As you stepped inside the Glade of Passion, dragging Twilight along, you notice it wasn’t just the slopes that were filled with ponies. Ponies were densely packed also around the podium, while still keeping a respectable distance from the center.

The mating table in this glade was a block of stone. The top surface had been pedantically polished and had refurbished fresco on the sides. Making it fit for a king to have dinner, or for a mare to be served. The so-called table looked more like a bench. It was low, but wide, and could in theory serve three mares side by side, but in Ponyville it never did. If for some reason more than one pair wanted to use it, they waited for the others to finish.

The table’s purpose was to aid the mare in standing up. The mare resting her body would never risk falling and thus failing. It would be very dishonorable to call upon the community for aid, and then fail to stand up. A mare whose knees buckled during coitus, making her fall over, was showing weakness, quite the opposite of winking. A typical stallion would go flaccid, and help her, instead of pound her.

Falling over was very rare, but it could happen during an orgasm. Usually when magic residue in the stallion’s seed entered the womb, causing a tickling sensation, sending the mare over the edge. But by then it didn’t matter if she fell. Her womb had been filled, and the deed was done. The stallion was finished, and the mare was loaded. A good time for her to lie down, and let the mares still standing get filled.

But this event was different. During a breeding ceremony, more than one pair of balls would often be called upon to fill the mare. So that’s why a table was used. It was an easy way to ensure the mare could keep showing strength, until she had enough.

You think you may have forgotten something, and looking out over the audience you remember. Twilight wants you to count all observing stallions and mares for statistics. With so many ponies here, you decide it’s best to forget.

You bring Twilight to the table. She’s nervous; she’s trembling, but hides it well. According to rehearsal she would rear up and slide her front legs over it. It would seem she remembered that part, as she moves up and over. It wasn’t a big table, and she was big enough for all four hooves to touch the ground, even if just barely.

While Applejack the previous year had used a tight sturdy bridle, with bits and all, Twilight wanted something less kinky, and wore a loose hackamore, more of a halter. It was mostly a fashion statement, with ornamental decorations, but you still attach it to the pole in front of the table, as a sign she is ready to begin.

Now you remembered what you had forgotten. You were supposed to scrutinize the invited stallions to ensure they had arrived, and were in good shape, before putting her in position. Well, Twilight was supposed to do it since she was supposed to lead.

The stallions selected stood together, forming a line in front of the table. With Twilight in position, they stood face to face with her. Looking into her eyes, seeking contact. While Twilight looked up, avoiding it.

You walk along the six stallions. They are all more or less unsheathed. Showing they know why they’re here, and announce their readiness. You stop in front of each one to inspect him, and with mutual silence confirm the decision. A mere formality, supposed to be done by Twilight in the lead, before moving up on the table.

Two of them you didn’t know their names. Neither do they tell you when you look them in the eye. Well, that would exclude them from being called. Or maybe you could sneak up and ask their names while another was busy with Twilight?

The Wonderbolt was Soarin. You may have remembered it eventually, but the pegasi fans shouting ‘Soarin rocks!’ during inspection sure helped. The locals didn’t appreciate the antics, but you did. Pony names are easy to forget.

Big Mac, red and bulky, looked calm, while chewing on a twig. Chewing gum in class wasn’t allowed, but chewing twigs without class, was okay. Well, he was no prince charming, that’s for sure.

Mr. Rich looks confident. You look confident too. Twilight was still hiding her thoughts. This could be hilarious for everyone except her. You keep moving before your smile starts showing.

Mr. Carrot Cake looks nervous. Perhaps the only one as nervous as Twilight? You resist an urge to pat him on the head and tell him to calm down. Perhaps a pairing of the nervous Cake with nervous Twilight would result in a nervous start? Or they would make a perfect match?

You move to Twilight. Trying to remember how she had planned this. It wasn’t easy since you only cared about your own job and not hers. On top of that she didn’t just talk about how it should be done. She also mentioned hundreds of different possibilities for how it could be done, mixed in with various anecdotes and historical context.

Two things you clearly remember: You would go first to warm her up, and you would go last, and announce her exhausted; while Twilight was pretending she was ready for more. The act was to show how a common chaperon could veto the wishes of the mare, even a princess.

Everything else was lost in a sea of information about what choices a mare had when selecting breeders, presuming anyone offered to help. Twilight had been worried her status may be intimidating and none would be willing. She had worried and fretted about doing the entire walk without a single interruption, and what a failure that would be. You bet this outcome was quite a surprise.

You take a closer look at your poor princess. She hadn’t said a word since you commenced. Now when the breeding was about to start, she was taking small quick breaths, almost hyperventilating, staring aimlessly, keeping her ears forward, while her tail was pressed down so hard it looked anything but regal.

Well, you could always start with the warm-up. You had become pretty good at warming her up. It was one of the few things you gladly rehearsed. You step up behind her and start your inspection. Leaning over her, checking her saddle, pulling and tugging it, to show the audience what a tight fit it was.

“You’re a good girl!” you encourage her, as you pat her affectionately between her saddle and tail. Her body recoils from your touch, before she eventually raises her tail, but not enough to make it inviting. She’s nervous, frantically clutching the table beneath her, she needs more encouragement.

You scratch the area between saddle and dock. Rubbing her fur along her spine, and hip, towards the dock. You keep all ten fingers stiff as you start scratching her haunches. Vigorously alternate between tickling and squeezing that lavender rump of hers, before moving your hands down to her legs, over her thighs and finally in between her legs.

“You’re beautiful. By far the loveliest princess in the world. Pristine purple, pure bliss, whose raised tail invokes dreams of the promised land for every stallion who beholds it.” you put as much passion in your voice as you can muster. Letting your smooth talk and brisk hands get her ready to be mounted.

She’s still tense. You test with a finger, and while it may be damp enough for penetration, it’s far from moist enough for a comfortable sloppy churn. Usually she would be quite wet by now. But usually you would be someplace private and not with hundreds of ponies looking.

You need to distract her from the audience, give her something else to think of, surprise her. You kneel down, getting your face close to her vulva; you drag your nose along the entrance before shoving your entire face in there to motorboat her. Trying to use your tongue to draw out her hidden clit in the process.

A loud gasp goes through the audience as you do. You quickly look around, mares are blushing profusely, stallions look shocked. You vaguely remember something about ponies being very puritan when it comes to sex. You’re not sure if this would turn Twilight on, or if the display would cause her to panic, so you go back to work her body with your hands.

The cultural saddle books were the closest thing to porn in the entire library, and the sex in those was all about procreation. You’re not sure what kinks you can use to get her juices flowing. You resume using your fingers, searching her folds and edges to touch as many nerves as possible. At least you no longer have to push away the tail.

You leave your right hand in her sex, while moving up on her side to get closer to her ear. You let your left hand wiggle its way inside her mouth. Using your actions as a cover, your face pushes into her mane, as close to her ears as possible. Setting you up for your best ventriloquism act ever.

“Oh my, I can’t believe so many have come to attend your lecture.” you say while your right hand rubs her pussy.

“You’re the best teacher they ever had, they have never before been so interested in learning. Just look at them up on the slopes, taking notes, preparing reports, thinking up flash cards.” your voice full of admiration.

You notice she loosens up a little, relaxing a bit more. She’s not supposed to give you any signals, but she starts sucking your fingers. You take it as a sign she believes she’s ready to proceed. But you’ve had her in your bed, and you know she can do better.

“This lesson will be remembered forever. All the ponies here will inspire work groups, authoring reports, writing essays on this lecture. They are going to write books about it! Books!! Think Twilight, think of all the book titles. Think of the books detailed artwork and foldouts. The books about this day, will be in every library in the Kingdom. You, my sweet teacher, will be in every library in Equestria.”

She utters a loud moan and closes her eyes. Her shallow breathing is replaced with heavy panting. Her tail rises high and proper. Her marehood winking properly, showing her clit, and she’s so juiced up you can easily slide in four of your fingers, and press down to hit her G-spot.

She’s in the mood. Eyes clenched shut, breath is fast but deep. Her body no longer shivering in fear, but trembling in anticipation. She’s no longer on the chopping block in a scary ritual, but resting comfortably on a pedestal, wiggling and begging, hoping for someone to breed her.

You stand up, your right hand letting go of her behind, but keeping your left hand in her mouth. Twilight keeps sucking your fingers, still having her eyes closed. Your right hand starts playing with her ears. Making your fingers useful, now when they can’t work her behind.

Twilight notice how you stand up, and turn away from her, leaving only your left hand in her mouth. She opens her eyes, glance around, and end up looking straight ahead at the six waiting stallions. The show has enticed them, and in front of her were six stallions with raging hard-ons. Ready to jump her at her chaperon’s discretion. She quickly clenches her eyes shut again, frantically sucking your fingers like a pacifier.

“I call upon Big Macintosh, to accept his offer.” you call out for everyone to hear.

Twilight bites down on your fingers, not hard, but shocked. You look at her to see if she wants to protest. Her eyes are clenched shut, but her scrounging muzzle indicates there’s something on her mind. But whatever it is she’s not telling you, and the red Clydesdale lumbers forth to position himself behind her.

If anyone in Ponyville knows how to do a mare, it’s Big Mac. He doesn’t stop to talk, or even acknowledge the call. He’s just as efficient mounting a princess as he is bucking apples. Moving up to insert his phallus in the mare offered to him. He grunts as he slowly pushes himself inside. Pressing and wiggling his cock until his legs and stifle connect to Twilight, and he can’t bring himself closer.

Then he slowly pulls back, waits for a second, before he pushes himself back inside Twilight. Grinding it to a halt, as his meat’s journey comes to an end. Leaving his heavy body to rest on top of Twilight with all its weight, lodging a throbbing cock inside her, filling her up, making her suck even harder on your fingers.

You keep messing with her mouth, and her twitching ears, while Big Mac performs another massive movement, sliding his body and dick along the mare trapped beneath him. Letting his meat be shoved back and forth inside Twilight, again and again and again. Every stroke followed by a grunt, as he hits deep. Pulling back with a deep breath, before he invades her again.

You’ve heard about his legendary stamina, and sure, he did more than a dozen strokes, but he didn’t manage the heroic twenty. At the eighteenth stroke he rears up a bit, pushing as deep as he can, while the ball-sack contracts, pumping their seed deep into the mare below him.

Twilight’s legs shakes from the thrilling feeling of being spermed. He takes his time. The pony seed bringing a tickling sensation that your human seed does not. She’s hot and panting, smacking at your fingers without paying attention to them. Breathing heavily.

She opens her eyes and looks at you. Big Mac is still on her back. She doesn’t say anything, and doesn’t send any signals. She’s just looking at you with slack jaw, letting your fingers do what they want in her open mouth, and floppy ears. Perhaps her eyes are pleading with you? Maybe she would like to say something? You have no idea.

Big Macintosh pulls off, and you thank him for his service with the phrase used here in Ponyville. As Big Mac plows through the crowd he ends up with Applejack. She was behind the first two lines of ponies here at the center. They each raise their right hoof and clops it together.

You decide it’s time for you to do your duty and step up behind the princess. Grabbing her tail, dragging it up forcefully, making her rear hooves lift from the ground. Thanks to the table, it’s easy.

“Time to show these ponies what a human is all about!” you say to Twilight, and many of the closest hears it.

You slap your erect dick back and forth over her ass, eliciting a smacking sound, to show the audience it’s not a stallion balloon animal but a real, hard, heavy-duty dick, ready to bring some actual action to the waiting mare.

You let your hands grab her posterior as you slam down into her wet folds. Using your hands to rub that hot meaty ass against your groin. Showing the audience how hands can be useful to readily grip, grab and grind any mare posterior within arms length.

You go decently fast and start pounding hard, back and forth, like a raving madman. Pumping her cunt like never before. You keep counting strokes; you want to set a record for this glade. Focusing your thoughts, preventing an early release. The stares from the audience helps keep you cool.

Twilight lets out a high-pitched gasp, and her moans grows louder, shortly after one hundred strokes she comes. Her orgasm making her call out some vowel she stole from a train whistle. The audience looks mightily impressed, and you can vaguely hear a soft murmur between them. You help push back her wings.

You keep pumping, the slick wetness dribbling from her vagina, and down on the ground. You pass two hundred, and you just keep going. It’s fortunate she’s on a table. She wouldn’t be standing on all four otherwise, her body shaking and muscles spasming. You move your pelvic back and forth, letting your strong arms waggle her haunches for visual effect, you pass three hundred strokes, extracting more and more appalling noises from the audience.

You finally let yourself go. Pushing your member as deep as you can and release your seed. Twilight realize you’re done and turns her head to stare at you. Mouth open, gasping, she just stares at you. As if waiting for an apology, or she just woke up and doesn’t know where she is.

You lean forward and give her a light kiss on the muzzle, before you pull back, and pull out.

–*–*–*–

You rip the band connecting Twilight’s hackamore to the pole in front, and shout: “The mare is exhausted! The mare is confirmed to be properly bred. As chaperon, I thank all of you for your help in sperming this womb. We are grateful for your help and support.”

Various comments of enthusiasm are heard from the slopes. They’re not supposed to applaud or cheer; procreation is serious business, but many of them still want to voice their enthusiasm, so many spontaneous endorsements are heard, and some of them you can make out.

The remaining five selected stallions, with more or less enthusiasm, leave the spotlight, together with most of the audience. The books say nothing about what to do after everything important is done. The plan was for you and Twilight to leave together, but there’s a massive queue at the narrow entrance to the glade, and the holdup is sure to last for a while. In the meantime you are surrounded by ponies who eagerly want to ask questions.

Twilight looks at you. She’s still on the table. She plays her role perfectly, looking utterly exhausted – still panting.

“Meet me at home.” she whispers, before her horn does the sparkly-glittering-thing and she disappears.

You mutter something inaudible about her being a traitor to leave you on your own, but you also know how difficult it is to apply magic to a human, so she can’t safely teleport both of you.

The questions fly through the air, and you don’t know how to escape them, until you spot Rainbow Dash looking at you with a big grin. She’s hovering up in the air, no longer hidden with Applejack.

You wave frantically. “Just over the surrounding wall?”

“Gotcha!” she answers, and with the grip she traditionally uses when forcibly dragging you off to bed, she lifts you up and flies you almost all the way to the castle. Putting you down close to the walkway leading up to it. Much to the begrudged resentment, or surprised amazement, of various ponies surrounding you with questions.

You rush into the castle, happy to get some rest after a job well done.

. . .

Author's Note

Any continuation floating around in my head, is focused on drama and dialogue (so no Pinkie Pie party orgy). It may or may not be written, edited and published. Maybe write some epilogue wrap-up explaining he lived happily forever after.