A Musical Summer Night

Was this really a good idea?

To be honest, you don't know why you're here. It sounded fun, didn't it? A "naughty summer heat party" thrown by the best DJ around, that looked nice, right? Even for a stallion like yourself, a shut-in barely able to keep a conversation with a mare going, be she sexy or ugly.

So here you are, in that dark and yet flashy nightclub, in the middle of a loud party, surrounded by people way more acquainted with this than you will ever be. Is it too late to notice you're probably the guy with the most clothes on? Like, every stallion here is at least shirtless. Some even only wear trunks. The most drunk ones, you notice. That party began probably two or three hours ago, it took you at least that much time to convince yourself to show up.

But, your eyes are drawn to the mares rather than the stallions. A great assortment of tight clothes, underwear, bouncing breasts and shaking asses. One passes right next to you, wearing what can only be described as a red bikini that nicely shows all of her curves and hides just enough for your mind to do the rest. She goes by, a beer in hand, spilling a bit on herself, joining back her group of friends. Well, you don't know if they are her friends, but she seems to get along well with them.

Yet, your eyes are quickly drawn back to the stage. Behind the DJ set, busy making her soundtrack as dance inducing as possible, Vinyl Scratch. Her white body looks almost purple under the neon lights, a great spot behind her plunging her silhouette in a dim magenta glow. She shakes her head around, under the beat of her own music, sending her electric blue hair flying left and right. And so do her breasts, albeit with a bit of delay since she needs to keep her hands at work.

She isn't wearing much. On her top, only two patches of black tape you thought only existed in porn movies are put in a cross on each of her nipples. The rest of her finely sculpted and slightly muscular upper body is left for your eyes to devour. Well, if there wasn't a couple of meters between you and her, as well as a stage and a DJ set. But you also know she is only slightly covered down there as well, you spotted a black pantie on your way in.

But, the reason you're here is also on the stage. And much more in view as she is, after all, the main attraction of the show. Standing in front of the crowd, singing along with all her lungs in the mic, swaying her hips around, giving winks and blowing kisses at whoever catches her attention at that particular instant. Octavia Melody.

While Vinyl's body sure looks nice, as does pretty much every mare around, in your eyes – and in many others – nothing beats Octavia's voluptuous curves. She's quite a tall mare, which only serves to increase the amplitude of her movement, when she dances around, swaying those breasts, each bigger than her own head – maybe twice as big? – and shaking that round ass of hers in rhythm. She looks gorgeous with her gray coat so well maintained that it shines under the lights, her long dark hair flowing behind her.

She spots the same clothes as Vinyl, two pieces of black tape in a cross in front covering the bare minimum of her bosom – and her patches seems a lot bigger than Vinyl's, yet, you're not quite sure, but you piece the glimpse of an areola still showing despite all this. And what's covering her bottom half lets you enjoy the roundness of her thighs.

She also wears long gloves probably made of leather, going from her biceps to the first phalanx of her finger, leaving the tips free to wave at the crowd. And her legs are also fully wrapped in tight black leathery thigh-highs. To complete the pictures, she's in high heels. How's she even dancing with them with so much flesh around the bone?

It's not how you saw her in photos, but she's also wearing black glasses with no lower-half metal parts. You're not used to that, but it sure does something to you. And looks like it's a real crowd-pleaser as well. It gives her a more mature, serious and yet all the while lustful look. But her great and lovely purple eyes do most of the work here, probably.

Just as you look at them, for a second, it seems like they are looking back at you. Your heart skips a bit. She's looking at you. She's smiling at you. And not with purity. Her gaze is telling you to leave behind your inhibitions, to just enjoy the party, the song, her voice, her body. Have fun with everyone. Have fun with her.

You don't have time to enjoy that encounter for very long. Her eyes go away, looking for another lost soul to bring to the party, for another heart to seduce. Still, it takes you a moment to admit that it's over and for your heart to go back to normal. Well, as normal as it can be when seeing that beauty so exposed on the scene.

As you begin to look for a place to order a drink, you hear Octavia say in her mic with a smile:

"Don't forget tonight's special after-party. Only five minutes left to get measured near the bar if you haven't already!"

You don't understand right away, but you quickly see what she's talking about. Near the counter where you were heading, there's a box, like a booth, in front of which stands what you assume to be the responsible for that "measure" thing Octavia said.

An after party, huh? You think to yourself. Looks like there's a selection process, so that means less people. Which means more occasion to see Octavia even closer, and in a less noisy environment. Anyway, it's worth a shot. Sure, you're not tall, but you're pretty above average, you're going to pass before many people here.

You go up to the stallion waiting with his arms crossed, attempting a little nervous:

"So, er... Can I try?"

"Sure," he answers, shrugging, stepping out of the way. "Get inside, shove your thing and tell me when I can activate the whole damn thing."

You're not sure you quite understand what he's referring to, but you don't run the risk of asking for clarification. You'll probably understand when you get in there. Plus, he doesn't look like the patient type.

So you go behind that curtain, inside the booth. And there's pretty much nothing, aside from a hole at the height of your waste, a tube covered in small cushions on the inside.

It takes you a second to understand. But the whole atmosphere of the place you've been in for a few minutes now helps you to the right conclusion. In your head, it goes a little like "Oh, so that's what they are measuring". The second you realize it, you blush heavily.

"Hurry up in there", yells the stallion outside. "And when you're ready, put your hands on the top where I can see them, I don't want any cheating."

Well, this is unexpected. And embarrassing. What do you do? You can't just leave, that would be ridiculous right? He would yell even more for wasting his time and put the focus on you. Should you just ask to do the measurement without anything? What if they keep a record of the result and everybody starts to call you "zero centimeter"?

You don't have much choice then. Making sure the curtain behind you is closed, you unzip your pants. Seeing Octavia on stage got you almost half hard anyway. You carefully align yourself with the hole and push your shaft in it. It's just about wide enough to accommodate you, but you manage to get in it to the base. The cushions are soft and fresh, the thing probably auto-cleans itself or something. Thank Celestia, you won't be infected by the last weirdo that got measured in it.

Putting your hands on the top of the both, you stutter:

"A-Alright, measure."

"Took your sweet time."

You're not sure with the ambient noise, but you think you hear a switch. The cushions suddenly tighten up around your cock, gently rubbing it and getting you hard in no time. Then, you feel them settle around your shaft, with a light vibration, before everything goes back to normal.

"Alright, you're good, when you get down you can go out," says the stallion on the other side. "Don't make a mess in there, alright?"

You extract your now erect shaft, still a bit unsure about all this, nor are you about what you feel. Shame? Excitement? Both?

It takes you a few tries and a good sequence of deep breaths to get your thing back in the pants where it belongs, but you manage to do it in less than a minute. You get out of the booth and the stallion hands you a ticket.

"Your number. Don't lose it."

You thank him, looking at the ticket. A small head-shot photo of Octavia smiling is on it, with the number 72. If that's in order, that's quite a few competitors you have here.How many will they even select? You also keep wondering why they measured that of all things. And your brain imagines a lot of pleasant answers. Seems like everyone here is aware but not you. Probably an announcement they made earlier, while you weren't here.

You finally go to the counter, sitting on one of the stools, when the music stops. Everybody turns to the stage, as Octavia finishes her last held note. Everyone claps her performance, and she responses with a slight and amused bow, before grabbing back her mic:

"Thank you all. I hope you enjoyed the show with your ears and your eyes. It is time for us to retire from the public stage. But not before announcing who will be the lucky big guy that will get his own private stage with us."

The crowds whistles and giggles, as more blood suddenly wants to make its way back down your manhood. One winner? And a private session with both of them? Your naughty brain had hopes, but you thought that's all they were: hopes.

A screen goes down atop the stage, right above Octavia, as she continues:

"Who's ready to see his number show up?"

All the guys yell with enthusiasm. Their girlfriend, less, for some. Others are all the way with them, and a few are even more into it than they are. Your heart is racing with anticipation. You don't want to expect much, but you can't help yourself.

"Drum roll please," says Octavia to her friend.

Vinyl smiles, probably amused by her singer's passion for dramatic effect, and launches a drum roll sound effect. On the screen, the number rolls, rolls and rolls. And then, it stops, as Octavia happily announces:

"And it seems like we'll be meeting number 72 in more detail tonight!"

A lot of the stallions present grumble in disappointment. but a bunch of others take it with a laugh. But you. You can't really move. Is this real? Like, not a fake? Or a joke? You look at your ticket to check, then back at the screen. No, it's yours.

"So, number 72, please come to ourdressing room in a few minutes. And for the rest of you, thank you again for coming and having fun with us. Hope to see you at our next show."

The lights on the stage fade a bit, but not entirely. Vinyl and Octavia leave by the back.

Some people leave, others regroup at the bar or at some tables on the sides. Looks like another artist is about to take their turn on stage. The night is still young, after all. But you're still on your stool, and still incredibly in disbelief.

A part of your brain takes the invitation though. It's you. In a few minutes, you're going back there and... and...

Your fantasies run wild. But you're also thirsty. You turn back to the bartender, thinking a bit, before ordering something alcohol-free. No way you're going to let your mind be clouded if you're going to live what you think you're going to live.

Your drink comes. You empty it. And before you know it, a few minutes have passed. Octavia was vague, so how much should you wait? Can you even wait longer?

Ah fuck it. Better too soon than too late, especially for that! You pay for your drink, get up and walk to the side of the stage, where the door to the backstage is located. A few stares are going your way, but you don't pay much attention to them. The stallion from before guards the door and looks at you, arching an eyebrow.

"You're serious?" he asks as if he doesn't believe you're the one.

You show him the ticket he handed you earlier. He looks at it, then shrugs again, before opening the door.

Without the need for him to tell it, you follow him in the corridor. You both pass a few doors, before getting to one with a purple treble clef and a black double note on it. The stallion knocks, before leaving.

You hear a warm and soft "Yes? Come in." from behind the door. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm down your heart a bit, you grab the doorknob and go inside.