Author's Note

Contains: Public humiliation, masturbation, forced masturbation, cursed clothing

Rarity's Dream

Rarity felt sick. Her guts were churning, her head spinning. Her body trembled, and her breaths came short and shallow. She bounced from one pair of legs to the other, left to right and back again, unable to stand still.

Yet despite this, she was in her element. From behind the stage curtains, she could hear to the pulsing music playing while she awaited her cue. In mere moments, she would be on-stage, showcasing her latest design to some of the Most Important Ponies, both in the world of fashion, and among the Canterlot elite. With that in mind, her nerves could take a back-seat to excitement.

Then the curtains rose, and Rarity began her catwalk. Her dress was of layered white silk, and sparkling white diamonds, with a few choice details picked out in sapphire-encrusted indigo ribbon, to match her hair. It suited her perfectly, which of course was why she was the perfect model. As she sauntered down the runway, the flowing silk felt simply divine against her legs, and against her lucky black lace lingerie (which was certainly not visible through the layers of her dress). Though she held her head high, she could feel all eyes in the room were upon her.

Of course, she had spared no expense on her make-up and manestyle, her hair was tied up into a fabulous tower atop her head, flaunting her beautiful neck.

She sashayed to the end of the runway, cameras flashing all around her, spotlights making her gemstones glitter, and struck a pose. Keeping her expression fashionably aloof wasn't easy; Inside she wanted to scream, to bounce, to grin manically from ear to ear. This was her moment. This was all she had dreamed of.

She struck a different pose, feigning a weary sigh of disinterest, and turned back for her return to back-stage. She was the star of the show, the shining gem atop the crown. Before her return, though, she wished to add one final touch. Twisting her head, casting her gaze back over her shoulders at the audience behind her, she smiled, and gave her hips a flirtatious wiggle, just to add a certain “je sais exactement” to her routine. Returning to her blank expression and dignified pose, she began her return catwalk.

Two steps in, she fell flat on her face.

Horrified, Rarity struggled with whatever had tangled her hooves. She tried desperately to not think about her current position - head down, rear raised, and a huge hall full of ponies at hoof level, staring up at her. “Just stay calm,” she told herself. Something was pulled tight around her hindhooves — that is why she tripped. Had one of her sapphire-encrusted indigo ribbons come loose? It would be the very worst possible thing if this was some failing of her dress design.

She pushed down with her forehooves, hoping to at least raise herself into a more dignified position. Instead, her sash pinned her upper forelegs to her trunk. She struggled and kicked, trying to force herself free. This achieved exactly one thing — she somehow managed to spread her hindlegs wide apart.

Rarity whined in horrified disbelief, unable to imagine exactly what kind of wardrobe failure could result in this absurd position. She turned her head and called out to the ponies in the audience, but the music seemed to pulse louder than ever, drowning out her cries. She stared around wildly. Bright spotlights shone into her eyes from every direction. Beyond them, she could see only shadows, filled with the watchful eyes of countless ponies. Every one of them stared at her, not one of them caring about her obvious plight.

Fabric pulled tighter across her back. Rarity froze, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. Then something else tightened, pulling one layer of her train up over her rump, lifting her tail along with it. Wide-eyed, she screamed, though even that might have been silent for all that she could hear above the pounding beat.

Her dress was not merely tangled; It was moving.

Unable to see what her dress was doing beneath her, and with help obviously not forthcoming, she resorted to the only option she could think of. Throwing her weight to one side, she rolled onto her back, dropping her rump to the floor with a clumsy “thump”.

Her horn flared as she summoned a dozen spectral scissors — crude improvisations compared to the real thing, but hopefully enough to tear apart whatever bewitched fabric had ensnared her. Lying on her back, forelegs bound and hindlegs spread wide, she stared a moment at the twisted fabric wrapped around her. Then she set her resolve, and drove her conjurations downward, intent on destroying her own treacherous creation.

Lightning crackled through her head, not quite painful, but blindingly disorientating. When the moment passed, the scissors were gone. A single stretch of fabric had been cut loose, and it hovered before her, wrapped in the blue glow of her magic, twisting in the air. She tried to cast it aside, but instead it looped around her head, pulling tight into her mouth as an improvised gag. Looking up at her horn, she saw that the ribbon from her manestyle now wrapped the base of her horn, bending her magic to its own purpose.

Her eyes darted around the room — why was nopony helping her? When cold realisation dawned upon her, it brought tears to her eyes: to the onlooking audience, this magic would seem to be her own. In fact, all that was happening to her, would appear to be her own doing, Even if she had a chance to explain herself, this performance would undoubtedly ruin her, and ponies would be talking about it for months.

The fabric shifted, and she watched in horror as her own blue spellcraft slowly lifted aside the folds of her dress, unveiling her naughty underthings to the whole room. She took back her earlier thoughts; This was the worst possible thing, the thing that would not only ruin her, but leave her unable to show her face in fashion circles for years to come.

Yet in the shifting shadows of the audience, dozens, nay hundreds of eyes gazed at her, hungrily, lustfully. They wanted her. This night, this moment, they weren't looking at her dress, they weren't thinking of their wives, or husbands. She was the center of all attention in the room, the object of every fantasy and desire, and in some dark corner of her mind, this thought carried a naughty, tingling thrill. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined such a thing, and yet…

In her dreams…

Her chain of thought broke as she felt the movement of silk over her hips, and then over the top of her buttocks. She flushed hotly, and whined into her gag as Inch by terrible inch, the misappropriated magic began removing her panties. Over her cutie-mark they slid, across her butt-cheeks, and onto her legs. Once there, they were lifted more swiftly up her raised legs, until they reached her hooves.

Rarity swallowed, staring up at the ceiling in blank refusal to accept her situation. The fabric of her dress folded under her, lifting her backside slightly higher to give the audience a better view. Her tail was trapped beneath her, covering nothing. She tried to close her legs, but the ribbons wrapped around them pulled tight across her shoulders and back — her struggles only arched her back more, and lifted her head more upright.

Half the Canterlot and fashion elite were staring at her exposed pussy. She hoped and prayed that the ground would swallow her, that the whole building would collapse and erase every memory of this moment. Yet upon glancing down at the hungry faces in the crowd, she found herself unable to pull her eyes away, unable to help but stare back at their watchful gazes, captivated by their raw, primal, lust.

She writhed slowly against her bonds, hoping against futility that she could work her way loose. So when her right foreleg came free, her spirit soared with renewed hope. She grabbed up at her horn, to pull away the accursed bindings, but then dropped straight back to despair when her leg stopped moving.

She was wearing white lace stockings, and they had suddenly stiffened, locking her leg in place.

She thrashed frantically, trying desperately to move her leg. Just a few inches more. It was right in front of her face, so unbearably close to touching her horn, her position infuriating beyond measure, but there was worse yet to come.

Rarity stared at her leg helplessly, as the fabric squeezed around her joints, twisting and pulling, forcing it to move against her will. Like a puppet on command, her leg folded back down, onto her chest, but it didn't stop there. Slowly, tauntingly, it slid a gentle S-shape, down from her chest, onto her belly, and from there, continued onwards.

“No.” Rarity shouted the word into the fabric filling her mouth. “No, no, no, no, NO!”

There was no stopping it, though. With the hall full of staring ponies and flashing cameras were her audience, the tip of her right hoof began to stroke small circles around her marehood. Hot, wet juices soaked into her stocking, making her realise that she was already dripping with arousal. She knew that everypony here would remember this night, for the rest of their lives — the night Rarity had masturbated right in front of all of them, for all of them. Then she would be famous, all right — more than some flavour-of-the-month fashionista, or some pop-singer with a short lived career. The name of Rarity would be whispered in legend for generations to come. Everypony would know her, as the most supreme slut in the history of fashion.

Teasing no more, the hoof dove in, vigorously rubbing her swollen clit. Rarity cried out from shock, her cheeks burning from the shame, the frustration, and the violation. Yet once the shock passed, the pleasure was indescribably intense, and try as she might, she couldn't look away from all the watchful eyes upon her. She stared back at them, mesmerised by the way they looked at her, feasting themselves on her humiliation and arousal.

Her body began to twitch and spasm, over and over as the rising orgasm wracked through her, her hips bucking uncontrollably into her hoof. She felt her own magic spread her pussy lips apart, to give her hoof better access, and her audience a better view. She moaned and writhed, as for all her protests, she could not deny: being the focus of so much lust was making her unbearably horny, her fluids pooling on the stage floor.

She kicked her legs, and her bonds forced them down, backward, behind her. She was quite a flexible mare, and as the ribbons pulled her hindhooves up towards her shoulder, this forced her to lift her hips clean off the stage, and into the air, her back arching to its limit as her hooves continued to pound her.

Then she began to cum. Oh, sweet Celestia, Luna, and anypony else, she was cumming so hard. Her cunt spasmed and she squirted, juices spraying across the stage. She screamed into her gag, and rolled her eyes back in her head. The moment seemed to stretch on for minute after minute, her juices going everywhere as the rogue forehoof continued to pleasure her. The climax dragged out until eventually her hindlegs bucked, and she collapsed to the stage. Her hoof didn't stop there, but it did slow right down to a gentle massage. As she lay there, panting and sobbing in disgrace, dozens of cameras and hungry stared continued to capture every moment.

The nightmarish dress, however, was not finished with her. Her hips twisted, her other forehoof forced into pushing her up off the floor. The fabric rolled her over onto her front, pulled her hindlegs forward, and thrust her rump high in the air, silken layers falling around her shoulders. The relentless assault of her uncontrolled hoof quickened again, already bringing her loins up to a sexual simmer, and she knew she would be forced to orgasm at least once more before the night ended.

Something seemed to break inside Rarity's mind, resistance giving way to uncontrolled lust. She was already ruined — nothing could erase what had already happened. Having come this far, there was no longer any reason for her not to embrace the dark excitement within her. If she was giving these ponies the show of their lives, she may as well enjoy giving it her all. She moaned with pleasure as her hips began to sway, her marehood seeking further stimulation, bucking against her hoof.

She did not notice the strange way the shadows in the audience shifted, pooling across the stage despite the heavy spotlights, gathering beneath the folds of her demonic garment. She was far too busy losing herself to the debauched pleasure of her situation, staring back at the audience all around her with pure lust in her eyes. She didn't notice the fabric loosening around her, releasing her from its control. She was already humping her own forehoof unrestrainedly, rubbing her clit with all she could muster, driving herself deeper into her second orgasm of the night.

When the second climax struck her, she howled with joy. They were all watching her. The were all watching her cum. Soon, all of Equestria would know what a horny little slut she was, and not only did she not fear this, she welcomed it. She closed her eyes to focus on this moment alone her body a tight ball of exploding pleasure. Moments later, her orgasms pushed her past her limits, her strength left her, her legs slid from under her, and she collapsed in a heap, still making small humping motions against her hoof.

For a time, she seemed to drift in semi-conciousness. When she opened her eyes, brief panic gripped her: everything was dark, and there was something covering her eyes. When she regained enough coherent thought to pull the sleep-mask from her face, and illuminate the bedside lamp, she found herself lying belly-down in her own bed, soaked with fluids. Her right forehoof was pinned underneath her, pressed against her sopping cunny. Her bedsheets were a bedraggled hot and sticky mess around her where she had pulled them in; Even her pillow was soaked with drool where she had been biting down on it.

Despite all this, it took her several minutes of confusion to realise that she had been dreaming. The experience had been so vivid, so intense, that she was almost prepared to swear that she had actually been there, even though she had not clue where “there” actually was.

When the confusion and heavy panting wore off, she looked at the clock, and sighed. It was too early to get up, too late to go back to bed. Not that she really had a bed to go back to, with the state it was in. She resigned herself to an early start — a long shower and a hearty breakfast, then she could get some extra work done on her latest project, before opening the boutique for the day.

By mid-morning, she was about ready to quit. Business was dead slow, and the night's excursions had left her tired, yet almost painfully horny. This made no sense to Rarity, as the condition of bedsheets indicated that she had orgasmed copiously several times over, yet the fact remained: she couldn't decide if what she wanted most in the world was to go back to sleep, or spend the rest of the day clopping herself silly. She was even considering a shopping splurge for a whole new collection of sex toys, just to help her get off.

That said, she would not be the successful businessmare she was today if she was in the habit of closing shop on a whim. She would run the store for her advertised business hours, no more or less, before taking the time for personal gratification. Lots and lots of personal gratification. She could wait, even if the complete lack of customers made the morning drag on endlessly.

So when the door eventually swung open and shut, Rarity put on the friendliest, liveliest face she could muster, and cantered over.

“Welcome to the Carousel Bou-ou-oh-” — here she struggled to stifle a yawn — “-tique, where everything is — Princess Luna!?”

The exclamation was not entirely unwarranted, for that was indeed who now stood before the befuddled fashionista. Barely had the words left her mouth before Rarity dropped to the floor in a deep bow, horrified at her own breach of etiquette.

“Please rise, Miss— Rarity.” There was an odd catch in princess's words, but tone was as regal and commanding as ever, if considerably quieter than usual — almost what most ponies would consider a normal volume. While Rarity did as bidden, Luna continued. “I do not wish to intrude upon you, but I must ask a… personal question.” Luna scanned the empty room “Is there some-place we can discuss this privately?”

Rarity nodded “Right this way, Your Majesty” she gestured towards the kitchen “if you would grant me a moment, I shall close up to ensure we are not disturbed”.

Luna nodded, and Rarity hurried to the front door. Her heart was racing, it was not hard to imagine what “The Princess of Dreams” might wish to speak to her about, after last night. Surely, though, Princess Luna was not in the habit of spying on such dreams, this had to be a coincidence, right?

Having set the sign on her door, she hurried back to her kitchen, where the lunar princess was already seated. Luna gestured for Rarity to sit also, and, nervously, she did so. Luna then cleared her throat.

“I shall be direct, ” Luna pronounced solemnly “Miss Rarity, last night, did you experience an erotic dream?”

By a strange coincidence unknown to either pony, exactly one response rose to Rarity's mind.

“Oh, fuck!” she thought.