Blood and Breeding


                                            You find yourself once more at the mercy of Cinder Breeze, though much less having to smile and make nice, and much more lying under her dark form. She'd come to you as you were disrobing, pulling at your suit far more roughly than you're sure the seamstress who'd made it would allow were she here herself, but Cinder really loved to push things in public. Much like the way she pushes the door to your bedroom shut with a hind hoof and then carefully pulls it back under the beautiful crimson gown she wears.

                                            "Do you think to try me?" she asks, in that accent which even in public, even when she sneers at you, sends a shiver down your spine. You'd read enough to describe it as trilling her 'r's but that's all. The rest you left to your imagination and the way her tongue must move to make those sounds.

                                            So captivated, however, you realise you've been standing there dumbly only when Cinder Breeze now stands before you, looking up. You open your mouth... then shut it, promptly. What answer could you possibly give that wouldn't result in further tongue-lashing?

                                            "Oh! So /now/ he has lost the use of his speech!" The mare chuckles, tossing the long, mauve tresses of her mane across her withers, and affixes you with a pair of lidded eyes. "Do you perhaps need encouragement?" she asks and quickly follows the question with a flash of her pure white fangs. They always stood out so strongly against the pale charcoal of her body and the the dress she wears, the image of something warm and wet dripping from them comes unbidden to the fore of your mind.

                                            You swallow in a dry throat and try to turn your gaze away from her piercing blue eyes. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"

                                            "No, you should not have," she cuts over you, her eyes narrowing just enough for you to notice, "and now you must dedicate yourself to paying penance for your sin."

                                            You know it's coming, of course you do, but that doesn't stop you from recoiling slightly from the sight. How, with one slow closing of her eyes, the flash of a grin, and opening them once more, Cinder Breeze now stands before you with sickeningly red eyes whose pupils are far sharper than any other batpony's.

                                            Bearing her teeth and fangs, the mare struts slowly towards and then past you, to a bed far larger than any pony would ever need. She'd said it was somewhat suitable for a mare of her station but in time she expected you to provide far better. More luxurious. Satin and silk, Somnambulan cotton and fine Prench lace. It was not, by her tone, a request.


                                            "Well?" Cinder's voice is like honey and ash and her fanged-grin doesn't falter as she hops onto your bed, leans back, and crosses one black-stockinged hind leg over the other. The red dress offers no hint of what lies between them and you struggle to keep your eyes there anyway. "You were undressing before, you shall now resume it. Slowly. I must appreciate the sight of my dessert."

                                            What?

                                            Of all the things Cinder has ever asked of you, to strip for her was not one of them. You don’t even know how to do it! Watching girls stripping off what’s only there for show isn’t the same and the two times you’ve seen mares do it offers even less insight. So you do the only thing you can: you shut your eyes and put your hands to your shirt, hoping you can just focus enough on unbuttoning it that you don’t screw even that up.

                                            “Anon?” Cinder calls out in a sing-song tone. You open your eyes to the sight of her grinning wickedly. “Look at me.”

                                            You swallow again as your eyes flick between her fangs and her blood-red eyes. The way Cinder’s grin just grows as you do unnerves you even further but you’ve already experienced once in the past what lies ahead if you dare displease your mistress of the night. Your hands find your shirt again and with a little fumbling you’ve got the first button undone.

                                            Upon Cinder’s back, lying between her two wings, is something like a scarf; it was a common affection among the more cultured batmares who enjoyed extending their wings and showing off what was so often expensive imported kirin-made silk. Now, however, it flies away across the bed as her wings flap out and then resettle against her back, her tongue flicking out over her lips and lingering upon her fangs.

                                            “Yes,” the mare whispers, “like that.”

                                            You’ve got most of your shirt undone and Cinder has a forehoof upon her chest, idly stroking at the dark fluff that pokes out from the low cut of the dress. A chest that rises and falls faster with each button you undo, until you… well, you can’t move from here, not when she’s looking like that. So you toss the shirt to a nearby chair and move onto your belt.

                                            Cinder’s head tilts back slightly and her eyes narrow as you unbuckle your belt and slide it out from around your trousers. The feeling of being a piece of tender meat before a salivating lion grows all the more intense when you take the button of your trousers and start undoing it. Cinder lets out a long, shaky breath as her hoof descends over her dress, as low as her stomach. A quick glance down and you’re sure you see one of her hind legs twitch.

                                            But it’s when you drop your pants and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear that the mare slides off the bed.

                                            “Enough!” she practically growls.


                                            Her hooves make no noise upon the carpet as she approaches and rears back on her hind legs, putting her forehooves to your shoulders. With a graceful motion, she turns you about and follows with her own body, the weight of her own pressing against you as she pushes.

                                            And pushes. You offer no resistance, even when you feel your legs bump against the edge of your bed, or when she keeps pushing until they buckle and you fall back with the air expelled from your lungs.

                                            A gasp later and you’re filled with her scent - the faint and slightly sickly smell of iron and copper, mostly overshadowed by something earthy and sweet; the smell of her arousal which you know far more intimately than you’d care to.

                                            But even with your body now lying upon the bed, the mare doesn’t stop. Still like a lion but now bearing down upon its prey, Cinder climbs onto the bed and over you. She stops only when her forehooves press at your shoulders, her grinning face hovers over yours, and her hot, sweet breath washes across your face as the mane that now hangs about her head almost touches yours.

                                            “You think you may parade yourself before other, lesser, mares? You think I do not see the way they look upon you?” Cinder raises her head and pulls back her lips, baring her fangs so close a shiver runs through you. “You are /mine/! All that you are and have is /mine/! Your body, now and forever, is /mine/!” She leans in closer, trailing her fangs against your cheek as you struggle to keep your eye open under her withering glare. “I will show you.”