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*Part 4: Pregnant Rarity, Voyerism, Prehensile Tail, Minor Foodplay, Foursome, Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash, Squirting*
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The kitchen smells of chocolate and walnuts. You attempt in vain to navigate the mess she’s made without stubbing your foot somewhere along the way. Pans lie scattered about, the counter-tops are in disarray, and crumbs and powdered chocolate litter the floor. You’re shocked at the departure from the cleanly norm, especially considering the five ponies in your living room. She’s opened up so much in the last few weeks that it’s mystifying; it’s as if you’re observing some other pony from a parallel world whose primary function isn’t cleanliness and organization. You peer carefully over the bar separating the kitchen from the living room, watching her interact with her friends.

The ponies in the other room are enjoying themselves. They drink deeply from the glasses of punch and assorted mixed drinks you’ve laid out for them, laughing loudly at each other’s jokes and stories. Your time knowing them has been interesting and you’ve watched as each settled into her current life. Twilight giggles over a particularly fond memory being recalled by Applejack, and before long the entire apartment is full of their reminiscing laughter. Your wife is in there glowing of course, surrounded on all sides by friends she’s known and had adventures with for years upon end. Occasionally one of the ponies will be invited to lay a hoof on her stomach - an opportunity to feel the foal within her kick in its restless waiting period.

Here, secluded in the kitchen, their memories washing over you, you can’t help but feel you’re an outsider. So much happened between them before your surprising arrival and so much continued to happen without you even as you fell for one of them, married her, and you moved in together. Their long-stretching tales speak of a simpler time, a past when all of today’s pressures and desires would have seemed impossible. Now that they’ve settled into their present lives, you can’t help but watch with keen interest as they discuss times where anything and everything they’d ever wanted could have been possible.

Not that they’re discontented. You’ve had long discussions with the pony you love about the dreams and aspirations she once held. Her expectations have since settled on more reasonable goals, though her strong mind for business and incredible talent for what she does will more than prove themselves in the years to come by both of your estimations. With the boutique closed for remodelling in preparation for your daughter,’s arrival, you’ve both settled on a plan for the future in which she’s allowed to continue her work. Still, in her current state, yours is the role of provider; a role she has willingly accepted. You can’t help but imagine that the other ponies have reached compromises of their own, their present stations pleasant enough to warrant no misgivings about what they could have been or done.

The timer on the oven screeches at you. Shocked at the sudden outburst, you slap at it, not knowing quite what to do. After a few moments of fumbling, and around the time you fear you’ve turned every dial on the oven, she sighs and slides off the couch excusing herself politely to come examine the simple task that you’ve successfully complicated. As she crosses the short distance from the living room to the kitchen, your eyes catch her careful stride, still graceful in spite of her not so customary weight. As she reaches you, one of her eyebrows lifts accusingly.

“Are you trying to burn them? Goodness. Stop fiddling with the timer and pull them out before they singe.”

You sigh, pulling open the oven door as she reaches up and slaps a button you’re sure you’ve pressed at least twice, and the din filling the room ceases. Now you can hear her friends still talking as you open the oven door.

Heat assails your face unexpectedly. It’s surprisingly humid, drawing breath is difficult, and you splutter a bit. You look to the unicorn at your side for support, but she’s too busy chatting around the peninsula that the oven shares to notice your worried glances. With no oven mitts forthcoming, you slip your hand under your shirt, hoping it’s enough to ward off the burning oven rack as you grip it quickly. Succeeding through an artful maneuver of rapid quick-gripped pulls, you inch the rack out until the heat of the cake is almost directly under your leaning figure. The sudden aroma of the delicious confection is overpowering. Pinkie Pie’s recipe is exquisite, and Rarity’s execution of it is exactly what you’d expect from the precision oriented pony.

Excited to try it, you grip the first pan with your shirt-covered hands.

And draw back with a quiet gasp.
Your back bumps against the cabinets behind you, and you blow furiously on your now burning hands. Dropping the handful of shirt proves useless as well, its burning hot surface clinging to your skin and singeing your stomach, eliciting another quick gasp of pain. You’ve got her attention now, and though the conversation continues from the other side of the bar you’re both behind, she’s at your side in an instant.

“Good HEAVENS what have you done?”
Her eyes shift toward the oven racks and the three cake pans magically float off of it before they continue to cook past their time. She sets them down gently on the tiled floor around the oven, horn aglow with the effort, before turning to you. You continue to blow on your hand in rapid bursts, more than a little frustrated that she couldn’t extend that minimal courtesy a moment sooner to save you the trouble and pain. The feeling must be obvious, because she moves her muzzle quickly to your ear, whispering softly into it.

“Oh, Dear, I’m so sorry. I just... it slipped my mind that you might need... Here, let me see them.”

You struggle for a moment to fight the innate urge that keeps your hands clenched to your chest, finally besting it and extending them to her. The skin is red, there’s obviously little damage, but it’s painful nonetheless.

“Poor baby. How is it? Can you still feel with them?”
Your hands extend to her coat, brushing up against it at first before seeking sanctuary in the softness of the texture. She blushes at the sudden touch. The new sensation of feeling is overwhelmed quickly by the screaming nerves in your hands, and you involuntarily rub her, trying to drive out the painful cries of your hands in the abundant pillowy softness she provides. She shivers a bit as your pace increases, your sense of touch only intensifying with the stimulation. Rarity backs away a bit, smiling.
“Let’s get some water on them. Come on now. Hold them still.”

You hold your hands out, and she begins to lick at them, her silky tongue brushing against the aggravated surface of your palms over and over again. The relief is almost instantaneous, and you let yourself slide down against the cool floor tiles as you get more comfortable. Slowly, other sensations return to you. The conversation in the other room slowly drifts back into your ears, and though you’re unable to pick up on the topic, you expect it never skipped a beat despite your unexpected situation.

Rarity continues to work her tongue over your palms with a great deal of interest, shielded from prying eyes as she lends her own soft wetness to the now hypersensitive surface of your hands. The feeling is amazing, and you let out a soft sigh. Her ears perk up as she picks up on it, and she eyes you warily.
“Don’t think this is anything special now. Gracious me, whimpering over such a little thing. Are you a man or a mouse?”
You sigh again, tone shifted to express your disagreement, and she looks at you with a raised eyebrow.
“What? You feel differently?” she asks in a hushed whisper, voice dropping in volume against the loud peels of laughter and storytelling going on in the other room.
“Honestly, acting as though this is some sort of battle scar. Here, look now. It’s not that hot.”
She pauses from her impromptu first aid and dips a hoof into one of the pans of still softened cake and holds it up where you can see it. You’re certain you can see steam coming off of it, but her hooves are resilient, and her coat thick. She spreads a line of the soft and steaming cake across her chest and down her round stomach, ending at one of her widened hips. You distract yourself from her showing off by rubbing the surface of your still burning stomach under your shirt. She lets out a soft tut-tut of her tongue at your lack of attention.
“Just how much of your thin skin did you burn? Honestly, sometimes I feel as if our roles are reversed and I’m forced to be your prince charming.”
She dips her head under your shirt, licking at the still sensitive patch of skin. You let out a quick gasp, not expecting her intrusion. Despite the heat of the room, her nose is cold and her tongue wet and warm. The dichotomy unfolding beneath your shirt causes you to clench your hands, eliciting a sharp gasp as the sudden sensation of burned fingertips pressing into burned palms sends shocks up your arm. You bury them desperately in her thick rolls of flesh surrounding her flanks, rubbing up and down them to soothe your burning. The rubbing gets more desperate as the pain drowns out the softness once more, and your hands scramble about, brushing against her taut stomach, down the incredibly soft insides of her legs, and finally settling between them.
Heat is lost upon you in your current condition, and so it’s the moistness of her womanhood that first alerts you to her arousal. You try to shoot her a confused glance, but she’s buried beneath your shirt. She’s slowly making her way down your stomach, lingering far longer than she needs to, and you ease both of you onto your sides. From there, you awkwardly try to rotate yourself, keeping her head tangled in the mess of your shirt as you get your face to the place where she spread the cake. The scent is amazing, her own vanilla bath salts mingling with the chocolate and walnut just cooling on her glossy, ivory coat. Your tongue slides up and down, her fuzzy texture extending the majority of the baked goodness to your eager tongue. She slips a hoof down her body, trying desperately to maneuver around her stomach to her privates.
Carefully and quietly, you guide her hoof there. She can barely reach around the immense, ballooning expanse of her stomach, and she muffles her gasp in your skin as she reaches her most pleasurable places. You feel the inhale and exhale of breath as she begins to work up as good a motion as she can, her back legs kicking in the air. You rub her tummy gently and encouragingly, eagerly awaiting the desperate gasps that will signal her proximity to orgasm. You fill those moments by playing with her tail, wrapping it around your hand and yanking it gently, each tug eliciting a break in her gasping rhythm. Finally the breaths beneath your shirt grow quick and long, and you feel her body convulsing. You rub her bottom, gripping handfuls of flank as her wetness drips onto her hooves. There’s a nipping at your stomach as she stifles the climax washing over her with a mouthful of your tender and sensitive abs. Her body shakes in your arms, and you keep her quiet, mindful of the conversation in the other room, making sure it doesn’t miss a beat.
It doesn’t.
She cums in your arms, quivering and writhing under your careful supervision, and when she surfaces, her face is flushed and her mane tangled. You straighten it for her as she regains her composure, positively beaming at you. You know how she’s longed to reach herself, your hands an entirely different stimulation than the hooves she raised herself with. You content yourself knowing she got to feel something that she hasn’t felt in many months, and kiss her nose gently. The tender moment breaks as quickly as it comes, Pinkie Pie’s characteristic voice travelling throughout the room and reaching your cloistered section of the kitchen. The others are wondering where you’ve gotten to, your disappearance having been more than a few minutes long.
Rarity straightens herself up quickly, still glistening hooves grabbing the now relatively cool pans. Her wet hooves leave trails of her juices across the cakes, and she recoils, realizing as the afterglow fades what she’s done. You grip her shoulder reassuringly and smile at her, standing up to run your hands under cold water. She joins you, calling out to her friends over her shoulder.
“Apologies, ladies. The cakes were far hotter than initially expected... Just need to run some cold water over my hooves for a moment.”
Various inquiries of concern float into the narrow kitchen and she breathes a sigh of relief between edited explanations, the ruse obviously successful. The ponies in the other room don’t suspect a thing as her now pristine hooves scoop up the pans and she cuts slices for everyone. As you continue to run your genuinely burning hands under the cold faucet, she levitates the plates and trots them out into the living room for her friends, offering more apologies to a chorus of kind assurances.
You walk into the living room and sink into the couch next to her, drying your hands on her coat. This elicits a grumpy look from her, but it fades quickly as you rub your still sensitive hands into her. You observe the others quietly as they continue their conversation, each taking bites of the cake. The first to dig in as always, Pinkie herself comments on the very original flavor, complimenting Rarity for having made the recipe her own. This prompts the others to quickly take a polite bite. Applejack and Fluttershy also grin and smile, offering praises to the flavor and texture before returning to a complex story.
You catch a glance between Twilight and Rainbow Dash as they take a bite. The look goes unnoticed between the preoccupied ponies, but you’re sure Rarity notices it as well. You can feel her straighten up a bit on the couch you’re sharing, tail flicking slightly, a subtle sign you’ve picked up on that tells you when she’s nervous. Neither Dash nor Twilight make any comment on the cake’s flavor, and the conversation plays itself out for another half hour before the ponies are all stretching. By now the sun is low enough that it’s making its way through your little apartment’s windows. One by one, the conversation shifts toward the things that still need doing in the evening, some tasks seeming monumental in light of the remaining hours in the day. Rarity takes to her feet to show her guests out, but before leading them forward, she politely asks Twilight and Rainbow Dash if they wouldn’t mind staying to clean up. She offers a half-hearted excuse about your burned hands, and even as she shows out the remaining three ponies, you can’t guess what she’d want to keep the two who might be suspicious of your cooking craziness around for.
You politely walk with her, taking Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Applejack out the door and down the hall to the stairs. Led by Fluttershy, they coo over Rarity not needing to exert herself, and bid you farewell. As they disappear down the stairs and toward the exit, you feel a nervous tug at your hand, and look down to see Rarity’s hair wrapped around it. You smile and squeeze it reassuringly, walking up the hall with her back to your room, door still hanging slightly open like you left it. The light from the one long window in the living room snakes through the foyer and spills messily out into the hall through the small opening. As you get near it, two slivers of clumsy shadows are framed against the hall wall.
You can see their motion toward each other, and from the open door you can hear a light giggle and a frustrated sigh. You walk on toward the door out of habit, stopped only by the tug of hair. Looking behind you, Rarity has her head tilted, ears twitching in an attempt to pick up sounds at a much wider range than yours can. Her eyes are wide, and her jaw slowly lowers. Stretching your own senses to their limits, you can hear the occasional thump and giggle.
You look down at Rarity, realization dawning. Their recognition of the taste, their glances, their hurried and loud conversations throughout the afternoon. There’s no doubt about it in your mind, and you let slip a mischievous grin, leaning down to your patient spouse’s side. The unicorn leans in until her mouth is almost touching your ear, whispering in as hushed a tone as she can manage.
“Honestly, I didn’t expect this... it’s just... what do we do, darling? I mean. I don’t want to startle them, they’re my friends. Not that I’m bothered by their... What they do is... oh my... it’s so... and to catch them in the act!”
You raise an eyebrow and lean back at this, looking skeptical.
“Oh very well, not caught in the act, but if we could... It’s just that... why would they hide it? They’re among friends, certainly they could discuss such things openly.”
Decision made, you lean down, scooping her up carefully, intent on reclaiming your home regardless of what filly-foolery might be taking place in it right now. She bites her lip as you pull her into your arms, flanks first, but once her nose is near your ear and over your shoulder she makes her displeasure known.
“Absolutely not. I’ll not just barge in on them. Who knows when the last time they got to... Oh dear, it’s all so much to consider. Where else can we go to if not our home?”
You’re already making for the door at this point, but you slip off your shoes carefully, trying not to lose your balance. Her protests silence for fear of alerting the unicorn and pegasus in the other room, and you creep up to the door. Careful evenings spent slinking into the apartment late at night are now put into practice as you navigate past every board you know will creak. The many nights’ long labor of not waking your wife as you return from work culminates in a silent stride. Even with the load of chubby white pony in your arms, your footfalls are softer than any hard hoof-fall could dream to be. Your feet make a careful path th the door, silently brushing it open and slinking down into the cover of the kitchen on your immediate left, behind the peninsula that shielded you earlier. The sounds are easier to pick up now. Twilight’s rapid breathing, Dash’s constant giggling, the occasional flutter of wings alerting you to the fact that things might be further along than you expected... all the noises in the room confirm your suspicions many times over.
You listen, unsure of where to go from here. Beside you, Rarity huddles on her hind legs, back pressed against the cabinet. She glances over at you every few seconds, her face a mixture of fear and concern. On the other side of the bar, the noises change in pitch and tone. Twilight is moaning loudly now. The sound of couch cushions being pressed down and creaking carries easily to your position. The moans only intensify, and you can feel yourself growing hard listening to them. Worried about her reaction if she discovers it, you steal a glance over at Rarity.
The dignified lady is slumped almost onto her back against the cabinets. Sex drive has won against conflict; she’s trying desperately to maneuver her hooves around her enormous stomach to her soaking womanhood. A smal,l glistening puddle of wetness coats the tiled floor beneath her, and you ease her onto her knees, flanks in the air. You spread her lower lips with your capable fingers, and look around her expansive posterior at her face for some sign of permission.
Ear pressed to the floor, she nods vigorously. You slip your tongue in, and she bites down on her hair to stop from crying out. The sensation is unlike any you’ve experienced. Her wetness is astounding, having been worked up twice in such a short period and the sensation is akin to tasting a fruit whose juices wait just beneath the surface. The moment your tongue touches the inside, your mouth is filled with liquid. Her wetness gushes forth, practically a stream of lubricant dribbling down her legs and onto the floor with a smacking noise that seems far louder than it is. Her hooves kick and threaten to scuff against the ground, so you lift them up cautiously, leaving her spread-eagle.
At this point you’re nearly drinking her, sweet and tangy inner honey coating your cheeks and dribbling down your chin. Using your tongue, you spread the abundance of liquid across her flanks, finally reaching the tender pucker above her love canal and dripping as much of her wetness across it as you can before licking into it. Your tongue drives into a place it’s never gone before, and her shock is evident. Her legs squirm and she kicks, self consciousness flooding to the surface even above her raging horniness. She lets out a squeak of protest, and the noise in the other room ceases immediately. Cries of confusion from both unicorn and pegasus fill the room as they shift desperately to more natural positions on the couch, all the while no doubt trying to discern your location.
A few moments of silence creep by. Finally, nervously, Twilight raises her voice, asking for either you or Rarity. Looking desperately over her shoulder at you for sanctuary, but knowing the right thing to do, Rarity dislodges herself from your grip and trots out of her hiding place. She attempts to straighten her mane as she goes, and you stand up too, straightening your shirt and wiping off your mouth. You watch the expressions of shock from the two ponies on the couch shift to nervous embarrassment, and Rarity approaches them in an attempt to smooth over the situation.
“I’m sorry girls. It’s just... you seemed like you were having so much fun and... Well it would be terribly rude to interrupt. Goodness knows how long you’ve been...”
She searches for an appropriate, non-offensive term, her social graces still intact.
“How long you’ve been together, unable to act. I just thought it would be a shame to spoil that.”
By now she’s reached the couch.
“You girls know you can tell me anything... I wouldn’t- we wouldn’t tell a soul. We never will. You’ve my word as a lady.”
She straightens her back and neck here, placing special emphasis on “lady” and looking at both of them with as much of a reassuring manner as she can. Still, no words are forthcoming, but Dash and Twilight exchange hurried glances, eyes wandering over the unicorn you’re married to. You follow their gaze and sigh. Even now, hard at work salvaging everyone’s pride for them, she’s so wet she’s trickling down the inside of her thigh. How she can muster such confidence while knowing that fact baffles you, and you move slowly to take her side, hoping to bolster her confidence.
Dash reaches her first. Thanks for consideration are exchanged, and then a kiss on the cheek. Rarity sighs at the touch, and you watch her with interest as she deflates like a balloon at the first kiss. Cautiously, Dash kisses her cheek again, earning another sigh. Rarity’s gaze is fixed on some invisible spot on the wall, and Dash moves into her vision, pushing lips against lips now. You move forward a little more, unsure of what to do, waiting for things to unfold on their own. You look to Twilight for guidance, the source of wisdom between you two.
She’s not on the couch anymore. At some point, she’s slunk from her seat, and meeting your eyes she shrugs and moves forward to a position directly behind Rainbow Dash, sliding a hoof between the colourful pony’s legs. She begins to work it back and forth, and Dash practically melts off of Rarity’s lips and onto the floor with a sigh. Mindful of her now stiffened wings, the pegasus rolls onto her back and spreads her legs. Rarity looks over her shoulder to you for some idea of what to do next as Twilight sinks toward the ground, working her hoof around and over Dash’s glistening slit.
You finally approach Rarity as she stands stiff, two of her best friends engaged in something so intimate at her hooves. The moment you’re within range her tail flicks up, coiling around one of your legs gently, tugging at it for support. You move into her, resting a hand on her flank with the hope of dispelling some confusion, and you lean down to nibble on her ear. Your own hearing is filled with the wet loving sounds of the two ponies at your feet, and you press up against your wife’s ample flanks. The simple act brings the earlier erection rushing back, and in seconds it’s straining against your pants for release. Rarity gives you a subtle nod, and you mentally thank her as you manage your way out of your confining jeans and boxers with all possible haste. The two ponies below her don’t pay your sudden disrobing any mind, having moved forward to kissing, pent up and long hidden passion finally surfacing in the room of trust you’ve given them.
You press yourself hard up against Rarity’s flanks, hoping she’s not grown too ashamed to become involved at this point. Twilight and Dash are a tangle of hooves and tails as Rarity finally sighs and wiggles her bottom against your firm rod. You slip your hands down to her flanks, gripping handfuls of flesh, tired of observing, and slide in.
Juices, abundant and filling her, splash and squirt out around your thick pole. The number of times both of you have been denied in the past few hours has culminated in something monstrous, and her knees buckle on the second hard thrust. Down to Twilight’s level, Rarity receives a mouth full of unicorn tongue. Dash squirms underneath Twilight, managing to position her face beneath Twilight’s hips, and begins to vigorously suck on the lavender pony’s labia. You can hear Twilight’s moans coming out of Rarity’s mouth, but having passed the initial shock of it, Rarity is now reciprocating. On the other end of your thrusting manhood, Rarity works Twilight’s mouth expertly, eyes half lidded, occasional moan slipping out from between their locked lips.
Twilight is the first to cum, breaking her lip lock with Rarity only moments before and sliding onto her side, where she pulls Dash in for a quick and hard kiss. The two roll around on the floor, finally settling with Twilight rubbing herself against one of Dash’s wings as she hoofs the weather pony’s womanhood with passionate motions. You can hear Dash grunting stubbornly, holding out as long as she can, but finally the pressure builds up and her legs kick wildly, love juices gushing out of her in a stream that carries on a good foot and a half up and over Rarity’s body. It splashes into the unicorn’s face, and as Dash bucks around, the stream travels onto her back, continuing in an erratic arc downward until parts of her legs and hooves are wet too.
There’s a shiver on the other end of your steady thrusting, and the unicorn you’re pushing into slips out of any remaining genteel behavior. With a whinny of lust and want, she furiously bucks her hips backward with each of your thrusts, jarring your body in a way certain to leave your pelvis bruised. You find yourself ramming in just as hard on each shove, the collisions shaking both of you as her moans become screams and her hooves claw at the carpet. Your hands grip onto her flanks for purchase as you bite your lip, desperate to hold out. You flex inside her, and she responds by tightening around you.
Her tail flails around wildly, nearly clipping your face on a few occasions. Her back legs give out, forcing you to your knees as you push her roughly and unceremoniously onto her side. Dash and Twilight have recovered by now, and they watch carefully before making their way toward her prone body. Twilight’s lips find Rarity’s, Dash’s hoofs find your snow white unicorn’s clit, and the two work together to drive her over the edge. Her eyes are half-lidded at this point, pupils dilating crazily, screams escaping Twilight’s persistent kisses whenever she withdraws her tongue for air. On your end, you feel her clenching, the warmth and wetness overpowering, dribbling down your overly slick shaft and onto the carpet. With a final thrust your seed gushes out, flooding her.
The force of your orgasm rocks you, each supposed ending to it misleading, on the heels of it another gushing explosion of semen. Rarity goes quiet, eyes almost entirely shut, nearly blacked out from the sheer explosive pleasure that has rocked all of her most sensitive places. You slouch down next to her, pulling out, cum pouring out from her, flaccid member still slowly dripping more onto the carpet beside her. Her panting is heavy, her body is heaving, Twilight and Dash are covered in sweat, spit, and juices. You all look at each other and the unicorn you worked so hard on. It’s several minutes before she can breathe evenly enough to get a word out. Finally she pants out a slightly coherent sentence.
“Getting... getting dark outside. You girls... You should stay the night.” Carefully, the three of you move her to the bedroom, and there sleep takes you in a tangle of wings, horns, and bedsheets.