Polar Front shivered while he knocked the melting slush off his hooves on the mat behind the front door. He barely resisted the urge to melt into an exhausted puddle himself. Trembling with cold, he shook his wings, dislodging the bits of snow that had built up there on his miserable trot from the subway station.
“I’m home!” Polar called loudly into the living room of their tiny apartment. He didn’t hear any response, so he figured that she had her headphones on. He did his best to wipe the last bit of muddy frozen slush off his hooves before trotting inside to find a towel to get the rest of it. He glanced through the door that led to the tiny kitchen-slash-living room.
There, on the couch, was his unicorn marefriend. She was flopped, legs akimbo, with a slight trail of drool dribbling from the corner of her lips. Her crimson mane, long and unbound, cascaded about her cream white shoulders and spilled onto the threadbare thrift store sofa/pullout bed. An open college calculus textbook, with several loose pages of hoofwritten notes, spilled out on the floor beneath her. A gentle snore rasped from her nostrils.
Polar Front couldn’t help the slow smile of affection that spread over his face. Ignoring the ache in his hooves, he silently padded over to her still form and pulled a rumpled blanket up over her shoulders before sneaking as quietly as he could into the kitchen.
Seeing Cinnamon Steam like this reminded him why all this was worth it, why he’d put his own dreams of weather work aside and worked overtime every week at the furniture store so she could finish college. He fought the urge to just cuddle up next to her and moved to the kitchen to start making dinner. Making as little noise as he could, he began pulling the ingredients out of the fridge for a salad.
“Wha…?” It was nearly a half hour later when Cinnamon myopically blinked, lifting her head from the couch as she glanced about the apartment. “Polar? You’re home?” Wiping at her mouth, she blinked a few more times, trying to shake off the post-nap daze. “What time is it?” She yawned loudly.
“Five thirty,” Polar Front smirked. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty. Dinner’s almost done.”
“Dinner?” her ears perked up brightly. “Good boy.” He felt a little shiver of excitement at the complement. Some might have found it condescending. For Polar Front, it hinted at what might be happening later tonight. Something they’d been working out for a few weeks now. “How was work?”
Polar grimaced. He’d been hoping to avoid this. “It was fine. Tiring.” He regretted the lie even before it left his lips.
“Polar?” Her voice was low, and not a little stern. Her Domme voice. It was one of his favorite voices, even when it filled him with cold dread. And, if he was being completely honest, it also filled him with something else; a little thrill of warm excitement that nested just a little bit lower than his belly.
“Yes, Cinnamon?” he asked deferentially. He focused on the salad he was tossing, and not on meeting her eyes.
“How was work really?” she demanded, and he shivered. “You’re not being… naughty, are you? Hiding something from me?” There was something else in her voice now, something husky, and he gulped. It was sometimes difficult to remain sheathed when Cinnamon talked like that.
He heard her slide off the couch, listening as she trotted over the wood floor towards him. He grew more nervous and excited with each clop of her hoofsteps against the floor, until he could feel her hot breath on his ear.
“What really happened at work?”
“M-mostly normal stuff. I moved a bunch of couches around. Arranged a new Hearth’s Warming display in the front window.”
“Mostly?” she breathed, her lips trailing along his ear. His fur stood on end, and he shuddered, subconsciously leaning into her caress, only to hiss in pain when she bit down on his ear.
He was definitely hard, now.
“Y-yes. Mostly. It’s possible I made a complete ass of myself in front of a blind customer, too.”
“Oh, is that all?” Cinnamon cooed at him, squeezing him around the shoulders with her hoof. “Well, let’s dish this salad up and cuddle on the couch. You can tell me all about this customer you embarrassed yourself in front of.” He looked up to meet her eyes finally, which glittered with vulpine mischief. “And then I can decide whether you’ve been a good boy and need to be rewarded, or if you’ve been rude, and need to be punished.”
Polar Front couldn’t help but smile worriedly. He wasn’t quite sure which one he really wanted.
~ ~ ~
I really was setting up a Hearth’s Warming display. You’d like it, it’s pretty clever. I did a Breezie themed Hearth’s Warming tree, full of cute little figurines and pink lights. Very fun.
So right about the time I was just about done putting the last finishing touches on my display a pair of mares walked in. Both pegasi. They kinda caught my attention right away, for a few reasons.
The mare in front was tall and walked with a sort of confidence. She was violet furred, with a shock of black mane. I could have sworn I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn’t place where.
Behind her was a second mare. She was kind of a tiny thing, really short, and I would have thought she was really young except for the belly. She was pregnant. LIke, very pregnant. She had a black mane too, and yellow fur, but it was her face that made me stare. She was scarred. Some sort of burn mark over her entire face. It was pretty bad. One of those situations where you don’t know how to not look, you know?
I know it’s bad to pity ponies, but it was hard not to. Whatever happened to the poor mare had to hurt.
I didn’t have too much time to dwell on it, though, because the first mare saw me in my uniform and immediately changed course to come speak with me.
“Welcome to Barnyard Furniture Emporium, can I help you mares find something?” I asked.
“Sure,” the short one said. “We’re looking for a Hearth’s Warming present for my wife. A new desk.” The mares giggled, and the violet one looked back, nudging the short one slyly with the tips of her feathers. It was as if they were sharing an inside joke.
“Um, okay,” I said. “Let me show you to…” I froze. Show. She was blind. I couldn’t show her anything. “Um… I’ll, uh, lead the way.”
I turned to make sure they were following, then led to the aisle where we had a dozen office desk display models, set up in front of boxes with the unassembled desks inside.
“Here we have our desk aisle,” I said, unnecessarily. I don’t know, I felt like after my earlier gaffe I had to fill the silence with something. “Everything is in the boxes behind the display model. If you tell me exactly what you’re looking for, I can…” I froze again. Did I really just use the word ‘looking’? I gulped, my eyes darting to the blind mare’s companion. She hadn’t noticed my second slip.
“Okay!” the blind mare said cheerfully. Her head whipped back and forth, and she confidently moved over to the first of the desks. It made me nervous; for a moment I was sure she was going to run into something. But she kept her wings stretched out, and as soon as her feathers brushed against the metal top, she began running them along the length of the furniture.
“This one’s an office desk. Pretty basic, with only two drawers. Metal surface with enamel paint.” I wasn’t sure how much detail she wanted, or even how much she could discern with her own wingtips. “As you can see, the drawers have locks for sensitive documents or other items.”
“Well, not really,” the mare laughed.
“Huh?”
“I can’t really,” she grinned over at me. “See, that is.” She waved a hoof in front of her face, and I went crimson.
“Oh, I’m s-sorry!” I stammered. My hooves nervously tapped on the floor, and I unconsciously backed away. “I didn’t mean…”
Both mares were laughing, and the blind one was shaking her head.
“Don’t worry about it, really. But, um, I’m not sure I want a metal desk for Airmail. It should probably be wood.”
“Wood desks are nicer on the rump,” the violet one said softly, with an innocent sort of look. The blind one giggled and blushed, and I cocked my head to the side in confusion.
“Um, I guess so? But desks aren’t really for sitting.”
“Not sitting,” the blind one corrected. “Polishing.”
I was completely lost. The two mares burst into laughter, and the taller violet one pulled the blind one into a tight hug, kissing her gently on the head.
“Um, okay,” I was confused and embarrassed, but neither of the mares seemed to mind too much how many faux pas I made. “Come this way, and we can look at some wood desks.”
I nearly tripped when I realized I’d just done it again.
“Um, I mean, I’ll show…” I gulped. I wanted to hide. But this was my job, I couldn’t just abandon these customers. Especially since the violet one was starting to look just a little bit scary. I could practically imagine stormclouds gathering about her darkening gaze.
“Wood desk!” I nearly yelped, pointing at the next one. The blind mare looked confused, but I was pretty sure her companion had caught on to why I was so embarrassed. “Um, it has three drawers, and a pull out shelf for a keyboard.” The blind mare was reaching about with her wingtips, and the other helpfully stepped forward, nudging her in the right direction until her wings found the desk.
“Hmm, this might work,” she said, while I tried to calm down my rising panic. I’d never been good in awkward situations, and I wanted nothing more than to find a way to apologize to this mare before I made another slip. But I couldn’t think of anything to say without further compounding my accidental rudeness. “How big is the space underneath?”
The violet one laughed. Once again I was lost. Another inside joke?
“Big enough,” she said. “But I don’t exactly like the color. I think Airy would prefer more of an ebony or dark oak. It feels more dignified for an Editor in Chief.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it, Stormy,” the blind one said. At least I had a name to attach to one of them, now.
“Do you have something like this in a darker stain?” ‘Stormy’ asked, and I shook my head.
“Not this exact model, no. But I’ve got a slightly bigger one I could show you.” Show. Another knife of anxiety and guilt. I was really punishing myself now, and not on purpose or even in the fun sort of way. “Come this way, and we can look at…” Really? REALLY!? I’m hopeless. I’m pretty sure I let out a whimper. I certainly hid my face behind a wing.
‘Stormy’ was laughing. Between my feathers I could see the blind mare looking back and forth between us, confused.
“What? I don’t get it,” she said. “Stormy, what’s so funny?” She shook her head, giggling, waving a hoof at me.
“She’s laughing at me,” I moaned. “I’m so sorry. I keep saying dumb stuff.”
“Dumb stuff?” the blind mare asked. “Stormy, are you being rude to the poor stallion?”
“N-no, I’m being rude to you,” I admitted. “I mean, you’re blind! And I keep saying stuff like ‘look’, and ‘see’, and ‘show’...” I trailed off. “I should probably just go find somepony else to help you, somepony less terrible.”
“Now hold on right there, mister, uh…”
“Polar Front.”
“Mister Polar Front. You’re not being rude.” There was something in her voice that calmed me, just a little. “You’re feeling anxious, right? Nervous?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Sometimes ponies can get nervous with differences,” her voice was fervent. “Don’t worry, I understand.”
“Um, that’s not it, really,” I said. “It doesn’t bother me that you’re blind. Or your scars.” I looked at the discolored fur around her eyes. She was pretty, in her own way, and she seemed nice and fun. “It’s just I’m so embarrassed, and I keep using every single word I can possibly accidentally think of that refers to sight, and I’d really hate for anypony, even a stranger, to think of me as being bigoted or ableist.”
“Well, you’re not,” she replied thoughtfully. “You’re just not used to being around blind ponies, are you?”
I shook my head, then blinked, and groaned. “No. And I just now shook my head before I remembered you can’t even…”
“Relax, Mister Polar Frost,” a kind smile spread across her muzzle. “Don’t worry. I won’t think you’re ableist, even if you say a few wrong words accidentally, okay?” She laughed. “And don’t worry. Stormy and I won’t report you to your boss or anything, unless it’s to leave a complement.”
“Well…” Stormy smirked slyly, and the blind mare scowled at her. “I guess I can be nice. If we can get back to ‘looking’ at desks.”
“Awesomes.” The blind mare cheered, and we moved on down the aisle.
~ ~ ~
“And that’s it,” Polar finished his story, just as the two of them had polished off the last of their dinner. “I’m pretty sure I used at least twenty different variations of sight-based words, such as look, see, show. On at least five occasions I used hoof or face gestures instead of words. I was mortified.”
“Why?” Cinnamon mused. “The way you describe her seems really nice.”
“She was!” Polar protested. “I was the jerk, remember?”
“Nah,” Cinnamon laughed. Their bowls levitated away in the dusky red glow of her magic, landing gently in the kitchen sink. “Just a little silly.” She pulled him in close, nuzzling against his neck. “My sweet little pet, so worried about hurting somepony’s feelings. Don’t you worry too much. You’ll probably never see that mare again.”
He sighed and leaned into her cuddle, resting for a moment in her warm embrace. There was something relaxing about surrendering to Cinnamon’s sweet caresses, getting lost in the warmth of her. She ran her hooves over his shoulders, running over the fur of his chest and stomach. They began to run lower, and he let out a light moan of pleasure.
“Now. The more serious question,” Cinnamon purred, and his eyes widened at her tone. “Do you deserve to be rewarded for having gone through all that hard work and awkwardness? Or do you deserve a little punishment, because of your slips?” Her hoof found his emerging cock, and he gasped.
“M-maybe both?” he said hopefully, and Cinnamon’s approving grin split her muzzle.
“I think you might be right, Sweetpea.” It was her endearment when they played. A pet name, and an invitation to a scene. There was only one way to respond.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said respectfully, sliding onto the floor next to the couch and gazing up lovingly at his marefriend. His Domme.
“But which one should come first? The reward for being a good colt? Or the punishment for sticking your hoof in your mouth?” She giggled. “Because you and I both know only naughty pets do that. Your hoof isn’t the one that should be in your mouth.” She rearranged herself on the couch so that her forehooves were dangling over the edge, just in front of his muzzle. He couldn’t help his own grin.
“May I, ma’am?” he whispered. She nodded, and he reached out with his wingtips. Slowly, he began to drag just the soft ends of his pinion feathers along the sensitive underside of her hooves, earning a twitch and a sigh of pleasure.
“Oh, good pet, Sweetpea,” Cinnamon moaned as he caressed her hoof’s delicate frogs. “I still might have to punish you, but you may have definitely earned a reward if you keep this up.” She gasped as his feathers tickled a particularly sensitive spot. “Oh! Maybe two rewards.”
Lovingly he serviced his marefriend’s hooves, first with his wings, then by rubbing them gently with his own while his tongue licked up the underside. He switched between each of her forehooves while she moaned at his ministrations.
There was the slightest hum of her magic, but Polar didn’t look up. They were playing, and he had been given a task by his Domme. He ignored the sounds of a box hitting the couch, though he could see the pink cardboard and the MiaC logo on the side. It made his heart race, but he didn’t dare stop.
“So before I came home and fell asleep doing my homework,” Cinnamon Steam said wryly, “I went for a little shopping trip. You’ve been so good recently, I just had to pick you up something.”
He nearly cheered with excitement. He was pretty sure he knew exactly what was inside that box. It was an effort to keep his own hooves where they were, stroking and massaging hers, rather than drifting down towards his own erection. He gulped and lifted his eyes to his Domme’s.
“Please, ma’am,” he begged, trying to make his eyes as large as he could. It might have worked, because Cinnamon smirked. “May I see it?”
“It depends, Sweetpea,” she cooed. “Are you sure it’s really a reward? It might be a punishment.”
“I’m sure, ma’am,” he said confidently, before dragging his tongue up the length of her hoof, causing her to shiver and tremble. “Whatever it is, it pleased you to buy it.”
“Good answer, pet.” Her magic lit up again, this time lifting the box so it was placed between her hooves. He leaned back to make room.
Slowly, she lifted the lid of the box, smiling the whole time. He eagerly leaned forward, looking inside.
“Ma’am,” he breathed. “It’s perfect.”
It was. The collar was everything he’d always hoped for. Beautiful, velvet lined red cloth that ended with a little buckle. An ornament opposite the buckle dangled from a D ring. It was shaped like a cinnamon shaker, a little perfect medallion that represented the one he’d given his heart and his life to.
“You’re… sure about this?” Cinnamon Steam asked him gently. It wasn’t her Domme voice any longer, but something unsure. Cautious. His eyes met hers, and he leaned in to kiss her. Their lips met passionately, and his tongue darted out to tease just lightly before he slipped back again.
“So very sure,” he nodded, and her eyes were wet.
“Your trust means so much to me,” she lifted the collar with her own hooves. “If we do this, we’re going to do this right, okay? I…” she smiled tremulously. “I’ve gotten in contact with a local expert. A Domme that’s pretty legendary in the local scene. There’s only so much I can learn about doing all this from reading books and blogs, of course.” She clutched his collar to her chest, her eyes distant. “We’re meeting with her tomorrow, so she can give me some tips. Instructions.”
“Oh?” he said. It touched him that she would go to that much trouble. Cinnamon Steam wasn’t usually very extroverted, and meeting new ponies sometimes made her nervous.
“Y-yeah. We’re meeting with her in public, so there’s no awkwardness.” She looked at him sternly. “It’s not a scene or anything, so you’re going as my coltfriend, not as my sub, okay?”
“Where are we going?”
“A zebra coffee shop downtown. Apparently this Domme and her herd get together every month with some outsiders and friends for an open mic poetry night at the shop. We’ve been invited, and after the fun, we’re going to learn how to do all this right.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Polar Front said. “Um… do you mind if I wear my new collar when we go?”
“Sweetpea?” Her Domme voice was back, along with his pet name, and with a pleased smile she wrapped the collar around his neck. “Nothing would make me happier.”
