Advertisement
Not a member of Pastebin yet?
Sign Up,
it unlocks many cool features!
- >You are Dirty Laundry.
- >CEO and founder of Off-White Fashion House.
- >And you’re writing a journal.
- >…
- >Dear, Helpful Advice.
- >I’m writing a journal - just like you asked at my last appointment.
- >Just for the record, I still think this is a stupid fucking idea, and a waste of both our time.
- >You couldn’t possibly understand my situation.
- >I’m on the board of six different multi-million bit companies.
- >Your entire occupation is a joke.
- >You make money off of people suffering.
- >You’re just some low life who wanted to be a doctor, /failed,/ and became a shrink so you could keep food on the table.
- >Remember that.
- >Fucking slime.
- >…
- >Fuck it, this journal is supposed to help you figure of my depression, right?
- >That’s what I’m paying you for isn’t it?
- >Of course it is.
- >Well, I’m going to save you a fuck-ton of time, and tell you exactly why I’m depressed.
- >That will save you from making an “educated” guesses, and stealing my bits from me like every other pony I’ve ever met.
- >…
- >Imagine being a young-wide eyed stallion, growing up in Canterlot.
- >Things are nice; I’m an only child, and parents are reasonably wealthy ponies.
- >Now imagine, as an eight year old colt, walking home, and finding your mother dead.
- >I was too young to fully understand what had happened, let alone what it meant for my future.
- >My dad… did.
- >He didn’t take it well.
- ----------
- >He started coming home late from work smelling real weird.
- >Of course at that age you don’t know what the fuck alcohol is, so you just think he’s getting sick too.
- >I got real scared and nervous that I would lose him too.
- >We lost the house, and moved to lower Canterlot, where we lived next-door to a small Fashion Boutique, owned by High Heels.
- >Over the next few years she practically became my second mom.
- >I remember spending a lot of time with her in her store.
- >That’s where I first remember falling in love with fashion.
- >I’d sit in the back room while she visited her customers, just messing with fabrics, drawing dresses, etc.
- >Occasionally, when she had the time, she’d even help me make a jacket or dress, just to see what they’d look like.
- >Of course, my first attempts were terrible, but after a few years, they got better.
- >I remember the first time she actually sold one in the door to a customer.
- >It was some small mare looking for a saddle to give her friend at a bachelorette party.
- >She fell in love with one of mine, and bought it.
- >The way she smiled when she first looked at the saddle…
- >…
- >That irrelevant.
- >All that matters is that she bought it.
- >…
- >Of course it was a fucking saddle.
- >Thinking back to it now, that’s poetically ironic.
- >A fucking saddle…
- ----------
- >...
- >...
- >Where was I?
- >I had to get another drink, seeing that whiskey glasses are uselessly small.
- >Whoever invented wine glasses was a fucking genius.
- >…
- >A few years past before my father finally died.
- >He never really got over the loss of my mother, and after blowing all of our money on… /whatever/ he spent it on, he died.
- >It’s funny.
- >I still don’t know /what/ he spent it on.
- >It wasn’t drugs or whorses, but whatever it was, it was expensive.
- >…
- >I moved in with High Heels, who offered me a place to stay.
- >She was such a nice mare.
- >Thinking back to it, I wouldn’t mind giving her a good rutting either.
- >Not that I would ever do that.
- >She’s probably the only good mare, besides my mother, that I ever met.
- > …
- >Eventually I saved up enough bits to rent a window front Boutique for myself so I could start my own business: Stained Sheets.
- >It was a fucking stupid idea; I signed a three year lease with only enough money for the first month’s rent.
- >But back then, I wasn't a cynical prick, so you were motivated enough to make it work.
- >Your products flew off the shelves; and within the three days, you made enough money to pay for the first two month’s of rent.
- >After only a few months, you were a well known designer in Canterlot’s fashion circles.
- >”Rookie of the Year” was the unofficial title that they gave you.
- >Like making saddles and socks was the same thing as playing hoofball, or playing an actual sport.
- >Of course, it’s not an official award or anything; only something the magazines called you in their articles.
- >That should show you just how highly the people in this industry think of themselves.
- ----------
- >Anyways, The mares took notice that I’d become a little popular.
- >In case you’re a fashion illiterate pony, which I assume you are given the two thread suit you wear, I’ll let you in on a secret.
- >”Model” is just a fancy name for whorse.
- >When my lineups started being featured on Canterlot’s runways, “models” started to visit my store.
- >They were low-level whorses at best.
- >The only time half of them had ever seen the front lens of a camera was their first grade school portrait.
- >Of course, what they lacked in experience they made up for in enthusiasm.
- >They’d ask for “help” fitting a saddle in your changing rooms.
- >And being a red-blooded young stallion, you were all too eager to help.
- >…
- >Eventually, the awards started coming.
- >Best Spring Line-Up: Canterlot Fashion Week
- >Best Summer Line-Up: Phillydephia Fashion Week
- >That’s not all of them of course, but if I wanted to brag about my accomplishments, I wouldn’t waste my time bragging to you.
- >Besides, I’m sure that list would fill up the rest of this shitty paper I’m writing on.
- >…
- >Anyways, after the awards started to pour in, things changed.
- >I bought myself a nice Mansion in the Upper Canterlot, and even managed to put High Heels into a more comfortable flat.
- > - Yes, even as a tasteless colt I didn’t forget about her.
- >I still visit her from time-to-time.
- >...
- >Over the last few months I’ve stopped.
- >I don’t want her to see her little colt like this.
- >She doesn’t deserve that.
- >She she didn’t fail, I did.
- ----------
- >Back to my story.
- >No longer was I “helping” no-name models in my store’s dressing rooms.
- >Four new fashion lines later, and I was one of the most well known stallions in Equestria’s entire fashion industry.
- >My mansion was practically a stable for high-class mares.
- >Fair Feathers, Polished Hooves, Earth Tones.
- >Three of the most desirable mares Equestria had to offer.
- >All in my bed at the same time.
- >For two weeks straight.
- >…
- >Good thing we have a nondisclosure agreement right?
- >But if you’d like, I’m fine with you clopping your shitty little dick to the mental image of me rutting the mares of your dreams.
- >I’m sadistic like that.
- >….
- >Anyways, I’m sure you get the point.
- >For two years straight, my house was never empty.
- >It’s a miracle that I remembered to use protection for so long.
- >Or at least, if I /do/ have any foals out there, I don’t know about them.
- >That’s a good thing mind you.
- >Celestial knows it would have been born from a loveless union.
- >I didn’t like any of these mares, much less love them.
- >They used me for my bits and connections, and I used them for their vaginas.
- >Vaginas.
- >...
- >Funny word isn’t it? It’s like it’s become taboo to even /write/ the word, much less say it aloud.
- >…
- >Vaginas.
- ----------
- >…
- >…
- >Sorry, had to get another drink.
- >…
- >Like all good things, all bad things must all come to an end.
- >One night, after /wayyyy/ too much drinking, I blacked out.
- >I’m not sure what made /this/ particular night special, as I'd blacked out a number of times before.
- >But for whatever reason, this time was different.
- >When I woke up, I was in my bed.
- >Alone.
- >It was… surreal.
- >It didn’t even feel like it was my home.
- >Everything felt so… foreign.
- >I remember standing up, and slowly making my way into the hallway, before going downstairs.
- >As I entered my sitting room, I began to hear voices.
- >At first, I thought I was hallucinating.
- >My hangover was /brutal/ to say the least.
- >I actually had to lean on the wall just to keep myself from falling over.
- >But after a few, admittedly painful minutes, I managed to stand up again.
- >The voices were still there.
- >As I entered the sitting room, trying to get to the kitchen to make breakfast, I saw probably a half-dozen mares sitting down.
- >They didn’t notice me, and kept giggling and laughing about /whatever/ they were talking about.
- >I stood and watched for a few moments, looking at each one of their faces.
- ----------
- >I didn’t recognize /any/ of them.
- >…
- >Something snapped.
- >I /screamed./ at them, telling them to get out of my house.
- >They stopped, and turned to look at me, like I was telling some sort of fucking joke.
- >I remember picking up a vase, and throwing it toward a mare who only narrowly managed to dodge it.
- >That got them moving.
- >My head was pounding as I screamed at them, telling to get out.
- >My vision was blurred, and my legs were almost too weak to carry me, but I didn’t care.
- >I just wanted to be alone.
- >...
- >After they left, I didn’t even bother to close there front door.
- >I just walked back into the sitting room and fell onto a pillow.
- >My head - my entire /body/ was pulsing with pain.
- >But, in that moment, I realized just how quite your house was.
- >It… it was the first time it had been quite for months.
- >For the first time in just as long, I slept well.
- ----------
- >Then she showed up.
- >”Sir Laundry?”
- >That’s the first time I remember hearing her voice.
- >”Sir Laundry, are you ok?”
- >I looked up, and saw this blue fur… /whatever/ color mane mare looking at me.
- >I was too tired to get angry, so I asked for her name.
- >Sassy Saddles.
- >While I was… asleep… she’d invited herself in through my front door, and saw me on the floor.
- >For Celestia know’s what reason, she thought it’d be a good idea to clean my house for me while I was asleep.
- >Like that’s not fucking creepy.
- >Anyways, she said she’d traveled from Philadelphia to speak with me.
- >But before I could interrupt her and tell her I didn’t need any more “models", she interrupted me.
- >She was a designer.
- >She wanted to be my apprentice.
- >I was silent.
- >While this wasn’t the first time a mare had asked to be my apprentice, it /was/ the first time they’d done it after invading my house.
- >I looked around the practically spotless room around me.
- >It still looked foreign.
- >Looking back to the mare, I could /see/ the fearful excitement and anticipation in her eyes.
- >I remember it /perfectly./
- >The type of excitement that only appears when you’re on the cusp of your life’s dream.
- >Maybe I was still drunk.
- >Maybe my headache was too fucking strong.
- >…
- >I said yes.
- ----------
- >You put the feather down.
- >Your head is /pulsing./
- >Writing hurts.
- >/Everything/ hurts.
- >You look over at the bottle of whiskey laying on the table to your left.
- >…
- >It’s empty.
- >Or rather, you knocked it over the last time you tried to fill your glass, and never bothered to pick it back up.
- >The room, obviously, smells like alcohol.
- >Groaning, you clumsily close the notebook you were writing in, and float it over to the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room.
- >Unfortunately, you bump it into another book, and it falls onto the ground with a soft slap.
- >...
- >Good enough.
- >It’s been… a while since you slept.
- >You look over to the clock hanging from the wall.
- >It’s 6:30.
- >AM.
- >You haven’t slept in over a day at this point.
- >Even as you close your eyes, they /burn/ behind your eyelids.
- >Fortunately, as you lay your head against your pillow, things start to feel… less painful.
- >Maybe, if Celestia’s sun smiles down upon you, you’ll get a good morning’s slee-
- ----------
- >”Laundry?”
- >No.
- >”Laundry?”
- >Please no.
- >You feel a hoof nudge against your shoulder.
- >”Laundry, I know it’s early, but I’ve been working on this design all night, and I’d just like to know if you think it’s any good…”
- >You try to ignore her.
- >”Why does it smell like alcohol in here?”
- >You hear her walk toward the foot of the bed.
- >”Have you been-“
- >She gasp.
- >”Laundry are you alright?”
- >You sigh.
- >You aren’t going to get any sleep tonight.
- >”Laundry, are you alright? You can’t keep doing this to yourself!”
- >Like she fucking knows what’s best for you.
- >With a loud groan, you roll over, and look at Saddles as she mops up the alcohol laying on the floor.
- ”I’m… I’m fine, just… just go away…”
- >She shakes her head.
- >”I’m not going to leave you like this Laundry, how much did you drink?” Something could happen to you!”
- >You roll you bloodshot eyes, and look at the papers that she’s levitating in the air.
- >Grabbing them with your own magic, you pull them close and look at them.
- >She came here for your opinion on her dresses.
- >If you tell her, maybe she’ll leave.
- >You squint at the papers, holding them a few feet from your eyes.
- >...
- >They’re shit.
- >…
- >You rip them up, and throw them onto the ground, which provokes a reaction for Saddles as she screams in response.
- >”My drawing!”
- >”Are trash.”
- >She scrambles to collect the torn scraps of paper, which fall onto the ground.
- ”You haven’t had an original idea in your life have you?”
- ----------
- >Her eyes are beginning to water, as she attempts to dry the alcohol soaks paper.
- >”That’s why I’m here Dirty! I’m trying to learn!”
- “Learn to be fucking original!?!”
- “Sweet Celestia I can’t teach you how to be original!”
- “Don’t bring me this- this fucking /trash/ and expect me to say it’s anything but shit!”
- >Realizing that she sketch is ruined, she tosses it back onto the ground.
- >”I’m trying my best ok!? I’m trying to get better!”
- >”Well then /get better/ Saddles! Don’t waste my fucking time with your generic sketches!”
- >”Is that any different then the dress on the cover of Cosmomare last week?”
- >She nods gently, wiping stray tears from her cheeks as she finishes cleaning the floor.
- >”I… changed the neck length… and the color-“
- “Fucking trash…”
- >She falls silence, and you do the same.
- >Planting you face back into the pillow, you mumble through the cushions.
- >”Gmmm Lmmm”
- >You don’t hear hoof steps.
- >A few moments pass, only filled by the sounds of her sniffling.
- >”I… I know it wasn’t good Laundry, but I haven’t made anything you liked in weeks…”
- >”I stayed up all night trying to think of something you’d think was good…”
- >I’m sorry Laundry, I just… I don’t know what to do…”
- >Her voice is shaky enough that you can tell she’s crying.
- >You’ve heard that line so many times from so many mares…
- >Rolling your eyes, you turn toward Saddles and see...
- >A really attractive mare.
- >The way her coat glistens in the sun light, which is just beginning to peak through the windows.
- >The strange, damn in inexplainable multi-color mane… /situation/ she has.
- >…
- >You’d… you’d like to rut that mare.
- ----------
- “Lay down with me Saddles…”
- >She looks toward you, tears still fresh in her equally bloodshot eyes.
- >”I… I don’t want to Laundry, you know what happened last-“
- “Get in the fucking bed…”
- >The tone in your voice is incontestable, and soon enough Saddles is timidly crawling onto the far side of the bed.
- >She looks so… timid, like she’s trying to appear small.
- >For such a large mare, it’s useless.
- “Get on your back Sassy, I want to look at you…”
- >By now she clearly knows what you’re thinking.
- >”Laundry, please…. I don’t want to-“
- “I don’t give a fuck what you /want/ Saddles; roll over…”
- >She closes her eyes and grits her teeth, but after a long pause, she rolls onto her back.
- >Good girl.
- >Clumsily, you climb your way onto the top of the mare, and put you forelegs on either side of her head.
- >”Laundry please, you’re drunk… I don’t want to do this right now-“
- >You slap her firmly, causing her head to shift.
- >The tears restart.
- “Why do you think I let you stay here? To see your bullshit drawings?”
- >You slap her again.
- >You want to say some clever response, but given your mental state, a half-grunt, half-chuckle will do.
- “Just… just calm down, I’ll be done soon enough…”
- >You close your eyes, and try to get you dick up, but again given your drunkenness, that’s darker than it seems.
- >Growing impatient, you resort to gently thrusting your limp meat onto her crotch, hoping to provoke some biological reaction.
- >Unfortunately, that only increases her panic, and she begins to push against your chest.
- >Not that it does much, for as big of a mare she is, she’s still lean and not very muscular.
- >”Laundry, please stop… I’m scared….”
- >You slap her again.
- “If you want to stay here, you’re going to calm the fuck down, and take it like a mare…”
- >She continues to struggle, this time trying to kick you with her rear legs.
- ----------
- >Again, it’s useless, as you’re already settled between her legs, making kicking impossible.
- >”Laundry? Laundry stop! I’m not in the-“
- >Slap.
- >Your frustration increases as you /still/ can’t manage to get yourself up.
- >You look back down at Sassy.
- >This is her fault.
- >If she was attractive enough, you wouldn’t have any trouble rutting her silly.
- >You spit on her face.
- ”Fucking trash.”
- “Why are you even here Saddles? Am I the only one that’d take you in?”
- >She shakes her head frantically.
- “Laundry please-“
- >SLAP!
- >You put… a lot more force behind that then you expected.
- “If I put you out right now, where you would you go?”
- >You push her head against the pillow, practically burying her head in the sheets, and lean forward, placing your lips against her ear.
- >She starts screaming, and but the sheets take most of the edge off the noise.
- “Nopony would take you in now. If I fire you, your pathetic little “career" is /over/…”
- “And then what? You didn’t even go to college; you’re twenty-something, with a high school degree trying to do fashion...”
- “There are thousands of mares like you…
- >”Lmm! Lhmmm plammm!!”
- “I might as well just walk your flanks to the fucking whorse stables…”
- You push your groin into her hips again, causing her horn to hit the headboard with a thump.
- >She screams in pain.
- “What makes /you/ special Saddles? What’s the reason anypony knows your name?”
- >You brush your lips against her ear.
- “/I/ make you special… without me, you’re /nothing…”
- >You get go of her head, allowing her to draw her first fresh gasp of breath…
- >Looking down, you see that your stallionhood /still/ floppy and soft.
- “Laundry PLEASE! You’re… you’re raping me…”
- ----------
- >Everything goes quite.
- >Rape.
- >She… she thinks you’re raping her.
- >You look up, and see the mare laying beneath you.
- >Crying.
- >With a red and bruising cheek.
- >…
- >This looks… wrong.
- >This /feels/… wrong.
- >You make eye contact with her for the first time, and for the first time, her fear is all too apparent.
- >Your stomach twist, and you quickly shuffle yourself off of the mare.
- “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… I don’t know what came over me…”
- >As you fall on the bed beside her, she brings her hooves to her eyes, and begins to cry.
- “I… I didn’t mean to… to do that to you again… please…. don’t…”
- >Her continued crying silences you, as your realize your apology is likely falling on deaf ears.
- “I’m… I’m not myself right now… I didn’t mean to… to do this…”
- ----------
- >You lay down in silence as you she sobs for a few minutes.
- >The smell of alcohol is still clear and heavy in the air.
- >After some time, she eventually stops crying.
- >Before you have a chance to speak with her, she stands, and quickly leaves the room.
- >Your heart races as her hoof steps clink and clack against the floorboards in the hallway.
- >Please… please say she isn’t...
- >She can’t…
- >Not this time…
- >You would chase after her if you could, but you’re too exhausted to lift your intoxicated body.
- >So all you can do is listen.
- >Seconds seem like minutes as you listen for /any/ noise.
- >You pray, pray for your life that you don’t hear the stairs.
- >…
- >Then you hear the noise you’d been hoping for.
- >Down the hallway, a door opens, and closes softly.
- >A weight leaves your withers, as you exhale a long, stale breath…
- >She’s in her room.
- >She’s staying.
- >You close your eyes, and finally, fall asleep.
- ----------
- >I need help.
- >Last night, Saddles found me.
- >She all she wanted was my opinion on her drawings, but I was drunk, and one thing led to another…
- >Why do I keep doing this to her?
- >I don’t fucking know what’s wrong with me.
- >She’s a good mare, I know what.
- >I shouldn’t be doing this to her.
- >I /hate/ myself for it.
- >But whenever I look at her, I see all of those cheap, freeloading mares staring back at me.
- >I just want revenge against them.
- >Some sense of closure.
- >They stole /everything/ from me.
- >…
- >But she’s all I have left.
- >I don’t think she knows that.
- >She probably still thinks of me as some sort of cliche confused artist.
- >That’s the only reason I can imagine why she’d stay here with me after so long.
- >Yes, her work is a little rough, but it’s not terrible by any means.
- >I… I feel like I’m /destroying/ her.
- >That scares me the most.
- >Why won’t see leave?
- >Sure, my businesses still make money, but no mare would ever take… me… for money.
- >She doesn’t make any sense.
- >Why doesn’t she leave?
- >...
- >Maybe I could go live with High Heels?
- >…
- >No- she doesn’t deserve to deal with the stallion I’ve become.
- >…
- >I’m scared doc.
- >I don’t want to hurt her anymore.
- >If she leaves me….
- >I don’t know what I’d do.
- >Where else would I go?
- >I don’t want to be alone.
Advertisement
Add Comment
Please, Sign In to add comment
Advertisement