Chapter ONE: Date Night
Fluttershy didn’t know what to do with her mane. It looked fine, but tonight was too important a night for just fine. She needed to look—oh, how would Rarity put it?
“Dazzling!” she tried aloud, flipping her hair as she did her best impersonation of the seamstress. She pursed her lips and fluttered her eyelashes, as if trying to seduce her own reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Her reflection wasn’t buying it.
“Come on, Fluttershy, you used to be a fashion model.” Pretending the mirror was Photo Finish’s camera, she struck what she imagined was a provocative pose, her chin turned to reveal the curve or her succulent neck. Her expression became soft, inviting. She held the pose for exactly seven seconds before the sheer absurdity of it made her stop.
This wasn’t working; she didn’t feel any sexier than she had upon entering the bathroom. If anything, now she felt even more self-conscious. Suddenly her coat seemed too pale a yellow, her eyelashes too thick and clumpy, her face too round.
She ran a hoof through her mane, wondering if it needed a good brushing, then slid open a drawer beneath the sink. A tube of lipstick, a bottle of overpriced perfume, a container of vanilla-scented lotion, and a gem-encrusted hairbrush awaited Fluttershy inside the drawer. The items looked oddly foreign, even sinister, like tools used during an ancient bloodletting ritual. She had borrowed the implements of torture from Rarity to aid in the preparation of her big night, but now she was certain they would do more harm than good.
She plucked up the lipstick, eyes flicking over a label that read “Harlot Scarlet.”
What...?
Fluttershy wrinkled her nose. “Harlot Scarlet” seemed a tad too extreme for what she had planned tonight. She put away the lipstick and settled for washing her face and rubbing the scented lotion into her fur. Feeling a bit more confident, she drifted out into the hall—then quickly doubled-back and furiously brushed her teeth.
The telephone blared like a police siren. Fluttershy squeaked and hurried into the living room, where she found Angel standing in the doorway, brandishing a golden pocket-watch in his tiny paws.
“I know, Angel, I know.”
She zipped past her rabbit friend, reaching for the phone like a starved dog reaching for a scrap of meat. She halted in mid-lunge before touching it, took a calming breath, then plucked the phone off its cradle.
“Hello, this is Fluttershy.”
There was no response.
Is it him? Why is he calling now?
“Hello…?”
Still no answer.
Is he calling to reschedule? To cancel!
“Is anypony—?”
A terse click answered her half-formed question, followed by the lengthy buzz of a dial tone. It sounded eerie and intrusive in the otherwise silent cottage. Slowly, she placed the phone back on its cradle, feeling both relieved and a disappointed at the same time.
A longing in her chest tugged her toward a window. She brushed the curtains aside, opened the window and poked her face out into the breezy night. It was still early, but Fluttershy couldn’t shake the feeling that her date wasn’t coming. He’d flaked on her several times in the past, using his work as an excuse to avoid seeing her. It was obvious that he cared more about his work than he did about Fluttershy, but she didn’t take his rejections personally. At least, she tried not to.
She had never met him person—they’d only spoken over the phone—but Fluttershy had a good feeling about him. He had a kind voice. It was gruff, but in a strong, masculine way that made her tingle in all the right places. She could listen to him talk for hours at a time, though their conversations were typically curt and formal.
A rapid thumping noise echoed from the kitchen, shaking Fluttershy from her daydream. She drifted into the room and found Angel standing atop the kitchen table, his foot tapping away. Noticing her, he stopped his thumping and pointed at the face of his watch, then over at the dishes piled high in the sink.
“Oh, do you think he’ll mind the mess?”
Angel placed both paws on his hips, fixing her with a stern gaze.
“Okay, you’re probably right. I wash and you dry?”
He dropped the watch on the tabletop and shook his head. Gripping an imaginary duster between his paws, he pantomimed a careful sweeping motion, then pointed a paw at the countertops.
“The kitchen isn’t that messy, is it?”
Another stern glare.
Fluttershy’s shoulders hunched as she turned around to face the heap of dishes. She was surprised she’d let them pile up this high; she was usually so good about doing her chores in as prompt a manner as possible.
An artificial lemony scent wafted up from the sink as she poured dish soap into the current of running water. She cleaned the dishes lackadaisically, her hooves running on autopilot while her mind wandered elsewhere. She’d been distracted lately, and terribly bored, both of which were byproducts of her newest hobby—a questionable interest she had yet to share with hardly anyone for fear of being…
…being what, exactly? Teased? Picked on? Laughed at? She didn’t know for certain, but her gut told her that this new interest of hers should be kept a secret, even from her friends. They wouldn’t understand, and Fluttershy didn’t want to shock or upset them.
Her date, however, fully understood and enjoyed her unusual new hobby, and he had been practicing it for much longer than Fluttershy had. She often tried to goad him into discussing his experiences at length, but he habitually ducked her questions, taking great pains to keep their conversations brief and business-like.
Finished washing and drying the dishes, Fluttershy proceeded to stack them away in their designated cupboards. Meanwhile, Angel hopped about the countertops, duster in mouth as he did his best to brush away the droves of dirt and lint that had gathered on the smooth surfaces. Once finished with the dishes, Fluttershy searched the living room closet for her broom.
“Angel,” she called out, rummaging through the closet. “Have you seen the broom?” When she failed to find it in the closet, she floated around the room, searching.
Angel appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, thumping the floor to get Fluttershy’s attention. Once he had it, he raised an impatient eyebrow and pointed up toward the ceiling.
Fluttershy understood straightaway. She whistled—a sweet, effervescent sound that summoned a triad of ravens into the living room, their beetle-black feathers so lustrous they looked polished. Two of them landed on Fluttershy’s outstretched foreleg, and the third perched on her head.
"Edgar, Allen, Poe, would you three be dears and fetch the broom from upstairs. I think I left it my bedroom."
Poe—the raven perched on Fluttershy’s head—nodded at his feathered cohorts before fluttering off, leading Edgar and Allen upstairs toward the bedroom. Angel scowled as he scooped up the mess of feathers left in the birds’ wake, walking them over to a wastebasket with a histrionic huff and an eye-roll.
Just then, the phone rang again, making Fluttershy jump and dash over to nightstand where its cradle sat.
“Hello!” she practically shouted. “Uh, I mean… um… hi…”
“Fluttershy? Is that you?” came a gruff voice through the speaker.
“Hi!” she repeated dumbly. She held the phone away from her face for a moment and mumbled, “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” before placing the receiver to her mouth and saying, “Um, hi there. It’s good to hear from you.”
“It’s good to hear from you too,” said the voice. “Listen Shy, I called because I’m afraid I need—”
Oh no! He did call to cancel again! No, no, no!
“—directions to your place. I’m on my way, but I got a little turned around. I’m calling from a phone booth at the train station. These stupid maps they have posted are unreadable.” A self-conscious chuckle flitted across the line, cementing his earnestness.
Fluttershy explained the quickest route to her cottage, talking so fast she had to repeat herself several times to be understood.
“Thanks, gorgeous. I’ll see you soon,” he said.
“See you—” He hung up before she could finish the sentence.
The raven trio returned with the broom. Fluttershy took it gleefully and drifted into the kitchen, gliding and twirling with the wooden stick as though it were a ballroom dance partner.
“He’s coming!” she sang out. And because the words sounded so amazing she sang out again: “He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming!”
Angel, who had been just completed his dusting, leaned against a wooden chair leg and smiled warmly, watching his owner dance about the kitchen. He thumped to get her attention, then tapped the face of his pocket watch.
Fluttershy looked to her bunny friend, beaming.
“He’s coming!” She dropped the broomstick and scooped Angel up in her forelegs, nuzzling his cheek. “He’s really coming this time, Angel.” And then the staggering realization fell across her shoulders like a cape made of brick. “Oh my Celestia… he’s really coming this time…”
Half-hysterical, she dropped Angel and darted back to the restroom, checking herself in the mirror a second time. A cannonade of detrimental thoughts bombarded her mind. What if he didn’t like her? What if he thought she was ugly? What if somepony finds out about tonight?
Fluttershy twisted both faucet handles and splashed cold, bracing water on her face. She toweled off, rubbing with vigorous strokes, then spritzed her neck with the perfume and applied more lotion her face.
“Relax, Fluttershy. You were a model. You’ve stared down angry dragons. You’ve saved Equestria from certain doom at least four times. You can do this.” She took a long, calming breath. “You can definitely do—”
A knocking sound echoed from downstairs. Fluttershy squeaked and raced back to living room, where she found Angel standing in the doorway, his tiny forelegs crossed about his chest.
“Excuse me Angel, I but need to—”
He silenced her with a raised paw, then gestured for her to crouch down until they were eye level.
“Angel, please, I’m in a hurry. My date is—”
He silenced her again, this time with two light pats on the cheek. Stern-faced, he licked one of his paws and smoothed it over each of Fluttershy’s eyebrows. Then he brushed an errant strand of pink hair out of her face and nodded in approval.
A warm smile. “Thank you, Angel.” She kissed her rabbit friend on the nose. He returned the show of affection, flashed a good-luck wink, then hopped off through the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs into the bedroom.
With a nervous lump in her throat, Fluttershy glided toward the front entrance. As neared it, she glanced down to inspect the navy blue mat spread across her living floor, hoping it was big enough.
She placed her hoof on the doorknob and left it there for what seemed like a millennia. Then she steeled herself and opened the door.
“Hi,” she said sheepishly, one eye hidden behind her mane. “You, um, you must be Face. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”
“And you must be Fluttershy,” said the changeling standing in the doorway. “You’re every bit as beautiful as your voice. Please, may I come inside?”
Fluttershy had expected to be frightened by Face’s appearance—his razor-like fangs, tattered wings, and glowing firefly-green eyes—but that hadn’t been the case at all. He was too normal to be scary, almost boring, with his threadbare overcoat, time-faded fedora and nondescript briefcase. He sat his case down the floor and made himself comfortable on the living room couch, sitting upright like a minotaur.
“Can I, um, get you something to drink? Cider maybe?” said Fluttershy. She sat down beside him, mirroring his strange upright posture.
“Cider sounds excellent. Thank you.”
Fluttershy whistled and her triad of ravens appeared on cue, perching on the coffee table. “A bottle of cider, please,” she requested. “And two glasses, if that isn’t in too much trouble.”
The birds left and returned a moment later with the glasses and bottle in tow, setting all three items on the coffee table in front of the couch. Poe popped the cork with his beak and Edgar grabbed hold of the bottle, helping his feathered cohort fill both glasses.
“Did you train them to do that?” asked Face, amused by the trio of birds.
“Yes.” Fluttershy took a sip from her glass and thanked her friends, dismissing them.
“How charming. And impressive too.”
“Not really. Birds are intelligent creatures; you can teach them to do just about anything.” An awkward silence blossomed between them. “…so, um, you live in Las Pegasus, right? I hear it’s… very nice this time of year.”
“I wouldn’t say I live there, exactly. It’s where I’m staying for the time being. I like to move around quite a bit.”
“Oh.”
More silence.
“I hate to be so formal, but might I suggest we dispense with the pleasantries and get on with it,” said Face.
“But I was hoping to get to know you before—”
“You’ll know me well enough in a few minutes.” He took a long drink from his glass then fixed Fluttershy with a pair of vacant green eyes—not lifeless and empty like a chasm or an abyss, but empty like a cup, waiting to be filled.
“I know we discussed rates and rules over the phone,” he continued, his tone even and polite, “but a few things have changed.” Fluttershy tried to pay attention to his words, but Face’s new, polished diction was distracting her. It was so different from what she remembered hearing over the phone.
“Face, what happened to your voice?” she asked, a pang of disappointment ringing in each word.
“You mean this voice,” he purred in his old, smoky cadence, eyes half-lidded as he leaned closer to Fluttershy. She blushed and retreated an inch, hiding a shy expression behind her mane.
“Oh… I… um…” she stammered, panicking at the sudden closeness.
Face chuckled to himself and broke the act, sitting up straight again. “That voice is just something I do for my female clients,” and just like that he was back to speaking like a polite businesspony.
“Oh,” said Fluttershy, still disappointed but impressed as well. “I didn’t know changelings could shift just their voices.”
“Most can’t,” Face said proudly. “I’m a special case; I can do all sorts of impressions.” He cleared his throat, hunched his shoulders and lowered his head a little. “I can, um, even impersonate you…” he said, fidgeting as stared down at his lap. “That is, um, if you don’t mind…”
Fluttershy forced a smile, though she felt he was making fun of her. “That’s… very good.”
“Indeed. Now then, back to business.” His mannerisms returned to normal, like a machine reconfiguring to its default settings.
“Can’t we just… you know… talk for a little longer?”
“It’s still one-fifty for the first hour,” he continued, having not heard a word Fluttershy said. “And an additional fifty for every hour you want to go over—not that these things typically last long.”
Fluttershy huffed at being ignored, but nodded in understanding.
“The costume will cost you another fifty. I can shift clothing along with my physical make up, so don’t worry, you’ll get to decide what I wear. If you want me to be naked, however—or to touch me in any overtly sexual way—then that fifty jumps up to seventy-five. Understand?”
Fluttershy nodded again. This was getting very expensive very fast.
“As far as the rules go: matches end when one of us scores a knockout or a submission. I don’t play with pin falls.” Face shrugged and made a guilty face. “Sorry, I should have told you that over the phone.”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind.”
“Now we can have a competitive match or semi-competitive one—it’s your money so you decided.” He paused and took a sip of his cider. “One more thing. It’s another fifty if you want to engage me using strikes. But I must warn you, sessions involving strikes tend to get a little… messy.”
Fluttershy’s expression brightened. “You mean I can, um, hit you.”
Face chuckled. “I’ll be hitting back, so don’t get too excited. That’s another rule: if you want to throw strikes, fine, but that means no semi-competitive. I won’t hurt you, but I won’t hold back either.” Another pause, and then: “Okay, that’s it for the rules. Any questions?”
Fluttershy answered with a headshake.
“Excellent. Just choose your terms and we can get started.”
Fluttershy thought a moment. She really wanted to trade blows with Face, but with the rates now being double what they had originally discussed over the phone, she didn’t think she could afford it.
“Competitive is fine. And, um, no striking.”
“You sure?” said Face, detecting a hint of indecision in Fluttershy’s voice. Well, a hint more than usual in any case.
“I’m sure.”
“Very good.” Face flipped open his briefcase. He removed a thick photo album and splayed it open on the coffee table. “Now, you’ll need to choose an opponent from the catalog before we can get started. Specialties are located near the back of the album, but those cost extra.”
Fluttershy leaned over the album and inspected the photographs. She saw mares and stallions of all shapes and sizes and ages, and even spotted a few ponies that she recognized. Actually, there were several pictures of ponies Fluttershy had seen before: celebrities, politicians, and even ponies from her own neighborhood.
She flipped to the last few pages, curious about these ‘Specialties’, and gasped aloud when she stumbled on the first image at the top of page forty-four.
It was a photo of Applejack, a profile shot, and she was dressed in leaf-green spandex leggings and hock-high white boots. Beside her was a photo of Pinkie Pie dressed in similar attire, and beside her one of Rarity, then one of Twilight, then one of Rainbow, then one of—
“Ah, I see you’ve taken an interest in the Element Bearers,” said Face. “They’re very popular with many of my clients, especially Twilight Classic.” He pointed out a picture of a wingless Twilight Sparkle.
Fluttershy’s cheeks flushed bright red. “What is this? Why are my friends in here? Why am I in here?”
“Relax,” said Face. “All of the photos in the album are just pictures of me. It’s only a fantasy, no harm, no foul.”
Fluttershy took a moment to digest Face’s words. She was immensely uncomfortable with idea of Face transforming into her and her friends for the amusement of perverted strangers.
But then again…
“How much for a Specialty?” she asked, embarrassed.
“That depends on what you want. Twilight Classic is the most expensive at two-hundred bits even.”
“But that’s more than the entire session!”
“Like I said, she’s very popular,” said Face. “The royal sisters are both one-fifty—unless you want Luna as Nightmare Moon, that’s one-seventy-five. Princess Cadence and Shining Armor are a hundred apiece, though there is a ‘buy one, get one half off’ deal if you’d like me to shift back and forth throughout the session.”
Fluttershy nodded, considering that option.
“There’s also a special on Pinkie Pie right now. Normally she’s one twenty-five, but that number drops down to seventy during the first week of April,” said Face. “Then there’s Alicorn Twilight marked at a hundred bits, Rarity marked at seventy-five, and the other less popular Element Bearers will only set you back fifty bits.”
I’m only worth Fifty? The thought upset Fluttershy more than it should have. She flipped back a page, looking for something more in her price range.
“How much for a Wonderbolt?” she asked, spotting a photograph of Spitfire.
“Individual Wonderbolts come at no additional cost to the session fee. They also come as a package deal for only fifteen bits.”
“Package deal?”
“That’s right. Pay for the whole team, and I’ll shift between Bolts throughout session. Strictly at your request, of course.”
Fluttershy eyed a photograph of Lightning Dust, curious. “Does that include trainees?”
“It does.”
Fluttershy flipped the album closed. “I’ll take it.”
Though she was standing in the privacy of her own living room, with only Lightning Dust for company, Fluttershy felt the unified caress of a hundred imaginary gazes groping her through the glossy pink and white fabric of her form-fitting boxing shorts. She felt naked—a strange experience, since actual nudity was her normal state.
“Your outfit is pretty hot, Shy” said Lightning, flashing a devious smile. “Especially the socks.”
Fluttershy self-consciously glanced back at the pair of striped, pink and white socks covering her hind legs, an excellent complement to the pink boxing shoes worn on her back hooves.
“Oh, um, thanks.” she said. “I think your outfit is cute too.”
A pair of too-tight boxing trunks clung to Lightning’s firm bottom, bearing the same black and purple design of a Shadowbolt costume. She wore hock-high socks and matching shoes on her hind legs, each with yellow lightning bolts streaking down their sides.
“I’d hope so, since you’re the clown who picked it out.” Lightning swaggered closer to Fluttershy. “So you’re friends with that brat Rainbow Dash, huh? I’m gonna twist you into a pretzel just for that.”
Fluttershy had only met Lightning Dust once before, but if Face hadn’t transformed right in front of her, she would have sworn this imitation was the genuine article. The voice was perfect, so strong and confident, as was the swaggering stride. She watched the haughty Wonderbolt cadet rear up on her hind legs, titillated by the vision of her naked stomach and chest.
Fluttershy rose to her hinds as well, making certain to keep her stifles bent and her stance staggered. She had been training with Zecora for months out in the Everfree forest, braving the terrifying woods for a chance to roll and sweat with her zebra friend, and only willing wrestling partner. But those matches had been sparring sessions at best; she’d never been in a real fight before, never tested her mettle against an opponent who was genuinely trying to hurt her.
She inched closer to Lightning, taking great pains to keep her nervous breathing under control. Though she was ecstatic at the chance to have a real match, the thought of being hurt was scarier than it was exciting. But Fluttershy was no stranger to battling fear. She’d done it countless times before and she’d do it again tonight.
“Come here, Shy” said Lightning, waving Fluttershy in. “Don’t be scared, I promise I won’t break anything.”
Fluttershy peered into her opponent’s face, her eyes, searching for any lingering traces of the polite changeling. She found none. He was gone now, swallowed up by Lightning’s domineering personality, and his empty eyes were full, crackling and fizzing and bubbling over with a vivacity that wasn’t his.
Nervousness kept Fluttershy from making the first move, leaving Lightning to initiate. She threw a perfect faint, darting in for a clinch and then quickly dipping low and snagging a cotton-clad hind leg between her fores.
Fluttershy gasped, surprised by Lightning’s speed. She grabbed an opal shoulder in attempt to keep her balance, but Lightning wrenched the snared leg off the mat and drove a shoulder into Fluttershy’s waist. Fluttershy stood balanced on one leg for a fraction of a second, then a black shoe swept a pink one, sending the meek fighter toppling to mat with a startled squeak and a dull thud.
She was confused a moment, then remembered her basics and pulled Lightning down into her closed guard, scissoring the veteran fighter’s torso. Though separated by the barriers of thin fabric, the sensation of Lightning’s lap brushing against hers stirred Fluttershy’s burgeoning excitement. Both fighters were already warm, already starting to moisten, the first drops of arousal pooling in their inner walls.
Suppressing a delighted squeal, Fluttershy sat forward and reached for Lightning’s neck, but the veteran fighter read her move and leaned back out of reach, sitting up tall. She drew her forelegs in close to her body and drove both elbows down between Fluttershy’s stifles and her own sides, attempting to pry apart the closed guard.
Seeing an opening, the usually meek fighter sat up and snagged an opal foreleg, grappling the fetlock with both knees. In the same move, she yanked Lightning downward, pivoted on her back—her butt swinging out to one side—and threw her left hind leg over the top of Lightning’s head.
Gasping, Lightning sat back and tried to tug her foreleg free, but Fluttershy pulled the limb between her full thighs and across her satin-smooth stomach and chest, securing a foreleg-bar. She dragged the veteran fighter to her back, then crossed her shoes and elevated her hips, hyperextending the elbow joint braced against her pelvis.
A harsh cry flew from Lightning’s mouth, and a wave of pleasure crashed through Fluttershy as the trapped fighter squirmed helplessly in her grip. She looked down her own chest, savoring the titillating vision of the foreleg pulled taut between her thighs, braced against lap. A deep breath expanded her lungs, then her hinds straightened and her back arched off the mat, earning another cry from Lightning. An opal knee gripped one of Fluttershy’s crossed hind legs, trying to pry it away at first, and then just holding on as Fluttershy cranked the limb, slowly driving the elbow joint to its breaking point.
She was doing it! She was wrestling in her first real match—and she was winning!
More than anything she wanted to taunt her opponent as she punished her, thinking it might add to her pleasure. The words “you like that, you weak little slut?” sounded sexy in her head, but she didn’t want to be mean and call Lightning names. She settled for reveling in the hurt sounds escaping the veteran fighter’s parted lips, each grunt and groan like a pecking kiss planted on her eardrums.
“Get off me, you little bitch!”
Well that wasn’t very nice.
Feeling confident, Fluttershy gave one final agonizing crank before breaking the foreleg-bar. Keeping hold of the snared limb, she rolled Lightning to her stomach and scissored both cotton-clad hinds around her neck. Another look down her chest awarded Fluttershy the provocative sight of Lightning’s red face peeking out from between two luscious yellow thighs. She released Lightning’s foreleg and grabbed her mane instead, pushing the red face hard against her pelvis as she flexed her toned glutes and quads.
“Who’ the littlebitch now?” she heard herself say, blushing furiously as the words left her mouth. She loosened the choke for a second, then jerked her hips forward and snapped her thighs even tighter around Lightning’s neck, settling back into a steady squeeze. A desperate forehoof grappled at one of her thighs, tugging down the hem of her sock, and shallow breaths tickled her pelvis through her thin shorts.
Fluttershy had been worried for nothing. This wrestling stuff was easy—and fun too. But there was still more fun to be had. Remembering her package deal, she grabbed Lightning’s mane, lifted her face and said, “Thunderlane.”
On cue, a green light flashed around Lightning Dust, and the amber mane in Fluttershy’s hooves became a grayish-cyan. The face was grayish-black now, but the cheeks still red, and the feel of a square, masculine jaw digging into her mound drove Fluttershy wild.
Turning over on her side, she tucked Thunderlane’s foreleg under her leg-pit and arched her back, using her hips to hyperextend the limb as she continued squeezing his neck. His hinds kicked as he curled a knee around her thigh, holding on for dear life. This was more fun. Dominating a stallion was everything Fluttershy had imagined it would be, and a little bit more.
But Thunderlane was stronger than Lightning—much stronger and much more durable—and Fluttershy didn’t realize her mistake until it was nearly too late. Rolling back to his stomach, Thunderlane sprang up on his hinds, stacked Fluttershy and lifted her with her ease. He was seconds away from the impending slam when she wisely broke her hold and dropped back to her hinds. A skillful move—but she landed awkwardly, overbalancing and allowing Thunderlane time enough to rope his forelegs around her torso.
She drew a sharp breath as the brawny grey-black forelimbs hoisted her off the mat. But rather than drive her into the floor, Thunderlane widened his stance, bent his stifles and kept Fluttershy close to his chest, squeezing her middle. He buried his muzzle deep in her chest fur, filling his nostrils with her vanilla aroma. His lips smiled against her naked chest, and his tongue flicked out for a taste of her sweat-drizzled body.
Baseball-sized biceps flexed to their max, making Fluttershy bleat in pain under the immense pressure on her ribs and spine. She braced her forehooves against his shoulders and pushed as hard as she could, trying to create a pocket of space between their heaving bodies. Her bleating grew louder with the effort of pushing, her head and shoulders drawing back in a feeble attempt to escape Thunderlane’s crushing bearhug.
“Lightning Dust, Lightning Dust—!” she cried out. The green light flashed again, and a thinner pair of forelegs replaced Thunderlane’s brawny limbs, but the hold remained as tight as ever.
“Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?” Lightning sneered. She lifted her chin and looked Fluttershy in the eye, leering with desire. “I’ve been going easy on you all night, but you’re really starting to piss me off.” She shut her eyes and dug her forehead into Fluttershy’s chest, squeezing harder now. “Give, before I decide to hurt you.” She grunted as her biceps flexed against Fluttershy’s ribcage, crushing the air from the novice fighter’s lungs.
Now Fluttershy’s nightmare was coming true. She was trapped and helpless and suffering and…
...and it actually wasn’t that bad. She could hardly breathe, and her ribs and spine felt ready to snap, but there was something thrilling about the pain. She didn’t feel ensnared or helpless. She felt alive, free—the half-mad rush of the struggle coursing through her veins, boiling her blood and turning her fears to vapors.
Seeing no other way out, Fluttershy scissored her thighs around her opponent’s body and squeezed her back, hoping to match the strength of Lightning’s forelegs with the power of her own hinds.
Feeling the pinch on her ribs, Lightning staggered but remained upright. “Is that it?” she said. “Is that really your best?”
Fluttershy coiled her forelegs around Lightning’s neck, gritting her teeth as she squeezed with all her strength, and Lightning squeezed her back, her breath coming in huffs that blasted Fluttershy’s sweat-drenched chest, making the novice fighter pant and moan and whine, her hinds tiring as she waited for Lightning to slap her hoof against a hip or a thigh and admit defeat, and Lightning did the same, her chest heaving as her muscles tired and strained to hold on and—
—and then Lightning’s waist bent, and her upper body snapped downward, and Fluttershy’s head cracked against the mat with a stomach-turning thump. She groaned and rolled onto her side, hurt and helpless.
“We all done here?” Lightning sneered, looming over her fallen opponent. Standing on all fours, she placed a forehoof on Fluttershy’s upturned face and drove her weight downward. “Or does my little bitch need a longer spanking?” Weakened knees grabbed at Lightning’s fetlock, struggling in vain to shove it away the heavy hoof.
Done fooling around with the novice, Lightning propped her up in a sitting position and hooked her forelegs under Fluttershy’s leg-pits, catching her in a simple full nelson hold. Using both hooves, she pushed down on the back of Fluttershy’s neck, driving a yellow chin into a yellow chest.
Several seconds passed before Fluttershy even realized she was in a new hold. By now Lightning had squeezed most of the fight out of her, but she put up what little struggle she could, wiggling feebly.
“Tap,” Lightning ordered.
“No…”
She gave Fluttershy a jerking twist. “I said tap.”
Fluttershy shook her head.
Going for the kill, Lightning muscled Fluttershy onto her stomach. She nestled her butt on the novice fighter’s lower back, then tightened her full nelson and sat up straight, bending Fluttershy’s spine as she lifted her upper body off the mat. Shooting pains zipped up and down Fluttershy’s backbone, stabbing her with a thousand little pinpricks as they darted from the base of her neck to the tip of her tailbone. The pressure was intense, the pain horrendous. All she could do was grit her teeth and bear it.
Lightning sank her muzzle into Fluttershy’s mane, taking a strong whiff. She smelled like sweat and struggle and pain. “Submit.”
Fluttershy shook her head, still refusing.
“You wanna be a tough little bitch, huh?” Lightning inched her torso back, and one more ounce of pressure was all it took to make Fluttershy shout her submission. “Oh now you want to quit. Sorry, but you already had your chance.”
Lightning pinched her elbows closer together, causing Fluttershy’s forelegs to needle straight above her head. Planting her shoes firmly on the mat, she drove her hips into Fluttershy’s spine and leaned back as far as she could, stretching the smaller, weaker fighter close to her breaking point.
“Stop… please…”
“Not so clever now, are you, little bitch?” Lightning taunted. “Say it. Say ‘I’m a little bitch’, and maybe I’ll let you go.”
“No…”
“Say it.” Lightning rotated her shoulders, twisting Fluttershy’s spine and making her swallow her pride.
“I’m a little bitch,” she bleated, tears forming at the corners of each eye.
“You’re whose little bitch,” said Lightning, tickled by Fluttershy’s pain and humiliation.
“I’m your little bitch!” Lightning’s shoulders rotated a little more. “I’m Lightning Dust’s little bitch!”
“That’s right you are.” Lightning sucked back a sharp breath, gritted her teeth tried to inch back even further, thought it was impossible now without snapping Fluttershy’s backbone.
Fluttershy felt close to blacking out from the sheer agony in her spine. Her eyes bolted shut and her mouth hung ajar, soundless, fat beads of sweat rolling down her brow and cheeks. This pain was nothing like the thrilling pain she’d experienced before. This hurt. She felt the old fear creep back inside her, ballooning and filling every crevice of her insides. She wanted to stop now. She wanted Lightning to let her go.
“Lightning… you win… please…”
Lightning broke the hold and pushed Fluttershy’s face into the mat. She rose back to all fours and stepped away, leaving the beaten fighter to whimper and sniff and wallow in her humiliating defeat. Fluttershy rolled to her back once the pain subsided, a faint half-smile touching her lips when she found Face’s kind, vacant eyes gazing down at her. She took his outstretched foreleg and used it to drag herself back up.
“Goodness, me! That was the most fun I’ve had in ages,” said Face. “It’s so liberating to play the villain every now and then. And you were a marvelous heroine, Fluttershy.”
“Oh… um, thanks…”
“I apologize for being so rough with you. It’s just—I haven’t lost myself in a role like that since…” his voice trailed as he failed to think of an instance.
“Oh no, it’s fine. It’s was fun. I had… um… fun…”
Face watched her carefully, noticing how she seemed to retreat into herself.
“I’ll tell you what, Shy.” He ran a tender hoof across her cheek, then cupped her chin and tilted her head up. “Since you’ve been such a good sport, I’ll come visit you same time next week for a free session. A rematch, as it were.”
Fluttershy looked away. “I don’t think I want—”
A tickling peck on the cheek silenced Fluttershy, making her blush furiously.
“I think you do,” he cooed in his old smoky voice. “I think there’s a little warrior buried deep in that shy exterior. Can you be that for me, Shy? Be my little warrior?”
“Oh…um…well I don’t think…”
Face was by the door long before Fluttershy managed to form a coherent statement, his briefcase at his side. “I’ll collect my payment for tonight’s session when I see you next week, my little warrior.”
The faint thud of the door swinging shut roused Fluttershy from her stupor. She blinked, and then noticed Face’s coat hanging from the rack by the door.
“Face, Wait!” She called from her open doorway, the threadbare overcoat slung across her forearm. “You forgot your…” But he was already gone.
Fluttershy staggered back inside and closed the door behind her, her body aching all over, especial her back. She collapsed onto the mat and pressed the coat hard to her muzzle, trying to steal a whiff of Face’s lingering scent. But the coat had no distinct aroma. It was empty, just like his polite diction and kind glowing eyes.
“Little warrior…” She hugged the coat tight to her chest, liking the sound of those two tiny words.