Chapter Thirty Three

Heartbreaker, Matchmaker

It was early the next morning that Spike rose from his bed, managing to slip out from underneath the weight of all his wives. How he managed to do this was beyond his knowledge: perhaps he had finally mastered some unknown skill? Getting dressed, he slowly made his way down the winding steps, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself flying on the morning breeze. He had no idea how the sleep guards on duty would react, so he decided it would be best to just play it safe.

When he arrived in the throne room, he found the king and queen talking with a pair of the royal guards. The queen noticed the dragon and waved him over, the king dismissing the two guards.

“Ah, Spike: good morning,” the queen said as they all bowed before one another. “I trust you had a good night’s sleep?”

“Very much so,” Spike said, truthfully. “After being on that ship, I feel it is safe to say my wives and I would prefer to sleep on dry land.” He hadn’t minded the Crowhop, but a ship falling apart around him was not an experience Spike wanted to relive any time soon.

“Well, that is good to hear,” the king said as another door opened. “Tell us: how is everything going with Mehmed?”

Spike blinked in surprise: they sure wanted their son to marry. “Very well: the plan is in motion,” he said.

“Plan? What plan?” the queen asked.

“I am afraid I can’t tell you that,” Spike said mysteriously. “It is between Mehmed and me, told in confidence. I know you two are anxious, but you’ll have to wait. I ask for your patience in this: things like this cannot just be done within a few days’ time.”

“Well, if you insist on privacy,” the king said, sounding a bit apprehensive. “We will respect your wishes. But, I must ask you one thing: can you assure us you can help Mehmed find a mare to be his queen?”

“Your highness, by the time I leave this city, I can guarantee I will have not only found the perfect mare for Mehmed, but I will also have convinced him to ask for her hand in marriage,” Spike said with a confident smile.

“You will?” the queen asked, arching her eyebrows in surprise.

“Most definitely, though it will not happen overnight,” Spike said. “I’ll show him the ropes, give him a chance to do things his way, and help him along. I’ll be his wingman.”

“A wingwhat?” the king asked.

“Wingman: sort of like a friend who helps another friend get “lucky”, though in this case I’d be helping him find a suitable wife and not just some piece of tail,” Spike said. “Wingman is a pegasus term, in case you didn’t know.”

“Ah,” the queen said, suddenly unsure if Spike was the right one to teach her darling little Mehmed the ways of the social side of life. “Well... best of luck to you: both of you.”

“Believe me, Mehmed will have all the luck he’ll need,” Spike said, bowing again. “I’ll begin his “tutoring” right away, your highnesses.” With that, he left the room, the two monarchs looking at each other.

“I like him,” the king said with a smile.

“I do as well, but I’m worried he’ll lead Mehmed down a strange path to find his wife,” the queen replied.

“Please, my wife: what is the worst that could happen?” the king asked. He didn’t show it, but the king sort of did know the worst that could happen.

Several hours later, in the only public place where drinking was allowed, Spike and Mehmed strode in through the front door, both disguised in high-quality but feature-blurring clothing. The building itself was more of a large, open courtyard than a building, but the lattice-work roofing at least kept some of it cooler under the intense heat. This place was also only available to the richest ponies in the city, so there were relatively few stallions there. However, the daughters and sisters of the wealthy and powerful pervaded the area like a school of fish, and though Spike had rings on to show he was married, he had already been approached three times by rich young mares by the time he and Mehmed reached a table in a far corner. Unlike when in public, these mares were very talkative: it seemed a gender did not change overall, no matter what the base culture.

“Do we really have to do this?” Mehmed whispered under his concealing robes as they sat down into the seats carved into the very walls of the place.

“Yes: think of it as picking out the best without them knowing,” Spike whispered back. “This way, you’ll be able to see them for who they are: mares act their most natural around other mares, not possible husbands-to-be.”

“I think I see what you are getting at, my friend,” Mehmed said as they were served a large bowl of fruit. “I need to know what they are truly like, and not what they would want me to see. They would put up a facade, an act, to hide their true natures from me. ”

“Exactly,” Spike replied as he munched on an apple. He spit out the seeds and stored them for later: Applejack would no doubt want to know what kind these were. “Shall we get started?”

It wasn’t three minutes later that a mare walked over and sat across from them, silent as she stared at the both of them.
“Hello,” Mehmed said, trying to start a conversation.

“Greetings: I am Salai,” the mare said, rather forcefully. “I have not seen you here before: you are new, yes?”

“Uh, I... I guess,” Mehmed replied, somewhat cowed before the mare in front of him. Spike wanted to groan: he was coming off as weak, bashful: while it was not a bad thing, he couldn’t appear so all of the time.

“Since you are new, would you like me to show you around?” the mare asked, her request not exactly seeming to be a question.

“Uh... sure,” Mehmed said, looking to Spike for help.

The dragon merely shrugged and whispered to him. “Go for it: if she’s not the one, then maybe she’ll introduce you to somepony better.”

“But I don’t know anything about conversing with them!” Mehmed whispered back as the mare rose to her hooves.
“Just go with the flow and talk about things you all like,” Spike whispered as Mehmed’s hand was grabbed by Salai, who proceeded to nearly yank him out of his chair.

“But-,” Mehmed said, his words dying in his throat as Salai led him away. Spike gave him a discreet thumbs-up, and went back to eating some fruit.

A few minutes later, a figure walked into the joint and cautiously walked around, their hooves barely making a noise as they moved around. Soon enough, they went over and sat down in Mehmed’s seat, not saying a word: they didn’t even look at Spike.

“Hello,” Spike said, offering his hand in greeting. “The name’s... Spike.” He decided the truth would be easier, as none of the city really knew who he was or why he was here. If they did, then every mare in the city, and likely the surrounding countryside, would descend upon, hoping to catch his eye and be wed to him. He already met the “quota” for his herd, but maybe, someday, a few more could join?

“H-h-hello,” a female voice said, one that sounded awfully familiar...

“Fluttershy?” Spike asked, his brain nearly exploding. Oh no, Fluttershy was here! And if she was here, then the others were, and Celestia could be, and they would find out about Meia really being Chrysalis, and-

“Who?” the voice asked, lowering the veil to show a decidedly not-pegasus face: she was an Arabian pony. “Who is this “Fluttershy” of which you speak?”

“Oh, sorry: your voice reminded of a friend’s,” Spike said, internally sighing in relief. “I’m guessing your name is not Fluttershy, then?”

“Correct: my name is Sheba,” the pony said, her soft and very quiet voice barely registering above the background noise of the bar. “How... how did you find where I sit?”

“Where you sit?” Spike repeated. “You come here by yourself all the time?”

“Y-yes, always alone though,” she replied, looking around. “The others... I don’t know any of them.”

“Why? You’re obviously wealthy enough, or related to a pony wealthy enough, to get in this place,” Spike said.

“I just... I’m just not good around crowds,” Sheba said, even more softly than before. “It’s... it’s hard to start a conversation with somepony sometimes: you’re the f-first I’ve talked to since I’ve been here.”

“Ever?” Spike asked, raising an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Ever,” Sheba confirmed. “I’m... I’m not a very sociable pony. Others are intimidated...”

“By you?” Spike asked, one of his eyebrows nearly disappearing behind his head, so high he arched it. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but... you’re not intimidating in the slightest.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, blushing slightly. “No, no, I’m not the pony who is intimidating. It’s... it’s my father everypony else is afraid of.”

“Why is that?” the dragon asked as Mehmed was dragged past him to meet another group of mares. The poor prince shot him a silent look of pleading agony, but Salai’s grip was far too strong for him to escape.

“He... well, he is intimidating: anypony who has met him would likely agree with me,” Sheba said quietly as she glanced at Mehmed. “Is that a friend of yours?”

“Yeah,” Spike said as he watched the disguised prince disappear into a cluster of strangers.
“He’s... attractive,” the mare said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“So I’ve been told,” Spike replied, filing away her comment for later. “So, your father: what’s his name?”

“He is Husam: Husam El-Hashim,” Sheba said.

“What is his occupation?” the dragon asked as he munched on another fruit. The stallion had to be rich, to allow his daughter to enter a place like this. A big pony kept looking over at her from the corner: he had no idea who he was, but Spike knew the stallion was strong.

“He was a general in the king’s army: the highest ranked in several decades,” Sheba said as she gently bit into a fruit. “I’m surprised you didn’t know what he did: he is rather famous for his past deeds. He retired many years ago due to an arrow wound from a bandit in his leg: he still has the scars to show for it.”

“I’m not from around here,” Spike said simply. “I wouldn’t really know anything about this place, or much more about the ponies who live here.”

“You’re not from around here? But... but only the richest and most powerful of ponies are allowed into this club,” Sheba said, disbelief filtering through to her voice. “How in the world did you get in here, then?”

“I came with him,” Spike said, pointing to a bedraggled-looking figure who exited a pack of mares and stumbled his way over to the table.

“Spike, you must help me,” Mehmed said in a whisper. “I think... I think one might be onto us.”

“Which one?” Spike asked, rising to his feet as Sheba did the same, only rising to her hooves instead.

“That Salai: she seemed suspicious when I said I didn’t come here often, and this disguise is starting to fall apart,” the somewhat-disguised prince gasped, eagerly taking an offered fruit from Sheba. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, sir,” Sheba replied. Her eyes roamed him, glad she had a reasonable excuse to have cut her conversation with Spike short. She didn’t dislike him or anything, but he was even more of a stranger to her than those living in the city.

“Anyway,” the prince continued after swallowing a bite of the juicy fruit. “We must leave now: I know she will come to the conclusion soon enough: she is a sharp one.”

“Is she the right one?” Spike asked as they left the table, hearing some voices rise in volume behind them.

“No, no, no: she is far too dominating, too corrosive of a personality for one such as myself,” Mehmed said, not noticing as Sheba followed them. “She... she scares me, my dragon friend.”

“Wait... you’re a dragon?” Sheba whispered with wide eyes just as they reached the door. Apparently it had been loud enough for others to hear, as many heads turned in their direction.

“Uh oh,” Spike said as several mares rose from their seats, hungry looks filtering through their veils. “We must go: now.”

With a flick of his concealed tail, Spike sent a table tipping over behind them, blocking the entrance to the club just as several mares rushed the three of them. Stopping them in their tracks, the table was there long enough for the three of them to make good their escape, though they were followed by that large stallion that could only be Sheba’s bodyguard.

“I doubt we’ll be going back there any time soon,” Spike said as they reached their destination: a fountain in the middle of several street intersections.

“I must bid you farewell, as my father will no doubt be expecting me home soon,” Sheba said, shaking Spike’s hand. She turned to shake Mehmed’s, who had stopped to look at her, and I mean really look at her. She noticed. “Is... is something wrong, sir?”

“Uh, I... I don’t...” the prince tried to say, his tongue suddenly tied in knots. Where had this come from? Why did he suddenly feel so awkward? “Would... can I see you again?”

“Um...” Sheba responded, suddenly at a loss for words as well. She found herself getting lost in the stallion’s eyes...

Spike saw how both of them were reacting and nearly laughed out loud. Of course! Fate was too kind to him: he had obviously been introduced to the future Mrs. Mehmed, but he hadn’t seen it! It had just been a nice conversation, he thought, but in reality, fate had sent him the very pony he had been trying to help Mehmed find.

“Say yes,” Spike whispered to Sheba, since Mehmed seemed to be off in a world of his own making. This startled the mare out of her reverie, causing her silent bodyguard to twitch.

“Um... yes, sir: I too would like to see you again,” she finished, her voice an octave below a whisper.

“That’s... great,” Mehmed said, her response seeming to snap him out of his own reverie. “That would be... great. Where... where would we... meet?”

“What about... here?” Sheba asked, looking at the fountain, though judging from the motion, she didn’t want to look away from Mehmed.

“S-sure,” the prince replied, finally letting her hand go free from the handshake. “H-how about... noon t-tomorrow?”

“That sounds... splendid,” Sheba said, bowing slightly before him. Then, with a small but noticeable spring in her hoof-step, she walked off, glancing back over her shoulder to look at Mehmed as her bodyguard caught up with her.

“She’s... she’s...” Mehmed said to Spike, who had walked up beside the prince. “She’s... perfect.”

“I was about to say the same thing, your highness,” Spike said with a grin. “Come on: I’ll tell you all about her when we get-,”

“THERE HE IS!” a voice shrieked, causing the duo to look around. The mares from the club had not been so easily dissuaded with a table blocking the entrance.

“Run!” Spike whispered to Mehmed, who wasted no time in taking off down the street. Spike ran after him, the both of them running like they stole something. The herd of mares behind them thundered like a mighty flood, the sounds of their hoofbeats never getting farther away.

Spike saw a problem with their plan: dead ahead was the end of the road. Worse yet, due to the hilly nature of the city, it ran into a sheer cliffside of buildings.

Mehmed saw this. “What do we do?!” he shouted as they approached.

“Jump!” Spike answered back.

“Jump?! Are you insane?!” the prince shouted back. The drop-off grew closer, and closer, and closer...

“Just trust me!” Spike shouted. The prince was only a few steps ahead of him, but it seemed like minutes before he reached the ledge, the prince already airborne.

With a tearing noise, Spike’s great wings unfurled themselves from the clothes he wore, tearing it apart from the waist up, exposing his muscular body. Squeals of glee sounded from the herd behind him as he flapped, gaining on the falling (and screaming like a little filly) prince, catching him under the armpits with his hands.

“See? I said you could trust me,” Spike said calmly as his wings flapped, carrying them both aloft without any difficulty. “Also, you can stop screaming now.”

The prince stopped screaming as they flew off, leaving behind the bemoaning herd of mares behind. The castle came into view, and the stunned guards did nothing as Spike landed the both of them near the entrance, sending three servants fleeing into the nearby rose bushes.

Their screams of pain were a comical thing to hear, when combined with them running out and tearing at their clothes.

Later...

“Chased out of a bar by a herd of mares? Running through the streets like a pair of hooligans? Leaping to certain doom to escape them?” the king and queen said to Mehmed, who meekly shuffled his hooves before them in the throne room. Spike wasn’t there: he had said something about “attending to his wive’s needs” and had disappeared like jewelry at a thief convention.

“Yes?” he said.

“Mehmed, sometimes I don’t know how you are even alive, after all the shenanigans you’ve pulled,” the king said.

“Do you want to send us to an early grave from worry?” the queen asked, burying her face in her hands in exasperation. As soon as she did this, the king gave his son a discreet wink and two thumbs up: it reminded him of his exploits as a young colt, before the responsibilities of running a kingdom took over.

“But, mother, father, I have good news too,” the prince said as his father’s stoic face returned as the queen looked up.

“You do?” the king asked, his voice sounding skeptical to maintain the illusion he was still upset with his son, instead of just somewhat annoyed.

“Yes,” Mehmed said. “For you see, at the bar, Spike and I met somepony-,”

“You did?” the queen asked, bolting upright from her somewhat slouched position on the throne.

“Yes,” Mehmed continued. “She’s beautiful, and though I don’t know much about her besides that, I-,”

“Asked her to marry you?” the queen said, nearly squealing like a school filly upon learning the cutest colt in class had a crush on her. Oh, the thought of grandfoals, and their own colt finally becoming solidified in his position to take over the kingdom in their stead filled her with great joy.

“N-n-no,” Mehmed said, causing his parent’s looks of hope and joy to come crashing down like an unstable tower of cheese. “I asked to meet her again tomorrow.”

“Oh,” the king said. “Well, I suppose if you ask her there...”

“No I won’t, father,” Mehmed said. “I want to ask her when the time is right: after I’ve gotten to know her and her family.”

“That’ll take forever!” the queen said in a royal whiny voice.

“You told me I must start making decision for myself, and starting now, this is one of them,” the prince said, crossing his arms and looking up at his parents. “If you cannot accept that, then that is fine with me.”

The king and queen sighed: why now, of all the decisions he had to make, did he have to be so... decisive about this one. “Fine, my son,” the king said. “We will support you in this endeavor. Though, please tell me one thing: what is her name?”

“Spike told me: Sheba. Her name is Sheba El-Hashim.”

At this, both the king and the queen looked at each other, their faces ablaze with shock. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but...

“This is not good,” the king whispered to the queen.

Meanwhile...

“Maria, must you always do that?” Spike asked as his first wife and mother of what would be either his second or third foal bounced on him. “You know this isn’t a race, right?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” Maria said as she rode him, her slightly swollen belly smacking lightly against his toned abs as she rode him. “You have no idea how good this is.” Asalah, Trixie and Chrysalis were all taking a nap, having gladly gorged themselves on sweets and other goodies while Spike was out with Mehmed. He had returned to find Maria awake, looking for him, and... horny.

“I think I do,” Spike said, his hands reaching up and trapping her own at her sides. She squealed as he flipped her over onto her back, her swollen breasts flinging up to smack her in the chin. They too were now swollen with milk, so that when Spike reached down and suckeld one, the sweet mixture left the tender nipple and entered his mouth.

“That’s so good,” they said at the same time, Maria reveling in the experience and Spike drinking the sweet substance.
“Maria?” Spike asked through his suckling mouth, the words coming out as a mumble.

“Hm? Maria replied, loving the feeling of him so deep in her.

“I’m going to cum somewhere else,” he said, pulling himself out of her tender marehood. They had agreed he could not go as deep as he used to, before she was with foal: there was no telling what his mighty sword could do if it were sheathed too far into her... scabbard.

“But... but where?” Maria asked, looking down over her tender breasts and slightly bulging belly to see Spike’s dragonhood withdraw itself from her. She moaned quietly, an ache suddenly upon her.

“Here,” Spike said, pushing the tip against the entrance to her virgin asshole.

“What?” Maria said, nearly shrieking in surprise. “But.. but.. that’s an exit only!”

“No, it’s the third hole on you at your disposal,” Spike said softly, continuing to milk her with his mouth as he prodded against her unplundered cave.

“No, Spike... I.... you can’t,” she said, her words starting to fail her as more and more milk left her breasts, as Spike readily switched between them. “That’s... that’s... that’s not befitting of a noblemare such as... as myself?”

“Oh really?” Spike asked, raising an eyebrow and looking up at her from his suckling position. “Then why are you so wet at the thought?”

That much was true: her marehood had begun to leak even more copiously than when they were mating, the mere thought of so large an object entering a (in her mind) taboo pleasure zone making her body react rather pleasantly towards the idea.

“But... but will it even fit?” Maria asked as the mighty mushroom cap that was the tip of Spike’s dick probed against her, pushing against her virgin backside.

“I should think so,” Spike said in a nonchalant manner.

“No, it... it won’t.”

“Yes it will: you worry too much.”

“No, Spike, I’m serious, it won’t fit: it simply, positively... CAN’T!” Maria shouted out as Spike plunged the first few inches of it into her, who smiled into her breasts as it made a popping sound.

“Told you,” he said, pushing slightly more in, earning another squeal from her as he body shuddered and bucked underneath his.

“You... you got lucky it did,” Maria said, laughing weakly as her words were interspaced by moans. They continued to grind against one another, Spike plunging as far as he dare go into her: he didn’t want o break her, after all.

Soon, or too soon in Maria’s befuddled mind, they came, her asshole clutching at his throbbing meat as volley after volley of thick, dragon seed spewed forth into her inside. They lay like that, milk leaking from Maria’s nipples as Spike raised himself above her.

“That... that was nice,” Maria said weakly, moving some of her mane out of her sweaty face.

“Yes,” Spike said, starting to pull out. “Yes it wa-,”

“Spike?” Maria asked, looking at his face as he failed to... remove himself from her.

“Uh,” Spike said, a dumb looking crossing his features.

“What is it?” the unicorn asked.

“Maria, dear,” Spike said weakly, a meek grin forming on his lips. “I... I can’t pull out.”

“What,” the noblemare said; the “what” not even a question. More of a statement, to be honest.

“Yeah...” Spike said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m... I’m kinda... stuck.” The look on Maria’s face meant she was not happy; not happy at all.

Then, the other three of his wives walked in, still a bit sleepy but obviously awake. Then they looked and saw Spike’s giant dragon dick stuck inside Maria’s tight asshole.

Oh boy: this was awkward.

Author's Notes:

Well, there you go: introductions, humor, some clop... A package deal, I might say. Updates may soon be few and far between, what with my intensive month-long training session.