Discipline & Pleasure

Diamond Tiara lay at the edge of her bed, hind legs parted to accommodate the mare between them. Behind her closed eyes she could picture the unicorn, feel the pressure of her body as she held her down, mouth now on hers, kissing her hard on the lips. She gave a muffled moan as the tongue pushed past, gliding along her teeth, pressing deeper. Her sex flooded with anticipation of what was to come and she wrapped her legs around the mare above her, grinding her mound into her, her body pleading with her to continue.

The tongue withdrew, followed by several lighter, gentle kisses. She heard a giggle, “This is so naughty.”

She gave another, unhappy moan as the unicorn's image wavered and dissipated, her eyes opening to see the gray pony above her. Silver Spoon grinned. Diamond Tiara just looked at her.

It had been two weeks since her encounter with the dressmaker. She had not returned to that fateful doorstep. She couldn’t will herself to. It would have been a show of weakness, of submission. Never before had she been treated so disrespectfully by another pony. Her cheeks burned sometimes just thinking about it.

She forced herself upon me, Tiara affirmed for the hundredth time since that afternoon, I had no choice. She was young, immature, a beautiful budding flower shamelessly assaulted by the older mare.

And you loved it, said another, secret voice deep down in her gut. She should have told the older mare that she wasn’t interested, that what she was suggesting was totally inappropriate. She should have run home to her father and told him everything, like she would have done a year ago. But threaded through her thoughts, then and now, was that deep longing she had felt when the dressmaker was running her hooves over her body, caressing her with her voice. The memories evoked not only shame but pleasure as well, woven together by hooves so skillful that they were almost indistinguishable.

You gave yourself to her.

It was the same argument she had been having with herself since then, and she doubted it would be resolved that day any more than it was the day before. She pushed it to the back of her mind with a sigh as she felt her friend begin to shower her neck with small, brief kisses.

Besides the ongoing and sometimes heated internal debate she carried with her out of that dress shop, Diamond Tiara’s life seemed to have been improving since. She sought out companionship soon after that fateful day, which explained why her gray partner was currently mounting a valiant effort to pleasure her. Initially she had been excited by the new relationship. She and Silvy had fooled around a few times in the past, but their activities had been limited to some experimental kissing. She had known her friend wanted more, but when a disagreement about public displays of affection ended with her friend tearfully confessing her love for her, she had balked. Though their friendship had mended with time, the tension remained. It had just taken Diamond Tiara insisting they take the ‘scenic route’ home from their usual trip to the mall one day and jumping her in the garden maze to bring it out.

They had done much more than kiss that day, and since. Tiara had never been so satisfied. Or so she had told herself. Enough to believe it for the first week. But the satiated feeling she got from lying with her friend was waning, and other issues had already begun to crop up - she could feel the same old argument about commitment and respect looming on the horizon, in storm clouds resembling her partner’s coat. The relationship was already wilting under the inattentive hoof of the girl with the crown on her flank.

Silver Spoon was more than willing to overlook her flaws in the name of finally getting what she wanted, though, and maybe that was part of the problem. The mare she waylaid in the maze had yielded without struggle, her kisses urgent and wanting. In the time since, whether in bed or in choosing where to eat out, she had behaved in the same manner. It had taken some effort to even get her on top today.

It all leads back to the dressmaker. Tiara, with an eye well-practiced at finding the root of her problems in the ponies around her, had convinced herself that the source of her growing frustration was behind those blue doors on the outskirts of downtown. She needed to take charge, go back there and...

...and what? Yell? Scream? Threaten her? You let her do this to you, and you loved every minute of it. At this rate you’re more likely to bend over for her than bend her to your will.

No, she replied silently, my father is powerful, she is not. She can’t get away with this. When I confront her she will fear me.

But her inner voice was unsteady, and her gut could tell. Her stomach tightened with stress. No, she will fear him. And will you run back to daddy then? Will he restore your innocence? Is that even what you want?

In her mind she could still see the unicorn’s deep blue eyes, and she sank into them slowly, concentrating on the rhythm of her friend’s tongue between her legs, escaping her inner conflict once again.

Tiara shuddered and cried out as the orgasm overtook her. Caught up in her thoughts about the pale mare, she had failed to notice her friend's downward progress. Her head turned towards the door in a moment of panic before she remembered her father was at work. Even though - per the awkward and brief father-daughter chat the day before her cuteceañera - he had no objection to her being intimate with mare friends, she was fairly sure he was unaware of the degree to which she was involved with Silvy, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Her gray companion lay down next to her, smiling with hazy satisfaction. “That was really hot, I can’t believe how quickly I got you off.”

Tiara didn’t return her offered affection, though, eyes trained on the ceiling so intently she appeared to be contemplating the infinity of space above, her signature frown in place. “What’s got you so distracted?” her friend prodded gently.

The magenta mare stared at her after a moment, the ghost of a frown still on her face, “I just had a thought, nothing important. I think I need a new dress.”

It was 12:15 in the afternoon, and Rarity was hard at work. Needles soared through the air and scissors sheared with precision at her command, evoking the artist’s vision in the medium of cloth. Bolts of delicate fabric lay discarded at her hooves, the shredded remnants of the break she had forsaken for the past two weeks. The dozens of dresses, suits, and giant hats that decorated dummies all around the showroom were a testament to her untiring ability to avoid thinking too hard about the problems in her life.

First and foremost on the list of things not to think about was the memory of that day. The pleasant afterglow of her fitful coupling with the filly had faded as soon as she had had closed the shop and was left alone with her thoughts. With the evening shadows had crept a feeling of dread which had lingered since, growing stronger with each day, staining her doorway and bedroom a deep, dark black.

The next on the list, close to the first, was the whereabouts of the filly herself. What if she doesn’t come back? What if she does? The tolling of the bell on the front door signaling the entrance of each new customer echoed in her heart as well, triggering the sudden self-consciousness she was accustomed to feeling only around a potential mate - that conflicted and terrifying space between rejection and acceptance hidden beneath an artist’s practiced distance from her audience and the confidence of the unconventionally beautiful. She was, always, both relieved and frustrated when she turned around and greeted anypony but the one she was expecting.

Finally, not unrelated to the first two, was her heat. She was at the end of her cycle, but she hadn’t found a partner to relieve her increased desires this summer. Not that she couldn’t, of course, but her voluntary semi-hermitage had left her too busy, too nervous, and altogether too distant to tend to herself. Which was pretty much the idea in the first place.

The only bright spot she had kept with her since that day was the fact that the blue barrier at the front of her shop had not yielded to the conga line of blustering police officers, stern judges, angry parents, crying relatives, concerned social workers, and confused friends following a vengeful, flaming princess which haunted her dreams. If nothing else, the filly hadn’t told anypony.

She was absolutely not thinking about any of these things as she worked her magic on the inanimate bodies before her. Stitch by stitch, thread by thread, she wove her troubles into the work at hoof.

When the doorbell rang, all movement ceased. An orchestra of materials and instruments formed the floating audience to the entrance of the young magenta mare through the front door. Rarity remained poised at the center of the room, unmoving. The fresh silence of the room was disturbed only by the heavy breathing of the visitor. As abruptly as it stopped, the symphony of construction resumed.

“Welcome to the Carousel Boutique,” she intoned with an even voice, “if you’ll just hold on a minute, I’ll be right with you.”

She rested the universe of fabrics and tools upon the floor, circling towards her customer, “Oh, Ms. Tiara! However can I help you today? I do hope you’re enjoying your new dress, your father had nothing but nice things to say about it-”.

“You’re in big trouble!” the smaller mare shouted. The girl’s nostrils were flared, eyes narrowed on the dressmaker, “You- you violated me. If I tell somepony, you’re going to pay.”

Rarity’s mind raced, exceeded only by her heart, which at that point was making its way through her upper intestine. Outwardly, however, she was the picture of composure, and that’s really what counts when you’re being accused of molesting a customer, isn’t it? It’s all about the presence you project, not how you feel.

Using her magic, she sealed the door behind the filly, “I’ll pay, will I? Interesting. Frankly, dear, I don’t recall you saying that when you were lying on my bed, begging me to let you come.”

Tiara blushed a deeper, angrier shade of red, “I never did that! Besides, you can’t prove it. Nopony will believe you. If I tell my father, you’ll be in big trouble!” The filly tried to continue, but found her mouth zipped closed.

In the gap between the girl's first stormy entrance into the shop and their current face-off, Rarity had distracted herself with reading as well as sewing. Foalsitting: A Guide for Resourceful Unicorns Without Remorse had yielded a number of useful spells, including the one affixed to the younger mare’s face. All it had required was a visit to Twilight's library and an inquiry into resources for particularly irritable sisters. She had also secured the girl’s hooves to the floor for good measure, although she made no move to bolt or struggle. This was good. Her intent was to assert her authority, not to scare.

“Young lady, I would rethink my position were I you,” her tone was sharp, commanding - she may as well be lecturing her younger sister as the filly she pleasured in her own bed, “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you come - alone, might I add - into my shop if your intention was to get me in trouble? Especially if I, as you say, violated you.”

She was pacing slowly around the filly as she admonished her, and as she passed her rear she caught the telltale scent of desire. As easy as apple pie. She lowered her voice, “Besides, who is to say I wouldn’t violate you again?”

The earth pony shuddered as Rarity brushed her tail over her inner thigh. A ghost of longing and fear passed across her blue eyes. The speech had achieved its desired effect, “Now, I’m going to let you speak again, but if you start yelling, there will be consequences.”

As the gag released, Tiara inhaled and readied herself to raise her voice to decibels previously unreached in the boutique, which was both ambitious and impressive all things considered. When she tried to shift her hooves, however, she found them immobilized. Her frown was gone, brow now knitted in apprehension, “What do you want?” the girl asked, her voice small and nervous.

Rarity felt a surge of relief in her heart - her gambit had worked. However, she was still in authority mode.

“What I want? Darling, I’m not the one who stormed into your home all hot and bothered, screaming accusations at you. What I want is of no consequence. What do you want?”

The words hung heavy in the air between them. The unicorn could see gears turning behind the girl’s eyes, no longer staring at her but through her. In that moment, Rarity saw herself reflected in miniature - in the sapphire-ringed opal irises of the girl’s eyes, in the passion of her arguments, and in her newly assumed composure as she straightened her shoulders to address the dressmaker.

“I want you. To take me - um, like last time. I - I really liked it, I’ve never felt like that before.”

It took all of Rarity’s self-control not to take the young mare into her hooves at that moment and ravish her. She wanted to leave them both panting, covered in the excess of their intimacy, unashamed, unburdened before any customer that might walk in. But that was not how the game was played. She knew what the girl wanted, could see it in her eyes, and she knew how to give it to her.

Rarity didn’t release the spell on her visitor quite yet. There was business to attend to first. With a frown, she began, “Young lady, I won’t have an ill-mannered, spoiled girl trotting around in my boutique.”

As the shock on the filly’s face gave way to a frown, the unicorn stamped her hoof once on the floor, firmly.

“Don’t make that face at me - I know your kind,” Rarity continued, raising her shoulders, “Like I said before, you’re in need of some instruction - some special attention, if you like. I still consider you a victim of circumstance, and as such you will be taught, severely if necessary, how to behave like a lady.”

“And as I said, this is not about what I want. It’s about what I will have,” she crept closer to the young mare, maintaining eye contact.

“You are to go home and convince your father to give you 500 bits, which I doubt will be too difficult. When he asks what it is for, you will inform him that I am leading an etiquette class for the duration of the summer. You will bring the money here this Friday at 6 p.m.”

Rarity narrowed her eyes, frowning back at the girl, “Do not be late. Your instruction will begin then, and will run until 9. In the meantime, you are to obtain a copy of The Young Mare’s Guide to Etiquette and read the first two chapters. If you have any questions or concerns, you may let me know now.”

Diamond Tiara took a moment to respond. Shifting against the unseen weights on her hooves, she complained, “Friday? I have plans though.”

Rarity pierced her with her stare, “If you can’t comply with this simple instruction, we should consider this discussion concluded. I am already making time in my schedule for you, and you should be grateful. Now are these plans with your family, or with somepony else?”

The girl shifted again, “A friend.”

“Then break them. We begin this Friday,” Rarity instructed, now so close to the girl that she was standing over her, “If you aren’t here at 6, the door will be locked and this offer is rescinded.”

Before Tiara could respond, the unicorn closed the small gap between them with a kiss. The earth pony’s lips parted for her tongue without resistance. Their kissing was mad, frantic. Leaning into the other mare, Tiara moaned into her mouth.

Rarity broke the kiss, and looked into the girl's eyes. “This Friday, 6 p.m. I will be expecting you.”