The tufts of grass beneath my hooves are drier than usual; the afternoon sun, as with the noon of yesterday, bathes the ponies, the roofs and the prairie with stark heat. I look around, there is no sign of the orange-coated earth pony amidst the trees, nor is there any other color but that of green leaves and brown trunks. There is not a droplet of the red fruit that gives the region its luster and color–it seems as though the sun too has dried the trees of their bounty.

I trot towards the farm where I hope to see her, but nothing is there save for the pigs in their pen basking in the mud to cool off. The swines stop their playing in their mire the moment they see me. One of the blasted hogs, an elderly looking porker, snorts and tumbles in a deliberate attempt to throw some muck onto my coat and soil my fur. I dodge in time before a drop can smear my pristine white. They snort again and squeal at me in those loud short gruffs made only by their species. I do not know why my presence arouses such animosity. But no matter what indignation I may suffer from such lowly creatures, part as they are of Applejack’s farm, I cannot but feel a justified hatred or vengeance from them. I take a step back and turn around before anything unwarranted happens to me or those foul mammals.

I finally resolve to Applejack’s house and there I am met on the front porch by a muscularly built stallion.

Big Macintosh sits in a rocking chair, his eyes on the mountains of White-Tail Woods, a wheatgrass in his mouth and a bottle of brandy beside him. Of all ponies, Big Mac is the most difficult to study. He appears as impervious to society as he is impervious to the threats of nature: The workhorse stallion archetype, as I have always thought of him, has ever only had one fixed absolute expression on his face. The only way to tell if he is smiling, or scowling in this case, is by the look in his eyes.

“Good afternoon, Big Macintosh,” I say. “Fine weather we’re having.”

He does not respond, not so much as a gesture. I know he hears me, and I know too that he chooses to ignore me beyond the glare of his eyes. He picks up the bottle of brandy from his side, bites off the cork and proceeds to take three big gulps from the container. He looks at me again and rocks his chair.

I clear my throat. “May I speak to your sister?”

“What business with?” he says, in a tone of a threat not inquisitive.

“It’s a personal matter.”

He continues rocking in his chair, unsatisfied with my answer.

“Can I see her?” I urge on.

“Don’t pretend that ya need or want mah permission.”

“I’m sorry, have I offended you in some–”

“She don’t live here no more,” he interrupts.

I look around me, the farm has not changed. It appears no different since the last time I was here–there still stand the apple trees with their ripening greens, and from where I stand I can see the small hill where Applejack and I confessed our love for each other. “Darling, this is Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Ah mean she don’t live in this house no more.” He raises his hoof and points to the barn several meters away. “She’s livin’ there now.”

“There?” I tilt my head, following the direction to which his hoof is pointed, “But... isn’t that where you keep haystacks?”

I expect to hear his ‘Eeyup’ but he only nods.

“What on Equestria is she doing there?”

“She didn’t tell ya?” Big Macintosh stops his rocking and glares at me–a glare that, to my astonishment, shows no indication of anger.

“No... I... I don’t believe she did.”

“She got in a fight.”

“With whom?”

“Granny Smith.”

I turn my head to peer through the window of the Apple’s house; the old mare is nowhere to be seen or heard.

“Day she came back from the train, she told Granny and me she’s fallen for ya,” Big Macintosh explains. “Granny would have none of it, called her a god darn filly fooler. Two shouted back and forth, became a yellin’ contest. Granny got fed up, made her choose between the farm and ya. She chose ya. Granny Smith kicked her outta the house. Barn there is mine, gave it to’er so at least she’d have a roof over her head. Ah told Granny about it after she calmed down and she was fine with it so long as she don’t get to see her. Two ain’t spoken to each other since.”

“Oh... Celestia,” I gasp. “I didn’t know.”

“Well now ya do,” he says, rocking his chair again. “She’s chosen ya over the farm she’s given her life, sweat and blood to, now that’s sayin’ somethin’. So when she came back home from yer place yesterday, bawlin her eyes out–”

“That’s what I came to apolo–”

“Shut up,” he says, and it makes me bite my lip. “So when she came back bawlin’ her eyes out, it makes me wonder what in Tartarus she sees in ya... Let me make something clear now, ah don’t approve of ya for mah sister. No, it’s not bout ya bein’ a mare. Ya ain’t good enough for her. Ya smell of trouble and somethin’ sinister. Ah don’t trust ya one bit. But you’ve made my sister the happiest ah’ve seen her since our parents died, and that’s why ah’ve kept mah own mouth shut till now. But next time ya make AJ cry like ya did yesterday... ah’mma chase ya outta town. Ah mean it.”

“I... I understand.” I look at him. He stops moving again, his muscles appear more ferocious all of a sudden.

“For yer sake, ah hope ya do.”

Big Mac’s stare returns to the distant mountains, signaling that the conversation is over. I want to speak to him more, convince him that I am good enough for Applejack but the words have neither form nor substance. I bow my head and trot towards the solitary barn in the distance.

The old building is not crumbling yet; a new well-placed set of beams supports the foundation and roofing. Several plywoods are boarded like band aid over the wall’s gaping holes, desperately hidden in a coat of fresh paint. I raise my hoof and proceed to knock on the door, but the wind is enough to hold the entrance open for me.

“Don’t ya start with none of that talk again,” Applejack’s voice welcomes me from the dark within. “Ah told ya ah’m gonna be workin’. Just gimme another minute.”

From what light of the sun that lacerates the darkness, I can see the shadowy figures slowly take form. Dearest Applejack is sitting on a lone bed in the middle of the barn, her head down, hat aside and hooves over her eyes. There is not much to see beside the hills of hays that surround the room; there is a bed, a drawer, a lamp and nothing else. She is not alone; a bottle of cider keeps her company.

“Dearest?” I say.

She immediately looks up at the recognition of my voice. Upon seeing me here, in her new ‘home,’ she leaps to her feet, grabs her hat, returns it to her head, and gives her mane a quick brush with her hoof. “Oh, hi there, hun. Sorry, thought ya were mah brother for a sec.”

I try not to look at her too much. Her mane is frazzled and her eyes are still red from crying the night before, or perhaps an hour before. My eyes move towards the bottle of cider, Applejack looks at it as well and kicks it aside.

“Applejack,” I ask, “have you been drinking?”

“Just two or three glasses, ain’t much,” she shrugs, turning away.

“I thought you said you were quitting. Not that I think that you have a problem with drinking, it’s just that…”

“Ah’m just coolin’ mah head off.” She prods the ground with her hoof and runs a hoof through her mane again. “Listen, are ya gonna start lecturin’ me cuz frankly ah don’t wanna hear it right now. Ah’ve already heard it from Big Mac last night and ah don’t want to be hearin’ none of the same thing two days in a row.”

“No…” I trot closer to Applejack, my head cast down to avoid her eyes. When I draw within distance of her hoof, I pull my head back up, brush my mane with my hoof and present her my left cheek. “I came here to be slapped.’

Applejack looks in horror, the first emotion since her amazement of my coming here, and retreats back. She looks at me again and, for some reason, begins to rub her eyes.

“You should have done so the second I entered,” I add.

She scowls. “Ya have another thing comin’ if ya think ah’m gonna hit ya.”

“You know I deserve it, dearest,” I say. “I do not even think that a slap to my face would suffice compared to the hurt I’ve dealt you.”

“Ya didn’t hurt me that much, ah just… got caught off guard. What was it ya said to me? ‘Get the fuck out’… I… Why would ya… say something like that…? Ah dunno… did ya mean it like in a joke or…”

“Desperation,” I answer, closing my eyes. “You wouldn’t leave… but you had to…”

Applejack breathes in deeply, as though the weight of the air is heavy in her lungs and it only strains her all the more. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathes out, and opens them again. “Rare… be honest with me… What was you doin’ on the other side of the door?”

Beneath the covers of my mouth, my teeth clench and I bite my tongue. It takes all the effort of my consciousness to make sure my dearest does not notice. “Applejack… I knew you would ask that question, but please don’t make me answer.”

“Answer it.”

“Very well, I was…” I close my eyes, and in the darkness of my own mind, I see images–of me and Shining Armor as Applejack would have seen us: the stallion of my dreams holding me in a death-grip, ravaging me mercilessly without pause, pouring his seed inside my womb, and she would have bear witness to my face warped not in guilt, but pleasure–that forces me to fake reality for her sake, if not mine. “I was… tending my... flowers.”

“Ya were what now?” Applejack tilts her head.

“A postlude to exaltation?” I explain, but no matter what euphemism I utter, I feel the weight of dishonesty in the palate of my tongue. “Solo concerto? Marehandling my own desires? Onanism? A private leisurely release?”

“Ah don’t…”

“Putting it bluntly,” I turn away and hide most of my face behind my fringes, “I was mast… masturbating.”

“Oh… Oh!” Applejack’s eyes go very wide, “Oh! That’s why!”

Applejack rears back. A smile edges onto her face, followed by a few a giggles until it finally becomes a loud hearty laughter. It is the happiest sound Applejack ever makes, and no doubt that Big Macintosh can hear it too; and the sound of her happiness seems to enter and sting my lungs.

“Oh, dear Celestia,” she laughs, trying very hard to catch her breath. “C’mere ya.” She grabs me by my chin, turns the cheek I had offered her to hit and kisses it.

“You’re… not angry?” I ask. The dance and the song and the act that accompanies the lie comes naturally to me; and it makes it all the more difficult to look at Applejack’s sincere emerald eyes.

Still holding me by the chin, she turns me to her and kisses me on the lips. “Still a little riled up for saying the F-word on me but not really.”

“You don’t think I’m… I mean, I didn’t want you to think I’m obscene!”

“Heavens, no!” she laughs again. “It’s normal… even ah do that from time to time.”

“You do?”

“Back then before we were together. I was thinking of you every time.” She blushes but makes no attempt to hide it.

"That’s… flattering.”

Applejack grins. She grabs me by my hips, lifts me up and holds me down ontop of a haystack. The grass rubs my back, I do not think of the dirt for the moment–though I’ll be sorry be that later. Applejack places her precious hat on my head and begins to nuzzle my neck. She moves down and slowly kisses my chest and abdomen. I raise a hoof to her shoulder.

“Want me to show ya what we cowponies mean by ‘a roll in the hay?” she says, kissing my bellybutton.

“Already?” I ask.

“Ya don’t wanna?” she looks up, hope and longing in her eyes. “We don’t have to do nothin’. Ah just wanna hold ya and keep on kissing ya, that’s all.”

“I want to, of course. Whatever you want of me, dearest. But, I did not think you would want me so soon. I mean... just after our first fight.”

“It ain’t a fight,” she shakes her head against my stomach. “Just a misunderstanding, that’s all. It’s mah fault, ah guess, for panicking like a snake in a barrel. Ah thought ah smell’d somethin’... and, m'well, mah imagination went wild.”

My heart skips a beat and I sit up on the hay. “What did you think I was doing?” I ask.

“Don’t make me answer that question, hun. It’s bad. Nothin’ good will come out of it. It was just me bein’ nervous and all.”

“Answer it,” I say.

Her eyes move to the sides. “Just promise ya won’t get mad at me.”

“I promise.”

“Well…” she bites her lower lips, “Ah thought you were with another pony in that room. Ah thought ah heard and smelled somepony else.”

“Applejack! That’s…!”

“Hey, ya promised ya wouldn’t get mad.”

“Of all the–! Why would you even assume that I’m cheating on you with somepony else. I wouldn’t do that! I love you; you mean the world to me. And I thought you trusted me!? I love you!”

“I do trust ya, hun, and ah love ya. Like ah said, just me gettin’ nervous and scared and all. Nothin’ to it.” She crawls up to me and gives a quick make-up kiss to the edge of my lips.

“Please don’t harbor such thoughts again, dearest,” I plea. “It’s scaring me. It makes me think that you don’t believe I love you.”

“Ah don’t doubt it, princess,” she says, smiling sweetly. “Ah don’t doubt it.”

Trottingham, 377 Stonehoof St.

At the end of the street, just before the corner, stands a lone, isolated hotel called ‘The Black Bridle’. I enter the establishment through its two swinging doors. The lobby is empty of guests and receptionists except for an aging desk clerk. From the outside, the hotel would have looked like a cheap and dirty penthouse for schoolcolts and their fillies, but the trimmings of the interior designs of red and gold-colored carpentry gives, at least, the illusion of a small degree of class.

I approach the elderly stallion behind the counter. He bows to me.

“Welcome to The Black Bridle,” he says, with a thick accent common to those born and reared in Trottingham, “can I help you ma’am?”

“Yes,” I answer. “My husband checked in earlier this morning. His name is Mr. Scabbard.”

“Yes, Mr. Scabbard, of course.” He takes a ledger from beneath the desk, flips a few pages and encircles something. “He is expecting you, Mrs. Scabbard. Now, if you may just sign your name...”

He pushes the ledger to me and hands me the pen. He points to a blank space where I sign the name Glass Slippers in neat and cursive script. I return both the ledger and the pen to him.

“Thank you, Miss Glass Slippers.” He kneels and rummages something from the drawer. “He’s staying in room 403.” He places a key on the counter.

“Is my husband currently in the room?”

“Yes.”

“Then the key won’t be necessary. We’re only staying for the night.”

“As you wish. Can I help with you with your bags?” He leans toward my shoulder, but there are no bags to be carried. He looks at me, makes a slight ‘oh’ with his mouth and returns the key from the counter to the drawer. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

I walk past him, ride the elevator to the fourth floor and make my way towards the third room on the left. I knock on the door three times and a voice calls out from the other side, “It’s open.”

I turn the knob, push the door open and enter.

Shining Armor is sitting in a chair, facing the closed window, a small glass of whiskey in his hooves. He stands, turns around and smiles.

“Lock the door,” he commands, walking towards me.

I lock the door closed with my magic and approach him. As soon as we reach each other, I wrap my hooves around his shoulders and start planting long, deep kisses on his neck. He gently pushes me back.

“Wait a minute,” he says, “I want to take a good look at you first.”

“Don’t make me wait too long.”

I stand still and he circles me, eyeing the tight black top of my dress with the plunging neckline that reveals the midsection of my chest and dorsum. Thick semi-transparent silken fabric clouds my hips down to my pastern, flowing the chiffon and tulle in the air at the slightest breeze, adorned with several dark-green patterns of spray branch stemming from the narrow black patent leather belt nipped around my waist. A long thin shoulder wrap, made of the same chiffon as my skirt, wafts around my neck and neckline. The white short gloves are the same, only much thicker in layer. A ring of small pearls serves as my choker, matching the pair of smooth lustrous gems that are my earrings.

“Dear Celestia, you look wonderful,” he whispers to my ear. “But you didn’t have to dress up.”

Still standing behind me, his hooves slither to my shoulders and he starts to unsheathe the transparent scarf to expose my bare nape and back to him. He grabs me by my chest, pulls me close and kisses my neck and ear; I let him. He caresses my stomach and I can already feel his stallion cock hardening against my backside. I reach for it, caressing him in turn. He responds by nipping the end of my ear, sending signals of stimulation throughout me. I can feel the shiver run down my neck, standing the hairs on my coat on their ends. He stops biting for a second and kisses my ear.

“And that perfume...” he whispers mid-bite. “It’s familiar.”

“Do you like it?” I ask. Knowing tonight is our night, I decided to wear the most expensive perfume in my collection: the one contained inside a heart-shaped bottle of carved diamond. “I bought it from a Canterlot perfumery last–Mhmpff!”

He grabs my head by the chin, forces me to face him and plants a long deep kiss. The awkward position of my twisted body makes me feel pliable to him, knowing that such a command from his limbs to mine is our prelude; that he can mold, bend and turn my body in any way he pleases, and I will not disobey him in the act of total surrender.

He breaks the kiss–I know I have no right to do so myself–and I see his eyes leave me and focus at the end of the room. I follow his gaze to the small impatient white bed beckoning us both.

“Shining...” I moan, “don’t make me wait...”

“Getting excited already?” he chuckles. “Don’t worry, we have the whole night. But I want to fix myself a drink first.”

I glare at him, not too hard, only as a form of comic relief in response to his joke. I do not expect him to respond, but he does.

“Kidding.” He shrugs.

His lighthearted joke is made necessary to repel the lingering air of tension that both of us refuse to acknowledge–or at least acknowledge in the act of denial. Unlike our two previous confrontations, tonight is not a result of unbridled emotion or wild passion. Tonight was planned, premeditated and calculated. I can already wonder what sort of lies Shining Armor told his wife; and it gives me great pleasure to know that he did so to be here with me tonight.

He tenderly kisses my neck again. “Shall we move to the bed?” he whispers into my ear, and I can feel his breath tickle my lobe.

I break away from his hold and, hoof in hoof, lead him to the bed. Before we can lie down, I start to undress. I can feel his eyes journey on my hooves as I peel off the gloves and slowly slip the black shirt from my shoulders. But Shining Armor presses his hooves to my my own, stopping me, and I let him strip me as he sees fit.

He removes my pearl earrings and, with a little struggle, my choker. His hooves slide inside my skirt and then to my thighs. I believe he will unclothe me entirely but, instead, he lifts me and lays me down upon the springy bed.

“Do you want to keep the lights on?” he asks.

“Whatever you wish, my prince.”

His horn glows and, with his magic, he turns the knob on the side, reducing the bright white color of the room to a soft orange glow. I do not like the color for some reason, but I do not protest it if this is what Shining Armor wants.

He climbs on the bed to me, over me. I start to remove the black top I wear but he stops me by the shoulder.

“Keep it on,” he says.

It is understandable that a form of sensuality is derived from clothing in the sexual act, especially when ponies do not normally wear clothes. I would always prefer to be in the nude for him, granting him full access to my body.

I lie on the bed, my head thrown back against the pillow, my eyes to the ceiling. His hooves slip down my skirt, exposing my smooth white thighs to him. He starts prodding the tip of his dry member to my slick entrance. My own hoof grabs hold of the bed sheets as he enters me further. It is easier, this time. There is no resistance from my folds, nor from either of us. He stops pushing as soon as he feels the first contact of the tip of his cock to the end walls of my womb. He stays still in there, relishing the sensation of himself wrapped in my inner flesh.

“I’m going to move now,” he says.

I nod; and then he did move, back and forth, sliding in and out of me in a series of controlled thrusts. Less gentle and less rough, he neither has the trembling precaution when he took me on our first night nor the barbaric ruthlessness when he took me in my boutique.

I finally look to him. That part which connects us together and makes us one, that which the steadily growing wanton flows and seeps, is rendered invisible by the obstruction of my silken skirt that blossoms out like white flower petals. Shining Armor sits upright, his head down, eyes focused on that part of us which I cannot see. I stare longingly at him, even though knowing that I have him, this proud, tall and muscular sculpture. He holds both my legs in his hooves as his thrusts increase in pace and power, and his eye still centers on our pleasures; eyes like that of a stallion passionately engrossed in his work.

He finally looks up to me, his neck moist and glistening with perspiration. He sees me smiling at him and he smiles back. He leans forward, pressing the whole length of his body against mine, plunging his member deeper inside me, as he pushes in for an open-mouthed tongue kiss. One of his hooves circles my hips, grabbing me by my tailbone, and pulls my waist closer to him. Bodies, mouths, hooves and pleasures locked, Shining Armor starts rocking his entire frame. He is not just moving his hips anymore, but his whole body, dragging my entire weight in the force of his movement. And then his whole body stops and shudders, and in the same instant I feel the pressure of his lips grow harder as I feel the first wave of his hot seed wash inside me. It takes him a few more seconds, a few more spurts, before he pulls himself out.

But I know, by how hard he still is, that he is not yet finished with me.

“More...” I beg.

He makes a dry chuckle as he grabs the garter of my skirt and pulls it down. He lifts me up to him as he slips away the drenched black shirt from me, and in doing so ruins my arranged coiffure. But the removal of the infernal top is a welcome gesture, as is the breeze of the night against my moist coat that cools the heat trapped in my body. Shining Armor eyes me from neck to navel, watching the heaving motions of my glistening chest. He smiles, content, and looks at me with eyes of pure lust.

He holds me down to the dampish bed and turns me to my side. He forces my leg open, lifting one up under his foreleg. He positions himself, half kneeling but still upright, as he moves towards me. He prods the tip of his cock again and pushes in as soon as the head is past my entrance. I bite my lower lip as I feel him slam against my wall and plunge deep through my narrow depths; but then I realize that I have no cause to remain silent–there are no outsiders who can hear or judge our cries or moans, no confused guilty feelings to render us mute.

“Yes, yes!” I moan. “Harder.”

I feel him twitch inside me, hardening into a burning spear at the sound of my high-pitched squeal. He shuffles to the side, and starts increasing his pace, driving his stallion cock deeper into my passage. He raises himself on one knee, carrying my hips with his powerful hooves into the air as he continues his mad thrusts. He makes three more jabs, all with a grunt, before falling still. He leans forward again, and he cranes my neck around to give a gentle kiss to my lips.

“Yes,” I answer his unstated question, “just like that... Harder, if you can... please...”

Permission granted, Shining Armor’s stallionhood lets go of all binds of doubt. Still in the same position, he raises my hips again and continues thrusting lustily. His hooves caress my thighs and derrière, using the soft muscles of my body to push and pull me into his cock in rhythm with his blows. My head thrown back against the pillow, eyes returning to the ceiling, both my forelegs grab hold of the sheets for support lest Shining Armor push me off the bed. But I know that is exaggerating the matter, not because he cannot do so–he can, in fact, if he wants–but because of how tightly he grabs me in his hold that not even the grip of Hades on Persephone could match his embrace. I squeeze my marehood tightly around his shaft, and I immediately feel the rough texture of the rings of his rod massage my inner muscles, lubricated only by the still-warm ejaculate he poured inside me not too long ago.

We continue, for hours on end, with him pumping me full of his semen in every position we can manage. I let him have his way with me: He turns me over, he lifts me, folds and bends me in any way he wish; and I submit to him and the rapture of his touch, as clay surrenders to the delicate molding of a sculptor’s hooves. He cums inside me three or four more times after the first, I can no longer tell. At some point, my vision blurs everything into a single congelation and it takes the form of a looming white apparition. The sound of a creature’s long rapt moaning echoes throughout and around us every time he thrusts. I feel lost between the world of pleasure and the solid world around me. Reality itself jumps to the demand of my voice, flashing the images of our embrace each time I emit the slow, dragging moan and plea of how I want my prince harder and harder and more and more. I do not know as to whether my consciousness is dwindling or if my soul is being lifted to the planes of exaltation; I only know that I have never felt myself more corporeal that in the absence of a body and that the state of pleasure has climbed itself from the grossly flesh to the higher levels of ecstasy.

When it is all over, hours later, I find myself back in Shining Armor’s hooves. We lie on the bed, relishing the heat and sweat we share with one another. We do not know what time it is, it could be midnight or minutes before the dawn for all we care. He lies still, looking at the ceiling–there must be something about that surface during coitus that makes it so attractive–with one hoof behind his head and the other draped around me.

“That was the best,” I say to him, kissing his chest. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes... Very much.”

We are both still wide awake, and it does not seem that the shadows of drowsiness will creep upon us soon. In the back of my mind, I thought that our post-coital afterglow would bask us in the guilt of having betrayed our lovers, but emotion, in time, can rust just as well as iron, and there is no sign of it in either of us. Not before, during or after. A quick introspection, and there is none, not even the feeling of guilt for not being guilty. Shining Armor’s liquid warmth is all that I find, and all that matters. I kiss him again on the chest in the victorious recognition of that fact.

“Let me fix you a drink,” I say, preparing to stand up. But his hoof gently presses on my chest and hinders my movement.

“I’ll get it,” he says.

He stands up, walks to the end of the room where a bottle of whiskey and two empty glasses wait on top of a lamp table.

“I hope you don’t mind but we’re out of ice,” he says, filling both glasses. He shrugs. “Melted.”

Were we at it for that long?

“I don’t mind,” I answer.

“Do you want a cigarette?”

“Do you want me to want one?”

“No.”

“I don’t want a cigarette.”

Shining Armor returns with the glasses and the bottle. He levitates my drink to me and the bottle to his bedside. He shuffles inside the blanket beside me, sitting on the bed with his back against the bed’s headboard. I take a sip of the whiskey, shift closer to him and lean my head against his muscular chest.

“Shining...” I say, swishing the whiskey in my glass.

“Yes?” he replies, his eyes in his own brown drink.

“You know... you don’t have to hold back with me.”

“Did I?” he chuckles.

“Yes. You know I’m yours, Shining Armor. You can do whatever you want with me.”

“I know,” he says, quite amused.

“You don’t have to keep waiting for my permission to do something. If you’d like, you can pull my hair or tail, or maybe... if you feel like hurting me I can even let you do that, or you could force me to... What’s so damn funny?”

“Nothing, go on.”

“Shining, I’m being serious.” I rise from his chest and look at him. There is a smirk on his face.

“I know.”

“I want you want to want me as selfishly as you can.” I levitate my glass down onto the floor and wrap both my hooves around his neck. “How do you want me? Tell me how you want me and I will be it for you. I don’t know how to satisfy what you want. I want to fulfill all of your fantasies, as you have fulfilled mine. Do you want me to be sultry? Erotic? Whorish? If you want you can tie me up, have me gagged, bound and blindfolded. Or maybe you can– You know, it’s not decent to laugh like that.”

I stop after hearing another jubilant laughter come from him. He grabs the back of my head and plants a soft but deep kiss to me. The kiss lasts for a minute before he finally releases his hoof.

“You really want to be colthandled like that?”

“I... I want whatever you want of me.”

He laughs for a third time, but softer this time, less insulting. His eyes survey the room, appearing to enjoy the simple act of looking at the furniture that, until now, has been nonexistent. Then, turning to me again, he says in the tone of a challenge, “Anything I want?”

“Anything you want.”

He kisses my cheek. “Next time, I want you to wear red.”

The breakfast includes several rolls of fine-toasted cinnamon buns topped with cocoa powder, a glass of extracted orange juice, freshly-roasted Columbmare coffee that melds its aroma with the air, scrambled eggs beaten with celery and double crème, potatoes mashed in butter and milk, steamed alfalfa and crisp Dawnnip petals that still glow a bright green: All of which are placed on exotic eastern willowware.

“Do you want a glass of red wine to go with that?” Cadance asks, eager to impress me with her new bottle.

“Don’t mind if I do.” I levitate a glass from the kitchenette and place it on top of my table. Cadance’s magic does the same, dragging with her magic an unopened bottle of red wine.

“When you told me you were going to visit, I bought this!” She lays down a bottle of Médoc, opens its cork and fills my glass.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” I laugh.

“Now, I don’t know what it tastes like. I haven’t tried it yet, but Bar Keep says this isn’t half bad.”

I lift the glass to my lips and sample several spoonfuls. I know that in judging a wine’s quality, one has to first consider the drink’s color and aroma, but, for Cadance and I, the taste always takes priority.

“Not bad,” I say, savoring the lingering flavor of the tannin on my tongue. “Not bad at all, though I still prefer Cabernet Sauvignon.”

“I agree,” she says, sipping her medical tea.

“Though I should ask you to refrain from too great a host,” I say. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“What do you mean?”

“These.” I motion to everything on the table.

“Is anything wrong? Did I ruin the alfalfa again?”

“Nonsense!” I gasp. “Everything is great, and that’s just it. If you keep serving a petit déjeuner every time I visit Canterlot, then I’ll find excuses to ride the train back and forth just to have an exquisite breakfast until your new home in Ponyville is finished.”

Cadance laughs. “Oh, Rarity. I know you won’t do that.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” I say, holding up a cinnamon bun. “But it’s not entirely a joke, dear. Also consider it as my warning. Somepony has to protect that sheer optimism and innocence of yours.”

“Warning?” She tilts her head. “Against what?”

“Canterlot.”

“Canterlot?”

“High society to be specific.”

She blinks for a few seconds before asking, “What’s wrong with it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, Cadance. Rather, there’s something wrong in it.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“That, my dear! That’s exactly what I am talking about.” I place my glass down, louder than etiquette tends to permit. “How many parties have you been to since Fleur’s and Fancypants’s engagement party? Three or four, I believe? Well, I’ve been in twelve. And in all those twelve, I’ve been hearing nothing but disgraceful gossip from friends of friends about you. Of course I believe none of the thing.”

Cadance is wide-eyed, and her whole body halts to a pause. “But... but... I’ve never of heard such rumors.”

I wear a face of worried expression. “If you have never heard of it then that makes it much worse.”

“What... What are they saying... about me?”

“Well–are you sure you want me to tell you?–there was this mare, an ageing pegasus mare, saying how conceited you are for showcasing Shining Armor in their parties. And even Fleur somewhat agrees; she complains how you always try to steal the spotlight from everypony in the room even though it’s her party.”

“But I never–”

“I know, darling, I know. I’m trying my best to repel and correct them but it spreads like wildfire. I think somepony out there is deliberately trying to destroy your reputation. Why, the worst of it all is the rumor that your foal is... from some other stallion of the Royal Guard.”

Cadence’s hooves jump to cover her lips as she gasps. Her magic loses its focus for a second and the ebbing glow that suspends the table fork afloat loses its grip. The silverware falls and clatters on the plate.

“That’s so,” she mumbles, her head falling, “...wrong. I’ve never shared a bed with anypony else but Shining Armor, and he with I.”

I smile. “Of course, darling. We both know that.”

Cadance gently pushes her banquet of refuse to the center of the table. Head still down, she folds her hooves to her lap and eyes the hypnotizing liquid ruby in the wine glass. She raises one hoof but, instead of reaching for the delicate vino, helps herself up and proceed to grab a glass of clean water from the kitchen sink.

"I am so sorry for ruining your breakfast with this conversation. Please forgive me for bringing up this subject."

“It’s fine," she says, trying hard to smile. "I didn’t have much of an appetite anyway.”

“That’s unhealthy for the baby, please do eat. Let’s forget about the whole thing. In fact,”–I raise the bottle of Médoc to her–“have a glass of wine. It will help you relax.”

“What?” Cadance rears back from the glistening red liquid, wings and eyes widening. “But I’m already in my first month. I can’t.”

“Oh, don’t be so old-fashioned, darling,” I laugh. “Those research ‘findings’ about wine affecting foals are unsubstantiated, contrary in fact.”

Cadance still hesitates.

“I can show you some statistics if you’d like, or a dissertation on the subject by Dr. Vintage Vine, but I’m sure you’ll take your best friend’s word for it. Consider it a gesture that you need to ease up more and enjoy the little things in life.”

With my magic, I fill both our glass with the wine. I levitate her glass to her and, after a moment’s pause, we toast. The clink of the glass against glass sounds like a minute bell that makes her smile. We drink to our fill and the sweet taste melts like nectar on my tongue. Afterwards, we continue to eat in silence with each other's eyes for comfort.

“Hey, Rarity," she says, as soon as she finishes the main course and begins to lay down the desert on the table.

“Yes?”

"Thanks for being there for me." She smiles. “You’re a great friend.”

I smile and nod to her in turn, it being the most appropriate response that can summarize the recognition of our friendship. We eat our sweet cherry-flavored soft cream as we start to chat about our favorite desserts.

“Turn around and close your eyes,” he tells me.

I turn to the full-length mirror behind me and stand still. In the few seconds before I close my eyes, I see the reflection of Shining Armor's smirk as he closes in from behind.

Eyes closed, imagination feeds my vision.

What sort of fantasy would Shining Armor make me commit? Would he have me close my eyes like this for the rest of the night?

And then Shining Armor’s hooves gently move from the bone of my back, to my shoulders and around my neck. Something cold and metallic drapes down my chest and kisses my collarbone.

A choker? A chain? No... It’s lighter than that.

Shining Armor fumbles something around my nape and finally tells me, “Alright, open your eyes.”

I softly lift my eyelids, but at the first glimpse of the gleaming white object around my neck, my eyes shoot wide and my jaw drops. It is a necklace, a pure 24-karat diamond necklace held by a linked chain of glinting 24-karat gold. I touch the necklace around my neck, caressing it with my hoof, making sure that reality matches the illusory phantasmagoria in the mirror. And as I touch the crystalline object, scintillating with points of brief flashes of light against the gemstone’s carved surface, I draw in breath in disbelief. It strikes me, from what parcel left of my attention not robbed by the necklace, that the shape of the jewel is a perfect semblance to my cutie mark.

“Do you like it?” Shining Armor places his hooves on my shoulders. “It’s a diamond, just like your cutie mark.”

My mouth babbles open and closed, half-forming ‘thank yous’ and ‘yeses’ that have no form. I look at Shining Armor, the necklace, the pale-faced mare in the mirror trying hard not to faint.

“I’m not an expert on fashion,” he says with a shrug, “but...”

He holds on to my shoulders, studying me in the reflection–studying the cherry red floor-length cocktail frock he wanted me to wear, the gilded bracelet around my left hoof, the purplish mane of mine that, for a change, is loose and free to dangle and dance over my neck like a blanket–until our eyes meet. He flicks with his hoof the diamond necklace that is the finishing highlight of my ensemble. He whispers to my ear:

“...you’re beautiful.”

Without saying a word, I turn to Shining Armor and jump on him. I throw my body with such force upon his that the impact brings us both down to the floor. I grab his white evening shirt, pulling it in two opposing directions and watch the buttons pop and fly out as I expose his torso to mine. I dive in, planting deep quick kisses to his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his cheek, his mouth.

He grabs my shoulders and holds me back. “Wow,” he chuckles. “You’re ravishing.”

“Shining...” I moan, like a beggar eager for the reward of an alm. “Inside me... Right here, right now.”

But then he smirks, that familiar mischievous smirk of his, a smirk that makes my blood run cold; a smirk similar to that of a colt about to demonstrate his authority over a helpless kitten. I know that he wants me, I can already feel him hardening under my leg, and he knows I know it, but nothing is more certain than the fact that he will not take me.

“Shining!” I cry out to him, trying to reach that well of lust he holds back.

He laughs meekly. “Last week you told me I can have anything I want, right? Well, I figured one out: I want to watch you.”

“Watch me?”

“You once told me how often you touch yourself at night, thinking of me. Now I want to see you do it, here. I want to see what you do and how you do it on those nights.”

“Not that!” The sound of my opposition reverberates in the room. I stand up. “No more of that, please, not when I have you here.”

“That’s what I want,” he says. “Do that and we can do it afterwards.”

“Do you... promise?” My voice trails off in the hesitation of even considering this absurdity, but I know I will eventually do more than consider and accept.

“I promise.” He stands up, moves to the end of the room where he drags a chair close to where I stand. There he sits, eyeing me, legs crossed and his head resting on his hoof.

I look around the room–I catch a glimpse of my reddening face in the mirror when I do so–and my eyes land on the bed. I walk towards it, but Shining Armor stops me.

“No,” he barks. “Right there, on the floor and in front of the mirror... and keep your clothes on.”

I turn my face away from him, too embarrassed to look at him in the eye in the act I am about to perform. My body melts to the floor and my hoof slithers to my crotch. I start caressing myself, wishing I can turn my back to him knowing only that he will just command me otherwise. My back on the floor, I open myself to him, and hope the sight of my slick anticipating sex will persuade him to pounce on me this instant.

But he does not; he does not even move from his chair.

My hoof hastily works on my delicate entrance, wanting nothing more than to get it over as quickly as I can in order to get him inside me as soon as possible.

“Rarity,” he says in a chastising tone, “I don’t think you normally masturbate like that. Do it properly.”

“Shining...” I plead again. “When I told you that you can do anything to me, I mean that you do something to me. I don’t like this...”

“I know, and that’s why. Now do it properly, or I’m gone for the night.”

“To threaten me with abstinence,” I bark, "am I as obvious as that?"

He laughs. It is his reply.

I submit, both in words and in spirit. The frustrating thought of him not touching me when there is nothing that stops him from so doing is nothing compared to the absence he threatens me with.

I return to moving my hoof again, slower this time but with the same intention of trying to get it over with. The cold hard floor is straining my back, making it difficult for me to position myself properly, but I try to ignore it. Shining Armor watches me intently with a face showing no sign of any emotion but the acknowledgement of an indifferent observer. I do not know how I will proceed.

Should I moan? Behave as sultry as I can? Should I scream his name, as I did during those lonely nights?

I consider faking an orgasm for once, but do not risk it for fear that I ruin his mood.

I shut my eyes and continue on with his entertainment, churning my hoof against my disappointed sex; whereas it had expected Shining Armor’s bulk, it makes do, in the meantime, with my inadequate touch. My womb finally begins to release that growing heat that signals the upheaval of upcoming pleasure. I hold on to that orb of lust welling up inside me. With every circular motion against the curved flesh of my slit, the orb grows steadily, and with it my anticipation. My hoof, already natural to its unstoppable movement, allows me to indulge and concentrate on the images in my mind; images of Shining Armor, of how hard he drove his cock into me two weeks ago and of how hard he will force it inside me again. My eyes open, Shining Armor is still watching me, but now with an amused smile on his face. I stare at Shining Armor’s bulging pride, the one and only I have known and yearned for; the object I once dreamed of and imagined in my fantasies. I have had it before, countless times in my illusions and thrice in reality, and if it means reducing myself to the level of the pornographic just to have it again, I am willing to descend to such vulgarity.

Finally, at the thought of Shining Armor taking me beneath his hooves, the orb overflows from the walls where it is contained, and the sweet painful release of my frustration erupts from within me. I shudder, for a few more seconds, after having reached the level of exaltation my prince wanted me to reach. I look down, between my legs: the tail-end of my dress is soiled from red to maroon with my juices. I do not give a damn if it means Shining Armor will take me this second. I look up to him, and Shining Armor says only one word:

“Again.” It is a command.

“Shining... please... I already did it. I want you.”

“Again,” he repeats.

I see little choice in the matter. My hoof returns between my legs, still sensitive from the previous orgasm not even a minute ago. But having reached a climax, it is not difficult, for a mare’s body, to bounce back from the state of plateau. My legs shut close this time, my knees firmly pressed against each other, in a small and obviously futile revenge of depriving him the sight of my drenched slit. It has no effect. I had hoped, at least, that he would tell me to reveal myself again; and hope, at most, that he himself will force open my legs with his powerful hooves and finally succumb to me.

Feeling the build up inside me for the second time, my assault in and out of me continues. My other hoof crawls underneath my shirt, caressing the steamy portion of sweat just below my belly button. I continue to imagine Shining Armor inside me, held back by the frustration that I even have to imagine it in the first place when I have him the in the same room here with me. The admittance of my fantasy, and anger of him, uncontrollably escapes the tightness of my throat.

“Shining Armor...” I moan unwillingly. I try to catch the words back, but his laughter has already acknowledged it.

Climbing once again to the climax, I reach the rapture of ejecting the pleasures from my lower lips. I start to shudder and palpitate in place, this orgasm more powerful than the last.

I take a moment to rest, lying down on the floor and breathing heavily, before I sit up and look at my stallion and his erect stallionhood. I so desperately desire to impale myself on him right now, in an act of total surrender. I am ready to beg him again, under any terms, to have him inside me. The feeling of his touch against my coat and the feeling of his throbbing pride inside me, making me his, making us one.

Could it be this state of longing that my dear Shining Armor wants to reduce me to?

He smiles at me, and says, “Again.”

My eyes widen in horror, and then I just nod in the acceptance that, perhaps, Shining Armor will not hold me for tonight. My hooves move again, just mechanical now, until I reach my third orgasm.

“Again,” he repeats.

I reach my fourth, my fifth and my sixth, still there on the floor for hours, feeding his vision. My imagination compels me, fueled by the memory of the first night he took me in bed, of how I serviced him in my room, of our most recent encounter just two weeks ago.

“Again,” he says and says.

By the time I reach my eighth orgasm, my hoof and shoulders are aching. By the ninth, there is a stinging pain in my swelling clit. On the tenth, I look in the mirror and see an intoxicated mare in its reflection–face flushing red, with her purple mane sprayed on her face, her red dress sticking to her coat with sweat, the pristine jewelry around her neck dangling with every movement–caring for nothing else in the world but to reach the next orgasm to pleasure her stallion. By my thirteenth orgasm my breathing has become precarious and my whole body has gone beyond the point of exhaustion such that I can no longer feel it anymore.

It is upon reaching my sixteenth orgasm that I start crying, and, though I can no longer hear his command, my hoof refuses to stop moving.

Finally, he rises from the chair. He moves on top of me, grabs my hooves, holds me down against the floor and, after the long tortuous onanism, he shoves his hard cock inside me.

The first reaction of my body is not to retract in pain, as the reflex of my flaring pussy tightening around him encourages, but to close my hind legs around his hips and lock him in place. All of my sensations are gone; I have lost my sense of sight, smell and hearing save for feeling only, with full consciousness and solid awareness, the familiar texture and throbbing that deepens within my womb. It is all that fills my mind and, knowing that it fills my mind and not contrariwise, it is real. It is Shining Armor’s hardening pride ravaging my insides, not an imagined fantasy or a phantasmagoria of frustration. My folds slither closed around him, tightening the friction in our organs. The fires in my womb burn hot all throughout my loins, fires lighted by the dissatisfaction of my lone hoof and illusions, kept alive by the hope that Shining Armor will fuck me hard as he does now. Nostrils flaring, his eyes go wide and he grits his teeth.

Shining Armor reaches the limit of his pace and, abruptly, pushes forward as hard and deep as he can and cums inside me. I scream aloud. I feel his cum squirt against and throughout my walls. My womb feels as though inflated by the sheer amount of the stallion seed he pours in me. A whole liter of semen must have quenched the fires of my frustrated lust. My womb cannot contain it all, and the rest spurts out of the edges of my pussy.

Shining Armor lets go of my hoof and pulls out, my pussy squeezing out more cum with the open space. I immediately roll to a fetal position, my hooves over my loins. I feel myself already pregnant with cum from the sheer volume he poured into me. I wipe the tears from my eyes. My whole body is palpitating. My breathing races with my heart and my vision blurs.

Shining Armor says something. At the back of my head, with what’s left of my awareness, I hear him rummage through the bathroom and drawers, looking for something. The sound stops, he returns to me, embraces me in his hooves and places a paper bag to my muzzle.

My breathing slowly returns to normal, and so does my sense of sight and hearing. I hear Shining Armor words take form: “...owly, breathe in and breathe out. Slowly.”

My breathing is calmed, and I try, with feeble limbs, to take away the paper bag. Shining Armor stops me and kisses my forehead.

“You’re hyperventilating,” he says. “Breathe into the bag.”

After a few minutes, he takes away the bag. He pulls me in and kisses my lips. In response, I slap his chest several times and hide my face against it.

“You’re so cruel...” I whimper. “You didn’t have to torture me like that. I want you, Shining Armor. The whole of you, the complete you. And nothing less.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t leave you hanging like that again.”

“But..." A humble smile makes its way to my face. "I very much enjoyed that last part. If you want we can do that again...”

“What? Like... right now?”

I nod.

“Are you joking? You need time to recover, you need sleep.”

I force myself up and slide down to him again. I am still angry with him, and no doubt he can feel it too by how tightly I squeeze around his cock. He smiles sheepishly, a little bit of nervousness lingering in the corners of his mouth. He knows that by the time I finish fucking him–exacting my vengeance for those long, wasted hours spent masturbating–he will be needing the rest more than I will.

A good fifteen times will do.

“Gummy used Hyper Beam!” Pinkie Pie yells, throwing her pet alligator like a spear towards Rainbow Dash.

“Tank used Super-Awesome Shell Shield!” Rainbow Dash yells back, raising her pet tortoise in the air just in time to intercept Gummy’s life-threatening gums. “It’s super effective!”

“Please stop...” Fluttershy squeaks out, “you’re hurting the poor things.” But she is generally ignored, or generally inaudible.

“Tank used Tackle!” Rainbow Dash yells again. Her pet just stands there, hiding its head inside its shell.

“Nice dodge Gummy,” says Pinkie Pie. “Now use Tail Whip!” The pet alligator rolls its head to the side and blinks twice.

“It missed.”

“No it didn’t. Tank’s defense fell.”

“It did not.”

The yelling continues, and so does the pet-wrestling, and so does the laughter.

Twilight sits on the park bench, reading a book with Angel bunny. Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash continue playing a game they call Pokemane or something. Fluttershy is just beside them, expressing her disapproval over how they ‘play’ with their pets. The other animals are somewhere along the same field, dear Opalescence is trying to catch Owlowiscious in the air and I can hear Winona’s barking somewhere.

I press myself closer to Applejack’s chest, enjoying our weekly Pet Play Date under the shade of a tree. I do not think she is asleep, but it is impossible to tell by the lack of her movements and the Stetson covering her eyes. I peer closer, looking for those emerald gems from below. She moves suddenly, tightening her embrace around my back, pressing our chests together. She raises the brim of her hat and smiles at me.

“I’m sorry, dearest,” I say. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Ya know, for some reason ah always get sleepy holdin’ ya like this,” she says, “but ah also can’t get no sleep. Anypony ever told ya that you feel like a marshmallow?”

“Anypony ever told you that you feel like a diamond in the rough?”

I lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Speakin’ of diamonds,” she says, placing a hoof on my necklace, “Ya really love this, huh? You’ve been wearin’ it fer a month now.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

“Really?”

“Hmm... It’s a close one.”

She pulls me to her and she plants several quick deep kisses on my neck that makes me laugh and giggle aloud.

“Hey, Applesmack!” calls Rainbow Dash; she flies towards us with a hopping Pinkie Pie following her trail. “Geez! Can’t you two go find a room? Anyway, Pinkie’s saying something about Gummy being a Water-type and Tank being a Rock-type which is why she’s winning all the time. I need you and Winona in our tag team battle.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Pinkie Pie says, head down and tail raised. “In that case I’ll get Owlowiscious, he’s a Flying-type.”

Without waiting for a response, Pinkie Pie bounces her way towards the lavender unicorn. Applejack turns to Rainbow Dash and scowls. “Ah don’t want Winona getting’ hurt in these games of yers.”

“Pfft. Does it look like those two are hurt?” Rainbow Dash points to the two reptiles in the distance. “They haven’t so much as chipped a tooth.”

“Those two ain’t got no teeth.”

“C’mon, we’ve had worse fights before. What’s the matter, you yellow?”

“Whaddya call me?”

“Yellow, Chicken. Hey Rare, your marefriend is afraid she and Winona will lose to Gummy and Owlowiscious.”

Before I can say anything, Applejack places me to her side, she rises and calls to the air, “Giddy-up Winona, time to show everypony why you’re the Ground and Fire-type.”

Winona runs up to her owner, wagging its tail. She barks aloud and follows Applejack to Pinkie Pie and Twilight.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Rainbow Dash says. She rears back, fluttering into the air to to follow Applejack, but then looks at me. She hovers in place for a moment, chewing for words.

“I am not about to let Opalescence participate in something as barbaric as fighting,” I answer the unmentioned question.

“It’s not that.” Rainbow Dash shrugs. She scratches the back of her head. "Hey, Rarity, I just wanna know something... everything alright between you and Shy?”

I bite my tongue inside my mouth for a second. “Of course, we’re great friends.”

“Yeah... Guess it’s just my gut feeling, that’s all.”

“Whatever made your gut feel such a thing?”

“No... It’s nothing.” She turns around, flipping in the air, and angles herself to dash back to the playing field with our friends.

“Wait!” I stop her, grabbing her tail with my magic. “Did she... say something... about me?”

“Uhh..." Rainbow Dash floats in the air, eyes in the sky as though searching for the memories there. She answers, "No. It’s what she didn’t say about you.”

“Elaborate, dear.”

“Well, how do I say this? Sometimes when we’re talking and your name comes up, her mood changes suddenly and she becomes real quiet. I asked about it but... meh...”

“Oh... But she hasn’t said... anything about me, right?” I can feel my grip on the pegasus's tail growing tighter. "Not a thing about me or Applejack, right?"

“Like what?”

“No... nothing. I just thought... Nothing...” I let go of the magical hold and toss my mane to the side. “I’ll talk to her. The darling is probably too shy to ask me to make her a dress or something. She does that sometimes. That’s probably it.”

“Oh,” she laughs, “for a minute there I thought you two were fighting or whatever.” Rainbow Dash flips in the air and her head moves to our group of friends in the distance.

“Speaking of fighting,” I say, “I cannot help but notice your particularity for Fluttershy these past few months.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you, daresay, romantically attracted to her?”

It is difficult to see it at first, but the cyan color of her cheeks slowly glows to a bright red like the maples of autumn. Then her wings shoot straight up to their edges, stiffening. Momentarily removed of her ability to fly, Rainbow Dash crashes face first into the grass. She springs up almost immediately. “What! No, no, no! Of course not. What gave you that idea? Pfft. Speed demon Dash falling in love and getting all mushy over some cute pegasus. Definitely not my thing. Gotta dash... I mean go. I mean... gotta go.”

Without waiting for my response, Rainbow Dash launches herself to where Applejack and Pinkie Pie wait.

It is good to see that Rainbow Dash and Applejack have returned to good terms. The pair, side by side with Pinkie Pie, rush into the more open space of the park to play their games. I see Fluttershy eager to join their company, flying towards them with her eyes fixed on the cyan pegasus. Before she can go near them, however, I call to her in a tone of a haughty malice that she alone can hear.

“Oh Fluttershy, darling, come sit next to me. You can get an excellent view of them from up here.” I tap on the ground beside me.

The canary pegasus, who until now had paid no attention to my existence, looks at me with eyes hidden behind the bangs of a lowered head. Without a ground to place her hooves on, all four limbs of her visibly shake. She nods and lands beside me. I shuffle closer beside her and she shuffles away.

“So,” I say, “how are things between you and Rainbow Dash?”

She hangs her head low and looks away, shaking her head after a moment. Ever since our ‘talk’ a month ago she has never uttered a full meaningful sentence to me, even during our obligatory get-togethers in the spa. I have grown accustomed to it, and prefer to keep the situation as it is.

However, the suspicions of our friends may complicate the situation.

I take a deep breath and exhale loudly, “Darling, can I ask you a question: do you hate me?”

Fluttershy turns to me, her eyes wide. No doubt she had not expected the question. After weeks of evading and denying any conversation that might lead to the topic of me and Shining Armor, the blunt statement caught her off guard.

“I... I...” she stammers, but cannot proceed further.

“I don’t hate you, darling,” I say, slithering a hoof around her neck and giving a sharp squeeze, not enough to be painful, but just enough to tense those scrawny little shoulders of hers. It never hurts to let her know I am watching her. “If you’re going to believe one thing I’m going to tell you, at least believe that. Do you believe me?”

She nods, meekly.

“Don’t lie, dear. I know you don’t. And I won’t think any less of you for hating me, quite the opposite in fact. I would hate you if you didn’t hate me; I guess it’s your only proper response for how we have been these past few weeks.”

“I... I don’t hate you...” She pauses for a second to make room for a small shake of her head. “I just... don’t really like you anymore.”

The words leave me with little to say, so I instead trace my hoof along the grass, letting the sharp blades tickle my coat. A small breeze picks up, playing with our manes. I bring my hoof up to my face and inspect it for dirt. Finding a smidge just under the tip, I wipe my hoof on the green herbage.

“Fluttershy,” I say, sliding a lock of my mane behind my ear, “May I be so frank? Afterall, if we are to speak cautiously in the privacy of the four walls of a sauna then a certain degree of directness is only proper under the open daylight.”

Fluttershy says nothing, her gaze elsewhere. She probably looks towards Rainbow Dash; I cannot tell for certain as I do not look at her as I speak.

“What happened, between Shining Armor and I, is an... accident of of my instigation. Because, you see, I love Applejack.”

My last three words grab her attention and she turns to me. She wears a blank expression; there is no contempt on her face, rather, it is in her eyes.

“Do you know why you love Rainbow Dash, dear Fluttershy?” I continue. “It is for the same reason why I love Applejack: It’s strength, darling. Strength. This is what makes us the true mares, we are desperately attracted to power. And who is its greater arbiter but the stallions?”

I rip out a few strands of grass from the earth and hold them up to the sun, letting the air come and take them away and drift them off down the side of the hill. Fluttershy watches in silence.

“We live in a stallion world; stallions are the powerful, the industrious, the capable, the conqueror of nature. And what are we, the true mares? What is our chance on this world that stallions have made? We are too... vulnerable for their exacting standards. We’re too emotional for the intellectual demand of work, we are too graceful for work, we are too weak for work. We cannot match against their world, it would crush us. Our conquest, us, is not nature, but those with power to command it. That is the hallmark, ambition and standard of our femininity: we rise only as far as the best stallions that have bedded us, quality over quantity. You do not know what it takes to achieve what I did in the person of Shining Armor. If the beauty of a stallion is in their power, then, for us mares, our power is in our beauty. So don’t judge me too harshly.”

“Conquest? Achievement? Do you... r-really believe that... what you said?”

“Whether I believe it, or not, is irrelevant. Whether it is true, or not, is.” I press my hoof against the dirt and I bite my tongue. Even I do not wish to hear the words I utter next because I know that, compared to what has been already said, this contains a small degree of truth. “I envy you, Fluttershy, your innocence. I really do. You have yet to discover the more intricate and mature dimensions of a relationship and of being a mare. For you, it is simply a matter of love. So long as two ponies love one another, it's a happily ever after made up of sunshine and gumdrops... What happened between Shining Armor and I, is supposed to be a single moment of passion. A single night of an accident I made happen. An instant never to be known, uttered, or even remembered again.”

“Y-You’re... justifying... yourself?” she asks, searching for shame or pride in my eyes.

“Justify?” I shake my head. “I prefer to use the word ‘explain.’ The difference is that I know that what I did was wrong and I do not expect to be forgiven. I expect to carry the burden of my sin... alone; and without the burden of knowing that somepony else carry it. Especially not you.”

I stare back at the canary pegasus who, for a moment, softens her expression as she sees the sympathy in my eyes. With my foreleg shaking as though in hesitation, I press my hoof over hers as I briskly turn away.

“You were my best friend, Fluttershy,” I say, barely above a whisper. “You still are. Why did you have to...”

“Do what?” she peeks down, the disbelief of what she is hearing nourishes the growing worry brought upon by her ignorance. “I... I didn't do anything... I—”

“I never wanted the both of us to be enemies.” I embrace my legs and—to hide my snicker—bury my face between my knees as I make the sound of what she recognizes to be that of an expression of sorrow. “You just had to do it, didn’t you? You just had to peek through my window, witness an act of obscenity and throw it back into my face, to remind me of that most shameful and disgusting act I had to commit in my desperation.”

“I-I’m sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean—”

“You left me with no choice, you had me under your mercy. I had to level the playing field to protect my love for Applejack. You were going to threaten to expose my accident with Shining Armor but I had to beat you to it, I had to hold Rainbow Dash against you. All that talk about plastics, you made me do it. You made me threaten you. You did this to us... Y-You were my best friend.”

Out of anypony else, anypony, I would expect an outburst of rage of forcing upon her a sin she did not commit and a guilt she did not earn; but out of Fluttershy, poor and stupid Fluttershy that bends ever so easily with the breeze, I wait for something else entirely: I wait for my words to break her.

"Rarity, I never— ...It was not—"

She begins to cry, and I let her for a few moments, just to let those thoughts of hers brew. Hiding her eyes behind her hooves, she shakes and shivers with every sob. At least she is not loud. None of our friends hear her. Eventually I inch my hoof closer to her and grasp her as so many tufts of grass.

"It’s alright... I’m alright,” I whisper to her ear. “You know how to make it all better, don’t you?"

She nods.

Forcing tears out of my eyes, I add: “W-We just have to carry the burden... together.”

...in those sturdy little plastics...

Fluttershy does not respond. She remains quiet for a long time. Finally, as the sun falls to the horizon, she says, “I won’t tell Applejack. Not if you don’t want to and not until you’re ready... Because I know that when the time comes... you'll be the one to tell her.”

Over my dead body.

“Thank you,” I say. I reach for her and embrace her in my hooves as I kiss her cheeks.

Applejack and Rainbow Dash climb the hill to where Fluttershy and I rest, having seen the both of us crying. Before the two of them can ask if there is anything wrong, or what happened, Fluttershy runs to Applejack and stands before her.

"Applejack," Fluttershy says, "R-R-Rarity is... Rarity is..."

For a second, for a brief second where I cannot stop anger from bringing a nasty grimace to my face, I begin to think that my plan to secure the secret of my affair backfired. But the second lasts only that long.

“Rarity is such a wonderful mare.” Fluttershy jumps and embraces the earth pony. "I... I'm so happy for you."

Several hours later, having returned to Carousel Boutique, my dear Opalescence cannot figure why I cannot stop laughing so jubilantly and triumphantly. I wish, then, that I can speak cat and share with her the joke that was, and is, a gullible little plastic.

I rub my head against Shining Armor’s shoulder as we exit through the backstage of the theatre. Nopony else, not those wearing sparkling gowns and tempered suits, would trot in the shadows of these dark alleys. Half of the sun has already gone into hiding, bathing the bricks and pavements of Manehattan in an orange hue. Some lampposts in the distance flicker to life, and the first snowflakes of the evening twinkle and wink by the fragments of light. We continue walking, just walking, hoof in hoof together past empty trash bins, tin cans and pieces of flapping papers to accompany my sparkling jewelries and his glossy tuxedo.

“It was nice,” Shining Armor says at last, breaking the silence. “Kinda boring at first but I liked the twist at the end.”

“Really?” I say. “I thought the transition was smooth until the twist—that ruined it for me.”

“Well, you’re the one who wanted go to the theatre.”

“You’re the one who chose the play.” I slide my hoof against the brick wall to the half-torn poster. It is a caricature of an old detective in a trench coat, the title The Murder of Saint Morgue is written in big red capital letters.

“Alright,” Shining Armor says, slapping my flank. “Why don’t you choose next time?”

“Very well,” I say, chin up. “I remember they’re planning to show Three Hooves and a Pillow after Hearth’s Warming Eve. Let’s watch that.”

“Three Hooves and a Pillow?” he says, rather than asks, with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t that one of those cheesy romances?”

I lean forward and peck Shining Armor’s neck. He turns away for second, eyes distant, as though he is looking past the walls of Manehattan. I do not want to think, but I still do, that his hesitation to watch a romance with me has everything to do with Cadance. After several more seconds, Shining Armor finally answers: “Okay... we’re just... watching it anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t.”

It is a warning that I once again tread on thin ice. Our only rule, between Shining Armor and I, our unwritten, unspoken and unconfessed rule is that neither of us will remind the other of our loves, not by word, action or implication. With my silence, as I hold on with time, I return to the safe high ground.

Some time later, both my fur coat and Shining Armor’s body prove inadequate to deal with the snow beneath our feet and on our shoulders, and the both of us head toward our warm shelter in Manehattan’s Pearl Palace Hotel. But, several blocks from our destination, Shining Armor, without warning, tears himself away from me; he did it in the same abrupt motion of self-defense from a pickpocket. I stumble back from his push and recover on my feet. I wonder what I may have said or done to elicit such a reaction, but as I follow his eyes, to the other end of the street, I know that I would have done the same to him.

Pinkie Pie stands under the spotlight of a lamppost. Only I do not think that the pink mare is Pinkie Pie. Her mane, cut and flowing in sharp edges, falls straight and flat down her nape. Her face distorts to its center, wrinkling her nose, forehead and lip to reveal teeth and fang. In her hooves, she holds a bouquet of dry blue flowers, but she holds it in a way one would hold a knife: gripping, tight and ready to thrust; but then, it is not just the bouquet, she herself is a knife personified. Solid in her stillness, eyes sharp and cold, teeth gritting, I fear that she may lunge herself at me.

I retreat half a step. I know for a fact that she is Pinkie Pie, yet I have never seen her this way before. Not even during the incident long ago of her forgotten birthday party, which only summoned frustration and sadness at best, is unequal to the threatening and murderous creature before my very eyes now.

At the sound of a few clopping hooves, a carriage passes by, covering my view of her for a second. And, the second after, Pinkie Pie is... Pinkie Pie.

“Heya, Rarity! Heya, Shining Armor!” the pink pony shouts in sing-song, the curls of her mane bobbing up and down with the bounce of her body.

The transition is too quick, faster than I am able to think possible. The two Pinkie Pies flash in my mind, and I have to deny one to acknowledge the existence of the other. And what should be evident as proof, the sight of the Pinkie Pie I see now, I am unable, for the life of me, to dismiss the sight of her sheer hatred and contempt as mere imagination.

Regardless, forced to reply, I am left with no choice.

“H-Hello, darling,” I say, jumping to embrace my friend. “What in Equestria are you doing in Manehattan?” I take her by the hoof and lead her away from Shining Armor.

“Well, if you must know, I was buying a party present for...”

Pinkie Pie rattles off in a monotonous tone without a breath of pause or the integrity of logic. She mentions something about a party for somepony’s birthday, that leads to something about a cake, that leads to something about icing, that leads to something about the icy slopes of the northern continent. Of course the words are lost to me; I choose instead to listen to the sound of her voice, trying to find a hint of fakery in her tone to convince me that the pink mare I saw earlier, the one that seeped a miasma of contempt by her very features, is no illusion and that this babble is a façade. I do not know why I search for it, neither do I know why Pinkie Pie’s ringing laughter shakes my knees. At some point, Pinkie Pie conludes:

“...and I think that’s why they keep copies of birth certificates in Canterlot’s archives. Anyway, what about you, Rarity? What are you doing out here with Shining Armor?”

“I was...” I look back over my shoulder. Shining Armor is watching us, his eyes as steady as his body. “I mean, we were... buying a present. Like you.”

“You’re buying a birthday present for Bon Bon too?” Pinkie Pie gasps, jumping on the spot.

“Yes...”

“Really? I didn’t know Shining Armor knew Bonsy.”

“I mean no... It’s not Bon Bon. It’s Cadance. A birthday gift for Cadance.”

“A birthday gift for Cadance?” Pinkie Pie tilts her head. “Isn’t her birthday one hundred and twenty-eight days from now?”

“No... I mean’t... for Cadance...” I stutter for a moment, until past the color of pink I see a small snowflake glide down past Pinkie Pie’s mane. “It’s our gift for Cadance, for Hearth’s Warming Eve.”

“Oh,” Pinkie Pie trails on the syllable, making a giant ‘O’ with her mouth. “Well, I’m getting Carrot Top a candy cane this Hearth’s Warming Eve.”

I nod my head. “Good to know."

No... It is just my imagination. She’s just Pinkie Pie.

“So... Pinkie,” I grab onto her hooves, “I am wondering if I can ask you to do me a favor?”

“Ask me! Ask me!”

“You see... this present I plan to give Cadance–”

“What are you getting her?” she interrupts.

“A dress,” I answer with the most commonplace gift I give on such occasions. “So, as I was saying, this present, this dress, I plan to give Cadance as a surprise. Shining Armor and I want to surprise her. So, I want you not to tell anypony that you saw me and Shining Armor together. Can you promise me that?”

“I love surprises!” she says, jumping.

“I’m sure you do, darling. So... can you promise?”

“I promise I won’t tell anypony else that I saw you and Shining Armor together here in Manehattan today.” Then she makes gestures with her hooves across her body. “Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”

Satisfied, Pinkie Pie and I part ways. I watch her bounce out of view to a corner at the end of the street. I wait for several minutes, making sure that she will not stalk me, before I finally return to Shining Armor’s side.

He does not say anything, not until we enter the Pearl Palace Hotel and the manager welcomes us at the receptionist's table.

“Good evening, Mr. Scabbard and Miss Glass Slippers,” the manager says. He is a gray stallion with a key for a cutie mark. “Did you enjoy the play?”

Shining Armor ignores the question, and signs both our noms de guerre in the open ledger. “A friend of ours may arrive later," he says. "She’s a mare with a pink coat and pink mane. She has three balloons for a cutie mark. Her name is Pink something–”

“Pinkie Pie, dear,” I add.

“Yes, that’s right. Pinkie Pie. If she ever enters the building do not, under any circumstances, tell her that we are staying here; also, notify us immediately, in secret.”

The manager stares at us for a few seconds, a second too long for propriety to one's clients, and says, “Understood, sir, enjoy your stay.”

Shining Armor and I take the elevator up to the eleventh floor. We enter our room labeled ‘1106’, it is the only room occupied in the whole story. The peculiar aspect of this room–along with the small fluorescent chandelier and a pair of Saddle Arabian rugs–is that it has a fireplace. I take off my fur coat and place it on a nearby sofa. Shining Armor unbuttons his tuxedo, walking towards the hearth at the end of the room. With a flare of his horn, a spark of magic ignites the fires on the wood. The warm heat breathes out the cold from the walls.

Having removed all of my clothes, save for the diamond necklace, I approach Shining Armor, who stokes the flame with lethargic absentmindedness. I lean on his back and wrap my hooves around his neck, watching his eyes hawk at the fires. Slowly, my hooves move down his shoulders to remove his shirt and I take away the stoking iron from him. I lead him by the hoof to the bed of purple sheets, and there we lie together.

Shining Armor is gentle, or at least as gentle as permitted by the weakness of inactivity. We lie alongside one another, my back pressed close against his torso. I kiss his foreleg that I use as my pillow and lead his other to my loin. Shining Armor continues the fluid mechanical rhythm of his hips, and cums inside me for the second time tonight. It did not explode, in the sense that he poured into me in the same manner would one empty the contents of a bucket. His cum flows inside me in the slow and steady trickle of a broken faucet.

Finally, he pulls out. He does not need to; at times we have slumbered together with him still inside me.

I turn around and face him, kissing his neck. “Are you finished?” I ask.

“I’m sorry... I–” He bites his lip and covers his eyes with his foreleg. “I guess I’m not in the mood right now. I’ll make it up to you, next time or in the morning. Whichever you want.”

“Is it... Is it because of Pinkie Pie?”

He does not answer.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” I tell him. “She’s a little special in the head. I don’t think she has what it takes to put two and two together. She has that sheer innocence to even assume.... and... And she made a promise not to tell anypony that she saw us. And if you only knew how Pinkie Pie is about promises, why she–”

Shining Armor sighs deeply, a sigh that heaves out a mixture of relief and frustration from his chest.

I shuffle on top of Shining Armor and kiss his mouth to breathe in some sense of relief to him. I kiss his chin, his neck, his chest, his abdomen, and finally his cock. I take him in my mouth, wrapping my lips around his shaft. The taste is different from the last time I remember, until I realize that, having plowed into me just seconds ago, it is my own sweet succus that I taste on him.

Shining Armor’s limp stallion dick slowly hardens to the beefy rod I know it to be. I take it out of my mouth, before it grows to its full size and hurts my jaw. I moisten my tongue before lapping the appendage up and around its musky base. The tangy tastes of whatever moisture is there fills my tastebuds, until the overall sensation spreads somewhere to the back of my throat. Shining Armor’s hoof caresses my cheek and I retract my tongue for a moment. He is looking at me, with a handsome smile that brightens his face. I place my head just beside his full erection so he can get an idea of how far and how deep it would reach if he jammed his full length down my throat. He wouldn’t do it, even after I begged him once; and my gag reflex prevents me from accomplishing the feat myself. I pull back and take his sac in my mouth, massaging it with my lips in the company of loud obscene noises. Shining Armor groans and tilts his head back against the pillow. My tongue runs against the wrinkly texture of his balls, and up to the shaft, stopping with a last lick as I reach the end ring of his cock. I move my head to the side of his dick and run my lips against the dry skin from the nether up, leaving a trail of spit on him. Some pre-cum salivates from the small slit at the tip. I quickly lick it up and play with the taste around my mouth.

“When did you get so good at that?” he chuckles.

“I’m good?” I say with a raised eyebrow. “Thank you for the complem–”

The last of the syllables muffle out as I slide down, filling the whole of my mouth with him. I shuffle in place, rotating my body between his hindlegs so that I may easily bob my head up and down. My mouth still full, I look up to him and make sure he is watching. The hard dick throbs and pulses inside, I can feel it in the muscle of my cheeks and the plate of my tongue. I slide in deeper, until I feel his tip touch the back of my throat. I gag and retreat, but not entirely. There is a large amount of my slobber on the length I have managed to down, but I am sure he does not mind it. I do not realize, until I decide to massage his balls, that my hoof has taken a life of its own and has been tending to the need between my legs.

“R-Rarity, I’m–!” shrieks Shining Armor.

He grabs me by the shoulders and tries to push me away, but I immediately clasp my lips tightly around his cock and bob my head faster and faster. Then Shining Armor shudders and his hoof move to caress my cheek. He pushes, unconsciously, his hips upward and cums in my mouth.

The hot bitterness fills me in one wave, puffing my cheeks. I swallow immediately, just before the second wave comes. Shining Armor holds my head down; I do not know whether he does it intentionally. More of his cum flows in, filing what empty space is left in two and three more spurts. I open my eyes, which I did not realize to be close, and look at Shining Armor. His eyes are shut and his face looks as though he is in pain. I tighten my lips around him, making sure that not a drop will overflow. I hold on to his slimy cum for a moment, relishing the rare bitterness of a prince’s seed. I wonder how many mares in Equestria can brag that they have drunk that delicacy, not even that cunt Cadance probably has. I pull my head back and swallow; it takes me two long loud gulps before I can pull out if him without spilling a drop. I slowly slide him out from my mouth, letting him pop out with a flop, sucking what’s left that might have stuck at the end. I accumulate the cum in my mouth, swirling it around my tongue to mix it with my teeth. Shining Armor watches me and I open my mouth to him, showing him the slime I have gathered. I pull my head back, swallow everything in one big gulp and open my mouth again to show him that I have drank to the last drop without loss.

“Wow,” he says, “You’re very... determined?”

“A lady always swallows,” I say, breathing heavily. My whole mouth feels sticky and my breath stinks of stallion cum. “Still think it’s adolescent?”

“Yes.”

I frown in response; he is teasing, of course. But after all the effort I have gone through, I expect a little more appreciation. I look at his now flaccid dick. I know that there is some more cum left to be squeezed out from those balls.

I jump in, taking the tip in my mouth and begin stroking him with my hoof.

“Again,” he gasps. “But I just...”

He groans. I press my lips as hard as I can, careful that my teeth do not touch him. The tip of my tongue enters the tip of his cock, and I feel it throb and try to retreat. I better remember to tell him later that his appendage is no match for mine. I stroke my hoof faster and faster. Shining Armor tries to pull away but I do not let him. His shaft pulses its veins, readying for the aftershock that is to follow. I draw back, slurping noisily. With my other hoof I caress his balls. His cock throbs and Shining Armor comes again at the sound of his grunt.

This time I withdraw entirely, pointing my face directly in front him. A long stream of fresh jizz erupts from his tip, landing all over my muzzle, cheeks, forehead and eyes. He has enough of that syrupy semen to coat my face entirely. He spurts one last time, this time it lands on my lips, chin and collarbone.

I lie just below his legs on the bed, not moving my head, feeling the warm cum trickle down my face. My eyes open just slightly, Shining Armor is panting as though he had just run a marathon. I lick my lips, trying to reach for some of his liquids that my tongue can reach.

“For Luna’s sake, Rarity!” I hear him say. “You don’t have to... I didn’t want...”

He grabs me by the hoof and sits me up on the bed. His horn glows and he levitates a tissue box from the bedside drawer.

“Why do you always have to be so... Hold still.” He wipes the cum off my face with the tissue.

“Let me,” I say, reaching for the tissue box.

“I’ll do it,” he says, almost barking as he pulls the box away.

“I’m sorry, did I...?”

“What were you thinking?”

“You were supposed to like it,” I answer. “It’s supposed to give you a sense of power: forcing a mare to taste your stallionhood and your seed, filling her stomach knowing you’ve put that warmth there. Then on her face... it’s like marking your territory.”

Shining Armor sighs and mutters an incomprehensible profanity. Having thoroughly cleansed my face, he tosses the tissue box aside. He says, “Rarity, I can’t follow these thoughts of yours. Why do you keep wanting me to... I don’t want to treat you like a p–”

He stops, suddenly. He eyes the diamond necklace dangling around my neck.

“Like a what?” I ask in a tone of a genuinely curious filly. “Like a prostitute? Like a whore?”

“I never thought of you like that... ever.” He casts his eyes down. “That is a present around your neck, a gift. Not a... payment...”

“Shining, I apologize. But I should have asked this question to you long ago: What am I to you?”

“You’re...”

“I’m your mistress, Shining Armor.”

“Yes...” he says. He is quiet for a long time. Then he says, “Yes... you are... that.”

We sit still on that bed, on opposite poles from one another. We both feel the cold. We sit for a long time, so long that our senses heighten and the ticking of the clock rings against our ears.

“Let’s... Enough of this talk,” Shining Armor says. “Let’s lie down... Do you want to cuddle?”

“Cuddle?”

“...if you want,” he leans forward and kisses my bellybutton.

“I... let me take a quick shower first.”

He nods. I stand up and go inside the bathroom. It takes ten minutes to finish the quick bath; it takes me thirty more to stop crying.

“Hold still,” I say. “Don’t make me poke you in the flank.”

“I can’t,” Fleur squeals. “This is so exciting.”

“Dear, you are acting like a filly.” I lean back and study my work so far. “Though I guess this is one of those situations where one can indulge in such luxuries.”

Fleur de Lis is standing on an improvised platform in her room made of used shoeboxes. Two cheval mirrors flank her on either side, and in front of her is a half-length vanity table, propped up as the third mirror. All of the curtains in the room are drawn closed and all doors are locked with the mounted chains; the only source of light comes from the mini chandelier hanging above.

The dress is entirely made up of hundreds of gems. The one-piece blouse and crinoline is of a light dimity, but the bright luster of white is hidden beneath a sparkling layer of amethyst. A gilded layer on the edges of the neckline, sleeves and hemline provides the supplementing color to highlight what exposed coat she chooses to display by means of the hidden zipper on the chest. A long violet and transparent cloth wraps around both her forelegs and neck, trailing and flowing several meters on the floor.

“This is usually the part where I tell a joke about how all those canapés are moving right down your flank,” I mumble, thread in mouth.

“What’s stopping you this time?”

“The fact that it’s not a joke,” I laugh for a moment and Fleur laughs as well after saying something I do not hear. “All right, give me a quick swirl.”

She stands on the edge of her hooves and gives a complete spin. The skirt from the hemline down dances alongside her movement in one smooth motion, flowing evenly in place to its natural position without as much as wrinkle or a gem out of place.

“Oh Fleur, you... look... fabulous!” I gasp. “Just fix that mane of yours and you’ll be perfect. Even I would marry you right... Fleur, will you take my hoof in marriage?”

“If I said yes, whatever would you wear?” she laughs.

“You’re right. Give me that, I’ll use it on my wedding. I’ll make you something else.”

Fleur playfully sticks her tongue out. I prick her with the needle on her thigh and she recoils back, giggling.

“Well, maybe I can consider trading it for that necklace of yours,” she says. With a flick of her magic she dangles the necklace in front of my face.

“Absolutely not.” My hoof snatches the necklaces back to my chest.

“That must be pure diamond." Fleur leans forward, eyeing the jewel. "You got it for Hearth’s Warming Eve, didn’t you? Who attempted to woo your heart this time? Diamond Buckle? Shoe Shine? Well, it can’t be from Oil Ore.”

I hold the diamond in my hoof and smile. “That’s for you to know and for me to find out.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

“No, dear. Not this time.”

I climb behind Fleur and tend to her mane. I levitate a comb to my side and attempt to straighten her natural curls, oftentimes making me yank her head back due to the hair's resistance. It is playful, for a while, in the ensuing silence, until Fleur speaks again.

“So, what about you, best mare?” Fleur says, standing in the mirror and watching me work her mane.

“What about me what?”

“Here I am running my mouth about my plans for the honeymoon with Fancypants and you’ve barely gotten a word in. Tell me something new. When can I become the matron of honor to your wedding?”

“There won’t be one for a while. Still looking for the best.”

“There’s always Blueblood,” she laughs, and I intentionally make an unladylike belch just to sound my extreme approval. “Seriously though, how about that Applejack I keep hearing of?”

“Applejack?” My hooves stop on her mane. “I never told you about...”

“The rumors are full of them, no need to hide it. Even though you are both mares, nopony says anything against it. The relationship is scandalous no doubt, the refined and the rustic together as one. They say it is quite generous of you. Bringing–”

“Generous...?” I whimper, she does not hear me.

“–somepony from the countryside to our level of sophistication. The idea swiveled the spotlight toward you. We’ve–”

“But...” That was never my intention...

“–always thought you would go for the prince type, there were a lot of suitors waiting for you. It was quite a blow to the stallions of Canterlot when you chose Applejack. But in my personal opinion, if she makes you happy then what’s the disapproval of other ponies?”

My peers disapprove!?

The blood drains from my face. The words innocently uttered by Fleur brings me back to a dozen parties. Chatting mare were looking at me, whispering about me, biting their tongue once I drew within earshot.

What were they saying? Is my reputation in jeopardy? What rumors smear my name!?

To befriend the country ponies is tolerable, at best. But love, romance of all things! Unforgivable: the scandal of it, that I–the great Rarity of Canterlot–would prefer a farm mare of the countryside to the rich elite, will no doubt threaten everything I have worked for. For them, I will appear as a cheap mare of unorthodox tastes. I can see it now, snide smiles in parties, sarcastic commendations, they will speak and laugh at me as I turn away. Then the letters in my mailbox will vanish one by one, first the invitation to the auction house or the fund raiser, then to the cocktail parties. I will write a letter to them, and in it they will sense my desperation. But what would it matter if it means I will retain my connections and social stature? And they won't reply, and those who will shall take their time in the act of flaunting their superiority. And in those rare moments when I am invited, I will be an entourage to some and none, once the star beneath the spotlight reduced to a faceless admirer in the sidelines, the most pathetic of all celebrities; I as I was a mere bridesmaid to Cadance's wedding.

No, none of that again. I refuse to be cast among the commoners.

My head aches and the room starts to swirl. I turn to the only antidote to this nauseating pain.

“Fleur...” I clean my throat. “I... I have no relationship with Applejack.”

“You don’t?” She turns to me.

“N-no...I don’t.” My tongue feels heavy as I say the words. “We’re just friends, dear friends. We have no romantic inclinations whatsoever. We are both perfectly straight mares and have become close after tying our friendship.”

“Oh!” she gasps. “I am sorry. Of course you aren’t... uhh... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed. Of course you aren’t into mares and those rustic types are too rough for one of your tastes. Whatever was I imagining? I should have known better than to believe such petty rumors, I should have contacted you first.”

“It’s... alright. Those kinds of mistakes do happen.”

“It’s not just a mistake, dear, it’s practically scandalous and daresay slander.”

“Tell me, do you know who started spreading those rumors?”

She looks around and leans forward to me, “Cadance,” she says.

“What... exactly did she say?” The name makes me grit my teeth.

“Well, we were talking about you and I brought up the topic of a fine stallion you might like, I forgot his name, but she suddenly interjected that she knows for a fact that you are with Applejack. I think that was two weeks ago, during the New Year countdown...”

I remove myself from Fleur’s company and sit on the edge of her bed, my hooves moving to my eyes to make sure she could not see that I am not crying. I imitate the sound of a sob.

“Rarity, what’s wrong?” She jumps and stands close beside me.

“It’s nothing... I just d-didn’t think she’d go that far.”

“What? Who? Cadance?”

My hoof still held to my eyes, I nod.

“Don’t cry now,” she says, grabbing a tissue box and handing it to me. “I thought you two were friends?”

“I-I thought that too... I-I found out sometime ago that she befriended me so she... so she could have a stepladder to our circle of friends... You, and Fancypants and the others... All those parties... I in-invited her in, she actually forced me to invite her... or else... she said... she said she would exile me from Canterlot.”

“That bitch!” Fleur exclaims, her face contorting.

“I-I-I thought that she’s just... lonely... and wanted some friends... so I didn’t tell anypony... I didn’t think she would... spread bad rumors about me and Applejack like this, I...”

Fleur wraps her hard, confident hooves around my shoulder. “Don’t worry; your best friend is here. I’ll talk with our friends, Pep Talk, Mrs. Loud Mouth and the others, they’ll take my word for it and we’ll clear things up. Who the hell does she think she is, using you like that?”

The shower water sprawls down the length of my back, as Shining Armor’s kisses rise from my tailbone up to my nape. I stand, upright, with my hooves leaning for support against the tiled walls just below the showerhead. On our left stands a half-length mirror that reflects, conveniently so, everything from the waist up. I see Shining Armor in the fogged glass, his mane sprayed down by the lukewarm water, standing upright and pressing our bodies close; I can feel his full erection pressing against my coat.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispers into my ear.

“Only as much as you want it,” I answer.

He nuzzles the side of my neck and kisses my ear. “Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop.”

I nod.

Shining Armor’s hooves support me, cradling me by the chest and hips. He lifts my wet tail with his magic. He prods the tip of his cock into my ass.

My hips jerk away and my heart punches my chest. The instantaneous stimulus feels as though it stings me, like the kiss of cold metal against soft and naked flesh. Shining Armor’s hooves loosen for a second, just to open enough space for me to back away. He grabs me and again settles the tip of his throbbing member against the tight circular ring just below my tail. He lets it stay there until my body has calmed enough from the excitement of anticipation and fear.

“Rarity,” he says, “I’m gonna put it in now. I won’t be able to pull it out until I...”

“I know.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“Alright,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’ll do it slowly.”

Shining Armor moves his hips forward and his hard cock follows the same motion. I clench my teeth as I feel the head of his dick start to widen my open hole, already I can feel the seething pain of rupture and rapture. My sphincter is not meant to take in something that big, or that hard, or that delicious. My ring stretches wider as his first half-inch make its way inside. At one point of the vein-pulsing pain, I thought he could have torn the skin and muscle. I look down between my legs where the premature liquids of mine intermix with the shower water; there is no blood there. I do not even have to look; Shining Armor would have stopped his entry at the first sign of blood. So he does not. Shining Armor slides his hooves down my hips as he delicately moves farther in. Pain is not the proper word to describe it, but pain is the closest name for the extreme nerve wracking sensation, a combination of fire and electricity that shocks and burns what inner flesh I did not know was there.

“Damnit, Rarity,” he says, “tell me if it hurts. I can still pull out.”

“I-It does... it hurts so good,” I moan. “Don’t pull out.”

I grab Shining Armor by his thighs. He mutters something under his breath. His left hoof leans in on the tiles just in front my muzzle. I kiss the muscle of his foreleg and lean against it for support. It is necessary, even before I knew it Shining Armor did; my backlegs are already buckling and I am standing by the tip of my hooves. It is only by the help of his embrace, a warm embrace amidst the cold water, that I do not fall.

Shining Armor starts moving again, slower this time, through the tight passage of my canal. It feels odd, knowing that such a vulgar place tugs at the infinitesimal points of pleasure of one’s nerve endings. I had made sure, as I always have–and more thoroughly so this time–that my insides are clean, and I hope it strips Shining Armor of any hesitation to go further in. I can measure what length of him is inside me–three, four, five inches–by the friction of my unused flesh against the foreign matter. Finally, after an excruciating minute, Shining Armor stops, hitting what seems to be a wall within my channel. He stays there, bathing his dick in the heat of my body.

“H-how far?” I ask, turning my head to kiss him.

“Half, I think,” he answers.

“If you want you can...”

“No, it would hurt you too much.” He nibbles at my ear. “I’m going to move now.”

I nod.

The soft rippling movement of Shining Armor’s hips is matched only by the gentleness expressed in his tight embrace. Shining Armor moves our bodies; he cannot pull out, not with how tightly the ring of my orifice clasps around him. He hooks his foreleg beneath my armpit and grabs my cheek, he makes me turn to him and he forces his tongue into my mouth. His whole body moves forward, as though in a sudden jump, and I almost slip. He pins me against the bathroom wall and my cheek skids against the cold, wet tile. His tongue still rolling and spinning in my mouth, he starts to thrust his hips faster and faster. Sandwiched between the cold immovable wall and my prince’s thrusting frame, his cock has no choice but to keep smashing against the fleshly layer of my passage. Shining Armor hips quicken to short, brief stabs until he finally cums. The ejected spunk flows into my canal, absorbed and sucked in by my body. He thrusts three more times, unleashing three more spurts of his thick seed.

Shining Armor thrusts his cock deeper in my bowels after the last spurt and stays there. He moans to my ear, I think unintentionally, “Oh fuck... Why does this feels so good?”

Though Shining Armor has already pulled away from his kiss, leaving me panting for breath, my cheeks remain pressed against the tiles. It is clean enough, I suppose, and does not give me any more worry than having my anus plowed for the first time. My eyes remain transfixed unto the half-length mirror. My mane sprawls over my face and I do not know that I wear that dumb expression of my tongue lolling out.

Shining Armor throbs inside me, twice.

“Shining, dear,” I manage to say, “You’re... you’re still hard... very hard.”

“Rarity,” he whispers, “I know this is your first time at this but I want to go again... Can I?”

“J-Just do it... Don’t ask me. Just do it. Keep doing what you want to me. Even if I tell you to stop, don’t. Not if it pleasures you... J-Just shut up and fuck me...”

He moves, once again sandwiching my soft body between the cold tiles and his hot body. He is able to pull out now, the cum seeping out of the corner of my ass becoming the lubricant for his next mad thrust. Each blow of his cock inside me stirs up the cum in my rectum and emits an obscene squelch. Shining Armor punches the tiles in front of him, grunts and pushes up further, laying my whole body flat and upright against the wall. He forces my hooves behind my back as he kisses the back of my neck.

My head spins; I can no longer feel my legs, only that burning heat between them as he ruts me, ravages me! I bite my hoof, focusing my tears on that small bruise as I bend and push my body closer to him. It is worth it, the pain, just to have an inch more inside me.

I moan lovingly and the bathroom seems to moan back in time; the sound bounces across the tiles and glass and water. As Shining Armor’s thrusts grow faster, deeper and harder, my moans slowly turn to screams that could have reached the rooms of the other guests:

“Yes, like that!” I cry out. “Yes!”

Shining Armor presses my rump together, sandwiching his dick as he pushes as hard as he can–pouring his second load. He pushes in so hard that my own hips buck forward and my clit press against the cold concrete slab. The cum seeps past my fleshly walls, going straight through the spaces his cock cannot reach. I can feel it swirling and swishing in the depths of my gut. He stays there for a full minute, making sure that he has emptied his balls inside. When he finally pulls out, I lose my footing and slip. Shining Armor is fast to grab and cradle me in his embrace.

I lie on top of him, both of us sprawled out on the bathroom floor. The water from the shower falls down along my back, down to our legs.

“S-S-Shining,” I say, kissing his moistened chest. One of my hoof remains on my posterior.

“Yes?”

“My... my butt hurts.”

Shining Armor erupts in a loud boisterous laugh. Afterwards, after he has calmed down, he kisses my neck and says, “Let’s get out of here before we catch a cold.”

“I... I can’t move my legs...Carry me?”

He sighs. “As you wish.”

Shining Armor turns off the shower with his magic, scoops me from the floor and lays me on the large white hotel bed where we sleep, satisfied until next week.

“I know it has been months now since Hearth’s Warming Eve, but I want to make sure that you didn’t tell anypony. . . . No... I mean, about that time, in Manehattan, when you saw Shining Armor and I. . . . No, I meant–can you stop bouncing on that trampoline for a minute, Pinkie? Thank you–I meant, have you told anypony about Shining Armor and I? . . . There’s nothing about us! We’re. . . Look, Pinkie. I just want to know: did you tell anypony that you saw Shining Armor and I in Manehattan? . . . Who!? . . . No! I meant anypony but me. . . . I’m sorry for raising my voice I just... J-Just... don’t tell anypony else, alright. This can be our little secret. . . . Yes, Pinkie, secrets. . . Y-You now, Pinkie, I like secrets... I only tell my secrets to my best friend. And since you know my secret, that makes us best friends! Do you like that, Pinkie? Do you want to be best friends with me? . . . Great, you’re now officially my new best friend. And do you know what I do with my best friends? I give them dresses and presents and invite them to parties all over Equestria! . . . I know, this is so exciting! . . . I agree, that’s why it’s good that I’m your best friend, right? . . . As long as we’re best friends I can give you discounts at my boutique and you’re welcome to all my parties. But... but if you tell anypony about my secret–if you tell anypony else anything about Shining Armor and I–we won’t be best friends anymore, which means no more parties and dresses. . . . Thank you! I knew you’d understand. . . . I know, isn’t it wonderful? Say, are you a size twenty-six? Drop by my boutique later. I have a wonderful one-piece gown that will look marvelous with your color!”

The door bursts open as Shining Armor and I enter our hotel room, hooves and lips interlocked with each other. He slams the door closed, locking it in place, as I rip his shirt with my hooves and bite off his necktie to expose his breastplate of a chest. I try to back away, just so I can get an eyeful of him, but the way he forces his lips against mine permits me to see nothing but the lust in his eyes.

I open my mouth as wide as I can, tongue out, to welcome his inside. He seizes my lips and presses in so that my back winds up laid flat against the door. Some spit that has accumulated drips from the corner of my lips; I do not know whether it is his or mine, only that the liquid amplifies his taste of me.

Shining Armor tries to slide my red underwear from me but the upright position makes it difficult to do so. Instead, he kneels on the floor and bites off the fabric that conceals the nectar of my femininity. He stops for a second, eyes driving to the wet beautiful slit before him. He looks up to me for another second as a smirk crawls over his face; then he dives in, mouth open, feasting on the sweet treat that is my marehood. I feel his muzzle and lips press against my loins. His rough brusque tongue laps and twirls inside my folds, harvesting the sweet nectar I excrete. Both his hooves wrap around my thighs and, with his strength, he lifts me several inches from the floor and I press down on him all the more.

I moan in ecstasy, one hoof to my lips and the other on his head. I pull him in, hoping that that slimy and discourteous tongue snakes deeper inside me.

He retracts and wipes away the liquids on his muzzle with his hoof. His lips climbing my torso, I feel the wetness of his kiss crawl up my loin, my navel, my abdomen, my chest, my neck and finally to my lips. I wrap both my forelegs around his neck and both of his hooves bite into my rump and lift both my legs as he enters me. I see him smile at me as he does so, a smile reminiscent of a young foal enjoying his first time with the warmth of a parent. I whip my mane back and make sure he can see the lust in my eyes, the blush in my cheeks and my own smile in a subtle lip bite.

But Shining Armor sees little of my rare aesthetic sight, blinded by the pleasure of the mindless thrusting of his cock inside me. He shuts his eyes as he groans aloud and leans his body in again, sandwiching me against the door. I feel the sweat from his neck mingle with mine, the hot sudor trailing down our chest. In and out, up and down, the rhythm of Shining Armor’s hips coincides with the rise and fall of my body as it slams into the mahogany behind me.

I try to hold on to him, but my hoof keeps slipping from his neck and down his broad back. The other carefully tries to support my balance on the doorknob as he shakes me up and down with hard tremulous repercussions.

After a few more strikes, Shining Armor finally pours in his thick cum, the first of this long, long night.

The sound of our laughter is loud enough to match the volume of the party’s music, but contained enough that it does not go beyond our small circle. Pep Talk’s hooves jump to her lips and the gesture almost makes her spill the contents of her wine glass if not for the unicorn magic that keeps it in place. Lyrica is beside me, trying not to laugh too hard lest her wig plummet from her head. Fleur and I laugh as well, it would be insulting not to; afterall, nopony understood Basket Case’s joke.

I whip out a cigarette from my gilded cigarette case and three or four stallions race to set it alight with a blaze of their magic. I could have done the simple fire spell myself, but part of the enjoyment is having a stallion compete for the courtesy. Seeing me do so, the other younger mares are given the permission to imitate the gesture. They follow in a manner too quick and too exaggerated that their intention is made obvious, and thus rewarded with the indignity of having to light their cigarettes themselves.

“Oh!” ejaculates Upper Crust. “And speak of the devil. Look what the cat dragged in.”

The entire circle follow Upper Crust’s eyes toward the entrance. Sure enough, Cadance is there, standing by the doorway.

She sees me and waves. Scraping together a smile out of the muscles on my face–apparent to those near me, of course–I am compelled to wave back at her. She must’ve taken my beau geste as a form of invitation; she trots towards me. But, thankfully, a dowager, whose name I should have known by now, forces a conversation with her before the bitch could reach the first half of the room.

“Who invited her?” asks Jet Set.

This time, as I answer. I forge a sad frown to hide the smirk beneath. “I... I did.”

There is a collective gasp from those in the circle who know about the rumor. And in those open mouths I know I can so easily feed them a trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow.

“She didn’t... threaten you again, did she?” asks Lip Sticks, leaning closer as though to assure me that I have her unwelcome support.

“Oh no... no...” I make a stutter. “S-She didn’t, of course. We’re good friends.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of her,” Fleur says, frowning over her shoulder.

“No, no...” I shake my head. “She really didn’t... threaten me. She just said that... that... ‘I better be sure I get her invited to this party or else...’”

“‘Or else,’ what?” asks somepony amidst the fixture of faces.

“S-She didn’t say... But it’s not a threat... I mean... I don’t think it was.”

There is a growing murmur among them. As Fleur wraps her hoof around me, I hear the aggregates of whispered disapproval: “Who does she thinks she is?”–“She gives a bad name to Princess Celestia and Princess Luna”–“Just because she’s an alicorn? Really!”–“No wonder she doesn’t have any friends.”

“Oh, please don’t get me wrong,” I follow. It helps to remind them that I am close friends with royalty. “She a very... uhmm... good mare. Only she lacks the necessary savoir-faire and... she often has an inclination toward–”

“Is she drinking red wine again?” interrupts Pep Talk. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

The temptation is just irresistible.

“Is she now?” I look towards her general direction and turn back to my crowd. “Well, I guess she still does... drink... even after I warned her. I told her it was dangerous for her and the baby but she... I don’t know...”

“Doesn’t she even care?” somepony says, a little too loud.

“Of course she does. It’s her baby after all.”

“But,” Basket Case says, after a moment of silence. “Is it his?”

There is another collective gasp, but this time there is one that distinguishes itself with a hint of serendipitous fortune at the thought that this could not have gone any better.

“Well...” It is hard, so painfully hard as I say this, not to smile. “We all know how she’s recently been visiting me... Only that when she’s in Ponyvillle, she never... visits me.”

“D-Do you mean that she... she’s cheating on Shining Armor?” Upper Crust asks, her voice shaking in anticipation and excitement at the thought of the most scandalous and the delicious gossip yet.

“Heavens, no!” I do not disappoint her. “I’m not saying that she’s been cheating on her husband... I would never! I’m just saying that if her foal is an earth pony or a pegasus, and not a unicorn, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Several minutes later, our small circle disperses into several rumor-breeding hives, buzzing to the command of the queen they desperately try to appeal to; all of them eye Cadance from the corners of their eyes with scrunched brows and a snicker.

“...So you think she knows?”

“I don’t know,” Shining Armor chuckles, scratching his cheeks. “Honestly, I don’t even want to.”

“Don’t you even find it the least bit curious?” I move up, then down again, impaling myself a little deeper upon him.

“A little,” he says. He looks up at the ceiling, thinking seriously. Both his hooves cushion the back of his head. “I’ve never really thought about it until now.”

“Just run up straight to her and ask.” I bob again, squeezing him tightly. The leftover cum from his previous orgasm trails down to his balls. “How hard can it be?”

“For Luna’s sake, you want me banished to the moon?”

“That!” I say suddenly. “That too! You can also ask Princess Luna. I’m sure she’d know.”

“Why don’t you ask them if you’re so curious,” he says, moving his hooves to my cutie mark. “She won’t send you to the moon; you’re a bearer of an Element of Harmony.”

“She won’t send you to the moon either. It’s not like it’s a personal question. Just approach her casually and say, ‘Hey there auntie, I was wondering if you know that ponies scream your name during sex?’”

Shining Armor chortles out a guffaw. “No, no, no. She’ll definitely send me to the moon for that.”

I laugh aloud and I see Shining Armor smiling happily upon hearing such a sound. Once the laughter dies out, my prince’s gaze lingers in my eyes for a while.

“Come here,” he says, “give me a kiss.”

I lean forward, his cock pressing against my womb, and kiss his lips. I make sure that I am able to push my tongue into his mouth, and he receives it with a small sucking motion. I kneel upright, taking the familiar position where the control is mine. I run both my hooves across his chest and, as he watches, seductively lick my lips. He throbs inside me in response. I continue the random motions of my hips: moving up and down, twisting my body around, mirroring a smooth circular movement. I cannot, despite my position, force all of him inside me, all the way; such a feat would require his help. My own reflex upon the sharp bite of pain of having my womb forced open bars me from the accomplishment. But I try still, several times, pushing down as deep as physically possible into him, trying to make his cock breach through my cervix and fuck my uterus directly. It would be painful, I think; much more painful than losing one’s chastity, but not painful enough that I am not willing to bear it, even if Shining Armor won’t.

After several minutes of the repetitive motions of playing around with his cock inside me, I move at an increased pace, signaling how much I want another spurt of his thick load. I jump slightly with my knees, the springs of the bed aiding my movement. My hips pumping against the stallion dick as I ride him up and down, I clench my teeth and hold on to my moans, hoping I will be able to hear his, but only the sound of clinking metal fills my ears. My necklace dances around my neck, swinging the diamond jewel around with each bounce. Shining Armor throbs inside me and soon I feel the first spurt of fresh cum overflow the old ones that crust my vaginal walls. I descend tight and deep around him as my body, too, returns from the orgasm to the plateau.

Shining Armor shudders, his body growing weary for having cummed six times without pulling out. His hooves lay at the side of the bed and I topple down on his heaving chest. I fold my forelegs on his torso and lay my chin upon it, looking at him. Shining Armor runs his hoof down my mane and looks at me with a raised brow.

I move forward and plant a soft gentle kiss on his lips. “One last time?” I beg, feeling guilty already.

Shining Armor groans and throws his head back against the pillow.

“Please,” I beg again.

“This is the third time you’ve asked for a last time.”

“Just one more for tonight. I promise.”

“J-Just... hurry it up. I need to save my strength for tomorrows Recruit Supervision.”

“‘I need to save my strength for tomorrow’s Recruit Supervision,’” I quote, mocking his voice. I laugh and he frowns, but a kiss later his frown is replaced with a smile. “If you only use that strength of yours on me... Do you want anal?”

“What?” he says. Of course he heard me, I know by how he twitches.

“Anal,” I say again. “Or if you want you can deepthroat me. Soixante-neuf, maybe?”

Again, I feel him twitch; I do not think he did.

“Since when did you learn those words?” he says, furrowing his eyebrows.

Then the thought strikes me. “Why? Does it arouse you when recherché and soignée Rarity whispers the most immodest vulgarities to your ear?”

“What impertinence made you assume–”

“You’re blushing, dear–a rare sight.” I move my muzzle to his ear and give it a long lick. “I think it does turn you on... Very well, listen carefully...”

My breath tickles his ear as I whisper to him, in the sweetest half-moaning voice I can muster, the things we did and the things we have yet to do. My hoof traces across his abdomen, the other to his chest. I tell him how far he could reach inside all three of my holes if he would just force everything in. I explain how deliciously painful it would be for me, how tight I would squeeze him if he did it. Then I tell him that forbidden fantasy of mine, the one that involves a blindfold and a choker. I whisper all this to him in a string of the most profane obscenities that no Manehattan delinquent would utter, or a Baltimare tabloid would dare publish. By the time I tell him what I’m willing to do if we have a duplication spell, Shining Armor’s is burning a bright red, his cock stabbing me in its full size and his eyes squeezes shut.

Shining Armor’s forelegs lock me in place, one draping over my head, the other around my hips. He pulls me in, saying something I cannot hear amidst my whispers. He starts moving his hips upward, plunging deep into me. He bites on to my shoulder and I move my hips down to match the timing of his thrusts. I try to whisper more into his ear, but my voice trembles at the movement of his cock inside and how it quakes me. But Shining Armor seems to enjoy the sound of my voice, so I bite his ear and moan and purr.

More, more, yes, just like that—is the room moving or am I?—no, don’t stop! Don’t you dare stop.

His reaction is immediate: he cums–hard–for the seventh and last time tonight.

“...yes, like that. Inside me, in my womb,” I moan to his ear, giving it a long and slow lick.

Shining Armor breathes out, and his embrace lightens. His hoof moves to caress my flank and he kisses the part of my neck he bit earlier. I keep licking his ear and neck, oftentimes kissing his lips, until I fall asleep on top of him; and him softening inside me.

Cadance sips her coffee. Medically speaking, it is healthier than her usual red wine, considering her stage of pregnancy.

But the latter would have been more preferable, and appropriate.

She sits more dignified than usual in our private time, made by her reluctance to show and spare me the indignity of her troubles. Her belly has grown so exponentially in the last week that it seems to have borrowed the fat from her cheeks and shoulders. But she still holds those features curved upwards in a faint attempt at a genuine smile and posture.

Like most of our meetings, it is she who called this one, in the usual kitchenette in her bedroom. No doubt that she desires to speak to me of something of grave importance, but cannot do so without imposing me the burden of hearing her problems. So she waits for me to inquire, dabbing at some light conversation first. It is torturing her to wait–so I make her wait some more with my exorbitant stories: I tell her of how well everything in my life is going since her wedding, of how financially secure I am since Coal Mine's commissioning of her dress, of how Applejack and I went on a hayride from Ponyville to Appleloosa, chatting and giggling like lovers all the way, and many envious other things since her inviting me to this little hovel she calls home.

“...and at the party, I was not the star of the show,” I say, in the tone of a theater-narrator reaching a climax. “It was my post-Victorian dress inspired by Princess Platinum herself. All the mares came to me and wanted one. But, of course, I told them there was such a thing as supply versus demand, and I can’t make one for each and every one of them. So you know what they did?”

Cadance shakes her head, barely listening.

“All of them made a bid!” I laugh. “Madame Star Candy’s party suddenly became an auction. The one who eventually bought the dress was some wife of a Trottingham industrialist. She bought it for one-hundred thousand bits.”

I laugh happily, not at my story but at the sound of Cadance’s sigh that I pretend not to hear.

Her dull eyes stare, unfocused, towards the wall in the far end of the room. I remember that a picture frame hangs there, of a happy princess and even happier prince.

“By the way, dear, this cake is delicious.” I push the empty platter from me. “The sweet icing goes very well with café noir.”

Cadance magically levitates a knife and proceeds to cut another slice from the cake lying in the center of the table. I wait for her to float the slice over to my platter before I interrupt.

“Oh, enough for me, darling,” I laugh. “Another bite would go straight to my thighs.”

She levitates the slice back to its larger portion. I notice that she is using mostly magic, and less her hooves.

“Glad to know... things are looking very good for you,” she whimpers.

“Oh don’t get me started, dear,” I say, despite having done nothing but talk for the past hour and a half. “I still haven’t told you about that time Frontrow asked me to improvise his failing merchandise. Let me recall, I think it started...”

I stop. I see the look of wide-eyed disbelief in Cadance’s face, the look with all the suspicion and none of the courage needed to say it. Despite my schadenfreude, I finally need to acknowledge her dismay before her suspicion becomes any more substantiated.

“Darling, is there anything wrong?” I ask. “I do not want to ask because I do not want to pry into your affairs. I am trying to cheer you up with some of my stories. It’s not having the reverse effect is it?”

“Oh! It’s not... I mean, it is... I mean...” She shakes her head and hoof in denial.

“My apologies, I should have been more... sensitive. Now, go ahead, dear. It’s just the two of us here. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Well,” she starts in an unintended tone of excitement inappropriate for the nature of whatever she is going to say, “I... I need your advice.”

“Advice?” I shuffle closer. Although I hate her to my very guts, one of the few things I love most is, rather than giving advice, the knowledge that somepony seeks it from me.

“Yes,” she responds. “It’s more like relationship advice.”

“Is there something wrong with Shining Armor?”

“I... I hope not.” She hangs her head, and shoots it back up again. “He’s... he’s grown distant lately.”

“Oh...”

“We had a fight. I started it. I kept asking him about these ‘trips’ he’s been making all over the place that nopony else knows about. I asked the other guards and some of his friends but they don’t even know about it. He told me it’s a secret mission for the Royal Guards or something, only... every time I pry he gets angry. I know it’s not my place as a wife to pry in his business; I know that he’s doing it for Equestria and that it’s confidential, but... but...”

She holds both her hooves against her eyes. Crystalline liquid starts flowing down her cheeks.

Go on! Say it!

“But...” she says, “What if he has another mare?”

Then, on cue, I start laughing aloud. It is a victorious benevolent laugh one would have upon finding a good joke, and that is exactly what I have found.

Cadance looks at me, eyes red, angry, disgusted, insulted, all those angry little emotions nurturing in her crumpled expression.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I repeat several times, holding down my chuckles. “I know you don’t think it’s proper to laugh but believe me, I already have the answer to your distress. You see, I laughed because that’s just the amount of seriousness needed to take this dilemma.”

“It is...?” she asks, her face softening in trying to make sense of the unfathomable.

“Of course. Oh, Cadance, Cadance. You really, are new to relationships aren’t you? Tell me, is Shining Armor your... first?”

“He is! I've told you that before. I’ve never loved anypony else but him.”

“See! That makes this all the more clearer.”

“I don’t understand. What’s so funny about all this?”

I sigh loudly. “Darling, it’s called maternal anxiety.”

“Maternal anxiety?’

“Quite,” I answer, sipping on my coffee. “It’s common to all mares. When we get pregnant, it is said that we suddenly develop a sort of separation anxiety from our stallions, even paranoiac outburst. It’s supposed to be healthy, I’ve read somewhere. I’m guessing Shining Armor doesn’t know about this as well, otherwise he would have explained it to you. We start getting jealous, suspicious, impatient, clingy, all those stuffs that separates us from the rougher sex. It’s just hormones, dear.”

“Is it, really? Is it... just that?” Her eyes peer into mine, desperately searching for answers.

“Yes, Cadance... just that. Furthermore, it hasn’t even been one year since you two were married. You’d do more justice to such suspicions after six or seven."

"But... what if it’s not just that? What if we’re wrong? What if he has another mare? I don’t think I can– Just thinking about it makes me...”

She hangs her head low again and starts crying. She makes no attempt this time to cover her face that her tears flow freely down the table. I rise from my seat, kneel in front of her and take her hooves in mine.

“Hey, hey, hey... Listen to me, dear, don’t cry... listen:” I say, my eyes dead set on hers, “I swear, by our friendship, that Shining Armor has only you.”

Shining Armor fucks me on the billiard table; the violence of his movement quakes me and the entire furniture shudders back and forth.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I cry aloud, my voice echoing around the empty poolroom. “Harder! Fuck me harder!”

Shining Armor tears my hooves from around his neck and holds me down by the shoulder against the smooth green surface. He pushes his hard swelling cock inward and leans his body over mine. He grabs me by the back of my head and pulls me in to meet my mouth with his. The rough wet appendage of his tongue invades the insides of mouth, swirling and plunging within.

He pulls away and wipes his lips, still continuing with that fuck-motion of his body. His nostrils flare and it as though he possesses the beady red eyes of a rat. With sweat trickling from his forehead down to his chest, dripping onto my stomach, he wears that sly simper on his face familiar to a schoolyard bully indulging on overpowering a helpless victim. I try to sit up and kiss him, but he pushes me down against the table again.

That delicious time of the year, when mares emit those pheromones that drive stallions to think with their dicks, strips Shining Armor of any sense of control. Lust has finally taken full control of him, yanking reason off its throne.

I glance around the art-deco room, drinking in the intoxicating red walls and burgundy furniture as the ceiling, and the chandelier hanging from it, swirls around in my vision.

We had decided to test our skill in a game of snooker before returning to our hotel room. Aside from the company of an aging caretaker, Shining Armor and I found ourselves alone beneath the dim orange lights of the poolroom and we knew, when we both stared at the open green surface of the billiard table, what we both wanted. I licked my lips and I removed my scented black underwear from beneath my purple cocktail dress. The scent of a mare in heat must have struck away any hesitation from Shining Armor’s face. He ran to the corner of the room where the caretaker was busy cleaning furniture. Shining Armor flung the caretaker out the door, throwing a bag of bits at his feet to compensate, before shutting and locking it closed with his magic. He then jumped to me, lifted and laid me on the pool table where he forced me out of my dress, and there he fucked me, still fucks me, like a wild animal for hours.

Shining Armor bucks his hips, screwing me with long deep thrusts, fucking without rhyme or reason, no position or passion, just fucking with that animal desire to dump his stallion semen inside a mare’s vagina. And he does! Shining Armor cums inside me again, for the fourth time.

I moan aloud, not giving a damn whether we’re caught this instant or not, the sounds of my yearning do not reach his ears. My back arcs at that delightful sensation of being inseminated. The walls inside me quivers at the touch of more semen. It must have been drowning now, but delightfully so, after being in heat for the last week; like a desert wanderer whose dry throat is quenched by a sudden intake of two liters of sweet liquid.

I try to sit up, brushing aside some of my mane that sticks to my face. A damp spot on the green surface of the pool table is reduced to a darker pigment due to the sweat that salivates out of my dorsum. Just below my hips, between my legs where Shining Armor and I are still connected, a pool of his cum has already accumulated. It becomes apparent that this table won’t be used for quite some time; I already feel sorry for the caretaker who will have to clean up after us.

I sit up to kiss Shining Armor again, only to find out that those beady red eyes are still there. He smirks, holds me down against the billiard table, and starts moving his hips once more.

We lie on a canoe guided by a river that runs somewhere from Sweet Apple Acres to the mountainous regions further south. The paddle is by our side, unused for the time being. I lie my head on Applejack’s lap, looking up into the vast infinite expanse of the blue sky like the ocean of heaven. There are a few clouds, three or four, coming from the direction of the silver alps. A flock of white birds form a V-shape as they fly towards the northeast. I wonder whether the avian creatures know where they are going, or whether they are similarly carried by the wind as we are merely drifting by the waters.

The music from Applejack’s guitar flows with the same fluid tranquility as the river: High toned and oscillating between jumpy intervals and soft rippling diminuendo, all with a melody conversant to country music. I know Applejack can play the strings and the harmonica, but I never imagined she could sing with it as well. Judging from the lyrics, I can tell it must be a children’s song. Though dearest Applejack hums the missing parts, I can pick out some of the words, something about the south wind, pie, a black bird flirting with an old scarecrow, said scarecrow waving at the moon, meadows and pumpkins, and a catfish; the little things in the rurality that makes it colorful, sweet and innocent.

The bar is unlike those in Manehattan, filled with colts and fillies passing off as adults, or those in Canterlot, where matrons and rich widows flash their jewels and taste for cocktails and spirits. This is as secluded as a private cantina, perfectly cozy in its simplicity: The counter is made of a smooth brown shade of mahogany, topped with transparent glass, where red leather bar stools line up. A plant sways in the corner of the bar, facing a frozen ice sculpture of Princess Luna at the other end. There are a few ponies, all of them minding their own business; none of them knows us. Most of the customers have their attention towards the raised dais where the lounge singer sprays soft jazz into the air from her saxophone, complementing the warm glow of burgundy lighting.

Shining Armor and I sit at the bar, enjoying a glass of Champagne cocktail. He is wearing that gray long-sleeved evening shirt I gave him last month, the one that has two breast pockets to give him that sporty look. I notice that his black tie is a little loose and I fix it back up just below his collar. It is quite funny–even cute of him–that a stallion of his age still struggles to wear and fix a tie properly.

“Hey, stop it...” he whispers, half-blushing.

“Embarrassed that I get to pamper you in public?” I tease and I pull him by his necktie for a quick kiss.

“The bartender is looking.”

“Let him look.”

I kiss him several more times on his lips before I regain control of myself and retire my head to his shoulder.

“Mr. Bartender,” I say to the stallion behind the counter. He is still young, just a little older than Shining Armor, with a brown coat, a thin moustache and a shaker for a cutie mark. “A glass of Black Velvet.”

“What’s that?” Shining Armor says to me.

“Beer and champagne, darling. I hear it tastes great.”

“What a waste of champagne.” Turning to the bartender, he says, “A regular Bourbon for me.”

The bartender nods to Shining Armor, acknowledging his order, a gesture he had not given me. Instead, the bartender stares at me for a few seconds and, before I can inquire for his rudeness, finally speaks his mind: “Ma’am, I’m afraid we only serve Black Velvet on a flute glass.”

The bartender’s words widen my eyes; I do not know if he said it out of rudeness or sympathy. I try to control myself but it makes me bite my lip and turn away from both stallions.

“So?” Shining Armor tells the server, he notices my small gesture but the innocence of his youth leaves him clueless of the matter. “The lady asked for the drink.”

“Of course, sir,” the bartender answers, bowing his head. “Right away.”

“I... I change my mind,” I follow, just before the bartender can leave the counter. “I’ll have a cocktail of Merlet creme de fraise.”

The bartender nods and turns around to his glass shelf, grabbing a few bottles here and there to concoct the drinks. As soon as he does, I jump to Shining Armor and dip my tongue into his mouth, hoping it will distract his mind from the irrelevant matter of my preferences of drinks. I retreat back to my seat just as quickly and lean my head on his shoulder.

“Where should we go next time?” I ask him, finishing the rest of my cocktail.

“Where do you want to go?”

“I figure I want to take a swim.”

“Where to?” He looks up, eyes slowly moving over to the lounge singer as she changes the song. “We can go to Longmane Beach, I hear they have white sands there. Or the La’Colt Mayo bay, my troops tell me the waves are so high you can go surfing.”

“I’m more for the swimming pool than the beach,” I say, playing with the platter of salted peanuts.

“Well, I don’t know any place where there’s a private swimming pool.”

“Oh, I thought... I don’t know of any either. Maybe... just maybe...” I move my hoof away from his, “there’s one in C-Canterlot–”

“No,” he says. His voice flat and his tone abrupt. He turns away from me as he speaks. “Not in Canterlot... Not in Ponyville.”

“I... I’m sorry,” I mutter, casting my head down. “I’m sorry I said that... Please forget I said anything.”

He drapes a hoof over my shoulder. He pulls me close and gives soft kiss to my cheek and neck. “It’s alright... Hey, we should be having fun.”

As he says those words, the bartender lays our drinks before us. He serves the bourbon to Shining Armor and the strawberry cocktail to me.

“I couldn’t help but overhear, ma’am,” the bartender says, wiping the counter with a cloth, “but if I may...?”

“Yes?” I answer.

“I know of a good hotel with a private luxury swimming pool. It’s located in the Griffin Continent.”

“The Griffin Continent?” Shining Armor says. “That’s a week of travel.”

“Two days if we go by train,” I tell him, then to the bartender. “Please continue.”

He nods. “There’s a hotel there called The Cool Cumulus. Every room has its private open-air swimming pool and it’s accessible to ponies. The griffons couldn’t care less about the affairs of Equestrians, only that they ought to have enough bits to pay for the services.”

So saying, the bartender turns around to tend to another customer at the end of the bar.

I take a sip of my cocktail and press one hoof against Shining Armor’s thigh beneath the counter. “So what do you think,” I say, “I like the sound of it. We can go swimming at night, look at the stars, maybe share a cold bottle of beer or two. Nopony would get in our way. We don’t have to hide under names or...”

Shining Armor shakes his head, eyeing the golden liquid swirling in his glass. “It’s too... It’s too risky. Too suspicious. If the both of us left and came back at the same time...”

I cast my head down again. The sweetness of the strawberry is suddenly too strong for me; I lost all inclination to finish my glass. It is the thought of spending an entire week with Shining Armor that entices me the most. An entire week where the two of us could escape from the world and enter our own dream-like fantasy within each other's embrace, unhindered by whatever guilt that threatens to divert us from each other’s kisses. A week where I am not Miss Glass Slippers and he is not Mr. Scabbard.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. “I’ll take you to Prance next time, I’ll buy you a new perfume there.”

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?”

His foreleg wraps around my hips as he pulls me close. He nuzzles my neck and takes a strong whiff. “I love it,” he whispers, as he kisses the soft sensitive spot behind my ear. It makes me tingle. “But you haven’t worn anything else. Let me buy you one, right now, just for the variety.”

He smiles, grabs his glass of bourbon and gulps down everything without even tasting it. “Excuse me, bartend,” he calls to the end of the bar. The bartender comes to us. Shining Armor makes a gesture of paying the bill and the bartender is quick to write down our expenses on a parcel of paper.

“Here’s your bill, sir,” says the bartender.

“Thanks, and hey...” Shining Armor throws several bits on the change plate. “Do you know any place that sells good perfume around here? Specifically, one that is still open at this time of night?”

“I am not so sure, sir.” The bartender rubs his chin. “Maybe you can try the mare’s store three blocks to the left from here.”

“Thank you,” Shining Armor says, removing himself from the bar.

Before I leave my seat, I reach into my purse and take out several bits. I place the golden currency on top of the counter. “Thank you for the information about that hotel you mentioned, It was invaluable,” I say, and, adding a few bits more, “And here’s a thanks for the warning on the Black Velvet.”

“You’re very welcome, ma’am,” he says, bowing courteously.

“Let’s go have a look.” Shining Armor grabs me by the hoof and helps me down.

As soon as my feet touch the floor, the bartender gestures our farewell:

“Have a good night, sir,” he says, “and the charming mare who is not your wife.”

Shining Armor freezes in place and, in the slow mechanical motion of an automaton, turns around to the bartender. As I look at him, as I look at Shining Armor, I thought I would have to run from the prince I have sought all my life; the crystalline blue eyes burned to a hot white that for once, and seem to have done so a thousand times, would kill. Against my instinct to survive, I jump to Shining Armor’s and embrace his chest, hoping it will calm him down from what is to follow.

I turn to look at the bartender. He is too busy wiping the glass surface of the bar with a piece of cloth to notice that the white looming threat may just about murder him.

“What made you say that... that I am not his wife?” I ask, hoping it would provide some explanation to derail Shining Armor’s anger.

“I’m a lot older than I look, ma’am. My coat color hides my wrinkles,” he says in a proud good-natured tone. He is still focused on his job. “And I’ve seen lots of couples in my time, yes ma’am I do. And married couples, even the newlyweds, don’t look at each other with the bedroom in their eyes. But if you want the image, ma’am, I suggest you buy a wedding ring, or anything that looks like it. They sell some for three bits a piece around the corner, just three bits. It’s not sure-fire but it helps.”

“What the fuck are you suggesting!?” Shining Armor would have jumped to the counter if I had not stood between them. His roar echoes throughout the room and all eyes turn to us. The music shuts off without the denouement of trailing off and the bartender, surprised as he is, jumps to his feet in an expression of innocent incomprehensibility, as though he did not believe his statement would warrant such a reaction.

“I am incredibly sorry for my presumptions, sir,” the bartender says, courteously bowing his head and body. “I am merely pointing out the... apparent obvious to what you may think to be... shall we say... unnoticeable. Consider it as a bartender’s advice to a generous customer. I’m not passing judgment of any sort, sir. In this world, we stallions are either virtuous or we enjoy ourselves. Not both, sir, never both.”

Shining Armor stands still, his white coat losing its luster to a pale color, like one of the marble sculpts I have always compared him to, only without the grace of equanimity. The whole bar is at a pause, looking at him, and we all see the small, almost imperceptible, twitch of his repugnant shudder. His screaming eyes are set forward, straight and through the direction of the bartender. But Shining Armor is not looking at him. It seems as though my prince has gone blind, eyes wide open, seeing only the flashes of memories playing back in his mind.

And Shining Armor, at last, moves. First it is his eyes, refocusing and burning hot, glaring with the intensity that seems to wipe reality away from his vision. Then the crooked grimace wrinkles to his muzzle and forehead, then his gritting teeth form a canine’s growl.

And, in a sudden explosion of bloody rage, his whole body moves.

Shining Armor grabs the bar stool, yanking it from the floor, and throws it against the wine shelf, shattering the countless bottles to pieces. The other customers leaps to their feet, scrambling away from the mad stallion in the middle of the room. He upturns tables. He kicks the counter inward. He shouts and yells profanities to everypony in the room. “Who the fuck do you think you are!” “What the fuck do you know!?” “I didn’t cheat on my wife!” He continues, yelling, kicking, and flinging random objects to anypony who would even dare look at him. The bartender hides under the counter; Shining Armor yanks him from there and punches him in the face. Once, twice and thrice, Shining Armor’s hooves crash into his pale-brown visage.

I fight the shiver in my spine, and the trembling in my legs. I throw myself to him, to his feet.

“Shining, stop!” I tell him. “That’s enough!”

Shining Armor stops, tosses the bruised brown stallion aside and turns to me. He glares down to me, the mare at his feet, his own foreleg shaking. I feel a sense of fear at the thought that he will strike me. But he does not. Slowly, looking at me, Shining Armor lays his hoof down but his breathing does not become easier. He yanks me from the floor by the hoof and drags me outside.

I did not sense it from the safety of indoors, but the city of Fillydelphia is robbed of its color by the downpour. The rain weighs down from the dark-gray clouds above. It does not seem to rain water but, rather, smears of black paint that bleeds the color from the blinking lamp posts and house lights to a dreary mist.

Shining Armor yanks me by the hoof, dragging me in the direction of our hotel. With each step of his, the water jumps from the pavements. Where his handsome face should be, the darkness of the night has placed a pale oval of white.

“Shining, please calm down...” I try, but my words do not reach him.

Shining Armor utters a profanity and yanks me again as his only reply.

By the time we reach the hotel my coiffure is ruined and my dress is drenched with rain water. Still he drags me, passed the doors and through the lobby.

“Good evening, Mr. Scabbard and Miss Glass Slippers,” says the manager. But he is generally ignored.

Shining Armor does not have the patience to take the pause of waiting for the elevator and continues to drag me to our room on the fourth floor. He pushes me inside, enters and locks the door.

“Shining, dear, please calm down. Forget what that–”

My words are cut off by the sharp crack of a hoof against my cheeks. I fall back, the floor beneath trying to shake me down. I look at Shining Armor, my lips quivering.

“Shining...?”

Shining Armor stands, his whole torso flexing in deep, long intakes of breaths that make his muscles contract and expand, seeming all the more menacing. His eyes are hidden beneath the bangs of his wet blue mane. Then I see his pale lips open, showing the gritting teeth at the corners of his mouth.

By the time I discover what is about to be done to me–by the time I feel that helpless blind stark terror of the knowledge of what is about to be done to me–it is too late. Shining Armor jumps on me. He forces me on the bed. He rips my pantyhose apart. He removes his belt.

“W-wait!” I cry out. “Shining, dear, I’m not ready–!”

But neither is he, and it does not matter for him. Teeth clenched and nostrils flaring, Shining Armor gores his hard dry cock inside me. It feels as though a jagged rock has just been shoved inside my sex, its rough texture scraping against my vaginal walls with searing friction. He starts moving back and forth, in the automatic motion of withdrawing just enough only to slam his cock back in with a painful grunt.

“S-Shining! Ow! ...I-I don’t like this.”

I hold him by the shoulders, trying to push him away. But I cannot move him. Not when he clings so tightly around my ribs that it makes it difficult for me to breath. Not when he is pounding me with the careless brutality of a savage after a cheap fuck. I try to look at him, at least, trying to find an explanation or apology in his eyes; but he hides his face from me, pressing close to me as he clenches his teeth around my neck. By the time my pussy moistens to ease the pain, Shining Armor cums, splattering a bucket of stallion spunk inside. But he is still hard, and his pacing does not slow down.

He continues bucking his hips, plowing forward into me such that I begin to choke out spurts of incoherent babbling–the pain trapped in my throat.

No! I tell myself. This is not Shining Armor. This is not my prince!

I shut my eyes, feeling my teeth clench down against my lower lips. I try to squirm away, kicking and throwing slaps to his body, knowing now that no words can reach him. But he holds on so tightly around my ribs that it becomes difficult to move. He holds me as one would seize a trophy animal or a victim, moving in the crude fierce thrust of a soldier violating an enemy woman. Shining Armor cums again, filling my womb.

“S-Stop!” I cry out, feeling more of his fluids inside me and feeling him buck his hips once more. “C-Calm down, please!”

Shining Armor unloads inside me for the third time, and the flesh of my walls seem to bulge at the fresh gush that comes too soon. He raises his torso away from me and I see his stone face still etched with an angry grimace. He refuses to meet my eyes, glaring at my crotch. He makes one last push of his hips, slamming his cock hard against the inner walls of my womb to the sound of a disgusting squelch. Then he pulls away completely, almost yanking me off the bed. I scream at the sudden sensation.

As soon as I am free from him, I bolt for the door. He grabs me, throws me down onto the bed, and bends me over. He holds my head down against the mattress and starts to tear off my clothes. I begin to kick him, desperately, a trapped animal squirming and battering for its life; but my blows have no effect on him, no more than I can hurt cold marble.

Shining Armor prods my cunt with the tip of his cock, before shoving hard and taking me from behind. The cum that has accumulated overflows and seeps out the edges of my pussy at the sudden entry. He does not move. He stays there for a moment, heaving long deep breaths. If it is hesitation, he does not hesitate for long. His hooves move; his left holds me down further against the bed, his right hooks my underbelly. He leans forward, pressing his torso down the length of my back as he places his head beside mine, face scowling. I do not know what he is trying to do, but as soon as I do–at his first forward motion–I scream.

“Shining, don’t!” I cry out in hysterics. “Oh, please don’t!”

He pulls my body in as he thrusts his forward. The tip of his cock slowly pushes up against the walls of my cervix, stretching the layer inward and outward. I find myself clenching my teeth against the bed sheets and a single tear trickles down from the corner of my eye. Shining Armor continues, trying to force through my womb, like a battering ram slamming against a temple’s bulwark with nothing but brute force and no sanction. My eyes dilate and my breathing ceases. I feel my insides slowly being torn open, the tip of Shining Armor’s dick ripping the small hole apart. He pushes on, groaning aloud, harder and harder until he makes me scream and–

“Take it out! It hurts! It hurts so much!”

–there is a sound of a pop–I heard it, a pop–in the sudden ocean of silence that drowns my screams. In the enduring silence, my breathing is shut off, my heart skips a beat, my eyes grow wide, my whole body trembles and, in my nether region just above my navel, my loin feels as though it is bulging out in the shape of the phallic object driven inside. The silence lasts only a mere two seconds before the pain arrives.

I scream. I scream as loud as my lungs can carry my voice, but it breaks off in sobs as the seething pain chokes me. Tears stream down my face and my vision blurs. I struggle to stop my eyes from rolling to the back my head. The full length of Shining Armor’s cock is finally inside me, down to the root and base, the pressure of his hips pressing against my buttocks. He grabs both my forelegs from behind, pulling at them upwards so that my head is pressed on the mattress, using my limbs as a handle to drive himself deeper than sanction permits. The first few inches from his tip rut the inner virginity of my uterus. He continue moving, thrusting, in an irregular senseless motion without the decency of care. He could have been tearing my insides too–and it feels as though he does–and still it would not hinder him in the slightest.

Then finally he cums again, injecting that slimy stallion juice directly into my womb. It stings, making me wince and collapse and shrink to a fetal position, like the touch of alcohol to an open wound.

“N-N-No more...” I manage to squeak out amidst the cries of pain. “I... I-I don’t... feel good... Shining, I... I feel sick...”

Shining Armor continues to fuck me, in a manner so hard and merciless that it lifts my hindlegs from the floor. My forelegs move aimlessly, frantically, on the beddings, trying to find any sort of leverage from the cloth to which I can pull or crawl myself away from the stallion ravaging my insides.

My throat singed by the constant sobbing and coarse shrieks, I mumble into silence. I do not, for several minutes, utter a sound. My pain is expressed only in the silent tears that smear down my face, and onto the growing stain on the bedsheets.

Eventually, spasming with the occasional whimper, I limp again for words.

“H-He... Help me!” I croak out, just above a whisper or a plea. “S-Somep... Somepony help me!”

“Isn’t this what you wanted, you filthy little bitch!” he shouts.

Shining Armor rolls my tail around his right foreleg and pulls hard on it. It makes me scream again. It feels as though something is trying to uproot my spine from my tailbone. My breathing has become unstable, matching the rhythm–or the lack of it–of his stabbing blows.

When Shining Armor cums again for the fifth time, I do not feel it inside me. Rather, I feel the trembling shudder of his body followed by an almost painful groan that crawls a shiver up my dorsum.

“C-C-Cadance...” he whimpers. It is as though a thought from the back of his mind has escaped from the locks of his guilt, a desperate confession in an attempt to explain, to be understood and to be forgiven.

My eyes grow wide and open at the gross revelation of fear–not fear for my own safety, but of something more significant–that Shining Armor commits this act of obscenity as an expression of his own self-disgust and self-hate, using my body as an instrument for his self-torture.

Applejack...

Her name comes to my mind from the same roots of his pain, that this debasing perversion is our just punishment for our subscription to the sin of adultery.

At some point, I stop resisting. I let Shining Armor use this body of mine for whatever punishment he wishes to place upon himself. I give in to pain, as Shining Armor has given in to remorse, tying pleasure to guilt and guilt to shame. Shining Armor does not disappoint, he continues to fuck without restraint, each blow hurting the both us in an act of sacrilegious desecration to a mare’s body.

The rest of the time, my eyes remain open, albeit reduced to haze, to the blank pale wall of the room in front of me. On that surface flashes the memory of the wonderful mare who loves me, and trusts me, and how I returned her feelings:

I’m sorry, dearest Applejack, was that picnic supposed to be today? I’m afraid I can’t go. I. . . I have to go to Trottingham. . . Yes, there’s a commission of dresses waiting for me there. I’ll make it up to you next time? C’est la vie.

Pulling me by my mane, he yanks me off the bed and forces me onto my knees. He holds my head up and, with his hoof, forces my mouth open before filling the orifice with his cock. My scream is muffled out into a few short groans as he rams himself inside. I can feel the tip of his member touching my tonsils and it makes me gag, choking and coughing out spit onto his tool. But, of course, he is not yet satisfied. Placing his hooves at the back of my head, he pulls me in and pushes in further, slowly dragging in his length down my throat. He meets more resistance, but nothing a few bucks and jerks of his hips cannot overcome. All the while I struggle to breathe, and what breath I can take is stenched with the odor of his dick as he locks my mouth around his base. It is finally in–all of it. I can feel the rings of his girth pulsing in my windpipe. I try to back away but he holds me in place. He grabs my fringes and starts to move my head back and forth, making sure his cock slams the back of my throat with each thrust. His member throbs and he pushes in with such force that my head is thrown back and is pinned against the mattress's side. His cum slides straight down to my stomach; I cannot taste it. But it is not yet over, not when he is still as hard as though we have barely begun. He moves again, faster this time, fucking my mouth against the bed like a pussy-hole, suggesting that, to him, the difference does not matter. By the time I can feel again, my jaw hurts and my throat aches and swells, Shining Armor cums again; this time he pulls back just slightly and his bitter seed fills and overflows my mouth. He does not stop his thrusts, the sound of gluk gluk gluk echoes in the room as he stirs the cum with his cock. The second wave comes shortly after, and the thick volume slams against the back of my throat. Finding no other passage, the cum climbs up my sinuses. A second later, as my eyes roll to the back of my head, a string of cum spurts out my nose.

A poem!? Wow, that’s so sweet of you, dearest. . . Oh, I’m sure it’ll be amazing, don’t underestimate yourself so. It comes from your heart, does it not? That alone makes it invaluable. . . I’m sorry, I can’t now. . . I need to catch the train. I’ll read it on the ride. . . Yes, again. Photo Finish has a proposition for me. . . I’ll be home tomorrow, I’m sure.

I am thrown down with my face pressed against the red carpet. Shining Armor tosses my tail aside to expose him the small vulnerable hole of my ass. He does not take his time. He mounts me and spears his cock against the opening. As soon as he can drive himself in, he does. His thick black cock ruptures open my sphincter and whatever muscle inside. I feel his hard meat in me like a tempered steel rod, recalcitrant to mere flesh and bone. I do not know whether I screamed or if I still do. The only thing I can feel is the vulgar humiliation of having my filthiness rutted to no end, and how the pain of it all is making me tremble and twitch on the floor. Dampness is all I can feel as his coat rubs against mine, and mine against the carpet that soaks the dripping sweats of our bodies. Droplets of my perspiration trail and collect into small globs down the edges of my body, serving as the lubricant for Shining Armor’s hold on me. He grabs me by my thighs, pushing my head down and raising my flank as the speed of his piston movement increases. As he does, my legs wobble, but always does he hold up my flank. When my hindlimbs finally succumb to the immense pressure placed upon them, my wobbling hooves lose their balance and I slip on my own moisture. My body falling flat on the carpet, Shining Armor’s follows. His cock sinks deeper, forcing itself in my canal, and it feels as though a thousand pinpricks of a thousand needles puncture all the nerve endings of my lower body. I scream, again, in pain, but the carpet is immune to my cries. When Shining Armor finally cums, it is as though the ropes of cum he shoots down my tunnel touches the cum he sent to my mouth, meeting somewhere in my gut or stomach.

I didn’t even know there was a three day wait. I’m sorry, dearest. Those Baltimore ponies don’t know how to keep a tight schedule. And after all you’ve been through, trying to set up our perfect date. I am so sorry. It won’t happen again.

At some point we are back on the bed, my whole lethargic body bobbing up and down upon him with each upward move of his hips. I can no longer tell if he’s fucking my cunt or my ass, the pain of both makes it difficult to distinguish, only that I can still feel his hard member inside me. He must have grown tired or bored of the repetitive motion–or perhaps he thinks that I am not hurt enough by it–which makes him inflict all the more injury. His foreleg coils around my throat, blocking the air out of my lungs. With what instinct to survive I have left, my hooves lunge and try to pry his away. But I can not remove his strong clutching limbs. The organs in my chests begin to burn and my vision blurs. I thrash about, desperately trying to free myself from him, all the while he continues to ram his cock inside me with savage vigor. When my hooves finally refuse to respond to my command, growing weaker and weaker with each passing second, Shining Armor finally lets go. My whole body jerks up, my lungs coming back to life as I take long greedy swallows of air. But it only lasts for a few short seconds. Shining Armor grabs me again, this time with both his forelegs wrapping around my windpipe. He forces me down against the bed and tightens his hold as he fucks me. I try to move, but I have no energy left. My hindlegs, which have been folded upright in my spams, drop lifeless as the air is choked out of me. It is impossible to scream. My vision turns to black and my eyes roll to the back of my head; if Shining Armor cummed as he suffocates me, I did not feel it. I faint.

What? No! I’m not avoiding you in the slightest... It’s just that... after Canterlot has established my popularity, I have been called all over Equestria to commission dresses. . . I’ll need to leave once every few weeks. . . No, you can’t come. What about the farm? And my trips couldn’t possibly interest you. I promise we’ll be spending more time together when I’m here.

When I come to, it is by malice of having my mane pulled–the sum total of my immediate senses coursing through all my veins. I feel the tug of each strand pulling against my scalp. If I am in pain, I can no longer feel it, nor give voice to it. I no longer have any idea how Shining Armor is fucking me, only that he does. I cannot even tell where I am–on the floor, on the bed, on the carpet or wall–or what position I am in. My mind remains in that floating stupor, perceiving nothing but the vague and fluid concretes of indistinguishability: a white coat–I do not know whose, something hard, something pressing against me, something flowing inside me, something moving, something red, something blue, something streaming down my eyes, something ringing in my head, whose voice I do not recognize and speaking words I cannot comprehend: “You’ll never be a princess!”–“You’re just a common whore!”–“You don’t know how to love! You have no right to love!”–“She loves you and you don’t deserve it!” There is neither pain nor pleasure, only the dazed and stupid motion of two mindless bodies struggling to drown their reason beneath a muck of the obscene.

I am so sorry! I know how terribly important this is but I cannot possibly attend the dinner with Granny Smith tonight. I know how much this means to you considering she’s still against us but. . . I-I... have a... a business proposition from Manehattan. I. . . Maybe next time I can be the host, and she and Big Mac and Apple Bloom can come to the Boutique as my guests and. . . I’m sure– I already told you I’m sorry! ...Oh, dearest, I apologize for raising my voice. Please, don’t be mad at me.

When it is all over, I am left still bent over on the bed, blistering in some places and cold in others. Ruptured, torn, and ravaged, I am unable to move. My body is as paralyzed as my mind, and equally numb. I have no thoughts in my head, not even of the indignation I suffered or of the justice of my penance. My stomach, guts and womb feel bloated, filled and viscid. I feel nausea stir in my belly, as though I am going to vomit at the slightest nudge.

From the corner of my eye, the sky has gone from black to purple, slowly making its way to orange through the slit of the windowsill. Shining Armor is no longer mounting me. He sits there, on the other edge of the bed, slouching and his hooves pressed against his eyes. He is crying, wailing, sobbing more than a stallion’s dignity should permit; there is no sound from him.

I crawl to my prince, dragging this ruined body of mine, just so I can hold Shining Armor. I want to embrace him and tell him that this is both of our fault, not just his; I want to tell him that I, too, understand. I reach him, I climb on his shoulders and embrace my hooves around his neck. He raises his hoof to touch mine, seeking refuge in my comfort. He nuzzles and kisses it as he apologizes.

“R-Rarity, I...” He bites his lips and turns away, “I... I love Cadance.”

I nod. It is the only thing I can do, or say.

“I care for you,” he says. “I really do... It’s true, what you said... long ago... it could have been us... But... It’s still Cadance... Even then... I would still have chosen Cadance over you. I mean... Rarity... Maybe I love you too, for what you and I could give to each other... but... but I can give you only because I love Cadance much more... Because you’re... you’re Rarity. You’re not... Cadance, she... She’s like a goddess. It’s like she’s too good for me. I... I look up to her... like she... Dear Celestia, I love her so much!”

He cries out his confession, like a last desperate justification for a crime to vindicate himself.

“Is... is that why,” I mutter, “why you went to me... that night, on our first night? What was it, Shining Armor, what was it that made you enter my chamber, seize me in your embrace, force yourself onto me until I submitted as you knew I would? After all your talk of chivalry, of romance, of true love... At the risk of your honor, your position, your life... What was it that made you carry me upon your bed? Was it anger, was it lust, or... maybe, just maybe... was it... love?”

“Why are you asking me now, after all this time?”

“I’m asking.”

“It was...” he turns further away from me, “...pity.”

“P-Pity?” I repeat. The word is heavy on my tongue.

“It was... I felt sorry for you.”

“Y-You... you felt sorry for me?” My hooves let go of him. “You felt sorry for me...” The second statement is not a question.

Shining Armor does not reply.

“Shining... I would have accepted anything... but pity.”

“I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry, he says. An apology, a renunciation of resentment and indignation from an act that was not meant to be. His words do not hurt me–no–rather, it fills me with a sudden awareness of being hollow, of being nothing but skin that contains a painless void. But it is not an emptiness that is shapeless, the form is in the shape of Cadance.

She, who is already raised upon to pedestal of the Empyrean, is to him a figure of white wings and a halo, too sacred to be touched by anything less; and yet, Cadance herself delivered both her body and soul to the hooves of he who is too afraid to revere with all the force of one’s conviction, in fear of defiling that which is already too lustrous for one’s eyes. To what recluse can he, the fearful, hide himself but to the illusion of his admirer–a whore to a prince–from the omniscience of his conscience. To what pleasure can he, the traitor, turn his clutch to but the lowliest of his reach–a moth to the fires of passion–to undermine that which he knows to be too holy to be within his grasp. To what shame can he, the guilt-ridden, punish himself but to the painful warmth of betrayal with the worst kind of mare–a seducer filled with wanton–as penance for his sacrilege.

He loves Cadance... More than anything...

I, the mud to which blood is washed, will never have him, that is the painful conclusion; not beyond our nights hidden in blind alleys and cheap hotels.

“Shining, I–” I bite my lower lip. “I... A long time ago, there was once a little filly. She was a happy little filly born and raised by a normal family in... in Manehattan, I think. She... she was a very happy delicate little filly who had a foalhood better than average. She had lots of friends and was... well-loved by everypony. Her father’s name is Diamond Dust, a jeweler, and her mother is a horseshoe designer... I forgot her name. A-And... and one day, her parents... they brought this filly to Canterlot a-and... while buying gems, the filly got lost and... somehow made her way into the castle. It was the Grand Galloping Gala that night and the filly saw... the filly... she saw everything: the lights, the dresses, the chandelier... everything! And... it took her breath away–or rather, it was like life was breathed into her for the first time. The ponies in that gala all thought that the filly was somepony’s lost daughter because she was so... at home. She belonged there. And the filly handled herself perfectly among the guests of the Gala. And that’s where she... where she got her cutie mark... When the filly and her parents–”

“What does it look like,” Shining Armor asks, “the cutie mark?”

“–and when the filly and her parents returned home, the filly asked her mother, ‘Mama, mama. Why don’t we stay there like a princess?’ and... and the mother explained something about being middle class and that there’s some places we don’t belong in. But... but ever since that night, the filly... she had a hobby, her favorite hobby... As soon as her parents are asleep”–A small humble smile makes its way to my face–“she would go to the basement and she would use a pair of scissors to cut some leftover fabric and stitch it back into a dress, then she’d take a cardboard box and, from it, she’ll cut out a small tiara, or a crown I think–no!–definitely a tiara. And she would wear them both. And then she would stand in front of the mirror. And for a few minutes, the mirror was so... so generous. The mirror reflected what the filly wanted to see. In the mirror the tiara is made up of gold and... and diamonds! and the fabric, of the most expensive and elegant silken gown. And the dusty basement would be a giant ballroom of marble columns and golden bricks, and the light bulb is a chandelier. She spent a lot of time in that world of hers–Celestia knows how many, days and weeks and months. And she loved every minute–every second–of it. It was like the make-believe was more... real than anything else. It was the happiest moments of her life... until... until... But one night, while she was playing, my... the filly’s father woke up from his sleep and went to the basement to look for his daughter. There he saw her dancing in front of the mirror, a cardboard box on her head and a ragged cloth as her cape, and he said... he said–I will never forget it–he said: ‘Lapis, darling, are you still dreaming?’ ... And then... just like the that, the illusion never came back. The filly... since then, the filly stopped her hobby... She never did it again... the make believe... ‘Lapis, darling, are you still dreaming?’”

I hide my face beneath his mane and sob.

“‘...Are you still dreaming?’” I repeat. “W-What kind of monster would say such a thing? She wanted to be somepony special... She wanted to be a princess...”

Shining Armor turns to me. He moves forward and takes me in an embrace within his gentle hooves. “R-Rarity...” he whispers to my ear. “Get some sleep. I’ll... I’ll be here beside you.”

“Shi-Shining... Please don’t leave me!” My voice squeaks, I grab on to him. “I’ll give you everything.... just... don’t leave me... I-I don’t care if I’m just your mistress out there but here... at least... in your bed... I’m your princess... I-I...”

He caresses my mane, the same mane he pulled so hard not long ago, as he plants a soft kiss to my forehead and cheeks. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“D-Do you promise?”

Holding on to my shoulder, Shining Armor lays me down on the warm bed. He lies beside me, where on his chest I weep.

“D-Don’t leave...” I whisper.

Shining Armor looks down to me and, within his watery blue eyes, I see, for the first time, the look of sympathy. “I swear it,” he says. “I swear it by what love I have for you.”

And, beholden beneath those blue eyes, I fall asleep.

I find Shining Armor gone as I awaken.

The empty bed reeks of sex, tears, and broken promises. But, as with every nightmare, it washes away with some warm water and soap.