Author's Notes:

Spitfire's Nickname By Gruvian Scripts
Streaker(s) Anthro Spitfire

It wasn’t easy to take charge, but Spitfire couldn’t turn down her mentors offer all those many years before. Yet, she was still nervous, to be giving orders, to yell at her former equals, and friends. Some, like Soarin, she even knew back since flight camp. However, she had a job to do. A job that luckily came with a rather encouraging uniform speckled with medals from her triumphs. The dark blue formal attire had the side benefit of complementing her short yellow fur, and leaving enough wing flexibility on her back to keep up with any unruly subordinate. Though,Spitfire would admit she wished jeans or exercise tights were part of the uniform. It didn’t match, but it was more flexible and much lesser pain in the tail.

Spitfire spotted one such unruly Wonderbolt from half a mile away thanks to her standout white hair. Fleetfoot was trailing several feet behind Soarin, before rushing ahead to match his pace and then slowly falling back again. Spitfire easily recognized this as another case of sleep deprivation. Not surprising. Fleetfoot had a rather infamous reputation of clubbing with former flight school friends at night, and waking up with a hangover. Spitfire shook her head, and blew her whistle.

The rest of the Wonderbolts flinched, and jolted before her in a straight line; Fleetfoot stumbling at the far end. Spitfire walked down the line maintaining an even glare. She turned away from them.

“Mostly fine work today. You’ve earned yourself a rest and hot shower. Dismissed,” she said, and the Wonderbolts let out a collective sigh before they started flying off. Spitfire grabbed Fleetfoot by her shoulder before she had the luxury however.

“Flatfoot, I said mostly good work. You missing curfew will cost you an extra 25 laps. Maybe that will help you get some sleep tonight.”

“But!” Fleetfoot began before being stopped cold by Spitfire’s glare. She let out a groan, “yes ma’am.”

Fleetfoot fluttered away before breaking into a swifter flight around the base. Spitfire shook her head again.

“When will she learn.”

With the team gone, Spitfire began her managerial duties. She checked the training grounds, equipment, team member data sheets. All while making sure Fleetfoot finished her laps. But she only needed to do that for the first half of her chores. Apparently Fleetfoot really had somewhere to go tonight, again, and made short work of her punishment. Spitfire continued with her duties in no rush. She had to be thorough. And… wanted to make sure everypony else finished their showers first.

Spitfire shuttered at the thought. It was tradition, so she couldn’t get rid of it even as captain, but she was not happy about the Wonderbolts’ co-ed showers and changing room. It, she had to admit, had some nice… views, but she didn’t like exposing herself to her teammates; or anypony for that matter. That, stripped away allot of her armor she built up that allowed her to lead confidently. To her relief as team leader, it was much easier to find an excuse not to bathe with everypony else. Albeit at the cost of missing out on a certain pegasus’ tight blue ass. Spitfire sighed as she glanced at her wrist watch. Enough time had passed… And her chores were done.

Spitfire walked towards the showers at a slow pace, and looked for any signs of life. To her relief, she pushed open the locker room’s doors to find a nearly empty room. The only pony left was Fleetfoot, who was adjusting her jean shorts to hide her red panties. Their straps tended to stick out on Fleetfoot’s blue fur. Fleetfoot only noticed Spitfire’s presence as she finished tucking herself away.

“Like what you see?” Fleetfoot asked with a mischievous grin.

“No, that’s why I had you do extra laps.”

Fleetfoot grabbed her clothes bag and strutted past Spitfire.

“Oh, you’re just no fun,” Fleetfoot said as she pushed open the locker room doors. “I’ll have to do something about that.”

The doors swung shut behind Fleetfoot, and Spitfire shuttered. She listened as Fleetfoot’s hoofsteps faded into the distance. After she could no longer hear them, she relaxed, and moved over to her locker.

Spitfire took care to carefully disrobe herself as she always had. Not just to listen for other’s approach, but to keep her uniform wrinkle free. First she loosened her tie and hanged it from her personal clothes hanger. Her vest shirt covered in medals quickly followed, and buttoned securely overtop her tie. Spitfire looked over her shoulder towards the locker room’s doors. Nothing stirred.

Spitfire sighed, and unfastened her undershirt’s top two buttons. Not wanting to waste time, she lifted her shirt free over her head. Her wing feathers tugged on her shirt from below, before exploding free, and ruffled. Shirt feathers were one of the few downsides of having wings. Spitfire stared at her reflection in her locker’s mirror. She tilted her shoulders and and flexed her wings in inspection, and incidentally giving herself a nice view down her white sports bra. While only a C-cup, her daily exercise ensured firmness. Not that it mattered. No pony was going to see those for quite some time.

With her wing inspection concluded, and really bad shirt feathers brushed down, she folded and laid her undershirt atop a small duffle bag in her locker that held her off duty athletic tights. Spitfire unhooked her belt and slid it free. Her dark blue dress pants dropped to the floor exposing her matching white panties. She didn’t really favor white under. They didn’t match her fur coat, but they never showed through the various Wonderbolts’ blue clothes. Not to say they didn’t look nice on her almost nude body.

Spitfire placed her neatly folded pants atop her undershirt. Her panties quickly joined followed her bra, after the briefest of pauses for one last inspection. She ran a finger across her pubic fur to check its length, and tickled herself as her finger passed an inch above her clitoris.

“Hmm, not yet,” she said to herself. It was another Wonderbolt tradition she had to follow along with the rest of her team. Both male and female members had to have their pubic fur trimmed down to body fur length. Her own pubic fur had more curl than her regular body fur, so it was still noticeably even when trimmed.

Finally after her last inspection, she slammed her locker shut and moved towards the shower booths.

Spitfire jolted as lukewarm water struck her back. A shiver soon followed as her body adjusted to the biggest downside of bathing last. Not surprisingly, Spitfire favored short showers while on base. But she still applied the same degree of thoroughness to her bathing as her regular duties. Can’t exactly have the have the Wonderbolts chief representative smell like sweat.

Her routine was down to muscle memory. First running shampoo and conditioner through her mane & tail hair. The Wonderbolts’ standard issue left a mint scent. She proceeded to massage body fur wash throughout her body. First her neck, then breasts, arms, abs, and lower back. Spitfire washed those suds free, before proceeding to her lower body. Every area got the same treatment except her pubic fur and marehood. The regular fur wash tended to dry out her private mare parts. Having to apply ointment to her slit is an experience she never wished to repeat. So, she just finished with every other part. Rinsing her fur clean with her hands before carefully washing her marehood in just the at that point ice cold shower water.

That is not to say Spitfire couldn’t enjoy a relaxing, slow and warm shower. It was one of her favorite off base luxuries. But while on duty, and in risk of other’s view, she just tuned out, and let routine kick in.

Spitfire walked out from her shower booth covered with the changing room’s last towel. She had already dried herself off within the both’s privacy, but wore the towel just in case a teammate forgot something; again. She peaked out into the main changing room area, and saw nopony.

Relaxing, she let her towel fall loose exposing her shimmering fur still dripping with the occasional dew drop. She tossed the towel into the laundry shoot, and strutted towards her locker.

She paused briefly before a partly fogged over sink mirror. Spitfire crossed her arms below her breasts, and turned her firm ass towards the mirror in a provocative pose.

“I don’t know what I have to worry about.” Spitfire mumbled to herself before noticing her nipples; still hard from the cold shower. She blushed and stumbled away towards her locker. She flung its door open to… nothing.

Spitfire blinked as she stared into the void of her locker, baron of anything save her family photos on the door. Spitfire, robotically closed the locker door, then jolted it back open. Nothing. She slammed it shut, then jerked it open again. Nothing.

“No, no, no, no, no.” Spitfire said in a panic as she rapidly opened and closed her locker. Each time, to the same result.

Spitfire took to her wings, and soared straight towards the laundry shoot with enough force to send half the lockers flying open. Personal photos (along with photos of scantily clad mares and stallions) fluttered free from the lockers, and floated down.

Spitfire lunged her right arm into the laundry shoot as far as could comfortably reach, and then several inches further. Her hand banged around its metal sides. But it was too late. Her towel and long since fallen below for sanitation.

“No! No. No...”

Spitfire slid down to the floor starting to hyperventilate. Her mind alight with ideas. Was it an overactive janitor, mistaken teammate, a stalker fan. She pulled her knees closer together to cover her sex and breasts at the thought of the last one. She didn’t know if she wanted them back then.

After several minutes, a cold shiver broke her free from her panicked thoughts. Spitfire covered her breasts with her arms, and slowly stood on her shaking knees. She took a deep breath. Then another. And another as she slowly, stumbled towards the exit.

“It, it’s no problem. I’ll fly home in under 10 seconds flat.” Spitfire said in rather ineffective motivational speech.

Nevertheless, Spitfire began to take a sprinter’s pose before the changing room’s swinging doors. Her legs trembled as she resisted the urge to cover her breasts. Her wings unfurled stiffly. Finally, in position, she took one last deep breath, and closed her eyes. A second passed, and they bolted open as Spitfire leaped through the doors and into the air… and fell face first into the floor. Her wings firmly locked to her back.

Spitfire groaned as the swing doors hit her shoulders where she laid halfway through them.

“Time for plan B,” She mumbled with her face still planted in the floor.

A creek echoes through an empty hallway at the Wonderbolts’ facility followed by a clank, and a series of thuds that grow louder and louder until they are silenced by a high pitched metallic shriek.

“Ahhh!” Spitfire screamed when the air duct gave way and she slammed into the floor below. Her tail and ass humorously hunched up, and exposed.

Spitfire slowly stood, using the nearby wall to prop up her sore body up. When she stood fully straight (and exposed), her arms jolted to cover her breasts and marehood. To cover, and to a lesser degree warm up. The air duct’s metal sides felt like ice as she slithered through it unsuccessfully. Her whole body was covered in goosebumps. To her added embarrassment, even her once again hard nipples.

Whistling caught her ears, and turned her complexion as white as a ghost. It was growing louder and louder. She looked around panicking, looking for anywhere to hide. Her eyes shot up to the open air duct, and she leaped into the air. Spitfire’s wings managed to break free and slowly hover her towards safety as she squirmed around mid-air. While this gained her a brief bit of altitude, it also exposed her yellow tinted marehood to a frigid breeze (most likely from the very air duct she was trying to escape to). The sudden freezing chil creeped across her clit and down across her folds causing a new batch of goosebumps to form alongside a strong tickling sensation. Spitfire’s whole body froze up and slammed into the ground. Her wings once again locked.

“No, no, no no!” Spitfire thought loudly in her head again and again as the whistling grew nearer towards the corner. Her body, curled up into a fetal position next to the wall with nowhere else to hide. Her face, buried under her hands.

Then… the whistling grew softer, and softer. After a few skipped heartbeats, Spitfire peered up from under her hands. Slowly,she crawled to the corners edges, and glanced around it. Her breasts tightly pressed against the wall like it was a garment itself. There, she seen the Wonderbolts’ janitor cheerfully walk down another hallway in the four hall intersection she was peering out from. Spitfire let out a deep sigh.

“Well, I’m halfway there.”

Spitfire decided to move onto plan C, sneak through the base before anypony notices. Luckily for her, she had already dismissed everypony which left the base mostly empty. That didn’t ease her comfort as she neared the front entrance she was forced to cross to her barracks.

“Almost there,” she mumbled to herself in an attempt to boost her own morale.

Spitfire slides past a trophy case with one hand covering her breasts, and the other her marehood. She tried other positions on the way, but the results were more embarrassing or painful; like trying to use her wings as a bra. She concluded to never again use any ideas she found in contraband pornography. She quickly moved past the trophy case, and neared the corner leading to the main entrance. Right past there, and to the right was her barracks. She peeks her head out and surveys the half dozen glass doors. Her eyes land on an overhanging clock that reads 4:58. She exhales a deep breath.

“It’s clear, and only 5. Everything is...” Spitfire paused in thought. Her face turned pale then a shade of sickly green. She just remembered an important yet uncalculated factor. Spitfire dizzly started walking backward with her hands falling limp.

The clock struck 5 and a small bell rang. Then the glass doors slammed open and dozens of pegasi came crowding in with the occasional unicorn and earth pony mixed in. Spitfire jolted at the noise as she knew all too well what it was; the 5PM evening Wonderbolts guided tour.

Spitfire didn’t say a word. She only stumbled backward clumsily with one hand covering her mouth in shock (and trying to hold back vomit). Unfortunately, she was still unaware she was already being watched before it was too late.

A pair of light blue hands shot between Spitfire’s arms, and groped both of Spitfire’s breasts. Spitfire let out a high pitched squeal muffled by her hand as the mysterious figure pulled Spitfire into a hug of sorts. Each hand continuing to fondle her breast.

“And here you said I was the wild one,” Fleetfoot said with a sleazy tone.

Spitfire’s head twisted around, “Fleetfoot?!”

“The one and only,” Fleetfoot replied along with a pinch to Spitfire’s nipples.

“Wha, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh, just helping cover my naughty captain,” Fleetfoot said as she leaned her head on Spitfire’s shoulder. “I mean, even I need a few pints of cider to get me streaking.”

Fleetfoot giggles.

“Or a nice strong earth pony.”

Spitfire pulled herself free from Fleetfoot and covered herself. She glanced away from Fleetfoot to try and hide the red flush of embarrassment on her face. It, was not effective as made obvious by Fleetfoot’s wicked grin.

“Somepony stole my clothes.” Spitfire said with a slight stutter. “And is doing who know what with it.”

“Oh, I can imagine.”

“Don’t.”

Fleetfoot chuckles, and begins peering up and down Spitfire’s poorly concealed body. Her one hand could barely hide a single nipple. The other covered her slit well, but revealed most of her pubic fur’s curls.

“Stop staring, and help Flatfoot!”

Fleetfoot struts past Spitfire, and gives a very informal curtsy.

“Oh, I’d love to, but I’m off duty and already late for a date.”

Spitfire rushed towards Fleetfoot, but she effortlessly strolled past the corner while giving a passive wave. Fleetfoot was quickly enveloped by a swarm of fans as Spitfire watched in horror. Fleetfoot loved the added attention (and embarrassment of her commander) and cheerfully signed autographs. Spitfire pulled her head back from the corner just as cameras started to click.

”Make sure to keep extra film handy, you don’t know what you’ll see here,” Fleetfoot yelled through the crowd.

Spitfire bit her lip, and slid one hand over her face to hide her mixture of rage, fear, and embarrassment. She wasn’t sure which was causing tears to form in her eyes. However, her body’s trembling gave her emotional distress away regardless as she limply leaned on the wall. Spitfire sighed sarcastically.

“Well, at least it can’t get worse.”

“Spitfire?” asked Soarin’s voice from behind her behind.

“Oh Celestia no.” Spitfire thought to herself as she mechanically turned around.

Soarin stood less than five feet from her wearing a blue Wonderbolt jacket over a white T-shirt. He stared at Spitfire’s exposed breasts and marehood with a flabbergasted expression. Spitfire snapped out of her trance, and slapped her hands over her privates. She wanted to scream so badly, but forced it back with all her might to avoid gaining the tour group’s attention. A high pitched, eek, still emanated from her lips. Soarin quickly glanced away with a noticeable blush on his cheeks.

“Why, why are you naked?” he managed to ask.

Spitfire glanced behind her briefly to check on the tour group’s progress. The were quieting down, but still in the entrance hall. Fleetfoot’s date apparently being an actual real thing as the mare appeared to have left. She normally loved being the center of fan admiration.

“Look, somepony took my clothes from the locker room.”

“Oh,” Soarin said as he relaxed slightly. “But, um… wasn’t there a towel or something.”

Spitfire turns her head back to Soarin.

“You don’t think I haven’t thought of that? I already threw the last towel in the laundry shoot. And my spare was with my clothes…”

Spitfire trailed off in thought as she noticed Soarin’s growing bulge in his pants. Part of her was enraged that he’d get an erection from her suffering, but more of her was embarrassed. From earlier co-ed showers before she was captain, she had on more than one occasion seen Soarin’s goods. Several times were even intentional on her part, as she couldn’t help but wonder what her fillyhood friend was packing. He… was much more endowed than she’d expect for such a shy colt around mares. Unfortunately her mind couldn’t help but picture his dark blue cock under his tight jeans. His dick, getting harder and harder seeing her naked. It, just embarrassed her even more. She couldn’t even process a response, but just blushed in awkward silence.

“So, you’re trying to get to your room,” Soarin said breaking the calm.

Spitfire coughed, and nodded her head.

“Then why are you waiting around here--”

“--and this way leads to the Wonderbolts’ gym facilities,” echoed the tour guide from the main entrance as the fans started herding towards Spitfire and Soarin.

“Oh...”

Spitfire’s back fell against the wall, and slid halfway down.

“My career is finished,” Spitfire sobbed past the verge of tears.

Soarin looked towards Spitfire sympathetically, then jerked his head away again after noticing Spitfire’s new position left nothing to imagine down below. But a lightbulb went off in his head, and he snapped his fingers.

“I have an idea,” Soarin said as he started to slid off his jacket.

Spitfire glanced over towards him limply.

“I’m not going to like it am I?”

“Eh, probably not.”

The tour guide, a brown well dressed pegasus, led the collection of Wonderbolts’ fans from across Equestria towards the trophy hallway.

“And down this way we’ll pass the Wonderbolts’ years of accolades,” said the tour guide, followed by a wave of, “oohs,” and “ahhs.”

“Watch out!” Soarin screamed as he rounded the corner. Cradled in his arms was an, “unconscious,” Spitfire draped over with his blue Wonderbolt jacket like a blanket. His arms were crossed on her back with his left hand supporting neck, and his right her rear, area. Soarin came to a sliding stop inches before the shocked tour guide.

“Soarin!? What happened?”

“Commander Spitfire might have slightly overdid her exercises, again. Sorta fell unconscious.”

“If only I had,” Spitfire thought to herself. That way, she wouldn’t have to pretend to not feel the dozens of eyes watching her nude body. Sure, she was barely covered by Soarin’s jacket, but all it would take is one gust of wind. Worse yet, she had to deal with the fact her childhood friend was cupping her ass with one hand, while he still had a hard on. One, she had the fortune to bump into every couple of feet.

“Again?” The tour guide sighed and turned towards the tourists with a fake smile. “Everything is fine folks. The Wonderbolts’ just have a nasty habit of practicing till they drop, literally.”

The tourists chuckled in unison while, several snapped photos. One young filly however started to move dangerously close to Spitfire; seemingly wanting to pull on Soarin’s jacket that draped over Spitfire. Soarin caught sight of this, and moved back while faking adjusting his grip on Spitfire by tossing her up an inch. This worked, and put distance between Spitfire and the grabby filly, but had one unfortunate side effect.

“Oh Celestia no, no, NO!” Spitfire screamed in her own mind, while biting the inside of her lip to not break her unconscious illusion. When pretending to adjust his grip on her, his grip on her ass slipped. Now Soarin’s hand wrapped the top of her right leg. Normally that would be an improvement, if his last three fingers weren't rubbing against her slit. But, of course they were.

Soarin had his face turned away from the crowd at this point as he rushed towards the barracks.

“Well, I need to drop off Spitfire before I drop her and a rank... so enjoy the tour!” Soarin said while he dared not even glance back towards the group, and reveal his scarlet red face. They cheered as he left their sight.

“Please don’t kill me,” Soarin whispered to Spitfire after they exited the main entrance hall.

“No promises,” she thought to herself.

Soarin pushed open Spitfire’s door with his legs.

“We’re clear.”

Spitfire instantly took a deep breath as she violently wormed free from Soarin’s arms. Not intentionally hitting him in the gut with her knee, but not having any sympathy when she did. Within seconds, she had his jacket properly covering her up with only a sliver of her ass sticking out.

“Thank you for your help,” Spitfire said as she bolted into her walk in closet.

“No problem,” Soarin replied still gripping his sore gut.

He glanced towards her walk in closet as Spitfire started making a ruckus, and sending clothes flying out the door. Once a pair of panties flew out, he turned around blushing as he attempted to ignore the fact his commander and flight school friend was changing right behind him. His right hand then caught his attention with a slight glisten. He moved his hand closer and noticed his pinkie and ring finger were slightly damp.

“When did…” Soarin turned even more crimson when he realized what his fingers were just rubbing.

“Soarin!”

Soarin jolted at the unexpected name drop, and its strict tone. He swiftly turned around and saluted out of instinct. What he found was found was his commander clothed in Wonderbolt standard training tights with one hand extended holding his jacket.

“Your jacket’s service is no longer required.”

“Oh, um. Ok.”

Soarin reached out for his jacket, but Spitfire snatched his hand and forcefully yanked him close.

“Now let me make this clear,” Spitfire said as she glared into Soarin’s eyes. “Your assistance was appreciated, which is why I’m letting the fact you got a hard on from seeing your commander in distress slide.”

Soarin covered his still visible hard on with his free hand.

“I’m, I’m sorry about that Spit--”

“Quiet. As I stated, I’ll let it slide.”

Spitfire squeezed Soarin’s wrist tighter.

“But spill any information about what you saw, and what you touched. And you’ll find yourself wishing I’d banished you to the moon.”

Soarin gulped.

“Got it.”

Spitfire released Soarin from her death grip, and pushed his jacket into his hands.

“Good. Now, dismissed.”

Soarin quickly shuffled out the door. His whole body trembling. Spitfire grabbed the door handle behind him, and began to close the door. She paused in thought halfway.

“And Soarin.”

Soarin jolted, and mechanically looked back over his shoulder like a scared puppy.

“Ye, yes?”

“I also better not catch you masturbating to me, without my permission either.”

Soarin twisted his head in confusion.

“Yes, I mean wait... permission?”

Spitfire’s door slammed shut.

“And the best part, she is still so curly down there,” Fleetfoot said with a giggle and a margaretta straw in her mouth.

Several female Wonderbolts sat around Fleetfoot at a bar table. They all burst out laugh. Blaze covered her mouth trying to muffle her own amusement.

“You can’t be serious?” Blaze inquired still chuckling.

“I couldn’t make this up if I tried.” Fleetfoot said, as she nudged an extra full duffle bag further under her seat.

“Our uptight captain is a streaker.”

Another wave of laughter erupted while an extra large grin spread across Fleetfoot’s face.