The Proscenium Arch

Chapters

Act One
Act Two, Scene One
Act Two, Scene Two
Act Two, Scene Three
Act Three
Act Four: Epilogue

Act One

A Diamond Dog walked placidly along the streets of Pasternville, a medium-sized city. She was a fairly robust specimen of her species, nearing the size of the tallest, though somewhat more broad than the usual lanky examples thereof. Her muzzle came to a subtle point in contrast to most Dogs, though it remained blocky and squarish. Her coat was a light charcoal color, with some darker stripes running through her to create a brindle pattern. She was dressed in a medium-length skirt, that hid the contours of her shortish legs, and a white cotton blouse, closed with crystal buttons. She also wore a standard Diamond Dog collar and had a small pack slung across her back.

The area in which she was strolling wasn't very well populated. Only a few ponies were milling about, some took the time to notice the unusual figure as she moved through. It seemed to be on the cusp of the division between residential and commercial areas, as a few small shops mingled with apartment blocks and tiny houses that had seen better days.

There were a few small alleyways between the buildings that rose up a few stories, which remained dark even despite the muted sunlight. The overcast sky didn't completely blot the sun, but there were more shadows than usual. Unseen in one of those darkened alleys was an equine figure, who watched the Dog with some interest.

He was a unicorn, dark black from head to hind, horn to hooves. He was of the more robust breed of unicorn, decently muscular despite the usual reputation they carried. His feathered legs twitched in eagerness and his muscles flexed in anticipation. A long mane hung down one side of his neck and occasionally fell over his eyes, which traced the canine woman with burning intensity.

As soon as the Diamond Dog passed by the alley entrance the stallion struck, much as a trapdoor spider springs out to grab its helpless prey. A flash of magic stunned the woman, who could only scream, drawing eyes to her. The stallion rushed over to her, using magic to tear the blouse open until he could expose the plump gray teats resting low on her belly.

A lecherous grin spread across the face of the attacker as one hoof rudely and roughly went to those healthy swells. He pressed down on them, mooshing the tender flesh against the woman's own belly and making her whine loudly. “N-no! Stop this! Please don't!” The helpless canine struggled and squirmed futilely beneath the stallion. Her legs were pinned by the solid musculature of his rear end, while his free hoof pressed commandingly down on her chest and flares of magic knocked away her attempts at striking him.

He ignored her pleas for release and mercy, lustful gaze entirely focused on the shaking, wobbling mounds of her canine teats. Even thou they were only two in number, like a pony, the nipples were slightly longer and just as thick, while the actually fleshy swells attained a size greater than even well-endowed mares simply from her body size. They moved with her struggles, wobbled as he manipulated or subtly thumped their sides.

The nipples were tugged with a deft manipulation by his hoof and with the use of magic, the flesh tweaked and twisted, pulled a short way before being released to snap back and set the fat mounds of flesh to moving all over again. With his other hoof still on the Dog's chest he dipped his head down as quickly as he could and slurped his tongue sloppily around the tweaked and flicked nipples, giving the side of one teat another light thumping.

“Help me!” He dog got some leverage on the ground, pushing against it and almost managing to force her attacker off of her. The repulsion failed and she thumped back solidly onto the ground, letting out a sharp bark of released breath. She tried to bring her hands up against the stallion's face but found her hands thrown back by magic. “Stop it! Ah!”

After taking a long, hard suckle of one stretched nipple he pulled off with a loud 'pop' and stuck his face between the two teats. After waving his snout rapidly between them, slapping his own face with the flesh, he raised his head up as high as he could and let out a titanic whinny, his posture changing just a but to reveal his standing erection.

The thick rod pony meat was not the color of his coat. Rather it was a muted green color, with both medial ring and mushroomed crown standing out thickly and distinctly. The protuberance bounced with his hard pants and the occasional rock of his body from the struggles of the Dog he was keeping pinned. His rear occasionally flexed, the twitch of muscles sending the fattened organ to slap solidly against his firm underside. Each slap of flesh let out a squirt of precum which rather boldly spattered over the screaming Dog's face and chest.

The hoof that had been molding her wobbling teats whipped up the front of her skirt, to reveal her soft flesh. The outer lips were thickened and the mound pulled up, such that, while there was the resemblance to a mare's sex, there was a pyramidal cast to it, with an obvious and engorged clit peeking out of the folds at the tip. The flesh was heated and pinkened on the inside, glistening with her musky fluids.

As the stallion pulled his hips back, using the width of his body to keep his victim from kicking at sensitive area, the small crowd of ponies, who had been simply stunned into a disbelieving paralysis, began to look to one another, to make motions and decide of a course of action. The shrieks and whimpers still emerged from the Dog; if anything they were getting louder and less coherent, the pleading and shrieks for aid becoming slurred and choked, mucus snorting from her nostrils as her mouth ran with drool she could not quite spit into her attacker's face. She still needed help, perhaps more than before. There weren't many, a few earth ponies, a pegasus and a unicorn, the pegasus and two earth ponies being stallions, but they were enough.

The suddenly-motivated vigilante mob rushed the rape scene, crying as loudly as they could for the stallion to get off of the helpless canine. They had nearly gotten within striking distance when a magical flare went off and the rapist unicorn put up a bubble of protective magic. The vigilantes slammed into the bubble and were pushed back, though it hardly deterred them.

The small mob attacked the bubble with bucks, punches and a few shots of magic, all of them some kind of effort to collapse the defensive bubble. Within the bubble the assaulting unicorn hardly noticed, though the Dog he was attacking seemed buoyed by the appearance. She let out a howl of relief which was answered by a whinny and laugh from the stallion.

“I knew you'd like it!” He cried out in a dark, rasping voice. His hips maneuvered his throbbing tool between the Dog's open and vulnerable thighs, his fat crown ending up mashed and grinding against the woman's folds. It was an odd fit, given the difference in construction, but it was not impossible. With more force and the flexing of his hips he pushed the wide head in, spreading her sex out wide.

“No! Get it out of me! Get out! No!” With the bubble in need of concentration and effort her hands were free to push and slap at the stallion's face, occasionally hitting his horn and making the protective sphere flicker. Her efforts did nothing to stop the thrust of his hips, however. He drove on, using his robust musculature to forcibly drill that impressive shaft of meat deep into the Dog's unwilling, but juicy, depths.

The sight of the flickering bubble, and the actual violation of the Dog, spurred the ponies around the scene to redouble their efforts. Hooves cracked solidly into the wavering shimmer of magic while magic bolts slammed and thundered against the protective surface. Their efforts were rewarded with further wavers and flickers, along with long cracks appearing on the surface of the magical sphere.

The tempo of the rapist stallion's hips changed, growing erratic, desperate. His horn glowed brighter, pumping more magic into the shield. But it didn't seem to help. With the shield already cracked a little, more magic did nothing but made the cracks look bigger. He huffed and nickered wildly as he tried to reach his orgasm before his protection broke.

The shield eventually shattered, with a sound like tinkling glass. The shattering magic repelled the mob for a moment, making them unable to stop the stallion as he let out another huge whinny and thrust his hips down hard. He had forced nearly the whole length of his rod into the Dog, and was clearly unleashing thick jets of his semen into her.

Every squirt of cream was nearly audible in the stunned silence, like a lewd and disgusting backing to the panting whimpers and squealing sobs of the Dog. There came subtle flexes and quivering little hunches of the stallion's hips. He was savoring his orgasm, moving his rear legs up and down and to the sides, in a swirling, 'stirring' motion that slurped and squelched in the Dog's abused sex.

The Dog screamed once and then started to weep, hands covering her face while her head shook. “No! No, no, no, no...” Huge sobs wracked her body and she shuddered in disgust as the first thick traces oozed out around the stallion's plugging pole.

Being too late to stop the final indignity gave more strength to the vigilantes. They reached in as one and roughly grabbed the stallion, pulling him off and out of the sobbing, trembling Dog. Their anger had been kindled and stoked to the point where none of them stopped to tend to the victim or summon a constable. They knew what they were going to do as soon as the pegasus landed a punch to the stallion's stomach.

With a sudden shout of inarticulate rage the mob set upon the captured rapist. Mostly they landed heavy body blows, bucks and stomps and chops, with the odd crack to the face or flanks when there wasn't a good soft tissue option. The unicorn lashed out with magical bolts, leaving long lines of welts along the beaten stallion's agonized body.

His bloody, bruised form twisted and writhed, reacting to the strikes and coming strikes with the expected fear and cowardice. He seemed to take the abuse well, which was unsurprising.

The violent battery continued, with all the vigilantes looking, perhaps, to cause more than grievous bodily harm to the stallion. While he had his head tucked under his forelegs the crowd watched his horn light up, expecting another magical shield. Instead, the magic flared and produced a brilliantly blinding flash of light. When the light had cleared the mob of vigilantes found the rapist was gone, with nothing but some smears of blood to mark that he had been there.

The unicorn shook her head and muttered, “Teleportation... the coward...” The crowd just stared at the spot, anger still burning high in all of them. They had punished him, and quite thoroughly too. The deed, and justice, were done. But still there was an itching desire for more. For most, just a need to batter and hurt the evil creature more. For a few, the desire was for the death of the monster.

When some of the rage had cooled the pegasus mare then turned to where the escaped stallion's victim had been. “Let's get you to...” She was gone. The canine woman had vanished completely, leaving only a trail of semen drips that ended after a short while and one of her crystal buttons.

An hour later the scene was swarmed with Pasternville police, looking over what evidence remained and keeping the area cordoned off. Two important-looking earth ponies moved through the crowd, one of them a salt-and-pepper color with a thin mane, while the other was a pale peach color with a tightly-cut black mane. Both wore well-fitting gray suits. The grayish pony had an apple dumpling Cutie Mark, while the peach one had a police badge.

The two officers moved up to the crowd of vigilantes and nodded to them. “Good afternoon folks. Sorry to encounter you in this situation. This is my partner Officer Bill Cannon, my name is Sergeant Buck Friday. We'll be taking your statements. Bill, get down time and location,” Sergeant Friday said to his partner.

“Right, Buck,” Officer Cannon said, pulling out a pad and pencil, checking his watch before writing. “Three twenty-nine PM, 2300 block of Hayton Road. Ready to go.”

Sergeant Friday nodded and turned to the crowd. “Alright folks, I'll need basic information. Names, occupations, place of residence, and then what you saw and what you did.” He pointed to the unicorn. “You first, ma'am.”

The unicorn, a red-colored mare with a dark orange mane nodded. “Of course. My name is Fire Ruby, I'm a technical draftsmare at GreenCorp. It's my day off today, that's why I'm here. I live a few blocks up, on Golden Lane, 4145, but I grew up around here so I like to shop here on my days off. As for what I saw... I'm just... still in shock, honestly.”

“I understand, ma'am. Just tell us what you can remember,” Sergeant Friday said.

Fire thought about it for a moment and said, “I was coming up the street when I saw her walking along...”

“Sorry, ma'am, but could you describe the victim?” Sergeant Friday asked.

“Oh, yes... she was very tall, tall as the big Dogs, you know, the ones that do those digging contest shows? And she was... gray. This weird gray that was black too, like stripes but not stripes. I don't remember her face or anything. She looked like any Dog. She had a blouse, I remember that, and a skirt but... well, no panties, but I won't comment on that,” Fire said, blushing a bit at the end.

Sergeant Friday and Officer Cannon nodded to one another, the Officer dutifully scribbling away while the Sergeant said, “Please go on, ma'am.”

“Right, yes. I promise I wasn't thinking anything bad...” Fire cleared her throat and said, “Like I said, I shop around here on my day off. So I walked up the street and I sort of noticed her, because Diamond Dogs don't come to this side of the city much, though I have a neighbor whose husband is one, he's a gem-board enchanter and calibrator where I work, I suggested he move into the neighborhood. Anyhow, while I was walking I heard a scream and saw her being attacked!”

“Yes, ma'am. Can you describe the assailant?” Sergeant Friday asked.

“Oh well... I didn't really look at him. I didn't want to look at what was happening...” Fire admitted with a deep blush. “I know he was a unicorn, of course. Black, I think? Mane and coat. It was all the same color. He was a decent magic user, knew both a magical shield spell and a teleportation spell. He took a real beating and still managed to escape so maybe he was a spell-slinger? Not a professional but maybe weekend league or something. I was just so shocked and disgusted! To think that a stallion would be so brazen as to do something so vile in public!”

“Right. I see. Anything else you can tell us, anything at all?” Sergeant Friday asked

“He was really squirming, rolling around, taking that beating. I didn't think it was the first time. He seemed to know the drill. He was quick about... the other part, too. I think he did it before,” Fire noted with a shiver.

“Thank you, ma'am. We'll contact you in case we need more information,” Sergeant Friday said, nodding his head and indicating the pegasus. “Now you, sir.”

The pegasus was a sort of medium-muscular guy with a pale green coat and a short, bristly blue mane. “Oh, yeah. Name's Horizon Flash, I do supplemental weather work during the busy season and some odd jobs now and then. I'm between work right now but I've got a lead on something. I live up the street, 2350 Hayton, apartment 303.”

Officer Cannon nodded while Sergeant Friday said, “Thank you sir, now please tell us what you saw.”

“I'll try. It happened kinda fast. So, I was coming down here to the corner place for a bottle of salt and a salad from the counter when I happened to notice the bitch,” Horizon said.

“Sir, there's no need for that kind of talk,” Officer Cannon said with some annoyance.

“What? It's the name. My dad worked mining for a few years and we lived in a tunnel-town. I went to school with a Diamond Dog pack, about the only pony in the place. I picked up the lingo from there,” Horizon explained.

“I see, sir. But in the future please use more neutral terms. I understand you have a personal cultural connection but it makes things smoother to be more broad,” Sergeant Friday said.

“Right, right... anyhow, I saw her and shrugged it off. She was new, but that's not so unusual. I didn't think anything of it until I heard her scream. She got jumped by this guy, and he just went all out on her!” Horizon said, flaring his wings for emphasis.

“Right. Now can you provide a detailed description of the woman and her attacker? How they were dressed, appearance, facial features or marks?” Sergeant Friday asked.

“The bi... the woman? Sure, she was a bulk. That's what we called 'em, me and the other Dogs I mean. That's when someone's buffer than a lanky kind but not as tall and they aren't really a Dig Dog. She was a really dark gray with wavy stripes. They called it brindle. Her face had the block-point, blocky along most of it but her nose had a little point to it. She had a skirt and a blouse, weird for her sort, the bulks usually do overalls or aprons,” Horizon noted, tapping his chin softly.

“And the stallion?” Sergeant Friday asked.

“Oh, him. Just, you know, a unicorn. He was a big guy, not like the usual breakable kinds that mince around on the fashion shows. The burly ones that do spell-slinging or horn-fencing. Maybe he was an athlete; explains how he took a pounding from me and managed to get away,” Horizon said with a flex of his semi-defined pectorals.

“What about color, Cutie Mark, anything of note?” Sergeant Friday inquired.

“He was black. Hard to miss him, really deep color, mane and tail. His Mark... I really don't remember. I wasn't exactly looking at the guy's 'mark' region if you get me. That part of him was engaged in... well, in the tunnels if they caught you doing that you'd get what that slime bag got,” Horizone said with a snort.

“Thank you. If we need further information we'll contact you,” Sergeant Friday said. He motioned to one of the earth ponies and nodded. “You next...”

Sergeant Friday and Officer Cannon walked away after questioning the witnesses, Cannon looking over his notes while Friday ran everything over in his mind. “We've got about a pound of air if we're lucky,” Officer Cannon said after reviewing the notes.

“You're not wrong, Bill, you're not wrong at all,” Sergeant Friday admitted, using a hoof to rub at his temple. “Descriptions are mostly consistent, allowing for variation based on knowing things about terms, tones and shades. But nopony got a look at faces that would be really helpful. That Flash guy was the best one, all the rest just pawned off 'she looked like a Dog' in more eloquent words. The guy's no better, all he is is big and black; nopony looked at his mark, nopony noticed much in the way of facial features, nopony even described his voice, and he must have been saying something while he was getting beaten.”

“They seemed pretty insistent that he might have been an athlete, spell-slinger or horn-fencer or something like that,” Officer Cannon noted, looking over different interviews. “The way he took a beating and the way he still managed to teleport away. Maybe we can do something with that, get the word out to local minor-league clubs, amateur associations and training spaces.”

“Couldn't hurt. We'll get Information on that right away,” Sergeant Friday said with a nod.

“What about Media? The papers and news channels are going to want a piece of this,” Officer Cannon said.

“We'll give them the most factual data, and try to downplay it. We don't want to spark some kind of panic, but we can't make it appear that we're burying it,” Sergeant Friday said.

“Tightrope walking again. Seems to be the way it goes,” Officer Cannon said with a shake of his head. “Now, Buck, what do you make of the victim herself? Wandering off while the folks were beating on the attacker?”

“Can't say it's too surprising. Dogs are resilient folks. Probably figured there was no need to stay while her attacker was getting what he deserved. You heard Flash, that's about the mandated penalty for forcible rape. She's either at home cleaning herself up or she may have gone to a hospital emergency center or a clinic just in case,” Sergeant Friday said. “And we can't forget that roughly sixty percent of victims of a crime like this never report them and may even deny it.”

“So, what's our next move? Contact clinics, hospitals and private practitioners just in case?” Officer Cannon asked.

“That's the job. We're locked in for the next few hours,” Sergeant Friday said with a shake of his head.

Officer Cannon gave a shake of his own. “It's a rough job.”

“But there's a bright side,” Sergeant Friday said, drawing Officer Cannon's notice. “All that telephone work saves us horseshoe wear.” The two gave a slight smile to the observation and made their way in the direction of the police station.

It was late in the evening, right around the time when the streetlights crackled to life in downtown Pasternville, when a Diamond Dog woman left a nightclub and made her way down to the off-downtown streets. She was walking well enough, and showing no signs of intoxication. The lady was dark in color, with a reddish tone under the dark gray, like an ember. She was on the tall side, with some heft to her, as well as a bit of a point to her muzzle. She had on a shimmering black dress that hugged her form and rather nicely highlighted the generous swells of her teats on her lower belly. She carried a small purse over one shoulder and walked with some grace on a pair of high-heel shoes.

Though the hour wasn't very late the street she chose was away from the main action, one of the thoroughfares where the music of clubs and bars could be heard but the lights were a bit dim and consequently the population was low. What few folks were out were either not paying attention to her or barely happened to see her.

As she walked down the opposite side of the street from the small collection of locals she encountered a fellow coming the opposite way. He was a tall unicorn, though he was notably under her size, and had good muscular definition. His coat was a rich red color, and it matched his mane, which was long along the neck but cut and swept over the top of his head. She gave him a friendly wave as she neared, and he nodded his head. Once he was behind her, however, his horn flared and he turned on her. His magic loudly ripped the back of her dress while his robust body toppled her forward after galloping solidly into her.

He stood over her, looking fairly triumphant and giving a loud, domineering whinny of delight. His solid forelegs were beside her arms, keeping them pinned solidly to her sides while his rear legs were between her own, spread slightly to expose the fact that she had no underwear on under her dress. Her rear end had scooted up during a quick initial round of struggling, and could no longer go back down thanks to the pressure of the stallion's legs. She was kept uncomfortably pressed against his sheath.

The squirms of her struggling ground the soft fur of her backside against the sheath and partially-exposed organ, causing the stallion to nicker in pleasure and drop more and more of his flesh. “That's right... more of that... you're a good sport, aren't you? You really want this...” He said in a lustful tone.

“Help! Get him off of me! No!” With her hands pinned to the side she couldn't get any leverage to push off of the ground, and found her options more limited by the stallion pressing his upper body down on her back. Her feet could freely push on the ground but that only sent her hind end up against his growing erection, which made the plump, green rod harder and longer.

“Admit it, you love this. Or at least, you'll love it when I'm done...” The stallion's fully-grown erection slid between the madly-flexing cheeks and thighs of the Dog's rear end, the broad tip smearing a thick impasto of hot and musky precum all over. Though the slick and watery fluid drizzled down her backside and spattered lightly on the dirty street most of it was directly splashed over her anus.

“N-not there! Stop! Someone help me!” The Dog shrieked wildly and let out a loud, plaintive howl. Her efforts redoubled, arms trying to spread and knock the unicorn over or push against the ground and lift her own body. Her rear legs wobbled as she pushed on her high heeled shoes, pumping her back against the stallion's belly while her rear end was washed in his copious lube.

“I'm helping...” The stallion said hotly, breath growing ragged as his broad tip mashed against the woman's precum-covered sphincter. The strong flex of his muscles drove the broad crown against the tight ring of muscle, which seemed too small for the task of taking such a thing. However, more force, with staccato thrusts helping ease it in by small amounts as it stretched and gave, began the task of conquering the Dog's rear entrance.

The Dog woman screamed all the louder as the huge pony pole drilled into her ass. Her balled fists thumped on the pavement as much as they could, while her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her lips pulled back in a toothy, pained grimace. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes and pained, pitiful whimpers seethed from between her teeth the more her agonized passage was opened up. Her clenching of the muscles did nothing, the unicorn was exerting more force than she could hope to counter. It was terrible, and he hadn't gotten past the broad ring of his mushroom tip.

The unicorn gave a triumphal snort and laugh of delight when his cockhead finally popped into the stretched hole, leading the way for the just-slightly-narrower greenish shaft that followed after it. The hot, throbbing flesh slid smoothly down, forced through straight to the medial ring, which created a new obstacle to easy violation. He forced the matter even harder than he had with his tip, mashing the ring against her ring, until sheer force of muscles stuffed the raised area through into her punished guts.

The unicorn did not give the Dog any mercy at all after the forced second stretch around his middle portion. If anything his hips grew stronger, more demanding, putting more pressure and demand into each pump that shoved another throbbing, agonizing inch into the Dog's rear. He did not relent until his hips met her backside and his testes slapped rather forcefully against the puffy pyramidal form of her sex. A small, wet sound accompanied the hit of flesh on flesh, something a bit more than the remainder of the precum that had been painted all over her.

The noise was obvious with each thrust, a subtle moist sound to accompany the smack of hips and thump of testicles battering her body over and over. Her agonized anus squeezed desperately over the invading rod, vise-like, trying to force the tremendous organ out, but providing nothing but a delightful pressure. One of her eyes opened slightly, to look at the ponies on the other side of the street, shrouded in semi-darkness though they were. She knew it would be useless but, amidst her whimpers and yelps she cried, as clearly and loudly as she could manage, “Help!” It had not been long since the assault started, but she wanted to spur the help faster, if it was ever to come.

The desperate, helpless look and the barely-audible cry seemed to break the spell of inaction and indecision that had taken the collection of strangers. Though the scene was shocking and beyond their comprehension, they could not allow it to stun them into passivity. One mare, an orange earth pony with very bulky construction, charged the two, drawing the others in her wake. There were two more unicorns, two other earth ponies and a donkey in the mix.

The leading mare gave a shout as she reared up near the stallion, bringing her forehooves down in a sharp and crushing arc, intending to stomp in the side of his head. Instead, she cried out in frustrated surprise as a magical field leaped up and stopped her potent attack cold. She rested against the unwavering field for the space of a hard, angry breath before she reared up and bashed the bubble again, grunting in frustration and slamming her right hoof down over and over in a combination of tenacious attacking and frustrated pounding.

The donkey, a rather skinny-looking jack, gave a rather typical full-wind double-rear-hoof kick that would have left quite a dent in the average pony. The bubble of magic wavered but didn't crack. The other ponies who had run up started battering on the shield as well. The unicorns started casting spells at the field, one of them observing the magic closely and giving adjusted bursts on following attempts.

The stallion within the bubble hardly seemed to notice. His vicious sodomy went on, his face a mask of triumphal pleasure while the Dog he was anally violating continued to whimper and plead. She scraped at the ground with her shod paws, desperate enough to try and crawl away from the assault to her rear. The stallion above her could easily keep pace even while thrusting wildly and holding her arms mostly at her sides. She was stuck with his attentions.

His mad pace seemed entirely unchanging but he gave on particularly brutal thrust and tossed his head with a groan. His low-hanging testicles pulled up against his body and the small, rhythmic twitching of his own rear showed he was letting out a flood of stallion seed into the Dog's tormented bowels. He even showed it off by immediately withdrawing his organ, groaning loudly as the pole pulled out, semi-firm, from the passage and released a few thick blobs of white on the still-gaping sphincter.

The bubble of magic showed the first sign of weakness when the cautious unicorn hit on the right spell, the shield wavering and looking thin. A hard blow from the donkey cracked the weakened area. Further applications of magic resulted in more and more cracks until the whole thing shattered in a brilliant flash of magical light, which seemed to blind and stun all those in the area.

When the gathered rescuers regained their sight the first thing that happened was the leading earth pony tackled the rapist to the ground. They scuffled for a time, joined by most of the rest of the group. One of the earth ponies came down to comfort the victim, lifting up her head and using a tissue to wipe the smeared mucus and slobber from her face while she looked at him with a pained but appreciative smile. She whimpered a little bit and motioned to the mob, almost seeming to be encouraging him to leave her. He set her back down but did not move away.

The leading mare got in some good hits on his face and chest, while he seemed to be making purely defensive moves, rather than making an effort to fight her off. He rolled with the hits, and even seemed to anticipate a strike from the donkey, who joined the melee intending to knock him out but catching only a part of the stallion's head with a glancing blow.

He was skilled with avoiding most of the blows, but with so many hooves directing so many attacks he was getting battered up no matter how he writhed and dodged. His blood spattered on the street, his mane became a mass of dirty knots and one eye looked well on the way to swelling shut as the assault went on.

The 'fight' continued in that fashion for some time until the stallion tucked his head, pushed off of the ground and gave a tremendous flash from his horn. When the dazzle cleared from the eyes of the crowd they found him gone. “Just popped away. Figures he'd know that one too...” The cautious unicorn said in a musing tone.

“Let's just get the lady,” first earth mare said, standing up from the ground with a sharp huff. The flash of teleportation had blinded them all, and severely distracted the stallion that had been trying to offer up comfort. Her suggestion was kind, but unable to be completed. The Dog was gone, leaving nothing but the semen splatters to show where she had been.

“I don't know what I'm gonna do with all this overtime I'm putting in,” Officer Bill Cannon said as he looked over the his notebook. He and his partner Sergeant Buck Friday were at their facing desks in the Pasternville police station, reviewing their newest case.

“Buy a boat,” came the reply from their captain, Spring Flowers. The older, gregarious-looking white unicorn stallion kept his voice light and supportive.

“Not a bad notion, skipper, but I live inland,” Officer Cannon replied.

“With the numbers I've been seeing you put in you could afford to build Equestria's longest inlet,” Captain Flowers said with a deep chuckle.

Sergeant Friday returned the chuckle then grew stern and serious. “Thanks for the lift, Captain. I tell you, there's not much reason to smile these days...”

“You know how it goes Friday, day one of the academy. If your legs get to buckling under a case, it's time to consider packing it in. I know this one's grabbing your insides and twisting but you need to stay focused,” Captain Flowers said sternly. “Now, do you think we have a pattern?”

“It's not really clear,” Officer Cannon replied, flipping through the notes on his desk. “In substance we have a remarkably similar case, a public rape of a Diamond Dog by a unicorn who used a magic shield and teleportation spell to escape concerned citizens. But...”

“But there's nothing else tying the cases together,” Sergeant Friday finished. “The descriptions on the participants in this second case didn't match well, given how dark it was. The Dog was described as tall and wide but without much detail, and she was called dark in color with a reddish tone rather than brindle, which lets out a pattern based on looks. The unicorn was likewise large and powerful, another amateur or semi-professional spell-slinger or similar, but his coat and mane were red, and no one saw a mark. Rather than a residential/commercial overlap area it was downtown, late evening rather than afternoon. It's hard to say that it's the work of the same stallion, not if his MO changes that much, never mind the look.”

“I know it's like trying to french fry an ice cube getting these two isolated instances to look like something. But such a crime is shocking the sensibilities. Rape is rare enough, and with the nature of it, a stallion on a Dog... the Diamond Dog community groups are starting to make noise and I can't say I think they're wrong to make it,” Captain Flowers said with a small stomp of his hoof.

“They sure aren't wrong,” Officer cannon said with a shake of his head. “And it's making us look bad. We're supposed to be able to protect all citizens of this city. But when innocent Dogs can be brutalized on the street by crazed monsters... or one monster, who won't stop until we catch him... I tell you it's enough to make me want to take that early pension.”

“Buck, anything come from the hospital canvass?” Captain Flowers asked.

“Not a thing. It seemed like a sure bet the first time; from the accounts the victim would need to be treated for her assault, and the perpetrator would need bandaging and possibly more for his various injuries. But we checked all emergency rooms and clinics, nothing for either of them. We're still waiting to hear back from this latest round but it looks like another zero,” Sergeant Friday said.

“They can't just fall off the face of the earth after assaults like that... and did you managed to figure anything from the fact that the victims also vanished? Could he be teleporting them away for more brutalizing?” Captain Flowers asked.

“Magical and Scientific Investigation Division says that's highly unlikely,” Sergeant Friday said. “The magic requirements would be simply too much for a unicorn under that sort of stress, especially since there was a notable distance between victim and perpetrator. It's their conclusion that the victims would have had to have walked, crawled or otherwise gotten away under their own power.”

“I've learned plenty about Diamond Dog culture, enough to know that they're just as ashamed about such violation, no more or less than ponies would be, and there's no indication that a raped Dog would crawl off to hide or anything like that,” Captain Flowers said. “It's the strangest thing.”

“It adds an odd new wrinkle to the question. Could it be that especially sensitive Dogs were struck? That might mean there was some targeting. Assuming it's one stallion who changes his looks and not two isolated perverts, he could be going after vulnerable Dogs, which means he's stalking them first,” Officer cannon said.

“Put a call in to Records, and maybe one to Canterlot Intelligence,” Captain Flowers suggested. “Pull the packages on unicorn stallions with a history of stalking, violence and bigoted stances against Dogs.”

“Why Canterlot? I don't mean to sound territorial but it's our case, and this seems like something that came up in our backyard, not in the capitol,” Sergeant Friday said.

“Two possibilities here,” Captain Flowers said, holding up his two forehooves. “First, this is some new fellow. Never did anything like this before, but he started with stalking, threats and yelling at Dogs on the street. In that case your search in our records will probably find him. Second, this is some kind of traveling serial rapist, knows how to get away, and has done this before. If that's the case, the Canterlot folks will tell you where he's been, how he works and may give you the chance to catch him.”

“It makes a lot of sense, Buck,” Officer Cannon said.

“You're right there, Bill. What matters most is catching this monster, and we need to exploit every resource we can get to do just that,” Sergeant Friday said.

“Guess we'll get back to earning all that overtime again,” Officer Cannon said, picking up the phone and dialing up the Records department.

“Beats the early pension,” Sergeant Friday said with a slight smile, before he picked up his own phone and called one of the clinics on his list.

The sun just began to pull above the horizon, with a slight fog hovering over the ground. It added a pleasant coolness to the environment of Harmony Park, a large collection of rolling hills, copses of trees and long ribbons of concrete running through the whole thing, which sat like an emerald in the Trotterham suburb of Pasternville. The park was usually very popular with families and couples, though at such an hour only joggers and others similarly concerned with health and fitness matters occupied the place.

One of those healthy folks was a Diamond Dog, jogging her way down the concrete sidewalk up and down the low hills waving to the aerobic ponies and stretchy yoga folks. She was tall and strong, a deep sable color that shone as the filtered, low light hit her, and held almost a bluish tinge. She was dressed in a proper exercise outfit, with tight pink spandex shorts hugging her legs, a matching pink spandex halter at belly level restraining her teats, comfortable running-assistance shoes on her paws and even a headband around her forehead, even though she didn't sweat. She just panted.

She huffed her way along the jogging path just in range of the other exercisers when she gave a titanic yelp and was throw onto the grassy area beside the sidewalk by a sudden streak of blue. Opening her eyes she found herself pinned beneath the rather large and imposing body of a blue unicorn, his horn alight and magic ripping the spandex clothing from her form. “I like a woman who takes care of herself. It's that extra effort that makes you more enjoyable...”

“What are you talking about? Get off!” the Dog woman shoved out with both of her large hands, impacting the unicorn solidly on the chest. There was a shuddering moment of impact, and a soft grunt from the stallion. But he managed to hold his ground, and remained, standing proud and smug.

“You've got some strength and fight in you. That's just what I was hoping. The more you fight the better you feel...” The stallion said with a rather oddly cheerful voice. One hoof came down on the Dog's chest and pushed her solidly against the soft grass. The other pushed down on one teat, twisting and shoving it around, swirling the mound of flesh all over while its owner screamed in indignation and surprise.

The Dog's rear legs kicked and flailed about, trying to strike the tender parts on the stallion's lower body. He simply waited for her to slow and then lowered the boom on her. His hoof swiftly moved away from her belly while the better part of his body simply dropped down onto her, between her legs. She released a whimpering gasp as all of the breath was knocked out of her by the blow, sucking the air back in with a desperate sound. Her legs kicked out again, shod heels driving against the stallion's sides and flanks. The soft cloth and rubber of the running shoes did not help to add to the force of the resistance.

“No! You can't do this!” She snarled, reaching up to scratch and punch at the brutish stallion's face. His magic managed to mostly restrain her hands, diminishing the force of the hits and scratches, and slowing them enough to let his head dodge the majority of the hits. “Sto- what are you doing?!”

The blue stallion grinned and quickly used his forelegs to twist the Dog's arms away and down, bending them into what looked like the standard laying down positions, with with the Dog's arms tangled up in them. He was thus laying on her, arms immobilized, legs ineffectual, and rear end lightly flexing forward and back. Light grunts of effort and pleasure puffed from his nostrils, while his his partially-engorged penis ground and slid along against her body, settling between the fat and generous swells of her teats. “You don't know? Your last lovers must have been exceptionally vanilla,” He said with a lustful tone.

“You're not.... that's not... help! Get him off of me! Help!” The Dog threw all of her well-exercised might into escaping from the pin she had been put in. Every twist and pull on her arms proved futile, the tossing and twisting of her body could not get her scooted out from under her attacker, and the few thrusts of her lower body only made the perverted equine moan and thrust a bit harder. She could feel the precum-spitting pole slipping up her belly, medial ring and broad head pushed against her belly and lower chest, while his testicles humiliatingly bumped and jostled at various times against her rear end or against the moistened and plumped lips of her canine sex.

“No whimpering, I really like that. It's more fun if you really fight,” the stallion said, head coming down to slap his tongue across the Dog's forehead and across her lips, pulling away with a laugh as she snapped at him. “You're not going to let go of your power. And that's sexy...” He laughed as a flurry of heel-thumps hit him in the sides and on the flanks.

“You sick freak! Help me! I know you're over there! Help me!” The Dog thrashed about wildly, wearing a patch in the grass while doing little else. The grind and wriggle mashed the softly-squeezed teats against the stallion's intrusive dick, sliding the soft fur of her belly along the surface and smearing around the warm, slippery precum that had be splattering and squirting all over.

His thick rod ground hard between the swells pushed down by his strong belly, helped with the slight side-to-side motion of his body getting the teats snuggled up tightly around him. His rear end flexed quickly, powering his pole between the pre-slickened mounds and making it twitch and flex with each thrust. His balls continued to bounce off of her ass and the plump lips of her vulva, the soft spanking making the puffy folds slightly pinker.

The sound of the Dog's screams reached the folk she had passed before, but it seemed to take them a moment to do anything. The yoga folks regarded one another with nervous stares, haltingly rising then sitting back down. The couple of aerobics ponies attempted to continue, each scream slowing their motions. One approaching jogger, a green pegasus, took to the air and looked over at the scene. “Hey! Somepony stop him!” She screamed, zipping towards the scene of the assault, the others, chastised, following behind her.

The mare streaked towards the flexing blue flanks of the rapist, seeming to be unnoticed as the lusty beast continued to grind his erection against the angry Dog's teats and belly. “Help me! Thank you! Get him off of me!” The woman suddenly shouted as she noticed the approaching mare.

“I'll get off in my own time,” the stallion said with a laugh, his horn flashing and calling up a magical shield. It was just in the nick of time, the pegasus grunting as she caromed off the sudden field of force. She twisted in the air and skidded to a halt on the grass. “No interruptions.”

The pegasus darted back to the bubble of magic and whacked at it with a few punch-like rearing strikes. “Let her go! You bastard!”

“I happen to have known my father, and he was married to my mother,” the stallion said with a snort, thrusting all the faster, seemingly out of indignation. He pressed down harder, letting out a huge, low groan as he ground his rod down on the helpless Dog's silken fur.

“Ah! Help! H-help!” The woman's strong demeanor cracked a touch as her body was compressed even more by the stallion, and she felt him redoubling his efforts to get himself off all the faster. The thump of his balls grew harder, faster, more like a proper spanking over her wiggling rear and juicy genitals. Her belly was a pool of precum, which flowed copiously down her sides or squirted out when his body moved off of her and then squished back down again.

The other exercisers finally arrived, a collection of earth ponies. Both those who had been engaged in yoga and in aerobics threw all their weight into battering the heavy field of magic with all their strength. The yoga ponies focused themselves before letting out strikes and bucks, while the aerobic ponies used more fluid, continuous strikes from many angles.

The pegasus mare chopped and bucked over and over again in the area of the unicorn's head. “Just let her go! It's over!”

The unicorn responded by letting out a loud, pleasured grunt and a dominant whinny, his hips sliding forward and muscles tensing. The Dog gave a disgusted, helpless shudder as the thick cock unloaded hot wads of seed, her belly, chest and teats getting coated in the thick white goo. His hips twitched in delight as he released last squirts of his orgasm. He didn't seen fazed at all by the gathering battering at his shield. “This is just disgusting! It's... oh my Princesses it's everywhere! Get this pervert away!” The Dog screamed.

“I wish we had another unicorn here!” The pegasus growled in frustration. She slammed her hooves into the impenetrable field over and over. She didn't stop even when her limbs started to get tired. That seemed to make her try harder. She glared hatefully at the relaxed, post-orgasmic unicorn, who was still restraining the struggling, completely disgusted Dog.

The combination of dedicated batters and the slackened focus following climax created the first radiating fractures in the sphere. Though exhausted by the furious assault the vigilantes pressed the sudden sign of hope, smashing hooves into the now-vulnerable field, stretching the cracks out until they crossed the whole surface and finally resulted in a flash of magic and the sound of shattering glass. The magical protection broke into little pieces which dissolved into wavering nothingness.

The unicorn found himself knocked off of the Dog, their limbs forcibly disentangled, semen flung around by the force of their separation. He barely had time to lift his head before he took a hoof to the face, further hooves pounding at the muscular sturdiness of his body. “Got any smart talk now, freak?” The pegasus asked as she gave him a thump on the head.

The blue stallion protected his head after the dazing strike, allowing his body to take the brunt of the blows, though he still rolled and moved with the kicks and chops to reduce just how badly he was being hurt. He made no comment during the attack, other than to let out pained grunts and gasps when a particularly good hit landed on him.

The unicorn was looking fairly subdued, about ready to be arrested when his horn suddenly lit up, forcing the crowd to hit him harder, thinking he was going to try another shield. Instead they recoiled from a flash of light and rushed in to deliver more hits, finding themselves striking nothing more than a bloody, mussed space on the grass. “That bastard...” The pegasus spat, looking down at the spot where the unicorn had been. “At least we showed him. Do you need us to..?” the pegasus, and the other participants, looked over to the Dog and found nothing at all there except for a Dog-standard mound, the leavings of a tunnel.

“I feel very politically connected,” Captain Flowers said as he walked into the office of Sergeant Friday and Officer Cannon. “Minister Blueblood took time off from his very busy schedule to personally burst one of my eardrums with demands for action. I feel like sharing this joy with the whole department but I think I can restrict it to you two.”

“No surprise ol' Minister Melonhead was the first Canterlot figure to do that,” Officer Cannon said with a shake of his head. “He's the voice of interspecies peace and respect. I can't imagine we're wowing him with our investigation.”

“I understand his frustration. Three pony-on-Dog rapes in the space of two months, when before we had one every few years, if that. Rape's rare enough but this... are the Dog groups making a lot of noise?” Sergeant Friday asked.

“They've got every right. In fact, the wire service says that Minister Blueblood is speaking to a multi-species advocacy group in Nickersham, and that he has noted he will be talking about 'crimes against non-ponies and the police response to the same.' I think you can guess how he'll characterize that response,” Chief Flowers said darkly.

“We're doing our best, skipper, better than our best I'd say,” Officer Cannon said, indicating a tall stack of files by his side.

Sergeant Friday nodded his head and spoke in a weary tone. “We put in every last minute of legal overtime and ran through all we could. We looked into every unicorn that ever hinted at being even slightly cross with a Diamond Dog. I've talk with so many stalkers, anti-Dog bigots, general hatemongers and rapists that I don't think all the showers in the world will get me clean. Every last avenue came up dead.”

“What about that info from Canterlot that I told you to get after the second one? Surely that panned out somehow,” Captain Flowers insisted.

“It was looking like we might get something there, then... it evaporated,” Offer Cannon said, making a poofing motion with his hooves.

“The analysis of reports from one other city indicated something like a pattern. Very broadly, they had a few months of infrequent and unpredictable public sexual assault of Diamond Dog females by one or possibly more unicorn males who all used shield and teleportation magic during and after the rape, and in all cases the female Dog vanished before she could be interviewed by police. In those cases it was also true that both victim and perpetrator failed to go to any hospital or clinic that the investigators queried. The descriptions match in a certain broad sense, but with the male or males it's mostly 'big and burly' and with the females it's less helpful, with less-bigoted variations of 'she looked like every other dog.' On the one hoof it's good it only happened in one other place. On the other hoof, I'm disgusted it happened at all,” Sergeant Friday said with a contemptuous snort.

“Did you get anything out of the report, at all? A name, a scent, a quirk or anything unique?” Captain Flowers asked.

“Eyewitnesses aren't always the most reliable, especially after all that shock and excitement. We start out in a hole and try to dig our way up from there, impossible as that might be. Different colors and patterns on perpetrator and victim, different attitudes, different times, places, outfits, methods of assault. We know more about what doesn't happen than what does,” Sergeant Friday said.

“What do you mean? Can you get anything from that?” Captain Flowers queried.

“Well, in all the instances the assailant has never used a weapon, nor has he engaged in physical brutality. He doesn't beat the women, he just rapes them quickly and escapes after his shield is broken. He never uses rope or restraints of any kind, simply uses bodily position and what seems to be a working knowledge of self-defense or something like it to immobilize and restrict the victims. He doesn't gag them, he allows them to call for help, even though it's generally clear there are witnesses in the area. He never strikes the same area twice, never fights back before escape and doesn't appear to have any kind of profit motive, as the victims sometimes are described as wearing easily-removed jewelry that remains on even when the assault is concluded,” Officer cannon said, reading off from some notes he pulled from beneath a pile of papers.

“Just our luck, we've got a gentlecolt pervert. Honestly I'm thinking we need to re-think the hate angle. A bigot who gets his kicks raping women he hates would presumably beat and rob them or something similar. But this guy, no... he may be a little too into Dogs. Put another call into Records and pull more stalking packages, but also lesser crimes like menace, harassment, peeping, or other minor crimes involving voyeurism or being a bit too interested with a strong focus on Dogs but not an exclusive. He may have picked Dogs but he could have started on donkeys or Changelings,” Captain Flowers said, thumping the floor with a hoof.

“A brilliant notion, skipper,” Officer Cannon said, picking up the phone to dial the Records department.

“It's why I make the big bits. Now I need to head off a PR disaster. The Minister is going to demolish us if we don't start giving him a good song and dance about the subject,” Captain Flowers said with a weary shake of his head.

“Let's hope he likes the tune you give him,” Sergeant Friday said with a slight smile, similarly picking up his phone to call the other city's police department.

Author's Note

I wanted to do everything I could to make the 'Dragnet' segments authentic. I'm a big Dragnet fan. I wanted to capture the cadence, the tone, the types of statements. And the names of course. As I recall they did once have a Captain named Flowers, a good pony name. As for Bill and Joe, not much need for change. The "Cannon" is part of a horse's leg. Now about Sergeant Buck, that's a bit more personal. On the Multi-User chat space Tapestries I used to know a guy named Buck, a rabbit who also went by Sgt_Buck, a military rabbit. Note, it's not the SergeantBuck on FurAffinity these days. Buck transitioned into a basketball player named Buck_Hopper, who runs a rather complex RP group called the FBA, the Furry Basketball Association, including podcasts that are like sporting reports with highlights from fictional games and reports about the "athletes." Anyhow, that's where that came from.

Act Two, Scene One

'Racham the Rake,' they used to call me. 'Racham the Reprobate.' It was the characters I played back when I was more inclined to play such parts. It was my specialty. The pony everypony loved to hate. A good villain could move a moral audience. A good villain reaffirms the morals and righteousness of the crowd. If they hate the evildoer with all their heart, and even look askance at the actor, then the character has succeeded.

I used to be somepony on the stage, somepony the playgoers of the upper class could speak of in complimentary tones while execrating the characters I played. Perhaps there were soft whispers questioning why I so often played such terrible creatures. And, indeed, how well I played such monsters.

There's no secret. It takes a truly good pony to play a bad one. The good pony, the honestly and genuinely good pony, knows all that is right and proper. They know the taboos and transgressions and trespasses. They know how to do them just right to inflame the sensibilities of the population. Goodness is not naivete; real goodness is knowing the right and knowing what bad is. It's surveying the whole moral landscape, and choosing forever to do right.

I am very, very good, and I can act very, very bad. It's equally praiseworthy and worthy of scorn. But I had my moments, my triumphs, my wonderful glories treading the boards. I confess, quite freely, it was luck, pure luck, at the beginning. I got a chance because I got lucky. I was with him at the very end.

The great legendary performer, who even non-playgoers know. Cranky Doodle Donkey. I was there at his last performance, with him reprising his famous turn as Othello the Zebra. He was brilliant as ever, and it was my privilege to play his betrayer. My big break, my big role. Iago. I was hated from the cheap seats to the pricey private boxes. We played our roles to the hilts, me seeing just how skillfully the old fellow played a pure and good stallion and he seeing how perfectly I represented the most horrible stallion on the stage. He said he was proud of me. “I may be retiring, but the craft is in good hooves, Mister Racham.”

The reviews seemed to confirm it. Beside the photos of him and his wife Matilda, a perfectly lovely jenny who was there at every performance and who I imagine is much like an older version of Minister Blueblood's wife, were the reviews. Reviews about me. A triumph, a shocking display of depravity. No actor had ever played Iago so authentically.

Surely, most of the credit went to him. I was standing beside a living legend in his last performance. I could have been a plank of wood and earned curtain calls. I've never thought much of my skills. But every other pony in the world thought I was a genius. I think I may have kept acting to prove them wrong, earning honor after honor to prove me wrong. I've got the little statues to prove there's something to my acting.

My career was not as long as the esteemed Mister Donkey, not even close. It was not for lack of success, or a lack of prestige. I was not discouraged by folk taking umbrage at my choice of roles; I relished that. It told me well that my society was worthy of respect, filled with folk who were disgusted and horrified by evil. I wondered why the stage held its charms and fascinations for me but never held me tight.

I know now, of course. The stage is a fine mistress, but like Lady Fortuna she is the world's harlot. Every actor and understudy is her lover, the audience ravishes her with their eyes and causes her to shudder with orgasmic delights with their stomping applause. I held the slippery whore with all my heart but found her forever eluding me at every turn. Mister Donkey knew the secret.

His mistress was a mere platonic companion. He didn't give in to her insincere silver tongue, her shallow promises of power and prestige. He got them all, but he never embraced them and let them define him. Matilda completed and defined him. He had a real partner. She sustained him behind the arch by giving him love from in front of it.

I learned this later, as I relied on him as a mentor. I was a new-minted star, and he had time to fill. I realize I was an annoyance to a tired old jack looking to spend more time with his good lady wife. But nothing can tame the exuberance of youth when it finally desires to learn from the wisdom of the old. I had the urge to know, to understand why he had been so fulfilled over the length of his career. I was... happy knowing I could move an audience to heights of hate. But hardly satisfied in the limelight.

“That's half the trouble with actors these days,” He told me, while sipping on a cup of hot tea with honey. “The other half is a complete lack of proper and regular training. All these little nothings running around trying out this idiotic 'method' thing. Ridiculous. You learn a role, you learn what's expected and you do it. You pour all you have into doing it and you floor that audience!”

“Yes, you've said as much in the past,” I said, hiding an amused smile behind by own teacup. His wife made a delicious pot of tea.

“He's said it to me more often. It's like listening to a seashell now, mostly something to soothe me off to sleep,” Matilda said with that light, braying laugh she had. She was sitting with us, also enjoying some tea of her own.

Cranky looked stung but still smiled at the needling. “But like I said, half the problem is these young actors think so much of the stage, think that all the promises are true. They believe the reviews, the fans, the praise. These little fools. I never thought you'd be one of them, Mister Racham.”

“I assure you, I'm... a bit better than them. I'm not throwing myself at the peers and dignitaries. I'm not going to parties to suck up canapes and expensive wine. I don't buy more than I can afford. I'm holding to what skill I think I have. I enjoy seeing the hatred of my viewers, knowing they're good at heart. But acting has... eluded my understanding. How did you last so long with such love for the craft?” I asked him, perhaps pleading more than I intended.

“Don't let the stage rule you, it's not a kind lover. She's a heinous harlot who will use you up, chew your bones and spit out your gristle,” Cranky told me, with a little extra gravel in his famously growling voice.

“That's not a new one but he doesn't use it much now that he's retired,” Malitla said calmly, sipping her tea.

“It's true. The stage is a grand place, but it's cold and lonely out there. It's worse when the crowd is cheering. They're not there for you, to give to you. They're there to take from you, to take the entertainment you give, judge you sharply and then praise the character you're playing and not you,” Cranky told me, his eyes boring into mine.

“O-oh, I suppose I have felt a bit... siphoned...” I told him, rather stricken. I had certainly hit a nerve, but was mining quite a lode of emotion and information.

“You need something that will anchor you... someone that will anchor you,” he said, turning a surprisingly soft gaze on his wife. “They keep your head at a good size, they come there for you and you alone, and they soothe you through the hard times.”

I had often envied many things about the old legend. But in that moment I envied him his wife. If that was the secret he had a good one. She had carried him through a triumphant career, and that certainly must have taken skill. “Someone to love, then...it seems so simple.”

“It isn't,” Matilda said to me, looking very serious. “You need someone you really love. You have to trust them so completely you'd let them hold your whole future in their hoof. They need to be patient, willing to let you spend hours at a time ignoring them while you practice, knowing you'll miss birthdays, anniversaries, family dinners and other special occasions because you're locked into a performance schedule. They need to live around your schedule and you need to make them the center of your universe when you're free. Your time isn't your own, it's theirs, because they sacrifice their own time for your art. Their life has to mold around yours, and you have to mold yourself to them. You think other couples become one? Amateurs,” she scoffed, taking a placid sip of tea.

Cranky looked at his wife with a smile. “She never said that to me. She didn't have to. She's completely right, Mister Racham. You're not looking for any partner. You're looking for the perfect one, the one that becomes your whole world while you become theirs.”

“And that will make me satisfied in acting?” I asked of them, while the realization sank in. I needed some mare that didn't exist, a mare that would be able to accept my schedule and to whom I would be capable of devoting every free part of my life.

“Are you crazy? You don't get satisfied acting. You get good, and you get used to it, and you plug away at it until you get fed up and retire, unless you burn out or get arrested,” Cranky said, with a little rattle of his teacup on his saucer.

“Now, you know the doctor warned you to keep your blood pressure down. You already lost your mane,” Matilda noted, calmly.

“That's because of too much testosterone. You don't seem to mind my excessive testosterone when it comes to... well, maybe not in front of the kid,” Cranky said, self-consciously adjusting his gold-colored toupee.

“I... think I get the idea...” I said. I hadn't wanted to imagine the two old folks going at it, but honestly, it wasn't so bad. It was a little bit funny but... I imagined there was a lot of love to it. I wanted that too.

“Now that we've thoroughly traumatized this poor fellow, would you care for a cookie or brownie?” Matilda asked me.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Donkey, I should get along. I've bothered you kind folks long enough,” I said, finishing my tea and rising. In an effort to not be a slob I levitated my cup and saucer into the kitchen, setting them beside the sink.

“It's never a bother, Mister Racham,” Matilda told me.

“Maybe a little bother...” Cranky said, sotto voce.

“Cranky!” Matilda cried in a chastising tone.

“I said 'a little'! That's not so bad...” Cranky said, looking properly contrite.

I remember that time. And all the other times like it. I leaned on him in my career, as I did at the very outset. It was because I didn't have what he had. I didn't have my own version of Matilda, not that I held out much hope of that. It wasn't just that what she had told me seemed impossible to find, but there was something more to it than that. Something far... darker. A bit dramatic perhaps, but I could only regard it as such.

I was and am a good pony, a very, naturally, organically good pony. I hold that ideal in my heart, and I live it out every day. But there remains some kind of drive. Something I know is wrong, but I can't stop myself from finding the idea appealing. I want to be out in public, with eyes all around, watching me as a sexually violate the woman I love. It would give the impression of rape but the reality of it would be a completely loving act... between two depraved folk.

I am not depraved, but I can imagine it. I can picture the screams, the wailing, the thrashing and tears, the shocked reactions of the others, the anger and disgust, all while I know, while she knows, it's a real act of love. Another performance. Feeling of hate from the audience.

I seem like such a strange creature. I am strange, yet I am still good. The truly good creature wishes to only do good, and should be willing to accept the necessary and prescribed punishment for their crimes and civil violations. If it is within me to think on depravity and consider it sexually exciting I should be willing to take the punishment for my trespasses. Perhaps that is a bit much but... if I was content with my depraved thoughts, that would be one thing. But I want more. I want to see the looks on their faces...

I don't wish to be pure, just purified. It's impossible to be eternally good in every way; even the Princesses slip, as they say. Our Mother was not perfect but she made a perfect world, by and large. It is enough to purify the self after transgressions to prove real goodness. One bad act doesn't make someone bad any more than one good act makes someone good. Both are judged by effort. It takes an effort to be bad, just as much as good. Taking the time and effort is a sign of true malevolence.

All my thoughts were held in such a fashion as I fretted and strutted my time on the stage. I relished the hate and savored the good reviews but I knew it would never last. As with everything else Cranky had been right. Without a perfect lover to keep me going I was sucked dry by the stage. The shadowy faces that sat in judgment of me beyond the Proscenium Arch drew the strength out of me and powered their cheers with it. I only grew to know how hollow I was inside as the adulation reverberated inside of me like I was an empty bottle.

I couldn't afford more vices than the sexual fantasies I already had. There was no room in my life for drugs, drink or temporary sexual affection. I neither wanted nor needed such transient solutions to a genuine problem. However, the allure of temporary solutions is their immediacy. Real solutions will fix everything, but always at some nebulous and uncertain 'later date.' Ephemeral answers have a certain expediency. As soon as the drink is drunk or the pill swallowed the trouble vanishes, only to return later, strong as ever.

My career was not bad, it was merely not as long as my august mentor's turn. I plugged away for years as a headliner on the stage, and as a small post-logo credit on some television programs, typically described with the higher-than-merely-appearing appellation 'Guest-Starring.' I did a good job in all of them, I made a striking television villain. Multiple takes meant I could refined my dastardly performance into a poniard-sharp thing that struck at the heart of every good viewer.

Television, I think... it was surely television that killed me. Killed the actor that once strutted proudly across the stage and shocked all the viewers with my wickedness and incivility. I was broadcast across the nation, and into a few others besides on those television programs. I reached more than the several classes of highbrows that made it out to the theater proper. I reached the mass of folk. They thought much of me, and some even took the opportunity to write. Most were as I expected and which I relished, excoriation and execration of my depiction of vile villainy. But not all. Not all...

I burned the letters that came in from the strange, disease-minded madponies that complimented my portrayal of evil without the slightest hint of qualification or reluctance. They spoke in laudatory tones about my unsettling manner and antisocial stances. They found my malevolence... proper. Right. Admirable.

They said that villains make stories; it's entirely true. A good villain makes a story run most of the time, and the ultimate punishment or destruction of the villain is what creates the highest climax and makes the story most wonderful. To leave a villain alive and unpunished would be blasphemy, insanity. Yet the fools that wrote me their disgusting letters lamented that my character had been caught at all, that he should have terrorized and violated more. All for their sickening amusement.

That was the moment the actor died. When one letter too many came in stating that good is wrong and evil is exciting. That was the day I drank three bottles of wine and awoke, throbbing-headed and bathed in my own vomit. They were out there, I realized, and I was feeding them. Surely, such fiends also existed in the theater audiences but they had the tact and good taste to disguise their feelings. They had never made me aware. Once I knew, I could never stop knowing.

Looking into the cycloptean gaze of the camera's lens or the sea of faceless masks beyond the thin skin of air separating play from playgoers I could only see darkness. A pulsing, beating vileness surging like ichor in place of blood through the veins of some in the crowd. I half imagined I could see the writhing black lines of icy foulness under their skin if they spoke too highly of my skill at a villainous turn before quickly confessing their disdain for the character. Some rag-paper scandal-sheets stated I had a sudden mental break and quit out of crazed pique. Others blamed my increasing use of alcohol, falsely saying I became unreliable and incompetent. Some lied even more basely and claimed it was ego that eventually got me tossed away.

I left on my own. Not because of insanity, drunken incapability or arrogant demands. I trotted away from the stage because I knew I was feeding the wrong sort of folk. It was true, I had been drinking in the evenings, but that was to stop thinking about the folk I could not stand. I never lost my skill and I remained humble until the end, when I gave my last performance, took my last bow, and walked away from the limelights and velvet curtains. I was resolved to never tread boards again.

I had built a tidy savings; headlining actors are paid well when they work in large theaters and for good companies, and though the wages for neophyte television actors is not exorbitant, for the lauded 'Guest-Star' it is not that bad at all. Careful planning, investing and living meant I would not starve or be homeless while I worked to find a new circumstance. What it meant primarily was my time was my own, and I needed to fill it.

I did not rush to Cranky and tear out my intestines on his doorstep. Matilda would hardly have been pleased with cleaning up the mess. I had little enough call to bother the poor old couple when I still acted. My early and rumor-shrouded retirement would have made for poor conversations over tea.

I stayed in a great deal at first, cocooned in my little dwelling with my awards and reviews, reading classics and watching what television wasn't banal or off-putting. Programs for children have an odd charm. They are so pure, so honest. There is no need to read subtext or dither over meanings. They embody the virtues of genuine goodness, even showing the consequences for bad behavior and the chastisement of the guilty to make them good again.

But remaining locked inside can never be a solution forever. I had to go and wander the streets, if only to breathe in the air of the city and become lost in a crowd. With none speaking to me I couldn't know if any of them were one of them. I didn't have to wonder if the vile ichor of evil intentions were creeping through their body, seething through their polluted brains like oil and making them imagine ugliness as good. I could well imagine that they were all good folk, the usual, normal supporters of social stability and peace. Lost in a crowd I was surrounded by default assumptions, by those who loved and laughed and hated the characters I had played.

At night, there are no crowds, just long, empty streets, and neon signs pointing out places to be not-so-alone. Most of them were places to get a drink, bars, pubs, cocktail lounges. I learned there was a difference between the various classes. I also learned I was better suited to the cocktail lounge. There exists a better class of inebriates within, plus the occasional piano player, live band or torch singer. Though my penchant had been for a modest vintage to slowly sip away troubles, some cocktails could be made low-potency and worked over for a good bit of time.

Each different lounge had some charm all its own. Some were never changed when the era passed them by, but that was quite well-liked. Some were nearly indistinguishable from more raucous nightclubs or similar. I made every effort to only enter those that were clean, or reasonably so, and which were not populated with the over-served. That still left a wide latitude.

One of those places had service, tired-looking ladies in net stockings and brief black-and-white attire bearing trays and gamely imitating smiles for a few bits. Actors always know sincerity and insincerity. The place seemed warm and welcoming, the imitation friendliness likely a consequence of the company and not the women, so I made it a regular haunt. One night, over a Brandy Alexander, I saw her.

She stood tall and proud on her rear legs, strolling very competently and confidently on her high-heeled shoes. She was a vision, her coat the color of gray ash, the fine powdery tone of a coal that has gone out and left only softness behind. I could well imagine she felt as soft as velvet. Her eyes were like ovular sapphires, swimming in a citrine sea. She was broad and strong but still undeniably feminine, with a blocky muzzle that came to a small, subtle point. From perky ears to delicate paws she was... perfect.

I had never thought much about Diamond Dogs before. There were few in acting, mostly due to subtle speciesism rather than a lack of talent. Even during television work I hadn't met that many. Seeing her stole my thoughts, my breath and my heart. I hadn't spoken a word to her and I knew already I would never look at another woman with the same love ever again.

She seemed more tired than all the others. Her temper was short and her eyes betrayed fatigue. She performed her duties admirably, competently. But she did not enjoy any part of it. Least of all, I noticed, when the males got too close to her, or touched her. There was nothing official against it that I could see. I noticed more than a few of the servers being touched and not complaining. But she, that grand Diamond Dog, did not like it.

I often saw her grasped by the other patrons and it incensed me. She did not make much of a matter of it because she needed to keep her job. But it was a miserable thing to see. She didn't deserve it. She wasn't some faceless fantasy creature. She had an identity, a real life that continued beyond the quick gropes and presumptuous touches. She had rights that could be and were violated. She deserved better than that.

One night I got lucky, she was the one to serve me. She was very smooth and efficient as she laid down the snifter and nodded. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked, with the kind of tone that hoped I would not imposed on her more.

“I want to know your name,” I said, simply, slowly swirling the brandy with my magic.

“That's... not really something we offer,” she said, seeming more surprised than upset.

“I don't mean to impose, but I have wanted to know for a while. Call it curiosity, or desperation. I'm not good at playing the needy one, but you control the information I desire, and I must ask, for I cannot lose this opportunity now that I has come,” I said, with a slight smile.

“I sort of noticed you. You're not exactly hard to miss,” She said, trying her best to not be interested. She was no natural actress, but that kind of honesty... it was refreshing.

“Will you tell me, or do I stay here alone with a glass of brandy, wondering?” I asked.

“I should let you stew for a while. But you don't seem to be a creep, or a crazy killer. It's probably safe to tell you my name's Hepzibah,” she said with a hint of a smile. Her teeth just showed through, easy to see as she towered over my seated form. White, like polished marble, and perfect.

“May I call you Mam'zelle Hepzibah, or have I ruined any future chance of speaking with you?” I inquired, with my best charming smile.

“I'm honestly just impressed there's a pony out of a walker that knows enough to try and call me Mam'zelle Hepzibah,” she said with a sincere laugh. Her laughter was like music.

“I enjoy the classics, in all things. And I must say, the name suits you,” I said, taking a sip from my snifter.

“Are you hitting on me?” She asked suddenly, growing tense and defensive.

“Nothing so base. I'm asking questions I've wanted answers to. I don't get this chance very often. And I've never been so driven to ask any woman in particular before...” I admitted.

“Is it because I'm a Dog?” she asked after a moment, apropos of nothing.

“Is what because you're a Dog?” I asked back, with a confused tilt of my head.

“Are you trying to hide that you're hitting on me because I'm a Dog, or are you really not doing it because I'm one? I'm not sure which one's more insulting,” she said with a deep, wurfing grunt.

“Is... there an option for 'None of the above'? I'm not interested in making insincere promises in the hope that you'll go home with me, or simply grabbing at you and making you stay quiet for a bigger tip. That you are a Dog never entered into it, not in any way that may have changed my opinion. There is a certain something about you as you that drives me to ask all of this,” I explained, as calmly and politely as possible. If she left, if she didn't believe me... I would have left there, crushed and empty.

She bored into me with those bright sapphire eyes, fixing me with a gaze that burned my soul. She was perfect, even angry and disbelieving. “When I go on break I'll come back and answer some questions,” she said to me, turning away. “If I believe you, I might consider talking to you next time you're here...”

Mam'zelle Hepzibah... Miss Hepzibah, reluctant cocktail waitress and charming Diamond Dog. Funny, open, well-read, perfect. I went back a great deal for her sparkling company, and to learn more about her. As it happened she was there as a matter of expediency. It was the first job that presented itself that allowed her the hours she needed during the day and gave her time to study.

She was a university student at the time, finishing up the last of her medical Doctorate courses. She was planning on being a doctor. With her own two hands she was going to heal the hurts of the world, and for that would do what was required to succeed. When I found out about that, I came to realize a deeper truth.

When Cranky and Matilda told me the key to success was to find the perfect lover, I lamented I never would. Such a perfect mare couldn't possible exist. That was and is true. My perfect mare never existed; the woman who could enrapture me and make me devote myself was never a mare. She was a Diamond Dog.

I did court her. I did help her as much as I could and as much as she would let me. I did want her to do well, and I did follow as she moved from where we had met to a different city to do her residency. But the one thing I never did was openly admit the deep, secret shame in my heart. We made love freely, but it always burned. Like a dark fire roiling at the back of my mind. I wanted it gone, I wanted to confess to her. I was and am a good pony. But honesty is hard when it involves another being.

It took time, but I finally took the leap.

Author's Note

Racham's disdain for the sorts of folks that "fanboy'd" his evil characters reflects how skeevy I find the folks who practically masturbate over how evil characters are. It also feels pathetic, like they have so little in their lives the best they can hope for is to paint their faces white, vomit up misunderstood Camus or similar, and get off on bad things happening in fiction.

Oh, and as for Cranky as an actor is "zebraface" is an homage to Bronystories' idea about cranky as a "Tijuana Zebra", a donkey passed off as a zebra, and that being equivalent to Blackface. But because I'm me, I classed him up, essentially making him the equivalent of Sir Olivier as Othello.

Likewise, Cranky's complaints about how actors are trained is actually modified from "Gus, the theatre cat" from "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats" by T. S. Eliot. A classic.

Act Two, Scene Two

'Hepzibah.' 'Hepzibah.' What kind of a name is Hepzibah? It's a Eweish name, I know that very well. But that's not why dad picked it. He picked it because my whole family loves the classics, doesn't matter what kind. And he thought his little pup could use a classy name like Hepzibah.

I came from a fairly normal Dog family, as far as we were concerned. Most ponies are unfamiliar with with Dog culture, and as a result have drempt up a romanticized, primitive, version of canine society. In truth, Dogs are generally just... ordinary. We have as many uneducated cave-slime families as ponies have hicks and yokels, and just as many middle-class sub-soil extra-Colonial dwellers, the kind with at least one degree-holder.

I know the score up top. Ponies think that just because their rulers were set out by Faust her own self they've got the monopoly on everything that's great, including intelligent citizens. Sure, sure, most ponies are a good collection of folks, and they've got good schools and stuff. But slag it, the attitude is hard to take.

So they think the dumbest scrap. Like, griffins are all living in sod cottages in kilts, or minotaurs all wear hairy loincloths and stomp around mazes, or, yes, Diamond Dogs are all ignorant cave-dwellers and any of the successful ones they see are impossible outliers. It never occurred to them that the really well-educated ones go back to the Colonies and work in their homeland.

There might be plenty of dust-back miners, construction workers, forge-tenders, and other things. They work in Equestria because we've got lots of those down in the Colonies. It's nothing special to do it there and it's hard to make a decent living. But we also have professional gem-cutters, and merchants, master masons, expert surveyors, not to mention mathematicians and magical resonance engineers. And doctors. It's not weird for a Diamond Dog to want to be or to be a doctor.

That never stopped the insults of ignorant ponies. “Dog doctors are too busy burying bones to fix broken ones.”

I did all I could to excel. It's not hard to manage in a good part of the Colonies. There are some pretty bad places, by comparison, where it's just easier to be a low-level dust-back that doesn't need to take the advanced courses. They're offered, but those schools have few takers in their advanced programs; the vocational programs have all the warm bodies sitting in them.

I suppose I was a bit unusual in my younger days. The braces didn't help any, they just made me stand out more. My heavy emphasis on the physical sciences rather than the magical sciences made me sort of odd. Most Dogs like working with magical gems, for obvious reasons, but I preferred my anatomy charts and physical process diagrams. I was the only one in school who, as a Junior, could run through all the steps of the Masquerade Process, the process by which Changelings converted emotion to their bodily fluids, and who knew it was called that because it was first described and precisely investigated by Doctor Masquerade.

The popular Diamond Dog folklore regarding Cutie Marks is that Faust gave them to the pony race out of pity. All other races had enough fortitude to pursue their destinies through sheer will and determination, but the ponies could only accomplish their life's goal with a visible reminder to help motivate them. That was never me.

I knew my destiny with exactness. I had a plan all charted out. I knew how I would move along, that I would dedicate myself to my studies. I wanted the grades that would impress every observer up the chain. I'd move on from high school to the best undergraduate college in the Colonies. I'd excel there, impress my professors and get them to sign a dozen letters of recommendation. I could probably get a decent scholarship to the Subterrene University. Then work my figurative tail off to get my MD, followed by residency at a good hospital.

I did all I could to stick with that, and I succeeded in the important places. My grades were kick-haunch good and even if I was excelling in non-traditional things I was getting notice from my teachers. They all thought I was going to make it. It helped that I schmoozed the Professors at Sub-Soil College, the best-rated undergrad school with the highest matriculation rate to Subterrene. Angles. We Dogs know them all. It's essential when you don't start out with air and space and you've gotta cut them all from the rock around you.

Schmoozing professors is often easier than it seems. It just takes a few minutes after class to get them to clarify a point which needs a demonstration to be understood, or asking about a related point that wasn't discussed to make the understanding seem more broad. Sometimes it's walks to their office discussing related points, sometimes it's trading recipes for stuffed luminescent fungi.

The steam-carriage went off the rails my last semester at Sub-Soil. I want to say it wasn't as bad as the terminology implies, but my plan was very specific. I had my notions, I had my ideals, but things change. The first indication that something would be different was while I went through the college fungi and lichen gardens with Doctor Peg, my anatomy and physiology professor. She was a sort of light amber Dig Dog, with the big underbite and pointed little ears. A good teacher, and not as gruff as she looked.

“The globular firestars are looking delicious. Would you care for some spores after they drop?” Doctor Peg asked, running her carefully blunted claws over the glowing red star-shaped patches of luminescence on the heads of the large, otherwise-white fungi.

“No thank you, Doctor Peg. I'm still cultivating the decorative blue filigree you gave me. I call it 'Citizen Blue,'” I said, with a warm smile. I had about as much fungicultural skill as the average cave rat, but blue filigrees are hardy and essentially idiot-proof. I didn't know but I suspected that globular firestars actually needed some form of competence. If it was a Dog or a pony or a Changeling I probably could have kept it going but as a fungus it would be at the mercy of my incapability.

“Glad you enjoy caring for living things so much, that's a vital trait in a medical doctor,” Doctor Peg said, adjusting the strength on one of the magical gems providing light to the environment.

“Can you give me any advice about medical training and, you know, how things work at Subterrene? The hang-out spots, the places to avoid, the really nice spots in the libraries where the magical light falls right and where it most smells like old books and stale coffee?” I asked, smiling, trying not to sound as desperate as I really was.

“First of all, I'm not a medical doctor, I'm a physical therapist and a dietician. Even if I have clinical experience I didn't do the hard track,” she said with a soft laugh and a little shake of one of the large glowing neon caps, to release a small sprinkle of spores onto moistened shreds of material for later cultivation. “And about Subterrene... I... wanted to speak with you about that.”

Panic gripped my heart and my stomach. I fought so hard not to let that show. That smile stayed plastered on my face. “What about it? I thought that you were going to write me a letter of recommendation; you're an alumna. I'm sure they'd give a letter from you some weight. I mean, I also got one from Professor Rent for the same reason but more never hurts...”

“That's not what I meant,” she said, gently, slowly making her way along the glowing rows of growth, with me following along like a lost and desperate puppy. “I meant... I know you have plans. Very, very specific and particular plans, chiseled out and measured out by rule and square, as is usual. But is there any shift-measure calculating in there?”

The cold fear clasped harder, and I furiously tried to imagine what I had done. My grades were top-tier in relevant subjects and unquestionably good in the miscellaneous general education subjects. I had no academic or criminal dings against me, and I didn't get pushy with profs. “I'm not an engineer...” I said, with a touch of hollowness.

“Yes, I know. You're a doctor in the making,” she said, taking a paper out of the lab coat she liked to wear. She unfolded it and passed it over. “You say Subterrene... but have you ever considered The Royal Canterlot University College of Medicine?”

I took the paper with some confusion. It was a notice to the faculty about placement opportunities for Dogs from Sub-Soil with excellent grades and recommendations. A few places were mentioned, including both Buaileam Sciath and Leanán Sí in the Griffin Kingdom and Mansa Mari Djata University in Zebrica. But there it was right at the bottom of the list. The Royal Canterlot University. “... Royal... Canterlot...”

“University,” she finished, taking the paper out of my stiff, stunned fingers. “You'd need recommendations, which you have, excellent grades, which you have, good scores on a few placement tests, which I'm sure you can do, and some initial fees. A government-backed student loan will cover what the scholarships and interest-free private loans don't. I'm honestly certain you can get away with a near-full ride, maybe some cost in the post-graduate period if you can't find a good fellowship. It's not your plan. But this opportunity can't be ignored.”

My mouth was dry as sand. The Royal Canterlot University's College of Medicine. The best medical school in the world. I had never even considered the possibility of a non-Colony school. Perhaps, in my wildest dreams I had considered a less prestigious topside university. “You think I can do this, and get the funding for it?”

“I think you're just dedicated enough for this. You've got eyes on the prize and all your tools at the ready. You want this badly enough that I honestly think you'll make it,” she said.

“What do I need to do? Where do I send all my transcripts and..?” I started asking, getting more desperate and puppy-like.

“The formal posting of all this information will come tomorrow. I wanted to show you this early so you could start arranging things and thinking if you want to make the leap,” she explained.

I didn't normally make decisions with great passion and quickness. I preferred clear-headed and slow contemplation, proper planning and such. But this time... “I'll get ready right now!” I shouted, running off with my tail wagging.

The usual things that followed that day took on an enormous new import, and with a new suite of attached requirements. I didn't just study for the General Aptitude Examination, I overdosed on GAE study guides, mainlined caffeine and took so many practice tests I could have vomited up paper strips with answers on them. I didn't just look into financial options, I did more research than the average accountant working for a national treasury. I pulled all the strings until they threatened to break to get the letters I needed.

I assembled a decent collection of information and pile of papers. Letters from professors, certifications of grades, my GAE results, a few personal essays regarding my academic and social history and intentions. I was ready. Mostly ready. The finances were up in the air. I was counting on an interconnected set of grants and scholarships and other things to take up a lot of the slack, though the initial fees would require a loan.

I was lucky, in some respect. I don't often think well of the general pony presumption of being very great, nor am I much of a fan of the subtle devaluation of other species (for obvious reasons) but a certain amount of pony sanctimony can be useful. Because of the desire to promote more Dogs in pony society grant terms are generous and the bits for education flow very easily. Pony financial institutions are also very generous about student loans for non-ponies with good credit checks and no outstanding problems.

I held out a lot of hope... a lot. So much that I didn't apply to Subterrene. Had I failed I would have taken a year off and probably bashed my head against a cavern wall for being dumb enough to put all my stock in wishing. But the letter came, and it was good and fat, stuffed to the gills with bright pastel papers and pictures of happy pony folks welcoming me to The Royal Canterlot University.

The next bit of time was just a blur. I was moving far away from everything I knew. I didn't live in a Canterlot-adjacent colony, after all. I had never been topside for longer than a few days, and I was going to be on my own, when before I had lived with my family. My whole life was packed into a few big boxes and a couple of suitcases, and I was conveyed, by steam-carriage, to an alien world.

Dog architecture is very strong, but it has a tendency to be dull. We carve from what we have and most stone is pretty boring. 'Austere' is the slag word the older folks use when they realize 'boring' is too on-the-muzzle. I get it. Straight lines and square construction holds up and keeps us safe. But when the only arches and curves are in natural caverns there's a bit of culture shock on going topside.

Everything was white and curved. Through the brass gates of the university the first thing that I noticed, besides the smell of millions of flowers, was just how blindingly white and gracefully curved everything was. The buildings all had decorative touches with floral and animal motifs, the material was all kept looking magnificent, and the whole thing was just as grand as I imagined it.

Culture shock can extend to weird places when things are fundamentally different. Coming from the Colonies I knew of very soft divisions between places. Spaces for habitation and other uses were carved out of the surrounding environment. We created our own air spaces and the difference between 'inside' and 'outside' is largely a philosophical matter. With nothing but open air, ponies needed to enclose their little bubbles of space and subdivide them as they saw fit. It was odd to realize that 'outside' meant something and that I wasn't still enclosed, and that inner spaces were not walls within walls.

I had applied for, and gotten, residence in one of the modest dormitories. I was humble, and wise with my limited funding. It was the sort of place that my kind of folk went. Not Dogs, but those who were there by luck or guile. They were the scholarship ponies, the desperate dreamers from poorer families, the million-to-one story supported by an entire community. Certain realities still held, and the expedient thing to do was get housed in the cheapest place for it. That was Amaryllis-Iris Hall.

It wasn't fancy but it was comfortable. I didn't care the carpets were thin and the walls were dingy. I didn't even care it was two to a room. It was sort of an opportunity to meet new folks. I happened to be paired with one of the few other Dogs, a bitch like me, but that was fine. There were ponies in the hall, as well as a zebra, three Changelings, two donkeys and a griffin who was our RA. I could still mingle with many species.

My roommate was a squat, the shortest breed, the kind with the jowls; she was a sort of off-yellow color with blue irises. Her name was Martha, and she came from the Colony closest to Canterlot, so she had the score. I wanted to make more non-Dog friends but I found myself talking to her a little more often than I thought we might.

It wasn't academic; like most Dogs she was there to attend the College of Magical Engineering. We had little in common, aside from age, species and a drive to succeed. But that combined into a kind of rapport. We were female Dogs, in a pony institution, realizing we were living and working in a very different world from home.

“So, do you know what you'll do after all of... this?” She asked me one lazy evening, waving her hands to indicate the dorm room and the area outside the window.

“Well, once the MD's done the degree from this place will give me the clout to seek residency at one of the good hospitals. Slag it, I can imagine it'll be Canterlot Royal Hospital,” I said, rolling my shoulders in a loose shrug. The plan had come off the rails in the best way. I could have the ego to dream big.

“I don't mean that. I mean the fun stuff. When you actually get to, you know...” She made a ring with one hand and inserted a finger into it to represent sex. “Like Mystery down the hall, but hopefully with more self-control.” Nothing about the pony Mystery was a mystery to the stallions on campus. They knew her inside and out. The only really mysterious thing was how she avoided getting knocked up.

I snorted and waved that off. “Oh come on, Martha. Is that really what you're thinking about? Not which company you'll work for or if you'll stay here, go back home or even brave the technological wasteland of the Griffin Kingdom to get a plum position where your rarity will let you negotiate a haunch-load of money?”

“I can think about that when I graduate. For right now I can focus on my own social future. Nothing wrong with imagining what kind of guy I'll get. Unless that's not your thing. I'm all for Bitch Burrowers. That's totally cool...” She said.

“I'm not a Canine Clam Cleaner. I like guys just fine. But I just don't think about it that much. I've got enough trouble remembering the baseline normal charts for all the species I'll likely encounter. I can't specialize until I start the graduate studies. Isn't that enough?” I asked, casting an eye on my Diagnostics textbook. I still had some more studying to do.

“Think of this as warming up your beside manner. It doesn't do you any good to be frigid and unfriendly,” she said with a cheeky grin. “So, which are you going to be?”

“Which of what am I going to be?” I questioned, peering at her a bit.

“Are you going back to the Colonies to get with another Dog, which is pretty usual. Are you going to stick around and try out some 'Equestrian sports' with one of the hooved guys out here, try something exotic like a minotaur or a griffin, or just go all out for it and have freaky, kinky Changeling sex like everyone talks about?” She asked me, with a prurient little grin.

“Hey! Show some respect! I live right down the hall,” Query said. The female Changeling had been trotting past our door when she overheard Martha's paw-in-mouth moment.

“Am I wrong?” Martha asked the Changeling.

“Well, no, of course you're not wrong. That's half the fun of being a Changeling and half the point of dating one, but don't forget to add 'sexually satisfying, nutritionally supplemental, and completely amazing' for full respect and disclosure,” Query said with a buzzing laugh.

“Ugh, I should move into the library, I finally found just the right spot...” I said, picking up the textbook. “What are you even doing out?”

“Oh, right. I'm heading to the dining hall. One of the listed entrees is globular firestars, and I sort of miss those. I came from a hive by a Colony, so I figure it's a good time to use the meal plan rather than just siphoning extra lust from Mystery next door,” Query said with another buzzing laugh.

“Sounds good, actually. Wanna come with, Hepzibah? You realize it's possible to read and eat at the same time, right?” Martha asked, hopping to her feet and heading for the door.

“Sure, I could eat,” I said, leaving the bed and following along.

“And we can continue on this discussion about which kind of guy you want on you,” Martha said with a straight face.

“I must suggest you pick 'Changeling' as a matter of personal, species pride. Sex with a bug puts a smile on your mug,” Query noted, also straight-faced.

That evening I realized two things. First, Query and Martha were both wonderfully terrible folks. Secondly, my carefully crafted life plan did, indeed, lack a notation box for 'get romantic with some member of the male persuasion,' and it certainly left open the question of what sort of male that might be.

I could certainly talk the talk when it came to sexually charged conversation, but I had very little in the way of practical experience. Some experience, but not as much as others. I was pretty sure I was behind the square, as they say, when it came to the mean, median and mode. My stats were fairly unimpressive but at least I wasn't just a virgin like Jolly down the hall.

Mostly I was unimpressed. Not that Dogs are bad lovers or anything. Changelings either. They weren't bad, but I just wasn't invested. I guess constantly having part of my mind either reviewing lessons or planning a life didn't allow for much time for emotional focus. I suppose in some sense I wanted a little spice as well. Something exciting, that really got my heart pumping and my breath panting.

Perhaps nothing as blatant as the kind of crazy scrap that most folks think of, but something just exciting, wild and crazy. Even if I only did it once, it would have been nice. Doctors have a certain reputation, after all. Doing crazy sexual things is a risk when a position at a hospital isn't assured.

It added a new wrinkle that at least gave me something to think about besides grades and assignments. Those were practically handling themselves. Entering as a Junior meant that I only had to pay for and go through two years of being just like every other desperate, grasping newcomer. After the completion of my undergraduate work, the real nightmare began.

I was at the University, proper, but not in the College of Medicine. I needed another exam for that, and had to fight for a slot. Matriculation was actually easy, for two reasons. Firstly, I was coming from the parent University and the prestige that was attached enhanced my status. And second, I'm not too proud to say being a Diamond Dog got me a kick up the list. Angles. I didn't even care about the occasional pony whispering about a 'wet-noser quota' or similar slag.

There was a slight problem with getting exactly what I wanted. Paying the Princesses. Maybe not directly, but it was their Royal University, I had to figure some portion of my tuition and fees was going to buy them armor polish and fancy brushes. Medical school is a costly proposition, and even with all the pony-guilt-influenced grants and scholarships I was looking at some shortfalls. Some serious, work-off-campus-somewhere-good shortfalls.

A Diamond Dog in Canterlot sticks out about as much as a Zebra in the Griffin Kingdom, and is about as well received. Cordially, but coolly. Sure, we've been living under them for ages but we didn't interact that much, not until the more recent era. The Canterlot ponies aren't all snobs and arrogant nobles, but there are enough that the attitude is generally to give outsiders the eye of scrutiny.

An educated bitch in medical school is a bitch when she's asking pony folks for a job. It's a hard sell for most industries. Appearances matter and it makes a lot of sense. Ponies down in the Colonies get looked at funny, and it's not a proud thing for anyone concerned. I looked for all the respectable things I could. Then I settled on a disreputable job that promised to put the bits I needed in my pocket.

'Disreputable' may have been harsh. It wasn't illegal, and was questionably immoral, but it wasn't the kind of job associated with a doctor-in-training. I dodged the cliché of being a stripper, but found a job wherein I put on fishnet leggings, high heels and skimpy attire and served mixed drinks to perverts, while convincing myself I was classier than a stripper because our place had a piano and carpets.

Cocktail waitress... a job invented by someone that wanted to see the performer of the job bite their tongue for tips. Tips were the thing, the important thing, almost the only thing. Tips kept my dorm room over my head, passable food in my stomach and droning professors in front of my face. If the tips flowed, my place was assured and I would find fewer creditors in my future. If they didn't flow I could expect to be grabbed with a gut-rending panic.

Males wanted different things when it came to a waitress. By and large, to be completely honest, they wanted snappy service, general competence and maybe a little positive attention. Mostly it was just average fellows, mostly stallions, who wanted a drink and to be alone, or to pretend to be alone. They drank and moped or drank and got pleasant and that was it.

Small subsets were stingy with their bits. They actually bothered to look at me and I didn't like it. Their hooves or talons were everywhere. They knew I couldn't say too much. I had to keep the job and they knew I wanted the bits that jangled in their coin pouches. Ponies, as well as the odd donkey, zebra and Changeling, were necessarily restricted to rubbing, with the odd magical pinch from unicorns and Changelings. Griffins... were just something else. Stroking, grabbing, pinching. Lustful brutes...

Worse than all the touching, at least in my own opinion, was the staring. Their touching was, in some sense, honest. They were sick perverts and de facto blackmailers, holding my bits hostage until they had finished touching me. That was not hidden, that was out in the open. But the staring, that was a lie. They smiled and they said their suggestive things and they touched me with naked lust. But they weren't seeing me.

I knew from the way they stared at my snout, or my arms, or the construction of my legs. These were sheltered men seeing something new. Not someone new. Something new. I was a novelty to them. A curiosity. I was a two-headed chicken that had flopped out of the jar of formaldehyde at the sideshow and wandered in to get them drinks. To think of it... even the honesty of their lust was tainted. It was just the newness of feeling some thing they had never felt. They probably regarded me as lesser just because I wasn't one of the species they always encountered.

One night, one griffin with one too many neat whiskeys actually restricted me from leaving. He was one of the big kind, whatever they call themselves in their language. He was with some friends but they were too sleepy to care, about one loud yell from a semi-voluntary cab ride. It was just me and him, and he had one talon on my chest, thankfully, and one on my thigh.

He pulled back, with some strength, and got me back against him. I'm not a slouch, Dogs are strong after all, but being an intellectual left me on the low end of strong and that piece of slag was probably whatever the griffin equivalent of a dust-back is, something extremely physical. I made a token effort to pull away, but I wasn't really going anywhere. He knew he was on thin ice, but he also probably could tell I needed to remain employed.

“Gimme a lap-dance, Dog,” he whispered. His breath stank of alcohol and worse, the smell lingering across my sensitive nose.

“It's not my job...” I said quietly, looking around and hoping someone was noticing.

“I'll give you a big bag of bits, just wiggle. Wiggle that doggy ass of yours and you can have it,” He mumbled. He was drunk but still somewhat lucid, the worst kind.

Unlike the cliches seen in bad novels and cheap porn movies, I didn't fantasize about him on me, or imagine the pleasures of domination. I kept the image of my future in mind, even as my body obeyed the command to move. I thought about wiping the fevered brows of young children of many species, about cutting cancerous tissue out of the old so their families could enjoy more years with one they loved, about telling folks they were pregnant and a thousand other images that were the lot of a doctor.

I did it. I wiggled in his lap, I ground against his body, but I hardly noticed. That said, it was difficult to ignore the heat rising from his crotch. I was in the world of medicine until I finally stopped. I didn't linger there, feeling pleasure from my shame and domination. The second his grip slackened I was away. He paid, a pittance compared to what he had promised but he tipped me for doing something very outside of my job description. That was the lowest point of my tenure there. The highest was yet to come.

I had noticed for a while that one stallion came in a lot and ordered moderated amounts of decent liquor. He was quite handsome as far as ponies went. Large and strong, one of the regal-looking unicorns with feathering over his hooves and decent muscle to him. His coat was a medium green color, and his mane a lush red. A strange combination of pretty-colt and suave fellow.

I noticed because he saw me. He didn't just look at me like a freak or a new object to be ogled. He looked at me and saw me. Somehow I could tell he was seeing me for what I was. I had never experienced anything like that from any of the other customers.

When I served him he proved that he was more than just another pile of scrap. He actually knew where my name came from and made a joke I don't think I would have let anyone else get away with. I was just charmed enough to actually come back on my break like I had promised. The first words out of my mouth were, “Tell me your name. You know mine.”

“Racham,” he said, with a small bit of pride. He looked like he had earned it. “No other names. I'm just Racham.”

“'Just Racham,' that's pretty unique. I like it. Now I don't have to be so self-conscious about my name,” I said with a laugh, settling in beside him.

“I'm glad my odd name has made you feel comfortable. I'm suddenly very interested in being so useful,” he said, giving me a smile. He looked handsome that night, and he never stopped being like that.

“Is there a camera recording this?” I asked. I didn't trust him. How could I have known he would be everything in my life? He was just a pony in that moment.

“No. I despise cameras. The cycloptean glare from that unblinking evil eye is unbearable. It takes in all the images for good or ill and vomits them across the face of the land, and all for the wrong sort...” he said, suddenly getting serious.

“Guess I don't need to ask about your favorite show,” I said with an uncomfortable laugh.

“Forgive me. I have some modest skill in drama and I may indulge a little bit, especially after some alcohol has loosened my tongue,” he said with an apologetic blush.

“Yeah, I can see it. You look like an actor. Actually, you look like a model but you talk like an actor,” I said. I was just saying anything at that point. But it was true.

“You really know how to make a stallion know he wasn't just making a fool of himself,” He said, and offered a smile. “I can tell this might be something.”

What it was was the start of a relationship. The check box was sure added to my life plan. And the name right beside that check box was Racham. He was charming, he was sweet, he had money. Still does, in fact. Intelligent spending and wise management keep him well-financed. I never asked for a bit out of him, of course. I stood on my own paws.

What I got from him was a place to stay, all the love I could ever desire and a stallion who said he would follow me wherever my residency would take me when I finally moved from the University to a hospital, if it needed a move. He was perfect. He had a lot of passion in his love, the kind of passion I had long desired. But there was something to his efforts. He held back something. If I knew then what I know now...

I would have gone on without hesitation, through it all.

Act Two, Scene Three

The relationship of Racham and Hepzibah did not much deviate from the relationships of others at the outset. Even being a retired stage actor and a well-educated Dog did not change anything. Folk in love were folk in love and the particular features mattered little, despite what others might presume.

The course of love, however, never ran smoothly. When Hepzibah moved out of the student housing and into Racham's place she was stricken with the sudden wonder of absolute freedom from the restrictions of housing rules. She immediately bought herself a pet. A pet with great meaning to her.

“You're getting what?” Racham asked Hepzibah as they walked the aisles of the ironically large Little Pet Shop.

“Something I remember fondly from my puphood,” Hepzibah said cheerfully, picking up various small accessories and toys, as well as a rather large box that contained a disassembled cage. “A domesticated giant subterranean cave cricket. It's a very common Dog pet. I mean, yes, others enjoy domesticated giant roaches and domesticated giant pill millipedes, but they're crazy. My family were cricket Dogs and we liked it.”

“I've heard of them...” Racham said, with a slight bit of hesitation at the end.

“You're not getting away with leaving that one unfinished,” Hepzibah huffed, halting the cart in the middle of the aisle and turning a serious gaze on Racham.

Racham backed up a bit and coughed into a hoof. “No, it's nothing bad at all. But I've heard of them being a bit of a hassle to raise properly. And that their chirping has been known to be a bit much. Not that I think you're going to get a pet that's annoying and unpleasant but some ponies say things like that.”

“Some ponies do, but sweet ones don't,” Hepzibah said, leaning in to lick over Racham's snout and pat his cheek.

“Well of course we- they don't, that would be insanity, but I wonder if you know all the associated problems of caring for a pet,” Racham said, rubbing his snout while a goofy smile was plastered on his face. “You said yourself it was something you remembered fondly from when you were a wee puppy.”

“Not so wee,” Hepzibah noted, “I was paper-trained.”

Racham stared at her blankly.

“Only kidding!" Hepzibah said with a chuckle, “Just a little Dog humor.” Dogs going on the paper was another racial stereotype which Hepzibah had embraced in order to point out the absurdity of the claim. She shook her head a little and went on, “I managed to keep a decorative blue filigree alive and mostly healthy. Citizen Blue is still very much alive back at home. I've read all the books and I remember what cave crickets need. Really, the hardest part is finding a cave cricket outside the Colonies, but this place has them in the exotic pet section,” Hepzibah said, leading Racham to an enclosed area in the middle of the store. Within the lights were dim and numerous plastic enclosures glowed with magical light.

Along one wall eerily-glowing shrimp crawled along the pebbled floors of softly-bubbling tanks while over their antennae swam ghostly white blind cave fish. The sound of skittering echoed in the low light as the various arthropods reacted to intruders in their domain. The plastic enclosures ranged in size from the small, for housing more conventional sizes of insect, to the rather large, holding specimens as named by Hepzibah.

Several shining, segmented black shells attracted notice, the skittish giant pill millipedes curling themselves into irregular balls and looking like innocuous lumps. The giant roaches seemed unperturbed by the new arrivals, in defiance of their usual nature, softly scooting along the wood shavings or along the walls of their enclosure. As for the giant crickets, they milled about on the floor of their enclosure, occasionally leaping over one another or releasing a deep, quavering chirp.

Hepzibah strolled up to the cricket enclosure and looked in at the creatures. The Dog-bred domesticated giant subterranean cave crickets were slightly different than their above ground counterparts of normal size. The subterranean giants were a uniform brownish-red, and their chitin had slightly more shine. They slowly flexed their mandibles, which had been bred down to smooth, semi-flexible appendages and looked around with their large, black collection of compound eyes, which were set back on their heads. The antennae had been bred forward, in front of the eyes and low on the head. They reached up and slightly back, nearly three-quarters of the length of their bodies.

Racham looked in with suspicion at the small sea of eyes, narrowing his own eyes slightly as though daring them to chirp again. To his surprise they all seemed to respond to his challenge with a series of chirps. “Well... they look about as useless as other pets, and the chirping is so far inoffensive. How do you select such a pet?”

“I just need to find one that responds to me,” Hepzibah replied, wiggling a thick finger at the insects. One of the reddish creatures, slightly more petite than the rest, tracked her digit with motions of its head and gave a chirp. “Well now, that was easy. Did you bring your wallet?”

An hour later, after the process of formally adopting the cricket and lugging all the items to Racham's home, they had set up the cage and gotten the mostly-still creature settled. Both stood in his living room, watching the thing look out somewhat-impassively on the world.

“It's not much of a pet, rather like a baby alligator or a tortoise,” Racham noted, peering in at the thing. “Still... it's here now. So... what gender is this unassuming arthropod and what do we call it?”

“This is a male. The size and general construction bears that out. As for what we call him, well... we're a couple now. Shouldn't that be a couple matter? Seems to be in movies,” Hepzibah said.

“Well... you bought him. I was neutral on the matter. He's not so bad...” Racham paused as the cricket let out a chirp, taking a moment to see how he felt before continuing, “But he's your pet.”

“He's our pet, Racham. This is a relationship and we share things. That's the only healthy way to go about this whole thing,” Hepzibah said, with a firm nod.

“You have a point... very well. Let us name him... Chirpy,” Racham offered.

Hepzibah gave Racham a deadpan stare, arms crossed over her chest. “'Chirpy'? You were an actor, you studied the classics, you knew the origin of my name, and that's what you bring to the table? Some mealy-mouthed meager moniker?”

“It seems perfectly descriptive, very on-the-snout as it were. A simple name suits a simple being. We need not lay airs and pretensions on his chitinous little head,” Racham answered, with a sage nod.

“How does 'Pogo' sound?” Hepzibah queried.

“You might make me jealous, thinking you love the little thing more than me,” Racham said with a soft laugh. “What about 'Cranky'?”

“He seems more like a 'Passive-y' to me,” Hepzibah noted, eying the calm cricket.

“No, after my mentor, the legendary thespian Cranky Doodle Donkey. He was a great inspiration and a grand fellow; so as long as we're giving big names to this insect, we might as well consider one such as that,” Racham said with some passion.

“Then we ought to consider one of my mentors, like 'Professor Rent.' Not the best, my true mentor was Doctor Peg, but that would be a silly name for a male cricket,” Hepzibah said.

“I'm just no good at naming crickets. Or anything, really. I didn't have pets growing up. I could have had them, but I didn't take advantage of the opportunity,” Racham confessed, looking down a bit.

Hepzibah nodded a touch and opened up a small door on the cage, sufficient in size for a hoof to fit through. “Go ahead. Stroke his head chitin and down the dorsal exoskeleton. Just mind his wings. He won't hurt you; he really can't. You're more of a danger to him.”

There was a moment of hesitation, Racham regarding the strange, still insect with some suspicion before his hoof reached out and into the cage. He pulled back just slightly as the long, smooth mandibles wiggled but he pressed on when they did nothing further. The soft flesh of his frog slid slowly along the smooth reddish-brown chitin of the cricket's head part, and continued along down the semi-flexible shell down his back towards the aforementioned wings. A slight vibration made him stop, in both fear and concern for the safety of the creature, but they merely twitched to let out what he could only think of as a contented chirp. “He's... not so bad...” Racham admitted.

“They're really sweet little creatures. We had several, and they always sang so beautifully when the magical lights from outside dimmed and the house lights came up around them. I know you probably would have wanted a normal pet...” Hepzibah started to say, her words cut off by a quick, soft kiss from Racham.

“He is a normal pet. Normal for you. And by extension, normal for me,” Racham said softly, pulling his hoof from the cage and pressing himself against his girlfriend's chest. “I'll love the little thing, I know I will. Time, is all it takes. It only takes time...”

“Let's go all out. We're both brilliant. Let's lay airs and pretensions on his chitinous little head. Let's name him 'Tempus.' If time is all it takes, then let him be time for us,” Hepzibah said, finishing her statement with a return kiss on Racham's lips.

“'Tempus,'” Racham said slowly, as if judging the feel of it on his lips and tongue. “It feels right. And it is related to 'tempo,' a clever bit of wit for the name of a musical creature. You ever show your wisdom, dear.”

“Do you hear that, Tempus? That's your name. Come now, sing for mommy and daddy...” Hepzibah said in a cooing voice to the inscrutable insect. As though in response to her request and the baton-like waggle of her finger his wings started to twitch, sending out a little collection of differently-modulated chirps, the collection of different quavers and volumes rather more impressive than first assumed from the performance at the pet store.

The couple genuinely enjoyed the company of the insect, and did all they could to be good owners. Tempus was fed and watered regularly, his cage was kept clean and they traded turns taking it for hopping walks around the neighborhood, with Racham never being bothered by the odd looks he got as he trotted past with Tempus hopping placidly beside him.

Like every couple there came to be one that loved the pet just a bit more than the other, and as it had been at the beginning that was Hepzibah. She would be the one, more often than not, to direct late-evening sessions of chirping when she needed to unwind after a long session of study. She even took to speaking with Tempus on subjects she judged too trivial or perhaps too indistinct for a serious discussion with Racham, confiding in him, sharing little secrets and uncertainties. She had her share to confide, after they started down their singular path into a strange vale.

The descent into their strange trip began innocently enough. Hepzibah had a rare day off from most responsibilities and had agreed to meet with Racham for lunch at the food court of an outdoor mall near the nicer part of Canterlot. He had been delayed taking care of dull but necessary financial matters, which left Hepzibah sitting on her own, checking the clock and letting her mind drift to her lessons. The world around her simply melted away, as she pulled into her mind and the repetition of what she had been studying.

Racham snuck up from behind Hepzibah; he noted her posture, especially the slight tilt of her head. She was lost in a medical reverie, that he knew very well. He had come upon her many times in that very state at home. The world could surprise her, and he always got a little laugh when the smallest interruption snapped her back to the world. Tempus had even shocked her to her senses in one case. The laughter was shared, of course, so it was all in good fun.

A sly look crossed his face as he slowly and carefully made his way through the food court, carefully watching Hepzibah to make sure she remained lost in thought. He reared up and suddenly placed his hooves on her shoulders, shaking her firmly and leaning his head down beside her ear to harshly whisper out, “Boo!”

The sound that left Hepzibah's mouth was beyond a simple gasp of shock. She vocalized on two separate registers, ultrasonic for her Dog ears and in normal range that others could hear. It sounded like she was whining just from the gasp, but the sharp barking cry of fear and surprise was far more of a yelp and whimper.

Every eye in the food court turned on the two of them, expressions running the gamut from shared-embarrassment to judgmental anger. Not knowing the situation some minds went straight to the most insidious conclusion. The look on Hepzibah's face didn't help. Her eyes were wide, darting everywhere, between Racham and the faces in the crowd; her jaw was dropped and her breath was sucking in and out hard; her body was shaking lightly, caught between fight and flight.

Adding to the image was Racham himself. The surprise reaction was more extreme and powerful than anything she had given in the safety and privacy of home. He pulled closer to her after her whining yelp, his body naturally desiring to protect her from whatever had frightened her, even though it had been him that scared her. His muscles were tensed, but his body was oddly pleased. The eyes were not embarrassing him. His thespian training had acclimated him to the peering eyes. Had made him anticipate it. He was holding her close, he was with her, and they were all seeing it. The blood was flowing, his soul was stirring, he was sharing the spotlight with his beloved. It was the electric thrill of the stage, when no one knew it was the stage. The reactions were organic and real.

One of Hepzibah's hands shot up and she forced her breath back to a normal rate. Even though her heart was still thumping wildly she put on a happy face and looked out at the crowd. “I-it's okay, everyone. It's okay... it was just my coltfriend surprising me! I was a little lost in thought. It happens.”

The crowd stared for a while longer then turned back to what it had been doing before.

No words passed between Racham and Hepzibah for a long moment, she looking down at the ground and he holding onto her tight while he considered the feeling of those eyes. He finally thought to speak, whispering lovingly into her ear. “I'm so sorry, dearest. I thought you'd just gasp and maybe give a little bark like at home. I didn't realize you'd have a reaction like this...”

“I... I didn't... I'm sorry...” Hepzibah turned her head and gave Racham a soft lick on the cheek. “Even after all this time... I'm out here. Out here. Back home we were always enclosed. Even outside the walls of a home there were still walls of rock all around. It was more private, more cozy and protected. But this is out in the open air. Inside the house I have you and Tempus. I'm safe. But out here... oh...” She placed a hand on her heart and huffed a breath.

“It was... quite a reaction. Both ours and theirs. Those eyes, that reaction. So raw, so real. It was like nothing I ever experienced in all my time treading the boards. And you, well... wasn't that fun?” Racham asked, looking aside with a grin.

“'Fun'? Oh come on, that was embarrassing! They were just staring at me...” Hepzibah said with a blush.

“They were staring at us, dear. You, in my hold, both of us together. Your scream brought their eyes but we both kept them. Come on now... you loved that attention. Take it from an actor, you have a natural skill in front of an audience,” Racham said.

“Now, I have no idea what you're talking about,” Hepzibah said with a huff and the turning up of her snout.

A hoof slipped over to Hepzibah's chest, settling beside her own hand and feeling the heavy thumping. “Feel that heartbeat. I know that excitement. I felt it when I walked in the spotlight, when I still loved the stage,” Racham whispered.

“It's just surprise. I promise you. I'm not excited. I'm not... not excited...” Hepzibah said, closing her eyes and trying to will her body to calm down.

“Double-negatives don't go over well, you know. They're no longer indicative of an emphatic, they're a negation,” Racham quietly teased, kissing Hepzibah's neck after. A small thought, almost unbidden, very tenuously connected to his hidden tastes, came and planted the call to an action in his head. His hoof started drifting down, over the white button-up shirt she was wearing, down to her gray skirt. It quickly pulled up and pressed to the front of her underwear, feeling the light hint of moisture. “My... I see you were right about being not not excited...”

“P-pull your hoof away!” Hepzibah hissed, crossing her legs as much as she could, looking fearfully over to the others in the food court. “Someone might see...”

“And what if they do? They'll see us, two folks in love, expressing it. And besides, I can feel it... I think you liked it. I think you liked being watched. Even if it was embarrassing, they were looking and actually seeing you. You liked it. I know you always want to be recognized, for your mind and your body. I know you're a desirable bitch, and I know others can see it if you just let them see you,” Racham said in a heated whisper, pulling his hoof from under Hepzibah's skirt, but remaining tightly clutched against her.

“I'm not... but... I mean...” Hepzibah drifted into silence as she thought about it. It had been so automatic. But there had been something to it. The automatic reaction. The spontaneity. The eyes... the eyes not looking at her as a sideshow attraction or like some brand new bauble for entertainment. She was someone worthy of real focus and consideration. And knowing it was Racham, the one she loved... she was free to enjoy the excitement. The open air was so strange, so scary, but that difference made it so much more interesting.

“Let's have lunch and go home,” Racham said, pulling from Hepzibah and turning towards a Dog-and-Pony fusion restaurant. “We can relax together, talk... and some more activities.”

After a quiet lunch, filled with warm and meaningful glances, Racham and Hepzibah went back home. Tempus greeted them with chirps that lasted until they sequestered themselves in the bedroom.

Hepzibah's clothing came off rapidly, her quick and strong fingers deftly opening all the fasteners and throwing them carelessly around while she hotly kissed Racham, tongue rapidly lapping into his mouth. She lapped and licked over his lips and swirled around inside of his mouth, swapping saliva freely with him. Both came to be drooling fairly freely by the time they pulled apart with a pop, both of them panting heavily.

“Because it was you,” Hepzibah said breathlessly, roughly stroking her thick hands over Racham's green coat and occasionally over the thick lushness of his red mane. “I was so scared when I felt and heard something strange in a place where I was so open. But when I knew it was you, smelled it, felt it, knew it in my heart I could savor it. You turned my fear into... what it became because I could never be anything but safe with you.”

Racham nodded his head, at a loss for words while he sucked air following the powerful kiss and extended bit of tongue-wrestling. “I understand...” he finally said, dragging his tongue slowly up Hepzibah's neck and finishing with a kiss on her chin. “I should have known better. I'm so sorry I scared you, more so now that I know how badly you were frightened. But I'm glad that you trust me so much. To think so well of me... I never thought I would find that in my life...”

“You saw me. Me. When no one else seemed to be able to see anything but a novelty,” Hepzibah huffed, slowly falling and spinning, pulling Racham into bed with her, leaving both of them lying on their sides. “I know you actually love me. You smiled when I got a pet you admitted other ponies would find completely unacceptable. You let me live with you to save on costs when you knew I had to pinch bits until they screamed. You've been nothing but sweet and loving this whole time. You've earned that trust.”

“I haven't...” Racham whispered, shuffling his body closer to Hepzibah's, pressing a kiss onto her throat. “I can't say I've earned it if I've ever lied to you. Even once, even by silence. If I've been counterfeit, I don't deserve you thinking I'm trustworthy.”

“What do you mean? I don't care if you cheat on your taxes, unless you're being audited. Or if you used to be married but now your wife lives in Kleinpferd or something. I don't care about the little things. You've been true about the big things,” Hepzibah said sweetly, stroking her smooth tongue over Racham's face over and over in a Dog culture sign of adoration.

“... I haven't...” Racham breathed, squeezing in tight against Hepzibah's front. “So help me, Faust, I haven't, and it cuts into me. I've just become very good at forgetting my trespasses...”

“What aren't you telling me?” Hepzibah ceased her licking and looked down with some concern upon Racham's guilty features. “You look like... I don't even know. You've always been so good. What? Did you used to drink? Did you accidentally kill somepony? Did your parents hate Dogs? Are you a felon?” A look crossed her face, that could only arise out of her heart cracking at the edges. “Do you not really love me..?”

“That is not in question!” Racham cried, increasing the strength of his hold. “No. No no, never let that question ever enter your mind again. My love for you is real, it is powerful, and it is as eternal as Our Mother's universe. No. It isn't that... and I also was not raised by bigots. My parents actually liked Dogs very much. Once we can take a trip I'll certainly introduce you.”

Hepzibah's body, which had been held in fearful tension, visibly relaxed and the soul-torn pain vanished from her face. “Anything you say after this will almost seem like an anticlimax. Tell me... if you really love me that much, why can't you share what you've been holding back?”

“Because I am ashamed. Rightly ashamed,” Racham said firmly. “I am ashamed and disgusted by the blot that lies deep within me because I know it is wrong. But I cannot help it. It remains there, deep inside, a festering putrescence on my soul.”

“I know your flare for the dramatic, so I wonder how bad it could be. But I know you are a serious and upright stallion, so I wonder how bad it could really be,” Hepzibah said, softly and comfortingly stroking down Racham's back.

It took a moment for Racham to compose himself, a few soft breaths leading to a heavy inhalation which was released as an almost-pained sigh. Another moment passed as he gathered his thoughts and put them in some semblance of order. “You know me as a good stallion. A loving stallion. A kind stallion. You know me as this because it is what I am. This is the core of me, the very heart of my self. But you know what I did. I mimicked evil. The most depraved and impossible horrors conjured out of the depths of fevered imaginations. I played the villains who lost, who were defeated by good and this was the way it should be. You've seen my performances on television, so you know I mean what I say when I talk about my wicked fictional ways.”

“I remember. You may not like seeing your own performances but you were good at being bad. It was actually uplifting when your characters were brought to justice. Even knowing it was you I was happy to see them get what was coming to them,” Hepzibah said, tucking her head under Racham's chin as he spoke.

Racham savored the intimate contact for a bit, a large, unconcerned smile resting on his face as he drew warmth from Hepzibah's closeness. But a small frown appeared as he remembered he needed to go on. “I carry with me, though, a desire that will not go away. It is monstrous, in my own estimation, because of the effect it would have on the world, on this society I love, this good and pure place in which I live. Perhaps I am wrong in thinking as I do. But I am sincere in my revulsion. Even if it is in me, I find it unpleasant at the best of times, despite the fact that others may judge it with less venom.”

Hepzibah's fingers danced along Racham's spine for a moment, her tapping forming a rhythmic expression of her nervous energy and contemplation of what she had been told. “Even now, I trust you. You lied because you were ashamed, not to hurt me. But I told you already, we're a couple. We don't hide these things, we face them together. Like naming a pet, we do it as one. I know the lesson of the pony lands, and it's a good one. Together we are stronger than the same number of individuals. I'm here for you, I love you, and I want to help you with this. Tell me, outright, what it is, and we can go from there.”

Another moment was spent basking in love, Racham's smile pulled larger and more glowing than it had been a moment before. He even continued to smile as he spoke. “I have a vision of a performance no one knows is art. The unsuspecting public goes along its merry way, until, there comes a scream. A woman, attacked! Her body touched and violated, stroked, licked, penetrated before the shocked and disbelieving eyes of the population. She fights, she fails, wails and cries for mercy that does not come... because she is only pretending.”

Hepzibah had been growing tense and nervous as Racham spoke, his sonorous voice and clear articulation making the scene sound so very real and alive. She was growing repulsed and terrified until the very last statement. Her muscles loosened and a confused feeling passed through her. “What?”

“Pretending. Another actor. Two actors. Two depraved, counter-social actors in public, acting their hearts out in a performance of erotic impropriety. However the appearance it would all be a fake. Real penetration, real sexual expression, real performers... in love. In love and pretending a violation before their unsuspecting eyes,” Racham said, quietly, just enough to be heard by his lover's sharp ears.

“Faking rape, with all the screams and struggles in front of the public... why?” Hepzibah looked down at Racham and used one hand to angle his face up towards hers. “Help me understand this. If this is the secret you kept from me then I want to know all about it now that you're talking.”

“I used to wonder...” Racham said, focused firmly on Hepzibah's sapphire eyes. “I knew the impetus, in the main but I wondered what could really spur it. I considered it. It was the intersection of the actor's art and my role as the scoundrel. I would have those eyes, those peering, staring eyes on me, but really seeing. Not dull and glazed as could happen at the theater. It would be a surprise and their attention would be real and organic. They would hate me. Denounce me... and consequently elevate the one I was with. They would not know it wasn't rape, and they would treat me with hate, but treat her with all respect, all care and concern. Their hate would prove their morality and their care would honor the one I love, the right and proper thing for a lover to do for the one they love.”

Hepzibah peered down into Racham's eyes as deeply as he was looking into hers. “Why... fake a rape? Why not a mugging or something else?”

“I used to think it was because no crime was more hated than rape. Surely that's a part of it. But it goes deeper than that. I knew that when I met you and fell for you. When I really discovered what carnal perfection felt like in your arms. It had to be sexual. Rape is a crime of violence and power, not sex. But this ersatz version is wholly deceptive. It's about pure sex, and the world would see it. Perfected sexual congress between two beings in love. And, the form of it matters more than the function. It's like my inner self was somehow damaged in my youth or in my development in the womb. Somehow, the image of screaming and flailing has appeal, but could only ever truly be enjoyable with consent behind the facade. Or else it would lead only to disgusted self-loathing,” Racham said.

Hepzibah nodded her head slowly, while caressing over Racham's side. “At least you admit it,” she finally said. “I've never seen the appeal of flailing and screaming but then, it's not my way.”

“It's not a normal thing. It's not an expected thing. But it is, indeed, something which exists. Now that you know, I can feel free to enjoy you, because no secrets exist any longer. You know my shame, and may pity me for it,” Racham said.

“I don't pity you. I don't understand it at all, but I don't pity you. It's just something that happens to appeal to you, like... paws, or horns or Changeling apertures. You even said you'd never hurt someone, you just like the image. I mean... that's safe, right? If it's completely unreal, then there's no harm in it.”

“Entirely artifice, the creation of a deranged mind, like mine,” Racham said, with a light chuckle. “I don't know what we can do now that you know. It seems improper to continue with anything.”

“We're a couple. We can share. You've certainly indulged all my tastes when I have the time. There's no harm in this. The house is soundproof anyhow. I know because the neighbors don't complain about Tempus. It's not with an audience, but, can I be enough?” Hepzibah asked, giving Racham a smoldering look.

Racham smiled a touch and placed a kiss on Hepzibah's nose. “More, far more, than enough...”

They indulged and were happy with their indulgence. Every so often, not on any special day or with any special cue, but when Racham seemed up for it or when Hepzibah thought he could use a bit of fun she played at being the victim of a villain, with both passing winks and smiles at one another as he roughly mounted her.

They braved the quiet darkness of an adult store, as a lark, to see what they could find in the video section. It was a visual delight, after all. They had the pleasure of finding works involving Diamond Dogs, starring the incomparable Rarity. They all seemed to be force-based productions, which suited. More than suited, when Racham pointed out, using his thespian training and keen eye, that the starlet was actually savoring the activity, and not just doing her role for a check.

Both methods, the occasional bit of screaming and struggling with an open wink, and the shared viewing of pornography helped to make their lives more open, and to bring them closer together. As Hepzibah's degree came closer and closer she found herself more and more concerned about what might happen after, when the time for residency came, a worry that good sex helped to diminish. It all worked out well.

“We could,” Racham said one day, as they lounged together in the living room, half-listening to Tempus chirp. “We could. And it would be the same as here.”

“No it wouldn't, and you know why,” Hepzibah countered, shivering slightly as she cuddled against Racham. “I need my walls within walls to feel safe. Just being in here is enough because I know you're here but out there...”

“Out there I am the same,” Racham assured, stroking a hoof slowly along Hepzibah's side and placing a kiss on the tip of one ear. “I'm with you, always and forever, and would lay down my very life to keep you from harm. It is a lark, after all. A fake.”

“You would know, I would know, but all those ponies, and others. They'd have no idea it was fake. They'd think you were really hurting me...” Hepzibah said with a whine.

“And they would be more than wrong. I'd sooner die. If they don't know that is a consequence of life. Some performances exist without need of announcement. You almost remind me of the ones with stage fright. While they feared the boards and the world behind the fourth wall you fear the world outside of the cradling earth. Our Mother's open air need not frighten you. I was born and raised in it. It can't be all bad, can it?” Racham asked, gently lifting Hepzibah's chin.

Hepzibah laughed lightly and gave Racham a lick across the snout. “You know that's not the whole explanation. I also worry what they would think. Think of me... and you. I have to imagine there are consequences to faking a rape scene in the middle of the open city.”

“Legal repercussions could be had, likely charges of indecent exposure. Minor but worrisome. It would go unnoticed on your record. Believe me, I know your objection. My career ended by my will, yours is yet to begin. I know it all,” Racham said, adding a kiss on Hepzibah's nose.

“It's more than the mere mark on my record,” Hepzibah said, “It's a crime. A serious one. It's as bad as... as yelling 'fire' in a crowded theater.”

“Think of such a performance as a fire drill,” Racham said, comfortingly caressing his lover. “We'd be testing how folks react to witnessing a rape-in-progress. It would help hone their skills for defending victims of genuine sexual abuse. For all we know, such performances would help foil actual rapes.”

“You still want to,” Hepzibah said. She stated it because it was never a question. “I've come to enjoy the fakery, the pretend of it. I know so well it's all a lie that I'm allowed to enjoy the feelings that are 'forced' on me. I can savor it because I told you to do it and you obey, with every look and motion as though it's by your will. In another life I guess I would have been an actress,” Hepzibah said with a deep chuckle and the repeated thump of her wagging tail.

“And a very fine one,” Racham added, nodding his head. “You have a singular advantage, in that no one knows who you are. If you give no details there need be no consequence. We should at least try. I will place all the blame on myself. It was a foolish act by a perverse coltfriend and I will willingly take the social hit.”

“I can't ask you to do that for me...” Hepzibah said.

“You need not. I'm willing to do it. It is my assurance of your safety. Again, I will always protect you. You've done so much, worked so hard towards a goal of great nobility. I'm asking you to do something silly, frivolous and injurious to that goal, all for the sake of my marred drives. That you even consider it is beyond any wild dream I ever held. To take the blame is possibly the very least I could do for you,” Racham assured, burying his snout comfortably against Hepzibah's throat.

“Stage fright is right...” Hepzibah finally said after a moment of squeezing Racham against her chest. “I have every reason to be afraid. But just like in the bedroom, I know you're there and it's all just make-believe. If I ignore the sky over my head and the ponies around me it's just you and me, pretending. Like we do now and again.”

“One small indulgence. We just may find it suits us. Even if it doesn't, we tried,” Racham said, a contented smile spread across his face.

So it was that the next day Hepzibah settled herself on a bench at a small park, a distance away from the university and from her home, in a place where no one would recognize her, if they even had the capacity to distinguish between Diamond Dogs. She was wearing her usual long gray skirt, as well as a zipper-front blouse and tasteful red cotton vest. She tried to look casual, despite being a nervous wreck, her stomach full of butterflies and her mind drowning in doubt.

She heard Racham's voice behind her, and some of the panic melted away. “I'm here. Don't be alarmed by the attire. I needed to apply some of the old skills to this endeavor. I redid my mane and put it under a net cap to give it a different tone. I have also added a blaze and dappling to make sure I am not too easily known. Add to that a vest and white shirt and I appear at least passably different from the norm.”

“Thank you for the warning. I don't know if I could have gone on with this seeing you looking different. It's hard enough...” Hepzibah whispered, turning her head slightly to look at her coltfriend. The same shape looked odd behind the bound mane and added blaze on his face. He could pass for a slightly different unicorn at that. “I'm so full of fear I think that the stage fright is winning...”

“Jitters reach us all from time to time. Uncertainty is the way of things sometimes. This may pass. We will see...” Racham whispered back, reaching over the back of the bench. He used a combination of magic and his hooves to draw Hepzibah's zipper up, and expose the teats on her belly, and pull her shirt up just enough that he could reach down and press his hoof against her sex.

Hepzibah trembled, her jaw clenching tight for a moment as her eyes ran, shocked, over the small crowd. Ponies, right there, blissfully unaware her lover was grinding his warm flesh against her vulva. The skilled working of a pony hoof was parting the folds somewhat, grinding on the inside. She was wet, unquestionably so. She lied that it was just Racham's deft hoof and padding, but as his other hoof came to rest on one fair-sized teat she let herself think the truth. She was a willing participant in her own arousal. She was letting herself enjoy it. And in some small way, being under the unfamiliar sky in the alien open air was exhilarating. “Ahhh... I'm not... it feels... Racham I'm still scared but it feels so nice...”

“It is you, and only you that will move it onward,” Racham muttered into her ear, giving it a loving and comforting kiss. “We can silently perform this and run away if we are seen when we don't wish it. But if, if you feel it, if you can pass the fear, and feel the passion and power of being seen engaged with one who loves you, however the misinterpretation... then just like in the bedroom, scream out, and raise the curtain...”

Hepzibah didn't do anything more than quietly moan and self-consciously writhe on the bench. Every nerve was alive, and she was all too aware of everything that passed. It wasn't just the warm tingle of her genitals as Racham lovingly ground the softest flesh on the underside of his hoof across her unhooded clit, or down between the spread lips of her semi-pyramidal-designed sex. It wasn't simply the teasing flick of the rounded and polished rim of his hoof over her long and perked nipple, which was followed by a gentle squish onto the full globe on which it lay. She could feel the very air, every single breath of a breeze passing over the gray velvet of her coat; and the sun, pouring down freely across her, warming her just as deeply as the sexual experience. Her home did not have wholly unbidden breezes, or a powerful sun raining down. It was a foreign feeling, and she was almost taken out of herself.

Racham wasn't Racham, even if he was. She wasn't Hepzibah the medical student, she was a nameless Dog sitting on a park bench with her body exposed to the glorious sun and gentle air. She wasn't home anymore, she wasn't herself anymore. Taken out of her own context the stage was set and her character was placed. Hepzibah didn't scream. The nameless Dog being groped by a mysterious and unknown unicorn screamed out loudly, hands clasping at the bench as she made a token effort to rise, only to find herself pulled back down by magic and the hold of those strong pony legs.

Hepzibah was terrified when the eyes fell on her, at first. Until she saw the shock and surprise. They were looking on her as another citizen. Not a completely foreign immigrant but as herself, as a fellow sapient creature with value and rights that were being violated. She was still so unsure about all of it. But it felt so good to be seen, almost as good as the hard grind against her freely-flowing pussy and the hard press of her teat.

Racham was lost in the moment, lost in the experience of being his character. He had broken out of the box that trapped him before the dull and glazed eyes of audiences that knew he was there to perform for them. He was everything. He was the actor, taking on a role to shock the population. He was a the character, the nameless and mysterious pony who wished to slake his lust by grasping a Diamond Dog and feeling her flesh. He was, in fact, the audience, watching from the outside, savoring the realization of his perverse desire.

There was such pleasure in finally bringing the benighted desire to life. Racham's organ slapped solidly against his belly as his hooves roamed against Hepzibah's squirming, struggling form. His character was proving to be a terrible pervert but that only added to him. “It's pretend...” He hissed into her ear.

“You don't need to say...” Hepzibah whispered back before another huge, whimpering scream fell from her lips and she once again struggled to rise from the bench. Her eyes closed as she assured herself the crowd had seen her for her, and had seen Racham touching her. She was a sexual creature, beyond being intelligent, the whole package, and they knew it. She shut out the strange world of open sky and lack of walls to focus on pretending to be a nameless Dog, and focus even more on the beautiful feeling of her lover working her towards her climax.

There was no focus. There couldn't possibly be. Racham the actor was lost as the nameless character, his focus split between slapping his organ solidly on his belly and using every bit of remembered technique to work Hepzibah's nerves in just the way she liked. Her screams, the false screams of his pretend victim thrilled him, because he was sharing with her. Sharing his acting with her, and sharing her with the world, a world that deserved to see what a sexual being she was. They all hated him for violating her, they saw her as worthy of their protective anger.

The first blow caught both of them off guard. Racham was knocked away from Hepzibah by another unicorn's hoof cuffing him solidly in the side of the mouth. He was surrounded by the crowd that had been there at the start. The first strike set off others. Blows came from all directions, and Racham was helpless against most of them, barely able to twist and leap away from the brunt of the hits, while still taking a serious beating.

After the crowd had Racham down and in a state they considered properly subdued one of them ran off to get a police officer. Racham wasn't about to allow that. His rational mind snapped to itself as he remembered one little spell from his education. Power surged wildly into his horn and he let off a tremendous flash of light. When the flash had cleared the ones subduing him found their hooves empty, and a slight crater where Racham had once been.

Hepzibah had been unsure what was happening when the assault began. The delicious hooves motivating her screams and charging her heated body had vanished and she had become dimly aware of heavy impacts and screams of hate. Her first sight broke her illusions, shoved her back from being the nameless Dog to being Hepzibah, watching her darling being beaten by the ones who had been watching them. She was up and off the bench in a flash, rushing to hide herself away from their notice.

Without Racham's encouragement, without the sexual pleasure and the drifting calm of letting go she was her scared, uncertain self again, in danger of hurting her future. She saw him hurt, and every strike made her wince in sympathy. Then she saw the flash and his escape, both relieved and concerned. She knew unicorns could teleport if trained, but usually it needed focus. He was injured, he was somewhere in the area, and she needed to find him.

She remembered what direction he had been facing, and carefully made her way through the park in that direction, which led out of the grassy expanse and towards a few buildings with alley space. It was as good a place to seek him as any.

In the fullness of day the alleys were a little dark, though generally devoid of debris, as well-kept as most areas of Canterlot. A few dented trash cans and well-ordered piles of crates dotted the long lines of space between the tight-packed buildings. “Racham?” Hepzibah hissed, loud enough to let her voice carry but not alert the folk from the park. “Racham, come on, where are you?”

“Hep-zi-bah...” The name came from a space behind a large crate, with one of Racham's legs sticking out to indicate he was indeed there. He pulled himself up just enough to look at her, using only one eye, the other swollen shut. His lip was cut and fattened, a small trail of blood dripped from his left nostril and the rest of his body trembled from all the sore spots on it.

“Racham...” Hepzibah couldn't handle the sight, not all at once. She might have been all but a doctor but it was no faceless patient presented for her skill. It was her lover, the stallion she adored, whose life she shared. He was broken, bleeding, in agony and suffering. A powerful, choked sob emerged from her and she leaned in close.

Racham actually smiled, if a bit lopsidedly, and coughed out. “I... I think I need to learn a good shield spell before we try this again...”

Hepzibah actually smiled, despite herself, and even let out the smallest hint of a chuckle. She didn't allow herself to contemplate the statement. She used the jolt of humor to restore her mood. She filled her head with practical facts. Pony anatomy, the dangers of various concussive blows, how to staunch blood and reduce swelling in a trauma situation. She didn't hesitate to remove her blouse, tearing it into strips to sop up blood and cover the swollen eye. “I have medication and proper bandages at home. If we're lucky nothing's broken and this won't need serious intervention. Let's just get home dear... let's go home where it's safe...”

By the grace of Faust and a simple twist of fate Hepzibah managed to lead Racham home from the alley, finding either empty streets of ponies too absorbed in themselves to notice Racham's injuries. She carried him when it was necessary, but let him walk when he insisted, typically for the sake of appearances when others were around.

Once through the door Tempus began his usual chorus of chirping, only to be silenced by a very unexpected show of anger drowned in concern. “Not now, Tempus! Daddy's hurt and mommy needs to do something about it!”

“I'm conscious and you stopped the bleeding. I think yelling at Tempus was a bit much,” Racham said, giving a game smile. The fat lip and swollen eye made the look simultaneously charming and distressing.

“I'm the almost-doctor here. And until I know you're fine then I have a right to be as short with any creature I desire,” Hepzibah said with a snort, though with some touch of a smile. “How do you do this? How can I smile when you might be bleeding internally? Does this hurt?” She asked, gently probing at Racham's abdomen.

“In a few areas. Like there!” Racham said, wincing as Hepzibah probed over one spot in particular. “You know I'm fine. Your instincts are strong and you know what real life-threatening trauma looks like. You know I'm not at death's door. But you need to think it because otherwise you have to conclude this wasn't a total failure...”

“'Wasn't a total failure'?!” Hepzibah spluttered, looking up at Racham like he was crazy while she carefully felt along one foreleg. “You were violently beaten by an angry mob that thought you were about to rape me! I'm not sure why I didn't think of that as a possibility. I guess I thought ponies were just more timid. I figured on the police showing up.”

“My culture is very moral, very upright and concerned with the rights of others, no matter their species. Their anger came because it was in them to take me to task for violating you. Ponies may be kind but when evil rises they stand and resist,” Racham said, pride glowing in his battered features.

“I guess there's something to all that pony uprightness. You get a different perspective underground,” Hepzibah said with a sigh. “Your long bones seem fine and that pain over your ribs looks like contusions. All the soft tissue damage looks like simple contusions without internal hemorrhages. I'll examine your nose and face but I'm guessing they're not badly damaged either. Now I guess there's also something to that old saw about pony robustness. I can't believe how badly this went. They just wanted to subdue you, but they really hurt you.”

Racham looked thoughtful for a moment as Hepzibah double-checked his limbs and abdomen. “Maybe that was the real point of all this. Maybe I accidentally unlocked the real key to what makes this right.”

Hepzibah scoffed. “Really? Injury? Maybe I need to examine your head in depth and call in a favor from a neurologist. Unless you're a masochist in which case you hid that one really, really well...”

“No, no it's not that simple. If it was I think it would be more acceptable and easy to understand,” Racham said quickly, softly tapping his chin, twitching when he accidentally touched the swollen part of his lip. “I don't like it when I bang my leg or trip or anything like that. And I've never had it happen but I'm more than sure I don't want my fleshy bits being hurt,” He said with a soft laugh and slowly died away as he returned to a serious look. “But the feeling of being beaten for the sake of retribution... it doesn't feel good but it seems correct.”

Hepzibah sighed, pulling out her first aid kit and replacing her makeshift bandages with proper gauze, as well as cleaning any minor wounds with an antiseptic liquid. “What scares me now is that you can explain that. So explain it. I don't doubt you can...”

Racham smiled a little bit. “You know me well, my love... but you deserve a serious response. It's quite simple. I play such horrible things, I deserve to be punished for the roles I play. I make these evil things look good and competent. I told you the experience with television revealed as much to me. Some out there were feeding on it and I was helping. I should be hurt for the bad things I do. But more than that, for the things I think. Those thoughts of falsely-raping someone I love in full sight of the population... I should be punished for violating the sensibilities of the population. It's my penance. I've long hated that I could find such an objectionable thing appealing, even with as much assurance that I have that such indulgences are fake, this makes me clean.”

“Are you saying that as long as it hurts you can feel alright with this kind of thing? You didn't need it here at home. Let's just keep it at home. It was working fine. And as a bonus you won't get hurt,” Hepzibah said, her voice firm but her eyes full of concern.

“I was growing complacent, foolishly cut off, like I was before I met you. I loathed my own self when I thought only in abstracts. Indulging with you made me forget that the image is actually connected to a reality, a reality that is ugly and horrifying. That first hit reminded me. When real screams ring out a real being is being hurt. And I had been enjoying the image of that harm. Their chastening blows justified the inclination, both by their show of morality and my punishment as the image of those that harm others,” Racham said, with a firm nod of his head.

“And what about me? Having to watch you being viciously beaten, having to slip away and see you bleeding and battered, in pain... is that my penance? Seeing you abused like that? I don't like it at all and I want this to never happen again,” Hepzibah insisted.

“It's the price of my art. You should never have loved so serious an artist. More importantly, it's the only thing that makes me feel even slightly better about the realization I'm fetishizing the image of rape. However fake it was I still did it. I'm sorry you pay a price and I wish I could take it all away. But I don't want to get away with these thoughts, not so cleanly, not so perfectly,” Racham said.

Hepzibah went silent for a time, idly peering at Racham's nostrils and softly touching his battered face to make sure there was no serious damage. “You're going to ask for this again after you're healed up. I already know. If you can protect yourself better... your explanation makes sense. It just makes sense. I love you... but sometimes I wish you didn't make so much sense.”

Racham suddenly hugged Hepzibah, squeezing her tense form tightly and rubbing his cheek against her chest. “It would be so much easier. It would be so much kinder. But I do. I wish I could stop, but that seems unlikely...”

Act Three

Hepzibah regarded Tempus with a sad look while she stood by his cage. One finger was in motion, leading his body to move side to side while also directing his warm chirping. She lost herself in the song, falling back into happy memories of her childhood and the comforting closeness of the walls within walls of her Colony. She saw it all in her mind, her family's living space, all the magic gems and photographs, the furniture, the back garden space with the food fungi and Citizen Blue spreading its filigreed skeletal hyphae across the space while the spore-producing regions sat in the center, looking very like collection of thin sheaves of parchment.

Her finger trembled as she started to waver in her bouncing direction of her little insect. Small lines of tears started tracing along the velvety gray softness of her cheeks, her citrine-and-sapphire eyes looking at Tempus but barely seeing the little thing through the veil of blurring tears and memory. “I'm so scared, Tempus... and the worst part is I'm also sure I shouldn't be...”

She opened the cage up and slowly reached in. Her paws gingerly lifted Tempus, who gave a curious chirp at the motion. She bore him out and slowly cradled him against her chest. “He's so good at the shield spells, they never crack until he's ready, given the untrained nature of the crowds. He's gotten good at dodging vital strikes and keeping his bones from breaking. And I always patch him up perfectly. I admit that it's a strange way to make love, but it's as safe as we can make it...” A sob rocked her body, bringing another chirp from Tempus.

“But every faux rape ends with him getting hurt...” Hepzibah whispered the sentence as she kissed the top of Tempus' head, barely feeling the ticklish press of his mandibles against her neck. “The injuries are managed but not eliminated. He's bruised and bleeding and it just is so agonizing to have to patch him up.”

Her fingers gingerly traced along Tempus' quivering wings, and down along the back of his smooth abdomen. “Maybe that's my penance... the price I pay for losing myself in the joy of being seen as sexual, of ponies seeing me as a being that could be desirable, and one that was worthy of their protection. Racham gets beaten into the ground, I paste him back together and we do it again.”

She kissed Tempus again, tears falling more freely from her eyes. “We're both guilty. He enjoys my screams and flails. I enjoy his love and the envy... the approval of my desirability in pony eyes... and we need other ponies for that. I need to watch them pity and feel for that nameless Dog, to watch them save her from harm. He needs them to prove how wonderful they are, so he never forgets, so the ugliness from his past are proven to be a lie, or the worst of aberrations...”

Hepzibah hugged Tempus tighter, eyes finally closing as her sobbing grew louder and the shudders of her body became more powerful. “I don't know which one of us is more selfish, is using the audience the most. It doesn't matter... Tempus... he's going to die...” She pulled the big cricket up and nuzzled at his head, stroking her cheek along his wiggling mandibles. “This can't go on forever. He's going to make a mistake, we're going to meet a decent professional spell-slinger. I don't worry about the police, I worry... whatever we may get out of this isn't enough. It's going to kill him.” She lowered her voice, which was already thick from her sorrow. “He's not going to stop on his own.”

Racham slowly closed the door of the bedroom. He had never intended to listen in to Hepzibah's confidence session with their cricket. They were a private thing. He should have known enough to respect that. He had only wanted to see if she was done. He had wanted to sweep her off her paws and take her to dinner before they planned a new bit of fun.

It was still inside him. That love of the thrashing and struggle, the screams of surprise and resisting. The heroic citizens rushing in to preserve the beleaguered lass and properly chastise the villain. It was the world working as it should. No matter how appealing the look and sound was, the ending was not negotiable. Bad creatures could not be allowed to succeed. It would drag down the whole world if bad creatures emerged victorious.

As a fantasy it spoke ill of him. As a reality it could be expressed safely and socially positively. A few bruises and bloody wounds were well worth the price of honoring morality. They cost little in the end... save the emotional pain of the Dog he loved. He was putting her through emotional Tartarus. She said she understood. She seemed to be getting her own sort of enjoyment from their actions and planned with as much eagerness.

She couldn't confide in him. There really were things one only shared with friends or a silent pet. Her private doubts, her secret fears. They were not so secret or private. He could see the pain behind her eyes when she daubed his blood or carefully felt along his bones or ribs. She was just as uncertain as him. But while he was disgusted and shamed by the inclination, she was in pain from the consequences of their shared indulgence.

He execrated the impetus, she loathed the inevitable climax. In a strange way they again proved how suited they were together, beyond savoring the middle portion. They hated the thing they loved but found it almost impossible to stop. They might feel wrong about it but little could be done. They'd keep doing it because there was too much appeal. They had gotten to like it even if it hurt.

He laid himself out on the bed and sighed as he sprawled. They would remain under the spell of the middle portion until the consequences finally became dire. There was a greater good to consider. Dogs needed to be known as worthy of sexualized vision. Impure and antisocial thoughts needed to be punished. Until their needs wholly outweighed the outcome there wasn't much to do.

“Racham, honey?” Hepzibah asked, opening the door and looking into the room. Tempus was sitting on her shoulder, chirping pleasantly.

Racham lifted his head up and put a smile on his face, with his usual, practiced ease. “Yes, dear?”

“Were you planning anything today or should we... just... you know..?” Hepzibah tucked her tail a bit and looked away some.

'Racham the Rake. Racham the Reprobate.' That was supposed to be his characters. It was uncomfortably close to reality. “I was waiting to come and sweep you off your paws to dinner before we got into that,” he responded.

“And that's why I love you. I'll go put Tempus away and get ready,” Hepzibah said with a happy concluding yap, moving out of the door to do as she had said.

“You don't deserve her, Racham, and you probably never did,” Racham muttered to himself before he rolled off the bed. “You should have just hated yourself for the rest of your life, ashamed of the unrealized desire. Just keep going and be the best coltfriend you can be. Make up for all the pain the best you can...”

The setting was the fringes of downtown Pasternville, on a residential street with very few folks milling around, late in the evening when things were calm and quiet, after the lights had come on. Hepzibah had applied the fur dye as usual, choosing a rich, deep brown tone, always finding that darker colors were an easier 'sell' than trying to lighten her coat. She was dressed in a simple black skirt and a black vest that went down over her teats. Racham was lurking, preparing for his role. He had dyed his whole body, as ever, choosing a bright, neon-like green color that really made him stand out. He'd attract an audience for sure.

Hepzibah went out first, as she always did, looking casual and vaguely disinterested in everything going on around her. The lackadaisical look helped her to more tightly clamp down her uncertainty and control the fear in her stomach. She'd forget it all when she lost herself in the pleasurable and ego-satisfying middle portion, the meat of the performance. It wouldn't come back until she forced her hands to set Racham right again, fixing injuries caused by actions she helped to perpetrate.

She noted, with some surprise and disdain it wasn't just ponies, donkeys and Changelings around that evening. There sitting on one of the stoops engaged in conversation was a griffin. He was one of the medium-sized breeds of the creatures, with dark feathers and some musculature to him. Hepzibah suppressed a shudder as she remembered her shameful encounter in the lounge.

She was not a bigot, she often told herself. She didn't have it in her to be a hateful bitch. She had gone to many classes with a good mix of many species. But all she knew of griffins started off from that single point, and filtered through all the things she had heard of the Kingdom.

She was above the petty suppositions about their level of intelligence or the prosaic myths of simple, earthy farmers and wise peasant laborers. She knew they were backwards because it was a fact that technological development in the kingdom was objectively low. She didn't think they swished around in 'traditional garb' but she knew they could be loud, occasionally drunken and very male-dominant. She had every inclination to think the worst.

Even though he was there, he was not much of a threat, as far as Hepzibah could see. So she simply whipped her muzzle into the air a little bit more than before and padded on, hoping that the male would not cause a problem during the next part of the act. He might hang back and drool, which would destroy the whole aura of the performance.

She could have stopped it. There was a signal for that, if things didn't feel right. If she genuinely felt menaced by the situation or thought something could go spectacularly wrong she had only to turn around and walk the other way and the two of them would be finished. They would go back home, clean up, make love and listen to Tempus serenade them while they basked in their afterglow.

Her paws acquired an odd gait as she considered turning around with every step. She could still halt it after Racham had made his appearance as the villain of the scene. She could stop when she wanted. But even though she considered it, she walked on with her new, curious gait, knowing that any moment would bring the soft and subtle clops of Racham, the stealthy villain, right up to her.

Racham hesitated, missing his cue for the first time in his long career. He could see the twist to Hepzibah's paws. She was considering turning. He was certain she would. He missed his cue, if only by a short amount, because he was certain that the next awkward step would be the one that turned her back towards him and would send them home again.

He stepped out, slowly casting his eyes onto the audience-to-be. He nearly passed over the griffin, thinking of him has just another face in the crowd. He then recalled what Hepzibah had said of her encounter. That may have been the germ of her hesitation. Acting in front of someone that brought up bad memories. She had some spunk to go through with it. There was no shame in stopping. She was becoming a real, seasoned professional.

His pace increased, ruining some of the dramatic tension and perhaps bringing some notice but he had to make up for the delay caused by hesitation. They could still hit their marks properly with just a touch of adjustment. He tried to be as stealthy as usual, leaping lightly towards the end and landing as softly as possible before throwing himself at Hepzibah's back and grabbing her up in the strong grip of his forelegs.

Hepzibah screamed as she was supposed to, with a small dab of real fear and surprise mixed in. She had been lost in her consideration and uncertainty. The attack felt real for the moment between being forced out of her mind and remembering she had a job to do. She change from real victim to fake victim involved ceasing her forceful struggles and making ineffectual twists, pushing at the sidewalk with paws and hands, intentionally letting her pads slide along, not allowing any purchase at all.

“Mm, looks like I caught a Dog all on her own,” Racham said in a dark, rasping voice. Hos hoof reached under Hepzibah's allegedly-struggling body and casually pulled her vest open, to place a hoof on one teat. He worked over the flesh and made sure to use the softest part of his hoof's underside to flick the capping nipple. “No underwear here. I wonder if it's the same under your skirt...”

“What?! What are you..? Stop!” Hepzibah screamed, in her character as the victim. She pointedly avoided looking over at the crowd. She would rely on Racham to know when they needed to wrap things up or alter their plans in any way. She followed the script. “Get off of me! D-don't touch... stop!” She let out a soft, low moan as her teat was worked over, just as she liked it. With the action hidden Racham could feign harsh motion while using all the motions that she loved.

“Looks like I was right...” Racham said with a harsh laugh. He quickly stuffed his hoof under Hepzibah's skirt and ground the smooth, polished front of it against her Dog-designed slit. He slicked up the hoof with her freely flowing juice and smeared it all around. He made sure he ground and jostled on her clit during his putative 'molestation' of her privates.

Hepzibah let out a scream tinged with pleasure, trying to hide a moan in it. It would break character to admit that Racham was very good about massaging her. Again, his hidden hoof was allowed to teat her flesh to a talented display of twists and flicks that lit up her nerves. Pleasure spiked from her nub and passed through her whole body, creating a leading spasm through her whole form. It helped to 'sell' her performance. She was feeling rather genuinely weak because that feeling made it hard to coordinate any of her limbs or fight back. She had no adrenaline to spike her muscles, only the fading of nervous butterflies turning into a rising pleasure deep within her. “No! Ta-take your hoof away from me!” She stayed on script, but found it hard to, as ever. “S-stop! Let go! Stop it! Stop!”

“You put your body out here...” Racham hissed, seeming to twist his hoof harder and more cruelly. He applied slightly more pressure, but less than what he appeared to be adding. He was parting her lips and rubbing over her engorged clit. He had her leaking into the inside of her skirt, primed and ready for sex. “You want this, don't you?”

“No!” Hepzibah screamed, as expected. She pressed her claws into her palms and bit gently at the inside of her mouth and at her tongue to get tears to start. She wasn't quite at the level of bringing fake tears on command as some could muster. “No! You can't do this to me! Don't do it! Don't..!”

“I will!” Racham strongly asserted, forcefully slapping his erection on his belly. The screaming and struggling, the imagery was surging the impure pleasure through him. But his eyes were really drinking in the sight of Hepzibah beneath her makeup. She was so beautiful, and his affection for her really sent his blood pounding through his veins and made his fat, green rod surge, trembling and almost pained with how stiff it had become.

“You can't! I don't want it! I don't want it from you!” They had intentionally left out bigotry, for many reasons, not the least of which being that it killed the mood for both. But generic resistance and the disdain of sexual interaction with the particular pony was perfectly acceptable. Hepzibah struggled, or appeared to struggle, harder. Her rear end rose and she gave the appearance of trying to worm her way forward from Racham's touch and impending penetration.

“You're going to take all of it!” Racham slammed his hooves down artfully in front of Hepzibah's shoulders, locking her down in a certain sense. His rear legs had taken position to keep her rear legs open and keep her from backing away. His rear end had come down to firmly slap his stallion baton against her struggling hind. “You! Can't! Stop! Me!” each word was punctuated by a thrust and slap that thumped the heavy pole down against one of her cheeks, creating a lot of sound, a little motion and not much in the way of pain; it sent a pleasant tingle through both of them.

“No! You can't!” Hepzibah pushed at the ground but was 'pinned' beneath Racham's broad and heavy chest. In a normal situation she could have forced him up and off with some effort. She gave a good show of it but wound up collapsing to the ground, panting and whining loudly, occasionally giving a yelp as the heavy penis whacked at her naked and vulnerable backside. “Don't do this!”

“Too late!” Racham maneuvered his blunt head against Hepzibah's well-teased, dripping and slightly spread opening, grinding away at the juicy lips and on her clit a few times. After taking up the shine from her honey he rammed forward with a strong and certain flex of his muscular thighs, pounding his way inside. He let out a triumphant moan that was more actual than artifice. The warm squeeze of Hepzibah's inner walls sent a pleasure rolling through his body, and he responded with another savage thrust that drove him nearly to the hilt.

Hepzibah's tunnel was molded to Racham, from frequent and eager lovemaking. Her muscles trembled and pulsed, massaging all around and in rolling waves of squeezing. She was lost for a moment in the bliss that was her lover mounting her and pumping hard down so far she could feel the soft taps of his stones against her thighs. She just had the presence of mind to muffle a moan against her arm, biting herself softly while drool flew in small fleck as she exhaled sharply. When she released she let out a scream of resistance and fear, head shaking strongly. “No! G-get off me! Get out of me! Someone help me!”

The clock was ticking. The dumb observers were typically paralyzed by the shock of what they were seeing, completely unsure about anything. Once involved, invoked by the alleged victim, they often pulled their heads together and decided what to do. Once they had been involved as characters themselves rather than just an audience it was a mad rush to climax before the fighting started.

Racham knew it well. He dropped his posture even more and leaving off the deepest of his thrusts for the most part. He only did the hard hilting every so often, to rock Hepzibah's body and give the impression of a more brutal attack, even though her robust form could take it with ease. His main focus was the quick thrust, using only the middle portion of his erection. That kept his medial ring constantly sliding in and out of her, stretching her opening over and over, while flicking her clit repeatedly with the bulbous flesh.

The pleasure grew in Hepzibah, forcing out little barks and yelps that she tried to make sound whiny and distressed. She had no uncertainty, no fear. She was being ridden hard, by the stallion she loved, all his focus on pure pleasure. He was giving her the treatment to send her to climax. He was thinking of her, and was at the same moment making her the envy of others, and making others think of her as worthy of consideration.

The physical stimulation and mental promotion sent hot shocks through Hepzibah's body, making her walls flutter and her body twist and contort in a manner that could be called struggling and fighting. Even her orgasmic response had become something of a performance, while her cries of pleasure had to be masked behind whines and shrieks to complete the image she was presenting. She yanked and squeezed hard on Racham's organ, already dimly aware of shouts and thumps deflecting off a shield of magic. In the experience of her pleasure she had missed the start of the attack.

Racham had just managed to bring up his shield, lost as he was in pleasuring Hepzibah, and the swiftness of the first strike. The bubble of magic had just managed to stop the griffin talons from raking at his flesh. The griffin had been the first to streak off and the first to begin battering the shell, stabbing at it and raking with his rear claws. His passion for protection was surprising yet similarly heartening. It was the point of the whole exercise.

A few more thrusts and Racham threw his head back, releasing a dark and deep whinny designed to sound domineering and cruel, his forelegs kicking wildly like some kind of mindless beast. He rammed his thick erection right to the hilt inside of Hepzibah's buttery-smooth, orgasming slit and worked through his climax with the fading squeezes and tugging flutters of her own.

He unloaded thick, hot globs of stallion seed deep inside of her, pulling back with small 'stirring' motions of his pole, leaving a heavy, slowly-flowing trail of the essence. His mushroom-like cockhead pulled slowly out of Hepzibah, making her squeal in what seemed to be dismay, some semen leaking out following the removal.

The blows on the shield were heavy and upset, with several loud screeches from the griffin. Racham slowly brought down the level of his shield, allowing cracks and splits, including a shallow penetration by the griffin's eager claws. He flashed a very quick wink to Hepzibah before surging energy into his horn which created a bright flash of light as his shield overloaded itself and shattered.

Hepzibah couldn't hesitate. As it had been in times before she rolled from under Racham and ran past the stunned crowd, vanishing into an alley. She wasn't meant to look back. She wasn't supposed to see Racham getting hurt. She was only meant to heal his hurts, not watch them happen. But she couldn't help herself. The presence of the griffin had shaken her a little. She had to look.

Racham rolled under the punishing assault of hooves, twisting and pulling away from the hits. He was wholly unprepared for the punches, rocked under the quick strikes of the griffin. He was more unprepared for the claws that whispered over his flesh as he pulled back in sudden, real fear. The pain hit him a moment later, along with the sudden realization that blood was flowing from even the shallow rake.

Hepzibah turned and ran away to where she was to find Racham later, listening to the fading griffonic curses behind her. He was... angry. The griffin had been genuinely angry, like the ponies and Changelings and donkeys. He hadn't gotten aroused by her assault, he'd gotten upset and interested in punishing Racham for it.

When she arrived at the meeting spot Racham was already there, coughing and spluttering blood into the floor of the alley. He turned a slight smile on Hepzibah and put on a brave face. “Sorry, I'm a bit early. I was worried about that griffin...”

“Just...” Hepzibah replayed what few hits she had seen, watching Racham being hurt, his disguise not hiding the truth of it being him, at least not to her. “We need to go...” She placed some gauze against his various bleeding wounds and helped him along the route they had planned out.

“You seem quiet, dear...” Racham said, as he lay on the couch, clean, patched with gauze and recovering from his ordeal after her and Hepzibah had gotten home.

Hepzibah looked away from Tempus and over at Racham, suppressing a shiver as she regarded his battered and bandaged body. “Sorry. Just... just thinking about what happened. I mean, more than usual. It was different. There was a griffin there and he... well... he cared.”

Racham looked down at his side, to the taped-down gauze patch over his ribs. “Well yes, I noticed that very well. It's why I was a little early. I never practiced dodging the strikes of a griffin. This was more luck than talent, the only time you'll hear me say that.”

“You know what happened at the lounge. When that griffin made me... made me..” Hepzibah ground her teeth lightly.

“I know. You need not say it,” Racham said gently.

“I just... I came to think of griffins like that. It's not hard to. I know they're often drunk, they think men are better than women, they're backwards when it comes to technology... I figured he'd just watch you and enjoy you seemingly violating me. I thought he'd be the same beast like that other one...” Hepzibah confessed.

“I don't need to tell you not all folks are the same. You know not all ponies are like the ones that wouldn't give you a job. I hope so anyhow. I think I'm pretty different,” Racham said with a touch of a smile.

Hepzibah barked out a small laugh and shook her head. “You're a wonderful pony. I know all ponies aren't alike. I had some in my dorm hall. Zebras too. I always knew Changelings were varied in personality. I just had no need to think well of griffins. It was sort of comfortable to just assume they were brutish slag-heads.”

“It sort of helped to make your memory easier to take. The idea that griffins are just terrible, I mean. It mitigates the idea that you encountered bad luck,” Racham noted. “Everyone hates the idea they could have fortune that bad.”

“You don't need to tell me...” Hepzibah mumbled, tail mostly tucked and gaze staring at the floor. She crossed the living room and sat down on the floor by the couch, burying her face in Racham's neck and sighing softly. “I need some time to process this but now at least I can stop being wrong about a whole species.”

Racham kissed Hepzibah's head softly and nuzzled between her ears. “And I can learn right along with you. Something more that we can share to make both of us better.”

“A fourth incident, downtown again, evening again. Different colors for perpetrator and victim, but both vanished again,” Officer Bill Cannon said, pinning a marker to a map of the city.

“I can't say we're closing in but at least he's repeating himself,” Sergeant Buck Friday noted, looking over the map. “Was there any word from the scene that was very significant?”

“There was one small thing...” Officer Cannon said, flipping through a collection of notes. “The stallion took a beating but he was panicked. That was noted by several witnesses. He was especially active, very energetic in his dodging, especially the blows of the griffin. Despite his efforts the perpetrator was not raked that badly, and that may have prompted him to teleport away faster.”

“Previous reports indicated some proficiency with both magic and fighting. But that generally indicates pony-on-pony sport combat. Fighting against a griffin is something else altogether. This also reinforces a point that was consistent from all other reports and means this is definitely the same stallion in disguises. He didn't fight back, even in a dangerous situation,” Sergeant Friday said.

“Tells us one more thing we didn't know for sure. Nothing especially informative came from all the peeping and stalking reports, against Dogs or otherwise. The Captain was looking a little pained,” Officer Cannon noted.

“He got chewed out again because we haven't got anypony in custody. Now a new attack... we're all under the microscope, and Canterlot is considering sending in some officers since it's increasingly clear we have a serial rapist on our hooves,” Sergeant Friday said with a shake of his head.

“Not that it's wrong to bring them in but it's galling. We can't take care of crime in our own city,” Officer Cannon said with a snarl, slapping his desk with a hoof.

“A sufficiently motivated perpetrator of evil can hide in all the smallest cracks and crevices, and change his look to appear like any ordinary and normally functional citizen, walking among good ponies like he belonged. This is a motivated, dedicated criminal, all the more reason to pull in any resources we need to catch him,” Sergeant Friday said with a steady voice.

“Right as usual, Buck. I'll get on the pipe and see if the Captain wants us to get those Canterlot folks down here right now or if we wait,” Officer Cannon said, taking up the phone.

“Every little bit helps,” Sergeant Friday said with a sage nod, turning his attention to the case notes and dragging his tired eyes across the lines he had read a thousand times.

A month later, after Racham had healed from his injuries and they had prepared for another excursion, he and Hepzibah were out in Pasternville again. Racham had dyed himself a dark, chestnut brown with a blaze on his face, much like he had had the first time he had groped Hepzibah in public. Hepzibah had returned to a brindle coat, with a reddish set of stripes on a very light fawn main tone. She was wearing a white blouse and long black pleated skirt.

They chose an area near the center of downtown, near the middle of the day. Though that made it very open it was a period when most would not be around, being at jobs or out in the suburbs. The area they selected was a square 'general purpose' area between two buildings that could be used as a gathering spot or as a place for informal games needing an empty space.

The narrow space would be a challenge for both of them, but it also limited the number of folk that could arrive. In fact there were only a small collection of ponies loitering and talking, seeming very interested in themselves and ignoring most of what was going on. The streets on either side were very empty, prompting Hepzibah to walk up into the open space, head high and a smile on her muzzle.

The situation was more to Hepzibah's liking. The daylight wasn't doing her any favors, given how open air served to make her feel exposed, but the setting was enclosed in some sense. Even with the sky above her could almost feel the walls on either side, a comforting feeling. The crowd was small and there were few points that would allow more, minimizing Racham's danger. Managing risk made her feel much better.

She had come in through one of the entry points and slowed her pace somewhat, trying to look blithe and happy as the sun streamed down on her. She looked aside at the ponies in the square space and gave them a friendly nod and a smile. The stallions stopped talking and just stared, seeming unsure about what to think of the situation. Once she had gotten their attention Hepzibah turned towards the other entrance, waiting for Racham to come.

She didn't need to wait long, Racham swiftly entering the space and putting a lustful smile on his face. He didn't take any time to be coy and demure about the intent of his approach. He flashed his horn as a distraction and practically threw himself onto Hepzibah, who screamed loudly. She thrashed about and gave a loud yap as her back hit the ground.

Racham tore open the lower part of Hepzibah's blouse to expose her naked teats. He palpated them roughly with both hooves for a moment, his rear legs resting carefully on Hepzibah's own rear legs allegedly to keep her from moving too much. He pushed down solidly on them and then released them after pushing both together rather firmly.

“Get off of me!” Hepzibah pushed up at Racham but gave a frustrated and surprised bark as his forehooves quickly came up and pinned her arms down, pushing down with the imitation of force. “Stop it! Get o- mmph!” Hepzibah's objection was cut off by Racham suddenly forcing a hot, shallow kiss on her. Her kept her lips still under his hard press while his dropped erection thumped solidly against his belly.

“Don't tell me you hate it!” Racham growled out after breaking the kiss with a loud pop. He dropped his hips and slowly ground his raging erection against the front of her skirt. His magic flared just enough to pull the fabric up and let his hot, naked flesh slide along her exposed vulva.

Hepzibah arched her back and yelped loudly as her clit was lightly flicked by the repeated passing of Racham's veins and medial ring. It was always hard to turn a moan into a yelp and wail of distress, but the relative safety of the location made it all the harder. She threw extra passion and affectation into her struggling and adding far more screams and cries for help. The forceful thrashing and struggling allowed her to grind her wet slit against Racham's trembling and rigid erection.

The crowd was quicker on the draw than most of the others. They were watching with great surprise and nudging one another constantly as though they were unable to believe what they were seeing. They even took a step back when Racham suddenly plunged his fat head into Hepzibah's snatch and she let out a high-pitched wailing shriek.

Racham drove down to the very hilt, fitting his whole thick pole into Hepzibah with one mighty thrust, flexing the strong muscles of his ass and thighs to accomplish the act. His thighs and testes smacked down against Hepzibah's thighs and rear, drawing out another scream from Hepzibah and a triumphant whinny from Racham, who added a toss of his head to sweep his mane grandly.

Hepzibah turned her head aside, with her imitation tears in her eyes, to plead with the small group. Her blurry vision and occasional yaps and screams made her incapable of seeing what was happening. When she could finally see her eyes went wide. The stallions were... slapping their own organs on their bellies, and watching the scene with perverted lust.

The small collection of faces were all set in the most horrible leers. It wasn't merely a perverted sexual desire written on their features; there was something darker in their piercing eyes. While their mouth-licking tongues and flared nostrils spoke of lust there was a kind of hateful intensity in their gazes, scowling dropping the corners of their mouths and their ears pulls back on their heads. The view was singularly disturbing.

The slight comfort of the walls evaporated completely, leaving her as afraid as she ever had been doing such a thing in public. She couldn't lose herself in the character of the nameless, faceless Dog. That character couldn't deal with the audience that was participating, in spirit, in the act rather than ending the act. Her breath started to pant harder, and she struggled slightly more, pushing and shoving at Racham in sudden panic.

Racham was lost in his character, and lost in the pleasure of having sex with his beautiful girlfriend in the bright, warm sun. His hips and rear flexed and shifted harder, and his affected cruel smile grew wider as the ad-libbed fight seemed to get more powerful and varied. She was learning how to really make it look good. He pushed his chest down and nickered in her face, giving numerous deep thrusts, pulling out very little and hilting hard over and over, to bounce his testes off of her.

Hepzibah looked up at Racham with genuine fear in her eyes. She thought, if only briefly, he had gone all the way into being a villain, that he was ignoring her genuine terror. But that wasn't in Racham's character; it was more probable he thought she was still acting, and doing it well. She pushed her head up and sobbingly choked out, “Racham... they're not saving me...”

The mood cracked. They were never supposed to use names except in the most extreme conditions. His hips held in a trembling limbo as he blinked slowly and looked back to the gathering, the audience, the actors. They had a job to do, according to what he knew of the nation. There was an unspoken obligation to fulfill.

The stallions were still masturbating themselves. They weren't rushing to defend Hepzibah, running for the police or even yelling threats and promises of assault. They were savoring the activity. “Fuck her!” One of them suddenly shouted.

“Pound that bitch!” Another cried out.

“Teach that bitch who's in charge!” The first cried.

“Show her what a real cock feels like!” A third yelled.

“Put her in her place!”

“I call sloppy seconds!”

That shout didn't seem to have an origin. Racham ceased to care about the particulars of the shouts, considering the reality of them were the most horrible he could imagine. It wasn't what was supposed to happen. Ponies were supposed to be good creatures, moral and upright. These ponies were like the beasts and brutes that had written to him. They were vile. But they were worse. They were bigots.

Hidden hate was a shame rightfully masked in the heart and left to fester, locked away from the light of day. Faust's two eyes of night and day were not to be polluted with the filth of hate like that. It made no sense to despise any other species. Least of all Dogs. “Not Dogs...”

The brutish stallions had been looking in on the two as though watching some kind of zoo exhibit, or some variety of sideshow. It was Hepzibah's worst fear and deepest hate, realized. She wasn't a sexual creature, a being worthy of protection and pity. They were looking in at her as a filthy, disgusting thing. The sex wasn't sex, it was punishment, it was humiliation, all for the 'crime' of being a Dog.

Even though Racham had stopped, the masturbating bigots hadn't. They were enjoying what they believed to be a show of their ideals. They worked their organs hard and fast, and climaxed thoughtlessly towards the supposed vision of degradation. Racham's shield held strong to protect her from the ejaculate, but she still had to see it and hear it splatter against the magical barrier.

Hepzibah was crying as her false world collapsed, as all the uncertain fear hit in the middle of her perverse activity, killing any potential enjoyment and leaving her regretting it all. She barely heard Racham speak, but she certainly felt his organ slowly slide out of her, and remove the pressure on her body. She looked up and saw the hazy blob that was him moving away from her.

She cleared her eyes and slowly rolled onto her front and rose, to the sounds of pained screams, heavy impacts and the varied tones of magic being unleashed. When she had the chance to look she found Racham in the middle of an unbalanced fight, one of the stallions unconscious on the ground, while three others attacked him. He made generous use of his magical shield while also bucking and kicking out.

It was an easy decision of Hepzibah to make when she rushed in and angrily cracked one of the stallions on the back of the head, her momentum carrying her into another which slammed him into a wall. She hit him across the face with a hard hook and watched as a stiff series of kicks from Racham subdued the last one.

The two stood together for a moment, surveying the scene before them. “I think we were both wrong,” Racham said at last.

“How do you mean?” Hepzibah asked.

“You believed griffins were all of impure minds. I believed, on some level, ponies could at least imitate a pure mind in the open. I never wanted to feed an evil thought again... it seems I can't even draw out pure goodness without failing...” Racham said, his voice growing soft and sorrowful near the end.

One of Hepzibah's large hands slowly landed on his back and stroked him slowly. “We were fine hiding in the house. Proving your culture good was a nice thing, but it was never important enough to risk so much...”

“Perhaps I was just trying to prove it to myself. I lied and said it was for the edification of others but in the end it was always to show that the deviants who wrote me were a lie. And that... I wasn't really evil. I came from a good place, and was punished for the things I thought, the ugly things I thought. But I was giving myself a justification to think that it was the right thing to do. I was letting myself be a deviant...” Racham said.

“No!” Hepzibah suddenly grabbed Racham's face and turned it towards her. “You had some thoughts. Just fictional thoughts. You liked the idea. It was never, ever real. You were never really a villain, it was a role you played. I should have stopped you earlier because you don't need to punish yourself for loving the concept of rape. As long as you don't really dominate someone against their will, then your fantasies can't hurt you or anyone.”

Racham looked into Hepzibah's eyes, staring like he had the first day they met. “They hurt you. Every time I needed your healing touch to cobble my worthless hide back together my deviance hurt you.”

“I hurt myself,” Hepzibah said firmly. “I went along with it because I liked being saved, liked being seen as someone that might attract notice, be looked on with pity, protectiveness and... be looked on as provocative enough to be a sexual creature. It takes to to do this dance we had. I went along for selfish reasons.”

Racham laughed lightly and leaned his head in, Hepzibah's hands loosening to allow him to press against her neck. “What a pair... and what an end. Let us bring down the curtain and snuff the lights. This production is done and there will be no revival. We can just go home, have a meal and listen to Tempus serenade us.”

“What do we do about..?” Hepzibah asked, indicating the scattered pony bigots.

“Well now, we can't simply leave trash like this in the streets. It needs to be properly collected,” Racham said with a mirthful tone. “Let us just leave here first...”

Ten minutes later the collection of ponies began to stir and groan, opening their eyes just in time to see a small police contingent enter the area, batons and manacles out. The cadre of constables seemed to be lead by two suit-wearing ponies who strode up to the fallen. Sergeant Friday looked down disdainfully on the stallions. “I understand there was a fight in here. And it looks like you got the worst of it.”

The lone unicorn in the group rose unsteadily to his hooves and shook his head a bit. “It was nuts! This bitch and her pet pony were in here and we were just minding our business and suddenly they went crazy, like their kind does...”

“Cut the road apples, mister, I don't need to see that puckey coming from either end of you to know it stinks,” Sergeant Friday snapped, interrupting the blathering unicorn. “That's not the story we heard from the one that told us where to gather up your sorry carcasses. They said you hate Dogs, they said you said so, and that you weren't just minding your business when that stallion and Dog came through here. You were sayin' it out loud, all the junk your kind says when they think they're real big. Well mister you look pretty small from here. You thought you could act tough, gang up on a couple of ordinary citizens, thought they'd get scared, maybe run away, maybe beg you not to hurt them. The real big time for small-minded punks like you. But they got one over on you, didn't they? They stood up to you. You couldn't let that happen, so you and your friends thought you'd be real brave, beat 'em back by having twice their number. Well I guess you learned your lesson, and good!”

The unicorn looked stunned for a moment, unsure how to respond to the heavy flood of harsh words. “We thought he was like us. He was raping her! Don't you get it? He started raping her and we wanted to cheer him on! I mean he was doing it in broad daylight!”

“Yeah, and there was nothing we could do,” One of the others said.

“I wasn't about to stick my neck out for some slutty bitch,” another said.

“She got what she deserved,” yet another said, shrinking down under the sudden glares of the police.

Sergeant Friday held up a hoof. “Hold it. You're telling me that this stallion here was engaged in rape... but as soon as you started encouraging it he attacked you?”

“And then that crazy bi-” Another one of the stallions started to rub his head and respond when a synchronized icy glare from Sergeant Friday and Officer Cannon got him to stammer and clear his throat. “And then after he knocked him out with magic and kicks the Dog got up and attacked us. And I... that's about all I remember.”

Officer Cannon and Sergeant Friday looked to one another, Bill rapidly scribbling down notes. “The Dog got up and helped the stallion, did she? Even though you claim she was being raped?”

"Yes!" one of the witnesses said, "She started helping her rapist beat us up! Fastest case of Stockhorse Syndrome I've ever seen."

“It's true that he was attacking her! He ran in and he jumped her and he just got on her and she was screaming and...” The first stallion silenced himself as he slightly angled his body away from the police. “She was getting raped. I know what it looks like.”

“Do you?” Sergeant Friday motioned towards the stallions, the other officers coming up to cuff the four. “Let's head back to the station and talk about why you know what it looks like and why your story differs from the one who told us to find you here.”

As the four were led away Officer Cannon turned to his partner. “How do you like that? Bigots telling us that a rapist and his victim were so disgusted they both started fighting.”

“Strange thing to hear. Now I wonder about the call we got. He had all the details, and they didn't object to the accusation. They just told us there was a rape before the beating. And the Dog was participating. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?” Sergeant Friday asked.

“Makes me wonder a lot of things. Mostly I wonder if we're going to see any more situations like this, or if we're going to catch anypony for the crime and get a victim to testify. We figured there was one perpetrator... think we could get odds on there being one victim?” Officer Cannon asked back.

“Even money on that one, I'm almost sure. We'll keep going with those Canterlot agents and do what we can, but it might not help much. At least we can run in this lot for something,” Sergeant Friday said, turning to walk away, Officer Cannon following behind him.

Act Four: Epilogue

The end of the exhibitional careers of Hepzibah and Racham came with more of a whimper than a bang. The duo stopped their public activities immediately, and half-heartedly continued to try it in private. Hepzibah was the one to softly whisper in his ear to convince him that he could still savor lovemaking without a struggle. She was right, and Racham was satisfied.

They took to their quiet reality with relative ease. Hepzibah uncomplainingly went about her residency at Pasternville General Hospital, and adored every chance she had to care for the ailing and help them to recover or even just to feel better.

Racham largely puttered around his home, taking care of his paperwork early in the day and trying to find a way to model his life after the retired Cranky. He had it easier, as Matilda was a homemaker and was there very often. Racham had outfitted his basement with magic gems, loam screens and humidifiers to make his own little hobby fungus garden. He had gotten spores from Diamond Dog catalogs and spent some portion of the day tending to the growth.

Both of them enjoyed taking a bit of time to snuggle on the couch together and listen to Tempus sing. The giant cricket had grown on Racham, who saw it as less of a foreign invader in pony lands and properly as his beloved's close confidante and comforter during a turbulent time. He owed a bit of gratitude to the chirping little arthropod. And the music he made was genuinely lovely. Wrapped in his darling's embrace, both of them sighing and snuggling while Tempus chirped out with great enthusiasm with great variation, it was truly a beautiful thing.

Another thing the two loved to share were the videos of Rarity, the most consistent face in the Dog-and-pony pornography business. Because their sexual escapades had taken them away from regular purchases and watching of her oeuvre they missed a change. At some point during the early part of her career and the present the industry had changed to more positive depictions of Dog-and-pony interactions.

One evening they were lounging together, feeling one another up while watching a movie. It was a semi-fantasy piece named Dream of a Better Tomorrow. Rarity starred as a noblemare enamored of a Dig Dog guard in her employ, with numerous instances of daring inter-class sex. Racham and Hepzibah were losing the thread as the drama of intrigue and villainous ponies became less important than Hepzibah's fingers wrapped securely around Racham's throbbing pole while his hoof, along with light tugs of magic, gently worked around and against the whole of her dripping sex.

“You're really enjoying this show, I see,” Hepzibah teased, “You're giving a standing ovation...”

“And you, my dear, are just gushing over the performance,” Racham responded with a laugh.

Hepzibah dragged her soft paw palm against the lightly flared head of Racham's cock, slowly and sensually smearing his copious precum around the whole surface of the tip and under the edge of the flesh. Her fingers slowly came down to press into the flesh of his length. Her hand twisted slowly on the crown, dragging her softly furred digits over the veiny surface, pulling up and moving down with as much unhurried ease as she used in her twisting motion.

Her motions were drawing out warm, pleasured moans and soft sighs from Racham, with added deep groans when the actions changed, Her hand slipped down, still lightly twisting, her thumb and first finger forming a ring around the perimeter of his quasi-flared crown. Her other fingers went from stroking side-to-side to stroking slowly up and down along the quivering, throbbing surface, coaxing out more hot squirts of precum.

She moved the ring formed from her fingers down over the thick rim of his tip, the slippery pre and strength of her pulling making it pop softly through the circle. She slid her first finger down just enough to stop herself from pulling back over the top and stopped all motion to give a firm, proper squeeze, lightly indenting the stiff flesh. Her hold secured she eased up on her hold just a bit and began to slide her hand up and down again, resuming the twisting of her hand as well.

Racham's breath came in long, hot shudders as the stroking grew more firm and covered more of his shining erection. His attention wasn't on the inept pony villains failing to force themselves on the captive noblemare. It was focused on how his hoof was moving. His large hoof was perfectly covering the whole outer surface of her erogenous zone, from the ticklish flesh below her teats to the very top of her perineum, and covering all the more sensitive flesh on their side of her pink and puffy slit.

The mobile fleshy portion at the bottom of his hoof worked with all the practiced skill and dexterity required of a well-informed lover. He touched the very particular spots that made Hepzibah quiver and yap with delight, making her juicy snatch all the more moist. He twisted his hoof a few times, moving the whole area with a focused, gentle grind over her clit. The motion caused a tremendous tremble and small squirt of Dog juice.

The furthest edge of his hoof's curve repeatedly flicked at the slight ridge of her taint beneath the gauzy misting of fine fur there, which straddled the line between present and bare. He dug and wiggled his hoof at the little rise, focusing all of his attention on the area and angling his hoof up just slightly to relieve some of the pressure on the other areas of her sensitive crotch.

His fleshy underhoof gently pinched and prodded at Hepzibah's fleshy mons, pulling the warm and slightly fatty flesh up and away from her oozing slit and pushing back in towards it, grinding on her clit with each motion. He carefully tapped his way down and along her flushed outer lips, gliding in a teasing little collection of touches along the edge between her outer and inner lips, mostly smearing the warm and musky fluid around the area. Her velvet-soft coat had become spiked and mussed, but it was at least protected beneath the concealing hoof.

Both of the lovers had been carefully minding the state of each others' orgasms, hard as it was through the thick, enfolding fog of their rising pleasure. Hepzibah opened her fingers and pulled her hand entirely away almost at the same moment that Racham pulled his hoof from her crotch. Both of them gave a sudden shiver and soft moans as the cool air struck their respective bits, a spit of precum and small squirt of juice coming of the actions.

Both panted softly for a moment, leaning in close to one another as they let their genitals rest and allowed their pleasure to slowly drop down. Hepzibah silently rolled onto the floor and spread out her hind legs, presenting her well-worked sex to Racham. “Give it a moment but... we can move on to this...” Hepzibah said with a wink.

“Of course, my love, of course...” Racham slowly rubbed his cheek over the small of Hepzibah's back, joining her on the floor and consciously trying to avoid slapping his erection on his belly.

“We didn't really lose anything... did we..?” Hepzibah asked, looking back over her shoulder.

“Oh my dear...” Racham pressed a soft kiss on one of Hepzibah's rear cheeks and sighed. “I wish I could pull that poison out of your head. You've very well convinced me that it was foolish to so fixate on that matter. We lost nothing. We gained peace. Peace and happiness. And no more danger.”

“Just had to make sure,” Hepzibah said with a light laugh and a careful wag of her tail. She lightly tapped at Racham's face with the plain and smooth portion of her tail, the nubby portion swinging over his head.

Racham looked up at the screen, finally getting back to the movie. After many failures by the villainous ponies to even molest Rarity's character the Dig Dog from the beginning had come to her rescue, the ponies under his command soundly defeating the lesser bad folks. Racham gently probed at Hepzibah's sex, smearing his precum across her parted and juicy slit. “How things have changed. Never even touched by another pony, and she is being loved, by her will, by that Dog.”

Hepzibah yapped sharply as the broad, flared head split her sopping passage and allowed the long, throbbing shaft into her. Her walls pressed in tight around Racham's pole, pulling and rolling slowly along it. “She loves it. Just like you taught me I can see it in her eyes. It looks like such a nice thing. Acting in front of a whole faceless audience, engaging in something she loves so much. Being with a Dog, freely.”

Racham slipped his forelegs around Hepzibah's midsection, squeezing her firmly to give him the proper leverage to rock himself forward and bury his shaft down deep into her. He was subconsciously mimicking the motion of the hero on screen. The big-bodied Dig Dog was quite securely stuffed deep inside of Rarity's pony puss, gripping her hips right at the Cutie Marks, working his hips with the long, smooth and practiced ease of a professional pornographic actor. Racham was right there with him, learning how the motions worked, putting his skill to the acquisition of the carnal arts. “So freely seen. And with the benefit of the modern techniques of the cinema there are so many options...”

“N-no... I think... I think... ah!” Hepzibah shuddered as the new technique worked over her nerves in a new way and made her insides tremble pleasantly. Her clit was pleasantly bumped by Racham's low-hanging plums, sending a quick burst of pleasure nearly up her spine each time. “I've been with Dogs... that's real. Not as n-nice as yours but... ohh, it's real.”

Racham let out a laughing moan of pleasure, throwing his head back as he broke the pattern and gave a few extra-hard, bottom-pounding thrusts against Hepzibah's rear. “No... I see her look. She looks like you when you are in the throes... oooh yes... the throes of utter and perfect passionate delight! Ah... it's not artifice in the service of sex that I mean. But wait... wait a moment. We can't speak now...”

The sounds from both dissolved into breathy pants, moans, whines, grunts and the moist sound of body meeting body. The Dig Dog and Rarity on screen reached a joint orgasm well before Hepzibah and Racham did. They had the freedom to draw out their orgasms, though not for much time.

Hepzibah was the first to reach her climax, her breath coming as a series of sharp, hot pants while her hands slid slowly along the ground. She hit her peak with a high-pitch yelp and a soft, quivering howl that matched she shuddering of her body, and the trembling of her clenched inner walls that worked over Racham's organ.

The vise-tight clench and rapid rolling set off Racham's own orgasm, setting him to loud whinnies and snorts, and making him softly nip and pull at the back of Hepzibah's neck. He huffed loudly, a wet tone to the sound as saliva seethed through his teeth. His grunts hissed through the small gap formed by his open teeth and curled lips, each huffing grunt announcing another shot of hot semen. His tremendously flared tip was nestled securely against Hepzibah's cervix, splattering pudding-thick globs of pony semen with every pulsing twitch, the tight barrier mostly blocking the flood, though permitting a few stray squirts through.

Real life and video fantasy blended together into a kind of similarity. Hepzibah dropped quite solidly to the floor, barking happily as Racham's muscular bulk fell along with her and settled into a comfortable pressure on her back. The credits of the movie are split, half the screen showing the cast and crew, the other half showing a comfortable snuggle, Rarity laying comfortably beneath her Dig Dog lover, both of them looking utterly at peace with the world. The movie ended with the prominent logo of Bare Mare Studios.

Racham and Hepzibah lay for a long while, breaths and heartbeats slowly coming down from the orgasmic heights to more sedate, normal levels. His cock slowly softened and slipped out of Hepzibah, back into its sheath, with a small splatter of his goopy seed. She was just laying and relaxing, eyes closed, tail softly thumping on the floor. Racham was watching the screen, and noting everything, especially the studio logo. “Did you ever wonder...”

“Mmm. Wonder what, dear?” Hepzibah asked, opening one eye and looking up at Racham.

“If you could ever have two careers...” Racham said softly, laying his head between Hepzibah's ears and giving each one soft, loving nibbles and licks.

“I trained long enough for one. Sorry love, it took a lot of work to get into a hospital, and stuff all that learning between my ears. I can't give it up,” Hepzibah said with a soft sigh. She flicked her ears around, to give Racham a bit more of a challenge in his nibbling.

“Maybe you don't have to...” Racham mused, nibbling the tip of one ear. “I would never steal you away from the career you love, the lifesaving work and helping of others. But you could add to your repertoire. We could find the beautiful middle ground, between privacy and public activity.”

“Weren't you just telling me that you gave it up? Are you just saying what you think I want to hear while we're having sex?” Hepzibah asked with an annoyed huff.

Racham used his magic to remove the movie from the player, letting the disc hover in front of Hepzibah's face. “Before the eyes of the many, without needing to perform in every living room and hotel.”

Hepzibah sighed and closed her eyes. “Back to playing the villain again? Like I said, now I think you're just saying things...”

“No! Oh no,” Racham said quickly, stroking Hepzibah's sides reassuringly. “I'm not saying that... not exclusively. It's a bit complicated. I want to explain it to you. To take the time, paint a picture, help you see what I mean. I promise you, we will not be going back to the old ways, but something new. Grand and new...”

Bare Mare Studios looked as it always did. Though the exterior of the building was nothing special for the medium-rent neighborhood it was in, the interior looked like nothing so much as a very modern office building. The clean lines of the slightly curved eggshell white walls blended nicely with the dark blue carpets, all of it managing to look nice even under the humming glare of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. As ever, there was a circular reception area, staffed by two unicorns.

“Mister Racham and Doctor Hepzibah?” Opal, one of the two cream-colored unicorn mares that worked the front desk at Bare Mare studios, checked a clipboard and looked over at the pair who were waiting anxiously. “They're ready for you now.”

“'They'?” Racham asked, incredulously. “I rather assumed we'd get a single pony taking our particulars and a pleasant indication to try another day.”

“As I understand it, your reputation precedes you, Mister Racham. You're getting a much more attentive meeting,” Opal said, using her horn to open a door near the reception area. “Down the hall, left, then right, then left again and go until you see the door marked Salon Two. Thank you for coming to Bare Mare Studios, and have a very pleasant day.”

“I admit, it's not quite what I was imagining,” Hepzibah said as she rose from her chair and walked by Racham's side to the door. “It's a lot more... let's call it, 'business-casual' than I had anticipated.”

“Assumptions are not always accurate. We've seen that more often than most in our lives,” Racham noted, as they walked down the halls of the studio. “We showed others a false face and had assumptions broken by our many experiences.”

The decorations they passed as they walked on were an eclectic lot, from motivational sayings accompanied by photographs of nature scenes to movie-poster-sized covers of Bare Mare videos. Rarity and fellow mare performer Fluttershy were much in evidence. Hepzibah nodded her head when she saw the Rarity productions. “Saw that one, saw that one, adored that one... they seem very proud of these two.”

“I did some research before we came here. Fluttershy has been a stalwart and high-earner for a long while, and experienced a bit of a renaissance when she began performing with that fellow, Iron Will,” Racham said, pointing out a poster featuring the two. “And I learned a very interesting fact about our favorite mare. Rarity once worked only with ponies until a script had her working with Dogs. Now she will work with no other species. This seems like the sort of inclusive work environment we need.”

“I don't know. The hospital in this town is nice. There's another Diamond Dog doctor there, two Changelings and a zebra. Fairly inclusive,” Hepzibah said.

“You can still work there if this should come to pass. We are not sexless prudes above ground. Even our sexless prudes becomes less-than-sexless-prudes over time,” Racham countered, with a soft laugh.

“I don't know if I could maintain the respect of patients if they've seen me spread out and pounded in a movie,” Hepzibah said, with a hint of mirth.

“How could they not respect you after seeing your tremendous... talent?” Racham asked with a deep laugh.

By that time they had reached the indicated door, so Racham opened it and allowed Hepzibah to go in before him. The room was plainly square, but tastefully papered in floral print. Around that room were reproductions of antique chairs, couches and low tables, covered in lace, giving the air of a drawing room. Soft string music, piped in through a hidden speaker, filled the air. Three ponies occupied the room. Sapphire Shores, Photo Finish and Hoity Toity. All three were gingerly sipping from cups of aromatic tea.

“Mister Racham...” Hoity said in his cultured voice, sliding off the couch and rising to approach Racham and Hepzibah. “I saw you on stage on two occasions. You never should have left the craft. Tell me, how is Mister Donkey? I came to understand you had cause to visit him after his retirement.”

“So far as I know, he is still well,” Racham said, shaking Hoity's hoof. “He was enjoying his retirement with his good lady wife last I saw. I used to envy him, now I think he would envy me. I give you the reason, the woman who shouldn't marry me because she can objectively do better, Doctor Hepzibah.” Racham bowed his head and allowed Hepzibah to come to the fore.

“Enchanté, Mademoiselle Médecin,” Hoity said, taking up Hepzibah's right hand and giving is a gallant kiss. “You must be something to have him so devoted.”

Hepzibah blushed brightly and waved off the compliment with her left hand, giving a soft, nervous laugh. “Th-thank you, Mister Toity. That's quite nice of you to say.”

“I mean every word,” Hoity said with a smile. He turned and strolled back to the other ponies, who had risen. “I present my colleagues, who are very integral to the process of getting new talent. Here is our talent scout and casting director, Sapphire Shores,” He said, indicating the still-fabulous former pop pony, “And the agent and general overseer for all our employees, Photo Finish,” he said, motioning to the stern and serious mare.

Photo strode forward, her features stony, her eyes a mystery behind her sunglasses. “Hmmm. Solid. Shtrong. As far as ponies go you, Herr Racham, have good presence. It takes a special pony to be noticed in this indushtry. I know your vork, and know your skill. If you can perform zee other part of the job remains to be seen. Und as for you...” She cast a look over Hepzibah, ears to toes. “Fraulein Doktor, I haf looked over many Diamond Dogs, but you, you look like you vill be excellent. A soft coat, good form, pretty face, und I see your teats are of good size.” She turned around smartly and returned to the others. “Zey are acceptable to me. Now, Fraulein Shores, give your professional opinion und give a formal decision.”

“My pleasure...” Sapphire said, trotting forward with a spring in her step. She made her way around the two, carefully considering every bit of them from every angle. Racham stood ramrod straight and even dropped his penis a little bit for a modest assessment. Hepzibah fidgeted, and tracked Sapphire with her eyes and head. The former pop pony trotted away again and back to the others. “He's got a body like a statue. He could be something. She looks good all over, and she's really fidgety. Guys like active ladies when they're that big.”

“These two mares are the gatekeepers, as it were. They find you two acceptable so your first hurdle is passed. But bodies are only part of what we do here. Our profile has been increased by our notoriety. All our productions have a special touch. From what I understand, you will be strictly together. It is not unheard of. But you need to bring something special to the table. I understand that you have a notion which is unique.”

“Indeed we do, Mister Toity. One which takes advantage of the wonders of stage acting and the magic of recorded entertainment,” Racham said. “We open on a basic situation. Is it history? Is it pony tale? Is it some unknown time? That is for the cunning writer to decide.”

Hepzibah took up the pitch, dramatically opening her hands. “A Diamond Dog woman, lovely, noble, but not overbearing. She's lovely. Just the sort to be admired by all men. She is admired by the perfect stallion... and coveted by the most horrible.”

Racham nodded in approval of Hepzibah's performance. “The sex between the lovers is magical, and their masturbatory sessions are passionate affairs of lust, love and devoted repetitions of their lovers' name. But there comes a problem. A terrible problem. The horrible stallion. Brother, rival, former compatriot of the good one. The detail matters less than the fact that he covets that relationship.”

“So he comes for her!” Hepzibah shouted, leaping forward for dramatic effect. “He takes her, stealing her away in some appropriate manner. He lavishes lewdness upon her, with touches on areas that are near to improper but artfully restrained. He wants to ravish her, ruin her, properly. Where he can take his time.”

Racham stood tall, looking properly heroic. “But he never has a chance. Her lover is on the trail, and not far behind. There is a clash, the wicked one is thrown down, as must happen.”

Hepzibah went on, with a soft look on her face. “She is with her bold stallion, who has freed her from the hold of evil. And she and he go at it with more passion and adoration than ever before!”

“And above and beyond, the best part. I play both hero and villain. Believe me, makeup and dye can do many, many things,” Racham said, he and Hepzibah sharing a secret laugh.

Hoity stroked his chin softly, considering the plot he had been presented. “It's a rare thing when the hopeful actors pitch their own concepts. And this is quite a concept. Fascinating. You put it forth with a lot of passion and I honestly believe the two of you could do a good job at it. You sound like you'd give it everything you have.”

“Good, triumphant; evil, defeated; and a loving pair reunited to make mad, passionate love. A Dog and a pony. We approached this studio because you were the first to make it acceptable to show that relationship being consensual,” Racham said.

“We're both really big fans of Rarity. She eased us into this idea, and gave us something to do when we wanted to add a little extra spice to our spicy evenings,” Hepzibah added.

“We need more customers like you. We'd make money on sales and from your acting,” Sapphire said with a small laugh.

“Ja. Und zis notion vould increase our unique notoriety. Ve already are known for being ze most positive company. To show such clear goodness... it vould open a new market,” Photo said, with a light nod.

“So... you claim you could play both parts, good and evil? I have seen your turn as a villain, so I know your capability in that regard, but could you play a unique hero, with a look and motivation different than the evil stallion?” Hoity asked, lowering his sunglasses and looking at Racham.

“I promise you. I could make both of us look entirely different,” Racham said with a hint of boasting. “You would practically have a new actress in every production, and as for myself, well, two new stars. I can perform the proper fight actions to be cut together into a convincing battle. I promise if you give us this opportunity you will not be disappointed.”

“Just for my own information...” Hepzibah broke in quickly, raising a finger and smiling sheepishly. “This... opportunity won't ruin my career, will it? I work in a hospital; private practice is a bit easier for ponies. I need to be able to remain employed.”

The trio of studio ponies looked to one another for a moment before breaking into three distinct laughs. “Doktor Hepzibah, you need not vorry about your reputation. You are an adult, und zie Prinzessen do not look down on our craft. Zee last bureaucrat zat looked down on us now eats candy und cupcakes mit our studio lawyer in her van.”

Racham gently nudged Hepzibah and smiled at her. “I told you. Even our sexless-prudes become less-than-sexless-prudes over time. You can keep your job at the hospital and do this as well. You'd need only a decent stage name and good makeup. It does work wonders after all.”

“With that matter concluded...” Hoity said, “We can arrange for a screen test for you both, including the makeup tests. Don't worry, our makeup artists are extremely talented if you just give them instructions in how you are best made up. I'm actually quite eager to see how this goes.” He turned to Sapphire. “Miss Shores, I look to you to arrange this all, review the footage and give a final approval. Then Miss Finish may finalize the paperwork.”

Sapphire nodded and pulled a pad and pen from her pocket. “Right... can you both come back here in a week, ready to get made up and give it your all?”

“I can certainly do this. I have no responsibilities which are pressing. Dearest, can you get the time off?” Racham asked.

“It's my usual day off anyhow. I should take the day before off, just to get ready. I'm so glad I'm prepared for performance in front of an audience...” Hepzibah said, looking up suddenly, a blush coloring her cheek.

Hoity looked at Hepzibah curiously. “I didn't realize you were an actress as well. Were you in anything I might have seen?”

Hepzibah and Racham shared a look that wavered between amusement and worry before she said, “Probably nothing you saw. Small audience performances, short runs.”

Hoity looked at the two for a moment before he nodded. “Any experience puts you up on most of those that come here hoping for job.”

“I think this will be better,” Hepzibah said, with a great deal of relief. “Playing for a live audience is nerve-wracking. Now I don't have to worry about a bad reaction.”

“And we can both act more freely, without having to take time off in between,” Racham said, sharing a laugh with Hepzibah that mystified the other three.

Hepzibah admired herself in the mirror, sliding a hand along her cheek. What she was witnessing in the well-lit makeup mirror was a far cry from her usual quick dye job. The dried coating had transformed her ashy coat into a rich and vibrant green, like an emerald, with a lighter green tone setting off her face, which continued down her chest and over her belly. It was perfect. It looked so natural. “Amazing...” She said.

“Thank you. It was a unique challenge to get the tones just right,” The makeup artist said. He was a Changeling, wearing a blue beret and a matching bandana. “It was a pleasure to work on you. I usually work on male Dogs, and they never need anything like this. I love a unique challenge.”

“You succeeded...” Hepzibah said, standing up to admire every part of her dyed form.

“Thank you, Doctor,” The Changeling said with a small greenish blush. “Sometimes I feel a little taken for granted around here. It's always good to know I'm appreciated.”

“Maybe you need to make them notice you. You have skill,” Hepzibah said, stroking over her arms. Still soft and velvety, not stiff and heavy like her quick and cheap work.

“It's not a very 'Changeling' thing to do, getting noticed,” The Changeling said with a laugh.

“Changelings do everything, and they get noticed when they do amazing things. I'm from a hive-close colony, I know it,” Hepzibah said.

“Maybe I'll give one of the guys a new color job, just to show off. Miss Rarity might be impressed with it,” the Changeling mused.

“That'll be a great perk if I can get work here. I can meet my favorite actress! Is she as nice as she seems on screen or is she really unpleasant?” Hepzibah asked.

“Miss Rarity is the sweetest, most wonderful mare I know. Always a kind word and a smile,” The Changeling said with a sigh. “And she's very good with her pups.”

“Yes, Racham told me she had puppies. I didn't think I could admire her more,” Hepzibah said, hands drifting over her belly. She could stop her contraceptives at any time. A foal wouldn't be a bad thing at all...

“Well, you're all ready. Miss Shores will want you on the set,” The Changeling said, interrupting Hepzibah's reverie.

“Of course, of course. Thank you again, and I hope I get this job. You'll have more chances to show off,” Hepzibah said with a laugh, before rushing out of the dressing room door and onto the set.

The set was like every other at Bare Mare, a moderately-sized square space, with walls made of sound-dampening foam, and a polished stone floor made safer with the addition of grip tape. Wires wound and twisted about like an electronic undergrowth, leading between the power supplies and cameras, monitors, and other esoteric articles of cinematic sorcery whose purposes were surely known to their operators. Slightly off from the center was the stage area, which was not set up in any way, containing only a plain foam pad and several large pillows.

There were only a few ponies around, seemingly a skeleton crew, the bare minimum needed to run the cameras and sound equipment. Also in evidence was Sapphire Shores, who was sitting on a wood-and-cloth folding chair, like a stereotypical director. She offered a smile to Hepzibah and nodded pleasantly to her. “Looks like you got the full treatment, honey. It's an amazing transformation. I don't think you'd need to worry about a patient recognizing you.”

“Yes, I think I am very effectively incognito with this look,” Hepzibah said with a soft chuckle. “Now where is Racham?”

“You know men, takes them forever to get ready for anything we need them to do,” Sapphire said with a wink. “Besides, he has to get made up once then tell them how to do his second makeup job, so they'll be ready when he goes back.”

“I should have remembered...” Hepzibah said. On hearing a door her ears perked to their fullest and her attention was drawn over to the door that indicated it led to the male dressing room.

Racham stepped out... in some form. His coat was a sickly off-white color, edging on gray, while his mane had been made limp and lifeless, dyed a sickly green. His eyes looked slightly sunken, and subtle makeup around his mouth and a set to his jaw gave him a crooked, cruel look. Then a smile broke across his features and he slowly trotted out. “And how do I look, dearest? They're even better than the television crew I worked with before. All top quality, applied with artistry.”

“I know! Look at me,” Hepzibah said, slowly turning around with her arms spread.

“You look so unlike yourself. I should not desire you. But I know it's you under that color. And I will always wish to hold you close,” Racham said with a soft voice, wrapping Hepzibah up in a sudden, tight hug.

Sapphire laughed into a hoof then clopped them together. “Settle down, lovebirds This is the menace test and the fight filming for the bad guy. So try to be menacing.”

“Ahh, yes, yes, of course. My apologies, Miss Shores. I simply have an abundance of love I must express. But professionalism was long my credo. Come, dear, to the stage,” Racham said, leading Hepzibah onto the stage and into the sight of the cameras.

“Since this is just a screen test you can be a little freer with how you act. And since Mister Toity assured me that you could improvise well, you can do anything you like while you're up there as long as we get some good menace scenes and a convincing fight,” Sapphire said, checking the scene through a small device that gave her a camera-like view.

“Want me to start us off? Set up just how overbearing you should be?” Hepzibah asked.

“Please, dear,” Racham said, bowing just a bit, “If you would be so kind.”

“Alright. Just assume my clothes have been torn off but nothing else has happened yet,” Hepzibah said. She then threw herself backwards onto one of the pillows, one hand behind her, one hand up and directed at Racham. “N-no! You can't do this to me! I'm never going to love you, I already gave myself to your brother! He treats me better than you ever could!”

Racham sneered, baring his teeth just enough to make the menace clear but not so much that he ruined the effect. He gave a slight rear and stomped heavily, a derisive snort passing through his flared nostrils. “My foolishly benevolent brother has no claim on you. He has not deigned to place a ring on your finger and thus you are still free. I have wanted you for years, lusted after that perfect body. And yet you never even looked at me! I am the picture of mystic and muscular might, more than that accursed sibling of mine and yet you chose him! Despite all my advances and hints you gave your desirable form to him!”

Hepzibah slid backwards slowly, still looking worried, though with some steel in her eyes. “I never wanted anything you offered. I know you're a cruel and heartless pony, a vicious brute that has had many others. They've all said how scared they are of you. Your brother was kind to me, he saw me with equal love and lust; as a real Dog, not a mere trophy. He's every bit as muscular and mystical as you are, maybe more, and where you have insensitivity polluting your soul he is filled with kindness!”

“You lie!” Racham cried, rearing up higher and stomping himself closer to Hepzibah. “You know nothing of me and my ways, you know not that my brother is in any way my superior, and you have no right to speak to me in such a manner!”

“I have every right! You have no right to do this to me!” Hepzibah countered.

Racham rushed forward, erection standing proud as he placed himself over Hepzibah's body. It throbbed and bounced with his heartbeat, aided by subtle flexes of his muscles. It dipped down, nearly touching Hepzibah's bare belly and teats. “Enough! You have put me aside for too long! I will take what I have desired for ages. No more will you humiliate me by laying with my kin. Now I take back my honor...”

“You have no honor!” Hepzibah cried, pushing on Racham's chest, scooting her rear carefully away from the slowly bowing erection. “Don't you dare!”

“You cannot-” Racham's ears pricked up and he turned to look behind himself, as though hearing a call. “You! So, you come to try and steal my honor once more. You are a fool, brother. She will be mine, and you will no longer be a concern. Come to me if you have nerve!”

Racham went onto two legs and spun around quickly, his horn releasing a wave of magic that went off camera. He smiled triumphantly then scowled as he surreptitiously created a colored wave of magic that came in and struck him on the chest. He stumbled back a little, as though he had been seriously stricken. He rushed up a short distance and reared again, legs kicking out in a particular pattern while he continued to produce magical effects that looked very like hooves coming from before him, which struck him.

Hepzibah had risen to her feet again and cheered. “I told you, he's better than you! Show him your power! Teach him a lesson about trying to hurt innocent folks.”

“Worthless, gutless, powerless brot- ugh!” Racham had been producing a magic shield, but it shattered with a spectacular flash, during which time another grunt was heard. As the glare faded Racham was down on the ground, looking unconscious.

“Cut! Get ready to reset for the second part. We'll see how skilled you really are, Mister Racham,” Sapphire said.

Racham hopped to his hooves with a smile and a stretch. “I hope the second application of dye is quick. I don't want to keep you waiting.” He dashed off the set, magic opening the door to his dressing room.

Hepzibah looked at her position, nodding a little bit as she held it for a moment. “I think I can get back to this mark. I don't want to be responsible for ruining our chances.”

“Oh, that would seem unlikely. You seem like a proper lady, and a lady can never endanger such an opportunity so long as she retains her bearing and poise,” A new voice spoke from behind an inactive camera. Rarity trotted slowly into view, bouncing her curled hair and pushing along a stroller that contained a small, swaddled bundle.

Hepzibah made a noise like a gasp mixed with a squeal and a high-pitched noise that only she noted. “Oh my Mother, oh my Mother, by Faust it's you! It's you! Rarity! I can't believe this! What are you doing here?”

Rarity laughed musically and pushed her stroller closer to the set, showing off the small, sleeping Diamond pup within, mostly covered up, but his white head showing him to be a Dig Dog. “Why am I here? A potential new colleague, who was described as a beautiful Diamond Dog involved with a handsome stallion was said to be in the building? I would be remiss if I did not come here to offer my support and my vote of confidence. I did not see much, Doctor Hepzibah, but I can see you are serious about your craft, and that you are as lovely as they said.”

“You know my name?” Hepzibah asked with a subtle awe. “Oh this is more than I could have imagined.”

“And you seem to be a fan,” Rarity said with clear mirth. “Yes, I know your name. And that your paramour is one Racham. I have seen him in other works. For a pony, he is well-constructed. You must be very... happy with him.” She dropped a saucy wink to Hepzibah.

Hepzibah put one paw over her face and waved the other demurely. “W-we have a very... energetic love life. We wouldn't be here if we didn't think we could manage. I'll confess, I was scared at first. I was worried I might lose the respect of my patients and colleagues at the hospital.”

“Nonsense, darling,” Rarity said with a firm shake of her head. “We ponies are broad minded and free, particularly in these modern days. You will find no such shunning. And even if such a rare thing should happen, I can assure you were here in this profession are a tight-knit group.”

Hepzibah smiled sincerely at the sentiment, then looked down to the napping pup in the stroller. “He's adorable. He really has your coat.”

“My eyes, too, when he opens them,” Rarity noted, using magic to slowly run a stroke down the side of the small pup's face. “My little Marble Chip. He takes after his father, of course, much as his sister does.”

“I had heard you had two. Where is she?” Hepzibah asked, looking around the room.

“She is with her father and her 'uncles', as she knows them. She is still young enough to be brought around here without need of hiding things from her. Little Alabaster Trove, my first treasure. I brought Marble with me to come visiting because when he wakes he will demand suckling... much like his father and the rest,” Rarity said with a laugh.

Hepzibah tilted her head a bit, and then blinked as comprehension dawned. “You packed. That hardly ever happens anymore. I never knew any group that could fight off jealousy and greed to make it work long enough to be viable. I wrote it off as just another ancient thing, like ceremonial mounting or neutering.”

“I am a generous mare, but no harlot. I do not splatter lust about with abandon. I grant a deep and abiding love to those I find worthy. And I have found these Dogs worthy. Daily do they prove my trust was well-placed,” Rarity said, her eyes growing soft and dreamy.

Hepzibah had her own soft look, as she thought of Racham. “I may not agree with the pack sentiment, but I know about giving your love to the worthy. Racham said that he saw your sincerity while you were acting. Even in the most unpleasant of rape scenes your affection couldn't hide.”

“I'm so glad we are done with such foolishness, except for the occasional fantasy-within-a-fantasy. Expressing love is always for the best,” Rarity noted. “I wish I could stay to meet this fine fellow of yours but I have the feeling you will be loud and raucous when he comes. I am quite certain I shall see you both around the studio. I haven't a doubt you will be hired on.”

“Th-thank you for the vote of confidence, Miss Rarity,” Hepzibah said, some of her fannishness returning. “I can't wait to work alongside you.”

“I'm certain it will be good for all concerned. Be well,” Rarity said with a dip of her head. After ensuring her path to the door was still clear of wires she lit her horn and slowly pushed the stroller out of of the studio.

Hepzibah watched her go with a trace of a giddy smile on her features. Sapphire, who had been watching the whole exchange trotted over and gave her a nudge. “I think she's right. If your stallion does half as well with the good guy as he did with the bad one then you two will be undeniably a good choice.”

“He doesn't show it, and his career never demonstrated it, but I think Racham may be better at playing good ponies than evil ones, because it's what he is. He's such a natural that I doubt it would be acting. It would be the truth,” Hepzibah said.

“We'll see,” Sapphire said with a nod.

A bit more time passed before the dressing room door opened and Racham emerged, transformed. His coat was a fiery orange-red color, while his mane and tail were both a dazzling golden yellow. His face was set in its most handsome and heroic mode, with subtle applications of makeup giving him a flushed, full and healthy look, in contrast to the sickly sunkenness of his prior appearance.

“And thus, I am transformed,” Racham said with some mirth.

“Oh... wow...” Hepzibah said, rushing up to run her hands over the new coat. “They really did an amazing job. I can't even see the other one.”

“As I suspected, I believe that the genii of this place will do right by us,” Racham said, stretching out his limbs and cracking his neck. “Well now, once more we tread the boards, my love.”

“More like the foam,” Hepzibah joked, getting back onto her rear and looking over to the point that had been indicated by the prior scene. “Need me to give some reaction shots?”

“That would be good for cutting into the audition film,” Sapphire said.

Hepzibah waited for the cameras before she returned to her look of determination under fear. Her head snapped up and she smiled brightly. She pushed herself up and looked with love towards the heroically-posing Racham.

Racham waited for the reactions, which could be cut in at any points before he began. “Stop! I knew you were a terrible brother but this... this is insanity!” He waited for the speech he remembered before launching his magic, impacting himself with the bolt his evil character had thrown before responding with his own. “You monster! Beast! You dare call yourself a pony?” Racham shouted his lines as he launched kicks and magical attacks, trying to recall his timing. “You are a cruel monster and this land blessed by our Mother has no place for the likes of you! You will not harm this innocent! You will not hurt my love!” He let out another blast of magic that became a flash, and a strike that was meant to be the knockout blow.

“My dearest!” Hepzibah leaped out at Racham and embrace him tightly, sighing contentedly as a foreleg swung around to draw her into a tight hug. “Thank you... thank you so much.”

Racham softly rubbed his cheek against Hepzibah's, leaving a small trail of kisses. “Evil must be cast down, and good shine through. Come dear, let us go home...”

Hepzibah threw herself down to the ground again, onto a pillow, on her back and with her legs parted wide. “They need to see us doing this as well. And you have the right dye job to mean the hero is getting his due...”

Racham looked down at Hepzibah, his cock audibly slapping against his belly as he released a deep, loud groan. He slowly stepped over her, stepping out his own rear legs to grandly present his hind end to the camera. His testicles hung low and heavy before the camera's eye, while his tail was flicked up and aside, to avoid inadvertent covering of the activity.

The thick shaft dipped down, Racham's hips loosening a bit while his legs bent, letting him nudge the broad crown against Hepzibah's semi-pyramidal slit. Wetness merged with wetness as the precum-oozing cockhead 'kissed' Hepzibah's dewy petals. He applied pressure gently, slowly, working his hips side-to-side so that he wedged the tight passage open.

The outer lips parted slowly, swallowing up the mushroom tip hungrily and pressing solidly around the gently pulsing pony pole. Racham flexed his rear sharply and dropped his stance more, to drive in a few thick inches. Hepzibah responded by wrapping her arms tightly around his upper body and lifting herself up to press to his strong chest and letting out a quivering howl of pleasure.

Sapphire smiled as she watched the couple making love, a genuine and passionate love. She observed the heavy pony balls swinging freely to thump solidly against Hepzibah's rear end while she was thickly plugged by the generously sized erection. She didn't even need to cut together the fight, though she would. The sex would sell, and sell well. She couldn't wait to give them the good news. Though, as her hoof gently rubbed against her crotch, she figured she could wait for a while longer.

“Mail's in...” Racham said, flipping through the various envelopes as he entered their new apartment, the one located in the same city as Bare Mare. Hepzibah had gotten a good position in the local general hospital, and Racham had happily adapted to the new environment and grown pleased with his new fungus garden, which had come with them from the previous place. “Wedding RSVP, wedding RSVP, junk mail, wedding RSVP from Rarity and her whole pack... feels like all the cards in one envelope. And a package.”

“It's here!” Hepzibah barked, leaping out at Racham and roughly snatching the package away from him, eagerly tearing open the cardboard container.

“Wedding present from your folks?” Racham asked with a laugh.

“They're giving us some magical gems, spores and some antiques, and that's only after the wedding. They love you but they want to see you slip that ring on,” Hepzibah said, showing the contents of the box to be a video. It wasn't a production copy, but a preliminary copy, the box art showing both Hepzibah and Racham in their dyed state. They were named as 'Steel Spire' and 'Madam Roxy' while the production was titled, 'Love Will Rise.' “They got the rough cut ready! They'll clean it up and start selling it next month.”

“And we will be well on our way to at least one new title, if not two. They have great faith in us, it would seem. Quite flattering,” Racham noted, sliding up to admire the box. “Shall we put it in, and enjoy ourselves?”

“That's what I was hoping for,” Hepzibah said with a saucy grin. She rushed into the house and eagerly put the video into the player.

Racham settled comfortably beside Hepzibah as she started the video, and began to nibble at her neck. “Actors, characters, audience. We never needed other ponies. We were always sufficient, as long as we had each other...”

Author's Note

'Dream of a Better Tomorrow' is a reference to Bronystories' very generous gift story "Expecting Exile." It's actually the last line of the story and serves as the cap to an extremely romantic scene. It seemed appropriate.