Or You Could Call It A Rutual, If You Don't Like Your Teeth
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A Ritual As Old As The Hills

Or You Could Call It A Rutual, If You Don't Like Your Teeth

"Babs Seed, Daughter of Tangelo Orange and Pink Lady Apple, and Daughter of the Tribe of Earth, art thou ready?"' intoned the ritualist, her dry tone snapping Babs out of her contemplation of the Ritual Bowl before her. Though it was called a bowl, cauldron would really be more accurate, considering its size.

"I am ready, Ritualist Pinkamena." she answered, as the ritual required her to.

"Then choose."

Lifting one gangly foreleg, Babs reached into the Bowl. Her hoof dug into the contents, searching for a stone. A specific stone amongst the scores, or maybe even hundreds that filled the vessel. Nearly every earth pony stallion in Ponyville had used their magic to work small stones, about the size of playing marbles. They'd all been made perfectly spherical, with the stallion's cutie mark engraved inside. Every stallion had made as many stones as there were ponies attending the ritual. And earlier this morning, as the sun crept over the horizon, marking the last dawn before Winter Wrap-Up, they had presented their worked stones. Hoofing them over to the ritualist one at a time. She checked them to make sure they were properly worked, and not altered to somehow let the almost-mare choosing know who had made it. Once she was satisfied with each stone, Ritualist Pinkamena placed it in the bowl. (While the youngest stallions sometimes made mistakes, simply because of inexperience, there had never been a case of deliberate malfeasance in Ponyville's history.)

Babs didn't know which stone she was searching for, but she would when she found it. At least, according to some of the mares who'd been in her place in previous years. None of them could agree on just how she'd know, though. And a few of the mares she'd spoken to about this had said that there wasn't any way to know at all. That it really was just sheer, random chance.

"Wait, what was that? Was that something?" Babs wondered, her hoof freezing as a stone caught her attention. Maybe. She thought something felt different, but she wasn't sure.

"Take your time." the ritualist said, firmly but kindly, when Babs's hoof hadn't moved for several seconds. She had the somewhat heavily muscled body expected of somepony born a rock farmer. And the serious demeanor both imparted by her family, and required by the ritual. But in the blue eyes shaded by the long, straight fall of dark pink mane, there was a hint of deep care shining through. "One must always be as sure of their fate as Discord will allow."

Discord. A mad god who'd remade himself into a chimeric abomination that the Princesses—Harmony bless them—had had to imprison long ago, in an imperfect prison. Intentionally imperfect, it was said, so that he could still reach out and affect the world somewhat. To bring the degree of change necessary for True Harmony. To make the unexpected happen, good or ill. Or even to touch some ponies directly, granting them just the smallest measure of his power. Ponies of all tribes, who wielded magics the likes of which not even the smartest and wisest of unicorns could begin to understand. Such ponies, like the dark, dusty-pink mare in front of Babs, invariably became Ritualists, shedding all but a name they chose for themselves, and cutting all ties with their families.

But long and long before that, it was said, Discord had been a god of pleasure, in all its forms. Or of hedonism, depending on whom one asked. Though most agreed that he was, if not benevolent, then at least benign. He was rumored to have been the one who taught The Ritual to the earth ponies. In order to ensure their prosperity, supposedly. Most earth ponies who believed that also suspected he'd taught unicorns and pegasi their own rituals—especially since they had ritualists of their own—but none knew for sure. No rituals were ever spoken of around any who couldn't participate in them. For they were private things, after all. Meant only for the practitioners and who or whatever they were appealing to. For supplicant and patron alone.

After a second more, Babs decided the feeling was only in her imagination, and started rooting through the stones again. But a few seconds after that, the same maybe-feeling caught her attention again. She wondered if it was there after all. Some vague sensation that she couldn't identify, much less explain.

"If it is real, then it's fate, and I'll find it again." Babs decided, before moving her hoof again. As the smooth stones rolled around her hoof and fetlock, Babs looked around at the spectators, one of whom would soon be her fellow participant. "Fella in more ways than one." Babs thought wryly.

Almost directly behind The Ritualist, stood Big Macintosh, without his usual yoke. "I really hope I don't draw one of his stones." she thought. It wasn't the incest that was a problem. Ponies were mostly immune to the dangers of inbreeding. Some thought it was one of Discord's gifts, others thought it was the Princesses—Harmony bless them. The problem was his sheer size. While she knew that it wasn't dangerous, she was still worried about it. Actually, if she was being completely honest with herself, it wasn't mere worry, but outright fear—if a mild one.

To one side of him stood Granny Smith, the old green mare watching her kin with pride. On the other stood Applejack, with her Ritual-Daughter, Apple Bloom, leaning against her. It'd be her turn at the ritual next year, most likely. The yellow filly had really sprouted up the last few months, and was almost as tall as her mother already. She would probably stand eye-to-eye with her her sire when she finally stopped growing.

Said sire, Caramel, stood a few steps away. Close to his Ritual-Daughter, as was his right, but not close enough to be mistaken for part of the Apple family, since he and Applejack weren't officially a couple, even though they frequently hung out together, and were regular lovers.

Further to Babs's right, almost at her three o' clock, stood Time Turner. The brown stallion was one of the few stallions present Babs was completely unrelated to. He could be a bit obsessive about his schedule, but he'd be a decent enough partner, she thought.

On the left side of ring of spectators stood Grand Pear, who hadn't offered up any stones, being too old to participate. And beside him was Burnt Oak, who only looked like he was. More than just old, his white-and-gray mane and mustache made him look quite handsome and distinguished, and if Babs's preferences did have any effect on the guiding forces of The Ritual, then it might well be one of his stones she pulled from The Bowl.

"There it is again." Babs thought. This time, she was sure the sensation was real. Mostly. Sure enough to grip the stone and pull it out.

"Stop!" The Ritualist commanded sternly, when she saw the leg start to retract. It was part of The Ritual, and Babs knew to expect it. But even so, it did surprise her, more than a little. She held onto the stone, though. "Be thou sure of thy choice, for thou wilt not be allowed to unmake it."

According to the mares Babs had spoken to, who believed there was something to feel, that she didn't drop the stone when startled was final proof that she'd chosen the one Harmony—or Discord, or whomever—meant for her to choose. She wasn't sure if she believed all that, but she was sure of her choice, and she said so, in a voice stronger and surer than she expected. "I am sure of my choice, Ritualist Pinkamena."

"Then make thy choice, Babs Seed, and take thy first step into thine adulthood." The Ritualist answered, a small smile on her muzzle, and an almost imperceptible twinkle of joy in her blue eye.

Babs pulled her hoof out of The Bowl, holding her chosen stone. After taking a look at it, and seeing only the featureless gray sphere she knew she would—despite vague expectations otherwise—she set it on the ground. Earlier, while the eligible stallions had been presenting their stones to Ritualist Pinkamena, the mares had been preparing this little valley for the ritual. Clearing the snow, revitalizing the grass, and shifting much of the mud underground, leaving an only slightly wet, grassy surface.

The question of whether this stone was the same one she had felt the first two times, or if they'd been the same stone, or if they'd even been worked by the same pony, flashed across Babs's mind. At the same time, she rolled the stone under her hoof, feeling out the magical faultline that would split it in half. But she'd never know, and it didn't really matter, so she shrugged the questions off. Finding what she was looking for, Babs raised one hoof high, and stomped on her chosen stone. More symbolically than forcefully, as it was a quick discharge of magic through her hoof that caused the stone to split, instead of physical strength.

Babs took a quick breath to prepare herself, mostly unnecessarily it turned out, before picking up one half. Ritualist Pinkamena picked up the other, and together, they looked at the engraving that had been revealed. The three frosted cubes were so well-rendered, that for a second, Babs actually saw them in white and brown, instead of gray. And even after she blinked away the illusionary colors, they still seemed to pop right off the flat surface. The rules said that the mark merely had to be recognizable, so Mr. Cake had gone above and beyond, putting so much detail in. But there was nothing wrong with showing off one's skill with their tribal magic. It was half-expected, honestly.

Babs was not particularly surprised to learn that her fellow participant would be a relation. There were only three or four ponies present who couldn't claim to be some relation, close or distant. Either on the Apple side of her family, or the only slightly less widespread Orange side. That it was somepony so closely related was a little bit of a surprise, though. Mr. Cake was a second cousin, or something like that, she thought. If she remembered correctly, his grandmother was her great-grandmother.

Ritualist Pinkamena raised her eyes from the stone in her hoof, and when Babs nodded, she raised her voice. "Carrot Cake, son of Black Forest Cake and Jaffa Cake, and Son of the Tribe of Earth." The yellow stallion's eyes widened when his name was called, as did his wife's. "You have been chosen by Babs Seed, Daughter of Tangelo Orange and Pink Lady Apple, and Daughter of the Tribe of Earth. Do you accept this choice, and the responsibilities it brings?"

This question was not strictly a formality. Even though providing the stones was seen as a tacit agreement to accept their duty if chosen, it was also a strict requirement for attending for any fertile stallion. So the stallion could still refuse if their stone was drawn. There were multiple reasons a stallion might refuse. Not all ponies were comfortable with incest, even though it was mostly harmless. That was generally only for the closest of relations, however. Brother/sister, or father/daughter. Some stallions would refuse if they knew they had troubles with fertility, or some other medical issue. On rare occasion, there would be bad blood between them and their would-be partner, which would lead them to refuse. There was also the possibility that a stallion's wife or marefriend just wouldn't be okay with it.

And Mrs. Cake had had a bit of a jealous streak when she was younger, and they were first married. So Mr. Cake looked at his wife, seeing her conflicted smile. To be chosen for The Ritual was a great honor, and carried no official long-term responsibilities. Those fell to the mare's sponsors—in this case, the local branch of the Apple family. (Of course, Carrot would be unofficially expected to provide some support, if it was needed. While most ponies were willing to line up to help in another’s time of need, Mr. Cake would be expected to be the first one in that line, if he did agree.)

After a second or two of struggling with the question, Cup looked back at her husband and nodded, though her smile remained conflicted. A second later, Carrot nodded back, with a nervous smile of his own. Then he started to remove his tie, since no participant of The Ritual was allowed to wear anything. As such, few ponies wore much of anything to The Ritual. He'd only put the tie on this morning out of habit. Even the ritualist herself was required to remove her traditional caparison and hat, even though she was merely officiating it.

After passing his tie to his wife, Carrot Cake stepped forward to stand beside Babs. As he approached, Babs looked him over, evaluating him as a mate, rather than a just a relative. His yellow coat was well groomed, as were his mane and tail. They were styled like usual, which was neither particularly attractive or repulsive. Pretty much average. He was a little taller than the average stallion, though a little shorter than Big Mac, and nowhere near as solidly built. In fact, he was rather lanky. Almost as gangly as Babs herself, though he lacked the sixteen-year-old's excuse of being not-quite-fully-grown. He was, in fact, over twice her age, though such things were not uncommon for Ritual Pairings. His jaw was a fair bit bigger than average, too. And squarer. Unfortunately, his slim frame didn't quite match that, so instead of making him look extra-masculine, it came across as too-prominent.

Overall, Babs decided, he rated pretty average, neither ugly nor hunky. Not that it mattered.

He was standing next to her now, officially accepting his role in The Ritual, and Babs realized Carrot was even taller than she'd thought. Her ears would probably just brush the bottom of his jaw. It suddenly made her feel a little small, even with his lankiness.

"The participants have stated their readiness and taken their places, so now I ask the observers to take theirs." Ritualist Pinkamena told the crowd. Taking their cue, they all moved back as far as they could, giving the pair the room they would need for the first part of The Ritual. "That is far enough." the ritualist declared, when the loose circle of spectators had reached a roughly fifty body-length diameter.

"Carrot Cake, hold this as I prepare the field." Ritualist Pinkamena said, holding out the half of his stone she'd been holding. Once he took it, she grabbed The Ritual Bowl in both hooves and heaved it high overhead. All the stones within flew out, before raining down in an almost perfect circle around the trio, about fifteen body-lengths across. The awakening, ancient magic of The Ritual ensured the stones fell around the three ponies without a single one touching them.

The pink pony looked around, and satisfied with what she saw, she bid the two ponies before her to place the two stone halves before her. When they did, she spoke what would be her last words for quite a while, "I, Ritualist Pinkamena, do hereby declare Ponyville's Vernal Fertility Ritual…" she shouted, rearing to her hind legs. "BEGUN!" she finished, slamming her hooves down on the split stone before her, her magic striking a second faultline, which reduced the halves to pieces little bigger than sand. Then she leapt forward and twisted her body around to flick Babs's caramel-brown flank as hard as she could. Her aim was perfect, striking the scissors decorating the almost-mare's flank. Right on the screw, no less.

Babs yelled at the sudden pain, and launched herself away from the ritualist. For an instant, she stumbled, not just because of the round stones beneath her hooves, but because her body tried to keep running, while her mind tried to hold back her instincts, just like nearly every almost-mare before her for thousands of years. Her mind won the battle, also like nearly every almost-mare before her, before Babs remembered she had been supposed to give in to instinct. When she did, she turned and ran. Although it was more of a quick trot, as she had to be careful of the stones all around her.

Coincidentally, or maybe by some mostly suppressed instinct, she headed straight towards her family. Ritualist Pinkamena saw this, and wheeled around to race after the younger pony. Unlike Babs, however, she gave herself over to her instincts effortlessly, trusting in her magic to keep her from making a misstep.

Seeing that the other two were doing their parts, Carrot started his. He turned to face the opposite direction as Babs, and started running towards the ring of ponies. Like Babs, his conscious mind refused to turn over the reins to his instincts so easily, and he too, moved no more than a fast trot. Though his longer legs naturally made his trotting faster than his partner's.

Ritualist Pinkamena easily overtook Babs, but she kept on going, approaching the Ponyville-Apples with incredible speed. When she was almost to them, she called out to them. But it wasn't words that came from her mouth. It was an ancient, primal sound. One that was old when the hills around them were tall mountains, as young and tall and strong as the red stallion she was approaching.

RUN! it said. FOLLOW ME AND RUN!

And in some deep, unthinking part of their brain, the Apples heard and understood. Knowing what was expected of them, they let their bodies obey the stirring instincts, moving towards her. And when the pink pony turned hard to her left, they turned to follow.

When the mare sensed that her herd had started to run, she screamed again, louder this time. Loud enough for all the ponies present to hear. And like the Apples, they let themselves answer the call. They all started moving in a great circle, to hem in The Ritual's participants.

Carrot soon reached the circling ponies, keeping pace with Silver Spoon and her parents for a few moments, before turning to cut across the clear portion of The Ritual's field, aiming for Babs. He watched her turning to follow the rest, well before reaching them. He just ran a tighter circle, cutting as close to the stones as he dared. It allowed him to close the gap between himself and his partner fast.

When Babs reached the perimeter, she smiled brightly at Bon-Bon and Pipsqueak's mother. They smiled back, enjoying the freedom of the run as much as she was. They didn't say anything though, because once the Ritual had started, words were discouraged. A look over the filly’s back made Bon-Bon's smile widen, and Babs glanced back, too. As expected, she saw Carrot's lanky form approaching fast, his long legs eating up the ground.

Words may have been discouraged, but there were many other noises a pony could make. So with a joyous shout, Babs turned away from the mares beside her and headed for Diamond Tiara, who was running with her father. Mr. Rich had sensibly elected to forgo his suit this morning. Few ponies wore anything to The Ritual, Applejack and Carrot being the only exceptions this year.

Just before Babs reached her friend, a pink body appeared between her and them. The ritualist was moving so fast her mane and tail streamed out behind her, letting Babs see both of her blue eyes clearly. They almost seemed to be glowing, like a unicorn who was starting to push her magic to the limit. In fact, her whole body seemed to be a shade or two brighter. It did every year, once she started to run in earnest, and Babs had never quite figured out if it was just a trick of the light, or something else.

She didn't have any time to ponder this old mystery however, as the stocky body was suddenly crowding her, trying to herd her into a smaller circle. Babs, in turn, tried to get around the pink mare, making a game of it for a few moments. But she soon pushed the alpha female's patience too far, and the shoulder bumps became less playful.

A nip on her hindquarters made her jump, as she realized her stallion had caught up to her, unnoticed. He quickly took the ritualist's place, running at Babs's shoulder as the herd's matriarch sped up again, pulling out in front of the couple. She trusted that the stallion would listen to his instincts and keep the almost-grown filly in line, while she tended to the rest of the herd.

Even though Carrot wasn't listening to his instincts yet, he still nipped at Babs's neck, edging her closer to the rock-strewn portion of the field. She suddenly skidded to a stop though, and when he shot past her, she cut around to his outside, whooping with laughter.

"So—" Carrot started to say, "So, you want to play it that way, huh?" before cutting himself off with a shake of his head. With a mental reminder not to talk, he sped up briefly, hoping to catch her. But before he could, she was being herded back to him by the irritated ritualist. Once the three of them were side by side again, the pink mare slowed up for a second, to give him a hard nip on his stifle for not doing his job.

She was too lost in her own instincts to realize that like most of the ponies running, they still weren't listening to theirs; merely playing at it. But she sped forward, loosing another scream, and that began to change, aided by the scent of sweat that was starting to rise from many bodies in waking up the more primitive parts of the herd's brains.

Carrot decided it was time to take things up a notch, so he leaned in to nip at Babs again. But this time, his teeth caught her ear. A little harder than he'd intended.

"Ow! Hey!" she yelped, also forgetting the no talking rule for a second as her ear folded back against her skull.

"Ha. I guess that makes us even." Carrot thought, before leaning in again. This time, he got a mouthful of mane, and gave it a quick tug. The sudden burst of arousal that shot through Babs caused her to stumble. She wasn't sure what surprised her more. The action itself, or just how good it felt. The first stirrings of heat in her nethers were making themselves known, and she felt her tail starting to move in ways that had nothing to do with her running.

The twitching increased as she caught a whiff of his sweat, and she decided she wanted more of it. So she put on a sudden burst of speed, angling across his path, and as she passed in front of him, she flicked her tail against his muzzle playfully, giving him a hint of her scent. Not much more than she'd gotten of his, but it was enough to light his eyes up with more than just the joy of running. Enough to get him to speed up, too.

Babs moved about halfway back to the ring of ponies, before a glimpse of dark pink kept her from getting any closer. For a second, before Carrot was at her side once more, herding her back in towards the center of the field, she caught a glimpse of his wife's blue and pink form. Carrot got a better look at Cup, and saw that she was wearing his tie around the base of her tail. He also saw her smile at him, exhilarated. He smiled back at her, but only for a second, before he had to chase after Babs again.

She ran almost to the stony section before slowing down to an easy canter as another scream filled the air. It was loud and clear, even over the thundering of hooves. As the sound echoed back from the hills, Babs looked over her shoulder, to watch Carrot approach. Once he got close enough, she angled back towards the circling observers, once more flicking her tail against his muzzle as she sprinted past him. And as she got close enough to the herd to make out individuals, she slowed again. This time, it was her cousins that caught her eye.

Apple Bloom had left her ribbon at home this morning, and her knee-length mane and tail were flowing behind her with her speed. She was awful pretty, and could certainly attract her fair share of attention, but even still, the filly was overshadowed by her sister.

The Apple mare was practically the epitome of the perfect earth pony mare. She had almost as much muscle as the ritualist, but she also had some padding over it. Enough to soften the hard lines, and grant curves where the one born a rock farmer had sharp angles. But what were most striking were her mane and tail. While the orange mare had left her hat at home this morning, she had worn her hair ties. But sometime during the running, she'd lost them. They'd probably been bitten away by one or another of the stallions she'd passed, and now her mane and tail flowed freely. They were so long and full that as they billowed behind her with her speed, they could almost belong to one of the princesses--Harmony bless them.

For just a second, the sight was so striking, so beautiful, that Babs's steps faltered and she slowed to a distracted trot, her jaw dropping slightly. Incidentally, this led to Carrot overshooting her, though he passed closely enough for her to get a good look at his genitals in the process. His black balls and masculine musk shocked her back to awareness, and she dashed back towards the stones as the heat in her hindquarters flared. Halfway there, she felt herself wink, and she winked twice more as she watched her stallion approach again.

This time, she let him get a little closer before taking off towards the circling herd. A little too close, maybe, as her flicking tail nearly caught Carrot's eye, and he jumped back slightly. He also gasped, which flooded his nose and brain with the undiluted scent of Babs's arousal. He felt his cock drop and start to grow, and his instincts were growing, too. With a little effort, Carrot let them. He tried not to think, and just let his body do what it wanted. Which was to prance in place for a second or two, almost rearing once or twice. Then with a shake of his head, he was off like a shot.

As Babs approached the other ponies, her arousal was fogging her mind. She was still mostly conscious, though, like every Ponyville citizen around her. Including Doctors Fauna and Horse, whom she was almost abreast of. The two were naked, of course, which meant the flashes of white she saw must be Nurse Redheart running between them. As Babs passed them, a flash of pink tail confirmed that thought, as the younger wife of the Herd-Family flagged. Herd-Families were rare nowadays, but the three of them made it work.

Surrendering to one's instincts was hard. Conscious thought was a hard-earned evolutionary advantage, and most ponies held tight to theirs, needing the help of a ritualist to let go. Ritualists had an easier time learning to surrender, but even they needed a decade or two of training to be able to do it at will. They almost always had to help their herds with it, and even then, some of the more stubborn would never succumb without the magic of The Ritual boosting the ritualists' calls.

Eventually, though, there always came a tipping point. And this year, Babs was in just the right place to see it happen.

A second or two after Babs passed the medical ponies, Ritualist Pinkamena called again, and half a dozen body-lengths ahead, Octavia answered, neighing back. Normally, making such primitive noises in public was considered rude and embarrassing, but on days like this, it was a different story. Being the first to do so was considered only slightly less of an honor than being chosen to participate. She would certainly find a stallion or two to cover her today, and while some ponies might be surprised to learn she was with child this coming year, none here would be.

As always, once the first pony gave in, the rest followed steadily, and soon, the thunder of hooves was mixed with a chorus of neighs, snorts, whickers, and other primal noises. The feel in the air had changed, and everypony was moving a little faster. Even Granny Smith, Grand Pear, Mr. Waddle, and the other elders were coaxing more speed out of their old bodies than anypony would believe, managing to canter smoothly, forming an outer ring around the main herd.

Babs was still hanging on to her consciousness by a thread—it wasn't unusual for her to have trouble surrendering—when Carrot caught up to her. A nip to her flanks got her attention, and she looked back, seeing that he was as close to surrender as she was. He moved up alongside her and shoulder-bumped her, trying to get her back into the center of the field.

He'd had enough of chasing her, and wanted to make her chase him instead, so as soon as she turned, he raced ahead of her, making sure to flick his tail across her face. With the scents of his arousal fresh in her nose, Babs followed the yellow and orange form. After about half a loop, Carrot let her catch up, flicking his tail in her face again, when she got close enough.

This fresh wave of stallion-scent was the last push that Babs needed, and she finally gave in. The last of her conscious thought disappeared, overwhelmed by lust, and she let out a long whinny.

Hearing that, Carrot let himself go, his body slowing down so he and his mate were side-by-side. He bit at her ear, and she slowed down, too. He matched her quick trot, crowding close, to try and get her to stop. But her instincts weren't satisfied just yet. Her body was thoroughly warmed up, but she needed to get her magic flowing, too. The Ritual couldn't be properly completed, otherwise.

So Babs once more broke away, but instead of starting another chase, she just pranced in front of her chosen mate. As her body cavorted, her magic stretched out, exploring her surroundings. Touching, greeting, and mingling with the magic of everypony present, and of Mother Earth. It even brushed up against an unidentifiable something, which only a pegasus or Princess—Harmony bless them—would have recognized as Father Sky.

All those Babs's magic touched responded in their own way. The herd responded by slowing slightly, from a hard gallop to a more relaxed canter, with the elderly slowing to a steady trot. The grass grew lusher and greener. More verdant. Stronger too, springing back up from underhoof so fast it almost seemed to push Babs’s prancing steps higher. Even Father Sky and Herd-Mother Magic responded in their own ways, trapping the scents of sweat and arousal, and filling the field with the feel of vitality. Of life, both dormant and potential.

After a minute or two, Babs was ready for the next step, so she turned away from Carrot, flagging her tail high. But when she felt the puffs of his hot breath on her winking sex, she took off again. This time, instead of avoiding the stony portion of the field, she darted across it, zig-zagging back and forth playfully, and Carrot followed a second later. With every step, their hooves landed on one or two of the shaped stones, and reducing every one of them to fine gravel, as they instinctively discharged their magic, targeting the shatter-points.

When the sound of cracking stones reached the ears of the circling herd, they angled inwards. As Babs and Carrot frolicked amorously over the stony portion of the field, everypony else closed in slowly. A minute or so later, they stood in a much smaller circle, around the stony portion of the field. Though by now, the couple had trampled every stone underhoof, leaving nothing but extremely fine gravel—almost sand. Now Carrot and Babs were ready for the main event. And the ponies watching Carrot sniff at Babs’s sex again knew it. They knew it by the way she had her head lowered a bit, to see his cock, fully extended and slapping his belly every couple seconds.

After several seconds of sniffing, some vestige of conscious thought—of care for his partner’s comfort and pleasure—impressed itself on his subconscious mind. Or maybe it was just his fondness for the taste of a mare. Whatever the reason, he licked her, and kept licking.

The ponies along one side of the circle—including Ritualist Pinkamena—saw when Carrot ran his tongue up Babs’s cleft, while a sudden snort and toss of her head let the rest of the observers know. Almost everypony who saw it felt either their pussy wink or their cock slap their belly. The herd was eager, but had to wait for the Ritual Couple to start, before they could. The shuffling and idle stamping of hooves made their impatience plain.

Babs was growing impatient, too. The licking was nice, but she needed more than a tongue, by this point. And since Carrot didn’t seem to be ready to move on anytime soon, she took matters into her own hooves. A gentle kick and a couple prancing steps later, she was looking at him. If her narrowed eyes weren’t enough to get her irritation across, the backwards-angled ears and set of her head and shoulders certainly were. The snort was entirely unnecessary.

So Carrot quick-stepped around behind her, and jumped up, grabbing her about her barrel. Her back was warm, from both sun and exertion, and damp with sweat. He readied himself to hop forward, to position himself, but Babs snorted again, and bucked slightly. Carrot ended up with all four hooves back on the ground, watching Babs dance away. Smiling, Carrot danced after her.

The dance, as it was called, was a normal part of pony foreplay, each approach and retreat being counted as one step. And when ponies were in conscious control of their bodies, it could repeat many times. Three or four, at least, as less than that could be considered crudely impatient. But during The Ritual, nopony was in the mood to wait for very long, so this was only a two-step, before Babs let him catch her for real. Signified by the way she spread her legs slightly, to better support their weight, even before he’d mounted her.

When he didn’t get bucked off this time, Carrot gripped her barrel tightly in his forelegs, positioning himself carefully. When he felt her wet lips against his head, he thrust forward hard, and felt her hymen tear. She whinnied loudly, in combined pleasure and pain, even as her pussy clenched around the invader. Carrot, in his instinct-driven lust, barely paused. Once he was sure he was in her, he started thrusting, working himself deeper. In only seconds, he was as deep as he could get.

The pain of her popped cherry quickly faded, and Babs was soon pushing back to meet Carrot’s thrusts. The feel of his cock filling her up and spreading her walls was wonderful. Like the rest of his body, his cock was slightly longer and leaner than average, so his head was tapping her cervix every time he bottomed out. Between all of that and his balls slapping her clit with every thrust, she was fast approaching an orgasm. Her tight, wet warmth, combined with the rhythmic clenches of her winking was driving Carrot towards orgasm too, and within a minute, he was on the brink.

Normally, ponies could make their lovemaking last as long as they wanted, but given over to their instincts, as they were, the couple weren’t making love. They were rutting, plain and simple. Listening only to the instincts that had been there since the days when mating had to be quick, to avoid predators and competitors. So it wasn’t much longer before Carrot came, neighing in pleasure as he fired off his first shot of cum. He then bit down on Babs’s neck as he kept thrusting, making sure to empty his balls completely into her. Making her a mare—his mare.

A moment later, he dismounted, but she stayed where she was. Even as Carrot sniffed at her backside, and nipped at her flanks. She flicked her tail at him once or twice, as all the magic in the air worked its effect on her stallion, minimizing his refractory period. After barely a minute, his balls had refilled, and his drooping cock had fully hardened.

Ready to go again, the yellow stallion mounted his caramel-colored mate and started rutting her a second time. She was just as tight as before, and even wetter, with his previous deposit, so it didn’t take much longer than the first time around, for him to fill her pussy again. And again, when he was done, he dismounted her and sniffed her now leaking pussy. A swipe or two of his tongue cleaned her up. At least for a few winks.

A couple minutes later, the magic of The Ritual had revitalized him again, and he mounted her once more. This time, Carrot lasted a little longer, thanks to a growing tiredness that even magic could only do so much against. But it still only took him a minute and a half to drive Babs to orgasm a third time. And the squeeze her pussy gave him when she did made him flood her pussy once more.

“ENOUGH!”

While Ritualist Pinkamena had been as lost in her instincts as anypony present, the sudden pinching of her knees and flip-flopping of her ears woke her from her stupor. Although it would be hours yet before the seed actually took root, her ritualist’s precognition let her know that it had been planted.

Her shout rang across the valley, echoing in the distance, as Carrot dismounted Babs for what turned out to be the final time. It had been nearly as loud as the Royal Canterlot Voice, and got the attention of everypony present, waking them. Just as the herd had followed their ritualist into the grip of instinct, they now followed her out. As they came to, one by one, many of them laid down, and many more simply dropped where they stood, exhausted. After all, even though The Ritual was mostly powered by the magics of the world around them, the ponies had used a healthy portion of their own magic, too.

Looking around, Ritualist Pinkamena took in her herd. Beside her, Noteworthy was resting with Daisy, while Lily was with Time Turner, and Rose was cuddled up against Torch Song. Further along there was Octavia Melody, laying on her side, with Filthy Rich beside her, his head laying over her neck. Next to them was Diamond Tiara, with Pipsqueak laying half on top of her, and they both looked barely conscious. A little further along, his mother and Bon-Bon were in the sixty-nine position, still gently lapping at the other’s sex, easing each other down. With the way mares outnumbered stallions, it was expected that a few mares would partner up every year.

Almost opposite herself, Ritualist Pinkamena saw Big Macintosh and Cheerilee. The schoolteacher was laying down, but she had her head up and her eyes betrayed little of her exhaustion. Big Mac was standing over her protectively, one of the few still on his hooves. Like Applejack and Caramel, the two were close, but not together. Though they were even closer than the other not-a-couple, and nopony really knew why they’d never even tried courting each other.

And speaking of Applejack and Caramel, they weren’t too far away. She was still on her hooves, too—no surprise—with Caramel still covering her. Though judging from the way he was draped over her back, and his lidded eyes, he was barely awake. Separated from them by a few pairs of mares was Silverspoon, her parents, and Burnt Oak. Surprisingly, Silver Spoon was leaning against her father, while Burnt Oak had his neck arched over her mother’s.

Feeling her partner finish pumping his last load into her, Ritualist Pinkamena dislodged him with a gentle buck. Toe-Tapper barely nodded to her before laying down. Despite being as tall and lanky as Mr. Cake, he had a lot of stamina, and he’d managed to keep up with her through the whole last part of The Ritual. Probably his training as a dancer showing through. He looked over and nodded at Nurse Redheart, who was licking her husband’s cock clean, while Dr. Fauna had her muzzle under Redheart’s tail, cleaning her.

As Ritualist Pinkamena stepped towards the couple in middle of the field, the ponies who’d been standing back, being too old or too young to participate in the mindless rutting—including Applebloom and Twist, among others—rejoined their families. Halfway there, the ritualist finally spotted Mrs. Cake. She was with Aloe and Lotus. The two blue mares were belly-to-belly, dolphin-style, while Lotus slowly massaged them both with her pink hooves and nuzzled Cup’s neck.

As the ritualist approached them, Babs lay on her side, her belly presented to the dark pink mare, while Carrot, whose legs had given out when conscious thought returned to him, leaned against her. He had one leg resting over her shoulder, and his head was on her neck.

When she reached the pair, Ritualist Pinkamena stood over them for a moment, taking in the sight of the mare before her. Her satisfied, but sore expression. Her engorged, reddened lips and the profusion of cum seeping from them, which ran down one leg, as it gave an occasional, faint tremble from exhaustion. Then the ritualist reached out one hoof to rest on the brown belly, between the teats, with their still-hard nipples. “Babs Seed, daughter of Tangelo Orange and Pink Lady Apple, and Daughter of the Tribe of Earth, thou arrived to this valley a grown filly; thou leavest a young mare, bearing the future. Go forth, sure in the love of friends and family, and in the love of Mother Earth and Harmony.” she said, planting a quick kiss on Babs’s forehead and closing out another year’s ritual. Her part done, Ritualist Pinkamena walked back to the watching herd, leaving the newly-made mare to rest and recover with her partner.

Author's Note

Funny story, I was going to name Carrot's mother Queen Cake, and say it was Equestria's version of king cake, but then I decided to at least do a modicum of research, so searched for cakes that include oranges. I opened the Wikipedia page about types of cakes, where I learned two surprising things. One, there's already a queen cake, made in Britain. Secondly, I learned that Jaffa cakes are made with and named after Jaffa oranges. How the hell was I supposed to resist that?