Chapter 1: Lyra
Tonight, Lyra was playing dulcimer.
Usually, the dulcimer was an instrument that she considered simplistic, beneath her, but its very simplicity was the property that made it so relaxing tonight. Lyra may be the first pony in six centuries to be titled a lyre virtuoso, and the very first non-griffon and non-minotaur to ever master the 47 strings and seven pedals of a concert harp, but the second and fourth Tuesday of each month were days to limit herself to two hammers, rather than some six to ten picks and up to seven pedals.
Tonight was a second Tuesday, thus tonight the Doctor would visit on his twice-monthly attempt at impregnating Bon-Bon. And despite the letter of bad news that Bon-Bon had received three days ago, they hadn’t thought necessary to yet talk to the Doctor. After all, Lyra had received her own ‘good news’ letter that very same day, and it had taken her a single look at Bon-Bon’s crumbling face to absolutely chuck out her own childless life-plans and decide to chuck a few foals at her spouse.
Her performance to Bon-Bon continued for a long while, sometimes going through known melodies, sometimes just letting her instinct guide the hammers. Eventually, a bell added an off-tempo to the performance...
The doorbell
Bon-Bon jumped from her sofa and welcomed the stallion into their home even as Lyra picked up the off-tempo and wove a new melody based on the new rhythm.
And as always in her welcoming of the Doctor, she wrapped it up in less than a minute, before she put down her hammers, stood by Bon-Bon and both bowed at the stallion. They did so just like the well bred mares they were, with the knowledge that the rituals separated the visit from Lyra’s almost-brother Time “Whooves” Turner from the service visit from ‘the Doctor’, their service stallion.
Just as the ritual would have it, Time Turner returned their bow just as deeply. The three of them then stood back up at the same time and proceeded to the next step of the ritual: the doctor presented forward his hoof to Bon-Bon. He then looked just momentarily surprised when it was Lyra rather than Bon-Bon the one who then stepped forward, unwrapped the red ribbon from his foreleg and tied it around his neck, all while it was Bon-Bon the one who now removed his saddlebags and made herself scarce.
Wanting to go straight to business rather than fool with the foreplay that could come at this point, Lyra turned around and began going to the bedroom, but was then surprised when she wasn’t followed. Turning back, she noticed that he was still standing there, looking sadly at her.
“Don’t you want to talk about this, Lyra?” he asked. “I can take off this ribbon and then you can talk with your big brother Whooves.”
She didn’t reply with words: she jumped at him, nearly tore the ribbon from his neck and latched her arms around the neck of her almost-brother.
“Please, Whooves: I definitely don’t want to think right now that I’m about to be serviced by my big brother.”
“We could change that, Little Harp-flank,” he replied. “I could march to Town Hall and get you assigned to a different stallion. Name your pick, and I could pull a few favours...”
“Don’t,” she interrupted him. She then disentangled herself from his neck and looked him in the eye. “Don’t do anything like that, Whooves. You are the very first pony I told that I was gay. You are the stallion I asked to be my best pony at my wedding with Bon-Bon. You are the only stallion I could trust with doing this, and I’m just lucky enough that we have no consanguinity. So please,” she said, picking up his discarded ribbon and putting it on him again. “Our duties as ponies state that, in order to keep up the population of Equestria, every fertile stallion has to service at least eight mares, and every fertile mare must pop out at least two foals, in compensation for the 44% of mares who are born barren. Tonight let’s just be citizens Time Turner and Lyra Heartstrings doing their patriotic duty, rather than Harp-flank and her almost-brother Doctor Whooves.”
And with that, she turned around and retreated to the bedroom. And, to her complete lack of surprise, she found smack in the middle of the bed a lube syringe. Bon-Bon had surely left it there, knowing what Lyra hadn’t thought about: that she would be as dry as the desert.
She didn’t know how to use the syringe, but the service stallion did, and asked her to lie on her back as he expertly showed her how to use it.
During the application of the lube he apparently felt that she still had her hymen and told her that he could come back after she had it opened by a doctor, but she insisted he pierced it the old fashioned way.
The service stallion then put her on her belly, with her rear legs dangling off the edge of the bed, and carefully climbed behind her and guided his business end into her own.
He slowly pushed in, and deflowered her.
He began rocking, sliding in and out of her fast enough to be in a hurry, but not fast enough to make her whimper from her broken hymen.
Some ten minutes later his business end finally spurted inside her own and he climbed down. He offered her first turn on the bathroom, but she rather finished climbing on the bed and put herself on that “rump on the air” position that supposedly helped mares to have better chances at conceiving. He thus helped her by turning that five-minute hourglass that Bon-Bon had had on her bedside table, and went to the bathroom to clean himself.
Exactly five minutes later, she started cleaning herself, although not deeply: it would defeat the purpose of having been serviced.
And ten minutes later, she was on the doorstep, removing the red ribbon from her service stallion and winding it back on his forehoof, while Bon-Bon strapped his now much heavier saddlebags on him. It was all part of the courtesy: service stallions, especially those with full roosters like this one, had to take time from their own work and their own lives in order to provide service to mares. It was thus simple courtesy to tip the stallion for his efforts with their own, which in their case consisted on a load of confections from Bon-Bon and an IOU good for an informal lyre concert at a birthday party.
She knew that Pip Squeak would be having his birthday next week, and Whooves the Doctor cared much more than the bare minimum for his various fillies and colts; which was the very reason why every mare wanted him and he kept a dozen mares’ rooster: the maximum permitted. They did call him ‘The Doctor’ because he made good wherever he went...
With nothing else left to do, the Doctor left.
Lyra kept staring at the door for a small eternity, until Bon-Bon came and slapped her awake, then pulled her into a searing kiss and kicked her out into the night with instructions of going to her brother’s home and giving him a hug.
Lyra still took a few more seconds to fully react, but when she did she started running to her brother’s home.
Ever since she had delivered two of those “blood analysis” letters to Lyra and Bon-Bon’s house, three days ago, Derpy had half-expected this: her husband had come back from his service appointment, then had sought her and begun softly weeping on her shoulder.
She left him for a moment to make sure that the front door was unlocked, then came back to him and softly guided him to the couch in the living room. Knowing Bon-Bon, she knew that... {BANG!} ...Lyra would be over shortly, and not in the mood to wait at the door.
And surely enough, Lyra came in as an utter mess, looking like she had galloped the whole way here and with a river of tears rolling down her face.
Derpy had the presence of mind of taking to the air an instant before brother and sister crashed in the spot she had just vacated. They immediately began squeezing each other, weeping bitterly on each others’ shoulders.
They would not separate at all that night. And Derpy would never try to separate her husband from his almost sister, sixth-degree grand aunt, best friend and confidante. And especially not after brother and sister had been raped by patriotic duty.