[Copied from https://pastebin.com/MsnnmBG0] >"Gidd'yup, Master!" >The charming daily mantra spoken by a sweet, soft voice is undescribable. >And the smell of lavender roses dancing all around your nose... >The bubblegum-pink-maned sweetheart that's taking care of you ever since last night is the closest thing to perfection. >Fluttershy. "Uhh... excuse me, Master? You need to wake up... if you want to, I'm not pushing you, really... but you need to go to school, and..." >As she rambled on about your scholarship duty, you continue your own golden nap. >Thy sleep is far above from sacred for thou. >"Master?" >But after all... >"MASTER!?!?" >Your wonderland is one dream away... >You suddenly feel something slippery rushing through your forehead alongside an avalanche of hard breathings and sobs. >You broke her down to tears. >Now you ruined it. >All you could hear is "P-Please...Something..." >The rest is inaudible. >You really didn't want to harm anyone, did you? >With that said, extending an arm out of the blankets, you wrap the yellow damsel in mistress. >You reach one of her ears and whisper... "Sorry, it's all right darling... easy, easy..." >While slowly running your hand through her mane, she slowly ceases crying. >That was one hell of a wake-up, was it? >A minute after, her sorrow tears comes to a full end. >In that exact moment, you finally open your eyes, and talk to her softly... "I'll wake up, sweetheart. Go and make me breakfast in the meantime, please." >She nervously nods and leaves. >And was also dressed in that small french maid outfit you said you loved at the store yesterday. >It really fits in every curve and line of hers. >You really want to fuc...huh? >You check the time. >It's tuesday. >Not even close to weekend. >Why it has to be so painful? >Rushing one floor below, you search for the kitchen. >Blame your house for being way too big for you. >Until Fluttershy calls in... >"Breakfast served, Master!" >And that's your compass to this known but yet unknown sea. >After a bit of rush in through some places, you finally manage to find the yellow maid you were looking for. >She was carrying a plate filled with chocolate-chip cookies over her barrel, and without even one falling out of it. >God praise that small bastard... >Or should he? A cookie from the plate abruptly falls, but you're quick enough to catch it mid-air. >While you put it back in its place, you attempt to adjust some chairs for her to accomodate herself. >Yeah, he should...no, he MUST. >Silently you grab one of those precious treats while Fluttershy's not looking. >Slow and steady, not to look suspicious- >SHE'S TURNING AROUND! >And all of a nervous sudden, hiding your arm underneath the table, she begins to count the cookies with an incredibly suggestive look. >I-It's not like you took the whole thing, we were going to eat them anyways... >"Masteeeer~" "Yeah?" >Inching closer to you, she whispers to your ear... >"I see you took one..." ------- >Night. >The darkest of them all. >So dark cold and dull colors lurk from the shadows. >Light? There is no such thing on a time like this. >It was about time to get on your couch to watch at live TV who was the winner of A Day With Melody. >Long story short, you're a fan of classic music. >...More of a modern classic, like mixing hats and snares with pianos and violins. >The only pers...pony in the world to ever pull off that sort of thing and still keep enough of both is her. >Octavia Melody. >The thing is, you signed for this yesterday...what? You were bored and Fluttershy was out for groceries, what could you do? >*And the winner is...* >Eagerness, desire and hope fills your soul, neverending joy wanting to be released, should the winner be you. >Octavia takes a paper out of a bag with her muzzle, shuffling it to give bigger chances for anybody. >She presents it to the host, who takes it away from her and shows the paper to the camera, available for the world to see the name of... >..."Anon. E. Moose"... >... >...This is the calm before a storm... >... >YES! YES! YOU DID IT! YOU FREAKING WON! >Unmeasurable amounts of joy, pride and good moods kick the darkness of the room away. >Screaming in pleasurable agony, you call out for Fluttershy, but to your surprise, nobody came. >BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER! >WHAT MATTERS NOW IS THAT YOU WON. PERIOD. >*Well, 'cough' Anon, you'll find Octavia by tomorrow morning at your home, Congratulations and see you in the next weekend everybody!* Turning the television off, you lay across the couch with a psychopath-like ear-to-ear smile. >Sweet dreams, flutter...butter... >The chirping warning beep of your alarm bursts through your ears...wait. >You don't have morning alarms. >Fluttershy wakes you up every morning. >Could it be...? "Right up! One sec!" >Adjusting some of the most obvious flaws from after sleep, you reach for the door and pull it open to present you... >...That's right. Octavia freaking Melody. >Light purple eyes wrapped in a grey coat, black hair tipping at the top of her head, a small purple treble clef stamped on her flank. >Carrying a cello on her barrel, she gives you a warm smile and speaks with a soft, french accent... >"Hello, monsieur Master." >... >Where are the positive outcomes when you need them the most? >You stare at her in disgust, wincing and running your fingers through your head, stressed out. >Where did the contract say that Octavia has to actually BE yours now. >Oh, might as well ask. "..." >This is literally your deepest dream. Why question the how or why of the state? Enjoy it! >You give her a darkened grin and let her in. >"I want to hear one of your songs, please." >"Which one?" "Any." >Make me choose, sir." >Her light red tint on her cheeks and cute sad look plus an innocent hoof on her chin is enough for you to work that out. "Do Charming Midnight." >"Yes, Master." >Everytime Octavia calls you 'Master' or 'Sir' sends chills through your prejudiced spine. >Like she CHOSE to be a slave. >She AGREED to this. >... >...Fluttershy didn't. >She'd cry, she'd whine, she'd moan and tremble her way through her work and punishment, either she wanted or not. >Octavia looks fearless, and disguises that with cute and sad looks. >If you were to punish her, she'd never bat an eyelid. >That's the feeling you get when you look at her, and how she speaks. You can see through her. >"Can you give me the head start, sir?" "Now." >And without a vocal response, and with her cello standing next to the wall, she jumps her forelegs off the floor and tries to keep balance with her hindlegs. >And takes in the attempt of walking. >Or so you thought. She abruptly sets her weight on the wall, leaving her forelegs there, on the floor. >And begins to move like that towards the cello. >In the meantime, she swishes her tail once or twice, leaving her bits and pieces absolutely exposed some of the times. >To be honest, you'd take her from the back raw.