Stock Imagery

Twilight pinched the bridge of her nose. “Pinkie, I can’t approve this.”

Pinkie stomped her hoof and puffed enough to unsettle the black beret she was wearing, a matching set to the black turtleneck. “You can’t stifle art! This is my true expression!”

“Pinkie, it’s a set of public stockades with a-” Twilight hesitated.

“Yes?”

“The sign on it says-” and Twilight shut up again. “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“That’s part of the art!” Pinkie grinned, looped around Twilight’s desk to read over her shoulder. “See? It’s working already! It’s making you confront your internal boundaries and shame that would otherwise be unrevealed to you!”

“It’s a public stockade with a sign that says ‘Fuck me!’ with a big smiley face on it.”

“Correct!” Pinkie emphasized both syllables like they were each their own word. Core wrecked.

“You can’t honestly believe anybody’s going to volunteer for this, can you?”

“Nah, nobody’s that brave. At least, not in Ponyville.” Pinkie thought about it. “That’s not the point.” She finished, before Twilight could ask who she was thinking of outside of Ponyville.

“Then what is the point?” She asked instead.

Pinkie rolled her eyes and tapped Twilight’s head. “Duh! It’s to make you imagine if you were brave enough! What it’d be like if you could do that. It’s to confront you with permission to engage in a wild fantasy where you’re only stopped by your own self-denial, causing you to interrogate your inhibitions against temptation!”

Twilight read and reread the art installation written in sharpie, with its crude yet evocative illustration. “That’s a lot deeper than I expected you to be with this, honestly.”

“Hey, you know what else goes a lot deeper than you’d expect it to-”

“That’s about the level I was expecting, yes.”

“Well?”

“I have to admit, the fact that it makes me uncomfortable proves you have a point. Especially if you don’t expect anyone to actually use it. Still. We’ll need to cordon it off. Put it somewhere private and age restricted.”

Pinkie nodded, and tapped the part of the form where she already worked all that out. Twilight deflated a little. Another avenue of retreat cut off. "That's part of the thrill, actually. It's got to be the only thing there, wherever 'there' is, so that if you see anybody else looking with you..."

"... you know what they're thinking about, too.” Twilight finished. “They had to go out of their way. It's part of the public nature of the sculpture."

"Putting the 'exhibit' back into 'exhibitionism'," Pinkie sang proudly.

Twilight couldn't stop herself from giggling in time, and clapped her mouth shut in horror. Pinkie, for her part, just smiled. "Okay. Okay, you have Princess Approval for your exhibitionist exhibition."

Twilight heated the wax on her seal, hesitating before taking the last plunge. She looked over her shoulder at Pinkie. "Just out of curiosity, what do you expect will happen?"

"Honestly?" Pinkie watched the seal hovering above the page with hungry eyes and licked her lips. "I have no idea. That's why I'm so excited. Don't you want to find out?"

The sticky thud of the wax seal said that, apparently, Twilight did.

It had to be in the castle. It was the only place where there was enough pedestrian traffic to not look suspicious, enough security to make sure the wrong sorts didn't get the wrong ideas. Or to protect the right sorts if they got the right idea, as Pinkie helpfully added.

The stockade had an entire floor dedicated to it, Twilight had made sure to pick a floor with ample bathrooms and showering facilities. The entire floor was cut off by a curtained doorway directly outside the stairwell. Anyone who went past it knew what they were here for - and knew that was what everyone they saw was here for, too.

They wouldn't all be thinking the same thing. To Pinkie, that would have made it boring art, if there were just one correct response to it. No, some would come to think about it. Others would come to see who was thinking about it. Some would show up hoping someone else would be brave enough - and whether they'd be brave enough to participate. Some were here wondering what anyone else found hot about this.

Twilight, by virtue of setting up the space, was left alone with her own thoughts about it.
"Consensual non-consent," she repeated to herself, as she trailed the tip of a wing along the smoothed wooden surface of the stockade. The inside cuffs were soft and rubbery, and a comfortable bench had been run behind it. Someone could lock themselves in face up or face down, to their preference, and be comfortable for a long time. "Isn't that what Pinkie said?"

It was. The stockades were self-locking, and the key was kept just out of reach. But you had to lock yourself in, knowing what would happen. Whoever locked themselves in couldn't be let out until someone else unlocked them, either. There were a pair of guards nearby, and Twilight had insisted on a heartrate monitor in all three lunettes - the technical word for the holes in the stockade. Twilight thought it was a very pretty word.

Lunettes.

The heart rate monitor would ensure protection for the involuntarily - and voluntarily - bound and gagged. As soon as she had raised this point, Pinkie had replied with a knowing grin. A grin that meant Twilight had been thinking about this more than she had. Twilight had blushed right to the tips of her ears, and continued with the safety checks.

Consensual non-consent. To say that you want no say. To want what you want to be irrelevant. To give yourself to be taken.

Freedom and liberation from yourself.

Twilight hadn't thought about this before Pinkie had put the idea in her head. But once it was there, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

One addition, which Pinkie had given that knowing smile at, was the inclusion of magic inhibitor rings. At first Twilight had considered making them fake, enchanting them to tell the wearer to pretend they weren't, because it was more important that they be seen wearing them than that they work.

Pinkie had been thrilled that Twilight understood the nature of the art well enough to think of it in those terms. Had congratulated her on that. Had made Twilight blush to the tips of her ears again. But then Pinkie had reminded Twilight that it would only leave a unicorn as helpless as anyone else.

She had suggested, in fact, that Twilight was not suggesting what was best for the exhibit, but was thinking about her own fantasies of how she would use it, and that she was free to bring her own fake ring in that case.

And Twilight shuddered, because Pinkie had whispered that in her ear, and she'd been right.

Twilight had stopped thinking about fake inhibitor rings after that.

She wandered around the staging room with a mental checklist. She was far too embarrassed to write any of this down, and she didn't like burning paper. Not least of all because she associated it with sending letters to Celestia. Imagine her reading this one.

Pinkie's notes had just been the design of the stockade. Pinkie would get full credit for the exhibit, but Twilight had been the one to provide the surgical-grade stainless steel tables at the edge of the circular display room.She had been the one to supply everything else too. She did one last inventory pass.

Here was the station she had provided for further bondage. This table had disposal elastic sleeves for comfortably binding wings to the body, like a compression bandage. For guests with hands and claws there were adjustable pleather mittens. A variety of plugs and vibrators for insertion, kept under UV light. Ring gags, ball gags, fabric for gags. One bin for the disposal of single use items, another for the sterilization of reusable equipment.

More intense, demeaning and degrading items were kept under lock and key, the key kept by the pony locking themselves into the stockade. Blindfolds and earmuffs. Markers that would draw easily on skin and fur. A chalkboard to hang around the neck, to list requests or to keep a running tally. Paddles, crops and other striking implements - locked with them, permission to be hit at all.

This served two purposes. First, to curate a relative comfort level. The fantasy had to accommodate both those who wanted to feel safe, and those who didn’t. Second? If those items were available it was only because they had been made available. It was a statement, an insinuation, a temptation and a tease.

A side table had been added to the stockade, for anyone who wanted to display their preferences when locking themselves in. A space to allow some locked items to be removed, but not others.

Another detail: The stocks themselves had been put on a rotating dais. One would face the entrance, and had a mirror facing it. The other faced away from the entrance, and had no mirror. Did you want to know? Did you want to see?

There were no options for the captive to be anonymous, or for the other guests and participants to be anonymous to each other. That was vital to the artistic intent.

Twilight’s additions had all been more expensive and more difficult than the simple stockade Pinkie had proposed, but- well, Pinkie had asked Twilight for suggestions, and Twilight had kept giving answers. Pinkie had obviously enjoyed asking, enjoyed watching Twilight think so hard about this.

The point of the art, after all, had been to put ideas in your head. To make you think about these things. Presentation was important. A full spread of options, of accessories and extras, was necessary for full effect. The stockade was the framework - the additions provided an 'and then, and then, and then' to make the fantasy more compelling…

Or, at least, that's what she'd told Pinkie. Who had looked quite fetching in that tight black turtleneck, actually. Who obviously enjoyed the ideas she was putting in Twilight's head.

Twilight walked to the next table. Prophylactic potions in a neat row of vials, latex contraceptives of every size and variety, lubricants with placards of purpose. Don't use silicone based lubricants with the silicon toys, things like that. Nobody would use this, of course, but it was important to keep in mind that someone could.

It made sure anyone that came in here would think that someone would. That was more important than if anyone did. The more care put into this, the more complete the illusion.

The next table. Two plastic kegs of sports drink 'red' and 'blue' flavoured, tea and coffee in metal dispensers, snacks in sealed wrappers. Protein bars, cookies, sandwiches. A sign on the table that announced 'For Participants Only'.

Pinkie was firm on that. Otherwise somebody could claim they were here for the free food. Nobody could have an excuse to be here, no plausible deniability. If you wanted a sandwich... "Either get in the stocks, or get in whoever's in them". Twilight had laughed.

Being here, alone, in this room now? It wasn't so funny.

Much to her surprise, Pinkie hadn't been annoyed about all this. She'd called Twilight her first proof of concept, her first big success, the real point to this. Twilight obviously enjoyed putting so much thought into this, which is something they had both learned about her.

But why had this appealed so much to her? Why had she gotten so invested in this?

For what little romantic experience she had, she knew she wasn’t usually submissive, but when she thought about this, the only role she could imagine herself was in the stocks. That surprised her.

But she had been a Princess for a while now. The smart, dependable, reliable Twilight Sparkle that was the ultimate role model to everyone, all the time. And sometimes, maybe…

It’d be nice not to worry about failing to live up to those expectations. It’d be nice to be seen as… someone with the same needs as everyone else.

It’d be nice to trust others to take care of her.

She wouldn’t have to worry about the pressure someone feels at saying ‘no’ to a Princess. She wouldn’t have to worry about someone pretending to like her for her power, her status. Here she would have no power, no status, to take advantage of, to be taken advantage of. She would be naked in the most important way.

She wouldn’t have to worry about being ‘good enough’, a generous enough lover, that anxiety of being selfish. What anyone wanted from her, they would take.

Twilight wanted to give everything. So bad it hurt.

She’d leave the paddles and the markers locked. There was no appeal to her in the degradation aspect. She didn’t want to be beneath others. She wanted to be seen, for the first time in too long, as an equal.

All she had to do was slide into those stocks and anyone could approach her without fear, take her as she was.

Of course she’d have the stockade face the entrance, and the mirror. She wanted to see who would approach her here that would be too intimidated otherwise. She wanted to find them again, and thank them. Or would that be too much?

No, it was just a fantasy. She didn’t have to worry about it being too much. She could imagine following up with someone, getting coffee afterwards, laughing about it. A real relationship, where the barriers had been torn down from the start.

So much easier than dating as royalty.

She wanted to get fucked. She wanted to scream it, but she couldn’t. She needed somebody to know it without her having to ask, without her having to say it.

She wanted to offer herself. To be seen. To see others look at her with lust, to see them think about her as someone they could be with. To wonder what to do with her. To know who would tease her, try to find her most sensitive places, try to find the places that made her shiver and shout and moan. To know who, when they could take anything from her, would try to learn how much they could give back. To experiment with her, to explore her.

She wanted to know who would just use her. Who would be so honest and fearless. Someone who would take Twilight at her word at what she was offering and not hedge their bets, not ingratiate themselves to her. Take her because they want her.

She wanted to lick pussies and suck cock and know that she might get nothing for it, and to get cared for anyway. It would make it so much more special, so much more sincere. She wanted to offer herself unconditionally, just to feel what would be done to her without needing to ask.

With other people here, though, she would probably have been too self-conscious to think so much. When there wasn’t anyone here to assume she was here to check up on them, monitor them, scold them. Before anyone could be scared to see her in here, having the same thoughts as them, the same hidden desires, the same nervousness and embarrassment and want. Before anyone could feel caught by her.

It would have broken her heart.

Maybe that’s why she invested so much into this, so much more than even Pinkie. All she had ever wanted to give was everything. But Pinkie would be able to come back here, any time, would be able to experience the exhibition in its entirety. Twilight’s fun - and she had more of it than she could have imagined - would have to end when the audience arrived.

Twilight looked at the stockade one last time with longing, and bit her bottom lip hard enough to turn it white.

No, if she came back, she would have to put herself in the stocks immediately, before anyone could be intimidated by her. She could do that any time she wanted. And that thought kept her warm, and she blushed to the tips of her ears again.

Maybe she didn’t need to. But it was nice to think about.