Reading, writing, reading, writing, the things you love to do most, in the place you love to do them most: the sanctity of the library. A sanctum of knowledge, a repository of past events, all here, for you and all who should desire to read them. You love it here, even if you can't recall how you got here, or why you're here in the first place. But reason could you need? Knowledge itself is a great enough reason for you to be here. But there is no knowledge, nothing to be learned, from the book in front of you. For the book in front of you, as you are repeatedly surprised by, is completely blank!
Quite curious is the nature of this blank book, to draw you so deeply into its pages, filled to the brim with delightful nothingness. So simple, so pleasurable to simply behold, and yet... there is a deep sense of discourse within you. You don't want to keep staring and yet... you must. Something compels you to. The creamy white pages, enticing you with their blissful vacancy... This is stupid. Surely you must be some kind of fool, for only a fool would spend so much staring into the void and find joy in the vapor.
"And a fool you are," a snide voice says, just to the side of you. "Your mind is wide, and your heart too kind. The perfect makings for a foolishly foolish fool, such as yourself."
To your side, newly arrived (or perhaps always there?) sits Goldheart. Princess Goldheart. Cold, condescending, confusing... an enigma to you and an absolute frustration to your thoughts as you attempt to understand hers. Golden locks, not unlike her aunts, curled tightly, beautifully, eyes as blue as a clear sky. Her presence massive, but her body... so small, so frail. Barely larger than a foal and yet-
"And yet, I hold more power than you could ever hope to, foolish fool that you are." ,she jeers. "I, a princess, lordess of unicorns, mistress who holds dominion over time; I in all my worldly wisdom and superiority, have chosen to make you mine. And yet, you refuse and rebuff me. I ask you, Ghost Scribe: what gives you such a right?"
Oh joy, it's this conversation again.
"Princess, I've told you once,twice even, that a relationship can't be based on power or social status. Both ponies involved mus-"
"Silence yourself." ,she says, placing a hoof to your lips. "I know what you've said. And I have simply decided that I don't care. My words, my desires, my *authority*, all of this supercedes your words. You are a soldier, lowly and pitiful. All the strength in the world, all the weaponry and all the honor my father can afford you; none if it will ever grant your word more quarter than mine."
Knocking the princesses hoof away, you shout at her, your dignity insulted, your value as a pony questioned. "Princess, I refuse to stand here and allow you to speak to me this way!"
"Then you will lie down," she replies snidely, looking down you from-- Down on you? You're... lying on your back?
"How did you--"
"She who controls time, controls all within it, Ghost Scribe. Surely you see now, how far beneath me you sit."
"I don't, actually." ,you shoot back contemptuously.
She sneers at you, and places a hoof on your chest, pressing your back against the floor. You try to get up, but struggle as you might, you can't fight back against her. You know you're stronger than her, so why? Why can't you fight back?
"Your strength means nothing in the face of my power, Scribe. I've said it once and I'll say it a thousand times until it's pounded into that thick skull of yours." Her eyes meet yours as she looks down upon you, her hoof now drawing playful circles in your chest.
"Although... I do grow weary of repeating myself." ,she says, her hoof and voice trailing in unison, down your chest to... less prudent areas. "And I think I have just the way to convince you of your own... inferiority."
In an instant, her robes disappear, cast aside without a second thought. You've never seen the Princess unclothed, and while this is natural for most ponies, seeing her in this state of undress makes you feel a way you aren't sure how to describe.
"Does this fluster you, Ghost Scribe?" , She taunts, lifting up her hindleg over your belly. She brings it to the other side of you, her sumptuous, curvaceous backside turned to you, giving you a full, unguarded view of her... her--
"Do you enjoy what you see?" ,She asks. You can feel yourself getting hot, in your face, in your... your, er...
"Your penis, Scribe." ,Goldheart says bluntly. "No need to shy away from the word, Scribe. It certainly isn't shying away from me." And just as she says, your manhood now stands at full mast. "It's really impressive. I had always heard tales of Earth Pony virility, stamina that could put the greatest unicorn workers to shame, cocks with length and girth in equal measure... it's not quite what I expected, but I am in no way disappointed."
Dear lord this is mortifying.
"What about this is so bad, Ghost Scribe? I am merely taking what I desire, what I rightfully deserve. With the way you shy away from this, one would think that you were a..." ,The Princess pauses, your secret made bare to her. "Is that so? Well, isn't that precious. I'll try to make this *extra* special for you then."
Before you had the chance to object, her words ceased, as her tongue made its way up the entirety of your length, the sensation of her smooth, slimy tongue causing you to moan involuntarily.
"Oh, slimy, is it?"
You're barely able to think past the surge of heat in your face. How did she--
"Don't think about it too hard. We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."
Condescending remark out of the way she returns to, er... to her, uh... damn, you really are pathetic, if you can't even bring yourself to describe t--
"*A-Ah!*" ,another involuntary moan escapes you, robbing you of a little more self-respect. You just can't help yourself, your body starting to spasm in small ways; your legs twitch, your chest heaves, and your breath starts to run ragged, as she twirls her tongue along your little head, each revolution making your head spin even more than her tongue. To think that she, so small, barely as large as the entirety of your barrel, could have such power over you!
"Greater stallions than you have been felled by the wills of the flesh." ,she says. The licking, the tonguing, swirling ceases, as she takes your shaft, and holds it close, rubbing her cheeks up against it as if it were some precious treasure.
"How highly you think of yourself." ,she say. "But we'll soon fix that. Did you know, Ghost Scribe, that cats will rub themselves up against their owners to mark them as their own? You're mine, Ghost Scribe, and mine alone. Don't you dare think otherwise."
Her statement is punctuated powerfully, as she forces your whole shaft into her mouth. Your body quivers with reluctant delight, as she pushes down to your base, your member sliding past her tongue and teeth, into her throat, her hot breath against your testis only arousing you even further. Lord, your filthy. A filthy, dirty stallion who's enjoying every moment of this just as much as he hates it.
Your inner turmoil only seems to encourage her, as she begins to bob up and down, each motion filling you with maddening conflict. It feels so wrong, so right and you aren't sure which is correct.
Your frustration is only compounded by the deliberate slowness with which shes doing this. She knows you can't resist, she knows this is driving you wild and shes going just slow enough for this to be agonizing. You need to-- Y-You need to--
You can't even bring yourself to say it. You hate that word, that disgusting, dirty word, but its what you need, you crave it so desperately! So you muster what strength you can, all the force that Goldheart was so easily able to subdue before, and with all your might, you thrust. With all the force of something incredibly forceful (your mind's so foggy you can't even think of a proper metaphor) you thrust your throbbing countenance into her throat, arrhythmic and sloppy, but you don't care.
She doesn't even bother to resist you. Even in this instance, you are only thrusting because she allows it; she's in total control, but you don't care because your getting what you want, what you need. No style, no grace, just a primal urge, a desire to c-- to c--
"*Hng-aaaah!*" ,you cry. You're getting close. Oh god, you're getting so close. Your pace increases, like a sprinter hurling himself towards the finish line, until finally, you--
A pause, ever-so brief. Goldheart is gone, but the pleasure remains, as your body rocks with pure ecstasy, greater than any you've ever given yourself. You shower yourself with the fruits of your labor, your chest, belly and some of your leg being covered in thick strings of your wonderful shame. The sight of your glistening shaft is burned into your mind, as your manhood, and your pride, quickly shrink away.
The joy lapses quickly, and you're left with only disgust. Absolute disgust. How could you be so filthy, so disgusting? A creature like you doesn't deserve happiness like what you just had, ever if ever so briefly.
"Well, well. Perhaps I'll get through to you yet." ,Goldheart says as she pets your head. "But don't be too hard on yourself. You don't know how to do it properly." She strokes your head softly and carefully, giving you a bizarre sense of security. How? How does she do this to you.
"It doesn't matter how, Scribe; only why." Well, why then?
"For now... consider it little more than a thanks. A show of gratitude." For what?
"Worry yourself not about it. Though... I am a tad disappointed our fun came to an end so soon. Perhaps... we can find time for another lesson. I'll teach you some self control, and then..." she pauses, moving her hoof from your head to your chest, leisurely smearing your mess all over your chest, matting your hair. "Maybe we can get to the real fun."
Taking her messy, glistening hoof, she taps you lightly on the tip of your muzzle. And the rest is blank.