//-------------------------------------------------------// The art of love and lust -by SomeRoyalGuard- //-------------------------------------------------------// //-------------------------------------------------------// 1 How it begins //-------------------------------------------------------// 1 How it begins There are some pony folk who enjoy the company of other creatures. Some more so than others consider a griffon as that ‘special somepony.’ For Fly High, his own special somepony, or rather somereature, was Lavah Tavs. An occultist and practitioner of performance arts. Of what, he wasn’t sure. Only that they had shared a deep and intense desire for the finest pleasures involving the art of sexual domination. But her kinky nature alone wasn’t what drew the young stallion her way. It was that wild drive of passion and the desire to experience everything the world had to offer her, how she never waited for it to be given to her. She could only take. Something that Fly could certainly understand. Fly was introduced to the young griffon from a certain thestral whom he had been close friends with for the past couple years now. Ironically, they also met in a similar fashion when a friend of Fly introduced him to the dark coated stallion. Being in the guard, Fly very rarely had any free time of his own, except during the evening. Yet, at the little corner of Goldenhoof Street and Silverhorn, he could still remember the scent of rich lavender that scent coming off of her feathery mane. Eyes gleaming in the moonlight like amethyst gems. Her fur and feather white like sheets of snow, her trims and wing tips tinted with the color of the flower. Her voice is smooth, warm and crisp like a Sunday spring morning. Her mask invoking a sense of anonymity. Sweet and tender like milk and honey, with a terrifying spice slipped in during the fifth or sixth drink. She was dangerous… and it only excited him further. But like her mask, the persona she bore hid her true intent. However, he doubted that sweet kindred nature was fake. Each mask is just a representative of an aspect of that creature. The personas were very much real, a part of themselves as they were used to hide their intent. And Lavah’s mask told him every single desire she wished for that night. Fly’s own guile wasn’t as subtle, but he always kept up the game once he started to really play. He lived a cycle of modernity and order. The repetition of his daily lifestyle consisted of waking up at six AM, with a brew of Canterlot coffee, black with two cubes of sugar. Dying his golden mane blue that matched the contrast of his own deep blue eyes, looking plain and simple among his fellow guardsmen. Morning exercises on foot that went on for hours until his legs burned. Air drills that consisted of high-maneuverability obstacle courses. The pegasi guardsmen continuously fail them as days go by. The weight of the golden armor became exhausting during the morning guards and patrols. Fly’ stood for hours till the pressure burned through his feet. The heat of the sun cooking him from the inside as his shift changed to patrolling the streets of Canterlot. The lack of stuffy formal attire beneath his armor was a boon for him as he found himself dipping in and out of consciousness. At night, there was no order, no rules. The only time where he could be himself. Rather than linger in the barracks with the rest of the guards, he lived the life of a youthful stallion. At twenty-two years of age, his youth railroaded into a loop of responsibility that, while he wasn’t ungrateful for, given the pay was good and helping the common pony out made him feel happy, he wanted to live his life. He had eight years to go before his youth passes by him, and the last two years had already gone and left in a blink of an eye. Here, time slowed to a crawl. Minutes felt like hours. The scent of lavender tickling his nose as he pretended to sip his drink, spiced with an unfamiliar substance he saw the griffon lass slip into her female compatriots’ drinks whenever he visited the club. The predatory expression was mesmerizing as it was terrifying. But soon, she found herself as the prey when the façade dropped that he wasn’t the inebriated, manipulatable male he made himself out to be. The look of shock on her face was amusing. Then, she smiled. Then she licked her beak. Her gaze was like a miner striking gold. And all Fly did was grin at her and wriggle his brows. The lovemaking that went on that night, not a soul dare make mention of it. It was savage, it was primal, and it was beautiful for the two involved. But it was a nightmare for everyone else. The little droplets of blood that smelled of griffon and pony plastered the walls. Sheets torn by claws, stained by ejaculation, walls fractured by aggressive movements, marred by claw marks amid the couple’s passion and ecstasy. The night went on for hours, with only the last ten minutes finishing up with the two cuddling with one another and sharing one last smoke and drink before being forcibly evicted by the club owner. The two exchanged numbers and called it a date. Fly was in love, and in lust. She was wild, she was free; Lavah was chaos incarnate. To think he tamed the beautiful beast would be a foolish notion, but he succeeded in doing so anyways. Either a free beast or collared beast, in the end she was the same wild beast he came to know her as. To describe, or even articulate the kind of manner of which their relationship was like would be impossible. The closest description is that Lavah was still a wild predator. She only chose to be Fly’ prey. There was more to Lavah than that single night. It was then that he learned about her midnight lifestyle. She owned a private theater that he only heard about on a few separate occasions. It wasn’t hard to believe she was the owner of such a place, but it did come to a surprise. It was an adult centric performance art theater that catered to the kind of intimate luxuries that the noble ponies secretly craved in the dark. Some that others would consider illegal, like slavery. Either as a performer or a member of the audience, there is always someone from Canterlot nobility making their way to the theater, bearing lavish masks to hide their identity. And one night, Fly received an invitation to become a performer at the theater.