//------------------------------// // Part 4 // Story: The Pact // by Crowley //------------------------------// You remain there for the longest time. You and the epiphany-stricken beast. Two great, black, feathery sheets cautiously wrap around you; her wings making an attempt to embrace you in return. She slowly sits herself among the dark-blue shrouds of mist, her head sunk onto your shoulders. Perhaps if she just let herself and her emotions go, she would feel better. You’d tell her that, if you weren’t certain that monsters don’t cry. But what other means of release would she have? “Say, my host,” she whispers in your ear. You had almost forgotten where you both were at this present time; your head still felt heavy and blurry from the thought of it all. “Is your… condition… still on?” Condition? What cond- Oh! Right… “My body in exchange for yours?” you loosen your hug, and glance over her sleek, silky coat. Her wispy, weaving mane. Her cat-like, crystalline eyes. Your libido curses your common sense over the bliss you would be missing out on, however it was as clear as day to you. The pleasurable experience would only happen to you once. And then she would own you forever. It simply wasn’t worth it. “No.” you state simply. Conclusively and regretfully breaking your hug. “Too bad, you have no choice.” “What?” Before you could even comprehend what she said, two fast, black hooves thud against your shoulders, knocking you off your hind legs. A second later, you’re lying face-up among the dark miasma that broke your fall. Nightmare Moon’s forelegs pinning you down. Nightmare Moon’s body standing over you. “You know, my dear host, receiving the first sign of compassion - from among the lowliest of mortals, no less - in a thousand years… it’s given me quite the idea.” Your efforts to wriggle free from under her hooves prove to be in vain; her wicked strength well within reason, being who she is. She lowers her outsized, alluring body over yours, making sure you have nowhere to escape to. Her glowing, blue eyes inches away from yours, her sweet-scented breath choking your common sense. “Your offer stated that if I… gave myself to you,” she continues, “you’d allow us to become one. At first I was offended at the idea, but since you‘re such a strapping colt, one who cares just that much about a fiend like myself, I can think of nopony better.” At your wit’s end, you can think of nothing else but pleading, closing your eyes tightly before you’re sent into a trance by her own. “D-don’t do this to me! Please! I- I don’t want this! I-” -oh gods, I can feel her lips brushing on my face- “I don’t… want…” -Why are they so warm? Her lips, her breath- “Don’t want… you…” The sweet, hot taste that Nightmare Moon’s lips bring, pressing against yours. To you, that is the finishing blow. You can’t resist this. For all you know, this could well have been played from the start. For all you care, it probably was. You can’t quite put your hoof on whatever sweet essence she tastes like. Perhaps it’s a flavour from a long-forgotten time. Or maybe, since this is all occurring in your head, it’s the closest taste you could perceive as perfection. You don’t want it to end, either way. You know she will own your body forever when it does. Oh well. You had a good run. Might as well make the most of things. Who else can say they’ve been romantically entangled with Nightmare Moon? Her deadly, saccharine kiss breaks only when you give up your useless twitching in protest. When you forfeit yourself. She pulls herself back slightly, eyeing her prey from under her. Proud of her catch; you and your hunger for more of her. Spellbound by her taste, an addiction if nothing else, you lift yourself up, wrapping your hooves around her, and through her misty mane, in an attempt to pull yourself closer. To pull her back to you. One entranced kiss from you after another, she lowers herself over you with the grace only a princess would imitate. With the dominance only a ruler would demand. Her chest can be felt rising and falling against yours as you try to bury yourself deeper within her mouth. After as much frantic licking, kissing, teasing of her closed lips as you could bear, she finally gives away with a sigh and a chortle. Or was it the beginning of a malicious cackle? You’d never know nor care; it was your invasive tongue that cut her off. You feel your heart beat harder, faster as she plays to your every whim, each steady breath from her lungs growing deeper, more rapid, and the low hum of her moaning could be heard escaping her from time to time as your tongues danced in ways you never knew they could. By this point, you’re far more than willing to fulfil your side of the bargain. More than ready for Nightmare to fulfil hers. Working your way down her long, slim, silky body - more of it to hold and adore - you press your body against her own, pleading for her to give you permission to go that special step further. With a yearning sigh, she allows it. Your last thought before the cry of lust finally overwhelms your mind? It was all worth it.