The Pleasure Of His Company

Chapters

1: Waking Up
2: Deceived Twice
3: Showing Weakness

1: Waking Up

Her entire body felt simply dreadful.

Her head felt like she had two of the worst overlapping hangovers possible; every part of her body ached. A soft groan came to her ears, and she was already judging it as most unladylike before she realized she was making the sound herself. When she opened her eyes, there was darkness, complete and total, around her.

She tried to lift a hoof to rub her face; the action failed, and when she tried the other hoof, it failed too. Something leathery held her forehooves down at her sides; her rear hooves could not move either, and the same smooth texture held them fast too.

"Hello?" At least her throat didn't hurt. "Is . . . is anypony there? I am in dire need of assistance!" A faint scraping sound came to her from the darkness directly ahead of her. "Hello? Hello?!"

A light in front of her came on, piercing and bright; she shut her eyes in pain, but for a moment she swore the light that came on was not a single light, but a strange round array of lights, with a handle on one side. She had some dim recollection of where she'd seen that light. I saw those when I was getting treated for . . . but no! It couldn't be!

"Tell me, Rarity. Did you ever think it would come to this?" The voice was a stallion's, warm with a little rasp to it, the kind of voice she could listen to --

She gasped, and shifted in the restraints. I know that voice! "N-Neurotransmitter?" The doctor she'd broken up with some two months ago. How on earth is he here? Oh, who cares! He can help me!

"Mmmmhm," he murmured.

"Oh, thank Celestia's merciful heavens! Neurotransmitter, you have to help me! I have no idea how I've gotten here but I simply cannot get free! You must remove these bounds and help me find the scoundrel who has violated my freedom in this manner!" Some itchy little sense of trouble was in the back of Rarity's head; certainly, she and Neuro hadn't broken up on the best of terms, but --

"Rarity . . . I know how you got here."

"You . . . you do?" That itchy sense recoiled. He . . . he couldn't possibly mean . . .

"I brought you here. We had a friendly coffee at my place; don't you recall?" He chuckled, and it wasn't the same chuckle she could remember from Neurotransmitter; it was . . . colder. "I suppose you wouldn't. The drugs I added to your coffee are quite effective, but they do tend to give the subject amnesia."

"I . . . you . . . " For a moment, Rarity found herself at a loss for words. "Neurotransmitter! That is . . . that's simply despicable! Why in all of Equestria have you done such a thing?"

She felt a hoof touch her cheek, and knew it was his; that was when she realized she could not move her head, not even a little. The slightest effort to do so brought strange tension into her upper skull, as if . . . as if . . .

"Careful, Rarity. You won't want to dislodge the skull clamp. You haven't the strength, I suspect, but still, it's best if you don't try to thrash around -- "

"Thrash . . . !?" she cut in. "You monster! What do you think you're doing?! This is absolutely unacceptable!"

His hoof simply stroked along her left cheek, and his voice was suddenly warm breath on her on her right ear. She could feel warmth radiating from him, on the back and sides of her neck and skull. "Shhhh. I'm doing what I have to, Rarity."

"What you have to?! Neurotransmitter, I demand you release me immediately!"

"I will, love. Once I'm done."

"Done with what?! You are done now!" Panic fluttered in her voice. What on earth is he going to do to me?!

"You should realize, Rarity, that you're actually rather lucky." He brought his warm nose to the edge of her ear, the barest touch. "A lesser pony would have simply accepted it, Rarity. A lesser stallion would have simply . . . written their feelings off. But, I think you've realized by now that I am not a lesser stallion." His breath moved away from her ear, his hoof left her cheek; she felt some tiny relief at the change.

"You drugged me!" she spat. "This isn't love or luck! You're a criminal!"

"Yes, I did drug you, and yes, it's illegal. But if you look at the larger picture, I think you'll understand why." His voice moved in the darkness, but still, she couldn't see him. "I have motivation as well as intelligence, you see. A less motivated stallion would have written you off and sunk into despair. A less intelligent stallion than I would have simply taken you by force and landed himself in prison -- or, worse, succeeded, and disrupted the very Elements that keep Equestria stable."

Fear was sinking into Rarity's brain by this point. "Neurotransmitter, what . . . what are you talking about?" None of it made any sense. The fear produced a question she did not want to ask -- she did not want the thought to enter his mind -- but the question tumbled from her lips anyway. "Neuro, is . . . is it your intention to kill me?"

A gasp came from him; real shock was on his face, she'd know. "Rarity . . . " He actually looked hurt afterwards, too!

"You've . . . done all this," she whimpered. "What would you assume, if you woke up in such a state? Couldn't you have thought your life might well be on the line?"

The wounded look had not left his face. "Rarity, think. I'm not spewing inane babble here; I realize this is, ah, unusual, but listen to me! How would killing you leave the Elements intact?"

"It . . . wouldn't." She'd nearly missed that. It was hardly reassuring in any real sense, but there was the tiniest retreat of the fear in her brain.

"I'd be destroyed, Rarity. It'd be worse than I am now."

How he is now? As if I'd care, with the way he's treating me! "Then what are your intentions?"

He smiled a little at the question. "I found something better. I found a way to leave you connected to the other Elements -- and have you as a mate, at the same time."

"Mate?! How in . . . " She sputtered for a moment. "You say it as if we're simply . . . animals! And I can tell you that you certainly aren't winning my favor with this little operation!" She was trying to maintain dignity and shrill anger, but that fear was leaking out, her voice was faltering. She'd feared that this was rape; now, it seemed, it might be much, much worse.

"We are, in a sense, Rarity. But as for winning your favor . . . once I'm done, I'll be the stallion of your dreams. For now, though, Rarity . . . you should sleep."

She felt something jab into her neck, a sharp pinch. "It's time for the drill, and you really don't want to be awake for the drill . . . "

* * *

Rarity's eyes opened again.

The feeling was a double hangover, but with subtle differences; before, the taste in her mouth had been metallic-copper, and now it was metallic -- iron. Or steel. Yes, steel. Wait, is steel the one --

Memories came of her last wakeup, and with it came the effort; she tested her bonds, and all of them were still in place. The light shone through her eyelids, but then it turned off, and she opened her eyes again.

The completely dark room was now lit by appropriate, eye-undamaging lighting. It looked like the rooms she'd been in for her operation a year ago, when she'd needed emergency surgery due to a nasty knock to the head. I counted myself so lucky to be in Neurotransmitter's hooves then, she thought sourly.

"Neurotransmitter? Are you here?"

"I am indeed, sweetheart." He came over, peeling latex off his hooves -- latex with bright red blood on it. White grit was stuck in the red stuff; Rarity didn't dare think about the implications of it. "It was a success, in case you were wondering."

"Success? What do you mean, 'success'?" Her headache seemed to be different, too -- somehow it was further back now, or at least more intense in the back. Odd, that.

"I mean the implantation. I've added twenty-five microelectrodes to parts of your brain."

"You . . . " She trailed off as she tried to process that. " . . . you put something in my brain?! Neurotransmitter!" Tears were starting to wet into the fur around her eyes. "Why? I . . . I know I broke up with you, but . . . but I'm not the only mare there is!"

"You are for me," he shrugged. A faint little smile played on his lips. "There was only one problem, and I think I'm going to solve it for you. Once I have, everything'll be better. You'll see."

She tried to shake her head, but of course the clamps were still in place. "Neuro, no! Please! I meant it! I broke up with you because we lacked compatibility! I'm sure you've noticed I haven't dated anyone else?"

"Believe me, Rarity, I noticed." She'd swear that was concern on his face, but that made little sense. "I got a little irrational for a while -- I even hired a private investigator, simply to keep tabs on you. But when I realized how unhappy you were about our breakup . . . I couldn't just keep watching."

"What?! Neuro . . . that . . . " Isn't healthy, she finished in her head. She wasn't sure how she was going to convince him, but she'd certainly do all she could. Best to follow the emotional tack. If he cares for me, perhaps I can show him the error in his thinking. "Then why?! You know I cared for you, but . . . but this? This is beyond the pale! Why would you do . . . whatever it is you're going to do, to me?"

"Rarity, you broke up with me over a simple sexual difference, plain and simple. I still remember the word you used when I discussed my . . . preferences . . . with you. I believe it was 'unseemly'."

"It . . . is! They are! Neuro, for heaven's sake, I . . . I don't like pain! I don't enjoy it! You asked me to let you cut me, and . . . said I'd like it." She felt vague nausea deep in her body, knots that didn't want to let go of her insides. She realized her voice was approaching a whimper; she forced herself to make a logical -- yet impassioned -- plea. "You aren't the sort to force yourself on me, Neurotransmitter. You're not that sort of stallion! Surely you can see this isn't with my consent!"

He shook his head. "No, the procedure will not be. However, I can assure you . . . the love you feel afterwards, when things are all in place? It'll be as real as anything, Rarity. I may not be the sort of stallion to force myself, but neither am I the sort to simply let our love die because of some silly little aversion to pain. And you do love me . . . so once I'm done with this, you won't have any reason to leave me." He smiled, and it was truly a warm smile, even if it made Rarity shiver. Try as she might, Rarity couldn't exactly suss out whether Neuro was angry or loving; somehow, it seemed to be both sometimes, cold sometimes, warm sometimes . . . unpredictable, and hard to pin down. How am I supposed to try to talk a madstallion down? "That's why this will solve everything, I am certain."

Frustration was wearing on her. "What do you think you're going to solve, exactly?! You've committed a high crime, Neurotransmitter! And once I leave, and tell everypony, you'll be locked away for the rest of your life!" Anger flared; Rarity had been trying to keep it down -- No reason to upset the crazy doctor, after all. The manner in which he was behaving, unfortunately, was provoking her baser urges. "I can see no other recourse, unless you exercise some of your 'intelligence' and release me now! You could save yourself a lot of trouble if you simply undo whatever you've done, and let me go!"

"And leave myself unhappy for the rest of my life?" Neurotransmitter shook his head; that golden yellow mane shifted a bit. "Think about it for a moment, Rarity. I'm meant to save lives; how will I do that from the throes of depression? How could anypony? And you -- your regrets! You can't tell me you didn't wish things had worked out? The Boutique's been closed more and more lately, from what I've been told."

The stallion wasn't wrong about that last part. Rarity had spent many a night crying since then, convinced that if only Neuro hadn't been a . . . filthy pervert, then everything would have been just fine. "It . . . it was true, once. But now? Now you've drugged me and done Celestia knows what else!" Rarity was sure he hadn't been inside her -- she didn't feel sore there at all -- but she didn't like the sound of electrodes in her brain, either. "Now? Now I wish you hadn't turned out insane, Neuro! That's all!"

"Rarity, that's not how love works! Love takes more to kill than just a few months and a few little crimes. Ones which -- once I'm done -- you will heartily forgive, and even lie about to your closest friends."

"I will never defend you! How could I? This is indefensible!" She glared at him.

"I bet I can change your mind," he chuckled.

"This is not some little whim of mine! You can't -- "

"Rarity, do you remember when you accused me of thinking of ponies as if they were 'animals'?" he cut in. "Do you know why that is? I've seen their brains. I know how things work in their heads. I had to spend a lot of time learning about how to do brain surgery, and I have seen people's minds literally change. Sometimes their personalities; sometimes their memories. But when you say someone can't change your mind . . . "

He chuckled and nosed at a control console at the edge of her vision, and her flesh exploded with pleasure.

Moans came from her as she tensed against all the restraints that held her fast; without intending to, her back was arching. Her eyes shut and the delight coursed through her body, as if she'd somehow been given three full-body orgasms simultaneously.

It fell away, and she could feel tingles between her legs -- but this wasn't an orgasm, somehow. No -- this was something else, something . . . something even better than those pulsing pleasures she brought herself by hoof, or gained from another pony. This was utter bliss wrapped around a brick of love with a center of liquid desire.

His voice floated to her as her perceptions came back after the overwhelming sensation. " . . . you're quite simply incorrect."

"What . . . " She was breathless, blinking, stunned. " . . . what did you do? What was that?"

"That, let's see . . . was point one voltage, point zero zero two amperage, for a tenth of a second." He blinked and looked at her. "Electrical stimulation, to clarify. You see, one of the twenty-five electrodes sits directly on the pleasure center of your brain, Rarity. It'll be the primary one used to stimulate you during the, ah . . . re-education."

"But . . . it . . . " she whimpered. Nothing had ever felt that good. Nothing. Not even the time she'd been eaten out on the upper balcony of the Carousel Boutique with the sun shining down on her body and the soft murmurs of a mare vibrating into her pussy. No -- the best orgasm she'd ever had was nothing compared to this. Think, Rarity. THINK! Not with your plot, with your brain! "What . . . what do you mean, re-education . . . ?"

"The emotions you currently associate with me -- and my presence in particular -- are disgust and regret. I'm going to change that . . . manually."

She blinked, trying to shake her head again. "How?"

"With the electrodes. First, I'll need to do some sadly necessary aversion therapy -- just to ensure you don't try to tell the wrong ponies about our time in here. Then, I'll re-orient your feelings about me, and about pain as a sexual fetish. Once those are done, I'm hoping for something a little . . . advanced. But most likely I can simply remove the electrodes, and we can go on to the next stage of our relationship."

"Our relationship?! Are you snapped? Do you -- " He poked at the control panel.

It cut her off entirely. A wave of black depression united with coarse, absolute pain wracked through her restrained body, and the agony pushed a wail from her throat. A moment later, it was over.

"That's what'll happen when you feel negative emotions towards me," he murmured.

She hated herself for it, but she never, ever, ever wanted to feel that greasy horrid feeling again. "How . . . how did it hurt . . . ?"

"Pain is the brain," he chuckled. "Remember? When you originally had to be treated, how we mapped your brain and determined that you were experiencing neuropathic pain? That's part of the 'Bad Rarity' cocktail." He shrugged a little. "Not a great name, no, but . . . " He sighed and shook his head. "Honestly, love, you have no idea how much this all hurts me. I don't want to do this . . . but I know it's the right thing to do."

"Right thing to do?" Her tone of voice was inching towards outrage again; Neuro leaned towards the panel, about to poke it again. "Neurotransmitter, no, wait!" Rarity hastily applied a different tack. "Have . . . have you considered the possibility that you're not quite seeing all of this from the right angle?"

He trotted closer. "What do you mean?"

"What if there's something wrong with you? This . . . this is wrong, Neuro. Wrong. Think about this, for a moment! Imagine if somepony else told you that they were going to do this. Would that be a noble effort on their part, or a possibly insane thing?"

He seemed to consider it for a moment. "Somepony else? That'd be different. For one, they wouldn't have the training and equipment access -- "

"Damn it, Neuro! I mean it's wrong to do it at all! I'm not talking about the damned medical equipment!" He turned and moved towards the panel again; fear crashed into her brain as his mouth neared the machine that could stimulate her brain. "No, wait, wait, wait -- "

Agony, emotional and physical, washed through her body again, as if she'd become a sewer pipe for everything unpleasant in her entire life all at once. His voice cut through it a moment later. "Now, Rarity . . . who's being irrational?"

"Please," she whimpered, her voice small and wavering. "Please . . . no more."

He came back with a sad smile. "I'm sorry, love, I really am." He leaned towards her and pressed a warm little kiss to her cheek. "It's getting late. Tomorrow we'll do the aversion therapy . . . and then we'll see about helping you see the good side in all this, all right?" He brought a blanket over. "I don't want you to get a chill, though . . . but don't worry." He pulled the blanket over her; she whimpered in response. "I can make the room more comfortable, and hopefully you'll only be down here a week or so. With direct brain stimulation, the changes shouldn't take nearly as long as they would with clumsy psychological techniques."

Once he was done with the blanket, he did something she couldn't turn her head to see, off to her left. "There," he muttered, and when he came back he had a syringe that he promptly disposed of. "That'll help you sleep. I know this is hardly the sort of bed you're accustomed to, but . . . it's really for the best, to avoid the chance of secondary infections."

"Neuro . . . please," she said, and even she was surprised at the desperation in her voice; it cracked a few times. "I promise I absolutely won't tell anyone, if . . . if you just let me go now . . . " He turned and trotted and nosed that control panel again; she felt tears running down already-wet cheeks. Everything, just everything, seemed so awful and horrid -- and the pain in her body pulsed and refused her any relief.

"Thoughts of escape get the same treatment, sweetheart," he murmured, a note of regret in his voice. He turned and went up the stairs, but stopped at the top. "And please, dear . . . don't beg." She swore an edge came to his voice. "You have too much dignity to do that."

She'd said exactly those words to him when she broke up with him, and he begged her to reconsider.

Why? Why is he doing it? He's . . . he's a doctor! He could have almost any mare he wants! It wasn't exactly flattering but it was clear he had largely positive emotions about her. Perhaps . . . perhaps I can convince him tomorrow. I can point out the anger and the little bits of resentment showing through, and talk him out of this. Whatever else happened, she knew she couldn't handle the 'Bad Rarity' stimulation again. Anything would have been better than feeling that gray emotional knife of unhappiness and hurt, even dying.

Rarity . . . you can't let yourself think that. You've gotten through worse than this before! You can do it again.

Eventually, despite the growling hunger in her abdomen, the discomfort of her sleeping arrangement, and the insanity of her predicament, her thoughts grew sluggish and weak, and she fell asleep there on the table.

Author's Note

This is a test! This is me working on my Rarity-voice while trying to write a fairly extreme story. Chapter 2 is where the clop starts, and there will be plenty of blood, I assure you. Neurotransmitter didn't get into medicine for purely altruistic reasons...

2: Deceived Twice

She woke to him coming down the stairs.

"Good morning, sweetheart." The pained smile on Neurotransmitter's face suggested he felt bad -- but she could hardly be expected to truly understand a madpony, really. "I know you probably didn't sleep well, and . . . I am sorry about that. But there is some good news."

She blinked at him; he tilted his head a little, and uncertainty crept into those bright green eyes. "Rarity, come . . . regardless of anything else, you're never one to be a poor conversationalist."

There's that little edge in his voice again, she thought. I don't want to provoke him . . . "Please, tell me the good news, I . . . I can hardly wait to hear it."

The smile on his face became a little more . . . even. "Now, that's the indomitable spirit of the mare I love! Well, the good news is . . . I've determined that the aversion therapy can come in small parts." He shook his head. "I spent a good portion of last night reviewing research. My conclusions were wrong. I won't need to spend a long while providing negative reinforcement, and then a long while providing positive. We can have them during the same days, as long as you're consistently getting negative stimuli for unwanted behavior, and positive stimuli for wanted behavior." His smile had grown wide by the end of the explanation.

"That's, ah, lovely?" She swallowed. Very reassuring, in no sense of the word at all. How in Celestia's name am I going to get out of here? Wait, he did say 'good news' . . . that presupposes 'bad news'. What could possibly be worse than this?

"Now, Rarity . . . I do have a bit of bad news." He swallowed and drew a very, very deep breath; she braced herself for the absolute worst. "Your mane is gone," he finally said.

She blinked for a few moments; even with all of these horrible things happening around her, somehow that was just one indignity she hadn't expected. "But, at . . . at the hospital, before, you had left it intact . . . "

"It was a different part of your brain, darling. I'm sorry; this time I had to get into the very foremost part of the frontal cortex. It was right under the front third of your mane, and I knew you'd feel incomplete with only part, so . . . I simply shaved it all."

Her brow furrowed for a moment, and her eyes flicked to the console in the other corner of the room. Can I lie my way around this? He's smart, but he's not as good at reading ponies as I am, is he? "I . . . won't claim it makes me happy, but . . . it makes sense that you had to, if you were going to do that." She tried not to grit her teeth. My mane! Oh, Celestia, will this never end? The horror layered with indignities . . .

"It didn't make me happy either, sweetheart, but . . . I knew it had to be done." He shook his head. "I couldn't imagine going another month without you! I . . . I felt I would simply die, if I tried . . . "

She tried to make herself summon up sympathy, and it almost worked, but finally she just closed her eyes. He feels sorry he had to cut off my mane?! What about me? What about this horrid situation?

He trotted past her, poking at things she couldn't turn her head to see; a few moments later, she felt the strangest movements at the side of her head. "Stay still, please. I wouldn't want this to hurt you more than it already has . . . and you'll be able to move your head again, in a few minutes."

Finally! Oh, my neck is so sore . . . she thought, and did her best to stay still. Three points of pain blossomed, pain she'd simply stopped recognizing since it had become constant, around her skull. And I cannot imagine what my mane looks like at this point -- oh, Rarity! That's hardly the biggest concern you currently have!

"There we go. You should be all right to move your head. Here, one . . . mmmf . . . moment . . . " He did something with obvious difficulty, his voice dipping towards the floor, and then the upper half of the table she was laying on started to tilt upwards, bringing her into a reclining position. Not a table -- a bed. It doesn't seem even as padded as the ones at the hospital were, she thought. "That should be a little better."

"It . . . it is, Neuro," she murmured, uncertain of herself. "Thank you." She didn't want to be nice to him -- this little escapade was absolutely drowning out anything good about the stallion she'd actually said those three little words to -- but at the same time, she didn't want to set him off again. Neutral responses, unless that upsets him. That's a good course for now. Politeness under fire is the order of business.

He was silent, save for a sharp intake of breath.

She hesitated, but then curiosity drove her to say something. "Neurotransmitter . . . ?"

"Oh! Yes, I . . . sorry." He trotted from around, and this time she could turn her head to look as he did. Aches flowed through her neck as he came into view, but she knew the soreness would only get worse if she didn't work the muscles a bit. "I got a bit . . . distracted."

She caught a distinct tug at the center of his forehead, and recognized it in an instant, even in her sorry state of being. Guilt! Perfect! Let's see why he's feeling guilty. Gently, now, Rarity . . . can't poke too hard, or he'll go over to the console again . . . "Distracted? Whatever were you distracted by? Come, now, Neurotransmitter . . . " Maybe do something borderline flirtatious? Her stomach tightened at the thought, but she pushed it out all the same. " . . . you can't leave a girl wondering."

He looked at her, then gave a sad little shrug. "There was some blood trickling down from where the clamps held your skull, and . . . "

Oh, goddess, not this. He'd spoken to her of blood, and blood had been there during their first two sexual encounters, but she hadn't known. If she'd known, she'd never have let him anywhere near her, certainly not into her bedroom at the boutique.

"I . . . I can smell it, Rarity," he murmured, still not looking at her. "I can smell it. And if I can smell it and see it, then . . . " He swallowed and shook his head. "I shouldn't be down here. I need to clean it up, and . . . and bandage, and then I can be down here." He almost seemed to tremble for a moment, and then he drew a deep breath before Rarity could think of anything to try to say. "Just give me a minute."

She bit her lip, then realized she had better be careful about doing that too hard, as he got a towel wet in the sink next to the bed. I don't want a repeat of what happened the first time, she thought . . .

***

He had been impressive, not only in social standing but in terms of his prestigious career; he seemed such a dedicated physician. Always busy, always trying to help where he could; even the nurses seemed to find him charming while Rarity had been recuperating, and when he'd asked for the pleasure of her company, it would have been an absolute crime to turn him down. The first date led to the second -- any faint whiff of clinical detachment she'd gotten from him was simply a false impression, it seemed. It all fell away when he actually had spare time, and he seemed more than ready to make some available for Rarity.

The second date had led to a third, and a fourth. She'd introduced him to the rest of the girls. Twilight found him fascinating; Fluttershy thought him caring. Dash already knew of him; apparently the Wonderbolts had a somewhat higher incidence rate of severe cranial trauma. Applejack had been a tough nut to crack, but even she admitted she couldn't see anything wrong about the doctor, and that he'd seemed perfectly in line with Rarity's tastes. What was the term she used? I believe it was 'high-falutin''. Pinkie had even asked Rarity later when the Rarity's Officially Found Her Special Somepony Party should be held.

But, of course, Rarity had to know -- to be sure. And while she was certainly an idealist, she was no schoolfilly with delusions about first times; she wasn't a virgin, and she knew the good doctor wasn't as well. As much as a lady never kissed and told, several of her close confidantes had admitted they'd spent the night with him, at one time or another. Things hadn't worked out, but things don't always work out, do they?

No, they most certainly do not.

Her sixth date was when she decided she needed to find out.

That date had been a simply splendid evening out in Manehatten. They'd seen a show at the Coltacabana, gotten drinks afterwards at Smooth Ride's exclusive little no-name, no-sign club, then taken a carriage back to Neurotransmitter's house in town.

Once they'd come through the door of his home at Patches Place, she felt so sure she'd made the right decision. Her head was swimming a bit from the cocktails, sure, but he was very much a gentlecolt -- invited her in for coffee, and chatted with her for some while. They'd talked and talked, and she'd enjoyed the experience so much she felt a little awful for ending the discussion -- but she was looking for a bit of lubricant for the evening, so to speak.

So she'd drank her third coffee mostly down, and then -- in a great sacrifice -- 'accidentally' spilled it on part of her dress.

Sure enough, he started to try to deal with it, and she conveniently tried to help at the same time. Proximity brought a flush to his face, and she could feel one creeping along her neck as well. He started to say something, then lost track of it and started again. "I, ah . . . I'll just get a towel . . . "

"Neuro," she murmured, lifting her head and tilting her muzzle down just a touch. He turned back, blinking at her. Mmm, there we go. Now keep your eyes on his. Rarity knew that keeping one's pupils dilated automatically caused another to view them as more attractive; with the soft light, it wasn't hard to do, but if she kept her eyes on the thing she liked most about him, it would work even more so.

His smile seemed to shift, a subtle change; his lips opened a little more, and then one of his eyebrows lifted up just a touch. "Yes, Rarity?"

"Perhaps we can deal with the stain . . . later?" She tugged her lower lip into her mouth for a moment, trotting towards him --

She managed to trip over her own hooves. She had crashed to the floor, landing chinfirst and closing her teeth on her lip; warm blood leaked into her mouth as she made soft sounds of pain and landed on her side.

He'd come right over. "Rarity! Rarity, be careful . . . does your neck hurt?"

She shook her head. "No, no. Only my ego is bruised . . . and I believe I bit my lip. I can't believe I was so -- "

Suddenly he'd leaned in and pressed his lips to hers -- while she was still on the floor! It had seemed so deliciously primal at the time, and the kiss had pulled a soft moan out of her. His stare afterwards seemed . . . hungry. He'd seemed a little flustered a moment ago, but this was different. A deep burn of arousal on his face, his breathing much faster, a new tension in his muscles . . .

"I'm so sorry, Neuro, it . . . it was clumsy of me," she whispered. He didn't strike me as the type to find clumsiness attractive! Mmm. I'll have to remember that, next time. If there is a next time! Celestia, oh, let this night go well . . .

"No, no, Rarity . . . " His eyes flicked down to her lip again. "It's perfect. You can't even imagine how perfect it really is. Don't worry about the stain."

She hadn't.

He'd smiled and invited her to spend the night; she understood what it meant when a stallion asked it in that tone of voice, and she'd smiled and nodded back. They'd trotted to his bedroom, coffee completely forgotten, stain completely forgotten, awkwardness completely forgotten. Every time she, out of reflex, would suck on her lower lip, he would lean in and press his lips to hers again.

Rarity had bitten her lips any number of times before, of course. She wasn't going to let it slow down her evening; she was a lady, and poise meant handling a little pain now and then, whether from a dress that fit just a little too snug in one spot, or a pebble caught underhoof when Princess Celestia came by and it was time to bow. It seemed like he couldn't get enough of kissing her, somehow, and it was making warmth spread between her legs as they trotted an irregular trot towards his bedroom.

Once they got there, she moved in front of him, so that the bed was behind her, and put on a playful -- yet seductive -- smile. "You'd better come get me, before I step falsely again," she giggled.

He had -- he'd moved close, gentle pressure bringing her rear to the bed, and then she was on it; oh, the scent. He was high class, but he wasn't royalty; good with his hooves, but clearly well-bred. He'd used something for his laundry -- she could detect lime, basil, and mandarin in the scent of his sheets -- but he was still a stallion, and she caught the smell of his musk, too. The warmth of his body pressed against her, and his mouth was on hers; she could hardly help but arch into the kiss, and let herself be swept away.

When she felt his member press against her lower tummy, she moaned deep into his mouth, and he moaned back, then broke the kiss. Those green eyes watched her close, his breath on her chin, his body over hers.

"Rarity," he whispered. "You'll tell me if I'm being presumptuous, won't you, darling?"

"Oh, Neuro . . . of course." She couldn't help but stare into those delicious green eyes. "You're not being presumptuous at all, I promise."

His eyes had flicked to her lips again, with that hungry expression, and then she was lost in the renewed kiss. It's turning out just as it should . . . not like with the others! He shifted his body a bit, and lifted his rear; the blunt head of his warm, pulsing length nudged up against her sex, and she quivered under him, and broke the kiss, gasping for air.

"Rarity?"

"Yes, Neuro?"

"Are you all right?"

Oh, he is ever the dashing gentlecolt! Such concern, mmmm . . . I should make it obvious that things are going well, reassure him a little. "I'm a little more than all right at the moment, to be quite honest," she murmured, breathy, in a voice like fudge. She reached with her magic, gently gripping around his member near the base, and rubbed the head gently along her own outer lips. Her breath caught in her throat, but she was determined to tease him a little bit. "H-How . . . about yourself?"

He was chewing his lip, and his breathing was getting even faster. "I'd say I've never had it better," he whispered.

She leaned up to kiss his lips this time, finding hunger in herself to match his own; there was still the taste of blood, but she didn't care. She'd been thinking about this night for over two months now, and it was turning out to be everything she'd expected. Of course, not even perfect things were perfect, but what was a little bit of pain in her lip?

The kissing became more than kissing, almost licking at each others' lips; she could tell from the faint scent and deep warmth shifting between her legs that she was becoming moistened, but it wasn't fast enough for her liking --

"Rarity," he breathed into her neck; she moaned back. "Would you like a little bit of, ah . . . lubricant? I have some Wonderglide in the nightstand . . . "

Before he could finish the sentence, she had it in her magic, floating beside them, and he looked at it, then at her, with a wide, confident smile. "I keep forgetting you're a unicorn," he chuckled.

They shifted apart a bit; she drizzled slick cool fluid on her sex, then floated the bottle away to sit on the nightstand. She appreciated the offer more than he could realize; Rarity had found herself with a bit of a dryness problem on occasion, and one or two of her paramours had been a bit less than understanding. It's nice to be with a stallion who doesn't have some silly idea about how wet a mare's supposed to get, she thought, and the thought was warm as a blanket on a cold night.

Thoughts were pushed away as Neurotransmitter reached down between them, and she felt his warm-almost-hot flesh nudge against her own newly-soaked slit, pressing, insistent and pressing, and then they gasped together as his member spread her entrance enough to slide in.

Suddenly he was kissing her again, sucking on her lower lip as she panted, her forelegs around his neck, and he pushed in further, flesh that seemed almost hot stretching her, quivering as she did, and then he filled her. A cry of need came from her; a silly thought floated through her head --

I cannot imagine how my mane will look in the morning

-- but then he was licking her lips instead of sucking, and she was licking at his lips as well, and he was starting to retract and the sensation was delicious and overwhelming and tight, but then he was pushing back in and his hoof moved between them, finding her nub -- and then she couldn't quite think about anything any more, thoughts weren't what drove it, needs drove it --

She came, wrapped in his forelegs, crying out into the night shrill and wanton, and felt his own release a moment later, the tight pulse of tension in his testicles as they were snug up against her body, the release deep inside her, the lovely cooling bliss of his squirts and jets, the shuddering pulses that came at the end. Her orgasm washed across her with another earthquake as he was finishing, and she felt his hoof work at her nub with a little more insistence, trying to make her own release last as long as he could.

It was some while before she caught her breath again, but he'd settled down by that point, letting her pleasure taper off just when it was starting to get a hair painful.

"Neuro," she whispered, voice husky and even a little touch raw.

"Mmmm . . . " He stroked her mane. "Thank you, Rarity."

She giggled and stroked his mane as well; somehow, she'd found herself at a loss for something intelligent to say. With magic, she pulled the blanket up over the both of them. "Thank you, Neuro," was all she could manage.

That was the first night they'd slept together.

***

Of course, now, thinking back, she understood what he was really looking at -- her lip. Her bleeding lip. If only I'd known! How did I miss that?! Even now, she wished it had just been the kiss, or even just that night of passion, but . . . it hadn't.

Neurotransmitter was done bandaging her head. He leaned to press his lips against her cheek, and she turned her head away.

"Rarity . . . please, don't be like that. What if I'm right? What if you'll be perfectly happy once this little . . . issue . . . is ironed out?"

She kept her head where it was -- she had control of nothing else -- but she could hardly believe the idea. This stallion had seemed so delightfully perfect, and then turned out to be so . . . depraved.

As much as she hated to admit it, she missed him.

He was quiet for a while. "I am sorry, Rarity. I am. But I'll make it up to you; you'll see. Once your little issue is dealt with, things will be better." He leaned further and kissed her cheek, because she could only turn her head so far. "I promise."

"You promised a lot of things," she whispered.

"It was an honest misunderstanding," he murmured. "At first. Then, well . . . it simply became too important to let go." His hoof moved to settle over her right one, still held in the leather restraints that kept her on the bed. She wanted to squirm, but she didn't want to waste the energy. "You became too important to let go."

"Please just go," she murmured.

He went back upstairs.

She'd described their first night of passion in great detail to Fluttershy at one of the spa visits, and the yellow pegasus had turned deep deep orange, and squeaked something congratulatory. She'd half done it just to see the reaction, but she knew Fluttershy meant it, too. She had talked about it with the rest of the girls at one point or another -- collecting an unfortunate response from Applejack about her being 'out of season'. Really, Applejack!

Suddenly she missed all the girls than she cared to admit. She pushed the heartache away; she had a crisis she was dealing with. She had to figure him out more. How could I have been so wrong? So utterly wrong?

After that first lovely night, she tried to entice her way to his bed the date after that one, but things never quite worked out -- he would get paged with some emergency, or something would come up -- or, occasionally, he'd do something that ruined the mood, quite unintentionally. It seemed perfectly innocent; after all, he was a very busy doctor. It took nearly two months after before they had shared a bed again, but the one at Carousel Boutique. But that time . . .

. . . that was the night he'd revealed his urges, and the next morning she had unceremoniously removed him from her life.

***

They'd come back to her place, that night. She had chuckled and offered to make coffee, and he'd smiled back and accepted as graciously as always.

Small talk had given way, after a while, to Rarity . . . hinting. Hinting about the first night they'd spent together, and how nice it was. Neuro blushed a little and admitted -- not for the first time -- that it was a night of passion he'd never forget.

She was about to broach the subject of why they hadn't tried to repeat it any time soon when he'd approached her and kissed her, hard, too hard --

He was biting her lip, in matter of fact.

There was the faintest little snap of a blood vessel, and then she could taste it, and he was hungry again. His hunger fed hers, and it didn't take long before his gray face was as flush as her white one. Passion moved them along without attention to detail; their coffee, again, became cold on the table, forgotten.

They found their way to her bed, and in the morning, she had reflected on the delirious primality of the night before, his . . . intense need, sudden and unbounded. If only she could provoke it a little more . . .

She started immediately, that morning. Decorum be damned; she was still sticky with his issued seed down there, and he with her own juices! Her own bedroom, on a brilliantly sunny morning, with him right there, blissful and slumbering; she was going to have him.

She started licking at his neck, and soft little sounds of pleasure started to come from his throat; they gained intensity as she rubbed her hooves over his haunches, his chest, his sides . . .

Those green eyes had opened, and he'd smiled wide. Everything inside her sang when she saw him smile like that; bliss and lust stitched such a look on a face, and he reached towards her face . . .

. . . and brought back his hoof, with a droplet of blood.

I split my lip again? She blinked in surprise, and then he brought it to his lip and licked it, slowly, watching her, as if he somehow thought the act would . . . excite . . . her . . .

Pieces fell into place, but she had to know. "Neuro . . . what made you bite my lip last night?"

He looked like Sweetie Belle did when she had gotten into the cupcakes without permission . . . except he was also confused. Odd. "Why . . . wouldn't I?" He tilted his head. "Rarity, are . . . are you not, um . . . "

She swallowed. It wasn't me at all! It was the blood! "Neuro, please. Just . . . explain, if you would. It'd be best for both of us if we have an explicit understanding of the situation, I think."

Fear crept into his expression now. "I . . . I like blood, Rarity. I thought you'd kind of . . . picked up on it. You stumbled over your hooves at my place -- "

"I stumbled!"

" -- you're never that clumsy! You spilled coffee and then you tripped? I've never seen you even misstep before!"

"You thought I was some sort of pervert because I tripped?!"

Words flew back and forth, but increasingly she was rageful, and he was defensive and looking hurt. She didn't care! How unbelievable! How . . . violating! She'd gotten him out the door, not listening to his protests, not paying any of it any heed. She'd been used. She was a victim here. He was starting to cry -- boo-hooing about how he'd miss her, when he was the worst, most twisted sort of stallion! She wasn't having any of it. He'd not only assumed she was a pervert, he'd used her to satisfy his bizarre little cravings, his freakish little desires! She was just the first one who'd indulged any of it -- that was why he seemed so responsive, so feeling, so warm!

It was simply the worst thing she could imagine!

***

It wasn't any more.

Now, the worst thing she could imagine was being strapped to a table, her mane shaved and wires in her brain, waiting for her neurologist ex to come start turning her mind into scrambled eggs.

No, wait -- worst thing now? Not having to wait, because here he is, coming down the stairs. Celestia preserve me . . .

"I'm feeling a bit . . . better . . . now." He smiled, but there was still guilt on his face.

What? What is it? She was hungry to understand what twisted gears were turning in that broken mind of his. Rarity, you know better. Play to your strengths; move slow and probe. You can play him; you've got time. Use it. "Neuro . . . you seem so pained." She tilted her head a little, and gave a wince; his response to that was . . . a little more guilt! Excellent. If I can make him feel bad about what he's doing, I can eventually make him give this up, perhaps. She almost felt sorry for him. Once this failed -- or once he gave up of his own accord -- he'd lose his medical license, and almost definitely his freedom.

"Rarity . . . do you honestly think this has been easy for me?" He trotted towards her, and those green eyes spoke of pain. "I gathered that you think I'm . . . damaged. Let's say that's the case, for a moment. Then what kind of strain do you think that's left upon me?"

She sighed and looked away. "I'm sorry, Neurotransmitter, but . . . it's simply unacceptable. The thing you asked me to do, and the thing you're trying to do now."

"Why? What's wrong with it? If . . . if it's two consenting adults -- "

"No! It . . . " Her voice faltered as she looked back at him; he seemed to flinch. " . . . it doesn't matter, anyway. I am not consenting."

He smiled and came a little closer. "You will, Rarity."

"It won't be real, Neuro! This . . . look at me! Look at this!" She tugged at the straps. "Does this look like I'm consenting?"

"Not the procedures," he said, sighing. "And you'll still be you, Rarity. Just minus that particular . . . issue. We covered this territory already, yesterday, Rarity, don't you recall?"

"I recall the inane babblings of -- "

He'd already nosed the panel, and pain and depression flowed through her as sure as if she was a hose hooked up to a spigot of the stuff. She struggled in her binds, whimpering, crying already, shaking her head. "Please, please, j-just stop, Neuro, please . . . "

It stopped again, and she found herself feeling short of breath somehow.

"Rarity." He looked at her, almost with a stern expression. "I won't let you do this to yourself. I won't let you cheat yourself out of happiness out of some misguided sense of propriety! It's one thing to adhere to proper behavior in public most of the time, but you'd agree even that has limits, wouldn't you? Why should it matter what we do in private?"

"It . . . " She shook her head. "Maybe it doesn't. Maybe it is simply a preference on my part. I don't know! Please, just . . . don't do that again, Neuro, please."

He gave her a sad smile. "Soon enough, I won't have to."

That sent a shock through her. What does he mean by that?! He . . . he couldn't possibly be thinking of disposing of me? Could he? The fresh jolt of fear left a chill as it passed out of her; she forced herself to breathe slowly, bit her lip --

He was staring. Staring in that same way as before . . . and then he nosed the panel again.

Ecstasy coursed through her veins, washed through her flesh; she felt sure she was glowing, if only she could open her eyes. The thick needy moan that came out of her was accompanied by the creaks of the leather holding her to the uncomfortable little bed, and after it was done, she swore she caught the faintest scent of herself. Celestia, please don't let me be wet. I don't want to encourage him, I really don't.

He was close, when she opened her eyes again. Of course -- that taste in her mouth, again. She'd bitten her lip in the throes of the machine's electrical joy jolt, hard enough to draw blood.

"Rarity . . . look." He touched her lip; she turned her head, but he'd already gotten a red drip of it on his hoof. "Look. It's beautiful, sweetheart. I'm going to show you the beauty of it."

She kept her head turned. I will not let him show me, I do not want to see. She heard his hooves on the floor -- towards the console! -- and turned her head involuntarily, just in time to see him lick the blood off his hoof and tap at the console with the other hoof --

Again, the best feeling she'd ever had came into her brain through the electrode's stimulation. Oh, goddess, if I could ride this forever it'd be the best. I wonder if I can get him to just turn this on permanently. I couldn't think about anything at all any more, just the simple absolute bliss --

"Rarity?" There was something triumphant on his face, something . . . petty, that had been satisfied.

She blinked at him, panting; she could feel the spreading warmth in her body, the flush on her face. "Neuro . . . please . . . "

"You know why you've been down here, don't you?" His forehead was furrowed; he had the look of a parent after they'd delivered their first spanking. "I wouldn't need twenty-five electrodes just to make you feel good and bad, Rarity. I've been mapping your memories."

What? What could that possibly mean? Creeping fear pawed at her mind; she was still breathless. " . . . explain? Please?" Even just knowing would be better than not knowing.

"The details are a bit . . . technical, to be fair. I understand it mostly because I worked directly with the mare who developed it. I can give you the broadest strokes, however, and that should bring you to understanding, I think."

She swallowed and nodded. She was hungry -- no, wait. She wasn't. Why aren't I hungry?

"There are twenty-one emotional triggers available in the equine mind -- well, for pony races, anyway. There are theories about zebras, but that's not relevant, really. Those triggers -- in some combination and strength -- account for all the known emotional states of any pony.

"The system over there isn't simply built to send electrical stimulation -- it's far more complex than that. It's a feedback analysis system and a feedback tailoring system, built for suppressing certain seizures in the brain." He hesitated, and shrugged. "Certain seizures are presaged by specific activity patterns in the brain. For seizure patients, those electrodes can be installed, their patterns monitored, and then the feedback system can be set to trigger whenever the patient is about to have a seizure.

"Neuro . . . I . . . I'm having a little trouble understanding. Can you . . . clarify?" She understood just fine. She just hoped she was wrong.

He swallowed. "What I told you when you first woke up was a lie. It killed me inside, it absolutely did, but I had to. I needed you to think you had time, and go over experiences with me in your head. That way I could grab the valleys of mood activity corresponding to the disgust, and set up a feedback system to give you the Bad Rarity combination whenever you started feeling that particular disgust again."

She blinked. She'd been right, in what she'd understood. He was trying to make the thing automatically detect the disgust she felt about blood -- perhaps even anything sexual, she wasn't quite sure -- and systematically punish her for it, so that eventually she'd avoid even having the emotion.

"I haven't activated it yet, though." He tilted his head. "Tell the truth, Rarity. Don't you wish, just a little, that you had liked the idea? Don't you wish that?" She saw something on his face -- he was seeking something like acceptance, even forgiveness, from her.

Her resolve tightened like a wedding dress after ten years. "Absolutely not!"

He tilted his head. "I know you're lying, Rarity. I saw the look of anguish on your face after you told me goodbye; the private investigator told me how many nights you spent crying. It broke my heart." He shook his head. "I think you truly know on some level, that this is the right thing to do."

"Please. Neuro, listen to me! This is a mistake. This is going to remove my free will, in some little way! It's simply abhorrent! I . . . I don't want to be changed! This is wrong!" Nothing she said stopped him from turning, trotting towards the console, and tapping at it with his hoof. "Neuro, it . . . it won't be me. It will change who I am. Isn't that a possibility? A dreadful one, to be sure. Is that what you want to happen?"

He stopped, hesitated, and looked back at her. "Rarity . . . if it's not you when I'm done, there . . . there'll be other doctors who can fix you. But . . . I have to try." He turned back to the console. "I want you too badly not to."

"Please, Neuro! Please!"

He looked back after a few more moments, his hoof over a part of the panel. Distinct, unmistakeable uncertainty was on his face, and his lips were tight; she swore he was actually trembling. "This . . . Rarity, I hope this works. I wouldn't want to lose you." He swallowed. "Not twice. I couldn't bear it."

His hoof came down on the console.

3: Showing Weakness

She seemed to be holding her breath for a few moments, and then she looked at him. "Did . . . did it not work? I . . . I still feel like me . . . "

He sighed a little. "You're still you, Rarity. I'm not a comic book villain, and this isn't some gaudy, fictional brainwashing device. It's just built to operate on brain activity and provide feedback." He shrugged. "There will still be negative reinforcement for those thoughts we need to extinguish, but I've added positive reinforcement for certain stimuli. It'll be different, but it's not like it won't be you. It's just that . . . well, it'd be easier to show you. It'll be unpleasant for both of us, of course, but you know how I hate to see suffering." He took a scalpel, and then a deep breath, and drew a thin, expert slice across his own foreleg.

The thin whimper that came from him did not upset her. The blood that trickled down was not the disturbing part of his action for Rarity -- no, for visually oriented Rarity, the disturbing part was the look of sheer bliss on his face. Pain, blood -- the excitement didn't seem to be about control. And yet, he's concocted this entire ghastly scheme --

Pain arced through her body, along with a flowing miasma of unpleasant emotional content; the worst day she'd ever had in her life plus the worst pain multiplied by a million.

She found herself panting afterwards, blinking at him. "This . . . it won't work, Neurotransmitter. I won't let . . . let it change me . . . " When the bad stim was going on, it was absolutely horrible, but the thing that got to the unicorn was that it felt so damned exhausting after each application of it. Somehow, she felt like she hadn't slept in days, and she knew that wasn't true.

"Rarity," he murmured, before lifting blood up to his mouth with the other hoof, and taking a slow, languid lick at it. "What do you feel now?"

"I . . . " She blinked, and fear started rising again in the back of her head. "Nothing. Why do I feel nothing? I . . . shouldn't I . . . ?"

"It's subconscious," he chuckled. "If your brain gets enough signals that doing something is so horrendously unpleasant, after a time, it starts trying out not doing that thing. It isn't instant, and you'll certainly find yourself experiencing disgust again sometimes, but . . . for now, really, is it so terrible?" Can't hurt to make gentle suggestions about it . . . just don't push too hard, Neurotransmitter . . .

"It . . . " She hesitated, then closed her eyes. I can summon disgust, if I need to! This isn't proper! This isn't right! She tried to imagine disgusting things, to remember the feeling. Her most recent overindulgence of alcohol had left her, as Dash once put it, 'praying to the porcelain goddess'. That'll work! Remember that, Rarity! Try to think of it and blood --

More of the Bad Rarity stim wracked through her body; sounds of agony flowed out of her, and she realized she was crying.

Neurotransmitter's hoof sat on her chest. "Sweetheart . . . don't fight. Please, just . . . accept?" His voice was near pleading again. When did he come closer? "If you let it do the work, there'll be less and less of that to deal with. Doesn't that sound nice? Not having to feel all that awful stuff?"

She whimpered. I will not give up. I will not give up. I cannot! I . . . I can't be one of those perv--

More of the misery and hurt and depression and ache came, slicing the very thought in half, and she found herself nodding and bleating through tears. "Yes! Neuro, please! It sounds nice, stop it, just make it stop, just . . . make it stop . . . ! I cannot take any more of this! Please! I beseech you!"

"Shhhh . . . shhh. If you just let it . . . happen, love, you can do this with dignity." His hoof moved over her chest, warm and gentle, the way it had before. The way it had when she felt love about him, before she felt betrayal. I don't want my dignity! I want my self! I want my self intact! This isn't okay! This isn't -- The dots connected in her head again -- this was wrong, he was wrong --

She screamed and screamed, but the Bad Rarity stim would not stop for a good ten seconds straight as she struggled to chain together the horrible screeching agony and her ex in her head.

When she opened her eyes, his -- those beautiful green eyes she'd found so mischievous -- were closed, and the edges of his eyelids moist. "I should have known that you wouldn't go easy, Rarity. You aren't simply dignified . . . you have an integrity I could not hope to match myself."

His hoof reached towards her cheek, and hesitated for a second that felt like forever.

Please, Neuro, she found herself thinking, and somehow she could not even hate herself for wanting his touch. Comfort. Any comfort, anything. She'd missed him, and now, without the disgust, she could feel it more clearly.

His hoof retracted after a moment, the touch not applied -- but the twinges of anger that had been in his voice before he'd drilled into her brain were gone. She could sense something else, but . . . not quite. "I need to go for a while, Rarity. Please, just . . . try to think good thoughts?" It sounded like a plea, and somehow that seemed . . . sweet, almost.

She sniffled in response, and he went upstairs without looking back at her.

* * *

How long do you think you can keep this up, Neuro? It was that nagging voice of doubt in the back of his head. He could banish it when he was downstairs, when he had to be strong, to . . . to not show weakness. Rarity was the spirit of generosity, true -- but that came from identifying weakness, and that was the last thing he could possibly show here.

Neurotransmitter let himself take a deep, deep breath, and then trotted over to the couch he'd pulled next to the door to his cellar.

The room where you're torturing her, something in him said.

"No. No, it's necessary," he whispered, settling down on the couch. "Physical therapy is torture; it's still necessary. If someone has to learn to walk again after I cut part of their brain out, it is agony and it is remedial and -- "

You're doing this for yourself.

He forced his head into the cushions, as if somehow that was going to stifle voices in his head. "No, no I didn't. It's her. It's all about her, dammit. All of it."

A faint scream came from the basement, and he could only imagine what she was going through. He moved off the couch and made himself go to the bathroom -- for a day and a half now, since Rarity had come willingly into the trap, he had split his time between the couch and the bathroom. He was hungry, but she hadn't eaten; so he hadn't eaten. She wasn't hungry, but that was a small mercy he could provide, and she'd suspect that was his doing soon enough, no doubt.

He looked himself in the mirror. He could keep himself clean and washed but nothing could erase the circles under his eyes. Do you think you'll come out of this with a happy ending, Neuro? He'd been on leave for the past month, trying to get himself back to a baseline, get himself over that beautiful jewel of a unicorn, and it hadn't happened, and now? Now he'd done something irrevocable and absolute, a one-way street -- at least for his life. If it all failed, Rarity could probably be saved, with therapy and a bit of surgery.

Listen to yourself. 'Could probably'? You've risked her mind -- perhaps her life, even -- for something you think could work?

He'd had this argument with himself hundreds of times ever since that morning at the Carousel Boutique, and he's gotten good -- not great -- at stifling it. "What was I going to do? Let her be alone and miserable the rest of her life?"

Yes, because her gray knight has come to save her. You idiot.

"It'll work!" He realized he was shrill now, smacking his hoof against the mirror. "It has to! It must, it simply must. I can't lose her again. Just having her near has been . . . so good for me . . . "

Yes. Look at how well it's treated you, the doubt snarked.

"The theory is sound. The execution just has to be . . . flawless. Perfect, like her. And then it'll be how it needs to be. I'll have pulled it off. It'll be our little secret, a secret that binds us together, and . . . we'll be happy!"

Do you think that's even remotely possible? You know what anypony else would say if they found out --

"I don't care!" He smashed his hoof hard, and a crrk sound told him to expect the little spiderwebby asterisk of cracks he saw under his hoof.

The mirror had at least two dozen of them.

He trotted back to the couch with purpose. I have to be near her. He got himself down on the couch, legs folded underneath, and tried to make himself get a few hours of sleep, like he did at the hospital between double shifts. He tried to shut out the doubt, repeating to himself what had become his mantra during the past day and a half: I can't bear to see her like that, not . . . not all the time, but I can't leave her alone. I can't leave her alone, I can't, she shouldn't be alone, she should be loved . . .

He drifted off to his fitful sleep that way, as he had ever since the day he'd come home, humiliated and destroyed, crushed by a brilliant, furious anger from brilliant, glorious Rarity.

It was a few hours by the clock when he woke again, to another scream -- but this one was short.

He came down the stairs, ever hopeful, and there was his precious Rarity, with the most . . . embarrassed . . . look he'd ever seen on her face. It became furious a moment later, and then agonized --

Keep yourself together, Neurotransmitter. You can do this. You work in the brains of others; you can make this work, you just have to let the machine do the heavy lifting and . . . maintain composure. If she doesn't see a uniform motivation, this is going to be for nothing.

The agony ceased again, almost immediately, and she looked at him as a broken filly would, hopeful and uncertain, just as the scent of her 'accident' reached his nose.

"Neuro, I . . . I believe I've, ah . . . " Oh, for Celestia's sake, Rarity! I'm a doctor! I deal with it all the time! Well, not all the time, but -- Her lip trembled. "Please, could you . . . ?"

He nodded. "It comes with the territory. So much of medical school is getting over . . . " He shrugged. " . . . smells."

* * *

Once that was all dealt with -- unpleasant, but it was hardly something he wasn't expecting -- he took a look at the machine's feedback record.

Longer stretches of positive emotional responses . . . shorter periods of punishment. Excellent. "Rarity, I believe it's time for us to add something to your 're-education'."

A whimper came from her, and he turned instinctively; pain was on her face, but not the torment of the Bad Rarity stimulation pattern. Her voice was uncharacteristically raspy, and a pang of guilt drove through his brain like a nail. Dammit, I don't want to see her like this! "Neuro . . . I cannot take more, I can't . . . please, don't . . . "

He maintained his composure, and shook his head. "It's not the bad, love. Now that I know the bad is triggering the proper negative reinforcement, we can move on to the positive reinforcement."

Her eyes widened regardless, but he'd seen the look on her face when he stimulated her pleasure center; it was bliss no stallion, no mare, no drug could ever provide. He knew why she was scared of it.

When that pulse surged through her, he knew she wanted it again.

"Now, don't worry. We'll tone the pleasure stims down for -- " Dammit, Neuro. You almost told her the surprise! Don't do that. It'd be dreadful. " -- ah, never mind. The important thing is that it'll only be in controlled bursts. I want to help correct this little defect of thought." He waved a forehoof in the air. "It's not meant to make you an addict or something, Rarity. I just need something to get you past that initial issue."

He turned and set to work on the console, and she fell silent save for soft whimpers and faint creaks of leather.

* * *

She was terrified of the next part.

He had assured her he didn't want to make her an addict. Too late, she thought. It was hard to think about anything except that pleasure pulse, better than painkillers, better than drunk, better than the pleasure of company, better than . . .

Almost better than magic. Certainly more . . . concentrated. And like sex, only . . . more so. Sex squared. She could compare the feeling of it directly to nothing else. Warm glory moved through her like sunlight through water; she'd never, ever be able to forget it.

So her terror was not about the fact it was going to happen; it was about the fact that she knew she'd be unable to control herself about it happening. Whatever he was doing with the aversive stuff was working; she couldn't even maintain disgust about the smell of her very own . . . ahem. There are some things a lady does not even allow herself to think about.

There was also a thin terror behind all of that, a thought she found reprehensible -- but because it was not directly connected to Neurotransmitter, it seemed that the machine had no concerns about it.

That thought was that once he took the machine away -- once he was done with . . . whatever he was doing to her -- he'd remove the machine, take away the electrodes, and leave her without that glorious sensation ever again. The fear about that happening, that she would be restored to her previous existence, was why she now believed she was already an addict to that magnificent symphony of sensation, whether he realized it or not.

I have to hold myself together. I . . . have to, she thought. Otherwise, it'll all be over. Who will I be if he wins? What'll happen to me? I can't even contemplate it!

I cannot show weakness.

* * *

He finished and sighed, turning to look at her. He felt so tired he couldn't think; the last three weeks had been a blur of design and scrounging and theft. Design of the treatment plan for darling Rarity, scrounging of equipment and resources, and theft -- plain, absolute theft -- of the drugs he'd need to catch her and sedate her here and there.

He tapped at the console. "It's added. Certain stimuli will trigger it, and . . . well, you'll see." He trotted over and stroked her cheek with a hoof, and to his surprise, she turned her head against it a little.

"Rarity?"

She blinked. "I . . . ah . . . " Panic leaked into her expression again. " . . . I'm tired! Don't think this makes anything different! You're still a . . . " She trailed off, blinking, and shook her head. "I can't find the words, Neuro, what . . . what's happening to me?"

"Your brain's naturally making certain things harder to access. Not impossible -- nothing is truly impossible to be found, once it's in your brain, as long as your brain is intact. But pathways less often used are . . . discarded, over time. The process is a touch more rapid with the drugs I've got in your system." He reached up and tapped at something she hadn't gotten a good look at; out of the corner of her eye, she could see the hanging plastic bag, just like when she'd been in the hospital for treatment.

"Are you . . . using drugs to change me?" She could not have realized how afraid she'd feel of such a thing, having herself . . . altered. Yet here she was, in the midst of it.

"Only in the most roundabout way, Rarity. Think about it -- this is a process that takes weeks, even months, and can take years to undo. I've simply given you something to accelerate the process of changing your neural pathways. It doesn't change anything by itself, but it makes new changes in your brain's structure become entrenched much more quickly."

"You . . . " She trailed off again, as if outrage was a measuring tape she'd misplaced. The lost emotion gave way to confusion, and her voice was small when she asked, "Why?"

"Because I love you, Rarity. I could love no other."

She stared at him, trying to summon disgust, but she could not find it, somehow. If her mind was a highway, all roads simply routed around it. "I . . . I loved you once, Neuro. But if we're not compatible, it . . . " She trailed off, and despair flared on her face. " . . . it wasn't something I wanted to let myself suffer unduly over. It was simply an intelligent move to make a clean break."

"I understand, love." Yes, he thought morbidly. This is the thing, Rarity. Think in these terms. Because I can make us compatible, and if you're thinking it through logically, then I can fix everything.

I can fix us.

Confusion followed. "Neuro, I'm . . . sorry . . . "

"No, no. It's all right, Rarity. I have a present for you, of a sort." He smiled. "Something we didn't get to do while we were dating. I hate seeing you punished, but the rewards have to come with the proper stimuli."

"Proper . . . stimuli?" Fear flashed through her eyes again.

He nodded and turned to the table that seemed to be behind Rarity's bed; when he came back, he brought a long leather strap from under the table over her chest, and secured it tight on the other side. "Neuro, why . . . why are you doing that?" He looked in those beautiful azure pools she had for eyes, and saw fear.

For a moment, he wanted to stop. But the memory of those pictures and activity reports the private detective took -- Rarity sobbing by herself at night, Rarity shutting down the Boutique only to stay inside and lay in bed, listless -- spurred him to continue. Something is better than nothing, and if this goes wrong, then . . . then at least I won't have to be alive to see it. She can move on, and truly hate me, instead of hating the fetish.

He moved to the table, and selected a scalpel.

The look of fear on her face when her eyes saw it was painful and beautiful to him all at once; he recognized in it the simple primal fear of the blade itself, but something else was there, that fear anypony had before they'd been intentionally cut by someone who wished them pleasure.

Please, Celestia, let this help.

He came closer as she began to babble. "Neuro! Neurotransmitter! You . . . back away with that! Don't! Please! Please! Please!" He prepared and drew a breath around the mouthgrip of the thing, then, with deft precision, placed the point on the skin, and drew it across, slowly, opening a shallow, short slit in her upper left foreleg. One inch. Let her taste it.

Under the new instructions for the feedback system, the flood of pleasure would be triggered, proportionally, in response to pain itself.

Moans flowed from her like ribbons from one of Pinkie's party cannons; her legs made the lower restraints creak mightily. He caught that faint change in the intensity of her scent, too. Ruby red blood leaked from the tiny slit, welling on the white furred flesh, and his breath was taken away as hers was.

This is the moment I wanted. This is the moment I thought we shared. I could just live in this moment, he thought. He could only pray that eventually, after all these 'treatments', Rarity would let him.

She shouldn't be alone.

"What . . . ooh . . . " He couldn't help but watch her face; even now, with bandages around her bald head, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Rarity needed no mane to be beautiful. Even here, in barbaric conditions that could not be avoided, Neuro couldn't help but find the sight breathtaking. " . . . what did you . . . doooo . . . ?" The last word was elongated into a languid, stretched semimoan.

"The new program, Rarity. It's to help with the other problem. With time, you'll find the pleasure in this, even without the stimulation. I don't know what turned you off to it originally -- most ponies simply avoid pain, but it comes with a rush of its own, doesn't it?"

"It does now," she breathed out, looking at him, her eyes half lidded. His breath caught in his throat. I know that look. It's the look she had that first night, when I was so sure she would turn out to be like the others, and then she stumbled. This is the look of the mare I love when she is ready, and how I have missed it. Two months of not seeing that look, of seeing her, and I was nearly ready to kill myself.

"You . . . see, now?"

Cognizance was leaking back into her expression as the flare of stimulated pleasure in her brain died to a lower level. "I . . . see something. But . . . Neuro, this . . . this isn't . . . "

"Shhh. You need food, sweetheart. You're getting dehydrated." It was true, even if he really just wanted to preserve the moment. The less she speaks, the less she'll think about it, and for now, I just want her to look like that, to be like that, to feel that divine warmth.

"Food . . . " She blinked. "Neuro . . . why aren't I hungry? I was hungry at first, but I haven't felt hunger since the first day . . . "

He sighed. "Rarity, it's . . . it's complex. The pleasure center of your brain isn't very close to the surface, and I had to make a bit of a . . . sacrifice. But the important thing is that I'll get you some food and water, okay?" She's suffering, Neuro. You can't keep doing this.

"Okay," she said, blinking at him.

That blood called to him, though.

He hesitated, scalpel still in his mouth, then turned and let another slice cross her upper foreleg -- a shallower one, even smaller. Just a little bit more, my love. Ecstasy in the form of sound came out of her, and that smaller angry red line leaked blood down too. His sight caught on it again, and he couldn't help himself. Just a little. I know I said I wouldn't do anything intimate until she asked, but . . . it's right there . . .

Neurotransmitter hurried to set the scalpel in the dirty-tools-tray and moved back, bringing his muzzle close, closer while Rarity's squeals died down . . . and then he dragged his tongue along the two cuts, whimpering. Forgive me, Rarity. I wanted to have you ask me first but I am simply not that strong.

His first reward was the warm, delicious liquid on his tongue. Warmth tingled in his stallionhood just from the half dozen drops he'd licked up. Just like I remember, too.

The second reward was much more unexpected. "Neuro . . . please . . ." The words weren't what surprised him -- the tone was the surprise. He'd heard it, clear as day -- that was not just a plea but a needy plea of arousal. She can't be asking for touch already, can she? Be sure, Neurotransmitter. "Rarity . . . are you asking for another cut? Or . . . ?"

Her legs strained against the bindings; her hips shifted. "Neuro . . . " She wanted to ask for something she didn't want to want -- for him to touch her, for him to at least lay a hoof on her and simply make her feel touchable again. She couldn't imagine how she looked, with her mane shaved to nothing and a hole in her skull filled with wires. Rarity, you can't give in! You . . . you can't. But . . .

But he was the only pony she could get it from, and he was a stallion she'd loved --

No! Rarity! He's the beast that --

Vicious pain and self-hate sang through her flesh like a flood carving a riverbed in soft soil.

"Rarity? Please, just tell me what you're asking for," Neuro said. It was one of his tones of voice she'd missed hearing, when he was in an obsequious mood, willing to please her. It was strained, though. Somehow he seemed more tired, more desperate than before.

She was catching her breath again after the pain, but she shook her head. "Not another cut, Neuro, but . . . please, I'm . . . " She closed her eyes. Such an awful situation, and now I have to admit vulnerability on top of it. Ugh. "Just stroke my shoulder, a bit?" It's contact. It'll be fine. It's . . . nothing, really. Just a faint reassurance.

Something changed in his face, some little hint of relief developing. "Of course, love." His hoof settled on her shoulder, then moved along. "Like this?"

She nodded a little. Something was absent, something she couldn't feel, but what she could feel -- that strange singing pain in her foreleg, where he'd cut her; his breath washing past her nose with that scent of her own blood, the strange cool feeling of air on the flesh where her mane had insulated it. "Yes, Neuro. Thank you."

"Rarity?" He tilted his head a little. "You do believe me, don't you? You know that I'm sorry it had to be this way?"

She hesitated . . . but then, thinking of the fatigue in his voice, she gave a little nod. "I think you are sorry . . . at least to some degree." She swallowed; another absence, but it only seemed natural to make the generous gesture. "I can forgive you, a little. I missed you too, even with the dreadful circumstances." She said the words, but she couldn't quite grasp what had been dreadful, not quite. She knew it was, just not . . . how, or why.

His smile spread out a little. "Oh, Rarity . . . I can't tell you how it warms my heart to know you understand, even if it's just a little bit. Honestly, I'm . . . struggling with it myself, at times."

She nodded; she could remember the crack in his words, the way his voice had faltered. Oh, Neuro, she thought with a sigh. Somehow it had been all too easy to think only about what she was concerned about -- her own well-being -- but he'd been hurting too, in ways she had simply not seen. And all because . . . well, drugging isn't exactly proper behavior, but still, that was just cruel of me! "I can tell, Neurotransmitter. I can tell."

He sighed and stroked along her haunch. "I know you're not comfortable on this bed -- one can hardly call it a bed -- but I think things are progressing nicely, love. Hopefully soon we'll have things in hoof."

She hesitated. I did love him. I . . . do love him? The thought was a curiosity for a moment, and then a twinge of revulsion leaked into her skull; electricity followed, and it drove unhappiness and agony. She found herself a moment later, panting, blinking, producing undignified whimpers.

She looked to him for comfort, as she had in the past, and his eyes were so concerned. He does care, he's just . . . gone to quite a length. Celestia knows I've made a few mistakes like that myself, when I just got carried away with something.

He started stroking along her forehead. "See? It's easier when you let it work, isn't it?"

She hesitated. Some naggy little thought told her this was a mistake of some sort, but she was having trouble seeing the logic -- everything became so dreadful every time she tried to think about . . . well, whatever those reasons were that she couldn't quite place now. "Yes, it . . . it is, Neuro."

He seemed to struggle with something for a moment, and she was somehow reminded of that first night. The uncertain expressions he'd had, and the way she had lubricated the situation a little bit with some clumsiness. Of course, the clumsy wasn't what he found attractive at all, it was the blood.

Of course, everyone has their own preferences as far as it concerns . . . lubricant.

She chewed her lip a moment, then hesitated. She'd felt something, something troubling in some abstract way. I could just . . . bite. It doesn't take that much pressure; I did it by accident the very first time!

He watched her. His expression was the look of adoration he'd bestowed upon her, tempered with suffering and touched by just a thin hint of need. She couldn't imagine how this was for him -- the frustration. She knew his passion had been genuine, and she'd pushed him away regardless? How could I?

"Rarity," he said, his voice soft. "Would you let me . . . touch you?"

She blinked, hesitated. Her mind reached for something it could no longer find, an emotion it had misplaced due to the influence of those agonizing stimulations, and coming up short it grabbed the first thing it could find -- the memory of her first night, without the disgust she had cast backwards on it about his affections and what inspired them.

When she was capable of disgust about him, what she remembered was that he looked at her lip. But now, without that emotion available, there was only a single logical conclusion, and Rarity came to it.

He had looked at my lip! Certainly, the blood drew his attention, but it was attention-getting! Particularly cast in the lovely mood lighting, and on my perfectly white lip...oh, how could I have been such a fool! And he hadn't even asked, I practically threw myself at him and he understood. Now he's asking, risking rejection again, after I, I . . . sent him away like he was some disgusting monster!

"Neuro, I . . . " She nibbled at her lip -- not hard enough to make it bleed, not yet, I must deliver this in just the most perfectly enticing way -- it's what he deserves! She closed her eyes, took a breath, and bit her lip hard, until she felt that delicious warm fluid; electricity pushed pleasure through her brain, seemingly through her body. It's like a warm blanket over my form, like the one he gave me that first night and lovingly pulled over my chilled flesh! She forced herself to speak through it, even though her mouth wanted nothing more than to moan and suckle at the blood that seemed to be the source of the pleasure. " . . . would luh -- mmmph! -- love that . . . "

He gave a small gasp. She knew why, even with the aching need that kindled between her legs into a flame; he had not heard that word from her lips since she'd pushed him out the door, scorn on her face. She knew he had not heard it, despite the private investigator, because she had not said it since that morning. The very word made her somehow more depressed, as if love itself had been spoilt by the travesty.

His lips came to hers, and his hoof slid down along her stomach, further, further . . . it came to her breasts, deliriously close to her sex itself, and rubbed across from one side to the other. His kisses moved from her mouth to her neck, her shoulders, her forelegs -- until he was suckling on the little slits in her flesh, a warm hungry mouth stealing the trace flow of her sanguine fluid. "You still smell it, don't you, Rarity?"

I do! Goddess help me, I do... She found herself biting harder, and the touch of ecstasy grew into a flow as she sucked at the blood of her lip. He tilted his hoof so that only the tip touched, then moved in a spiral along one of her areola. "Tell me. Tell me, please, Rarity."

She hadn't attended to her baser needs since the night before he invited her to coffee, and even with the crashing terror that permeated her first day -- first few days, perhaps, she couldn't be sure -- she had missed it. And now, somehow, the feeling of all her muscles singing simultaneously in the straps, the scent of blood in the air like the lure for a jungle animal, and Neuro's scent and warmth and presence -- all of it was simply overwhelming! She had no outlet to try to control the flow of stimuli, save to shut her eyes; she did this, trying to retain a bit of rationality, of poise. "I smell it, Neuro, I . . . I do! It . . . mmmghh . . . it's so strange, so primal!" How did I not understand this before?! "Neuro, please, more!"

They were both sucking her blood as his hoof moved further down, tracing the most delicate touch along the outer petals of her sex; she released a loud, lewd moan, unable to constrain herself. The breath drawing through her mouth only made the flavor of the blood become more vibrant on her tongue. His hoof probed further, between the outermost flesh, tracing at the inner lips, and his mouth moved up to meet hers.

He didn't suck on her lip; he didn't need to. Her mouth tasted of it, and his tongue took from her lips and tongue what it wished. Slick, faint sounds became audible as he probed a little further, finding the gathering moisture that was collected at her entrance, and she moaned into his mouth, starting to suck on his tongue.

The surgeon's hoof was appropriately deft, working over the flesh of her sex. The faint slick sounds became a bit less faint, a bit more obscene as the moments passed; Rarity could not help but feel so vulnerable as to ache just from the gravitas of emotion that swelled in her. This is how I knew all those months ago! And I was right, I'm sure of it! It's actually even better with the change!

His mouth left hers as leather creaked and her body arched underneath his. "I love you, Rarity," he whispered, and her eyes opened to meet his brilliant green gaze.

So much was said in that look -- lust, love, need, vigilance. The thing that surprised her, however, was something she'd never, ever seen in the doctor's eyes before -- the faintest hint of cruelty. What surprised her even more was that, beyond all reason and estimation, that little touch of callousness thrilled her in a way she'd never felt before, not from the blood, not even from the stimulation directly to her pleasure center.

"Cum, Rarity," he breathed, his hooftip moving to her flesh-nestled little nub. With the words and the touch, her body obeyed; sensation died around her as a pure, untouchable ecstasy struck her like lightning. The mare arched and cried out underneath her lover, her stallion, the sound piercing and shrill to her ears, absolutely nothing less than the sound of sexual climax.

In all of it, two things did not leave her attention as the spasms tried to pull every muscle in her body simultaneously: The feel of Neuro's warmth, and the scents of the room: Antiseptic, Neuro's musk, and blood -- oh, strange perfect arousing blood! It was a scent nopony could mistake for anything else, a scent written into her brain from the moment her brain had started to form inside her mother just as it had for everypony since time began.

When she found herself heading slowly down from the mountain of orgasm, she was panting for breath, weak, barely thinking -- but she recognized a look on Neuro's face, and it was another one she hadn't seen often. She'd seen this one only once before.

It was insecurity.

Author's Note

Rrrgh. This took longer than I expected. >:(

Note to self: Finish the next one before you publish, Cola!