Discoveries of a Filly's Behind

Chapters

Morning of Merriment
Dusk of Delinquency
Night of Nervousness
Dawn of Discovery
Epilogue

Morning of Merriment

The ‘Clop ‘n Barrel’ was one of the lesser-known establishments of Ponyville, an honest-to-goodness Irish pub deep in the hearts of Equestria, complete with the wooden panelling and signage that would accompany it. An old, weather-battered, sign out front hung in the breeze. It squeaked and jangled as it dripped with the morning dew, the cracking penmanship on its surface declaring to have the best breakfast this side of Ponyville—a hefty claim that nopony dared question.

Normally one would have heard its name in the backwaters of Ponyville, regaled by the horse’s mouth over a pint of lager, usually accompanied by an atrocious recreation of an Irish accent and a promise to get you laid in the back-side of the bar.

But today was different. Sweetie Belle hadn’t heard the pub’s name from any smarmy stallion behind a keg, nor had she heard any other ponies talking about it in the open. No, rather, she and her friends had ‘stumbled across it’ on pure chance.

She and her friends had always walked past the establishment on their way to school. Sometimes there would be a stallion in an apron outside, helping some unicorns and a donkey unload barrels in the cellar underneath, but other times it was abandoned, closed, or otherwise quiet as they snuck their way along the far side of the street.

On more than one occasion she remembered them stopping in front of the building—she and Scootaloo would exchange glances as Apple Bloom made up stories about what was going on inside there, the times she’d had to help Granny Smith get back from the ‘The Clopper’, and her own conspiracy theories about what the place was about.

Eventually, she’d gotten dragged into it, and pretty soon they were all three exchanging bets about what could be inside—forming ideas around the stallions and mares they witness stumbling through the doors, wonky smirks and equally-as-wonky legs as they trundled down the street on their way home.

Neither of them really knew what the place was about, but they all seemed to agree on thing, and one thing alone: It had to be some pretty damn, fucking good breakfast.

Sweetie Belle’s stomach grumbled underneath her as the thoughts of breakfast inched their way through her mind. She found herself licking her lips, imagining what the ‘Best Breakfast in Ponyville!’ might hold. Was it horse-fries and lettuce? No, it had to be better than that. Ice cream and birthday cake was more like it.

Her stomach grumbled, even louder this time, startling Sweetie back to the moment. She almost tripped as she stumbled off the pavement into the cobbled streets, trotting at a half-canter towards the Clop ‘n Barrel.

There was a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach—a hole that begged to be filled—and a rumbling that shook her belly to the very code. She rubbed her hoof against her barrel to silence the lions. Though they tasted good, she had to admit, the Apogee O’s were rather lacking in substance. She never would have gotten this hungry before, though.

It didn’t help that the tingling between her legs was causing her thighs to ache. It wasn’t as bad as it was before—her short ‘exploration’ session had made short work of that, as did the minor ‘double check’ she’d performed in the alleyway on the way here from the Boutique. Yet still, her entire dock was moist and sticky. Her tail was damp and it felt cold. Though the exposed air helped to sooth her nerves slightly, she had to remember to keep her tail low, and not show herself off to the nearest stallion as she reached the front door of the bar.

Her ears turned peachy as she looked around her at the—almost—empty street. There were just a few ponies trotting around, and the distant ringing of the school bell over the hill indicated the time: just after ten.

Miss Cheerilee had most likely started roll-call, and assuming nopony else had had the same idea as her, she was the only filly out there—and yet still, she couldn’t help but wonder—worry that somepony was going to catch her.

She shouldn’t be—a tiny voice reminded her—she was an adult now, or at least looked like an adult. The only ponies that knew, and had seen her transformation were either her closest friends, Princess Twilight Sparkle, or were in a completely different town

She was perfectly safe.

For now.

Sweetie Belle took a deep breath to clear her mind, squeezed her eyes closed, and turned back to face the door. She was just a few steps away from solving her friend’s mysteries, mysteries of going to the one place no foal had ever gone.

This was her one chance. She just had to—A mare’s voice sounded over her shoulder, causing Sweetie Belle to stiffen. Her ears swivelled, straining to hear what they were saying. Was that Cheerilee? Oh fuck, I’m dead, aren’t I?

An orange mare—Carrot Top—trotted up to her from the far side of the street. She had saddlebags with a basket of flowers slung over her withers, and Sweetie’s stomach twisted further as she watched the mare trot across the street, directly and deliberately, walking towards her.

“Excuse me?” Carrot Top asked.

Sweetie’s breath caught in her throat. She felt her chest puff up as she backed against the door, her ears lowering, her mind racing. Oh buck-fuck—Oh fuck—“Y-Yes-s—s?” she stammered out, her voice quivering as she forced a wobbling smile onto her face.

This was it. She was doomed. The world was about to end and she was the centre of.

Carrot Top dug something out of her saddlebags—she pulled a leaflet of paper out from between the flowers and hoofed it over to Sweetie Belle, beaming with a friendly smile. “I just wanted to welcome you to Ponyville. I haven’t seen you around here before and we don’t always get a lot of new faces, you see.”

She was beaming, and yet Sweetie Belle’s face was flushed with a mixture of emotions—mostly confusion. Her mouth moved, not really making the connection to her brain. “O-Oh,” she heard herself say. Then, looking at the page, she turned it over to reveal a diagram of two ponies smiling—dotted with hearts and cider bottles.

The text at the top read: Pinkie Pie’s daily welcome to the new strangers orgy party yaaaay!

Her brow creased slightly. Sweetie didn’t quite know what an ‘orgy’ was but she pocketed the invitation regardless. Turning back to Carrot Top with an unsure smile, she stuttered, “T-Thank you?”

Carrot Top waved a hoof, blowing a raspberry. “Pfft—It’s nothing,” she said, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but we’d be very happy to have you cum with us.” She turned slightly, with an evil grin on her mouth—a glance up and down Sweetie had her blushing and hurrying to clamp her tail down—Carrot’s eyes seemed to be drilling through her soul as she whispered. “Pinkie throws it every spring, to help all of the mares who are ‘in season’, if you get my drift.” She giggled.

Carrot Top trotted away with a skip in her step and slight swish of her tail, leaving Sweetie Belle gawking in confusion. She glanced at the page one more time, before returning her attention to her previous goal.

~ ~ ~

The door was peeling with green paint. Little flecks of the stuff broke off against her coat as Sweetie Belle pushed against the hardened oak wood. It creaked and resisted her pressure for a moment—she thought for a second that it might be locked.

If the Clop ‘n Barrel was closed, that would be all of her plans down the drain. She wouldn’t be able to go inside and find out what it was all about, and she could go back to the boutique and play with herself until night came—when hopefully the spell would revert itself.

Sweetie’s hopes were up and she was just about to turn away and give up, when she was let down: the door began to give way, shuddering and croaking as it scraped against the floorboards inside.

The change was so sudden that Sweetie Belle barely had enough time to correct herself and she stumbled through the new gap, knocking the door sideways with her barrel as she tumbled into the enclosed space beyond.

The door swung back on a spring and slapped into her flanks from the side, nipping at her tail as it closed behind her. She knocked her fetlocks on the other side of the cubical, and almost bashed her horn against the far wall.

Sweetie was faced by a stained glass door—the last solid surface she scrambled to gain purchase against, before yelping as the door swung open under her weight.

She fell forwards, face-planting into the ground on the inside of the bar. The second door clattered shut behind her, jostling her tail into the air.

She felt her cheeks burning red as the hairs of her tail settled across her back, and she—then, Sweetie Belle squeaked as the door slapped her ass on the up-swing before settling back closed.

Oh my Celestia

Sweetie Belle’s ears lowered as she slowly lifted herself off of the ground. The first thing she did, of course, was to give her tail a swipe and a swing as she corrected herself. “I-I hope nopony saw th—” Sweetie froze on the spot as she set eyes on several pairs of bystanders sitting around the pub.

Some of them were huddled around make-shift tables, others in the bunks along the walls, and some stallions were at the counter next to the cash register. All of them were staring at her.

“Uh...” She could feel her face burning under the combined death glares. The room became unusually quiet—eerily so, as the only sounds that could be heard were the thumping of her own heart and the single cough of a mare in the far back.

“S-Sorry” She smiled, hopefully reassuringly, and started brushing herself off. It became painfully obvious to her that she had forgotten her most important rule and quickly clamped her tail down—she could feel it hiking up on its own, almost unbidden as she carefully picked her path through the crowded bar. “Sorry,” she repeated, slightly quieter this time. Her voice was cracking and almost sounded like her prepubescent self as she approached the counter. “M-My bad.”

She held her position, hoping beyond belief that they would stop staring. Her grin widened, aching slightly, before several ponies blinked, and started to move.

The Clop ‘n Barrel was filled with a collective din of creaking and coughing, muttering, as ponies turned their backs to her. The air picked up, and a record was put on track, filling the space with a thrumming tune as everypony began chattering loudly again.

Sweetie watched them a moment longer, sweat beading her forehead and her grin beginning to hurt as she scanned the room.

Nopony was looking at her. Not a single mare or stallion—they were all seemingly engrossed in their own tales, and sipping or eating their own drinks and feed. Most definitely not talking about that weird mare who looks like she’d never been to a bar before. Nope. No-siree.

Sweetie let her breath out, slumping as she sighed, then she inched herself onto one of the seats and turned to face the counter:

A brown stallion with a curly mane and bristly moustache looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. The smile on his mouth made Sweetie double-take. “Um—“

“It’s okay, missy.” He winked. The stallion was hoofing a mug under the counter, cleaning out the inside of it with his old cloth as he spoke to Sweetie. “’Happens t’ the best of us.” He set the mug on the counter to the left and pulled out a second, curvier glass to begin polishing it as well. His moustache itself seemed to curl with his lip as he spoke. “Now what can ah get fer the little lady?”

His accent was thick, vaguely Horse Coltish and barely intelligible, but Sweetie nodded all the same.

“Oh, well, um...” she said.

It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know what it was that ponies drank in this type of place. Sweetie Belle leaned her elbows against the counter but immediately pulled them back, rather keeping a good inch or two between herself and the sticky surface. “I’ll uh...”

She glanced sideways. The stallion’s bushy eyebrows lowered, a sign of concern, causing Sweetie to almost panic. “Now, if ye’ don’t know what t—“

“I-I know!” She yelped. No sooner had the words left her mouth had Sweetie Belle regretted uttering them. She slapped her hooves over her mouth and turned to the patrons behind her—one or two looks, but nothing worthy of aborting the mission.

At least not yet.

She lowered her hooves, withering slightly under the stallion’s glare. He didn’t stop cleaning glasses, now setting the second down and picking up a third, stout cup. “I-I mean—” She swallowed, building all of her courage. What did the ponies do in the movie? She’d remembered watching James Bond with Rarity. What did he always order? “I-I’ll have a cat-pr—” Her voice barely came out a whisper, so she started again, putting on her best, most confident smirk given the circumstance.

She pumped a hoof as she leaned against the counter. “I’ll have your best!” Perfect! She mentally facehoofed.

The stallion’s expression was unchanged. His eyes narrowed. He was clearly not amused. “And that will be?”

Sweetie’s confidence crumbled. “Uh...” She tapped the counter with her hooves, resisting the urge to swing on her perch—which was harder than it looked. This thing was really unstable. Sweetie almost fell as she lifted her hoof to point behind. “Y-your sign said there’s breakfast?”

“Not after eight, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.”

The music from the jukebox filled the silence.

“Well...” Sweetie coughed into her hoof. She turned her eyes away from the stallion, looking over his shoulder to see if she could recognise something, anything.

The walls were lined with bottles; each and every one unlabelled and looking the same, save for the shape and size. Below them were a row of barrels with taps stuck in them, and under that—she had to crane her neck to see—were lines of clean glasses.

She had to guess he was looking for a drink order, which she quickly confirmed. “D-Drinks, right?” She nudged her head towards the bottles on the shelves.

The stallion nodded. He crossed his hooves and leaned back, having completed cleaning the glasses.

Drinks. Drinks.

Her mind raced. What was a drink an old pony might order? Apple juice? No. It had to be something proper. Cider? She heard Apple Bloom talking about it a lot, but that was essentially the same thing, so maybe not.

“I’ll... haaavve aaaaaa...” Sweetie Belle drew out her words as long as they would go, careful not to let the stallion on as she tried to think of something. “....uuuuuhhhh... Aaa—B—... one of...“

She paged back through her mind to try and figure out what would be a good order. Neither of her parents were very open about what they drank and she still didn’t know what was so special about the bottles in her Dad’s cellar. Rarity mostly drank in secret, and whenever she’d asked the answer was “medicine”—which she caught Rarity drinking when she was sad, or alone, or single—which turned out to be scarily often, in retrospect.

The other option was Scootaloo’s father.

He was different. Before he had to go on his business trip, he used to be very open about what he drank. He even let Scoots have a taste once and told her what it was.

Sweetie Belle’s muzzle crunched up as she pried deeper. Scootaloo had told her once, when she was gloating about it. What did she say, though?

Sweetie mouthed out the word: “B-B-b-eeee...”

“Beer?”

“Yes!” Sweetie almost squealed her way out of her seat. She caught herself just in time, rolling it into a cough as she rubbed the spittle from around her mouth. “Yes,” she repeated, slightly more controlled, and nodded. The confidence was back as she immediately flew into the rest of the request: “I’ll have your finest beer, please!”

The stallion nodded, a smacking grin curling the sides of his moustache. He pressed a foreleg against the counter as he leaned over it to give Sweetie Belle a sharp look—she had to lean away from him as he whispered. “And which ‘beer’ would that be, miss?” He almost sounded cocky by his tone.

“B-B-which beer...” Sweetie Belle’s voice died in her throat as she turned to gawking at the stallion. His grin smarted as the penny finally dropped, and Sweetie began to sweat. She averted her eyes, muttering. “B-But I didn’t...” Nopony said there’d be different types! “I—“

He interrupted with a sharp clack of his hoof against the counter, loud enough for Sweetie to flinch, and he asked. “Ma’am,” his tone harsh, “Can we see your ID, please?”

“m-M-my—“ The colour flushed from Sweetie Belle’s face as her ears dropped. Her mind raced as she slowly began to retreat away from the counter, her heart racing as it felt like the world was beginning to come crashing in around her. She could sense ponies’ eyes drilling into the back of her head and she didn’t dare look away. Her tail tucked between her legs, almost on instinct as she muttered. “Um—I—I don’t know what you...”

Oh-no-no-no-no—This is bad. This is waaay bad. She had to think of some way to get out of this, some kind of excuse; anything. What were they even asking about an ID for? Was she caught and she didn’t know it yet, or was this something that normally happened? Do adults normally go around asking each other for their IDs?

So many questions.

Her hoof went to her hammerspace, and she momentarily contemplated taking out the pamphlet Carrot Top had given her. It was a long-shot, but maybe it would confuse him long enough for her to get away.

Her horn shimmered faintly as her magic enveloped the leaflet, and she was just about ready to throw it in the stallion’s face when she was suddenly halted by a hoof on her left shoulder. Somepony steadied Sweetie Belle, quelling her shaking as a stallion’s smooth, weirdly confident, voice seeped into the conversation like molten butter.

“It’s okay,” he said. Hints of a chuckle were hidden in his calming voice. She couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or the stallion, but Sweetie Belle felt herself relaxing regardless as this mysterious stranger slid into the stool beside hers with a practiced ease. His eyes were trained on the stallion behind the counter, his expression neutral, yet warm.

Sweetie was star-struck by his chocolaty brown fur, coated beneath his smart white blazer. His mane was neatly combed, with the occasional bangs flicking past his sterling gaze, softened with a half-smirk and a knowing wink her way.

Sweetie shied away from him, hiding her blush as the gentlecolt turned to the older stallion behind the counter.

“She’s with me,” he said, almost too matter-of-fact. Hearing it now, even Sweetie wouldn’t question him. Then, with nary a beat to breathe, he said: “Pony Walker, malt, with a twist of lemon for myself, and a...” Their eyes met for a second. Sweetie felt like she was being examined as he looked over her, and turned back to the bar with a slight smile. “A Sweet Apple Cider shandy for the lady, if you will,” he added.

The begrizzled stallion grumbled, but begrudgingly he conceded. A pair of glasses slid out onto the counter as he poured them their orders.

Sweetie’s eyes remained wide, fixated on the counter as a stubby-looking glass was set out in front of her. It was filled with ice and a golden brown liquid. It looked like apple juice, but with a little more fizz.

She tested the edge with the tip of her nail, just to be sure it wasn’t about to bite her. The stallion behind the counter grumbled, and in the corner of her vision, she saw him giving her a dirty look, but he made no move to stop her.

She waited for him to turn his back before she prodded the glass again, and then grasped it gently with her hoof, getting used to the touch. Twist once said these kinds of drinks had a bite to them, though she only half-believed now. With one of them right in front of her, they didn’t seem to bite at all.

It was just a drink, right? How could a drink bite? Well, except for that one time when Apple Bloom mixed her—

AHEM

Sweetie’s ears snapped to the side, and her eyes followed. She quickly noticed the other stallion beside her, still quiet as he lowered his hooves to the counter. He leaned with one against the surface, lifting his glass up between them and taking a short sip of his own drink.

He rocked the glass gently. “Sip it slowly,” she heard him whisper, “What you have there is a local favourite; good for a mare in her first time.”

The hairs pricked on the back of Sweetie’s neck and the room started to feel warmer all of a sudden. She averted her eyes, blushing slightly under his gaze, and whispered. “H-How did you know?”

He snickered at this. “After you’ve been around the block a few times, you start to pick up these sorts of things.” He shifted in his seat and picked up his glass for another drink, whispering between sips: “It’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Still, Sweetie Belle flinched at the thought of other ponies knowing. What if she’s gone past any of her friends without seeing them? Maybe she’d cross Applejack, or Big Mac, or even Princess Twilight? She’d told them all about what had happened with the wishing rose. Any one of them would have instantly known what was going on.

What if they saw her leaving that alleyway after her “special time”. Did they know what was going on? And to think, it was this obvious all this time, for so long—Sweetie felt a little vomit in the back of her throat, which she forced back, squeezing her eyes shut as she forced on a trembling smile. “I-I’m sorry. I just—“

A hoof raised a click of his tongue had Sweetie shut up in an instant. His smouldering gaze was fully upon her for an instant, so calm, so understanding. “I understand,” he said, “Think nothing of it. You have nothing to apologise for. Everypony goes through this sort of thing at least once in their life.”

Sweetie cocked an eyebrow at this. “What do you...” Did he—N-no. Everypony’s been...this...?

“Now—” He jerked his head towards the countertop and Sweetie’s eyes followed his to the glass sitting there in front of her—still as untouched as it was before. The liquid had started to gather condensation on the outside, which only made it look colder and more refr-refreshing—is that the word?—It looked more refreshing. “Are you going to try it?”

Sweetie glanced at the stallion’s face—giving him a look like he’d just grown an extra head—though she wasn’t sure he could see. She still didn’t trust him or this drink, but what could it hurt? This was what she’d come here for, after all.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, still giving the glass an untrusting look before switching to the stallion’s face. He had the type of smile that would really make you want to skip class with him...

He seemed nice, totally cute, and he did go through all the trouble to get it for her, so maybe...

“Umm... S-Sure,” she murmured. Sweetie Belle carefully lifted the glass between her hooves—she didn’t yet trust her magic enough to carry out such an important task. She let it rest a moment inches beneath her nose, the lip of the glass almost against her lips, as she stared down into the clear golden liquid.

It was indeed cold. It smelled sweet, pleasant, almost. The fumes tinged her nose, making her giggle lightly in the back of her throat.

She let the sensations settle and then, finally, lifted the glass to her lips to take one, tiny, little sip.

It was barely enough to get the flavour on her tongue, but when she did it was almost immediately bitter. Sweetie almost coughed on the sudden bite of the strong liquid, before the harsh taste was washed away by the cool flavour of apples and the tingling of the foam against the roof of her mouth.

It had this strong flavour of apples, but what was it? A granny smith? Not sour enough... It had to be golden delicious, but Apple Bloom said they weren’t in season yet, and it had a hint of... Pears? Where did they find that!?

“Eeeh-heeehee...”

Sweetie Belle blinked; jolted from her contemplation by a stallion’s snickering. She realised she must have been making a face and quickly hurried to swallow what she had in her mouth and slammed the glass down on the counter, pushing it to a distance just at the edges of her reach as she flustered. “N-n-n-Nothing! It’s nothing!” She’d slapped the glass down so abruptly, she was almost afraid she’d spilled it, and quickly glanced over to the counter to make sure she hadn’t.

The glass was fine.

Sweetie breathed a sigh as she turned back to the grinning stallion, stuttering loudly. “Wh-Wh-” She crossed her hooves, pouting—which only made his grin widen, and her ears burn brighter. “What-are-you-lookin’-at?”

Another round of chuckles, and the stallion waved it off—much to Sweetie’s frustration—“It’s nothing,” he said, still with that annoying smirk. “How is it?”

Sweetie was caught a little off-guard by this, and she glanced to the glass—now slightly less full than before. “It was...” she muttered. How was she going to put this into words? It tasted... “Okay?” She cocked her head and scratched behind her ear. “Bitter, I guess?”

He nodded, appreciatively, and said. “You’ll get used to it.” Then he reached forward, gesturing for a hoof bump as he said. “The name’s Pipsqueak, by the way. It’s lovely to meet you, miss...?”

“OMC!?” Sweetie Belle squealed, fully forgetting to contain herself as she gasped at the revelation. The two of them garnered several stares as Sweetie continued her squealing. “Pip!? Is that really you!?” she practically screamed.

Pip recoiled away slightly, cringing at the noise. He looked completely different from when he was a colt, but there was no denying it. Now that she knew, she could see it in his eyes, that same soft colt look he always had when she noticed him from across the classroom.

This was definitely him, and he was so attractive! So handsome, and utterly dapper in that coat of his. Where did he even get that? She couldn’t remember anypony’s allowance being enough to save up to afford silk—that stuff cost Rarity a hoof and a frog to get as it was.

...Unless he took it from his dad.

That would maybe explain it a bit, but still! This meant she wasn’t the only one! If Pip was also an adult this meant whatever had happened must have affected other ponies, too! She wasn’t alone!

She couldn’t tell whether it was the cider or the excitement of the moment, but Sweetie Belle couldn’t help but feel herself swoon as she leaned on her perch to give Pipsqueak a sly smile.

“Sooo...” She said, fluttering her eyelashes—what was this? She felt all funny inside. Her tail, freed from under her, twitched, almost unnervingly so, but something deep down told her she didn’t have to worry about that, not any more.

Pipsqueak leaned away from her in his seat, still smiling, though his expression had become a little forced, worried. “Do I...” He put a little distance between them, holding his glass as a barrier between Sweetie and himself, as if that could ever stop her. “... Do I know you?”

Sweetie Belle jolted, snapping back upright in her seat. She immediately turned her ears, listening for any snickers around them. She realised that her chin was wet, and swiped the dribble away with the back of her hoof. “Y-Yes, of course!” she snapped, her voice crackling nervously.

Was she seriously just drooling? “Way to go, Sweetie Belle,” she silently chastised herself. Ten minutes and you’re already slobbering over him like a creep.

Her cheeks flushed red and she absent-mindedly levitated her glass to her lips—a momentary distraction from her own embarrassment. She took a sip, realising too late that it was already almost empty, and set the glass back on the edge of the counter.

The bitterness was fading. It wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been at first, and it was almost starting to taste good. It also gave her confidence, steadied her nerves, and helped her to forget herself for a moment longer as she tried to focus on revealing her short-lived secret to this stallion.

All she had to do was keep her cool. Straight forward, easy: Yeah, I’m Sweetie Belle. Don’t you recognise me? She played the words through her head, rehearsing them flawlessly, and then leaned an elbow against the counter to steady herself and give off that perfectly composed posture as she smiled with a calm and collected grin.

“’Do you know me’?” she repeated back to him, her stomach sinking as the words spilled out of her mouth. “You’d better believe you know me. We didn’t spend three years in the same grade for you to not know me?”

Oh buck—The chair slipped underneath her and Sweetie Belle struggled to keep her own balance. “I mean—“ She squeaked, too late before she slapped her hooves over her mouth, blushing profusely as she watched Pipsqueak’s own face turn a deep, dark, shade of red.
She could feel him judging her as his eyes widened in surprise. The glass in his hoof was unmoving, and the air around them felt chill as the moments dragged on into what felt like hours.

Buck, buck, buckity bucking buck. Why did she have to say that? Sweetie Belle, why? Why couldn’t she just stick to the plan?!? All she had to do was tell him the truth and not make a fool out of herself. Now Pipsqueak was probably thinking she was some kind of self-conceited Diamond Tiara knock-off. What could she do?

Running was an option. Could he run faster than her? No idea. He was always the slowest in the grade, but Princesses know what effects puberty might have on a body that small, especially when applied all at once in the middle of the night.

For all she knew, he was probably the colt equivalent of a track-running champion underneath all of that fur.

Oh Celestia why!? Why!?

She was almost starting to tear up and turned to the glass on her side of the counter for condolences. She’d put it to her lip, realising too late that it was completely empty, when Pip finally spoke up.

“...S-Sweetie Belle?” he finally said, still her racing heart. His eyes narrowed, as if trying to focus through some thick fog. “Is that really you?”

Author's Note

This chapter was written around the same time I was visiting Dublin. Ireland is a beautiful country, well worth the trip, and I'd like to say an excellent source of inspiration for this chapter.

Dusk of Delinquency

The rest of the evening blew past in a flurry of developments; blurred drinking and laughing, a stew of confusion, mixed emotions, and forgotten plot lines melded into one conglomerate whole in Sweetie’s head as the day turned to the evening and then night.

She was swept off her hooves by Pipsqueak and his dazzling bravado—so fast that she could barely remember why it was that she was even talking to him. Before she knew it she was lazing on a moving couch, slowly being transported through the dead of night as the glittering of stars and night lights shone above her.

“Hurrry uuup..” She purred, the world swaying slightly below them as she inched her moving couch along. As eloquent as she was, her lips felt thick and sour. Her mouth was dry and she was starting to feel thirsty—and headachy—and tired, and tingly. Her legs twitched with every motion and grunt of the couch.

“Hnng...” Pipsqueak groaned under the strain. “Shh—Sweetie Belle. We’re almost there. Can you not have a little patience?”

“Nuuuuuh...” The ground twisted in odd ways and Sweetie wobbled. She slumped against Pip’s back, clinging to him tightly as she slid sideways against him.

Pip let out a small sigh. He widened his stance and gave Sweetie a little buck, righting her against his back once more. They were just a few feet from his apartment. Only a little longer and they’d be home, and hopefully she’ll be able to sleep it out through the night...

Hopefully.

She clung to his back harder, squeezing the air out of him with her vice-like grip. “I’m huuungry...” Sweetie Belle moaned.

Pip rolled his eyes, trying his best to ignore her as she pulled them both across the last few feet to reach the apartments. “It’s okay,” he said, giving Sweetie a reassuring head pat. “We’re almost there. You just have to hold on a little longer, okay?”

She whispered into his ear, her breath tickling his sensitive hair. “But I don’ wanna...” she said.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push her concerns to the back of his mind. “It’s fine,” he repeated, “we’re almost there. Now let me get out the key, will you?”

A moment of silence as Pipsqueak awaited a response. Sweetie, at length, nodded, her nose rubbing into the back of his neck as she buried herself in Pip’s mane. “Mmfmmm...” he heard her muffled voice say, as seemingly acknowledgement as Sweetie’s grip on him loosened slightly.

It wasn’t enough to let her slide off, but plenty that Pip was allowed to breathe a sign of relief. “Good, now—” A spike of sensations ran up Pip’s spine as Sweetie’s hooves shifted lower, grasping around him barely below his waist. “Oh-OH!”

He shuddered, clanging his teeth as he pushed through the uncomfortable sensation. She didn’t mean it—he told himself. She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

They reached the door and pipsqueak shifted Sweetie’s weight against his back so he could reach into his pocket. It took a couple tries, and a few precious, awkward, seconds of searching, but he finally pulled out the tiny piece of metal and had it slid into the lock.

Then, again, whilst trying to keep Sweetie at bay, Pipsqueak clenched the knob of the door, turned the key, and the satisfying “click” of tumblers rolling into position resounded through the dimly-lit corridor.

Pipsqueak flung the door open and they both crashed inside, triggering a hidden motion sensor. A patio light flickered on behind them, leaving a trail of narrowing light entering the apartment from outside as he allowed the door to slowly swing closed behind them.

Panting and heaving, Pipsqueak summoned his last dregs of strength to drag his charge over to the living room, where she could drop her onto the sofa and be done with it. Naturally, she had to be one of those lightweights, he lamented. She could barely handle so much as a single drink, and she hadn’t even had that much, either: just two ciders and a glass of water, over three hours, but that was somehow enough to get her completely tanked.

Though, it was probably his fault for encouraging her in the first place. But what could he do? He couldn’t just ignore her. That filly was going to get herself thrown out at that rate. He simply couldn’t just sit idly by and let a lady be treated like anything but.

“I guess this is my reward for being a gentlecolt...” he muttered.

“Hm?” Sweetie’s face hovered over the corner of his vision—a curious pair of eyes looked at him over his shoulder.

“N-Nothing—” Pipsqueak said, grateful for the darkness to hide his blush. “Look. Here’s th--” He gestured with a shoulder to the couch, and then buckled under the weight feet before reaching their goal. “—Ack—” Pipsqueak was reduced to a gasping lump as the air was squeezed out of him between Sweetie Belle and the carpet below.

“Wee!” Sweetie was sent into a fit of giggles, shaking them both with her laughs as she rode Pip’s back. “Hey, that was pretty fun!” she squealed, pressing Pip’s face to the ground as she leaned over him.

A pair of sparkling eyes, filled with a foal-like glee hovered over his vision, attached to a massive grin as Sweetie Belle patted his shoulders, egging her steed along with the slight bucking of her hips.”Let’s do that again!”

Mother of Celestia, it was like foalsitting all over again. “N-No, let’s just...” He rolled them onto his side to catch his breath. “...rest a little, alright?”

“Oh...”

Pipsqueak’s ears perked a little. She sounded a little disappointed, sad almost, and then his breath caught as Sweetie’s forelegs snaked around his barrel, squeezing him a little. It wasn’t hard or uncomfortable, but gentle and soft. A hug was accompanied by a nuzzle and a purr as she snuggled in behind him.

“I’m sorry...” Sweetie whispered. “That was too rough, wasn’t it?”

Pipsqueak rolled back over to face Sweetie in her hug. In the dim light of the night, their bodies were pressed against one another as he stared into those pale green eyes. They glistened, almost, with a faint green light, shimmering with the budding of tears and a delicate smile.

His heart skipped a beat, all but the most recent annoyance melting away in the moment as his own smile slowly spread to his cheeks. She was beautiful, the purest definition of her name, and simplest form any mare could be.

His heart skipped a beat, fluttering slightly in the moment as it crept up into the back of his throat, quickening with Pipsqueak’s breath as an unfamiliar smell crept to the tips of his nose. The calm descended around them with the cooling air of the apartment, and the warmth of their bodies pulling them together.

Moving almost on instinct, Pip let his arms tighten around her, deepening the hug as he hummed. “It’s okay...” he began to say, but was stopped by a sudden jolt as Sweetie’s hips moved against his own.

Pipsqueak was shot back to the present, and with a shove, he pushed them apart, gasping for breath, “N-No, I don’t—” he bit his lip, hesitant to say another word.

Instead, silent, he stumbled back to his hooves, hiding himself as he retreated into the kitchen, his blush turning into a burning of his ears as he reached the sink, all of the events playing back in his mind. The smell, the heat, the way she was acting, and the way she couldn’t hold even so much as a single drop of cider.

It was all making sense, but the realisation was gut-wrenching. He didn’t want to admit it. How could he have missed it? It was so obvious after all. He was gasping and out of breath as he rasped. “Wh-was she in heat?”

His hooves pressed into the edge of the sink, the cold metal digging in under his frogs, anchoring him in the present. A chill ran up his spine at the realisation, and the temptation, but more at the revulsion. She didn’t say she was. “Why didn’t she say something?”

He should have known, but why didn’t she bring it up when things started to get more... personal? Granted, there were a lot of mares who liked to wear an estrus perfume to help them get laid, but that was always something generic. You could always recognise the smell of something like ‘Fleur dis lee’, ‘Cadenza’, or ‘Midnight Moon’ but this was something specific to her, and what’s more—his nostrils flared remembering the scent. Even with the alcohol, he knew this smell.

This was her smell.

It was a scent he hadn’t gotten a taste of since—

Pipsqueak’s mouth went dry. He fumbled with the tap, pulling one of the glasses from the drying rack. He needed some water.

His movements were sluggish, jittery. He had just about brought the drink to his lips when a swooning Sweetie crept up behind him. She slung her hooves around his waist, nuzzling his cheek as she purred. “P-Please forgive me, Pipsqueak. I-I know I’ve been mean, but—”

“I don’t understand you, Sweetie Belle.” He shied away from her, keeping his body close against the side of the counter, hoping to Celestia that she doesn’t notice his growing erection. “What do you want?”

She sighed.

Sweetie Belle paused, seemingly thinking of something, all the while spreading her heated fumes all through the apartment. It was taking all of Pipsqueaks strength to hold back, to keep civil whilst Sweetie subjected him to this arduous torture.

He repeated, tearing. “Wh-what do you want?”

He held his breath, hoping, praying to Celestia that she wouldn’t say—

“I want you,” she said.

Fuck.

Me too.

~ ~ ~

The floors and walls swung and bent beneath Sweetie Belle’s hooves as the entire world seemed to swim around her, giving her a bad case of the dizziness. She could feel herself sway, her hooves cross momentarily, and her entire body lurch with the floor. Even despite her lucid state returning to her, she found herself clinging to the walls, hugging the corners and sticking closer to the stallion in front of her than she would have normally allowed.

With every step her eyes would wander, every few steps bringing something new to grab her attention, whether it be an old photo from an even she recognised like the pictures of herself and several other fillies and colts, Pipsqueak included, standing at the aftermath of a school volleyball championship—or others she didn’t recognise.

There were pictures of a teenage colt graduating, older ponies and teachers, and events she didn’t remember at all, all mixed together in a strange swath of a dreamlike sequence.

Did Pipsqueak have an older brother? she momentarily thought, before her attention was grabbed away by something else.

Between everything she always found her gaze settling to the scene in front of her, at the backside of one Pipsqueak....

She couldn’t make out very much with his tail in the way, especially with her vision blurring and the dimmed lights of the hallway, but every second trot the hairs would brush aside with the sway of his hips and she would be treated to the briefest proper looks.

It wasn’t like it was anything she hadn’t seen before either. Fillies and colts, stallions too, would always have their little shows, regardless of whether they actually wanted to or not, but there was something different about this.

For one, she was closer. At school they’d always been taught to keep a respectful distance, and everypony was too embarrassed to look when it happened. She’d always avert her eyes.

But tonight?

Tonight she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

She didn’t know why, maybe it was the morbid curiosity after exploring herself, but whenever Pip’s dock moved out of the way, she found herself staring, trying to get as much of a look as she could—she could have sworn she felt her nostrils flare when she got a good whiff of his scent, or maybe it was her imagination.

Regardless, there was something different about this, far removed from her exploring herself in the mirror, nothing like that. This had her... hot, agitated...excited.

A tiny tremor ran up Sweetie’s back as the words passed her lips.

“...Excited...” she breathed.

She almost bumped into a chest of drawers as they rounded the corner.

On the next bob of Pipsqueak’s tail, the rhythms lined up perfectly and Sweetie Belle was rewarded with a full flash of the stallion’s package at nearly a perfectly sideways view. Two huge balls, with patches of grey and brown mottling their surface, jostled between his legs.

The soft flesh was flexing with the motions of his muscles, his big, powerful leg-muscles—and dangling from between them, slowly plumping with the beat of his heart, growing rigid and firm was his...his..

Sweetie had to lick her lips to slowly push the word out. “Cock,” she murmured, almost reverently as if Rarity might jump out at her to swat her tail for using such a crude word.

She knew what it was. It was like Scootaloo always said. It was his cock. Just saying the word made her feel dirty, and watching as it slowly dropped out from Pip’s undercarriage getting harder... for her...

A shudder of excitement ran down Sweetie Belle’s spine. She had to stop and screw her eyes shut as a now-familiar knot coiled itself tight in the pit of her stomach.

It was like her entire body had tensed and the only way to release it was to take a deep breath and to slowly relax her dock.

Her tail twitched and lifted slightly, then her muscles tensed and retracted, letting the coil loosen as a short spasm pulled at the area between her legs, then, right on time, a fresh trickling of fluid tickled her lips before making its way down her inner thigh.

The momentary relief lasted seconds before the burning in her very core began the slow build-up once again, spurred on by the scent of Pipsqueak’s cologne.

She was biting her lip when she was shaken out of it by Pipsqueak’s voice, a tiny whisper in the corner of her ear. “We’re here,” he said.

Sweetie Belle’s ears perked up, and realising her position, she quickly clamped her tail back down over her dock as she started forwards, stepping through the doorway that Pipsqueak had so graciously opened in her way.

The inside didn’t look much different than the rest of the apartment. Just more of the same modern look with a shaggy brown carpet and clean white cabinets forming the dresser. Not at all like what she’d expect her first visit into a colt’s room to look like, but still...The majority of her attention was taken up by the modestly-sized bed in the middle, carefully made but with a suitcase and some papers strewn across the corner.

Homework, perhaps?

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Pip’s voice caused Sweetie to start as the stallion walked in behind her, his hoof pressing into her shoulder and guising her forward. His other hoof expertly swung the door closed behind them as he led her towards the bed.

Sweetie’s legs were quivering as she reached the edge of the bed, and Pipsqueak hurriedly moved to shove the papers out of the way as he made room for them both, all the while whispering his apology: “I wasn’t really expecting to come home with anypony, I hope you don’t mi—

“N-No!” Sweetie Belle squeaked, then back-stepped the moment she realised her mistake. “I—I mean—“ she stuttered, then climbed onto the edge of the bed, awkwardly making her way to the centre of it as the soft plush compressed under her weight—“I-I don’t mind. Really,” she said.

Pipsqueak’s eyes had widened but he made no sudden moves to retreat. Instead he slowly advanced, joining Sweetie Belle on the edge of the bed where he put a hoof on her thigh and looked her in the eyes with a soft smile on his face.

Sweetie could feel his heart starting to race at the close contact, and she could practically hear her own heart pumping in her ears as she leaned forwards, pressing her weight against Pipsqueak. Every part of her being was calling out, begging her to do this, but her body was shaking, unable to cross the last few inches, even as she could see the shape of Pip’s turgid member poking out from between his folded legs.

Pip, noticing Sweetie’s eye line, blushed and closed his legs, hiding his arousal from her sight. He looked her in the eyes, putting on a more serious look than she could ever remember seeing on him.

Slowly, delicately he whispered, trying desperately to keep his voice level for her.

“Are you sure you want this?” he said.

Sweetie Belle swallowed. Her throat was so unbelievably dry, and yet everything else about her was so... so wet.

She inhaled his scent, shutting out the part of her brain that wanted to protest, and nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Pipsqueak bit his lip at this for a moment, but he eventually relented, placing a quick peck on her lips before pressing a hoof into Sweetie’s chest. It didn’t take much strength to push her back, and Sweetie Belle felt herself being coaxed down onto her back, spreading herself out for everypony—though mainly just him—to see.

She let out a breath as the mattress compressed to accept her prone form, and Sweetie could feel the swimming in her head abate as she was laid flat beneath Pipsqueak, the stallion emerging from the bottom of her view to sit at the base of the bed.

His—a shiver ran up the back of Sweetie’s spine. Her heart was racing as Pipsqueak moved his hips, parting her legs ever so slightly as the head of his penis started to press its way between her thighs, nestled perfectly against the soft mounds of her breasts.

The way he held her, hooves pressing firmly into the fur of her thighs, sent yet more tiny tremors through Sweetie’s entire body. Her breathing came in short, taut, pants. Her eyes grew wide as the flared tip poked its head past the flat valley of her breasts, and yet she could still feel more of it coming, longer, further.

With every inch that Pipsqueak pushed forward, Sweetie could feel the mottled surface, the underside of his organ, flexing against the soft surface of her breasts, tickling the short hairs between her legs, and prickling the now sensitive exposed skin of her teats.

Everywhere the tip went was roughed and matted, wet with the clear dribbling of his arousal until, finally, something tapped against the sensitive lips of Sweetie Belle’s pussy. She immediately tensed as her body reacted in kind to Pip’s dick, flared and engorged in front of her.

She felt her muscles tensing, and right on time came the tickling of a thin fluid trailing down her dock and towards her tail—just as Pipsqueak’s dick flared in front of her, growing and engorged before her very eyes. It deposited a thin trickle of its own clear fluid onto the crux of her belly, where it mixed with the fur, forming yet another wet patch millimetres above her belly button/

Sweetie flinched. Her cheeks were burning—nay her entire body was burning. She stifled her moan with a bit of her lips. “...mmf,” she murmured, wide-eyed at the sight in front of her.

Pipsqueak’s motions slowed. Just as he was about to pull back for the second thrust—Oh Celestia, if that was just the first, Sweetie couldn’t imagine what the rest must feel like—he held himself in place, hooves still wrapped tightly around her thighs.

Sweetie whined, almost disappointed; she missed when Pipsqueak spoke.

“Is... everything okay?” he asked.

It took a few seconds for Sweetie to realise what was going on, and even longer for her to tear her gaze away from his head and turn it towards Pipsqueak’s face. Her vision waivered slightly and Sweetie had to lick her lips. Unable to speak in more than tiny pants, she shakily nodded her head.

“Mhm...” she mumbled. Her cheeks started to burn all the stronger as she admitted, slightly melancholy, “I-I’m just nervous...”

Pipsqueak smiled the same gentle, understanding smirk that filled Sweetie Belle with a wave of warmth as he leaned slightly over top of her. Their hips stayed locked, but Pip’s right hoof released from her thighs to reach up to cradle Sweetie’s cheek, wiping away the strands of hair as his face came closer to hers.

He whispered, almost in a joking way, “Of course, you’re done this before, haven’t you?” He chuckled.

Sweetie Belle’s stomach dropped immediately and she couldn’t help but fidget slightly under the stallion’s weight. She—she hadn’t done this before. Had he? Was she making a mistake? What was she going to do?

The silence was starting to drag on as Sweetie Belle averted her eyes, avoiding his look.

Pipsqueak’s smile started to fade as he tried to turn his head to see Sweetie’s eyes, but she would just keep looking away again.

It took a few minutes for the realisation to finally set in, and when it did, Pipsqueak’s eyes widened. His dick pulsed with his heartbeat as it seemed to harden all over again, and Sweetie Belle, still trying to hide behind her curls, slowly nodded her head.

Pipsqueak leaned back, slowly pulling away from Sweetie Belle. The action somehow left a deep hollow feeling in the bottom of her stomach, like she’d completely messed up and ruined everything. All she could do was mumble. “Pipsqueak, I’m s—”

“N-no. It’s okay,” he muttered, cutting her off. Pipsqueak’s ears visibly twitched as his brow furrowed. Sweetie could still feel him between her legs, still held firmly in place by Pip’s strong hips, as he mulled in silence on his own for a second, and then, finally, he spoke. “Do you want to –”

“Take it slow?” they both said.

Pipsqueak nodded. “Yeah...”

Sweetie Belle nodded and Pipsqueak extracted himself from between her legs, allowing Sweetie to pull herself into a half sitting position, and then more comfortably with her back against the headboard, supported by the mix of pillows strewn on the bed.

Pipsqueak inched his way across the mattress to sit beside her, all the while drawing Sweetie’s gaze to between his legs where his member still hung out, rigid and hard. She almost felt bad for leading him on like that—“Do you... do you want me to show you a trick?” Pip whispered into her ear, almost giving Sweetie a jolt.

She snapped her eyes away from Pipsqueak’s lap to his face, her cheeks as red as his as she noticed the way he was looking at her—clearly aware of where her attention had just been.

“So?”

Sweetie desperately tried to resist the urge to look at Pipsqueak’s dick any more, failing several times as she felt the burning heat between her own legs urging her to peek just a few more times before answering. “A trick?” she asked, “L-Like a game?”

“Y-Yeah,” Pipsqueak said, awkwardly. He was avoiding eye-contact as he took each of Sweetie’s hooves in his own and guided them slowly down below his barrel.

Sweetie stared with wide eyes as he positioned her hooves over each side of his shaft, carefully positioning them so the frogs—the delicate underside of her hooves—were flatly pressed against the equally soft flesh of the stallion’s cock.

She could immediately feel everything, the slightly spongy texture and the faint, turgid state of the blood vessels winding their way beneath the surface under her hooves.

Pip held her steady with his hooves over hers, whispering into Sweetie Belle’s ear: “Just like that,” he instructed, then starting a slow, steady upwards motion, he started her off stroking along the length of his dick. “Now just keep stroking it like that, okay?”

Sweetie swallowed. Pipsqueak shifted his position on the bead, eliciting a few unruly squeaks from the springs, and Sweetie Belle followed suit, taking a more comfortable position with them just about facing each other. She glanced up at Pipsqueak’s face, smiling despite what must obviously be the deepest blush burning all the way from her cheeks to her ears.

She whispered. “O-Okay,” and as Pip’s hooves left her own, she continued the motion, up and down, carefully rubbing the undersides of her hooves along the taut skin.

Though it looked shiny and smooth, Pipsqueak’s dick was rough. The skin had little bumps and fissures all along it, giving it a unique texture unlike anything she had felt before—not even the wet slickness of her own sex could compare. It was also warm and squishy, and pulsed with the steady thumping of Pipsqueak’s heart.

It had a ridge about half way up and whenever she cleared that, she saw the tip start to grow puff out any time she started to near the end, at which point she’d immediately start going back down. It was warm. So incredibly warm, and with every motion she almost instinctively knew what to do, picking up the pace each time, awing at the flare as it pulsed and drooled eagerly with her practice.

Pipsqueak was all but silent through all of this, just the single or double pant whence-ever she would get particularly close to the tip. She’d just about forgotten where she was, and was given a jump when Pipsqueak suddenly whispered into her ear, his voice hoarse with panting, “C-Celestia—“ he swore, “You’re a natural at this.”

Sweetie’s ears pecked and she smiled at the compliment, brow furrowing as she tried to focus on keeping up the good work. If Pipsqueak was saying those sorts of things, then she must be doing something good, she thought.

“Try to go a little lower,” Pipsqueak said, “Squeeze it a bit, and—Ah—u-use your magic.”

Sweetie eagerly complied. She squeezed her hooves more tightly together, making it a game of whether she could manage to reach all around the diameter of the shaft—something she could almost do when she was nearing the end, but became impossible any time she went past the big ridge half-way down. She also pressed lower, past the biggest ridge and almost far enough to touch his balls below, but never beyond that.

She did this a few more times. Three, four; on the fifth stroke she tried to use a little of her magic. Following the same motion as her hooves, Sweetie formed a small bundle of her aura around the tip, squeezing it gently as her hooves focused in on the base.

The result was immediate—and almost shocking—as Pipsqueak’s member suddenly jumped and pulsed. The tip hardened and flared as a trickle of clear fluid started to trickle from the tip, passing right through her aura to splatter on the stallion’s own stomach and the bed sheets below.

Still Sweetie continued, backing off a little—she didn’t want to hurt him—and the end of his dick started to return to normal, though still very clearly engorged.

She could feel her heart racing as the scent of a stallion started to permeate the air—mixed with her own arousal she hadn’t even noticed before. It was like a magical link had been formed between them, synchronising their emotions, their heartbeats.

Sweetie could just about predict what she had to do next—the exact spot to prod, or squeeze, that would get another tiny trickle of arousal to stream from the end of Pipsqueak’s member—accompanied by an equal torrent trailing from between her own legs.

Sweetie’s tail tried in vain to clamp the flow, but with her position being what it was—it was proving difficult to keep her arousal from going anywhere but into the sheets. Even so, she fidgeted against the covers, rubbing her lips against the soft—yet coarse, and now growing increasingly-wet—mounds of fabric beneath her.

As her magic traced along the tip of Pipsqueak’s penis, gently coaxing another tiny bead of clear fluid from the tip, she silently wandered to herself what it must be like. Was it sweet? What did it taste like? She’d never tasted a stallion before...

A whole manner of questions raced through her mind as she watched the drip grow and tremble, glistening against the end of Pipsqueak’s penis like a tiny pearl, illuminated by the surrounding glow of her magic.

Her hooves were preoccupied by stroking the base of the shaft, but, maybe...

Sweetie’s ears flicked as a hint of mischievousness flashed in her eye. She’d have to be quick, but...A glance up to Pipsqueak’s face revealed the stallion to be looking away just that moment.

She had an opening.

She smacked her lips, focusing a little of her magic into a separate blob, pulling away with the tiny drop of pre suspended within. She could feel the butterflies dancing in her stomach as she drew the bulb closer to her face.

Pipsqueak fidgeted, causing her to pause a moment, and then resume her motions more carefully as she levitated the drop of clear liquid onto her outstretched tongue, and released it to flow into her mouth...

What was she doing? a tiny, sensible part of her brain reminded her. She was a filly. Foals shouldn’t be doing things so... lewd. What would Rarity think if she saw her like this? Or Cheerilee?

She certainly knew what Scootaloo would think, that was for sure.

The fluid was thicker than she had imagined. It also wasn’t as sweet, more like a tart flavour, not at what she’d expected, but it was still somehow intoxicating—like a condensed version of what was hanging in the air.

She spent a few more seconds, just letting the taste of it sit on her tongue and slowly fade as she turned her attention back to focusing on Pipsqueak’s penis. There was already another thick bead forming, but before she could do anything to get another taste, she felt the weight of a hoof press on her shoulder, and Pipsqueak’s voice in her ear gave her the shivers.

“What’s it like?” he said.

His voice was in a low rasp, nothing more than a whisper, but she could tell without looking that he was smiling. Her cheeks started burning and Sweetie’s eyes glanced up to meet him, as the stallion was looking down at her with a half-smirk, and a very dad-like expression saying ‘I saw that, filly’.

Sweetie’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment she forgot completely about his penis, letting it go like hot fire. “I—I’m sorry, I—”

Pipsqueak’s hoof caught hers and guided it back to where it belonged, pressed firmly against the side of his shaft. “It’s okay,” he said. Again with that smirk. “I kind of liked it.”

Sweetie’s ears pricked as the words sent a wave of tiny shivers of excitement throughout her entire body. She felt the muscles in her thighs twitch as she involuntarily rubbed her lips against the tingling, coarse fabric of the bed’s sheets.

And then Pipsqueak whispered: “Do you trust me?”

Sweetie glanced to where her hooves were, still pressed against Pipsqueak’s dick. A thin but steady trickle of clear fluid was flowing from the tip as it gently pulsed against her grip. She gave it a little squeeze letting her magic return to the end of it to resume her previous motions.

Smiling, Sweetie nodded. “Y-Yeah, I do...”

“Then close your eyes.”

Sweetie Belle quivered as the pace and regularity of her motions wavered. She fumbled with her hooves a moment longer before finally finding her rhythm and allowing her eyes to drift closed.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded with a short, shaky motion. “Uhuu...”

“Good,” Pipsqueak said. “Now stay like that and focus on what you’re doing. Don’t forget to use your magic.”

Sweetie scrunched her muzzle, and cast another little bit of magic.

Just like before, she let her aura envelop the end of Pipsqueak’s penis, and again she started stroking gently from the base up to the ring. She carefully squeezed the shaft, feeling the ridges and veins pulsing underneath her hooves as her magic worked against the tip, but somehow there was something different about this.

Almost as soon as her magic made contact were her senses filled by what she was feeling through her aura. The soft, warm, pulsing flesh she had enveloped became her entire reality. She could feel every curve, every inch and crevice of Pipsqueak’s dick. She could sense what it wanted, what it felt, almost—and it was making her feel hot, aroused.

The tingling and yearning sensation was growing with every stroke. Every touch with her hooves gave a little feedback through her horn, and a little bit of pleasure to her own lips. It was almost like she was stroking herself, and as Pipsqueak slowly neared full mast—she could feel it getting harder, stiffer, more difficult to control.

It was taking more of her magic to envelop the tip and keep up the motions. She found herself frowning, her brow creased with concentration as she tried to keep up her practice.

Pipsqueak’s voice came in hot pants beside her. “Good,” he said, clearly out of breath and struggling. “Keep it up, just a little longer.”

Sweetie blushed, and redoubled her efforts. Licking her lips, she absentmindedly rubbed herself against the mattress, spreading her arousal around and making the wet spot spread. She found another peak in the mattress that brushed her in just the right spot and held the position there; meanwhile the bedsprings creaked as Pipsqueak shifted his weight.

A hoof pressed into Sweetie Belle’s shoulder, guiding her forwards slightly. She felt herself being brought closer to Pipsqueak’s chest—she could feel his warmth, and his breath, panting above her as her cheeks came precious close to brushing the fur on his nape.

Then his voice came in her right ear, hoarse with as much arousal as she felt. “Just relax,” he said, then a breath of hot air tickles past her ears where Pipsqueak’s nose tickles her mane.

She could feel her mouth watering, and as Sweetie’s hooves changed direction, gliding back down Pipsqueak’s dick to meet the base—lubricated by his arousal as they went—she felt an alien touch graze against the stray hairs of her mane.

It wasn’t much, but enough to tickle her, and cause Sweetie’s concentration to break. Her rhythm lost, Sweetie paused momentarily with her hooves going lower than they normally would. “Wh-What was—”

It was too late. AS Sweetie opened her mouth to speak, her world was shaken as something warm and wet grazed her aura, and then wrapped itself around her horn, drawing out a long, surprised moan from deep within Sweetie’s being.

“Oh—oh...” she gasped.

The sensation was followed by a series of short, gentle strokes as a tongue started to snake its way along the ridges of her horn, working its way back from the very tip down to the base, and then back up as Pipsqueak pulled the rest of her horn into his mouth.

“Oh~” she moaned. Her entire body started to relax as the sensations turned to pleasure, and the pleasure to a sparkling, tingling sensation that went through her entire body.

She could hear instructions: Keep stroking, and so she did.

Her hooves were trembling as she struggled to keep up with both the sensations and the task of stroking Pipsqueak’s dick. Her magic was unfocused, erratic, not helped by having to cast through another pony entirely, but she quickly started to find her way around the sensations.

Just like before, the sensations of feedback were there, intensified; it almost felt like—Oh my gosh. Pipsqueak was already on the edge and the sudden flood of pleasure through the connection caused her to gasp on the spot, and almost collapse if it weren’t for Pipsqueak to hold her upright.

The pleasure coursing through her body was like nothing she had ever experience before, and it was only growing the more intense—as her hooves stroked further down Pipsqueak’s shaft, she could feel it on her own body, the same motion pressing deep within her depths, and her muscles reacted in kind, contracting and tensing around an invisible member.

Another stroke and it hit her again, this time more directly, like the tip of his penis was a button she was pressing deep within herself.

Sweetie wiggled her hips, starting to lift slightly off the bed. The feeling of the cold air against her sensitive lips added a new type of tingling to her experience. It was confusing, weird, otherworldly—Her entire body felt like a coiled spring that was ready to explode.

And then there was her horn. Pipsqueak hummed against her forehead, causing a small tremor of vibrations to pass through her entire body, and then he started suckling, gently at first, but slowly picking up pace to meet the motions of Sweetie’s hooves.

She moaned, and he hummed, and a new wave of pleasure washed through her.

It was a slow and steady build—To what, she didn’t know, but Sweetie kept going, stroking faster, changing her position, squeezing and adding a little pressure, whatever change of pace produced the latest new sensation to throb through her body.

She could feel herself edging towards something, ever closer, ever further, little inch by little inch.

When it felt as if she couldn’t get any closer, Pipsqueak grasped the back of her head with his hooves and held her steady. Then, pulling back, and with just the tip of his tongue, he sucked and flicked the end of her horn.

It was like the world itself seemed to shudder and break. Sweetie Belle’s breath was taken away as a new sensation washed through her—a sudden wave of relief, followed by a building and uncontrollable explosion as her entire body tensed and shook uncontrollably. Sweetie’s racing heart triggered a moment of panic as the filly in a mare’s body experienced what, to most mares, would be called the first and single most intense, full-body orgasm a unicorn could possibly experience.

“Aaha—ah-AAAYYEEEEEE—” Sweetie Belle squealed, her voice breaking several octaves as her entire body was struck violently by the first wave of her orgasm, then another, and another—pleasure upon pleasure washing over each other.

For a moment, everything she felt—they felt was one and the same. Her entire body had become part of her horn, and her horn was overtaken with an unimaginable sensation of sparks and unfocused magic, trying in vain to scatter in every direction but instead being forced one way—into Pipsqueak’s mouth, down his body, and right back into her.

The pleasure, the sensations, everything, started to mix together as her body rapidly built to an overwhelming crescendo. She instinctively tried to pull away, but was unable to escape the rainbow bombardment of chaotic sensations.

Again, she squealed, as Sweetie Belle squirted and shivered, shaking violently. “Wh-wh-what’s happeniiiiiiiign....”

~ ~ ~

When Sweetie Belle finally opened her eyes she was no longer sitting on the bed. She was splayed out on her back with Pipsqueak nestled on top.

Her vision uncrossed and refocused onto a stallion who was panting just about as much as she was, with a goofy smirk across his face and an expression that said everything she needed to know: That was amazing!

Her thighs and dock were absolutely soaked and both of their bodies were glistening, coats and manes matted with sweat. Pipsqueak was still hard against her belly, maybe even more so, as it throbbed to life upon their awakening.

“How was that?” he asked between breaths.

Sweetie licked her lips, taking a second to catch her breath before imitating Scootaloo at a Wonderbolts game: “That was.... SO... Awesome...” she whispered. “How did you even learn to do that?”

Pipsqueak snickered. “From you, of course,” he said.

Sweetie frowned at the odd choice of words. “I did?” she said, not really thinking of the consequences of her words—she immediately saw Pipsqueak’s eyebrows go up the moment she did, but in a flurry of motion, she quickly corrected herself, voice cracking. “I-I did!” she nodded, frantically. “O-Of course I did! I knew that!”

Pipsqueak’s eyebrows remained raised, but he thankfully didn’t follow up on that—Nice one, Sweetie—as she glanced between them to where Pipsqueak was again pressed between her thighs. With his body there to keep her legs apart and his dick eagerly throbbing in the tight space between her breasts, Sweetie could feel the heat building inside her again...

She bit her lip as his dick seemed to almost wink at her, suggesting what it wanted—the same thing she knew she did. Pipsqueak’s dick was still drooling as a bead of clear fluid leapt from the tip to mix with the others already on her belly.

Pipsqueak giggled, smiling as he whispered, “Not feeling so nervous now, are we?”

Sweetie Belle licked her lips and closed her mouth, pulling her tongue back in where it belonged. Had she really been drooling? The wet spot under her chin was there to attest: yes!

She looked up and back into Pip’s eyes. Her heart fluttered and another pulse seemed to go through her as that distant, heated, yearning sensation fired up again with a renewed vigour—depositing a trickle of her arousal against the underside of her tail.

“What do you want me to do now?” Pipsqueak asked, flashing a knowing smirk.

Sweetie didn’t have to think for a second. She knew exactly what she wanted and, more importantly, how to get it.

Her hind legs gripped Pipsqueak’s body on both sides as she angled her hips for him—almost feeling sorry for the sudden retreat his dick made from between her breasts., but she knew what was coming would be much, much better than that.

She hooked her forelegs over Pipsqueak’s shoulders, pulling the stallion into a full-body hug, eyes narrowing as his muzzle came within inches of her own.

Sweetie crossed the rest of the distance, pressing the ends of their noses together. “Let’s finish what we started,” she said.

Pipsqueak’s face flashed through a look of momentary confusion before settling into a sultry smirk, then not even waiting a single heartbeat, he arched his back, rolling his hips forward, and squaring up the end of his dick with Sweetie Belle’s dripping, winking, and desperately wanting entrance.

Sweetie’s entire body felt like a coiled spring winding tighter as Pipsqueak’s dick retracted away with his wind-up, and then the moment the tip touched her—just the sensation of it, without doing anything, just being there sent jolts of electricity through her system.

It was the same, and yet totally different than what she had experienced before. Her lips quivered and she felt the tiny pricks of pleasure as her entrance’s doorkeeper shot out to welcome its visitor with a wet slurp.

“Are you ready?”

Sweetie squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh wave of hot red washing over her face.

She nodded and Pipsqueak slowly started to press his hips forward. Her lips almost immediately gave way. They spread apart under the pressure, gripping his skin as he effortlessly slid deeper, shoving the doorkeeper out of the way as it tried in vain to pull back in through the tightening entrance.

Sweetie felt herself panting for breath as she held on, her legs twitching with every new inch that was pushed deeper into her depths until; finally, she felt a pressure forming deep within her core. The advances came to an end with Pipsqueak’s balls resting firmly against her thighs.

She squeaked and mewled as another tiny orgasm rocked through her body, making her legs spasm and twitch around Pipsqueak’s girth.

Pipsqueak whispered into her ear, leaning close enough to kiss. “I’m going to start thrusting,” he said.

Before Sweetie could so much as think of a response, she felt Pipsqueak beginning to retreat. No, winding up. She could feel every inch of him as his dick slowly reversed course, leaving behind an emptiness she hadn’t known was there.

Sweetie was left with nothing but to squirm uncomfortably as the tip of Pipsqueak’s flare started to pull at her entrance. Just as it felt like he was about to pop out completely, Pipsqueak took a deep breath.

He grit his teeth and slammed forward and a loud slap filled the room as his balls made contact with Sweetie Belle’s behind.

“OH” Sweetie Belle gasped as the air was thrust from her lungs, a gesture that quickly turned into a moan as the waves of pleasure followed amid the creaking of the bed as Pipsqueak bounced back and repeated the next thrust through her entire body.

Then came another, and then the next, every thrust forming a tidy rhythm, picking up pace and thoroughly rutting Sweetie Belle further into the bed. Every time he hilted in her Sweetie gave out a tiny moan, or a squeak.

Her legs held tightly around Pipsqueak’s back to hold on tight. Her hind legs danced freely, unable to get a grip on the stallion as he proceeded to mercilessly slam into her, every pound pushing her further up the bed, between the pillows, until she could feel her head knocking against the wooden headboard.

It was all she could do to keep from being lost to the pleasure building inside her but to bite her lip and swear.

“B—”

“Say it,” Pipsqueak urged.

“Bu—” She couldn’t. Still remembering what Rarity said about fillies who swore, she pursed her lips and tried to ignore the building pressure between her legs.

“Say it,” Pipsqueak said, a little more urgently.

He was practically begging, and Sweetie squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel her magic welling at the tip of her horn, sparks lighting the darkness through her shut eyes, a dam ready to break.

She didn’t want to break her promise to Rarity...

“Say it,” Pipsqueak repeated, in tandem with another deep thrust into her depths. Sweetie felt that familiar pressure deep inside her as Pipsqueak bottomed out, and just like that it was gone as he pulled back, setting off her nerves all along the way.

Urging her.

“Say it.”

Urging.

Harder.

Harder

She didn’t want to break her promise, but... Maybe...just this one time... would be... alright...

She felt her orgasm growing before it started. It was like a wall fast approaching, an immovable barrier with no way around. Letting out the pressure as the bough broke, Sweetie’s voice started as a low whisper, then breaking as it rose through several notes she didn’t know she could produce....

“FFfffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkck....”

Her right leg started to tremble as the second largest orgasm of her life rocked through her, whilst Pipsqueak’s thrusting slowed, taking long and deep strokes to work her through every minute of it.

As Sweetie came down through the light on the other side she could tell Pipsqueak’s motions had changed. They were getting rougher, more animalistic and sloppy. His body was shaking and Pipsqueak was gasping for breath—just like her—as with every thrust he teetered on the edge.

The dam inside Sweetie had already begun to fill again, the slower, sloppy, thrust somehow working even better. She panted, throwing caution to the wind. “Yes, fuck yes. Yes.”

Pipsqueak grunted. Struggling to hold back, he forced himself to catch his breath to say, “I-I’m c-close.”

“Yes~” Sweetie cooed. She didn’t care about anything else. It was just her, Pipsqueak, and this immense pleasure. If this was what being an adult meant, she never wanted to go back to being a filly again. Maybe this change was permanent. She hoped this change was permanent. She looked forward to spending her life doing this with Pipsqueak; Rarity and her ‘being ladylike’ be damned.

Fuck Rarity. This is what life was about.

She didn’t even register the question in her ears. Protection? Something about tea? Why was he asking about tea, of all things, right now!?

Another thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through Sweetie Belle’s core, blowing away all thoughts that remained. Breathlessly, she moaned: “Yes!”

She threw her head back as Pipsqueak redoubled his efforts, all restraints gone as he rutted her faster. It was only a few seconds before she felt it, the pressure inside her as Pipsqueak hilted inside.

His balls slapped against her ass one last time, and then a pulse ran through his entire length as something tightened deep inside her—locking the stallion in place—and then the first pulse rushed through his member. Sweetie could feel her entire body warming from the inside, a core filling sensation pushing the pleasure of her orgasm further.

The flare and girth of Pipsqueak’s member strained against her folds, forming a tight seal as it twitched and throbbed.

She couldn’t control herself. Sweetie’s voice cracked as she began to squeal, her tongue dropping out of her mouth a moment as she threw her head back, overtaken by the intense pleasure, and the pressure building and releasing within her.

It was like the coil had finally snapped, and her legs moved on their own, clamping tightly around Pipsqueak’s thighs. Finally with purchase, they stiffened and locked in place, holding the colt against her as unleashed torrents of his potent seed deep within.

“Y-Yes—” She moaned again, but her pleasured squeaks were cut short by Pipsqueak’s lips as he leaned and sealed the deal with a kiss.

“Thank you...” he whispered, panting between breaths.

Night of Nervousness

The silence was palpable.

Sweetie’s ears flicked and her nose twitched. She inhaled, pulling in a slow, shaking breath into her lungs.

The air was heavy. It was steeped in the fresh musk of sex, a scent Sweetie hadn’t known until that evening but now carried with it a keen familiarity she was unlikely to ever forget. She could make out all of the distinct components. There was the scent of her own body and the mix of a stallion’s pheromones, heavily laden by the permeating smell of fresh cum that soaked everything from her coat and the bed, to the very air itself.

It was a potent cocktail that made her mouth water, and her lips quiver.

Her fur was matted and messy, sticky with hers and Pip’s mixed fluids—to say that she was going to need a bath after this was an understatement. It was going to take hours of thorough cleaning to get back to her usual, pristine, pink and white self.

But...did she really want to?

Sweetie’s cheeks were tinged pink as she looked between herself and Pipsqueak, to the point where they were still joined. The grip she had around his pelvis had slowly loosened, and shortly after Pipsqueak came he slid off her and to the right, leaving them both on their sides, facing each other and drifting and out of sleep.

She could still feel him, though. Even as Pipsqueak rested, his dick had remained firm, solidly stuck between her lips and spreading her apart in a way she’d hardly known was possible, or that she even wanted before today.

Her entire body was trembling still. Tiny pinpricks of pleasure were dancing through her everywhere she was touched and the waves of pleasure emanating from her core washed through her, turning the heat from before into nothing more than a distant memory.

She was utterly filled, satisfied.

Not even her hoof had been this good, and the tiny voice in the back of Sweetie’s head made her wonder... After this was all over, when she finally got back into her normal body, would they still be able to do this? Granted, she’d be a lot smaller, but imagining what it must be like, to have sex—to fuck with a stallion twice her size.

Her lips quivered, and a fresh dribbling of fluids started to seep from around Pipsqueak’s member as her clit strained to peek out against the top of his shaft.

Pipsqueak flexed inside her, a momentary thrust of his hips as he re-hilted inside her, sending a jolt of electricity up Sweetie Belle’s spine.

Sweetie bit her lip as another pulse was passed into her—the last, final piece of Pipsqueak’s essence forced deep within her depths, into her very core, before the colt began to soften.

Sweetie Belle whimpered, an inch of disappointment creeping into her voice as the seal was broken. Pipsqueak’s dick retreated slowly, opening way for a torrent of seed. Tiny dribblings of white started to run down her flanks, pooling on the bed and mixing with the already matted fur of her thighs.

Pipsqueak roused, smiling as his eyes opened and settled on Sweetie Belle’s blushing face. “Hello there, Sweetie,” he said, bleary-eyed.

~ ~ ~

Pipsqueak was still hard when his mind cleared. He was sweaty and hot, and his entire body ached, but it was the good kind of ache. The kind of ache you’d experience after going to the gym, or running an extra mile at the end of the marathon.

It was the ache that you could take satisfaction in, knowing you did something right.

He could still feel the mare next to him, on him, around him. She was warm, she was tight, and more than anything—As Sweetie’s muscles flexed and tightened on his shaft, Pipsqueak’s breathing caught in the back of his throat and his entire body stiffened.

His leg muscles tightened around her and thrust, hilting in her one more time as he unleashed the last few drops of his load.

She was milking him.

~ ~ ~

“Hey there, Sweetie.”

Pipsqueak’s voice was soft and relaxed, still a little out of breath—as he panted gently into her ear—but still calm enough that she could make out his words. Sweetie had to turn her head slightly to properly see the stallion on his side in front of her, looking into her eyes with a content half smile.

She felt his hoof move, gently rubbing up the side of her shoulder, and the combined warmth of their bodies intertwined gave Sweetie a chill.

“H-Hey,” she said back. Her voice shook as she struggled to regain control of her vocal cords. It felt like it had been years since the last time she spoke, and her mouth and tongue felt dry—as if some peach-like fuzz had invaded her gums.

“How was it?” Pipsqueak asked.

The words echoed to the back of her mind and the thoughts of her getting a glass of water were quickly dismissed. The rest of her body—and the warmth of the bed—along with the feeling of something still wedged between her legs convinced her that she didn’t want to move, at least not yet.

Instead she inhaled, and exhaled, allowing herself to melt into the soft, feathery down of the pillow. She whispered, “That was amazing..." Another short breath and a smile as her eyes focused together on Pipsqueak’s own. “How did you learn to do all that?”

Pipsqueak’s brow furrowed, a slight bit of amusement creeping into his voice as he whispered back. “What do you mean?” he asked, but the following words gave Sweetie Belle pause. “You taught me, of course.”

Everything about Pipsqueak’s demeanour said this was no big deal, he practically shrugged as he said it—obviously taking this as some sort of joke—but as soon as those words left Pipsqueak’s mouth, Sweetie Belle felt her entire body tense.

The bottom of her stomach sunk, and almost didn’t have enough time to catch herself before spilling everything as her voice broke out of a whisper. “I—I did?” she asked immediately, out loud, as her head almost bounced upright from the bed.

Pipsqueak sat up as well, and somehow his eyebrows managed to rise even further as he tilted his head, confused. “Wh—”

Internally, Sweetie Belle’s mind started to whirl as the realisation hit her. She taught him? How? What? When? She’d assumed Pipsqueak was just another colt who had ended up in his older body, like her, but was he really? Was that what actually happened?

It became clear to her that this was a question she hadn’t even considered. All she knew was that she’d woken up in her older form—she assumed it was the same magic as the wishing rose had used on her and her friends, but...Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen any of her friends since going to bed last night, not had she seen Rarity, and there was something else. Something else felt off.

Pipsqueak had never used the rose, and he was somehow older too, unless this wasn’t Pipsqueak? Was this Pipsqueak? No, it had to be Pipsqueak—she had to be right in that area—But how did he get here, and older by the same age? And since when did he have his own—

The puzzle pieces suddenly clicked, and the colour drained from Sweetie’s face as she suppressed the urge to gasp.

Time travel

“But how?” she whispered.

She caught a glimpse of Pipsqueak out of the corner of her vision—who was starting to look a little concerned, and she forced a smile—suppressing a nervous snort as she said. “I—I did!” she lied. “Of course I did! That was a...

The wheels of her mind were visibly grinding as she paused to think. “a...test? Yes, a test!” She nodded quickly, placating Pipsqueak with a hoof to the shoulder. “That was a test! I wanted to see if you still remembered!”

Nice thinking, Sweetie.

She pulled him with her back onto the pillows, using a hoof to prop herself up as she smirked, nervously sweating. “So-um—Just to clarify—how did I teach you to do this, again?”

Pipsqueak blinked. “Um...okay...”

He relaxed slightly, but was still clearly on edge. She was out of the woods, for now, but Sweetie could tell she still had an upwards hill to climb—a part of her felt bad about lying to him, but she just had to know.

Pipsqueak inhaled slightly, taking his time to gather his thoughts. “Honestly, I didn’t even expect you to remember it after all of this time—” Sweetie internally cheered. So it was time travel! “—and I don’t really want you to think that this changes anything between us, but it was probably when we were in eighth grade, Cheerilee’s class, that you, um...”

Pip went silent for a moment, as a blush spread across his face.

Sweetie leaned in closer. “Uh huh, yeah, and?”

“You... kissed me. J-Just—it came out of nowhere. I’d never even thought of touching a filly before that, and then—You—You-my...” Pipsqueak went silent, looking away into the distance for a moment as he thought something to himself, then, looking back to Sweetie, he said. “Can I be honest with you for a moment?”

It was Sweetie’s turn to frown. She looked down and up Pipsqueak’s face, and nodded. “Anything. Of course.”

Somehow this only caused Pipsqueak’s cheeks to flush more red, and almost all at once gone was the confident and handsome stallion she’d met at the bar. In his place stood the same old, nerdy, sweet little colt she’d known from a day before.

Little Pipsqueak, captain of the photography club, lay before her, inches below the surface of this older stallion who was struggling to get his words to form coherently as he whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. “The truth is... I love you, Sweetie Belle,” he said.

“Y-You do?”

Sweetie Belle had to do a double-take. Had she really just heard what she thought she had? The words caused a tingling sensation to run up and down her spine, like somepony had lit a match under and set her alight once more.

Almost all at once, her legs started to twitch, as if to remind her of where she was and, for a moment, she remembered who she was.

Surely he didn’t mean...

The anxiety was creeping into her voice as she spoke, hesitantly—Her voice cracked as did her smile as she said, “Y-You mean... Like a big brother?”

She went to scan his features, hopeful for a hint of mirth, but when Pipsqueak’s features changed to a frown, her hopes were dashed in all but once. “Wh-What—“ He gagged, pulling his hoof away from her in disgust, his muzzle scrunching—“No—No!” he repeated. “No, Sweetie Belle, I love you romantically!”

“R-Romantically—”

Sweetie gulped. Involuntarily moving away, the pit at the bottom of her stomach started to solidify as she inched away best she could, given the position. This was bad—With her heat thoroughly doused and the effects of the alcohol long gone, the reality of everything was starting to dawn on her. Here she was, body locked with a stallion she didn’t know—No, she did know him. This was Pipsqueak, but he was...

For the first time that night, she could get a proper look at the stallion beside her. He was handsome, yes, well-dressed? Yes. But he was also... Mature. More mature than she had been, and somehow comfortable being an...

Oh Celestia, what had she just done?

She was becoming distinctly aware of the reality of the situation she was in and it all seemed to come crashing down on her at the same time. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready. No,. This was too fast—her heart skipped a beat as a cold flush started to chill her cheeks.

She couldn’t be in a relationship. She was too young. She was a filly, just yesterday she was eight, for Celestia’s sake! She couldn’t be in a relationship with a grown stallion, not even if she could tell him that was—That she wasn’t— What would Rarity think? What would mom even say if she brought him back home with her!?

Her heart was racing and she could feel her breathing start to quicken. The panic stacks were knocking at the door and it was only when she heard Pipsqueak’s voice crack through her bubble that she remembered her position. “Sweetie Belle, are you okay?”

Pipsqueak was looking her in the eyes, with a mild sense of concern painting his features. That and a look like he was about to start crying, punctuated by his words—“Sweetie, if you don’t feel the same way, I—“

“N-No!” Sweetie squeaked—literally. Realising she’d pressed a hoof into Pipsqueak’s chest, she quickly retracted and slapped it over her mouth, if not to stop herself from saying thing stupid.

Shut up, Sweetie—No—Think. You can fix this.

But he’s so sweet, a tiny voice piped up from the back of her mind, confusing her thoughts. Confound these thoughts.

She shook her lust away, clearing her vision as she trained her eyes on Pipsqueak—who was still giving her the ‘I know we’re friends, but I’m really getting concerned right now’ look.

“I-It’s okay—” The words came out unsure, floundering. “Breathe, Sweetie”, she whispered to herself. Think what Scootaloo would do. What was her advice?

Punch him in the gut and run!

“Okay,” she whispered. What would Apple Bloom do?

Let him down all easy like. Tha’s what my sister tells me I should do, if’n stallion gets grabby.

That could work. It was worth a try, at least.

She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. She laid out the words in her mind to the best of her memory, parts taken from novels she’d read, and others from descriptions she’d overheard her sister giving whenever she was talking to a particularly...clingy client.

“S-Sorry—” Sweetie apologised. No, don’t apologise! It’s him, not you! “I-It’s you, not me—“” Buck.

“What?” Pipsqueak tilted his head, visibly confused.

“I-I mean—” Sweetie grappled with her words. All of her mental notes, all of them were getting muddled. “I—I just don’t think I’m ready—“

“You’re not ready?” More confused looks.

“N-no—I mean sex—I mean yes!” Sweetie’s eyes glanced between them, where Pipsqueak’s shaft was still buried half way into her lips. The combined seed was making them sticky, not that her rising heartbeat was making it any better—she could feel her lips quiver as Pipsqueak’s heartbeat pulsed through her, comparatively slow against her own racing heart.

Luna, Dammit—She averted her eyes, trying to keep them trained on Pipsqueak’s face and nowhere else—though her legs still betrayed her as she tried to babble out the rest of her lines—“I—I don’t know I’m ready t-to be in a relationship and, and I’m too young, and—”

“You’re not ready?”

Pipsqueak’s voice was a low and steady rumble. It was calm and restrained, an effect that seemed to make it cut all the deeper—Sweetie Belle winced when she heard that, and then seeing the look in Pipsqueak’s face turn from a soft and kind, to a hurt, hurt and revealed, a mix of terrible emotions Sweetie Belle could only imagine—heartbreak

“Pipsqueak,” she offered a hoof. “I’m—”

“No” He slapped it away, tears springing from the corners of his cheeks as he pulled himself off the bed, and extracted himself from between Sweetie Belle’s legs. Pipsqueak made a motion to stand. Sitting at the corner of the bed, he paused only to look back at her. “You’re not ready. I get it.” He said. “After everything I’ve been through, I was wrong to get my hopes up. I was wrong to think after all these years of you ignoring me that you would recognise me as anything more than a one-night stint. I get it.”

“Pipsqueak, no—“ Sweetie tumped to her hooves—as Pipsqueak stood and started to trot toward the door, she dashed after him and caught his hoof at the door. “That isn’t what I meant—I didn’t want—“

“You didn’t want me? Is that it?”

“No, I—” Tears were starting to form in the corners of Sweetie’s eyes. “I still like you.”

“But you don’t love me.”

“I do!” Sweetie’s eyes glanced across the room, as if searching for the right words—She barely even registered a shadow lurking the window, just out of sight. As Pipsqueak opened the door, he tugged on Sweetie’s hoof but she held firm. Meanwhile, lights from outside flickered as a flash of lightning arced across the sky. “I really like you! Like, a lot!” Thunder rolled over Ponyville, shaking the doorframe, and water peppered the windows. “I really do!”

Pipsqueak shook his head—“Listen to yourself, Sweetie Belle. You’re twenty-six and you sound like a foal—“

“W-Well, maybe that’s because I am a foal!” Another flash of lightning and a roll of thunder cut the electricity. The words had slipped out before she could even think about it, leaving both ponies in stunned silence.

Sweetie’s jaw worked, but it was Pipsqueak’s turn to speak, as the dim glow of Sweetie’s magic took over. “You’re a...what?”

As Sweetie Belle opened her mouth there was another flash of lightning, this one indistinct from the snapping of fingers, and the lights around her were snuffed out in an instant. The last syllables to leave her mouth before disappearing:

“Yes.”

Dawn of Discovery

It was a night not unlike any other night. Sweetie Belle had gone to bed early and lay soundly asleep in her room, chest rising and falling ever so slightly with her breath as the clock ticked down the hours.

A cold breeze was blowing through Ponyville that night and the shutters on her windows trembled and rattled, a distant howling on the airwaves as a long and pensive, ever-present storm gathered, waiting on the horizon.

Lightning flickered, and the trees scraped along the roof’s tiling as the storm picked up, turning black against the night sky.

The room darkened and Sweetie Belle’s mouth turned down into a frown. The distant crackle of lightning added a certain, magical hint to the air—an oppressive force that permeated the sheets, adding a biting chill to the night.

A shiver ran up the little bundle in the bed. Sweetie Belle’s frown turned into an even deeper scowl as she turned in her sleep. Her teeth clenched together and she recoiled away from the cold, all whilst the storm’s might grew, turning darker on the horizon.

A stallion—or a mare’s voice, as Sweetie dreamt, rolled on the back of the thunder and clouds. It almost sounded like joy, laughter of a sickening kind. Sweetie found herself tossing and turning, a cold sweat broken out about her brow.

She tugged on the covers with her magic, rolling to and fro more frantically. Faster, harder. Harder, faster—she tossed and turned. The springs creaked and bulged. The lightning cracked and fizzled. The world changed and then, finally, something magical happened.

She woke up.

“Ah!” Sweetie Belle gasped as she upended the sheets, eyes shot wide, gasping for breath. She glanced around her room, the dark room surrounding her in the dim morning light.

Her heart was racing and her breath was coming in short, rapid pants. “Wh-What—in Equestria—” Sweetie licked her lips. Her mouth was dry. Her throat was sore. It was like she had been guzzling treesap the entire evening. “Water—” She rasped, and immediately rolled to her side, reaching a hoof out to grab the glass of water Rarity always set out for her on the nightstand.

Her hoof grasped at empty air.

Sweetie Belle frowned.

She tried again, and missed again. She tried feeling lower, further back, but found just the wall and the edge of the bed. She squinted, nudging herself further up in her bed. The sheets felt strange. Her body moved differently and her joints ached in all new ways.

There was a hungry, craving, feeling that clung to the insides of her that she pushed to the back of her mind. Her bed—the sheets were soaked with sweat, and—and something. Something weird. She didn’t dare think of it.

Only foals wet the bed.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, a familiar, yet wholly different room came into focus.

Her saddlebags—overflowing with books and study materials—lay to the left of her bed. It was slumped and pressed against the wall, haphazardly thrown there in a way she couldn’t remember; above it, the windowsill where the hands of a tree traced their ways across the murky glass. The dangly limbs looked like a monster, lurking in the shadows ready to pounce.

It seemed to be pointing, and as Sweetie Belle’s eyes trailed around the small room, the dresser came into, followed by a vanity stacked high with more books. Parchment, scrolls, and papyrus adorned its surface, intermingled with a swath of mane-care and styling products.

The bedroom door was closed and a chair sat in the corner, alongside a freestanding mirror—the only familiar item to Sweetie’s eyes.

The nightstand was completely missing, replaced by a small table on the opposite side, slightly further away. It, too, was adorned with a mountain of items. A digital clock, a book, and a glass of water were the first to be spotted—and the most desired.

Sweetie smacked her lips. “Water,” she rasped, again.

She blinked, focusing her eyes on the glass, and inched herself sideways, pulling the covers with her as she reached.

The glass was cold to the touch—a hint, perhaps, from the night’s air. She wrapped her hoof around it and used her elbow as leverage to pull the rest of herself upright against the nightstand. Sweetie Belle wrapped her hooves around the glass and levered it to her muzzle, tossing back the water and guzzling the whole thing.

She sipped down the last few drops, and then slammed the glass back down against the nightstand, emitting a low rumble and satisfying sigh. “Ah—” She licked her lips, letting out a low, throaty purr that would make even Opal jealous. There was never anything quite like the fresh taste of a cold glass of water in the morning.

“Ah” Sweetie breathed, inhaled slightly, and let the air out through her nose as she exhaled. “Aaahhh...”

With her thirst quenched, and her throat no longer inflamed, Sweetie Belle was finally able to allow herself to relax. She leaned back against the headboard, her eyes closed as she took in the fresh air. She allowed herself to stretch slightly, to feel the soft fabric against her—

The sheets were scratchy.

Sweetie’s mouth turned into a slight frown. She adjusted again, hoping she’d just gotten a bad part of the bed. Perhaps it was time to change the sheets? But that wasn’t right. Rarity changed them every week.

She adjusted again, and yet more scratchy fabric brushed against her fur. The odd, needy sensation rose again inside of her, and Sweetie Belle pushed it back down, forcing it to the back of the mind.

And yet, something still didn’t feel right. Her ears lowered, and her brow furrowed. Sweetie Belle, with much effort, opened her eyes again to stare into the darkness of the room. She reviewed the surroundings now with a clearer mind, the strange, foreign objects and the odd sensations she was feeling all through her body.

Nothing felt right. Everything felt wrong. Her body felt different, and she didn’t remember any of that stuff being there when she’d gone to bed. Rarity would have told her if she was going t—

Rarity

“Oh b—” Sweetie bit down on her tongue, careful to bite off the profanities before anypony—especially Rarity—could hear her. She’d almost forgotten! And a quick glance to the clock confirmed her worst fears. It was 9:45. School started at 8:00. “Oh buck—Rarity, I’m so, so, so so sorry, I didn’t know I was going to sleep late an—” She practically fell out of the bed.

Sweetie Belle was struggling against the covers as she extracted herself from the tangled mess. The bedside table jostled as her mane brushed against its legs, and Sweetie was just able to get herself to a standing position before everything came crashing down around her.

She didn’t care if anypony saw or heard her like this. The mysteries of how Rarity had rearranged her room could wait. “I’m LATE” she screamed, voice cracking as she finally extricated herself from the entrapment of the bed and broke into a sprint to find her closet.

First, she had to get her stuff. Second she had to apologise to Rarity. Third she had to—Sweetie Belle’s path took her across the mirror and for a split second, she caught glimpse of a familiar mare in the reflection—though not the mare she suspected.

She stopped. Reversed. Took a step back. Looked again.

Sweetie’s mouth dropped.

“Uh. Wha—huh?”

She took a step closer, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. The mare looking back at her was, most definitely, undeniably, Sweetie Belle. But she wasn’t Sweetie Belle. She was Sweetie Belle. A Sweetie Belle. Not her Sweetie Belle. A different Sweetie Belle.

The concept was hard to grasp as she slowly turned her head, and the reflected Sweetie Belle mirrored her actions with perfect synchronisation.

She stuck out her tongue, and so too did the other. She closed one eye, turned her head the other way, and swished her tail.

Everything was pointing to this being a normal mirror, which meant...

She reached up and ran a hoof against her mane. She still had the same distinctive curls, but they were longer, almost dangling in front of her eyes, they were so long. Some even looked like they’d been tied back the previous day—which she knew wasn’t true. She was also taller, more slender, with the slightest hint of an eye-shadow that made every expression she made a little more... attractive?

A little tremble ran up Sweetie Belle’s spine as she imagined herself using those eyes to lure a handsome stallion her way in the bar and she tested out some expressions, narrowing her eyes, raising her eyebrows, and turning sideways as she inspected the strange—albeit not unwelcome—additions.

She gave herself one, slightly saucier, look that admittedly made her giggle, and Sweetie Belle was startled just by the sudden, much more lady-like voice. She sounded more like Rarity, almost scarily so.

Her laughs sounded like a mare. Not a filly, a mare, she thought.

Her bedroom eyes turned to an innocent smile and a titter as Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes at herself. Leaning closer, she gave one more eye-wiggle for good measure. “Good to see you again,” she purred, and set herself off into another fit of giggles.

Clearly somepony must have been messing with the wishing rose again. Either that or Twilight broke the space-time continuum, again, and there was somehow no sap this time.

She flicked her tail and turned away from the mirror, to inspect herself from another angle. Her flanks were toned, yet elegant, exactly as she remembered. It was no secret that she and the Crusaders had spent a day in these bodies before—Twilight knew, and she’d informed her sister of the ‘antics’. What was more of a surprise was how the spell could have reasserted itself.

Doubtlessly, nopony would expect a fully-grown mare to be attending school. Well, unless she was the teacher.

Sweetie stuck out her tongue—a gesture that was normally cute, but somehow came off differently when she saw it in the mirror now that she was an adult.

She glanced at the clock in the mirror and read the time; 9:50, it was.

If she was fast, she could catch Rarity in time and explain everything to her—this couldn’t be hard not to believe, after all, given the evidence—and maybe Rarity would let her stay home sick for a day.

Sweetie Belle gave herself one more look into the mirror, blew herself a kiss then trotted her way over to the door.

She reached for the door with her hoof, but stopped short a few inches, then turned her foreleg over, frowning as she thought about them. Then, she glanced to herself—her older self—in the mirror, and a sly smirk spread across the mare’s features—reflected perfectly upon her own.

Sweetie Belle set the hoof back on the ground. A lime-green aura enveloped her horn. The magic flowed smoothly, much quicker and easier to control. It was her favourite part, and the one part she missed from—and looked forward to—being an adult. It was almost like a blockage had been removed and she could tap into a well of reserves deeper than anypony could ever imagine.

A slight tingling crept down the inside of her thigh and Sweetie Belle scratched against it with the tip of her hock. Her hoof came back slightly wet—most likely sweat—and she wiped it off on the carpet.

The latch clicked, the door stung outwards, and Sweetie Belle galloped out of her bedroom, giggling like a school filly who’s just discovered the permanent crayons.

~ ~ ~

The kitchen was deserted, and not the good kind of deserted, either. There were no cookies and cream, no chocolates and pastries, no ice cream and waffles, and certainly no pudding and moose. It was abandoned. Empty. Nada.

Not a soul in sight, neither of a breakfast nor a Rarity to make any.

The only sounds were the soft tack, clack, and the crack of Sweetie Belle’s hooves as she stalked through the tiny kitchenette, mouth turned into a frown as she inspected every corner, nook, and cranny.

The curtains were drawn—a short burst of her magic made short work of that, and the curtains quickly tied themselves off, leaving a stream of the morning’s sun to cast a narrow beam over the breakfast-less nook.

“Now...” Sweetie Belle whispered to herself, frowning in thought as she stood in the middle of the tiny kitchen area. Her voice was low, unusually low. She was still getting accustomed to her new proportions as she turned to inspect the rest of the kitchen, tapping her chin with the tip of a hoof as she considered her options.

Normally Rarity would have left her something to eat. She’d assumed that she was too late—it was already past nine, after all—and that she’d missed Rarity before her errands. But if that was the case, Rarity would have left her with something to eat, still, at least a little bit of breakfast as some form of insurance against another kitchen fire.

But there was nothing.

Sweetie Belle stalked over the counter, whispering to herself as her eyes scanned over the surface. “Where would Rarity leave her...” She didn’t really know what she was looking for. The kitchen was a mysterious place, filled with dangers and fire hazards for a little filly.

The only things on the countertop were knives and a bowl of aging oranges, certainly not breakfast, nor suitable for a filly to play with.

She continued, frown deepening, as she went to the opposite side of the kitchen. Sweetie took a peek inside the refrigerator: some fresh fruit, milk, and leftovers.

Eggs, maybe, and juice; milk was in the fridge and cereal in the cupboards, but Rarity had forbidden her using them since the last time she’d burned the cereal.

Sweetie closed the fridge and turned her attention to the cupboards. She instinctively reached for the stool before stopping herself, reconsidering, and just reaching for the handle with her magic. She levitated out a soup bowl and an old box of Apogee O’s—Canterlot’s favourite, most balanced, breakfast, according to Blueblood—and set them on the table.

She then grabbed a spoon from a drawer and the milk from the fridge and settled down at the table, bowl across from her and a spoon in her hoof.

“Mhm.” She licked her lips. Sweetie Belle’s eyes narrowed as she watched the box of cereal wobble its way over to the bowl. The milk followed, and when she was sure they were both in place, Sweetie Belle took a deep breath, and steeled herself, chanting silent encouragements. “You can do it,” she whispered. The box wobbled. “You can do it, Sweetie. You. Can. Dew. It.”

Carefully, she began to pour. The world slowed, silence falling. It was only her, and the cereal. Just, a few, more—her tongue stuck out as she concentrated on not setting anything on fire—and the first kernel made its way to the lip of the box.

A bead of sweat swelled at the edge of Sweetie’s brow. It crept down between her eyes as another, heated sensation began to build somewhere deep inside her—the needy tickle was back with a vengeance, but Sweetie was too focused on her task to even consider it.

She pushed it down, further and deeper than she’s ever pushed before, and focused all her might on the cereal box.

Just as the first rocket-shaped kernel was about to hit the bowl, the edge of a parchment caught the sun’s light, and Sweetie Belle’s eye.

She gasped. The box tipped, and the table tilted. Sweetie Belle almost swallowed the spoon as she lunged for the piece of paper with Rarity’s hoof writing upon it, and fell back to her seat, hacking and coughing. The cereal, all at once, shook and dumped a full load into the bowl. The milk spilled on the table, and as Sweetie threw up her hooves to shield her eyes, she up-ended the bowl and spilled the Apogee O’s all over the table.

The rockets went off, and soon everything was on fire.

Sweetie Belle sat back in her seat, parchment clutched to her chest, and looked around at the mess. “Uh...” Her mane frayed slightly. “This is fine,” she said. The flames spread to the curtains and began lapping at the windowsill, at which point the fire sprinklers went off—or on, rather—which unfortunately only caused the fire to get worse. “I—I can fix this.”

~ ~ ~

Several hours later Sweetie Belle was standing in the bathroom covered in soot and with a stomach full of what used to be Apogee O’s. The letter was lost in the fire, along with the plot, though she was able to get the gist of it: Rarity had said something about going on a vacation.

“A ‘vacation’?” Sweetie Belle said, as if, somehow, saying it out loud might make it a little more believable. She was staring at herself in the mirror whilst a wash cloth wiped along the sides of her cheek, revealing a clean mare beneath the thick layer of muck. “Since when does Rarity go on vacation!?”

What’s more, Rarity was thanking her, Sweetie Belle, of all ponies for watching the boutique! “What the hay!”

She threw the washcloth at the mirror and did an about-face. Trotting to the bathtub, she dipped her hoof tips in, and quickly sank well past her withers.

It just didn’t make any sense. Why would Rarity trust her? She couldn’t even make her own breakfast, let alone be responsible for a full-blown business. Even more weird was how Rarity kept mentioning stuff about the weather, and how hot she was. She wasn’t hot.

Sweetie blushed, and turned on the cool water tap for a bit. Well, maybe a little. But that couldn’t possibly be what she meant.

As the water cooled to a more comfortable temperature, Sweetie Belle allowed herself to sink lower into the water. The odd, tingly sensation returned to her. At first it felt like the water was lapping against her mane, but then the sensation continued across her body, below the level of the water.

Sweetie Belle took a deep breath, letting the clear mist clean her sinuses, and allowed herself to sink lower into the water, almost to her nose as she frowned—thought—this was her thinking pose.

She closed the tap, allowing the silence to encompass her.

First all the weird items in her bedroom, then this, then Rarity was gone, and the boutique was rearranged—though, admittedly, it was an improvement—and now this weird letter.

Sweetie Belle relaxed and allowed her hooves to roam as she thought.

There had to be a reason. Was this some kind of weird joke? One of Twilight’s spells? Ponies did say the world would end when Twilight succeeded Celestia. Is this what’s happened? Has the space-time continuum gone bust?

A slight itch niggled at Sweetie’s thighs. She scratched at it, shifting in the water.

Nah, that couldn’t be it. Those ponies were crazy, after all—The itch wasn’t quite gone. It had moved up a little. Sweetie let her hooves roam, rubbing along her thighs where it felt nice.

The water was calming. Extremely relaxing.

She knew Twilight. Sweetie knew she wouldn’t destroy the world... intentionally, so maybe this was one of those kx-end-of-the-world whoswhatisits, where nopony in particular was to blame? And maybe Twilight and her friends will have it wrapped up in about twenty minutes?

Her hooves grazed across something extra sensitive, a spot where it felt like all the itches seemed to be centred. She rubbed against it again, and Sweetie felt a gasp escape her lips.. She almost slipped down in the back and had to catch herself on the edge.

She continued.

Well, it had already been way more than twenty minutes. She glanced at the clock on the bathroom wall, reading the time as well past 10:00.

She stretched out her hind leg above the water and turned on the tab again to let in more cool water. Sweetie Belle could feel her breathing pick up, almost at a drastic pace as she turned her hoof motions to little, circular gyrations.

It felt good. Way too good.

“Ah...” She breathed out, almost a gasp. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll just...”

Sweetie let her eyes drift closed for a moment, letting her concerns waft away from her. No matter what happened, she decided, no matter what caused it, somepony was going to fix it. She didn’t have to do anything, but just lay back and...

She pressed her hoof firmer against that special spot between her legs. The tingly, hot sensation was gone, replaced with nothing but pure pleasure. A ticklish, glowing warmth that spread from every point she touched, eliciting twitches and mewls from Sweetie’s lips and she ventured deeper, harder.

Her body reacted and she flinched, edging away from whatever it was that was building inside her. As if by instinct, Sweetie Belle felt her leg lifting out of the water, and she used her free hoof to hold it up, to get better traction as she ground the soft pad of her frog against the soft flesh between her legs.

“Mmmf... yes...” She mewled. “That’s—oh Celestia, why did I never try this before?” Harder, she pressed, feeling the lips part—the flesh trembled as separated them and grazed a tiny, sensitive bud with the tip of her—

There was a loud splashing as water overflowed out of the bath and Sweetie Belle jolted back to the present. “Oh sh—” She jumped to close the tap, splashing waves across the bathroom floor.

~ ~ ~

Sweetie Belle had returned to admiring herself in her bedroom mirror. The strange new curves of her body moved in an unnervingly unnatural way. Unfamiliar new muscles flexed below her coat as she stretched her neck and bent her legs to get a proper look at herself in the mirror.

Her mane was wet—damp still from her bath, and the towel was doing little to stop it from dripping back into her eyes. A thin trickle of fluid dribbled behind her ears, running from beneath the towel over her mane, and from beneath her tail as she moved it slightly in the open air.

She frowned slightly, trying a flick of her tail, and flinched at the sprinkling of fluids that smattered across the mirror and the carpet below. She could have sworn she’d dried herself well, or at least as well as she could—she was still getting used to her new magic, and getting the towels to do her bidding had proven to be a challenge for the ages.

Sweetie made a mental note to go back and properly clean up the mess in the bathroom, but, for now—she could have sworn she’d dried herself under her tail. That, at least, she’d managed to do.

The air hung thick around her with steam and the fresh smell of the shower. Shampoo, conditioner, soap and wet fur hung around her, and yet Sweetie’s nose still wrinkled at the smell of something else in the air, something more... subtle.

She took another sniff.

It was her.

Keeping her eyes on the mirror, Sweetie Belle raised an eyebrow and inched her way closer to the mirror. She felt herself arch her back slightly, and the faintest tingle of something between her legs urged her to keep going—so she did. She bent her back and pushed up her butt slightly, trying to get a better view in the mirror.

There was something about this position that felt right, like it was the single thing she was made to do, and the one thing her body wanted like nothing more in the world, than to stay like this and be filled by a—

Sweetie snapped her eyes shut and pulled her face away; taking a deep breath as she shoved the tingling of her nethers to the back of her mind, along with the imagery her mind had just been about to conjure up. The mental image of Button on the bed with his—

She opened her eyes again, blushing—cheeks tinged red as she forced herself to look into the mirror again—at herself. Her cheeks darkened further as she tentatively nudged her tail aside, spread her legs, and prodded tentatively at her exposed self.

It was different than she was used to. She’d seen her vagina before on multiple occasions, of course. It was hard not to notice it, after all, especially you were going around with basically nothing on for most of the day. Getting a few glances in once or twice was inevitable like that.

Hey, she couldn’t count on her hooves the number of times she’d seen other colts’ and fillies’ bits during school. Four times, at least, and that wasn’t even counting the teacher and various adults she’d seen around Ponyville.

And yet, now, she’d never seen any of them, or even herself like this before.

She turned her body to face the mirror more directly, moving her tail aside with a more deliberate motion to get it all out of the way—to properly take in the sight of her sex in front of her.

The lips of her pussy had puffed up slightly. They weren’t nearly as pert or tiny as they were yesterday, when she was... younger? Younger had to be the word. They’d puffed up so much and were starting to look a little more pinkish red.

A twitch of her tail sent a few strands of hairs brushing over her lips, and a shock of her system was sent from her sensitive lips. And oh Celestia were they sensitive. Even at the slightest touch of her magic, Sweetie could feel her lips tremble, and retract away, as if pressuring for something, anticipating the pleasure that would erupt through them.

She couldn’t help but gasp, and bit her lips as she forced herself to continue her exploration.

Sweetie Belle steadied her magic. Very gently, she traced around it, exploring the outer edges of her sex. Her vaginal hood trembled and twitched, and her fur was standing on end as her magic tingled against the sensitive hairs.

She found herself holding her breath as she watched her body’s response. Electric tingles washed through her entire body, almost making it difficult to stand still. A knot tightened in the bottom of her stomach, causing her breath to hitch in the back of her throat, and Sweetie quickly let it out with a soft gasp.

“Ah—” she breathed, sighing as her magic slowly faded.

Her lips winked at her reflection in the mirror, glistening and slick with fresh lubricant. A side-eyed Sweetie Belle watched as a stream of clear fluid reached its way from the opening of her slit, sparkling in the sunlight as it stretched towards the floor and hung there, as if teasing her to let it snap.

Sweetie lifted her leg slightly, moving slowly and deliberately to keep the drip from falling. She used her magic to inch it higher and reached with another green tendril to feel around her lips, tongue sticking out, dabbing at her lips, with concentration as she tried to catch the drop of liquid.

The droplet broke at the first contact, slung sideways and stuck itself to her other leg, where it hung steady, slowly soaking into her fur.

Sweetie Belle halted a gasp as she watched the drop turn into a sticky slime trail that traced down her leg, still connecting with a string to her pussy where it wobbled and shook in her breeze, jostled slightly by the heaving of her chest.

As the last bit of moisture reached her hoof, Sweetie Belle bit her lips and forced herself to ignore it. The carpet was absorbent, one of those expensive Persian kinds that Rarity would have killed her for soiling, but perhaps nopony would notice just one drop.

She took a sigh, swaying her tail to air away the last remnants of the droplets, and turned her eyes back to the mirror, focusing first to the sparkling pears of water scattered across its surface, and then through it, back onto herself.

Her eyes met with another Sweetie Belle—looking slightly older than she felt, with a deep blush in her cheeks and what looked like the subtlest hints of a smile. Their expression quickly changed to embarrassment as Sweetie averted her eyes from herself.

She focused on her vagina again, using her magic to inch closer, slowly, gently, parting her lips to give her a view inside, exploring deeper as if curious to see just how far it went.

Every part of her body was tingling. Her pussy lips bent against her magic, trembling as they were pushed aside, spread apart and tingling with this urge that pushed her to go on. It was like every part of her was begging, yearning, for something, somepony, she thought.

It wanted to be filled. A primal urge was driving Sweetie Belle, watching in awe as the pink folds of her pussy opened up to her, leaking with a thickening layer of fresh arousal—muscles clenching around her magic, shaping it into a rod so perfectly moulded to fill out her insides and touch those very bits that wanted to be touched.

“W-Wow...”

Sweetie Belle gawked. Not so much at the sensations as at the sight in front of her. She watched as her pink folds were put on perfect display, wet and glistening with the fresh heat that raged inside her.

Was this what Rarity meant in her letter? Was this her ‘heat’ that she was talking about?

Somepony seemed to agree, as her engorged clit took the moment to flex. It winked against her magic, pushing out a fresh droplet of her arousal to the floor.

She’d never seen herself like this. It was doubtful if she’d even seen Rarity like this, and Rarity was always the sexy one of the family... Why was she thinking about Rarity like this? When has she ever thought of anypony as sexy?

Sweetie’s mind swam for a moment as a fresh wave of her heat washed through her. Her pussy winked another time, splashing a fresh coating of liquids across the mirror, and a new dose of her scent into the air, causing her nose to wrinkle again.

She let her magic dissipate and pushed herself back to her hooves, legs trembling as she turned around to face herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and she was glowing.

Whatever this was—whatever was happening to her—her tail refused to lower, and she had to clamp it down, trying to ignore the wetness that stuck it against her sensitive pussy lips.

She picked up a magazine she’d found earlier from the bedside table and levitated it between herself and her reflection, then flicked through the pages until she landed on a bookmark—a dog-eared page she had no memory of reading—and looked herself in the mirror, in the eyes.

Whatever was happening to her; she didn’t know what it was, why it was, who did it, or how it had happened, but there was one thing she couldn’t deny: she loved it.

And, like most things you loved and that weren’t going to last, she was going to make the most of it. If her name wasn’t Sweetie Belladonna-Mademoise-Belle, Celestia be her witness. “Sweetie Belle,” Sweetie Belle said, looking at her reflection. A subtle hint of Evil Belle flashed in the mirror’s eye as her smile grew. “You and me,” she said, “are going to have so much fun tonight.”

Epilogue

The cold breeze was blowing through Ponyville that night and the shutters of her windows trembled and rattled, a distant howling on the airwaves as a long and distantly retreating storm dispersed across the horizon.

Lightning flickered over the Everfree, where the storm’s last remains lingered, watching, waiting, like unseen onlookers content in its doing. Trees scraping across the roof’s tiling under the force of the nightly discord slowly faded into a calming, blissful silence.

Sweetie’s mouth turned from a smile into a frown, tiny streaks of sweat beading her forehead as she began to toss and turn in her sleep. A magical hint was still in the air—a percussive force that permeated the sheets, taking away from the biting chill of the night.

A shiver ran up the little bundle in the bed. Sweetie’s frown turned into an even deeper scowl, the words: “Pipsqueak...” escaping her lips. Her teeth clenched, as a distant thump, thump, thump, like the beating of drums echoed from the stairwell outside.

There was a rap on the door, and all at once, Rarity burst into Sweetie Belle’s room, stirring the filly awake with a yelp—“Rise and shine, little filly!” she shouted.

“Yeep!” Sweetie Belle practically jumped out of her skin as she was startled awake.

Rarity did an about-spin in the doorway, flashing Sweetie a flick of her tail and a raised eyebrow. “I swear to Celestia, if I wasn’t here...” She harrumphed. “Breakfast is ready,” she said. “I want you downstairs and ready for school in five minutes. Your friends are waiting.”

Sweetie Belle was still feeling disoriented. Glancing around her room, everything felt wrong. The furniture she recognised from her memories, but the size of everything, it was somehow bigger, like it was when she was younger.

Pressing a hoof to her pounding head—Sweetie silently cursed under her breath. “Y-Yes,” she grumbled. “I’m coming.”

Author's Note

Sweetie will return in the as-to-be-announced sequel, Plunderings of a Filly's Past