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      In for the Ride; the Enchanted Bedtime Stories       
                       -by Ponyess-                        
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                         Entryfee                          
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Entryfee
Enter Fort Book
Twilight Sparkle’s love for books, is not much of a secret; every pony in town knows of it, but says nothing. It’s a dead topic, that’s how old it is by now.
Twilight proved her prowess with magic, impressing even on Princess Celestia herself. I never had that chance and thus never studied under the Princess myself. At least, I do know a fair deal of magic and know my way around in how to wield it. Even Twilight Sparkle herself recognizes it.
Once she showed me, the errors of my ways, and I realized the mistake; it was only natural to join her, in her quest. I never doubted, or regretted that. In fact, I went as far as to go up against Queen Chrysalis herself and challenge her in person. Granted; I had the draconequus Discord with me. Though it was the friendly changeling; Thorax who ended up the Ace in my sleeve.
Living with the Princess of friendship is an adventure. Twilight Sparkle is more fun, than I had been expecting. The special and rare tomes on deep and powerful magic does not exactly count against her.
Now and again, I have the habit of copying her books and storing them in a dark corner of her personal library. I call this section; the Starlight wing. Not after myself, but because you read these only in starlight.
My secret stash is existing in exactly six copies. I started this habit, as a symbol and a little bit of a jest. I told no pony of the stash and have never explained anything of what happens in the Starlight wing.
Once I came across a very interesting book. Twilight reads this late at night, in her personal Royal chambers. She is very content in reading the book, and is always well rested the next day as she emerges from her room. This led me to copy this book. Twilight’s enchanted bedtime stories.
I know nothing of where the book comes from, only that she received it from her friend; Twilight sparkle from Canterlot High. Maybe I should have been more suspicious of the origin of this book, but it sounds perfectly ordinary and legitimate in my ears.
Once I had copied the book, I stashed it in the Starlight wing in the customary six copies. Why stray from the expected? Just in case you find it, and expect something being wrong; just because a book is not properly filed in order?
I file each copy under the name of one pony. Twilight have all the originals, so I do not need to mark her name. Aside from the first copy: marked Starlight Glimmer, there are; Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Rainbow Dash.
One for each pony, and one for each of my closest friends. Six copies. I never copied a book in the name of the dragon, Spike. Not sure why; it just never occurred to me, I should. Once the habit had become a tradition and a norm; I can’t change it, there will be no book in the name of Spike, the Dragon.
“Sorry, Spike!” I ponder, reflected on the oversight on my part.
As a homage to my most dear mentor; Twilight Sparkle, I even built a large book fort in the library. Fort Book is close by, from the Starlight Wing. Each book is a heave blank tome. A black leather bound, and prime blank parchment. I want Fort Book to be a private treasure, in the name of the original and her creator.
My Fort Book is just as massive, heavy and sturdy as Twilight’s original could possibly have been. It is a fort, built by actual books, not bricks. Of course, my fort is built to last. I use to hide in there to read one of my copied treasures from the treasure trove that is the Starlight wing.
I had just picked up a book and carried into Fort Book. Now I hide in the back room; prepared to give the book a good chance. I am curious, as to what kind of a book I had just picked up. What kind of a book Twilight have been given. While Fort Book does not have an actual, real kitchen; I can still stash away enough snacks and food to last me an entire night of late night reading. I can make myself comfortable in here.
I lie on the light, purple cushion I had asked Rarity to make for me. Now I light up my horn, focusing my magic on the task before me. I feel the orb of purple light magic forming on the very tip of my horn. I feel the orb growing in size and intensity, as I focus on the magic. At the given point, as it reaches its threshold, the magic flows down the length of my horn, like an avalanche. I reach forth, in order to crack up the fresh and untouched book Upon contact, I feel the texture of the new leather bindings. I feel the parchment of the page as I set forth, in the intent of reading the book before me.
Maybe, just maybe; I should not have used my magic, in order to open this book? I had ignored the very notion of a book actually being enchanted. Just that this enchantment is very real and powerful.
There is a flash of light, just as I read the title on the first page of the book. “Twilight’s Enchanted Bedtime Stories!”
The Entry
I find myself, standing before the outer door of a home. I am knocking and the girl opens the door for me. I guess I should have expected as much.
“What happened? Where did Fort Book go?” Starlight ponders; momentarily stunned by the transition, forced upon her by the enchantment of the book before her.
Hitomi told me, not to wear too much or special clothes; so I wear a bright sport’s top and a matching skirt. I wear a pair of white socks under my jogging shoes and white panties under my skirt. I hope she considers this appropriate, under the circumstances.
“Hiya, Hitomi!” I greet the girl opening the door.
“Greetings, Mononoke!” she responds; as she is stepping to the side, thus permitting me to enter her home.
I follow her into the hall, with no further fanfare. I can save, what I had to say, for her and her alone. I have no desire to spread my feelings, beyond the person they are for.
She is promptly closing the door, behind me; ushering me into her home. I slip out of my shoes and leave them on the shelf behind the door.
“These are perfectly acceptable!” she answers my unspoken question.
Maybe she could read my thoughts, in my face? I have the habit of wearing my emotions on the sleeve. I am also a bit of an emotional drama queen, given half the chance.
“Right this way, please!” she whispers, in hushed a hushed voice.
“I had no idea, Twilight Sparkle read this kind of stories! Where is the enchanting, unless it is in how I had ended up inside the story itself?” Starlight Ponders.
Aside from the horn in her forehead, no sign of being a unicorn could be seen or felt. The sense of her horn, the only link back to who she was and where she had come from.
“How about a cup of tea, before we get into it?” Hitomi inquire, courteously.
Tea would be lovely!” I respond, as I follow her towards the tea room.
“One small detail, you need to wear a kimono; in order, not to insult the tea!” she explains.
“I would not dream of it,; I take it, you have a fitting garment ready and available!” I respond, grinning with delight.
Only the imperial silk of the highest quality is good enough. She offers me a kimono in the royal, electric blue, with Amethyst blossoms and Emerald leaf filigree. Everything, in the same high quality.
I slip the top up and over my head, as I slip the skirt down; hanging my ordinary clothes in the wardrobe. Now I slip the panties down and kick them up, in order to hang these under my skirt. With that, I pull my socks off of my feet and leave them under my clothes.
“Here!” she merely pronounces, as she is presenting me with the kimono.
“Thank you, Dearest!” I respond, as I accept the offered suit.
I slip into the kimono, at the same time as she is slipping into hers. She is tending to my kimono, and I tend to hers after she is done with mine.
Finally, we slip on a pair of shiny, silicon white silk socks and a pair of traditional indoors shoes; before we can dare enter the room. Everything is such an adventure with Hitomi. Maybe this is why, I love to spend time with her; over at her place, and have tea in tradition.
The floor in this room is laid with light beech wood, while the walls are laid with a special, pink cherry wood panel. The floor is polished and a large expertly woven mat is placed in the middle of the room. There is a low, classical table in beech wood and coated with clear lacquer, for that special luxurious feel of class. The walls had been treated to the same clear lacquer, as the table in the middle of the room.
Incidentally, the room has a large window in the middle of the wall on three sides of the table. The door is facing the sun in the south.
As I step over the threshold of the room, I notice the thick, silken cushions in Emerald green on each side of the table. Naturally; only two of these cushions will ever be used. The one on the east and the one on the west. One does not sit with one’s back facing the door or the sun.
As her guest, I am offered the cushion on the east side. She offers me a traditional cup of the very finest genuine porcelain. Not the regular porcelain or mere mundane pottery.
She pours the boiling water into my cup, to two thirds, before she measures up the coarsely ground green tea leaves into the water. I watch, as she is whipping up the tea with her right hand.
Once she had prepared the tea, for the both of us; she is comfortable, to take the remaining cushion before me.
I sigh inwardly, in delight; in anticipation of the joy of sharing a cup of tea with her.
She does not speak, and neither do I. I hold the cup in my right hand, blowing the steam off of my cup and take one very small sip.
A tea ceremony is a quiet affair; enjoyed equally, by guest and host.
I lift up the cup, for that one final sip and empties it delicately. Now I lick my lips and nod. She nods in return and we raise to our feet, as one.
I watch, as she is washing the two twin cups; before we can leave the room, honour intact.
“Honour!” Starlight ponders, reflecting upon the moment that had just transpired before her.
Together, we file out as one; united by the tea, united in spirit. A serene smile playing over my features, as I smile cracks my lips just enough to be noticeable.
On the way out, we are passing the wardrobe. She stops and opens the door.
“The kimono!” she breaths.
I follow her example, slipping out of the kimono she offered me, just as we passed this door earlier. She accepts the garment and hang it up, where she found it. There are, but these two garments in the wardrobe.
“Now, we continue nude!” she whispers.
I can see the smile, playing on her lips. I follow her further into the room. She stops by the next door and slide the two twin doors apart. I follow her in and down the flight of stairs.
“Oak!” I realize.
This is a very different kind of an inner sanctum. I had seen the holy serene tea room. Now I am about to see another side of her. One side very few is granted the privilege of seeing. The private and intimate girl; as opposed to the girl on the street, or in the temple.
Intothe the Depth of Hitomi
Behind the stairs, there is a very different door, one that does only open for Hitomi.
I watch, as she is placing the palm of her right hand onto the glistering, seemingly liquid black rubber plaque on the side of the door. As she is spreading her fingers, the door is sliding up before her. As her guest, I am permitted entrance into her domain.
I follow her with the very utmost of reverence and serene gratitude. The door slides shut behind my back and we are alone.
Barefoot, I follow her through the hall, towards the next door before us. She opens the door, just as she just opened the one behind me. I enter, a step behind her. I am alone; in her care and under her absolute rule.
I feel the slightly sticky rubber, under the souls of my bare feet. No socks or shoes could be permitted in her. Just the thought alone, is blasphemy.
The walls had been laid with green, turquoise and blue rubber tiles. These tiles are distinctly sticky to the touch, even if they are smooth and sleek. If I place the palm of my hand on this wall, I imagine the hand would sink deep into the substance of her wall.
At the end of the hall, I notice a room opening up. This is, what she had intended to show me.
“I am in heaven!” I realize.
Just as the floor and the walls; the ceiling is coated with a mate, black rubber. The light is emanating from the pin-prick LED star skape scattered over the ceiling.
In the middle of the room, I can clearly see the hexagonal bed. Crystal clear rubber membrane; spread taught. This bed is seven feet across.
Just behind the door, on the left; she is hiding the secret stash. All the toys and tools of the trade.
“I hope you are ready, for what is ahead!” she offers, as she turns towards the secret cabinet and opens the door.
“Oh, yes!” I breathe, in anticipation and excitement.
“Your anal tube!” she explains, as I eagerly accept it.
“The industrial strength, just as I like it!” I ponder, as I touch the glistering, black rubber.
She is extracting a tube for herself, and we insert the tubes as one. I feel the pinch, just as the tube plops.
“Your vaginal tube!” she explains, as she is offering me the bright, cerise tube.
“Thank you!” I ponder, as I accept the tube.
She is extracting the second tube, and we insert our respective tubes as one. I feel the distinctive pinch as the tube plops; then I sense how my mound swells and the petals of my orchid grows and slowly become more and more sensitive.
“Your oral tube!” she explains, and I eagerly and willingly accept my third and final tube.
My oral tube is metallic, bloody red and coated with a glossy substance. I feel the coarse surface, as I hold the rubber between my fingers.
She is extracting her tube and we insert our tubes as one. Once the tube plops, I feel the membrane of thin, clear rubber slowly spreading inwards. This tube coats my mouth and tongue, before it continues inch by inch down my throat. Naturally, the previous two tubes affected me in much the same way. The membrane is highly elastic and coarse; in order to maximize sensitivity beyond my experience.
I could but imagine, how her surgical strength tubes could feel.
These riveting tubes can by now means come out by themselves, it takes a special trick to extract the tube. I know this both in theory and by personal experience.
I lick my lips, just to feel my lips. I am not salivating and my lips will become no more moist than they had been before I was licking them. I lift my right hand with the index finger extended and place it onto the middle of my lower lip. Just for the feeling of it.
“Here it comes!” Starlight realizes; as Hitomi is turning towards the cabinet, in order to extract the plug.
Of course, the plug is moulded for a perfect fit within my anal cavity. Of and by itself, I will forget it within about a minute. Only then it will expand as I contract around it. This effect is advancing and enhancing the sensation of the plug. It is caused by the gel coating the skin tone plug. This is further insuring that the plug can by no means slip out or even slip out of its place.
As I accept the plug, I feel the stiff and hard tip and the squishy lifelike back of my plug. Once I insert it, I feel it plop inside and a distinct pinch.
“Ascertain, that the plug is indeed in and secure!” she pronounces, as she sees my reaction and feel the pinch by herself.
“Yes, Mistress!” I echo, as I reach back, in order to reach the plug I just inserted by myself.
While she could have inserted the plug for me, I would have lost the special intimacy and feeling for the plug. At least, this is my experience. She had demonstrated this, for me; the first time, and a few times later.
While I had enjoyed her doing it, I had realized that I had lost something much more important in the process.
What I feel, is just as if I had never inserted the tube or the plug in the first place; if not for how the plug is reacting on my tough. I have no control of how I am reacting now, as opposed to how I could choose to relax or contract as I pleased.
At first it feels as if I had been relaxing, then I feel myself contract. I manage to insert two fingers of each hand and get a firm grip. As I pull my hands back, I feel as if I had been stretched out as if I had been made out of the elastic rubber. Not as if I had been pulling something artificial merely inserted into my body. I am as excited and fascinated by this each and every time. I never quite get used to it. It is not bothering me and I am not getting bored. Maybe this is, due to the fact that I only do this here with Hitomi.
“There, that is good!” she explains; as she explores herself, with me.
I let go and let my arms hang loosely and relaxed by the sides of my body. I turn to face her, in anticipation of what she is about to say next.
“I need you, to sit down on the bed and relax!” she explains and I obediently follow her instruction.
“Now, if you would be so kind, as to navigate yourself; so that you can feel the plug right under your rump, please!” she continues.
“Ah, there it is!” I gasp in anticipation and excitement.
“Reach in behind yourself and spread your rectum; in order for the plug to enter you, please!” she adds.
“Of course, Mistress!” I echo, as I feel my fingers slide in, before I pull the orifice up enough for the plug to enter me.
“Let go and pull your hands out from under you! I need to see your hands on the sides, palms down and relaxed.
As I let go, I feel myself contract around the plug. I place my arms by the side of my body and relax. I just could not quite help myself; but give my rump a tentative tug, just as much as I think I could get away with. Naturally, once I had let go, I can no longer lull my rum up and off of the clear rubber under my body.
“There, excellent!” she pronounces.
“I am yours, to command as you please!” I mouth.
“Whoa, I really am stuck in place! I can’t move my rump, in the very least!” Starlight realizes.
An unseen door is sliding up, after an unheard, distinct knock.
“This is Obaba, my personal Dribbler!” Hitomi explains, presenting the girl who just entered the room.
In place of the red oral tube, this girl referred to as Obaba has a blue one. Maybe there is a reason for the difference? There is always a reason, behind each individual difference, no matter how small or insignificant looking it may seem.
“May I have your right hand, please!” Obaba inquires.
I eagerly lift up my hand for er to clasp it in both hers. She is indeed dribbling and the fluid is slowly floating out over the skin of the hand in her grasp. After a moment, she starts to spread the clear, viscous gel out over my hand and all the way down to my elbow. I feel her hands caressing the skin and working it in with unfailing care and passion. I permit her to do as she had been asked. The skin is perfectly saturated, before she is letting go.
I relax and lower my hand back to its original position by my side.
“May I have your left hand?” she inquires.
I lift up my left hand, extending it towards her and feels her hands grasping my hand. She is repeating the process in each detail. As if her life had been depending on it. Though I could but imagine; she is enjoying this, even if it may be in secret.
“May I have your right foot?” she inquires.
She is repeating the process and I am enjoying each and every instant of it. How could I deny myself this?
“May I have your left foot?” she inquires.
Like before, I am granting her what she had asked for.
Once she had dribbled all over my hands and feet, then worked it in; she is now licking the palm of my right and left hand, then my right and left foot.
If I had looked up, I would have seen that Obaba’s skin is unnaturally pale. It is in fact a silicon white and as smooth as if she had had her skin coated with medium glossy rubber. I do not know if this is the case; but she could have been enjoying to have herself dribbled all over and the dribble caressed into her flesh, a few times too many.
Her hair is straight and glossy black. She has it pulled back in a tight braid, stretching along the length of her spine. I guess the style could be convenient, in more ways than is to be spoken of aloud amongst people.
I close my eyes, as I feel Hitomi nudging my hands and feet into the pose of her desire. I do not protest or resist. Why?
“Now, if you would press the palms of your hands down, firmly? Press down the souls of your feet, firmly!” she instructs me.
I hear her fingers, tapping away instructions on an unseen command console. I feel the rubber onto which I am resting stretching and growing more taught than it had been as I stepped up onto the bed.
“There! Excellent, just excellent!” she is pronouncing.
“Just give me a moment, but then I will have to have myself some of your nectar; my dearest honey!” she explains.
“Yes, of could I could give you a minute; but then I will have to insist, on you taking your time to enjoy my nectar!” I ponder.
I do however, remain quiet and hold my piece. It is not my part, to speak up or make demands here now.