Far From Glitz and Glamour
“Thank you! Thank you!” Trixie theatrically proclaimed, bowing towards her audience.
Small fireworks flew by and sparkled around her, though they went largely unnoticed. She’d only had a paltry five ponies show up for her show, with two of them leaving shortly after she began - still, despite the lack of onlookers, she’d done her best and executed every routine as skillfully as she ever had. Wearing a brave smile throughout her final act, deep down, she was anything but happy…
Ever since she’d been made a mockery of by Twilight Sparkle and her band of friends, her life had become even more complicated. Touring Equestria with her carriage had never been easy, yet it quickly became even more arduous than usual. She’d never known how fast word could spread from town to town - not until the words were about her, that is.
Even with her better performances, back before the debacle in Ponyville, things had been tight - sure, she’d always had enough to make ends meet, but there were rarely ever any bits to spare. After purchasing supplies and provisions for her seemingly never-ending tour, she’d stash what little extra she had for emergencies - emergencies which were becoming increasingly frequent. Though her beloved wagon meant the world to her, it had begun suffering the ravages of time.
Shoddy bearings, a leaky roof, and a fractured tongue were all ominous preludes for more serious issues she’d eventually have to address. She knew for a fact that one of the support beams was bowing slightly and, ultimately, it would need to be replaced; it was a job she wasn’t sure how she could afford - doubly so, since even having enough bits for food was getting harder and harder. Unfortunately for her, things had been getting grimmer by the day.
Her revenue had all but dried up, attendance at her shows slowed to a crawl, and she’d even been politely asked to leave a few of the smaller towns she’d stopped at. With her reputation in shambles and her funds wearing dangerously thin, she’d considered alternate options for keeping her head above water. Barring any catastrophic mishaps, she had enough to get by for two weeks - maybe three, if she stretched her food budget or was lucky enough to get some produce on sale.
The sound of one of her onlookers grumbling and getting to his hooves shook Trixie from her melancholic stupor, reminding her that somepony was still there. Forcing herself to beam, she bowed a second time. “I’ll be here every night this week! Be sure to tell your friends!”
“As if,” one of the retreating onlookers, a young mare, muttered under her breath.
Standing atop her pop-up stage, grinning broadly with her hat tipped to the side, Trixie silently watched the trio of ponies depart. None of the attendees tossed her a coin, applauded, or even smiled at her; they simply got up, turned away, and silently departed. Remaining still, waiting until they were out of earshot, she softly sighed. Another bum night, another lean meal to look forward to.
With the sun dipping over the horizon, she wearily put herself to work. It wasn’t like she’d ever had any help in preparing for or cleaning up after a show, although the poor turnout had left her feeling more drained than usual. After stowing her equipment, restocking her cape and hat with tricks, and setting up a fire, she could finally get some rest - for the time being, she couldn’t afford to procrastinate.
Thankfully, she’d developed and streamlined a system throughout the years. Once she’d packed away the various gadgets and doodads for her sleight of hoof, she stored her meager pyrotechnics and fetched some wood for a campfire. During the colder winter months, she’d retire to her cabin with her tiny log furnace - during the more comfortable seasons, she’d often spend her evening outdoors for several hours.
Although it was a quaint and relatively peaceful life, she’d always enjoyed the freedom of the road - that was, until recently. As times had gotten harder, she’d given more and more thought to giving it up for something more stable. If she was lucky, everypony would eventually forget about the mishap with that insufferable Twilight Sparkle - if not, she may have to resort to some other way of making a living.
Having nestled a few twigs around a bundle of birch tinder, she brought her striker and flint to the ready. All it took was a flick of her wrists, bringing the two tiny items together to send a shower of sparks into the bundle of frayed bark. Sure enough, after gently blowing on the kindling, a small fire emerged. As the wood began to burn, she returned to her wagon to fetch her meager meal.
It was the umpteenth night she’d have roasted carrots and a thin porridge, but it would be enough to warm her belly and see her though the night. All she could afford were the simplest foods, as of late, but she hoped that’d change soon; with the changing of the seasons, she hoped to get some fresh apples on sale. Sweet Celestia, it’d been ages since she’d treated herself to some fresh fruit.
With her rations in hoof, thrown into her little cooking pot, she proceeded back outside and froze. Bathed in the glow of her fire was a stallion, but he didn’t appear to be one from her show. Tall and relatively lean, the pegasus stared down at her cooking pit. Quirking her brow and scrunching her snout, unsure of what the stranger would want, Trixie precariously trotted forward on three hooves.
“I’m afraid the show’s over for tonight, but I’ll be having another tomorrow afternoon,” she announced, causing her visitor to turn.
The stallion stood mute, watching her carry her food towards the fire, before clearing his throat. “Any reason you’re not using your horn?”
“Because I save the magic for my performances,” she huffed, flipping the mane from her face. Seating herself on a log she’d cleaned off, she sat her pot just beside the growing fire and retrieved a pair of sharpened sticks. Skewering her carrots and positioning them by the flame, she returned her attention to her unexpected guest. “Can I...help you?”
“Trixie, right?” he asked, shuffling around to fully face her.
“That’s the name,” she sighed. Tiredly looking up at him, a strained smile crossed her features. “And you might be?”
“Pinion,” he responded. Giving a slight nod, keeping his eyes glued on her, he stepped forward. “I know the show is over, but I was wondering if you give private performances?”
Sitting back and scrunching her snout, she tilted her head. “Like parties?”
“In a sense. Specifically a party of one,” he chuckled, as his gaze slowly crept down her neck, over her back, and towards her flank.
Something about his tone struck her as off, though she couldn’t quite put her hoof on exactly how. Searching his face for any sort of tell, yet failing to determine exactly what he was talking about, she shrugged. “Depends on what kind of party you want. It’d be fifteen bits for a half an hour show, but the price goes up from there. If you want fireworks or anything involving intricate displays, that’s gonna cost you extra.”
Rolling his head and coyly grinning, Pinion inched closer. “I don’t think you quite catch my drift. I was asking about a specific type of party - you know, the kind a mare and a stallion usually have together…” he murmured, lowering his voice to nearly a whisper.
“What are you even…” she trailed off, finally coming to grips with what he was inferring to. “You mean having sex?!” she blared, askance.
Swiftly trotting nearer and holding a wing to his mouth, the stallion conspiratorially scanned his surroundings. “Do you want somepony to hear you?” he hissed.
Silently staring up at him, processing what he’d said, Trixie pursed her lips. She’d had stallions come on to her prior to or shortly after her exhibits, but this was the first time she’d had anypony be as brazen as to proposition her before. Though she’d never given so much as a passing thought to being paid to bed somepony - then again, she never even considered something so depraved.
Studying him, trying to determine if he was serious or just pulling her leg, she squinted. His reaction to her outburst wouldn’t have been easy to fake, although it wouldn’t have been the first time somepony had played some sort of prank on her. Unclear of his true intentions, she steadily raised a hoof.
“And what makes you think I’m that type of pony?” she incredulously inquired. If his rather debauched pursuit was sincere, surely he’d have some sort of reasoning for approaching her.
“A cute traveling mare, all on her lonesome, giving lackluster shows with a shabby attendance? Come now - you can’t tell me there isn’t some other way you support yourself,” Pinion chuckled.
“I…” she bit her tongue, fighting back the urge to berate him. Even on lucky streaks of having large crowds continuously, she would have never considered herself wealthy by any means. Knitting her brow, with her curiosity piqued, she swallowed. “What exactly were you wanting?”
“That depends entirely on your rates,” he replied, giving her a little shrug.
As deplorable as it may have sounded, the notion of making some quick bits caught her interest; but there was a problem. Knowing nothing about scandalous acts or the ponies who practiced them, she’d be left to make an educated guess as to what harlots charged. Looking to the ground, she thought for a moment.
To date, her best performance had netted her nearly a hundred bits, minus the cost of the smoke bombs and sparklers she’d expended. Not counting the setup or cleanup time, she’d spent well over an hour on stage - heck, she’d even given a small encore presentation for her spectators. If her most lucrative show had earned her that much, a dozen minutes shame and grunting had to be worth somewhere in the same ballpark.
It wasn’t like she wanted to do something so unscrupulous, although her circumstances were getting increasingly dire. Screwing her eyes shut, she slowly looked up at him and exhaled. “Seventy-five bits for a round.”
Pinion balked, gathering himself and glowering down at her. “I hope that’s an all-in-one package.”
“What? No!” she countered, temper flaring. “You get some alone time with the great and powerful Trixie in her wagon, that’s it.”
The stallion reached under his wing and into a small satchel he had concealed there, producing a jingling sack of what had to be coins. “If all I’m getting is some action, the highest I’ll pay is sixty. If that’s not good enough for you, I’ll go somewhere else.”
Trixie set her jaw, doing everything she could not to scream at him. Didn’t he realize what he was asking for? He wanted to pay her for her body! Though she doubted it was his first time engaging in such pursuits, given his nonchalance and cool demeanor, she wondered if he’d ever given any consideration for the mares who’s services he’d purchased. Scowling up at him, she considered her options.
She could turn him away, although the windfall of a heap of bits would do her a world of good. The amount she could make in so little time would eclipse what she’d earned over nearly the last month. Sixty bits might not have sounded like much, but it would be enough to buy food for a few weeks and address the bearings on her wagon. Reluctantly, compelled by her recent run of bad luck and poor crowds, she got up.
“Fine, come on,” she groaned. If she was going to do it, she may as well get it done and over with; spending too much time dwelling on the notion may see her change her mind. Shuffling her food further from the fire, lest it get burnt to a crisp, she headed back towards her wagon.
Her home had never been designed for two, holding barely enough room for herself and her supplies, yet she loved it all the same. Seeing herself inside and moving a tiny crate of disposable paper flowers to the side, she grimaced. With so little room to work with, her choices for where to do the ignominious deed were rather limited. There was no way in Tartarus she’d do it outside, for fear of somepony seeing her, so she’d have to find some way to make due.
The lief-spring of the cart creaked, as he came in behind her. “You live in here?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.
It took every ounce of her restraint to keep from yelling at him. She wasn’t sure what he’d expected from a traveling performer like herself, but he sure as heck didn’t seem to approve of her mobile home. Rearranging her meager possessions out of the way, clearing some room on the floor, she focused on the positive outcome of what she was about to do.
Her wagon would get some much needed service, her larder would be stocked, and she’d have a few less things to worry about. If she played her cards right, she might just be able to treat herself to something nice - nothing too extravagant or pricey, but a nice meal or a freshly baked dessert would be downright heavenly. Placing two boxes of firecrackers atop each other, with her back to the door, the unexpected sensation of her cape shifting shook her from her reverie and caused her to glare back at her guest.
“Mmm Mmm Mmm,” Pinion approvingly hummed, unabashedly eyeing her backside. Reaching out and lifting her tail, as if he had the slightest right to do such a thing, pushed her over the edge.
“Do you mind?” she grumbled.
Though the stallion’s lip curled and his nostrils flared, he didn’t budge an inch. “Do you want the bits or not?” he spat.
If looks could kill, he would have dropped on the spot - sadly, that wasn’t the case. Turning away and hanging her head, she flipped her cape over her shoulders. “There,” she breathed, uneasily hiking her tail.
The fact that she was presenting herself in such an unseemly fashion would have been bad enough, had it not been for the fact that things were just getting started. Hearing his hooffalls ring out, she braced her hind legs and did what she could to ready herself. There wasn’t going to be anything particularly pleasant about what was about to happen, so she resigned herself to grin and bear it.
It wasn’t like she was a virgin or anything, having had a number of flings in the past, but this was different. All her prior lustful experiences with ponies had had a lighthearted or happy air about them, even for the more questionable ones. Reassuring herself that it wouldn’t be all that bad, that it was a quick way to make a good number of bits, she steeled her resolve.
The sudden clatter of hooves on wood was all the warning she had, before a sudden weight came to rest on her waist. She saw no need and had no desire to look back at him to know what was about to happen, as his forelegs wrapped around her waist. Feeling the warm, unmistakable sensation of his blunt stallionhood bumping against her entrance, she slowly exhaled; unfortunately, she underestimated his eagerness.
Before she could get her breath out, he stepped forward and speared her marehood. Without the slightest bit of foreplay or arousal, the penetration was less than enjoyable. Gritting her teeth, it was all she could do to keep herself steady. Sinking into her, without giving her any time to acclimate to the intrusion, he started thrusting.
Regardless of his size, the sheer abruptness of the impudent stallion was as awful as it was ruthless. Jostled forward and back, rocked by the impetus of his wanton plunges, her mind was a maelstrom of tumultuous thoughts. The meager confidence she’d had in herself with the brash decision withered away, overshadowed by discomfort, unease, and a degradation like she’d never known.
Of all the lows she’d stooped to over the years, this was by far the worst. There she was, sating the carnal urges of some stranger she didn’t know, for a handful of bits. Reminding herself that it would be over soon, and of all the things she’d spend her earnings on, she endured. It was only when he draped himself on her back, bringing his neck over her shoulder, did a slight whimper escape her.
“Oh yeah. Take it, baby,” he jeered, ceaselessly pounding away.
Dealing with the physical sensations had been hard enough, but having his muzzle mere inches from her cheek made the situation all the more horrendous. Turning her head to the side, hoping to retain some shred of her dignity, she found a wing creeping over her neck. Slipping over her temple and down the side of her snout, her face was forcefully turned back towards him.
Angling his head slightly, Pinion smirked. “Come on, gimme some sugar.”
Were she able, she would have recoiled in horror at his request; as it stood, with his feathered appendage pushing her towards him, she felt she had little choice in the matter. Her hesitation did not go unnoticed, spurring him to take the lead once again. Shooting forward, he pressed his lips to hers.
While she’d begrudgingly agreed to be rutted, she had not anticipated any sort of kissing being involved. The affectionate act was anything but genuine; it was some twisted parody fondness born from raw desires of the flesh. Squirming in place, torn on what to do or how to act, she feebly railed against cruelly amorous advance.
Sensing her discomfort, or perhaps growing weary of her defiance, the stallion reared back and snarled at her. “If you want to get paid, you had better get your act together.”
Though she was anything but willing, she yielded. She’d already crossed a line from which there was no going back, so further debasing herself to assure her payment went without saying. Falteringly locking lips with him, her heart sank. Somehow, despite everything she’d done so far, the disingenuous kiss made the tribulation more unbearable.
The stallion was relentless, pounding her harder and faster with every passing second. Heedless of her discomfort, he used her as if she was little more than an object which, in a sense, she was. He’d paid to use her to sate his lascivious appetite and that was exactly what he was doing - nothing more, nothing less.
She couldn’t rightly say how long she stood there, being plowed by him, but it grew worse with every passing second. He was a dreadful assault on her senses, in a very real way, steadily chipping away at her willpower and self-consciousness. What had begun as a novel way to supplement her income had gradually morphed into something downright abominable. The feeling of him pistoning her depths, his hot breath on her face, the taste of stale hay on his tongue, the sounds of their bodies colliding - it overwhelmed her very existence.
As terrifying as the concept was, he became her entire world. She was his, like it or not, and there was little she could do to stop him. The experience was harrowing to the point that she failed to notice him angrily throbbing inside of her. As hastily as he’d begun, he recklessly slammed his entire length within her abused confines and hilted.
The heat of his scalding essence was punctuated by his triumphant grunting and snorting. The fact that he was finished meant next to nothing to the mare, for she was ultimately left in a cruel haze of disquieted stupor. She barely batted an eye, as he unceremoniously dismounted and hauled his softening stallionhood from her. Some part of her realized he was done, that her torment was over, but her body refused to move.
The sound of clattering bits caused her ear to twitch, as did the sound of his retreating hooffalls, before she eventually summoned the willpower to breath. Her lungs burned, reminding her that she’d been holding her breath throughout the final leg of the ordeal. Shakily turning her head a looking back, spying the coins scattered across the floor, she finally gave out.
Her legs buckled and she collapsed to the deck. The lingering warmth of his viscous foal batter flowing out of her battered entrance would need to be dealt with, as would the spattered remnants of his spent seed, though her strength had left her. Lying in a heap, exhausted beyond reasoning, a cold detachment settled over her. She’d made her money, but at what cost.
The cooling remnants of his spunk drying on her fur were what ultimately spurred her to act. Pushing herself up, she shambled over to her bin of sullied linens and retrieved a spent towel. As she indifferently stared down at the mess he’d made, she moved mechanically. Although she’d agreed to his offer, the ramifications only just began to set in after the fact.
After tossing the cloth, her cape, and hat in the bin, she wandered back outside and towards a nearby brook. Passing her smoldering fire, barely cognizant of her burning meal, she felt nothing; hunger almost felt like an abstract concept, after what she’d just gone through. Lazily wandering through the waters of the stream, the cold sensation brought with it a certain catharsis and clarity.
She had no pride in what she’d done, but it had been necessary. If worse had come to worst, there had been a very real possibility that her wagon would have broken down and she’d be without the means to mend it - having finally gained enough to deal with her most dire needs, she’d be able to breathe a bit easier. She’d averted a potential crisis, it was as simple as that.
Once she’d washed up as best she could, she shook herself dry and sluggishly marched back to her home. Though her body had been cleaned, she had little doubt that she’d be grappling with the psychological consequences of what she’d done. The evening marked a new low point for her relatively short life and she desperately prayed it would be the first and last of its kind.
Abandoning the scorched and ruined food by the fire, she dragged herself into her wagon, closed the door, and locked up behind herself. Crawling into her hammock and pulling her blanket tight, she attempted to distract herself with the benefits of the unexpected influx of bits - still, no matter how hard she tried, it simply couldn’t be done. It felt as though she’d lost herself, some part of her that all the money in the world couldn’t buy, and she was all the worse for it.
Curling into a shivering ball, despite the warmth of her cozy home, she softly wept. Her home, her one place of solace and security, would be spared the indignation of rotting away or falling to shambles, yet it had cost her dearly. The rickety little carriage was more than her prized possession, more than her way of life, and she’d sworn long ago that she’d never give it up or the freedom it afforded - regardless of what she had to do...
