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> Ponyville hides its secrets well, tucked beneath its sunny charm. Humans brought their spark years ago—dice that clatter in candlelit games, tales of dragons, and whispers of a place where hearts dare to dance. D20 Den, a cluttered shop of tomes and glittering dice, guards one such secret. Mutter “d20 de sombras,” and a trapdoor hums, leading to The Velvet Hoof—a haven for those bold enough to weave trust into fantasy, pony or human. Here, consent is sacred, words stop all, and judgment stays aboveground.
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> I am Rarity, and this shadowed nook shouldn’t call to me, yet I return, a smile curling my lips. My heart races, not with shame, but joy, for I step here with my beloved—my Anon, my anchor. Tonight, we play a game we wove together, a waltz of trust and whispers. By Celestia, what spell has this place cast on me?
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> The shopkeep, a unicorn with a mane like a comic gone wrong, smirks at our code. Stairs spiral down, and The Velvet Hoof unfolds—velvet curtains, lanterns casting soft gold, a hum of voices. Ponies and humans, some masked, others open, weave their own tales. A mare giggles, her partner guiding her with a silken ribbon. Rules glow in the air: trust is our vow, a word halts all, and hearts lead. Anon’s hand brushes mine, warm and steady. “Ready, darling?” he asks, his voice a spark. I nod, my mischief matching his.
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> This is my escape. My days are a whirl of silk and stress, but here, I shed that weight. Anon and I spoke for weeks, hearts bare, crafting this dance. A collar, I said, to crown my trust; a mask, to free my soul. He holds a velvet band, his fingers gentle, eyes searching mine. “My lady,” he murmurs, and I hum, stepping closer. The collar rests light, a whisper of faith, not chains. The mask follows, silk soft as starlight, dimming the world. His voice becomes my guide, warm and sure.
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> “Come, my gem,” he whispers, and I step, hooves delicate, trusting his lead. My senses sharpen—his breath, a faint tease; his words, my anchor. The suit I wear, sleek and smooth, dulls the world, leaving only his voice, his care. My heart races, not with fear, but thrill. “Good girl,” he says, soft and fond, and I laugh, free in his trust. Time blurs, our waltz a secret shared. A bell chimes—my signal to pause. He lifts the mask, his eyes warm. “More, love?” he asks. I tease, “Always, darling,” and we smile, bound tighter than ever.
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> The candles dim, and we rest, my head on Anon’s chest, his heartbeat my lullaby. The suit and mask lie aside, our game complete. I’m exhausted, yet whole, curled close, my hooves claiming him. How did we find this place, this dance of trust? No regrets, only love. His scent—his presence—grounds me, a warmth I crave. I drift to sleep, my husband, my guide, my heart, holding me in this haven.
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> The Velvet Hoof hums on, its secrets safe. Who else dares this waltz? You, my fine friends, might know. Share your tales—this club’s doors are open.
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> To be continued.
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123