here was a rustle, n' tha sound of metal hittin wood slowly grew louder n' shit. I smoothed tha slight wrinklez on mah black coat n' gray slacks. I hoped mah brown Nikes was presentable.

Da door opened, revealin a pony wit orange coat n' a gangbangin' fiery mane n' tail (it literally looked like flames!) yo. Her head reached mah chest on all fours though I knew dat biiiiatch would overtake me up in height if her big-ass booty stood on her hind legs yo. Her first action was ta take a thugged-out deep breath as her big-ass booty spotted me, her eyes brushin over mah features, notably at mah handz and... oh, cute. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch tried so hard not ta stare too long.

“You’re early,” she greeted, her voice quiverin slightly. I noticed her wings fuckin started ta slowly flex upwardz n' downwards, a telltale sign dat dat biiiiatch was tryin ta git her muthafuckin ass locked n loaded fo' some late night frivolities.

“I wouldn’t keep a lady waiting,” I replied back, smiling. I almost flossed teeth. Never show teeth, unless they ask fo' dat shit.

“Come in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Um, do you gotz a name?” she axed as she entered her hotel room, motionin I follow her inside.

I ducked under tha door frame, n' replied, “Hoes call me Wingman. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And yours?”

“Spitfire... n' Wingman huh?” she paused, n' repeated tha name, rollin tha call name up in her tongue, lookin downwards.

I didn't like dat name. Da way it originated was a rap wit much sighs n' embarrassment yo, but tha earth pony mare dat handed up tha call names apparently knew what tha fuck dat biiiiatch was bustin. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Spitfire was horny bout it enough, which was straight-up tha blingin part.

Da pegasus looked all up in mah face. “And aren’t you awfully well-dressed, biatch? All thankin bout.”

I had ta remind mah dirty ass dat dat biiiiatch was freshly smoked up ta all dis bullshit. Well shiiiit, it wasn’t so strange fo' realz. Almost all mah last time hustlas thought dat once a Gentleman arrived all up in tha door, dat shiznit was time ta hit tha bed up in all conceivable ways, only ta be taken aback yo. Her inexperience would give me a opportunitizzle ta chizzle her view. That was definitely tha funk part. Oh, yes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was certainly goin ta have a enjoyable night.

As tha boss is fond of saying, ‘A aiiight hustla be a repeat hustla.’

So, I went down on one knee, n' opened mah hand, palm upwardz n' towardz her n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch blinked, confused, before she placed her front hoof on top of mah palm. I slowly encapsulated it mah fingers, trippin' off tha bitin coldnizz of her horseshoes as I gently busted her hoof.

“Miss Spitfire, I’d be honored if you would grace me wit yo' company fo' dinner.”

“Oh... oh my,” was all her big-ass booty holla'd.

How tha fuck long ago was it, biatch? Five muthafuckin years ago, I think. Da ghetto was abuzz as tha skies literally opened up. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Satellites all over tha ghetto went ablaze as a anomaly rocked up in tha middle of tha Pacific Ocean, just eastside of tha Philippines. For weeks, shizzle all over tha ghetto rap battleed scientists whoz ass gave, at one point, hourly thugged-out shiznit of tha mysterious juice output n' wata displacement. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Soon afterwards, a lil' small-ass land mass had formed.

Da UN busted scientists n' journalists ta rewind tha anomaly. They was aboard a US carrier escorted by all dem destroyers, n' waited fo' minutes before they had First Contact.

I believe I was still continuin mah computa studies when tha shizzle came in; Earth’s first contact wit aliens, they had holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They explained dat tha land mass formed up in tha ocean was no bigger than a lil' small-ass island, n' apparently has finally stabilized. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! No one knew what tha fuck caused it yo, but it relieved tha scientistical hood as there was a lingerin fear dat whatever tha anomaly was, dat shiznit was goin ta git bigger n' bigger until it covered a cold-ass lil continent. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some holla'd, even tha whole ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass.

Then, it rocked up. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A pony wit wings, cyan coat and, oddly, a rainbow-colored mane n' tail was flyin round tha patrollin helicoptas n' boats, twirlin up in tha air up in pimped out burstz of speed n' exuberance.

I remembered mah playaz n' colleagues bustin up wit wonderment. We expected humanoid figures wit big-ass grey headz n' eyes. What we gots was a pegasus, a cold-ass lil creature believed ta be a myth, bustin what tha fuck looked like flyin stunts.

Humanitizzle called they first alien contact Rainbow Streak.

Mo' surprises came when mo' aliens flossed up. Whisperz of excitement n' worry came bout as another pegasus, dis time wit a yellow coat n' pink afro flossed up, apparently tryin ta rap ta Rainbow Streak. Da latta seemed ta ignore it, as it twirled all dem mo' times up in tha air, n' it moved its hooves up in a straight-up human-like motion as if ta signal mah playas round ta peep it do all dem mo' moves.

Da third pony also made a appearizzle fo' realz. A winged unicorn wit a purple coat, dark purple mane n' tail (both wit pink streaks), seemed ta pop outta nowhere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Like tha second alien, it tried poppin' off ta tha straight-up original gangsta one before finally, all three disappeared tha fuck into nothingness.

Dat shiznit was a week lata when another big-ass revelation left humanitizzle speechless once mo' n' mo' n' mo'. Two winged unicorns rocked up from tha sky, n' much larger than tha last three equines dat rocked up before. One had a white coat n' tha other one wit dark blue coloration. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da former’s mane n' tail was tha flavaz of tha mornin sky, while tha latter's had flavaz of tha starry night sky. They introduced theyselves as Supa-Hoe Celestia n' Supa-Hoe Luna.

Surprisingly, they was rappin phat Gangsta, although tha latta was rappin it up in a antiquated manner.

“And let me introduce tha Princessez of Sovereign Nation of Equestria, Supa-Hoe Celestia n' her sister, Supa-Hoe Luna!” tha UN spokesthug announced, givin way ta tha two royal equine.

Their presence was received favorably, as representativez of nuff ghettos stood up from they platforms n' clapped.

Celestia bigged up them, noddin ta each side slowly. Once tha clappin took a dirt nap down, dat thugged-out biiiatch cleared her throat n' looked surprised when dat shiznit was heard from all around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch stopped fo' a moment, n' looked all up in tha metallic phallic tools up in front of her muthafuckin ass.

Da UN Representatizzle seemed ta whisper suttin' ta Celestia, n' tha white Supa-Hoe looked impressed.

“Oh, astounding. Microphones,” her dope ass declared wit a smile.

I remembered chucklin at her erection, watchin tha whole thang from tha TV.

“Apologies yo, but I’m a lil' bit freshly smoked up regardin technology,” Celestia started. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. “As holla'd, I be Supa-Hoe Celestia, n' it warms mah ass ta receive yo' welcome...”

Bitch fuckin started explainin a funky-ass brief history of they ghetto, cultures, n' even a funky-ass brief introduction ta magic, wit Supa-Hoe Luna demonstratin all dem simple spells. Dat shiznit was not far off ta say dat such demonstration had stilled tha ghetto up in awe n' silence. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch also explained tha mysterious events dat had occurred weeks ago.

Apparently, one of her hustlas, also another Supa-Hoe named Twilight Sparkle, along wit all dem other gifted unicorns, had been fuckin wit on viable stable teleportation methodz as a meanz of mass transportation from one part of they ghetto ta another by bustin linked wormholes. Dat shiznit was a means ta solve logistical problems caused by raidin partizzlez of Diamond Dogs.

Diamond Dogs. Yeah, they must be Bowie fans.

Instead of succeedin up in linkin two wormholes, though, they just succeeded up in punchin right all up in tha Time-Space Continuum. Da wormhole they was hustlin on opened up here on Earth, connectin tha two universes.

Don’t ask. I’m pretty shizzle they explained it all yo, but tha only image dat pops up in mah head was dat they was buildin suttin' akin ta a funky-ass bypass dat apparently blasted straight all up in dimensions.

Yeah. I still don’t know how tha fuck tha hell dat happened.

Supa-Hoe Celestia explained dat they would gotz a gangbangin' full write up of they ghetto, named Tellus, as tha equines, or ponies as dat thugged-out biiiatch called her playa haters, was not tha only sapient beingz of they reality. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was also open ta thangs.

Most was basic, we-need-to-know-you-aren’t-hostile thangs n' mah respect fo' Supa-Hoe Celestia grew as she answered dem all up in a level-headed manner n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was also aiiight ta demonstrate all dem mo' basic spells, n' advised dat they was open ta talks regardin cultural exchange.

Da highlight of tha dizzle fo' me though was tha last question.

“Is we allowed ta git on over ta Equestria soon?”

Celestia blinked up in surprise, n' then gave a slight smile. “Of course. But fuck dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat take note dat there be risks up in exposin oneself ta foreign elements, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. For yo' safety, I can devise a potion which will straight-up transform you tha fuck into ponies before enterin Equestria.”

For tha second time, tha ghetto may have stood still as tha whole UN went dirtnaply silent. Supa-Hoe Celestia looked trippin fo' a moment. Well shiiiit, it would done been chaos all dem secondz lata if it wasn’t fo' Supa-Hoe Luna gently shovin her sista aside.

“Listen not ta our sister’s jest. Of course, all is welcome ta Equestria.”

Da UN representatives looked at each other, breakin up tha fuck into murmur. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some laughed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Celestia looked somewhat disheartened.

“They didn’t git tha joke?” dat biiiiatch whispered ta her sister, though picked up by tha microphone.

“Sister, please, ‘twas far from a thugged-out decent jest. Thou remember bustin tha same thang, almost costin our asses tha Gryphon alliizzle a thousand muthafuckin years ago?” Supa-Hoe Luna whispered, her lips minimally movin ta no avail, as every last muthafuckin thang her big-ass booty holla'd was picked up by tha microphones. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch waved all up in tha clappin UN representatives. “Just wave n' smile.”

Humanitizzle heard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They chuckled up bangin n' chillaxed, realizin dat First Contact was over, n' it did not end up in Armageddon.

Da sun was settin when we arrived all up in tha restaurant. Dat shiznit was a modest establishment, if one is ta judge up in human perspective. Well shiiiit, it lacked tha detailed carpeted floors, fancy ceilin chandeliers, warm wall lights, n' even tha gilded patterned wallpapers one probably found on Earth. But judgin tha way Spitfire’s eyes widened a funky-ass bit, noddin as we was ushered ta our table, it must done been tha fanciest place up in tha hood.

“I hope dis pleases tha lady,” I advised, offerin mah hand again n' again n' again ta tha pegasus. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch accepted n' I assisted her ta her seat before I made way ta mah own.

It took a moment before I could find a cold-ass lil laid back spot ta chillax. Pony tablez was lower than tha human equivalent, n' they seats didn’t have dem backrests (they was basically just a mound of hay covered up in cloth).

Spitfire giggled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Why, I never expected this, straight-up,” her big-ass booty started.

“Yo crazy-ass last time, right?” I axed gently.

Bitch blushed, n' placed her front hooves on top of tha table. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch looked away slightly. “Fleetfoot was... generous up in her praises. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was tha one dat convinced mah crazy ass ta hit you wit humans a try. I was straight-up nervous, you know, biatch? I be thinkin I took a funky-ass bath twice or something, n' when you axed mah crazy ass up fo' dinner, I didn’t even prepare to�"”

“Hush,” I whispered while slowly reachin fo' one of her hooves n' gently squeezin dat shit. “This is yo' night, Spitfire. I’m just goin ta make it as enjoyable as I can.”

I gave her a wink n' dat thugged-out biiiatch chuckled.

Da waitress came in, handin over a menu fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch gave me a gangbangin' funky look, I but paid her no mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This was Spitfire’s day, n' nopony else’s. Besides, I was just glad dat biiiiatch was slowly chillaxing, never mind dat her wings still twitched slightly.

I didn’t take tha menu fo'sho. Instead, I advised tha waitress I had ordered ahead n' gave her mah call name fo' realz. A few minutes later, a unicorn server came up in n' fuckin started ta magically lay down a spectacular platter n' shit. In tha centa was a variety of chosen greens tossed up in dressing, n' surroundin dat shiznit was a funky-ass bed of hay fries, which, strangely enough, was baked potato strips�"basically, french fries.

That up in itself should rap tha difference between horses back on Ghetto n' tha Equestrian Ponies.

And completin tha platta was tha different typez of sandwiches fo' realz. All up in all, dat shiznit was a straight-up generous serving, as it should be, thankin bout dat it took almost half mah commission ta set every last muthafuckin thang up here.

“And our finest cider,” tha server advised, magically grabbin a cold-ass lil classy metal ice bucket stand filled ta tha brim along wit two bottlez of cider n' shiznit yo. Dude also levitated two Cristal glasses ta our table, n' popped tha cork.

I noticed Spitfire’s eyes widenin continuously wit every last muthafuckin item served on tha table. I couldn’t help but chuckle. In turn, she looked at me, her eyes scrunched up in mad drama.

“This is like a spread,” dat biiiiatch whispered.

“I hope it’s ta yo' liking.”

Bitch seemed ta giggle. “You’re not just fattenin me up before you smoke me, is yo slick ass?”

Wow. Did she straight-up leave a openin like that, biatch? I whispered, “Well, there’ll be nuff dat later, I assure you, biatch.”

Spitfire’s grill opened up in shock wit her wings droopin downwardz yo. Her eyes widened, n' I could have sworn tha background chatta just went dead silent. Well shiiiit, it took a moment, before I realized mah mistake.

“Um, Spitfire, you do know I didn’t mean it literally,” I holla'd, tryin ta put mah dopest calmin n' soothang voice, raisin mah handz slightly.

Bitch shook her head, n' then smiled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Of course not. Fleetfoot would have holla'd at mah crazy ass otherwise,” her big-ass booty holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch stole all dem glances all up in mah face. I’d like ta be thinkin dat biiiiatch was starin at mah grill. “Um, Wingman, by tha way, what tha fuck did you mean by it?”

I raised a eyebrow. I motioned her ta git nearer, n' we both leaned down tha table as I whispered ta her ear exactly what tha fuck I meant. In detail. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch gave a gasp, n' almost sat right up, her cheeks blossomin scarlet, wings flutterin at her side.

“You’d do that?” she axed up in whisper n' shit. “Not a shitload of stallions would...” n' dat dunkadelic hoe trailed off.

“I’m not a stallion,” I replied, n' reached fo' her hoof. I let mah fingers run over her coat delicately before lightly squeezin dat shit. “I’m a Gentleman. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And fo' tonight, Spitfire, I’m yours.”

Dinner was a pleasant affair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da salad was tha right mix of differin flavors; from tha bitternizz of tha Arugula, ta tha dope tangy taste of tha dressing. I avoided tha flower sandwiches yo, but straight-up loved tha egg n' vegetable ones. There was no meat, of course. Dat shiznit was a sacrifice I was willin ta make while hustlin on tha thang here up in Equestria. Even off-work, there was a limited stock on what tha fuck ponies would find aaight ta serve.

As a general rule, whatever meats they served up in Equestria was tha same type of meats they would push or cook fo' Gryphon dignitaries n' guests, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Pork seemed ta be most abundant n' commonly served meat, though I heard tha Gryphons found it too fatty. They favored hunted game like mice n' other muthafuckas dat was abundant up in tha big-ass forest area surroundin tha ghetto.

Spitfire didn’t rap much yo, but dat was fine. I was pretty shizzle dat biiiiatch was slightly overwhelmed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da skanky mare probably didn’t normally git dates like dis n' I wasn’t bein mean, arrogant or insulting. I’ve been holla'd at dat a shitload of ponies was overwhelmed by they first date wit humans as we was practically a mythologizzle fo' dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

So I did what tha fuck any muthafucka would do ta maintain some equilibrium�"I talked on some lot of mah game back on Earth. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch listened raptly as I busted lyrics bout ta her what tha fuck a funky-ass dope place it is (once you git past its grimy parts) n' tha playaz I left behind as we pursued our own games.

“Wait, so you’re some sort of com-pewta muthafucka?” Spitfire asked, roughly rollin tha foreign word on her tongue. “That’s tha thankin machine, right?”

“Yup, Bachelor of Science, Hype Technology. We call it IT, though,” I replied, takin a thugged-out drink.

“There was heavy recruitment of engineers n' technologizzle specialists muthafuckin years ago,” Spitfire commented, her hoof goin ta her chin.

I took another swig n' let tha cider wash over mah throat. Well shiiiit, it didn’t have tha effect one would have when drankin whiskey yo, but I wasn’t spoiled fo' chizzle. I remained silent as I waited fo' tha obvious question ta pop up.

“How tha fuck did you end up bustin, uh, whatever it is you’re bustin?” Spitfire axed curiously.

I remembered as I stood up in front of a off-white desk, hearin tha apologetic voice comin from a pony wit cat-eye rimmed glasses as her big-ass booty stamped on a parchment. I peeped all up in misty eyes as her big-ass booty shook her head, tryin ta console me as I felt mah throat dry n' mah head bobbin slightly up in shock.

“I was too late,” I replied simply. “Equestria had already a abundant supply of humans wit engineerin n' tech backgrounds. By tha time mah number came up, they holla'd they didn’t need mah crazy ass no mo'.”

Spitfire looked crestfallen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I be always impressed by tha way tha ponies was empathetic of other creature’s plights, no matta how tha fuck alien they looked up in they eyes.

“At least you’re trippin' off yo' time here,” Spitfire smiled, n' then blinked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Yo ass is trippin' off yo' time here, though, right, biatch? You’re not like, you know, sort of held against yo' will?”

I laughed, n' shook mah head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “I’m havin dinner wit a funky-ass dope mare. I be trippin' off mah time here straight-up much.”

Bitch laughed up in return, blushin once mo' n' mo' n' mo'. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch looked all up in mah grill n' smiled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “So, Wingman, how tha fuck long have you been here up in Equestria?”

“A phat year.”

“Then you must know tha Wonderbolts,” her big-ass booty holla'd.

“Oh, I’m a gangbangin' fan,” I replied. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Tight body suits, impressive wings, dunkadelic airplay; what tha fuck is there not ta ludd bout tha Wonderbolts?”

“Any favorites?”

I smirked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Well, I straight-up gots nuff props fo'this one Wonderbolt wit blue wings n' purple mane.”

Spitfire blinked, n' then smiled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Soarin’, biatch? Why on Equestria is he yo' favorite?”

“Has you done peeped dat stallion smoke pies, biatch? Enviable.”

Spitfire blinked, n' raised a eyebrow as dat dunkadelic hoe took a thugged-out drank from her cider n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was lost fo' a moment before I made slight lickin motions wit mah tongue, n' she laughed so hard, dat freaky freaky biatch had ta cover her snout wit a napkin as da hoe fuckin started ta cough a gangbangin' fit.

“That’s horrible!” she exclaimed afta dat freaky freaky biatch had controlled her muthafuckin ass.

“Made you laugh,” I holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “It mustn’t done been dat horrible.”

“It was,” Spitfire giggled.

“In all seriousness, though, I gots a soft spot fo' they captain,” I holla'd, refillin her glass.

Spitfire nodded her props, n' smiled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Well, dat captain’s minutes is numbered wit tha addizzle ta our freshly smoked up recruit.”

“Rainbow Streak?”

“I’m sorry, Rainbow Streak, biatch? Fuck dat shit, you gots it wrong yo. Her name is Rainbow Dash,” tha mare advised.

“Um, yeah, I know her name,” I scratched tha back of mah head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “I just tend ta booty-call her Rainbow Streak cuz dat was tha name dat we gave her when tha portal ta Equestria rocked up. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch was straight-up tha straight-up original gangsta pony, tha straight-up original gangsta pegasus ta step tha fuck up on Ghetto n' done cooked up a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass show of bustin barrel rolls, n' all dem aerial stunts dat left streakz of rainbow up in her wake.” I smiled all up in tha memory.

“I heard bout that,” Spitfire smiled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “I heard dat biiiiatch was almost blasted down though...”

“Well, dat shiznit was understandable. There it was, a mysterious lil' small-ass island poppin up on tha barren sea. Those dat was busted ta rewind feared tha worst,” I paused. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “And then, up pops a pony wit wings, tryin ta show off. I be thinkin tha only reason why no shots was fired was tha fact dat tha thang was so ridiculous. Imagine, a pegasus bustin stunts while cannons n' glock barrels was aimed at her, n' dat freaky freaky biatch had no clue dat biiiiatch was up in firin range. To be thinkin dat biiiiatch was tryin ta git mo' attention as her hooves was goin up n' down, as if askin our asses ta cheer fo' her as her dope ass did mo' stunts.”

“Oh that’s definitely Dash. I could imagine her saying,” n' what tha fuck her dope ass did next was a imitation of Rainbow Dash’s voice as she raised her hooves, “‘Come on, cheer already dawwwwg! No, biatch? Okay, let me try tha Los Pega feint son! What, biatch? Okay, how tha fuck bout tha Triple Somersault Win Clip?’”

I laughed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! That was a straight-up phat imitation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. “Maybe dat biiiiatch was bout ta do her move... what tha fuck was that, tha Sonic Rainboom?”

Spitfire nodded.

“Yes, tha Sonic Rainboom until her playa holla'd at her dat dat biiiiatch was probably frightenin tha skanky humans,” I chuckled.

“I don’t know if I find dat funky or frightening! Humans n' ponies fightin cuz of a Sonic Rainboom,” Spitfire shuddered, n' then giggled.

“Bitch has like tha hustlas on Earth,” I holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “She’s also somewhat delegated as a symbol fo' horny-ass freedom. There’s still like all dem humans wonderin whether she’s a lesbian or bi-sexual.”

“Les�", biatch? What?”

I tapped mah chin, tryin ta remember tha term. “I believe tha term lesbian means filly-foola up in yo' tongue fo' realz. A bi-sexuizzle is one whoz ass is sexually open ta both thug n' female.”

Spitfire scrunched her grill up in a cold-ass lil trippin manner n' shit. “Why would they be thinkin her ass is one?”

“Da rainbow mane. Back at home, tha rainbow color is considered a representation of homosapien pride,” I paused. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Yo ass do know what tha fuck homosapien means, right?”

“It’s tha filly-foolaz and... tha like?”

I ignored her discomfort all up in tha end yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. “Yup fo' realz. And her appearizzle stirred real movement among tha groups yo. Her human hustlas is still tryin ta git into if she, uh, tucks dat way.”

Spitfire laughed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Yo ass need ta learn mo' filly terms fo' realz. As fo' Dash, well, her human hustlas is ghon be pissed tha fuck off but Rainbow Dash has found her one legit love.” Biatch looked up. “It’s tha sky she flies. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! It’s tha wind beneath her wings yo. Her ludd fo' flyin is ghon be reason why one dizzle dat biiiiatch will replace me as Captain of tha Wonderbolts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. One dizzle when I’m oldschool n' can’t fly as good.”

Bitch had dat forlorn look on her face. Dat shiznit was as dat freaky freaky biatch had accepted dat fact, yet dreaded tha dizzle would come. I holla'd not a god damn thang fo' a moment, n' left her ridin' solo on her thoughts fo' a minute before I gently touched mah glass ta hers. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch looked all up in mah grill questioningly.

“A toast ta our future retired Captain, though I be pretty shizzle by dat time you’ll still be a pimpin' mare up in mah eyes.”

Spitfire smirked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Yo ass overdid it yo, but I’ll toast ta dat anyway.” And she raised her glass, n' we both drank tha wonderfully chilled cider.

Once dat freaky freaky biatch had set her empty glass down, her eyes went straight forward, as if drankin up in tha image of tha human date dat freaky freaky biatch had paid ta accompany her tonight yo. Her smile became mo' pronounced as her wings slowly fuckin started ta stiffen.

“So, what tha fuck was dat bout smokin me, Wingman?”

Dat shiznit was not mah last time bein shoved roughly inside a hotel room, nor was it mah last time bein manhandled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Or was it ponyhandled, biatch? At dis point, I don’t be thinkin I cared.

Spitfire used her front hooves n' pinned mah crazy ass down on her couch, her wings now standin straight-up erect behind her, spread almost vertically upwards. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was breathang a lil' bit heavily as her grill tried ta unbutton mah shirt yo, but instead, I cupped her cheeks n' busted her on tha lips, lettin mah tongue explore her grill slightly as she returned tha favor wit gusto, favorin lickin over mah canines.

There’s a technique up in makin shizzle humpin' a pony goes as smoothly as possible. Their lips felt like a aiiight human’s but they tongues was definitely longer n' thicker n' shit. They tended ta drool mo' yo, but if tha pony maintained underground cleanliness, they would taste as neutrally as any human biatch.

Dat shiznit was tha snout dat straight-up caused most of tha problems. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. Well shiiiit, it clashed pretty badly wit tha shape of a human’s face, n' one always had ta approach on a angle ta make shizzle no one hurt mah playas or anypony.

I remembered mah hustlin n' let Spitfire’s tongue explore me as much as dat biiiiatch wanted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. I let mah fingers run over her mane n' fuckin started rockin mah digits ta stroke at all dem spots behind her ears n' neck. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch practically melted on top of mah dirty ass.

“Git yo' threadz off,” her big-ass booty holla'd huskily as her dope ass disengaged from tha kiss. “I’ll clean up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied wit a lil' bit of heat up in mah voice.

Her hooves lingered on mah chest fo' all dem moments before she grudgingly left tha couch n' strutted away. I slowly removed mah shirt, n' heard tha tell-tale clangin of metal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch probably removed her horseshoes. By tha time I was hustlin on mah Nikes n' pants, I saw Spitfire makin her way ta tha bathroom n' heard tha shower all dem moments later.

I shivered as a cold-ass lil chill encompassed mah nakedness. I slowly made mah way ta tha bathroom, n' took a peek. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Spitfire was behind a semi-transparent curtain n' judgin by tha steam, dat biiiiatch was startin off wit a warm shower n' shiznit yo. Hadn’t her big-ass booty holla'd dat dat freaky freaky biatch had already taken two baths before dinner, biatch? I found it endearin n' wondered if maybe dat shiznit was time I helped.

I slowly drew back her shower curtains, earnin a lil' small-ass gasp from Spitfire.

“Wingman, what tha fuck is you�"?”

“Hush,” I holla'd, placin a gangbangin' finger on her snout. I grabbed a funky-ass forty of liquid soap n' opened dat shit. I spread a adequate amount on mah handz n' rubbed dem ta lather, its scent spreadin up in tha stall. Dat shiznit was smalla by human standardz yo, but like generous fo' ponies. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! I still took care as I stepped inside just ta make shizzle we was both as laid back as possible.

“May I?” I asked.

Bitch took a moment before she nodded.

I used mah handz n' fingers ta slowly spread tha soap evenly on her coat, makin shizzle ta keep a steady pace yo. Her breathang slowed as I felt her shiver under mah touch, mah fingers hustlin all up in her ears, mane, then went gently down her legs. I went up again n' again n' again as I gently rubbed her straight-up stiff wings, n' slowly wrapped mah arms round her stomach. I be thinkin dat freaky freaky biatch held her breath as I washed her underside, makin shizzle I massaged her shouldaz as well before goin ta her flanks n' slowly washin her tail.

Da wata was already washin off most of tha soap when I knelt down behind her n' shit. I rubbed her flanks a lil' bit as I holla'd, “Spitfire, don’t buck me please.”

“What is you talk�"”

I busted her exposed marehood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Biatch almost buckled down, losin control of her forelegs yo, but kept her hind hairy-ass legs up n' steady.

“Oh, oh!” she moaned.

I continued ta administa kisses on her lips, feelin dem wink as I slowly banged mah tongue up in n' outta her n' shit. My fuckin fingers explored tha untouched partz of her labia, spreadin it slowly as I looked fo' her clit-o-rizzay yo. Her wings fuckin started ta flap erratically as I inched closer, n' once I felt tha slight nub, I heard her panting.

“Celestia, oh Celestia!” she almost screamed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch hadn’t felt anythang yet.

Slowly movin mah dirty ass beneath her, I slowly fuckin started ta lick her clit, causin all kindz of commotion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Her hind hairy-ass legs fuckin started ta buckle, threatenin ta sit on top of mah grill as I licked her sensitizzle nub up in circlez of differin directions. Finally, I wrapped mah tongue round it, n' slowly slithered up n' down while all up in tha same time, insertin mah two fingers inside her, slippin up in n' up in tandem.

Bitch muffled her scream of ecstasy wit her foreleg as da hoe fuckin started ta reach her orgasm, almost collapsin on top of mah dirty ass. I paid no mind, reinforcin her backside wit mah free arm as I increased mah pace, trippin' off her bangin moans n' tha warm splashin wata from tha shower.

Bitch finally gasped as dat biiiiatch went still. I could feel her bangin contractions wit mah fingers as dat dunkadelic hoe took a step forward n' collapsed, her soft coat made its presence known ta mah growin erection. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Her increased breathang pace pimped a straight-up dope friction between her coat n' mah member yo, but dis was not tha place.

Slowly liftin mah dirty ass up, I freed mah erection n' closed tha shower n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Spitfire looked at me, her gaze goin from mah eyes ta mah groin as dat dunkadelic hoe tried ta lift her muthafuckin ass. One of her wings flapped, grazin mah manhood slightly.

“Come back here,” her big-ass booty holla'd huskily. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was finally on her able ta lift her muthafuckin ass up, n' touched mah manhood wit her front hoof. Without tha horseshoes, it felt like dem soft padz up in cat’s paws, except it moved wit unbelievable dexterity, bustin a gangbangin' feelin of grip not unlike a suction cup.

Oh god, dat felt good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! I retreated a lil' bit farther, smilin slightly as I fuckin started ta exit tha bathroom. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Spitfire growled.

“Oh shiiiiiiiit, yo ass aint leavin me ridin' solo up in dis state,” her big-ass booty holla'd wit a warnin tone. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch stood up. “I want you, biatch. Now.”

“In time, mah dear Spitfire,” I replied, leanin forward n' humpin' her lightly on tha lips. “I’ll do anythang you want... if you catch me first.”

I scrambled outta tha bathroom, leavin tha shocked n' steamin Spitfire up in tha bathroom. Dat shiznit was not mah dopest dash, n' it wasn’t supposed ta be. Da aim was not ta escape yo, but tease her, keep her wanting. I also needed some time ta make mah way ta tha room. Da bathroom seemed like a pimped out place ta go at it up in stories yo, but trust me, tha narrowed walls n' shit pokin outta dat shiznit was a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disasta waitin ta happen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

I heard a gangbangin' frustrated growl behind mah crazy ass n' a rustle of stiff wings as tha mare tried ta chase afta mah dirty ass. I was pretty shizzle if her wings was mo' responsive n' not as stiff as they was now, dat biiiiatch would have caught up ta me by now, nahmeean, biatch? Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was tha Captain of tha Wonderbolts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Dat shiznit was virtually impossible ta escape her muthafuckin ass.

Da inevitabilitizzle caught up ta me up in tha bedroom. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Spitfire finally gots up in range n' jumped at me, pinnin mah shoulder on her bed wit her front hooves. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch smiled as she looked all up in mah grill up in tha eyes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch lowered her muthafuckin ass, n' gently licked mah lips before she busted mah crazy ass again.

Bitch collapsed on top of me, makin shizzle her dope ass didn’t suffocate me as she rubbed her stomach on mah hard member, earnin her all dem gasps. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch giggled wit a wicked tone as dat thugged-out biiiatch continued explorin mah grill n' battlin mah tongue.

Bitch lifted her head n' smiled as she increased her rubbing. “How tha fuck do it feel, Wingman?”

“Amazing,” I gasped as I felt as if all tha afro of her coat was rubbin antagonistically on mah sensitizzle member, bustin a unbelievable wave of pleasure. “Oh, Spitfire.”

Bitch slowed down, earnin a groan from mah dirty ass. “Yo ass won’t waste yo' erection on mah coat, Wingman. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I want you inside mah dirty ass."

“Any posizzle you wanna try?” I asked.

Bitch opted ta do a funky-ass belly ta belly n' placed her muthafuckin ass all up in tha bottom, spreadin her hind hairy-ass legs wide.. n' you KNOWS dat shiznit was pretty daring, thankin bout how tha fuck straight-up trippin dat biiiiatch was from her expression. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Decidin ta start slow, I lifted her right hind leg n' busted her naked hoof, gangbangin tha gentle suction feelin round mah grill while mah free hand massaged tha other.

I then slowly busted upwards, goin up her leg, mah free hand followin tha same pattern on tha other leg. Then, I gently went over her dope yellow marehood, humpin' round its edges, n' givin it a slight blow. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch groaned as dat dunkadelic hoe tried ta push her muthafuckin ass forward yo, but I moved on, humpin' gently on her stomach, kneadin her teats slightly before sucklin dem a funky-ass bit.

I continued mah way up, humpin' her chest, mah free handz now massagin her wings dat lay straight n' flat on tha soft bed, n' climbed up ta her neck. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Spitfire growled.

“Inside mah dirty ass. Now,” her dope ass declared up in bated breath.

I didn’t say anything. I just busted her again n' again n' again on tha lips before I entered her muthafuckin ass.

“Oh Celestia!” her big-ass booty screamed.

I built a rhythm, goin up in n' outta her while her vajazzlel walls was tryin ta they hardest ta suck me in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I explored her grill wit mah tongue as mah handz fuckin started ta increase they pace. I fuckin started ta pinch certain areas up in her wings, further increasin tha contractions, makin mah manhood swim up in tha waves her tightenin n' moist walls produced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I grunted, feelin tha pleasure buildin as I increased mah pace.

Spitfire was shoutin out, demandin I go fasta n' fasta n' shit. I was on tha brink yo, but so was she. My fuckin fingers fuckin started ta massage her win tips, which was now supa sensitizzle wit all tha ministrations I gave her whole body, tippin tha scalez ta mah favor.

Her whole body stiffened as I felt her tighten round me, n' I too felt every last muthafuckin thang explode. I screamed as I felt tha heat finally give, tha dam breaking, tha walls crashin down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I continued ta pump as I squirted inside her, beatboxin slightly louder wit each pump before I finally shuddered n' collapsed on top of her, takin deep ragged breaths.

We stayed up in dat position, trippin' off tha warmth of each other’s bodies. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! I murmured as I gave her coat all dem flighty kisses before Spitfire mumbled up suttin' n' turned n' faced mah dirty ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch weakly nuzzled mah lips before she gave a cold-ass lil content sigh.

“That was... oh my.”

I just hugged her, trippin' off tha feel of her warm coat on mah naked body.

We stayed up in peace fo' five minutes, before da hoe blinked.

“Um, Wingman, I do git ta keep you fo' tha whole night, right?”

I chuckled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Until Celestia’s light, I’m yours.”

“Oh good,” Spitfire giggled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “I’m goin ta trip off this.”

Da betta part of tha night was filled wit grunts, sweat, n' tongue fighting. Da sensual dizzle I had wit Spitfire lasted until four minutes before sunrise, leavin her up in a exhausted state. I wasn’t farin much better, either n' shit. We ended up in bed up in a tight hug, trippin' off each other’s presence n' body heat until chill overtook us.

I raised up when I felt tha sun on mah skin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I blinked all dem times n' heard Spitfire snorin softly beside me, mumblin suttin' up in her chill. I smiled, pecked her gently on tha cheek, n' made mah way outta tha bed as smoothly as I could.

I dressed up n' gots a piece of parchment, freestyled a simple peace out n' folded dat shit. I took up a cold-ass lil card dat had tha Gentlemen fo' Mares shield n' logo, n' freestyled 'Wingman' n' mah Gentleman Identification Number on it before placin it inside tha parchment. I then left it on tha table near her side of tha bed before I on tha fuckin' down-lowly gots outta tha door.

Exitin tha hotel, I was greeted by tha early-risin ponies goin bout they bidnizz. I felt some eyes goin ta me, n' I ignored dem as dopest I could as I approached a awaitin chariot.

Da gilded door frame opened up, revealin a funky-ass bespectacled unicorn wit a white coat n' pink mane/tail. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch gave me a slight smile as she motioned wit her hooves ta approach n' sit right beside her, hooves hoverin over a cold-ass lil cutie mark dat consisted of two connected silver rings.

Bitch was mah handlez, Ever Ring, or Eve as I called her n' shiznit fo' realz. And fo'sho, handlez n' shit. Not tha other word.

“Kool as fuck hustla?” she asked.

“I’d like ta be thinkin so,” I yawned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “I know you warned me, Eve yo, but wow. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was almost like a earth pony mare. Please tell me I don’t have any requests fo' dis afternoon, cuz I’m beat.”

“I’ll make tha arrangements, Harry,” she replied. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch magically closed tha door n' signaled tha pegasus chariot-pullaz ta begin they ascent. “How tha fuck is Miss Spitfire, biatch? Did dat dunkadelic hoe treat you right?”

I nodded. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Bitch be a perfectly behaved mare, though dat biiiiatch was under tha assumption I’d jump right at her up in tha beginning. I may have erected her view on that.”

Bitch ruffled mah afro slightly wit her hoof before I gently shoved it off. I gave her a mock glare, n' her big-ass booty smiled up in response.

“Relax Harry. Time ta git you home.”

I yawned again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. “I’m goin ta chill, so please don’t mind if I crash tha fuck into you, biatch.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I dodge then,” Ever Rin replied.