I Can't Believe It's not Buttershy!
The personal advertisement printed in eqHarmony, Canterlot Whips and Chains Monthly, and Gentlecolts Quarterly read:
Single pegasus mare, tall and slim, ex-model, arboreal aspirations, seeks single/married/etc., any tribe, any gender, pony or non-pony species.
I self-identify as butter and I'm looking for somecreature who self-identifies as toast.
I want to slather myself all over you and melt into your crevices. I want you to heat me up and melt me. I want to be so unhealthy I hear your arteries clogging while I fuck you. I want to be so slick we slide off the bed and land butter-side down while you churn me. I want you to be so hot I can smell you from the next room. I want you to smell so sexy I think I'm having a stroke. I am artisan hoof-churned butter from happy grass-fed free range cows and I want you to be farm-to-table stone-ground-wheat bread toasted over hickory embers. I want to...
It went on and on for six hundred and eleven more words. Given that the publications all charged by the word, that was fine with them, and all things considered, "I self-identify as butter" was one of the tamer fantasies that had gone through their pages. The record for ickiness, of course, was held by an earth pony named Star Tracker who had attempted to hire Twilight impersonators to spank him while he hung trussed upside down from the ceiling, to write dirty in his journal, and to stomp on his hooves. (His mother had put an end to that, and the fact that he hadn't yet been a legal adult meant the issues bearing his advertisement had to be recalled and shredded; the few surviving copies, as collector's items, reached prices comparable to a zeppelin vacation package.)
Fluttershy hadn't started with personal ads, of course. She'd started with her friends. Big Mac's response had been a horrified "Nnnope." (Implications cross-linked in Mac's mind, scrambling his already limited repertoire of words, because—little did Fluttershy know—Mac's dead mother's legal name was Pear Butter.)
Mrs. Cake responded to Fluttershy's suggestions with a vigorous nod, a smile, and a tail swish, before Mr. Cake responded by escorting Fluttershy from Sugarcube Corner and suggesting she toast herself, preferably in a cold shower.
Thunderlane seemed amenable to Fluttershy's proposition until Rainbow popped his little wonderbolt out of her mouth and said, "Fluttershy, get out of my bedroom."
Tree Hugger took a hit off her bong and replied, "I'm baked, not toasted."
And, to nopony's surprise except Fluttershy's, her personal advertisements brought no replies. (Unbeknownst to her, they brought many chuckles, a few pitying headshakes, and a significant number of ashamed wanks.)
She pranced to her mailbox daily, expecting the letter—letters—forwarded from the adult magazines' central offices (since the advertisements never carried a pony's actual address), but every day, she got nothing.
It puzzled Fluttershy to no end that a stallion wouldn't even pretend to be toast, if it let him butter his bun in an ex-model's churn.
One stallion had penned her a heartfelt and erotic return letter. Unfortunately, before he could address the envelope, he was felled by a cardiac infarction caused by excessive consumption of dairy fat.
And then one day, there was a letter from one of the magazines! She ran back into the house, forgetting she was a pegasus and could fly, put some white bread into her toaster, and fetched a dildo from her bedside stand. Once the toaster popped, she buttered her ass and sat on the toast, buttered the dildo and slipped it into herself, and opened the letter.
The letter wasn't for her. The post pony had mis-delivered it.
Fluttershy had an anger-fap, cumming hard and butterily onto the toast, brushed crumbs off her ass, and finally read the letter while eating the toast.
It was, indeed, from one of the magazines' distribution centers: a response to a sexual personal ad. It was addressed to a "Madam Gemstone..."
...
...who lived at Rarity's address.
Before stomping into town, Fluttershy had a second anger-fap, this time using expensive imported artisan butter to lube up a double-headed dildo since she was rather ass-angry.
Once in town, on Rarity's door there was a "CLOSED Please call again later" sign. Fluttershy used her key and let herself in.
She smelled it and followed her nose. The door Rarity always kept closed and locked was standing open, and Fluttershy barged in to a well appointed sex dungeon, everything black and purple and white, the floor easily-sanitized smooth tile, and the walls decorated with prints from Cadance and Shining Armor's Photographic Atlas of the Pony Sutra.
Hayseed Turnip Truck swung from a ceiling-mounted sex sling, a ball gag in his mouth, blinders on his eyes, legs trussed to his torso, and Rarity in a dark-purple leather dominatrix outfit sucking him off while using her levitation to whip his ass and his turnips with a riding crop.
"Madam Gemstone?" Fluttershy said sarcastically.
Rarity backed off of Hayseed's plow and looked at her. "I'm with a client just now, darling. Wait in the boutique?"
Fluttershy waited in the boutique. After about fifteen minutes Rarity, still wearing the purple leather and with turnip-scented cum matting her face and bangs, found her. "Yes, Fluttershy, Darling, yes?"
Fluttershy's anger was gone, the disappointment of another day with no response to her personal ads crushingly returned. "I got a letter for you. I thought it was for me... because... the return address..."
Rarity hugged her. "Oh, dearest, you placed an ad and got no response?"
With a nod, Fluttershy hugged back. "Rarity..."
"Madam Gemstone."
"Madam Gemstone, could you... I want... my need..."
"I'm sorry, Fluttershy, dear, but you can't afford me. Not even with the friends and family discount."
Fluttershy choked as she tried to repeat FaMiLy in horror. After a minute of coughing, Fluttershy was able to say, "How does Hayseed Turnip Truck...?"
"He's the riche-est of Canterlot's nouveau riche. A drought caused the failure of Donkistan's entire turnip crop."
Fluttershy sobbed, once, quietly.
"What... what are you trying to find in a partner?" Rarity asked, stroking Fluttershy's back.
"Do you have this month's issue?"
Rarity brought Canterlot Whips and Chains and Fluttershy pointed to her ad. Rarity began to read aloud, "Single pegasus mare..." but quickly clamped her mouth shut, reading silently as she blushed red under Hayseed's crème de turnip.
"I know of no pony who... wishes to be toast... but I have an ex-client, an earth pony stallion, if you are so inclined...?"
Fluttershy nodded. "I don't care about earth pony, pegasus, or unicorn. Stallion or mare, I don't care. Even a deer or a mule or a griffon would... would make me happy."
"His name is... White Bread."
Fluttershy's eyes widened. "Yay!"
Smells triggered the deepest and oldest memories, didn't they?
Lotus entered the suite at the back of the Ponyville Day Spa and her nostrils flared, the smell smashing down on her, triggering deep—and deeply suppressed—memories from more than a decade and a half past.
Lotus's family had fled the Yugoponian Civil War when Lotus and her twin sister Aloe were young teens. The horrors still haunted her, but this memory wasn't of Yugoponia. They fled from Yugoponia to Prance and lived there for a few months while Celestia's Refugee Resettlement Ministry found them their new—and now beloved—home in Ponyville.
The suite in the back of the spa smelled like the remembered early-morning scent of a Prench bakery as it opened its doors to the first customer of the day.
It smelled like fresh bread, warm butter, and unprotected anal sex.
Fluttershy had rented the suite, paying extra to have it to herself and her nervous new paramour, but the six-hour reservation block was ending soon. Lotus wanted to check on Fluttershy and see if she was wrapping up or would extend her reservation.
Lotus, however, instead just stared as Fluttershy rode a huge double-penetration dildo that was suction-cupped to a full-length wall mirror. Fluttershy pistoned her rump backwards vigorously, her soft fleshy cheeks slapping the glass with every thrust. The mirror was fogged and splattered with buttery lube and vaginal fluids.
"Where is friend?" Lotus asked. "Friend is not in tanning booth still, is?"
"Please don't call it a tanning booth," Fluttershy grunted, slapping her ass backwards even faster against the suction-cupped dildo. "You'll ruin my ladyboner."
Lotus sniffed. The smell of baked bread was getting stronger. She gestured at the tanning booth. "What is I should call... object, then?"
"The toaster."
Fluttershy sobbed, forelegs wrapped around Rarity, who was once again wearing the purple leather outfit, levitating a bloody riding crop, smelling of creamed turnips, and dashing her signature onto a permission slip for Sweetie Belle's school field trip.
Rarity patted Fluttershy's back, shushing her and trying to calm her down.
"I take it White Bread wasn't the pony you hoped for?"
"After—after—after I toasted him, the-the-the spa pony, Aloe, barged in and and and and…"
Fluttershy bawled, howling at the ceiling.
"And…?" Rarity prompted gently.
"And Aloe self-identifies as olive oil and stole him from me!"
