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1.
>Be Fluttershy, a founder of the Stables, your pale yellow coat tingling under the black rose hair clip’s enchanted shimmer, your teal eyes heavy with the weight of your role in the circular founder chamber, its air laced with wild rose musk and warm candlelight, plush velvet cushions cradling your trembling form. The hidden staircase’s echo still lingers in your hooves, a reminder of the sanctuary you’ve sworn to protect, its sacred bonds forged in Equestria’s stallion-scarce shadows
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2.
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3.
>The chamber hums with tension, the founders’ gazes sharp—Sprite Will’s coffee-brown eyes glinting with jaded disdain, Cheerie Star’s sapphire eyes blazing with resolve, and Nurse Redheart, her white coat stretched taut over a belly swollen like a bursting balloon, not from overindulgence but from the miracle of triplets: two pony foals and one human boy, her pink mane tied back, her face glowing with maternal pride yet etched with worry
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4.
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5.
>Cheerie’s voice cuts through the rose-scented air, her fiery red mane flicking as she speaks. “Rarity knows of the Stables. She’s trying to enroll—not just here in Ponyville, but in every city’s branch. She’s persistent, but none of the founders will have her.”
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6.
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7.
>Your heart lurches, a mix of dread and loyalty. Rarity, your friend, the Element of Generosity, chasing the Stables’ allure? The thought clashes with the chamber’s sanctity, its velvet warmth, the memory of your own initiation—crimson thong’s slick grip, leather cuffs’ bite, satin blindfold’s caress—moments of raw need, not fashion
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8.
>Redheart shifts, her swollen belly brushing the cushion, her voice steady but urgent. “It’s not just the risk of two Elements of Harmony in our ranks, Fluttershy. That alone could draw Celestia’s eye, unravel everything we’ve built. But Rarity’s motives… she’s not here for need, not for the loneliness or touch-hunger that drives most mares. She’s chasing a trend—nobles, demoted or facing expulsion, flaunting Stables access as the latest fad in Canterlot’s salons.”
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9.
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>Your wings twitch, a knot tightening in your chest. Rarity, reducing the Stables’ sacred path to a status symbol? The thought stings, a betrayal of the mares who bare their souls here, their heat spilling in glistening waves under human hands, their hearts seeking bonds in leather-bound stalls. You think of Lily Valley’s shame, Trixie’s twisted surrender, Silver Belle’s redemption—lives shaped by necessity, not vanity
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11.
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12.
>Cheerie’s gaze locks onto you, her pink coat gleaming under the candlelight. “We must dissuade her, Fluttershy, or she’ll taint what we’ve fought to protect.” With a flick of her hoof, she tosses a pair of cold iron shackles, their metallic clink echoing in the chamber, and a horn ring, its dull surface pulsing with anti-magic runes, landing at your hooves with a soft thud. “Teach her this path is sacred—by the hard way.”
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13.
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14.
>Your breath catches, the shackles’ chill seeping into your hooves, the horn ring’s weight a promise of suppression. The chamber’s musk grows heavier, the candles’ wax dripping with a faint hiss, the velvet cushions warm beneath you yet unable to ease the storm in your heart. Rarity, bound in iron, her magic silenced, forced to feel the Stables’ raw truth? The image is a blade, cutting through your loyalty to her and your duty to the Stables
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15.
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16.
>Redheart’s hoof rests on yours, her warmth grounding you despite her own burden. “She must learn, Fluttershy,” she says, her voice soft but unyielding. “Generosity without heart is hollow. The Stables are for mares who need, not those who play.”
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17.
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18.
>Sprite Will smirks, her black coat gleaming, her pink mane flicking. “Let her taste the public stable’s chaos—leather’s bite, floggers’ sting, the musk of desperation. She’ll run back to her boutique.”
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19.
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20.
>Your heart fractures, torn between friendship and the Stables’ sanctity. The black rose clip pulses in your mane, a reminder of your ascent, the bonds you’ve sworn to guard. Rarity’s laughter, her elegant gowns, clash with the chamber’s primal air—leather’s creak, mares’ distant cries, the faint jingle of bells from Trixie’s stall. You nod, your voice a whisper, “I’ll do it,” the shackles’ weight a chain you’ll carry to teach your friend the cost of trivializing desire’s sacred path
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21.
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25.
>Be Fluttershy, a founder of the Stables, your pale yellow coat prickling with unease under the black rose hair clip’s faint shimmer, your teal eyes clouded with a storm of loyalty and duty as you stand in your cozy Ponyville cottage, the afternoon sun filtering through lace curtains, casting delicate shadows on the wooden floor. The air carries the soothing scent of lemongrass tea, its citrus tang mingling with a splash of creamy milk in your cup, a calming ritual to steady your trembling hooves. On the counter, a silver tray gleams, holding a steaming pot of rare Earl Grey—Nurse Redheart’s gift, its bergamot aroma rich and aristocratic, reserved for your guest
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26.
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27.
>Rarity sits in the sitting room, her pristine white coat glowing, her sapphire curls bouncing as she gestures animatedly, her voice a melodic cascade. “Darling, the Stables are the talk of Canterlot’s elite! An exclusive underground club, whispered about in the most fashionable salons—a mark of true sophistication!” Her sapphire eyes sparkle, oblivious to the fire her words ignite in your chest
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28.
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29.
>Your blood boils, a sharp hiss escaping your nostrils as you grip the teapot, its porcelain warm against your hoof. The Stables—a sacred sanctuary for mares starved of touch, their heat spilling in glistening waves under human hands, their hearts seeking bonds in leather-bound stalls—are no cold tool for presumptuous nobles to sate their whims or flaunt status. Rarity’s reducing your life’s work, Lily’s shame, Trixie’s surrender, Silver Belle’s redemption, to a fashion trend? The thought is a blade, twisting in your heart
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30.
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31.
>You force a slow breath, the lemongrass tea’s steam soothing your throat, calming the storm. Rarity doesn’t know—she’s chasing trends, not need, her generosity blinded by Canterlot’s glitter. The memory of the founder chamber—Cheerie’s shackles clinking, Redheart’s swollen belly, the horn ring’s anti-magic pulse—grounds you. You must teach her the Stables’ sanctity, by the hard way
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32.
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33.
>With practiced grace, you arrange simple canapés on the tray—cucumber sandwiches, their crisp scent mingling with the Earl Grey’s elegance, a humble contrast to Rarity’s grandeur. Balancing the tray on one wing, its weight a steady anchor, you glide into the sitting room, the floorboards creaking softly under your hooves, the cottage’s floral warmth clashing with the tension coiling in your chest
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34.
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35.
>“My apologies for the delay, Rarity,” you say, your voice a practiced melody, a near-natural smile masking the anticipation thrumming in your veins. “I hope this Earl Grey, a gift from a dear friend, suits your refined taste.” You set the tray on the low table, the porcelain clink of cups sharp in the quiet, the bergamot’s heady aroma curling between you. Your teal eyes flicker to the teacup you pour for her, its steam a veil for your racing thoughts—drink, Rarity, and let the lesson begin
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36.
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37.
>She sips delicately, her lips curling in approval, unaware of the shackles waiting in your satchel, their iron chill a promise of the public stable’s chaos—leather’s bite, floggers’ sting, the musk of desperation. Your heart aches for your friend, but the Stables’ sacred path demands this, and you steel yourself, the lemongrass tea’s warmth in your hoof the only tether to your fading kindness
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38.
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39.
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40.
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41.
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42.
>Be Rarity, Equestria’s premier fashionista, now a quivering wreck in the Stables’ public level, your pristine white coat slick with sweat, your sapphire curls matted under a coarse blindfold, its musty fibers scraping your muzzle, trapping you in suffocating darkness. The anti-magic ring clamps your horn, its runes pulsing like a heartbeat, choking your magic into silence. Your body hangs suspended in a humiliating V—hind legs folded back, hooves grazing your head, forelegs wrenched behind, bound with ropes that burn your wrists. A leather harness—leather, banned in Equestria—grips your barrel, its oily, musky scent a grotesque sin, straps creaking, exposing your intimate core and teats, their glistening heat a shameful betrayal under the torchlight’s flickering glow
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43.
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44.
>The air is a sensory maelstrom—sterile antiseptic drowned by cloying feminine musk, sharp leather polish, and the salty tang of spilled heat, each breath coating your tongue with depravity. Floggers whistle, landing with cracks like thunder, leather straps creak, mares’ lustful cries—“More! Harder!”—weave a primal chorus, the wet squelch of straw underfoot drowning your muffled gasps. The stable’s chaos fuels your envy, a searing longing for release you’ve never craved until now
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45.
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46.
>Fluttershy’s voice, usually soft, cuts like a blade, cold and unfamiliar. “You thought the Stables were a trend, Rarity?” Her hoofsteps echo, deliberate, her presence a chilling weight. A human’s calloused hand—hers?—traces your flank, teasing your core, circling your teats, pushing you to the edge of climax, your heat pulsing, your breath hitching in desperate gasps. But she stops, denying you, your body trembling on the brink, frustration coiling like a spring. Again and again, she brings you to the precipice—fingers grazing, leather straps tugging—only to pull away, your womb screaming, your mind fracturing under the torment of denial
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47.
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48.
>Minutes stretch into hours, each denial a knife. Then, a hiss—a candle’s flame. Drip. A scalding bead of wax lands on your teats, a white-hot sting that makes you yelp, the blindfold trapping your cry. Drip. Drip. More follow, special candles—enchanted, high-melting-point, their musky rose scent laced with leather, burning hotter than any Equestrian wax, searing through your coat to your sensitive flesh. The pain twists into a frustrating pleasure, your core clenching, your heat spilling in glistening torrents, but it’s not enough—your womb begs for more, for a male touch to sate its ravenous need
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49.
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50.
>Fluttershy’s sadistic smile is audible in her voice, a chilling purr. “Not yet, darling.” She extinguishes the candle with a sharp snuff, setting it aside, the wax hardening into a crimson shell on your teats, its weight tugging your skin, amplifying your frustration. She calls to the twins—gray-coated unicorn enforcers, their jet-black manes gleaming. “Prepare a mouth ring and reposition our guest.”
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51.
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52.
>Their magic hums, cold and precise. A metal ring floats to your muzzle, forcing your jaws apart with a clack, your tongue exposed, drool pooling, the taste of iron sharp. With a brutal yank, they rip the hardened wax from your teats, tearing superficial patches of coat—painful but temporary, the fur will regrow. Your scream is muffled, the ring silencing your elegance. The blindfold is torn away, torchlight blinding your sapphire eyes, revealing the twins’ detached gazes and Fluttershy’s unyielding stare, her teal eyes glinting with cruel purpose
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53.
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54.
>Their magic lifts you, careful not to trigger your climax, your body a puppet in their arcane grip. They lower you onto a wooden platform, its rough grain scraping your belly. Your head and forelegs are locked in stocks, the wood’s creak a finality, your hind legs chained to the platform’s base, spreading you wide. Your tail thrashes, desperate to cover your exposed rear and core, but a leather hood encases it, its musky scent choking, tied tightly to your harness, forcing it upright, leaving you utterly vulnerable
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55.
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56.
>Your breath is ragged, excitement and frustration warring in your chest, your core throbbing, your teats stinging under cooling wax. Your mind screams for climax, for a stallion’s touch, but Fluttershy’s denial has driven you to madness, your elegance shattered, your generosity a mockery in this sacred crucible. The stable’s chaos—musk, leather, cries—engulfs you, your heart pleading for release, your soul lost to the lesson you’ve yet to learn
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57.
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58.
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59.
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60.
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61.
>Fluttershy stands before you, her pale yellow coat glowing under torchlight, her teal eyes glinting with a sadistic warmth that chills your soul, a far cry from the friend you knew. Her hoofsteps echo as she gestures, and a yellow pegasus mare enters, her coat a soft match for Fluttershy’s, her white mane and tail flowing like silk, a celeste robe draping her timid frame. She fidgets, wings twitching, her eyes downcast, a stark contrast to the stable’s depravity
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62.
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63.
>“This is your punishment, Rarity,” Fluttershy says, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet, “for chasing a sacred path you weren’t called to.” She turns to the pegasus. “Introduce yourself, Rose Breezie, and tell her why you’re here.”
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64.
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65.
>Rose Breezie blushes, her cheeks rosy under her coat, her voice trembling. “I’m… Rose Breezie, a private messenger pegasus. I earn good bits delivering for nobles and ponies who can pay…” Her tone falters, heavy with sorrow. “But my constant travels mean no herd will have me. Four years of loneliness, of neglect… I can’t bear heat suppressants anymore, the coolers that numb my need. I need this.”
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66.
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67.
>Tears spill, her white mane trembling as she turns to Fluttershy, collapsing to the floor with a thud, her tongue lapping desperately at Fluttershy’s hooves, the wet slurp echoing. “Please, don’t make me wait anymore!” she begs, her voice breaking. Rarity stares, horrified, as Fluttershy’s smile twists—eerie yet warm, a predator’s affection. The sight of this mare, groveling before your timid friend, is a depravity that claws at your heart
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68.
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69.
>“Stop,” Fluttershy commands, her tone lacking conviction yet absolute. Rose Breezie freezes, rising shakily. “Remove it. Let me see what you offer.”
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70.
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71.
>With trembling hooves, Rose Breezie sheds the celeste robe, letting it pool on the straw with a soft rustle. Black lace and silk lingerie clings to her form—a thong accentuating her raised rear, long heeled boots lifting her flanks seductively, a transparent white vest revealing her barrel, and around her neck… nothing. Her eyes plead, wings flaring into a desperate wingboner, feathers quivering. “I need him to claim me, to mark me as his!” she cries, passion cracking her voice, her body arching toward an unseen stallion
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72.
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73.
>Rarity’s sapphire eyes widen, her breath hitching through the mouth ring, drool dripping. This mare—broken by loneliness, not vanity—offers herself wholly, her need raw, her desperation a mirror of the Stables’ truth. Fluttershy’s smile deepens, her hoof brushing Rose Breezie’s mane, the stable’s chaos—musk, leather, cries—engulfing you. Your core throbs, wax stinging your teats, frustration maddening, your elegance shattered by the lesson: the Stables are for need, not fashion, and Rose Breezie’s plea burns away your pride
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74.
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75.
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76.
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77.
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78.
>Be Rarity, Equestria’s shattered fashionista, your pristine white coat streaked with hardened wax, your sapphire curls matted with sweat and shame. The metal mouth ring forces your jaws apart, its iron tang sharp on your exposed tongue, drool dripping onto the wooden stocks locking your head and forelegs. Your hind legs are chained to the platform, spreading you wide, your tail trapped in a leather hood, its musky choke tied to your banned leather harness, leaving your rear and core—glistening with frustrated heat—cruelly exposed. The anti-magic ring pulses on your horn, silencing your power. The public stable’s chaos engulfs you—cloying feminine musk, sharp leather polish, salty heat, floggers’ cracks, and mares’ lustful cries weaving a primal roar
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79.
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80.
>Fluttershy, her pale yellow coat glowing under torchlight, her teal eyes glinting with a chilling blend of warmth and cruelty, approaches. Her hoof fastens a black choker around your neck, its velvet band cool against your skin, a rune-etched pendant pulsing with arcane energy, its faint hum sending a shiver down your spine. “Pass now,” she orders, her voice calm as a still pond, yet laced with menace
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81.
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82.
>A human stallion enters, his boots thudding softly, his bare, muscular frame towering, his scent—raw leather, sweat, and masculine heat—flooding the air. He’s too rugged for your refined tastes, yet his presence makes your core clench, a traitorous pulse. He stops before Rose Breezie, the yellow pegasus with white mane and tail, her black lace lingerie clinging to her raised flanks, heeled boots accentuating her curves, transparent vest revealing her barrel. Her wings quiver, a wingboner flaring, her intimacy exuding a musky heat that betrays her hunger. She trembles, controlling her urge to lunge, her eyes locked on Fluttershy, fearing to mar her chance by harming the stallion whose intoxicating scent clouds her mind
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83.
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84.
>“Good girl,” Fluttershy purrs, her hoof stroking Rose Breezie’s white mane with unsettling warmth, the rustle of feathers soft. She steps back, her voice silky. “I knew I chose a fine VIP prospect. Normally, you’d spend months in the public stable, exposed with your human. But tonight, you’re an exception—straight to VIP after this.”
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85.
>Rose Breezie’s eyes widen, stunned. “W-what must I do?”
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86.
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87.
>Fluttershy’s smile turns razor-sharp. “Help me punish this ungrateful mare. Rarity has no need for the Stables—every heat season, stallions and herd invitations flood her doorstep, year after year. Yet mares like you and me, rarely accepted for who we are, are left in the cold.”
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88.
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89.
>Rose Breezie’s gaze turns to you, her rosy cheeks hardening with disdain, her wings twitching. She doesn’t understand—or refuses to admit—your folly. Why restrict this sanctuary to the desperate when mares like you, drowning in options, trivialize it?
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90.
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91.
>Fluttershy nods to the human. He produces a black choker matching yours, its rune pendant glinting. “Wear this,” Fluttershy says, her tone sweet as honey, “and every frustration, every pain you feel tonight will pass to the bad girl. Let her taste your longing. Tomorrow, you’re VIP.”
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92.
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93.
>Rose Breezie fastens the choker, the click of its clasp echoing, the rune pulsing in sync with yours. Her eyes burn with purpose, her body trembling with restrained need, the human’s scent driving her mad. Rarity’s heart sinks, the choker’s magic a chain linking your senses to her torment. The stable’s chaos—musk choking your throat, leather’s creak, cries of release—closes in, your elegance obliterated, your soul bracing for the pain and frustration you’ll share, Fluttershy’s lesson carving the Stables’ sanctity into your fracturing pride
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94.
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95.
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96.
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97.
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98.
>Be Rarity, Equestria’s ruined fashionista, your once-pristine white coat streaked with hardened wax, your sapphire curls matted with sweat and utter despair. The metal mouth ring forces your jaws apart, its iron tang biting your exposed tongue, drool cascading onto the wooden stocks locking your head and forelegs. Your hind legs are chained to the platform, wrenching you open, your tail trapped in a leather hood, its suffocating musk tied to your banned leather harness, leaving your rear and core—pulsing with agonizing, unspent heat—cruelly bared. The anti-magic ring throbs on your horn, its runes a cold shackle on your power. The black choker around your neck, its rune-etched pendant humming with malevolent arcane energy, binds your senses to Rose Breezie’s every sensation, a cruel tether that drowns you in her torment while denying you release
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99.
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100.
>The public stable is a sensory hell—cloying feminine musk choking your throat, sharp leather polish stinging your nostrils, the salty tang of spilled heat coating your tongue. Floggers whistle, landing with cracks like gunshots, leather straps creak, mares’ lustful cries—“More! Harder!”—weave a primal cacophony, the wet squelch of straw underfoot mocking your muffled sobs. Fluttershy’s teal eyes glint in the distance, her sadistic warmth a blade twisting in your heart
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101.
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102.
>The human stallion, his muscular frame bare save for boots, seizes Rose Breezie with savage fury, his calloused hands gripping her yellow coat. She resists briefly, wings flaring in defiance, but surrenders, melting into a ravenous kiss, their tongues clashing in a wet, desperate slurp. After nearly a minute, they part, a glistening thread of saliva bridging them, her white mane quivering, her black lace lingerie clinging to her trembling flanks, heeled boots accentuating her raised rear
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103.
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104.
>A molten heat erupts in your mouth, saliva flooding, your tongue writhing as if locked in his kiss, tasting his raw, masculine heat despite no contact. The choker’s magic surges, Rose Breezie’s lust slamming into you—her desire a raging inferno, her heart screaming she’s unworthy, too plain, a mare no herd will ever claim. These alien thoughts claw at your soul, shredding your elegance, branding you as nothing, unwanted, forever alone, her despair a noose tightening around your pride
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105.
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106.
>He drops her to the straw with a thud, spinning her so her rear faces him. He yanks her white tail, and you feel it—your hooded tail crushed and tugged, a sharp, searing pain that jolts your core like lightning. The agony sparks a twisted craving, your body begging for another pull, shame burning as you hate yourself for wanting it. He shoves her lace thong aside, exposing her intimacy, its musky heat pouring forth, glistening like liquid fire under torchlight
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107.
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108.
>Aiiie! you scream through the mouth ring, a phantom tongue lashing your core—deep, relentless, drinking your essence as if it’s ambrosia. The sensation is cataclysmic, your heat surging, your womb screaming, teetering on the edge of oblivion, just one more lick and—
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109.
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110.
>Nothing. The choker’s runes blaze, a cruel snap of magic severing the sensation, yanking you from the precipice with vicious precision. Your core throbs, agonizingly empty, your body shaking with unspent need, the denial a white-hot torture. Rose Breezie, however, collapses, her wings limp, her body convulsing as a shattering orgasm rips through her, her lustful wail echoing, her heat spilling in torrents onto the straw. You feel her ecstasy’s afterglow—her relief, her fleeting worth—yet your own body is a prison of denial, the choker’s magic a sadistic jailer that senses your nearing climax and blocks it, over and over, each denial sharper, crueler, leaving you sobbing, drool pooling, your mind fracturing under the weight of her borrowed bliss and your endless torment
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111.
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112.
>Her disillusionment floods you again—I’m worthless, no one wants me, I’m only fit for this—her thoughts not yours, yet they crush your spirit, your core pulsing, your teats burning under wax, your soul screaming for a release that will never come. The stable’s chaos—musk, leather, cries—closes in, Fluttershy’s silhouette a cruel overseer. Your elegance is ash, your generosity a mockery, the choker’s relentless denial carving the Stables’ sanctity into your shattered psyche: you trespassed, and this cruel, exquisite torment is your penance
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113.
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114.
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115.
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116.
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117.
>Be Rarity, what little remains of her.
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118.
>Your body is no longer yours.
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119.
>The wooden stocks bite into your neck and forelegs like iron teeth; chains rattle every time you tremble.
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120.
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121.
>The metal mouth ring has turned your elegant voice into a drooling whimper.
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122.
>Your tail is still imprisoned in that vile leather hood, yanked upward, forcing your hindquarters into a shameless arch.
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123.
>And the black choker—Celestia curse that choker—pulses against your throat like a second, cruel heartbeat.
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124.
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125.
>Across the straw, Rose Breezie is lost in bliss.
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126.
>The human has her pinned gently now, chest to chest, wings spread wide, every slow thrust drawing a broken, grateful sob from her lips.
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127.
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128.
>Each roll of his hips is a tidal wave inside your own body: you feel the stretch, the heat, the impossible fullness, the exact moment her walls flutter around him.
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129.
>You feel her climb, climb, climb—
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130.
>and the choker snaps shut.
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131.
>Again.
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132.
>For the seventh time.
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133.
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134.
>Your core spasms around nothing.
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135.
>Your teats throb beneath the cracked wax, nipples peaked so painfully you could scream if the ring allowed it.
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136.
>Your clit—swollen, untouched, traitorous—pulses against empty air, begging for friction that will never come.
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137.
>Every muscle locks, every nerve screams, the orgasm coils like a serpent behind your womb…
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138.
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139.
>and the rune flares white-hot, ripping the crest away, leaving you dangling over the abyss.
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140.
>A silent, full-body sob racks you; drool spills in a silver ribbon from the ring.
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141.
>You are a violin string tuned to the edge of snapping, vibrating with a note no one will ever let you play.
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142.
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143.
>Eight.
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144.
>Nine.
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145.
>Ten.
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146.
>Each time Rose Breezie sings her release, you are force-fed the prelude and starved of the finale.
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147.
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148.
>Her pleasure becomes your torture; her afterglow becomes your purgatory.
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149.
>Alien thoughts keep flooding through the choker—I’m worthless… I’m nothing… no herd will ever want me…—until you can’t tell where her despair ends and yours begins.
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150.
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151.
>At the eleventh denial you break.
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152.
>Your hips jerk helplessly against the chains, trying to rub yourself against anything—air, wood, your own tail—but the hood keeps you cruelly spread.
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153.
>Tears stream sideways across your muzzle, pooling in the stocks.
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154.
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155.
>Your elegant mind fractures into a single, repeating plea:
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156.
>Please… please let me finish… I’ll be good… I’ll never come back… please…
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157.
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158.
>Fluttershy’s shadow falls over you.
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159.
>She is radiant: pale yellow coat glowing, teal eyes soft yet merciless.
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160.
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161.
>She unclips the choker with deliberate slowness; the sudden absence of borrowed sensation is its own agony—like being yanked from a warm bath into ice water.
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162.
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163.
>Your body collapses forward as the stocks open, chains clattering.
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164.
>You curl into yourself, shaking, every inch of you screaming for a release that has been stolen eleven times.
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165.
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166.
>Fluttershy crouches, warm breath against your left ear.
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167.
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168.
> “Rarity… in a few months I’ll be married.
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169.
> It doesn’t show yet, but I’m carrying twin fillies.
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170.
> This place gave me my partner, let me be happy exactly as I am.
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171.
> Cheerie and the others wanted you in a green card for months, then thrown out like trash.
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172.
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173.
> I’m the one who fought for mercy.
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174.
> Remember that.”
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175.
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176.
>She presses a green card into your trembling hoof—thick cardstock, emerald foil, the Stables’ crest embossed in gold.
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177.
> “Take it or burn it.
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178.
> If you ever trivialize this sanctuary again, next time there will be no mercy.”
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179.
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180.
>Rose Breezie is curled against her human now, his arms wrapped around her, whispering soft promises against her ear.
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181.
>She looks… whole.
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182.
>You have never felt emptier.
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183.
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184.
>You shake your head, teeth clenched so hard the mouth ring creaks.
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185.
>You cannot stay.
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186.
>If you accept the card, there will be no boutique, no Canterlot, no Rarity.
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187.
>Only a doll in latex and bells.
-
188.
>You drop the card like it burns.
-
189.
-
190.
>Fluttershy’s smile is almost kind.
-
191.
>“Sleep, darling.”
-
192.
-
193.
>The twins’ horns glow.
-
194.
>Darkness swallows you whole.
-
195.
-
196.
>…hours later.
-
197.
-
198.
>You wake in your own bed, silk sheets soaked with sweat, thighs clenched so tight they ache.
-
199.
>For one delirious second you think it was a nightmare.
-
200.
>Then you see it on the nightstand:
-
201.
>a single green card, pristine, beside a note in Fluttershy’s delicate hoofwriting.
-
202.
-
203.
> “Don’t forget what you felt.
-
204.
> Or next time, the choker stays on for good.”
-
205.
-
206.
>Your body remembers everything.
-
207.
>Eleven stolen crescendos throb between your legs like phantom limbs.
-
208.
>You curl into a ball, sobbing into your ruined pillow, the fashionista of Equestria reduced to a mare who will never—ever—be satisfied the same way again.
-
209.
-
210.
>And somewhere across Ponyville, a yellow pegasus strokes her still-flat belly, smiling softly at the future she protected…
-
211.
>while you count the hours until the ache finally fades.
-
212.
-
213.
End of Rarity’s arc.
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123
by AT_123