Hypnotic Holiday 2: More Harder
I'll start by explaining myself. Not because I condemn myself, but that I fear others might. One other, especially. Twilight, my dear Twilight, who despite being the nicest, smartest, sexiest, most forgiving mare I know, could, if unenlightened, be repulsed by my proclivities. Am I overcautious? Do I give her too little credit? Well, if worst comes to worst I shall wish I'd been overcautious. I must explain my tastes to her if I've any hope of her understanding, accepting and perhaps even humouring me.
Our Sunday hypnosis sessions, by now an entirely recreational occasion, remain simply smashing. All these ten times she has called me Mistress, and I have treated her as valued servant. The taste of dominance has been exhilarating, bolstered by my perfect sub, whose eyes light up like an eager puppy’s at the thought of obeying my every, sometimes unreasonable, whim. I cannot deny I get a little power trip when I pour my voice into her too trusting brain, moulding it like endlessly malleable clay.
Why, I remember one time I put my hoof to her forehead and told her it was a vacuum, sucking out her thoughts, slowing down her mind, leaving her with the intellect of a foal for an hour or so. An average foal, mind. I've no doubt her primary school self could have outwitted a university professor.
Dressing myself as a saucy school-ma’am, I sat her at a wooden desk and lay a foal’s first algebra text before her. Her furrowing brow looked so adorable as she stared at the first question for minutes on end.
‘Ms,’ she said, ‘I can’t do it.’
‘Come now,’ I said. ‘I know you’re not the smartest filly in class, but you must at least try.’
‘I am trying. The numbers just won’t move.’
I sat beside the most intelligent pony in Equestria and said, ‘3x+7=12. Oh, I'm so sorry, Twilight, this is much too hard for you. Here, I'll walk you through.’ On her page, filled with furiously scribbled out mistakes that would make a diamond dog blush, I showed her the answer step by step. ‘Ta-da, x is one and two-thirds.’
‘You’re so smart, Ms Rarity.’
Even in general it’s nice to have the keys to her willing mind. So many chores I've put off for days, she'll bound to if I command it. All the while a dopey smile beams on her face, the kind I’d only seen before on Opal after a catnip binge.
In a theoretical sense I can understand her enjoyment, in the same way I can understand why Rainbow likes flying about for back-breaking hours. But, I mean, I've never been close to cumming while doing the dishes. Judging by the moans from my kitchen, however, she’s almost cumming by the fifth plate. Once or twice she’s actually cum, on those occasions when I forgot to lock her orgasms.
Ah, there’s the analogy. I doubt the dishes themselves arouse her. Rather, she moistens at the thought of what cleaning the dishes represents: obedience. Obedience turns her on. My games and chores merely give her an opportunity to obey. For me, on the other hoof, the strongest conceptual aphrodisiac is degradation.
Were I to tell her to lick my hoof, she’d run her tongue all over it like a hungry dog, perhaps rubbing herself against the rug to service her heat. A heat formed not by the hoof licking, but by the obedience behind the hoof licking. Now for me, if I were told to lick a hoof I would tell whomever asked to kindly buck off, even my marefriend (well, perhaps I’d just politely deny my marefriend). You see, I am a proud mare, more than that, a stubborn one, more stubborn than Rainbow and Applejack in the midst of a hoof wrestle. Before descending to licking a hoof, I’d sooner roll in mud, not that I’d do that either. I am a sophisticated mare with dignity and poise, who acts for herself and will be no pony’s slave.
But there’s the root of it. Having erected standards of such magnitude and seeming inviolability, the prospect of their fall cannot help but thrill in a half-guilty way.
No, I would never in sober or drunken mind lick a hoof, not even Twilight’s. Under no combination of circumstances would I willingly run my tongue along a filthy hoof, placing myself below whatever monstrous pony had put me in that position. But if Twilight forced me to lick her hoof by planting a hypnotic spell in my mind, perhaps one with a pain-switch that would feel like pin pricks each second I disobeyed, I would lap at her hoof, lowering myself to subpony scum, humiliating myself by discarding years of cultivation, degr-
A knock at the door alerts me to the time, nine. My hoof had wondered a tad too low.
Trotting to the door, I realise I've constructed not so much an explanation, as a masturbatory fantasy. Should occasions like this arise in future I must take a page from Twilight, and write a ten-times drafted script of what I am to say weeks in advance.
I unlock the door.
‘Hi, Rare,’ Twilight says, dropping her umbrella in my holder, before giving me a kiss.. I follow as she trots up to my room.
Today, I must tell her today. The fantasies have leaked from my dreams into my work hours.
For the sake of my art a degradation session is needed.
‘So, last week you said you wanted to be the sub this time,’ Twilight says as she settles on one of the two lounges I’d pulled out.
‘Yes, unless you’d really like to go under this time too.’
‘Don’t worry. It will be nice to change things up. I can only clean your dishes so many times before it gets boring.’ The quiver she gives herself with those last words says otherwise. ‘So, what would like me to get you to do? Basic obedience? Servitude?’
‘Oh, yes,’ I say. ‘To start. But less “servitude,” more slavery.’
‘“Slavery?”’
‘Heh, yes.’ Dear Celestia, I’m blushing. ‘And, um, with a special emphasis on, ah, degradation.’ I cough. ‘Intense degradation.’
‘So, like, use you and abuse you?’
‘Um, yes and – Wait what!’ I say. ‘W-was that a “yes.”’
Twilight chuckles as she hops off her lounge and comes over to me. She places a hoof on my shoulder. ‘Well, of course yes. It’s pretty standard in all the books on BDSM. Don’t give me that look, you know I would have exhausted the libraries supply of manuals on it by now.’ She pulls me closer so we're almost forehead to forehead and looks me deep in the eyes. ‘Were you worried how I’d react?’ I nod. ‘Did you think I’d stop loving you?’ Like a scolded filly, I nod. She lightly taps her hoof on my nose. ‘Bad filly, thinking her marefriend would ever think worse of her.’ She kisses me before stepping back. ‘Ok, first we set the ground rules, then we plan out our day.’
With a slowing woodpecker in my chest, I say, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that, I want to be surprised.’
‘Rarity,’ she says, ‘for what you’re asking it is very important we set ground rules. If I accidently push you to, or over, a line you don’t want to cross, it won’t be pleasant for either of us.’ Her face brightens. ‘How about we discuss and plan it, and then I just make you forget it. Sound good?’ she says, putting out her hoof.
‘Sounds good,’ I reply, taking her hoof.
‘One, coming to consciousness.’ Why is it dark all of a sudden?
‘Two, opening your eyes, growing aware of the world.’ I’m lying on the lounge opposite Twilight’s.
‘Three, wide awake.’
I stretch myself out. ‘When you said forget, you weren’t lying.’
‘Quiet.’
‘So what did you put in me? Flashing trigger, pain trigger-‘
‘Quiet, Rarity.’
‘Bark!’ I did it without thinking. It crawled up my throat and forced open my mouth, an exclamation I, in public or private, would never let past my lips. So am I embarrassed? Yes. But at the same time, well, disappointed. It seems a tame order, eliciting only as much shame as I felt when purchasing Sweetie’s school stationary, realising only at the payment stage that I’d nothing in my purse. Above all, though, the trigger feels unoriginal. When Twilight’s under it’s standard that I make woof like cute, little puppy. I suppose it’s to be expected. Only Fluttershy’s timidity in life’s intimate areas could rival Twilight’s. Much less than accidently pushing me over a line, I doubt she has the nerve to push me at all. No, that’s harsh. It’s not her fault; she’s too kind for her own good. Perhaps I should call the whole thing off, lest the session become that one thing worse than excessive: boring.
‘Why did you bark?’ she asks.
‘Because I’m a dirty bitch.’ I slam my hoof to my mouth. Bitch, I never use it against anypony, much less myself. It’s a demeaning word, humiliating. Oh, Celestia, that sends tingles through me.
I move to speak, but her eyes stop me, pinning me to my seat.
Eyes like those I’d seen once before, late at night, a year ago, at a museum showing of my work in the bohemian 'slums' of Canterlot. In walked her, Fair Savagery, the most feared and lauded fashion critic in Equestria. It’s easy to mock critics, calling them failed artists who, in tantrum-like rebellion against their inadequacy, turn their meagre talents on all those who succeeded. None of that could be said of her. The way she walked and held herself, with such dignified firmness that you wished you could call it pomposity, the way she looked pieces and ponies up and down, such that when she looks away you know her opinion is fully formed, and the way she eyed me as she told me exactly what she thought of my work. When she vanished into the crowd I rushed to lock myself in a bathroom stall, where my tears could no longer hold themselves.
That voice, that calm voice devoid of any compassion, delivering to me her review as if written by a poet commissioned by an executioner.
But those eyes, those eyes most of all, sans hatred, sans pettiness, possessing an intensity of clarity that ensured that her every dismissive glance seemed justified, even if it was directed at you.
Those eyes I see on Twilight. I remember that she has the power of a princess, the power to extinguish me in a flash of her horn.
‘Why did you bark, Rarity?’
‘Bark! Because I’m a dirty bitch.’
‘And what am I?’
The words tumble out, leaving me ignorant of what they’ll be. Half-terrified I wonder what the mightiest mare in Equestria is to me. ‘You are this dirty bitch’s owner.’
She doesn’t smile. ‘Off the lounge.’ I obey, unsure whether I do so out of hypnotic compulsion or fear. As soon as I'm down she says, ‘Beg.’ Shooting to my haunches, tucking my hooves on my chest, her bolt of magic catches me unawares. It barrels me backwards. Had her magic not cradled my head for the last inch I'm sure it would have smacked the ground.
Too shocked to get up, I can only squirm on my back, trying to catch sight of her. She walks towards me, staring at me. When she reaches me she looms silently long enough that sweat drips off me. She stomps her hoof on my vagina. The shock winds me. Slowly, building in speed, she drags her hoof up and down, forcing whimpers from me of pain and pleasure.
‘I suppose you thought you could handle me,’ she says. ‘You thought that sweet, little Twilight couldn't possibly have anything intense enough for you bubbling away in her innocent mind. “She'll turn me into a dog, perhaps force me to lick her pussy.” But-’ She presses down on my vagina and I gasp. ‘-you don’t know me at all.’ She intensifies her rubbing, flicking at my clit occasionally. ‘Don’t cum.’ I whimper. ‘What is it I’m stepping on?’
‘M-my vagina.’
‘Wrong.’ She presses harder. ‘Mares have vaginas. You are a dirty bitch. You are a slave. You have a pussy. What do you have?’
‘I have a v-va - pussy!’
She returns to her slow rubbing. ‘I had a very lonely adolescence. No one invited me to their parties, no one talked to me at lunch and even they had tried I wouldn’t have let them. You know what I did instead? I read. I read the Canterlot Library. I read all the Canterlot Library.’ The flames in my pussy reach my mind. A mesh obscures the world, but her words sear through. ‘I especially liked the Mare-quis Desaad. Personally, I think The Lusts of the Lunaites was her finest.
'Separated from other ponies I fantasised what I might do to them. On those rare, rare occasions when I would speak with my classmates I’d be calm on the outside, but thinking all the time. What pains and pleasures I could subject them to? But now I see that thinking’s for the nerveless ones, the real brave ones follow through.
‘I wonder how many of the Mare-quis’ one hundred and forty-two decadent dictates I can put you through.’ She removes her hoof, examining it. ‘Already this wet? You’ve made my hoof filthy, you dirty bitch. A punishment is in order.’
She hangs her hoof an inch over my face. ‘Lust number fifty-eight: A Lunaite will only descend to fuck a filly who has tasted themselves, for only then will they realise they are but sex and filth to their owner. So, lick.’
Shock paralyses me, though I’d like to think fleeting dignity keeps my tongue from that dripping hoof.
‘Did I not speak loudly enough?’ She presses her hoof to my mouth. ‘Or perhaps I didn’t address you properly. Lick, lick, dirty bitch.’
My tongue darts out, slobbering against her hoof. Forever passes as my cheeks burn. Two decades of dignity crumble with each tangy burst of my own cum on my tongue.
‘Stop.’ My tongue retreats. I still taste myself. ‘You’re a hungry bitch, aren’t you, Rarity?’
‘Bark!’
‘But you’ve been a very bad bitch. You’ve licked all your cum off my hoof, but now it’s covered in your filthy spit.’ My heart hammers as she stares. ‘I think another punishment is in order. Present.’
I scramble from my back, without intention, onto my hooves. I turn my back to her before lowering my chin to the ground and raising my flank in the air, leaving myself exposed to her.
‘Number eighty-six: A Lunaite's discipline is severe and arbitrary, so her slave will know that her body is at her owner’s whim.’
Gasping, I feel her hoof trace over my arse. When she removes it I shut my eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
She spanks and flames ripple on my plot, but I know she’s holding back.
Again she spanks, harder, where she spanked before. I relish the minor, fast dying pride that keeps me from screaming.
Her hoof pulls away and stays away, looming. Anticipation clogs my throat as tearful slivers drip from my clenched eyes.
Her battering ram hoof spanks my arse, sending shockwaves through it. I grunt, but do not scream.
‘You know, slave, I wish I’d worn my special boots for this. Open your eyes.’ Her bare hoof dangles before me. ‘Silly me, I am wearing my boots. See my boots, my leather boots. See my three-buckled boot, with little square spikes running down it. Do you see them?’
‘Y-yes.’ Of course I see them, how could I not. Just looking the pain intensifies.
Her hoof leaves my view. ‘One more and you will feel my boots.’
I scream. Piercing, firing, biting, spawning prickling throbs. I can feel the tears.
‘Stand up straight.’ I obey, but my legs threaten to collapse. Her hoof strokes my pussy. I moan. ‘You liked that, didn’t you? Why did you like that?’
‘Because I’m a dirty bitch.’
‘March to your back garden.’
I wait for my body to obey, but nothing happens. I look around to Twilight.
She grins Discord’s grin.
I realise what the trigger does as a phantom hoof slaps my raw arse. I yelp. Another slap and I yelp again. It continues until I start walking, even then only slowing until I start galloping. The shut door forces me to stop and the pain rises. My spluttering magic fails to grip the knob.
‘Mistress-’ I use the word for self-preservation. ‘-please open the door!’
Purple magic turns the knob and I dart out to escape the spanking. My back door stops me. I try to force myself through Opal’s cat flap, but not even my head gets through.
The door opens under Twilight’s magic. I rush through.
As soon as I stand in my back garden the spanking abates. My flank now merely throbs.
I look around. At the back of my mind, the last part groping at sanity, I note that I should plant more grass. A large oval of turf mars my flower-bordered garden. This morning’s rain has turned it to a shallow pool of mud.
‘Number thirty-seven: The Lunaite must lower her fuck to the level of beast. She will have her slave roll in that fell whore called nature, and know that it is only by her owner’s
wish that she be allowed the luxury of pony shelter. Do you know what I have in store?’
I can’t breathe.
Her mouth hovers next to my ear, her warm breath tickling it. ‘You know what dirty bitches love? Dirty bitches love filth.’
I feel myself receding from my limbs, from my body, as something beastly replaces it, until I am reduced to eyes and ears. I jump into the mud, no, not me, never me, the thing that is my body does. It rolls in the mud, barking in imbecile ecstasy. My pristine coat, my shining mane, defiled by mud. I try to block it out, but not even my eyelids are mine. I am forced to look upon my ruin.
‘Filthy enough, dirty bitch.’
My dominion seeps back through me. By the time my body obeys me, I'm laying on my back in the mud.
‘March to your bathroom.’
I don’t give the slaps a chance. I gallop into my house, up the stairs, into my bathroom. Only when in there do I consider the state of my carpet. I’ve dragged mud through the house. I’d ground Sweetie for a week if she did that.
‘Aren’t you eager.’ Twilight approaches me and I back away. ‘Look at how filthy you are. I think a wash is in order.’
She magically opens my shower. I enter the Perspex cage and she joins me. Thankfully, it’s big enough for two.
A daggering stream of cold water hits me. At first I’m too shocked to chatter my teeth.
‘Press yourself against the wall, your belly showing.’ I obey. She turns the faucet on me like a lamp in a police interview. The powerful stream strips most of the dirt from my coat and mane. ‘Freeze.’ I’m locked against the wall, my midsection exposed. ‘Let’s get you smelling nice.’
She levitates a bar of soap and presses it to my torso. She starts moving it up and down, dislodging the remaining dirt. ‘But you know what part of you is in special need of a wash, what part of you has been especially filthy today.’ The bar lowers to my pussy. She rubs it slowly first, then fast. ‘Remember, don’t cum.’ Oh, Celestia, she’s really working it. Even under the cascading water she’s building a lather over my pussy. She pushes me to the insurmountable edge, leaving me there as I lose track of time.
The water stops and I see Twilight standing outside the shower. I notice the bar of soap hovering away from me is less than half the size it was at the start. Dear Celestia, I'm horny.
‘Unfreeze and exit the shower.’
I walk out and stop. A towel assaults me, ruffling my coat, messing my mane. I would never dry myself with such barbarity.
‘Let’s get you into something attractive.’ I notice the clothes on the rack.
My word. The prettiest dress I’ve seen, simple yet elegantly ornamented, hangs next to the frilliest, barely-there panties.
‘Dress.’ I do, with relish. For the first time today I obey without fear. When I’m done I look in the mirror. Apart from the shocking state of my mane and what I can see of my coat, I must say I look magnificent. Even the feel of the panties against my pussy fills me with pride.
‘Walk to your bedroom.’ No ‘march?’ Is Twilight calming down?
As I enter the bedroom Twilight’s magic takes my shoulder and directs me to a spot in the centre of the room.
Twilight comes to stand in front of me. ‘Do you feel good?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I say.
‘Do you think you deserve to feel good, bitch?’ My smile dies. ‘Do you remember all that tea you drank? Of course you don’t. I made sure of that. But you can feel it now. Feel the tea.’
‘A-ah!’ How could I have ignored my near bursting bladder?
‘Feel the tea. Do you want to pee?’ I nod. ‘Well, go ahead.’ I’m about to move when she says, ‘Lock feet.’ I can’t move, my feet stick to the floor. The pressure in my bladder builds.
‘I never said you could use the toilet.’ She walks around me and lightly slaps my flank. ‘Number thirty-eight: In keeping with beastliness, a Lunaite must ensure that their slave understands that lavatories and the like are pony achievements, therefore too grand for animals such as they. They must learn to relieve themselves like the animals they are.’ She walks around to my front. ‘Do you feel the tea?’ I whimper. ‘Does it hurt?’ I nod. ‘You can very easily make the pain go away. You know how.’ Almost unconsciously I try to relax my bladder, but it won’t obey. ‘Of course, you’ll need my permission.’ I feel a tear in my eye. ‘Just say, “Make this dirty bitch piss her panties.” That’s all you need do.’
No, that’s too much. The thought of asking permission is just too humiliating to consider. But I can’t move and when I try the pressure grows.
‘Just seven little words, and you'll no longer feel the tea.’
That finishes me. I need to pee so much I want to scream. ‘M-ma…’
‘What’s that? You need to say it louder.
‘Make this dirty bitch piss her panties.’
‘Louder.’
Swallowing every vestige of pride I've remaining, I yell, ‘MAKE THIS DIRTY BITCH PISS HER PANTIES!’
‘Piss yourself, dirty bitch.’
My bladder opens. Relief and horror flood me as warm liquid courses down my thighs. I hear it patter on the ground. It continues, a waterfall from my pussy, for a humiliating
minute. My shame cements with the last trickling drops. I feel my panties soaked through and my tight-fitting dress ruined.
‘Take off your clothes.’ I obey, magically unzipping my dress. I toss it to the side and Twilight catches it in her magic. I peel off my panties, which she takes as well. Twilight disposes of them in a corner of the room.
‘Turn around and look at your mess.’ I do and I see a half-metre wide puddle, still moist. ‘Look at that filth.’ Oh, Celestia, no. ‘And you know what? Dirty bitches love filth.’
The beast comes quick, stealing my body. For excruciating minutes I roll in my own urine.
‘Filthy enough, dirty bitch.’ I stop and get to my hooves. I smell it on me. I feel it matt my coat.
‘Stand at attention.’ I erect myself like a guard. ‘You had no idea what you were in for when you started this session.’ She stares me in the eyes. I would fall down broken were I not stuck in this position. ‘I own you. I could make you take all your orders, all your orders to Photo Finish, Hoity Toity, Fancy Pants, and throw them all in a pile. I could make
you stand on them. Then I would just say, “Piss yourself, dirty bitch.”’ Whatever remained in my bladder trickles down my legs.
‘Weeks of work gone. But that’s not all. I could order you to wrap up your pissy clothes and box them up. Then I would tell you to go to the post office to send them to their rightful owners. Of course I wouldn’t let you say anything about their state.
‘See yourself walking to the post offices. So far away, but that just gives you an eternity to consider what you’re going to do. See yourself in the post office, handing those boxes over to clerk, half-dreading he will smell your piss, half-hoping he will so that perhaps he won’t send them. But you know he won’t smell anything through the box. And you’ll watch with locked lips as he takes it away to be sent out to, oh, I don’t know, Fancy Pants.’
I feel my heart trying to break out as this horror show plays in my head.
‘See Fancy Pants opening your delivery. He was so looking forward to your next work. But what’s this smell? See him hold up your pissy dress. “She’ll never work for anyone in Canterlot again,” he’ll say.’ I want to cry.
‘I can see the fear in your eyes, but I can also smell your arousal. It’s stronger than the piss.’ She’s right, dear Celestia, she’s right. She’s telling me how she’ll ruin my career and I’m dripping with arousal. ‘You’re the kind of sick slut who’d cum at the thought of her own degradation. Know what you deserve?’
She steps away. ‘Number one hundred and five: A Lunaite will fuck no whore who has not yet been taken unwillingly. She is not utterly defiled until she realises that her body is her owner’s alone, to use and give out as she wishes.’
She walks to the other side of the room. ‘See the pony, the sexiest pony you’ve ever seen, so sexy you’d masturbate right now if you’re hooves weren’t stuck to the floor. See what the pony will fuck you with.’ A mare stands at the other end of the room, the most attractive I’ve ever seen. I moisten at the sight of her. A strap-on hangs between her legs, it drags on the floor as she approaches me. ‘Present yourself for her.’ I spin round, lowering my chin to the ground and raising my eager pussy to her. ‘Feel her tongue on your pussy.’ It tingles across, lingering on my clit. I would cum if I could. ‘Feel her pulling away. Don’t worry, don’t whimper. She’s just getting ready. Feel it enter you, feel it hammer you.’ The strap-on enters me and starts its in out in out like a jack hammer. I push my flank back to get more of it in. ‘But you can’t cum, not until you admit what you want.’
My pussy’s on fire as it drips. I can barely think. Tell me I want, I need to cum.
‘You want to be raped like the dirty bitch you are. Admit it.’
‘Rape this dirty bitch!’ A burst of pleasure, but still so far. ‘Rape this dirty bitch! Ahh!’ It’s not working. ‘Rape this dirty bitch! Rape this dirty bitch! Rape this dirty bitch! Rape this dirty bitch!’
I cum. I’m screaming as the battering continues. My mind blacks with ecstasy.
When the inferno ceases I collapse. No hypnotic compulsion could keep me standing. I lie in post-orgasmic bliss.
‘Clear your eyes, love.’ As if a filter over my eyes dissolved I see the room anew. The clothes in the corner, the beautiful dress and saucy panties, are an unadorned piece of fabric, like I’ve got dozens of, and a pair of plain white panties Twilight pulled from the back of my underwear drawer. They lie on a disposable carpet mat, so my urine doesn’t touch the floor. I realise the patch of ground I’d wet myself over is also a disposable mat.
I am still covered in piss, though.
‘The safe word was “horrorshow,”’ I say.
Twilight stares at me. ‘Sleep.’
‘One, coming to consciousness.’ I’m in somepony’s hooves, resting against them.
‘Two, more and more aware of the world around you, opening your eyes.’ I smell soap, which puts me at ease as to the nature of my coat’s moisture.
‘Three, wide awake, feeling wonderful.’ I look up to see the smiling face of my beautiful marefriend.
‘So how was it, Rarity?’
‘How was it?’ I say. ‘It was demeaning, humiliating, degrading. It was perfect.’ The look of worry that had been growing on her face vanishes. 'When I first met you, Twilight Sparkle, I never imagined you'd one day have me covered in my own urine, screaming "Rape this dirty bitch."'
‘Me neither. Sorry I put you to sleep, but I’d only hold you like this after you’d had a thorough wash.’
‘I don’t blame you darling. By the way, when I was in the garden…’
She giggles. ‘I cast a glamour. No one saw you.’
‘Oh, thank Celestia. Not an insurmountable incident if somepony had seen, but a few weeks of infuriating gossip would surely ensue.’
She cuddles me tighter, making my heart flutter. ‘Was there any part that went almost too far?’
‘Only one thing, darling.’ I say as I scramble out of her euphoric embrace to look her in the eyes. ‘Our preliminary conversation’s coming back to me, and I know I consented to it, but next time, please don’t bring my career into it. I almost had a heart attack.’ I kiss her. ‘Other than that it was perfect.’ I laugh. ‘Not that under any other circumstances I like wetting myself.’
We gaze into each other’s eyes for a while. I break the silence as a rather pertinent question comes to me. ‘Um, darling, you have removed all the triggers, haven’t you?’
‘Of course, Rarity. I wouldn’t want Sweetie Bell making you piss yourself, dirty bitch.’
Just in case a clench my thighs together. Thankfully I didn’t need to. ‘Well, if she called me “dirty bitch” she’d have a lot of problems, the least of which would be me wetting myself.’
Twilight giggles. ‘Oh, there is one trigger I left in.’ She spreads her legs and her scent hits me. Her magic pushes my mouth down to her vagina.
‘Lick, lick, dirty bitch.’
