What could you say of Fluttershy’s sexuality? Truth was, she didn’t have the best of relationships with herself in that regard. Really, it could have been healthier.

She’d always been a meek pony. Adolescence had only exacerbated the matter. In fact, Fluttershy had stumbled through it with an awkward, gangly gait, and the whole process had nearly been resolved by the time she really began to notice meaning behind the occasional breathless, tight feelings she had, hidden in under the social terror.

Of course, she knew all about sex, and breeding, and the logistics of reproduction. That was all nature; natural and celebrated, in its way. But that understanding always came with a subtle division of self from subject.

‘Sex’, in casual conversation with Fluttershy, was a word for gender. ‘Hot’ was a temperature, and ‘sexy’ warranted an immediate blush and an emergency screen of defensive hair to hide behind.

Indeed, the conscious mind of Fluttershy had very little to do with sex, and sexuality, and all the memorable messes that came with it.

The unconscious mind of Fluttershy, however; that was a different matter. A different matter entirely.

All this meant that sexual release for Fluttershy was very rare, an occurrence to be measured on the scale of seasons. Like the swarming of honeybees it came from hidden, internal prompts so that a myriad number of tiny tensions, frustrations and desires came out in a nascent, nigh-unstoppable rush of urges, and one entirely detached from consciousness. Bees didn’t think about happening, they just did.

Today was one of those such days, and though she thought knew nothing of it yet, she was already being tugged at subtly by her own awakening needs. And there was much honey to be had.

We find Fluttershy in her bathroom. It is like most bathrooms, with the amenities one would typically expect. But Fluttershy’s lifestyle had a way of spilling over into every possible corner of her time and space, and the bathroom of her home was no exception.

As such the bath was almost always full, and was presently the happy abode of a half dozen baby turtles. A fat, shining shubunkin brushed with white and gold swam stately curves between their number: a Ponyvillian pegasus had had to give him up after moving residence to Cloudsdale. There was simply no safe way to keep a fish in the sky. Until a more prestigious home could be found for Royal Ribbons (for he had a long, billowing tale) he was content to preside over the bumbling, aimless terrapins as their magnanimous bath-tub emperor.

Overhead sat budgeraries atop the mirror, jockeying for positions amongst one another that only they knew the meanings of while the air was a discordant melody of their quick chirping. It played against Fluttershy’s own musical humming, a rich and quiet tone that seemed to want to come alive, to become lyrics and song. Humming her tune, she danced elegantly through the motions of cleaning and feeding.

And today it did become song. Natural, unwritten, with words that came and went like the breeze. Silly words, just whatever happened to bounce across her thoughts as she nurtured the tune. The budgeraries paused in their antics to regard her quizzically, to test her song with a few chirped notes. Fluttershy accepted, and the song grew. Even the burbling water of bath-tub fins found a place in the melody. She finished her task here with unexpected energy that left her giddy and breathless.

“That was lovely,” she said with a contented sigh. As the song faded and her body calmed Fluttershy relaxed, yet under that there was still this energy. A secret, motive force inside.

Lowering a bucket gently into the tub, she tipped it slowly, letting the water flow inside sedately. Without a word to prompt them the baby turtles dutifully flippered their way inside, not without some effort. “I’ll be right back,” she said to the rest of her denizens. Of course they knew she would be. Every morning the terrapins were taken to the pond and every afternoon were brought back inside for the night.

Fluttershy hesitated and, acting on an impulse opened the window. “You too,” she urged, meaning the budgeraries. “It’s a beautiful day outside.” The little birds chirped, hopped about one another and reaching some manner of consensus alighted in quick succession, streaming out the window in a flow of colours.

It was a quick trip out and back. As she tended to do, Fluttershy took a moment to ponder just what should be done with Royal Ribbons. Ideally she’d prefer him to be in a pond, there was a secluded little pool in WhiteTail Woods just off one of the trails she had in mind for him, but the shubunkin was having none of it. He was captive-bred, a pampered fish from the start, and definitely thought that he preferred a home of artifice where he knew he’d be seen and admired. Fluttershy had tried being coy, but he’d proven better at it.

Ultimately, she knew, she’d take a firmer hoof with Royal Ribbons. She’d try him on the pond; if only he’d give it a chance, she was sure he’d be very happy with it. But for now she kept him close by, her eyes and ears open to Ponyville. Maybe something would come up.

With the bathroom nearly to herself her thoughts took on a more secretive manner. That was to say, Fluttershy thought of herself, something she didn’t necessarily do often.

Most of the cottage was empty at this time of day. Those animals that did hang around were unobtrusive, having made it through the hustle and bustle of the morning, now awaiting the afternoon to resume matters where they’d left off.

Though she typically went to her couch to relax, where she could better keep an eye on everyone, today Fluttershy went to her bedroom. Yet, as soon as she’d walked into the room she’d walked out again, nearly like she’d been repelled, and what followed was an aimless, ever-so-slightly distraught wandering through the upstairs, as if she’d been looking for something.

Her meanderings brought her back to the bathroom. Royal Ribbons, swimming his lazy loops, acknowledged her with a blurble of bubbles.

“I am going to have a bath,” said Fluttershy, somewhat to her own surprise. So...decisive!

There was a number of glass fish bowls about the place. Fluttershy didn’t like them all that much, she was concerned that they were always a bit small, but she’d inadvertently picked up a few over the years and hadn’t the heart to actively get rid of them.

With a bit of fishing on her part, she scooped the shubunkin up into the largest such bowl she had to hoof. He was, all in all, a little more comfortable with the snug space than she’d have liked, but it’d do for little stints like this.

She really would have preferred to get him into that pond. Another time.

The drain gurgled. Not loud, but in the quiet it seemed that way. Royal Ribbons in his bowl was like a crystal ball, swirling, flashing in gold and white as it caught the light of the window. She set him by the sink, just out of sight. Then she closed the window.

As she placed the plug and turned the tap steamy warmth washed out over the porcelain. When the water was a few inches deep and the steam a few inches more, Fluttershy put her hoof to it it. Hot, painfully so.

Wincing and holding her breath, she carefully flapped her wings. Up, over, and down into the bath, the tap still spitting and spurting noisily. The steam swirled fitfully under every wingbeat. She held her lips tightly together as all four hooves stood in the near-scalding water. By degrees it became more bearable, changing with acclimation from something that had to be endured to something that could be enjoyed.

Heat swirling under her and creeping up her legs, Fluttershy steadied her breathing. Every new inch the water touched was a new inch that had to adjust. Drawing the curtain shut, she lowered herself delicately into the bath. Shuddering, willing herself to endure, Fluttershy settled down into the steaming water.

Lining the shelf were a series of bottles. Nothing so varied as the collection that Rarity boasted, what Fluttershy had was limited, and most was for the animals at that. But there was one bottle there, pink, with pink goo that had dribbled and spurted out from its cap from its repeated use.

It was about a third full. More than enough for Fluttershy’s purposes. Her heartbeat rising and hot, moist air filling her lungs, she reached for it.

Bubblebath.

It had all started innocently enough, with Zecora’s remedial bubblebath. Fluttershy had liked it, so much so, that she’d then begun to get her own, from time to time. Now she always had an aroused flutter inside her when she put a bottle of the stuff in her shopping basket.

Fluttershy might have cried from embarrassment if ever were she to confront the fact that what she had here was a fetish. She would have denied it, if she had known, but that’s what it was: a fetish. In the truest sense of the word, she’d attached significance to a mundane thing beyond what was normal.

As the suds welled up under the tap, up over her hooves and up between her legs Fluttershy felt a positively sexual thrill. It all had to do obstruction, you see. Fluttershy could only muster up the selfishness to ever indulge in something like masturbation if a small but necessary corner of her thoughts could, in fact, deny everything. Out of sight, out of mind and in between her legs with a fervent hoof, so to speak. With the soapy cloud of bubbles growing by the second Fluttershy felt her anxious excitement grow.

When she did finally stop the tap, only her head and the tops of her wings were above the water. The rest was below, and below the bubble bath too, and that filled the air with the creamiest of cherry scents.

It was a quality product, this. It had to be, not for her sake, but for the animals in her care. As such Fluttershy’s bubblebath was high-end stuff, safe for skin and feather and sensitive scale alike. And other things.

Leaning her forehead backwards into the water and carefully thinking nothing, her hooves wasted no time in patting down her torso. Her stomach. Her legs. The mesh of bubbles crinkled, shifted and popped with every motion. Fluttershy’s eyes were tightly shut, her lips pursed in a frown of concentration. When her hooves slipped between her legs they did not shy away, therefore; Fluttershy touched herself with soapy, sudsy slipperiness. Already sensitive from the near-scalding heat, every pass of her hooves as they explored around her bubble-hidden privacy brought on a stifled moan and a slithering pleasure that made it impossible to stay perfectly still.

“Oh, momma likes her bath,” she crooned. Fluttershy splayed her legs wider, as the bath allowed for. A gentle rush of hot water swashed back over her.

Splish-splash splish-splash were the sounds that scattered the silence. Eyes still firmly shut and mind carefully blank Fluttershy’s moans steadily became gasps. By the time she ended up spilling water and suds onto the floor she was far too lost in her own sensations to think anything of it, or think anything at all for that matter.

Let it just be said that Fluttershy has as an adorable, yet distressing, orgasm squeak. She tensed up, her hooves kicked at the backing, her thighs clenched forcefully, her chest rose and fell with desperate, airy breaths. Her hoof was slipping and sliding, however; it was her rubbing frantic circles at her swollen bead of a clitoris that did it for her.

Fluttershy was red-faced and breathing hard, only now did she open her eyes and and look, wide eyed, at everything. The heat had sunk through her every inch.

She didn’t stop there. Forcing a deep breath into herself Fluttershy got back on the horse, so to speak. If the first had been an act of considerate self-indulgence, than this second run was something feral and determined. Chunks of bubblebath were being flung about the place: more than once Fluttershy had to wipe a pink cloud clear of her face.

Fluttershy was meticulously not imagining herself being ridden hard, nigh-mercilessly, by the ponies she knew. Of course not. They definitely weren’t clustered around her, prodding her, stroking her, spattering themselves upon her, them telling her to do things that she, as a good girl, would never do.

“Don’t stop! Momma didn’t say to stop,” she huffed, urging her suitors of fancy as they clamoured for her. Fluttershy’s second orgasm crashed into her almost painfully, she quivered all up and down, tensing helplessly as the convulsions took her for another wild spin.

Fluttershy was frantic, and feverish with heat and stimulation. Her heart was fit to burst. Her lungs felt strained to their limits. Any attempt to describe sensations lower still would be an understatement. She could feel each erratic quiver in herself with a nigh electric shock.

She stopped, out of necessity, to rest. The water was cooler now, and though the steam still filled the air it was not the hot bath it had been. The frothy bubblebath had taken a beating at Fluttershy’s hooves: smatterings of pink lined the lower sections of the walls, there was bubble bath in her hair and over her hips it was much thinner than it had been. Dissolving slowly with an almost audible sizzle Fluttershy could see, from quick glances by the corner of her eye, that her veil was not so obstructive as it had been. The blurred outline of her hoof was visible to her. Fluttershy blushed and looked away.

When the water was tepid, genuinely cold-seeming compared to the intensity of what it had been, and the bubblebath was a last skim of fizz and foam dissolving, Fluttershy pulled herself up. Water sleeted down her body, from her hair and the tips of her wings. Fluttershy trembled as it coursed in rivulets down her legs. The air was still thick with steam. Everything Fluttershy saw was softened by that haze.

She drained the bath for the second time that day. Later, she would rinse it out to make it suitable for its denizens again. For the moment though she was so drained, of energy, of tension. She stumbled against the towel rack and burying her face in one she breathed in, steadying her nerves in the soft darkness as it enveloped her senses. A last few cloudbursts of pink bubblebath littered the area. The tub itself, the floor, the walls. A few telltale streaks lined Fluttershy, too, and part of her was frantically alarmed by each one, though; for the moment she was tranquil in her exhaustion.

Wrapping the towel about her still-dripping hair, Fluttershy paused as she paused Royal Ribbons in his bowl on the countertop She wiped at the foggy glass. He swam deft loops that flashed golden, white and golden again.

“Oh,” she whispered, stunned with the revelation. An audience. She’d had an audience. She’d never had an audience before. Someone else had heard her do what she hadn’t even allowed herself to see. “Oh my.”

Royal Ribbons danced his colours for her. He, at least, enjoyed an audience. “I’ll open the window for you,” she said. “You know, I mean, um, the birds. I want to go lie down now, but they’ll come back soon. They’ll keep you company, okay?”

And at that, Fluttershy, still damp and hot, went to bed. Not to sleep, though; she was certainly quieter and gentler with herself than she had been.

Author's Note

I may revisit this one later on and give Fluttershy a sillier version as well. Would you like that?