Cockaholic
Goodness, it’s just so terrible! It’s awful, and quite possibly the worst perceived notion anypony could personify; the impossible… seen as perfection. When one is seen as regal or refined, it becomes an atrocity when they appear with any form of flaw, they are not allowed to ask for favors, nor are they even permitted to have friends outshine them for the slightest second.
I couldn’t help but sigh you know, knowing what I truly was on the inside. As elegant as I am my life isn’t all glamour and rubies, those of my social status are often riddled with rumors breathing down our backs, caressing our polished coats. Most if not all are accusations of risqué endeavors, claims that my appearance is nothing more than an act, and even they can become worse… when the rumors are true; when temptation causes me to tremble.
“Gosh Rarity, you look, amazing.”
The last word trailed off his tongue as if he were in a trance, I’d hardly begun primping and he’s already complimenting me, perhaps we never did see the same pony when we looked in the mirror. Spike had arrived unscheduled as he and a few others tend to do, he’d made it just as I’d sat down on my designer redwood stool.
I begin with the usual foundation, and after I brushed the subtle blush to my cheeks; then comes the color to my eyes. And the finishing touch, my accenting lashes, as per routine before the fifty strokes to my ever stubborn mane. I tenderly grasp my mane and stroke it with the best brush gems could buy, and all the while he just stands there sighing, love struck. I’d always kept my legs crossed, as a lady should, but at rare times I’d find them loosen and a little dragon growing a spot of blush on his own, but I’ve long since stopped teasing the poor dear.
“Oh, Rarity, I could help you with your mane if you want.”
I can’t help but smile at how adorable he is, always willing to help just about anyone, I’d have mind to question Twilight about how she raised him if he weren’t so free-spirited and strong willed, I’ve long since removed the notion that he was treated as a servant. No, not my little Spike-wikey, he is too good for that… too good for me as well.
“Of course, I would love that Spike.”
He has a charm all his own, it’s become harder to say no to him, besides, I know he’d be saddened if I refused him. Of all the creatures in Equestria I’m certain that he would feel the same toward me even if I bled dry of every cosmetic I ever carried. He pulls another stool beside mine and takes the brush in his capable little claws, gently guiding it against my mane just the way I like it, he knows just what I like… almost everything.
I look to the dresser, full of alluring colors and elegant cases all for my daily face, then look to the mare in the mirror being tended to by a dragon willing to engulf or even embed himself with pins and needles on a whim if she inquired. I can’t help but rub a tender hoof against his innocent, scaly little cheek.
“Spike, do you think I’m pretty…?”
He comes to halt, looking at me, as if I’d gone mad.
“Of course Rarity, you’re the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on.”
Sometimes I question if he is under some mischievous spell of mine that I can’t recall casting, his flattery knows no equal. Still, I couldn’t help but ask that again, I really am worse than the rumors. Of course I knew his answer, hearing it helps, at times it’s the only thing that gives me the will to work through the day when I consider what I’d done just the other night… the very thing I would indulge when the stars become visible.
“Spike, what if… I became bigger, an unhealthy size?”
I send a weary gaze toward the window, looking out at the bright day as I prepared myself for the dark deed, the guilty pleasure soon to come. How quickly I’d found my attention set to the fabulous plus-size dress I’d sown should I actually go through with it. Yes, I would be fat, but I would at least be fashionable, perhaps he would understand then?
“Aw come on Rarity, the more there is of you, the better.”
And again there he was, always smiling, that nature of denial would become devastating before long. Even if I was plump, even if I were a pig the little fool wouldn’t care! I imagine I would know what a fool looked like better than most of my friends, I knew I could never bring myself to be that size, I’d already tried for his sake. I’d show I was a nothing more than a pretty big waste of time, from the very beginning...
“There, all done.”
I ran a hoof through my now presentable mane, thanking the little dear with a smile and pat on the head, I was truly grateful that he had been so kind… when I was about to be bit cruel.
"Thank you Spike, now, it’s time you ran along. I have a big evening ahead of me.”
I’d already begun gently shooing him out my room, through the door like a bother or a pest; down the stairs slowly until we approach the door. But he began his predicted pleas.
“Well, if it’s a big day I-I’d be glad to help.”
“No can do Spike, I’ve had this special day set aside for a short while now.”
I said with a sweetened tone, I was being rude, but I didn't want to give the impression he wasn't welcomed.
“But, but I could-“
“All is well Spike, now I must prepare before I’m too late.”
I usually had a lie for him, but my conscious couldn’t handle such clichéd tactics today, so I’d told him the bare minimum to spare us both. He’d finally given up all resistance once we’d reached the door and his scales no longer sliding forward. He sighs and bids me farewell, “I really have to make it up to him.”
That is what I tell myself every time, and every time he refuses to acknowledge my attempts at revealing how horrid I am for such a sweet soul.
It’s only 4:00pm and I only have two hours to finish preparations for my guest this evening.
All the décor is complete, the little burgundy room is set for every accommodation.
I have to withhold myself, as I usually did. Just the thought of tonight’s sojourner so close to my lungs, when he’s through his very aroma, will become my breath. And now… this heat, this yearning doing its best to forcibly yield my body and all rational thought.
I can’t help tracing the heat, the sensation and desire tingling about every course and curve my mature form has sculpted. My breathing slows as my heart starts to race, one deep breath becomes ten and my body is no longer in control. Upon inspection I find myself needing to visit the little mare’s room to remove the evidence of my desire, a lady must never display an unrestrained sense of eagerness.
I arrived at the tavern sooner than anticipated, I had freshened up and found myself at the outskirts of Ponyville; at a place where I was the type of pony nopony dare knew, all but one.
As I trot through the door, the bell sound signaling all, including him. It wasn’t enough that my appearance alone was for “whatever reason” cause for alarm and curiosity whenever I came to such rustic quarters.
Wood lavished everything I lay eyes on, except the bottles of course. The rows and rows of labeled glass lining the shelves held a myriad of liquors and wines, all of which I knew of course; some were centuries old, aged to perfection, and others an unfortunate reminder, being at least a decade or so younger than myself… barely.
The furniture looked almost identical to the kind I’ve seen in a certain farmer’s abode. The only thing stone were the walls, their edges were lined with miniature tapestries of breweries that the owner purchased from more than any other; and of course they all were cheap, something to fill the belly and cleanse the brain of thought.
The smell of bits and aspirations wasted filled the air, the dim and damaged lights led to the only complement here; that being the moonlight peering through the windows and intruding upon what little intelligence I knew most here had left after their third mug of “forget-me-not.”
As I venture further I ignore the wandering eyes, and his gaze from across the room, he knew I’d come for him. My limbs lead me to the nearest bar stool at the counter, and the only bartender here; he was the owner and also the only one who knew my name, yet he insisted on calling me “Pearl” of all things. He says I have the personality and skin of one, though he never gives an explanation whenever I asked.
“Evening Hoist, the usual darling.”
I say with my usual glow, even as I struggle to find comfort for my fragile rear in such retro seating. He looks over my shoulder and we exchange smiles, he’s never lost when it came to finding my guest from the crowd.
“…Well, he looks healthy. One cocktail coming up.”
I always find myself ordering the same when I have a long night ahead of me, the same combination of restlessness and vigor in a cooled glass.
It really is a shame Hoist shares my interest in the same sex, he fills out that collar and vest so well. But it became nearly impossible not to look slimming in black for the past decade. And I’ve never known a mare to detest mocha, I envy how clean he keeps his coat and mane at times.
Still, there is one silver lining, luckily our similar interest allows him to keep me well informed. Like tonight for example, I’d already fulfilled one of his fantasies the night we’d met before.
Flaunting my darkened eyes and parting my moist lips as I blew an inviting breath against the tip of his ear, my horn keeping his hooves still as mine were left free to explore the island and its volcano till his heart’s desire beneath the table.
I was able to measure his tact and all the while I fought temptation right then and there, not a single taste… until I was certain he was satisfied. And being the mare I was I knew the face of satisfaction quite well. A gentle taste, just one, a rich texture with a thick foundation all told by the tongue. Unfortunately he hadn’t given any resistance to my technique so his stamina and prowess remained a mystery.
“You know, I never get tired of that face.”
I was startled back to reality, I could feel it, and my face was crimson as I had fallen into my own thoughts. My drink already standing before me the same as Hoist and that sly smile of his whenever he caught me this color. To my surprise my drink had a twin in a tall glass, of course I furrowed a brow at him.
“I figure you’ll need both tonight, I haven’t seen you handle any stallion his size. Don’t worry Pearl, they're on the house,” he says as he cleans the inside of a mug with the same rag he dances against the dirty shelves.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at what he was insisting as I traced a hoof against the chilled rim of the glass.
“Size isn’t everything you know, without stamina or technique it all goes to waste.”
I returned the smile and thanked him, I had far more experience than he had and we both knew if there were a debate I would win in the end. He’d learned that lesson twice this week. I grinned at the gifts bestowed upon me, firmly gripping their sides and handles in turn, downing both in admittedly, less time than a regal mare like myself should.
I turned to him and I remembered I hadn’t even caught his name, there was always a thrill, even without the chase of course. I’d already managed to catch him, I didn’t see the point in going after his name as well.
Even at this very moment when I gazed at him, I knew I was biting my lip, perhaps even primping my mane, and I didn’t care. He looked so appealing, so taut and firm. Through something in particular had occurred to me the first night, and still it didn’t bother me, too much. This stallion looked very similar to a dear friend of mine, he was alluring mix of fruit and amber with a mane spun of gold, and he carried the stature of another's sibling. I even checked to see if he had fruit tattooed to his backside, thankfully he didn’t.
I made a mental note to have a pleasant conversation about this experience… well, some of it to my dear friend when this was over.
It wasn’t long before he stood from his chair and came to my side, his hoof found its way around my waist and his whispers swam into my ears. He was lacking the accent of the originals, but he housed a smooth tongue which more than made up for it.
After a sport of giggling he lifts me from the stool and into his hooves as a testament to his strength, he was already more fun than I thought he’d be. Hoist waved farewell to me and I did the same as we head toward the exit.
We arrived at the boutique and I was his guide to the little burgundy room. The room was nothing special, aside from the large black bed, the bouquet of scented candles to ascent the dim room, and plush carpeting specifically lined in this cozy little crevice of my abode.
I could tell he was impressed as I watch his eyes glance every inch of the room, and once again every inch of myself as I shut the door behind us and lead him to the princess-sized canopy, lightly brushing the veils aside as I pulled him in.
It’s inevitable, as it always was; the eagerness building inside me. The heat returning ever so quickly as he made contact past my fur, against my skin. I grabbed hold of his massive hooves and guide them against the warmth taking hold. His hooves tracing every inch of the coming flame and turning it into a scorching fire, I could feel the same sensation between my folds and that’s where I led him. I’d been longing for his touch all evening, he leans closer and presses his muzzle to mine, as he went further I knew he could taste the cocktail as his tongue waltz with mine. His hoof massaged my entrance and the other ravaged my mane. Moans escape as I felt his caress beneath the light of the candles, I could tell he had no intention of being tender with me, not for much longer.
I brushed a hoof against his toned chest and find my own limbs reaching for his enthusiasm as well, it was a size better than I remembered the other night, I caress it slowly and hear his approval, my honey and his milk beginning to spill.
He pulls me closer, his strength and warmth around my waist as he drives his tongue deeper, how I sorely wish it were something else. His eyes now ajar and so are mine, he smiles and a hoof with a firm grip met with my rear end, I could see his appetite. He grins, he could see mine as well, and we both knew whose was stronger. The feel of it violating my insides, the warm rush dripping, spilling into my throat after he’s finished, like aged rum; him giving me all his girth without mercy.
That was my shame, that was the joy I was about to experience. He stood to his knees and I set myself to all fours, the view was immaculate as I looked upward, my backside and both our primal scents decorating the air. His length now pressed against my nose, I happily inhaled the aroma, a familiar euphoria returning as I grinned, letting his length slump over my nostrils before taking the first sample, I brought my tongue against the underside and it trailed till it reached the end of the tip, a healthy bit of saliva left hung in its place.
We gave one another shivers, his size and my technique were made for one another, for my fantasy. I give the head an appreciative kiss before I open wide and wrap my tongue against as much as I could fit inside, it was bliss; his build, the scent of his musk as I steadily bobbed back and forward to loosen him up. He was finally starting to understand just how serious my proposal was, the reality of my fantasy; my lungs being coated with something far more satisfying than air.
He started moving on his own, finally, gradually he starts forcing his member against my tongue, plunging in more and more of himself as he grasps my mane and brush past my tonsils. I adored his taste and pre-heated flavor, he was already melting inside me. He increased his pace and I closed my eyes, he was grunting and pumping all he had down my throat, harder, and faster, I could feel his stallionhood pulsing, I savor every vibration as he drew closer and closer to the finale.
My cheeks inflate and he finds room to grab my waist once again,he’s going deeper and hastening his pace, my throat began to burn just as I hoped as he arched backward for the third and final enormous push. His seed releasing, splashing down my throat and giving the soothing ache I desired all along, his milk coating my throat, my vision leaving me momentarily and the pungent taste overwhelming most of my senses as he made certain I sucked him dry.
As he pulls out there is a thick line of what he’d left on my tongue, the essence now coating my lips, it was wonderful to have my sense of smell engulfed, dominated. My tongue remained outside of its home as I catch my breath and clean my muzzle. I’m sure I look a mess, like a sweaty mongrel begging for more as I sit here panting. And as I catch my breath I see him growing stiff before my eyes once again, as I’d expected.
To my surprise he positions himself behind me before I could protest or suggest another fantasy of mine. He takes his tongue to my center, to my pearl. Parting any resistance and his tongue descend within my walls without hesitation. I couldn’t help but moan, to cry out, he had a hidden talent most stallions did not.
“Ah yes, right there, right there!”
I never knew stallions could be well-versed with their tongues in such ways, most have little sense of a mare’s form. He laps away at the honey and nectar that my body produces. However, he stops sooner than I had hoped, I whine and then he chuckles after being so cruel. I wag my tail and he gives his word of reassurance, but that doesn't stop me from wanting just a bit more. I take a steady breath, and I receive just that, his undercarriage now prodding at my insides, soon enough he finds a way to fit almost all of himself in.
He massaged my rear before finding his balance and grinding against my depths, I hadn’t enjoyed myself this much in such a long time, I could swear I was purring as he begins rocking forward. He wasn’t as gentle on this end, he quickly began increasing his pace, given my current view I could see his loins smacking against my own and that only enticed me even further as he went faster, his grasp getting stronger as he thrust with vigor.
He smacks my cutiemark and grabs hold of my tail, tugging it with his teeth for a moment, and without realizing it I’m screaming. He’s just so rough, so feral. I bite the sheets as he leans in closer and does the same to my ear, still thrusting and moaning with all his might, closer and closer I came, I was approaching the edge.
We both shout as he commits to his previous routine, arching back even farther for the last thrust, he warms my lush center with his seed, over and over again until every drop is squeezed out of him, my legs now left whimpering with satisfaction as they reached their limit of passion and we collapse onto the bed in heated perspiration.
My sojourner and I shower before he departs, I sent him home without a name or number, just a smile and fluttering eyelids. He waved and trotted down the dirt road, toward the stars. I’ve no idea who or what I allowed to accompany me to bed tonight, but this may be the first time I consider giving a “stallion” a second round.