In the Rough

by theycallmejub

Rating: mature
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rarity, Sex
Length: 6428

After surviving a major financial crisis, Rarity finds herself indebted to Fancy Pants.

After surviving a major financial crisis and becoming indebted to Fancy Pants, Rarity finds herself at the center of a peculiar upper class pastime.

Special thanks to Allura, Fife, and PartyPie for proofing.

Published 2013-10-26 01:30:03 UTC
Last updated 2014-10-07 20:52:11 UTC

A Mare's Best Friend

A Mare's Best Friend

Rarity ogled herself in the full-body mirror hanging from the back wall of Fleur de Lis’s walk-in closet, her lips pursed in a histrionic pout. She hated the costume Fleur had chosen for her tonight. The sleek purple nylon felt silky and luxuriant against her coat, but the material was entirely too gauzy and form-fitting. When dressed, a dignified lady ought to leave a little something to the imagination, but the gaudy thong leotard plastered to her body only highlighted her every curve.

She detested every inch of the costume, especially the hairline strip of fabric carving a bold path between the orbs of her dimpled backside. She could feel it nestled deep between her cheeks, molesting her, robbing of her what little dignity she’d managed to cling to these past two years.

Rarity turned before the mirror, giving herself a profile view of the hideous purple rag. She tried striking a dignified pose—back straight, chest out, chin raised—but the costume thwarted her attempt at appearing ladylike. Huffing through inflated cheeks, she let her mind shamble back to the night Fancy Pants had come to her with his “proposition.”

It all started two years ago when a new dressmaker—a ditsy, braindead twit of an earth pony named Mabel—moved to Ponyville and opened a boutique across the street from Rarity’s home. As offended as she had been by the obviously aggressive gesture, Rarity had conducted herself with temperance and grace, and welcomed Mabel to Ponyville with open forelegs. Soon after, she found her business capsizing as the new dressmaker systematically stole away her customers.

Rarity had been infuriated and… well… she might have flown off into a jealous rage and concocted a zany, harebrained scheme to sabotage Mable’s business…

…and said scheme may or may not have resulted in her new rival’s boutique burning to the ground…

…and the alleged ‘destruction’ of Mabel’s property might have landed Rarity in prison, and up to her horn in legal fees after being sued for hundreds of thousands of bits. Maybe. Honestly, who could tell with the Equestrian legal system being what it was these days?

In any case, upon finding herself behind bars and mired in debt, Rarity had used her one phone call to contact the richest, most influential stallion she knew, Fancy Pants, and asked him for help.

And she’d been regretting that decision ever since.

“Rarity, darling, I swear you grow more enticing every day,” said Fleur, her reflection appearing in the mirror beside Rarity’s. A plastic smile gripped her equally plastic face, and her pink mane fell down her neck with the stiffness of doll hair. “You look positively ravishing.”

Rarity stifled a smirk. Though everything about Fleur was artificial—from the base of her mannequin-like legs to the tip of her polished horn—she spoke the truth. While Rarity hated the outfit, objectively speaking, she did look fabulous. Not many mares of her advanced cultural refinement could bring this level of pizzazz to such a trashy look.

“You always look so yummy in those dreadful napkins Fancy makes you prance around in,” said Fleur. She admired herself in the mirror as she spoke, banishing Rarity to the corner of one lavender eye. “I’d hate it if he asked me to wear one of those kitschy things. It must be so degrading for you.”

The mocking undertone of Fleur’s voice came through loud and clear. And while it pricked at Rarity’s nerves like a thousand nibbling parasprites, the dignified lady in her refused to be riled.

“It’s not the clothes that make the pony, darling. One mare’s… napkin, as you so elegantly put it, is another’s ballroom gown.” She struck a pose that belonged on a magazine cover, one foreleg curled and displaying the modest swell of her bicep. If one good thing had come of this outrageous ordeal with Fancy Pants, it was her new athletic figure. She had been meaning slim down for the longest time, and now, thanks to Fancy Pants and his questionable sexual interests, Rarity possessed the body of a track star.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Fleur, I need to be on my way. I believe your husband and his friends are waiting for me in the Showroom,” said Rarity. “Perhaps you could serve them refreshments while they spend the remainder of the evening drooling over me.” A mane flip put the plastic mare in her place, and Rarity left the closet with her chin raised, a triumphant spring in her prance.

The victorious feeling was short lived. Her new zeal didn’t follow her into the Showroom, but lingered at the door instead, along with most of her dignity. She wasn’t a lady inside the Showroom. She was just a pretty object, not unlike the triad of diamonds that marked her exposed flanks.

The Showroom was an extravagant home auditorium that boasted rows upon rows of occupied stadium seats, like an ancient Romane coliseum. A carpeted walkway led from the entrance to an elevated stage at the center of the dome-shaped amphitheater. And haloing the raised platform, their smug asses planted on comfy-looking pillows, were the four wealthiest stallions in Equestria: Prince Blueblood, Filthy Rich, Mandarin “Uncle” Orange, and of course, the pony who been tormenting Rarity for longer than she cared to dwell on, Fancy Pants.

With the crushing weight of mortification already bearing down her, Rarity sauntered toward the stage like a runway diva, switching her hips for the enjoyment of the spectators. She was their object, to be ogled and drooled over, and so long as she invigorated the crowd with her scanty attire and dreamy bedroom eyes, the nights usually didn’t last too long.

In a way, she didn’t mind giving the snotty aristocrats exactly what they wanted. Though her clothing was degrading, as were the lewd acts expected every third Saturday of the month, she couldn’t deny how alive she felt under all those entrapped stares. The attention was electrifying.

Rarity was a beautiful mare—she had been her entire life. She had grown accustomed to being wanted, but never like this, never with the raw, covetous yearning that thrived in the hearts of these four stallions, and the crowd circling beyond. To them she was an irreplaceable object—a priceless, one-of-a-kind possession—and nopony valued their possessions like the very wealthy and the very greedy.

In Fancy’s eyes she was even more than that. Rarity was his property: a flesh-and-blood symbol of his wealth, power and potency. And to him, that made her more important than any other pony the world.

Suppressing a scowl, Rarity locked eyes with Fancy as she ascended the short stairway that delivered her to the stage. In the middle of the platform, a wrestling ring waited for her. It stood at the center of center stage, a proverbial wheel in the middle of a wheel, or a perhaps linchpin, holding everything else in place. Rarity almost laughed every time she saw it, just as she almost laughed now, her buxom thighs straddling the middle rope for a teasing moment as she climbed into the ring.

Once a month for the past two years, Rarity sauntered into this ring and rolled and tumbled and sweated with another pony of Fancy’s choosing, all for the amusement of himself and his wealthy friends. It was her way of repaying him for bailing her out of prison, taking care of her legal fees and essentially refinancing her entire business. In a matter of hours he had rebuilt her from rock bottom, and in return Fancy asked that she be his property for three years, which meant fighting in this strange, sexually charged arena.

It was so silly. She’d been held hostage all this time so she could participate in his fetishistic fantasy: a ridiculous colthood fascination with sex and violence that he and his friends should have outgrown years ago. And if that weren’t pathetic enough, each of the four stallions were only voyeurs. They were eager to watch and bet and jeer—and pleasure themselves from the safety of the sidelines—but not one of them was stallion enough to step between the ropes and test their mettle against a mare like Rarity.

Or maybe they were just afraid of the contact. Standing upright, Rarity crossed her forelegs and rested her elbows along the top rope, pitying these four wealthy bastards from behind a practiced half-lidded gaze.

“Hiya, Mr. Fancy Pants,” she said, letting shades of her childhood accent bleed into her normal diction. Her inflection was similar to that of her parent’s, but years of repression had molded Rarity’s accent into something more Manehattan-streetwalker than middle-class nopony from Whinnyapolis. “You and your friends are lookin’ awful lonely down there. Why doncha climb up and join me for a liddle roll around in the ring. I’ll be real gentle with ya, I promise.”

For whatever reason, Fancy enjoyed the accent, had claimed it was charming, and insisted that Rarity use it every Saturday night. Of all the indignities trusted upon her by her captor, this was by far the most grave.

“The offer is appreciated, as always, Miss Rarity,” said Filthy Rich, the only stallion present who had been polite enough to stand when Rarity entered the room. “But could you imagine us old fossils having a go at such a spry young thing?” He laughed as though some hilarious joke had been told, and Mandarin chuckled along with him.

“All’a you ain’t so old.” Rarity’s eyes flicked over to Blueblood, who immediately shied away from her gaze. “Awww, don’t be shy, little princey. I ain’t gonna hurt you, honest.”

Mandarin’s laugh spiked. “Now there’s a bit of sport I’d pay good money to see!”

“How much good money?” asked Filthy, no doubt sensing an opportunity for an interesting bet.

While beaming inwardly at the thought of dominating Blueblood in the ring, Rarity continued chatting up the four elites in her usual way, flirting, giggling and generally making a fool of herself as she pretended to be charmed by their phony regality and nonexistent wit. She supposed they were amusing in their own way, and even fun on rare occasions. They were cute, like little colts dressed up in their fathers’ hats and ties, pretending they were all grown up.

Once the pleasantries ended, two ring mares climbed between the ropes: a pair of leggy earth ponies that Rarity recognized as Aloe and Lotus Blossom. They held woven baskets containing bottles of scented body oils in their mouths, and stood waiting on opposite ends of the ring. A referee entered with them, a zebra wearing a starched bowtie, and a pegasus emcee hovered above the ring, holding a microphone that was suspended from the ceiling.

The emcee introduced Rarity as the Showroom’s greatest attraction, speaking of her beauty and power as if she were some exotic circus animal. She half listened to his prattling and the cheering of the crowd, her mind wandering elsewhere. The attention was fun, but the fanfare of these events had a habit of dragging on. And like most mares performing for the sexual gratification of a stallion, Rarity was already daydreaming about what she’d rather be doing right now.

As she entertained her reverie, the words Diamond Rough (uttered dramatically by the emcee) registered in some distant corner of her distracted mind. Squinting, she fixed her gaze on the young earth stallion approaching the ring via the carpeted runway—her opponent for tonight—and oh, sweet baby Luna, he was gorgeous! Her breath caught at the sight of him, and she realized the word ‘Diamond’ must have been his name, because his silver-white coat glittered as though it were cut from the precious stone.

Rarity’s pulse quickened as he stepped through the ropes. She had wrestled with many stallions and mares alike, most of them ranging from mildly attractive to movie-star gorgeous, but she had never grappled with a crystal pony before. Now that he was closer, her eyes traced every curve and swell of the dense muscles beneath his lustrous coat. An onyx black thong and two black wrestling shoes counted for all his clothing, leaving him even more exposed and on display than herself. He sidled closer to her, hiding his naked butt cheeks behind a flowing, metallic-violet mane.

Before he reached Rarity, the zebra referee stepped in his path and ordered him to go stand beside Aloe in the corner. Giggling at his confusion, Rarity retreated into her own respective corner, where Lotus Blossom awaited her.

Lotus squirted a liberal amount of body oil onto her front hooves and began massaging it into Rarity’s fur, fondling her exposed neck, legs and backside. Familiar with the routine, the seamstress spread her hinds and elevated her croup, granting the skilled hooves better access to her inner thighs. An especially tender stroke coaxed an airy whimper from Rarity’s parted lips, and before long, she was moaning aloud as Lotus shamelessly groped her lap through its spandex covering.

Normally such a public debasing would have filled Rarity with scorn for Fancy and his sick games, but tonight her sexy crystal opponent had entrapped her attention, making her forget her humiliation. He was just too cute! His cheeks were splashes of liquid ruby quartz, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting as Aloe lathered him with oil in the opposite corner. Unlike her sister, who took her time and handled Rarity with care, Aloe squirted a flood of oil directly onto Diamond’s back and rubbed away with eager hooves, greasing him like a pig. She groped him all over, fondling his package, and his solid glutes and quads.

When she’d finished molesting him, Aloe gave his ass a hard smack!, then shoved him out toward the center of the ring, giggling. Lotus gave Rarity one last fondle—dragging a hoof along her spandex-covered slit—then spanked her and sent her on her way. As a final touch, both spa ponies cantered about the entire ring emptying bottle after bottle, until oil coated the entire canvas. Then they rejoined the wealthy stallions on their pillows and prepared to enjoy the show.

Rarity and Diamond Rough met in the center of the ring, their muscles highlighted by the shiny body oil clinging to their coats. The referee ordered them to touch hooves, then both fighters rose to their hinds and assumed the starting position.

Rarity braced her forehooves against Diamond’s shoulders, and he did the same to her, his cheeks still burning with their ruby quartz flush. His hooves quivered against her fur, jittery with nervous energy, and his eyes shied away from her gaze, lured downward by the tempting curve of her neck.

Rarity flashed her sexiest smile, the one she used to scare away stallions long before they plucked up the courage to introduce themselves. The smile wasn't an invitation, but a challenge. "Are you stallion enough?" it asked. "Can you handle a real mare?" Rarity certainly hoped so. Diamond might have had a baby face and cheeks the color of rubies, but his aura was all stallion, as were his cut-from-diamond physique and ramrod-stiff member. She could sense his excitement groping for her, already stretching the front of his nylon thong.

"Don’t disappoint me, little colt." She pushed her forehead against Diamond’s, a warm spot forming where their skin touched. “Fancy and his friends want a good show, I want a real stallion. Are you a real stallion, little colt?”

Diamond’s eyes sidled up to meet hers, timid at first, but steadily gaining confidence the longer he held her gaze. His eyes were ruby-red likes his cheeks, and yellow and orange as well, the colors separated by hairline veins forking across his irises. They were stained-glass windows peeking out of a crystal skull. Beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful eyes Rarity had ever seen.

He staggered his stance. Lowered his hips. Bent his stifles.

"Fight!" shouted the referee, sparking both fighter's into action.

Their bodies flashed to life at the same instant, grabbing at each other, but Rarity was lighter and quicker. One of her knees hooked behind Diamond’s neck while the other snagged his elbow, and with a violent jerk, she snapped his shoulders down toward the canvas and pulled him into a front headlock, trapping his neck between her bicep and torso. She clamped her forehooves together and squeezed his neck, her muscles pulsing to life beneath her coat, and Diamond squeezed her back, his forelegs coiled around her body, constricting with python-like strength.

The sudden pressure in Rarity’s ribs made her wince. Good. So he didn’t just look strong.

They held the pose for several seconds, shoving and squeezing in this preliminary test of strength. Their bodies strained against each other, muscles twitching as each planted their back hooves and fought to drive the other to the ropes.

Rarity squealed with a mix delight and pain as Diamond lowered his stance and tightened his bearhug. She already loved the look of this colt, and now she was learning to love the feel of him. The oil coating his fur heightened its natural silkiness, and the neck convulsing between her bicep and body felt unbreakable, even as she strangled it with all her might. He was both hard and smooth—a living gemstone that walked like a stallion and fought with tenacity.

When she realized that shoving Diamond to the ropes was impossible, because of both his superior strength and the traction-less floor, Rarity flared her stance and focused on constricting his windpipe. Her position was superior, her hold tighter than his, but his unbreakable neck and natural earth pony resilience was giving her trouble. She might be able to finish him with just this standing guillotine choke, but it would take a while. She needed an extra edge.

Without telegraphing the move, she hopped up and lashed her hinds around Diamond’s barrel, lacing her rear fetlocks behind his back. She expected him to fall forward, or at least drop to his stifles, but he bore her weight and maintained his bearhug, his biceps looking massive against her trim torso. Her ribs ached, and her lungs burned in his grip, but with two legs choking his neck and two more crushing his middle, the advantage was Rarity’s. She dug her forearm into Diamond’s throat latch and straightened her hinds, flexing all four legs with an arduous grunt.

Diamond put up a good fight, but after lingering in Rarity's combo hold for close to a minute, his cheeks turned blue and his hinds started to wobble. Feeling his bearhug slacken, Rarity tightened her grip, her biceps inflating like balloons. She tried to drag him down to the canvas and finish him off, but he managed to stay upright, even as his eyelids drooped with the weight of coming sleep.

Dozens of entranced stares watched Diamond teeter on the brink of an early defeat. Or more specifically, they watched Rarity, bewitched by her fighting prowess and glistening, oil-slick body. She felt the myriad of groping eyes on her skin, wanting them, coveting the lewd looks as much as they coveted her.

Then, with a hoarse breath and a great shuddering of muscles, Diamond threw back his shoulders, arched his spine and executed a stunning belly-to-belly suplex. A jarring thud rang out as Rarity’s lips kissed the canvas, and her hinds flopped like the tail of a beached fish, her body going limp.

Blackness swallowed her for all of ten seconds, and when she came to, Diamond was sitting on her back, his tail facing the same direction as her head. She shook her head, trying to clear out the fog, then gasped as a sudden pain tore across her spine. She felt pressure build in her lower back, and for a moment had no idea what was going on. The pressure increased as Diamond leaned backwards, and—the pain clearing the fog from her head—Rarity realized she’d been caught in a submission hold.

Hugging one of Rarity’s hinds close to his body, Diamond leaned back even further and wrenched on the limb, bending the trapped fighter’s spine. Rarity twisted her upper body and shoved at his hips, panting and groaning in a kind of thrilled agony.

“Give?” Diamond craned his neck and leered at Rarity from over his shoulder, his gaze half-lidded and smoldering. She leered back and saw herself in his eyes, her visage captured in the twin sheets of stained-glass, just as her body was captured in his grip. A silent plea for mercy welled up in her face, and a plea for something else as well—something Diamond must have recognized and wanted himself.

He wrenched harder, peeling Rarity’s pelvis off the canvas and deepening the crease in her spine. She cried out. Her free hind leg quivered. Panicked, she shut her eyes and pulled at her own mane, red-faced, her tongue poking out as she choked on labored pants.

Diamond gave her hips a playful wiggle, brandishing her moist mound for the pleasure of the crowd. The pain was intense now, but it was nothing compared to the humiliating sting of being put on display. She imagined Fancy Pants leering at her from behind his monocle, a pleased grin etched beneath his mustache. And as revolting as the thought was, the longer it lingered in her mind, the warmer and wetter she became.

“Please, tap out now, Miss Rarity,” said Diamond, his voice cute and mousy. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Please. As if this little colt could hurt her. Gathering her strength, she thrashed like a feral beast caught in a hunter’s net.

“Oh no you don’t…” Diamond’s entire upper body flexed as he kept hold of Rarity’s leg. They struggled in yet another test of power, and though Diamond was heavier and stronger, Rarity remained calm and let the oil work its magic. She bucked and wiggled and squirmed—and then her hind leg popped free with a slick sloshing sound. The crowd cheered as she bucked Diamond off her back before scrambling up to all fours.

Ignoring the pain in her hip and lower back, Rarity pounced on the crystal fighter, denying him the opportunity to find his footing and launch a counterattack. They tumbled like lovers across the canvas, eager hooves grabbing at slippery limbs and necks. Their pants mingled together and drifted off toward the ceiling, and much of the crowd panted with them, the stallions especially, gripping and pumping the engorged excitement dangling between their hind legs

Even as her chest heaved against Diamond’s, and her ears filled with the ragged huff, huff, huff of his tantalizing pants, Rarity’s sharp senses filtered through all distractions and keyed in on the familiar airy moans that always escaped Fancy while he pleasured himself. Hearing them now, she wrestled Diamond onto his back, pinned him, then scanned the crowd in search of her tormentor.

She wanted to see the lusty look gripping his face—wanted to peel it from his skin and tuck it under her pillow for safekeeping. And when she found it—found the eyes that leered without shame, and the mouth that hung slightly ajar, and the brow that leaked rivulets of saltwater from its pores—a shudder bolted through Rarity’s body that nearly shook her apart.

He was sitting up on his haunches, naked, his coat discarded, and pumping away at the engorged ash-black shaft between his splayed thighs. His hips rolled in a steady undulating motion, and his tail sat curled in a tight spiral at his side. His body was in good shape for a stallion his age, but Rarity only wanted his azure eyes—the eyes that stared at her, and desired her, and claimed her as their own. She despised Fancy Pants, but she loved those covetous eyes.

A poking sensation against her lap lured Rarity’s attention back to Diamond, who was struggling in vain to break her pin. He looked much cuter from this angle, with his forehooves pinned on either side of his head and his bent elbows flared out like chicken wings. The referee was already halfway through his ten count, but Rarity wasn’t finished with the crystal colt just yet.

Releasing her pin, she grabbed one of Diamond’s forelegs and yanked his back up off the mat. Then, keeping hold of the front limb, she spun off to his side and snared his barrel between her hinds.

“Ahh… Nghhaaa…” he groaned as Rarity crossed her back fetlocks and flexed her glistening thighs, driving a gust of air from his diaphragm. He still felt unbreakable, but his ajar mouth and pain-furrowed brow revealed that just the opposite was true. Wanting his body closer, she grabbed his fetlock with both knees and yanked his foreleg across her chest, forcing his side to press harder against her mound.

“Ahhhh… please… please stop…”

“Is that a submission I hear?” Rarity bent her stifles, relaxed her muscles, slackened her grip—“I asked you a question!”—then snapped her hinds straight again, flexing her quads twice as hard now.

“Yes! I quit! I give up!” A slap against Rarity’s thigh accompanied his verbal submission, but the squeezing continued, and even intensified. Snatches of air whistled down his throat, and his barrel tried to expand, but the rock-hard thighs gripping his torso kept his diagram contracted. He writhed in her grasp—a most thrilling sensation—and his hoof repeatedly slapped at her hind leg, begging for freedom.

“Quitting so soon?” Rarity released Diamond’s foreleg and seized his throat instead, adding a sleeper hold to her bodyscissor. “I warned you about disappointing me, didn’t I?” She dug her nose into his cheek, gorging on the sultry stink of body oil mixed with musk and sweat. Her tongue slithered out for a taste of the muggy cocktail, finding it bittersweet.

The crowd sat in hushed awe of Rarity and Diamond, much too conservative to whoop like hooligans at some common sporting event. Instead, they admired the struggling pair in near-silence, pleasuring themselves and each other as the contest neared its climax.

With her biceps engulfing his jugular and her thighs scissored about his barrel, Rarity drove her forehead into Diamond’s temple and squeezed. Her glutes went rigid—dimpled cheeks clenching around her thong, swallowing it whole—and her biceps twitched under her coat like living things. A brave crystal forehoof tugged at the crook of her elbow, but she hardly noticed it, too preoccupied with her mission to break the unbreakable.

She paused to adjust her hold, granting Diamond a moment’s reprieve, a sip of precious oxygen, then clamped her thighs again and re-crossed her back fetlocks. She tried to squeeze harder, but it was impossible at this point.

“You’re mine…” She breathed the words directly into his ear. “Submit…” The fight that had once raged in Diamond’s chest now seeped out through his pores. Goosebumps dotted Rarity’s skin as his struggling weakened, and her clit ached for a pleasurable touch. “I said… submit…”

Her crotch ground against his barrel, her biceps enveloped his jugular, and her face contorted with pleasure, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She shut her eyes and let out one final lusty groan of effort, giving it her all.

A feeble, crystal hoof slapped her thigh… then gripped it… then slid away and dropped to the canvas.

Rarity let her muscles go slack. “How disappointing…” She released the sleeping fighter and laid down beside him, winded, her chest rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling. “Oh well… I suppose we do have one more round to go.” She pecked his cheek and snuggled him, basking in the afterglow of her first victory.

Diamond Rough awoke to find the referee lifting Rarity’s foreleg. He tottered up to all fours and wiped a tangy film of sweat and oil from his brow. When he caught his breath, the crystal fighter shambled back to the center of the ring, more or less ready for round two. The referee backed away, and Diamond and Rarity resumed the start position, their forehooves once again braced against each other’s shoulders.

“Why the long face, darling?” said Rarity. “You aren’t embarrassed about losing one little round, are you?”

“I just…” Diamond’s eyes shifted left and right, and he leaned his face closer to Rarity’s. “I don’t want to be here. I owe Fancy Pants a lot of money, and this is just my way of repaying him.”

A smile canted Rarity’s lips, the one she used to challenge little colts like Diamond. “Don’t want to be here, hmmm?” Her forehooves dropped to his waist and pulled him closer. “Little Diamond here seems to be of a different mind, wouldn’t you agree?” A purr thrummed in her throat as she ground her lap against ‘Little Diamond’. He was thick and stiff and not so little any more.

“Oh…” Diamond murmured, nearly choking on his own arousal. “Oh, shit… Oh, fucking shit…” He threw his fores around Rarity’s neck and humped her back, his member twitching inside its nylon prison.

“You like that, little colt?” Rarity teased.

“Yeah…”

“You do want to be here. You want me, don’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“Say it. Tell me you want me.”

“I want you, Rarity,” he moaned into the side of her neck. “I want you so fucking—”

“FIGHT!” shouted the referee.

Diamond blinked, and before he realized the second round had begun, Rarity’s stifle darted up and cracked him square in the groin. A whine whispered through his clenched teeth, high-pitched and breathless, and tears formed in the corners of his stained-glass eyes.

Rarity released him with a cruel chuckle, and he dropped back to all fours, clutching his damaged stallionhood with one forehoof. “Bitch!” he snarled, his mousy voice contorted with pain, anger and shock.

While he was stunned, Rarity grabbed his head and stuffed it between her parted hinds, her thighs acting as a pair of fleshy earmuffs. She bent forward and coiled her fores around Diamond’s waist.

“This is for bruising my delicate face with that suplex!”

In a single move, she hoisted him off the mat and swung his haunches up on her shoulders—his thighs splayed and straddling her face—then snapped her body downward and drove him head-first into the canvas with a satisfying crack. A violent shockwave crashed up her forelegs, making her shudder with orgasmic delight.

Diamond’s body went limp. He offered no resistance as she folded him double and pinned down his shoulders, her eyes peering down from between his splayed thighs.

“1…2…3…4...5...” went the referee, hoof slapping the canvas in time with his counting.

Before the count reached five, Diamond’s eyes flicked open and his body sparked back to life, startling Rarity. In the millisecond her guard was lowered, he snatched her mane and pulled her face down into his sweaty, oil-slick crotch. Panicked, she tried to sit back and yank her herself free, but the crystal thighs straddling her face snapped shut, catching her in a tight front headscissor.

“Thought you’d get away with that cheap shot, did you?” Diamond growled, his voice rumbling with new bass. Rarity wiggled and shoved at his slippery ass cheeks, trying to free herself. “Oh, no. You’re not getting away like before.”

With his forehooves clamped together behind Rarity’s head, Diamond extended his hinds and flexed hard, holding nothing back. His inner thighs cut into her neck like blades, the rigid muscles hot and twitching against her skin. She tried to lift up her head, but he kept her face buried deep in his groin, squeezing her, intent on choking her out.

“Let’s hear you call me a little colt now.” He propped himself up on his fores and straightened his back, holding her in place with nothing but his steely quads. His erection pulsed against her pursed lips, her squashed nose, and his stained-glass eyes stared down his own chest, absorbing the sight of Rarity’s cheeks mashed between his inner thighs. “Tap out,” he ordered with a grunt. “I got you…” His head lolled back, eyes glazing over. “…Just… ahhh… just give up…”

Despite the pain and pressure building between her ears, Rarity couldn’t help but giggle inwardly at the effeminate moans escaping Diamond. He was so easy to distract. A few kisses here, a nibble there, a lick, and the poor little colt went all to pieces. She’d been pecking and kneading and biting at Diamond’s erection since he trapped her in the headscissor, and he seemed on the verge of bursting already.

His hold slackened as she continued lapping at his cock, and with his body balanced on his fores, his butt hovering off the mat, Rarity was free to caress his naked ass cheeks. When his grip loosened enough, a firm smack to the flank made his hinds involuntarily splay open.

In a move that was almost too quick to see, Rarity bit the hem of his thong and tugged it down past his stifles, freeing his engorged length. He tried to sit up, to counter, to do something—anything—but a swift stomp to his ball sack stopped him cold.

“Ah, ah, ah,” said Rarity, now standing on all fours with one front hoof crushing Diamond’s balls. “Lie still, or Little Diamond’s going to lose two of his best friends.”

Diamond winced. “Okay, okay, just don’t—” His voice broke into a harsh howl as Rarity leaned her weight on the crystal fighter’s gemstones.

“And no talking. Understand?”

Diamond nodded, and some of the pressure on his gems ebbed away. Rarity’s bare bottom dropped onto his muzzle, and her eyes fixed on his erect crystal shaft. It was dazzling—a priceless diamond cut into a phallic shape, as if meant to honor some obscure Zebrican fertility god.

Slowly, savoring the moment, she leaned forward, cupped his gems and took the radiant shaft in her mouth. A moan billowed into her mound as she sucked him off, and the tickling breath made her throat shudder around his length. She took him deeper and deeper with every bob of her head, reveling in the stink of his arousal and the airy whisper of his smothered pants. He pushed against her thighs and bucked his hips at the same time, trying to free himself, even as he pumped in and out of her mouth.

The crowd cheered with new abandon, loving it.

Rarity had been wrong about this one. He was all stallion after all—a real fighter and a surprisingly eager lover. She ground her lap against his face, already imagining what that phallic diamond would feel like slamming into her—

“Oh my—!” she spat. “You miserable, vulgar, uncouth, inbred, worthless…” Her voice trailed off into a slew of curses and coughs as she hacked up a viscous wad of Diamond’s load, which he’d released without warning. Rarity wiped her mouth, scowling. There was no excuse for rudeness like that.

Angry now, she laid herself across his torso and locked his neck between her thighs, her back fetlocks crossing behind his head.

“Rarity, wait! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—” Diamond would have said more, but Rarity reached behind her back, grabbed his mane and wedged his muzzle between her ass cheeks, smothering his breath along with his words.

“I said no talking!” she barked, her sculpted quads bulging around his jugular. She flexed her haunches, and the sturdy throat sandwiched between her thighs contracted and convulsed. It shuddered against her mound, driving her half-mad with ecstasy. Purring, she arched her back and straightened her hinds, squeezing harder and taking more of Diamond’s muzzle between her ass cheeks.

A forehoof slapped against her flank.

“Did I give you permission to submit?” Without waiting for answer, Rarity grabbed Diamond’s forehooves and pinned them alongside his writhing body. Looking over her shoulder, she drank in the tantalizing sight of her rear smothering his face, his nose and mouth buried in the crack of her ass. An idea skirted through her mind. She released Diamond’s neck, clamping her thighs around his temples instead.

With the match nearing a decisive conclusion, and her fun nearly at its end, Rarity peered up in search of Fancy Pants. She wanted to make sure he was still watching, still entranced by her every move. When she didn’t find him seated directly ahead, or on either side of her, she figured he must be at her back. Glancing over her shoulder again, she locked eyes with Fancy and gave her ass a showy wiggle, flaunting her snared prey for his amusement. His lusty eyes begged her to finish the beaten fighter.

Granting her captor’s wish, Rarity rolled to her side and coiled her forelegs around Diamond’s barrel, combining her scissor hold with a bearhug. Her body lock tightened until her forehooves touched her elbows, and her greedy thighs utterly devoured the crystal fighter’s head, hiding his entire face from view.

Diamond’s body writhed. His hinds kicked, his tail floundered. Maybe his face turned blue from lack of oxygen, maybe it didn’t; there was nopony in the Showroom who could tell at this point.

Rarity’s hips shuddered as she ground her lap against his face, hard, using his muzzle to pleasure herself. He had disappointed her twice in a row now, true, but the match hadn’t been a complete bust. Diamond felt hard and smooth between her flexed biceps, her crushing quads, and it wasn’t every Saturday night she got to dominate a living gemstone.

“Mmmm... lick me...” she panted. “Do it... or I’ll crush your skull...”

She loosened her hold a bit, giving Diamond enough air and room to grant her wish. His tongue lapped at the spandex covering her mound, and the material was so thin she felt his every lick pamper her swollen lips.

“Oh, that’s it. Right there. Lick me right there...”

Without meaning to, Rarity tightened her hold and redoubled her grinding. Waves of pleasure crashed through her body as she bucked her lap against his face, squeezing, and squeezing, and panting, and squeezing, and—

“Ahhhhh... she moaned. "Fuck me... Fuck me, Fancy...”

Her body convulsed as hot juices squirted from her mound, coating Diamond’s muzzle. Though exhausted, she held both her bearhug and her reverse headscissor, even as her thighs shuddered from the violent orgasm.

The squeezing lasted a long time. In the throes of her domination, she parted her hinds and adjusted the scissor hold, momentarily revealing Diamond’s sleeping face. Then her glistening thighs enveloped his skull again, and she continued her torture, not caring that her victim was no longer awake to feel it.

She squeezed him long into the night, her heart set on breaking the unbreakable.