Affine Scheme is one of the most punctual ponies I know. He’ll bitch and moan about it, yes – especially if it’s before noon – but once he’s committed to be somewhere, any hour of the day, he’ll be there, no exceptions. That’s a pretty good quality to have as a Service member.

That’s why I began to get worried after waiting even fifteen minutes for him, at the head end of a quiet little alley in the Old Mews. Ponies behind two of the windows above had been throwing me suspicious looks for at least ten minutes; apparently the locals were not fond of loiterers. Sensible ponies.

I hadn’t seen Finey since I had to desert him last Saturday, when there were two jobs that same morning my niece Sweetpepper came visiting. I wondered a bit if his being late was to get back at me for that, but that wouldn’t be like him. Old Fizzy said he had been sick, and when there was a rescue to do on Wednesday night, I’d been teamed up with Blunt Thorn instead.

Blunt and I had rescued a unicorn couple who were playing a kinky card game and had gotten into this weird stand-off where each of them knew the combination to the hoof stocks the other one was in, but absolutely refused to be the first to reveal it. Makes you wonder how they stay together at all if they’d rather pay hundreds of bits for a rescue team than concede to the other in a silly game. The mare even made not-so-veiled offers of sexual favors to Blunt if we’d only free her and leave the hubby for her to deal with. Blunt said afterwards we ought to have charged them double just for that.

They say it takes all kinds, but I worry for the future of ponykind sometimes.

“Hey, Bellchaser.”

It was Finey, finally arriving. I’d been scanning the skies for him, but he came walking quietly. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days, and his wings seemed to be sagging – I don’t know the right pegasus word for it. Even his tail just dragged along the cobblestones.

“Weeping windigos, Finey, you look half dead. Are you alright?”

“Oh yes, I’m fine. Been a little busy is all.” He didn’t sound very convincing, but the basic message of I don’t want to talk about it was unmistakable. “I’ve got our work slip and the key. Shall we go?”

He led the way up a stairwell and knocked on the door that matched the name on the work slip. There was no answer, so we stood around and waited for three minutes, as per doctrine. I passed the time by trying to predict which kind of pony and home we would find. It’s a little game I have with myself; sometimes I get it right.

Some places in the Old Mews are pretty decrepit, but this house seemed to be of the nicer kind. The paint in the stairwell didn’t flake; the stairs themselves were worn but clean. There were even well-kept potted plants in the windowsill on each landing. The apartment behind the door would be smallish and quirky, ridiculously expensive, and actually lived in. Nopony pays for an address like this just for a love nest. I guessed at a thirtyish unicorn mare: single, ambitious, and successful. Someone very much like what I plan to become in a few years once my novel is finished and sweeps the ground away under the literary establishment. (A girl can dream, can’t she?)

We let ourselves in after Finey knocked a second time. It was dark inside – the sun had been set while I waited for Finey – and not a sound to hear either.

We found our client in the kitchen, a young earth mare with a messy purplish mane and cream coat. She was shackled to the floor with a chain that barely allowed her to stand up straight where it was bolted down. She stood there motionlessly when Finey turned on the light, staring at us with wide eyes.

“Good evening, ma’am,” said Finey, perfectly following the employee manual. “We’re from the Rescue Service. Do you need a hoof here?”

“You’re what?” Her voice was breathy and uncertain, sounding as young as she looked.

“We’ll explain that later, sweetie,” I said. Leave it to Finey to go all ‘ma’am’ on her; if this poor thing had just been walked in on in an embarrassing situation by two strangers she didn’t even know would be coming, the first order of the day would be to get her out of the embarrassing situation. “Do you have the keys to that chain around anywhere?”

She backed a step away from us, the short chain forcing her to lower her head slightly.

“Look, I know this looks weird, but – and it probably is, too – but, you see, it’s just this game me and my coltfriend have where we pretend I’m –”

She froze in mid-sentence when we heard the front door open again behind us. Literally froze, with one hoof off the ground and her mouth half open.

The pony who entered was almost exactly what I had imagined the occupant to be, except a stallion. He was steel blue, with a smartly permed ice blue mane and a confident bearing, and wasted no time taking in the scene before he went over to the chained mare and hugged her lightly. “Easy now, Cressie, it’s all right.”

She put her hoof down and breathed again.

The newcomer turned to us. “You must be the rescuers, I take it?” He held a hoof out towards Finey, who came forward to shake it. With his other hoof he gently pushed the mare’s head towards Finey’s hoof. She sniffed at it cautiously.

“See? They’re friends!” He scratched the back of her head, and I could see her relax a bit.

Finey drew back his hoof and quickly stepped a few paces back.

Deciding I might as well play along, I held out a hoof and had it sniffed too. The mare sat down on the floor and smiled shyly to me and Finey.

“Good girl. Who’s a good bitch? You are! Yes you are!” The stallion ruffled her neck with both forehooves, and she in turn licked his face sloppily.

“And this is Cressie, short for Lavender Crescent,” he said to us, finishing the introductions. He levitated a key down from atop one of the cupboards, and unlocked the padlock that fixed the chain to the client’s collar. She reared up and licked his face again.

“Can’t just let her roam the flat when she’s alone,” he said apologetically. “She made a royal mess of everything when I tried once.”

“How old is she?” I asked, keeping it casual. This stallion seemed to be my age or a bit older, whereas the filly might barely be legal, as far as I could see.

“Hmm, I’ve only had her for a year and a half, but her papers say she’s twenty-one.”

Cressie had wandered off and was now trying to sniff Finey’s butt, tail wagging quietly. Finey backed slowly towards the hallway, looking not at all happy with the attention. Then her tail glowed blue with her master’s magical field, and he pulled her gently away from Finey.

“Come here, Cressie! Don’t bother the stallion.”

She emitted a few unhappy yips, but then came around towards me and the owner and started sniffing at my chest. Instinctively I put up a hoof and scratched her behind the ear, which was rewarded by a blissful smile as she rubbed her head against my hoof and wagged her tail again.

“She’s a treasure, isn’t she?” said her master. “I’m Pokey”.

With an easy smile, he held out his hoof towards me, and I shook it, smiling back. “Bellchaser.”

Finey didn’t say anything.

“Terribly sorry you guys had to come out here for nothing. Had a bit of a crunch at work and didn’t even get time to call and reschedule.” He pulled out a wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh no, we don’t handle money, sir,” said Finey hurriedly. “The head office’s going to bill you. We don’t even know which plan you’re on.”

“I see. Can I at least offer you a drink, then?” He smiled that smile again. “You too, of course,” he added towards Finey.

“Oh no,” said Finey. “We can’t – I mean, it could be perceived as improper to see the customers socially. Sorry.”

I wondered what had gotten into him. There is a paragraph in the manual about not trying to befriend the customers, because many of them prefer the anonymity of being rescued by somepony they don’t know. But this customer was explicitly inviting us, and I was a bit curious too – usually we only see the clients when something has gone wrong for their relationship. Here we were being invited to observe one that seemed to work. I wasn’t about to let that chance slip away.

“Sounds like my colleague has to go,” I said, “but I think I can stay for a drink.”

I walked with Finey to the door. “You really shouldn’t do this,” he half-whispered to me. “The rules –”

“– are really not as strict as that, Finey. Say hi to Fizzy from me.”

He looked for a moment like I’d slapped him, and bolted down the stairs as if the headless horse was after him. Strange.

I sat down at the kitchen table while Pokey pulled forth two glasses and a bottle.

“So what do you do when you’re not rescuing lost pets?”

“I’m a writer,” I said. Actually I mostly wait tables, but you don’t need to reveal everything on a first date. (And this wasn’t even a date; so much the worse).

“Oh, interesting! What do you write?” He put down two glasses on the table and poured an inch of deep red liquid into each. Cressie came walking in from the corridor leading to the other rooms, and watched him for a moment before she left again.

“Mostly historical fiction, but also some contemporary. I’m trying to work out a way to make the old ‘technical realism’ mood work for a modern setting.”

He sat down, listening politely, but I could see I was losing him with technicalities. “I had a novella in The Canterlote last year.”

“Oh, that’s pretty good, I hear. Afraid I’m not a subscriber.”

“Me neither, with those prices.” I took a sip of my drink. It tasted strong and sweet, with a hint of legumes. “What is this?”

“Something new out of the Crystal Empire, called ‘icebrand’. I’ve been searching for the right occasion to drink it.”

I tried another sip. “I like it.”

“Finding the right pony to drink it with helps too.” Cressie had wandered in again and put her head up to his flank; he petted her absent-mindedly while he held up his glass towards me. “Cheers!”

It was clear enough that he was flirting with me, even right in front of his marefriend. Perhaps I ought to have let that be a hint, said my thanks and left. But still I was curious about how their relationship worked if he could do that. If I could find out what made them tick, I might be able to use it in my book –

Ah, buck it, who was I kidding? This guy was a hunk, and I wanted him, alright – even if my role would probably just be an extra, brought in to realize somepony’s infidelity fantasy.

I raised my glass too. “To finding the right pony.”

“To the right pony.” He drank up.

Cressie left again and could be heard knocking on the inside of the front door. Perhaps ‘pawing at it’ would be more accurate, what with her doggie act and all. It made Pokey actually turn his attention to her.

“Um, I’m really sorry, but it seems I have to take Cressie on her evening walk,” he said. “You know how it is – can’t get out of that just because of charming company. So, unless you’d like to join us . . .?”

“I’d love to,” I said.

“I’m surprised you’re not using a leash.” We were down in the street, strolling leisurely up towards Reinwick Square while Cressie meandered ahead of us, sniffing flower pots and lightpoles.

“Oh, you know, these days if you keep a pet on a leash in public, there’ll be all sorts of animal welfare groups showing up to make a ruckus. She’s mostly well-behaved enough not to need one either – though I do take one with me in case she starts acting up.”

My writer self had to admire how smoothly he was blending the dog fantasy with pony reality, crafting an explanation that was meaningful on either level. Ponies would stare if I went about everyday life parading a fellow pony around on a leash, he was saying, and that wouldn’t be fun for either of us. But when the occasion is right we still do it.

Cressie was waiting for us when we rounded the corner at Reinwick Square. Pokey nodded quickly to her, and she made a beeline for a small shack at the other end of the plaza. A public outhouse.

It dawned upon me what the purpose of the trip was. “Don’t you have a toilet in your apartment?”

“Only a pony one,” Pokey answered.

I gained new respect for Cressie. Here was a filly who took her doggie impersonation freakishly seriously. And who was quite good at it too. If she hadn’t been twice the size of any self-respecting dog, I might have forgotten already she wasn’t really one. Though I had to wonder what someone who didn’t already know would see – perhaps just a young pony acting a bit silly, wearing a necklace? It wouldn’t be apparent that it was really a collar and the heart-shaped pendant dangling from it a padlock, unless you stared more closely at her than would be polite.

We circled the square while waiting for Cressie to finish her business. Pokey told me about his job, managing the timetabling office at the Equestrian Railways. (Or perhaps he embellished that a little). I repaid him with some slightly sanitized anecdotes of pony rescuing.

That made me think of something. “When we arrived here, it looked as if Cressie didn’t know we might be coming.”

“Well, right. It’s my job to make sure she’s safe, but you can’t expect a bitch like her to care how I do that.”

I couldn’t help wincing a bit. “I don’t know. It seems like she understands a lot more than most dogs.” How’s that for works-on-both-levels, smart guy?

“Of course she does; she’s a smart cookie. Aren’t you a smart cookie? That’s what you are!” The last was to Cressie, who had just come back from the outhouse. She wagged her tail while he ruffled her mane affectionately.

We began walking back towards his apartment. He continued, “But the thing is not really if she understands, but whether she should need to care. If she did, what would be the point?”

Cressie looked at him quizzically, clearly aware that there was a context to this conversation she had missed. Then she whirred her head and trotted down ahead of us again, tail held high and relaxed.

I walked beside Pokey, thinking it over. He had a point – whatever was in their arrangement for her, being free of responsibility had to be a large part. And what did he get out of it? All I’d seen of him was easy-going and courteous, not the type who’d enjoy having power over a mare for its own sake.

I felt him swish his tail against mine, trying to twist them around each other. Okay, if I was going through with this, I had to know whether I or Cressie was the third wheel here. She’d called him her coltfriend, hadn’t she?

“So, um, Cressie said that you –”

“She said?” He sounded amused. “Oh ho, there’s a naughty girl. She ought to know bitches don’t talk.”

There it was again. “In her defense, there were two strange ponies standing around talking to her at the time.”

“Hrm. Perhaps I’ll let it slide this one time.” He continued in a lower voice, as if letting me in on a secret. “It’s her rules too, you know.”

“Does she have a safeword?” You don’t work in the kink business without picking up a few terms. I hoped this one was not inappropriate to ask about.

“Look like she needs one? But if you must know, it’s ‘banana pie’.”

Cressie herself had disappeared out of view, but as soon as Pokey gave a sharp whistle and called her name she came galloping around a corner and fell into step beside him. At least it didn’t seem she was being held against her will.

Back in his apartment we settled in the living room couch, and he served kibble and water in bowls for Cressie, beer and hay chips for himself and me. I still wasn’t exactly sure where I stood, but was content for the moment to be the one who had Pokey’s foreleg around my loin. Eventually he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Cressie lay by the fireplace, gnawing quietly at a treat Pokey had given her.

I walked over to her. “Cressie?” She looked up. “Banana pie.”

Her eyes went wide, and for a split second she looked lost and uncertain. Then she lifted up her head a fraction of a hoof straighter than she usually held it. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to be sure you’re okay with, um, all this.”

By ‘all this’ I mostly meant my own presence. And the fact that I was about to seduce her coltfriend, or possibly the other way around, but in any case right in front of her.

“I am if he is,” she answered quietly. A small smile flickered across her muzzle and was gone again. “But thanks for asking.”

Seconds passed. “Is that all?” she finally said, throwing a quick glance in the direction Pokey had left in.

I had a thousand questions. Was she chained up in that kitchen every day? How could she be okay with all this? But this wasn’t the right time to ask. She wasn’t supposed to speak, I knew – and whatever it was she wanted out of this, being interviewed by nosy strangers wouldn’t be it.

So I just nodded, and without a word she went back to munching on her doggy treat.

Pokey started being a lot more cuddly after he came back. He petted my mane and nibbled at my ears, and I was more relaxed after talking to Cressie, so I put my hooves around him and my head against his chest and made little satisfied hums to encourage him to continue.

Suddenly there was something licking at one of my hooves. I started upright, and Cressie danced a few steps backward, staring at me innocently.

Pokey chuckled. “Aw, she wants a part of the fun too. That’s what happens when one lives with a pet. I can put her out in the kitchen if it bothers you?”

Do you want me to send my marefriend away while we make out so she has to imagine what happens, or are you okay with her watching?

I looked at Cressie, who shrugged almost imperceptibly. You’re on your own here.

I didn’t want to be responsible for her being chained again. Well, in for a bit, in for a gemstone. “Oh, she can stay, of course,” I said as nonchalantly as I could, and threw my hooves around Pokey again.

He smiled and started nuzzling though my mane. I nibbled quietly at his chest fur. After some time a fifth member of his came growing up between his legs.

So, moment of truth. Could I actually go through with this? Only one way to find out.

“Ooh, is that thing for me?” I asked, bimboing it up ever so slightly.

He grinned and didn’t even glance towards Cressie. “Who else could it be for?”

“But it is so large!” Careful now, don’t overdo it.

He just smiled smugly. (Ah, stallions!) I shifted around on the couch so I could reach, moving my muzzle down the length of his cock while exhaling slowly on it. Once past the end I settled down to suckle on one of his balls, using my horn to poke at the base of his cock from time to time to remind him there’d be more coming.

He leaned back and wrapped his hind legs around me, scratching my crest. That was a nice touch, not just letting me do all of the work.

Then I felt Cressie push my tail aside and start licking at my private parts! I almost bailed out then and there, because I really don’t like mares that way. But . . . she was pretty good at it. I could almost imagine that it was another stallion and we were having a threesome. And I didn’t want to go back on my word either, though I hadn’t been aware this was what I okayed.

To hay with it. I let her continue, and moved up to give a good tongue massage to the first part of Pokey’s shaft, between the sheath and the ridge going around it halfway up. He was breathing heavily now and making troubled little noises. But he’d just have to keep it in until I reached the end in my time, or there’d be a mess to clean up.

I took perhaps a little bit longer to move past the ridge than than I usually would, somewhat distracted by Cressie’s ministrations. Pokey began using his legs to urge me forward, and when his gasps turned to panicked swears, I took pity on him and cut to the chase, reaching forwards so I could close my lips around the tip of his cock.

It had sounded like it was at the last moment, but he proved to have better self-control than that. I had time to take him in almost down to the ridge and then pull back slowly, sucking gently while I played my tongue around the shape of the tip. Only once, though; when I moved down again he did come, squirting warm goop into my mouth. Quite a lot of it too – if I hadn’t managed to swallow some of it while he was still going on I might have overflowed.

When he was done I sat up, pushing Cressie out of the way, so I could get at my beer and wash the rest of the cum down. I admire mares who can pretend they like the taste, but that’s not me. Still worth it, though – most stallions get a lot more receptive to your ideas once you’ve blown them.

Cressie looked so contrite after I’d pushed her away that I had to reach out a hoof and pet her on the head to show I wasn’t angry. She’d just wanted to be nice, and it wasn’t as if I had come or anything.

Pokey had collapsed on the couch. He smiled weakly to me and raised his eyebrows in a way he probably thought was suave and charming. It looked so goofy that I giggled a bit and grinned back. Well, perhaps it did work.

“So, do you want to stay the night too?” he asked.

I’ve never been one to play hard to get. “Buck yes,” I said.

We finished the beer and chips before retiring to his bedroom, walking side by side through the hallway with Cressie trailing behind us.

He turned to me and kissed my cheek. “You on the pill?” he asked.

“IUD. Less maintenance that way.”

He didn’t even bat an eye, but just nodded approvingly, before his horn lit up and he opened the bedroom door.

Inside was a princess-sized bed and a huge wicker basket by the door, lined with a blanket. Cressie quietly slid into the room and lay down in it, just before Pokey closed the door.

I settled down on the bed and let him run the show for some time – nibbling and nuzzling and petting and tickling and pecking me everywhere. Soon I was drunk with his caresses and full of happy little shivers. He pushed me gently with his muzzle, rolling me over on my back. Then he was down on the floor, suckling at my teats which his head stuck in between my hind legs.

“Um, are you gonna mount this way?”

He paused. “That a problem?”

“I’d prefer right way up, if it’s all the same to you.”

He thought for the tiniest moment. “Okay,” he said. “Just roll over when you’re ready. But stay on the bed.”

Feeling pretty close already, I rolled onto my belly again and inched backwards until I could put my hind legs down on the floor. I usually prefer standing up for sex, but I also like being with a stallion who knows what he wants. Sometimes you have to compromise.

I was even readier than I had thought, because I could hear the wet swop when he rose up and the front of his cock slipped into my rear. In one long, slow, smooth movement he slid it all the way into me and came to rest with his sheath against my ass. My fur stood on ends with anticipation.

Then I made the mistake of glancing over at Cressie. She lay in the dog basket with her head raised, watching us solemnly. I stared at her, and she returned my gaze.

What was she thinking right now? Had she set Pokey up to do this, or was she indulging him in his lust for outside nookie? Were we hurting her? Her expression was unreadable.

The briefest of small smiles graced her, just like when we talked earlier, and she looked away.

What did that smile mean? Was it, okay, you win! or on the other hoof, enjoy him while you can because I’m the one he loves and tomorrow he’ll be mine alone?

Pokey had seen where I was looking. “Ignore her,” he whispered, and he used his magic to cover my eyes with a lock of my own mane, like a blindfold. I could have resisted, of course, but he was right. I let my head drop down on the bed, and he began fucking me in earnest.

At first he shuttled back and forth slowly and methodically, but then his pace and force increased, becoming proper thrusts. Without forelegs on the ground to push back with, there wasn’t much I could do to contribute, but there’s something to be said for simply being taken without having to work for it, once in a while. I forgot about Cressie and knew only Pokey, hot and firm as he plowed into me again and again, driving me to moan loudly –

And he stopped. Suddenly. With his cock pulled halfway back. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to –”

What the hay? “No no, just go on,” I said. Dammit, I was so close. He had stopped with his ridge just outside my clit. I tried to push myself back onto it, but managed only to make the bedsprings bounce a bit. “Please.”

“Please what? I’m a bit confused here.” The concern in his voice didn’t hide the teasing tone.

That was what he wanted? “Fuck me!” I pled, through clenched teeth.

He responded by pulling back and suddenly ramming all the way in, almost knocking the air out of me. “Is that what you want?” he whispered sweetly. “Is this how you like it?”

“Yes!” Don’t you stop again now. “Rut me!”

He granted me another ramming.

“Hump me!” Ram. “Ride me!” Ram. “More!” Ram. I was running out of synonyms, as well as clarity of mind. “Yes! Do! Ah –” Finally I came, shaking and shivering, whinnying incoherently.

It turned out that Pokey was a rester.

Some stallions like to stay on top of their mares for some time after they’ve come. And there are mares who like it that way too and find it wonderfully romantic and intimate. I’ve never seen the allure, though. Just the feeling of his cock shriveling and crawling back inside you while you wait for him to bucking get on with it . . . ew!

It’s bad enough when that happens standing up. But like this, with me sandwiched in between the bed and him, that felt positively oppressive. I felt I had a bit of trouble breathing and started squirming a little under him. Thankfully he got the hint and pulled out, with no grumbling at all, but a friendly little pat on my flank as he climbed down. Gentlecolt to the last.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cressie lower her head and curl up in the basket, her muzzle full of smile. Pokey stepped over to her and ruffled her mane tenderly, before going back to the bed and holding up the blankets for me so I could get properly into it.

He lay down too and wrapped his forehooves around me. I kissed one of his fetlocks and bit down on it softly, just enough to stake a claim. I may only have your stallion on loan, little filly, but I do have him.

After that I must have fallen asleep.

* * *

I’ve always been an early riser. As soon as sunlight began shining through the blinds I slipped out of the bed and sought out Pokey’s bathroom to freshen up a bit before I left. There was a single toothbrush in the glass by the sink.

The sound of running water must have woken him. When I came out in the hallway again and carefully opened the front door, he emerged from the kitchen.

“You’re leaving.” His ears fell. “I hoped you’d stay for breakfast.”

“I have an early shift,” I lied. “But I did have a wonderful night.”

He nodded and floated a piece of paper towards me. “Call me sometime,” he said. “I think Cressie likes you. Usually it’s as though she scares the mares that I, um . . .” He shrugged.

No shit. I took his paper and we nuzzled goodbye. “I’ll think about it. Tell her I like her too.”

Then I went.

He didn’t really need to give me his number, because it’s on the work slip which I still have. But it was a nice gesture, and it does make it more official, less abuse-of-my-position.

I have it in front of me here. I could call him right now, set up a second time. But I doubt I will. They’re both nice ponies, but it would just be too weird in the long run. Being number two isn’t really my style, and that’s what I would be.

Also, I’m pretty sure I’m straight.

Author's Note

Thanks to Taialin and Avorin for prereading and helpful comments.
Kinda-sorta inspired by Flur's a Good Dog by Kaidan.