A long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, Chuck gave me the idea to try my hand at writing clop. I wasn't sure how to approach it at first, but I was certain that I wanted to write something in second person. I had never read a second person clop fic before, because the idea of it seemed too self-indulgent, even for porn (pony porn noless), and frankly I thought they, and the people who wrote them, were silly, trivial, and incredibly stupid.
So, naturally, I had to join them.
Since then I've adjusted my view of the second person clop fic. I still think they're silly, but I've learned to have a bit more fun with them.
Anyway, here's my intro into the world of second person fiction. There is actually only one very brief moment where anything sexual happens, so I can't fairly call this a clop. But it was fun to write, and to all the Pagliacci fans out there, the character featured in this fic will be added to Manehattan's rogues gallery, and making an appearance in future chapters. His name is Pearly White, a.k.a. The Dentist, and he is easily one of the most fun psychopaths I've ever written.
Okay, enough talk. On to the story.
Pearly Whites
You look down at your watch, then down at the frowning filly standing beside the dentist’s chair in your office. The filly is staring at the tiled floor and massaging her cheek. You gave her just enough procaine hydrochloride to numb her mouth for about 10 to 15 minutes, and it took you exactly 13 minutes and 47 seconds to extract the deciduous molar that had been bothering her for the past 2 weeks and 3 days. The longevity and effectiveness of the drug are determined by a myriad of variables. Those variables include, but are not limited to: the pony’s age, size, weight, blood chemistry, and immune system efficiency. Naturally, you took every one of these variables into consideration before administering the dose and beginning the extraction procedure.
As stated before, that was exactly 13 minutes and 47 seconds ago. If your calculations are correct (and they usually are), the numbing agent will completely wear off in roughly 1.53 minutes. At that time, the level of discomfort in the filly’s oral cavity will exceed her maximum pain tolerance by approximately 19.3%.. She will cry. You need to administer a painkiller of some kind before the drug wears off, preferably something of the over-the-counter variety.
You glance down at your watch again. 1.32 minutes now. Excellent. You still have time.
You lay two stacks of paperwork down on the desk in your office, making sure both stacks are the same height before giving your rotating office chair a whimsical twirl. The filly giggles at your antics, but frowns again as the pain in her mouth worsens. You give the chair a magical nudge and roll closer to her.
“Now Gumdrop, you really do need to take better care of your teeth,” you say, taking care to speak sternly without appearing to be upset. “Have you been brushing at least twice a day like you’re supposed to?”
Gumdrop shakes her head. Her frown deepens.
“Well, if you promise to from now on, I’ll give you a treat.” At this, her face brightens.
Gumdrop is one of your regular patients. Because of her sweet tooth, she has had exactly 9 fillings in the past 2 years. You know this because you’ve been keeping count. Gumdrop likes you well enough, but she hates everything about visiting your office and is always frowning by the end of her visits. If there is one injustice in this world you can’t stomach, it’s the sight of a frowning filly.
Your horn glows, and a wisp of dull, yellow light fishes a lollipop from your coat pocket.
A smile starts to break through the filly’s glum expression, but her frown is persistent. Her frown… The sight of it makes your pulse quicken. Your eye twitches. Your left hoof begins tapping rapidly against the arm of your chair. It taps exactly 17 times before Gumdrop says, “But mommy told me I can’t have any more candy. I’m on punishment.”
“Better tell her its sugar free, then,” you say, winking as you telepathically remove the candy’s wrapper.
Gumdrop pops the lollipop in her mouth, wincing at the pain it causes but not caring enough to spit out her treat. She smiles. You smile. Your pulse returns to normal, your eye stops twitching, and after the 34th tap, your hoof comes to rest on the arm of the chair.
After a few kind words and a tender pat on the head, you send little Gumdrop back out into the lobby where her parents are waiting for her.
Feeling enlarged from having made a small foal smile, you glance down at your watch again. It’s 5:32pm, and you have only 1 more patient to see before the office closes in about an hour. Excellent. You still have time.
You wheel your office chair out into the hallway, fixing your gaze on the restroom door at the end of the hall. In roughly 4 to 6 minutes, old mare Fluoride, who works at the receptionist desk, is going to trot lethargically into the restroom for her daily late afternoon tinkle. This gives you plenty of time—enough time, in fact, to playfully wheel your office chair from one end of the hall to other (which you do often because you’ve discovered that goofing off boosts office moral) before stealing away into the restroom for some much needed ‘you time’.
You are just about to give your mobile seat a telepathic push into the hall, when the not-terribly-amused voice of your newest assistant, Colgate, catches your attention. You glance at your watch without thinking, then up at Colgate who is approaching from across the hall. She is dressed in drab-colored scrubs and switching her hips as she trots toward you on four deliciously curvy legs. It takes her exactly 28 steps to reach you—7 steps on each delicious leg—and her hips switch with each step taken by her hind legs. Her hips switch precisely 14 times during her 28 steps. 7 times to left. 7 times to the right. When you stop counting her steps and her switching hips, you notice that Colgate is frowning.
…Frowning…
Your eye twitches.
“Good job back there with Gumdrop. You have such a way with the little ones,” says Colgate. “And here I thought it was our job to take care of teeth, but seeing as how my boss seems set on ruining the odd dental record here and there, I realize now that I was mistaken.”
Sarcasm seems to be the order of the day for Colgate.
You shoot the dainty blue mare a diffusing grin, hoping to take the edge off her hostility. “Gotta stay in business somehow," you say. "And anyway, how did you know I—”
“Because Gumdrop’s parents just finished chewing me out because you keep giving their daughter candy after every visit.”
“Chewing? Is that…dental humor?” You feign a surprised gasp. You manage to maintain your chipper grin despite the fact that Colgate is still frowning, and you can’t peel your eyes away from the downturned corners of her mouth.
“Get serious for once in your life, Doc. I’m only going to say this one time. Stop. Giving. Fouls. Candy. Got it?”
Your smiles wanes into a smirk as you dig into your pocket and remove another lollipop, this one sugar free. You often practice this smirk in the mirror after you have finished with your ‘you time’. This smirk is not like your ‘genuine smile’, which you also practice every morning after brushing your teeth. This smirk conveys a different personality trait, of which you have several. You have exactly 43 personality traits, 7 of which you consider your ‘defining traits’. You know this because you invented all of them yourself.
“And here I thought you were my assistant,” you smirk. This smirk means you are exhibiting ‘cockiness’ and acting like a jerk. You understand that this is a ‘turn on’ for mares like Colgate, and you wish to sexually arouse her in hopes that she will stop frowning. “I’m curious, what exactly is it that makes you think you can talk to me however you want?”
“Because you’re a chauvinistic pig who won’t fire me until you’re absolutely certain you have no chance of scoring with me.”
“Got it in one,” you laugh. This is a joke. You understand that good jokes make ponies smile. This must be a bad one because Colgate is still frowning.
“And,” she says, striking the syllable like a hammer striking nail, “because I’m right. Now stop fooling around out here; we have a patient to see in a little while.”
“Who’s fooling around? I was only going to—”
“Spend the next five minutes rolling up and down the hall like the kids you keep giving candy.”
“I’ve been told it’s very charming,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows. You roll the lollipop from one corner of your smirk to the other, prompting Colgate to wrinkle her brow.
“Pfft. A dentist with an oral fixation. I suppose that’s meant to be charming as well.” At this you roll out into the hallway, and give your office chair an extra-childish twirl.
“Fixation has so many…negative connotations," you say. "Makes it sound like I’m addicted to something.”
Colgate rolls her eyes while yours twitch. “You’re addicted to everything except doing your job. Some of us actually care about our patients’ health, so do us all a favor and dislodge that square-jawed head of yours from your ass long enough to get something done.” Colgate turns her nose up and saunters past you, heading down the hall toward her own office.
“A pretty mare like you should smile more, you know that?” This is a compliment. You understand that compliments are supposed to make ponies feel good about themselves. Make them smile.
“Spare me the Casaneighva bit, boss,” she says, not bothering to glance over her shoulder. “We’ve got a patient to see in 10 minutes.”
10 minutes!
You look at your watch, then stab Colgate in the back with an infuriated glare. You lose yourself for a second. Forget where you are. Who you are. Who you are supposed to be right now.
You take a deep breath. Another. Another. When you get like this it usually takes 7 to 12 deep breaths for you to calm down. However, today it takes you exactly 14 breaths before you are calm enough to think straight. You know this because you counted. Because subconsciously you are always counting. Always measuring. Always planning. Always careful. Manehattan is a dangerous place. You have to be careful.
Colgate’s unexpected lecture costs you approximately 16 minutes, give or take a second or two. You still have about 10 minutes before you have to see your last patient, who scheduled a routine filling at 6:00pm. Still, 16 minutes is a long time to spend chatting with one of your assistants in the hall. The thought of having wasted so much precious time deeply unnerves you. You are now in even greater need of your 'you time' than was the case 16 minutes ago...17 now.
You practically sprint down the hall to the bathroom, which is, naturally, occupied. You tap the door lightly, politely imploring the pony inside to hurry up. When this doesn’t work, you knock louder. “Come on, I’m about to burst out here,” you say. You look down at your watch and what you see makes you break into a faint sweat. It is 5:53pm. In exactly 7 minutes you have to treat your last patient of the day. Despite what Colgate says, you do take certain parts of your job very seriously. You’ve never been late to a scheduled appointment in any of the 9 years of your career. You take your record of perfect punctuality deftly seriously. Trouble is, you take your ‘you time’ equally as seriously.
You roll the lollipop from one corner of your mouth to other, and wipe exactly 3 beads of sweat from your brow before knocking again. 4 seconds after you knock (you know because you’re counting), you hear the lock click and watch ecstatically as the door opens inward.
It’s 5:54 pm when you bump into the janitor just as she places a yellow sign that reads “Caution: Wet Floor” in the bathroom doorway.
“I’m sorry sir, but the restroom is closed right now for cleaning,” says the janitor. Her lilt is sweet and rich and smooth. She has a voice you could pour over pancakes. “I should be all done in a few minutes, so if you don’t mind waiting outside—”
“I don’t have a few minutes,” you say, nearly choking on your lollipop as you shove past the mare. Actually, you do have a few minutes. You have exactly 6 minutes and 27 seconds left before you have to see to your last patient of the day. You know this because you’ve been counting this whole time. Because you can’t stop counting.
The mare starts to raise her voice in protest.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s real interesting. You’ll have to tell me all about it later,” you say, interrupting her. Before she can say another word, you cast a levitation spell that sweeps the janitor off her hooves and tosses her into the hall. Then you sit down on the toilet and command the door to slam shut and lock itself.
Angry, the janitor starts pounding the door, insisting you come out this instant. With a thought you cast a noise-canceling spell that makes the walls of the restroom soundproof.
After another round of deep breaths your heart rate slows. In a state of rest, your heart rate is exactly 64 beats per minute. That’s 10.667 beats every 10 seconds, which is precisely how long you sit on the toilet with your right hoof pressed to your chest.
It takes an enormous amount of willpower, but after counting your 19th heartbeat, you succeeded in resisting the impulse to look down at your watch. You don’t have time for that (a thought that unnerves you greatly), and right now you need to focus on relaxing. It’s been a long day, a longer week, and you are mentally and emotionally exhausted. You are sick of spending your days pretending to care about ponies who bore you and whom you have nothing in common with. It’s not that you don’t enjoy fooling them—manipulating them with kind words and a friendly face—but after a while your little one-stallion show grows tiresome. There are times during the day when you need to a moment alone to just be yourself. You need your ‘you time’.
You don’t think about the always rapidly dissolving hours of the day, the minutes and seconds washing away like so many flecks of soap under a stream of warm water. You don’t think about the number of licks it will take to finish your lollipop. You are not mentally measuring the length of the hallway, nor are you estimating the number of steps it will take the leggy Colgate leave her office—which is 5 doors away from the restroom (not that you're counting)—and walk to room 101, where she will be waiting for you.
You are also not remembering that the hinges on room 101’s door are rusty, and that it will take Colgate anywhere between .13 to .17 seconds longer to open this door then it will to open the door to her own office.
And it doesn’t once occur to you that your 6:00pm patient is known for his chronic tardiness, or that he will be traveling southbound along Lunar Blvd., which, given the time of day, is likely experiencing its biggest loll in traffic flow, granting you a few extra minutes.
There are dozens of factors at play, dozens of variables and possibilities to consider. But you are not considering them. Not looking down at your watch. Not counting.
Well…maybe you are counting. But only a little bit—and only for exactly 12.34 seconds.
You resist one more powerful urge to glance down at your watch. You have wasted enough time.
Feeling slightly less stressed now, you roll up your coat sleeves, lean back against the toilet tank, and splay your hind legs. You slouch and lean your head against the tank lid. All at once the true severity of your exhaustion hits you like a kick in the chest, and a huffy sigh passes between your lips. Then, almost annoyed, you slip both front hooves between your splayed legs and go to work massaging your testicles. The first ripples of sweet relief wash over you as your erection starts to rise.
You close your eyes and conjure a mental image of your new assistant, Colgate. In your fantasy, she is lying on her back in your dentist’s chair, her forelegs folded against her chest, her hind legs spraddled, her mouth open and inviting. She licks her lips seductively, then drags her tongue across the top row of her perfect pearly whites.
Colgate has exactly 39 teeth: 12 incisors, 13 premolars, and 14 molars. The 2 molars in back right corner of her mouth have filings because she doesn’t floss as often as she should (a fact that you find very unnerving). But those minor flaws only add to the overall appeal of a mouth as rare as Colgate’s. Before you met Colgate, you had never seen such calculated asymmetry. Such divine imperfection. 39 teeth. 12, then 13, then 14—the numbers stacking as if by some enigmatic design.
You know all of this about Colgate’s mouth because around this time 1 week ago, you gave her that second filling, and you counted her teeth, and you never forget anything once you've counted it.
Once again your thinking distracts you, making it difficult to become fully erect. This distraction, combined with your elevated stress levels, will likely impede your ability to achieve the desired erection for nearly another full minute.
While performing acts of self-stimulation during a state of calm rest, it usually takes you anywhere from 25 to 45 seconds to achieve erection. This period depends, of course, on your mental, emotional, and physical state at the moment of stimulation, as well as the nature and intensity of the fantasy you indulge while pleasuring yourself. You know all of this because you have—
You grunt in frustration and try to bring your thoughts under control. You tell yourself to stop counting. Stop calculating. Relax. This is your ‘you time’ and today it isn’t going to last. You have likely already been in the bathroom for longer than four minutes now, but that’s okay because your 6:00pm patient is sure to be tardy.
You still have time.
You modify the fantasy. Now Colgate’s forelegs are bound to the arms of the chair by heavy leather straps. Her hind legs are bound in the same manner, and for the final touch, you imagine a thick, black blindfold covering her eyes. You imagine her face twisting with fright. She calls for help, and you watch, fully erect now, as her mouth struggles to push out every desperate syllable.
Still massaging your testicles with one hoof, you begin stroking the length of your shaft with the other. You start with long even strokes to get yourself in the mood, trying hard not count them as the mentally conjured Colgate struggles against her bonds. She pants, pushing hot, terrified breaths from her mouth. Her warm, moist mouth. Open. Inviting.
Colgate lets out a yelp as you climb on top of her and sit on her stomach. Her horn glows. She tries to give you a telepathic shove, but you’re magic is much stronger than Colgate’s, and canceling her spell is child’s play.
You shove one of your front hooves into Colgate’s mouth, muffling her cries. “Sshhh. Hush now, darling. There’s no need for all that so soon.” You pat one of Colgate’s flushed cheeks with your free hoof. Then you caress her face, licking your lips as you trace the contour of her jaw line. “There, there. I know you’re scared. No need to cry so much now, darling. We’re only just getting started, and we still have plenty of time…”
“Doc, get your lazy ass out here! You’re already two minutes late for your last appointment!”
Colgate’s shout smashes your fantasy to pieces. While entertaining your fantasy, you failed to concentrate on your noise-cancelling spell, so the walls of the restroom are no longer soundproof. This falter in your concentration would normally unnerve you, but you are currently too distracted by your inability to breath.
2. Minutes. Late…
The thought is enormous as it pulses between your ears.
2…minutes…
Colgate shouts something else, but you can’t hear it over the sound of your pounding heart.
You glance at your watch. It is 6:03pm. You are now 3 minutes late…and it is all Colgate’s fault.
----------
Your 6:00pm patient was very understanding of your tardiness and the appointment went swimmingly. You were able to finish before closing, and even Colgate was impressed with your efficiency during the procedure.
The appointment ended exactly 25.19 minutes ago. Feeling better now, you use your magic to close the blinds in your office. You organize the paperwork on your desk into 3 stacks, each of them containing exactly 12 documents. Then you wash your hooves in the sink connected to your desk for 3 full minutes.
Once you've finished cleaning up, you wheel around in your rotating office chair and fix your eyes on Colgate. Her legs are bound to your dentist chair by heavy leather straps. She is blindfolded and mumbling emphatically into the strip of duct tape covering her mouth. Her forehead is bleeding profusely, and her severed horn is sitting on the metal tray where you keep your instruments.
You wheel over to Colgate and rise from your chair with a smile. This is not one of the dozens of expressions you practice in mirror daily. This is not a byproduct of one of your 43 fabricated character traits. This is your true face. This is who you really are.
Using your magic, you tear the strip of tape from Colgate’s mouth. She screams and begs for mercy as you glance down at your watch. It is 6:43pm. The building is empty, and all of the office personal have gone home for the night. The two of you are all alone.
You levitate a pair of pliers from the metal tray sitting on your desk.
Colgate screams louder as you climb on top of her and straddle her waist. Excited, you use the pliers to trace the curve of Colgate’s jaw.
“Sshhh. Hush now, darling. There’s no need for all that so soon,” you say, patting one of Colgate’s flushed cheeks. “We’re only just getting started."
The pliers slip into her mouth and seize one of her front teeth.
She squirms. Whimpers. Begs.
Before you continue, you glance down at your watch one last time. Only a single minute has gone by since you last checked. It is now exactly 6:44pm.
Excellent. It is still early. You have all the time in the world…
-----------
What I really like about this narrative style is how it reads sort of like a textbook in order to match Pearly's OCD, hyper-analytical mind state. The one thing I'm not sure I like is the use of numbers--i.e. 1, 2, 3, instead the words One, Two, Three. I did it that way on purpose to draw attention to Pearly's obsession with counting, but in hindsight, I'm not sure how I feel about.
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