Iron Will vs. The Penile Code

Spike's story did not quite finish with him as a cuckold without a wife. He performed his evening masturbation with regularity, but always varying amounts of satisfaction. Some nights he was actually happy about watching better men have Rarity, roughly or gently. He was both outdone by them and working through them. Some nights, though, there was just something missing. He could get to climax, but not feel the full satisfaction.

One evening, his partially-satisfied onanism was interrupted by a sudden, rather firm knock at his door. He grumbled and paused his video, throwing a robe over himself at his half-interested erection, which slowly grew flaccid as he strolled from his living room to the front door. “What do you want?” He yelled, as he yanked the door open.

On the other side of the door was the Changeling employee of Bare Mare Studios, Madam Mimic. She was dressed in a tasteful pink dress, large straw sunhat with silk roses on one side, and a tasteful silver necklace. She looked quite shocked by the angry response to the knocking, but she slapped a smile over her surprise and said, “Hello there, Mister Spike. I don't know if you remember me. I'm Madam Mimic. Please, call me Mimic.”

“What? What are you..? Oh, you're that one from the studio, that did all those school assemblies and stuff. Yea, I remember,” Spike said, his anger fading to annoyance, “Look, I don't know what you want but I'm a bit busy...”

Mimic noted the hastily-applied, disheveled look of the robe and the cheap dog collar with the heart-shaped metal tag proclaiming 'Bitch.' “I... see... I just wanted to say I was sorry.”

“'Sorry?' Look... I know how I come off but I thought that movie was hilarious!” Spike said, a smile cracking his annoyed features. “It was totally what Twilight needed, though I guess spending time in a windowless Free Candy van is doing something for her. So never mind...”

“Not for that,” Mimic said quickly, “It was... what I did on set. Imitating Rarity and making you think she was laughing at you. She, uh, is way nicer than that. It's part of her charm.”

Spike gave Mimic a deadpan expression and slammed the door in her face. Before he could turn around there was a desperate knocking sat the door. “Do you mind? I'm trying to have a good evening.”

“Please, open the door,” Mimic said, “I need to do this face-to-face. I'm really, honestly sorry for what I did.”

Despite his misgivings Spike opened the door again and peered at Mimic. “Tell me why I should keep talking to you.”

“I want you to know I did it because you threatened my job,” Mimic said, with a hint of bitterness, “I love that job. Hoity's tough but fair, I get to act and use my changing abilities in all kinds of creatives ways, but I can also enjoy delicious sexual passion, something I wouldn't get in regular movies. I have it all and I... I was a little upset. I thought it was funny.”

“It wasn't funny,” Spike said coldly, snorting a small cloud of green smoke.

“I know... they were going too far, even at the start. They treated you like crap and you're right to be angry about it. Maybe it won't mean anything but... they finally confessed what they did to you, told Rarity every thing they did... appropriately enough they were in the doghouse. Butch included,” Mimic said with a little chuckle.

Spike likewise chuckled, ego returning just enough to give him a rush of Schadenfreude. The idea of chastened Dogs was very appealing, despite the fact that he normally let their images overpower him. “Serves them right.”

“Yea... about that...” Mimic said, slowly slipping slightly into the door frame to keep the door from being shut. “They were being assholes, yea, no question. But... she forgave them all the same. She was mad, she thought they were quite wicked and had overstepped their bounds, badly. But she understood why they did it, and knew their hearts were in the right place... even if their brains were not.”

Spike snorted again, intending to close the door but noticed Mimic was in the way. He pushed at her, trying to shift her out of the way. “I don't need to hear this shit... I have important political crap to get to.”

Mimic lightly jangled Spike's tag with a chitinous hoof. “I see that you're very busy. The thing is they were threatened even more than me. And I was pissed off enough to be an absolute bitch to you. Sorry about calling you a lump-in-the-pants phony, it was accurate but extreme.”

Spike grabbed his tag and turned away quickly, stepping into the living room while a blush rose on his cheeks. “What are you talking about? I was going after their jobs too. And yea, I wanted Rarity, I wanted to show her I could be the man she wanted, her knight in shining armor, to save her from those Dogs. They're just... beasts...”

“I think that's what you misunderstand. Their jobs? They would go back to mining, they're still trained and kept up certification. They like the sex, we all do, it's why we do it. That was never the point. They're a pack. They protect their pack, and are not going to be gentle about it,” Mimic said, gently closing the door and following Spike.

“So they all ganged up on me because I was trying to... send them to different mines? They could probably stay a pack. Pretty weird pack, seems more like a boy's club,” Spike noted, with some confusion, quickly shutting off his television.

“You were not just threatening them, you tried to take away the center of the pack. The nucleus. The heart. Rarity,” Mimic said softly, approaching Spike. “She isn't just some porn star that sleeps with them a lot, and they aren't just some perverted sex-hounds. They're her pack, they're her whole life, and she's theirs. Why do you think she was so happy about that pup? She was the real representation of the love they share.”

Spike winced and tugged on his metal tag. “I get that now. I get it. She told me as much...”

“You brought it on yourself,” Mimic said, somewhat harshly, “You tried to break them apart, seemingly because you're a jerk-ass. You came in there talking purity, acting like a hypocrite, and hitting on Rarity with an insincere passion. That's why I said you were a phony. Is it wrong to say that you tried to do to them what they eventually did to you... 'Bitch'?”

Spike growled and turned on Mimic, baring his teeth and lightly snorting fire. “You get out of here! I didn't ask you in! Get out before I call the cops!”

“That answers my question. You wanted her like some kind of prize, and you were probably happy about the idea of making yourself better than all of them. Well I hope you like the price of being an insincere schemer. You wanted to cuck them all, grab Rarity and stand there looking cool and powerful and successful. You didn't. They had something real and no amount of dashing knight crap could have changed it,” Mimic spoke harshly, stomping her way to the door. “I wanted to imagine you were more mature than that, that you were a normal guy that just had a temporary bout of insanity. But you're just... evil.”

“Wait!” Spike held a claw out, “'Evil'? Seriously? I'm not evil. How can you even say that?”

“You tried to steal a mare, with malice, from the ones that loved her, and who she loved, all while looking at the mare like a trophy. That's evil,” Mimic hissed.

“I just wanted some love!” Spike cried. “She was beautiful, she was nice, and I swear she came onto me!”

“She's nice to everyone but her heart belongs to her pack. I know you hate it but you're not special, not the kind of special that would make her throw away all her love and all her past, with the men that care for her and who were the potential fathers of her baby. That's just not realistic. That happens in movies. Bad ones,” Mimic said, her magic turning the doorknob while she looked back at Spike. “So you can wallow in your self-pity and be a weak little creature. Like I said... I came here because I felt bad about what I did. Now I wonder if I should have been worse.”

Spike curled his fingers into a fist, trembling a little as he watched Mimic. “I didn't have anyone else. Twilight's just my boss, no other mares look twice at me, I just... I have this job, I do high-level stuff and I'm just... seen as a slimy power-broker or as the toady to 'that raving bitch.' What else could I do? I already had a job to do. I figured... they were just fuck-buddies.”

“Well now you know,” Mimic said, her magical aura fading. “Have you ever considered a prostitute? If that's all you want that's fairly easy to manage.”

“'Scandals vitiate the capability to remain effective in the political arena,' was something that Twilight always told me. It was why we could never drink, never smoke, and never do anything even moderately questionable,” Spike said. “I still have a job. I can't afford some Canterlot madame making a mint off of my name in a tell-all or dropping a few years in a plea deal. But dating's tough when you're looked at as either a prude or a scumball.”

“I see your point. In that case... can I get you a martini? You've probably got at least some gin and vermouth in this place,” Mimic said, entering the kitchen and pulling open cabinets with her magic.

“What?” Spike stood at the door to the kitchen, giving a completely disbelieving look.

“You're wearing a collar that says 'Bitch', you're watching a girl you obsessed over getting fucked by guys that humiliated you, you're wallowing in self-pity and loathing. You need a drink,” Mimic replied, finding and pulling down two martini glasses and a cocktail shaker.

“But... seriously? Just walking in and telling me this?” Spike still looked disbelieving, but he went to a cabinet and dug around, pulling out a bottle of gin and a bottle of vermouth. “I prefer Cosmos or a Manehattan...”

“I reiterate, you're wearing a collar calling you a bitch, jerking it to the woman that hated you and the guys that beat you, and you're telling me you drink Cosmopolitans sometimes. You need a woman to walk in and take control of you. You're not going to object. I could clip a leash to that and you'd be fine with it. But I won't. I know what you need and I'll give it to you. Are we clear?” Mimic didn't even look at Spike as she spoke, focusing on mixing the gin and vermouth in the shaker, enough for two glasses.

Spike was quiet for a while, staring as Mimic shook up their drinks. He then smiled brightly and gave a salute. “Yes, ma'am!”

“Good boy,” Mimic said with a smirk, using some magic to stroke Spike's crest, pouring out the two martinis. “And don't worry, I'll even let you be on top sometimes. Just remember to wear that collar now and then.”