Chapters When I lost my diary, I have to admit I flew into a panic. As my personal log of each day, I had filled it with not only critical business information, but the most personal of thoughts and the most exotic of fantasies. It was, to be honest, one of my few escapes from my quotidian lifestyle; design and extravagance were all elements of my life, but - as any mare my age will and must, you understand - I have had baser desires. Desires that make every filly swoon and every mare... well, seek mechanical assistance in properly swooning. Yes, I kept my diary with those mechanical aids, properly locked away from the eyes of prying fillies. However, one day, I left it out, where dear Sweetie Belle found it.
Oh, don't look at me like that! Besides - for what it's worth, she could not understand it. The high Unicorn calligraphy which I employ in my personal diary was beyond her reach - what are they teaching in schools nowadays? Then again, I suppose I shouldn't complain; for it was only by sake of my extravagant script that she could not divine the true purpose behind the various costumes and outfits I had designed in the pages of my diary. That being said, Sweetie Belle still found it, and she was on a cleaning spree - and so, it and various other 'inspirational' books were returned along with overdue library books to the Golden Oaks branch.
Unfortunately for me, the librarian not only could read the script, she had seen it several times before, coming out of a quill held in my grasp. The jig was up, well and truly.
That evening, when she visited, she returned my books and my diary to me. However, she did not simply drop them off, but instead stayed by the doorframe, and asked if she could talk with me for a while. Well, I am hardly one to turn away a friend - and so I invited her in, and we made company. She was nervous - incredibly so. Inevitably, the conversation turned to my books. She asked about my books, speaking of them disdainfully, as if she had found contemporary romance and not the tawdry fantasies they are, complaining that their use of metaphor in describing passionate act was dense to the point of ridicule. (Perhaps she fails to understand the point of such metaphor - as if I had chosen work less florid, I would be faced with the unenviable problem of having to explain even more to dear Sweetie Belle.)
Then, excitedly, she spoke of my own work. She put my poetry in the same echelons as such laureates Emily Nickerson and Lipizzan Hughes! Hardly one word was made of the illustrations; she never quite inferred that poems with titles like "An Aurora - knows no Cessation-" or "Sacred Joy, in daybright Rose" were referring to some of our mutual friends. But when she spoke the poems which referred to my thoughts about her - well, I was certain she at least had cause to suspect.
She begged me for a reading of one, in particular - "Would She allow me to Yield-" Yes, I spelled it as I pronounced it - it was Written with needless Capitals for passionate Emphasis - if you had a ounce of poetry in your soul you'd understand. Yes, she had asked me to read a poem about herself. I hated it that poem - the rhyme was terrible, the meter was off, and the subject matter was outright pornographic. But she threw herself at my hooves begging. and she looked at me with soulful eyes - eyes that I had longed to have seeing me the way I saw her. And so, after having my friend compose herself and sit up straight, I put on my best High Unicorn accent and began to recite:
Would She allow me to Yield-
I could see her shifting about, but I continued, lost in the moment - doing my best to bludgeon the lines into something approaching recitable. The trick with poetry is to keep going . After all, poetry is lyric, lyric is mathematics, and when you slow down mathematics enough it stops being magical and starts being mechanical. So I struck what I hoped was a dynamic pose and continued, describing submission, desire shown by obedience, need shown by gentle pleads and hopeful looks instead of my usual... well... direct approach.
I probably should have noticed the look in her eyes, the soft squeaks and whispers under her voice as I described the heroine's first experience with ropes and blinders, but - suffice to say, I was embarrassed enough to be giving a recitation to anyone . She whispered something in a tone of voice that should have given me fair warning. I could barely pay attention to my own lines, much less her voice.
Her Crop assuages - and I Comply-
Oh, I hated that last line, but seriously, what rhymes with bit?
But I think that line did it. In one word, I was beyond any hope of claiming my poem was simply metaphorical. If she pressed, I couldn't back out and claim it's just phrasing, it's a symbol for life and the meaninglessness of existence in a world where satisfaction is derived from material goods - no. I, Rarity, had written a poem about becoming a sexual servant to a thinly veiled stand-in for one of my best friends, and I was happily reciting said poem to said friend. And, if the groan that just escaped her lips was any sign - it worked for her.
"Rarity," she said, her voice confident but nervous, a student who knows she's right but who's afraid of being wrong anyways. "Were you writing about me ?"
Celestia forgive me, I told her the truth.
I explained my fantasies in some detail - prefacing half my sentences with variations of 'hypothetically,' of course. My diary was full of fantasies about my friends. About giving up my horn and sharing a sweet, earthy, farmer's romance with Applejack, becoming the country girl by her side. About a crazy love affair with Pinkie Pie, a life given over to affectionate spontaneity and lewdness that was not lustful, but joyful . About Rainbow Dash the Wonderbolt and the joys of a strong, wiry mare who was unflaggingly bold and direct both in and out of uniform. About Fluttershy and gentle romance, of evenings spent side by side with book in hooves and tails draped over each other's. And, when I could no longer put the topic off any further, about the look I saw in Twilight's eyes.
I told her, to her face, how crazy she sometimes looks - how her passion can drive her. She winced at first as I reminded her of her more embarrassing lessons, but I comforted her. Madness was her term for it; passion unfettered was mine. Even when fully restrained, she was a mare that desired perfection; when she finally got around to desiring something more than she desired to maintain her mask of propriety - well, I could so easily imagine her making demands of me . Sexy demands.
For a long moment looked at me, her face dangerously unreadable, until it finally broke into a small half-smile. I was a little unnerved by that smile, and had been about to protest - but then she leaned in to kiss me.
It wasn't a soft or a gentle kiss. It was a question she made with her tongue. So I answered it with my own. When she pushed forwards, I let her lean me back. I could smell she had been moved - and I was certain she could smell the same on me. And as soon as she broke contact, she smirked smugly, looking down on me.
"You know, Rarity... it would have been easier if you had just asked."
She had never thought hard about my kink - and, likely, never thought much of it. But my poetry made her see something in it. Oh, princesses help me - she can see herself becoming the mare of my fantasies.
I'm sure it's just for science. My poetry shook her to the soul, stirred feelings in her she didn't know she had, and now she wants to explore them, the same as she explores any other endeavor. Our correspondence arranging tonight's interlude was highly technical, concluding with a formalized contract to consent to revoking consent; she did her reading on the subject, no doubt. When I let her in the front door, she will be my friend; but if I open the door for her and let her into my bedroom - from that moment forwards, she is to be my Mistress, and (until sunrise or I invoke the safeword) I am to do as she pleases.
'Mistress'. When I think those words, I see her face. Haughty, proud, smug, confident - in many ways different from herself. I have longed, these long years, to throw myself before her hooves, to be at the mercy of her whims. But now, it's minutes away, and even though the title suits her perfectly, I'm scared witless from the thought of actually being at her command. So that's why I'm sitting here, narrating to a mirror, because if I don't focus on my diction I'll start focusing on my hair and-
Oh, dear, that must be her knocking at the door now. Well, now; mustn't keep Mistress waiting...
Author's Note
Thanks to Alkali and Archonix for their assistance in proofing!
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?"
It is so very hard to stay obedient when the first thing your new Mistress does makes you want to throw her out on her horn.
The outfit I made for her took two weeks to design and execute - nearly the entirety of the time we spent in correspondence coming to terms with tonight. It was dark, with elements of light; pearl over black silk. It was daringly low-cut, designed not only to direct the eye but trap it against her most flawless features - towards her eyes, across her hips, down her flanks and just above her tail. And it was asymmetrical, as well - all the fetish fashion shows in Las Pegasus this year were declaring this the year of asymmetry, of garish imbalance marking a resistance to the sexual puritanism that ran through our society. It was an outfit that proclaimed power and demanded attention, and told all of Equestria one thing and one thing alone: Kneel.
And Twilight is throwing the ensemble, piece by piece, off the bed and onto the floor like it was some cheap terrycloth towel.
"Mistress - I do have to ask," I smile; I'm forcing as much pleasantness into my voice as I can. "Is there something wrong with the outfit I made for you?" I may have put a little emphasis on the word 'made'. Just a little.
"It's... it's way, way too complex," she grumbles, as she levitates a piece that is more straps and buckles than fabric. "For example: I have no idea where this is supposed to go!" The mare's invented new branches of thaumic equations. Of course a few straps are what finally go beyond her capabilities.
"That's supposed to go on your hips ," I grumble. "...Mistress." And it would look just fine, with that silken dark panel just below her tail and straps running up her thighs, tugging them taut and concealing nothing of the glory that is her... well. You can tell what I have on my mind.
But she grumbles, and shakes her head. "No. I will not deal with... this stuff tonight." No, tell me how you really feel, Twilight.
I sigh, and shake my head. "... as you wish." And... I pull out my best trick. I cast my eyes aside. I pull my lower lip up over my teeth, holding it firmly between my upper lip and upper teeth. I let my jaw quiver... and I nod silently, letting out a tiny squeak. It's not a pout - and it's doing its best to visibly not be a pout.
She catches my gaze in a mirror. I think she's rolling her eyes. But it seems to be working, because she's now regarding my ensemble more critically. Finally, she casts a glance at me over her shoulder, and grumbles, "One piece."
"Oh, thank you!" I brighten up and smile widely. After all, it is only proper to be excited when your mistress accepts your requests.
She's hovering two of the items I had laid out on my bed. The first, the crop - well, we had agreed to that in our correspondence. The second - I'm not sure what it is. But she's throwing most everything else off the bed, as she raises the one piece of the costume to her face.
"For making a demand of me, there will be a price..." She smiles, and turns around atop the bed, looking down on me. "So tell me, bitch - was it worth it?"
Oh, she is stunning!
The one piece she chose to keep was a mask. My design was inspired by gryphons - their intense stares making every single look piercing, scolding, powerful . And so the mask is no simple domino mask, but has its edges serrated and curled - slightly asymmetrical, giving the impression that the mask itself is a living thing, protruding from her face, like a sign that the wearer is some predator from beyond time, like they are a thing that should not be. The mask shadows her eyes - even without any paint on her face, the shading gives her eyes a certain depth, and gives the white of her eyes a penetrating quality. And as she looks down to me... her face is brought back into a smile. Not the warm smiles that lift the cheeks and bring a blush to the face - no, the thin, grim smiles of a plan coming together. She looks perfectly like the villain of the piece.
She turned down an extravagant outfit... but perhaps in this case, less is more.
Of course, I am too blinded by her beauty to pay attention , so when that crop hits me from behind and leaves a sharp sting across my rear, I yelp and jump into the air like a frightened schoolfilly.
"Come on, girl," she croons, as she treats me to another (softer) tap with her crop. "It's time we put you in your place..."
"Y-yes, mistress," I stammer, sliding back up into her bed. Rather... er... my bed. How odd, a bit of roleplay can put you into a different frame of mind... this is my bed, these are my sheets, and those are my pillows that some of my favorite toys are lying upon. And yet, as she looks down to me, and I slide onto the silken sheets, it feels like I'm in someone else's house entirely, needing their permission.
"Good girl," she coos, as she cocks her hips. "Now, lie back for me - and no covering up."
Swallowing, I lie on the bed, rolling onto my back - instinctively closing my hindlegs, but willing them apart as I notice a disapproving frown on her face. Shouldn't it be easier - I mean, my hips are on other sides of my body, my knees shouldn't keep closing together like this.
Although she's smiling - there's something else to it, a tilt to her head, a tightness to her lips. I can only hope it's more feline than revulsion. "Are we having problems ...?"
"N-no, Mistress," I say, and bite my lip as I throw my hindlegs spreadeagle, forcing my hooves to dig into the sheets so they can't just slide back together. Bringing my hooves up to my sides, I try to give my warmest smile. "Just - preparing myself for you, of course..."
Yes, I am worked up, and yes, I've wanted it for ages. But it's one thing to write about... about a perfect representation of my dreams. It's quite another thing to actually be doing it for her. But... she hasn't taken her eyes off me, not once. That smile is just a little more... likeable, now.
"That will do." There's the hum of telekinesis, and I can hear something above my head moving. I try to look up - but there's a quick sting, just behind my cutie mark.
"Ah ah ah! I didn't say you could look around, now, did I?"
"Ah... no, mistress." I have to wriggle my hip - that last tap with the crop stung, and might actually leave a welt. (Oh, I hope she won't be too enthusiastic in marking me...)
"That's right," she purrs, smiling. She brings that thing she had in her hooves up to my eyes anyways, and I can see it's one of the 'toys' I had arranged around the bed - specifically, my 'special rope'. "First, let's make sure there's no inconvenient wriggling...."
Of course, any other unicorn would just wrap the rope around my hooves like a twist-tie, before making a knot. But not Twilight. She's making a production out of it. In her grasp, the silken rope is slithering - from somewhere in my hair, down over my neck at first, the silk rope is poking out, exploring - the faint hiss of silk across fur. I whimper - but I don't tell Twilight to stop. I don't dare to - especially as it traces dangerously south, across the thin fur of my belly.
"Good, good. Now, tuck your hooves in..."
When I do as she asks, the rope continues - nowhere near my mound; rather, it's slipping around my hips once, then around a thigh. I think she's trying to bind my legs, but she's got the rope a little high for comfort. Subtly, I try to shift the rope a little lower, closer to the knee, so it's not cutting off my circulation -
And I can't even budge it.
I put a bit more power into it - my horn is burning a little now, which means it's glowing enough to make my magic obvious, but the rope is just. Not. Shifting. I'm pouring more and more of my power into it - and it's like it's being dampened , simply overwhelmed by the flow of a much stronger magic; her magic is not simply more powerful than mine, it is in a completely different category . I might as well try to lift the sun with a butterfly's wingbeats.
"It's no use," she purrs, as the rope slinks around my ankles, tugging them closer to my thighs. Suddenly, I feel the tingle of that much stronger magic as my forehooves are tugged to my sides, straight against my flanks as the rope starts to coil. "I could just hold you helpless in my magic, I suppose, but what fun is that? "
You don't give yourself enough credit, dear; I'm certain we could find a great many ways to have fun.
But the knot comes together, and I must say - she's better at the knotwork than I gave her credit for. (I wouldn't be surprised if she found a book on the subject.) The rope is treble-layered at each point - which looks like a "stronger binding" but is actually looser, tearing skin and fur far less since the knot's distributed over three lengths. My wrists and my ankles are both bound to my thighs; a double loop of rope behind my tail links both sides and keeps me from closing my legs apart, but can be closed enough to be... well, comfortable isn't the right word. Tenable? Yes, that will do.
Twilight slides up beside me, stretching out languidly - making quite a show of her hips wriggling behind her, and her hooves stretching before her, as she smiles patronizingly to me. Her crop gives me a small tap on the nose, but rather than leaving a mark, it slides down my chin, the velvet tracing its way slowly down my neck.
"Good, good." She leans in, and her bangs surround the mask as they fall forwards, dropping her gaze further in shadows. She's actually leaning in over me, now, throwing a hoof over me casually - as that crop traces its way down the thinning fur of my belly. The pressure isn't constant, and it's not staying in one place; with her keeping me from tilting my head, she's keeping me from watching as that velvet-tipped traces in slow spirals.
"First, for mocking my sex life - something to remind you of your place."
In front of me floats another of my toys - a collar. It's a dainty affair, really, a light lavender that would look good on either of us, complementing my mane or her coat. She snaps it open, and tugs it around my neck, looking down as it locks snugly around my neck. Well, it's no coincidence that it's already adjusted to fit my neck; I was thinking of her the other day, and wondered how it would feel to wear to sleep...
She smirks, and strokes her hoof through my chest, that crop - oh, I can feel it sliding its way up a thigh now! I didn't even feel it leave contact, so fixated was I in looking into her eyes... I try to tilt my head down, and can just barely make out the tassels on the far end of the crop swinging as it slides down -
Oh, why are you moving it away from me, Mistress dear? You were just getting to the good part!
"Second, for making orders of me-" Twilight grins softly, and leans in closely - "Let's do something about those busy eyes, shall we?"
And this is the part where I consider that inviting her to make me helpless and let her wild, selfish side loose might have been a bad idea. I almost expected her to float two sporks in front of me, grotesque as that thought is! But what I see is far simpler - a blindfold, not dissimilar to the one I use for my beauty rest - although this one has a much more snug connection that hooks around the curvature of a pony's head, rather than a simple cotton strap.
"Don't worry, bitch. I'll make sure to take good care of you..." One last look into my eyes - and the smile I see there is less the affectation, and more affection. She didn't need to reassure me. I'm glad she did. I'm lifted in her magic for just a moment as she slips the hood over my eyes - I think she's going out of her way to not damage my hair.
If she left the room right now, if I were left alone bound and blilndfolded like this... it would almost be relaxing. True, there's a dull ache in my shoulders, and I would be paranoid about possible entrants, but the absolute darkness of the mask and my rope-aided posture is almost at ease. I could probably take a pleasant little nap like this - were I not so horribly frustrated .
Around me, I can feel the bed shift - Twilight must be taking to her hooves. There's a touch of velvet - along my left flank - no, teasing up my right thigh - no, caressing just under my chin. I try to turn my head - perhaps Twilight's muzzle is there? - but as soon as I try to turn my head, the touch of velvet is gone, although I can feel the tassels dragging their way up my belly now. I'd wriggle more but her knots have me caught; they're not individually tight, but any tilt of my torso and they dig into my hips and wrists.
"Frustrated?"
"Like you wouldn't believe, " I pant, giving a little whine as I arch my hips up.
There's a quick whap! , the thin crop whistling in the air before it strikes across my cutie mark. "Like who wouldn't believe?"
Ah. The roles. "Like you wouldn't believe... Mistress."
There's a sort of smug grunt, and I can feel a hoof tracing over my chest. "All those fantasies in your letters running through your head, I take it?"
"Well... to be honest, no, Mistress."
"No?" That hoof traces down, then back up, and I can feel her weight shifting - lying beside me, perhaps. "Why not?"
"Well... to be frank, the reality of ... of this is... different." Well, then, why don't I just stun her with my amazing grasp of language?
"Aw. Well, that's too bad; those fantasies were great fun," she purrs. "I had a few on my mind..."
"Is that so?" I can't help but wriggle my hips, much as the binding hurts my wrists, to try to get some relief. "Which did you have in mind?"
The whistling of the crop sounds again - and although I flinch, I don't feel the sting. It was just a feint. "My title," she grouses, giving a little shove against my ribcage, but she continues. "First, I did so love that 'inverted Gala' dress."
"Oh?" It was a clever invention, if I had to say so myself; an elegant Gala gown, but with hidden straps running from the 'saddle' to the hind hooves. If the wearer were to roll onto her back, however, gravity and the shift in tension would cause the bindings to start to interlock, and she'd find her hindhooves being pulled to her upper shoulders, while the straps locking tugged the dress out of the way. The lucky mare to wear my design would be the belle of the ball, but would go through the entire event knowing that, at a moment's notice, anyone aware of the dress's true nature could simply shove her onto her back, causing the straps to tighten and in one motion immobilizing and making a presentation of herself. Even if nothing were ever done, half of the thrill of submission is in possibility , after all. "I have to admit, Mistress, I've thought about that myself..."
"Perhaps a private 'Gala' can be arranged sometime," Twilight purrs, and I can feel her breath warm against my neck. I can't feel her touching me anywhere else, though - and I've lost track of where she's standing. What are you doing, Twilight dear?
"Next-" Her voice is coming from between my legs; how did she do that? - "I was wondering." She laughs, and I can feel her breath tease my fur there, tickling. "Stocks?"
"Ah-heh... yes." I squirm again. "Well... I guess you could say I always liked being the center of attention, Mistress."
"Yes. Preferably from both sides at once, I take it," she smirks.
Oh, Twilight, I'd be so frustrated with you right now for that crack if you hadn't just put your hoof right there ... I think I might be squeaking as I roll my hips, struggling in my binds to get her hoof just a little closer... oh, you evil tease!
"You know," she purrs as her crop guides my muzzle upwards, "The colts would line up just to have a chance to talk to a mare as beautiful as you. To see you bound... helpless... and completely unable to resist... well, I'm sure you have imagined what they would do."
Vividly and repeatedly, Twilight dear.
Now her breath is warm in my ear - but I haven't felt her move? "Now, what if I told you that I could... help that fantasy come real?"
"How... how do you mean, Mistress?"
"Well... first, start you off with two sweet colts, like in your diary," Twilight smirked. There's a sudden shift in the weight of the bed - at the head, and at the foot - and my body rolls around a little, tugged up then down by the tilting. "And when they've had their fun..." She nips my ears gently, cooing... "We'll see if you really say 'next'."
"That would be... lovely, Mistress," I whimper, trying to place the movement of the bed. "But... part of that fantasy is the public aspect. And I'm afraid that would be bluntly impossible."
"Oh, is it?" Her lips are almost brushing mine - her voice somewhere between playful and cross. "Then tell me, bitch. Doesn't it feel a little... warmer in here? Like there's a lovely little breeze?"
I had been so focused on the crop that I didn't even notice . And... she's right. Isn't it rather warmer, unlike my cool little boudoir ?
"No, you haven't left the bed. But tell me..." A breath across my cheek, her voice a furtive whisper. "How can you tell you haven't moved with it?"
"That's... that's just impossible, Mistress," I say carefully. "The only way you could move me without my noticing was if you..."
No. No way. It's just unthinkable. Twilight is a very talented mare indeed, but teleporting this entire bed and both of us with it would take an incredible amount of focus! But... she did jump around on the bed, without me being able to track her.
"You couldn't. You can't! It's just... impossible... isn't it?"
"I've heard that line before," she says, and I can almost hear her eyes rolling. "And yet, here we are."
"And... where is this?"
"Oh, not far - still in the bounds of Ponyville. Somewhere secluded enough for privacy... but not so inaccessible that I could't arrange for a pair of... discreet visitors."
And suddenly... there is a new presence touching me. A very soft brush against my thigh... but it's large. And pendulous. And brushing slowly against the fur, although a broad ridge nudges against me as it aims down
"Twilight," I hiss, even though a whisper is needless since whomever joined me has a better view of me than almost anypony else. "I thought you said we weren't going all the way tonight."
"Hmmm... I suppose I did. Vagaries of the language, I suppose," she says, that crop riding down my chest. "See, you thought it was an inclusive 'we' - that neither of us were going to go all the way. However I meant it in the exclusive sense - while you and I might not go that far, I see no reason to deprive you of your fantasies."
Twilight, you shouldn't have. You really, really shouldn't have.
"Now, bitch: open up your mouth and prepare to give our guest a kiss," she giggles. "After all, you don't want to be seen as an ungracious hostess, do you?"
And that's it. Something in that last sentence triggers my instinct to run. Yes, in our correspondence, she implied this could happen. Someday. After mutual agreement. Not our very first date!
Our safeword glows like a big, shiny red button in my mind, and I reach out for it, opening my mouth. Just four syllables and this will stop...
Or, will it?
Twilight's demonstrably more powerful of a unicorn than I. Telekinesis, teleportation... I can't even imagine what tricks she has in her devious little mind. And I... even if I could get the blindfold off to see how to undo the knots, she'd see and stop me. The power she has over me right now is absolute... I am completely and utterly helpless now. The safeword isn't going to do me an iota of good... unless I trust her to hold to her word.
And I do trust her. I know well the goodness in her heart. Even her... terrible moments have been guided by good intentions. She wouldn't do anything unsafe or risky or truly demeaning. But... I felt the bed shift! But I know Twilight, and even being as wonderfully indulgent of my fantasies as she has been, she's never truly violate me.
If I invoked the safeword, if I let myself fly into a panic and throw off my binds and sit up and take a look around... it'd settle my nerves. It'd also end our evening, this wonderful night... and possibly more. And... I don't want to risk that.
So, I choose to obey, and to trust in Twilight. And, hesitantly, I open my mouth.
"Good bitch." And I am greeted by the taste of - latex? Oh, thank heavens, they're just toys! I don't know what I would have done if the taste of flesh had met my tongue. I breathe a slight sigh of relief and purse my lips - well, if this 'stallion' of hers needs a host, then (knowing it is only for play) I shall be the most gracious of hosts. And throwing myself into a little exhibitionistic fellatio that will stop me from continuing that little panic attack I almost had...
I make a show of it, of course - the soft murmurs I make of adoration to the faux flare; the way I purse my lips about the tip, nibbling the very edge. I think I can hear Twilight's breath rising as I tongue the very edge. Just for fun, I imagine that it is hers - that my dear Mistress is my gentle Master, that the wonderful unicorn that took Ponyville (and recently, Equestria) by storm had been born a colt. That stirs me; and I think I groan around the tip before allowing it into my mouth. In return, Twilight has allowed the other toy phallus to slide up to my belly, slowly dragging back - that ridge being drawn across my skin.
"Rarity..." Her voice is almost a growl . If I didn't know better I'd say I was fellating her...
"Yes?" If I had the blindfold off, I'd be giving her my best flirtatious gaze; but as it is, I do my best to flash her my happiest smile, tilting my head to where I think I hear her voice while giving her 'guest' a fond nuzzle. "Is there anything more I can do for our guests, Mistress?"
There's a sigh, and a whimper, the toys moving away from my body. Then, reluctantly but loud enough to be clear: "Avuncular."
I... what? What? Why is she invoking the safeword?
"Understood. Twilight, dear... what's wrong?"
"I... I want to change the terms, Rarity. I can't just... just watch anymore."
I give a pointed little squirm of my hips. "You were only watching? You could have fooled me."
"No. I mean... I want to go beyond teasing. I know I said I wouldn't, but..." There's a whine that would be cute if it wasn't so weak. "Can I... make love to you, Rarity?"
"Are... are you saying that you aren't okay with being my mistress?"
"No!" She's even squeakier now. "No, I'm loving this."
I'm glad for this eyemask, for it conceals my rolling eyes. She doesn't get to pull the 'insecure virgin' card, not now. "Then, no, Twilight, you may not." I can hear her gasp, but I continue - just like poetry, if you're going to be bold, you can't stop to test the waters. "You may order me around, tease me as you like. You can use me however you feel like - within the terms, of course. You may rut me like your bitch, and in fact, I highly encourage it. But you do not get to be tender after you exploited my deepest fantasies. Do this all the way or not at all. And Twilight?"
"Yes?" Her voice is tremulous.
I clear my throat. To avoid another signature Twilight misunderstanding or misinterpretation, I'm going to have to be direct about this. "You seem to have overlooked how aroused I am. If you don't do something soon, then I'm afraid I may have to rip off these bonds, hold you down, and fuck you until you cannot walk."
I can hear her mouth opening and closing. Yes, Twilight, I do know some dirty words; now please pay attention to why I directed them your way...
"I think I can manage that," she agrees. She slips up against me, torso to torso, and rests her hoof at the side of my neck. "Are we good?"
"Not... quite," I admit.
I can almost hear her teeth grinding as she winces. "What's up?"
"When you... you really had me going."
"Oh?" A light giggle. "I'm glad."
"Not the sexy kind of having me going. You... had me genuinely scared there."
"Too much?
"Well, yes. You had me thinking you had just made our duo a quartet without telling me." Well, to be honest, my mind had put us into the middle of Ponyville Park with dozens of studs surrounding us... aheh.
"Ehehe... sorry about that, Rarity. Really."
"And I'm not sure how you jumped around the bed so easily."
"I had an older brother and an alicorn babysitter. I learned to step lightly," she says pithily.
"And the warmth of the sun, and the breeze? How did you pull those off, then?"
"Oh. I didn't actually do anything. I just... suggested it."
"Suggested?"
She giggles. "Oh, yes. The body is the plaything of the mind. I just made you want to believe it... and you suddenly felt a fresh breeze. No magic at all!"
"Then... you really haven't teleported us?"
"Never left the room. The 'secluded area of Ponyville' is your bedroom, and the 'discreet visitors' you had are battery powered."
My sigh of relief is heartfelt. "Oh, Twilight - you had me terrified for a moment there."
"I just wanted to indulge your fantasy!"
"There is such a thing as indulging to excess." But I can't stay mad - especially as I am still burning from her teasing. I give a deep sigh, and relax back into the bindings. "Thank you, Twilight. I'm good now. Shall we continue?"
"I'd love to," she coos - and her lips are pressed to mine. Per our contract, a kiss would signify 'time in' after any safeword-caused 'time out'. But rather than the quick peck I thought her contract implied, it's warm, affectionate - especially with the way her hoof is tracing down my side as she does so. My kiss in return is deep, pressing eagerly into her lips and running my tongue against hers; she has no idea how much I want to make good on my threat.
"I'm glad," she smiles, rising up from me - there's a gentle purr in her throat. "Because I have a few more punishments to mete out..."
"I - I'm sorry, Mistress," I whimper, squirming as I relax back into our roles. "What did I do?"
"Punishment the third," she says, as I feel the smaller of the two toys teasing down my thighs, nudging against me... "Is for being such a dirty little filly, writing me such explicit letters over the last two weeks, getting me so worked up, and not having told me to my face..."
And finally, after all this teasing, I feel something directly touching me - a soft buzzing, a spark to light the explosion. I can't help but squeak and gasp, and my back arches - my legs trying to close instinctively, but she stays the course, that toy's shaped tip dragging slowly against me.
"Oh, don't try to hide it, bitch," she purrs - I imagine she's now standing over me again, watching me squirm instinctively. "You've been begging for it..."
"Gah!" Oh, that little toy of mine feels so different in her grasp - and I have no idea where. The way it slides against me moves in ways I never would have - but in good ways, as it slides just against my roughest spot, teasing me there. My breath is coming in ragged little wheezes, my heart is shattering inside my chest, and that tightness that started at my marehood is spreading through out me. "Twilight, I-"
The smack across my thighs is firm and fierce. "What's my name?"
I can't quite focus. "Twi-" Oh, no, that's not right! "M-"
Her crop slaps across my ass this time. "Wrong! Who am I?" Oh, Princesses, she's so hot when she's mad-
"M-mistress! You're my mistress!"
"Who do you belong to?"
"You! I'm yours, Mistress..."
"And what are you good for?"
"A-ah-" I pause; there just isn't a set answer for this! I hear the crop whistle as it's lifted in her magic for another swing, and I gasp, whimpering and blurting out the first thing - "Ah-anything! Anything my Mistress wants me for!" I just about shout myself, afraid of another sting but eager to please. I can feel the bed shift around me, and - oh, her crop is right there , coaxing my muzzle up, as I feel her coming to rest atop me, chest to chest. But wait - aren't those her shoulders at my belly? That would put her hips facing-
"That's right, bitch," she purrs, as I can feel her chest sliding back - oh, Luna, her hips are facing my muzzle, which means- "Now- prove it ."
I-
Oh, Luna. I can smell her. It's... not quite dissimilar to my own scent, but still uniquely Twilight, that slight mustiness, the faint note of lavender that I notice every time she comes around now incredibly strong. And when I nuzzle up... there are her thighs, and I can feel her tail relaxing, those lovely strands swiping against my forehead (and likely over my eyemask - another reason to wear one, I suppose). She's nearly as turned on as I am-
It probably merits a mention that I have never done this before. Well - not on this side, anyways. I've been given muzzle by some of the loveliest colts and fillies in Equestria, but I've never, erm, given it. So here's hoping I can wing it, just by remembering what they did to me...
No. Don't start thinking about them. Stay focused, girl, and try to see what makes her scream.
I nuzzle softly against her mound, having to work entirely by touch, using my lips - I can't even lift a hoof to find where her hips are, so my muzzle nudges against her thighs, softly teasing along the fur until I know her body well enough to give her feather-light strokes, softly stroking the fur this way and that, gently tugging it the wrong way. By that groan, I have to assume it's working. With my lips gently pursing, I follow the curve of her thighs up to beneath her tail, giving a soft kiss there. It's not my fetish, at all , but in this moment it feels like just the thing to do - and by the little scream she just gave, I know it's working.
I can feel that toy moving again inside me, but I try to put it out of mind - as much as I can, anyway, as it brushes against my rough spot, sending another coil of tension through me - oh, Twilight, I hope you tied those knots tight , or I may buck you right off right here and now! I bring my lips to her nethers and softly breathe over them, and I can feel her hindlegs squeezing around my muzzle.
"A-are you waiting for an invitation , bitch?" Her voice is ragged, though, and there's no sound of a crop - and the toys have fallen still in her grip, giving me a moment to cool down. Capitalizing, I mouth over her lips, very gently tugging them with mine; when I have them so captured, nibbling gently, I drag my tongue across the skin, my wetness against her heat.
Such language, Twilight dear! Then again, if 'bitch' no longer suits you, I think I can manage being your "dirty cunt" as well.
That toy pushes into me again - but it's not quite as effective, just pushing in for the sake of pushing in, gratifying and distracting but not quite the lightning bolt as when she was grinding that shaking ridge right across my secret spot. That's her mistake, as I bring my tongue up to slide between her folds, then pushing back down, stroking.
It turns out you were right, Twilight; I'm a very naughty little pony. I could have had you screaming like this every night for months had I just been brave enough. Then again, I thought you'd be a shirking violet - pardon the pun; I always imagined that you would simply just lay back and languidly savor sex. I never knew you had it in you to just straddle my muzzle and mount my face like this...
Ooof! I could have used a bit of warning you were going to buck my face like that, Mistress! Then again, I guess I've gotten you worked up too - I can feel that hard nub against my lips. Perhaps a little light nursing will help that 'itch', m'lady...
There's a tension shaking through me, like a river overflowing its banks, all that power coursing through me and only more is coming. I- I think I just lost it. I don't know. Everything's a blur. Even with her thighs sealed around my head, I hear her screaming out my name - and my title - and a few things besides.
Wait... my name?
Having had the blindfold for so long, it's almost easy enough to think that I am taking a stranger - a fictional version, a poetic fantasy. But hearing my name on her lips (especially between such delicious groans) reminds me of the truth of the matter - that this is my friend atop me. Dear, brave, smart Twilight, so passionate yet so considerate.
And, whether she knows it or not, I'm going to have her screaming my name again soon.
I can feel the toy within me drawing out, and another haughty laugh sounding through her ragged breaths. Twilight, what are you -
Oh goddesses don't reciprocate hold on Twilight not yet GAH
It had been so long, I had been fooled. That was no river, overflowing its banks. It was a dam, creaking. And now, as she draws her lips about my nethers, my clit being tugged about on the tip of her tongue, I lose it . My entire body shakes, and my body goes past hot, like- like she has just poured fire on me. I think I'm bucking my hips up against her, but I can't tell if I'm just bouncing my hips or if my entire body is shaking against her. It doens't matter, because no matter how I move, she's right there, her thighs locked around my face, her hooves wrapped around my hips, her lips giving adoring little kisses over my belly and teases over my slit.
We like like that for just a few minutes, panting, screaming. At some level, I'm horrified that I've actually done it. But then I feel her hoof slowly tracing down my flank, her little groan into my fur, and that cute little giggle. And something about all this feels absolutely natural to me. It's her - no. It's us .
It was worth misplacing my diary for this.
I can feel the magic loosening the ropes - and as my hips and shoulders return to their normal tautness, I groan. (In very unsexy ways, I assure you; it might have been tenable but it was starting to tingle behind my hooves.)
"That..." she smiles, as she undoes the blindfold, making my eyes wince from the sudden return of light - "was perfect. "
She starts to lift the mask - but I catch it in my own magic, and this time, she allows me to reaffix it to her face. "Twilight, dear, this is a gift . And you have more than earned it tonight," I smile up to her, her eyes meeting mine.
"Thank you for letting me take control of you."
"And thank you for making me obey," I coo. We share a kiss - but this is chaste, gentle. And when I look into her eyes - they're affectionate. We played mistress and plaything - but we're still friends, friends to the end.
"You've been tied up for quite a while. Can you stand?"
"I-I think so," I nod, as I gingerly roll out of bed - my hooves are tingling a little, but I can manage to put my weight of them. I make a show out of stretching- and show off my best parts, flashing Twilight an indulgent smile over my shoulder. "It looks like I'm managing just fine."
"Good. Good."
I hear her magic alight in the general direction of my toybox - a rather realistic black strapon and a U-shaped hobble bar floating in the grip of violet magic, followed by an elegant riding blanket - along with the rope from just now, already coiled up neatly. From where she's stretched out on the bed, she grins to me, propping her head up in her hooves. Looking of my shoulder takes a bit of stretching, so I try to turn to face her-
Wait. My hooves are caught! I take a look down, to see my hooves trapped in a much stronger version of the magic that held her toys. Oh, princesses - she didn't call the safeword. We're still on!
"Now, for your fourth punishment," she purrs huskily, a devious gleam in her eyes. "There's the small matter of all your overdue library books..."
Author's Note
Thanks again to Alkali of #fimfiction for help in proofing!
Dear Diary:
Hello! It is such a pleasure to meet you. Your predecessor has served me loyally and well these past few years. There's a lot to catch up on, so I just wanted to inform you of what my old friend already knows.
But first, Diary, let me introduce myself. I, Rarity, am a unicorn, a business success, incredibly beautiful and trim for my age, and I have the ear of some of the most wonderful minds in Equestria. By any yardstick, my life thus far can be considered to be successful. But - to be honest - these traditional measurements of success pale in comparison. I have the fortune of having five of the best lovers anyone in the history of the world has had the pleasure of knowing. I'll get to the rest of my life in the entries to come, but I think it's most important for us to start with them. Those dear friends whom have been my comrades in arms for the better part of my adult life have all become my lovers. This fulfills many of the dreams of my fillyhood - of sharing a libertine relationship with many lovers at once, while becoming great for my art. In many ways, I was wrong, both in business and in love; but even when unpleasant, the reality of all these friendships has shown itself to so much more wonderful than my juvenile dreams.
I think I should first start with Rainbow Dash. Although she was not my first lover among my friends - Twilight Sparkle, my beloved mistress, always will have that honor - she was the one whose courtship felt most... traditional. Just us going out on dates, whether spending times at films and dinners after, or lazy afternoons spent side by side, talking about nothing at all. And I learned how refreshing an afternoon nap for two could be. It was the stuff of cheap tween romance novels, but after a few weeks together, I came to realize why those stories sell: because they are good and wholesome and make the heart glow.
Yet, when it came to going further than cuddling - well, she was adamant. She would ignore the question, or just give me a sheepish grin and a shrug, or - when I pressed hard enough - demand I stop talking altogether. It seemed to me that she would never grace my questions with a response; so after a while, took her cool responses to mean she was uninterested in me physically. But one night, when we had taken a picnic for two and the sun was setting over the lake - I felt her lips against my neck, and her hoof tracing down my side, those slender hips finally pressed up to mine. She had a question on her lips, and I spent the better part of the night answering her.
That night, I learned the secret to her sexuality.
Although Rainbow Dash is proud, true, when it comes to physical intimacy, she is very withdrawn. I believe this comes part from how she was raised; and part from how her 'cool' demeanor doesn't mesh with 'mushy' things like sex and romance. She doesn't even like talking about such topics, especially in public; if she is surrounded by others, or if there's even someone she's not ready to be with in earshot, she'll defer the question. This terseness lasts until the moment she feels the moment is private. And then, she can go to withdrawn filly to passionately shoving me down to the ground in ten seconds flat.
Oh, she would hate to hear that phrase on my lips! And if I thought it would be effective, I would use it - but unfortunately for me, her anger comes through as a desire to hit things, rather than a desire to take revenge. I would do many things if that lithe mare would be my Mistress for an evening - her love of power in sex is quite unlike Twilight's, and while I do love a good tease, there are times a mare just needs to rut until it feels like something's breaking. (And, by the princesses, is she adorable when she's out of breath.) Finally - unlike Twilight, that mare likes to cuddle afterwards. Twilight does have her kisses, but when I spend the night with Rainbow Dash, I am liable to be grabbed around the waist and dragged up to a low-hanging cloud, there to be held and cuddled until morning. (I was fearful the first few times, I admit; but I truly underestimated how grabby that mare can be, and how wonderful it feels to have wings locked around you, with nothing but the sound of the wind and the gentle coos of a joyful pegasus.)
And I got to show her how a quick 'afternoon nap' can be spiritually refreshing, as well.
While I am thinking on the subject of powerful rutting... let's go to another of my big surprises, Applejack. When I imagined life with her, I thought of an 'idyllic' romance, like a painting from a bygone era - the common rustic earth pony folk that us unicorns fantasize about. But Applejack is no dove, cooing plaintively until her love returns. No. I learned that my farmer friend has a 'work hard play hard' mentality.
And she loves to work me hard.
Granted, it was hard for me to work with her, at first. I had to actually train just to keep up with her - my first attempt to prove I could do anything an earth pony mare could was, to put it bluntly, a disaster. And when she told me to take a break, because a pony like me could never match her in a dozen years - well, something broke in me. It didn't matter if she meant a city girl, or a unicorn, or a fashionista - I was going to prove I could .
It took some time to get my body strong enough to do even the simplest of tasks around her farm - Rainbow Dash was actually able to help me, by putting me in touch with a few unicorns and pegasi around town who had decided to prove they could be as strong as any earth pony. And so, I worked, challenging myself not for the sake of beauty or strength or even Applejack's heart, but in order to satisfy my own pride . She seemed to respect me a lot more after that -
and then, when she next came over to Carousel Boutique, she found my lips and met them.
It turns out she had meant that phrase as a joke, and didn't exactly expect me to do even the first push-up. But... well, she did not know my pride well, then, does she? She said something about finding a mare who sticks to her word "mighty attractive" (oh I still love to hear those words coming from her lips) - and, right on my own bed, she showed me how country girls take care of business. There's still a gouge in my headboard from where my horn got pushed into it.
We still have weekly 'get-togethers', if not biweekly - if we ever plan so far as that. I am now always welcome at the Apple Family farmhouse - although they tend to use my attention to detail for things that my telekinetic talents are better suited for, such as repairs of fine or complex items, even old Granny Smith has come to realize that I can buck with the best of them. I do have to be on my guard - because Applejack can't always make it to her bedroom or mine before the desire gets too strong. Sometimes, we just go at it under the shade of a particularly distant tree, or on the banks of the old stream, or even in the barn when it's empty at midday. (I found it ominous that the new barn she designed includes a loft with a door that can be locked from the inside.)
And then, there's her love of flirting. She just adores seeing me hot under the collar - dirty suggestions in furtive whispers, suggestive glances across crowded rooms, a tail briefly hiked in just the right way as she's walking in front of me. These flirts sometimes lead into spontaneous making out - and, well, she doesn't particularly care how far it takes for us to get to a room, if even we make it there. We've had a few close calls - in the Palace of the Crystal Empire, most notably - but, well, those just seem to stoke her fire further. I wonder if she'd be an exhibitionist were it not for the risk of the old matriarch of the Apple family finding out?
Then again, when it comes to mares having a healthier libido than I imagined, that leads me to the next friend we made a lover - Fluttershy. And I specifically say 'we', because this was a team effort between Twilight Sparkle and myself. We were talking about our friends as lovers (as you do), and when Fluttershy came up, it turned out we both had nearly identical fantasies about her - cuddling quietly next to each other, spending afternoons together, occasionally sharing kisses or love bites. And... well, we both giggled like schoolfillies as we imagined how red the two of us working together could make her.
So we did. We spent a couple days seducing her, testing the waters - and, well, once we overcame her initial suspicion and timidness, she seemed to react quite well - to both of us. And so one day, when we were invited to her house when we settled in for tea - well, Twilight and I purposefully sat close, our flanks barely touching. Although she did blush, it was not of shock... there was a joy in her eyes, a knowing smile.
And then she propositioned us .
We had not been half so clever as we imagined in seducing her; she had seen us looking into each other's eyes, giving permission as the other flirted. But it was clear to her we weren't being mean; instead, we were just unsure, and being careful. How do you invite someone into a relationship when one already exists? She had seen that day coming weeks in advance - and met us in it happily.
Making love with Fluttershy makes one feel... inadequate. Not in the sense that you cannot perform to satisfaction; no, I led her to satisfaction many times. No, it's rather like the feeling a student gets when with a master. She had so many wonderful ideas - not fetishes, but little things we could be doing - little things to do with our hooves, or uses our lips could be put to, or even ways to just cuddle after. And those eyes... if you don't do it, she doesn't get mad. She becomes disappointed, which is far worse.
Twilight and I have taken to calling Fluttershy 'our mistress'. Not because she shares this special fetish Twilight and I have, but because she just naturally takes command - the little things in her demeanor. Of course, she's trained and practiced; she can look at a pony and see a dozen things that they don't know about themselves - as a lover, this gives her the talent to see just when to rile someone up, or give them space. So when she watches us going at each other - or us, going at her - she can just join in with just the right action for any moment.
I'll say this... I thought that having multiple orgasms in a night was an old mare's tale, something nags teased each other with when the foals were out of earshot - and, if they were possible, were intended for some mare luckier than I. Fluttershy, upon learning that, found it as horrible as hearing we were deathly ill. And... well, she trained us, as well as she could, about perception and cues, about how the body works and how to work a body. Granted, I don't think I'll ever be able to wrestle a bear's sore back, but I know that I can make all of my friends scream joyfully.
Except... except, always, my Pinkie Pie. Diary, I am going to reveal something terrible to you - something not even your predecessor has learned about. And thus, I am glad you have a key and combination.
Well... it starts about Pinkie Pie learning about the things that ... well... the rest of us were up to. Of course, she hates to be left out - I swear, for all her virtue, I'm certain that she could have been the Element of Codependence. But - well, as I told your predecessor, I have had fantasies about her as strong as all my other friends. And so, we began courting.
Perhaps courting is... too strong a word. "Going out," yes, that will do.
It was pleasant for a while, but frustrating in the extreme. All my flirting went over her head - she never seemed to catch on my innuendoes. But, she was physical - hugging, smooching, nuzzling and cuddling almost from the moment I implied we could become something special. Especially when she began nibbling my ears and neck - oh, especially when she showed me how a light little zerbert along the neck could feel so wonderful. Naturally, I assumed that she was fine with it, and began to press further. Of course, the gate to Tartarus swings wide on an assumption.
One evening, we were cuddling in my bed. (We had come into that habit, because although she can be reckless, she understood that living with her adoptive parents, her adoptive little siblings, and right above her workplace provides plenty of distractions. So the nights we organized together were at my place.) The evening had gone on pleasantly enough, and she was being as physically affectionate as always, so I led my hooves lower - and she cooed. I took this as a sign.
She went in to my neck again with those wonderful little zerberts, and eager to return those wonderful feelings, I rolled over and started to return - adding in some little nibbles in the mix. She moaned happily, and stroked my hair, so - well, I continued. After a while, though, she stopped moaning. Her breath was short, and her hooves were limp at her side. I thought I was just doing well, so I continued - and she climaxed, arching against my bed. Yet when I came up to her, it was not romance in her eyes, but-
Oh, why am I trying to gussy up this ugliness in florid prose and gilded metaphors? Diary, I have to come clean, so I need to say this in plain language: I raped Pinkie Pie.
But I didn't
I
She didn't even
Diary, I am sorry for our absence. Once the words hit the page, I just stared at them. Suddenly, I could no longer find words; I don't really remember the day afterwards, except that I spent the time in bed, just staring at the wall. I kept remembering moments from that night, and wishing I never could again.
It's strange, isn't it? 'Rape'. Saying it conjures up musclebound brutes or mustachioed villains, or vagabonds that steal into your room at the dead of night. We imagine rape to be done to us by those not like ourselves. Rapists are always evil barbarians, villains beyond the pale, are they not? But... in hindsight, I should have known. Pinkie Pie is a mare whose self-worth is defined by her friendships. If she has her friends, she can weather any storm; but if she feels her friendships are in danger, well... her self-esteem disappears just like that. So where I led, of course she was eager to follow.
I think the key moment I should have been aware was when I drew my hoof down her belly; I heard her gasp, and that should have been the moment that everything stopped. She had never responded to me sexually even once, but - well, I had assumed, falsely, that she would have a more private sexuality similar to Rainbow Dash. It never occurred to me that she might not be a sexual being at all.
Of course, when my lips went down, she probably would have said something or done something - were I just some stranger. But we've been friends since we were young, and that would have made the poor dear conflicted. So instead, she simply lied back, limp, and endured. For the sake of our friendship.
She excused herself soon after that - and I did not see her for a while. I don't think she ever told any of our friends, for they surely would have hated me - Rainbow Dash, in particular, would have beaten me into a pulp now that she knew I was strong enough for it. When I did see her next, she was strangely deflated - she smiled to see me, and gave me a curt greeting, but her heart was elsewhere.
I assumed, then, that that was that; she was willing to keep our friendship, but didn't want to talk about our 'terrible time'. That's what I called it, diary; a 'terrible time'. Just an evening gone wrong. I only realized how terrible what I had done to her was in the weeks after - not suddenly, but as a growing realization, which I could only wholly encompass by putting it to paper. So imagine my surprise four weeks later, when Pinkie walked up to me in the market and asked when we were going to have our next date.
She was rather more forceful in her rejections, after that - but she didn't often need to be, because I wasn't pushing her anywhere. But we started just going out as friends again - doing silly things. She came to love exploring the park or just shopping on market day, and we started dining at Le Maison Sur Le Coin. At that time, I think I came to understand Pinkie a little better.
Although I cannot bring myself to ask her, I have come to think that Pinkie Pie is, perhaps, completely asexual - she not only does not have sexual attraction toward anyone, she does not experience pleasure sexually. Oh, she does enjoy physicality, yes, and perhaps has romantic intentions - but sex is just not in her heart. It is alien to her as cupcake-making is to me.
A few months afterwards, we started to get physical again - but on her terms; necking and nuzzling, for the most part. And after perhaps half a year, we started to sleep together. And once again, Diary, I must point out that this is in the literal sense of the term - I would have a sleepover with her. We came to an agreement after that: because "sleeping with friends is so super-duper-betterer than sleeping by yourself," we came to agree that the other's bed is always open to each other, in the strictly snuggly sense.
At least once a week, Pinkie Pie comes over with fresh donuts and a towel; and every so often, I come over and help her babysit her darlings. (Being around when Pumpkin Cake had one of her surges surely saved Pinkie some stress.) And it's in those moments that I feel the least worry coming from her - she's happy and effervescent, yes, but at least some of that is a mask; and when I'm with her, she feels safe letting that mask come down.
I think... I think that's when I stopped worrying about it, my latest panic attack besides. I started to wake up to her. Just feeling her against my back, or curled up in a fetal position in my hooves. She's always such a bastion of strength for us - and there she is, letting me be strong for her. She's never spoken of our first and only time together, and I'll never ask. But I think she's forgiven me, and that's enough for my heart. We will never again make love; but if snuggling is sex for the soul, then I can call Pinkie Pie one of the lovers I am most grateful to have.
Finally, to finish up this inventory of my friendships, I cannot neglect the only friendship to have become a formal relationship: my beloved Mistress, Twilight Sparkle.
We have gone further and further in the times since; she has learned to use metaphor more freely. She no longer requires such formal languages - I have spent happy evenings cuddled up as her pet, or teasing her as her elegant professional whore, or begging for her rod as her air-headed slut. To say nothing of the depravity we get up to once she decides to call me her 'show pony' - to the point where she can almost make me lose it by mouthing those two words alone.
A sorceress of her talent has her own special desires, too - and she's only recently begun truly letting herself go in that regard. For example, one day she acquired a book about the joys of 'pegging', and we had a pleasant little evening just reading bits from it, and acting out some of our favorite parts. When she declared she wanted to try it out, I had the ignorance to ask her where she was going to find a stallion willing to let her experiment. When I saw her horn light up, and the expanding magic field covering my face and flank and my rapidly rearranging nethers, only two words came to my lips: "Silly question."
Once she gained her wings, and started practicing her power - well, she came to grow more frustrated, and began to use me to take her frustrations out. Whether that comes by binding me up and slapping a crop across me as she recites the frustrations - or using her authority to make the demands she once made as my mistress. There is nothing quite like hearing her say "Your princess demands it, bitch." Especially because, by that point, she's usually on full display in the privacy of her royal quarters or having shoved me down to the floor of her royal traincar... but I digress. My Mistress is forgiving... but when she is my Princess, only a safeword or unconsciousness will stop me from working her frustrations.
There are two things that she has desired, though, that we have not done.
The first was, to be honest, even more grotesque than I could have thought. You see, diary, Twilight Sparkle loves to be the brightest mind in the room - even if she has to do it the hard way. She finds the thought of dampening another's mind down to be frightfully erotic - and, she has admitted, she wants so very much to take my mind away, in bits and pieces, spells dampening my mind bit by bit, losing skills like speech and etiquette and the memory of my name, becoming less civilized and more feral with every spell, until I am little more than her sex-frenzied love slave. To be honest, this side of her disturbed me - it is the only thing I have outright refused of her. (I understand that Fluttershy shared this kink - and I have heard from Fluttershy that Twilight was the first mare who was powerful enough to indulge her in it. I hope them many happy evenings, of which I hear nothing about.)
The second... well, tonight is going to be our first night. I am levitating the symbol of my submission in front of me as we speak. She admitted, privately and with much embarrassment, that she has always been interested in... well, imposing herself on a sleeping mare. However, that raises a problem, since she desires forms signed in triplicate. (Even now I occasionally have to sign one of her waivers.) Obviously, she cannot seek consent while I am asleep - that would wake me up! So, I have to previously agree to it - and in my grasp before me, is that sign of consent.
It's a platinum torc, elegant in its simplicity, each end of which ends in a stylized star-and-diamond design - our marks reinterpreted creatively. The true beauty, however, lies underneath. Inside the torc is an elegant inscription in Old High Unicorn. It looks beautiful, but the text was explained to me once in another example of her incredible powers of semantic seduction. To those few who know the language, it reads:
"Princess Twilight Sparkle's bitch submits."
As I slip it on, it occurs to me - with this gift, she has officially put a ring on me! Granted, it is more of a yoke than a wedding ring, but I feel it weighing against my neck - and it feels right. Diary... I am really going to go through with this. She has indulged my fantasies; now I am going to indulge one of hers. Anything she wants to do to me... well, tonight, I am at her disposal. No going back.
I think I shall sleep on this; even with the missteps and mistakes, I have been fortunate to make lovers out of my friends, and my friends have made lovers out of each other. It's a complicated circle, to be sure; but as I feel this torc weighing on me, and the thoughts of those five mares who could be sharing my bed with me run through my head, I know I would have it no other way.
It's a short life, Diary, but a blessed one. I can only hope I fill your pages with as much wonder and joy as your predecessor knew.
Yours truly,
R.
Author's Note
As concerns the scene that made this story suddenly merit a 'dark' tag... it definitely wasn't in the plans when I plotted this story out. But I wanted to do an epilogue chapter, and I was kind of tired of the "slutty kinky pinkie" depiction, so I decided to do the exact opposite. And... well... the story wrote itself.
I'm not quite satisfied with it. I think I could have done it much better, and I'll probably rewrite it a dozen times in the weeks to come, much like I'm still editing DJ COL-7 and Lie of Omission. But I try to do something new with every story, and... well, this sort of scene definitely isn't something I've done before..
