A Thousand Words: Book One, Fifty Shades of Purple
A Thousand Words
Book One: Fifty Shades of Purple
Small towns give me the creeps. Ponies who think big cities are scary after dark have obviously never visited backwater, middle-of-bucking-nowhere plots of dirt like Ponyville. Ponyville is a feel-good suburban fever dream during sun up. It's the kind of place where ponies burst into musical numbers and fill the streets with cheer and good times for no particular reason. You don’t need a reason to smile in Ponyville, and that’s alright by me. Fun is fun, even if it’s corny.
Ponyville is a real sweetheart during the day, but at night she mutates into something a bit more interesting. She lets her mane down. Gets uglier. Less restrained. After sunset the streets go dead silent and all the innocent souls scurry home and shut their windows and lock their doors and pray to Celestia that assholes like me aren’t watching them wallow in their filth.
I’m three blocks from Twilight Sparkle’s tree house when I hear Stripe’s boyish lilt flutter through the earpiece. “Where are you, babe?” His voice rattles and quavers, all jazzed up and teeming with nervous energy.
I turn down the volume on my headset and adjust the radio frequency. It whines like a spoiled brat before giving way to static.
A breeze jostles rickety shingles as I trot by rows of candy colored houses, each of them vibrant in the near perfect darkness. Dimly lit windows glare down at the sidewalk, watching my advance.
Crickets chirp.
An owl hoots, then swoops low, riding the breeze.
I give the headset a love tap. It whines again before buzzing back to life.
“Sorry about that,” I say, holding the receiver to my mouth. “The reception is for shit out here. I’m heading to Sparkle’s place now. Where are you?”
“Already in position. One house away from the target, just like we planned. Look out duty sucks, by the way.” Stripe laughs and adds, “Speaking of the target, you might want to switch over to the house frequency and take a listen.”
Me and Stripe have had Sparkle’s home wired for the past three weeks. I haven’t been listening to it myself, because spying on ponies is a lot duller than one might think, but Stripe’s been tuned into Sparkle’s home life all day, every day like it’s a twenty-four marathon of his favorite TV sitcom. Earlier tonight, while I was out grabbing a bite, Stripe gave me a ring and told me he smelled blood in the water.
I switch frequencies and listen in on Sparkle’s private time. She’s already moaning and panting, her voice muffled and carrying a note of something that might be pleasure or pain. A smile crosses my lips as I flip back to Stripe’s channel. This is going to be easy.
“Looks like they started without me,” I say, doubling my pace for fear of missing too much of the show.
Stripe laughs again. “Looks like. Hey, you wearing the cloak?”
“Yeah. I’ve got it on right now.” Unconsciously, I look down at my front hooves. I can still see them. “Should I be able to see myself?”
“Buck if I know. Are you wearing the hood up? Flim said you have to wear the hood up.”
“Flam said that, and yeah, I’m wearing the hood.”
I stop outside of Sparkle’s door and look around anxiously, wondering if I’m still visible to the naked eye.
“Remember Flash, it’s only an invisibility cloak,” says Stripe. “So keep quiet or you’ll blow the whole operation wide open.”
“Please, my stealth game is top tier,” I say. “I don’t even need the cloak; I’m a freaking ninja.”
A nervous laugh finds my ear through the headset. Stripe’s on edge tonight, and that’s never a good sign.
Just then, a cross-eyed pegasus mare carrying a satchel flies overhead and looks directly at me. At least I think she does. It’s hard to tell since her eyes are pointing left and right at the same time.
“Holy freaking horse apples…” I think aloud.
“What?” says Stripe, his voice shaky. “What happened?”
“I think this retarded mare just saw me.”
“Are you wearing the hood?”
“Yes I’m wearing the hood!” I snap.
“You sure she saw you?” says Stripe after a hesitant pause.
“I don’t know,” I admit, “her eyes were all stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Yeah, stupid. They were unfocused, like she had two lazy eyes or something.”
A snicker crackles through the earpiece. “Your nerves are shot, Flash,” says Stripe. “I say we eighty-six this job before you do something stupid.”
“And miss watching Sparkle get her brains fucked out?” I say. “Buck that noise. This is once-in-a-lifetime stuff, Stripe. Don’t punk out on me.”
Stripe sighs and mutters something in Zebrican.
Using the skeleton key tucked under my tongue, I pick the lock and push open the front door. Then I adjust the noise suppressor on my camera, take a deep breath, and toss around a few Hail Lunas before entering.
My hooves don’t touch the floor as I glide through the dark house. Sparkle’s place is psychotically clean. The walls are free of scuff marks and the floor looks like it’s never been walked on. I’m careful not to touch anything as I clear the entrance and drift up toward the high ceiling.
At this point my nerves are on tenterhooks, and I’m so stressed I might vomit. I feel like shit, but I forget all about it when I reach the library and see Sparkle blindfolded and cuffed to the bed's lattice headboard. She’s wearing this leather corset number that not even the hardest working Manehattan prostitute would be caught dead in. The long latex gloves and black knee socks are nice touches, but the duct tape over her mouth is what really sells it.
She muffles a hurt whimper into the tape as I flutter overhead and snap my first picture. Peeking through the viewfinder, I notice the corset doesn’t cover her stomach, which is spotted with burn marks and coated with a healthy layer of dried candle wax. Round one, I take it. Ponyfeathers, I should’ve gotten here sooner.
I snap another picture, wondering why Sparkle indulges her fantasies in her library and not her bedroom. The bookshelves are high and packed to bursting. I take a second to scan them, searching for Sparkle’s jackpot: her collection of signed, limited edition Daring Do novels.
Daring’s author kicked the bucket a month ago, so now all her crappy adventure stories are selling like jugs of fresh water in the San Palomino. A little birdie told me Sparkle did a some editing for the author towards the end of her career, and as a thank you, Sparkle got hooked up with the one-of-a-kind collection.
It gets better. If Manehattan’s black market rumor mill isn’t wrong—and it usually isn’t—then Sparkle is currently sitting on an incomplete draft of Daring’s final adventure. It’s worth a ton. If I don’t screw things up tonight, I’m looking at the biggest payday of my life.
A second after I take a third picture, Spike waddles into the room looking freaking adorable. He’s wearing a way-too-tight mesh shirt that screams “first time at the local gay bar”, and pair of tattered, fingerless gloves that look even gayer than the shirt. And that eyeliner—holy freaking horse apples, Sparkle is into some lame shit.
I stifle a chuckle. “Stripe, I wish you could see these assholes,” I whisper into the receiver, snapping a picture of Spike mounting Sparkle, and trying hard not laugh out loud. “It’s soooooo bad.”
“Be sure to take some nice pics for me, babe,” says Stripe. “And don’t stay longer than you need to. Get a few good ones, get off—”
“And get out,” I finish. “Relax, this job is gonna be cake.”
I sit on the edge of a high bookshelf and settle in, eager to enjoy the show.
Spike starts strong. He pinches Sparkle’s cheek and gives it a brutal twist. “And how’s my number one assistant doing so far, hmm?” he purrs impishly, eyeing Sparkle like he plans to eat her alive. “Hanging in there, I hope.” His reptilian tongue glides across his lips, then across the duct tape covering Sparkle’s mouth. Sparkle squirms and recoils as if trying to sink into the bed. She turns her face away, but Spike follows, chuckling cruelly as he taunts and teases his prey with faint licks and kisses.
Sparkle whimpers and snivels into her gag, her head twisting back and forth in a weak attempt to dodge Spike’s advances.
“Oh, sh-sh-sh-sh-sh—don’t cry,” Spike coos, patting one of Sparkle’s flushed cheeks. “You know I hate it when you cry.”
Sparkle keeps whimpering. Sniveling.
A hard backhand snaps the unicorn’s head to one side. Really gets her attention. Mine too. I sit forward and zoom in tighter on the action.
“Let me ask you something,” says Spike, sitting up. “Our...arrangement—do you think it’s fair?
Sparkle squirms but doesn’t answer.
“Well?” Spike says, clamping a claw around his prey’s mouth. “Do you think it’s fair that I work my claws to the bone while you prance around giving orders all day like some spoiled brat?”
Sparkle stays quiet.
Spike shakes her.
“Answer me,” he says, his voice calm but cruel. I cringe as I watch his claws dig into Sparkle’s cheek, drawing thin rivulets of blood.
Sparkle shakes her head frantically, mumbling into her duct tape gag.
“No, it’s not fair, Twilight. It’s not.” A tremor invades Spike’s voice. He leans forward and squeezes Sparkle’s mouth tighter as he speaks. “I bend over backwards for you every day, but do you appreciate any of my hard work?”
Sparkle mutters and nods her head yes, doing a scary-good job of looking terrified for the dragon. Spike reads her cue and really throws himself into the role play.
“No,” he says, wagging a finger in Sparkle’s face. “No, no, no. No lies, Twilight. Not now.” Smoke trails from the corners of his mouth. “Not tonight. Tonight you have to honest with me.”
Sparkle keeps nodding.
Spike’s hand curls into a tight fist. It rises above Twilight’s nose and hovers there, a looming promise of violence to come.
Sparkle whimpers.
The fist falls.
Blood splashes.
The fist rises again.
“The truth, Twilight,” Spike says, tone flat, eyes narrowed and focused.
Another whimper.
Another punch.
Another splash.
“The truth.”
Sparkle whimpers again. Her ears sag like wilted flowers.
By the third punch I’m not sure if Spike is just playing. Neither is Stripe. His voice leaps into my skull, and the shock nearly jolts me off the bookshelf.
“Tracy,” he says, aroused. “I was listening to the mic feed. What the buck is going on in there? It sounds intense. Tracy? Um, come in Tracy. You still there?”
I don’t answer, and eventually Stripe gets tired of talking. He switches frequencies and no doubt goes back to pulling his dick.
Spike succeeds in beating the truth out of Sparkle. She shakes her head no. The gesture seems to appease him and he backs off, sitting upright again. Then he kicks loose an exhausted sigh and looks away, scratching his head, distracted by something only he can see.
“All I do your for you,” he says, his voice suddenly distant. “You think I like doing this? Hurting you? You think I like…” He doesn’t finish the thought. His eyes wander around the room. Then, abruptly, he pounds his face, landing two punches right between his eyes.
“You think I…”
I cover my mouth to stifle a gasp as Spike bears down on Sparkle and starts beating her senseless. He repeats the words “You think I…” dozens of times as he thrashes the purple unicorn’s face and neck, his fists pounding away like scaly gavels.
What is going on? I wonder as I lift my camera and take a few pictures, capturing Twilight’s agony. She wriggles. Her hind legs kick. Her hips buck.
It’s an ugly beating. Spike plays the unicorn’s face like drum, and the primal rhythm creeps into my limbs and has them aching to dance. In the middle of his song, he seizes Sparkle’s mouth with one claw and bludgeons her right cheek with the other. I don’t know why he picks that spot, but he zeros in and tags her there again and again, bruising her face badly.
Sparkle’s struggling weakens with every landed blow. She takes her licks like a champ, but like I said before, it’s an ugly beating.
When he finishes making music with the unicorn’s nose, cheeks, and throat, Spike hops down from the bed and scurries away, his face buried in his bloody claws. I watch him go, and a little voice in the back of my head tells me I should leave too.
“You’ve been in there long enough, Flash. Let’s jet. These two are giving me the creeps.”
When I realize the little voice is actually Stripe I say, “I can’t go yet.”
“Look, if you’re worried about the money I can make some phone calls,” says Stripe. “We can get another job, babe.”
“Buck the money, Stripe,” I say, touching a hoof to my cheek. “I think I’m in love.”
“What?”
Stripe starts to say more just as Spike scurries back into the room carrying a fist full of damp rags and something small, black and shaped like a cylinder. I kill the earpiece and watch my new dragon buddy climb on Sparkle’s chest. He wipes her face. Sparkle withdraws again, but he coos and pets her mane until she relaxes under his gentle touches.
“I’m such a sucker,” Spike says. “Look at me, still doing you favors.” When the first rag is thoroughly soaked with blood, Spike tosses it aside and starts wiping with another.
Once her face is good clean, he wipes away a bit of the candle wax still caked to the purple mare’s stomach. Sparkle sighs and seems to deflate. Her breathing evens out. Her body goes slack. Her fetlocks turn to noodles in the cuffs.
Licking his lips, Spike slides from the unicorn’s chest down to her thighs. He spraddles her hind legs and sits between them, fixing his gaze on her chest as it rises and falls weakly. I float to another bookcase, changing angles so I can zoom in on Spike’s smoldering eyes. I watch him watch Sparkle for what seems like a long time.
“You owe me, Twilight,” he says, finally breaking the silence. The bass in his voice gets my juices flowing, and I snap another pic of those sexy, too-intense emerald-green eyes.
“You owe me big,” he continues, crawling across Sparkle’s midsection until the two of them are once again face-to-face. “Tonight, you’re going to do me a favor.”
Sparkle coughs through a cloud of smoke billowing from the dragon’s mouth, and a scent like sulfur wafts up toward the ceiling. She tries to turn away, but Spike cups her chin and mashes his mouth against hers, like he’s trying to kiss her through the duct tape. He licks greedily at her bruises, then drags his tongue down her face, down her neck, down her chest, tasting every inch of her. His lips glide across the burns on her stomach, making her flinch and suck sharp breaths.
I zoom in close and watch Spike’s teeth graze and nibble at the unicorn’s flesh. He nibbles a bit harder, earning a startled pant from his prey. Spike likes that. Purple lips smirk against a purple hide. He bites her—not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to make her squeal.
The camera tries to chatter in my hooves, but the noise suppressor keeps it quiet as I snap off four or five shots in rapid succession. Then I let the camera hang around my neck and tuck a hoof between my thighs.
Sparkle’s squeal evolves into a full-blown moan as Spike slips his tail between her thighs, teasing her, probing and stroking her lips but not penetrating. Not yet. I watch Sparkle’s hips twitch and spasm. She moans. Pants. Wriggles and tries to clamp her thighs shut.
“Open your legs,” Spike orders. When she doesn’t, Spike makes a scaly lattice ball with both claws and hammer’s her stomach. The blow rattles her. It’s a hard shot, but Sparkle eats it and keeps her legs closed.
Spike’s not impressed. He grabs a fist-full of Sparkle’s burned hide and twists her skin until tears stream from under the blindfold.
The unicorn throws her head back, struggling against her binds. She quivers. Pants. Sweats. Her back legs kick.
Spike cranks harder and repeats his order. When Sparkle can’t handle anymore, she relents and splays her hind legs for Spike. His tail strokes her mound again, warming her up for the big plunge.
“Come on, Spike,” I breathe quietly as I rub myself off, my wings spread for balance so I don’t fall of the bookcase. I take my time. The camera hangs inert around my neck while I pleasure my clit with slow, even strokes. “Nopony likes a tease.”
Right on cue, Spike cuts me a break and plunges his tail in the unicorn’s tight hole. I try to lift the camera and peek through the viewfinder, but holding it is too awkward with only one hoof.
“Horse apples,” I grumble. I consider forcing my hoof away from my clit, but Spike has me too riled up for that. He’s in total control and nothing gets me hotter than a male who can take charge.
He pumps his fat tail in and out of Sparkle’s snatch, stretching her wide and giving her all she can handle. She tries resisting at first, but after the third or fourth pump, I notice Sparkle’s hips rocking in time with Spike’s trusts. It’s a subtle undulation, but it’s there.
Spike sits upright on the mare's stomach and throws his head back, his eyes unfocused, then closed as he goes to work jerking himself off. I’m deep in the trenches of sweet self-stimulation, but the sight of Spike’s little dragon cock gives me pause. My clit aches to pleasured, but right now I need both hooves to immortalize Spike’s dick in a glossy three-by-five.
His penis is adorable. He’s a baby dragon with a tiny baby dick, but he strokes it like he means business. One claw starts at the base and glides up to the head, squeezing and pulling like he means to tear it off, while the other fondles his balls. I get some great shots of Spike beating off while using his tail to pound Sparkle’s soaked pussy.
The little bastard has me all kinds of wet, but Sparkle is gushing. Despite the burns and bruises, the unicorn is having herself a time. She drops the timid act, giving me a gorgeous shot of her pelvis thrusting skyward. I snap another picture. Another, watching her back arch like a bridge over water as she rises to meet Spike’s downward trusts.
Their rhythm is haphazard at best. Rather than move as one, they bump and grind against each other, a toxic cocktail of blood and sweat flying from their bodies. It's a mean, disharmonious love dance. As violent as fight and every bit as loveless.
“You like that?” Spike grunts.
“Mmmm, you know I do, sexy,” I answer for Sparkle, zooming in and snapping several more pictures. I tuck my tail between my thighs and squeeze and rock my hips, trying to get off and take pictures at the same time. It’s not easy. My limp tail is poor substitute for my hoof, and all I do is tease myself into greater realms of arousal.
“Can’t let you have too much fun,” says Spike, lying flat across Sparkle and rubbing his dick against her stomach. He doesn’t pull his tail out, but he stops pounding Sparkle and circles his short arms around the mare’s barrel.
“Arch your back,” Spike orders, and this time Sparkle obeys quickly. “Higher. I said higher.”
It takes some doing with the cuffs on, but Sparkle manages to lift her back high enough for Spike to grab her corset ties. The ties are long—a lot longer than they need to be. He takes the strings in both claws, pulls them around to the Sparkle’s front, then orders her to lay back down. Sparkle obeys.
“Well,” Spike says almost amicably. “Go ahead and finish.”
Sparkle starts to rock her hips, but stops when Spike pulls the ties, tightening the corset. The tape across her mouth muffles a desperate pleading sound.
“I said finish.” Spike’s voice comes out cold. Hateful. Merciless. A strange look invades his features, fierce and void of lust. I snap one more picture, then let the camera hang and go back to stroking myself.
Sparkle starts again, slowly, and for her trouble Spike gives the ties another tug. She groans and fights for air, but keeps her hips rocking. Spike pulls harder and harder with every buck, crushing her. I watch him watch Sparkle turn blue, then a new shade of purple, his eyes sharp and sad and too, too sexy. I stroke my clit, and I watch Sparkle’s hips rock, and I pray to Celestia that Spike doesn’t stop until Sparkle’s ribs pop and poke through her purple hide.
“Mmmm…hurt her for me, sexy,” I moan, wishing I were down there with him, squeezing new shades of purple into Twilight’s face. “Tighter, sexy. That’s it. Tighter for me.”
I throw my head back, shut my eyes, and relish in Twilight’s brutal suffocation. I picture Spike’s little cock in his hand, his tail in her snatch; and I huff and rub my clit and—
And then my eyes are open, and I’m staring down at Spike, and he’s staring back, squinting at me in the dim light.
I freeze. Hold my breath.
He squints. Tilts his head.
Then his eyes shift, scanning the bookshelves, and I push out a relieved sigh. He may have heard me moaning, but he can’t see me. Guess the stupid invisibility cloak works after all.
The sudden rush of nearly being caught only boosts my arousal. I run a hoof across my chest and rub my clit harder and faster, feeling invincible.
Blinking, Spike forgets about the phantom moans coming from overhead and returns his focus to Sparkle. He keeps pulling the ties as he bears down and mashes his mouth against hers.
Sparkle’s hips stop rocking. She lies still, not moving a muscle.
Spike licks her bruised face up and down. Then, abruptly, he bites the edge of the duct tape and tears it from Sparkle’s mouth.
“Please…st-stop…” I hear Sparkle’s voice for the first time, and she sounds deliciously weak and terrified.
“I’ll stop when you finish,” says Spike.
“I can’t…breathe.”
“Finish.”
Spike slips the unicorn a mouthful of tongue, and she’s too weak to turn away like before. I smell sulfur for a second time as he exhales into her mouth, filling her lungs with smoke. Her chest heaves violently and she starts coughing like she won’t ever stop.
I love the sound of Sparkle hurting and so does my big, strong, domineering dragon. He grabs her temples and tilts her head, deepening the steamy kiss. He tries to pound her snatch with his tail, but he’s too short to kiss her and reach her hole at the same time. Frustrated, he settles for dry humping her chest, his hips bouncing with reckless abandon, almost comically. He’s close to coming, I think. I up my own pace. Try to sync my orgasm with his.
We’re a stroke away from coming when suddenly Sparkle’s horn flashes and a spark zaps Spike in the eye. He reels backwards, clutching his face, cursing.
“Bitch!” He spits the word at Sparkle as he reaches for the black cylindrical object he brought in with the rags. He flicks his wrist, and I smile big when I see what the back cylinder is. It’s telescoping baton. I put my climax on hold and pick up my camera. This next part should be good.
Sparkle begs for mercy between gasps, trying to catch her breath, but Spike is livid now. He picks a single spot on Sparkle’s side and strikes it repeatedly, beating her until an angry red welt appears on her hide. I grimace a little and I snap off a dozen or so pictures of metal crashing into skin, rising, then crashing again.
“You bitch!” Spike growls, laying into her.
“Please, Spike!” Sparkle cries.
Spike ignores her. Hits her. The thuds are mean and sickening.
“Spike, stop,” Sparkle tries again, her voice carrying a bit more weight now. I don’t know where the extra bravado comes from, and I’m too turned on to care.
Spike puts his back into the next few swings, sweat flying from his scales.
“Spike, I said stop. Now.” Sparkle pushes the order through gritted teeth, and there isn't a trace of weakness, fear or pain present in her voice.
Spike freezes and so do I. He holds the baton over his head, glances up at it, then down at Sparkle, confused. “Wait. Stop as in stop.”
“Yes,” Sparkle mumbles.
“No,” I whisper aloud as I lower my camera, watching the erotic nightmare end with my own eyes.
“Stop, like safety word stop?”
“Yes.”
“No! Holy freaking horse apples—no, no, no!”
“Wait, wait, wait. So you mean stop as in—”
“Take off the cuffs,” Sparkle groans, sounding like she might vomit at any moment.
“Ughh,” I grumble. “Why does this always happen to me?”
Spike gives a start, then drops the baton and uses an index claw to pick the lock on Sparkle’s cuffs. Once free, she groans and folds into a ball on the bed, hugging herself tight. Spike places a comforting claw on one of her shoulders, whispering little nothings. He kisses her cheek tenderly, removes the blindfold—and for a few seconds I’m genuinely dumbfounded.
Everything changes. The mood shifts from hot to cold in the blink of an eye. The madness subsides and something lukewarm, docile and no fun at all takes its place.
“You okay, Twilight?” Spike says, his voice suddenly dripping with concern. “I’m sorry, was that too much. I just—I really wanted to get it right this time, and—”
“Take off... the corset…” Sparkle pants. “Can’t…breathe…”
It’s Spike’s turn to be submissive. A little part of me dies as I watch my strong, domineering dragon scramble to slash the corset from Sparkle’s torso. He accidently nicks her back as he frees her. It’s a small, superficial cut, but it pushes Sparkle over the edge.
She sits up slowly and says, “My goodness, Spike! What was all that just now!” She makes a face like she wants to scream, but she’s too beat up and can’t muster the strength for it.
Spike turns into a jellyfish. He twiddles his thumbs and mumbles, “Sorry, Twilight.”
“Don’t just say ‘sorry Twilight’, like you always do. You could have seriously hurt me.”
“Well, you could’ve put my eye out,” Spike fires back, finding a little backbone.
“Well if you hadn’t been filling my lungs with smoke and strangling me,” says Sparkle. Spike tries to make nice and kiss her again, but she winces and pulls away. “And look what you did my face? How am I supposed to explain this to others tomorrow?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want hear how sorry you are.” Sparkle says. “I just want you to get it right for once.”
“Why didn’t you say the safety word?” Spike counters. “How am I supposed to know to stop if you don’t say the safety word?”
“I couldn’t remember it,” Sparkle admits. “I couldn’t think straight with you bashing my face in.”
“You never remember it.” Spike throws his hands up. “It’s octagon. It’s always octagon, Twilight—it doesn’t change.”
“Well…” Sparkle pauses a moment, clearly at a loss. “It’s a stupid safety word.”
She’s right. That is a freaking stupid safety word.
“You picked it!” says Spike.
“Oh, don’t blame me. Take some responsibility for once.”
I yawn and listen to them go back and forth as I contemplate my exit strategy. These things typically end with Stripe kicking the shit out of somepony before I reveal myself and state my terms. That’s not an option tonight though, since I’m dealing with Twilight Sparkle, the freaking Element of Magic. Sparkle is one pair of wings away from being an alicorn. I try that crap with her and she’ll probably turn me into a potted plant and sit me on her bedroom windowsill. I’ll have to sneak out once they yelling stops and they go to sleep. Could take a while.
Eventually Spike throws me a bone. He hops down from the bed and starts to storm out, thoroughly pissed off.
“Where do you think you’re going?” says Sparkle. “Get back here and finish what you started.”
“There’s no pleasing you,” says Spike, wheeling round to face the unicorn. “Last time you complained I went too easy. Now you say it’s too much. All you do is whine and tell me what a lousy job I’m doing.”
“I do not,” Sparkle says defensively.
“Yes you do,” says Spike, marching back toward the bed. “You lay there on your back and like a log while I do all the work. This is relationship, Twilight. I have needs too.”
“Oh, So I let you tie me up and beat me half to death for close to an hour, but I’m the selfish one,” Sparkle says. “Do you even care that I promised to join Rarity and Fluttershy for their spay day tomorrow? What am I supposed to tell them when they see this.” Sparkle points indignantly at her battered face.
“Tell them you loved it, you little slut.”
Sparkle gasps and covers her mouth, apparently offended. “You take that back this instant.”
Spike huffs, turns his back and makes for the door again.
“Get back here!” Sparkle shouts. “I’m not through with you!”
“You’re a mess, Twilight,” he says without looking back. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“We’ll talk about it right now,” says Sparkle.
Spike doesn’t listen. He keeps walking.
“Don’t you shut me out again, Spike,” Sparkle warns. “If you walk out that door, that’s it. We’re over.”
Spike stops at the doorway but doesn't look back.
“I mean it, Spike.”
“Fine,” says Spike. “I’m sick of bending over backwards to please you anyway.”
Sparkle shakes with anger. “As if you could ever please me with that little toothpick between your legs.”
The dragon's eyes flare. His fists curl at his sides and he transforms back into my strong, domineering dragon.
“Twilight,” he says, struggling to keep his patience. He marches back to the bed and sticks an index claw in her face. “Take. That. Back.”
“Get up here,” says Sparkle, using her magic to put the blindfold back on, “and make me.”
Overjoyed, I fumble with the camera.
Spike pounces on Sparkle, shoving her onto her stomach.
“There’s my little fire-breather,” she purrs as Spike uses the shredded corset to lasso her front hooves behind her back. She starts to say something else, but Spike grabs her neck and slams her face-first into the headboard. My clit aches for a good stroking as I snap a pic of Sparkle’s smashed nose. He lets her sniff and cough and spit before feeding her another helping of headboard. Then he shoves her off the bed and drags her to the center of the room, manhandling her and making it look easy. Spike might be a baby dragon, but’ he still a dragon, and that puts him in a completely different weight class from us ponies.
They fall back into their roles like they never stopped. Sparkle tries slink away with her hooves tied, looking like a slug inching across the floor. Spike walks beside her, watching her with an angry leer.
“So I’m tiny, am I?” He kicks her in the side, making her bellow and roll onto her back. “So I can’t please you?” He kicks her again. “Does this please you, slut.” Again. “How about this?” Again. Again.
He lands a kick to the welt on her side that makes her scream for mercy. Then he clamps a claw around the welt and squeezes and twists until Sparkle cries.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. “I didn’t mean it.”
I take advantage of the shift from bed to floor and change my own position. I float down and land on the bed. It smells like him. Like sulfur and lust and power. I take a big whiff of the sheets, then throw my legs wide and get back to working on myself.
Spike pins Sparkle on her back and mounts her, letting his cock rest on her black and blue cheek. “Didn’t mean it, huh?” he says, patting her cheek with his erection.
“No, I didn’t,” Sparkle yelps. She yelps again when Spike slaps her in the mouth. “I didn’t, I didn’t! It’s big. It’s so big I want it inside me.”
Spike grabs her mane and tilts her head. “Tell me where?”
“Between my thighs,” she begs, splaying her legs wide.
Spike slaps her again, harder this time. “Where was that?” he repeats.
“I-I mean my mouth. I want you in my—”
Another slap. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that,” Spike taunts, rubbing his cock against her cheek. “Tell me one more time where I should put it.”
“Where…” Sparkle pauses to think. “…Where ever you like,” she says, finally putting the pieces together.
Spike tugs her head forward and shoves his little prick between the mare’s lips. He laces his fingers behind her neck, lifts her head off the floor, and starts pounding his cock in and out of her mouth. It’s not much, but it’s still more dick than poor Sparkle can handle. She gags. Her back legs kick. Her eyes water, wetting the blindfold.
Spike doesn’t let up, and doesn’t let Sparkle suck him off either. It’s less a blowjob, and more just him fucking her face.
“Does that please you, slut,” Spike grunts.
“You have no idea, sexy,” I whisper into my hoof. I reach for the discarded baton still lying on the bed and use it as an improvised dildo. It’s still warm from when Spike held it. Still smells like him. I bury it deep and buck my hips, riding the baton and wishing it were Spike’s cock or his fat tail.
Spike and I work toward a big finish. Our rhythms deteriorate. His pumps get short and spastic, and so do I mine.
My big, strong, domineering dragon comes hard. Without warning, his back goes rigid and his tail curls and he doesn’t give poor Sparkle any kind of heads up. With a grunt and a long smoky exhale, Spike nuts in her mouth, filling her cheeks with sticky dragon spunk. He grinds her face against his pelvis as he quivers and rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm.
“Swallow it,” he grunts, eyes shut, head thrown back.
Sparkle puts up a game effort, but it’s a big load. When Spike finally lets her go, she lays a battered cheek on the floor, coughing as she hacks up most of the white stuff.
Spike slaps her again. “I said swallow.”
“I’m sorry,” Sparkle whimpers, breathing heavy on her back.
Spike stands. He rolls the mare onto her stomach, grabs her by the mane, and grinds her nose in the puddle of cum.
“Well?” he says, waiting.
Sparkle’s tongue creeps out of her mouth and laps at the dragon spunk.
My orgasm rocks me as I watch one of the most humiliating things I’ve ever seen. My hips spasm and my wings spread and sweat rolls down my face. I moan into my hoof, and the effort it takes to stay quiet almost hurts.
“All of it,” Spike demands.
“Yes,” says Sparkle. “Whatever you want, Spike.”
Sparkle mops the floor with her tongue. She’s a rough something to look at—a bloody heap of spent muscles sprawled across the floor. A lesser pony would’ve passed out by now. I don’t know how she does it, but Sparkle can take a beating.
Spike grinds the unicorn’s face against the floor until the mess is clean. I peek through my viewfinder, zoom in close and capture a gorgeous freeze frame of the world renowned Element of Magic eating cum off the floor. It’s a freaking marvelous shot.
The three of us are spent. We bask in the afterglow of things done in dark, wallowing in our depravity and loving it.
Spike catches his breath first. He scoops up Sparkle and half-carries, half-drags her back to the bed in the middle of the library. I make sure to flutter away before they reach the bed, reclaiming my spot on the bookshelf.
Spike lays his lover down on the sheets. He leaves the room and returns carrying a small white box under his arm, as well as more rags.
Whispering tender nothings as he works, he removes the blindfold before cleaning and bandaging Sparkle’s face. Once her face is finished, he sees to the rest of her, rubbing creams and ointments on her cuts and burns. Sparkle tries to kiss his him a few time while he's working, but he coos and gingerly pushes her away, insisting that she settle down.
“Twilight, relax,” he says, laughing as Sparkle wrestles him onto his back, playfully. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
She ignores his warnings and peppers his face with pecking kisses. He kisses her back, pressing his lips against a bandage under her right eye. Sparkle winces but doesn’t stop. She smothers the dragon in kisses, her hooves stroking his neck and shoulders.
They snuggle. Kiss. Wrestle. Giggle. It’s…actually kind of sweet.
“That was much better,” says Sparkle. She lies down beside Spike and takes his hand between her hooves, kissing it.
Spike beams, content. Then he touches Sparkle’s bruised face, frowns and turns away.
“You’re not still mad, are you?” Sparkle wraps her forelegs around the little dragon and holds him close. “Look…I’m sorry I said that about your…” Suddenly Sparkle gets all modest. Her voice trails off and she blushes like some dopey, doe-eyed virgin. I almost gag watching her.
“It’s not that,” says Spike, turning in Sparkle’s grip to face her. “I’m just not feeling good about”—he circles her face with a claw—“all of this.”
Sparkle sits up, leaning on her elbows. “Don’t say that. What, you think I can’t take a little punishment?”
“No, it’s just…” Spike moves to the end of the bed and lets his legs dangle over the edge.
“It’s just what? I thought you liked our role playing.”
“You don’t know what I like, and you don’t care,” says Spike. “I only do that stupid domination stuff to make you happy.”
Sparkle drapes herself across Spike’s back, hugging him and resting her head on one of his shoulders. They’re broad for a dragon his size. “Of course I care,” she says.
Spike stays clammed up.
“You’re right, Spike,” Sparkle continues, “I’ve been selfish and inconsiderate of your feelings, and I don't want you thinking you need to hide those feeling from me. Tell me what you want. Tell me right now and I promise I’ll listen.”
She nuzzles his face.
He nuzzles her back.
“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he says. “I love you, Twilight. It hurts me to see you in pain.”
I peek through the viewfinder and use one of my last pictures to immortalize the moment their eyes meet. I don’t want to make a big thing of it, so I’ll just say it’s a nice shot. The kind that reminds photographers why they love taking pictures in the first place.
From my perch on the bookcase, I watch Spike and Sparkle make love. They sweat and pant, and their bodies rock and sway together, and they moan each other’s names long into the night. They don’t “become one,” or anything as dramatic as that, but it’s still an amazing sight behold. Real love usually is.
It ends with Sparkle passed out on the bed, battered and completely spent. Spike covers her with a blanket, kisses her forehead and wishes her a good night. Then he sits at the edge of the bed and pushes out a long, satisfied sigh.
“You can come down now,” he says casually. “Twilight’s a deep sleeper. She won’t bother us.”
“Holy freaking horse apples!” I almost scream. “You can see me!”
“Uh, yeah. You’re lucky Twilight was blindfolded. She might have turned you into a potted plant or something had she seen you.” Spike looks up and smiles warmly. “Let me guess, Flim told you to wear the hood?”
“Actually it was Flam.”
“Yeah, I fell for that one too,” he says. “Those guys could sell water to whale.”
Spike laughs and waves for me follow him. We’re on the balcony a minute later, staring out at eerie nighttime Ponyville. It’ll be dawn in a few hours.
“Tracy, right?” he says. “Trouble you for a smoke?
I dig a pack of cigarettes from my saddlebag and hand him one. I offer him a light. He declines.
“I got it,” he says, putting the cigarette in his mouth and blowing gingerly. When the end starts to glow, he takes a long drag and exhales through his nose.
“How do you know me?” I ask, lighting up a smoke myself.
“You’re the pervert from the papers,” he says. “You travel all around the country spying, stalking, and basically being the world’s greatest creeper. You’re kinda famous.”
“The papers don’t use my name.”
“Yeah, but you work for one of the papers. The Manehattan Post, right?” He takes a drag and smirks, knowing he’s right. “Twilight reads all the major papers, so there's always a copy of the Post laying around here somewhere. And I couldn't help but notice that every time the ‘Serial Stalker’ makes an appearance in the Post, the article is written by photojournalist Tracy Flash. You’re so vain you write your own stories. Bold—but then so is spying on Celestia’s favorite student.”
“Damn. And I thought Sparkle was the sharp one.” I blow a smoke ring. “Well if you know who I am, then you must know how this ends.”
“Blackmail, right?” he guesses. That’s three for three. "Twilight pays you some ridiculous amount of money or you…do what exactly? Make the pictures public?”
“I can’t imagine Celestia would be too thrilled to find out her pupil is fucking a dragon. And a baby dragon, at that.” I drop my cigarette stub and crush it under my hoof. “Shame you have to hide your love. Personally, I think it’s sweet in an incestuous, Oedipus Complex kind of way.”
“Twilight isn’t my mother.”
“Noooo. Of course she isn’t,” I taunt. “She just hatched you from an egg, fed, clothed and cared for you your entire life. Nothing perverted about wanting fuck her.”
A self-aware chuckle leaves his mouth and drifts away on the breeze. “Says the pervert who sneaks into pony's homes and watches them go at.”
“Takes a perv to know a perv.”
Another laugh. “Why not just steal the money?” he asks. “You’re crafty enough.”
I shrug. “Not my style. I like to watch.”
“But it must get old,” he says thoughtfully, still working on his cigarette. “Sneaking around all time. Hiding. That’s why you write those stories for the Post, isn’t it? Because it gets old. Because saying nothing would make you sick inside.”
“Is that why let me watch?” I say. “Because you feel sick inside?”
He looks away. Drops the cigarette on the balcony and rubs it out with his heel.
“So,” he says after a pause, “how do I make this go away?”
I touch a hoof to my chin and think long and hard. Spike watches me with those too-intense eyes of his, unraveling me.
It takes a while, but eventually I make up my mind.
“Well, funny you should ask, little guy,” I begin, hovering off the balcony and shrugging as I speak. “See, I’ve got a bit of a problem. I might be a perv, but I’m a photographer first, an artist, and frankly”—I rub my brow in mock frustration—"the pictures I took tonight are terrible. The lighting was awful in that library. It threw my composition game completely out of whack.” I let out a dramatic sigh, really selling it now. “I can’t show these to anypony, let alone the princess. She’ll think I’m some kind of novice.”
Spike shakes his head, smiling. “Is that right?”
“Yep,” I say. “Guess I’ll have to make sure they never get developed. Such a waste.”
“That’s it?” he says, suspicion invading his features. “I’m supposed to believe you’d just let me and Twilight off the hook?”
“Oh no,” I say, “I still need to be compensated for my time. After all, I had to sit through all that boring arguing.”
“Fine,” Spike says. “What do you want?”
“A favor.”
“A favor?”
I tell Spike to run inside and grab me a chair.
“Will this do,” he says, coming up the stairs carrying a stool.
“That’s perfect,” I say. “Better, actually.”
I place my camera on the stool. Adjust the zoom. Turn on the flash. Set the timer.
I kneel down beside Spike, and he throws his arms around my neck, holding me close. We're cheek-to-cheek and grinning like idiots when the timer counts down, the camera chirps, and the flashbulb winks.
Our smiles are big and lively and shameless. The Spike trapped in that picture—in that beautiful fleeting moment of guiltless joy—has absolutely nothing to hide. And neither do I.
