Entry 1
The Secret Diaries of Mistress Rarity
Entry 1
Dearest Diary,
I have made a start on you for various reasons which only become apparent to me now as I write. Foremost in my mind, I suppose, is the desire to have something to read when I'm in my dotage. On that hopefully distant day, when I'm nodding in my rocking chair, I've the feeling I will need something to jog my memory, quicken my blood, remind me of the fun I had in my glory days.
Or maybe it's a desire to make a record. To set down, as well as I remember, the things I've seen and done.
But mostly I suspect it's because I, Rarity of Ponyville, need to know that somepony at least knows the whole story – the details of who (mostly me) did what to whom. The things which even our beloved Celestia herself doesn't know.
That somepony, dear Diary, is going to have to be you.
I wonder where to begin. So much has happened already. Perhaps I should relate the tale of how I got started on my alternative, and extremely profitable, secondary business.
I feel I really should clarify that, Diary. Nopony ever 'pays' me to do anything. Not so much as a bit. Anypony who even attempted to would be made to eat my number two crop. What I receive is gifts, given in appreciation of services rendered. Or even in appreciation of me.
Doesn't mean it doesn't pay well, though. However, let me state for the record; I will be sent to Tartarus with all the frightful creatures before I let my, erm, sideline take over my life's calling which is: creating the most stunning couture in Equestria.
Where was I? How I got started...
Oopsie. I hear the clatter of the front door and Sweetie Belle's dulcet tones drifting up the stairs. Back in the drawer with you, Diary. Catch you later!
#
Dearest Diary,
I simply must tell you about my latest adventure! Let me set it down, right now, when the details are fresh in my mind. Though I doubt the memory of this particular golden afternoon will fade in a year or even a decade.
I'm going to confess something now, Diary. Contrary to what you might think, and what my escapades might suggest, I actually prefer stallions. Quite the surprise, isn't it. I bet your eyebrows would be raised in shock, if you had any.
There has never been any shortage of suitors eager to make use of my services. The problem has always been the collection of creephorns, limpwings, milk-suckers and the like which our lovely town of fragrant Ponyville is typically afflicted with. I have a hard time providing a quality experience for somepony I don't respect. Mistress Rarity is not your employee, darling. She does what she does because she likes it and she's good at it.
Where was I? Ah yes. Stallions, quality, lack of, which leads me to one example in particular. Ponyville's most magnificent resident (though darling Rainbow Dash would doubtless disagree). I refer to none other than Applejack's absolute dish of a brother, the mighty Big Macintosh. Oh, just saying his name makes me feel all tingly inside... quite right, Diary, let us cut to the chase before I am forced to resort to solitary vices.
I'd been frankly infatuated from the moment I first laid eyes on him. I always know when a pony is 'interested' (well not always but that is a tale for another time) and I was getting the vibes off him most strongly. But he'd never done anything but be interested.
And how! Working in those confounded orchards, day in, day out. Hauling those gigantic apple carts around with his muscles sliding around under his burnished hide all glistening with sweat, being interested.
But he wasn't the kind of pony you could lightly take advantage of. So there matters stood for some months at least.
Until recently that is. One thing you should know about me, dearest Diary – sometimes I get an idea in my head – an idea like I want something. And when that happens I have to do whatever it takes to get it. You may consider that to be a personality flaw and I fear you'd not be wrong. But that's how it is. When I've 'got it going on' I can't sleep; I can't rest. I can think of nothing but what I want. Usually it's getting a new dress design just so or getting my hooves on a particular gemstone but let us just say... let us just say that Big Mac is one of the few stallions I've ever been crazy for.
Mistress Rarity might be crazy but she isn't stupid. And she never, ever looses her cool. So when I finally went to hunt down my prey I was prepared. I picked a day when I knew Applejack would be off yet again failing to have sex with Rainbow Dash (I simply must do something about that useless pair). I sent Sweetie Belle off to school, then loaded up a wicker pannier with things I thought might come in handy (as yet I had no real idea what he was into). Then I had a good hard think about what might appeal to my Big Mac. Leather goddess? No – far too pervy for a nice normal boy like him. Farm girl? Heavens no, he probably got about as much as he could stand of that. What then? Aha! Time to take a leaf out of sweet little Fluttershy's book. Virginal flower filly it would be. I dressed myself in a billowy floral print frock and floppy hat and set off.
Ponyville was out in force that morning, what with the hot weather and all (useful as well as stylish, that hat). Many of my acquaintances were out and about but luckily Mistress Rarity's obvious fixity of purpose (not to mention the slightly crazed gleam in her eyes) warned everypony away.
I had worked up a fair sweat by the time I got to Sweet Apple Acres, and it wasn't just from the heat and the exertion. However it was welcomely cool under the trees and I took the opportunity to calm myself down a bit. It simply wouldn't do to go into battle all flustered.
'Yoohoo,' I trilled. 'Big Macintosh, Rarity is here...' and then I saw him. In a clearing in the orchard, one foreleg propped on a tree stump, looking for all Equestria like Stallion of the Month in Playmare. He just stood there all red and gleaming and chewing that haystalk of his, apparently not surprised in the slightest to see me.
I will confess, Diary my dearest, just then Mistress Rarity was not feeling very dominant. In fact I was nervous as a little wallflower of a filly on her first date. A blush rose to my cheek and I don't mind telling you I suddenly got very hot and wet in my special mare's place. So I was standing there all grinning and shuffling my hooves and trying not to lift my tail, darling. And I think he was laughing at me.
It was clear that I had to regain the initiative. So I marched straight up and nuzzled him right on the lips. That surprised him – round one to me, I thought. 'Big Macintosh,' I began, with faultless cut-glass diction. 'I've long admired you from afar. But we've never actually had a chance to talk.'
'Ah reckon you can talk an' I'll listen,' he said in that deep slow voice of his.
'Oh. Hmmm.' Some moments of silence passed. 'How is everything on the farm? Are the leaves blowing and the seeds sowing? What about the apples?'
He shifted the stalk to the other corner of his mouth. 'You ain't interested in no apples.'
That got me riled. 'True enough. Though I do fancy something big and red and bursting with juice.' His eyes widened and he took just half a step back. Perfect, I thought. I advanced on him, eyes blazing. 'I suppose you think you're Celestia's gift to Equestria, Mister. Strolling around all day with your horse collar and your wheatstalk...' I nipped that stalk right out of his mouth and threw it on the ground.
'H-hey!'
'No more, Mister. You hear me? No more!' My blood was well and truly up. I swear not Night Mare Moon, Discord, Queen Chrysalis and King Sombra combined could have stopped me from getting what I wanted, right there and then.
Dear Diary, I do so appreciate the virtues of self control. If I was going to make the best possible experience for the both of us I was going to have to slow down from a gallop to an easy trot.
I very deliberately cooled down, considered what step I was going to take next. I reached into my wicker pannier and lifted out a hand-crafted leather bridle. With a toss of my head I dropped it at his hooves. The thing lay on the earth between us, coiled like a snake, redolent with possibility. This was the make-or-break moment. I watched his face, trying to read him, to determine if there was, as I suspected, a deeply buried and sadly neglected submissive streak running through him.
He raised an eyebrow. 'Somethin' I should do with that?'
My heart leaped. I shoved hard against his shoulder, hissed into his ear: 'put it on.'
'You reckon you can handle me?'
Was that a flash of humour in those eyes? Aha, a joker! I love the playful ones. 'Oh, you cheeky little colt. Is Mistress Rarity going to have to administer some correction?'
'Fine. Ah'm doin' it.' With dexterous forehooves he put the bridle on himself and stood there, all poised and gleaming and sweaty. Such magnificent vascularity he had, wandering all over his crimson hide. I swear, his veins resembled a map of Equestria's inland waterways. He was holding the reins in his perfect teeth with a cocky smile on his lips and it was all I could do not to lick the salt right off those veins, there and then.
Instead I curtly ordered him to pass me the reins. He spat them out with a disdainful ptoo, the naughty boy. I decided I wasn't going to mess with him any more out in the open, so I grabbed the reins in my teeth and made for the barn at a fast trot with him following behind like a puppy on a leash. It really was too adorable.
So there we were at last in the barn. All delightfully rustic with the sun slanting through the gaps in the planks and the smell of hay dust. I do think setting is so important when you have a scene going on, don't you agree, Diary dearest?
I led my beautiful captive over to a sturdy looking post, looped the reins around and tied them off. Then I told him to get down on his side. He gave me a long look and did so. I swear the ground shook as that godlike flank hit the hay. He was lying there all helpless and glistening and... Diary, I blush. I swear I never meant to but I just had to dig the crop out of the pannier and swat him, good and hard, across the arse. The sight of the shockwave rippling through his muscles almost got me off. His eyes widened and his head jerked against the reins. But he just lay there and it was obvious I could have laid another one, or ten on him, and he'd just have taken it.
I don't mind telling you I was very, very impressed.
I knew what I wanted to do next. Dear Diary, have you every been so aroused that you get all hasty and clumsy you very nearly trip over your own hooves? That was me, just then. Primal as a cave mare. I got the free end of the bridle, somehow looped it around one hind ankle – the one uppermost as he lay on his side. Then I braced my forelegs on his shoulder and pulled. His leg slowly rose. I pulled until I had him spread open, thighs wide, belly exposed.
I secured the bridle, then stumbled back around the front to inspect the prize. My boy was ready, all right. The pink and black column of his cock was swelling, its tip pulsing in the dust. The beautiful black sack of his balls nestled on the cushion of his thigh. I knelt down. I could smell that musky mouth watering heart pounding scent and I swear I could feel the heat of it on my face. Simply exquisite. And then... I blush to recall. I got my crop and I laid three light strikes across his shaft. His hips thrust and he gave a faint groan. A pearly drop of precum formed at the slit of his cockhead.
'Good,' I purred. 'Very, very good. I think you deserve a reward.' I licked along his shaft, nuzzled the heavy balls in their lolling sack. The taste, that smoky sweaty musk – simply divine. Then I took him into my mouth. I could feel him throbbing, ready to spend. That would never do. I spat him out, trailing saliva and precum. 'Hold back,' I ordered with casual authority.
I watched him struggle, my poor stallion. All grinding teeth and snorting nostrils. His arse clenched as he fought to stop from spending. But he managed it.
I remember regretting I that I'd left my strapon back at the boutique. But I think that would have been a step too far for him. So instead I pulled the end of the bridle free. Awkwardly he rolled onto his belly, shook his great head, as far as he was able – the bridle still held him secure.
For a brief moment a fantasy flashed into my mind. What if Applejack was to come in, right now? Surprise us in the act? Applejack sucking her big brother's cock, like she always wanted to, while I ride her from behind? Mistress Rarity, you are terrible.
I darted forward, bit his ear, almost hard enough to hurt. 'Now,' I growled, all hot and close in his ear. 'Now you get to fuck me.' There was a moment of silence as he just crouched there; perhaps not believing his luck, perhaps getting himself ready. I flipped up the back of that ridiculous dress (I was still wearing it) and presented myself. I don't mind admitting, dear Diary, my tail was waving around like Twilight Sparkle's raised hoof in unicorn school. I could feel myself winking at him. And then... well, it's one of those things. It happens to me quite a lot. I felt a sudden sharp need to pee. My sex clenched and I let out a brief sensual splatter. Oh my word, Mistress Rarity really, really needed it.
There was a groan and a creak of leather from behind me as he fought the bridle. Enough with the teasing. I backed up until I felt his teeth pinch my tail. 'Quickly,' I hissed. 'For the love of fuck.' Something hard poked me from behind. His cocktip wandered stickily over my backside as he hunted me. Then he found me. I felt every exquisite inch of his fucktool as he slid inside me, right to the hilt.
It's funny how the gentlest, the best and most refined ones, the kindest and most courteous... when they get on top of you, or behind you, and start pounding away... well, they're really just animals. Beautiful animals, primal and passionate. So it was with him. Teeth clenched, nostrils flaring, every thrust of those mighty hindquarters lifting my arse clear off the ground.
And yes I can feel him inside me yes he's filling me completely yes I'm almost there yes I can feel his pumping cock as he shoots his gift, his devotion, deep inside me and yes here it is. The beautiful white light.
I clench hard, milking him. It goes on, and on. He is a beautiful stallion and I am a beautiful mare. Truly, we are both fulfilled.
And finally he was draped, exhausted, over my trembling back, probably drooling. He shuffled off me like he was 100 years old. His stallionhood slid out with a wet pop and flopped, releasing a final little spurt of juice. 'My sweet boy.' I nuzzled his sweaty neck. 'My prince of ponies. You've made me very happy.'
But Mistress Rarity is nopony's filly for long, darling. He watched as, all business, I whipped the bridle off him and gathered my various things. I favoured him with a raised eyebrow. 'Well hurry, Darling. It simply wouldn't do for your sister to walk in and find us like this. Unless that's what you want, of course.'
'Uh, nope.' In his eyes – what was that? Relief? No, respect as he realised that Rarity was a mare in control of her life, who knew what she wanted and how to get it, and was dependent on nopony. He shook himself all over (by Celestia he was beautiful). There was time for a brief kiss and a nuzzle and a whispered thank you. Then I was out of the door with nopony any the wiser.
I trotted back to Carousel Boutique, thinking of the long bath which lay in my imminent future, and possibly some light reading that evening. And maybe some playtime with a favourite toy. Mistress Rarity, surely you aren't still randy?
Foolish question, dear Diary.
#
Dear Diary,
I started you with the intention of putting everything down in chronological order. Honestly, I did. But then that business with Big Macintosh intervened and, well... you know how I am.
But there is still time to make amends, to impose some semblance of order. I believe I was going to tell you of the time when...
Alas, Sweetie Belle is in need of some sisterly sympathy. So it's back in the drawer for you.
Until next time, I remain,
Devotedly yours,
Mistress Rarity XXX