Mayor Mare
“Uhhh,” Big Mac intoned. He couldn’t even blink as he watched Mayor Mare don leather. She took off her glasses and tousled her hair, giving her a rather fetching appearance. She put on buttless leather chaps and a leather headpiece that looked uncomfortably tight. It had a zipper that could prevent the pony who wore it from speaking, but she left it open... for now. She took the crop— the one without the metal tip— and stuffed it into his mouth. Then she pulled out a policestallion’s hat (probably a real one!) and set it on his head. She slapped the fuzzy cuffs on one of her own hooves, circled around him, and stopped on top of the bed of hay. She pulled him close and whispered into his ear, “The safe word is: gerrymandering.”
She pulled the headpiece all the way down, blinding herself. She knelt on the hay and spoke as if she were addressing Celestia. “Big Mcintosh, please forgive me. I’ve been a bad girl, and you’re a big, strong policestallion. Punish me as you see fit.” Big Mac blinked and glanced at the crop in his mouth. She held out her other hoof next to the one with the cuff already on it. “Arrest me if you must.” Her voice fell flat.
Big Mac reached out and clicked the cuff onto her other hoof, but not too tight; he didn’t want to hurt her. “Oh thank you, officer. I don’t like it when I get cuffed too tight— it’s uncomfortable.” Big Mac smiled and nodded, then his eyes went wide. He didn’t know much about this kind of kink, but… that was an invitation to tighten them, wasn’t it? He felt unsure, but he reached out and gingerly clicked each cuff a bit tighter anyway. “Oh no, officer, please don’t put them on so tight. I implore you.”
Big Mac suddenly felt awful. What was the matter with him? He just put those cuffs on so tight, it hurt her. He knew it, because she flopped onto her back, her cuffed forehooves over her head, moaning in pain…
That sounded like a moan of pain, right?
She writhed on the hay. “Oh, please don’t whip me officer. I’m begging you.” Her voice sounded so sincere, like she was giving a speech about the importance of opening a new orphanage. “Please, don’t crop me on the stomach,” she said as she stretched her hind legs out, exposing her belly.
Big Mac paused, closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and swung. He didn’t put much force into it, because he didn’t want to hurt her. As the crop connected with her stomach, she bucked her belly upwards. She moaned, “Ahhh, please, no, oh no, please don’t!” He swung again, and her breathing went ragged. “Oh please, please stop! I’ll do anything to make it stop! Will that please you?”
“Eeeyup,” Big Mac spat the crop out and sighed with relief. Red welts appeared on her soft belly. He felt just terrible, but her breathing changed. He could tell she felt the adrenaline. He wasn’t sure exactly how he knew; it must have been the way she squirmed on the hay, bucking her hips upward, her chest rising and falling with deep, not quick, breaths.
“Oh, please, don’t hurt me anymore, mister police stallion. You don’t smoke, do you?”
Big Mac blinked for a second before he realized the question wasn’t rhetorical. “Nnnope.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh that’s good, I would hate to have you snuff a cigarette on my flank.” Big Mac’s mouth fell open. Ponies didn’t do that, did they? That would be extremely painful. “Please don’t pinch me, or put any clamps on my skin. That would be just… awful.” She said the last word with barely contained excitement.
Big Mac glanced at the pile of equipment. Sure enough, he found a set of clamps that looked like the sort a clerk would use to remove staples from unruly paperwork. Picking up a clamp, he pinched it with his mouth. It closed with a dangerous-sounding snick. Big Mac relaxed the clamp with a shudder. What kind of pony would want that on their skin?
“Oh no, not the clamps, anything but that!” she begged. Big Mac gulped and touched her with the metal clamp. She shuddered as her midsection bucked up to meet him. Wherever he touched her with it, she responded. When he pulled it away, teasing her, she moaned. Maybe he could pull this off?
He touched her belly, right in the most sensitive spot, where foals got their meals. She bucked unexpectedly into him, and he accidentally bit down on reflex. Not all the way, but enough to pinch her with the clamp.
She opened her mouth and let out a fantastic scream. “AHHHH!” Her breath became shallow, and her entire belly quivered. Shocked, he let go entirely, the clamp bouncing off of her stomach and into the pile of hay. He watched as blood beaded on the wound, making his ears fall and his face turn white. He’d hurt her for sure, and now she was going to use her political power to—
“I’m such a bad girl; I just won’t hold still. You’ll need to correct me, officer. ” She rolled over, covering her belly but exposing her back and flank. Wiggling her flank at him, she moaned quietly and breathed, “Oh officer, you wouldn’t take advantage of me, would you?” Her tail whipped him softly around his chest, sending a shock of cool pleasure from his spine to his hind hooves. He gulped, but the cotton in his mouth just didn’t seem to go away. He could see her, quivering and vulnerable. He suddenly found himself vibrating! Adrenaline, either from fear, excitement, or pleasure, boiled in his blood. Perhaps it was a heady mixture of all three.
Ah can’t do this! This is… degrading. Why would anypony want something like this? Big Mac thought to himself. NO, I won’t do it. Ah’ll hold her ‘til she calms down and then we can talk, maybe work something out. Not to mention Ah gotta calm myself down... He clapped a forehoof on each of her flanks and pushed down, hard, pinning her in place.
“AHHhhh.” She sighed with pleasure at his sudden, forceful action. It sent shivers all along her back; he could feel her beneath his hooves, the muscles tensing and flexing. “Yes, yes! That’s it, you can do whatever you want…”
What Ah want, is fer you ta calm down and relax! he thought. She tried to back up into him with her hind legs spread. While Big Mac had some measure of control over her, he had also inadvertently put himself in a rather… compromising position. Stay down! he thought to himself. With their combined might, there came a sound right out of her spine.
CRACK!
“AHHHH MY BACK! GERRYMANDERING!” Big Mac’s blood felt like it had turned to ice. He hopped away from her while she struggled to stand. Her bones creaked, and with great effort, she rose to her hooves. Hobbling over to her discarded saddlebag, she pulled out a pill bottle and struggled to pull off the cap with tears her eyes.
Big Mac walked to her and took the pill bottle. She looked at him, a grimace etched deep into her face. Big Mac cracked open the pill bottle and shook two out. He hoofed them over, watching her wince as she reached for them with both of her still-cuffed hooves. He read the label— antacids? Big Mac blinked; these weren’t painkillers.
Mayor Mare bit down on the tablets and swallowed them dry. She sighed after only a moment, her face no longer contorting. She looked at him and noticed his puzzled expression. She giggled and said, “Oh, don’t worry about my back. I admit, it surprised me, but it felt great! I was so… uh… excited, and I have a little ulcer that acts up sometimes.” Big Mac nodded and put the cap back on the bottle. As he replaced it in her saddlebag, he noticed more pill bottles in there. Aspirin and Oxycodone he recognized, but what was Fluoxetine and Amitriptyline? He dropped the pills back into her bag, shook his head, and shrugged. He looked up and found her back on the pile of hay, her flank once again exposed.
His eyes went wide as they followed her swishing tail. “Oh officerrr!” she sing-songed, “I’m ready...” Big Mac tried once again to swallow the cotton in his mouth and moved into position. Welp, here goes nothin’, he thought.
~~~~~
“Mmmmm… oh… yes… YES… right there… oh yes… oh, that feels so good… don’t stop… a little harder… harder… OH yes… that’s it… just like that… mmmm… yeah…”
CRACK!
“AHHhh— no no no, don’t stop!” Mayor Mare sucked in a breath. “Keep it up, I’ve got quite a tolerance for pain.” She giggled, then groaned with pleasure as he continued.
Big Mac rubbed her back with his full, considerable strength. That was the fourth time her spine had cracked like a gunshot, and it still scared him. Big Mac didn’t feel like an expert masseur, but he didn’t think a pony’s back should be a complete mass of knots. Once he started massaging her back, she not only calmed down, she almost started crying. It quickly became apparent how she received all of those knots.
“So like I said, there I am in the meeting, and this flankhole is STILL talking about the tax rate and how ponies deserve to keep the fruits of their labor, and blah blah BLAH. I finally broke down and asked him point-blank, ‘So which program should I cut: the endowment for the orphanage, the elementary school’s budget, or the budget for road maintenance?’ Because I’m not cutting the budget for the Ponyville library. Could you imagine a faster way to get tarred and feathered? Cut the budget for Celestia’s prized student and our new princess? Not to mention there’s a matching contribution bit for bit from the royal treasury. I could issue another municipal bond, but I swear, if I hear one more speech from a No-Tea party candidate that gets taken seriously, I’ll have to drink something stronger than your family’s cider... like my hair dye.” She suddenly flushed and looked over her shoulder while Big Mac continued to rub a knot the size of a golf ball lodged between her shoulders. “You didn’t hear that, did you?”
Big Mac smiled and shook his head. “Nnnope.”
She sighed with relief and continued, “Good— one less thing I have to worry about. Anyway, so I told him, ‘No, we’re going to have to have a tax hike on the municipal water supply, and that’s final!’ We had a little budget oversight and found that the taxes on water haven’t increased since Ponyville was founded. Did you know inflation has compounded over two-hundred-thirty-eight percent since then? I mean, a one-hundred percent increase in the water tax is quite generous in light of what I should be doing, but does he listen?” Big Mac’s ears had suddenly perked up. “Why are you stopping? Satisfaction guaranteed, right?”
“Eeeyup!” Big Mac quickly resumed his work on her back.
She groaned again as the golf ball turned into a pea, and then disappeared entirely. “I normally have a session at the spa, but those damn papmareazzi are always waiting in the bushes, trying to catch me in the act. There’s nothing wrong with it—I’m spending my own money, not the city’s—but that just doesn’t matter. They splash a picture of you at the spa and a nasty caption on it and you just can’t stop ponies from drawing their own conclusions. I’m telling you, Mr. Apple, don’t get into the business of making laws or sausages. You don’t want to know how either gets made. OH!” Big Mac had found another large lump, this one on the side of her neck. “Oh, that’s the one caused by Mr. Flankhole himself— a real pain in the neck. Get rid of him for me, will you?”
“Eeeyup!” Big Mac smiled and bore down.
“Oh… oh yes… right there…”
It took another twenty minutes before she left. Mayor Mare was practically glowing when she packed her things away and whispered into his ear, “Best fifty bits I’ve ever spent.” She snuck out the back door, and with a lithe movement befitting a pony ten years her junior, she darted off.
Big Mac sighed as his stomach growled. Mayor Mare had required a certain amount of sweat on his part. Ah never thought that kinda thing would be a workout, he thought. He sighed as he looked at the jar of bits. He had already made more bits today than selling apples in a week. Yet, he still didn’t have enough. He sighed; there were plenty of hay bales stacked against the wall. He tore off a chunk and stuffed it into his mouth. It wasn’t anywhere near as tasty as Granny Smith’s home cooking, or even Applejack’s culinary skills, but hunger is a rather potent spice. The noon-day sun baked the world outside while he lay back, chewed his lunch, and let his mind go blank. He left the last stalk uneaten, sticking out the side of his mouth— a habit picked up from long ago.
The barn door creaked open, causing Big Mac to sit up. His eyes and ears focused on the barn door as he gulped. He glanced at the jar of bits and thought, Too late to stop now. Ah hope I get a nice mare this time— no crazy nipple clamp thingies or trouble with foals. A mare that understands what it means to love. He saw the mare standing in the barn’s doorway, illuminated for just a moment by the sunlight before the barn door closed behind her. His heart skipped a beat. Nope-Nope-Nope-Nope! Ah ain’t gonna ruin a marriage!
Mrs. Cake stepped into the barn and marched up to him. “My marriage is over. I hate my husband, and YOU are going to help me get revenge!” She dumped fifty bits into his jar, while Big Mac just stared at her, mouth agape. “I brought a camera; I want to be ready in one minute.” She began to set up the tripod and camera she had dug out of her saddlebag. “Get ready, because I want you to do every dirty thing to me that you can think of!”
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How will you get out of this one Mac?
....Well-pah. That happened.
I think I wet myself with laughter over Mayor Mare's safeword.
I really should not be reading this at work!
No one is safe from Gerrymandering
Coming to a theater near you! Big Mac stars in...
Deuce Bigalo: Ponyville Gigolo
Anywho, I actually like that the chapters are short and episodic. You are doing very well so far and I can't wait to see how it goes from here. Keep up the good work. I'll be watching
Oh, and I think that the pills were a nice touch. Reminded me of my pharmacy days.
Counsel her Mac not molesting.
That Bismarck quote. Well played
Well if he's not willing I would do her in a heart beat
Marriage Counselor? Check.
I can't believe you keep managing to top each previous introduction. It's seriously impressive.
Mrs. Cake
no
don't do it
Wow. So...is the subtext of this chapter supposed to be that Mayor Mare is a severe opiate addict? Because she's showing several very big red flags.
Every time I read the massage part, my own back begins to seize up. I want Big Mac to give me a massage as well.
Oh, Mac, you dog. I can't wait to see what sob story Mrs. Cake's going to hit him with.
Aren't chaps already buttless? They're designed to go over pants to protect them.
Or soap. Don't forget soap.
Mrs. Cake noooo! Sure you'll hurt Mr. Cake, but you'll freaking kill Pinkie Pie!
Mayor Mare...the fuck...now Mrs. cake! Holy crap!
Think about your kids!
Oh, lord. The safe word hit me hard, right in the gut.
I laughed way too hard at that joke.