Oh, it turns out laughter can reboot a brain. Who knew?
Pulling myself to stand again, chest still shaking with weak giggles, like little shakes of relief, I say, “Okay... fine. Maybe I wasn’t feeling too funny about Dr. Ace. I um, I maybe forgot that was um, normal? It was what I was thinking that wasn’t normal.”
“What were you thinkin’?” Apple Bloom asks me curiously. Why do I even try to use my mouth? Resolutely, I shake my head, saying,
“No.”
“But–” Apple Bloom starts.
“I do not want to talk about it,” I tell her urgently. “It makes me feel... I’m just not comfortable ...saying.”
A hesitant silence from both of them. “It’s like Scootaloo’s touching,” I try saying, hoping I understood that right. “I’m just not comfortable with it.” Scootaloo actually looks away with a noticeable slump in her posture. What did I say? She looks terribly—
“Okay, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom says to me, and Scootaloo just perks right up at that. What? “We can talk about something else.”
“O...kay...” I say uncertainly, shifting unsteadily on my fingertips again. Hooves. Whatever.
“So, what were the exercises?” Scootaloo puts in. “You said something about them, before I got all stupid on you.”
“You’re not stupid, Scootaloo,” I admonish her, “But okay, here’s what we did...”
It’s super adorable when I tell them. After I explain to them about the 1,2,3,4 thing, Scootaloo is all, “Hey, we can do that too!”
Apple Bloom nods eagerly, from where we still stand over by the swingset, the direct sunlight beaming down on me, through those candy colored locks that keep getting in my vision. “Yeah!” Apple Bloom says to the orange filly, “You show her Scootaloo, an’ ah’ll call out the numbers!”
So now Scootaloo is trotting, then gallopping around in a circle, then trotting again, trying to go slow enough for Apple Bloom to count, and Apple Bloom’s doing her best but Scootaloo’s not going slow enough, so she ends up mixing everything up: “1, 2, 3-4, 1, 3, uh... 1, 2, stop goin’ so fast Scoots!”
I hide a giggle behind my hoof.
Before they can get too upset about it, I wave that hoof saying, “Wait, hold up!” With both their attentions I tell them as seriously as I can manage, “Dr. Ace is really good at this. You don’t have to worry. He’s going to get me to walk really good. Why don’t we do something else instead?”
Apple Bloom whuffs in frustration, saying a bit snippily, “Hard to please are ya, Sweetie? We were goin’ to the clubh—” double hoof plug. Whew. Wait, did I just stick my hoof in Apple Bloom’s mouth?! While I pull back, wobbling on three legs looking at my hoof like it was an alien limb that shouldn’t be mine, Apple Bloom shakes her head and continues, “But we wanna get there sometime today, so I dunno.” Her mouth was all slimy like a—like a mouth! I didn’t even think about it; I was just trying to keep her from spilling the secret to... someone. I don’t have any instincts for walking, but for hoof mouth plugging I do?
At last, I settle for utter confusion, and for wiping off my hoof off on my chest. It’s ...surprisingly not all that slimy, considering where it just was.
“If only I had my wagon, I could take you two,” Scootaloo grumbles. “I’ll go totally slow if it means being able to go faster than this.”
That gives me an idea. A terrible, awful idea that I should never bring up. But it, I mean it wasn’t bad, I’m just... just not...
A blush creeps across my face. I stutter out to Scootaloo, “You could um, ride me... I mean, mount– push against– sit on, I mean...” I fear my shy inability to meet their gazes might be less than convincing. I shut up to think, while they stare at me, then say a little more composedly. “You could give me a ride on your scooter again. Apple Bloom can run along with, if you’re slow enough.”
I’m just not used to naked little girls rubbing their bellies up against me.
“Of course!” Scootaloo cheers in agreeable, but complete ignorance to my clearly fake enthusiasm. “Apple Bloom doesn’t need a ride, that’s just silly!”
“An’ I thought we were gonna have to give up,” Apple Bloom sighs in relief while Scootaloo climbs off her scooter and rolls it up to me. “Now we can be real crusaders again at the clu–the meetin’ spot.”
I would suggest something else, but it’s sort of hard to think of alternatives when it’d be so easy to have Scootaloo hugging up against me so close again. I wish I could say I wasn’t sorely tempted, but I’m sorely tempted, and when you’re sorely tempted you find it hard to think about alternatives. So I clamber onto the scooter one hoof at a time, having to leave the lower left one (number uh, 4) planted so her scooter doesn’t roll when Scootaloo jumps up onto me.
Her warm orange body settles against my soft white body, skin sliding against skin. No, it’s not even skin on skin, but the smooth glide of fur on fur. She feels fleshy, yet downy soft. I try to keep my tail low this time, so not to get our groins tangled together, but Scootaloo straddles it between her hind hooves instead. I become keenly aware of a part of her settling against the base of my tail, a part that’s a lot softer than her leg muscles. A part of her that I’m not supposed to be thinking about at all. Her hooves wrap snugly around my midsection, and she breaks me out of my entranced obsession with these sensations flowing through my tail base, saying,
“Okay, Sweetie! You gotta steer okay? I’ll be totally careful, don’t worry. I can feel her whole body shift against mine as she turns to Apple Bloom saying, “OK we’re ready. How about you lead the way, so I don’t have to yell where she should go.” Apple Bloom nods and starts strutting ahead of us bouncily. Scootaloo’s wings sound off then, and once again the pressure of her body against me causes us to accelerate.
I have to admit of all the twisted ideas I’ve played part in, this one really takes the cake. And Apple Bloom is the cherry on top. Quite literally! Apple Bloom leads us right into the apple orchard, the scooter seemingly having no problems with rough dirt roads. But every time it bumps up and down, I feel Scootaloo’s... what must be Scootaloo’s vulval mound mashes up against my tail. It’s a maddening sensation because it feels so innocuous, but when I know what it is that makes it so much more... appealing. It’s just the place between myher legs, I tell myself. She doesn’t even use it, I tell myself. It’s just the softest place on her entire body...
If that wasn’t enough, Apple Bloom is leading us. As in, leading us down hills, and up hills. And I have to watch her, in order to steer to follow her. That means whenever we go up a hill, and her cherry red tail curls up high above, I get a nice unobscured view of her custard yellow ass. And it’d be nice if little fillies who you weren’t supposed to stare at were just blank down there, but it’s also kind of fascinating to see that they aren’t. She’s got a cute little fleshy pocket between her legs, the same yellow of her fur, with the rare flash of her pink insides. Apple Bloom’s slit is not as long as the other mares I’ve seen, and there’s not as much ...belly beneath it. The groin of adult mares I saw, it kept going down further vertically, before it curved to horizontal. I don’t want to talk topologically, but it’s just hard to admit that the full grown mares I’ve seen have crotchboobs, and Apple Bloom... doesn’t.
God it’s just so wrong. I don’t even mean crotchboobs those would at least be understandably attractive to a formerly red blooded human male. I just mean a little extra plush down there, that doesn’t look like boobs at all, until you notice that the immature filly’s hasn’t descended and filled out. Just that little bit of soft flesh a mare has, that makes me lick my lips and think of my mom. But while Apple Bloom might not have prominent or, at least noticeable teats, she definitely has a vagina, and a pert little asshole, nestled all cosily between her flexing, swinging butt cheeks.
I’m trying not to squeeze my legs together or squirm or think of myself at all, but just the thought of what I’m seeing and feeling. How do these fillies not notice this? How could a society function, where the children dance their exposed sex parts in front of each other, or hug on each other with their naked bodies pressed together in unacceptable ways? Matter of fact, isn’t Scootaloo riding pretty heavily on my tail?
“H-how you feeling, Scootaloo?” I ask trying to gauge her attention.
“Fine,” she says evenly, and not breathlessly at all. “Just keep following Apple Bloom we’re almost there.” I turn my head forward again, only to have her snug me tighter and say quietly, with a guilty satisfaction in her voice, “You do feel really nice, Sweetie Belle.”
So I thought what I’d do is pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes. Except I didn’t have to pretend considering I couldn’t even squeak in protest, and I couldn’t get those words out of my ears. Also Catcher in the Rye is stupid. Apple Bloom saves my sanity, shouting, “There it is! C’mon!” And running ahead, her legs pumping confidently to drive her forward in hard clomps across the earth.
When we arrive at the clubhouse, Scootaloo drags me and her to a halt, and jumps off, walking a few steps and lifting a forehoof to hide the blush on her face. I really want to console her, but what do I say? That what we were doing is great, and nobody will have a problem with it? That she can grind on my tail any time she likes? That she’s so perspicacious for being a lesbo slut before the age of 9? Yeah I’m just gonna blush and stumble off the scooter so I can nervously lift my hoof too. It’s comforting to do that, I dunno.
I stomp that hoof down so I can cast my gaze upwards, and the clubhouse above me... isn’t... finished. I mean, literally not finished. It has a cheap board going up to it, with its standard ramp detached and in two pieces off to the side. It has a wooden frame, a sturdy looking roof atop that frame, and one wall. And a bunch of boards piled up under the roof, and cans and... it’s not finished? It’s not dilapidated like it started out in the show, but if it ever was, they just tore all that down. Yet they haven’t finished building a new one.
It makes me recall how impossible it was for certain parts of the show to be temporally accurate. Build an exact copy of Ponyville right over there? In less than a minute? Well golly, we were expecting a challenge!
“I forgot the clubhouse wasn’t finished,” I say distantly, in some sort of awe.
“Yeah, we’re gonna finish it real soon,” Scootaloo says, walking up beside me to look at it. “We wanted to see if we could get our cutie marks from the meteor first, because they might be construction cutie marks.”
I blink at Scootaloo saying, “Cutie marks make you better at building stuff?”
She nods looking at me cheerily saying, “Duh. I mean, look at all the great construction ponies, who all have construction cutie marks!”
She smiles at her wisdom, and I just kind of continue to ...blink. “Um... if you say so...” I acquiesce reluctantly, turning aside to look at the clubhouse again. Scootaloo physically grabs my head in her hooves then, and swivels it around to another direction, saying,
“But don’t worry about the clubhouse today. Check this out!” And I look to see what Apple Bloom is finishing setting up. It looks like some sort of raised platform, constructed of several flat pallets nailed together, with a more cushy material stapled in on top. It has four posts around it, each connected with an elastic rope. Is that some kind of miniature...
Oh no.
“We were thinkin’ about how you caint walk, but you’re all squirmy for action just like any filly would be. Ya gotta get your exercise somehow!” Apple Bloom explains, leaning on the ropes out of her impromptu arena. “But you got your grabby things down pat, way before you got your walky things.”
“And I was thinking,” Scootaloo cuts in with a hopeful smile. “What could you possibly do that was real fun and had to do with grabbing, but not walking? And I figured it out!”
“Wrestling!” they both said at once.
“Ohh no,” I say, wishing a certain physical therapist had taught me how to walk backwards yet.
“It might even get us our cutie marks!” Scootaloo says so, excited her wings buzz as if to emphasize her words.
“No,” I repeat, with a very serious look on my face.
“C’mon Sweetie,” Apple Bloom says placatingly, but there is no way in hell that I’m under any circumstances allowing myself to do that. “You won’t get mussed up, ah promise. Well, you might, but look, we got all sortsa brushes!” She waves toward a table of... rather attractive looking hair brushes. I wonder how they’d feel on my...
“I’m not worried about getting mussed up,” I say irritably, turning away from the brushes in embarassment.
“What’s wrong then?” Scootaloo pouts, clearly disappointed that I don’t like the notion of wrapping my body around her, and—ergh.
“It’s just we would get too close,” I say, trying to placate her, “And touch each other too um, much.”
“What’s wrong with touchin’?” Apple Bloom says from up on the platform. “Ah like touchin’ you!”
“Yeah and it’s totally cool too and not wimpy,” Scootaloo asserts confidently, “Because it’s like, wrestling and competi...something.”
“There’s nothing wrong with touching!” I worry out to them. “It’s just you... conseq–you have to, um...”
“There somethin’ yur not tellin’ us, Sweetie?” Apple Bloom says, squinting at me thoughtfully.
“Yeah, what don’t you want to tell us?” Scootaloo says, sort of pacing around me in a really intimidating way. “And where did you learn about touching being bad? You used to love hugs.”
“I–I’m just n-nervous,” I say keeping very still even though I want to curl up into a ball right now. “Maybe wrestling would be good. I-it is a lot like hugging.” A tense laugh escapes me, smiling at both of them and saying, “I don’t even know why I thought it was a bad idea. Just me and my silly um, brain.” Bonking myself on the head. “Silly me!” I repeat.
“That magic brain thing really did make you all nervous about touchin’” Apple Bloom speculates, “So y’can get two things done at once, get yer blood pumpin’, and get used to touchin’ again.”
“Yeah, it’s like, you have to keep repeating it if you wanna not be scared,” Scootaloo says, ceasing her pacing and looking into my eyes with great sympathy. “I know what it’s like,” she says more muted than before, “Being scared of touching. But it’s okay,” she says. “You just have to like,” and she presses her hoof on my chest, just leaving it there looking at me with hope that I understand.
I look down at her hoof. She’s right, I’m just being silly about this. “Okay,” I say defeatedly, and she allows her hoof to part from my chest. Scootaloo smiles and holds out that hoof turned up, as if for me to um, hook with it. I match her forehoof with my own, trying to smile back. “I’ll need some help getting up into the arenaAAAA҉” I squeal as Scootaloo heaves, with unexpected strength that sends me flying through the air, right over the cords into the arena. I land with a fuff on the pillows covering its surface. Just how light am I?
“And in this corner!” Apple Bloom announces, pointing to the center of the arena where I’m busy rolling upright to my stomach. “The uncontested champeen Sweetie Belle the uh, Rock! And in this corner we have Scootaloo the uh, Good Wrestler!” she points at an actual corner, where Scootaloo vaults over and flares her wings dramatically as she lands. “It’s goin’ ta be a tight match, folks,” Apple Bloom banters confidently, “Let’s see how these fillies do in their first all star wrestlin’ match of the year!”
She pauses and neither of us act, and she says, “Oh. Uhm, dingdingding!” then she backs up like a referee, while Scootaloo hops up towards me doing what she clearly thinks are cool wrestler moves. I might think that too, if I ever watched any of the Rocky movies.
“You better not make this easy, Sweetie,” Scootaloo smirks at me. Gulping, I half sit up, spreading my hooves as if to catch her. I try to recall my judo training, which was in a considerably different body than I’m in now, that had hands, and was many years ago, decades even. “Because I’m not gonna hold back on you!” Scootaloo shouts, and with an eager wiggle in her hindquarters, Scootaloo leaps for the kill.
...
This was a bad idea! Why is she leglocking me? Why am I in a leg lock? She’s forcing my cheek right up against oh god I can feel it why does she smell so spicy hel— I manage to push free, only for her to sinuate lithely around me, and push me to the ground again. Maybe if I wasn’t such a wimp she’d actually be hurting me, but she’s just toying with me at this point, saying, “C’mon Sweetie, you can do it!”
Yes, my wrestling opponent is encouraging me. What is my life.
Grunting, I push against her, only to have that delicious slide of fur against fur, and she actually bucks the air behind me as I slide onto her back why are her wings so soft, but they’re so strong. They push my chest right off her, whereupon I slide down my groin is on her tail I can feel my it’s just like her on the scooter, but it’s me! I’m the one! And it feels really nice. And her tail thrashes against my little vulva as she squirms out from my attempt to hold her steady, flipping me all the way up into the air—she isn’t trying to suplex me is she—?
Woah, it’s a good thing this stage is covered in pillows. I don’t get up, before Scootaloo jumps on me, pushing my chest down with her hooves and then not even bothering to do that, just holding me down with her hips alone, with her forehooves up in the air, and a savage grin on her face. With her legs wrapped around my hips, it means her—! Help, ladybits are touching!
“You ready to give up yet?” Scootaloo says straddling me with a challenging look to her. She’s breathing heavily, hunched over at the hips where she has me trapped, and the fire in her eyes. I can’t tell if Scootaloo wants me or, if she just wants me pinned.
“Yes!” I squeal out, “I give up! Uncle!” Trying to squirm from being touched by her in such a soft, responsive, tingly place, getting absolutely nothing but more rubbing against her. “Medic! End program! You win!”
“Hold on,” Apple Bloom says trotting up to our tangle of limbs and lips. “Ah think y’have to count out. Okay, one! Two! Three!”
I look up at Scootaloo fearfully, neither of us moving as Apple Bloom counts up. She’s just waiting for me to try to squirm free, but I’m not going to move a single muscle now. I’m trying to ignore how the front of my pelvis, right where my... my envelope starts, is pushed up against her. The rest of my entr...opening...stuff is curved below the level of my hips, but not curved enough! It doesn’t stop the tingly rushes I feel every time she shifts against what must be my... little baby horse teats, the ones I can’t see, because she’s sitting on them! With her leaning back, she makes it easy for her own bits to come in contact with my own. If I only just tilt my hips up a little I could.... but no, I’m not going to do that! Aren’t girls supposed to have a hard time reaching each other’s... in thing? Curse these ponies for being so flexible!
“An’ ten!” Apple Bloom announces. Scootaloo actually pauses a moment looking forward with a serious look, before her legs go lax and she vaults off of my abused pelvis. I can’t even admonish her, because that’s about when I realize how fast my heart is beating, and how hard my lungs are breathing, and I just kind of have to lie there out of breath, calming myself the fuck down. I am not okay with feeling someone touching me in a body part that I’m not even supposed to have. It was supposed to be just a dumb penis, swelling up when you rub against it and making you feel all giddy about the thought of putting it in someone. Simple! Not this weird... touchy feeling, like I’m going to... I refuse to even imagine that I’m going to feel all giddy about the thought of putting someone inside it. It’s not even mine! I’m just... I’m just here.
Apple Bloom’s standing over me saying, “Hey Sweetie Belle... you alright?”
I nod dumbly, but manage to blurt out coherent words. “I’m fine but it’s just that felt...”
“Pretty intense, huh?” Scootaloo says standing on the other side of me. “I call that one the leg lock!” ...wow, plus one for creativity there.
“You shouldn’t—” I say, hesitating to admonish her for something she did that actually felt good. I don’t want to give her a complex! And it did actually feel good... too good. I... I shouldn’t want more. “You um, it’s just you were touching me there I mean,” I verbally flail around, “I mean, not just your legs.”
“Yeah,” Scootaloo says speculatively, appearing to examine one of her lifted rear hooves. I don’t think her eyes are on her hooves right now, though. “That part is kind of squishy and weird. Doesn’t feel bad though, does it?” she turns to me with an honest question in her eyes. I don’t really have any answer other than,
“No, it felt pretty good. I mean, we aren’t supposed to, but I mean... never mind.” Any oxygen I regained is clearly being used to fuel my blush,and not my brain here.
“Guess so,” Scootaloo says thoughtfully, “It did feel kinda good.” Reaching down with her hoof, but I swallow my heart from being in my throat, as she just rubs her hoof around on her belly. I... I don’t even know. Was she aroused? Were we even talking about the same parts? Am I aroused?
“Alright!” Apple Bloom says, “Now Scootaloo won, so it’s her turn to be referee!”
“Aww,” Scootaloo whines, but she gets on her hooves amiably enough, and walks in between us.
“I really don’t think this is a good—” I manage to say, trying to get to my hooves, before Scootaloo starts belting out at the top of her lungs,
“And the Super Good Wrestleradore takes away the title! But who’s this coming into the ring? It’s Apple Bloom, the Super Strong Best Wrestler! Things don’t look good for the Rocky Belle, but will she make her big comeback?”
I just slump back and sit there, already feeling defeated, as Apple Bloom’s smile grows and her eyes narrow, and she hunches down, her tail lashing like a cat as she sets me in her sights. It’s not like I don’t want to touch them, even if I cared about losing, which I don’t, hmph. But what kind of person do I have to be, to actually feel a sense of eager anticipation at Apple Bloom’s imminent combat embrace? I want a little filly to touch me, and I want to grunt and push against her too, and they don’t even know that it’s wrong to want that.
“Wrestlers, on your marks!” Scootaloo says. That makes Apple Bloom pause.
“You don’t say on your marks,” she shouts sideways to Scootaloo, “It’s a wrestling bell you gotta ring, except we ain’t got a bell.”
“Oh right,” Scootaloo says abashed, “Um, dingdingding!”
Apple Bloom fills my vision.
And of course Apple Bloom is even better at sliding her sinewy muscle and hide against my all too responsive squishiness. No not just that squishiness, but that and my squishiness in general. Compared to Apple Bloom, I might be a little teensy bit fat. But she is really good at finding terrible opportunities to slide some part of her body against the particular tickly squishiness between my legs, while she happily ties me up into pretzels. I don’t even fight it, well except fighting to put her in a head lock, but I just can’t help but enjoy the feel of fur sliding on fur, hot, sweaty bodies pressed together. This little girl is like, practically humping me, with how creative she’s getting into wrestling moves she can make.
Is it possible to not be aroused, but still be totally freaking horny? Even after I’m down for the count again and I lay there breathing hard, I feel tingly all over my body. It has been four days since I had an orgasm, no telling how long it’s been for Sweetie’s body—if ever—and every touch seems to remind me of that. I can’t wait until bed tonight. ...did I just think that? God, why do I have to be such a horrible monster? All I can think of is how good it’ll feel if I just get some time alone to let it all out. Let it all... um... out...
My sexy thoughts are blessedly momentarily overruled by the other call of nature.“Is there a bathroom around here?” I ask in tired resignation. My two friends giggle at me, then point their hooves at... nothing but apple trees.
After getting hurled bodily back out of the ring, which didn’t hurt as much as it should have, I just get back on my hooves and carefully hobble over ...there, somewhere. And I swear, I give up even trying. I lift up my leg and just... stick it against the tree trunk, then when I feel the urine cascading out underneath me, I look up to glare at them challengingly and—oh, they’re not even looking in this direction. They’re just talking with each other, because what I’m doing is totally normal, and there’s nothing wrong with it, and I should just stop making assumptions about pony society.
I get done, and wiggle my... um... oh god, I stare with disgust at the ground underneath my hooves. With little enthusiasm, I hook the edge of one of the fallen leaves on my front hoof and lift it, glaring at it accusingly. It’s... uh... sufficient. I hope. At least I stop smelling urine when I scuff over the ...puddle with dirt, and hobble away, deliberately counting out my feet to return to the arena.
I wish I could say the rest of the day got any easier. It does get easier when finally it gets late enough that I can return to Rarity, and hide in her boutique from my best friends and my own unforgivable urges. Plus Rarity whips up a nice, quick, but hearty dinner of spinach and um, hay rolls, with two cookies afterwards for good behavior. She sure is happy to see me, especially after I told Scootaloo to let me off outside, so that I could walk right into the boutique and show her again.
If she found out what we were doing this afternoon, it’d probably be measured in the negative gigacookies.
Needless to say, I can’t even collect my thoughts enough to tell her. The evening is just rushing up, and I’m just a wreck of pent up emotions: lust, fear and the terrible inevitability of my death. A little filly should not feel these emotions, and I thank the stars that Sweetie Belle isn’t really feeling them, but they aren’t doing me any favors as a little filly, making me all shaky and quick to startle. And zoning out, daydreaming about doing things that I shouldn’t be allowed to do. Daydreams...
Only takes one more dream, and... and Luna could probably just pluck me out of Sweetie from within the dream, without me even waking up. The only one who woke up would be Sweetie Belle. And I’d be left in that dying dream, with no neurons to think me, and no body to sustain me, just losing myself and forgetting myself, trapped in a box that just won’t stop getting smaller. Maybe I won’t sleep at all tonight. Maybe I’m just kidding myself. I couldn’t stay awake, not in this sleepy body, not after a day like that.
All I can think of as I brush my teeth is imagining the warm hooves of the doctor Ace touching me all over, and especially in my special... place, my cunt. It’s a fucking cunt. Especially on my cunt. And that swaying posterior of Apple Bloom, conveying somehow both allure and vitality. And how Scootaloo pressed against my hindquarters so strongly to make her scooter move forward. And how both their sinewy hides slid deliciously along that little cunt of mine, whenever they went there on accident.
And all I can think of is how I deserve to die, just for even thinking of them in that way. But I tried so hard!
Rarity tries to stay with me in the end. She tucks me in and she sees that I’m crying, and she sits by my bed and holds me gently. She... she sings to me, and it doesn’t help at all. Because I know she’s singing to Sweetie Belle, and... and I just force myself to stop crying, because I just need her to leave, so that I can have just one thing in this crazy experience. Something I’m desperate for at this point, and I just need to... I need to feel it just once before the end.
Rarity has scarcely left, and turned down the lights in the hall, when I feel my breath come short as—biting my lower lip—I let my forehoof... no I don’t let it. I deliberately slide my forehoof between my legs. It’s not just happening to me. It’s something I want. Something I need.
You’d think in such a state of arousal, it’d be laughably easy to climax, but touching myself just seems to relax me bit by bit, the soft treasure between Sweetie Belle’s legs practically purring to me as I devotedly stimulate it. It makes my awareness sharper, the feel of everything against me so much nicer and more. Even my tail feels good, so warmly caressed by my deepest sheets. But it still takes a long time to so much as summon up that familiar yet alien tingle, that leads one to climax.
I whimper under my breath, my body tensing and relaxing as only my hoof moves very slightly down there. I can’t believe Ace taught me about the push pull thing. I can... I can spread myself with it and, it’s not like stroking, it’s like pulling. A ghost me is teasing a single spectral finger into my p-parts and just tugging them outward, like a hook made out of softness. That doesn’t mean I can’t also stroke though, because my hoof... pad. My pad is like velvet to the touch. I don’t realize at first, why my pad doesn’t feel rough like it should be, until I lift it up look at it. Wafting from it to my nose is a heady... I’m getting wet. I’m actually getting wet down there. why does it smell like marshmallows
Even with all that, I might not have made it. If I wasn’t as doggedly stubborn as I am, if I didn’t know what I was looking for, or if I wasn’t so gosh darned pent up by these stupid sexy ponies and their sexy teasing, even the foals. Especially the foals. Oh, I can totally see Apple Bloom doing it on purpose. She secretly wants me to do this, and she just slyly sways her hips in my face, just slightly too far for me to touch, so that when I sleep that night I will have to think of her. And Scootaloo, if she really wanted it she’d just take it. Shamelessly mashing herself against me. Total lesbian she’d even have like, studs in her ears, not because she likes piercings, but because she heard if you have them it’s easier to get girls to touch you. She said it felt good. She said it felt–! Good—!
It actually overwhelms me and leaves me laying there twitching in my legs—in Sweetie Belle’s legs, and it’s not even an orgasm! It’s just the thought of Scootaloo wanting me, that makes me want to kick hard and squeal out her name. That makes me pause. I have to keep totally silent, or Rarity will come and she’ll stop me, before I go where no man has gone before.
I’m so beyond caring at this point. What have I got to lose? I just want to feel it so bad! I rub my slim slickness, as if I had a penis, but I don’t have a penis at all. What I have is inside me and– and it twinges, I swear I can feel it. I can feel it clench down in there! My... my penis place, flexing with my thighs, hungry to be... I put my other hoof down there and pull on myself, unable to stop a whimper from escaping at the feel of being stretched wide. It’s just the... the top too. Just the entrance. My entrance. Could I stretch further in? And further?
I want to put something in there.
I can’t believe I’m so much a girl that I don’t even want to penetrate anyone, not even at the height of my arousal. I’m so wiggly and tingly, and every touch teases me towards my ultimate goal. My last meal, so to speak. And yet I could care less about having a dick to shove into things. Unless it’s me being shoved into. I’m such a girl just because of this ...biology, that just thinking about putting something inside makes me moan in passion.
My eyes snap open, and I look around tensely. No sounds of Rarity. Ever elegant Rarity, but oh, she’d be hovering just outside the door, hearing my sounds of young joy, a hoof between her own legs as she couldn’t help but arouse herself in response to me. Or maybe, you know, scream and smack me across the face, and tell me never to touch myself in the bad place again. But touching myself seems to draw me into these fantasies, so why bother with realism? Either way, it doesn’t seem like my low moan attracted any attention.
Biting down on my pillow, I resume rubbing my vulva against each other wetly. My um... study of female anatomy is pretty comprehensive, so it’s not like I have no knowledge about certain fun buttons. But mostly I stay with my vulva, because it honestly just makes me wince to touch it. Kind of like touching your eye. I can definitely see how too much stimulating might not be fun. On the other side of the spectrum, I hardly even notice my second hoof swirling around my flat nipples down there, my... teats, yet the subtle pleasing glow of that is somehow enough to make me want to cry out with joy.
The minutes track by as the tingle within my hips rises and fades, rises and fades. Sometimes I manage to clench down that organ inside me that reminds me so much, of how I’m a girl. Reminds me of the elastic band in Ace’s shorts, and how close I was to just stepping under him and pressing these very hips against his stiff fleshy erect... I bet it’s mottled. Stallions have horse cocks that is so damn sexy. All flat tipped and... and I bet I could feel it in there—! clench
It’s not the rhythmic clenching that I want, though. Where it takes on a life of its own, and you don’t even have to stroke anymore, just sit back and experience the pleasure. It’s just not enough! If I could just get this tingle to “catch” I could... I could do it. I could climax and... and there wouldn’t even be anything coming out. No elephantine phallus painfully stiff, dedicatedly pumping semen out of my body no matter how I try to hold it inside. Just me and... and my body... and....
It’s a good thing I’m biting the pillow, because just the thought of that spurting dick makes me feel like squealing, the thought of my spurting dick, even if it’s not a horse’s. I can totally imagine it doing that inside me. Ejaculating. I have to clench at the thought, one involuntary action for another, my teeny little unicorn hips quivering with my helpless need for release. I don’t even have a pretense of masculinity at this point. I’d throw myself underneath a stallion, and stroke him to climax in me with this amazing thing between my thighs, and he’d pump it into me, and I’d feel it like a blossom of heat. His heat? Or my own body heating to his seed? And then I’d wake up one morning and there’d be a little bump and... and it’d get bigger and bigger and I’d have big swinging milk filled a-and then it would stretch deep inside and I’d lay on my side in the straw and I’d–I’d—
I didn’t even realise how close I was. I’m just tingling and clenching and heedlessly fantasizing about what I should never fantasize, when a frightened, delighted squeak escapes me as I realize the clenches aren’t stopping. Then the waves of pleasure crash through me. I’m not even stroking that cauldron of amazing, just eagerly arching it up into the air as I squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, my hooves shooting up to grip the pillow, pulling it against my face to muffle my squeaks as it happens to me.
It slows down sooner than I thought it would. I’ve known the glum experience of the refractory period, and thankfully there’s a blessed lack of that: not any sharp cutoff, where pleasure turns into pain. My desire to never stop doesn’t flip like a switch, into a lingering guilty feeling of wondering why I even started. But my ...vagina still ceases its contractions, and I find I can relax my hips and tail, to sink back down to a resting position. It’s an immense sense of relief that washes over me—like... when I spit out the pillow, to breathe in big gulps, it’s like... I did it. I made it. I don’t have any hope of survival but, but I made this beautiful thing happen, and when they destroy me, they’ll have to know they’re destroying something beautiful too. It’s... not exactly vengeance, more of a sorrowful release. That at least I did something right before they put me where I’m supposed to be.
My head has enough time to fall back against the mattress, with only my bouncy curls for a pillow, a sigh escaping my flat, furry chest, when in the darkness, I hear a very familiar voice exclaim,
“What... was that?”
Scootaloo, you have got to stop hiding in fillies’ closets. Scootaloo, you have a problem.