From thin ice to intimate confession.
From thin ice to intimate confession.
“I miss the sun.”
To any other pony saying something like that is a death sentence… I am not any other pony.
“What was that beloved?” the rich, familiar purr sounds from behind me and just moments later I feel a comfortable weight touch against my side. Smiling, I lean into the warmth – yes, warmth.
Contrary to popular belief, my Nightmare is warm and her fur soft. Not bristling or sharp, and there are no scales beneath her coat, just pale skin under soft black fur.
“I said I miss the sun.”
She frowns. I don’t turn to look at her, nor can I see her face but I know she is frowning. After all, it is my duty to know my Mistress.
“Why?” she tries to keep her tone neutral but I can hear the hurt and anger leaking into her voice, as well as feel the air around her grow thick with hostile magic. I am trotting on thin ice, if I’m not carful I’ll earn myself a beating.
“I don’t know… I love the night, but sometimes… I don’t know…”
“Is my moon no longer enough for you?” it’s meant to sound like a playful jest, but I recognise it as one of her tests. After all these years of obedience and service, she still doubts me; still questions my loyalty and keeps my leash short.
I nuzzle her neck, my cheek rubbing against her withers in an attempt to placate her. For good measure I throw in a sound of contentment and submission, it comes out rather like a purr.
And it works. Of course it works: I know my Mistress.
I wonder if she realises. If she knows that I am so intimately familiar with her – her mannerisms, her tells, her mind… her body – that I can not only read her without having to look, but also manipulate her with such ease.
No, not manipulate… it’s not my place to be in control.
Sooth her, maybe…
Yes, that’s it, I ground her. I calm her rage and paranoia, and anchor her to rationality.
“Never, my Queen. Your moon’s beauty and majesty is second only to your own.”
She huffs, it’s meant to be indignant. “Flattery shall gain you nothing.”
That’s not true. For any pony else it would be, but not for me. “It’s not flattery. Just fact.” And it is.
To me anyway. I honestly believe that there is nothing – in this world or any other – that could ever be more awe inspiringly beautiful than my Queen; my Mistress; my Nightmare.
“And yet you seek the sun?”
“No. I miss the sun.” I crane my neck up and lick at her throat. I can sense her surprise, it is rarely me who initiates any form of… intimacy. “I miss its warmth on my back.” my hoof reaches around her neck and I lift myself to my hind legs so that I can look her in the eye “I miss the colours it painted the sky as it rose.” I lean forward and lower my voice to a hushed, husky whisper.
Her anger and anticipation grow at my words and actions retrospectively. I must admit I find it rather amusing.
“I miss waiting to see the stars as it sets.” Her ear flicks every time my breath brushes across it and she is very close to either punishing me for my insubordination or growing tired of my teasing and taking me where we stand.
I’m hoping for the latter. Being punished is not nearly as kinky or enjoyable as it sounds, usual she beats me – quite brutally – or on the few occasions that she isn’t in the mood to deal out physical abuse she settles for torture spells. She is very skilled when it comes to torture…
I still remember once, shortly after her conquest of Equestria, she ordered members of her guard to discipline me. It didn’t end well for them, she had assumed that since I never defended myself against her I would do the same to the guards. She had been mistaken. I – quite literally – tore them apart… I actually think there’s still a broken horn stuck in the ceiling…
Expertly swallowing back a chuckle I remind myself of the task at hoof and nip at my Mistress’s twitching ear. “But,” where was I again…? Oh, right, missing the sun “I will happily spend the rest of my life missing hot summer days and spring flowers.” She growls, no doubt at the reminder of the plant life her moon can’t sustain. “I will gladly spend the rest of my life serving you under the moonlight – if that is what you want from me.”
I pull away slightly lick her jaw, “I will be your will-less slave –”
Scraping my teeth across the end of her muzzle I speak on “– your blood hungry general –”
Finely I press my lips to hers, my mouth immediately opening to allow her serpentine tongue to dominate mine. I almost lose myself completely when her deliberately sharpened fangs graze my flesh leaving me – and her –tasting my own blood. But with a wonton moan, I pull away, panting “– or your dirty little whore.” I probably could have found a better was to phrase that but it gets my point across and right now I’m too… preoccupied to worry about tact. “All you have to do is tell me what you want.”
She pushes me away with more force than would have been necessary.
“Is that what you think I want?” she’s furious. Apparently I’ve done something to anger her… but there’s something wrong, despite her clear rage I don’t sense any hostility in her ether…
It is rare for me to be incapable of reading her so there is nothing I can do but get back to my hooves and listen.
“Is that what you think you are to me?”
She advances on me and I brace myself for another blow…
I receive none. Instead she gently rests her horn against my own…
…
…I’m not sure what to think… such an intimate – no, intimacy is nothing new between us – such an... affectionate gesture…
…
She leans lower and kisses me.
Again, I don’t know what to think. Her lips are... gentle; not hungry or forceful, not driven by lust or even passion… if I didn’t know better I might even say they were… loving?
But I know better… right?
“You have not answered my question?” she whispers against my lips and with a hoof cupping my face she guides my gaze to meat hers. For her to be so gentle is… strange, foreign… I’m not sure if I like it… “Why is that?”
Her eyes are so soft and I find myself unable to conger one of my usual lies, instead it is the truth that drifts into the air uncertainly. “I’m scared…”
“Of me?”
I want to say yes – to shout it. I want to be able to say that it’s her I’m afraid of, because it should be her. But it’s not, “Of what will happen if I give the wrong answer…”
This isn’t right! I should be lying in a pool of my own blood by now! Her terrifying form towering over me as I whimper at her hooves, my throat to raw to do anything louder. I don’t enjoy suffering – far from it – but if I’m not then there’s something wrong. I was disrespectful so why is my mistress being so *kind?!*
“I will correct you.” That’s it! It’s a trick, a trap! It doesn’t matter what I answer, it will be wrong! Then she will have the satisfaction of having beaten my mind rather than my body. “So tell me, my little Twilight, is that really what you think I want from you?”
I nod confidant in my answer, “Yes, Mistress. Yes, it is.”
“You are mistaken…” she pushes me back – softly this time – guiding more than forcing me to sit, then she pushes farther and I am on my back. “There is something else I want from you, something rather hard to come by,” she’s standing over me – just standing, not looming – the moonlight dancing through her ethereal mane and illuminating her godly form. My lungs have, apparently, ceased functioning. “would you be willing to give it to me?”
“Anything.” I reply so breathlessly that it sounds pleading.
She kisses me again, deeper and firmer than the one before but slowly, and mindful of her fangs. Her fore hoof caresses my side, traveling up and down my body with tantalizing leisure. Never before has she been this caring when dealing with me. “Your heart.” Her warm breath washes over me, the sickly sweet scent of death that lingered in it only adding to the sweetness of this moment. “Do you think I can have that?” she trails her tongue along the sensitive flesh of one of the worse scars on my chest. A scare that she herself is responsible for.
“On…” I cut myself off with a gasp as her hoof finally reaches its aching, wanton destination. “On… a platter.”
“And your love?” she stops the attentions of her hoof leaving me to whine in near painful frustration and desire. It takes me a moment longer than it should to realise that she will only continue once she hears my answer.
“It is already yours, my queen.” suddenly she’s moving again, sending waves of raw pleasure cascading through my body.
The last coherent though that stumbles through my addled mind is, ‘Anything for my beloved Nightmare.' And then I am lost to the world, swallowed by ecstasy.
