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>"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.