crème de la crème, princesse de princesses

by thatonestupidpony

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Rarity, Prince Blueblood, Sex, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1142

Rarity, needing to feel special, needing to be a princess is faced with guilt at what she is doing to achieve the term

Rarity, needing to feel special, needing to be a princess is faced with guilt at what she is doing to achieve the term.

Warning, this is not safe for work, and may come off dark to some viewers, i tagged it just in case. This is my first clop, so i'd love input.

Published 2013-09-29 02:00:03 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-29 02:00:03 UTC

Princess

She just wanted to be dolled up and called a princess, if you did that, you could get under her skirt.

Rarity was a simple girl, and her life style in Ponyville, although eccentric for the place, was nothing compared to the lives she craved. The homes and touches of those who lived in the large castles and mansions of Canterlot were the ones she wanted more than anything else.

That’s when the practice began, the act of going into Canterlot and bartering with the men there. At first things came off as shy and sloppy, because the white and purple unicorn felt disgraced that she was stooping to this level.

Yet again she finds herself in this place, in one of her dazzling dresses, with the elegant stallion; the prince who she thought was beautiful but also oh so rude, pounding into her. She wouldn’t lie, it felt good. His thick rod pumping in and out of her wet marehood.

Mumbled moans, and the male giving a slight smile to say, “You’re such a beautiful girl my princess.” He always hushed at the end words, worried that one of his guards may hear the moaning and believe he is involved with his aunts, or even worse this common pony that is under him. This common pony who is getting rutted by him just because he can, could completely ruin the princes reputation if anyone found out.

In fact in latter days the act had become almost a chore to Blueblood, and there is only one reason he goes along with it anymore.

He only plays along because he loves the power. He knows she won’t say anything about it, he can do things to her that he couldn’t do to other mares because they could tell on him, ruin his elegance. Rarity is different and he can smack her around.

“You’re such a good princess” he croons shoving her head into a pillow that cost more than the very dress she had on. And he holds her there, rutting her hard and deep trying to work every inch of himself into her. “You like the royal cock don’t you darling” Rarity manages a smile into the velvet and silk lined pillow below her, but can only think about how he is messing up her mane.

The very mane she spent hours on that morning so she could look perfect, just like a real princess, just like the being of her fantasies, where Blueblood was kind to her and she was a real princess if only by marriage.

She however was jolted and jostled from her fantasy as she felt the thick stream of warm gooey liquid push from his member and flood her marehood. He continues to push harder into her, his hooves leaving slight dust marks on the shoulders of her dress, the one she had just finished the morning and was so proud to show off.

When the stream has for the most part finished he pulls himself from her, allowing sticky white strings to pull from her cunt back to his now soft member.

He pulls her up now, not roughly, but efficiently, and presents her face with his member, covered in juices that have mixed together from there romp. Smirking down at her, he recalls something, “You remember the proper etiquette, Princess Rarity, correct?” he croons, and she smiles and nods, and does her best to appear so thrilled.

She is, her heart rate increases every time he calls her princess, and she remembered the first time this idea occurred to her was when she and the Apple Farmer were talking, it was shortly after a trip to Canterlot with Twilight, and they were gossiping about the trophy wife, Fleur De Lis, Rarity recalled, was her name.

Applejack made the simple remark, “Ah bet she gets treated like a princess by her man.” And that was it for Rarity it became a need and so often she laid awake pretending it was indeed her who was in the slender French unicorns place.
And here she was, her mouth slowly wrapping around the tip of the princess portly cock. He wastes no time slamming it down her throat, and despite the slight gagging it brings, and the way he grips her mane, pulling her head forward with it, she does her best to service him. Rolling her tongue around the underside of his member tasting his royal sweat she even is rewarded by a few quiet moans.

She can only think about being in her bedroom doing this and having her younger sister walk in. What would Sweetie Belle think about this act? About him degrading her? This was certainly not a good message to send to her little sister, but her little sister wasn’t there and they were in the safe spot of his room in the castle, and he murmurs, “What a beautiful princess you are.” and she smiles the best she can around his length, pulling her tongue back to rub along it more.

The title makes it so worth it; and it didn’t even matter if sometimes after their play there were little purple blue bruises on her face or flank or neck. It could all be concealed with makeup, and she could fondly remember the title in her mind.
Once again he finishes, sending more of the slimy lines of warm liquid down her throat. The taste is revolting but she can deal with it because it is what it is, and she is generous and kind, and she is thankful that this is the gift she was given, and that she could lie when her friends asked what she did the night before.

And it isn’t until that evening when she leaves and sees the very being she idled so much that her mind begins once again to feel guilt. She is ashamed of her messy mane, and the tattering of her fancy dress. Her gown, although wrinkled from the rough housing and displaying more than one stain from the princes off-white liquid, is what captured the others eyes.

“Wow Rarity, that Dress really makes you look like a Princess.” There isn’t much enthusiasm in her voice, but it was the thought that counted.

She licks the semen off of her teeth; pushing it back into her throat to pool with the mucus that was collecting with the cold she was beginning to acquire from being out in the cold so late at night. “Thank you darling.” she says.

Then, she heads to the train to think of wonderful stories about her fashion inspired by Canterlot, and she suddenly thinks up a beautiful dress, one cream and pink, one to rival the crème de crème herself.

One she will make, and one she will wear to be called a princess.