Helper Pone (Clop)

>You sigh and flop onto your back.
>For the thirtieth time in a row.
>Being an answer pone is boring.
>Here you are, all alone, stuck in the house.
>You’re not like those browser ponies, oh no.
>They can actually go out in public if they so wish.
>Their masters are all too happy to take them outside, though they’ll never browse in public.
>Your master, however, opts to keep you at home.
>In one sense, you have to.
>You can’t take messages if you’re not near the phone.
>On the other hand, it’d be nice to go out with him every now and again.
>You’re a pony, too!
>But, no, he says that he’s worried that he might squish you.
>So what if you’re two inches tall?
>You’re a big pony!
>For a ponycom, anyway.
>They’re all the rage, now, and your master owns quite a few of them.
>You don’t really get to talk to them much, though.
>The Grammopone stays next to the computer in his room.
>He takes his headpones with him everywhere.
>So you’re stuck here, alone, hopelessly and woefully unfulfilled.
>You roll over on your side on the notepad and reach out for your trusty pencil.
>It’s bigger than you, but it provides something to snuggle to in the quiet moments.
>You clutch it close to your light grey, fuzzy belly.
“Oh, pencil... You’re the only one who understands me...”
>You cuddle the pencil closer.
>Unfortunately, you place a bit too much weight on it and hug it the wrong way.
>The lead snaps.
“What? N-no! Not you, too!”
>You shove the treacherous writing implement away from you.
“Fine! Be like that! See if I care!”
>The pencil doesn’t respond to your verbal jabs.
>...
“Okay, I think I’m going stir crazy in here.”
>How are ponycoms meant to function without going insane?
>It’s just so boring when you’re left alone!
>Hmmm... Maybe you can consult the manual on this.
>Now where did Anon put it...?
>You clumsily climb down from your table onto the sofa next to it.
>Your station can survive unmanned for a few minutes, can’t it?
>You wonder what Anon would say about you shirking your duties like this.
>You often worry about what he thinks of you, considering your performance.
>The cheating, lying, backstabbing pencil you use is way too big!
>It’s really tough to write with.
>By the time you’ve gotten through half of the message that you’ve recorded, the pony has hung up!
>That, and your memory isn’t too good...
>You sigh as you cross the hallway to the drawer with all the other ponycom manuals.
>Honestly, you should count your blessings.
>Anon is a great owner.
>He’s never said a harsh word to you, only wanting you to do your best for him.
>Really, you’re quite possibly the luckiest ponycom on the planet.
>Not every ponycom gets to live with an alien.
>Nor such a handsome one, at that.
>It’s weird.
>Sure, he’s bipedal.
>And he doesn’t have any hooves.
>no hooves
>But somehow he carries his lanky, simian frame quite well.
>His sculpted muscles, toned from months of hard farm work, show quite nicely under his peach skin.
>You always thought that was a nice shade.
>You wonder if there are any purple humans.
>And that’s not to mention his clothes.
>His wonderful, tantalizing clothes.
>He insists on wearing them all the time.
>It hides all of his most delicious parts so teasingly.
>It’s odd; ponies are naked all the time anyway.
>So why is a clothed creature so much more arousing?
>Finally, you pull out your manual.
“Phew. I’m glad he kept this around, at least.”
>Despite Anon thinking enough of the document to store it instead of disposing it, it lies within its protective plastic sheath, in pristine condition, no less.
>It takes a moment of wrestling due to your diminuitive strength, but you manage to tear its cocoon open to access the wordy goodness within.
>The booklet itself is actually quite thin.
>There’s not much to be said about you, it seems.
>You’re slightly offended at that realisation.
>After the very limited contents page, health warnings and introduction on your setup, there’s an interesting section labelled, “Maintenance.”
>This is surely what you need.
>Anon has only ever used you and had conversations with you.
>Heck, you’re not even sure if you should have been eating all this time!
>The chapter begins thusly:
>“This section documents the maintenance routine of your Telepone Answering Ponycom. This routine can be scheduled to be performed by either the owner, or the ponycom by itself. Neglect of this routine can result in unexpected performance issues, such as leaking, friction burns or ponycom injury.”
>Well, that’s both hopeful and ominous.
>“In order to start the maintenance process, please locate the stimulation button on the rear side of the ponycom.”
>That sounds easy enough.
>You follow the directions on the diagram to find the switch.
>Your hoof runs down your dark grey side, stroking your coat on its journey to your nether regions.
>Reaching back, you feel the puffy lips of your input bus.
>The button should be somewhere around here.
>You stroke your lips.
>An involuntary moan escapes your other pair of lips.
>It feels nice to probe around your port.
>You search and search, enjoying the sensations, but ultimately stop in frustration as you fail to find the button.
“Maybe there was something I missed in the manual?”
>You refer to the document again.
>“In order to find the stimulation button more easily, the owner should ask the ponycom to assume the maintenance inspection position. For ponycoms that are performing the maintenance alone, adoption of the missionary position is recommended.”
>What?
>That doesn’t sound quite right.
>You read the text again.
>You read it right the first time.
>Well, if you’re going to do this, you’re going to be comfortable whilst doing it.
>You drag the booklet over to the sofa and leave it open on the page you require.
>You scramble up the upholstery to your table and lie back on your notepad.
>Peering over the edge of the table, you refer to the diagram again.
>If you read it right the button should be located right about...
“Here! Guh-!”
>Your back arches as you spasm uncontrollably.
>It was like a switch was turned on within you, sending electric jolts up your spine!
>It felt incredible!
>You twist and writhe on your notepad, your hoof welded to your crotch.
>You’re a passenger in your own body as it rides the waves of pleasure that flood your senses.
>Eventually you manage to focus enough to move your hoof away from what you’ll call “The Love button,” from now on.
>You’re left panting from your expedition and exertion.
>Your chest rises and falls heavily in time with your breaths.
>What WAS that?
>And why had Anon not done that for you before?
>It seems that your owner has been neglecting you.
>No wonder you were snuggling with a pencil!
>After mustering some strength, you peer over the edge of the table once more.
>“Once the button has been pressed, the maintenance routine will begin. Owners may be distraught to see their ponycoms screaming, but rest assured that this process is harmless, and in fact quite pleasurable to your ponycom.”
“I’ll say...”
>This time you decide to read ahead in anticipation of any more nice surprises.
>”Now that the ponycom has been primed, she will have secreted lubrication. Please insert the maintenance tool that arrived with your ponycom in her package into the lubricated port.”
>Wait, you need something else?
>Shit, you hope that Anon kept everything, and not just the manual.
>With shaking legs you stand and once again climb down the table and sofa.
>You gallop across the floor with a lopsided gait, desperate for the tool to be inside you.
>You have to finish your maintenance!
>You need to know what happens next!
>Rushing as best as you can, you reach the open drawer and frantically search inside for the object of your desire.
>Papers fly out of the drawer as you ruin what little semblance of organisation remained in the bachelor’s filing system.
“No... No! NO! FUCK!”
>Your search proves fruitless.
>What are you going to do?
>Wait, the manual!
>Surely, there’s a troubleshooting guide?
>Maybe even a warranty if you’re lucky.
>Yet again, you sprint to the best of your ability across Anon’s hardwood floor.
>As you retrace your steps, you notice that you’ve left a trail of sparkling droplets in your wake.
>You’re dripping with arousal, and with each gallop, your hips grind your lower lips together, occasionally clashing with your winking clitoris sandwiched in the middle.
>You pant, not with exertion from your running, but with primal lust for something, anything, to be put inside you!
>You reach the book, pleading with every fibre of your being for something to fill you up.
>You visibly struggle to turn the pages to the troubleshooting section, but the effort is made worth it by the first section you see on the page.
>”Q: I lost my maintenance tool. Wat do?”
>”A: If either owner of ponycom loses their maintenance tool, any clean, non-porous rod will suffice as a substitute. In fact, male owners might like to use their own tools in lieu of the maintenance tool to build a stronger bond with their ponycoms.”
>So...
>Anon’s tool will do?
>B-but how?
>You’ve seen Anon’s equipment before.
>On those mornings where he comes down for breakfast straight out of the shower.
>You always pretend that you’re asleep, but you’ve seen those slight peeks when he’s sitting down.
>He’s absolutely gigantic!
>But...
>The manual said it was okay...
>Right now, you’re willing to try anything.
>Such is your need for something inside you.
>Your dripping, quivering sex yearns to be filled, to be stretched completely.
>You want Anon.
>You need Anon.
>And then divine providence strikes.
>The unmistakable sound of the front door opening and closing makes you freeze in your tracks.
>”Hmm? What’s this stuff on the floor?”
>Through the doorway to the hall you can see Anon crouching down to dip his fingers into your fluids.
>He sniffs of your exotic aroma approvingly.
>Then he licks it off his fingers.
>”Hmm? Blackberry flavoured? What is this stuff?”
“Eep!”
>Subconsciously shying away, you backed into the corner of the sofa.
>The texture of the fabric on your sensitive mareparts caused you to squeak against your will.
>”Answer pone? Are you okay?”
“N-no...” You automatically answer, shyly.
>Anon wastes no time in striding into the room to your aid.
>He picks you up with one of his massive hands, unaware to your plight.
>”Hey, what’s wrong?”
>He sniffs the air around you.
>It’s heavily saturated with your scent.
>”Are you... Leaking?”
>You get up on his hand and follow the protocol outlined in the book.
>You face away from him and stretch your forelegs out in front of you.
>You thrust your rump into the air and wink for him.
“P-please... Fuck me.”
>”What?!”
“T-the manual... This is my maintenance. You’ve been neglecting me...”
>You blush wildly with embarrassment, but your craving for cock overrides any sense of shame you have.
>You need Anon, and you need him now.
>Anon at least has some gentlemanly courtesy and places you down on your table while he considers your request.
>”Annie, what’s going on?”
“I... I need you... The book...”
>You can barely string sentences together through the haze of arousal that drifts through your mind.
>Anon looks at the manual, perplexed.
>He reads.
>He flicks back to the maintenance chapter.
>”O-oh...”
>He understands.
>”Are you sure that I’ll fit?”
“That book is made for stallions. I think you’ll fit.”
>You don’t wish to impugn on Anon’s girth, but when it comes down to it, stallions have him beat.
>There is one advantage that Anon has, however.
>He can hilt himself.
>And right now you’re dying to feel that sweet sensation of skin on your rump.
>”Well, alright... I don’t wanna be a bad owner...” He grins.
>You lie on your back and spread yourself for him.
“Please, I’m yours. You own me.”
>”That I do.”
>He unbuckles his belt and lets his trousers fall to the ground.
>Lowering his boxers, you can now see the prize that you’ve been longing for.
>It stands proudly, erect and ready for action.
>He is truly an incredible specimen.
>Gently, he takes you into his hands.
>He brings you towards his cock, and you stand in anticipation for it.
>As you draw near, you get a lungful of his magnificent musk.
>He’s been sweating all day, and his scent washes over you like an erotic tidal wave.
>You can feel yourself gushing in anticipation for his masculinity.
>Once you’re near, you rear up on your hind legs.
>Your forehooves paw at the underside of his cock, feeling his pulse through his skin.
>He’s so big, and warm.
>Seeing his gargantuan girth sends butterflies into your stomach.
>But you steel your resolve.
>You want it so badly.
>Your tiny tongue flits out from between your lips and tastes Anon’s frenulum.
>It’s like taking a hit of his scent, magnified one hundredfold.
>Your cunt quivers in response.
>You try pleasing him, tickling him on the underside of his crown.
>Already you can see that you’re having an effect on him.
>His brow is furrowed as he tries to fight the teasing sensations that tingle up his spine.
>With your forehooves you hug just around the ridge of his helm.
>Your demure, soft coat rubs against one of his most sensitive spots.
>You feel him stiffen in response to your ministrations.
>Then, Anon pulls you away.
>”Hey, if you keep that up, I’m gonna blow before I even get in!”
>You’re slightly disappointed that you don’t get to play with him more, but you’re also proud of the fact that you managed to hit all of his weak points so quickly.
>Anon raises you up to the tip of his raging erection.
>From this angle, his glistening, red head looks so much larger and angrier than when it did before.
>Will it really fit?
>The butterflies in your stomach flutter all the more frenetically, some even threatening to escape your throat.
>But then you look up, away from the impending impalement.
>Anon’s kind face smiles down at you.
>And you realise,
>You’re surrounded by his warm hands.
>You breathe deeply.
>You’re safe with your master.
>There’s nowhere you’d rather be.
“Please, Anon... Give it to me...”
>”As you wish.”
>Lining his slit up with your own, he gently pushes down on your hips with his thumbs.
>Already you feel your marehood gaping to try to accommodate the massive intruder.
>Your lubrication flows freely, permeating the air with your blackberry scent.
>It dribbles down Anon’s length in rivulets, following his veins and contours.
>Little by little, Anon drags you downwards, stretching you beyond the realms of what you thought was possible for your tiny frame.
>His pressure is constant, yet gentle, to allow you to stretch.
>Surprisingly, it turns out your magically animated body doesn’t have much of a limit as to how it stretches.
>Your marehood widens more and more, without one iota of pain.
>Instead all you feel is maddening pleasure as the sensations become more and more intense the further you’re pulled down.
>Your belly bulges with Anon’s member seeking space inside you.
>If you look down all you can see is the light grey fur of your belly expanding slowly.
>It rises to meet you as Anon’s cock plunges deeper and deeper, stretching out your nerves and setting them aflame with ecstasy.
>Seeing as how you’re not in any pain, Anon elects to change his grip.
>He lets go of your hips, confident that now he has his head within you, you’re impaled in place.
>Instead he grabs a hold of your hind legs, one in each hand.
>You see where he’s going with this.
“Do it. Fill me.”
>Anon obliges, stretching you to your fullest in one fell motion.
>You scream out in pleasure, orgasming instantly.
>”Whoa, are you okay?”
>You look up to try to meet Anon’s eyes to answer his question.
>Instead all you see is a light grey monolith, blocking your line of sight.
“Y-yes...” You answer, breathlessly.
>”Good. Because it’s my turn to cum now.”
>Your eyes bulge in your sockets as Anon starts driving himself within you.
>He plunges deep and pulls back just as far, revelling in the amazing tightness of your folds.
>Your magically stretchy body clings to him, enveloping him in deliciously warm wetness, lubricated with your blackberry juices.
>You’re simply along for the ride as Anon pistons himself in and out of you with reckless abandon.
>When he draws back, you can see over the bulge of your belly to his tightly shut eyes and furrowed brow.
>He’s ploughing you with intense ferocity, driving himself towards orgasm at breakneck pace.
>You are nothing but his tiny little sex toy, a slave to his every whim, made to be used by him.
>He uses you as such, degrading you to nothing more than a talking, breathing, moaning, yelping onahole.
>And you love it.
>The ride is far beyond anything you’ve ever experienced, and the only thing that your mind can focus on is how much more you want.
>Anon doesn’t disappoint and increases the speed and vigour of his thrusts as he races towards his peak.
>You feel yourself approaching your own zenith in time with the renewed frequency that Anon has adopted.
>Soon, the telltale grunts and groans tumble out of Anon’s mouth as his balls churn to release his load.
>Just as his seed erupts from his cock, you finally plateau at your own orgasm, screaming once more with delight.
>The torrent of Anon’s cum is seemingly endless, but only since your perception is locked in the moment.
>Nevertheless, he manages to pump your tiny body with such huge amounts of semen that your belly bulges even further, to the point where you look pregnant.
>You’re exhausted from the whole event, but your instincts clamp your vaginal muscles down on Anon’s member as he slowly removes it from your warped frame.
>Doing so traps the cum inside you, where you can relish the feeling of being full of Anon’s seed.
>Anon lies down on the sofa, laying you on his chest.
>You can’t even move, you’re so satisfied.
“#MAINTENANCE COMPLETE. PLEASE REPEAT IN ONE WEEK.” You utter, unbidden.
>”One week? I think I can take better care of you than that. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
>You blush deeply.
>You think that you’ve found a new way to spend your days.