//------------------------------// // Confectionery // Story: The Diamond Exchange // by angelbunny //------------------------------// Trembling and smiling from ear to ear, Cheerilee breathed heavily through her mouth as the pleasure from the most recent of several climaxes that Filthy Rich had coaxed from her sweat-covered body had reached its peak and was now slowly starting to ebb away. The hotel bed that they had used with great enthusiasm for the past hour lurched one last time as Filthy Rich rolled to his left and lay down on the spot beside his magenta coated partner, in need of a breather after having spent a great deal of energy in the pursuit of their mutual pleasure. “How was it that time?” asked Filthy Rich as he removed the condom. “Ahhhh,” sighed Cheerilee contentedly as she basked in the afterglow. “Every bit as good as the first six times. I’m beyond satisfied.” “I’m so happy to hear you say that.” Filthy Rich turned on his side and placed a kiss on Cheerilee’s right shoulder. “It’s been so long since I’ve been with a mare that I was afraid I’d lost my touch.” “Richie, sweetie, if that was your B game you brought, I doubt that I’d survive your A game. I have to raise the white flag, though. As wonderful as this has been, I need to take a break and cool down.” “That’s fine by me. I’m partial to a nice post-coital cuddle, anyway.” Filthy Rich snuggled up against Cheerilee, placed his foreleg across her chest and nuzzled her gently. “We didn’t do very much talking so why don't we talk now?” Cheerilee grinned and closed her eyes. “What would you like to talk about?” she asked teasingly. “Well, this, naturally; about where we stand.” “Mmm. After seven orgasms, I don’t know if I can stand at all.” Filthy Rich chuckled softly. “You know what I meant,” he said. “If you just wanted this to be a one time thing, I could deal with that. Or if you wanted to do this on a regular basis, I’d be even happier to oblige you. You’ve definitely got my vote for more of this. But... if you wanted to turn this into something official, we could start dating. I know it’s putting the cart before the horse but I’d be willing to give it a go. You’re a fine, upstanding citizen of Ponyville, just like me. Being seen dating the town schoolteacher would help my image far more than dating some empty-headed supermodel. And Diamond Tiara’s rather protective of me so I expect she’ll be more accepting of the idea if I’m dating a mare who she already knows and respects.” Cheerilee couldn't contain her amusement. “HA!” Hearing Diamond Tiara’s name brought Cheerilee back down from cloud nine. She didn’t seduce Filthy Rich to become his love interest. She seduced him so that she could scratch sex off of her bucket list and to set the stage for giving Diamond Tiara a taste of what it was like to know the kind of suffering that comes with loss. The sex had been an exhilarating diversion but the time for fun had come to an end. “Did I... say something funny?” “If you actually believe that your daughter respects me, then she’s doing a better job of pulling the wool over your eyes than I thought.” “How has she been disrespectful to you?” “For one thing, she’s been using your influence with the conniving toadies in the school board as leverage over me so that they’d second guess my disciplinary calls against her until I’m either fined into the poor house or fired. It’s my word against hers but since her words have the backing of a multimillionaire, I’m left out in the cold. And today alone, she undermined my authority in front of my class, damaged some irreplaceable personal property of mine, humiliated me by revealing some highly sensitive medical information of mine to my students – was there anything else? There was definitely something else. Oh, yes, and she insinuated that I was a whore.” Filthy Rich sat up and looked at Cheerilee in disbelief. “What?” he asked. “You seem incredulous,” said Cheerilee. “Why am I not surprised that you’re oblivious to her shenanigans? She doesn’t tell you the whole truth. Why would she? The truth might actually get you involved in her upbringing. She paid the price for meddling with me, though. I made sure of that. She paid in blood.” Filthy Rich’s face took on a pallid hue as fear trickled down his spine. “Cheerilee... what are you talking about?" he asked apprehensively. "What blood’?” Cheerilee’s forehead and nose wrinkled as she scowled. “She kept pushing me and pushing me,” she said, “until I finally pushed back. I lost it. I lost my patience... my job... and I lost count – of how many times I struck her, that is. I spanked your child’s buttocks raw with my chalkboard pointer. Hard enough to break the skin, too. In all my years of teaching, I’ve never wanted to strike a child but that girl of yours is no child. She is a demon in equine form and damned if she didn’t turn me into a demon, too. She screamed and cried during her beating but that didn’t stop me. I think Diamond Tiara might even have cried out for you once – as though you could hear her or help her; as though your board meetings and power lunches have ever taken a backseat to monitoring her behavior with anything other than a passing interest.” Cheerilee paused as she stared at the ceiling. Her body quivered with giddiness at this long overdue parent/teacher debriefing. With his mouth hanging open and pupils that had narrowed to the size of raisins, Filthy Rich slowly moved backwards toward the edge of the bed, away from the mare whose words had horrified him like nothing else before them. “She was so terrified by the beating I gave her that she even urinated on my desk,” continued Cheerilee. “Can you imagine what must have been going through her mind as she relieved herself in front of the rest of her classmates? I wouldn’t be surprised if she requested to be home schooled from now on so as to avoid being teased about her loss of bladder control. Children can be so cruel. Your daughter’s living proof of that. By the time I was done beating her, her plot was shredded into ribbons and she bled from her wounds like it was going out of style. After that, I gave her a good talking to so that she understood why I whipped her – and then I squeezed her windpipe closed with the pointer. And right before I could do the world a favor by sending the little piece of manure to Tartaros where she belongs, I was stopped.” Cheerilee smiled as her mood shifted from grim to upbeat. “And speaking of favors,” she chirped in her trademark bubbly voice, “as I happen to be out of a job at the moment, I was hoping that I could get a position with your company. We could conduct a job interview right now if you’ve got some time. Are you game? Excellent! Now then, an entry level position is fine if that’s all you have available but I’m always interested in advancement. I can start immediately, I have a can-do attitude, I’ve got quite a bit of experience in the field of management...” Cheerilee tilted her head and flashed a warm grin that belied her earlier violent admission. “And I just love children.” Filthy Rich began an ungainly backward stagger away from the stranger with whom he had just had intimate relations. His eyes glistened with tears as he pictured his baby crying out in pain from the injuries that Cheerilee claimed to have inflicted on her. “Awww, leaving already?” asked Cheerilee. “Oh well. As long as you’re out, you should at least pretend to be a competent parent and go check on your baby girl. She’s probably at the Ponyville Hospital right now receiving emergency medical treatment for her wounds. I’m sure she’ll put some kind of spin on her version of the story to absolve herself of blame and perpetuate the myth that she’s just Daddy’s Innocent Little Angel. And since she’s had so much experience at playing you like a fiddle, I’m sure you’ll buy what she's selling just as you always have.” Cheerilee looked around the room. “You know, it seems like such a waste to vacate the room so early in the day so I think I’ll lounge around and take a nap. You don't mind, do you? I’ll be right here waiting for you in case you get hot for teacher again.” Filthy Rich’s plot bumped against the door as his retreat had finally brought him to the exit. He fumbled for the doorknob behind him while keeping his eye on Cheerilee. Once the door was open, he turned and ran outside. Cheerilee frowned. “I trust there are no hard feelings,” she said out loud. Cheerilee rose from the bed and walked to the door. She made certain that the Do Not Disturb sign was still in place on the doorknob and then closed the door without locking it. She walked over to the windows and pulled the blinds closed. She then walked over to the lamp and turned it on. She tilted it at an angle that shone the most light on the easy chair where the items that Filthy Rich had purchased for her lay. She took the croquet mallet and set it on the floor handle end up leaning against the easy chair. With the light from the lamp shining on it, the mallet was now the most visible and easily accessible item in the room. She collected the duct tape and the shackle and walked over to the radiator where she then took a seat. She tore off a medium sized piece of duct tape and carefully set the tape sticky side up on the carpet beside the radiator. She attached the steel ring around her neck and clamped it shut, locking it in the process. She wrapped the other end of the chain around the base of the radiator and locked it. She tugged on the chain to make sure it was secure. It was. She then picked up the key to the shackle’s lock. Without it, she wasn’t going anywhere. She threw the key across the room where it struck a table leg and bounced back to her. She rolled her eyes, picked the key up and tossed it lightly this time. It landed flat on the carpet and stayed there, out of her reach. She then moved her neck back and forth, tugging on the chain in order to bruise her neck. She lay on her side and proceeded to wrap her hind legs with duct tape at the ankles, forming cuffs that bound her legs together. She did the same to her forelegs by using her mouth, the only tool left to her. Once she was completely bound, she tossed the roll away. She attempted to pull her legs apart but the tape was strong. She couldn’t budge. She tried again and again, not to free herself but to give herself bruises along her wrists and ankles. Convincing bruises. She then urinated on herself for good measure. She would be doing so involuntarily soon enough so she felt that she might as well do it of her own free will – one last time. She then looked at the strip of tape she left on the floor. “Let’s see,” she muttered. “Last words, last words... Rut you, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. My only regret is that I don’t have the time to rut both of you over. Oh, and sorry for the mess I’ll be sticking you with, hotel cleaning staff.” She had to get this last part right. If she didn't, nothing else she did would matter. She needed to be completely incapable of vocally making a sound. Taking great care, she planted her face firmly into the sticky tape and rocked her head from side to side to firmly adhere it over her mouth, The die had been cast. All that was left to do was to wait and hope that nopony other than Filthy Rich entered this room. “Well, these definitely need stitches,” said the unicorn doctor as he examined Diamond Tiara's rump. “You’re lucky your attacker missed your sphincter and labia.” “I’m used to it, actually,” said Diamond Tiara. “What do you mean?” Diamond Tiara grinned. “My friend Silver Spoon misses my sphincter and labia constantly.” “Oh, hardy har har!” said Silver Spoon through the other side of the curtain that separated one examination table from the other. She was receiving her own treatment from a doctor at the same time as Diamond Tiara. “Doctor, would you mind sewing Diamond Tiara’s mouth shut before you start on her plot? It might be hard to tell which end is which since manure spews out of both so just look for the tiara.” “Sorry, no can do," said Diamond Tiara's doctor. "There’s that whole hippocratic oath thing. I’ll have you fixed up soon enough. Nurse Redheart, please prep a local anesthetic.” “Yes, Doctor,” said Nurse Redheart. “That means a needle, doesn’t it?” asked Diamond Tiara. “That sounds like needle talk to me.” “Yes, it means a needle,” said the doctor. “Several of them.” “Several? Rrrgh. All right. Just get it over with.” Diamond Tiara closed her eyes tightly and winced as she held out her foreleg. The doctor and Nurse Redheart looked at each other. “Uh, they’re local anesthetics, Diamond Tiara,” said Nurse Redheart. “They won’t numb your backside if the doctor injects them into your foreleg. They have to be injected into the afflicted area.” Diamond gasped. “YOU WANT TO STICK A NEEDLE INSIDE MY CUTS??” she shouted. “No,” said the doctor. “I have to stick a needle inside your cuts.” “I want a second opinion!” “You’ve got him.” “Huh? What-” The doctor tapped the name badge pinned to his scrubs. Diamond Tiara read the name printed on it: S. Opinion, M.D. She rolled her eyes. “This is a routine procedure, Diamond Tiara,” said Nurse Redheart. “Look, I won’t lie to you. The local anesthetics are going to hurt a lot. But the point is that it will only hurt a lot for a short period of time. Without the local anesthetic, you’ll be in agony throughout the stitching, which could take two hours or longer to complete. That’s a long period of time. And if you were to flinch, which you will since you’d be in unbearable pain without the local anesthetic, you might pop one or more stitches which would mean that the doctor would have to resew them.” “Can’t you just put me under? I’d be asleep and wouldn’t feel a thing.” “It’s not that simple. Your injuries aren’t dire enough to warrant putting you under. We’d also need an anesthesiologist to monitor the machine that regulates your blood while you’re under. Thanks to your daddy, we have more such machines but we still only use them for patients who are going to receive incisions for more serious surgery, not for simple lacerations like yours. And since your father would be the one paying the bill, we couldn’t do any of that without his permission, not that we would anyway. Speaking of your father, do you know where he is?” “DIAMOND TIARA?!” yelled a voice. “DADDY?!" yelled back Diamond Tiara. "DADDY, I’M OVER HERE!” Filthy Rich walked through the emergency room until he reached the examination table where his daughter was being helped. Tears welled in his eyes as he caught sight of the jewel of his heart. “Oh, my baby,” said Filthy Rich, nuzzling her face. "Oh, thank Celestia you’re here, Daddy!” “Are you okay?” “No, I’m not. I’m a mess.” Filthy Rich stepped around to look at his daughter’s posterior. Just as Cheerilee had said, there were cuts all over. He cringed when he caught sight of the mess. And he turned his head as he began to weep. “It looks a lot worse than it is, Mr. Rich," said Doctor Opinion. "She’s going to be okay.” “I’m in so much pain, Daddy – and I’m going to be in more if they stick me with all the needles they want to put in me. Tell them to use one of their machines to-” “Who did this to you, sweetheart?” blurted Filthy Rich. “Tell me – who hurt you?” “Haven’t you heard? It was Miss Cheerilee. She went crazy and...” Filthy Rich heard what he needed to hear to choose his next actions. He growled a timberwolf’s growl and dashed out of the emergency room at top speed. “WAIT!!” cried Diamond Tiara. “DADDY!! COME BACK!!” She turned to look back at the doctor. He raised an eyebrow. Diamond Tiara smiled nervously. “He’ll be back,” she said, feigning confidence. “Not soon enough,” said the doctor. “We need to close up those wounds now.” Diamond Tiara gulped. “How many of those shots will you need to stick me with?” she asked. “Judging by the length and number of cuts, I’d say twelve or thirteen should do it.” “Twelve?!!” “Or thirteen.” “Or zero. ” “Dr. Manner is treating Silver Spoon. She’s getting a local, too. Hey, Bedside?” “Yeah?” said a voice from the other side of the curtain. “How many locals is your patient getting?” “Just one. I’m about to give it to her.” “And she’s getting hers in the face," said Doctor Opinion to Diamond Tiara. "More nerve endings there than in your patootie.” “Did you really just say patootie?” asked Diamond Tiara. “You wanted a second opinion? I’ll give it to you. Suck it up, be brave like you friend and get it over with. You look like a brave girl to me. Are you a brave girl?” “Are you kidding? Of course I’m brave. I’m going to rule Equestria some day. I just don’t like pain.” “Well, I know for a fact that you’re not going to be able to sit on the royal throne with a slashed open backside.” The throne. Diamond Tiara had designs on Celestia’s throne the moment she laid eyes on it in a picture book. The throne was the ultimate symbol of power and luxury in Equestria. It embodied everything she wanted: the ability to have others obey her every command while sitting on her plot and taking it easy. “You’re right, Doctor," said Diamond Tiara. "I shouldn’t be afraid of a few needles or stitches. I’m ready.” Diamond Tiara nearly had a heart attack as she heard a high pitched ear piercing scream from behind Silver Spoon’s curtain, followed by crying. Terrified that the pain she’d feel from her needle would be bad enough to make a pony scream like that, Diamond Tiara climbed off the table and walked exclusively on her forelegs like a trained circus bear in the direction of the exit, keeping her lower body upright in the air. “Diamond Tiara... please stop clowning around. There are other injured ponies awaiting medical attention.” She got about ten steps away before losing her balance. As her hind hooves landed on the floor, a wave of pain ran from her bottom to her brain. “Khhhh!!” she spat, wincing in agony. She whined as the doctor levitated her and placed her back on the table. She gurgled and hissed demonically as the first of twelve or thirteen injections entered her wounds. Cheerilee, she thought, I swear that I’ll make you suffer a thousand times worse than this before you die at my hooves. Cheerilee was growing impatient for Filthy Rich to arrive. She caught sight of something under the bed. Something small and round. Something shiny, white, and red that she would have otherwise missed had she not been lying on the carpet. The hotel wasn’t particularly upscale but it apparently had a practice in place that was generally utilized by classier hotels. The practice of a complimentary item. An item left on pillows after housekeeping maintenance. An individually wrapped peppermint candy. Cheerilee whimpered. Peppermint. Twist. Cheerilee’s stomach churned with worry as a barrage of thoughts ran through her mind at once. In her obsession with seeing out this mission of vengeance against Diamond Tiara, she forgot one crucial detail. Twist was in Elysium. This assisted suicide would stamp her soul for delivery to Tartarus, as was the case with all ponies who took their own lives. Cheerilee may not have had anything to live for but she did have something to die for – a chance to be reunited with Twist in the afterlife, one which she would be denied by committing suicide, even an assisted one. She had unwittingly condemned herself to an eternity without the light of her life, a sentence that would last far longer than the fleeting satisfaction of petty vengeance. Cheerilee screamed and cried as much as the duct tape would allow her. She frantically struggled to remove the bonds from which she knew she’d never be able to free herself. Even if she could snap the duct tape, the key to the shackle around her neck was way out of reach. It would take hours for her hooves to compromise the metal of the chain. Tearfully repentant, Cheerilee gave up her hopeless struggle and bawled. Acting without thinking had once again cost her something precious. The teacher had made a mistake, one which Filthy Rich would soon be back to correct. With red ink. Filthy Rich was a pony possessed. His pulse pounded as he ran at a speed that he would never have deemed safe if he was of sound mind, which he was not. Anypony that had the ability to get out of his way did so posthaste. He weaved through or leapt over the rest of the obstacles. Cheerilee hadn’t just wounded Diamond Tiara. She had also wounded his pride, the very fabric of what being a stallion meant to him. If there was even the slightest chance that the madmare was still in their hotel room as she said she’d be, he was going to take it and get there. If not, perhaps the attendant on duty would be able to tell him which direction she took when she left. If the monster had indeed fled, there wasn’t a place on earth where she could hide; not from a stallion of means like him. If it took putting a million bit bounty on her head to flush her out, he would do so without a second thought. He had reached the hotel. He ran through the door without opening it. It shattered into a dozen pieces. There was the temptress, wriggling on the floor like the vile snake in the grass that she was. He snorted to acknowledge her presence. The time for talk had passed. And there, beside the easy chair, was the means of delivering his message of fury. He picked up the croquet mallet with his mouth. And he got the message across in no uncertain terms.