Alsesta Gourmand was sitting next to her typewriter in her Manehattan home, searching her mind for the best way to explain to the world why “The Belgo Bar” was a rotten mess not worthy of a visit even from the health department. It was easy to just write a bad review, but a simple “bad review” was not enough for Alsesta Gourmand. She always signed her reviews with her full name, wishing that if she did that long enough, it would forever erase the horrible nickname some wisecracker had given her when she was barely a coffe-bringer back in the day. It was NOT a name to be used in public and if anyone tried to get her attention using that name, she would just turn her back on that pony and leave.

Alsesta Gourmand was a mare that believed in “the control”. True art, she said, and to a further extent, true life came from control. To not act on emotion, to not let the weakness of the impure flesh determine your destiny, that was her credo.

Her life, and her work, had been dedicated the search for perfection. She had a reputation for being perhaps the hardest food critic in the whole country. And she had many times been bashed for it, mostly by chefs who didn't live up to her standards, but sometimes even by her fellow critics. Especially that incompetent youngster down at the Manehattan Herald. What was his name again… Naked Lunch? Over and over again he had proposed the idea that the best sign of good food was a happy stomach.

Zesty had almost caused a riot when she heard the quote the first time. The stomach! THE STOMACH! Why in the name of Saint Megan would anypony let such a uncultivated body part as the stomach judge whether a meal was subpar or sufficient? The stomach, who didn't care the least of taste or smell or design! Who only cared about being stuffed! And it never even bothered to have standards! It could process anything! Oat Burgers! Muffins! Carrots! Easy-Cook grass! It couldn’t even distinguish between the rich taste of the scandineighvian Västerbotten cheese and the empty fragrance from a cheap Gouda. Anything it was given, it processed.

An uncultivated pig, the stomach was. No, there were only three parts of the body that mattered when a dish was to be judged. Pro primo: The eyes. Because color and texture was equally important when balancing a dish as seasoning. Pro secundo: The nose, because the smell was supposed to be the ouverture to the symphony and harmonize with it. Not something that promised a fugue and instead turned into a mindless dance beat! And of course, the taste buds, with mouth and tongue in tow. The guardians of good taste. The knights in shining armour, protecting the body from devouring anything suboptimal.

Yes, control was the key. Mind over body.

To bad then that she failed miserably at it. Not that she didn't try, of course. She had a bit of a sweet tooth, and adored good old-fashioned Equestrian toffee. Hence she hadn’t bought any in more than ten years. She prefered her coffee with lots of sugar and cream, and hence she drank it as black and bitter as possible. She loved to dance, and therefore she hadn't even listened to music for years. Mind over body.

But when your stepdaughter-in-law had invested in a 1000-bits coffee machine and constantly messed up her wish for BLACK coffee with a double latte made with bittersweet almond milk and a generous touch of cinnamon… Well, it was rude not to drink it, wasn't it? And when the same stepdaughter-in-law and wife, the stepdaughter, had managed to produce such an adorable little bundle of joy as step grandkid Toots, and said grandkid wanted to dance with her grandma, who was she to say no? Especially when she called her “Chef”. Oh come on, you don’t say no to that child! And finally, when now stepdaughter BonBon happened to be a prominent confectionist who made the most refined and delicious Equestrian toffee, using a mix of pecan nuts and walnuts with just a pinch of sea salt on top of it and just happened to leave a box every time she visited “Mutter Lieb”... Well, they had to be eaten, didn’t they? And it was not as if Franzbrötchen needed more fat on those hips of hers.

Those hips…

Alsesta found her mind wander of from searching synonyms for “appalling”. Her mind was on her wife. Franzbrötchen, or as most of the world knew her, Photo Finish. The mare that, to Alsesta’s annoyance, was her whole life. Her beautiful cyan fur. That special smile she saved exclusively for “mein engelchen” as she usually called her. And mmmm… That raunchy german accent, always teasing, always jesting. Always making her smile. And she despised it.

Stupid mare.

Stupid, stupid mare.

Stupid, stupid, damn-she’s-sexy-for-being-over-50-have-you-seen-those-legs mare. Her body had now broken free from the chains the mind put on it, and Alsesta found her hand, much to her surprise, had made their way a good part down her pants and in between her thighs. She drew back her hand as had it been stung by a wasp ...Only for it to slowly sneak back and go straight for the honey-pot without regards. Ah, well… She was alone anyway.

And after all, you should always have sex with someone you love. Ah yes… Ah yes… this was good. This was nice. This was...

"F-franzie..."

“Are jo sitting here touching jor naughty parts all alone, mein engelchen?”

Immediately she withdrew her hand from its previous position and regained her stiff composure. Where the hay did she come from? How in the world could Franzbrötchen, the loudest mare in Equestria, always sneak up on her? She managed to switch her face from flustered to annoyed. She hoped. “No, Franzbrötchen, I am not. I am working.”

“Bah!” Franzbrötchen had grabbed her hand, lifted it to her nose, and had taken a deep sniff. “Zis is not ze smell of work! Zis is the smell of debauchery! Jah!” Alsesta could barely watch as her wife slowly and thoroughly kissed her fingers, one by one, tasting them as were they some exclusive dish at a five star restaurant. “Ah! Aaah… Zis… is ze taste of mare… Ja, there can be no mistake! Were jo zinking about me, perhaps, mein engelchen?”

She pulled back her hand. “I did nothing of the kind, and stop with your infamous insinuation! You are childish.”

“Is that zo? Are jo saying I am an old, senile mare that imagine things? Was I imagining, jo suggest, what I saw jo do just now?” She moved closer to Alsesta, until she stood behind her chair, leaning so she could whisper right into her ear. “Did I not see jo with eyes closed, jor chest heaving and jor cheeks red? And those fingers working on jor blümchen?” Alsesta felt her wife place her hands on her neck. The small fingers began to work on her stiff neck muscles. “And did I not hear jo stuttering my name?”

“Mmmm….” With great effort she shook of her wife’s hands and rose from her chair. “Back of from me, wench! If I wanted you to touch me with your dirty hands I would have asked!”

“Jo zink zat I, PHOTO FINISH will ask?”

“Well, if “Photo Finish” was behaving like a civilized pony, yes! But I guess that is impossible for you, you uncouth heathen! And…”

Alsesta was silenced by a soft kiss. How her wife, who was much shorter than her could even reach that high without any effort, she would never understand. The kiss was soft and gentle, and sooner than she wanted, she relaxed, and put her arms around her wife in a tight embrace. The kiss lasted longer than the lunch rush at the Tasty Treat. Alsesta let her hands range free over her wife’s back, slightly tugging her tail and gently squeezing her buttocks, while Franzie’s idle fingers had not only unbuttoned her shirt, but also her pants, which she managed to slide down to the floor. They were rather loose fit so that was rather easy. Then she broke the kiss and gave Alsesta a lick straight over her chest. That got her to loose her grip and Franzie could take off her shirt with ease.

And then she looked into her wife’s eye… And realized that she had fallen into her trap. Again.

“Photo Finish NEVER asks. It is jo, engländer, dat will BEG!”

Moments later, they were on the bed. Alsesta was completely naked, save for her shoes that she had put up a fight to keep on, lying face down on the bed, pinned down by her wife’s full body weight. Franzbrötchen was still wearing her standard purple pin-striped shirt, but her glasses lay safely on a table close by. The bed was rocking by the gentle, yet heavy movements of her hips. Because other than her shirt, Franzbrötchen was also wearing… “Die Kaiser”.

“If every mare was like jo, liebchen, ze makers of Vaseline would have to close their business for good.”

“...Just shut up and rut me, kraut.”

“...Die Kaiser will make jo pay for those words, engländer.”

Ah, yes. Die Kaiser… They had bought the toy some years back during a visit to the infamous Reeperbahn-district. They both had taken a liking to it, Alsesta with a sneer, and Franzie with a big smile, but still. It was also she that had named it. It was rather short, only nine inches, but the girth was pretty impressive. It was also painted a flushing red, like it was constantly on the verge to burst. “Exactly like ze Kaiser Lewitzer.” Alsesta had protested, "I'm not letting a stallion in there and you know it!" but Franzie had managed to convince her that it was not the name of the thing, but the one wielding it that mattered. Also, one test drive, and Alsesta had accepted it.

And here they were, many a test drive later, two mares in the golden years, panting and moaning and ridden by pure lust. Alsesta would have been content with that…
...if only Franzie could have shut her trap.

“So...Ah-Are jo ready to admit jor… ah... defeat, engelchen?”

“Just… just can it and do me, you stupid mare... AH SWEET MICHELIN!”

Franzbrötchen had placed her hand around her horn and began to stroke it with gently firm movements.

“Dummkopf! Surrender and give in to ze power of die mighty Kaiser, jo filthy engländer!”

Alsesta grinded her teeth as the pleasure was almost to hard to bare, and she gripped the sheets had her life depended on it. But still…

“Nnngh… Why do you call him… ungh… Die Kaiser… Oh sweet luna yes… That is not… AH! ...grammatically… ungh… correct.”

“I, Photo Finish, sneer at the boundary between linguistic genders! Now give in to the powers of die mutterland!

“I will never… never… Oh yes! YES! YES!

Franzie's hand was maniacally stroking her horn now, as “Die Kaiser” filled her completely.

“Yes! Yes! Zat’s it! Scream for me! Scream for me, mu…”

“YOU CALL ME A MULE A-ah… ah-and I WILL… oh Luna… KICK YOU into next week. Oh crap! Oh crap! OH HOLY CRAP FRANZIE YOU STUPID MARE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU MORON!”

As she lay face down on the bed, still pinned down by her wife and with “Die Kaiser” buried deep inside her… to say that she was the victim of mixed feelings would be as saying that Celestia was a little bit taller than the average pony. She was still panting, and jer body was flying to the moon in the biggest endorphin-rush she had in weeks. And yet, the one thing one her mind was stupid mare, but the warm feelings were taking over. Especially when she felt soft hands around her. Franzbrötchen had gone up from the bed, taken off “Die Kaiser” and was now laying down, spooning her wife. This would have been just perfect and her article about “The Belgo Bar” could burn in Tartaros for all she cared…

…and then, with her usual timing, her wife opened her mouth.

“Engelchen… Do jo know why german is such a sexy language...Hmmm?”

“Franzie…” she replied with a worn out voice, “German is not sexy. I only say schmetterling and rest my case.”

But then she felt her wife’s teasing fingers around her belly, moving their way upwards...

“Ah, but liebchen… Then jo don’t get it at all... Do jo know what an, auf, hinter, in, neben, über, unter, vor und zwischen means? They mean... on... “

“Mmm”

“Behind…”

“Ah!”

“Next…”

“What’s ne...AH!”

“Inside…

“OH LUNA!”

“Over…”

“Uhu...mmm”

“Under…”

“AH!”

“Before…”

“Say what now?”

“And ...in between.”

“Ah! Oh, for Celestia's sake, SHUT UP!”

And with that, she threw herself out of her wife's embrace, and looked at her with eyes flowing with fire and anger.

“I will make you shut up, if so by Luna it will kill me!”

And then she placed her hands in a firm grip on Franzbrötchens thighs, separated them and dived in. The food critic's most valuable assets were tastebuds, mouth… and tongue.

And she was the best food critic in Equestria.

The room was almost completely silent, only the sharp short breaths from Fransbrötchen could be heard. Ah, beautiful silence. Sometimes you have to work harder for it, but it is worth it. Alsesta was so focused on her wife that she had her eyes closed, but she opened them with a flash as she felt two hands that began to stroke her horn furiously. That well-known warmth in her nethers came back in an instant. For a second she paused, but then she shrugged her shoulders. What the hay, at least she is being quiet.
The room was still silent, safe for the sounds of idle hands moving and sharp breaths. The creaking from the bed as two bodies tensed up… And then…

“AH! AH! AH MEIN CELESTIA! ... Gott in himmel…”

“UNGH... Oh crap... Stupid Franzie…”

But in spite of what she said, Alsesta crawled back on the bed, laid down next to her wife and gave her a light kiss.

“Ich liebe dich, mein hertz.”

“I love you too... My loaf…”

Franzbrötchen smiled. Those few moments when her wife let down her guard to use the pun nickname were rare and she nuzzled closer to her, treasuring the moment. They lay in silence for somewhat half an hour until Franzbrötchen once again broke the silence.

“Them heterosexuals doesn’t know wat dey are missing.”

“Mhm…” Alsesta tried to sound discouraging, but it was hard when you were post-coitus sleepy.

“Liebchen… since jo are the food critic...how do I taste?”

Alsesta shrugged her shoulders. “Meh. Okay, I guess.”

Franzbrötchen raised her eyebrows and said with a slightly annoyed voice, “Only okey? But, then, as jo always say, the great food critic Alsesta Gourmand never eats something that only tastes ‘okay’.” She paused. “And you seemed to enjoy yourself...”

Alsesta smiled and gave her wife an affectionate kiss. That silly mare, she would never get it.

“Ah, but there is a difference there, my love. YOU I can eat as much as I want… but I don’t have to swallow…”

Author's Note

Let's see if you can find the hidden reference.

I regret nothing, and you will know me as the one that killed the subject.