A fire stirred within his chest. A tremor of arousal began in his belly and made its way south between his legs as he tightened his embrace around the handsome young stallion’s neck, his tongue probed and massaged every crevice of his partner’s mouth, coaxing forth a needy moan and arch of his back that pressed their groins together.

He felt Button Mash’s rock-hard cock grind against his. The only thing separating their naked skin was the jeans the stallion wore and the thin gray speedo hugging his gorgeous hips and cupping his balls lovingly. Button’s fingers entangled in his chestnut brown mane. Featherweight smiled into the kiss and broke it with a playful nip of his buck teeth against the stallion’s chocolate brown snout, giggling at the way Button whimpered and melted in his arms.

“Time’s up, handsome,” he sang, kissing the very spot he’d nipped. Feather nuzzled along his jawline to a spot just below his ear, the same he knew to make his unofficial lover writhe and moan.

Sure enough, Button let out a strangled gasp and ground his hips. “F-Feather, please!”

Slowly, Feather licked along the outer edge of his ear, then sucked on the tip. “You get an hour free from Pound and I each when we’re on the clock,” he scolded with mock severity, and no small hint of lust. He wanted to continue all the way through just as much as the adorable little bottom in his yummy threesome. Perhaps more so. 

Who wouldn’t when it turned out their bottom was Batcolt? Better still, nether the handsome colt or Pound Cake knew. Only Feather knew that the same stallion he and Pound shared was the favorite toy of their alter-egos—he as Ten, and Pound as Dee.

Which made it all the more fun.

Feather let his hands wander low to squeeze Button’s taught flanks, toned well by years of training and crime-fighting. And no shortage of sculpting by Feather and Pound’s efforts to make him scream their names. “You have a date with Pound next, cutie colt,” he purred. “Any time after an hour, you have to pay. You know the rules.” At Button’s whine, he cupped his lover’s chin and drew him in for a quick kiss. “Come see me again tomorrow,” he whispered, a mischievous edge crept into his tone. “Or call me sometime. I’d be happy to play Batcolt and Ten with a hottie like you.”

Button stiffened, but his cock throbbed, much to Feather’s delight. “Wh-Wha?”

Perfect. “You.” Kiss. “Me.” Lick. His hand trailed around Button’s waistline and then south until it tickled his balls. “Batcolt and Ten. “ A nibble to his throat, and a pause to savor the wanting moan. “You can punish me for being a naughty criminal,” Feather whispered, “or I can put that cute butt of yours in a hold and make you squirm with lots and lots of kisses and flirting. Or maybe I’ll tie you up and give my friend—” his fingers curled around Button’s girth and gave it a slow, sensuous stroke “—a good licking ‘till you tell me how much you wanna have mine inside you.”

The rosy blush on Button’s face made him look like a ripe red gala. The rich colt stammered something unintelligible, his lips moved a mile a minute and his brain just couldn’t keep up.

So cute. Feather was so glad Pound convinced him to let Button join them that first night. And again when he was invited to play with Batcolt.

After another kiss and no small amount of groping, Feather spun Button around and gave him a little smack on his bottom to get him moving toward the door. “Get a move on, sexy colt!” he crooned. “Give Button a good smooch from me! He’s waiting for you in room 32!”

Grinning as he watched Button cast a wanting look over his shoulder, his cheeks a dusty red as he did as commanded and walked toward the door with a slow turn of his hip and swish of his lovely orange tail that made Feather long to tug him back and demand to be mounted then and there.

But if he did that, he’d get written up. Like the last time he and Pound were caught with their speedos off and a dazed, panting Button deciding which to kiss first.

He was such a cute stallion, even if he insisted on keeping his preferences under wraps outside the safety of their bedroom. Just how would the world react if they found out that one of Rainbow Dash Wayne’s top young executives liked to bottom for a pair of host club stallions?

Maybe someday he could. Until then, their little jaunts, in and out of costume, were just fine for Feather.

Licking his lips at the memory of their last, the young pegasus adjusted his bowtie and checked to make sure the halo over his head was in place, and that his heart stickers still covered his nipples. Perfect!

Feather sashayed out of the room and into the main lobby, fluffing his feathers as he felt the eyes of many a stallion upon him, each turn of his hips and slow swish of his tail drew their gaze toward his luscious backside. A smile tugged at his lips as he heard several throaty hums and the telltale rustle of pegasus wings trying to reduce the heat. He could see a room key on his hook, he already had a new customer.

A pity. He rather hoped to strut or dance around the room until one of those handsome stallions simply needed his attention for an hour or two.

Oh well. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun, though.

As Feather came to stop before the counter, he bent over and raised his tail just enough to flirt with the line between decency and vulgarity. He propped his elbows on the table and arched his back, standing on the tips of his toes. In the reflection of the glass wine case, he saw several mouths drop, even some of the mares were transfixed by his show.

Not quite his cup of tea, but when it came to flattery, Feather wasn’t choosey. If a mare wanted to tell him his butt was nice, well, who was he to deny a compliment?

With a satisfied fluff of his feathers, Feather beamed and called out to the young mare behind the counter. “New key for me already, Silver Spoon?”

Silver Spoon glanced up from her book, brushing a lock of her silver mane away from her glasses. “Yeah, you’ve been getting a lot of requests lately,” she said with a smile as she plucked the key from the hook and held it out for him. “This one’s a bit different from your usual, though.”

“Oh?” Feather accepted the key, then glanced at the number. His smile faltered as he noticed the styled 25 staring back at him. His heart plummeted into his stomach.

Room 25. The mud room.

The one room he actively avoided and tried to cajole his patrons out of. They always accommodated, of course. When he turned on his patented pouty puppy charm, no pony could resist. Not even Pound or Pumpkin. Most of the time.

He licked his lips nervously. It was a request, so he couldn’t say no. That was fine. It just meant he’d have to deal with … mud. That was completely fine. “Uh … well … anything I should know about him?” Feather stammered.

Silver gave him a pitying smile. “Afraid it’s a lady, sweetie. I tried to give her Pound or Tender, I even offered Rumble on a discount and got him to sign off on offering one of his full-body massages, but she wouldn’t budge. She wants you in the mud room.”

Feather swallowed a lump. Serving a mare was … a challenge. Not that he hadn’t served a couple and had a lovely time, Pumpkin cake had even behaved and played her role as duchess properly when she visited. But that was Pumpkin. She came to play with Feather and Pound and she had the bits to back it up. But that was Pumpkin. She had a—ah—way of making everyone love her, even though she lacked a couple things to really get Feather’s attention.

The rest, though … well, some liked to try to be his “one weakness.” Like being gay was his body armor against them. Some, at least.

There were others, the majority, really, who just wanted a nice colt to smile and tell them they were pretty, or lend an ear when they were feeling down.

Feather could do that much, at least. Mare or not, he loved making his patrons smile.

“If it helps,” Silver said, “she paid double. Before your tip.”

His eyes went wide. That was a lot of bits. A lot of bits he could spend on a few nice, new ensembles for his boys to enjoy. Or maybe a nice dinner for the three of them could enjoy in a private party room. Yes. Dinner, dessert, and then dessert.

Oh, yes.

Feather spun the keys around on his finger, grinning like a rogue. “I don’t suppose she left a note about her preferences in wine? Or how she’d like me to act?”

Silver shook her head. “She said you could pick the wine. As for the act,” she trailed off and stole a glance down at her notes. A bemused frown spread across her face. “It says that you should be ready to put those magic hands to work and get ready to get messy.”

A shudder ran to the tips of his feathers. Messy. Wonderful.

Ignore it. Think of the bits. Think of Pound’s smile and the blush on Button’s cheeks when we kiss him in the restaurant.

Nodding his head, Feather pushed off the counter, smiling at the groans that came as his show ended. They’d just have to wait for after. “I’ll use the glasses and wines in the room, then. It’s stocked well?”

“Everything you’ll need.” Silver winked. “Put a sway in those hips and hike up that tail. Go make the lady happy, stud.”

“Ha!” He stuck out his tongue and turned to wiggle his rear at her. “You’re not my type, Silver. Get a Y chromosome in the mix and I’ll show you how I make all the stallions melt!” At her laugh, he headed through the lobby, his eyes darting this way and that as he drank in the attention levied his way. All the while, as he absentmindedly selected who he’d try for next—the handsome unicorn struggling to hide his erection would do nicely—he wondered just who was waiting for him in that room.

A massage and getting messy? It wasn’t his usual thing, for sure, but he’d lie if he said he didn’t know how to give a hell of a good massage. And fun time with Pound could involve various messes involving frosting or sweets at any time.

But in the mud room?

Gross.

Feather reached room 25 in short order and unlocked it with a rattle of the metal latch. He put his most sultry smile on and let his eyelids droop as he pushed the door open and sauntered in with a swish of his long, chestnut tail. “Thank you for visiting Cutie Colt Café, mistress,” he crooned, playfully kicking the door shut behind him. He bowed his head and looked at his feet, a trick he picked up to add to the part of serving his new ‘master.’ Or, in this case, ‘mistress.’ “I’m Featherweight. May I ask who I have the pleasure to serve today?”

A low, feminine chuckle, familiar in the worst way, chased the smile from his face and sent a shiver to the tip of his tail. “Mmm, sugar, you know my name already,” his guest purred. “But I’ll be happy to make ya moan it for me.~”

His head shot up, eyes as wide as dinner plates as he gaped at the plump pig lady, her peach skin stained with mud and dirt, as were the pink sweats and sports bra she favored. Long goldenrod tresses passed her shoulders in a tangled mess of curls and dirt stains, she smirked at him, drinking in his form with a hooded stare as she propped her elbow up on the table and licked her lips. A fly buzzed around her in search of food, tempted by the stench of pig sweat she allowed to fester and seep into her clothes.

Beth Pamela trailed her chubby fingers up her massive thigh. “Hey there, purdy pony,” she said. “Didja miss me?”

“B-B-Beth!” he stammered, quickly covering his groin. As if he wasn’t nearly naked to begin with. “Wh-Wh-What are you doing here?”

The pig rose slowly and strode forward, her hips swayed and fat butt jiggled with each step. “The girls ’n me were spankin’ a cute colt ‘till he came buckets for comin’ on our turf. Heard ‘im squeal ’n moan your name when I gave his privates a lil’ squeeze, so after a lil’ persuadin’, we got ‘im to tell us all ‘bout this nice lil’ gig you boys have here.”

A block of ice fell into the pit of his stomach. Feather took a step back. She took one forward. Again and again until his backside hit the door and brought a squeak from the back of his throat. 

Beth placed her hands on the door, on either side of his head, and brought herself nose to nose with him. She nuzzled hims slowly, her foul stench mixed with her breath made him want to gag. “So, I came on over,” she whispered, her lips brushed against his, “an’ told that lil’ mare up front that I wanted your pretty lil’ butt all to myself for an hour. I wanna feel them magic fingers rubbin’ all the aches outta my muscles ‘till I feel like I’m on a cloud. Think ya can manage that, pretty colt?”

Feather swallowed a lump. “I-I-I c-can try. B-But could you please back away, M-Miss Pamela? You’re—You’re not supposed to touch me or the other boys without c-consent.”

“‘Course, sugar. Let’s get down to business.” She turned and sauntered over to a massage table, no doubt brought in by the staff upon her request. With a not-so-little wiggle of her rump, she hopped onto the table. The legs sank into the mud. “Sashay your cute little butt on over here. ’N don’t forget the wine.”

Wine, right. That he could do. Feather did as asked, walking stiffly over to the wine cabinet mounted on the far wall, right passed the table so she (and any patron) got a generous show. Any effort to put his usual near-hypnotic sway into his hips seemed to only yield a jerky motion more akin to the time he got zapped by a wild thunderhead than a professional host.

With trembling hands, he tried to insert the key. Feather winced as it missed the hole several times, rattling against the glass. When he finally managed to force it in and turn the latch, he stammered, “Wh-What kind of wine would you like, Miss Pamela?”

“Surprise me, sugar. An’ let’s go back to Mistress. Or better yet.” He could almost hear her sliding a finger up her barely covered rump. “Mistress Beth. Ya like that, don’tcha, cutie boy?”

Feather snatched the bottle of Caberneigh from the top right rung. His favorite. He had the distinct feeling he’d be needing a glass or three soon. He set up two glasses on a tray, then popped the cork off with a few deft twists of the bottle opener. He poured the wine, idly flicking his tail as he shifted from one foot to the other.

Behind him, Beth purred. “Oh, slow down, baby!” she drawled. “How ‘boutchu give them flanks a lil’s flexin’? Let mama see them muscles move!”

Shuddering, he did as asked, flexing his left buttcheek, then his right. Back and forth, over and over again in a steady rhythm. He closed his eyes, pretending that it wasn’t a lusty, smelly pig on the bed awaiting him. No, it was Pound and Button. His boys wanted a show. So why not lift that tail and arch his lower back to show off?

Much better. It even helped him ignore the delighted, throaty moan his patron let out.

He just had to make it through an hour.

Feather turned and walked over to her, bent low to offer her one of the glasses on the tray and a generous view. The latter more forced than anything. He licked his lips to wet them, mumbling, “M-Mistress Beth.” Cursing his stammer, he fixed a smile upon his face and tried not to retch at her scent. “I hope you like Caberneigh.”

“Aw, shoot, sugar, I’d like any ol’ thang you served me!” With a wink, she plucked the glasses from the tray, cupping one in her fingers as she held the other out for him. A teasing grin played upon her lips. “Set that tray ’n bottle down so we can both enjoy a drink together.”

He did as commanded, ignoring the chill that trickled down his back as he placed the tray and wine bottle on a small side table. Feather then turned to accept the glass, raising it like he would any normal toast. Before he could think of something, his usual suave, yet cutesy fare, Beth moved, entwining her arm with his and drawing him in close.

Close enough to choke on the stench of pig sweat again.

“Hey! What are you—”

Her eyes glittered. “Drink up, sugar. Ain’t no need for fancy toasts. You ’n me are gonna take care of that bottle like this. So get comfy, ’n throw back that wine.” With her piece said, Beth downed the full glass in a single gulp, letting out a loud belch that had Feather gagging when she finished. 

Celestia, this is so gross. I should’ve told Silver to make it triple my rate. Feather gave a plastic smile and took a sip. But before he could pull it away, Beth placed her free hand beneath the base and forced him to tip it back, he sputtered and tried to swallow the wine quickly so he could breathe. “Ack! Mistress—hack!—Beth! That’s—wheeze—wine isn’t meant to be guzzled!”

“Aw, shoot! Don’tchu worry ‘bout gettin’ tipsy with me, sugar. Mama’ll take care of your pretty lil’ self if you fall asleep at the wheel.” Beth winked. “But if ya do, just remember, Swinefest party rules apply.”

Swinefest party rules. Another memory that brought a shudder to the young stallion. He’d found himself bound and naked at their mercy after he and Pound unwittingly wandered into their territory enough times. More often than not, it was Beth who got ahold of him.

Those backbreaking, nose-curling hugs were quite fresh in his mind.

His head spun at the sudden onset of wine. Blinking owlishly, he shook himself to clear the cobwebs. “F-Fine. That’s fine.” Feather gave a wobbly smile and made to set his glass down. “Would you like that massage now?”

“Not quite yet, pretty colt.” She waggled her glass. “Let’s get the wine flowin’ a lil’ more before we get down to business.”

Another internal curse. Feather kept his smile in place as he poured another glass of wine for each of them. Again, they intwined their arms, giving him yet another long whiff of her scent, and drank deeply. And, once again, Beth’s penchant for vulgarity resulted in a horrid belch that had him blinking to unblur his vision.

Nothing another glass wouldn’t fix, Beth assured him. With clumsy fingers, he filled their glasses and joined her in guzzling their wine again. When they finished, it was Feather this time who let out a loud belch that seemed to echo around the room. He clapped his hands over his mouth, his face brighter than a ripe red gala while Beth howled and snorted with laughter.

“Wouldja lookit that!” she crooned, drawing close enough that their noses touched. “Pretty, prim, prissy lil’ Feather can belch with the big pigs!” As his blush deepened, she waggled her ears. “Keep it up, sugar, we’ll make a proper piggy out of you. Maybe a lil’ roll in the mud with me’ll bring out that inner porker, eh? Then we can get to a lil’ porkin’ ourselves.~”

Feather leaned back and shook his head so fast his halo batted his cheeks. “N-No sex on Club grounds!” he squeaked. “A-A-And you aren’t supposed to touch me or make me do anything I’m not okay with!”

That only made her smirk grow into a dangerous grin. “Well, we’ll just see what you’re okay with after a lil’ more time in here.” Beth reached over and set her glass on the table, then laid down and patted her plump rump. “Think I’ll take that massage now, pretty colt. Get yourself on up here.”

He hastened to place his glass beside hers, then moved to stand beside the table. Feather laid his hands gently upon her back, wincing both at the smell and the telltale sticky feeling that came from still drying sweat. Slowly, he began to knead into the rolls of flabby peach skin, his throat tightening as a fresh wave of her scent assaulted his senses.

Suddenly, Beth shifted so she could turn and smack his wrist. “I didn’t stutter, boy! I said get your cute lil’ bottom up here!” She smacked her butt again, Feather couldn’t help but note how it jiggled for a second or two after. “Ain’t no rule against it, ’n that lil’ punk we played with told me all ‘bout what ya did when he asked. Climb up, or I’ll climb on you!”

Feather yelped and climbed onto the massage bed, swung his leg over her wide hips, and settled down on her backside. For a moment, he sat still, his face burning as he looked down at his legs, spread wider than if he tried to straddle both his boyfriends, his cheeks squeezed between her great bottom, and the generous cup of his speedo nestled almost lovingly in the middle. If this were a position with either of his boys, he’d happily roll his hips …

Then he remembered just who he was sitting on and what she expected him to be doing. Feather leaned forward, grimacing both at the feeling of himself unintentionally grinding against her, and placed his hands upon her back again, resuming the slow, kneading work.

Beth moaned in content. “Thattaboy,” she crooned. “Get in there good ’n deep.”

Feather opted to pretend she only meant the massage. He focused on his work, blocking out her scent and their positioning in favor of working slowly along her back. All the while, he couldn’t help but notice just how her skin felt despite her lack of hygiene. He half expected it to feel like his coat after sex—oh, sure, it was sticky with sweat, but beneath that, it was surprisingly …

“Smooth,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

“Hmm?”

“Your skin is so smooth. But … you don’t bathe much.”

The chubby pig turned to grin at him. “Rollin’ in the mud does wonders for the skin, bucko. Doin’ it with my friends in the Swinefest or a cute, girly colts is a bonus!”

“Huh,” Feather replied, for once not bothered by her flirting. “I never would’ve thought.”

“Well, maybe you’ll quit your whinin’ an’ join me in the mud later on.” She settled down again, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. “Feel free to get lower, sugar. You’re doin’ both sides. In fact—” Beth shifted and slipped out of her stained sports bra, dangling it from her fingers before letting it fall to the ground “—you’re doin’ my girls, too.”

I take it back. I should’ve told Silver to quadruple it. He bit back a retching sound and continued his ministrations, making sure to knead, roll, and pinch wherever he felt tightness in her muscles. Each moan, each contented hum from her lips told him that his work was much appreciated. He made his way down to the small of her back, paying extra attention there to compensate for her … generous proportions.

Pain his his backside or not, she was a client. She would be leaving happy in some way if he had his say. Just not quite how she might like.

Once he was done with her back—and had to oblige her want for a smack on the bottom to make her roll over—Feather straddled her waist again and found himself charged with a full frontal massage.

He gulped and tried to ignore the oddly pleasant feeling their crotches pressing together brought as he worked on her abdominal muscles. Instead, he conjured images of himself and Pound, as their alter egos, mounting a bound Button from both sides and forming a lovely Eiffel Tower, their tongues intwined and eyes crossing as they finished inside him.

Oh, what a lovely thought …

One he had to banish the instant he felt his cock twitch and loins begin to stir. Feather shook his head. The last thing he needed was for Beth to think it was for her.

As if on cue, she caught his eye and motioned to her breasts. “That’s enough playin’ with my tummy, cutie colt.” Beth gave her chest a little wiggle, sending those voluptuous breasts swaying from side to side in a way that would make Pound howl and rip off his clothes. “C’mere ’n give mama’s best girls some love.”

Feather let out a tiny whimper, but gave into her demands, gently laying his hands upon her breasts as if her were about to touch a hot stove. Again, he found himself surprised. He expected them to be flabby, almost glom-like in texture. Instead, they were soft, supple despite her girth. A tentative squeeze—for massage purposes, he swore—yielded similar firmness to Button’s backside. Though not quite so as Pound’s.

Still. Damn.

Like bread dough, he kneaded her breasts. There was no need for the pinching and pressing as before, just a soft squeeze and turn of his hands, enough to make her eyelids flutter and chest fill with each gasp. He could feel Beth roll her hips beneath him, a warm feeling beneath his bottom as another scent, vaguely familiar wafted to his nose.

He pushed onward, ignoring it all, or at least pretending it could. Memories of himself with Pound and Pumpkin flitted through his mind. Or the twins and he taking turns playing with Button, both as Batsallion and as their captive civvie. Anything else.

Her stench, oddly enough, wasn’t bothering him as much. If anything it was … well, it wasn’t half bad. Honestly? It was like a night with his boys. Or with the twins. Hot, sweaty, rough, and messy in all the best ways. Oh, how many delicious nights they’d had together!

And until they showered, there was that scent of sweat, musk, and arousal. Maybe it wasn’t so bad … or it wouldn’t be as bad if she’d showered more often. 

After several minutes, Feather stopped. Beth’s eyes fluttered open, locking on him with a dazed hunger that almost made him stiffen. A slow smile spread across her chubby cheeks. “Not half bad, darlin’,” she whispered. “I think that’ll get us all nice ’n warmed up for the main event.”

“M-Main event?”

“Darn tootin’.” She sat up and nuzzled his nose. “You ’n me are gonna have a nice, slow dance, sugar. After you take care of a lil’ somethin’. Nothin’ too challengin’ for a stud like you.”

Feather fought the urge to lean back. Instead, he let out a nervous laugh, his wings unfurled, ready to fly. “W-What did you have in mind?”

Without breaking eye contact, Beth snatched the bottle off the table and poured the remnants into his glass. The dark red liquid filled just ver three-quarters of the glass. Far more than the usual amount.

“Finish up the wine, darlin’,” she crooned. “I wanna see how fast you can put the rest of that away.”

His eyes flitted between hers and the glass. Nervously, he reached out to accept the glass. He could do this. It would give him a heck of a headache later on, not to mention the buzz, but … 

It would get her out of his hair quicker. And he did need that money for his plans for his boys.

Feather took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then tilted his head back and began to chug the full glass of wine. His ears flicked at the sound of Beth cheering, the bitter taste of alcohol stung the back of his throat, but he pressed on. In seconds, he polished it off, wiping his lips clean as he opened his eyes and smiled. “Th-There,” he slurred as he presented the glass to her. “Finished it for you, Mistress Beth.”

She patted his cheek. “Good boy.” Beth took the glass away and set it on the table. Then she reached down and squeezed his backside. For once, he didn’t recoil.

Instead, he moaned.

Her eyes lit up. “Next up,” she breathed, her lips brushing against his nose, “you ’n me are gonna dance together. Nice ’n slow, like proper romancin’.”

Proper romancing? Dances?

Easy enough.

Feather hopped off the massage table, landing with a bit of a wobble. A far cry from his usual nimbleness. He blinked a few times to clear his head, then turned and bowed to Beth, offering his hand like a proper host. Rude, smelly, and presumptuous, not to mention pushy on the whole wanting to bang him thing … but she was his guest. She paid well, so she would get what she wanted, within reason.

Beth accepted his hand and slid off the table, her feet sank into the mud. She positioned his hands around her waist, rather close to her backside. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, her naked breasts squeezed beneath his chin, he could feel his cock rubbing up against her crotch. Twitching, as images of himself with his boys, with Pumpkin, came to mind again.

Slowly, she began to sway to a tune only she could hear, guiding him along in a slow, almost waltz-like dance. If a waltz involved pressing oneself against their partner, slowly swaying one’s hips, and rubbing against them.

Maybe it was the buzz. Maybe it was his wandering mind. Maybe it was something about the scents intwining and playing about his nose. Or maybe it was just the way she took control, but Feather started to reciprocate. His crotch tingled, he clutched at her hips and pulled her against him, inhaling a breath of pig scent and arousal as she wrapped a leg around his waist and trailed her hands down his chest. Her chubby fingers gripped his pecs, drawing an airy gasp and a quick nuzzle into the crook of her neck.

His hands drifted, slowly caressing and groping her sides. Her back. Her backside—oh, by Celestia, how it felt! And how his skin burned, how a tremor ran through his belly to his loins as he felt one hand clutch his rear while the other tickled his balls through the thin spandex.

Thin spandex that felt tight. Confining. A needy moan escaped his lips. He needed something inside him. In his mouth. Or himself inside something nice and warm and wet. But first and foremost, he needed his blasted shorts off.

Feather made to loop his thumbs under the elastic, but Beth’s strong hands seized his wrists. He whined in protest, “Mistress!”

She tugged his hands to rest on either side of her waist, guiding his thumbs to loop beneath the waistband of her sweats. “Hold you’re hands right there, sugar,” she commanded. “Wait ‘till I tell you to slide ‘em down.”

He let out another whine, but obeyed. He watched through drooping eyelids as she turned slowly, glancing over her shoulder at him as her backside pressed against his crotch. Beth arched her back and rolled her hip in a slow, torturous circle against his pelvis. His cock tingled as her cheeks seemed to guide it to lay between them and receive their warm embrace. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

Around and around, up and down, side to side, she rolled her hips, flexing and relaxing her buttocks to change up the feeling with each rotation. A soft moan built in the back of his throat and threatened to pry its way through his lips, but he bit down, his buck teeth pinching his bottom lip so hard he tasted coppery blood.

“Now,” Beth whispered.

Feather seized the sides of her sweats and slowly began to pull them down her legs, bending low as he did so to avoid tripping her. For his troubles, he received a new sensation—strangely smooth pink cheeks brushed against either side of his face. Beth didn’t stop her efforts, instead rolling her hips in a forward circle to give him an up close and personal view of fat, flabby pig butt. Her purple, silken panties trained against her girth, tickling his face with their soft touch.

Her sweats reached her ankles, she stepped out of them with little need for assistance. 

With trembling hands, Feather reached up to caress her cheeks again. The smell of pig sweat was thicker than ever before, as was the telltale sweet, musty scent of arousal. A tingle ran down his spine to his loins. His cock throbbed and strained against the fabric.

He gave a shuddering gasp, nuzzling into her right cheek before planting a soft, lingering kiss upon her skin that made his mistress stop, shivering a moment and moaning deeply. He leaned forward, hugging her hips and trailing fluffy kisses up her cheek, to the side of her curly tail, along her spine until he finally stood on his tip toes to reach the base of her neck.

Beth turned to wrap her arms around his neck once more. Their dance resumed, hands wandering and hips grinding as they turned and swayed to a beat created not by any music player, but their racing hearts and need. 

She rubbed her thigh against his butt, drawing a sharp gasp and buck of his hips, driving his cock against her crotch. Feather lifted his opposite foot off the ground and wrapped it around her leg to give them a little more exposure, a little more room as he thrust forth again. His chest heaving, he let his eyes flutter shut and leaned in, his lips parted for a deep, eager kiss.

That was when she made her move.

Her foot came down so her heel was behind his. With little more than a sudden push, Feather tumbled back with a yelp and a sickening splat into the warm, wet mud. 

His mouth hung open, his eyes were as wide as dinner plate. He could feel it staining his lovely straw yellow coat, dirtying the chestnut mane and tail he worked so diligently to brush and style to perfection so all the stallions turned their head to get a look at the prize which only his boys and Pumpkin could lay claim. Feather’s face contorted in abject disgust, his fingers twitched as he made to try to rise.

Beth swooped down upon him before he could lean forward. Her strong, meaty hands pinned his shoulders, pushing him deeper into the muck. Her scent hit him like a ton of bricks. Sweat, arousal, and pig musk made his nose curl. The young stallion tried to squirm free, so much like a worm who might live in the very mud he wished to escape, but she held him fast.

A low chuckle and a rub of her massive breasts up his chest, then a grind against his crotch made his back arch. She had him at her mercy. No escape. No choice but to lay there and give her everything she wanted.

Just like Pound. Just like Pumpkin.

But so dirty.

So messy.

Feather’s eyes fluttered shut as a low moan built in his chest and made its way into the back of his throat. He tilted his head back and let it out, rolling his hips forward in a slow circle against her. Then another. 

There was too much between them. Whimpering, he ruffled his dropping feathers, a sign he gave to his loves the hint: no more teasing. Clothes needed to come off now, and someone needed to be inside someone else.

“Mmm, that’s right, bucko,” she crooned. “Now, give mama some sugar.~”

Beth tilted her head and darted forward, pressing their lips together. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and launched an all out assault before he could think to react.

Oh … Oh yes! 

Feather tried to reciprocate, tried to probe into her mouth but found himself beaten into submission. In near unison, the pig and pony moaned into the kiss. He rolled his hips forward, his cock caught on her mound and probed through the fabric.

It hit him then.

No rock hard cock. No Pound or Button. No Pumpkin. Not even their occasional playmate, Snails.

His eyes shot open. His head cleared all in that instant. With a shriek, he pushed his feet against her hips and lifted her off him with surprising strength and quickly rolled away, panting for breath.

Beth laid on the side, covered in mud. Her eyes gleamed with delight, lust, and mischief. “I knew I could get you goin’, boy.”

Her words snapped Feather out of his stupor. He leapt out of the mud and bolted for the door, his feet slapping against the tile floor as he skidded out into the hallway and sprinted away from the laughing pig. The only thing on his mind were his boys. His breaths came in ragged pants, a fearful whimper escaped his lips.

Room 32 had never seemed so far away.

***

Hot water ran down his coat, slowly chasing the remnants of lingering mud and soap suds away. His hands wrung together, fingers intwined and shoulders shaking as he stood under the shower stream. A pair of warm bodies pressed against his sides, gentle hands holding soapy wash clothes stroked, rubbed, and caressed every inch of his body.

A soft pair of lips pressed against his cheeks. “We’re here, Feather,” Pound whispered, nuzzling the crook of his neck. “Button and I are right here with you.”

Button wrapped him in a tight hug, his muscles playing such delights with Feather’s fantasies, even in his current state. “We’re not mad, honey,” he said softly. “You drank a lot of wine and got led along. We’re gonna get you nice and clean and take you home.”

Home. Yes. Silver Spoon, upon finding him desperately hugging his boyfriends, covered in filth, and shaking like a leaf, told him to go home after she spent the better part of a half hour coaxing the story out of him. Then, she swept from the room with her lips pressed together in a thin line. Though not without turning to order Pound to take the afternoon off and get Feather cleaned up. She even allowed Button to join them in the staff shower.

Just this once, she said sternly. For Feather’s sake.

Gentle hands cupped his chin, slowly turning him to gaze into Button’s amber eyes. The young business stallion and hero leaned forward to peck his lips, then nuzzled his nose. “You’re gonna be okay, Feather. You and Pound are my number one stallions. Beth being pushy and getting you buzzed and worked up doesn’t change a thing between us.”

Slowly, Feather nodded. Good. That was good. He felt Pound turn his head to kiss him as well, the pair trailed fluffy kisses and licks from either corner of his mouth to his ears and whispered sweet nothings and promises to pamper him like the beautiful stallion he was.

All was right in his world. All except for one lingering thought:

I wanted her like I wanted Pumpkin.