First rule: Know your blade.
Droplets of sweat hit the cool stone tiles like punctuation marks between breathless panting. Morningstar fanned herself with a hoof as she sat down for a moment in the empty sparring room. She had never gone so hard on her own before; usually, she only worked up a sweat when she asked to be thoroughly pounded by someone. Like that tough little pegasus, or the big gryphon. This session felt different, though.
The unicorn had just spent several hours practicing her sword techniques. Her body was admittedly a bit frail: hardly built for agility, let alone power. But she sought to fix the former. Already, she felt lighter on her hooves, more flexible where it counted, and more confident in her blade-wielding. Landing her backsword’s tip between the gaps in the dummy’s armor felt more satisfying each time.
It also didn’t hurt that she knew she looked fiercely elegant while doing it.
Adrenaline still pumped through Morningstar’s veins. Glancing up at the dummy, she winced. The wooden pony’s head was hanging by a few splinters and part of one leg had been knocked clean off. She had to remind herself each day that even with her blade purposefully dulled, she could still very well hurt someone if she wasn’t careful. Skill would come first, then discipline.
It would be discipline that this sun priestess had difficulty mastering. Even after her lessons in prudence by her Celestialist mentors, she had always been too susceptible to certain urges for her own liking. She could contain the urges in public—most often—but it was in private that it was hardest. Still short of breath, Morningstar grit her teeth and scowled as she hung her head. Hot shame crept onto her cheeks and she let out an irritated huff. She flicked her tail and wiggled her rear against the floor, uttering a quiet curse at herself. It seemed a certain time of the year had arrived.
The warm, slick feeling between Morning’s thighs was a familiar one, to her chagrin. Like now, heat often snuck up on her without her realizing. And once she realized, that was it: she couldn’t get it out of her mind.
Sword in hoof, she furiously marched over to the dummy and used her pommel to deliver a swift CRACK to its wooden skull. The head sailed across the room, tumbling loudly until it hit a wall.
“Know your place,” she spat at it. “Lascivious, relentless tempter. It’s your fault.”
In response to her deadly glare and baseless claim, the head said nothing.
Morning bared her teeth and huffed again, then dropped her sword and laid back onto the smooth stone floor. It felt nice and cool on the back of her neck. She clicked her tongue in irritation; it felt too good, and now she wanted to feel the refreshing coolness against her whole body. She glanced at the sparring room’s door. Locked, as she always made sure. And, Morning mused, the only window was a skylight above the rafters...
She sighed and began the process of removing her boots, undoing buckles and zippers. Her thickly-woven armordress came next, then her blouse and the rest of her underclothes which she folded neatly next to her. But once she unfastened her garter suspenders, she cringed. The thin fabric of her stockings had stuck tight to her pale coat by a creeping wetness. A frustrated whine bled from her throat as she slowly peeled the stockings away. Even worse were the bloomers that she wore for modesty’s sake: during the mare’s leaping about, the bloomers’ ruffled white folds had managed to get stuck between some other “folds”. Morning yelped and flicked her tail as she pulled them free, revealing her last article: skin-tight underwear enchanted to keep her body perpetually cool. (The magic smallclothes were more revealing than she liked, so she wore the bloomers over them.) Good goddess above knew it made life in the hot jungle clime bearable, but now they were her biggest problem.
More like a string of floss now, the frilly panties had gotten wadded up during all her action and rubbed her poor mare’s-bits red and raw. Her outer lips stung as she peeled the fabric away slow and careful, and she bit down on her tongue as she involuntarily winked. Her clit was hotter and more sore than all the rest of her combined.
She gently sat her soaked rear down on the tile and the moment her privates made contact, she flung a hoof to her muzzle to stifle a groan. The floor was cold enough to make her tense up and shiver, like someone had put ice against her tender marehood. Her long tail twitched and swished and brushed against something on the floor. She looked down behind her, and—
“Oh no,” she breathed.
Morning’s heart sank. The blade of her backsword peeked out from under her flanks, glistening not only with polished steel but with her dribbling arousal.
Her sword. Heavens strike her, it wasn’t the floor, it was her sword. Her one and only precious sword, custom-commissioned from the blacksmith months ago and enchanted for no small cost, her sole means of defense, and her proposed method of delivering righteous justice to any who dared stand against her—for her sworn Celestial tenets and for the sacred laws of Equestria. Goddess, it was soaked in her lubrication. And now she was rubbing against it.
Stop it! she screamed inside her head. Stop shamelessly rubbing yourself upon your weapon right now! How do you think it would feel?
Her estrus-drunk body decided to ignore her feverish demands, and instead slid down to a cooler spot on the blade. She let loose a husky moan and let herself arch her back. Oh, Celestia, the blade was just wide enough. It aligned to her perfectly, even when she winked, and the icy cold felt like heaven against her tired, raw, scorching-hot folds.
Grand, she decided. The blade would feel just grand about it.
Puffing and growling with sexual frustration, Morningstar fell onto her side and spread her hind legs wide apart. Her sopping wetness caused an obscene schlick sound.
“Here you are,” she softly murmured, breathing heavily. “My dear compatriot... have you been waiting for this?”
She levitated the backsword by its handle and slid the broad side over her crotch, crooning as the subtle engravings at the blade’s base passed over her outer labia. She kept up the motions, back and forth slowly, savoring the feeling.
“Mhmmh... ohh, for how long? How long have I kept you from the pleasure, my dear?” An amused huff left her. “My poor, sweet love...”
Morning couldn’t look at it as just a sword anymore. It began life as a tool, yes, but it had always served her faithfully without peer. It was her friend. He was her friend. And now he would be her lover. She would make gentle, tender love with her sword—an idea that made her heart flutter. Even if he wasn’t sharp enough to cut anything, the dangerous sound of it was nothing but a turn-on.
“Please forgive my show of brutality,” Morning apologized. “I pray it didn’t hurt. I simply had to teach him a lesson.” She glared over at the decapitated dummy. Brute wouldn’t be watching her and her lover anymore.
Morning brought his pommel up to her snout and gave him a gentle kiss. His smooth metal fit her lips perfectly. She went back for more, caressing his ornate hoofguard as she held him to her body. He was so gentle and yet so sturdy. Lean, yet impressively strong. Morning let him take control, rubbing where he wanted to rub. Lower... higher... he needed her telekinesis for assistance, yes, but he was the one really in charge. He was the one picking up speed. He was the one making Morning throw her head back and groan.
Suddenly, her eyes shot open. Something changed. Did he—? Morning sucked in a sharp breath and froze solid; oh sweet goddess above, he did. Amid the sliding back and forth, he’d slipped his tip inside her marehood. Morning’s heart raced. Her stomach filled with moths. Her whole body flashed hot with pins and needles.
“Al... already?” she quavered. “I... well, I suppose you h-have been aching for this moment, but—”
A gasp cut her short. In his silent boldness, he’d only thrusted a bit deeper.
“My love, I...” Morning brought her hooves to her mouth. Her eyes stung with hot tears. “...I want you to take me.”
He obliged in an instant. Oh sun in the sky, he felt amazing. His hard steel lovingly caressed her inner walls, and his dull, narrow edge rubbed against her clit as he gently pumped in and out. His beautiful, solid form gave Morning a wildly exotic sensation.
He had to be slow. He may have been an edgeless blade, but the two of them knew he could still hurt her if he happened to thrust too deep. Despite Morning’s desperate need for a faster stallion, her lover couldn’t bear to give it to her. Unless...
Unless, she imagined he crooned in her ear, I showeth thee mine truest capabilities.
Morning gulped, wiping away the moisture from her cheeks. “You don’t mean... surely...?”
Oh, yes. I doth mean, and I am sure. Simply focus thy magic, O lady Morningstar, and witness how mine love toucheth deeper than any other could.
She gasped with trembling excitement. Following his orders, she concentrated on the part of the grip that led to His Majesty’s enchanted component, gave it some energy, and—
“Aaaagh!!”
Morning reeled. Her sharp cry echoed off the stone walls, while her inner lips stung and tingled.
In more ways than one, His Majesty was no ordinary sword. His blade was an aetheroconductive alloy, coated by a special enchantment, that could be activated by a magic-responsive catalyst personalized to Morningstar’s aether signature. Simply put, he crackled with raw energy, and Morning was the only mare who could turn him on.
Her plan at first was to use him to defend herself in unfamiliar streets. A powerful, stunning shock to the neuromuscular system fit in just fine with her refusal of violence. But she could control the charge—and in smaller doses, it was far less effective. Possibly even... pleasantly stimulating.
His Majesty gave a hushed warning, Thou must needs be careful, O love. Morning’s delicates ached, but not as much as it would ache to leave herself unfinished. Gingerly, she gave His Majesty’s catalyst another pulse—scant, this time—and kept it active.
Her back immediately arched by its own volition. It was like a smooth kiss from lightning. Hot, cold, tingly, sparky ecstasy which hummed from her lover’s blade and spread throughout her lower body. She bit down on her fetlock to muffle her quivering whines. Such sensations the mare had never even dreamt of feeling! His Majesty’s intensity slowly increased and Morning’s hips began acting out, bucking and trembling on their own. The loss of control made her heart pound faster and faster; she was at his mercy and she loved it.
His intensity was double what it was before now. Jolts of heavenly life blossomed through Morning’s body, tingling and prickling like nettles, deep past her womb and up her spine. She turned up her magic dial a few more degrees, and the difference was sharply immediate. The foreleg she’d sunken her teeth into suddenly ripped from her mouth and loudly clopped against the smooth floor, and she cried out in pained pleasure at the power surging through her. Her lover’s power. Morning was so close to the summit. It still wasn’t enough. She was winking and throbbing and filling the wide open sparring room with her cries, panting and gasping herself light-headed, but it wasn’t enough.
She clenched her teeth and peeked down at His Majesty through a single squinting eye.
Thou knowest what I crave, O love, he murmured, stroking her cheek with his words.
Morning shakily nodded. She did.
Our consummation cometh not without hurt, but thou must needs bear it, for I know thou art strong. Come with me, lest our hesitation last a lifetime.
She could hardly hear him over her own heartbeat, yet his message rang clear. After a few breaths of hesitation, she summoned her courage—or perhaps the recklessness of a mare and her love in heat. She gave his catalyst a surge of real power.
Everything broke away. Aetherial crackling filled Morning’s ears as lightning struck her body. It pierced through her womb and filled every inch of her with rumbling euphoria; she felt she was perpetually falling, struck hard by vertigo, as His Majesty sunk his powerful claws into every inch of her viscera. Every single particle of her body burned hot as the sun and cold as ice, and her marehood twice as much. Her own wails brought ringing in her ears as she rode out a peak she’d never believed a mare could reach. Mind blank, vision white, all her senses were consumed by a tingling numbness of ice and fire in the most powerful culmination she’d ever had. She felt everything and nothing at all, right up until she blacked out.
Thou art mine, O love, and I art thine. As I hath taken thy virtue, so too shall I defend it ‘til mine death. Thou must only keepest me by thy side, cometh what may, and none shall trespass upon our sacred matrimony. Thou hast mine promise eternal, O lady Morningstar.
Consciousness seeped into her mind like the lazy drip of a tea bag at breakfast.
It was impossible to tell how long she had been out, but the daylight from the ceiling making it through her bleary eyes let her know it was early evening at latest. Either that, or she’d been out for days.
The first thing that concerned her was she couldn’t feel anything below her neck. Her panic was quickly disrupted by a hoof smacking her on her tender snout. She whined and winced, blinking her eyes open with a furious glare... only to find that the hoof was her own. On cue, pins and needles spread fast through her along with a dull and powerful ache. She groaned as she waited to regain feeling, cringing at the all-encompassing discomfort: like when a limb fell asleep, but over her entire self.
With a grunt she heaved herself to a semi-upright position on her side. A sharp little clink, come from her hind hoof hitting something, made her ears flick. Her stomach flipped as she saw... him lying there. All alone in a puddle of her spent fluids on the floor. She lunged over and grasped him by his hilt, pulling him to her chest with a great big huff. He was cold. Not for long.
A smile slowly rippled over Morning’s muzzle and she closed her eyes again. “You needn’t say anything, love,” she whispered. “Let’s rest. Nobody will disturb us here.”
They did rest in the afterglow a while, sharing kisses and strokes until the hardness of the stone tiles got too uncomfortable. Morningstar had brought along towels as she’d planned to stop by the spa afterward, but she’d have to use them to clean up her mess here instead—starting with wiping down her beloved before he had even the slightest chance to tarnish.
After a while’s work, there was no evidence of any horseplay having gone on in this sparring room. Good, she thought, but she really had to stop getting so aroused after rigorous combat. A lesson in discipline for another time.
Morning kissed His Majesty’s spotless pommel and with a pang of regret gently slipped him back into his scabbard. He would have to hide away for now, but she promised he would see daylight again soon. And while everyone else would only see a simple tool, an inanimate object for defense, or even the weapon of an enemy, she would always know he was something much, much more.
His Majesty would always be her faithful lover.
