I buy two twelve-bit vodka lemonades. They're fucking expensive, but you do what you have to to get drunk in Canterlot's underground clubs. I mean, everything's expensive. Hell, I've seen ponies smuggling in hip-flasks of vodka to pour in their drinks. I just make enough money to not give a damn every once in a while.
I stand on two hooves to lean on the bar, crushed against two other ponies with their backs to me. I manage to do it all without looking awkward. Not that it's particularly hard – or at least, it's not that hard with practice.
Unfortunately, once the revellers and fellow bar patrons actually take a second to stop and notice who you are, all that practice goes to waste.
“OH MY STARS!” One filly practically screams. “YOU'RE THAT D.J. THAT EVERYPONY LOVES!”
And just like that, I've got all the space I could think of. Despite the heavy thud of music and the fact that ponies are packed in like sardines, jostling and spilling drinks on eachother, everypony within earshot hears her screaming. They part turn.
And they very quickly get hyped as fuck over her royal club-ness.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Where's that fucking bartender already? I give the growing crowd of ponies who suddenly recognise me a little cool hoof-wave.
He returns as I get peppered with questions about my next tour, flashing me a cute smile in hopes for tips.
“THAT'LL BE 24 BI-”
He doesn't even finish before I shove two gold and four silver bits in his face, and quickly levitate both drinks above my head.
(The advantages of being a unicorn in a dive like this are way too many to count).
I make a quick beeline away from three stallions and five or six mares, who are now gushing over how they met the famous DJ Pon-3 before anypone else notices.
As I slink into the mob of dancers, a familiar comfort sinks over me.
Ah, anonymity.
Now the real journey begins, though. Navigating through the crowd of dancers, their tails snapping and flicking in time with the beat, their hooves stomping. I pick a line through them, occasionally copping a really unnecessary feel of another mare, all the while peering around without trying to look like I'm lost.
Because looking lost would be really unattractive with so many people watching.
Like anyone's actually watching anyway, right? Most ponies in here are pretty fucked on Stargaze and Crystal. Or whatever new party drug the tabloids sometimes bitched that I was on. I don't read any of that shit.
I spot a lick of magenta mane amid the ponies, and swerve quickly through the crowd towards him.
He's lounging around coolly, his eyes tracing over the form of another mare.
Fuck.
I quickly scoot over to his side and levitate the drink in front of him. His blue eyes cross at the stallion-y drink under his muzzle.
And yea, triumphantly, I reclaim the goal of the evening hitherto.
I slip a glance at the other mare, just to see if she's noticed me re-stealing her colt.
She hasn't. Why would she? She's in her own little world where she can probably see the music. I feel pretty satisfied anyway. Couldn't have let this little thing get away from me now, could I?
“There you are!” Where'd you go?!” The stallion part-shouts, part-mimes in my face.
I literally said a few minutes ago that I was going to buy us drinks. Maybe he didn't hear me or something. I say something that might be construed as, 'does it matter where I was, you hunk of a stallion?'. (In unremarkable truth, I smile and look him in the eyes as I drink out of my glass).
Ah, that did the trick. Immediately his full attention is back on me.
“So, where were we?” he purrs, smiling and lowering his muzzle a little closer to mine. He's practically fucking me with his eyes. It's the same expression that he was making at that other mare before I came back, I think.
'Well, this one's definitely a quality catch.'
Dressing for the evening out is always so simple. Octavia always bitches about how hard it is, for some reason or another. I think she has to feel like a Princess to feel at home among all the muck and grime.
I throw my dress shirts to one side in an unceremonious heap. Tavi's collars and bows were... poiltely pushed to one side of the closet in their neat little pile. After all, I wouldn't want to piss off little miss Virtuoso, would I? Who knows, she might be missing her favourite bowtie one day and blame it on me.
'Don't fuck around. You know what you're going to wear already. Whatever the stallions like.'
A sleek pair of denim shorts and a ripped tank-top. Sunglasses so I look better. (I know, I know, sunglasses in the club, vomit. But it's kind of my thing, okay? Go with it).
I also put on my headphones. Beats, by Dr. Scratch. The same ones I use for most of my sets.
'So you can pretend to look professional while you hunt for cock? Very smart.'
“So, your room-mate's part of the symphony orchestra?”
I smile at him dulcetly. The quieter upstairs bar is where I wanted to be, just for a second. Just for my own sanity. We sit side-by-side on our private little settee. The room's practically empty except for the odd pair of ponies making out in the corner of the room.
The look on his face when he thought I was making a motion to leave the club. Almost made it all worthwhile, really.
'Because you like it when stallions drool over you, don't you, you mindless slut?'
Buuut, sadly not this instant. I had to let him down, though. Just for a moment.
“Yeah.” I take a drink, and wipe my muzzle with a hoof. “She's like, hella prudish and shit.”
He giggles, his mane spilling down into his eyes as he bows his head.
“It's certainly an interesting mix, isn't it?” he says, returning to eye level and fawning at me. His eyes tickle me in all the right ways. “A classy pony and...”
There's a pause.
'A party chick, right? Because that's all you are.”
“A party animal, right?” I say, trying to keep the smile in my voice.
He grins back at me immediately and nods twice. It sends shivers down my spine.
There's really no doubt about it. Even by my standards, he's attractive. Rugged chest, barrel, probably works on his figure quite a bit. His mane, as I mentioned before, is magenta and parted across his head, so it looks quite fetching. It's neck-length, just the way I like it. He wears no jewelry, but a tight cotton tee and overly tight jeans. His watch is silver, probably platinum. I forget what he does for work, but it makes a lot of money. We chat a bit more about future plans. About life. About Octy.
But that's not why I'm shivering.
I can't remember his fucking name.
“Yeah!” He titters again, biting his lip. “You are your roomate are crazy different. You're a mare that knows how to have fun.”
I don't ignore the lip bite. It's another not-so-tiny singal of 'take me to bed'. Like I haven't gotten the picture already.
“Well, uh, it's not that she's no fun,” I say, keeping his silent plea in mind. “She's just a little more controlled.”
A small smirk crosses his perfect chin.
“I like mares that don't have control,” he says, and I sigh internally. Thank Celestia he initiatied it.
'Looks like you and he are two peas in a pod, then. Do you even give a shit what his name is? Just fuck him already.'
“Sounds good to me,” I purr.
He quickly takes the hoof that's not rested on the fourth or fifth drink I've had in the past hour. Alchohol usually makes me horny, but there was no surprise there. Even doubles couldn't make me feel anything for him.
He guides the hoof slowly down my thigh, to the instep of my back leg. I feel my own wetness and warmth radiating. I'm surprised, actually. I know I'd drunk a lot, but I didn't think I was that horny.
'Because you would get wet just be looking at him. You slut.'
He can feel me, all hot and bothered. As soon as his own hoof makes contact with wetness, the expression on his face flickers a little. He probably wasn't expecting me to be that turned on either. He smiles easily at me, and draws little circles with his hoof, eliciting a gasp from me.
“Do you like that?” he asks.
I say nothing, but nod my response.
'Not taking charge? Very good, Vinyl. Keep up the innocent act. Like you'll care when he puts his dick in you, though.'
He keeps it up for a while, turning me into putty in his hooves. Why the hell isn't he saying anything, anyway? Do I have to fucking beg?
'At least then you'd be a consistent pony from dancefloor to bedroom.'
Shut up.
“It's late,” he mentions, still smiling. “I've got a room up in the Ritz.”
At last. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and not because he's got a hoof in my holies.
“Sounds.. good to me. I'd love a quiet drink or two.”
His lips part to reaveal pearly whites, and in between them, an eager tongue.
It's dark in here.
He turns a knob, and the dim chandelier lights up the room. What illuminates itself is a hotel room, through and through, but it's a nice suite. Penthouse, probably. I've spent too much time in hotels to care, but it's very nice all the same. Twenty-first floor, views of the city. Private bar, spa, queen four-posted bed with silk drapes. Gilded lampshades sit atop horrendous antique lamps, and the carpets are so thick my hooves sink into them.
Yes, that's definitely penthouse, alright. He must be pretty wealthy. A good catch, Octy might say.
I hate myself. Why am I even here?
A foreleg snakes around my shoulder, shoving me a few ungainly steps towards the black leather settee. I plonk down atop it.
(Leather? Weird, but nice. I don't mind the feel of it on my flank. I hope they can get stains out of it.)
“Sit, sit! I'll grab us some scotch. You like Blue Label, right?” He meanders over to the bar. “They gave me a coronation bottle a while back. Queen Celestia Edition.”
'Very wealthy indeed. That's quite special stuff.'
“Yeah,” I say, absent-mindedly.
There's a pause.
“Can you make mine a double, please?”
He laughs, his back turned to me while he leans over the bar, giving me the most magnificent view of his flank and tail. Of course, it swished side to side, giving bare hints of his excitement to me.
'Do you think he knows that you still don't know his name?'
I ignore my own thoughts, forcefully. I continue to do so until he retrieves me my drink and slumps down on the couch beside me, leaning in towards me.
“So, tell me about youself, Vinyl Scratch.”
So, we're back at this stage of flirting again. I don't mind. The more interest he takes in me, the better. I'm not that surprised that he's relaxed a bit from all the near-frisking that he dancefloor entailed. Admittedly, we had some time to cool off on the walk home. He was quite the gentleman. He offered me his coat, the one that's still around my shoulders. It feels nice, and better yet, it smells like him.
I bury my nose into the folded sleeves, and look dreamily back at him. His cuffs smell like Prench Cologne, the same one that radiates from behind his ears and hooves. The drink slips from his hoof to my own. We're beyond magic at this stage.
It's a double, just like I asked. I'm starting to like him more already.
I think about a good way to introduce myself. Perhaps I could put some heart into it. A glimmer sparks in the back of my mind, one that hopes that something good will come of all this.
'Well, I'm a DJ, I love cock, and I'm desperately lonel-'
I take the deepest swig of my life, and the thought vanishes beneath a haze of scotch fumes. The glimmer drowns.
The scotch itself is delicious. The alcohol burns my throat – which is saying something – and I cough a few times.
That makes him laugh.
“Hey, go easy on that stuff!” He says, his blue eyes glittering with mirth. “It's special.”
Like you, I wish he'd say.
“I-I know,” I say, feeling the burn of the liquid on its way down to nirvana. “Just – cough! - wrong hole.”
There's barely much time for chatter. We discuss a handful of things - nothing of note. I can't remember what I said, in the end. I drink some more scotch. It's heavenly. The alcohol sinks smoothly into me, and I feel a hell of a lot more alive, quite suddenly.
He's blithely talking about something, but it's clear he has very little interest in it. His eyes are on me, his words are slow.
The next thing I know he's leaned his muzzle in a little bit.
I cock my own in reply.
For a second, I enjoy the moment before the fun starts, my own little guilty pleasure.
I gaze into his eyes. They're piercing, like flecks of dark opal. They gaze longingly back.
I lose it for a while.
...Fffffuck. I let out a tiny huff to get rid of some of the tension in my body. I'm itching for him. And as if he knows it, he leans in and nuzzles my cheek.
I leap on him and nip at his neck, making him laugh and shout in surprise.
“Woah! Hey there!...” his playful objection ceases as my teeth find their place around his chest and barrel. “Aah, actually, never mind.”
'Never mind about sums it up.'
I thought I got rid of you.
'You get used to being a drunk.'
I pull my teeth away, and seize my glass.
It's made from a crystal finer then anything I've seen recently. It's perfect, polished, and two-thirds full from my sips and his refilling.
I drain it.
And then, I turn back to him, and grab his ears roughly with both hooves. He nickers in surprise as I latch my lips against his own, firmly at first, but then a bit lighter. He follows my lead until our rough foreplay has just turned to gentle kissing in eachother's hooves, just like I love.
Oh Celestia, he wasn't a bad kisser either.
He became more brave as time passed and the shock wore off. Eventually he started his own lead, striking out against the crazy mare straddling him, kissing me more insistently. My tongue against his lips became his tongue at my lips. And then his tongue in my mouth, wrestling for control of my body as I feel his primal urges begin to kick in.
Not a bad kisser at all.
Down onto the settee he pushes me, his forelegs pressing me back until my head touches the soft throw-cushions.
He tastes like scotch and hormones.
I drink deeply of him. Despite my best attempts not to show it, of course.
Whatever my intention, it didn't stop my loins from tingling as he traced a hoof down my chest.
Please, please, please tell me he's going back to that–
Electricity leaps up my spine in arcs as he massages the elusive inner thigh again.
This time, I discard my pretences and moan throatily. It's a mix of trepidation and delight, like always.
'If only he knew,' the voice says faintly.
But he didn't know. And he kisses me like he wants me for more than sex.
That drives me mad. The fear in my stomach leaves. One hoof finds its way around his neck, and the other traces down his chest to where his member lies on top of my lips.
My lower half shivers a little.
He hasn't even started moving. And, to be honest, I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I wanted it. That I needed it.
He kisses me deeply. My hips buck unbiddingly.
'Don't be stupid. He loves easy fucks. He couldn't care less.'
I bite back at his lip. The voice silences itself, hopefully for good.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
He wastes no time, pressing the head of his cock to my lips.
Pain be damned, foreplay be damned. I just want the feeling of a warm body against my own.
His horn rubs against my lips, both high and low, and I kiss it gently. Octavia told me that was how you made unicorn stallions love you.
...Fuck Octy. Fuck her, and her perfection. Fuck her stuckup coltfriend of five years. Fuck her perfect life.
They were probably going to be together forever.
I whimper as he slips his head in past the entrance. And just like that, he's inside me.
He thrusts forward once, and he fills me up.
For the longest, happiest time, I forget pain. It loses itself amongst the throes of sweat, salt and musk, and the gentle, insistent twitch of his member as he heaves pool after pool of slick seed into me, leaving me in a goddess-like afterglow as he cuddle together. But only for an hour of dozing. We wake and make love several times in the night.
He fucks me to show me how much he wants me. Then I fuck him, because I can. Just so I can fall asleep. I fuck him until there's light outside. I can't remember how many times I rode my highs and lows. I see the first rays of light turning the sky a deep, purply-orange. My thighs burn with pain, but all of it is masked by the very edge of another high.
I tell him to use his hoof. He goes one better and wraps one hoof in my mane, yanking it tightly. The other goes straight to my button.
That helps. That helps a lot. I collapse into another shivering, convulsing wreck.
I fuck him even after there's dawn light outside, too. Just because it will make the coming day that much shorter.
“Hold me,” I pant in his ear.
He does, snorting in my ear as I bounce on his cock over and over.
Who knows what time it is?
(Who cares what time it is, really.)
High Roller (I remembered his name after all) sleeps peacefully, his head bent protectively over mine. I make sure not to poke him with my horn as I sigh into his neck.
I can still feel his essence inside me, his cock unshrinking and attentive against my stomach.
Now comes the best part, by far, aside from the tiniest moments after climax.
The afterglow. All of that deep thrusting, and every tiny, unstallionlike grunt of pleasure as he finished inside me were not going to waste.
It was good. His muscled chest rises and falls against mine.
Hell, it was better than good.
'...Not bad. Not bad at all.'
We both got what we deserved.
I don't let many stallions finish inside. That must have been a treat for him to do that.
'And, in return, you got to think that he loves you.'
He exhales, and a breath tickles my hair. It sends sparks of happiness dancing across my mind. I cuddle up against him. He nuzzles me in his sleep.
'He knew, you know. He was out to pick up, and you were all to eager to oblige.'
I smile. I didn't actually mind the thoughts in my head, for once. What was it my mother said? Every good mare has or doubts. Or something like that.
'You're both easy. Disgustingly so.'
It wasn't that bad, to be truthful. The night had been quite some effort, but it had a good outcome. And as for the future – well, that would just have to be put on hold for about eight or nine hours.
I was sure that someday the pony that would love me was still out there. That was fine. And they were out there, of course. I just wasn't looking hard enough. Or vice-versa.
And until then, this would do.
'Sure. If you say so.'
I get to pretend to be a classy, perfect mare to somepony. To be somepony's one and only.
And he thinks I'm perfect.
And that's all that matters.
The nameless stallion sighs in his sleep.
I close my eyes. Sleep comes quite easily.
The numbness inside might have warmed in the morning, after all.
