A Touch of Class

by writer

Rating: mature
Tags: Romance
Length: 4831

Sensual Clop, Rarity x 2nd person, ponified you. Massage.

[As featured on Equestria After Dark]

Your associate and long time friend Rarity has fallen upon bad luck. With her business suffering and her weariness showing, you decide to buy her a gift-basket, in the hope that it might cheer her up a little.

And, unfortunately for you, you end up giving a little more than you'd intended to.

2nd person you and Rarity. Sensual.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-17 19:34:01 UTC

A Touch of Class

A Touch of Class

You can’t wait to get back to the boutique. In your mouth dangles the basket of goodies you’d bought for her.

She’d been down on her luck recently. While she wouldn’t tell you in so many words herself, you knew as much simply by looking at her. Her usually immaculate appearance had become somewhat unkempt of late, and you could see the dark lines under her eyes. You knew what that meant. She cared about her own appearance more than she did about a lot of things, including you, probably.

Not that you could blame her, of course. In the fashion industry, image was everything, and for Rarity to forfeit her own personal preening in favour of her work told you that something was very, very wrong.

So you thought you’d treat her to a lovely surprise - something to relax the mind, and soothe the body. Admittedly, the thought of your associate-cum-flatmate’s eyes brightening as you gave the present to her was the only motivation you needed, and nothing else was on your mind.

This was mainly because you and your inner monologue had had a good long chat about exactly what your feelings were about Rarity and gift-giving.

No, you both had finally decided. This was a platonic gift. Not only was she out of your league by several oceans, it would be wrong to take advantage of her choleric mood like that. Gift-giving was not necessarily mutual, and you weren't going to try to chalk up brownie points with her, like some creep. It might not have had a grounded purpose, but there was affection in the gift, and that was perfectly acceptable (or so your brain mandated).

You reach the shop’s blue door and prepare to knock, but to your surprise it opens before you can try. A rather highly-strung gentlepony storms out, his grey head stuck high in the air. Trailing after him is your friend, speaking in a very apologetic tone.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t interest you in my coats, sir,” she says flatteringly, clearing attempting to seize his attention. “Have a good day!”

The stallion huffs, but does not reply. He strides by you with an air of indifference. There’s a rather awkward moment where you’re left standing foolishly on the doorstep, your eyes dartin from the back of the retreating customer to your friend, whose expression slowly falls into a frown.

She sighs in what would best be defined as a mixture of apathy and resignation before turning and walking back into the boutique, her horned head hung a little lower. She didn't even acknowledge your presence, but you step quickly and quietly inside, closing the door behind you with a spare hoof.

Yet another dissatisfied customer, it seems.

You swallow a nervous lump in your throat. The white unicorn mare’s steps dragged along the carpeted ground.

“Another day with no sales,” she sighs, resuming the slump at the table where you had seen her slave over her creations at all hours. Her head touches down onto the wood with a soft thud, and immediately her weariness is more than evident. Long strands of silken violet slip from her shoulders, dangling onto the table.

The sight stings your heart, and you mumble an optimistic remark (albeit with difficulty) from behind the cane basket-handle in your mouth.

“Easy for you to say,” she says, tilting her head up so that her sapphire-blue eyes are visible. “At least the overcoats you make sell. I simply cannot sell any of mine.”

As a designer, you have plenty of room for innovative. You're ever the patient listener and planner to all of her stallion problems and business problems alike, and so you brace yourself for the upcoming tirade of sulky moans that were indicative of her precious nature.

But, after a pensive pause (and much to your surprise), none are forthcoming. You see her eyes briefly glance at the basket in your teeth.

“A present for somepony?” she asks sadly.

You deposit it in front of her and nod. It’s for her, after all.

The reaction is better than you had hoped. She straightens up a little, her eyes springing open and regaining some of their sparkle. A flare of emotion stirs in your own belly as she grasps the gift-tag that you'd attached to the gift, reading it aloud.

“To my dear friend. I know you’ve had it rough lately, and I hope this makes things a little easier,” She reads aloud, an excited wisp of a smile flashing across her lips. Almost immediately, she beams up at you. “Oh, darling, that’s so thoughtful of you!” she says, her face brightening, her voice high-pitched and filled with happy gratitude.

You smile and bow your head bashfully. The word ‘darling’ upon your ears is like a small peak of pleasure, and a single butterfly does a somersault in your stomach. A brief thought of what other circumstances she might call you darling in dances tantalizingly close to your train of thought, and you hastily chase it away, resisting the urge to scowl at yourself.

Stop it, you chide yourself mentally. Get a grip!

Swiftly, you dismiss the gift as 'just a thought', and you pull up a chair opposite her, moving that stupid green sewing machine that dominates her working days to one side. She glances at you, her cheeks perked into cute little arcs of happiness. The slight smile that plays about her lips sets your heart racing in that curious way it always did, but her captivating blue eyes soon dart to the gift before her, giving your chest a much-needed rest.

“Well, what do we have inside?” she says, sweeping the last strips of fabric off the table in front of her. She leans towards you, pulling the basket close, and then tugs lightly on the blue silken bow, causing the plastic wrap around it to unfurl like a flower. Inside the basket are several soaps for her body and scents for her hair, and she cooes in surprise and happiness as she finds every one of them.

Fresher and deeper knots in your stomach tie themselves with every glimpse of her unabated delight, and you catch yourself enjoying the moment a little too much. Rarity dives through the basket with all the anticipation and excitment of an archeologist unearthing priceless artifacts.

But it is not until she reaches the very bottom of the basket that her attention becomes most focused, and she retrieves the crystal bottle of lotion from where you had placed it.

“Lavender body lotion?” she says, casting a surprised glance over at you. “My favourite!”

Of course it was, you think to yourself.

Swiftly but gently she unscrews the glass top, her nostrils flaring as she takes a whiff.

“Oh my,” she utters. “How wonderful!”

You feel pleased about her delight. Being a stranger to buying gifts for fillies, you were initially puzzled, and once you'd decided that she might like some things to keep her beauty, you spent far too much time deliberating on exactly what sort of fragrance you should get. You ummed about rose, and aah’ed about vanilla, and erred on daisy, but in the end, you went with your gut.

The smell of lavender... it reminded you of Rarity, though you weren’t exactly sure how. All you knew is that the instant the salesmare held the bottle of the crushed purple flowers up to your nose, your instincts told you that it was precisely the one you wanted.

Almost immediately, Rarity pours the smallest amount onto her hooves and rubs them together. It takes her a few seconds, but she then cups her hooves to her muzzle, and breathes deeply again. You quickly lie about how you knew Lavender was her favourite (her shampoo, you say) and ask for a whiff.

You reach out for the bottle reflexively, expecting Rarity to pass it to you. Instead, though, she presses her white hooves into your own, making your heart explode into nervous flutters. You glance up reproachfully, but her intentions become clear to you as she speaks.

“Absolutely! - Here, have a smell.”

You gingerly raise her hooves to your muzzle.

There’s the scent again.

It is as much her as fancy dresses and knights in shining armour, but at the same time it’s so much more then that. It’s familiar of her genuine, feminine side, untainted by work or worry. It’s a wonderful smell. You cannot help but partake of it as it fills your nostrils and lungs -

“Oh!” Rarity mutters.

You snap back to your reality with a start, and realise quite embarrassingly that her hooves have touched the cold surface of your nose, leaving a small patch of the lotion. You let go quickly and rub the spot away, embarrassed - but you are almost immediately taken by that same gorgeous aroma. It was on your hooves, and now it’s right underneath your nose, filling your nostrils and driving you mad.

And it’s so delightfully intoxicating, that you cannot help but take another deep breath.

In... and out... you become aware of how heavy your lungs feel, weighted down with the magnificent fragrance.

You breathe deep. A little too deep, as it were. You finish the breath, and you re-open your eyes. It’s only then you realise that you had closed them in the first place.

The blood hits your face as your embarrassment surfaces for the second time in as many minutes, and you beat yourself internally for your blunder. You might as well have just signposted your silly, guilty feelings then and there, and you can’t help but wonder if she noticed.

Rarity watches you curiously, her hooves still halfway across the table, surveying you with her deep, sea-blue eyes. Whether the look in her eyes is a dangerous flash or a pondering gaze you cannot say, but all the same, your heart beats in your mouth.

Rarity picks up the bottle for a second time.

“You like it?” she says.

You nod wordlessly, and she speaks again.

“Hold out your hoof, then.”

You do so, and she pours a small amount of it onto your proffered hoof. It’s cold to the touch.

“Now,” she says coolly. “Rub that into my shoulders.”

You feel your face drain of colour. You open your mouth to object, but a large, useless lump has replaced your tongue, and all you can do is gape slightly at her, while your lunch churns in your stomach.

Did she just... ask me... that... No! No, no, no, no, you think. This isn't happening. This is all a dream. You're going to wake up and be absolutely fine.

But Rarity then affixes you with a look of such stern-ness that all rational thought or hope leaves you. You realise you are not dreaming, and you feel yourself rise and circle the table, obediently laying your fore-hooves upon her shoulders.

Again, that voice at the back of your head speaks. Oh no. Don’t you do that, colt. You aren’t going to ruin the friendship like this, it says. I won’t let you.

But at the forefront of your mind, the more convincing option is almost irresistible.

She turns her face up to you. The intense and trying gaze from those blue, blue eyes steals your attention once more, but she says nothing, instead watching your reaction as she stretches forward, as far as she can on her seat, leaning into the table...

“Just gently, darling.” You noticed she placed a curious emphasis on the last word, but you have little time to think about it, as your hooves are already pressing into her back without you asking them to.

Gently, tenderly, you feel your way down around her shoulders, each trace of your curved forehoof eking out days of weariness and exhaustion. You come to the top of her pristine white forelegs, working down a little and to the lithe calf muscle, before moving back up the inside of her leg, to where it meets her body - and then back again to the curved shoulder-blades, taking extra-special care to press out the difficult knots of muscle and tension. Every gentle touch of your hooves seems to evoke a reaction from her, and she smiles, groaning a little as you continue your work.

“... Lovely,” you hear her mumble. “Really lovely.”

Meanwhile, your head swims in mixture of serendipity and icy-blooded fear.

What. Are. You. Doing! Says the little pony angel on your shoulder. You’re just making a fool of yourself. Just do exactly as she asked you to, WITHOUT overdoing it. And then, you’re going to go and have a cold, cold shower.

Part of you furiously agrees, and you almost nod your head, ashamed into complying.

Pfft, don’t lie, says a voice from the other shoulder. This is paradise, and she asked for it. Friend Schmend. You aren't doing anything wrong.

The dilemna tears you in two as you massage her anxiety away. Rarity has since turned her head down to the table, laying it on her folded forehooves while you pay attention to her upper back and shoulders for a good few minutes.

As you move down to the centre of her back, she lets out another content sigh. It really does sound like you’re massaging her weary troubles away, and the thought seizes you with pleasure.

But then, just like that, it’s over. You finish pressing over the last of her pristine, white coat, and let out a deep breath of your own.

The pacifist voice at the back of your head is satisfied with a job well done. You congratulate yourself on not having capitulated to your more pressing desires, and finish up, patting her on the shoulders once or twice and murmuring a fond word to her.

You contemplate exactly how cold your shower will be. An ice-bath would probably be the only cure for what you just went through.

You're even about to go start running one now, but a game tug in both of your hooves yanks you back. It would have thrown you off balance were you not standing right over her, and your eyes dart back down.

Rarity’s own dazzlingly white forelegs have seized yours, and placed them, much to your combined horror and amazement, on the back of her neck. She turns her head side-on, and you notice that she has closed her eyes.

“Mmm-mm,” she hums disapprovingly, letting go of your hooves again. “Finish what you’ve started.”

You wonder for a moment what hidden message the sentence might contain, but rationality was never your strong point - least of all now.

No no, says the eager voice in the front of your head. Before was just a prelude to the good stuff. This, surely, is paradise.

The pacifist in the back of your head seems to have been muffled by something (maybe a pillow), and you choose to ignore him.

Because sod it. You only live once.

You gouge deeply into her neck with both hooves. She lets out a gasp; a mixture of delight and pain that ignites a series of different feelings within you as you run your hooves down and up her neck, kneading and pushing. All the time your eyes are fixed on her face.

It seems that with every different part of her neck you touch, there is a brief moment of some new and vivid feeling so intense that it causes her cheeks to quiver. Her breath is heavy and audible, and there’s a thin smile stretched tautly over her lips.

She enjoys being the princess, this you know - but you feel from the tension in her neck that she is unaccustomed to such royal treatment. Every surprised hum of pleasure that comes as you rub your hooves up her neck stirs the already vivid pressure within your stomach and lungs.

You reach the base of her long, glorious mane, and you run a hoof through it gently, leaning a little closer so you can catch the lavender scent once again. You take a soft whiff, and it almost stings your nostrils with its sweetness and intensity, but at the same time it lulls your mind with its softness.

If perfection had a smell, surely...

You cannot resist any longer, and you take a deep, greedy breath through your nose, starved of oxygen and drunk on that divine scent. You hold it in for as long as you can, simply savouring it, before leaning a little closer, exhaling into Rarity’s left ear.

You've always loved her ears, those two perfect white points that peek out from her luxurious mane. Now, as they bat and twitch in front of you in anticipation, a slight grin passes over your face for the first time.

You feel brave, or braver than before at least, and your spirit is certainly stirred. So when you spy this weakness in her, you lean down and nibble on her left eartip gently.

The sensation proves too much for Rarity. The insistent dance of your tongue down the outside of of her slender appendages causes her to groan. She can hear every lick and every tender flick of your tongue.

This, again is different to anything you’ve heard from her before. It radiates desire. The mere thought of you being the cause of that desire makes the hot, tingling feeling in your chest spread to your nethers.

“Please,” she whispers, as you continue to bite her ear and massage her neck. “Don’t stop.”

You gingerly draw your hooves around to her temples and focus your attentions on the other ear. This has the same reaction, and she lifts her head off the table, allowing you to rotate it in your hooves, gently, teasingly, lovingly pressing all of her woes away. Her long mane falls a little around her shoulders.

It’s then you spy her horn.

Carefully, you lower Rarity's head back down onto her forearms, and, following her down onto the table, trace a series of small kisses up the back of her neck. You start at one side and skirt all the way up the side of her face, coming to rest at one ear, and then repeat the process for the other side. She shivers in undisguised pleasure. You smile before releasing her temples. Returning to her neck with your hooves, you lean forward until you’re almost mounting her, and lick the fluted horn from base to tip.

“Mmm-Aaah!”

You feel the resulting seizure ripple through Rarity’s white body like an electric shock, and she cries out in surprise, straining a little against your tight grip on the back of her neck. The noise drives you wild. The lust clouds your senses. You let go of whatever frail inhibition had kept you from her in the first place, and lean forward again, blowing cold air on it.

As your breath passes around her horn, she flinches a little. That’s how sensitive it is. So you can imagine how much pleasure it brings to the beautiful unicorn when you wrap your entire tongue around it, giving it another long, tender cowlick.

Rarity shudders and groans again, but this time, the groan is more pronounced. She’s losing control of herself as well, but she still chooses to fight, clamping her jaw shut to muffle the cry, her bottom lip whitening as she bites into it.

You don't mind that. Having capitulated to your own desires, you enjoy nothing more than taking down the last barriers of her resistance.

And with that thought, you attend her horn again. This time you use the tip of your tongue, tracing round the spiral as best you can with several sloping, rising licks. Around once... twice... three times... four times... You approach the unicorn’s perfect point, and you feel a tingling sensation in your tongue and mouth. It was not unpleasant or numbing, but more warm, and you were not sure of its origin until, with a final flick of your tongue, you coax a single, electric-blue spark out of the horn’s tip.

You retract your head in surprise, and it gives you a moment to survey exactly what you’re doing to her. You’ve been so lost in your own thoughts and desires that you had scarcely looked at her properly, instead focusing all your attention on her long, flowing locks of satin-silk hair, and that magnificent horn.

But now that you’ve stepped back, you can see that she herself rides some small waves of ecstasy. Her mouth is slightly open, and her cheeks are flushed with the faintest shade of mauve. Her eyes are shut tightly, and her breath is intense; shallow and hard, and you grin a little, enjoying the effect you’re having on her.

Suddenly, her eyes snap open. Her usual look of refinement is gone, replaced by one of lust and want. There was a vague glimmer in her eyes - one that you had seen only once before, and that was after she got rid of Prince Blueblood, her revolting snob of a date at the Grand Galloping Gala.

Back then, she had shaken off all pretension of nobility and upper class and had become a new person for an entire night. It was a glimpse of some other pony, underneath the rich fabrics and perfectly tailored etiquette.

Somepony who was beautiful, different, and special. And who you thought deserved a lot better than what she got. She deserved somepony who cared about her, who thought she was a Princess even without a gown.

Now, that expression was on her face again. Her smile had vanished, though the flush of colour had not, and she locks your eyes with her most piercing, astonishingly blue irises, hidden behind half-lidded eyelids.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snaps. You raise your eyebrows in mild surprise. It’s a feeble attempt at ladylike indignance, and it's aimed at you. She’s somewhat irritated that you’ve stopped. The response, which would have usually caused you to surrender almost instantly, instead elicits a broad grin, and you pinch her neck tighter, leaning close enough so that you might be heard.

Tantalisingly close to her sensitive ears once more, you press into one with your muzzle, whispering every earthly confession and thought you’ve ever had about her, with an urgency that reflects your desire.

It feels incredible to tell her how you feel. If the magic on her horn had been a tingle upon your tongue, then the words were a vividly energizing shock. You can feel your hot breath on the shallow concave of her ear, and feel every twitch and flicker on your muzzle as you do so.

You’re still whispering into her when she stands suddenly, knocking you back and off the top of her. The chair that was underneath her is pushed back into you roughly, and you are forced onto your hind legs a little, but you hardly care for the pain, leaning away for a brief moment to kick it aside.

With the new room offered to her, Rarity straightens her back legs and arches her spine a little, yearning to push her incredible flank against anything that might satisfy her primal itch. You oblige, leaning low over her, and pulling her in tight.

The feeling of your engorged nether regions touching her tail is almost more then you can bear. She reaches to your own mane with a hoof and wraps it there, pulling you down onto her. You feel her slick wetness touch the bare coat of your back leg as she shifts her tail out of the way. She leans up, and her quivering voice reaches your ears, anticipation lacing every word.

“Start slow, alright darling?”

You nod, replying only with a grunt before rearing and mounting her. One hoof is placed on the small of her back for balance, but the other you run through her mane once more. She puts her a foreleg around your neck, yanking you close and kissing you hard, forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Somewhere, some part of your mind reminds you that the touch of her lips is all you've ever wanted during some of your colder, lonelier nights. But after what you've just done to her, kissing feels like a walk in the park.

Rarity's lips break free with a satisfying smack for just a moment. You watch her face twitch in pleasure as you grind your shaft against her mound.

You can feel the dripping warmth that awaits you - that your massage has caused her - and you close your eyes, leaning against her briefly. You can almost feel the thump of her heart against her chest, and hear her shuddered breaths as you press your tip to her entrance.

Carefully, slowly, you slide into her, obedient to her wishes.

Sweet Celestia. Her silken insides bathe you with pleasure in a way that you've never experienced before. You’ve had other mares before her, and she other colts before you, but the way her breath escapes her in a shudder tells you that she feels the same incredible sensation that you do.

You apply a slow rhythm for a moment, rocking back and forth on the sewing table, trying to find a balance between pleasure and care.

But it isn’t long before you feel a pinch from your scalp, where your mane is entwined in her white hoof.

“Faster,” she murmurs, kissing you again. She wiggles her hips and you immediately redouble your efforts, the sudden change of pace causing her to cry out in pleasure.

Even in the burning lust that overwhelms your desire, you can’t help but feel a little amazed at the new Rarity. Every pant from her is met by your own as your thighs connect with a wet slap, each thrust its own tribute to your incredible pleasure.

“OH!” she screams. Her blue eyes tense shut, and you feel a sudden burning from your scalp as you are pulled even closer. She moans even louder, her wetness inspiring you to quicken your pace even further. The voice at the forefront of your mind was wrong yet again.

This. Is. Paradise.

“Don’t stop!” she whines from beneath you. “Don’t stooooohhhhh...” Her voice is lost in another gutteral moan. There’s a fantastic array of sparks leaping from the end of her horn, and the sight her ever-increasing arousal causes you to draw farther back in your lunges. Now, though, she bucks her hips towards your frenzied slaps, her wetness flowing freely. A shimmering trail of her juices spill down your leg, and you feel her walls tightening against you, her back muscles taut and shivering. You lean in and grasp her sides, pressing harder as you try to contain the intense pressure in your member. Something amazingly hot and wet slides up your neck, and looking down, you find it to be Rarity’s tongue, pointed towards you.

Eagerly, you lower your head and kiss her back, taking her tongue with yours again. Your passion reaches its climax, every joint  in your body shuddering as another fountain of sparks showers from Rarity’s horn. You can feel her tail lashing against your thighs, and then, the magnificent release of her as she comes, her innards clenching against your member, a short scream muffled by your intertwined lips, her rump quivering. Inside, her passage seizes up around you, driving your pleasure to impossible heights.

Her back arches more than ever before, and she yanks you down by your mane so tightly that it’s painful. You feel like your insides are being pulled from you as you slam home with a final thrust, a powerful orgasm quaking through your own body. After a moment, you pull out, splashing several streaks of white seed onto her belly and legs.

For a few minutes, you and Rarity recuperate, before finally she utters a few words, her breath still shaky from her own intense climax. Her hoof unsnakes from your mane, taking more than a few errant strands of hair with it.

“That w-was wonderful...” she says, kissing you on the lips passionately. You feel like you can barely stand, and dismounting her proves in itself an exercise to not fall over, your now-clumsy legs seeming to give way as you stumble backwards onto a pile of cloth fabric. You sink into it, motionless, and Rarity collapses beside you. You’re spent, and so is she.

As you drift into semi consciousness,  you feel her warmth pressing into your skin, and the affection kisses on the side of your face and the nape of your neck. Together, then, you succumb to your intense weariness, the pleasant idea that your flurry of impromptu love would be the beginning of so much more lulling you to sleep.

Fin

NB: Try that ear thing. Trust me.

And would I write more? I don't know yet...