Rarity’s inspiration had run dry, so she was slumming it at the Ponyville swap meet in search of ideas. She ambled amongst the stalls and tables, carefully considering the various wares. Vintage clothes? Interesting, but so overdone. Stacks of old pots? She found a small one, with a lovely bluish-green glaze, which she purchased and slipped into her saddlebags. She could keep safety pins in there, if nothing else. Giclée prints of patriotic slogans and farm equipment? Not likely. Beer can airplanes? No.
Rarity nibbled daintily on the caramel apple she’d purchased, careful not to get anything sticky on her fur. It was a nice day to be out, but this simply wasn’t working for her. Perhaps a day trip to Canterlot was in order?
She paused as she passed the scarf stall. She knew in her heart that there was something in there for her. She nodded politely at the hunched old mare tending it, and stepped inside.
An orange plaid flannel muffler. A puce, hoof-knitted shrug. A moth-eaten, yellowed lace shawl she wouldn’t use as a funeral shroud. She shook her head. As an artist, she understood the importance of listening to her heart, but this time it had lead her astray. In fact, this whole swap meet adventure had been a waste of time.
Then she saw it.
She didn’t know what it was about the red scarf. It was a lovely shade, certainly. Was it silk? She lifted the fabric with her magic, and ran her hooves slowly over it. Silk. The finest silk. Something about the way it felt made the hairs of her mane stand on end. Rarity glanced back to see that the proprietress wasn’t watching, and indulged herself, running the silk sensuously against her cheeks. The feeling gave her a tiny, wicked thrill far further back in her body than artistic inspiration usually dwelt. In fact, she was feeling… rather moist, to be honest. She decided she had better stop what she was doing before it got embarrassing.
She pulled the scarf from the rack. It was very long. Far too long for anypony smaller than Applejack’s brother to wear, and it would clash violently with his fur. After folding it into a careful bundle, she trotted up to the front of the stall.
“How much for this, please?”
The crone — Rarity felt bad thinking of her as a crone, but she really did look like one, especially considering the way her black robe accentuated the ghostly pallor of her fur. Anyhow, the crone pony cackled softly and whispered, “For you? Only one bit, lovely lady.” She rubbed her hooves together, and grinned a gap-toothed grin at Rarity.
Rarity levitated a small yellow gem out of her saddlebags. “I’m sorry, this is the smallest I have left.” She placed it in the old pony’s hoof. “You can keep the change.”
The crone stared at the gem, which would cover the entire fee for her stall for the weekend, with money left over. She tucked it into a fold of her robe, and said, “Can I… see that scarf? Just for a second?”
Rarity levitated the scarf over, and the crone quickly held what seemed to be a heated, whispered conversation with it. Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right, darling?” she asked.
“Oh, quite all right, dearie. There you go. All set.” The crone gave Rarity what she was fairly sure was a salacious wink. “Do enjoy your purchase.”
“That’s… lovely,” she replied, tucking the scarf into her saddlebags and holding the core of her caramel apple out to the crone. “Do you have a trash can?”
✭☆✭☆✭☆✭
It was very late when Rarity finally went to bed.
She had purchased a bolt of red silk on the way home — not as high quality as the scarf, but it would do, at least for a prototype. Wrapping the scarf around the neck of a mannequin — so it can watch, she thought, chuckling to herself — she had set to work cutting, weaving, twisting, and stitching, without even making any sketches first. She made the dress to look as if it had been tied around the wearer with twisting strands spiraling around the neck and legs. It was not yet complete when Rarity’s stomach rumbled so powerfully that it snapped her out of her creative fugue. A glance at the clock told her it was well after midnight.
“The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” she sighed, lifting her glasses to rub at her burning eyes with an aching hoof.
A search of the kitchen turned up a couple of slices of week-old scallion pancake and a rather grainy apple, which she washed down with the dregs of a bottle of red wine. She then collected her new scarf, stumbled upstairs, brushed her teeth, and fell into bed. She drifted off almost instantly, the scarf cuddled against her chest.
✭☆✭☆✭☆✭
Rarity awoke from a desperate dream of mysterious kisses and teasing caresses with a start. The scarf had somehow become tangled around her legs, and the ends were rubbing against her cheeks, pressing softly into the round, tender flesh. The feeling sent shivers down her back all the way to the base of her tail.
She opened her mouth to moan, and the scarf slid inside. It ran gently over her tongue, wrapping it up and tugging on it with a gentle, very slightly painful pressure. Rarity’s eyes snapped open. The scarf was moving of its own accord! She glanced around the room, terrified that some unicorn intruder had entered her home and was using the scarf to molest her. When the scarf felt her panicked movements, it slowed, and loosened, its ends running in placating strokes over her withers.
“It’s… it’s you?” Rarity said to the scarf, trying to take in what was happening to her.
One end of the scarf rose up, bent like the head of a snake, and bobbed as though nodding.
“Oh.” Rarity bit her bottom lip. Well. This was unusual. Certainly, stranger things happened in Ponyville every day. But… “Well, whatever. I might as well go with it. Come over here and kiss me, you fabric-y fool.” She gave it her stallion-melting eyelash flutter, and it dove towards her, both ends slipping effortlessly into her mouth.
Rarity was rather surprised the fabric wasn’t becoming sodden. Spit rolled down her chin as the scarf caressed her in ways she’d never thought possible, or even thought to desire. It stroked the curve of her lips, the roof of her mouth, and the inside of her cheeks all the way to the top of her throat. The roof of her mouth tingled with pleasure. She arched her back, and the scarf tightened its grip on her legs. It slid over her belly sensuously. Folds formed in the fabric over her nipples, tweaking them delightfully, rubbing back and forth across them until her skin was hot from friction.
“Mnnnnnngggh!” she moaned, and the scarf tightened around her legs so much that it hurt, its fabric thrumming with a wave of what she assumed was pleasure. It slid back from her mouth, and they both lay there, as if in shock. Rarity was gasping.
The part of the scarf sliding over her nipples began to slide lower, toward her intimate parts, and Rarity’s heart froze. “No, don’t!” she gasped in horror. “It’s almost impossible to get stains out of silk!”
But the scarf just stroked her cheek, and slid itself teasingly over her outer folds.
“Well, if you’re sure,” said Rarity, smiling mischievously, “but do take care. We only just met. It would be a shame if you were to ruin yourself.”
The two ends of the scarf slid up her cheeks to her temples, and Rarity felt a tingle as thoughts rushed into her mind. Thoughts of tangling. Tightness. Restriction. Things that resonated deeply within Rarity’s loins. Things she had dreamed of, but never dared tell a lover that she desired.
“Yes!” Rarity gasped, stroking a fold of the scarf with one hoof. “I trust you. Utterly. You may,” she moaned, tossing her head back dramatically, “you may do as you please with my body.”
The scarf bounced excitedly against her barrel. One end darted down to wrap around the root of her tail, lifting it and bringing it down in three solid, deliberate thumps.
“Yes, darling, I understand. I don’t think it will be necessary, but I’ll remember.”
Rarity let her eyes drift closed, and rolled fully onto her back. The scarf levitated itself up into midair, and deftly weaved itself around her fetlocks, knotting them up so delicately that it wasn’t until Rarity tried to move one that she realized how tightly they were tied. She realized she looked like a calf Applejack had trussed up at a rodeo, and the thought made moisture trickle out of her sex and down the cleft of her buttocks.
The scarf went to the far ends of her body. The near end caressed the delicate front of her throat before slowly wrapping itself in a spiral around her neck, just like the design of her new dress, and began to press itself into her mouth.
In her mouth, the scarf knotted itself, forming a sort of long, bulbous gag. More silk somehow slid through the knot until her mouth was full, the fabric straining at her jaw and cheeks. The fullness felt strange, but not at all unpleasant. She took a deep breath through her nose, just to make sure she could, and then relaxed into the feeling.
Meanwhile, the other end of the scarf had begun doing some most interesting things to her. Multiple layers of silk were sweeping over the lips of her drooling, winking pussy, and a special, tiny little knot had formed over her clit, rubbing it with firm, rapid insistence. The motion sent jolts of pleasure through her body, and soon, almost too soon, Rarity’s first orgasm rushed through her. The warm, blinding pleasure made her pussy spasm and her legs tug helplessly against their bonds. The scarf held still, cradling her, firmly pressing against her clit to draw out her pleasure as long as it could.
Then, as if unable to contain itself any longer, the scarf dove inside of her. A string of thick knots pushed past her nether lips, filling her marehood to its very limit, and then growing, as the knot in her mouth had. Soon she was aching, her pussy straining to accommodate a mass of fabric larger than any lover she’d ever known.
But the scarf wasn’t done. It slid an end out of her pussy, down her taint, and to Rarity’s shock, right up her ass.
Rarity gasped, clenching her tailhole nervously, but soon found the penetration didn’t hurt at all. The slender tendril of fabric thickened until her ass, like her mouth and pussy, was filled to just the very edge of pain without going over. The ass and pussy knots rubbed against one another through the thin wall of flesh in between them. The strange sensation made Rarity’s tightly bound knees tremble with delight.
Then the scarf began to thrust. Rarity felt it constrict around her body, digging into her hide as the three probes inside of her thrust rapidly, making her body jerk and jiggle from the force. She arched her back, rib cage rising and falling deeply, her heart hammering until she thought it would burst. The sheets beneath her were soaked with her sweat, her spit, and her pussy juice. She might have found this distasteful at other times, but tonight the wetness and the mingled smells drove her to the heights of frenzy. She was being taken, roughly, in every hole, as she never had been before, pushed with a gentle but violent precision to the very brink of what she could endure.
The knot around her clit began to move again, and very soon Rarity was coming, harder than the last time. She screamed into her gag. Her flanks shuddered. The muscles of her thighs twisted, tugging at her restraints. It occurred to her to wonder if the scarf could come, as well, or if it would just keep going until she couldn’t take any more.
Her question was soon answered. Rarity was racked as much with pain as with pleasure at this point — the parts of her that weren’t growing raw from friction were sore from twisting against her restraints. But she could feel another orgasm drawing close. A mind-shattering, almost agonizing sensation washed over her as she came for a third time, and at the same time she felt the scarf suddenly grow stiff. The end in her mouth popped free, spraying her own spit across her face, and unwrapped itself enough to push itself up against her temple. Thoughts other than her own entered her mind, and she felt it: she felt her lover come. She felt what it was like to be wrapped around herself, and felt an alien bliss wash through her — a bliss not born of physical stimulation, but of joy at her body’s beauty, and the intensity of her passion.
And then the scarf released. Rarity squirmed, wanting to roll out of the puddle of sexual fluids soaking her sheets, but she was simply unable to move. Her muscles felt weak and rubbery from exertion. By concentrating her will, she was able to roll onto her side, where she found the scarf, now still again. She stroked it and pressed it lovingly into her belly. It was clean, dry, unknotted, and unwrinkled, as though nothing had happened. Had it all been a dream?
“Oh well,” Rarity mumbled as she drifted off to sleep again, “I shall simply have to sleep with you again tomorrow and find out, won’t I, scarf?”
