Prodigal Daughter

”I must say Miss Mayor, I've seen no place as soothing as Ponyville. It's so...tranquil,” said the Princess as she was watching the picturesque landscape of Equestrian countryside, covered with wheat as far as the eye could see, the only island in the sea of gold being the lone ancient oak, its branches reaching out into the blue and white of the summer sky.

The Mayor nearly jumped to attention, almost knocking over her chair, the table and all the tea on it. ”Oh Princess, we are honoured-”

”Just 'Cadence' is alright with me, we are here privately. The...formalities at Canterlot were killing me,” interrupted her majesty while she and her special guest were preventing a major tea spill with unicorn magic.

The Mayor calmed down a little. ”They say,” she hazarded dusting off a joke, ”that when good Canterlot ponies die they go to Ponyville.”

”Perhaps,” giggled Cadence, and continued the theological speculation with a grin. ”And where do bad Canterlot ponies go to when they die?”

Fleur chimed in without looking up from her teapot. ”They go to Canterlot.”

***

In Canterlot, a colt screamed and squirmed in the chair as Rarity forced another bead inside him. ”Six,” she snickered, caressing the inside of his thigh with her free hoof. His limbs were tied to the chair's back and legs, forcing him into a position where he was wide open and vulnerable to the ivory unicorn's charms. And despite his protests and wild swaying, Rarity kept tormenting his erect member with a silken cloth, which made a tight fit with the mare's magic gripping it so strongly. It coiled around the penis, rubbing its entire surface with every miniscule stroke that sent him into a fit of spasms, causing his skin to sweat, his hips to quiver, his vision to get cloudy, his breath to go shallow and his buttocks to tighten – the last of which only forced the beads deeper, agitating his prostate. He begged for mercy, he wanted the excruciating pleasure to end. But the white pony's gifts were not generous enough for that. With every creeping stroke, the colt clenched his teeth only to give in and start moaning seconds later. Rarity leaned and kissed the belly of the brave little darling in front of her. Her lips burned him like a brand. He begged her to stop. She just chuckled, and drove the seventh bead into his rear. She looked in his teary eyes with admiration. "You are such a lovely little angel,” purred the pony as her hoof moved to please her aching marehood. Rarity closed her eyes and pressed herself against the colt's chest, feeling the thumping of his tiny heart. The quick rubs of her hoof and the sounds of pain and pleasure built up her lust, making her knees go weak and her head go dizzy. She gave him another painful stroke and fell on her back to the floor, thrashing wildly as she satisfied her burning loins. She opened her eyes and the sight of the anguished victim drove her over the edge.

Rarity forced her hoof deeper inside her, arched her back and gasped as the orgasm came.

The colt was not so lucky. He was still shaking from the overwhelming arousal when Rarity got up without interrupting the routine of rubbing him between the spread legs. She grinned, savouring the sight, and let go of her magic. She would not make it too easy.

The opening door illuminated the dimly lit room, allowing a breeze of untarnished air into the sultry atmosphere, heavy with fragrances of sweat, fear, and perfume. Casting a long shadow over Rarity and the colt, Fancypants stood in the entrance, his face still and slowly going from the colt to his third guest today – a blue-coated, gray-maned filly, who was currently looking, wide-eyed with terror, at Rarity's captive, the sight bringing her to the verge of breaking into a scream. The white mare turned back to the blue-coated, gray-maned colt and pouted. ”You didn't tell me you have a sister, naughty,” she sneered and delivered a backhoof smash across his face, knocking him over to the floor along with the chair. The filly rushed to her brother while the fashion pony removed the beads and bondage unceremoniously with her magic. She let her words drip and creep over the filly hugging her still crying brother. ”Now, darlings...” A hoof over her mouth didn't let her finish.

Fancypants glanced solemnly at Rarity and approached the exhausted colt, petting his mane with a hoof and smiling paternally. The foals clung tighter to each other. Fancypants kept smiling warmly, and leaned to the colt, moving his muzzle next to the colt's ear, allowing the dew of his warm exhalation to settle on the colt's ear and neck. However, instead of going further, he just whispered a few words, barely moving his lips, and turned away without awaiting a reply, choosing to head for one of the elegant chaises in the far end of the room.

Rarity stared at him for a moment, bewildered, and followed, catching up and asking him with indignation, ”what was that supposed to be? Don't tell me you're going to just lay down there?”

"Oh Rarity, but of course I am,” replied Fancypants in his usual, jovial tone with a hint of amusement. ”We should always mind the little ones' needs my friend, and those two have not seen each other for quite a lot of time! What kind of a horrible pony would be needed to spoil such a reunion,” he went on with a caustic smile while sprawling himself on the chaise. Rarity sighed and laid herself on the fainting couch next to it. The elegant stallion produced a bottle of wine and poured a glass for Rarity and himself, and while the mare accepted, she still had an irritated expression. ”Oh do not worry my friend, we have an entire night ahead of us!” He propped his head on his hoof and closed his eyes just as the first shout of surprise and disbelief reached their ears. ”And I hate my dinner served cold,” he declared, smiling slightly and inhaling the aroma of the red wine.

Rarity shifted her body to be able to see the source of the commotion. Her eyes lit up as she saw the scene in front of her, the two entangled foal bodies wrestling on the floor, the colt on top and with intent that seemed obvious enough to the mare. The filly struggled to get free, but she was obviously weaker and her brother purposefully forced himself into a more comfortable position, immobilising her under himself and holding down her front hooves with grim determination. His sister bucked and cried ”Stop!” over and over, but the only reaction she got was that he looked away.

”What did you tell him,” Rarity turned to Fancypants with newly found, excited delight.

”Oh, just a trifle,” chuckled the stallion. ”I took the liberty of informing him that if he would not make love to his sister, the privilege would be all yours.” Rarity burst into a pearly laughter upon hearing this, and returned to watching the spectacle, her front hoof wandering slowly into between her legs.

The filly gasped for air as her brother's belly rubbed agains hers, and something hard, hot and threatening started poking between her legs. He had her locked in his embrace, his muzzle buried in her chest. She could not see his eyes. She bucked and flailed her head, but it was helpless. Then, she felt the tip of the boy part go into her. She let out a stupefied squeak of shock that provoked a series of half-moaned giggles from the other side of the room.

Rarity and Fancypants watched gaily as the colt's hips swayed back and forth, provoking rhytmical, high-pitched squealing with every thrust. The filly kept bucking spasmodically, but it lost some of her previous vigor. Her mouth, forced open by the intense panting, complemented her rolled back eyes full of despair – the image nearly drove Rarity over the edge. As for the colt, he was silent, but his sister could feel her chest getting slightly wet with what was his tears. He increased the pace, pushing himself ever harder into his sibling, and finally, after some more effort, he felt something coming, the discharge he so fruitlessly expected that night. He grunted, and Rarity purred with satisfaction of orgasm as she witnessed his final push and the pained whine of his victim. He pulled out as quickly as possible, spattering his sister's thighs with semen, then collapsing to the floor to gaze at her with shame.

The filly stared blankly into the ceiling for a moment, then, barely holding her tears, crawled away, leaving a few white spots on the carpet. To Rarity's surprise, she was headed for Fancypants' chaisse, onto which she climbed – he moved to make room for her. The filly gambled and hugged the only pony in the room that did not seem to be some sort of oppressor, and he returned the hug, embracing her with his mighty front leg. Reassured a little, she sobbed, burying her head in Fancypants' embrace. Her brother, meanwhile, was too tired to even weep. Soon both were asleep.

”And that, Rarity, is how you conduct politics,” sniggered Fancypants.

The white mare giggled. ”Oh darling, soirees with you must be highly renowned for their educational qualities.”

He sighed with resignation. ”Sarcasm aside, I would be delighted if the society consisted of ponies that would visit me with an aim different than shameless sycophancy.”

”I thought they visit because they respect your charitable patronage over orphanages, don't they?”

”I was just speaking of shameless sycophancy. These are of the kind of that just closes their eyes and thinks of profits,” the stallion stated dryly.

”Pllease Fancypants, if they don't like it, how come you're not rotting in prison?”

”I am here a little longer than you, filly,” said the stallion with growing irritation at something, ”and I can boast achieving a position in which I am virtually unassailable. And they have enough low cunning to realise that.”

Rarity attempted to ease his irritation. ”There MUST be some who enjoy it, though-”

”Certainly,” he waved his hoof dismissively, ”but that is mostly the old guard. Those...nouveaux-riches, they are an u t t e r disappointment. They know the price of everything and the value of nothing, they are just...hoarding trophies and proof of their being high on the social ladder.” He became increasingly upset as he spoke.

”For somepony at the top of it,” Rarity noted, ”you seem terribly concerned with those below.”

”Oh Rarity, I dare say I am the only pony who pays any heed to the issues of-” He was interrupted by a flash of a letter appearing in front of him. He muttered something in annoyance and opened it, skimming through and throwing it to the table. He let out another sigh.

”What was that?”

”Nothing important,” he replied absent-mindedly. He stared blankly into the wall, unwittingly petting the filly that curled up next to him and was smiling weakly through her  dreams.

Rarity grinned. ”Oh darling, I am quite certain that it was something. Can I see it?”

”No,” he replied with slight annoyance.

”Oh what is it? You fear I'm going to be jealous or indiscrete? Didn't you consider yorself 'unassailable',” mocked Rarity.

He looked back to her, raising his eyebrows and curling his lips into a delicate scowl. ”Hmph. Very well, feel free to read it,” he declared as if taking a dare.

Rarity snached the piece of paper with her magic and started reading. As she went on, she went through a plethora of facial expressions, among others confusion, amusement and disgust, in various configurations.

Dear Mister Fancypants.

I am coming back to Canterlot, and let it be known that I am going to kill you. In fact, I have already resolved myself to use a flenser for this purpose, skinning you in a chessboard pattern and pouring Shining Armor's semen over every wound. After I am done with this, I will chop off your head with an axe. I am going to arrive soon, wait for me.

PS I am well aware how irredeemably shallow and empty these threats seem to you, but rest assured that this is more than a passing frenzy of Yours Truly's diseased mind, and Celestia help me in ridding Equestria of you. A pony dedicating his life to such blasphemous pursuits and turning another's life into a slanderous parallel of Creation in which he takes a place of the Demiurge(for you are not even a Creator), such a pony deserves no quarter. You fancy yourself a God, but I dare not imagine Equestria inhabited by Gods possessing the tenth of your twisted evil. You created me in your own image, clothing an innocent soul into the monstrous flesh by teaching me of its desires, of possibilities given by it, shaping it according to your desires, warping the most sacred parts of its physique. You dabbled in my very identity. And why? For your own amusement. There is no punishment sufficient for your crimes.

PPS The last part might be a little haughty. But that is how I feel. You could not possibly understand that, you soulless bastard. But you might try. You have always been the one to hold a body in high esteem while the soul was weeping in the corner. So if you want to feel like me, do this: Stick a hoof in your right eye, and slowly remove the eyeball with angular movements. Once it is detached, put it into your mouth. Chew thoroughly, paying special attention to how it cracks and releases the fluids on the roof of your mouth. Check if the iris has any particular taste to it, do not forget to inform your superior of your findings. Swallow. With a method of your choice, drive yourself to vomitting. Once you are done, clean any surface you stained with your tongue. Be sure to tell everypony how you love it.

PPPS After I am finished with you, I shall renounce all of Creation myself. One could assume a God would have somepony to oppose just like Luna opposed Celestia(do not ever fool yourself, you are not even worthy of being called their pitiful shade), and that a vile Creator would have a just being oppose them – but your fallen angel, with her inability to hate, can barely understand love. Truly, her love is anything but. I believe 'pity' is a more relevant word in her case, and that pity is just a way of elevating herself above others, in a vain attempt to imitate and overthrow you(do not take this as flattery). And such pity I dread more than your contempt, for it is merely a razor wrapped in silk, a lesser evil. I myself fear what she could have planted inside me. Neither of you deserves to be elevated above the ponykind. Both of you turned my life into a torture. I decided to finish it, but killing a God, even a self-declared one, is too tempting a prospect to let go of.

Yours Truly

Fleur De Lis

Rarity put the letter away and looked at Fancypants, who was presently finishing his first glass of wine. ”Is...is this some kind of a joke?”

”Oh, quite the contrary. I have an entire collection of her...” the stallion chuckled, ”passionate attempts at epistles, though this is probably the first death threat she wrote. To me, that is. Would you like to see some more?”

”I'd rather not,” replied Rarity, glancing to the letter with a sour expression. ”But...why is she like that?”

”Why, it's a long story,” he replied, pouring himself another glass of wine. ”Fleur began as a pastime, and not mine in fact. But I took over rather quickly-”

”Oh I'd love to hear it darling, but if that would mean letting those sweethearts oversleep, I'd rather hear the concise version.”

Fancypants looked to Rarity with an expressionless face, except for the fact that one half of his upper lip twitched and raised by a tiniest bit in what seemed to be disgust, but it quickly returned to its usual stiffness. ”Pardon my directness, Rarity, but I am afraid you might be developing a rather unhealthy obsession. It would be a dreadful waste of your other talents and charming personality...”

”You think I'm becoming...boring?” The white mare was furious.

”Not exactly boring. I would liken you to a sphinx without any secret.”

Rarity rolled her eyes and groaned. ”Fine. Tell that sphinx your bedtime tale.”