“Ahhhhh”, you sigh, as you slide your carrot in between those perfectly shaped buns. You decide it is time for the climax, and thus you pour the essence - your homemade mayonnaise - in there, until it almost starts dripping, squeezing around that long orange rod.
It’s always such a joy...
“Delicous!” you exclaim, looking proudly at your work: a plate of two carrot “hot dogs” with extra mayonnaise.
But before you eat them, you bat an eye at your bed: There’s a rainbow-maned blue mare sleeping. You had no choice but to take her home after that pub closed. She had slept in leaning against you, tired and careless from drinking a little too much cider. (Well, probably even more than that.) There was nopony else taking care of her, and the bartender had wanted to call the police for her not being able to pay due to her temporary affliction, so you took care of her. Whoever told you pegasi where light-weight must have lied, because carrying her home - your home - was a strenuous feat. You don’t actually know her that well - ... of course you know who she is! - but there she is now, in your bedroom.
You hoped she’d wake up for a midnight snack, but if she weren’t breathing you might as well think she were dead.
Sleeping like a filly, she laid sprawled on her back, just like you had - somewhat carelessly - left her. You really should put a blanket over her or something. Oh well, that’s something for later....
You pick both hot dogs up, the buns almost soggy from the mayonnaise, close your eyes in anticipation of the delicious cracking of the carrots and bite down. But instead there’s only a SHWIP sound, and your tongue find only buns, but no carrot. You gulp down and open your eyes in confusion. In fact, the carrots are gone. Only plain buns are left in your hooves. Where could they have gone? Setting the buns down on the plate, you glance around the room, and-
“OH FUCK!”
In disbelief, you step closer to the bed until your head is right in between the mare’s legs. From this close, there’s no denying it: A carrot has planted itself right in her procreation port, with only the tiniest tip sticking out. Despite this, she’s still snoring.
You start to pace up and down the room. What to do? You can’t leave it in there! What if she wakes up? She’ll think you raped her with a carrot! There’s only one solution.
You step close again and try to pin the carrot between your front hooves, careful not to touch the adjacent funny meat-flaps. But rather than getting the carrot out, it inadvertently slips deeper into her personal cave of cravings. Only the tiniest (much tinier than before) bit of carrot is sticking out now.
“Fuck, why does this have to happen to me!” You pace up and down the room again, until her snoring has calmed you down again.
You have to do it. You can do it. You must do it. JUST DO IT.
You resume your position between her legs. Same solution, different method: You slowly lower you head as you approach her downside. Baring your teeth, you gingerly inch closer. You hold your breath. You shouldn’t even be here, this is nothing you’re supposed to see, smell, taste, or perceive in any other manner. Closer and closer... the carrot has long faded from your field of view, you just have to trust that your aim is good and then.
“YES” you hiss between your teeth as you successfully clamp the carrot and pull backwards carefully.
POP
As soon as it’s out, you toss the carrot on the plate, and give out a sigh of relief.
“Thank fucking Celestia, I didn’t even have to touch her pussy.” You glance back at the carrot which is squeaky clean, no mayo or anything.
“And she didn’t even wake up...” You glance back at the blue mare and-
“OH FUCK²! That carrot practically came inside Rainbow Dash!”
On carrot-retraction, her lovely lady lips must have retained all the mayonnaise inside. However, gravity also exists. And globs of mayonnaise are attracted to gravity. And so the glob of your formerly precious mayonnaise is planning an escape from her foal factory outlet, and it’s about to taint your bed sheet. The bed sheet that has been in your family for at least 5 billion (long scale) generations. The bed sheet that has never been washed since, because everpony treated it with the respect that it deserved, so it never got dirty. You remember your cousin Golden Sprinkle was killed by your parents (little did they know he had this name due to his talent for grating cheese) when he came over to visit, because they were worried he might pee on the bed, even though he was sleeping on the couch.
And you won’t let your favorite cousin’s death be in vain!
So you leap forward, munching down on her sweaty dock. No, it doesn’t taste like skittles, and yes, you would rather have avoided that, but sacrifices have to be made. With a mouthful of rainbow tail, you yank upward to bring her pair of holes at a level, creating a tiny artificial lake of mayo. The immediate crisis averted, you think of your next steps... You have to clean her out somehow without spilling anything, and-
“OH FUCK³!”
The lake just decided it would rather be a geyser, or a volcano or something like that. Well, maybe not quite that violent... Maybe a fountain? Either way, due to slow retractions of various muscles, the mayo-capacity is steadily decreasing, and thus making an overflow situation inevitable. Unless...
You think quick again. There’s only one solution again. You don’t like the solution again. But you like mayonnaise. (That last point makes it a bit less awful, but still awful.)
You let go of her tail and plunge your muzzle into her mayonnaise marrow, scooping up the excess with your various facial features. It still tastes sort of OK. As soon as you feel you have gulped enough that there’s no longer a risk of the mayonnaise overcoming gravity, you decouple from your glistening makeshift mayo-goblet. However, you still need to prop up her flanks with your hooves to keep her pussycat at level, lest she might regurgitate once again. The cleaning is still incomplete...
You lock your front hooves around her hind legs and pull her off the precious bed. You’re headed for the bathroom when your remember that the shower is broken... Ugh, how else can you clean her? You look around.
The kitchen sink. Yeah. That’s the only solution. You drag her along like a drunk mare that just got creamed into. It’s quite similar, you imagine.
But this isn’t cream, this is mayo.
And this isn’t a joke, it’s serious.
You heave her onto the counter next to the sink. It’s time to do the dishes. However, today the dishes seem a little bit more bulky than usual. Especially the legs are somewhat in the way. You leave her lying there on her back for a minute, as you climb onto the counter, to the opposite side of the sink. Then, you pick her tail and pull, in the hopes to squeeze her bottom below the faucet. Her butt remains kind of stuck on the corner of the sink, until SHWOOP, you finally yank it free and are sent hurtling through the air from the sudden release.
As you pick yourself up, you find her bottom in the sink, but something’s odd. Her lower half seems to be somewhat suspended in the air, rather than sinking into the sink. And where’s the faucet gone?
“Oh...,” you whisper, as the realization hits you, and your face and your butt hole scrunch up in phantom pain. From the aerator, all the way over the spout up to the body of the faucet, all of it is buried deep inside her poopie-loop. Yet, sleep is still evident.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you mumble, as you slowly pull her off, expecting the worst. However, no blood is to be seen. You remember hearing her brag about it before she passed out, how her butt hole has an emergency dilation reflex that prevents injury in the case of a sudden payload. You wonder how she found out about that.
You shrug. Well, now that her butt’s in the sink, it’s time to clean. With one hoof, you lift her up to the faucet, until her mayonnaise dump is almost touching it. Then, you fill her up to the brim, and pour her out. You rinse and repeat (literally) several times, until you are confident that her body cavity is sauceless.
Just as you want to call it finished, you see a little pink pearl peeking out curiously from its hoodie, only to be scared back into hiding by the cold air. However, the curiosity seems to be strong enough for it to glance outside a few more times. You shake your head. At least somepony’s enjoying this ordeal.
You dry her southern openings off, put her back in bed (this time you even tuck her in), and go to sleep on the couch, like a good host does.
You wake up to a groaning and moaning. Drousily, you see Dash is stumling off the bed, and mumbling “shit.” You pretend to still sleep, hoping she might leave before anything can go awkward.
Finally she makes her way to the faucet. “Oh man, my mouth tastes like shit,” she mumbles again, and before you can realize what she’s about to do, she drinks straight from the kitchen faucet. Still clumsy with sleep, she just puts the faucet straight in her mouth and drinks.
The same faucet you wash your dishes with.
The same faucet that you washed ‘her dishes’ with.
The very faucet that was in her eyeless iris - commonly called a butt hole - just a few hours ago.
“Man, how can my mouth taste even shittier than before,” she mumbles. Then she leaves.
“Oh, thank you sweet undying sun butt princess." You are relieved.
But what you didn’t know: she peed on the bed.
Also you never found that second carrot.
A few months later:
Rainbow Dash has baby carrots.
Author's Note
Am I the only one who thinks "goblet" is a disgusting sounding word?
Also, please downvote. I need negative feedback, so I don't ever write such crap again.
I have better things to do, please!
