Opening the door of her shop, Rarity ushered her customer out and beamed. “Thank you for your patronage. As always, should you need some tailoring, my assistant or I will be more than happy to assist you in any way we can.”
“Thanks again,” the mare hummed, stepping into the cool, open air.
She lingered at the threshold of her shop, smiling and waving at her customer trotted off into the night then retreated inside and closed the door behind herself. Like many others before it, the day had been long but rewarding. Sassy Saddles, her faithful assistant and employee, was on vacation for the month, leaving her to tend to the boutique by her lonesome - still, there were silver linings to being in Manehattan for a time.
As she glanced past the racks of clothes and mannequins, the corners of her lips turned up. While there was nothing wrong with Ponyville, the small town had a number of drawbacks: for starters, the village was small and there was perilously little to do - secondly and more prudently, since everypony knew everypony else, it was nearly impossible to do anything without word getting out. Bolting the door and turning the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’, she flicked off the lights and meandered to the very back of her shop.
It wasn’t like she enjoyed keeping secrets, relishing good gossip as much as anypony else, yet there was some business of hers that she’d prefer to keep private. Drifting into the dimly lit workshop, far from prying eyes, she peered over at a mannequin resting beside her drafting table. While the bust was simple, a mere form from which could be hung any garment, the article it wore was unique in a beguiling way.
She’d devoted her life to the art of tailoring and design work, having held an interest in fashion since she was a foal, although the dress before her was nothing short of baffling. Constructed of a jet-black, almost rubbery material, the article hosted an open v-neck, back, and midriff; at a glance, one could mistake the thing for being latex, though she knew for a fact that wasn’t the case. Lifting her gaze, she knit her brow and scrunched her snout.
By far, the most perplexing part of the attire was the mask that had come with it. Not unlike the facial covering worn by some bondage practitioners, the carefully crafted covering had holes for eyes, nostrils, and one’s neck. As she stepped closer and casually strutted around the ensemble, her thoughts returned to the moment she’d found the perplexing outfit.
While she’d always abhorred the notion of thrift shops, finding the idea of buying clothes that somepony had abandoned downright revolting, she’d succumbed to her curiosity when she spotted the dress, leggings, arm coverings, and mask hung unceremoniously in the window of a second-hand shop near the train station. It had taken no small amount of courage to venture inside and inquire about the piece of attire, but the mystery surrounding the article had only deepened from there.
Not only had the employee been unable to answer her questions, merely stating that he’d retrieved it from the donation bin outside, but he’d told her that it was on sale for five bits - just five bits! Had somepony told her she’d ever buy used clothing, she would have laughed in their face and called them mad - nevertheless, in spite of her exemplary standards, she’d hastily pulled five bits from her purse and purchased the ensemble on the spot.
It was only after she’d gotten to her shop with the real enigma that was her newly acquired dress became apparent. The garment had no tag to speak of, leaving her unable to determine its exact size or whom had crafted it, but there was something else about it that piqued her interest - something she struggled to put into words. Despite the article being secondhand, she was filled with an unfathomable desire to try it on - unfortunately for her, given her boutique was still open when she arrived, she’d had other concerns to contend with.
She’d seen Sassy off, wishing her employee a wonderful vacation, tended to the remaining customers, and eventually closed up her shop for the night before she’d been able to continue her investigation. With the door locked and blinds drawn, cutting herself off from the hustle and bustle of the outside world, she proceeded to give her impulsive purchase a wash. Irrespective of how nice the dress was, she was not going to slip into something that had been through Celestia knows what while being worn by Celestia knows whom.
Blinking rapidly and realizing she’d subconsciously wandered closer to the ensemble, she stepped back and cleared her thoughts. Perhaps the most intriguing thing about the dress was how mesmerizing it was. There was no explanation for why such a relatively simple garment could be so captivating, yet she found it difficult not to stare at it - moreover, while in its presence, it almost demanded she put it on.
“Alright, yes,” she pouted to herself, reaching up and withdrawing one arm from her shirt. “I’ll put you on, you dreadful little thing.”
The chill in the air and the cool light from the lone lantern played over her alabaster hide and cast a shadow on the floor as she undressed. It wasn’t the first time she’d changed in the back of one of her shops, and she’d bet her bottom bit that it wouldn’t be the last, yet she did so with haste. Though the dress wouldn’t warm her in any appreciable way, she wanted - no, needed to feel its embrace again.
She lifted her arms, stepped forward, and slowly, almost reverently began removing the dress from the mannequin. The material felt odd against her fingers, somehow cool and slick, but that wasn’t enough to stay her hand. Bringing the article up and over her head and pulling the sheer fabric over her face, she shuddered.
It may have - no, it had to be her imagination, but it was as if the fabric morphed to fit her perfectly. Though she’d measured it multiple times, and gone so far as to measure herself as well, the dress’ true dimensions eluded her. It should have been somewhat spacious on her shoulders and midsection, yet it clung to her like a second skin once she had it on.
Flipping her mane away from her face, having donned the leggings and sleeves, she carefully pulled the mask from the mannequin, turned, and strutted deeper into the backroom. As she looked ahead and saw a number of standing mirrors arranged in a semicircle, her heart skipped a beat. She knew she looked stunning, she did under virtually every circumstance, although the unique attire somehow elevated her beauty to a preternatural degree.
She slowed to a halt and smiled, surrounded by six reflections of herself. The jet-black material clashed with her snow-white coat, her azure eyes, and the indigo of her neatly-styled mane. In and of itself, wearing a darkly colored garment wouldn’t have been anything too extraordinary - then again, the dress was much, much more than that.
Her curves were accentuated, seemingly amplifying her bust, hips and backside, making her grin all the broader. Lowering her head, she gazed down at the mask in her hand. Never in a thousand years would she have thought she’d don anything to cover her face, excluding the rare masquerade balls that she would attend, and she was compelled to complete her ensemble.
Closing her eyes, she pulled the mask over her muzzle. The process was all but sensual, and for good reason. Over the years, she’d worn more garments than she could possibly count, from opulent, gem-encrusted gowns to posh and garish counter-culture getups, though there wasn’t a single one of them that made her feel like the dress - her dress had. As she grew increasingly enthused, not unlike a foal on Hearth’s Warming morning, she meticulously guided her mane through the opening at the back of the covering, lifted her head, and opened her eyes.
She beamed, genuinely beamed at the sight of herself. With her face fully concealed behind the dark cloth, her eyes shone like a pair of sapphires. It was silly to think that something which was meant to hide her loveliness would somehow emphasize it, but that’s precisely what the mask did - she knew it for an absolute face. Turning and running her hands down her sides, her thoughts sailed to the first night she’d worn the ensemble out.
While the rudimentary function of clothing was to cover and protect one’s self from the elements, her craft and calling had been to fashion garments made to be seen - as such, it had only been a matter of time until the urge to show off her dress had become too strong. While she hadn’t been foolish enough to traipse about at some grand event in the outfit, not for the least of which reasons being she hadn’t made it herself, she had been willing to present herself in it at a small cocktail lounge situated just down the street. It had taken a small pep talk and some convincing to herself to take the plunge, but she’d ultimately slipped into the dress and mask for what she told herself would be a brief outing.
She shivered and held herself, feeling her nipples go erect and marehood grow moist from the memory of the crowd’s reaction to her. No sooner had she entered the bar then every eye in the place had turned toward her. Conversations died mid-sentence, jaws hung agape, and she could practically feel the patrons’ hungry, lust-filled gazes moving over her body. She adored attention, she wouldn’t deny that, so being the focus of so many stallions and mares had been electrifying.
She couldn’t explain it - for goodness’ sake, she could barely understand it, but she swore she could feel the lecherous intent of the bargoers. Their covetous thoughts, unspoken promises of all the things they’d with or two her, was enough to make her blood run hot. What was supposed to be a short trip, a fleeting excursion and trial run of the outfit, turned into hours upon hours of chatting, flirting, and mingling with ponies at the lounge.
By the time she’d returned home, she’d been euphoric - all but drunk from being in the limelight. She hadn’t bothered with undressing when she’d flung herself onto her sofa and shamefully blew off some steam while reliving the experience, yet her release and the clarity of mind that had come with it evoked an odd notion. There was only one creature on the face of Equestria that thrived off the amorous energy of others - changelings.
While the idea bordered on the absurd, it made a particular sort of sense. Changelings, be they drones, soldiers, or even Queens, all subsisted off love in its various forms - therefore it wasn’t impossible to consider they could craft garments to augment their inane abilities. Trembling as her fingers caressed the imprints of her nipples, she opened her eyes and stared at her reflection.
Were it not for her horn, coat, and her cutie mark, she could honestly mistake herself for one of the nefarious shapeshifters - worse still, the experience of drinking in the ambient affection and carnality radiating from the ponies in the little cocktail lounge had been intoxicating - so much so that she’d treated herself to similar outings on no fewer than three occasions in the last week. As she pinched and tugged at the fabric, she was stricken with a compulsion.
All things considered, the dress was relatively conservative, leaving only portions of her limbs, cleavage, and back exposed, but it felt incomplete. While a long, flowing gown would undoubtedly be as or more stunning than the one she wore, the idea of wearing a suit made of the unknowable material brought a tingle to her loins. She twisted in place while she imagined herself slipping into a second skin, watching as Rarity disappeared and was replaced by some black, nameless figure of sensuality and grace.
The moment her digits, having crept under her skirt, graced her marehood, she stiffened. What was she thinking? She was Rarity - the Rarity, and she couldn’t go traipsing about in a catsuit ~ could she? Sure, nobody would be able to tell who she was and, yes, she could likely concoct a plausible alibi to deny any accusations, but it simply wasn’t right. Lifting her hand and stroking her cheek, marveling at the inky blackness on her countenance, she bit back an impish smirk.
Even if she’d wanted to construct a suit, she had no way of knowing where to procure more of the material - furthermore, if her theory was right, the fabric may actually be somewhat dangerous. Changelings, at least the unreformed ones, were a bane upon ponykind and had nearly toppled the Equestrian empire. To seek them out or exploit their magic would be idiotic at best and hazardous at worst - even so, the temptation was there.
“Fine,” she huffed, petulantly stomping a foot and staring down at herself, “we’ll go out one more night, but that will be that.”
Warmth washed over her and through her, permeating to the core of her being and making her hair stand on end. It was at that moment, spurred by a spontaneous comment that she thought was to herself, that she realized she may - just may have gotten more than she bargained for. She looked different in the dress, she felt different in the dress, and the alien sensations and invasive thoughts she had while wearing it smacked of something more than a paltry enchantment.
Remaining where she stood, she found herself torn. On one hand, her better judgment screamed at her to remove the garment and do away with it permanently - on the other, the attire hadn’t actually hurt anyone. To destroy a thing of beauty was a cardinal sin, especially if the thing in question posed a risk to anyone, so she’d be no better than a savage for abandoning or outright ruining such a unique dress.
Stepping back from under the lamp overhead, she ran one hand down her bust and to her waist. “Would…would you like to go out to the lounge again?”
She felt absurd for asking an inanimate object a question, yet a subtle tingling sensation across her body seemed to answer her. Aside from being conveniently close, there were two reasons why she’d only gone to the lounge down the street; the place was small, only able to hold roughly two dozen ponies at maximum, and it was exclusive enough to keep the common rabble away - that being said, there were a number of potential haunts she could pursue. Recalling a cabaret that was several blocks away, she was wracked with a wave of bliss.
“Y…you want to go there instead?” she inquired. The moment she finished speaking, another bolt of pleasure surged through her and caused her to gasp. “B…but what if somepony recognizes us…”
Us - the simple word bore terrifying implications. She’d had the dress for less than two weeks, yet in that short time some part of her considered it an individual in and of itself - that or it was a part of her when she had it on. Stumbling back and hissing through clenched teeth, feeling as though she was toeing the line of a climax, she lurched against her drafting table and caught her breath.
Mercifully for her, the inexplicable bout of ecstasy faded as quickly as it had appeared - regrettably, its absence came at a cost. She wanted more, she yearned to experience the same heavenly sensation of being fawned over and praised, and the allure of basking in affection and drinking in the desires of those around her proved too powerful. Quickly composing herself, she straightened up and glared over at her reflection.
“If we go out again, you must behave,” she tutted, using the same tone as when she chastised Opal.
A more subdued tremor permeated her being, as though the dress was apologizing for its impudent actions - at least that’s how she considered it. Straightening out the garment and giving a firm nod at the mirror, she turned and carefully stepped into a pair of stiletto heels she’d brought for her trip. Regardless of where she was going, she simply had to look her very best.
Her personal fitting room, much like the one in her home, was equipped with all the amenities needed for a night out. Anointing herself with the smallest dab of perfume, a heady selection she’d been gifted from none other than Princess Celestia herself, she mused on what sort of undergarment she’d wear, slowed to a halt, then peeked to her groin. To leave her shop wearing nothing beneath her dress would be scandalous to a fault, yet she giggled like a school filly at the thought - a sentiment which was apparently mirrored by her dress.
Straightening up and smoothing out the garment, keenly aware of the cool air against her bare nethers, she waved a hand at her reflection. “What they won’t know won’t hurt us ~ right, darling?”
A titillating sensation, not dissimilar to a slight tremor, from the garment, if had come from the garment at all, was all the encouragement she needed to forsake any panties. As she strutted through the gloom of her shop and to the exit, feeling better than ever, her enthusiasm blossomed. She was an expert couture and designer extraordinaire, the mistress master of any and all garments, and she was absolutely certain that her ensemble wouldn’t cause her any undue problems - if anything, she was thankful for finding it.
With her boutique locked up and a full night ahead of her, her masked visage twisted into a smug, unapologetic grin. Perhaps she would look for a way to find or potentially create more of the alluring fabric - after all, it would be selfish to keep something so amazing all to herself. While her heels click-clacked along the sidewalk, she began planning a small excursion to visit somepony who may be able to help her - Thorax…
