The Consensual Kink Collection

by Manifest Harmony

We're Sorting What? (Prologue)

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“Buck bucking buckity bucker mcbuckface!”

The string of curses echoed around the little pink unicorn mare sprawled on the marble floor before dying away among the high shelves lining the vaulted walls of the hall. The floor around her hooves was littered with metallic discs. A few were still spinning or rolling where they fell from the trays she had been carrying on her saddle.

The young mare gasped, throwing her hooves up to her muzzle. Her otherwise adorably innocent face looked up at the apprentice who had run into her with pouty indignation. With a look of watery-eyed resignation, the mare reached for the ballgag hanging around her own neck. She slowly spread her cute little lips around it, moaning just a little as she tightened the strap.

The ballgag very helpfully read: ‘GOOD PETS DON’T SWEAR’.

The apprentice who had bowled her over watched awkwardly as the mare snapped the lock securing her gag into place. For want of something, anything, to do other than roast under her glare, the apprentice began to pick up some of the metallic discs. As the apprentice was about to place them back in the trays, the apprentice felt a tug. The apprentice looked around to find a cute, pink post-it note stuck on the unicorn mare’s horn. A message in elegantly endearing cursive read ‘Put even one of those in the wrong case and I will put the *%#@*$)@#$ on your @!)(#!$@’

It suddenly became apparent to the apprentice that the slots in the tray were labelled with titles and content warnings, with hits such as the acclaimed ‘Slave mare forced to lay changeling eggs’, the box office ‘Sex Pet and Master Take an Enthusiastic Walk’ and ‘Be Kind, Please Rewind’. The apprentice gulped. Worse still, the discs were not only unlabelled but strewn across half the room.

The apprentice wasn’t sure what a @!)(#!$@ is and where it is, but the pony certainly didn’t want the *%#@*$)@#$ anywhere near it.

“Lucky Star, what did I tell you about running through the dungeons again?” A new arrival, a chestnut mare in a charming little maid uniform, stepped up, relieving the apprentice of the pink unicorn’s glare. “I’m ever so sorry. This pet here has a rather unfortunate knack for running into ponies, walls, even thin air sometimes.” The maid’s warm smile didn’t falter under the cold siege of Lucky Star’s death glare. “Dear oh dear, Lucky Star, all the Ex-Ps you were meant to deliver for the anniversary showing are all over the place. Oh, I wonder what Master would do to you when he finds out?” The maid gave Lucky Star a playful smirk. Lucky Star’s glare melted away into the apprehensive look of a slave discovering durian on the platter on food-play night.

“Ecks-pees?” The apprentice raised an eyebrow.

“I would like to say ‘exposition’, but that would be in bad taste.” The maid giggled. “EX-Ps stands for ‘Experience Playback Spark’, discs of adamantite forged in the Fire of Devotion. You see those scorch marks on the surface? Those are memories of a fiery moment of devotion burned into their surface for all eternity...or at least until we lose their labels.”

“Scorch marks?” The apprentice peered down curiously at the adamantite discs. “These look more like cum stains.”

Scorch. Marks,” the maid reiterated patiently, her smile unwavering. She looked between the disc and the worried-looking Lucky Star. “Hmm, I suppose the only way to sort them out is to play through each and every one to find out their contents. But how would you ever get through all of them in time for the anniversary celebrations? What would Master think if you were… gasp...late.” She gave Lucky Star a concerned look, earning her a plaintive whine from the doomed pet.

Play through?” The apprentice blinked.

“Yes, dive into the memories burned into them, relive, experience, replay, et cetera.” The maid nodded, a little smirk playing on her lips. “And before you ask, yes, you get to touch, smell, taste, feel everything. And yes, that includes the orgasms.”

“I suppose I can help, if I must,” the apprentice said, looking very much put-upon, especially with the blush.

“Oh, how wonderful!” the maid chirped gratefully. Lucky Star rolled her eyes in absolute glee.

“So, how do you play these?” the apprentice asked, toying with one of the discs.

“Well, you simply insert them.” The maid shrugged.

Insert them?” The apprentice balked. “Insert them where?

“Into a slave or pet, of course. Where else? Where do you think the term ‘Slave-Insert’ came from?” The maid said, matter-of-factly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Though the lab rats have designed those new pod things, but being pickled in a jar can never be as fun as snuggling a player-slave through a memory.”

“There’s no time to get to the pods...right?” the apprentice asked, sheepishly.

“Oh, no, no time at all.” The maid giggled. “We will simply have to make do as the ponies of the old did, au natural.

“Will you need some, uh, help with, um, inserting the discs?” the apprentice asked, looking as innocent as the foal wearing a cookie jar for a horseshoe.

“Oh, would we ever. After all, Lucky Star here gets ever so tight when she’s excited. Just look at how enthusiastic she is!” The maid nudged the slave mare playfully. The poor slave could only grunt in obvious excitement. “Now, once you get in, be sure to play through each memory until you beat the plot and reach the C.U.M., the Cherished Unit of Memory. Otherwise, you may end up desynchronizing and...”

“This one looks real important. It probably needs sorting the soonest!” the apprentice declared, waving a disc in the maid’s face.

“Oh, very well.” The maid giggled at the apprentice’s enthusiasm. “Let’s have Lucky Star register your name first. You are….”

“I’m…” The apprentice grinned with barely-contained excitement. “...Self Insert!”

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