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-Part 9: Pregnant rarity, Light Anal, Large Weight, Heavy Feeding, Large Weight, Fantasy / Masturbation, Denial, Public Play / Exhibitionism

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In the diminishing light of the train cabin you hold the letter aloft. Quietly you ponder its contents, less than certain of what awaits you at your destination. It’s been four days since you saw her last, departing to Canterlot for the crafter’s convention that Twilight Sparkle had gifted you both tickets to. The ball had been the source of much of her energy of course. It will come later this evening, and you find yourself pleasantly at ease with that fact. She mingles well socially and always has. Together you’ve hammered down the awkward walls she’d constructed during the first half of her pregnancy, and her business-like and casual air of sophistication has returned to your lives in full force once more. She’s closing on on nine months along, roughly a week and a half into her last month of pregnancy. Had the trip come any later, even a week, it would have been risky to travel. Yet Twilight is your expert on such matters, and she had urged you both to go.

It was a chance to drum up business she’d said. You know you’ll be needing it with the foal’s arrival, so with some reluctance you’d put Rarity on the first train to Canterlot last Thursday and watched her disappear into the morning sunlight. Since then you’d busied yourself getting things together: a trunk of clothes and your finest gems to take with you. You’ve spent four quiet days working on jewelry, one of the few crafts your sophisticated hands can do better even than unicorn magic. Your wife has taught you much about gems over the course of your marriage, and she is a true expert on the matter. The ring on your hand, covered brilliantly in them, is one of the few such things that exist in the world. She told you so and it makes sense. Not many unicorns wear jewelry on their horns, and ponies have no fingers on which to wear such fine things. Now a trunk rests at your feet filled with the finest in necklaces, hoof bracelets, tierras, her best and newest outfits, and plenty of other goodies to show off your skills through. You close the ring hand and the crackle of the envelope in it brings you back to your initial musing.

She’s been missing you, enough to write and send a letter. It’s only been five days, but you know the real reason for the letter. She’s far too obsessive compulsive to leave the packing of all your things to your own mental checklist. The letter is several pages of nothing but “Do not forgets” but the last one simply tells you to “Behave”. You’re able to interpret the code of course, and it’s been mind breaking. You’ve not tasted physical pleasure in days, in a display you can only imagine would draw the worst of “Whipped” noises from any nearby stallion who knew of your plight. You shift uncomfortably again in your seat at the thought. Mentally you plead with the train to hurry, and it’s your great shock when it halts and hisses in the station only minutes later. You look out to the darkened platform for your partner. She’s nowhere to be found.

Without waiting to spot her, you heft the enormous trunk up and carry it to one of the doors. It slides open on its own as you fumble and try to re-arrange the armful for a grip on the handle. The entirety of the low doorway is filled with one large, round figure. The last slivers of sunlight catch her lavender hair and her widening eyes look up at you. You can’t mask your own shock either. She’s lovely, how quickly you forget that fact. How quickly she became an idea in your mind, so difficult to conjure up the detailed image of. Standing before you after what seems now to be forever, she’s almost unreal in her beauty. She’s bigger than you remember, although it’s impossible to tell with her new eating habits. She’s unafraid to gain weight at this point, and a hotel with room service must be aiding that cause. Your arms protest as you hold the heavy trunk in front of you, and she tilts her head, backing up to make room for you on the platform.
“You’re... right on time.”
You set the trunk down and flex your already tired arms. She watches their movements and absentmindedly licks at her lips. You tell her she looks lovely, drawing a smile and blush creeping into her face.
“It’s good to see you too."
She heaves herself onto the trunk to gain an extra foot of height and you stoop to meet her kiss. It’s only a matter of moments until her hooves are hooked around your head and pulling you down further into her. A sigh leaves her lips. Around you stallions and mares bustle out of the train and on about their business around and past you, but they fade out of your mind as she slips her tongue hungrily into your mouth. You sweep your hands over her back, up her neck, and into her hair. Instead of the expected and usual reprimand for playing with her mane, she lets out an enormous sigh and moan into your mouth. Your hands finish their task and rest on either side of her face until she finally withdraws from the embrace and looks about.
“Grab that trunk and follow me.”
You scoop it up and hurry to keep up with her frantic pace. She’s headed in the opposite direction of the exit, and you resist the urge to call out to her as she ducks into the lady’s restroom. You sigh and set the crate down, looking at the already emptied station platform. Things quieted down quickly, and you strain your eyes to see if anyone still lurks about in the dark. You’re sure you see a large figure or pair of figures off in the distance, but your sweeping appraisal is interrupted as a pair of hooves grab your arm and pull you into the bathroom.

It’s a bit dark in here, but she continues to drag you until she’s backed herself and you up against a wall of sinks. She starts to fumble with your belt and you wrestle with her hooves to stop her. What in Equestria is she doing?
“No one’s coming. Please, let’s hurry.”
You think for a moment, weighing the odds. The station was empty...
As you stop to think she manages to free your erection and strokes at it with one hoof, eyes glancing up at you. Pleasure grips you, and you lift her onto her back legs, leaning her against the wall and pressing your lips to hers. Caught, not caught, it all slips into white noise in the back of your mind as she increases stroking your firmness. You lower a hand to her privates and slip a finger in. It’s wet and an easy fit despite the bulk of her stomach being in your way. You wiggle it around in her and manage it until it’s disappeared up to the base of your hand inside her. She whimpers and breaks the kiss.
“That’s it? Just one?”
You withdraw slightly and slip two more in, prompting her to pump your member more vigorously.
“Nhhh. Too long without it. Just one more?”
You grunt, desperately trying not to cum already. It’s been too long and the pressure is already mounting. In goes your pinky finger and your other hand drops to play at her clit. You risk a glance down and see her hooves working wildly up and down the thickness, but the assault on her womanhood has made her legs give already. She’s sliding down the wall without your hands to support her and taking your trapped hand and arm toward the ground with her. The hefty pony spreads her legs and keeps sliding down until she’s on her back. She gasps out her words as she helps your hand out of her.
“It’s ok... Put it in me, it’s ok.”
You lift her up off the floor as best you can to provide for her dignity as you slide into her. She’s slick, soaking wet, and tight. The moment you’re in she clamps down around your boner and bites her lip. You ask her how much she’s been wanting it this week. She paws feebly at your chest with her hoof.
“Less talking. More ssssssssseeeeeex”
Her voice rises from the forced whisper as you start to thrust from the awkward position. She bites down on her hair to keep herself quiet and you keep pounding at her. You barely make another minute before you can feel it building up to a crescendo. Panting already, you warn her that you’re cumming. She releases the death grip on her own tresses and tries desperately to get her words out.
“N-no. Not in there. My mouth. I want it.”
You pull out quickly and she rolls onto her side in a marshmallowy blur, mouth open and tongue out as she clambers to her hooves and glomps her throat down around it. You start to pound her throat and only make it a couple thrusts before the warmth and tightness of her throat and tongue force the flood of semen out of you. It comes in almost painful waves that seem as if they’ll never end, pouring out and forcing her to swallow rapidly and repeatedly. It takes almost a full minute before she can slow her greedy gulps to a normal rhythm but she manages it all down her throat gracefully and without choking. Finally she dislodges her mouth and starts to lick your limpening member clean. Hardness begins to flood back to it at her careful prompting but she gets the last of your seed into her mouth and wipes it with her hoof.
“Well goodness, it’s a-”
She swallows a bit, eyes still watering from her mouth’s role in tonight’s loss of control.
“It’s a good thing I skipped dinner, isn’t it?”
You ask her if she seriously skipped dinner, and she blushes.
“I wanted to get icecream with you, and the ball will be here soon. Mustn’t be bloated when I try to squeeze this... flabby figure into a dress. I’ve already put on a dozen pounds since I got here, room service is simply divine.”
She wiggles her hips and you grab her enormous bottom. This late in her pregnancy, she’s easily the size of two ponies in both width and girth. You start to adjust and aim your saliva slickened member, pressing it gently against the pucker of her ass.
“N-no. Wait for the hotel, darling.”
You slip the head into her and she moans, wiggling her thick flanks in protest and trying to get away.
“It’s ok, we can wait, I promise. I made you wait, it’s not your fault you couldn’t... hold on... You’re plenty good to me. Don’t worry.”
You blush at the accusation and consider pressing your advantage. You can get it into her easily from here, she hasn’t turned around yet. This soon after your last climax the sex could last much, much longer. Is she playing with you, or does she really want to wait? You approach again and grip a handful of haunches, other hand stroking at her soaked privates.
“Nnnnh. Let’s go. Come now.”
Assuming this is your cue to give up, you sigh and struggle to replace your hardon into your pants. After finally succeeding at zipping up you follow her from the room, letting her lead to make sure there’s no one watching you leave the mare’s room. She waves you out and you scoop up the trunk and follow her into the darkness.

Your brief view of the hotel reveals that it’s incredibly upscale, but she leads you through the lobby and into the dealer’s room.
“Bring that with you, come now. We need to get our booth set up before tomorrow afternoon, I know we shan’t be up in the morning to do it after the ball.”
You groan and adjust your grip on the trunk, hurrying after her and into one of the massive rooms appointed to dealers. The vaulted ceiling and wideness of the room is lined with tables and structures, all at various stages of set-up. You follow her to yours, a large booth in the middle of the rows of similar structures. It has the Carousel Boutique banner stitched and draped over the booth.
“I need the shelves back there set up and some of our things put onto them. Keep the gems and jewelry in the trunk, lest they wander off in somepony’s hands.”
You hurry to follow her orders but the shelves are troublesome. Cheaply made, easy to assemble, and leaning. You sigh and flex your strength to the task, finally managing to right one of the legs and get it to stop wobbling. She begins filling it with various things as you lay out others on the table. Everything you place is re-arranged, straightened, or replaced by her. The extremely valuable things are arranged at the bottom of the trunk, which she locks and places under your dealer’s table. It’s the work of about an hour to get things together, and by the end you’re sweating profusely. She’s panting also, and she looks at you worriedly.
“Can you finish stocking those shelves with the last of the dresses and shirts, I absolutely must wash my hair before the ball tonight. Here’s the key, we’re room three twenty six."
You nod and carry on arranging your space. Across the aisle other ponies continue to set their things up and talking and laughing continues to fill the room. After about thirty minutes, one of the ponies in the booth next to you leans over the small barrier separating your things.
“Now you’re an odd one, that’s the truth. Ain’ never seen one like you. Magical creature under the protection of the magical creatures act, mayhaps?”
You nod. It’s exactly what Equestria’s government considers you to be, despite your relative lack of magic and truer status as an outsider.
“Ah. Fair ‘nuff. You better watch out that yer mistress don’t see you pocketing those.”
You look down at your handful of rings you were preparing to put away. Mistress? You politely inform the pony that you’re married to the pony that was just here.
“Well if that don’t beat all. Didn’t know such things could be interwed, but you seem a smart enough. Say, that foal isn’t yours is it? The one she’s carrying? Mighty full of young she seems to be, too.”
You laugh and reply that the girl will indeed be yours, and as far as you know it’s only the one.
“Well congratulations to ye!" His voice drops and he looks around. “Not gonna be some kind of... well, hybrid, I hope?”
You swallow. The thought has crossed your mind, and the truth is that no one’s sure. You sincerely hope not, that’s no life for a foal by your own admission. It’s a thought that plagues you even now however, and the uncertainty eats at you for a moment. He looks awkwardly at you, obviously realizing he‘s stepped on a few social toes with the comment.
“Aw, still not sure eh? Well cheer up bub. While the missus is away, the stallions will play!”
He offers you a flask, and you politely take a pull from it. It’s strong, but you’ve had stronger. The workpony continues setting out his things, various forms of rounded cookware, contraptions, and other oddities. He seems to be an inventor of sorts, and you politely hand him back the container of alcohol as he fiddles with what looks like six interlinked beartraps.
“Jes put it there. She said ye’re for the ball? You sure about that? Not a workpony I’ve seen ever been to the ball from our rows. Usually the higher class stuff, that.”
You appraise your row and determine that the rows of dealer’s things are indeed apparently arranged by social status. This prompts a bit of a sigh from you. It must be difficult to hawk one’s wares if the elite ponies are allowed to set up toward the front of the room.
“Best be going, hadn’t ye?”
You look at your watch and offer the inventor pony a thank-you as you hurry from the room. Half an hour to be at the ball? You’ll certainly have to appear there late. You hurry up the stairs toward the room number on your key and burst into the room. She has her back to you and narrows her eyes as she turns about. “Just in time. Zip me up, would you?”
You drink in the sight of her luxurious black gown. She’s not a terribly big fan of the colour, but it’s a formal occasion after all. You reach the thickness of her back and zip her up. You’re not sure why she resorted to a zipper, she’s never cared much for them. She bats her eyes as you easily manage the task. She looks lovely of course, a true savant when it comes to dressing anypony. The dress hugs and shapes her body in such a way as to streamline her already desirable shape. It’s a tight fit, but she sighs and smiles up at you when the task is done. She kisses your hands and thanks you. You scratch her ear and start to take off your belt with the other hand but her kisses turn into licks, and then into full-blown suckling. Each finger is carefully rolled around in her mouth with her tongue. She smiles up at you as she finishes licking your littlest finger’s tip.
“Oh it’s so tempting to stay and play... you could get me in and out of this dress in only a couple minutes, I imagine...”
She looks at the door and back to you.
“And you’re going to be showering?”
You nod and manage to get off your shirt and pants as she considers the prospect.
“But I can hardly get them from in there... I’ve no need to get back in, either. Alright. I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t be too late!”
She hurries out of the room before her better judgment can falter. You shrug and slip off your boxers, surveying the bedroom you’ve got for the next two nights.

The first thing that draws your attention is the pile of dishes stacked neatly beside the bed. All picked clean of any stray morsels of food, all physically large. She really is getting bigger with reckless abandon at this point, and you look doubtfully at the cushy bed. It’s wide by pony standards of course, but like all pony made beds it’s short. You’re sure you’ll spend the next couple of days curled up next to her large frame, but at least the time occupying it will be short. It’s beginning to look like the convention will take the better part of the next few days. It’s always a bit frustrating to work with her perfectionist attitude, but you try to mentally excite yourself for tonight. It’s been a while since you had a night out together filled with romance and dancing. Expectations risen, you step into the bathroom.

The bathtub is typically big. Pony bathrooms always occupy a disproportionate amount of space in a building, usually taking up an equal amount of space as the master bedroom. You’re not sure why, but the bathtub looks physically longer than your bed. As you turn on the water in the glass walled shower that resides in the other corner of the room, you start to wonder whether or not you could stuff some blankets in the tub and get a better night’s sleep. You pick up a towel off a stack of folded linens resting on the closed toilet lid and drape it over the shower wall. Soon the room is filled with steam and the shower and mirrors are fogged beyond visibility. Sore and somewhat tired, you step into the shower and under the water.

It’s a quick matter to lather up your hair with her shampoo - you forgot your own. Once you’ve finished applying the lavender scents you lean against one of the walls and sink to a sitting position, letting the water run over your legs as you relax yourself. The ball tonight should be fun, and you try your best to think about it in good terms. The eating will be good, that much is certain. The feeding more than the eating steadily occupies your mind, and you imagine she really has gotten bigger since she got access to round the clock room service. Between your legs you feel yourself grow slightly hard at the thought of how hungry she’s gotten lately, not just for food but for other things. When her pregnancy started, cravings for marshmallows and sweets she would normally avoid become dominant. Now she seems to have taken likings to saltier and spicier dishes, and apparently has been tending to them with a ferocity in your absence.

You rise to wash the shampoo out of your hair and soap up your body, ready for the evening. As you continue to lather yourself up, the erection at your waist becomes more pronounced, and you less than reluctantly rub at its stiffness. It’s the work of a few moments’ crouching to get the shampoo washed from your hair, but once it’s done you’ve made up your mind. You can’t go to the ball with a boner, nor let it subside and allow your hormones to lurk all night below the surface. You need release. It’s for your own good. You squirt some of her vanilla scented conditioner into your hand and begin to rub, letting your imagination wander to your wife.

She looked fantastic in her dress, and you imagine her hiking it up over her hips, imagine her slowly savoring each bite of the cakes and desserts Canterlot is famous for. She’s rubbing her tummy and asking you to feed her more, and you oblige. Your thoughts shift and you increase your pace on the stiffness in your hand. Now she’s laying on a bed, and she’s stuffed full. She opens her mouth as you enter the room and survey her nearly immobile figure, stomach spilling between and around her legs and forcing them perpetually apart. You feed her every slice of cake from a tray and she gratefully accepts them all. When she’s done she asks for more, spreading her legs even more and letting you wander your hands down to her soaked and hot privates. You present your member to her, and she wraps her mouth around it. She tells you between desperate suckles that she wants to get bigger, and she doesn’t care anymore. You grit your teeth as a welling up wave of pleasure brings you temporarily back to reality. You slow your stroking for a moment, willing it back down, savoring the scenario you’re imagining.
She’s too big for a bed now. Too big to move, to big even to roll over as you enter the room. From where she lies her stomach rolls out across the floor, supporting her body and lifting it easily from the ground. She’s eating at a constant rate now, you can barely keep up with her needs as she unceremoniously shovels food from the plate into her mouth. Any break or missed beat in her regimen prompts bouts of whining and begging. She’s helpless at this point, body a mass of thick ponyflesh. Finally full, she asks you to take her, and you approach her from behind, entering the vast expanse of her softness. This thought proves too much, and you finally feel the orgasm escape you and burst across the shower. Your seed coats one of the walls and you feel all the tension leave your body. Now you’ve made a mess though, and it’s got to be cleaned up before she sees it.
Grumbling, you rise and soap up your hand, redirecting the water and attempting to clean the glass. Now the guilt sets in as you work to hide your shame. She’s your wife, and you’ve objectified her rather than respected her. You’ve put her into a fantasy, and your deepest fantasy is one that isn’t even particularly in her best interest. She enjoys being bigger around you, but that? That sort of fantasy isn’t the kind of thing she’d go for, or that you could admit to. It’s entirely about her losing her control, and you having control over her, isn’t it? Somehow now you feel even less than wholesome for imagining it, and you wonder what she would say if you admitted to it. Would she be frightened by it? She certainly has her own fetishes, but... none to that degree.

You turn off the stream of water and dry your hair. Now you’re making up your mind, you have to discuss it with her. Tonight, after the ball, when you go out for icecream perhaps. Bring it up lightly of course, that’s the only way. It’s only fair to her, fair that she should know. She’s your wife, there’s no secrets between the two of you... You brush your hair and practically jump into the clothes she laid out for you. As you button your cuffs your conviction grows. It’s the right thing to do, and you hurry out of the room eager to find her and tell her you need to talk. You take the stairs down to the lobby two at a time and emerge in the hallway leading up to the ballroom. With a slight rush you step through the doors.

It’s not what you expected of course, but these sorts of upper-crust things rarely are. There’s a dance floor of course, but it’s sparsely occupied, and surrounded by many smaller tables. This is where the majority of the evening is taking place, upper-class and wealthy ponies reservedly discussing their investments and various crafts in quiet tones amidst softly playing music. The band playing across the room is situated on a slightly raised platform, currently stuck on a waltz. With some surprise and glee you spot one face you know, a pony from Ponyville named Lyra. Surrounded on all sides by various harps of all sizes, she plucks at one of her instruments lovingly and obliviously. You can’t resist waving to her and smiling.
The wave attracts more than a little attention, and you’re almost immediately sorry that you did it. On all sides of the room you draw stares, and you’re suddenly aware of how quiet the level of conversation has become and how much louder the music seems. Under their gazes you begin to remember how much you hate large social gatherings. You’re sure you’re soaking up half the eyes in the room at this point, your strange figure occupying the majority of their attention. None-too quiet conversations begin on all sides of you about yourself, about whether you’re perhaps part of the help, lost from the dealer’s room, or simply in the wrong room. You try not to take notice, try to shrink yourself as you look for Rarity.
She would have known better than to wave, of course. This is her sort of scene, and you wish desperately that you’d come with her now. You continue to draw more attention as you look for her, wishing for nothing more now than to take a seat next to her and make yourself as small as possible. Your search for her reveals nothing but more staring ponies, and a tap on your back causes you to turn abruptly to the serving mare behind you. On her back rests a tray of wine glasses, and she tries to politely hide her own gawking as her quiet voice finds your ears.

“Please, sir. The other guests would like to enter the room.”

You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you discover a line has formed behind her while you waited and searched. An elegantly dressed stallion clears his throat and checks a pocket watch before returning his impatient gaze to you. Now your wish to find Rarity changes to a wish to be anywhere else. You step aside, determined to get out at all costs as soon as the last pony files through. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake, and you’re better off waiting up in the hotel room than suffering through the entire evening under the awkward observation of every pony in the room. Behind you the waltz concludes and a cheery beat suddenly catches the ears of every pony in the room.
You risk a glance over to Lyra and she winks at you, obviously having noticed you along with everyone else. It takes everything you have not to compound your awkward presence by racing across the room and embracing the mint coloured pony. She nods her head to the right from behind her enormous five foot harp and you follow the line of it to a table. There she is, your wife, your socialite sanctuary. You break into a grin and nod thanks to Lyra as you cut across the center of the room hurriedly, taking your seat next to Rarity and slumping as low as you can immediately. She’s in the middle of a conversation with an elderly looking stallion and barely glances at you as you sit down.

“Well of course diamonds are a pony’s best friend, but rubies and emeralds are truly the more valuable gems. It’s quite difficult to find a proper one without any significant imperfections... it makes them a good deal more rare. It’s the chromium that gives them their colouration of course, it results in a high percentage of flawed product. That in turn raises rarity and thus raises value.”

The gentlecolt disagrees heavily and she’s put on the defensive. Inwardly you’re irritated. She’s come to the greatest ball sans the Grand Galloping Gala, and she’s talking shop with someone. You scoop up a wine glass off the tray from a passing server and begin to sip at it as she cuts in.

“Yes, it’s true diamonds are more difficult to handle, but that doesn’t make them more valuable. They’re only difficult to cut, and certainly not difficult to find in good condition by comparison. My goodness, they’re a diamond a dozen when I go looking for them, and I rarely need to cut the ones I find. Not to mention that they only serve to accessorize on a handful of outfits compared to the complimentary colours of more rare coloured stones.”
You drain your glass moodily, watching as the pony she’s conversing with steals glances at you. She finally notices you and you get an introduction. You nod politely and tell her not to worry about paying you mind, since she’s in the midst of a proper conversation. Your sarcasm passes unnoticed over all the ponies present save for her. Everypony seems more interested in you than in the conversation at this point, but she stares at you for a moment before laughing and returning to the debate she was having.

“Now if you wanted difficult to handle, opal is the strong future market. Cracks easily you know, less chance of it being multi-generational. Mark my words, diamonds are a poor market to be in the long investment of, they’re simply popular because of a century of marketing. Their rarity isn’t that high however, and before long everypony who’s anypony shall own one. They might be hard to cut, but they last simply forever, barring scratching. Not to mention the downright personable qualities of opal, it truly is the more variant of gems...”

You set the glass on a passing tray and pick up another, hurrying halfway through it and trying to think of anything else. Feeling a bit more giddy now you find your hand straying to her back, where you play with a loose lock of her hair as she talks.
“Well of course there’s factors to consider, sand occlusion and colour variance, but it’s a small price to pay for-”
She turns and manages to disguise a withering glare as a cough before looking at you intently.
“Something I can HELP you with, Darling?”
You sigh. No, nothing. You’re just wanting to let her know you want to get up and look at the paintings, and you’ll be back in a minute. You rise before she can say anything, finishing your glass in a hurry before crossing to a wall and examining a painting. It’s not the true recipient of your attention of course, and inwardly you let your distaste for the evening unfold. Has she really forgotten the entire point of the night, and everything you’d discussed? She’s practically abandoned you to the heavy weight of every pony’s attention, and you crossly ponder why. With no answers forthcoming and limbs slowly growing a bit heavier you make up your mind. You’ll ask her to dance with you, it’ll put the evening more on track to what you’d imagined. Confidence rising, you stride back to the table and tap her shoulder.
“-ah well, you can see how it is then. Ruby and sapphire are another example of different stones that are still the same. They are both Corundum, that is to say Aluminum-oxide... If you add a little bit of chromium it turns red and is called ruby... A proper amount of Iron or Titanium colour it blue. Berylium would colour it orange and-”
You tap again.
“-so on. They’re all the exact same gemstone, with differences only in regard to colour and, less prominently, durability. Any color but red in that particular family tree is called a sapphire by most, one could have a pink sapphire but not a pink ruby if you see what I mean.”
You tug on the strap of her dress and she excuses herself from educating a slender looking mare on gem colouration to turn to you.
“You’re... do you need something?”
You hold out your hand and bow slightly, asking her if the lady would like to dance.
“No, not at this moment. Please dear, sit down. We’ve only a hoofful of hours before we’re through for the evening as it is. We’ve shown up quite unfashionably late.”
You inwardly reel. Now it’s just embarrassing, she’s making you feel more than a little foolish for your continued efforts. You shake your head and try to politely excuse yourself as you cross the room to one of the garden exits and out into the cooler night.
There you sit and look out at the foliage, soft music filtering out the door. It grows loud and light spills out onto the path in front of you as the door clicks open and shut again. A mint coloured hoof taps your shoulder and you look up at Lyra’s smiling face.
“King of awkward as always. Find the belle of the ball?”
You nod glumly and kick a stray pebble into the bushes. She’s looking up at the sky now, and you follow her eyes. Beside you she speaks up.
“We’ll play something for you, if you want. Glad to see you decided to stick around though, it looked like you were gonna bolt on us for a minute there.”
You remember to thank her for rescuing you earlier, and tell her that yes, you were considering leaving. You’re not sure you still won’t.
“Huh. Sounds like someone’s got a bad case of ‘not-what-I-planned’”.
It’s more than that, you tell her. You switch the subject, asking her why she’s not playing with the band.
“I’m out for this song. We try to cycle so each pony can get a couple breaks, y’know? Gets tiring otherwise. Anyway, you shouldn’t worry about that. Canterlot balls tend to have a way with that. You never get what you want, but who does, eh?”
You shrug. You figured she’d be more into it, your last chance for something big and romantic before a foal consumes your lives for the next several years.
“That’s pretty heavy I guess. You sure she thinks the same way?”
You think for a moment. How couldn’t she? Isn’t she always talking about experimenting, and this that or the other being ‘the last chance you’ll have in a while’?
“Dunno. Sometimes pony’s tastes change. Anyway, sounds like they’re wrapping up that song. I should get going. Try to have some fun, and go easy on the wine while you’re at it. You should at least try to taste what you’re drinking, it’s certainly not fair to us pauper ponies who’ll never have a chance at it.”
She grins once more and leaves you to your thoughts. You look back up at the stars she was examining minutes ago. She could see through you even while staring at them, and you don’t know her that well. A few jam sessions together for fun, but not enough time spent together to give her a good reading on you. Were your troubles that obvious? How could Rarity not have noticed them, then? Does she not care?
Another click and an open door behind you floods the terrace with the light of the ballroom. It’s much more light this time, and the shadow is quite a bit more pronounced. You know she’s behind you, waiting for you to speak. You sigh and sit down on a bench, determined not to look at your wife until she says the first words. To your surprise, she does.
“Is something wrong? You... you seem upset.”
Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. You’re glad she’s enjoying herself while you’re getting stared at. There’s a confused defensiveness in her voice.
“You’d get stared at more on the dance floor. We both would. I’m as big as a train and you’re... you. You know you’re you. You’ll attract less attention sitting with me. I was...”
She’s sniffling and you chance a glance behind you as she sits down facing the opposite direction.
“I was -trying- so hard to keep the ponies at our table looking anywhere but you. I know it must be so awkward... I’m sorry. I’m terribly uninteresting to them I’m afraid.”
You weren’t expecting it, but now you feel even worse. Of course she was looking out for your well being. She’s the most generous pony you know, bar none. She’d take all their attention, waning confidence in her large figure or not.
“I look simply dreadful in this dress too, I know I do. I’ve put on too much weight since I got here, and it fits all wrong. Everypony’s certainly deciding not to buy from us now, I’m sure of it, and it’s all my fault.”
You turn yourself around and hug her from behind. To your surprise, she presses herself against your body with all her force and tears fill her big eyes in the dimness of the veranda.
“I just wanted you to not worry. Did you really want to dance that much?”
You tell her that you thought that she really wanted to dance, and you were looking forward to it. She sniffles and straightens up.
“W-well that’s a surprise. Not that you’re thinking of me, but that you can say it. I guess they make the wine potent here. You certainly went through enough of it.”
You smile and tell her the wine is indeed powerful before making a grab at her haunches. She shifts out of your reach.
“Honestly, you were embarrassing in there you know. I had to excuse myself to come get you, like some sort of child wanting its mother. Do you have any idea how embarrassing your constant pleas for attention were?”
You tell her she’d better get used to it, she’ll be contending with both a foal and your immaturity soon enough. She laughs and wipes her eyes. You tell her she’s beautiful, that you’re sorry for making her cry, and that she should go back inside.
“We’ve only got to be here a little longer, alright? We can leave soon.”
Your smile grows and you rub her ears. You can go for icecream together after you change into something more casual, but she should take her time. She won’t get more chances like this for a long time.
“Oh I know, but I’ve made peace with that. You know I sometimes detest such snooty ponies, and honestly... their opinions. So uneducated. So used to having other people do the figuring for them. Can you believe they -honestly- value diamond more than coloured stones? Nopony with any proper sense thinks it. Nopony who deals in gems, nopony who cuts gems, nopony who-”
You shush her and kiss her and she melts into your arms. After a moment she breaks from it, blushing.
“That.”
You tilt your head.
“It’s... it’s nothing.”
You urge her to go on.
“That’s what I wanted. All night, and every time, since my first social gathering. It’s what I love about you. You make a night magical with that... One more?”
You kiss her again and she opens her mouth slightly, unable to check her smile. Finally she breaks off the kiss again and turns to go inside.
“Don’t be out here too long... We’ve icecream to get soon.”
You nod and decide to go for a short stroll around the garden.

It’s about forty minutes and some awkward and wobbly footsteps before you’re solidly sober and can return to the door to make your way back inside. The light glares at your eyes and you feel all stares once again return to you. The band is wrapping up another song. You slink over to Lyra and make a small request. She nods as she tends to her instrument.
“Yeah, we know that one. Not too much trouble. Bunch of working stiffs like us? We can liven it up for a song. Sure you want those kinds of looks?”
You grin and thank her, depositing a fair amount of bits in the jar for tips she’s got hidden behind one of the drums. As you cross the room, that familiar introduction strikes up in a series of sudden and sweet chords. That G Chord progression into a D, C, and finally e minor... easily one of the most recognizable chord progressions in all of music. You pick up your pace and reach the table just as Rarity recognizes it. Lyra continues to play it up in the introduction, and you admit it sounds quite different on a harp. More mellow, softer.
Your wife smiles up at you and leans in to whisper.
“You’re a romantic fool, you know that?”
From the center of the room Lyra’s fair voice opens the song as the introduction closes.
“It’s late in the evening... she’s wondering what clothes to wear...”
You hold out your hand, and a scarlet faced Rarity turns politely to the other table guests.
“Excuses me everypony, I believe I’ve a wedding song I’m expected to dance to... Appologies, sir. We shall finish our conversation another time, perhaps. I’m afraid we simply must be departing after this song. Good night madam, sirs.”

You lead her out to the dance floor and rest your hands on her sides. She steps back as you lead her. Above the conversation the singing unicorn’s voice fills the room, mellow tones reaching the walls with determination.
“-Do I look alright? And I say yes... you look wonderful tonight.”
The dance is one you had to learn and create together, the difference in your footfalls difficult to accommodate for. Nonetheless, you’d perfected it by your wedding, and this song especially is the proper beat for what you’ve practiced together a hundred times. From where her head rests against your chest she whispers to you.
“You know... Eric Clopton is hardly fitting music for a high class social gathering.”
“-We’ll go to a party, and everyone turns to see... this beautiful pony that’s walking around with me...”
You tell her it was fitting for your wedding, and that was twice as beautiful. That’s her special talent, making things beautiful. Your mind drifts back to that lovely spring afternoon, when you told her the same thing. She’s beautiful, and it’s her special talent. The words had worked like a charm, and she’d sniffled and accepted the compliment. But now...
“...and the wonder of it all, is that you just don’t realize how much I love you.”
“No.”
You look down.
“and then I’ll tell her, as I turn out the light... I say my darling, you were wonderful tonight...”
“No, I know you’ve said it for years, but making things beautiful isn’t my special talent.”
The music around you builds and sweeps you back to those years as Lyra carries the solo on her harp masterfully.
“Finding gems, that’s my special talent.”
She nuzzles her head against your chest.
“And I’ve found the most perfect gem, right here.”
You blush and so does she. Neither one of you wants to break the moment, cheesy line though it might be. You bend down as the song wraps up and give her a kiss. A few ponies clap politely, impressed perhaps that you’d managed to dance together at all. A few look uncomfortable by the music choice, but it switches back to a waltz and they soon resume their conversations. You’re suddenly aware of just how much attention you’ve attracted, and you take her shoulder and lead her from the room back into the hotel lobby. As soon as you’re there and out of sight, she bursts out laughing and hugs you.

“You know, your special talent is making a truly... truly wonderful night. Oh goodness, to think I was nervous. I’m not sure why. Nopony there is a realistic buyer, they’re all... Oh gracious tonight has been fun.”
You lead her out into the night through the front door and loosen your bow tie and unfasten the buttons on your shirt. At your side she giggles again and nuzzles at your hand, prompting you to play it across her neck playfully. It’s time to go get ice cream.