Hulking BUFF Stallion FUCKS Horny DESPERATE Mare After Wrestling Match And CUMS In Her FACEby darfChaptersChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3AND THEN THEY FUCKEDChapter 1A Ponyville bar was a bar in Ponyville. You took the either two ends, smushed them together, and wound up with something not particularly satisfying when viewed from any direction. A proper bar had a name, a neighbourhood, and a reputation. Rarity's dive of choice was called The Dirty Muzzle, and you can take it up with local residential zoning if you think the name is immediately evocative or suggestive. The owner(s) of The Dirty Muzzle argue any resemblance to a known phrase or slang representing acts related directly or indirectly to sexual behaviour are purely coincidental. In short, you can't prove anything. Another facet: you had to know when to show up. You couldn't just walk in at half-past one on a Tuesday afternoon and expect to get the same experience. Rarity knew for a fact that one of the cooks who was only there on the weekend had a fryer all to himself, and the grease hadn't be cleaned or the oil emptied since the bar opened five years ago. Then there were the bartenders—Rarity had committed their shifts to memory, which wasn't difficult, as there was a small network of about five or six employees who seemed to rotate through various duties on a semi-weekly basis. Rarity was good with names anyway, so it had only taken around a month for her to get familiar enough to walk in and have her 'usual' ready before she'd even placed an order. That was just one of the perks of social know-how. One of the other perks was that, if you played your cards right, there was a lot more to see beneath the surface of a grimy wooden countertop than first appeared to be there. Rarity had noticed a V.I.P. section, for example, that seemed to be perpetually unoccupied. A private store of 'reserve' spirits that the owner(s) only broke out in the wee hours when they were sure anypony of consequence had gone home. The more than occasional 'misplacing' of bits from the cash-register and liquors from the back-shelf that everypony who worked there seemed to participate in. Rarity imagined she could have written a wonderful story about the place, if she'd been in the habit of storytelling. More 'story-making', than anything else. It was just shy of midnight when Rarity showed up. She gave a smile to the barkeep, a gruff looking pegasus with a shaved mane and a cutie mark of a salt-lick. He didn't smile back, but Rarity took no offense—she wasn't sure she'd ever seen his teeth before, unless he was growling at something. And there was her drink, waiting for her, a cosmopolitan with pomegranate juice instead of cranberry. She liked the little bite of the alcohol buried underneath the fruity fragrance, the way it nipped like bits of fire at the back of her nose and throat. Warmed up her chest, and made her feel ready, and just full-enough of herself to last the evening out socializing. Even with ponies who were 'less-accustomed' to proper social introductions and procedures. Rarity considered herself a sort of amateur-anthropologist. Even still, there was the negotiation to play out. Rarity had to pull one end of the invisible string, and somepony on the other end of the line would pull the other. Rarity took a sip of her drink and leaned over the bar a little, looking at the gruff pegasus, who was polishing a grimy-looking glass without much success. The pegasus eyed her back, and grunted, but said nothing further. Rarity smiled at him. "And how are things on your end of the fence, Turn-Key?" "Same shit, different pile," he said. The rag he was using to clean glasses looked like it had been bought at the bar's opening, and had been made to do double duty as the barkeep's personal handkerchief. Rarity pulled the tiny fruit-skewer out of her drink and gently bit off a piece of pineapple at the end. She smiled as she chewed, and let out a soft sigh. "Well, I suppose that's to be expected, as a matter of perspective," Rarity said. She took another sip of her drink. Only a few other ponies were present, mostly congregating in the dimly-lit tables at the back and coughing as they shared drags in the smoking section. "Mhm." Turn-Key put down his glass and rag. "You need something? Another drink? I'll get one of the fillies to do that girly one you like..." "Oh, no, I'm perfectly alright for now, thank you," Rarity said, batting her eyelashes sweetly. "Though, now that you mention it, I had overheard there might be a presentation of the local antique ballistics society, presenting their collections to the viewing public. At this location, as a matter of fact." Turn-Key blinked, blank-faced. "Huh?" "Oh, you know," Rarity went on, leaning even further over the counter, so close she could smell the week-long shift coming off Turn-Key's coat. "That small group native to Ponyville which demonstrates their store of antiquated fire-arms and other warfare devices." Turn-Key blinked again. "What?" Rarity let out a long, dejected sigh. "The gun show, my dear. I'm looking for tickets. Can you help a filly out?" Turn-Key shifted his eyes from side to side. "Maybe. What's the secret code?" "I'll pay you a small handling fee, but you must go fetch your supervisor directly, and as soon as the purchase is complete, you'll receive your gratuity." "My 'supervisor'?" Turn-Key asked, eyebrow raised. Rarity sighed again. "Your boss. Please go get him. We've met many times before." "Oh, right." Turn-Key scratched his head. Now that Rarity mentioned it, he was pretty sure he'd seen her in here before, at least once last week... and the week before that, and the week before that... Huh. Maybe he should stop drinking hourly when he was on-shift. "Be right back," Turn-Key said. He sauntered off around the back of the bar, to the hidden 'employees-only' infrastructure that Rarity had it on authority mostly just consisted of the kitchen, a bathroom, and the boss's office which he refused to let anypony else sit in during their shift. No breakroom. Sit when you get home. Etcetera. There he was. The boss. 'Big Show', as he preferred to be called. Rarity had taken a few tries to say it without giggling. "M'aa'm," he said, doffing an imaginary hat in Rarity's direction. He was... okay, he was tiny. Practically colt-sized. A miniature earth-pony with a gun-shaped cutie-mark. But Rarity didn't judge based on height, or weight, or any of the other character sheet statistics marginally separating her soul from somepony else's. Big things come in small packages, after all. "Mr. Big," Rarity replied, nodding her head and smiling. Big Show giggled in spite of himself. He couldn't help it. He loved that nickname. "I trust you're here for the... nightly entertainment?" The little pony leaned over the counter and winked suggestively at her. Rarity ignored the wink out of courtesy. "I wouldn't miss an installment... though, there was that nasty period where city legislation seemed content to interfere with the proceedings on the basis of 'ensuring safe and legal entertainment'. Pish-tosh. Who doesn't like a little thrill of danger along with their watching experience, hmm?" "You were here last week when that unicorn got his eyeballs squished, right?" Rarity smiled devilishly, and downed the last of her drink. "My dear, I was front and center. I believe I still have one of the eyeballs at home." Big Show's grin was almost as big as his face. "Now that's a true fan! Just follow me to my office and we can complete our... 'transaction'. Heh heh heh." Rarity wondered if she should tell the fellow his creepy-sounding apostrophes weren't technically accurate, but decided against it. Better to let him believe for his own sake, like a little puppy that was certain it had caught a real fox instead of a sock stuffed to look like one. Nopony noticed the pair of them slip away. But the back-room past the office was much more substantial than the remainder of the employee area. Rarity had seen it many times, from the long, austere hallway to the sound-proof, boarded up gymnasium that appeared abandoned and forgotten until you cracked the door and heard the sound of a thousand blood-hungry spectators cheering for the next match. It was in the air. Sweat, blood, ponies grinding each other against their friction and willpower until only one remained standing. Rarity sighed. She was already a little wet, and the show hadn't even started yet. Chapter 2Rarity wished she could find a way to bottle and sell the essence in the air before a fight. It was much of it a smell, something like a cross between over-eager gym-sweat and grumbling, musky testosterone, but that was only the half of it—the tension between everypony bumping together in the crowd was another part of it, the sense that a fight could break out at any moment not including any of the ponies that were on the card for the evening. Everypony there was bubbling underneath the surface with at least one thick layer of 'it could have been me', and losing a string of bets could run a pony up this side of a salt-lick, so to speak. Rarity had fantasized about putting out an erstwhile hoof and tripping somepony to see the resultant explosion of blood and brawling hooves, but she restrained herself every time. There was enough of all of that to happen as planned anyway. Analysis wasn't a feat she enjoyed, but perhaps she was prone to it, as a pony with a hoof in both worlds, always doing her best to translate dreams and impulses into tangible objects that could be lusted over by like-minded ponies who saw the same flashes of inspiration in fashion that she did. It was hard not to feel everything, and, in feeling it, think endlessly on the bits of the sensation that made her tingle along every inch of her coat. Between her legs especially. Firstly, you had the fighters. No, leave them aside for a moment. Firstly, you had the crowd. It was a throng—she liked that word, 'throng'—a mumbling thrush of separate bodies in a common instance of intent. Everypony was there for some version of the same thing, biting out the bloodshed that day-bound society disallowed them from expressing. It didn't matter if you were grappling in the ring or just estimating your expectations from the sidelines—you always had something on the line close to your dignity, and anypony who was up in bits or points for brawling had bragging rights over the simpler-minded and less able. It was a proving grounds, she supposed. Maybe that was what made the sense of the air so thick and deliciously toxic. It tickled her in a dark and naughty place that remained buried in all other contexts, the tiny fragment of her consciousness that wanted to be dragged by her mane into a dank cave and ravaged solely for the sake of the stallion interested in breeding her. She wanted to be used up by somepony, a shell around the surge of adrenaline he was riding to slam his cock into her, an empty vessel for his pleasure. Ooh. It gave her shivers. And here the match hadn't even started yet. That was her main focus of the night, aside the pervasive and intoxicating aroma of stallions mingling with each other in various degrees of musk and body-odour. Rarity inhaled deeply and savoured the mix of scents, impossible to pull one stallion's cologne from another's. It was like dunking your head in a thick, virile soup. Sometimes she never wanted to come up for air. Ooh. But there was the card. She'd paid special attention to that, there was a dark black pegasus of particular interest, and hopefully one she'd get at least a little time with before the match started. Rarity pushed her way subtly through the crowd, winnowing in the gaps between ponies like an invisible current vanishing through river eddies. Her steps took her along a practiced route, passed the bookies and food vendors that had to yell loud enough to be heard over the constant crowd-murmur, until she was at ring-side, and from there could see the sectioned-off pens on either side that the fighters were sent to wait in. There, she could see the familiar dark hue and gruff expression over a set of feathers that she'd set her eye on since seeing him last time. Surely, one could devote one's attention solely to the top-scoring contender in a given event, and surely, Rarity was capable of pivoting her interests in a sharp but subtle enough way that she could and had spent many a month hopping from prize-fighter to prize-fighter... but Thunderlane was special, and Rarity sensed in him a certain youthful hunger that she was certain would translate to the bedroom. She'd spend more than a few evenings sprawled out on her bed, face buried in her pillow, picturing Thunderlane's engorged stallionhood slipping into her from behind, making her quiver and moan and ache with how thickly it parted her lips and slid into her passage, and she would howl like a possessed creature in the primal night, and frig herself between her legs mercilessly, and cum buckets, fountains, waterfalls, and have a lot of laundry to do the next day, as well as needing to prepare an excuse for Sweetie about how she'd recently been onset with a batch of particularly cruel night terrors. Fucking somepony could be a lot of work, at the end of the day. There was the other contestant as well—that hulking, egg-white deformity and his miniature wings. Bulk Biceps had started as something of a running joke in the underground fight community, something of a de facto moral lesson on how size did not necessarily equal strength—but after a combination of intense training and hush hush performance enhancing substances that somehow evaded regular screenings, Bulk was back in the game in a big way, and was tonight set to cement the seventh win in his growing victory streak. 'Lucky Seven' was the name of the event, and Thunderlane and Bulk were at the top of the card. Never mind weight-classes—Bulk Biceps broke most of the categorization conventions anyway. Him and his hippopotamic land-mass of a body. In one camp of the crowd, you had ponies saying Thunderlane could never do it—Bulk Biceps was the next Pony Joe Fraser, and Thunderlane was another destined-to-be-eventually-nameless stop on his journey to the top. Then you had the other side. The way Rarity saw it, big things fell harder. They sometimes fucked harder, but they also often ran out of steam early. She was no fighter, but she'd seen enough ponies attempting to tear out each others' throats that she could feel an upset coming in her bones. In her lady-place, if it was a really big one. This one had started tingling when she woke up in the morning. She'd rubbed one out before breakfast, and Sweetie had persisted in asking 'what's that smell?' until Rarity sent her on a made-up errand at the bakery by bribing her with a promise of a treat. Then she'd rubbed one out again while Sweetie was gone, and cleaned up in the shower before the innocent little thing got back. She'd used her treat money to buy a cream-filled long-john, and Rarity had needed to excuse herself upstairs to her room after a few bites. To touch herself again, of course. Because being underground, and technically 'illegal', the accommodations at ring-side were a far reach from those at a professional fight. There was a lot less blood to clean up at a professional fight, for one thing. Luckily, the first few fights of the night that Rarity had missed were mostly clean, and only one pony had lost any of his teeth, which were promptly swept up and returned to him, a little dusty but otherwise none the worse for the wear. Rarity could sidle up to Thunderlane's corner easily, without even getting a sideways look from his coach, who was so deep in pre-game strategy that he seemed not to notice her at all. Thunderlane noticed her, but gave no indication that he had done so besides a brisk, almost nod, and a tiny grunt that only Rarity could just barely hear through the constant murmur of the crowd. She stood and watched him for a bit, drinking in the sight of somepony this strong and virile in preparation for a task that would push him to the fullest limits of his abilities. Maybe that was the part that she ached for most insatiably—seeing somepony put his everything on the line, to achieve that which was only possible through sheer, physical willpower. You couldn't move a rock up a hill by talking it up, or dancing it, or playing it a nice tune and then asking it to move. At the end of the day, sometimes, you had to push a fucking rock. And these ponies had pushed so many rocks, they had started to ask themselves if it was possible to move the earth with enough force and a determined shove in the right direction. Now, Rarity thought to herself, how best to approach the business ahead of us... "'scuse me, Miss," came a voice from behind her, a young mare's, with a vulgar out-of-place city-street's accent that reminded Rarity of the same pork-pie fat that Pipsqueak had one day congealed in. Rarity turned away from her greenish-silver-maned mark to address the polite interruption. An earth-pony with long pig-tails and a blue vest on smiled up at her, given the height difference between them. She had a bright shiny set of teeth that nevertheless looked horribly askew. Rarity smiled back, no stranger to courtesy even surrounded by the heady smog of a hundred blood-hungry stallions. Hopefully she could get this over with before the fight of the night begins... "Yes, darling?" She only dropped such poison-drenched 'darlings' in special circumstance, but impatience was a cruel and insistent motivator. "Just noticed you eyeing the fighters, Miss," the earth-pony with the pigtails said. "And I bet all the bits in your pocket against my fancy gold watch that I can pick the best fighter." Rarity raised and lowered an eyebrow. "A bet, dear? Really, go see the bookies for that sort of thing. We're interested in a more intimate profile of tonight's events than your winnings will provide..." "It's a real fancy gold watch, Miss. A Tirek's. I swear on me Mum, miss." "Please go away. You're obnoxious in a special way it would take us the better part of an hour to describe properly. And your mane is atrocious. Split ends everywhere, darling." The pea-soup-with-ham pony trotted off, her gold (?) watch and pride in toe. Rarity paid her no more mind than a mosquito that had missed its bite. Now, where was that hunk of hunk of smoldering pegasus she had her eye on for real... Ah, yes. Still gritting his teeth and staring down an invisible version of the hulking monstrosity he was about to grapple with. Well, this was where Rarity was to have her say, and nopony had an objection big enough to get in her way for long. "Darling," she called from cage-side, choosing the special musical lilt she saved for bar-room flirtations or coy winks as she walked home in the evening. Again, Thunderlane noticed her, but pretended expertly he hadn't done so, continuing to stare rigidly forward and make the show that his ears were only for his coach. Rarity was unperturbed. She knew how to get into a stallion's head more than one way. This just presented a more promising challenge. Instead of speaking, Rarity made her way around the proximity of Thunderlane's waiting space a few times. She flicked her tail over her backside, careful not to give more than a peek of anything resting underneath, the rest of her figure hidden by the pale brown jacked she'd selected for the evening, the same colour as a doe in a meadow at springtime. It her experience, the prey-like nature made her all the more appealing to a hungry pegasus who probably hadn't gotten off in ages, busy with all his training. Rarity acted oblivious as she made her rounds, but by the third trip, she had decidedly captured Thunderlane's attention, and noticed him staring at her backside even when she was just turning idly, doing her best to seem uninterested in the hulking specimen only feet away. Both of them were playing a game of 'don't catch me looking', but Rarity was reigning champ, and unlike Bulk Biceps, had no intention of surrendering her winning streak any time soon. "You do intend to dethrone that deformed heap of muscles, don't you, dear?" Rarity asked the question as though she was uninterested in the answer, pleading a case to Thunderlane simply for the satisfaction of hearing her own sultry voice. Again, it seemed to be working; Thunderlane's ears perked at the sound of Rarity's voice, and his eyes couldn't help but drifting in her direction even when she was facing forward, drinking in the sight of her heavy eye-shadow and lush, red lipstick. Rarity considered the fight as much an event for herself as a viewer as for any of the contestants. Thunderlane grunted, but this time it seemed in direct response to Rarity's question. She pushed on, smirking inwardly at having finally gotten the first hoof-hold of progress. A shame she hadn't been born with a natural proclivity for lifting heavy things and throwing her body around—well, that second one was a matter of semantics, because there was one type of throwing her body around she was very good at... "It just seems to me you're in for a bit of a struggle... he's undefeated on his new run, you know. Surely you've been paying attention these past few months." "Bigger they are, harder they fall," Thunderlane said. His voice was low, gruff, but not unwelcoming, it reminded Rarity of thick boughs of lumber and the sensation of being physically lifted off her feet by her father as a filly, being carried to her room and giggling as the two of them tickle-fought into exhaustion. Rarity's father had never been a pony to fit in the ring like this, but still, she thought of him sometimes. Rarity grinned openly. Time to reel him in. "You're quite confident for a young upstart." Rarity began to wander around the pen again, waving her tail expertly over her tush while making it seem as natural as possible. "I trust you've gotten your wagers all in place before the fight... ready to put your money where your mouth is, so to speak." "Don't do it for the money," Thunderlane shot back. His coach had wandered off, presumably to prepare for the fight, which was set to start in less than fifteen minutes. "That's not the important part." "Mhmm... you're just in it for the thrill of the fight then, is that it? The look on the other colt's face as you send him tumbling down like a sack of potatoes, faced for the first time with the fact that all his strength and practice won't save him from somepony who's just better than him?" Thunderlane turned his head to the side, doing his best to appear as though he wasn't staring at Rarity like a starving, slobbering hound. He raised an eyebrow and scrunched his face up a bit. "What's your name?" he asked. Rarity winked at him. "Oh, let's not spoil things with too many details... why don't we save that for after you've claimed your prize, hmm?" "It's just a belt," Thunderlane said. "I already told you, I don't do it for the—" "Oh, not that prize, darling." Rarity giggled and swished her tail over her backside once more for good measure, then spread her legs ever so slightly, giving Thunderlane his first proper glimpse of her soaking-wet marehood. "I was talking about me." She snapped her legs shut before he could get used to the show. "Good luck, dear," Rarity said, and blew Thunderlane a kiss as she vanished into the crowd. "Hope to see you soon..." Thunderlane stared at Rarity's ass as it walked away. When she was gone, he lowered his head, shook it, and drained his water bottle until it was empty. The fight was in five minutes. Chapter 3While there was an art to the pure interaction of bodies in the pursuit of physical victory, Rarity found herself more captured by the moment-to-moment sensations of the evening than any particular feat or act of prowess. Thunderlane and Bulk would be in a continuous duality for some time, a dance that ended when one of them could no longer keep his footing... Rarity was interested in the bits inbetween the motion, the threads of thought and emotion she could capture just by drinking them in with her senses. The fight started, as they usually do, with a testing of spaces. Rarity had seen whole matches in amateur brackets revolve around this test, the extending of hooves into open air and seeing how fiercely your opponent would knock them away. It was a chance to examine hoofwork, to gauge preliminary decision making, and, if your opponent made any foolish slips, an easy-to-capitalize extension of your natural curiosity. You simply went from a tap of the hooves into a full-body takedown, and the rest of the match was yours. Like pulling a tablecloth out and leaving the dishes resting perfectly in their place. With Bulk and Thunderlane, things were certain to be more... up-close. 'Squishy' came to mind, though Rarity didn't imagine there was much give in the tightly taut muscles on display. She watched the two pegasi lock together, circle the arena like a blob of amoeba that had coalesced, then separate again when they were certain neither of them was committed to dragging the other down just yet. Exploratory kicks were traded. Bulk made one brash charge that might have evolved into a takedown, but Thunderlane stepped expertly aside and let his opponent blunder forward a few feet before he realized there was no longer something in front of him worth hitting. Rarity was all smiles as she watched. Every now and then, when the two fighters had given each other space, she was sure she could catch Thunderlane, searching for her in the crowd out of the corner of his eye. Tonight was as much her show as his. Better to put herself to work before things drew to a conclusion. Mostly, outside the specifics of which pony had hit whom whereabouts, and how hard they'd done it, Rarity found herself envisioning the fight as two tractors in a field, meeting at low velocity, and slowly grinding forward until one of them was crushed, like two hard-shell candies you had smooshed together with your hooves. Anything that was a decision or a consequence of training ultimately just came out as 'push', and it all mounded together to equal a chance to success. The higher the prize teetered on the pedestal above the arena, the harder the push was beneath. Rarity was fully aware her variety of 'prize' had tipped more than a single fight in the past. Time to put it to good use. There was Thunderlane, looking in her direction again. Give him a show. Rarity flashed her tail again, this time taking time to draw it languidly over the curves of her backside, which was turned squarely in Thunderlane's direction. Nopony in the crowd seemed to notice, all eyes were on the fight... except the eyes in the fight, and then, only Thunderlane's mattered. Bulk Bicep's eyes were tiny and squinty and looked like little black and red water beetles climbing up his face. Rarity wanted to see them squished. Thunderlane was noticing her, certainly. He stared a little too long when she bounced her butt up and down, and almost caught a haymaker for his troubles. Bulk was one giant walking telegraph, but even he was capable of catching somepony off-guard staring at a prized snatch in the crowd. Rarity allowed herself a grin for gaining her first bona fide distraction. That was the rest of the progression—grunting grapples and traded blows, a little space to give Thunderlane time to look back into the audience, where Rarity was wandering and would appear in random places, keeping the poor pegasus on his hooves even more than he already was. Sometimes she'd just be there, a smile and a wink before disappearing, other times she lingered longer, got closer to ring side, so close she could practically press her backside up against the side of the cage and give Thunderlane an in-person whiff of the heady scent escaping from her marehood. If somepony in the crowd had tried, they probably could have picked it out, but Rarity's personal perfume was reserved only for one pony that night. Only if he could keep his head in the ring long enough to claim her. It was the full on flash that did it. Rarity turned one-eighty, spread her legs, lifted her tail, and winked, full-on and purposeful, in Thunderlane's direction. It stopped him dead in his tracks, and whatever strategy he'd been about to employ fell away as he stared, dumbfounded, at the white-and-pink set of lips inviting him over. It was the perfect time for Bulk Biceps to conk him in the back of the head. Rarity was sure she heard something crack, and her sultry pout quickly turned to a real one. Oh dear. It wouldn't do if the poor thing was too distracted to claim his prize... The grapple could have ended it. Bulk was big, and... well, bulky, and he got a good hold of Thunderlane from behind as the night-black pegasus was kneeling and trying to stop his skull from ringing. Even mishandled, that much muscle-mass can really crowd your ability to breathe, and so the two of them wrangled around the arena again, two halves of a cell joined until one of them tumbled mercilessly to the canvas with a thump of finality. Rarity had to do something. Or did she? It was only because she'd been staring at him the entire time that she caught it—but it was very certain, a very intentional gesture to match her own, minus the double-entendre that came with her anatomy—Thunderlane winked back at her. The standard usage, mind you. Something about, the bigger they are, they harder they...? It was sort of like watching a building collapse—Rarity didn't have a lot of experience seeing towering masses fall to the ground, outside of wrestling, anyway—but if she could have pictured Bulk Biceps as anything else, it would have been a mound of turtles, all hiding in their shells and stack atop one another, with the entire gaggle of reptiles resting precariously on a single chopstick, balancing them against the laws of physics and common sense to keep the entire mound more-or-less aloft. Watching Thunderlane yank the big dumb blob's leg out from under him was more satisfying than any game of Jenga™ could have ever been. A wet sack full of old auto parts hitting the pavement. Or a watermelon being squashed in slow motion. Thunk really wasn't a big enough word to describe it. More of a ka-THOOOMP. Rarity didn't fuss over the particulars of the vocabulary. There was Thunderlane, lifting his hoof in the air. The stupid look on Bulk's face, staring up at the overhead lights and coming to terms with the fact that he was no longer upright. The crowd, suddenly silent, only for an instant, and then an explosion of cheers and scrabbling to collect bets before the bookies ran off. Rarity allowed herself a small smile as she wiggled through the crowds to ring-side again. Thunderlane was sitting, downing a large bottle of water. His head was soaked, from a mix of sweat and water that had been dumped on him, and his coach had given him a towel, which he was running across his forehead every few seconds. The thing was drenched. Rarity smirked. She hadn't spoken before Thunderlane looked up at her. Sniffing the air, like he'd caught wind of a helpless baby bunny in an open field. "Like the show?" he asked, giving her his first grin of the night. Rarity felt her legs tingle and then some. "Funny," she said, smiling even more seductively, "but I was going to ask you the same thing..." Nopony paid them particular attention as they continued to banter, or as they snuck out together. Only when Thunderlane's coach came back did he realize his fighter was gone, and by that point he was drunk enough that he forgot to worry about it anyway. AND THEN THEY FUCKED"You put on quite a performance tonight," Rarity said, smiling and trailing her tail over her behind. She and Thunderlane had migrated easily to a late-night hotel, and the private room they selected looked at least like it had been cleaned within the last week. Rarity found her way to the bed immediately, jumped on to it with a little giggle, and sprawled out on her back, spreading her legs and showing herself off to Thunderlane. She giggled again as she tossed her jacket to the side of the bed, and as Thunderlane hopped up onto the bed with her and began eyeing between her legs hungrily. "So did you," he said. He moved up the bed until his head was level with Rarity's, her whole body overtop of her, towering and shadowing her, making her feel as though he could crush her at any moment... ooh, the tingles again. There was no hiding how wet and horny she was now, she could smell herself stronger than Thunderlane's sweat... "Mhm," Rarity said as Thunderlane began to kiss her neck and chest, hard and gruff, his stubble raking over her skin and causing her to giggle between moans. "I just wanted to make sure you were—ah!—properly motivated." She giggled and ran her hoof along the back of Thunderlane's head as he left little bites on her neck. "Did it work?" "Turn over," Thunderlane growled. "I wanna see my prize before I fuck it unconscious." "Ooh!" Rarity smiled and waggled her butt as she jumped up and repositioned herself on the bed. "How wonderful. I love a stallion who knows what he wants." "Good. Because this stallion wants that." Thunderlane slammed a hoof into Rarity's backside, causing her to yelp and her cheeks to jiggle. Thunderlane ran his hoof over her butt once or twice before tracing down, further between her legs, and rubbing fiercely, insistently, at her dripping pussy, pushing so hard she half-moaned, half-screamed as her body jerked and moved involuntarily up the bed. "It's all yours, big boy," Rarity murmured, voice sultry, her head turned over her shoulder as she spread her legs and showed off her dripping cunt. She reached between her legs and ran a hoof along her slit, then reached down with her other hoof and spread herself wide, giving Thunderlane a full and proper view of the slippery pink inside of her pussy. She slapped herself a few times for good measure. "Come and get it," she said, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Thunderlane growled and lunged forward. One hoof grabbed Rarity's mane immediately, while his other foreleg went around her throat, pulling her close and tightening her oxygen supply at the same time. Thunderlane was already hard, his cock felt gargantuan, he was rubbing his foreleg against her ass and cunt instead, Rarity shivered when she felt the head of his prick, he was sliding it into place, rubbing it in circles around her wet, juicy slit. "Please," Rarity begged, letting herself be unladylike at last when she could hold herself back no longer. "I can't take it. I need you to take me. Take me and make me yours, a filthy, desperate filly who's begging for—oh, Celestia, be gentle!" Rarity held a hoof to her head, feigning weakness. Thunderlane lowered his face to hers, and growled in her ear. "No thanks," he muttered back to her. Rarity's face held her shock as Thunderlane slammed his cock inside her in one solid, forceful motion. She went from empty to full-up just like that, and so full, she could feel him pushing against her walls and poking her up somewhere near her stomach, where nopony had been before, slamming into her gut and making her feel like there was more cock inside her than there was of her around Thunderlane's cock. She felt stuffed. Full. Overwhelmingly and completely owned by the fierce, growling stallion who'd shoved his giant prick inside her. Rarity kept her shocked 'o-face' as she began to cum. She couldn't speak, especially with Thunderlane's foreleg tightening around her neck, and so she simply jerked her hips back and forth, the difference of minute inches barely changing the feel of Thunderlane's enormous shaft buried up to her womb. It was the only bit of control she could muster, and still it felt like nothing, she was a helpless puppet stuffed with a thick, throbbing stallionhood, left to cum wordlessly until Thunderlane did whatever he wanted with her next. That, evidently, was to jerk her head back by her mane and stare into her eyes with a hot, hungry fire Rarity had only dreamed of in her most erotic nightmares. It said: 'You're mine.'. Rarity let herself belong to him then, whether or not she had a choice in it. When Thunderlane pulled back and his cock slid out of her with a thick, slurping noise, Rarity did her best to cling to every inch, until it was just the thick, throbbing head, and he moved his hips in circles, teasing her with the bulbous tip, until she was squealing, begging in an almost supersonic pitch, and even then, when he slammed into her again, it seemed only because he was bored of toying with her. Rarity gasped and wheezed through her chokehold, and even managed a "Yes, please!" garbled by her constrained lungs. Whether Thunderlane noticed her plea or not was immaterial, he kept fucking her just the same regardless, with a certain, focused fury, making the headboard slam against the wall each time he bottomed out and left a bulge in Rarity's stomach. The sound of them fucking must have been loud enough to carry through the walls. It might have been loud enough to carry to the next town over, if they were out on their porches and listening closely. To Rarity, it sounded like the sound of hoof to chest, over and over again, some poor, unprepared pony being pummeled mercilessly in the ring by a well-trained victor. It felt like submission, subjugation, being beaten into a pulp by a combination of desire and willpower. It felt like she belonged to somepony, and she was his, completely, for as long as he needed to use her, to make himself feel good. To get his cock to shoot off hot, sticky spurts, leaving long, white strands over her face and mane—or, Celestia forbid, leaving a dripping, gushy mess pouring out of her cunt like a waterfall of cream-filling. She shuddered, managing the bare movement as she braced herself against the headboard and Thunderlane continued to slam her hard enough to leave bruises. She was going to cum again, soon, and she had no idea how long she was expected to stay conscious while enduring this sort of pounding. She wanted to ask, "Dear, darling, is there anything I can do for you? To make you feel better, to give you a sense of pleasure..." but the words required thought, and thought was impossible, only her raw, physical body could demand attention, and it was constant, reeling her through the sensation of each slam, every time Thunderlane smashed his hips into her butt. She loved the way he took hold of her, the way she could feel the definition of his muscles as his foreleg tightened around her neck... "Cmmng," it sounded like, as Rarity said it. She ran her tongue around her mouth, which was dry, and tried her best again. "Cmmmngg." If Thunderlane noticed, or cared, he only showed it by slamming her even harder. By yanking on her mane and slapping her ass with his other hoof as she came. She came. Borderline of consciousness, gasping and coughing and choking with a dick inside her bigger than her foreleg. She was a little doll, a petite filly overtop of his hulking girth. Thunderlane pulled out suddenly, the way he had done everything else, with force and purpose. He yanked Rarity down the bed by her mane, spun her around, and lined his cock up with her mouth, waiting for her to part it only out of courtesy. "Oh, my," Rarity said, still catching her breath, but relieved she'd managed to keep from passing out. "You want me to—mhm!" Rarity's words were muffled by Thunderlane's cock as he shoved it inside her mouth. 'Suck' had been the one she was looking for, but even that seemed to be off-base, Thunderlane was fucking her face the same way he'd fucked her from behind, with no regard for the choking noises she started making, same as with his grip tightening around her neck. He held her head in place with both hooves, and didn't shove his entire dick down her throat, because obviously, that might have killed her. Instead, he found the perfect sweet spot, right where Rarity could choke and gag and sputter for air, but not so deep that she'd actually throw up or fall unconscious. If there was an art to face-fucking, Thunderlane had mastered it, and his demonstration of his prowess was to pound Rarity with his prick until her mouth was hot, sticky, and full in the aftermath. It didn't take long. Rarity managed to reach up and fondle Thunderlane's balls as he face-fucked her, even as she was gagging perpetually, and that seemed to push him over the edge, she could feel his body tense up through his nuts and his whole self jerk forward, the loudest grunt she'd heard him make as he shoved his cock even harder into the back of her throat... And that was it. Rarity felt herself gagging on rope after rope of sticky cum, but she let herself enjoy the sensation, knowing there was no way out until Thunderlane was done using her. He held her nose close to the base of his prick for so long, Rarity felt herself starting to pass out, and only when he yanked her head back by her mane and tossed her down onto the bed did Rarity have a chance to breathe, coughing and sputtering up mouthfuls of cum all over her chest and stomach. Thunderlane wiped a hoof across his brow before he got up. He went to the bathroom, and Rarity could hear the sink, presumably running cold water, from her place on the bed. She took the time to cough up the rest of the cum lodged in her throat, and tried to tidy the pillows and blankets into an at least somewhat presentable state. She mostly succeeded. When Thunderlane came back, he got wordlessly into bed and pulled Rarity down next to him. His strong, muscular foreleg went over her chest, and even though they'd finished fucking only minutes ago, his cock was still at full mast as he lined it up between the cheeks of Rarity's butt. Rarity giggled as he moved his hips back and forth, and gasped as she felt him lean in and nibble on her neck. Of course, she'd been silly to think they'd be done so soon. Fighters usually did three rounds, after all.
Chapter 1A Ponyville bar was a bar in Ponyville. You took the either two ends, smushed them together, and wound up with something not particularly satisfying when viewed from any direction. A proper bar had a name, a neighbourhood, and a reputation. Rarity's dive of choice was called The Dirty Muzzle, and you can take it up with local residential zoning if you think the name is immediately evocative or suggestive. The owner(s) of The Dirty Muzzle argue any resemblance to a known phrase or slang representing acts related directly or indirectly to sexual behaviour are purely coincidental. In short, you can't prove anything. Another facet: you had to know when to show up. You couldn't just walk in at half-past one on a Tuesday afternoon and expect to get the same experience. Rarity knew for a fact that one of the cooks who was only there on the weekend had a fryer all to himself, and the grease hadn't be cleaned or the oil emptied since the bar opened five years ago. Then there were the bartenders—Rarity had committed their shifts to memory, which wasn't difficult, as there was a small network of about five or six employees who seemed to rotate through various duties on a semi-weekly basis. Rarity was good with names anyway, so it had only taken around a month for her to get familiar enough to walk in and have her 'usual' ready before she'd even placed an order. That was just one of the perks of social know-how. One of the other perks was that, if you played your cards right, there was a lot more to see beneath the surface of a grimy wooden countertop than first appeared to be there. Rarity had noticed a V.I.P. section, for example, that seemed to be perpetually unoccupied. A private store of 'reserve' spirits that the owner(s) only broke out in the wee hours when they were sure anypony of consequence had gone home. The more than occasional 'misplacing' of bits from the cash-register and liquors from the back-shelf that everypony who worked there seemed to participate in. Rarity imagined she could have written a wonderful story about the place, if she'd been in the habit of storytelling. More 'story-making', than anything else. It was just shy of midnight when Rarity showed up. She gave a smile to the barkeep, a gruff looking pegasus with a shaved mane and a cutie mark of a salt-lick. He didn't smile back, but Rarity took no offense—she wasn't sure she'd ever seen his teeth before, unless he was growling at something. And there was her drink, waiting for her, a cosmopolitan with pomegranate juice instead of cranberry. She liked the little bite of the alcohol buried underneath the fruity fragrance, the way it nipped like bits of fire at the back of her nose and throat. Warmed up her chest, and made her feel ready, and just full-enough of herself to last the evening out socializing. Even with ponies who were 'less-accustomed' to proper social introductions and procedures. Rarity considered herself a sort of amateur-anthropologist. Even still, there was the negotiation to play out. Rarity had to pull one end of the invisible string, and somepony on the other end of the line would pull the other. Rarity took a sip of her drink and leaned over the bar a little, looking at the gruff pegasus, who was polishing a grimy-looking glass without much success. The pegasus eyed her back, and grunted, but said nothing further. Rarity smiled at him. "And how are things on your end of the fence, Turn-Key?" "Same shit, different pile," he said. The rag he was using to clean glasses looked like it had been bought at the bar's opening, and had been made to do double duty as the barkeep's personal handkerchief. Rarity pulled the tiny fruit-skewer out of her drink and gently bit off a piece of pineapple at the end. She smiled as she chewed, and let out a soft sigh. "Well, I suppose that's to be expected, as a matter of perspective," Rarity said. She took another sip of her drink. Only a few other ponies were present, mostly congregating in the dimly-lit tables at the back and coughing as they shared drags in the smoking section. "Mhm." Turn-Key put down his glass and rag. "You need something? Another drink? I'll get one of the fillies to do that girly one you like..." "Oh, no, I'm perfectly alright for now, thank you," Rarity said, batting her eyelashes sweetly. "Though, now that you mention it, I had overheard there might be a presentation of the local antique ballistics society, presenting their collections to the viewing public. At this location, as a matter of fact." Turn-Key blinked, blank-faced. "Huh?" "Oh, you know," Rarity went on, leaning even further over the counter, so close she could smell the week-long shift coming off Turn-Key's coat. "That small group native to Ponyville which demonstrates their store of antiquated fire-arms and other warfare devices." Turn-Key blinked again. "What?" Rarity let out a long, dejected sigh. "The gun show, my dear. I'm looking for tickets. Can you help a filly out?" Turn-Key shifted his eyes from side to side. "Maybe. What's the secret code?" "I'll pay you a small handling fee, but you must go fetch your supervisor directly, and as soon as the purchase is complete, you'll receive your gratuity." "My 'supervisor'?" Turn-Key asked, eyebrow raised. Rarity sighed again. "Your boss. Please go get him. We've met many times before." "Oh, right." Turn-Key scratched his head. Now that Rarity mentioned it, he was pretty sure he'd seen her in here before, at least once last week... and the week before that, and the week before that... Huh. Maybe he should stop drinking hourly when he was on-shift. "Be right back," Turn-Key said. He sauntered off around the back of the bar, to the hidden 'employees-only' infrastructure that Rarity had it on authority mostly just consisted of the kitchen, a bathroom, and the boss's office which he refused to let anypony else sit in during their shift. No breakroom. Sit when you get home. Etcetera. There he was. The boss. 'Big Show', as he preferred to be called. Rarity had taken a few tries to say it without giggling. "M'aa'm," he said, doffing an imaginary hat in Rarity's direction. He was... okay, he was tiny. Practically colt-sized. A miniature earth-pony with a gun-shaped cutie-mark. But Rarity didn't judge based on height, or weight, or any of the other character sheet statistics marginally separating her soul from somepony else's. Big things come in small packages, after all. "Mr. Big," Rarity replied, nodding her head and smiling. Big Show giggled in spite of himself. He couldn't help it. He loved that nickname. "I trust you're here for the... nightly entertainment?" The little pony leaned over the counter and winked suggestively at her. Rarity ignored the wink out of courtesy. "I wouldn't miss an installment... though, there was that nasty period where city legislation seemed content to interfere with the proceedings on the basis of 'ensuring safe and legal entertainment'. Pish-tosh. Who doesn't like a little thrill of danger along with their watching experience, hmm?" "You were here last week when that unicorn got his eyeballs squished, right?" Rarity smiled devilishly, and downed the last of her drink. "My dear, I was front and center. I believe I still have one of the eyeballs at home." Big Show's grin was almost as big as his face. "Now that's a true fan! Just follow me to my office and we can complete our... 'transaction'. Heh heh heh." Rarity wondered if she should tell the fellow his creepy-sounding apostrophes weren't technically accurate, but decided against it. Better to let him believe for his own sake, like a little puppy that was certain it had caught a real fox instead of a sock stuffed to look like one. Nopony noticed the pair of them slip away. But the back-room past the office was much more substantial than the remainder of the employee area. Rarity had seen it many times, from the long, austere hallway to the sound-proof, boarded up gymnasium that appeared abandoned and forgotten until you cracked the door and heard the sound of a thousand blood-hungry spectators cheering for the next match. It was in the air. Sweat, blood, ponies grinding each other against their friction and willpower until only one remained standing. Rarity sighed. She was already a little wet, and the show hadn't even started yet.
Chapter 2Rarity wished she could find a way to bottle and sell the essence in the air before a fight. It was much of it a smell, something like a cross between over-eager gym-sweat and grumbling, musky testosterone, but that was only the half of it—the tension between everypony bumping together in the crowd was another part of it, the sense that a fight could break out at any moment not including any of the ponies that were on the card for the evening. Everypony there was bubbling underneath the surface with at least one thick layer of 'it could have been me', and losing a string of bets could run a pony up this side of a salt-lick, so to speak. Rarity had fantasized about putting out an erstwhile hoof and tripping somepony to see the resultant explosion of blood and brawling hooves, but she restrained herself every time. There was enough of all of that to happen as planned anyway. Analysis wasn't a feat she enjoyed, but perhaps she was prone to it, as a pony with a hoof in both worlds, always doing her best to translate dreams and impulses into tangible objects that could be lusted over by like-minded ponies who saw the same flashes of inspiration in fashion that she did. It was hard not to feel everything, and, in feeling it, think endlessly on the bits of the sensation that made her tingle along every inch of her coat. Between her legs especially. Firstly, you had the fighters. No, leave them aside for a moment. Firstly, you had the crowd. It was a throng—she liked that word, 'throng'—a mumbling thrush of separate bodies in a common instance of intent. Everypony was there for some version of the same thing, biting out the bloodshed that day-bound society disallowed them from expressing. It didn't matter if you were grappling in the ring or just estimating your expectations from the sidelines—you always had something on the line close to your dignity, and anypony who was up in bits or points for brawling had bragging rights over the simpler-minded and less able. It was a proving grounds, she supposed. Maybe that was what made the sense of the air so thick and deliciously toxic. It tickled her in a dark and naughty place that remained buried in all other contexts, the tiny fragment of her consciousness that wanted to be dragged by her mane into a dank cave and ravaged solely for the sake of the stallion interested in breeding her. She wanted to be used up by somepony, a shell around the surge of adrenaline he was riding to slam his cock into her, an empty vessel for his pleasure. Ooh. It gave her shivers. And here the match hadn't even started yet. That was her main focus of the night, aside the pervasive and intoxicating aroma of stallions mingling with each other in various degrees of musk and body-odour. Rarity inhaled deeply and savoured the mix of scents, impossible to pull one stallion's cologne from another's. It was like dunking your head in a thick, virile soup. Sometimes she never wanted to come up for air. Ooh. But there was the card. She'd paid special attention to that, there was a dark black pegasus of particular interest, and hopefully one she'd get at least a little time with before the match started. Rarity pushed her way subtly through the crowd, winnowing in the gaps between ponies like an invisible current vanishing through river eddies. Her steps took her along a practiced route, passed the bookies and food vendors that had to yell loud enough to be heard over the constant crowd-murmur, until she was at ring-side, and from there could see the sectioned-off pens on either side that the fighters were sent to wait in. There, she could see the familiar dark hue and gruff expression over a set of feathers that she'd set her eye on since seeing him last time. Surely, one could devote one's attention solely to the top-scoring contender in a given event, and surely, Rarity was capable of pivoting her interests in a sharp but subtle enough way that she could and had spent many a month hopping from prize-fighter to prize-fighter... but Thunderlane was special, and Rarity sensed in him a certain youthful hunger that she was certain would translate to the bedroom. She'd spend more than a few evenings sprawled out on her bed, face buried in her pillow, picturing Thunderlane's engorged stallionhood slipping into her from behind, making her quiver and moan and ache with how thickly it parted her lips and slid into her passage, and she would howl like a possessed creature in the primal night, and frig herself between her legs mercilessly, and cum buckets, fountains, waterfalls, and have a lot of laundry to do the next day, as well as needing to prepare an excuse for Sweetie about how she'd recently been onset with a batch of particularly cruel night terrors. Fucking somepony could be a lot of work, at the end of the day. There was the other contestant as well—that hulking, egg-white deformity and his miniature wings. Bulk Biceps had started as something of a running joke in the underground fight community, something of a de facto moral lesson on how size did not necessarily equal strength—but after a combination of intense training and hush hush performance enhancing substances that somehow evaded regular screenings, Bulk was back in the game in a big way, and was tonight set to cement the seventh win in his growing victory streak. 'Lucky Seven' was the name of the event, and Thunderlane and Bulk were at the top of the card. Never mind weight-classes—Bulk Biceps broke most of the categorization conventions anyway. Him and his hippopotamic land-mass of a body. In one camp of the crowd, you had ponies saying Thunderlane could never do it—Bulk Biceps was the next Pony Joe Fraser, and Thunderlane was another destined-to-be-eventually-nameless stop on his journey to the top. Then you had the other side. The way Rarity saw it, big things fell harder. They sometimes fucked harder, but they also often ran out of steam early. She was no fighter, but she'd seen enough ponies attempting to tear out each others' throats that she could feel an upset coming in her bones. In her lady-place, if it was a really big one. This one had started tingling when she woke up in the morning. She'd rubbed one out before breakfast, and Sweetie had persisted in asking 'what's that smell?' until Rarity sent her on a made-up errand at the bakery by bribing her with a promise of a treat. Then she'd rubbed one out again while Sweetie was gone, and cleaned up in the shower before the innocent little thing got back. She'd used her treat money to buy a cream-filled long-john, and Rarity had needed to excuse herself upstairs to her room after a few bites. To touch herself again, of course. Because being underground, and technically 'illegal', the accommodations at ring-side were a far reach from those at a professional fight. There was a lot less blood to clean up at a professional fight, for one thing. Luckily, the first few fights of the night that Rarity had missed were mostly clean, and only one pony had lost any of his teeth, which were promptly swept up and returned to him, a little dusty but otherwise none the worse for the wear. Rarity could sidle up to Thunderlane's corner easily, without even getting a sideways look from his coach, who was so deep in pre-game strategy that he seemed not to notice her at all. Thunderlane noticed her, but gave no indication that he had done so besides a brisk, almost nod, and a tiny grunt that only Rarity could just barely hear through the constant murmur of the crowd. She stood and watched him for a bit, drinking in the sight of somepony this strong and virile in preparation for a task that would push him to the fullest limits of his abilities. Maybe that was the part that she ached for most insatiably—seeing somepony put his everything on the line, to achieve that which was only possible through sheer, physical willpower. You couldn't move a rock up a hill by talking it up, or dancing it, or playing it a nice tune and then asking it to move. At the end of the day, sometimes, you had to push a fucking rock. And these ponies had pushed so many rocks, they had started to ask themselves if it was possible to move the earth with enough force and a determined shove in the right direction. Now, Rarity thought to herself, how best to approach the business ahead of us... "'scuse me, Miss," came a voice from behind her, a young mare's, with a vulgar out-of-place city-street's accent that reminded Rarity of the same pork-pie fat that Pipsqueak had one day congealed in. Rarity turned away from her greenish-silver-maned mark to address the polite interruption. An earth-pony with long pig-tails and a blue vest on smiled up at her, given the height difference between them. She had a bright shiny set of teeth that nevertheless looked horribly askew. Rarity smiled back, no stranger to courtesy even surrounded by the heady smog of a hundred blood-hungry stallions. Hopefully she could get this over with before the fight of the night begins... "Yes, darling?" She only dropped such poison-drenched 'darlings' in special circumstance, but impatience was a cruel and insistent motivator. "Just noticed you eyeing the fighters, Miss," the earth-pony with the pigtails said. "And I bet all the bits in your pocket against my fancy gold watch that I can pick the best fighter." Rarity raised and lowered an eyebrow. "A bet, dear? Really, go see the bookies for that sort of thing. We're interested in a more intimate profile of tonight's events than your winnings will provide..." "It's a real fancy gold watch, Miss. A Tirek's. I swear on me Mum, miss." "Please go away. You're obnoxious in a special way it would take us the better part of an hour to describe properly. And your mane is atrocious. Split ends everywhere, darling." The pea-soup-with-ham pony trotted off, her gold (?) watch and pride in toe. Rarity paid her no more mind than a mosquito that had missed its bite. Now, where was that hunk of hunk of smoldering pegasus she had her eye on for real... Ah, yes. Still gritting his teeth and staring down an invisible version of the hulking monstrosity he was about to grapple with. Well, this was where Rarity was to have her say, and nopony had an objection big enough to get in her way for long. "Darling," she called from cage-side, choosing the special musical lilt she saved for bar-room flirtations or coy winks as she walked home in the evening. Again, Thunderlane noticed her, but pretended expertly he hadn't done so, continuing to stare rigidly forward and make the show that his ears were only for his coach. Rarity was unperturbed. She knew how to get into a stallion's head more than one way. This just presented a more promising challenge. Instead of speaking, Rarity made her way around the proximity of Thunderlane's waiting space a few times. She flicked her tail over her backside, careful not to give more than a peek of anything resting underneath, the rest of her figure hidden by the pale brown jacked she'd selected for the evening, the same colour as a doe in a meadow at springtime. It her experience, the prey-like nature made her all the more appealing to a hungry pegasus who probably hadn't gotten off in ages, busy with all his training. Rarity acted oblivious as she made her rounds, but by the third trip, she had decidedly captured Thunderlane's attention, and noticed him staring at her backside even when she was just turning idly, doing her best to seem uninterested in the hulking specimen only feet away. Both of them were playing a game of 'don't catch me looking', but Rarity was reigning champ, and unlike Bulk Biceps, had no intention of surrendering her winning streak any time soon. "You do intend to dethrone that deformed heap of muscles, don't you, dear?" Rarity asked the question as though she was uninterested in the answer, pleading a case to Thunderlane simply for the satisfaction of hearing her own sultry voice. Again, it seemed to be working; Thunderlane's ears perked at the sound of Rarity's voice, and his eyes couldn't help but drifting in her direction even when she was facing forward, drinking in the sight of her heavy eye-shadow and lush, red lipstick. Rarity considered the fight as much an event for herself as a viewer as for any of the contestants. Thunderlane grunted, but this time it seemed in direct response to Rarity's question. She pushed on, smirking inwardly at having finally gotten the first hoof-hold of progress. A shame she hadn't been born with a natural proclivity for lifting heavy things and throwing her body around—well, that second one was a matter of semantics, because there was one type of throwing her body around she was very good at... "It just seems to me you're in for a bit of a struggle... he's undefeated on his new run, you know. Surely you've been paying attention these past few months." "Bigger they are, harder they fall," Thunderlane said. His voice was low, gruff, but not unwelcoming, it reminded Rarity of thick boughs of lumber and the sensation of being physically lifted off her feet by her father as a filly, being carried to her room and giggling as the two of them tickle-fought into exhaustion. Rarity's father had never been a pony to fit in the ring like this, but still, she thought of him sometimes. Rarity grinned openly. Time to reel him in. "You're quite confident for a young upstart." Rarity began to wander around the pen again, waving her tail expertly over her tush while making it seem as natural as possible. "I trust you've gotten your wagers all in place before the fight... ready to put your money where your mouth is, so to speak." "Don't do it for the money," Thunderlane shot back. His coach had wandered off, presumably to prepare for the fight, which was set to start in less than fifteen minutes. "That's not the important part." "Mhmm... you're just in it for the thrill of the fight then, is that it? The look on the other colt's face as you send him tumbling down like a sack of potatoes, faced for the first time with the fact that all his strength and practice won't save him from somepony who's just better than him?" Thunderlane turned his head to the side, doing his best to appear as though he wasn't staring at Rarity like a starving, slobbering hound. He raised an eyebrow and scrunched his face up a bit. "What's your name?" he asked. Rarity winked at him. "Oh, let's not spoil things with too many details... why don't we save that for after you've claimed your prize, hmm?" "It's just a belt," Thunderlane said. "I already told you, I don't do it for the—" "Oh, not that prize, darling." Rarity giggled and swished her tail over her backside once more for good measure, then spread her legs ever so slightly, giving Thunderlane his first proper glimpse of her soaking-wet marehood. "I was talking about me." She snapped her legs shut before he could get used to the show. "Good luck, dear," Rarity said, and blew Thunderlane a kiss as she vanished into the crowd. "Hope to see you soon..." Thunderlane stared at Rarity's ass as it walked away. When she was gone, he lowered his head, shook it, and drained his water bottle until it was empty. The fight was in five minutes.
Chapter 3While there was an art to the pure interaction of bodies in the pursuit of physical victory, Rarity found herself more captured by the moment-to-moment sensations of the evening than any particular feat or act of prowess. Thunderlane and Bulk would be in a continuous duality for some time, a dance that ended when one of them could no longer keep his footing... Rarity was interested in the bits inbetween the motion, the threads of thought and emotion she could capture just by drinking them in with her senses. The fight started, as they usually do, with a testing of spaces. Rarity had seen whole matches in amateur brackets revolve around this test, the extending of hooves into open air and seeing how fiercely your opponent would knock them away. It was a chance to examine hoofwork, to gauge preliminary decision making, and, if your opponent made any foolish slips, an easy-to-capitalize extension of your natural curiosity. You simply went from a tap of the hooves into a full-body takedown, and the rest of the match was yours. Like pulling a tablecloth out and leaving the dishes resting perfectly in their place. With Bulk and Thunderlane, things were certain to be more... up-close. 'Squishy' came to mind, though Rarity didn't imagine there was much give in the tightly taut muscles on display. She watched the two pegasi lock together, circle the arena like a blob of amoeba that had coalesced, then separate again when they were certain neither of them was committed to dragging the other down just yet. Exploratory kicks were traded. Bulk made one brash charge that might have evolved into a takedown, but Thunderlane stepped expertly aside and let his opponent blunder forward a few feet before he realized there was no longer something in front of him worth hitting. Rarity was all smiles as she watched. Every now and then, when the two fighters had given each other space, she was sure she could catch Thunderlane, searching for her in the crowd out of the corner of his eye. Tonight was as much her show as his. Better to put herself to work before things drew to a conclusion. Mostly, outside the specifics of which pony had hit whom whereabouts, and how hard they'd done it, Rarity found herself envisioning the fight as two tractors in a field, meeting at low velocity, and slowly grinding forward until one of them was crushed, like two hard-shell candies you had smooshed together with your hooves. Anything that was a decision or a consequence of training ultimately just came out as 'push', and it all mounded together to equal a chance to success. The higher the prize teetered on the pedestal above the arena, the harder the push was beneath. Rarity was fully aware her variety of 'prize' had tipped more than a single fight in the past. Time to put it to good use. There was Thunderlane, looking in her direction again. Give him a show. Rarity flashed her tail again, this time taking time to draw it languidly over the curves of her backside, which was turned squarely in Thunderlane's direction. Nopony in the crowd seemed to notice, all eyes were on the fight... except the eyes in the fight, and then, only Thunderlane's mattered. Bulk Bicep's eyes were tiny and squinty and looked like little black and red water beetles climbing up his face. Rarity wanted to see them squished. Thunderlane was noticing her, certainly. He stared a little too long when she bounced her butt up and down, and almost caught a haymaker for his troubles. Bulk was one giant walking telegraph, but even he was capable of catching somepony off-guard staring at a prized snatch in the crowd. Rarity allowed herself a grin for gaining her first bona fide distraction. That was the rest of the progression—grunting grapples and traded blows, a little space to give Thunderlane time to look back into the audience, where Rarity was wandering and would appear in random places, keeping the poor pegasus on his hooves even more than he already was. Sometimes she'd just be there, a smile and a wink before disappearing, other times she lingered longer, got closer to ring side, so close she could practically press her backside up against the side of the cage and give Thunderlane an in-person whiff of the heady scent escaping from her marehood. If somepony in the crowd had tried, they probably could have picked it out, but Rarity's personal perfume was reserved only for one pony that night. Only if he could keep his head in the ring long enough to claim her. It was the full on flash that did it. Rarity turned one-eighty, spread her legs, lifted her tail, and winked, full-on and purposeful, in Thunderlane's direction. It stopped him dead in his tracks, and whatever strategy he'd been about to employ fell away as he stared, dumbfounded, at the white-and-pink set of lips inviting him over. It was the perfect time for Bulk Biceps to conk him in the back of the head. Rarity was sure she heard something crack, and her sultry pout quickly turned to a real one. Oh dear. It wouldn't do if the poor thing was too distracted to claim his prize... The grapple could have ended it. Bulk was big, and... well, bulky, and he got a good hold of Thunderlane from behind as the night-black pegasus was kneeling and trying to stop his skull from ringing. Even mishandled, that much muscle-mass can really crowd your ability to breathe, and so the two of them wrangled around the arena again, two halves of a cell joined until one of them tumbled mercilessly to the canvas with a thump of finality. Rarity had to do something. Or did she? It was only because she'd been staring at him the entire time that she caught it—but it was very certain, a very intentional gesture to match her own, minus the double-entendre that came with her anatomy—Thunderlane winked back at her. The standard usage, mind you. Something about, the bigger they are, they harder they...? It was sort of like watching a building collapse—Rarity didn't have a lot of experience seeing towering masses fall to the ground, outside of wrestling, anyway—but if she could have pictured Bulk Biceps as anything else, it would have been a mound of turtles, all hiding in their shells and stack atop one another, with the entire gaggle of reptiles resting precariously on a single chopstick, balancing them against the laws of physics and common sense to keep the entire mound more-or-less aloft. Watching Thunderlane yank the big dumb blob's leg out from under him was more satisfying than any game of Jenga™ could have ever been. A wet sack full of old auto parts hitting the pavement. Or a watermelon being squashed in slow motion. Thunk really wasn't a big enough word to describe it. More of a ka-THOOOMP. Rarity didn't fuss over the particulars of the vocabulary. There was Thunderlane, lifting his hoof in the air. The stupid look on Bulk's face, staring up at the overhead lights and coming to terms with the fact that he was no longer upright. The crowd, suddenly silent, only for an instant, and then an explosion of cheers and scrabbling to collect bets before the bookies ran off. Rarity allowed herself a small smile as she wiggled through the crowds to ring-side again. Thunderlane was sitting, downing a large bottle of water. His head was soaked, from a mix of sweat and water that had been dumped on him, and his coach had given him a towel, which he was running across his forehead every few seconds. The thing was drenched. Rarity smirked. She hadn't spoken before Thunderlane looked up at her. Sniffing the air, like he'd caught wind of a helpless baby bunny in an open field. "Like the show?" he asked, giving her his first grin of the night. Rarity felt her legs tingle and then some. "Funny," she said, smiling even more seductively, "but I was going to ask you the same thing..." Nopony paid them particular attention as they continued to banter, or as they snuck out together. Only when Thunderlane's coach came back did he realize his fighter was gone, and by that point he was drunk enough that he forgot to worry about it anyway.
AND THEN THEY FUCKED"You put on quite a performance tonight," Rarity said, smiling and trailing her tail over her behind. She and Thunderlane had migrated easily to a late-night hotel, and the private room they selected looked at least like it had been cleaned within the last week. Rarity found her way to the bed immediately, jumped on to it with a little giggle, and sprawled out on her back, spreading her legs and showing herself off to Thunderlane. She giggled again as she tossed her jacket to the side of the bed, and as Thunderlane hopped up onto the bed with her and began eyeing between her legs hungrily. "So did you," he said. He moved up the bed until his head was level with Rarity's, her whole body overtop of her, towering and shadowing her, making her feel as though he could crush her at any moment... ooh, the tingles again. There was no hiding how wet and horny she was now, she could smell herself stronger than Thunderlane's sweat... "Mhm," Rarity said as Thunderlane began to kiss her neck and chest, hard and gruff, his stubble raking over her skin and causing her to giggle between moans. "I just wanted to make sure you were—ah!—properly motivated." She giggled and ran her hoof along the back of Thunderlane's head as he left little bites on her neck. "Did it work?" "Turn over," Thunderlane growled. "I wanna see my prize before I fuck it unconscious." "Ooh!" Rarity smiled and waggled her butt as she jumped up and repositioned herself on the bed. "How wonderful. I love a stallion who knows what he wants." "Good. Because this stallion wants that." Thunderlane slammed a hoof into Rarity's backside, causing her to yelp and her cheeks to jiggle. Thunderlane ran his hoof over her butt once or twice before tracing down, further between her legs, and rubbing fiercely, insistently, at her dripping pussy, pushing so hard she half-moaned, half-screamed as her body jerked and moved involuntarily up the bed. "It's all yours, big boy," Rarity murmured, voice sultry, her head turned over her shoulder as she spread her legs and showed off her dripping cunt. She reached between her legs and ran a hoof along her slit, then reached down with her other hoof and spread herself wide, giving Thunderlane a full and proper view of the slippery pink inside of her pussy. She slapped herself a few times for good measure. "Come and get it," she said, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Thunderlane growled and lunged forward. One hoof grabbed Rarity's mane immediately, while his other foreleg went around her throat, pulling her close and tightening her oxygen supply at the same time. Thunderlane was already hard, his cock felt gargantuan, he was rubbing his foreleg against her ass and cunt instead, Rarity shivered when she felt the head of his prick, he was sliding it into place, rubbing it in circles around her wet, juicy slit. "Please," Rarity begged, letting herself be unladylike at last when she could hold herself back no longer. "I can't take it. I need you to take me. Take me and make me yours, a filthy, desperate filly who's begging for—oh, Celestia, be gentle!" Rarity held a hoof to her head, feigning weakness. Thunderlane lowered his face to hers, and growled in her ear. "No thanks," he muttered back to her. Rarity's face held her shock as Thunderlane slammed his cock inside her in one solid, forceful motion. She went from empty to full-up just like that, and so full, she could feel him pushing against her walls and poking her up somewhere near her stomach, where nopony had been before, slamming into her gut and making her feel like there was more cock inside her than there was of her around Thunderlane's cock. She felt stuffed. Full. Overwhelmingly and completely owned by the fierce, growling stallion who'd shoved his giant prick inside her. Rarity kept her shocked 'o-face' as she began to cum. She couldn't speak, especially with Thunderlane's foreleg tightening around her neck, and so she simply jerked her hips back and forth, the difference of minute inches barely changing the feel of Thunderlane's enormous shaft buried up to her womb. It was the only bit of control she could muster, and still it felt like nothing, she was a helpless puppet stuffed with a thick, throbbing stallionhood, left to cum wordlessly until Thunderlane did whatever he wanted with her next. That, evidently, was to jerk her head back by her mane and stare into her eyes with a hot, hungry fire Rarity had only dreamed of in her most erotic nightmares. It said: 'You're mine.'. Rarity let herself belong to him then, whether or not she had a choice in it. When Thunderlane pulled back and his cock slid out of her with a thick, slurping noise, Rarity did her best to cling to every inch, until it was just the thick, throbbing head, and he moved his hips in circles, teasing her with the bulbous tip, until she was squealing, begging in an almost supersonic pitch, and even then, when he slammed into her again, it seemed only because he was bored of toying with her. Rarity gasped and wheezed through her chokehold, and even managed a "Yes, please!" garbled by her constrained lungs. Whether Thunderlane noticed her plea or not was immaterial, he kept fucking her just the same regardless, with a certain, focused fury, making the headboard slam against the wall each time he bottomed out and left a bulge in Rarity's stomach. The sound of them fucking must have been loud enough to carry through the walls. It might have been loud enough to carry to the next town over, if they were out on their porches and listening closely. To Rarity, it sounded like the sound of hoof to chest, over and over again, some poor, unprepared pony being pummeled mercilessly in the ring by a well-trained victor. It felt like submission, subjugation, being beaten into a pulp by a combination of desire and willpower. It felt like she belonged to somepony, and she was his, completely, for as long as he needed to use her, to make himself feel good. To get his cock to shoot off hot, sticky spurts, leaving long, white strands over her face and mane—or, Celestia forbid, leaving a dripping, gushy mess pouring out of her cunt like a waterfall of cream-filling. She shuddered, managing the bare movement as she braced herself against the headboard and Thunderlane continued to slam her hard enough to leave bruises. She was going to cum again, soon, and she had no idea how long she was expected to stay conscious while enduring this sort of pounding. She wanted to ask, "Dear, darling, is there anything I can do for you? To make you feel better, to give you a sense of pleasure..." but the words required thought, and thought was impossible, only her raw, physical body could demand attention, and it was constant, reeling her through the sensation of each slam, every time Thunderlane smashed his hips into her butt. She loved the way he took hold of her, the way she could feel the definition of his muscles as his foreleg tightened around her neck... "Cmmng," it sounded like, as Rarity said it. She ran her tongue around her mouth, which was dry, and tried her best again. "Cmmmngg." If Thunderlane noticed, or cared, he only showed it by slamming her even harder. By yanking on her mane and slapping her ass with his other hoof as she came. She came. Borderline of consciousness, gasping and coughing and choking with a dick inside her bigger than her foreleg. She was a little doll, a petite filly overtop of his hulking girth. Thunderlane pulled out suddenly, the way he had done everything else, with force and purpose. He yanked Rarity down the bed by her mane, spun her around, and lined his cock up with her mouth, waiting for her to part it only out of courtesy. "Oh, my," Rarity said, still catching her breath, but relieved she'd managed to keep from passing out. "You want me to—mhm!" Rarity's words were muffled by Thunderlane's cock as he shoved it inside her mouth. 'Suck' had been the one she was looking for, but even that seemed to be off-base, Thunderlane was fucking her face the same way he'd fucked her from behind, with no regard for the choking noises she started making, same as with his grip tightening around her neck. He held her head in place with both hooves, and didn't shove his entire dick down her throat, because obviously, that might have killed her. Instead, he found the perfect sweet spot, right where Rarity could choke and gag and sputter for air, but not so deep that she'd actually throw up or fall unconscious. If there was an art to face-fucking, Thunderlane had mastered it, and his demonstration of his prowess was to pound Rarity with his prick until her mouth was hot, sticky, and full in the aftermath. It didn't take long. Rarity managed to reach up and fondle Thunderlane's balls as he face-fucked her, even as she was gagging perpetually, and that seemed to push him over the edge, she could feel his body tense up through his nuts and his whole self jerk forward, the loudest grunt she'd heard him make as he shoved his cock even harder into the back of her throat... And that was it. Rarity felt herself gagging on rope after rope of sticky cum, but she let herself enjoy the sensation, knowing there was no way out until Thunderlane was done using her. He held her nose close to the base of his prick for so long, Rarity felt herself starting to pass out, and only when he yanked her head back by her mane and tossed her down onto the bed did Rarity have a chance to breathe, coughing and sputtering up mouthfuls of cum all over her chest and stomach. Thunderlane wiped a hoof across his brow before he got up. He went to the bathroom, and Rarity could hear the sink, presumably running cold water, from her place on the bed. She took the time to cough up the rest of the cum lodged in her throat, and tried to tidy the pillows and blankets into an at least somewhat presentable state. She mostly succeeded. When Thunderlane came back, he got wordlessly into bed and pulled Rarity down next to him. His strong, muscular foreleg went over her chest, and even though they'd finished fucking only minutes ago, his cock was still at full mast as he lined it up between the cheeks of Rarity's butt. Rarity giggled as he moved his hips back and forth, and gasped as she felt him lean in and nibble on her neck. Of course, she'd been silly to think they'd be done so soon. Fighters usually did three rounds, after all.
