Octavia's Indulgences [Solo]

Rusty hinges squeaked, Octavia's entrance into her own home feeling like an intrusion to the silence. She sighs, squeaking the door shut behind her, the gentle click of the latch it' final rude noise of the evening. Her cello lives in the concert hall, she has no baggage but her weary body itself. One tired hoof placed before the other she walks in the dark to the windows, ears still ringing with the tinnitus of sitting in the center of an orchestra. Her white teeth flash as she bites the cord, drawing the curtains wide and flooding her small apartment with moonlight.

Some time passes, Octavia staring at the moon as she often had, and idly wishing that the mare in the moon were still there as she was always very interesting to look at. Her eyes adjust to the bright, waxing moon, as she turns toward her dark kitchen she must light a candle as her eyes refuse to readjust. Tonight was her special night, a ten year anniversary with the Canterlot Orchestra. None remembered, of course, save Octavia who honestly preferred it that way. Her special dinner is already prepared, so yo speak, sinply waiting for her to dine upon it.

In the icebox, in unbleached wax paper, a two pound parcel tied tightly with twine. Octavia carries it to the table with her teeth, saliva running down the strings and beading off the waxed paper quite shamelessly. Nipping it with her teeth she tears at the paper like unwrapping a present, her place unset as she drops it on the bare tabletop.

Meat.

All animals were equal, but of course some were more equal than others. The lesser races often were consumed by the greater, and it was not unheard of for a pony to fancy the more 'barbaric' diets of the griffon or minotaur. Octavia had stumbled across one such 'culture' in her young travels, and forever damned the day she was cursed with the knowledge of how irresistible red meat could be. Her fortune spent on hedonism, her life squandered in self satisfaction, all blame could easily be shifted away.

Her nostrils flare, drinking in the scent. Her hot breath hits the meat, stirring it's odor to life, perfuming the air with it's slight metallic smell. Were her eyes not shut they would shudder and roll back, her haunches bristle at the teasing stimulation. She opens her mouth to lick the meal, just a taste, a fat glob of saliva nearly splashing as it strikes the floor. Her red tongue traces the red meat in the dark, the slowly warming piece of flesh yielding to her gentle pressure. Octavia moans to herself softly, indulging in the moment.

Before she sits to eat proper she fetches drinks, a pair of liter bottles. Alcohol, a stiff drink toeing the line between beer and wine, a strong rye that warmed the heart down to the tips of her hooves. Before she retired for the evening she had the full intention of draining both. Situating herself properly she places a napkin before her, and can no longer suppress the base creature inside her.

Voraciously she rips at the meat, hot breath and wet smacking interrupted only by the gentle noises of liquid sloshing in the bottles. Her mouth briskly chews the hewn chunks of raw meat, the fire in her drink burning the throat and leaving a heady warmth in it's wake. Tears well in her eyes, not all born of the strong drink. Her indulgence is absolute, her life entirely focused on providing moments like this. No better than a slut waggling glowsticks and sucking cock in her mind the thoughts only heighten the pleasure, the heavy meal filling her stomach and heart far too soon.

Her chest and muzzke streaked with the thin fluid, her neck soaked in spilled beer, she knew she was disgusting. No shame is felt, however, only satisfaction. She bins the waste paper and empty bottle, bringing the half full one with her to the restroom.

Opening the hot tap she draws a bath, setting and lighting dozens of candles for what would be her next indulgence of the evening. Scented oils join the hot water, her soiled collar hits the floor.

Drunkenly pawing at the small phonograph in the bathroom ahe manages to start a record playing, a light scratchy recording of a deep string quartet. It covers up all the small sounds of the world, stealing away Octavia to the land of her inner imagination and leaving her to focus within. From beneath the cabinent she sets a towel on the edge of the basin, from her bedroom she sets something else entirely. Pausing in the mirror for a beief moment she decides to fasten her bowtie once more, looking her best as she prepares to climb in the bath.

Her first hoof hits the water, too warm for the comfort of anyone less intoxicated than her. She steps in readily, sitting and shifting onto her back gently, her pale skin beneath her dark coat flyshing ruby red with the heat. Octavia moans once more, the relief and satisfaction of the heat on a full stomach and drunken head threatening to steal her consciousness away and leave her sleeping. She fight away the sudden weariness, intending to complete her evening just the way she intended it. To warm the heavy item from the bedroom she brings it into the bath with her, holding it dear to her chest as the cold silicone comes to life. In a flight of fancy she presses the base in between her legs, idly stroking 'her' massive protrusion, genuinely moaning as the flat base rubs against her true, much smaller private. Reaching for the expensive lavender oil she coats her toy in it, standing up from the water and feeling unnaturally heavy as the rivers run down her hind legs. Oiling between her legs as well she feels weak kneed, the anticipation and intoxication conspiring against her. Lowering just an inch and collapsing outright seem two sides of the same coin, Octavia wryly unconcerned with hurting herself. She was in no way 'fresh', this was a very well worn path, hurting herself was simply out of the question. Sitting slowly she lines the flared head of the toy with her well oiled anus, knees quaking.

Fat and flared, the head presses firmly against her tight star before the pressure pressure pops it inside. Octavia groans with the sensation, sinking low and fast and taking a large part of the toy with her. Stuffing herself full she sinks into the water once more, gently propping the protruding base of the toy against the floor of the tub. Gently she ricks against it in the weightlessness of the water, her slippery hooves still dripping with oil find their way to her neglected genitals. Swirling in the hot water she endlessly polishes her small pink pearl, rocking gently on the fullness of the fat toy. Ever the master of this craft after many long years of practice she soon shudders under great tremors, clouding the water further as she soldiers on to increase the tally, applying more and more oil to her body and smearing it on her chest and face to indulge in its scent. Biting her tongue she forces the toy deep to the point of discomfort, hooves digging at her sensitive teats for a second of searing clarity, the shock resetting her system and her rekindled clit polishing beginning again with gusto. Another brief quaking orgasm rocks her for a moment, yet still disappoints her. Ready for 'the one' she rears up high out of the tub, falling back and hitting the wall as her slick hooves cannot find purchase in the porcelain tub. A towel hook digs into her back, tearing a long scratch down her slipping body until it catches her silk collar.

The collar does not tear, it's bowtie knot digging in hard just below her chin. Her hooves skitter in the tub fruitlessly, her puckering anus loses it's grip on the toy and drops it with a loud 'smack' into the water where it bobs about her kicking legs. Her two hooves remain at her pelvis, one digging in the mound hard to fully expose the clit and the other stroking it so vibrantly her hoof was an invisible blur from the motion. She finds it, 'the one', the mind shattering height of indulgence she craved so dearly

Her increasingly oxygen deprived, drunken mind swims, black creeping in on her vision as her eyes begin to glaze over and black out. The euphoria had nearly stolen her conscious, as it had always threatened to, the excitement of the danger an integral part of the most satisfying indulgence possible. Her legs lie still in the water, her one forelimb limp. The other weakly tugs at her neck, the oiled hoof failing to grasp the tightly knotted wet silk.

It slips, and falls limp. Again it tries, weakly, just barely teasing a centimeter of fabric free, before the knot snaps undone and she crashes into the tub.

The surge splashes all around the tub, extinguishing and flooding away all the candles and leaving her in pitch black darkness. Her abused mind has hit the limit of it's hedonistic sensory overload, at the darkness it simply shuts off like a lightbulb. She slumps into the half filled tub with a final sigh, dead to all the world while alive for another day.

Morning comes. Sunlight peeps from beneath the shut door. Static crackles from the endlessly spinning record at the end of its tracks. Octavia's head is splitting, the deep scratch on her back burns like fire, and she realizes by little more than scent that she has slept the night away in a tub full of oil and urine, and worse.

Taking the day head on she stands, opening the door the smallest sliver that her hangover will allow, cleaning the bathroom in the crack of light and taking a bath to clean herself from her bath.

To her dildo more than herself she says "Happy Birthday", for sometimes it is nice to say something just to hear it, at least once.