A Rose In Time

by Zaphire

Rating: mature
Tags: Sex, Slice of Life, Doctor Whooves, Roseluck, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance
Length: 2537

Roseluck fantasizes about her deep seated desires for Doctor Whooves.

What could be more rewarding than the prospect of having your heart's desire say "I love you"? Roseluck, a pony so invested in love and roses, has never truly found a stallion to call her own. Not until the day she finally lays her eyes on Doctor Whooves. It's then that she finds herself unable to think of anything beyond him. Her infatuation quickly turns to obsession, her desires slowly fulling up her every waking thought. All this for a pony she's never even spoken to.

YouTube reading by CaptainBron3y

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPSnQarnVkU&feature=youtu.be

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Cover Art: Forever by Fikakorv

Special Thank You's to Maelstrom, JoeyTheEpic and Izanagi for proof reading and editing this story for me.

This work of fiction is an original work based off My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic a trademark of Hasbro. A Rose In Time is not endorsed or recognized by Hasbro, their subsidiaries or any other publisher.

Published 2015-03-07 19:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-03-07 19:10:01 UTC

Sweet Like Cinnamon

The crisp cold air brushes across my face as I lean out of my upper story bedroom window. I enjoy the winter air, it’s somehow... clean... fresh. It's my way of knowing my day has finally come to an end. I can cozy up to the warm embers of the fireplace with a steaming cup of hot chocolate and the satisfaction of yet another good day.

My name is Roseluck and, as it aptly suggests, I sell roses.  Not just any old roses, but the best darn roses you'll see anywhere in Equestria. They're my pride, my passion, and they're my contribution to your heart's desire. I see them as the very symbol of love and, as a sales mare, it's my duty to give you the very best. But even though they give me the greatest pleasure, they also fill my heart with sadness. I've spent my whole life selling roses. I even sometimes watch as they gift them to their very special somepony. I see the love that they share manifested by this simple act of affection. My roses have brought smiles to the face of many lovers, but in all my years of trimming, priming and caring for them, never once have I received one for myself.

It must seem silly to you, the pony that gives the gift of love has never once felt it's warm embrace. But its true, I'm the last pony you'd want to ask about it. I wonder sometimes if its simply life's cruel irony, that I'm only ever meant to help others find love. In my younger years I spent almost every waking moment pining over the hope of finally meeting that special somepony, that one day my prayers to the goddesses might finally be heard and that a young buck would come to sweep me off my hooves. Yet the years passed on, and each winter hence, I once again found myself back to leaning out of this very window, reminiscing, and still as lonely as I had been then.

Finally, I suppose, I reached that point where a pony realizes that she may just be destined to be single. The sadness turned to acceptance, and the acceptance finally turned into a new found appreciation for myself. I thought, ‘If I couldn't find love, I could at least give it, in my own way, to everypony else’. So I devoted my life to my roses and, eventually, it blossomed into a flourishing business, if you could excuse the pun.

Everypony from Canterlot to Manehattan knew that if they had planned a romantic occasion, my roses were the surest way to please their lover. I reached that point where I thought that I had finally found my place in this world. But life has such a strange sense of humor. It's only when you think you have it all figured out when a curve ball is hit your way; when your carefully laid out stack of cards comes crashing down and your heart regresses all the way back to that place where you forbade it to go. I'm that silly little pinning filly all over again, and it's all because of him.

Oh, how can one even describe him modestly? He's the sexiest stallion I've ever laid my eyes on. Those sapphire blue eyes, that smartly styled mane and his plain yet handsome light brown coat. A mare like myself could hardly resist such sublime features. But it's not just his good looks, it's his nature. Never in my life have I come across a pony so... mysterious, so quiet and brooding. He seems to be like a kind of enigma, a pony with no history or past, at least not one that I know of. One day he just appeared, and my life has simply never been the same again.

His name is Doctor Whooves, or so I've been told, and I've never been brave enough to even ask it of him, let alone talk to him. All I've achieved so far is the briefest of eye contact whenever he buys groceries from Carrot Top every Tuesday. Most of the ponies I speak to say he's some kind of scientist, obsessed with history. I guess that explains that gorgeous little hourglass cutie mark and that green tie. Did I ever mention I like the nerdy type?

They say that he's single, yet only because he chooses to be. Sometimes I wonder if that's the very reason why I shy away from approaching him at all, that the idea of being shot down would probably destroy the fantasies that I've created when its just me on my own. How is it that a grown mare like myself can jump from such adolescent emotions like hopeful optimism to suicidal depression over a pony I barely even know? I can hardly explain to you how deep such infatuation goes and I can explain the reasoning behind it all even less. All I know is I desire him with every fiber of my body.

They get pretty darn heated, these fantasies. I'm almost embarrassed to mention some of the nights I spend staring at myself in the mirror. I like to imagine him looking on at me from behind as I comb my mane, I like to think of all the things he would say to me... do to me.

And then it goes deeper...

I'm still young, you know, and I truly still believe that I'm... well-proportioned, still able to make myself desirable. I'm a mare that sells love for a living; it's only natural that I have certain... needs. Certain moments of weakness. That's probably why I've moved my mirror to my lounge, so that on certain nights I can gaze upon myself as I lie upon my sofa. It’s not out of vanity, but out of preparation for something I'm not entirely sure will ever come to be. I try to think of ways to best situate myself, ways that if ever his eyes were to fall upon me like this, he would have to pluck them out just to look away. I call it practice... You get that, right?

Yet... It still goes deeper...

The "practice" quickly turns into something else, something more base and personal. I turn my head away from the mirror, lie on my back and shut my eyes. I pretend he's there with me.

"Put your hooves on my sides... do it softly," I coo.

And silently I brush my own hooves downwards and gently towards my flanks. I caress myself, moving my body to the rhythm of his phantom breaths. I pretend to feel him tremble slightly at the possibilities of what I would offer him, what he could be doing with me. Slowly but surely, my hooves find their way back to my soft and supple underbelly.

"That's right... do that..." I whisper as I, myself, start to tremble at the thought of what I'm about to do next.

My hooves begin to slide lower and lower until I've reached the most sensitive part of my body. I feel the moisture and the heat, yet I also feel something else. A culpable and an almost searing pang deep in my chest. Not only do I want this, I need this. I have to feel like this is more than just pleasure. It needs to be timeless, memorable... meaningful. An unrepeatable action.

I'm fully aroused, I can feel it. My tenderness begins to throb with subtle wells of pleasure as I gently rub my hooves against it.

"Ohhhh..." I groan almost automatically. "Don't stop."

And so I don't.

More rhythm, more pace and more pressure. The pleasurable wells become slightly more pronounced with each motion my hooves make. I start to move my body in tandem with my hooves, finding that sweet spot and causing myself to sweat. I can feel my sex beginning to build up in waves.

Slow it down, you don't want it to be too quick.

I try to listen to myself but I can't. It's just too good, too sweet... like cinnamon. Such an odd comparison... but what's meant to make sense when you feel such ecstasy? The lack of self control has me drive myself onward to that point of no return. I try and picture him as my muscles tense and my body begins to climax. I arch my back in anticipation for... Yesss... Oh Goddess, yes. I feel myself come in waves of pleasure, rippling like water throughout my entire body. No mare can quite describe to a stallion just how intense her orgasms can be, how, depending on just how much they desire you, it can affect just how sensual they are.

I groan once more, feeling the pulses start to dissipate and my muscles start to relax. I can hear my heavy breaths and feel the sweat on my body as I open my eyes once more. And just like every other time, I find myself staring at nothing but the ceiling. I'm alone again, on my couch and feeling slightly ashamed. I turn my head to the side so I can see myself in the mirror. My pink mane all disheveled and strewn slightly across my face, my fur all matted due to the sweat and one hoof under my chin while the other sits tucked neatly between my legs. Is this image meant to be sexy? Is that what would drive a stallion nuts? All I feel is... used... Is that odd? To feel like you've just been abused by yourself?

It's hard to describe just how many strange emotions I go through whenever this happens. At first it’s all about the game, then I'm touching myself to pretend he's there, and finally, I open my eyes and find that... It was all just a fantasy. A silly dream over a pony I barely know. A pony that I've created in his image.

The icy wind starts to chill me a little. I've been leaning out of this window for so long, I had forgotten I was even there. My muzzle seems almost frozen as I try to scrunch it back to life. I trot back inside and towards to the fire that I forgot to light in my absent mindedness. I'm starting to lose my sense of reality too much. Why, just the other night I forgot to care for my roses again. Too busy sticking my head out the window and daydreaming, or too busy lying on that sofa and doing unspeakable things to myself.

I keep thinking that if I had just one ounce of courage I could avoid this altogether. That all it takes is a smart way to draw him to me... To have him notice me. But how? How do I do it without seeming too obvious? Crap, what day is it?

Monday...

Then that means... I'll see him tomorrow! Buying carrots from my neighboring store. I wonder if... no... I doubt she would help me. Not when I suspect that she too may be secretly crushing on him. Carrot Top may be the pony that speaks to him now and then, but lets face it, she's no where near as hot as me.

I stop myself by the fire I was moments away from lighting. Did I just think that? Am I jealous of her for getting more attention from him than I do? She's probably one of my closest friends. Of course she would help me. What kind of silliness made me think otherwise?

"Sorry, Carro..." I mutter.

It's moments like these that make me want to buck myself in the ass. I have to stop thinking about things and just start doing them. Tomorrow, it'll be different. Tomorrow, I'll ask him something... anything. Wait... I can picture it in my head.

I'll see him smiling to Carro as he always does after a purchase. He'll begin to trot past me, his eyes quickly falling upon my own before he hastily looks away.

"Say..." I would announce. "I see you buying from old Carrot every Tuesday and never from me. Don't you have a special somepony? You sure you don't wanna spoil them?"

He would pause, smile back at me, and say something like. "Oh... Oh no... I'm not seeing anyone."

"Ohhh... such a pity," I would tease. "Handsome buck like you. I almost find that hard to believe."

He would blush, maybe even look at his own hooves and paw at the ground awkwardly. "T-thank you, ma'am."

"Actually it's miss," I would say with a smile. "Miss Roseluck."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Roseluck. I'm Doctor Whooves." He would most likely respond.

"Doctor, huh?" I would say with a cheeky grin. "Handsome and a scholar. You might just cause a mare like me to swoon if you say any more."

Ooohh, that was smooth. If he wasn't interested by then, nopony would be. I'm sure he would respond with something equally as embarrassing, maybe even try to downplay his brilliance with a little charm. It doesn't matter. I know the perfect way to end it off. I would give one my roses for free. Yes... A symbol of my own cutie mark from my own heart for once. That would have to be the best and only way to do this... To make myself known. He would never forget me after that.

I'm grinning now. Astonished at myself for working this wonderful little plan out in such a short amount of time. Why hadn't I thought of this sooner? Oh wait... I have thought of it sooner... I've thought of it every single Monday night from the moment I first saw him up until now. It’s the same little scene, the only difference is that in reality, it never happens at all. I'm standing there watching him trot past me, his eyes lingering on me for a split second before he looks away again. But instead of saying anything to him, my heart beats so fast that it just seems easier to let him keep trotting away. Better than then end up making a fool of myself. Because that's my biggest fear. I'd be shaking so much that he would probably think I was having a nervous breakdown.

It's never going to get any easier. If I don't do something, somepony else will. He'll find himself a pretty mare really soon and I'll be left to watch from the side. A beautiful opportunity wasted because of cowardice. I can't do that to myself, I have to say something to him tomorrow. Anything. It doesn't have to be my elegantly choreographed scene, it just has to catch his attention... Or, you know... Whatever... I'm getting all hot and bothered just thinking about it.

Am I finally figuring out the riddle behind all this? Do I enjoy the fantasy so much that it's become nothing like what the real pony might be? Does it even matter?

"That's tomorrow's problem," I whisper as I find myself back at my sofa, stroking my hoof across it's surface without even thinking about it.

"Why Doctor... Is it that time of the evening already?"