GREEN
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2235 12.26 KB 198
2235 12.26 KB 198
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>Trooper, you mean Big Mac, keeps you in a hug, sobbing
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>Then just sort of snuffling and sniffling
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>All the while, you're hugging him back and stroking his ears and neck softly, running your fingers through his shortened mane
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>The pony finally falls asleep after half an hour.
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>Slowly escape the ponybeast's clutches with a cunning Indiana Jones style body pillow switch
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>Yes, you own a body pillow, it's good for hugging
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>Sneak to your laptop and start googling talking ponymonsters
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>And symptoms of a concussion or sudden schizophrenia
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>Google tells you that there are, in fact, talking ponythings for sale for godawful amounts of money
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>And that you have brain cancer twice
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>According to most of the FAQ sites the ponies are intelligent, but are raised to always want to be a pet
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>You use your google-fu to try and find out why this has never been on the news
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>Oh, Real Jersey Shore Troll Edition premiered the same week these things went public
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>Ponies need about as much attention as most dogs, and can handle simple tasks
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>They aren't allergic to anything strange and can live for around 70 years if cared for properly
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>Almost no ponies are in the adoption system, most owners are vetted beforehand and the ponies tend to learn what their masters want very quickly
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>Definitely not telling Mac about that
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>You bookmark some suggested recipes for treats and ideas for games and activites
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>Close the laptop, walk by the sleeping mac and gently ruffle his mane
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>He makes a soft sound and lifts his head into your hand for a moment
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>Pick up the ragbeast Smarty Pants and gently push it down between his chest and the pillow
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>You have some mostly-fresh salad mix in the fridge
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>Pour that into a large bowl and leave it on the floor near your couch where Mac could see it
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>Pick up the garbage, sweep and start mopping when Mac finally opens his eyes and looks around
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>"S-Sir ya didn' need ta' I was gunna clean that up..."
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>You look a little confused at the pony
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"You clean?"
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>"Anythin' you need Sir" Mac quickly says, struggling to get out of the blanket you had wrapped him in, gingerly setting Smarty Pants aside on the couch cushion
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>He gets down, foreleg not giving him any trouble, he sits on his haunches and looks anxiously at you, ears half-splayed out
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>"Ah didn' mean ta make a mess ah was just tryin' ta get Smarty Pants back..."
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"You could have asked"
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>You finish drying the floor after the mopping, and it looks as clean as a 70's era floor can
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>"Ah figgerd people didn' like pets talkin'... after ah..." The pony closes his eyes and hangs his head
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>"Ah can' get anythin' right..."
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>You walk over to the pony and softly stroke his ears
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"Mac, it's okay. I got some salad from the fridge if you're hungry"
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>The pony perks up just slightly, casting a glance back at the bowl on the floor "Thank ya' Sir"
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>He trots over to the salad, sniffs at it and starts eating like he hasn't seen food in weeks, inhaling the leaves rapidly
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>You sit on the couch and watch the pony as he eats, tail swaying slowly; if he was a dog you'd think he was more happy with that salad than anything
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>You are not sure how a pony is meant to look but he's a little on the skinny side, but you think with a few weeks of proper food he should look great
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>Wait, no, he'll look normal
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>You flip on the television and watch some rerun of star trek
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>Mac returns to your side and sits on the floor, watching the screen intently
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"Mac, you can sit on the couch if you want"
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>The pony looks up at you "Ah-ah can?"
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"Sure"
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>You pat the open spot next to you, the pony scrabbles up grabbing his teaddything and, leaving his head in your lap as you stroke his neck gently
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>You prop up your legs on the coffee table, which squeaks
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>Mac perks up "Sir do ya have any tools around?"
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>You'd gotten a tool kit as an apartmentwarming gift from your parents
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>The only use it sees is in spider extermination
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"Yeah, over in the closet"
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>Mac slides of the couch, trotting to the closet, opening it with a deft twist of his hooves and pulling out the small kit with his teeth, which he sets down nearby
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>"Sir, can ya clear off the table please?"
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>You don't know where this pony is going but you move everything to the floor as he removes the screwdriver with his mouth
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>If he goes postal on your $25 Ikea table, you will certainly feel ambivalent
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>He gets his back under the table, trusts out a leg and flips it, catching the table on his leg and lowering it carefully so the surface rests on your floor
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>The pony looks around for a moment, foreleg testing the table for loose parts
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>One of the leg wobbles like a politician's stance on healthcare
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>He holds it still before you can even offer assistance, and manages somehow to screw the leg back in flush, holding it with a hindleg and using both forelegs and mouth to operate the screwdriver
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>Pony should qualify for some kind of contortionism award
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>He sets the screwdriver back into the kit, nuzzles it into it's clip and flips the table back over, catching and lowering to avoid slamming it on the ground
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>"There ya go, Sir."
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>You set your feet on it
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>Not a squeak to be heard
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>You look at Mac with surprise
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>"Wh-what'd ah do wrong? Ah triah'd Sir Ah Did!"
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>The pony looks ready to start sobbing again
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"Mac, Relax, I like it."
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>"Ya do?"
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"I do, I promise"
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>Mac smiles and nuzzles your leg, then closes and returns the toolkit to the closet, even shutting the door behind him as he returns to your side, sides heaving a little with heavy breaths as he rests his head on the armrest.
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>You stroke his mane and ears, and feel a little sweat
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>He must've atrophied in the deathpit, even your shriveled frame can move that table easily
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"Mac, you can still sit on the couch"
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>"Thanks Sir" He says, trotting under your legs and getting on the cushion next to you after you clear the detritus
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>He's still panting heavily and sweaty, you can feel it as you stroke his ribs
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>He rests his head in your lap, and suddenly you realize you're sporting an uncomfortable halfy
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>Shit, missed the morning session
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>Never miss your morning session
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>Mac shifts his head around in your lap, trying to find a comfortable spot
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>Try to think unboner thoughts as something warm, soft, and endearing twiddles around your junk
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>That's just making it worse
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>"Uh... Sir?" Mac Says curiously
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"Yes, Mac?"
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>"Yer... ah, well... ah learn'd a pet aint got no right tellin' their owners want to do with them an' if ya wanna..."
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>He gently nuzzles the crotch of your pants, breathing slowing down, eyes looking to you with something like worry
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>"Ah... ah can h-help ya with that..."
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"L-look Mac, I like girls, but thanks"
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>"Ma old owner tol' me it wasn' gay if it wasn' a dude..."
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>You stop. Sheesh, maybe his name should have been trooper, most people with his issues started tumblrs.
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>You go back to petting his side, feeling the slight uneveness of his coat
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>"Ah-ah just wanna show ya I appreciate everythin' you' done."
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>He nuzzles just below your belt
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>Huston we have full strength
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>You lay a hand on his side. You definitely do not want any of the house-cleaning, table-fixing, sweaty, powerfully built, grateful, submissive, southern-accented
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>Who are you kidding
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>Mac keeps nuzzling softly, MiniAnon more then enjoying the attention
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>You let the pressure on his up, look around to see if anyone has entered your home lately, and undo your belt
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>Mac scoots a little closer, undoing the button and zipper with his mouth
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>You move around, back on the armrest, legs on either side of the warm, slightly heaving Mac
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>The pony takes your underwear band in your mouth, pulling it down, warm breath brushing your shaft the whole way down
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>And he even does it slowly
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>MiniAnon is ready to go as Mac nuzzles your balls with gentle care, warm soft tongue tracing the line back up
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>His nuzzling moves along MiniAnon
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>His nose and lips are soft, gentle, like velvet
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>His deep, regular and slightly moist breaths brush you like a rainforest breeze
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>His tongue wraps around the whole front half, surface gentle, warm and wet
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>By the time he's at the top he's licking up a bead of slick pre and smiling contently
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>His soft lips brush the head of MiniAnon, breaths still warm, wet and slow as he kisses and carefully moves down onto to your flesh
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>Holy crap this feels amazing, his tongue cradling the whole underside, his fuzzy, strong lips sealing around the base of your shaft, more like a pair of velvet fingers then anything
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>His breath never stops, hot and wet as he starts bobbing along your shaft
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>Mother earth herself could not do this
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>You shiver as he increases his pace, lips exploring every inch of your shaft, tongue slowly exploring your head, practically milking you
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>Your hands rest on his head, one in his mane, tangling with the hair carefully, the other getting a grip on his collar, being just careful enough to not choke or pull on him
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>His bobbing continues, lips pressing and squeezing, tongue and breath wetting your shaft
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>You don't even know how long it goes
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>His lips keep pressure, a warm velvet grip
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>His breath and tongue are...
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>Are...
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>Before you can think of anything else, you feel the shocking bliss of orgasm
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>Mac continues, lips stroking, tongue lapping, the whole time pressing you deeper into the afterglow
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>He lifts his head, looking tired but content, your already half-limp MiniAnon done.
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>You stroke his mane softly
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"Th-that was... great"
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>"Ah triah Sir" He says, settling his head down, nuzzling your hands gently and you let go of his collar
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>You take a few deep breaths, getting your pants back on with shaky hands
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"Do you need..."
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>"No, Sir. Ah'm alright" He says dreamily, nuzzling your thigh
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>You lean back, still petting his ears and cheeks
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>Mac cuddles up to you, and you feel...
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>Oh, jeeze, this pony has a fifth and a half leg prodding you gently
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>You really should do him a solid
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>But your head is clearing and you REALLY WANT A GF, RIGHT?
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>You settle with hugging him close, rubbing his sides
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"You sure you're alright Mac?"
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>You gently brush Big Mac 2.0 with your knee
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>His eyes snap open
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>"Ah-Ah'm sorry Sir Ah'm alright I promise that jus' kinda happened an' you don' need to..."
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>You lean down, nuzzle his forehead and hug him tightly
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"Mac, it's alright"
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>Between the offer to clean, the fixing the table for free and, that brain-melting experience you do owe him
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>You lay him on his back
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>Mac looks alarmed
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>"S-sir ya really don' need ta"
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>Judging by that civilization ending pillar, you should
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>You lean down, nuzzling his already hard shaft
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>It smells like hay and hard work
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>Mac twitches gently, hindlegs pulling in
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>"Sir..." He says in a trailing whine, ears laying flat
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"Mac, it's alright"
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>You lick from the middle of his shaft to the tip, the whole thing oddly shaped but tasting kind of pleasant
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>It's like that dream you keep having, but with a bright red horse
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>It takes a lot of work, but you manage to get the tip and a few inches in your mouth
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>Mac gasps, twitches, and slowly relaxes, nickering a gentle nothing
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>You take a long lick, the pony's flesh tasting of salt, an honest musky something, and a grassy flavor
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>Mac bucks into your attention, thick, salty pre flooding your mouth.
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>With a little work you swallow it, the flavor bizarre but like Mac, honest and earthy.
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>The swallow drives Mac into another loud moan, and you feel the first fitful spurts of ropey cum on your tongue.
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>Wheat, grass, salty sweat
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>You have just enough time to think and pull your mouth off, quickly moving your hand in and stroking as your pet cums
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>The red pony moans and writhes slowly under your attention, his hooves pressing against you softly
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>His chest is coated in white, thick liquid
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>And his chin, you bought a shooter
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>"Thank you S-Sir..."
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>Mac is panting as his hooves work at the air in slow motion
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>Your mouth is still full of his seed, and your lips feel feel heavy as well
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>He leans up, licking your lips to clean you off
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>Not sure if... eh, it's actually rather nice
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>You swallow, which is kinda gross but at leas it tastes okay
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>Mac licks you, then himself clean, flexible enough to get his whole chest and belly
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>The pony rolls over to his belly and rests his head in your lap, tail swaying as you stroke his ears
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>You both watch the end of that episode of star trek
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>Big Mac has his head on your chest, forelegs around your middle, nickering softly content nothings
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>The time is ten in the morning
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