Rainbow Dash slowly walked around the bedroom, carrying a burning taper in her magical grasp. It was scented, like incense, and left a tenuous, winding thread of smoke behind it as she moved from candle to candle, lighting them each in turn. They were small candles, more to set the mood than provide illumination, but as she completed her circuit of the chamber they banished the shadows, filling the room with a dim, warm, flickering light, the kind she had always associated with romantic dinners and hearthside rendezvous with lovers. She smiled at that last thought and imagined herself stretched out on a rug, basking in the warmth of a fire, every inch of her body laid out and exposed for her stallion, first to gaze upon, and then to kiss, and then to bite, and finally to take in every way a stallion could.
She shivered a little. It had been nearly a week since she had last seen Looking Glass, and she was impatient. Randy.
Hungry.
She blew out the taper and watched the smoke rise from the ember it left behind. For a moment she could see her breath in the air, as it stirred eddies in the haze, but then a stray draft snatched it all away and left her alone with the guttering candles and huge, opulent bed. There were far too many pillows on it, like somepony had decided to start a collection rather than use the bed for sleep. Not that she cared – pillows were fun to toss or swing at other ponies, and she didn't plan on using the bed for much sleep anyway.
She had other plans in mind for it. The thought led to a wicked grin.
A click from the hallway broke the stillness, and she heard a distant door open behind her. Hoofsteps drew closer to the bedroom, and somepony – a stallion, she could tell by the musky scent – walked through the curtained threshold to join her. He brought flowers, she could smell those too, and a bottle of wine that he set on the table with a quiet thunk of glass on wood. She wet her lips with her tongue, and it took all her willpower not to turn around. It was better this way, to wait, to make him come to her. She was the object of desire here.
All was still. Only the beat of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears filled the silence. She let the tension draw out – she was patient, she could wait forever if she had to, no matter how bad the itch in her belly or the nervous energy in her tail that begged, even now, to flick itself up and aside and expose her desperate desire to the—
Looking Glass broke first, as she knew he would. Three quick steps and he was beside her, his forelegs wrapping around her neck to draw her into a rough, furious kiss. She gasped in surprise and tried to draw away, but that reflex lasted only a moment, and then she was pushing back against him, her greedy lips opening, her tongue darting out to wrestle with his and try and force its way inside him. He grunted and pushed until she bumped against the wall hard enough to rattle the furniture and knock the alarm clock from the bedside table. His hoof tangled in her mane, the way she liked, and she whimpered at the sensation, half in pain, half with joy.
Dash broke the kiss and leaned back to regard him. Her breath came in gasps, and it was all she could do to hold his face away long enough to speak. “My, someone's eager tonight.”
“Shh, shh. Please,” he said. He pushed back in, and for a minute neither spoke as the rough, combative kiss resumed. His tongue slowly overpowered hers, and she invited it into her mouth, sucking on it, tasting it. His entire body shuddered, and when they parted, it was he who pulled away.
“I need you. I need you right now.” Looking Glass reared up, pinning her against the wall, and his desperate arousal became clear. His cock, hard as she had ever seen a stallion, pressed against her chest, and she felt it shake with every beat of his heart.
“All day. Dash,” he whispered. “All day I've been thinking about you. Every mare I saw or smelled reminded me of you. Every time they brushed against me... Oh, Dash, never be a rich pony. I swear, these mares think they can just turn around and let me get a glimpse beneath their tails and I'll do anything for them. Money, Dash. Money makes ponies into whores.”
“You poor thing,” Dash crooned. “Young mares shaking their flanks at you all day long? How terrible for you.” She ran a hoof up the length of his shaft and gave the head a gentle squeeze. He shivered again, and she heard a faint choking sound from his throat. “But you saved yourself for me? I think that deserves a reward.”
“Oh, Celestia, please Dash, please please—" He stopped when her lips found his again, and for a brief moment they shared a slow, tender kiss, one of equals. Gentle tongues, touching, greeting, and finally parting.
It's amazing how he could change, she heard Rarity's voice in her mind. Such a calm, collected, noble stallion, but get him in the bedroom, and...
“These mares, what did you want to do to them?” she whispered, letting her hot breath blow in his mane. Her tongue darted out to lick his cheek, long and slow and wet, and she found his ear with her lips. It danced away, but she trapped it with her teeth and bit hard enough to draw a pained whine from his chest.
“You know what I wanted.” He twisted his head and managed to escape from her bite, and then pushed his head against her barrel. Trying to turn her away, she realized. To position her.
She resisted. The tease would only make the rest of their night better, she knew. “Tell me anyway.”
“I wanted to fuck them,” he panted, hot and vicious. “I didn't care who saw, I wanted to mount them and bite them and fuck every one of them, but I didn't. Because of you, Dash.”
“Do I mean that much to you?”
“You mean everything. Please, please, please—"
She pushed him away. He dropped onto all fours, his whole body trembling, and even after she turned away she could feel his gaze following her as she stepped over to the bed. A flash of her horn swept away the silly pillows, and she set her forelegs on the mattress, leaning over it, her rear legs parted, her tail swept up over her back. It was a lewd enough pose, even in the heat of their coupling, to still bring a blush to her cheeks, and she looked over her shoulder at him. “Take me, Looking Glass.”
It was a silly line, but it had the desired effect. A spasm worked its way through his barrel, and suddenly he leapt toward her, mounting her with a single motion. His cock slapped against her belly, leaving a smear of fluid, and she couldn't help but giggle as he whined and pawed at her shoulders, far too excited, too desperate, to manage the simple task of penetrating her. She shifted her hips and reached back with a bit of magic, just a little touch to line things up, and then—
He tried to be gentle, but she knew better than to expect miracles from stallions when they were so worked up they couldn't even find her marehood on their own. He thrust and half his length was buried inside her, drawing a sharp gasp from her throat. Looking Glass wasn't a large stallion, but he was large enough that the sudden invasion stretched her to the point of pain, even as wet as she was. Her entire body tightened, and she felt him pause.
“Sorry, are you—"
“I'm fine,” she interrupted, and she was. The discomfort passed as her loins recovered from the sudden shock of his entry, and she relaxed around him. She waggled her hips just a bit, pressing back against him, and it was all the impetus he needed.
He pushed forward again, slow this time, sinking inch by inch until he was fully hilted, his thighs mashed up against her rear, her tail crushed beneath his hips. They froze like that, unmoving except for the heaving of their chests and the involuntary twitch of his cock inside her.
This, this was her favorite part. The first moments after penetration, before the undignified humping and mess that always followed. Not that those weren't enjoyable in their own right, but it was this moment, when she held him captive in her body, a slave to her charms, that she felt most like a mare. Many stallions thought they were the dominant partner during sex, she knew, but that was just foolishness; for all that she was beneath Looking Glass, the act belonged to her.
He couldn't hold still for long. His forelegs tightened against her shoulders, and he drew back for another thrust that shook her whole body. His teeth bit down on her mane, pulling her head back, and she let out an involuntary gasp. Another thrust, and another, each less controlled, each harder than the one before.
This couldn't last long, she knew. He was too worked up, too excited by thought of her throughout the week, and of course by the taste and feel of her body now. It was because of her that he desperately worked his hips, uneven, out of control. His legs shook, and he thrust one final time, harder than ever before, seeking out every wet inch of her depths before exploding.
And burst he did. She couldn't feel the results of his orgasm, per se, but the shuddering of his pelvis and the loud groan from his throat left little to the imagination. He held her down for a long moment, still pushing into her, his hips twitching every few seconds, and then he tumbled to the side, his cock sliding out with a wet squelch and a flow of semen down her thigh that, once upon a time, would have left a younger Rainbow Dash blushing and mortified.
Now, of course, she grinned. It was merely the physical product of their love, and even though she was far from an orgasm herself, the warm sensation of his seed dripping from her was more than enough satisfaction to start the night with.
His wobbling legs kept him upright for a moment, leaning against the bed, but they soon gave out and he tumbled to the floor. He panted on his back, his eyes closed, like he had just finished a marathon.
She lay down next to him, her legs tucked daintily beneath her. “Now then, feeling better?” she whispered in his ear.
He didn't answer right away. He licked his lips, and his jaw trembled with the effort of speech. “Better, yes. Also, I think my heart might explode.”
She tittered. “Well, tell it to wait. I'm not done with you yet.”
“You're a cruel pony, Rainbow Dash.”
“Mm, that's a lie.” She leaned down to draw her tongue up his long, corded neck, across the corner of his jaw, all the way to his ear. She tasted the salty sweat in his coat, and blew a slow, hot breath against his forehead and horn. “I'm actually very generous.”
“Generous? Ha!” He attempt to emphasize the laugh fell short of breath, and he turned his head to cough. “How many stallions have you killed this way?”
“None. Yet.” She pushed his legs aside and kissed his chest, enjoying the flex of the muscles beneath his coat. It wouldn't take him long to recover, she knew, and when he did their next round of play would last much, much longer. She kissed his ribs, and then his belly, and lower and lower until her lips brushed his flaccid cock. It was still smeared with their commingled fluids, and tasted bitter and salty and sour, but she gave it a long lick anyway. What the taste represented meant far more to her than the taste itself, and she let out a quiet moan.
“We're both lucky, then. All those stallions are still alive, and you haven't gone to jail yet. Can you—ah! Ah, careful, careful with that... Can you, can you imagine how embarrassing the trial would be?” The words were nearly unintelligible by the end, mixed with the groan pouring from his lungs.
“Mm.” Dash would have said more, but she was otherwise occupied. She had discovered, some weeks before, that she could fit one of Looking Glass's testicles in her mouth. The effort seemed to produce equal amounts pleasure and panic in him, but she was careful not to press too hard with her tongue, or heaven forbid use her teeth.
Well, sometimes she used her teeth. She was fairly sure he enjoyed it.
She switched to his other testicle and suckled on it carefully, rolling it around her mouth with her tongue. After only a few moments of this treatment, she felt his cock stiffen against her muzzle, and soon enough it stood firm above his abdomen.
She pulled away, then crawled back up over his body until they lay belly to belly, his cock trapped between them. They shared another kiss, longer this time, and much slower. Just like the rest of their lovemaking would be.
“Ready?” she whispered. His head twitched, nodding, and they resumed.
Hours later, the candles were all dying or dead, and Rainbow Dash lay exhausted in the bed. Beside her, Looking Glass moaned something out of breath and slumped onto the pillows. She stared up at the plaster ceiling, its details lost as the last of the candles succumbed to shadow.
As far as rooms went, it was nice. As far as hotels went, it was superb. They always had the best accommodations that Fillydelphia could offer, and she didn't mind sleeping with him away from the Boutique. Her place was small, miserly, nothing suitable for a pony of his wealth and social status. So, during his weekly visits, it was the hotel whose wine they drank and room service they ate and sheets they defiled. She appreciated not having to do the extra load of laundry.
But a hotel was not a home. She turned that thought over in her mind, almost daring herself to speak it out loud, and then banished the notion with a huff of breath. Looking Glass stirred next to her, mumbled something, and then wrapped his legs around her in a soft embrace.
This memory. I was happy, here. Rarity's imagined voice was clear in the silence. Happy and fulfilled. This was the pinnacle, Dash. The last night before the fall began.
But that was in Rarity's future; for Dash, this was good enough. She nestled up against Looking Glass, so her back pressed into his muscled chest, and let the slow metronome of his breath lull her to sleep.
* * *
“You seem very happy lately.”
Cinnabar's words did not match her tone. They should have been said with satisfaction, or pleasure, or perhaps (and still acceptably) jealousy. They should have put a smile on Rainbow Dash's face.
They didn't. She paused in the act of taking a bite from her garden salad, the petals of a daisy still stuck to her lips. She recovered in an instant and lapped them up with her tongue, floating a napkin to her mouth to cover the indecorous action and incidentally giving her a few seconds to mull over Cinnabar's tone.
It was worried.
“Oh, I suppose things have been going well at the Boutique. The spring lineup is coming along nicely, and the new mannequins should be going out on display next week. That always brings in new traffic.” She took a sip from her water. “Do I seem... happier, to you?”
Cinnabar's head tilted to the side, as though she were looking for eavesdroppers. Granted, such a thing wouldn't be hard in the chic little cafe they found themselves in for lunch; the tables were barely more than a pony-length apart, and she could hear and smell and practically feel the crowded seats all around them. Their conversations were a low buzz in her ears, and she found herself glancing around as well, a sudden thrill of paranoia running up her spine.
“You do...” Cinnabar eventually continued. “Ever since that party the other month.”
“Yes, well.” Another sip. “I imagine I'm just getting used to Fillydelphia.”
“Mhm.” Cinnabar used a hoof to adjust her sunglasses, peering over the darkened lenses at Dash. “You were going through that breakup with your coltfriend, if I recall.”
“I wasn't going through anything,” Dash said. She paused and mentally reined in her sharp tone. “It was already over and done with. I've moved on.”
“Yes.” Cinnabar turned again, and couldn't quite meet Dash's gaze. “I've heard about you and Looking Glass. You two aren't being as careful as you think.”
Dash bristled. Literally – she felt the hairs of her coat stand on end, and when she spoke it was with a sharp heat. “And? I believe I'm entitled to my choice in personal relationships.”
“Yes, but—"
Dash tossed her napkin down. “But what? Do you think our stations are too far apart? That I'm, what, a lowly shopkeeper, and him a highborn socialite?”
“Dash, that's not what—"
“Why, I am friends with Princess Celestia herself!” Dash knew she was making a scene, but she didn't care. The buzz of the rest of the cafe dimmed as the other customers tilted their ears toward them. “I'm a successful tailor and businessmare!”
“That's not what I meant to say,” Cinnabar hissed, ducking her head. “Of course you deserve somepony special, somepony just as wonderful as you are. But Looking Glass—"
“But what?” Dash leaned forward over the table. “Why shouldn't I deserve a pony as kind and passionate and, yes, as wealthy as him?”
“Oh, for the love of...” Cinnabar pressed her hooves against her temples. “Because he's married, you fool.”
Silence. The rest of the cafe, the noise from the kitchen, even the sound of Dash's heart in her chest all seemed to vanished as Cinnabar's words landed like arrows in her soul.
“He... what?”
“He's married, Dash. His wife is Terrazzo, a lovely pegasus mare I've met several times in Manehattan. She's a little high-strung, but they've been married for, I don't know, years at least.”
“But... that's impossible.” Dash sat back in her seat. She stared down at the remains of her salad. “He would have told me if he were married.”
Cinnabar didn't bother to answer. She just gave Dash a look filled with pity and a small amount of exasperation. “Look, Dash, I'm sorry. I've been trying to work up the guts to tell you for weeks now, but—"
“No, no.” Dash sat up straighter. She took a deep breath, and then another. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I will... I will speak with him tonight, and we will... ah... conclude things.”
Cinnabar gave her a long look before speaking. “Are you sure, Dash? Maybe you shouldn't see him yet, or ever, for that matter. In fact, why don't you come over tonight? We can have a sleepover, just the two of us, like fillies.”
Dash took a deep breath and tried to hold it, but the shaking in her chest was impossible to contain. She shuddered as she exhaled, and barely kept herself from gasping for more air. Her eyes burned, and she squeezed them shut.
This? I didn't realize it at the time, but this was my chance. Rarity's voice somehow broke through the cacophony in Dash's mind, as even and emotionless as a frozen pond on a winter night. For all that it hurt, this could have been my nadir, my lowest and darkest point, Dash. I could have started the long climb back up, and this would be nothing more than a foolish story, a misadventure to regale you girls with years from now, when such tales will have lost their humiliating edge, and only remind us of how careless our youth was. Oh Dash, I would give my left eye to travel back to this moment, and set myself on a better path.
In, hold, release. Dash spent a few moments focused only on her breathing, neverminding the hot tears that leaked down her muzzle. She pawed at them with her hoof, and Cinnabar, bless her heart, pretended not to notice.
And then she was done. The fit of weakness passed, and all that remained was the mare who had pulled herself up from nothing, claimed an Element of Harmony, saved the kingdom, and made herself into Fillydelphia's hottest new thing.
Dash took a sip from her water. The glass barely shook in her grasp. “I appreciate the offer, Cinnabar, and I understand what you're doing. I assure you, though, I am fine. I just need to talk with Looking Glass, and then I will be much better.”
“Are you sure that's wise?”
“No.” Sip. “But it's going to happen.”
* * *
Rainbow Dash was waiting for Looking Glass when he arrived at their hotel room. It was the same room as last week, the penthouse suite, and she knew from browsing the catalogue in the lobby that it cost no less than five-hundred bits per night. She rarely made so much money in a single day – sometimes, if business was slow, in an entire week.
In the few months they had dated—no, not dated, she corrected herself. Nothing so innocent. Dating was for ponies with romance on their minds. All Looking Glass had ever been after was her tail, and like a foolish country filly she had given it away without thinking, too blinded by the allure of a high-society stallion. Never realizing that she was being used, a convenient receptacle in which to dispose of his urges.
Her jaw hurt. The pain was enough to break the vicious thoughts flowing through Dash's mind, thoughts about Looking Glass and what he deserved, and for her to realize her teeth were on the verge of cracking, so hard was she grinding them together. She closed her eyes, let out a series of long breaths, and counselled herself to patience. To wait.
In time, the door opened, and Looking Glass entered. He brought flowers and wine again, she saw. Just another item on the night's bill for him.
And her the cheapest one of all.
“Hello, darling. Is everything alright? You look—"
She didn't let him finish. Her horn flashed, and a wicked set of fabric shears sped across the space between them, missing his cheek by a hair and embedding itself, blade-first, several inches into the solid wood-paneled wall.
To his credit, he didn't scream or faint. He did drop the flowers and wine, though, and stare at her, his mouth hanging open in shock.
That was fine. It was her turn to speak anyway. “Hello, darling,” she spat the word. “How long did you think you could keep it secret from me?”
Silence. His eyes darted around the room before finally settling on her. “Keep what a secr—"
“No!” she shrieked. “Don't play the fool. I know all about Terrazzo.” That was a lie, actually; she knew no more than what Cinnabar had told her, but there was no reason for Looking Glass to know that. She snorted and stepped closer, backing him into the wall.
“Right, Terrazzo.” He licked his lips and looked anywhere but at her. “Why don't we both have a seat and calm down, and we can talk—"
“Calm down? I suppose we could do that.” She yanked the shears out of the wall, sending a spray of splinters raining onto the carpet. “Or, I could turn your balls into a pair of tasteful broaches. One for me, and one for your wife. Do you think she'd like that?”
“Okay, you're angry. I understand that, and you're absolutely right to be.”
Dash paused, but kept the shears floating beside her. “Go on.”
As if that were a hidden signal, Looking Glass slumped, a look of relief on his face as he sank to his haunches. “You're right that I haven't been honest with you, Dash. Can I try to explain why?”
“Is it because you're an ass who enjoys having a mistress to... to fuck when he's out of town? Because that's what I'm thinking!”
“No, Dash, you're not a mistress. Please, whatever you think of me, don't think so poorly of yourself.” He leaned forward, his eyes wide and his face open, as if to beseech her. “Dash, you told me once you were familiar with nobility and high society. You've spent time in the upper echelons of Canterlot, haven't you?”
His tone set off alarms in Dash's mind. She leaned away from him. “Yes, of course. I've told you, the princesses and my friends have something of a history together.”
“Then you know how marriages work with them.”
No, she didn't. They worked just like every other marriage, she'd assumed. The tight expression on her face was all the answer he needed.
“No? Listen, Dash, it's not a... well, it's not like in the story books. Marriages are about business. They connect families together. Wealthy families. Old families. Families like the Glasses. Terrazzo's mother owns half the weather factories in Cloudsdale. Out marriage wasn't about love – it was a merger. I didn't even meet Terrazzo until a week before we were wed.”
It was nearly a minute before Dash could respond. Even assuming it was true, it was too much to absorb, too soon. “What... why did you keep it a secret, then?”
He took a step closer. “What would you have done, if I'd introduced myself to you as a married stallion, back at Cinnabar's party? What would you have thought?”
“I'd have thought you were a lecher, which, as we now know, was the truth!” Dash stepped to the side, keeping her distance from him. “How many other mares have there been?”
He stopped. “None, Dash. Even for a loveless marriage like mine, it takes a lot of courage to approach another mare. I'm not a brave pony.”
She opened her mouth, the reflex to defend him from his own self-belittling nearly overwhelming her. With some effort she forced the words back and stared at him, seething. Seething and, for the first time since her conversation with Cinnabar, struck by a tiny niggle of doubt.
She let the doubt speak. “Why did you approach me, then?”
“Why?” He barked out a humorless laugh. “Dash, because you were the most beautiful mare in the room. The most beautiful I'd seen in months. You weren't like the other mares in there – you weren't born rich, you didn't have everything hoofed over to you on a plate. You were climbed up from nothing, saved Equestria more times than I have hooves, built the the most impressive new fashion business this city has seen in decades, and you've done it all without losing sight of who you really are. Dash... Dash, I can't even list all the things that make you special. Of course I approached you. Any stallion who knew who you were would.”
Dash couldn't help the blush that accompanied his litany of her accomplishments. She knew she wasn't what her friends would call a humble pony, but neither did she wear her honors on her sleeve. Hearing them listed like that... it was nice.
But still. This stallion had lied to her, had lied to rut her, and now he was begging to keep her. She had more pride than that.
“Looking Glass,” she said. “I won't pretend I can condone what you did. Regardless of whether you and Terrazzo consider your marriage 'real,' it is real to the rest of the world. For you to do what you did, to befriend and then bed me under false pretenses... well, I am sorry, Looking Glass, but I cannot tolerate that.”
He stared at her in silence while she spoke. When she was done, he took his time before answering. “Rainbow, again, I understand how you feel. How betrayed you must feel, and if I have hurt you, I apologize sincerely for it. If this is over, well, I understand. I just want you to know that I never considered you a mistress. You're a mare in your own right, and you deserve a stallion as special as you are.”
She nodded and slipped the shears back in her saddlebags. “Very well. Thank you for that... sentiment, let's call it. I hope the next time I see you, Looking Glass, it will be under better circumstances.”
His mouth twitched, and for a moment she thought he might try to make some other play for her. But then his ears sagged, and he gave her a desolate nod. “Alright. But if you ever need anything, remember, my door is always open.”
Silence. Dash wondered if there was something more to say, perhaps, but by the time she thought of a rejoinder, he had already left, and she was alone in the expensive penthouse suite.
It was six months before she saw him again.
* * *
There weren't many ponies left in the bleachers. Down the rows, janitors pushed large brooms to sweep up popcorn, abandoned drinks, fliers, posters, giant foam hooves, and all the other detritus of a carnival affair. Only a few ponies remained, mostly families with children, the foals already asleep on their parents' backs, exhausted from a day of screaming and cheering and stuffing their faces with the oily carnival food that, for some reason, tasted as wonderful as anything Rainbow Dash had ever eaten, and minutes after devouring made her sick at the thought of taking even another bite.
It was a weird feeling. Fortunately, it passed by the time of the next airshow, and she was free to make the same mistake again. She did so love her snacks of fried batter drizzled with sugar and cinnamon and cream and caramel and toasted apples and powdered sugar, even if they made her too sick to fly.
Up at the top of the stands, in the nosebleed section, even fewer ponies had bothered to stick around. In fact, it seemed to just be her and Rarity. Dash ignored her friend for the time being, choosing instead to stand upon the highest row of seats, her forelegs draped over the back of the bleachers, and stare at the ponies trotting by far below. They were nearly fifty feet off the ground – not high for a pegasus, but high enough that the ponies turned into a sea of colorful manes and backs and tails, flowing with purpose toward the exit gates.
Rarity took a seat next to Dash. She tried peeking over the back of the stands, to follow Dash's gaze, but a single glance at the dizzying fall behind them was enough to turn her around to face in safer directions. She shook her head to clear it, and then she spoke.
“Hello, darling. Good show?”
“Yeah,” Dash said. “I mean, the show itself was good. We finally got through the Wonder Bolt Whiplash maneuver without screwing something up, so Spitfire and Soarin' are pretty happy. Trust me, you don't want to be around them after a show if somepony messes up a performance, especially if you're the one who messed up.”
“Well, congratulations on a good show, then?” Rarity leaned a bit closer. “What are you looking for?”
“Somewhere down there, Cloud Fire is meeting a mare he's been exchanging letters with for several months. He didn't tell me this, obviously, because he's a gigantic asshole who thinks that just because we agreed to see other ponies means he's allowed to hook up with random mares after shows!” Dash smashed her hoof onto the metal railing, producing a clang that echoed down the length of the bleachers and back, and resumed her angry stare at the ponies below.
Rarity was silent for some time. “Yes, I recall you and he had a bit of a falling out.”
“We didn't have a falling out. We just agreed to take a break, and suddenly he decided that gives him permission to go snorting under other mare's tails. Well, fuck him, Rares. I hope he's happy with her.”
“You, ah.” Rarity cleared her throat. “You don't sound very happy.”
“I am. I hope he's so happy, he...” Dash tried to think of something terrible caused by happiness, failed, and ended with a frustrated grunt. “I don't know! Bastard. Fuck him, Rares. Fuck all stallions.”
“You did say you both agreed to see other ponies...” Rarity sidled up to her, and gave her a gentle nudge with her hoof. “It sounds like you weren't as ready to take a break as you thought.”
“Whatever. Maybe I wasn't.” Dash blew out an angry huff. “I should be thrilled, you know. If this hadn't happened, Soarin and I never would've hooked up, and I'd never have enjoyed the best two years of my life with him.”
“Are you still mad at him, then?”
“Yes. No. Not really, I guess. He... he helped a lot, after the accident. Maybe he felt guilty.” Dash leaned against the railing, watching the crowd below as it thinned away. “But sometimes I have dreams about this day, where instead of just watching him and Aurora kiss, I fly down there and confront them, and beat him up or her up or they beat me up or the stands collapse on us and I heroically rescue them both and Cloud Fire realizes he was wrong to leave me and begs to take me back but of course I don't, and maybe I make out with Aurora in front of him just to rub salt in his wounds, and after that I usually stop dreaming or just wake up. Is that weird?”
“Yes, darling. But I think it's normal.”
“Heh, well, that's a relief.” Dash turned away and sat down, her side pressed against Rarity's. “Hey, aren't we supposed to be in your dreams instead—”
* * *
“I think that's the last of them, Miss Dash,” Thimble said. Her apprentice set the paper invoice atop the others, and then picked up the stack and tapped its edges against the table, bringing them all in line, like sheaves in a book. Satisfied, she set the pile down and looked across the table at Dash.
Dash didn't meet her eyes. Her gaze was fixed on the invoices, the worryingly, sickeningly thick stack of invoices, each of which represented a pony or a business or a bank to whom she owed a significant amount of bits. Far more than she had on hand, or realistically expected to earn in the next several months. More, perhaps, than the net value of everything in her Boutique.
More than she had any chance of paying before they became due. She swallowed silently.
“Are we... are we going to be alright?” Thimble's voice was just above a whisper. She gnawed at her lip, and Dash glanced up to see her ears hanging limp against her mane.
“Now, Thimble, we knew we were taking a risk with the summer line. Believe me, even the best designers have ideas that don't pan out. It's part of the industry, and it's how we become better.” It sounded so good when she said it like that – like it was some lesson in friendship learned with her friends, and not a career-ending disaster. She kept her face calm and her voice neutral for her apprentice's sake.
“Yes, but... Miss Dash, I know the books. Even if the winter line is a hit, we won't see those bits before these debts come due. The...” She paused and took a series of short, shallow breaths. “The sundresses were my design. I'm the reason we're here, not you or Weave. If the Boutique... if the Boutique survives, I understand if you don't wish to retain me.”
“Thimble!” Dash barked. “Look at me. The sundresses were your design, yes, but this is my business, and I am responsible for every decision we make. I believed, and I still believe, that your designs were superb and your craftsmanship unmatched. If the rest of Fillydelphia disagrees, well, we just need to work harder to convince them otherwise.”
Thimble winced at the rebuke, and her expression slowly crumbled throughout Dash's little speech, until at the end she could no longer look across the table. She wiped her eyes with her pastern. “But, what about the bills?”
“I will worry about the bills. I have resources, Thimble. One does not save the world several times over without earning a few favors.” She laughed, though there was little humor in it. “Sometimes I think you two forget what I did before I came to Fillydelphia.”
“Oh, no Miss Dash. We—”
“It's alright, Thimble.” Dash turned to the window. Outside, the skies were low and grey, and she could faintly see the flitting shapes of pegasi pushing more clouds into place. The first ill weather of fall would be hitting soon, and that would drive more ponies to her shop. This was survivable. “Why don't you go help Weave with the displays? I think we'll be getting some more customers soon.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Thimble stood from the table and paused, as though there were something left to say. After a moment, she bobbed her head nervously and trotted out the door.
Dash pulled the door shut with her magic and locked it. Alone, now, she let her eyes turn back to the stack of bills on the table, and the hollow pit in her gut seemed to well up with despair.
I had no way to pay those bills, Rarity's voice sounded in Dash's mind. None at all. Every drop of my reserves I had poured into opening that Boutique, and everything was going perfectly until that damned disastrous summer line. This should have been the end, Dash. This should have been the first day I began crawling back to Ponyville to start all over again. Oh, Celestia, Dash. I wish it had.
Dash stared at the bills in silence, her mind methodically churning over everything she could sell, everything she could cut, every favor she could call in. Even in the best case, if she fired Thimble and Weave and sold everything that wasn't nailed down and begged Twilight or Applejack for a loan, she would barely last out the month.
And that was simply impossible. Turn out her apprentices, so soon in their careers? It would be a black mark that followed them for years. No, she needed some way to keep them, to keep the shop, to keep up appearances, and last until her own designs could float them again. Six months would be enough – if she could just survive that long.
And so, thinking of her apprentices, she picked up a blank sheet of parchment and a quill, and she began to write.
* * *
The Fillydelphia High Step Hotel penthouse suite was just as expensive as Dash remembered. So expensive, in fact, that purchasing a single night consumed nearly all her remaining bits. She wouldn't even have enough for a cab ride home the next morning.
Or perhaps she would. That depended on how the next few hours went. She let out a quiet breath and gave her reflection a final, critical once-over in the full-length mirror beside the wardrobe.
Mane, perfect as always. Not an indigo strand out of place. Her coat was brushed to a gleaming luster, so much that it looked more silver than white. Her tail was coiled and springy and just jaunty enough to advertise her wares without coming across as unseemly. Only her eyes bothered her – if one looked close enough, as she certainly did, they were still red-rimmed and puffy with stress.
Well, it was too late to do anything about that. She turned deliberately away from the mirror and trotted out to the suite's main room, where a bottle of wine chilled in a bucket of ice beside two long-necked glasses. The wine had been another hoof-ful of bits she couldn't afford, but again, appearances were her primary concern tonight.
There was a knock from the door. She gave the room another quick glance, to make sure nothing was on fire, and then trotted to the entrance. Before her guest could knock again, she put a demure smile on her face and pulled the door open.
“Good evening, Mister Glass,” she said. “Thank you for answering my letter so quickly.”
“Of course, Miss Dash,” Looking Glass answered. He followed her into the suite and gave it an appreciative glance. His gaze lingered on the bottle of wine, but only for a moment, and then his attention was back on her. “I'm just glad I was already planning a visit to Fillydelphia. Otherwise it might have been weeks before we could meet.”
“Please, we've been through so much, just call me Rainbow.” Dash settled onto the couch, pulling her legs up underneath her. “Wine?”
“Thank you, I would love some. And I insist you dispose with the 'Mister Glass' as well. We are old friends, are we not?” The question was rhetorical, but at the same time it wasn't. Dash noticed him lean forward at the end, and his attention was keenly focused on her reply.
“Of course we are, Looking Glass.” She smiled at him, and he relaxed his stance. “Please, have a seat while I pour.”
He practically hopped up onto the couch, though he kept a careful distance between them. Not close enough to accidentally touch, to brush their shoulders against each other without meaning. At hoof's length; a safe degree of separation.
“So, how have you been?” she asked, passing him a glass and pouring herself one as well. They tapped them together in a casual toast, and each took a sip.
“Busy, as usual. It seems like every year there's some new city I have to add to my list of business opportunities.” He took another sip of wine, swirling it around the glass. “Still, it keeps the roof over my head, so I can't complain.”
“Mhm.” Dash took another drink herself while subtly appraising him. He hadn't changed much in the half-a-year they'd been apart; still neat and well-groomed, with tired circles beneath his eyes that hinted at a pony with too many responsibilities. He wore the same neat cravat and hummingbird pin he'd worn at their first meeting, nearly a year ago now, at Cinnabar's home. “And how are things with Terrazzo?”
Looking Glass froze, and for an instant a speculative look flashed across his face before being quickly subsumed in an expression of studied neutrality.
“Oh, we're fine, I suppose,” he said. “Cordial, of course, as I think I explained before. We perform our duties as husband and wife, and do not interfere with each others'... hm, pastimes, let us say.”
“Mm.” Dash took a deep swallow from her wine, barely tasting it, and wishing the alcohol would hit her system faster. “Well, I'm glad things are... cordial, as you said. Domestic harmony is a valuable thing.”
“Indeed.” He set his glass down, and turned to face her fully. “Dash, I got the impression from your letter that things were not entirely well. Do you need help?”
And there was the terrible question, the answer for which she had spent hours rehearing, but now, in the heat of its posing, all her careful claims and elisions and pleas fled from her mind. She froze and stared at a tiny smudge on the couch between them.
He let the silence go on. Only after she began to shake did he reach forward, slowly sliding his hoof toward hers. “Dash?”
“Yes,” she blurted. Suddenly, the dam burst, and she could hold nothing back. Everything – Thimble's disastrous summer line, her decision to support it anyway, the mountain of bills the Boutique faced, and the certain insolvency that awaited them – it all poured from her like an undammed river, and he listened in silence for nearly an hour while she spilled out her heart.
At last, she finished, her throat sore and her eyes burning. Silence followed, and she looked up from her hooves to see him studying his wine glass.
“Looking Glass?” she ventured softly.
He nodded. “How much?”
She gulped. “Eight thousand bits.”
“Is that all?” A small smile appeared on his lips, and his barrel shook with a suppressed chuckle. “Dash, I can name a dozen banks that would happily float you that kind of—“
“A month,” she interrupted. “For at least six months.”
His mouth clomped shut, and silence again regained the floor.
“Ah,” he finally said. “Well, now I see why you wrote to me, instead of a bank.”
She licked her lips, and when she spoke, her voice cracked. “I didn't know who else to turn to. None of my friends back home have that sort of cash, and even if they did, how could I ask them? I'm Generosity, Looking Glass. Do you know what that's meant my whole life? Giving to other ponies, always sacrificing for them. If I went back and asked them... no, begged them for... for bits,” she spat the word out, the first heat to enter her voice all evening, “they would never look at me the same again. I can't do that.”
“Hm.” He looked as though he barely heard her, his head turned to the side and a small frown on his face. “And, if I were to provide a business loan, what kind of terms would you be able to offer?”
An invisible, fathomless weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. For a moment Rainbow Dash felt like a pegasus, about to float into the air. She took a deep, heady breath, and launched into a well-rehearsed offer. “I can offer you ten percent per annum on each monthly tranche. I expect full repayment within one year, but we can renegotiate if the market is soft. Regardless, these funds will ensure we remain afloat – you will get your money back, Looking Glass. I promise it. Worst case, your loan gives us time to execute an orderly dissolution of the business instead of a fire sale, and you'll be the first creditor in line.”
“Oh, I doubt that will be necessary.” He waved a hoof, as if shooing off a fly. “I've seen your designs, Rainbow. I know you'll recover from this, and you'll be good for the bits. You might want to reconsider betting everything on your apprentices' work, though.”
“Ah, ha, yes.” She took a long swallow from her wine, finishing off the glass. “Needless to say, I'll be exercising a tighter rein on the Boutique from here on out.”
“And you'll do much better for it, I'm sure.” He finished off his own glass and set it on the table, and then turned back to her. His cornflower eyes were wide and intense, the look she remembered from their first nights togther.
“So, ah...” Dash averted her eyes. “Would you... would you care for some more wine?”
He scooted across the couch, closing the distance between them. “No, I don't think so.” His head dipped toward her, and he drew in a deep breath through his nostrils.
Dash suddenly wished she'd skipped the perfume. “Yes, well...” She realized her mouth was dry, despite the wine, and swallowed several times. “I very grateful, Looking Glass. For your help. I'm... I'm grateful,” she finished with a whisper.
He drew his muzzle up the side of her neck and pressed his cheek against hers. “I know you are, Rainbow Dash. I know.”
Oh gods, Dash, I wanted to run, Rarity whispered in her mind. To just get up and leave. But how could I?
Dash realized her hooves were shaking, and pressed them into the couch to stop. Her chest trembled, though, and she knew he could feel it. “I, uh... You and Terrazzo...”
Whatever she'd been about to say, he ignored it. “I'd forgotten how wonderful you smell,” he whispered in her ear. “Celestia, Dash, do you know how many times I've dreamed of seeing you again? I promise, you won't regret this.”
And she didn't, of course. Regret was for ponies who couldn't make the appropriate sacrifices. She repeated that to herself, mantra-like, as she followed him into the suite's bedroom. Up onto the bed she climbed, ignoring the affront of his muzzle as he pressed it against her flanks, and then shoved it beneath her tail. She winced at the sudden contact but kept her mouth sealed.
He wasn't, apparently, in the mood to wait. Barely had she lowered herself onto the covers when she felt him climb atop her, his forelegs gripping her shoulders and his teeth fastening themselves in her mane.
He wasn't as gentle as the last time.
And why should he have been? Rarity's voice sounded in her mind, even as Dash grunted beneath him. It wasn't painful, but neither was it the joyous union of two bodies. He thrust, and she accepted. He paid enough for this. He had every right to treat me however he wanted.
It was over blessedly soon. Looking Glass gave a final thrust that rattled Dash's teeth, gripped her tight with all his might, and then slid off her back onto the covers beside her. She wormed her way out of his legs and trembled on the empty half of the bed.
It should have been worth it. Rarity again. It should have been worth it, Dash.
Looking Glass laughed quietly in the silence. “Oh, that was... well, nothing I ever thought I'd get again.” He leaned over to nuzzle her mane. “More?”
“Of course,” she whispered. “Of course.”
* * *
Looking Glass slept in late the next morning.
Rainbow Dash did not. In fact, she had not slept at all. Through the long night she stared out the huge picture window at the Fillydelphia skyline, watching as the lights slowly went out, and then, many hours later, as the grey tint of dawn slowly devoured the stars.
She had a lot to think about. Oddly, though, her mind kept circling back to the silliest of details from their long night of lovemaking.
No, that was not lovemaking. Nothing about it was love. It was rutting. Fucking.
The sides of her neck were covered with welts from his teeth. Her coat was filthy with his emissions. One particular stain smeared her flank, covering part of her cutie mark. She didn't care to dwell on that symbolism.
No, what she kept remembering was the orgasm. Only one, toward the end of their night, but unforgettable for all that it was weak and unremarkable. Looking Glass had just finished himself in her again, and he nipped her ear as he pulled out, and that was enough to tip her over the edge.
So, not only was she a whore, she was a whore who enjoyed servicing her stallion. Who came doing it. The kind of whore who sweated and moaned and welcomed her stallion with open legs.
Looking Glass stirred beside her. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
“Mmm. Morning.” His soft lips pressed against the back of her neck. “Sleep well?”
“Yes,” Dash whispered.
“So did I. So did I.” He was grinning – she could hear it in his voice. “Go back to sleep if you want. I'll go and settle accounts with the front desk.”
Another thing she was worth – the cost of a hotel room. She bobbed her head.
“So, next week, same time?”
She crushed her eyes shut. Eight-thousand bits per month, plus another five hundred per week for the penthouse suite. That was ten-thousand bits and some change being spent on her. Nearly twenty-five hundred per session.
How many whores make over two thousand bits a night? Not many, I'd wager. Rarity's voice sounded shockingly blase about about the situation. I wouldn't have paid that much for me, but then, I'm not rich. But let's be honest, darling – I'm not worth that much, just my cunt.
“Next week,” she whispered.
“Wonderful.” His lips brushed her mane, and then he was gone. She heard the door close behind him.
At last, she wept.