It
By
M.E. Lovecolt
A clock in the distance rings midnight.
Along the streets of Manehattan, a small, mustard-colored mare runs through the streets. Her cerulean mane bounces in the evening light that shines down from Luna’s moon, and her horn glows just enough so that she can at least see within an inch of her muzzle. She wears a blue dress that neither complements nor clashes with her mane. The high rises of the city, the epicenter of the financial universe of Equestria, flank her on each side. She gallops quickly, which is an irony, considering her cutie mark of a violet-shelled snail. The name she gave herself is Glittershell. It is the closest she could force herself to her given name without bringing up the memories of her life in Ponyville.
Glittershell has many memories. She has memories of failing her father with her attempts at hoofball. She has memories of a purple alicorn dragging her into a library to study her. She has memories of an earth pony dragging her little sister away from her and of large red stallion staring her down, daring her to move closer to him. She has memories of the door of Carousel Boutique being slammed on her muzzle and of a birthday party being attended by only a pink pony with a bushy pink mane. She has memories of a laughing rainbow, and of a yellow pegasus who seemed to fly faster when she was around.
Glittershell has memories of telling her best friend how she felt and the resulting crash of a hoof against her face. That is the one that always rises at this time. That is the memory that always chases her at midnight.
Glittershell gallops until she reaches a small brick townhouse nestled on 130th Street, nestled within Cantor Row of Harlem. The wooden steps, as well as the wooden posts and columns, are painted white. The bricks are blood-red. She trots up the steps to the front porch and raises her hoof to ring the doorbell.
But then she stops.
Glittershell reaches into a worn saddlebag and pulls out a silver comb. She brushes her mane back haphazardly and then places the comb in her mane to keep it pinned back. She turns around and flicks her tail a bit to get out the few kinks that have formed during her gallop. Her horn glows, and a small bottle of perfume levitates from her bag.
Sogni Del Mare.
She squeezes the atomizer, exuding a scent combining the savory scent of maple leaves and the sweet scent of gardenia. She levitates the bottle back into her saddlebag, turns to the door, and rings the doorbell.
For a minute, nothing happens. Perhaps Glittershell only thinks it is a minute.
These are the moments where time moves more slowly for her. These are the moments where she looks into the night sky and sees the twilit shadows eating at the edges of the buildings and curving their verticals. She knows that if there is any moment for her to gallop away, it is now.
The click of a lock jolts Glittershell out of her thoughts, and she turns to the door as it opens. Glittershell looks up, and continues to look up, until her neck cranes as far back as it can. In front of her stands an enormous shadow. The shadow inches forward until a pair of horns emerge, followed by the grey face of a minotaur with a hoop dangling from his nose. She sees his yellow eyes as they emerge from the darkness, the black circles inside of them directed at her.
Glittershell fights the urge to run away at what is normally considered a predator to the ponies as the minotaur moves forward. The light of Luna’s moon reveals a chiseled chest with nipples. She doesn’t understand the purpose of nipples on a male of any species, but she doesn’t give any indication that she finds the body standing before her peculiar. She knows not to judge anypony by their body. The creature continues forward, revealing a set of pectoral muscles that would make any stallion shake in fear. The definition of his abdomen reveals to Glittershell that this particular member of his species must be an ideal body.
The words ideal body replay in her mind. The creature’s legs are covered in dark blue fur, but even the fur cannot hide the definition of his thighs or his calves.
“You’re the one they sent?” He asks.
“Yes sir,” Glittershell responds as she turns her head to the side, letting a single lock of mane fall against her cheek.
“Hmm,” he mutters as he reaches out to touch her, “He certainly went all out, didn’t he?”
Glittershell’s eyes twitch back and forth in confusion.
“I’m sorry.” She replies instinctively.
“You’re a very pretty little mare, aren’t you?” He asks.
A hint of a smile appears on Glittershell’s muzzle.
“Thank you,” she replies, “I was scared to say at first, but I just want to say that you are a very attractive… well… minotaur.”
Glittershell’s voice cracks at the last word. A blush appears on her cheeks as the minotaur steps back into the darkness of his home and pulls the door fully open.
“Step inside.” He commands.
Glittershell smiles demurely and trots inside. She knows who he is, but she has learned that it is always easier when names are not exchanged unless the client specifically asks. She suppresses the urge to shudder when he closes the door. The click of a lock secures her inside. Clicking locks brings up many memories for Glittershell. Memories of being locked in her bedroom in Ponyville.
Glittershell has memories of being locked in her bedroom after being caught by her mother with stockings on her hooves. She has memories of pressing her ear against the door as her parents argue. The argument has become a blur, but numerous words strike out like the claws of a timberwolf.
There is something wrong. It is your fault.
Glittershell shakes her mane and brings herself back to the present. She looks around the room. A brick fireplace stands in the corner. On the mantle rests numerous picture of minotaurs; they are all different sizes. She sees the similarities between the minotaur that opened the door and the one with his arms around a smaller minotaur with a slight build and blue, braided hair. On one wall is a window, and on either side of the window hangs a collection of weapons, most of them Glittershell cannot name.
The sound of hooves echo against the walls as Glittershell realizes that he is now in the room with her. She takes a breath and turns around to face him. She brings her two eyelids together in a way that isn’t so much as a squint as it is a softening of her features. She smiles politely.
“It is a lovely home you have here.”
The first words of an encounter are often what set the mood for the evening. Glittershell’s voice is calm in demeanor and contralto in tone. She has learned to speak in a way that is not stuck in a high falsetto nor nasally and tight.
Her voice is perfected.
Glittershell remains still as the minotaur walks towards her and looks at the photograph that she had been admiring a moment ago. She watches as he places one hand on the photograph, just above the smaller minotaur’s blue hair.
“She left when our daughter went off to college.” He says. “Iron Will is alone.”
Glittershell turns her head away and shows her blushed cheeks to the minotaur. He responds by walking to her and caressing her mane. He bends down to nibble on her ear. Glittershell giggles and turns her head away. The nibbling stops and she looks up to see the golden eyes staring down at her.
“What is the matter?” She asks.
“You need to know that tonight is just that.” He says. “Iron Will was ensured by your employer that you know all about… discretion.”
Glittershell fights the urge to raise an eyebrow, but she knows what he means. He turns back to the photograph.
“It wouldn’t be as big of an issue, were it not for the fact that you’re actually a-”
He stops and looks down at Glittershell, but she turns away from him.
“Did that offend you?” he asks.
“No worries.” She replies.
This is true. Glittershell has often heard that statement in some form or another. Even famous clients who identify as homosexual have made that slip of the tongue. They are always concerned about some reporter learning they have been with somepony like her. Still, the involuntary clenching of her throat and the resulting nervous swallow occurs.
“You know, there are doctors who can fix that.”
Glittershell’s eyes widen and she turns back to him.
“I beg your pardon?” She asks.
“About your neck. They can shave it down and make it look less-”
He stops himself again as Glittershell raises a hoof to her neck. It seems as though a time spell has been cast with both of them looking into one another’s eyes. Does everypony see it, she asks herself. She thinks about the times when she goes to the market. Did the grocer stare at my neck? Did the cab driver? She thinks of the interactions that have taken place over the past few days and struggles to remember if their eyes had ever moved down from her eyes to her neck. There are so many eyes to think about.
A hand rests on her shoulder. The thoughts stop.
“Why don’t you sit down?”
Though formed as a question, the tone is that of a command. He points to a sofa and pulls Glittershell towards it. Glittershell sets her bag to the side. He rewards her with a light nibble on her ear again.
“The dress suits you.”
“Thank you.”
Glittershell shivers as he places a hand on her foreleg. She turns her head when she notices movement coming from his groin. The fur between his thighs begins to move as his member begins to emerge from the sheath. The nibbling continues for another moment until he pulls away.
“Looks like someone else thinks it suits you, too.”
She continues to look on as the cock continues to grow. She realizes that it is nearly as thick as her hoof. He leans in and whispers into her ear.
“Iron Will thinks he’d really like to meet you.” He says. “Why don’t you say hello?”
Again, Glittershell notices that the question is phrased as a command, and again, his hand pushes her where he wants her to go. She inhales deeply as the acrid scent of the minotaur’s sweat invades her nostrils. Her mouth opens and she engulfs him in her throat. She feels with her tongue a vein running down the shaft. As she continues to bob her head up and down, she traces her tongue along the vein and is rewarded with a moan from the minotaur’s mouth.
“Yeah,” he growls, “Work that cock.”
Glittershell continues her work on the shaft as she raises a hoof to cup his balls. She feels them tighten and she begins to lift her head, only to feel the hand on top of it force her head back down. He thrusts his hips upward one final time and roars as he empties into her mouth. Spurt after spurt of cum fills her mouth. He lifts his hand only when he finishes. She coughs a little bit and turns her gaze up to the minotaur, whose eyes now gleam darker than before.
“You suck cocks like a mare,” he says, “now Iron Will wants to see if you can be rutted like one, too.”
There is that word again. Like. Like so many times before when rendering her services, Glittershell’s client reminds her again that everything she does is like a mare.
“Is something the matter?”
Glittershell shakes her head, both to ensure to her client that she is fine and to shake away the errant thought.
“I just haven’t encountered a cock of that size.” She laughs.
A smirk appears on his face. Always compliment them on their size, she thinks as they both stand. He makes his way to the hall and turns with a raised eyebrow. She nods and trots to his side, and together, they walk down a dark hallway. He places his hand on her mane and ruffles his fingers through it.
“So what’s your name?” He asks.
Glittershell stops for a moment. This minotaur is actually the first client to ask that question.
“Glitter.”
“No,” he replies, “what’s your real name?”
Glittershell stops in her tracks, but the hand on her mane grips tighter and she begins to walk again.
“My real name is Glittershell.” She responds coldly but tries to keep the venom out of it.
The grip on her mane is tightened and she cries out in pain. She looks up to see that his eyes are burning into hers.
“Iron Will does not like being lied to.” He says darkly.
“I…” Glittershell pauses, “It’s been so long and I’ve almost always called myself Glittershell. I just don’t remember.”
Glittershell looks up pleadingly into his eyes. The look on his face is one of consideration. She knows that he is debating whether or not she is telling the truth. In her thoughts, it is the truth. Glittershell is her real name; it is the other one that was wrong.
The softening of the minotaur’s grip lets Glittershell know that he believes her, and she closes her eyes and sighs. She is used to this sort of thing, and she knows that he is not. She has dealt with stallions just like this minotaur. Stallions who know they are homosexual, but do not want to admit it to themselves yet. That is where she comes in. Like a mare, she thinks, but not one, at least not in their minds.
They arrive at the end of the hall. Glittershell waits for a moment before she turns up to look at him again. He is staring down at her with an expectant look. She glances to the doorknob and reaches for it, only to have her hoof slapped by the minotaur.
“What are you doing?” He asks.
“I’m sorry,” Glittershell replies, “I just thought that you wanted me to open it for you.”
“Iron Will was thinking about why you wanted to be a mare.”
Glittershell pauses at the question. This is the second question he has asked of her. The first time he slipped he at least apologized, but now the questions and comments arrive with regularity, their implications filling the hall invisibly like carbon monoxide. She glances out of the corner of her eye and looks at the front door in the distance. It is too far to run away, and even if she does, she has nowhere else to go. When it comes down to it, it is either this or the streets, and a Manehattan winter is lethal without the protection of a roof.
“Was it because you weren’t good at being a stallion?”
Glittershell swallows again. She takes a few deep breaths and turns to the minotaur.
“I am not a stallion,” she replies with as much confidence as she can muster.
She leaves the statement at that. He does not need to hear the stories of her foalhood. The single statement was enough
Glittershell swallows again. She takes a few deep breaths and turns to the minotaur.
“I am not a stallion,” she replies with as much confidence as she can muster, “My body just-”
She pauses again when she realizes that she cannot finish the statement.
“I am not a stallion.” She simply repeats.
Glittershell notices three changes: one, the minotaur appears much taller and wider now; two, his eyes are narrower and his smile is more devious; three, his nipples have hardened, which means that something she has said to him has aroused him further.
The door opens and Glittershell enters the room, followed by the minotaur. He closes the door and she struggles not to shiver at the sound of the lock clicking shut. Glittershell immediately realizes that this is not a master suite, but a guest room. A clock hangs on the wall; a nondescript chest of drawers rests in the corner of the room; a queen-sized bed is tucked away in the other corner. It is always a guest room. She trots to the bed as seductively as she can manage and presses her hoof against the mattress and realizes that it is firm. This means that it has not seen much use. Less likely that he has brought others here, she deduces, less likely that he can give me something. The thought in and of itself is ridiculous - of any client she has had, the griffons and now minotaur clients cannot pass in any diseases to her. She knows this, but she has had too many scares to not allow the thought to creep darkly into her mind like a spindly black vine.
“Take off the dress.”
Glittershell is shocked out of her thoughts at the command. She turns around and sees him standing over her again. It is here that she realizes just how small she really is; everything in the room is made for the minotaur; even the bed reaches up to her mane.
“Take off the dress.” He repeats.
Without thinking, Glittershell reaches a hoof up to her dress and slowly begins to pull at the zipper. The minotaur stops her and reaches down to touch her mane. She feels the teeth of her silver comb pull through her mane as he pulls it out. She starts again, and as the zipper begins to trail down her back, she feels the dress pull away from her fur. A thought flutters through her mind; she imagines the metamorphosis of a butterfly in reverse; golden wings wrap into themselves and cocoon the body, and then a caterpillar emerges.
As the dress falls to the floor, she turns back to the minotaur, who has taken a seat at the edge of the bed. He has been staring at her the entire time, but now his attention is drawn to her flanks. He reaches out to grab her.
“Purple panties.” He growls. “Someone is a naughty pony.”
Rather than let her trot over to him, he grabs either side of her and pulls her to him. He sets her on his lap. Glittershell feels his growing erection prod at her underside as his hand moves around her flanks, occasionally grabbing the fleshier parts.
“Do you know what happens to naughty ponies who like to wear panties?”
“Yes.”
The minotaur’s hand slaps against her flank.
“Yes, what?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“That’s better.”
Glittershell starts to tremble when a harsh tongue traces along both of her gaskins. She opens her eyes and turns around when she feels the pair of hands grasp either side of her flank and looks into the eyes of the creature that hovers over her body.
“You’re a bad pony, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Yes, sir.”
His hand slaps her flank again, and a small gasp escapes from her.
“Good ponies aren’t supposed to wear panties.”
The erection beneath Glittershell continues to grow as he slaps her flanks a few more times. The combined sounds of hand against flesh and grunts against gasps continue to fill the room like smoke. It is becoming difficult for Glittershell to breathe.
“Why are you wearing panties, little pony?”
This time, the slap against her flank is harder. This time, the slap is meant as a punishment.
“I like how they make me look, sir.” She gasps.
“You do, do you?” He mutters. “You like being a pretty little mare?”
The spanking gets harsher and Glittershell’s limbs spasm on either side of his lap. A small cry leaves her lips again. Each spanking is punctuated by a question.
“Yeah,” he says, “keep making that noise.”
There is another slap, followed by another cry.
“You’re a bad mare.”
“Yes, sir!” She cries.
“Such a bad mare.”
“Yes.”
The hand reaches inside of her panties and begins to pull them down, leaving her flank bare for him to grab. The hand reaches and pulls on her tail.
“Who’s a bad mare?”
“I-I am.”
“You’re a bad what?”
“I’m a bad mare.”
“That’s right, such a bad mare. Now, apologize.”
“I’m s-sorry.”
She feels his erection return at full mast now. It has gotten large enough to where she sees the head poking out from beneath her. There is another slap.
“Say it again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Again!”
“Daddy, I’m sorry!”
The spanking stops. Glittershell is trembling as he sets her on the bed and removes her panties. She hopes that this means the short role playing session is over. She knows why that word came out
“Iron Will loves the way you said that.”
She hears the sound of his hooves walk around the room and then the sound of a drawer being opened and shut. The sound of a bottle snapping open echoes faintly through the room.
He moves his body over hers and prepares to mount her. Glittershell sees that he has already covered his pride in lube and it glistens in the dim light of the lampshade. She sees him push forward and feels him press against her entrance.
And that is when it happens.
Glittershell shakes her head at the sensation of it. Of all the things she has done tonight, it is the one thing that disgusts her. She feels it begin to grow from the sheath. She feels it begin to press against the bed sheets and her belly. It continues to grow with each thrust from the minotaur behind her. She feels a hand snake its way beneath her belly and grabs it.
“Oh yeah!” The minotaur shouts as he caresses it.
Glittershell moans and tries not to cry out at her own body’s betrayal. Why does it have to make her feel like this? Why does it enjoy the touch of those hands? She feels a familiar tightening within it.
And then it is over. Glittershell feels the minotaur tense up and a familiar sensation warm her insides at the same time she feels something sticky cling to her belly. Finally, she feels it retreat back inside of her. It is over...
It is over.
Glittershell feels a weight on top of her and notices that the minotaur is close to falling asleep. She uses her magic to levitate him off of her and to the side of the bed. When she gets off of the bed, she turns around and stares at him, wondering how he could fall asleep so quickly. Then again, having two orgasms in such a short period of time would exhaust any stallion; she sees no reason why a minotaur would be any different.
Glittershell’s head is level with the top of the bed, and she sees only his profile as he sleeps. The minotaur’s chest rhythmically rises and falls. His tail twitches involuntarily. Her eyes narrow when she sees the smirk on his face.
Glittershell turns to the dress on the floor. She levitates it to her, but then notices that there is a small tear in the fabric, just above the hem. The tear is small, but she knows that if left unchecked the tear will only grow. A light yellow aura glows faintly over the tear, and moments later, the tear is gone. Upon closer inspection, however, Glittershell notices that the threads don’t exactly match up. It reminds her of a scar, but it is small enough that nopony will notice it. Only she will even know it is there. Soon, even she will forget about it.
Glittershell slides the panties back on and winces when the fabric reaches her sore flanks. She stands on her hind hooves and lets the dress fall down over her body, covering her mustard fur. The silver comb soon finds its way back in her mane.
She trots out of the room and down the hallway, the darkness giving way to light as she reaches the living room. Her bag rests on the corner of the couch. She collects her things and prepares to leave, but then she stops and turns her head to the mantle. Glittershell trots to the photograph she had been looking at earlier. The daughter that stands in between the two adult minotaurs has long hair like her mother, but it is dark blue, almost black, like her father. The eyes glisten, even in the photograph. What really sticks out for Glittershell is the smile; she can tell that it is not a forced smile at all, but completely natural. She stares at the photograph for a while longer, and then she turns around and makes her way to the front door.
The door closes behind her.
Glittershell finds herself standing in the middle of 130th Street. She notices that all of the houses on the street have the same facade. Two windows on the second floor of each house stare at her like empty black eyes. The front doors are shrouded in darkness by the awnings; they gape at her like open mouths. Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower rings out the time. A single clang echoes through the night sky and then dissipates into the darkness.
The only thing that breaks the silence now is the sound of Glittershell’s hooves as they trod down the street. Soon, they, too, fade away, leaving behind only a collection of dark, identical houses.
