The smell of Alcohol, sweat and smoke assaults your senses as you make your way to the stage next to the bar. Well stage may be a bit too nice to describe what it was you were working with. A flat area of carpet with who knows how many stains lay frayed at its edges to house the performer for the night. Despite its rough look, it wasn't all bad, and it's not like you can be choosy, after all, its tough finding places willing to give an unknown species such as yourself a chance. You set up the cords to the stereo system that the Malted Apple has for its nightly entertainment to use.
Tapping the microphone to check its activity makes a sound that puts raking hooves across a chalkboard in the pleasant category of noises. This makes the few patrons of the inn grab their ears in pained confusion as to what in Equestria was capable of making such a noise. Their questions answered by 'the freak', 'tall smelly ape' and your personal favourite 'the mini in Minotaur'. Yes don't let the newspapers and the proclamations of friendship fool you, racism is rife within the lands of Equestria, anything non pony should consider themselves a lower form of life, not worthy of the comforts of the pony folk. Originally this troubled you but other problems surfaced which superseded the moral dilemma of equality. Things like, where to live and what to eat with a budget of nothing. It quickly became clear that if you were to survive in this world you would need work.
While the clock edges toward the start or your shift, you wonder what got you to this hell-hole of a place. All you remember of that night was the lightning, giant flashes of light followed by booms that rang through the sheets of rain clashing with the ground. Then light, heat and you wake up next to a forest in a magical land of talking miniature horses. You smile lightly at the memory of the looks on the ponies faces when you-
"-going to sit there all night, or are you gonna play?"
You wake from your daydream with a shake of your head. "Sorry, sir" you reply "just drifted off waiting for my shift to start, wont happen again"
"Yes, it better not or else ill have to start hiring real entertainment" replied Malt Whiskey, bartender and owner of the Malted Apple in Canterlot. He trots back to his bar to serve more ponies as you ready to start performing the 'songs of your people' as you've termed them.
Your performance goes by with the same success it has for the past few months, nopony paying much attention to you. This suits you just fine, as long a you get paid the same. You swear the only reason Malt continues hiring you is so he can advertise the wondrous singing ape for all the drunkards to gawk at while buying overpriced beer, cider and awful food. You're broken from your reverie once again by Malt, this time waving you over to the bar he's cleaning.
"Hey, look, can you see me in my office after close? There's a few things we need to discuss." asks Malt.
Though posed as a question there's really only one answer you can give, refuse and you may as well kiss goodbye working as pub entertainment again.
"Yes, sir" you respond.
Remember when you said that Malt only keeps you on as an attraction? Well that was a teensy tiny, huge lie. Turns out Malt Whiskey has a huge interest in hands and what can be done with them.
As the last ponies exit the bar and head upstairs to sleep, you walk to Malts office and sit in the chair before his desk. You can hear Malt whistling as he flips the sign on the door to closed and locks the front door, the damned pony's mood always picks up around this time of night, almost as if he absorbs your happiness from your soul. You hear the clip-clopping of his hooves on the tiled floor leading to his office, furthering your fate. You hear the turn of the knob behind you and him entering the room. You then finally hear the creak of his chair as he sits opposite you. You only hear these things because unknowingly you have lowered your head the the ground, suddenly finding
your shoes very interesting. The silence is broken by Malt.
"Your performance was very good tonight". "Especially the third song, you know the one about a crazy little thing called love?"
You remain silent, knowing what is to happen in the next few minutes.
"Want a drink?" asks Malt as he pours his namesake into a small glass.
You shake your head in response
"You sure? Finest in Equestria."
You shake your head once again.
"Well then, if that's the case, lets get down to business"
Maybe you should have accepted the drink, if only to delay the inevitable. With no other options and your livelihood on the line you take this as your cue to get busy, Malts stallionhood is already unsheathed, he looks down at you expectantly. Your hands rub against his rapidly hardening flesh as your cheeks burn with shame.
"Yes, that's good" breathes Malt, his hooves behind his head watching you with his full attention.
Malts pride stops swelling, so with both heads at full attention you start applying more pressure to his spire, a thick stream of slime leaking from the tip. You feel it run over your hands as you begin pumping his length in order to finish the job and go home. The office is filled with grunts and moans from Malt and met with deathly silence from you, having not said a word since entering the room. You feel the familiar throbbing sensation under your hands as well as the moans coming from the pony sitting in front of you pick up in volume. You wonder if the ponies upstairs can hear Malt grunting is ecstasy.
"Oh Celestia!" is all you hear before you feel it, ropes of hot slime paint your face and hair, furthering your shame. You sit there until Malt speaks.
"Go get cleaned up, I'll leave your pay on the bar"
You get up to do just that. Once in the bathroom you look in the mirror, evidence of what took place marks your face. You take time cleaning, the task almost therapeutic, being able to rid yourself of the evidence almost allows you to believe it never happened.
Once free of the shame, you head to the back exit not before picking up the small bag of bits. Surprisingly next to the bag is a note, you take a glance.
~See you tomorrow~
You sigh, this is what your life has become, the zoo animal of an entertainer and the love slave of the only pony who would hire you. You head home in order to get some rest, after all you have work tomorrow.
Author's Note
First story I've ever written, would absolutely love some feedback, whether negative or positive try and make it constructive. I would love to get better.