On The Tip Of My Tongue

Oh, this just cannot be happening. I haven't prepared. I'm not ready for her to actually be here. It's impossible. I can't possibly go through with this! I'll just... I'll just tell her the truth. "I'm sorry, Twilight; although I was caught in the heat of the moment and the passion of my own poetry; I'm terrified to cheapen our friendship for the sake of something as crude as sex." Of course, that's what I want to say. But then, I open the door and see her.

She's absolutely radiant - and not radiant in the sense of having a 'natural beauty', which is a lovely euphemism for not looking like total garbage when you spend no time whatsoever on your look, like normally suits Twilight. No, she's actually done her best to look the role. Hooves buffed and painted to a high gloss shine - in dark purple, of course. Her hair, normally slipshod (I wouldn't be surprised if she cut it herself) now looks professional, her sloppy hairstyle now a sharp hime cut, perfectly straight lines making her face seem far more imposing than normal. She's actually bothered with makeup - eyeshadow and perfume, an elegant scent - not floral, but musky and sharp. And, although she's nervous - I can see a hint of her other self in those eyes. The desire. The aching. The demand for perfection. With any luck, I can convince her to unfetter those passions...

If I could find my tongue, that is. Funny, I was capable of speech just a moment ago.

"Nice to see you, too, Rarity," she chuckles, and I squeak something halfway between an invitation and a fish gasping for air. She's... affecting the role, more than believing it. There's a nervousness in her eyes, a soft nibble to her lip that betrays, even as she takes measured steps.

"Tea and cookies?" Tea would be fantastic. Soothing and calming and an excuse to sit at the teakettle and not have to talk about this for five more minutes.

"No, but... I would like to talk before-" She casts her eyes upwards. "You know."

"Ah. Of course," I agree, and inwardly sigh. Of course, that would have been far too subtle a hint for Twilight to catch. "To the lounge?"

She nods, and I lead; but when I pat on the couch, she leans in and kisses me on the cheek. She laughed to see me giggle afterwards. I suppose that seeing me squeak and blush so openly was so different than my usual self; normally I would stay aloof and mysterious and proper, but at this point, I don't have much to hide from her. If my diary had not bared my soul to her, our correspondence destroyed all doubt.

She frowns a little, however, and looks at her hooves. "First... and the biggest. It's something we implied... that I can't do. And I want to be clear about it." Her face is so cute when she's biting her lip. "Although I would be glad to be your mistress tonight, Rarity... we're not going all the way. Not tonight."

When she finally lifts her eyes to meet mine again, she's nervous, as if expecting to be scolded. Instead, I simply wave my hoof. "As you wish, of course. But, I must ask: is there anything the matter?"

Her hooves must look really interesting to her tonight, for her eyes have turned away. "Well... I really liked those poems, yes. But I've never... well, anything like this."

Oh, this is too good an opportunity to pass up! "Darling, I doubt you've ever much of anything."

Twilight smirks, and I see that gaze in her eyes. "You know I can get you back for that., right?"

"Why, that's the idea," I coo, and she grins. Her tension is gone; now to assure her. "Well... everyone has to do something a first time, Twilight. And I'm certainly not going to hold you to a standard that I hold to my own writing! So... if we make mistakes, we make mistakes; whatever's going to go wrong tonight is going to go wrong, because the cause - inexperience - isn't going away . But I hope to enjoy what goes right."

She smiles, and I'm certain I'm blushing to see her smiling at me like that.

"Well, that's the first part," she says, and I relax. "But there's a second problem."

So much for relaxing. "What's wrong?"

"Well... it's our contracts."

I nod. "'Party the first, party the second'..." I quote, in a gently mocking tone that she doesn't seem to pick up on.

She continues. "Yes, we hashed out everything... except the most important part: Your title!"

"My... title?" She's lost me with this one.

"Yes, your title." she says, sighing with exasperation. "I am to be your Mistress. But who are you?

"Well, that's simple. I'm your... erm..." I try to think of the right word, but it won't come to mind. Right there, on the tip of my tongue, but not coming out.

Twilight pouts, although she looks more angerable than adorable. "See? We left it out! We have to fix this!"

"Twilight - dear," I say, and reach out across the sofa towards her. "I don't need to have any special title tonight-"

"Yes, you do!" She reaches out back to me, her hoof pressing me firmly in the chest until I sit down again. "If we're going to do this right, we're going to have to have clearly named and delineated roles."

"O-of course, dear." I'm afraid I don't quite know what delineated means, but I'm afraid to stop her as she gets going. Especially if she's going to keep giving me little pushes like that. "What sorts of names were you thinking?"

She smirks. "Well, to start, the traditional title for the submissive in a dominant-submissive relationship is 'slave'."

I nod. The same had been used in many of my 'romance' novels. "That would do, I suppose..."

"But the connotations are wrong," she grumps. "That won't work, because I am not forcing you - well, I will use plenty of force, but it won't be forcing." She grins weakly. "You know what I mean?

"Twilight, dear," I smile, "You know these titles aren't literal-"

"But they're important enough!" She stands up, and starts to pace. "I have to get it perfect. Now," she says, turning away from me, "The next word I was thinking was 'pet'."

"Ooh!" I say, sitting up happily. "That would work splendidly. A relationship between pet and mistress is one based on trust and giving respect-"

"-and ownership," Twilight grouses. "No, Rarity. You are not going to be my pet."

"Aaaw." I try to put on my best pout to get her to change her mind, but she is adamant. 'Pet' would have been my favorite name.

"Next, I was thinking about 'slut'. 'Slut' comes up in a lot of your literature-"

Oh, she has no idea.

"-but that's also wrong. Slut implies promiscuity and lack of attachment. Now, Rarity, just the first part - how long has it been for you?"

"I... erm... well..." I sit up and squeak. "Two?"

"Two months? Well, I wasn't expecting that, but, still - two months. Hardly 'slutty' behavior." ( More like two years if you round liberally, Twilight dear; but a little white lie never hurt anyone. )

Twilight paced, as if in thought. "Hmm. There's another possibility..." She nods to herself, and smiles. "Yes, this might do..."

"What might do, Twilight dear?"

She grins softly. "Rarity, how about I call you 'whore'?"

I do my best not to faint in shock right there, although I'm pretty sure she caught my jaw falling to the floor. "A... whore," I squeak, disbelieving.

"Yes. Isn't it perfect for you?" she giggles, rearing back and clapping her hooves together. I can hardly believe it.

"Yes, it's... lovely." I put on my bravest grimace.

"Oh, I don't mean it in the current sense, of course," Twilight says, and I start to follow her as she paces. "I mean it in the old time sense. Think... think of elegantly dressed mares in old daguerreotypes."

One comes to mind - her hair done up in elegant coils, dressed in an elegant silken outfit for its day - and I nod. "Go on..."

"They were promiscuous, yes. But there was a difference between a low-class 'call mare' and a 'whore'. A 'call mare' was doing it for the bits; a 'whore' was one who had defined her sexuality to make it permissible," Twilight said. "She did it not because she was required to - but because she wanted to."

Leave it to Twilight Sparkle could find a way to turn me on with a discussion of semantics. "And they weren't property," I chime in. "They were independent, strong mares in a rough time."

"Exactly!" Twilight Sparkle grins, and trots up to me, rising up on her hooves to lean up on the sofa and over me, leaning in close. "And if there is any two words that define you, Rarity - it would be independent and strong."

She just called me beautiful, didn't she? Without me prompting her? There is no way she doesn't notice this wide ear to ear grin.

She smirks. "Not to mention you have a sort of classic beauty." She smiles. "Stylish hair, trim lines, the poise and grace..." She reaches a hoof out to me - she's nervous. "Rarity... tonight, can I call you my whore?"

"Ah... your whore, am I?" I try to think of it, modelling myself in the role in my mind's eye, just as I might model one of my dresses before I lift a single needle. I imagine myself in those olden times of Twilight Sparkle's connotations, casting smoldering looks at her - enticing her, seducing her. It's... not quite the topic of my poems. But I can see her falling for me all the same as I lead her to my bedroom - I can see her resistance fading as I ply my trade, teasing her not out of duty or of love, but out of the desire to give her pleasure. Somehow, the connotations of the word seem rather less distasteful, now.

I nod softly, looking up to her. "Well, dear, I'd say that if I could be yours-" No, Rarity, take pride in this, she is giving you this title, so own it - "Yes, Twilight - I would be proud to be made your whore."

Suddenly, her face cracks, then breaks into a wide frown. She hops down from the couch, and grumbles. "No. No, you're not."

"Whyever not?"

Her eyes roll, and I feel like the slowest filly in class. "Yes, the word 'whore' in the old days had fairly positive connotations in terms of competence and skill. But what does it mean about their profession?"

"Well... I suppose it meant they... well, prostituted themselves."

"Well, then, Rarity," Twilight says bitterly, looking at me in the reflection of a mirror. "Just how much would you sell your body for?"

"What? I... er..."

"Exactly," she growls, looking at me as if it's my fault. "Pay you for a dress or gown? I'd love to. But for sex?" She seems to be getting even angrier, and I can't tell if it's it with me or with herself. "No. No, we can't do it." She gets down and stomps towards the door. "There's no term that I can use to mean just what we -" She shakes her head, and stomps her hooves, hard enough to chip the floor I'm certain. "I'm sorry, Rarity, there just isn't. I'm sorry - this was a bad idea."

I bared my heart to her, and she's just going to walk out the door? It's like a - a nightmare! I try to sit up, but my hooves feel like lead, and just reaching out to her. "Wait, Twilight- please."

"Please what," she growls. There's that look in her eyes - but it is not amused.

"It's... it's okay, really," I plead. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, there's this knowledge that she knows and she could tell - but I could care less. "Twilight, I'll be whatever you want me to be, just don't-"

She pauses just shy of the door, and mouths something to herself. I can't make it out. I can't read her face. Oh, princesses keep me, I haven't been this scared in ages.

"You're not a whore, Rarity."

She looks back to me, over that perfectly cut hair. "A whore does it for work. The pony who wrote those poems does it for lust."

Now she's facing me, and I sit up. "A slut does it because she wants to get off. The poet - she wants to serve."

Her head is low, and there's a dangerous glint to her eyes - and, oh heavens, a delicious sway to her hips. "A pet is thankful to have her mistress. This poet - she wants her mistress to make her thankful."

The sofa sways as she gets back on it - she's within a hoof's span of me. "The slave does anything asked of them because they are owned... my poet submits because their mistress wants it."

She's pushing me back with a hoof, her eyes locked on mine. "Rarity - I know what you are."

My throat is dry, and to be honest, I'm afraid for quite other reasons now. She's pushed me back on the sofa, and is standing over me - like a manticore and their prey. "Tell me, Twilight, please..."

She reaches out to me, and one hoof slides down my chest. "You would do anything I asked, and you would be grateful for the chance to serve. No matter what I asked... no matter when I asked. And I wouldn't be taking from you - you'd be giving it to me, almost without asking, because you want to serve me even more than I want to be served." She's leaning over me now, her eyes looking into mine, her grin wide and victorious. "Do you know what that makes you?"

"I... I don't know, Twilight," I whimper.

She slides atop me, fur against fur for the first time in a very, very long time, and she leans in. Her breath is warm against my cheek - and mine must be, because I can't help but think of what she'd be doing if she moved her hoof just a little further south.

"Rarity... that makes you my bitch."

It's raw. It's vulgar. But as I look into her eyes, and... it feels like it should be. She's trying to be the mare of my fantasies... which means I have to be the mare in the poems. I'm shaking. But heaven forgive me, Twilight's right, and I want to prove it. Especially as she shifts her hips back - I whimper in anticipation, and she smirks. Well played, dear, you now have me more tightly strung than a violin.

"Well, Rarity? How does that strike you?"

I swallow. There's nothing for it. "If you would allow me to get up... I think I'd like to show you to my bedroom, Mistress."

She slips up again, and presses her lips to mine - and, for just a moment, her mask drops. Her lips are friendly, adoring, affectionate - and a little apologetic. The poor thing - this has to be as frightening for her as it is for me. But as I squeeze her in my hooves, that mask slides back on - full of the same confidence that stared down gods and princesses. She slips up off of me reluctantly... and, quickly, gives my hip a little pat.

"Then you better get moving, bitch-" Oh, she says it so fluidly now! - "We've got a wonderful night ahead of us."

I smirk - and I know her eyes are on me as I put on my best strut, wearing her title for me like a collar. "Well, then. Right this way, Mistress..."

It's not just her eyes on me. It's the fact that I am leading her - every step showing my trust in her, every shake in my hips showing how much her correspondence has made me think of her. But - should there be any doubt in her mind as to whether or not I am alright with this, perhaps I should give her a little show of faith.

As I open the door, I pose against the doorframe - hiking my tail up and to the side and showing off just what I think of her name for me. Her eyes immediately fall to my lewd little "show of faith," and I look back to her; when she finally tears her eyes away, mine are inviting, and I give her a little wink. This is it - until dawn, at least.

"It's getting late, Mistress... would you like to come inside?"