My Little Toy

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I had been turned ninety degrees to the right, for some reason. Maybe she wanted me to face in a new direction. I am no longer looking, as if I had merely been pulled out of the proverbial closet.

A white girl is walking up from behind me. I guess she could have been Sweetie Belle, but I am not entirely certain. If I had seen her face, I think I would have known, though.

She is wearing a pair of black rubber tights reaching up to an inch above where her belly button should have been seen. Even if she is walking on the green grass, I can still hear the distinct sound of a pair of hooves.

While her legs are fairly mate, almost as if it is intended to look like skin; her hooves are well rounded and metallic bloody red, glistering as if newly polished. On second thought, it sounds almost, as if she had been wearing steel shoes. Horses are wearing shoes, made out of stainless steel, so her hooves would fit well enough. Just that her shoes are not nailed on or even glued into place. They simply seems to have a natural fit, permitting them to hang onto the underside of her hooves.

The face of the girl, covered by an equine mask; denying her human ears and replacing them with the equine variety, right alongside the eyes to go with them. Naturally, she is also sporting the diminutive muzzle that goes with the face. Oddly enough, it does actually look as if the mask had merely been painted rubber on her face; not a mask, designed to change the looks and behaviour of the human wearing it.

She wears a pair of elbow-length gloves completing the set. A seamless fit, just as expected. Slender and effeminate hands, sporting perfectly sculpted semi square nails. She had also been given these bright cerise, highly sensitive touch pads you may have recognized on a cat. To top it all of, the palm of each hand is a silicon white suction-cup.

She is also wearing a bright red top and skirt, matching her hooves. Since this is not a nudist party, nipples and other genitalia are not publicly visible.

The little girl I take for Sweetie Belle is scanning the room and soon finds me, where I had been placed for her enjoyment. While I am not here for her exclusively, she is the first to spot me. She is hasting her steps, clearly excited to try out the first toy or entertainment on the set.

Strangely enough, I am not surprised by her behaviour; the excitement to see me as a toy or a rocking horse, just as her age being somewhat different from the age she should have been in. She is neither the lower end of grade-school, not a fully grown adult; but rather in the middle of her teenage. Maybe she should have been excited by the rocking-horse, had she been about ten years of age?

I find myself enjoying the sounds of her hooves hitting the ground, while she is walking up towards me. I notice her stopping to the right of me, before she is ogling me with more excitement and fachination, than I had thought would be called for and in her character. If it is my likeness, or the promised toy, I have no idea. Maybe I should not really care.

Once she had stared enough, she steps up to me and pulls down the stir-up on the right side. I see her walking around me, and notice how she is pulling down the stir-up on the left side of me. She walks around me, as if making a point of showing off before me.

With a side-glance, I notice how the stir-ups match the shoes on her hooves. Perfectly. It is, as if they had been made for her.

She is placing the left hoof on the stir-up, lifts her right hoof and throws the leg over in a perfect arch; ending up sitting comfortably, on the saddle on my back and slips her right hoof onto the second stir-up.

Granted, I am not all that tall; as a pony named Rarity, but she is doing this very well, she is great at mounting a pony. Without a bridle and reins, it is fortunate; that I am a rocking-horse and not an actual pony.

I feel her leaning forwards, thus pushing her weight and I am starting to tilt with her. Just as I am tilting as much as the initial effort would permit, she is suddenly pushing backwards and gives me force to start tilting backwards. She had granted me the initial energy to do what I had been intended to do.

Once she had initiated the motion, she needs merely follow the flow and react to my motion. Slowly pushing me to rock, as hard as she wants me to; in order for her to enjoy herself.

I may be larger, than the common rocking-horse; just as she is larger, than the girl commonly mounting the common rocking-horse. Since she does not mind, neither do I. Why permit the situation getting away, and between yourself and having a good time?

While I do not feel her rump on the saddle on my back, I still do feel the weight of her body on my back. I do not feel her hooves in the stir-ups, but that had never been expected or implied. I do still feel her firm legs on the sides of my body.

After a moment, maybe a minute or two, I feel her hands on the sides of my neck. She is not exactly holding on, for dear life; yet, she is holding her hands on the sides of my neck in what I find comfortable and enjoyable.

“This is fun, Rarity!” she blurts out, as if by mistake.

Had she still recognized me, all along? Why should my restyled mane and possibly lacking cutie-mark fool anyone, or Sweetie Belle, of all ponies?

“If I could recognize her, why shouldn’t she recognize me?” I ponder; giggling inwards, at the entire situation, in which I had found myself.

While the saddle is just gold and stiff rubber, and the stir-ups are just as cold steel; but my neck is still warm and soft. I feel the warmth of her body, through the palms of her hands. How could I miss or refute it, and how could she? Maybe this is stirring her excitement, and making her enjoy the ride all the more; or it will turn her off, soon.

“If only you could speak, Rarity! I have so much to tell you!” she exclaims, bothered by how I am but a rocking-horse.

I can feel her, her emotions in the palms of her hands. Had I always been this sensitive, or is it in the imposed changes? The fact that I am a pony, while she is not; can’t come between us, not now since she has declared that she is recognizing me.

“While I can not speak or write, but I can still listen to every word you say!” I ponder; nodding my head, vigorously and emphatically.

Was muting me the point, or just a side-effect of the process? Naturally, I have no idea. Not now. Did I know before the process was initiated? I could as well have chosen it to be this way. Just that I can not know that now. I could have asked for myself, not to know.

Do I want to know? Do I need to know? Probably not. Why would I need or want to know? I enjoy the scenario, such as it is playing out. I am Rarity, and she is obviously Sweetie Belle. She had admitted to it, in how she recognized me. That much is obvious to me, now.

While this is no challenging exercise on either her, or me, but I guess the shared excitement could be. If we stay and share the moment, long enough. This is a moment. If it is a minute, an hour; or a day, does no real difference. Not to me, and most likely not to her.

Why did I never take the time, just sharing a moment like this, with her?

“Why did I never tell you, just how much I love you!” Sweetie Belle points out.

“Aside from the fact that you were too much like a mother to me, for that to come out right!” she continues.

“I was the adult, and she clearly was the child, or foal!” I ponder.

“I understand that you had your business to tend to. Clients to serve. Most of the time, I was too young and inexperienced to see it, or to understand the pressure this does put on you in the first place!” she says.

“Yes, she was too young and inexperienced. There was never the right time to explain!” I ponder.

“How does a lady explain, the pressure she is under, without sounding as she was whining?” I ponder.

Now I giggle at the situation, coming out almost as if I had been neighing. I still do breathe and draw in air. If I exhale it just right, I could apparently make a limited range of horse-noises. How amusing and utterly timely.

I know she could feel it, and she is clearly hearing me; now since I managed to find my voice, even if it is limited to horse-noises. Or, is it still pony-noises? Either way, I had found my voice, a voice she can hear.

I can’t say anything to her, just as I could only make a few noises. I can’t really control my voice. Could I even express true excitement with my voice, as if I had been screaming as I hit my first orgasm? Probably not. Maybe this was the original intent.

Of course, I am prevented from having an orgasm. I am plugged up and can’t be touched. She can touch me, by body; but that doesn’t mean I can be touched and stimulated in the manner required.

“Is she opening up; because I can’t speak or voice my opinion, or is it bothering her?” I ponder.

“Why does this make me wish, I could sit down with her and have a serious and heart-felt talk?” I ponder.

In a sense, the situation is exciting me; just not in the manner screaming out for a touch or an orgasm. I feel a closeness I wish I could have had before. I never had this kind of closeness, and not quite this intimate and personal, either.

She is patting my neck, in the manner one would pat one’s horse or mount, not in an intimate manner. It is not exactly exciting or intimate, yet it still feels fulfilling in a way I had been yearning and never knew I had been missing.

She is not patronizing. This is quite appropriate for the situation. After all, I am a pony, a rocking-horse. Not her mother or sister; or even a friend or a lover. Maybe I wish that could have been, but it is not the way of things. Not right now.

“Would she wish; that we could have been lovers?” I ponder; catching me, before the thought goes anywhere further.

After several minutes, I realize I am slowly growing aware of her weight on the saddle on my back. It is not just the weight of her body resting limply on my back. I feel her body move, and the pressure of her rump shifting back and forth in the saddle. I feel her knees pressing gently against my sides. Little by little, moment by moment; the experience is changing as I am growing aware of the sensation developing and becoming all the more acute as time is passing. Is she consciously changing; or is it I, who is growing aware of the situation.

I want to speak. I want to ask her, but there is no point. I can’t voice the one question.

The more I struggle, the more the pressure in my mouth is making itself known and continues to impose its power over me.

“Wait, is that how I could make the neighing noises, when I giggle? The sound did never origin from within my mouth, but far enough back in my throat to actually pass through!” I ponder.

Once the plug had been extracted from within my mouth, the gel had already set, due to being fully cured at the time. The gel is effectively a tube, made to my exact measures. I could not have prevented the effect, once the gel had been applied to my lips.

The realization made me giggle, I can’t quite hold back; what should have been laughter, had the effect of the gel not prevented me. Even if I guess I am still trying to hold it back, being a lady and all that. I do have my pride, after all. It isn’t if I could change who I am.

At least, I am alone with my sister; Sweetie Belle. The little girl I was caring for, all these years. My parents did not abandon us, but Sweetie Belle had still lived with me, at the Carouselle Boutique. She had lived with me, in Ponyville, where she had met her friends and finally acquired her cutie-mark. The crusaders had managed to have quite a few adventures.

So many memories flooding my mind; memories of my family and business in Ponyville, and all the fun I had had with my other friends all over Equestria and beyond. Even if I guess, these places are parts of Equestria by now.

The longer the time with my sister persists, the more I feel in tune with her and being a pony. I feel the weight of her in the saddle, and I hear her voice with each and every nuance, as she is speaking to me.

Since I can’t voice my thoughts, it will have to be limited to her, speaking to me. I do not quite feel the passage of time, even if I am aware of my heart-beats and my breathing. Maybe it is the excitement about having her with me, as she is riding me as the rocking-horse that is exciting me.

The effort on her part is next to nothing, she is after all just sitting in the saddle on my back. While she is speaking, but that could never be considered an effort on her part. Her words, as she is speaking to me; directing my thoughts away from before and who I may have been before I entered this room. Do I regret it, or should I? Why? I enjoy the moment. A moment with my sweet sister to treasure for as long as I live.

I do not miss a word, and I do not get lost in my own thoughts. Doing that would ruin the moment.

“Will you remember me, next time we meet?” she inquires.

While the question may sound out of place, but the situation still is calling for the question to be uttered.

I nod vigorously, emphasizing my response as best I can in the situation.

“Good, because I intend to be back soon. I just have a few things to attend to!” she points out.

I nod in understanding. Just that I don’t know when she will be back, or if I will still be here when she is returning.

“I will see you soon!” she exclaims, as she is sliding off of my back and down onto the floor.

She is standing on the right side of me, patting my shoulder enthusiastically. I nod and look at her; then I wink. Of course, once she is by my side, I could flash facial expressions at her. She sees the wink and smiles, returning the wink.

“See you, Rarity; I will be back, soon!” she exclaims, before she is turning away.

I see her walking. She is turning back and winks at me, before she continues to walk away. I hear the sound of her hooves, as she is continuing towards where she intends to go.

Interesting, now I can’t quite grasp a single memory of before I came to this place. Just a few scattered memories of the home in Ponyville, my friends, my sister and a few adventures.