Within his short time of knowing Schorl, Slate found the mare to be a bit of an enigma. There were times that she was a total bitch. During these times, she made him feel as if his very presence at the Society simply annoyed her. Surprising, since his presence was not voluntary to begin with. Then there were other times that she acted interested in him. Letting him take full control of her. Sure, she played it off like she let everyone have a crack at her, but Slate had a feeling that she was just being coy. She was an ice queen, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want a king.

The situation he was currently in only served to mix the signals he was getting from her further. She had let him out of his room, and placed him in another room as she went to freshen herself up for the upcoming party. Schorl, ever the humble hostess, made sure that Slate wasn’t left alone in this circular chamber. He had been given entertainment in the form of three lovely exotic dancers that represented Equestria’s three most prominent races. Three ponies, pegasus, unicorn, and earth pony, each donning nothing more than their birthday suits save for an individualized and stylized collar. All three were showing varied levels of discomfort upon their faces.

The unicorn mare was, appropriately, the most mature of the bunch, sporting a figure that would have nicely filled one of Schorl’s gowns. Her coat was white, her mane and tail purple, and around her throat was a collar so interlaced with sparkling diamonds that he couldn’t spot the material they were embedded in. The gems were no doubt to match the cutie mark on her rounded rump, which was a set of three light blue gems, and did so in spectacular fashion, luring the eye up to her beautiful face and rounded breasts. She had the kind of superbly curved body that he would have happily groped, slapped, and teased till the mare was left tender and begging to be released from the lustful agony he would fill her with. The way that she reluctantly and seductively swayed those hips, the careful touches her skin with those dainty hands, and the soft sound that slipped past from those supple lips made this simple slave mare one of the most attractive unicorns he had encountered yet.

In a way, her performance was made all the more enjoyable through her lack of enthusiasm. He had become so accustomed to the willingness that he induced onto ponies with his magic that their mind controlled consent had become tedium. It gave a bit of thrill to see the unicorn show nothing but pure stoicism, freezing her expressions in a way that could only be similarly captured by an expertly crafted porcelain doll. Slate could see that she despised her exposed form being explored visually and without consent, but her loathing came without complaint or so much of a gesture that would reveal her apprehension to any but the most trained of eyes. Surely the unicorn only did so to avoid a poor review, and the subsequent punishment that would follow, but that just added to the titillating aspect of it all. She had no say in the matter, was at the complete control of her captors, and thus did as she was instructed to do in lieu of her resentment. Only a heart completely devoid of perversion could resist the deliciousness of this scenario, and Slate was not that pony.

Whereas the unicorn was the most alluring of the group, the pegasus was the least so. While the unicorn showed a great deal of confidence despite being in a poor position, an ability that was indicative of a unicorn, the pegasus lacked all forms of style and grace. Her movements were clunky, and unrefined. He had seen similar motions in rave clubs, where the pitch black rooms and strobing lights hid the unsophisticated motions that the young ponies considered dancing these days.

That put this girl at a young age, recently achieving adulthood if his guess was accurate. The inexperienced might have pinned her as younger, with her underdeveloped breasts and sleek frame, but he had bedded enough of the birdbrains to know that ones that were endowed like her unicorn partner were rare, pegasi females having evolved smaller bust sizes to make themselves more aerodynamic, allowing their wings to take the place of mammaries for the purposes of drawing in potential mates. There was certainly physical advantage to having all that open space in front of them, but it did take away from their womanly features. Being the trained psychologist he was, he had always assumed that was the reason many of the feathered females kept girlish personalities, or became stereotypical tomboys like the ones that filled the ranks of the Wonderbolts.

That thought, and the feathered females subpar talent to keep Slate’s interest, made the stallion’s gaze drift to the last member of the their trio. The odd one out, the only one who wasn’t equipped with a pair of tits and matching set of ovaries, instead carrying an erection that proudly jutted from his crotch, though its master was fairly embarrassed by its arousal. The stallion was attractive, properly toned muscularly, with what he would call “country charm” about him. There were ways to tell what kind of environment an earth pony lived in, and while this one had perfectly pedicured hooves, and a finely combed mane that would lure in all who were interested in the male persuasion, those chiseled calves and rock hard abs were not the kind one saw on your common city colt. Schorl sure liked her boys pretty, and that was one thing he could agree with in her tastes, even if her tendency to feminize her personal slave stallions was off-putting.

These three delights, if one counted the pegasus, dancing around on their circular platform could easily be interpreted as Schorl showing to him the treasures that awaited for him when Slate finally proved himself as her master. A plethora of pony flesh for him to partake from, of all shapes, sized, and flavors. To claim the crystal mare was to claim all this as his own, and having that waved in front of him turned his temptation into pure desire. Owning Schorl and her little club of aristocrats and slave ponies was no longer an errant thought in the corner of his mind, it was a goal. One that he would have been one-hundred percent that Schorl wanted him to pursue… If not for the other ponies that accompanied him and the dancers.

“WOOHOO!” Called out an earth pony mare, jumping out of her seat as the stallion elevated slightly above her got close to her. ”Shake those bit making buns!”

Schorl, well intended or not, had left him with a group of… unsavory characters and their pets, the private dance not nearly as private as he would have enjoyed. These others were ponies that, like himself, were to be properly inducted into the Society this night, although they hadn’t been given as rough a treatment as he had from his understanding. As Schorl had said before, most patrons of her club were not dragged in kicking and screaming, and these ponies were all invited normally for a variety of reasons.

The brown earth mare with chocolate hair practically reaching out to the sculpted ass in front of her was Blue Bonnet Buttercup, or as she near demanded to be addressed, simply “Buttercup”. She was a rancher, owning a fairly modest sized dairy farm chain that employed a good portion of the cow population in Equestria. Equestrians often joked about ponies that made an occupation milking the tits of bovine creatures, even if it was considered a ‘respectable’ profession for the cows and provided Equestria on the whole with dairy products, and seemed Buttercup fell right into all the perverse stereotypes one would expect.

Of all the women in the room, Buttercup’s boobs, and honestly there was no better way to describe them, were the largest. Those double Ds were so intrusive that if she had been seated aside Slate, his view of the stage would have been blocked completely. Fortunately though, she had a pair of associates she had brought along with her that sat on either side of her, that kept her a few spaces away from where he sat, At least he believed that was the case, as the two hardly looked like Society material. Slate could tell that they looked too common, too ordinary to be a part of Schorl’s group, regardless if this was the first time since his abduction that he had seen any other members.

One of said associates was an earth stallion, one who was a bit lacking physically when compared to the earth pony dancing. Buttercup had called him Widget earlier, and took the time to explain in excruciating detail about how he was the brains behind a fully automated milking machine she had set up in her dairy farm. She had said something about how it was powered by her bovine employees, which she made a point of calling her cattle on several occasions, stepping up and down on a series of pedals in order to run the very device that milked them. She endorsed this as a more ‘personally sensitive’ manner of extracting the milk from them all, as it severely lowered the need for ponies to be hired for the task of milking them by hand. Of course, the more likely reason she had the machine created was because it cut down the cost of production. It didn't hurt matters either that the cows were likely glad to do more work for the same amount of pay if it involved a little more privacy.

Her other compatriot was, unsurprisingly, a cow by the name of Bessie. No doubt one of Buttercup’s employees from her farm turned contractual servant. What the girl perceived as a normal nine to five job was likely a series of manipulations put in place to keep her in a state of reliance on Buttercup’s employ. Businesses often had large work contracts for their ‘second class’ staff, entire books of text that kept them under their employer’s control. They would start with the good parts, like decent pay rates, the promises of room and board, and health care plans to make sure that sounded great when explained. They soon would learn though that those extra parts came directly out of their pay, which left them with much less than they assumed, turning what would have been a fair pay into less than half of what ponies would earn. This, and the penalties that came for breaking a contract if they tried to back out when it became too late, made most dairy cows into the proverbial ‘wage slave’, trapped in a lifetime of service to the one who signed their checks.

One might think this was illegal, that Celestia would do something to put a stop to it, but to be honest there was nothing about it that was worth the effort of putting a stop to. The system itself had been implemented long ago, and the cows for the most part never complained about it. They were treated well, provided a home, feed three meals a day, and kept healthy by the owners of their contracts. There were very few cow who were ambitious enough to risk such security for the unrealistic dream of a better life. There had been some ponies in the past who would try to rally for better bovine rights, activist groups of busy bodies and ponies with nothing better to do, but even the cows felt they would be making a mountain out of a molehill. Slate’s stance on it always was that it was a moot point. If the process was fair, and the legal binding of the cows morally justified, then there was nothing wrong. If not, then one cannot help those who wished to be exploited. Cows were incredibly dull creatures anyways, not deserving of Slate’s time. Still, Slate couldn’t help but make his observations about the only bovine in a room full of equines.

Starting with her physical features, she was a white cow with black splotches splashed across the few revealed parts of her body, one making a somewhat endearing patch over her left eye. The irises of said eyes were green and, from the angle he was looking at her, partially obscured by a set of paired bangs, the rest of her hair was tied behind her in a pair of looped braids. Her hair itself was a dull rust, as was her face while she directed her muzzle to the ground, never looking directly at the performers, reminding Slate of an odd joke that he had once heard that made light of the girl’s race.

Agewise, she seemed to not be that old. She worn loosely fitted clothing, but even with them on Slate could tell she had a slender figure for a milk maker, and apparent bashfulness in the presence of exposed flesh, which meant she couldn’t have seen so much as a year in the work force. If she had, her breasts would have been jutting out a bit more, and tightened her shirt up to revealing degrees regardless of its size. They looked to be about above average when compared to an average pony, but for a cow Bessie was underdeveloped, yet to endure the stimulus that would swell them to a proper bovine size. Either that or she was just a runt. Both options were plausible, and the latter might have explain why Buttercup chose her to accompany her to this gathering. Not many ponies have the ability to honestly say they have a bigger bust than a cow, and proof of such a claim might have excited her.

Whatever the reason, Slate lost interest in the topic when he made his conclusions, and shifted his focus onto the other members of the audience. Buttercup’s overwhelming personality and peculiar guests drew in all kinds of attention, for all the reasons except the ones she probably wanted, but there was another sitting with them who made a lasting impression for the opposite reason. A grisled old grey unicorn was sitting across from Slate, going in and out of cover provided to him by the erotic motions of the dancers. While the others were having the time of their lives enjoying the entertainment, chatting it up, and partaking in the refreshments, this stallion was the only one joining Slate in simply sitting back and watching quietly until Schorl returned. Because of that, Slate couldn’t analyze too much from the stallion, save from what take in from his appearance.

The grey stallion, of whom Schorl had introduced as Carbon when she was passing around names to the participants of this show, had some fairly telling features in the scars he had on his face, and the broken horn atop his head. He had seen his fair share of conflict, or at least suffered a terrible accident. It was possible that he was one of the royal guard, since Slate already knew Schorl had a couple of Night Guard ponies working for her, or maybe he dealt with some wild beasts. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem like the type to tangle with. His thestral companion however did seem to be the type that Slate would have enjoyed the company of.

Another redhead, this bat winged beauty clung close to her master. There were few points where she didn’t have her arms draped over him, or at least held his hand like she was in a constant fear of being dragged away. She was timid for such a feral sub species of pony, but her behavior reeked of Society interference, if not Carbon’s own training. Maybe moreso the latter, since every time Slate tried to get a better look at the girl, Carbon would glare back at him menacingly. It might not be in him to hand over something he was so protective of, even to somepony who pretended to care about the well being of slaves as convincingly as Schorl did.

All the others in the room held no importance to Slate, being just more well to do ponies, or those who just had enough of the dominant spark to be considered for membership. Ponies tended to blend in with one another after a while, and if not for those with outlandish or incredibly subdued personality, one could swear the lot of them were pretty much the same. It was possible that he would never utter a single word to any of them, and if that were the case he felt that he would lose nothing from it.

The dancing continued for some time. For how long, Slate couldn’t tell. Still no clocks, still no sign of daylight. He would have laughed at the revelation of his dependence on such things, if not for his own detest at being at the mercy of something. When the door to the chamber opened, he let slip the words “Thank Celestia” from his lips, something he usually made efforts to not do since he didn’t exactly revere the princess or her laws. In this case however, it appropriately displayed his relief.

Every head turned to see what was entering, and as anticipated it was Schorl, along with one of her maid slaves and the minotaur that never seemed to stray ten feet away from her. She was not wearing one of her normal evening wear though, which was something that surprised quite a few of the ponies in the room who had never seen her in anything else, but instead an elaborately tailored dress.

“I hope I didn’t keep you all waiting too long”, she said, taking a few soft steps in a pair of white soled, black hoof shoes made of silk, strands of the material wrapping around her calves and tying into a bow. “But as you see my preparations required some time.”

Slate could not refute Schorl’s need for time, or the results that time had borne. The mare was impressively fitted into a collection of strings, lace, and frills that made her look like another mare all together. Most of the fabric was black, but there were plenty of whites, silvers, and shades of crimson that kept her from being one big inky blob. Starting her shoes, and going up, the mare wore a pair of webbed nylons, which traveled up her legs and disappeared under a knee length skirt. The skirt had a triangular shape, making it what was called a “flared”, partly pleated to create a split in the center, which connected the two sections of black fabric with a patch of white in the middle. The trim of it had been adorned with white frills, and the belt was a simple grey band that bore a bow of the same color in the front.

Just above that, sewn directly to the skirt, was a leather corset, tightly bound to give the mare a slimmer look. There was a small gap in the center, were a series of laces criss crossed over each other again and again to form a binding powerful enough to restrain the crystal mare’s already slightly plump stomach from popping out too far, a layer of blood red placed behind it to hide said belly from the world. The corset stopped just below her bust, and gave off the illusion that they were bigger than they really were due to her gut being suppressed. The red fabric did not stop there though, and continued up in a straight column until reaching her collar bone, where it then split off in a V, and ducked behind her neck. On either side of it, was more black cloth, which covered her breasts, and then puffed out to to create two little balls that covered her shoulders. Her arms themselves would have been bare, but they had their own sleeve on them, detached from the dress, hugging to her arms by a red ribbon on one end, while the black lengths funneled out and became loose as they traveled down to her wrists.

Her costume, as Slate would call it, continued just above the neckline of the dress, where Schorl was wearing a black choker with white frills, and a oval shaped blood red ruby embedded in it that covered her larynx. Sitting atop her skull was a headband of similar design, minus any gems, though her horn more than made up for that with an odd piece of jewelry she wore. A ring, not unlike the anti-magic one he had once wore, wrapped around the base of the boney protrusion, and from its loop a small glass shell was attached that covered it in a near perfect shape. The glass was tinted black near the bottom, and as it rose up to the tip turned into that blood red Schorl appeared to enjoy. It gave the horn a unique appearance, but if Slate were to hazard a guess, it lacked any kind of practical function. If the ring section did not prevent magic, the covering would surely block any spell she tried to cast.

If he was correct, the style of her garment was what was known as ‘Gothic Lolita’. It was an underutilized design choice in the realms of pony fashion, but it had its own charm. The purpose of it was to make the wearer appear younger, childish, invoking a sense of innocence. At the same time the style gave off an air of foreboding deviousness about it, projecting it in the use of dark colors and grim symbolism. Schorl’s dress projected this theme well enough, staving away from the grim imagery, but sticking to the dark color scheme.

“Miss Tourmaline,” one of the random earth stallions said getting in close to the mare, “What in Equestria is all this?”

“Do you not like it?” Schorl replied, grabbing her skirt in her hands and doing two half body rotations to further show off her outfit, “I thought it would be perfect for this occasion.”

“Well I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” the earth pony went onto say, stepping within reach of Schorl and her gown. He had enough nerve to reach out to the crystal mare, and rub the fabric of her detached sleeve between his fingers. “What is it made out of? Cotton? Silk?”

Slate felt a tinge of anger towards this stallion who dared touch Schorl before he had a chance. He did not see it as jealously, but simplistic animosity at another who was trying to make a move on a mare that he had claimed.

He wasn’t the only one unhappy with this earth pony’s brash advances, and before Schorl could answer his questions, her bodyguard intervened, and used his massive physical power to take the stallion by the shoulder, and force him back a few steps. The minotaur had entered with Schorl, and as always was doing his best to prevent anyone from getting close to her. Slate could for once appreciate Sartek’s intention to act as an eight foot tall, four-hundred pound chastity belt, as in this instance it worked in his favor. Perhaps the bull wasn’t as much as a hindrance as he believed, or at least he wouldn’t be after Slate had seduced Schorl, and established himself as the true master of the Society.

“I would love to tell you all about the details of my dress, but we have more pressing matters at hand.” Schorl said, watching her minotaur closely as he released the earth stallion, “And if we don’t get going all my preparations will go to waste. We have a party to attend after all.”

“Still…” Slate said, speaking up, “This seems like a bit much for an initiation party. I mean I doubt you get dressed up like this every time you get new members. Or… do you?”

Schorl chuckled, “Of course not, but this is more than a ordinary initiation ceremony.”

The crystal pony made an about face, spinning on the back half of one of her hooves, and walked out the door she had entered through. Her entourage followed immediately after her, and given no reason to stay behind, so did the sizable group of Schorl’s invited guests and their ‘plus ones’, leaving only the three dancers behind.

Schorl took a brief look back to make sure everyone took the hint, and then continued talking, “This is the first time since the establishment of the Society that we have welcomed such a large number of new members at once. Thus there is need for celebration, as well as a few precautions.”

“Precautions?” Bessie uttered, giving Slate reason to wonder how little she and the other tagalongs of the group knew about the situation they were currently in.

The cow’s single word query got her a stern “shh” from her employer, causing Schorl to giggle at her reprimand.

“It’s fine, Miss Buttercup. The girl is just curious. Nothing wrong with asking a question or two.”

“Okay… just as long as it’s not a bother.” Buttercup replied, giving her subordinate a glare as they walked side by side, directly behind the back of their gracious host.

“Not at all,” Schorl reaffirmed, “As you might have noticed, my club caters to a service that some would call… apprehensible. While not illegal, Equestria harbors very few strip clubs, and even fewer establishment such as mine.”

“What does that mean?” asked another of the un-informed members of the group.

“We also provide services to our elite members that go above and beyond a simple showing of flesh. For those that met the requirements needed to join our ranks, we also include things like the ability to rent time with a select group of mares and stallions we have gathered here to act as sexual servants, as well as provide use of our private facilities. This allows our members to explore their deepest desires in a safe, and secure environment.”

“Isn’t that… prostitution?” asked a feathered female, weary of the turn this conversation was taking. While peek shows and sex toys were perfectly legal, if considered taboo by most, sexual solicitation was truly against the princess’ royal law.

“You could say that,” Schorl answered without being coy about the topic, “But the truth is that the way we conduct business goes around the legalities of it. For starters, we don’t pay those who entertain our guests. Not directly at least. What we do is provide them with all the food, drink, and sexual interaction they might need. We even allow them housing within the walls of the Society if necessary. It’s not too far off from how the cow amongst us is compensated for her work.”

A good portion of the group turned to Bessie, and in turn she turned beet red. Unless you were part of the dairy industry, or had a curiosity to learn about their inner workings, bovine contracts were not commonly known about.

“Well… that is true.” said the cow with all eyes on her.

“And we also offer special classes to train our precious entertainers in skills that they can use in the outside world, and grant them opportunities to work for some of the most influential ponies in Equestria. So there is plenty incentive to serve our members, but since there is no money exchanging hands, it slides under what is considered an illegal act.”

Schorl spun a good tale, but even if what she said was true, it wouldn’t be correct. No matter how one cut it, prostitution was prostitution, and it didn’t matter how a pony was paid for spreading their legs. The cleverly crafted words were just for the purpose of presentation though, or maybe to weed out those who might ask one question too many. Still, he couldn’t say that she did a poor job at convincing people. Her charisma alone was enough to qualm most concerns, but it didn’t hurt that she spoke with complete conviction in what she said. Slate wouldn’t call himself a master at discerning lies, but he couldn’t hear any obvious tells. No awkward pauses, stuttering, or points where one would be able to pick apart her reasoning unless they had detailed knowledge of the law.

The real problem was, there was a possibility that she was telling the truth, or at least believed that she was telling the truth. All of what she said went along with her ideology that enslavement was actually good for the ponies forced into it, so for all she was concerned what she said was completely legitimate. Good that he was made aware of this quirk of hers sooner than later. If conversations with her were a maze of half-lies and convenient truths, he would have an easier time deciphering fact from fiction with this knowledge.

That wasn’t the only maze one could easily find themselves lost in within the boundaries of the Society either. He was probably the only one who noticed it, but the corridors they were being led through were likewise made to entangle and confuse those that wandered into them. Slate only noticed because after the amount of time he spent locked up, he wanted to be able to find his way around if he really did have to escape on his own accord. Therefore, the unicorn was counting his steps and the amount of turns, which allowed him to tell when at one point the group circled back to a point they had already walked through. Suddenly the minotaur made a lot more sense, not only as a bodyguard, but as a guide as well.

The entire race of hulking brutes had an innate ability to traverse labyrinthian structures with ease, and that talent would be invaluable to a pony who had made their facility too complex for the layout to be memorized by those who might want to find a way out. No wonder Schorl always kept him around all the time. Sartek could walk around for hours and never get lost, which could be used to make sure Schorl never lost her way herself, or he could do as he was right now to make certain no one could find the exit without his guidance. Slate had to admit, it was a clever use for a creature who had little other use than throwing his weight around and flexing his muscles.

The group had strolled about for a little while, with Schorl answering a few more questions from those who had little clue as to what was going on, the other potential members finding their ignorance amusing at this point. Simply questions about how the group functioned, or where they found ponies who were willing to exploit themselves for what felt like so little, the modesty within the minds of those still in the dark not allowing them to see the benefits of such a life as the one Schorl described. It continued like this till finally Schorl stopped in her tracks.

“I’m afraid the time for questions has come to a close.” she said, stifling a cute stallion who was about to open his mouth. “We have arrived.”

On one side of the hall was a door, coated in red velvet, and emitting the distinct sound of muffled classical music from behind its wooden form. Schorl only had to give Sartek a small nod to have the minotaur open the door for her guests, and reveal what was contained inside.

The room was dimly lit compared to the illuminated hallway, but Slate could make out many forms from within. Crowds of silhouettes gathered together, circling around things obscured by their bodies, hidden in shadow. With his eyes unadjusted, he couldn’t even tell if his merry band had drawn the attention of those within, but he was certain they were not ignored.

“My dear guests, don’t feel you have to wait for my permission to join in.” Schorl announced, “Enter, and enjoy.”

Even with Schorl’s express permission to join the party and confer with the other members, the group hesitated to go in. Some feared it would be seen as impolite to step one hoof into that room before she did, while others had more pressing concerns.

“I don’t think I want to be part of this…” said Bessie, not even sure why she had been brought to this place at this point. “This just isn’t my thing.” Others gave words of agreement, or nodded their heads, finding this whole experience jarring to say the least.

“Ah, I figured that might be the case,” Schorl replied to their reluctance, “I suppose many of you were brought here without being given any information about what took place inside. A professional hazard brought on by our secrecy. I can’t say I blame any of you, as this all might be too much to take in all at once.”

“Then why are we here?” asked another pony.

“If you wish to know, it’s because those who invited you thought you would make fine additions to our ranks. By the looks of you, I have to agree. However, if you have any doubts about participating in our activities, then I have planned ahead for that possibility.” The crystal pointed into the room, to a portion of the back wall that glowed in a soft pink light elevated above the other guests. “That spot right there indicates where the exit to the room is. If you go to it, you will find that a door is not too far away. If you feel that this is simply too much for you, or find yourselves becoming uncomfortable by the things you see, then you can go through there. On the other side is a waiting area where you can stay until things comes to a close, away from the festivities. If you see something you might like though, or something that interests you, no one will judge you for taking part or just observing.”

What the mare said was comforting to those who had no intention of participating in the deviations of the crystal mare’s facilities, but they still had their qualms about being the first to enter. It was going to take somepony else making the first move to get things moving along, and since Schorl wasn’t making a budge, it looked like Slate would have to act as an example.

He thought that, but the moment he went to lift a hoof, another bolted for the doorway. “For Celestia’s sake, don’t any of you have a spine between you?” said Carbon as he lead his bat pony by the hand. “It’s just a room full of ponies. No matter what’s going on inside, there is nothing to worry about.”

“That’s the spirit.” Schorl said with a smile as the unicorn strided past her. With that the imaginary barrier was shattered, and no pony else saw reason to refrain from entering, though some still got a few accusing glances from those who would have rather they were not lured into such a scandalous situation. Before Slate knew it, he had gone from being the first one entering to one of the last four remaining outside, the others being Buttercup and her two associates.

The cow was still have issues going in, steadfastly resisting Buttercup’s attempts to take her inside the same was Carbon took in his guest.

“Come on!” Buttercup demanded, yanking at the stubborn cow’s wrist.

“I don’t wanna!” Bessie bluntly declared.

“And why not?” said Buttercup, relenting, but clearly upset that she was making no headway.

At first Bessie gave no response, just peering into the darkness of the room. “I don’t… there is just something telling me not to go in there.”

“That’s not a good reason,” Buttercup said angrily, “I brought you here for a reason, to show off one of my best workers. If you can’t follow me around and do an easy task like this, how am I going to keep you as my secretary? Do you want to be fired?”

“No... But...” Bessie turned her nose to the floor, trying to avoid looking the earth mare in the eye.

Seeing the cow’s distress, her co-worker stepped in. “Look, it’s not going to be that bad.” said Widget. “We just go in there for an hour, eat some snacks, watch some sexy ponies shake their stuff, then go home and laugh it off.”

No matter how much the two ponies threatened or tried to coerce the cow, she remained resolved against entering. Slate didn’t need to stick around them, but he was starting to believe that it was time he made friends. It would help him in the future if he had a few allies, ponies he could count on, ones that owed him favors.

“Excuse me,” he said, taking a few steps towards Bessie, “But perhaps I could solve this little problem you’re having.”

Buttercup was not pleased that Slate was butting in, not really wanting to somepony else helping her because the situation itself was fairly embarrassing. If she couldn’t handle one of her guests, what did that say about her? The unicorn was here though, and he was showing no signs of wanting to mind his own business.

“Slate, was it?” she asked, having met quite a few new faces that evening. “Do you really think you can convince this girl to enter when I can’t?”

“No need to get aggravated,” Slate replied to the mare, sensing her annoyance, “I just want to prevent a scene. I don’t think you’d want the others to notice that you and your cow are the only two not joining the party.”

Slate stood right in front of Bessie, looking her up and down, examining the subtle nuances of her body. Her retracted posture, the slight quickening of her breathing, the way her knees quivered and pupils dilated. This went beyond mere modesty or apprehension, and into the realms of fear. That was fine though. Slate could handle emotional problems.

“Well, as much as I appreciate your concern,” Buttercup said delivering a scolding glance to Bessie, one sharp enough to make the cow recoil, “I’m not sure you can help with this. We’ve had this problem before, and when she gets this way there is no reasoning with her. How she ever came from a-”

“Miss, please!” Bessie interrupted, her stance changing instantly to a more defensive pose, her arms crossing in front of her breasts. Buttercup, in turn, let out a groan, but Slate could only laugh lightly at the sight, earning him his own stare from the farm mare.

“Sorry,” Slate apologized, “This situation is a little funnier when you’re not the one it’s happening to. Fret not though. If the lovely young calf here would allow me a moment of her time, I think that we can solve her bout of social anxiety “

“What makes you think you can calm her down when I can’t?” Buttercup asked, still trying to save face whether she was in need of assistance or not.

“Because, my dear,” Slate declared, with a profound sense of superiority in the matter, “I am a psychologist.” With that statement, he turned the entirety of his attention to the cow. “Bessie, before we begin, I want you to understand that you are in complete control here. If you begin to feel like my help is making you uncomfortable, then we can stop at any time. Is that fine with you?”

The cow gave an uncertain nod, believing about as much as her boss did that Slate was the cure for what ailed her.

“Good, then I’d like for you to do exactly as I say, without question. The more you think, the more anxious you’ll be. Now… take five… loooonnnngggg… deeeeeeppp… breathes.”

Bessie did as she was told, and inhaled slowly through her snout, holding her breath for a moment each time before exhaling in one big burst. After the five breaths were finished, she waited for Slate’s next instructions.

“Good, now if you will,” Slate brought up his hand, extending out his pointer finger, “Follow my finger’s every movement. Don’t let your eyes leave it for a second.”

Slate moved this finger left and right, up and down, keeping his face completely devoid of emotion. The cow, once more doing as she was told, followed it like a cat watching a toy mouse being dangled in front of it. It was amusing to watch the simple creature follow his command, of her own volition despite how ridiculous it was. It was true that clearing one’s thoughts was a good way to cope with negative thoughts in an immediate sense, but one didn’t have to follow nonsense like tracing the path of a finger to do that.

No, what this was a real test of how willful the girl was, and the answer was ‘not very’. She was resistant, and had a strict line that she would not cross, but it appeared she could be easily talked into anything that did not breach that boundary. All Slate had to do was tell her she was in control, and take little baby steps, to take all control away from her.

“I’m going to ask you a series of questions,” Slate said, continuing his hand movements, “Answer them quickly, honestly, and to the point while you keep your eye on my finger. Understand?”

“Yes,” Bessie said, having locked onto the tip of said finger.

“I want to find out what makes you feel calm, makes you feel safe. Is there a place where you feel safe? Where nothing can harm you?”

“There is a meadow near the farm,” she said without hesitation.

“Good, good, and what about it makes you feel safe?”

“I… well...”

“You’re hesitating. Remember to answer quickly and honestly.”

Bessie gave an extended blink, but then did as she was told. “I grew up on the farm and use to play there all the time. I would spend hours in the meadow, lying in the sun, chewing on the grass, and playing with the other calves.”

“Ah, I understand. Your mother worked at the farm you work at now as well. Your family’s loyalty to her must be appreciated. Could you do me a favor, and close your eyes for a moment?”

Bessie shut her eyes, letting her eyelids rest and relax.

“Good, now I would like for you to think about that meadow, and all the good times you’ve had there.” As he said these words, Slate’s horn began to glow. Those watching the two could easily notice this, and Buttercup was about to ask what he was doing, but Slate preemptively sent his extended finger in front of her face to keep her silent. “I’m certain that the meadow has a distinct smell. Keep your eyes closed, focus on that place, and remember the smell of flowers, fresh grass, and morning dew.”

As the cow relaxed, and focused on her happy place, the unicorn worked his magic on the girl. It was not the kind of mind control magic that he usually performed on others to immediately transform them into whatever he wished them to be, but instead some more common psychiatric magic. As she thought about the scents that the meadow held, he sparked the sensory glands in her nose to pick up on those thoughts, and make the smells real to her. Aromatherapy was a common practice in Slate’s field, with some earth pony psychologists lighting scented incenses or the like before a session to put their patients at ease. Unicorns however could take it a step further, and make ponies relive certain past experiences if need be by sparking powerful memories.

As the cow’s lips begun to curl up into a smile of her own volition, he knew that the spell was working as planned, and he could proceed. “Now that you are comfortable, let’s get to the root of the problem. What is it that is keeping you from going into the party?”

The cow did not answer immediately, her smile lessening when the question was asked, but after a few seconds she said, “I’m afraid.”

“Okay, but what are you afraid of?”

“Please don’t make me say it…” Bessie said, her calm wavering.

“I understand it might be a bit uncomfortable, but in order to understand what it is that will help you, I need to know the problem.”

“It’s… not easy to say. It’s really embarrassing, considering what I am.”

“And by that you mean a cow?” Slate questioned, receiving a nod in. “Well then, would it make you feel uncomfortable if I took a guess?”

“I… don’t think so…”

“Ok then, how about…”

Slate had to make a connection of what he knew about cows, what he knew about the Society, and what he knew about Bessie. While there could have been plenty of things that would have made Bessie not want to go in there, including the mere fact that the Society was portrayed as a glorified brothel by Schorl, there was one thing that seemed to stick out more than others. From the way she acted in the presence of bare, to the clothing she wore, to her strangely uncommon job for a cow at a dairy farm, and finally connecting it to the fact that it would be considered embarrassing to her race, he came to a solid conclusion.

“My dear, you wouldn’t happen to be suffering from gymnophobia, would you?” Slate stated with certainty.

“What?” Bessie asked, confused at the word.

“It means that you have a fear of nudity. You don’t like to be naked, or see others naked.”

Slate’s answer made Bessie open her eyes, Slate killing his spell before she could see it, and then sequentially tilt her head away from the unicorn as she gave him a sideways glance. “Is it… that easy to tell?”

“It was just a lucky guess. I will say, it is odd that a cow would have a phobia of that sort.”

“Yes… it is.” Bessie admitted.

“Her mother is one of the best cows on my farm too,” Buttercup interjected, “A champion level milk maker.”

The words from the earth mare made Bessie wince, and once more Slate had to step in. “Miss Buttercup, please. We need to be considerate of this girl’s needs. But…”

“But?” repeated Buttercup.

“I do think I have a solution to this problem, if Bessie will allow me to continue.”

“If… you think it will help…” the cow said, her reluctance returning.

“Good, then close your eyes one more time, and I’ll walk you through the next step.”

Bessie complied, closing her eyes once more, hoping he would take her back to the meadow in a similar fashion as he did before. The way he spoke somehow made her feel like she was at home, and not in this frightening place.

With her eyes shut once more, Slate began working his magic again. He wasn’t using the same spell as before in order to make her recall something comforting. That was just a trick he did in order to gain Bessie’s trust. This time he was he was going to use a more direct approach.

Let’s see… Slate thought to himself, Where to start? How about we lower those adrenaline levels? With the use of another of his psychological spells, the unicorn tapped into a small part of Bessie’s brain, and slowed down the cow’s racing adrenal gland, bringing the steady flow of the chemical to a much more manageable trickle.

This showed immediate results, as Bessie’s body stopped shaking and her breathing stabilized. She probably didn’t notice it herself, the recent calming exercises leading her to believe it was completely natural, but the effects of this basic spell was much greater than those minor acts could ever achieve.

That’s good, but I can do better. Proceeding with his mental manipulation, Slate now aimed for another naturally produced chemical; serotonin. By making her body produce more of this substance, he could induce a state of happiness upon Bessie, and make her more malleable. The alteration was no worse than any pill, stimulant, or suppressant that an earth pony doctor would prescribe, and one-hundred percent effective so long as nothing caused the girl undue trauma or duress, which would make her chemicals fluctuate out of control and break the temporary changes he had made.

“Now Bessie, I want you to listen to me, and repeat what I say.” Slate instructed, moving behind the cow. Without so much as a word, he placed his hands on her shoulder, getting a slight twitch from the unexpected action, and begun to message her tense muscles. “There is nothing to be afraid of in that room.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of in that room.”

“There is nothing scary about naked ponies.”

“There is nothing scary about naked ponies.”

“Nudity and sex are completely natural.”

“Nudity and sex are completely natural.”

“And so long as nopony makes me get naked, I can handle this.”

“And so long as nopony makes me get naked, I can handle this.”

“That’s a good girl.” Slate said, shifting a bit of her hair off her forehead so he could plant a small peck on her forehead. The kiss was, symbolically, like a promise made to the cow, confirming that nothing bad would happen to her. The stipulation at the end gave her an area of tolerance in where she knew her safety was insured, and the beginning was like a mantra she could repeat if she started to feel threatened. With all of this in place, and her chemicals regulated, Slate felt his job was finished. “You did a great job, Bessie, and did everything I asked of you. Do you think you could do us all a favor and go inside now?”

Bessie opened her eyes, and looked into the dark room that surely had a bunch of ponies exposing their skin in a variety of ways she couldn’t even count. Yet, she felt no more fear, no unease at what waited for her inside. It was like her every worry had vanished into thin air. “I… I think I can. You’ll be in there too, won’t you?”

“Yes, and if you start to feel insecure, you can come to me and I’ll do whatever I can to make you feel better.”

“Thank you.” She said, nuzzling the hand that remained on her shoulder with her face.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, pushing her forward gently, “Now run along, while me and your boss have a chat.”

“Ok,” Bessie said cheerfully, walking into the party room without a care in the world, leaving both her boss and her co-worker in awe.

However, the crystal mare near the door didn’t share the same surprise at the results of Slate’s involvement, and now that he was finished, she decided it was time she joined in as well. “Widget, could you go after her and make sure she doesn’t get into trouble? I believe that your employer, Mr Slate, and I need to speak in private.”

“Sure, no problem.” Widget answered, having worked with Buttercup long enough to know when he wasn’t needed. He jogged off into the room, yelling “Hey Bessie, wait up!” as he caught up with the cow before she got too far.

The moment the two got out of earshot, Schorl addressed the unicorn stallion. “That was some fine work Mr. Slate, but I do have to ask. Was that your rumored ‘mind control magic’ in action that I saw?”

“Mind control magic?” Buttercup said, clueless as to what had transpired in front of her, “Was that what that was?”

Slate put his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and shook his head, “No, it wasn’t. If I had resorted to that, then it would have taken much less time to get the same results. And I would have had a little fun with the girl in the process.”

“Fun?” Bessie asked, her curiosity building with each word spoken from the other two ponies. “What kind of fun?”

“The kind of fun where Bessie would have walked in there completely naked, after she stripped herself down and let me touch all the parts of her she likes to keep hidden.”

“You can do something like that?” Buttercup asked wide eyed.

“It appears Mr. Slate can do many things, if what he says is true.” Schorl answered, “But then I have to ask, what did you do to make the cow overcome her fear.”

“Overcome is an overstatement,” Slate stated, “She’s just focusing on some happier thoughts at the moment, with the assistance of spells that do the same thing psychotropics would do. Honestly, it could break at any moment, and won’t last for more than a few hours regardless, unlike my more effective spell.”

“So why didn’t you use that?” Buttercup asked, still not really keeping up with the conversation.

“Because Miss Tourmaline’s associates distinctly explained to me that that spell was ‘worthless’.”

“There are certain issues with it that make it a less than suitable way to get the results the Society would want.” said Schorl, “However, this new form of magic sounds like it would have a great deal of value in taming slaves. We might be able to use it on the entirety of your employees to make them happy little breeders, as we discussed.”

“I think so,” Buttercup agree, “And I might finally be able to make Bessie actually useful if Sla- Mr. Slate could work with her to get her to show her tits in public?”

“Excuse me, what is going on here?” Slate asked, now being the one in the dark.

“Miss Buttercup and I are working on an agreement that should be profitable to the both of us.” Schorl explained. “The minotaur I employ would love to have a few girls around that they could have free access too, in order to relieve the stress of the daily grind.”

“And cows tend to produce much more, and better tasting, milk when they are pregnant.” Buttercup added in. “So I provide my cattle as sex slaves for her bulls.”

“And we provide Miss Buttercup with all the high quality milk she needs, with the agreement that she pays for all the expenses of the breeding and milking process.”

“I see..” said Slate, not so much concerned with the well being of the cows they wanted to turn into to milk making machines, but with how they wanted to impose upon him by getting him involved.

“We can discuss it all later,” Schorl said, sensing Slate’s unenthusiastic attitude, “But don’t think you wouldn’t be compensated for your efforts. The Society would be very appreciative of having a psychologist of your caliber on staff, helping the slaves ease into their new roles and cope with those little emotional issues that come from a life of undeserved ‘liberties’. For the time being though, let’s just join the others and enjoy ourselves. I assure you that there is much in the party to please anypony.”

“Very well, after you, ladies.” The two mares exchanged giggles at Slate’s manners, and walked ahead of him, allowing him a brief moment to roll his eyes before following in after them. His future activities at the Society, at least what Schorl had planned for him, were beginning to sound more and more like work. If she really thought he was going to put up with being used as a pawn, the mare had another thing coming. If there was one thing Slate couldn’t stand, it was having to needlessly exert himself to get what he wanted.

Author's Note

Hello everyone, here we are with another update. I hope you all liked it. I keep feeling like I'm beating around the bush with these, not getting to the point, which is in this case the party mentioned in the last chapter. But I also felt that some characters needed to be introduced and some thins explained. I tried to put an interesting bit at the end, but your interest in that bit is relative in whether you like seeing a a bashful cow girl getting manipulated by a person like Slate. IDK, it just feels like like that episode of the Simpsons with Poochie, where I'm putting out something I think is neat, while feeling that someone is just wondering when I'm going to get to the fireworks factory. Well... that will be in the next update. no avoiding it now ^_^

Today's guest OC are Keen Widget, owned by Nova_Stardust, and Carbon and Night Rose, owned by Jman796.

And if you are one of the guest OC's owners and you feel they were under utilized... well just wait till the next chapter. I assure you they will be more thoroughly involved in the action.