Come In for the Cold (or 'Beating the Heat')
The Fall was unseasonably warm.
It was as though Summer had forgotten there was a rotation of things to be taken care of—to say nothing of the grass that was beginning to wilt, and the record over-expenditure of rainclouds as the pegasus brigades hurried them to the homes of older ponies to prevent things like unsightly heatstroke. No season had any business being this warm, and Autumn was when the sun was supposed to relax, peeking down behind the mountains earlier at night and letting the cool whispers of the breeze blow leaves from the trees. The fall was the time for refreshing drinks and dinner parties, not lying under the swelter of the sun and praying for a flood, or a sudden blanket of frozen water to fall from the sky and turn the ground into a white frost.
A few ponies had asked Celestia about it, but she hadn’t had much to say on the matter. ‘All things in due time’ was the most they could get out of her.
Opalescence had found a spot by the window that was the coolest—or at least, the farthest away from the sun. There was a large canvas holder nearby that cast down a perfect shadow, though it meant moving every hour or so as the sun shifted. Opal was irate at the best of times; if anything, the heat had turned her from a fuming ball of cat into a melted puddle of fur.
As Rarity walked by, she gave the poor thing a pat on the head. Opal could scarcely manage a burble. Rarity’s hoof probably felt cooler than the air around it.
“Oh, you poor dear.” Rarity gave the white puddle a few leisurely pats, pressing down gently behind Opal’s ears and being rewarded with what might have been a pur emerging from the center of the vaguely cat-shaped ball. Rarity had tried the idea of a cold bath at the start of the heat-wave, but evidently, no heat was worth that. If Opal couldn’t learn to be doused without making use of her claws, she could stay hot for now.
After a few more strokes, Rarity left Opal to her momentary shade and made her way up the stairs. Despite the heat, Rarity’s demeanour was as calm as ever; the only thing that gave away the increasing agony of the sun overhead was the sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. Her mane, too, was a bit damp, soaked with perspiration that had accrued under the legion of product she coated it with each day—but that was fine. Nopony looked perfect during the heat, and Rarity knew she at least looked better than most. Nopony would catch her lounging about outside, letting her tongue hang from her mouth like a poor, shadeless puppy. She was a lady, after all, and ladies had standards.
They also had tricks up their sleeves, if they were smart.
Rarity smiled to herself as she went up the stairs to her room. It was just as warm there as it was everywhere else in the house, if not warmer; the fancy imported curtains that hung from the windows did a fine job of trapping the humid air inside, which meant the room might as well be a sauna to anypony else. Not Rarity though—she was used to suffering in pursuit of beauty. Surely, now, she could enjoy some mild discomfort for what would ultimately equal relief.
The doorknob felt like freshly-welded metal as she turned it. Sure enough, the room inside was warm enough to be a fire hazard.
Rarity smirked.
Warm everywhere but somewhere very particular.
Rarity waited until she was fully immersed in the heat before she shut the door. The lock clicked with a flash of magic, and she wiped a hoof across her forehead. A veritable waterslide of sweat was collected on her coat, and she flicked her hoof to the side, sending a spray of liquid onto the wooden floor opposite her bed. She was surprised it didn’t hiss and sizzle away the moment it touched the ground.
A proper lady was prepared for any eventuality, Rarity thought to herself. Her horn glowed, and the low-hanging blanket of her canopy bed lifted up. It stayed aloft as her horn glowed further and pulled a small, ornate case from beneath the bed. When it was a few inches in front of her, Rarity dulled the glow of her horn. The blanket fell, and Rarity kneeled towards the box. She picked it up and ran a hoof over top.
A faint wisp of what looked to be steam or fog drifted from out of the box’s hinges.
Just above Rarity’s hoof, the hairs on her coat stood on end.
Like a deep-freeze.
Rarity’s smile grew wider as she traced her hoof over the box until she reached the clasp at the front. The moment she touched it, the metal tugged faintly at her coat, like a flagpole in the winter beckoning a young filly’s tongue to remain stuck for hours, or until a teacher brought a bucket of warm water to sooth the biting ice. The clasp didn’t quite stick to Rarity’s fur, though it wanted to. It clicked smartly as she threw it open, and the box with it. Fog rolled out from either side.
In the center of a soft, purple velvet cushion there was a lone, clear object lay.
It was just slightly smaller than a real one. Of course, the size wasn’t the important part.
A shiver went up Rarity’s spine as she reached into the box and took the object out. It was almost perfect in its pristineness—crystal clear, clearer than glass. Rarity held it aloft for a moment and peered through the curved, slender shape, staring at the decorations on the far side of her room as they were magnified and twisted by the spiral construction.
There was only the faintest flare at the tip. Not that she didn’t enjoy the proper shape—well, this was about elegance, anyway.
Even in the relative cool of her hooves, compared to the temperature of anything else, Rarity could feel the thing beginning to soften.
She had to be quick each time, but a short amount was more than enough.
Rarity lowered the box to her bedroom floor. She clutched the object delicately as she bounded to the bed, pushing one of the frilly canopy curtains out of the way and throwing herself onto the mattress. The well-crafted springs barely creaked at her arrival. The blankets were kicked out of the way as she adjusted, turning onto her back, holding the frozen ice wand above her. A few drips spilled from the end opposite the tip and trickled down Rarity’s foreleg. Again, she shivered.
No wasting of time. She was up here to cool off, after all. She had the secret to beating the heat that nopony else had thought of.
Rarity felt the breath of the thing as she brought it down over her body. She held it over her stomach for a moment, letting the cool tingle of the steam it emitted from her touch trace over her soft skin—and then lowered it further, until just the tiniest part of it was touching. Instinctively, her stomach drew inwards, away from the piercing sting of something so cold—but she forced it back.
So cold. It travelled from her stomach through the rest of her body like ice-water seeping into her veins.
Her legs shook as she moved it lower. Lower still, until the shiver of the tip poised to enter pressed against her lips like a cool breath, begging to be let inside. Her frozen lover made of ice, intent on bringing his lady to relief.
Rarity bit down on her bottom lip as she moved the head closer. The first few seconds were always the hardest.
When the tip of it touched her labia, she almost screamed. But her lip was there to still her sounds, and so she bit down harder. Every time, the faint taste of tin. Her lip would be the worse for wear the longer the Autumn pretended at being Summer.
As a faint line of blood leaked from Rarity’s lip over her teeth and onto her tongue, the first inch of her lover slid past her waiting lips. The sweat there began to slow as her body’s moisture dulled against the long, frozen dagger.
Deeper, and deeper still. Rarity moaned, and caught herself moaning only a breath after. The biting and taste of tin returned, but not enough. Rarity sucked hard at her lip, drawing out a mouthful of blood as the ice slid inside her, all the way, until only her hoof at the base remained. A faint flicker of magic from her horn held it in place enough for her to hold on. The steady dribble of red liquid over her tongue kept it moving in her mouth, searching for a fresh taste of bitter wetness every second that went by.
It was like making love in the snow.
Rarity’s whole body shook as she pulled the sizable icicle out again. Her lips clung to it desperately, wanting more than anything to cling to the cooling bite like a tongue refusing to let go of that flagpole. Already, the warmth of the air had begun to dissipate. Rarity’s mane felt full and suffuse with life again. The slickness of her skin settled, and made her feel for the only time that day that she was not in desperate need of a shower. She might be afterwards, of course, but that was neither here nor there, and for different reasons besides. No matter how clean and pure the ice or driven snow might be, they could still leave a lady feeling dirty if they wanted to.
She shouldn’t be. She knew she shouldn’t be. But, as Rarity pushed the ice phallus back in, she moved one of her hooves, devilishly, upward. To the special spot above her entrance.
A lap of tongue against her lip, and again, there was tin. But even the taste of liquid metal on her tongue wasn’t enough to dull Rarity’s next sound. She moaned quietly into the muffling of her mouth as she pulled the slender shaft out. It was melting in earnest now, dripping a constant flow of moisture between Rarity’s legs and onto the bed underneath. She could always clean later, but right now, she needed to be dirty. Cold and cool and dirty.
It wasn’t a sensation of pure relief. As the still slightly bulbous head poked past Rarity’s lips and inside her sex, she could feel the sting of it—the faint numbness that told her there were nerves being put to sleep, or cells in her body that were meant only to feel when warm. It always began to ache after a while, but it was a good ache, like holding ice in her mouth too long—long past when she knew it should be melted, or at least that she should spit it back into her glass. But a lady didn’t spit, and she certainly didn’t chew down on a cube, crunching it like a college girl eyeing her coltfriend across the table over a chilled coffee. Rarity would hold the ice her mouth for minutes, sucking until her tongue could feel no flavour in anything for the day after, and the insides of her cheeks began to peel because she had bitten them raw, the skin had given up, or both.
On the next thrust, Rarity held the thing inside. She could feel the faint throes of her insides clenching around it, holding it in place, telling her it was just like a real lover, yes, of course, and when he was all done the payload would be a gush of freezing ice water instead of the sticky whiteness Rarity had learned to oblige only out of compulsion.
As she held the thing still, Rarity felt the feeling brewing. It was in a place she couldn’t describe, like her stomach, or somewhere deeper still. Maybe it was the part of her that knew what it meant to be a lady, or to really be one.
The tip of it was almost completely gone now. Too close to the center of her heat. Rarity shoved harder, and an inch or two more went inside. She wanted to feel full of it, stuffed and sleeping in the snow, but there was never enough. She always had to make do.
With a hoof frozen and numb from holding the thing, Rarity once again began to rub her clit. The feeling was akin to a damp bag of sand prodding at her love-button, which was to say it was marvellous. Rarity could barely tell she was touching herself through the numbness, and the thing was still inside her as much as it needed to be. Her clit felt sore, but it was a good soreness. It was amidst chill and relief, instead of the constant pouring of sweat and exhaustion.
With the next push inwards, still rubbing herself, Rarity sucked in a long breath of air through her nose. The soft, cool steam hissed through her nostrils as she drank it in. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, along with the sensitive tingle of her neck to either side, like the whisper of the evaporating water was kissing her there. Touching invisible lips to the soft white of her fur, nibbling just so, coaxing her further and further into frozen bliss. Her tongue was dry in her mouth, like drinking snow water. Her legs moved of their own accord, but were surely unfit to stand on, so iced and isolated from her body’s nervous center. The feeling would return, she knew, but that wasn’t to say she wanted it to.
The thing was half gone now. On the next pull out, Rarity withdrew it all the way. The tip had long since melted off, now no doubt a pool on the bed, or inside her. The thought was enough to draw another long shiver—and, as she bit her lip again, hard, Rarity slid the half-size still-melting ice-wand up, over the puff of her lips and to where her hoof had been until just a second ago.
It was like a jaw made of ice clamping down.
She came.
The noise that leaked past her lips was one that lacked definition: it was a murmuring for sleep and wakefulness at once, buried in a barrage of snow and closing her eyes until the flakes falling from the sky departed. It was pristine and proper and the most unladylike thing she’d ever uttered all at once. She bit down on her lip again, to be silent, on the inside of her cheeks, to be silent, thrashed backwards against her pillow and bed, arched her back, kicked with her legs absent of feeling, tilted her head far back and held in a scream, to be silent, but it was no use. The sound came, and at last she let it out, mouth open.
It sounded like “Oh, fuck.”
The thing was almost gone now. Just a tiny nub remained, which still she rubbed. Her clit was completely feeling-less now. But she was still cumming. The taste of the ‘fuck’ on her lips kept her going, even if her lips were too numb to taste it. Dirty. Cold and dirty and at least in relief.
“Fuck,” she said again, under her breath, the most unladylike of words, as fuck, yes, she came, and the cool splash of the finally evaporated ice washed over her labia.
Her entire lower half was soaked. There was one hoof right between her legs now, and she ran it over the insides of her hindlegs as she let out a breath like a dying sigh. Her back straightened against the bed, and another sigh came as she felt the soaking wet fur that she had soiled with her pleasure. The sheets would need changing.
The air cooled and hissed as it reflected off her coat. Hot, wet fog rolled away from her white coat. Even though the thing had been between her legs, her whole body felt like it had been submersed in a metal tub filled with water and swimming with ice-cubes.
Rarity raised a hoof to her forehead and sighed again, long, and a last relaxed. She flicked her hoof to the side and a spray of moisture splashed against her bed-curtains.
A few minutes passed with her eyes closed. There was cold, at last. A lady was prepared for the heat, even if it meant not being a lady, briefly.
With her eyes still closed, Rarity’s horn shone, and the box she had left on the floor floated too her, scraping briefly before it picked up off the ground. She let it settle on the bed just to the side of her pillow, where it sat for another minute before she turned, slowly, to face it.
The depression left in the pillow perfectly fit her absent lover.
For a moment, Rarity opened her eyes. Her horn glowed bright.
There, in the indent of a long, slender shape, a fresh rod of ice began to crystallize. Slowly, but surely, it took the shape of a not-quite stallion, complete with the subtle flare at the tip.
When it was finished, Rarity was panting. But, she was still cool.
The case closed with a snap, the latch with a click. With another flash, it vanished underneath the bed, where it would wait until tomorrow.
Ponies could say what they wanted about her, of course, but she knew better than they did.
Who ever said being a proper lady wasn’t ‘cool’?
