Author's Note

'Smoothing the Crease Out' by Sepia

A good little slave does her best to convince a potential dom to join the Society.

Contains: BDSM, bondage, mare-on-mare action

Smoothing the Crease Out

“So, this purple band here means that I really, well, I go for all sorts of, um--oh, this is embarrassing--being treated like, a, um, object,” the first mare’s nervous quiver of a voice explained, its owner stepping ahead of the other mare.

“Uhuh,” the second mare’s low, soft, restrained voice replied.

“And these silver studs right here, see them? They mean, well, that I’m ‘free use’, ya’know?”

“Yeah?” The second mare flicked her tail and looked away towards the nearest wall. There were posters everywhere. That one, a picture of a maid all exposed. Maybe too exposed. The right amount of too exposed for wearing a skimpy skirt like that. And that one, a description of the ‘crawl’ position. And that one over there, a list of those ‘safewords’ she’d heard about.

“And my bell’s, like, gold, so, um, it means I go for sorta’ harder stuff? One ring means I consent… or I’m testing it. And three means--you can see the poster right there, they’re all there!” Her light blue hoof pointed.

“Mhm.” The second mare saw the poster alright.

“And the white part of course--of my collar. How could I forget,” the first giggled, “means I’m looking for someone to dom me as like, a partner. A coltfriend, but kinky.” She smirked scandalously.

“Yeah, so...” The second mare fell silent, and the conversation headed right into awkward staring. But, she continued. “Swift, why are you wearing your…” She waved her hoof in circles. “That. The collar and, the rest.”

“Oh, well.” Swift smirked and brushed back her light purple mane. “I’m getting into character.” She blushed. Deeply.

“So you need to be an actor, here.” The second mare’s grey muzzle flicked into a frown, and her salmon eyes narrowed.

“Crease!” Swift huffed. “Come on, you know that’s not what I--Ugh!” She paused and buried her muzzle into her hooves by the floor. “You promised you’d give it a chance. Just, I’ll give you the tour, try to let loose just a bit, and if you don’t like it, just forget about it or something.”

“Like I could forget about you in a collar.” Crease laughed once.

She saw Swift’s quickly growing frown.

“Okay, alright, fine, I’ll, yeah, just...” Crease coughed to the side. “Yeah.”

“Good girl.” Swift patted her head. Crease nudged it off and mumbled to the side in her annoyance.

She looked upwards, then, as they crossed the threshold from the thaumalift’s hallway into the entrance hall. And she had to admit to herself, the place was well built. Beautiful. Awesome, in the new and old way of saying it, too. If she’d been in Canterlot she might even call it the same quality.

Vast arches swooped over them to end in four-sided stars so far up the pegasi looked like dull-colored dots. Pillars wreathed in the sculptures of a hundred thousand erotic scenes, many she recognized as kissing, groping and sex, far more she couldn’t place a memory on, held the roof, like great hooves raising the sky. And the ceiling itself was covered in stained glass that played patterns on the floor, perfectly set such that the light made each image--yes, image--move as if alive across the walls and tiled floor where it shone. Benches, more posters, even fine paintings fell flat under the architecture.

“All this for a sex club?” Crease sighed, keeping her head pointed forwards from there. Her hind legs shifted together, and her tail tucked down, one ear flicking back just a little, and the other shortly following.

“Oh, no, she’s a guest. I’m her guide today. Oh, what was that, Crease?” Swift tilted her head, then smirked at her. “Oh, I see those eyes. You like it. You’re impressed, I bet ya’.”

Crease breathed in to respond, but Swift was already distracted again.

“Yes, of course I have the forms. Yes, I have my tour scarf. Oh my Celestia just take the stack, you paperwork fetishist!”

Crease didn’t look. She didn’t want to.

Swift sighed and stepped up to her, nudging the back of her head with her muzzle. “Let’s just...” She smiled the most uncomfortable smile and flicked her eyes that way. “I don’t know how they get off on that.”

Crease gave her friend an amused snort. “So...”

“Right, let’s give you that tour.”

“So, um, these are the slave pens. And they’re for slaves, like, um, me.” Swift paused and smiled sheepishly, rubbing at her collar awkwardly.

“Alright.” Crease turned her eyes towards the ceiling, dull and bricky and covered in off-set iron chandeliers. She saw a few slaves hanging there too, from swinging cages on steel-colored chains. It looked dangerous. Her heart skipped a beat just thinking about one of them falling. They were probably pegasi up there, though, unless they weren’t.

Big described the pens in their entirety. Crease’s nose wrinkled. She could smell arousal, and more than arousal, and sweat, too, from far too many ponies to count. Not at all like the soft velvety, purfumed scent of the main hall, nor the clinical odor of the hallways just before. Cages were cramped into corners, and mares of all sorts stuffed them. Some were alone, some wearing so many strange devices, like balls in their mouth, or blindfolds and straps. Others were still coated in the results of their activities, or in a daze. But ever-present was the sound of moans, and the occasional crack of something on skin, then a scream of pain, which fizzled into another moan in the ocean.

Another mare might have flinched. Swift did, too, but she saw her smile ad shudder. Crease turned her head away and frowned deeper, but didn’t so much as twitch. Still, her brow furrowed and her hooves shifted every step, rubbing against each other as she lowered.

“Liking anything you see?” Another nervous smile from Crease’s friend pulled her slowly from her frown.

“I...” Crease was blushing. It was a light blush, but a blush all the same, and her distracted gaze told Swift much more.

So Swift stayed silent.

“So, we sign up for a cage somewhere, or for a scene, or for free use, and, well, um, when it’s the right time, we get a scene, and play our parts.”

“That acting thing again.”

“It’s not acting! It’s...” Swift sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, it’s acting, but,” Her hoof waved in a circle, and she swayed her head side to side. “But it’s natural. And it’s sexy. And I just thought maybe you’d like to try this with me, sub with me, just once?”

Crease’s frown deepened. A hoof raised to her heart, which beat a little faster than she thought it would.

“Oh who am I kidding, you ”

“I’m sorry,” Crease said.

Crease bit her lip and paused in the middle of the walk. Swift perked her ears and followed.

She breathed in.

“So, these ‘doms’... they just, take you from your cage and play around with you?” The grey mare started to blush a little deeper.

“Exactly--okay, well, not quite, but that’s what happens after you plan the scene. Come on, let me show you something. Just, just bear with me. Alright?” Swift smiled broadly and waved her over with her tail.

Swift took her hoof and tugged her deeper, past fading lights and fewer and fewer cages, until they came to a village--or what looked like a village. Wooden poles and X-shaped crosses dotted the roads, and in the center stood a grand stage, curtains and all, surrounded by a bustle of mares and stallions alike, some raising their hooves and shouting great sums of… tallies, lashes, brands? But they all stared at a trio of mares, exposed in a line, each gagged, each bound in place, all wide-eyed, squirming, moaning, and dripping as one. An auction. An auction to buy real mares. It was almost entrancing.

But not enough for Crease’s eyes to stay. She looked away, anywhere else. And yet, her blush grew deeper. She panted a little more. The corner of her lip twitched indecisively between up and down.

“So this is where they hold auction scenes. So, like, the doms come here and bet on them, and sometimes it’s set, but sometimes it’s not, and oh Celestia it’s amazing.” Swift smiled, then smiled instead in embarrassment, then looked away. “Ah, um, yeah. I really like it. It’s just, a place to let loose with yourself, and get out there and be kinky. No judgement! And, no, well...” But she looked towards Crease, and her smile became another smirk, but wider. She stayed silent once again.

Crease’s ears flicked towards another pair, a mare and a mare, one sitting, the other attending her with a tray. She spoke through a thin bit in her lips, slurring her words while the sitting mare looked expectantly on.

“Yesh, Mishtressh.”

Crease’s lips pressed together. ‘Mistress,’ she whispered, feeling the way her lips gently brushed together before the hiss of air. “Mistress...” she spoke aloud, this time, just loud enough for a pony walking with her to her. Her hoof raised to her lips, and she breathed out slow, the twitching corner of her mouth finally settling on a lopsided smile.

Swift couldn’t help but squee.

Crease widened her eyes and snapped her head towards her, then looked as far away as possible.

“Somepony likes that word,” Swift sang teasingly.

Crease closed her lips tight and kept up her pace, moving a bit faster while her eyes trailed up towards the ceiling to stare at empty space.

Swift swished her tail back and forth, keeping pace with her friend.

They stayed like that for a while, Swift occasionally giving Crease a gentle nudge or two, Crease doing her best to look at anything but Swift, or any other pairs. Her cheeks shone with an embarrassed flush, but as steps passed, and moans, and more pairs, that blush slowly faded, and Crease couldn’t keep down her ghost of a grin.

But, finally, Crease spoke again.

“So, uhh, your collar.” She started, rubbing at her own neck.

“Mhm?” Swift’s smirk spoke.

“What did you say it meant again?”

“So, like, the white means I want a dom partner, the purple means I like this sort a’ play like you see all around, and the studs are, well, free use!” Swift stood a bit taller, smiling with a little more confidence, a little more eagerness, enough to make her cheeks a bit sore.

The tone wasn’t lost on Crease, who lowered her head, cheeks marked with shame. “Free… use?”

“Like, if I wasn’t wearing this tour scarf, then just any dom here could take me, and, well,” She smirked, wiggling her hips and hind legs, flagging her tail for a brief moment. “Take me.”

Crease nodded once or twice, her pace slowing. She felt each and every crack of the stony brick ground against her frogs. And she waited a while longer.

And a little longer.

She breathed in to speak, then breathed out, eyes searching the ceiling as if trying to decide.

“And, just let loose, right?” Crease spoke louder, straightening.

“Yes! Exactly. Just. Let. Loose.” Swift tapped her chest thrice. Once for each word.

So Crease nodded, then nodded a little more.

She turned towards Swift and looked her over, from her mane, to her collar, to the cuffs around her hooves.

Swift smirked back, but Crease saw nervousness in her eyes too, like pelading, as if begging her to join her.

Crease nodded once again, lowering her head a bit, her smile growing a little. And Swift saw something else in Crease’s eyes, as if the salmon had brightened, as if she’d just lept over a great barrier and settled on the other side. Confidence.

Crease’s hoof snapped forwards and gripped Swift’s mane, and she kissed her hard.

Swift squealed, her eyes wide with surprise. “Crmmf? Whmffr?”

Crease kept her grip, her own eyes closed, and Swift felt the brush of a growing smirk not on, but against her lips. “Ohhmf Cl’msthh...” she groaned, melting forwards, lowering herself so she’d have to push up, the grip of each hair-tug on her scalp. Swift’s bell flicked, and her bell ringed once, echoing throughout the whole village-like chamber, and tossed her tour scarf off onto the floor.

Crease bent forwards, then parted, breathing heavily, lips and jaw parted, eyes alight with salmon-colored heat.

“Oh Crease,” Swift panted from below, raising a hoof to touch the other mare’s chest. “I had no idea you-”

Crease slapped her on the cheek. Swift gasped. Her breath caught. Crease’s left her in a rush. Both felt sting, Crease on her frog, tingling as the lingering feeling of force fluttered up her hoof and into her foreleg. Swift on her face, drifting to her lips and muzzle and a hint down her neck.

She paused for a moment, to let it sink in for both of them.

“So, what do you call a dom?” This time Crease asked with something approaching a leer.

“Mistress.” Swift breathed. Both their hearts skipped a beat.

They stood, panting, for a long moment. Finally, Swift spoke first.

“I’ll...” She swallowed. “Let me lead you to a room!”

Crease slapped her again, and lifted her hoof to watch it, before turning her attention towards Swift’s reddening cheek once more.

“Oh no. You tell me where it is, and I will lead you.” It came with an entirely different confidence. Firmness. Earth pony firmness, like a rock buried more than halfway into the ground.

‘Oh Celestia,’ was on Swift’s lips, as was the steady tingle of Crease’s kiss, not yet lost.

So they left.

Crease groaned and relaxed back on her seat in the middle of a little dungeon room as Swift dove in between her legs, forelegs bound tight by their cuffs with a little clip, right behind her back where Crease said they belonged.

“Good girl...” came her voice, an echo of Swift’s earlier words. Maybe even more condescending.

Swift lapped between her legs, her moans like ‘ah’s through a wide ring gag she’d picked herself, her drool splattering on the floor. Maybe she’d even get to clean up Crease’s mess once she’d made it!

Crease bit her lip, then whooshed out another moan, her long pants interspersed with little squeaks and twitches of her muzzle and hind legs, and her tail, as she, too, drooled onto the floor, but from her lower lips instead.

“Thaank yaa’, ‘aastraass,” swift moaned into Crease’s crease, her tongue driving in, then out, then in and out again, flicking up to her little nub, then dipped back down inside her.

Crease’s hinds started to tense, her forelegs gripped the arms of the chair a little more tighter. Each flick was like lightning to her. Not at all like a normal lick there. There was something about this that she couldn’t believe felt so much better. Her hoof came down, choosing to grip Swift’s mane instead of the arms, and tugged her head in tight, muffling her, her thighs squeezing her between them.

Swift squealed and twisted her head back and forth, her nose poking up past Crease’s crotch so she could breathe, and breathe hard. Crease gripped firmer, held tighter with her thighs, drove her in further while Swift’s upper lip brushed rapidly at her clit.

“Vh-very… oh... mmnhf...” Crease’s voice lost all its smooth composure, lost in her arousal. She’d let loose, let Swift take her less like a stallion and more like what she wanted to be. A slave.

“Very ghhh… good...” Her voice tensed up, as did her core, her chest, her neck. Her body twitched, then she jolted, her head craning back and her thighs pulsing against Swift’s slap-red cheeks, and Swift lapped up every drop of marecum she could, swallowed what the gag let her, and drooled the rest into a puddle on the floor.

She pulled her head out from between Crease’s thighs and looked up at her with lidded eyes while Crease recovered, and soon Crease bent forwards, rubbing Swift’s mane, staring her right in the eyes with her firm, adoring gaze.

“Good slave.”

She pulled Swift up against her, and kissed her gagged mouth, dragging her tongue against the steel ring and along Swift’s own, before settling them both on the chair to rest.

It was the first of many such nights for Crease.