Persona

The skywagon gave a sudden lurch, and I stumbled to the side, only barely managing to stay on my hooves despite the best efforts of the shackles I wore. After regaining my balance, I shuffled my way to the front window, peering past the iron bars at the two pegasus guards pulling the vehicle through the air.

“Everything alright?” I asked over the sound of wind.

“Nothing to worry about,” the guard on the right said over his shoulder, his wings beating with some strain. “Just a bit of turbulence. Not uncommon in mountainous regions.”

“Mountains, huh?” I craned by neck to see, and sure enough, high, snow-capped peaks flanked us on either side. Last time I’d looked, we’d been over woods and fields. “I guess we’re getting close, then?”

“Yes,” the other guard said, much more brusquely than his colleague. “Now, for the last time, stay away from the windows and remain seated! You’re a prisoner, not a tourist.”

The guard on the right gave him a reproachful look. “With all due respect, captain, isn’t she technically a refugee?”

“And you’re technically a staff sergeant, so keep your eyes on the skies, soldier.”

“Yessir…”

I backed away from the window, but that was the extent of my obedience. I made my way to one of the side windows to get a better look.

Equestria. With any luck, my new home. The very name seemed to release a flood of endorphins in my brain, a fluttering sensation of newness and possibility where once there had only been the icy-hook’d pull of the hive mind.

Then the skywagon banked around a summit, and I saw it. Canterlot, its towers of gold and white marble glistening in the sunlight, like a lighthouse for the whole world to navigate storms by. I looked at it, and perhaps for the first time the reality and the enormity of my defection crashed over me. I hugged myself with my forehooves, my eyes filling with tears as I stared at the Equestrian capital, and the hope it represented.

It was even more beautiful than the first time I’d seen it.

The bell over the door jingles, and I step into Mare Green’s coffee shop, wearing my usual off-the-clock earth pony disguise.

The place greets me like an old friend. Mare Green’s is my home away from home, if I might be so cliché. The smell of coffee and baked sweets and newspapers fill the air; the sound of chatter and cappuccino machines and spoons tinking the inside of cups. It’s a somewhat small place, but in a way that feels cozy rather than cramped. Most of its clientele, it must be admitted, are young, hipsterish types who flock to it because it’s an alternative to the big chains and their rivers of burnt coffee bean spillage.

I, on the other hoof, flock to it because it’s right across the street from my apartment building. That was the original reason, anyway. Now?

“Good afternoon, Naamari!” says Arabica, my favorite barista and the patron saint of caffeine. “You want the usual?”

“Please,” I manage through a yawn.

“Wuh-oh!” She giggles. “Another late night, huh?”

“You could say that…”

Another mare behind the counter, one I don’t recognize, catches my eye, giving me a small smile as she sprinkles powdered sugar over a tray of donuts. “What do you do for a living, if you don’t mind my asking?” Her voice soft, somehow weathered.

I open my mouth to reply, but something about the mare—something only a changeling might detect, if not necessarily identify—makes my voice catch in my throat. A deep, carefully hidden emotional undertow. I work my mouth stupidly. Thankfully, Arabica comes to my rescue.

“She’s an actress!” she says.

The other mare blinks. “Oh... I didn’t realize that was an all-night sort of job.”

I give a sheepish smile, finally finding my voice. “W-well, I guess I’m just… paying my dues, as they say.”

“Naamari here is one of our regulars,” Arabica informs the mare before turning to me. “And Naamari? This is Aletheia. She just started a couple days ago.”

I meet her eyes again. “Pleased to meet you, Aletheia.”

“Likewise. You have a really interesting name.”

I feel myself blush. “Thanks. I guess you could say it’s… an old family name.”

“Well, it’s very pretty.”

I grin like an idiot. “Yours, too.”

I can sense Arabica watching us from the side with some confusion. “Ooooo-kay! Well, here you go, Naamari,” she says, sliding a cup of coffee and a slice of pie across the counter.

“Oh!” I say, snapping out of my trance. “Thanks, Arabica. And nice to meet you… A-Aletheia.”

“Come again,” the new mare replies needlessly with a shy smile.

I pry my eyes away from hers, take my coffee and pie, and shuffle away from the counter, making my way to my usual table by the front window. I practically collapse in the seat, then sneak a glance over my shoulder, seeing that both mares have returned to their work. I can still taste the feeling I’d gotten off the new mare, like an old wound.

I face forward and try to shrug it off. It’s none of my business anyway. I turn my attention to the scene in front of me.

This table has a great view of the street outside, giving me an excellent vantage point from which to pony-watch and soak up the early afternoon sunlight. I take a nibble of my pie and wash it down with a sip of coffee—lots of cream, lots of sugar. Then, I hum in contentment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a newspaper on the next table. A quick glance to see if it’s called for, and I get up and snatch it. I’m not a terribly worldly changeling. I don’t go in much for politics or gossip. But it’s still nice to keep up with current events and the general goings-on of the kingdom. This is my home now, after all. Maybe I just want to be a ‘good citizen’, whatever that means. Or… maybe I just want to feel like I belong.

I give a happy sigh and tuck into the paper.

Yadda yadda… Some kind of scandal among the nobility… Yadda yadda… An ‘incident’ in a town near the Everfree Forest (the sixth time this month). Et cetera, et cetera.

I turn the page, and something draws my eye immediately: a headline including the words “The Element Bearers”. Now, any changeling worth their green, gooey insides knows about the bearers of the Elements of Harmony. At one time, there was even a whole battalion of the changeling army who were specifically trained to mimic them. But me, personally? I’ve never taken a whole lot of interest in them. But my particular job has acquainted me with a few of them.

I look at the photograph included with the article, taken at some event or another where they were present. I instantly notice Rarity (whose form I’ve taken several times, mostly for one particular customer). Then there’s Twilight Sparkle (quite a popular role ever since her coronation). Oh, and look, there’s Rainbow Da—

There, in Mare Green’s café, I perform my first ever spit-take.

Rainbow Dash?!

“You alright over there?” calls Arabica, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

Still sputtering: “Y-yeah, everything’s fine. Just got something up my nose and… sneezed, apparently.”

With a polite smile, she returns to taking a customer’s order. I turn twitching eyes back to the newspaper.

Rainbow Dash is a freaking Element bearer?! I knew she looked familiar! How could I have not recognized her? How could I have not connected the dots? Is this what I’ve become? Has living in the warm company of ponies dulled by old training and instincts that much? Has living here made me into an… airhead?!

Then, a new thought pushes to the head of the pack:

Oh Celestia… I’ve boinked an Element bearer!

Sure, I’ve taken a few of their forms before, but I’ve never bedded one personally. It didn’t mean anything, did it? Had the Element bearers gotten wind of Persona and sent one of their own to investigate us for themselves?

No, that didn’t seem right. Rainbow Dash hadn’t seemed suspicious. Quite the opposite, really, and I would’ve known if she was faking it. Besides, surely they knew that Persona had the blessing of Princess Celestia herself. Heck, I—personally—had Celestia’s blessing!

So, maybe it was just an innocent coinci—

“A bit for your thoughts?” a deep voice says behind me.

I very nearly leave a Naamari-shaped hole in the café’s ceiling. Instead, I spin around and glare at the deadpan visage of Middleman. “Could you not sneak up on me? Please?!”

“Jeez,” he says, taking the seat across the table. “What’s gotten you so worked up?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe this!” I say, holding the newspaper out for him to read.

“A corgi won the Las Pegasus canine fashion show? Oh, the horror.”

I facehoof. “No! See this pony here?” I point out Rainbow in the photograph.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, that was my client last night!” I yell and whisper all at once.

“And… you’re mad because she’s so attractive?”

“No, nnngh! She’s an Element Bearer, you doof!”

“Oh. Why, it is a small world, ain’t it.”

I stare at him blankly. “That’s it? My life was in danger, and all you can say is, ‘It’s a small world’?”

“How was your life in danger, exactly? You afraid she might have farted out a rainbow and friendship’d you to death?”

“Look, just…” I rub my forehead with a hoof. “Could you pass a message along to management? If one of the freakin’ Elements of Harmony comes to Persona, could we maybe get a heads-up or something?”

“I’ll bring it up at the next board meeting,” he drones with a roll of his eyes. “Now, are we done with the dramatics?”

I sigh, slumping in my seat and casting a baleful glare to my pie, having suddenly lost my sweet tooth. “Sure. What is it, exactly, that brings you to befoul my sanctuary?”

“This.” He pulls out a manila envelope.

“An assignment? Really? You couldn’t just slip it under my door?”

“Not this one. High priority, you see. I’m to deliver it directly to your hooves.”

I take the envelope from him. “There. It’s in my hooves. Anything else?”

He stares at me. I roll my eyes, opening the envelope and discreetly looking over its contents. Then, the bottom falls out of my stomach.

“Aw crap…” I groan. “Him?! What is this, ‘National Suck Day’?”

“Well, ‘Him’ is one of our most loyal clients.”

“He’s a turd!” I growl. “He’s annoying, and I could probably get more emotional substance from a family of possums. He just comes to us because he’s horny, and you know the saying: Changeling can’t live off lust alone.”

“Yeah, well, he pays top rate. Which means, incidentally, that your cut will be rather significant. And he asked for you, specifically. So just stallion up and do your job.”

I look at him flatly. “I’m a girl.”

“That’s the spirit!” He gets up, gives my shoulder a firm slap, and exits the coffee shop.

I watch him leave, muttering bitter nothings under my breath. I down my now-lukewarm coffee like a shot of whiskey and begin poking through the packet. Usual time and usual place, in the form of one of his usual favorites. So predictable.

Get it together, Naamari, I tell myself. You’re a professional, and it’s just one job. Try to be positive.

Over at the counter, Arabica and the new mare are interrupted from their tasks by the muffled sound of me groaning into my forelegs.

The lobby to Caesar’s Hotel & Casino is a sight to behold. The massive, marble columns, set up in a ring around the room. The great fountain in the center, spraying water in a halo around the statue of some historical leader of the zebra tribes. The enormous stained glass ceiling, shot through with moonlight. The air, filled with exotic music and smells, as well as chatting ponies and the distant cling, boop, shuffle, pow! of the casino itself.

So it’s quite flattering that, amid all this spectacle, every eye in the room is drawn to me. Not that I can blame them, really. This is a particularly stunning body. I stride across the room on long legs, my tall, lithe figure more like an alicorn’s than a mortal pony’s. A pink mane hangs about my neck in soft, silken waves, broken only by the spire of my horn. My white coat glistens in the light, only highlighting the Prench emblems on my flank, after which my character is named.

“Look,” I overhear one mare to the side whisper. “It’s Fleur-de-Lis!”

“The fashion model?”

“I wonder what she’s doing here.”

“And alone, too. Isn’t she dating that rich fellow from Canterlot?”

I ignore their whispers, in precisely the way that implies I did, in fact, overhear them, but am above caring, choosing instead to canter on towards the elevators.

The client insists I arrive at the hotel in this form, so that everyone can see me as I enter. I’ve never really understood it. Does he get some weird thrill from knowing that ponies saw such a beautiful mare coming here to see him, even if they don’t know it’s to see him, specifically? Or, does he simply hope that word will get back to Fancy Pants, causing a rift in his relationship with the real Fleur? It’s no secret that he despises Fancy Pants, so I wouldn’t put it past him.

One elevator ride later, and I’m on the topmost floor of the hotel—a floor occupied by only one room: the Royal Suite. I approach the door, taking a moment to make sure my mane is in order, then give a dainty knock with my hoof.

“One moment,” replies a haughty voice from within the suite. The muffled sound of manicured hooves on plush carpeting, and the door opens, revealing the cockily-grinning form of Prince Blueblood. “Why, hello there.”

While his personality very nearly causes me to vomit through my nostrils, I have to give credit where it’s due. There are some positive aspects to him. Item number one: He’s an admittedly handsome stallion.

“Hello yourself,” I say in Fleur’s warmly elegant, faintly accented voice.

“I was expecting you.”

No shit? I think. Instead, I bat my eyes at him with a demure smile.

“Won’t you come in?” He steps aside, and I trot through the door. I can practically feel his eyes groping my figure, but again, I can’t really blame him. I know I certainly wouldn’t kick Fleur-de-Lis out of my bed for eating cookies. “So, how was your voyage?”

Item number two: He really gets into the role-playing. It’s sort of the name of my game, but even so his commitment is admirable. Granted, it sometimes gets into… awkward territory. But it makes my job easier, and it helps me keep my mind off the fact that—yes—this creature, whom I normally wouldn’t cross the street to spit upon, is touching me.

“Tiring, as usual,” I respond airily. “Looking out the windows of the train, seeing only desert for miles and miles on end, is so terribly dull.”

“You really ought to come by zeppelin sometime. It’s faster and far more pleasant.” He walks over to the bar and begins pouring us drinks. When next he speaks, his tone is clipped and tight. “And how’s Fancy Pants?”

Now there’s a trap if I ever heard one. He occasional drops those kinds of sensitive questions on me—intentionally or not, I’ll likely never know. “He’s well,” I say simply.

He turns around and levitates a glass of sherry towards me, and I take it with my own telekinesis, the brief interlacing of our magics sending animal shivers of pleasure down my spine. If he’s ever noticed the green color of my magic—and one would be surprised how often unicorns, in particular, miss it—he’s enough of a sport not to mention it. Unfortunately, it’s one of the few things changeling magic can’t altar.

“I still can’t fathom what you see in that charlatan,” he sniffs. “He’s so new money.”

I suppose, ‘Because he doesn’t make me want to throw myself into a wood chipper, so that helps,’ might kill the mood, huh? Fine... I’ll be good.

“Oh, behave now, Blueblood,” I say, giving his shoulder a light swat as I sip my sherry. “He’s a decent pony, and certainly wealthy enough, new money or not.” And now, to feed his ego. Because, y’know, it isn’t bloated enough. “Though, he’s certainly nothing compared to you, my prince.”

He meets my eyes with a confident grin, then drains the remainder of his sherry and sets the glass to the side. He takes a step toward me, lifts a hoof to my cheek, and kisses me with hoof-curling intensity.

Item number three: He’s a solid kisser. I suppose I should thank Princess Celestia’s rear end for giving him plenty of practice. And, surprisingly enough, he’s pretty decent in bed, too. Not the best I’ve ever had—though, admittedly, I’ve been with a lot of ponies; there was this one mare named Cloud Kicker, about whose tongue I could write epic poetry. But Blueblood knows his way around a mattress, nonetheless.

Our kiss continues for some moments, his tongue snaking its way into my mouth, meeting my own and running along my teeth. His hoof moves from my cheek, runs through my mane, then settles at the back of my head, pulling me in deeper. I can’t help but melt into the sensation.

Finally, we come up for air, our eyes locked.

“Does Fancy Pants ever kiss you like that?” he asks.

“No,” I reply with complete honesty.

With a glow of his horn, he gives my tail a gentle tug to the side. The hint is clear, and I take it, turning around and presenting myself to him.

Item number four: He always put effort into pleasing me. I suspect it’s not so much because my pleasure is important to him as much as it makes him feel potent, but maybe I’m being too hard on the guy.

He lowers his head and gives me a kiss on my left flank, then the right, causing the muscles to twitch under my coat. Then, after a teasing lick across my folds, he mounts me. His forelegs wrap around my torso and he leans against my back, my legs straining slightly under his weight. A little bit of maneuvering, and his stiff member prods at my entrance. But he lingers.

I suddenly feel his breath against my ear, and he whispers, “Let’s see if we can knock Fancy Pants right out of your head.”

With a thrust of his lips, he slides into me. I gasp slightly from the force of it, my inner walls clenching around him half in startlement, but a quick flood of my own lubricant eases his entry, and soon he’s hilted in me. The feeling of fullness, and of his penis twitching inside me, causes my eyes to flutter closed. He simply stays there for a moment, then finally begins to pull out, so slowly it’s almost agonizing, my pussy trying to hold him in. When only the head of his member remains inside me, he thrusts all over again. He repeats the process, picking up speed until he finds his rhythm, hammering away into me and filling the suite with the sound of fur-muted smack of flesh.

I give a throaty moan, my voice hitching with each slam of his hips into my rump. He leans forward and gently nibbles at my ear, and I have to fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in their sockets. I open up to his emotions, and as I expect, it’s mostly physical attraction, though tinted with a vague bitterness I’ve come to expect from his feelings. Not a terribly nutritious brew, perhaps, but I’ll take what I can get. I’m close now, too, and I can tell he’s not far away either. I decide to take matters into my own hooves and move things along.

“Oooooh…” I groan, pushing my hips back into his. “You’re so much better at this than Fancy Pants. Fuck me hard, Blueblood!”

It works like a charm. His pace picks up until he’s pumping with abandon. Finally, he grunts, tightening his grip around my torso and pressing his face against my shoulder as he unloads inside me. The feeling of being flooded with warmth and wetness sends me over the edge. I clench my eyes shut and grit my teeth, weathering the orgasm as it crashes over me. My legs threaten to give out beneath us, but they hold.

As we come down from our orgasms, we remain in our position, both of us panting. Eventually Blueblood climbs off me, withdrawing his softening shaft. A trickle of his seed spills from my opening, and I find myself grateful that ponies and changelings can’t reproduce.

In the ensuing silence, I sense an unasked question from my client—a verdict, perhaps.

“Oh, Blueblood, that was amazing!” I say. I don’t even have to lie. Perhaps exaggerate slightly, but not lie. Like I said before, he’s a perfectly competent bedmate.

I make my way to a sofa and slump down onto it, giving my legs a rest.

Blueblood, for his part, heads over to the kitchenette. “Would you like some water?” he asks. The implication is clear: We’re not done yet.

Item number five: He has rather impressive stamina. Give him a breather after a round of sex, and he’ll be ready to go again in no time. These sessions of ours tend to last well into the wee hours of the morning, with as many as five or six rounds.

“Yes, please.”

Maybe half an hour later, and the two of us are out on the suite’s balcony, overlooking the Las Pegasus strip, at once the tackiest and the most oddly sincere place in Equestria. I brush a lock of pink mane away from my eyes and sip from the glass held in my magic.

“It really hurt when you left, you know.” The voice was soft, but it still startles me. I slowly turn to face him, my eyes wide. In all the times we’ve met like this, I’ve never known him to speak so quietly, so weakly. He simply sits there, looking out to where the lights of the city thin and finally submit to the dark wilderness.

“W-what do you mean?” I ask.

“I know we didn’t date for very long. But still, it did hurt. It’s like… you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. And then, next thing I know, I hear you’ve shacked up with Fancy Pants. It was like a slap to the face.”

Given the tone of our conversation, I decide to take a small gamble. “Maybe if you’d been nicer to me, if you hadn’t treated me like some prize to display on your mantle, things would’ve worked out between us.” I keep my tone gentle, but it was all true. I’d done my research the first time he came to Persona, and I’d learned all about the brief relationship between the unicorn prince and the model with connections to the Prench nobility. ‘The Most Attractive Couple in Equestria’, the tabloids had called them.

“I could’ve given you anything you asked for,” he says. “Money, a nice home, luxury beyond your wildest imagining…”

“Those are just things, Blueblood,” I respond. “You never gave me your love. You kept all of that for yourself.” A little bit of method acting, there.

He finally turns and meets my eyes, looking into them for a small moment before saying, “Perhaps you’re right.” He looks out over the city again. “For what it’s worth, I’m…” He seems to chew the word around in his mouth for a while, as if tasting it. “I’m… s-sorry.”

When I don’t say anything, he looks back at me, only to find me gaping at him.

“What?” he asks, slightly defensive.

“N-nothing!”

He looks down at the street below, then slowly stands up and trots back into the suite. “I need another drink,” he mutters as he disappears through the doorway.

“What was that all about?” I whisper into the empty balcony. Never, in all our meetings, had he behaved this way. Was here something in the air?

I’d probably been contemplating the matter for some minutes when Blueblood pokes his head out the balcony door and says, “Alright, I’m ready. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

“Do you want me to join you?” I ask, the emphasized word making my meaning clear.

“No, that’s alright.” He walks back inside. “Send the earth pony in.”

I know whom he’s talking about, of course. There’s only one earth pony he’s ever shown any interest in. A cellist from Canterlot, and another former lover of his.

I stay on the balcony to transform, knowing that Blueblood prefers not to see it. Maybe it’s to preserve the illusion of his mares, or maybe he just doesn’t want to be reminded that he’s banging a changeling. Either way, one flash of green later and the only one left on the balcony is a small, gray earth pony mare with purple eyes and a dark mane and tail. I take a deep breath, adjust the bowtie around my neck, and step into the suite.

I find him in the bedroom as promised. “You asked for me?” I ask in the mare’s smooth voice and posh dialect.

“Ah, Octavia! Good to see you,” he says from his position on the bed. “Come join me, won’t you?”

I give him a sultry look—I swear her face is designed for sultry looks—and climb onto the bed, onto him, and give him a kiss. He reaches around my back and pulls my body against his, then moves his hooves down to my rump, kneading into the soft flesh.

We break the kiss, a strand of saliva linking out mouths just like in those cheesy romance novels, and for a moment he stares into my purple eyes.

“You really are one of the most beautiful mares I’ve ever known,” he says contemplatively. “Especially for an earth pony.”

Okay, wow! I’m not even a real pony and I find that offensive.

He must notice my glare, because he backtracks, albeit with all the grace of a politician after a faux pas. “N-not that there’s anything wrong with earth ponies, mind. Some of my best friends are earth ponies. Well… ‘friends’ might be a strong term, but…” He wisely snaps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, taking a moment to breathe deeply and regroup. “I really did mean to complement you, you know? You are beautiful.” He opens his eyes again and meets my own, resuming his massage to my cutie marks. “I remember the first time I saw you, playing lead in Horseshoemann’s Cello Concerto. I was instantly smitten.”

“We did have some good times,” I say, still slightly irritated by his boorish behavior even as I trail a hoof across his chest.

“Yes, we did.” His expression becomes a little darker. “And then you went and turned fillyfooler on me.”

I try not to snap at him. I really do. “Well, Blueblood, if time spent with you was all it took to turn a mare into a ‘fillyfooler’,”—I even make air-quotes with my hooves—“then every mare with half a brain would have run to the nearest female and saved themselves the trouble.”

He gapes at me, and I can’t help but blush slightly at my rather unprofessional outburst. But really! ‘Fillyfooler’? What is this, the 8th century?

He finally snaps out of his shock, his eyes becoming determined. “Well then,” he says, suddenly rolling me onto my back and giving me a look that’s lost somewhere between aroused and vindictive, “I’ll just have to show you what you’re missing.”

He begins kissing his way down my chest and belly, finally positioning himself between my legs. After a lingering kiss to each inner thigh, he tucks in, planting his lips over my vagina and working his tongue into my folds.

Item number six: He knows how to use his tongue. I suppose this is related to item number three, but all things considered, I have better things to do than nitpick.

A moan escapes my throat as he works, and I grasp ahold of the bedspread with my hooves to keep them occupied. I suppose his greatest asset is the length of his tongue, and even now I can feel it working inches into me with ease. He hits a particularly good spot, and I can’t keep from bucking into his face a little. I already feel another orgasm approaching, and Blueblood apparently senses it, too. He withdraws his tongue and suckles on my clit, sending me over the edge. My thighs clench around his head as I ride out the fireworks.

Once I come down, he raises his head and looks at me, the fur around his mouth wet and matted. “So?” he asks, his expression cocky but concealing something deeper. “Can that vulgar DJ of yours please you like that?”

“Apples and oranges,” I reply noncommittally. And it’s true: Vinyl Scratch had been a client of mine a ways back, when I was still relatively new to this business. Before she got together with Octavia, I hope and assume. She was every bit as skilled as Blueblood, though with an entirely different style.

Nevertheless, he doesn’t seem entirely pleased by my answer. “Is that so?” He gives a contemptuous snort. “Well, we’ll just see about that. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be shown up by a mare.”

He begins to lick me again, and in spite of a low, pleasured moan, I can’t keep from giving a small frown. I’m getting real tired of just being passive in all this. But if I’m going to be more active, I’ll need to get his attention.

I think back to the combat training I’d received back at the hive. I take a moment to calculate my leverage and his weight distribution, then lock my legs around his head again. Careful to direct the force down into his frame, I twist my hips, taking his head with them and forcefully guiding him onto his back in one fluid motion. I now tower above him, looking down at his wide eyes as they peer up from between my thighs.

“Now Blueblood,” I say with a cocky grin of my own. “Don’t let me have all the fun.”

I release his head and turn around, returning my nethers to his face as I lower my head to his erect member. I take it in my hooves, then give it a long lick from the base all the way to the head, leaving a trail of saliva up his shaft. Opening wide, I take the head of his penis into my mouth and begin sucking at it gently, sensually, gliding my tongue along its length.

I feel Blueblood trying to get back in the game, wrapping his forelegs around my hips and redirecting his attention to my pussy. Implicit in the room’s very air pressure is a note of competition. He and I are waging an unspoken war for dominance, and whoever makes the other cum first shall be the victor.

Blueblood doesn’t even stand a chance.

I lurch my head forward, taking inch after inch into my mouth until I feel it poking at the entrance to my throat. And that’s when I start using my changeling magic. I altar the shape of my throat, widening it to allow his member entry, then tightening it exactly to the contours of his shaft. But I don’t stop there. With a hidden, internal flicker of green, my throat begins to shift, to caress his penis, even to vibrate. The movements of his tongue become sluggish, no doubt lost in the strange and never-before-imagined sensations, and in no time at all his penis is swelling in my mouth, ready to release. He tries to fight it off, bless his heart. So, I just helix my tongue around his member and give it a good squeeze.

With a jerk and a spasm, he unloads down my throat. His grip around my flank tightens, and he actually cries out into my vagina. I continue to work him with my mouth until he goes limp, then finally release him, returning my throat to its proper configuration.

Without speaking a word, we both crawl our way up to the pillows and lay down.

“That… was impressive,” he says, covering his flushed face with a hoof.

“Not bad for a ‘fillyfooler’, huh?”

He actually gives a chuckle. I hadn’t expected that. He holds a foreleg out, and I take the invitation, cuddling against his side.

In moments, he drifts off, and I glance over his chest at the alarm clock. With a sigh, I wait.

After a brief cat nap, Blueblood wakes up, and the two of us spend some minutes exchanging the kind of small talk that fills most of these little breaks between sex sessions. Soon enough, he gets out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Oh.” I perk up, honestly surprised. “You done for the night?”

He stops and stands there, as if contemplating. I even see him reach a hoof back to prod at his genitals. Finally: “No. I think not.” More silence; more contemplation. “Are you familiar with Princess Cadance?”

The room in the air becomes heavy, spiked with something warm and distant, and several images flash through my mind. With a gulp, I mutter, “Y-you might say that…”

“I’ve always thought she was rather attractive,” he says thoughtfully towards the ceiling. “Of course, I never got a chance with her, because that oaf, Shining Armor, got to her first.”

“But…” I begin delicately. “Isn’t she… your cousin?” Not that I haven’t done incest with clients before, but still, it was rare enough to merit a raised eyebrow. Besides—c’mon!—it’s the royal family. That’s like… super-incest!

“Oh, please,” Blueblood replies dismissively. “Cadance isn’t part of the unicorn nobility.”

“But aren’t the two of you Celestia’s niece and nephew?”

Blueblood snorts. “Not technically. Celestia and Luna adopted my family long ago, as a gesture of goodwill after they took the throne, but there’s no blood relation. Our calling her ‘auntie’ is merely tradition. And I’m pretty sure Cadance’s situation is similar. You’re probably more closely related to me than Cadance is.”

Oh, wonderful! I haven’t had a good nightmare in a while…

“So, if you please, I’d like to see Cadance in the shower.”

With that, he steps into the bathroom, and the sound of running water issues from it.

Princess Cadance, huh? Believe it or not, I’d never played her before. Rather surprising because, as Blueblood said, she is very beautiful. I’m not sure how to feel now that I’m being asked to take her form. It feels wrong, somehow, considering the role she unwittingly played in my own life. Not to mention the fact that it seems ironic to play the princess of love for a pony like Blueblood.

But, alas, this is my job. Duty calls, and all that.

A minute or so later, and I step into the bathroom wearing Cadance’s form. I take a look in the mirror to check how it came out, give a pleased nod, and turn my attention to the shower.

When I poke my head past the shower curtain, I find Blueblood looking at me with a look of surprise on his face. “W-why, Cadance? What are you doing here?”

Like I said, he really gets into the role-playing. Well, two can play at this game.

“I was just feeling lonely,” I say with a pout. “Mind if I join you? Shining never wants to do anything romantic like this.”

“Why, sure,” he says, moving aside to give me room. I step into the shower, giving a delighted shiver as the warm water sprays onto my back and runs through my wings. In seconds, I’m soaked, my wet mane hanging about my shoulders as droplets of water collect on my pink coat. He raises a hoof and runs it through my mane, stroking my neck, then looks into my eyes.

Our lips collide in a passionate kiss, and I force my long alicorn tongue into his mouth, moaning as he wraps his lips around it and gives it a suck. I raise one foreleg to his shoulder, then the other, transfer the weight of my upper body into it as we continue to make out in the steamy air. Then he does me one better, raising up on his own hind legs and wrapping his arms around my barrel so that we’re leaning on each other’s chest.

I feel his once-again-stiff member poking at my belly, and I lift a hindleg so it can more easily rub against my moist entrance. Not satisfied, Blueblood gently pushes me against the shower wall, then grabs my thigh with a hoof and lifts. I take the hint, raising my last leg off the floor and wrapping both hindlegs around his hips. I feel him enter me, and I throw both forelegs around his neck and squint into his shoulder at the sensation of being filled once again. Once her hilts out inside me, he stays still, our wet bodies clinging to each other. Then, he begins to move.

Pinned against the wall as I am, there’s not much I can do except hang there and hold on for dear life as he pounds away at me. I close my eyes and simply let the pleasure wash over me, losing myself in my body and my senses. I allow myself to open up to Blueblood again, feeling the same muted drone of lust as usual.

I imagine the real Cadance doesn’t have to worry about receiving love from Shining Armor. My, doesn’t that thought get a ball rolling? It’s easy to imagine for a moment that I’m Cadance, and that this stallion rutting me is her rugged lover.

I tighten my legs’ embrace around him, then add my wings to the fray, all six of my limbs pulling him against me as I imagine Shining Armor hammer, hammer, hammering into me with his stallionhood. I bite my lip and moan through my nostrils, letting my head rest against the tiled wall. I sense yet another climax barreling toward me. My tongue lolls out of my mouth as I begin to gasp, whimper, mutter foggy-minded nonsense at the impending release.

Finally, I tip over the edge. “Oh, Shining!” I shout.

It’s not until the orgasm passes and the fog begins to clear that I realize the sudden stillness in the shower, silent but for the pattering showerfall. I open my eyes, finding not Shining Armor, but Prince Blueblood staring at me with wide, startled, almost wounded eyes. My ears droop against my head.

Oops…

He releases me, and I stumble to find my footing, my legs still weak in the wake of my orgasm. Without uttering a word, he steps out of the shower, magics the moisture from his fur, and trots out of the bathroom. I sit down in the shower lamely and shut off the shower with a flick of my green magic. I sit there, dripping, wondering what I should do next.

How could I have lost my concentration like that? I’m a professional! And he’s my client, regardless of how I feel about him personally. Was it simply that he gives me so little to work with, emotionally? There’s no denying that thinking about Shining Armor eased the process along. But still, I'd clearly crossed a line.

I need to talk to him.

I dry myself with a towel, then timidly step out of the bathroom, finding Blueblood sitting on the bed, facing out the window. I make my way to his side and sit on the bed next to him. I search his face for a few seconds, but he refuses to meet my eyes. I finally settle for looking out the window too.

Silence haunts us briefly, until: “Why?”

“Why what?” I reply.

“Why am I not good enough?” He doesn’t look away from the window. “Why am I never good enough?”

I open and close my mouth a few times before saying, “W-what do you mean?”

“I’m a prince,” he says simply. “I have everything most ponies only dream of. And yet… I’m never good enough.”

I stare at him, then look out the window again.

Honestly… I’ve never thought of it like that before. Blueblood has a title. He has wealth. He’s well-connected. He is, it must be admitted, handsome and competent in bed. He’d likely grown up hearing of his greatness, of his destiny, of the centuries-long legacy woven through his veins. And yet, when push comes to shove, he’s relatively average. Not average in a bad way. Just… average. He isn’t exceptionally intelligent, or exceptionally talented, or exceptionally charismatic. He is, in a word, common. And the mares in his life have constantly left him for ponies greater than he.

Fleur left to be with Fancy Pants, a common-born stallion who nonetheless won wealth and riches through vision and hard work. Octavia left him to be with Vinyl, a mare of great talent and artistic influence. And Cadance had chosen Shining Armor, a natural-born leader with great magical ability. How many others have there been that I simply don’t know about?

And now, he travels across the kingdom just to spend some time with an escort, just so he can live out his old fantasies.

But of course, it’s not as simple as that.

While he’s looking out the window, I let a wave of green wash over me. He notices, of course, and turns to look, finding a white unicorn with a purple mane and a three-diamond cutie mark on her flank. His eyes widen, but I put a hoof over his mouth before he can speak.

“Shhh…” I say, and he complies. “Just listen. I admit, I’d never considered your side of it. But… I think it must be said, you aren’t a mere victim in all this, Blueblood. I think I should be proof of that,” I add, indicating the body of Rarity, whose form I’ve taken several times on Blueblood’s request. “Your whole life, I imagine, you’ve expected greatness to be handed to you on a platter. You seem to think the world owes it to you, as if mares, by right, ought to be fawning all over you.

“But you don’t earn it, Blueblood. You push ponies away, and your conceit and self-entitlement poisons the relationships in your life.”

I lower my hoof, but he remains silent, his eyes glistening in the neon lights outside.

“That night we met, at the Grand Galloping Gala,” I continue, “your behavior was positively atrocious. I don’t know if that’s just your nature, or if you’d learned to act that way as a sort of… warped defense mechanism. But if you ever want to find someone who loves you, then you need to let them love you, and give them your love in return. You! Not the prince, not your birthright, not all your riches, and not this wall of conceit you’ve built around yourself. Just Blueblood, the pony.”

He opens his mouth, lets it linger there for a while, then says, “H-how…?”

I lay my hoof over his. “I can’t answer that for you, I’m afraid. It might mean you have to make some changes in your life.” In my mind’s eye, I see a gleaming city through a barred window. “Sometimes we have to take chances to get what we want out of life—step outside our comfort zone, challenge ourselves to change.”

“You… really think I can?” His voice is like a small colt’s. I look into his eyes, and open myself to him. Wafting from him, I sense pain and insecurity. I sense remorse and loneliness. And, buried deep, deep down, I sense something like hope. And I know.

“Yes. Yes, I think you can. But only if you will.”

He looks at me for a long moment, then nods and turns back to the window.

I don’t know what brought all this on. I’m not arrogant enough to think it’s all my doing. He’s been acting a little strange all night, after all. But so long as it helps him move past this obstacle on his road, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Item number seven: When you least expect it, Blueblood has a way of surprising you.

Eventually, the two of us get under the sheets and drift off to a brief sleep.

The door to the suite opens, and I step out into the hallway, still wearing Rarity’s form. I turn around, and the two of us look at each other with some awkwardness.

“Rarity?”

“Yes?”

“For what it’s worth… I’m sorry… for how I behaved at the Gala.”

I give him a small, sincere smile. “I know.”

“And also… you? Not Rarity?” he says, and I know he’s speaking to me, Naamari the changeling. I can almost feel the weight of all the role-playing and characters lifting off our shoulders. He looks deep, deep into my eyes, and says, “Thank you.”

I continue to smile, then throw in a nod for good measure.

He looks at me for the last time, and closes the door. I stand there for a moment in the silent hallway, almost numb from the night’s events.

I don’t know what will happen to Blueblood—whether he’ll change after all and find the happiness he deserves. And he does deserve it, because, underneath it all, he’s not a bad pony. Not really.

Some minutes later, I step out of the hotel, back in my usual pony disguise. By now, the sun is just starting to rise in the east. Not really in the mood to sprout a pair of wings and fly, I trot my way over to the bus stop.

I arrive at my apartment building maybe a half-hour later, coming to a stop just outside the front door. For some reason, I’m reluctant to go inside.

I catch a smell of roasting coffee and cast a glance across the street to where Mare Green’s sits, welcoming any weary souls that should come across it. If I don’t qualify, I don’t know who does. With a tired smile, I cross the street and enter.

Arabica spots me right away. “Good morning, Naamari! You’re here early.”

“Another long night,” I say, trotting to the counter. I look, but see no sign of Aletheia. I give a little sigh.

“What’ll you have this morning?”

I don’t answer right away, instead pondering the hunger inside me.

I give her a hollow smile. “The usual.”

To be continued...