Author's Note

Fantasy, erotic or otherwise, involves a certain degree of disassociation from reality. All smut fics are therefore inevitable experiments in the suspension of one's disbelief.

I consider this story no exception. In fact, the biggest reason I bothered to start writing this is because—in my head, at least—the setting and environment establishes a ridiculously clear-cut scenario where everyone is older than eighteen and engaging in completely consensual activities, as afforded by in-world safety measures put in place. For me, the characters in this story are extra safe, at least compared to my other literotica ventures, and somehow that makes it all waaaaaay more appealing to me.

But that doesn't change the fact that—at the end of the day—it's the subjective digestion of the reader that makes the real difference. Rest assured: there is indeed naughty naughty stuff in this story. There's an age gap. There's dubiously-consensual roleplaying angles. There's seduction. It's a goofy stretch to label any or all of this absolutely "wholesome."

For what it's worth, I'd like to state that this fic comes from a place of pure wish fulfillment. Not just of the very (extremely) niche fetish kind, but just the plain and simple old-as-time delight one might get from meeting someone whom they know has—beyond the shadow of a doubt—an insatiable infatuation with oneself. It's this energy that's carried me forward, slapping 40k+ words of sauciness when instead I should be writing the latest installment of my Austraeoh saga on Imploding Colon.

Will it have been worth it? Eh... I don't think so. My history of NSFW stories on this site don't exactly prophesy a positive reception. Even the bold choice of making this SS&E's Fic #200 won't change that. In truth, I'm a bit more concerned about the fic getting ban-hammer'd because of its cover art (lulz), which is a shame because the artpiece is a lovely commission drawn by the uber-talented Xan-gelx, and I consider the masterpiece he drew (per my specifications) to be the prime inspiration for this fic. Here's hoping the text contained within this story does his creativity justice, while it can.

As of this initial upload, there are four chapters. I grinded them out with much obsessive difficulty over the course of three weeks, and I would like to thank the likes of Shallow15, Syntakitty, Propmaster, and Nekojackun for helping me limp through it. I aggressively rambled about this story ceaselessly to them (and others) for nights on end, and I attribute my sanity to their patience and loving-kindness in weathering my digital!heavy!breathing. The story is not meant to end here, but rather to carry on in innumerable chapters, fleshing out the week of the "Indulgence Getaway" for Flash Sentry and Celestia. Right now, I look forward to the opportunities I've given myself here, because this is the biggest dive I've made into full moist-moist naughty smuttimes thus far. You think the exposition of this chapter is stupidly long, go and take a look at some of Coin Purse's monstrosities. F'naaaa.

One more thing I like to state, and it's kinda sorta borderline spoiler territory, but important to address nonetheless: this fic goes out of its way to use extremely convenient plot contrivances in establishing that the younger partner of this pairing was no younger than eighteen when the older partner first ever experienced erotic thoughts about them. The cosmic circumstances might be hard to believe, but fuq it. I want to play out a seduction fantasy, not promote gross real-life bullshit. One might think that such would be immediately obvious, given the cartoon essence of... essentially cartoon characters. But alas, here we are. Yes, I know. It's difficult to have nice things in a world where Syria's still being bombed.

But enough of life and all its maudlin miseries: go out there and cheer on Femme!Flash, marsupials. You know you (dun) wanna~
-SS&E

P.S.: I listened to lots and lotssss of Elton John's Greatest Hits while writing this fic. I'm not entirely sure why...

Fuchsia

Flash Sentry could name two "sexual awakenings" in his lifetime. The first was when he learned how to jack off while in the shower. The second was when he discovered Fuchsia.

Fuchsia was mind-blowing, game-changing, and life-saving for Mr. Sentry. It took what was otherwise an ordinary young man with cloudy dreams and a mellow disposition and catapulted him into a life of felicity, euphoria, and an unimaginably wholesome relationship that was both erotic and amorous.

It is also what found him seated stiff and awkward inside a sterile little cubicle at the tender young age of nineteen, answering awkward questions for the umpteenth time being asked by a curly-haired middle-aged woman seated across from him at a desk piled up with state-of-the-art computer tech.

"Have you—at any point in the last three weeks—been outside of the country?"

"No, ma'am."

"Have you taken any new medications since you turned in your last two doctor's reports?"

"No, ma'am."

"Have you had any intimate relations, sexual encounters, or blood transfusions in the last forty-eight hours?"

"A-ahem..." Flash sat squarely in the chair with his hands planted nervously in his lap. He wore his standard casual flair: soft black hoodie and faded denim jeans. A thick backpack rested on one side of his chair and a large guitar case rested on the other side. "No, m-ma'am."

The woman's eyes lifted up from behind her glasses. Her fingers hovered still over her keyboard. "Please relax, Mr. Sentry. These questions are simply protocol, and not meant as any manner of judgment on behalf of Fuschia or the staff of Indulgence."

Flash gulped dryly and nodded. "Thank you, ma'am." His small-ish arms shifted in and out of the lengthy sleeves of the hoodie. "I appreciate the job you're doing."

"Hmmm. You're a polite one." She smiled warmly. "I believe you'll find many attending Indulgence who will find interest in that—one way or another."

Flash bit his lip and merely nodded.

The woman's fingers clacked away once again at the keyboard. The nametag on her blouse read Autumn Starlight, and she was remarkably warmer than the respresentatives whom Flash communicated with via phone or e-mail. It was refreshing to witness such friendliness, because it was part of what drew him towards Fuchsia's community to begin with. It's just that he had gotten so bogged down with the medical, financial, and legal hurdles of getting into Indulgence over the past few weeks that he had almost forgotten that the thole thing was meant to be about pleasure... and fun.

"Just another minute or two, Mr. Sentry, and I shall verify these last few parameters," Ms. Starlight stated. Her glasses reflected a rapidly scrolling program full of statistical documents. "Then we will finalize your profile and equip you with your wristbands."

"Th-thank you..." Flash exhaled. Somehow, the word "wristbands" sent his heart rate up a notch, and he started to tremble. Just beyond this cubicle—and the walls of the office beyond—was Indulgence. He was minutes away of stepping onto holy unholy ground. Hell, perhaps just seconds away. There had been so many weeks of convoluted preparation and now on the First Day of the Getaway everything was happening so damn fast. Flash knew he was ready—but somehow he didn't feel ready.

It helped Flash to keep things in historical perspective. So—in a bid to calm himself down—he closed his eyes and wandered back to the start of all this... ... ... which was simultaneously the end of all that. "That" being the childhood he once knew, and was about to kiss good bye forever.

It was barely a month after graduating from Canterlot High School when Flash Sentry discovered Fuchsia. The young man had afforded a "year off" between his senior graduation and entering college to "discover himself." Older mentors and parental figures in his life had suggested he make such a move, seeing as rushing things hadn't helped them find their careers any better.

The problem was—Flash didn't have the money to do much of anything special. So, he opted to explore his own neck of the woods, pursuing band gigs around town and in the surrounding counties. He thought that an education in musical studies might be his thing, but the truth is that Flash didn't have a passion for doing much of anything in his young life. Aside from getting off, of course.

T'was only natural. A man of Flash's age was reaching his sexual peak. But—unlike many of his peers—Flash didn't dabble in anyone else's private affairs... or privates. He knew several friends from high school who were quite sexually active. Everywhere he turned, a colleague or acquaintance from CHS was walking hand-in-hand with a significant other. Then one fellow band mate of his had a "pregnancy scare" with their girlfriend, which nearly brought their social lives to a screeching halt. While Flash would have liked to say that learning from these circumstances—or possessing a general scope of gentlemanly responsibility—was the real reason for him abstaining for so long, the simple truth was that Flash Sentry wasn't exactly virile, stud-on-the-prowl material.

As fate would have it, Flash was something of an early bloomer—or perhaps a never bloomer. Puberty evidently brought him to his physical limits at freshman year. As the next few seasons flittered by, everyone at Flash's age shot past him by astronomical units. This included the girls—Sunset Shimmer, Twilight Sparkle, Pinkie Pie, you name 'em—all of whom possessed at least a foot of height above Flash by senior year. Flash adapted as well as he could, but there was no denying the fact that his relatively unimpressive stature forced him to withdraw noticeably from the social scene. It was probably for the best; nobody got close enough to the young man to discover that his muscle mass, strength, and endowments were even less impressive.

So when Flash left the high school scene behind him and embarked upon the exciting wildlands of fresh young adulthood, he had a very flaccid spring board. He had stopped being a popular classroom name among his fellow graduates, and even the likes of Sunset and her friends saw him less and less, although not for lack of their trying. Flash fell under a bit of a funk—not so much depression, but a brooding stage of adult transitioning where he deeply contemplated just where his unexpectedly tender and petite self could fit into the humid grind of things.

But he wouldn't have to suffer for long. He found Fuchsia.

The discovery transpired quite miraculously, and even to the present day Flash long pondered over the butterfly ripple effect that led him down the path towards the most rapturous occasion of his young life.

It was a spam e-mail. Flash was almost certain of this, although he had no proof for himself to fall back on. He must have deleted the document as soon as it showed up on his inbox. But he remembered it a week or two later, because he had driven to a slightly seedier part of town to perform a wild rock gig with his friends and chanced upon a pamphlet slid under the windshield wiper of his car late at night. There—emblazoned in shiny chrome pink and purple font—was the same logo from the digital advertisement:

~o~ F U C H S I A ~o~

And—upon first glance—the essence of the advertisement was just as reprehensible on the surface as it was when Flash initially clicked the "delete" button. Fuchsia quite obviously was some sort of pornographic adult media program. Or maybe it was a social networking group. Or maybe it was a marketing scam. Or perhaps it was all of the above. Flash knew better than to indulge or humor such debauched things, and he had the good mind to toss the advertisement into the gutter out behind the nightclub where he and his bandmates were packing their things...

...when something made him pause—the first pause of his young life... and a portent of many... many pauses to come as he rode adulthood into oblivion.

Flash wasn't a child anymore.

He wasn't even a high schooler any longer, and even then he had turned eighteen a few months before donning (and tossing) the graduation cap.

Flash was young. Flash was free. And—as far as Flash and everyone who had known him could care—he was remarkably responsible and healthy for his age. Just what was stopping him from enjoying the pleasures of life that stardust had distilled him upon this earth to dabble in?

All things considered, it didn't have to involve Fuchsia. Nevertheless, Flash stealthily pocketed the pamphlet when his bandmates weren't looking, drove straight home, and hopped onto the web to expand his mind—among other things.

As he soon learned, Fuchsia was indeed a social networking group. However, it was exclusively Not Safe For Work in tone, and it facilitated tantalizing means for people ages eighteen and up to communicate, socialize, fraternize, and share lots and lots and lots of pictures—many of them below the waist. Flash had whizzed past many social media apps of this naughty nature before, but there was something about Fuchsia's design and mission statement that set it apart from the competition. This went far above the overall software design and accessbility—which were all excellent in their own right.

For one, there was a supreme no-bullshit policy to how Furchsia was run. Terms of Service infractions were punished severely, with ban hammers being slammed on anyone who so much as hinted at a slight at another user's kink, identity, or privacy. What's more, there was a heavily vetted application process that narrowed down the degree of applicants which made bots, griefers, and—yes—even stalkers next to impossible. At first, Flash assumed that this would have turned away most casual users, except for the fact that Fuchsia had one huge draw that made the network one of the fastest growing programs of its generation.

Fuchsia was more than just a sexy media application. It was a gateway to Indulgence.

What was Indulgence? Why, only the newest and most socially advanced sex resort of the modern age. Founded barely a decade ago by a small group of forward-thinking entrepreneurs, Indulgence made even the mainstream news for having an unbelievably clean and safe track record. Much of this was accomplished by a combination of a well-paid security staff along with a perfectly-integrated technological component. Everyone who attended Indulgence was registered into a network that took into account their interests, compatibilities, boundaries, and medical histories. This made it next to impossible for creepy or unhealthy applicants to participate in the ambrosia of the resort, and for those who did—they enjoyed very stimulating cross-compatibility experiments, courtesy of the network.

This network evolved and adapted very quickly, and would eventually be broadcasted publically across the 'Net as Fuchsia. Abiding by the same safety protocols, Fuchsia adopted a rapidly-growing base of open-minded users, the bulk of which leaned noticeably towards polyamory, bisexuality, and pansexuality. It was an erotic playground afficianado's dream "cum" true. The whole system was so perfect—as a matter of fact—that it had to have some sort of humongous catch.

Sure enough, there was one: it was really goddamn fucking expensive. Even the corporate owners of both Indulgence and Fuchsia made no attempt to hide it.

"We're pretty much offering the same kind of orgies that the one percenters enjoy."

The CEO had said once in an interview, smiling.

"Except—y'know—we're transparent and legal."

This same off-the-cuff bluntness was happily shared among the tongue-in-cheek users of the application, among which Flash was happily subscribed. He had no horrible track record to be ashamed of—viscerally or digitally—and, all things considered, he was a very well-behaved young man. Even when he was looking for ways to get naughty. He only ever joined the network for the network itself, and in so doing he achieved a wild sense of enlightenment.

Fuchsia—like so many of its contemporary competitors—featured a robust search engine with an accessible categorization system for users to swiftly group themselves among like-minded peers sharing like-meated kinks. Only—for whatever reason—Fuchsia's programming worked like a mother fucking laser beam aimed straight for the most erotic chakra within the mind's eye, and Flash soon discovered a cornacopia of content—contributed to daily by relatively well-rounded individuals—that appealed to every fetish he ever had, and then a quite a few more that he didn't know he had.

On his first night of browsing the groups of Fuchsia, Flash Sentry stumbled upon a gallery featuring artists' submissions of famous animated cartoon characters doing very... very lewd things. His eyes lingered on the more pink and pastel colors, and that led him to discovering an entire sub-group dedicated to the pornographic worship of Disney Princesses. To his mixed surprise, he soon found a chat room with other users to chew the fat with, and it was then that Flash realized he shared a thing or two (or three, four, five, six, infinity) with others of both same and opposite gender—his age and older—who long had a deep-seated love-boner for all things bright, shiny, petticoated, and wearing a tiara.

This—as it turns out—connected him with users who submitted pictures of themselves wearing extremely beautiful, extremely ornate, and extremely feminine clothing... ... ... even if not all the users identified as female. This did not so much awaken something inside of Flash—as much as it reminded him of several "awakenings" he experienced in his youth, where a pre, mid, and even post-puberty mind pondered the tantalizing prospects of crossdressing. Flash didn't realize until indulging in those multitudinous chat rooms aboard Fuchsia that he had enjoyed a remarkable number of feminizing fantasies during his youth, and now that he was an adult and his body had turned out to be considerably less "manly" than he anticipated as a child, he surmised that he could pass off the look as well as his digital contemporarys, if not better.

After two weeks of using Fuchsia, Flash had cerebrally ridden a parachute-lolita dress one million lace-embroidered miles down that pretty princess rabbit hole. In so doing, he had adopted a full tag-list of like minded categories to crown his profile page: including such gems as "sissification", "forced feminization," "petticoat punishment", "age play" and the list went on. Flash's world had gained multiple new horizons, and all of them pink. One might even say "fuchsia." The degree to which he found agreeable users and interrelated sub-groups was positively frightening, but he gobbled them all up—or let them all gobble him up—with wild abandon.

With one exception. There was still a line that Flash would never cross. If not for his own good, then for the sake of his wallet. And—in turn—his future. He would not pay Fuchsia a dime. Not to be a pro member. Not to be able to host his own sub-groups. Not even to participate in the digital beta for the experimental sex MMO Fuchsia Life.

And it hurt. Because—each and every evening that Flash would log on—his poor young eyes would be bombarded with advertisements for the sexual Getaway package at Indulgence. The world-famous sex resort only entertained visitors for a limited time—amount to a little over a week every few months. There was a major Getaway coming up, and—true to the nature of the industry—it cost an arm and a leg to get in. Maybe two each. But—it was Fuchsia, and Fuchsia spared no expense in making sure that all who attended Indulgence were equipped and safeguarded appropriately to have an orgasmic experience like no other. This was something only the lucky, the wealthy, and the entitled could participate in.

Which—all things considered—was absolutely fine. Flash was content to keep his participation within the community limited to the app himself. He had made plenty of friends (many with digital "benefits"). He had a regular sexy RP schedule. He even wrote and made songs to entertain fellow members of his chat rooms.

If nothing else, the sheer expense of the Getaways made life simpler for Flash. He never once had to even contemplate the impossible chance of him arriving at and participating in Indulgence.

"Okay, Mr. Flash," Autumn Starlight spoke up.

"!!!" Startled, Flash opened his eyes and gawked at the woman across the cubicle from him.

"One last technicality..." The woman swiveled a black tablet screen on hinges until it faced him and his chair. One swipe of her finger, and she brought up a screen full of scrolling text and legal material. "...we must get your thumbprint as a signature on this waiver. We kindly ask that you read all of the material in this document so that you may fully and completely understand the potential repercussions of venturing into an Indulgence Red Zone—even with the fully equipped staff of safety monitors on hand."

"I... uh..." Clearing his throat, Flash looked up at the woman. "I h-have no intention of going to a Red Zone."

Ms. Starlight put on a calm smile. "That may truly be the case, Mr. Sentry. However, all guests here at Indulgence are given access to all portions of the resort with exceptions of specifically-registered events. The fact remains that while you may not intend to visit a Red Zone, you still have the freedom to do so. And as such, we require all attendees to read, consider, and sign this waiver."

"Uhm... yes, ma'am." Flash scooted his chair forward to study the printed material. "I... uh... I'm sorry..."

She chuckled slightly. "Nothing to apologize for, sir. I know this is your first time—"

Flash's eyes jerked up at her.

"—at Indulgence," she naturally finished, then blinked at his alarmed expression.

Brushing his bangs back, Flash returned to the document. It was long, dense, and—in any other normal circumstance—incredibly sleep inducing. However, Flash's circulatory system was pumping out fresh waves of adrenaline. He digested the legalese to the best of his faculties and applied his thumbprint to the bottom of the page.

"Thank you very much." Ms. Starlight brought the panel back around, inputted the data into her computer, and returned to keyboard clacking. "That finalizes your enrollment process." She smirked, eyebrow raising. "You're permitted a breath of relief."

Flash inhaled and exhaled hard.

She chuckled again, lightly. "As you well know, your expenses have already been paid for by your co-party member. If I may get from you a quick confirmation—you are registered to be chaperoned by Fuchsia user: "Daybreaker". Is this correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you are aware that your chaperone—Fuchsia user "Daybreaker"—has not currently remitted their anonymous status?"

Flash swallowed a lump down his throat. "Yes, ma'am."

"Do you have the means for meeting your chaperone on the resort grounds of Indulgence or do you wish us to provide you with one?"

"That will not be necessary," Flash said. "She... ... ...we have plans for meeting on the ground."

"Very well, Mr. Sentry." Autumn Starlight pressed a few more keys and swiveled in her chair to acquire some items from a sealed drawer. "Allow me a few seconds and I will assign you your armbands. Color?"

"... ... ...hmmm?"

"Do you prefer a color?"

Flash blinked. "Didn't... Daybreaker choose—?"

"The armbands are always customized by the user. Now, if you're thinking of the collar—"

"Right. Right." Flash slapped his palms against his knees. "I... uh... I-I forgot about that." He took a steadying breath. "P-Pink..."

"What was that?"

He spoke louder. "Pink, please."

A pleasant hum hovered in her throat. "I do believe I still have some in that color..."

Meanwhile, Flash's eyes lingered on ther computer screen... ... ...and the user name "Daybreaker" which was still flickering under the cursor's highlighting...

Fuchsia was fantastic. Fuchsia was amazing. Fuchsia was an eye-opening social media application that any young horny person would die for. But—despite all of the benefits and features of the program—Flash Sentry knew that he wouldn't be using it to this day... if it wasn't for Daybreaker.

Daybreaker...

To think that such a simple three-syllable word could hold so much resonance and gravity within the center of his being. Flash thought of that name when he went to bed. He yearned for it when he woke up. It lingered behind every tree, every road, and every door in his life. It was an omnipresent energy—a force—that injected the spring to his step and kept him bouncing forward from one platform in his life to the next. And most often with a smile. A smile he didn't have previously. Not before...

Daybreaker.

It was difficult to imagine surfing Fuchsia before Daybreaker. It was difficult to imagine existing before Daybreaker. But somewhere—in the dusty recesses of Flash's mind—he was once a lonely little soul trying to squeak his way into the social scene of multiple subgroups and chat rooms. He made a few acquaintances—a few horny homies with whom he brushed elbows—but very few whom he talked to on a daily basis.

He recalled feeling very bold in those early days of using Fuchsia. But also very shy at the same time. It was a paradox, but one that Flash could dabble in while remaining predominantly anonymous—and thus safe. His initial rabbit-holing upon the fertile plains of Fuchsia's fetish boards resulted in him getting a great deal more in touch with his "feminine" side... so to speak. The bulk of his blossoming "friends list" consisted of users who mostly posted on crossdressing and "sissy" groups. And being that Flash Sentry was a nubile young man living in the Golden Age of Internet Fembois... well... ... ... it didn't take him very long to look at himself standing naked before a mirror and realize:

"... ... ...well, dang, I would definitely cuddle me... ... ..."

This was divine truth. Tantamount to scripture. What Flash had initially perceived as shortcomings from a brutally short puberty turned out to be massive aids in the... not so massive art of effeminate modeling. He was petite, soft-skinned, and—if he carried his slight figure well—he had enough subtle curves to swing around. One weekend, he bit the bullet and bought an advanced shaving kit. He carefully and meticulously tackled his legs, his arms, and eventually his crotch—which turned out to be an adventure and a half (or quarter). The result in the mirror turned out to be... ... ...not too terribly disimilar from the glamorous and erection-inducing Adonisettes whom he had subscribed to on a few paywalled photo galleries. But that could very well have been a closeted narcissist drag queen dribbling out from deep within.

So... on an even wilder whim, Flash bit the next bullet. He wore a pair of young woman's briefs that he bought via Amazon and took a few selfies with his face cropped out. He then proceeded to upload these to his horniest of haunts on Fuchsia. What proceeded was twelve or so hours of restless nail-biting. But, much to his surprise...

...he got likes. And re-blogs. And comments. Positive comments—for it was indeed a very "positive" community. But the magnitude of appreciation far exceeded what he expected. There were even a few DMs Flash that received, chock-full of flirtatious propositions that were no doubt typed out by overweight neckbeards suffering nosebleeds... or so he imagined. But then, he received a message that stood out from all the rest.

A message from Fuchsia user "Daybreaker":

What a perfect little princess you are!~ A sissy body that pristine and delicate deserves better panties, though~ Here's a link to one of my favorite sub-groups: Bloomer Bois. I think you'll find some truly delicate pairs to dress your pretty dolly in~ Now, if you'll excuse me, I must spend the next few minutes crying into the corner. Because I know that nothing else I shall see in this life will ever quite be as beautiful as what you've just shared with us~

Love and sunshine, sweetness,

-Daybreaker

Even to this day, Flash felt a tender lump forming in his throat whenever he thought of that initial message—the first in a deluge of unfathomably heart-warming words. It was flirtatious—yes—but it didn't demand anything of the young man. It complimented, but it also lent assistance and good will. What's more—above all else—Daybreaker's words made Flash feel precious... and delicate... and unbelievably small—yet, in a special way. He felt more tender and treasured reading that paragraph than he did while lying back on a soft blanket in pink panties, taking a photo of his nearly naked self. He didn't bother replying to any of the other comments, but he did reply to Daybreaker's DM.

And praise the stars that he did...

What blossomed from that was an instant friendship. Daybreaker turned out to be very well-written, with an eloquent faculty of knowledge and vocabulary that put her well... well above the rest of the denizens of Fuchsia. At least in Flash's mind. Typing messages to Daybreaker felt like turning the page of a faerie tale book; every response given was gentle, heartfelt, imaginative, and—to an overwhelming degree—very... very "motherly" in tone.

From the very start of their personal chats, Daybreaker was quite keen on sharing advice on feminization, cosmetics, makeup, fashion—the entire sissy works. It didn't take long for the user to express themself identifying as female. Whether or not this matched their biological sex—Flash didn't ask... nor particularly cared. If he was using Fuchsia to explore his own feminity, he was happy to learn from anyone else who had done the same, regardless of where the chromosomes had initially split them.

And—sure enough—as the two continued to expand on each other's backstories and indulge in each other's personal fantasies, Flash found himself embarking upon a pansexual awakening. He discovered—and had always residually suspected—that he had an unsatiable admiration for male genitalia. He still mostly preferred women—especially above the waist—but there was something about the art of packing that men accomplished far better in his heartfelt appreciation. It was what he always focused on the most in pornographic content, and—for him, at least—it was always the important cherry on top when it came to femboi and sissy aesthetics.

But what it took for him to bring these... ... ... "meaty" details to the surface was chatting with Daybreaker and being exposed to her gentle socratic method. She was always hearing him out, commenting constructively on the feelings he had to share, and slowly—layer by layer—undressing the translucent cocoon that had long obstructed his proverbial closet door exit. It was because of her that Flash realized his tender feelings for a few of his old bandmates... and gym coaches... meant more than just toying fantasy. He discovered in hindsight that—as often as his heart and mind dwelled on the likes of Sunset Shimmer and Twilight Sparkle—he equally thought about Sunset's history tutor, Curly Winds, and Twilight Sparkle's older brother, Shining Armor. For every giggling smile and spot of cleavage, there was also a muscular chest and stubbled smolder lingering in the back of Flash's mind.

It wasn't long before Flash and Daybreaker engaged in long, elaborate, and wholly stimulating sexual role play. Via text, of course—for he was far too shy to do anything intimate over video chat, and Daybreaker was more than nice enough to respect that. What Flash soon discovered was that almost all fantasy situations involved both genders—or a nebulous blend of the two. While feminization played the biggest part of everything, there was almost always a male presence in addition to the feminine. Soon enough, it all started to blur together, and Flash was only mildly surprised to find out it made very little difference to him in the long run. Whether some element within a hypothetical situation possessed a womb or wielded something considerably more pendulous didn't ultimately matter. He enjoyed both to varying conceptual degrees, but in the end he was just content to have a soul—a spirit—to commune with at the end of all the moistness. Some essence to make him feel safe. A sapience in whom he could trust.

And every day and night—without fail—that soul turned out to be none other than Daybreaker. At the tail-end of every sex-textual escapade they enjoyed, there was inevitably a "coming down." A tender space in time dedicated to digital "aftercare," so to speak. And it was in those delicate little interludes that the most heartfelt words were shared. Daybreaker would take a moment to talk about the anxieties of the work week that were pressing upon her. Flash would speak about his uncertainty concerning his entire future. They mutually supported, encouraged, and assured each other—but there was no denying that it was Daybreaker who did the most for him. The scales simply tilted towards her court from the get-go. It became a quiet understanding between him. She was clearly much older than Flash, and she took it upon herself to act as a mentor. A teacher. A caretaker.

And it didn't take very long—or very much—for that relationship to tilt even further. Flash Sentry, the soft-spoken young man with a sissification fetish and a petite body perfect for the fit, very easily adopted the role of a submissive bottom. And Daybreaker—with her wisdom and elegance and confidence and firm control—was inescapably the soft but firm dom to match. He liked older, seasoned, nurturing souls with a mischievous edge. She liked young, impressionable, squeaky-clean personalities that stood to be both cuddled and corrupted. The two were like long-lost jigsaw puzzles, fitting together perfectly across the abstract lengths of the Internet. And while they both kept the specific details of their life mostly anonymous (and they both lacked "monogamous" as a tag under their profiles) they nevertheless communicated and communed with one another as if they had long ago sanctified some distant mail-order marriage. All that remained was to take the next step in their relationship.

Which Daybreaker did first—to some degree. She sent Flash Sentry headless selfies—much like the one he had uploaded which summoned her from the ether to begin with. Flash was blown away from what he saw. Daybreaker in real life was tall, majestic, mature, healthy, and well-manicured. There was a confidence in her physical poise that matched her intellect and whim to a T. It wasn't until a few minutes of gawking at her pics that Flash noticed that she had gorgeous breasts too. No penis, however. He was equally elated and depressed, and it made him giggle as he wrote out a joyfully complimentary reaction—one of many to follow in the ensuing weeks.

But it soon occurred to Flash that he was dealing with someone clearly out of his league—a veritable supermodel of a feminine specimen with a sexy saint's soul at the pilot's seat. The only reason he ever got to know her personally was because they met each other over an abstract social media platform. What were the odds that she'd approach a pitiful little pipsqueak like him in real life? Absolutely zero—Flash figured. And—upon a panicking whim—he found himself overcompensating in a desperate bid to keep their "relationship" in tact.

He shared a brand new slew of selfies—some even nude—but with the dynamic element of including his face this time. To his surprise—both perplexing and joyful—Daybreaker whole-heartily approved of the fully delectable content for her eyes to nibble on. True, she made a few suggestions on things the boi could do to improve his makeup and cosmetic skills, but the woman clearly wasn't turned off by his full reveal. In fact, she came across as even more ravenously dedicated to giving her full attention to the semi-bashful boi across cyberspace.

The only thing that was troubling was that Daybreaker didn't fully reciprocate. Which... was fine, fundamentally speaking. Flash had never asked her to share pictures of her face, or any pictures at all, for that matter. But—as the weeks went by—it was more than obvious that she wasn't about to reveal her face. She never made mention of it, and Flash was too scared to himself. He respected her too much to push the issue, and yet part of him wondered if she was hiding something specifically... and if he should be concerned over the matter.

Flash had indulged so much of his heart, soul, and penis into this online relationship within the span of a year. At the end of the day—yes—he was mostly attracted to Daybreaker's personality, eloquence, and kindness-of-heart. The possibility of a veritable Aphrodite of a woman being attached to that was certainly a plus, but Flash almost wished that neither of them had shared pics at all at this point. Because—if Daybreaker was indeed hiding some all-encompassing reality—then there was no telling just who or what was on the other end of the computer screen. And Flash Sentry was more scared of the depths he had thrown his vulnerable self down the well of uncertainty than he was of any frightening reveal of who or what Daybreaker truly was.

He detested himself for feeling so anxious, because his heart leapt more at Daybreaker's lovely words than they did to her digitally-captured mammaries. However, it was only human to desire order and contentment, and the boi reasoned that if another month went by and Daybreaker continued to play coy about their identity, then he would dare to make his issues known—for better or for worse.

He didn't have to wait a single day to contemplate this action, because Daybreaker—inexplicably and without being prompted—suggested that the two should meet up. And she didn't suggest that they meet at a Starbucks or at a city park or even at a cheap motel. No, Flash Sentry logged on one day to discover that Daybreaker had invited him to Indulgence.

Indulgence...

Flash Sentry actually laughed. He thought he knew Daybreaker better than to expect her to suggest such crazy and hyperbolic things. She was well aware of his uninspiring financial situation; he had shared enough of his life for the woman to realize he was far from the kind of opulent millionaire capable of affording a single day's stay at Indulgence, much less an entire Getaway package. All things considered, it was also too crazy a stretch for Daybreaker to have suddenly turned into a scam artist insisting that Flash pay for the two of them to get in, so his mind didn't even go there.

But Flash didn't even have the opportunity to scoff at the concept via text. He had barely given a reply when Daybreaker messaged him again, re-contextualizing the entire proposition. She wasn't suggesting that the two of them go to Indulgence on their own separate allowances. No, she was inviting Flash to go to Indulgence with her... ... ... in that Daybreaker was willing and able to pay for the two of them to go. She was simply asking the boi if he'd be open to the idea—and not because of the potential expense to his pocketbook. No, but rather an irrecoverable price of an entirely different sort:

Let's not frolic around the bush, princess. I want to claim you. Your heart, your soul, your virginity, your pretty little faerie butt. I want to open my pretty pink pet up like a doll on Christmas morning and share her with the rest of the world. And I can't think of a better place than Indulgence. It'll be lots of fun: you can saddle up to all the pussies and dicks that you want or just cling to me. Whatever you like, I will support, although I'll likely be doing a few rounds across the resort for myself while we're there too—it's been a while since this Momma's had some loving attention, and I'd love for you to join me this year. Think of it like a buffet, sweetie, to ready your palate for a full life of pleasures. And totally my treat. No pressure. You can say "no" if you like, but I'll be awfully sad and lonely if I'm there without my little princess to share it with this year. So, mull it over, 'kay, hun?

It was the proposition of a lifetime. Something a horny -year-old would die for. Hell, ascetic monks committed to a life of abstinence would foresake everything for the opportunity being given—freely. Daybreaker wasn't even suggesting a brief stint or a casual breeze-by. No, she was clearly setting the two of them up for the whole package: a week-long stay at the resort, with full access to the convention, the mansion, and the recreational grounds. She had booked them both a miniature cottage near the hiking trail—complete with all the luxurious ammenities. Something of this nature had to have cost somewhere in the hundreds of thousands of dollars—no—millions. It was too absurd a scale of lofty opulence to possibly be a prank, a joke, or a scam. Either Daybreaker was one of the richest people on the continent or she was secretly the President's daughter or perhaps both.

It wasn't until much later that Flash put more thought into the matter. Indulgence was one of the hardest institutions to land a membership in. Money aside, this had to have taken months of pre-planning to land tickets for two at one of the rentable cottages. For as casually as Daybreaker was making the offer, she very obviously had put a lot of meticulous work into arranging it far in advance. And now it was all resting upon Flash's next reaction, hovering entirely in his court.

Would he let her down? Would he let himself down? Honest to Goddess—there had to be a catch...

Presumably, Flash did know what the "catch" was. He and Daybreaker—through consistent sexting and fantastical RPing—had whittled down a very specific scenario for themselves, one which they committed to consistently in the spectrum of imagination, but always wanted to recreate in real life some day, hypothetically. She was the authoritative domme and he was the sissy pet, but they constructed this literally. If ever the two would meet, Flash would agree to a collar—a literal leesh that Daybreaker would affix to him. What would follow would be akin to a master-and-slave relationship, in the BDSM sense—yes—but a softer and cuddlier variant, with plenty of feminization coupled with bisexual hijinks. The two were explicitly aware of each other's boundaries. Flash knew that Daybreaker enjoyed a free and casual sex life of her own, and Daybreaker knew that Flash desired a constant source of cuddles and care. To that extent, they understood that—if ever they should meet—the two would likely practice open and polyamorous lifestyles, but always return to each other as Mistress and pet. The bed they dreamed of sharing was one of tender intimacy, a safe island of friendship in a sea of deviance and worldly pleasures. From this, Daybreaker would enjoy the contentment of control and possession. Meanwhile, Flash would exercise his sexual sea legs and find his place in the world. But there was no denying that—be it a fortnight or a century—the two would want to spend a lot of time together the very moment they met.

And that moment now had the opportunity to arrive. No longer would it be the thing of imagination. What's more—if their meeting took place at Indulgence—so many other things that existed purely in Flash's fantasies would also become concrete... complete... cum-plete(?). Tasting pussy, sucking dick, face-sitting, cowboi riding—all of the horniest of tags were now becoming actual check marks on tomorrow's bucket list, and the possibilities sent his mind reeling.

But... the catch. And, ultimately, it wasn't so much a catch as it was an anchor: Flash would be blissfully attached to Daybreaker. He'd wait on her wishes, hang on her words, cling to her breaths. This was understood between each typed word of her initial proposition. He would do the things that she'd tell him to do—even if it made him uncomfortable. Or especially if it made him uncomfortable, for Daybreaker had a sadistic streak to her, albeit soft and laced with spicy mischief. They had invented safe words for each other, even if Flash didn't initially have hope for actually using them in reality someday. Daybreaker knew that there was a shy masochist hidden deep within Flash—that he longed to be made to hurt and cry, so long as there was someone—namely her—to cuddle him and kiss his tears away in the end. Would something like that happen at Indulgence? Was he willing to go through so much discomfort and pain... for so much comfort and pleasure? He knew that Daybreaker would enjoy it—why else would she ask?

What if he disappointed her? What if none of his sexy selfies amounted to much in reality? What if he turned out to be a stick-in-the-mud little wuss who ruined all the money she was spending on their package deal? What if he only bogged her down and kept her from enjoying the erotic escapades she'd be better off doing entirely on her lonesome?

Then again—this proposition was made without Flash having seen her face. She was still hiding something... even as she gave the invite. No matter the financial bite on her end, what if this was gonna end up with a disconcerting reveal? What if Flash had a reason to detest the actual person that he met in the flesh? Would he be forced to service them, out of obligation over their digital commitments and the money and time invested into the meet-up?

Flash knew better than to expect Daybreaker to treat him like some store-bought boislut. Or... at least he thought he knew her better. She was doing the most generous thing an older potential-partner could ever do for a young and horny piece of manhood, and it was making his anxious mind second-guess the very nature of their relationship. That upset him more than anything, and so...

...he decided just to have faith in her. Flash chose to trust this woman who had enriched, blessed, and revolutionized his life over Fuchsia these past few months. Like the true submissive sissy he was, he surrendered himself to her. He'd gladly drive to Indulgence, put on her collar, and kneel and bow and crawl at her feet—because he knew that it would make his digital mistress happy. And if Daybreaker was happy—it meant that she'd make him happy. After all, she hadn't led him wrong thus far. He was willing to show that much faith and trust in her, and if she burned him for doing so—well—it was probably for the best that Flash learned the harshest lessons of life at age and not ninety.

Perhaps such confidence is what finally would "make him a man," even if that man was made to wear frills and high heels, knowing Daybreaker. Still, it was a great deal more steely confidence than he possessed less than a year ago.

And yet—he still trembled like a freezing kitten as he sat there at Autumn Starlight's cubicle, waiting for the wrist bands to be given to him.

"Alright, Mr. Sentry..." The office worker swiveled around in her chair, grasping three pastel bracelets. "Turns out we have enough pinks to go around." She chuckled lightly at herself, then scooted closer to the desk—and to him. "You will be required to wear three at all times while attending Indulgence. Don't worry—they're quite light and comfortable, and while you are not permitted to remove them, you can adjust the tightness. Think of them as cute pink bangles...!"

"Okay," he said, exhaling and nodding.

"This..." She held the thickest wristband of the group. "...goes on your right wrist. It lights up to represent your compatibility. But it doubles as a security measure." She pointed at separate knobs situated on the band. "Press them both—five times in quick succession—and the nearest guard will be alerted. Please only use it in the case of an emergency. Each guest is allowed a maximum of three false alarms before their attendance is remitted."

"I understand..."

"This band..." Ms. Starlight lifted a thinner bracelet. "...goes on your left wrist. It can be color-coded to suggest your boundaries. A quick review: white means 'do not touch me.' Blue means 'engage me first before touching.' Yellow means 'anyone can touch.' Green gives anyone full and complete control over one's body. And—of course—red means zero limits, and is only applicable in Red Zones. I know you've already stated how you feel about Red Allowance, Mr. Sentry, but it is your personal responsibility to avoid broadcasting the color through your wristband if you don't desire it."

"Right. Thank you for reminding me."

"You can only change the color of your bracelet's light at band stations. They are situated and marked clearly at multiple locations across the resort. As a reminder: Indulgence has a universal safe word that applies to the entire resort. It is broadcasted often on Fuchsia. Do you happen to know this safe word, Mr. Sentry?"

He nodded. "'Verdant,'" he stated. "It's... uhm... opposite the color wheel from fuchsia."

Ms. Starlight smiled. "Very good, Mr. Sentry. All guests are expected to pronounce the word 'Verdant' out loud when or if they desire a current activity to cease, or if they are feeling unbearable discomfort, or if they believe that someone is disregarding their boundaries or consent. Indulgence guards and observers are especially trained to listen for the word 'Verdant' at all posts. This applies to general adherence to the bands. If anyone is caught interacting with you in opposition to the behavioral allowance of your current color-code or if they are disregarding your use of the safe word, then they will face immediate ban from Indulgence. Also, should any of your wristbands break or be removed or be shut off—outside of use of any of the band stations—then a killswitch will immediately trigger security, much like the manual alarm switch described earlier."

"Okay..."

"And—of course, if you have a collar—that will be color-coded by your chaperone," Ms. Starlight explained. "But only with your express permission entered each time at the band station. You will both essentially be entering commands for the color code change at the same time, despite the chaperone's ownership of the collar. Do you understand?"

Flash gulped. "Yes'm." He nodded. "What's the third wristband for?"

"This..." She held the thinnest band yet, narrow bright pink. "...also goes on your left wrist. It indicates that you are under the age of twenty-one, and thus are prohibited from drinking alcohol or directly participating in alcohol-related activities. It was implemented this year—since it's the first year that Indulgence has lowered the minimum enrollment age to eighteen."

"I see..."

"Now, Mr. Sentry, if you can lean closer to the desk, I shall affix the wristbands to your arms. Don't worry—it won't hurt, and together we can adjust the tightness before going on to assign your boundary colors."

Nodding nervously, he drifted closer, offering his right arm first.

With careful, motherly movements, Ms. Starlight attached the band to his right arm. She adjusted it, reading his responses. Once he settled for a fit, she notched it down ever so slightly, allowing a smidge of looseness—which Flash found was ultimately most comfortable. She did the same with the other two bands. Once this was accomplished, she motioned him to bring the right band up to a computer sensor, directing him to look at a bright screen while he held the article to a blinking diode.

"Which of these descriptions best fit you during your stay here at Indulgence?" the worker asked.

Flash chose: "Interested in all genders."

Autumn Starlight typed away at the computer. There was a pleasant beeping sound, and Flash felt his wrist band vibrate briefly before flickering alive with a spectral sequence of pink, yellow, and blue.

"Now, your left hand. Yes. There—and if you would please choose your color code...?"

Flash hesitated briefly. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then gazed once again at the computer screen as he chose: "Yellow."

He half-expected Ms. Starlight to comment on his middle-ground choice. But—like a professional—she said nothing and simply inputted the command. There was a humming vibration, and Flash's pink wristband started glowing a pastel yellow. He could tell it'd be bright and visible, even in daylight. Not long after, the narrow band sharing the same wrist also glowed—but a dim pink to match the material of the bracelet.

"And there we go~" Autumn Starlight leaned back, folding her hands with a smile. "Congratulations, Mr. Sentry. You are now an official attendee of Indulgence. I hope that you and your chaperone enjoy your Getaway package."

"Thank you, ma'am." Flash stood up—slightly jittery now that he had these "permanent" bangles attached to him. "I appreciate all that you've done." He held his breath as he picked up his backpack and guitar case.

"It might interest you to know..." The woman spoke, stealing his attention one last time. "...that—at age nineteen and four months—you are also Indulgence's youngest attendee this year... not to mention Indulgence's youngest attendee ever in the history of the resort."

"Is..." Flash bit his lip. "...that a b-bad thing?"

Ms. Starlight laughed warmly. "No, sir. But... ... ... every year, there is a tradition at the resort to celebrate the youngest guest in attendance." She held up a hand. "It's not any sort of obligation of any sort and you are welcome to decline, but... ... ...it's nevertheless a very spirited element to the Getaway for all who attend. I felt that it was only fair for you to be informed of this before you step out onto the grounds."

"I see." Flash nodded with a gulp. "Thanks."

"Thank you, Mr. Sentry, and on behalf of Fuchsia, I hope you enjoy your stay." She smiled genuinely.

Flash soon left, shuffling down the crowded office of cubicles full of last-second attendees also getting registered. He quickly found security personnel who made eye contact with him. With reassuring smiles, they gently directed him down an adjacent hallway that led towards another hallway that led towards a spacious exit chamber. There, Flash could see several other guests—mostly young adults but a few seasoned guests—gathering with their bags of things while also sporting colorfully-lit wristbands. Several of them—much like Flash—flickered with the same pink-yellow-blue pattern. But there were some with orange-white-purple and black-white-gray and others sporting all the shades of the rainbow. Many of their left-bands were boldly-lit in green, but a few also had blues and yellows. At first, Flash nearly slipped by unnoticed, but he noticed a few guests pausing in their group conversations to gaze pointedly at him after seeing the second, thinner band on his left arm.

Nervous—and feeling decidedly small and frail—Flash made his way for the door. There, one of several Indulgence representatives approached him, stopping him right at the exit. It was a pleasant young woman—probably early twenties—who stood just half-a-foot taller than Flash.

"Greetings!" she smiled exuberantly, looking and sounding like a Disney cast member. "Are you ready to set foot upon the grounds?"

"Uhm... y-yes...?" Flash squeaked, feeling more and more eyes upon him from the nearby guests. He tried to contain his trembles. "Yes, ma'am," he repeated.

She giggled lightly before holding up a finger like some perky flight attendant. "A few reminders. Once you exit this building, you'll be on official Resort Grounds. The place outside is called the Entrance Hub. It is considered a White Zone—which means there are to be no intimate interactions there, despite the color of your bands. The boundaries of the White Zone are clearly marked, and from then on you and other guests will be permitted to interact as noted by your band colors. Except for Red—which is only permitted in Red Zones."

"I understand. And... uh... thanks."

"Thank you!" the woman giggled, then gestured for the door. "And please, dear guest, enjoy Day One of the Indulgence Getaway!"

Flash held his breath in.

Somewhere out there, Daybreaker was waiting for him. She said it herself: 'just beyond the White Zone,' meaning that she wanted him to take the first few virginal steps on his own. Hopefully his mistress wouldn't be ashamed of him choosing 'Yellow' and not 'Green.' But, surely she wouldn't fault him for acting on the side of caution. After all, he wasn't collared.

Not yet...

Another resort representative opened the door for Flash...

...and he walked out into the trepidatiously blinding world of Indulgence.