Now. Why now?
Of all the times that the world could have seen to draw him away from Canterlot, stowed in the safeness of his study, it had chosen a very poor one.
Of course, there was nothing bringing him here other than his own volition. Decades of study at the periphery of Celestia's rule had been the perfect breeding ground for a thirst for something more than a life contained in research and dusty tomes. He already felt exhausted from the amount of knowledge he had dedicated himself too, and still there was always more – another library of volumes, another area of study begging for attention.
And where had it gotten him so far? An occasional attendant to the princess. A sometimes consultant on matters of inter-state cultural affairs.
He wanted more.
So in a way, perhaps the world wasn't to blame.
The timing was poor regardless.
There would have been no good time. For a professor of research and antiquity the journey had seemed almost impossible even from a cursory speculation – how many days worth of travel over frozen tundra? And what was to be said of the force that beckoned his attendance in the first place; if it was already awake he'd be on the edge of exhaustion from exertion of constant magic use, if he could even muster enough force to repel an ancient evil that had sleeping for over a thousand years.
The reality of the trip had been somewhere in between. It had taken a week's contemplation to convince himself to go, eventually venturing what he imagined might be a sudden inspiration of effort to change something about his life for once. In the course of doing so the timing had followed him all the way there. Train-worker's union in talks of strike. His high-school flame visiting Canterlot for the first time in years. There was no guarantee of anything to come of it, but it would have been an entertaining fantasy, even the idea of knowing a mare's touch again after what felt like an entire existence in stacks of books and research papers.
But he was here now. As soon as the information had come to him, the plan had formed in the back of his mind, and eventually there was no neglecting the possibilities of the potential outcome. If he could return to Princess Celestia bearing a report that would stymie the need for any undue investment in what threatened to be one of the greatest crises to Equestria in recent history, then his whole world would change. The fantasies that played out in his mind were typical – money, power, tenure, mares cooing and begging at his hooves for attendance – whichever one would turn out to be real, he was sure his reward would be more than enough to make the trip worth it.
This being the case if he could find the answer he had come looking for in the first place.
The city was strange. He had stopped drinking the water after the second day, instead settling for his own rations or whatever liquid his magic could conjure, as well as a hidden stock of imported wine he'd happen on in one of the many abandon buildings littered throughout the sprawling once-metropolis.
The inhabitants were still there, roaming the streets like ghosts. Despite his Canterlot academia accoutrements sticking out like a sore thumb, nopony paid him a second glance. They barely even spoke to each other, settling for drab mumbled apologies when their downtrodden gazes caused them to bump into each other on the way by. Stallions, mares and children, all of them empty hollow cases, devoid of luster but for the hidden sparkle in their eyes.
The city's existence was a matter for discussion as a feat of its own. Only he and perhaps a handful of other ponies had read through buried texts of the existence of an entire race of ponies lost to time with the transcience of their ruler's curse. But it had returned, and he'd known the moment he'd heard that, in the end, there was no choice in the matter.
'The Crystal Empire is in danger,' his friend had told him. It was the first sentence of the draft that had sat on his bedside table for a week.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked. He kept his tone as calm and soothing as possible, hoping that a sympathetic approach would yield dividends where demands had failed. The course of the discourse changed from day to day, but the results were always the same. All he could do was hope that this time would be different.
The white pony with a slicked down red mane shook her head.
"No," she said. Her voice was a register below what it seemed obvious would be her normal speech, each word sinking in the sea of the air like a dead weight.
He sighed, and adjusted the spectacles rested on the brim of his nose. Though he was a long way from complete geriatrics, his eyes had begun to fail years ago from night after night spent pouring over pages.
"Well," he began, looking forward in what he hoped was an expression of earnest concern, "my name is Book End, and I'm a researcher from Canterlot. Do you know where Canterlot is?"
The red-maned pony blinked at him. Her hair was long, long enough that he might have called it 'flowing' if it hadn't stuck to the pony's body like a funeral cloak. It was the one thing he could pick that set this interviewee apart from every other downtrodden resident of the city. Well, that and her cutie-mark. Everypony's was different, barring family lineage or bizarre circumstance. This pony's mark was what looked to be a crystal glass filled with a red liquid, set on a background of shimmering stars. Well, stars that would have shimmered if their luster hadn't been removed as a product of circumstance.
"No," the pony said after a moment's pause, her eyes glued to the table in front of her.
Book End sighed again.
"Come now... a great deal of time has passed, but surely you must remember Canterlot. It's the most industrious, magical city in all of cultivated Equestria... home to the Princess! Princess Celestia, surely you recall her."
"I think so..." the pony said, her eyelids rising slightly from their perpetual droop as the name sailed through the vast expanse of her empty memory. Celestia's name was practically immemorial – even the reach of an ancient curse couldn't remove its relevance.
"Yes... Princess Celestia, I know her."
"Good, good. In any case, I'm from the same city as Princess Celestia, and I'm trying to gather information about your city... about you, really. There's talk of something very upsetting happening here very soon, and I'm doing my best to prevent it."
"Oh?" the pony asked. It was barely a question, more of a conversational wave of acknowledgement. Her eyes still didn't rise from their focus on the matte finish of the wooden table between her and the researcher.
Book End plowed on despite the lack of interest from his interviewee. It was all he expected now.
"Indeed. And, as I mentioned, I believe there is a key to preventing this disaster, provided I can gather the information necessary. Do you think that's something you can help me with?"
He spoke to them like children at first, he realized.
"I don't remember anything."
"That's alright, there's not much you need to remember. We can start with something simple and proceed from there, if that's alright?"
"I don't-"
"Ahem. As I say, simple questions. Something like... your name. I do need to know about you, after all. Can you tell me your name?"
The pony lifted her head for the first time in the conversation. Her dark-cherry mane bobbed slightly as her posture righted, and she squinted one of her eyes and craned her head ever so slightly to the side, as if trying to place a sound she could only just hear; a background hum that was just out of reach.
"I..."
"Everypony must know there name. It's unthinkable to imagine that the circumstance that lead to the loss of the rest of your memory have made you forget who you are."
The pony slumped in her chair, returning to the droopy stature she had assumed as a normal sitting position.
"I'm sorry," she said. It was a phrase Book End was used to hearing.
He sighed again, a little sterner this time.
"What about your cutie mark then? If there's anything that's the best key to whom a pony is, it's surely their cutie mark. Yours appears to be an, er, glass of wine on a background of... sparkles?"
The pony sat up suddenly, her eyes wide for the first time since Book End had met her. They were wide enough that he could properly see the unique composition that set every crystal pony apart from normal Equestrians: the glimmer of light and the shape of the iris that looked just like a jewel.
Her eyes shimmered, just a bit.
"Sparkling Red," she blurted, slumping suddenly back in her seat with her head more upraised than it had been.
Book End held back the urge to clop his front hooves together in juvenile glee.
"Very good. Sparkling Red..." he scribbled the name on his notepaper. "Well then, um, Ms. Red. That's a very good place to start. Perhaps we can move on then. Might you be able to tell me… what do you remember about King Sombra?"
Sparkling Red shivered in her seat. Her eyes faded immediately, losing the closeness and hidden radiance of their momentary glimmer and returning to a far away stare that bored through the table of their focus and set a point somewhere far, far in the past that remained un-seeable.
"I don't remember anything about King Sombra," she said, repeating it almost like a mantra. It was another phrase Book End was familiar with hearing.
He held back a sigh, one he was certain would have been more irate than was prudent to let on how he was feeling.
"Surely you must recall his presence. He's the source of your lack of memory, of course! A tyrannical king who placed a curse on the entire Crystal Kingdom. Do you recall what he was like as a ruler?"
"I don't remember anything about King Sombra," Sparkling Red said again.
Book End set his quill down on the table. He took a long, deep breath and adjusted the glasses on the brim of his nose.
The glasses made his age even more difficult to place than his avenue of occupation. Being a researcher in Canterlot was usually reserved for withered old scholars who'd spent their entire lives as a fixture of the available research academies. Book End had graduated just ten years ago, but acclimated to the atmosphere so well it was hard for even himself to tell how old he felt. His appearance did no favours; a mop of frazzled red hair could have been either youthful or dishevelled with age, and his coat was a nondescript off-white which looked like a fresh coat of fence-paint or a faded book page, depending on the day. In truth, he felt about halfway through a mid-life crisis and halfway through settling into his golden years.
Right now his patience regardless of youth or aged wisdom was beginning to wear thin.
He wasn't a particularly patient pony in the first place; he was used to books, volumes of information which gave the answer you were looking for every time, provided you asked in the right way. Playing guessing games and tracking an inscrutable piece of critical information through a maze of aggravating depression and evasive ponies was enough to drive him up the wall after over a week – but what was most frustrating was that nopony seemed to understand the questions he was asking, while ultimately for personal gain, would be key to avoiding the destruction of the entire Crystal Kingdom by a dormant evil. The fact that not one of them cared enough to dredge up the memories necessary to help was threatening to tip Book End's normally thin veil of composure over the edge of frustration.
"Ms. Red," he said after a moment of trying to collect himself.
The pony across the table said nothing. She glued her eyes to the floor now, looking in the midst of a perpetual heartbreak. Book End continued regardless of her unresponsive nature.
"Ms. Red," he started again, "I don't feel you are giving the full weight of consideration to the questions I am asking you. Were this a matter of personal or academic interest I would fully respect your wish to remain silent on the matter, whether through restraint or obliviousness – but the fact of the matter is, the information I am seeking is information that may decide the fate of your civilization in the nearby future."
Book End stood up from the table, leaving his notepaper and quill behind, and made his way around the wooden dining surface to stand next to Sparkling Red. She acknowledged Book End's presence with a turn of her head, looking up through the bangs of her ruby mane with her eyes half-wide, her mouth hanging just slightly open in perpetual depression.
"I need you to try for me." Book End placed one of his hooves on Sparkling Red's shoulder, turning her head even further to meet his gaze, which he hoped was the right amount of imploring as opposed to selfish desperation.
"Please... anything you can remember at all would be useful."
The two ponies locked eyes for over a minute. The silence of the town’s emptiness surrounded them. Book End kept his gaze steady, a hoof on either of Sparkling Red's shoulders, trying with all his might to will forward an answer, a confession – anything that would lead him closer to a report on his findings and a return to Canterlot for his inevitable reception.
Sparkling Red tensed her mouth, scrunching her teeth on her bottom lip and moving her eyes to the side.
Book End widened his own eyes in expectance, his mouth hanging open as he drew in a breath.
Both ponies paused.
"I'm sorry," Sparkling Red said finally. "I really can't remember anything."
Book End tensed his forelegs as he held on to the pony in front of him. He shut his eyes and took a long, deep breath, his spectacles sliding forward on the bridge of his nose.
"You do understand that if I'm not able to gather the information I need, the fate in store for you and your entire civilization is likely a demise more horrific than you can imagine."
"Yes," Sparkling Red answered, her perpetual frown deepening even further. "I am sorry. I want to remember, but everything before is... a sort of black..."
"Do you want every crystal pony to be burned into oblivion simply because you 'couldn't remember'?" Book End tensed his grip further, squeezing down on Sparkling Red's shoulders. She winced slightly, and shook her head from side to side, her eyes still half-closed in downtrodden demeanour.
"No, of course not. If there was anything I could remember–"
Sparkling Red lost the words in her mouth as Book End's foreleg struck her shoulder, shoving her backwards in her chair. The legs of the wooden structure teetered for a moment before sliding forward and bringing the center of stability out from under Sparkling Red's body. She toppled backwards as a result, sprawling over the chair and landing in a tumble on the stone floor of the building. Her mouth parted to let out a small involuntary 'oof' as the air made a partial escape from her lungs with the force of the impact.
She took a moment to collect herself, wheezing as her breath returned. A misplaced lock of her mane hung over her eyes as she looked upwards.
"This is a game to all of you, isn't it? A silly researcher from Canterlot shows up to try to make something of his life and suddenly no one can remember the only significant event in the last thousand years."
Book End stepped closer as he spoke, closing the distance set by Sparkling Red's fall backwards. She was on her back, staring up through forlorn eyes.
Book End's breathing was quickened. He raised a hoof to his nose and adjusted the placement of his spectacles again, his foreleg shaking slightly.
"No... I swear, if I could remember anything–"
"How hard is it to remember something?" Book End interrupted, kicking the chair back with one of his hind-legs. It skittered across the floor of what might have once been a kitchen, a room now devoid of purpose in a mimicry of the rest of the city and its inhabitants.
"I certainly can't see the difficulty in it," he continued. "I remember the ancient Griffin word for king – kalvash – I remember the dictations made by the Celestial consulate the first year after Luna's banishment – for the Princess to uphold all Lunar duties in order to instill a sense of cultural stability – and I remember very vividly what I had for breakfast yesterday: stale rations and cheap imported wine, because it's the only thing I can find in this Celestia-forsaken ghost town!"
Book End was shouting now, his voice rebounding off the insulated stone walls and echoing in mockery of the surrounding silence. Sparkling Red quivered underneath him, scrambling backwards as the tirade led her to the wall, the farthest place she could escape to, leaving her with no choice but to stare helplessly up at the seething researcher looming over her. She whimpered, losing words in her panic. Book End adjust his spectacles again, a bead of sweat hanging on his forehead.
"So why then, is it so hard for one pony to remember one thing about an event that is by every account the only significant thing ever to happen in the history of this Kingdom?"
"I... I don't..." Sparkling stammered.
Her sentence trailed off as Book End stepped over her, his relatively meager body given presence by its position.
Book End leered as he moved his head downwards until his face was only an inch away from Sparkling Red's. He could feel the quiver in her breath as she could feel the quickness in his, spurred by the onset of his frustration.
"Just tell me. Anything. Even the slightest detail will be more than I've gotten from the rest of your miserable fellow citizens."
Sparkling Red sat, shaking, willing her mouth to work in the face of her tongue's adamance to stop functioning.
"I..."
"Yes?" Book End leaned even closer, their noses practically touching.
"I...I'm sorry. I don't... I don't remember–"
The slap echoed louder than the shouting had, bouncing to every corner of the once-kitchen. On a nearby shelf, a wine glass hummed in sympathetic vibration.
The only other sound was the breathing of both ponies. Book End panting and holding his hoof aloft. Sparkling Red's quiet gasps for air marred by her whimpering on the verge of tears.
"You're just as useless as everyone else I've spoken to, I see."
"I'm... s-sorry..." Sparkling Red stammered through the haze of tears perfectly set in her crystalline eyes.
"Don't bother." Book End rubbed his sore hoof with the other, smarting from the hardy slap he'd laid across the crystal pony's face.
"I've wasted a week of my life in this ghost town. That's what it is, you know: a ghost town. The ponies here aren't alive anymore. Every day I see families shamble through town square like rotting bodies, none of them speaking to each other, none of them doing anything... and every day it's the same. Seeing you all expire will be more of a relief than anything."
Sparkling Red tucked her legs inward, curling half-way into a ball as Book End made his way to the table and began to collect his things. He folded the set of parchment notes into a tube, the words on them a chicken-scratch mish-mash of erased questions and ink blots. He tucked the scroll into a bag sitting next to the chair he'd taken during the interview.
Across the room, Sparkling Red sniffled, trying her best to hold back the tears the slap had left aching to release.
As he lowered his head to lift the saddlebag into place, Book End paused. He turned his head, eyes widened slightly as though a sudden realization had burgeoned in his head.
Sparkling Red said nothing to him. She lifted her head slightly, staring at the face of the pony who'd left her huddled on the floor.
"You know," Book End said, lowering the saddlebag back onto the chair. His hooves clacked on the floor as he walked, making his way over to the wall. Sparkling Red huddled against herself even closer, drawing herself up to be as small as possible.
"I can think of one thing your worthless species is still good for."
As Book End spoke he extended his forelegs and grabbed one of Sparkling Red's hooves. He could feel the tremble against his touch as he walked closer, holding the quivering pony's leg between his own. He walked until his body was level with Sparkling Red's.
Book End held the hoof for a moment, feeling the shivers course through it.
He didn't speak. Slowly, purposefully, he moved Sparkling Red's hoof in accordance with the placement of his body. He placed it between his hind legs, against the length of flesh concealed there in its sheath.
Sparkling Red didn't speak either. She closed her eyes, and shook her head ever so slightly.
"Touch it," he said, releasing his grip.
Sparkling Red didn't move her hoof to his accord – but she didn't move it away either.
Book End stared.
After a moment, he felt Sparkling Red's hoof slide along his soft shaft.
Her hoof moved up and down, pawing clumsily at the flaccid member underneath. She moved her leg without purpose, doing only as she was directed. Touch. She touched, raking her hoof roughly, unsteady and unsure but barring the words she had uttered at every instance.
I'm sorry.
Book End frowned. The clumsy hoof job from the crying pony in front of him was giving him no pleasure. As foreign as the touch of a mare was over the course of his life, his body wasn't alien enough to the nature of the sensation that it could content itself with such a pathetic display.
"Other hoof," he muttered, stepping closer and grabbing Sparkling Red's other foreleg.
She complied, letting her leg be dragged forward and meeting her hoof on Book End's shaft. She tried her best to move her hooves in tandem, bobbing them awkwardly up and down in what she imagined must be an approximation of a hoof-job from a mare who had experienced the act of love once in her life. This was the farthest thing from love she could imagine, but she needed to think of it some way. The tears were still nearby.
"Have you never done this before? Don't lead me to believe that after a thousand years of nothingness you lot haven't at least once resorted to rutting like animals? Do you not know what you're doing with the piece of meat underneath your hooves?"
Sparkling Red shook her head, her eyes barely open and shimmering at the corners with the tears brewing since the sting of the hoof across her face.
"I don't remem– I mean, no, we never... I haven't..."
Book End glared, and Sparkling Red recoiled under the stare as though she'd been hit again.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. She continued to move her hooves inexpertly along the still mostly hidden length of Book End's member.
When the word 'sorry' left her lips, she held back a gasp as she felt the thing under her hooves twitch.
Book End cocked an eyebrow, surprised at his own reaction.
"Well, you certainly are awful at this. As easy as your body might be to look at, I'm starting to grow sick of the appearance of most of you crystal abominations to begin with. You might have accomplished the amazing feat of being completely useless at everything."
"I'm sorry," Sparkling Red murmured. She squinted her eyes even harder, and a long trail of tears leaked from each corner, trickling down her cheeks and splashing without sound onto the ground.
She felt another twitch, stronger this time.
"You do understand how worthless you are, don't you?" Book End continued, stepping closer and posturing his hindquarters to force his penis against Sparkling Red's hooves. He was harder now, slipping from his sheath and beginning the proper semblances of earnest arousal.
"I, I..."
"Incapable of doing the one thing even remotely possible of saving your wretched species – and now, reduced to the most base act of performance available, still completely and utterly useless. Barely worth my time to bother with."
"I'm sorry," Sparkling Red said again. Twitch.
"So you do understand then?"
"Yes, I–"
"Tell me then. What is it you understand?"
Red's hooves paused for just a moment, and she tilted her head up slightly, dragging her eyes away from the ground and looking up. Book End met her tear filled gaze. 'Well?' his face said.
"I... I understand how... w-worthless I am..." Sparkling Red stammered through the barely withheld flood of tears and sadness behind her restraint. A larger twitch. She felt the thing between her hooves thickening and lengthening as she spoke, continuing to stroke it like it was a charm to rub for good luck.
"Indeed, you are exactly that. Please, continue your explanation."
"I"m w-worthless, b-because I'm..."
"Tawdry," Book End interjected, his speech sounding distracted through the feeling of inexpert caress between his legs.
"Tawdry," Sparkling Red mimicked, sliding her hooves along Book End's almost completely hardened shaft. "And... and I'm–"
"Selfish."
"S-selfish... and I can't r-remember anything... and, because of me... the whole... the whole..."
"The whole Crystal Empire will wither and die," Book End finished, grunting his continuation through closed eyes as his hips bucked against Sparkling Red's attention.
"The whole Crystal Empire will wither and die!" Sparkling Red moaned through her tears. They had gathered in her eyes like a storm behind a floodgate, and the impact of her final admission brought them forth. Her voice twisted from its subdued sniffling monotone to a howl of misery, and she cried. She cried as her hooves moved, the tears spilling down her cheeks and onto her chest.
Book End grunted, moving himself forward into the clumsy touch running along his now throbbing erection.
Sparkling Red had no more words. Her tears took over, her wails and sobs echoing off the deadened chamber of the room that had once been a kitchen.
Book End allowed her a few moments of tearful stroking before he pulled his hips back, withdrawing his member from the tearful pony's hooves. It bobbed obscenely against his stomach as he moved and the soft 'pap' of the head's contact against his skin joined the subdued sniffles as Sparkling Red tried in vain to dry her tears.
"Stand up," Book End said.
Sparkling Red looked up at him like a beaten child, wiping a hoof across her cheek and pulling it away wet with salt water.
"Up," he repeated.
Sparkling Red complied as best her body would allow. Her legs shook as she righted herself, standing from the ground as nervous as a filly taking its first steps. She wouldn't let her eyes look forward – she stared at the ground, a lock of her red hair cascading across her face. The flow of her tears subsided, leaving only the dried-up rivers of their passage in damp stains across her fur.
"Turn around," Book End directed.
Sparkling Red hesitated. She was inexperienced, but not oblivious. Most things she couldn't remember, but there were inalienable instructions deep in every pony that told them what happened when they turned around and bent over for a stallion unsheathed behind them.
"I... I don't–"
"Turn around or you'll be in a much worse state than you are now." Book End's tone was cold. It was always cold, dry, permanently in a state of 'academic diplomacy’ – but now it was icy enough to freeze the air around, and as dark as the wailing fog storming through the ground outside the Crystal Empire.
Sparkling Red felt the chill along her spine.
"But... I..."
Through the pause in her second muttering, Sparkling Red felt the hooves against her chest. Her body moved of its own accord, thrown backwards by the force propelling it. The ground left her hooves as she was dragged upright. Then the wall. Very hard.
She gasped as the air left her lungs, held up by the throat against the stone behind her.
Book End pressed his forelegs into the helpless pony's windpipe, squeezing the last few drops of oxygen out with a whisper like a dying ghost.
"You might be more of a cheap whore than crystal right now," he began. His horn glowed suddenly, a dark blue shimmer of magic. The wineglass that had resonated with the sound of hoof on skin sparkled with a matching aura as it floated through the air, resting in a hover inches away from Sparkling Red's face.
"But to me, you're just as fragile."
The glass hummed for a moment, glowing brightly with a cerulean hue before the screech came. Sparkling Red shut her eyes.
The sound of the glass bursting would have made her shout, even without the sting of the shards burying themselves in her cheek.
So she shouted. Book End moved his forelegs in accordance, letting the lack of oxygen inspire a dying animal wail from Sparkling Red's throat. A cry of surprise and sudden pain, startled into open eyes.
She tried to breathe as best her lungs could afford. The glass stung. Her cheek stung. It burned on the side of her face, and she could feel it on her shoulder too. She wanted to raise her hoof to nurse the pain, but her legs hung uselessly at her side, paralyzed by dizziness and the hold on her shoulders from Book End's rough grasp.
"When I put you down, try to behave."
I’m sorry, she thought to herself.
Book End let go suddenly, letting Sparkling Red fall to the floor. What little air she had reclaimed was robbed from her again, and she returned to desperate gasps in an attempt to remain conscious. It stung, but she didn't bear to touch it. Her hoof would fly quickly and bury the shards deeper. She could feel the blood mixing with the salty sting of her lingering tears.
"Up, and turn," he said.
Sparkling Red nodded, more to herself than anything, and stood as directed. Her legs quivered at the knees, threatening to give out but staying upright by virtue of what might come if she failed to comply.
She turned. Her forehead found the wall, and she planted it firmly, shutting her eyes and turning her face to the side as she favoured the skin not stinging of broken glass.
"Come now, you could at least try to make yourself seem interested. A flick of the tail, if you can't manage the proper display, hm?"
Sparkling Red bit her tongue hard. She tasted tin.
With an unpracticed aplomb, she waggled her tail in her best attempt at 'seductively'.
Book End felt himself spring upwards against his stomach.
“Good enough.”
Sparkling Red cringed as she felt the hooves on her side. They were rough, worn from years of page turning and rough papers and inks. She cringed harder when she felt it, poking awkwardly at her legs like a toy sword held by a clumsy child. She pressed her head forward, savouring the comforting solidness of the stone, grinding her forehead into it. Her eyes were damp. The stream down one side of her face trickled through the pieces of the wine-glass, arching around it like diamond rocks in a river.
"Feel free to scream," he said, positioning himself at Sparkling Red's entrance. "It's not as though anyone will pay particular attention."
One thrust. She didn't scream.
"Hnh."
The noise died as her mouth caught it, muffling the wordless sound. It became matter of a fact. In. He was in.
She was tight, much tighter than he had expected.
They all had been. Despite his absence of experience, he had known the tightness at the first thrust. This one was even better. She was wet, a sensation he hadn't experienced so far. Dry, dry like sandpaper, every one of them before. Their mouths were usually better.
He was halfway in. With an awkward jut of his hips, Book End crammed himself in further. He felt Sparkling Red's walls clench around his dick, and he snorted, sending a spray of misted breath onto the back of the cherry-red mane hanging in front of his face. He tightened the grip of his hooves, squeezing in an attempt to bruise at the body underneath him.
"Mm," she said. It was another single-sound-sentence, caught by the teeth on her lower lip. The glass stung.
"First times are usually painful," he said matter-of-factly.
Another thrust, and he was all the way in.
Sparkling Red kept silent as she felt the crystal inside herself shatter.
Book End felt the sudden warmth on his cock. It made him grunt again, holding back an animalistic urge to bray with enthusiasm at the sensation surrounding his member. It was only by training that his conduct remained civilized in this situation.
Sparkling Red felt the skin tear on her lip as she bit through. It was far from a sufficient distraction.
Book End drew himself back simply, poising the tip of his head at the shivering entrance in front of him. He took a moment to admire the texture of the forthcoming penetration, Sparkling Red's lips damp and swollen and leaking the red fluid that had coated his head and the whole of his shaft. The sight made him twitch again, and he took a mouthful of the red hair between his teeth before he thrust again. All the way in. Tight, so tight.
"Hnnnn."
Sparkling Red shoved her head into the wall as hard as it would go. The stone remained, unyielding. She couldn't feel her lip anymore.
"Are you enjoying it that much?" he said, pulling himself back before slamming in again.
"Unh."
She couldn't help the noises. They came with the thrusts, not borne of anything other than natural reaction to the thing inside herm stabbing her like a cheap bar-room shiv. Or a broken glass.
"You're the first one to... behave themselves like a... proper whore..." Book End managed through thrusts, panting each time he buried himself and groaning in a low voice as he felt Sparkling Red's pussy spasm around him. Every other one had been like fucking a corpse – not that he had grounds for such an analogy. He had settled for their mouths; after the first one, of course, which had concluded in a guilty hoof-job. He'd shot his load like an anxious teenager discovering the feeling of smacking against his belly for the first time, and had run off blubbering apologies.
The conduct came easier the second time, when he had realized how little it mattered. They were dead inside, all of them. What did his behaviour matter? He was practically doing them a favour.
Book End snorted as he hammered himself home for a particularly vicious thrust, sending a blast of his hot breath into Sparkling Red's ear. One of her hind legs kicked just a bit, scraping at the stone floor.
"Come on with it then. Let's hear a little more about how much you're enjoying this," he commanded before picking up a more eager pace.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
His hips against hers, slamming inside and grunting with every thrust. Tight, and wet from what he assumed was a combination of natural lubrication and that which his penetration had produced.
"I..."
"You are enjoying it, yes? A worthless whore like you, surely you... would enjoy being bent over like... a mare in heat,' Book End managed under the pace of his pounding.
One of the shoves inside went so deep, Sparkling Red could feel it poking inside what felt like her stomach. She lurched forward only to slam her face into the wall. The broken glass sank deeper into her skin, bringing a fresh drip of blood to mix with tears.
"Yes," she blurted, pulling her face away and cringing at the agony of the crystal blades sinking into her body. Her tongue hung in her mouth lifelessly, struggling to find the strength to form the word.
"Turn your face and let me... see how much you're enjoying it."
Sparkling Red turned her head, one cheek matted with red and both with the dampness of salt water. She forced a smile through her grimace. Her red hair bobbed over her face as Book End's thrusts slammed into her backside.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Book End felt himself twitch inside as the half-open eyes on Sparkling Red's well-abused face made themselves visible. With a sight like that, he'd be done soon.
"Tell... tell me how much... you love... getting rutted..."
"I love it," she blabbered, grinning brightly through the tears that flowed without her control. "I... love... g-getting... r-rutted..." her sentence broke every time she felt Book End's cock slam its way home. His movements were becoming erratic, hurried, close.
"You're going to get exactly what you want, if you talk like that," he went on. His hooves were digging into her back, hard. She could feel the bruises welling.
"Good... I really... like when you... y-you..."
"Fuck you," he finished for her, slamming her so hard she was practically upright against the wall.
"Fuck me," she practically shouted, wailing it with the force of the scream that had come with her tears before. And just like that, she was crying again, spilling water from her eyes onto the floor. One side dripped, mixed with blood and the sting of broken glass.
He pulled out suddenly, leaving a vague emptiness and a feeling like a broken bottle smashed inside.
"Down," he panted. "Mouth."
Sparkling Red fell to her hind legs and turned. Still she sobbed, her body shivering with every cry's force.
She parted her mouth, her eyes barely open through the waterfall of tears.
Book End took one look at her before he placed the tip of his cock on her lips.
"Ah," she said through body-shaking sobs, extending her tongue like she was at the doctor’s for a check-up.
He allowed her a moment to gather breath before he stood upright, locking his hooves on the back of her head.
As he forced forward, he felt the slickness of tears leaking onto his shaft.
Sparkling Red tasted herself amidst the blood and stink of unwashed male.
She gagged as the head pushed past her lips.
Every thrust was a panicked step to the edge. Book End had closed his eyes, needing the picture of suffering before him only in his mind. He could still hear the crying. He could picture the used up whore choking on his cock.
He held her head down as he came.
Sparkling Red felt the spray of semen in the back of her throat without warning. She felt it tickle the part of her that wanted so badly to gag, to throw up. The hooves on the back of her head forced otherwise. Instead she coughed, and cried, and choked, returning to the familiar feeling of the absence of air. This time the sensation of cum shooting down her air-way gave the feeling of drowning.
She wondered what was there, if she were to die.
Would she remember then?
Book End removed his hooves and groaned, sending a final strand of cum across Sparkling Red's face. The sticky white rope laced itself between the pieces of broken wine-glass, reaching the height of its arc in her left eye. She couldn’t close it, despite the coughing, gagging, begging for air that consumed her body.
The fluid burned against her crystalline iris, but she couldn't bring herself to blink. Or even to fall.
She sat there, coughing, tears driven away by the necessity to breathe. Her body wracked itself for oxygen, but her expression settled, quelling its change as she lifted her head in an attempt to return to a sitting posture. More air, her body said. She ignored it.
Book End was on all fours again, panting. With one hoof, he adjusted his spectacles.
He paused for a moment, his composure in the face of lust voided suddenly with the clarity of his climax.
"Hmh," he said, clearing his throat.
"See that you, er... get yourself cleaned up."
He didn't turn back to look at her. Table, chair, saddlebag. The door closed as silently as it had opened, welcoming him to a crystal city filled with empty bodies and empty minds.
He couldn't blame himself when it was this easy.
Didn't he deserve some kind of compensation for all his hard work? He had been nothing if not patient, every step of the way... who could blame him for a momentary lapse in judgement?
The history books would forget all of this, after all, if he was successful.
He felt guilty, the first time, but the feeling had almost completely left him now. As he trekked through town to his makeshift study, the dampness of blood, spit, and other juices on his shrinking member only made him ache to return. How many more ponies were there in the city? How many more might he have to ask before he found the answer to his questions?
Book End sighed, climbing the stairs to the top floor of the book-store he had selected for residency purposes.
It wasn't his fault, really. The Crystal Kingdom was an awful place. Look what it had done to the occupants! Zombies, every one of them. In this case, the ends really did justify the means. No matter what he turned up, anything would be better than the potential state of identity-less ignorance pervasive in every single pony left over in the dying city-state.
Besides which... he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about it.
It wasn't as if any of them would remember anyway.
