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                       Aristocrats!                        
                    -by Neon Czolgosz-                     
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                       A Silly Prank                       
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A Silly Prank
Two hooded figures walked through the darkened streets of Canterlot, giggling blissfully and drunkenly stumbling into one another.
A clear and cultured voice, dripping with arrogance and virility, cut through the late night quiet.
“And so I said, ‘Well, my dear, it simply won’t fit!’”
The second figure snorted, before bursting into a fit of highly undignified laughter. They fell about into each other, both laughing their heads off.
“You’re dreadful, my dearest Blueblood,” said the smaller figure.
“And you, my darling Trixie, are worse!”
The Prince of Canterlot and his amour trotted happily through the cool nighttime air. They had met last year when Trixie performed for her act for one of Buffet LeGrand’s soirees. Trixie’s combination of stunning displays, brutal deceptions and audience bullying had taken Canterlot by storm in a way that other, lesser cities hadn’t appreciated, but she hadn’t felt like she could truly call anyone in the city her friend until she shared a martini with the prince after that performance.
Blueblood was amazed by her, and barely knew why or how he was so amazed. It felt like for the first time in his life, he’d met somepony just as incapable of understanding this insane world as he was.
They were walking back to his patte-à-terre from the Shireton Hotel Bar, where they had been having drinks with Fancy Pants and his coterie. Over good company and better wine, they had been discussing a charity benefit for the cervidian victims of the displacements in Nainuoc. The pair had somehow ended up stunningly drunk from the revelry, though neither of them was going to complain about this state of affairs.
“Fancy Pants is such a treat. We should really do this sort of thing with him more often,” said Trixie.
Blueblood nodded a second later, as if it had taken a moment for the information to reach his brain from his ears. His sloppy smile never left his face, though. “Certainly. Heh. I remember him coming along on a state visit to Taurien last year. He came along to every diplomatic meeting, every morning briefing and all of the trade negotiations, as well as setting up a new branch of FP Enterprises over there. He might have caught four hours of sleep over the entire week, and still showed up every morning as fresh as a daisy.”
A wry grin crossed Trixie’s face. “Another alicorn, perhaps? There seem to be more and more of them, these days.”
“Pah, if Auntie doesn’t get her sleep, everypony in the castle knows it. Alicorn has nothing to do with it. It’s something odd in that stallion’s constitution. I hear he eats a lot of kale, very good for the brain. Still, he did spend the better part of a week in bed once we returned to Equestria...”
“He’s got a very powerful charisma about him, hasn’t he?” On seeing a raised eyebrow from Blueblood, Trixie snorted. “Oh quiet, my prince. I have no designs for him, you needn’t preen and puff so.”
“Preen and puff nothing,” replied the prince, “I was merely considering just how right you were. Fancy Pants is a paragon of male potency, and if you managed to worm your way into his bedsheets, I wouldn’t think to stop you. In fact, I’d do my best to join you.”
Trixie’s tail swished playfully from side to side, brushing against Blueblood’s flank. “Mmmhmm. And Fleur, too...”
The pair broke down into giggles once more, practically leaning into one another for support as they continued their drunken journey. The giggles slowly dissipated, and then there was a brief period of silence.
Trixie spoke. “Jet Set and Upper Crust are the worst ponies in Canterlot.”
Blueblood nodded. “I hate them in ways I cannot put into words. You know what it’s like, talking to them? It’s — it’s like attending some state dinner and being served some wine that tastes like a mix of antifreeze and sediment, the sort of wine that tastes so bad you honestly wonder if you’re not being poisoned, but the head of state sat next to you compliments it and so do all of his hangers on and then the minotaur ambassador joins in to be polite and the Equestrian ambassador heaps even more praise on it to one-up her and you’re sitting there with a mouth full of grape-scented sewage, smiling like an idiot and hoping you can dump the rest in a flower vase before you have to drink any more. That’s what they’re like.”
“They’re awful. They both spent a month whining how they were ‘unsure’ about having the charity gala open to the public, and then what do they say about my spectacular show? That it will be ‘perfect for the occasion.’ As if my dazzling displays of dominance were some grease-soaked carnival pastry!”
“I don’t know how Fancy Pants can tolerate either of them. You know what I’ve seen them do? They always turn up ten minutes later to my soirees than Fancy Pants’ or Brighton Rock’s events. To the dot,” he sniffed. “They think I don’t notice, but I do.”
“I hope they both die of colic.”
“I quite agree.”
They both seethed quietly for a moment as they walked. One corner later, they were at the steps to Blueblood’s townhouse.
“You know what I miss dearly?” said Blueblood as he invited his consort inside. “Good old-fashioned japery. Me and the old boys used to absolutely tear up the School for Gifted Unicorns. Why, we had cherry-bombs in lockers, glue on the seats, heads down toilets, pit traps in the common rooms. Once we convinced this real tight-wound swotter that Celestia herself was going to cut her horn off for failing a test and place her in magic kindergarten until she died of old age. She cried for a week, it was wonderful!”
Trixie giggled. “I love that stuff! I’ve had to tone it down in my performances to make it in mainstream Canterlot,” she sighed. “Critics have no appreciation for art. You slap down a few neigh-sayers in ways that would make Discord himself take notes, and they start throwing around terms like ‘self-indulgent,’ ‘mean-spirited,’ and ‘reckless endangerment.’”
“Pah! A bunch of unwashed beat poets with unshorn fetlocks and no appreciation for the finer arts. The sort of ponies who mumble everything they say because they won’t take Trenderhoof’s balls out of their mouths before speaking.”
Trixie paused for a moment. Her eyes widened and her entire face seemed to light up as a thought struck her. “You know, my prince, we mustn’t sit around moping about this. We have to change the world again, for the better! Let’s prank Jet Set and Upper Crust in a way they’ll never forget!”
“Oh? You have an idea?”
“I might have something in mind...”
***
Getting Jet Set and Upper Crust unconscious in a secluded closet in the country club had required subtle manipulation, more overt manipulation, table switching, a ketamine-laced snifter of brandy, and finally a pair of rubber-coated truncheons after everything else had failed. With a tap of a magically-attuned horse shoe, the world shifted. All four ponies were teleported directly to Blueblood’s sex dungeon.
The sex dungeon wasn’t in the palace. It wasn’t even in Central Canterlot, where you needed a pedigree of purity to show a donkey-and-zebra-free family tree going back one-hundred years to own property. It was in Lower Canterlot, the grotty toenails of the city, in the cellar of a condemned dive bar.
The location greatly amused both Trixie and Blueblood. Not only would Upper Crust and Jet Set be terrified, but they would also end up covered in poor cooties.
The floor was sticky and reeked of beer, urine, and cheap incense that didn’t quite cover up the beer or the urine. Blueblood thought the incense was a nice touch. It gave the place a good ‘sex dungeon’ smell.
A little plaster crumbled from the ceiling, disturbed by the force of the teleport. The room was harshly lit by fluorescent strip lighting. Plaster dust flowed underneath the light like drifting snow. The brightness of the lighting clashed with the sex dungeon aesthetic somewhat, but neither Trixie nor Blueblood cared. They wanted to see everything.
Blueblood giggled like a foal as he opened their duffel bag of supplies, and passed a squat bottle with a thick cork to Trixie. She took a makeup brush, and dipped it into the bottle. It came out covered in an opaque grey liquid. She slathered it across Jet Set and Upper Crust’s eyelids. The mixture set quickly, becoming completely solid and glueing their eyes shut.
She then took several lengths of medical tubing and slowly eased them into her captives’ nostrils. After checking they were both breathing safely through the tubes, she took more grey liquid and sealed their mouths shut.
Trixie bound their forelegs and then their hindlegs with rope, and then stepped back to admire her hoofwork.
They were ready to begin.
***
Jet Set and Upper Crust woke on a hard floor, mute, bound and sightless. They struggled and turned, soon moaning in fear, but found nothing but the tightness of their bonds and the totality of the darkness.
Then, the noises began. Dark and ominous chanting, distant at first, and then approaching closer and closer. It was in no language either of them recognised, but hate and lust dripped from every syllable. Many hooves beat the ground in a strange pattern, from a dozen ponies by the sound of it. They were sure they could hear the hissing of serpents nearby.
If Jet Set and Upper Crust had been able to see, they would have seen that there was no chanting claque of cultists, only Blueblood’s exquisitely expensive boombox. There was no crowd of ponies stomping a strange rhythm on the ground, only Trixie and Blueblood jogging on the spot. There were no hissing serpents, only two tormentors trying tremendously hard to muffle their giggles and snickers.
Blueblood cut the tape, and they both stood still. Silence fell over the room. Trixie levitated a bit-sized plastic ring from her back, and inserted it between her bottom lip and front teeth.
She lit her horn, and then ripped the grey sealant from her captive’s mouths. As they gasped from the rough sensation, she pulled out all four nasal tubes in one smooth pulled. Jet Set yelled and Upper Crust squealed as the mucous-covered tubes were roughly removed. There was a spot of red on one of Upper Crust’s tubes.
Blueblood pulled strange, floppy objects from the duffel bag. A long riding crop came out, and he passed it to Trixie. A little buzz ran through him as his telekinetic aura overlapped with hers. He smiled broadly. He’d been seeing the showmare for half a year now, and little things like that still turned him into a giddy schoolcolt.
Upper Crust wriggled from side to side. “Please... Whoever you are, please let me go!”
“Upper Crust? Sweetie?” said Jet Set, trying to shuffle towards the sound of his wife.
“Jet? Oh Celestia, what’s going on where are—”
The riding crop slashed through the air, hitting Jet Set and Upper Crust across their gunk-covered eyes. They were quiet for a moment, and then both started screaming.
Trixie and Blueblood grinned as one.
The crop whistled through the air over and over, cracking down on the flanks, sides and faces of the two prisoners. Each stroke hit hard enough to leave a welt. The slaps of the leather tip against their coats were hard enough to be heard over their screams.
Their pleas only spurred Trixie on.
After a few minutes of beatings, the screams died down into pathetic sobbing. Jet Set and Upper Crust where shivering, whimpering, and curled up as tightly as their bonds would allow. Thick, red stripes were already beginning to show through their coats.
Blueblood sat on his pile of strange equipment, stifling laughter. Trixie grinned at him, twirling the crop in the air and pretending to do kung-fu moves with it. She turned away from him, looked over her shoulder, flagged her tail and winked at him.
And then she winked at him.
A lustful smirk appeared on Blueblood’s face. He splayed his hindlegs out and played with his hardening cock.
Jet Set tried to speak, stymied by a sudden stutter. “P-p-p-please—”
“Silence!”
Blueblood laughed this time, though he turned it into a throaty growl at the end. Trixie had used a foals Nightmare Night toy to deepen her voice, and was now doing a very passable impression of Nightmare Moon.
“Foolish worms! You are in the presence of Dominatrix, high priestess of the Lust Goddess Eros!”
The pair on the floor whimpered briefly, but said nothing.
Trixie continued. “A popular magician known as the Great and Powerful Trixie is held high in our regard, for her performances incite lust and depravity in those who watch them. Your whisper campaign against her has not gone unnoticed, and you have hence disrupted my peace. You must therefore do a service for me!
“I shall take your sexual energies and bind a lust demon to the mortal realm. Then your purity will be sacrificed to my loyal beast!”
Jet Set was about to open his mouth, but the leather tip of the riding crop idly slid over his cheek.
“Ssshhh, fool. Do not anger me further.”
His lips clamped tightly shut.
Trixie and Blueblood combined their telekinetic energies and lifted the pair of prisoners face down onto a large wobble board. It was big enough to fit two ponies, and was held stable by a pair of wooden blocks underneath it.
Blueblood flicked a switch on the stereo. A low chanting filled the room, slowly increasing in volume. He removed the blocks under the wobble board, stabilising it with his magic.
“Praise be to thee, Eros,” cried Trixie, “For it is in thine powers that our cocks are hard and our quims are slick! We seek thine energies to bind a lust demon, and let him slake his lusts on our prisoners!”
Trixie leaned close to Jet Set and Upper Crust, and lifted their heads. They gasped sharply as their necks were held at uncomfortable angles.
“You are now involved in a delicate pact with a true divinity, and if you do not comply completely you will both be dismembered and devoured! Then we will take your precious foals, Trust Fund and little Blue Chip, and they will be given over to the lust demon!”
Blueblood began to jiggle the wobble board, and slowly increased the volume of the chanting.
“Jet Set and Upper Crust,” growled Trixie, “You will slake the lusts of the sex shoggoth. We shall hurt, molest, and degrade you both, and you will help hurt, molest and degrade each other. If you do this, your foals will be safe. I am your Mistress, and you will pledge to obey me!”
Jet Set and Upper Crust opened their mouths, but said nothing. Trixie winked at Blueblood, then used her magic to slam her prisoners’ faces into the board. Blood trickled down Jet Set’s lip as Trixie lifted his head again.
“Pledge to obey me!”
“I’ll obey, I swear!” cried Upper Crust.
“We’ll obey, Mistress!”
Trixie grinned and signalled to Blueblood. He raised the volume of the chanting a final time and increased the jiggling of the wobble board. Trixie took several waxing strips, and gently arranged them in a triangle over the cutie-marks of her captives.
Trixie began to chant. “Eros Fhtagn! Ai! Ai! Ai!”
The wobble board became still. Blueblood fanned cold air over the prisoners. Trixie zapped their cutie marks with a static shock, then tore off the waxing strips. Their yelps could barely be heard over the chanting on the stereo.
Trixie looked up at Blueblood. He had just finished donning his kit, and was now the ‘shoggoth.’ A set of rubber tentacles ringed his face, and a matching set was attached to the base of his penis. Several longer, thicker lengths of rubber were attached to his limbs, held aloft by his telekinesis. They were all magically warmed to his body temperature, and the larger tentacles had little sacs on them, filled with semen he’d stored over the past week.
All of his fake tentacles were fluorescent pink, giving him the appearance of a pony possessed by a malevolent mass of bubble gum.
The tape ended and the chanting stopped.
Blueblood stepped around, waving his tentacles in the air and getting a good feel for them. He briefly tried making balloon animals, but stopped when he realised he was squirting stale semen on the floor. Trixie grinned and tutted.
He got to business, sending the larger tentacles snaking over the bound bodies of the prisoners. One trailed over Upper Crust’s teats and slid down to her inner thigh, and another trailed over the hollow of Jet Set’s throat. The prisoners twitched and bit their own lips, terrified of making a single sound.
“Now, my slutty sacrifices,” said Trixie, “Who will be first to show their devotion to Eros?”
“Please!” said Jet Set, “Let it devour me, leave Upper Crust alone, she doesn’t deserve—”
Trixie jumped on top of him and slammed a hoof into his liver. As he cried out, she slapped him across the muzzle hard enough to split his lip a second time.
“You dare to try and bargain with me?” she screamed, “If either of you try to bargain again, your foals will watch you die as I violate them!
“You agreed to give yourselves over to me completely, and you will do so! If I ask you to spank your worthless cum-dumpster of a wife, you should ask to cane her too! Upper Crust, if I ask you to lick my pussy, you should offer to lick my asshole!”
Trixie leaned down and bit Jet Set’s ear hard enough that he gasped from the pain. “Offer her to me, Jet Set. Offer me your whore of a wife.”
“Please, no...”
Trixie’s voice was smooth as silk as she whispered into his ear. “If you don’t offer Upper Crust up to me, the cult will do things so horrible that you will regret your decision for the rest of your short and miserable life. I will personally drown your son in a latrine as your daughter watches, and that will be a gentle mercy compared to what else I will do.”
Jet Set swallowed, but said nothing. Blood from his split lip trickled down his chin onto the wood below.
“You have three seconds. Three. Two—!
“P-please make love to my wife.”
Trixie burst out laughing, and so did Blueblood. Fortunately, due to the voice changer and the tentacle bib, it came out as evil, maniacal laughter. The best kind of laughter, in Blueblood’s opinion.
“No, fool, that simply won’t do. Ask me to rape your worthless whore of a wife.”
Jet Set opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Fresh tears trickled down his cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was dull and empty. “Please rape my worthless whore of a wife.”
“What was that? I barely heard you. Maybe I can’t hear you over Upper Crust’s sobbing. Maybe I should tear her fucking tongue out so she’ll shut up!” Blueblood’s magic wrenched the bound mare’s mouth wide open, and she screamed in terror. Then, he snapped her mouth shut.
“Or maybe you should try that again, a little louder,” said Trixie.
“Please r-rape my worthless whore of a wife!”
“Louder!”
“Please rape my worthless whore of a wife!”
“Again! Louder!”
“Please rape my worthless whore of a wife!”
Trixie grinned like a cat. “That can be arranged.”
Blueblood and Trixie levitated Upper Crust into the air, and then tossed her towards Blueblood. He caught her and softened her landing, his tentacles quickly wrapping around her. Jet Set broke down in earnest tears as he heard.
“Pathetic,” spat Trixie. She kicked Jet Set off the wobble board and onto the floor. Blueblood had set up several more rubber tentacles, tied to D-rings through the floor. After removing the bonds around his hooves, she laid Jet Set spread eagled on his back. A slick tentacle wrapped around each of his hooves, pinning him down. Trixie straddled his head, facing down his body.
“Lick my cunt, stud, and I shall show you how a true mare pleases a stallion...”
With that, she ground her wet slit into his muzzle, and took the limp tip of his cock into her mouth. She felt it immediately begin to harden, and purred with contentment.
As Trixie worked away, Blueblood molested Upper Crust. He kissed her, forcing his tongue deep into her mouth, slobbering and lapping, nearly tripping her gag reflex. He was trying to disgust her as much as pleasure himself. As he continued his oral invasion, his colony of face tentacles groped at her ears, nose, mane and neck. Occasionally he would bite her lip between his set of novelty vampony teeth.
His muscular body, toned from years of dressage, fencing and pampering, pressed down against hers. He was nearly double her weight. When he broke his kiss to let her breathe, her breaths were short and squeaky, both from terror and from being so tightly held.
Blueblood reveled in it, taking in her warmth, her stiff terror, the scent of her perfume. He rubbed his erection against her pussy as his crotch-tentacles rubbed lubricant around her inner thighs and asshole, and tugged her tail painfully.
He began to play a sadistic game. He took one of the thicker tentacles, and slipped the tip of it into Upper Crust’s tight asshole. A split second before she screamed, he broke the kiss and put his teeth on her neck. Her scream turned into a terrified whimper.
He pushed the tentacle in a little bit further, until she cried out from discomfort. His lovebite became a little less lovey and a little more bitey. Her cries fell into panicked burbles. Then he roughly pulled the tentacle out, sucking hard on her neck. This time she kept quiet, but couldn’t stop herself when he pushed it back in even further. Once more he bit down, almost hard enough to break the skin. He repeated the pattern over and over as he rubbed his shaft against her clit, loving every moment of her terror.
A few feet away, Trixie had mounted Jet Set, and was riding him cowmare style. She was making him thrust up into her, and punished him if his rhythm was wrong.
“Mmmnnf... You slipped up again, worm. I’m going to cut you for that...”
Trixie had no such thing in mind. They hadn’t even packed a knife. Instead, she lifted a Wartenberg wheel, a little metal wheel on a stick coated in tiny spikes. She placed it above his chest, and held a pipet of warm milk close behind it. She lowered the device and trailed the wheel through his coat, needles pressing against his skin. As it moved, she dripped the milk behind it. If the sensation of the wheel didn’t convince him that he was being sliced open, the feeling of ‘blood’ seeping through his coat would.
He shook his head softly, but made no noise. Trixie’s crop had taught him out of speaking out of place.
“Oh, Jet,” moaned Trixie, as his thick medial ring slid inside her, “You’ll bleed out if you’re not careful. You’ll die in this dungeon, and your wife will be left all alone with us. I’m ~ ah! ~ afraid she won’t have the luxury of a quick death. She’s too pretty for that. We’ll use her until she breaks.”
Blueblood saw Jet Set shake his head faster and faster, as if trying to wake himself up from a horrible nightmare, and had to disguise a laugh as some kind of bestial snorting cough.
“No,” said Jet Set.
Trixie’s eyes narrowed. “You are making a dire—”
“No,” said Jet Set, “No no noo no no no I can’t oh Celestia no no please no Luna no no no can’t please no no no not like this no no no ha no no haha haha no hahaha no no no no no hahahahano please oh please no haha no no no no nononononono NO NO NO NO!”
He went limp against his bonds and collapsed into hysterics, so terrified that Trixie couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice pinched. “I’m so sorry, Sweet Crust. I love you. I love you so much. We’ll be okay, I swear, we’ll be okay, it’s fine we’re fine we’ll be okay—”
Trixie rolled her eyes as he broke down into nonsense. Some ponies took pranks far too seriously, she thought.
She nodded to Blueblood, and they magically silenced both ponies. When the captives realised that no sound was coming from their mouths, they stopped talking. Then, Trixie spoke:
“I think I may have taken the wrong approach. From your hardness, and your whore wife’s sopping slit, you’re both obviously perverts. Perhaps you need a little carrot with your stick.”
Trixie used her telekinesis to pinch the parts of Jet Set’s coat that she’d ran the spiked wheel over. “Here, I have healed your wounds.” With a further bit of manipulation, she undid the tentacles tying him to the floor. Then, she rolled to the side. Trixie was on her back with Jet Set on top of her, between her legs.
He tested his footing, and found his head pulled close to Trixie’s muzzle. “Have no thoughts of escape — you may be unbound, but my cultists would rip you apart if I didn’t kill you first. Now, I have a proposition. Are you ready to hear it?”
Jet Set hiccupped. “Y-yes?” he squeaked.
Trixie yanked his testicles sharply with her magic. “Yes what?”
“Yes Mistress! I’m r-ready to hear your proposition! Mistress!”
Trixie grinned. “My proposition is this: If you make me cum, you and your fuckhole of a wife will be allowed to live. In fact, I’ll even give you both your freedom. How does that sound?”
Slowly, Jet Set nodded. “...Good, Mistress.”
“There’s a second part. I just cast a truth-detection spell on you. For every question you fail to answer, I’ll pull out one of Upper Crust’s teeth. If you lie to me, I’ll pull out two. I’ll start with the back molars, but after enough slip ups, she won’t be showing off her winning smile to the ponies of the country club very often, I think. Do you understand me, worm?” It was another bluff, of course. They had left their pliers back in the castle.
“Yes! Yes Mistress!”
“Very good. Now, one last thing...” Trixie’s horn lit up, and she cast her most complex spell of the evening. It washed over Jet Set, and its effects were soon obvious.
“Oh,” he said. “O-oh. Ohhonono. Oh, that really hurts, that really, really hurts,” he whimpered, his voice lifting at the end.
“Priapism,” said Trixie. “I’ve given you an erection so hard it’s painful. It feels bad, doesn’t it?”
Jet Set twitched and tapped his hooves and flicked his hips. “Please it really hurts please stop it please ooohhhhhhhhhh...”
Trixie pulled him forward by his hips. In a swift movement, he sank balls deep into her eager sex.
“Mmmm, that’s better, isn’t it? It doesn’t hurt so much now, does it?” She gently nibbled his ear and thrust her hips upwards, grinding into his groin.
Jet Set collapsed down on top of her. He nuzzled her neck and pushed his hips further, trying to thrust himself as deep into her pussy as he could. “Thank you. Th-thank you thank you...”
Trixie pushed a forehoof into his muzzle. “Lick,” she commanded.
She shivered with pleasure as she felt the long, hot tongue drag across her frog. He began to whimper again.
“Fuck me, Jet Set, and the pain will ease.”
He nodded, and unsteadily began to thrust in and out. He calmed immediately, the tight, wet, heat of Trixie’s cunt easing the painful throbbing in his cock. As he eased himself into a rhythm, he licked Trixie’s hoof again. His tongue trailed across it, wriggling between the hard nail and the soft flesh. Trixie purred with contentment.
“Now it’s time for a few questions, Jet Set.”
“Mhwu-hu, mthhtrthh...” he mumbled.
“Let’s start nice and easy. How many mares have you fucked?” Trixie lowered her hoof, and ran it through his mane.
“Four,” he said. He spoke facing just slightly to the left of Trixie’s face, owing to the chemical blindfold across his eyes. It amused Trixie endlessly.
“Hmm. I’m surprised it’s that many. And how often do you and Upper Crust give offerings to Lust Goddess?”
Jet Set’s brow furrowed, but he did not answer immediately.
Trixie glared. “I told you what would happen if you refuse to answer—”
“I’m trying to remember! Mistress! Once a week, Mistress!”
Trixie snorted. “Oh? And I suppose you do it the same time every week, down to the number of thrusts?”
“W-we do it after date night, Mistress.”
This time, Trixie didn’t bother to hide her laughter. A lazy smile crossed her face as Jet Set sunk inside her again. Every stroke of his cock inside her felt like warm, creamy pleasure. “I should have known. Hmm. Fleur De Lis. You know her.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“It wasn’t a question. You know Fleur De Lis. Do you find her attractive?”
Jet Set’s back arched as Trixie slammed herself downwards to meet his thrust. “Y-yes, Mistress.”
“Do you want to fuck her?”
“Y-yes, Mistress.”
“Is she more attractive than Upper Crust...”
Jet Set sagged a little, but didn’t stop thrusting. “...yes.”
He cried out as Trixie telekinetically tugged his ear. “I didn’t hear that, worm!” she said.
“Yes, Mistress!”
“Yes what, you piece of shit? Say what you want, loud enough that Upper Crust can hear!”
“Fleur De Lis! I want to fuck her, Mistress, she’s hotter than my wife!”
Sobs of humiliation came from across the room, soon morphed into muffled screams.
“Of course she is. Look at her,” she whispered, “She’s practically an alicorn. Though, perhaps Upper Crust simply isn’t pulling her weight in bed, hmm?”
“No!” cried Jet Set, following up with a needy, desperate thrust that cracked against Trixie’s thighs. “Upper Crust is wonderful, I love her.”
Trixie nibbled gently on his ear, and was rewarded with a forceful bit of grinding. “That’s not what I asked, Jet. Tell me what you want from her.”
“I don’t — gah!”
“I just doubled the strength of the priapism spell, and if I don’t tone it down quickly, the veins are going to burst right out of the skin. Now tell me what you want from your whore of a wife!”
“Anal sex!” he squeaked, and was instantly rewarded with a lessening of the pain.
Trixie was half-tempted to crank the spell up until he bled anyway, simply because the way his cock swelled and hardened inside her felt so good. “More!” she cried.
“I — I want to fuck her ass! I want to cum inside her ass and let the cum squeeze out around my cock.”
“Mmmff, good, don’t stop!”
“I want to fuck her ass so hard it gapes open, and then I want her to sit on my face! I want to take her to a glory hole and have her suck cock until she can’t drink any more cum, and then let every other pony jizz all over her face! I want to see her triple penetrated by dirt ponies who haven’t showered for a week!”
“So gooood...” crooned Trixie. She ran her hooves over Jet Set’s withers, looked into his covered eyes, and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, filled with longing and tenderness, a stark contrast to the hell she’d put him through so far. He relaxed into her, his thrusts becoming measured and steady, groaning into the kiss.
“Is this — mnff — how you do it?” asked Trixie, “Is this how you fuck Upper Crust?”
“Yeah...” he panted.
“Who feels better,” she asked, tweaking the priapism spell just enough to get him to thrust extra-hard, “Your wife, or your Mistress?”
“You... Mistress.”
“Louder, fool. Let Upper Crust hear it. Tell her how much better your Mistress is.”
“I — Oh Celestia! — she’s so tight, it’s so wet it feels so good Mistress!”
Upper Crust heard every word, but said nothing, terrified of the sharp teeth on her neck, the tentacles wrapping around her limbs and the crushing weight of the being above her.
Trixie grinned, and turned to look at the terrified mare. “You hear that, whore? All your love and years of marriage mattered naught. I turned your husband away from you with ten minutes of pleasure. Come, you worthless slut! Help pleasure your husband while I show you how a real mare fucks her stud!”
Upper Crust cried out in surprise as Blueblood dragged her to her hooves. He twisted her mane around his hoof, pulled her over to her husband, and rammed her face under his tail.
“That’s r-right, whore!” cried Trixie, limbs quivering from the force of Jet Set’s thrusts. “Lick your husband’s asshole as he fucks me!”
Upper Crust wasn’t given a chance to start licking. Blueblood just rubbed her face up-and-down and side-to-side, smothering her with her husband’s cheeks. His crack dripped with sweat, and felt hot and sticky against the velvet-thin coat of Upper Crust’s face. After a minute of pushing her face everywhere, Blueblood began to hold her in place, making sure her mouth stayed pressed against Jet Set’s hole even as the captive stallion frantically fucked Trixie.
Whimpering softly, Upper Crust stuck her tongue out and began to lick. She heard her husband grunt quietly, the same way he did if she nibbled his ears or went down on him. She stuck her tongue out a second time, a little harder, pressing it against his hole and feeling the crinkled, muscular texture. As she licked, the iron grip on her mane softened a little. Quelling the pit of shame in her stomach, she leaned forward and pressed both lips to her husband’s anus in an obscene kiss. He husband buried himself balls deep in their captor, and stayed there for a moment.
His tail drifted affectionately over Upper Crust’s neck.
Upper Crust moved a hoof forward, and touched it to his hind hock. Their hooves intertwined, giving them no small solace and comfort in the midst of a terrible violation. Upper Crust steeled herself, and decided to make her husband as comfortable as possible in all this horror. She pushed forward, and wriggled her tongue until the tip pushed inside the rim of his ass. As soon as she did this, the grip on her mane disappeared completely.
Something moved behind Upper Crust, brushing underneath her tail. She gasped as a slimy set of tentacles clamped onto her backside. Larger, thicker tentacles wrapped around her hind hocks, pulling her legs out wide to the side and exposing her completely.
A second later, she felt a muzzle pressed against her sex. Sharp, demonic teeth touched her lower lips as a skilled tongue danced over her sex. The ‘demon’ behind her pushed forward, burying it’s face between her haunches. A tiny tentacle teased her clit, and she shuddered with pleasure.
“This is all you’re g-good for, slut,” moaned Trixie, almost lost in pleasure. “Help your husband cheat on you, make him feel good while he fucks me, and if you’re lucky, I might let you have him back. Would you like that, Upper Crust?”
She wasn’t given a chance to respond. Trixie grasped her head with her telekinesis and nodded it up and down, rubbing it along Jet Set’s crack from the base of his tail all the way down to his balls. All Upper Crust could do was let her tongue loll out as her head was used.
“Bad slut,” said Trixie, pulling Upper Crust’s mane tight, “You answer when your Mistress asks you a question, don’t you?”
“Yeth...” groaned the captive mare.
“That’s right, slut. I’ll give you back your husband, but it won’t matter,” said Trixie, “Every time you two make love, he’ll be thinking of me instead of you. Even the most sensuous acts you could possibly perform will seem like pale shadows of what his Mistress could do for him.”
The showmare’s eyes were lidded. She wrapped her hind legs around Jet Set’s barrel and pulled him close, so that each thrust was a short, tight thing that sent his hips slapping against her pussy. He lingered on a thrust, grinding against her clit. It sent a shock through her. She nuzzled his neck and groaned so loudly she was practically screaming into his coat.
“It d-doesn’t matter, slut,” said Trixie, her voice wavering, “It doesn’t matter what you do from now on, it will never, ever, ever, be good enough...”
Upper Crust moaned from shame and defeat. Her tongue was sore and cramping up, but she continued licking. Her captors would know if she stopped, she just knew it.
She had tried to resist taking any pleasure from the oral ministrations at first, but the stress and the pain were overwhelming. The tongue continued to work at her with more finesse and enthusiasm than she had thought possible. It was certainly far more skillful than anything Jet Set had ever done, whose pussy-eating efforts were enthusiastic-but-clueless at best. She had cringed in horror at the feel of alien tentacles groping at her cutie mark and clit, and snaking around and barely inside her ass, but was learning to simply give in.
All she had to do was throw herself into pleasuring her husband at one end, and lose herself to the pleasure at the other. As long as she didn’t think, she’d be okay.
A dull, almost-happy haze fell over her mind as two tiny tentacles touched the soft skin either side of her clit, without actually touching it. She’d always been oversensitive on the actual button, something she’d never been able to get through to Jet Set. But the slow, constant pressure just at the sides, just letting itself build and build without too much or too little pressure, was heavenly.
Suddenly, she felt the oral attention fade. Tentacles still groped at her marks and toyed with her ass, but the skillful tongue was barely touching her, and the tentacles around her clit were deathly still.
She could feel the sticky moisture cooling on her muzzle. She didn’t dare stop her rimjob, but as soon as the attention to her sex stopped, she felt strangely cool. Her muzzle was covered in her sweat, her husband’s sweat, and her saliva. Through the corners of her eyes she could see sweat dripping down her husband’s flanks. A drip fell directly off the base of his tail, dropping onto her nose.
Upper Crust whined in frustration.
She wouldn’t stoop to asking for it. She’d never let her husband hear that. Her captors must have decided she wasn’t doing a good enough job. She pressed forward and redoubled her efforts, pushing her face firmly between his cheeks and pushing as much of her tongue inside him as she could. The stink of sweat and sex and ass filled her nostrils.
But the monster behind her did not help her. If anything, it seemed to be doing less. Upper Crust felt almost resentful. Her husband was fucking some powerful sorcerer, and she was doing her best to help pleasure him, yet she was being left alone. She was about to resign herself to her task, when monster started licking her again.
And stopped a moment later.
Upper Crust squealed with rage. She could barely recognise her own thoughts any more. She felt like a pony-sized ball of cramped muscles, aching skin, and sour resentment, all bound together by misery. She couldn’t do this. She needed to have release.
Very gently, she jiggled her rump, hoping that the beast would take notice.
The tongue lapped up from the base of her slit to the tentacle in her ass. All four of her legs gave out. She was kept in place only by the telekinesis around her head and the tentacles around her hind hocks.
The licking did not continue. Desperate, she jiggled her rump more. This time, a smaller lick, that still trailed through her and shot a line of relief and excitement all through her insides up to her belly.
“Is there something you want, Upper Crust?” Trixie’s teasing voice reached her ears.
Upper Crust didn’t want to answer. She knew she would be punished, but she did not want to answer that question. She tried jiggling her rump even more, shaking her hindquarters up and down like a down-on-her-luck stripper desperate to make rent.
Still nothing.
“I’m going to ask y-you a question, slut,” cooed Trixie, “And all you—” she paused to grunt at a particularly hard thrust from Jet Set, “—have to do is say yes or no. Do you want my demon to pleasure you, Upper Crust?”
She thought for a second.
“...yeth.”
“I can’t hear you, slut!”
“Yeth! Pleath yeth, mithtress, yeth oh pleath oh yeth yeth YETH!”
Upper Crust’s lisping yesses turned into babbling moans as Blueblood dove back in.
“That’s — that’s right you little c-cunt, have the biggest f-fucking orgasm you’ve ever had from a monster eating your pussy while your husband f-fucks me! Show everypony what a slutty little thing y-you are oh Celestia so fucking good—” Trixie’s teasing trailed off into babbling as her own orgasm neared. Barely conscious of her own movements, she bit down on Jet Set’s shoulder. At first it was a simple love bite, but as her climax hit her and she felt waves of intense feeling shudder slowly through her, she clamped her teeth down hard enough to draw blood.
It was all Jet Set could take. With a weak groan, he came inside Trixie.
Trixie felt the first spurt splash deep inside her. It didn’t feel like hot molten pleasure, though Trixie was so heated that nothing but an actual fire would make her feel any hotter. Instead, it felt wonderfully cooling, like the evening breeze after a sticky summer’s day. The tension through her body simply flowed away.
Her pussy spasmed and drew the second spurt, which brought a feeling of fullness and satisfaction. The third and fourth followed, filling her to the stage it almost felt uncomfortable, and by the sixth spurt, his thick, creamy seed was gushing out from between them, running down his balls and her thighs in a dozen rivulets.
Trixie lay back after a moment, gasping like a beached fish. As she came to her senses, she realised Jet Set was laying atop her in a daze. She pushed him away, sending Upper Crust tumbling over in the process. The rich mare mumbled something in shock as her tongue came out of Jet Set’s ass with a tiny ‘shlick.’
Trixie looked up at Blueblood, who had disentangled himself from the mare and was currently trying to remove a tentacle from his own nose. The two of them made eye contact. Like an unspoken pact, they both lit their horns and conjured a pair of magical earplugs into their captives’ ears.
Then they burst out laughing. It didn’t grow from tiny giggles, it rushed out of their chests and almost burned from the force of it. Tears streamed from their eyes, they pounded the floor with their hooves, and fell to their bellies, barely able to breathe.
It was five minutes before Trixie stopped giggling. Still grinning like a lunatic, she turned her head to the side and saw Jet Set, bound, blindfolded, deaf and shivering with fear. She turned her head to the other side and looked at Blueblood.
She said, “You know, I don’t think they’re seeing the funny side of it.”
Blueblood glanced at the captives, shrugged, and threw Trixie his most refined and charming smile. “My dear, the best jokes need time to sink in. Let’s keep going!”
They removed the earplug charms from the captives, earning a pair of yelps from the bound ponies as their eardrums repressurized. Trixie rolled Upper Crust onto her back, swung a powder-blue hindleg over the captive’s head, then sat squarely on her face.
As she did that, Blueblood turned Jet Set onto his belly and mounted him from the front. His toned white forehooves rested either side of Jet Set’s gray flanks, and his groin was in front of the prisoner’s face.
Blueblood rubbed his balls and the side of his shaft across Jet Set’s muzzle, smearing his wife’s juices over his face. The gray stallion made no sound, but clamped his lips tightly shut. Blueblood simply grinned, and flicked his hips forward. His erection slapped against Jet Set’s muzzle, and then against his chin, and his blindfolded eyes. The prince’s horn lit up, and the colony of prosthetic tentacles around his groin came to life under his telekinesis. Several of them wriggled forward into Jet Set’s nose, stopping him from breathing. As soon as he opened his mouth, the remaining tentacles surged inside to hold it open.
Blueblood took his time sliding his cock inside, savoring the slick, velvety warmth of his captive’s tongue, and allowing Jet Set to savor the taste of his sweat and the taste of his whorish wife’s secretions. He slid his cock in and out, drizzling a little precum onto Jet Set’s tongue, a generous sample of things to come.
His desire for pleasure took over, and he began to thrust into Jet Set’s mouth. Every flick of his powerful, practiced hips sent the tip of his cock roughly ramming against his captive’s tonsils.
The prince was not by nature a stallion keen to do all of the work, and he expected his sluts to service him whether they wanted to or not. His crotch tentacles lifted up once more, holding Jet Set’s mane so tightly it was nearly being pulled from his skull. Two of them slithered across his nostrils, threatening to cut of his air supply if he didn’t do his best to suck Blueblood’s shaft.
Blueblood leaned all the way over him, draped his front legs over Jet Set’s croup, then started licking his asshole. It was already slick from Upper Crust efforts, so the prince wriggled his muzzle forward and forced his tongue inside, stretching the tight pucker. Jet Set’s moans of humiliation and protest soon turned to gagging noises as Blueblood fucked his face with increasing intensity.
Trixie slid her hips up and down Upper Crust’s face, smearing cum and her own juices everywhere, dribbling down the captive mare’s face, mane and ears, threatening to block her nostrils. Upper Crust tried to swallow it all but there was too much, and for every mouthful she managed to choke down another spilled from her lips.
Trixie snapped, “Don’t just gasp like a fish, whore. Please your mistress!”
Upper Crusts tongue flitted out and lapped at her well-fucked pussy. Trixie gasped with relief and slowed down the undulations of her hips.
“Y-you can do better than that, I think. You just need some motivation,” she purred. Two of the thick lengths of rubber tentacle shot up from the floor, curled around Upper Crust’s hind hooves, and yanked her legs wide open. Trixie moaned with delight as her captive’s squeal of pain reverberated through her pussy.
Upper Crust’s squeals doubled in volume as two thick tentacles pushed inside her pussy and ass, then turned to terrified sobs as Trixie began to fuck them in and out of her.
Blueblood pulled his cock from Jet Set’s mouth, noting with some pride that the gray stallion didn’t even try to close his mouth afterwards. He walked around Jet Set, then pushed him face-down to the floor, with his hind legs propped up in the air. Jet Set tried to clamp his tail down between his haunches, but Blueblood pulled it aside as a mere afterthought.
Jet Set tried not to scream when he felt the well-lubricated tip of a cock pressing against his asshole. As the head slid up and down his rim, spreading lube from his balls to his tail, he just bit his lip and whimpered.
Jet Set squealed as his rapist bit his mane, yanked backwards, and forced his cock inside him at the same time. Panic overtook him, and he tried to scramble out of the position, but Blueblood’s weight and the floor tentacles held him in place.
Blueblood gave him no time to get used to it. He sunk into Jet Set’s ass all in one thrust, revelling in the warmth. His captive’s ass tightened for a second and then relaxed as a pure survival mechanism, letting Blueblood saw in and out of that warm, yielding heaven with ease.
Trixie looked on with no small amount of lust as her lover rutted Jet Set into the floor. “It seems you make a better mare than stallion, Jet Set. I might make it so with my magic, actually. My shoggoth could always use another penis, after all!” she said.
She snickered softly at his cries of terror, and returned her attention to Upper Crust. She was growing bored with the captive socialite’s inexperienced efforts. To entertain herself, she pushed a second tentacle into Upper Crust’s sex. Neither tentacle was as thick as a horse cock alone, but together they were intimidatingly large. Upper Crust made a noise that straddled the line between panic and pleasure.
Trixie decided to push it further. A third tentacle wormed it’s way inside Upper Crust’s pussy, and her moans were definitely of pain and terror now. A second tentacle forced it’s way into her ass, and then a third. Trixie levitated some thinner lengths of rubber and forced them inside too. Soon, there were four thick tentacles inside her pussy, five in her ass, and a dozen thinner ones filling her out. A tiny trickle of blood ran down Upper Crust’s thighs as the remnants of her hymen were stretched too wide once more.
Upper Crust’s screams had died down into sobbing, and she stopped even twitching her hips in resistance. She’d ceased licking Trixie some time ago, but Trixie was content to simply hump her face as she looked at the poor mare’s crotch with amazement. Upper Crust’s vagina was stretched so wide that her clit couldn’t wink properly, and her ass was so thoroughly stuffed that her anal muscles weren’t even trying to clench down any more.
It was enough to drive Trixie over the edge. She rode herself to a quiet but powerful orgasm, rubbing her clit against the near-catatonic Upper Crust’s muzzle, and biting her own lip so hard it bled.
Blueblood rutted Jet Set until the captive stallion couldn’t keep his hind legs up any more, and collapsed onto his stomach. The prince’s face tentacles wrapped around Jet Set’s features, fishhooking his mouth and nose. Jet Set’s tongue lolled out and his nostrils were pulled upwards, making him look like a bizarre pony-pig hybrid.
Two of Blueblood’s larger, special tentacles lifted into the air, both hovering in front of Jet Set’s face. These tentacles were filled with Blueblood’s semen, collected over a week and left to spoil. One of the reservoir bulbs was grabbed with a telekinetic glow, and a spurt of vile liquid splashed onto Jet Set’s face.
It trickled down his lips and dripped onto his tongue. Jet Set gagged violently. It didn’t look like normal semen. It was a pale, ugly yellow and horribly thin. Jet Set could feel it sinking into the coat of his face already. It smelled of sour, rotten musk, as if he were licking thick vinegar off the crotch of a pony who hadn’t showered in a fortnight. The taste was indescribably bad. The closest Jet Set could think of was a mixture of bleach, urine and rubber cement.
The one tentacle spurted again and again until his face was utterly covered, the occasional spurt directly hitting his nostrils or open mouth. He couldn’t do anything but dry heave and shiver.
Blueblood smirked as he moved the second tentacle into place. It slipped between Jet Set’s lips, and several of the smaller tentacles retracted, with only a few remaining to keep the captive’s lips wrapped around the larger tentacle. Jet Set shook his head, fearing what was going to happen, but the tentacles held him tight.
Blueblood leaned in close to Jet Set’s ear, and grunted in the darkest, most malevolent voice he could muster. “Suckle. Suckle, or your wife is next...”
With a whimper, Jet Set stopped struggling and softly started to suck the thing between his lips. Blueblood softly squeezed the second reservoir, sending a spurt of sour sperm into Jet Set’s mouth. The taste and sensation made Jet Set thrash and struggle from pure, terrified reflex, but after Blueblood held him in place, he swallowed it.
Blueblood was in heaven. Every stroke in and out of Jet Set’s ass felt like a gentle caress, and Jet Set was warm, lithe and soft underneath him. After years of dieting, calisthenics, and luxury spa sessions, Blueblood felt more like he was fucking an athletic mare rather than a stallion. He squeezed the reservoir with every thrust, making Jet Set swallow the rancid paste little by little. When he was satisfied that Jet Set had drank every drop, he removed the tentacles entirely.
Jet Set swallowed at nothing, and felt a strange little quiver deep in his belly.
He tried to scramble to his legs, sheer panic and adrenaline nearly lifting him up, but Blueblood’s greater weight and a hoof to the kidney kept him down. He tried to thrash away, to turn his head from side to side, but it was too late. He began to throw up.
The sour semen burbled from his throat, burning like fire as it flowed past his tonsils. The taste of it a second time made the next heave even more powerful. This time, it surged past his lips, spilling out a good two feet across the floor. The next heave sent two painfully hot jets through his nostrils. He twitched reflexively, completely unable to breathe.
There was soon no sperm left to throw up, but it didn’t stop him from trying. There were no thoughts left in his head. Pure bile flowed through his mouth and nostrils, and he was nothing but fear and misery in a hollow shell.
When he was finally able to take a breath, he cried once more. There was no force left in it any more. He cried quietly, like a foal terrified of further beatings to follow if his parents heard him crying.
Blueblood groaned softly at the sound. He could feel that familiar, wonderful feeling in his balls. He slammed in deep and came hard, biting down on Jet Set’s ear to muffle a yell. Spurt after spurt flowed into his victim. The heat and intensity surprised even Blueblood. The seed flowing through his cock felt even hotter than Jet Set’s ass.
The prince rested atop his captive for a moment, and then stood up and withdrew. His half-hard cock came free from Jet Set’s ass with a dull *slop*.
Trixie and Blueblood dragged their captives up with magic. All the tentacles were pulled from Upper Crust’s pussy and ass, and fell limply to the floor. Her lower holes winked and clenched around nothing. Blueblood gripped her mane with magic and dragged the bound socialite towards him. She let out the tiniest of whimpers, and voided her bladder, leaving a stream of yellow urine along the floor. The sight of it made Blueblood’s half-hard cock throb.
Jet Set and Upper Crust were then dragged face-first towards Blueblood’s groin. Both of them recoiled from the smell.
“You worms have done as well as, ah, could be expected of you,” said Trixie. She felt out of breath, still. “You will clean my shoggoth, and then the cult shall decide your fate.”
The two ponies were reluctant to start licking, but between Blueblood’s tentacles and Trixie’s crop, they began to clean the prince’s filthy cock. Upper Crust broke down in tears again as she tasted blood, shit, and the bleachy taste of cum along the side. Jet Set dully bobbed his head up and down the tip, as if it didn’t matter to him any more.
When Blueblood was clean, he pushed them both away. They weren’t even crying now. Their breaths came short and hurried, as if they were both keen to break down into hysterics and yet too terrified to move.
Trixie got to her hooves and stretched her back out. Her tail was flicking upwards absentmindedly, a post-coital quirk of hers she’d had for as long as she could remember. While she stretched, Blueblood rolled onto his back, and started to remove the rubber prosthetics from his face, groin and sides.
Using something utterly dissimilar to yet functionally identical to magical disappearing ink, she daubed a squiggle on the barrel of each captive. She then took a BB gun and shot both sigils, causing two squeaks of pain, and causing each sigil to glow warmly before disappearing. Both Upper Crust and Jet Set would itch in that spot for days to come.
Trixie cleared her throat. “This was your initiation, worms. You are now property of the cult in mind, body and soul. The sigil I marked you with will allow us to track your very thoughts. Renounce your loyalty to the Royal Pony Sisters, and you will be allowed to leave until we have want of you. Do you renounce your loyalty?”
Upper Crust and Jet Set said nothing. They shivered, and nodded frantically.
It wasn’t quite a rousing ‘Yes, Mistress!’ but it was late and Trixie felt it was time to wrap up, so she decided it would do.
***
After dumping the two captives in a back alley in Upper Canterlot, hitting them with a sleep spell, and removing their bindings, Trixie and Blueblood strolled through the evening air until they reached the Akhal-Teke Hotel. They went straight to Blueblood’s penthouse suite.
The penthouse was pure opulence. Everything from the linen to the lighting was soft, the carpets were plush, and each room was large enough to host a dressage event in.
It was no less than Trixie and Blueblood had ever deserved.
They ignored the bathroom, though they were still covered in sweat and fluids, and jumped straight onto the gigantic bed. Both of them burst out laughing the moment they hit the sheets.
“Oh, we got them good!” said Blueblood.
“Did you see Upper Crust’s pussy by the end? You could have used it as a catcher’s mitt!” laughed Trixie.
“I don’t care what Jet’s net worth is, those therapy bills are going to hit that stallion hard.”
“They’re going to have more flashbacks than a badly-written detective thriller.”
“You know, if they don’t take it too badly, we could do follow up pranks.” Blueblood turned to look at Trixie across the gentle lake of linen and grinned. “I bet you two good hats that we could make Upper Crust wet herself on command.”
Trixie snorted with laughter. “Or make Jet Set clop off in the palace gardens without being discovered.”
The laughter slowly died down into giggling. Trixie turned to Blueblood. “Celestia’s going to find out about this, isn’t she?”
Blueblood nodded. “I’m certain of it, my love. We’re dead ponies walking, and that’s if we’re lucky. Auntie does take exception to anypony harming her subjects, even if it’s all in good fun.”
“Still funny, though.”
“Heavens, yes.” They both burst into laughter again.
Five minutes later, Blueblood sat up in bed. Now, there was a slightly more serious expression on the prince’s face.
“Trixie, my beloved. Tonight has—” Blueblood paused, as if chewing over his words, “Tonight has reminded me of many things to me. How dear you are to me, and how glad I am for the time we’ve spent together. I want to truly show you what I feel, before anypony can take this away from us.”
Trixie shuffled upright. Rare anxiety, subtle but present, crossed her features. Blueblood presented her with a small box coated in dark blue velvet. She swallowed but said nothing.
Blueblood said, “Before I met you, I’d never known I could feel happy, truly happy, for another pony. I never knew that seeing another pony succeed could make me feel better than my own successes, or that seeing another pony hurt could wound me worse than my own pain.
“Trixie, you... You understand me, like nopony else ever could Sometimes I think you understand me better than I understand me. And I — I want to understand you even more than I do now. I want to spend the rest of my life, however long or short that may be, learning to love you better. You are the world to me, Trixie Lulamoon, and I would strive to bring the sun, stars and moon to you on a platter should you want them.”
He opened the box. Trixie gasped.
“Is that...?” Trixie’s voice was barely a whisper.
Inside the box was a pile of platinum-colored dust, glinting ever-so-slightly in the soft light of the hotel room.
Blueblood smiled, one of those rare smiles that he couldn’t keep off his face if he wanted to. “Pure Cloudsdale lighting salts, not for export. Infused with honeysuckle nectar to ‘soften the landing,’ and mixed with gold dust.”
Trixie looked at him curiously. “What does the gold dust do?”
“It makes it more expensive.”
Trixie smiled and suppressed a giggle. A tiny tear trickled down the side of her eye. “It — It’s... Oh, I love you, Blueblood. I’ve said it again and again, but I’ve loved you ever since we met.”
She took the box and poured a heap of powder onto the frog of her hoof, before carefully closing the box and levitating it to the bedside table. She looked at the glimmering powder, and then at her lover.
“Should we... We should do it together,” said Trixie. Blueblood nodded, and shuffled forwards. Their faces inched closer and closer, until their noses were touching just above Trixie’s hoof.
They snorted simultaneously, not stopping until every mote had been hoovered up. Then they sat backwards. Both of their muzzles were covered in thin, white powder.
They fell about laughing again.
Seconds later they were back up, and they sprinted to the shower. They soaped and lathered each other, which turned to sloppy kisses and feisty nips as they rinsed each other, which soon turned to outright drugged-up, blissed-out fucking in the shower. Trixie cried Blueblood’s name as he pounded her from behind, and turned around to take his load in her mouth when he came. As soon as he finished, they kissed once again, sharing his bounty of rich, gooey sperm between them.
Then they did it again.
After that, they didn’t flop down exhausted. They got dressed, shared a drink, and strolled out of the penthouse tail-in-tail.
Neither said anything, but they both knew they were going dancing. The world had so much to offer to two ponies like themselves, and they intended to take it.