The Consensual Kink Collection

by Manifest Harmony

Dual Duet Chapter 2 by Troublesome Beast (BDSM, Anthro)

Previous ChapterNext Chapter

Frosty settled onto a chair not far from the little stage. After Octavia and Vinyl had finished him, they'd tapped a message into their pipsubs. Not long after that, one of the bar slaves had gotten on the stage and warned, "Please check your pips. The next performance is deliberately designed to channel bardic magic, inflaming passion and a sense of truth. You will feel something like an ethereal adrenaline surge, while breaking down the need to deceive others or yourself."

She cleared her throat. "This will manifest as a herd-sense effect on ponies," which were of course the primary audience in Clocktower Equestria East, "and therefore can be quite strong. If you do not opt in on the flagged messages promptly or leave, the Couerans will eject you as nonconsenting and holding up the fun for those who do consent. Or for wanting to be ejected by the Couerans, which, believe me, I understand that."

The Couerans were a pair of huge diamond dog bitches wearing spiked leather harnesses, their black collars, and nothing else. Bouncers, he supposed, though he hoped more for the look of it-- the Society didn't seem to be too full of ponies needing to be bounced, after all. A few ponies left, but most began to settle what they were doing and gravitate towards the stage.

Now that he was aware of his "effect," Frosty noticed the looks of interest from collared subs. But… My night's no longer free, he thought, and had to shake his head. I've been picked up by two of the most famous ponies in Equestria. I can look for more longterm opportunities tomorrow, or something.

He had a few months to get to know the Society. College didn't start until the fall, after all; he was on vacation as far as his parent herd knew. He also had no illusions that anything permanent would happen with Vinyl and Octavia. The only part of their collars and masks that applied to him was the red; if that lead to repeat visits, well, they were busy ponies, and he didn't want to just be a groupie dom.

Is that a thing? he wondered.

It didn't matter. He wanted to see the "show" they'd hinted at. A duet, Octavia called it, he remembered. A dual duet. Surely they're not bringing another pair of ponies onstage?

No, a single hyper's stool was up on the stage, with mics and amps carefully set up around the edges. Amplifiers was something of a misnomer. In fact, if Frosty recognized the crystal configurations right, they were designed to help the boxy speakers pump out sound while repressing any carried magic, whether unicorn arcana or earth pony mysticism. Or whatever it is that makes pegasus weather magic work, though that hardly applies, he mused.

Octavia lead Vinyl up to the stage on by a leash. No, not a leash, a freehanging cello scroll, attached only by long wires that parted to either end to join the throng through Vinyl's nipple piercings. Vinyl was lagging behind just a bit, too; she seemed enthusiastic for further "corrections" from the stinging swat of the battle-bow's hair (well, wires; apparently tuned to give cello sounds without being unusable as a weapon).

That, and to have her pierced nipples tugged further ahead. Frosty saw her silently hiss in pleasure at the discomfort, and squirm happily at the feel of the wires running along her body constrict.

To each their own, he supposed. It's a bit intimidating, honestly.

Octavia was a classic earth pony maretriarch, tall, stately, and well-fed. Strong enough for battle, but showing clear signs that her clan-- or, in this modern day, her family and household-- was well-provided for. Every curve on her was in clear view; she hadn't bothered adding to her decorations, after all, meaning from her bow-tie down, her only adornment were her tux-cuff bracers, twinkling in the dim light. The wobble of her O-cups preceded her like a pair of exuberant heralds, proclaiming her fertility and lushness to all.

Frosty couldn't tell if the waggle in her hips was deliberate arrogance in beauty, or simply the way her impossibly gorgeous physiology was. They swayed and tensed to either side, almost the orbit of two gracious moons in ready attendance. From there, the taut musculature and graceful framework created a droolworthy support for the jaw-dropping jiggle of her plush.

Speak of moons, he thought as she passed.

No one would, no one could make the mistake he had, that she "only" had a musical cutie mark. Those violet treble clefs, on that grey hide, each in proud wobble over her perfect rump cheeks-- incredible, beautiful, nearly hypnotic. The effect was unmistakable at the sheer size and excess of Octavia's glorious ass. A perfect teardrop shape, trembling like it was perpetually falling but never shed with each step.

Each saunter. Whether it was simply how Octavia Melody walked because she could do no other, or because she had a tower of serene pride to draw on, from her tush down, there was nothing so banal as walking about her movements. She strode, potent quads rising and then subsuming beneath gorgeous excess, lovely calves and bare feet. Frosty felt a bit lost, dom or no, her approval or not.

She even has beautiful knees, he acknowledged.

Vinyl followed behind, tugging back, lagging, her pert C-cups held forward by the scroll-leash. To say nothing of her past-stiff nips, kept pointed forward and a little in by the multiple strands pulling through them. She moved with-- well, a techno beat. Stuttering and pounding all at once, the thick wires running over her body pulling her hide together in a plethora of stimulation points-- utterly devoted.

Lag behind, thwack of the battle-bow, hurry forward, lag behind, thwack-- not Octavia's stately procession, but intimately suited to Vinyl's projected persona. Being medial-ring deep in a mare was not the usual way to get to know the subtle nuances of someone's body language, of course. Barring terrible puns on a Cockney accent that would have been more appropriate to Octavia. However, while Frosty didn't know how a unicorn would project communication like that-- it wasn't through herd sense, he was sure-- he did know she was making it clear.

Party's starting, subs and doms. Party's starting, and don't you wish you had me on a leash like my mistress? Who among you is as extreme as Vinyl Scratch? Who among you is as awesome as Octavia Melody?

It was amazing. Vinyl's body didn't have the classic hourglass. Not because she had less than full tits; for all the comparison to the hypers' extravagance, C-cups in good shape made for a lovely top curve. No, this was because of the insane bottle-bottom shape of her hips and ass.

Octavia's were extravagant enough on her giant eight-foot frame. Vinyl was five-foot six, if that-- maybe more like five-four; Frosty wasn't sure in the dim light. Her marefriend had nearly three feet on her, and Vinyl literally had the same silhouette beneath the waist.

Wider, if you counted the piercings, but not by much.

How could any mare-interested pony describe that appropriately? Frosty knew he wasn't up for the task. His brain kept repeating things like wide, and toned, and delicious, on continuous loop. That was the other thing; he could only believe she'd had a partial hypergene expression. It happened sometimes, like the Maretriarch of the Oranges, who had a hyper's hourglass on a normal's body.

He wasn't sure how you just got that below the waist. Maybe it's not hypergene, he thought. maybe it's alchemical body-mod? Because unlike Octavia, there was very little jiggly padding on Vinyl's prodigious posterior. Her glutes were perfectly taut and bulging, creating a sort of ripple in the bridged-eighths of her cutie ma…

Her cutie marks are pierced! The thought shocked Frosty, despite the extensive body mods elsewhere. After all, while she'd had her labia pierced, and that was about the sensitivity of a cutie mark, your labia weren't generally a part of your day to day life-magic. Cutie marks weren't just an erogenous zone; if you did anything to them, from surgery to grooming to… well… piercing, you had to take tremendous care to make sure it didn't put your life force into toxic shock.

Vinyl had two tiny studs, one in the middle of each bridged eighth on her rump cheeks. Neither were connected to the web of wires pulling at her other piercings, so the effect both accentuated the marks themselves and made the studs stand out more. He could just barely make them out in the dim light, but wasn't surprised.

Vinyl had gone to the expense of getting pierced properly in her cutie marks, just to display Octavia Melody's violet treble clefs at the heart of her magic. What else was there to say? To do, except to wonder in awe at the talents of Clocktower Society biomancers that they made that work.

He blushed, his the sudden throb and swell of his prick squirming in its sleeve and pressing against the faux-leather of his pants nearly as badly as before. It was incredibly, almost unbearably hot, and yet as untouchably romantic as the adamantite of her collar. Then, just as she stepped onto the stage, Vinyl wriggled a bit, showing off her crystal bells at him. Be ready to whip it out was the clear message. Followed by a little twitch of her tail and flick of the end.

Pity your poor pants otherwise, you fool. Watch my Octy work.

As warnings went, it worked. He was already unsnapping when they started to prep for the set.


The Couerans hadn't needed to eject many ponies. Like most functions in the Society, the preparations were more than sufficient to the moment. Most ponies in the Back Nine clearly knew what they were in for in the first place; those who didn't, like Frosty, had been informed and given plenty of time to make their decisions. The informative pop-up on his pipsub-- he'd gotten it onto his wrist, finally-- had been more accurate about the earth pony magic involved than what was available in most public high schools.

He stayed, not just because of the afterpromise. Not just because of the amazing beauty and intriguing skill of the pair. But because of that interesting combination-- the inflammation of passion, which was a given, but the modulation of truth through it. Sure, he thought, truth is beauty and whatnot, but how does truth interweave with passion? I can't say it interests me more than leering at them, but it's a good draw, all on its own.

Octavia took her seat on the provided stool, with Vinyl kneeling beside her. Unlike when she'd provided a lap for Frosty, she spread her lush thighs wide, the gorgeous pink of her pussy on eager display. Despite the sheer, primal lewdness of it, there was still an inherent sense of dignity to Octavia's seat and movement. Deeper than her mask, truer than a cutie mark, she simply defined dignitas.

Which was not to say this stately maretriarch wasn't inviting the audience to observe. She ignored Vinyl like she was simply an instrument waiting to be used, stroking her sex with supple fingers in quick, elegant motions.

Like she was tuning herself and welcoming the audience all at once. Vinyl's not the only exhibitionist, Frosty thought-- not that that was news.

Octavia cleared her throat. Her face grew graver and more serious than he'd ever seen her, even on the newly televised concerts. She nodded once, inhaled from the diaphragm, and spoke. Frosty didn't know the words, but her accent shifted; more lilting, musical, her body as instrument again.

"Do mo bhean agus mo ghrá," she told them, "mo cheol agus mo chroí, mo chéad agus mo seo caite…" She paused, wistfulness spreading over her muzzle as she clasped her hands together, still holding Vinyl's leash.

Then she spread her hands wide and smiled. "Bí fáilte roimh chách," she told the room, and it felt like a benediction.

Frosty's gemological studies by necessity included herd-sense resonance with earthpower, and now he truly understood the favor Octavia and Vinyl were doing the owners. The power in it, the welcome and love and desire thrummed out through them all, resonating from pony to pony. The eroticism was just an undercurrent, a subtheme in waiting. Mostly, there was love and friendship, a communal pony-ness that fully included the Couerans and the few scattered griffons and others in the audience.

Community, for joy in sex and joy in power exchange. A metaphor, if you wanted one.

Then she turned to Vinyl and smirked. "Your turn, sweet whorse," she said, and pulled on the leash-scroll.

Grunting and huffing at the sudden tension across her body, Vinyl strode to her feet. She moved over in front of Octavia, lewdly swinging her outrageous hips in what had to be a deliberate near-dance already. Chimes jingled with every twitch and sway-- and it was already a distinct melody, a rising, peppy call to focus the room's attention. She took her place before Octavia, and bent low-- almost an L-shape-- to where her horn was a breath from Octavia's clit.

Octavia pressed her pinky and middle finger along three of the wires, and the chimes began to shake, almost vibrate. The connections running around Vinyl's ass tugged, revealing her tailhole-- pierced along the ring in six equidistant arcs, of course-- and better giving the audience a view of Vinyl's decorated cunt.

It was dripping, and faster the longer Octavia held her open, the chimes slowing and then ceasing. The stately hyper mare smiled, a love in her eyes behind her mask all for Vinyl. "Test sequence, slave," was her command. Somewhat necessary if your submissive apparently couldn’t speak, ever. Vinyl carefully rang the bells in order, the bells that would be silent as her voice in any other circumstances save her need.

Octavia looked seriously at the audience. She smiled, and little huffs from the otherwise still Vinyl accompanied her as she spoke. After all, Octavia kept Vinyl's anus and sex on full display as she said, "Doms and subs alike, you have consented to be here, and I appreciate your interest in our art. However, your consent is still meaningful at all stages, as important as my dear slaves. Feel free to leave if you wish, interject if you need, and we will use our talents to bring the emotions to equilibrium should it be required. Your consent is law, and may be revoked, even should it end our offering on a discordant note. No pressure shall be laid against you save that you shall have our aid in pushing against it; nor will animus against those who require such measures be tolerated."

It was the statement of a clanhead willing to declare war, a severe counterpoint to the loving blessing of her Coltic. How sacred, Frosty wondered, must these contexts and concepts be to somepony whose magic, music, and special talent are all one in service of land and heart?

The audience was still, as quiet as Vinyl before the pull had begun.

Slowly, Vinyl began to move from bow to full kneel. She kept her adornments silent for the moment, not even making a sound when her knees touched the floor between Octavia's lush thighs. Those received the first break to the silence; soft but decidedly smacking kisses to first the right, then the left inner thigh, followed by a worshipful nuzzle at Octavia's bared pussy.

Octavia twisted the scroll in her hand, turning it while her fingers stroked across the strings. A high set of vibrating notes sounded, played into and amongst the cheery jangle of the chings. A low groan from Vinyl soon accompanied them as she rotated, obeying the pull of her leash. Dexterous as ever, she completely pulled herself around, stroking her long legs into the air as she twirled, adding her own music to Octavia's.

Vinyl's breasts were pulled to point upwards by her nipples, hauled by the scroll and the descending strings. The impression of a double-necked stringed instrument was unmistakable now, with the intricate weave of piercing and wires spreading and separating each strand as it fell from breast to cunt.

And then Octavia played Vinyl's scales with her bow, stroking from low to high on the right breast, high to low on the left. The sounds were nearly identical to a cello.

Frosty had no idea how she managed it. There were differences, but light ones-- a slightly broader range, and a strange quality that wasn't just the bardic magic flowing. But somehow, between the strings, the placement, and…

Ahah, the plates, he realized. Whatever those abstract implantations might be made of, they reflected and altered sound. It wasn't just Octavia playing; Vinyl was flexing and shifting with supreme concentration to modulate what the strings produced to make it sound right. Vinyl had incredible muscle control; starting from an expert belly dancer's roll and sway from the stomach, but weaving out to her arms and legs with such precision that her digits were almost like afterthoughts.

Almost, but not quite. Her fingers curved and arched, rings set on all five of each hand. Compress or extend, twitch or touch, each motion pulled back on the wires that linked through the piercings outlining her form in metal.

And of course, were anchored in every intimate spot and erogenous zone on her body. The constant, smooth ripple of her toned tummy was not merely a voluntary response; the song itself and the rest of both mare's motions incorporated a very clear core-clenching pleasure that ran through every inch of the puppet-played Vinyl. Which probably explained why her pussy was winking at the audience as though Octavia was between Vinyl's thighs, rather than the other way around.

Just scales, to start, a simple little duet to tune themselves, but Frosty could feel the power of it resonating through him, and the ponies near him. Through a sense of community, through the herd-sense, lightly flicking from level to level. It was just being born, but it was like a second heartbeat, pulsing along with his natural one. Ready for the show to begin.

It did, in a fluid moment that he almost missed. It shouldn't have been possible, not the way Vinyl was being held, the way Vinyl was moving. Surely, the strings should have tangled when the impossible sway of her hips twitched, the ripple in her stomach became a powerful, coiled spring, and she began to turn again. The sinuous motion was liquid sex, a promise from every decorated inch from her that went beyond offer, beyond enticement.

She was fucking the music, and the audience got to watch. The constrictions of her flesh seemed not to impair her motion at all; instead, it gave her further accentuation of movement. A different way to move her chimes. More tugging, more pulling, more play on her most sensitive and clearly targeted hide and more, every shift and twist a dance, yes, but it played on.

For through it all, Octavia's bow began to move faster, twisting with obvious skill while the fingers on the scroll-leash pressed, pushed, and manipulated the tension along the wires. She switched from tit to tit below, masturbating Vinyl's pretty Cs as much as playing, but always, the song was there. It shouldn't have continued, it shouldn't have been possible.

Vinyl's horn wasn't even glowing as she pranced and chimed for her trio of partners in sensuality: Octavia, the audience, and the music. Just personal dexterity, cunning preparation, and a mistressy coming down from above, making a light, airy song, wordless, loving, sensual-- impossible.


For all its impossibility, the dance played on. Octavia was quick and precise, switching easily from bow to finger, interweaving classical and preclassical techniques on as unique an instrument as ever was: her Vinyl. The massive earth pony stroked the writhing flesh of her unicorn submissive with each new sound, singing tenderly as the wires between Vinyl's omnipresent piercings.

Eventually, the song was recognizable. It was too classical to be called a modernization of the famous lesbian lyrical poet Sap Hoof's ancient work, but it was an updated cover nonetheless. One with the more graceful and powerful sound of the living cello, but still suited to the rhythm and meter of Sap Hoof's potent song.

The music became more distinct with every shake and every shimmy Vinyl made between Octavia's thunderstorm thighs. The twisting, humping fluiding of Vinyl's dance, the marehoney collecting on her nether lips, the angle and twist of her arms as she weaved formed the improbable medium for the song. She curved her whole frame from her ring-pulling fingers and curling toes outwards, then clenched back straight to her core, still twirling, always twirling, and somehow keeping the strands straight for her mistress. From that, Octavia called forth sound and bardic magic, sensuousness beyond the visual, beyond even the aural effects. Octavia was playing for the pleasure and devotion of her audience's soul.

Then she began to sing, and the passion that had been promised wasn't a hint any more. It swelled up from Octavia's belly, filled and fueled by her love and lust for Vinyl. It traveled into her broad chest, a boobquake of delicious proportions following, and Frosty felt that love and lust shared with them.

"Come, noble lyre, take voice,

and tell me…"

Frosty's erection was back in moments. The song's power was there, and he had no reason to deny it. He wasn't the only audience member thus engorged, and who wouldn't respond like so? Other than the majority of the audience, mares, whose stiffness was somewhat more subdued than sudden phalanx of horsecock. But the scent, and the sense of the herd reacting-- it all made sense. Jingling, shifting, even shaking her ass, all of it was Vinyl's gift to her mistress and gift to her audience, bounce and brilliance coming together.

Never did Vinyl Scratch speak, of course. But as her elegant arms curved and set the chimes embedded in her hide ringing in perfect tune with Octavia's playing, as her toned stomach flexed, setting the soundboards she had implanted over her abs to rotate the strings-- as her lithe legs carried her in a twirl around the strings her hyper dominant held her by, she gave her voice to the presentation as well. Each twist of her enormously curved hips, each step and jiggle of her shapely breasts that changed the very timbre and range of the music-- it was all her voice.

Octavia sung on, her light riffs on Sap Hoof's immortal words set to the fusion of lyric pluck and cellish stroke.

"... be my soft harp,

Abandon, sing of Gongyla;"

Octavia played Vinyl wonderfully; each silent gasp from wire-pressed flesh, and every pleasured tremble that further shifted song and melody was proof of that. As was the faint light glittering off increasingly dampened thighs, of course. But Vinyl played herself back at Octavia, the two mares adjusting the very structure of their instrument to match each other, Octavia's skill to Vinyl's sinuous dance, Octavia's thick thighs bracketing Vinyl's motion into the oddest lap dance ever.

Passion. Passion and truth. Frosty followed the song in masturbatory tribute, his fingers squeezing and stroking along his length. As pre fell copiously from the fat tip, he trailed the lube down his obscene length in time with the music. He let the truth in it wind into him, playing him with pleasure. Something broke and was lost in his heart, but he didn't mourn the passing, for it was a fetter.

He enjoyed being a dom. Enjoyed the play, the exchange, the-- passion. The song didn't tell him whether that was right or wrong, just helped him look at it, free of his shyness. More than his cock straightened at that moment, his eyes fixed on Octavia and Vinyl.

Self-discovery. A truth that had always been there, or he would never have braved the mask, but had still been uncomfortable with. As real to him now as the extra perk in Vinyl's nipples that had nothing to do with the tug of the piercings, the flush of Octavia's skin that was all from her lover, as the lightly quivering curves on Octavia's body matched the constant sway and step on Vinyl's.

For all that Octavia's role was constrained to stability around her wife’s dance, the same pleasure seemed to be glowing in her. Faint flush beneath dark grey hide grew, noticeable even in the dimness. And while nothing interfered with the discipline of her song or playing, the massive muscles in her thighs tensed and quivered as Vinyl's softer body rubbed and ground against them.

"... to strum across

the pleasure-welcoming strings"

Vinyl Scratch wasn't Octavia's instrument, for all the strings and soundboards were anchored in her very body. The huge-hipped little mare was as much player as her amazonian mistress. Thus, the instrument was the very sound itself, balanced between the lovers. Vinyl moved with languid, rolling motions, squirming around the strings as Octavia rotated them easily. One leg would swoop up, then fall beneath one of Octavia's thighs; then her ass would roll back, tail flagging from side to side and brushing her clef-piercings in her cutie marks. All the while, her hands shifted, rings pulling back on the wires, tightening the strings at just the right moment for Octavia's bow to slide across them.

The music made love to Vinyl, and Vinyl fucked back. So far, Octavia herself was untouched directly, but she was certainly enjoying it all. Her face was flushed, darkening under the light grey hide. Her toes curled, and though she never sweated-- naturally-- she certainly looked heated. Vinyl teased the audience with Octavia, too, hiding the bigger mare's pussy with her own strutting, swinging body. Sometimes, the music and the dance seemed to "require" her to sway from this side or that to reveal the drenched earth pony pussy behind.

So the music moved Octavia as well; quivers running down her thick thighs that never had anything to do with controlling her posture. Little heaves of her heavy chest that failed to distort her singing; soft moans that only added to it.

Frosty came, unashamed, only remembering at the last moment to point himself down towards the cum-drains rather than disrupt the beauty on stage. He wasn't the only stallion to do so-- not the only cocked member of the audience to do so. Indeed, both pretty futas in the front row had extra-reservoir condoms on as they jerked each other off. The feel of it was incredible, pleasure sensitivity still tingling from cumming down Vinyl's throat, tweaked and tuned by the power of a skilled bard and her talented sonic sorceress submissive. No shame in it, just an honest, open enjoyment of the shared pleasure with the performing mares on the stage.

The song, the dance, the performance reached its height, then paused. Silence held, and Vinyl stilled. Then Octavia began plucking hard at the strings in suspension, strong notes in descent. Vinyl stayed still, and Vinyl stayed edged, waiting, looking, her gaze penetrating for all it was hidden behind her shades.

Please, mistress. Vinyl's message screamed louder than song or silence. The need to cum, the need to release, gifted to the audience but indulged by neither performer as of yet.

"Are you prepared, my love?" Octavia's coo was not quite a song any more. "Can you make your modernity worth your mistress' while?"

Yes.

"We begin anew."

Vinyl's horn flared, and any sense of coherent communication was lost in a sudden cacophony of light and harmony of sound. Pure, yet almost thumping tones erupted from the strings as Vinyl's magic stroked along them, empowering them even as she bent over L-shaped once more. Shaking her ass and flagged tail was her display for the audience; the trace of Vinyl's fingers and Vinyl's magic, pulling back against the scroll leash, those were her submission to Octavia.

Slowly, proudly, Octavia rose. Her tall, regal head and muzzle shifted slightly; her eyes were not for the audience, but solely on her shimmying spouse. Her prodigious hips were outlined in the light; her gigantic breasts, worshipped by it. As she let out a melodic groan, Vinyl rolled her agile body as though the music was fucking her on Octavia's behalf again, and then she threw every ounce of herself not controlling the music into climaxing her lover.

Vinyl's hornflare swarmed over her body-- over her sex, of course, and massive breasts, too, but in earnest everywhere. The spray of light and magic was reflected into the room as Vinyl begged for Octavia to join her, not just in the music, not just in the dance, but in the moment. To come to the moment, and cum in it.

Vinyl pulled on strings that could only stimulate and savage herself, throwing her body wholeheartedly into the increasing constriction of the wires, sonic force in her arcane grip as she suddenly played her dom's body with as much devotion and skill as Octavia had hers. The purple flickered and swarmed over Octavia's lush curves like frantic kisses, vibrating, stimulating, finding every source of her already heated hide's sensitivity and redoubling it. Trebling it.

They came, together, loud cries and squeezing stomachs, their orgasmic release the only sound travelling across the wires for the moment. Frosty's erection felt like it was trying to throb right off his groin, and his desperate masturbation the only way to keep it close. They can't be done yet… he whispered to himself. I need more. Not an addiction; that wouldn't have been permitted. But that unparalleled sexuality and sensuous music… Surely, it can't end like this!

Of course not. Not for these two. In fact, once the orgasms started, they could hardly stop. Octavia danced now, still playing her bow across the strings but no longer limited to the "necks" between tit and twat on Vinyl. She stroked and sawed it everywhere she could find tension over Vinyl's body. Sometimes, it was just a light moderation of the existing song of their orgasms; sometimes, it was a strange and powerful pulse of sound like the prior performance but…

More intense, was the best he could distinguish. Are there electric cellos? If not, then this must be the dream of them; if so, then I can hardly think of a better tribute to the medium. Octavia's huge form moved with stately grace even as she twirled and stomped around her partner, setting off lush avalanches of assflesh for the audience to moan over, or swaying her giant orbs around in beautiful, untouchable rhythms that almost seemed carried by the music itself.

Untouchable by the world, but well-loved and well-touched by Vinyl's magic. As they danced and played each other, they never physically touched, their bodies spiralling past each other in brief, teasing moments. Vinyl's pierced and wired arms would stroke so close to one of Octavia's stupendously swinging breasts that they might have been thought a connection or a caress, but what there was stroked through them both.

Up would pop Vinyl, rolling and grinding her ass now in Octavia's direction, while the room got to watch her smug smile and lovingly abused breasts. Around would dance Octavia, crushing heft of her well-fed belly and well-made chest swinging into the circle between them as though teasing the smaller mare with their presence but not their weight.

Twirl and step and sway and clench, new climaxes erupting as the fever pitch of sound rose between them. Not merely sound, still song; not just an electric cello, but some strange, almost technomantic chorus of the chimes and wires, of vibrations and stops and squeals of delight.

Of course, Frosty nodded as his own second climax erupted, barely kept from flinging over the stage yet again. Techno. Dom and sub, partners, lovers, one flesh made of two. This is Vinyl's half of the lovesong, while the lust and the passion are their whole together.

Octavia sped up as the wave of sound and throb of light intensified. Now the giant warmare was kicking up her long, well-padded legs, the dominatrix teasing her audience with a flash of pink behind the grey here, with a flirt of her tail to reveal her gorgeous ass's crack there, promising obscene heights of pleasure for any who came under her power.

Or who had earned a night of something else.

But power was Octavia's role for the moment, and she held it high. A flex of her biceps almost yanked Vinyl off her feet; a dashed lunge showed off the powerful mass of her quads while Vinyl arched her back towards Octavia's ass and just rolled her wire-trapped stomach towards the audience. The beg to Octavia's demand. They moved, and the sound moved with them.

Frosty's oversized prick didn't-- couldn't-- stay soft long. Not under that amazing, blissful display. Many audience members were once again making love to each other, balls or dildo deep in a much-loved and much-used slave, or perhaps singing their own soundless song into a beloved mistress' sex, or around a lordly master's member. The ruts ran in time with the song; dances of the body and the heart coming together in imitation of the spectacle on stage.

To each their own; some merely kissed, some just watched and appreciated. The passion that Octavia and Vinyl fed the audience was still heralded and protected by truth; no one would come to any flare of need that they did not wish for as well. The music spun on; the orgy sung on.


Balls almost sore from release, Frosty was grateful that the pair brought the performance down slowly. Incremental changes in tempo swirled around him and the rest of the audience. Twirl and sway and jiggle and rut continued from the two, but slowly, more intimate than excess.

Their magic slowed with it. The erotic power of their dance was still enhanced and transmitted through the wave, but each fading note made it more and more the product of two beautiful bodies moving together, not bardic magic.

No less special for that, Frosty quietly averred.

Eventually, finally, they touched, Octavia hauling her submissive up for a slow burn of a kiss as Vinyl's chimes fell silent and the wires hummed to quiet against her skin. The room darkened back to dim, the only sounds the squeals and groans of those whose cumming had understandably lagged behind the dancers.

Then utter silence, followed swiftly by thunderous applause.


There were rounds of congratulations from other patrons to wade through, as thick as the splashed spunk that hadn't made it to the drains. Frosty sat, more than a little spent. Fear penetrated truth briefly.

How can I expect them to still want me with them tonight? he wondered After all that? Then he threw the fear into the passionate fire the dance had left in his soul as much as his balls. If they do, I'm blessed. If they don't… He tapped the tundra ice yet again, and watched the mares around him better now. Plenty of wriggles to pursue.

As epiphanies went, it was a decent one. As lessons went, it was unneeded, as Octavia and Vinyl unwound themselves from their admirers to bracket Frosty's chair, left and right yet again.

Vinyl outright grabbed his still-soft prick. She informed him that he had better not have emptied the pretty thing entirely; newbie or not, light kink or heavy, they had expectations. Octavia hatted him, resting her heavy, headily-musked O-cups on his head-- or rather, mostly around his head-- and shuddered pleasantly with the still-careening aftereffect.

"Mmm," she rumbled at him as Vinyl's expert grip began to stiffen him swiftly. "You have been quite the good luck piece, young sir. Let us see if it extends to getting lucky promptly." He couldn't see the thin smile on her lips, but he knew it was there, every bit as much as he knew how deep the red ran beneath the grey of her face and upper chest. "We have procured a room above for the night. Are you still willing?"

Shyness held no chains on his future. Frosty's mask felt light on his face-- or a part of it. He let Vinyl guide him to his feet by his throbbing cock. He stuck out his tongue at Vinyl and grumbled, "Yes, if your wife will let me get back into my pants."

"Why get in only to take them out?"

It took a little longer than it might have to get upstairs.

But fun, as it should be, was had by all.

Next Chapter