A Place for Everyone

Chapters

1. Fitting In
2. Healthy Exercise
3. Everything In the World
4. Well-Intentioned

1. Fitting In

The Conversion Bureau: A Place for Everyone

Fitting In

The office was incredibly dull and sterile. The walls were white and unadorned: not a single painting or picture could be seen. There weren’t even any bumps in the finish. The stucco had actually been flattened down before it dried, and the paint had been applied so carefully, coerced just enough that it was perfectly flat. The furniture was no better: white plastic and white cushions and white doorknobs and white carpeting.

The only patches of color in the room were the two ponies. It was almost blinding the way their pastel coats and manes stood out against the décor.

The secretary was the brighter of the two. Her mane and tail were freshly washed, and they radiated the subtle sheen that only brand-name conditioner could provide. The smell of grass—likely leftover from the shampoo—matched the green of her hair. Her eyes and ears had the lightest dusting of makeup, just enough to complement the pink of her coat and the green of her eyes. Her hooves were polished enough to shine, and every time she turned a page or moved something on her desk they caught a brief glint of light. Every color on her, from her eyelashes to her cutie mark, was vibrant and visible.

The other pony was downright dull by comparison. The conversion had fixed her body, but there was still a thin layer of dirt covering her—leftovers from Nicaragua, no doubt. It made her colors look faded.

Her tail had a few flecks of fabric stuck in it. She had been wearing jeans when she came in; the blue remnants contrasted greatly with the blonde hair, making them impossible to ignore.

Her face was little better. A few pieces of old skin littered her eyelashes and cheeks. She might have been Caucasian before the conversion, but there was hardly any guarantee; skin often lost its pigment after falling off the body. The bits stood out sharply against the blue of her coat.

Her wings were the worst. Like the rest of her, the dingy residue of her former body was impossible to miss. Even worse, they were incredibly unkempt. Feathers stuck out at odd angles. Lumps poked up where down had bunched together. It looked like she hadn’t preened in a week or more.

The secretary flipped another page with her hoof. White notebook. White pages. She made a large, sharp checkmark on the page with her mouth. White pen. White teeth. Her eyes scanned the page and then turned it again. White sclera. White necklace. The room was silent, save for the shuffling of paper.

The pegasus had been staring at the wall for many minutes, unmoving, unblinking. It seemed like there was a question that needed asking, but she didn’t want to ask it and be rude.

The secretary finally glanced up. White nametag, with “Soft Shock” written on it in black block letters. “Is something wrong, miss?”

The pegasus blinked slowly. “Where am I?”

“Acclimation Department, Conversion Bureau, Canterlot branch,” Soft Shock recited. “Don’t worry, memory loss is a completely normal side effect of the serum.”

“Why is everything white?” the pegasus asked. Hopefully she wasn’t overstepping her bounds.

“We don’t like to overstimulate fresh converts,” Soft Shock said. “It takes a while for the serum to settle, and we wouldn’t want any…primate instincts resurfacing before that.”

“Right…”

Soft Shock turned back to the papers. “Now, Heather. It seems you didn’t fill out your forms completely. Your name is no big deal, since your human one transliterated well.” Another turn of the page. “But you don’t seem to have listed any special skills.”

“Special skills?” Heather asked. Her voice was flat, monotone—didn’t want to insult the other pony with her attitude. Something told her that would be bad.

“Yes, everypony has one. Fresh converts haven’t earned a cutie mark yet, so we like to set them up in jobs they feel would earn them an appropriate one.”

“Cutie mark?”

Soft Shock smiled. “It’ll come to you. The serum can take a while to finish with the hippocampus and the amygdala.”

Heather turned to the secretary and her desk. The plaque at the front edge caught her eye. It was the only splash of color in the room, besides the two ponies. It was made of polished brass, with matching flathead screws attaching it to the wood. “Acclimation Department Head,” it read.

“So…I used to be human?” Heather muttered.

“Yes, you just took the serum a few minutes ago.”

“Did you used to be human?”

Soft Shock laughed. It was a very professional laugh—restrained and polite and measured, like her hair bun. “No, thankfully I was born a pony.”

Thankfully? That seemed an odd way to put it.

Soft Shock turned back to the paper. “Don’t worry, Heather. Most converts don’t list any special skills or job preferences. Cultural shortcoming, I suppose.”

“Cultural shortcoming?” The words stuck in Heather’s mouth slightly. What was supposed to be six syllables somehow ended up as seven or eight. The Equestrian language hadn’t felt strange until now, when she had to use it for something complicated.

“Yes, humans just don’t seem to emphasize self-discovery the same way ponies do,” Soft Shock said absently. Her eyes were still scanning her papers. “The only converts who have dedicated skills already tend to be old knowledge hoarders.” She made another check mark. “I can count the self-actualized juveniles I’ve helped on one set of legs.”

“That sounds bad.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We keep a few options for these situations,” Soft Shock finally looked up from her papers. “How do you feel about sex?”

“Sex?” They had claimed the treatment would muddle most pre-transformation memories, but that word definitely evoked something. Something which was pleasant but not necessarily nice. Something complicated. “I don’t know.”

“Not surprising. A lot of fresh converts have mixed feelings about it. Another one of those backwards mores, I suppose.” Soft Shock smiled. It was sincere and calming. Whatever negative feelings had been dredged up by the mention of sex, that smile was tailored to soothe them. “Let me put it another way. Do you like making others happy?”

“Of course I do!” Heather’s voice cracked a little, a tinge of panic seeping into the fracture. “I love making other ponies happy! I’m not selfish or anything, I promise!”

“Calm down, Heather. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean…” Soft Shock ran a hoof through her mane, pushing a few stray hairs back into place. “What I meant to say is, humans have a lot of, well, inhibitions and things. They treat sex like a chore or a job or a bargaining chip. Ponies are different—we think of it as a way to help others, as an important emotional service. Sex is a very common job. If you still have some leftover biases, then of course we can find something else for you to do…”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry.” Heather’s voice had settled back into the inoffensive monotone. Couldn’t upset anybody. Anypony. Not “anybody,” anypony. She had just gotten here and she had already come so close to ruining her new life. “I like making others happy, I do. I’m sure your recommendation has my best interests in mind.” She tried to smile, but her face remained neutral.

“Well, if you’re sure.” Soft Shock picked up the notebook again, flipped it open without looking at it. “We have a few places that are always looking for new workers. We’ll get you cleaned up, and then I can have somepony escort you there.”

Heather tried to smile. Once again, her mouth ignored her orders. “Sounds great.”

Author's Note

"People who cannot invent and reinvent themselves must be content with borrowed postures, secondhand ideas, fitting in instead of standing out."
— Warren G. Bennis

2. Healthy Exercise

Healthy Exercise

The Heart of Gold was one of the oldest, biggest, most lavish buildings on Canterlot’s main street. Considering its neighbors included a centuries-old jewelry store, a family tailor shop in its fifth generation, and no less than three foreign embassies, this was no easy feat.

It had no signage, because everyone knew what it was. It had no advertising, because everyone was familiar with its product. It had no marketing, because business was always steady. Its brick exterior and reddish, rusty color scheme was all that was needed.

The minimalism and colors extended to the interior. The foyer was spacious without being intimidating, thanks to an abundance of red linen curtains on nearly every surface. A few crushed velvet cushions waited around for occupants, and doors on the far wall led deeper into the building.

“Well, here we are. The owner knows we’re coming, so she should be right out,” the stallion said.

“Right.” Heather briefly wondered why the escort pony had needed to follow her inside the building. It’s not like she could’ve gotten lost now that they were here. Could she? Her thoughts were still a bit sluggish from the serum, but she wasn’t that bad. Was she?

She shook her head. Second guessing her new life was probably a bad idea. Everybody had her best interests at heart. They were just trying to help her; that’s what they did.

“Uhm, thank you for showing me how to get here,” Heather said.

The stallion smiled—the same sort of soothing, calm smile that the department head had used. “No problem. Why I’m here.”

Heather couldn’t think of any other small talk, so the conversation quickly petered off. Minutes passed. The lobby was completely silent, the soundproofing of the building doing its job exceedingly well.

The doors at the other end finally opened, and a mare walked through them. Were it not for the doors creaking loudly, it would have been hard to tell anypony had arrived; she entered the same way a cheetah might stalk across grasslands—purposefully, gracefully, and with no shortage of natural camouflage. Her mane and tail matched the scarlet decorations hue for hue. Her coat was only a few shades lighter, pink enough to contrast but not enough to stand out.

The sole exceptions were her cutie mark and eyes. Both were deep saffron, just bright enough to be noticeable in the lower light. Further, even though her cutie mark was not a substantial picture—a burst of fireworks—her flank had a noticeable layer of glittery makeup on it. They were like the bright collar of a black cat on a moonless night—impossible to ignore.

The mare smiled. “Well, hello again, Sturdy.”

Heather’s escort returned the smile. “Always a pleasure, Fifi.”

“I see you brought me another one.”

“Well, we know how you like first dibs on converts.” Sturdy’s tone was jocular, but the sentiment was still a bit disconcerting. Did ponies do dibs on things like that?

Fifi turned to Heather and dipped into a small, petite bow. “A pleasure to meet you, dear. My name is Fire Work, though my friends call me ‘Fifi’.” She rose up, and the subtle smile had been replaced with a bigger one. “What is your name?”

“Heather.”

“A lovely name for a lovely pegasus. Let me get a closer look at you.” Fire Work circled Heather, her eyes visibly flicking across Heather’s body.

Heather could feel her spine stiffen, her legs straighten. Fire Work’s steps were relaxed and calm, but the scrutiny didn’t feel any less thorough because of it.

After a few laps, Fire Work put a hoof to her chin. “Well, she definitely has a nice look. Pert primaries, nice color scheme, hair has some sheen to it. I think she’s good enough for a proper interview.” She waved a hoof at the door. “Thank you for bringing her over, Sturdy. I’ll have someone walk her back if she doesn’t pass.”

“By your leave, miss.” Sturdy turned to the door.

“And give my regards to Miss Shock and Mayor Shine,” Fire Work called after him.

“Always do!”

The front doors opened, and a brief burst of noise rushed in off the street. A moment later they closed, and the room was flooded with silence once again.

“Follow me, if you please.” Fire Work jerked her head towards the door.

The intersection beyond was done in the same style as the foyer, spacious and draped in red. Three hallways branched off of it, the center one much wider and lined with doorways on either side.

Fire Work headed down the center hallway, and Heather scurried after her.

“The left room is where the courtesans wait for customers and the guests shop around,” Fire Work explained. “There’s also a cashier there to keep track of transactions and hand out receipts and things. The center is where all the bedrooms are.”

“What about the right one?”

Fire Work grinned. “Storage…mostly.”

The two walked past dozens of doors. Several of them had door hangers latched onto the knobs. The cheap cardboard signs felt out of place against the carved hardwood.

They reached the end of the hallway, and the door in front of them was much more lavish than the others. It was littered with intricate, petite carvings. Instead of the simple brass strips on the others, the handle was a curved carving of a haunch.

Fire Work opened the door, and Heather had to restrain a gasp. Her eyes still widened despite herself. The bedroom was gigantic. A huge, canopied bed sat in the center, and it didn’t even take up that much of the room. Chests and desks and mirrors and a dozen other pieces of furniture lined the walls, all in the same shades of red and natural wood as the rest of the building.

“Now, since you’re here at all, I’m sure that you’re comfortable with the idea.”

“Yes.” One of the mirrors was as tall as the ceiling, and it was set in more carved wood. Was staring rude to ponies?

“Most humans have rather restrictive ideas about sex,” Fire Work said. “Very private and uncomfortable and hostile. Like the griffons, I suppose.”

Heather nodded. Her eyes had meandered to one of the desks. There was another mirror attached to the back, and various palettes and brushes and canisters were stacked neatly on it. It was almost perplexing, using a piece that nice for makeup.

“If you ask me, it’s because of those opposable digits. Ponies couldn’t really take care of themselves until they invented a way to, so we had to help each other out.” Fire Work chuckled. “Unofficial theory, naturally. I’ve never asked a griffon how often they handle themselves.” Another chuckle. “But I hear humans do it a lot.”

“Sometimes,” Heather said absently.

“Well, are you going to admire the furniture all day, or are you going to get started with your interview?”

Heather’s face snapped back to the bed. Fire Work had propped herself on her forelegs, her hooves straight and digging into the covers. Her rear legs were just the opposite; spread apart and dangling off the edge.

Fire Work smiled. “Not that your awe isn’t flattering, or that your shyness isn’t cute, of course.”

“Interview?”

“Well, I’m not just going to give you the job. Have to know you can handle yourself.” Fire Work tilted her head. Her smile tilted too, and the angle made it look smarmier and more self-satisfied. “Help yourself however you like. I give points for creativity, but I won’t argue with the classics.”

Heather didn’t move. Interviews were definitely a thing. She should have expected this. She wasn’t prepared and she didn’t know what to do.

She took a step forward. Then another. Every moment of hesitation meant she was less likely to get the job. What would happen if she didn’t? Did useless converts get sent back to Earth?

Fire Work didn’t say anything. The silent expectation surely was meant to be polite. It wasn’t helping.

Heather was finally next to the bed. Fire Work’s coat was incredibly smooth. From a distance it looked so sleek and shiny and uniform, and up close it was almost the same. A few bits of hair stuck out at weird angles, but only in a few places.

Heather knelt down, and her nose finally passed through the layer of perfume. The smell of Fire Work’s body wasn’t strong, but there was no hiding it that close. The gentle stench of sweat and salt mixed with a few other things.

The visual impact was even more potent. Heather had never seen a horse vagina before. She briefly remembered that she had one too, now. She hadn’t really bothered to inspect herself since the conversion. Her body didn’t feel foreign, so why bother?

Now she had no choice. The color contrasted greatly with Fire Work’s red coat and red bedspread. It was bigger and fuller and plumper than the human version.

Heather blinked, long and hard. Why was she comparing them? She couldn’t really remember what her human body was like, anyway.

Her tongue fell out of her mouth, and for a brief moment it felt so much bigger than it should; the same as Fire Work’s pussy.

Heather leaned forward. Should she close her eyes? Did ponies like theatrics like that? Would it hurt her aim?

Her tongue pressed against Fire Work’s groin. The smell was on her tongue now, salty and sweaty mixed with a few other things. She heard Fire Work gasp. That was good. She was supposed to make others happy; that’s what ponies did.

Now what?

Her legs were getting stiff. She sat down, and she could feel her tongue press deeper into Fire Work’s folds. The taste was overpowering. The smell was overpowering. Her nose brushed against Fire Work’s stomach, and the hair felt so smooth and nice.

With every movement of her tongue, there was a tiny shudder and a sharp intake of breath from Fire Work. It was almost imperceptible, so subtle and restrained, but it was there.

Heather could feel her tongue swimming around, liquids pooling around it as she tried to push it further in. She swallowed, and a trickle of something fell down her chin.

Fire Work was breathing faster now. One of her forehooves latched onto Heather’s head, and she let out a dull gasp. As Heather’s lips brushed against her clit, she let out another. And another.

Heather could feel her jaw getting tired. How long had she been doing this? Was it long enough?

Fire Work’s foreleg buckled, and her back hit the bed with a loud, theatric flop. Heather could feel Fire Work’s hoof pressing her face forward, her tongue being squeezed and Fire Work’s juices soaking into it, her nose bumping into Fire Work’s crotch and the smell sticking to it.

Fire Work shuddered and moaned and dug her hoof into Heather’s skull. Then her hoof went limp and Heather could feel her body sink into the mattress.

Heather coughed a little as she came up for air. It felt like breaking the surface of water after diving. Her mouth and chin were soaked. As cold air hit her face, she could feel some the liquids dribbling down her chin, running down her neck.

For a moment the room was quiet, save the sound of heavy breathing coming from the two ponies.

“Not…not bad,” Fire Work muttered. She rolled over, and her tail brushed across Heather’s face as it settled back into place. “Definitely…enthusiastic.” She turned her head. “But also a bit mechanical.”

“What?”

“You didn’t even enjoy yourself. It felt like you were more concerned with doing it right than with anything else.”

“You…you could tell?”

“Of course! Good sex isn’t just one way.” Fire Work giggled softly. “Plus, I’ve been doing this a while.”

“I’m sorry. I’m…I’m still getting used to everything.” Heather absently wiped her mouth. Her hoof didn’t clean it correctly. “Can…can I try again?”

Fire Work smiled. “Well, with an attitude like that, how can I say no?” Her tail drifted out of the way again. If Heather’s mouth hadn’t already been covered in it, she would have been hit with a particularly strong whiff of Fire Work’s musk.

Heather rolled her jaw a little; she could feel her muscles pop slightly.

She closed her mouth and tried to smile. The motion was stiff, like an overstarched scarf. Finally, she managed a half-smile, and the other side of her face soon followed suit.

Right, enjoy yourself.

Author's Note

"Sex without love is merely healthy exercise."
― Robert A. Heinlein

3. Everything In the World

Everything in the World

The stallion was generic. That was the only word for it. Nothing about him stood out from any other pony. His mane and coat and eyes could have been any color, and it wouldn’t have mattered. His cutie mark could have been a picture of anything, and it would not have made him more noticeable.

Heather had been told that she could pick her clients any way she liked. Courtesans were the same as any other pony, with rights and freedoms, and they could refuse a client if they wished. After several hours in the lobby with the others, however, that hadn’t really meant anything. None of the ponies looked ugly or pretty or cute, just similar. The females had no genital sheath, and males had a slightly blockier jaw most of the time, but that was it. So she had just chosen one at random.

Her co-workers were quite picky. One of them only had sex with pegasi. Another only had sex with redheads. A third only had sex with college students—how they verified such a thing, Heather hadn’t bothered to ask.

She hadn’t really understood them at first. Now, in her room, alone with the stallion she had picked, it made more sense. Her room was decorated in blues and whites, with a few yellow accents here and there. Fire Work had given her complete freedom in the layout and decoration.

The stallion didn’t match anything. He felt out of place, foreign, alien, like a fingerprint on a photograph.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No, it’s nothing.” Heather said.

The stallion was sitting on the edge of her bed. Propped up on his forelegs, just like Fire Work had been yesterday.

Heather wasn’t sure whether to stand or kneel, whether to approach from the front or above. The stallion’s penis was so big, she wasn’t actually sure how to get it into her mouth.

Was it big? Big for a pony or just for a human? Did ponies like it when you complimented their size or was that offensive or something?

The stallion smiled. “New, I take it?”

Heather nodded, her eyes still stuck on the member in front of her. “Is it that obvious?”

The stallion chuckled. “Well, the lack of a cutie mark kind of gave it away.”

“Right.”

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I could—”

“No, I want to. I do. Really.”

If the stallion didn’t believe her, he didn’t say anything. He just waited patiently as she stared at him.

Finally, slowly, arduously, Heather inched forward. His penis looked strange. It was mostly limp, though it had poked out of its sheath almost as soon as he had walked in the door. That wasn’t it, though. It was so veiny. It bulged out in so many weird ways.

Heather blinked. She shouldn’t overthink this. She didn’t even remember what a human penis looked like, did she? So why should a pony one be weird?

Her breath hit his penis again, and she could see it twitch slightly from the attention. That was probably a good start.

Another breath, another smaller twitch. Heather leaned down, her tongue dragging across the stallion’s member, slowly, carefully, arduously. He let out the tiniest whimper, almost inaudible. It was almost surprised, which in turn made it cute.

She could feel the veins rub along her tongue. Either her tongue was sensitive or they were just that big. Was that normal?

Another lick, and another. Soon his cock was fully upright. She might have called it perky or eager if she felt bubbly enough. One more lick, just in case, and as she arrived at the tip his flare pushed seamlessly into her mouth.

Maybe not seamless. The shape felt strange. The flare of his head bumped her teeth on the way in. Not hard enough to injure anything, but it was enough to notice. It definitely broke her rhythm, if only slightly.

It was the same as she pushed her head down. The front of it dragged across the roof of her mouth. It felt odd.

The stallion let out another whimper, this time with a tinge of moan and a drop of unmasked pleasure. That was good. She could feel him shudder as she pressed her head further down, as his penis scraped further down her throat.

She could still feel his veins on her tongue. They widened a bit at the bottom. She pulled her head up, and that confirmed it. As her head moved, she could feel them taper.

That wasn’t a big deal, though. That was probably normal. All veins did that. Every movement still felt strange. Up and down, up and down, and it didn’t feel normal. The way his cock fit in her mouth. All the flares and ridges and bumps on it. It felt bizarre.

She tried to ignore it, tried to focus on other things. The smell of his sweat coating her nostrils. The way her nose bumped into his stomach as she moved up and down. Bump bump. The way his pre tasted as it started to smear on her tongue; dull and greasy, like a flavorless appetizer. The way his body shuddered with every pass. The sound of his breathing getting faster and faster and faster.

And it worked. After awhile the torrent of sensations began to drown out the strangeness. And as she kept bobbing her head up and down, up and down, the sensations became stronger and stronger. His sweat became more pungent, sticking to her nose even longer. Her nose poked into his stomach harder and longer each time that she lowered her head. Bump. Bump. His pre started to come thicker and faster, coating more and more of her mouth, even though it was still flavorless and greasy. His shudders became deeper and longer. His breaths became faster and louder and wetter; she could feel each one hit her mane as it left his mouth.

His forehoof hooked onto the back of her neck, winding into her mane. His cum spilt into her throat. It gushed and flooded, or at least it felt that way. There was so much of it she couldn’t think of any other words. It coated her throat in an instant. It felt so warm and sticky. It kept coming, and before she could react it was coating her mouth and teeth and tongue. It was dripping down her chin, running down her neck and sticking to her coat. She could feel it inside and outside, like something that had soaked into a rug and begun to mildew.

She pushed away from the bed, and the stallion’s hoof broke away like a snapped spring.

She was breathing heavily. His cum was still dripping out of her mouth, soaking into her coat. The smell was stuck on her, stuck in her. It was all she could taste or inhale or think about.

“Are you okay?” The stallion sounded genuinely worried. The look of concern on his face actually eclipsed the cum still oozing out of his cock.

Heather coughed. “I’m…I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“I am. I am. It’s just…I’m just surprised.” She coughed again, and another dribble of semen leaked onto her chin. She wiped her mouth, but her hoof only managed to smear it around instead of removing it. “You’re quite, uhm, virile.” She pushed her most convincing smile onto her face, though she knew all the cum might dampen the effect.

She waltzed over to the bed as gracefully as possible. Her hoof stuck to the carpet for a brief moment, but otherwise it felt reasonably petite.

She leaned across the bed, her rump sashaying as enticingly as she could manage. She turned to look up at the stallion and visibly, forcefully swallowed. Her throat felt sore, her nose felt clogged, but the display would have to be enough.

“Now, I’m sure you want to finish, right?”

The stallion nodded, his eyes drifting over to her flank.

“I promise, you’ll enjoy yourself.” Heather coughed again, creating a few dark stains on the bedsheets in front of her mouth.

If the stallion noticed, he didn’t say anything.

When Heather woke up, the stallion was gone. Even before her eyes opened, she could tell. There was no heat or breathing or any other sign of him. Perhaps she should have expected that.

Her body felt stiff, and every muscle protested as she rolled onto her side. It was like opening a door that hadn’t been oiled in years. She could almost hear a cartoony squeak as she stretched her wings. She could’ve sworn the crick of her neck echoed slightly; her room was sparsely furnished, certainly, but an echo still seemed unlikely.

She sat up. Somepony was knocking on her door. She lurched out of bed, and the crust of sweat and dried fluids covering her neck and groin crinkled slightly. How long had she been asleep? Her limbs felt stiff, and her balance was way off.

Finally, she managed to stumble over to the door and drag it open. “Hello?”

“Hello, Heather!” Fire Work poked her head into the room. Her mane bounced around a little bit, her curls practically oozing eagerness and excitement. “I heard you had your first customer.”

“Yes,” Heather said.

“And? How did it go?” Fire Work slid into the room, her eyes darting up and down and back again. They lingered on the bed, on the carpet, then continued flitting about.

“Well? At least, I think it did.”

Fire Work chuckled. “Well, your flank certainly seems to think so.”

Heather raised an eyebrow. Her nap still had its claws in her brain, so the comment didn’t process right away. She gave up on figuring it out, and her head snapped to the side.

Oh. She had a cutie mark. That was new. Her face scrunched as she tried to remember exactly when it had shown up. She had been a little preoccupied with her client, so she hadn’t really thought about it.

They had mentioned cutie marks when they briefed her, and again when they debriefed her. Represented a pony’s personality or job or something like that.

“Is that…important?”

“Of course it is!” Fire Work waved a hoof at her own mark. “All adult ponies have a cutie mark. It means you belong, that you have a purpose in life. I’ll admit, I had some doubts about you at first, but I can see now that I was wrong.” Fire Work laughed. It was short and loud. “Nothing like an appropriate cutie mark to show you can do your job well.”

Heather squinted at the picture on her flank. Four off-white dots, each a different size. “So…what does mine mean?”

Fire Work chuckled. “Well, I can take a guess.”

Heather turned her head back and flinched. Fire Work was only a few inches from her face.

“You look a little crusty, dear.” Her grin looked quite amused, like a parent watching a child try to open a safety lock. “I imagine your client was quite…enthusiastic?”

“I…I didn’t know there would be so much of it…”

“You don’t seem to be in any rush to clean it up.” Fire Work poked her nose closer to Heather, and her nostrils widened for the briefest moment. “Smells like it has been there a while.”

“I fell asleep…”

Fire Work leaned back. That grin was still stuck to her face. “Why don’t you clean yourself up? Then afterwards, you can go celebrate your cutie mark. Little ponies usually have a party to go along with it, fresh converts are no different. There’s no better way to ingrain something, to make it properly permanent, than a party, after all.”

Fire Work turned to the door. “Two of the other girls got their cutie marks today. I’ll let them know, then all three of you can go together. I’m friends with the owner of Flannigan’s, just tell him I sent you. I’m sure it’ll be quite fun.” Another chuckle. “Why, this one time, a set of seven all had their party together, and none of them got out of bed all next day.”

“But, uhm…”

Fire Work paused, halfway out the door. “Yes?”

“I don’t have any money.”

Fire Work turned her head. Her smile had morphed into a more sultry shape. Now it looked more like a parent telling their child the liquor cabinet was unlocked. “Well, there is always that tip on your nightstand.”

Heather’s head flicked to the table, and there was definitely a very lumpy, very large sack on it.

“But, I thought I worked on commission? Isn’t that what the cashier in the lounge is for?”

“Oh, Heather, tipping is just good manners. And one thing about my customers, they have very good manners.” Fire Work turned a little more, her entire face pointed at the pegasus. “Plus, branding somepony is a big ego boost. I hear some ponies run betting pools on who can get the most. Only natural for them to tip more for it.”

Heather’s ear flattened. “Branding?”

“That’s what they call it when you give someone their cutie mark during sex,” Fire Work said. For a moment she looked ready to laugh, but it passed quickly, like a flickering lightbulb. “Corny. But then, what slang isn’t?” Fire Work winked, and it came and went even faster than her not-laugh. “Just don’t spend it all in one place, dear.”

Fire Work’s tail swished away and the door clicked shut.

Heather stood there for a moment. The conversation and fatigue had distracted her, but now the smell of sex flooded her mouth and nose and lungs. She worked her tongue across her mouth, and her saliva felt like chewing gum.

She turned to the bag of bits on her nightstand. Perhaps Fire Work knew where to buy some fancy soap.

Author's Note

"Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power."
― Oscar Wilde

4. Well-Intentioned

Well-Intentioned

The office was still bland. If anything, the waiting room was actually duller than the offices. The only real features were the secretary’s desk and a row of chairs; even those blurred into the rest of the room thanks to their flat, white colors. A door on the far side led to the rest of the building, but aside from its hinges and handle it looked like just another part of the wall. It had been a week since she was last here, but Heather was fairly certain that the office chair had been cushioned, instead of this molded piece of plastic she was sitting in now. There were a few other ponies occupying some of them, but they seemed as bored as her.

She shifted her flank again, and she could feel the dildo buried inside her body reposition slightly. She had wrapped her tail around her groin to hide it, but nopony seemed to notice or mind anyway. No one had given her a second glance on the walk over, and no one was now.

The smell was definitely noticeable. Every time she shifted in her seat, the toy would press into her body, and a little trickle of her juices would follow it out. The longer it took her appointment to arrive, the damper her tail got. The smell was strong enough to reach her nose now. It was still faint, but that didn’t make it any easier to ignore. There weren’t many other ponies in the office, and none of them spared her a second glance.

A pair of mares walked in. Heather’s ear flicked. They were in the middle of a conversation. Anything was a welcome distraction in the sterile waiting room, alone with the scent of her body.

“I’m just saying, it sounds like it won’t work,” the blue one said.

“And what if it does? I sure wouldn’t complain about having less fresh converts everywhere,” the pink one said.

“But humans don’t know anything about magic or energy redirection! They could really hurt themselves.”

“They haven’t got much left to lose anyway.” The pink one paused to sign a sheet of paper, and her friend followed suit. The secretary behind the desk waved them in, but didn’t look up from her papers. “Besides, I heard a pony scientist went over to help them.”

“That’s crazy! Why would anypony want to do something like that?”

The pink one shrugged. “A human helped make the conversion serum. A pony helping with a barrier lock wouldn’t be too different. Every species always has some mavericks lurking around.”

“I guess that’s true. Still, seems risky,” the blue one said. “Especially since the barrier has gotten so big.”

“If you ask me, they might be able to slow it down, but stopping expansion completely would take way too much work. They’d need more than one defector to know everything we do about energy manipulation, and even then, they’d need to build enough of the things…”

The two entered the door that led to the offices, and their voices immediately cut off as it closed.

Heather frowned. Barrier. That sounded familiar. Something about the human world she had forgotten, by the sound of it. It definitely felt important.

The recollection inched closer the more she mulled it over. She shifted in her chair and flinched slightly as her leg moved. Right. She had almost forgotten about the piece of silicon buried inside her body. Ignoring it probably defeated the point of leaving it there, but it was hardly comfortable. A little respite couldn’t hurt.

A door opened, and Soft Shock poked her torso through. She looked up from her clipboard and her eyes immediately settled on Heather. “Ah, Heather, there you are. Right on time. Please, do come in.”

It was a short walk to Soft Shock’s office. It looked the same as before. Heather had been right; these chairs were cushioned.

Soft Shock waved a hoof at the chair as she sat down. “Please, have a seat.” One of her white notepads was ready for her, sitting patiently in the middle of her desk. A white pen sat next to it. “This debriefing is mostly to check in on you, make sure that you’re integrating into pony society seamlessly.” Soft Shock smiled. It was the same disarming smile from last week, and the pen in her mouth didn’t make it any less potent. “I see you have a cutie mark, which answers my first three questions.” A few checkmarks on the paper. “Are you enjoying your new job?”

“Yes,” Heather said.

“Good.” Another check mark. “Fire Work is an old friend of mine. She always treats fresh converts well.”

“Yes, she does.”

Soft Shock turned a page. The tiny sound was sharp and noticable in the quiet of the office. “Having a good boss and a cutie mark are good first steps, but sometimes memories can take their time reforming. Have you been learning the trade well? Would you say you are good at it?”

Heather shifted in her seat. “I…” She bit her lip. She hadn’t been looking anywhere in particular, but now she found herself looking at the floor.

“Yes?”

“I could show you, if you want.”

“Show me what?”

Heather finally looked up. Soft Shock still had that polite smile on her face, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I could show you…how I do my job.”

“Oh?” Soft Shock set her pad down. She did it carefully, slowly. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine.” Heather rose from her seat. Her tail slowly drifted sideways as she did, a few strands of hair unsticking from her body. “After all, ponies are much more objective about these sorts of things. Fire Work told me. No reason not to.” Her tail kinked to the side, and her scent started to leak into the room.

“Well, if you’re absolutely certain,” Soft Shock said. “I don’t usually do such, uhm, direct evaluations, but it would certainly help me see how you’re integrating into your new career.” Her chair slid easily across the white carpet. The back was just curved enough to let her lean back, the seat just wide enough to let her spread her legs. The white pleather of the seat squeaked as she shifted her position. The same legs-spread, back-arched welcome that Heather had gotten so used to seeing. The only difference this time was the presence of armrests, but they were too far apart to be an impediment.

Heather skirted the desk and approached Soft Shock. Approach slowly: dragging things out a little at the right moment builds suspense, Fire Work had told her.

The room was still quiet, but now the flapping of paper had been replaced with Soft Shock’s breathing. She was a little excited, Heather could tell. Her eyes followed Heather’s every movement, and a few strands of her mane had already spilt out of her bun.

Heather finally arrived behind the desk and knelt down. Soft Shock smelled nice, like grass clippings. Fire Work had put on just enough perfume and shampoo to mingle with the smell of her body, but Soft Shock had completely covered it up. Even as Heather drove her tongue into the pony, the smell persisted.

Couldn’t have that.

Heather slid a hoof down to her groin. The toy buried inside her felt so big. Her muscles were clamping down on it, and she could feel every inch of it inside her. When it slid in deeper, a tingle rippled across her entire body.

Her moan was muffled by Soft Shock’s body. She could feel the vibrations of her tongue echoing across Soft Shock’s folds, feel the shudders as Soft Shock whimpered and clutched at her chair.

Her pussy was starting to get warm. She coaxed the dildo a bit, and another electric surge began to radiate across her. It was like a spreading fire, and every little movement coaxed it further along. Even the feel of the carpet rubbing against her started to help her along. If she hadn’t been sitting already, the pinpricks of pleasure would’ve made her legs buckle.

Another moan, another whimper. Heather could feel herself dripping onto the carpet. The smell had crept upward. Hot and sticky and musky. The smell of her own body cut right through Soft Shock’s conditioner. The scent sticking to her nostrils was like a hypodermic full of caffeine. She picked up her pace, her tongue drilling into Soft Shock, her mouth massaging the pony’s clit.

Soft Shock whimpered again. One of her forelegs fell to the side, clearly too drained to continue clamping onto her chair.

Heather gasped, and this time it was loud enough to interrupt her rhythmic working of Shock’s pussy. She could feel every hair on her body. The ones on her foreleg and chest rubbed against each other, the ones on her back legs rubbed against the carpet, and the ones on her other foreleg rubbed against her client. The rest just stood at attention. A stray breath from Soft Shock sent another prickle flowing across her, crashing into the one at her pussy and back again.

Soft Shock wasn’t the moist type. She was barely wet at all, and definitely not enough to taste anything. Heather worked her hoof again, trying to coax more out of her body, to make up the difference.

The smell filled the room now. It had drowned out the conditioner and sterile furniture completely, replacing them with the fragrant, intoxicating stench of sweat and sex and pleasure.

Every breath Heather took buried the smell inside her nostrils and mouth. It was like drinking ninety proof vodka, the way it burnt into her throat and lungs. Before it could fade she was already taking another breath, and a fresh coat would soak into her.

Soft Shock moaned, loud and deep and throaty. The sound stuttered a little, like a frayed film reel. By the time she finished she had gone back to whimpering, and as she finished screaming her body slumped into the chair.

That was fast.

Heather tore her face away. She hadn’t really been paying attention to Soft Shock, but the pony definitely looked winded. There was a sheen of sweat on her coat, and her chair looked far glossier than when they had started.

Heather licked her lips. She hadn’t really gotten to finish, but that was okay. As long as Soft Shock was happy. Her job wasn’t to work on herself after all.

Minutes passed. The only sound in the room was Soft Shock breathing heavily, hunched in her chair. Heather was breathing quickly as well, but it was drowned out by Soft’s ragged inhales.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Heather asked.

Soft Shock coughed. “Yes…yes I did.” She dragged herself upright, her legs visibly shaking. “I…I think I can safely say you are integrating into pony society.” She lurched out of her chair and towards her desk. Her mane was askew. Her bun looked like a cord of yarn that hadn’t been tied tightly, just barely holding its shape. Every step she took made it sag a little further down her neck. “I’ll let Fire Work know the Department appreciates her effort.” Another check mark on the paper, this one far more jagged than the others. “I’ll… Thank you for your time, Heather. I’ll make sure your dossier is ready for our meeting next week.”

Heather nodded and headed towards the door. Her tail was still kinked to the side, but it slowly drifted back into place. By the time she opened the door it was the same as ever, the dildo clearly poking out just beneath it.

The door closed, and Soft Shock collapsed into her seat. She hadn’t had such an enthusiastic convert in a while. She ran a hoof through her mane, and a few stray hairs stuck back into place, glued together by sweat.

That was a good thing, though. Sometimes fresh converts took a while to adjust, so it was good that Heather was adapting so well. Soft Shock smiled to herself. It always made her feel good to help the humans overcome themselves and become part of Equestria.

She dragged her chair back into place and settled in. Her next appointment wasn’t for a bit, so she could catch her breath. It had been a busy week for new converts, but that just meant that the Conversion Bureau was doing its job correctly, making the transition as painless and accommodating as possible.

She leaned back in her chair. Whenever she got tired this was her favorite position. The Acclimation Department’s motto was inscribed above her office door, and it always reminded her of her duty, of all the converts she had helped and all the ones she would help in the future.

After all; “A place for everyone, and everyone in their place.”

Author's Note

"I distrust the government but as a realistic conservative I think government is staffed with mostly well-intentioned but incompetent people — not because they're dumb, but because bureaucracies are dumb. These conspiracy theorists reverse this entirely. They think government is evil-intentioned but supremely, even divinely, competent. That's crazy-talk, Count Chocula."
— Jonah Goldberg, Skepticism Versus Paranoia

This story was an interesting experience for me; using sex to explore character is nearly the exact opposite of what I normally use this account for (using characters to explore sex). In a way, the sex scenes were the part I had the hardest time writing, because they had to be constructed with a purpose other than arousal.

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to favorite, upvote, downvote, and especially comment—whether you liked it, even if you hated it, and especially if you disagreed with it. After all, the greatest success, the loftiest goal a story can strive towards is to foster discussion. :twilightsmile:

And don't forget to check out my prereaders/editors; Sorren, OkemosBrony, and Idylia. They were all very polite and thorough, and this story would not be nearly as readable without their help.