Author's Note

Written by the widely acclaimed Troublesome Beast, the absolute authority on hyperbolic clop and one of Clocktower Society's longest-serving admins. If you like this story be sure to visit his page, check out his other wonderful works in the realms of loving kinky married sex, and follow him for more hyper goodness.

Featuring the editing talents of Axolu and Noble Cause.

Contains: hyper proportions and amazonian mare, casual public sex, dom mutuality, extensive body modification and piercings, oral, light humiliation, moderate caning/strictness, sadism/masochism play on the hard end, bodily constriction, and the use of music as sex or sex as music.

Dual Duet Chapter 1 by Troublesome Beast (BDSM, Anthro)

There were naked tits, naked flanks, and naked genitalia everywhere, and Frosty Quartz had no idea what to do with his hands. The ones that weren't naked might as well have been, and the bar was crowded. Of course, he was still using his hands to hold things, but that didn't seem to stop him from bumping into various ponies. Most of them didn't seem to mind; many of them had actually rubbed softness or hardness, flank or thigh or whatever was in reach, back against him. Until the chill of his skin made them skitter away, again.

That made him more nervous. Which made him cold. Which meant those he touched were feeling chilled. Which meant looks. Which made him more nervous. Yay, he thought. Positive feedback earth magic.

Frosty Quartz, pale-cream hide showing off his shirtless state, was not a very big stallion, as earth ponies went. The citizens of the Crystal Empire had about as many hypers as their southern cousins, but he wasn't one of them. Definitely not at five-foot-eight. He'd been a child when Sombra had come to power, and early work in the mine, coupled with proper nutrition after the Cadance Restoration, meant that he was a lean, fit pony, with gymnast's muscles under his frosty white hide, bluish-white sparkles throwing off his gem-activated skin.

His light blue mane and tail were striped and striped again with frosty streaks of the same color, even when he wasn't feeling Friendship and Devotion course through him. On his tight, dark brown pants, he'd added his cutie mark to the hip pocket: a single, twinkling blue quartz crystal. For all his nervousness and hesitancy, none of it shone in his face. Indeed, the more nervous and cold he radiated, the more his face shifted into a neutral expression, the paler and icier the blue of his eyes.

Frosty juggled the decorative tote bag (picture of Princess Cadance and Prince-Consort Armor tied up to each other) that held his new wrist doohickey (pipsub, he guessed, reminding himself to put it on… somewhere), several pamphlets, and, to what had been his shock, a number of business cards and phone numbers scrawled over pornographic self-portraits. Most with rather graphic offers to help 'break in the new dom-- the fun way!'

He was kind of curious how you tied some of the knots in the pictures. And if… placement mattered. Okay, he admitted, looking at the snack cart slave's picture, That knot on her clit has to matter. And the ones tightening against her nipples. He found shibarni fascinating, and wondered if he'd be able to find a proper model tonight.

For some of the collared mares strutting around, he'd have to ask them to show him how to take it off them first. Of those, more than a few were wearing nothing else but the shibarni and their collar. Red, he reminded himself. Same as your mask. You're looking for red.

It was a little confusing; the part of him raised post-Unification Traditionalist told him he should have asked his mothers for permission to be here, even as an adult. The part of him who listened when Princess Cadance spoke, and could even raise his gaze up to her eyes occasionally, that part told him he was being silly.

If there was something Frosty hated more than his own self-sabotage, it was feeling silly. Especially given the getups some of the other stallions were wearing. He personally didn't think anypony could pull off the posing-pouch-with-a-face-on-it look, but the guy who was swinging it around seemed to enjoy having his sub "kiss" down below, so more power to him.

He kept his new wallet-zot-thingy, his phaser, in his other hand, and got even more embarrassing reactions when he bumped into somepony with that. The mask felt heavy, hot, heating against the cool of his lightly gemming hide. That mask, the one that shouted at everypony what he wanted to be since the first time one of his moms explained the difference between a bossmare and a broodmare, and the difference between herd jobs and herd preferences.

The more he blushed, the more he felt like the red was being transferred from the front to the back. Branding him. He wasn't supposed to be ashamed, he knew. Not for his sexuality anywhere, and certainly not for his kink in the welcoming arms of the Clocktower Society.

"It's just weird, being a stallion and not wanting to be taken care of," and variations on that had been said one too many times. His mothers had called the others busybodies, and smiled at their husband when he was in the room.

His father had just told him to ask his other mothers, and had been-- you guessed it-- embarrassed. Which Frosty had picked up from his father. Crystal pony inheritance: positive feedback loops.

Red mask, blue border; simpler and more distinct than looks and giggles. Mind you, the looks some of the collared mares as they inspected him… Especially the ones with bare breasts and stiffening nipples. After the third time one had gotten close, then backed off, he'd almost pulled the mask off. Why did it feel like it was screaming who he was, and why the hell did that come off as a bad thing, here? Where every princess born or ascended had united behind his empress and her aunts' push to make ponies feel less prudish? How did that work?

"Is it possible to have unofficial cutie marks in 'plaything, Fate's'?" Frosty muttered to himself. When he had been just a foal, his home had been taken over by an evil sorcerer who had drained their hope and made them slaves. When he had been ten, they'd become stuck in stasis and out of phase with reality for more than a thousand years. Things had alternated from there: rescued/reinvaded/threatened/rescued/exploded/fixed, ending with today:

When the best friend he'd yearned over for four years his senior taking him to Ponyville for his pre-eighteenth birthday, and then, on the day, took a dreamy little new-stallion with a longterm fascination with hierarchy and play to a place he didn't believe could exist. Approved of-- Tartarus, run by-- his empress, near to the mares and dragon he had a huge crush on, and full of wonder and mystery.

Then she'd left him. In the indoctrination class, but left him, singing something cheerful about the tentacle pits and "meating somewhere later, right, meat with an a." Thankfully, his instructor had taken a bit of pity on the way out; the older stallion had told him that if he wasn't sure, he might try out the Back Nine, on the Commons.

So Frosty had wandered down. The press of bodies within the Clocktower gave him room. He hoped that was courtesy to a dom overcoming interest in a male, and not his glittering hide making him stand out.

It would have been nice if Emerald Matrix had told him the Fires' presence acted like the Heart.

Eventually, he'd made it to the bar. The light was low, blue, and flattering, hence the constant throw of sparkles from his hide. The place was full, but not packed. The crowd tightened, but only so much that his bumps were more noticeable. Shimmying mares in collars, enthusiastically playing their roles around stallions and mares alike in masks. It was frankly making him wish he had not chosen to dress up in faux-leather pants and no shirt. The pants were getting increasingly tight, all the way down to his right knee.

There were some parts of him that were big, even for an earth pony.

Frosty bellied up to the bar bar, and not just the meat market areas or the cages where cooing subs clustered, danced, and presented.

He remembered the recommendation, on his way out of the class. "It's not really for tallies much, so don't worry about your phaser's 'wallet,'” Longwall had said. His instructor had clarified, "The owners just like watching. A lot. You'll either be near herds just looking for a quiet drink and meal, or with subs looking to join up with a dom." He'd given a knowing grin. "Based on your test results, look for red with ruby crystal studs, dark blue borders, and gold bands. Start easy; get comfortable. Have fun, and keep to consent."

That was what he meant to do. Wait a bit, get a feel for the rhythm of the place, and not just the nice trance house music on in the background. He got his complimentary drink, and was surprised at himself rather nicely. When the bar slave, a tall, broadly grinning hyper earth pony mare with muscles like an army, lovely red skin, twinkling orange eyes and a long green mane had challenged him to provide a spanking in exchange for a sandwich, he'd managed it. Managed it well enough to get the sandwich, another number, and an impromptu applause moment.

Maybe it wouldn't be so hard. Confidence filled his heart while the sandwich met the drink going down in his stomach. He turned, leaning the small of his toned back against the bar itself, and surveyed the room.

Curves, curves everywhere. What his instructor hadn't mentioned, but the illusion of a bent-over mare being spanked glowing above the door had made very clear, was that the Back Nine favored those who worshipped pleasure at the altar of ass. And hips. Tops might vary in the audience-- none, making him feel guilty about lowering the room temperature and happy about the view at the same time, bras, ropes, silken ties, and even jackets and shirts-- but every last collar-wearing mare was either naked or wearing assless lower garments of some variety.

Squishy earth pony tush, well fed. Taut pegasus rump, well trained. Quivering unicorn ass, waiting to be used. Spice liberally with about one in for being ridiculously muscular, ridiculously thick, or both, as the hyper ladies put in their bids for below-the-waist attention. Tails flagged or held with rings to better display prime rump, and to display the hints of sex from behind. The occasional hind end shaken at anypony wearing a mask.

Like Frosty.

His confidence failed and he turned around, focusing on his drink. Wishing all the while that one of them would talk to him, not just wriggle. Mind you, he noted, the wriggling's nice, too. So very nice.

Desperate to avoid thinking about his chronic lack of decisiveness, Frosty turned back to the bar, accepted the bar slave's offer to trade another five spanks-- cut down to two when the bartender yelled at her for slacking while she worked-- for a refill. The bartender's smile told him he probably didn't need to trade under the owners' voyeuristic encouragement rules. His balls told him he'd better keep it up, since it was the most action he seemed to be getting tonight.

Besides, hyper ass felt good under his hand.

He nursed the drink quietly, trying to get courage to do something when he wasn't being propositioned directly. To be forceful, to be confident, to go out there and find a compatible slave and get to some negotiating.

That wasn't on the menu, so he let his attention be grabbed by the strangely one-side conversation going on between two mares to his right, at the very corner edge of the bar.

He'd let his gaze go elsewhere before. Not only were they obviously a couple-- adamantite crystal masks, with a little bit of ruby worked in here and there, decorated in rainbow filigrees covering all the types of domination. No border, but they were masks, not collars, so whether or not they were interested in his sex didn't seem to be relevant.

But they were eyecatching. The first was a giant earth pony, a southerner, not a fellow crystal. Huge, though. Eight feet of grey hide over luscious padding that nevertheless betrayed the might of her hyper heritage with slight bulges and peaks whenever she moved. And no matter how slight her shifting in her seat, Frosty had a great view.

Because the only reasons you couldn't call her naked were that she was wearing her mask, a white band with pink bowtie around her neck, and earthpower bracers-- the expensive kind, probably Confectionist-- in the shape of shirt-cuffs and cufflinks.

Oh, and she had a battle-cello's bow in one hand, with the cello itself in the case sitting in the corner nearby. But Frosty wasn't certain that any of that counted as anything other than accessories.

There was a dramatic sweep to the front bangs of her dark grey mane that seemed to follow back around her right temple, tucking behind her ear and running up against the rest of the mane as it traveled down her neck, past her broad, rugged shoulders and-- how far down? He couldn't tell from this angle.

She had remarkably expressive eyes within the confines of her mask. Pride flared in her light purple eyes, pride and a sort of satisfaction that bordered on smug without truly crossing over. The twist of her lips were sardonic, but not cruel, with real humor in them as she spoke softly to her companion. He shouldn't be eavesdropping, but he couldn't help himself.

She was so curvy it made his heart want to stop. Not just her massive O-cups, jiggly and soft-looking but with just enough heft they kept mouth-watering shape. No. As impressive as that all was, she was definitely a part of the Back Nine scene.

Those hips! He couldn't see the ass behind them-- she was turned slightly in his direction, sitting furthest from him-- but the plush of it squooshed out to either side, plumping her hips out and giving her her own cushions. The sweep and curve of hip to abdomen was almost princessly in its sheer excess.

Naked. Yes, naked, but decorated; her hips were distorting her violet treble clef cutie mark in the traditional decoration of all ponies, but she must have decided to use her tallies on herself; she had a pair of carefully made arcs that imitated a cello's f-holes drawn down over the mountains of her hips, following the valley of her sides, and tracing over her hips to point at her cutie mark. A series of lines fell down into her cleavage, over her soft, round belly and pointed at…

Her carefully groomed pubic mound. When her impossibly thick thighs shifted just so to press against the edges of her vulva, it looked like she had, well, a cello's tailpiece.

Frosty mentally praised Pinkie Pie. Hail, Princess of Parties. I have the best seat that isn't her marefriend's. It really was a good view.

The other was all in a soft brown robe. Even her head was covered by cowl out of which only a white muzzle topped by that glittering mask peaked. She had a horn, a unicorn then, but even that was wrapped up in the cowl. Her gaze was purple, but he was pretty sure that was a pair of massive lenses over the eyeholes, glittering with opacity. How did she even see when it was as dim as this?

Definitely female, Frosty knew, though. Or futa, I guess, I can't see in front. Her tail was as concealed by the robe as her mane, and her chest didn't disturb the shapeless robe, but he could definitely make out her hips. They were every bit as broad as her hyper companion's-- and the unicorn was shorter than he was!

Oddly enough, she didn't speak at all. Elegant hands with long, deft fingers gestured and pointed, primarily at the taller earth pony, but with wild exuberance, she seemed to wander their attention everywhere. Expressive, apparently; the earth mare was carrying on the conversation full tilt, with pauses for replies that seemed to mean something.

The hyper mare was stroking the hair of her battle-bow over the plush of her inner thigh, smiling at her partner though she shook her head. Amidst all her expansive curves, all her plush, and all her gorgeous mass, the word that kept striking Frosty's mind was: elegance. Elegant gestures, elegant motion, even elegance in how she teased the sensitive flesh of her own inner thigh as she spoke.

That, too, was elegant. What ponies called Received Pronunciation, marking her as an upper class Bittish mare with a mixture of supreme relaxation and a rich contralto that was wonderful to listen to. "No, V," she said fondly. "I shan't spot you this one. Even if you got them new just for my dual duet." She listened to-- V, was the other mare?-- utter silence for a few moments, then shook her head again. "No, you cannot make it up to me later tonight, either. You would do that any way, dearest, we both know. So it's to be the match, or you are to take the lead. I shall leave it to your discretion; I am more than ready either way."

Silence from the other mare, accompanied by pointing, threatening fingers. The hyper mare just waited serenely, her free hand moving to cup a curve of her plush stomach, stroking just above where the hide darkened for her pubic hair. With a light titter, she added, "I can occupy myself if you need to drive up your courage, my sweet. Whilst you watch."

The cowled unicorn hung her head, then lifted her chin in what Frosty thought had to be a glare behind the mirror lenses of her mask. Her larger partner's grin just widened, and she held out one hand palm up, the other in a fist above it. The unicorn's first noise of the night, a light grunt, followed her hands as she made the same gesture, right on a level with the hyper's.

The slight smile became a serious expression, grave, almost deadly. It struck him as absurd; even a thousand years ago Gem-Parchment-Shears had been a kid's game. And here, two mask-clad dominatrixes were using it to determine something of seeming dire import.

One game to the cowled unicorn; one to the hyper nudist. A gentle smile on the big mare's expressive face paused the third contest. "You could just give up, dearest," she suggested. "Loser picks how, no? It could be fun. I could pleasure you on your turntable at full speed-- like you wanted, last time."

Even Frosty could feel the cowled mare's displeasure at this, sitting behind her.

Their hands shook in the proper style, and fell again. The big mare had thrown Crystal-- or Rock, as they called it here-- to the unicorn's Parchment. To silence, the victory.

Huffing, the huge earth pony put her broad hands on her immeasurably broad hips, and snorted at her companion. "Fine. I shall be the mask, I take it?" she asked, and when the cowled unicorn nodded, the earth pony rolled her eyes. A heavy snort followed. "We are doing the duet then," she said, and prodded the unicorn in her midsection with the battle-bow. "You did bring the right wires this time, yes?"

Frosty wasn't sure how, but eavesdropping as he was, he was starting to get a sense for the cowled unicorn's silent responses. Amusement, then agreement, but to the final question, a sort of shiftiness as her horn glowed. A box faded into her hands, and she shook it at the earth pony.

Who glared. "I recognize that box, V," she said sternly. "Unless you have spontaneously developed harder hide, I am not consenting to blood play." A sense of protest from V was met with the bigger mare's disdain. "It would have been if I had not stopped the scene! You have no sense at all when it comes to damage when you are getting your pain sluttery on. And we both know it."

Still unsure of how he knew, he realized that V was pouting, and that the little trembles were begging the hyper mare to use the thinner wires. The hyper would have none of it. "You picked me to top," she reminded her smaller partner. "So it is the thicker gauge, or a chastity belt, an apology to the owners, and we go home without our set."

Slumping in defeat, V acquiesced, folding the box back into some strange subdimensional space before pulling out another, seemingly identical box. She seemed to hope this was the right one, and apparently it was. The big earth pony smiled beatifically. "You have been paying attention to Princess Pinkie, I see," she said fondly. "Excellent. Open your robes like the whorsish exhibitionist you are; let’s get them fitted."

Frosty found himself craning to try and see exactly what was under the robes, and then turned away quickly to focus on his drink and attempts to get his courage up. Up to proposition mares who were interested in a dom, and not to keep peeping where he wasn't invited. Open area or not, delightfully intriguing comments about exhibitionism or not, he felt that he had basically been shoving his muzzle in where it didn't belong.

Of course, he'd been thinking that about himself everywhere in the Clocktower, even though he'd been told that everypony who was in public was accepting of the kink-- that it was one of the points of the Society. But… he wondered, if that's the case, why is the only mare who's come up to me the bar slave who won't be available for… I dunno. Whenever. Why did Emerald just leave me on my own?

He fumed over his drink for a while, unaware of the growing bubble of space around him. Unaware of the looks that mixed longing and regret before walking away. Not really paying attention to the cold his earthpower was throwing out, or the icy expression he was developing. Wasn't even aware he'd repeated the question, "Why did none of them talk to me?" out loud. He just groaned and planted his head into the bar.

Only for a warm, supple stroke of fingers across his shoulder to bring him out of his self-pitying funk. When he looked towards the source of the disturbance, his vision was full of light grey boob.

Like, everything was grey, squishy, and mouth-watering as far as he could see, except the huge pink nipple, stiff and quivering right at mouth-level. Frosty couldn't speak; he could barely keep his jaw from dropping opening and giving the wrong impression. He was still stunned when the owner of the boob in question answered the question he hadn’t realized he’d asked.

That same Received Pronunciation before, with a hint of gentle humor. "Because you are flooding the herd with tundra sensation, stallion," the bemasked earth mare told him, and tilted his head up so he could look at her, mask to mask. "It's rather attractive-- you're getting the purples and oranges quite moist, I assure you-- but since your mask says otherwise and you are not following up with anypony but Brawna, they're giving you quite the berth."

Frosty stammered a bit, and she shook her head. "You have just started your ley training?" she asked. "Crystal traditions?" When he shrugged, pulling his chin from her hand with a nod, she continued. "A cutie mark in gemology, if the rather nice accent where those lovely trousers hug your tush matches?"

He blushed, and nodded again. "Yes, to all three," he replied, and damped the cold around him. "I do crystalline structure and work on A/C units with the earthpower side. What does that have to do with herd sense, though?"

She smiled, and moved closer. Any lingering cold was displaced by the warmth of her curves, her massive body almost touching him-- his head almost into her cleavage. "Adorable," she said with another soft laugh. "Your magic is symbolic, and doubly tied to your northern home.”

The big mare shrugged. “It’s not too complicated,” she reassured him. “You seem to be obsessing a bit; socially, even. Your heritage is reacting, my dear, and you're making everypony around you see you like a frostbound mountain, dominating the countryside and unapproachable save for the bravest."

She licked her lips and added, "Like I said, scrumptious. But a bit intimidating coming from somepony new."

Frosty felt his face start to match his mask's color. "Oh, Sombra's mines," he cursed, and grounded. "Yeah, 'new.' New adult, new member of the Society, new everything." He covered his mask with his hands. "I'm sorry. About the cold stuff, and eavesdropping." The apology and admission blurted out before he could control it, wanting to clear the air almost instinctively.

When he drew his hands back from his face, the serenity of her smile had become quite salacious. "My dear," she told him, "We were quite aware. Vinyl bet me two climaxes you would join us. A win is a win, I suppose. But…” She paused, salaciousness became almost predatorial interest. “Did you say you were new to the Society?"

Stammers were his only reply to the comment, but he focused on the question instead. "It's my eighteenth birthday. I've seen-- touched!-- more mareflesh in the past couple hours than I've had the opportunity to ever. And that includes my uncles' hand-me-down porn stash!"

The huge melons bobbed and bounced in front of his face as the grey mare's breathing grew shallow, and she licked her lips again before placing her hands gently on his shoulders. "Sorry to be so... blunt," she said, looking absolutely not sorry at all, "Not just virginal to the Society, but to the whole parade?” One hand raised, she indicated the sweep of activities within the Back Nine.

Some of which Frosty wasn’t sure he would ever have the sheer flexibility to perform, but that was beside the point.

Her questions elicited a heat he hadn't experienced since the last time he'd been to the Lava Forges. His blush was in plain view across his athletic body, spreading from cheeks to neck to the shoulders under the eight foot tall mare's hands. Calming himself, tapping into some of his cold again, he shrugged a bit. "Yeah?"

“Mmmhmm,” the huge earth pony hummed quietly. Frosty felt her fingertips run along his shoulders; saw her nipples get so stiff they almost blinded him. She shifted slightly, tilting her head and biting her lip. “How familiar are you with luck-rituals?”

The seeming non-sequitur left him confused. More confused. “Er-- not really?” he said cautiously. “Do you mean like-- before a performance?”

“Indeed.” She sucked slowly on her lower lip, chewing it. “I know it is a bit of an imposition. And no one likes to be thought of as new meat…” She laughed softly. “How would you like being seasoned? Indulging a pair of mares their fancy and their methods?” She stroked a finger along the side of his mask. “Mostly vanilla, and absolutely respecting this else?”

Frosty frowned. He wanted to. If he was picking up on her right, she was offering to do something with him, here, now. That’s what he was looking for, right?

But… his own hesitation flared up again. Wishing that the course had included a little more oomph, he dithered.

The stately mare above him either mistook shyness for indecision, or enjoyed putting on a show. "Vinyl," snapped the earth pony, "Beg. Now."

He felt her first, naked hide brushing against his right oblique as she squirmed under his arm. V-- Vinyl-- was naked now, completely; but in many ways, she was more clothed than he. His sense of touch said 'metal' before he heard the soft jingle, and the white-hided unicorn mare was suddenly at his feet.

She was begging. No sound other than the metallic jingles following her movement, but he knew she was begging him to accept-- some offer?-- from the hyper mare. He stared at Vinyl instead, the name teasing at the back of his head. He didn't get it at first, but then again, it wasn't every day that a mare wearing less clothes but more material than you knelt at your feet and offered her body. In exchange for an offer they hadn't actually made yet, and he didn't care.

She had-- not an hourglass shape, but a bottle's. Not because of any fat; lushness was her partner's province. She was every bit as fit as Frosty was, and he could see it so well, but her hips held every promise that had displaced the vanished robe and more. Literally as wide as the hips belonging to the mare two and a half feet bigger than she, they were toned and curved out to form a huge teardrop shaped ass that she was currently resting on the heels of her feet, while her toes kept her in place.

With her thighs wide open and wet sex in plain view, her lovely C-cup tits thrust up towards his face, and a panting silence keeping her muzzle open. Instead of her mask, she had on a collar now, done in the same style and colors, but she was still wearing eyepieces, a pair of broad shades, the lenses glittering purple, angled almond shapes.

They should have told him exactly which Vinyl was currently flashing her pink at him, but he was too shocked by the appearance of what was hidden beneath her robes now. It later occurred to him that they would also be hidden beneath those white bodysuits in her shows.

Piercings everywhere. Piercings, and body modifications so bizarre they transcended a mere "pierce" and were closer to thauma-fantasy implantations. Her nipples were pierced with little jingly chimes on chains around horizontal bar studs, but her breasts were circled with an orbit of rings in the flesh about halfway from base to nipple. On the top of each tit was a shiny plate in her skin, matching one across the breastbone.

Frosty couldn't tell what metal it was, but he could feel odd little twinkling crystals resonate in the plates from where he was standing above her. They weren't the only implants of the same materials. Strange S and old-style F curves of it were everywhere over her body-- all her limbs, her belly, her breasts, everywhere below the neck or wrists, many outlined in abstract art tattoos.

Little rings and hoops attached to studs where anchored in her hide from just below the shoulder, down her biceps and triceps both, skipping the elbow but outlining a broad, flattish parabola implanted at either end of each bicep, and then picking off decorated over her forearms. Every ring and almost every hoop had little metal chimes on them. Her hands weren't pierced, but she had rings with dangling chains and chimes over each finger and her thumb.

Frosty wondered why chimes, and not bells, and then remembered the tail code. He was abruptly very interested in Vinyl's ass. For research purposes. Really.

The same decoration went downward, too. Her navel was filled with a little grey quartz outlined in steel that poked out through the belly flesh up, down, and left with little balls on the ends of the anchoring piercings. More of the hiderings followed down her side, carefully placed around her muscles, and highlighting another dish-like implant just above her completely shaved pubic mound. Her hair-bared hide had a tattoo of her earth mare's cutie mark, which seemed a little redundant, given that her clittoral hood was pierced and holding up a little glyph of the same. Symmetrical rings followed over her labia, and lightly jingled against the piercings and implants on her thighs mirroring those of her upper arms, just as her calves were to her forearms.

Other tattoos followed in whorls and sine curves around the lines of rings and chimes, but they weren't the only connection. Thick gauge wire spiderwebbed over her body, pressed close to her hide as they threaded from ring to ring, loop to loop, and followed every motion of her toned form. There were two primary sets-- the wires following the shape of her body, and another set, anchored over the bar-dish above her sex, tied tight to that, but extending above and below. Below, the carefully spaced wires ran to each of her labial piercings and her clit-mark. Above, they made crisp lanes travelling from belly to her breasts, where they formed what looked like nothing but a two-necked string instrument with the scroll and neck replaced by her boobs and anchored on each nipple piercing.

Needless to say, Frosty's dick nearly ripped its way out of his cocksleeve and past his fauxleather trousers, much to the approving expression of both mares. "What-- I-- why?" he babbled. "What… what are you asking?"

The hyper mare loomed across him, huge jugs drooping slightly as she angled to look him nose to nose in the face. More tightness. "Oh dear," she groaned, breath hot. "Forgot to detail, did I?" She stroked his mask gently along the border and smiled. "Vinyl and I like to find an inexperienced dom before we perform somewhere new and give her-- or him-- a lovely time. The ritual, you see."

Inexperience traded for familiarity. It made sense, in a crazy, letters-to-Stableloft sort of way.

Those huge melons surrounded Vinyl's head and horn as the big mare leaned closer, her lips an inch from his ear. "Only gave you half an introduction, too,” she said with an apologetic tone. He flicked an ear close and smiled at her; she had so much presence that he found it hard to resent her familiarity.

Rather the opposite, in fact; the kiss she gave his ear made his pants strain in response. “Call me Octavia, please,” she breathed after. “The luck is better the larger the hurdle would overcome.” She shrugged. “Let me be honest as well: it’s fun helping someone debut. Not to mention you, yourself, and your tight pants. So stern, so grim… So well-fitted. If you get over your shyness, you shall cut quite the swathe, I think."

Vinyl agreed, especially when Octavia added, "Therefore, we should rather like to give you your test run-- and let you be our tip."

"Your tip?" Frosty asked, confused. "I'm Frosty Quartz," he added, nonplussed. Then Vinyl made air kisses from the bulge-tip of his sleeved cock, just above his knee, along the length of the stiffening shaft, up to his waist, then over to nose at his phaser.

Octavia chuckled. "We don't like to take tips on stage," she explained. "It interferes with the dance. Your phaser is your wallet for now?” When he nodded, she smiled again. “Invest in us,” she urged, then indicated her partner. “DJ can help. Call it a repayment for your participation out of the blue.”

When he nodded slowly, she winked and went on. “So, if you are willing to invest a single tally for her, we will pay back tenfold on your sub when you get one. Honest to the flame," she said, holding up one hand and placing the other deep in her cleavage.

Frosty figured he could trust that. And while he didn't have much to lose in his little phaser, he didn't have much to, well, lose. He looked up at Octavia, then down at Vinyl. Well, at Octavia's breasts covering Vinyl's head. The big grey mare pulled back slowly, her lush body jiggling, when his jaw dropped.

It was seeing Vinyl's shades that did it, emerging from the delectable confines of Octavia's cleavage. He cursed himself mentally for not realizing earlier, and then couldn't say anything.

The unicorn mare's muzzle turned into a smug grin that he knew was more for Octavia than for him. She had won back a few climax turns on her bet that it would take him a while to fancolt out.

He was too stunned to try to think about how he was understanding her when she wasn't speaking. Too much of him focused on the moment. "Wait," he whispered hoarsely. "You're that Octavia? Octavia Melody?" The lush hyper mare just demurely planted the back of her right hand on her left breast, and bowed a bit. Jiggle, jiggle, smack, her breasts battered around Vinyl's head.

She didn't mind, it seemed. At least, she seemed pleased when his attention turned back to her and he swallowed heavily, saying, "And… Vinyl Scratch?" He wasn't sure if he could, but she made it somehow clear that she would prefer he didn't faint. To draw his attention to the now, she jingled softly, chimes playing and wires pressing against her hide. Finger-chimes somehow leading and altering the quality of the sound from the rest of her, she traced her fingertips around her collar, then her throat, to her lips.

Vinyl kissed her fingertips, and smiled at him, offering to autograph later. When he had a sub of his own for her to autograph, perhaps? She arched her back at him, showing off all the tallies and lashes and brands that had been added to line her tattoos. They were everywhere.

He looked up at Octavia, who smirked, answering his questions, asked and unasked. "Vinyl likes wearing them more.” She shrugged. “Yes, we are that Octavia and that Vinyl. I hope that is not cause for performance issues below the belt?"

It was not. He grunted, stammered, and amused the two mares for a bit before saying, "N-no, not really. In fact, it's getting hard to contain."

Another purr made Octavia's massive body jiggle even further, from delicious mega-breasts to even more lickable ultra-hips and down along thunderstorm thighs. Her toes were even curling. "Then let us begin," she rumbled at him, "Let my slave assist in that."

He hesitated. She was offering not just to have Vinyl remove his pants, but his virginity. Which was part of why he was here, but in public?

You came in here without a shirt, the calm part of him reminded him. You wouldn't be the first fucking in public right now, either. Yeah, these are the two mares who make up the majority of your record collection. So impress them, doofus.

Suddenly, Frosty grinned. "Sure, on one condition," he said, staring up at Octavia's intrigued face. Her mask shifted slightly, as though she was raising an eyebrow. "I want the best seat in the house while she's doing whatever." And just as she had touched him, he got over his internal taboo and stroked the light grey of her bobbly-strong thigh.

Vinyl clapped and Octavia grinned. "See?" the big hyper asked. "Better already. Well played, stallion. Now, for that investment…"

He pulled out the phaser and looked over the kneeling mare. "I don't want to mar the work," he admitted. "You're beautiful, Vinyl." She grinned at him, pleased, but confused him when she silently opened her mouth and extended her tongue. Pierced-- a ring at the front and a barbell, too-- but there was something odd, and he didn't quite understand what she was getting at, so he looked to Octavia for interpretation again.

Panting heavily, openly fingering her clit while she watched Vinyl show herself off for Frosty, Octavia licked her lips and squirmed a bit before answering with a question. "How extreme are you prepared to be out of the gate, Frosty?"

He smiled faintly. "I can tap that cool you talked about for courage, I guess," he replied. "And if I'm making a horny little whorse happy, it's practically a good deed, right?"

A loud groan escaped Octavia's chest. "Two horny whorses, Frosty, I assure you," she moaned at him. "One does like seeing one's slave properly used." While Vinyl waited patiently, mouth open, Octavia explained, "She wants to suck you off for our starter; hence, she wants you to tally her tongue."

"Her tongue?" Frosty asked, hating the crack in his voice.

"Her tongue, indeed," groaned Octavia. "She is not some mere exhibitionist. She is quite the masochist-- well, I am a masochist, when I wear the collar and not the mask. That is far too kind of a word, is it not, my love?"

A wordless, half-muted whimper rose from Vinyl, who closed her mouth and nodded vigorously. She mouthed two words slowly, distorting them lightly to make kiss-like motions towards Frosty's bound dick.

Two words: Pain. Slut. He could almost feel them, somehow, and wondered why she never spoke. It wasn't as immediate a concern though, and it didn't seem unusual. Not given her body mods.

Vinyl settled back on her flank, hands palm up on her thighs as she presented to him. Not just the pink wetness of her well-pierced pussy, but her tongue, rigid and straight as she could, the breadth of it pointed right up at him while the tongue dipped slightly.

In preparation to lick something.

Your dick, idiot, he told himself. Get on with it!

Octavia was moaning loud enough for both of them, and Frosty still wasn't sure why the rest of the bar wasn't watching this amazing display. She was leaning over him and Vinyl from a slightly larger distance, her hands still on his shoulders. Well, mostly. She was openly fondling the taut, gymnast's strength in his sparkly white hide, tracing the invisible bodyley energy and caressing the sensitive spots it revealed to her. Her hands wandered down from his shoulders to do so, petting and stroking his biceps hungrily while her breasts swayed in his face.

Some of his indecision must have shown in his face. Octavia moaned, "Do it, young sir. She wants it so. Spark the little cunt's tongue good and hard, then we can give you your proper seat, and proper deflowering."

He'd been exposed to each level in training; you had to, to know what you were doing, and to charge your phaser's mini-wallet. So you never lost control and never broke the sub's consent. He charged the phaser carefully, and stroked the tally over Vinyl's tongue. A flash; the spark leapt from toy to outstretched offering, then burnt a line along the proferred tongue. It had to hurt. It had to; she had asked, and so he had selected pushed the jolt to the edge of what he'd feel comfortable with personally, like the sting of some lingering, wild berry your mothers told you to avoid. With a hint of the bramble, too.

Nevertheless, not a word. No scream, either; her tongue didn't even move.

Her fingers did, accompanied by the jingle of her piercing chimes. Vinyl was actually stroking her clit rapidly as the line went along, only to edge herself and stop the moment he was done. A wordless squeal of happiness was on the unicorn mare's face as she… as she…

Is she snuggling my dick? he wondered, and looked down, blinking. Before he could think of what to say, Octavia lashed out with her battle bow, using the reinforced back to cane Vinyl's super-broad ass across the top. Thrice. Still no cries, and if anything, Vinyl looked more turned on than ever, the flush of arousal spreading almost as fast as her marejuices could gush below.

"None of that, slattern," Octavia said. "My apologies, my dear. She is quite the greedy bitch. To work with you, DJ! Finish disrobing our guest, and then await your duty. You have the payment you want-- and need."

So it seemed. Frosty was prepared to help her with his pants, but the pout on unicorn and earth pony muzzles alike stilled his hands, which was enough to let Octavia make her next move. She took his wrists, and guided his hands up to her enormous O-cups. "Squeeze, stallion," she breathed.

Winking behind her mask, Octavia purred, "Equals may enjoy each other while the riff-raff serves." Her deep gaze flared, and she leaned in close, almost nose to nose. He could feel her breath, hot with whatever charge she was getting from the deflowering, blow across his muzzle. “Besides. Winning our contest does not mean she gets to hog the pretty stud.” She had taken the first steps-- and then some.

Briefly, he did feel ashamed. Not of how open this all was. Not here, not any more. No; even the traditionalist in his raising told him: the mare’s made the first move. Give her what you both want.

So Frosty kissed Octavia. Shyly of course, knowing he had no technique, so he followed her lead. He let her suck his tongue past her teeth, fumbled when she wrestled with it briefly, and smiled when she broke the kiss and nodded down to point his attention at Vinyl. His fingers, trembling, slightly cool with his magic, rubbed and squeezed through the grey-hided titflesh as he watched the enthusiastic unicorn below.

Vinyl didn't use her hands at all. She kissed and sucked along the faux-leather, noiseless in her self but the theme of her piercechimes played on. He groaned, fingers tensing on Octavia's massive melons when Vinyl ran her tongue piercings along the outline of his throbbing cock, then peaked her tonguering under the snap to his trousers.

He had no idea how she managed it, but she popped the snap clean off between the ring and the barbell. Octavia, cheeks flushing a horny red, kissed the side of his head just below his ear and whispered, "You should see what she can do with a bottlecap. But what she does for you..."

Given how agile Vinyl was with tonguetip and piercings, he was certainly looking forward to the latter. She easily got the flap parted and pulled down his zipper without ever using her teeth. Nosing and nuzzling in silent happiness, she pulled his trousers free, and then down.

Having the Vinyl Scratch literally suck on his big toes after each stepped out of his trousers made him gasp, one of the clasps of his cocksleeve undoing itself from the pressure of his erectile throb. Both mares growled, predatory and silent, hungry.

The moment passed, and Vinyl dove for the tip of his cocksleeve, nuzzling and sucking on it like she expected to get him to cum straight through it. But Frosty didn't want that; and he did want control. So, watching Octavia's approval, he took charge, grabbing Vinyl's horn at the base and pulling her back.

She made a near-audible mewl of protest at that, and looked up at him, pouting. He pulled on more of the coolness, relying on the symbology Octavia had mentioned. Voice as cold as his eyes, he said, "Either get me the rest of the way out, or stop fooling around, Vinyl. DJ," he corrected himself, DJ-PON3 on her collar.

Octavia loomed backwards, looking regretful as she pulled her fingers from his grip, but smiling nonetheless. "Good show," she told him. "Let me prepare your throne while DJ finishes her work." Pulling her own reinforced seat over, she sat down carefully on the bar stool, the thick padding of her gorgeous assfat oozing over the sides of a seat meant to hold even eight foot stunners like her. So thick.

Daintily, she crossed her feet at the ankles, as controlled as a duchess waiting on the attendance of her warmares. Her immense thighs, muscle and plush together in the first place, squeezed and rubbed together, and she let out a cooing sigh as the plumpness of her labia was petted by her own thickness. She leaned back slightly, as though her O-cups weighed nothing, and simply held the position, her eyes sparkling behind her mask. "Do finish, DJ," she ordered. "The young stud deserves a high seat, and my tits deserve some nervous stallion earflicking."

The look she gave him didn't spark now. It was on fire. Frosty didn't exactly know how he had gotten to the point where a submissive Vinyl Scratch was worshipfully lipping his cocksleeve open, and Octavia Melody called him her 'equal' behind a mask of her own. While offering to hold him in her lap, just like he'd required, resting his head on a hundred pounds of succulent, soft, gorgeous titflesh. To guide him through the moment with Vinyl.

When the meaty heft of his cock flung free, Vinyl earned her massive ass another caning when she not only caught the splurt of precum his poor, stiff super-shaft flung free when it escaped; she prenched the tip in gratitude for the taste.

She scooted back, pouting, as Octavia groaned and bit her lip. "My dear," she told Frosty. "A grower and a shower. Congratulations. Now please, do come sit, so Vinyl can prepare you for properly owning her throat." A thin smile passed on her face as she fanned her need-warmed tits. "Or at least renting, though I think you shall be welcome on more than just this night between us. Lease, perhaps."

Grower and shower indeed. Soft, Frosty's huge tool was as much of an inconvenience as a pride; his fat flare bobbed down to between his knees. The sleeve was a custom job, and he was vaguely glad to see Vinyl neatly folding it on top of his trousers while he got his balance again.

He always felt a bit dizzy when all thirty inches of length and six inches of girth came out to play. Theoretically, it wasn't strictly biology, but magic, even for a non-hyper, but he still felt like all the blood was rushing out below. Shuddering, he regained his balance, making both mares softly grunt when he reached down to adjust the pulsing, swelling heft of his enormous balls.

"Please," whispered Octavia again. "Sit. I want to see you turn her throat into your condom!" She fanned her exquisite chest more, still holding the lean back. "I cannot recall that much dick on even my last hyper stud."

The compliment was enough to make his whole prick bob forth, smearing a slick wave of precum over Vinyl’s hungry tongue.

She wasn’t punished this time until she pouted at Octavia in disappointment.

Frosty ran his fingers through his mane, swallowed heavily himself, and walked over towards Octavia's exquisitely lush lap. He planted a hand on the lewd plush of her thigh, squeezing slowly. The fat surface was lovely, of course, but he could feel a hyper mare's strength within. Incredible. She bit her lip again, and scooped a hand up under his rump.

It felt good, an almost tremblingly hesitant caress as she stroked him and he nodded. "Up we go, my lady." Gratefully, she pulled him up into her lap.

And turned him around just fast enough to slap Vinyl full across the face with his plump prick, knocking her lover down on the floor. He turned his head up to face Octavia, tilting his head against the soft-perky support of her breasts.

Her muzzle pinked under the grey. "Cheeky bint prenched you without orders," the big mare huffed. “She needs to know her place before a dominant dick.” The big mare stroked an inquisitive finger over the broad base of his obscene masculinity. “Mmm. Such a lovely example of the genre, too. You are an excellent object lesson, my dear."

Laughing, while Vinyl righted herself and knelt before them both, Frosty reached up to stroke Octavia's muzzle. "I'm going to guess this isn't just a good luck ritual, and you enjoy showing off how well trained she is-- or isn't," he told her.

Octavia kissed the top of his mane, and cuddled the mass of her giant breasts close to him. "Too right, not-so-little stud," she purred at him. "I also like watching her get her anus wrecked and her pussy plowed when we find a good periodic partner. Shall we begin your audition?"

It began wonderfully. Tenderly, even, with hot little pulses of pleasure along the broad, flat tip of his prick, loving, even worshipful kisses from the silent Scratch. Not that he was doing much to start other than giving Vinyl permission to begin, and sitting back against Octavia. The bigger mare didn't just hold him, she reached down to fondle his well-shaped abs, to caress his taut pecs, and generally make a very pleasurable series of caresses.

Then she reached further down, and started to stroke the thick-hided, musky surface of his balls as Vinyl's renewed prenching made them swell. "Take it easy at first," she advised. "DJ is a natural slut.” His needy cock responded, bobbing up to “kiss” Vinyl’s face with another fresh splatter of lube that smeared across her shades.

Vinyl twisted lightly, rubbing the smooth, slightly cool surface of the lenses across the wide left of his shaft for the first clean, before a brief hornflare cleaned the rest. Her fingers came up now, kneading and squeezing his precum into the girthy meat and veiny skin. The sensation was amazing; there was simply something so different about a worshipful sub’s hands, as opposed to his own while thinking about having…

Well, Frosty admitted, About having her, though I didn’t even dream about the piercing. Or having Octavia’s enormous breasts for back support and a headrest.

Octavia grunted, and he could scent more of her arousal threading with his and Vinyl’s. She shifted her hips in her seat, grinding the thick padding of her thighs and the neat tuft of her pubic mound against his tail and tush. The big mare was incredibly turned on, and not just by the feeble efforts of his flicking ears.

No, it was clear that this was a favored sport for her, and Frosty wasn’t sure whether she’d gotten into it because of fun during the rituals, or had looked up the old druid manuals for another way to play voyeur and dom both. He didn’t know, and didn’t really care. As training wheels went, these had supreme benefits.

Still panting, still thrusting her hips back and forth as though she was in his lap and Vinyl had to watch, Octavia continued the instruction. With a soft groan, she told him, “Keep correcting her when you wish, of course; you have paid in.” She kissed her way hungrily along the line of his neck, watching and feeling her way across him.

Vinyl’s eyes were invisible, but somehow he knew she was staring up at Octavia above him. He considered it, and felt like-- a vessel. Octavia was letting him have his head here, but also using him as the instrument of her domination upon Vinyl.

They said I’d have to practice with a mentor, he thought. I wonder if this counts as work study. He definitely didn’t mind, either way; having Octavia wield him wasn’t exactly his best-dom-ever fantasy but it was… easier. Certainly, she provided a sort of emotional strength to get over his own hesitance, and the feel of all that plush strength, of her massive O-cup breastflesh oozing against his back and shoulders and head as she rubbed her chest up and down on him…

Right, she was still speaking. Octavia seemed to notice that he’d been distracted, and giggled a bit. A little high for such a deep-voiced mare, but there you were. She switched to the other side of his head and kissed his cheek before saying, “But I do note that I have always seen too much punishment be a sign of, mm, either weakness or trigger happiness in a dom, and I hope you already know that mares prefer stallions with fortitude."

Vinyl appeared to like both the idea of being lead, loosely or not, and a stallion with fortitude as well. She teased at his inexperienced self-restraint, pepper those cock-loving smooches faster and faster. Treated the musky breadth of his shaft like it was Octavia's face, loving her after coming home from a concert. He nearly lost it; indeed, precum flooded over Vinyl's pierced tongue and into her greedy mouth. He groaned, Vinyl's tonguetip licking skillfully up and down in his cumslit in between silent, smacking kisses. "It's my first time, Octavia!"

No mercy below, as Vinyl pushed her lips against him. He had enough hyper in him that she would stretch, thank the Earth, and sex ed class had covered the right charms. Still, the raw suction as she sealed her lips over his flare and started to distend her jaw sent shockwaves up and down his shaft and pulsing up his spine, straight to his brain. "We know, stud, we know," Octavia promised, and flexed her chest, rubbing her soft mammaries against his head, and, yes, flicking ears. "But a good showing can get you all sorts of next times..."Octavia ducked her muzzle down over the mounds of her huge tits, and nibbled lightly on one of those flicking ears. "To elaborate,” she said while she slowly rocked him in her lap, following the same commands his hands were giving Vinyl’s ears for fast or slow. “We have been known to take both submissive or both dominant roles, if we have someone to make up the slack."

Splurt. He splashed his lube in Vinyl’s greedy, sucking mouth. Octavia tittered lightly, tits bouncing wonderfully against his ears again. "To tailor our private performances to the audience. Vinyl Scratch using sonic vibration to stimulate a sub-stud's prostate whilst Octavia Melody treats his back to the battle-bow, that sort of thing."

The idea didn't hold much promise for him, but the next… She heaved the glorious expanse of her chest again and licked his ear from tip to base. "For you, mmm, DJ-PON3 and OM-8642 worshipping that toned little stud body with their tongues, begging you, hanging on your every word…" She shuddered, shifting her thighs to better squeeze her own sex. Then she added, "Letting you practice temperature play on their tits, yes?"

Temperature play. Had she guessed his dreams? Or just made a wild shot based on his cutie mark?

The groan that shuddered from Frosty and sent precum flooding once again over Vinyl's tongue wasn't just the results of the pleasurable submission she gave his fat tool, no. He wouldn't deny that she was using his sensitive flare's responses and her prehensile upper lip to focus his sensation there, right at the very tip like she was masturbating and blowing him both, but the promises Octavia whispered in his ears if he could just hold on and impress them…

It did make it harder to hold on.

So he held onto Vinyl's ears-- sternly, since she liked it-- tugging firmly to pull her forward. A rumble of approval came from behind him, squeezing those monumental Melody melons against his head and back. Panting, cock twitching and legs tensing, his precum spewing into Vinyl's throat, he nearly lost it again when his flare finally stretched her throat out… and she started to hum.

"Swab the little cunt," Octavia encouraged, lovingly toying her thick fingers over his increasingly heavy nuts. "Swab her good and hard and deep, yes." He could smell both mares' musk thickening, feel every breath from both. Not just the hot puffs on his neck from Octavia, either, but heaving rubs of her heavyset chest against his back were a wonderful counterpoint to Vinyl's short snorts across the throbbing surface of his shaft.

"I can't hold…" He groaned. This was all so new, so intense-- he hadn't even pulled Vinyl over his medial ring yet! He wanted more…

Wait, a random thought called out. Octavia said she'd help. Gritting his teeth for a moment, holding the pierce-chiming Vinyl in place, he mumbled, "Octavia… assist a fellow dom?"

"Mm, spontaneity," she purred. "Certainly. How may I help?"

"Cheat a bit…" he groaned. "Hands at the base. Like a ring-- will it work?"

The moment stretched. Vinyl was merciless; if he didn't pull, she pushed, and hummed faster, if still silenced-- by the cock she was vibrating over, if nothing else. Octavia lipped at his ear for a moment. "Daring," she eventually said, then moved her hands up. "In theory, yes, though I’ve never had a dominant ask me to put a little bit of constriction in for them. And the dry climaxes aren't going to be too fun." Teasing and warning all in one.

Nevertheless, she settled her sturdy cellist's hands around the base of his dick and squeezed. A whimper, acharacteristic of her serene superiority, escaped her throat and she whispered, "Good Celestia in Canterlot. I can just barely make the fingertips touch!" True to her word, when he plunged his head back into the dark, tight ravine of her cleavage and the climax stifled-- without letting the pleasure truly fade-- it was an awkward experience.

A little of his seed leaked out anyway, and then a little more when Vinyl swallowed around the forward quarter of his cock. Apparently, they didn't count that. Shit! he thought. She's only about eight inches towards me!

Frosty hadn't gained much time, either; his body responded instantly, nerves all along his pulsing prick becoming more sensitive, more focused on the pleasures Vinyl was giving him. As a result, he had to pull harder, not that it bothered Vinyl; indeed, the slither of her tongue and vibration of her throat seemed to increase as he tugged more on her sensitive ears.

She said it herself. Pain slut, he reminded himself, then groaned at Octavia, "How… many of them were virgins being offered to top you both later if they held out?"

A grunt from behind him, another sway of those well-padded breasts, and her hands trembled on the base of his shaft. "None," she said softly. "You're showing signs of generosity and inventiveness." She groaned, her fingers almost releasing him, but she kept to her part of the bargain. "DJ, what do you think? If he plows your little hole down to his medial, shall we take him back after our set?"

However Vinyl Scratch communicated without speaking, it wasn't muffled by the now foot of veiny, overengorged horsecock down her throat. Frosty was well aware of her enthusiastic yes. He nearly had her there, too. So he took matters into his own hands again.

Or rather, feet. He shifted abruptly, swinging his legs around over Vinyl's shoulders, feeling the warmed metal of her wires beneath his calves. Biting his lip to hold off-- the move had surprised Octavia, and she'd lost her grip-- he threw his head back into the welcoming dark warmth of Octavia's cleavage, hooked his heels between Vinyl's shoulderblades and pulled!

He barely got her stretched over the medial before his thwarted climax hit. Somewhere in his still-shy soul, part of him was grateful he was yelling out his first orgasm that didn't involve himself alone into Octavia's ponderous tits. After all, it meant that he was less likely to disturb any of the other couples and herds socializing and fucking the daylights out of each other in the bar. The logic wasn't great, but he enjoyed it.

If the sudden clench of Octavia's warm belly behind his back was any indication, she enjoyed it too. He couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but he hoped it was suitably approving. He certainly could make out Vinyl's acknowledgment of his win-- she kept shoving more dick down her throat as he came!

Octavia's hands were suddenly on his shaft again. Not holding back, but masturbating everywhere Vinyl's mouth hadn't reached yet. Jerking him off into her marefriend and, yes, when Vinyl choked around a large wad, brought him over to double up deep into Vinyl's stomach. His balls emptied themselves and over again into the willing unicorn,while Octavia played the music of pleasure over the rest of his package, and it was more than he could ever have hoped for.

Clean up took a while; he trebled up and came on Vinyl's face. Octavia chuckled as she set Frosty down. Ignoring him for the moment, she knelt down close to her marefriend, and caned her with the bow again when Vinyl tried to squirm away. "Oh, give it a rest and share, you horrible slut," Octavia laughed lovingly, and began to slurp his cum off Vinyl's face. The two kissed, and his prick leapt like it wanted to get hard again.

"Sorry, for the enticement, my dear," Octavia told him when they finished. "Unfortunately, there’s no time to do much more than clean you up before we begin our set, but you have certainly earned a private performance, mister Quartz." She wiped him clean with a bar napkin-- larger than most, self-moistening spell, and the dispensary had a cock on it anyway. Probably for just this purpose.

To his surprise, they delayed getting ready to help him back into the cocksleeve and his pants-- though his shoes were his responsibility, it seemed-- before both kissed him on the cheek. Vinyl pawed his chest affectionately, and Octavia said, "Do make sure to stay for the whole thing. You will enjoy it, I am sure… and it would most unfair of you to make us track you down to ravish us, good luck pony."