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.
This one she knew.
That wasn’t uncommon, of course. In a town as small as this one it was more often than not that she recognised her clients. It didn’t really matter to her if some of the ponies knew of her double life, though. If they knew her by her other name. They weren’t in any position to judge her, after all, and nor she them, but when Roseluck would run into them in the streets of Ponyville she would always give them a little nod of recognition. She took a small but perverse delight in their reactions: instant blushes, quick attempts to avoid eye contact, and sometimes a sheepish nod back.
She especially enjoyed it if they were with their partners.
But it wasn’t her place to judge. Red didn’t turn anypony away for little things like infidelity. That was part of why she was Red, not Roseluck. Red didn’t care if you had a marefriend or wife, Red wouldn’t ask, Red wouldn’t tell. Red would do all the things your marefriend wouldn’t.
This one was new, though. One of the Apples, the brother? A huge stallion, his coat a vibrant scarlet that put her chosen namesake to shame. Big Macintosh, if she remembered correctly. She usually did.
He more than lived up to that moniker, too; Macintosh was one of the biggest stallions that had ever walked through her door. Red wondered idly if that was true for the rest of him, though she supposed she would find out soon enough. She’d heard stories of big stallions before, from some of the other mares. One swore she’d fucked a stallion as big as two ponies out in Appaloosa, said she couldn’t walk right for over a week. Red hoped that wouldn’t be the case here; she needed to work.
The stallion’s eyes widened when he saw her, in the way that locals who recognised her always did – that shock and surprise that a pony they knew would be here, with a faint undercurrent of lust as they realised they were about to rut that very same pony.
Red didn’t get that impression from him, though, just the surprise. “Roseluck?”
“It’s Red,” she asserted, leaving no room for questions. “Here, it’s Red.”
The stallion swallowed nervously at her tone, then nodded. “Red,” he agreed.
She smiled, the sharpness before melting away as she started to coax him back to her. “And what do you want me to call you?”
“Mac is just fine, Miss Red,” he said.
She giggled at his formality, and his ears pinned back in response. Mac still hadn’t moved from the door, shifting nervously from hoof to hoof. That was okay, though. Red liked the nervous ones. She always found them cute, especially when they were as handsome as this one.
Red rose from the bed, sauntering closer, watching his eyes drink in the exaggerated sway of her rump. Closer, closer, until they were almost kissing, until she could almost hear his heart beating staccato in his chest. She leaned in closer still, and whispered into his ear. “Money first, Mac,” she murmured, “and then we can do whatever you want to do.”
Mac blinked, and then his fog of lust cleared for long enough for her words to get through. Nodding his head, he fumbled through the saddlebag he’d hung on the door and retrieved a clinking bag of bits, which Red quickly sequestered away into a drawer. And then she was back on the bed, leaning back so that all but the parts the stallions most wanted to see was on show, brushing her mane slowly out of her dark eyes. All part of the script, all part of the plan, each and every one of her movements so carefully rehearsed and performed.
“Okay then,” she said warmly. “What did you have in mind?”
This was normally the point where even the nervous ones would gain some confidence, would stride over to the bed and push her down, their nerves overcome with lust and instinct. But Mac didn’t move. He just stood there, staring with wide eyes. And then, worse still, he caught himself and averted his gaze down at the floor.
“Uh, I’m sorry, Miss. I… I don’t really know.”
Oh. Realisation dawned. This was his first time. That surprised Red. Not that she hadn’t had first-timers before, but they were usually… Well, all shapes and sizes, but not like Mac. Red took a moment to admire the muscles that rolled beneath Big Mac’s fur as he shifted awkwardly by the door. All those hours working the orchards had paid some serious dividends, and Red was honestly a little excited at the prospect of taking such a good-looking stallion through the ropes.
The script had to change, though. To a more suitable one. She hopped up off the bed and made her way back over to him, placing a hoof gently under his chin to raise his head up to face her once again. Red didn’t have to lift it far; he was so much taller than she was, still almost looking down as he stared into her eyes, transfixed. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” she asked.
An immediate flush rose in his cheeks, so strong it showed even through his crimson fur. And then he shook his head slowly. “No, Miss. I ain’t.”
“That’s okay,” she murmured, sure to fill her voice with as much reassurance as she could. “Why don’t we head over to the bed and we can go from there?”
She led him gently by the hoof, and then they were sitting on the edge of the bed, him awkwardly glancing around the room at anything but the mare across from him, Red trying to decide how best to begin.
Follow the script, follow the plan. It’ll never lead you wrong.
“We can start slow,” she said, turning him to face her again. “As slow as you want.” She dropped her voice lower and lower, leaning in a little as he did the same just to hear her. “Whatever you want,” she breathed, and then moved in the last couple of inches to pull him into a kiss. He smelled like hay and sunshine as she breathed him in, her hoof reaching up to caress his face as she pulled him closer. Mac was clearly inexperienced, freezing up completely, no idea how to respond to her. That was okay, she could teach him. And she did, not with words, but with each of her subtle movements, by parting his lips for him as she made the kiss deeper, letting out soft little hums of delight as Mac finally began to enjoy it for what it was and even clumsily reciprocate.
She could feel a stiffness starting to rise between them, feel it gently but insistently start to press itself against her thigh as it freed itself from its sheath at her attention. When Big Macintosh felt it too, he pulled back in embarrassment.
“It’s okay,” she told him, pulling him back up against her, letting his hardness press into her, watching him shiver at the sensation as his cock rubbed against her soft fur. Red couldn’t help but smile as he stared at her in that awestruck manner that first-timers always did, as it became clear that the mare actually desired them, wanted them (or at least was going to act as though they did).
She could already tell that he was indeed going to live up to his moniker, although it was nothing she couldn’t handle, or hadn’t handled before. Red pulled him back into the kiss, slowly snaking her hoof down between them until it came to rest against his stiff length, and Mac’s hips bucked out of both surprise and instinct at her touch.
Slowly, gently, she began to caress and stroke him, feeling it stiffen even more in her grip, feeling Big Mac’s breathing quicken, his heart beating against her chest, faster and faster. So responsive, so easy to excite. The inexperienced ones were always so easy it almost felt unfair. Mac let out a shaky sigh as he leaned back, letting her hoof play up and down his now rock hard stallionhood, letting her do whatever she wanted to him, his body practically begging her to continue.
And then she pulled away, and he looked at her with desperate confusion, and Red just smiled. “So,” she said, pushing him back until he was lying down fully, his cock standing proudly to attention. “Let’s find out what you like, shall we?”
Mac swallowed, and then nodded, practically melting at her words. She took the affirmation as her cue to climb up and straddle him, leaning down to kiss him again as she pressed her wet marehood against his stiff length. But not to toy with him, not yet – she had other plans in mind. And so rather than grinding herself against it as she might have done another time, Red pulled away, sliding herself down, planting kisses along his chest as she went.
Lower, lower. His back legs starting to tense in anticipation. Lower. So close now, but rather than show his aching cock any attention, instead her lips moved lower still, past the tip, kissing the fur around it, letting her face press softly against his quivering hardness, teasing, tantalising. There was no rush, and if he was anything like most first-timers, it was probably better to draw it out. Red wanted to make sure he got his money’s worth. Lots of the other mares didn’t care about that – they loved virgins because it meant they’d be getting full price for a quarter of the work. Red thought they were pretty stupid for that. Getting their clients off quickly was easy money, sure, but only once. Give them enough time to enjoy it? That’s how you got them to come back. The reason Red got the most repeat customers of any of the mares working here was because she made sure her clients got what they came for. She was good at what she did because she’d put the effort in. The other mares almost certainly didn’t have everything painstakingly planned out.
In some ways, Red envied them for that. Lots of them didn’t use fake names, lots of them seemed to genuinely enjoy what they did here, although maybe they were just better at acting than Red was.
No, she doubted that. But what Red might have lacked in enthusiasm she more than made up for in her skill and effort. And it worked.
It was certainly working for Mac, his hooves clutching the bedcovers tightly as Red got ever closer to fulfilling the promise her lips made every time they brushed his skin. With every touch he tensed, another surge of anticipation unanswered. She could smell him, his scent thick in the air, that musk that was so similar but still different for every stallion. And then she stopped teasing. Red moved over and drew a long lick up along his entire length, smiling at Mac’s subdued grunt. When she reached the tip she planted another of her kisses directly against him, already tasting him, not unpleasant like some stallions, almost sweet. Perhaps it was all the apples he ate.
No time for getting distracted, though. She had business to attend to. And attend to him she did, wrapping her lips around him as she took him into her mouth, rolling her tongue along the underside as he squirmed and gasped at her ministrations. Fellatio had always been a mixed bag for Red. She was inclined to think she enjoyed it – she liked the teasing, and she definitely liked watching Mac’s reactions as she sought out all his weakest spots – but some stallions weren’t as into it as he obviously was. Others still would take matters into their own hooves, grabbing her head and taking the pleasure for themselves. That happened often enough that Red didn’t usually offer unless they asked for it. Or, like Mac, she was sure they’d be content to let her do exactly what she wanted, sucking and toying and tasting. She wondered why no mare had taken him before now. They must have asked, surely. No stallion built like Mac could have gone unsolicited this entire time. Maybe there was something Red didn’t know about him, some horrible secret, some awful personality flaw buried shallowly beneath the surface.
But to her he just seemed sweet, and Red was even a little glad she got to be his first. His inexperience was showing, though; his cock was already starting to throb and twitch in her mouth. Red pulled away with a wet smack of her lips, and smiled up at him as he stared down in dazed wonder.
“Did you like that?” she asked, although the answer was self-evident. He twitched slightly just from hearing her speak, another bead of his excitement leaking out of the tip.
“That was…” Big Macintosh took a deep breath. “That was amazing, Ros- Red.” He hesitated. “Can you keep going?” he asked, a moment later.
“Oh, I could,” Red purred, but instead she climbed up onto the bed beside him. “I just thought you might want to try something else.” She ran a hoof along the toned muscle of his chest. “Unless you don’t want to?”
Mac gulped. “Something else?”
In one smooth motion, Red rolled herself over top of him. Lying against him like this, the size difference between them was even more pronounced. Her head barely reached his neck, and she had to slide downwards even further until… There.
She found her mark, her wet marehood pressing against his length, nothing more than a suggestion as of yet, though, teasing his hot hardness against her entrance. Red waited until he was bucking his hips against her desperately before she relented, and leaned down and whispered: “Are you ready?”
Mac nodded quickly, staring up at her in almost rapturous awe.
And when Red finally started to slide down onto him, when she finally pushed him into her, slowly but surely, he grunted and screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip, lost in the sensation of her wet marehood clenching around him.
Fuck, he was big though. Big enough that Red had to take it slower than she wanted, big enough that she could feel every part of him pressing against her as she slowly dropped her waist, impaling herself on his length.
Slowly, slowly, until finally her butt pressed against his fur, leaving her quaking a little from the sheer fullness inside her. For a moment they stayed there, frozen in the moment as Red tried to get used to him, as every one of Mac’s rapid heartbeats made him twitch inside her, sending another small ripple of satisfaction through her. This was going to be a fun one, she could tell.
With an exaggerated moan, Red began to roll her hips against him. The effect was immediate, Mac’s back arching in pleasure from just that mild stimulation, grunting and writhing. She took his hooves that didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves and placed them against her hips. He quickly got the message, gripping her tightly as she continued to gently but insistently grind against him, still refusing to lift even the slightest amount, leaving a sticky wet patch against his fur.
It had been a long time since a client had managed to get her this excited early on. She wasn’t sure why, exactly. His naivety perhaps, although his physique certainly didn’t hurt either. He was definitely one of the hotter stallions she’d had, Red mused, looking down at him, his straw coloured mane splayed against the pillow, his eyes half-lidded with fulfilled desire. She smiled down at him, and then pushed against his shoulders with her hooves as she started to rise up off of him.
Red took her time, drawing the movement out as long as possible, leaning in close, letting him drink in every detail. She tightened around him as she did so, beckoning him to stay even as she pulled back, holding him even as she let him go. And all the while his hooves dug into her, tightening their grip whenever she did, a mirror match. Mac clutched her as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered, like his life depended on not letting go, never letting go. Not quite tight enough of a grip to be painful, but almost. Red didn’t mind, though. She’d managed far worse.
It would have been easy for him to hurt her, too. He was so much bigger, so much stronger. And yet he didn’t; no matter how much she clenched and tightened and squeezed, no matter how much she could see it affect him, how he threw his head back and growled through gritted teeth, his hold on her stayed tight but safe. Restrained. Careful.
More careful than most of the stallions she’d serviced. More caring. She’d had far tighter grips before, sharper spanks. Stuff that had left bruises – not serious ones, but enough to hurt. It was nice to have a stallion who cared enough to make sure he didn’t hurt her, to hold himself back even if she could tell he wanted to grab her even more tightly.
And then she descended again, slowly letting him fill her back up completely, letting out a low moan as she felt him against every part of her. He responded in kind, so sensitive, so ready. Even the slightest of her movements was enough to make Big Mac squirm, bite his lip, scrunch his eyes shut. And when she began to ride him properly, even as slow as it was at first, he let out a muted curse as he clung to her as if for dear life.
He opened his eyes again, watching her, watching the way she moved, watching her hips as she swallowed him up, as the bed began its familiar, well-worn creak. And yet still he just lay there and so Red moved her hoof to his, still on her waist, as if to remind him they were still there. Still he didn’t get the message, and so on the next upstroke Red paused, leaving herself almost fully off of him, just his flaring tip still inside her.
“Do it,” she whispered. “This is all for you.”
And, after a moment’s hesitation, Mac did. His grip on her waist became surer. Not stronger, exactly, but some subtle shift from clinging on desperately to a proper hold, ready to move her as he wanted. And then he began to pull her back down, thrusting upwards as he did so, their hips meeting with a loud smack.
And with that sound, Mac finally found his confidence. Now he was the one guiding her, setting the pace, pulling her back down onto him forcefully whenever she lifted herself, each of his thrusts paired with a grunt, a snort, a gasp.
But.
But he was still holding back. Despite his newfound control, Mac was still being careful and restrained, still trying to be gentle.
Red didn’t like it. This wasn’t in the script.
Her careful coaxing always won them over by now. Even the most shy and nervous ones would have stopped holding back, would be giving her everything they had. Unless, of course, it was already over, which it sometimes was with the nervous ones. Red never held that against them; she could usually get them hard again before their time was up.
But this… This was different.
It didn’t seem to be nerves any more. They’d melted away as expected, and even from the start his shyness hadn’t been all that bad. This was something else, something Red hadn’t dealt with before. She didn’t know how to work with this gentleness.
And so instead, she tried to get him back on track. “That’s it,” she murmured breathily. “Fuck me, Mac.” They always loved to hear their name. Her words undoubtedly had an effect, she could feel him twitch inside her, but it still wasn’t enough to break through.
Eventually she could bear it no longer. “Is something wrong?” she asked. Red didn’t like breaking the illusion like that, but sometimes being direct was exactly what the clients wanted.
“Wrong? No, Miss Ros- Er, Red. This is… You’re amazing.”
“Then why are you holding back?”
Mac frowned beneath her. “Oh. Uh… I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me, Mac.” She leaned in close and dropped her voice once again, layering it with as much sultriness as she could muster to bring back the mood from before. “You can fuck me as hard as you want.”
His frown remained. “I don’t.”
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t want to f-” Mac caught himself, and hesitated. “I want you to like it too.”
“Some mares – lots of them – like it that way,” she countered.
“Maybe,” he said. “But you don’t.”
Red blinked. “Of course I do.”
Mac stared into her eyes, straight through them, and then simply shook his head. “Nope,” he said.
“How would you even know that?” Red asked, keenly aware of the uneasy edge in her voice. “I thought you said you hadn’t done this before.”
“I haven’t,” he replied. “But I could just tell.”
“How?”
Mac shrugged apologetically. “It’s not so easy to explain.”
For the first time ever, Red was starting to get angry, although she wasn’t sure where it was coming from. No one had ever called her lie before. Why would they? Even if deep down her clients knew she wasn’t as desperate for their cock as she made out, why would they ever confront her about it? The lie was the whole point, the entire purpose of their visit. They would pay her and she would let them fuck her and pretend to want them and that was how it was, how it had always been.
And now here was Mac, a virgin, a complete novice, and he had the audacity to shatter the illusion she’d worked so hard to perfect, when he should have been the most susceptible to it.
“Sounds like you’re not so sure,” she said, trying not to seem as irritated as she felt. Still trying to keep on the mask, still trying to tempt him back to more familiar territory.
“It’s your eyes,” he said, and the script fell further and further by the wayside. “Kinda, anyway. There’s no truth in em. And it’s the way you sit. And it’s… Uh…” Mac paused again.
“It’s what?” she snapped.
“It’s the way you feel,” he said, blushing furiously.
“The way I… what?”
“I dunno,” he said, shifting uneasily beneath her. Inside her. “You felt different before. You moved more.”
Red stared down at him with pure incredulity. “Mac…” she began, but he cut her off.
“If you want to do it that way we can! It just didn’t feel like you wanted to,” he concluded, sheepishly.
Red was quiet for a very long time. This was not how it was supposed to go. No one ever said no. No one ever declined to start fucking her in earnest, to throw her over the bed and rut her as hard as they could. Some required more warm up, but they all gave in. Eventually.
You really are terrible, you know that?
And now Roseluck was here too, and she definitely wasn’t supposed to be here. This was Red’s time, not hers.
You’ve always thought so little of them, thought Roseluck. You can’t even bear the thought one of them actually cares if you’re enjoying it.
Red pushed the thoughts away, pulled the mask back on, shoved Roseluck back into a tiny little corner of her mind. Be Red. Be who you need to be.
“Are you okay, Miss?” Mac asked, still beneath her, still eyeing her with genuine concern.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Red said brusquely, and then she lifted herself off of him, enjoying the way he tensed beneath her at the sensation of sliding out of her, still a slave to his instincts even after everything he’d tried to prove to her. “Let’s try something else.”
“Alright,” said Mac, hesitantly.
Calm down, Red. He’s the client. Don’t lose your cool, you’re too good for that. Become what he wants you to be.
And that was Red’s secret, of course. She was malleable, adaptable. She could always find what they wanted, and become exactly that, and this time would be no different. There was no reason why it should be.
And so after pulling away she lay herself on top of him, and began to kiss him again, this time lacing it with as much passion and desire as she could. You want him. You need him. You’re desperate for him.
And you definitely, definitely like this.
Mac began to relax again, his tension draining out of him as she kissed, sighed, moaned, eyes closed, letting her lips give her all the sensation she needed, her hooves caressing and stroking and loving.
And then, when she was sure he was fully immersed in the moment, in nothing but pure sensation, she gripped him more firmly and then rolled them both over.
He was heavy, much heavier than most of the stallions she’d had before, even the overweight ones. She should have seen that coming, of course, but even in his surprise Mac was quick to catch his weight and hold himself off of her a bit, enough that even though she could still feel him pressing firmly against her body, so small to him, it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, there was something quite calming about it, about being wrapped up in him.
More than anything, though, she knew this would be better for Mac. More intimate, more close. More tender.
Red hadn’t had a client who had asked for that for a long time, so long that for a moment she had forgotten some ponies wanted that. But it was okay, her irritation was quickly fading now she was back on track, now she had a path to follow again. And this was one she was sure she could lead Mac down too.
She gazed up at him, so big, so strong. The sultriness she’d infused into every one of her actions had been quickly discarded now Red knew he didn’t want that. Instead she filled that space with vulnerability, and even a touch of her own, feigned nervousness. The slightest tinge of hesitation, as if giving herself to him was crossing some barrier she only just dared to.
A different mask, but a mask all the same.
Mac was already showing his excitement for this new Red, though, his breathing growing heavy, his length – pinned between them – twitching against the soft fur of her stomach.
“I’m ready,” she murmured, softly. Gently. Letting him know that he could take his time, that she could wait for him, that he was worth waiting for.
She didn’t have long to wait after all. “Me too,” Mac grunted, shifting above her as he tried to align himself. He missed his mark, though, letting out a groan as he slid forward against her fur.
With a warm smile, Red reached down, taking his shaft in her hooves and earning another shiver from the stallion above her. And then she guided him into her, giving a gasp of her own as Mac felt her part for him and thrust forward instinctively, filling her once again. She followed it with a breathy sigh of satisfaction and lust, perfectly tailored to meet Mac’s desire, just subtle enough for it to seem real, just passionate enough to make his heart race. She was in control again. The mask was working again. They were back to the script.
There was still a faint hesitation in Mac’s movements as his hooves held her tight and he began to thrust forwards, but Red was sure that was simply residual nerves. This was his first time being on top, after all, his first time taking charge. And as long as Red played her part right, he would never truly realise quite how she was pulling his strings to make him do exactly what she wanted. He’d never notice the subtlest of pressure from her back legs as she wrapped them around him, setting the pace herself. He’d notice but never truly understand why she gasped in that way whenever he gave her a particularly deep thrust, encouraging him to do it again, over and over. And all the other things besides, things that even Red wasn’t really aware of doing. After so long, they’d become second nature.
And so when Mac broke from the script again and leaned in to kiss her, it took Red even more by surprise than the first time. They never kissed her like this. She kissed them, of course, and during the heat of the moment they would try and kiss her back, but it was… different. They would press themselves tightly to her, as much a show of their dominance or lust as anything else. She could have handled that, though. The forceful kisses were expected, safe. But they weren’t really a kiss.
This was, and it came with all the tenderness and affection that came with a true one, and it wasn’t right and it shouldn’t have happened. They weren’t supposed to kiss her like that, any more than they were supposed to tell her what she didn’t like. Even in this more intimate position, it was still supposed to be a guise, a fantasy, one that made them feel better about wanting to rut her so hard the bed broke beneath them. They could play at being caring, they could play at being kind in the warm closeness that it brought with it, but it was still all for them. And if they kissed her it was still with that forceful passion that simply served as a message. I’m going to fuck you now, it said, and you are going to lie there and take it.
The message Mac’s kiss brought was very different. It was as gentle and careful as the rest of him. I want you to feel good, it said. I want you to want this as much as I do, it said. I want you, it said, and I don’t want to hurt you to do it.
The lingering hesitation was gone now, at least, and so Red did something she hadn’t done for longer than she could remember. She stopped following the script. They’d been on the edge of abandoning it this entire time anyway, it wasn’t much of a difference. And so instead Red let him kiss her, let herself be swept up in it, in him, her usual dispassionate control eroded in his embrace.
It was dangerous, though, as she felt an unfamiliar warm flush rise in her cheeks as Mac began to fuck her.
No, that wasn’t the right word. It had always been right, but now it was too coarse, too hard. This wasn’t fucking. Red wasn’t quite sure what the word was supposed to be.
Making love.
Roseluck chimed in unbidden, and Red couldn’t silence her in time.
Perhaps she was right, though. And it was dangerous, because as these new feelings started to roll through her it became harder to keep Roseluck buried, keep her out of the way. She had to keep Roseluck hidden. She couldn’t be Roseluck here, because then she wouldn’t be safe.
And there was the truth of it. Roseluck had created Red not because she was tired of her pesky feelings getting in the way, but to keep herself safe. To stay distant. So she could say that none of this happened to her, not really. So when she went home she could leave Red here, leave her crying in the shower or staring blankly at the tiles, and Roseluck would be clean of the cum that had crusted on Red’s fur, not hers. The fresh bruises that bloomed on Red’s skin never hurt as bad once Roseluck left her behind. Red wasn’t just another name, another life; she was a suit of armour.
And now the armour was breaking.
Red had held against so much, stayed strong for all of it, and now this of all things was shattering her: Mac’s unrelenting tenderness. Even now, as he started to find his confidence and settle into a rhythm, it was deep and slow, gentle, almost loving. His touch, his kiss, even his length filling her – each and every one of his movements filled with such genuine affection. He was such a big stallion, and she’d been so ready for him to be just like all the others, and here they were, sharing the most intimate sex she’d ever experienced. Even before she became Red, even before she became so familiar with every stain and crack in the ceiling above her as she stared up at it and waited for the stallions to finish with her, it had never been like this.
Not her first, back in high school, so eager for his own first time he didn’t even notice she’d bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood. Not in college, when she’d spent the nights getting drunk and bringing the best looking stallion she could find back to her place and he would bend her over the bed and fuck her and when he finished she’d wonder why she’d even bothered. Not when she’d come back to Ponyville, and for a long time there was nothing but her hoof. Not when she first started working here, when she’d been as nervous as Mac had been, and the stallion told her everything was going to be fine he would be gentle and then he’d pulled her mane hard enough to make her cry.
You’ve gotta be careful, Rosie, she had been told. They want it more than anything else.
But she hadn’t been careful. She didn’t know how you were supposed to be careful, how careful made any sense. The stallions always took what they wanted, and Roseluck gave it to them. There had been no room for careful.
Until now. Until Mac. Until he’d shown her what careful could look like, what a good stallion could be. The weight of a mountain of poor decisions now pressing down on her, making it hard to breathe, to do anything. All of this, everything she’d done here. Wrong. Misplaced.
Not careful.
Panic began to drown her then, all her mistakes and bad experiences flooding through her as the shell that Red had been truly broke at last. And in that blind fear, Roseluck reached out, and Mac was there.
This time she was the one who clung to him, a rock in the tempest that raged through her now that Red was truly gone and she wasn’t that hardened mare any more, she was just scared. She was that filly who, after her first coltfriend had finished with her, had wondered if it would hurt this much every time. She was the mare who sighed as another drunken fling finished inside her before she’d even started to get excited, rolling her eyes as he collapsed beside her without even caring if she’d gotten off. All of that and more, everything. And she clung to Mac and waited for those roaring memories to quiet, and even though he mistook her tightened grip on him for passion, even though he carried on and his thrusts started to get stronger as he got close, it was still better than any of those memories. It was different. It was safe.
And so when his last few thrusts got stronger still, a clear indication of what was about to happen, she hugged herself closer to him. When he finally buried himself inside her and his heat started to fill her so deep, she welcomed it. Usually it made Roseluck feel dirty, but this didn’t. The heat burned away whatever dirt was in there, seared her tumultuous memories until they were gone, and there was nothing but her and Mac, everything else faded so far into the background as to be nothing.
For a long while, Roseluck held him. There was nothing more she wanted to do, nothing more she could do. And so she held him and they lay together and Mac pressed his lips to hers in one last kiss and Roseluck returned it with everything she had.
And then the world flew back into focus as Mac lifted himself off of her and collapsed beside her, the bed giving one last creak, clarity returning so sharply that it almost gave Roseluck whiplash. As Mac lay there, recovering, she pulled herself upright, curling up tightly. She was raw, every part of her, her soul stripped and bared. And now Mac had rolled away and Red was gone and she had nothing left to hold on to, to keep her anchored.
“That was incredible,” Mac breathed, to no one in particular. To the ceiling maybe. It had heard enough exultations in its time.
Roseluck said nothing.
Big Macintosh was quick to notice her subdued demeanour now that his orgasm was fading, and he pulled himself up too. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She hated that he asked. Couldn’t he turn it off for just five minutes? Couldn’t he just be a normal stallion and enjoy the afterglow and not give a shit how she was?
“I’m fine,” she said, in that sharp tone that made it clear she was very much not fine, but that there was no discussion to be had about it.
But of course Mac couldn’t leave it alone.
“Did I do something wrong?” The concern was all too apparent in his voice, as he started to reach a hoof out to her.
“No,” she said, so harshly that his hoof snapped back as if stung. “But your time’s up.”
“Oh,” he said, quietly. “Okay.”
“The shower’s back there.”
Mac waited a moment, then nodded and shuffled off to the bathroom, giving Roseluck a much needed moment alone. Although alone was also the last thing she wanted to be right now. The sound of running water from the shower usually brought it with a sense of relief. Another one over, another satisfied client. Not today, though. There was no comfort to be found from that muted hiss.
And when Mac finished and the shower squeaked off, there was no comfort in that either. He stepped back into the room, giving Roseluck another concerned look. She hadn’t moved an inch the entire time. Moving seemed too terrifying right now, anything did other than staying curled up tight, pinning her legs to her chest and trying and failing not to think about anything.
“I guess I’ll be heading out now then,” Mac said, almost a question.
Roseluck said nothing.
“Red?” he asked, and the name felt strange and alien to her ears.
Roseluck said nothing, and this time Mac had no answer to her silence. He pulled the saddlebags off the back of the door and, after giving her one last worried glance, shut it behind him as he left her there. Alone.
Eventually she found the means to stumble to the shower, sinking down on the tiles as usual as the water rolled over her and soaked through her fur, plastering her mane over her eyes. But there was nothing for it to wash off. Roseluck didn’t cry this time. She didn’t hurt. There were no bruises.
And yet somehow she wished there were. They would have been easier to heal.
Roseluck smiled as she handed over the bouquet to the old stallion in front of her.
“Thank you, dear,” he said, dropping a small pile of bits onto the stand. “She’ll love them.”
“I’m sure she will,” Roseluck replied, and watched him amble off down Ponyville’s twisting roads. Despite how long he’d been a customer of hers, it had been only recently she’d discovered that it wasn’t home he was going, but to the local graveyard. She’d tried not to let that cloud their interactions, but it was hard to act cheerful when she knew where those roses were going to end up. When he still referred to his wife in the present tense.
Roseluck sighed and slumped down against her stand, propping up her head with a hoof. It had been a very long night. Sleep had always been difficult for her, but last night it had been nothing short of impossible. Her mind raced, her regrets swallowed her up, and she’d stumbled out of bed this morning mostly just so she could stop trying.
It wasn’t as though the flower stall was worth opening. All two of her regular customers had been and gone already, and while it used to bring her some comfort to work here during the day, now it brought none. Now Roseluck couldn’t help but wonder if this was the mask all along, only there to make her feel better before she took it off and Red was there and waiting.
A shadow fell across her face, and Roseluck looked up, halfway through her usual greeting spiel before she realised who it was. “Hello, what can I-”
“Howdy,” said Mac, with a sheepish smile of his own.
Roseluck stared at him in stunned silence, and then pushed the memory of last night away. That was Red’s time, she reminded herself. Just be Roseluck.
“Hi Mac,” she said. “What can I get for you?”
He thought for a moment, looking down at the wide array of flowers strewn in front of her. “Well,” he said, “I was gonna ask for some flowers you’d think a mare would like, but I’m thinking you already got enough.”
Roseluck frowned. “Sorry?”
“That was bad, huh?” said Mac, a flush rising in his cheeks. “Sorry. I ain’t had much practice at this sort of thing.”
Roseluck’s confusion only worsened. “If you’d like, I can pick out a bouquet most mares would enjoy?” she asked.
“Oh, no, that’s not-” Mac floundered for a moment before he seemed to catch himself, straightening up and looking her right in the eye. “I was wondering if you wanted to get a coffee or something?”
Oh. That’s what this was. “Mac,” she said, trying to sound both understanding and firm – a hard line to walk. “We both know why that can’t happen. You know what I do.”
Never with a client. That was definitely a rule, even if it hadn’t ever needed to be one until this moment, and while Red was struggling with her rules right now this one seemed like a very good one to stick to. Especially for Mac. If there was any pony whom she didn’t want to see after, it was him.
Mac didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest by her words. “Well, beggin’ your pardon, but I know what Red does. But I ain’t here to ask Red out, Miss Roseluck. I’m here to ask you.”
That earned a raised eyebrow. Did he know? Could he look at the dark rings around her eyes from her sleepless night and see the conflict eating her inside out?
No. Surely he was too naive for that.
“They’re not much different,” she lied.
“Maybe they don’t have to be. Just different enough.”
Mac seemed different today, too. More sure of himself. She supposed that made sense; this was probably more familiar territory than last night. And as he stood there, smiling an easy smile that was only slightly tinged with nervousness, Roseluck was surprised to find she was genuinely considering it.
No, said Red. This cannot happen. He’s from your other life, from my world. They don’t mix. They can’t mix.
They already had, though. From the moment Red had given way to Roseluck, from the moment that every wall she’d so carefully built had crumbled away and let the truth in.
That was different. This is different. This is dangerous.
And Red was right, it was. This was a terrible precedent to set, agreeing to a date with a client. Agreeing to a date at all. Roseluck hadn’t had a coltfriend in a long time. It was… incompatible with her line of work. No stallion would want to be with someone who bent over for anyone who paid them enough, and she was not the type to hide something like that from someone who deserved better. Red might have, but not Roseluck.
But Mac already knew all that, knew what she did, knew who she was. He knew both sides of her, and yet here he was, asking.
“Why?” she asked, eventually.
“Why what?”
“Why this? Why not just come by when I’m working another night?”
Mac’s flush deepened, and Roseluck was sure the memories of the previous evening were currently spiralling through his mind. He scratched his head and shrugged. “I don’t think that’s really what I want.”
“Then there’s a million other mares out there, Mac,” she said.
This time there was far more surety in his words. “They ain’t what I want either.”
An unfamiliar flutter in Roseluck’s heart came with Mac’s assertion, a rolling excitement in her stomach. His eyes were locked with her now, and she felt like she might lose herself in them if she wasn’t careful. They’d already seen everything she was, even if their owner didn’t really know it. They’d already seen the truth as she’d shuddered beneath him and Red had faded to nothing, as Roseluck had curled up alone after and frozen him out. And yet Mac hadn’t accepted being pushed away. Confronted with her icy silence, he’d come back to her. For her.
No other client had ever done that. No other stallion had shown her even a sliver of the compassion Mac had. She’d never worried about her clients asking her on a date because until now the idea had never even crossed her mind. It certainly hadn't crossed theirs. It wasn’t what she was there for. But here Mac was, waiting for an answer to a question Roseluck had never even thought of.
If you do this, said Red again, filled with rising panic, there isn’t any going back. If you do this I can’t protect you anymore. I can’t keep the memories out if you keep letting them in.
She was right. Mac was a constant reminder, not just of that one night but of all the other nights, of everything she’d ever thought and assumed and lived. He was every stallion’s face, he was that conversation with her mother
Be careful
and he was all her regrets and mistakes. Because he was everything they hadn’t been, he was the contrast, the context. And he would never stop being that.
But was that worse?
Yes, Red urged. Tell him you can’t. Tell him it would never work. And then we can go back to that place and everything will be back to normal and I can take care of you.
Because that was the alternative. To carry on as before. To hide behind Red and all her mistakes and use them as her excuses. To go back to that place and spread her legs and take the bruises and scald herself in the shower as she tried to burn herself clean.
But at least it was what she knew. At least she would have Red to shield herself from the worst of it. Going with Mac now was stepping into the unknown without anything to protect her.
An impossible decision. Stay, or go. A familiar cage, or terrifying freedom. Her armour, or her last chance at something else. But only a chance, and a slim one at that.
Red, or Roseluck.
She looked up at Mac, still with that gentle smile, still with those warm eyes that waited patiently for her, would maybe wait forever. “What do you say?” he asked.
And Roseluck made her choice.
