No one in Ponyville could say they did not know Pinkie Pie, and few could say they were not her friend.
Pinkie, of course, loved all her friends, and could list their names, dates of birth, and favorite flavors of jellybean at any time and any place. Pinkie's favorites were buttered popcorn and grape jelly, at the same time.
Still few, if any, of her friends could ever imagine which of her friends was actually a little bit closer, but all of them saw the extra extra spring in her normally more than adequately springy bounce. In fact, some of her many friends were curious enough to ask where she was going with such a joyful expression.
Pinkie happily answered everypony with a smile and a wink accompanied by a long-winded story that was different every time.
She told Lyra and Bonbon that she was going to pick flowers. Cheerilee heard she was going to buy a scarf. Even Twilight thought she was going to watch some grass grow. It was all going according to plan until she met Applejack.
Yes old honest Applejack, the living lie detector, the elephant of honesty, and all around super apple friend. “I’m going to fuck a bag of flour!”
“Y’re what?” With the shock of what she thought she heard, Applejack immediately let go of her apple cart. It would not have been so great an error if Big Macintosh had not at that same time become distracted by the local schoolteacher, Miss Cheerilee.
“I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” Pinkie happily finished just as Cheerilee and Applejack’s brother were overtaken by the runaway apple cart. Neither was harmed, however the cart would never be the same after its collision with the sturdy stallion.
With a somber shake of her head, Applejack replied, “Ah ain’t sayin Ah don’t believe ya. Ah just need ya ta repeat yerself. It just sounded like ya were gonna have... relations with a bag of flour.”
Pinkie giggled excitedly at Applejack’s choice of words; it made things like this a whole lot easier. “Well I told Fluttershy I was buying milk, and I told Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo I was going to run for sheriff.”
“Well ya could just say ya have private business. Ya don’t have ta make up some crazy story for all yer friends.”
Pinkie simply rolled her eyes. Privacy was too easy and nowhere near as fun as telling Applejack something so absurd that she would never believe it. Even if it was the truth.
“But, Mademoiselle, what about Monsieur Navet?”
Pinkie smiled as she held her nose over her lover’s body. She happily inhaled the rich scent that she had grown to love more than anything. The scent meant pie and cupcakes and so many other wonderful things; the scent of her true love, the one and only... Madame le Flour.
“Oh that old bucket of turnips? I’ve never done anything with him, and you know it.”
“And Monsieur Rocky?” Could the love of Pinkie’s life truly be such a buzz kill.
“Just my sister’s friend, and please stop bringing up those colts. It’s super duper anti-romantic.” Still, it was not enough to stop the world-famous party pony from slowly caressing the Mademoiselle’s delicate, paper folds. Sliding her hoof slowly up and down, she basked further and further into her lover’s scent and the texture of her curves.
“Oh PInkie!” Mademoiselle le Flour gasped, as her precious pink pony paramour found a particularly perverse rhythm. “Pardonnez-moi, mon amour, shall we instead discuss your little hooves and how they are not playing fair?”
“Come now Madame, if you want me to stop—”
“Don’t you dare, Miss Pinkamena, and stop calling me zat s'il vous plaît. You know I am not married.”
“But it rolls off the tongue so well.” Though the same could be said for le Flour herself. “I suppose… but under two conditions.” Pinkie grinned as she drew le Flour closer.
“Is your love based on conditions now, mon cher?”
“Mmm, just stop calling me Pinkamena and keep up the Prench...”
“Oh, Pinkie, qu'auriez-vous me dire? What would I say to get you to continue?”
Pinkie giggled as she began applying more pressure to her lover’s sensitive folds. “I don’t care; just tell me what you had for breakfast.”
“Omelette du fromage.”
Shivers ran down Pinkie’s spine as she caressed Mademoiselle le Flour abrasively. Her breaths grew faster and her heart beat harder—all without a single touch from her cutie patootie cuddle companion.
“Pantalons de souffrance flottant cerise de roue de charrette!” Gibberish flowed in her attempts to egg Pinkie on in her native tongue.
Pinkie, despite not being fooled, happily reciprocated with her own native tongue, causing a wavering reply.
“Oui! More s'il vous plaît. Tiens-moi vous amant doux moelleux gâteau spongieux.”
“Comme vous le souhaitez mon ami.” Pinkie’s reply heralded a more enthusiastic tongue lashing.
Each lick or nibble led to more moisture and pleasured groans from le Flour. While the madam’s pants grew heavier and her pleads more longing, Pinkie barely suppressed a giggle as she was reminded of the time she told the Cake twins about what happens when flour gets wet.
And wet is exactly the adjective that Pinkie would use to describe her lover’s nethers... just right for her next step. “I’m going to start kneading, Mademoiselle.”
“Non Pinkie, s’il vous plait, let ze dough rest.”
Pinkie’s thoughts drifted toward the basic principles of baking and, with a giggle, happily proposed, “But I gotta stretch the gluten so the dough gets strong. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to add more moisture so you bake up light and airy.”
It was now le Flour’s turn to giggle at her lover’s silliness. “Excuses mon amour, is zis a joke like ze time you wished to have ze microwave to excite ze water molécules?”
Pinkie smirked at the thought of jokes at a time like this. Instead of replying, she increased the pressure her hoof was exerting on her lover’s nether regions. More gasps and moans told Pinkie that she was having exactly the effect she wanted. The firmer she was with her lover, the tighter the strands of protein would become. More and more Pinkie kneaded into Mademoiselle le Flour until finally—
“Non Pinkie! If you overmix—” Mademoiselle le Flour whimpered, as Pinkie lifted her sticky hoof from its work. Her laments at the loss of stimulation were interrupted by a single soft lick of her carnal folds and a gentle nibble at the top of her moistened crease.
Le Flour squealed in delight as her pretty-pink pleasure-pony finished the dance they had taken so many times before. As her tired muscles relaxed, and she emptied all over her lover’s face, she whispered into Pinkie’s ear, “Merci beaucoup, mon amour. Do you wish for for me to... reciprocate?”
Pinkie smiled wholeheartedly. The thought sounded nice, but for the moment she would much rather hold her love in her hooves until their time together was interrupted. “No let’s just cuddle. If you start now you’ll be between my legs when we have a much expected visitor.”
“Ah, ze Pinkie sense?”
With a soft snort and a giggle Pinkie replied, “Oui, le sens de Pinkie.”
Missus Cup Cake thanked herself yet again for having sound proofing installed in Pinkie’s room. It wasn’t perfect, but at least the customers thought the groans and whines were the product of a poorly maintained water heater.
The truth of course being a closely guarded secret between herself and her husband in order to protect the reputation of their apprentice. Celestia forbid any pony found out about Pinkie’s daliences.
“Please, Madame Cake, have you been listening to me?” A tall golden brown stallion stood before the baker. His wispy chocolate mane seemed to accentuate the weariness of his eyes.
Cup Cake had dealt with the gentlecolt many times in the past and knew exactly why he stood before her. So with a calm smile she replied, “Of course I have Durum deary. I just don’t know if I can help.”
“Please, Madame, do not take me for a fool. I know she is hiding upstairs. I do not wish for this to affect our business relationship.”
“Please understand, I just don’t think now is a good time, maybe in a half an hour?”
“No, if you will not assist me in taking back what is mine, I will inform the local guard of your part in this plot.”
And with a sigh Cup relented. She didn’t think Durun needed to see into Pinkie’s private time and she certainly didn’t, but if he was going to be pushy... “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Cup Cake led her business associate up the stairs to the second floor before begging him to reconsider once more. A firm no caused her to climb the next flight up to Pinkie’s door.
A firm knock and a courteous call of, “Pinkie dear, are you decent?” elicited a reply almost immediately.
“Alright Missus Cake... I’ll get some more oil this afternoon for your hotty, hot, hot-oil play time with Mister Cake tonight.”
Wide eyed, Cup Cake turned to her guest and immediately began defending herself, “No no no no no! Um, you see at the end of the week Carrot and I just take the last of the doughs and batters from the week and deep fry them before they go bad!”
Durum was done with excuses, and instead of listening, he put all his strength into forcing Pinkie’s door open.
It took only one firm lunge before he found himself looking directly at an unconscious Pinkie Pie curled in a spooning position around an only slightly smaller white and toasted brown shape.
“Semolina le Flour, what do you think you’re doing?”
At the sound of the stallion’s voice, Mademoiselle Semolina le Flour straightened out of Pinkie’s hooves and looked at the doorway. With burning red cheeks, she attempted to pull a blanket up to hide her recent activities. “Papa?”
Pinkie was up in a flash, looking quickly between the three ponies visible to her. Her surprise came through in her voice as she looked directly at Semolina. “Wait, you’re not a hallucination brought on by years of self-medicating with cake and candy to cope with the trauma of living in a broken home?” An enormous smile graced Pinkie’s lips as she embraced her now somewhat confused lover. “This is the best news I’ve heard since I found out ‘Cupcakes 2: Kentucky Fried Scootaloo’ was canceled!”
