> Saddle Upped
>  by Drop_It_Like_Its_Clop
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> Return
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At first glance, it reminded him of Appleloosa or Dodge Junction, but just approaching the city was enough to show him how wrong he was.

The buildings were grand, even the most plain and utilitarian structures, carved from rock or constructed so efficiently that the stones stacked one atop the other were indistinguishable except for under obnoxiously invasive observation. The homes that would've been townhouses or terrace houses in Equestria were simple neat structures here, more like hard sandstone walls with windows and doors than externally identifiable properties, but the continuity and simplicity made the whole structure seem communal and strong and important. Some of them were rows encapsulating narrow streets, and some were square, squat places which might've been a community centre for worship or trade or entertainment, but all of them were bustling with life, guiding the spirit and direction of the city through a simple but unavoidable design.

The desert towns of Equestria were nice, of course, and he enjoyed his time visiting both to see friends and to conduct business. There was a simplicity and honesty to the frontier life, without any attempt at splendour or grandeur that was almost overbearing in densely populated urban centres like Canterlot and Manehatten, and the friendly, boisterous culture and personality of the ponies who lived at the edge of Equestrian civilisation was infectious and every bit as admirable and awe-inspiring as the wealthy performances and displays in the large cities. That being said, Saddle Arabia was easily a competitor to his home's simplicity and splendour, and the similarity towards the desert towns ended at the climate and local environment.

The largest buildings were visible from halfway across the city, constructed to be mesmerising and elegant, but entirely without the gold or other precious metals that would be used to mark wealth or status in Canterlot or Las Pegasus, or expertly carved wood that was common on Mount Aris. The buildings which didn't fall on the spectrum of off-white to burned orange were fitted and constructed with masonry and stonework that drew in the eye, blues and greens and reds which shone proudly in the bright light of the burning sun. Even those which lacked the painted or natural hues carried pillars and columns, balconies and balustrades, all shaped in exotic and beautiful displays that spoke to a beauty beyond understanding.

"It's such a waste," his companion complained. "All these amazing views and I can't photograph any of them."

"The Saddle Arabians don't like foreign visitors photographing them or their city," he reminded her, gently squeezing her claw in his. "For all they know, we could be spies. I know you didn't want to leave your camera behind, but they're still opening up to outsiders. Maybe in the future, they'll trust everycreature enough to change their stance, but for now, you're here, in the middle of hundreds of years of history. Enjoy the sights."

The griffoness quietly accepted his wisdom and squeezed his claw in return, walking alongside him as he led them down the wide busy streets, the avenue leading to the bustle of a bazaar. Where there had been traffic before, the densely packed stalls drew a bustling crowd, packing everyone into a haphazard bundle that struggled to move onward, each side attempting to bypass the prospective buyers halting in front of each stall. All they could do was move with the current, flowing sluggishly past the bellowing merchants and the cacophony of voices, the shouts of the sellers rising about the din of general conversation.

He didn't realise that anycreature was speaking to him at first, until the language became recognisible, switching from Saddle Arabia's native tongue to Ponish. "You! Dragon! Goods to take home?" That was unmistakble; he was the only dragon here, as far as he could see, and his kind was enough of a rarity in the kingdom - from what he understood from his research, at least - that the mention of a dragon would reasonably catch his attention regardless. Looking around, he spotted one of the merchants, who nodded emphatically when he saw the drake's eyes. "Yes, you! You want something good? Something to buy?"

"I'm good, thanks," he called back, smiling in a friendly rejection of the merchant's offer.

"Good choice, buy here instead!" called another voice from further down the row, another horse making his attempt.

"Thank you for the offer, but I don't need anything."

"They both not good, come buy!"

"No, over here!"

"Best goods! Best gifts!"

It was like he'd managed to flip a switch or trigger a trap; all of a sudden, the maelstrom of voices took form, targeting him in their attempt to reel him in. In that moment, he wondered if this was how a fish felt when they fell victim to an angler, or a fly landing in a spider's web.

"You really caught their attention," his companion muttered, looking around in surprise.

"Keep moving," he told her, pulling her onwards as inconspicuously as he could. "They've noticed we're tourists, that's all." She didn't argue as he pulled her through the crowd, doing their best to ignore the heckling calls from the horses aggressively peddling their wares. The demands for attention pressed in from both sides, from ahead and behind, overlapping voices insistently calling out to them until the individual sales pitches were indistinguishable, drowned out by their competitors. He looked around, trying to find respite among the throng, and spotted a gap in the bustle. Pulling his companion in that direction, he saw that the stall opened into a wider storeroom, full of other items, and a horse who smiled politely at them as they approached. Making his decision, he stepped inside, leaving the noise outside.

"Hello, my foreign friends," the horse spoke, bowing his head slightly. "What brings you to Saddle Arabia?"

"Business," the dragon answered. "I'm the Ambassador of Friendship from Equestria."

"Truly?" the horse asked, his eyes widening. "Then I must have your name! We don't usually have such distinguished guests in this shop."

"Spike," the drake answered, squaring his frame to look as important as he thought his role required. "Spike The Dragon. This is my girlfriend, Gabriella Griffon."

"My friends call me Gabby," the griffoness added. "Everycreature calls me Gabby, actually."

"It is a pleasure and an honour to meet you both," the horse told them. "I have seen many creautres pass through here, but never anycreature of importance. None have been so worthy as to peruse my wares, nevermind to bid on them!" He stepped closer, grinning brightly. "But of course, you are no strangers to such realities to life as a courtier. Please, come view what wonders I have to offer creatures of your prestige, Mister Spike." He gestured further in his shop, beckoning them motionlessly.

"Thank you, but-"

"I insist," the horse pressed, grabbing an object from a shelf. "The finest wares are only suitable for the finest of creatures, and you truly are the finest of creatures, Mister Spike. In truth, I have not seen a male dragon pass through this street with my own eyes, much less an ambassador of such a prestigious nation as yours."

"That's nice of you, but-"

"You're in need of a map of the city, I presume?" the horse cut in, pulling a large, folded sheet from among several others. "It will be necessary to conduct your affairs while you are here."

"That won't be-"

"But of course!" the horse gasped, shaking his head as if he'd made a grand mistake. "You already have a map! Your foresight would have equipped you with the wisdom to bring such a map, or a guide! Forgive me, Mister Spike. Instead, why not a gift for your beautiful and wonderfully meek female? Miss Gobby deserves only the best, after all."

"It's Gabby, and-"

"Here, sir; rosewater-flavoured comforts, freshly produced and only offered to stallions of great standing. They would make an excellent offering to someone special, no?" He swapped the paper for a wooden box, opening its lid to reveal a stack of cubes, a saccharine fragrance diffusing into the space of the shop and tickling Spike's nostrils. He wrinkled his snout, the scent clinging to his nasal as insistently as the shopkeeper clung to his sales pitch.

"I'm not looking to buy anything," Spike told the horse. "I'm here on business, and I'm waiting for a friend. Maybe later, when I've finished, I'll come back and buy something. Thank you for your offers, but we should really get going." He nudged Gabby towards the entrance, taking a step back himself.

"Oh, but I am sorry, good sir," the horse hummed, stepping around the duo with a dexterity that surprised the drake. "I have a minimum purchase policy, and you can't leave until you have purchased at least one item. Perhaps you could reconsider on these delicious treats here?"

"A minimum purchase policy?" Spike repeated, his route outside blocked by the vendor. "Where does it say that?"

"It's the norm of this market, I am afraid," the horse explained with a shrug. "It is normal, and I didn't want to insult someone as widely travelled as yourself by pointing out what is obvious here. I'm afraid there's nothing that I can do about it, though."

"But isn't this your shop?" the drake asked, frowning. "Surely you can do something about it. We could just leave and come back later when we have more time."

"There's plenty of time," the horse insisted, stepping closer, his smile stretching unnaturally across his muzzle. "Or a quick purchase of these goods here, if you wish to hurry. If you don't have enough to pay the full price, I will generously allow you to pay with whatever coin you have on you at this moment."

"I'm not just going to give over my money," Spike asserted, quirking an eyebrow at the horse opposite him. There was a moment of silence, and something changed in the horse's countenance. His expression remained the same, but the brightness in his eyes dimmed, something tightened, and he muttered something in his native language that Spike couldn't understand. He felt Gabby clutch his arm a little more firmly, and glanced over to check she was okay.

"Ah wouldn't go 'round sayin' things like that, if ah were you," a low, powerful voice intoned, commanding the attention of the shop and drawing everyone's eyes to the speaker. The horse balked at the sight of the new arrival, tensing subtly. "It ain't polite, is it?"

"I suppose I may have mispoke," the shopkeeper agreed, keeping his tone level. "I did not realise that you were in the city, Mister MacIntosh."

"Ah am," Mac told him, nodding at Spike. "An' this here dragon has business with me."

The horse's posture tensed far more noticeably, and he snapped his head towards the drake with a swiftness that betrayed his shock. Spike couldn't help but smirk as the horse's eyes widened in panic, his demeanour changing instantly to something far removed from the suave, cocksure stallion who'd attempted to force a sale.

"I-I did not realise you were friends with Mister MacIntosh," the merchant spoke, his speech wavering. "A hundred, a thousand apologies, Mister Spike, and to your radiant female, too."

"Her name is Gabby," Spike told him, pointedly. "Thank you for your time, but we'll be leaving now. Maybe we'll come back later." Taking hold of Gabby's claw, he stepped past the horse and towards the exit, falling in behind the red pony who'd come to their rescue. "Your timing's impeccable. How'd you find us?"

"Ain't hard to find a tourist in Saddle Arabia," Mac answered, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. He moved with the easy confidence of somepony who'd been here multiple times, who knew the street layout well enough to navigate it with his eyes closed. "A dragon tourist? Easier than findin' a fox in a henhouse."

"Thanks for the rescue," Spike added. "And for agreeing to be my sponsor of sorts. Twilight wanted to write me a guide, but when I realised the contents page was five pages-"

"You realised that maybe there was a better way to go 'bout it," Mac surmised.

"Yeah," the drake confirmed. "Thanks for coming out to help me. Having someone who knows the place is way better than a list. At least I don't have to worry about carrying around a pony."

"S'nothin'," Mac assured him casually, turning from the market onto a quieter side street. "Ah had business of my own here anyway, seemed only right t'offer my help, 'specially since it's for a good cause."

That was something Spike liked about his friend; Mac was easygoing and always ready to help, and most of all, he didn't brag or make a huge deal out of it. It was as natural as breathing to the stallion. It was no wonder he'd been able to attract the affection of two females, both of whom were here with him, along with another two he recognised.

He'd spoken to them many times before, but only had a few conversations properly with Mac's wives. Zemballa was quiet and introverted, and while she was never withdrawn or awkward, she didn't instigate anything. Gaia more than made up for that, though, and whenever Mac wasn't in the room, he found that the spunky griffon rivalled Pinkie Pie or even Gabby in terms of liveliness. She simmered down when in her husband's company, like she was now. What was entirely new, and completely unexpected, was their garments, which were a farcry away from their usual casual Equestrian attire.

Silk and cloth streamed down their legs, cutting an elegant look that seemed to occupy something between a skirt and trouser legs, the slender shape visible through the transluecent material. Tassels adorned their hips, swaying with their sashaying gait, and their midriffs were mostly bare, save for a wrap that maintained their dignity around their chests. It wasn't the sort of look he'd have expected them to don, especially not in Saddle Arabia, which seemed to have a particular series of sentiments regarding modesty, which was something Gabby, ensconced in her Abaya, verified with her mere presence. That alone was an oddity, but doubly so was the presence of another mare he knew.

"Hi Applejack," he greeted, his eyes roaming over her body instinctively. How couldn't he? He'd never seen her dress so brazenly effeminate before, and he'd never have guessed she looked so fitting. He could've sworn she'd been far more muscular than she currently was, memories of her sharply toned abs imposing themselves over her presently soft belly. "I didn't know you'd be coming along. Did Twilight ask you to keep an eye on me?"

"We came as a family," Mac answered for her, gesturing to his other sister, who, like Gabby, was swaddled in the traditional garb of their host kingdom. "Ain't no reason to leave my family behind when ah'm headin' out for work, far as ah see it."

"Darn tootin'," Applejack agreed, beaming at the sight of the drake. "Good to see ya, Spike. An' you too, Gabby."

As the griffon greeted the farmgirl pleasantly, Spike's eyes drifted over to the other female present in the small group. Like Gabby, she was dressed in an Abaya, the synthetic cloth wrapped around her body and head, leaving only her face on display. Spike recognised who it was, but there was still a moment of uncertainty from the complete lack of mane which usually cascaded down her back in a neat ponytail, much like her older sister's. The aramanth was bright and unmistakble, its absence as loud as its presence, and she looked different with just the grayish olive of her coat.

"Weren't my choice to wear it," she grumbled at his stare, shaking her head. "Good to see ya, Spike."

"You too, AB," he responded, smiling at her. Her comment tingled in his mind, replaying in a soft whisper as the seven of them began their walk away from the bustle of the market, led by their reliable guide. It didn't fade away, like an echo would, but rolled around again and again, even as the others fell into talk, asking about how they'd been and what they'd been up to. Spike answered politely, giving them as much attention as he could, but the curiosity in his head refused to leave. "Mac?" he said at last, stepping towards the front of the group. The big red pony nodded, conveying his attention nonverbally. "I have a question. Why do Gabby and Apple Bloom have-?"

"Have to wear traditional garb while my wives don't?" he interrupted, guessing what was going through the younger male's head. "Ah thought the exact same thing when ah first came here. Seems strange, havin' grown up in Equestria."

"It seems a bit arbitrary," Spike admitted, casting glances back every few seconds at the females in their entourage. "The choice...or compulsion?...is between restriction or exposure?"

"Ya don't seem to mind it too much," Mac pointed out, chuckling as the drake coughed awkwardly and deliberately turned to face ahead, focusing with an exaggerated concentration on their route. "Ah can't blame ya; it's involuntary, as much as ya might have objections at first. What ya gotta understand is that they're dressed that way because it shows that they're different, granted a special privilege. In my case, they're my wives-" A barest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. "-an' my sister, an' because they're dressed up in this way, there's no confusion 'bout who they are. They won't ever be bothered by anycreature here. Can't promise the same 'bout Gabby an' Bloom, 'cept when we accompany them."

"Why can't Gabby and Apple Bloom wear the bridles?" the dragon asked. They were easy to spot, and since Mac had first come back from Saddle Arabia years ago, he'd never seen Applejack, Gaia, or Zemballa without the identifying band across their muzzles. Over time, he'd grown used to them, seeing it as just another characteristic of theirs, like Applejack's hat, or Twilight's wings.

"It ain't as easy as just slippin' one on," Mac explained. "It's a sign of commitment, an' each creature has to show they're ready t'accept the resposibility it shows."

"Like a sign of citizenship?"

"Kinda, 'cept ya don't have to be a citizen to wear one. It's more like acceptin' the customs of the kingdom an' agreein' t'act accordingly."

"So an oath?"

"Eeyup," Mac agreed. "Somethin' like that. Wearin' it shows you've taken an oath, an' that gives you a higher status."

"And anycreature can take this oath?"

"Eeyup."

They walked along in thoughtful silence for a moment, the drake processing the information. It made sense, intuitively, even if he didn't understand the strange custom. Then again, that was why he was here; his job was all about mending divides between disparate peoples, and he knew from experience that arose in the faultlines of sapient behaviour, where competing or new ideas and values met. Not understanding everything was not only fine, it was innevitable, but his path forward could only ever be to learn what he could. With that in mind, he dropped back to the bridled females, asking a few questions about what the bridle meant to them. Unfortunately, they were rather tight-lipped - or, in the case of Gaia, tight-beaked - about the whole thing. The only thing he could learn from them was that donning the bridle gave one a new perspective, and that they wouldn't change their choice for anything in the world. Hearing that from Applejack surprised him, but he accepted it.

"It still seems strange to me," Gabby commented, keeping her voice low so as to not offend the three females ahead. "Flaunting about in something that shows off your body like that? Why can't they wear skirts, or jeans, or blouses, or anything else?"

"Climate?" Spike proposed. "Cultural norms?"

"It's gotta be better than wearin' this," Apple Bloom commented, an almost imperceptible tremor in her tone. Her view rested on the silk-clad females ahead, eyes flicking from zebra to griffon to pony and back again, apple-shapped tassels hanging from the hips to show their familial relationship, each one perfectly suited to their wearer; Applejack's red was a natural choice, as was Zemballa's green, and Gaia's gold. The sight of them was having something of an effect on the youngest sibling, it seemed, if her uncharacteristic quietness and withdrawn terseness was anything to go by.

"Are you okay?" the dragon asked, frowning at his friend. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was feeling resigned to something, or worrying about something in her near future. He couldn't figure out what she'd have to be worried about, and the more he observed her, the more he thought he recognised that same nervous energy she used to display when she was young and trying to save face in front of her friends when they were about to do something foolhardy. He hadn't seen her look like that for years.

"Ah'm fine," she answered, far too quickly. "Ah'm just hot. It's real hot here, y'know?"

The drake had no choice but to let his curiosity go unsated as they drew closer to their destination, what must've been the building where his objective lay rising up above the surrounding houses. It was tall, clearly a mansion of some sort, and surrounded by a wall high enough to block any view that a passing creature might've wanted to steal into the property. It was one of the most magnificent buildings around, at least in terms of housing.

His attention was diverted from the bannistered roof by a greeting in the local language, and Mac's voice answering in kind. Looking down, he saw a horse, about the same size as the tall red pony, but far less sturdily built, approaching, all smiles and warmth. Big Mac, too, was beaming, extending his hand in a friendly greeting and grasping the horse's own firmly, chatting away with more vigour than it was usual to hear from the stoic earth pony. If he could've understood what was being said, he probably would've heard the usual pleasantries and platitudes being exchanged, before the pony gestured towards Spike himself, and the horse turned his attention to the group.

"Ambassador Spike," the horse greeted, approaching with a wide, pearly smile, all charm and confidence. "Mister McIntosh has told me many things about you. It is an honour to finally meet you. I am Tajir Hisan. As-salaam 'alykum."

"As-salaam 'alykum," Spike replied, feeling a swell of pride at his mostly-flawless iteration of the foreign phrase which he'd practiced constantly since he'd learned that he was heading to Saddle Arabia. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Big...Mister McIntosh has told me a lot about you, too. I'm glad we're finally able to meet." He extended a claw to the horse, who took it carefully, but with a firm grip.

"Unfortunate to have to meet under such a context, but I believe it would be difficult to meet in good circumstances, yes?" Tajir continued. His accent was melodic, never quite disappearing, but weaving into his words until it was hard to tell whether he was speaking what was intuitively his second language. It was calming, the sort of voice that made a listener like him.

"Hopefully we'll be able to turn that around," the drake responded. He wasn't sure entirely how they'd do that - Yakyakistan and Saddle Arabia were in the middle of a trade dispute, and the dragon hadn't needed to be briefed to instinctively know that the problem was their clashing cultures - but it was his job, and he took that seriously. Besides, he couldn't be expected to have a solution to every problem right away. Sometimes, resolutions took time, and the bigger the challenge, the more satisfying the conclusion, if his life with Twilight and their friends had taught him anything. "By the time I leave, we'll be able to say we met in good circumstances."

"Yes, yes," the horse laughed, clasping Spike's claw with his other hand. "I can see you are exactly the creature we need for this task. Come, effendi, we shall begin at once." Letting go of his guest, Tajir turned and walking towards the mansion, his pace slow enough to allow the dragon to follow without feeling like he was being commanded.

"This is my stop, guys," Spike told the group, turning to face them once again. Gabby was smiling at him, clearly proud of her boyfriend's position of responsibility. He smiled back, his eyes falling on Apple Bloom, who was still displaying that restrained anxiety he'd picked up on. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Ah'm fine," the earth pony answered, simultaneously too flat and too heightened. "Ah'll get some water an' shade, an' ah'll be fine by the time you get back."

"I'll make sure she's okay," Gabby promised before Spike could formulate a reply. "You focus on being the ambassador Equestria needs you to be, okay?" She leaned in and kissed his on the cheek, smooching him powerfully for such an innocent gesture. "Knock 'em dead, big boy." Between her smile and words, Spike couldn't help but blush and grin goofily, uncaring as to what image his was supposed to be presenting.

"Yeah, I will," he promised, kissing her claw affectionately. "See you later, everypony. Make sure she's safe."

"Eeyup," Mac promised, the one word exuding a certainty that Spike knew he could trust.

"Ah'll see you later, Spike," Apple Bloom said, stepping forward and squeezing his arm. The gesture brought a pause to the drake, but he dismissed it and patted her shoulder, smiling comfortingly down at the mare.

With a wave, he turned and jogged after Tajir, catching up to the horse halfway to the mansion. Before he'd even set foot in the house, his thoughts had turned entirely to the task ahead, his visage growing serious and confident. He had a job to do, and he was so up for it.





The sight of the drake walking towards the gates of the large house, equal in height - and probably status - as the horse next to him filled Big Mac with a vicarious pride he'd felt before when watching his family achieve great things. Spike was a friend, but in a lot of other ways, he was family, too. He remembered the pint-sized, squeaky-voiced youth who'd landed in Ponyville about a decade ago, too small to be lanky or srawny, but lacking in any sort of muscle or masculine features. Now, that same boy was tall and broad, boasting a wingspan that rivalled an alicorn, bearing muscles that shaped his clothes, and was entrusted with maintaining and developping relationships between nation states. Mac had watched him grow, and now seeing him so far along, it was hard to not feel some level of admiration for the young male.

"Ya sure 'bout doin' this?" he asked without turning his head as the gates closed, and the group was left watching the facade of the building. "You've said you know what it entails, but there ain't no goin' back afterwards."

"Ah'm sure."

"Sure about what?" Gabby asked, her voice curious with a dash of concern. "This sounds serious."

"It ain't nothin' you need to worry 'bout," Mac assured her. "Apple Bloom has an appointment, an' we'll go do somethin' while it's happenin'."

"While what's happening?" Gabby pressed. "I don't want to pry, but no going back afterwards sounds like it's a bit more than just an appointment."

"It ain't my place to say," the stallion answered, turning to the females in his group. "If AB wants to tell ya, ah ain't gonna stop her." There was a few seconds of silence as the group's attention turned to the young mare, Gabby's expression full of expectant curiosity even as she tried to avoid staring too intently. Mac waited, indifferent to the outcome provided his sister made the choice herself.

"You heard what Spike asked about the way Zemballa, Gaia, an' my sister were dressed, right?" she asked at last. Gabby nodded. "An' Big Mac said that it had to be a committment, an' that you had to show you were ready t'accept the responsibility that came with it? Ah'm takin' the plunge. Ah'm gonna go get my bridle."

"That doesn't sound life-changing at all," the griffoness mused after several seconds, realising that there wasn't any more to be said. "Not that I mean it doesn't mean anything, or that it isn't special, just that for your brother to say that you couldn't go back, and you had to be sure, it seems melodramatic. No offence." She blinked as the other griffoness in the group giggled at the remark.

"It's a whole lot more than just that," Gaia told her gleefully. "When it's put on, you-"

"Gaia," Mac warned, a sharpness to his rolling, relaxed tone. "Ain't your place."

"Sorry," she apologised immediately, looking contrite for a brief moment before springing back to her bubbly self. "Apple Bloom will tell you if she wants."

"Are you sure you wanna know?" the earth pony asked, able to tell before Gabby fixed her with a questioning gaze what was on her mind. "It ain't anythin' we're used to. It might freak you out, a lot."

"I promised Spike I'd take care of you," she reminded the mare. "And now I'm starting to wonder what's wrong with you. Whatever it is, I want to know. I promise I won't freak out. Cross my heart and hope to fly."

"She can explain while we walk," Mac told the group, stepping around them and heading further down the street to their destination. "We've gotta get goin' if we're gonna be done in time." He heard the confused muttering from the griffoness behind him, asking where they were going and what it was that required them to have a timeframe. Apple Bloom took several attempts before she found a good place to start.

Having been to the capital of the kingdom multiple times already, the red stallion was familiar with its layout and architecture, and was able to make his way around without paying too much attention. He still liked to admire the sights of city, and so as he walked and took in the beauty of the kingdom's finest urban centre, he listened in on his sister's explanation. She did a good job of explaining something so strange to someone who wasn't accustomed to the culture of the Saddle Arabians, especially something that could easily turn a creature away in disgust and horror. For her part, Gabby deserved recognition for holding her composure despite the shock and surprise evident in her wavering questions.

He wasn't sure when Apple Bloom had learned what the bridles were, but she'd been aware before he knew she knew, and by extension, she knew what his relationship entailed. Naturally, she knew what that meant about his bond to Applejack, but she'd taken it with a good amount of grace, shrugging it off after a brief period of discomfort that was only apparent to Mac in retrospect. The only reason he'd found out how much she knew was because she'd sat them down one evening and outright told them, and that had been because she wanted to convince them to allow her to undertake the same conversion. Hearing that had been a mixed bag, but after establishing that she was certain, that she'd wanted it for a while after having seen just how fulfilled her older sister had become compared to how she'd been before, Mac gave his consent. Applejack had been thrilled, and it had been largely down to her that he was convinced to give the youngest Apple permission to travel to Saddle Arabia and undergo the process.

He hadn't told her he thought he knew why. She'd been honest enough to come forward and admit to having known about the bridles for a while, so he didn't see any point in telling her he knew she wanted to do it to chase the same feelings she'd had when she'd been infatuated with Spike. The two had thought they were discreet and clever, wandering into the orchard five minutes after one another, and returning five minutes after the other, smiling and trying hard not to hold hands as they returned to work. It was a sweet, innocent, teenage romance, one that had seen the young drake around Sweet Apple Acres almost as much as he'd been around Carousel Boutique when he was crushing on Rarity, and Mac found it both amusing and endearing. He liked the drake; he came from good stock and had a good heart, and the help was very much welcome. It was a shame Apple Bloom's life had seemed to be going in a different direction, stuck on the farm to help its expansion, or else they might've ended up together. She clearly missed what she'd felt back then.

Gabby's questions and Apple Bloom's answers fell into silence for the final stretch of the journey, the griffoness clearly deep in thought about the revelations. He couldn't say he blamed her, considering his own reaction when he'd first heard about what they entailed. Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming wooden door on a street corner, the stallion turned to the females behind him, his eyes falling on his younger sister.

"Last chance," he spoke, making sure she was looking at him. "Think real hard 'bout this. Are you absolutely sure this is definitely what you want?"

"It is," Apple Bloom answered, nodding emphatically. "Ah've wanted it for a while, and ah ain't turnin' back now." She balled and unballed her fists, the nervous energy running through her not even remotely close enough to dampen her wishes. Behind her, Applejack beamed with pride, looking almost like she was about to shed a tear or two, while his other two wives looked on with more reserved approval.

"Alright, then let's-"

"Wait."

Their eyes turned to Gabby, who'd spoken suddenly, the young griffoness looking oddly conflicted about something.

"Gabby, ah'm sure 'bout this, ah really am," Apple Bloom promised. "Ah'm not-"

"I-I want to do it too!"

"What?" the mare asked, startled by the exclamation. "You wanna get processed too?"

"Y-yes." She swallowed. "I-I think I do."

"It ain't somethin' you should do on a whim," Mac warned. "It's a permanent choice. It ain't for everycreature, an' if you've decided on doin' it just after you've heard 'bout it from a friend, it probably ain't a good time to make that choice."

"Ah wasn't exactly given a choice," Applejack pointed out. "An' ah'm glad ah wasn't; do you think a stubborn mare like me would've agreed to it if ah'd had a choice?"

"That's different," Mac dismissed. "That was a punishment. This is Spike's henfriend we're talkin' about. Ah can't just hand her back all changed, can ah?"

"What if I make that choice myself?" the hen asked. "What if I want to go back changed?"

"Ah promised ah'd keep you safe," Mac told her. "Ah said ah'd keep you out of trouble. Lettin' you go makin' a choice like this in a strange new land without knowin' the consequences ain't keepin' you safe."

"The consequences, right," Gabby noted. Turning to the three older females, she looked them up and down. "What does it feel like, wearing the bridles?"

"Amazing, all the time," Gaia answered immediately. "Everything's sunny and colourful, and nothing gets you down. I hear other creatures talking about having a 'bad day at work', and I genuinely can't relate! The only time I feel bad is when I feel bad for creatures who aren't wearing a bridle, because it must be super awful!"

"Are you still you?" Gabby pressed. "Are you, like, erased, and somecreature else takes you place? Or is it still you in there?"

"When you were a child, you were different from how you are now," Zemballa explained. "When you wear the bridle, it's like that change is made again. You're more aware, more sensitive, more receptive. Wiser."

"An' it don't wear off," Applejack added, gently stroking Gabby's side. "It's like every day is Hearth's Warmin', 'cept it don't ever get old. You'll live for the simple things, like words of affection, cuddlin', an' just bein' a good wife. It's paradise, sugarcube." She stroked a thumb across Gabby's cheek, then stepped back, having made her point.

"Ah'm not sayin' it's a bad choice to make," Mac told the Abaya-clad griffon. "Ah'm sayin' it shouldn't be done on a whim or just because there's a lotta good in doin' it. It's a permanent change, an' you need to make sure it's somethin' you'd never regret."

"Why are you doing it, AB?" the griffoness asked.

"Ah saw how much more fulfilled my sister was after the change," the earth pony answered, truthfully. "She ain't changed much else in her life, but she's much happier now. Ah want to feel what that's like, to find somepony who'll settle down with me, an' from what ah can tell, this is somethin' which'll help me." She looked the other female up and down. "An' you?"

"I know what I want from my life; I love Spike, and I'm marrying him." The griffoness looked from Apple Bloom to Big Mac, her visage plastered with sincerity. "I want more than anything to build a life with him, and to raise a family together. I can't do that if I can't give him children. The bridle gives me the ability to bear his children, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but-"

"I'll have strong, healthy children, with the drake I love, and all I need to do is submit myself to a process that makes me receptive? If all it does it make me want to serve his every need, to stay at home and cook and clean and raise the children, to be a mother, then it won't be doing anything to me; I already want that. All it'll do is make it possible. Trust me, Mister McIntosh, I've thought long and hard about this - it's everything I want."

There was a pregnant silence from the group as the griffon finished her speech, making it clear to all of them that she wouldn't budge from her position. The stallion had to admit that he wasn't unmoved by her plea; in terms of the reasons she'd given, they were far from the most superficial or baseless for choosing an irrevocable path. In fact, she seemed to understand exactly what she was signing up to, and due to his sister's expert explanation of what it entailed, he couldn't even say she'd gotten lucky and guessed. Nodding his head, he let out a sigh.

"Fine," he agreed. "You can go in together, support each other through it. But you're writin' a note for Spike so he knows that you did this of your own free will."

"Anything, sir," the griffoness said, nodding enthusiastically, her face a mask of determination, pride, and underneath it all, apprehension. The stallion felt a slight stirring in his loins at her utterance of the honorific, conditioned by his own griffon to react whenever she praised him.

"Alright. If that's all done..." He knocked on the door four times, an even rhythm that signalled what he was here for, and after a few seconds, the lock clicked and the door opened silently inwards. Leading the way, he stepped into the dimly-lit stairway, his hooves clacking loudly against the stone steps. Soon into his descent, he heard the lighter clack of hooves following him down, all the way to the bottom, where another door awaited. A further four knocks, and a voice asked him for his name and business there; he answered in their language, explaining who he was and who was keeping him company. The door opened immediately, and he was welcomed into a clean, spacious room, easily eight feet from floor to ceiling, and forty feet from corner to corner.

"Fancy," Applejack commented approvingly as she joined him, whistling at some of the decorations. "Far nicer than ah had, that's for sure."

"You didn't deserve fancy or nice," Mac reminded her.

"Eenope. Ah'm glad they got it, though."

The door was closed behind the entourage, and Mac pulled some paper and a quill from a table and handed it to Gabby, reminding her of her promise. After a few words of advice, she scrawled a message to Spike and handed the paper back to the big red stallion for him to deliver, before being guided to the far end of the room, where pots of oil and slender attendants waited patiently. The stallion watched the two young females as they were welcomed by the attendants, all of whom were females, equally scantily dressed and bridled; finished artwork crafting more art.

Hands glided across Mac's trousers, brushing his thigh and sailing playfully over his groin, sweeping over a more prominent rise with every pass. More hands joined in; talon-tipped claws teased over his hips and over his buttocks, soft palms dipped between his legs to cup and rub his jewels, and his three wives pressed themselves closer to him, asking an obvious question without speaking. Silently, he relented, seating himself on a cushioned chair and making no moves to stop the groping attention as it grew more insistent, tugging at his zipper and trying to coax their goal from him. It didn't take long for them to win against the inflexibility of his member, winning against the straining tension and opening his fly so they could fish his turgid baton from its resting place and stroke it to an even fuller size.

By the time the zebra and the orange pony had taken to their knees in front of him, offset to either side to give them the best angle to service him, Apple Bloom and Gabby had undressed, the pony's amaranth mane spilling down to the small of her back, and were being gently guided into the right position. They were nervous, shuffling akwardly and looking towards one another for assurance as they followed the instructions they were given, and their arms kept instinctively moving to cover themselves out of an innate sense of dignity and self-consciousness. It must've been strange to have to transition from enforced modesty to stoic expectation of nakedness, and Mac didn't envy their position. Still, it was temporary, and as soon as they'd been fully processed, they'd be comfortable in any situation, he knew.

His view was temporarily obstructed as Gaia pressed herself against him, smooshing her breasts against his head and running her claws through his mane, her talons scratching his scalp in a loving way. He couldn't stop himself from sticking his muzzle in her cleavage and shaking his head energetically, enjoying the pliant joy he was sandwiched between, the silk only adding to the wonder of it. He removed himelf after an appropriate period of indulgement, grasping one of her boobs in his broad hands and enclosing it between his fingers, feeling the supple roundness yielding to his touch as he kneaded. His other hand pushed bullishly past the fabric at her crotch, tugging to the side the obstructing stretches of cloth until he met the sodden folds of her delta, and plunged three fingers past her gate. She shuddered as he entered her, panting as he toyed with her goods. She welcomed him easily, parting for his intrusion, but he could feel her constricting around him. He loved how elastic she was, even after she'd given birth. Maybe she deserved to carry another child of his.

Putting those thoughts on the backburner, the stallion refocused his attention on Gabby and Apple Bloom; it was their time for attention, after all. Two stallions stood behind them, towering over the two and holding their arms up by the wrists, while the female attendants dipped cloths into the jars of oil and drew them across the coats of the volunteers. Even from here, Mac could see the young duo shivering and shaking, though from nerves, excitement, or the sensations of the oil, he couldn't tell. If he had to guess, it'd probably be a mixture of all three. He switched from one breast to the other, groping the previously untouched titty and grasping it firmly, enjoying the gasp from his griffon.

Because they lived together in the same household, Mac had grown used to seeing Apple Bloom, and knew her figure pretty well; she wasn't dissimilar to her older sister, having picked up on doing more of the work around the farm as she grew up, and so she'd developed the toned arms and legs of mare used to hard work. Her belly was taut and flat with the barest hint of a six-pack, her bust was a moderate b-cup, and she had a slender form that wasn't as full or womanly as some other mares her age, like her friend Sweetie Belle. Still, she was lithe, with an attractive frame and a sort of womanly appeal that Applejack hadn't quite had prior to her own processing. He hadn't seen the griffoness in the buff before, though, and while he didn't spend much time ogling her - she was Spike's, after all, and he respected his friend's claim over the hen - he innevitably took in the sight of her as he watched them being washed down.

Gabby was lithe in all the ways Apple Bloom wasn't, which was to say that the hen had a different job that cultivated a different body shape. It was clear she still had an active lifestyle, though, from her equally moderate b-cups and trim belly, as well as the toned thighs and glutes, as best as he could see. Her hips were already an attractive width, and as he looked on, the earth pony imagined this might've been what Gaia looked like before she'd been improved; already attractive, but lacking the additional push that made her magnificent. No wonder she'd been so eager to undergo the alteration.

Slowly, the effects of the oil became apparent, as the two recipients' shaking became less jerky and far more fluid, like a languid writhing, and their chattering and panting became soft groans and whimpers. Their fur and feathers were slick, glistening from fingertips to their waists, and already they were stretching their necks back, arching their backs in response to the graceful mopping of their bodies and the thorough application of the liquid. It was fascinating to watch, especially with a full knowledge of what was happening to them thanks to his wives' frank and exhaustive description, and the skill and attention displayed by the females doing the washing was something spectacular to behold.

Zemballa had started deepthroating him by the time the two females were thoroughly and fully oiled, every crack and crevice treated with the tender touch of a professional with years of experience, and they were panting and gyrating against the air, their joyful whimpers flowing endlessly into the room. Their anxiety had entirely faded, their nervousness and any remaining reluctance washed away, and their shame had disappeared. They made occasional eye contact across the room, smiling dopily through their ordeal and staring as he was softly and slowly blown, the brazen indulgence doing nothing to faze them. If anything, they seemed to enjoy it, taking it as a premonition of their own eventual fate, and savouring that motivation to continue being touched and brushed and manipulated. There wouldn't be any deep penetration, of course - they'd been given very, very specific instructions, on pain of earning Mac's ire, should they ruin the females under his protection.

"You're doin' great," he encouraged, speaking to the room at large, and knowing everycreature would assume it was directed at that. Of course, that wasn't untrue, either; his wives were pleasuring him with the abject skill he knew they'd always have, the two females experiencing firsthand the pleasure of having their minds and bodies corrected were dutifully obeying their handlers, and the handlers themselves were professional and - in his modest opinion - immensely talented. It was as much of a treat to watch as it was to provide them all with the moral support of an ardent viewer. "Keep it up."

The treatment continued, gentle hands adjusting the females and shaping them for their total conversion into good, obedient servants, while the two mares between his legs suckled, slurped, and swallowed, cleaning his cock from the mess they themselves were making on it. There was plenty of time, he knew, shoving with a little more force and squeezing his fist into his griffon's box, feeling her lips stretch around the size of the insertion and kiss his wrist. He smiled as she stiffled a squawk, the produce of her orgasm rolling down his forearm. There was more than enough time to enjoy this, and see the process a good chunk of the way through, if not totally, before Spike's work was done. The stallion smirked and worked his arm, continuing to pleasure his griffoness and feed his other two wives a steady stream of pre from his leaking tool, the two females across the room slowly climbing towards a climax of their own. It was a beautiful, amazing performance, but he still felt a mild twinge of envy for Spike, who'd be receiving this surprise out of the blue.

Still, what were friends for, he rationalised, watching Apple Bloom squeal and thrash as she peaked, Gabby following a second later. There wasn't any gush, but from the way their expressions melted into a mess of abject joy and untarnished euphoria, they were over the moon, and well on their way, having to be held up by the males behind them. He felt himself begin to flare too, and let his head fall back as the tickling rise began in his nuts, the tongues redoubling their effort on his skin. They were all working hard, in their own way, but they had the advantage of enjoying the fruits of their labour right off the bat. As he gritted his teeth and began to throb, the tension bubbling over and beginning to surge, he knew he had to stay focused on why they were here.

This was the least he could do for Spike.
> Recreation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The breath that Spike let out as he stepped back into the sun was a mixture of relief and pride. He'd accomplished exactly what he'd set out to do, but he was still acutely aware how much had been riding on this mediation. It wasn't quite the at the stage where international conflict would break out, but two states trading willingly and peacefully was an aspect of the world being harmonious, and that was ultimately what Equestria wanted - what Equestria needed. Harmony was, in essence, Equestria's most powerful product, export, and state armament, and the wider that was spread, the better it was for the ponies of his home, as well as everycreature else. That wasn't even mentioning that his reputation as a diplomat and ambassador rested on him being able to successfully bring the two sides together.

Thankfully, the solution had been easier than he'd anticipated, and while he was sure he'd never have guessed it several years ago when he was just a young dragon learning about the importance of friendship, it was far easier than he'd have guessed most creatures would've needed a diplomat for. Then again, maybe that was him being a good diplomat; he found it natural. Sometimes all it needed was a fresh pair of eyes and a calm head, and in this case, about three quarters of an hour carefully explaining the miscommunications between the representatives. With that accomplished, a mutually beneficial relationship could begin to take root, and he could take his leave.

"Done already?" Mac asked, the stallion approaching the mansion as the drake stepped outside. "Didn't expect ah'd be seein' you for another hour or two."

"Neither did I," Spike answered. "I just explained the situation in a way that they hadn't thought about before, I guess. That's all it took." Mac didn't say anything, but nodded approvingly, and turned to head back the way he'd come from. The drake matched his pace, noticing that it was just the two of them. "Where's everycreature else? I thought they were with you?"

"There's another meetin' goin' on," Mac explained vaguely. "AJ an' my wives are lookin' after Gabby an' Bloom. They're in safe hands."

"Gabby didn't come back with you?"

"She wanted to stay," the earth pony told him. "Ah told her she didn't need to, but she insisted."

"That's...just like her," Spike admitted, shaking his head and chuckling. "We're going to meet them, then?"

"Not just yet. They'll be busy for a little while yet. We're gonna go sightseein', an' enjoy the local culture."

Spike thought about asking what that would entail, but dismissed his curiosity. He trusted Mac, who aside from being a friend, was the best guide he could've asked for in this foreign land. He was more comfortable just from Mac's presence, and as the two walked, he asked some questions about Saddle Arabia, Mac's advice and experience with the horses, and what personally drew the farmer to such a different environment. The dragon had his own reasons, not least of all because his entire life had been spent travelling and being thrust into the midst of varied places, but he wanted to know why Big Mac, a pony who'd always valued family and a simple, quiet, and plain life of hard work, was so drawn to a bustling city with rich facades and thronging with life. The stallion's explanation was as simple as the stallion's preferred lifestyle; it was a way to provide for his family, and he admired the opportunity and the friendships he'd made along the way doing it. That made sense to Spike.

The waft of food tipped off which way they were heading before they even drew within sight of the market. Heading in the other direction from where Spike and Gabby had been accosted, the pony and his dragon acquaintance drew closer to the other delights of the broad street, this section dedicated more to various culinary specialties and curiosities. The section he and Gabby had passed through had seemed to be knick-knacks, toys and games and items of entertainment, but separated from that stretch by a crossroad, providing a break in the endless line of stalls, was unmistakably where the food was peddled. Smells accosted him from afar, encouraging him deeper with olfactory whispers of cumin and cardamom that his dragonic sense of smell picked up well beyond the reach of equine noses. The closer he drew, though, the stronger they became, the scents mixing and intertwining until the cacophony of odours became as loud as the noise of the merchants and the crowd around him.

It was impossible to hold a conversation in this environment, so Spike turned to looking at the items for sale, eyeing them up with various levels of interest. Most were powders of some description, baskets full of greens and so many shades of red and yellow. Some were leaves or flakes, and between these baskets were rounded fruits or thin leaves of vegetables, the plain-looking grains beside them, and hanging rows of food Spike couldn't even guess at. The stalls were numerous, but soon these halted at another street where the roads crossed over, and the nature of the market changed once again. Carpets, rolled and packed, stood behind the merchants, or perched on the stalls in bundles. Further up, neatly folded silk sat on shelves, samples hanging beside each vendor. More and more items, from the mundane to the exotic (at least for Spike), were displayed along the street, the style and type changing with each row of streets.

The bazaar widened into a square, or at least a street so broad as to give the impression it was a square. There were still stalls scattered here and there, but now the focus of were the buildings, outside which were fashioned stages and stands on which were stood various creatures. At first, Spike didn't pay them too much attention, noticing that they were there without observing them too closely, but as he passed them by and horses tried to catch his attention as if to advertise them, interest was piqued inside him, and he turned to look at them properly. All of them were female, albeit of different species, and they were dressed the same way Spike's wives and Applejack were when he'd seen them earlier. Their outfits were skimpy, but did cover their privacy, if only enough to be able to say that there was nothing flagrantly inappropriate on display. Silks adorned their chests, cloth covered the rest, and decorative tassels or dangling jewellery completed the look. More strikingly, all of them were wearing those bridles. Every single woman he passed, whether or not they turned to look at him and smile a greeting, bore the band across their muzzle, beak, or snout.

"Where are we?" Spike asked, gazing at the groups of women, noticing how they stood proudly and shifted as if to show off. Some stood still, but others gave twirls or spun either on request or of their own accord whenever enough horses stopped to look. "Are they dancers?"

"Not entirely," Mac answered, not bothering to look to the side as he walked. "This place here is called 'Eabd Sharie', which translates to..." He paused, pursing his lips slightly. "It basically means the servant's quarter. At least, that's what we'd call it."

"Quarter?" Spike repeated. "Like in a mansion, where the servants stay?"

"More like a block."

"A city block?"

"Eeyup."

"So it's the part of the city where the servants stay? Like a place were particular creatures like to stay?" He cast another glance over the females, and squinted in confused suspicion. "Are they all servants?"

"First thing ya gotta remember is that Saddle Arabia ain't Equestria. The way they do things ain't the same way we do 'em, an' that means it ain't gonna make much sense if ya think 'bout it rigidly."

"Okay?"

"As ya might've guessed, Saddle Arabia has an entirely different view on mares to what we have. At home, stallions are usually seen as brutes who ain't good for too much but hard labour or maybe runnin' somethin' if their wives consider 'em smart enough."

"That's a pretty old-fashioned mindset, and I don't think mares still think-"

"Before Princess Twilight rose to power, how many stallions were royal advisors, or ambassadors?"

The interruption from Mac wasn't rude, but it was firm, and stopped the drake's rebuttal in its tracks. In all honesty, now he was confronted with the simple question, he couldn't forumlate a real response. Out of everypony he knew, Spike was the highest ranking male in the entire kingdom, and he couldn't find any stallion who came close to his position. There were shockingly few stallions in positions of authority that weren't exactly what Mac described, and even at the basic level of running shops, he could count the stallions who ran their own small business on one hand. Most things were governed by mares, and while there was never any explicit discrimination that he could recall, he certainly could see how it would seem like that to anyone viewing his childhood and teeange years from the outside; the mocking comments he'd received about being a boy, the feelings of exclusion he'd felt whenever he was shoved to the side inadvertently as if he were some afterthought, and the sheer surprise when a colt had managed to achieve something of note. As far as he recalled, Pipsqueak's election as class president had become news across Ponyville, and the mutterings of how the colt might not be the right pony for the job took on a whole new meaning for him now.

The new perspective sent an uncomfortable trickle down his spine, and he began reviewing all of the seemingly inconsequential discomforts in his life, or things that struck him as odd, or unfortunate. He'd heard from Rainbow Dash about Soarin's sidelining from the Wonderbolts over an injury, and how it had taken her complaint to set the matter right. The only thing in which there was a clear gender disparity in favour of stallions was the EUP Guard, which, as Mac rightfully pointed out, was something requiring hard labour, and which was usually the recipient of mockery in satirical newspapers and published cartoons. Even Mac's own reputation in Ponyville arose when Sweet Apple Acres became the industrial beheamouth it currently was, and even then, Mac was regarded as the head of the farm largely because Applejack was seen as the real frontline worker doing the necessary work to keep it all running on the ground. Mac was admired, sure, but as much as Applejack?

"There's no way Twilight thinks that," Spike said at last. "She's family, and she thinks really highly of you."

"Ah have no doubts 'bout that," Mac agreed. "But as much as she's the symbol of Equestria, she ain't everypony in Equestria. Ah ain't even sayin' the way the kingdom works is bad, just that it's our culture. In the same way-" A red hand gestured to the street. "-the culture here is inverted. Mares are seen like how stallions are in Equestria, at least socially speakin'."

"That's disgusting."

"It's how they live. What ah'm tryin' to get you to understand is that these servants here aren't just ordiary mares. They're dedicated to servin', like how the Royal Guard is dedicated to servin'. They're good at it, and they're afforded a lot more respect. The best way to make enemies in Saddle Arabia is to insult the honour of a servant - it starts real ugly fights, trust me."

The stallion stopped in front of a large building, far enough away from the it and the nearby stands that the encouragement of vendors or the horses who had stopped to look at the exhibiting women distracted or interrupted them. Spike stopped too, wondering where this was going. Something didn't sit right with him, but Mac wasn't somecreature he'd just brush off. There was clearly something more to this.

"How do they serve?" the dragon asked.

"However they're asked to," Mac answered. "They're more than happy to do so. It's an honour for them, which is somethin' ponies don't tend to get. When ah first got here, ah felt the same way you did, an' ah asked all sorts of questions. Ah asked what would happen if they wanted to stop bein' a servant, an' ah was told to ask one of 'em. Ah asked, an' she freaked right out, acted as if ah'd threatened her family. For them, it's their life, an' their purpose. The bond they share with their master is a real family bond."

"Master?" Spike repeated, turning to look at the females again. On the stands, they swayed and twirled, and the audience in front peered closely. Some had cash in their hands, which they were holding out to the vendor. "Are they for sale? Is this a market?" His eyes widened. "Mac...what exactly does this place's name mean?"

"Spike, don't-"

"Mac," the dragon interrupted, his voice low. "I need to know."

There was a long pause before the stallion eventually answered, "Direct translation is 'Slave Street'."

Spike swore in a quiet hiss. "What in Tartarus are we doing here?" he asked. "This is wrong. This needs to be stopped."

"Didn't you hear what ah said?" Mac responded. "They don't want to stop. If you try an' stop this, you'll start somethin' that'll plunge all their lives into chaos, an' that ain't nothin' to do with all the disharmony you'll cause between Equestria and Saddle Arabia."

"There's got to be a way. There's got to be somethin'-"

"There ain't," the earth pony interrupted, firmly. "There ain't no way we can magically make this place just like Equestria. Even if there were, are you really willin' to impose your way of life on 'em? Is that the diplomat you wanna be?"

"That's not fair," Spike remarked, frowning. "I want to do the right thing. I want to help these creatures!"

"Then try to understand 'em," the red pony urged. "Give 'em a chance to explain, to make you see why they do what they do, an' why it's beneficial."

Spike wanted desperately to say no. He wanted to write to Twilight and have her visit in person, or sever ties with Saddle Arabia, or send in the Guard. If this was slavery, it was evil. If it existed here, it needed to be torn down. Spike knew that - but he knew that Bic MacIntosh, brother of the Element of Honesty and one of the most trusted ponies to the Equestrian monarch, was saying he wasn't understanding it properly. He was a diplomat, and diplomats found solutions without resorting to violence, sowed peace and harmony between disparate nations, and if there was no conflict, there'd be no need for him. There had to be something he wasn't seeing, something he didn't quite get. He didn't trust anycreature who treated another like property, but he trusted Mac, and right now, Mac was asking him to be open-minded.

"I'll try," he answered, sighing in resignation.

"Good," Mac replied, grasping the drake's shoulder in a broad hand. "Thank you. Ah'm glad you trust me, an' ah assure you, ah'll repay that trust." Wrapping an arm around Spike's shoulder fully, he walked the dragon towards the thick double-door. "Ah know it seems real bad, but there's a lotta good that comes from it. My wives were what you'd call slaves, an' ah took 'em home with me. Ah wanted 'em to have the best lives they could, an' now, they're happier than they've ever been. Do you think ah'm mistreatin' 'em?"

"What?" the drake asked, frowning. "No, of course not. They don't seem unhappy, and you're all perfect together. It's just...I dunno, it sounds a lot like exploitation."

"Ah know it sounds that way, but...well, ah can't really say much that won't just seem like excuses. Ah could tell ya how happy they are, how fulfilled, how much we love each other, but it'll just sound one-sided. Ah get that, ah really do. That's what ah thought when ah first came here. Still, if they get to go to lovin' homes, that's hardly an evil. Females get higher status, an' get given the opportunity to meet somecreature who really cares for 'em, an' understands 'em. Even if Saddle Arabia views mares as lesser than males, it gives 'em a chance to be elevated above the average stallion. Worst case scenario is they stay as servants - which never happens - while in Equestria we seal the creatures we don't like in stone."

"Hey, that's-"

"Ah know, it ain't exactly the same, ah'm just sayin' nocreature's been turned to stone in Saddle Arabia. If we're talkin' about boundaries between right an' wrong, we gotta draw somethin' as a standard, right? But that's neither here nor there. Ah said you need to get familiar with the system before you bash it, an' there's only one way to do that." Before Spike could add his piece, Big Mac reached out and turned the doorhandles, pushing the two doors inward and granting them entry into the building. Mac walked in, clearly confident that his purple partner would follow. Spike, having no option, complied, closing the doors behind them.

The interior was, for want of a better word, spacious. It reminded him in part to a tavern, the sorts that rural villages in Equestria had, where the entire layout was one large room with occasional support pillars and arches to break up the simple opennes of the area. That was what he could see through the archway into the main room, the antechamber hosting a desk where the earth pony was talking to what looked like a receptionist. Their conversation was rapid, the foreign language flowing readily from both parties, and by the time Spike had approached the desk, Mac had dropped a large bag of what must've been coins onto the wood, from the way it clinked. The receptionist's eyes widened in delight, and he nodded, bowing to Spike and uttering one last sentence to Mac before waving them through.

"They need ten minutes to get everythin' ready," the earth pony informed Spike, leading him through into the open-plan room proper.

"Get what ready?" the dragon asked, looking around as he entered, his nose wrinkling. Despite the open windows on the ground floor, the thick scent of shisha permeated the air, the smoke from other customers thinning as it spread throughout the room and filtered from the building. It wasn't overbearing, but it was certainly pervasive. The room was austere, devoid of decorations or ornaments other than the hookahs placed in the middle of cushions placed tactically around the floor. Three other groups were present, passing the pipe from one stallion to another, refilling the haze of the room as it started to lessen.

"The third floor," Mac answered, taking a seat on a pillow at an unoccupied circle and eyeing the hookah in consideration.

"There's three floors?" Spike questioned, looking up from at the ceiling. It was a sizable building, but he could only see two floors above him, stone bannisters running around the walkways to keep the pedestrians there from falling over the edge into atrium. It reminded him of a hotel, each floor home to however many rooms, a view from the ground giving an opportunity to show off the scale of the construction.

"It's kept separate from the rest," Mac explained. "More private. It's what we'd call a VIP suite. Basically, the ceilin' we see is the floor, an' all of it is for high-rollers."

"You bought the floor for us?"

"For you," Mac corrected. "Ah promised you a firsthand experience with the servants, an' this is the best way to do it, far as ah can see." The gears in Spike's brain, which had already been turning, clicked fully into place, and his head snapped down to look at his friend with a shocked gawk. The stallion must've seen this coming, because his hand was already withdrawing from his jacket pocket, a piece of folded paper held in his hands. "Ah know what you're-"

"This is a brothel?!"

"-about to say, an-"

"Mac, I can't! I'm dating Gabby!"

"-ya need to read this." He held out the paper expectantly, waiting for the dragon to take it. "Trust me, it'll all make sense when you do."

Spike frowned as he grasped the proffered paper, muttering about how he couldn't just betray his henfriend's trust as he unfolded it. Turning it around, he found himself looking down at a note, the words scribbled in a font that was unmistakably his griffoness' handwriting. Letting his eyes drift across the lines, he read what had been left for him, skipping over the sections that had been struck through or crossed out entirely.

Hi Spike, it's me, Gabby I've got something to tell you, and I think you'll like it I know you wouldn't believe me if I didn't tell you myself, and so I gave this to Bic MacIntosh to give to you. I'm busy right now (don't worry, Big MacIntosh's wives and sisters are with me, I'm totally fine!) and I know you'll have some spare time on your claws when you're done being your big hero self. Everycreature told me what this place is like about the cultural differences here, and I figured it's not fair to hold you to the same standards we'd expect in Equestria. After all, I only came to Equestria because I didn't like the social norms of Griffonstone, so it makes sense I need to keep an open mind. You've been understanding so far, and I want you to make the most of it. In short, I know you're going to a brothel after you're done, and I want you to make the most of it. I'm giving you a hall pass, because I haven't exactly been you've clearly been holding back you deserve more it's an opportunity to experience something new and exciting. It'll take way too long to explain, but the females with bridles here are more than capable of handling you, so cut loose, catch some tail, and I'll be waiting for you when you're done.

I love you so so so so much.

Gabby <3

The drake blinked several times as he read, unsure if he'd been struck with a rare and previously undiagnosed case of dragon greed. Maybe it was sunstroke? It couldn't be that the women here had left such an impression that he'd hallucinated an entire note written by his girlfriend, could it? No, that was ridiculous? What about a forgery? Or maybe-

"It ain't no forgery," Mac spoke up, shaking the dragon from his literate-induced stupour. "She told me if you doubted its authenticity, tell ya that your first kiss was on your sixth date at a comic event in Fillydelphia."

"She really wants me to...try...a woman here?" He looked around, as if waiting for the griffoness herself to leap out from some impossible hiding spot and laugh at him for falling for her prank. "But we...I don't know if-"

"You mind if ah ask somethin' real personal?" At his friend's cautious nod, the stallion questioned, "Have y'all ever talked 'bout tryin' somethin' to spice up your private time?" When the dragon sputtered, his mouth working uselessly to produce coherent words, Mac added, "Ah ain't askin' for details, just tryin' to talk you through this."

"I mean, we have," Spike managed at last. "That part of our relationship is fine, though. Yes, there's...something, but it isn't an issue that stops us...I mean..." With a sigh, he lowered his voice. "I'm a dragon, she's a griffon; we're not entirely compatible. Whenever we...do it...I can't just...go for it. She's not built to handle it."

"You have to be real gentle with her."

"Right."

"Ah get ya. Ain't no shame in sayin' you've got more to give than she can take. She knows it too, which is why you've got a chance to have a go with a creature who can."

"Horses?" he asked, snorting. "I don't want to be a bigot, but I don't think a horse can handle a dragon."

"Any servant here can handle anythin'," Mac informed him, his face placid as he divulged his knowledge. "Trust me, ah've seen what a bridled female can do. Ah've got my own, after all, an' ah know what they're capable of." The confidence with which the stallion spoke left Spike no doubt that he was telling the truth, and gave credence to the idea that these mares perhaps could handle a dragon. "You'll see."

Spike hesitated. He had the note from Gabby giving him the go-ahead, he had confirmation from Mac that Gabby had genuinely written it for him, and he had the opportunity to try a woman who could actually handle him. Still, he couldn't help but feel uneasy; as far as he knew, these were slaves, women who had no choice as to whether or not they did what he wanted them to do, and that didn't sit right with him. Mac's assurances assuaged him somewhat, but there was still some instinct niggling away in his mind, not enough of a thought to correspond to words, but a barrier to his acceptance nonetheless. This must've registered on his face, because Mac reacted without the drake muttering a single word.

"You ain't gotta do nothin'," he spoke. "No matter what ah say or what's happened so far, you ain't gotta go through with it. If you ain't convinced and you ain't interested, we can walk out right now. Ain't no shame, and ah ain't gonna judge you none. Ah understand if this ain't your sorta thing, and if you wanna leave, ah'll leave with you. What you do is up to you, and ah say that without any expectation. Ah did this because ah thought it'd be somethin' you'd enjoy, and so did Gabby, but at the end of the day, the choice is yours, whether we stay or go."

These words were reassuring, and Spike felt his uncertainty waver as the pressure was lifted from his shoulders. The knowledge that he had the option to leave, to not indulge his desires and instead walk away having avoided the temptation, was immensely relieving, as was the knowledge that Mac respected his decision regardless of what it was. He still wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do when the big red pony gestured for him to look behind. When he turned, he saw that the receptionist had come over, and was beckoning him.

"The suite's ready," Mac explained. "If you're willin', now's the time."

"...should I?" the dragon asked, glancing back at his friend. "It still feels a bit..." He wavered, leaving his explanation unfinished. Fortunately for him, he didn't need to finish it for the stallion to understand.

"It's a chance to indulge in the local culture," Mac responded, smiling reassuringly. "Ah feel that's somethin' you'd regret not tryin' at least once."

There was no way he could argue with that. It wasn't just his trust in Mac's judgement, but the appeal to the drake's sensibilities which ultimately convinced him. He was supposed to be experiencing and understanding other cultures, both professionally and personally, and even if he found it strange or abnormal, it was expected of him - a standard he set for himself, admittedly - to be open minded enough to attempt to understand it. He could always check the ethics of what he was going to do before he took the leap and tried it, and really, that was the best course of action for him; if there was something wrong, he needed to find out, or else he needed to clear up the misunderstanding.

The receptionist pointed Spike in the direction of the stairs once he'd stood up and followed, leaving the atrium behind for the promise of a carnal treasure above. Throwing a final look over his shoulder at Mac, and tossing back a thumbs-up at the pony, which was returned in kind, Spike ascended the stairs, rising step by stone step towards the third floor that he wasn't even sure existed. As he passed the first floor, his heart began to beat faster, excitement mixing with a nervous anticipation that he hadn't felt since he'd started dating Gabby. At the thought of her, guilt twinged at his heart, even as he reminded himself that she'd given him the green light. By the second floor, his heart was at a double-beat, pounding powerfully as if climbing the stairs was a task as strenuous as hiking up a hill, and by the time he reached the door which marked the boundary of the third floor, it was hammering like a drum against his ribcage. Without any idea how he ought to make his entry, he knocked three times, his heart sounding louder than his fist to him. A painfully long span of time seemed to pass before his knock received any response, and he was wondering if he'd been mistaken about where he was supposed to go before the door slowly opened inward, and a face appeared in the gap.

"Ambassador Spike?" a sultry mare's voice questioned, the face looking up at him from between the doorframe and the door. Her coat was crimson and her mane a lime green, with a ridge of champagne scales running up the bridge of her muzzle to her forehead, where a dark red protrusion curved slightly over her head. "The deluxe special is ready for you, sir. Come in and make yourself comfortable."

"Can I ask a few questions first?" Spike asked, hastening to speak as the kirin went to open the door invitingly. The kirin quirked an eyebrow at him as he held the door ajar, unable to hide her surprise at what was clearly new behaviour from a visitor.

"Of course, sir," she answered, beaming a warm smile again. "You can do absolutely anything you like. How can I help?"

The dragon winced at her comment about being able to do whatever he wanted, but proceeded with his questions regardless. "I'm new here, and this is actually the first time I've done anything like...well, this." He tried not to blush at how the kirin's smile broadened at his admission, and powered on. "I've heard the women in Saddle Arabia are treated a bit differently to what I'm used to, and I want to make sure this isn't...that I'm not taking advantage." The mare cocked her head and quirked her eyebrow again, processing what must've been a strange and - admittedly - jarring question given what she'd been expecting them to be doing.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand," she replied. "What do you mean? Take advantage of what?"

"Well, of you. From what I understand, you're a servant, and you've been told to serve me." He neglected to add exactly what that service would entail. "I don't want to do this if you're unable to say no, or you're scared to say no."

"Is this about the bridles?" the kirin asked at last, brushing the band on her muzzle. At his nod, she cooed dotingly, and this time, he utterly failed to hide his blush. "That's sweet of you to ask. Sometimes I forget not everycreature is used to Saddle Arabia's customs. If you're wondering if I'm being mistreated or forced, no, I'm not. I'm here because I want to be. The bridle is a sign of my committment, but believe me, I'm following my desires. I want nothing more than to serve any and all creatures. I'm just sappy like that, I guess, but really, it's true for all the girls here. All of us are happiest when we're making somecreature else happy."

"But you're told when, how, and who," Spike pointed out. "Do you ever feel forced by that?"

"Nope," she answered simply, smiling proudly. "I'm good at what I do, so why would I limit who I get to make happy? I'm competent and capable, and excluding creatures seems rude and spiteful. I'm not a spiteful kirin, I'm a loving, inclusive kirin."

"So if you didn't work here, if you didn't have this job-"

"Then nothing would change."

Spike mulled this over, perplexed that the mare was so ready to just be with anycreature at all. So far, it sounded exactly how Mac had told him this worked, and as strange and incongruent with his long-ingrained view of the world it seemed, it was becoming harder and harder to deny that these females truly did consider their service to be something far deeper and more meaningful than the shady work some mares might find themselves dragged into in Equestria. Mac had never led him astray before, and so, really, all he had left was one final question to soothe his anxiety.

"What about me?" he inquired. "If I wasn't a customer, if you had the option to say no, and you could take time out of your normal day to do what we're...about to do...would you do it? For no pay, for no other reason than because you actually wanted to do this with me?"

There was probably an attempt to hide her excitement and attraction, but it didn't matter; her eyes glimmered and sparkled as she raked them up and down his form, drinking in as much of him as she could from her position, and in the briefest of glances.

"We're supposed to stay professional," she explained. "Not become personal with the clients...but if you promise to keep it a secret between me and you..." She poked her head out the door, and lidded her eyes. "...I'd do this with you every day if I could. You're ravishing, ambassador."

"Just 'Spike'," is fine," he insisted, feeling her words seep into his ears and drizzle delightfully down his body, warming and filling him with the inexorable satisfaction of the mare's flirtatious marksmanship. His blood ran hotter, gradually burning away the hesitation and uncertainty that had been plaguing him since he'd learned where he'd been brought. "What should I call you?"

"Anything you want," she told him, letting a reserved, playful chuckle fall from her lips. "Why spend time learning all of our names when we can just jump straight into the fun? It's more worth it to just make them up as you go along." With that, she stepped back and beckoned him in, moving into the room and urging him to follow. With his concerns dampened and his drive reinvigorated, the drake pushed open the door and stepped into the large, single room of the top floor.

It hadn't registered with him what the kirin had said until he could see inside fully, and realised why she had told him there was no point learning so many names; she wasn't the only mare in the room. A dozen or so females turned to look at him as he entered, and he faltered a little, feeling their gazes cut into him like he'd arrived late to a lecture, without the same annoyance or incredulity that a class of students would fix him with. Their demeanours were intrigued and expectant, and while their countenances ranged from delighted to ravenous, all of them bore the unmistakable aura of sheer want. They liked what they saw, without a doubt. If they were putting it on for him, they were expert actors. His mind replayed the kirin's words about how all of the females who worked here were happiest when making others happy, and he had to agree, it definitely looked like they did.

The click of the door shutting behind him sealed his fate, or so it felt. He could feasibly leave, turn and run out the way he came. He could probably tear through the door if he needed to, ripping it from its hinges or splintering it with about as much effort as it would take a pony to budge a stubborn doorhandle. Still, there was something else about that sound, a finality that told him he was here to stay, that he'd crossed a threshold. It resonated within him, seeming to get deeper and and higher at the same time, like two diverging pitches which complimented each other. As it grew to an intensity that seemed to vibrate something deep in his core, he realised what it was; responsibility. The way the mares looked at him, expectant and eager, gave rise to a sense that he had obligations. He had expectations thrust upon him, much like he'd had when he'd first taken up the mantle of Ambassador of Friendship, the same role under the auspices of which he'd come to this kingdom in the first place.

He hadn't stopped moving fully, but the kirin's hand on his back encouraged him to step forward. Accepting the surprise as it came, the dragon continued onward, smiling shyly at the women as he passed by, all of whom made no effort to hide their wandering gazes of his body, to varying degrees of brazenness. Casting his eyes around, he took in the room itself, noticing that the walls were lines with racks full of equipment, from floggers and leashes to harnesses and neatly presented sex toys of all descriptions and colours. There were dildos for each species, arranged by length and girth, anal plugs with an assortment of attachments, and all sorts of implements he could only imagine the purpose for - he vaguely guessed they vibrated, spotting one that looked similar to something Gabby had. Beside the wall racks were, well, racks, sporting cuffs and supports for an occupant, pushed neatly into the corner for use at a customer's request. There were pillories, benches, chains linked to the ceiling, various things that Spike gawked at in abject surprise if only because he could barely guess why something like that would be in a room like this, tipped off only by the fact that it was present at all as to what its intended use was.

In the centre of the room was a large circular bed, or something approximating it. There was no duvet nor pillows, but the sheet was soft and cushioned and smelled fresh, clearly cleanly applied. As he sat down and shuffled further towards the centre, guided by his kirin host, the other women moved in around him, closing in and crawling onto the bed with him. All of them were bridled, the strap laying across their muzzle or snout or whichever equivilent each species had, pressed firm against fur and scale, and they wore sorts of silk and linens that decorated more than a few of the females of Saddle Arabia, except far thinner, and translucent. The more he looked, the more obvious it became just how suited they were for this, regardless of how similar it was to how the other, regular women he saw walking around. It wasn't like he could look anywhere else, either; the way they advanced, lithely climbing atop the bed and creeping closer to him, their expressions hungry but harmless, was nothing short of a command to look at them.

Fingertips trailed down his neck to his shoulder as another's thumb traced his jawline gently. A third hand, clawed, traced the knuckles down his torso, managing to feel like a respectful yearning that mimicked awed respect rather than self-serving hunger. The ones touching him knelt beside him, their bodies pressing against his as they felt their way along his arms and midriff, mapping his upper body so that they might better understand how to serve him. The ones beside him rested their chins on his shoulders, purring and murmuring into his ear about how handsome he was and how lucky they were being able to lay with him. They brushed their lips against the scales of his neck, their hands pressed flat as they ran them in circles over his pecs, and uttered more honeyed words of abject praise. Another hugged him from behind, pressed her boobs against his back and slipping her arms under his, kissing the back of his neck and smooching the fins on his head. Her voice was huskier, more throaty, but her words were no less sweet or deliberately enticing.

It ought to have been overwhelming, having this many women focusing on him, and so many hands just wandering without hesitation. He should've felt awful, sickened by the lecherous treatment he was receiving from anycreature other than Gabby, but somewhere between him walking into the room and him being sandwiched between four different women, their breasts squashed against him, what ought to have been gave way to what was. He growled quietly, the sound forming in his throat as part of the rising chorus of his body. While the four or five around him provided him with all the touch and sound he'd ever imagined he'd needed, other females in front of him gave him a display that, without any noise he could discern, seemed loud without being obnoxious, demanding without any shred of arrogance. They danced, their hands gliding up and down their own bodies, dancing along their bellies and waists and thighs and up above their heads as they shimmied. They moved like liquid, their movements flowing into one another as if it were their most innate instinct. He watched and listened and basked, ensconced by the attention and affection of these strangers who were oh so eager to get to know him as intimately as they could, and as quickly as it was pleasurable to do so.

He must've realised his suit was being stripped from him, the garments unbuttoning and shifting and loosening around his body, but even as the lapel of his jacket was pulled over his shoulder and his arms were manoeuvred for him so the item of clothing could be shimmied from him, he didn't give it any thought. He was too focused on the way the women in front of him were swivelling and shaking parts of themselves with barely any effort, their rears and bosoms jiggling seemingly of their own accord. He watched as one of them bent at the waist, her backside trembling behind the translucent fabrics that offered the illusion of decency, her buttocks rippling with the subtle yet powerful movements she made. His shirt was taken from him as another woman joined in, moving her arms out and away from her torso to frame her expert jiggle, her breasts bouncing the perfect amount from the shimmy to be alluring and captivating without looking silly. He had no idea where his tie had gone, and he barely noticed his belt being slipped off the bed before his trousers were pulled down of his legs, his shoes and socks having seemed to have disappeared already while he was drinking in the sights before him.

The removal of his underwear didn't feel as intimidating as it ought to have; he had hot words of praise breathed into his ears as the servants pressed their hands to his pecs, his abs, along his arms and back, gripping his shoulders to test how firm he really was. They told him how wonderful his scales felt, how jaw-droppingly sexy he was, and how watching him being unclothed had been like unwrapping a Hearth's Warming gift, but even more exciting and delicious. The females ahead of him showed him things he'd only seen in shameful, private peaks at magazines, their lips grazing against one another and entering into a slow kiss that seemed choreographed from how seamless it was, yet with none of the pretentiousness that such a performance otherwise would've given. The sheet beneath him was just as soft and welcoming as the palms caressing his torso, competing with the softness of the fur against his scales, and molding to the shape of his rump and thighs. All around him was comfort and acceptance, an embrace of hands and fabrics and sensory delights that put a high-culture theatre to shame. There was growing warmth, a heat inside him that rolled and spread, filling him to the tip of every appendage, from the tips of his wings to the tip of his emerging erection. He drank in the sights and sounds of sinful temptation, the smells of freshness and promise, the feeling of a totalising embrace both organic and synthetic, and he basked in the gestalt beauty of the experience.

They moved without hesitation or pause, which must've been how they disrobed without immediately alerting him; he didn't feel the difference when the silks were removed and the perky bust was pressed against his back, but as he turned his head and caught sight of the topless servants next to him, he became aware of just how naked they felt. Fur and flesh pressed against him, the woman unashamedly pushing them against the scales and the unyielding muscles of his back, flattening them against his body in an effort to draw closer to him. The warmth and softness of them was divine, and the effect seemed to spread to the rest of the room, making everything else - the palms gliding over him, the sheets supporting him, the breath flowing over him - that much more welcoming, as if needing to match the tactile delight he was now presented with.

His arm moved on instinct, his knuckles brushing along the trim belly of the hippogriff to his right until he hit her underboob, and his hand curled around to cup her. She filled his palm, his digits managing to reach barely halfway around before closing in around the swell of her bust, which gave way to the lightest pressure of his grip. As he squeezed, his claws sank further inward, practically being absorbed by the suppleness of her chest, and the ease of it flustered him, inflaming a need which had been growing in him since they'd laid hands on him. With a quickness and a need, he pressed his snout to her tit, his lips closing around the hardened bud and sucking eagerly, trying to hold the mound stable as her nipple sank away from him, pushed towards her by his enthusiastic dive. The squishiness of her just made him more determined, and he dared to graze his teeth against her peak, delighting in the gasp of breath as the razors of his mouth danced over her skin. Suckling in more boobflesh, he circled it with his tongue, passing from softness to hardness and tasting the subtleties of her - the barest hint of sea salt amidst the otherwise bland flavour of her.

His other hand kept busy, fumbling blindly for more jugs to grasp and more engorged teets to pinch between his fingertips. They presented themselves to him, putting themselves in his path or submissively guiding his hand with theirs to bring his claw to what was always a handful of boob, so he could knead and clutch just tightly enough to make them gasp before releasing and seeking out more tactual wonder. Some of the nipples he felt were thick and wide, some more moderately proportionated, and all of them he pinched happily, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger and receiving everything ranging from a squeal to a staggered whimper or a coo. His mouth switched from chest to chest, tasting them all in turn, while theirs were occupied with his body. Tongues touched at his neck, his chest, his belly and thighs, his calves, and everywhere else they could reach. They kissed his shins, his shoulders, his head and down his back, exchanging lips and beaks for tongues and then changing back again indecisively. The noises they made from his attentions, in addition to the humming and whispering and gentle wet smack of kissing, stoked his arousal, and he growled intermittently, exhaling the excess lust as it built inside him, growing hotter until the pressure of it began to rattle him.

As he detached from a zebra's bountiful coconuts and turned his head to fetch another pair, he bumped into a pillowy mass that had appeared in front of him while he wasn't looking. Drawing his head back, he was met with a crimson backside, pillowy and padded and perfect to just rest his head on, were he inclined to relax rather than ravage at this point in time. The thin tail swished this way and that, his eyes following the lime green bushel of fluffy fur that flicked with it. The kirin looked over her shoulder at him, smiling that halfway smile between sweetness and mischief, reached back, and parted her cheeks for him. From his position, Spike had the perfect view as the crimson wall spread open, the globes separating to reveal the treasure hidden in that valley - quite literally, as it turned out.

"Don't be shy," the kirin encouraged, shaking her rump in front of his face. "Dig in, Spike. It's all yours."

"I, uh...is that...?"

"It's real, and there's more to come, too. If you don't like sapphire, there's a whole gem selection you can pick from."

"No, I love sapphire."

"Then what's wrong?"

"It's...in your butt."

"Yep," the kirin agreed unabashedly, still wearing her beatific smile. The shimmering, golf ball sized stone contrasted sharply with the colour of her coat, the angles glinting as she subtly shifted and swayed before him, the change in position reflecting light in a way that made it seem as if the kirin was producing a light of her own. "A tasty snack with all the best seasoning, all for the great great price of free." She tilted her head as he grimaced, her smile faltering. "What's wrong? Is it something I said?"

"I don't..." Spike began, stopping and starting in several attempts to get his point across without saying it out loud. The lips and beaks against his body didn't help any, nor did the fingers coaxing his dragon dick to fuller firmness. "Isn't that unclean?" he asked at last, wincing at his own words. He expected embarassment, or disgust, or disapproval at his question, but the kirin's countenance just returned to its usual cheeriness. Around him, the women got on with their task of worshipping him as if he hadn't asked what must've been to them a rather dumb question.

"Oh, that," she answered, chuckling as if he'd just reminded her that she'd forgotten to lock the front door before going to the shop. "Silly me, I keep forgetting not everycreature lives like we do. You already know the bridles have a ton of magic qualities, and that it makes us sexy and feminine and sensitive, but it has so many other uses too. One of the most useful things about it is that it makes us ready for all sorts of freaky stuff, in all the important ways. That means we're stretchy and flexible, that we're lubed up at all times, and that we're always completely clean. You never need to worry about unpleasant smells or surprises - in fact, it's the exact opposite. Here, let me show you."

The kirin used a finger to press the sapphire deeper into herself, her ring closing as the shape stretching her open passed into her tract. After making a show of jiggling, she reached a hand between her legs with her palm open and facing up, and as Spike watched, she flexed, squeezing the gemstone from its frame and catching it as it fell. It was shiny, slathered in what looked like a layer of clear lube, but it was otherwise unmistakably clean, at least visually. Bringing the sapphire in front of her, the kirin extended her tongue and took long, deliberate swipes up and down the bevels, spinning it to track her tongue across every part of its surface. When she was finished, she opened her maw wide and slipped the jewel into her mouth, smiling at him and batting her eyelashes as she held it within as closed a mouth as she could manage, and then, once she'd made her point, let it slip out into her waiting palm.

"I can't say how good the stone tastes," she told him, holding it up for him to examine. "I'm not a dragon, and kirin don't eat minerals or rocks or anything like that, so it doesn't float my boat. As for how it tastes after I've stuffed it in my tight kirin ass? It tastes divine." She made a show of shutting her eyes and sighing, adding a shiver in emphasis of her godly taste. "If you're really averse to it, you don't have to do anything - you're in charge here. However, if you're here to see what Saddle Arabia has to offer, and you want to try something new and exciting..." She turned herself to face away from him fully, her hand reaching back between her legs and slotting the gem back in its place. "...feel free to use my pretty little kirin ass as a plate, ambassador."

Spike should have been disgusted, revolted, repulsed, but the worst he'd felt was cautious aversion, and now that had faded to an irrelevent voice protesting at the back of his mind. She'd offered a compelling argument, explaining why he didn't need to be afraid and going so far as to demonstrate on herself, and what more could she really do than that? It felt odd to bring up the point of reference in a time and place like this, but he reminded himself that he was an ambassador, who was supposed to immerse himself in the cultures of other societies and expose himself to new experiences. That was still true, even now, as he faced down what had to be the most unexpected yet intriguing sexual proposition he'd ever encountered - a milestone that seemed to be leapfrogging at an accelerated rate, he noted absentmindedly.

The sight was actually something to behold; a deep blue gemstone, set in the cradle of a kirin's bodacious booty, the well-padded pillows of her buttocks drawing the eyes inward to the rich treasure centred in between, her sphincter stretched around the sapphire like a portrait frame. He'd be lying if he said it didn't appeal to him, in some small way. Or perhaps a big way. He wasn't sure, but he knew he didn't have many excuses to not at least try it, and the part of him that found it interesting was far louder than the part of him that was still worried about consequences. He inched his head forward, his snout cruising through the gap of her buttocks, the longest strands of her coat teasing his scales and the scents gathered in the space teasing his nostrils. It smelled like mare, the sort of scent he knew from time growing up around ponies, but slightly different; there was more of a woody tinge to it, some flicker of woodsmoke that almost felt like an illusion, and of course there was the gemstone. He could smell the sapphire, the sweetness and the sourness already battling for dominance as he closed in, his lips bumping against the smooth, hard surface. Slowly, he let his tongue slither forward, running a careful, experimental lap up and down, the little additions of flavour prickling his tongue. He focused on the gem, revelling in its taste as it diffused throughout every tastebud.

He opened his mouth wider, his lips passing from the stone to the kirin's skin, his tongue trying to pry the sapphire from its resting place; his bottom lip curling up to pull at it from beneath, his teeth clinking against the gem's surface. Pressing his lips as tightly as he could to the kirin's rear, he sucked, feeling it move towards him, the ring of muscle loosening enough for his tongue to slide into a gap and pull it closer, until the sapphire slid into his mouth, and he drew back, the fizz of the gemstone spreading like soda. He savoured the moment, closing his eyes to give more attention to his other senses, then bit down, delighting in the crunch as it shattered, the explosion of flavour overtaking the notes of something fruity that he didn't usually get with sapphires. He chewed rapturously, salivating from the intensity of it, and swallowing down a mix of sharp fragments and dust. The aftertaste remained, saturating his mouth.

The drake opened his eyes and gazed at the provocative sight of the presenting kirin before him, her face bright and a knowing expression on her face, her buttocks held apart, awaiting his decision. She'd made a suggestion about how he treat her, and so far, he'd received a sapphire for his efforts. Licking his lips, he closed the distance to her rear, once again planting himself between her buns and approaching her tight, round hole. Her orifice had closed up again, springing back to full tautness once she'd ejected the dragon's snack, and as he planted a testing smooch on the raised bump of her anus, he felt her muscle flutter responsively, winking against him. Just as he had with the sapphire, he extended his tongue carefully, brushing it against the smooth skin and around the rim, passing over wrinkles and folds as he gradually made his way closer to the dip in the centre. It didn't taste bad at all; it tasted of skin, with the lingering spice of sapphire, and that fruity pinch he couldn't place before. It was stronger now, and it grew stronger as he circled her rotunda, inching inward. Her words played over in his head - we're lubed up at all times,  it tastes divine - as the tip of his tongue nestled in the axis of her entrance, he realised what he'd been tasting all this time. More importantly, he realised what flavour it was - strawberry.

He didn't have to wiggle hard to push past her gate, her asshole easily granting him entry as he stiffened his muscle and drove it with a moderate amount of force against the small gap she offered. That gap was sufficient to squeeze through, her ring still loosening welcomingly for him, and the natural lube she produced meant he didn't have to worry about friction. Past her sphincter, her smooth walls greeted him, slathered in strawberry-flavoured goop mixed with dashes of fizzy sapphire from where the gemstone's essence must've suffused, mixed evenly along her tract. He swirled his tongue, running it in a loop around her rectum, the strawberry growing more and more concentrated as he saturated his appendage in her produce and her murmurs of approval growing more and more enthusiastic. He was assailed by sweetness, orally and aurally, and he pushed forward further, driven onward by the excitement of what he was doing. It shouldn't feel this good, or taste or sound or look or be this good, but he was in heaven, his tongue deep in some stranger's ass and his body the subject of a very lewd massage.

He didn't stop as he bumped against the turn in the kirin's bowel, twisting his tongue to follow the pipe round. He couldn't be disgusted at the thought of it, not when she tasted like something he would've bought as a kid from a candy store. Those sweets never came with the carnal whimpers and groans of a creature he was pleasuring, though, his movements drawing new and exciting sounds from her while she pushed back against him, trying to stuff him even deeper. He obliged, winding his appendage back several inches before whipping forward, varying the length and the location of his thrusts to catch her in surprised spikes of pleasure. She was dripping a growing puddle onto him, his neck and chest decorated with running drops of her feminine excitement, and his chin with streaks of the same when she thrust back against him. Her lubricating juices - from both holes - weren't really any different, and that seemed to make all the difference for his enjoyment; other than the mouth-watering taste of fruit and the ludicrous length he could unravel his tongue into the kirin, it didn't feel too different to when he went down on Gabby.

Spike pushed on, growing more rowdy as his work progressed unimpeded. He'd never quit before he'd reached an end, be it what Gabby's body could take or what either of them could endure, and currently, neither he nor the kirin were at their limit, and so he did the only thing he knew how to do; he carried on. The drake's tongue lashed at the woman's insides, flicking left and right, up and down, rearing back so it could charge forward again, surging deep into her winding passageways before zipping back to grind deliberately along one side. He drooled over her crotch, growling as his lust grew heavier, settling like a hot steam across his mind and ensconcing his brain with a singular lecherous purpose. He drove deeper, staking further in this kirin, huffing as he hungrily, ravenously, set upon her.

"Y-you d-don't h-have to go s-s-s f-far u-up," she told him, her words intercepted by the ravishing going on inside and behind her. The words were unimportant to him; they weren't screams of ecstasy or pleas for more pleasure, so they became a secondary consideration as he wormed his way through her guts. He moved a claw down to her belly, feeling the twiches as he mapped out her internal anatomy, and snarled as her hands brushed his on the way to do the same. She gasped, and muttered something that sounded a lot like, "N-no creature has e-ever g-got this d-deep-"

He leaned back, the woman behind him hastily making way as he flopped onto his back, pulling the kirin - his kirin - with him, sitting her fully on his face, his snout buried between her cakes and smothering him. He brought her as close as he could, her weight supported by presumably one or more of the other women on the bed. That was a guess - he didn't know or care, so long as she was able to sit on his face and continue to be a glove for his tongue. He adjusted his hand, reaching over her leg and down to her crotch to play with her esturary, his claws brushing over her thick waterlogged labia and drenched velvety flesh to the engorged bump atop her marehood. She writhed even more than she already had been once he touched her there, but his grip was too firm for her to hinder his pleasuring.

The kisses and caresses to his thighs had become fewer over the last several minutes, which was a heavy afterthought while he was feasting on the helpless mare atop him, but as the softness encompassed his achingly hard rod, he distantly acknowledged how much he'd gone without his own pleasure. He'd been happy enough focusing on the kirin, satisfied with giving into his desires with her at his mercy, but the plushness that surrounding his malehood was icing on the proverbial cake. Compared to his ravenous appetite, the two females by his waist were moderating themselves, drawing themselves up and down in synchronised rises and falls. Despite being blinded by the booty smooshing his face, he could imagine the sight of them, breasts pressed together, nipples rubbing against one another as they lifted and lowered, biting their bottom lips and watching as his tapered tower rose from the valley of their combined cleavage, only to disappear after they'd ascended a substantial height. Their movements were measured, neither too slow nor too quick, and never, ever falling out of pace. They kept a perfect pressure, hugging their tits together to polish him so skillfully, he'd probably be able to see his own reflection if he looked down at the end of it.

Spike's hand sped up, his wrist flexing as he strummed the kirin's kitty at speed, delighting in her barely-constrained squeal. Yessss, he thought, feeling himself hiss as he spoke the words in his head. Squeal for me, you beautiful little slut. Squeal for your master. It wasn't surprising that his dragonic urges were pushing to the forefront, given the situation he found himself in, nor was it new. What was new, however, was how much he could let himself go, and just give into them. Mac had assured him that the bridled females could take it, and they'd given him every reason to believe that so far. That was why, instead of shoving down his animalistic instincts and falling back on the breathing exercises Twilight had taught him, he plunged four of his fingers into the kirin's soaked twat and palmed her clit so heavily he could hear the squelch of every movement made even past the muffling effect of her butt. She didn't - or couldn't - stop herself from squealing at that point, her voice filling the room as he savaged her cunny with his bare hand. It was a sinfully sweet melody.

Bite her, he heard himself think, a snarl whirling through the idea. He had no way of doing it with his tongue still hanging out - and he had no intention of pulling his tongue back - but the temptation was fierce. He wanted to bite her ass, to bite her shoulder nice and deep, to scratch along her back and mark her as his, to claim her as his bitch, his property. He wanted to throw her down and fuck her raw, to use her over and over until he'd made all the use he could ever have from her. He wanted to ravage each and every one of her holes, to fill her with with his fingers and hands and cock and tail, to pump her so full of cum that there wouldn't be any room for anycreature else to ever fit inside her again. He wanted to own her, to possess her selfishly and cruelly, to keep her impaled on his cock and to use her as his broodmare, so that she might have some value. It was horrible, it was nasty, it was not who he was as a dragon - but in that moment, he wanted it more than anything, and it was right.

With a loud scream, his brutal urges were paid their due, and the kirin he was so determined to make sing for him did so. Her pussy clenched down around his fingers, squeezing so tight he was nearly forced out, his digits squashed together to fit into her sudden vice of a marehood, and a flood erupted from her, spraying his forearm and flooding his chest and belly. It ran over his sides and onto the bedsheet, leaving him laying in the warm produce of his greatness. It was a torrent, puddling on his torso as her pleasure ran from her in liquid form, signalling her end and pushing the dragon into his. The molten heat of his urges had bubbled, boiled, strained against the buckling containment of his restraint, and now, with strawberry on his tongue and pussygush all over his chest and belly and the bed around him, he bellowed savagely, his cry shouted into the padded rear of the mare he'd just turned into a fountain.

Everything below his ribs tightened into titanium, refusing to move as his cock pulsed, the boiling pressure rocketed upwards and sprayed outward in what felt like an explosion. He distantly heard the wet patter and heavy splat as it impacted somewhere, but even as he perceived that, his mind was stuck behind a pane of glass, unable to properly interact with the outside world. All he knew was electricity surging through him, pressure pooling and being released, great pumps and strains in and around his groin, and the beautifully dirty feeling of hot cream leaking everywhere. He bucked his hips, flinging more of the thick syrup up and away, a good amount spattering across his own scales, if the consistency was anything to go by. That was still a passing detail, though, at least until his brain shook off the chemical collision and cleared the colours and lingering sway of vertigo.

The kirin lifted herself - or was lifted, he wasn't sure - from his face, giving him room to breathe. The air of the room, as infused as it was with the heady scent of jizz and vagina, was fresh against his ass-smothered face, leaving him feeling moderately damp and a little flushed. Looking down at his own body, he saw that the other women hadn't wasted any time; his cock was still twitching, the stubborn, weak contractions pushing out ivory white oozes of viscous dragon seed, which dropped like pearls onto his scales or were swiped directly from his cumslit as they beaded by an eager, impatient servant. Six were gathered around him, three on either side, lapping at his body like cats at a water bowl, licking and dragging their tongues over his soiled scales until the purple could be seen again under the emulsifying mixture of semen and squirt. It felt good, and it looked even better, his energy slowly returning as he watched the depraved display. It took him a while to realise his tongue was still hanging out of his mouth, and when he snapped it taut and reeled it in like a tape measure, he heard a surprised grunt from just behind him, his eyes widening as he remembered the kirin it was still buried in. It zipped in twisting paths through the labyrinth he'd explored, until it whipped back into his mouth, smearing strawberry lube all over his snout.

"I told you you'd enjoy that," the crimson mare told him proudly, panting and smiling widely as he craned his neck to apologise to her. "Never been wrong yet. Reckon you'll try it again, stud?" He nodded, his affirmation tainted with a tinge of embarassment, but that was overshadowed by just how exciting that prospect was. It enticed him, even so shortly after such a powerful climax. "Good - because like I said, we have a whole selection of gemstones ready for you to try." With that simple statement, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, remarkably stable for a mare he'd just brought to a screaming orgasm barely a minute ago. He watched as she walked, her crimson derriere swaying hypnotically as she moved, each cheek rising and falling in an effortless display for him.

He was distracted as a tongue slurped noiselessly up his cheek and over his snout, passing over his lips as he returned his attention to what was going on on the bed itself. The women had drank down the mess that had decorated his body, and were practically bathing him with their efforts, polishing him in devoted sweeps over his scales. The one who'd licked his face was a unicorn, her mane a black elegant curl that reminded him of high-culture society in Equestria, the sort of thing Rarity would have influenced. In fact, the longer he looked, the more he saw his friend and the once-upon-a-time subject of an infatuation that had held him in sway for years.

"Somecreature needed to clean your face, Mr Ambassador," she spoke, smiling down sweetly at him. Her voice wasn't the same, her accent nowhere near the refined and prim sound he was used to, but the way she looked at him wasn't so dissimilar to how the fashionista greeted strangers - welcoming, smiling, and friendly. She had the right body, he noted, her hourglass figure and generous bust mimicking almost to perfection the svelete, slender appearance he'd come across when he'd first stepped into Ponyville all those years ago, when he was still a child and she was a young mare - probably the same age he was now, now he thought about it. His heart had throbbed achingly, and he'd crushed on her hard, but it had been a pipe dream, a fantasy that he could never have realised. It wouldn't have worked, and even if it had, it wouldn't have been fulfilling as the friendship they currently had.

"I wish there was more of her to lick off you," she continued, smooching his cheek. "I love strawberry, and I love tasting strangers. It's the best way to make a stranger a friend, I find. I find I taste like blackberry, though. How do you like blackberry, Mr Ambassador? Maybe you'll discover your new favourite flavour, hmm?"

Instead of his heart, another part of him was throbbing in need. Could he go back to that old, dusty fantasy? Would it be right? He was already here, and he was doing things that even a couple of hours ago he would've considered off the table, but now...well, in for a penny, in for a bit, he supposed.

"Can I ask you to do something?" he requested, perhaps the meekest he'd been since he'd stepped in the room. He felt himself blushing pre-emptively, the shyness leaking onto his face before he'd even asked.

"Of course, Mr Ambassador," the unicorn answered immediately, her happy smile broadening into a bright beam. "Anything you want, anything at all."

"Well, I have something...not new, but...something I'd like to try that I've never had the chance to do before. Can you...how good are you at accents?"

He coached her over the course of several minutes, letting her know the right inflections and pitch and tone. He fed her lines, told her what to say and the sorts of things he wanted to hear, feeling dirty just trying to direct her. She didn't judge him, or if she did, she didn't show it. Her face wasn't expressionless, of course; when she wasn't showing him her rapt attention, nodding and answering to verify she understood what he wanted, she was lidding her eyes or biting her bottom lip, indicating clearly her thoughts and feelings on the part she was being given to play. By the time he'd finished, his body was spit-polished to a shine and the kirin had returned with more gemstones the size of golf balls, passing them out to the women around him. Spike's eyes flitted to the left and the right as the women fitted them, unable to prevent himself watching the simple, perverse act. The unicorn made sure he watched, locking eyes with him as she reached behind herself and let him know what she'd done with a light, low sigh, her eyes fluttering at the naughty act she'd just committed, before pivoting on the spot to present her behind to him, the process achingly slow and beautifully agonising. When she'd taken her position, she teasingly raised her tail, brushing against his face with her curls as she exposed her bejewelled bottom.

"Are you hungry, Spikey-Wikey?" she asked.

Her coat was eggshell rather than pristine white, her mane and tail weren't one-for-one replications, and her inflection wasn't on-point, but as Twilight had explained in excruciatingly boring detail at some point, the brain made connections and recognised patterns, and 'good enough' was a sufficient standard for most creatures. This was definitely good enough, more than good enough, and like a door opened by a spoken codeword, his body sprang into action as if he were a machine prompted by some remote operator. His claws snapped fleshily to the round curves of her butt, spreading her wide as his snout shot to her prominent, stretched ponut and pressed against the gemstone embedded in her. It was an emerald this time, not quite as good as sapphire, and definitely not as good as ruby, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth when he could be tonguing her ass instead. He licked his way over the jewel, savouring the sharp taste it offerd and the subtle hint of the unicorn's body, his lips brushing the elastic skin of her ring around the colourful prize. He could smell her arousal as he pried the stone from her rump, and in a flash of perverse inspiration, he dragged it downward, slathering it in the secretions of her marehood.

She did taste of blackberries, as it turned out, a confirmation Spike archived in his mind as he crunched the emerald into a sherberty powder, the fruitier notes of her fluids fading as the sharp fizz overtook his tastebuds. With the sensation lingering, he returned to the unicorn's crotch, lolling out his tongue and dragging his face up her groin from pelvis to tailbone. She huffed happily at his attention, and he reversed his direction, swinging down and then back up once he passed her winking, thumb-thick nub. With every pass, the wave of blackberry encroached more and more on the stubborn persistence of the emerald's sour tang, until it surpassed it, and then completely masked it. Catching her bud as he passed by, he quickly ensnared it between his lips and suckled, the unicorn whimpering at the sudden attention to her peeking pearl, his tongue dancing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. It didn't take much adjustment to slither into her, slithering in spontaneous shapes around her canal and evoking all sorts of cute noises from her. She pushed back against him when he tapped at her limit, bundling the flexible length against her barrier and brushing against the unyielding wall. It took him a moment to realise that most creatures didn't have a tongue like his, and that this may well have been the first time this mare had ever felt someone do this to her. That possibility made him growl hungrily, and he withdrew his face to treat her asshole to the same pleasure.

He didn't make it so deep as he had with the kirin, only going to the bend in her rectum and exposing her to the delights of what a dragon's muscle could curl and touch before he pulled back, face moist from condensation and the leftover lube of her holes. Licking his snout clean, he pushed himself up onto his knees, holding the unicorn's tail straight up in one claw and holding his pride in the other, steadying his renewed vigour. His point touched against her flesh, falling into the groove between her labial lips, and he spent a few moments enjoying standing on the precipice of this great new frontier, drawing shapeless movements over her vulva like a poet with a pen, simply enjoying the movements of creation; he was here for the process, not the result. He fought back the urge to slam himself in deep, to hurry along the pleasure and the experience, and made himself wait, patiently trying the feel of her against his crown.

Despite himself, despite everything that they'd shown they could handle, how much they could do, he penetrated her slowly, letting his tip ease gently into her waiting folds. There was no resistance to his advance, his glans sailing forward at a speed decided by his effort. He pushed with his hips, and her cunny welcomed him, accepting his cockhead and the turgid shaft gliding in behind it, her tunnel morphing around his shape effortlessly. It was so much easier sinking into this welcoming basin that it was with Gabby; her walls caressed his girth as he passed, hugging against him without ever straining to accommodate his size. He found himself utterly ensconced in her confines, his crotch kissing hers and the base of his pride flush against her netherlips, and all without a single indication of discomfort or the need to slow down. It was strange and new to him, and he revelled in the novelty of it as she tenderly clenched around him, squeezing his entombed length approvingly.

The unicorn's walls rubbed against his ridges as much as his ridges rubbed against her insides as he pulled back, both of them uttering little grumbles of pleasure as their anatomies interacted. The backwards motion went against their shape, giving her an extra dose of stimulation as they lightly scratched at her, and in turn, she tightened, her softness pushing down on his member more insistently. With her tail lifted out of the way, he was able to look down at his emerging shaft and admire it indulgently, its vein-crossed surface glistening with an abundant layer of the mare's excitement, bulging towards the middle and lightly curving towards his tip. That was something he never got with Gabby; he was too focused on taking it slow and steady and caring for her needs to admire himself and how good it looked when he just slid into some able, willing beauty. That's exactly what he did now, keeping his pace slow to watch the way his red rod slid in so perfectly, filling the unicorn's snatch like it was made for him.

He picked up speed soon after, delighting in his ability to plunge all the way in, to let his hips rock back and forth and feel his groin impact against natural padding, the sound of that impact adding to the wonder of doing something as simple as laying with a mare, properly and without the constraints his girlfriend's body necessitated. The excitement built quickly, and his speed increased accordingly, the drake delivering firm, swift thrusts into the mare, each shove followed immediately by a withdrawal to his crown, just so he could enjoy shoving as much of his tool into hers, and have her experience the wonder of it too. It felt right, taking her like this, like he had not only the entitlement to feel as good as he could, but the obligation to show her his best so she could enjoy herself. There was a purpose there, and he threw himself into it willingly.

"Oh, Spikey-Wikey!" the unicorn gasped, enduring his accelerating pace admirably. "Use me like a beast, show me how I deserve to be treated!"

"Louder," he snarled, yanking her tail and growling happily at the squeeze that resulted. "Tell the room - tell the city - how you feel."

"I feel amazing!" she responded, her back arching from the sudden yank. "You make me feel amazing! I'm the happiest mare in the world, and I never want you to stop using me!"

Spike delivered a hard, careless spank to her buttcheek, the bouncing globe rippling like he'd dropped a boulder into a still lake, and sending a thwack through the room like a cracking whip. Of course, her buttocks weren't still; the admirable mounds were flattening as they absorbed the force of his thrusts, lighter ripples playing across the skin and the fur from his rhythm. He let go of her tail and held onto her waist, keeping a firm hold of his mare while he railed her, ensuring there was no waste of his effort, no way she couldn't feel every inch of his sliding into her, shaping her, claiming her. His hips pistoned in a ceaseless cycle, the clap of skin on skin growing to overshadow the unicorn's vocalisations, and even his own throaty growls and snarls. The other servants made sounds of affirmation and praise, but he let it remain as background noise, far too enamoured with the joy of rutting his mare to care what they had to say. He let them touch him and stroke his shoulders and back, allowed them to press against the small of his back encouragingly, but he didn't pay them any real attention. His focus was centered on the imitation singing his praises, like the real one might've in some other timeline.

Not-Rarity squealed in such an unladylike manner as she came, swearing as his relentless rutting drove her over the edge. He spanked her for that, bringing his palm down hard on her reddening cheeks one after the other, and huffing happily as his prick was squeezed in a vice from her redoubled orgasm. She fell face-first into the bed, heaving in great breaths, his dick still lodged halfway in her plundered cove. Pulling out the rest of the way, he was set upon by the other women, their hands roaming over his chest and their honeyed words pouring from their lips. The crimson kirin caught his eye as she made her way to the frazzled unicorn, and turning to make sure he was looking, slowly lowered her head to not-Rarity's thigh, licking up until her tongue slipped into the opened hole he'd recently been ravaging.

Turning to the throng of women around him, Spike's eyes fell on a zebra mare, her black and white contrast striking compared to the others around her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he pushed her down onto the bed, directing her wordlessly on to her back, his intention obvious as he swung a leg over her body, straddling her torso and letting his meat slap against her chest. It settled between her two bountiful mounds which jiggled as the shock of his rod hitting her torso rippled through them. She bent her neck to crane towards his leaking tip, her lips closing around the first few inches of his member, suckling his crown and pushing her breasts together around his shaft. For a moment, he savoured the view, looking down at the striped baps sandwiching his schlong and the eager mare leisurely nursing on the part of him that protruded proudly from her cleavage, her shining eyes meeting his and remaining fixed; sharing an intense gaze with the striped slut, he began to thrust.

He had no idea if it was magic - he'd already been told the bridles had many properties - or if zebras were naturally this endowed, or maybe he'd just stumbled across a particularly plush mare, but as he drove his dick through her cleavage, he was treated to the best titjob he'd ever received in his life. He would've swore it was impossible for breasts to be this soft; sure, they were nice, they squished in his claws and they appealed to an instinct laced into his very being, but he'd never been able to say that they were this pliable, this comfortable against his scales or his skin. Beyond the striped fur, he felt her skin caressing his, satin against concrete, brushing with a level of assuredness and control that he was sure most women couldn't achieve with their hands. It was as soft and pleasant as Gabby's vagina, a shameful comparison that it was impossible to not make, especially as he jerked his hips back and forth with more and more urgency, never once needing to stop for the zebra's comfort. She took his pistoning length as deep as it reached, suckling every inch he jabbed between her lips, accepting the overspill of the cock sandwich she'd made with pride and skill.

His end arrived foreseeably swiftly, given that he hadn't finished from the unicorn, but it still caught him off-guard with how sudden it was. His shaft swelled, the pressure peaked, and with a rolling growl, the heat rushed through his groin and sprayed in messy jets across the mare beneath him. Spike humped at the mounds surrounding his rocket as it pulsed and pushed out thick white ropes, lacing the zebra's lips, cheeks, forehead, mane, and neck, and pooling in her cleavage before his thrusts massaged the mess into her fur. He didn't stop thrusting when he ran dry, leaving both her rack and his staff slathered in a churned cream. When he pulled back, she squished her breasts together, squeezing some of the semen from the top and bottom of her valley and smiling from behind a veil of his effluence, a sight that burned itself into his memory and lingered after the other mares closed in to clean away her dirty facade. The others lingered around the dragon, eying his dripping tool.

"Can I clean you, ambassador?"

"Why not me, ambassador?"

"Please, let me have the honour, ambassador."

"Who here remembers my name?" he asked, breaking up the requests.

"Spike The Dragon," a thestral answered energetically, jumping in nearly as soon as he'd posed the question. She was tomboyish, both in her mannerisms and her voice, and he found himself drawing parallels with Gabby before he could prevent his mind wandering in that direction.

"Correct," Spike told her, forcing those intrusive thoughts out of his head. "You get first helpings."

The other women looked mildly disappointed as they made way for the mare, some even casting jealous frowns as she hopped off the bed and dropped to her knees, taking a submissive kneeling pose and waiting for the drake to sit down in front of her. She looked positively giddy, bouncing in place as she watched him drag himself to the edge of the bed, biting her lip and eyeing the thick, throbbing, veiny object of her desires. As he planted his feet on the ground, seating himself as close to the end of the bed as he could comfortably manage to reduce the obstruction in her way, the thestral made her move, pushing his legs apart and advancing between his thighs, grazing her muzzle and cheeks against the scaled columns as she did so.

Spike let out a slow sigh as the batpony's breath rolled over his staff, each gust a shallow but intense wave over his wet, throbbing member. She sniffed, small inhales at first, but soon began drawing in deep, loud breaths, feasting on the reek of his junk and his activities, her eyes glinting with delight and glazing over in an alternating pattern. Extending her tongue, she swiped up his underside in a sudden long sweep, from base to tip, and effortlessly flicked over his glans, sliding between his cockslit, and swiped along the top of his member, all the way down to the base again. His sides came next, first with her tongue, and then with her lips, playing his piece like a harmonica while she sighed and whimpered like a mare who was being given her favourite and least common treat in the world. If she loved anything else more than this, it was hard to believe.

Even with how thorough and meticulous she was, taking care to cover every inch of dickskin, covering every nub and ridge and curve of his cock, it didn't take long for her to clean him, at which point she pulled back to his tip and opened her maw wide for him. Spike had a brief view into her mouth, concern flashing through him as he saw the two prominent fangs where another creature's canines would be, but whatever misgivings he had were vanquished as she dove onto his rod, engulfing the entire mass in a seamless swallow. Spike let out a shocked groan, breaking eye contact as his toes curled at the onslaught of sensations, registering the sinfully soft, wet confines of her around his entire cock at once. When he looked down at her once more, she gazed back at him with bright, hungry eyes, her lips pressed to his pelvis, and her muzzle stuffed effortlessly full; she waited until he was watching, able to observe her state, and then swallowed, slowly and repetitively.

The end of his wang, sitting deep in her gullet, received the majority of the massage, her throat contracting around just under half of his length. Much like the zebra's boobs before her, the thestral's throat was unbelievably soft for what it was, taking the silkiness of a normal woman's skin and flesh and boosting it beyond what any man - stallion, drake, or otherwise - could claim to have experienced before. She had an uncanny amount of control over her anatomy, boasting more dexterity with her neck than a mare could put forward with her hands, and with how good it felt against his cock, Spike would happily trade any handjob for more of this esophageal wringing and caressing. This couldn't just be training; sure, there was no doubt the batpony had practiced countless times to perfect the pace and strength of her swallowing around insertions of all shapes and sizes, but nothing short of potions or magic could make the simple press of wet flesh and muscle against an erection feel so velveteen.

She eventually pulled back, slowly letting her lips glide over his surface as she retreated from his monument, her tongue swirling around his rod to leave it glistening evenly as he exited her mouth inch by inch. Only when she reached his tip, her tongue running out of pole to polish and her gradual movements giving way to the energetic phase of her performance, did she break eye contact, letting her eyelids close to sharpen her other senses and allowing herself to focus, and maybe indulge in the moment. She leaned into him, her forward push swift but unrushed, and took him to the back of her throat once more, this time leaving only a few seconds for him to enjoy the ensconcement before withdrawing again. She didn't stop with the next plunge, nor for a few afterward, letting herself roll back and forth on his piece until she threw herself fully forward without warning and refused to move, resuming her swallowing and pulling more groans from him.

Despite just having to sit there and enjoy, sitting and enduring was all Spike could do; the thestral's controlled bobbing was leagues ahead of any other blowjob he had ever received, her movements unceasing and unaffected by the size of him, taking his entire length as easily as a creature might engulf a spoonful of food, and pulling back with just as little difficulty. There was no gagging, no struggling, no watering eyes or wiggle to try and fit more of him - the batpony weaved back and forth smoothly and easily, stopping only when he was lodged entirely in her gullet so she could work him with her throat. She switched from bobbing to swallowing without warning, alternating her pattern to catch him unaware, each change inflaming his reinvigorated lust, until it had built to an irresistable roaring once again.

Standing up, Spike grasped the batpony's head, causing her to open her eyes and look up at him with a curious, anticipatory blink. He responded with a hefty shove of his hips, driving his meat all the way down into her gullet, force-feeding her his length and pushing her back with the weight of it. He didn't linger in her throat, reversing his movement and withdrawing to his tip before ramming back in, a steady motion of rough, intrusive thrusts, which grew in strength and intensity as the seconds passed by. Her expression melted as he took control, wordlessly thanking him for the repeated violation and graciously accepting the deep plunges into her maw. Once he'd measured her capabilities, felt what she could handle and the best way to sheathe himself inside her, he picked up the speed further, sometimes sacrificing the full-length dips to unleash a flurry of humping, finishing off with a lean into her so the batpony's muzzle was pressed tight against his pelvis and her lips were sealed around his base, only letting up when the absence of movement became more intolerable than her contracting softness was inticing.

In between the thestral's melody of gluck-gluck-gluck and the whimpering moans of abject praise, and his own singular attention on making every use of that warm wet hole, the rest of the room was of no concern to Spike, which was why he didn't immediately register a pair of oh-so-soft hands grasping and parting his buttocks. It was only when a gust of hot breath caressed his scales that he took note, and paused his rampage to glance behind at the interruption. A crimson face looked back at him, her eyes alight with a harmless, well-intentioned mischief.

"Trust me," the kirin assured, planting a soft kiss on one of his taut cheeks. "I'm going to make you feel really good. Don't let me distract you."

Spike considered asking exactly what she was doing and how she expected him to not be distracted, but a pleading moan from his crotch drew his attention back to its rightful place, and he resumed his motions. The hands didn't leave his backside, and the breath returned, closer and hotter than ever. The realisation of what was happening struck him half a second before the tongue did, flicking up over his exposed wrinkle of skin and sending a deep, sudden shock through him. He gasped, his member twitching inside the thestral's mouth, who hummed happily at the additional sensation. He was still reeling from the first pass - the electrifying touch, how wet it left him feeling, how unexpectedly deep the pleasure rang - when she lapped at him again, dragging her muscle between his cheeks and grinding against his hitherto untouched ring, redoubling the jolt that had yet to fully fade from his system.

Despite her insistence that he shouldn't be distracted by her, Spike found it impossible to focus on plowing the thestral's face while she lapped at his ass; there was too much sensation, purely from the novelty of it, even before their seemingly supernatural skills were factored in. Without the ability to co-ordinate his hips, he moved one of his hands to the kirin behind him, half-instinctually grasping the back of her head to pull her closer and keep her there, while the other weaved through the batpony's mane and grasped it tight, which he used to pull her away from his pelvis, and then yanking her back down. It was slow-going at first, a few swings to get the pace going and the message cemented, but they both co-operated, giving in to exactly what he wanted them to do. Sandwiched between two zealous mares, he let himself sink into the bliss of the dual service.

Most of the dragon's effort was spent dragging the thestral backwards and forwards, using her mercilessly like a cheap sex toy for his own pleasure, but his attention was only half on her wilful compliance with his forceful handling, her sloppy noises, and the ease with which she took him. Behind him, the kirin shamelessly explored him, swiping and sweeping and running circles over and across his anus, and her efforts translated to the drake's faster, shallower breathing, as well as the involuntary whimpers and groans he let slip. Each movement she made carried the strength of a cracking whip, the impact leaving him clenching his toes and shivering as hot lines of pleasure sang their way up his body from where she touched. She moved with no discernible pattern, leaving him guessing and gasping as she brushed and pressed against places he never knew were sensitive, and had never thought to try.

She wiggled her way into him with surprising ease, tunneling through his sphincter and digging deeper, grazing his insides with a gentleness that still registered as intense to him. She persisted, waggling and reaching what must've been only an inch or two, but which felt like an ever onward journey, brushing against his walls and sending signals through his lower body that extended far beyond her physical reach. Her touch grew increasingly hot, the parts of him exposed to her toying burning from her persistence, and a gnawing pressure bubbled and intensified inside him, like steam in a boiler. It came quick and harshly, and all he could do was clench and groan and grit his teeth as the kirin tipped him over the edge with gentle flicks.

The strong, heavy ramming of the thestral concluded with a yank as he buried her in his crotch, sealing her around his knot as he came, erupting thick, heavy jets straight into her stomach. The thestral swallowed dutifully, drinking down the voluminous load as he poured it into her, and the massage provided by her throat accentuated the ceaseless rubbing against his rear. His shaft pulsed urgently, pumping what felt like an endless amount of jizz into the thirsty slut suctioned to his cock, though as the kirin milked him for more, he lost sense as to whether he was ejaculating anything at all, or if she was forcing his penis through the motions. It didn't matter; he shuddered and breathed out a staggering grunt, holding the two mares to their stations as signals and explosions ran up and through him, winding around his body in a chaotic rush.

Spike's legs trembled as his orgasm ran dry - or at least felt like it had, given he was still throbbing and the flushes of heat through his rod left him wondering if he was still oozing - and he removed himself from the thestral's maw, leaving her flushed and awash with ecstasy, if her panting and hazy eyes were anything to go by. The kirin kissed his scales, leaving smooches along his glutes as he recovered.

"Do you need water, ambassador?" a new voice asked, presenting a glass for the dragon. Spike looked at the newcomer, the hippogriff he'd seen earlier, with a wide, beaming smile and gorgeous aquamarine eyes, and felt the fire in him smoldering again. Taking the glass worldessly, he gulped the contents down in a single swing and handed it back to her. As she walked away to place the glass down, his eyes were drawn to her shapley behind, her cheeks striking an amazing equilibrium between padded and toned.

"Hippogriff," he called out, attracting the winged woman's attention. "Get back here." He tracked her as she placed the glass and strode back over to him, a smile adorning her face the entire way. She had a decent pair of melons, probably a C-cup, but he'd had his share of her front-padding having played with them earlier, and felt more in the mood for what else she could offer him. "Turn around and bend over."

She didn't hesitate to fulfil his command, spinning in place and leaning forward, even hoisting her tail up and reaching back to spread her cheeks to give him an unobstructed view. Having the lower body of an equine, hippogriffs were easy and familiar; having grown up in Equestria, he had snuck away to view sinful magazines when he could get the chance, along with his other male friends, which consisted predominantly of pony models spreading their legs or bending over for the camera, among other lascivious poses designed to allure young red-blooded men. As such, Spike was no stranger to the upside down exclamation mark that was a hippogriff's sexual features, her thick, elastic labia engorged and parted in a teardrop shape, and the round bump of her anus stuffed with an amethyst.

Spike ran a claw around the bump of her backdoor, circling the outer edge before dipping in a claw and easing the stone from her pucker. With it in her grasp, he slid it downward, gliding through the valley of her twat and soaking it in the abundant juices trickling from her grove. The flavours melded as he deposited the marinated stone into his mouth, spreading swiftly before he could even bite down and let loose the eruption of taste, and when he did, the dust and chunks and infused saliva swirled around his mouth, heightening his interest in the half-equine girl and her now empty backdoor. Swallowing down the amethyst slurry, the dragon brought his snout up behind her and drew his tongue up from her clit to the base of her tail, and back down again, each turn of his tongue narrowing the range of its reach until he was lapping at her sphincter, wetting it with a thorough, intimate touch.

Driving his tongue into the hippogriff pulled a delightful squawk from her, and Spike made quick work discovering her unique taste, which was a pleasant blend of pine and sea salt. Withdrawing from her behind, he lowered himself to her front gate and plunged his oral organ into her estuary, replacing his absence in her backside with a tentative claw. Like the others, she was already slick and her rear permitted his digit entry with the same ease it had his tongue. A second finger followed, and then a third, each of them squeezed next to each other in the vice-tightness of her velveteen passage, her ring squeezing his knuckles for more. With the addition of a fourth, and the sneaking suspicion he could slide his entire fist up there if he tried, Spike pulled back, stood up, and replaced his fingers with something far more appropriate for her whorish needs.

The first thrust was slow, but there was practically no resistance to his entry. He was able to glide effortlessly down her passageway, her ring parting readily for his ridged tool, and he sheathed himself in her without having to wait or slow down. With him sitting balls-deep in her guts, she squeezed and clenched around him, wringing his cock pleadingly for more action, for more thrusting, for more. Extracting himself with a little effort, Spike plunged in faster the second time, not stopping to indulge in the vacuum-seal pressure of her rectum, but setting a steady pace which accelerated with every roll of his hips. It took him a few minutes to realise that this was the first time he'd experienced anal sex, and grinned to himself childishly at the thrill of it, the novelty not at all undone by the perversions he'd been engaged in up to this point. It was hardly his fault that, as a result of their bodily adjustments, slipping into their backdoors was distinguishable only by the feel of the shape of the hole and how hot they were inside.

Moving a hand from the hippogriff's waist to her tail, he pulled it out of the way and gave it a little yank from curiosity, the woman chirping in response. He pulled again, revelling in the sweet noises she made, from chirps and chitters to squawks and squeaks as he plundered her ruthlessly, slamming into her without a care; she took every rough insertion, every slam against her behind, and every jab at her insides with a slutty graciousness that - if he hadn't been busy using her - he would have admired. He had no reason to be gentle, and so he wasn't, her birdsong doing nothing to dissuade him from his robust battering, growing louder and more intense as he continued his mechanical jackhammering into her silken, sodden tract.

She gave an eagle's cry as she climaxed, her body tensing and her legs shaking while she let the drake know what she was feeling. Her walls contracted around his pistoning length, providing a crushing hug of velvet that bordered on discomfort for the dragon, who grit his teeth and powered through, unwilling to give up the heavenly embrace she offered. When she came down from her high, and aftershocks ran through her, the dragon stepped back and let his lube-slick pride exit her, leaving the orifice slightly agape and winking, strings of clear lubricant hanging between her walls as her body tried to adjust once more.

He picked out another partner wordlessly, selecting another female who looked exotic to him. He'd never interacted with a naga before, but the pink creature's top half was familiarly dragonic to him, which made stalking over to her a breeze. Her reached out and grabbed a handful of titflesh without asking, his hands encompassing the entirety of her breasts and leaving little room to sink into or otherwise toy with them, but they were small and perky enough for her, and her erect buds against his palms did enough to satisfy his instinct. If the naga cared, she didn't show it, the smirk on her face growing more self-assured as her serpentine lower half coiled around the dragon, binding him from the legs and working upward to his hips.

"Relax, ambassador," she whispered in his ear as he tried to shift his limbs and found there was a surprising amount of resistance. Her forked tongue tickled him, and when he pulled his head away, she chuckled. "Never been with a snake-girl before? Don't worry; I only swallow a certain part of you whole, and thisssss pussssssy is to die for." Having tied his legs, she draped her arms over his shoulders and drew her tongue along his collarbone, up his throat, over his chin, and brought their lips together in a kiss, the drake melting into it after a moment of hesitation. In the midst of the gentle caresses from her coiling body, the tracing of her tail over his scales, and the deepening kiss, she moved her body and all-too-easily sank onto his spire.

Her groan and his growl was muffled by the kiss, the sounds mixing between them as they emitted them. The naga's chest pressed flush against his own, her petite bust squashed against his rocklike torso, the majority of her staying still and holding the drake still within her grasp while her mouth and middle did all the work. Spike wiggled lightly, subconciously unhappy with being bound and unable to move of his own volition, but that part of him was overruled by the very real, very pleasant embrace she provided him, of which his mind was very actutely and actively aware. The coiling was, regardless of its restrictive nature, a tender hug, and her slavering snake-snatch was a wetter, softer, and more personal touch of the same.

Spike’s attempts to thrust were fruitless, his hips wrapped in the woman’s long, singular grasp. She could move any direction with ease, and his jerky jabs were easily absorbed without achieving anything, his movements countered with nothing more than a flick of her omniflexible lower half. She controlled the pace of their romp, undulating her hips in a way no bipedal female could achieve, her motions small and precise as she humped the helpless drake in an unchanging, modest pace. She didn’t go all-out, roughly mashing their parts together, or make a scene, she just swivelled her hips and let the simple back-and-forth work its magic, relaxing when she stuffed him in and squeezing down when she pulled away to maximise the pleasure he received. She let her efforts speak for themselves, leaving the drake groaning and wiggling in her snare as she made out with him, most of her still while one part of her rolled up and away and inward and down, slapping nearly noiselessly against his scales a couple of times a second.

The repetitive gyrations inexorably drew him towards, and then over, the edge, the blissful sensation irresistible to any red-blooded male. She milked him effortlessly, silencing his staccato groans and grunts with her mouth, thrusting her tongue further into his mouth and tickling his throat as he shook and trembled, staying upright largely through her tail’s support of his legs and midriff. She didn’t stop as he pulsed and pumped his cream into her, gladly accepting it and encouraging him to give her more, clamping down on his knot with every pass she made. He felt her stretch around it and pop back off, unwilling to let a single inch of his pride escape her lustful massage. When he had no more to give, she slowly unwrapped herself from him, her presence disappearing from around his limbs while a number of hands came to support his weight. Her cunny was the last thing she removed from him, dripping jizz down her serpentine scales as she let him spring from her, still erect.

“You look like you’ve run a marathon,” the kirin said to him, smiling a beautiful, easy-going smile. She looked every part supportive and caring, and her tone was just soft enough to drift away on, with enough strength to carry him on that journey. “Do you need a break, or would you like another snack?”

The dragon’s answer was to grab her and spin her around, his claws parting her cheeks to find the snack she’d promised him. It was perfect; a ruby, bright and red, sat nestled in her rear, an oasis if he’d ever seen one. He stared, transfixed at the beauty of it, and had to shake himself from the trance the kirin’s rear had put him in. He was salivating, drool dribbling down his chin in an undignified display that he would’ve cared about had he not been looking at a meal fit for a king. He didn’t delay beyond that, shoving his snout between her cheeks and sucking at the stone, kissing and licking and lapping like an animal feasting from a bowl, until he managed to dislodge it and it fell into his waiting mouth. With a swipe up her clunge to gather the sauce to his meal, he bit down, moaning in delight at the burst of sweetness and fizz and burn that the ruby brought. He chewed and swallowed, moaned again, and repeated, giving each ingestion a slight song of praise.

Spike stood up when he was finished, and when the kirin turned to face him, he pulled her into a deep, tongue-laden kiss. He couldn’t say what made him want to do that so badly, more than any other activity she would’ve granted him, but it just felt right, like pulling her down with him as he collapsed backward onto the bed. It felt right when her hand guided his member upward to her entrance, and she sat back to impale herself on his stiffness, neither of them needing words to agree that was what she should do. He sat up, her legs shifting so they could cross behind his back, locking their bodies with her arms wrapped around his neck, their lips pressed together like a pair of teenage lovers.

The kirin’s gyrations started slow. Their kiss was passionate, heated, with lots of tongue and saliva exchanged, their breaths careless and heavy, but the roll of her hips was deliberate and oriented. She moved in circles, rolling and flexing without any rush or hurry, and Spike sat there and took it, basking in her skill. He let her worship his spire, her interior soft and malleable and wet and hot and everything he’d need or want from a woman, and for every animalistic urge that set off in him, he took it and used it where their tongues clashed, writhing and wiggling and batting against one another. His claws scratched painlessly up and down her body, running through her coat and grazing her skin, his fingers seeking out her breasts, her neck, her mane, riding down to her tail to comb and pull with a tenderness he couldn’t justify to himself after he’d done it and she’d sighed into the kiss.

The lip-lock ended without any signal being given, both of them separating and gazing at one another intently as she moved atop him. Stopping for a moment, she brought her legs back and lifted herself so she was kneeling, straddling him face-to-face, and began to rise and fall, lifting herself up and lowering herself down again in an easy, practised motion, her pace rapidly increasing as she grew accustomed to her position. Their eyes locked, the pair gazing at one another as the kirin bounced on his lap and panted, her soft sighs and moans falling from her lips and gracing his ears. Her garden envoloped his manhood in a satin blanket, her arms held him close and her visage held his sight; there was nothing else in the room except her and the way she moved atop him, and the simple totalness with which she held him.

The kirin pushed at his chest lightly, and Spike fell back fully onto the bed again, the spell of their intimacy lifting. Looking up at the crimson mare, he drank in the sight of her bouncing, her face a mask of lust and ecstasy and her jugs jumping and jiggling with every heavy drop and rise she made. They slapped against her chest, swayed to the side, and captivated the drake's attention with how fluidly they swung and wobbled, the pendulous pair's movements uncontrolled and just as loud in their fleshy impacts as her crotch against his. The crash of her body, the undulations of her pelvis as she switched from hopping to gyrating and back again, the melody of her rising cries and the contractions of her quim, all of it was perfect, a whirlwind of passion and lewdness he wished he'd always been able to obtain, the sort he'd dreamed about as a horny teen.

His vision was abruptly cut off by a striped booty eclipsing his line of sight, the flash of pink inner flesh framed by a black teardrop as the zebra lowered herself to his snout. The scent of ripe, needy mare filled his nostrils, growing overpowering as she sat down and sealed him away in an enclosure of thigh and calf and round, supple globes that muffled all sound in and out. The dragon extended his tongue and slid inside her without delay, tasting the spice she had to offer him. Another weight settled on his arms, the unmistakble softness of fur giving way to the wetness as the servants guided him between their legs. Exploring by touch, he worked a few fingers apiece into the unseen recipients, feeling them squeeze gratefully around his digits as he fondled and rubbed and flicked.

The zebra removed herself from him after a few orgasms, and the off-colour eggshell unicorn took her place immediately, planting herself onto him and grinding against his snout demandingly. He couldn't entirely tell if the females he was fingering swapped, but he was never left without a willing, waiting hole to plunge his claws into, and with nothing else to use, even his tail was grabbed and guided to a sodden, velvety destination. He thrusted, groped, squeezed, shuddered, and came, squeezing out loads into orifice after orifice, walls and muscles and hands urging him onward even as his reserves ran dry. His face was a mess of various girl's juices, his body awash with sweat and saliva and femlube, and he worked on impulse to give what was demanded of him, both by himself and by his servants-turned-adoring fans, his lungs filled more with the musk of the women around him than with oxygen. He kept going and going, his mind a foggy mess and his body dopily recognising the pleasure being inflicted on him, overshadowing any thoughts that he might've had when he entered the room.

To him, time was a constant blur.





Big Mac had waited an hour before purchasing shisha, and the heat of the day had passed by the time Spike finally wobbled his way down the stairs, the heavy clomp of his feet telling Big Mac just how much he'd enjoyed himself before the dragon even came into view. He recognised his friend's footsteps anywhere, completely different in sound to the hooves everypony else possessed in his life, and in this country. Taking one final lungful of the pleasant, apple-flavoured smoke, he replaced the pipe on its stand and rose to his hooves, ready to get moving, especially if the drake needed more time to limp to their destination. Smiling to himself, he stepped around the wall providing a modicum of seperation between the main room and the reception, and stopped in surprise.

"Hi, Big Mac," Spike said, fatigue lining his voice, but overruled by the upbeat and chirpy tone. There wasn't any hesitation or doubt as there had been when the drake had first learned about the purpose of the business. "I'm nearly done, I just have to make one last purchase."

"Ah see..." the stallion commented, shifting his glance over to the other creature. "Ah take it ya had a great time, goin' by the presence of the missy here."

"Yeah," the dragon confirmed, blushing. "I...I couldn't leave her behind, it felt wrong. I told her I'd purchase her, and she agreed." After a couple of seconds of silence, he shook his head, and gestured to each of them in turn. "Mac, this is Burning Passion. Passion, this is Big McIntosh, or Big Mac for short."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mister McIntosh," the kirin replied, smiling and curtsying for him.