Thrills and Sofas

Davenport was bored. Bored, bored, bored. Bored. B-O-R-E-D. Not "board" like the pieces of wood that formed the counter he rested his head upon, and not like the chest of the spunky pegasus mare with the rainbow mane, but "bored" as in "I wish that crazy Discord guy would come and destroy the town again, because even that would be better than this!"

As he sat there behind the counter at the back of his humble shop, contemplating his mind-numbing boredom, Davenport grumbled with the sort of soul-crushing aggravation that only those employed in retail will ever be unfortunate enough to experience. He rotated his head slightly, allowing him to cast a half-lidded gaze over his showroom, which was filled from wall to wall with the prettiest little sofas you ever did see. There were big sofas and small sofas. There were soft sofas and firm sofas. There were sofas chic and modern enough to have been featured in the fanciest of furniture catalogs, and there were sofas of the sort you might find in your great-grandmother's sitting room. There were sofas of every color, shape, and make imaginable present in that shop, which was only fitting for an establishment that bore the name "Quills and Sofas".

Davenport's eyes wandered across the sea of upholstery before him over to the far wall, where the other half of his shop's name could be found. Arranged along that wall were shelves upon shelves of fine feather quills, accompanied by the lovely displays he had painstakingly arranged in order to highlight the quality of his wares. Truthfully, such displays were probably a waste of effort, given that they were presenting no more than mere office supplies, but Davenport took great pride in his shop, and would not have settled for anything less; plus, he had a lot of free time on his hands.

A heavy sigh passed Davenport's lips as his eyes wandered back, lazily taking in the quills, the sofas, and the complete and utter lack of customers in his shop. So mockingly empty was the shop, in fact, that he would not have been surprised to see a tumbleweed rolling its way between the sofas, despite the inexplicable nature of such an occurrence. At least that would have been something, he thought to himself, something to distract him from the painful boredom he was forced to endure. As it was, his only companions as he sat at his post were the peaceful silence of the showroom and the pleasant warmth of the air that caressed his skin as his eyes slowly fell closed.

Ding-a-ling!

Davenport's eyes shot open as he heard the sound of the shop's door being opened, and the familiar jingle of the bell attached to it. Instinctively, he leapt to his feet, moving so quickly that he knocked over his poor chair by accident. He stood tall and proud behind the counter, puffing out his chest and smiling his best salesstallion's smile as he looked to the door.

"Welcome to Quills and Sofas!" Davenport said warmly. "Could I interest you in one of our many fine..."

Davenport fell silent as he looked upon the familiar lanky form and dopey grin of the teenager who had just entered his shop.

"Oh," said Davenport, trying to hide his profound disappointment. "Hello, Snails."

If Snails sensed Davenport's feelings, he gave no sign of it, his happy-go-lucky expression not faltering as he meandered his way into the shop.

"Hey, Davenport," said Snails in his usual wonky drawl. "You got any new quills?"

Davenport grumbled inwardly as he directed Snails to quill section of the shop, and to the new quills he had gotten in the day before.

"Cool," said Snails as he turned and made his way across the shop.

Davenport sighed as he righted his chair and sat down behind the counter once again.

Quills. Always the quills.

While Davenport would never have complained about customers being interested in his wares, he would have greatly preferred that those who visited his shop take an interest in the full breadth of his inventory. On those infrequent occasions that somepony did pay him a visit, they would almost invariably walk right past his sofas to the quills, not even giving his lovely furniture a second glance. He struggled to remember the last time he had actually managed to sell one of his sofas; had it been weeks or months? He was fortunate that his quill sales were able to pick up the slack, Princess Twilight's frequent orders almost single-handedly keeping his business afloat. While he took pride in the role he played in keeping the citizens of Ponyville well-supplied with writing implements, he couldn't help but feel a bit miffed at the lack of attention those same ponies paid to his other wares.

As Davenport drummed his fingers on the counter before him, he couldn't help but recall the words of his cousin when he had told him about his plans to open his little quill-and-sofa shop years earlier. His cousin had practically laughed in his face when he had heard of Davenport's intentions. According to his cousin, it was ridiculous to open such a store in such a small town as Ponyville, for how often would the ponies of such a town be in the market for a brand-new sofa? Davenport's sofas would sit around gathering dust, his cousin had said, and the quills probably wouldn't fare much better.

At the time, Davenport had passionately defended his shop, saying that there would always be a market for such beautiful sofas as his, a belief that had initially seemed justified. In the first few months after he had opened his doors, he had sold scores of sofas to the good people of Ponyville, all of whom had seemed delighted with their purchases. As time passed, however, and his sales had slowly dwindled, he had been forced to recognize the truth in his cousin's words. There were, after all, only so many sofas that a little town like Ponyville really needed, and the excellent craftsmanship of those he did sell ensured that they would serve their owners for many, many years, eliminating the need for frequent replacement.

Davenport sighed as he was forced to recognize his cousin's superior business sense. After all, Davenport was the one sitting in a nearly-empty shop with only a single customer, a customer who would probably not even buy anything, based on past experience. Meanwhile, his cousin had gone into restaurant management, and had been so successful in his ventures that he now owned an entire chain of eateries, with locations in Manehattan, Fillydelphia, and Baltimare. He had borne witness to his cousin's success a few months earlier, when he had gone to pay him a visit, and had seen firsthand how popular his establishments were. It had puzzled him, and still did puzzle him, how his cousin's restaurants fared so well in the big city, where there were restaurants aplenty. When he had suggested that the city ponies must really like his restaurants' food, his cousin had chuckled, and had given him a cryptic piece of business advice.

"It's not about what you're selling, Dav, it's about how you're selling it."

His cousin's words echoed throughout Davenport's head, making little more sense to him than they had months earlier. He had already tried changing up his sales tactics many times before, with little success. He had offered discounts, and promotions, and had big blowout sales to entice potential sofa-buyers to his shop, but none of his various attempts had ever gotten him the sales figures he desired, not even close. If there was some other solution, some secret that would revitalize his languishing business, then it continued to elude him.

Davenport's eyes wandered over to one of the nearby sofas, a lovely little piece with plush cushions as soft as a cloud, and off-white fabric as smooth as a baby's bottom, just the sort of thing for relaxing after a long day's work, or for snuggling up with one's special somepony. He adored that little sofa, he thought with a smile, just as he adored his other sofas, each one beautiful in their own special way. For the life of him, he couldn't think of anything he could do to make such lovely furniture even more appealing to customers. After all, what in Equestria could possibly draw ponies' attention more effectively than a beautiful sofa?

It was at that moment, as Davenport sat there behind the counter, that he detected a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. He reflexively turned his gaze towards it, looking across the showroom to the large windows at the front of his shop. The windows were tall and long enough to have allowed a whole gaggle of potential customers to gaze in at the shop, although it had been a long time indeed since the shop had drawn such a crowd. Despite only rarely being used for looking in, those windows were just as helpful for looking out, and so provided Davenport an excellent view of the ponies currently walking past his shop.

Davenport recognized them at once, those three young mares, having spent years watching them gallivant about town on their various adventures, as had the rest of Ponyville. While the three had long ago earned the cutie marks they had once so desperately sought, that had not put a stop to their activities; if anything, it had spurred them on. Having discovered their place in the world, the Cutie Mark Crusaders now spent their days helping others to do the same, selflessly supporting anypony whose cutie marks, or lack thereof, caused them confusion or grief. Their years of altruism had earned the three the love and respect of the community many times over, Davenport included. It continued to amaze him that the three energetic little fillies he had once known had grown into such competent, intelligent, and mature young mares.

Of course, as Davenport watched the three stroll past his windows, chatting and giggling amongst themselves, he could not help but notice how much the three had matured physically, in addition to the other ways they had changed over the years. Gone were the twiggy limbs and childish bodies they had once boasted, replaced with the sort of alluring, nubile forms that could have drawn the attention of any stallion. Even Davenport, not usually the sort to ogle mares openly, couldn't help but take in their plentiful curves and their beautiful, smiling faces as they passed by. He knew he really shouldn't have; despite the three teens now being of age, it still felt profoundly lecherous to look at them as mares, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. In fact, he doubted any stallion could resist giving those three their full and complete attention.

Davenport's eyes went wide as the metaphorical light bulb went on above his head. He swiveled his head, looking back at all of his lovely, yet unappreciated sofas, then back at the three lovely fillies outside his shop, then back again. His cousin's advice popped into his mind once more, the words now imbued with new meaning.

It's not about what you're selling, it's how you're selling it.

Suddenly, Davenport realized why so many of the servers at his cousin's restaurants were young, attractive mares, and why they all wore such revealing uniforms. He also realized that his cousin might not have been as fond of owls as he had previously thought.

Davenport looked back to the window just in time to see the three fillies walking past the shop and out of sight. A sly smile appeared on his lips as he quickly rose from his seat, walked around the counter, and made his way towards the front door. The jingle of the bell sounded out as he stepped out of the shop in pursuit of his future employees.

A wide, warm grin was stretched across Big Mac's face as he moseyed his way down the streets of Ponyville. This was unsurprising, for it was definitely a day worth grinning at. The sun was hanging high overhead amidst a clear, blue sky, its gentle light shining down on him and warming his skin and his worn overalls like a blanket. The old, wooden hand cart he pulled behind him was empty, Big Mac having finally finished his last apple delivery of the day, leaving him free to head home and get some much-needed rest. Little children filled the air with their giggles as they ran and played in the streets, and older ponies smiled and greeted him as they passed each other.

It was as he was walking along, taking in the sights and sounds of that peaceful afternoon, that he happened to glance down a side road towards the aptly named "Quills and Sofas" shop. Normally, he would not have given the shop a second glance, Big Mac rarely being in the market for either new quills or a new sofa, but on that occasion, something about the shop caught his eye. He couldn't be sure, as he was a good distance away, but it seemed as if there was a crowd of ponies inside the normally empty shop, and quite a substantial one at that. His curiosity piqued, and having no other important work to attend to, Big Mac slowly altered course, making his way down the road towards the shop in question.

As he drew nearer, he was able to glance through the shop's large front windows and see that there was indeed an impressive number of customers in the shop, dozens of ponies crowded around the sofas within. Big Mac chuckled and shook his head in disbelief at the apparent popularity of Davenport's unusual establishment. When his little sister had told him recently that she and her friends had all gotten part-time jobs as salesmares at the shop, he had been quite skeptical of their prospects. It wasn't that he had anything against Davenport or his shop, of course, but even a humble farmhand such as him could recognize that the shop was on its last legs, not at all the sort of business venture that three promising young mares should be wasting their time supporting. Big Mac couldn't ignore his own eyes, however, and realized that it may have been him who had been in the wrong, and that his sister might have a promising career in retail ahead of her.

Eventually, Big Mac stepped up to the front of the shop, parking his cart on the street before it. He peered through the windows, leaning his head to and fro in an effort to pick out his sister from amongst the crowd, but failed to spot her or her friends. He decided to make his way into the shop in order to seek out his sister and Davenport and congratulate them on the success of the business, even if it meant having to endure a bit of I-told-you-so-ing from the sassy young mare. Chuckling at the thought of his impending humbling, Big Mac stepped away from his cart and made his way to the front door, which jingled as he passed through it.

The first thing Big Mac noticed as he stepped into the shop was the unusual atmosphere of the place, not at all the sort he would have expected of a bustling storefront full of customers. The place was dimly lit, the sunlight that streamed through the windows supplemented only by a large number of candles that had been strategically placed throughout the shop, bathing the showroom in a warm, soothing light. As he detected a subtle floral aroma wafting through the air, Big Mac realized that many of those candles must have been scented, further accentuating the calm serenity of the shop. The ponies that filled the shop appeared to be respecting the tranquility, either intentionally or otherwise, as most of them did not speak, and those that did spoke only in soft murmurs or whispers.

Big Mac raised an eyebrow as he took in this unusual sight, poring over the showroom and the ponies before him. He recognized many of the stallions in the crowd, friends and acquaintances whom he knew from around town. While he was familiar with those faces, the expressions of intense interest he saw upon them confused him, as he knew most of those stallions to be the sort that would not have gone furniture shopping unless forced to by their wives or marefriends. He scanned the crowd, seeing if he could pick out their respective special someponies, but could not spy a single one. It soon dawned on him that, not only were there no marefriends to be seen, but that there were no mares period, every single pony in the crowd being of the male persuasion. If that wasn't confusing enough, Big Mac further realized that the crowd was clustered around three of the showroom's many sofas in particular, although the stallions were bunched together so closely around those sofas, staring down at them, that he could not even see them.

Big Mac's rising confusion at the bizarre scenario he had wandered into soon got the better of him, and he slowly advanced towards the nearest cluster of stallions, determined to figure out just what had gotten them all so interested in Davenport's sofas. Big Mac, true to his name, was a physically impressive stallion, standing inches taller than most of those in the crowd, but even he was unable to peer over their heads to get a good look at what all of their eyes seemed to be glued to. Undeterred, he attempted to squeeze his large, muscular frame through the densely packed bodies before him, whispering a great many "excuse mes" as he worked his way towards the center.

"She's a real beut', ain't she?" Big Mac heard one stallion whisper.

"I'll say!" whispered another. "Just look at the size of those cushions!"

"Sweet Celestia, I just want to rub my face all over 'em!" whispered yet another stallion.

Big Mac's confusion only increased as he heard the crowd's commentary. He had never realized that the stallions of Ponyville had such an intense, and very odd interest in sofas. When he finally managed to push his way through to the center of the clustered stallions and gaze down at the subject of their attention, however, his confusion increased exponentially.

At the center of the crowd sat an elegant chaise lounge, long, high-backed, and with an unabashed elegance to its design. Luxurious fabric of royal purple coloration was stretched over a frame whose gentle slopes and curves evoked feelings of tenderness, delicacy, even intimacy. It was undoubtedly a fine piece of furniture, one Big Mac thought would not look out of place in the home of a wealthy or noble pony, yet he realized at once that it was not that sofa that the stallions around him were gawking at.

A coat as pure white as the driven snow was stretched over the picturesque hourglass figure of the filly who lay upon that sofa. Her long, curvaceous legs led down to a pair of petite, pedicured feet, and up to a pair of plush thighs and a set of wide hips. Her tiny waist and soft belly led up to a chest that boasted a prodigious pair of plump, perky breasts, the immense curvatures of which were only partially concealed by the lacy cups of the light pink babydoll she wore. That salacious sleepwear featured a skirt that stretched down to her mid-thigh, the translucent fabric of which afforded an almost unimpeded view of her nubile body, and of the soft pink panties decorated with little white bows that she wore. Her slender, feminine arms, one draped across her belly and one resting aside her head, were bare, as were her shoulders, save for the thin straps that held her nightgown in place. Long tresses of swirly, pink-and-purple hair, the same colors as her lovely tail, framed her head, which rested upon a plush pillow. A rounded, spiraling horn protruded from her forehead, its elegant shape complementing her ladylike image. Her beautiful features were relaxed, her long-lashed eyes closed and her full lips smiling softly, as if she were lost deep in serene sleep.

"Sweetie Belle?" said Big Mac in disbelief.

Slowly, the filly that lay upon the sofa opened her big, green eyes, which quickly zeroed in on him.

"Oh! Hey, Big Mac," said Sweetie Belle, smiling sweetly.

The sight of his little sister's childhood friend in such a scandalous state left Big Mac at a loss for words; granted, he had never been the most talkative of ponies, even under normal circumstances.

"You...Wha...How..." he stammered, struggling to process the swirling torrent of emotions he was feeling.

"Could I interest you in a...sofa?" said Sweetie Belle, sweeping a hand along the length of the chaise, drawing the eyes of the crowd to its soft curves, and to her own.

Big Mac's brain was sputtering and spurting within his head, his mental state not helped by the sultry gaze Sweetie Belle was sending his way. He clamped his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, and forced himself to speak properly. "What in Equestria is goin' on here?" he said sternly, opening his eyes once more.

Sweetie Belle giggled at the effect her little display was having on the big, handsome stallion looming over her. "What does it look like?" she said. "I'm modeling this sofa."

"Apple Bloom, she...she told me you three were sellin' these sofas!" said Big Mac.

"We are selling them," said Sweetie Belle. "Why, I've sold three just today." She raised a dainty hand to her lips and closed her eyes as she let out an adorable little yawn. "Sales is such a tiring line of work."

"And this is how y'all have been sellin' 'em," asked Big Mac, anger creeping into his voice, "by...by...?" Being the noble stallion that he was, he struggled to describe the provocative display he was witnessing, growing visibly flustered in the attempt.

"Of course!" said Sweetie Belle, batting her eyelashes. "There's no better way to sell something than a live demonstration."

As she finished, Sweetie Belle slowly brought her arms together before her, gently squishing her ample breasts together, their flawless, alabaster flesh ballooning up towards the crowd. The assembled stallions eagerly voiced their approval, whistling and murmuring amongst themselves.

"In fact," said Sweetie Belle, "I think I'm about to sell number four." She pored over the crowd, looking straight into the eyes of her dear customers. "What do you say, boys? Would one of you like to take this little cutie home with you?"

The crowd, which had been fairly quiet up until that point, suddenly exploded with sound as the stallions enthusiastically proclaimed their intent to purchase the sofa, each one attempting to talk over his fellows in an effort to draw the lovely filly's attention.

Sweetie Belle chuckled to see how thoroughly she had riled up the crowd. "Boys, boys!" she said. "Calm down! Go talk to Davenport if you want to buy!"

Big Mac was nearly knocked to the floor as the stallions around him stampeded away, presumably to find the proprietor of the establishment. When the dust had settled, he found himself standing alone next to Sweetie Belle's sofa, the cluster that had formed around her having completely dissipated.

Sweetie Belle rose from the sofa, moving slowly and sensually as she stood, staring into Big Mac's eyes all the while. "How about you, Mac?" she said. "You gonna put in a bid?" She approached him, the little filly standing before the big, tall stallion, gazing lovingly up at him. "I'm sure I could get Davenport to give you the employee discount, given that you and I are so...close." As she said this, she raised one of her dainty little hands and placed it on his broad, muscular chest.

Big Mac had every intention of seeking out Davenport and having a long conversation with him about his sofas, among other things; however, his immediate priority was seeking out his sweet little baby sister, now that he knew what sort of things were going on within the walls of that seemingly innocent shop.

"Nope," said Big Mac sternly. "I need to find Apple Bloom."

Sweetie Belle's sultry visage briefly shifted to a pout, but the smile quickly returned to her face as she recognized Big Mac's intentions. "You're such a sweet guy, Mac," she chuckled, reaching up and giving him a pat on his cheek. "Sugar Belle's lucky to have you." Sweetie Belle stepped back, turning and padding away across the showroom in search of yet another sofa to sell. "Come find me if you ever need a sofa!" she said, glancing back over her shoulder at him.

Big Mac was momentarily distracted by the sensual sway of Sweetie Belle's hips, the filly lifting her tail to give him a good look at her plump, round bottom, letting him watch her cheeks jiggle with every step she took. The thought of his beloved marefriend quickly brought Big Mac back to his senses, however, and he recalled his true purpose there.

"Wait!" Big Mac called out. "Where's Apple Bloom?"

"Oh, she's over there somewhere," said Sweetie Belle as she continued walking, casually gesturing towards the other two clusters of stallions nearby.

Big Mac quickly looked back and forth between the crowd and Sweetie Belle, briefly considering asking for more helpful directions, but decided against it. Instead, he turned towards the nearest cluster of stallions, squared his shoulders, then marched determinedly towards the throng. As he reached the outermost layer of the crowd, he began forcing his way towards the center in a much less courteous manner than before. With his strong arms, he was easily able to carve a path through, firmly, but not violently, brushing aside those around him, provoking several annoyed comments from the displaced ponies. He didn't bother stopping to apologize; he didn't stop until he had pushed his way into the center, and saw what awaited him there.

The sofa was a large three-seater, its plush, squishy form covered by what appeared to be a soft faux-leather colored a deep, dull red akin to burgundy. Unlike the last sofa Big Mac had looked at, the one before him could not be called "elegant" by any stretch of the imagination, its designer having clearly prioritized function over fashion by including such thick, durable cushions and armrests. While he did not imagine that many mares would desire to feature such unfeminine furniture in their homes, he could easily see such a couch finding a place in the apartment of a young bachelor, or in a cozy stallion cave, it being the sort that could easily withstand the rough treatment of such owners. That being said, the filly currently draped across that sofa didn't seem to mind all that one bit.

Her thin, slender frame seemed so small and delicate when juxtaposed with that big, bulky couch, although a quick glance at the filly's tight, toned form would have been enough to see that she was no dainty flower. Beneath that bright orange coat could be seen subtle traces of her well-trained muscles, these especially noticeable on her bare legs, which were covered by nothing but a pair of short socks on her little feet. She wore little clothing anywhere else, for that matter, her sculpted physique obscured by only the pair of plain, off-white panties that clung to her hips and by the tight-fitting, purple tank top that emphasized her adorably small breasts and showed off the subtle outline of her abs. She lay on her side, facing the crowd, granting those around her a look at her perky little bottom, her short, purple tail, and the pair of feathered wings that sprouted from her upper back. The hair of her purple mane, cut in a short, tomboyish style, fell across the pillow on which she rested her head. The subtle features of her smiling little face, while not as overtly feminine as those of her friend, gave her an impish, fun-loving look, even with her eyes closed in apparent sleep.

Big Mac stood over the little filly, sighing as he looked upon her familiar face. "Not you too, Scootaloo," he grumbled.

At the sound of his voice, Scootaloo's eyes fluttered open, and she slowly looked up at him. "Sup, Mac!" she said with a smile. "Lookin' for a sofa?"

Big Mac glared down at her like a stern parent. "Nope," he said flatly.

"You sure?" said Scootaloo. "I bet you'd like this one. It's so big and comfy." As she said this, she squirmed and stretched out her slender limbs, before putting her hands behind her head and spreading her legs in a most unladylike manner.

"Where's Apple Bloom?" said Big Mac, trying to ignore the subtle cameltoe of the teen's panties.

Scootaloo rolled her eyes, but smiled. "I think she's over there," she said, lifting one of her legs and pointing a foot towards the other cluster of ponies nearby.

Big Mac looked in the direction Scootaloo indicated, then back at her. "Thanks," he said gruffly. He did a half-turn, preparing to make his way back through the crowd, but paused briefly, looking back at her. "And put on some clothes."

By the time Big Mac had emerged from the crowd and made his way to the final cluster of stallions, he was in no mood to be polite. His righteous anger, his disgust, and his fear for the well-being of his precious little sister were so great that it was all he could do to keep himself from throttling the next person he saw. So evident was this upon his face that all the big, powerful stallion needed to do was step up to the crowd, cross his muscular arms, and clear his throat loudly and clearly. The instant the stallions in the crowd took notice of who was standing in their midst, and saw the intense look on his face, they turned and ran, the lecherous onlookers making for the exit, lest they be forced to face the wrath of a protective big brother. In mere moments, the crowd had vanished, revealing the subject of their attention.

At first glance, Big Mac thought that the sofa before him had been taken straight from the home of one of his great-aunts. It was certainly of the same style as much of the furniture featured in the homes of the Apple family, his own home included, it being humble and old-fashioned in design, but sturdy and reliable. Its carved frame was made of polished wood, and its cushions boasted fabric of a dull orange color, like that of an autumn gourd. Even Big Mac could not help but think that it was a fine piece, the sort of sofa a simple stallion such as him could come home and snuggle with his mare on after a hard day of work.

The filly who rested upon that sofa seemed to have an affinity for it as well, given the comically undignified position she was lying in. She was lying on her belly, with her face smooshed against a plush pillow, her back arched, and her rear raised slightly into the air, shamelessly displaying her most astonishing asset. Like her big sister, she had inherited her mother's perfect pear-shaped figure, boasting a set of wide, motherly hips and a pair of huge, yellow cheeks that were the envy of her peers. Of course, her eye-catching lower half boasted a significant amount of hardened muscle in addition to her feminine softness, a fact that her thick, melon-crushing thighs and her iron buns made immediately apparent. Her upper half was not lacking in appeal either, the filly sporting strong arms, a toned stomach, and a pair of sizable breasts that could have fed a whole litter of foals. Her impressive form was bare, save for her big, loose t-shirt that had been tied off above her belly button, and her red panties, the butt of which featured the word "APPLE" written in big, bold letters. The sight of the filly in such a lewd state made Big Mac's blood boil, but even he could not help but soften at the sight of that wholesomely beautiful face surrounded by a curtain of long, red hair topped by a girlish bow. Watching her snore softly into her pillow and seeing her long tail twitch in her sleep recalled memories of times long ago when he had carried that little filly to bed and tucked her in, giving her a goodnight kiss. A loud, obnoxious snore and a reflexive twerk of the filly's delicious dumptruck quickly reminded him of his anger, however.

"Apple Bloom," Big Mac growled, crossing his arms.

Apple Bloom continued snoring peacefully, the filly apparently having drifted into a genuine sleep.

"Apple Bloom!" barked Big Mac, his voice deep and booming.

Apple Bloom started, her head popping off her pillow and her drowsy eyes fluttering open. "B-B-Buy some apples!" she mumbled as she woke. She blinked the sleep from her eyes as she slowly looked around, soon taking note of the towering stallion standing beside her resting place and looking up at a familiar face bearing a familiar expression of protective anger. "Oh." She chuckled awkwardly as she quickly pushed herself into an upright sitting position, with her legs off to one side of her. "Uh...hey, Mac! You, uh...wanna buy a sofa?"

The low, earthy grumble that came from Big Mac's throat made it perfectly clear what was on his mind, and it was not sofas.

"Okay, okay, look!" said Apple Bloom, holding up her hands defensively. "This ain't what it looks like!"

"Oh?" said Big Mac.

"Yeah!" said Apple Bloom. "Me and the girls...all we're doin' is just a little bit of modelin', just showin' folks how nice and comfy all these sofas are! We're just doin' our jobs as salesmares."

"Your job?" said Big Mac. "So it's your job to lie around in your underwear and get gawked at by stallions?"

Apple Bloom's expression soured. "Hey! I ain't showin' off any more skin than when I go to the swimmin' hole!" she declared. "Heck, Sugar Belle wears a skimpier bikini than I do, and I ain't never heard you complain about seein' her like that!"

The mental image of his voluptuous marefriend wearing her usual alluring swimwear momentarily distracted Big Mac. "Th-This ain't about Sugar Belle!" he said, forcing himself to refocus on the matter at hand.

"And who cares if a few stallions wanna take a gander at the best legs in Ponyville?" said Apple Bloom, proudly gesturing to her sculpted limbs. "They ain't doin' any harm just by lookin'!"

"Lookin'?" said Big Mac. "You think that's what I'm worried about?"

The anger on Apple Bloom's face was practically a mirror of that on her brother's. "Oh, I know you ain't implyin' what I think you're implyin'!" she snapped. "I ain't no slut, and I ain't no whore, so don't you go gettin' any ideas in that thick head of yours. I'm just a girl usin' what my mama gave me to get what I want, and what I happen to want right now is a steady paycheck with a nice, big commission on every sofa I sell."

"This ain't a debate, Apple Bloom," said Big Mac sternly. "This ends now."

"Excuse me?" said Apple Bloom incredulously. "You ain't the boss of me! I ain't a little filly anymore; I'm a grown mare, and I can do what I want when I want. What I wear on the job is between me and Davenport, not you!"

"Oh, so Davenport's the one makin' you dress in your..." began Big Mac, trailing off as he took a good look at Apple Bloom's shirt for the first time. "Hang on...is that my shirt?"

Apple Bloom glanced down at her oversized shirt, then back up at her brother. "Well, yeah!" she said. "I ain't gonna lay here in my actual PJs. I always sleep topless this time of year, but we all figured that'd be takin' things a little too far, so I borrowed some of yours."

Big Mac's stern visage faltered as he tried to keep the unwholesome thought of his topless little sister out of his Celestia-fearing mind, something that was not lost on Apple Bloom.

"Although," said Apple Bloom with a sly smile, "if you really want it back, I suppose I could..." As she said this, she grasped the bottom of her shirt and slowly drew it upwards.

"No!" cried Big Mac, reflexively reaching out and yanking her shirt back down just before her braless breasts were exposed. "No."

Apple Bloom chuckled as she saw her brother's deep red cheeks grow even redder, although the smug look on her face quickly rekindled Big Mac's anger.

"We're goin' home!" said Big Mac. "You're gonna get your butt off of that darn couch, you're gonna put your clothes back on, and then I'm gonna take you home and let Granny straighten you out, and that's if Applejack don't get to you first! Now come on!" As he finished, he reached out and grabbed Apple Bloom's wrist, squeezing it firmly, but not painfully.

"Hey!" Apple Bloom exclaimed, struggling against her brother's iron grip. "Let go of me! Let go of me or I'll show you what I did to the first and only fella who tried to get a hands-on demonstration from me!"

As Big Mac dragged Apple Bloom up off of the sofa and onto her feet, she reached up and grabbed Big Mac's hand with her free one. "You're lucky you got a marefriend," she said, "'cause you ain't gonna be usin' this hand for a while!"

"Woah, woah, woah, time out, time out!" came a voice from nearby.

Both Apple siblings swiveled their heads to the side, looking upon the approaching figure of Davenport. The shop owner was wearing his usual attire: neatly pressed slacks and a crisp, white shirt beneath a blue vest bearing his nametag. He also wore his most friendly, nonthreatening smile as he waded into the increasingly heated conflict, not wanting to escalate the situation further.

"Why don't we all just...take a breath," said Davenport as he stepped up to the two. "Big Mac, I'm sure you have some questions you'd like answered, so why don't we all have a nice, mature conversation about this...without violence?"

Big Mac and Apple Bloom looked back at each other, glaring angrily into each other's eyes for a moment, before the two slowly released their grips on each other and stepped back.

"Thank you," said Davenport, clearly relieved.

Apple Bloom crossed her arms, watching her big brother closely. Big Mac turned to face Davenport, struggling to keep his temper under control. He crossed his arms and gave Davenport an expectant look.

"I know, I know," said Davenport. "I have some explaining to do. Look, Mac, I understand why you're upset, but you have to believe me when I say that there's nothing unsavory going on here in this shop."

"Care to explain this, then?" said Big Mac, nodding towards Apple Bloom's revealing attire.

"Right, well..." Davenport began. "I...hired Apple Bloom and her friends as salesmares because I thought that having such...charming young mares working here would be just what I needed to give my business a boost."

"Charmin'?" said Big Mac, raising an eyebrow.

"Among other things," said Davenport. "Mac, I'm...sure even you can admit that your sister is a...lovely young mare, not to mention strong, intelligent, and fiercely determined. When she and her friends started out here, I encouraged them to make use of these...assets...in their dealings with customers, but I've left it up to them to decide how best to do that."

"He means he didn't ask us to dress like this," said Apple Bloom, growing impatient with Davenport's tactfulness. She stepped up to her employer and stood beside him in solidarity. "He was too sweet to ask us, but...we figured out what he was after pretty quick. After all, you don't hire the three hottest mares in Ponyville to sell sofas for no good reason. He knew what we were bringin' to the table, and the three of us got no problem with bringin' it...do we Scootaloo?" she said, directing this last bit towards where Scootaloo lay.

"Nope!" Scootaloo called out immediately.

"How 'bout you, Sweetie Belle?" Apple Bloom called out across the showroom.

"No problems here!" called out Sweetie Belle from within a fresh cluster of onlookers.

"See?" said Apple Bloom. "We ain't got a problem with what we're doin'. Our customers sure ain't got a problem with it. Davenport ain't got a problem with it; he knows we can bring in the bits, so he trusts us to make sales our way. He lets us do whatever we want, say whatever we want, and dress however we want while we're on the clock."

"Within reasonable limits," Davenport added.

"Right, right," said Apple Bloom. "Bottom line is, nobody here's gettin' their panties in a bunch over a few mares showin' a little bit of skin...nobody but you, that is."

"Mac," said Davenport, tentatively extending a hand and placing it comfortingly on Big Mac's shoulder, relieved when Big Mac did no more than glance at it. "Look, I get it. Apple Bloom is your little sister, and you don't want anything happening to her. Well, neither do I. You've known me for a long time; you know I'm not the sort of guy to take advantage of a mare like her. I'm not gonna hurt her, and I'm certainly not gonna let anyone in here hurt her. I care about my employees, even more than I care about my sofas! My philosophy is that everypony who walks into my shop should leave again happier than when they came in; that includes my employees, my customers...and you." As he said this, Davenport's smile widened slightly into a practiced salesstallion's grin. "How 'bout it, Mac? What can ol' Davenport do to make you happy? Maybe... sending you home with a brand-new, beautiful, top-of-the-line sofa?"

Big Mac's eyes widened as he realized what he had just been lured into. "Oh, no," he said firmly, shaking his head. "No, no, no. I ain't buyin' one of your gosh-darn sofas, Davenport."

Apple Bloom put a hand on Davenport and gently pulled him back. "Dav...lemme handle this," she said ominously. She looked up at Big Mac, the anger gone from her face, replaced with the gentle sweetness of a loving little sister. "C'mon, big brother. At least let me show you around. Let me show you we're serious about sofas here at Quills and Sofas. I'm sure we have somethin' you'll love." Suddenly, a devious glint appeared in her puppydog eyes. "And...I'm sure we'll have somethin' Sugar Belle will love."

Big Mac noticed the subtle change in her demeanor, but did not know what his little sister was playing at. "Sugar Belle?" he said.

"Well, yeah," said Apple Bloom. "After all...that is why you came in here in the first place, ain't it?" She slowly approached Big Mac, standing before him and placing her hands on his shoulders. "You wanted to find a nice, big, beautiful, and expensive sofa to buy for Sugar Belle, didn't you? Her birthday's comin' up soon, ain't it? I bet she'd love a pretty little couch to cozy up on with you. You're such a good coltfriend. I'm sure she'd love to know how much time and thought you put into pickin' out the perfect gift for her. Of course...I imagine she'd be a bit less happy if she thought you were here for...somethin' else."

Big Mac's brows furrowed quizzically.

"You spent an awful lot of time lookin' at Sweetie's and Scoot's sofas," said Apple Bloom. "That is what you were lookin' at, right? The sofas? You weren't lookin' at...anythin' else, were you? Certainly not anythin' you wouldn't want me to tell Sugar Belle you were lookin' at."

Big Mac's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the trap he had wandered into. "You...You're..." he began.

"Ssshhh..." shushed Apple Bloom softly, putting a finger to her brother's lips. "It's okay, Mac. Everythin's gonna be fine. I'm gonna show you a nice, fancy sofa that Sugar Belle will just love. You're gonna buy that sofa, earnin' me a nice, big commission. Then, you can give that sofa to Sugar Belle on her birthday and earn a heck of a lot of brownie points with her. Who knows? She might even decide to use that sofa to give you an extra-special 'thank you' present. And because you're such a good brother, I won't tell her that you were here eyein' up my friends in their underwear! See? Everybody wins! Well, except your wallet, that is."

Big Mac stammered and sputtered, his face a curious combination of anger, confusion, and dread as the reality of his situation slowly sank in. Eventually, he sighed heavily, visibly deflating as he realized that his little sister had him wrapped around her little finger.

"How much?" said Big Mac, his head hung low.

Apple Bloom smiled smugly at her triumph. "Oh, don't look so glum, big brother," she said. "C'mon! Lemme take you on a tour of the wonderful world of sofas!"

Apple Bloom grasped Big Mac's hand and led him away through the showroom, like a little filly dragging her parent through the aisles of a toy store. Of course, in this case, the filly was a sexy little redhead with a jaw-dropping ass that swayed sensually as she walked, and the parent was a dejected older brother preemptively mourning his poor piggy bank.