Hypnotic Holiday 3: A Load Off Her Mind

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.’