No Balloon Strings Attached

by Freglz

Rating: mature
Tags: Slice of Life, Human, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Porn, Pinkie Pie, Sex
Length: 14820

Another failed date, another lonely night. What's a girl to do? May as well see what Pinkie has to say about it. She always knows how to cheer me up.

Another failed date, another lonely night.

What's a girl to do?

May as well see what Pinkie has to say about it.

She always knows how to cheer me up.

Edited by ROBCakeran53, Grimm and Shakespearicles.
Original art by Dimfann.

Published 2020-01-24 00:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-01-24 00:00:01 UTC

Fallback Plans

Author's Note

Written for Ara.
I hope you like.

Fallback Plans

By the time the train pulls away, I’ve already left Ponyville Station and made it halfway to Sugarcube Corner. I wince as the shrill cry of the whistle pierces the air and tugs at a nerve, and I sag a little further.

Again. It happened again. The seventh failed date in a row, and that whistle may as well be a funeral bell tolling for the tragic end of my love life. Couldn’t even get it back on its feet; as soon as I found myself here, it keeled over and buried itself six feet under. I’ve been trying my best to resurrect it, but for all my efforts, I’m no Doctor Frankenstein. And despite magic being a real, tangible force in this world, I doubt there’s a spell for this.

It’s been almost a full year since I’ve seen another human, and by now the layout of Ponyville has bored its way into my memory. I barely need to look two paces ahead to know where I’m going, and I’m tall enough that the ponies can’t miss me and give me some room. They’ve grown used to me, I’ve grown used to them, but if my experience in the dating game here has taught me anything, it’s that the former isn’t universal.

I need a drink. Failing that, I need something, anything to take my mind off things. And if there’s one person I know I can rely on for that, for better or worse, it’s Pinkie. She’s where I go to complain about my woes. Not Twilight and her incessant lecturing, not Rarity and her stories of her insatiable appetite, not Applejack and her apathy, not Rainbow and her naïveté, and certainly not Fluttershy and her… interesting tastes.

Pinkie. The Ponkmeister. If there’s one pony I can safely say is my closest friend here, it’s her. I don’t know why, but she is; just like how Rarity and Rainbow Dash shouldn’t be friends either, logically speaking.

Funny how friendships work. It’s just a shame relationships can’t be the same, or so it seems.

I wonder if she’s had any experience in that department.

I guess I’ll find out soon enough; Sugarcube Corner is now just ahead of me, in all its saccharine glory. A gingerbread house in design, edibility not included, and unless you count Pinkie’s practically supernatural abilities to bake more cupcakes than you can shake a lollipop at, there’s no witch living here either. Ponies come and go, bearing boxes of confectionaries on their backs, in their bags, or some in a magical aura. More than a few cast a curious glance my way, but nobody lingers long enough to make their gaze uncomfortable.

I sigh after I make way for Cream Heart and Button Mash, the mother and I exchanging polite nods while the son munches on a chocolate muffin, then catch the door before it closes and slip inside. About fifteen other ponies sit at round tables in the dining area off to the right; eating, chatting, reading a book, or simply lounging around and waiting for someone else to arrive. Perhaps a few of them have dates of their own, and perhaps it’ll work out for them in the end. I shouldn’t assume or care, but I do. It’s a reminder of what I want and don’t have.

Ahead of me is the counter, and aside from the warm air and the smell of freshly baked pastries, the most striking thing about this place is the pink, endlessly-excitable and bubbly mare serving a line of customers. She slides a few bits in change across to a stallion, who scoops them up and takes off with a bag in his mouth, and then spies me as she looks for the next in the queue.

“Hiya, Eve!” she cries, waving a hoof and beaming a grin as infectious as a cold. “How was the trip? Did you have any luck finding your special somepony?”

There’s a tug at my core. In an instant, every hair on my body stands on end as I rush forward with a finger on my lips, the other hand reaching out to cover her mouth. It only lasts for a moment before I realise I’m making an even bigger scene, but the sense of panic remains, and more than a few pairs of eyes and ears have turned my way.

Subtlety is not one of her strong suits.

Mindful of the sudden attention, I pretend like I hadn’t just unwittingly opened and shut Pandora’s box and all its screaming horrors, and instead head straight for the counter quickly and quietly. And I focus on the thought of strangling the sly, knowing, and frankly-infuriating smirk off that little mare’s face.

Little. Hah. Compared to the vast majority of ponies, she has a noticeable, but still healthy layer of pudge. Pleasantly plump, one might call her, but I’ve risen above pointing that out — I don’t do that to friends, even when they’re being a pain in the arse.

I cut in front before the next pony in line can reach the counter and lean over as far as I can, almost pressing my nose against her snout. “Dammit, Pinkie, why don’t you just climb the highest peak and shout it for the whole world to hear?” I growl.

“That could be arranged.” Her smirk grew wider into a full smile.

“Oh, for…” I pull back, bowing my head and squeezing my eyes shut, massaging my temples in one hand while the other arm hugs my stomach. Of course she’d have a counter for that — she always does. In a game of wits, she rarely ever loses; always two steps ahead. “I hate you so much right now.”

“You love me and you know it.”

“About as much as you love Mud Briar.”

She gasps like she’d actually taken offence, but the upward curls in her mouth betray how she really feels. “You take that back.”

“No deal, Ponk. You made your choice, now live with it.”

“Uh, excuse me,” interrupts the mare at the front of the queue. Bonbon, if I recall correctly. She’s frowning, but then again, I’ve never seen her terribly enthused about anything whenever her girlfriend isn’t nearby. “The line starts back there, if you don’t mind.”

I pause, staring at her for a moment, asking myself whether I’m in the mood to be polite. Mum always said to do unto others as I’d have them do unto me, but that’s all well and good when you’re part of the only sapient species on the planet. Here, I’m the first and likely last of my kind, and the poking and prodding I’ve experienced has worn down my patience somewhat.

Still, no real reason to kick up a fuss. Like it or not, Pinkie’s on the clock, so I’m technically intruding. And there are a heck of a lot more customers than there are of me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, swinging my attention to the eating area and searching for an empty table. “I’ll just… sit in the corner until you're done, I guess.”

“Oh.” Pinkie’s smile wanes and she cocks her head, the faint beginnings of a concerned frown lining her brow. “Did something happen, Eve?”

“No, Pink, nothing happened, and that’s the problem.” I shut my eyes once more and tilt my head back, massaging my temples again. “Look, just don’t worry about it. We’ll talk later. I probably need some time to myself anyway.”

She gasps a second time, and even though I can’t see her, I know her jaw has dropped like a lead weight in freefall and she’s clasped both forehooves to her cheeks, eyes wider than dinner plates, mane and tail tauter than a startled cat. “Oh no! Code Brown! Code Brown!”

I return to her and frown confusedly. “What?”

“We need a dozen scoops of chocolate ice-cream, stat!” She springs onto the counter with lightning speed and rears up, hooves cupped on either side of her mouth. “I’m sorry, everypony, but due to an emergency, Sugarcube Corner is now closed!”

“What?!” Bonbon and I exclaim at the same time, then quickly look at each other, and when I gesture for her to go first, she takes a step forward. “What emergency? All she’s saying is that—”

“This is a friendship emergency!” Pinkie shouts, though it isn’t clear to whom. “No, wait, it’s way more serious: this is a relationship emergency!”

I bow my head and slap my hands to my face, groaning.

“Evacuate the premises!” In a whiplash-inducing burst of speed, impossible by any reality except her own, she hops down and blitzes across the eating area, snatching ponies from their seats and stacking them in a pile on her back.

Even the line isn’t immune; almost as soon as Bonbon looks at me in equal parts confusion, shock and fear, she finds herself yanked from her spot and heaped onto the growing mound, all too stunned to protest.

And then, through means I’m certain have at least something to do with either the supernatural or devil worship, Pinkie somehow manages to buck them off and shove them all out an entrance three times smaller than the combined mass of her customers. It’s like watching a glob of putty being sucked up a vacuum’s nozzle, but in slightly slower motion — it’s still quick enough that I don’t really get to question how no one’s bones aren’t broken.

“Come again some other time!” she implores at the top of her lungs, waving frantically, but only for less than a second before she shuts the door, locks it, flips the open sign over to closed, then doubles back and races for the kitchen, vaulting over the counter like an action hero sliding across a car bonnet.

I try to keep track of the flash. “Pinkie, what the—”

“Zip!” she hushes, one of her rear hooves lightly brushing against my lips as she passes by, instantly shutting me up and forcing me to flinch away, and wonder if she’d planned that to begin with. And before I can utter anything else, she’s disappeared through the swinging doors, and then immediately zooms back out with a glass goblet full of ice-cream.

I don’t doubt for a second that there are precisely a dozen scoops there.

A moment later, she’s over at the corner table I was thinking of heading for, the goblet in the centre, complete with halved strawberries, a cherry on top and a small parasol. She sits attentively, forehooves on the table and leaning toward me with an eager shine in her eyes.

That being said, it’d be easier to list all the times when she isn’t eager about something.

“Come on, sit down!” she says, waving me closer and sharing a smile. “Fill me in on the deets!”

No matter how many times I witness her antics firsthand, they never cease to amaze me, for better or for worse. But what’s even more tragic is the fact that I get over them far too quickly nowadays. “Uh… yeah,” I mumble, then clear my throat and spare a wary glance at the entrance as I approach. “Sure thing.”

The distance feels longer than it should — the kind of dread you feel when you’re walking to the principal’s office. I’m not sure why. Perhaps some leftover jitters from an innate fear of her doing the same to me what she did to everyone else. Perhaps I’m just not keen on talking about it now, even though this is essentially what I’d travelled all the way from Canterlot for. Why get nervous now when I had the whole train ride for that?

But onward I march, and before too long, I pull out the chair on the opposite end and take my place, scooting in. And while the sense of unease doesn’t fade away entirely, it at least settles somewhat. “Okay, so, uh… where do I begin?”

“From the beginning, silly.” That bubbly giggle of hers flutters up, and she pulls one of two spoons from the goblet in the longest curl of her forelock — the physics of which I’ve long since given up on trying to figure out. “Where else? The second you stepped off the train?”

I roll my eyes and, despite myself, smirk. It isn’t a full one, but it’s something, and it helps me to forget about my hesitation. “Well, the long and short of it is that this dating service is pretty damn terrible, if they’ve mismatched me… what, six times already?”

Her smile falls, and a few clumps of her frizzy hair seem to deflate as well — accompanied by the faint hiss of air escaping a balloon. “This makes seven, doesn’t it?”

“Seems like.” I reach over and grab the second spoon, along with an unhealthy dollop of edible diabetes, then roll my eyes again as I stick it in my mouth and echo condescendingly, “Seems like. It does. We just… weren’t right for each other. At all.”

“Oh.” It falls even further, and so does her gaze. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. No. I mean… I don’t know.” I close my eyes and shrug, shaking my head. “Look, it just wasn’t what I was expecting — what either of us were expecting, I guess — and we both agreed to call it off.”

“Oh!” And then she seems a little perkier, her smile returning as well as her gaze. “So it was a mutual thing, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s good!”

I frown and blink, confused. “Good? What part of that is in any way good?”

“What part of it isn’t good?!” She flings her forelegs out wide, and her smile stretches into an enlightened grin. “If it wasn’t gonna work, isn’t it better to end it now than when you’ve put a lot more effort into it?”

“…Well, yeah, but—”

“And if you both decided it wouldn’t work, isn’t that better than just one of you?”

I don’t want to say she’s right… but I can’t say she’s wrong either. Not in good faith. For as little sense as her very existence makes on a minute-to-minute basis… she’s making a disturbingly good amount of it now; crazy, but not insane — not nearly at the same level as Twilight, at any rate.

But still, there’s more to it than a simple shift in perspective.

“I didn’t get to tell you who the date was, did I?”

“Nope!”

A small, huffed laugh escapes me. “Well then, you’re in for a treat.”

“I did say details!”

“Night Light.” I fold my arms. “Twilight’s dad.”

The words linger in the air, heavy like a thick, dripping miasma that takes far too long to disperse, but you can’t immediately tell that it’s a bad smell — you’re poisoned before you know it. And it fills me with a guilty, giddy joy to see Pinkie’s eyes widen and her pupils shrink, brows climbing higher than a pegasus can fly and jaw dropping to the tabletop.

“Yep.” I chuckle, then lean forward and treat myself to a second spoonful. “He’s not cheating or getting a divorce, so don’t worry too much, and I’m pretty sure Twilight would be a lot more on edge if that were the case, if she knows. It’s just that he and his wife are in something of an… open relationship. Or so he says.”

She blinks, and everything rolls back into place like a tape measure rewinding — she even smacks her lips a few times as if to untie a knot in her tongue. “Well, yeah, silly, that’s no secret,” she says with an idle wave of her hoof. “They only switch partners, like, every other week.”

If I hadn’t already swallowed, I’d have choked, so hard is my double take. “You knew?!”

“I know a lot of things! I just don’t kiss and tell. Wouldn’t be a good friend if I did!”

I stare a little longer, steadily growing less shocked and more inquisitive. “How?” I demand, before realising how pointless a question it was with her; I’ve seen her pull a deflated bouncy castle from her mane and blow it up in a single breath. Nothing is beyond the realm of possibility for her. “Never mind. Scratch that. For all I know, you probably slept with the fella.”

She giggles.

I narrow my eyes at her, and my brows lower. “You did, didn’t you?”

Cocking her head, she shares a playfully sheepish smirk. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Perfect. Just perfect. Even more of a reason why the whole thing shouldn’t have lasted for more than the better half of an afternoon. Is it really, really so hard for the universe to deliver me something I can work with?

I slump back in my seat and groan, eyes shut, head bent over the backrest, facing the ceiling as I bring my free hand up and tug at my hair. It used to be shorter, but I’ve grown it out to hopefully fit in a little better — about the same length as most of the other females around these parts, anyway — and tied it off in a single braid. I also heard guys like girls who look after themselves, appearance-wise, and don’t overdo it.

I never overdid it in the past, and for all the six, now seven dates in this world that I’ve been on, it wasn’t my fashion sense or choice of makeup of perfume that turned them off. In fact, most said I looked pretty nice, but now I’m starting to suspect that was for formality’s sake more than anything else.

No. For all of them, there was something much too unavoidable for their tastes.

“I got there fifteen minutes late,” I mutter. “The locals stayed well out of my way, gave me looks even when I stared right at them. That should’ve been a red flag from the get-go. But no. I marched on. And when I finally reached the restaurant, apologised, sat down, he told me that he explained his situation right then and there — all cards on the table, or whatever.”

“Yeah.” Pinkie giggles. “He can be rather upfront.”

“Shut,” I command, aiming the spoon at her without looking. “I’m venting. Let me vent.”

“Okie dokie.”

I let the silence drag on, just to make sure the point got across, then lower the spoon with a heavy sigh. “So, that put me on the spot — another red flag, I guess. But I stayed. I mean, after being rejected by six other dudes, and me being… well, me, it’s not like I can afford to be picky. Beggars can’t be choosers, you know?”

“Yep!”

“Rhetorical question,” I said, lifting my head somewhat and cracking my eyes open to peer at her. “Lunch was nice, the conversation was okay, and he paid for it all, which was sweet. And then we thought we’d go for a wander around the park.”

“A wander, huh?”

“Yes, a wander.” I frown. “Don’t get any funny ideas.”

She giggles again, but this time with a husky undertone. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Sure she wouldn’t. But I’ll let this one slide for now. “Anyway,” I continue, my expression softening, and my hand falls from my hair to rest upon my stomach, “when we were in the restaurant, we only needed to focus on each other. Everything was hunky-dory then. But as soon as we stepped outside, where it wasn’t just us… that’s when things went pear-shaped.”

“Because everypony was scared of you.”

“I wouldn’t call it fear so much as I would disdain. God, this one mare… the look on her face when she literally stopped dead in the middle of the street and then began walking the other way, dragging her kids behind… It’s like they just didn’t care how boorish they were.”

“Oh.” Pinkie’s ears folded back. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“It wasn’t. None of it was. Shit, we couldn’t even sit by the pond without hearing a gasp or two from the footpath behind us. They just wouldn’t quit. And not even three hours after the date began, Night turned to me and called it off. According to him, I’m a great person to talk with, funny, attractive in my own right… but setting aside the fact that dating one of her daughter’s friends would be rather awkward, I’m the only human here and that drew more attention than he’s comfortable with. He doesn’t want to go around flaunting he and his wife’s special arrangement for the whole world to see.

“Of course, that didn’t stop you from finding out about it, but I’m not getting into that.”

She cocked her head once more, quirking an eyebrow. “That seems fair, though, doesn’t it?”

“It does, and that’s why I’m frustrated: there’s nothing I can fault him for.” I limply fling my arms up, defeated, and scoot back in my chair, sitting a little more upright. “He was honest with me from the start, which was… confronting, but respectable. Better than finding out later down the track, at any rate. And if he’s politely rejecting me for the sake of preserving what he already has, then he obviously cares about his wife too. That makes him… dare I say, almost chivalrous. Legit husband material, even.”

“Getting some fantasies in your head, Eve?”

“No. Well…” I pause, brows furrowed as I peer up at the corner of the ceiling, then heave a long, drawn-out sigh and lean forward, elbows on the table and chin resting in my palm. “I don’t know. Getting over the fact that I won’t be going home was pretty easy — wasn’t doing society much good there anyway. Coming to terms with my options for a love life was a little trickier. But now that I’m… in the game, as it were…”

The smugness fades, replaced by a look of genuine sympathy. Odd how easy it is for her to swing back and forth and not be classed as bipolar. “It’s so close, and yet so far.”

“I suppose.” I shrug, sighing once more, but lighter this time. More contemplative than bitter. “And I don’t want to sound like I’m being a petty, salty butthole about it, but I guess there’s also some contrast at work.”

“How so?”

“Like… back in my world, it isn’t that hard to find someone for even a casual one-night thing if you know where to look, if you’re into that.”

She tries to restrain herself, but she giggles yet again, and it’s the suggestive kind. “Well,” she says, figuring that it’d be easier it out of her system than keeping it in, “we both know you are.”

I frown, unimpressed. “Shut up.”

“I’m sorry!” she lies, tossing her head back and cackling almost maniacally. “It’s just… the irony!”

“Yeah-yeah, laugh it up.” I glare at the ice-cream and stuff my mouth with another spoonful. “Not doing yourself any favours, though, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Okay, okay.” Eventually, she calms down enough to where she’s in control of her own actions again, rubbing at the corner of her eye with the edge of her hoof as if to flick away a tear — even more of a reason to think this might have been a bad idea. “I’m sorry. You know me. When I see an opportunity for some fun…”

“Whatever. Now, may I continue, please?”

“Sure.” She covers her mouth as the dying whispers of yet another giggle flutter up from her stomach. “Back in your world, it’s not that hard to have a fling.”

“If you know where to look,” I stress, waggling the spoon at her with an eyebrow arched pointedly. “But over here… barely anyone. I mean, there are a lot of hurdles to jump, you know? On both sides. Me at this point? I’m… ready, I think. I just wish that… somebody here would be willing to make that leap with me, and not for the entertainment value. Or at least, not just because I’m ‘exotic’, or whatever.”

Pinkie puckers her lips and lets her gaze wander lower than my neck. “That’s one word for it.”

…Great. There’s no mistaking that tone of voice, or that look in her eyes; she’s actively imagining what I’m hiding beneath my shirt and pants. Not that she hasn’t seen it all before, but… it always gets me a little worried — that from this point forwards, I’d be talking to her, rather than with.

I reach my spoon-wielding hand up and snap my fingers.

She blinks and returns to me, not so ashamed of herself. She never is. “Sorry.”

“Sure you are.”

A soft huff escapes her snout — a single, solitary and short-lived laugh — and then she helps herself to another scoop of ice-cream and licks her lips afterwards. “So, it wasn’t Night Light himself that was the problem, or even the open relationship thing, right?”

“It wasn’t ideal for me, I think, but… yeah, it wasn’t a dealbreaker as such. Can’t say the same if we were back on my Earth, though.”

“Oh, no, if we were back on your Earth, you wouldn’t have to worry about this to begin with!”

I pause. And then, despite myself, I chuckle. “I guess so.”

“But if he wasn’t the problem, or the baggage he comes with, why get upset?”

“Because I’m frustrated, Pinkie. I got flung, by chance, to a parallel universe through means that no one can explain to me, even the princesses — this world’s foremost authorities on magic — and I’ve had to literally start a new life for myself. And it’s been a challenge, and I’ve enjoyed it at parts, no thanks to you and the girls, but it’s time this world starts giving something back.”

She cocks her head once again. “Why just stallions, though?”

“Because I like it more.”

“It?”

“The connection. It just doesn’t feel as natural to me if it’s with a woman. Or mare, in this case. No offence.”

“None taken!”

That’s good. Otherwise we’d be we’d be having that conversation, about burgeoning feelings and attachment and how they aren’t reciprocated. “I mean, I can appreciate the female form in all its glory — you’d know that more than anyone — but if I were to spend my life with someone… I hope it’s not selfish of me to wish that they’re a guy.”

“It’s not. We can’t control what we do and don’t like. I’m just glad that you’re taking action.”

“Not that you’re complaining about the benefits on the side, right?”

“Mm-hmm!”

A little selfish, but she’s the Element of Laughter, not Generosity, or however the Power of Friendship works. I won’t pretend, or even care to understand it all, but I can at least appreciate what it ultimately represents. And if it benefits me, the more the merrier. And I find myself smiling because of it. “So, what do you think I should do?”

“About what?”

“Dating.”

She pauses, looks up and skews her jaw, tapping her chin. Brows creased in concentration. “You say the dating service isn’t working for you?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” A few more taps, and then she returns to me, as bright as bright can be. “I think part of the reason you haven’t found anypony is because they’re sending you far away. This time it was Canterlot, and it was Manehatten before that, and—”

“Appleoosa before that, yes, I know.” I bob my head from side to side. “Your point, Pinkie?”

“They’re full of ponies who don’t know you. Sure, the service might say they’re compatible, and that they’re open to dating another species, but the communities they live in aren’t used to you.”

“So, what? You’re saying I’m doomed to be alone until all of Equestria knows my name and face? You want me to do, like, a sexy calendar photoshoot?”

“Ooh! That could work!”

“I’m kidding.”

“Still, it’s an idea.” She shrugs. “But, eh, you know what you’re comfortable with. And that wasn’t what I was trying to get at.”

“What, then?”

Leaning forward, she quirks an eyebrow and smirks. “Maybe you should start thinking inside the box. Find some local boys, give them a shot.”

“Loc—” I choke, briefly glancing over my shoulder for the doorway in case by any wild chance that someone had heard us, then shoot her a scornful glare. “Pinkie, are you nuts? I don’t need small town gossip starting over what I’m doing, or who.”

“Pfft.” She blows a raspberry and waves dismissively. “Please, Eve. If you cared as much as you say you do about that kind of thing, then you and me wouldn’t nearly be as comfortable taking so many showers together.”

My brow lowers as I feel a knot form at my core, tightening a little further down. “And even if I didn’t care, can you honestly tell me that anyone here has shown any interest in me whatsoever?”

“Besides me? I can think of a few.”

“Come on.”

“Nope!” She mimes the motions to her trademark promise. “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye!”

She’s telling the truth, then. And because of that, I suddenly feel quite numb. Dare I say, perhaps a little… no, not hopeful. I don’t know what else to call it, but I’m sure it can’t be that; too simple and cliché. I’m more than just a set of buttons you can switch on and off at the flick of a wrist.

But I can’t deny now that a part of me wants to stand up at this very moment, march off to the door, kick it open, and then shake down the nearest pony for any information on who these secretive assholes are. How dare they keep their boners hidden!

Hell, I could even start with the mare right in front of me.

“Who?”

“Ha!” Pinkie slaps the table, then swipes another scoop for herself and tilts her head up, watching me with a squint and a self-satisfied smirk. “Look at you, so quick to sing a different tune when big, strong, handsome stallions are on the line.”

“Yes, I know, I lack any kind of moral integrity, but that’s what happens when you’re a mortal woman with certain needs who hasn’t had dick in over a year. Spill the beans, bitch, or the next time I go down on you, I’m biting.”

“Harder, Mommy.”

“Oh my…!” I slam my forehead against the wood and shut my eyes, ignoring the hurt and trying desperately to keep a tickled smile from sneaking up on me. “I hate you.”

“Like I hate Mud Briar, right?”

“Worse. So much worse.”

“Well then,” Pinkie purrs, and I can hear her sleazy grin slither across her muzzle like a snake in the grass, “wanna put all the pent-up frustration to good use?”

My eyes creep open, and slowly, very slowly, I lift my head and meet her gaze again.

She doesn’t seem repentant. In fact, she seems rather proud.

Should’ve figured she’d push the envelope sooner or later. It’s been long enough since the last time — more than a week, by my reckoning. And of all the days she thinks would be good, it has to be the day I come back from a failed date, effectively setting herself up to be the rebound guy; the shoulder I’d cry on if things got rough, and I was looking for someone to fill the void. A cheap shot, really, but a tragically effective method, as I’ve heard from reliable sources.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that she’s ready and raring to go a hundred percent of the time, although that would be largely true. I also wouldn’t say that she’s aggressive either, although I find myself equal parts disappointed and impressed at how quickly and comfortably she can pull an about-face. I guess it’s just a matter of whether one has any shame when it comes to that sort of thing. And Pinkie, as I’m sure I’ve said before, is anything but shameful.

She’s an opportunist. And when she sees an opportunity for some fun…

…Can I really blame her?

Timing could do with some work, though, and I’m not really in the mood for it.

…But that being said…

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun. Because it’s been a while. Because you could use the stress relief. Because you deserve it, after a trip like that.”

“And not because you want it, huh?”

“Well, if I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t be asking. And if you don’t, then that’s okay! No harm done. It’s not like it compromises anything. We’re still friends.”

“Who bang on the down-low.”

“Yep!”

Sticking my spoon in the ice-cream and leaving it there, I fold my arms and sigh through my nose. I can’t remember how long this has been going on for, exactly, but I remember she interrupted me at a few points — walked in on me while I was having some alone time, and I had to quickly cover myself up and lie. Wasn’t really good at it, not that anyone could’ve talked themselves out of a situation like that, and on the morning after the fifth incident, she sat me down while the Cakes were away and we had ourselves a little chat.

One good thing about her lack of shame, I suppose, is that it led to this. Whatever this is. I think friends with benefits is the closest description, but I feel like that’s too concrete, and doesn’t accurately reflect what we have. I mean, I’m not naïve enough to think that sex equals romance, but…

“Okay, fine. Let’s take this upstairs.”

“Yipee!” she cries, leaping out of her seat and punching a hoof into the air, hovering a bit longer than she should before landing on all fours, facing the table and snatching the goblet from it. “You go on ahead, I’ll clean up the shop lickety-split and meet you there.”

“Right.” I stand up and start heading for the staircase on the opposite side of the room, past the counter, reaching for the hem of my shirt and gradually pulling it up off. “How long until the Cakes get back?”

“I keep telling you, Eve, not until Hearth’s Warming! You don’t need to worry about anypony walking in on us. So long as you keep it down, of course.”

Because I’m the vocal one. Yeah, that’s rich coming from the girl whose screams can shatter glass, and who could be heard from all four corners of Equestria if she tried hard enough. That comment about climbing to the highest peak was no laughing matter: I legitimately believe she could do it, because at this point, listing what she can’t do would be far, far easier.

To say that I’ve been left dumbfounded before would be an understatement.

Maybe she’ll surprise me this time as well.

The shirt comes off as I reach the first step, and I begin working on the clasp of my bra while I ascend. After a few years of service, I think it’s due for a replacement, but I won’t until I absolutely have to; in a land where most everyone goes around butt-naked, it turns out that underwear almost exclusively comes in the form of lingerie. This misunderstanding led Rarity to taking me on a tour of her more… exotic inventory, and I haven’t had the courage to broach the topic since.

Can’t deny that it was an interesting experience, at least. And the sheer variety…

…I wonder if I’d been inclined towards liking other species from even before I found myself here.

A dangerous, ethically questionable thought, I know… but it would certainly explain why my favourite toys were… different. And unfortunately, nowadays, my fingers just can’t really compare. And although I’m sure there’s a store for that sort of thing somewhere, I don’t want to get caught searching for it. I’m already known as an alien — I don’t need what little reputation I have dragged through the mud any further.

Yet here I am, about to eat or get eaten out by my best friend.

Who happens to be a horse.

A talking, intelligent, impossibly flexible and boundlessly upbeat horse, but a horse nonetheless.

What a wondrously topsy-turvy and depraved life I live.

Further up the steps I go, following the stairs left and into Pinkie’s apartment. Or… less of an apartment and more of a large bedroom, with a bed just a bit too small for it. Perfect for two, though, if you’re willing to share, and I toss my shirt and bra to the side as I stroll toward it.

It’s a familiar process, routine even before I found myself here. Not to say that I was promiscuous in my previous life, but getting action wasn’t uncommon, as such; less variety, I suppose, but far greater pool of potential partners. But Pinkie has energy to spare, and more than makes up for it. Doesn’t hurt that she knows what she’s doing either.

“Want me to shower first?!” I call over my shoulder as I start fiddling with my pants. “I haven’t had a proper bath since I left three days ago!”

“Nah, you’re okay!” Pinkie replies, already bouncing up the stairs with a high-pitched spring in her step. I’ll never understand how the sound effects work. “I kinda like the musk!”

“Of course you do,” I mutter to myself, undoing the fly and sliding the whole thing down, then awkwardly bumble around as I almost lose balance while slipping out. I manage it, though, and toss them over into the corner.

One item of clothing left, and as I hook my thumbs under the waistband on either hip, I’m struck with a sudden, surprised chill as Pinkie latches onto me from behind, wrapping her forelegs around my stomach. Nuzzling her cheek into my back, her frizzy mane tickling the skin, she takes a deep breath and sighs. “You’re so different,” she hums contentedly, then gives me a tender squeeze. “I like different.”

I hesitate, letting the strangeness of the moment settle before I respond by way of gently patting one of her hooves. “Thanks, Pinkie.”

“No thanks needed. You’re a good friend.”

The irony gets a little snort from me; if a guy said that, I’d be heartbroken.

“So, do you wanna lie back and let me handle everything, or do you want something a teensy bit more energetic? I’m good either way.”

That, I can attest to, and I can be thankful for. “Energetic how, you think?”

She shrugs. “Grinding. Aggressive rubbing — see if you can’t beat my record.”

“Your what?” I question, peering over my shoulder to her with a quirked eyebrow and a bemused grin. “Since when did we ever have a contest going on?”

“It’s not a contest, silly.” She giggles, then looks up at me with a strangely cute and surprisingly chaste — no sultry undertones. “It’s a challenge. You know, to build up stamina, for the special somepony you’ll eventually meet.”

“So, this has nothing to do with ego?”

She smirks, and there’s the sultry look I was expecting. “Well, I guess there’s a bit of that too.”

I shut my mouth and smirk in turn, then look ahead and bend my knees, doing my best to pull my knickers off while she continues hugging me. “Are you measuring how long we last, or how many times we get off?”

“Length.” She presses her face into the small of my back and nuzzles some more. “Sorry to say, Eve, but there’s no way you’re beating me on the other count.”

Said as if it’s something to be hugely proud of. Not that she operates on a hair trigger, where she explodes if you apply the slightest amount of pressure, but she’s definitely no pushover; she’ll keep finishing herself off long after I’ve thrown in the towel, that’s for sure.

I pity whoever she ends up settling for, if they don’t have the same resilience.

My foot comes free, and then the other, and I throw my underwear into the same corner as the rest of my clothes. “I could do with some grinding, I guess — start things off nice and slow, work our way up.”

I feel her nod, and one of her fore hooves sneaks a little further south, almost between my legs. And even though I’d been slowly undressing myself on my way to this place, now is the first time I feel genuinely naked. “Who’s on top?”

It takes a moment for me to stop hitching my breath and actually focus. “You,” I reply, awkwardly waddling over to the bed while she refuses to let go. “I could do with just watching for now.”

“Sure thing.”

Bending over, I crawl onto the sheets and, with some effort, gradually squirm out of her grasp, then lie on my side and look at her amusedly as I try to make myself comfortable. “Clingy much?”

She shrugs once more, smiling. “It’s not my fault you have a nice body. Like I said, I like different. And those breasts of yours are pretty different.”

“My breasts, huh?” I glance down at them. “You know they’re small for a human, right?”

“Not for a pony!” She hops up and lands on all fours, standing over me and meeting my gaze with an excited grin. “To me, they’re fun-sized!”

“You’re fun-sized.”

“Of course I am, silly! Element of Laughter, remember?!”

I roll onto my back and prop myself on my elbows, smiling up at her. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve been with who’s ever take an interest in them.”

“Really?” She cocks her head and an eyebrow curiously, then lets her hindlegs give out and plants her rump on my abdomen, wide eyes lowering to the twin mounds on my chest. “But they’re just so plump and squishy! You don’t get that as a mare unless you become a mother, and even then, ponies don’t notice them much.”

“Jealous?”

“Nope!” She lifts her hooves and places them on both, then proceeds to rub them around. “Just excited I get to play with something new.”

A soft, warm sensation starts emanating through me. It isn’t much, but it’s the start of something. In all my previous experience, foreplay rarely ever began there. Doing this with Pinkie every other time has been a welcome change of pace.

“So, that’s all I am to you?” I question, taking my eyes off her efforts and peering up at her again. “A new toy to play with?”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short.” Leaning forward, she almost bumps noses with me. “You’re good company! It just so happens that there are other things I appreciate about you too! These two beauties especially!”

Beauties. Hah. I nearly laugh out loud. They’re just boobs, no different from any other woman’s, and since the ponies here don’t care too much for their own pairs — usually left uncovered — I don’t get why mine are that big a deal to her. “You have a fetish, don’t you?”

“Eve,” she implores, tilting her head toward me with an almost condescending smile, if it weren’t for the cheeky look in her eyes, “what fetish don’t I have?”

Fair point. “Well, just don’t go too extreme, alright? This is nice enough.”

“You’ve let me suck on them before.”

“Only because I was horny,” I affirm, prodding her snout with a finger and pushing her back a touch. “Here, you’re warming me up. Completely different context. And I don’t see much happening on your side of things.”

“Right, right, you want me to grind on you.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She shuts her eyes and presses down on both mounds, grounding herself before she slowly begins rocking forward, and I feel the fur of her rump rub up against the skin of my stomach. As well as… something else of hers — something more bare. Fleshier. And she hums through her nose at it. “I love it when you take charge.”

“You’re the one on top.”

“You’re the one telling me what to do.”

“Touché. But I’m sure you’d like it even if I weren’t.”

“True.” Biting her lip, she cracks her eyes open and peers down at me, dragging herself back, and rubbing of flesh follows. “I’m very flexible.”

I know she is, in both senses of the word. We’ve experimented before, and there are some positions she can pull off that I’d never thought possible. It’s as if the very point of her existence is to defy all reason and logic, doing what even the experts say can’t be done. And right now, what she’s doing is…

Well, plainly put, it’s pretty hot; the weight of her rear sliding against me, the warmth of friction, the sound of her breath — so quiet and deep, and ending in a soft, delighted moan every once in a while. Poking out her tongue to moisten her lips adds another cute flair, and so does the rising blush, which happens much too easily for a coat already as pink as hers. And as she sets a calm, steady pace, she begins to massage me again, moving both mounds in slow, firm yet sensual motions.

I like having my body paid attention to. Doesn’t matter who, or I guess even what you are, so long as you treat me right and enjoy yourself while doing it. And in Pinkie’s case, it’s starting to take effect; I smile up at the ceiling with an indulgent hum as I close my eyes, and grab onto her hindlegs as I feel tension build in my thighs — the temptation to wiggle about and get something between them.

“Is that working for you?” she coos.

“Mm-hmm.” I nod. “Wouldn’t mind something a bit more… exciting, though.”

“Same,” she agrees, her tail gently swatting at my legs while it hikes. “Why don’t you grab my butt, or play with my dock, or—”

“Slap you around some?”

“Heh.” Her efforts slow and she bows forward again, smirking. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

I consider following through just for fun, to stop her from getting too close — to stop myself from feeling the urge to kiss her, because you save them for people you want to love as more than just a friend. This doesn’t mean anything: stress relief, nothing more; a dance we’ve done maybe a hundred times before.

“Actually, nah.” I shake my head. “You deserve better than that.”

“Oh?” Her eyes flutter shut for a moment as the grinding starts again, punctuated by tiny squeak through her nose. “And what do I deserve, Eve?”

…Bloody hell, how does she manage it, looking cute and sexy at once?

No matter. In fact, it only strengthens my resolve.

“This,” I whisper, clapping my hands on either flank and holding fast, feeling the muscle and plumpness beneath my fingers, and giving them a firm squeeze. And as she lets loose a satisfied grunt, I roll us both to the left so that she’s the one on her back.

She giggles — that familiar, amused, harmonic sound. “You’re really taking charge now, aren’t you?”

“I’m in the mood for it,” I reply, and I’d give a nonchalant shrug if I weren’t crawling up to straddle her lower stomach like she’d been doing with me. “Doesn’t help that you’re adorable.”

“You do this to ponies you find adorable?”

Hands on the bed on either side of her shoulders, I sit and slowly drag my groin down her body until I bump against the leading edges of her flanks, and feel the gentle touch of her own twin mounds. And all the while, the first inkling of genuine pleasure fizzle up and into my core.

“Not all of them,” I confess, gripping the sheets in clenched fists and arching forward, burying my face in her chest, taking a long, deep whiff of her natural scent; a freshly opened bag of gummy snakes and strawberry lollipops. “Only the ones who can handle it.”

“I can handle more.”

She needn’t say anything else.

With a hunger — a need — that even I hadn’t expected, I poke out my tongue and trail it up her exposed throat, ignoring the fur, then latch my teeth around the side of her neck and bite.

With a sharp, stifled gasp, her entire body stiffens beneath me, and with a stuttered outward breath, her forelegs reach beneath my arms, one laying itself upon my upper back, the other just above my rear. And there’s a tension in them — a pull; more than a hug, it’s a request — a plea.

Let it not be said that I’m one to disappoint, and my smile widens as I bite just a tiny bit harder while my left hand reaches behind me, and slithers down from her teats to the lightly coated flesh between her thighs. And further still it goes, all the way to where the skin is bare — to where I feel a winking wetness against my palm.

Her breathing hitches, and her body stiffens once more.

My smile grows into a grin, punctuated by a tickled huff, and without much in the way of teasing or pretence, I slip two fingers into her warm, velvety folds, and begin to stroke.

Another gasp, another bout of stiffness, and as the sensation becomes familiar to her, she eventually settles into it, though the strength in her forelegs never completely fades. “That’s the ticket,” she murmurs. “So much better than a hoof.”

I snort and release her neck, and thankfully see no mark in the skin or fur, which means that I’d successfully kept myself in control once again, unlike the first few times. Frustration doesn’t always manifest in healthy ways. “Good thing I keep my nails trimmed, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” She slowly nods, peering up through half-lidded eyes. “Good thing I have you. If you move out, I’ll be sad to see you go.”

“Are we talking as a friend, or as a friend?” I ask, and stress the question by sinking my fingers in all the way to the knuckle.

Her mouth opens and her jaw quivers, and the next outward breath is a calming one. “I think both,” she answers, then nods vigorously. “Definitely both.”

I hum and sit more upright, her foreleg sliding down and joining the other on the small of my back, the softness of her fur and hardness of her hooves making for an interesting sensation against my skin. And while I’m afforded the extra stability, my free hand reaches up to pick a few errant hairs from my mouth and tongue, and sweep a lock from my brow, just so that there’s less annoyance going forth. “Your coat needs a brush, Pinkie.”

“Winter is coming. What can I say? Maybe you can help with that when we’re done.”

Maybe I will. Grooming is always a good activity to wind down with — still intimate, but not really sexy. Not unless one of us tries to be, anyway.

“When we’re done,” I echo, using the same hand to fondle myself, the thumb circling around and toying with the tip, and closing my eyes as a little chill shoots through my chest. “When we’re done.”

I rock my hips forward and grit my teeth as my crotch grinds up her stomach, then peer down and watch as I rock back. And in the wake of my efforts, a thin line of damp fur appears, and the sight of it steals my breath for a moment.

“Ooh, you are pent-up!” Pinkie exclaims. “Maybe you needed this more than you thought.”

She must’ve read my mind, because I was about to think the exact same thing. But I won’t afford myself any distractions, swirling my fingers about inside of her with firm, tempered motions while I let go of my breast and reach for the very tip of my labia, toying with the hood. And as I make contact, the nerves all about my lower half tingle with anticipation — even my toes curl at how close I am.

Trying to balance her satisfaction with my own is like patting my head and rubbing my stomach at the same time, made worse when one gives me pleasure while the other… less so. But figuring that there are no wrong answers here, and that we’ll have plenty of time to make up for it afterwards if something doesn’t go as planned, I decide that I can’t make things any better by doing nothing and slide my hand just a little further. And the second I do, my breathing hikes yet again.

Warmth and moisture, and with every miniscule movement, a faint, mute buzz that laps at my core. Simple, and yet a fire has been stoked that I know won’t go away, not unless I do what it wants — what I need. And the hunger to bite something overtakes me, so I do so with my bottom lip and sigh.

Yeah, I definitely needed this.

Rocking back and forth again in slow, deliberate movements, I build my pace on all three points of contact: my left hand, my right, and my crotch upon her belly. And with everything finally in synch, I stoke the fire to a healthy burn, never rising, never falling… merely staying in the moment for as long as possible. And my heart beats all the harder for it.

“Careful you don’t wear yourself out too early, Eve.”

“Don’t worry, Pink, I… I know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll say,” she croons blissfully. “You’re already making me sweat.”

I’m sweating too, now that she mentions it. But it’s nothing serious yet — just a thin veil across the brows and the very edges of my cheeks. “That’s fingers for you.”

“Mm.” She shuts her eyes and tilts her head back, giving her neck a stretch and doing the same with her hindlegs. And it happens to make her passage a little tighter. “Maybe I’ll have to get me a griffon when you’re gone. Or a hippogriff! Or a minotaur! Or whatever Capper was!”

Another chuckle on my end. “I’ve made that… that big of an impression, have I?”

“Yep! But I’ll tell you what Eve, you’re gonna… you’re gonna be hard to replace.”

Finally, a little crack in her composure. I think I’ll jump on that. “Desperate for more?” I ravenously purr, or as best I can while I’m still grinding and fiddling with myself, daring to sink my fingertips deeper. “One’s not good enough for you, huh?”

“Oh, Eve,” she purrs in kind, looking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes, “you’re plenty good enough for me. For anypony! Whoever you find, they’re… they’re gonna be lucky to have you.”

Huffing a quiet breath through my nose, I smile a small smile. “There’s more to it than sex.”

“I know.” She nods. “They’ll be lucky to have you as a special somepony too.”

I pause, the rapacious itch in my core dulled somewhat, and despite my best efforts, the predatory expression I’m putting on wanes to something more sincere, spurred by a tiny spark of… I don’t know what. “Don’t make me want to kiss you, Pinkie.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll tone it down. I just wanna make sure you know that you’ll get there eventually.”

“Well… thanks. But for the record, I guess I wouldn’t mind giving you a kiss.”

“Oh.” Her brow rises. “Really?”

“Sure.” I fervently stroke my folds and venture a little ways inside, gathering what fluids I can and catching a tickled moan before it escapes. I delve the other hand into her slickened entrance and hold her winking bean before it recedes.

Her ears pinned back, her eyes go wide and she tries letting out a startled yelp.

I dart my right hand up and silence her, sticking two fingers into her open mouth, spreading my wetness upon her tongue. And when her stunned, bewildered gaze meets mine, I grin voraciously. “I didn’t say where.”

She seems unsure of what I’d just said, but slowly, steadily, recognition dawns on her, and she begins to relax, smiling in turn, her expression just as randy. And when her lips close around my fingers, and I feel her start to suck on them, I know I have her at my beck and call.

Perfect.

Lifting myself up from her stomach, I pull over my leg and adjust myself so that I’m now straddling her in the opposite direction, but further up her body so that my rear is in her face. Unfortunately, it means letting my hands slide free from where I’ve embedded them, but it’s not like I’ll be able to do much with them in this position.

Beneath me, her thighs are splayed for my convenience, allowing a decent view of her lower half, the most prominent feature being two little mounds of exposed flesh just below her belly. They’re small — easily more so than mine — but not unattractive in their own way; I’ve found myself between them a few times, usually with the assistance of a couple of drinks first. Usually.

Below them, on her abdomen proper and just shy of the navel, a damp patch of fur that shows where I’d been sitting. Getting to this point can’t have taken much more than five, maybe ten minutes, but to see how wet I was — to think how wet I am…

“Wow, Eve,” Pinkie says with a flustered chuckle, “you’re, uh… you’re getting a bit—”

“I know.” I grope a breast for a moment, but decide it isn’t nearly stimulating enough to bother with a second squeeze and instead reach down to my loins, slipping a middle finger between my lower lips. And the spike of humidity that follows, dancing up my spine, is enough to shut my eyes and make me groan. “I know…”

“…Stars, that’s hot.”

“Well… well, don’t just sit there and gawk,” I grouse, frowning over my shoulder. “Are you gonna eat me out or what?”

“Say no more,” Pinkie assures, then clasps her forehooves on either cheek and yanks my rear end toward her, meeting it in the middle with her snout prodding my folds, already lapping away like a dog to water.

My breath catches in my throat and I hold it there, closing my eyes once more as I grit my teeth behind pursed lips. And when I start breathing again, it’s slow and measured — a stark contrast to what she’s doing; it was more surprising than erotic, so I need to remember to pace myself before I run out of stamina. Contest or no, I’m not cumming this early in the game.

“Deeper,” I implore, taking my hand away and returning it to my breast, but not before I sneakily give my clit a few tender strokes, sparking a fuzzy feeling all throughout my passage, reaching as far as my core. “Harder.”

She doesn’t respond with words — her actions speak louder than they ever could; her efforts slow and grow more sensual. Reverent. In a way, perhaps even loving, starting from the bottom and working her way up, snaking her tongue into me at the midpoint, finishing off with a heated breath that both warms and cools me at once.

I bite my lip and moan through my nose.

She definitely knows what she’s doing.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t return the favour; I did promise her a kiss, after all.

Opening my eyes yet again, I inspect the prize ahead of me, the darkened flesh of her entrance still winking, the skin and fur around it all moistened to some degree — even the small, puckered ring of her ass, and her dock below that, tail swishing to and fro on the bed.

It certainly looks inviting, and I know the taste isn’t half bad.

But I also spy an opportunity to tease her just a bit more — an entree before the main course.

I rub a thumb into the wet patch in front of her teats, swirling it around for the maximum amount of coverage, then trail it up to the one on my right as I bow my head to the other.

A shocked squeak is mumbled into me, eliciting a satisfied moan of my own, and while she breaks away to catch her breath and demand an explanation, I continue my ministrations. “Hey, no fair! I’m not allowed to do that to you, but you’re allowed to do that to me?!”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum, and I’d nod emphatically for emphasis if I weren’t preoccupied nibbling, pinching and tweaking them both. Until, that is, I let the left one go with a wet pop and fruitlessly grin over my shoulder again. “I’m a cruel mistress, Pinkie. I thought you’d be used to it by now.”

“What if I gave your butt a hard slap?”

“Then you’d get a foot to the face.”

“Oh.” I can imagine her glancing down at one of them. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. It’s not my thing at all.”

“Huh.” Her hooves begin to massage either cheek, and it’s… actually quite pleasant — keeps the fire at my core stoked enough to simmer, even while my groin cools in her absence, and yearns for her return. “For a girl who likes being rough, you sure don’t like taking it rough.”

“Hey, I tried anal once. That was kinda rough.”

“Just once?”

I pause, a small twinge of regret poking at my heart, then look at my hand and watch as I move it toward her crotch, all the while continuing to rub and fondle my breast with the other. “Well, it was his birthday, and he was moving away with his family the morning after, so… I figured why the hell not. New experiences, right?”

“Did you like it?”

I hesitate, both in terms of going any further with the story and with reaching for her junk. But I mentally shrug and press on, tracing my fingertips up and down the slit, which has engorged somewhat from all the attention I’ve been giving her. “I guess I was a bit too sad to tell.”

Pinkie quietly gasps at the touch, but quickly recovers. “Touch… touchy subject?”

“Not really.” I dig them in a little way and spread her lips apart, noting the sticky strands that form and soon dissolve, and how deliciously red her inner folds are. It’s hot, too, and humid, and smells like a tart mixture of strawberries and cinnamon. “Ancient history. That was, like… six years ago. Five before I landed here.”

“And life hasn’t been the same since.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” I reply, my voice adopting a husky edge as I lower my head, her scent growing stronger the further I descend. The pink, swollen nub that pokes in and out isn’t helping in the slightest, nor is the dampness it brings with every wink. “For you, it’s only gotten more… pleasurable.”

The only warning she has is a sharp breath through my nose to sample the steamy air, followed by a heavy, guttural groan as the urge to bite something almost overwhelms me. And then, with the back of my neck prickling with anticipation, and the feeling flowing down to my shoulders and all across my back, I slowly, sensually drag my tongue up from her bean to the very top of her entrance.

Fuck, she tastes as good as I remember.

Pinkie squeals, the ass massage coming to a halt as her tail and hindlegs go rigid and quiver. The winking of her nethers escalates, as it normally does when I make first contact, but when I’m this close, I can actually hear the faint, delicious sound of her passage flex and contract. And it speaks to the distant rumbling at my core in covetous whispers — it feeds the flames that lick at my heart, neck, cheeks, ears, and as far south as my own groin; it begs for more, on every front.

God, I really needed this.

Wedging a hand under her rump while the other steps up the efforts on my breasts, switching from left to right every so often, I lift her rear from the bed and pull her closer, leaning back and sitting a little more upright so that my weight is almost squarely over my knees. And from there, I lower myself onto her face while I keep mine buried in her damp folds, licking and sucking and gulping what I can when there’s too much to handle — spitting it out would be rude, and a waste of good protein.

Or is that only for guys?

Eh. Either way, it’s hot.

“Mmf!” Pinkie exclaims just as my crotch makes contact with her muzzle, and a prickly, pleasant shiver fizzles up through my body at the feeling — enough to make me hesitate for a moment. And right before I resume entertaining her, I feel her shift about beneath me to get more comfortable, and I feel her lips part, and I feel her begin to dine on me.

“Oh shi—” I shut myself up by latching a hand over my mouth. I don’t like being the vocal one, especially when I like being dominant so much, but if I’d forgotten how good sitting on someone’s face felt, then it really has been too long. Hell, if this is how I’m reacting to that, I’ll be an absolute mess if and when I manage to bag a stallion, howling for the moon like a lecherous she-wolf.

Which I’m not. I’m still in control of myself.

This was just a little surprising, and the longer Pinkie continues, the more used to it I become, until I crack open my eyes, lock onto my target — her winking button like a strobing landing light — and nuzzle into her again.

She squeaks another response, muffled by my pussy, but soldiers on like the trooper she is, though her rear hooves weakly kick at the air, squirming in my grasp. But in a certain light, it almost looks like a ‘come hither’ motion, and that gets an inward chuckle from me, imagining that her body is impulsively telling me to keep going.

Perhaps it is. And, again, let it not be said that I’m one to disappoint.

So, instead of returning my free hand to my breasts, I sneak it down and under the leading edge of her thigh, laying my forearm against her croup for some extra support, and grabbing her tail while it’s there. And then, firmly, I rub my thumb along the bare skin of her dock.

Pinkie moans in approval, and the hum gets another shiver out of me.

Knowing that I’m on the right track, I repeat the action over and over. I honestly wish I knew what experiencing this felt like, but it’s pretty nice to do at least, and somehow makes sense to me; any attention to that area of the body must be stimulating to some degree, being so close to the other centres of attention. And it doesn’t hurt that it’s all rather… easy on the eyes, shall we say.

I mean, it’s not weird if they’re sapient, right?

Pinkie tilts her head back and gasps for air, then giggles wearily while she pants and I press on, though my inner folds already yearn to feel her snout and tongue against them again. “You… you sure know how to… to show me a good time, don’t you, Eve?”

Fortunately for me, with my nose unobstructed, I can still breathe while I work, and I grin as I angle my head and bare my teeth, giving the edge of her lower lips a tender little nip.

With a yelp, the voluminous bundle of tangled hair going as straight as Twilight’s for the briefest moment, back to its original state so quickly that I’d have thought I imagined it if this were anyone else. “Oh-ho-ho,” she chuckles, “you are a cruel mistress.”

What can I say? I know what I like — most of the time, anyway — and I’m glad that she’s so willing to experiment, or at least tolerate my behaviours.

Would that I be so lucky, to woo a fella with the same passion for all things fringe and kinky.

I wiggle my behind. I know she likes that.

And when I hear a heated breath, and feel the air glide over my groin, cooling the wetness, tickling the flesh, sending those eager, expectant chills through my thighs and abdomen, I know I have her attention. Less than a second later, her muzzle is buried between those cheeks again, and she attacks the entrance with renewed vigor.

A grunt escapes me, a spike of warmth striking my core, but I try not to let the satisfaction overwhelm me and I keep on licking and lapping, pressing further and further into her with each attempt. I run my tongue along one side, then the other, fast, then slow, rolling and curling it as impulse demands, knowing what works for me easily works for her too. And the deeper I go in, the more of her comes out, and I drink it up like a man would do with water in the desert; like the sweet, nourishing nectar that it is.

Not one to be outdone — two steps ahead, not just one — I let go of her tail and slide my hand down her rump a little more, closer to me, and I gently tug at the skin around the small, puffy, fleshy ring just above her slit.

She groans, and it’s the pleasured, hungry sort, like cracking your neck in just the right way, or stretching a taut muscle that you didn’t know you had; that’s territory neither of us often venture, for all the times we’ve done this. I’m still not ready to probe much further than the entrance, but I know it can be a little thrilling to tease at things. Variety is the spice of life, after all, even if it’s in mild doses.

And likewise, not to be outdone by me, she opens her mouth wide and latches onto the upper half of my nethers, one set of teeth pressed into my folds, the into the groin itself. At the midpoint, my clit, and before I have half a mind on what to expect, I feel her tongue tap and stroke and swirl around it, and her lips slowly close in, sucking on it as much as she can.

My eyes widen, genuine shock pulsing through me as much as the adrenaline or dopamine or whatever that euphoric hormone is — I’m not really in a state of mind to remember. My lower half tenses up, and a bolt of hot lightning races from down under all the way up to my head, and forms into a thick, heavy, sultry haze the longer, the harder she eats away at me.

I know what that feeling is: the threshold has been crossed; I’m vulnerable now. After a marathon, I’ve entered the sprint, and it won’t be that long until I reach the finish line.

Too quick. Much too quick.

But I can’t bring myself to tell her to stop either. I’ve come too far to not stumble into nirvana, perspiring and panting and quivering all over.

But if I do that, I’m taking her with me.

Putting my assault on pause, I gasp for air and wipe the sweat from my brow — which I don’t recall ever being so drenched — then try to compose myself and reassess the lay of the land.

She’s still winking, faster than ever now that I’ve let up, and while there’s less fluid coating the entrance, my saliva has drenched the skin. I can taste her on my breath, feel the humid slickness in my throat, and it only makes me that much more eager to dive back in.

Who am I to disappoint, least of all myself?

Lunging forward just as her button pokes out, I catch it in my mouth before it disappears between those intoxicating lips, and the smooth, moist, warm and velvety interior they hide. And stealing a page from her book, I ravish it with all the energy at my disposal, and relish every second.

Her hindquarters stiffen like so many times before, but this time, she wails into me.

Sweet mother of mercy, that feels good.

And it gets me that much closer.

But no. No, not just yet. Not before her, or it won’t be nearly as satisfying.

There has to be more I can do.

I look up.

There one answer lies — the most obvious one, as far as I can tell right now. And I know she isn’t averse to it, judging from her reaction, so… there’s only one question I need to ask myself:

Does being the one who finishes last really matter that much?

The answer is simple.

Yes.

Yes, of course it does.

This is what happens when you lack integrity.

I grunt again, huffing into her as my brows harden, weaving my arm under her thigh up her back once more, reaching my hand past her tail and down her rump, laying my palm flat beside the ring. And then, sucking on her some more and grinding my crotch into her face to bolster my resolve — bringing me even closer to the edge in the process — I firmly rub my thumb around the outside.

That gets a moan from her.

I push down on it, and nibble at her with my lips.

Another moan, higher-pitched.

Her entrance twitches, and I feel her stomach spasm.

She’s almost there.

I bare my teeth again and scrape them against the base of her bean, and as I do so, I pull my thumb back a little way, then gently poke the tip inside. Just the tip. Not even the whole nail.

But it’s enough to break the camel’s back.

Throwing her head back, a strand or two still connecting us, she screams at the top of her lungs and bucks her hips, and I keep my face pressed into her, hanging on for dear life as her nethers quake. And when I hear the tell-tale pulse of the first spurt coming, I carefully adjust my position to compensate and catch as much as I can.

Wetness splashes against my tongue and palate, hot and sticky, and tart, and delectable, and I lap it up as instinctively as a thirsty dog would, and I actively groan in delight at just how heady and exhilarating this is. Some gets on my lips, my nose, my cheeks, but I don’t care, too rapt in the moment to think of anything else other than taking all she has and licking her clean in the aftermath.

Seconds pass, and they feel like minutes, and shortly after I lose count at six shots fired, her bucking weakens to a tired but instinctual sway, and her screams die down to a whimpering pant. Her hindlegs still twitch, but her tail steadily relaxes, and soon, there are no more spurts to catch, only a trickle, which doesn’t replenish when I lap it up.

My heart is pounding, my forehead and cheeks drenched in sweat and other fluids, my thighs aching from straddling her for so long, as well as all the tremors in my abdomen. And there’s another ache too — a twinge at my core, begging to be set free.

And as if she’d read my mind, Pinkie takes up the slack, shoving her snout into me for one last offensive, wrapping a foreleg around one of my thighs and stroking it up and down, the other tracing slow, tender circles on my stomach.

Rough can work in a pinch, but my preference, and what really pushes my buttons just right is being made love to, and she knows that better than anyone in this strange and unusual world. She may not be who I’d want to spend my life with but she knows me inside and out, and I can be nothing short of thankful for it. And it doesn’t take much for her to pour gasoline into a smouldering fire.

My breath snags in my throat and, lacking the energy or reason to keep it near, I let her lower half slide from my grasp and flop onto the bed, and I come to rest on all fours above, leaning back to give her as much access as possible. And she doesn’t waste it, poking her snout and tongue in as far as they’ll go and exploring the deepest recesses on offer, and it makes me claw at the sheets and growl with how pleasurable it feels.

Biting my lip and shaking my head this way and that, I squirm as the fire builds into a blaze, growing in strength and rumbling out from my core, its flames licking at my inner folds as surely as Pinkie does.

Heat. Everywhere, there’s heat, inescapable and unyielding, and I both want and never want an end to it — too little, and it won’t be nearly as enjoyable; too much, and it would be agony. I’m at the halfway point right now, and it’s… heavenly. And not enough.

So, on an impulse, without thinking, I grip and fondle a breast in one hand while the other slips on over to the south, teasing the hood and stretching the fleshy outer lips just a little.

And then the tension snaps.

With the force and speed of lightning, I feel it rip through me, insides taut and quivering from the strain, my whole body shuddering as my stomach nearly cramps up. My thighs try to clamp down on whatever lies between them — Pinkie’s barrel, in this case, and my hand — but end up lifting my feet from the bed, toes curled, and without the extra support, I fall forward, almost faceplanting into her groin. And I lie there with my eyes squeezed shut, twitching and shivering, squeaking out laboured breaths as Pinkie continues to much away.

Unlike her, I don’t squirt, which is something I’m secretly jealous of, but mine seem to last longer than others’, which can be good, but can also be a literal pain. But her? She makes it work, calmly eating me out as if nothing were out of the ordinary, no more forceful than when she started this current session; tender and amorous.

I smile through a sore grimace.

This girl… knows me.

At last, a minute or three later, the spasms subside, and Pinkie draws her head back a little way to catch her own breath and inspect the fruits of her labours. And I can see it now: soaked and pink and swollen, loose to the touch and easily spread apart, a string or two of fluid still connecting us. And the image alone sends a final, weak shudder through me. My hands and feet relax, and I’m left with my backside in the air.

“Wow, Eve,” she quietly exclaims, giggling a little at the end, “that was… pretty hot.”

I laugh, still lying with my head turned to the side, using her frizzy tail as a pillow. “No shit.”

“Round two?”

“Nah.” Planting my palms on either side of her waist, I shake my head while I gradually heave myself to all fours. Everywhere, my muscles ache. “I’m… I’m pooped. More than I thought I’d be.”

“Losing your fire?”

“Maybe, Pinkie.” I chuckle again as I roll to one side and stare up at the ceiling, arms loosely folded across my belly. “Maybe.”

She giggles once more, and it’s already much livelier than before. Seriously, how does she manage it, with this seemingly never-ending pool of energy? “Well then, I guess I’ll have to help you find a local stallion lickity-split! It’s not fair that I’m the only one who gets to have you in your prime.”

I blink, then strain to lift my head and look at her with an eyebrow raised curiously. “Who’s helping who find what now?”

“Oh.” She looks down at me quizzically and with a certain sense of awkwardness, ears flattening a tad. “Did I put the cart before the pony again?”

“That… depends,” I answer evenly, then prop myself on my elbows to face her more directly. “What do you mean by helping me find someone?”

“Ah. Well, like I said, there are some guys around here who might be interested in you as a romantic partner. So, if you want… maybe I could try to nudge you and them together, and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll create a distraction or something and while you hightail it out of there.”

I pause, raise both my brows as high as they’ll go. “You want to be my wingman?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, then that’s what I’ll be!”

Another pause, and I blink once again.

Her getting involved with my dating efforts wouldn’t be a bad thing at all, I don’t think… but it’s surprising to think about it. Like, someone I’m banging is helping me find someone else to bang, just with more strings attached, or whatever you call those constraints. Which aren’t bad in the slightest — in fact, that’s exactly what I’m after — but…

What?

Nothing, really. I guess. I’m probably just overthinking it.

“I mean… sure,” I finally reply, glancing away and shrugging. “If you wanna introduce us, tag along as a third wheel… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. You know, having another responsible adult in the room.”

Responsible. Ha! That’ll come back to bite me in the ass.

“Yay!” she cries, flinging her forehooves into the air with a wide, beaming grin to no one in particular. “I get to play matchmaker! Princess Cadance is gonna be sooooo jealous!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, Pinkie Pie.” I smirk and hold up my hand in a pacifying gesture. “We’ve barely finished giving each other head. I think it can wait an hour or two — I’m not so desperate that I need a man in my life right this second.”

“Sorry.” She giggles a third time, covering her mouth to hide her embarrassed smile. “You know me, easily carried away.”

She could say that again.

“Cuddle session?”

I quirk an eyebrow for a moment, wondering what she could possibly mean, then almost immediately remember and gently nod in approval, hoisting myself up to all fours and crawling on my hands and knees toward her. There, I slump onto my side, facing her, then wrap and arm and a leg around her and pull her close, hugging her to my naked body.

She wraps her hooves around me and gazes into my eyes, her own half-lidded and full of mirth. “You look cute when your hair’s all tangled up like that.”

“Is it?” I question, combing a hand through and, as she said, finding a few knots here and there, and more than a few locks out of place. “Damn. I’ll definitely need a shower afterwards.”

“Mind if I join you?” She angles her head to look at me in an expression of playful innocence. “It’d save on hot water.”

“And if we end up doing something other than bathing?”

“Don’t be silly, silly.” She giggles for the umpteenth time today and taps my nose with her hoof. “That’s not what showers are for.”

“Then explain what happened last time, with the showerhead.”

“Deep-tissue cleaning.” One of her hindlegs gets between mine, and before I can comment, I feel her knee softly grind against my crotch, resulting in a pleasant yet queasy chill up, provoking a hushed moan. “Gotta make sure you’re healthy down there, right?”

Pleasant though it is, the queasiness wins out, and I give her a sympathetic smile as I pat her shoulder. “I said no, Pinkie. Sorry.”

“Okay.” She lowers her gaze and pulls her knee away, then sighs to herself before meeting my eyes once more, appearing hopeful. “Still no kissing?”

I furrow one brow while the other cocks itself as I briefly glance down at her muzzle, still caked and matted in various biological substances. And I can smell myself on her breath — more tart and tangy than her natural musk. And that’s when the puzzle pieces align and my smirk returns. “You just want to taste yourself, don’t you?”

She squints, smirking in kind. “Don’t you wanna do the same?”

I hum a small, amused laugh. “So, it’d just be a lewd kiss?”

“Extremely lewd.”

“Good,” I say, then lean in and press my mouth to hers, and interrupt her surprised squeak by poking my tongue through and exploring the cavity, running it along her teeth, noting the lack of canines. And when her tongue starts poking back, I don’t resist.

It doesn’t last very long — less than half a minute, I reckon — but it wasn’t unenjoyable. And after I pull back, and she steals a quick lick of the wetness still on my cheek, looking very satisfied with herself as she smacks her lips, I have a bit of a giggle myself.

“See?” she queries, still smiling. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“I guess,” I confess, wiping everything clear in my end with the back of my hand. “I’ve had worse.”

“Me too!” She bows her head and pulls herself even closer, forelegs around my midsection, almost belly to belly, nuzzling under my chin, much to a flutter of surprise of my own. “You’re a good friend, Eve.”

“I…” I begin, then realise I don’t know what I’m about to say, and instead stare vacantly ahead, that sense of surprise fading into confusion and discomfort. Until, of course, I come to another realisation: I’m probably overthinking this too; Pinkie is a simple girl, uncomplex and straightforward, and although it means that she’s a bit obnoxious at times, it also means that ulterior motives are as foreign to her as whale is to the desert. When she offers you a compliment, it’s exactly what the label says, with no artificial colours or flavours. Just like her cooking. “Thanks, Pinkie.”

“No thanks needed.” She shrugs. And then her grip momentarily tightens, ears perking up. “Ooh! But before we probably go nodding off to sleep, there’s something I wanna tell you — a word of advice from your friendly neighbourhood Ponkmeister!”

I can’t remember who came up with the nickname, but I’m glad it exists. “Shoot.”

“If you do end up with a stallion — a pony stallion — just be warned that they’re probably a bit bigger than you’re used to. Like… maybe a lot bigger, actually. Mostly in length, but girth as well.”

I blink, and I feel a faint twitch at my core. “I fail to see the downside.”

“What I’m trying to say is that, when comes the time, you should probably take it slow. And whatever you do, don’t start off with buttstuff.”

“Oh my god, Pink,” I groan with a chuckle, closing my eyes and bringing a hand up to rub my temples. “It was one time. Once. I haven’t had the motivation to try it since, and I know you have to train yourself if you want to take on bigger things.”

“Goodie!” she exclaims. “Okay, that was all, thanks for listening, goodnight!”

And just like that, she’s fast asleep, snoring with a cute warble on every outward breath to boot.

I let my hand fall from my brows and stare down at her bemusedly, then roll my eyes and sigh, shaking my head. Full of boundless energy, packed to the brim with more love than she can keep to herself, and tireless in all the right ways, until she’s no longer needed. And then, she shuts down, like a robot having accomplished its purpose in life for the day.

But she isn’t a robot. No, she’s something far more precious.

“You’re a good friend too, Pinkie,” I whisper into her ear, then plant a soft kiss just below it.

Her snoring pauses, replaced instead by a satisfied hum.

Maybe she’s faking. Maybe she isn’t.

I don’t care; that one was on the house.

Closing my eyes, I lay my head to rest alongside hers, and smile as I listen to the sound of her breathing, and feel her chest rise and fall against mine. And in the warmth of the afterglow, and of closeness, I eventually find myself beginning to doze off.

Life won’t be so bad here, I don’t think.

Not with company like this.