A 'Middle-Aged' Mare

Rarity was having a positively horrendous spring.

The dreariness of the season wasn’t due to her business. If anything, Rarity’s various stores had really taken off over the past three years. Franchising opportunities from across Equestria, and even into other non-pony lands had made her a very wealthy and successful pony, and a fashion icon.

But maybe that was part of the problem.

In all these past years, jet-setting from one city to the next… in Saddle Arabia to speak with suppliers on Tuesday, only to catch the red-eye balloon to be in Griffonstone for trade discussions on Wednesday… the never-ending push to grow her brand and spread her fashion ideas to all of Equus… to say nothing of the odd elements of harmony adventure that would require her attention… she’d forgotten something.

She had no special somepony to share this with.

Of course, in her own mind, Rarity tried not to fret over this. She would never have been happy as a kept mare, or even in a happy, homely marriage. Nor would she have ever tolerated being in one of Canterlot’s glamour-centric harems… though she did love to read all the latest gossip magazines about the same.

Still, there was always a pang in her heart. Coming home to an empty boutique after a long journey around the world, with only her cat Opal to give her the barest of glances. Nopony to embrace her in a warm hug and welcome her home. No little ones eager to have their mama tuck them in and read them a bedtime story. It did leave somewhat of an ache in her heart.

Ache.

Rarity groaned before setting her tea down on her kitchen counter. Even thinking the word set her mind off on spiraling tangents. This was truly the most dreadful spring she’d had in years. The reason for her tempestuous mood, she thought, wiggling her bottom as certain things made their presence well-known, was this awful, burning, all-encompassing HEAT.

Rarity grunted, slamming her teacup down with nearly enough force to chip it. She didn’t usually have strong heats. Most years she was only a trip to her toybox away from banishing the ‘damp houseguest’ (Ponyville really did have the most quaint euphemisms). In fact, she’d managed to avoid any heats for the past three years at all. Perhaps her body was teaching her a lesson, saving up to unleash upon her with what was easily the worst heat of her life.

She groaned again, resisting the urge to slam her face against the counter in frustration. She’d heard that heats got worse as you reached middle age… a mare’s body’s way of screaming out: “Hurry up and put a foal in me, before it’s too late!”

Middle-age.

Just the thought made a rush of anxiety flood through Rarity’s gut. She attempted to resist, to not indulge in the melodramatics of seeing herself as an aged, tired grandmare… but she was Rarity after all.

“Whyyyyyyyyy!?” Rarity cried out aloud in her lonely boutique, making Opal jump from her perch and head for the stairs. She was well-experienced with her owner’s shenanigans and knew that no further rest would be coming that morning.

“I’m s-so… OLD!!!” Rarity sobbed. Why only that morning she’d had to apply even more makeup than usual around her eyes, the crow’s feet becoming ever so slightly more noticeable. And hadn’t she had to pluck a suspiciously less than perfectly purple strand from her luxuriously coiffed mane a week earlier? The beginnings of (dare she think even think it?) a graying mane!?

The sobbing mare used her sorrowful gesticulations to grind her bottom against her kitchen stool. The cool fabric of the stool-top felt wonderfully textured against her flanks. She’d always managed to stay in very good shape, at least… her strong butt-muscles held her nethers from truly rubbing against her seat - she’d at least avoided the muffin-bottoms that plagued so many mares of her age.

Her age!

Even thinking of the word set her off again. How in Equus would she ever be able to satisfy herself with anything more than cheap silicon trinkets in her advanced, decrepit state?

Her tail flicked left and right under the counter, desperate to assist in fanning the throbbing warmth building between her thighs. Ever since waking she’d been positively wracked with sensation, in a way she was completely unused to. The warm glow she would feel when enjoying a delightfully raunchy romance novel in a bubble bath was but a flickering candle next to the blast-furnace and sweaty sheets she’d awoken to.

Could she even satisfy herself with the cheap substitutes for a real stallion if she was in this state? Would she be able to survive this heat, the next, or the next several? Perhaps she should simply go to the Ponyville market-place, lift her tail and beg. That is, if any of the town-stallions would have such an elderly hag as her.

Rarity wailed, careful not to let herself actually release any tears. She didn’t want her eyeliner to run at least not so early in the morning, it was always such a bore to reapply.

She knew, deep down, she was being quite unreasonable. Only the night before, she’d gotten many an interested glance at the bar. She had gone there for drinks with her sister, Sweetie Belle, and her beau, Spike. It was still unbelievable how fast those two had grown up. At the young age of 19, the two of them were already so comfortable with one another… and so casually confident with their liquor consumption. It felt like only a few seasons earlier that she’d watched the filly and dragon go adventuring for cutie-marks, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Oh, where had the time gone?

Time!

Rarity sobbed again. Her body shook, making her pert teats shudder and bounce. She moaned out slightly as her teats, with nipples as hard as pencil erasers, caught against her damp inner thigh. She shifted left to right, freeing them from their sticky conundrum, which sent the most delightful sensations up her spine. She shook her head. She had to focus.

The night prior Sweetie Belle had noticed her flush. The scamp of a filly had waited until her dragon-friend had gone to the bathroom to relieve himself before prodding her and wiggling her eyebrows.

“What’s up with you this evening, Rarity? You’re kind of spaced out… and you’ve been drooling over the colt-bartender all night.”

“Have I?”

“Yep, you’ve got it worse than fans after one of my concerts. I feel like I’d have to call security on you.”

“Oh drat. I have a suspicion that I might be getting a visit from ‘Auntie Damp’ tomorrow…” (Ponyville really did have the cutest euphemisms.)

“So early? I thought you were a light-weight… even a skipper?”

“Usually. But I am getting up in age.”

Sweetie rolled her eyes. “Rarity. You’re 30.”

Rarity shuddered. “No! Time spent in changeling stasis-pods doesn’t count, nor does time when Discord brainwashed, or while in Breezie-form! I am twenty-nine. Please don’t say that horrid number.”

Sweetie looked at her with a deadpan gaze. “Uh-huh… anyways, what does that have to do with ‘winkin sister UwU’?” (Ponyville really did have the weirdest euphemisms.)

“They say it gets stronger as you approach senility.” Rarity began to feign a swooning, fainting spell. “And in my advanced state, unlikely as I am to attract any stallion to even approach my ancient, fossilizing corpse… I had best head home now and prepare for the worst.” Rarity had pushed up out of her seat, plinking down enough bits to pay for the evening.

Sweetie had chuckled at her. “Oh please, the only thing keeping you from landing a colt is your own delusional self-image, as always… you’re the most beautiful mare in the whole bar.”

“Sweetie, please. I won’t have any more of your pity compliments. I must away to my tomb-home and await my passing… if I don’t evaporate into dust from the winds of time first.”

Sweetie had taken a sip of her maregarita and tsked. “Oh-kay… but if you don’t pick up a stallion- I’m gonna sic my boyfriend on you tomorrow. No way I’m gonna leave my sister in agony if I can do anything about it.”

Rarity had stopped, partway toward the door, turning back. “Spike? I used to babysit him when he was no taller than my knee! He would never look at me that way.”

“Oh please,” Sweetie had laughed, swirling her drink. “He had… has the biggest crush on you. It’s cute how embarrassed and apologetic he gets when he accidentally calls out your name when he’s bucking me in my-”

“Sweetie!” Rarity chirped. “Really, you mustn't be so uncouth!”

Sweetie Belle waggled her eyebrows. “You sure? Your wagging tail says otherwise… you don’t want details?”

Rarity puffed her cheeks out. “Really Sweetie, he was my assistant. As much as I would wish to know… I mean, a lady never asks… or tells!”

Sweetie’s smile became a sharklike grin. “Good thing I’m not a lady, then…”

“Sweetie…” Rarity began to scold, but her little sister quickly cut her off.

“Sixteen inches.”

Rarity’s face flushed a bright red and she covered her mouth with her hoof.

“...and it’s got ridges.’

Rarity’s tail lifted up involuntarily, flagging high and swishing to the left. She stammered for a moment, then cleared her throat. “I-I really must g-go!” She turned in a flourish heading toward the exit. As much as she could, she tried to will her tail to drop, but she was sure that she had just flashed her arousal to her little sister… and much of the bar.

“I’ll send him over tomorrow morning then!” Sweetie called out with a laugh, as Rarity pushed open the door.

‘Little brat!’ Rarity grumbled internally, grateful for the cool night air.

A knocking on the boutique’s door brought Rarity back out of her memory. She hadn’t expected any visitors today. The pit in her stomach dropped even further.

‘Surely Sweetie hadn’t actually…’ Rarity thought.

“Rarity? Are you in here?” The voice came in from the front foyer. “You alright?”

‘She had.’

“Y-yes…! J-just back in the kitchen!” Rarity called out, trying not to croak and assuming her usually melodious falsetto.

She pushed herself up from her slumping posture, quickly primping her mane and sniffling away her sobs. A lady must always be presentable, after all. More annoying was her tail, which stubbornly flexed and swished with arousal despite her best efforts.

“Hey, Rarity!” Spike greeted, as he ducked under the doorway, and looked about.

He really had grown faster than a parasprite colony over the past few years. The toddling little dragonling had come into his own in his teenage years. Wings, tail, snout, body... all were closer in size to that awful Gargle, one of the dragons she’d confronted in the dragon lands with her friends all those years ago. But where Gargle had been sharp corners and brutish angles, Spike was soft and warm. Though he might need to duck to avoid touching the top of his head scales against her doorframe, down on all fours Spike was only a head taller than her… just slightly larger than Big Macintosh.

“Sweets sent me down here… said you might need some help?” Spike blushed a bit as he looked around. “Sorta like the old days, huh?”

Rarity chuckled nervously. She was thanking her lucky stars that Sweetie had neglected to inform the teenage dragon of her predicament. It was equally fortuitous that the dragon’s nostrils, adapted to withstand the tough infernos of dragonfire and volcanos, wasn’t suited to picking up on a heat of a different kind. The kitchen was positively swimming in ‘eau de Rarity’.

“Oh yes, Darling.” Rarity chuckled, getting up to all four hooves and trotting toward the young drake. “Do you recall when you used to make me omelets? You had the best seasoning… so… juicy.” Rarity carefully slurped up the little trail of drool that had started to pool from her lips… and she wasn’t so sure that it was the thought of consuming a tasty omelet as much as it was her eyes taking in the strong, handsome, stallion-ly male in her home. Her gaze traced down the drake’s strong neck, following the yellow-green underbelly, which showed his powerful chest down under his breast-bone and toward his strong, delicate claws. She bit her lip.

“O-oh y-yeah!” Spike chuckled nervously. It was clear that she was intimidating the poor boy. “W-would you like me to cook one up for you now?” Spike eagerly trotted over to the cabinets that held the frying pan. He fumbled through the cookware, making the loudest of clamors.

“Oh no, no…” Rarity trotted over, putting a hoof under Spike’s chin as he searched through the cabinet, pulling him out of the dark interior. She looked deeply into the dragon’s deep green eyes, her nose gently touching against his. Without even thinking, she let her hoof delicately stroke the underside of his chin, letting her hoof play with his little scruff of facial hair. “Oh no, my dear, what I don’t need your cooking right now.”

Rarity could see sweat breaking out on Spike’s face. Quite an accomplishment considering she hadn’t seen him lose a drop of perspiration even when diving into a magma lake. She felt her tail swish from left to right. She’d never felt this way before - her heart pounding in her chest as if she had just run a country mile! Her loins ached, begged for attention… in ways that she had never felt before! She felt her bits throbbing, pulsing against her alabaster inner-thighs, burning with heat.

Having this boy… this man… this stud here was making things so much worse.

Rarity licked her lips, conveniently touching the outside of Spike’s lips as she did so. The ache in her loins was demanding attention now… but she had too much pride to simply jam a hoof between her flanks and throttle herself, as much as pressing her hoof into her lusty nethers felt like such a good idea. Instead, she rubbed her legs together, surprising herself at just how… plump her lower-mound was, the friction seeming to only light the fire of her need to new, burning heights.

Was this what her friends had always complained about, each spring? She’d always commiserated with them, but her heats had been nothing like this. She understood what AppleJack meant when she had exclaimed that the only thing that could ‘put her out’ was a ‘healthy squirt’... and that the farm-pony was ashamed to admit that in her deepest throes she’d even cast a lecherous eye toward her brother… before she’d snapped out of it, of course.

She understood that now. Her mind boiled with one thought: quench this thirst! And she was looking at a tall, cool glass of Dragon-cola.

“R-rarity?” Spike stammered.

She pressed closer into him, her chest bumping against his as her nostrils flared, drinking in his scent. It smelled like a warm campfire on a summer’s night, smokey and masculine. She pressed her muzzle against the underside of his neck, nuzzling him with a little coo. “Oh dear, that feels wonderful…”

Rarity’s eyes dipped half-closed. She could feel her body responding, her tail flicking up and across her back. Spike couldn’t see it, but Rarity knew that anyone looking at her from behind would likely be seeing as much pink skin as white. A deep growl was building up in her throat, as she prepared to kiss the dragon, to take what she so desperately wanted, to ride this drake like her body demanded her to.

“H-ha ha… o-oh wow…” Spike stumbled backward, making one of the pans he’d dislodged fall over with a loud clatter.

This noise startled Rarity, kicking her mind out of that tried and true instinctual train that so many a mare in history had ridden to satiation… and motherhood. She pulled back, taking two steps away from the panicking drake as she came to her senses. What was she doing!? This was Spike. He was like a little brother to her! Yes, he’d grown up… but he would always be that little, awestruck enthusiast, happy to assist her even if it meant acting as her pincushion. How could she possibly do… that with him!? She was horrible! Was she ready to ruin her relationship with him over nothing more than an ache!? She was not acting like a lady at all - she’d frightened him!

“Oh my goodness. Spike… I am so sorry. I never meant to…” She sighed, shaking her head, letting her glorious purple mane tumble from side to side. “I’m just so… out of sorts at the moment my darling.” She folded her ears back and looked up with sorrowful eyes. “I didn’t mean to come on so strongly… it was purely a spur of the moment, instinctive thing.”

“R-rarity…”

“...and I don’t blame you for recoiling… I am a hideous old woman.”

“Rarity.”

“Ooh, Spike!” Rarity threw a hoof to her forehead dramatically, closing her eyes and pretending to swoon. “You have NO IDEA how dreadful it is to be middle-aged!” She bent down to replace the fallen frying pan turning away from Spike as she put her head into the cabinet, putting her rear high up into the air… inches from Spike’s face.

“To be an old crone! A grey mare!” She set the pan back to rights and closed the cabinet, getting back onto all fours, swishing her rear left and right, her tail still as high as a kite. But she was too far into her impassioned diatribe to consider what she was showing Spike at this moment. Her alabaster marehood on full display, now a rosy pink from the flush of engorged arousal, her tight ponut quivering above her slick pink lips, currently gaping from her fattened clit, dripping with her sweet nectar.

“Never to be loved again! Unloved!” Swish, swish. *wink* “Unlaid!”

She sat up, turning around and glancing over her shoulder at the dragon behind her.

“Spike? Are you listeni-” Her breath caught as a gargantuan shadow fell across her face.”-ng…~?” Her mouth dropped open in a small ‘o’, her irises contracting as she focused on her prize.

“Oh my.”