1. 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