“Wonder if they’ll even know what to do with someone my size.”
Been a good long while since you’d had the chance to do something actually enjoyable with your day off. Longer still since you’d even considered the notion of ‘pampering yourself’ beyond a bath, some light music, and curling up on the sofa with a good book.
There was a light trepidation in your steps as you walked to Ponyville’s premier—which here means ‘only’—spa and massage parlour in search of some heavy de-stressing, whatever that might entail. You weren’t particularly familiar with spa treatments, but Rainbow Dash had all-but coerced you into attending off the back of your discovery of some free vouchers she had apparently received ‘by mistake’.
You remembered the way she shoved them at you with a grin, as if she was holding a dangerous snake that might turn around and attack her at any moment. Didn’t say where she’d received them, but you never gave it much thought, just considered it an early birthday present.
Honestly, you’d take what you could get, seeing as you weren’t expecting too much in the way of gifts on your actual birthday. Light change in course as the turn at the end of the road took you out of the shade, the sun warming your arms against the autumn chill. You could see the spa in the near-distance now. You snickered as you recalled past conversations with your partner, Spitfire. She’d always been dead against places like this, yet you were always the one suggesting she take a load off and do something like this with you!
That same spirited laugh drifted to a vacant and dry chuckle. Maybe you should’ve convinced her to listen to you sooner.
Enough about that. You were here to enjoy yourself, not take a trip through introspective prison. You forced a smile and managed to glue it in place long enough that it felt natural, finally reaching the building’s doors. You were here for fun and relaxation, not to get bogged down in the past, or future, or whatever the fuck. Just enjoy the now, man.
Aloe and Lotus manned the front desk in unison. They were both friendly, caring ponies that you’d often bumped into when you first found yourself living in Equestria. Most of your past conversations had consisted of them pointing you to different aisles in the supermarket or describing points of interest to you, so it wasn’t like you were in any way close.
But the smile the pair of them gave you as you walked up, an unwavering beam, positively glowing, was that which one might expect from a great friend or even family. It was heartwarming, and even distracting enough that you might loosen your grip on your mental baggage, if only for a few minutes.
“Hello, and what can we be doing for you today, yes?” Lotus was the first to speak, waving you over to her with a nod. “You are looking to have a treatment in the sauna with the calming hot stones, maybe, ya?” She pointed a hoof to a flyer that had been taped to the desk. “Is only eight bits for a forty-five minute steam now, but perhaps you are wanting something else?”
Maybe she recognised that you felt somewhat awkward, but she didn’t press afterwards, rather giving you time to put together your response. After a moment’s internal debate, you pulled one of the three vouchers you’d received out of your bag. “I received one of these from a promotion and I’d like to redeem it if possible?” You knew there was a touch of the nerves in your voice. You tried to push the lingering thought away, they were likely used to it.
You gave the voucher to Lotus, who took it and looked it over with what you could only describe as a skeptical eye. She exchanged a glance with Aloe. “You say you have received this from a promotion?”
You gave her a nod. Technically, Rainbow did, but you didn’t see the point in mentioning that.
A laugh. “Min herre, this is clearly a pre-paid gift voucher, yes?”
“Yes,” Aloe confirmed, a laugh bubbling between each syllable. “Could you imagine if we simply gave out five step courses in local promotions? We would be bankrupting ourselves with the billings of the water alone!” She leaned into you with a softer tone, the teasing lilt having left. “There is no need to be embarrassed about this, you know? Many ponies gift spa sessions here to their friends or lovers, it is not in any way strange.”
You were still playing catchup in your head. Rainbow had said that these were promotional when she gave them away, but could it be that she’d been gifted them and hadn’t even realised? There was something off about all of this, but you weren’t about to kick up a fuss. At worst, you could talk to Rainbow and give her back the other two vouchers if she wanted them—which it really seemed as if she didn’t.
Right now, you were more concerned with getting something out of your trip. Honestly, you were fairly sure you could use this, what with what’d been going on around you lately. “Sorry, you’re right, I suppose I was a little embarrassed.” You gave your best attempt at a sheepish grin. “First time and all. I honestly don’t know all that much about how all of this works.”
“There really is nothing to worry about, herr, it is all rather simple to us, yes, and we have a beautiful trained masseuse in attendance who will be ready to guide you through the entire course, yes?” She gave the voucher a quick scan. “Your session will cover the deep exfoliating body washing, the steam and mud bath, followed by the lovely custom massage and a wonderful facial to finish you off.”
You almost snickered there. Spas were places for grown-ups and sometimes you wondered whether you were one of them. That said, there was something Lotus had mentioned through her explanation that began to perturb you the more you considered it, and that was the ‘beautiful masseuse’ mentioned. It brought about a strange, swirling feeling in your belly: you didn’t understand why you felt so uncomfortable about being attended to, despite feeling secure in your faithfulness. “Perhaps I could wait for a male masseuse?” you ventured, hoping it was an available option.
Lotus gave a grin that felt decisively out of place. “I’m afraid all of our male massage therapists are currently finding themselves busy with the other clients, and you would be waiting quite the long time for one to be available for you.” She raised an eyebrow. “You know that our mares are very professional here, yes?”
They probably were. You were probably so inundated by cliche and paranoia that you were making a big deal out of nothing. It wasn’t like receiving a therapeutic massage to help with your tight shoulders and lower back was akin to cheating, after all, was it? A sign of bad posture more than anything!
Besides, it wasn’t like your marefriend was ever around to even complain, or—forget about that. That doesn’t matter, and it has nothing to do with today. Just relax, nod your head, get the treatment, and try to enjoy yourself.
You finished ironing out the rest of the details with Lotus, and before long you were sat in a waiting room, waiting for the showers—which as you understood were large and private—to be free.
And as such you finally ended up alone with your thoughts.
You missed her.
To put it frankly, you just… missed her. You’d been together a while, and at first it’d been great! She was attentive, intelligent, quirky, and fun, everything you could’ve ever looked for in a partner. She was a larger than life pony with ambitions so huge it was a shock they could fit in her four foot frame, but that was your Spitfire. A wondrous enigma of a pony, someone whose character could so easily be mistaken for the caricature she forced herself to represent. A pony with hidden depth.
But it was damn near impossible to be that great in that many ways and have fuck all wrong with you.
You frowned as you began to tap your feet together. You’d never been very good at clock-watching, and neither had she. Spitfire was a workaholic. She was obsessed with breaking her own limitations, pushing herself further than she’d ever managed to go. To her, it was no more about being better than others than it was about being better than herself. You’d always admired her drive, but the lack of breaks had inevitably led to her crash, and it was a spectacular one. Your Icarus never touched the sun, she was the sun. She burned out all the same.
Reminiscing was something you did all too often, and you could only imagine it was half as much as she did. You and Spitfire had spoken way too many times about what it would take to slow her down, and she’d always said she’d have to lose her wings before she stopped moving forwards. Turned out that wasn’t what did her in but the paperwork. The lack of sleep. The stress of seeing new recruits she enjoyed the company of fail to learn and advance, the difficulty in knowing that she was near her peak and already one of two fliers five or ten years younger than her showed more promise than she ever had.
One day she stopped turning up to work. You tried your hardest to support her through it, listened when she spoke about her worries, helped her out when it got to the point where a year had passed and she had to move out of her apartment. Her severance package wasn’t covering her rent anymore, and the place was in one of Canterlot’s flashier districts, as one might expect from an ex-wonderbolts captain.
She moved in with you for a while then, and at first you thought that the proximity might bring you closer together, but over time it only served to have the opposite effect. The beginning was great! She never had anywhere to go and all the free time in the world, you’d sit around and do things together, try your hardest to talk through her problems, and have sex upwards of three times a day. For a while, she seemed pretty happy, and you figured she must’ve just needed a break from everything that’d been building up.
But over time it became clear that it wasn’t just as simple as ‘getting on with it’ again, or ‘being happy’. It was a year back when your Spitfire was clinically diagnosed with what the doctors called ‘moderate’ depression, and six months since she’d stopped living with you: you’d helped her move into her own, smaller place, on account of her ‘needing space’, a self-prescription.
From there your contact had dwindled. What used to be daily calls that lasted for hours had soon turned to the occasional text or short chat, and what used to be meetups or ‘sleepovers’ a couple of times a week had turned to a weekly ‘date night’ that Spitfire had about a coinflip’s chance at showing up for.
She still seemed to love your company! Just not so much her own. You know that she felt guilty for how she was treating you, but you also knew that she couldn’t really help it. You wanted to fix whatever was wrong with her, but you understood that it wasn’t that simple. You’d suggested counselling but she refused to go, given every speech that could ever be listened to and disregarded, and gone to lengths to ensure that even through this situation she could still look after herself, and yet you couldn’t resent her for it.
In the end, despite all of the bullshit that surrounded her, you knew a beautiful soul existed in Spitfire. A brazen and unwavering spirit that commanded your attention, your acknowledgment of its awesome presence. A pony that’d do everything to improve the lives of herself and those she cared about, no matter the cost, if only she could smash through her own mental barriers.
Spitfire might’ve appeared to some like a bird in a gilded cage, but you knew that she was suffocating. To you, she was more akin to a canary in a coal mine.
It was easier to avoid thinking about her when you were occupied, but it was never easy. Despite your best instincts, you had a fever for this mare, and your faith in her persisted.
Took a little while for you to realise how long you’d simply been sat there ruminating, occasionally fidgeting to pass the time, restless leg syndrome and your eyes darting from poster to empty chair to motif second by second—a rhythm set against the clock on the opposite facing wall’s consistent tick. It was the most mobile thing in this room, after all, which you supposed made sense for a place of calm.
Lotus appeared just as you were beginning to grow truly restless. “Our masseuse’s last appointment is actually running over just a little bit, yes, so I thought I might take you through the steam and mud bath, ya?” Her eyes fluttered, likely a response to the blush forming on your face. “The sauna is very misty with the steam, yes? And the mud bath is so thick that it may as well be giving you an extra layer of the clothing.”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes lest Lotus think it was directed at her. You knew you were being a bit of a baby about this. “Just rationalising the idea of having to face you in the supermarket again,” you chuckled between your words.
“Unless you have some horrible deformity under your shirt, I think you are having very little to be worrying about,” Lotus assured you with a smile. “And even if you did, I would not even care! You are strange and wonderful, mien human vän, but most of all you are the client. Less of the worrying now, yes?”
Your agreement led you to following Lotus down the hallway and towards the steam rooms, which were apparently an appropriate place to start a spa session? You weren’t really sure on the order, but doing the sweating before you got clean seemed to make the most sense.
The corridors were narrow; either side of you, calming, ambient sounds could be heard—a satisfied sigh from one room, an ambient soundtrack playing in another, rushing showers further off, and the forward march of Lotus before you, showing you the way.
You couldn’t help regarding her as you traversed the tight space. She was an attractive and curvaceous pony by anyone’s standards, that you were sure of if only because you’d heard her name brought up by a few of your guy friends on multiple occasions, often along with that of her sister. You were sure you’d heard the argument of which was hotter at numerous bar tables, but you’d never participated. After all, by the time you met either of them, you’d already met Spitfire, and your mind—and other parts—were firmly entrenched in other places.
But that wouldn’t be to deny that her or her sister were in fact incredibly attractive. You’d have to be an idiot to not recognise it, that or have a libido count in the negatives. Still, even as you watched the way her hips swayed and her tail trailed her rump, professional, never once even hinting at hitching an inch, almost teasing in that aspect alone… it did very little for you. It was the solid truth of the matter that the sole reason you didn’t want to be alone and nude in front of another mare was because you would find it awkward to be so.
Which was probably the reason that you knew Spitfire would never complain about you having been here and had the full treatment. Even through her own insecurities, you knew they were superseded by the faith in one another you both shared.
You’d never do anything unfaithful to her, but you were human. If you ended up with a hard-on in front of Lotus you’d probably have to move. You’d never had a professional massage before. Here’s hoping the masseuse was from out of town, just in case the worst should happen.
“We’re here now, yes?” She ushered you into what was probably a large enough sauna to fit ten ponies comfortably, or four humans. There was a fitting room off to the side which she directed you into once you’d been given a fresh towel, and you were instructed to leave your clothes inside to be collected and given back to you later. Quickly, you began to undress and pull out the swimsuit you’d packed. “Lotus, am I meant to wear trunks in the steam room?”
“It’s better to let your entire body do the steaming, but whatever is making you most comfortable!”
There was a lot of steam in that room. Suppose that’s why it was called a steam room. Point of that little tautology was that Lotus likely wouldn’t be able to see anything, so you chose to go au natural.
You had to feel your way to one of the seats with your hands a little—it was visually akin to traversing a snowstorm, though with none of the scary bits—and eventually, you found your seat and began to take a load off. It was a little loud in the room, what with the hot air constantly filtering in, but you truly felt able to decompress here. Truly, you felt serene sat here, all alone as far as you could tell, a singular, constant sound the only backdrop, able to drift into a pleasantly empty space in your head as you focussed on the tension in each of your muscles. Building it up, and letting it go as best as you could.
A question shattered the silence.
“So… it may be presumptuous to ask, but how are things between you and your lovely marefriend right now?”
You knew the question was innocent in nature, but you had to resist the urge to grit your teeth, not that she’d have seen it. This might’ve been the first moment in a while that you’d truly been able to say you didn’t have her image, her voice, her everything burned into the back of your skull. “It’s… it’s pretty great.”
“Oh?” she reacted to your lie with what sounded like glee. “That’s wonderful to hear! I wonder if you maybe could be bringing Spitfire with you next time? Me and Aloe used to love both of your company, it would be fantastic to see you both together.”
You hazarded a smile. You supposed it would be nice, after all. “I’ll see if I can get her to try it out sometime. Spitfire’s never seemed into the whole spa thing, I guess.”
A pause. “That is very strange? She was coming here and receiving the treatments for years before we ever met!” Another. It was a surreal experience speaking in here, in isolation. Almost like a phone call if it were to take place inside a waterfall. You wondered what Lotus’ eyes were saying right now. “Truthfully, I’ve not seen Spitfire here since she left the Wonderbolts, but it is not my place to ask, so I will not be.”
“Not many people have seen her since.” The words fell from your lips like ash from the end of a cigarette. There was a relief in speaking what you’d been thinking for so long aloud, but the words hung in the air all the same, their form decomposing into an echo and then an afterthought, the looping showerhead soundtrack drowning out the foreground. If Lotus had responded, you hadn’t heard it.
You didn’t hear anything for a while, in fact, until she spoke once more. “You have a special pony in your life, this is known by my sister and me. We see so many couples in our line of work, and we think we are quite good at realising which are fated to be together by now.
“You think we were that good of a couple?”
“You are being that good of a couple.” You felt a hoof against your shoulder, though only briefly. “Whatever you’re going through together, I am sure you will come out the other side stronger for it.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle. How was it that a pony could be so effective with her words when they rarely even came out in the right order? “Am I that transparent?”
“Herr, this is a steam room. How can I see through you if I am unable to see you?”
Both of you laughed. Maybe it was really like Lotus said. She’d seen so many couples in her life, etcetera… perhaps she really was just that intuitive, between her sister and her. She apparently knew things weren’t ‘great’ in your relationship, after all. You chose to accept it as more of a premonition than a platitude, a promise of the potential of a future.
And then the mud bath came, and it was difficult to think of anything other than the fact that you were covered in mud.
You felt somewhat ridiculous. You were submerged in it from neck to toe, some in your hair, some on your chin, and the rest of your body completely caked. You had to keep moving, shifting, going to stand if only out of fear that if you didn’t, the sludge would solidify and trap you there forever, a mud statue! Apparently, the application of ‘therapeutic’ mud was great for replenishing natural minerals found in the skin, as well as flushing out imperfections and excess moisture. The idea was to leave yourself with a ‘healthy glow’ and both look and feel youthful and energised.
That was the idea, at least. Right now you felt more like an indigenous creature from some low-budget sci-fi movie that just barely resembled a human. You felt as if you’d gained fifty pounds, and the way it clung to you made you feel as if you were wearing a crude suit of armour.
You had no clue how Lotus didn’t laugh, and were more than satisfied when it came time to wash it off. In fact, it was probably the most thorough shower you’d ever given yourself, given how many times you had to double-check that no mud remained in your hair. Lotus had offered to wash your back, but you’d remained steadfast in doing the shower part yourself. Even if it would’ve been faster, some things you were ready to be a bit of a prude over.
That said, the products themselves had all smelled amazing—scents of lavender and pomegranate permeated the air against the disparate tone of crushed black pepper carrying a palpable spice. The room’s aromatic energy bounced and danced alongside the rush of the shower overhead to the flutter and jolt of your senses.
The pepper made you want to sneeze a bit, put simply, but it also smelled nice.
It was a somewhat familiar feeling, too, all too welcome considering. When Spitfire had lived with you for some time, she’d brought with her the age of pleasant-smelling toiletries and detergents and fabric softeners that seemed as if they didn’t just clean your linens but also gave them a big hug afterwards. Everything had smelt nice, and nothing was ever bland.
When she left, it felt weird to carry on buying girly fragrances and soaps. With that, the last bottles eventually ran out, and the bland, spartan shower gels and air fresheners of the past once again established their dominion.
As you dried off you considered that if there was anything you could take out of today after that good of a shower, it was that you needed to wrest control of your bathroom from predefined gender norms. Out with the boring dark bottles of men’s products, in with the metrosexual good smelling shit.
You were rambling to yourself at this point. Nervous habit, and it was mainly to save yourself from considering what you knew was coming next. “I prepared the room for you while you were in the shower, yes? I’ve had to put a couple of the massage tables together so there is space for you to lay, but it should be perfectly comfortable.” She pointed inside and gestured to the table. “Feel free to lay down on your front and get used to having your head in the hole, and your massage therapist will be with you shortly.”
Wasn’t that much of a job to get yourself comfortable on the mish-mash of massage tables that’d been pressed together. Physically comfortable, that is. You were perfectly aware of just how exposed you were in this situation, even with a towel covering your midriff to your ankles. “Lotus, is it—ah, never mind.” You straightened yourself out and put your head in the hole, as instructed. Come to think of it, it’d be a lot easier to hide your embarrassment and get used to the new pony this way, rather than having to face her first.
Relax, you told yourself. Try to enjoy this, that’s what you’re meant to be doing today. Truthfully the last couple sections of the spa session had been a really fun, if novel experience, and you were sure a good massage would just top off an already pleasant day. Nothing to be nervous about.
“Lotus, do you have any idea how long I’ll be waiting?”
No response. You could only assume she’d left the room, and were about to confirm yourself when you heard the door knock. It was a little timid, you noted—two gentle taps.
“Hello?” You waited, no answer. “Are you the masseuse? Sorry, I’ll get up and say hi—”
Like that you heard the door burst open and in a flurry of activity and speed, your back was being pressed down with surprising force: if the pony was heavier, you might’ve been winded from shock. “No! No, it is not…” the masseuse’s voice tapered off, wavering. “It iss not being a problem, ja? Vhat kind of massaging are you vishing for today, jaaa?”
Jesus, you thought Aloe and Lotus had thick accents. This mare was like something out of a pantomime. You almost had to stifle a laugh as you felt an all-too admittedly soft pair of hooves trailing your upper back, applying short bursts of pressure. Suddenly, you realised you’d been asked a question. “Uhh… I’m not really too familiar with the types? I know about sports massages but that’s about it. Whatever you recommend I guess?” Your shoulders flared; you were fighting the urge to shrug. Your face was flushed. “Sorry, I should’ve read a brochure first.”
“No!” You could swear her voice cracked. “Zhis is fine, sir. If it is not being a big problem for zhou, I vill be performing ze very special and wonderfu—er, vunderful special massaging on you! So simply be relaxing and enjoying now, ja?”
Okay, this was obscene. Any confidence you had that you were being handled by a professional was quickly beginning to evaporate. You fought the urge to squirm as the strange pony began to brush her hooves up and down the centre of your back, leaving a light, lingering tingle along the axis of your spine. Okay, maybe it felt good, but you were literally getting offended by that accent.
Were you allowed to be offended? Your ears violently pricked and you had to resist the urge to twitch in place whenever this pony opened her mouth. It was almost as if—unsolicited bliss encroached on your ponderous mind as the masseuse began to patter her forehooves against your upper back, applying pressure in varying intervals, light touches intermixed with heavier, more forceful applications of pressure. It was as if she was playing a piano, what with the rapidity and deftness with which her hooves transitioned from one part of your body to another.
Okay, forget the ridiculously forced and over-the-top accent. Maybe her clients enjoyed that. Who cared? Any doubt that this mare didn’t know what she was doing was a distant afterthought against the sensations buoyantly floating through your mindscape. She loosened you in a motion; your tension, your worries, your doubts, all of it was gently guided to remission with the coming stream of serenity that was slowly beginning to envelop you.
Was this… meant to feel this good? It almost felt duplicitous, as if you’d suddenly discovered you were more sensitive than the average person, or were perhaps simply dreaming. It was such an odd thing to ponder, but if having a pony rub you down was really this spectacular, why didn’t people suggest it to you more? Maybe it was simply a novel experience—you didn’t have a ton to compare it against, save couples’ massages in the past, which hardly involved any practice or skill.
Maybe massages were just fucking great and it wasn’t a concession of your masculinity to admit that.
Miracle hooves touched your shoulders. Maybe it wasn’t as good as you were making it out to be. Maybe you were just—”Ow!” Sudden shock as you felt a joint in your shoulder crack and then pop properly into place. Had she heard your doubt?
“Oh, shi—” A sputtering cough. “Ah, I hope we are finding ourselves to be feeling okay right now, ja?” You shifted in place, almost flinched as you heard the mouth of hell’s resurgence. “I am attempting to be being as velaxing as possible gut ja?”
“Okay, right.” What a horrible contrast. Of course the best backrub you could imagine had to come with a culturally insensitive foghorn as its bearer. “Do you mind if we just, I don’t know, carry on quietly? I’d like to try and rest a little.”
“I!..” A breathy gasp and a long pause. “Yes, we can! Uhh, jaaa. Ja.” A beat. “Quietly.”
It’d been too long. Too long since she’d had her hooves busy distracting you for you to not finally notice the thing you’d been shrugging off since she first arrived: she wasn’t just faking this accent, she was really bad at it. You couldn’t help your curiosity. At worst, you offended her, but that was a risk you were willing to take at this point. “Do Aloe and Lotus really let you make a joke out of them like this?”
Three long, drawn out seconds of silence. The masseuse’s hooves didn’t move an inch the entire time. “Uh, no, I just—”
She didn’t try to deny it. “Why are you pretending to be a—”
“Look at me.”
“Excuse me?”
You heard the masseuse’s hooves beginning to tap against the table, you could only assume it was impatience. “Just… just look at me. Quickly. Okay?”
There was an entirely familiar rasp to her voice, now that she’d finally dropped the—”Spits?” Couldn’t be. No fucking way.
“Look or I’m leaving!” She stomped the floor with one of her hind legs, a huff in her tone.
Yeah, you didn’t even need to peek to know it was her, but you could scarcely believe it. What was?.. You peeked your head out from the hole as you were told, and there she was, adorned with a severe, wide-eyed frown that became progressively softer and more peaceful the longer the pair of you shared eye contact.
To you, she may as well have been gift-wrapped.
“Okay, you’ve looked! Head in the hole!”
Best you play along before she pushed you back down herself. Your conflicted emotions manifested in laughter, almost manic, as all the while you raced and tripped over yourself in trying to figure out just the pair of you had ended up in this situation. “So… Rainbow’s ‘promotional’ voucher?”
A dry chuckle. “It was her idea, you know. Don’t tell her I told you but she absolutely adores this place, comes every week if she can make it.”
“Huh. Okay, but that doesn’t explain, like, why are you my masseuse? I have at least...” laying on your front, it was difficult to count on your fingers, “...six other questions off the top of my head but I think that’s the most pertinent. What gives?”
“You aren’t happy to see me?” she tittered in response. Your heart began to fill with warmth. There was something really intimate in this, despite the absurdity of it all. She placed her hooves upon you again, flatside this time. She didn’t move them, and instead clambered up with a single wing-flap, holding you by your side. “Would you believe me if I said I taught myself how to do all of this just to make it a better surprise for you?”
You pulled an arm back and wrapped it around her barrel, as if by instinct. Nothing from today could compare to this simple feeling. “I… yeah, I could. You’re crazy. Just how long did you even spend learning to do this?”
“Three months.” It was a mumble, a squeak, her muzzle buried into your side. “I know, I know, I spent all of this time trying to think of some grand gesture to show you just how sorry I was for everything and that this whole time I could’ve just… approached you but—”
You gave her a light squeeze. She was speaking so quickly that you were scared she might faint. “You don’t need to explain, Spits. Or apologise, for that matter. You never did anything wrong, and you should realise that. You don’t have to make anything up to me.”
You could feel her shaking her head against you, defiant. She needed to be heard. “No, no. You’re wrong. I love you but you’re wrong, and you’re only wrong because you love me too. Stop letting me off the hook.” A sigh. “The way I crashed before, it was hard on me. We both know that. And you’ve done… you’ve done so much for me ever since then, and how have I ever paid you back? You’ve helped me with bits when I’ve been out of work and struggling, even helped out my family one time, and most of all you’ve listened to me, been there for me…”
“Spitfire.”
She never spoke about any of this out loud. Not when it had first happened, not when it’d been at its worst. “You’ve been my reason to carry on for these last couple of years. You know that, right? When things got…” a sniffle, a word nearly choked on. “Wh-when things got really hard for me last year, just knowing that you were there waiting for me made it all bearable. Even when I needed space, needed time away to reevaluate my life and figure out what I needed to do, you were patient. I never felt as if you’d drifted from me, though I’d totally get it if you didn’t feel the same way.”
“Spitfire,” you repeated, more forcefully this time. “You’re never going to stop being special to me, you know that? You have nothing to apologise for. Love is accepting someone in spite of their flaws, or at least, that’s what I think it is.” You barked out a laugh. “I mean, am I meant to chastise you for not being the model image of mental health?”
“I don’t know, maybe?” She buried her muzzle in you for but a moment before withdrawing for breath. “Argh, I don’t know! I just… fuck depression, man. Fuck feeling angry or shitty or sorry for yourself or like you’re trapped and you don’t know which way is forwards anymore or like you’re gonna be stuck doing nothing and going nowhere for the rest of your miserable fucking life.” A shuddering breath, followed by a snicker. “Not gonna let it be me anymore. I decided I’m taking back the things that matter to me one at a time, and the first step was showing you that you really matter to me.” Her voice became that of a mouse. “Good thing I managed to screw that up already.”
“You did?” If only you were facing her she’d be able to read between the lines forming on your brow. There were very little ways you could be much happier right now.
“Hallo sir vould you like ze very good massage very goooood yes.”
“...I didn’t wanna ask.” You scratched your head, thankful not to find any mud. “Okay, I did. What the hell was all that about?”
“I don’t know!” You could hear Spitfire shifting about up there, and as much as you wanted to see if she was blushing, you didn’t fancy getting your head dunked again. “When I finally got to see you I panicked. Like, I felt like this was all gonna be really easy at first, but then it turned out that learning to give a proper massage is actually pretty hard, and I wanted it to be really relaxing and sexy for you and I!..” She paused, breathed, breathed some more, and continued. “I was gonna just let you know it was me after a minute or two. I didn’t want you thinking you were getting turned on by some other mare, but I did want you turned on, but then when I thought you might see it was me before I’d even started I panicked and—well, it just kinda came out.”
“You mean you didn’t spend the last three months practicing the accent too?”
You felt an offended hind leg make sharp contact with your hip. “I’d hope that the massage part was at least a little more memorable than my impression of Aloe—she trained me, by the way, so I had plenty of time to learn how to sound nothing like her—but it was hard to tell because most of my concentration was being spent on keeping the voice going!” Spitfire huffed. “This has been pretty stressful, you know?!”
Wait, that was meant to be Aloe specifically? Best to not ask. “Does it help if I tell you that I’m still incredibly touched by the fact you went to all this length? Getting Rainbow to lure me here, learning to do all of this, setting today up with Lotus, even the ridiculous accent—it was all just for me, right?”
“It was a little for me too,” Spitfire admitted, one of her hoove-tips trailing small concentric circles around your shoulder blades. “I wanted to prove to myself that I could do something like this, that I could get over myself and be the kind of pony I always was again. That I could make you happy and we could both get something out of it.”
You gave her mane a ruffle, which earned you an annoyed ‘tssk!’. Spitfire, even if she wasn’t with the Wonderbolts right now, was a pretty big deal across Equestria to this day. You couldn’t imagine there were many who would dream of messing up her do. “Think you said it yourself, sweetheart. You’re talking about the kind of pony you always were, but you never changed. Situation just did. The fact that you’re here today proves that.”
You felt her wings twitch against your side. She giggled, infecting the air with her vibrancy. “You’re right, I am built pretty freaky.”
You could get lost in this embrace for hours if only you were permitted. It’d been a while since the two of you had simply held each other like this; comfortable silence filling the air, the only sound the attuned rise and fall of your chess. It was bliss.
Apparently Spitfire had other plans for you. In a burst of agility she pounced from her sideward position to directly hovering over you, the small gusts of wind from her wing-flaps tickling the nape of your neck.
Slowly, she began to set herself down on all fours, her hind legs pressed against your lower back. Ponies weren’t exactly huge creatures in comparison to you, but it took a little bit of time to get used to her weight shifting atop you all the same. After a moment, she leaned back onto her haunches and into a sitting position. “I’m not done with your apology yet.”
“I told you, there’s nothing to—”
“A-ta-ta!” Spitfire’s tail batted against your leg. “Don’t care, didn’t ask. Trust me, by the time I’m finished, we’ll both feel better, alright?” She planted a small kiss against the back of your neck, freezing any contrary notions before they might form. “You really think I’d let all of this go to waste?” She was pressing against your right shoulder with a single forehoof now, trailing it before rubbing her way down to your triceps, testing the resistance. “I’ve got the perfect chance to be a good little mare for my man, for once, and I’m definitely using it.”
“For once, huh?” you teased, albeit a little breathily. When she touched you again, it somehow felt better. You knew it was psychological, the knowledge that this wasn’t just some pony, that all of this was for you, the Spitfire effect, all of it compounded into each stroke of her hooves or kiss along your body as she shifted in place carrying an electric energy, one that you could almost reach out and touch, a feeling that truly allowed you to exist in the present even while being jealous of your past-self for what he’d just experienced and all the while anticipating just what might be coming next.
You could never guess what that next thing would be though. Some people found comfort in familiarity; some people were looking for that same song and dance they never grew tired of. Spitfire didn’t even dance to her own tune, let alone anyone else’s, and as such, the description ‘custom massage’ you’d received earlier had turned out to be very accurate.
She delivered combinations of pressure, touch, space, and all of the anticipation in-between without flaw, the grace and accuracy of her movements across you only seeming to clash with the raw energy she exhibited for your sole pleasure. You could hear her beginning to pant a little from above you, and you were unable to keep your hands still as you sought to find an outlet for the rising tension in the room, heat billowing through the air.
You were beginning to reach the point where you couldn’t ignore the problem forming downstairs, mainly because you were laid on your front and it was beginning to press into the table. “Spits, can we maybe loosen the towel?”
“When you’re ready,” she growled, gently nipping at your ear before kissing along your jawline and retreating along your neck, fixating herself on a new part of your body every few moments, finding a new or experimental way to please it, with results ranging from amazing to incredible. You were becoming increasingly aware that all of this was simply a build-up for the main event, but even without that thought, this was one of the most wonderful feelings you’d ever experienced, synapses dancing on the edge of reason, nervous system completely ablaze.
When she finally turned you over, you could see that her face was bright red. Behind that tough exterior and the punchy, direct voice that didn’t take any shit, Spitfire was ostensibly quivering. “You alright, Spits? You wanna stop?”
“N-no, no fucking way.” A breathy sigh, a soft kiss on the lips. “It’s just been a while. This is… really stimulating, I’m not gonna lie to you.”
She’d always been a giver, but you’d never known her to get off so much simply on touching you. That said it’d been a while since the two of you had done anything anywhere near this intimate together, so it was fair to say you were also finding difficulty even staying fully lucid with all the blood rushing from your brain.
Spitfire was used to working under stressful conditions, and her current task was no different. Even through what appeared to be a rapidly growing impatience, she took things slow, teased you. Made you want it even more than she did, giving your neck more attention but all too soon moving to your chest, sliding her way down your body and unwrapping your towel with her tail all the while, a trick you’d scarcely seen her pull, pushing her bare, plush posterior over your soon exposed manhood, the lightest tease of contact making you shudder and jolt in place.
Momentarily, you felt a touch of moisture at the tip of your cock, but all too soon, she’d moved her body past, and that singular soft, spasmic stroke was left as only an appetiser of what was to come.
Lips made contact with your stomach, her muzzle buried into the edge of your abdomen, shifting to your obliques and moving from one side of you to another in slow succession, making sure each part of your core received a share of the love she had to go around. “See you’ve all but abandoned shaving,” she snickered, taking a small section of hair from below your belly button between her teeth and giving it a short tug. “Don’t worry, I like you like this, makes you look more fierce…”
She was nearing the inevitable main event even as she spoke, moving closer and closer with each fraction of a second that passed so slowly you were sure you could count them. You could feel her warm, ravenous breath against the base of your cock, and you had to resist the shooting volume of sensation that commanded you to be rigid right then, else you might’ve smacked her on the chin.
Looking down on her as she studied your length, decided from which angle to tackle it first, you were once again rewarded with the image of just how big you looked with a small, pony-sized companion down there sizing you up. Spitfire could fit you in her mouth, you well-knew, but you imagined there were plenty of ponies that would struggle.
Your self-flattery was dashed by a reassertion of Spitfire’s position on centre stage, a single, tentative lick against your shaft, followed by another, more confident application of her tongue, slowly slathering her way from the base of your cock all the way to the tip, swirling her way around your head and then repeating the steps in reverse, eyes on you the entire time, gauging your reaction, looking for a sign of life that you all too happily gave, clutching the table on either side and gasping in unbridled relief.
It was all she needed to keep going, pace increasing all the while, a hoof at the base of your cock slowly pumping you as she began to focus more on your tip specifically, a fizzling feeling forming in the pit of your belly, desperate to expel itself in fitful pangs of pleasure, wanton lust driving your body and pushing you forwards, your heartbeat synonymous with the relentless throb of your cock against Spitfire’s soft, warm, welcoming tongue.
She’d happily keep you in limbo like this for hours and you knew it—you were growing restless. Idle motion had turned to lightly pushing against her tongue as she licked around you, and on occasion she’d ever so briefly open her mouth just wide enough for the tip to slip into paradise, only to be banished at the gates and relegated to another eternity of tormentful euphoria.
You were beginning to feel like a firework planted, the flame hovering just an inch from ignition. You needed more, and what was worse was that she knew it. You could already see that she’d began rubbing herself, a hoof having slipped incognito beneath her belly, the other rested firmly against your shaft as she continued to stimulate you, to keep you on the edge of sanity with the promise of impending ecstasy.
“S-spits…”
“Mmf?” she withdrew her tongue then, a bow pulled away from the strings, perfection replaced by a ceaseless desire to have back that which you were so enraptured by. She batted her eyelids, feigning ignorance. “Is something the matter? You smell great by the way, like my own personal fruit bowl. I could sit here and lick you all day, I think.”
“S-spits I need you to—”
“To what?” She feigned ignorance, eyes wide, enjoying the power she held. “I need you to tell me, baby. Tell me that I’ve been a bad pony, and that I should suck your big yummy cock to make it all up to you.” She blinked, eyes pleading, hoof shifting beneath her belly. “Tell me. Tell me I’m yours, tell me to get you off, to make you cum for me, do it!”
If you were any less pent up you might’ve laughed. Even when Spitfire was attempting to be submissive, she couldn’t be any further from it. “You’re a bad little pony, Spitfire, and you know it. If you wanna make it better, get your head down… show me just how sorry you really are, hmm?”
“F-fuck.” Sweet music as your words and her rubbing combined elicited a small squeak of satisfaction. “Yes, sir,” she breathed, bowing her head, sizing you up once more and tapping her tongue but a single time against your head before beginning to envelop the entirety of your tip with her muzzle, incrementally moving her way down, pausing to push past her own resistances, working against your size and readjusting herself to the feeling of having a long, hard cock buried in her muzzle.
To you this may well have been the best feeling on the planet. Nothing particularly extravagant about it, but the feelings alone were impeccable, indescribable. It was as if you’d finally returned to heaven after a long period of absence, and you were more than inclined to make your stay permanent.
Spitfire began to rock her head back and forth, slowly bringing her way up before pushing back down, reaching a new limit each time, pushing you back another quarter inch, accommodating each and every part of you as best she possibly could, the vibration of a soft hum emanating from her throat, hugging you tight from the inside, resonating along your entire body, hinting at a release you’d been building up to ever since she first touched you, first made her presence known, first made you see with a flick of her tongue and the press of her lips that she was firmly here to stay.
You were never letting this mare go again, not on your life.
That singular proclamation of faith was met with tangible reward in a downward thrust from Spitfire as she began to finally push your tip into the back of her throat, reaching what you knew was her limit, having swallowed at least two thirds of your cock. There was no doubt that she was an impressive mare, but more impressive still was her control, the way she could hold it there with such ease, the way you could feel her tongue shifting along each side in a sweeping motion as she pulled herself up and down your shaft.
It was a mesmerising rhythm, a continuous dip only for her to resurface and take the plunge once more, working you hard, keeping you panting and groaning and pressing your hips forwards, all rational thought gone from your mind, the only image persistent a carnal and animalistic desperation for the one thing that you truly desired above all else…
There was no way you were gonna hold out much longer. Not with the manner with which she played with you, teetering on the precipice of rapture, a culmination of love, want, need, passion, frenzy, and emotion threatened to spill from you at any moment—nothing could pull you from the now, nothing could transcend this experience as its zenith was finally breached, Spitfire pulling away, her open mouth waiting, tongue out, muzzle resting at the base of your cock right as you told her you were finally there.
The first strand you shot right over her muzzle was a proclamation of that same love, the following bursts of your release only served to drive the message home, a chorus of simultaneous moans a rhapsody unabated by any worry of thin walls or prying eyes, the moment finally reaching a true and wondrous conclusion.
This was a scene that you and Spitfire would both know that you could never truly recreate, but it certainly wouldn’t stop either of you from trying.
You had to admit, Spitfire looked pretty cute down there, still panting, covered in your acceptance of her apology.
“Get in here, we need to get that washed out of your fur before anyone sees!”
Spitfire reached out a hoof to touch the stream jettisoning out of the showerhead before recoiling as if she’d been stung. “See, this is why I don’t shower with you. Turn the oven down a bit and I might jump in.”
There was some irony about Spitfire not liking hot things that you were too highbrow to make comment of. “So, good day?”
“Great day,” Spitfire nodded, beginning to properly clean herself off. “Look, I don’t wanna give any like, mixed signals, though.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Just because I was able to do all of this today, it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m gonna be, like, perfect from now on.” She sat beside you, letting the shower finally push her mane down. “I’m gonna try my absolute best from now on to be a better marefriend to you, to be around more, to do more, but I just need a bit of assurance that you won’t, like, hate me if I still slip up a bit.”
“You really think I could ever hate you?” You began to stroke her back, pulling her into you. “As long as you’re happy, and we’re giving this a try, I’m happy. No promises, I’m just over the moon that you’re finally back, Spits. Properly back, that is.”
“I am!” she nodded. “I might still need some help here and there, things are kinda tough for me at the moment and I don’t know if I can get through it all on my own, but hey, if you help me, I’ll help you.” She threw you a wink. “Sound fair?”
“Sounds fair,” you agreed, giving her a nudge and an extra squeeze for good measure. You were sure that together, the pair of you could get through just about anything.
Author's Note
H-hey. You miss me?
Well I missed you guys, and doing this, a whole damn lot. This story felt wonderful to write, even if it took me a while, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on it! Please, if you get a chance, let me know what you think!
I'm really glad to be back, but like Spitfire, I'm going through a few problems of my own right now. If you're able and willing to, please read this blog. Thank you, and much love to all of you!
