http://pastebin.com/3nxLrzsk
http://pastebin.com/u/Zirivak






>Storm fronts are about the most complicated task that one could expect the weather patrol to have to put up with.
>They are usually disposed of quickly enough that not even the average pegasi population learns of it and those involved return to their daily routine of doing whatever it is that they do with their free time, not once thinking back to what they had done.
>But there are times, maybe once every half a decade or so, that these prove to be far worse than they appeared to be.
>It is during such strange occurrences that they stop being called storms and take on a sinister name.
>Hurricanes.
>Of course, this denomination rings close to all ponies thanks to the legendary Commander Hurricane, but the implications are dreadful rather than heroic.
>So it is that in this very occasion, as all available fliers are call into action, you are put in charge of two very interesting fillies.
>They play and dance and open up to you while their parents are away either fighting the dark clouds or lending a helping hoof to those that are.
>Unaware of the tempest that swirls at home.
>Fluttershy is, as her name would imply, the shyest of the two.
>Hesitant to allow you to pet her, hiding her sensuously slim features behind her mane, but always watching you with a single cyan eye.
>It would be understandable if anyone else in your position would be paranoid by how she stared, widely and so in shock at what you are doing.
>However, you are a meticulous and careful man, one who has locked all doors and windows and stayed indoors as was requested during such awful natural events.
>And so, whether she wants to escape or a scream comes out of that delicate throat of hers, you know that it is all safe.
>That it is all a secret.
>The more you study her, the easier it is to distinguish how she trembles and sobs, how endless streams of tears come out of her as she tries and fails to comprehend what is happening before her.
>You had been eloquent in your explanations and maybe a touch immovable in the request, but it was all for the best!
>For the best of such innocent and pretty fillies who had yet to experience the greatest of joys!
>Fluttershy was from the very beginning against the idea, even if she was not vocal about it her body language was enough to imply this.
>Rainbow Dash however, hot headed as she is, thought it was just another game for her to try and beat you at.
>And a game it is, although the tables quickly turn on the suddenly frightful filly as you pin her down on the bed.
>It isn't hard, of course, a single hand was enough while the other one could tease her freely and without any real danger from her flailing.
>You think back to little Twily and wonder if she is thinking of you too.
>"N-No! I don't like this game! S-Stop!"
>Rainbow's complains and her struggling are sadly misplaced yet are to be expected.
>They all despise the strangeness of it at first, incapable to grasp the beauty of the act in their immature heads that full of youthful imaginings and dreams.
>Fillies are always so abrasive towards the deepest form of love that there is.
>It is misunderstood by them, frightens them.
>They will all come around eventually.
>Your thumb draws circles on cute Dashie's fur as she tries to her your hands away to no avail.
>This has been going for quite some time now and the poor dear grows as moist as Fluttershy's muzzle.
>"Please. I feel weird."
"Relax Dashie, Uncle Anon knows you'll enjoy this secret of ours. All good fillies do."
>She complains and fights some more, which has now gotten to the point of mindlessness.
>You try to calm her down, to let her feel your love to her and she continues to reject it.
>How could she be such an ingrate?
>Being so young does not justify her actions.
>She must see that you are doing this for the both of you!
>That it is in her own self interest to experience a love as profound as yours!
>You slap her across the face, strongly enough her head to whip to the side and hit the soft covers of the bed.
"That's enough! Can't you see I'm doing this for you?!"
>She tries to say something else, crying all the while, and you slap her again, knowing that if you spare her the punishment she will never come to know the joy of this moment.
"Stop fighting! You'll like it, I promise you that you will! Uncle Anon would never hurt you."
>"Please, you are hurting me now."
>You sigh and slap her again, pointing at her menacingly, hoping that the message will finally get across.
>It seems to be enough to restrain her as you diligently work on her with your fingers.
>She quivers almost constantly but it is just her excitement.
>New sensations are always difficult to react to and all fillies do so by shaking; it is only natural.
>Satisfied that she has finally given you her consent you move from her tender slit to your own engorged appendage, grabbing it readily as you test her softness with your tip.
>It feels amazing, even from outside.
>Rainbow's moan is hidden behind the treacherous sounds of a sob but you know that at last she feels what you feel.
>Took her long enough, you think to yourself, and turn to look at the paralyzed Fluttershy at the corner of the room.
"See Flutters? Rainbow likes it. She really, really does."
>None of them say a word and you smile at how open-minded they are.
>You always thought of fillies as bright little rays of sunshine and you were always right.
>Slowly you begin to push into Rainbow and she suddenly scream and flails all over again at the indescribable wave of pleasure that she feels.
>She reminds of little Twily and you think of her as you plunge deep into the pegasus.
>You take your time with her, savoring her in a manner almost religious, and just like with Twily you are forced to keep her mouth shut, not because you are worried that someone might hear, no, you do it because it bothers you that her voice carries so much panic rather than pleasure.
>They are so inconsiderate in the beginning, misinterpreting pleasure for pain.
>But in time...
>You keep a steady rhythm to the act, allowing her to slowly grow accustomed to it, both in mind and body.
>Bending close to her you kiss the fluff of her chest and whisper as kindly as you can.
"I love you Dashie."
>Holding her head in place you nip at her ears oh so tenderly and then begin to speed up in your thrusting, eager for her to know the greatest peaks of your pleasure.
>A shiver runs down your spine and you throb violently inside her, filling her.
>You can't allow yourself to stop now though, to lay down besides her and hold her close.
>Pulling out, catching your breath and petting the filly's belly with a love that only you can fully understand.
>Soon you'll share in it.
>Still smiling, you turn and kneel, holding out a hand to Fluttershy.
"Come dear. Don't you want to be loved?"
>The invitation is no more than a whisper of wind to Flutters's ears as she stares, trembling and denoting no real consciousness, at her worn and violated form of her friend as it curls up on the bed like a wounded animal whose only shelter is on herself.
>It does not move you however, to find her unresponsive.
>After all, it is a natural reaction for anyone, pony or human, to be left breathless before such displays of emotion.
>Her wings twitch, quakes assault her legs constantly, and an endless stream can be seen flowing down her only visible eye as it catches what scarce light fills the dim room.
>She is so alluring in her shyness, even as her body is giving off every tell-tale sign of her instinctual desires.
>You walk a few paces away from Dashie -who does not bother moving in the slightest to further distance herself from you-, crouch to be as close to Flutters's eye level, and extend out your open hand, calling out to her once more.
>The voice is dry, insistent, and ladened with excitement.
>To you, it sounds like a siren's call.
"Come dear. Come to Uncle Anon."
>It a gesture that has been engraved into your mind after repeated use, one that you have done each and every time you meet a new filly for the first time.
>They all reticent at first, hiding behind their mother's legs and peering out with curiosity and trepidation.
>Once or twice they might complain about the stranger that has been invited into the house and their parents, sometimes just as innocent as their children, would voice calming reassurances and eventually the little pony would walk towards you, recoil as your hand gets closer to them, and then relish in the sensation of fingertips pressing and trailing at the base of their manes.
>Just a couple of visits later, they would come running to meet you at the door, yelling out your name the moment their wondrous eyes caught sight of you.
>You would kneel, arms open in anticipation to them jumping up and nuzzling against you.
>Their warmth was intoxicating as you hugged them.
>Flutters however, is still trapped in the early stages of your visitations, full of uncertainties.
>She is probably looking at Dashie in search of support, but the poor dear is tired and must be resting, something which a glance easily confirms.
>Seeing as how the filly does not respond you find it is your responsibility to breach the gap between you and carry your gift to her.
>You walk slowly to her, not out of hesitation but so as not to frighten her with any sudden movements.
>It really wouldn't make a difference if you had lunged and ravaged her in the stop, she is completely and utterly unresponsive.
>A gargled moan escapes her, a desperate mix of sob and shriek, and it is so emotional, so filled with eagerness to share in the love, that it almost brings you to tears.
>You pick her up, humming an old lullaby to quiet her nerves.
>Broken rendition of Hush, Little Baby, nasal and deceptive, that sounds soothing to your ears.
>She does not stop trembling.
>You place her next to Dashie, not so close as to trouble the sleeping filly but enough to remind Flutters that her friend is there with her and there is nothing for her to be afraid of.
>She stares at the pinkish substance that has stained the bed.
"You'll like it, I promise you. It is such a nice thing. I'm sure Dashie would be able to tell you if she wasn't asleep."
>The filly in question curls up tighter.
>An idea comes to mind and you turn Flutters onto her stomach, allowing you to spread her wings and have unrestricted reach of her mane.
>You begin to comb it, massaging her body, getting her on a happier mood all-the-while singing that famous lullaby.
>Perhaps if your voice will manage to do more in the effect of sedating her fear, despite its gruffness.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word..."
>A hand caresses her flank while the other continues to play with her hair.
>Flutters tries to reach out to her friend with her wing, the tip of her feathers unable to find even the slight comfort of the contact.
>Your fingers intertwine with the silky mane and you rest your palm between her ears.
"Uncle's gonna buy you a mockingbird..."
>You take your middle finger and start to stimulate her, putting extra care in being as gentle as possible while you try to recover the stiffness necessary for the act.
>She remains still, breathless even, and it is such a relief to see that she has overcome her agitation.
>It must be the song, you conclude, and consider singing to every filly from now on.
>Whatever it takes for them to enjoy the moment.
>Unsatisfied with her dryness, you grab her tail by the base and lift it away, giving you a perfect view of her purity.
>You swirl your tongue around the walls of your mouth, gathering whatever moisture you can in an effort before lowering your face close to her entrance and pressing your lips around it, giving your tongue free reign to work on pleasuring her.
>She jolted when the hot, wet flesh invaded her personal space, brushing against the most private part of her, but she soon went rigid, terrified of anything that might happen.
>Slowly, deliberately, and diligently you lick, lap, and kiss, running your tongue up and down her slit.
>Tasting her; learning the shape of her folds; preparing her for what is to come.
>You are patient in your ministrations, filling the room with their soggy sound.
>Only after being pleased with her wetness do you go to test your firmness.
>Flutters has not moved an inch.
>You smile and position yourself.
>Her legs give a small twitch, tensing up upon feeling the tip of your member.
>With a hand still on her head, you place the other in between her wings and breath in the sweetness of the air.
>The stench of the crime is suffocating for the fillies; to you it is an aphrodisiac.
>You sing, then throb, then thrust.
>Pain travels up her spine like lightening, causing her every limb to go erect before culminating in a soul-wrenching cry of agony and desperation.
>It startles you how the quiet filly could be loud, her scream ringing shamelessly inside your ears.
>In a single motion you grab onto her hair and press her face onto the bed, successfully diminishing the level of her voice.
>The sheer ecstasy of having her insides clenching you tightly, lovingly, is so much greater than what you had experienced with Dashie.
>You can feel her trembling with the pleasure, flapping her wings like an angel flying over oceans of gold satisfaction.
>She is the best one so far.
>After you are sure that her initial shock has worn off you pull her head up, allowing her to take in the air as hungrily as you take her.
>Unfortunately, her screaming begins anew, and even if it does not achieve the pitch of the first, it is unpleasant all the same.
>You run your hand from the top of her head, down the side of her face before finding its way to her chin where it then coils around her muzzle with the unintended harshness of a chain, managing to shut her up enough so that only muffled moans can slip through abhorrently closed lips.
>Thus her complains turn to content, guttural expressions of passion that fill your head like the melodious chords of a harp instead of the despairing pleas for help that they are.
>Each thrust tests the depths of her resistance, physical in the flexibility of her walls as they stretch painfully against the hardened object that fights them, and mental with every violent that with every back and forth movement spreads them more and more.
>Her strength fails her.
>Her voice leaves her.
>Her friends can't save her.
>You can't help breaking into a sweat, your otherwise constant rhythm is erratic, frantic as she ties around you and drags you to the edge.
>Had you known she was so generous, that she loved you so much you would have begun with her.
>Your song is now a breathless jumble of words that you continue mechanically.
>You grunt, picking up the pace as she winds you up, ready to fling you over the limit, and you press her down hard, forcibly robbing her lungs of any air.
>She squirms desperately, her tragically useless attempt at stopping her suffering only help to stimulate you with every one of their pathetic motions.
>The jerking of your hips becomes more pronounced, breaking through the final walls of your limits, collapsing her mind in your ravenous self-interest.
>Gritting your teeth, you transform the labored inhales into violent hisses in the struggle to extend the unwelcomed act of twisted attraction.
>Flutters begs to leave her own skin, to separate mind from body and be free of the excruciating pain.
>You groan, unable to withstand the pressure on your member any longer, and shot the corrupted seed of your love long and deep into her.
>It crashes against her, mixing and shadowing the dark fluids that your assault had brought forth, turning into the same pinkish paste that she had witnessed coming out of her best friends during the brief moments before the torture began.
>She writhes and spasms throughout the last seconds, mimicking treacherously the way in which you spasm inside.
>Finally spent, unable to continue your release, you pull out, wet and sluggishly, and let the crisp air of the room tickle your soaked tip.
>It isn’t the end of the fillies unjustified punishment, for what you left inside her is unbearably hot, scolding her from within as it creeps out of her swollen marehood.
>You let go of her, panting, staring at the two ponies with a deep sense of achievement and affection.
>Flutters aches and burns and cries in place for an unregistered amount of time, her brain betrays her and keeps her fully awake after she was left behind like a used toy, her momentary worth greedily consumed.
>You speak, whether to the fillies or to yourself you do not know, as flushed colors paint your features.
“I love you girls. I love you so much.”
>Once control over your breathing has been claimed, you proceed to clean yourself up, singing that gentle lullaby which meaning has been tainted and mangled by your actions.
>Flutters crawls next to Dashie, tragically pressing against her, begging her friend to protect her from the monster that has had its way with her.
>The two are left there, sleeping side by side, broken by your impulses.