Red

This one wasn’t local.

His clothes were too smart (and the fact that he wore them at all to a place like this spoke volumes), and his stomach hung a little too low for any of the working earth ponies in Ponyville. His accent had an air of self-proclaimed dignity, perhaps trying a little too hard, and it came across as vanity instead.

Canterlot, then.

Roseluck didn’t question why a Canterlot pony was this far from home. Perhaps visiting the Princess, perhaps something else. She didn’t ask questions, as a rule.

There were a lot of rules, she’d found, and as time went on she only added more of them. Never ask questions was one. Listen if they want to talk anyway was another. Sometimes they did just want to talk. Or cuddle, even. They were nice, those ones. Sometimes they didn’t even fuck her.

This would not be one of those stallions. This stallion was unbuttoning his jacket almost as soon as he walked through the door of the small, sparsely decorated room she’d be working in tonight. He hung it on the hook, ran his hoof gently down the fabric with an admiring sigh, and then turned towards her. He was smiling, and it was all teeth.

“Ah,” he said, “Red, isn’t it? I didn’t think they had whores as pretty as you this far from civilised society.”

It was supposed to be a compliment, Roseluck knew, and so she smiled as if flattered.

“Of course,” he continued, “you’re not quite as refined as the Canterlot escorts I’m used to, but then who is?”

The stallion laughed loudly, and the sound grated against Roseluck’s ears. Her smile didn’t even waver.

He started to move towards the bed, only to stop when Roseluck raised a hindleg from her reclined position and planted it firmly on his advancing chest. The stallion gave her a look of shocked incredulity, and Roseluck would never admit that she took great pleasure from that expression.

“Money first,” she said.

The stallion blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Money first,” she repeated, “and then we can do whatever you want.”

Another rule, and one of the most important ones.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, stomping back to his jacket and pulling out a small but full bag. It jingled. The stallion tossed it onto the table beside the bed, and sighed. “Tell me you’re not going to count it.”

After the way he’d acted so far, she had half a mind to do just that – to count out each and every coin as slowly as she could, perhaps twice just to ‘make sure’ – but Roseluck relented. Instead she gazed at him with half-lidded eyes.

You want him, she told herself, trying to make her desire for the pudgy, pampered stallion before her at least look realistic. You want everything about him.

“How do you want me?” she asked, her voice husky with fake lust.

The stallion’s smile was back, as wide as it had ever been as he crawled onto the bed, moving on top of her, his weight pressing heavily against her midriff as he slid upwards. For a moment she thought he might start by kissing his way along her body, like some of her clients did. She soon chided herself for even considering that as she felt his hardness pushing against her stomach.

As if this stallion even knew what foreplay was.

Not that it really mattered either way to Roseluck. Foreplay was always for the stallion’s benefit rather than her own, anyway. Some of them enjoyed revving the engine first, others felt it was a waste of their time. This one clearly fell into the latter category.

He grunted, shifting his weight above her. “I can’t wait any longer.”

And Roseluck smiled at him, and then she shrank into herself, and then she was Red, as she was every time, and by the time she opened her eyes he was already entering her.

He wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of masculine endowment, but Red sighed in satisfaction anyway as he pushed into her. She’d always found the sighs to be more believable than moans. Plenty of stallions liked Red to be loud, but they always enjoyed it more if they felt like they’d earned it. Moaning right from the start was too obvious. A lot of the other mares thought that was stupid, that the louder they were the more fun the stallion would have. The same mares couldn’t understand why Red commanded a much higher rate than they did, either, or why her repeat business was so much better.

Another satisfied grunt from the stallion. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he muttered. “You must really want this, huh?”

Red couldn’t help glancing at the side table, where she kept the lubricant. He didn’t need to know how she’d liberally applied it before his arrival. Let him have his fantasy, let Red be whoever he wanted her to be – that was her role after all. She was a blank canvas, and he was already painting his own picture of her over the top.

The bed creaked beneath them as he pushed himself deep inside her – a well-worn creak, of springs that had seen more than their fair share of what was to come next. He was heavy, and his body pressed Red down into the mattress as he grunted and shifted to get a better angle.

You want him, Red reminded herself. Keep up the act.

Although honestly with this stallion she didn’t think he’d even notice if she just went limp and ignored him. Her enjoyment and enthusiasm were as irrelevant to him as her name, false or otherwise. But the act was important. She had to keep it up, keep pretending, make it as believable as possible.

For the both of them.

And so as he rutted her Red gasped, and bit her lip, and clutched herself against him. As he fucked her she began to move against him as well, rolling her hips and making him groan appreciatively. And as the bedsprings began to creak ever louder, she kept up the act. Like always.

The stallion kissed her. His breath was stale and tasted of alcohol, and a shiver of revulsion rolled through her. She tried to pretend otherwise, of course, brushing her hoof through his mane and pulling him closer, but he didn’t seem to care. Perhaps it was part of the stallion’s act, maybe he needed one too. Maybe he wanted to look like he gave even a single damn about the mare beneath him, though for whose benefit Red wasn’t exactly sure. If that was the case, he wasn’t trying very hard. Soon enough he broke it and returned his attention to what he’d paid her for.

Red had long since stopped trying to work out why this was worth so much to them, the stallions. When she’d been a little filly, her mother had sat her down one day in the kitchen, and tried to explain sex to her. A couple of other foals in her class had already hit their first heat that year, and her mother must have decided she couldn’t put it off anymore. It had been an uncomfortably warm summer, and Roseluck had shifted in her chair as much from the warmth as from embarrassment while her mother stumbled through the vaguer points of the birds and the bees. At the end, though, her mother had said something that stuck with her.

You’ve gotta be careful, Rosie. Stallions… stallions want it more than anything else, who knows why. They ain’t afraid to lie, or pretend to be someone they ain’t to get it, and that ain’t gonna change any time soon. You just… just be careful, okay?

And while Roseluck had been anything but careful, she took some solace in the fact that at least she was using the insatiable male appetite for sex against them.

Oh yes, you’re really getting one over on this guy, aren’t you? Lying here on your back, legs spread, letting him do whatever he likes.

Shit. Red shut the voice out as quick as she could, but the damage was done. She’d dropped the act. The stallion above her paused, frowning.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Not that he cared, not really, he just wanted to make sure that he could keep going. That he got his money’s worth.

Red smiled up at him, her mask firmly back in place. His mane was starting to mat with sweat, plastering to his forehead as he breathed heavily through an open mouth. “Of course, keep going,” she murmured huskily. With an eager grin he quickly got back to rutting her, any concern instantly melting away as the bed began to creak once more.

And that was why she had to be Red. She’d let Roseluck slip through – just for a moment, sneaking in with the memory – and forgotten to keep pretending.

Don’t let the mask slip. That rule was almost as important as number one. Don’t let it fall away, don’t let them realise you’re not who you’re pretending to be. Deep down they must have known, Red was sure of that. They can’t have honestly believed that the mare below them was so eager for their cock after she’d asked for the money up front; Red didn’t think they were that stupid. But, like a good stage performance, one where the actors truly became the characters they portrayed, perhaps in the moment they were able to forget.

As long as she could keep the mask on.

Red had spent a long time perfecting her act. Every caught breath, every bite of her lip, the way she’d run a hoof through her mane when he looked at her, desperately clutching the bedsheets with her other, the way she’d bury her head in his neck when he didn’t. All of it was practised and rehearsed to a science, and the effects were more than obvious. The stallion above would twitch inside her, thrust even harder into her, or even bite her ear as he lost control (something she almost dissuaded him from, but as long as it didn’t hurt she decided to let him get away with it). She knew what made them tick, what they wanted to hear.

“Fuck,” she whispered, letting a tremble into her voice. “Keep doing that. Just like that.”

His smile grew smug, and he redoubled his efforts above her. It was funny, Red mused, as his length pressed as deeply into her as he could, and she gave him the gasp he was trying to elicit. Considering how little her clientele really cared about pleasing her, they were always so satisfied if they thought they were managing it anyway.

These types tended to enjoy that the most, Red had found, the ones who bragged about sleeping with other prostitutes as if that was some measure of success. An ego thing, she assumed. Or perhaps they had a mare at home, one whom they could never satisfy with their selfish lovemaking, and Red’s act let them pretend it wasn’t their fault.

Not that she never climaxed. It would usually only happen with the gentler clients, the ones where she could guide the pace, lead them how she wanted, but it did happen. She usually tried to hide it. It wasn’t part of the script.

Tonight that wasn’t a concern. Red had been doing this long enough to know when her clients were close, and this stallion certainly was. His face was red with effort, his mane slick with sweat, his jaw clenched tight as he fucked her harder and faster. Red did what she could to guide him the rest of the way, but it didn’t take much.

It never did.

The subtlest of moans, of gasps, of clasping her legs together and tightening her marehood around him, of lurid mutterings into his ear that she was ready, that she wanted – needed – him to cum, that it was the most important thing in the world, oh please won’t you.

And then he did, his thrusts abruptly coming to a halt as he shoved as much of himself inside her as he could, and if he was pinning her down before, now it felt like he was almost crushing her, holding Red down so tightly as he filled her that she idly wondered if there’d be anything of her left after this. Warm jets splashed into her, some of it leaking out between her legs as at last he pulled away and fresh air filled her lungs, and the last of his orgasm landed on her stomach.

Red lay there, panting for breath, as the stallion looked down at her with a triumphant smile.

“Looks like you enjoyed that as much as I did,” he said, his grin so wide it seemed like his head was a moment from splitting in half. “It must be so easy being a mare, able to earn so much money and enjoy it all the while.”

Red had to resist every urge to stop herself scowling, or even going so far as to give him a slap for that. Instead she kept her smile and slightly dazed expression, knowing that at the very least her act had been as believable as ever, and that he was far from the worst stallion whose money she’d taken.

He dismounted the bed, stretching as he stepped back.

“The bathroom’s over there, tiger,” Red said, motioning with a hoof as she lay back to show him his handiwork.

“Tiger… I like that,” he said, before disappearing into the side room. Red knew he would.

Once he’d cleaned up, the stallion returned and awarded her a single kiss to the forehead as he pulled his coat back on. “Perhaps I’ll see you again the next time I’m in town,” he said.

“I’ll be waiting,” Red replied, knowing she’d forget his face the moment he shut the door behind him. Knowing deep down he knew that too. Still, he gave her another lustful grin before finally leaving her alone, the fruit of his exploits already beginning to crust on her fur.

She locked the door behind him and was in the bathroom in an instant, over to the mirror. A dishevelled mare stared back at her, Red’s mane in chaotic tufts, her makeup smeared and ugly. She turned in disgust and headed into the shower, turning the water up as high as it could go, so hot it was almost scalding. And then she slid down the back wall until she was sitting on the shower floor and let the water drench her, and Red just stayed there.

A long while later, a now spotless Roseluck emerged, collected the bag of coins from the bedside table, and left the room.

She was careful not to look at the sprawled bedsheets.