The Trials and Tribulations of a Princess in Heat

Twilight Sparkle realised that she’d made a mistake by the time she reached the end of the street. A few years ago, when she was an ordinary unicorn mare, she would have had no problem keeping her urges under control. A few decades before, even some hypothetical alicorn in heat could have done her shopping in peace, if maybe needing to find herself a moment of solitude to collect her thoughts once or twice. But Ponyville had changed a lot in the last twenty years, and Twilight was only just coming to understand the traditions she and her friends had helped to overturn.

Once upon a time, Ponyville had been strictly segregated. Mares ran the shops, and all of the Mayor’s important officials were mares. Some people said that even the word ‘mayor’ was a contraction of the earlier title ‘head mare’. So when anypony was in a certain condition, she could happily visit the town and take care of whatever work or day-to-day business she needed without any chance she’d pick up on the distinctive scent of a stallion’s sweat. Some ladies, it was said, simply couldn’t control themselves if there was a hint of male pheromones within half a mile. Meanwhile, the stallions stayed in their own homes, or did mysterious jobs that the mares knew nothing about in male-only settlements away from the town. Whether it was in the sweat lodges on the outskirts of the Everfree Forest, with the wandering Cloud Caravans, or at the Barracks of the Royal Guard, the stallions would be kept out of the way where they couldn’t cause any trouble.

For many years, some had protested at this treatment. It was like the tribal days all over again, every stallion being told that they weren’t permitted to interact with the opposite sex, that they had no communication skills anyway, that a stallion’s place was in the home. Eventually, civilisation began to work towards a compromise. Some stallions were allowed to do their own shopping, if there was no mare to do it for them. Shops that would welcome them put up discreet signs, and the storekeepers would take time off for any days on which they felt unable to maintain a proper degree of decorum. And at the same time, some stallions opened up stores of their own, and the law only required them to advertise the fact with a sign in the window so that the less strong-willed mares could shop somewhere else.

It had been Twilight herself who came up with a slogan about the weak of mind staying home. For her first estrus, and most years after that, she’d felt nothing more than a distracting urge to stare at the Royal Guards’ flanks; and maybe read a little literature that was more explicit than her usual tastes. Nobody could blame a mare for that, it was a perfectly normal part of nature. She’d thought that because it was easy for her, it would be the same for everyone. If a mare couldn’t control itself it must mean that her mind was deficient, or she had no morals, or she was just not making enough effort. So she’d pushed for the town to be open and accepting of everypony. Whether it was sex-crazed stud stallions like Raging Blossom (as long as they kept most of their activities behind consenting closed doors), shy guys like Satin Cloud who’d rather avoid the machismo of stallion camps, or female minds born in colts’ bodies like Pinkie Pie. Everyone was welcome in ponyville, everyone could spend time with whoever they wanted.

Except the mares who chose not to resist the influence of their hormonal cycles. Twilight thought that was quite fair, because it was obviously their own problem to get over, their own choice to make. But now she was an alicorn, and it seemed that as well as the obvious wings she was now endowed with longer life, keener senses, and super-powered hormones that could melt her finely honed mind into a puddle of lust. She’d become exactly the sort of pony she used to look down on, the weakest mind in town. Was it like this for everypony?

Still, she would be able to control herself in public for sure. She knew everypony was watching. She could feel their eyes on her, waiting for the slightest little slip in her demeanour. If she couldn’t act normally now, it would be too humiliating to think about. She was sure, as she passed ponies she spoke to every day, that fear of that would be all the motivation she needed to stay focused on the things she had to do. She’d be like a stallion in a university storage closet, worrying about all the people walking past so much that he couldn’t get it up.

By the time she got to the end of the street, she could feel the pressure building up inside her. She had to touch, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to find somewhere out of the public eye to relieve this urge, but she focused on the people all around. She knew she couldn’t give in, and she could feel the determination stiffen inside her, pushing her forward. Every time the desire surged stronger, her need to remain decent thrust back in counterpoint, allowing her to just about keep control of her own body.

Now she was in a more densely populated place. She was aware of the steady dripping of desire down her legs, and pressed her thighs together tightly. She just hoped nobody would be able to see under her tail. She could see the faces of friends and acquaintances, and she could just imagine how shameful it would be if they noticed. But they didn’t bat an eyelid. Two mares chatted over tea without so much as glancing in her direction. A busy stallion…

Her introspection stopped, he careful analysis of the scene stopped. Shame faded in an instant, and she didn’t even think about it as she turned slightly away, looking back at the stallion so that he couldn’t meet her eye without getting a good view of her flanks. Her tail swished to one side, giving just one lucky guy a full view of her eager sex. She winked seductively at…

‘No!’ she berated herself. That was even worse than using her magic to pleasure herself in public. She couldn’t present herself like that, not to a sta– not to a pony who she knew wasn’t interested. She quickly dived into a side alley, hoping with all her heart that nobody had seen her acting like that. To have flashed and offered herself to Mr Cake of all ponies, it was practically unthinkable. Staying at home and trying to think her way out of this problem obviously wasn’t going to work, and hoping that the knowledge of everyone’s eyes on her would keep her libido down wasn’t an option as long as there was even one male, no matter who, in the crowd.

There was only one option left. She couldn’t let her work get so far behind, so she’d be rushing to complete her research and do the first preparations for the celebrations at the same time. She’d have to find some way to satisfy these urges, and hope that would make them fade a little.

Even here, in a back street that would see few people walking, she could pick up the scent of a stallion in the distance. She wished so much that she hadn’t been so eager to let them integrate into society, in her ignorant desire to let her friend be accepted. She had no way of knowing just how many mares had suffered the problems she was now facing, because she hadn’t even tried to understand their plight.

The scent got stronger and more distinct as she got closer. She hadn’t meant to follow it, but her legs seemed to act without any thought as she had been regretting her actions. The scent was strong as she got close, stronger than she’d ever noticed before. But after a moment, she came to realise that it wasn’t the scent of one stallion, but of several. And stale sweat too. Was there a gym down here, somewhere she’d never known about? That would be perfect, there was nothing like good exercise to get a guy in the mood for…

No!, she couldn’t act like that. She couldn’t go down and take advantage of some unsuspecting colt, or a stallion whose mind was as desperately confused as hers. It just wouldn’t be right, but her legs kept on moving.

Eventually she arrived by a sign. It wasn’t a gym, but a bar. Maybe. The sign was battered and stained with old beer and unguessable emissions to the point that the name ‘Twin Oaks’ was almost unreadable. It also had a crudely painted depiction of manly stallions posing. A gay bar? Or someone who’d thought of the particular needs of certain mares?

A quick sniff revealed that the doorposts were liberally smeared with stale sweat. That could explain the terrible state of the paintwork, and the general unpleasantness of the stink that sickened her even as she couldn’t help moving closer. Someone had deliberately marked the place with the sweat of stallions, and had done the same for weeks without washing it down. It was awful, but she couldn’t resist it.

“Oh, Celestia!” a tangle-maned black and red mare gasped as she opened the door, “I kinda been hoping you’d be here, babe. Your season’s got to come sooner or later.” Twilight stared in shock, but she knew she couldn’t possibly hide it. She was standing with her hind legs apart, tail raised, and she knew there wasn’t a hope in the world of presenting a respectable pose with all the pheromones in the air. Knowing the scientific basis of these urges didn’t help at all when it came to suppressing them.

“The Princess is in season,” the uncouth mare hollered back to the inside of the bar, making even Applejack seem like a dignified lady by comparison, “See if Brick and Indisputable got any stamina left. This filly needs it bad.” and then she turned to meet Twilight’s horrified stare, “Don’t worry yourself, hon. You look like you got a need, and where there’s a need, there’s someone to fill you up. Discretion is our watchword, I assure ya, nobody ever needs know. My daddy told me growing up about the day the Princess stepped into our place, and he swore me to be secret even back then.”

The madame – Velvet Desire, she called herself – carried on prattling in that vulgar tone as Twilight followed her inside. Saying things like the longevity of an alicorn meant they couldn’t go into heat every year, or they’d be up to their necks in children, but that when it came it was enough to make up for twenty years of calm. That in Velvet’s father’s time, a princess had come in twice before she learned a magic that would let her wrest control back from her hormones. That there was no shame in indulging what nature demanded, and it was good for you to play once in a while.

Downstairs, Desire didn’t lead her into the bar, but a side room with no furniture but cushions. And a rack at one side, with gags and suggestively shaped object, and – Twilight gasped, in shock or lust she didn’t know – the most taboo of all items, an antique riding crop. She could smell a stallion approaching, and her legs wouldn’t let her run away.

She couldn’t run. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t fight these urges.

She couldn’t wait.