Chapter Thirty Four

Getting to Know You

Spike was glad to have agreed to chaperone Mehmed on his meeting with Sheba the next day: no chance of any of his wives getting mad at him for “sticking something it shouldn’t usually go” or something along those lines: it had been somewhat hard to hear through the shouting and screaming.

He still shuddered at the exact conversation.

“Pull it out!”

“I can’t: it’s stuck!”

“Well try harder! I can’t have your dick stuck in my ass for the rest of our time here! How would that even work?”

“I can’t get out!”

“What is this?”

“I’m stuck!”

“What is my life?”

“I’m stuck!”

“JUST BUCKING PULL IT OUT ALREADY!”

“Fine!”

*Pop*

“OW THAT HURT!”

“NO SHIT MARIA!”

He shuddered again: luckily, the others had been there to restrain the frenzied mare, or else he might have had to lay down the law with a cock-slap to the face. The blow could have left a bruise!

“Ready?” Mehmed asked, snapping the dragon out of his own little world.

“Yes,” Spike said, glad to be thinking of something else. “You go on, I’ll watch from a distance. If you run into any trouble, just give me the signal.”

“What signal?” the prince asked. The dragon had never said anything about a signal, so what did he mean by it? Was this all some sort of test?

“You know what, never mind: I’ll probably know if things get out of hand,” the dragon said. “Okay, time for you to meet Sheba.”

They walked the rest of the distance between the palace and the fountain, both dressed once more in loose clothing designed to hide their appearance. Spike made sure they steered clear of the bar again: who knew how many mares from yesterday had showed up just to see if they could spot him again?

They rounded a corner once more and found themselves at the converging streets, the fountain in sight: as was Sheba, since Spike didn’t know anypony else who looked the same, dressed in the same manner, and had the same bodyguard following her from a distance.

“There she is: go for it,” Spike said, noticing how Mehmed had frozen. “What are you waiting for?”

“Her... she... I... I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” the prince said in a rush, taking a step back. Either he had realized just how intimidating the bodyguard was to anypony who looked at him, or he was not sure if he was in the right state to talk with Sheba.

Likely the second one, by the sudden increase in his breathing: rapid and shallow. “You can do this,” Spike said, giving him a nudge: more like a push, really. “You agreed to meet her here, and prince does not go back on his word. Go on!”

With a bit more force put into it, Spike shoved the prince forward, sending him stumbling a few steps before he caught himself. The prince looked back to give Spike a retort, but a voice interrupted.

“Mehmed,” Sheba called, giving him a small wave of greeting. The prince instantly turned around at her voice, all thoughts of giving Spike an earful suddenly erased from his mind. He slowly walked towards her, the sounds of the city around them making it difficult for Spike to hear him move.

When he sat down beside her, Mehmed began to talk with her, his head moving as he nodded to whatever she was talking about. Spike couldn’t hear it, though, and he wasn’t good at reading lips either. So he leaned against a building and just watched in silence, occasionally sniffing the air or scratching at his chin.

Ten minutes passed, and they just seemed to be talking: so far, so good. Then twenty minutes, and thirty, and forty, and-

“There you are!” a voice said, a pair of hands suddenly grabbing Spike’s arm and dragging him away. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! Your show starts in ten minutes!”

“What show?” Spike asked, suddenly very confused. “Who are you?” Wow, this pony was strong, to be shoving him with such ease.

“I am your boss! You idiot, don’t you remember your mid-afternoon show? The ladies have paid highly for your upcoming performance with the others: do not disappoint them!” The stallion’s voice was rather grating and it made Spike flinch slightly.

“What?!” Spike shouted again before he was shoved into a building, losing sight of the prince and his date Sheba. Before the dragon could regain his thoughts, someone threw a few large weapons into his arms: for anypony else they would have been really heavy, but for the dragon, it wasn’t much.

“Give these to the others when they are called on stage,” a voice said before it disappeared. Everywhere Spike looked, dust and clothes flew about as stallion upon stallion dressed themselves up in some rather... odd clothes. Like suspenders with no shirts on, exposing their abs: what in the name of Tartarus?

“Where did they even get suspenders?” Spike muttered to himself as he was jostled along by countless, sweaty stallions. Okay, even though he was the tallest male in the room, though not by too much, Spike was feeling very uncomfortable. Why were they all dressing like this? Where in the world was he? Why was-

“Ladies, the desert heat beats down on all of us. But here, in the Stud Shack, we can help you beat the heat with our prized selection of tall, cool glasses of water. Please welcome our prized stallions!”

There was a loud applause and many cheers and whistles as Spike, amidst a herd of muscular zebras, earth ponies, several pegasi and even a few unicorns, was forced onto the stage, his arms filled with various tools, weapons, and even... some cinder blocks? He hadn’t even noticed someone push those into his arms.

“Please, settle down you desert mares,” the same voice called out, booming from what had to be a speech-enhancing spell. “Your thirsts will soon be satisfied enough when we display our finest choices before you. Starting with... The Guards!”

Seven ripped, utterly masculine zebras stepped forward, muscles rippling under the magical lamps as they strode out further onto stage, each one picking a weapon out of Spike’s arms and carrying it with practiced ease. Another cheer rose up from the crowd, with several mares in the front row whistling loudly. The zebra stallions smiled and posed with the weapons, flexing their muscles as they showed off their glorious physiques. Spike did everything he could not to look down at the skimpy shorts they wore around their waists.

“Yes, the Guards: these fine gentlecolts are among the best of the king and queen’s ensemble of protectors! The best of the best, the brightest, the bravest, the strongest: it is only these select few that earn their chance to serve our royal highnesses within the splendor of the royal palace!”

The voice was getting on Spike’s nerves: he continued to glance around, suddenly unsure why he didn’t just up and leave. There were many mares here, many looking older than him.

The Guards walked off the stage amidst applause, just in time for the announcer to speak again. “Well, the guards must return to duty, but don’t you fret, ladies: there’s more to come with... the Sky Patrol!”

The only pegasi in the group strode forward, wings flexing in time with their steps as they too stopped and posed. Due to their more aerodynamic bodies, they were much leaner, with slim waistlines, compact bodies, and to top it off, colt-ish good looks. A few of the mares in the front row seemed to faint away when one winked in their general direction.

“Yes, you lucky mares: the Sky Patrol! Flying down here from the mountains to the south, these fine specimens have been part of our king’s royal air force for many years! Look how their bodies glisten!”

Some water fell from the ceiling, splashing onto the stallions. They flicked their manes back and posed some more, the screams of the mares giving Spike a headache as the water dripped slowly from the stallion’s bodies. Spike saw a flurry of hands grab the cinderblocks and tools from his arms, leaving him holding nothing. He tried to move, but the pressing of bodies held him fast: he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t about to hurt somepony just to get away, and yet this was definitely NOT the place he wanted to be right now.

The pegasi walked off the stage, flicking the remaining droplets off their wings and into the crowd with bemused smirks.

The announcer boomed again as small cries of dismay followed their exit. “Don’t worry ladies: they’ll return. Now, though, please welcome out... the Laborers!”

Strapping unicorns and earth pony stallions walked out onto stage, their torsos bursting with muscles and they hefted the heavy cinderblocks and work tools. The unicorns hefted blacksmith tools, the soot-stained smocks doing little to hide their robust bodies. The earth ponies held aloft the blocks as though they were mere paperweights, their massive chests and biceps glistening from sweat. The crowd of obviously excited mares roared in approval.

“Yes, the Laborers!” the announcer called again, the voice making Spike flinch in anger. “These fine stallions work out in the hot sun all day, crafting and building the very city we live in! Look at their fine features, those huge, endurance-charged muscles!”

There were screams of glee from several parts of the audience as the stallions posed with their tools and work supplies. Their clothes stretched tight across their torsos surely had many a mare nearly soiling herself with lust at the mere sight of it. Thank Celestia none of them were in heat, or else this place might descend into one massive, lust-fuelled orgy.

“These hunky stallions are available for private shows, ladies!” the announcer said as cries filtered through the audience once again: the earth and unicorn stallions walked off stage. The announcer appeared where they had left, a small unicorn who wore several sets of robes for some odd reason.

“Well, the show is winding down, ladies, and I’m afraid we have no more hunks for you tonight.” Soft calls of disappointment filtered through the air. “But do not fret: we will not send you home all hot and bothered. Here, fresh from our line of hopefuls, is a small consolation prize to help you all wind down and not feel so bad about not getting any of this hot produce.”

There was a shove, and Spike found himself sprawled on the stage, right next to the hooves of the announcer. Somepony had also had the great idea to throw some extra robes over him, so now he could barely be seen. It must have been enough, as laughs started filtering through the audience.

“Yes ladies, you know that time: time for the new stallion to receive his little breaking in,” the announcer said, walking around Spike. “As you know, all young hopefuls are carefully selected, and must be rigorously trained to be completely controlled and obedient, lest they besmirch this facilities’ name with lewd and vulgar practices.” More jeers at this: it wasn't likely any of the mares would have minded if those stallions did that,

Spike was getting pissed: this unicorn ran a show like this, and yet needed to completely control the stallions to keep them from being “vulgar”?

“That’s right, ladies,” the announcers said in a condescending tone. “Our new friend here must be shown the ropes.” He stomped down next to Spike’s head. “Tell us your name, sir.”

Spike!” the dragon roared through the robes, only for it to barely come out at all.

“Spike! An interesting name, to be sure,” the announcer said, jostling around the mass of jumbled robes like it was a game. “Why don’t you stand up like a gentlecolt for these fine ladies? Give them a show!”

More laughs filtered through the audience at this, causing something inside of Spike to tumble out of place. “They want a show?” he murmured to himself as he felt his body flex. “I’ll give them a show.”

He stopped moving entirely, before slowly standing up, the robes fluttering around him. The announcer bounced back a few steps, his gleeful smile faltering slightly.

“My... he’s a bit taller than we thought, isn’t he ladies?” the unicorn said, noticing how the jumbled mass of robes now stood a good two heads taller than the biggest stallion he had working for him. The laughter died down a bit, an odd silence gaining strength as every mare there started to take in the sight of the robed figure.

“Why... why don’t you flex for us?” the announcer said, his voice sounding a tad frightened.

The towering figure looked down at him, stared for a few seconds and then bent its body and arms into flexing positions.

The robes around the biceps stretched and ripped, the noise sending a gasp through the audience. From the shredded robes falling to the ground, a sight unseen emerged. Biceps, greater in size than the pecs of the earth pony stallion, flexed and moved in time with the figure’s pose. They looked like each one contained a cinder block below the odd-textured flesh, and yet they did not move on their own accord: no jiggling of any sort. They were solid, firm, unquestionably tough: the kind of biceps that could be used all day and yet never tire. Triceps followed them underneath, not the same size but something greater than what any of the mares had seen before. The forearms seemed of an unnaturally large size as well, thick to the point of looking like small anvils. The announcer made a small squeak when the figure flexed again, this time exposing most of his legs. Calves, thighs, everything was large and perfectly proportioned. For some reason, the hooves were hidden from view, but the legs made many a mare’s own go weak, and they were sitting!

A robed hand tore away the robes around the torso, revealing... oh my, revealing something no mare had thought was even possible. Pectorals formed the upper part of the torso, seemingly stretched tight against the odd-looking pelt. They were massive large enough to crush something between, and yet... seemed to defy and expand the natural laws of masculinity. Below them were a set of abs, abs so glorious any minotaur in the room would have left crying for feeling inadequate. They were glorious, defined, sculpted by whatever gods or goddesses had an affinity for glorious abs. Right alongside them were obliques, obliques so glorious five mares simultaneously came and fainted right in the front row.

The announcer, for once, didn’t have anything to say. Who was this Adonis, this epitome of what mares wanted physically out a male? “May... may I have your name again?” he asked, his voice sounding squeaky.

The massive figure reached up with on hand and grabbed onto the remaining robes, tearing them away in one quick motion. “My name is Spike.”

The rest of the robes flew off, revealing... a dragon! A massively muscled, incredibly handsome, god-like dragon!

The crowd went absolutely bonkers: a few from fear, but most from outright amazement. Amidst the screams, a figure rose to their hooves. “He is the one from yesterday!” she cried out, causing about half the room to rise to their hooves as well. “Get him!”

Spike merely opened his massive wings and fanned them, sending a wave of wind through the place. Every standing mare was knocked flat onto her ass, and with impudence Spike strode past them, his tail smacking away the hands of any close enough to reach him. Striding out into the sunlight, he turned a corner and shrunk back down, passing under a clothes line as he did. Grabbing some robes, he threw them on and walked back in what he believed to be the direction from whence he had been dragged, a roar of mares sounding behind him. He made no sudden moves, though, as they all rushed behind and past him down the street, searching in vain for the sex symbol they had just been privy to.

Soon enough, Spike found what he was looking for: Mehmed walking away from the fountain, waving back at Sheba. She too waved as her bodyguard escorted her away.

“Have fun?” Spike asked, his blood still pumping from the spectacle he had caused in the *shudder* Stud Shack. Since when did Saddle Arabia even have clubs like that? It seemed too different for this country’s tastes: likely a transplant business from Equestria or something.

“Oh, I had the most wonderful time with Sheba,” Mehmed said, with a far-off look in his eyes. “She is the most wonderful pony I have met: I cannot believe I didn’t meet her sooner.”

“Well, you can tell me all about it on the way back,” Spike said, snapping his fingers in front of the dreamy prince’s eyes.

Later...

“You may leave us,” the king said to Mehmed after hearing the prince gush over Sheba again. The prince gave a quick bow and scampered off, a light skip in his gait as he went.

“Spike, please stay,” the queen said as the dragon made to move. “There’s something you must know.” Spike stopped in his tracks and turned back to them: what was it?

“Yes?” he asked.

The king sighed. “Spike, I assume you know of Sheba’s last name?”

“Yes,” Spike said, scratching his chin. “Sheba El-Hashim.”

“And, through this name, I assume you have come to know of her heritage?” the king continued.

“Yes, her father: the general. Hu... Husam: Husam El-Hashim, I believe. Why do you ask?” the dragon queried.

“This is a rather delicate matter, so we would greatly appreciate it if you did not tell Mehmed until the time is right,” the queen said.

Okay, now Spike was very confused. “Tell him what?” he asked.

“Long before Mehmed was born, his mother and I were betrothed, as you know,” the king began. “What you do not know is the circumstances of the betrothal.”

“Go on,” Spike said: this sounded interesting.

“I was young, foolish, brash: I was the epitome of a spoiled prince, the kind I am sure you are familiar with.”

“Yes, I am,” Spike said, Prince Blueblood’s face entering his mind.

“Anyway, back then, my father unexpectedly passed away, an advisor tried to worm his way into my father’s throne, and his bedroom. My mother, the queen, kept trying to make him go away, but he was insistent and had many supporters who thought his ideas would help revitalize and enrich the kingdom. I knew from the start he was up to no good, so I enlisted the help of a close friend.”

“Who?” Spike asked.

“Husam El-Hashim,” the king said. “He and I had grown up together, were as close as friends could be: almost like brothers. So, when he went off to join the army, I had him start spreading news that the worm of an advisor would cut spending on the military. Of course, the advisor got word of this when the then-generals asked him about it. He sent them out on several-year expeditions, many dying far from home. Most of the armies still stayed loyal to the crown, and my mother, many of whom owed their lives and positions of power to her just hand. So, though my mother, I had an army backing me, but the advisor was a clever one. He sent out malicious rumors I was planning on using a foreign army to take my throne by force. The populace began to believe it, even though the army knew it to be nothing but smoke.”

“Then what happened?” Spike asked.

“The nation’s largest banker, Suleiman, said he would side with me if I did but just one thing for him. He was growing old and sick, but the ponies of the lands loved him: he brought them great riches and amazing goods from foreign countries and made much of it available for them at reasonable costs.”

“What was this deal?” Spike asked, although he had an inkling he already knew the answer.

“Marry his daughter,” the king said, looking over to his queen. She nodded softly, looking down at Spike.

“I was to be the bargaining chip that would help him peacefully oust that wicked advisor from the figurative fortress he had built in the hearts and minds of the populace. But I was with another at the time.”

“Who?” Spike asked again.

“Husam El-Hashim: we had grown up together, all three of us,” the king said. “Husam had fallen madly in love with her when they were younger, as many colts were wont to do with young mares and growing up did little to dampen his feelings. He had told me he would ask for her hand in marriage in time, something I knew that, had she accepted would have made him the happiest stallion in the world. But I had to do what I had to do, so I told him in confidence what my plan was.”

The king grimaced. “It... it turned ugly. He called me a coward, a mare-stealer, a low-life princeling who trotted on the dreams of others: I was lower than scum, a stallion jealous of the love he (thought) he had found. We said some things we should not have and drew swords. All alone, high in the tower in which we slept, we dueled with a ferocity unmatched by the fiercest of beasts: he was more skilled, but his rage made him sloppy. I... I managed to disarm him, and had him at my mercy: so I... I gave him my sword.”

“You what?” Spike asked, not sure if he had heard correctly.

“Yes, I gave him my sword. I knew he was angry enough to kill me, but through that anger I saw a stallion willing to die for what he loved: his country. So I gave him my sword and simply said this: ‘Either chose her and let this kingdom be split, or be the bigger stallion and swallow your pride.’ He then looked at me, then the sword, and after what felt like an hour, he threw it to the ground. He said he would let me have my wife, and my crown, but from that day forth, we were no longer friends. We then parted ways.”

“So, you two were then married, and the ponies of the land looked upon you with renewed faith?” Spike guessed.

“Yes,” the king with a sigh. “At the cost of my closest friend, I regained my kingdom and had the ponies do what they wanted with that sniveling advisor and his cronies. After that, with the full backing of the army, I removed many of the oppressive laws the worm had put into place through bribery and threats. Prosperity returned to the land, though at a cost I had hoped to avoid: we have not spoken to one another since that night.”

“Not once?” Spike asked.

“Not once,” the queen said, knowing when her husband didn’t want to say any more. “We had hoped this would not happen, but it seemed that fate had other plans for all of our families. We know we cannot hope to part Mehmed from Sheba: we can see he has fallen madly in love with her. It would break him in ways we could not bear to see, should it happen somehow.”

“What would you have me do?” Spike asked.

“Keep them together, and mend the bridges that were so long ago broken,” the kind said softly. “Perhaps, through their union, I can finally apologize to Husam for what I did. For the friendship I destroyed in order to regain my throne: perhaps our families can once again be at peace with one another.”

They dismissed Spike soon after that, and with a heavy heart he went up to his tower, to his waiting wives. As soon as he closed the door behind them, they strode up, looking like they all had something to say to him.

But they stopped in their tracks when they saw his expression, and immediately they followed him to the bed, silent as he stripped off his clothes and crawled under the covers. They joined him, still clothed, silent as they pondered just what his expression could mean.

“Spike? What happened?” Chrysalis asked quietly, more of her strength obviously having returned to her voluptuous body. Her belly too, as was Maria’s was starting to swell slightly more than it had been: Spike just hadn’t really noticed. He had been very occupied with this whole “Mehmed” ordeal, and now he just... didn’t know what to do.

“It’s... it’s a long story,” Spike said softly as all four of his wives cuddled against his warm body.

“We have all night, love,” Asalah said softly as she gently stroked his spines along his head.

“Yes, please tell us,” Trixie said as one hand rubbed her bigger belly. Maria didn’t say anything, the look on Spike’s face when she saw him shocking any residual anger about their “sexual entanglement” out of her system.

“Okay, I’ll tell: just... keep me company tonight, will you?” Spike asked softly, the tale of Mehmed’s family and the conflict it endured still playing through his head like a sad nightmare. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

They stayed with him the entire night, long after he fell asleep.

Author's Notes:

I am sorry this is a little late, but I just started a 6-week summer camp-like college course. My days are terribly busy, so if you want to wait for chapters, wait for the weekends or the days after them. I won't be available to write as much as I wanted, but I will NEVER put this story on hiatus, or forget it.

I could never do that to my fans.