Prodigal Daughter

Fleur loved the sitting room. Its dark, oaken furniture, hoof-decorated with floral designs, pistachio green seats on the couch and chairs, covered with ornate, white blossoms, the ivy pattern on the tapestries, the snaking designs of the moss-like carpet, a vase full of fresh lilies of the valley adorning the willow-legged tableau, made it the best place in Equestria for the filly. Caesar valued that little piece of paradise as well, when he came from Canterlot on those rare occasions. Some would frown at the care he put in furnishing a place he visited only once for a few months, but Fleur was enough of a reason for the gray stallion. Now, when she was sitting next to him, reading a book aloud, so trusting, so adoring, so pristine, he knew the effort was not a wasted one. Tutors, literature, outfits, generally a high standard of living, all the costs rewarded him with this beautiful flower growing out of seemingly nowhere in some backwater estate of his. If he took her to Canterlot, jealous eyes would be all over her.

She finished reading and put the book away, then rested herself on Caesar's shoulder. She liked Caesar. To her, he resembled the uncles of literary heroes and heroines, rarely seen but always gracious and generous, offering consolation, advice, and a glimpse of the big and unknown world outside the little one's domain. A little silly at times. Always with gifts. Complaining about his wife. Caring and understanding. Irritated with seemingly everypony except for her, but with a heart of gold. Making even the little things matter – like the apple he gave her right now. Unceasingly protective. Just the perfect adult friend.

Fleur bit eagerly into the glossy, red fruit. Caesar watched her nibble at it, chew, swallow. She smiled at him. There was a bit of the fruit left on her lip. The stallion reached out with his hoof, wiped it off. Both blushed, the filly in embarassment at her manners, the stallion – well, he was not certain for himself. He looked away.

Moments later, something inside him finally took over. A fight within his soul – maybe for his soul – had come to an end. He looked back to Fleur. Lost his confidence again. His expression must have given him away, the filly gazed at him with curiosity. He frowned, and stood up. If she would remain seated, he would just leave, he decided. Leave and never think of that again. She stood up. He reached out, lazily, and gave her a pat on the head. He felt like strength was drained from him. Fleur cocked her head, unsure what was happening to Mr. Caesar. He seemed so nervous and confused. He must have been sad over something. She didn't like that. So she gave him a hug. He liked that hug. Oh, how he loved it.

He turned her around, slowly, with his front legs embracing her. She didn't protest, even as he peck her mane and ears. She gave him kisses on the cheeks before. The filly's front hooves wandered to the floor under an incerasing pressure that was applied to her back. She turned her head to look questioningly at Caesar, but something in his eyes just made her shudder. Then she felt his hoof on her blank flank. It was strange. Not like a spank, more of a squeeze, and it felt nice, nice but disturbing as he was driving the touch from the softness of her butt, through the curve of her hip and smoothness of her belly to the charms of her loins. He rubbed her down there, and her legs trembled, her teeth bit her lower lip, and her eyes turned to him in fear. She wanted him to stop. She wanted to cry out. But his hoof ensured that all the sounds would be those of two bodies stirring, a stallion's heavy panting, and a filly's muffled whimpering.

Caesar noted Fleur's scared gaze. And yet, she was undeniably complacent, obedient. He warmed himself up against her flank. Her warm softness drove him to a grunt. Made a few exploratory pokes with his stallionhood. She jumped and turned red at every single one. She was shivering. Her expression was that of distressed surrender. She didn't oppose. Not rape, he thought, but undesired to the core nevertheless.

He withdrew the hoof from her marehood, gave the filly a delicate, playful slap on the butt, enjoying the shaky softness he felt under his hoof, and then pulled her head a few inches to himself. The suppleness of her lithe form pleased him, as did her obedience. Savouring every twitch and bend he provoked, he slid in carefully. He felt her entirety go stiff. She wrapped herself around him, muscles tightening, unwelcoming but in the end only agitating him further. He continued, step by step, back and forth, making a little progress and agonising Fleur further with every thrust. A tear flowed down her cheek, stopping on Caesar's hoof. She closed her eyes, tried to pay no attention to the creeping, wet, harsh heat inside her loins, no consideration for the rhytmical swaying of her body, no heed to the spasmodic movements of her thighs and flanks. She tried to remain ignorant of the stallion on top of her, resting his hoof on her back, pulling her mane, claiming her loins. She wanted to save some of her dignity as she felt his pace quicken, his breath deepen, his stallionhood harden even more, digging into her torturously. His thighs rubbed against her flanks. His touch was burning her. She wanted it to end. Right now. And suddenly, it ended, with a flood of something thick and hot inside her as Caesar delivered the final thrust, groaning and pressing his body with Fleur's as tightly as he could. Then he pulled out. Fleur felt the pain of her ravished marehood again, and she felt warm the trickle of what was blood, seed and mare juices on her thigh. She collapsed, exhausted. The stallion left hurriedly, leaving her alone, on the floor, finally free to weep.

Caesar stood on the porch, in a morose mood. The weather was complementing it rather well, windy and covering the sky with a thick blanket of gray clouds. The flora was bending under the gusts, and leaves, ripped away from the trees, flew about violently.

To the door of the mansion, there drew a light carriage. In it, there was seated a gentlecolt that would at the very least draw Caesar's thoughts away from the events of the morning. Canterlot's prodigal son and the godhead of its high society. The face basking in the radiance of elite galas and glow of sectarian candles. Fancypants.

”Welcome, friend,” exclaimed the host, embracing his guest cordially.

”Caesar!,” exclaimed Fancypants. ”How long will you continue this 'excursion' of yours? Half of Canterlot believes you have already descended into savagery.”

The gray earth pony mumbled something akin to ”quite the contrary,” but didn't give his friend the time to dwell on that. ”Oh, I intend to return in the next few days. I have already had enough of removal from the society. And you? I assume I am not the final destination of your travels?”

”Oh, you hold yourself in too low an esteem. But yes, I was headed somewhere else, when it occured to me that you live nearby, and a story of your exploits in this charming countryside retreat would not fail to entertain in any company.” They started a walk around the mansion, Fancypants obviously untroubled by the weather. ”But is it just resentment that keeps you here?”

Caesar realised that they were nearing the sitting room's large window, and even if Fleur wasn't there, he did not feel like concealing the truth, even if it would cause him trouble with his friend, outwardly an outspoken critic of the society's decadent ways. He wanted to ease himself a little. ”Actually, no. There is. Was. Something else.”

The vivid greens of the room deepened, and the brown of the wood turned into black as the gold of morning sunlight turned into the ashen gray of the nebulous, windswept sky. Fleur sat in the room, in a chair in the corner, wearing her plainest dress. She was staring blankly into the distance, somewhere past the orchard that could be seen through the window. Then, a movement caught her eye – a handsome, young stallion, his mane and tailcoat swept by the wind. He noticed her, stopped. His bearing was truly regal, as was his cutie mark – three crowns. He gazed at her with piercing eyes. She cowered. That gaze made her feel naked. Fearful. She felt like the white stallion was accusing her of something. Perhaps in the childish fear she mistook curiosity for denunciation. But he certainly did look questioningly to her garment. She could see his bewilderment, as though his very body was asking, why was she wearing that ugly dress?

Blood was coursing through Fancypants' body at an increased pace. That filly was something uncommon. His teeth grinded against each other, his brow furrowed. Without turning to him, he asked Caesar, ”who is this adorable little filly?” The filly that reminded him of something. His voice, he realised, was strangely hoarse.

”That...is Fleur. She lives here. Her father was my steward here. Died in an accident. Her mother died in childbirth. So I took care of her.” Caesar found relating those events quite soothing.

The unicorn didn't respond. He was too occupied with the filly's purple eyes, giving away a message, an answer to his unspoken question. She was afraid because she was naked.

Fleur saw the unicorn glance passingly to Caesar and tell him something absent-mindedly. He looked at her again, tilted his head. Frowned in disbelief, as if the frown asked, who told her she was naked? But then, eyes opened widely and his his lips parted, revealing a set of white teeth. He nodded his head twice. Fleur knew he understood everything. But that wasn't just it. There was something else, something unnerving in his countenance, in the way he looked at her.

”I dare say, Caesar,” Fancypants turned to his friend with admiration, ”if your taste in mares would equal that you have in fillies,” he cried, ”you would be the Prince Consort of Equestria.”

Caesar blushed, looked down. ”You seem to appreciate my...tastes much more than I do.”

The unicorn looked at him with concern. ”You feel guilty about it?” He looked back to the filly, then again at Caesar. He didn't really need an answer.

”Yes. I do.” Caesar held himself against a tree. ”She loved me so much. She was so cheerful.” He had to interrupt after every few words, being on the verge of crying. ”And I loved her. I didn't want to hurt her. She won't ever look at me the same way she did. And  I- I cannot look at her anymore. I want to kill myself when I do.”

Fancypants sighed, shook his head. ”You will get better, in time.” Then, with barely concealed excitement, he asked, ”would that mean you would need somepony to...take care of her?”

Caesar blinked. Fancypants taking that filly away... it did not mean anything good for her. Even if he would marry her. The vague ideas about Fancypants' activities filled him with dread.

And yet, the only thing that really mattered to him was that if Fancypants takes her to Canterlot, he, Caesar, might see her on some occasions.

***

”And that is how I came into possession of Fleur. At first I thought her only a pastime as well. But I realised that she had quite a potential... I turned her into a theological study.”

”Theological? Fancypants! I wouldn't think you one of those more...spiritual ponies.”

”Because I am not one of them. Those ideas about Celestia et cetera, that is just drivel. But nevertheless, I do believe that there is some higher being. I was quite interested in the matter when I was younger... so I decided to make Fleur an experiment of mine.”

”I beg your pardon? What experiment?”

”One examining the relationship between a god and his creation.”

”But you did not even 'create' her! That was Caesar's doing.”

”Oh, Rarity, that does not mean she thinks that way. With some time, I managed to convince her that it was my doing since the beginning. And my position allows me to control the events of her life to a great extent. Even those who fight for her with me are my creations. Even the opposition against me ultimately contributes to my greater glory.” He was visibly pleased with the fact. His eyes were lit up with some sort of fire, fire that Rarity would recognise would she ever look into a mirror while having a helpless foal dependent solely on her mercy.

”Wait. There is somepony who wants to...free her from you?”

”Oh, yes. Cadence does.” Rarity's mouth opened in disbelief. ”Which is rather ironic, because she was vital in the beginning stages. A divine emissary of sorts.”

”But...how? And why wouldn't a Princess use her power against you to do this?”

Fancypants chuckled. ”Don't think of Cadence poorly, she loves foals like no other, and despises the likes of us. It is just that when she was younger, she was a bit...” He giggled. ”Confused. So I helped her a little, gave friendly advice on the way to self-discovery. She did not appreciate that, and it was one of the reasons she and I parted ways – but mostly it was ideological differences. Fortunately, I had the entire affair documented with proper care, which discouraged her from taking steps against me. So even when she wants to wage war for Fleur's soul and compensate her, she has to do it in accord with the rules I laid down.”

”Wait. Compensate her?”

”Yes, compensate.”