It was almost impossible to keep a courthouse from radiating pure intimidation. That quality seemed to be embedded into the mere concept of such a structure, lurking until it found a way to express itself through cold marble and harsh lines. The architects tried to moderate the effects, for some were innocent and needed to be reassured accordingly... but it always came out in the end. The vast majority of those who approached the central courthouse in Canterlot would find themselves shivering slightly when they first grazed its aura, for something within them recognized the emanation of You Done Fucked Up.

Or, for a number of those whose knock-kneed approach was reluctantly advancing on Sex Court, You Done Fucked Something.

It was a much smaller structure: one which would have almost been lost in the shadow of the main building, if not for the material. The exterior had been crafted from pink marble. The hue was delicate, persistent, universal, reminded many ponies of something else which was pink and for those who actually had to go inside, very few would snicker more than once.

Because Sex Court wasn't a place which addressed crimes -- well, not on the felony level. Those went to the time-crunching white coffin on the left, because there needed to be a place which chewed up the guilty, spit the remains into prison, and swallowed years of their lives. It could be said that Sex Court mostly dealt with misdemeanors and civil cases, while maintaining a bustling traffic in Abject Humiliation.

Because ponies lived in a world of magic. And if there was magic in the world, then clearly the occupants possessed an obligation to use it. Especially if doing so would result in better sex.

It was universal, really. It wasn't even limited to magic. If something existed, then it was eventually going to turn up in a bedroom. Minotaurs had invented clockwork: somepony had noted the subtle vibrations produced by unwinding springs and decided to turn that up by a few dozen notches. The introduction of the movie camera had naturally led into capturing images of an activity which often involved a lot of movement. There were things to be done with gramophones, and most of them were legal.

Ponies experimented. (So did the other sapient species, because each had its own magic and there was probably going to be a bedroom somewhere.) Experiments went wrong. Even the tried and true, which had no more than a 0.0001% chance of failure, would eventually gallop directly into the demon known as Cumulative Odds.

Experiments could led to pleasure. Joy. Innovation. They also had a tendency to detour into The Land Of Oops, which was largely populated by those who were jabbing out shaking (and probably soaked) forelegs, usually while shouting "I'm gonna sue!" Because every day, ponies found new ways of being with each other, and roughly 6% were actionable.

Some talked things out. Others decided that never speaking to each other again was simpler than public confrontation. A few mutually shook their heads, trotted up to the blackboard together, and started working on a new set of diagrams.

For everypony else, there was Sex Court.

---

Judge Impassi Heartstopper reviewed her notes. The steely gaze (rendered by steel-hued irises) went over the summations, line by merciless line. Both plaintiff and defendant attempted to evaluate her expression, trying to figure out how the judgment was about to go.

That failure was mutual. There were several vital skills involved in administrating Sex Court, and the ability to keep a perfectly straight face was somewhere near the top of the list.

It was hard to make out any details of the judge's figure: the robes were fairly shapeless, and most ponies only saw her truly move when she entered or left the courtroom. But the earth pony's fur was pearlescent grey. The lavender-tinged ringlet curls might have been natural, styled, or she could have been wearing the world's best-fitted wig: nopony was ever quite sure. Hooves were exceptionally dense, to the point where she never used a gavel because a simple foreleg slam sufficed. And her features were fine, with the lines imposed by middle age doing nothing more than adding a few highlights.

She was, in all ways, considered to be a total JILF.

Over the course of her career, several defendants had decided that they had to find some way of knowing her better: all had subsequently discovered that getting charged multiple times was an exceptionally poor way of flirting. And most of the gallery had wondered what she would be like when under the saddle blankets. Because if sexual experience could be passed on verbally... then the judge had heard it all. And sentenced most of it.

But at this moment, those fine, stonefaced features and liquid steel eyes were reviewing notes.

The judge preferred to make her own notes. It was Sex Court in a land of magic. Minor sympathetic resonance effects meant there were times when the stenotype caught fire.

"To summarize the testimony," a perfectly even contralto announced, "the defendant felt that while his performance was -- and I quote -- 'just about perfect' -- there had been some complaints from his previous partners regarding what they saw as a relative lack of seminal fluid production."

The unicorn stallion winced. The gallery, which had quite a bit of experience in such matters, waited. One bespectacled grey-maned older mare, sitting in the Affected Parties section within the front row, did her best not to snarl. The slightly overweight pink earth pony sitting next to her (whose curls were perfectly natural, and utterly uncontrolled), kept herself unusually still and patient.

"So he devised a spell which would do something about that," the judge continued. "Multiplying his output. However, the enchantment did not do anything to the seminal gland, or the prostate. He only believed that it had, because his first, only, and rather minor trial -- conducted in a private train car, while coming home from Appleloosa, through the desert -- demonstrated a moderate increase in volume. But once he reached Ponyville, and found a partner for the evening..."

There was a pegasus mare sitting at the plaintiff's bench. She did not look happy. She hadn't looked happy for quite some time, and she certainly wasn't going to start now.

"...circumstances allowed him -- and a significant number of witnesses -- to discover how the spell actually functions. Namely, it steals resources from the general area and channels them directly into the ejaculation, as it emerges. And given his exact address..."

The steely-gaze snapped up. Focused on the defendant.

"One experiment," the judge said. "In private, as you masturbated. Only one. And then you decided everything was fine."

He just barely managed to nod.

"They tracked the trajectory of the geyser," she neutrally added. "From the launch through what had been your window, to the center of the splash zone. Which, if Ms. Whitetinge had not been a pegasus, and had not managed to get her wings into a glide position even when the feathers were adhering to each other, would have also been her impact point. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Your Honor..."

The pegasus mare compulsively shook out her wings again. She'd been doing that for the whole of the case, and no flakes of dried white fell away. That had mostly stopped after the third day. And the tenth bath.

The judge's left forehoof nudged the notebook closed. A pair of magnets within the covers locked into each other, and did so with a tone of doom.

There was a persistent rumor among the regulars: one which said that the judge's birth surname wasn't actually 'Heartstopper'. Ponies just heard it that way, to the point where she'd finally give up and started to write the distortion down.

"I find for the plaintiff," the judge announced. "Damages will be awarded as previously requested. The remedial magic classes are mandatory. Additionally, there will be community service for the defendant, as I understand that portions of the cleanup are ongoing and the pony responsible should really be doing most of it."

The unicorn's head dipped. The horn seemed to sag. The judge just looked out into the gallery.

'Heartstopper' might not have been her original name. But if so, 'Hardstopper' wasn't much of an improvement.

"Marigold?" the judge checked.

Mayor Mare took a deep breath.

"I would also appreciate it," the older mare pushed out between her teeth, "if Ponyville residents would stop finding new ways of emptying out the entire water tower in one go!"

Impassi nodded. "And as for the other affected party -- Miss --"

The other, much younger earth pony took a deep breath.

"The spell stole the resources to make more of the stuff," she announced. "All of the resources! And I know exactly what goes into it, because I checked at the library! Why, when the stallion's diet is just right, it can taste so sweet!" She tossed her head, and furious pink curls flew everywhere. "I saw the sacks collapse, just before the screaming started and the world went white and sticky and full of lumps which took three days to wash out! The bakery just wants its sugar back!"

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