It’s always like this. She’s always quiet, and it’s always dark. The room is always lit with a single candle, she’s always nose deep in a book, and no words are ever said. The window is open, and a trio of incense sticks glow on the dark windowsill. All I can hear is her breathing, slow and focused as she reads.
Today it appears to be historical fiction—a story about Gusty the Great. Two more books are stacked next to her, waiting to be read.
The books are the only things that seem to change. I suppose that by now it’s something of a ritual to her. Everything must be exactly the same. I used to be nervous about it, but now it’s as much a ritual to me. There is no fear or trepidation as I approach her relaxed form. No hesitation as I reach out and gently stroke her back in the dimly lit room.
I know she wont respond. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t notice at all. She simply softly turns the page as I run my hoof down into her fur. Her breathing picks up, but I know it’s not from my attention. She must have found a good part in the book. Something exciting.
Is this exciting for her? Sometimes I wonder why she has me do this. Why I get royal letters with very demanding instructions. At first they were verbose, explicit with the rules.
Rule 1. “I will not speak.”
Rule 2. “I will be reading a book.”
Rule 3. “You enter exactly four hours after sun-down.”
Rule 4. “You are not to tell anypony of this.”
...
And so forth for twenty eight rules. Eventually the letters simply stated “You have an appointment tonight.”
I don’t know why I keep coming back. It’s never an order, only an invitation. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a marefriend. She doesn’t count. She doesn’t acknowledge me during the day. I’ve never even seen the inside of the castle in daylight. I tried to get a tour once, but my request was denied. At night, though, the guards know me. They wordlessly lead me through the dark halls to where I need to be. It’s always the same room. It’s always the same smell.
And it’s always the same mare—Princess Twilight Sparkle.
The guard lets me in and I do what I’m supposed to. I don’t know if she likes it, or if she even likes me. She never even deigns to look at me. I just know she keeps sending me letters, keeps inviting, or perhaps ordering, me back.
I often wonder if she’s the same mare that rules us. Maybe she swaps bodies at night to this strange, quiet creature that demands attention. Maybe she’s something else entirely. Maybe it’s a grand experiment of hers. It doesn’t really matter, not to me.
Whoever this mare is, she needs this in some way, for some reason. It’s almost sad. I wonder if she’s ever had a proper lover. Somepony to touch and hold her during the day. Somepony to cry on and with. To smile with.
I’m not her lover, and I know that. If it wasn’t for the letters, which I’m sure are penned by her hoof, I wouldn't be sure she even knows my name. I’m not even her friend or acquaintance. To her, I’m a tool. Little more than a living dildo.
I guess I don’t mind, not really. I always hoped to be loved some day, but this lot in life isn’t terrible. Not many stallions can say they’ve slept with the princess, but then again neither can I. Rule 4 and all. And I don’t get to sleep I guess, either. Her bed is dangerously comfortable, but I’m explicitly required to be gone by morning, Rule 12. Falling asleep is too much of a risk.
She’s larger than me, but not by much. Maybe that’s why she picked me. Not many stallions approach her size. I let my hoof trail down her side swirling around her cutie mark. I can feel the magic tingling from it, reminding me of her power.
She leans to the side, providing me better access. I want to smirk, I want to tease her about wanting this, but I know that would be against the rules. I’m not to disturb her book reading after all. I also doubt that she’s actually eager.
As my hoof runs along her star, I lower my snout and begin to nip gently at her back. She doesn’t seem to respond, but I know her body likes this. Her fur and skin almost taste sweet on my lips. I briefly wonder if she always tastes like this, or if she prepares somehow before I arrive. As I slowly move my mouth up her back, I imagine her sitting on her throne. She would taste sweet, but there’s no way anypony could tell.
Perhaps that’s why she smiles during the day.
The foreplay is entirely unnecessary from her perspective, but according to the rules I can do to her body what I want, so I do. I let my hoof slide from her cutie mark to her under belly, and she shifts slightly more, allowing me free access to her teats.
I give them a slight pinch and finally I feel her ever so slightly quiver. The little shock of pain is usually what gets to her. Too much, and she squirms away. Not enough and she’s cold as ice. Just the right amount and she quivers.
That’s what I was looking for. I’ll never hear words of affirmation from her, I know that. I’ll never hear her moan my name. But her body doesn’t lie. Something inside of her likes this, and that’s the thing that I’m here for.
I keep my hoof over her teat, circling it and gently tugging at it every now and then. She continues to warm under me as my body slowly climbs her back, nibbling at it as I go. As I nip at the base of her neck, burying my face in her mane, I feel her tail flag under me.
It’s as close as she gets to communicating, and I almost laugh.
Not yet, not tonight. Something inside me is feeling cruel. Instead of pushing forward and filling her like she wants, I bite her neck again. This time it’s not a nip, my teeth dig in. As I bite, I squeeze her teat too tightly, causing her pain.
She doesn't squeal or make any noise, she doesn’t even look up from her dimly lit book, but she does fold her ears back in frustration. I even feel her squirm slightly away from my touch.
I watch her as I breathe in her mane, tasting her sweet skin between my teeth. Something about her tonight makes me angry. Something makes me feel used and empty, and I understand that it’s her fault. She’s done this to me. She turned me into some thief in the night. A wordless, nameless stallion who sneaks in, uses her, and leaves before dawn. I feel like a monster, and I know that it’s because of her. I shouldn’t be like this.
I twist her teat painfully, and she snorts.
Does she like it? I can’t tell. I feel heat emanating from underneath her tail. She’s still flagged, still exposed and willing. Her ears are pinned back, and her breathing is heavy. She’s focused on her book, her eyes glaring at it.
I let go of her neck, and give the forming bruise a long, slow lick. Her ears flick forward, then back again. From here she doesn’t look like a pony. She looks like some kind of animal, some creature. Perhaps a demon?
I let go of her teat and she carefully rolls to protect it from my hoof. I breathe deep into her mane as I eagerly lower my other hoof, and tap her other side.
Her ears flick backwards again as she rolls gently underneath me, exposing her unmolested teat to my questing hoof. I grin into her mane as I grasp it.
I can feel her quivering again. She’s wondering if I’m going to be gentle, rough, or mean. I’m feeling mean and I pluck at her teat firmly as I feel her tense. Tonight I’m going to push the boundaries. I don’t know why, but I feel as if I’ve had enough.
I’ll follow her rules, but tonight will be on my terms.
I squeeze her nipple and she squirms against me. Wordlessly, I molest her underside. I don’t allow her any break. I pull and I pinch, and she squirms and wriggles. All the while I lick and nibble her neck and watch her ears intently.
She likes this.
Her ears are back in anger, but I’ve never felt her breathe this hard from my foreplay. Her teats, now both of them, radiate heat into my hooves. More telling, my hoof is getting wet as it runs across her lower stomach. I can feel her tail shuddering. She’s not just flagging now, she’s winking.
I let go of her deliciously soft and hot underside to climb further up her back. She rolls fully to her stomach to protect her now delicate teats and to provide me clear and easy access to under her tail.
Of course, I disappoint her. I slide myself over her, resting my admittedly eager erection on her back instead of inside of her. She snorts in frustration as I begin to carefully lick around the base of her horn.
I’ve never tried this before. It’s too close to breaking the rules. Tonight I’m confident I will manage. Carefully, I give her horn a long, slow lick. I have to be sure that I don’t disrupt her vision, that I don’t slip or move her mane the wrong way.
I know her body well enough to manage by now, and I’m confident in my own to stay steady. Besides, even if I do interrupt her reading, she deserves it. She’s read countless books underneath me, I deserve a skipped line or two.
She stiffens as I continue to lick her horn. Her ears perk up, straight up, and I feel her wings slightly flap. She hadn’t expected this.
I lavish it. I use my hooves to keep her mane out of my way and out of her face, but otherwise all the work is in my lips and tongue. She rocks underneath me, her steel hard muscles unsure of what to do. Is she going to run or throw me from her back? I decide to find out.
Her horn is long, much longer any other unicorn’s. I just make sure to attend to all of it. There’s no way I could fit the whole thing in my mouth, but with my determination I do manage to taste all of it. It doesn’t taste sweet like her skin, instead it tingles and thrums with magic, a bitter and electric sensation.
I can feel the magic build inside of her, and I can see the signs on her body. She’s close, very close.
Should I let her? Should I make her?
I don’t have to think about it. I already know what I’m going to do. I make her.
She shudders. I smirk as I pull away, simply looking at her softly glowing horn as the pulses of magic come and go. It’s only right to admire my work.
After a quiet moment of her gasping and fluttering wings, she does something entirely unexpected.
She turns her head and looks at me.
I’ve never seen her eyes up close. They’re always in the book. Right now, they’re glowing softly like her horn. My breath leaves me, and I’m paralyzed. She’s beautiful. An unnaturally divine grace surrounds her, and I remember who she is. This isn’t the demon mare who tortures me during the night.
This is Princess Twilight Sparkle, the eternal ruler of Equestria.
She glances back at her book, then back at me. I am in awe as she breaks several rules at once. Her book closes and I feel her lips around mine. The kiss causes my spine to tingle and my back legs to quiver.
Her mouth tastes sweeter than her skin.
She pulls away and smiles. I stay breathless, confused and lost in her eyes. Why is she smiling?
Wordlessly, she winks at me, then turns back to her book, briefly admiring the cover before she opens it and seemingly gets pulled in. I can’t see her face anymore, and the spell is broken.
I fumble like an innocent foal as I gasp for breath, catching myself. My hooves shake as I slowly let them fall to her side, resting on either side of her. I close my eyes, and press my snout into the back of her head, feeling tears well up.
She loves me, I know it. She is so much more than I thought.
But she also knows what she likes—as do I.
I swallow my voice, eating the words I desperately want to say as I grab her horn with my hoof. I watch as her ears pin back in frustration and anger. I hold her head forward as I slide my body down hers, lining myself up with her desperately flagging tail.
The heat from her body is almost numbing as I feel her wetness against my tip. With one hoof on her horn, I bury another in her hair. Just to be safe, I bite her neck. She writhes, but I hold her firm. I can’t let her look at me. Not if I truly want to be hers.
I understand now. She can’t understand me. She can comprehend me, but not understand me. I am her toy, her pet. She keeps herself distant because she has to. She needs what any mare needs, but to her we are all foals. Where does one find satisfaction in a world like that?
She pretends.
She has to pretend. She keeps from seeing me, and I keep from seeing her. I pretend she is a normal mare, maybe even a mean one. And she pretends she is as well.
Pretending is all she’ll ever have.
Well, pretending and me.
I’m far from satisfied, but at least now I know my place. I even have a new goal. Someday, I’ll be able to look her in the face and keep up my smirk. Some day I’ll be able to taste her kiss and force another. She doesn’t know it, but from now on I’m going to be mean.
I live to serve, after all.
Author's Note
Spent about a day thinking about Bendy's story, so I banged this out in an hour or two. It was intended to be way different, but the characters sort of became this. I don't know if I like it or not... What do you think?
