Style Over Substance

by theycallmejub

Rating: mature
Tags: Sex, Thunderlane, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance
Length: 6431

While enjoying a raunchy night out on the town, Thunderlane finds plenty of what he wants but none of what he really needs.

While enjoying a raunchy night out on the town, Thunderlane finds plenty of what he wants but none of what he really needs.

Published 2013-04-19 22:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-04-19 22:00:01 UTC

Chapter 1

Style Over Substance

Club Blackout. The baddest nightclub on the west coast. They built the place thirty years ago out of cement, neon and prose ripped clean from the pages of a trashy romance novel—then went and painted the whole thing lipstick red, using adolescent wet dreams as primer. Except for the music, everything about the club is fake. The drinks they serve are watered down hog swill and the clubgoers might as well be mannequins. It’s all fake. All fashion magazine ads, false eyelashes and lip injections. All of it wrapped in plastic and ready for display.

But plastic is fine. Plastic is what I came for.

Once inside, I hear Vinyl Scratch belt out a laugh that’s more screech than giggle and give the record a series of scratches worthy of her namesake. She’s hopped up on booze, designer drugs, and the pulse-pounding thrill of Las Pegasus nightlife—bobbing her head to a beat made of sheer madness as she cuts the track to ribbons. Must be wild. Getting lost like that. Must be a trip.

A tidal wave of swaying, sweat-kissed bodies swells around me as I hit the dance floor. I wade through the dreamy sea of aspiring models and would-be Applewood starlets, brushing against naked flanks and sucking back a thick haze of colognes and perfumes as I move. It’s rough going, but I head for the center. My date always wants to meet in the center. She’s edgy like that. Or at least I let her think she is.

When I reach the eye of the storm, I find her shaking that rainbow tail of hers, slow and sensual and for nopony but herself. She’s right in the middle of it, surrounded by the hottest partygoers in Equestria but dancing alone, lost in her own little world. For a long while I’m content with just watching her. The strobe lights overhead shine down on her mane, creating a dazzling array of imaginary colors—greens and blues and reds and yellows that don’t exist anywhere but in this club and at this exact moment.

Eventually she notices my arrival and dances toward me. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or the seven shots of liquid courage sloshing in my gut, but I swear everypony else in the club evaporates into thin air. The world narrows to just me and her. Me and those swiveling cyan hips, and those athletic thighs, and that flat stomach, and those gleaming purple pools in that drop-dead gorgeous face. And that mane. That one-of-a-kind rainbow mane.

Once I’m good and close, she bounces to her hind legs and runs both hooves through her mane, hips twisting as she works herself into a frenzy. I follow her lead, bouncing up on two legs and dancing close enough to get splashed by the sweat flying off her naked body. The hooves in her mane trail down her glistening face. Her neck. Her shoulders. Chest. Stomach. She flashes a sexy grin when they reach her waist, then spins around and bends forward nice and slow, wagging her tail against my crotch and giving me an eyeful of her shapely ass.

I go to touch her, but she drops back to all fours and quickly steps away. An over shoulder glance beckons me to follow as she prances off and melts into the crowd.

I play along, grinning like a horny teen on prom night. The sea of bodies grows thicker as I wade away from the center. It’s late now and more ponies have flooded in from off the street, hitting the club and making a beeline for the dance floor. I’m getting smothered by shoulders and wings and sweaty asses; and Scratch isn’t helping me any. She cranks the volume and stirs the already crazed whirlpool of club-goers into something bubbling and feverish.

After I squeeze through the thickest patch of packed bodies, the crowd spits me out on the fringe of the dance floor. I whip my head left and right in search of that rainbow tail, that shapely ass, but I don’t find either. I don’t find much of anything. The edge of the dance floor is peppered with ponies too shy or too drunk to know what a good time looks like. Frowning, I look around one last time for my cyan cutie. I don’t find her, but I do fix my gaze on something that might be better.

Squinting against the strobe lights, I spy a yellow-coated pegasus mare dancing by herself, her pink mane and loose-fitting t-shirt flagging and bouncing with her clumsily movements. She’s a lousy dancer, but that petite frame of hers is sexy enough to make up for the awkwardness.

I tug down the bottom edge of my way-too-tight v-neck, check my breath, fluff my mane, and lick a hoof before using it to smooth out my eyebrows. Then—realizing I must look like a douchebag—I steel myself and start toward the awkward beauty.

We make eye contact as I approach, and to my delight, she feeds me her best “come hither” look from behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that I assume are supposed to be ironic. She dances my way, and without saying a word, stands upright, grabs my front hooves, and wraps them around her waist.

“Easy, sweetheart,” I say with a grin. “You’re way too hot to be trying this hard.”

Her cheeks flush adorably, all white-hot fire and blister-emotion.

“You got a name, sexy?” I purr, pushing a hot booze-scented breath in her ear. I already know her name, but I want to hear her say it.

“Flu-Fluttershy,” she squeaks in a mousy voice. I like it—that little squeak of hers. It slips out again as I spin her around, and she shudders when I nudge her backside with my almost-erect cock. A startled gasp has me thinking she might pull away. She doesn’t. Instead, she loops her forelegs around my neck and pushes her ass and tail deeper into my lap.

Just when I thought the music couldn’t get any louder, Scratch kicks it up a notch, drowning the club in a flash flood of pulse-pounding, peel-the-skin-off-your-face noise. There’s no music anymore, just the rumbling wub, wub, wub of a steady chest-rattling bassline. I look past Fluttershy’s mane and check out Scratch’s stage, a huge platform suspended from the ceiling and surrounded by floating pegasi banging their heads against empty air. Scratch’s nose is bleeding profusely, and she’s so close to the speakers I worry her head might pop like an overinflated balloon. She’s lost in the music and the moment, bobbing her head to the beat and tossing that electric blue mane of hers like a localized lightning storm.

I watch Scratch do her thing until the heat rising between my legs reminds me of Fluttershy’s body. The music sweeps us up and carries us away. We get lost in it, dry humping and sweating all over each other like middle school foals at our first homecoming dance.

Fluttershy boldly takes my hoof in hers, slipping it under her shirt and prodding me to stroke the chest beneath it. Meanwhile, my free hoof glides down her stomach and fondles her hot pussy. A rough stroke has her thighs shuddering. Another makes her stumble and nearly fall. She’s not exactly dripping wet yet, but she’s getting there. I help her along, biting her neck as I continue stroking the folds of her swollen sex; and she returns the favor by rubbing her ass against my cock like she means to start a fire. I lean my ear in close to her mouth and listen to that mousy voice moan and pant and squeak as I whip her petite body into a frenzy.

After several minutes of this raunchy stroking and grinding, I’m not sure if we’re even dancing anymore. Fluttershy is still moving her hooves, and I’m still moving with her, and the bassline is still throbbing against my chest like it’s trying to bludgeon my organs into pulpy mush—but I don’t know if we’re still dancing. Like I said, we get lost in it—in the moment and the music and the closeness of perfect strangers becoming overnight lovers.

Fluttershy’s quivering becomes more and more violent, tipping me off that she’s close. I rub her harder and faster; and she rubs me back; and the bassline spasms like a sick heart.

I bite her neck when I’m sure she’s right at the edge, and together we ride out an orgasm that’s all clumsy spasms, shakes, and squeaky moans I can’t hear over the music. I feel her chest heave and her stomach muscles clench as she bends forward and squirts into my hoof, wetting it with hot juices. Her wings flutter against my chest. Her knees buckle. She almost falls, dragging me down with her, but I flap my wings and manage to right us.

A few seconds tick away as Fluttershy catches her breath. The world broadens again. The moment passes.

I spin Fluttershy around and lean in for a kiss, but she pulls me into a tight hug instead. The moment is gone. We aren’t lovers anymore.

“I-I should go. My friends are probably looking for me,” she squeaks into my ear. “But thank you. That was…um…nice.”

With that she beats her wings and flutters away over the crowd, leaving me rock hard and hurting for a second round.

“Nice?” I think aloud, scratching back of my neck. “The hay does that mean? Nice?”

The sea of bodies swells around me. Too drunk to fly, I follow Fluttershy on foot as she hovers overhead, locking my eyes on her tail and trying hard not to lose sight of it.

I wade through the crowd. The sea.

A tail brushes my face.

Feathers tickle my side.

Some jerk slaps my flank. Another grabs my junk and stammers out a bad pickup line.

After nearly three minutes of getting molested, I finally escape the mob and find myself face-to-face with a garden of wallflowers, most of whom are chatting and sipping drinks. I scan the wall for Fluttershy, but I don’t find her.

I find something else. Something better.

One of the wallflowers licks the stud ring in her bottom lip as she undresses me with a pair of flirtatious eyes. I recognize her right away. It’s Pinkie Pie: Ponyville’s neighborhood good-times girl. She’s standing upright on two curvy hind legs, back against the wall, front hooves tucked in the too-tight pockets of her too-small leather jacket. It’s Pinkie all right, but there’s something different about her. Something off. Her usual frizzy tangle of mane is long and straight, and her pink coat is a full shade darker.

She keeps tonguing the stud as I draw near, eyes half-lidded and whispering a promise of the good times to come.

“Well?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

When I don’t answer, she loops her forelegs around my neck and pulls me into an all-business, open-mouth kiss. I don’t ask any questions. Club Blackout is no place for asking questions. I take the studded bottom lip in my mouth and suckle it, earning a breathy whimper from Pinkie. Her scent floods my senses, like ice cream with strawberry sauce and just the faintest sprinkling of peppermint.

She tilts her head and pulls me even closer, whispering crude, shallow little endearments between smacking kisses.

Just as things get hot and heavy, Scratch does me a solid and turns the music down a notch. She uses her magic to dim the lights and puts on a slow jam, something made of flower petals and dipped in honey-sweet nectar that sets a better mood.

Pinkie’s tongue wiggles between my lips, and my stiff cock throbs even harder when I feel a spiked hunk of jewelry poking around in my mouth. A tongue ring. Nice.

Eager hooves take a tour of my upper body, stroking the hard muscles under my shirt. I return the favor, letting my own hooves trace the contour of her smooth stomach and her hips and her soft, ample thighs.

During all this kissing and touching, Pinkie grabs one of my hooves and guides it to her wet, warm sex.

“Hello…” I breathe aloud when I feel the surprise waiting for me between Pinkie’s thighs. She has a third piercing, this one a ring above her clit.

Giggling at my surprise, she curls her ankle around my cock, holding me awkwardly, and goes to work squeezing and pulling so hard it hurts. I moan into her mouth and stroke her folds, her clit, loving the feel of its leaking juices. A deep probe makes her pussy flex, and her hips rock forward to meet my slick hoof. She moans. Pants. I dig deeper. Pinkie squeezes and pulls harder.

Our kisses get sloppy. They’re all tongue now. All tongue and saliva and teeth and hardly any lips. The tongue stud makes a playground of my mouth, poking around wherever it likes and tickling pleasure centers I didn’t know I had.

We’re both close to popping like champagne corks when Pinkie shoves away my hoof and guides my cock to her opening. Metal caresses sensitive skin as she rubs her pussy ring against the head of my dick, teasing me. I want her bad and she knows it. She toys with me. Makes me wait for it. Ache for it.

Taking control, I spin Pinkie around and shove her chest against the wall. Then I kick her hind legs apart and tell her to arch that sexy back for me. With a sultry purr, she does as instructed, her body quivering and aching for it.

I’m about to take her hard and fast like the whore she is, when I make the mistake of glancing up and looking around. I swallow hard and feel a sudden swarm of butterflies flit in through my stomach. Me and Pinkie have attracted an audience. The wallflowers have stopped chatting and sipping their drinks. They’re watching us. One of them is sitting on his haunches masturbating furiously, his cock spewing trickles of pre-cum and shamelessness. Another, a pegasus mare wearing a baseball cap, is holding a camera to her face and taking pictures.

“Well?” Pinkie brushes my cock with her tail. “I’m not gonna fuck myself.”

Silence. Too tense and way too long.

“Holy freaking horse apples!” shouts the mare with the camera. “Just fuck her already!”

“Um—could we maybe go someplace more…private?” I stammer.

“Let ‘em watch,” says Pinkie, deepening the arch in her back.

“Pinkie...seriously.”

An irritated look claims Pinkie’s face. She hesitates for a second, then grabs my hoof and starts leading me toward the restrooms.

“Pussy!” I hear the cameramare shout from behind me.

Me and Pinkie are halfway across the dance floor when Scratch decides to bend me over a table, splay my back legs and fuck me rigid. And not in the good way.

“MAKE SOME NOISE, LAS PEGASUS!” she shouts into her microphone, earning a roar of applause from the clubgoers. “It’s midnight at Club Blackout, and right now I need all the unicorns in the building to hit the dance floor and help me make this night last forever!”

The sea surges with new bodies as tons of unicorns abandon the bar and hit the dance floor, scrambling like sailors jumping ship and splashing down into the ocean.

The speakers pulse as Scratch gets back to blasting the kind of music you can feel in your spleen. Pinkie and I are at the center of the mob when the beat drops, the lights go dead and all the unicorns spark up their horns like glow-sticks at a rave. Scratch cackles like a hyena, her mic cranked even higher than the music, and starts cutting the track to tatters, making the music jump, skip and stutter.

An orgy breaks out. And not a metaphorical, “their heaving, bodies mashed together in a orgy of young lust and fleeting passion,” kind of orgy. I mean an orgy orgy. A stepping-over-ponies-as-they-fuck-on-the-floor orgy.

I get a lot more than just molested this time around. Some prick pokes at my backside with what feels like several inches of stone-hard cock. Another gets bold and shoves his dick in my face. I try to keep track of Pinkie but the churning water drags me under—and then all at once I’m falling, and forelegs are circling my waist, and hooves are grabbing at my mane, and the cock in my face is sliding between lips parted in a muffled cry of confusion, unwarranted arousal and mild terror.

The cock hits the back of my throat, making me gag. I bite down. Twist. The dick jerks itself free in a hurry, and then somepony hits me in the head and mounts me. A soft mouth folds against mine. It slips under my chin. Bites and sucks my neck. I can’t see anything in the low lighting, but something tells me that’s not a pronounced clit poking my waist right now.

With a grunt, I buck my hips and manage to toss the stallion off my stomach. I scramble to all fours. A muzzle slips between my ass cheeks, licking my anus. Teeth graze my neck. My chest. A cock slaps my face. At least I think it’s a cock.

“This is nuts,” I think aloud, laughing strangely as I dislodge the tongue from my ass and scuttle away, making a beeline for the restrooms where I can only pray Pinkie is waiting for me.

I pick the little filly’s room on a hunch and push open the first closed stall I see.

“Whoa there, partner!” says a blond mare sitting on the pot. She shakes off the initial surprise of me barging in and flashes a seductive smile. “Ah know we just met and all, but you seem mighty happy to see me.” Her eyelashes bat, and her hoof rises and beckons me with a wave.

I take a minute to drink in her features. The blond mane pulled into a braided ponytail. The freckles peppering an orange face. The green eyes, the muscular legs, the worn Stetson hat…

Applejack. The name pops into my head after a moment of thought.

I watch AJ’s tongue slither out of her mouth and lick her glistening hoof clean. It’s not until she tucks the hoof between her thighs that I realize AJ wasn’t in here taking a piss. Her other hoof is still slick, and her pussy is already wet and dying to be stuffed with hard cock.

A second later I’m sitting on the pot with AJ in my lap, groping her chest through a paper-thin flannel shirt as we swap spit. The makeout session is short lived, and when it’s over AJ climbs down from my lap. I scoot to the edge of pot, and she goes to work fondling my nuts and peppering my shaft with kisses and short laps and baby nibbles, hardly any teeth. Then she closes her full lips around my cock, taking me so deep I almost come on the spot.

Her eyes fix on mine, watching my face contort with pleasure as she bobs her head. I love it. Love the way she stares, hungry-eyed like she means to eat me alive. She starts slow. Too slow. I knock her hat to the floor and clutch her braided mane between my hooves, already breathing heavy. Then I push her head down and start pumping into her—and she sucks harder and bobs faster, playing with herself and breathing little moans into my lap.

Once we hit a nice stride, AJ gets bold and grazes my shaft with her teeth. They rake my cock as it pistons inside her mouth. Using her teeth drives her wild; her moans grow deeper and she starts digging into her pussy like she means it. She gives me a little nip that almost hurts. The second one hurts a bit more. The third a bit more. The fourth…

“Go on,” I grunt. “Bite me. I can take it.”

AJ does more than just bite. With surprising ease, she hefts my back legs onto her shoulders and jerks me off the toilet. My head smacks against the nasty tiled floor, and AJ adds to my pain by really sinking her teeth into my shaft. A grunt that’s more agony than pleasure escapes me as she lifts my lower back and shoves a hoof between my ass cheeks, poking at my anis. Her hoof stretches me by degrees, working its way in a little at a time while her mouth continues bobbing and sucking.

“Oh fuck…” I breath, shocked by how much of her hoof she manages to shove up my ass. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck… Don’t stop...”

Teeth bite my shaft. The hoof digs into my anus. My eyelids weld shut, becoming little fleshy walls that keep in the pleasure and block out the word.

“Don’t stop…Don’t stop… Don’t…”

My tail curls and my whole body clenches as a long overdue orgasm does its best to pull me inside out. Warm spunk squirts in AJ’s mouth, but she doesn’t even flinch. Just swallows the load like it’s a tall drink of water on a hot summer day.

I look up at her from my back and watch AJ wipe her mouth, thinking I might be in love.

“Will you marry me?” I say. I mean for it to be a joke, but it comes out carrying all the qualities of an honest proposal.

“Well, ain’t you just the sweetest little thing.” She leans forward and pecks me on the nose. “But Ah’m a mite out’a yer league, sugar cube. This was fun though.” With that, she kicks the stall door open and saunters off, leaving me to revel in my shallow victory.

“Nice? Out my league?” I rest both hooves on my chest and push out a slow sigh. “Guess you’re not as lucky as you thought, Thunderlane.”

I wash up before leaving bathroom, feeling simultaneously victorious and defeated. My shirt smells like a gym locker. I toss it in the trash bin along with a wad of paper towels. On the way out, I bump into the cameramare from before.

“You didn’t see me,” she says, her voice calm but containing a slight edge. I start to ask why, but she jams a hoof over my mouth. “You’ll understand in a second.” With that, she slinks into the bathroom. I hear the door click as it locks behind her.

“There you are, Darling!” I turn and see a white unicorn mare in a shimmering red cocktail dress ambling toward me from down the hall. “I’ve been looking all over for you, and for most of the night I might add. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting, you know.” Her cheeks are bright red, and her breath smells like she’s been gargling brandy for most of the night. She has a porcelain neck and face made of fine china. I recognize her right away.

Rarity. There’s hitting the jackpot, and then there’s winding up and smashing it with an aluminum bat like it’s a pinata. This is a chase of the latter. Not the former.

Before I can say anything, Rarity my grabs my foreleg and practically drags me as we venture deeper into the hallway. On my way down the hall, I hear chants of “PON-3, PON-3, PON-3,” echoing behind me. A faint, sad kind of smile touches my face as I glance over my shoulder and spot Scratch crowd surfing across the dance floor, looking all wrong on the raging waters of Club Blackout. She’s almost too tangible for this place. A real pony stranded in a see of mannequins.

“Appalling, I know,” says Rarity, looking back at the crowd as well. She pouts with her painted lips and says, “Can you believe the racket that passes for music these days? How I let myself get dragged me to these dreadful places, I will simply never know. And speaking of dreadful things, did you happen to see a little reptile of a pegasus carrying a camera slither by?”

“N-no,” I stammer, remembering the cameramare. “Why?”

“I caught that snake snooping around the lounge taking pictures of my friend and I.”

“Pictures of what?”

“Pictures of what?” she repeats with a laugh and playful shove. “How positively quaint. But all joking aside, if you see that ruffian you be sure to tell me. She deserves a good throttling, that one. Not that I would ever throttle any…Oh goody, we’ve arrived, darling!”

Rarity practically skips up to the entrance of the V.I.P. Lounge, her wavy mane bobbing with her over-eager movements. She offers a silky gloved hoof to the bouncer guarding the door. He’s a bulky unicorn stallion in a black form-fitting t-shirt, wearing a look on his face that clearly illustrates how long his day has been.

“Miss Rarity and guest,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

A clipboard levitates in front of the bouncer. “Okay, you’re good to go.” Rarity leaves her hoof dangling in his face, waiting for him to kiss it. He doesn’t.

“Honestly,” she huffs, throwing her head back and marching off indignantly.

“She seems easy to put up with,” the bouncer says dryly. “Nice flank, though. You hitting that?”

“Looks that way,” I say.

The bouncer smirks. “Lucky bastard.”

“The luckiest.”

We bump hooves before I swagger in after Rarity, head swimming with plans for that lovely flank of hers.

The lounge is completely decked out in all burgundy everything. Burgundy sofas and cushions and pillows and coffee tables and curtains, all nestled snugly between burgundy walls. There’s a mini bar in the corner of room, but there’s nopony behind it serving drinks. The lounge is empty. It’s just me, Rarity, and the fish swimming in massive tanks embedded in portions of the ceiling.

Rarity leads me to a velvet sofa that’s been set apart from the others. It’s facing a curtain hanging from the ceiling near the back of the room. A purple curtain—the only thing in the room that’s not burgundy.

I take a seat and wait for the show to start.

“He’s here, dearest. I do hope you’re ready!” says Rarity, calling to whoever is waiting behind the curtain.

“Go ahead,” calls a voice from behind the purple veil. Pale light from Rarity’s horn envelopes the curtain and draws it back, slowly, making me wait for it.

“Lucky me,” I whisper under my breath, rubbing my front hooves together as I help myself to an eyeful of an almost-naked Twilight Sparkle. She’s lying on her side on a massive round bed, dressed in a gauzy chemise lingerie number that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Oh, he is cute,” says Twilight, lashes fluttering as she chews a strand of that navy blue spider silk she calls a mane. She waves for Rarity to join her on the bed, the gesture relaxed in that obnoxious and distinctly regal way. The little snot has been a princess for less than a year, but she’s already right at home in the new role. Rarity strips off the cocktail dress, unveiling the pink of her femininity as she climbs onto the bed and snuggles up close to Twilight. An impish glance tells me to pay attention. It’s about get good.

A tingle dances across my shaft as their eyes shut and their lips meet. They share a sloppy, showy, tongue-over-tongue mess of a kiss, the kind that’s all lust and no love. All style and no substance. Rarity leans into the kiss, into Twilight, forcing the princess to her back and mounting her. Pink rolls against pink as they suck faces, and the smacking sounds are lewd and raunchy. They balloon to massive proportions and fill the room.

When their lips finally part, I’m treated to the sight of Rarity stripping Twilight naked. She bites the hem of Twilight’s panties and tugs them down nice and slow, making a show of it. Once finished with the clothing, Rarity reclaims her top position and tries to rekindle the kiss, but a regal hoof covers her mouth and gently nudges her away. A silent order passes from princess to subject, prompting Rarity to dismount. She sits up on her haunches and pulls Twilight into a chest-to-chest sitting position.

White and purple thighs intertwine as the two mares scissor each other. They share one more pecking kiss, then both unicorns lean back, propped up on their forelegs as they go to work bumping and grinding and filling the atmosphere with smoky breaths and the loud shameless moans of filthy sluts. Their bodies rock together in a musicless, artless imitation of rhythm. No love in it. Just lust and showmanship. All take, take, take, and no giving.

The throbbing sensation in my cock intensifies tenfold, forcing me to grab hold and start jerking. I try to take it slow, but the sight of Rarity and Twilight mashing their mounds together is just too hot, and I end up pulling my dick harder and faster than I mean to.

Twilight’s wings unfold and go rigid on her back. “Harder,” she moans, stomach flexing, chest heaving, mouth gaping. Her eyes leave Rarity’s red face and fasten on me. They are matching pools of liquid moonlight, those eyes—so bewitching they seem to glow in the dark. So expressive they might as well speak. The fluid moonshine drips onto my skin and seeps in through my pores. It mixes with my blood, intoxicating me from the inside out and making my brow sweat.

The eyes find me there in the dark and for a moment I feel a heat expand in my chest that can’t be called lust. For a moment I spy a hint of something tangible floating in the moon-lit pools. Something there and real and alive. Something I could touch if only we weren’t separated by so many feet of empty passion and gaudy burgundy carpet.

I let go of my cock and sit forward, entrapped.

And then Rarity’s body spasms, and she cums, and the moment passes—and the moonlight in Twilight’s gaze dulls to a dim zombie-blue, like a TV screen watching a dark empty room. For a second that stretches into millenia I feel alone. I watch Twilight shove Rarity aside, done with her, and wave for me to join her on the bed. The gesture is regal and commanding. Mean. Twilight shouldn’t be mean. I get up, jelly-legged and almost of afraid her, and climb onto the bed.

“Something wrong,” she purrs. For one more second I let myself believe there might be something real about her—about any of it. I think of Rainbow and her twisting hips. Of Fluttershy and the moment we stopped being strangers. All downhill from there, I suppose. All hollow wet sounds and kisses in the dark that didn’t mean a thing.

For another second longer I stare and pretend to see something real in Twilight’s aroused expression. Then her cheeks turn up with a sultry grin, and I can almost hear the plastic squeak.

But that’s fine. Plastic if fine. Plastic is what I come for.

No... Not fine. Somehow the power of my promiscuous mantra has faded. I shove Twilight onto her back, suddenly angry with her for being so perfectly fake. So finely manufactured. An expertly crafted mannequin standing in for the genuine article. She leans forward and tries to kiss my face, but I block her with an impatient front hoof. I’m not in the mood in for anymore kisses. She understands, leans back, and spreads her plastic thighs for me, her pussy hot and wet and just pink enough to pass for the real thing.

Her eyes clamp shut as I burrow into her. Her cheeks flare with color and I love it. She’s tight, and I love that too. We both dispense with any kissing or exploring of the other’s body, content with the simple pleasure of rocking together in a near-perfect artificial rhythm.

The heat between us intensifies as our hips rock. I drip sweat all over Twilight’s chest and stomach, coating her, and after a minute or two we stink of perspiration and juices. The muggy body odor crawls up my nose, burning my nostrils. It's so thick I can taste, like broth being poured down my throat.

Twilight doesn’t seem to mind. She moans and takes heavy breaths, sucking it in, loving the flavor and stink of our fucking. Her forehooves press hard against my back and her chin digs into my shoulder as the pace quickens. As pressure builds and builds and threatens to rip me at the seams. I feel her whole body flex, and she squeezes my cock tight every time I pull back, not wanting to let go. And when I drive forward, boring in deep and giving her all she can handle, my hilt slams into her pelvis and everything seems to roll beneath us. As if the power our empty passion could move the earth.

I’m close to finishing when I feel Rarity spread my ass cheeks and slide her tongue into my anis. A combination of shock and pleasure hits me like a train car. I belt out a startled sound and feel her lips smile against my backside. She probes deeper, lapping and making little circles that have me shuddering as pummel Twilight’s snatch, ramming her until the pleasure makes me half-mad and swirl-headed.

With Rarity’s tongue exploring my anis, sucking and slurping like the greedy slut she is, I ram Twilight’s plastic frame like I mean to break it. Not caring that what we have isn’t real. Not caring that this entire night has been nothing but a sham. A painstakingly crafted lie. A made-for-real life pornographic fantasy—empty and meaningless and brief and only as good as the night is long.

I don’t warn Twilight. I don’t pull out. I fill her hungry sex with my seed, and the sensation of my cock spilling into her pussy triggers her orgasm. I feel her wings try to flare and flap against the sheets as the two of us melt into an incoherent mass of jerky reflexive movements and silly sounds. When we settle down, Rarity quits with her licking and lies down beside us. For a long interlude we are silence and closed eyes, basking in the silent afterglow of a good time.

Several minutes pass. Beneath me, Twilight is a deflated balloon, her face peaceful with sleep. I brush a lock of mane behind her ear and smile down at her. At this angle, and in this low light, she almost looks real.

Almost.

I feel my wings flutter. My tail stirs. I wake up and find a pair of glowing green eyes watching me. A foreleg, jet-black and riddled with holes, reaches out and pulls me closer to the dark shape lying beside me.

“How did I do this time?”

Face, my changeling lover, is lying on her side in her true form. Her voice is eager and so is the look on her face.

“Terrible. You got them all wrong.” A pause for thought, short but illuminating. “Actually, Rainbow and Rarity were okay. But the rest were not even close.”

“Not even my Pinkie Pie?”

“No.”

She pouts. “What was wrong with my Pinkie Pie?”

“Pinkie doesn’t have piercings. Her mane isn’t straight, her coat isn’t dark, and she doesn’t dress like a biker thug.” Another pause. “And your Fluttershy needed more shy.”

“I know she doesn’t wear piercings,” says Face. “I was just trying to, ya know, jazz it up a bit. And my Fluttershy was spotless.”

“It needed more shy.”

Face huffs and rolls over, facing away from me. “Whatever, you so loved my Fluttershy. And Pinkie was your favorite. I could see that much written all over your dopey face.”

I fold my forelegs around Face and pull her butt into my lap. This is our game and we’ve playing it for a good while now. We go weeks without seeing each other. Sometimes months. Then one random day I get a phone call or a letter in the mail. After that we find a club, and Face agrees to meet me at the center of the dance floor.

Sometimes she takes the shape of celebrities. I once fucked both Sapphire Shores and Photo Finish, twice on the same night in a club in Canterlot, then got a blow job from Spitefire during the cab ride to the hotel. Good memories. Good night.

Sometimes she does royalty. A night out in Philadelphia comes to mind. That night I took Celestia from behind and pounded her until she screamed for me. I brought her down low. Degraded her. Humiliated her. I was rough that night. Practically out for blood.

Sometimes she wears the faces of ponies I know. Ponies from my hometown in Ponyville. Mares like the Elements of Harmony who I sampled one-by-one tonight. Regardless of what shape she takes, I always know her when I see her. I can feel it deep in my heart...I can't really explain it.

But she never wears her own face. She’s ashamed of it. Ashamed of being a changeling. And so we play our game and we fuck, and I act the fool, pretending to sleep with celebrities or royals or neighbors. And the more we play the more distant we become. The more I long for something real.

“The multiplying trick was good, though” I say, trying to lift her mood. “How did you do both Twilight and Rarity at the same time?”

“Oh, that was Rarity.” The words leave her mouth much too causally. “She was just really drunk. I talked her into it while disguised as Twilight.”

“You mean I could have actually fucked the real Rarity tonight?” I roll onto my back and cover my face with both hooves, stunned.

Face mounts me and straddles my hips. “It’s still early.” A green light flashes, haloing her body from top to bottom, and then I'm staring at Rarity’s porcelain neck. Her fine-china face. “You could take her at this very moment if you wish, darling. Though, do be gentle, she does bruise so easily.”

She gets the voice perfect. Grinning fiendishly, I roll ‘Rarity’ onto her back and give her a big sloppy kiss.

She’s made of plastic, sure, but honestly that’s okay. Plastic is fine. Plastic is the best I can hope for.