Chapters Chapter 2 - Savage Garden
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.”
Chapter 3 - Razor Wrapped in Silk
”You are insane.”
”What?!” Cadence stared in disbelief at Fleur, her one and only Fleur. The unicorn wore a serious, even angry expression. Cadence backed away a few steps from her, thankful for the bedroom's spaciousness.
”You really think I would like this? And here I thought I could rely on you,” drawled Fleur bitterly.
”B- but I'm not like Fancypants! I love you, really!”
”Oh, he does as well! You all just ADORE me! He adores me so immensely, he made me like this!” She turned to reveal her flank to the Princess, showing her cutie mark, the three lilies. Cadence certainly could see her point. The flower was a symbol of royalty after all, and the pattern resembled that of the stallion's cutie mark. But was Fancypants really able do such a thing? Fleur believed he was. Stil, the Princess doubted it. A little.
She did not give up, anyway, and cried out hastily. ”But I'm different. I love you just the way you are!”
”The way I am? Oh, how ironic-”
”What you are wearing there, it makes no difference to me! What matters is that you have been hurt, and it's not your fault. You need somepony to take care of you. You need somepony to help you.”
”Take care of me? And THAT,” Fleur pointed furiously to the bed, ”is your idea of help?” To her, all of that seemed just like another cruel joke, the sort of game she went through continuously, and whose conclusions left her assured in her state of sin and ever more hateful of the idea of salvation.
”You...you just need love. True love. Not the abuse like what you went through.”
”Ah. I see your point.” Fleur turned around, wandered off to the large, ornate mirror. Cadence made a few cautious steps forward, her expression that of pained concern. ”I was hurt. Nopony ever showed me what does it mean to be cared for – I was only exploited. Even when Fancypants took me in, his idea of...healing me was...” Unsightly. Fleur picked up quickly. ”You think what I need is to like the other pony...you. Am I right in this assumption?”
Cadence looked up with hope. ”Yes!”
Fleur turned abruptly, her face now inches away from the Princess. A scowl was warping her usually beautiful features. The powerless anger inside her turned into cold contempt. ”You are not just insane. In fact, you might be genuinely thinking you are helping me. That by graciously laying down with me, you will make me whole.” Fleur's words were dripping with venom. ”Tell me, was that another one of Fancypants' ideas? He wants me to know love? He could not possibly aspire to feeling such a thing, so he sent his pet princess, appealing to grandiose ideas of caring for her little ponies?”
Cadence felt her heart drop. ”He doesn't have a thing to do with this. And don't call me-”
”What? Fancypants' pet princess? If you love me, the way I am, why should you care?”
”Just because I know you through him, doesn't-”
”It does make a difference. Don't you see? He WANTED you to know me, he ALLOWS you to influence me, he gives me lessons...and you are his intermediary. You are only his tool.” The unicorn frowned, feeling a sort of irritation one would get from a particularly stupid child.
Cadence was heartbroken. ”It's not true, Fleur, I am not doing his bidding, I just want you to be happy-”
”SILENCE, TOOL!” Cadence fell silent. ”The truth is, no matter this sick idea is yours or his, it is in no way going to help me. So if you really do love me like you claim, back away and leave me and my body a l o n e .”
”Oh, Fleur.” Cadence seemed to be on the verge of tears. ”You act...” She was not able to spit out such words at her. Like a hurt animal. Thrashing furiously in pain, not understanding that the stranger wants to help. ”...ill.” She stared at the ground. Her horn lit up.
Fleur's eyes opened wide for a second, before a blinding flash stung her eyes and made her feel like they were pushed back into her skull. Then, she felt something like an itch inside her head. Over the course of a few seconds, she started feeling lazy. Indifference crept in, and a tiny bit of Fleur's consciousness witnessed with horror as she herself was deciding that being so stubborn, so rude to dear Cadence, maybe it was a bit silly? Yes, definitely. It wasn't even silly, it was just plain stupid to yell at somepony who offered only help, even if their ideas of help were a tad misguided. And really, were they so misguided after all? It certainly did make sense to try and for once to actually make love while making love, not just wiggle back and forth and let your body be stimulated. Perhaps that spark of affection was what she was lacking all the time, and maybe she was unable to accept herself because of this want? Yes! That was definitely it! There was a creeping shadow of doubt, suggesting that maybe there was something wrong about such a sudden change of beliefs, but Fleur quickly threw it away dismissively, after all she had a mind of her own and the idea that Cadence might be influencing her thoughts was at most a paranoid delusion. After all, a princess cares for her little ponies first and foremost, doesn't she?
”Feel better now, Fleur?,” asked Cadence with joy as she watched the unicorn zone out. Fleur nodded weakly. She embraced her, rubbing their necks against each other. Slowly, she guided Fleur's mouth to hers, allowing the warm lips to connect, their breaths to mingle. Both ponies closed their eyes, and let their tongues explore, touch, caress, exchange the saliva, part along with teir mouths, leaving a strand of drool hanging in the air. They blinked, smiled. Then, Fleur rushed to give the elated Cadence another kiss, this time more slavish and longing, yielding her mouth to the princess, moving closer, locking herself in her arms.
They parted again, aflush. Cadence looked at the unicorn from above, then slowly tilted her to the back, laying her on the bed. She lowered herself, stroking Fleur's belly with her nose, moving upwards, to give her a kiss on the neck. Her hoof wandered to the loins, giving a few encouraging rubs on her exposed sex. A quiet moan emboldened her, prompting her to bite lightly into Fleur's neck and drive the hoof a little between her parted lips, evoking a tremor of lust across the unicorn's body. The moisture between her legs reminded Cadence of her own needs, and she shifted her body, driving her tongue across Fleur's neck, chest and midsection in the process, so that now her marehood rested above the unicorn's face. Having straightened herself into a sitting position, the princess dropped gently, agitated further by Fleur's warm breath.
After a few exploratory licks that caused Cadence to go aflush and purr with content, the unicorn moved her tongue further, reaching inside the princess, soaking itself with her fluids, before it finally found a sensitive spot, the stirring of which caused the princess' panting to quicken and her hips to spasm and clench tightly on Fleur's face, enveloping it it with the warmth of her thighs, shutting her away from the world outside of Cadence's lustful body. The pony on top gave in to the immense pleasure, to the sensation of her loins burning and the creeping warmth moving upwards from there, causing her every breath to grow deeper, and started swaying rhytmically, pushing herself against Fleur's worshipping mouth, then retreating a little to savour the tongue following her and the muzzle stroking her skin, just to return moments later and let the unicorn show her full devotion again. The princess shut her eyes and threw her head back, allowing herself a series of moans interrupted with gasps as her marehood was driving her whole body to a spasm. ”I! Love! You!” Her rose-coloured face was now abloom with a shade of red, her eyes rolled back and she repeatedly bit her lip as she felt Fleur's tender love to make her go dizzy, as if she was about to faint. She let out a cry of ecstasy as finally something within her erupted, flushing her on the inside, gripping her legs in a paroxysm and spattering Fleur with her juice. She sighed, and rolled off the unicorn, still panting heavily.
A hoof hit the back of her head painfully, driving her face into the bedsheets. She felt a pony on her back, and then Fleur grabbed her by the mane, pulling furiously and causing her to shout. Cadence's face rushed down again, pushed by the unicorn, and the bedsheets muffled her whine. ”Pray tell, did you enjoy yourself your highness?!” The voice was adorned with the pretended naivety of a chambermaid that only stressed Fleur's rage. She locked Cadence tightly with her hind legs, uncaring for her distressed bucking and flailing, and pressing her head further down into the bedcloths, grinning with animalistic elation as she witnessed the first convulsions of the princess' struggle for breath. She kept pressing, shaking with anger and paying little attention to the pair of fluttering wings, flapping about instinctively. Their movements, and Cadence's bucking, grew weaker with every second she was being deprived of air. Fleur didn't notice that, too consumend with strangling the princess with every bit of her strength.
Cadence's horn shone, and Fleur suddenly felt something pulling her with force that made her release the grip and flung her through the room. She crashed painfully on the floor, but quickly got up, the grimace of fury still on her face. Cadence got up, coughing, and straightening her wings. Her gaze met Fleur's, and she seemed to be driven to the verge of tears from just looking at the unicorn's expression. ”Fleur, I-”
”...wanted to see for myself if there is truth to all the claims that Fleur is perhaps the finest morsel to grace the Society in the last ten years? You are not to blame, Princess!” Fleur spoke quickly, in a taunting tone. ”The likes of you, used to getting what she wants, should not be forced to sate her royal lust with some mundane streetwalker!”
Cadence interrupted pleadingly, ”Fleur, I did not want you to feel-”
”And yet you did! Your passionate claims of love did not get in the way of treating me like a harlot!” Tears rolled down Fleur's cheeks, but they were tears of anger.
”I'm sorry! I didn't want to make you feel like this!” Genuine, tearjerking sorrow vibrated in Cadence's voice.
”You...are?” Fleur's voice and expression changed abruptly, suggesting surprise and sadness.
”Yes! Yes, and I can make up for it. I promise!” Cadence made a few hopeful steps towards Fleur. The lack of reaction encouraged her, and she moved closer, keeping her head low and looking up to her eyes.
”You..will?” The white mare asked, and the rubbing against her chest was enough of a reply. She sighed and stood on her hind legs. Cadence moved her snout in between her thighs, eagerly.
A sudden slap threw Cadence off balance. She fell on the ground, holding her aching cheek and staring in disbelief at the hatefully glaring Fleur. ”Like a sow in heat, I swear,” sneered the unicorn and stepped above her, leaving the room and paying no heed to the princess' cries and despaired whimpering.
***
”And this,” Fancypants concluded in a mockingly aphoristic tone, ”is the story of how Princess Cadence decided that she favours platonic love.” Rarity giggled against her own will. Fancypants made a scowl at such a reaction to a story about a royal. ”I dare say, a real change in her character followed. Some would hazard saying that our Princess matured too early. Anyway, it was a very fortunate to call off the guards at the mansion, Fleur could have caused much trouble with that outburst. I was quite shocked.”
”And what about that little devil?” Rarity inquired between glances to the pair of sleeping foals.
”Oh, the episode convinced her that adherence to my commandments was the right way. But Cadence never quite gave up.”
***
The honeymoon revealed itself to be far more complicated an affair than Shining Armor thought. The excursion to Ponyville, a charming piece of countryside, he had to admit, was being spoiled on a daily basis by Cadence's obsession with a certain pony she encountered there – and she made little effort to hide that she in fact intended to. When he proposed, Shining knew very well what he was getting into, and Cadence's naive nature, boundless compassion and the desire to do the right thing(she was known in the Canterlot society as somewhat of an idiot)did not discourage him from marriage. But when such virtues were being applied at leisure to Fancypants' deranged whore, his patience was being put to a test he feared he might not brave. ”She's innocent, and yet bears shame no pony would ever deserve” said Cadence when he once asked her about her particular affection for such a pony. ”And she is convinced that she is the most hopeless, fallen creature in the world. She thinks there might be some absolution in embracing such a nature.” Having a pony wallow in their own filth and deny a helping hoof, there was certainly something Fancypants about these ideas, Shining had to admit. Still, it did not ease him in the slightest bit.
”You must leave that...Fleur alone,” he told her once. ”Give her up. She doesn't want your...anypony's help.”
"How can you?" Cadence murmured, "she is so unhappy."
***
A painful slap on the cheek, then another, woke Derpy. She opened her eyes, blinking a few times, trying to focus her gaze. There was somepony sitting on top of her, she felt, and as the blurry image sharpened, she realised it was a white mare, a beautiful mare with a pink mane, perhaps the most beautiful Derpy saw if not for the hateful grimace twisting her face. The gray pegasus was puzzled, unable to make sense of what was happening around her, her mind coursing slowly through the events from before her awakening, trying to piece them together into a coherent whole, to find an explanation for the mare's abuse. Finally she gave up, formulated a sentence in her head, opened her mouth to speak, only to get smashed across her face again.
”Don't you dare speak. Just nod or shake your head. Listening to your voice is a torture. Do you understand?”
After a few seconds of puzzled staring in various directions, Derpy nodded weakly. She didn't really know what was going on. How did she get here, and why was the mare acting so nasty?
Fleur got off the pegasus and let her stand up and get a hold of her surroundings. A gray, stone room, with no furnishings save for the pair of metal bracers on the wall and a small table, next to which there was seated a handsome, white-coated gentlecolt. Derpy stared cross the room, puzzled. Where was she, and where was Dinky, she was about to ask, when the mare delivered a precise kick to the side of her head.
Fleur and Fancypants watched and laughed as the pegasus suddenly lost the sense of up and down, twisting her head in an awkward manner, attempting to fly on her side and promptly falling down. She rolled back and forth, hooves desperately trying to find a solid surface somewhere above her, spreading to the sides in search of walls, bracing to avoid any injury once she finally reaches the bottom of the well. Was it a well?. Her eyes were still staring blankly into different directions, contrasting with her mouth screaming beautiful songs that made mockery of any known alphabet. The wings were flailing, flapping furiously only to hit the rock floor. Fancypants grinned, appreciating the performance that would earn the pegasus a position of a diva in the perpetual choir of the Canterlot madhouse. Fleur approached carefully, avoiding the blind kicks into the air, and stepped on Derpy's chest, applying enough force to drive any air out of the blond mare's lungs. She was overcome with disgust at her wheeze, and for a moment she considered choking to death with a sort of indignation at the gray pegasus' existence. She pressed further, until she felt the ribs under her hoof plunge into the organs they were supposed to protect. She lifted the hoof, allowing a gasp, then pushed again angrily, staring intently at the captive, as if she wanted to will the despicable wretch into looking at her. She finally turned her head to the mare, staring with some sort of innocuous and at the same time complacent scare. Her expression only infuriated Fleur further.
Derpy could feel every attempted breath, every instinctive contraction of muscles, send a surge of pain through her veins, each heartbeat pumping acid through her body. What did she do to deserve this? Ponies were mean to her sometimes, but she always felt that they were simply unhappy and in their sadness didn't pay attention to what they were doing to others. This one here, though, seemed to care, very much. Or perhaps she was just very, very unhappy, a thought flicked her suffocating brain. ”Why...are...you...,” the pegasus coughed out words with difficulty before being hit on the face again.
”No reason in particular,” exclaimed Fancypants, approaching the two ponies. ”You did not do anything wrong, except perhaps being born. Anyway, that is enough for now, dear.” Fleur looked back to him with disappointment, and let go of Derpy. ”Very well. Now that you were shown the consequences of disobedience, let me explain your predicament.” He looked to the blond mare expectantly, and she nodded. ”You are going to spend some time here. Ask not how much, because the amount is indeterminate. If we will feel like it, we will pleasure ourselves with you regardless of your consent, and then let you go. Am I clear?”
Derpy looked to him, distressed. How long would she have to stay there? What of the little Dinky? She broke into tears. Then, a surge of magic pulled her front hooves up and started dragging her on the floor.
With an audible clack, the bracers locked around Derpy's front legs, locking her in one place. Fancypants approached her, checked if they hold tight. He smiled and turned around, he and Fleur left the room and everything went silent. After a moment, the lights were extinguished. Derpy was left alone, the only sources of sensations being the subsiding pain, the coldness of bracers and the rough wall behind her back.
***
”As I was saying, at times she can become exceedingly rough. It seems to me that it is meant to impress-”
The filly shifted next to Fancypants in her sleep, moving closer to him. The stallion's gaze focused on her, and Rarity witnessed a shudder pass through him as he stared absent-mindedly at the foal who was so comfortable in his ensnaring embrace.
”So, now you are going to finally...initiate her into the faith?,” taunted the mare with expectation.
He gazed her heedlessly for a moment. ”I guess you could, um, call it this way,” he replied blankly.
He nudged the filly genly with his snout, just enough to wake her up. Her rose eyes opened slowly, and a weak smile was brought to her fearful face as she felt Fancypants stroke her mane. Another, more urgent nudge was soon obeyed as she got off the couch hesitantly. The two unicorns followed, Fancypants' lips remaining still but cheeks raised in an expression reminiscent of a smile, and Rarity's face alight with exuberant craving. The mare quickly moved back to the colt laying on the floor, and with a kiss on the blank flank, which turned into a delicate bite with a swirl of the tongue, made him stir and rise. A desperate buck of his was caught in mid-air by Rarity's magic, which she used to pull him to herself by the leg, uncaring for his writhing that in all its temper did little to conceal the terror beneath. The mare wrapped her foreleg lovingly around his neck, leaning upon him and pecking on his ear, while her free hoof made slow motions on his quivering flank before moving under the tail and teasing the exposed orifice. Slowly, Rarity worked him up to arousal, rubbing herself against his back and buttocks, playing around with his defenseless privates. Mindful of his reluctant moans, she turned him around and whispered in his ear, ”That is just the way things are, darling.”
In front of them, Fancypants was mounting the filly, one hoof holding her head low, the other on her flank. With a visible twitch of the hips, he shoved himself into the little one, his member greeted by a high-pitched yelp and a spasm across the prey's whole body. Her brother cried out helplessly at the display, only to be subjected to another round of Rarity's rormenting strokes and a familiar, dreadful pain in his behind as she started sliding the beads back into him. The stallion, meanwhile, spoiled himself with another, deeper thrust that caused half of his stallionhood to be enveloped in the tight embrace of the filly's pulsing, tormented marehood. He let out a slight grunt, driving her head to the floor with his hoof, his eyes alight with rapacity. Soon, the room was filled with desperate shouting and trebling moaning of the siblings. Fancypants, after forcing himself between the quivering blank flanks a few more times, worked out a steady pace and proceeded to savour the impaled foal's stupefied trembling even as crimson started trickling down the curve of her hip lazily, creating a dark line crossing the blue fur. Another droplet of blood budded on her lower lip she bit senselessly, mixing itself with tears flowing richly from her eyes.
Every push into her sent a creeping warmth through the stallion's hips and a blaze of pain through her convulsing loins, forcing a frantic fit of flailing with her forelegs, the instinct to escape. The stallion grinned, pleased with the writhing of flesh beneath him, around his throbbing shaft, wrapped between his legs. He lowered himself, breathing heavily on the filly's neck before driving his teeth into it in a soft bite that was the first thing she felt which could be described as pleasant, shamefully so.
Another anguished, muffled squeal escaped her mouth, and Fancypants responded with a quickening of the pace which ravaged the inside of her and forced the despair out of her mind in favour of of blank, forlorn stupor. The stallion bit deeper, enveloped her, getting the panting, quaking bodies closer and forcing his tempo upon her, welcoming the swaying of the tired flanks and coerced arching of the back, losing himself and starting to feel, taste and smell her soft mane, her tender neck, her supple back, revelling in the helplessness of the shape below him.
The colt watched with horror his sister's expression growing more and more pitiful as she was unable to shed tears anymore and her eyes gazed absentmindedly into the distance, seemingly unaware of the pounding she received, their torpor broken only by the more violent motions of Fancypants', when her head jerked to the front and she whined weakly in between her short gasps for air. Rarity watched and listened too, as she stroked her marehood ecstatically, holding down the colt with her entire body between forcing him to kiss her on the lips so that she could suck out his breath and penetrate his mouth with her tongue. Her magic held the beads, ensuring his obedience as she drove them in and out of his spasming butt, giving him a stimulating massage of pleasure and pain.
Slowly, Rarity guided the colt towards his sister, nudging him delicately in the desired direction and making the beads stuck inside him spin excruciatingly whenever he opposed, causing him to ejaculate on the carpet in the process. Soon, the two foals faced each other and Fancypants lifted the filly's head, realising the mare's intent. Rarity directed his face towards hers, and with a simultaneous shove from the both ponies, the siblings' mouths connected, one pair of lips shut tight in dismay, the other not really caring between squealing and panting. Rarity slapped the defiant colt on the flank and pressed the tool deeper into him, causing his legs to weaken and his hips to quiver, finally forcing him into compliance as he opened his mouth and with tears in his eyes returned the kiss of his sister, both letting out a muffled whine. The stallion and the mare watched gaily the redness of their cheeks, and quivering bodies, as if the two were made for each other. Rarity grasped the colt's aching shaft firmly with her hoof, and holding on to his head with the other, she stroked him painfully, attempting to make him come again. At which she succeeded, forcing his body to go through another orgasmic spasm, though this time his discharge was less than satisfying. Nevertheless, the sensation made him shake profoundly and almost bite into his sister in spite of himself.
Soon, Rarity got bored with assisting in bonding the twins. She pushed her victim aside, disregarding his shouts of protest directed as much at Fancypants as they were at her ”And now I am going to join your sister,” she mused and approached the filly. Slowly, she moved her loins to her mouth, grabbing her by the head. She could feel the weak juvenile breath teasing her folds.
Fancypants pulled out abruptly, letting the filly collapse on the floor. His empty gaze met Rarity's, and something in it made the white mare shudder.
His lips curled softly. ”Ponies these days. I say, you lot hold little regard for obligations that are made,” he hissed.
***
Darkness enveloped Derpy. It was days, maybe weeks, since she was shackled to the wall. The only outside contact she had was when she was force-fed by somepony she could not see, as the lights were out. From time to time, she couldn't tell how often, a hoof stuffed some food into her mouth, then made her drink some water. Enough to sustain her, but not to really satisfy her hunger. Other than that only sounds from some other room came through the wall at times, muffled, weak screams, moans and cries. They filled her with dread, but also with some sort of anticipation. She knew her time to scream would also come, and that then she would be free. Such notions coming from her own head terrified her above all, it was as if being there slowly turned her into somepony else, somepony worse, as if she was missing something very, very important to her life. The deprivation felt like a pony squuezing her temples tightly, as if her head was meant to pop like an apple any second. She did her best to fight the bad thoughts. She had dignity after all. She prized it...did she though? She did not ever do anything wrong...did she?
At other times, she thought the two ponies that did this to her. How they could enjoy this so much eluded her. She did not do anything wrong. Derpy dwelled upon the stallion's words for a long time, even for her. Hating somepony for being born...that was just weird. How could one hate anypony for being born? She tried to imagine doing this herself, with no success. Maybe, maybe he was just trying to be mean. He must be very unhappy if he really said something as mean as that. But the mare, she must be even more unhappy, the pegasus thought. She liked to make Derpy's body hurt. Maybe she did not like Derpy? Maybe she was just wrong, Derpy thought, but immediately resented the notion. Nopony was a wrong pony, nopony deserved to be called like this. Everypony deserved being loved for being who they are, she thought. She tried to live by this...did she?
That train of thought was interrupted by a painful jolt went through Derpy's eyes as lights turned on. She shut the eyelids tightly in response to the unbearable stinging. Then, she screamed as something small and hard hit her on the chest lightly, but to her deprived senses the feeling was agonizing. She gradually calmed down, and started looking around the room, trying to make out shapes and colours in utter confusion. In front of her was the white stallion from before, a golf club hanging magically at his side, and a few golfballs laying on the floor. His stare was fixed on one of them, and he made a few preparatory swings with the club. He seemed to be aiming at Derpy, who after a while took notice and tried to wiggle in her manacles to avoid being hit while mumbling incoherently with fear.
”The state of the country,” sighed Fancypants and hit the ball idly, sending the projectile at Derpy's leg and causing her to writhe in pain. He shook his head. ”Ponies these days seem to have gone by all means mad.” He looked up to the pegasus. ”The likes of you trotting in their ignorant bliss through the streets. Ah, Equestria is rotten.”
Derpy's head hung low, bobbing slightly up and down with laborious exhalations.
”It is a country most sick. Ponies, regardless of class or breed, wallow in the collective filth that is a byproduct of their aimless existence.” He made a few steps towards Derpy. ”At least look at me when I am talking, wretch.”
Derpy looked up obediently. Slowly, combatting the headache she's been feeling for some time now, she formed a sentence. ”Why...are...you...so...angry.”
”Angry?,” muttered Fancypants. ”Oh my goodness, perhaps I really am.” His hoof scraped the floor rabidly. ”But I have a good reason. It seems to me that it is the likes of you who run this place.”
”Of...me?”
”Indeed. The changeling crisis is over, they say. No need for surveillance, they say. Halfbreeds not a problem, they say. I feel like I am surrounded by cretins just like you.”
Derpy remained silent.
”Or maybe it is the society that is at fault. Yesterday somepony was strangled with a rag in a hotel quite near from here. The motive, it seems, was his pocket watch.”
Derpy gasped. That was a terrible thing. It was something she could not believe somepony would be capable of...or maybe they were after all? She shook her head.
”I am not lying,” he spat out having noticed her motion. ”It is baffling, how if one just wrote of such things in a book, we would dismiss it as a mad fantasy, isn't it? But then we read the morning papers...and find ourselves in this room,” he sighed, looking around the dungeon with a forlorn expression. ”But then, ponies these days do not seem to be in particular need of help. A relative of mine walked into the sea recently, with a pair of heavy stones in his pockets. It seems to be a trend of sorts among the youths – among the more pessimistic of the politically-minded ones, that is. Though it could be debated that the...activities of the others are just a more elaborate form of suicide.”
The pegasus listened, unsure where he was headed with this.
”Then again, I can understand them very well. Ah, the Society, in its gilded mansions filled with courtesans and catamites, devoted to having an agreeable life...it sickens me.”
”Then...why do you...do this,” asked Derpy slowly, tearing every word out of the pain's clutches.
”Because you d e s e r v e it,” he drawled, moving so close to her face that their noses almost touched. His empty eyes gazed at her. ”You are a testament to the failure of this whole state. You were hospitalised early in your life, were you not?”
Derpy nodded weakly. She did not like to talk about this.
”And your final diagnosis was none, am I right? So they just got rid of you to remove proof of their incompetence?”
”And you had a foal. Where is the father? Did not want to spend his life fathering a bastard with a mental cripple? Scum.”
”And now, tell me, is your life succesful?” He ground his teeth. ”The only thing you really do properly is reminding everypony how their country, their morality, everything they do, is a constant failure. You do all the stupid things they do, but with you, they take notice. And they see you in themselves. That is probably why they resent you so much. And I resent them, because they all are similar to you.”
***
Rarity felt magic grasp her hooves tightly, and she saw Fancypants close in on her, going around the sprawled, barely conscious filly.
”I told him,” he pointed to the colt, ”that you would have his sister if he would not do my bidding. He obliged,” spoke the stallion. ”You need to learn that I value my part of the deal equally.” His voice was dripping with barely contained arousal.
”Hold on Fancypants, I understand-”
”The lesson should be given nonetheless,” he proclaimed mockingly. Rarity took note of his erect stallionhood, covered with the mixed fluids of his and filly's bodies. ”Besides,” he jeered, ”you always had ambitions for joining the high society, it is high time your position within it is estabilished.”
Without further ado, he positioned himself behind her, feeling the supple flanks with his hooves for a while, giving a few not so delicate spanks before ramming into her. The force of it, its firmness, heat and slickness, the feeling of her marehood parting, giving way to the aching shaft, the slap of his thighs upon her pliant flanks, sent Rarity reeling and screaming in the sudden pain. Fancypants stopped, and with much more gentleness pulled out a little before plunging himself into her again, slowly this time, his stallionhood rubbing inside her, provoking a thrill across her loins which Rarity found more to her enjoyment. She hated every inch of the stallion inside her, she abhored this overturning of what to her seemed like the natural order, she despised being...used. Yet the commandeering touch made it clear that Fancypants would have no other way than submission, as her struggling was met with a series of much more painful slaps that in the process of making her flanks turn crimson confirmed her helplessness and in consequence servitude. He was no colt, and that message was sickeningly conveyed through the twitches of the marehood that seemed to melt with his every thrust.
Rarity resigned herself, and turned her head to look at the looming form behind her. He noticed that, and much to his arousal, there was this certain quality to her gaze, this particular expression of surrender and trust, the expression asking him to just be gentle while he claimed her. He grinned, appreciative of the irony, and continued, sliding in and out of her welcoming folds, working up her hips into encouraging swaying, having her back arch and her head swing, the perfect mane dangling in the air and collecting the first droplets of sweat as Rarity started purring, then mumbling and finally uncontrollably moaning, pressing herself against his crotch, her body eager for more and more of him.
The stallion was similarly driven to the edge, and feeling the release approach, he released Rarity's front hooves, lifting her into the air so that they both stood, in which position he embraced her waist and wrapped his hoof around hers. The mare, swooning and squealing, propped her head against his warm chest, and he gave her a kiss on the neck, then another, turning into nipping that made her gasp for breath as he was making the final, irresistible thrusts that made her legs limp, her body shaking and her marehood soaking wet. Finally, he discharged, pushing into her deep and hard, flooding her insides with hot seed, mixing itself with her own juices as he provoked a spasmodic orgasm of her own. Rarity's mind went blank and she wailed in ecstasy, rolling her eyes and letting Fancypants' lustful hooves and warm mouth caress her body.
The pair stood still for a while, and then, slowly, the stallion removed himself from his prey. Uncaring for the juices flowing richly from her, he lifted her barely conscious body and gently put her on the chaisse longue to allow her to regain her senses. Then, he sat on the other couch, and poured himself another glass of wine, allowing himself a jubilant smile of full satisfaction. ”You brute,” wheezed the mare, but it did little to wipe it off his face.
Rarity stared apathetically at the ceiling, slowly coming to. Her body felt numb, and her mind was in a similar state. It felt strange to be on the receiving end once...again. Somehow, she did not come to what she would call resentment at Fancypants. She did not even cared about what might come out of that. The notion of terminating his progeny while it was still inside her seemed, for reasons she was unsure of on the conscious level of her deliberations, a perfect revenge on somepony like him. He was a beast in a way, she thought. She tried to divine his reasons for it, for he seemed very content with carrying out the ”punishment”. Perhaps it was just that the beast preferred to feast upon other monsters? Then again, he seemed a different sort of tormentor to Rarity. Or maybe not, after all? Which was the pastime and which was something he could never resist? Or maybe the angelic spheres, trophic chains, class struggles, all were the same to him?
***
”Bon appetit,” cried Fancypants pointing to the platter in front of Derpy. The white mare was not present, again.
Derpy ate, wolfing down the meal in just a few minutes, paying little attention to the taste. She was so hungry. Once she was done, she closed her eyes in bliss. If this was a prelude to another torture, she'd at least enjoy the pleasant weight and warmth in her tummy. She muttered in satisfaction. For a moment, even the headache subsided.
Fancypants watched her, smiling, from the far end of the table, hooves together. Finally, the blond mare looked at him, or so he thought. He smiled courteously. ”Was the meal to your tastes?”
”Um-hmm.”
”Splendid. I am certain little Dinky would be very happy to know that she eased Mommy's hunger.”
Derpy stared at him puzzled, then, her eyes and mouth opened widely in the slow realisation. She sat there, lower jaw trembling, until she screamed. ”NO!” She slammed her hooves against the table. ”This-this c-can't be t-true,” she cried, looking to the remains of the gray meal on her plate in disbelief. Fancypants beamed as she was examining the leftovers mixing themselves with her first tears. ”YOU LIE!” The gray mare's furious gaze returned to him, her eyes still out of focus and switching randomly between him and random corners of the room. Even if that was just a trick, the very notion of doing something this horrible to Dinky was revolting. Was it? The headache returned.
The door opened, revealing an anguished Fleur. ”FANCYPANTS! YOU HAD THE NERVE TO-” She stopped in mid-sentence and covered her mouth with a hoof to prevent herself from screaming. She was looking at Derpy's plate. Her expression changed to that of genuine sorrow. ”Oh Derpy, I'm so sorry...” She was on the verge of tears.
Derpy screamed, then broke into a loud sob interrupted by sounds of her choking on her own tears. She fell to the floor, wiping her face frantically and attempting to drive herself to vomitting, then erupted into a weep. She lay there, and her body jerked from time to time from the intense crying. Fleur approached her, cracking a smile at Fancypants. He returned the grin with approval.
The unicorn embraced the pegasus, letting her whimper into her chest. For a moment, Fleur felt pity for the gray pony, petting her mane and trying to wipe the tears from her face. But then, with a grin, she fought back the compassion and started shifting, moving her hoof across Derpy's neck and downwards while gradually immobilising her with other limbs. The hoof wandered across the chest and belly, moving slowly but decisively between the pegasus' hips.
”Why...are-you doing this,” interrupted Derpy without looking up. Her voice, usually so clueless, seemed to gain some resolution, as if she was recovering from some sort of a lifelong addling. „Do you hate y o u r s e l f that much?”
At that, something in Fleur's head clicked. She stared with bewilderment at the innocent pony at her mercy, the pony that was just taken away from her peaceful life for another's amusement. Humiliated and exploited for fun, subject to tests she could not understand, to cruelty packaged as kindness. Tricked into believing everything is her fault, that she is somehow deficient. Tempted constantly with discarding her own purity for the sake of absolution. At the mercy of seemingly omniscent beings, beings who seem to have some sort of plan. But in reality, they were just fooling around. Their grand plan was none, everything the victim was subjected to was fake, except the degradation. They even intended to tell her that after they were done.
She let go of Derpy, staring blankly into the distance. Slowly, her hoof wandered to her mouth.
”Something the matter,” inquired Fancypants with his eyebrows raised. The answer made them rise even further.
”You bastard.” Fleur's voice had about it the sort of fury he did not see directed at him.
"Pardon?”
”To you, I am just like her, am I not? This entire thing,” she made an overarching gesture with a foreleg, with which she then pointed to herself. ”You have no plan, am I right?” She stared at the ground, first tears hitting the rock floor. ”All of this, it's a lie, isn't it.”
She heard the stallion's voice, just next to her ear. ”Perhaps. If you wanted to live a honest life,” he hissed, ”you should have become a laundress.” She felt a hoof grasp her firmly, lifting her up, and with the aid of magic, Fancypants pressed her against the wall. Fleur froze in terror at the pair of empty blue eyes staring intently at her. She noticed that their owner's usually motionless lips curled into a subtle, arched grimace. She didn't have the time to cry out before he pressed himself against her, his weight depriving her of breath. Impulsively, she lifted her head to keep a distance, but only exposed her neck, which was eagerly bit while the stallion's front hooves shifted their position to gain the necessary leverage. She squirmed and bucked to no avail as she felt their loins close, and the pace of her breath quickened, every gasp full of dismay as Fancypants' teeth gripping her throat in a mixture of threat and playful caress made it unable for her to look what's happening. Seeing was not necessary at this point, however, as Fleur's body knew perfectly what was happening, her mare lips shuddering at the hot touch of the stallionhood slowly parting them and sending a spasming wave of lustful warmth across her loins and lower body, the hooves keeping her chest close to his, thumping hearts preparing the two bodies to become one, writhing, pained being.
The touch of the stallion's body resounded across her own with carnal pleasure so humiliating to the soul. She let out a quaking moan as he entered her, tossing any gentleness aside, ramming into her marehood with full force that sent a thrilling paroxysm through her.
Fancypants let go of her neck, smirked. He withdrew himself a little, only to feel the mare's lithe form follow his stallinohood with its entirety, drawn to its throbbing, obscene shape. He had trained her well. He made another violent thrust, grunted at the overwhelming sensation of the mare's wet softness enveloping him like a sleeve. His forelegs wrapped tightly around her twisting waist, and Fleur's limbs returned the embrace, squezing his flanks tightly, pressing him deeper into her, clenching him around the shoulders, allowing him full control. Only her face didn't folow suit, looking away and letting despaired cries that grew weaker with every ecstatic fit of her lower body begging to be penetrated further. Fancypants' heart pumped wildly at the insincere pleas for mercy, inciting him to quicken the pace, allowing the friction of his shaft against her marehood work them both up into a state of dazed lust.
Such a state was a thing most undesirable for Fleur. She held on to her consciousness tightly, even as with every push she clung tighter to Fancypants' body. Another thrust made her throw her head back in abandon, and her eyelids shut tight as if she tried to block out the overwhelming sensations, but the sense of urgency was still being conveyed by her aching hips, and her muscles constricted mindlessly, building up the unbearably lewd tension in her body, wrapping tighter around the stallionhood inside her, forcing droplets of sweat onto her skin, making every part of her body shiver at the stallion's domineering touch.
The mare struggled desperately to maintain control over her body, but such resistance only agitated him further, making him convulse ferociously as he was shoving himself inside. With every stroke inside her, Fleur felt as if she was entering a trance, as if slowly her flesh took over, not troubling itself anymore with the notions of dignity, opening itself fully to its master, its God, offering herself to be claimed. And he did satisfy himself with a truly primal elation.
As his stallionhood assaulted her again, it sent a fever through her body, made her inhale, press herself against him, squirm, wrap her folds around him, grip him tightly, meet his mouth with hers, taste his saliva, flood his member with her mare juices, let out a muffled moan as her blushing face was still connected with his. She bounced up and down on him a few times, taking in as much of him są she could, sending her into a throe of pure, mindless bliss.
He pulled out, allowing Fleur's juices to flow out richly, dropped her to the ground much to her surprise, and without further ado grabbed her by the horn, uncaring for an ecstatic squeal and gasp that caused, then plunged his rod into her mouth, on the verge of his own release. The mare's eyes opened wide, and she obediently started to suckle, nurturing herself with the taste of their mixed fluids for seconds before Fancypants, with a groan and a push oif his hips, discharged himself violently into her mouth, not withdrawing, forcing her to swallow as his hoof used her horn as a handle to pull her head closer, violating her flushed face and forcing her tongue to lick him clean despite the tears, moans of protest and the trembling caused by stimulating of her horn. Only after he went numb, he pulled out, allowing his mare a desperate gasp for breath. Fancypants let out a tired sigh and straightened his tailcoat absent-mindedly.
Fleur lay panting on the floor, still regaining her reason and easing the senses. She stared bitterly at the stallion. ”You brute,” she whispered hoarsely before breaking into a tearless weep, punctured with gulps and panting. Her entire body trembled with grief.
Fancypants stared with a blank expression at the pitiful display. Then he noticed the gray pegasus, that Derpy, to crawl to her would-be oppressor. ”It's okay,” she said in her bubbly voice, hushing Fleur and giving her a hug. ”You didn't do nothing wrong.”
”Beau-ti-ful,” exclaimed the stallion. ”The reunion of wretches, that is certainly a sight!”
Derpy felt rage. A familiar sort. With her voice gaining an unfamiliar pitch, as if she was recovering from some lifelong stupor, she almost yelled. ”Who's a wretch? You don't call us that way.” Her eyes, still staring in different directions, had something of a strange, resolute air about them.
”Oh, why not,” he replied emptily.
”You're the worst.” It was all now crystal clear to Derpy. She felt it since a long time, but now the usual overbearing sensation, as if somepony was pressing her temples tightly, disappeared. ”You have fun and games. But you are just goofing around with ponies to hurt. 'Cause you are hurt yourself.” The stallion's upper lip curved significantly to the upper right as he was listening to this. That didn't escape Fleur's attention. Despite her exhaustion and hopelessness, she felt fear wash through her, forcing every hair into stiffness, contracting her pupils, forcing the muscles into shaky tension.
”Stop it!,” she cried out to the pegasus, who did not seem to take notice of her.
”You act all high and mighty with us ponies. But this is because you are angry.”
”No. No. No,” whispered Fleur frantically, shaking the still inattentive Derpy. The blond mare in fact did take notice, but was beyond caring.
Fancypants' lip curled into a scowl terrifying despite the stillness of the rest of his face. His horn lit up, and the golf club standing in the corner soared to his side.
”You are angry, because all you can do is to mess around with wretches.”
The stallion started moving towards them.
”Be quiet,” begged Fleur, overtaken by panic that made her unwittingly move away from Fancypants, pulling Derpy with her, until they reached a wall, at which point she started bucking helplessly. The pegasus stared into the distance.
”You make up those games. You'd want all to be like your game. You want to make rules for all ponies. Not just us two.”
”STOP! STOP IT,” screamed Fleur with desperation, trying to drown out Derpy's heresies with her howling, attempting to wrap her shaky hooves around her neck and perhaps choke her to earn salvation. The pegasus, without looking at her, pushed her hoof away lazily.
”You must be very unhappy,” Derpy said.
The stallion was trembling. His empty eyes stared intently at Derpy as the golf club lifted itself in the air. His lips twitched in a scowl that long since lost the pretense of delicacy. Fleur shut her eyes and dug herself into Derpy's chest, powerless to stop what was to come. The pegasus still did not look at Fancypants, her golden eyes locked in some sort of unearthly bliss, or maybe suffering. She knew what was going to happen, and paid no heed.
”Shh,” she turned to look Fleur in the eye. Her face was disturbingly serene. ”It's okay. It's over.”
Fleur stared at her in disbelief. Did she not care? Why was she so peaceful?
Then, Derpy wailed. Her peaceful countenance turned into a mindless, malformed grimace. She let out an animalistic snarl like a mad dog, and started to thrash madly, mumbling nonsense thast sounded like a parody of speech, her loose, foaming mouth spattering saliva over Fleur. Both unicorns stared, startled. The golf club dropped to the floor, Fleur tried to get away with a shriek of terror. Soon she was free from the pegasus' vacant embrace, and crawled as far away as she could. Fancypants, regaining some of his composure, examined the mare rolling on the floor. Realisation seemed to dawn on his face.
”The sacred disease. Who would have thought.” He turned around, looking down. In an afterthought, he produced a pillow with his magic and put it carefully under Derpy's head. Then he left, looknig as if he was somehow...diminished. Soon, Fleur could not stand the sight and followed, shaken.
Rarity could remember her sleep being interrupted earlier by noises made by somepony leaving the room. Some time later, she was stirred again by a beam of light from the opening door. Fancypants seemed to be talking in the entrance to an armoured figure before returning, or at least that was the white mare's impression. In those short periods of consciousness, she could hear whimpering.
Rarity shifted, and seated herself on the couch. Not much was changed. The filly was still spread on the floor, just like Fancypants left her there. Her posterior was adorned with blood. She seemed to be asleep, face twitching from time to time in a grimace suggesting she was reliving the past few hours in her dreams.
The other unicorn was seated on his couch, savouring another glass of wine. He was smiling and gazing absentmindedly at the paintings on the wall. Occasionally, he looked to the colt kneeling before him. The foal's lips were wrapped around Fancypants' erect member, moving slightly up and down along with the bobbing of the colt's head. The little one's face was covered in a shade of red, and his eyes were half-shut, occasionally looking up with deference. Rarity could see the moving of his cheeks as the little tongue was doing its job, swirling around, teasing and making the tip of the stallionhood slick with saliva and precum. Rarity considered the apparent dutifulness in the foal's movements, the lack of expression save for the blush, the silence and the deliberate moving about of the little body, aimed at giving what was the foal's meager idea of pleasure. She found the overall subservience a bit bland, without any protest, any apparent suffering, and quite well concealed disgust. But Fancypants seemed most pleased at such a turn of events, allowing himself a blissful demeanour when the foal immediately took in more of him, at a mere gesture that could be directed at his sister. The stallion did not seem much concerned about issues like biting down, either. After a few moments of further sucking, his expression changed, and with one hoof he guided the colt's head, forcing him to gag on the shaft and shake helplessly as the unicorn's hot, salty release was sprayed over his throat. Nevertheless, what the instincts would prevent, Fancypants' firm grip, guiding the foal's lips along the member, guaranteed. It would be properly polished and the thick flud oozing out of it would be properly swallowed.
Finally, Fancypants let the foal loose, the little one dutifully taking another lick at the shaft once he noticed that a strand of seed hung in the air between it and his mouth, once they parted. The unicorn cracked a wide grin at the display, and reached the colt's head with his hoof, ruffling his mane cordially. The foal looked to him after swallowing, his large, round and rose eyes staring blankly, their pupils like two bottomless pits. As Rarity observed them both, she couldn't help but feel that there was some sort of understanding between them, not on an emotional one, but on some lower level. But finally, the colt broke the stare, and with a much different appearance rushed to his sister. The stallion sighed, and looked to Rarity only to be met with daggers of her hateful glare. For a moment, he paused, puzzled, until his eyebrows raised a little and he returned to sipping his wine.
Rarity gazed across the room, which was adorned in deep purples and reds. She stared at the paintings on the wall, unable to register their meaning – she had difficulty processing what was happening in the scenes depicting ponies in their everyday activities. Peasants, scholars, bakers, tailors, toiling away, making a living. They were incomprehensible, alien to the white pony. The mare saw something grotesque in what somepony else would call their normalcy. She looked away, turning to Fancypants, who was similarly to her seated, with his tailcoat and shirt moist with sweat. They hung on him as if he was a scarecrow. Loose strands of blue hair escaped his usually spotless coiffure under the weight of perspiration. His moustache was similarly drooping and glistening with this dew. He supported himself by putting his front hooves on the chaisse. He stared blankly at the ceiling, magically lifting the glass of wine now and then, drinking carelessly and letting strands of red flow down his jaw, form into droplets and fall upon his flaccid member.
The dismayed Rarity looked away, and to her further chagrin noticed the pair of foals just in front of her. The colt sat next to the sprawled filly, and anxiously stroked her mane, but refused to come any closer. His movements were so gentle thast at times he seemed not to touch her at all. At some point, he stopped altogether, and just sat there, staring. His eyes were wide open. He positioned himself like a frog readying itself to jump. The dim light cast shadows on his face, making him appear emaciated and his head seem disproportionately large. Rarity almost thought this twig-legged, skeletal freak is going to devour her, such was the gaze of the pair of mad, plate-sized eyes on his sister. But he remained still, as if the slightest movement would make him collapse under his own weight.
Meanwhile, the filly seemed to come to. After a few motions she remained still, as if every movement was a pain, and only her eyes scanned the room. Soon, they met Rarity's. The filly, for some obscure reason, rolled over so that she was facing the mare now. She was smiling. The unicorn tilted her head to the side, so that both of their faces were now in a horizontal position. Her head was heavy. She could feel the weight of her mane pull her down. Droplets of sweat – just how hot was it in here? - crawled across her face. And the filly was still smiling. Rarity felt that smile chill her to the bone, and send an itch across the aching muscles – just so that she realised her nethers, were, in fact, still sprayed with Fancypants' seed. The filly seemed aware of the fact too – and in that smile she probably wanted to convey a message of sympathy, of camaraderie perhaps? ”Don't worry, it will be okay,” said her eyes. Rarity felt the urge to vomit.
Then, a door opened, a breeze of fresh air animated the four's minds, and a valet entered. Rarity, in her regained senses, looked at him with curiosity. He was perfect in his bearing, and it seemed to her that he would carry out his duties with same adherence were he in a ballroom and not on the site of his master's perverse revelry. His presence was jarring, as if a hyperrealistic character somehow found himself in the midst of a caricature.
The stranger in a strange land approached Fancypants, and whispered a few words into his ear, then retreated from the room, stepping around the sprawled foals with dignified indifference. Rarity noted that after he left, the host grew increasingly agitated, and emptied another glass of wine rather quickly.
He stared at the letter on the table. Rarity understood.
***
”Your husband asked about you and your guest again, Your Highness.”
Cadence stared disconcertedly at the Mayor. She appreciated the hospitality here at Ponyville, but in her eagerness to please the official was slowly pushing the limits of civility. And there was really nothing surprising about such a revelation. Still, Cadence knew that pleas for unmindfulness would fall on deaf ears. Shining would not be persuaded either, he was long since convinced that Fleur was anything but sane. The Princess sighed and sipped her tea. Nopony would understand. She was not sure if she understood either.
Met with silence, the Mayor shared her lack of understanding. ”I figure he is just jealous. Miss Fleur made no problems since she arrived here. In fact, she had a positive effect on some ponies here.”
That was surprising. Cadence's face brightened, and with a newfound interest she turned to the Mayor. ”Really? Who?”
”I believe she made friends with a foal from around here. Actually, you could be able to see them from here.”
With a surge of magic, Cadence summoned a pair of binoculars to her side, and with worst expectations, started scanning the landscape visible from the verandah. Soon she found what she was looking for – in the middle of a field, under a lone oak, two specks of white and pink.
At a distance, they could be mistaken for sisters. There was something oddly fitting about these two being pressed together, embracing each other in what seemed to be light sleep. Sleep which soon would be interrupted by two other fillies, a pegasus and an earth pony with orange and yellow coats, sneaking up on them.
Cadence looked away from the ensuing commotion. Where did she see those fillies? At her wedding perhaps?
”Who are these, if I may inquire?”
”Ah, just students at the local school. You may know the sister of one of them - Rarity, our 'inside mare' in Canterlot,” chuckled the Mayor, and the puzzlement at the look she was given suggested she was quite unaware of any subtext.
Rarity. Wasn't that one her bridesmaid? And her sister...wouldn't that make her a flower girl? It was a small world.
”And she...”
”Seems to enjoy spending time with her and her friends. Very good for the community, those three can be a little troublesome at times.”
”Really? That is interesting.” That Fleur of all ponies would turn out to be good with children? Perhaps there was some hope, Cadence thought, as the four were apporaching the house. Soon they were quite audible. The three foals made a commotion about Fleur teaching the white one to sing a song and the Princess could barely keep up with the conversation, though she made out that none of them actually understood the words, and something about „Sweetie's special talent being speaking in fancy”. It seemed like the group was approaching the house for a live performance.
Soon they arrived, and the fillies stormed past the table. In the ensuing turmoil, Cadence found herself looking into the white filly's eyes. There was something morbidly familiar, but quite not definite, about the gaze she received in return. She saw such eyes elsewhere, eyes befitting anypony but such a sweet filly. Tired, empty eyes. With so many things – bad things, like fear, mistrust, grief – crawling behind them.
Such a pair of eyes belonged to Fleur.
The kinship between these two was apparent as they looked back at the princess.
Soon, the stares became awkward and Fleur gently nudged the filly to move on, then both disappeared inside the room. Soon, music could be heard, and a voice – a beautiful voice so unlike its owner's eyes – began its song. The playfulness of the piano, the girly, cheerful tone, seemed to belie Cadence's previous impression – or perhaps attempt to will it out of existence. ”Allez, venez, Milord!”, it sang.
”Adorable,” remarked the mayor while listening to the song. ”By the way, Your Majesty,” she added, as if suddenly being reminded of something, ”is it true what they say about her? About the scandal?”
Cadence's infuriated stare was enough of an answer.
***
The respectability of evenings at Fleur's was a matter of discussion among the Society. While the patronage over her was impeccable, as was her undeniable beauty, her agreeableness was at times disputable. Her artistic pursuits certainly did not help to increase it, as they attracted the Bohemian types - among whom Fleur was also a subject of heated debate, even though mocking of her collection of unfinished self-portraits had long since become passé. The inconvenience of these soirees was owed only partially to the boheme's peculiar tastes and the audacity to express them, unfortunately. In spite of the society's better judgement, the young mare did not hesitate to host also another, dreadful and disagreeable kind of ponies. Ponies with ideas. It was almost as if the mare attempted to create a melting pot of peculiar individuals that would be a slight to the respectable society.
And yet, in spite of all this, no voice of condemnation from above followed. Nopony in Canterlot who mattered would even dare to think that Fleur's benefactor might derive some sort of amusement from forcing them to endure in such company, and thus the reasons remained a mystery and the fact could be occupying the minds of old ladies at their tea-time without hindrances.
This evening, however, was somewhat different. The number of ponies of lesser heritage invited was decreased, and reputable stallions that would never cross this house's threshold earlier arrived. In such proper company, the Society could bear the presence of a few of Fleur's ”eccentrics” and immerse itself in the familiar, homely atmosphere of marital and, more importantly, financial arrangements.
The suite's drawing room was of remarkable size and spaciousness, and given its dome-like ceiling high above the visitors' heads and the recesses in the walls, as well as the elevated floor under the tall window, it had the appearance of a chapel about it. The atmosphere, or the congregation residing within, was hardly spiritual though, save for a longtime visitor of Fleur's, an elderly teacher who in his old age turned to meticulous study of the Book. There was a peculiar affection between him and the hostess, expressing itself mostly in his stoic withstanding of her oblique mockery whenever the debate turned to the subject of religion. He stood firm in spite of constant, hardly subtle attacks from the bulk of other usual guests, though he welcomed the change of pace this evening brought with itself, taking the polite, friendly ways of more agreeable ponies at face value.
Despite her fondness of the guest, Fleur was hardly pleased with his trusting demeanour this evening, and when seated at the large table in the centre of the room, allowed herself a baleful expression whenever he looked at her. Fancypants seemed to enjoy him immensely though, but despite this and the fact that the old stallion basically owed him tonight's adherence to custom, the most important pony in Canterlot elected to remove himself from direct participation and settle under the window, watching the assembly at the table from above.
He could not help but smirk at seeing his good old friend, his Caesar, shifting nervously in his chair, from time to time glancing at the beautiful white mare with anxiety. Amusingly enough, he wanted to make a half-hearted attempt at begging for forgiveness, and counting for the old wounds to heal, perhaps receiving tonight's main prize... Still, it was clear that he was already regretting the idea. Loins were a poor but convincing decision maker.
Fancypants was uncertain if there was a gland responsible for stimulating greed, but it was certainly well developed in Jet Set who took a point in seating himself as close to Fleur as possible. His being married himself did not seem to impede the ever-strong desire for objects approved by those above him. This particular one was an excellent venture for further gains by cementing his position near the top. To achieve that end, he was pursuing an incredibly amusing policy of saying 'let's take a break' in terms of Upper Crust as long as Fleur was saying 'maybe' in terms of him. Fancypants had a hard time on deciding whether the end to this was to be treated as a shame or relief.
On the contrary, the end of another stallion's appearances to these evenings would be certainly relieving. Fancypants could not remember his name. He did not bother to find out, though, it was fairly certain that after being declined tonight, it would appear along news of his suicide in the morning papers, or perhaps years later when he got his priorities straight and found a wife within the range of his five thousand a year and settled down to pursue a career that maybe earned him some fame – the nerve to appear here could be indicative of some buried quality to him.
The rest of the congregation was even less entertaining, without much hope. All acted without any breach of etiquette, creating an air of friendly and caring camraderie above the usual divsions. In their minds, coming here was a favour to Fancypants who felt concerned about his wayward protege to the point that it would be a slight inadequacy if he did not have some good reason for it. He probably did. The awareness of their generosity, especially for somepony so unlikely to need it, bolstered the gathered ponies' spirits. Essentially, they were there to pretend they are uncertain of the outcome, then pretend they agree with it, then go home and pretend to be upset over poor Crust's fate. They were also supposed to help Fleur pretend she had a choice, but even with so many prompters her acting could be a bit off.
Just right now she was having trouble following the script's guidelines. The teacher, somewhat of a layman appearing on the scene by mistake, tried to fix what he perceived to be trouble with what he thought to be the proper solution.
”I understand your grievances, Mademoiselle Fleur. Many a time I doubted the ways of our society myself. I know it might be difficult to understand, but the issue that is influx of poverty into expanding cities is a solved one. It is a natural part of the industrialisation process. The post-agrarian labour force simply needs time to earn its share, to settle down in the urban way of living. Simply put, they need time to get rich.” Half-conscious approving nodding. ”To a young one like you, this might be an infuriating idea, but simply attempting to fix things that are just immature will only create new problems. I saw the end of enough bold programs to know that.”
”End of bold programs? Ha! And I ask, what brought about said end, who decided they were not viable anymore?” Everyone knew who.
”You may doubt Her Majesty, but we are not the ones to judge what transcends our current level of understanding.” More nods of approval. Fancypants' image of boredom disappeared, his body tensed. He knew what was coming, he never hid his ideas from Fleur. This was bad.
”It may be y o u r understanding she transcends, but there are ponies in this room whose horizons extend further.” Any pretense of subtlety was gone, Fleur seemed very happy to take the role of guests absent tonight. The old teacher looked at her with disappointment.
”You sadden me young lady. I have no wish to repeat myself, and am certain that others will acknowledge my standpoint as right: Celestia is the goddess of ponykind.”
”And I am certain there are wiser, more i m p o r t a n t ponies here that will call me right. And I say, you are just as right as I would be in a statement that a mountain is the god of trianglekind.”
The congregation let out a collective gasp of shock. The teacher was concerned about this heresy. Everypony else looked with expectation at the most important pony in Canterlot. Fancypants stood up. His mouth twisted slightly, and the muscles of his legs contracted pointlessly in a rather inadequate urge to strike. With what appeared to be calmness, he spoke. ”That is a bold opinion for such a young lady! But I do believe our venerable fellow is quite right.” Collective sigh of relief. ”It is true that one needs experience to support their beliefs.” The teacher and Fleur raised their eyebrows. The others were too busy being glad that Fancypants remained the stalwart guardian of proper conduct.
Fleur sneered, still looking up at Fancypants. At least she made him stand up. That was already something. If she was going down, it would be so that she would be remembered.
***
”Your final decision then, mademoiselle? It would be poor form to keep the such a gentlecolt in the dark any more.”
”Ah, for sure. I would point to the keeping a certain filly in a very different kind of dark for twelve years as poor form. But I believe custom differs, I shall let Canterlot have its way with its folklore.”
”Restrain yourself, young lady! We have suffered enough of your scandalmongering tonight already.”
”Have no worries, I will say 'yes', or 'no', earlier I would just like to say fu-”
”HOLD IT!” The interruption was not owed to proper conduct though.
”...Her Majesty Princess Cadence!”, announced the mightily embarassed usher after bursting into the room right after the aforementioned.
Everypony bowed. Fancypants arose from his chair and followed suit, happy that it concealed his poorly contained scowl.
The Princess, unmindful of the congregation, etiquette, or(it seemed)reality, moved straight towards Fleur.
”I have a modest proposal for you, Fleur De Lys. Your decision will depend solely upon you, remember.” Cadence's words rang with purpose. ”You can still deny, you can still be free. I can aid you in that.”
At this point, the congregation, having shaken off the initial shock, noted the neat package hovering in the air behind Cadence. Nothing good could come out of this.
Fleur looked at the Princess wide-eyed, and erupted with laughter. For a few moments, the entire room was filled with an insane peal that sent chills down everypony's spines. Fleur jerked her head backwards and kept on cackling with some sort of untamed, wild spite.
Finally, the white mare composed herself, brushed her hair off her face, and still gasping for breath, responded. ”Thank you very much my knight in shining armour, I...I appreciate your kindness. And may I partake in a guess at what is in there?” She pointed to the package. ”Money?”
Fleur's mocking tone confounded the princess, but only slightly. ”Y..Yes. A hundred thousand. I understand that without a husband, you will need-”
Fleur burst into laughter again, but being short of breath she just went through the convulsing motions without any sound. ”So, in the end, it matters little whether I am getting married or not. At the end of the day I am still selling myself. Name your price Princess. Officially.”
”One hundred thousand,” said Cadence plainly, electing to retain some dignity instead of arguing.
That was enough for Fancypants. He watched the exchange in silence, unwilling to interrupt a Princess. But right now, the situation's peculiarity, the pretense of anypony being allowed to make an offer, even one this outrageous, the Princess' status that had to be preserved in front of those fools, plus Fleur's beauty – the beautiful ones were always pardoned, and she knew this – it made him powerless, and that single thing made heat course through his veins. Saying 'no, you cannot' to Cadence was possible, but behind closed doors. Here, with witnesses? It would be a scandal. A disaster.
”One hundred thousand? Ha! It seems the rumours about the royal budget were...less than exaggerated. How disappointing. Or maybe is it that there actually are ponies in the family who are aware of a harlot's price?”
That was too much. Fancypants stepped in. ”Mademoiselle Fleur, I shall not tolerate a single slanderous word about the royal family anymore.”
His pretense was perfect, but Fleur knew very well how painful was the position he found himself in. She barely stopped herself from clapping her hooves with excitement. Having him defend Cadence...just too good to be true! Encore, Milord!
”Oh, but why? We all know she is nothing but a pampered filly who has been spoon-fed delusions of morality a little too-”
”Fleur de Lys!” That tone hated any kind of resistance. It carried an air of authority, but the only thing Fleur could feel in this uttering of her name was fury. She put up a mocking expression, but the stallion prevented her from opening her mouth. His anger quickly waned, and Fleur and Cadence felt their bodies grow dreadfully cold upon the sight of his scowl, the upper lip curled in utter disgust at being brought to such a level.
”I sincerely apologise for my protege's behaviour Your Majesty. I understand your offer and appreciate it – the events of this evening have shown that I might have been mistaken in attempting to find her a husband here. I should not dare to put such a burden on any stallion. But I have made certain obligations regarding this mare. Therefore, let it be known that I offer Fleur de Lys to become my w i f e.”
Yet again, silence fell upon the room. Ponies were stomaching what they just heard. Scandalous. Yet, they quickly worked out what he meant. He'd sweep that under the rug quickly, remove her so she would not be a disgrace. Fleur and Cadence understood better. He would keep her. At any cost.
Fleur sat down, feeling her legs go weak. She gave him a defiant gaze, one that suggested she would never be broken. She looked to the ground then, unable to stand his sight anymore. She glanced to Cadence, truly resembling some sort of saviour right now. Suddenly the Princess' idea became something more than mockery. She could be free, finally free, out of this sick game of slowly pulling out her legs one after another. To leave Canterlot and never come back. Become her own property, responsible for herself only, answering only to Fleur de Lys. Start anew, leave the self-pity, despair and hatred of all around her behind. Live without a force to hate...to fear...to blame and mock and infuriate.
”Fancypants. My answer to your offer...is yes.”
Was freedom really that good? Cadence would be still upon her, she thought.
Nevertheless, there was some sort of inexplicable internal pain. But Fleur knew that yes, there was no escaping him after all. She might as well find some happiness in slavery.
”So, at the end of the day,” she started, swallowing the tears, ”Fleur has been sold to the highest bidder. And the winner is the gentlecolt with the monocle! Bravo!”
Why was she crying?
”As for the others, better luck next time fellows. Though I know,” she said looking at Jet who grew increasingly pale throughout the course of the meeting since Cadence came in, ”that there might be some who won't come out empty-hooved.” Her magic grabbed Cadence's package and launched it into the fireplace. Everypony gasped at such a wasteful, scandalous act.
Caesar could not take it anymore, it seemed – he went stiff as something akin to an invisible vise painfully clasped around the contents of his chest. His wet eyes stared upwards and he passed out, spared the rest of the evening's atrocities.
Aside from his desperate gasps for breath, there was utter silence in the room as Fleur was issuing her challenge. ”Jet Set, if you take it out with your own hooves,” she pointed to the package, licked by the flames from underneath, ”its contents are yours.” She laughed at his baffled expression turning into a grimace of pure hatred, and assured of the result, headed to her room.
A commotion broke out – some were raising their hooves into the air at this scandal, others hurried for the exit before they become guilty by association. A few rushed to the fireplace, to urge Jet to take that out before a perfect hundred thousand goes to waste.
Jet himself stared at the fire, at all this money slowly going away, and the onlookers could tell from his expression that the flame was nothing like the blazing storm within him.
Fancypants decided to leave as well, unwilling to watch the meeting's agony. Besides, he had quite a lot to sort out. Upon leaving, he paid the usher to take proper care of Caesar, presently unattended to and sprawled on the floor – presumably some sort of a heart condition.
Cadence stared at Fancypants incredulously as he passed by. Something was gripping her by the chest and choking her down. She couldn't move, but mustered all of her willpower to throw Fancypants a defiant glare. It wasn't over yet-
She shuddered and collapsed unto herself at the sight of the stare he gave her in return.
Gradually, the noise was dying down, the ponies got their share of indignation and left en masse. A few urged Jet Set to stop making a fool of himself and take out that damn package from the fire.
Flame consumed the first layer of paper, getting closer to the precious banknotes. Those who still bothered to watch were visibly upset, and again called to end this travesty, lest such a valuable being would indeed die horribly and painfully.
Jet ground his teeth. It appeared that he would get palpitations any second now. ”Crazy bitch,” he muttered, and shakingly, with great spiritual and physical pain, left.
Somepony bright ran towards the fireplace, and without paying mind to the flame and soot quickly rescued the innocent hundred thousand from the fiery clutches of death. Fleur's or not, no money deserved what these banknotes went through, and everypony who was still inside let out a collective sigh of relief. With no little pride, the grimy stallion carried the package and laid it where it belonged on the table, spreading ash all around.
Some coughingly pointed out that he could have just used the tongs or the shovel.
But the mares quickly dismissed the jealous onlookers, praising the courage and chivalry that seemed to be all lost in the contemporary society.
With the end of that dramatic episode, the evening was truly over. Those still loitering stopped counting on some formal announcement or at least a goodbye from anypony in charge. Some tried to convince the Princess to leave with them, promising complete discreetness and offering their sympathy.
For her part, Cadence just stared at the bedroom's door, as if she was hoping for something. Finally, she left silently. Her thoughts at that point would be best described as none. Only after the return to her chambers in the palace, she started crying. Peculiarly, it was a tearless lament, more reminiscent of a stricken animal's weep than anything a princess should be capable of.
Fancypants wasn't heard from until the noon of the next day, when invitations to his wedding(at a quite close date)started flowing.
Caesar survived the night, but declined a subsequent invitation to the wedding in a polite manner, excusing himself with the necessity to take the waters in Yaltack.
Whether Princess Cadence was invited, or if she would appear at the wedding, remained a mystery. Most inquiries were met with condescending silence.
Jet Set's marriage lives on in what is perceived to be relative happiness.
The slightly burnt package, containing one hundred thousand in banknotes, disappeared under unclear circumstances.
***
Curious onlookers gathered around the bride's door already at dawn. They were a strange crowd, something certainly undesired on one's wedding day. Scarfed students staring at officers in civilian attire eyed by foppish profligates looked down upon by the tattered nihilists. All below thirty, all low class, and all united in a camaraderie of clueless lads who found themselves severely outranked in this hunt. But heck, there was no shame in losing to the stallion who ran the damn place. It was just proper to come here and say ”good game” while letting at least their eyes ravish the wife-to-be in the last moments of her formal self-determination.
At noon, she finally appeared. A carriage was already waiting as she swung the door open. For a silent moment, she stood on the doorstep while the crowd was taking in the magnificent sight. Though her request for a black wedding dress was mockingly declined, her appearance was striking – the dress was light in spite of the weather, and with its nigh-translucence and delicacy that made it seem to flow in the wind, it gave Fleur the aura of an ethereal, otherworldly creature.
Finally, the admirers shook off their awe and started cheering, whistling and throwing flowers. Most congratulated loudly, though some were less favourable, yelling about a ”marriage that will cover up anything”, though the bride's fiery glare brought them into line quickly and soon nothing but praise could be heard. Fleur strode through the crowd which opened before her without delay under the enervating gaze of her brooding, hazy eyes.
Fleur eyed the onlookers languidly, taking her time on the way to the carriage. Soon, it would all be over, she would finally throw down the silly delusions, she thought as a passing wind caressed her face and swept through her dress and mane. Enough of this flailing about, of running away, it was time to gather your resolve and swallow the medicine. Leave those goofs behind, get shit done. Spending the rest of your life with a despicable failure, Fleur thought while observing her admirers, had certain good points to it. At least hers was a rich and somewhat old failure. Wait until he dies, then settle peacefully somewhere far away.
A keen observer would notice, that at a certain point on her way to the carriage, the bride's eyes were momentarily lit up with some kind of spark – that spark that usually indicated to her admirers that it was time to leave. She turned wildly and scattered the crowd, then stormed through.
The reason became apparent quickly. Some argued it was all arranged, but the truth is that Princess Cadence stopped in an inconspicuous carriage nearby just to look. She was quite startled when this banshee of a bride noticed her, approached and opened the door furiously, screaming ”Take me away! Anywhere you want!” and entering without awaiting a reply. The princess was aghast. But happy. The carriage disappeared quickly, and an hour later Fleur was on the train to Ponyville, a letter of introduction for all her luggage.
The stallions stood there, mouths agape. Some helped the others get up after they were thrown aside by Fleur's spell. Some student, probably hit over the head, muttered to himself something about ”spirits that are beautiful only when free”, or some similar inanitites. The fellow picking him up noted that running away from the altar was atrociously passé, and soon an argument broke out, drawing in a dozen or so stallions.
A few bruises and a nosebleed later, the company unanimously decided to employ the most powerful peacemaker known to their kind: sharing of alcohol, whores and Schadenfreude(the groom needed somepony to bring the bad news, after all).
When the company, soon to become lifelong friends, sat in arrest twelve hours later, none of them considered the insane luck they had to find Fancy on a crowded square and already knowing.
***
Chapter 1 - Canterlot Ponies
”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.”