Spike's Hoard of Rare Pleasures
“What do you suppose stars taste like?” Rarity asked.
Spike looked down at her, his emerald eyes flashing with wild disbelief for a moment, but then he couldn’t resist the urge to grin. “Excuse me?” he replied incredulously, “Are you trying to tell me you’re still so hungry after dinner that you want to snack on some stars?”
“Well, I’ll have you know that I couldn’t think of anything more appropriate for a palate as refined as mine.” The unicorn’s own smirk dimpled into her cheeks, eyes of sapphire facing up to meet him unflinchingly. Her round face was framed by the purple curls of her mane and his lap beneath her. “Just look at all of them up there,” she then said as she turned her focus higher, toward the heavens, the midnight canvas dotted with twinkling pinpricks of light. She languidly extended one hand, up and out, fingers clasping at the air, as if to pluck one from the sky. “It is a feast waiting for one daring enough to take it. Does it not entice you?”
“Maybe if I wanted to be even more of a marshmallow than you are,” Spike replied flatly while he pinched one of the mare’s cheeks.
She rolled her eyes and shook him off. With glacial movements, heaving and churning, she rose into a sitting posture. “I bet you’d be more amenable if they were gemstones,” she scoffed while glancing back over her shoulder.
“Aw, c’mon, Rares.” Spike shuffled across the grass on his knees to close the distance between them. He didn’t lay his hands on her yet—a temptation that was terribly difficult to stave off at times; there was just so much to put his hands on. “I can get you some ice cream if you’re really still hungry.”
“It’s just not the same,” she said, lamentable and melodramatic, as she was wont to be, “my cravings have evolved beyond mere Equestrian fare. I require something more exotic.”
“Oh, well if that’s the case, maybe we can try some draconic cuisine.” The dragon leaned in closer to her, just behind her shoulder, before he then said, “I’ll look into making you a bowl of rubies swimming in lava sauce. I hope you don’t mind spicy.” And then he made a quick puff of his lungs and a plume of green fire emerged from his mouth. Rarity flinched as the embers danced over her, but she didn’t cry out; she was used to this kind of display by now. Rather than simply dissipating into smoke, the flames condensed upon themselves momentarily, forming into the shape of a diamond, and as they flickered out the ashes seemed to glitter.
Then Spike reached out to caress Rarity. He nestled into her cushy softness; it looked and felt like he could sink into her. He had to push into the bulwark of her rump before he even got close enough to reach around her sides. He pressed his hands into the silky fabric of her blouse until he felt the crease where her breasts rested upon her gut. He rested his chin upon her shoulder and leaned against her, cheeks nuzzling together, frills and spines mingling with her mane. “Sorry, I guess I just don’t have that much interest in the stars,” he said, holding on a long pause before he added, “I’ve got the only star I need right here.”
“Aw, Spikey-wikey,” Rarity cooed while she cupped his face on the other side, amplifying the pressure between them, her doughier cheek yielding to him. “I should know better than to think that you will ever not be the perfect gentledrake.”
He smiled warmly. He wasn’t sure that groping one’s marefriend was the most gentledrakely way to behave, but it was fortunate for him that Rarity wasn’t especially displeased by it. Even now, so close to her, he could hear and feel the gentle, contented rumbling deep within her like the purring of a cat, while he tenderly stroked at the vast swells that comprised her frame, down bosom and stomach and thighs and back up again. So much, and yet there was still so much more left to hold; he could never hope to encompass all of her bulk at once, but he could make up for that with his eagerness when the fervency of passion overtook him.
The throbbing presence in his pants did not escape his notice. It most likely didn’t go without being noticed by Rarity either. It didn’t especially matter, though. They already knew what would be happening once they returned to the boutique. For the time being, it was still them and the stars.
Movement flickered in the corner of his eye. He wasn’t acting on thought as much as impulse and instinct when he blurted out “Look!” and pointed toward the sky. A streak of light burned its way across the black, casting sparks in wild arcs. Both of them gasped in amazement, eyes full of twinkling radiance as they watched the course of the shooting star, fading into nothing before it could disappear behind the distant horizon.
“What do you think of that star?” Spike asked, and he smirked again, “Do you want to go out and try to find where it fell so you can cook it up on the grill?”
“I’d make Twilight organize a whole search party posthaste,” Rarity replied haughtily, then her gleaming eye turned toward him, “I believe it is you who has the choice though, Spike. You did see the star first; that means you’re the one who gets to make a wish.”
“A…wish?” he repeated skeptically. It took him a moment to remember that pony custom. For several seconds, maybe nearly a minute, he found himself at a loss, retreating deep into thought. Was there anything he really wanted so desperately? He couldn’t think of much that his life was especially in want of. He had a marefriend who was everything he ever could have hoped for, everything else was secondary.
Then a thought occurred to him, an idea imprinting upon his subconscious, rising to the surface until it was nearly screaming in his skull, but all he could do to convey that idea was letting a goofy grin spread across his face.
“Looks like you found a winner,” Rarity remarked, and she leaned toward his ear to whisper, “would you care to share?”
“Wh-what?” Spike stammered, shaken out of his thoughts, turning back toward her. “O-oh, um, it’s…” He felt an unfamiliar anxiety clench upon him as he bit his lip. He wanted to retreat, but it wasn’t so easy while Rarity was holding onto him. Not that he particularly wanted to let go of her either. “It’s…a secret. It has to be secret, doesn’t it? Otherwise it doesn’t come true.” He forced a desperate smile.
“Come now, Spike, there’s no reason for you to be so bashful,” she purred at him, a finger stroking his snout, “there’s nothing we have to hide from each other.”
“Well…” His gaze darted toward the sky, as if hoping for an answer. Maybe another shooting star would go by and then he’d be able to wish for this conversation to end, but, alas, nothing of the sort happened. After several fruitless seconds passed in which there was no intervention, he said, “I just…wished for the best for us.”
“Really?” The unicorn snorted and snickered. “Seems like something of a waste if you ask me, we’re already faring the best we could—star snacks notwithstanding.” Then she planted a long kiss on his cheek. “I appreciate your romantic dedication, though.”
Spike smiled, tail wagging gently while he nuzzled against her.
But his eyes drifted down, toward the expanse of cleavage between the pale globes that spilled forth from Rarity’s chest. Rarity had never been afraid to make Equestria know that she was confident in her appearance, though there were still ponies who weren’t so accommodating of her, even as she clawed her way to fame and popularity in the fashion world. Spike wasn’t like that—he had always been taken by her immensity, her curvaceous figure, her suppleness. As he grew older, he began to ponder if it was something to do with his draconic nature; dragons may start at a stature comparable to ponies, but over many years they grow into towering behemoths. Size was a thing of beauty among dragons.
And so sometimes he couldn’t help imagining those massive breasts sprawling out even further, double, triple, quadruple in girth, or more. The mare’s bulk extending out from her like a tidal wave of flesh, enveloping everything around her. She could be taller, even, towering over him and her fellow ponies, dwarfing her own boutique. He would swim in the oceans of her folds and spend every hour of the day doting upon her. He would bury himself within her so that he could supply her with the pleasurable stimulation she desired. He would lose himself in an excess of Rarity.
So naturally he couldn’t possibly have thought of anything other than “I wish for more Rarity.”
“Everything for you, Rares,” he muttered through the haze of his thoughts.
She giggled, the throaty rumbling echoing in his ears. “I sincerely hope that you have the fortitude to back that claim up, darling.”
“Even if I die trying, it will have been worth it,” he replied dreamily.
They sat there for a while longer, intertwined, staring up at the sky, before they returned home so that Spike could prove his worth, but all through their love he couldn’t keep from imagining the sensation of being swallowed up in marshmallow flesh.
= = = = =
The ache of the night before had mostly faded by the time Spike woke, prompted by the sun’s rays casting across his face, leaving only a pleasant sensation of well-restedness. The sounds of their passion still rang in his ears, gasping, labored breaths and guttural cries, and he could almost feel the phantom sensation of grasping at soft folds when his fingers flexed and curled. His hips bucked weakly a few times before he fully came to his senses, groggily muttering incoherent syllables under his breath. One hand reached to his crotch; the mere memory of past engagements had been enough to get him hard again, but there was no dampness yet at least, meaning no further damage to the mare’s linens. He began to stir, to get himself out of the bed so he could stretch his legs and get some fresh air. Yet he couldn’t resist sparing another glance toward the unicorn.
“Good morning Rari—”
Only for him to cut short upon discovering that there was no one else in the bed. His brow furrowed; Rarity tended not to be a morning mare, she was always late to rise, especially after a night spent together. He didn’t dwell on it for long, understanding that some days simply begat different degrees of liveliness in a person, but it did shift his priorities toward discovering what had become of his marefriend.
“Rarity?” he called out while he stood, only briefly pausing long enough so he could shove his legs into some boxers. He hoped that his erection would calm down shortly.
Spike wandered through the upper floors of the boutique, peering into the residential rooms one by one, but there was no sign of a big white marshmallow horse. Eventually, while going downstairs, he began to hear voices echoing through the halls of the building—jovial, casual conversation from the sound of it, occasionally interspersed with laughter.
“—and I was contemplating a new design for the fall season. Ponies are going to have to bundle up again, so they’ll need something cozy and comfy.”
“Perhaps you should try using cashmere, you can fashion some good scarves and sweaters out of that.”
“Oh but it’s so expensive, though, especially when there’s so much surface area to be covered.”
But he was only hearing Rarity’s voice. Was she speaking to herself? That was a worrying prospect. Yet the flow of the conversation seemed so natural.
He rounded the corner to enter the kitchen, where he heard the voices coming from, intent on discovering the heart of this mystery.
And then, upon doing so, his attempt to speak died in his throat before he could even begin any vocalization.
Rarity looked up in his direction from where she sat at the table. So did two other Rarities who were sitting at the table’s other spots. So did an additional Rarity who had been standing behind them at the counter. Their eyes lit up with recognition and delight, and all at once four identical voices declared in unison, “Good morning, Spikey-wikey!”
Spike could only stare, wide-eyed, jaw hanging agape. His frills drooped and his wings slackened limply. His knees abruptly turned weak as he staggered unsteadily, forward and back. The one place where he didn’t feel himself wilting was his crotch.
He sputtered fragments of syllables as he looked from one Rarity to the next, unable to comprehend their presence, their reason for being.
Their expressions turned to shock and worry as he began to tilt backward uncontrollably.
He failed to register the thumping hoofsteps approaching behind him.
“Spike? Where is—?”
Something emerged behind him, moving into position to cushion him and stop his fall, accompanied by a gasp of surprise. It was a delightfully soft and cushy surface. The texture was unmistakable. It was a mass he would have laid himself upon and sunken into under different circumstances. As it was, though, the sudden unexpected contact prompted him to yelp, but the shock jumpstarted his system and got him to jump into a stable posture as he twisted about. There was yet another Rarity who had come up behind him, regarding him with worry. “Spike, what’s wrong?” she asked while stepping forward, swaying and wobbling.
“Do you feel well?” He turned back at the sound of another Rarity speaking. They were all getting up from the table to approach him, converging upon him.
“Are you sick?”
“Did you get enough sleep?”
“Do you need something to eat?”
“Please, darling, whatever is the matter?”
“Speak to us, Spike.”
“Speak to us.”
“Speak to us.”
“St-STOP!” The dragon shouted, and embers sparked from his mouth. The shuffling hoofsteps came to a stop. He clenched his eyes shut while he hyperventilated, but when he had calmed enough to open his eyes he found that he was still surrounded by identical unicorn mares. He glanced between them, yet no matter how hard he looked he couldn’t discern anything distinctive about their forms, each one a perfect copy.
Five Rarities, each one bearing the same idealized physique. Five bodacious bosoms. Five glorious guts. Five sets of wonderfully wide hips and thighs. They were wearing bathrobes, teasing their shape with the thin layer of cloth draping over their curves. Though Rarity, being a seamstress, naturally had clothes that were tailored specifically to her frame, it seemed as if there hadn’t been enough to go around. The Rarity who had just come in was wearing one that was considerably undersized, barely able to cinch shut around her chest, wide open in the front—fortunately her gut acted as an apron so that her modesty was intact. Spike thought surely that he must have been dreaming, or that he had died and gone to heaven, or any number of possibilities beyond this being reality. After a few moments’ thought, however, he wondered why there even was a part of him that didn’t want this to be real, when the alternative was being in the presence of the love of his life five times over.
Well, no matter how much it might have appealed to his libido, at the end of the day there still had to be answers, so he finally managed to gasp out, “What…in Celestia’s name…is happening?”
“What do you mean, Spike?” one of the Rarities asked—he thought she was the one who had been standing at the counter when he entered the kitchen, but he had spun around so much that he lost track.
“What do—?!” He stared in disbelief between each of the mares and then wrung his hands at the air. “Rarity, did you notice that there are five of you?! Does that not strike you as…even a tiny bit wrong?! Did it not occur to you that you are supposed to be Rarity and not…Plentity?! Oneity, not Fiveity?!”
“Ohhh, yes, that,” the Rarity replied, and the others nodded in agreement.
“Did…did you run out to the mirror pool while I was asleep?!” he asked incredulously. He didn’t think he could imagine Rarity capable of running out to the depths of the Everfree Forest in the dead of night and making it back before he woke up.
“Certainly not anything like that, Spike,” another responded, propping up her chin with her palm while she thought. “I truly do not know how it happened. I simply woke up and found there was…more of me!”
And then Spike remembered something. It had been just about lost to him after sleeping and the passionate lovemaking session which had immediately preceded it, a moment that had been mere frivolity and whimsy, too unimportant to matter, but now it was the only thing that mattered.
He had wished for more of Rarity.
He had expected that in terms of mass, but instead it had manifested in quantity.
“Oh…Celestia…” Spike nearly staggered while he clasped a hand to his forehead, and he felt his scales damp with sweat. He looked between the Rarities again, turning around in a circle, and he asked, “Which…which one of you is the original?”
“Original?” one repeated, the others all looking equally skeptical.
“Does it truly matter?” another asked while she stepped forward, hands planted on her hips. “We are all Rarity, each equal to the other.” She grinned and flicked at the curl of her mane.
“Indeed! There is no need for us to compete amongst ourselves for some needless distinction when we can all be evenly fabulous!”
“Oh, just think of how much more efficient we’ll be, all working together on the same projects!”
“We might be able to fill up a whole catalog all by ourselves!”
“And just think—” Spike felt a hand settle upon his shoulder, shortly accompanied by plush girth as one of the Rarities sidled up behind him. He wanted to bolt again, but this time he found himself leaning into the marshmallow bulk, melting into her embrace. “—we’ll get to have the most handsome drake in Equestria all to ourselves.”
There were murmurs of assent and giggling all around him as the unicorns gazed at him, his scarcely clothed frame, and batted their eyelashes, seeming to alternate their luridness between each other. For a moment, Spike no longer saw them as ponies but as a wall, a cage of fur and fat, hemming him in on all sides. He was quite abruptly all the more conscious of his own size as well—though it was true that one day he would be a monstrous behemoth, towering over the meager dwellings of Ponyville, for the time being he still only stood at a comparable stature to most ponies. He was only just a smidge taller than Rarity, but in terms of girth there was no contest between them, his trim form only lightly accented with muscle tone. He had a hard enough time with one Rarity, nearly being smothered beneath her whenever they were intimate; five Rarities all at once would crush him into paste. He felt his cheeks burning up, as if he was holding a live fire burning inside his mouth (not an impossibility, technically), at the thought of all of them piled upon him, or coming together to squish him between them.
But then he suddenly had to ask himself: why would any of this be a bad thing?
It was weird, it was implausible, it was baffling. Trying to wrap his head around the situation was nearly a fruitless endeavor. Even if it didn’t make any sense, though, and even if it wasn’t exactly what he had wanted, it could not be denied that he now had more Rarity. And if the cloned mares were willing to be so amenable with each other and not get into any spats, then there wasn’t anything to worry about. All parties could come out of this perfectly satisfied.
“I…okay,” he eventually responded, mustering a weak smile, “sure, we…we can…work something out.”
“That’s the way to go, darling,” one of the Rarities said while leaning forward to caress his cheek. It was the one wearing an undersized robe, which meant he was afforded a particularly gratuitous view of cleavage in the process. He felt his boxers grow ever tighter.
“Th-thanks…um…Rarity.” After another glance around at the mares he added, “Um, what are we going to do about…talking to each other? I can’t just call all of you ‘Rarity,’ can I?”
That seemed to shatter the Rarities’ collective focus, distracting them from their flaunting and teasing. “That is quite the predicament, yes,” one muttered while stroking her chin.
“I can scarcely even tell which Rarity I am!”
“Perhaps we can pretend to be other ponies? I have been yearning to practice my acting talents.”
“Absolutely not!” one Rarity huffed promptly—Spike thought this was the same one who had asserted it didn’t matter which of them was the original. “We are Rarities through and through, we cannot pretend to be something we are not! We must embrace ourselves to our fullest!”
“I concur, darling,” another added, and there was a gleam in her eye, the kind that Rarity only demonstrated when she was struck with a burst of inspiration, “I believe that this is an unparalleled opportunity! We have always wanted to make fashion statements, and now we can each make one of our own, all at the same time!”
“Oh, yes, this is the perfect time to accessorize!”
“I believe we should have more than enough materials for the task.”
“This may just be the best possible thing to happen to us!”
Spike merely stood and watched this unfold, wondering just what he had gotten all of them into, excited and anxious all at once.
= = = = =
Some time later, Spike was sitting in the boutique’s showroom, waiting for whatever was about to be unveiled to him. He was still clad in naught but underwear; when he asked if he could get dressed properly, he had been told that the preparations would be finished at any minute and the Rarities didn’t want him to miss anything. That had been more than an hour ago. He was fairly certain that it was appropriate to say it was ironic that one of the ponies most fixated with clothes in Equestria had told him not to bother with clothes. At least the wait had served to dampen his arousal and stave off those pesky thoughts for the time being.
This clarity left him all the freer to contemplate how this had happened. Not that he could think of much else as an explanation. He would’ve been content if his wishes had come true any of the times he’d asked to have fewer chores to deal with.
“Alright, darling!” finally came the response from behind the curtain that had been hung across the room, cordoning off one half of its floorspace. “I hope that you are prepared to be dazzled!”
The dragon promptly rose to attention. Though he was unquestionably taken with Rarity on a physical level, he always appreciated the care that she took into managing her appearance, especially when it came to her dresses. He understood that fashion was a vital part of her life and that it made her happier than anything to know that she had managed to wow somepony with her designs. And he was about to see not just five Rarity originals but five different Rarities wearing each of them. The excitement was almost too much to take, even after having to wait for so long.
The curtains parted, and there they emerged, one by one.
Princess Rarity wore an elegant magenta and lavender gown laced with golden accents, modest cleavage accentuated by a ruby necklace, a broad petticoat making her hips appear broader than ever. She carried herself with a particularly refined air, carrying a fan in one hand that she waved at herself.
Punk Rarity was decked in leather and denim, an open jacket framing her bosom and gut, jeans that had been shorn down into shorts that hugged at her hips, her mane styled into a tall mohawk. She bore a brash, arrogant sneer, playing at a tough attitude, but really she was just enjoying getting into the character.
Cosplay Rarity had pulled out her old Radiance costume, a skintight spandex getup studded with sparkling gemstones, yet more woven into her mane and tail. She used her magic to create constructs of light that floated around her, prepared to smite evildoers who might be lurking in the corners of the room. Spike silently hoped, for her sake, that the suit wouldn’t tear on her.
Maid Rarity was a look that Spike had imagined in the past but never thought would be a reality; the frilly black and white uniform hugged at her curves, copious cleavage exposed by the low neckline when she leaned forward, skirt barely functioning to cover her rear. She giggled, likely not minding any of this exhibitionist behavior.
And Teacher Rarity was an ensemble she had used in the past for her classes at the school, the formal button-up shirt and pants fighting valiantly to contain her girth, but she appeared to be going for a different demeanor this time. The look in her narrowed eyes, glaring sternly from behind horn-rimmed glasses, while she brandished a ruler in her hands, suggested that a stricter, no-nonsense attitude was in effect for her classes. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing; sometimes misbehaving had its benefits.
Spike momentarily considered trying to cover his groin before deciding against it. It wasn’t like any of the Rarities would mind seeing that he was aroused by their display; if anything, that was likely the whole point of it. Rarity loved to play with her appearance, and Spike loved to see the fruits of her labors. Now he was getting the opportunity to see multiple all at once, and every one of them was a different delightful flavor. Noble princess, tough punk, virtuous hero, bubbly maid, strict teacher, sultry librarian, they were all so—
The dragon froze up. “What?” he tried to blurt out, but it emerged as a sound that was garbled and choked.
The Rarities also stopped, but none more so than Librarian Rarity—she wore similar clothes to Teacher Rarity, differentiated by darker colors and letting her hair down in long tresses to indicate her laxer attitude—whom Spike was staring at.
“Who are…when did you—?”
“Avast!” The curtains parted again and yet another Rarity emerged, dressed in the costume of a pirate, crimson red jacket and long skirt and tricorn hat, brandishing a cutlass (which was probably a prop). “You scurvy scallywags had best be prepared for the plundering of your booty!”
The various Rarities reacted in the ways that were most appropriate for their roles—princess, maid, and librarian with panic, punk and teacher with scorn, hero preparing to do battle—though they all looked like they were scarcely withholding laughter at the play they were putting on. None demonstrated concern for their number having suddenly gone up.
“Wait, back up!” Spike stood now, waving his arms frantically to bring attention back to him. “Why are there seven of you now?!”
“Oh, it’s not seven of us, darling,” Maid Rarity replied with a chortle, “it’s a lot more than that!”
She yelped in pain when Teacher Rarity slapped her breast with her ruler. “You fool! You spoiled the surprise!”
But Spike had already leapt from his seat. He went past the identical mares and approached the curtains. Pirate Rarity tried to stop him with a shaky “Yar!” but he brushed past her and peeked behind the veil.
There were more Rarities on the other side: four of them, in varying states of dress. One offered the sight of her breasts bared to him while she froze with a sweater held over her head. Not that Spike could take the time to ruminate upon his arousal. He was aroused, very much so, but that was not what was important at the moment. He staggered back as his disbelief and confusion overtook him, and there was a sense of déjà vu when he was cushioned by one of the fat bodies standing behind him, supporting him with their mass.
“There, there, darling, take it slowly,” Cosplay Rarity insisted to him, hands on his shoulders, gingerly holding him while simultaneously offering a gentle massage. Her suit did so little to mask the body that was hidden within, every curve pronounced, though it did have the effect of replacing the silky texture of her fur with that of spandex.
“How…how many of you are there?” Spike croaked.
Cosplay Rarity was silent, biting her lip, wordlessly passing the question off to the others.
“Well…it’s hard to say, really, Spike,” Princess Rarity replied, “these others just…came to us while we were preparing. None of us really thought much of it at the time.”
“It was quite convenient, actually, we thought we weren’t going to have enough time to get all the ensembles together!” Maid Rarity added, and Teacher Rarity scolded her again for volunteering too much information.
“So, what then, are more of you just going to keep popping out of the ether?!” Spike asked incredulously.
“There are as many of us as there need to be,” Punk Rarity interjected plainly, taking charge, “and I for one cannot grasp why such an idea seems to bother you so much.”
Spike began to retort, but the words died in his throat. Instead he could only stare back at her, the mare staring back smugly. “I…I don’t know,” he muttered, feeling a flush of embarrassment this time on his cheeks, “I just…I don’t understand…”
“What’s that?” Punk Rarity interrupted loudly, cutting off his thoughts, all the while stepping forward, hips swaying from side to side. Her breasts, covered by nothing more than a thin tube top, wobbled perkily with every step. “I can’t quite hear you, darling.”
“I…I said—”
But then Punk Rarity snapped the jaws of the trap shut by smashing against him, knocking the air out of him. The dragon found himself enveloped, pinned, barely able to wriggle as the warm flesh covered him. Cosplay Rarity, for her part, seemed all too content to do a decidedly unheroic thing and reciprocate the pressure on the other side, and now he was being squeezed in both directions. Their bosoms rose up around him, not merely crushing his chest and back but crowding the space for his skull, nearly cutting off his field of vision. Punk Rarity’s belly was spreading over his groin, and he throbbed at her pliant flesh.
“You’re going to have to speak up, Spikey-wikey,” she taunted, “though I must say that your cock is doing quite the job of speaking for you.”
Spike winced and gulped. He continued to struggle to no avail. There was the sound of giggling and chuckling all around him; the other Rarities weren’t going to lift a finger to help him any time soon, it would appear. “But…I only ever wanted one of you!” he gasped desperately.
“But you needed to have more, Spike,” Princess Rarity asserted, and the other Rarities nodded in agreement, whispering, chanting, “More, more, more, more.”
Hooves were plodding on the floor, heavy tromping steps, resounding through the chamber. Spike could not discern exactly where they were coming from, or how many hooves there were.
He had to wonder if maybe in some part his hesitancy was endemic of him being raised in such close proximity to Twilight Sparkle. It was impossible to just accept something as being the way of the world; there always had to be questions, there was always the need to understand the how and why behind something. He could not permit himself to be wholly brought over to the side of acceptance no matter how much he wanted to be lost in the pleasures of the flesh. He needed to know what had happened to Rarity. What had happened to the world. What had happened to him.
He could hardly breathe. The mares were squeezing the life out of him. He was harder than he had ever known.
In the midst of his delirium, he managed to mutter with a weak smile, “O-okay.”
“That’s just what we like to hear, darling,” Princess Rarity replied while the others closed in around them, packing tighter and tighter.
“Now we hope you’re ready for the full course,” Punk Rarity whispered huskily, licking her lips, “because it’s marshmallows all the way down.”
Spike was tilted backward; Punk Rarity continued to push while Cosplay Rarity bent back, kneeling and then laying upon the floor. She was more than adequate as a mattress for him, lying over her breasts and belly and thighs with plenty of room left over. Punk Rarity could have sandwiched him between them for yet more smothering, but instead she moved over to the side, a momentary alleviation before Princess Rarity moved in to fill the void she had left, and then the pressure was all the greater than before. They leaned together, busts compressing as they came close enough that they could both bring their faces close to his, their breath intermingling. Somewhere within the mass of mare, their hands reached around themselves and pried at him, grabbing his arms, while Cosplay Rarity probed at his head and neck and shoulders, fingers tracing along the edges, teasing gently, caressing.
Spike was in the middle of trying to stabilize himself, moaning out gasps of breath, when the two Rarities on top of him dove in, their muzzles striking at him. Their cheeks pressed together while they kissed him; one on the lips and the other at the side of the snout, and just as he was nearly ready to reciprocate they switched. Even Cosplay Rarity was placing gentle smooches on the back of his head and nibbling at his frills and spines. It was a three-pronged assault.
He grunted. There was laughter in the background, beyond the sounds of making out filling his ears. There was so much flesh all around him, but before he could turn his focus to any of that there was something that needed tending to. In the space between the white-furred mounds, his arms wriggled, finding the waistband of his underwear and tugging. He could manage just enough leverage to uncover his loins, to free himself.
“My, how naughty,” one of the Rarities whispered to him upon feeling the bare shaft prodding at them.
With their positions, he couldn’t actually get into one of the mares on top of him, but the crevice formed by one thigh on each side was tight enough that it would suffice. They grasped the intent that he was aiming for quickly and redoubled their efforts to squeeze him as he began to thrust, aided by the lubrication of sweat and then his own fluids. Now that he had freed his crotch, though, his hands themselves were free to do whatever he desired, and there was a lot that he wanted them to do. He groped feverishly at breasts, at guts, at hips, whatever was in reach—now he found himself wishing that he had wished for more arms—and the Rarities in turn twitched, spasming with fits of arousal.
They all moaned at each other in the midst of their three-way make-out, but it was definitely more than these voices. It was a chorus of orgasmic glee all around, the Rarities watching with rapt attention, the rising stench of musk tainting their senses. Some were piling further upon them, adding yet more weight. Spike was being crushed. It wouldn’t be that bad of a way to go—if anything, it would be the best way to die. But he couldn’t succumb yet, not when there were still so many more mares named Rarity who required his affection.
The dragon made a guttural snarl, feeling the rush of stimulation reaching its peak, a volcano on the verge of blowing its top. All at once, he plunged his hands into Punk and Princess Rarities’ tops; merely groping their breasts wasn’t enough, he had to have their nipples. The two unicorns cried out ecstatically as he grappled with them, kneading, squeezing, pulling on one and then the other in a steady rhythm, milking them just as they were milking him. Their electrified vocalizations, screeching in his ears, were enough to push him over the edge. His loins clenched and the shot inside him erupted, adding another spurt of sticky moisture between the mares, like filling an éclair with cream.
They all loosened as the rush of orgasm subsided. The two Rarities slid to the sides with a squelch—Princess Rarity had a stain of white on her petticoat while Punk Rarity had some gunk splattered right over her cutie mark, splotches erasing the blue diamonds. They gasped and panted, and between them Spike was left to emerge anew, as if hatching from an egg all over again, his chest heaving as he breathed in and out.
The crowd in turn responded with newfound interest all over again, a chorus of oohs and ahhs, as if he had just performed a magic trick, that of reaching into his pants and pulling out a great big sausage. The removal of his lone undergarment had exposed the one part of his body that had been under wraps previously, and his groin was all too eager to make its presence known. The emerald spire of his cock jutted from his loins, deeper in hue than the lime green scales around it, splattered with gobbets of cum. He could feel the heat within his balls where they rubbed against his thighs, as if filled with molten lava; it was hotter still than the warmth he felt from all the bodies which were crowding around him.
There was a brief moment in which he thought that he was starting to go soft again, relieved from his release (he hadn’t noticed how painfully pent up he had gotten after waiting for so long), but the erection came back in full force almost immediately. The question of why there were so many Rarities no longer mattered to him as he cast his gaze about the room, taking in each of them one by one, masses of swollen anatomy melding into each other. He was seeing red. Maybe, rather, he was seeing white—there was an awful lot of white. He was prepared to add yet more white.
“Oh my.” Maid Rarity stepped forward with a giddy look on her face, chuckling. He had a lovely view up her skirt, showing that she had removed her underwear as well, and the fur around her groin and inner thighs was wet. “It looks like you’ve made a bit of a mess of yourself, darling. Perhaps I should help you with that.” She got on her knees before him, belly filling her lap and spilling onto the floor and then being followed by her bosom. She didn’t wait for a response from him before she took his cock daintily in her hands, giving it only a brief and tender feel before then beginning the cleaning process, which naturally consisted of lapping at it with her tongue, dragging along its length and slurping up the leftover semen. And then, just to be thorough, taking the whole thing into her mouth and throat and beginning to suck. Spike certainly wasn’t going to start complaining about any of this.
Nor did he complain when, while he began to thrust, Cosplay Rarity emerged from behind him, sidling around toward the front. “It looks like you could use some assistance,” she murmured to him, hands on his shoulders, pressing her spandex-covered flesh against him; the mask over her eyes added a particular kind of mystique to her beauty that piqued his arousal yet further. They leaned together for a kiss and he ground against her while reaching around to grab a heaping helping of her rump, squeezing the ass cheek between his fingers, claws threatening to tear through the thin outer surface. Cosplay Rarity moaned into his mouth while Maid Rarity moaned into his cock, both fingering furiously at their own crotches all the while.
At some point, Spike came again. The delightful rush of euphoria washed through his brain and was gone just as quickly, the primal need for satisfaction surging back once more to take its place. He wailed a cry of desperate desire.
He wasn’t able to register the passage between then, the spent Rarities left in his wake, and the next.
His hands were clasped on Teacher Rarity’s breasts, squeezing through the fabric. She sputtered at him, attempting to keep up the affect but failing as she gave in wholly to yearning arousal. He straddled her midsection and popped the buttons on her blouse so he could stuff his dick into the crevice between the swollen globes.
He fervently took stock of Librarian Rarity’s inventory, cataloging every curve, searching for the best fold to tuck into.
He rode on Cowgirl Rarity until she ceased her wild bucking.
He lifted the veil on Bridal Rarity and ravished her with kisses.
He performed a sensuous tango with Dancer Rarity.
He grappled with Barbarian Rarity and impaled her on his spear.
And of course he plundered Pirate Rarity’s booty.
But for every Rarity that Spike railed, there were at least three more doting on him all the while, whispering to him with their sultry tones, caressing him with their gentle fingers, smothering him with their bloated bodies. He dimly recognized that his path of deviant devastation was taking him through the rooms of the boutique, and yet there only continued to be more and more of the mares waiting for him. He was wading deeper and deeper into the ocean of Rarity and there was no end in sight. At the same time, there was something lurking just beneath the surface of the white waves, waiting to leap up and snatch him in its jaws. Exhaustion played at the fringes of his consciousness, wailing at him, demanding that he cease his rutting and rest. Ache and weakness filled his body, threatening to topple him over were he not clamped onto some fat nipples at any given moment.
Ultimately, though, none of those detrimental factors mattered. Spike kept on floundering forward, borne entirely by the base instinct of his libido from one marshmallow to the next. A gape-mouthed grin adorned his face, eyes full of marvel, as he reveled in the pleasure of his hoard of Rarities.
= = = = =
The moon cast gentle rays of light through the bedroom.
Spike was awake now, trembling with a spasm in his hips, and a gasp escaped him. There was a distinct feeling of dampness pervading him, presumably sweat. Except for his groin—there he felt a lot slicker. Hard, too, throbbing wildly beneath the sheets.
He was certain that he had just experienced an absolutely wild dream, but he found himself unable to remember what had transpired during it. He could only recall a vast expanse of white.
“What’s the matter, darling?”
He turned to the side and saw the vast expanse of white that was Rarity. Only partially beneath the covers, he could still see her enormous breasts, scant inches away from him. That prompted the arousal to spike higher, his heart thumping in his chest.
“N…nothing,” he muttered under his breath, not wanting to be too loud, too disruptive, “just had a…weird dream, that’s all.”
“Hmm…if you say so.” She sidled closer to him. He could discern that she bore a knowing smirk. “Would you say that it was a particularly titillating dream?”
He realized now that his penis was prodding at some part of the mare’s supple immensity, flesh yielding to the stiff shaft. “Yeah…probably,” he replied with a quiet chuckle.
“Well, in that case, I may not be able to live up to that precedent by myself,” she whispered while sidling ever closer, now beginning to envelop the dragon, bedsprings creaking all the while, “but perhaps I can assist you with…getting over the hump.”
“That sounds great.” In his groggy state, he couldn’t be entirely certain, but they had probably rutted before sleep. That wasn’t going to stop him from going at it all over again.
“Here, Spike.” Rarity rolled onto her back and her breasts splayed to the sides, belly rising up like a mountain from between them. One hand emerged from between the masses of flab and patted at her midsection while the other pointed to her mouth.
Spike obliged by climbing onto her, and she grunted in as dainty a manner as possible while he settled on her stomach, perching like a lizard basking in the noon sun. He lowered his hips until the dangling fruits of his loins were close enough for Rarity to hook her lips onto.
From there, things escalated quickly. A growl rumbled in his throat as he arched his back, the electricity of stimulation fully shaking off his lingering slumber. Rarity wasted no time in greedily sucking at his pre-slickened shaft, working at the spongy length with her lips and tongue. She made her own stifled groans of arousal in response to him groping and kneading her with his claws. The sweet aroma of musk wafting into his nostrils only served to incense him further still.
It didn’t take much longer for Spike to cum, having already been worked up considerably to begin with. He had to clench his jaw shut to withhold the cry that yearned to make itself heard. His innards squeezed and his balls emptied the load they’d built up, erupting from his cock straight into Rarity’s mouth, and she dutifully swallowed up every drop of it, lips sealed around the pointed tip. He nearly went limp, which would have collapsed the whole weight of his midsection upon her face—she might not have minded that too much, and it might have been an entertaining role reversal after all the times he had been smothered by her, but he still had the decency not to risk any harm to her—before stabilizing himself, knees locked with his legs straight.
“Mmm…delectable as always, darling,” Rarity murmured after popping the softening penis from her mouth, licking at her lips. “I’ve noticed that there’s a particular bouquet your semen has sometimes, I believe it might be related to the gemstones you consume, perhaps we can—ngh, Spike, what’re you—?”
The dragon wasn’t much listening to her. He was crawling over the hill, toward the smell that was tantalizing his nostrils. He pushed aside her gut and pried his claws into the hot space between her thighs. Rarity’s confused protestations gave way to impassioned moaning as he pressed his muzzle right up against the puffy slit between her legs, and the next huff of air he took into his lungs was maddening. The force that he proceeded to put into ravishing her clit and vulva with his long tongue, worming around inside the moist folds, was far greater than she had employed on him, and Rarity cried out in a high-pitched squeal. Her shaking and wailing only grew more intense as Spike groped at her thighs, pulling them in around his face, and his dexterous feet found her nipples, pushing into the bumpy mounds and rolling her breasts around. The sharpest scream was accompanied by a splash in his mouth, the sticky sweet nectar not as easy for him to contain, but he made sure to lap up everything from her thighs. His wings fluttered and his tail swayed from side to side. He may not have remembered his dream, but he knew that this was where he always wanted to be.
“My, my, Spikey-wikey, aren’t you quite the performer?” Rarity remarked.
Except the voice didn’t come from beneath him, from the mare who laid panting, gasping for breath. It came from the mare on the other end of the bed, the one who had been on his other side while he slept. She regarded him hungrily, expectantly. As did the other Rarities who were standing around the bed now that they had been awoken, white mountains emerging from the gloom.
Spike wasn’t sure if he should grin or not, but his penis made the decision clear to him.
Author's Note
This idea was originally inspired by a scene from the MLP manga which I haven't read and was then turned into horny art. I had inklings for a second chapter/alternate ending but ultimately didn't feel up to it when I was nearing the end. The final "was it just a dream? no actually it was real" scene was more or less how that chapter would have ended, appended here because I couldn't think of anything better.
The punk and maid looks technically aren't supposed to be exactly the same as the canonical getups Rarity had since the circumstances are different; she can have an even bigger mohawk since her mane isn't fucked up and she doesn't have to be a grumpy maid getting railed by Nightmare Moon.
They're kind of all cosplay but it's fine shh don't think about that.
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