Heart of the Flame

This feels almost like a dream, I mused as we made our way down the seemingly endless tunnel that sloped and twisted deeper into the caverns like some primordial river deep beneath the crust of the earth. Watery canals and dark stalactites and glittering deposits of quartz and limestone passed before my eyes as I rode the little magically propelled boat. I felt like an Orpheus on Charon’s ferry, going down a gloomy Styx or sluggish, drowsy Acheron in near pitch-darkness, completely alone. The comparison was not exactly fitting, though, as this was no Tartarus to which I descended; no, this place was all too mortal, considerably more pleasant, and just as awfully mysterious.

For Petunia and I went down into the very heart of these ancient caverns, untold millennia of history rushing past me as the boat sped up and sliced through the water, leaving a churning foam and a spray of fine mist in its wake. I was quite giddy, I had to admit, the excited pounding in my chest drowned out by the deafening roar of a nearby waterfall (though thankfully not actually on the route I was taking). A purple lantern, perched precariously on the prow of the boat, lit the way as best it could, casting an unearthly glow on the boat and everything in it. The surroundings, unfortunately, were now going by too fast for me to catch more than a glimpse: a cracked wall shining with veins of silver here, a pile of shattered rocks from a cave-in there.

After a while, however, the boat began to slow down once more, going to a more leisurely pace. I took a breath, moving to the edge of the boat and leaning against the railing to get a better look, at least now that it was safe. I had to squint to see, before nearly jumping back in shock.

There were ponies on the walls. Or at least, once I had a second look, very, very detailed, painted carvings of ponies. Almost lifelike, really. Each set of reliefs was divided into their own scenes, in which the figures appeared to be doing fairly mundane things; selling goods, working in a studio or shop, doing household chores. There was a farrier at work by his forge, his muzzle set in a determined expression, the fire practically leaping out of the wall. Beyond him was a pegasus mare standing in the midst of a triclinium-style dining room in an outfit not seen for several millennia, a scanty chemise belted loosely around her middle. She was depicted pouring what I assumed was water into the cup of a unicorn stallion nearby, reclining on a couch in a purple-bordered robe. Even their expressions were lifelike, the mare shooting the stallion a half-lidded, flirty smile, and the stallion’s jaw set in a cocky smile that made it clear he was the type that was used to always getting his way.

The images began to get more... sensuous as the boat went on. The fifth or so showed a pegasus gazing towards a larger earth pony stallion with a meek smile, a collar around her neck and a leash attached to it, which was currently wrapped around the stallion’s hoof. This would still be fairly innocuous if it wasn’t for the finer details. The pegasus was lying on her back, looking up at the stallion with her back hooves spread out, a faint blush painted onto her muzzle paired with a demure smile and a pair of wide, pleading blue eyes. Above the two of them were carved the words, almost like a caption,διημ and ΤΑΣΤΟΡ. I mentally transliterated the captions, muttering to myself as I tried to puzzle them out. “Deemh and Tastor? Those words sound familiar, and the script is Ancient Unicornian, but I don’t recognise the words themselves...” Not only was it Ancient Unicornian, but a particularly archaic form that had died out around the early years of the Post-Unification Era. Could these caves really be that ancient?

As the boat continued on its journey, similar images became more and more common, each getting increasingly lewd as time went on, until even I found myself squirming. A younger stallion would have blushed at the lurid reliefs instead of studied them, the carved image of two stallions taking either end of a mare bound to a stone altar particularly catching my eye before I regained my composure. The use of colour and detail was rather fascinating, too; for being practically ancient, the images were extremely well-preserved. They almost reminded me of some ancient vases tucked away in Canterlot University’s museum, hidden from the usual viewing public due to the erotic scenes they depicted. Except these were not the relics of a culture long gone; no, it still existed and was thriving, if below the surface. Still, I didn’t want to get too excited yet; I had a strange feeling that whatever was shown on the wall would pale in comparison to the delightful decadence likely to be found at the end of my ride.

And I am happy to say I was entirely correct.

The evening before, we were in the Tropicana Cabaret on the upper floors, sipping Pina Bourgeoisie with Serene on the side. Saturday night in this place was a chaotic mess of clinking glasses, pushing crowds and the constant sound (and smell) of sex. This was a professional kind of weird, where it was perfectly ordinary to see a giant spinning wheel of bound-and-blindfolded mares right in the middle of the main floor, surrounded by cheering, boisterous patrons that were in little mood to wait their turns. This was what was known in this place as ‘Fuck Roulette.’ It was much like ordinary roulette, except every time the wheel turned, a different mare was angled towards the crowd. And it was in this heavy scene that we laid on our couches and observed in quiet awe.

I’d gotten into the Society properly just this morning, after I got my letter and badge back from my recruiter in Pintocola- because Neigh Orleans apparently didn’t have enough ponies in the society to warrant it. Nevertheless, I was so thrilled that I immediately called up Petunia, and asked her if she would go with me back to the Society tonight. Predictably, she readily agreed, and I finally hung up after I was fervently promised that I would be dragged to visit one of her favourite places around the Society.

The overall atmosphere of this place was three parts San Ruano casino, one part Mareibbean nightclub and all parts sleaze, the nearest radio blaring some loud salsa music at top volume, over which could still be heard the synchronised moaning of mares. The entire thing smelt of a forest of plastic palm trees, stale cigar smoke (not actual tobacco, of course- Celestia forbid anypony inhale anything so dangerous) and tiny parasols tucked in virgin margaritas. I was halfway expecting to see some sort of kinky tropical floor show any minute, a line of beautiful mares done up in colourful boas and feather headdresses hovering by the stage as if waiting for their cue.

I waved over a waitress in nothing but colourful panties, stockings and a job collar as I finished up my glass. “Margarita, extra ice, put a little dash of Muzkal in there, too.” The waitress smiled and whisked my drink away on a tray as I looked down at Petunia, who was currently snuggled against my chest and watching the mares dancing in gilded, bejeweled cages above our heads with a contented, almost blank stare. I think there was even a little bit of drool. “I see you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Mmm... sexy pegasus flank- huh what? Oh! Sorry, did you say something?”

I rolled my eyes, booping her on the nose just to watch her muzzle scrunch up and get her ‘cute-but-angry’ glare. “Yes, I did. I was just saying you seemed to be enjoying yourself, that’s all. You were kind of spacing out. You sure these ‘clocktails’ don’t have actual alcohol in them?” Part of me was kind of hoping there was, but I figured there most likely wasn’t. There were enough range of effects available to CTRL elixirs that it would probably be superfluous, even if I grumbled to myself at the slightly-synthetic taste of their beverages compared to the actual thing. Still, I wasn’t going to throw up, wake up with a splitting headache, or start dancing with a lampshade on my head anytime soon, so I suppose that was a small price to pay.

She nodded vigorously, blushing as she instinctively wiped the corner of her mouth and shifted slightly so she was staring up at me. “I’m sure. CTRL sure knows how to brew up good replacements, though. Have you tried Muzcal yet? All I know is it’s got agave nectar and something else in it, but hoo boy has it got a kick. Also, you might want to cover your ears for a few seconds. It’s like Starbright for your hearing.”

I took the glass from the waitress as she came back, nodding my thanks and lifting my glass to my lips. Ah, this at least tasted like the real thing- Agave nectar, a bit of orange-flavoured serene, and a splash of lime to tingle the tongue. Perfect. I propped myself up on a hoof as I drank, observing a mare with a neon-green mane and trefoil radiation symbol on her flank being released from the wheel, stumbling her way bow-legged out of the lounge and leaving a trail of pearly-white cum behind her. “Please, it just tastes like a virgin margarita. There can’t be anything like that in th- holy shit!”

Oh sweet Luna, I think my tongue actually lolled out of my mouth for a second there. I could hear every wail of the trumpets, feel every drumbeat vibrating down to my very bones, practically see every piano note being pounded out as if it were being played right next to me, and not from a radio on a bar countertop ten feet away. Oh dear... hoo boy, I was not expecting that. I’ve heard of eargasms, but this was the closest thing I’d ever gotten. I had to actually glance down to check I hadn’t popped a stiffy- mercifully, my cock was still in its sheath. Mercifully, because if I had gotten a boner, poor Petunia would’ve probably gone flying off the couch, and I would never hear the end of it. As it was, I saw the knowing grin she was aiming at me and huffed. “You didn’t say it would do that.”

“I told exactly what it was like. You just didn’t believe me. To your credit, though, I halfway expected you to cum after the first five seconds, since I know how much you love this music.”

I may have been shuddering a little, but no way in Tartarus was I going to let her notice. Even if the music was busy running my pulse and causing my ears to nearly fold in on themselves from sheer sensory overload. “Oh shuddup, ‘Tuney. If it was swing, maybe. But you know me better than that.”

“You also didn’t finish your drink. I bet if you had, you’d be singing a different tune- and we’d have to call the nearest maid to clean up.”

I dismissed the thought as ludicrous, pointedly going back to sipping my drink- albeit slowly- until it was empty. “See, I did it just fine, and- holy fuuuuuck...”

I am a little ashamed to say she almost won the bet that time. Can you really blame me, though? The first thing I heard after that was some stallion on the opposite side of the room, talking to his friends very loudly about his last exploit in Pet Town.

“...and this cute changeling just starts making what I swear was a mewling sound, can you believe it? Not even being led to the stocks by her leash could stop her from wriggling around. It took a few smacks with the crop to get her to stay still- coated with Starbright, of course- but I managed to finally get here in there for her punishment. And you know what she did when I moved around to the front to see if she’d had enough? She kisses the crop, looks up at me with this grin that could turn on a blind guy, and goes ‘Thank you sir, may I have another one?’ Now, me, being a newbie, I’m not used to this sort of thing, so I don’t know what to say. I just kinda sit there looking dumb for a few seconds, until I say the first thing that comes to mind: ‘No, I think you’ve had enough.’ This is obviously not what she’s looking for, as she immediately gives me this goddamn puppy-dog look, and starts mewling like she’s in heat and going ‘Just one more, sir?’ I don’t care how much of a sadist you are- there is no way you can argue with that.”

“Wait, wouldn’t it be more of a truly sadistic thing to give her the cropping?”

“Not for a pain-slut. You don’t understand- with those subs, it’s crueler to deny punishment than to give it, since some of them can get off on the sheer humiliation alone, and thus you might be stopping them from getting off. I like whipping, cropping, spanking and biting, but orgasm denial is not my thing. Not that I wanted to, anyway. So I just kinda think on my feet- which come to think of it, is rather necessary here. It honestly kinda reminds me of back when I was in an improv acting troupe, only a lot more sexual. Er, anyways, I go ‘Very well then. I may even give you a reward after if you take your punishment well.’ And she does. Dear Celestia, she does. I think she was halfway to coming just from the smacks alone by the time I actually started fucking her. Granted, I was pretty pent-up too at the moment, so it wasn’t long before we both went off. I was kind of embarrassed at first that it didn’t take too long, but once we got to the nearest Aftercare room she was rather encouraging.”

“I believe my exact wording was ‘any stallion who can bring me over the edge so hard I feel weightless after has nothing to worry about.’ Which I still firmly believe,” quipped a wry voice from the other side of him.

There is no way any stallion can handle listening to the agonisingly-specific details of fucking a cute little changeling mare in the public stocks until she’s reduced to a pile of whimpering, aroused mess and not be close to blowing a load then and there. Especially when said changeling was sitting on the other side of the table and reminding him of the bits he forgot or left out. I caught Petunia’s eye and shot her a glare back in response. She probably knew something like this would happen. Scratch that- she did know, probably because she’d had Muzcal before and had a similar experience.

After a few minutes to settle down a bit as the effects started to wear off, I looked up at the brightly-coloured ceiling with a bit of a frown. This was... fun and all, but it wasn’t exactly what I was looking for when I first showed up here. Petunia had promised... you know, historical discoveries beyond anything I could imagine. And call me weird, but this wasn’t really scratching that particular itch. I wanted to get out. Explore. Just wander my way through this maze of kink facilities, slink up to some back-alley shop, find me a map and see what I could find. Keep moving. Don’t turn back until it’s time to leave again.

With that thought in mind, I looked down towards Petunia, who seemed to have caught my frown and was gazing up at me with a puzzled expression. “What do you say we get out of here? Go exploring. Not anywhere in particular, just find some little niche or backwater corner of this place nopony goes to much and look around. At least some of these facilities have to be, what, 1000, 2000 years old?”

She bit her lip, glancing over at the bar for a few seconds as if contemplating getting another drink, before her eyes widened. “Oh shit! I told you this would be an adventure, and here I am sticking you in a lounge for a night as if we’re back in Hayvana on vacation. I wanna make it up to you, and I’m going to! Come on, we’re going now!”

“Wait a second Petunia, I think we might wanna decide on a particular area first-”

“I have an ideeeeeea! Now come on Bronze, up and at ‘em! See you later, Zecora!” With that, I found myself once more pulled from my comfy spot, and found myself barely able to keep up with Petunia as she weaved expertly through the crowd and into the halls beyond.

For those of you who have never been there, to call the Society complex a maze would be wholly inaccurate. Mazes don’t have maps made for them. What it is, however, is incredibly vast, and thus still easy to get lost in, even with a map on hoof. With that in mind, Petunia and I found ourselves drifting from place to place, stopping at the occasional back alley to check where we were and make sure we could find our way back... eventually.

Beneath a seemingly endless ceiling that stretched farther than we could make out, we found ourselves in the midst of the City, the urban predator/prey setting somewhere between the Borderlands and the area known as the Hunting Grounds. No, we knew where we were going, thank you very much. We were just taking the time to enjoy the scenery, and watch the doms pursuing after the fleeing mares passing by on occasion. The City itself was a weird amalgamation of styles, ranging from ancient to medieval to modern depending on where you were. At the moment, we were in the section that I’m pretty sure was modelled after Late Renaissance Griffonstone, complete with having almost all griffon doms roaming all over the place. And griffon statues. Anatomically-correct griffon statues. You know it’s the right place when even the sculpture is trying to turn you on. They even had inscriptions in period-era Griffish on the walls! And they were accurate!

“Are you... sure... we’re going the right way?”

“Certainly. The map says that the old palace district is on the other side of this tunnel. Now come on, I want to see their collection of fertility idols that nice zebra down the way mentioned!”

Petunia followed behind me, panting slightly as she tried to keep pace with me this time. Never underestimate a historian in his element. We will find what we’re looking for.

With that in mind, it came as a surprise when we found ourselves, not in the palace district, but in what appeared to be a large, sparkling cavern. And when I say sparkling, I mean if there was more light in here than a few torches, I would’ve been blinded. Every curve of the walls, every crevasse was encrusted with milky-white crystals that reflected beautiful, constantly-shifting patterns onto the dark grey floor. We carefully walked about in a bit of a state of awe, stepping over small sinkholes and chasms that peppered the floor like swiss cheese. I don’t think anypony came down here much, or they would’ve covered up the holes, at least.

The floor was angled at a bit of a downward slant, so the descent was fairly easy as we made our way downward and into a branching tunnel. The air was getting hotter, for some reason, and more humid. But why? We were getting deeper underground, and it should have been colder. “Where are we?” I muttered to nopony in particular, squinting my eyes to read my map under the dim lighting. As far as I could tell, we should have been...

Oh. Ooooooh. I’d had the map upside down before. Whoops. On closer inspection, I found we were in an area known as ‘Hot Spring Caverns’ on the south side of the City. It was apparently a buffer zone between the upper dungeon levels and the City, connected by a string of tunnels that meandered around before finally converging on a stairway back up to the dungeons. But wait, what was the ‘greyed-out zone’ to the east? This was a huge section with no label, just a blank, grey space stretching out over a third of the area. Maybe they hadn’t developed this area yet?

“Do you think we should keep going, Bronze? I don’t recognise this part of the caverns...”

I thought for a second. It only took a second to offer a definite, “Yes, we should. Come on, who knows what we can find down here! Isn’t this what we were looking for in the first place? New places, new discoveries?”

One of her ears flicked, but she otherwise appeared to not have heard me. After a moment, though, she slowly nodded. “Alright, but if you get us lost, Mr. ‘Intrepid Adventurer,’ I will make sure everyone and their mother hears about it.”

Fair enough, I thought. With that in mind, we delved deeper and deeper into the caverns, tracking our way across a narrow chasm (which apparently actually had a magical barrier to prevent falling into it. They do think of everything here) before being plunged into near-darkness as the torches got more distant. I lit my horn, my pale blue aura lighting up the area as my eyes began to adjust. Keep moving. Don’t linger or wander too far away from Petunia.

By the time we got back into one of the well-lit areas, I was pouring sweat, wispy clouds of steam rising around me. You know, this may not have been such a good idea after all: I was missing the cooler areas back upstairs...

No, that was the wrong attitude. Learn to enjoy the thrill of not knowing where you’re going other than some vague goal of ‘somewhere interesting.’

I ended up standing on the edge of a large pool of water tucked away at the corner of the cavern, a little boat tied to a post on the black, sandy bank. Somewhere in the distance, a waterfall flowed, the only visual evidence a constant cloud of steam floating out of a nearby tunnel half-submerged. The boat was fairly innocuous- just a little sailboat with a lantern on one end, and a ramp leading up to it, and a sign next to it that read ‘To the Heart. Two ponies maximum capacity. This boat is self-guided and needs no steering.’

I glanced back at Petunia curiously. “What do you make of all this?”

She shrugged. “I can only assume that this boat is left here for ponies going to ‘The Heart,’ wherever that is. The better question is- should we get on it?”

My answer to that question was ready enough, as I clambered onto the boat, feeling giddier by the minute. This was it, I felt. Some part of me knew this was probably a terrible idea, but another was screaming ‘this is exactly the opportunity we’ve been waiting for!’ That part was considerably louder, and was currently located by the prow, humming merrily and with my hoof floating over a ‘launch’ lever while a stunned Petunia looked on. “Well, aren’t you going to get in? This is for two ponies, you know.”

She opened her mouth for a second to protest, then closed it again. She seemed rooted to the spot, until finally she gave a resigned shrug. “Fuck it. Let’s see where this goes. Onwards, Captain Bronze Age.”

I grinned. “That’s just what I like to hear. Hop aboard and make yourself comfy, because I have a feeling this is going to be a long ride.”

Petunia soon settled down next to me on a padded wooden bench, and I hit the lever. We were off, finally. To where? Who knows? We’d find out when we got there.