Rookwood looked at the filly before him, her backside wiggling in a most inviting way, her tail raised, flipped up and hanging over one side, her soft powder pink buttocks glistening with moisture, light reflecting in all odd angles, like drops of sparkling morning dew. She was looking over her shoulder at him, her eyes nearly closed, her face had an orgasmic grin plastered over her snout. Her pink wings were out, stiff, hard as steel. He could imagine hooking his forelegs in front of her wing joints and using them to get a good grip as he drove himself into her dark purple-pink filly bits.

He could feel himself throbbing. It almost felt like his boner was going to run out of skin and pop. His fevered adolescent brain understood on some level that he was dreaming, but this was a dream he had longed to make a reality for a very long time. He licked his dry lips and stepped forward, bravely looking into her eyes, returning her gaze. In his dream, he was desirable. He was handsome. She was eager, wet and willing, and she was waiting. She made a gesture with her head, tossing her head back, urging Rookwood to come and mount her.

Rookwood’s dream self was the image of what he dreamed he was. Tall. Muscular. Stout. Well built. Well endowed. He was nothing at all like he was in real life. Scrawny. Skinny. Bespectacled, requiring cider bottle lenses just to be able to see anything. In this heated dream, his glasses were gone. He was the ideal handsome beauty.

He took another step forward, feeling a dull throbbing ache in his oversized dream endowed testicles. They hung down to his knees almost. He could see the tip of his oversized cock peeking out from between his front legs. A trailing dribble of cock snot dangled from the tip, swinging back and forth pendulously, growing in length as he confidently strode forward.

He lowered his head, his nose touching wet folds. She smelled sweet. The smell and the sticky texture were entirely too much like cake batter. He chanced a lick, causing her to kick her hind hoof into the ground, frustrated and impatient.

Bubblegum Berry wouldn’t even give him the time of day in school, but here, in the realm of dreams, she was wet and willing for Rookwood, urging him on impatiently, little cries of desire now escaping her pouting lips.

He took a few more licks, his thick tongue creating a lovely friction, each lick tugging and pulling on the tightly drawn folds, stretching and twisting the budded flesh. He worked the tip deep into a wrinkled fold, drawing out the puckered flesh, pulling it taut, making it go smooth. His tongue broke contact and it snapped back into place with a wet sounding squish, causing a dribble of cunny honey to slowly extend toward the floor, the long viscous strand almost reaching her hooves before Rookwood flicked his tongue and slurped up the long sweet strand of filly froth. Once he started to swallow, he couldn’t stop, the thick stringy strand was too thick to simply break. It traveled down his throat, sliding through his windpipe, half of it down his throat, the other half still being slurped through his eager lips. It wouldn’t break, he had to keep swallowing to work it down.

He took another few licks once he was freed from swallowing the gooey filly froth.

He mounted Bubblegum Berry, hooking his front hooves in front of her wing joints, pulling her backwards towards him, his oversized cock banging away at her backside, causing her to squeal. He had trouble finding his way in. He found what felt like an entrance, he pushed and encountered resistance. He pushed a little harder, drawing a long loud squeal from the filly beneath him. He pulled back, realising he was pushing into what had to be a very uncomfortable place. The entrance was dry and pulled and tugged on his own skin painfully.

He thrust forwards a few times more, angling his hips, driving lower, finding something wet. He pressed, pushing forward, causing Bubblegum Berry to moan like the filthy whorse she was, her wings trembling, throwing her head back.

He eased his way in, slowly, feeling himself bend uncomfortably if he applied too much pressure. Halfway in, he thrust forwards with a bit more force, feeling a bit more confident, but it was still awkward and slow going, the clumsy ineffectual actions of first time love.

He pulled out slightly, feeling delightful friction, hearing a wet sucking sound, almost like that of a hoof being pulled out of the mud. With the tip still inside, he thrust forward, slowly, easing his way back in. Rookwood’s breathing increased and he moaned, none of his adolescent rasping and squeaking present in his dream self’s voice. It was deep and masculine.

He pulled out again, leaving the tip still firmly planted in just the right spot, angled his hips upward, and thrust in boldly, the tip of his cock rubbing along the top of her slick passage, pressing deep into the soft spongy flesh, causing Bubblegum Berry to scream with delight.

Again, he pulled out, adjusted his angle a little more, and rammed forward, now with confidence, drawing another equine scream of pleasure from the filly, her back arching, her head thrashing back and forth, her purple mane whipping into his face.

She writhed under him, her hind legs kicking and stomping, shoving her self back to meet his thrusting advances, her cries the sorts of cries a filly makes in a desperate colt’s dream.

Rookwood looked down at the filly he was rutting, watching her, still trying to go balls deep. He pulled out halfway and made another frenzied thrust, driving himself in deeper than ever, but not quite balls deep. She was turning darker beneath him, a detail his fevered mind failed to notice, her pelt turning purple. Rookwood could not see it, but a shadowy haze had enveloped his horn, a pooling darkness near the tip.

His frenzied thrusting continued unabated, still trying to hilt himself.

Finally, he jammed forward with every ounce of strength he could muster, causing the filly to shriek with horny adolescent desire, her coat continuing to turn a deep purple. Unnoticed, a horn began to sprout from her head. A blue horn, only a nub, peeped forth.

He felt his balls slapping against her backside, each thrust causing them to sting, each hilted frenzied thrust causing Bubblegum Berry to cry out, her pelt still changing colour, now no longer quite so purple, but more of a dark shade of navy blue. He saw none of this however, his eyes closed now, his face contorted with effort and concentration, lost in the throes of horny teenaged lust.

He knew this was a dream and he didn’t care. In his dream, he was perfect. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he knew his real life stamina would never allow this. He would have probably blew his load on the first few half entered pokes.

“What in Tartarus?!”

The strange voice did little to slow his frenzied thrusting, but he did open his eyes. He saw a blue face looking at him, an ethereal mane full of stars whipped around his face. Bubblegum Berry had turned blue and sprouted a horn.

No, that wasn’t right.

This wasn’t Bubblegum Berry.

He froze, balls deep in Luna, Mistress of Dreams, Princess of the Night, Guardian of the Starry Realms, Monarch of the Moon. Her wings were flared, just as Bubblegum Berry’s had been. She was looking at him, her eyes blinking, surprise and shock on her face.

And maybe something else as well.

“Did I give you permission to stop?” Luna said, biting her lip. “It is very rude to keep a mare waiting in mid coitus. There is much I will tolerate in dreams, but poor manners is not acceptable.”

Rookwood pulled out and politely as possible thrust his way back in, doing so as softly and carefully as possible, feeling cold sweat pouring down his plot crack and trickling over his balls.

Luna rolled her eyes.

Rookwood felt his backside seized in magic. He was pulled out, and then jammed forward with enough force to nearly shatter his pelvis. Luna gnawed on her lip, her eyes rolling back into her head.

“It has been a very long time since my full consciousness has been pulled into a single dream.” She murmured. “Do not disappoint me!”

Realising that he could not hurt the Princess of the Night, Rookwood did what any teenaged colt being visited by Luna in a wet dream would do.

He went for the gusto knowing this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He resumed his frantic frenzied thrusting, trying to jam himself ever deeper into Luna, making her hiss like a tea kettle. He tried his angle trick again, scraping his tip over the roof of Luna’s clinging somewhat stinging passage, causing Luna to squirm and nearly buck. Using every ounce of strength, he pulled her backwards with his forehooves, hooked onto her wing joints, trying to get every ounce of leverage that he could.

Wet sucking and slurping sounds fill the air, his thrusting rapid and tireless, each one perfect, delivering in such a way that was only possible in dreams. In life, he was a failure. In dreams, he was perfection.

He heard Luna cry out, her shout deafening, causing his ears to ring, and felt her clenching around this thrusting and pistoning cock. A flood of slippery liquid oozed out, his frenzied pumping causing it to squirt with every thrust forward, sending streams of liquid Luna spurting outward.

The dreamscape vanished, they were standing in a void now, among the stars, their hooves on nothing solid, yet something solid remained under them, no longer visible.

Rookwood was on the brink now, feeling his own orgasm rumbling forward. Magic gripped him, slamming his body down upon Luna, his belly becoming flush with her back, his neck entwined with hers, and with an exceedingly painful crushing blow against his backside, he was rammed in deeper than he had ever gone.

Rookwood awoke in his bed as he exploded, flooding his bed with ejaculate, spraying it all over his chest, his blankets, and his sheets. He nearly choked on his own tongue. Every muscle in his scrawny body was on fire, his guts churned, his sheets so deep up his own plot crack that it would take several minutes of dedicated effort to pull them out. He flooded his bed with cum.

He lay there gasping for several minutes, unable to move, barely able to breathe, the dream already fading, the details becoming hazy. He lay there in a hot, wet, sticky pile, his mouth bone dry, his pecker sore from having been stretched to its limits from arousal. His balls ached, throbbing dully, making his plothole pucker and clench in time to each aching throb. He felt himself going soft.

Rookwood felt a vague sense of panic settle into the back of his mind. He would need to clean up before going to school. He needed a shower. His bedding would need changing.

He noticed his horn aching, something it had never done before. He turned on his bedside lamp and stumbled out of bed, covered in cum, a truly embarrassing amount of cum, the sort of flood of semen that only a teenage colt could produce.

He stood there, still gasping, wanting a drink of something cold. He carefully put on his glasses, the extra thick lenses allowing him to see, and turned to look at himself in the mirror, hoping to see the version of himself he had been in his dream.

Instead, he saw the pathetic reality of what he was. Scrawny, skinny, ribs somewhat visible, his unappealing avocado green pelt shimmering with wetness.

He also saw a cutie mark, which nearly caused him to cry out. It was a pony, in profile, a black silhouette, an equine outline. He had no idea what it meant, but he was glad to see it there. It was one less thing to be teased about.

Luna snapped out of her dreaming state, forcibly snapped back into reality, soaked and covered in coital fluids. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She had brought a countless number of these dreams to so many, but so rarely had she ever been pulled into one of these dreams so completely. Usually, her consciousness spread over thousands and thousands of sleepers, all dreaming, not really aware or knowing what was going on. There were a few that she kept a close eye on, entering their dreams fully, hoping to make their abilities blossom, guiding them towards their greater potential.

But tonight, she had been pulled completely into a dream by the will of another, and rutted like she had never been rutted before as well. The force of the dreamer’s mind was truly impressive, his control something truly magnificent. He had drawn her in completely, caught her unawares, rutting the tiny fragment of her essence that had formed the image of the filly he was so madly in lust with, and then drawing her in completely, revealing her true form in the dream.

Luna’s marehood was still wet, sopping, oozing fluids. Her hind legs were soaked. She reeked of arousal and mare musk. She was still sore, a painful stinging sensation back there. The dream had spilled over into reality. She rolled over, causing her wet clenching marehood to slither and slide against her fleshy little pink-purple jelly bean, hidden amongst her secret folds, causing her to experience one last spine shattering orgasm. She fell back over, her legs locked together, her teeth clenched, one front hoof banging into the cushion repeatedly as her body was wracked by spasms. She fell onto her back, her wings snapping outward painfully, instantly engorged and full of blood, trapping her on her back. She laid there for several minutes, waiting for the sensation to die down.

It had been well over a thousand years since she had last experienced a truly great orgasm. She lay there, smiling, realising that she was going to need a hot soak in a tub before the dawn came and she had breakfast with her sister.

Several weeks later, Luna came down with what she thought was the flu, the worst flu she had ever had. It left her weak, nauseous, and nearly unable to perform her duties, causing Celestia no end of worry.

Author's Notes:

If you want more, lemme know. If this receives a worthwhile amount of attention, I'll continue.

If not, well, I guess I screwed up and I'll move on to writing something else.

Tell me what you think. Leave a fave or a like. Let me know if I am on to something here, and I'll see what I can do to add this to my current projects.