> A Portrait of Perversity
>  by LocalWriteDrone
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Gift
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: The Gift

It was very odd of the Princess to give you such a gift like this. Mind, it wasn’t that you and the Sun were enemies or anything along those lines,just that she never really interacted with you much. Most curious, she never really even shown much surprise when you suddenly appeared up in this bizarre pastel horsey land; just a generic welcome and a reminder to try and not blow anyone up. You’ve kept to your word, for the most part, making a small ensemble of acquaintances in the local town of colorful talking horse aliens. You were a bit of an eccentric, so you hadn’t too much issue blending in with the town. You also came in a few years ago with a bit of an aggressive streak that has since diluted a bit. This had endeared you to a select few in Ponyville, but for the most part the town let you be. You bunked in a small wooden house you and the local farm hands helped you build after you managed to score a few bits. One lone hall connecting to a single bedroom, a restroom, and a kitchen, all nestled at the top of a hill overlooking Ponyville.

You gazed across the golden paper you hand torn off around the rectangular box revealing two portraits, seemingly hand-painted. Each square stood about four feet high by three feet wide. The first had an enchantingly dark green background, and in the canvas, standing with her legs crossed elegantly was a rather sophisticated looking young mare. Her hair was a fine silver, and her coat a regal looking white. She wore a necklace of silver around her neck with earrings as well, matching her hair. Her mane was elegantly braided, as was her tail, looking long and healthy. Her eyes were grayish-blue in color, dark in contrast with her lighter fur.

The other portrait had a bit more kick to it, its background a vibrant, passionate blend of orange, yellows, and reds; splattered like a sunset. In the center of this painting was another mare, this one drawn with a bit of a smug smile, her eyes lidded. She had messier rose-red hair and a fine orange coat color. Her mane is a bit frazzled and cut short for a mare, reminiscent of the local weather pegasus. She stood facing you from the portrait, her body situated in such a way that the curves of her body were accentuated nicely. A curious pose for a seemingly classy portrait.

You’ve actually had a long-held appreciation for the arts, but you never recall telling Celestia, or heck, anyone from Ponyville about this before. As you wonder just where the idea of giving you these two portraits came from, you look over the frames. Both were made of gold and decorated with swirls and indentations for diamonds (not included) and there was an inscription at the bottom of the frame, set in two brackets.

On the painting of the sophisticated mare it read, ‘Lady of the Manor’ and underneath ‘Artist Unknown’. The spunkier looking mare reads ‘The Alternative Lady’ and underneath ‘Artist Also Unknown’. This strikes you immediately as curious to include the term ‘also’. The paintings both looked very realistic so it didn’t strike you as strange that they were in a bundle, but such an engraving struck you as unprofessional. Then again, you’ve never really been to a pony museum so maybe their standards were simply different. 

You waste no time in hanging each portrait along your hallway, facing each other. Considering how devoid of possessions most of your home was, you have to admit it felt just the tiniest sliver classier adorned with these two fine paintings. You could only imagine how expensive they must be, and you continue to roll about your head just why the Princess saw you fit to have them. Regardless, a gift is a gift, and having nothing else to do you wander to your room and sit at your desk. After shuffling through the mess of all you had amassed in the desk drawer you find a fine looking piece of parchment, a quill, and ink. You feel a bit awkward addressing Royalty, even though Celestia was fairly casual as far as royalty goes. Or so her student had told you at least. Still, keeping in mind the basic tact (you may have fun screwing around in Ponyville, but you still had the basic sense of social understanding to know not to piss off the Alicorn God Princess who lets you stay here) you write a quick thank you letter. Once the ink had dried you insert it into a simple white letter and begin to make your way down the hallway to have it sent off, passing the two portraits along the way.

‘My painting is crooked’

‘Fix it.’

What? You stop dead in your tracks as you look at the Lady of the Manor. Her inscription had changed. Wait, what, no, that’s ridiculous. You’re seeing things.

 … Nope, it’s still there. You hear a tapping noise and gaze up to feel your heart skip a beat to see the regal mare had gotten … closer to the portrait? She was tapping her hoof against it! The portrait itself wasn’t shaking but it was making an unmistakable tapping noise. You gape and just stare, and you see her giving you an irritated glare before darting her eyes downward. You follow back to the inscription again.

‘It’s rude to stare’

‘The bottom is off to the left by two centimeters.’

Okay. This is happening. Motivated by her piercing stare you find yourself lean forward (the walls were still built more to pony scale than human, the roof was only barely above your head, a downside to using mostly ponies for your construction team) to try and adjust the painting. You give it a rough jerk to the right, only to hear a thump as the mare’s face smacked against the portrait. The inscription changed again.

‘AAAGHK!!’

‘WHAT IN CELESTIA’S-!? Be gentle! I’m fragile!’

You hold the painting still, and watch as the mare adjusts herself. Despite being painted in (while realistically drawn, the paints used on her were visible and she was clearly a part of the portrait) she moved at a surprisingly natural pace, standing back up and rubbing where her nose had hit the… glass? If not for your surprise at how ridiculous the situation was, this would almost be hilarious. She adjusts her mane and necklace in a snooty manner before looking back at you.

‘Do be’

‘More careful now.’

Taking her advice, you slide the bottom of the painting to the right just a touch, having to lean uncomfortably low to do so. 

‘Almost there,’

‘Too much, a pinch to the left.’

You look up with an annoyed glare. She sighs silently.

‘-This is my new home.’

‘I want to settle properly.’

You adjust the painting perfectly, and the Lady gives you a curt nod.

“Is that perfect, your highness?” you ask aloud, talking more to yourself than her. To your surprise she gives you a curt smile, and her inscription changes.

‘Indeed.’

‘You may be on your way now.’

Then it dawns that yes, she can hear you. But you apparently can’t hear her. In any case, her snooty attitude has made a poor first impression on you and you look forward to leaving her a bit to go and figure this out and-oh wait, you have another painting, don’t you?

‘Hey babe’

‘That painting would actually look best a bit lower’

You jump a bit in shock as you raise your eyes from the curious inscription of The Alternate Lady to find the frazzled mare equally close to the portrait. She had her eyes fixed on you, albeit at a lower angle than you prefered. Her pale orange cheeks had just the slightest tint of pink to them and the gaze she was giving you struck you as far more lecherous than a mare should be capable of. She was so close to the screen you could only see her from a bit below her neck up. Her forearms and hooves respective seemed to be arching slowly back and forth. She raises on up, pointing down at the inscription. You look down to quickly to notice the hoof was glistening with something.

‘Not that you need to turn around,’

‘This angle works fine too’

It’s then you feel your face flush. You were just going to bring your letter to the mailbox in your front yard (you didn’t have any neighbors) so you didn’t have to bother getting dressed for the excursion. You were still in a pair of simple black boxers and a t-shirt the local seamstress made for you. you cover yourself instinctively, and the mare giggles in her painting silently before giving the glass a playful kiss.

‘I’m just teasing you, love’

‘Go on, deliver your goods’

You continue staring at her for a few seconds, which she returns with a sly grin of her own, her eyes half-lidded as she sets her head onto a hoof. You are currently too … something between flustered and confused; conflustered, to formulate any sort of clever response. She refuses to break the stare off.

“... Right.” You grab the letter and continue to the front door. You can feel at least one pair of eyes following you all the while, maybe two. You didn’t look back. 

You feel a bit more relieved as you exit into your front yard. The autumn sun was gentle and Ponyville was barely visible down the hill your house sat at. You had a large number of trees scattered around your house so you didn’t worry too much about any pony seeing you in your underwear. Hell, there were a number of nights you enjoyed at the pond near the small porch of your house in the buff. Admittedly, most of the populace beneath you seemed fond of nudity anyways so it wasn’t that pressing of a concern. You weren’t a pony though so the standard wasn’t exactly the same.

 No, what the actual concern was is that you had some self-proclaimed royalty and a voyeur in your hallway right now inside of paintings. What was this about, some sort of security? Were they spying on you for Celestia? No that was paranoia speaking, no reason to assume that. A prank? They both seemed way to sentient for a prank, and there were at least fifteen moral strictures to unicorn magic that would prevent creating life solely for a gag. You collapse onto the step of your porch, holding your envelope and thinking what to do. You crumple up your letter. This calls for some sort of revision. Walking back to your room would mean crossing those two again. You needed some sort of game plan first.

Didn’t you? Admittedly they both seemed pretty stuck there. They could move around but… what if there was more to it than that? Two mares trapped in paintings. For what purpose? Punishment? Both look pretty healthy and content with their stations. Before you can respond, you see a shadow above you and hear a loud thunk! as the local mailmare collided into the dirt about a foot from your mailbox. You go to cover yourself only to find that it was just Derpy. Being the only mailmare to cover routes on the far edge of Ponyville, you’ve made idle conversation with her before. She liked delivering to your house since you don’t really care about any grass she pulls up with her occasional collisions. Flying cross-eyed must be a bitch. 

“Hey Anon, a letter for you! From the Princess too!”

Immediately you dart to your feet and take the purple, ribbon-wrapped envelope from the mare. She shakily gets back to her hooves, taking one glance at you before respectfully averting her eyes. At least one of them anyways.

“Oh, uh, sorry about this, wasn’t expecting two runs,” you awkwardly explain as you tear out the ribbon.

Her cheeks a bit pink, the mailmare responds with an equally awkward “It’s um,  no problem… Take care, Anon!” before turning her back to you, waving, and taking back off to the sky.

You’ve spoken with her enough and she’s seen you in more compromising positions to really worry about this too much. You were now more focused on the fine golden ink on the paper Celestia had sent you.

‘Dearest Anon,


As this arrives, I have little doubt you may have noticed the unusual nature of the parcel I have sent you. First and foremost, yes it is indeed meant for you, and no, it is not by any means any form of intentional privacy invasion on my part. I confess that I have invaded your privacy, albeit only in small amounts, in the past. Living on the edge of Ponyville as you do, my routine guards often take notice of your current home. Namely that you very rarely leave it aside from odd jobs and the rare drink with one Miss Rainbow Dash and Miss Pinkie Pie. both of which you haven’t been socializing with much either the past few months. I imagine it must get lonely, so consider the two Ladies a present of company from me to you. Before you need worry, I did not create the two, but their existence is traced back far too long to reveal to you now. Just know that they are sentient but are not suffering and should you give them time, prove fine company. 


PS: Invest in a paint brush and oils


With Care,

~Princess Celestia.

You reread over the letter a few times. Of course she had already read exactly what was on your mind the second the paintings started moving and had a counter argument prepared. Equestrian royalty was nothing to sneeze at. But more importantly, was she calling you a shutin? And that was still spying you, she had no right to-

You groan, you can’t bring yourself to get riled up. Raging against the Sun wasn’t going to do any good, and to be honest, life had been pretty lonely lately. Ever since the local librarian ascended and that hugeass, scenery-clashing castle erupted from town square you’ve been seeing less and less of Dash and Pinks, the only two ponies you’ve really bonded with. Well, Derpy too, but your situation with her was a bit more complicated. In any case, holding onto this letter would be a good idea. You also recall her mentioning of getting a paint set. You’d do it now since she’d sparked the curiosity but you’d need to get dressed first. You figure you could just ignore the two girls in the paintings, but then again, Celestia did say to give them a chance....

Screw it, you sigh, walking back indoors. You’ll put the letter away, get dressed, and hit the town for a bit to think this all over. That’s it. You take a few stomps forward, entering your hallway, the two paintings still present where you left them. On your right you notice the Lady of the Manor is reclining on what appeared to be air, her eyes shut and her nose up. She’d look fine with a glass of wine, you think to yourself.

THUD!!

“Gah! What in the f-?”

You turn in shock to the other side of the hallway to see that Alternate had slammed a hoof against her portrait. She was staring at you, and had a look of concern and worry to her eyes. 

               ‘PLEASE HELP ME’

               ‘MY CANVAS IS BEGINNING TO TEAR!!’

        That catches your attention. 

        “Well what do I do?”

        The Lady is watching from her own painting now, looking alert while the inscription under Alternative begins to shift, letters forming;

        ‘Take me to your room!’

        ‘You have to stop me from ripping!’

        Her eyes were starting to water, was this hurting her? It was impossible to tell but no time to ask, you quickly rip her portrait from the wall. She tumbles but you don’t have time to care as you rush to your room. You set her on the bed, leaning against the wall where she is watching nervously. You throw open your desk drawer and a mess of papers and the like clatter to the floor.

        “Shit… C’mon, tape, tape, tape… Glue…Tacks…Anything...” 

        Son of a bitch! Of course you have nothing that can help the situation, you quickly turn back to the Alternative Mare for any potential solutions. She’s looking right back at you, smiling. She was laying onto her back, her hind legs spread eagle before you, a hoof pulling her marehood open just a bit for you. A thick red blush was spread about her face, her green eyes gleaming in an almost dangerous way as she leaned her head forward to stare back at you. Her tongue was pressed firmly between her teeth. She slid her hoof back just a hint, opening her rosy, wet passage a bit more for you. Her inscription had changed.

        ‘So that’s all it takes’

        ‘To get me in bed with you, huh?’

        She brings her other hoof to her lips, hiding a silent giggle before giving a wink to you. You feel a mix of feelings rush to your chest, anger at the lie, confusion at this whole goddamn life, and the heat of curious, curious passion. The way her painted form moved was almost hypnotic, the way her tail fell flat, hidden beneath the frame of the portrait, yet she clearly ‘breathed’ for you. She tensed her thighs up before opening them wider, pulling her haunch so you could see both her entrances quite clearly. She had healthy hips, if not almost a bit on the pudgy side. You bring your hand to your temple, not sure how to handle this situation.

        ‘Now don’t be bitter, love’

        ‘You seem to be responding in the right ways for me...’

        She takes her teeth away from her tongue long enough to remove her hoof from her sex, licking her own nectar from her limb, dampening it with her own saliva before sliding it back between her thighs and gazing back at you. Lower.

        ‘...Down...’

        ‘...There...’

        There was no point hiding it, between the adrenaline of her scare earlier and the free show of her body now, your manhood had come to an achy stiffness, and while you feel ashamed at how intoxicating the mare’s body was, already a beam of clear liquid managed to slip through the fabric at the tip of your cock where precum was forming. 

        ‘Don’t fight it, sweetie...’

        ‘Let me look at you...’

        She pulls her right leg back even further with impressive flexibility, diving the tip of her hoof inside of her now and gyrating it in circles, her walls taking her in like a champ. Her other hoof makes its way under her other thigh, pulling the rotund flesh of her rump back to further stretch her entrances for you. A trail of drool escapes her mouth, which curves into a perverse grin

        ‘Let me see...’

        ‘Your cock.’

        You really should resist, but those scary green eyes are hard to refuse. She was just… a painting right? You feel your breathing grow heavy under her stare as you slide your hands at the stretchy fabric that hemmed your boxers and pull it down. Your erection pops up at full mast, a small trail of pre visibly connected to the fabric of your underwear before collecting on the floor. Alternative gasps silently before sliding her tongue around the top of her lip, diving her hoof even deeper into her body. The other beginning to playfully prod at her anus.

        “Have it your way… But what do I do now?” You sigh, she was absolutely shameless, her eyes not once leaving your shaft as her inscription shifted again.

        ‘Do what feels good’

        ‘Tend to it, love.’

        She slows her own self-ministrations to stare at your cock, waiting impatiently. Her body shuddered, her eyes burning and damp with her own passion. You awkwardly bring your hand down to waist level, your fingers padding against where the pillar of flesh began. She winces slightly, moaning inaudible as her inscription shifted again, bolder this time.

        ‘Ah… Go on, grab it!’

        ‘Jerk off for me, don’t stop till you get every drop out!’

        That was incentive enough, you bring your hand around your cock, and wrap it tightly into your fist. Too dry… You take your other hand, and with your finger smear your pre down your shaft. You regret not keeping lubrication on hand. Ponies had the luck of both genders releasing enough natural lube to never need the stuff. But the show of you smearing your cock in your own fluid was apparently enticing enough for the mare. She bites into her lip as she watches, sliding her other hoof into her ass and slowly pumping inward and outward on both ends, stretching herself wider.

        ‘Oh Goddess!!’

        ‘Do more, just like that, love!’

        She grits her teeth, shivering all over as she continued to ready her hooves to rut herself. You comply with her desire, mainly for matching your own bit by bit. You dig two fingers deep into the pre leaking from your tip, smearing it across the underside of your shaft. The piercing stare of the mare set against your wall made such a simple action feel so much dirtier than it ever had solo. Once you feel your member slick from your early emissions you bring your hand around yourself, leaving little room for air between your hands and your dick. Your eyes dart from your own body to the mare watching you, she had her hoof two inches inside of her now, as your eyes meet hers you see her thighs tense together, plowing her hooves a bit deeper inside of her.

        ‘Oh yes! Now...’

        ‘Squeeze yourself, hard as you can muster!’

        You don’t even bother looking at your privates anymore, too engrossed in her own lewd, messy display before you. You tense till your knuckles whiten, the flesh of your cock contouring between your tightening fingers. You can feel your body ache with pain and the longing of more attention. You ease your grip and more pre dribbles freely. You tighten again, and then it dawns on you how closely the Alternative was watching your every move. Every time your knuckles twitched as you pressed, she would drive her hoof deeper inside of her. As she moaned, her inscription would constantly shift, occasionally a legible ‘mm’ or ‘ah!’ legible from the mangled letters which seemed to have just as much trouble keeping steady as she was.

        ‘That’s the ticket...’

        ‘Now come closer to me.’

        “Mm… Right,” you half-grunt, fully removing your boxers to shamble closer to the portrait, standing at the edge of the bed, your cock gracefully situated at her eye level. She didn’t even bother to look for your eyes anymore, knowing you were already waiting for her inscriptions.

        ‘Now that’s a display...’

        ‘Now I want...’

        The words froze for a bit as she shuddered through another wave of self-inflicted pleasure, more of her essence leaking between the hoof penetrating her. Her eyes lull back a bit as her ‘instructions’ continue.

        ‘Your other hand,’

        ‘Play with your balls for me.’

        You don’t even hesitate at this point, you can feel that dangerous excitement of those naughty eyes watching you and you don’t want to disappoint. You slide your non-dominant hand under the shaft you are still squeezing and kneading to cup your hand around your balls. The two orbs hand delicately beneath you, sensitive to your touch as you grip just a little bit, allowing the two to slip around your middle finger, palm open so the mare can see every move. The sensitivity of fondling your balls makes you dick spasm, pulsing even harder against your hand. You bite into your lip and the grin of the Alternate widens, her tongue caught between her teeth.

        ‘Does it feel good?’

        ‘Moan for me...’

        Your face flushes red at the request, but the way she tensed her eyebrows with just the tiniest trace of malice turned you against fighting back. You squeeze your hands tighter, pressing your balls closer to your shaft, trying to recapture that same spasm earlier. It strikes again, your cock wracked with tension and the ache of begging release. She notices the twitch, her eyes watering slightly as she roughly jams her hoof deep into her marehood, her walls have trouble expanding at the rate she was starting to rut herself.

        “Mm… Oh….” you groan audibly, feeling incredibly awkward, the mare responds in tone with a drawn moan of her own. You can’t hear it but her inscription held no lies. The other hoof works its way against her ass, slowly prying her open to slip inside ever so slowly. With the girth of the hoof it looks painful, but she couldn’t look more satisfied, forcing her rear to adjust to the girth of her hoof at a frightening pace. The display was sending waves of lust to your privates with far more efficiency than your bare hands ever could.

        “Oh god… Shit…” you sigh, your breathing tightening up as you feel yourself grow slightly lightheaded. You’re close, and she can tell, as she spoke quickly.

        ‘Closer now!’

        ‘Come right onto my painting!’

        You halt, your body screaming at you to continue as you try to process if you read that right. She slides both hooves into her, positively gaping from both ends as she cries out, her inscription frantically writing itself now.

        ‘DO IT!!’

        ‘I WANT YOUR CUM TO COAT EVERY INCH OF MY WORLD!’

        She had the look of a sex crazed maniac, her eyes focused on your hand no longer under your control you were frantically beating faster now, still massaging the orbs beneath you faster still. You’d grip down to the point where pain would begin, which simply mixed with the pleasure racking between your thighs to further intensify what is to come. You lean forward, your forehead to the wall, staring down at the angled painting, watching her fuck herself from above as you feel it coming. You don’t slow down as you feel your whole life pause briefly before your vision fogs and the first blast of creamy white erupts from your urethra with a force you’ve never experienced before.

        Your eyes shut as the sensation of intense release over takes your, the spasms as blast after blast of your cum is forced from you. You await the sound of the gooey essence splattering against the glass only to hear… silence? You open your eyes with effort as you feel the next wave of cum about to release. It does, and you see your essence blast forward, and phase through the painting, only to messily splatter all over the mare’s pussy, splashing as though your seed fell a distance before drenching her, spreading out onto her tummy and chest. Where you had came early was clearly evident judging from the thick trails of milky white coating her muzzle, lips, and collar. There was no way you could physically cum that much, it was like the painting was taking it into perspective and was trying to drown the poor mare.

        ...Poor was a bad choice of words though, as she was bucking her hips forward as the torrent drenched her, spreading her pussy wide to try and take more of your seed inside of her. She catches your gaze as you gasp sharply as the final wave of pleasure zips down your back and erupts from your cock into one final blast of cum, which liberally drizzles down her, from her face to her pussy, the rest of your seed starting to dribble down her side and onto the background of the painting. She’s panting, lust-filled pleasure in her eyes. She lets her tongue out, low and long before lapping the cum plastered about her lips. You can see her throat tense as she swallows the colossal amount of seed before looking up at you and winking. You can even see bits of your semen had collected in her eyelashes.

        She is fully aware of your gaze and what her presence was doing to you. With a smirk she slid her hoof back into her now-overflowing pussy, drenching herself with your seed and her own nectar before playfully licking the tip of her hoof, collecting the mixed goo on her tongue, making certain you can see before swabbing it about her mouth, then taking her hoof into her mouth. She managed to get it in a full two inches despite the girth, sucking on it with enough force to cave her cheeks slightly. Then she’d look back at you with those mischievous, half-lidded eyes and popped the hoof out, flinging the spunk everywhere, bits of it trailing down her lip and chin. You fall backwards onto your desk chair behind you, feeling more spent than ever before as the mare continues to bathe in your seed.

        ‘Hah… Your cum stinks’

        ‘It’s so intoxicating...’

        You can only regain your breath as you watch the mare continue scooping up hoof fulls of your cum, licking and slurping it down in a way you’d assume would be quite noisy. Considering from her perspective it was enough to fill a bathtub you seriously doubt she’d ever be fully rid of it. Your rub your hand through your hair, your mind slowly leaving that hypnotic sex drive and your own active thoughts returning to you.

        You met two talking ponies stuck in paintings. Then you came on one an hour later. You have yet to so much as ask their names. You doubt this is what Celestia intended when she tossed these two onto you. … Well then again, maybe she did. Goddesses are weird with their multi century logic. You figure you may as well try and rectify this encounter a little bit, even though it was definitely not self-propagated.

        “Hey you, that was lovely and all, but I have a question for you.”

        She glances back up at you, reluctantly releasing a hoof full of cum to splatter about her chest. 

        ‘Must the fun be interrupted?’

        ‘Hm… Oh fine, what is it?’

        You try to avoid letting the sight of the thoroughly bukkake’d mare get to you too much.

        “You just got here, and I don’t know your name. Your title said Alternative Lady and-”

        ‘That’s a mouthful isn’t it?’ (she pauses before her second inscription, gulping visibly the cum that she had let pool in her mouth earlier)

        ‘Call me … Rosy. I like that name.”

        She smiled, for once in a genuine manner to contrast with her dishevelled and sticky appearance. You rise and sit on the bed next to the painting.

        “Alright, Rosy it is. I uh, go by Anon.”

        ‘Anon? Not very interesting a name’

        ‘I think I’ll stick with nicknames, love.’

        You look up to the ceiling, you suppose that would be fine. Would make having any company in the future awkward though. Well, aside from having two sentient horse paintings in your house would already be.

        “Okay, so just out of curiosity can I get you a towel or is there anything I can do to help you clean up in there?”

        She raises a hoof in protest.

        ‘Absolutely not, first only fluid can enter the paintings,’

        ‘And two, drinking all your cum will give me something to savor for the evening.’

        You assume she was kidding, with how the volumes differed, she’d distend her stomach taking it all in. She apparently noticed your concern, responding with a knowing giggle. 

        “Alright then, I won’t argue. But how did you know that only fluid can enter?”

        That actually gets her to stop her shameless displays long enough to look contemplative before responding.

        ‘... Well I’ve been in here since forever and’

        ‘Celestia did a lot of experiments with me.’

        She sighed and her inscription faded to be replaced as she continued ‘talking’

        ‘Unfortunately she wasn’t willing to’

        ‘Do anything really fun. Tease...’

She sighed, tossing her head back. ‘Really fun’? You begin to wonder just what Celestia does in her free time aside from apparently take care of magic paintings. In any case, you can feel yourself softening up so you stand back up, stretching. Rosy leans forward, smiling again.

        ‘Ooh?’

        ‘Ready for another round?’

        “What? No, I just came, I was going to get you resituated in the hall.”

        ‘What? But wouldn’t’

        ‘Doing it again feel even better?’

        Like a switch she was already leaning forward, sliding a hoof down her chest. You sigh and do your best to ignore it. Admittedly the temptation to stand around and jerk off all day was there, but it would probably be a bad habit to get too hooked on becoming a bukkake supplier for a painting. 

        “It’s your first day here, doesn’t seem right to spend all day jacking into a painting.” You start to put your underwear back on, and while you’re at it, find a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to toss on as well. Rosy looks notably disappointed to see you covering up.

        ‘What could possibly be’

        ‘More fun than making me your little cum deposit all day?’

        You snort loudly, trying not to laugh. To be brazen was one thing but there’s no way she could be serious talking like that. Only she wasn’t laughing. She was looking rather irritated at you for laughing in the first place. 

        “Erm, I mean it would feel good, yeah, but I still have some errands to run and uh.”

        She rolls her eyes, unimpressed.

        “And besides, I need to get you back to the Lady and-”

        Her eyes perk up with a devious grin.

        ‘Oh! Take me back!’

        ‘Make sure she can see me, oh this’ll be GOOD.’

        You don’t like the way she worded that, but take advantage of the situation to hoist her up above your head. She slides against the edge of the canvas, landing belly first. As if instinctually she splays her legs apart, ensuring that the only view above you was her soaked, flared marehood and splatters of your own cum sticking to the pane from inside. You try not to think about it as you move to the hallway and slide the painting back into place across from the Lady. 

        Rosy was already prepared apparently, she had her rump facing the canvas, tail parted and spreading herself open, still up to her hooves in cum. You blush, turning your focus on the other lady, who was currently glaring at you with an intangible amount of disgust.

        ‘Well! I see’

        ‘You’ve acquainted yourself with that delinquent.’

        While you were completely dressed, there was no use even pretending to hide what went down. Rosy would make that impossible, as she was still very much showing off her satisfied sex for her neighbor. Her inscription was no doubt reading something suitably lewd so you focus on the Lady of the Manor.

        “... I uh, couldn’t help myself. It’s been a while.” You try to shamble out an explanation, she stiffens her lip, as though ashamed to look you in the eyes, tossing her silver hair back into its proper location.

        ‘To engage in such crude acts on the first day...’

        ‘To think a pervert would be my new owner...’

        Now that’s just rude. You open your mouth to respond with an equally rude retort only to hear Rosy smacking on her portrait. Her grin had surpassed mischievous into near shit-eating levels.

        ‘Hey, she’s just jealous, babe’

        ‘You should take her for a round too.’

        The Lady’s eyes widened and she jerked her head left and right roughly, bringing her hooves up defensively. Her face was flushing red.

        ‘A-absolutely not! Never!’

        ‘To think of even considering letting someone just-’

        You sigh, it looks like these two would keep each other company just fine. 

        “Relax snooty, I’m just going out to the store to restock the fridge.” You begin to ease out only for another tap of Rosy to steal your attention. The Lady whose name you’d yet to inquire had taken to turning away from her portrait, refusing to look at the two of you now. Rosy’s inscriptions read:

        ‘You should totally buy’

        ‘A paintbrush and some oil paints. Trust me.’
        



> A Night and Wine
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2: A Night and Wine

        An hour passes, and you find yourself in the middle of the bustling shopping district of Ponyville. You figured you may as well properly stock your house since you admittedly don’t get out as much as you should these days. You bring a small wooden wagon from home which you have loaded with some fruit, bread, and just because it’s been an interesting day, a copious amount of hard cider (it was the season after all) and a bottle of wine. Having made your rounds and made small talk with some of the inhabitants around Ponyville, the last visit was the local art shop, run by a brunette unicorn by the name of Palette Print. She’s a lifesaver as you hadn’t really done much in the way of art aside from simple writing since you’d arrived here five years ago.

        After taking some advice from her you bought three different brushes of varying width, a variety of small containers of acrylic paints (Palette insisted that as a novice you’d want to avoid oil since they dry so quickly) of many colors. You also bought a small container of paint thinner. As you make your purchases it dawns on you why Ponyville was so colorful and why so many of its inhabitants took up the arts, as the supplies wound up being very cheap. Only a few bits total. 

        Once you had your wagon suitably full of supplies you decide to head on back. You briefly consider telling Dash or Pinkie about your new friends but decide it may be better to keep them your little secret for just a little while, at least until you understand more about them. Heck, you don’t even know the Lady of the Manor’s real name yet. Thus your trek uphill to your home, wagon in tow, begins.

        You make your way inside, grateful your kitchen is immediately on the left so you don’t have to worry about your new guests the second you get home. After a few trips you load all your groceries into your cabinet. You leave the cider and wine on the counter for later in the evening. You set your art tools on the cabinet as well and head down the hallway.

        “Yo.” you say, turning first towards Rosy, but she doesn’t respond. She was laying on her back, snoring. She had her leg hoisted up comically, twitching occasionally. Her fur looks very mottled in numerous areas from her ‘bath’ earlier, but true to her boast, almost all of your seed was gone. You can see two faint trails of white from the corner of her lips that you doubt you can attribute to drool. Her inscription reads.

        ‘Zzzzzz’

        ‘Zzzzzz’

        “Yeesh, I really did a number on you…” You sigh, only to hear a tap behind you. Oh right, the other Lady. She’s looking at you, irritation clear on her face. She points her hoof to the inscription beneath her.

        ‘... All she did was talk’

        ‘About what you did with her.’

        The inscription shifts.

        ‘Nothing but regaling the tale of your lewd escapades.’

        ‘For a whole hour. While… drinking.’

        It’d be a bit less unsettling were she to be yelling, but that sort of seething stare said more than enough. No wonder Rozy looked so satisfied.

        “Well couldn’t you just… ignore her? I mean, the inscriptions and all.” She huffs.

        ‘In the painting I don’t have the luxury’

        ‘Of hearing the silence on your end.’ The text resets.

        ‘Every single sound that crude, scandalous...’

        ‘Mare makes, I hear! And it echoes!’

        You get the assumption she was biting her tongue with ‘mare’ there. That’s a helpful bit of Portrait Pony science though: They can hear each other without inscriptions. That means that this Lady here was the only pony to probably even know what Rosy’s voice actually sounds like. And vice-versa, of course. You groan, you had to take some degree of (ir)responsibility in this case. You guess. She did seem genuinely irate at you and while she was snooty, you hadn’t been the best roomie so far.

        “Alright, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to start a fight. If it’ll help, would you rather be set somewhere else from now on?” You keep your tone genuine, and you notice a little bit of the tension leave the mare’s eyes.

        ‘That… won’t be necessary.’

        ‘She’s unrefined but I can’t just leave her.’

        She pauses, you open your mouth to talk but she quickly responds over her own inscription.

        ‘However I would’

        ‘Love to get away from her for just a while.’

        “... Okay, I can arrange that, would my bedroom do?”

        ‘Excuse me!?’

        ‘The same room that you and, a-and her just-’

        “Woah, okay, okay. Bad suggestion, would the kitchen do better?”

        She stammers a bit, looking more embarrassed over the outburst than anything else and nodded curtly.

        ‘Yes… Um, Sir.’

        ‘The kitchen will do.’

        “Please don’t call me sir.” you say as you unhinge the painting from the wall, taking care not to shake her up too badly this time. It dawns on you that setting her back up again later will require another ordeal of millimeter-perfection. Too late to worry now, keeping her upright you began your short walk down the hall to the kitchen/dining area and your front door. You head to where your counter met the corner of the wall and leaned the portrait against it so it wouldn’t fall. You don’t know exactly what would happen were the portrait to fall and shatter, but you probably didn’t want to find out. 

        “Well here we are, it’s not much but…” you already can feel her criticism of your kitchen coming.

        ‘Quaint but it has a rustic charm.’

        ‘You desperately need to dust more often though.’

        She wore a small smile as she addressed you, glancing from the table to the shelves, and then out the window to the final bits of sunlight making their way in. It would be night soon enough. The mare took a seat in her painting, gracefully crossing her forehooves as she did so. With her general high-strung disposition displayed earlier, you didn’t really notice that she was very charming. Her darker eyes had that same captivating ability that Rosy had, in addition to the fine, soft colors of her coat and the amount of work put into her hair; she was actually very pretty. You doubt she’d want to hear that from you though. You consider small talk to make only for her to interrupt you as her eye continued purusing all that was laid on the counter.

        ‘Are those paints I spy?’
        
        ‘So you took her advice.’

        She rolls her eyes.

        ‘That’s fine though,’

        ‘Are you an artist, um…’

        “Just.. call me Anon, and not really. I’m interested in learning though.”

        Her eyes widen a bit.

        ‘Oh.. a novice. Well,’

        ‘Just make sure to practice anything on Rosy first please.’

        Wait what? 

        “I’m sorry, what are you talking about? I already have paper…”

        ‘Hm? Didn’t she tell you? You can simply’

        ‘Draw in our canvases.’

        Something about that sounded very… wrong. You mull that over in your head as she continues speaking.

        ‘The Princess often drew for us,’

        ‘She designed an elaborate and lovely room for me.’ The inscription rewrites itself.

        ‘A fine queen-sized bed, a shelf of literature...’

        ‘And wine every night.’

        She had a blissful smile to her face, looking up the ceiling, you notice her posture hunch ever so slightly, recalling the good days. If Celestia had gone to such lengths to take such good care of these two, why did she want you to take over? Wait a second.

        “So I’m assuming she also drew for Rosy as well?”

        ‘Rosy? Is that the name she’s using now?’

        ‘Well yes, Celestia’s only fault is her willingness to endure Rosy’s … suggestions.’

        She shudders. Her eyes droop a bit.

        ‘Honestly, a Princess shouldn’t even allow such thoughts to enter her mind,’

        ‘Much less indulge some vulgar filly in her lewd fantasies every night.’

        There is a lot you apparently don’t know about the Princess. You are extremely curious as to just what the Princess drew for the mare, but that line of questioning would probably bring you back to square one with… 

        “Well, I’m sure she just wanted to be accommodating, Miss- uh?” She brings a hoof to her mouth.

        ‘Oh my! Here I was chastising’

        ‘And I’ve yet to even introduce myself.’ She adjusts her hair, as though trying to create a perfect late first impression.

        ‘I am Azalea.’

        ‘I do appreciate you taking me in, Sir Anon.’

        You chuckle, talking as you walk to the counter and take a bottle of your cider. The sun was just about down which you felt justified in a drink. You pop the cap off against the counter.

        “It’s no problem, but you really have to stop calling me ‘sir’, it’s really unusual.”

        ‘Asking a lady to forego her manners.’

        ‘Shameful, and what is that you are drinking?’

        You set your bottle down. Admittedly Apple Family cider was best from a mug but it still had that delectable dry taste you’ve gotten so used to. 

        “It’s cider. Farm nearby sells it around this season.”

        ‘Oh… Well at least it isn’t a common beer.’

        ‘I miss-Oh, what’s that over there?’

        Her eyes widen a bit as her eyes settle past the five bottles of cider to the tall green bottle behind them, marked only by an engraving in the glass of a bushel of grapes. You didn’t even really pay attention much when you purchased it. Contrary to your home world and most of Equestria, in Ponyville wine didn’t fetch the prices it would in the more aristocratic Canterlot or even Cloudsdale. This meant not many merchants sold it (little profit to be made and a very small audience) so you snatched it up on a whim for a special night. Judging by the life it gave to the mare’s eyes, that night may be sooner than you anticipated.

        “Oh, just some wine, the local shop had a bit in and I had some spare bits.”

        Her eyes reluctantly turn away, and she smiles weakly.

        ‘Oh, well that’s good.’

        ‘Um… What year is it? Just out of curiosity.’

        “Um”, you hum picking up the bottle looking for any sort of engraving of the year. No dice, the standards of alcohol in Equestria had always been a great irritation for you. Ponies generally had a very low alcohol tolerance by nature so they never marked anything on their drinks unless it was of the utmost expensive variety. You figure Azalea only knows to ask the year from her time spent with Celestia. 

        “Sorry Azalea, it’s completely unmarked.”

        You set your cider aside, it’s not much but maybe a glass of wine between the two of you would be a good way to settle relations a bit. She seemed to be in higher spirits out of the hallway. You dig through your shelves and find what you are looking for, your old corkscrew. Azalea was watching you intently as you whittle into the cork and pop it off. You take a quick whiff of it, it emanates a fruity scent that almost overwhelmed the scent of the alcohol. Azalea nervously taps on her portrait to take your attention.

        ‘Um… Would it be acceptable’

        ‘For me to have a whiff, Sir Anon?’

        “Don’t call me sir… And how would that even work?”

        ‘Oh, I keep forgetting you’re new to this,’

        ‘Just bring the bottle towards my eye level and blow gently.’ The inscription rewrites itself.

        ‘The scent will enter my portrait’

        ‘And I’d be able to smell it.’

        … Huh, so liquids are able to enter the paintings as well as scents? Was it the air that held the scent that could pass through the glass or something chemical in nature? You feel for Twilight not being the recipient of these two, she’d have a field day of researching them. You however, can save that sort of curiosity for later. Following her explanation you step to her painting and tip the bottle towards her. She trots closer to the painting, the bottom of the frame situated where her chest began. Her eyes are at the bottle leaning against the canvas. You lean forward, your mouth near where the bottle opened. You glance up quickly,  Azalea did too, the two of you had the glass and an inch of bottle separating your faces. Her cheeks glow pink but she doesn’t say anything. You tense your lips and blow gently. 

        You can tell it works, as the mare smiles contently and closes her eyes, savoring the scent. She wasn’t lying on how much she missed the stuff. You were planning on teasing her a bit before offering but considering the state of the situation you decide to give into your nicer side.

        “... If you’d like I could pour you some through the painting.” Her eyes shoot open and she waves her hooves frantically as you tip the bottle slightly.

        ‘Nononono! Bad idea!’

        ‘Volume differences!’ The script rapidly shifts as she continues.

        ‘I do enjoy wine but,’

        ‘I’d rather not… drown in it.’

        Your head goes back to Rosy… While it was a rougher orgasm than you were used to, it was still nowhere near the amount of a cup of wine… If your cum was enough to fill a bathtub in the portrait world, you could only imagine the destruction a full cup of liquid would do to the mares. 

        “Right, um, well damn, I feel guilty for teasing you now… I was hoping to share a glass with you.”

        Her eyes soften at this, and she smiled appreciatively. You notice her hoof raise to adjust her necklace quickly. 

        ‘Oh, well that’s very sweet of you,’

        ‘But you can still do that.’

        “I don’t follow.”

        She sighs, indicating towards the paint set nearby.

        ‘Grab the most fine brush you have,’

        ‘And just a bit of black paint’

        You feel nervous, it was clear she was going to propose you draw something on her. Knowing now that this supposedly would actually impact her world sends a million images of how a single stroke gone wrong could potentially do… bad things. Sure Celestia may have felt at ease with this, but…

        ‘Oh go on, don’t be hesitant,’

        ‘You’ll need to practice at some point anyways.’

        “I know, I know.” you sigh, taking the most thin brush you had and the small container of black paint. You know the bare basics of acrylics so you also take a small wooden container and add just a bit of water. You set all these materials in front of Azalea’s portrait and bring up a stool to sit in front of her. Next to the paint you had the bottle of wine.

        ‘Okay, first I need you to painting something simple’

        ‘A marker, if you could. Think of a marker as you draw it.’

        “A marker? I thought you wanted wine?”

        ‘Just trust me, please, I know what will be of most benefit’

        ‘In my own dimension, thank you kindly.’

        “Okay Miss Sassy.” you grumble, dipping the brush just slightly into the black paint, which collects in a small goop at the bristles. You hesitantly bring the tip near the portrait. The hell, it’ll just smear of the glass, was it all some prank? Still, you keep the vague image of a marker in your head and carefully draw the small tube with a tiny spot at the end where the ink would dispense.

        At first what you drew stuck to the glass as you figured, but before you could call her out the ink began to shimmer, and as Azalea raiser her hoof, a small black cylinder appeared in her grasp. It held the same form and structure of a marker! At least, it did until it began to dribble down the mare’s hand, losing its solidity and flopping at both ends. You can only watch in shock, the mare drops it before giggling. She stops, throwing a hoof over her mouth and coughing.

        ‘Ahem, that was because you were distracted.’

        ‘You need to focus entirely on the marker. Every detail.’

        Alright. You clear your head and focus on the simple form of a black marker. Rounded at the end with a slip where the ink would release. You bring the brush to the glass and focus. As your thoughts intensify you begin to feel as though your hand ceased being under your control, creating the image in your head of its own accord. Every fine detail was creating itself on the glass, far better than you knew how to draw! Then your hand returns to you, and the image fades and Azalea was holding a pristine plastic marker. She smiled at you and sidles close to the portrait again. She sets her horn a glow, just enough to levitate the marker and began to write on the glass.

        ‘Well done, Sir Anon. This will be significantly easier to work with than inscriptions. This was the same method I used to commune with The Princess. Luckily for you I paid attention to the lessons and experiments Celestia took with my portrait while Rosy tended to … her own volitions. As long as you keep your focus intense and the image of what you want to create in mind, you will be able to draw it on this portrait.’

        The top half of the painting was coated by her handwriting, her penmanship very exquisite. Doubly so since she was having to write backwards, you can only assume she spent a long time ‘conversing’ with Celestia indeed. Azalea takes her hoof, and gingerly licks the tip before wiping the glass clean. You worry of it dirtying her coat but the ink disappears quickly after staining her. She continues writing.

        ‘Now, I want you to take a sip of your wine, and remember the exact taste as well as the look and feeling of the bottle. Then use the same method to draw it.’

        “Already? That’s a lot to try and take in at once, but I can give it a shot.” You find a small cup and pour a small amount of the wine into it. It had a fine red color to it as it came to a stillness in the glass. You take a deep breath, bringing the cup to your lips. You breathe its scent in through your nose, trying your best to remember every detail; from the fruity sweetness of grape to that slightly medicinal scent of alcohol. Then you tip the glass, tasting the wine. You were never a wine connoisseur and you severely doubt you are doing this properly but… The taste was sweet, sweeter than what you usually drink but still had an adequate kick to it. The aftertaste was a bit more bitter as you swallow. You hold onto this information, setting the cup down and immediately grabbing your paintbrush. You can feel the potential of it in your head, every detail of the drink. Your hand goes to work, perfectly recreating the outlines of the bottle. As it does so you take your other hand to reach behind you, grabbing the red and green paints. You don’t even notice as your hand shifts on its own to dampen the brush, wash the black away, and immediately jump to the red and greens to ‘fill’ the wine bottle with color. In less than a minute the image is complete and the bottle of wine falls from the ‘sky’ above Azalea. She snatched it from the air with her telepathy, beaming at you from her portrait. She takes the bottle in her hoof to grab her marker.

        ‘Ha, I underestimated you, you seem to be a natural. But there is still the taste test of course.’

        She brings the bottle to her lips, you consider drawing her a proper glass but she seemed too impatient to wait on it. She takes a deep whiff of it, her whole body seeming to ease significantly from it. She tips the bottle slightly, slightly, then sets it down. Her lips smack slightly as she mulled the taste in her mouth before swallowing. She nodded to herself before writing.

        ‘It doesn’t hold to Canterlot’s spirits, but for locally bought it’s lovely. Thank you Sir Anon.’ 

        She brings it to her lips again, drinking more this time. You notice she wasn’t taking the time to mull it over this time. Was it bitter or poorly done and she was just trying to save your feelings? No, that doesn’t seem to be the case, you think to yourself as she tips the bottle up. Her throat begins to pulse as she drinks the whole bottle with a speed that a mare shouldn’t be capable of. She brings it down and takes a long, drawn breath. Her inscription took over for her.

        ‘Oh heavens...’

        ‘I missed that.’

        You laugh, it looked like everyone did have their vices. You pour another splash for yourself and drain it. You were never much a wine person but her company made it seem pleasant enough. She watches as you do so, her ear twitching slightly. You lower the cup from your lips.

        “What’s up?”

        ‘Could I… have another bottle? Please?’

        While her dignity wouldn’t let her beg too violently, there was no doubt some puppydog to her eyes. You keep laughing as you grab the brush and go back to the zone. It’s easier than the first time, in record time another bottle appeared. This time you drew it lower, sparing her the need to catch it. She smirks at you, giving a nod of appreciation before downing this one as well. 

        What the hell, if the Lady of the Manor is allowed to do it… You pour your cup with significantly more wine than earlier and down it. As the second bottle is finished off by Azalea you notice her cheeks begin to tint rosy. You don’t even bother waiting for her to ask before drawing another and pouring a cup for yourself.

        “At this rate we should probably toast to something.”

        ‘Hmm… How about’

        ‘To a lovely new life together?’

        She stops immediately, and as if trying to erase that statement quickly follows it up.

        ‘With Rosy! The three of us.’

        ‘To a … good future.’

        Goddamn she’s finicky. Not that you wouldn’t have immediately started your round of assumptions if she wasn’t that way. You laugh at her and raise your cup.

        “To a happy mostly platonic future.” You drain the cup and she does the same, mostly to hide her face at this point. She doesn’t chug it like the prior two bottles, having had her fix she was more intent to savor it slowly. Well, before you both get too wasted you figure you may as well ask her some questions.

        “So how long did you stay with Celestia anyways? I’ve never really heard of the Princess taking long visits.”

        Azalea’s horn sputters a bit as she lifted up the marker. You aren’t quite sure how alcohol content transfers between the real world and the portrait but on her third bottle she was showing some subtle differences. Her posture was slouched slightly and she wore a grin on her face as she writes. Most ponies have an alcohol tolerance so low that a few beers would be enough to topple most of them, being so tiny. Apparently portrait ponies are an exception but definitely not completely immune to its effects. Her hoofwriting is still legible and to be honest, better than a lot of ponies still, but still notably less fine.

        ‘The Princess, bless her, she kept hold of us for a few years. At least five. Maybe six. Most of the time was spent at the Royal Hall right outside her room. She would visit each of us in the morning and at night. She… understood our tastes. It was she who discovered the ability to create art within our portraits. She must be a natural genius, as it took her no time at all to figure out how my world works.’

        “Well, you don’t get to be the Magical Pony God Princess without a good head on your shoulders. I guess she knew one of you’d tell me about the specifics anyways.” Azalea cocked her head sideways, confused, “Oh! She sent me a letter, nothing too specific, just said to grab a paint set. Rosy had the same idea so…”

        ‘Ah, just like the Princess, though I’m surprised she put so much trust in you.’

        “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

        ‘Oh don’t get so huffy, just that you don’t seem the sort to … resist temptation. You have a lot of power with those paints.’ she pauses, her cheeks reddening a bit more than the alcohol alone was spawning, ‘I think it for the best that I was the one to teach you. I try to keep it from my mind but were it Rosy to tutor you… I can still recall the indulgences she had Celestia create for her by evening… And what she’d talk the Royal Guards into doing when they patrolled our wing of the hallway.’

        “Ooh, that sounds like a story.” She wipes the marker off her portrait, taking another long drink, her eyes starting to droop as she finishes the third bottle. 

        ‘Why would you want to know? Do you intend to try and-’

        “You brought it up.” you cut her off, drawing in a fourth bottle. She drops her marker and barely makes the telepathic catch. The bottle shakes, some of the crimson liquid squirting from the tip, soaking into the coat of her chest. She doesn’t seem to notice, she takes another drink, sitting on her haunches now, as she takes the pen. As she writes you’ve been drinking yourself, the wine was nearly empty and not wanting to waste what little was left, you’d gone back to your cider.

        ‘Well… I guess stories are harmless. But there were two different guards assigned to patrol our hall, one by day and by night. Silver Sword and Gleaming Gauntlet if I recall correctly. … I shouldn’t have shared their names. Ignore that,’ she smudges out where she had written the names of the two, ‘Anyways, they were both perfect gentlecolts to me, Gleaming was an avid reader so we got along very well.  Silver was less social but diligent. Prim and perfect examples of what a Royal Guard should be until… she had her influence on them.’

        
        She hesitates a bit, tugging at her necklace a bit before taking another large gulp and wiping away her writing.

        ‘It started with the two of them spending more time around her portrait. I was positioned on the other side of the door but I could never quite see what she was saying or doing. But soon the signs began, they’d nudge her painting as they passed it, started blowing kisses. Then one day, the same time Celestia was overseeing some royal events in the Crystal Kingdom, Silver started his morning patrol and went straight to Rosy’s portrait and kissed it, right on the glass. I was...’

        She shifts uncomfortably in her portrait, taking another drink. You drink in turn, starting to feel your own head get a bit lighter. She’s writing slowly, clearly putting all her vanity forward in an effort to keep her words legible and grammar accurate in her state.

        ‘I was appalled. But then he pulled her portrait off the wall, and laid it on the floor. I couldn’t see Rosy but from the corner of my portrait I could certainly see Silver… He… began acting inappropriately.’ She pauses.

        “Whad-what do you mean?” you ask, Azalea doesn’t meet your eyes as she continues writing. You lean forward, invested.

        ‘He… began to touch himself. Right in the middle of the hall! And he didn’t stop, he went all the way to… completion.’ 

She sighs, taking another drink, you notice her start to tense up. You worry for a bit that she’d cut off the conversation at this point but after a moment of internal struggle she started writing, quicker this time than before.

        ‘To act so vulgar after so many years of dedicated service. I don’t know what she said or did to make him act in such a way. But I… I couldn’t look away. I don’t know what came over me, I’d never so much as looked at a stallion in such a manner, I honestly didn’t. But he kept going for her, and then… all over the painting and inside of it… Then he’d wait and do it again, and again…’ Her face was beet red as she regaled the tale, she kept a hoof to her cheek, trying to hide her expression. Her breathing was heavier, you can see the pale white of her chest puffing out with each inhale. 

        ‘And then, after such a long time, he had his fill and lifted her painting up to place her back on the wall and I saw her… So filthy, so absolutely...’ Her teeth press against her lip as she pauses again, rubbing her hoof through her mane. 

        ‘I never told Celestia, it’s not proper to be a snitch, but it only progressed further. That evening Gleaming arrived for his evening shift, only… He didn’t come alone. There were two more stallions with him, all  Royal Guard as well. I’d never seen these men, but they also took to her portrait and set it in the middle of the hall only… in front of the door of Celestia’s chamber, right where my painting was. They didn’t seem to notice me but the first thing she did was look at me and wink. She was still a ragged mess from the daytime, but then she started to present herself for the group...’

        She shifts uncomfortably in her portrait, crossing her forelegs tighter in, saddling herself against her thighs. She catches your eye and she immediately backs up again. She starts writing quickly, using the marker on the portrait to try and mask her expression as she continues.

        ‘Then all of the stallions began to ready themselves, and they all leaned over her portrait. Rosy had her rump against the glass, and she was using her hooves to’ by this point the marker had covered most of her body, you can just vaguely make out Azalea’s body past the writing, a flash of green as the wine bottle is chugged, and a notable twitch in her hindleg. She was moving, and her writing grew shakier and more difficult to discern than ever before.

        ‘her hooves to… open herself to them. Then all of them started to play with themselves, moving fast and rough… I could smell the musk from the hallway, and there was no way to get away from it. But I didn’t even try… I kept watching as they grunted and groaned, pulling and tugging and-’

        By now her whole body was completely covered, as was most of the portrait, in  shaky writing. You were drunk but not to the extent she was, you at least had the mind to look away from the writing on her glass to her inscription below.

        ‘Ngh… Mm...’

        ‘Ah… Aah…. Mm...’

        “Hey Azalea. Your inscription is showing.” You laugh dryly, admittedly her own reaction was prompting an uncomfortable heat to rise in you as well. You try and wash it down. She jumps in shock.

        ‘OH HEAVENS! Um...’

        ‘I-I… I don’t.’

        You put your hand to your lips, trying to hide your laughter.

        “So after all that chiding earlier, you’re a voyeur?”

        ‘N-no… It’s not like that’!’ 

        ‘It’s… not like that...’

        There was a gap, and her inscription fades on its own. You continue laughing but the feeling grows uncomfortable when nothing else shows on her inscription. Her marked regaling of Rosy’s sexcapades from before rendering her form impossible to read.

        “Um… Azalea?” ...No response, “I was just teasing, it’s ok, I don’t think any-”

        ‘No! It’s not okay!’

        ‘It’s all because I’m not perfect!’

        The black markings is replaced by a massive splash of red liquid against the glass, small shattered bits of green are visible where she threw the bottle at the pane. The ink washes away and she has her back to you. Her hooves were over her face.

        ‘I don’t feel right if I don’t drink!’

        ‘And when I drink I can’t hide anything!’

        A hoof smashes against the transparent ground and she tucks herself into a ball of self-spite. Her ears droop.

        ‘... I’m no different...’

        ‘...Than Rosy...’

        Her head falls, she’s either too drunk or too tired from her outburst to even bother moving her tail to cover herself as she lays on her stomach, her muzzle pressed against the ‘floor’ in misery. 

        “I’m sorry, I had no idea you-”

        ‘No, I’m the one at fault...’

        ‘I… need to rest.’ The inscription changes.

        ‘Please leave me here.’

        ‘I don’t want to face her tonight.’

        Her glass was still tainted red from the wine, and while you feel she must be overreacting, you can’t think of the right words to say. You set your drink down. 

        “... Alright.”

        You stand up from the stool, and she doesn’t move. The wine drips down the glass and leaves only a few spots left as she lay there sulking. She might have passed out. You don’t want to press her about it… But…

        The paintbrush dipped into the black ink as you brought the image to find, your hand was able to follow its directions automatically. It helped the object was simple, and you had a clear target for location. A bit of brown paint and the cotton blanket appeared from above the downtrodden mare, before collapsing over her. She pauses before pulling the cloth tightly around her. Her inscription reads, ever so tiny.

        ‘...’

        ‘Thank you.’
> Finding an Identity
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3: Finding an Identity

        You have a lot of trouble trying to get to sleep, Azalea seemed really upset but there wasn’t much more you could do with her. You wanted to talk to Rosy about this but she was still passed out in her own frame. Your drunken mind tries to recount all the details of what you know about your two new roommates. They used to belong to Celestia, their environment can be altered by paint or liquid, they can hear each other and you but you can’t hear them… The rules were very specific, and there were probably more limits and abilities beyond what you know. And your hands… It was as though the portraits give you the ability to create whatever you desire.

True, it wouldn’t do much good on your side of the world, but there was so much potential there. Were you a bit more sober you would think of how you could design elaborate portraits and landscapes for the mares, make a nice house, create pets and unique brands of dresses and clothings that would make the local seamstress jealous. The amount of good you could potentially do for the two is quite staggering.

 However, you are too drunk to dwell on that aspect of it, Azalea’s depression took too much mental toll to dwell on now as you stare at your ceiling, and so your mind wanders to the other mare, Rosy. Namely some of the escapades she’d accomplished in Canterlot, as Azalea had regaled you. 

… It’s not difficult to imagine it, the creamy orange mare spreading her legs, yanking her tail aside, her inscriptions edging on a group of stallions to fall completely under her spell. You recall how you couldn’t raise your eyes from her increasingly lewd commands earlier. … She didn’t go too far outside the norm but it was like the air itself was heavy under her command. You wonder just what all you would’ve done at the request of the sultry girl. 

Only now you had the paints, and if your first impression was anything to go on, you could make any reality happen. A simple sex toy you could create through paint and your bare hands, or a vibrator, or anything. Chains, handcuffs… Hell. Your mind dances back to your life before Equestria. It’d been a curious thing transferring in that your memory only partially remained. You could recall instant moments but the specifics had all been wiped away and any attempt to reclaim them had left you with nothing more than a strong headache and the feeling you get from spinning in a circle while looking up for too long. 

But one thing you do remember was the porn. Namely the questionable Japanese drawn sort. You wonder how she’d respond to a personal writhing mass of tentacles. It’s a painting, so it’d all be possible, wouldn’t it? Her hooves lifted high by one coil wrapped around her, her hind legs pried and tied apart by two others and a particularly thick, slimy prod sliding in and out of her, a smaller but equally slick one working her from behind. Her mouth gagging as two worked their way in and out of her throat, drool leaking from the corners of her mouth as her eyes sulk under her heavy lids. And as she is taken from every possible angle you’d be hovering over her, using her as your own sex fodder before drenching her in your own cum.

...Azalea might be right about you. You lurch up from your pillow, hanging your head forward, it was late and you were tipsy as all hell and from Azalea’s storytelling mishap to the stories you keep formulating in your own head, your cock is aching for attention. You check the small wooden clock beside your bed. You’d been musing about your room for a good while now, and it reads 2:07. You were already up late with Azalia and while the drinks exhaust you, your dick is too goddamn needy to let you sleep.  

… You shouldn’t wake Rosy up, especially not after that event with Azalia. There’s already conflict between the girls. You were alone here for half a decade, you can handle a night of fapping alone and moving on. … Okay, so maybe you weren’t entirely alone. There was a time until recently that Pinks and Dash both made routine visits with you to the local bars in town and made your own share of fun. 

… Not that sort of fun, mind. You’d never really made any moves on anyone in town. Not because of the species gap, on the contrary, you’d adapted relatively quickly from the usual attraction to female humans to the pony-ish aliens of this world. Both stallions and mares came to age at around the same gap humans did, and in turn a lot of traits that indicated sexual desirability were very similar here than they were at home. Thick hips indicated a healthy and sexy mare. Bright eyes, a well-kept mane, long legs, a slender neck. The only real difference in sexual characteristics that took a while to adjust to was the ‘breasts’. They varied in size but generally leaned smaller than most human girls by a fair bit. The location right above the marehood was also a bit strange. 

That made the initial year a bit awkward, as most of the inhabitants seemed to not give much regard to clothes. Your initial issue was a sense of surreal ickiness at all the genitals around town every day for both genders, of all shapes and sizes. As you’d adjusted and assimilated the same sense of perversity you had in your original life, then it became a game of trying to hide the erection whenever a group of them innocent bent forward to draw in the sand or set shelves at the local shops. Admittedly it was an awkward erection that initially got you acquainted with Pinkie and Dash. No. Not really in the sexy way, more of the teasing, awkward way that eventually developed into comradery. There was more to that story but it was irrelevant. For now.

What isn’t irrelevant is that you can’t sleep, and tiptoeing as quietly as you can while trying not to fall down, you make your way to the hallway across from Rosy’s portrait. It was dark, the candle from your room and the starlight peering through the window from the front of the house just barely illuminating the mare. With a sigh you lean against the wall across for her and take a seat. She’s rolled over since, now snoozing on her tummy, her mouth slightly agape as she snores. Her mane is a ruffled red mess as per usual. You admit you had a vague hope you’d walk into the hallway to find her awake and playing with herself or doing anything to give you the excuse to get off. But seeing her at ease like this, maybe it was just the desire to not be alone at the time. You exhale with a dry smile, leaning your head against the wall and shutting your eyes. Despite the awkward position, sleep hits you hard.

You clearly remember the alcohol assisted fantasies about Rosy earlier as you find  traces of them in the dream you have. Only this time, it was a little different. You keep fading to different intense visions, images of you in the painting with her. You see yourself grabbing her behind her back, lifting her up as the two of you dance tongues. You imagine her leaning forward, grinning back at you between her legs as she parts her tail aside, you sinking your shaft slowly inside of her wet passage. You see her riding you, her on top, slamming her rump up and down as her hoof massages her tummy. Then you begin to see Azalea… You feel her chastising begin to start and prepare yourself. It doesn’t, instead you find your positions swapped again. You see Rosy laying between your legs, your balls in her mouth as she rubs her hooves up and down your legs. And Azalea… she had a mouthful of you inside of her, bobbing her head gracefully and efficiently up and down your shaft. Her cheeks are pink and she avoids eye contact, only to give a startled moan through your cock when Rosy lifts her tail, pressing against the refined mare’s sex. Image after image of the three of you fucking in every which angle dance through your mind until…

Thunk!

You find yourself ripped away from your extremely pleasant dreams. No, goddammit it you were so close, back to sleep. Gotta finish-

THUNK!!

“W-what? It can’t be morning yet...” you grumble as your eyes part open. The first thing you see are those green eyes, lidded smugly and the grin of the mare. Her hoof was leaning against the glass where she was knocking. 

‘Sorry, the sun’s not up yet.’

‘But someone certainly is...’

You feel a strong sense of warmth in your hand, then the realization that comes with fully waking up strikes you. You were in a pair of sweatpants, and in your sleep your hand had made its way down them, firmly wrapped around your burning cock. Through the sweatpants you can make out the tiniest stain of liquid where your pre had collected at the tip through your dreams.

“Wait, goddamn it, I didn’t mean-” She brings a hoof to her lips, giggling.

‘A pleasant dream I take it?’

‘Did I play a part? Maybe you sleepwalked to me?’

“Ugh…” Why did you decide to conk out here? You remember feeling very drunk and horny earlier but then… Instinct took over? You still feel a bit dazed but the alcohol had mostly reset itself to a dull headache at this point. Mostly, your vision still blurs. There was no point fighting your case, she had you already, judging by the slightly frightening grin she is poorly hiding behind her hoof.

‘But since you came to me of your own accord...’

‘Maybe I’ll let you take charge this time.’

She scoots closer to the edge of the painting, looking down on you where you sat, giving the illusion of everything but submission.

“What are you talking about Rosy?” 

‘Well… I heard you and Azzy earlier.’

‘You know how the paints work don’t you?’

Oh boy.

‘Well, it looks like you have the power now.’

‘So why not let me be your toy for a while. You clearly want it.’

Her eyes dip down to your shaft as she finishes, her smugness almost palpable in the air. … With the way she was reclining her hips were very present, her ears drooping ever so slightly, every detail of her posture suggestive. You find yourself flashing back to your dream earlier. Consent couldn’t be implied any further than that, and she rolls sideways, sliding her hoof down her creamy orange body, past one of the pink nubs situated beneath her belly to her very well-rounded ass. She smacks her hoof against it, watching with a grin as the flesh radiated from the impact, a tiny pink hoofprint visible.

‘Go on… Go grab the paints and...’

‘I’ll be a good girl and do absolutely anything you say.’

Your head still brim with perversities, you stand up. You can tell from the heat of her stare you were still very much aroused. It must be around four in the morning right now… But you wanted some intense relief something fierce. You quietly tiptoe into the kitchen where Azalea should be sleeping… Ugh, it would be bad if she were to be awake. You hold your breath as you step in front of the portrait to grab the supplies. A few bottles of cider and the opened paintsets, and one sleeping Azalea… The coast is clear. You grab the collection in your hands before sneaking away. You don’t stop walking as you re-enter the hallway. Rosy is waiting, her hoof playfully grabbing lumps of ass before smacking herself, moaning quietly to herself as you approach.

‘Oh yes… I was ho-

‘Ah!’

You yank the portrait off the wall roughly, she tumbles back a bit, leaning her head up, her mane a mess. She brings her hoof from her thick set hips to her thigh, raising her limb to her sex to tease herself. You shake the painting again, keeping her from her self-ministered rutting. You don’t know if it was the alcohol, the headache, the hour of the night, or what, but if she’s claiming she’ll be yours alone for the evening...

“Hands to yourself missy, you touch what I say you can touch.” you grumble, hoping your exhaustion added to the charm. Her cheeks flush at the intensity of the order.

‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

‘Master.’

She keeps a completely submissive, straight face at you for the longest time as you stare her down after that, carrying her to your room. You can tell by her cheeks she’s fighting the urge of showcasing that knowing, sultry grin even now. Only now your little talk with Azalea has let on just how lewd this rosy mare actually is… Your cock is a constant aching reminder of your desire for release. You silence it as best you can, for now this was Rosy’s night. Azalea’s night was a bust, the least you could do was make Rosy’s first night something to remember.

You set the portrait on your desk, leaning against the wall. The mare had moved, sitting flat on her rump, hooves set just before her thighs, hindlegs spread so far apart for you it looked uncomfortable. Every detail of her sex was present for you, the way the creamy orange of her coat slowly shifted to the passionate pink of her marehood, her clit visible like a tiny little button, her walls as passionate a pinkish-red as the sunset painted in her background. The two buddish pink nipples above her pussy stood alert and sensitive. She didn’t have much mound there, but the spunky look suited her. She watched you intently, her eyes wanting. You lean back against the chair in your room, and take your time as you slam each container of paint on the desk. 

 Red. Yellow. Green. Blue. Black. Thinner. Brushes. Water. And one more bottle of cider. You glaze your eyes down at her. She flushes as you do so, your silence setting her on edge. You wonder if she was reconsidering her offer of letting you establish dominance. She actually breaks eye contact with you as you look over her face, her mane, the curve where her neck became her chest, then the way her tummy inflated to her feminine hips. Her tits both barely extending from her chest, nearly flat to contrast with how flared and always ready for passion her pussy is. But something was missing. Without a word, you take the paint brush you used earlier and clear your mind. It’s very easy to concentrate on what you wanted right now. You push the black, red, and yellow paints towards her, and dip the brush first in black and set it over her neck level.

‘Um..’

‘Master, what-’

“No moving now.”

It takes a few moments at best, but your hand knew this game by now. The outline came first, then the red color of fabric, and the golden yellow tag. the shades mixed themselves for you,and in no time at all your goal was finished. A slightly tight red collar fixed around Rosy’s neck, a golden little tag set beneath it, engraved. 

“Now you can call me master.”

She holds the tag in her hoof, reading aloud what was inscribed.

‘Anon’s...’

‘bitch...’

She let it rest in her hoof for a while, you begin to wonder if the heat of the moment was a bit too heavy and you should’ve gone a bit softer on her. Before you can worry too much she looks you in the eye.

        ‘Ha, my first gift.’

        ‘I’ll never, ever take it off… Master...’

        There was no ignoring the mischief in her eye, she almost certainly meant every word of that one. So much for inviting company over any time soon. But for now, she was going along with it. Which meant it was time for some real fun. You’d had a lot of little fantasies before coming over here, admittedly a slight fetish for domination and submission. Who doesn’t like some healthy spanking? Since you’d gotten here you’d had a few choice encounters with a few mares but not enough to get one into bed with you. Well, aside from one who very bluntly offered herself up to you one night two years ago on Hearts and Hooves Day. It was a… unique evening. She was clearly a fetishist from the second she saw you, so the sex felt very empty to you. Then we find ourselves now, with a mare that only wants to please you and you can’t even touch her in real life. 

        Ugh, your pessimism can go fuck itself, and you have just the cure. You get your voice as growly as you can without coming off as comical.

        “It suits you, my Little Pet, now stand up and turn around for me.”

        She gets to her hooves, looking a little nervous. Part of the act or genuine? You doubt you’ll ever tell but she swivels around for you, ever so slowly, raising her ass up, keeping her hindlegs parted, her tail covering her naughty bits.

        ‘L-like this...’

        ‘Master?’

        “Not quite, raise the tail and don’t let it move an inch.”

        A shiver seems to go down Rosy’s spine, but she lifts her tail high in the air. From this view you could make out her ass perfectly, and beyond that her marehood. A long trail of feminine nectar had made its way from her flared opening. Appears she wasn’t completely playing up the submissive streak as an act. Hard to believe with the events this morning. You don’t dwell, you had pussy to deal with. The next item wasn’t very complex but you still had to focus to create it. Luckily it turns out all sorts of focus assists with the creating process of painting. Sexual tension is focus in itself, and your hand again moves on its own, getting a thicker brush and soaking it in black before settling at the dock of her tail and working. Working… Working.

        “And there we go. Don’t turn around. Yet.” She stays put, when her head starts to turn to face you, you interrupt her, “No peeking, Pet.”

        Tight leather bands were wrapped around her tail, for about eight inches starting from the dock. They were tight enough to keep the fur taught until the bands ended. It forced the tail up and out of the way, removing her only means of ever hiding her sex. Not that you doubted she would anyways, but goddamn this was a mare that looked good tied up. You grab your bottle of cider and smack it against the table top, breaking off the lid before taking a long chug. 

        “Here I thought you were playing around, but look how wet you are, Pet.”

        Her hindlegs tense at your words, thighs coming together, a single drop of feminine ooze descending betwixt her thighs and collecting on the canvas below. She stays true to your commands and doesn’t look back as she speaks.

        ‘I’m here only to please you, Master...’

        ‘But… Can I please touch myself? It’s-”

        “Not yet.”, you’re grinning to yourself now, happy she can’t see you to break the illusion you have going. “I have a lot more work in store for you, Little Pet. Spread those legs wider.”

        ‘Yes Master...’

        ‘Nn...’

        She forces her thighs apart, the fur mottled with her own dampness as she does so. Her hindlegs are spread awkwardly. 

        “Wider.” She tenses up before forcing even more distance between her hindlegs. Her fur stretches to match her stance, pressure pulling her rump apart, revealing her puckered anus. Her legs are starting to tremble. Now was the chance. You really have to focus on this next one, you’d seen this tool in a very, very filthy Canterlot magazine once and that’s all you have to go on. Your hand doesn’t automatically start on this one, instead it freezes a bit to process the order, but then jumps to work, mostly with blacks. 

        Two leather loops tightly constricting about six inches above her hooves. Between the two hooves a long, solid bar giving no leeway for free movement. It doesn’t take long after drawing it for the image to become a reality, her legs now forced that wide apart.

        ‘Oh...’

        ‘Oh Goddess!’

        Rosy slides forward against the pressure forcing her open, sliding onto her chest. She could protest if she wants, the state of her sex screamed quite clearly she was enjoying being  display in more ways than one now. Your head scans for all the different sort of toys you could create to really play with her, or more potential ways to tie and wrap her up. But goddamn, looking at that ass of hers, what you wouldn’t give to bring a firm swat to it to see her jiggle.

        “It’s a damn shame I can’t reach you. I’d love to take a few smacks at that orange ass of yours personally…” You lean forward, whispering to the painting in a way that out of context would look really, really stupid. “-And make you really whimper for me, My Pet…”

        You exhale roughly, her ass was backed almost to the pane, and you can see her front half shudder as your hot, alcohol scented breath misted over her rump. She can’t resist anymore, jerking her head back at you, her face mottled in sweat and face more red than orange. Her eyes were watery and she was drooling with need.

        ‘Oh if I could put my hooves on you through the glass...’

        ‘I swear to the Princess I would-’

        She gulps loudly, panting.

        ‘Oh my, I broke the rule, Master.’

        ‘But you can punish me...’

        The first bit catches you off guard. That look in her eye was more than just arousal. A part of you really wanted to know just what she wanted to do with you. The leaky ache between your legs even more curious. Until now you thought of this as a game she played, but there was a strange tension coming off her very painting that has come to hang in your room, making even breathing difficult. You have her in eye contact now though, and seeing the need in her eyes, you respond by taking your left hand off the bottle of cider and sliding a finger down your chest and gripping the bulge in your sweatpants. Her eyes follow, but the bottom of the portrait and how you sat at the desk hid the image of what you were actually doing. The same game she played with you earlier. You can talk to her in depth later, for now you had a mare to fuck senseless no matter how it had to be done.

        “You will be punished, Pet, but you may go on.”

        ‘... Oh, you can… Hold the brush to the glass.’

        ‘-And if you don’t let go of it you’ll-’

        “I understand.” you interrupt her, “Now head forward, or I’ll have to restrain your neck.”

        She turns her head back, facing forward and away from you, slowly though. Was she wanting you to restrain her more? Maybe, but now you have a new trick to try. The next addition was a simple one compared to the rod separating her hooves. Wooden and smooth… You consider putting a few holes in it but you decide to not be that rough with her just yet. A nice handle, wrapped in tape. Your hand creates as you decide what the tool should look like. You notice that now your hand is actually working faster than you can think, finalized in that the final flourish on the paddle was created without you even needing to think of it. Written in fine, black cursive is the engraving: For Rosy’s Ass

        You don’t raise your brush, instead focusing the tip on the glass. The painted paddle sinks into Rosy’s world, but as your brush connects to it, it doesn’t fall. It swings slightly left and right before bumping into Rosy’s rump from the right.

        ‘Ai!’

        ‘I see you know how it works now, Master...’

        It’s… actually difficult. You can only see her in a 2-D plane. So you take care to learn the ropes first. You could move the paddle forward and backwards, but it took a lot of precision. If you press the brush firmly against the glass the object would move forward along the plane, if you eased your hold the paddle would ‘float’ backwards, levitating at the same level as Rosy’s rear. Ooh, it would feel so good to take a pop on her now, you can tell she knows its coming. She’s shivering a bit and her sexual aura was practically fogging the glass on her end. But not quite yet. You bring the paddle forward on her right side, near her face.

        “You have permission to look to your right. I want you to read your paddle for me.”

        You look past the mare’s ass as her head turns. Her eyes widen as she sees it. You can see her lips curl into an anticipatory grin, at least until her eyes dart back to see you glaring at her display of pleasure. She quickly reverts back to her anxious look.

        ‘It… says it’s for my ‘ass’.’

        ‘For Rosy’s Ass’.’

        “You bet it is. Are you the sort of pervert who gets off on being bound up and spanked?” you lower your growl a bit, lechery shining through your words. She knows exactly what you want to hear but responds in her own method. She brings her lips to the paddle before distending her tongue, longer than most mares, to begin lapping up and down the smoothed wood. 

        ‘Smk… Sm...’

        ‘...Smch… Smk...’

        Your face heats up at the display, this mare… You have her bound up and at your mercy and she still has your sex in a vice, knowing just what to do and say to drive your loins mad. You pull the paddle away, trying to regain your breath. She watches the paddle leave, watching it rest against the right cheek of her ass, sinking against the felt-like fuzzy flesh. Her teeth sink into her lip in nervous excitement.

        You consider making her look away, to keep it a surprise, but there was something addictive about watching her anticipating face as you raise the paddle up, just above her ass and get a few practice swings in. With every unheard ‘whoosh!’ you can see her lips curl, fighting that perverse grin she adores to display. Then you lower yourself down and wind up. A tiny bit of red is visible as she bites into her lip tight enough to break the skin, her body tensing as you flick your hand to the left. The paddle, slow at first, picks up speed in a wicked arc aiming at the rotund creamy orange flesh of her right ass cheek and-

        ‘AGH!!’

        ‘Mm...’

        There’s a disappointment that you don’t get to hear that satisfying ‘THWACK’ for yourself, but the view more than accommodates. Like jello her ass radiates from the paddle, more of her mare juice dripping to the canvas, no longer able to collect at her thighs. The creamy orange flesh of her ass quickly converts to a bright red. You rest the paddle against the flesh for a while while you see her eyes water from the sting. Her jaw drops as she pants from the sensation, shuddering.

        “Hey Pet.” you smile wickedly. She looks back at you, sweating and a mess.

        ‘Mm...’

        ‘Masterrr...’

        “It’s so hot spanking you like this, pet. Look what you’ve made me do,” You don’t stand up, but you do siddle the chair back a foot, her eyes slide down, where the top half of your legs are now visible. You tug the sweatpants forward, letting your shaft stand tall and proud for her. Her eyes widen as you slide your hand up and down the length. She bites into her tongue now that her lip was bleeding and less of an option before moaning a response.

        ‘Then please abuse my ass till you’re fully’

        ‘... Satisfied Master… But...’ The text rewrites itself, slowly this time, as though it was taking her full capacity just to formulate speech.

        ‘When you are ready to cum...’

        ‘Please bathe your poor Little Pet...’ 

        Those eyes again, those hungry, desperate, sinful eyes. There was no doubt you’d surrender to that request. It took all your energy to not forgo the whole roleplay and drench her now in your seed. You swallow a lump in your throat, trying to hide any anxiety in your voice.

        “I’ll consider it, but this is punishment for looking back when I said no. No more looking back now until I say. Understood, Pet?”

        ‘Yes’

        ‘Anything at all for Master.’

        She faces forward again, you casually thumb your fingers about your cock, applying just enough pressure to get more pre to leak out and dribble about your hand. You take the brush and with care, lift the paddle over the mare, resting on her left cheek this time. Her ass was two-toned now, her unswat cheek that delicious creamy orange, the other that fierce, flaming, pleasingly painful red. She tenses every time the wood presses against her ass. You bring the paddle closer still, smushing her cheeks together till they hide her genitals for a bit. Oh God the potential those hips had… And now you could come just that tiny bit closer to really affecting her directly. You slide the paddle up, and without giving her a chance to prepare swing the paddle down, colliding with her ass while both cheeks were still pressed together!

        The ripple erupted from her cheek, before radiating to the other cheek, jiggling her whole ass mightily. Her hind legs jerk from the pain, but lock up in their bindings. Her marehood tensed, leaking not drops but a full line of her nectar to the canvas floor. Both her cheeks were now cherry red, and you’d only gone two swats in. The mare is panting, and an idea strikes you.

 You pull the paddle away from her reddened rump for a bit, instead collecting a bit of your pre between your fingers. Rosy freezes in apprehension as you take the tip of your finger and rub it against the protective glass, right across her ass. Your essence phases through the glass, following your finger as you smear your cum across her cheeks. The volume difference still applies, giving more the impression that you just drizzled a full cup of your seed across her ass, coating the reddened thinly furred flesh with a milky white.

        ‘Ah...’

        ‘I’d know that scent anywhere Master...’

        Rosy sighs, bucking her ass high as you smear her, making sure the pre smeared not just about her cheeks but sink into her marehood. She was balancing on one forehoof, the other resting at her belly, begging to please herself. Not quite yet. You take the paddle against her ass again, fine trails of your pre sticking between her fur and the wood of the paddle. Then, with care, you slide the paddle up and around her ass, the ooze coating her rump as her flesh shifts to accommodate the pressure of the wood. She shivers as you slide the paddle around her ass, to right under her tail. You slide the paddle under the mare and apply pressure upwards, forcing the wood to sink against her sopping pussy. The first time so far that you’ve allowed any relief to alleviate the burning of her marehood. A trail of drool falls from her mouth in front of you, her face still hidden. 

The quivering of her legs and the heaving of her chest made it clear enough the reaction it was having on her. You hold the paddle tight for a while, letting the pressure build before pulling it away. As you do so, trails of her honey and your own mingle from the paddle, the wood dripping. Now a fine mess of a toy, you bring it up and bring another smack to her ass, rougher than before. A goopy blast of sexual juices erupt from the paddle as it strikes her sensitive rump, her forehooves cave and she falls to her chest on the canvas floor, her hindlegs still bound and refusing to let her fall.

        ‘Ngah!!’

        ‘Oh… Oh Goddess…’

        You bring the paddle to her other cheek, she doesn’t even tense up anymore, in fact she sidles against the wood. A natural glutton for punishment. You can’t take the titillating view much longer yourself, you don’t wait before driving the paddle against her ass again. And again. By the time you’ve made six swings, alternating cheeks, the poor mare was a trembling mess of painful tingles of thoroughly smacked, satisfied flesh. Satisfied on the outside at least, you’d never seen a mare so thoroughly soaked, her juices contrasting the bright red state of her abused ass. 

        “You took your punishment well, my Little Pet. I guess I should reward you. … You can look at me.”

        She slowly sidles to the side awkwardly, her ass still stinging, struggling to move in the binds on her hind legs. She faces you from the side, her eyes damp where tears had fallen, her face redder than before, stains below her mouth where she was drooling. At the word reward, her ears perked up, and the illusion was shattered yet again as that almost deranged smile pulled back her lips.

        ‘... Reward?’

        ‘Oh Master, I’d be… extremely grateful.’

        Her tongue catches itself in the corner of her mouth, it takes an effort for her to bring her expression back to that of the slave. Admittedly you were breaking your character as well, you’re too tantalized at her bound and soaked body to dare let go of your manhood, finding yourself at the edge then painfully forcing yourself to hold off, not daring to release just yet. 

        “Hm, I was going to give you permission to touch yourself… But I think I have something better in mind. Stay standing just like that, sideways. I have a question for you, Pet.”

        ‘Hm?’

        ‘What is it Master?’

        “What’s the largest thing you’ve ever fit inside of you?” Her face flushes, as though afraid to answer. “Don’t lie to your Master.”

        ‘... I… The Princess once drew me a dildo, horse in nature.’

        ‘It was… (there was a pause in the inscription as though she was afraid to say the rest
)bigger than my hoof.’

        The inscription rewrites itself as she drops eye contact.

        ‘I used it for one night, it was special, it even filled me with fake cum...’

        ‘But it was too big… I walked funny for a long time after that. Why?’

        You smile at the mare, she jumps when she realises you were already drawing again, This one was a bit more interesting to attempt, but if the canvas was where you saw her world from… The rope you are drawing around her chest is knotted off tightly, and your hand brings the rope to the top of the canvas. You draw a pulley around it, which materializes quickly, levitating. You had to focus on the mechanics of this as you draw it, forcing you to release your cock to bring your thumb to your temple in thought. Then you took the tip of the brush and cranked the pulley.

        Success. The mare gives a shocked cryas you begin to lift her by the rope. Up… Up… Until she was a solid five feet above the ground. Her legs still caught. She hung awkwardly from the single rope, which you quickly rectified, drawing another rope around where her tail was already bound. You’d been told at a few bars in Ponyville that mares loved having their tails pulled, so you imagine having her whole ass suspended high and proud above the rest of her by her tail alone would amplify that feeling. The dazed look she gets as she is hoisted followed by a long, silent moan is more than enough indication your hypothesis was correct. You speak.

        “The reason why is because you are going to take all of that size inside of you tonight. I’m going to pack you so full you’ll never feel satisfied without my help again.” You were pretty proud of that one, especially for the look Rosy gives you as you say this. At first it was a look of anxiety, her breathing slowing. Then her eyes lid heavily at you, if a pupil could become pure hearts it would be now. She gives you a tight-lipped smile before whispering to you.

        ‘... I knew you were a good one.’

        ‘Fuck me up and make me yours, Master...’

        She doesn’t drop the smile this time, her suspension and situation too intense to bother with the mask of submission, instead she was watching you intently, reveling in her own bondage and excited for however you were going to use her next. It feels wrong on some level, but too powerful to dare stop. What you draw next is simple. Thick and dark green, phallic in shape. You draw in long, to the degree that even the most lucky of stallions would feel envy, and make it thicker than a can of soda. Your mind supplies hands with more details, bumps and ridges from the shaft of it, layers of thick rings around each nub. It wasn’t a simple pole of a dildo either, you make certain to give it a wicked curve, and you draw all of this right in front of her face. As you make her soon-to-be pussy wrecker more and more elaborate, her grin matches the excited tension wracking her body. 

        ‘Oh Sweet Celly, Anon...’

        ‘You’re going to ruin me!’

        She giggles as you put your finishing touches and hold the pen steady. The sex toy, stallion shaped with flare, was now under your own control. The practice with the paddle was worthwhile, as you had perfect control over the toy, that’s why you start by pressing the ridged shaft against Rosy’s cheeks.

        “It’s going in by the count of ten. You have ten seconds to lubricate it.”

        Words were needless, the second it met her cheek she reacted almost reflexively, riding her tongue up and down the toy before using the top of her lip to pull it horizontally.

        “Ten… Nine… Eight…”

        She fits a quarter of it in her mouth, gargling slightly to bulge both sides of her cheeks wide, drool leaking from the corners of her mouth, giving the tool a glisten. She lurches forward, gagging but getting half the toy into her throat. She draws back before lurching forward again, trying desperately to coat the toy with spit.

        ‘Ulp… Erp… Ulp…

        ‘Ell… Ulp…’

        “Seven… Six… Five… Four…”

        Her eyes close tight as she brings her lip to the tip, kissing and swirling her tongue around the flare, then takes a deep breath.

        “Three… Two…”
        
        She jerks her head forward, eyes widening with shock as she brings the toy to the ‘balls’ into her throat, choking herself. She stifles a cough and a gag, instead jerking her head back and forth, determined to coat every inch of that toy with her drool… You’re so impressed you forget to count. You pull the toy out of her mouth. She gasps for air as you do so, and you drag the toy behind her, reading the tip of the artificial shaft just inches from her hot, soaking nether lips. You notice your other hand had gone back to your own cock, you weren’t used to holding out so long… As you hold the dildo steady, you slide the portrait onto your legs, facing your lap. Rosy rocks wildly, shocked but still locked into place. She opens her eyes and sees her new view, your throbbing shaft situated right outside her painting, ready to drown her in your seed.

        ‘Oh Master...’

        ‘Are you close just watching little ole’ me?’ Her inscription changes.

        ‘Let me be your toy then...’

        ‘And feed your Little Pet every drop of your cu-AHN!’

        You interrupt her as you slide the flare forward, parting her lips. Her inscriptions were hypnotic, if you let her get your guard down like that you’d blow way too quickly. That wasn’t your goal tonight. You see her whole body tense as you slide the brush forward, the dildo slowly passing inside of her. It’s thick, extremely thick. You see Rosy wince as she’s gaped open on it, only two inches in but the thickness alone gave her no ease in handling the monster of a sex toy. You rest the toy in at three inches, not even close to the full length which exceeded well over a foot and a half. Rosy’s eyes begin to glaze before you growl to her.

        “You want more, my Pet?”
        
        She nods weakly, her breath too heavy to properly formulate an inscription. All you see engraved beneath her is a mismatch of letters and moans.

        “Then let’s see how much your pretty little pussy can take.”

        You never really realized up until this point that having power had its appeal. Being under Rosy’s influence yesterday was intoxicating in its own way, but getting to see your personal little Pet shiver as you slide that goliath shaft further inside of her walls, parting her open, as her eyes slide back into her skull, unable to contain the sheer extremity of all the sensations binding and penetrating her… No feeling could ever match that. 

        You get the toy halfway inside of her, then let it rest inside of her. Her nectar dribbled from her lips, mixing with her saliva on the toy. Then you take your hand off of your cock to grab another paintbrush. You were no master in physics, but you couldn’t resist trying… You use your left hand to grab a lighter paintbrush, and situate it over the rope tied around her tail, suspending her. It  takes a second but the tip of the brush grabs hold of the rope. Rosy feels this, she jerks her head back and sees the rope tighten as you begin to pull her forward bit by bit. She looks at you in shock at what you are about to do. You don’t give her time to dwell, you swing her forward until the flare was just barely parting her lips and let go.

        ‘Wait! I don’t know if I-’

        ‘OH SWEET HEAVENS!’

        She slides back at a perfect angle, the arc you sent her in perfectly penetrating her. You don’t have to so much as move the dildo, she was aligned to penetrate while falling backwards. What you didn’t expect was for her to fit the entire length inside of her. Her eyes roll to whites as more drool escapes her, you see her body is shivering now and for a second you worry if the heat of the moment may have lead you to injure her.

        ‘OH GODDESS! THAT’S JUST...’

        ‘I’M SO...’ 

        She struggles to speak but falls flat, whether that’s a face of pain or pleasure is impossible to distinguish, just that the massive, massive slab pressing her open had completely overwhelmed her rationale. But her body was still very much functioning, you see her yank forward, slowly and roughly rocking side to side against the rope, letting the toy fuck her fully at as many angles as she could. Oh hell, she’s into it. She’s breathing fast now, too lost in the sensation to slowly imbibe the musk permeating the situation. Her engraving matches as she yells at you.

        ‘Ohgoddessforgettheroleplaying-’

        ‘-Justdothatagainpleasepleasepleaseplease’

        You grab the brush and respond to her aid, grabbing her rope, and pulling her forward again before slamming her backwards, repeating the same penetration earlier. She screams silently in ecstasy, you bring your other hand to your cock, furiously rubbing yourself raw at the mare’s responses. You’d give her a second to fully feel the pillar expanding her only to pull her forward again, and slam her back. She never adjusts, just quivers and moans. Tears make her way down her eyes to mingle with the drool, her face too red to even tell what her coat color initially was. 

        ‘Yes! Yesyesyesyes-’

        ‘Oh Goddess it keeps coming!’

        Juices were leaking in gratuitous amounts every time the pillar leaves her when she was rocked forward. How many times she’d came is impossible to tell, all you know for certain is your time was approaching. You lift her up, further than before, struggling to keep the arc perfect. You lean forward, feeling your head go light as climax approached. You had to make this perfect, wait for her eyes to open, to meet yours. 

        She does, and she closes her mouth, and grins. Her teeth were those of a normal ponies, but she gave off the intensity of a shark, ready to devour every sensation given to her and there was nothing you were more ready to deliver. You aim your cock at her body as you release the rope entirely. She swings backwards quickly this time, her marehood violently swallowing the ribbed pillar. She opens her mouth to cry out, and the second she does you cum. 

        Blasts of milky white erupt from your cock in waves, collecting at the glass and expanding, creating a creamy storm of your musky essence that rains on the mare. She lets her tongue hang, craning her neck up to moan and shout, getting a throatful of your spunk. Her hips shudder and quake, unable to tense herself up she’s forced to ride out her climax. Every gasp for breath is inhibited by the downpour of cum drizzling all over every exposed bit of her body. You still keep squeezing and tugging at your burning member, desperate to coat her thoroughly. Like last time she takes in large amounts of your cum showering her down, gulping visibly, only this time out of necessity for air to cope with the intense sexual sensation plaguing her. If you had one wish allowed at the moment, it would be to lock this moment in a loop forever. The two of you locked in climax, you blasting her into a pile of goo with your own cum as she spasms erratically at the pillar filling her up so brutally. You’d never understood what the term ‘sexual depravity’ really meant to this point, you always assumed sex was something mostly natural and sinless by nature.

        But what happened tonight was a sin, the most exquisite, wonderful sin there was, and you’ll happily accompany Rosy into Hell for it. Azalea was absolutely right about you. You never free the mare from her bindings after you cum, you leave the pillar plugging her up. If she protests you don’t hear it, instead you grab her portrait and pull it close to your body before standing up from your chair and falling back-first onto the bed. Her portrait is atop you, and you tip it up. She’s rattled but still locked into place by ropes. She looks dazed and is a complete mess. 

Her mouth stained with drool, her cheeks streaked with tears, her face and ass beet red for completely different reasons, her ass sticky with the cum smeared about it and her whole undercarriage a thick oozing mess of sex. She gasps, trying to adjust to the pillar still filling her before looking up at you, her grin returning but clearly exhausted.

        “You look disgusting right now.” She laughs weakly, you continue, “And I’d give anything to be there with you right now to hold you tight in my arms to finish the night… Guess this’ll have to do.”

        ‘Ha… After all that in the end you are all for the sentiments, huh?’

        ‘Well I’m glad to have given you a good show, Master.’

        “C’mon Rosy, this is the afterglow, you can call me Anon.”

        It’s hard to tell if it was the pillar still inside of her that prompted the look she gave you, it was brief, but it was a look of irritation.

        ‘I like being your Pet though...’

        ‘I don’t really need a name, do I?’

        Something about the way she was speaking was unsettling, especially the smile she wore. That thin, mischievous smile that emanated a perverse aura yet let no aspect of her true feelings escape.

        ‘In fact, I like Anon’s Bitch too.’

        ‘I was born to be your tool now, Master...’ The inscription shifts.

        ‘Use me whenever you want, and do whatever you want to me.’

        ‘That’s all the reason I need to keep living… I’ll be yours...’

        She goes silent, resting her eyes. Did she pass out or fall asleep? You set the painting down beside you, staring at the ceiling.

        You feel like you might have made a serious, serious mistake tonight. Rosy stays silent throughout the evening despite her bonds. You don’t get any sleep.

        The sun raises shortly after you and Rosy’s escapades are done. Rosy’s silent, you peer over and find that the leather binds and the toy had served their time in her portrait and had faded away. Rosy was laying on her belly now, still soaked in your seed and still a bit of a messy wreck. Her collar however, remained. You figure it’s probably due to how much focus you put into it. Azalea mentioned something about how focus determined how ‘real’ a painted object was. … Great, now Rosy was going to have “Anon’s bitch” wrapped around her neck for who knows how long. 

        Your body feels satisfied, but you feel mentally exhausted. You’d heard people talk like Rosy before she fell silent before. You hope in the back of your head that maybe she was just caught in the moment. You admit you were rough with her, but she was so accepting of every advance. Hell, the way her stare fixated on you gave you the impression that if you didn’t push every button to the limit she’d just be disappointed. You lean forward, sitting at your desk and put your hand to your head. 

It’s been 24 hours since you’ve acquired two roommates. In that time you made one cry and fucked the other one twice; the latter is calling you ‘Master’ now. This is out of hand. You figure a shower would clear your head and take a look at Rosy’s portrait. She’s all tuckered out, and you imagine she’ll be conked out a while. Still, you take your paintset again, and to the side, focus on some basic tools. A small washing tub, a scrub brush, and a towel. You don’t know enough about mare shampoos to really know how to make spa worthy products but its a start. Luckily the mare doesn’t wake up.

You pull off your clothes and enter the shower, turning the water on hot. Painfully hot. Lack of sleep or not, you needed a game plan. While the idea of fucking about with Rosy for a long, long time and taking the chastising from Azalea wasn’t a bad idea, you could see this going out of control quickly. Azalea would be asleep a while after all that alcohol and Rosy from sheer exhaustion. You’d spend the next few hours preparing a meeting between the two in your living room when eleven in the morning hits. You prepare a pot of coffee in advance, Azalea wakes up first. Rosy is still in your room crashed, you figure she’d wake up and clean herself when she’s good and ready.

‘You’re up early?’

‘Have a nice night?’

It’s not hard to guess that she knew you’d been up to dirty business after you left her. She still looked too exhausted to put up a fight, her eyes were a bit bloodshot from the alcohol and the crying. She kept her blanket wrapped around her, it was starting to fade a bit, soon it would be gone from her canvas too.

“Sort of… I’m going to have a bit of a get together during this late breakfast. Would you like some coffee?”

        ‘Can you draw tea, sir?’

        ‘Herbal would be ideal but...’

        She’s not being as aggressive as she was when she’d first arrived. Maybe she can see the apprehension in your eyes of how everything seemed to be… off. You’re familiar enough with tea to bring the taste to mind, creating a mug for her. The steam rising from it meant you even had the temperature down correctly. While it wasn’t entirely your talent so much as the enchanted nature of the paper, you feel a little proud of your abilities. She sips from the ceramic cup you drew, and smiles softly.

        ‘Not bad’

        ‘At all.’

        “... I wanted to ask you a quick question.” 

        ‘Is it’

        ‘About her?’

        “Yeah... “

        She removes her lips from the tea, removing her blanket, and fixing her hair. She puts a hoof to her temple before responding.

        ‘I’ll answer what I’m willing.’

        ‘But I would rather avoid any controversial conversing this early.’

        “I get it, I’m not asking about any of her private affairs. Just… Back before me, with the Princess or even before, has she been… okay?’

        Azalea pauses, giving you a curious gaze, before sighing.

        ‘Give me’

        ‘A marker.’

        You do so, and she quickly takes it by horn and begins to write.

        ‘Rosy, as you call her, it’s hard to say where she stands. I only reveal this to you because while it intrudes on privacy, if we are to live together this sort of open communication is vital. Her personality is… unusual. This may be largely while we clash so violently, well aside from her promiscuity. Back in Canterlot, she’d had a history of flirting with everyone, even the Princess. I recall one evening she was turned down by a stallion visiting from Saddle Arabia who was staying in the royal hall beneath us.’

        Azalea sighs.

        ‘Even though it was the first time her charm failed, she… didn’t respond well. She was angry initially, told him to commit a few anatomically impossible acts upon himself. But then she left her portrait, refused to look at anyone or say anything. She did this for three full days and nights. Even the Princess she refused to respond to. When she came back on the fourth day she was still somber. I don’t understand how the mare thinks. To be honest I don’t want to.’

        ‘But she lives entirely on pride in her own body, as nauseating a concept as I may find it. I’ve known her as far back as I can remember, and not once has she ever truly opened up to me or anyone for that matter. Every time I would try to talk to her about… anything that wasn’t scandalous, crude, or dangerous she would switch the conversation to trying to flirt with me or leave the painting with a brief apology. That’s why I said I could never really leave her. I find her distasteful but… sometimes when she’s alone and thinks I’m asleep, I look at her and I see...’

        A loud thumping noise interrupts your conversation, sounding off from the back of your room. 

        “Speak of the devil, that must be Rosy.” Azalea rolls her eyes at you.

        ‘As expected.’

        ‘You did bed her again.’

        “... We’ll all talk about this over breakfast.” You say, leaving Azalea to her tea to go get Rosy.