The Piggery – Part Two: Initiation

 

Canterlot's upper libraries were quieter than usual during heat season. The air felt thicker, charged with unspoken frustration. Most mares kept to themselves, tails twitching, ears flicking at every distant sound. Suppressant potions—those damned "coolers"—sat half-empty on desks, their labels promising relief but delivering only a dull haze or, worse, a rebound surge that left the body burning twice as hot.

 

Minuette paced between towering shelves, her Maya blue coat slightly damp with sweat, periwinkle mane frizzing at the edges from constant hoof-raking. Her hourglass cutie mark seemed to mock her: time dragging slower than ever. Every few minutes she paused, pressed her thighs together, and let out a short, irritated huff. The coolers had done nothing but make the ache sharper, more insistent—like a toothache in her core.

 

Moon Dancer sat hunched over a stack of scrolls at a corner table, glasses slipping down her nose, brilliant amaranth mane tangled from restless tossing. Her purple eyes were bloodshot, not from study but from the low-grade fury that heat season always brought. She snapped a quill in half without noticing, ink splattering across parchment. >"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "I should be able to focus. I always focus."

 

Neither noticed the soft clip-clop approaching until Diamond Star appeared between them like a burst of unwelcome sunlight.

 

Diamond Star was a vision of smug contentment: pristine white coat gleaming, rose-pink mane and tail perfectly curled, golden eyes sparkling with that infuriating post-heat glow. She moved with the loose, satisfied sway of somepony who had already been thoroughly claimed—and thoroughly satisfied. No twitch in her tail. No flush on her cheeks. Just pure, radiant calm.

 

>"Darlings!" she sang, voice bright and teasing. "You two look positively wretched. Still fighting the coolers, I see?"

 

Minuette spun around, ears pinning back. >"Diamond, not now. We're... busy."

 

Moon Dancer didn't even look up. >"Go away. Or I'll hex your horn into a pretzel."

 

Diamond Star laughed—a light, musical sound that grated on their frayed nerves. She leaned in closer, her scent carrying faint traces of rose attar and something muskier, more intimate. >"Oh, come now. I know exactly what you need. The coolers aren't helping because they can't. But I have a real solution. One night. Discreet. No strings. And trust me—afterward, you'll feel like new mares."

 

Minuette's tail lashed once. >"We're not interested in—whatever you're selling."

 

But Diamond Star's golden eyes gleamed. She stepped nearer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. >"It's the Stables, sweethearts. The Canterlot branch. You've heard the whispers. A place where mares like us can... let go. No judgment. No expectations. Just relief. And the humans there? Screened, trained, perfect. They'll take care of everything."

 

Moon Dancer finally lifted her head, cheeks burning. >"The Stables are a myth. Or a scandal. Either way—"

 

>"They're real," Diamond Star cut in smoothly. "And tonight they're hosting something special in the back. Private. Exclusive. You'll thank me later."

 

The heat pulsed through both of them in unison—a sudden, gnawing wave that made Minuette's knees buckle slightly and Moon Dancer grip the table edge. The coolers had betrayed them again; the ache sharpened into something almost painful.

 

Diamond Star's golden eyes sparkled with that same infuriating post-satisfaction glow as she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a velvet whisper that cut through the library's stifling heat.

 

>"One night," she repeated. "No strings. But we can't just walk there like tourists. The entrance is... discreet. Let me handle the travel. It'll be easier on all of us."

 

Minuette opened her mouth to protest, but another vicious wave of heat rolled through her core, stealing her breath. Moon Dancer gripped the table harder, glasses sliding down her sweat-damp nose. Neither had the strength left for another argument.

 

Diamond Star's horn lit with a soft rose-pink aura. >"Trust me. Just... hold still."

 

The teleport was not gentle. Canterlot's upper spires blurred into streaks of gold and white; the world folded, twisted, then snapped back into place with a stomach-lurching pop. They materialized in a narrow, shadowed alley high in the old noble district—crumbling stone walls, forgotten ivy, the faint smell of rain-soaked cobblestones and distant bakery smoke.

 

Diamond Star staggered, forelegs buckling for a moment as she caught herself against the wall. Sweat beaded on her pristine white coat; the effort of carrying two extra ponies clearly taxed her. She straightened slowly, mane slightly disheveled for the first time Minuette could remember.

 

>"See?" Diamond Star managed, flashing a shaky grin. "Told you it'd be quick. Now... follow me."

 

She nodded toward the end of the alley. Tucked between two leaning buildings stood what looked like a forgotten café: faded green awning sagging over a cracked wooden door, windows dusty and curtained, a small brass sign reading "Mirror's Rest" in peeling gilt letters. It looked abandoned. Or worse—deliberately uninviting.

 

Diamond Star pushed the door open with a shoulder. A small bell jingled once, weakly.

 

Inside, the air was warmer, dimly lit by low rune-lamps. Wooden tables stood empty; the scent of old coffee mingled with something sharper—polish, faint latex, underlying musk. Behind a scarred counter stood an earth pony mare: stocky build, chocolate-brown coat, cream mane tied back in a severe bun, cutie mark a small golden truffle dusted with cocoa. Truffle Badge.

 

She looked up with a practiced customer-service smile that died the instant her eyes landed on Diamond Star.

 

>"You," Truffle Badge said flatly, ears pinning. "Again. What do you want this time?"

 

Minuette and Moon Dancer exchanged a confused glance. The hostility was palpable, like walking into someone else's family feud.

 

Diamond Star lifted her chin, smile turning nervous but determined. >"I brought company. Two new mares. They're... interested. I need to take them straight to Mirror Charm."

 

Truffle Badge's face went from annoyed to livid in a heartbeat. Her nostrils flared; she leaned over the counter, voice dropping to a dangerous growl. >"You have got to be—"

 

She cut herself off, eyes flicking to Minuette and Moon Dancer. For a split second something like pity flashed across her features—quick, unwilling—before hardening again. She opened her mouth to speak.

 

>"Truffle Badge," a new voice cut in, cold and precise as a scalpel. "You may retire."

 

A brief flash of pale blue light bloomed at the back of the room. When it cleared, a unicorn mare stood there—tall, lean, coat the deep red of fresh oxblood, mane and tail a darker crimson that absorbed the light rather than reflected it. Her eyes were an icy sapphire, unblinking, radiating the kind of authority that expected instant obedience and rarely tolerated anything less.

 

Mirror Charm.

 

Truffle Badge's jaw clenched so hard Minuette could hear the teeth grind. She shot one last glance at the two newcomers—pity again, sharper this time—then turned sharply and stalked toward the back door without another word. The kitchen door swung shut behind her with a muted thud.

 

Mirror Charm stepped forward, hooves silent on the worn floorboards. Her gaze swept over Minuette and Moon Dancer like inventory: assessing, clinical, unimpressed.

 

>"Diamond Star," she said without looking at her. "You overstep. Again."

 

Diamond Star swallowed, but her smile didn't quite falter. >"They need this. Heat season is destroying them. The coolers failed. I only—"

 

>"Enough." Mirror Charm's tone sliced the excuse in half. She turned fully to the two younger unicorns. "You followed her here of your own will?"

 

Moon Dancer shifted uncomfortably. >"We... didn't exactly know—"

 

>"But you did not resist the teleport," Mirror Charm finished for her. "And you did not leave when you saw the door." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "That is enough for entry."

 

Minuette's tail lashed once. >"Wait. What is this place really? Diamond said—"

 

Mirror Charm raised a hoof, silencing her without effort. >"This is the Canterlot branch of the Stables. The front is a café. The back..." She let the sentence hang, heavy with implication. "...is where mares go when nothing else suffices."

 

Diamond Star stepped forward, voice softer now. >"It's safe. Consensual. You can leave anytime. But once you see what's waiting—"

 

Mirror Charm cut her off again, this time with a look that made Diamond Star flinch. >"They will decide for themselves."

 

She gestured toward a narrow hallway behind the counter, lit only by faint blue runes along the baseboards. The air drifting from it carried a different scent now: warm latex, faint porcine musk, the low thrum of distant, muffled sounds—grunts, wet slaps, possessive murmurs.

 

>"Follow or leave," Mirror Charm said simply. "The choice is yours. But choose quickly. Heat does not wait."

 

Minuette and Moon Dancer stood frozen, hearts hammering in the sudden quiet.

 

Diamond Star offered a small, almost apologetic smile.

 

Behind them, the bell jingled once as the front door settled shut—soft, final, like a trap closing gently.

 

The hallway waited.

 

---

 

Mirror Charm led the way without another word, her crimson tail flicking once like a whip as she approached a seamless section of the back wall. A faint rune glowed under her hoof; the stone parted silently, revealing a narrow passage lit only by cold blue strips along the floor. The air grew warmer, heavier, carrying the first faint traces of latex polish and something sweeter, more primal.

 

Minuette and Moon Dancer followed on unsteady legs, Diamond Star trailing behind with that same unnerving, satisfied smile. The passage opened abruptly into a vast, vaulted chamber—easily the size of a small ballroom, walls draped in black velvet, rune-lamps casting dim pools of light over rows of polished lockers and low benches.

 

At least ten unicorn mares occupied the space, all Canterlot elite by their bearing: coats groomed to mirror sheen, manes pinned with diamonds and sapphires, tails braided with gold thread. They moved with practiced nonchalance, as though this were merely another salon appointment.

 

Then the shedding began.

 

Necklaces, tiaras, enchanted bracelets clattered into open lockers like discarded trash—jewels worth small fortunes tossed without ceremony. One mare laughed softly as her sapphire choker hit the metal floor with a musical ping. Another simply levitated her entire ensemble off in one fluid motion, letting silk and gold pile at her hooves before kicking it aside.

 

Minuette's breath caught. Moon Dancer froze mid-step.

 

Several of the mares turned slightly, tails lifting without shame. With deliberate pushes of telekinesis or muscle, large metallic spheres—smooth, heavy, perforated with tiny holes—slid free from their entrances and dropped to the floor with wet, heavy thuds. The spheres rolled a few inches before stopping, leaking a thin, viscous fluid that shimmered faintly under the runes.

 

Coolers. Premium-grade, timed-release suppressants. The kind only the wealthiest could afford for long diplomatic trips or endless court seasons—expensive enough that most mares never saw one outside of rumors.

 

The mares didn't even glance down. Telekinetic fields scooped the dripping orbs and flung them into lockers with careless force. Metal clanged against metal; more fluid splattered, pooling briefly before evaporating into vapor.

 

The scent hit like a wave.

 

Sickeningly sweet, feminine, primal—heat-musk concentrated and amplified until it coated the back of the throat. Minuette's knees buckled; she clamped her thighs together hard enough to tremble. Moon Dancer hissed through clenched teeth, ears pinning flat as her body betrayed her: lips swelling, parting involuntarily, as though trying to drink the very air to feed the roaring hunger inside.

 

Both mares flushed crimson. Warm trails slid down inner thighs, pooling in small, shameful puddles on the immaculate tile. The wet sound of their own arousal was suddenly louder than their breathing.

 

Mirror Charm watched them both, sapphire eyes narrowing. She opened her mouth—perhaps to question them one last time—but the words died unspoken. She recognized that look too well: pupils blown wide, flanks quivering, the absolute zenith of estrus swallowing reason whole.

 

A low, resigned sigh escaped her.

 

"Attention," she said, voice cutting through the chamber like glass. The other mares paused mid-motion; even the dripping spheres seemed to still.

 

"Diamond Star. Prepare for your ceremony."

 

Diamond Star's grin turned feral, eyes glazing with anticipation. She trotted toward a side door labeled only with a discreet spa glyph—steam already curling from the crack beneath it—and vanished inside without a backward glance.

 

Mirror Charm turned fully to the newcomers.

 

"Present yourselves properly."

 

Minuette tried first. "M-Minuette," she managed, voice cracking. One forehoof drifted dangerously low, hovering near her dripping entrance before she yanked it back with a whimper. "I'm... Minuette."

 

Moon Dancer's response came next, edged with fury. "Moon Dancer." The words were bitten off, almost snarled. Her tail lashed once, splattering fluid against the floor. "This is... ridiculous. I can't—"

 

Mirror Charm raised a hoof. Silence fell instantly.

 

"You will be granted entry to the Stables," she said evenly. "But first, you must dress appropriately."

 

Neither answered. Their eyes were glassy, breaths shallow and rapid.

 

Mirror Charm's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind the ice—regret, perhaps, or simple fatigue. Her horn lit pale blue. Two sleek, needleless syringes materialized from a nearby locker, each filled with a thick, silvery-gray liquid.

 

She levitated them forward without ceremony.

 

The tips pressed cold against fever-hot entrances. Minuette gasped; Moon Dancer stiffened with a choked sound. Mirror Charm depressed the plungers in unison. The premium cooler flooded inward—cool at first, then blooming into blessed numbness that radiated outward, quenching the fire just enough to let thought return.

 

Both mares moaned in tandem: raw pleasure mixed with profound relief. Their hindquarters trembled; fresh fluid squeezed around the syringes before Mirror Charm withdrew them. The tips glistened, coated in warm, slick evidence of their need.

 

Mirror Charm let the syringes vanish into a disposal field.

 

"Premium-grade," she said, pausing deliberately on the word. "A small dose. Enough to let you think. Not enough to dull what comes next."

 

She gestured to two open lockers nearby. Inside hung identical sets of gear: glossy black vinyl suits, full porcine masks with upturned snouts and blank eyes, cloven false trotters, tail plugs shaped like curling corkscrews.

 

"Dress," Mirror Charm commanded. "Once suited, you will be escorted to the sty. There you will experience pleasure as you have never imagined... and perhaps never wanted to forget."

 

Minuette stared at the mask, chest heaving. Moon Dancer's glasses were fogged, one lens cracked from earlier tension.

 

They stepped forward anyway—shaky, dripping, heat still simmering beneath the thin veil of relief.

 

The lockers waited like open mouths.

 

The scent of latex and musk thickened as they reached inside.

 

Mirror Charm watched, expression unreadable, the briefest shadow of something almost like envy crossing her features before vanishing.

 

The chamber door to the spa clicked shut in the distance—Diamond Star already beginning whatever ritual awaited her.

 

The newcomers had no such luxury.

 

They began to change.

 

---

 

While Minuette and Moon Dancer fumbled with the slick vinyl suits in the dim locker room—fabric clinging to sweat-damp coats, masks heavy in their hooves, the first stirrings of humiliation mixing with lingering heat—Diamond Star stood alone in a deeper chamber of the Canterlot branch.

 

She was shrouded in a heavy black hood that draped her form completely, concealing even the outline of her face. The air here was thicker, laced with incense smoke and the metallic tang of old magic. She trembled in the center of a ritual circle, illuminated by floating flames that danced in a slow, hypnotic ring around her—orange and blue tongues licking at the shadows without heat, their glow casting her silhouette in stark relief against the polished obsidian floor.

 

Footsteps echoed from the darkness. Four unicorn mares emerged, their coats gleaming under the firelight: deep emerald, polished obsidian, molten gold, and shadowed plum. These were no ordinary nobles—they were the unseen architects of Canterlot's economy, controlling trade guilds, black-market enchantments, and the flow of bits that kept the city aloft. Their horns shimmered with restrained power, eyes sharp with initial disdain and sovereign arrogance as they appraised the hooded figure.

 

Then, slowly, their expressions softened into pleased, predatory smiles.

 

One stepped forward—the leader, her emerald coat flawless, mane coiled in intricate braids adorned with subtle runes. Her voice was smooth, authoritative, carrying the weight of unassailable command.

 

"Diamond Star," she intoned, "you have fulfilled the requirements. Through your achievements and unyielding tenacity, you shall ascend. No longer will you be a mere mud-sow of the lowest rung. Now, you may become a broodmare in service to the herd."

 

Diamond Star trembled harder, her hooded form quivering. Was it terror? Anticipation? The flames flickered higher, as if sensing the shift in the air.

 

The leader continued, her tone ritualistic. "Present yourself, so that we may commence the Rite of Ascension."

 

With a sharp nod from beneath the hood, Diamond Star's telekinesis flared rose-pink. The fabric whipped away, flung to the floor like worthless rags. She stood exposed: her once-pristine white coat shaved bare, revealing raw, vulnerable pink skin underneath. No mane cascaded down her neck—only smooth, hairless scalp. Her tail was gone, cropped to a stub. Even her eyebrows and lashes had been sheared away, leaving her golden eyes wide and naked in a face stripped of all adornment. She looked like a newborn foal, fragile and reborn, trembling not from fear but from a raw, ecstatic thrill that made her flanks quiver.

 

The four nobles circled her slowly, horns igniting in unison with auras of emerald, obsidian, gold, and plum. "You have proven your devotion," the leader murmured, "by bringing fresh blood to the sty. For this, we grant you the mark of elevation."

 

Levitation fields hummed to life. From shadowed alcoves, vials floated forward—thick, viscous latex solution shimmering in iridescent pink, enchanted to bond like a second skin. The nobles directed streams of it telekinetically, pouring it over Diamond Star's bare form in precise, ritual patterns. It started at her hooves, coating upward in slow, deliberate waves: cold at first, then warming as it adhered, sealing pores and follicles in a glossy, impermeable sheath. Her pink skin vanished beneath the liquid, hardening into a uniform rose-hued armor that gleamed under the flames—impervious to regrowth until the founders deemed her worthy of release.

 

Diamond Star arched her back, a low whine escaping her throat as the solution spread across her flanks, her barrel, her neck. It tingled, burned faintly, then settled into a tight, living embrace. "Yes," she whispered, voice breaking with reverence. "Make me... yours."

 

The nobles nodded in approval. Next came the adornments: small, meticulously crafted pieces floated into place. A full porcine mask in matching rose pink settled over her face—upturned snout, blank glassy eyes, slots for her ears to poke through, transforming her features into anonymous livestock. A collar-like extension clamped around the base of her stub tail, extruding a synthetic porcine curl that twitched and swished in perfect sync with her original nerves—enchanted to feel, to respond as if it were flesh. Cloven trotters—more realistic than the novices' sets, molded from enchanted resin with subtle give and weight—slid over her hooves, clicking into place with a finality that echoed through the chamber.

 

Diamond Star stood transformed: a glossy pink pig-pony, mask muffling her breaths into soft snorts, tail curling in delight. She dropped to all fours instinctively, the trotters forcing an awkward, waddling gait that sent shivers of humiliation-laced pleasure through her.

 

The leader's horn flared brighter. From the flames rose a branding iron—glowing red-hot, shaped like a stylized swine rune encircled by thorns, the symbol of the inner herd. It hovered, sizzling the air with the scent of heated metal.

 

"For your service," the leader declared, "you earn the right to breed. To bear hybrids for the sty. To ascend beyond the mud."

 

The iron descended, pressing firmly into the latex-coated flesh of Diamond Star's right flank. Skin sizzled; the acrid smell of singed latex and faint char filled the circle. Pain lanced through her—white-hot, searing—but Diamond Star did not scream in agony.

 

Instead, she threw her head back, porcine mask distorting her ecstatic cry into a guttural squeal. Her body convulsed in waves of release, tears streaming from beneath the glassy eyes, soaking the mask's edges. "Yes! Oh, Celestia, yes!" she wailed, voice cracking with joy. The pain twisted into bliss, an orgasmic rush that buckled her knees and left her panting, flanks heaving. Laughter bubbled up, mingled with sobs—tears of pure happiness as the brand cooled, leaving a permanent rune etched into her new skin.

 

The nobles stepped back, smiles widening. "Rise, broodmare," the leader said. "You are one of us now. Go forth and claim your reward."

 

Diamond Star staggered to her trotters, the fresh brand throbbing like a heartbeat. She snorted once, triumphantly, her new tail curling high. No longer a lowly mud-sow. Now, with the right to descendants, she was elevated—addicted, marked, forever bound to the herd.

 

The flames dimmed slightly as she waddled toward the exit, the echo of her squeals lingering in the chamber.

 

In the locker room beyond, Minuette and Moon Dancer paused mid-transformation, ears twitching at the distant sounds. What awaited them was no longer a mystery.

 

It was a promise.