Heart of the Flame

Whenwe finally arrived inside I was too busy staring around to cope with the full impact of what I was seeing and doing. As Petunia and I slowly shuffled forward in line, I took in every detail, every gilded sconce, every polished paving stone, every gaudy, silken banner hanging from the walls. The entrance hall was, in a word, palatial, practically reeking of high-grade marble and artificial plants. Clearly, this was some sort of high-class refuge for big spenders looking for a kinky weekend getaway. So that begged the question: how the hell did Petunia end up in this place? She said she joined a kink club, not a whole goddamn underground secret society, which is what this was quickly looking like. The words ‘Clocktower Society’ with an accompanying logo plastered nearly everywhere I looked in bold, golden lettering may have helped with that conclusion, too.

The rest of the ponies here even looked normal, which is what surprised me the most. At least when crashing the nobility’s parties in Canterlot, they all look exactly like what you’d expect. You know, a bunch of wealthy snobs whose sole redeeming features are: their ability to throw a good party, and their nearly unlimited funds to expend on the propagation of vice, lechery and hedonism. In other words, my kind of ponies, though they’d probably vehemently disagree with that sentiment (Especially since I’m supposed to set a good example for the youth of Equestria. I do, thank you very much. I am the very model of an upstanding citizen. That’s why I keep my activities to either the summer or weekends, and make sure everything I engage in is at least legal, if morally questionable). But these ponies? They looked like they could be your next door neighbour. Hell, I think a couple of them were my neighbours, actually, holy shit. Small world...

The line continued to lurch forward at a snail’s pace, twisting and coiling and uncoiling like a huge blind snake as we made our way across the massive hall and into a second area below a high, domed ceiling. The crowd gradually thinned out and went in separate directions, heading down a flight of stairs on either side of the hall. Now that we weren’t getting shoved forward by the relentless swell of ponies, I was finally able to walk around freely and admire this ridiculously grand room. They had a mural on the wall directly across from us, and I was unable to tell if it was painted last week or past millennium, it was so well preserved. On it was a very large map of what I assumed were the other Clocktower sites across the world, including Ponyville itself (Home of the Clocktower Mares, it read), Zebrica, Griffonstone, and (of course) San Franciscolt. Heh, I had to remember that for my next road trip out west. The most I got out of my last trip to the city was a hotel bill only extortionists could dream of, my tongue seared off by Abyssinian food, and two exes of mine discovering the perils of excessive amounts of absinthe without me. I could’ve just had a fun night ending with a cohort of stallions in harem outfits instead of high-tailing it out of there first thing Sunday morning, terribly sober and unequipped for the dusty horror that is the San Palomino Desert.

Dominating the centre of the hall (and I mean, plopped there without a care in the world. I swear, these ponies have no sense of proportion, moderation, or feng shui) was an enormous marble sculpture of the Founders of Equestria, engaged in various activities that I’m pretty sure were never mentioned in the standard history books. At least, I’m pretty sure they weren’t- unless they left the keywords ‘with benefits’ out of the whole ‘Magic of Friendship banishing away the Windigoes’ section. If so, more power to them! Always knew at least Princess Platinum had to be the kinky type, what with the ‘bridling Clover the Clever and riding her across a stream’ incident still recounted in modern Hearth’s Warming Pageants. Never thought she’d be the submissive type, though. Oh well; just one more thing to add to my marginal notes for my class’s history textbook. My copy, of course; if this was as secretive as it seemed, I doubted anypony would want some overzealous teacher breaking that secrecy. Luna only knows what they’d do to me; probably truss me up and toss me to a gang of wild doms in a dungeon, the bastards.

Hmm, actually that wasn’t such a bad idea in hindsight, as long as they at least took the courtesy of applying lube before allowing my every orifice to be invaded by a large, throbbing cock (I kid. I’m rather partial to both snails and oysters, I’ll admit, but I’m not much of the submissive type unless the fancy strikes me once in a while). Oh hey, Petunia was heading down the stairs. No, wait, she was standing at the bottom of the stairs. And staring at me impatiently. Sheesh, she really needed to unwind a little. It wasn’t my fault this place was just so damn fascinating.

After taking some directions from a bulletin board, Petunia and I made our way into what appeared, at first glance, to be a combination of an indoor shopping mall and an Eastern bazaar. This entire main floor seemed to be shops, booths, offices and other assorted buildings from wall to wall. I was honestly a little flabbergasted; I was expecting just one giant sex dungeon, not what looked like the high street of a Griffish village on Market Day. Ponies milled about from place to place, passing under gaily-coloured awnings that shaded the passers-by from the enormous crystal lanterns that hung from the ceiling. The air was filled with the rich giggles and titters of laughter, the secret mutterings of lovers into each others’ ears, the wearied sighs of an aged shopkeep who’d just dropped an object off a counter and bent down to pick it up.

Petunia didn’t seem to be heading anywhere in particular, so I figured I’d just look around. With that in mind, I set out along the edge of the pavement, browsing the windows of the shops and peering inside. On this end there were everything from bakeries, the smell of fresh-baked desserts wafting out from the open windows of a shop called ‘The Sticky Bun,’ to little cafes and tea-shops squeezed between more upscale stores bearing the moniker of ‘Gift Shop: CTRL Products Sold Here.’ And, of course, there were the many, many street peddlers pushing carts along the thoroughfares, their little wagons loaded down with everything from flowers to Clocktower shirts to even strange and exotic dildoes (now that seemed more on par with the aesthetic, heh). I had to wonder, though: what in Equestria did they use for currency here? Sex? Bondage Gear? Some kind of play money, perhaps?

I was just about to duck into a tea-shop to find out, the delicate smells hitting my nose delightfully, when I felt somepony grab my hoof and pull me back. “Enough time for that later, Bronze. The visitor’s tour group is this way.” Of course Petunia would be one to remind me I actually had to follow procedure. Hmph. The mare has never understood that some things can only be appreciated without rushing through to get to something else. Oh well.

Who were these ponies, these faces? The ones in my tour group looked like washed-out caricatures of the protagonists of some sleazy erotica novella for middle-aged housewives. College frat colts looking for an easy lay and staring around in lustful wonder, and nervous, innocent-faced mares who probably spent eight hours a day bringing coffee to annoyed, middle-tier bureaucrats and spent their breaks sneaking peaks at Love Song novels under their desks. And sweet mother of Luna, were there a lot of them on a Friday evening. Where did they all come from? Almost fifteen of us, and I think I was the only one over twenty-five.

Petunia soon departed, leaving me trapped in the clutches of this ‘tour group’ and a little lavender mare with a green mane that hung over her eyes and a constantly-swishing tail. She wore a red collar around her neck, which I’m sure had some kind of symbolism that yet escaped me. With a warm smile, she gestured for us to gather in closer. “Welcome to Clocktower Society, visitors! I’m Society Slave SP-0872, your tour guide to the world of the Society. It’s nice to see so many new faces today! Now, do all of you have your visitor’s badges on hoof?” The lot of us more-or-less held up the little golden badges in unison, and the tour guide nodded her head approvingly. “Good. Sorry you had to wait so long, but somepony else took my place earlier. You’ll probably run into her later. So, without further ado, follow me- and watch your step! We had an incident earlier that had half the maid service all in a tizzy.”

The rest of us followed close behind the mare, heading out of the strange marketplace and into an area labelled ‘Viewing Galleries.’ I had to wonder, of course- what sort of incident would require half a maid service? Did somepony just spill a random five-gallon bucket of cum along the stairs or something? Considering what sort of place this was, it wouldn’t be surprising if there were signs that said, ‘Caution: Semen Hazard. Slippery When Wet’ lying around in case of an emergency- O sweet Luna, there was! I’m not sure if it was amusing or terrifying that I’d actually been right.

Gingerly-avoided slipping hazards aside, the viewing galleries were more or less exactly what they sounded like: a raised gallery on the upper level of the main hall, overlooking the marketplace area below through almost sparkling-clean glass windows. Whoever worked as a maid here, they must be working double-overtime to keep this whole damn place spotless. The galleries weren’t particularly crowded at the time, maybe one or two ponies going our way or staring out the windows down at the floor below. I was kind of grateful for that, because by the very interested looks exchanged between some of the other tour members and the passers-by, we would’ve probably been held up if there were more.

We soon found ourselves descending down a flight of stairs into a darker, colder portion of the area. Now this felt more like a typical dungeon, complete with flickering torch sconces and iron doors between segments of the galleries. They even had the sound of... screaming? No, that didn’t sound like screaming. At least, not the kind I’d normally associate with a dungeon. Sounded more like moaning, and holy shit was there a lot of it. Once we reached the bottom of the stairs, I chanced a glance over to the windows.

What I saw appeared to be a scene out of somepony’s most lurid fantasies. Rows upon rows of iron cages contained mares in a wide variety of positions, all locked inside their cells. Masked figures roamed about from cage to cage, browsing the wares as if they were a display in a shop window. A line of others stood on an auction block, collars around their necks and being closely examined by yet more masked figures like shoppers inspecting a fruit for ripeness. The sound of moaning and whimpering, of fast-talking auctioneers. of rattling cages and soft cries of ecstasy were as clear as bells, the constant noise filling up the entire space. Over it all was framed the simple header ‘Slave Pens.’ This was... actually rather unsettling, at least to me. It was practically Hearth’s Warming for somepony actually into this sort of thing, of course.

Myself? I’m not a fan of the whole ‘objectification/being property’ thing. I had a couple of partners in the past who were, but the way they acted even outside of sex always made me wonder where the line between ‘sexual fetish’ and ‘actual lack of self-esteem’ began and ended. And if it’s the latter, I really don’t feel comfortable feeding somepony’s emotional insecurities and actually making them feel that their only worth in life is to be somepony else’s cocksleeve. Of course, most ponies probably just indulge that kink while being perfectly ordinary, responsible ponies- they’re the most usual type you find in the kink scene- but for others, I’ve seen it can be hard to tell the difference between acted-out fantasy and a deeper psychological reality, and the last thing I want to do is turn something that’s supposed to be mutually fun into something genuinely harmful.

...Sorry, I got kind of carried away there, didn’t I? Okayyyy, let’s steer away from complex moral quandaries of equine sexuality and back to the scene at hoof. Trust me to overthink something that should be simple. Er, without worrying about the psychological state of the participants, it looked kind of... hot, I guess? The idea, at least, of being able to just take any random mare in the pens who pleased me, buy her on the auction block, then ravish her in front of the lot of them, her cries of pleasure and moans of “M-more, please, Master! P-please fuck me!” bouncing off the walls while her fellow slaves look on, and knowing that she’s loving every minute of this- Oh. Oh dear. Was it getting hot in here? Certainly not. Must just be my imagination. Ahem, well, it looked like it was time to move on.

At least I wasn’t the only one who looked flustered, I noticed, though my own reaction was considerably more subdued than some of the others staring out the windows like it was their birthday and they’d just got an ice cream cake. The mares and the stallions. I wasn’t sure who they were envying, the subs or the doms, but half of them looked about ready to cream themselves just from watching. Mother of Luna, I thought. At least I know now who the voyeurs are in here.

“This way, visitors! We have a lot more to see. Next we’ll be going through Pet Town before heading back up to the viewing galleries. And before you ask, no, you cannot take one of the pets back with you this time. You can do that later, once you’ve gone through your Society registration paperwork and are given your full member badges. Any other questions? No? Good. Follow me, and keep up.”

Many minutes later, we found ourselves out of the galleries and into the midst of what looked like a large park, complete with trees, meadows, and frolicking ponies getting fucked up against the side of a doghouse- wait, what? I had to use my magic to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating and this entire place hadn’t been a product of my subconscious mind mixed with too much gin and various other substances. This looked almost like some sort of bizarre, X-rated cross between a dog park, a zoo, and a free-range safari, with everything from random pegasi nesting in tree tops and tweeting at passers-by, to Diamond Dogs on leashes catching suspiciously phallic-shaped treats, and even batponies hanging upside down from tree branches and... sucking off stallions? Was upside down actually a better position for it? Eh, best not to question it, I figured.

“As you can see, we have the perches and cages for the adorable little pegabirbs up here here, houses and kennels for the cute little pups and kitties, the leash-rental, adoption office, feed dispensary...” By the Ancestors, what in Equestria didn’t they have here? I’d normally say ‘stallions’ but those were all apparently at the other site... which I would need to visit soon.

No, it was best to stay focused. I was here for the thrill of discovery, the riches of untold history secreted away within the bowels of this ancient clocktower, not to entertain myself. The backdrop of uninhibited, casual, kinky debauchery was just a little incentive to keep me looking around. Within the group, of course, for now- I’d caught an exchange a few minutes before that made it clear it was best to err on the side of caution. Or something like that.

“No sir, you cannot wander out into Pet Town by yourself. We have a loose batpony out there, and she’s known for pouncing on poor, unsuspecting doms and snuggling them until she’s satisfied.”

“When you say snuggling-”

“Yes, I do mean snuggling. What else would I mean? I- sir, if this slave meant sex, she would’ve said sex. We’re are not allergic to the word here, or it’s many iterations: fuck, screw, shag, bang, ife, etc. Ife is still the best though. Heh. Ife ife ife ife- it rolls off the tongue quite nicely, doesn’t it?”

I didn’t recognise the word, but I could ascertain the meaning easily enough. Of course the centuries-old, underground kink society would have a language and jargon of its own. Though I had to wonder- was it a written language as well, and if so, was it spoken by all the members, or just a particular group? A fond as I am of languages, I didn’t want to have to learn one on the fly to be able to communicate with other ponies here. On the bright side, it couldn’t possibly end up as disastrously as my attempt to communicate in a broken mixture of Ancient Unicornian, Pegasopolan, Acadien Prench and Equestrian with a couple of nice police officers outside the consulate in Bitalia. Despite being simply a terrible misunderstanding, the only reason I wasn’t arrested was I was able to prove that the manuscripts I was transporting with me were reproductions, and were sold to me legally. Thank Celestia my horribly-mangled patois at least superficially resembled modern Bitalian.

Mercifully, in this case, all the ponies seemed to communicate in Equestrian just fine; excepting the ‘pets’, who mostly seemed to prefer barks, meows, chirps and various other sounds not out of place in a Menagerie. It was a weird combination of absurd, yet oddly charming, though not necessarily attractive. I’ll be honest, as far as the whole ‘pet play’ thing goes, I’ve always been more into it for the collar-and-leash aesthetics tacked onto standard dom/sub play rather than taking it so seriously. Still, nopony could say this lot wasn’t dedicated to their roles, that’s for certain.

Perhaps I could come to understand their mindset, their habits, their secret languages? It was an interesting proposition, at least- simply come to different parts of this complex, sit there quietly, and observe the action going on. I know they weren’t exactly the types to shy away from viewers- in fact, they seem to encourage it, if not outright participation. On my part, though, I think I’d prefer to simply observe, though- a questionably-sane historian with a notepad and a bottle of gin on hoof, preferably, jotting down every little detail as if I was a reporter for Equestrian Geographic. “Inside The Secrets of the Clocktower Society: The Castle Dungeon meets the Neighborhood Pet Store. Dogs fucked the Batpony- no fault of mine. The hidden, cutthroat world of Cock Maintenance- I mean Clock Maintenance.”

Wait, was alcohol even allowed down here? Petunia had said ‘Won’t need it, there are other things’ when I’d offered her some of my gin, so I figured not; but on the other hoof, I’d seen a bar or two on the main floor on the upper level. Did they have their own concoctions here, instead? If they did, it was probably made specifically to give the pleasant, relaxing effects of intoxication, without the impaired judgement or the addictive potential. Heh, this place was sounding even more pleasant already, though I was a little sad to realise that the bottles lying in my briefcase left on the upper level would be terribly lonely. I almost teared up a little; that was a perfectly good bottle of Bombhay Sapphire- it’d never done any harm to anypony! Well, at least not to me, anyway. What did it do to deserve such a dreadful fate? Oh well, I could keep her company later when I got back home and got a chance to kiss her good night.

I was about halfway into my self-induced state of melodramatic melancholy when I realised that the tour group had started moving on, leaving me in the midst of this goddamn zoo. I paused for a second, looked around at the various denizens with whom I had been left alone, and took off towards the retreating backs of the tour group, flailing my hooves as if trying to paddle across land.

By the time I caught back up to them, they were already taking the stairs back up to the other side of the viewing galleries, though the tour guide did take pity on me and wait until I had stumbled my way up there before continuing on her way. I ignored the snickers of the other tourists, pulling my hat over my eyes. Hmph. What right had they to laugh? This was investigative history in the making, hunting down the discovery of the century. They certainly couldn’t understand the sheer gravity of this place’s existence, I thought. Of course, as soon as I came back here the second time, I’d probably be too distracted fucking my way six ways to Sunday to do much research, but that wasn’t important.

Wandering, and wandering some more, we found our way into overlooking what looked like the most ordinary part of the area; a sprawling subterranean city planted at the very bottom of another cavern. It was cold down here, constant drafts blowing through the vents above us as we leaned against the glass and peered down. It was hard to tell what was going on down there; it just looked like a normal city at first, with ponies just going about their normal, every-day business. And then the tour guide managed to take that assumption, chop it into tiny pieces, grind it to powder, burn the powder to ashes, then toss said ashes in a river. “Welcome to The Core, part of the Borderlands. This is the main non-consensual roleplay area of the Society. Before you ask, yes, it is entirely of the participants’ free will; ponies will, after getting at least silver bell-level clearance- yes, you do have to sign some paperwork to have access to this part, sorry to disappoint, dears- go down here to seek out a situation in which they are getting, ahem, ravished by a random stranger, and pretend to be a resistant victim. Observe.”

Nope. Not happening. This was not my department. I glanced back at the blushing tour guide, stepping back as most of the group crowded around the windows. I was visibly starting to sweat, looking away and trying to ignore it. Stay quiet, stay calm. The sounds of a mare screaming for help echoed from far below, the cries like a nail being hammered into my head. It wouldn’t go away, and I didn’t want to cover my ears. Stay quiet... be calm. Just ignore what's going on below.

The sound was quickly muffled by what I presumed was a gag. I knew this was all just pretend, a roleplay with no real consequences, and with all safety measures and precautions taken beforehand. Still, I couldn't help but-

"Clockface. Sorry miss, but I need you to test your bell, after the incident here in the Borderlands last week."

There was a brief pause, then the clear sound of a small bell rang out once affirmatively. A few seconds passed, presumably the dom checking to make sure everything was in order, before the word "Clockface" was repeated. Almost immediately she started crying out again, though the sound was drowned out the slapping of flesh and loud grunts.

I glanced around, my worries a little assuaged by the display, but not much. This was still very much not my cup of tea, and the sooner we moved on, I felt, the better. The others were mostly still just peering down with voyeuristic eagerness, not flinching or even moving. Just watching. Frozen, silent observers staring, yet separated from it all by a single pane of glass.

I didn’t realise I was still moving until I backed into another pony who had moved away from the group, a mare whose face showed the same look of distaste I probably had on my own muzzle. Green eyes met mine with a slightly guilty look, her ears folded back, as if she was ashamed of her own discomfort. I glanced back at the wall before bringing my gaze back to her, offering a reassuring nod and a small smile. We both understood each other well enough; we would most likely steer very clear of this particular area in the future.

Once the tour group began to finally move on, the mare disappeared into the rest of the group, though I could feel the occasional glance back at me here and there as we kept walking. Most likely, we would not run into each other again. But that didn’t matter. What mattered is that I’d found a kindred spirit, and that was enough to brighten my day once more.

The ground began sloping back up as our tour came to a conclusion, emerging out of the tunnels back into the viewing galleries above the main level, and back into the marketplace area. I saw Petunia trotting towards me as the tour guide finished up her speech. “This concludes our tour of the main facilities of Clocktower Equestria East. I hope you enjoyed your little romp through our little kink haven. Please leave your name and address with our Registration Office when you get ready to leave. If you want to join us, come back between the hours of 7 PM and 7 AM Monday through Saturday, and we will put you in contact with the local recruiting agent in your area. You will file your paperwork with said recruiting agent, who will send it on to our office. After being put on our list, there is a maximum two-week waiting period while we process your applications. When we finish your applications, or if we need to clarify some mistake or question in your file, your local recruiter will contact you via mail within one to three business days. Don’t worry, only you can open or read the envelopes. Our Registration Office is upstairs in the upper levels. Oh, and you will receive your badge via Royal Mail as soon as your registration is in order, along with your Society Training Manual. Welcome, and thank you for visiting the Clocktower Society! Please come back and visit us soon!”

With that bundle of future red tape put in front of us, the tour group dispersed, and I was reunited with an excited- and for some reason, thoroughly soaked- Petunia, who was wearing in a red collar. “Should I ask?”

“I just got back from the showers. I needed to clean up after-”

I waved my hooves in front of my face hastily. “Okay, got it, I shouldn’t ask.”

She pouted for a second, then her smile bounced back into place as she leaned into my shoulder. “So.... what’dya think?”

I hesitated a second. What did I think? So far, this place was amazing, sexy, confusing, even overwhelming at times. But... it seemed absolutely like somewhere I would want to go back to. “It’s... a lot to take in, but I quite like it. I would love to come back sometime, as a full member.”

Petunia squealed before practically tackling me to the floor. “Really? ‘Cause I know you, and I know you love history, and I know you love kinky stuff but don’t like certain kinky stuff, so I thought you’d be kinda turned off by some parts but nerding out with others, but I’m so glad you like it and wanna come back and oh my gosh, I wanna to be there when you get your Society badge and-”

“Tuney, stone floor. My back. Overenthusiastic mare on my chest.”

“Oh, right. Sorry!” She clambered off of me, apologising profusely as I rolled onto my stomach and rose onto four hooves again.

“It’s quite alright, dear. Now...” I grinned, glancing around as a thought came into my head. “You mentioned something better than booze around here?” Ancestors knew I needed something to help sit back, relax, and help process all this.

“This way!” was the last thing I heard before I found myself being dragged away into the unknown once more, in pursuit of the only thing that could make this carnal carnival of kinky chaos even better; a stiff drink.

Seven hours and seven weird cocktails of various (non-alcoholic, but still delicious) elixirs later, I found myself sitting outside, on a small, grassy knoll overlooking the tower. I closed my eyes, letting the clouds of sweet, pungent smoke drift out of my mouth and be carried wherever the wind might blow it. I sat there, in the stillness, savouring the smell of fresh wildflowers, the cool morning breeze that rustled through the meadow, the sound of hooves crunching the grass beneath them as they left, one by one, going back to their lives. I glanced down at my watch: two minutes. Two minutes until the spell was broken, and this long, amazing night ended.

The sound of the bells striking 7 AM rang out across the meadow, the reverberating clang carried far into the distance. As Petunia moved to my side, the last rays of silvery moonlight kissed the earth good night, giving way to the first glowing ember of dawn flickering on the horizon. A good end to a good night, I thought as I slid my pipe back into my saddlebag, turning away as the barrier went up behind me. I almost felt a little sad, having to leave so soon. But I would be back; of that, I was certain. The Society had gotten my interest, without a doubt.

And next time, I would do my best to explore it all.