When She Can’t Love You Back
Spirit stands at attention, wearing his freshly-painted armor and holding his mostly-ceremonial spear in his forehoof, and wonders how it all went so wrong. The high turnover should have been a red flag; his quick acceptance, too. But only since arriving at Ponyville’s newest castle a month ago has he discovered that the Princess really doesn’t need guards. It’s not for lack of trying, of course: the castle sits unsettlingly close to the Everfree Forest, the Princess has no shortage of enemies, and the whole of Ponyville is apparently a magnet for trouble. But the Princess only resentfully accepts her Castle Guard on Princess Celestia’s personal request. And though Spirit could be out flying patrols, he’s stuck keeping hallways and store rooms safe.
Across from him stands Bulwark, an older, stocky Earth Pony with a grudge against everything. He’s been at the castle since the beginning, and with Princess Celestia’s Castle Guard before that.
A trio of civilians walk down their hallway. Spirit watches them with a trained focus and tries to ignore the gossip they’re spreading, even though it sounds so much more interesting than Spirit’s life. They walk between Spirit and Bulwark and don’t so much as glance at either of them. Like they’re more of the decorative statues lining some of the halls. Even though Ponyville is a smaller, more closely knit community, its civilians treat guards like any other tool—useful only when needed.
After they pass and turn a corner Spirit lets out a sigh. There’s no one else in the hallway. Quietly, he asks, “How do you do it?”
Bulwark grunts. “Do what?” It’s the first thing he’s said since Spirit joined him.
“This. All day. Stay silent and still for hours.”
“By staying silent and still for hours.”
Spirit gets the hint and is silent and still for all of ten seconds before saying, “In Canterlot we had to do the whole silent and still thing too, but there was always something going on. Lots of ponies. Is it always so empty here?”
Bulwark doesn’t answer. Maybe he is trying to teach Spirit a lesson, maybe he’s impatient and in a bad mood, or maybe with his age and experience he’s decided he just doesn’t care. Spirit shrugs. “It’s still morning. Maybe the Princess is still asleep. Is it busier in the afternoon?”
No response.
Spirit thinks back to his calendar. He’s on the morning rotation for the next month. At least he isn’t part of the night guard. “You’ve been on shift since midnight, right?” he asks Bulwark. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Can it, Boot,” Bulwark says, and Spirit snaps to attention. He recognizes the mixture of command and threat. Bulwark is both older and more senior than Spirit, and he seems especially irritable this morning.
Well, he has been on shift since midnight.
Minutes pass and Spirit tries to focus on something—anything—other than the notes of regret and resentment he’s been feeling for the past few days. He left good friends and guardmates in Canterlot for this.
He’s about to remind Bulwark that he hasn’t been in bootcamp since the start of his Castle Guard career in Canterlot when another group of ponies—nobles; one could always recognize nobles—appears at the head of the hallway. Just like the civilians before, they ignore him as they pomp and regale one another. Like it’s a game.
Spirit catches movement. Bulwark is sneering, watching the nobles pass. It’s a brief thing, gone almost as soon as Spirit sees it, but it’s reassuring to know that Bulwark isn’t a statue either. The nobles certainly don’t notice.
“Who were they?” Spirit asks once they’re clear. Bulwark was one of the first of Celestia’s guards to move to Ponyville; maybe he knows more of the castle’s usuals.
Bulwark looks down the hall in the direction of the departing ponies and says, “Three noponies desperate to be somepony to other ponies that don’t matter. A new Princess in a new castle. The least successful, least useful ponies from Canterlot sensed opportunity and uprooted to move here.” He glances back at Spirit. “Kinda like you.”
Ouch. “Not like you?”
“Celestia assigned me and a couple others,” he says, without a shred of pride or pomp.
So Bulwark is rude, insulting, and ungrateful. He’s not the first guard to be gifted in things other than personality. Bulwark does look the part of a Castle Guard: his armor is immaculately polished, his stature is imposing, and his expression intimidating.
Spirit tries to stay still and silent. It works for a while, until another guard appears at the head of the hallway. A Unicorn stallion, older than Spirit but not as grizzled and sharp as Bulwark. Coppertop. It’s nearly time for Bulwark to be relieved—Coppertop must be his replacement for the day shift.
“Who’s this?” Coppertop asks, nodding at Spirit.
Spirit straightens. “Castle Guard-recruit—”
Bulwark interrupts him and says, “A new boot. Fresh from Canterlot.” His eyes narrow at Spirit and he growls, “Who’d better learn to keep his mouth shut unless spoken to. Understood?”
The other guard sniggers. “Yeah. Wouldn’t wanna make a bad first impression, Boot.”
Spirit nods, gulping, and stares at the opposite wall, trying to pretend the other two guards aren’t there. He can already predict the new nickname he will have by the time he returns to the barracks.
Bulwark doesn’t bother maintaining his post; he and Coppertop walk a few steps and start conversing in hushed tones.
Are all the guards here lazy and undisciplined? He takes a slow breath. It’s not up to him to police the other guards. And soon Bulwark will be off shift and Spirit will be able to relax and finish his in quiet.
Another pony at the head of the hallway. Laughter and pleasant conversation and a smell of lavender surround Spirit. His thoughts crash to a halt. Of course. First commoners, then nobles, a guard, and—
It’s the Princess. His Princess. Princess Twilight.
The one saving grace in an otherwise tedious posting: Spirit gets to see Princess Twilight. She lives in the castle and comes and goes frequently. She never seems to notice him, but that’s expected. Maybe one day he’ll make eye contact with her.
Until then he has settled for watching. She’s as beautiful as ever. Today she’s wearing a glowing yellow top of some sort—complimenting her purple coat wonderfully, in Spirit’s opinion—and a kind, honest smile. Her mane and tail are shimmering in the skylight and her wings look freshly preened. One of her friends is with her, and they stop there, at the start of the hallway, laughing softly. It sounds like music.
He stands ramrod straight: the Princess’s presence has a way of bringing out the best in ponies, even at a distance—
Or not. Bulwark and the other guard don’t even seem to notice her. “Hey!” Spirit hisses. “Bulwark! Coppertop!”
Coppertop stops mid-sentence, clearly irritated at being interrupted. They look down towards the start of the hallway, then share a look.
Princess Twilight waves goodbye to her friend and heads towards them, burying her nose in some papers she’s carrying. She hasn’t noticed them yet. He can still salvage this.
“Get back to your post!” Spirit says, stunned that he even has to say it.
“Mouth shut unless spoken too,” Bulwark growls. “Remember?”
Spirit takes another deep breath. Fine. Fine. If Bulwark wants to show the Princess the worst her Castle Guard has to offer standing across from what Spirit hopes is an exemplar of discipline and duty, so be it.
He stands still and waits, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Princess Twilight finally looks up and notices them. Her guards. Her smile disappears, replaced with what Spirit can only assume is disappointment. The room feels darker. She doesn’t hesitate, though; she tilts her head back and walks down the hallway, clearly intent on ignoring them. Like all the other ponies. Just once he’d like a Hello or a smile or even just eye contact, but the other two have ruined this opportunity.
Soon she is level with them, then walking past. Spirit stares straight ahead at the wall where Bulwark is supposed to be. She crosses his line of sight, and for a second he’s focused on her entirely. She is beautiful, but her face is marred by a sneer equal to the worst he’s seen on Bulwark’s face.
Best that she not notice him. Maybe next time—
“Good morning, Your Highness.”
Princess Twilight stops, turns to face Bulwark. He bows dramatically. “Normally you aren’t awake until noon. I’m surprised you’re up so early.”
Why is Bulwark talking? Bulwark isn’t supposed to be talking. He’s a still and silent for hours kind of guard.
Coppertop bows too, though less obnoxiously. “Especially recently. Weren’t you entertaining those Cloudsdale reps this week? You must’ve really done a number on them. I don’t think I’ve seen Pegasi royalty fly so badly before.”
What? Before Spirit can speak up, Princess Twilight stands up for herself.
“Get back to your post, guard,” she orders. She sounds resigned.
“You do look a little tired,” Coppertop says.
“No, no. Her face almost perfect,” Bulwark observes, leaning in close. “As beautiful as always.” A grin slides across his face, and he licks his lips. “Of course, it probably looked even better blasted in Pegasus spunk. I hear old Wind Shear—”
Princess Twilight slaps him across the face.
Spirit’s jaw drops.
Bulwark jerks back, one hoof reaching up to rub his muzzle. Even Coppertop looks shocked.
The Princess stabs the offending hoof in his direction and glares, says, “Don’t you ever speak like that to anypony while you’re in my castle.”
It looks like Bulwark is about to strike back. Spirit readies himself to jump in the way.
Instead, Bulwark forces a smile and says, “You’ve got quite a mean right hoof, Twilight. I’m impressed.”
Coppertop smirks. “How about a little private demonstration, Your Highness?” As he talks he steps around the Princess and openly ogles her flank. She watches him with narrowed eyes but doesn’t dignify him with a response.
Bulwark says, “Yeah. Maybe a late night visit from me and my friend?” He flicks his tail. “Maybe we do a little wrestling, then we give you something useful to do with that mouth for once—instead of just complaining.”
Princess Twilight looks at Bulwark, ears flat in anger, and clicks her tongue. “Disgusting. My brother would have you thrown out for that.”
“But your brother’s not here. And you can’t get rid of us because Celestia sent us. We’re charity.” Bulwark chuckles. “Just like those.” He nods at her wings.
The Princess gasps and steps back, speechless.
Oh, sweet Celestia. Spirit is going to be blasted into oblivion. He’s sure of it. And he knows the Princesses are close to one another. Before long the other Princesses will be coming for him, too. Just for being there and being associated with them.
And not doing something to stop it.
He should really do something to stop it.
“Hey!” is all his useless brain can come up with on short notice.
Princess Twilight ignores him. She steps close and gets in Bulwark’s face. She’s taller than most mares, but not quite as tall as Bulwark. It doesn’t stop her. “You’re not charity. I told Princess Celestia I didn’t need guards. My friends and I have saved Equestria more times than I can count.” She sneers. “Personally, I like to think you guards are actually a clerical error. I hate clerical errors.”
Bulwark’s smarmy smile drops. Spirit would be pleased with her comeback if he wasn’t included in her target. And if she wasn’t inadvertently exposing herself to Coppertop: her tail is flicking angrily and she’s pointing her rump right at him, but she hasn’t noticed. While she and Bulwark are glaring at each other, Coppertop is licking his lips. Despite his mounting panic Spirit feels a pang of envy. Coppertop has certainly noticed.
“You’re a terrible liar, Twilight,” Coppertop says after a few moments of enjoying the view. The Princess whirls around, clamping her tail down flat, and glares at him. Coppertop makes no move to hide or pretend he wasn’t staring at her ass and instead says, “You could get rid of us at any time, but you don’t. You love having us around. We’re the best lay you’ll ever get.”
Princess Twilight scoffs. “I can do better than a pair of filthy Castle Guards.”
Coppertop leans in, waggling his eyebrows. “Would you prefer three of us?”
“Why are you letting them say that?” Spirit blurts out before he can stop himself.
Princess Twilight starts, turns to face him. She looks shocked to see him. She hadn’t even noticed him until then. The eye contact Spirit has been yearning for finally happens, but it’s awful. He knows in that moment, just for being present, just for being one of her guards, that she despises him.
“Did I ask your opinion?” she finally asks, igniting her horn. The hallway is ablaze with her particular shade of purple.
Spirit tries not to show any emotion, tries not to let his legs shake or his wings ruffle, and says as steadily as he can, “There’s no need for this. You should leave.”
“Shut it, Boot,” Bulwark growls.
“That’s enough—”
Bulwark slams his spear on the ground. “I said shut it!” The hallway is suddenly silent. Spirit winces. He can feel the weight of the Princess’s glare and hunches slightly, looks at his hoofs.
Bulwark turns back to the Princess. “Don’t you and your friends have songs about friendship to sing? Your Highness?”
Princess Twilight sneers down her nose at them, then turns to walk away, head held high, tossing that radiant hair and flicking her tail. Her magic disappears with a crack that nearly knocks Spirit off balance.
“Be seeing you,” Bulwark calls out as she leaves down another corridor. “Wear something pretty tonight.”
It’s several heavy seconds after they’re alone again before Spirit can gather his composure enough to yell, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Bulwark looks back at him and scowls. “You’re relieved. Return to the barracks while we figure out what to do with you.”
“Me?” he yells. “What did I do?”
“I told you. Not unless spoken to.”
“You’re the one who—”
“That’s an order, Boot!”
The other guard sniggers.
Spirit has never once felt the urge to strike someone as hard as he’s feeling it right now. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledges, before turning to leave. His legs are shaking and he can barely walk without stumbling. His heart is hammering. Somehow he makes it out of the hallway. He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going; all he can see is their filthy fucking mouths degrading the Princess and stripping her pretty face of her cheerful smile.
And, worst of all, that pretty face is sneering at him instead.
It’s after nightfall. Castle Guard-recruit Spirit is laying on his bunk, staring at the ceiling and counting the minutes until he’s discharged. He’s the only one in the room who’s still awake. Nopony has talked to him since he was relieved, and he hasn’t tried either. He knows he’s not thinking straight. He ought to be panicking. He ought to be escalating this up the chain of command. But he doesn’t want to. And to whom? Literally the third most powerful pony in the Realm was standing right there, and did nothing.
Instead he just feels angry and ashamed. He let Bulwark say . . . all that to the Princess. His Princess.
“Give you something to do with that pretty mouth of yours.”
And Bulwark just said it so casually. Spirit smears his face with his hoof and groans. How have things gone so wrong here? How has a guard like Bulwark managed to stay assigned?
“Of course, it probably looked even better blasted in spunk.”
Bulwark’s rant wasn’t just casual. It was practiced. Spirit jerks upright. That wasn’t the first time Bulwark’s said those things to her face. So Bulwark and Coppertop are getting away with it. Either none of the other guards know, or no one cares enough to do anything.
Now Spirit understands the reason for the castle’s high turnover rate. Bulwark.
And the worst part is . . . Bulwark’s right. Partly. The Princess is a very attractive young mare. There isn’t a mare-loving guard alive who hasn’t snuck out a quick one thinking about any of the other Princesses. His guardmates aren’t shy about sharing their fantasies and, though Spirit pretends to ignore them, they’re right, too.
Princess Twilight would look better blasted in spunk. Especially her wings.
Spirit looks down between his legs and realizes he’s been slowly jerking himself.
To the young Princess.
Where anypony else can see him.
“Argh!” Spirit decides that nothing makes sense and everything is wrong, and that he ought to transfer out ASAP.
A low stomp is all the warning Spirit gets before the door to the barracks flies open. "Boot!"
Spirit jerks up and out of his bunk and stands at attention. It’s Bulwark. Must be time for a punishment he doesn’t deserve, since it’s too late for an official reprimand he doesn’t deserve.
Bulwark glares at him for a few moments, then says, “Get dressed, then follow me.”
For a moment, it’s tempting to just ignore him. Or maybe slug him. But the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself: “Yes, sir.”
They leave the barracks in silence and head up the stairs towards the main hall.
“You’re assigned to the night shift,” Bulwark says as they walk.
Aw, fuck. That means working with Bulwark. It also means rarely seeing the Princess. “Yes, sir.”
“You will obey every order given and follow my direction at all times.”
What exactly are they going to have him do—or going to do to him—that requires a reaffirmation of such basic principles? “Yes, sir.”
“At the end of the month we will evaluate your behavior and decide whether to reassign you.”
“Yes, sir.”
A glimmer of hope. Maybe Bulwark doesn’t want Spirit working the night shift either. Doubtless he’s been talking with the Captain, but he must’ve spun things so he wouldn’t catch any blame.
Except for their hoofsteps, the halls are silent, and Spirit sees only other guards awake at this hour, posted at regular intervals. He ducks his head in shame each time. Do any of them know what happened? Or have they heard some twisted and incorrect version of what happened?
Bulwark turns and leads Spirit up another flight of stairs. Spirit realizes he hasn’t been paying attention, and without much light he isn’t sure where he is. The halls all look the same at night. There isn’t much upstairs, anyways. What are they going to do? Toss him out a window?
Then Bulwark turns and opens the door to an antechamber. Spirit skids to a stop. Now he knows where he is. The Princess’s personal chambers are through there. Why are they here?
“Move your ass, Boot,” Bulwark orders after a moment.
On either side stands another Guard, each avoiding eye contact and pretending to be statues. They don’t question why Bulwark is ordering a new recruit into the Princess’s bedroom in the middle of the night.
Something is wrong.
“Sir—” Spirit says. Some sort of hazing ritual? Maybe framing him for some crime?
“Now.”
Spirit takes a tentative step forward into the antechamber, and another. In front of him are two large crystal doors emblazoned with Princess Twilight’s cutie mark, glowing softly under an ornate crystal chandelier. If the Princess is home and asleep, then she’s home and asleep right on the other side of these doors.
Or wide awake, angry and waiting for him.
“No—” Spirit says, stumbling back. “What—”
Spirit bumps into somepony and looks over his shoulder.
“You brought Boot?” Coppertop asks incredulously. A wide grin breaks over his face. “Oh, this is going to be priceless. You’re in for it now, Boot.”
“Hold him,” Bulwark instructs.
Armor clanks against armor and suddenly Coppertop has him in a hold from behind.
“Hey—Stop! What—” Spirit grunts, struggling. Coppertop may be a Unicorn but he’s no slouch. He might even have actual combat experience. Spirit certainly doesn’t. He can feel his heart thumping. The other guards, the ones that have been here for months, ignore his struggle and pretend this is normal. This has to be some sort of hazing.
Bulwark pushes open the doors. They weren’t locked, unless Bulwark has some magic he’s hiding. He peers inside, then steps in.
“In you go,” Coppertop grunts, shoving him inside. A faint orange shimmer wraps around Spirit’s muzzle. “Quiet, now.”
Bulwark shuts the door behind them, and Spirit can hear a sizzle: now the doors are locked.
Something is very wrong.
Inside is Princess Twilight, fast asleep. Her blankets are half off the bed, and the skylight is illuminating a shimmering green nightgown that’s ridden up over her stomach. She’s splayed out in a way that looks terribly uncomfortable and moderately indecent, and she’s snoring. He averts his eyes. She’s in no condition to be seen by others right now. This is her private time.
If they’re not careful they’ll wake her up—
Bulwark walks right up to the bed and stands over Princess Twilight’s sleeping figure.
Spirit gasps. “Mmmf!” he yells into the magic muzzling him. They’re going to hurt her! He has to get to her. Even just to warn her. He swings his foreleg around and under Coppertop’s, trying to get clear of his hold. Spirit feels a warmth grab his back hooves, a shot of pins-and-needles, then suddenly he’s on the floor, ears ringing, struggling just to breathe. “Nnn—oof!”
Coppertop holds him down and puts a hoof up to his mouth, shushing him. Spirit looks up at him with fury. The moment he’s free—
Coppertop looks over at Bulwark and the two nod. In what is obviously a practiced move Bulwark towers over her and reaches around to clamp his forehoof over the Princess’s mouth.
She jerks awake in an instant, and is grunting and yelling through his hoof in the next. Her horn ignites just in time for Bulwark to slide on a limiting ring with his other hoof, grounding her magic. Sparks shoot from the limiter in response to her desperate spellcasting. She struggles to break free, but Bulwark has her good, holding her down with the weight of his chest, and her limbs and wings aren’t lined up for leverage.
“Good evening, Twilight. Sleep well?”
She yells into his hoof and twists her head back and forth, trying to get loose. Her wings flap pitifully against Bulwark’s chest.
“Coppertop and I just thought we’d pay you a little visit. Sound good?”
Spirit can’t quite see the Princess’s face but he can almost hear what she’s trying to yell, and it sounds explicit and angry. The room is illuminated by an almost constant stream of sparking, failed magic. If that little hunk of rare-earth metal breaks Spirit is certain the three of them will be shredded without hesitation.
“Hey, hey! Calm down. We’re not going to hurt you.” Bulwark pets her mane and smiles. “We’re just here to fuck you.”
Spirit gasps.
Princess Twilight freezes, stops yelling.
“We’re going to use your body. Coppertop’s got a thing for that tight little rump of yours,” he menaces, leaning close, “but I’m dying to fuck your mouth. I’ve been waiting all day for this, and my balls are nice and heavy. I hope you’re hungry. And, we’ve got a surprise for you. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
The Princess grunts, glares at the hoof covering her mouth, and bites. Hard.
Bulwark howls, wrenching his hoof free.
“Intruder! Guards! Help!” she croaks.
Bulwark jumps back, looking nervously at the door. “Shit, Coppertop. What do we do?”
“You’re supposed to keep her quiet!” Coppertop snaps.
“Guards!” she screams again, scrambling to all fours.
“Muzzle her!” Bulwark snaps.
Spirit grins. It doesn’t matter that they’ll think he’s an accomplice. So long as somepony saves her.
But nothing happens. No one comes bursting through the door to help the Princess. For long moments Spirit waits. Nothing. Maybe the Princess is right. Maybe they are all useless.
Coppertop exhales, and laughs. “Of course! Twilight has clearly put a sound-proofing charm on her room.”
“No . . . ” Princess Twilight breathes, eyes wide. With the limiter, she can’t dispel it.
“Oh, right! I keep forgetting.” Bulwark smiles and leans close to the Princess. “No one ever rescues you, Twilight. I guess you keep forgetting, too.” He taps her on the nose.
Princess Twilight snarls and leaps at him, but Coppertop’s magic catches her by the shoulders and holds her suspended, mid leap. She swings her forelegs, but Bulwark’s just out of reach.
“Let’s get that off of you,” Coppertop chuckles. A glow grabs the neck of her nightgown and he tugs it free. Without it or her crown, she’s exposed; held in place, with a limiter on her horn, she’s helpless, too. Now she’s not a Princess; Coppertop and Bulwark are about to rape a filly.
Bulwark casually unbuckles his peytral and drops it on the floor with a thud. Next comes the chanfron, releasing his tangled mane. Soon he’s completely undressed. He climbs up onto the bed, getting his filthy horseshoes all over her pristine white sheets, and settles against the headboard, facing the floating form of the Princess. His cock is already erect, standing proud between his legs. Princess Twilight’s eyes follow it warily, and she gulps. It’s huge. Even Spirit feels intimidated by it, and he’s clear across the room.
“You know what to do,” Bulwark sneers.
“Fuck you!” she spits.
Coppertop’s magic pushes Princess Twilight into the mattress, face first onto Bulwark’s cock. It smears across her cheek. She fights back, pushing against the mattress and twisting her head back and forth.
“No! Fuck you, no. Don’t! I swear—Mmph!”
Bulwark grabs her head and forces her down. The Princess is strong but not as strong as Bulwark, and quickly his cock is pressing between her lips. With a slurp it’s shoved inside, and he sighs. “That’s it. Just like that. And no teeth!” he growls.
Curling her nose in disgust, the Princess waits until Bulwark releases her head then starts bobbing on his cock. The room is filled with sucking and slurping sounds, mixed with Bulwark’s grunts and sighs of pleasure. Even with his large cock stretching her jaw open, she quickly settles into a rhythm. She’s clearly no stranger to blowing a stallion.
Spirit watches and listens with rapt attention. It’s horrifying. It’s disgusting. And it’s massively arousing. He’d never dared imagine the Princess could know how to give a blowjob. Or that it would sound so . . . carnal. Spirit can feel blood rushing, can feel his heart pounding, and he’s not naive enough to believe it’s all due to panic.
Bulwark groans luxuriously, stretching out and resting his head against the headboard. He reaches and casually pats her head, like she’s a puppy who’s learned how to beg. “Good girl.”
Sparks shoot from her horn, arcing over Bulwark’s head. If she could use her magic, she’d be able to save herself. Spirit realizes he doesn’t need to fight them both off. He only needs to get to the limiter! A quick yank and the Princess can take care of the rest. He struggles against Coppertop’s magic but he’s held firm. Fine. As soon as Coppertop forgets to maintain his magic, Spirit will leap into action.
Bulwark grunts and rolls his hips under her. “Fuck me, Twilight. How are you so good at this? Were you blowing guards when you were a filly?”
Princess Twilight freezes, then spits out his cock. It shimmers in the skylight, and a string of spit stretches from the tip to her chin.
“Fuck you,” she pants, wiping her mouth. “You disgusting—”
Bulwark grabs her head and pushes her back onto his cock, and this time he doesn’t stop. She grunts and shoves against his hips, then starts hitting him, but in her position she’s got no reach. Bulwark keeps pushing. Her wings flap pathetically. Her eyes are bulging. She can’t breathe!
“Relax,” Bulwark drawls.
Spirit can see the Princess’s throat working. It looks like she’s trying not to gag. There are tears in her eyes. Bulwark has actually made her cry.
“Just relax—Ah!” The Princess’s nose hits his crotch and he sighs. “There you go. Just like that.” He releases her head and she jerks back, coughing and gasping for breath. What looks like a mouthful of saliva splashes down her chin and over his cock.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Bulwark asks. He reaches for her chin and looks her in the eye. “Can I let you go, or are you going to keep fighting?”
Princess Twilight coughs and shakes her head.
“Good.” He lets go of her chin.
The Princess looks at his cock, gulps. With a quivering jaw she opens wide and swallows his cock, starts sliding her lips up and down. This time she reaches for his hips and holds him close. Eager to get him off and end it, or maybe just afraid of boring him, the Princess twists her head, jerks him with her free hoof, and then carefully rubs his balls. It looks like it’s working: Bulwark closes his eyes and starts humming to himself.
Spirit struggles against Coppertop’s magic but Coppertop doesn’t seem to notice. He’s panting, right beside Spirit, distracted by the show. He isn’t restraining Spirit anymore; only his magic is wrapped around Spirit’s muzzle, keeping him from speaking up. That’s okay. Spirit doesn’t want them noticing him. Once Coppertop drops his magic, once they’ve forgotten about Spirit, he will dive for the Princess’s horn and hope for the best. It’s the only plan Spirit can come up with.
At least it won’t be long.
“Hurry up, Bulwark. My dick’s getting bored.”
Bulwark blinks, like he’s woken up from a nice dream, and scowls. “Don’t whine, Coppertop. Twilight’s gotta pace herself.”
Coppertop steps towards the bed, watching the Princess’s flank shake with her motions. His magic absently slips from Spirit’s muzzle and flickers out. Coppertop starts unclipping his armor, dropping pieces like a trail of clothing to the bed. With a smile he climbs up on the bed, standing over Princess Twilight. She doesn’t seem to notice him until he grabs her tail and pulls. Then she stiffens, frozen with Bulwark’s cock in her mouth. She looks up at him, eyes wide and worried.
“Go on,” Bulwark says.
The Princess pauses before slowly lifting her ass into the air, practically waving it in Coppertop’s face. Coppertop grabs her hips and prods her backside with his cock.
Spirit gulps. Bulwark’s more than twice his age and built like a brick. Coppertop can restrain him with a thought. He knows he can’t beat them. But Bulwark and Coppertop are focused entirely on the Princess, and she’s still got her face in Bulwark’s lap. Her horn is almost within reach. It’s now or never. He leans back.
“After all, she’s gonna need all night,” Bulwark grunts. “She’s got three dicks to drain.”
Spirit freezes mid-lunge. Three?!
The Princess jerks back off of Bulwark and gasps. “Three?!” She whips her head left and right, and finally sees Spirit, standing awkwardly in the skylight like some sort of pervert. “Who—”
“Ah!” Coppertop shoves forward, skewering the Princess in one motion. She freezes, mouth open, as the air is shoved from her lungs and she’s pressed chest-first onto the bed. Coppertop’s hips shove up against her flank and her exhale turns into a groan that’s aimed right at Spirit. The sounds of Coppertop’s hips slapping the princess’s ass fill the room.
“Boot,” Bulwark says casually, like they’re meeting in the kitchen for food. “I was beginning to think you’d fallen asleep.”
Spirit steps forward. No sense hiding now.
The Princess blinks, seems to realize what’s going on again. She stares at Spirit, shock in her eyes. One of her loyal subjects, seeing her stripped bare of her dignity. She’s naked and vulnerable. Tears and sweat are dripping down her face. But she doesn’t break eye contact, even as she bounces back and forth on Coppertop’s cock. She’s pleading for him to help.
Then she looks up and behind Spirit, and her eyes harden. She slumps a little. Spirit looks over his shoulder and follows her gaze. She’s looking at—Oh. His wings. He’s got a wingboner. And, yes, now that he’s looking for it, he can feel his erection bumping against his stomach. Shame burns his cheeks. Here he is, trying to defend her—and he’s turned on, watching them violate her. She must hate him.
He gulps but holds his ground. This isn’t about him.
“Take that thing off her horn.”
“What? Why?” Coppertop asks with a snort. “So she can jerk you off too? You like horn jobs?”
Of course Spirit doesn’t expect them to just do it. He’s going to have to get to the limiter himself. Even though the other two are unburdened by armor and full of adrenaline.
“Now,” he snarls anyways. “Take it off and get off the fucking bed.”
“Boot, shut the fuck up.”
“Yeah, wait your turn,” Coppertop says. Balancing with one hoof on the small of her back, he slows his thrusts and leans, like he’s showing off just how deep he can go. Spirit watches inch after inch of Coppertop’s cock slide in and out of the Princess’s pussy. She winces with each thrust. “She won’t be satisfied with just us two. She certainly doesn’t want us to stop.”
“She’s got a limiter on her!” Spirit says. “You’re standing on her!”
Coppertop says, “Please. She’s an Alicorn. She doesn’t need magic to beat us up.”
“But she’s—she’s in shock! You’re raping her!”
“Ok, fine.” Bulwark turns to the Princess and gently lifts the hair from her face. He asks, “Twilight, do you want us to leave?”
“Fuck you,” she spits.
“We’ll open the door, leave, and never come back. Do you want that?”
“You’re disgusting. You’re filth. I hate all of you. I don’t want you in my castle. I don’t need any of you!” she yells.
“But do you want us. To. Stop?”
“Please.”
Spirit didn’t mean to say anything, but the words start tumbling out. “Please, Princess, just tell them to stop.” Never mind that they will probably just laugh and keep fucking her. Never mind that she’s in shock and weak and hurt. Never mind that he’s supposed to be stopping this himself. “Just tell them—Why won’t you tell them to stop?” he pleads.
“Because she doesn’t want us to stop, Boot,” Bulwark says. “She’s no Princess. Twilight is a whore for cock and abuse. Especially from her guards. We’ve been very close friends for a long time, now. Isn’t that right, Twilight?”
Wings fluttering, ears pinned back in anger, she snarls at him.
Bulwark reaches out and guides the Princess’s mouth back to his cock. Princess Twilight opens up and swallows it in one, quickly slurping and smacking her lips over it.
“Oh, Celestia,” Bulwark gasps, resting his hooves on her head as she bobs up and down. “You’re such a good little cocksucker. So pretty.”
She looks back up at him. It’s a look of disgust, but it’s eye contact nonetheless. The eye contact she uses so sparingly with Spirit she gives freely to the others. Even though they’re hurting her, even though she probably wants to hurt them and punish them, Spirit can’t help but think that she respects them more than she respects him.
“You’re telling me,” Coppertop agrees. “Hey, Boot. You sure you don’t want some? She’s real friendly and loves to share. Once we’re done—”
“Fuck you.”
“Suit yourself.” Coppertop shoves himself inside the Princess and grinds his hips against her ass. “Be her knight in shining armor. But she hates you. She doesn’t want your help.” He leans over the Princess, looks down at her. “Isn’t that right, Twilight?”
She looks up and glares at him, but doesn’t try to deny it. If anything, she puts more motion into her blowjob, more flair into the way she bobs her head back and forth. Bulwark grunts and grabs the sheets.
“So if you’re not going to fuck her, and if you’re not going to leave, just sit down and be quiet. You know how to do that, don’t you?” Coppertop asks, laughing.
Spirit feels his face burn. He doesn’t want to let them win. But every time he opens his mouth the words freeze in place. What can he even say?
The Princess bounces back and forth between their crotches. Coppertop keeps a tight hold on her hips, desperate to shove himself deeper each thrust. Bulwark looks content to let Princess Twilight do the work. She’s flushed, snorting through her nostrils like a steam engine. Her muscles wobble with the motion. She reaches and tries to pull herself closer to Bulwark, to get more leverage with her mouth. Soon she’s almost hitting his groin with her nose each time.
Bulwark’s languid smile turns into a grimace. “Oh, shit. Don’t stop.”
“You’re in for a real treat, Boot. Bulwark’s a giver.” He runs a hoof down the Princess’s rump. “Isn’t that right, Twilight? A real specimen of an Earth Pony.”
“Shut up,” Bulwark hisses, teeth clenched. His hips jerk. All of a sudden it hits Spirit: the Princess is going to make one of her guards come. Bulwark’s going to come. He doesn’t seem shocked or anxious or scared.
In Spirit’s wildest fantasies, sleeping with one of the Princesses, he fears getting caught and thrown in the dungeon. He can’t stop looking over his shoulder, and prays he won’t come too soon, but can’t afford to wait, well aware that his time is short and he won’t get another chance.
But Bulwark doesn’t care about making this count anymore than he cares about being caught. He’s groaning, muttering loudly.
“Don’t fucking stop. Don’t—Oh, crap.” He grabs her mane, pulls the Princess down his cock until her nose is smeared against his groin. There’s barely any resistance this time. “Fuck. Just—swallow it!” The Princess grunts and holds as still as she can while Coppertop is pounding her from behind. Bulwark clenches his ass and presses up, practically lifting his hips off the bed. The Princess’s cheeks bulge. Spirit wants to look away but he can’t. Over and over Bulwark comes down her throat, until the Princess finally pulls herself off of his cock, gasping and coughing up semen, just in time for Bulwark to paint her face with more spunk.
“Whoa,” Coppertop mutters, slowing to a stop. “That’s hot. Been holding back much?”
Bulwark slumps back, panting. Semen keeps pouring from his cock, but it’s mostly splashing down his shaft. There’s so much of it. He’s got a big, goofy grin on his face, and he’s making what Spirit can only describe as happy Bulwark noises. It’s the first time Bulwark has ever looked content.
Princess Twilight lifts a hoof and wipes her eyes. Once she realizes he’s stopped spurting she leans close and starts licking his cock clean. It doesn’t really help, Spirit decides, distantly—she’s just making more of a mess of his crotch and her sheets. And it doesn’t actually look like she is enjoying it. But she keeps licking and slurping and glaring at it when it just doesn’t stay clean.
“Twilight! Turn around, let me see,” Coppertop says. “Wow. That’s—Wow. Hey. Show Boot! I’m sure he’d love to see.”
No, he would not love to see. But before Spirit can react the Princess turns and looks at him.
“Guh.”
There’s cum on her chin, dripping down onto the bed. More on her nose and cheek. She’s wiped most of the cum from her eyes, but it’s smeared in her eyebrows and bangs. A thick glob of cum has coated the limiter over her horn. Bulwark has practically painted her white. Spirit’s not sure he’ll ever be able to look at the Princess again without seeing her covered in Bulwark’s cum. He tries not to whimper.
She blinks a strand of cum from her eyes. “You’re the guard from earlier. In the hallway,” she pants, ignoring the appalled look on his face. She isn’t actually looking him in the eyes, of course. Her eyes are unfocused. Coppertop is fucking her cross-eyed. “Why are you here?”
“Um . . . Uh,” Spirit stammers.
She shakes her head. “Just here to watch your favorite Princess get fucked?” she asks. “Or are you here to fuck me too? These guards told you all these nasty, horrible stories and you thought, Well, don’t I deserve some as well?”
“No!” Spirit insists. At least he can manage simple sentences.
The Princess ignores him and continues, in an insulting, dumbed-down voice, “I’m a good guard. I keep all these hallways safe. I should get to fuck the Princess too. I should get to ram my filthy cock up inside that tight Princess pussy. Right?”
“No! I’m—I’m here to help. To rescue you,” he mutters, stepping forward. He could reach out and touch her now. He wants to. But he can’t. What is he supposed to do? The Princess probably doesn’t need the limiter removed. Bulwark is leaning back, watching it all. And while Coppertop has a hold around her hips, he’s pretty much focused on her bottom half. She’s not really restrained. Either she can’t stop them, or she won’t.
“Well,” she sneers, “rescue me.”
“Uh—”
“Uh. Um. Is that all you can say? Typical. If you’re not going to stop them, and if you’re not going to join them, then sit down and be quiet.”
Bulwark laughs. “What do you expect? He’s just like we were. You better tell him.”
“Tell me what?” Spirit asks.
“How much of a whore she is.”
“Don’t call her that,” Spirit says without thinking. He’s starting to think he might have misjudged her, and it hurts. And it’s hot. “That’s not true. She’s a Princess. She’s elegant.” She’s covered in cum. “She’s kind.” She’s insulting him. “She’s friendly.” Before today she’d never acknowledged his presence. “She’s—”
“She’s a whore, Boot,” Bulwark says, interrupting him. “Just walk up to her when she’s alone and climb aboard. Or stand up and push her face onto your cock. She’ll do it. Tell him, Princess.”
Coppertop laughs. “Yeah, tell him, Twilight.”
“They’re right,” Twilight mutters. “I’m a whore.”
“No, you’re not!” Spirit insists.
Twilight groans from a particularly deep thrust and slumps onto the bed. She turns her head to the side so she can still see Spirit. “Yes I am. Most of the guards know they can fuck me without asking. They’re disgusting pigs. I rarely sleep through the night without one of them barging in and waking me up. Sometimes it’s with a dick in my mouth and a tongue in my cunt, or they just grab me like you did and start humping. I’ve woken up with dried semen on my face and not known where it came from. I’ve been blindfolded and tied to the headboard. They take turns fucking my mouth, until I can’t tell which cock is whose. And they keep pushing. The first few times it was just one guard, at night, who was full of adrenaline after doing whatever it is you do all day, pushing his luck. Now it’s too many to keep track. Oh! And sometimes—” She snorts and looks over her shoulder at the door. “Sometimes those two guards outside won’t even let me enter my own bedroom unless I suck their cocks first. My own fucking bedroom.”
She scowls and glares at Spirit. “Do you know how long it takes to make each of them come? Seven and a half minutes, on average. I timed it. I have to crawl underneath them and crouch on the cold, hard floor, blowing these ponies while they pretend I don’t even exist. While anypony could just walk by and see. For fifteen minutes.”
Spirit gulps. He can’t stop the flow of imagery. His cock is aching and there’s nothing he wants more than to touch it. And it’s all the worse because it’s the Princess. It’s Twilight saying this. It hurts to hear it.
Coppertop has no such problem. “Fuck, I love when you talk dirty,” he grunts, rubbing his hoof over her rump and tugging on her tail.
She yelps then moans. “And I don’t stop it. I can’t. So, yes, Boot. I’m a whore. Climb up and push this one out of the way and make me suck your cock too. Or wait until his friend is done and fuck my pussy.” She wiggles her hips, as much as she can with Coppertop anchored inside her. “Or do you not want to?”
He does want to. He wants to so badly. The noises Coppertop is making. The look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction on Bulwark. The cum on her face and, soon, inside her too. Spirit knows he’ll come if he fucks her. That she’ll take care of him, just like she takes care of all of her subjects. And he’s so hard already. He’s so hard it hurts. It wouldn’t take much. Just step forward and onto the bed. Just—just do it!
“C’mon, Boot. What’s one more cock?” Twilight asks.
But he can’t. He already knows he can’t. She’s his Princess.
She can see the decision on his face. She clicks her tongue. “Predictable.”
“Play nice, Twilight. He’s new.” Coppertop reaches down to caress her cheek. “Use that magic of friendship. Isn’t that what you’re best at, Princess? Making friends?”
“You’re not my friends,” Twilight mutters. “They’re good ponies. They care about me. They’d risk their lives for me. They certainly wouldn’t use me like you two do.”
Coppertop rolls his eyes. “I bet they would, if they knew you wouldn’t say no. Why don’t we bring them here? Then we could find out just how friendly they are. Oh yeah.” He closes his eyes and hums. “You know some real pretty ponies, Twilight. I bet that white one is a freak. Want us to summon her?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she growls.
Coppertop grins. “Oh. I know!” He leans close, whispers something in her ear, too quiet for Spirit to hear.
The effect is immediate. Twilight gasps, jerks up, reaches to grip the sheets and tries to pull herself free. “No. No! You can’t!” she cries. Sparks spray from the limiter and bounce harmlessly off of Bulwark’s chest.
Coppertop leans back into his thrusts and asks, casually, “Whaddya think, Twilight? Should we tell him? Maybe he’d like to watch you get plowed by your subjects. Maybe we sit him over there, right beside Boot, and cuck them both. Make him watch as I paint your insides white, and then, when we’re done, you’ll beg us to keep going. Tell him you’re sorry, and that you still love him, but just not that way. Do you think he’d be jealous?”
“Fuck you!”
“I bet he’d love to. A hot piece like you? How could he not?”
“No! You’re wrong! He’d never—He’d never let you get away with this!”
Bulwark and Coppertop laugh. Twilight shrinks a little.
“Of course he wouldn’t. He actually knows how to discipline ponies. So why haven’t you told him?” Coppertop yanks her mane, pulls her head back until he can bite her ear. “Too scared to admit you’re weak? Too proud to go for help?”
Twilight grimaces and leans back, trying to slacken his grip on her mane, but doesn’t deny it.
He licks a long, wet line up her horn, making her twitch and shudder. “Or are you too ashamed at how much you’re getting off right now?”
Her face crumples. “You fucker. No. I can’t—Enough. Just—just finish and leave. Please.”
“I dunno. I like where I am right now. It’s good and warm.” He releases her mane and she collapses onto the bed, face down and ass up. “Maybe if you make it real good for me. Make me come. Then I’ll leave.”
“Asshole,” she mutters, but it’s without bite. She sounds resigned.
“Whore,” Coppertop says with a warm smile.
She nods and arcs her back, moans like a mare in heat. Coppertop grunts, closes his eyes and savors whatever Twilight is doing to make it real good for him. “Oh, fuck me. You’re so tight. I bet—” He laughs. “I bet that bigger Pegasus stallion had a hard time fitting in here.”
Ambassador Bristle. Coppertop’s talking about the Ambassadors.
“I hear he’s got a bigger cock than Bulwark.”
“Probably,” Bulwark shrugs. “And I don’t know shit about politics, but I heard you fucked Cloudsdale harder than their diplomats fucked you.”
Twilight blinks, then smiles. She looks at Spirit. There’s a glint in her eyes.
“You knew Cloudsdale sent an envoy, right?” she asks, closing her eyes. “They left this morning. One of the guards must’ve tipped off the Ambassadors before they arrived. A couple glasses of wine at the dinner and they started coming onto me, flicking my cutie marks with their wings, making some subtle innuendos. I thought they were just a little tipsy, really friendly. They told me how cute I was, that I reminded them of their children. They marveled at how I’d already gotten so good at preening my wings, and offered to teach me some tricks. I was flattered. Then they said my wings would look great covered in cum. Told me I had a fuckable ass and that they couldn’t wait to take me for a test flight. Asked me if I’ve ever given anypony a wingjob before, and would I like to? And right out in the open, where anypony could’ve heard if they’d listened hard enough.”
Spirit inhales sharply. “And you let them?” Having intimate relations with a couple of her guards is one thing, but letting dignitaries treat her like that?
Twilight moves her shoulders in what could be a shrug if she wasn’t being pressed chest down into the mattress. “Not at first. But they didn’t stop. What was I supposed to do? I’m no diplomat. And we need good weather in Ponyville. I can’t let down all those ponies that depend on me for their well-being.”
Spirit’s jaw drops.
Twilight doesn’t wait for him to stop sputtering. “They started kissing me, and rubbing up against me. I didn’t know how to stop them. I tried to bring them back here before I could get caught. They molested me in the hall, reaching between my legs, stroking my flank with their wings. Ambassador Bristle couldn’t wait. He mounted me right outside the door there, right in front of my blowjob door guards and the other two Ambassadors, and fucked me till he came. Then the three of them dragged me inside and didn’t leave until morning.”
No. It can’t be true. Twilight is—she’s lying to get Coppertop off. Spirit knows those Ambassadors from when he lived in Cloudsdale. They’re good ponies. They have families. During their visit they were polite and cordial. And Twilight was always a night owl. It’s only normal she’d look exhausted.
Coppertop tosses his head and whinnies. “Fuck me. I wish I was an Ambassador.”
Twilight sneers. “I spent most of the next day with them. We ate breakfast in the main dining hall, in front of all those guests and nobleponies and guards. They looked me in the eye and thanked me for the wonderful hospitality. They knew I couldn’t do a thing about it. I could barely string two sentences together without stammering or forgetting what I was talking about. When I looked at them I could feel their wings on my ass, could taste their cum in my mouth. When they talked all I heard was whore, filly, cunt. And they could tell. They knew. Smug pricks. And it didn’t stop there. For four days they fucked me. Over and over. Instead of dealing with our scheduled business.” She almost sounds grumpy. “When we were in public they made a big show of deference and loyalty to their new Princess, with grand promises and gestures. But when nopony was watching? They licked my face. Groped my cunt. Humped my flank. They took turns seeing how close they could get without anypony noticing. But I think they wanted to get caught. I had to keep us from getting caught. I had to pretend everything was normal. That our discussions were pleasant. That I was enjoying their company. That they were invited. The guards let them into my bedroom every night. They pulled my mane. Spanked my ass. Called me names. Ambassador Shear liked to pull out and jerk himself off all over me. He came a lot. And often. I think they were taking potions so they could keep fucking me. Ambassador Polaris was the worst. She sat on my face so I couldn’t see what was going on. Goaded the other two while they took turns fucking me. Told them to come inside my pretty purple pussy. So she could suck it out. And I could hear them making out. All three of them. Fucking each other. For months apparently. And last night. When I was sucking his cock. Shear said I looked just like his daughter. Right before he came all over my face.”
“Fu-hu-huck,” Coppertop whines. His stomach clenches. “You’re killing me.”
Spirit can sympathize.
“Yeah?” she pants. “Am I? Is them raping me turning you on?” She growls. “Am I making it real good?”
Coppertop nods frantically. “Yes!” he hisses. “Keep going!” His eyes are shut tight and he’s gripping Twilight’s hips so hard he might rip her cutie marks right off.
“You fucking dogs. None of you tried to stop them. Just listened and laughed. As those disgusting old ponies used my body.”
“So hot!”
“We watched, too,” Bulwark says, rolling his eyes. “We watched you come over and over—”
“Fuck! I’m gonna come over and over!” Coppertop hisses, slapping her flank.
Twilight’s eyes flutter. “Don’t fucking spank—”
SLAP
Twilight yelps and grabs at the sheets, twisting her body under Coppertop’s. She’s all angry, sweaty curves under his sharp angles and furious motion. Coppertop fucking her is a work of art. Spirit will never make her cry out like that.
SLAP
“Oh . . . ” she groans.
Coppertop leans forward, putting his weight into his thrusts. He’s bent Twilight’s rear end almost completely vertical, lifting her hindhooves off of the bed. She yelps into the mattress. He throws his head back and howls, thrusts himself into Twilight, and holds himself there. Spirit watches his cock swell and pulse over and over. Coppertop stomps and pushes at the sheets, trying to dig himself in deeper. Spurts of cum shoot out between their legs. Twilight’s legs twitch in the air. For several moments Spirit has a great view of Coppertop’s sack tightening and relaxing. It’s an image he’ll remember for the rest of his life, unfortunately. Also unfortunate is how Spirit finds himself reaching for his cock again. He yanks his hoof back and shame burns his cheeks, mixing with the heat and arousal pumping through his veins and coloring his face.
The room is quiet.
Coppertop pulls back and lets go of Twilight. Her legs give out and she collapses onto the bed on her side, facing away from Spirit. Cum spills out of her pussy and splashes down her thighs onto the sheets. Coppertop leans over her and wipes his slimy cock on her cutie mark, then hops onto the floor, leaving Twilight to pant and tremble and figure herself out.
“Get out,” she hisses.
Coppertop and Bulwark have their armor strapped on in moments. Coppertop pounds on the door in a quick pattern. Seconds later the door sizzles and opens. He prances out, that stupid grin on his face and his head held high. Like it’s no big deal that he just came inside a Princess of the Realm. Bulwark yanks Spirit to his hooves and is pulling him to the door when Twilight speaks up.
“You. Boot. Stay.”
Bulwark shrugs and drops Spirit onto the floor. The door closes behind him. For the first time ever Spirit and Twilight are alone. Twilight rolls onto her stomach and slides off the bed, falls to the floor. Part of Spirit is screaming to assist the Princess; another part wants to watch Twilight struggle. He feels mildly ill. Eventually Twilight makes it to all fours, though she’s still shaking like she’s about to pass out.
Spirit looks back at the door. He didn’t hear it lock. He could leave now and be done with it, could go back to his bunk and transfer out in the morning. Pretend nothing happened. Except if Twilight was mad, she’d find him, and he doubts she’d let him off so easily.
And he doesn’t want to leave. He’s angry and hurt. He wants to hurt her. He wants to help her. Everything else is confusing and he feels torn in a dozen directions. But he knows he doesn’t want to leave.
Twilight stumbles up against a dresser and presses her horn against the top edge. With a careful twist of her head she scrapes the limiter loose. The room thrums with pressure and potential. Twilight groans, and catches the limiter in her newly restored magic.
Finally she speaks. “What did they tell you before waking me up?” she asks without looking at him.
Spirit blinks dumbly. “N—nothing. Bulwark just marched me up here and—and . . . ” The words fall apart in his mouth.
Twilight nods and drags herself into the ensuite bathroom, carrying the dripping limiter with her. Her voice floats out, weak at first but gradually calming. “Well, they aren’t the smartest. They should have explained the rules first.” A faucet squeaks, and he hears water splashing in her sink. Twilight gargles something and spits. “Disgusting,” she mutters.
“The . . . rules?”
“Correct. You will not interrupt me or engage while I’m entertaining other ponies or if I’m wearing red or nothing at all. If I’m alone and wearing yellow, you will keep your hooves to yourself, but you can say anything you want to me. If I’m alone and wearing green, you do not have to keep your hooves to yourself, and can do anything you want to me. If we use a safe-word, you will stop the moment I utter it.”
She turns off the faucet and limps back into the bedroom, wiping her face with a steaming towel. She’s still splattered with cum on her thighs and in her hair. Her wings are ruffled, badly. She doesn’t bother keeping her tail in place. It’s disgusting. It’s so hot.
“I still expect you to fulfill your duties and obligations to your Captain and your squad, whatever those are. Above all else you will not discuss this with anypony other than me, those two guards, or the Captain. I am quite capable of both disciplining you and ruining your career in the Castle Guard.”
None of it makes any sense. He stares as she dries her face then casually tosses the towel back into the bathroom, before returning the limiter to its box on the dresser.
She stops in front of him, and he finds he cannot look her in the eyes. She has pretty hooves, he notes absently.
“Do you understand?”
He nods.
“Look at me when I talk to you.”
Look at her? After she ignored him, day after day, and pretended he didn’t exist? After she swallowed Bulwark’s cum and let Coppertop spank her ass? After she replaced the Princess he loved with some—some—some whore? She expects him to look at her?
He glares at her. “Yes, Princess,” he says through clenched teeth.
“I asked you a question, Boot.”
He growls. “I have a name!”
“No, you do not. Guards do not have names.”
He bellows and punches her in the face.
His hoof impacts a paper-thin purple barrier, precisely sized and positioned and strengthened to make it feel like he’s just punched a stone wall. He gasps and falls back, cradling his hoof.
Twilight clicks her tongue in disappointment. “That’s the only time I’ll forgive you. I am not wearing green right now.”
Her magic disappears with a crack of purple feathers. It’s shocking how quickly Twilight aimed and summoned a barrier. His hoof had barely started swinging, and he’d come nowhere near her face. He’d barely—
He looks at his hoof. He was trying to strike her. He was going to hurt the Princess. Oh, Princess Celestia. Spirit’s only fixed point in an otherwise chaotic night was the need to protect the Princess, and he just tried to hurt her. He recoils and hunches against the wall, cradling his hoof and hiding from her gaze. “What’s going on?” he mutters, trying to maintain his composure.
After a few seconds, Twilight sighs, envelops him in her magic, and lifts him up. He resists for only a moment then hangs limp in the air. With infinite patience Twilight removes the remainder of his armor, properly undoing the hidden straps in their correct order, before slipping him onto her bed. The familiar routine is surprisingly calming. She briefly glances at his erection but doesn’t mention it.
“Relax. You’re not in trouble. I’m not going to hurt you.” She steps up beside the bed and strokes his forehead. Like she cares about him. “I’m not mad at you. Let’s just talk.”
“But what they just did—What I just did—”
“I ordered them to. Just like I’m ordering you to do the same.” She sounds almost apologetic.
Spirit doesn’t know what to say. She’s speaking nonsense. She shouldn’t order somepony to hurt her. “Why?” he asks, finally.
Twilight watches the small twitches of his face as emotions fight for prominence. “Because I can. Because I want to. Because . . . ” She shrugs. “Because that guard was right. My wings, my crown? They’re charity. But that’s okay. I’m not a Princess. I’m just a normal mare—”
“No!” Spirit insists. “That’s not true!”
Twilight rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. I’m not exactly normal.”
“I mean—You are a Princess. Of course you are. You put the lives of your subjects before your own. You turn your enemies into allies. You care about everypony you meet. It’s not about wings or crowns or how those Ambassadors treat you—”
Now she looks angry.
“Um, I mean, what I was trying to say—”
“You just don’t get it. None of you do. That’s fine. I don’t expect you to.”
“I want to, though. I swear. All I care about—”
“Stop.”
“—is helping you. I’ll do whatever you want. I just—”
“Stop!”
“—want to help.”
She sighs. “Every single time. Why am I so worth your blind devotion? You don’t even know me.”
Spirit gawks at her. Twilight might as well be speaking a foreign language. Maybe she is in shock. Maybe Spirit has hit his head and is mishearing everything.
Still. “I don’t need to know you. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna trust you. Why shouldn’t I?”
At the mention of their names Twilight inhales sharply, then hunches.
Spirit hesitates, then presses on. “I’ve heard them talk about you. We all have. They’d give their lives for you. They love you. Of course I trust you.”
“Yes. Well. They’re not perfect either,” she mutters. “If they knew . . . ”
She’s wrong, of course. The Princesses are by definition perfect. Spirit knew that long before they drilled it into him during bootcamp. But she’s not going to listen to him. And it’s not up to him to correct a Princess who cannot be wrong.
A heavy silence falls over them. When it becomes clear that Twilight has forgotten he’s even there, he asks, “Did you mean it? When you said you hated us?”
“Yes.” She touches his cheek, then his chest. “It’s not your fault. I fell in love with a guard once, and he broke my heart. Now whenever I see a stallion wearing his armor I feel this anger that I cannot control mixed with desire that has only grown over time.” Her eyes trace Spirit’s features, before focusing on his mouth. “I see only him, him and his gentle smile and his caring heart and all the forgiveness in the world for a stupid little filly who just won’t. Grow. Up—”
She pauses, jaw clenched and eyes shut. It’s painful to watch her suffer like this. Spirit wants to hold her. If she was any other pony—if he was any other pony—he would.
After a few seconds she wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Well. It doesn’t matter. He has his life, and I’m stuck with all of you instead.”
“But you . . . you asked Bulwark to insult you, degrade you, and hurt you? To treat you like a whore and f—and fuck you?” he asks, stammering. “Why in Equestria—”
“Stop,” she admonishes. “Every mare has her needs. Don’t shame me.”
He’s stunned silent for a few moments, staring wide eyed. “And you want me to . . . ”
“To fuck me,” she says, bluntly. “I want you. To fuck. Me. Just like those other guards. Yes. I’m tired of being treated like a Princess. I’m tired of ponies bowing and praising because they have to. And I’m tired of falling for guards.”
“I don’t understand,” Spirit says.
Twilight sighs and shakes her head. “Of course you don’t. You’re just a guard. They don’t breed you to understand. I could tell you my whole life story and you still wouldn’t understand. Luckily, I require only your compliance. If you don’t like it—if you can’t handle the thought of your pure, perfect Princess liking things a little rough—then you can transfer back to Canterlot and resume worshipping actual Princesses.”
Her horn ignites. Spirit tenses, expecting the worst, but instead his pile of armor begins to glow. It’s time to leave. He watches his helmet lift out of the pile and float over. With a dexterity Spirit has never seen from any Unicorn, she straps it on his head, threading his ears and mane through their respective openings. Her horn fades and she ducks her head. His moment of intimacy with the Princess—possibly his last ever—is over.
Spirit leans forward but Twilight holds him back. For several uncomfortable moments he waits while she has her head bowed. He can’t see her eyes below her bangs, can’t tell what’s going on.
“It’s so stupid. You’re nothing like him,” she whispers.
He gulps, asks, “What was he like?”
She looks up at him. Wonder fills her eyes, and she’s actually blushing. “Brave. Tender. The most amazing pony you’d ever meet.”
In other words, Spirit is none of those things. “He sounds—”
“Don’t. You don’t understand. No one will ever replace him.”
“I can try,” Spirit insists.
“I don’t want you to. I already gave you a task that I don’t think you can manage without my help.”
She hops up onto the bed, stands above him, and stomps a hoof on his chest.
“What’s your name, guard?”
“My—my name?” he wheezes. Her hoof is pushing down with surprising strength. “S—Spirit. Castle Guard-recruit—”
Twilight punches the headboard right beside his ear. His skull rattles.
“What. Is. Your. Name?”
He looks down past her towards the door. If he can just get out from under her, slide off the bed, maybe he can limp away to safety. Maybe he can—
No. There’s no way he’s escaping. And he doesn’t really want to. She fills his entire world. She towers over him, and looking at her he can’t help but think that she deserves this. Her wings are majestic. Her horn is brilliant. And she’s so strong. She deserves to be an Alicorn. She deserves to lead Spirit and, if he deserves it, to punish him too.
And he definitely deserves it. He gulps and nods. “Boot. My name is Boot.”
“Yes it is. And you are dirt. All of you. You are identical, fungible, and replaceable. I don’t care how hard you train or how courageously you fight.” She gently tugs at the scruff of his chest, trails her hoof down his stomach and teases his cock. He gasps and tries to scramble back but he’s already trapped against the headboard. Cornered and exposed, like prey. “I only need you to stand still and look presentable and let me fuck you on command.” She smiles again, and this time it’s menacing. “Can you handle such a complicated task?” she wonders, casually stroking his cock.
“O—ok,” he stammers. Is this really happening?
“Good.” She settles in front of him and puts her head in his lap, starts licking his cock. His breath leaves him in a shock. Yes. Yes it is happening. And it really shouldn’t. She’s clearly not thinking straight. She needs help. He raises a hoof to—what? To push her off? To hold her head and shove his cock down her throat? To just hug her and never let go?
Without taking her eyes off his cock she says, “Hooves to yourself. I will not warn you again.”
“Yes, Twilight,” he breathes, taking comfort in the familiarity of an order. Even when his world is falling apart around him, he knows how to follow orders, and he’d do anything for her.
So he holds his hoofs at his sides and shudders when she wraps her lips around his cock and swallows it whole. Her grunts and pants and little sighs fill the room. Twilight—and especially her tongue—are unfairly good at this.
He aches when she releases him, and grips the sheets to restrain himself when she slides her velvety smooth body up his, angles her hips just so, and impales herself with a yelp. She’s burning hot, tight like a filly. Her wings flare wide. They’re larger than his.
He yelps when she leans down and bites his shoulder. Twilight fucks like a hyena: angry, loud, and wild. She let Bulwark and Coppertop have their way with her but she’ll take from Spirit. He can barely hold onto the bed, she’s bouncing so hard. He’s going to be bruised. He’ll be lucky to keep his hearing. He’s never been so turned on in his life.
And he can only follow her when that beautiful innocent voice from her coronation squeaks in climax. Spirit arches his spine and empties himself into the Princess, and his orgasm goes on and on and on—
Spirit is shoved through the open door and hears it slam shut and sizzle behind him. He’s in the antechamber, holding in one hoof about half of his armor. His legs are wobbly, his groin hurts, and he’s not sure he can make it back to his bunk without literally dying. It’s late. He’s filthy. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally.
So of course the one pony he doesn’t want to find waiting for him in the hallway is waiting for him in the hallway. Bulwark grunts and turns to leave, beckoning him to follow, and Spirit stumbles along behind him on three hooves.
For two hallways and one flight of stairs neither of them speak. Bulwark probably doesn’t care about conversation. Spirit is too busy remembering every time he’s seen the Princess walk past, wearing a green dress or her favorite green necklace. All the senseless rumors and jealous slander he’s tried to ignore. How often does she let her guards take advantage of her? How often has he watched her walk past, freshly fucked, without knowing it? How often have Bulwark and Coppertop stopped her in that very same hallway—
Spirit stops. Right here. This very same hallway. He mutters, “She wasn’t alone.”
Bulwark looks over his shoulder.
Spirit says, “She was wearing yellow, but she wasn’t alone. I was there. I didn’t know about any of this.”
Bulwark leads him down a flight of stairs. “So? We’re all the same to Twilight. I could have brought any number of guards with me tonight and it wouldn’t’ve mattered. And you would’ve found out eventually. It’s like this all the time. She puts up a fight, says she hates me, says I’m filthy, but winds up swallowing my cock just the same. You saw how she is. She’s hard for rough treatment.”
Spirit can’t argue that. He can still hear her gasps and cries and yelps. And the filth she said—
“It’s wrong. She can pretend to like gangbang rapes all she wants—” Celestia, he’d never imagined saying that in a thousand years “—but it’s killing her. You—We shouldn’t do this.”
“You idiot. It doesn’t matter how nice you want to be. A Princess of the Realm has given you a direct order. If you disobey, you just get sent back to Canterlot like all the others, and she’ll let the next guard try.”
“Yeah, she did. And it does matter. She said I could do anything I wanted,” Spirit says, surprising himself with a decision that is only just forming but that he knows he cannot ignore. “Well, what I want to do is help her heal. So I will do that.” He stops and waits for Bulwark to notice and turn around to face him. “You can pretend all you want, but there is a hurt mare beneath that crown who just wants to be loved.”
Bulwark stares at him. “Your brilliant plan is to cockblock the Princess? Good luck with that.” He rolls his eyes, mutters something about stupid boots, and marches off to resume his post, leaving Spirit to make his way back to the barracks alone. It doesn’t matter. Bulwark is a bully who will never amount to anything.
But not Spirit. He’s a Castle Guard. He signed up to put himself in harm’s way. He can handle being treated like dirt.
And he’s certainly not the first guard to fall in love with his Princess.
Author's Note
The End
I felt dirty writing this, but it's also kinda hot?
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