Trotting through the streets of Canterlot, Rumble looked down to check his map. Thunderlane was performing at a show in the capital, which he’d virtually no interest in seeing, but Rarity insisted that he accompany his brother; not because of the Wonderbolts exhibition, but because there was a very particular club in town. Why, when the seamstress had found out, she’d practically vibrated with excitement.
~
“Darling! You simply have to visit the The Black Stroke! I say, you’ll positively love every minute there!” Rarity exclaimed, upon hearing of Rumble’s impending visit to Canterlot.
“The Black Stroke?” the little grey colt repeated, a look of confusion crossing his face. “What sort of place is it?”
“It’s a club with a very specific clientele,” she hummed, flitting through her shop. Stopping at various displays, she plucked a handful of items, before neatly folding them and stashing them in a saddle bag.
“But that doesn’t tell me anything,” Rumble sighed, watching the alabaster unicorn prance from stand to stand.
Truthfully, he wasn’t eager in the slightest to be traveling to Canterlot. The train was always cramped, the hotel beds weren’t comfortable, he’d have to room with his brother, and the town was going to be jam packed with ponies for the event. All told, he’d much rather stay in Ponyville so he could fuck himself silly.
“It’s called a surprise, Darling! I’d hate to ruin the experience for you. Here,” Rarity said, passing him the satchel. “Now, let me draw you a map. I have to admit, the club is a bit difficult to locate,” she continued, sauntering over to the register.
Peering into the bag, Rumble noted a few garments within. A pair of painfully short jean shorts, an amaranth tube top, a black thong, some dark stockings, and a hooffull of colorful armbands, along with a few other items, lay inside. “I don’t have any money for these,” he groaned. While Rarity was immensely helpful, her enthusiastic clothing suggestions often left him feeling guilty.
“Think nothing of it. I assure you, your good time will be worth far more than the apparel. Besides, The Black Stroke has a rather strict dress code, and I’d hate for you to be turned away!” she explained, scribbling directions onto a unused receipt. “And you’re staying in the…” she let the question hang.
“The Embassy Stalls. It’s where the Wonderbolts always get reservations,” he answered, watching her jot down notes.
“Well then, you won’t be far away! Here, this should get you there without any trouble,” Rarity said, handing him the slip of paper. “Although I would suggest you go sometime in the late evening. Oh! Don’t forget to wear those bands I gave you! They’ll guarantee you entry,” she added, gesturing towards the saddle bag.
While Rumble had some notion that there may be a lewd element to the club she’d suggested, he couldn’t be sure. Every other time he’d done anything salacious in a public setting, she’d been there to keep an eye on him. It wasn’t like she’d ever needed to intervene, but having somepony nearby was comforting.
Picking up on his hesitance, Rarity placed a hoof on his shoulder. “If you’re worried, I’ll be sure to have somepony there for you, just in case things go off the rails,” she said, giving him a reassuring smile.
“But how will I know who it is?” Rumble pressed, looking up at her. He didn’t know anypony in Canterlot, so there’d be no way for him to recognize her friend.
“You’ll know them, when you see them, trust me,” Rarity snickered. “Now then, while I’m glad you came to say goodbye, I’m sure you have plenty of packing to do!” she commented, giving him a farewell hug.
“Yeah, you’re right. We’re supposed to leave this afternoon, and I haven’t even started to get ready,” the colt grumbled. Even though they were only going to be gone for three days, he’d prefer to stay at home, especially since Thunder wasn’t going to be there. It wasn’t that he had a problem with his brother, but he wouldn’t have minded having the house to himself.
“Well, I’ll see you soon. I’ll be looking forward to hearing all about your little adventure in Canterlot,” Rarity chuckled, steadily making her way towards the back of the shop.
“Alright, I’ll see you soon,” Rumble muttered, waving goodbye.
~
Making his way downtown, Rumble paused at an intersection, to consult his directions. The area seemed pretty sparsely populated, or everypony was at the Wonderbolts show, so he wasn’t too worried about being recognized. That being said, he did feel a little strange wearing the outfit Rarity had prepared for him.
Barely concealing his tush, the jean shorts dug into his upper thighs, yet they allowed for the barest hint of his coin purse to be seen, if you knew where to look. His wings peeked out from beneath his tube top, which clung tightly to his torso. He’d taken the liberty to apply some eye shadow, as well as a touch of crimson lipstick, which accentuated his getup nicely. Lastly, as instructed, he wore four colorful bands around his right foreleg, just above his hoof. All in all, he thought he thought he did a fine job getting himself gussied up.
Glancing down at his map, Rumble knew he had to be close. Knitting his brow, he looked around, until his gaze finally settled upon a curious sign. Just above a small stairway, leading down from the street, was a nondescript plank of wood. While there wasn’t any text printed on its surface, a single black streak of paint was emblazoned across it.
“Huh, clever,” he thought aloud, as he moved towards the stairs. Trotting down, he found himself at a heavy, wooden door. Giving it a knock, he patiently awaited a reply. Though there wasn’t anything on the outside of the entryway, he could hear a bassline from within. After a second, a small peephole slid open, revealing nothing but darkness within.
“What’da’ya want?” a gruff voice asked, causing Rumble to start.
“Is this The Black Stroke?” the young stallion asked, peering into the small opening.
“Depends. Who’s asking?” the voice retorted.
“Uh, well, Rarity said it’d be a nice place to check out,” Rumble muttered, his resolve beginning to wither. Between the dive bar aesthetic, the rough greeting, and the obscure location, he was starting to have second thoughts. Anxiously, he reached up and scratched the side of his head, revealing the bands around his limb.
“Mmmm. Come on in,” the voice relented, just before the sound of a lock clicking could be hear. As the door swung open, Rumble stared in open awe.
The building’s interior was nothing like the exterior. Blacklights, as well as a number of colorful projections, lit the inside of the club. Unlike the barren street outside, at least two dozen individuals lie within, chatting and socializing, as they enjoyed themselves. Looking closer, Rumble began to realize why Rarity had suggested he visit the place; a majority of the club goers were zebras.
A hoofful of ponies were present, which was to be expected, although a great many bore stripes and mohawks or dreadlocks. While there did seem to be several mares present, most of the denizens appeared to be stallions. As he surveyed the scene, a lone, cerulean earth pony approached him.
“You muzt be Rumble?” she asked, appraising him from behind her magenta shades.
“Yeah…” he responded, somewhat distractedly. Beyond taking in the scene, his senses were being accosted by a number of factors.
The music, an energetic and bass heavy techno, wasn’t too loud. The sight of so many zebras, while captivating, wasn’t what was having the largest impact on him; no, that was reserved for the smell. Over time, Rumble had noticed that the striped stallions had a very particular scent, a singular, masculine musk, which he found irresistible. Despite himself, he felt his pucker twitch.
“Rarity told me you’d likely be making an appearance,” the mare continued, snapping the young stallion from his stupor. “I’m Photo Finish,” she said, rather flippantly extending a hoof in his direction.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he muttered, shaking her hoof. Judging from her look, he wasn’t surprised she was a friend of Rarity’s. She had on a black and white patterned dress, which complimented her alabaster mane and tale. A camera was slung around her neck, lending credence to her name. “Planning on taking some pictures tonight?”
“If zee opportunity prezents itzelf,” she noted, evaluating his garb. “Vich I’m sure it vill,” she added, the slightest smile playing over her face.
“So, what am I supposed to do?” Rumble asked, unsure of how to proceed. It was his first time in a club, and he didn’t know if Photo Finish had any pointers for him.
“Ugh, go about and mingle. I am not your chaperone, zo feel free to do as you pleaze,” she groaned, sweeping a hoof towards the club’s depths . She’d promised Rarity to keep an eye on the colt, should anything potentially harmful befall him, although she wasn’t going to dictate what, or whom, he decided to do.
Rumble nodded, before turning away. The club seemed to be pretty large, and even appeared to have a few smaller rooms branching off to the sides. Several ponies and zebras stood at the bar, while others mingled in the open areas, although the largest number were gathered around the back of the establishment. Working his way through the crowd, and giving passing greetings to a number of the denizens, he headed towards the commotion.
Weaving past the club goers, Rumble came to a halt, as he saw what everypony was so excited about. There, at the very back of the room, surrounded by zebras and ponies alike, lie a small stage. At the platform’s center, sat a tall, silver poll, around which spun a svelte young zebra mare; no, a svelte young zebra stallion.
Rumble watched, as the scantily clad, striped lad undulated and danced. He was wearing naught but a metallic, heliotrope colored thong, as well as black fishnet leggings, while he displayed himself for the patrons. By far, the most interesting part about him was his eyes, both a brilliant golden hue. Much like himself, the zebra was curvy in all the right places. Enrapt by the performance, the young stallion’s gaze drifted to him, causing his heart to skip a beat.
As the display concluded, with a cacophony of cheers from the crowd, the zebra strutted off the stage, directly in Rumble’s direction. It wasn’t until he got closer, that Rumble noticed streaks of blue in the stallion’s mane and tail. Stopping before the grey colt, the striped lad sized him up, before grinning slyly.
“Go ahead and try to top that…” he confidently sighed.
“E...excuse me?” Rumble stammered, caught off guard by the remark. Without a word, the zebra held up his right foreleg. Wrapped around the limb, just above his hoof, sat a number of colorful bands, the same variety sort which Rarity had instructed him to wear. Upon seeing his confused look, the striped stallion rolled his eyes.
“You are a performer, aren’t you?” the effeminate zebra pressed.
“I guess? This is my first time here, so I’m still trying to sort everything out. I’m Rumble, by the way,” Rumble said, sheepishly offering a hoof.
“Oh, Honey, why didn’t you say so!” Haan sweetly responded, wrapping the colt in a hug. “The name’s Haan. Come on, I’ll show you the ropes,” he stated. Taking Rumble’s hoof, he guided the young stallion away from the stage.
As they toured the club, Haan spoke about the establishment. Apparently, it was a frequent haunt for zebras, although anycreature was free to attend. While it did function as a cabaret, over the years, it had become rather well known for certain activities. While sinful sights weren’t an uncommon occurrence on the stage, there were private rooms for more intimate affairs. Shameless displays were often held in the club proper, while the various other suites gave patrons space to, shall we say, slake their sensual thirst. In short, it was a house of lust, one which catered to those with a penchant for stallion flesh.
The multicolor bands marked those who professed at entertaining or, at the very least, ones with an interest in servicing others. As such, Rarity had marked Rumble as such a pony, likely due to his penchant for large stallions. While he was surprised by the revelation, he certainly wasn’t going to complain, especially considering how many zebras were inhabiting the club.
“So,” Haan began, as their trip around The Black Stripe’s interior brought them back to the stage, “you want to try your hoof?”
Looking up to the platform, Rumble mulled the idea over. Besides Photo Finish, nopony here knew who he was, and he was a little excited at the prospect of showing himself off. “Buck it, yeah, I’m in,” he smiled, steeling his resolve.
Without preamble, Haan stepped onto the exhibition area. “Everypony, may I have your attention!” he announced, drawing the attendees attention. “We have a first timer tonight, and I think we all know what that means…” he laughed. Immediately, the tone of the room shifted. Where a few ponies and zebras had initially shown interest, now damn near everypony’s focus turned to the stage.
Seeing Haan motion for him, Rumble stepped forward. He had no idea what the young zebra was talking about, having mentioned first timers, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. Turning towards the gathering crowd, he offered a timid wave.
“So, tell everypony your name,” Haan instructed, thrusting a hoof towards the growing throng.
“I...I’m…” Rumble paused, taking a moment to devise an alias, “I’m Racket.”
“Is that because you make a racket in the bedroom?” Haan joked, getting a few chuckles from the partygoers.
“Well, I h...haven’t heard any complaints,” Rumble stuttered, taking the teasing in stride.
“With a body like yours, I’m sure you haven’t,” Haan noted, running a hoof up Rumble’s chest and neck. “So, Racket, are you ready to get striped?”
Instantly, a slow chant of “Striped, Striped, Striped” began from those gathered. Peering out over the assembly, all Rumble could see were excited faces and wide eyes. He looked over, just as Haan reached for something. To his surprise, the zebra had been passed a bucket of black paint, as well as a brush. Although he still couldn’t be completely sure, he had some notion of what was coming next.
His pulse quickened, as the effeminate zebra, having dipped the brush in the black substance, turned towards him. There was no turning back now. Sure, he was a little uneasy, but the notion of being put on display, the thought of being marked as a spectacle, was overpoweringly arousing. Sauntering over to Haan, and making sure to sway his rump from side to side, he brought his muzzle to the zebra’s face.
“Stripe me,” he purred, just loud enough to be heard by the spectators. As soon as he spoke, the room exploded with cheers and excited shouts.
Holding his head high, Rumble closed his eyes. The cool touch of the brush gliding over his neck and shoulders caused him to shiver. Interestingly, the din from the crowd drew silent, as he was painted. It was almost as if they held some reverence for the ritual. Feeling Haan close on his hindquarters, the colt fidgeted slightly. If they wanted a show, he’d give them a show.
Opening his eyes, having felt a brushstroke on his belly, he turned. Wheeling around, and giving a bulk of the audience a view of his rump, he faced the pole. Rearing back on his hind legs, he clutched the gleaming metal shaft to his chest. Glancing over his shoulder, he winked at Haan, signalling him to continue.
In short order, his chubby thighs and plump tush were marked, leaving trails of paint to creep down his mostly exposed behind and upper legs. Departing Rumble’s side, and stepping off the dais, Haan joined the audience. Now with room to move, it was his time to shine.
Covered in black streaks, the grey colt flitted about the stage. A wink here, a sinful smile there, every move seemed to push the crowd to greater heights of adulation. Not only was he seemingly a natural at performing for a mob of lusty stallions and mares, but he was getting pretty worked up himself. Every shout to “Take it off!” or “Show us more!” spurred Rumble to turn up the heat.
Sauntering around the platform, and surveying his fans, he was struck with an idea. If they were enthused with a solo exhibit, what if he invited an assistant onto the stage. Making his way around the platform, his pace slowed, as he spotted a muscular zebra stallion in the mass of onlookers; tall, well built, and sporting a large mohawk, he was the perfect candidate. With heavily lidded eyes, he motioned for the stallion to join him.
As soon as the stud was stepped on the dais, Rumble leapt into action. Standing on his hind legs, to make up for their difference in height, he wrapped his forelegs forelegs around the zebra’s neck. Pressing his muzzle to his volunteer’s own, he locked the stallion in a deep kiss. Needless to say, the crowd went wild.
“Strip me,” Rumble whispered, having snaked his snout to the zebra’s ear. Thankfully, he didn’t have to ask twice. As the stallion’s hoof reached around his back, grasping the elastic fabric of his top, he felt the garment being pulled up and over his head. Now left with only his shorts, thong, and leggings, he pushed himself away, before sashaying towards the center of the stage.
Stopping at the platform’s center, Rumble turned to his guest. Rearing up, he leaned his back against the pole, giving the zebra, as well as the spectators, a view of his underbelly. He reached down, unfastened the front of his shorts to reveal the strings of his thong. After giving everypony a good look, and hopping back down onto all four legs, he presented his posterior to his assistant. Leaning forward, pressing his chest to the floor, he raised his rump. He didn’t need to instruct his volunteer on what to do, as he heard heavy hooffalls from behind him.
He sighed, as he felt the zebra begin tugging his shorts down, over the twin globes of his cushiony rump, down his plump thighs, and ultimately to the floor below. Wiggling his tush, he reached back and sunk one hoof into the right cheek of his ass. Slowly, he pulled upon it, giving his assistant a view of the black, silken string nestled in the cleft of his behind; but he wasn’t done yet.
Peering over his shoulder, and noticing the long, obsidian black, thick length of rigid stallionhood beneath the muscular volunteer, Rumble hummed. Reaching a bit further, far enough to grasp the thin string which lie slung between his buns, he pulled upon it. The action allowed the zebra, as well as a sizeable amount of the audience, to gaze upon his darkly colored, and rather pronounced, backdoor. It wasn’t like the thong had actually been concealing much, but the removal of the garment held another purpose; it would allow his striped aid to…
‘Buck me,’ Rumble silently mouthed. He’d waited until the zebra had looked to his face, choosing that moment to urge the volunteer to give in. The stallion bit his lip, clearly wanting to oblige the colt, yet reluctant to follow through with his urges. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long.
The zebra took a step nearer, then a second, as he gazed upon the proffered ass. Being presented with such a sight, whilst on stage, was too much to bear. The young stallion was, in every way, gorgeous; as, or possibly more, attractive than many mares he’d come across. Ponderously, he hitched his right foreleg over the lad’s hip, quickly following suit with his left, before moving forward.
Rumble splayed his legs, allowing him to lower himself slightly. The massive stallion was substantially larger than himself, so a traditional mounting wouldn’t be necessary. As he felt the heat of the zebra’s chest on his back, something warm, blunt, and slightly moist nudged against his rear. The sensation was unmistakable, it was the tip of his partner’s tool.
Even though he’d only caught a glimpse of it, Rumble could tell it wasn’t the biggest dick he’d tangled with; Big Mac’s was larger, and Weka’s was even heftier than that, so he wasn’t concerned about the size. As had become customary, he’d thoroughly cleaned an pre-lubed himself, just in case he was lucky enough to have a sinful encounter. As Rarity said, “It’s always best to be prepared.”
Feeling the head of the stallionhood bump against his backdoor, Rumble pressed back, seizing the initiative. Relaxing himself, and thanking the heavens he did, the zebra promptly, and quite excitedly, bucked his hips, driving several inches of cock into his ass. Apparently, his assistant wasn’t as reserved as he’d initially thought. Bracing himself, and without waiting for his partner to continue, the colt steadily began impaling himself.
The multitude of onlookers went into a frenzy, as the tall, well toned zebra started plowing the tiny striped colt below. Rumble peeked out, finding a sea of lustful eyes trained on him. Unleashing a throaty moan, and pressing himself back to meet one of his partner’s thrusts, he pandered to the crowd. In truth, being fucked like this, in front of so many ponies, was maddeningly hot.
“Harder,” Rumble loudly groaned, reaching back to caress his partner’s hoof. The zebra shuffled forward a bit, burying another few inches of himself into his rump. His backdoor yielded to the stallion’s medial ring, allowing it passage to grind over and past his prostate. Though his colthood was concealed within the front of his thong, a powerful gout of pre-cum quickly filled the garment. It felt amazing, but he wanted more.
Raising his waist, Rumble yearned for the last few inches of stallionhood to be buried within him. The exquisite sensation of fullness was his meal. The deep, sonorous grunting from the stud over him, a fine condiment. While the thrilled and carnal cries from the spectators were a symphony to his ears, he knew they could get louder. Throughout it all, he met the his partner’s plunges, rocking back to please the zebra.
Taking another half step forward, and with a fervent snort, Rumble’s whole body was rocked, as the zebra hilted him. Maybe it was the excitement of the situation, or perhaps his practicing had been paid off, but he found the act more enjoyable than usual. Now with his ass nestled against his partner’s groin, every bit of his mate’s stallionhood entombed within his depths, he waggled his tush.
“Breed this little striped mare!” Rumble cried, clenching himself around the zebra’s shaft. He closed his eyes, mewling like a whore, as the tall striped stud began plowing him in earnest. The sensation of being rutting in front of a crowd was indescribable, and it had a magnifying effect. The louder they were, the more he wanted to show off for them.
Positioned as he was, there was only so much he could physically do to entertain his viewers. That being said, he could feel his rump and thighs jiggle with every impact of his partner’s hips. Howling blissfully, he caressed his face and chest, while allowing himself to messily drool over the stage. Entertainment value aside, he could feel the telltale signs of impending climactic release.
As the zebra’s plunges grew more forceful, almost primal, Rumble did his best to keep up. Even if his partner wasn’t the most well hung creature he’d tangled with, their differences in size and power meant he was at the stallion’s mercy. Attempting to focus, and maintain his balance, while not blowing his load prematurely, he felt something caress his side.
“Well now, you think I should help this little striped mare,” Haan teased, partly to Rumble and partly to the clubgoers. The viewers rallied, crying for him to lend a helping hoof or, in this instance, a bit of lip service.
Peeking over, as he continued to hold himself steady, Rumble caught a glimpse of Haan’s head sneaking beneath him. Considering he was being pistoned by the striped stallion above, and doing his best to meet his partner’s thrusts, there wasn’t much he could do to respond. A split second after feeling his thong tugged aside, a sublime warmth surrounded his colthood. He gasped, as the smaller zebra started sucking him off.
It was nearly too much to bear, having Haan expertly fellate his length, while his behind was plundered by the volunteer he’d chosen. Screwing his eyes closed, he squeezed down upon the ebony length of stallionhood in his ass, while angrily pressing himself back. Be damned if he was going to blow his load before the zebra. It was a war of attrition of who would succumb to the pleasure first. Judging from the way the hulking top was grunting, as well as the frantic motion of his hips, it was only a matter of time until…
“Gaaaah!” the zebra bellowed, hilting himself in the colt’s tush.
For Rumble, it was a magical moment. The sensation of the zebra’s flaring deep within him, the heat and sublime pressure of at least a pint of spunk surging into his gut, Haan’s soft muzzle tending to his prick, and above it all, the crowd lost all composure. Above the music, reaching past the climactic cries of the nameless zebra buried in his ass, the onlookers jubilation could be heard.
There he was, an icon of debauchery, in a den of sin, with the supplicants bearing witness to his carnality. The overwhelming sensation of it all was too much; Rumble howled to the heavens, as Haan eagerly gulped down his load. Not only had he accomplished his goal, outlasting the well built zebra stud, but he’d proven his sexual prowess.
Slowly, the volunteer stepped away, hauling his softening cock from the colt’s ass. With an audible Pop, and a gout of hot seed, his tool escaped. Being no slouch, and having become accustomed to being used, Rumble clenched down, trapping the vast majority of spunk within himself. Letting it drool out of his rear would be a waste, and he loved the sensation of walking around with a gut full of warm, virile cum.
With the crowd disbanding, Rumble went to step off the stage, but his legs buckled. Fortunately, Haan was there to help support him. Looking over, he smiled at the young zebra. “Thanks,” he croaked.
“Don’t worry about it, Honey. Now, let’s get you to the back. Can’t have you leaving glazed in spunk, can we?” Haan laughed, steering the little pegasus towards a doorway in the corner.
“I have a change of clothez for him,” Photo Finish announced, approaching them from the side. Passing Rumble a bag, presumably full of garments, she turned away. “Now, I muzt be going. Viz any luck, I’ll have ze photos developed before young Rumble returnz to Ponyville,” she continued, rather flippantly tapping the camera hanging from her neck. Without preamble, she headed towards the door.
“Well, at least you got some fresh duds to change into,” Haan noted, helping the colt along.
“And apparently a few pictures of me getting railed out,” Rumble grumbled. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been surprised, given the mare’s name, but a warning would’ve been nice.
“Hey, you wouldn’t mind if I get copies of those pictures, would you?” Haan mused, opening the door to a small locker room.
“Sure, I guess. I mean, it’s not like I’d make you suck my dick for ‘em,” Rumble laughed, making light of the situation. It was odd, opening joking about such a scandalous thing, but he wasn’t ashamed of himself or his predilections.
“Touché,” Haan chuckled, watching the pegasus strip out of his leggings and panties. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how’d you get into zebras?”
“That’s a long story…” Rumble said, shaking his head in amusement. Though he couldn’t have realized it, as he explained his first steps down the road of depravity, the two shared a similar tale; one which would lead to a mutual respect and understanding, but that is a story for another time...
