Title:           Steamy Trottingham Night: Chp. 4
Author:          Arsenon
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/iaME3xmx
First Edit:      Sunday 5th of October 2014 03:29:15 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Saturday 11th of October 2014 12:13:50 AM CDT

>You're marching out of the dungeons, mouthing to yourself. To either side of you is a hundred bound plots. Thanks to the pegasus, Firefly you're feeling angry, and sad, and horny all at the same time. Stupid Fucking Mares. Damn Little Ponies.
>A mare grabs your leg. Tells you something about how great she is in bed, and how desperately she wants out of here. As your better judgement comes to you you shake her off. Not a chance. You can't be doing with this.
 
>You're trudging through the great hall. Nearly to your chambers, nearly able to rest and block out all these dissident little ponies. They all need to be locked up they do. Put in little outfits with the feathers on the top, you know the ones, and paraded around at a circus. You tip your imaginary top hat, and you make yourself a little whipping motion.
"Get little horsies! Get!"
>Right now the ponies are coming to you for all sorts of things. The candy-ass Tenorhooves in particular, is tailing you about some spreadsheets or something or other. You bounce everything off of you. Not while you're the only person in this whorehouse not getting any, and not until you've had your rest.
 
>You're nearly there. On the final floor. A few rooms away from freedom, you're stopped dead in your tracks. Ahead of you, robed, is a taller pony, completely draped in black, wearing what must be a steel facemask.
>You're trying to decode whether it is a mare or stallion when a deep mare's voice comes out.
>"I was told, I could find an Anonymous here."
>Zigger please. You reach for your door handle when a hoof crosses in front of it firmly.
>"I come representing the Vice Squad, loyal partners of the Chateau d'Shackles for eons. We were wondering if we could work out a deal."
"Sorry, I can't be having that. While Shackles is away, no-one is reaching into the budget, and I'm definitely not making any bargains."
>"It's much, much simpler than that. I simply ask for permission to put our seal on your hotel." She extends her left hoof, marked into it an elaborate letter V, and flanked by a crescent moon.
>"Put the seal at any location in your establishment, and we would gladly supply you anything you require, and a monthly gift package of 100,000 bits. It let's everypony know we are on friendly terms. Nopony will notice. Especially not your boss, Shackles."
>The offer is tempting. Really tempting. You can't see the harm in making a mark. Under a chair, perhaps. Behind a cabinet. But what kind of "squad" would offer this anyway?
"I'm sorry, I really am, but I don't think it's up to me to say."
>"Very well, we'll be back later. It is a very rare privilege, for the Squad to make the same offer twice."
>And she's gone. All the ponies, all the horseshit you've been wading through. Gone. You slip quickly into your room, debate to yourself on whether you should wank to the thought of piledriving a bound pegasus, decide against it, and get ready to clock out.
 
>You've just jumped into your bed, it couldn't have been more than 10 seconds, when you hear a rustling in your room. You pull the light and find waiting all this time, a staggeringly blitzed, orange earth pony, green hair frazzled all over under her well to do Sunday dress hat.
"Vedalia... Clementine... er- Valencia, what are you doing here?"
>She puts her hoof to your face sloppily.
>"You seem stressed out. Let me take care of you."
>And the mare does. You'll give her credit for reading you this well, every joint in your body is ready to blow, and as she gets to sliding down your trousers all the weight seems removed. But, are you sure you're supposed to be doing this?
"I'm sorry. I don't think that-"
>"It's fine, silly boy. I know when a guy needs some release."
>You don't know what to say of the mare talking so condescendingly to you. You certainly don't know what to say about a little filly so forcefully taking control. So you don't say anything. She teases you a bit, gets down to bobbing, the usual blowjob stuff. Working in the field you've seen these kinds of things hundreds of times, but feeling it is another matter. You can probably guess the experience she's got under her belt, from an errant boyfriend or two, and she's definitely an eager whore, but she's an undisciplined one.
>She must be 10-15 bobs in when she pauses. Stares at you seductively, and rolls it off her tongue.
>"The price is fifteen hundred bits."
>You can't help but kek a bit at that one. You sheepishly laugh and talk to the girl.
"You've got great business sense kid, but sometimes you really make me want to beat the shit out of you."
>She's slightly shocked, but her interest is piqued. Twice as seductive this time.
>"Three thousand bits," she positions her flank "and you can hit me as much as you want."
>What kind of boyfriend did she have? Your body was already pretty anxious, but something inside of you... expands when she says this.
 
>You don't know what you can say. You hit her. You wind your arm up, prepare to give this girl hell, and it comes out as a light slap on the cheek.
>She's going along fine with it, but you're embarrassed. You can't even hit a girl properly.
"I hate you, you know that?"
>"Oh yes, I'm horrible. I've been so bad."
>A little harder this time.
"No, you don't get it. I hate you."
>You take her off guard. Build up your confidence. Plunge haphazardly into her marehood. Claw one hand into her shoulder, and pommel her with the other. With each smack you let a word loose.
"Stupid-fucking-spoiled-pony-whore. Trotting-around-like-you-own-the-damned-place. Damned-great-parents-you-had-and-you-ended-up-here."
>What can you say. The filly ticks you off. A long day of shit and you're greeted to her vapid fucking face? No chance. Things escalate quickly as your body slaps against her panicking plot.
>What's happening can't really be described in detail. It's >rape. It's humping. The rutting of two animals. A wrecked locomotive comes to mind, so does a Free Jazz improvisation, or a rush of fanboys at a convention. By the end of it the mare is crying and the man is sprawled on the side of his bed.
 
"Ohhhh shit!"
>Were you really supposed to do that? Screwing the one bosses' off limits girls, not to mention forcing yourself on her? You slide your pants on, tiptoe past the nearly catatonic mare, and try to get some walking in. Celestia, you feel like shit. You leave the door and let the images of her curled up face, bruised and bleeding, resonate in the back of your skull.
>You're on your way to turn the bend into the next hallway, when a pair of strong stallions hooves come in from either direction, and you're out.