Spike's Harem

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I feel hot. I am on the top of the world. Strangely enough, I am more relaxed than I could possibly remember I had ever been.

While I am hot, the room is still cool.

My rear hooves are stuck on the floor behind me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how or why. Then again, why bother? I am still hot.

“I like being hot!” I ponder.

If only I had known, just how good it feels to be hot. It isn’t the hot from a gazing sun or too hot a bath.

His face is hovering before my inner vision in the position of my gaze. His smile is grazing my mood and brings me happy tears. While I can never lift my hind hooves; I can wriggle and squirm to my heart’s content.

As I move; I hear his voice in each of the consequent squeak caused by the cushion under my belly.

While I may, or may not know why; he is the stallion of my life, even if he is not quite a stallion by birth. A detail escaping me, in the position in which I had found myself; stuck and lost, guided through what is passing for my very own and personal labyrinth of life. If I had struck a blind path, or if it is leading me to anything; happiness or despair, is still too early for me to say. I can’t quite put a hoof, on where I am, or where this particular, peculiar path is about to take me. Even now, after a night’s sleep, the afterglow of the experience is so strong, my orchid is literally aglow and could have lit up the entire room. Not that my room is very large and expansive, but still.

Even if I could have reached the bowl with my fore-hooves, I can not eat; in the position I had found myself, the position he had placed me in. Fortunately, I do not need to worry my pretty little head about these details. I have Spike.

Just like clock-work, there is his steps in the hall. I can clearly hear the distinct squeaks, as he is making his way towards me. Naturally, I do not hear him opening the door, more than I could have heard anything beyond the door he had just opened.

Of course; I will have no food, no meal without him. He is the deliverer of everything I have, everything I can and will ever have. Such is my life, in the situation I stepped into. Right now, I do not mind.

The door slides up and he is stepping into the room. Since I can’t eat by myself, right now; he did not bother carrying all the individual bowls.

I did not see him enter the room; before he is stepping in before me, apple in hand. I chew, and he is grinning merrily at me. Once I had eaten the entire apple, he offers me the carrot and I continue chewing. I enjoy my meal, even if the embarrassing situation. I enjoy it, because of him. My stallion. My one and only. He is my everything.

As I finish the carrot, he offers me water and I drink. It is the same, crystal clear, fresh water he had always offered me. It is the only water he will ever bother bringing me.

I do not know, why he offers me this water; other than to keep me happy and to quench my thirst. Is this the only water he can find? Or, am I truly the Rarity he calls me? Am I the gem of his life?

What ever the reasons, the reasoning behind his actions and acting; I appreciate it, and him for what he is offering me. If I am the one and only for him? Who is to care, he gives me all I could ever wish for.

Once I had drunk my fill, he leaves me to rest up. I am no longer hungry, or thirsty.
Though he does come back for me; delivering the lunch and serves me, just as he served me my breakfast. I enjoy each and every instant of his presence and the effort he is putting into it.

Naturally, he just had to leave me and walk out of the room, once more.

Spike is leaving me, to tend to his duties and daily chores. I can not put the blame upon him, for performing his duties.

There is a set of steps, in the hall; just after he opened the door, and walk up to my door. He opens the door and enters the room. I hear him move up to face me.

He presents me with the delicious apple, made edible by its time in his right hand. I chew and he picks up the carrot. I chew and love every instant of him being in the room.

The only issue of content, is that I can not be with him. I can not follow him, to where he needs to go and serve; what ever the duties, he serves during the rest of the day. If only, I could have stood by his side and aided him in his tasks. I can’t. I am stuck in place, in this very room.

Yet, I can not let this come between me, and the joy of his presence. For as long as he is granted to stay in my room. I could not even mind him leaving me here. Even if I am stuck in place, on the cushion I am still resting.

He leaves me, after he served me my dinner. I am alone. None to see and only the dark and the squeaks as my company. I am not scared of the dark.

What scares me, is the quiet.

My belly is full and I had drunk my fill; Spike and left, and I am once more alone.

I yawn, but not overly audibly.

I close my eyes, and squirm on the top of the cushion; just for the joy of the squeaks, and the noises it is granting me for the effort of caressing it with my belly. I have come to love the noises, from these squeaks of the cushion. I could not help it, and I can not help myself.

Then again, my hooves is keeping me stuck in place. I could go nowhere.

As I closed my eyes, it is dark.

Even with my hooves stuck in place, I can move just enough for the cushion to grant me just one more squeak of its joy.

I fall asleep, but I am not quite aware of it.

My belly, still resting on the cushion and I squirm. I hear the squeaks.

Suddenly, I realize that the cushion is slipping out from under me, squeaking merrily at me in what I am taking for encouragement. I try to follow, but can’t for my life figure out how to follow it.

I manage to lift my right and left fore-hoof, respectively; but, my hind hooves just do not respond, or if I can’t feel them and have no actual control of their movement.

I am stuck. The cushion stops and turns around. It stops before me, as if it intends to sniff curiously at me. Then it squeaks in question.

I part my lips, in an effort to open my mouth and respond. I want to answer its question. It is, as if I understand enough to answer; what my cushion wants, from me.

“Squeak!” I exclaim.

“Squeak, squeak; squeak, squeak, squeak!” I add, and it nods in response.

“Oh!” I ponder; “You want me to lift my hooves?” I ponder.

Curious, but what could I possibly say.

Now, my lips are wet and slippery. I feel the clear and slippery wetness slowly spread into my mouth. I feel how it is growing thicker on its way into my mouth.

The more of the wet is spreading into my mouth, the less squeaky my voice is becoming. It is as if the gel is air, I can breathe. I draw in a heavy breath. The breath is nourishing me and my voice is almost restored.

“Indeed!” I exclaim, before I draw in yet another deep breath.

I draw in a third breath, and my voice is as normal as it will ever be, in this strange place.

I lift my head and look at the cushion. All of a sudden; what had previously been my cushion, now takes the shape of Spike. He smiles back at me.

“Don’t forget, to breathe!” he scolds me, in indignation; “Or, you may turn into a Ponequine, for good!” he continues.

“I don’t think, I want to become a Ponequine!” I respond; eyes downcast, in obvious shame and embarrassment.

“I have no use for a Ponequine, so you should make certain never to forget to breathe!” he points out.

After a few more breathes, I lift up my gaze to face him.

"How, could you help me?” I squeak out the obvious question.

“Like this!” he responds, showing me how he is lifting his right and left foot in turn.

“Oh, I respond, tugging at my hooves, one at the time. Neither hoof really do come off of the ground. I do feel, how the hooves slowly start to stretch more and more; each time and the more effort I am putting into it.

“How do you manage that, silly?” he inquires; baffled and in shock, from the result gained by my increasing efforts.

“I just try to follow your example, in your footstep!” I respond, not quite grasping his problem.

“Oh, yeah; I guess that is the problem, since you don’t have feet!” he chuckles, in response.

“I will simply have to try harder; to pull harder and with more enthusiasm, than I have put into it!” I offer.

“I guess that may help!” he suggests, not sure of what better to put forth in helping me out of the sticky situation.

Of course; the Spike in my dream is not the Dragon, who put me in the situation in the first place. That spike is an actual, real Dragon of flesh and blood. This is merely a figment of my imagination in a dream, trying to live up to what I expect out of him.

I pull harder, and my hooves stretch out more. When my hooves are stretching out, I am pulled further in. The more I put into it, the deeper I sink down into the rubber membrane upon which I am standing.

After a few minutes, of strenuous efforts; half of my legs had already sunken down, into the makeshift pool. The deeper I sink, the more effort I am putting into it; then I am merely sinking down faster, as result of my effort.

After a few more attempts, I had found myself actually sinking continuously. I do no longer need to pull at my hooves, to continue to sink. A few more minutes and I find myself slipping through the membrane and falling into the layer of existence below it.

“Oh, there you are!” the light purple stallion exclaims.

“Ow!” I exclaim.

“Yes, that seems to be the case!” I respond.

“Where did Spike go?” I inquire.

“Spike? He did not go anywhere!” he points out; pointing a hoof at the shadow, overhead.

“Is he still up, there? But, then who are you?” I inquire.

“I am him; his dream avatar, you are dreaming up!” he points out.

First now, I notice the leathery wings. For a Pony, these would be referred to as Bat wings. For Spike; they are a Dragon’s wings. Just that he neglected to make the point, or distinction. Then again, he is the avatar of him I had just dreamed up; I did not know, so neither does the Avatar.

I prance about, reveling in my new-found freedom. He is not bothered, but prance around me. We continue to prance about, like a little filly and colt on Hearth’s Warming Eve.

At some point, he just happens to be facing me, kissing me. I wake up with his lips pressed firmly against mine. My lips parted and his tongue slipping in.

In chock, I realize; that he is indeed kissing me in the real world, too.

“How much of this dream is just a dream, and how much is due to the stimulation he was providing me with?” I ponder.