Dashing Dare: a gay clopfic

Dashing Dare

Quibble Pants whimpered, and he was aware that it sounded both muffled and strange.  In fact, it was partially mixed into a gasp of his as a sort of secondary reaction to the predicament he was in.  His body was sweating in the sort of way where his clothes clung to his body and had to be peeled off.  His hair felt slightly greasy and ruffled with his face pressed roughly to a pillow and nothing but a few grunts coming out of his mouth every few seconds. He tried to move to alleviate some of his discomfort, though all it did was remind him of the fact that he could barely move at all.  He could feel several bits of tight rope bind to each of his legs, tying his hind legs together as well as his front, as well as around his neck in a sort of makeshift leash which was currently taut and tight, pulling on his neck backward to a place he couldn’t properly see.  The outfit he had spent so many weeks working on was damp with his sweat, and becoming wrinkled the more his body writhed on the large king sized bed.  Another whimper escaped, but it was only when the sensation returned to right under his pulled back tail and against the left side of his rump.

    “My my my,”  A rough yet taunting tone of a stallion was behind Quibble. He tried to look over his shoulder, though only caught a glimpse of the dark maroon color of the stallion’s body and felt the bed creak under the weight of the two of them.  His hoof stroked over a part of Quibble’s bottom that made him gasp again, a few light taps over a spot which stung slightly from the time it had been spanked less than three minutes ago. “Dashing Doo, you have such a plump bottom for somepony who spends all of their time outwitting me and running away.  Tell me, do you feel exposed?”

    “G-Gaaaah!”  Quibble Pants whined when a hoof squeezed at the chubby part of his cheek and pulled. A harsh blush crept over his already warm face when he closed his eyes yet couldn’t quite bury his face into the pillow he was near if only for the fact that this stallion was pulling roughly at the rope around his neck.  He was leaning up now as though he wanted to tower over Quibble as he gave the area he was squeezing a light spank that was still hard enough to echo in the large hotel room. Quibble cried out involuntarily and felt his rump tense in response when he received another slap. That was his second and third spank in the past five minutes, and he was ashamed to admit that it made his heart pound in an exciting way.

    Quibble finally looked over his shoulder at the stallion now that he was in a better position.  He was taller and wider in a sort of mix of muscle and fat. He had thick eyebrows, but it was almost wrong looking and clearly glued on in a sense.  He was wearing a wig of black slicked back hair that glimmered slightly, though Quibble could see the outline of the band against his real grey mane.  A catch of his flank to see a fake cutie mark clumsily yet charmingly painted over his old one in a bit of a wiggly and jagged sort of look.  This was no longer the stallion he was before, but “Dr. Caballeron.”

    Quibble Pants had to admit that he was at the very least a tiny bit tipsy. The convention downstairs in the hotel was still lively, but never in a hundred years had he imagined doing something as risque as this even in his fantasies.  Hooking up with strangers who flirted with him wasn’t exactly something he had done before, even if they had bought him a few drinks, but Quibble found himself playing right into the hooves of the other stallion.  Words of bindings and roleplay and a bit of rough sex were probably all he truly needed to be lured, sadly enough.

    “You got nothing to say?” Caballeron taunted with a smile.  His hoof ran down tauntingly against the crack in Quibble Pants’ rump and threatened to pull to expose his hole.  His legs for the longest time had been forcibly pulled up and revealed with his tail pushed aside.  Yet this time the hoof stroked lower until finally settling on the exposed part of his taint and stroking lightly over his balls.  “Must I nibble all over that plump rump of yours until you give me what I want, Dashing Doo?”