Iron Will vs. The Penile Code

Twilight tapped her hoof impatiently as she listened to the phone ring for an inordinately long amount of time. It didn't help she was out of her element, having ducked into a small office at Bare Mare Studios to use the telephone for a few official phone calls to beg for additional support for her new bill. It was bad enough having to use a potentially-contaminated phone, but when the calls were rebuffed or went unanswered...

“Hello-ooo! Oh... hello? Minister Blueblood speaking,” The voice on the other end of the phone seemed on the border between cultured and pleasure-intoxicated.

“Hello! Minister Blueblood? This is Twilight Sparkle. You remember me, right? Minister, I have a serious matter I need to discuss...” Twilight spoke quickly, relieved that she had finally found a politician who didn't immediately hang up on her.

“What's that? Twight Spackle? Is this an advertisement? I've specifically blocked ads from this number! This is a gross violation!” Blueblood spluttered, finishing with a low, soft moan.

“No! No! Minister Blueblood this is Twilight. Sparkle,” Twilight said, over-enunciating her name. “Princess Celestia's protege? The one who got all those other bills passed?”

“Oh yes! Yes yes... ahhh, the fussy one who had all of those rather meddlesome resolutions that failed. I would... enjoy talking to you but... ah! Ah but I... I am on my honeymoon, if you did not know,” Blueblood said, moans and panting passing heavily over Twilight's ear, as well as the sound of a muttering voice.

“Minister... am I on speakerphone? Are you... are you engaged in sexual congress?!” Twilight spluttered. It was like the very aura of the studio was infecting everything she did. It was especially egregious with Minister Blueblood. She had always known him as a sexless, dainty, dandy fop more interested in rose boutonnieres and stylish tuxedos than with dating. But then, she had been out of Canterlot for a long while. Since she did not peruse gossip rags She may have been out of the loop on certain things.

“I am on my honeymoon Miss Spackle! But I am not... not... not engaged in any such activity. I am merely... ahhh... having a... massage! Yes, a massage,” Blueblood asserted, a braying laugh ringing from somewhere in the background.

“Let's call it that. Is that the little pest that you told me about? The one that bothers you now and again?” The voice was very feminine, but strong and assured, completely unafraid of causing offense.

“She bothers me always, when she bothers, but she is mostly harmless,” Blueblood said, his tone more normal, though still with some panting in it. “Don't worry about it, dearest. Thorn in our side though she may be, it will be a minor issue. You took this upon yourself when you wed a government figure.”

“That I did, that I did,” The mystery voice said. After a moment of silence the voice said, “Well now, your 'massage' is completed. Thorough as you like and with all the right motions. But this marriage is an equal partnership. Now it's my turn to have affairs of state conducted within the oval oriface.”

“Minister...” Twilight did her best to keep her tone neutral. She was used to insults, but they were not often delivered right to her face. Though that may have been the issue. The insults were being delivered to a speakerphone, by ponies... or one pony and what sounded like a donkey on a honeymoon. Tact and focus were not likely to be concerns. “Minister please, this is a vitally important matter which requires your utmost attention...”

“I can assure you that the important matter of my vitality has already received the utmost attention,” Blueblood said, calmly, “And I am going to return the favor, with eager delight.”

“But..!” Twilight began.

“Miss Try Light,” Blueblood said, using a firmness of tone for which he was not normally known, “I have come through a period of agitation, aggravation and ultimately triumph. I realize that you shut yourself off from the concerns of others but I have earned this rest. As has my good lady wife. This was no small matter, and is a good story.”

“They say they're making a movie out of it once we pick a writer,” The voice in the background said with a chipper tone.

“But, Minister please...” Twilight said, gamely attempting to stop the derailment of her wheedling.

“At this moment the only vitally important matter that requires my utmost attention is my new bride's plea- I mean, my new bride's massage,” Blueblood said, voice getting softer as he stepped away from the phone. “I did not marry you, I did not promise anything to you, I owe you nothing but a simple statement of disinterest in your matter.”

“He's right, Miss... Sprinkle?” The donkey's voice was much closer. “He married me, he promised me his love, and he owes me-HAW!” Blueblood's wife let out a sudden bray of delight that caused Twilight to pull the phone away from her ear. A few breathy pants followed the exclamation of delight. “Oh. My. Word... he is a very talented masseuse. Please do not caaaall here again or I will have you... ohh my... arrested for... something. Please... have a nice day.” The phone clicked off, interrupting another bray.

“M-minister Blueblood? Minister Blueblood?” Twilight slammed the phone down with a throaty groan of consternation. “Pervert.” She crossed another name off of her list. “Great. I'm running low on names... I'll have to press the compliance and thicken the astroturf. That temporary requirement enhancement won't keep working forever. It's just a good thing Spike's a lot more interested in putting pressure on the studio.”

At that moment Spike was looking through an unoccupied studio, making notes about everything he could see and cursing the fact that everything seemed to be exactly up to spec. The room was vaguely familiar, or at least the stage was. It was set up like some kind of outdoor setting, with a large boulder. “Oh right, 'Banged in the Badlands 1-5.' Good times. Good times. All shot here and they still managed to make the scene look slightly different every time.”

“Oh dragon!” A familiar voice shouted out, from just on the other side of the rock. After a moment Rarity's head emerged, giving a bright, welcoming smile.

“L-lady Rarity! I mean, Rarity!” Spike adjusted his little brown suit and slicked back the fins on his head. “How is it going? Are you well?”

Rather than answering the question, she said, “Looky what we've got here.” She reached down behind the rock and pulled out Rex the Dig Dog.

“Hey, where the pony women at?” Rex said with a grin. He then fell to the floor in hysterics, joined by Rarity who was likewise laughing.

“R-rarity?” Spike looked on the scene with a sort of horror, tears at the corners of his eyes.

The supposed Rarity erupted in green fire, revealing a Changeling underneath, still laughing raucously at the reaction. “Sorry, dragon, your porn star is in another castle. Or, probably on an other set. The name's Madam Mimic. When Rex told me what was going on I couldn't help but give him a hoof. You sort of walked into it.”

Spike went from tears to rage in an instant, stomping a foot and sending out a stream of green fire. “That other Dog told you about it, didn't he, dirt-brain?”

“What if he did, sulfur-breath? You deserve it for that cheap trick you tried to pull on Miss Rarity. She can see through fake nice guys like you. She never even looked twice when ponies tried that crap with her after she made her choice about what species she liked best. Dragons impress her even less than stallions. Don't get so indignant, just stop trying to move in where you're not wanted,” Rex huffed.

“Seriously. You're just a great, big, lump-in-the-pants phony. And I'm a Changeling! When I call you a fake, you know it's legit,” Madam said, with a fang-filled grin.

“I'll find some violations somewhere. I'll catch you on it, call you out and I'll get you fined right up the ass for it, until this place is shut down!” Spike snorted again and stormed out of the studio, followed by the sounds of laughter. “They think they're so funny,” He muttered to himself, “But I know how it goes. Once the studio shuts down they'll just abandon her. They don't really love her. Alone, pregnant, seeing it was a lie. Then I can show her I really do care.”

Twilight was not having any more luck than Spike, following her disastrous calls for additional support. She still had political weight thanks to her previously-established connections and some of the limited successes she had had with prior bills, but just barely enough to get it all to a vote. Catching the studio napping, while making her look less impartial because of her presence, was her only hope of breezing it through. At least they weren't making a legal bother of it.

She consulted a provided studio map, with all the stages and miscellaneous areas clearly marked, and compared it against the master shooting schedule. The studio had never needed such a schedule before, at least not as anything more than a dry erase board. She felt a small pang of Schadenfreude to know she was causing them trouble, no matter how petty and picayune the difficulty was. It would all add up eventually.

Twilight was traveling with her bodyguard again, Rainbow Dash giving every appearance of being the perfect Mare in Black. “Need me to go in there with you, Miss Sparkle?” Dash asked.

“No. We are dealing with simple-minded smut-peddlers, not criminal masterminds. Their limited intellect might make them a potential threat but they are too weak and ineffectual to actually threaten me,” Twilight said with a derisive laugh. “But just in case... when I reach the room, stay outside and keep the door cracked. You never know what to expect when dealing with these chaotic troglodytes.”

Dash nodded and adjusted her reflective sunglasses. “Roger that, ma'am.”

Twilight and Dash picked their way through the seemingly-intentionally-confusing corridors until they reached the posted studio, Dash standing beside it as Twilight opened it and slipped inside. The wave of sound that passed over Twilight with the breaking of the soundproof seal was like cacophonous music to her ears. She heard an almost-unearthly symphony of many different tones of rubbed-rubber squeaking.

The scene was like some kind of ludicrous tableau. The generic bedroom stage contained three figures involved in the filming. The first was a pink pegasus mare in white stockings, a white garter belt and a filmy white veil, standing beside a carelessly tossed wedding dress; the second was a donkey jack, a deep, rich mahogany brown with his long mane flowing freely over his neck; the last was a green unicorn stallion, still dressed in a tuxedo shirt and bow tie, with his pants down.

The unicorn was furiously masturbating by slapping his dick on his belly and using magical strokes while wailing and sobbing. The jack was getting his cuckold bull on, dominantly topping the pegasus mare with many huge, proud brays as his condom-clad dick pounded into her fem-dom protected pussy. The jack threw his head with a smile, making his silky black mane wave for the camera. They all tried to be professional, and play their roles right, but all three winced with every harsh squeak, the cuckolded 'husband' looking on the verge of laughter in the middle of his shamed masturbation.

Off the stage all the technical personnel were wearing their biggest, most restrictive headphones and communicating via their two-ways and only when necessary, going on with their jobs as best as possible. It seemed to be working well but the sound engineers looked ready to cry tears of blood and vomit bile in rage. Hoity and Photo were also both on stage overseeing the production, without much passion for the job. Photo was covering her ears while her teeth ground so hard it looked as though she was trying to crush them. Hoity was not trying to shut out the hideous noise. He was holding his head in his hooves, slowly shaking his head in near-defeated misery. “By the sisters... is this a studio of artistic expression and lustful passion or a balloon factory?”

“Mister Toity! I must say that I am shocked and impressed,” Twilight said with a smug and smarmy tone, having to speak especially loudly to be heard over the squeaking of the condoms. “I honestly believed that you would uphold that much-vaunted 'artistic integrity' and break the regulations for the sake of appearances. But no! Here you are running this... I suppose it is an endorsement of adultery. That's lovely. I'm sure that information will go over well...”

“Please try to understand sexual fetishism,” Hoity said with a contemptuous huff. “You make yourself out to be a sexless, over-educated boor but surely even in your passionless life you learned about the nuances of sexuality. This is not so basely mere adultery. This is specifically modern cuckold. Can't you see the shamefully-overpowered and clearly-emasculated yet still masturbating husband? The wanton wife, enhanced by the trappings of a bride? The use of a donkey who is larger, stronger, more handsome, less restrained and far better hung than the husband? In appearance, in any event. The fellow is a professional and I can make camera angles do anything I desire. Does any of this come through that cranium of yours?”

Twilight snarled and angrily adjusted her glasses. “You think you're so smart? Fine, you know some casual slang.”

“Hardly slang, that's industry jargon, and then only those in the know use it correctly, it is all...” Hoity halted as the squeaking got to him. “Cut!” The noise mercifully ceased as the camera lights went dark and the actors all looked to him. “Take a break, this is... beyond impossible. We'll pick it up from this point later.”

“Great. I never even got to cum. Still, even in this stupid condom that was nice,” The donkey said in a deep, rich voice.

“Cry me a river. Normally I would've had three by now. Who invented this stupid thing anyhow?” The mare said, furiously frigging at her clit behind the rubber of the fem-dom.

Hoity sighed with relief, noting that Photo was looking not any less annoyed, likely thanks to the presence of Twilight. “As I was saying, Miss Sparkle, you lack the knowledge of any of this. The socio-sexual framework of this is basic. The husband's masculinity is shown to be insufficient and inferior to a male that is not only more powerful and sexually mighty but is an entirely different species. His wife has abandoned her own species, showing him to be inferior in every possible manner. And yet, he remains, denuded, humiliated, but aroused by the power he lacks. A real male is having his wife, and he cannot stop himself from admitting he loves it. How was that, Miss Sparkle? Did you understand any of that? Do you understand the difference?”

Twilight was actually stunned by the cogent explanation. “Don't talk to me like a foal! I am a government-backed academic and serious political mover and shaker, you are nothing but a pretentiously-affected pornographer masquerading as a genuine aesthete! I minored in sociology, I understand socio-sexual frameworks.” Being educated by her enemy. It was beyond galling. The tiny victory of earlier was dissolving into nothing. “You're nothing but a pretender!”

“Schweig!” Photo shouted, turning on Twilight with a sudden fury. “Du blöde Kuh! Du bist hier der Dorftrottel! You have no right to shpeak to him in thish manner!”

“Rainbow Dash!” Twilight yelled, stepping back from Photo's angry shouting.

Dash burst into the room with a yell and a menacing spread of her wings. “Do it, kraut-sucker! Give me an excuse! I would love to unleash some of my military beatdown training all over that face of yours.”

Photo seethed lightly but backed away, brushing the front of her outfit. “I much prefer zwiebel kugel, but I think you will shtill mock my eating habitsh, contemptuoush brute.”

“I think we have figured one another out,” Hoity said, a slight smile on his face. “I am complying, you are annoying. All is right with the world.”

“Yea, all is right with the world,” Twilight said, with a sudden smile. “Ask your sound engineers how they feel about the rules. How is this protective measure working for you?”

“It is about as useful and effective as sunscreen under a new moon,” Hoity noted with a sudden sullenness. “I could not possibly imagine anything more worthless, pointless, useless... besides your own inimitable self, of course.”

Twilight huffed, waving off the insult with a haughty look. “Is that where you have gone now, Mister Aesthete? Foalish insults and hyperbole? Do not take too much pride in this, but I expected better out of you. Anypony that put on airs like you I thought would have some more class and quality. Clearly, my initial impression of you as nothing more than a creepy, drooling smutmonger was correct.”

“Believe what you will,” Hoity said with greater strength, “But I am only returning the level of contempt you have shown me. You treat us like foals and fools. If you think you've convinced us this farce has anything to do with safety you're sorely mistaken. This has everything to do with your ego.”

Twilight chuckled and gently elbowed Dash, who did not significantly react. “Did you hear that? 'My ego.' Isn't that ridiculous?”

“Yea, hilarious,” Dash said, stone-faced and nearly immobile.

“It is not, as you say, a base matter of 'ego' but rather a genuine, pure, sincere belief that the alteration of the mind is the most terrible crime that can be committed against any sensible being. Drugs, alcohol, and even explicit imagery. Especially explicit imagery. You think you are doing something innocuous, an artist with genitals and social positions. But your filthy images twist rational minds and warp otherwise normal folk into smut-minded fools that can't focus on anything serious or important. The only thing they see when they close their eyes to access those wondrous 'Little Gray Cells', as Nagatha Christie put it, is the perverse trash you put in there. You pollute minds and turn productive members of society into sex-crazed sleaze-zombies!” Twilight screamed, panting softly after her tirade.

“And that is the reality of it,” Hoity said, unimpressed by the burst of pique. “You don't care about safety. You're on some high-minded crusade for mental purity...”

“The mind is a wonderful thing when chaste,” Twilight stated, in her practiced tone.

“Yes...” Hoity pulled back a bit, looking a trifle disturbed. “But more than that, I think you are more concerned with power. The power to enforce your will. I am honestly amazed you waited this long to get to pornography if you hate it so much. Though on reflection, I suppose it is not so surprising. You went with the path of least resistance. Your 'Don't smoke that Joke' campaign was a hit, and you rode that wave all the way to some of the most stringent laws against drugs I think any nation has ever seen.”

“Control the language and you win the argument,” Twilight said smugly, “Nopony ever cared about mind-altering drugs when they were known by their scientific name, Toxicodendron derisivobum. Once we started referring to them by their slang name of, “Poison Joke,” ponies started to sit up and take notice.”

“Diabolical,” Hoity muttered.

“Thank you. Non-medical drugs and the improper use of prescription drugs posed serious risks to the nation, not to mention the minds of impressionable children,” Twilight said, taking a little curtsy.

“It wasn't meant as a compliment,” Hoity noted with contempt. “You thought you were invincible, striking down a broad target about which none would care, for fear of their jobs and reputations. Then your remarkable farce, that grand and glorious failure...”

“Don't you say it...” Twilight threatened. “You've tried my patience long enough. This inspection is over but the matter is far from done. Have you seen the picket line? Pure astroturf. I'm not a degree-holding PoliSci expert for nothing. I pushed the right buttons, beat the right drums and scared the right hayseeds to get their reactionary flanks outside to ruin you. Now they're in the media, continuing the artificially-inflated cycle of outrage. And then the bill will sweep through Parliament...”

“I very much doubt it,” Hoity interrupted. “We will raise objections to this industry-killing abomination, and make a fight of this. We will not let you treat us as you did alcohol!”

“I told you not to mention that!” Twilight shouted, stomping a hoof solidly. “While it may not have been my finest hour I still had support! Others believed in my ideas! And it worked! For a short time there was a Kingdom-wide ban on alcohol!”

“And how did prohibition work out for you, Miss Sparkle? Do you remember the almost apocalyptic wave of lawlessness and fear that ran through the land? If you ban porn, it'll be just like when you 'successfully' banned alcohol," Hoity said, "Those who want it bad enough are going to continue to use it."

"Is that a threat?" Twilight inquired, motioning slightly at Dash, "Are you conspiring to film illegal pornography?"

"No, no, no, don't think I will make your job quite that easy," Hoity said with a wry grin, "I'm saying that outlawing porn will simply send an entire legitimate industry underground. You can't eliminate vice with laws. All your law will accomplish is to turn honest adult film producers into criminals."

"I've learned my lesson since the prohibition debacle," Twilight asserted, "A total ban on alcohol was too much too soon. In order to affect lasting change, I need to slowly choke the industry. When government regulations make the porn industry unprofitable, it will wither on the vine.” Twilight grinned malevolently and fixed Hoity with a smug look. “Nothing personal.”

"Nothing but personal, you mean," Hoity retorted.

“Does that mean you're actually going to try and fight against the full implementation of my new regulations?” Twilight asked. “I thought you would try something less drastic like finding a new job.”

“I am afraid that we musht let you down, Frau Shparkle,” Photo interjected, coming up around Hoity, but stopping as Dash stepped in front of Twilight. “We will not let you deshtroy our dream... our indushtry. We work hard und give much to thish art we call erotic entertainment. No one, leasht of all a little schweinhund like you, will take away what we have built.”

“I share Miss Finish's passion for this art I have come to take on as my own, though I express it in much milder tones. I leave zeal to her, for she does it far better than I,” Hoity said, giving Photo an appreciative pat on the back. “The bottom line, and I know you paper-pushing types enjoy that sort of thing, is that we will not fall under your hoof without a fight. We will challenge every aspect of this gratuitous new code, and we will win.

Twilight smiled. "See you in court," She said. With a quick motion of her head to Dash she turned around and trotted out of the studio.

“And you'd better make sure it's in court, or else you get some of this.” Dash thumped one hoof against the other and gave a final, intimidating stare before following Twilight all the way out of the studio.

Hoity watched both malcontent mares leave, waiting for the door to close and the soundproofing to be set again before he slumped down and muttered, "That mare needs to get laid.”

“Oh, are you offering? Think it will help you jump to a new career?” Photo groused, slumping down by Hoity. “I hear political intrigue makesh shtrange bedfellowsh.” By that time the actors and technical folks had cleared out. The 'show' was over, so they went to find other ways of entertaining themselves. Photo shuffled closer to Hoity and said softly, “You know, I will not judge if you do. Shurvival brings no shame...”

“I would rather fornicate with an operating garbage disposal than stick my stallionhood in that egotistical mare. Her love of clear intellects is fine, but she takes the point too far, to say the least. No, no, you are quite stuck with me, Fraulein,” Hoity said with a smile, drawing Photo in for a powerful hug.

“Ach, Liebchen, not like thish,” Photo hissed, pulling away and glancing around. “There may be many eyesh to notice our actsh.”

“My apologies. That encounter has me in a state, as you may well imagine,” Hoity said, tapping a hoof against his chin. “It is clear now what we must do. If the esteemed Miss Sparkle wishes to bury us in red tape we have no choice but to respond. We shall drown her in blue paper.”

“You mean to bring legalities into our fight, beyond mere talk to the government moversh. You would crush her beneath the might of the law. I know what you intend. You mean to unleash Tartarush...” Photo said quietly.

Hoity nodded slowly. “It would appear that we have no choice in the matter. I am afraid it is time. We must engage... her. Get me the studio lawyer.” He sucked in a deep breath and trotted away from Photo. “Please inform her that I will be on my way to properly engage her and pass along the pertinent data.”

“Jawol, Herr Toity.” Photo watched Hoity go, not envying him his grim future task. She strolled over to the telephone in the studio, dialed the inside line and swallowed hard as she heard the other end ring. “Meine Prinzessinnen im Canterlot, forgive ush for what we musht do...”