So, the plan to board the return train immediately after disembarking at Canterlot Station was perhaps over-hopeful. Rarity could call herself neither a fashionista nor businessmare if she forwent The Ladies’ Delight department store. She simply had to bask in its ambience, peruse its selection, and perhaps pick up a few dresses, or hats, for her and Twilight – for research. Twilight, however, currently has simpler tastes.
‘Wow! You never told me petal dogs were, like, so yummy!’ says Twilight, AKA ‘Bubble Brain’, chomping off half of the foot-long.
‘I’d not the cause to tell you,’ says Rarity, currently ‘Sex Pistol’. ‘Oh, and please, you’ve got it all over your mouth.’ She magically swabbed a napkin over Bubble’s ketchup and mustard pasted mouth. Five street-food vendors in, and Rarity still hadn’t accustomed herself to Bubble’s lack of decorum. Twilight mightn’t have been a froufrou noble when eating, but she at least kept her mouth shut while chewing. ‘And Bubble,’ she says upon seeing her marefriend eye-up the crepe stand, ‘no more. You’ve eaten a kebab, a wrap, an ice-cream, a tiramisu, and this petal dog. The kebab alone has taken you a step towards a heart attack, and the ice-cream, well, I’ve never heard of double-condensed-chocolate-fudge-chip.’
‘But, Sexy,’ whines Bubble, ‘just one more.’ Sight and scent of strawberries, whipped cream and chocolate sauce, all squeezed into the thinnest of thin pancake sleeve, sirened to her.
‘Whose purse is paying, deary?’ During the planning phase, Twilight and Rarity had concluded ‘Bubble’ shouldn’t be trusted with money.
Bubble sighs. ‘Yours… Sorry.’ Her mind slows, no longer directed towards salt and sugar, allowing her to notice the sauce stain on her new blouse. ‘Oh, drat! I’m so sorry, Sexy, the pretty blouse you got me’s ruined.’
Sex Pistol cannot deny the smear annoys her, but then it would be wrong to blame Bubble, as she never exactly asked for the blouse. They were in The Ladies’ Delight changing rooms, after Bubble’s whines of ‘bored’ became too much, when Sex pulled out the crystal.
‘Look at the shiny,’ she said, banishing Bubble’s complaints along with her thoughts. ‘You like pretty things. They excite you. You want to look pretty for your marefriend. If I ask you wear something, you will wear it because you know I think it looks pretty.’
Rarity, in her current punked-up form, complete with spiked mane, couldn’t wear any of the dresses, or skirts, or blouses, she’d bought, but she’d be damned if neither of them wore clothes less than stunning as they walked the Canterlot streets.
A mustard smear across the chest is stunning in its own way, but… No, it’s just filthy.
‘Darling, you’ve not ruined it,’ Sex says, ‘I hope. Let’s just find a restroom and splash some water on it.’
A good plan, unfortunately formulated when seemingly every public lavatory is closed for cleaning. In an unexpected journey from closed toilet to closed toilet, they wander well-past sunset and well-past the city limits of Respectable-Canterlot.
‘Oh, bother.’ Sex tuts at the city. ‘It’s not worth it. Come on, let’s head to the station.’ She turns, only for a hoof on her fashionably tattered sleeve to pull her back.
‘Sexy,’ Bubble whispers too loud for secrecy. ‘I need to pee.’
‘There is no… Oh, what the hell I’ll just buy us dinner, and you can use their toilet.’
Who ‘they’ are, is a process of elimination. If Canterlot is a window, then this street is the immovable grime line left after cleaning. Looking down the immediate street Sex scans for a place to eat that doesn’t double as a strip club. She had forgone hope of restaurants, fancy or fast, now expecting at most a pub. Spotting a sputtering neon sign she, with a heavy heart, sets towards Fanny Dublin.
Stairs lead down to the entrance, a battered door that grinds against stone floor when opened. Shoddy music pours through the opening, coating Sex in immediate regret. Inside is little better. Few ponies fraternise, those that do huddle in corner stalls, speaking in loud whispers.
Approaching the bar Sex waves over the barmare. ‘A… beer.’ Best not be too ambitious.
‘Just one?’
‘Two. And your lavatories…’ The mare jerks her head left, towards a mares’ sign. ‘Lovely.’ Sex sends Bubble that way. The toilet door slams shut. ‘Um, you wouldn’t happen to serve dinner, would you? Or supper? Or… food?’
‘No,’ she says, as if she’d been asked about her weight.
‘Sexy!’ Bubble comes from the toilet door, consternation on her face. ‘The mustard won’t come off!’
After pushing a hoof to Bubble’s mouth, and advising her not to make a scene in this place, Sex examines the stain’s remnants, a pale yellow slash down her blouse.
Sex groans. ‘Take it off. It does your image more harm than good.’ She magically unbuttons Bubble's blouse. No more than two buttons down they hear a wolf-whistle. Sex snaps her glare towards the offender, who waves and grins in a dim stall. The nerve of – Hold on… squint a bit and they almost… Oh!
‘Lotus, Aloe!’ Sex calls, dragging Bubble with her to the stall. ‘How do you do?’
Flirtation flees their expressions, replaced by confusion. ‘Have we met?’ asks Lotus.
‘Why, of course. I came to your parlour just a few…’ At that moment, Sex remembers she is not Rarity. ‘… years ago. Not that you’d recall me, obviously.’
‘Forbid we forget one as… distinct as you,’ says Aloe, drinking Sex’s body in from the chuffs on her hooves to the peaks of her pointed mane. ‘Sit, sit.’
‘Oh, this,’ says Sex, her and Bubble taking seats across from their hosts. ‘Well, at the time I’d not exactly adopted the punk style.’
Lotus laughs. ‘The way you talk, it seems you still haven’t.’
‘P-par-What? What, you think I’m some poser, strutting ‘stead of living,’ Sex says with every scrap of punk aesthetic in her being. ‘Turns out this accent ain’t exactly marketable, talks right over them interviewers Uncle Ned. Sake a’ work I picked up a couple dialects, now I can speak toffy-nose as well as hand-to-mouth.’ Sex’s cock-sure grin threatens to decay into cringe. She didn’t lay it on too much, did she?
‘Oh, but we meant no offense, your lowliness, Miss…?’
‘Sex Pistol.’
‘Lovely.’ Aloe leans towards Bubble, who looks quite muddled having no idea what her marefriend said, nor why she said it like that. ‘I’m Aloe.’
‘I’m Lotus.’
‘We’re masseurs. And you?’
Bubble’s unease vanishes at Aloe’s question; her flustered mind has something to focus on. ‘I’m Bubble.’ She giggles. ‘Bubble Brain. I’m a… I’m…’
‘’Tween jobs and on holiday,’ Sex steps in. ‘Got side-tracked in Canterlot, but we’re headin’ for Ponyville – Oh!’
A clock tears from the brickwork, enveloped in white magic. Eyes to plastic, Sex reads the time, ‘Twelve-thirty… Buck! Buck it all!’
‘The matter?’
‘The last train.’ Sex slams her cheek to the table. Staring at Bubble, she rues her luck that the only pony in Equestria who could teleport them to Ponyville currently has the IQ of a kindergarten dropout.
Sex, prepared to wallow in self-pity the whole night, rises a little at Aloe’s nudging.
‘Is it you have nowhere to stay? No problem, we have a hotel room for the week; not big, but big enough.’ She looks into Sex’s newly hopeful eyes. ‘You can stay the night.’
‘Really, you honestly mean it?’
‘Of course,’ Aloe says, glancing at her sister’s nodding. ‘We’re only a block away. Sound good?’
‘Yes! I mean, thank you, my saviours.’ Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad after all.
‘And maybe,’ says Lotus, grinning at her new guest, ‘we can show you our etchings.’
Not so bad at all.
The marefriends speak whilst washing in Lotus and Aloe’s shower (barely big enough for one pony, but neither complain about the forced snugness). Sex does most of the speaking, first delivering a lengthy explanation of what etchings are, then an even lengthier explanation that, no, they aren’t literally going to look at etchings.
‘… Do you understand?’ asks Sex for the fifth time, rinsing conditioner from Bubble’s mane. She’d have used the crystal to pour understanding straight into that head, if not for it resting out of reach.
Bubble opens her mouth, or rather lets it drop. She lacks eloquence at the best of times, but Sex’s unintentional scalp massage makes her especially spacey. ‘So… we’re going to… fuck?’
‘Yes,’ Sex say, ‘yes, darling. All four of us together, I presume.’ She shuts off the water.
‘But aren’t they sisters?’ They step out the shower.
Sex levitates the towel to scrub Bubble down. She pats down her mane to start. ‘Why, yes, dear, they are.’ She’s honestly surprised Bubble put two and two together. ‘They’re… exotic. And it’s not incest, is it, when other ponies are involved?’
Like a schoolfilly chancing upon a teacher’s inconsistency, she pushes the issue. ‘But they’re still sisters. Just ‘cause we’re-’ Her objection turns to moans as the towel moves between her legs, soft material rubbing back and forth over her pussy.
‘Shh, shh, just trust your marefriend.’ Through years of trial and error, Rarity perfected the rate of pussy rubs that could turn Twilight’s brain to heated mush, to say nothing of Bubble’s brain which is mushy at the best of times. ‘You do trust your marefriend, don’t you?’
‘Yes…’ she moans.
‘Good. And there’s nothing wrong with them being sisters. Imagine them both, kissing you, rubbing you, grinding on you.’ Even un-hypnotised the image overpowers Bubble. She almost cums right there.
Sex pulls back the towel, drops it to the ground and fetches a clean one to dry herself. ‘Are you ready to view some etchings?’
Wobbling in a horny haze, Bubble slurs, ‘Yeah…’
‘Come then,’ Sex says, shepherding her to the door, ‘let’s not keep them waiting.’ She opens the door.
‘You’d be surprised how narrow our margins are,’ Aloe told them when they first arrived. ‘One mare room, really, but we’ll fit it, if we huddle close,’ she said with a wink.
Looking out, Sex sees the queen bed adorned by the twin masseurs. Massage oil stood on the bedside tables. They smile.
‘While we waited,’ Lotus says, ‘we thought, let’s get you limber to start.’
They’d turned the temperature up.
‘Come and lay,’ says Aloe.
Sex does, too caught in anticipation to drag Bubble with her. She lies on her belly, only for Aloe to chide, ‘Oh no, we’re doing it specially for you. Roll over.’ Sex, shivering, obeys. Embarrassment joins arousal as Sex realises her pussy and teats are on display, and at the mercy of the masseur.
‘You too, lovely,’ Lotus coos to Bubble. ‘I don’t bite. I may lick. Come to bed.’ Bubble comes closer, gets on the bed, assuming the same position as her marefriend. ‘Oh, no, no, little pretty. Roll over. There’s a special part of you I want to knead.’
Bubble obeys, rolling so to lie on her stomach.
Sex and Bubble get straddled. Hind legs round their torsos as the masseurs pour aphrodisiac-laced oil upon their bodies. Warm liquid drips over Sex’s chest, teasing moans from her, while Bubble feels the warmth pool over her bum, and firm hooves press into her fleshy cheeks. Lotus kneads Bubble’s tush, pushing moans from Bubble. Aloe plays with Sex’s nipples, focussing on them as she rubs.
Lotus slips her hooves between Bubble’s thighs, brushing so near her pussy. ‘Do you like that?’ A moan is her reply. ‘Or do you like this.’ She bends down to kiss Bubble’s rear. She pitter-patters her pecks all over, each eliciting a squeak.
Sex’s eyes see nothing, fluttering as Aloe’s pleasures her upper body. A hoof pats Sex’s face, dragging her only a little towards lucidity. ‘Come, pretty pet, you’re like this after only a little rubbing.’ She looks at her bottle. ‘How much love juice did we put in there?’ Gasping, Aloe realises she’d been grinding against Sex’s belly. Enough love juice, she concludes, to get her unbearably horny.
‘Don’t cum yet,’ she changes position on Sex’s torso, so her muzzle can line up with Sex’s pussy. ‘And don’t be selfish.’ As she lowers herself to Sex’s pussy, she pushes along to Sex’s mouth. She licks and slavers over Sex’s pussy, and Sex does hers.
Lotus doesn’t notice, absorbed by the rump in her face. Her lips, covered in aphrodisiac oil, feel as sensitive as her pussy. She lays long, firm kisses on Bubble’s flank, with the intensity of a mare desperately trying to get off. With each kiss Bubble feels a burst of arousal, like a love-egg buzzing in her, growing more intense each time.
Thoughts cloud in heat. They lick, kiss and grind to service their heat. Sex licks, dragging her tongue as slavishly as Aloe does, as intensely as Lotus lays smacks upon Bubble’s bum, as horny as Bubble’s moans. Sex and Aloe lick, lick harder, pushing the other to push themselves, as lust dumb as Bubble who feels a dam about to burst.
Lotus smooches, as Aloe and Sex lick, pushing each other over.
Their moaning screams resound at once, tensing, sweating, writhing on each other, cumming to the point of happy exhaustion.
Aloe stretches her limbs like a cat waking from a nap. She pulls her pussy from Sex’s face till she’s sitting upright. ‘Mmmm, inspiring! For you?’
Sex, slack mouth, slurs, ‘It’s… was… whuh?’ Her tired tongue lolls out.
Lotus, rolling her eyes, sits upon Bubble’s back and gives her bum a few taps. ‘You feel good, lovely?’
‘Super-duper!’ She giggles.
‘Looks like somepony’s more polite than her marefriend. Look at her, cannot even take time to say “thank you”.’
‘What! No! Sexy’s so polite, she’s just really tired, cause she’s, you were-’
‘Hush, hush, lovely.’ She strokes Bubble’s bum. ‘I only tease.’
‘But,’ says Aloe, checking Sex’s eyes, ‘if this is how she handles warmup…’
The morning train pulls away from Canterlot station. Sex bought a private compartment in first class, a quarter the size of the one they may have had, and a sixteenth the size of the car they would have had for themselves. But, it turns out, their Royally endorsed ticket was only good through yesterday. After five minutes negotiating with a gormless ticket seller, Sex surrendered, realising a manager to upper-manager referral would not, likely, reach as high as the Princesses, Royal ticket or no.
A hundred and fifty bits down for this compartment.
‘Woooow!’ But at least somepony likes it. Bubble had been ‘Woooow’ing all journey, enraptured by the rushing scenery, eyes wide like a fascinated puppy’s.
‘Enjoying the view?’ Sex yawns. She’d not slept much last night.
‘Yeah!’ Bubble can’t even tear her eyes away. ‘It’s all amazing – Like, like that hill we just passed, that’s where Celestia had her coro- cora- got her crown. Ooh! And that tower, that’s the oldest clock in Equestria. And that,’ she goes on, stirring Sex to concern.
‘Bubble?’ Bubble keeps listing landmarks. ‘Bubble.’ Landmarks from this and other lines. ‘Bubble!’
Bubble snaps to look at Sex, ears pricked.
‘Where did you learn this?’
‘Oh.’ With her teeth she takes a pile of pamphlets from beside her. ‘Fum fese.’
Sex takes them, fifteen of them, each a sight-seeing guide for the train services longer lines. ‘How many have you read?’
‘All of them!’
‘All of them!’ Bubble smiles like a teacher’s pet. ‘When did you read them?’ Certainly, not on the train, she’d not seen her unfold one.
‘While you talked to the ticket guy.’
Five minutes! She read – and, by her comments, memorised! – fifteen pamphlets in five minutes. ‘All of these? You read all of these in five minutes?’
‘Well, there were some big words I didn’t get, but yeah.’
Sex stares at her marefriend who wears a beaming smile. ‘What’s nine time five?’
Sex looks confused, but answers, ‘Aah… forty-five.’
‘Five squared?’
Bubble scratches her chin. ‘That’s where you, like, times a thing by the same thing? So five time five? Twenty-five?’ Uncertainty clouds her face, drowning her sense of accomplishment. Her marefriend doesn’t look as happy as she should, what with her answering her maths problems correctly. ‘Is it twenty-five?’
Sex had brief suspicions last night, but now she was certain. You could not tell an intellect as abounding as Twilight Sparkle’s to play dead and expect no restlessness. It will grow bored of the act, and begin stretching its limbs for ordinary action. No, you must tell it to play dead, then return every so often to say how well it is doing for playing dead. Sex reaches for her crystal.
‘Look at the shiny.’ The crystal fascinates Bubble, but doesn’t transfix her like it did. ‘Look at the shiny. Isn’t it pretty, so sparkly in the light.’ She sways it back and forth. ‘It’s nice to look at, isn’t it? Nice to look at, going back and forth, back and forth. Nice, isn’t it?’
Bubble tilts her head, sighing. ‘Yeah.’
‘Relaxing, isn’t it? Because looking at it, nothing else matters, you don’t need to think, to focus, or do anything. Looking at it you can just relax.’
Bubble’s eyes droop, her breathing slow.
‘I know you’re sleepy. And that your eyes are heavy. And that your body just sinks into your seat. That’s okay. Good girls deserve relaxation, this warm feeling inside.’
Bubble sighs.
‘Now you have a choice: You can keep watching the pretty crystal, or you can take a nice, long nap. But choices are hard, too hard for a sleepy girl like you. Tell you what, I’ll make the choice for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yeah…’
‘Good girl. You trust I know what you need. And I know you need a nice, long nap. So, let your tired eyes drift shut.’
Bubble’s eyes close, her chin resting against her chest.
‘Good… So relaxed… So deeply relaxed. Sleep.’
Sex trots to Bubble’s side, hopping up on the wall-mounted couch. ‘Good girl. In a moment, I will stroke your head.’ She strokes Bubble’s head. ‘You like when I stroke your head. It’s a warm, pleasant feeling. You feel a cascade of warm water streaming over you, streaming especially over your pussy, leaving you relaxed and horny.’ Bubble moistens. ‘You feel a warm, wet towel pulling over your mind, cleaning away all unnecessary things, like thoughts, knowledge and reason. Relax, your thoughts, knowledge and reason will all go to a safe place where you can just forget about them. And you’ll keep just enough smarts to be happy little bimbo, with brains enough to giggle, and chat, and think about silly bimbo things. Now, when I, and only I, stroke your head, you’ll feel this, leaving you as horny, and stupid, as a good little bimbo. Understand?’
‘Yeah…’
Sex stops stroking. ‘On the count of three you’ll be wide awake.
‘One, coming up.
‘Two, aware of your surroundings
‘Three! Wide awake, feeling great.’
Bubble stretches. She ‘Aaah’s through an open-mouth smile.
Sex asks, ‘What’s nine times five?’
‘Umm…’ Rusty gears groan for thirty seconds. ‘F-fourteen? No! Thirteen.’ Bubble looks imploringly for confirmation.
Sex bops her on the nose. ‘Wrong.’
A forlorn pout sours Bubble’s face.
Sex pulls Bubble up close, and strokes her head, eliciting soft, foalish giggles. ‘And that’s just perfect.’
Only mindless entertainment can alleviate the tedium of art’s manual aspect; how marvellous, then, that Rarity’s entertainment, quite mindless at the moment, is Twilight.
‘While I’m not against the pose,’ says Rarity, eyeing the mare at the other end of her workroom, sat on the floor, hooves dipping between spread legs, ‘I must say I adored the last. Assume it again, pet.’
The command spurred Twilight’s limbs. With a glass-eyed smile she says, ‘Yes, Mistress.’ She gets to her hooves, turns her back to Rarity, then puts her chin to the ground and her arse in the air. Her costume, a nurse’s uniform that doesn’t even pass her tail, and a thong barely covering her pussy, leaves the majority of her arse on show.
‘I love your bum, pet. So large and luscious.’
‘Mmmm. Thank you, Mistress.’
Ha! If proof were needed of Twilight’s trance. Although Rarity would have her marefriend’s arse displayed alongside Divine Canvas’ The Personas of Harmony, she knows that if she says anything of the sort Twilight would dart to the kitchens (both their kitchens, mind) to purge every carb in the vicinity. Have you ever seen a cake with the carbohydrates magically removed?
But right now Twilight can only bask in foggy warmth as her Mistress compliments her, moaning every time her bliss overflows into ecstasy.
For two years now they’d been having their hypnotic holidays – every Sunday without fail. And while Rarity’s tastes do not bear repeating, Twilight contented herself with obedient submission. Depending on Twilight’s mood, Rarity adjusted her mental faculties. Often she remained your everyday polymath, one who moonlighted as a maid. Other times she was reduced to a teacher’s pet with no ideas of her own. Sometimes, after a particularly stressful week, her only thoughts were Rarity’s words. Such a week was this week.
‘Such a lovely bum. So fetching, darling, that it mustn’t be kept static. Bring some dynamism! Shake it about, dear – but not too fast. I wouldn’t want my pet tiring herself.’
Like a Grandfather Clock Twilight tick-tocks her plot back and forth. ‘Like this, Mistress?’
‘Perfection! You are such a good pet.’
An open-mouth moan rolls from Twilight as the trigger sends an imagined tongue over her pussy.
‘Something’s missing,’ says Rarity. ‘Something… Ah! I want you to repeat after me, pet: “I adore my plump plot.”’
‘I adore my plump plot.’
‘Good, but again, with feeling, feel the words.’
‘I adore my plump plot,’ Twilight repeats, wrapping her tongue round each word, each syllable, as if she were reciting a poem.
‘Again,’ says Rarity. ‘Stronger, as if you’re communing with your deepest self, and she has these words for you.’
‘I adore my plump plot,’ recites Twilight, a hymn to her inner goddess.
Rarity claps her hooves, ‘Now keep repeating, and don’t stop until I tell you. Just keep you’re voicea tad below speaking level.’
Twilight mantras, ‘I adore my plump plot. I adore my plump plot. I adore my plump plot.’
Grinning, half from joy and half from mischief, Rarity tears her eyes towards the clock. Just past noon and three and three-quarter orders to finish if she’s to remain on schedule. Almost takes the joy out of having a hypnotized pet in the room.
‘I adore my plump plot.’
Almost.
‘Three, coming up… Two, aware of your body and surroundings… And one! Wide awake.’
‘Mmmm.’ Twilight rises from the bed, blinking back her receding lethargy. ‘That was wonderful. That was… was… Oh!’ Blood peaches her cheeks as memories of the past hours, of her… unflattering posture and words cringe through her mind. ‘Plump plot,’ she remembers. ‘Plump plot!’ And she’d been so good. Not a single cake, not one sweet, for weeks, months… Well, maybe one, or two, or a baker’s dozen. Pinkie brought the case over; it would have been rude to refuse. And then there was Rainbow’s birthday – who keeps their diets at parties?
Well, no more. Jumping from the bed, she darts to the door, making for the kitchen. A purge is in order.
‘Control yourself,’ says Rarity.
Twilight keeps galloping, but her hooves tread air, as the trigger envelops her in magic, her own magic, levitating her to the bed.
‘Now, now, I’ll not have my marefriend emaciating herself needlessly,’ says Rarity, ‘and depriving me of one of her loveliest assets.’ Twilight, too weak to fight her own magic, has resigned herself to its will. It lays her on the bed on her back. ‘Now, I don’t want you thrashing, so restrain yourself.’ Again, magic flows unbidden from Twilight’s horn. Four ropes hover up from under the bed. With dexterity Twilight now regrets honing, her magic ties them round each of her hooves, fastening her to the bed. She pulls at her restraints, thrashes against them, but they have only enough give for comfort. Her horn shuts off.
‘Do you think I’d move us to the bedroom for no reason, darling?’ Rarity looms between Twilight’s hind legs. ‘And I simply cannot end our session while my pet holds such sour feelings towards her body.’ She lays a hoof upon Twilight’s defenceless pussy, forcing a moan. Up and down, she starts stroking Twilight, eliciting squeaks and whimpers. How lovely that Twilight is already wet. It took a while for Twilight to experiment with bondage, but when she did was as happy as a hog in mud. Especially that time Rarity hog-tied her and threw her in mud.
The knowledge that Rarity controls her totally, even her magic, and that she, one of Equestria’s most powerful ponies, is powerless against four strands of rope, makes her quiver, and moan, and bubble in her chest. And the hoof on her pussy doesn’t hurt.
‘Does my pet like that?’
‘Yyyeeeeesss.’
‘Good pet.’ Twilight’s throaty groan stretches Rarity’s grin to her ears. She speeds up, quickening her thrall’s moans. Quicker and harder, the hoof pleasures Twilight, pushing her to the brink. Her thoughts die away, a burning fog replacing them. And she gets closer, closer, and…
Rarity slows. Twilight whimpers, like a puppy whose bowl is kicked away.
‘I don’t think you deserve an orgasm,’ says Rarity, grinning down at her.
‘P-please.’
With her free hoof Rarity ruffles Twilight’s chest fur. ‘Now, now, sweetums, I won’t torture you. But, as a self-appointed therapist, I require assurance you won’t starve yourself the moment I let you go.’ Removing her hoof from Twilight’s chest she rubs her chin. ‘Hmm… Ah! I’ve the perfect test.’ From atop her bedside desk a magic-wrapped page comes floating, blank but for a cursive quatrain in its centre. Even in arousal’s depths, sight of the poem’s words deepens the red on Twilight’s cheeks. ‘Read it, my pet, read it if you want to cum.’
Whimpering, Twilight opens her mouth:
‘My – Ah! – My arse, my bum, my tush, my plot,
So soft, so large, and round, and hot.
Be gone, my hatred, gone and past;
These globes belong in marble cast.’
‘Good pet,’ says Rarity, earning a moan. She quickens her strokes. ‘Good pet, good pet, such a good pet.’ Rarity keeps repeating the trigger, compounding tongue upon imaginary tongue on Twilight’s pussy. Embarrassment withers in her heat, in the flames of tongues and hoof, each gaining momentum, fanning her pleasure, enveloping her mind, pushing her to-
‘Good pet.’
Twilight bucks from her hips, moaning loudly despite her parched throat, writhing in the climax and aftermath for minutes – ‘Relax’ – before calming to a sleepy stillness.
‘Relax, deeply, relax, so deep. How do you feel, darling?’
‘Blissfu…’ Twilight slurs.
‘And I hope you’re not entertaining anymore silly ideas about dieting. Hmm?’
‘No…’
‘Good pet,’ says Rarity, magically undoing Twilight’s restraints. She levitates a glass of water to her marefriend’s lips, who sips it dry. Climbing atop the bed, she puts one hoof round her marefriend’s neck, and grabs her bedside novel with the other. ‘I’ll let you relax awhile… Did you like my poem?’
Twilight’s heavy eyes droop, as her tired tongue forms words the sleeping censor in her brain never sees. ‘An amateur… attempt at iambic tetrameter… repetitive, too many mono… mon…’ She snores.
‘Hmph, you do better in ten minutes,’ Rarity harumphs, and sets to reading.
‘So, I was thinking,’ says Twilight, clearing her fetish uniforms from the floor, jarring Rarity awake.
‘Whuh- Wha- Pardon.’ Twilight’s nap lasted an hour, enough time for Rarity to nod off.
‘I was saying, I’ve got a vacation coming up-’
‘Pardon,’ says Rarity. Twilight’s words had the shock of ice water. ‘D-did you, Twilight Sparkle, just say “vacation”?’
Twilight chuckles weakly. ‘Ha, well, you see, Celestia noticed I’d been working ninety-six hour weeks for two… or five years. She suggested I take a vacation. I said no. Then she suspended all my library cards, and decreed that any laboratory admitting my entry is subject to closure.’ She slots the last costume in the closet, then walks to Rarity. ‘So, I’ve got six weeks’ vacation.’
Six weeks. In all the years they’d dated they’d never had six weeks. You could actually do something with that time, genuinely unwind, not just catch your breath
‘So,’ Rarity ventures, ‘are we planning to make the most of that time? Travel anywhere?’
‘How can I “make the most” of it when it is literally illegal for me to continue my research.’ She hops into bed by Rarity’s side. ‘Besides, it’s my vacation; you’ve still got a store to run.’
‘No matter, darling, I always holiday a few weeks of the year. If I stop accepting commissions now, I’ll have a clean slate in two weeks, leaving around four for pure relaxation.’ Twilight yawns. ‘Sorry… While I know your research is important to you, you must admit it’s not healthy. Yes, you do what you love, but a mare cannot live on calling alone, she must sleep occasionally, nay, regularly. Hypnosis can only pick up so much slack.’
‘I know, I know, but tell my brain that. Research is an obsession; when I don’t do it my brain tells me I could do it. I can take afternoons, even days off for friends, but six weeks, more than a month of ignoring my brain yelling at me, telling me that I could have solved the Celestial Body Paradox if I’d just worked that day instead of rested, if I’d filled the time instead of wasted-’
‘Relax, darling.’
A wave of lethargy washes her rant away. ‘Sorry. But you see what I mean. All very well for Celestia to tell me to take a break, but I can’t take a break from myself.’
Rarity’s ears perk. ‘That’s it!’
‘Whatzit?’
‘“Take a break from yourself,” why, darling, you do that every week. What you require isn’t a gallivant round Zebrica, Prance, or even Xanadu; you need a special sort of trip, an ego trip.’
‘I don’t under-’
A white hoof blocks Twilight’s mouth. ‘Twilight Sparkle, the smartest pony in Equestria, cannot rest at night knowing the secrets of the universe still hide themselves away – But what if you weren’t Twilight Sparkle, the smartest pony in Equestria.’
Twilight pushes the hoof away. ‘I still don’t know what you’re suggesting.’
Guiding her muzzle to Twilight’s ear, Rarity whispers.
‘Oh, that,’ Twilight says as Rarity pulls back, ‘that sounds nice. Very nice.’
The station falls to the far distance, their friends waving them adieu upon it, as the train chugs towards Canterlot. A day trip, merely, and they’d board the express return as soon as they disembarked, but their friends didn’t know.
After tossing up Zebrica, the Crystal Empire, Canterlot, and countless others, they’d realised travel is all well and good for a week or so, but it tires you and loses novelty quickly. Home relaxes you. They take the train to Canterlot now only because they need privacy and an alibi, both ensured by Celestia (who, thank Celestia, asked no questions). She secured for them an entire first-class car to themselves for the whole journey, despite their only occupying an apartment. Not even the staff will disturb them. Hoof over heart, Celestia vowed to claim witness to their four week stay in Canterlot should anypony demand evidence.
Rarity pulls the curtain down, letting the chandelier softly illume their apartment. ‘It almost feels bad, deceiving them… Almost. Now, darling, you know you do it much better than me.’
Twilight chuckles and charges her horn. Purple envelops them both, cloaking them in light that grows brighter and brighter – and flashes.
‘Oh, quick, quick, fetch the mirror, I want to see how I pull off “punk”.’ Twilight levitates the mirror before her marefriend. ‘Oh, well… the spiked mane is quite… quite… And I can’t say the black fur is exactly moi… but then it’s not me at all, is it? Even the bone structure,’ she says, hooves to her face. ‘But brilliant! Astounding! You’ve practised this illusion lark while I’ve not been looking, haven’t-’
Whatever she was about to say drools from her gaping mouth, her jaw slack from sight of Twilight. Not because Twilight is sexy, for she was sexy before, but because she’s… eye-catching. She looked fit to hang from Hoity Toity’s arm as one of his weekend girls. Not a Fleur-De-Lis, of course; one of his fuller models, a model retaining some of Twilight’s most fetching assets. And her eyes! Big eyes, clear too, emitting a puppy dog innocence.
‘Nothing, it,’ Twilight says, ‘it was nothing. It’s, I mean, it’s not actually illusion magic. It’s, it’s difficult to explain – imagine an empty ocean that’s full-’
‘Take a compliment, dear.’ She pauses, scrutinising her own voice. ‘That won’t do, not just from a subterfuge perspective, but an aesthetic one as well – too dissonant.’ Her horn flares. ‘If you don’t mind.’ White wraps round her throat, dissipates, then moves to Twilight’s.
‘Go on, say something.’ Rarity’s stomach butterflies, both in pride and disgust, at the gravel in her voice. Her Canterlot lilt banished, replaced by the implicit go-buck-yourself of a punk slur.
‘That was great! I didn’t know you could...’ Twilight pauses at her heightened pitch, and the inherent child-like fawning in her tone. ‘Wow.’
‘I knew ya’d love it, babe.’ Punks speak like that, right? ‘Now let’s smear the last coat of paint of this ‘ouse.’ She magically dangles a sparkling crystal before Twilight’s eyes. ‘Look at the shiny.’
‘Rarity.’
‘Shut it, luv, and look at the shiny.’
‘Rarity!’
Rarity drops the crystal. ‘Is something wrong, darling?
‘Please don’t treat me like an idiot.’
‘But you want to be an idiot.’
‘But I’m not right now!’
Rarity takes Twilight by the shoulder and leads her to bed. ‘As you wish, darling. Hop up.’ They both hop onto the bed, laying with their hooves beneath them, but Rarity with one hoof over Twilight’s shoulder. ‘I won’t talk down to you. Just relax and snuggle up to me. Let your marefriend take you deep into sleep. Now, breathe in… and out.’
Twilight’s eyes already droop. She is so accustomed to sliding into trance, and so trusting of her marefriend, that Rarity could count from ten to one in a crowded market and still reduce Twilight to a docile puddle.
‘Breathe in… and out… that’s it.’ Twilight snuggles herself closer to Rarity, sighing as if she’d been tucked into bed. ‘Very good. You feel so warm next to me, so sleepy, so safe. Nothing can go wrong if you give in to this feeling. Your body is so heavy, thoughts so slow, because you don’t need to move, or think, because you’re so relaxed. You deserve to sleep, to bask in warmth. Now, in a second, I want you to count down from one hundred. Each number you speak will make you twice as warm, twice as sleepy, and twice as safe. You can stop counting at any time, you can stop counting and just sleep. Start.’
Twilight’s mouth opens slowly to slur out, ‘One… hundred… Ninety-nine… ninety… eight… ninety… nighty…’ Her eyes drift shut.
Last time she couldn’t even say one hundred. ‘Good girl. Doesn’t this feel nice, this utter tranquillity. You are totally safe, because you can make no mistakes, because you can only do as I say, can only think what I tell you to think. Isn’t this paradise? Say, “Yes, Mistress.”’
‘Yes… Mistress.’
‘That felt so good, because you did as I commanded. You’re so obedient, so submissive. You’d do anything I told you to do, because you know nothing can go wrong when you obey me. Your marefriend will always keep you safe. Good girl. Open your eyes, Twilight, but stay deeply asleep.’
Her eyelids lift to a half-way open droop.
‘What’s this, Twilight?’
Glazed eyes clear a little, focussing on the object before them. ‘A… jar.’
‘Very good. But this isn’t just any jar, darling. No, this jar holds so many lovely things.’ She shakes the jar, twirling the water within into a gentle tundra. Nuzzling her muzzle closer to Twilight’s ear she continues, ‘It holds giggles, smiles and, oh, I don’t know, a few happy moans, you know, the kind you make when you’re all alone, with nothing to bother you, and your idly playing with your pussy.’ Twilight shivers. ‘That’s it. You want what’s in this jar. You want the giggles, smiles and happy moans, don’t you?’ Twilight groans. ‘Say, “Yes, Mistress.”’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Of course you do. So I’m going to pour all these lovely things into your head. You’d like that.’ Twilight moans. ‘What’s this? Oh, no! Your head’s full, full of facts, discipline, and smarts. There’s no room for these lovely things. And how you want to be giggly and smiley and horny. You want that so much. Say you want that, Twilight.’
‘I want… to be giggly… and smiley… and horny.’ Her breathing had quickened. Even through the glass of her marefriend’s eyes Rarity could see thwarted desire. She truly did want to be all those things.
‘Aha! I’ve had an idea. I’ll take all the facts, discipline and smarts out of your head, put them somewhere safe, somewhere you don’t need to worry about, so there’ll be room for giggles, smiles and happy moans. That’s a good idea, isn’t it? Say, “Yes, Mistress.’”
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Now, I’m going to pour this jar’s lovely things into your head, and as they go into your head the facts, discipline and smarts will just flow out, flow down your face like water, ultimately going somewhere safe, somewhere you don’t need to worry about because I will take care of it. Nod if you understand.’ She nods. ‘Good. Now, before I pour, I need to warn that your head will feel quite different. Right now, you’re full of intelligent thoughts, heavy thoughts, thoughts that don’t move around much because they’re so disciplined. But these lovely things, why, they’re the lightest things in the world. They’ve no discipline, they just bubble anywhere. It’s like having a head full of air. You want that. Say it, say, “I want to be an airhead.”’
‘I want to be an airhead.’
‘Very good.’ She unscrews the jar, raises it above Twilight’s head, and begins tipping. ‘I’m starting.’ The slender stream patters on the centre of Twilight’s head, dampening her mane. ‘Doesn’t that feel nice? Don’t those giggles feel cool?’ Twilight giggles as water trickles down her forehead. ‘Don’t those smiles feel so good in your head?’ Water trails round her eyes, down her nose, dripping past or into her open mouth smile. ‘And isn’t somepony feeling horny?’ The last drops drip onto her head as she shudders a moan.
Rarity sets the jar aside. ‘On the count of three you’re going to wake up, feeling relaxed, refreshed, and oh, so airheaded.
‘One… Coming up, your body stirring.
‘Two… aware of your surroundings, almost there.
‘Three! Wide awake. How are you?’
Still snuggled up to Rarity, Twilight stretches her limbs straight, her face the picture of feline ecstasy. ‘I feel super-duper.’ She giggles as she relaxes her body.
‘I want to ask you a silly question: What is the third law of Starswirlian magic conservation?’
‘Easy-peasy! That’s… It’s…’ Twilight furrows her brow, scratches her chin, and lets her mouth gape a little. ‘I don’t know. I should know… I’m Twilight Sparkle. I’m like a doctor or something.’
Rarity pats Twilight’s damp head. ‘Well, that’s easily cleared up. You see, you’re not Twilight Sparkle.’
‘I’m… not?’ That’s not right… But Rarity, like, sounded so sure… Maybe…
‘Oh, don’t frown. Let’s turn that frown upside down.’ Rarity shifts herself from Twilight’s side to atop her back. She places her hooves on Twilight’s ribs, and rubs them up and down, tickling her mercilessly. Laughing like a foal, any decorum the pony retained shed under the force of Rarity’s rib tickles and neck raspberries.
It stops. ‘Look at the shiny.’ Twilight’s teary eyes no sooner open than snap to the prettiest crystal she’d ever seen, dangling in from a chain in Rarity’s magic. ‘You like the shiny, don’t you? Shiny things are so pretty. So pretty that silly, simple-minded girls like you can just get lost in them, can just let your pesky thoughts sit to the side.’ Looking at Twilight’s face Rarity can barely contain her d’awws. The crystal entrances Twilight, but not a sleepy trance. She gawks at it like a little filly at a lollipop, all open-mouthed and wide-eyed. ‘No, you’re not Twilight Sparkle.’ A mirror hovers just behind the crystal. ‘That’s you, isn’t it? Describe it.’
‘White… earth pony… green eyes… blue mane.’
‘And does that sound like the lavender, Alicorn Princess of Equestria called Twilight Sparkle?’
‘No?’
‘No, it doesn’t. And isn’t Twilight Sparkle the smartest pony in Equestria? How could a silly filly like you be her? No, your name is Bubble Brain.’
‘Bubble… Brain…’
‘And who am I?’
‘Rarity…’
Rarity tuts, before rising from atop Twilight’s back and taking the mirrors place behind the crystal. ‘Do I look like Rarity?’ Twilight shakes her head. ‘And besides, Rarity is Twilight Sparkle’s marefriend, and you’re not Twilight Sparkle. I’m Sex Pistol, your marefriend.’
‘My marefriend… Sex Pistol.’
‘And we love each other very much. And we both know your limitations. We both know you’re a very silly filly… stupid, I think is the word. The world can be a complicated and confusing place for stupid girls. That’s why you’re lucky to have a smart and caring marefriend like me. So whenever your little head gets confused, you come to your loving marefriend Sex Pistol. Does that sound good?’
‘Yeah…’
Good. Finally, that’s sorted. Early on they’d determined they’d need cover identities for obvious reasons. They then realised Twilight would require a bit more than cover, for in her desired state she likely couldn’t keep up a front; she’d need an entire interior redesign.
An entire interior redesign…
‘Bubble, we both know your biggest turn on,’ Rarity says. ‘You love when ponies praise and fondle your bum.’
