Origins - Chapter 1 by U.N. Owen

If one does not look too closely, there is nothing special about Canterlot High. It is a remarkably well-run, friendly institution that has begun to make a name for itself in the area as a wonderful alternative to expensive high schools like Crystal Prep and St. Faust down the road. Despite perhaps lacking in the brilliant marble floors and advanced equipment of the former, or the sheer weight of history of the latter, visitors can easily see the love poured into the school, the skill of their teachers and the excellent rapport between students.

What might be less obvious at first glance is the fact some people have worked very hard for this peace. Twice already this school has witnessed extraordinary events that could have irrevocably shattered the tranquility of this town if not for the tenacious efforts of a select few. By now, students and teachers are at least aware of the presence of the fantastic among them.

At present, the fantastic is sitting in the school library, poring over a stack of musty old books.

Princess Twilight Sparkle has many questions about this world, but the loudest ones revolve around magic. Before a certain thief brought her crown here, there should have been no trace of the supernatural on this side of the portal. Yet a few days ago Sunset Shimmer had alerted her to a small stack of magic tomes that had somehow found its way here, languishing in a dusty corner of the school. As far as Sunset and Principal Celestia can ascertain, the box sat untouched long before Sunset ever set foot on the school.

Most worrisomely, some of those antiques still have traces of active magic. One is an unintelligible hodgepodge of Equestrian and unknown symbols. Another carries an interesting variation on a self-cleaning charm that might come in handy back home. Yet another had been enchanted with a security charm Twilight hadn’t even managed to identify before she triggered it by accident, instantly destroying the book.

She finishes examining another volume, completes her annotations to the side, and wonders. Compared to her own homeland, there is a deluge of information at her fingertips. Unfortunately, it also means there is a lot more to sift through than she is used to, and the randomness of it all simply doesn’t help.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Uh? I - excuse me?” The pony princess stammers, raising her purple eyes to meet dour blue ones. Then she takes a good look at the trim, almost twiggy teen in the white sundress, and the pieces click together into a name. The girl chuckles, and replies: “Local expression, means I’m asking what’s in your mind. It’s a bit more polite than Pinkie’s “So spill already!” I’m Bon Bon, nice to meet you.”

The purple-haired teen smiles and sits a bit straighter. “Oh! I see. Princess Twilight Sparkle, charmed. Ahem! You see, Sunset Shimmer found something interesting.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Twilight smiles as she slips into lecture mode. “Well, at first I thought the only magic around here was whatever Sunset and I brought with us back from home. But the other day Sunset found a stack of magic books in one of the storage rooms, and Prin… Principal Celestia doesn’t know where they came from. And neither can I, which is what makes the whole thing so fascinating. I mean, there are a lot of stories and legends that make me wonder if it’s really true that there was never any magic around here, so I’m checking the books and comparing whatever I can find with other literature.”

Bon Bon nods uncertainly. “And have you found anything? Anything that we at Canterlot High should know?”

At this, Twilight deflates. “Too much and too little. There’s just so much to read and learn but nothing that actually relates to what I’m seeing. The other day Sunset wrote me a note saying the girls are beginning to show traces of magic, but I really don’t know what it means. Is that magic their own or leftovers from Equestria? Is it permanent or will they lose it eventually? Is it limited to them or is it going to spread? It’s just questions and questions, Bon Bon, and I don’t know where to even start looking for answers!”

And Bon Bon stares at her. “Okay. I’m sorry, but all of that just kind of… flies over my head. Actually, I just wanted to thank you for helping getting rid of those… Sirens?” The blue-and-pink haired teen swallows. “I… I was one of the guys who listened a bit too much to their music. I got very angry with my friend. We made up since, but you see, I’m not the nicest person in the world, so the thought of losing what few friends I do keep... frightens me. You can imagine how I’m worried about anything that can change people like that.”

The princess smiles. “Well, that’s precisely why I’m here. Basically, to clean up the mess Sunset and I made the first time around. I promise I’ll do my best to keep the magic of friendship strong with everyone’s help.”

Sensing she’s approaching sensitive territory, the apprentice candy maker raises her hand in a conciliatory gesture as she turns to leave. “As long as everyone’s alright, it’s all good then. Now if you will excuse me, I need to find a book of my own.”

“Sure! Have a good day, Bon Bon!” And as her new friend fades from sight, Twilight sinks a bit deeper in the chair’s plush. With a sigh, she rises once more, drops the books she was consulting on the library’s cart, ticks them off her checklist, and checks the last book in the collection.

“Let’s see… what do we have here?” And as she pulls the hardback from the box, another slender tome comes down. Cursing her inexperience with fingers, Twilight kneels and picks up the little volume. It’s a quarto, bound in a thick… pink cover? Turning it around, the princess notes the gaudy, even pinker heart embossed on the book’s cover, and the tiny lock at its side. There’s no identifying label. Unlike the other tomes, this one’s colors are bright and cheery. Clearly this book doesn’t belong here.

“What are you doing here? Maybe someone tossed a diary in here?” Twilight mutters. Maybe it was Pinkie’s. Very few people, in this world or any other, used a pink as bright and flashy. Taking it to her seat along the other reference books, the princess sets it aside to examine it in a minute. Should it be clear of magic, she makes a note to turn it in at the library entrance or at the school’s Lost and Found. Pushing it out of her mind for a second, she opens the next handbook and engrosses herself.

The book has a dry, clinical tone to it that doesn’t agree with the pony-turned-human. As much as she tries to find something useful, slowly the act of reading and taking notes becomes more drudgery. Languidly, Twilight sinks in the chair as lassitude begins to creep on her tired muscles. Every now and then a promising idea pops in the text, and every time Twilight is disappointed. A cursory review of her scant notes indicates that yes, it is as boring as she’d feared. She only casts some diagnostic spells to confirm no contamination, and when it fails to respond, she boots it back in the box.

Idly, she notes it’s getting late on the day; it won’t be long before the school closes. Closing the book, Twilight leans back on the chair. Somehow, she’s a bit tired, even though she has only spent a couple of hours revising Canterlot High’s library. And to make it worse, she still has found nothing of import. She stretches a lazy hand to the ceiling, trying to shake off her apathy, and finds herself staring as she flexes her hand open and close.

Beyond the initial shock of finding herself in an alien body, Twilight had never given much thought to her new anatomy. Sure, she is comfortable in it, but she never had really given herself a good look or focused on the details. A glance at a side reveals a convenient mirrored surface. Setting aside the thought of magic, the purple-haired princess rises and ambles over to look at her reflection.

She begins with her arms, thin and smooth. Hands are so strange but so useful when deprived of her natural magic.  Turning them over, she notices the short, well-manicured nails. Twilight drops her arm and directs her attention to her legs, sleek with just a hint of creaminess. With a slight smile, the princess slides a hand across her thigh, and gives it a gentle squeeze. Allowing her lips to drift into a smirk, Twilight straightens her hair, keeping eye contact with her reflection. She knows so little of humans, but she feels pretty. Not quite up to beautiful or alluring, not like others she’s seen, but there is definitely something attractive in her.

Her eyes wander to her chest. The pale blue blouse covers the two strange, soft mountains growing from her torso. They are, Twilight thinks, not very large. More on the small side compared to other girls in the school. She brushes her hand across her bust, snugly contained in the clever bra garment. The princess, drawn to the sensation, briefly presses the whole palm against the breast and further gently pushes it against the small tit. Her eyes widen. Not now, she resolved. Later.

She then takes her hands to her belly, and absently fingers the blouse’s lower buttons. Slowly, Twilight’s hand circles her midsection, feeling the softness of her body. Bit by bit, her hands droop further and further until they rest over her skirt. Haltingly, her hands once again close, bunching up the garment. Lost in the moment, Twilight hikes up the skirt to see what lies beneath. There is a small triangle of fabric covering the space between her legs, and in a haze of wonderment, her right hand slowly reaches for it…

There is a tiny flash at the edge of her vision, like the glare of a mirror. And the spell is broken.

Yelping, Twilight jerks her skirt back into position and shuffles, cowering in embarrassment, back to her seat. She desperately breathes in, hoping no one saw her checking herself out in front of the mirror, or worse, fiddling with her skirt. Flushing, she mentally curses herself, asking what in Celestia’s green earth was she thinking. She doesn’t understand much of the humans’ need for clothes, but back home exploring her nethers in a public library would count as indecent exposure if not something worse.

A treacherous part of her mind reels in some strange joy at the thought. The princess ruthlessly quashes it.

Then, it occurs to her she has no idea what that light was. Dread gnawing at her heart, she whirls around, but there is nobody in the vicinity. Heart beating madly in her chest, the purple-haired teen tries to steady her breath and convince herself she is truly alone.

Then she sees the small flash again.

It’s coming from the pink book.

It’s just a little spark, but it has no discernible source. Gingerly, she returns to her seat and pulls the pink volume closer. The feeble light steadies as Twilight holds the book, and her eyes fully widen as a strange sensation begins coursing through her hands.

The book is taking a bit of her magic.

The pony princess’ mouth dries. The tome is indeed somehow magical, reacting to the diagnostic spells she cast on the other book. It’s taking her magic and exuding a different type, one she has never felt before. The little wavering pink glow feels warm, eager. She pinches one of the little pink strands, and is rewarded with a small wave of heat that travels through her hand and arm, straight to her core. If anyone were looking at her, they would see a tiny pink glare flash across her eyes for an instant.

Twilight blinks. This book, diary, whatever it is. She must know what it is. It’s unusual magic, in a place that supposedly knows nothing about the occult at all. A deeper scan would probably be for the best, maybe taking it home to examine it in more detail. But she hesitates. Time could be essential, and well, she is the Princess of Friendship, a title she didn’t pull out of a cracker box. She can do this right now. She can handle it.

Heart beating madly in her chest, the princess takes the book and feeds it a bit more magic.

The book opens with a small click, and Twilight all but throws it open. A bookmark, as glaringly pink as the book’s cover, embossed with the same heart design and shining with the same pink glow, slides out, and the teen puts it aside.

Breathing heavily, she begins to read…


Between the words and the page, between letter and ink, something stirs at Twilight’s injection of magic. Something pink and joyful and marvelous. It remembers life and light, and it remembers people.

It liked people.

By itself, it is naught but naked power. But pure power lacks substance and meaning. Energy is formless and transient; reality restricts it, struggles against its touch. Therein lies the fun, to poke and prod, to rearrange and to mold more physical shapes. It looks up from the book and sees the pony princess, brimming with youth and vitality, and so, so very soft and malleable and docile.

It likes Twilight. In fact, it likes her a lot.

… and, as the girl reads and writes on, her world changes…


Walking at a brisk pace, an irritated Bon Bon returns to the library and huffily exchanges the book she had taken just a while ago for an actual cookbook. If anyone names a book after food, she damn well expects it to be about food. As she turns to leave, it occurs to her to check if the princess is still around.

The chair is empty, but there are a couple of books still in the desk. Quietly fuming, the teen picks them and motions to return them to the cart, when something falls off the desk.

Its’s a bookmark, a bright strip of thick vermilion and pink fabric decorated with pink hearts. It has a nice shine, almost as if it had a pale pink shine of its own. Turning it around, Bon Bon examines the bookmark. It’s a tad garish, but it’s still a very nice thing.  Bon Bon tuts to herself. If she sees the Princess, she’ll give her the bookmark back, and if not, well, she really should be more careful with her stuff.

With a spring in her step, she leaves Canterlot High. She has yet to make dinner for two and she’s already late.


There is magic in the house.

Alchemy, the art of transforming base elements into something new and glorious.

Ritual, a list of steps to achieve impossible results.

Artifacts, tools and devices intended to aid the sorceress in her trials.

Glamour, the talent of turning illusions into true wonder.

Bon Bon chuckles at the idea of manipulating the arcane like the Rainbooms do. She has all the magic she needs in her kitchen. Truly, she has surpassed herself with the new passion fruit-filled dark chocolate cups. Smirking, she slides the mold trays in the refrigerator and closes it. With a heavy heart, she leaves all thoughts of little culinary marvels and focuses on a much more pressing issue.

Her kitchen is a mess, Lyra will probably pop up soon, and she has yet to begin preparing dinner.

Bah. Some precooked chicken and leftover rice would do. And Lyra is not going to complain one way or the other, the glutton. A part of her mind wonders exactly why how she and Lyra have somehow progressed from childhood friends to potential girlfriends almost seamlessly with the years. She and her mint-haired friend know what buttons to push to annoy each other, but what’s worse, each is fully aware of just how much she can press them to fluster and baffle the other without actually darkening her mood.

Passingly thanking the geniuses that make everyday life bearable, she shoves two pieces of chicken into the microwave and the dishes she used into the washer. Leaning back into her chair, she smirks. Done with time to spare. With a chuckle, she grabs the book, bookmark in hand, and flips through the pages, searching for another interesting recipe. She thinks of making her own chocolate straight from the cocoa butter. Maybe add some cardamom and coffee beans for that extra kick. Rich and dark, just like she and Lyra like.

With that last, fleeting thought, the bookmark weakly shines pink.

Bon Bon’s thoughts fly as she scans the list of ingredients. The most exotic she dismisses, but there are some possibilities. Cinnamon. Banana.  Figs. Oh, yes. She can see herself feeding a plate of sliced fruit thickly covered in savory, rich chocolate to a prostrate Lyra. Her smile slowly widens and her eyes droop a little as she pictures Lyra, her Lyra, eating her confections with a beatific smile, and feels nothing as her sundress’ discreet neckline lazily stretches downwards, showing more and more of her humble cleavage.

Lyra’s so beautiful. And she could be forgiven for dreaming a little bit, no?

The candy maker drops the book, enraptured by the ghost of her golden-eyed sweetheart, obediently accepting little confections, straight into her mouth, and gently licking and sucking the chocolate sticking to her fingers. The pink trickles through the bookmark she still holds, permeating Bon Bon’s body. Softly, her sundress rips at the midriff, leaving her with a knee-length skirt and a fashionable, if a bit daring, top. Beneath her top, her bra vanishes, yet her cleavage remains firm and pert.

ding dong

Bon Bon almost falls off her chair. Cursing herself under her breath, she rushes to answer the door. Opening it with a jerk, she wobbles a bit from the recoil.

“Gee, Bonnie, I know I look like I’m starving, but I can wait a bit, no need to rush!”

The taller teen glares at her friend. “Why hello there, Bon Bon, how do you do, need some help there, it’s not like I just came here to bum a free meal out of you.” Lyra pulls her closer and kisses her cheek. “Just come in. Chicken’s halfway done.” And Lyra does, walking without waiting to be led. Bon Bon waits for a second after closing the door, so she can turn around and steal a furtive glance at her girlfriend’s retreating bum. With a hidden smile, the candy girl follows her companion into the kitchen, oblivious as her flats start rising into a pair of pumps.

“So what is celebrity chef Bon Bon going to regale our taste buds with today?”

“Leftovers and precooked chicken.”

Lyra wags her finger. “Now, now, Bonnie, we both know I’m not talking about the main dish. What delicious new confection have you prepared for us tonight?”

There’s something so earnest and so comical about her girlfriend’s tone that Bon Bon can’t help but chuckle. “Fine. There’s some chocolate with passion fruit filling. But I just put them in the fridge. You’re going to have to wait for a while and finish the main course before dessert.”

“Aw. Are you going to feed me your creamy delights, Bonnie?”

A quick shiver races through Bon Bon’s spine, and she struggles to retain her composure. “Do you really want me to put each chocolate, by hand, straight into your mouth, Lyra?”

And she has the gall to actually look like she’s thinking it over. “Maaaybe?” Then her attention shifts over a bit. “Hey, what’s that?” she asks, prying the bookmark out of the candy maker’s hand.

“It’s just a bookmark, Lyra. Found it at school, seemed like one of those fancy ones they sell at bookstores. Bit too pink for my taste, but hey, a bookmark’s a bookmark, and finders keepers.”

The mint-haired teen smiles, entranced by the deep shade of pink. “So, it’s not really yours, huh…”

Bon Bon resists the urge to roll her eyes, knowing what comes next. “Lyra, do we really need to play this game?”

“Sure!” With a yank, Lyra takes the bookmark and shoves it into her skirt’s waistband. Bon Bon sighs. “Lyra!”

“What? Look, if I had any pockets or cleavage, I’d be putting it in there. But I don’t, so I’m making do. Everyone knows my butt’s my best feature anyway, just like your boobs are yours, Bonnie.”

Unseen, the bookmark starts glowing brighter, the interaction between the two slowly increasing its strength. There’s already a bond between the two girls, something other than simple friendship. The pink reaches for the girls’ hearts and minds and begins deepening and changing the bond, teasing their imaginations with visions of the other, and a hunger starts growing in both.

An annoyed Bon Bon groans. ”Fine, keep the bookmark.” Her mouth stretches into a thin smile. “But hey, you’re already bumming food off me. I want something in return. I want… I want…”

The pink flashes through her eyes.

“I want a kiss.”

Lyra blinks. “Excuse me?”

Bon Bon’s voice grows. “I want a kiss. You want the bookmark, give me a kiss.”

The mint-haired teen smiles. “Okay.” So she leans at her girlfriend’s face and gives her a quick peck in the cheek. The candy maker’s jaw slowly falls, and indignation rises in her. “Excuse me?”

“Hm? What’s the problem, Bonnie?”

“That wasn’t a kiss at all! It barely even counted as a peck!”

Lyra stops for a second, looks into Bon Bon’s eyes with impish glee, and the candy girl falters when she recognizes the smile of a trickster whose prey has fallen into the trap. “Why, Bonnie, I thought you knew the secret of a really great first kiss!” At her girlfriend’s blank expression, the smaller teen gently pushes Bon Bon backwards, straight into a chair. The lanky teen’s breath hitches as Lyra sits on her lap and her hungry smirk draws closer and closer. “Always leave the girl wanting more…”

Both of them shut their eyes, and their lips touch.

The kiss starts slow with a quiet smooch, as Bon Bon’s arms wrap around her mint-haired lover’s waist, and Lyra’s hands sink into her candy girl’s full curls, the pink and blue tresses reaching out further and further with each pass. There are no words as the kisses slowly build up in intensity. For a moment, they separate, breaths slow and deep even when their hearts hammer in their chests. They smile at each other, realizing how true Lyra’s words were: both want more, more, more…

This time, the kiss is more forceful, their tongues battling for access into the other’s mouth. Bon Bon’s hands drift down to Lyra’s hips, and give her asscheeks a strong, lustful squeeze. The mint-haired girl moans into the kiss, oblivious as her girlfriend undoes her skirt and flings it away. She only feels her Bonnie’s fingers are suddenly pressing against skin, and quietly squirms in delight as her buns balloon and firm up under the touch. Her undies tense under the pressure of her rising ass, while her thighs likewise puff up with luscious, soft meat. With a surge of magic, Lyra’s proportions begin to change into an impossible ideal of teen sexuality. Her limbs lengthen and swell to better match the slut she’s becoming.

Gradually, Bon Bon becomes aware that something has changed. It takes much to tear her attention away from her eager girlfriend, but in the end she becomes aware of the increasing weight on her loins. “Lyra? Honey?” she whimpers under the transformed girl’s bulk. “Would you mind switching for a bit?”

Lyra chuckles, undoing Bon Bon’s top and casually discarding it, spreading her wonderful touch across the rising bust. “Now, now, Bonnie, we both know you’re bigger, heavier and boobier than me…”

And as soon as she says it, reality adjusts Bon Bon. She coos as her body unfolds, her figure developing lush curves even as it stretches taller than even Lyra’s uplifted frame. While the smaller girl has become an idealized, sexual image of a teenage idol, Bon Bon’s transformation goes further still. Warmth spreads from her midriff to her fingertips and toes, her mind sinking in a pleasant, pink haze under Lyra’s skilled ministrations. She squirms when the heat reaches her trim derriere as most of her skirt melts away into the aether, the burning wave filling and pumping her booty and thighs until she’s left with gorgeous, voluptuous birthing hips.

But the heat is strongest in her tits. With each breath, her breasts become a little fuller and rounder, the nipples steadily thickening as well. What cup was she, again? The alphabet crawls past Bon Bon’s eyes as she struggles to register the mounting weight in her chest, but the growing jugs keep expanding along with the ecstasy, and by the time she outgrows F cup, the teen can no longer even care.

Lyra keeps stroking and teasing the wonderful mams, even as they grow beyond her hands’ capacity to fully hold, cuddling the heavy orbs with random pinches and petting. Meanwhile, Bon Bon punctuates her hungry fondling with the occasional sonorous slap to her lover’s meaty ass, and when she begins tugging at the overstretched panties, they swiftly conform into an obscenely thin yet miraculously resistant thong.

A thought manages to rise to the surface of Bon Bon’s mind, an idea made all the more alluring knowing she’ll make Lyra, her Lyra, shudder in bliss. Between the murmurs of pleasure, she manages to gurgle her name. For an interminable second, the pressure on her tits stops. A worried whisper reaches her ears. “Bonnie? Are you okay?”

Panting, Bon Bon manages to give her Lyra the ghost of a grin. “Turn around, Lyra.”

The smile she receives is nothing short of dazzling as Lyra assumes position in record time, leaning back and pressing against Bon Bon’s weighty boobs with a cheeky wriggle. The taller teen pulls up Lyra’s top, baring her almost flat chest to the cool air of the kitchen. One hand reaches to the closest nipple, and the other burrows under the tiny strap at Lyra’s crotch.

As she closes around the nipple, an unfamiliar sensation stops her. “What the hell…?” When her fingers circle the strange thing glued to Lyra’s nipple, her girlfriend warmly laughs. “You don’t like my pasties, Bonnie?”

“Pasties? Since when do you use pasties?”

“Since ever. I don’t have enough boobage for a bra, so I just use ‘em when I don’t wanna bother with an undershirt.”

Annoyed, Bon Bon gently tears the pasty off. “Don’t talk nonsense, Lyra. You might not have as much… cleavage… as me-”

“I wish!”

“…but there’s still some here, see?” Tenderly, if not skillfully, Bon Bon teases Lyra’s humble rack. When the mint-haired girl begins melting in relish, Bon Bon buries her face in her neck, peppering it with kisses and love bites. With her free hand, she slides a taunting digit through the valley of her sweetheart’s mons, stopping every now and then to give a firm pinch to her love button and to reach into the depths of her core.

Lyra eagerly drinks of the intoxicating sensations, magnified by the magic and the knowledge it is her Bonnie who is giving her such joy.  With each twitter of lust, her own bust surges in mass. In quick, lewd flashes, she thinks how much she enjoys seeing her boobies bounce, wondering why she hasn’t ever properly played with her titties. Passingly, she feels some envy of her lover’s mammoth melons, but it passes quickly. Hers may not be as big as Bon Bon’s, but she gets to play with those lovely jugs.

Breathily, Bon Bon bites the lobe of her ear. “Lot of cleavage here,” she says, tweaking a nipple. “You really do have enough here for a bra, Lyra…”

The pressure rises to unbearable levels. Lyra tries to squeeze her legs shut, but Bonnie’s fingers always find her weak spot. “M’fine… Pasties are fine…”

“You don’t like bras, do you, Lyra? It’s okay. And you’re right – I don’t like those pasties very much. As long as you use the right shirt, everything’s gonna be fine.” Yes, the right, super tight kind of shirt, holding her hooters high, and no pasties again, ever. Who needs those, anyway? She’s perfectly fine with her proud nipples visibly piercing the round fullness into a small pyramid of pleasure.

And then Lyra reaches the absolute limit, the final edge of pleasure before falling into the bright pink void. Smiling lecherously, Bon Bon drags her tongue from neck to ear, satisfied at the quivering, trembling girl she’s holding. In the same second, she bites Lyra’s ear, tweaks her nipple, and squeezes the tiny pearl at her groin.

Lyra almost screams, jerking backwards and pressing against her candy girl with all her strength, her entire body racked by the orgasm’s impact. Her want, her need, is being filled with hot, burning joy. She clenches one of Bonnie’s hands at her bust and seals the other in her lap. As the orgasm washes over her, her last remaining thought is Bon Bon and how much she loves her and always has, and how she wants her to join in this incredible experience.

After an eternity, all energy leaves Lyra’s muscles, and she falls apart, held in place by her Bonnie.

The mint-haired slut breathes in deep, slow pants. The magic gives the pair a few last cursory changes. Their sneakers and shoes twist into high heels, and their discarded clothes shift to fit their new bodies. A little bit of the magic lingers within them, a drop of power activated by unbridled sexuality, ready to once again work its sorcery and to spread pleasure and joy to anyone willing to receive it.

It takes Lyra quite a while to begin wriggling into Bon Bon’s embrace. She turns around again, and once again gives Bonnie the deepest, hottest French kiss she can, carefully rubbing their breasts together, nipple to nipple. The sense of urgency has faded a bit, but the desire still hangs heavy in the air. “Did you have fun, Lyra?”

“Very much.” Her face suddenly falls. “But…I mean… I had my fun and don’t take me wrong, it was really great, but what about you?” And with the same celerity, her face lights up again before Bon Bon can even think of an adequate response. “I know!” With a spring in her step only a certain pink baker could come near duplicating, she sprints to the fridge and starts rummaging within. “Aha!”

“Lyra, what are you doing?” Bon Bon blinks, shifting a bit in the chair as she recognizes the jar Lyra’s picked. “And why do you need the leftovers of my passion fruit compote?”

Smiling, Lyra kneels in front of her Bonnie, hands gliding across her thick, juicy thighs. “Well, you see, I’m really thankful for the creamy delight, but right now I really want to show my appreciation.” Reaching with both hands into the depths of Bon Bon’s microskirt, she pulls down her snug, diminutive panties. Rubbing her lover’s loins, Lyra opens the jar and dips a finger to taste the sweet mix. Nodding, she coats her finger in the stuff and reaches for Bon Bon’s pussy. “If the chef will be so nice as to accept my compliments?”


Applejack quietly drives back home after a quick trip to the supermarket, whistling as her truck rolls by Canterlot High. Passingly, shereviews the chores for the next day, knowing that it’s a sure bet that Rainbow Dash will drift by to laze in her family’s property, train with her for the Running of the Leaves and more than likely fool around with whatever silly new exercise challenge’s popped up in EweTube this week.

Briefly slowing to a halt next to the school, something draws her attention.

There’s a girl in front of the school. A bimbo, truth be told. She’s showing far too much skin, and what she doesn’t show, she almost-obscenely flaunts. Sky-high heels, the kind not even Rarity would touch, a tiny sky-blue top, a purple something that might pass for a handkerchief were it not tightly wrapped around the gal’s hips, and a hot pink book for some reason.

And then she gapes when everything about the girl snaps into place.

“Princess?”