Pinkie screamed in glee when Anonymous caught up with her. He snatched her from behind and picked her up with ease, and pinned her back to the wall. Pinkie giggled. Her nostrils flared and deeply inhaled his scent. It made her lightheaded. It reminded her of a stallion’s when he got ready and eager for some fun, but his was far more potent. Overpowering.

“Jeez, you’re a quick one,” Anon panted once he leaned back.

“Well of course, silly,” Pinkie said, grinning. “How else do you think I stay in shape?”

“An unnatural, freakishly fast metabolism?”

Pinkie rolled her eyes. “Well, duh! But, y’know, it can only do so much.” She chuckled. “Gotta give it some help.”

Anon followed suit. “You’re such a silly pony.”

An idea came to her. During one of their slumber parties, Rarity gave her and the girls some tips on how to tease and play on a stallion. Some of her friends were more receptive than the others. Applejack and Dashie merely scoffed and rolled their eyes. Twilight conjured up a quill and parchment and furiously took notes. A blushing Fluttershy and Pinkie herself listened intently; the latter unusually attentive.

“Yeah.” Pinkie placed a hoof on his chest. Smiling, she batted her eyelashes. “And you like me for it.”

It worked! She held his gaze just as Rarity showed them, with half-lidded eyes and an inviting smile. Pinkie nearly burst out laughing at his flustered reaction. The urge proved too strong. Just as her facade threatened to break, the flushed Anon leaned in and kissed her again.

Pinkie chuckled, but leaned into the kiss. She liked kisses and he was good at it. And enthusiastic! She draped her hooves over his shoulders. So solid. Were all humans like this? She often hugged and nuzzled her friends (and some of the townsponies) and even the odd unattached stallion who was up for some fun. None of them were built quite like Anon. He did say a lot of things felt ‘softer’ here than back home. Maybe that had something to do with it.

At any other point, she might have thought being held by him would be a skooch uncomfortable. It wasn’t. Not at all. In fact, Pinkie found the solid embrace oddly comforting. And while she was not at all opposed to things getting a little rough with a stallion, she was still a mare and very much appreciated a softer touch.

Which is why she hummed in contentment as Anon stroked her mane. His fingers trailed down her scalp, sending warm, cozy little spikes of pleasure where they went. The excitement of knowing she’d finally get to know what he was like in the sack, combined with her dry spell; and the strong, intoxicating scent of his that made her lightheaded meant Pinkie failed to notice his hand treading a particular path, up and up to her...

*Snap!*

“Ouch!”

Anon jerked back. Pinkie yelped in surprise as she fell abruptly onto the floor. She looked up to see Anon’s grimace of pain, his right hand held out in which a... curiously oversized mousetrap clamped down on his fingers.

“O-oops.”

Anon’s head whipped around. His eye twitched as he regarded the guilty-looking Pinkie Pie.

“Pinkie,” he said. “What the hell? What... what is this?”

She smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head. “Heh. Heheh,” she chuckled uneasily. “I forgot I had that thing.” At his unamused glare, she continued. “It’s my, ah, security system?” He remained silent still and she continued. “Y-you know.” She motioned vaguely to her mane. “Don’t want just anypony getting their hooves into this thing.”

Anon gawped.

“Here. Let me just...” Pinkie muttered and trotted over to him. She stood on her hind legs and reached out with her forehooves, fiddling with the mousetrap and pulled back the release mechanism, allowing Anon to take back his hand. He watched blankly as the mousetrap disappeared into the poofy curls of her mane. He then gave an experimental flex of his fingers.

“Does it hurt?” Pinkie asked.

“Some,” he muttered, noting the thin red line that stretched over his knuckles.

“No problemo,” Pinkie said, regaining her usual pep. We’ll have that fixed up in a jiffy.” She trotted a few paces down the hallway and stopped in front of a door. “Well come on,” she said encouragingly and flung it open, gesturing inside. “Mi casa es su casa. That’s Prench for ‘come on in’.”

All in all, Pinkie was proud of her room. Streamers crisscrossed round the ceiling; small, rubber glow-in-the-dark figurines hung about them, not that either Pinkie or Anon could make out them out. Save for this and maybe a few balloons that hovered about, the room was surprisingly devoid of party-themed accents. Those she reserved for her secret party cave. Well, maybe not so secret anymore.

“So? What do you think?” she eagerly asked Anon, who cast an appraising glance.

“It’s... normal?”

Pinkie snorted. Why did everypony keep saying that? She wasn’t that party crazed. Usually. Some of the time. She jumped, limbs spread out onto her soft bed, sighing in contentment. She looked to Anon and, smiling, patted the empty spot next to her.

“Come on,” she said playfully. “We can’t have fun if you’re all the way over there.”

“R-right,” he said, rubbing at the back of his head. Pinkie watched him like a hawk eyeing up a particularly tasty critter and no sooner did he take a seat that she pounced on him. She giggled as she pinned his back to the mattress, and the way his hands reflexively grabbed on to her sides; those fingers of his unintentionally tickling her ribs.

Her heart beat a mile a minute and the heat returned to her face. Her marehood too. She could feel it wink in reflex, aching for a stall... er, human’s touch. She’d only ever been with stallions (and the occasional mare when the urge got too bad) and this new exotic partner left her giddy and excited to see how different (or similar) the experience would be.

She leaned in, eager to taste him again, but then stopped. Something washed over Anon’s features—a fleeting thing, but Pinkie sensed... hesitation?

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“N-no. No,” he said unconvincingly. “Just, uh...” His face flushed. He cleared his throat. “Just, you know. Haven’t been with a mare before.”

Pinkie frowned, cocking her head. “Huh? But... didn’t you and Rarity...”

He gave her an abridged version of the events at Carousel Boutique.

“Oof,” Pinkie oof’d, wincing in sympathy. “Yeah, I do not envy her right now.”

Anon chuckled humorlessly. “Well, maybe you could cheer her up. Throw her a small party or something.”

Pinkie hummed, tapping a hoof to her chin. “I don’t think a party’s gonna cut it.” She looked down to Anon with a sly smile. “No, I think what she needs is a good...” Anon tensed as the frog of her hoof settled over his dick. “Hard...” She lightly stroked it and kissed him again, pushing her tongue past his lips. She felt him stiffen beneath her hoof and broke the heated kiss. “Dicking,” she whispered huskily.

“So,” he gulped. “So you don’t mind? It’s not... weird for you or anything?”

“What? That I’m your first pony?” She giggled. “Of course not, silly! It makes this a special occasion. And you know what that means.”

"A... party?”

“Yep, yep! Or... well, actually, no. It means I’ll have to show you an extra special, super-duper doozy of a time. Oh?” She glanced to her hoof, which hadn’t stopped stroking his covered dick. “Well,” she chuckled. “I know somepony who wants some attention.”

Already she could see a bulge straining against the fabric of his pants. It looked uncomfortable. She never really understood his obsession with wearing clothes. Sure, she’d dress up for special occasions and was awfully fond of her Gala getup. It still couldn't hold a candle to going au naturel and feeling the soft breeze and solid earth on her body.

She stroked him idly, watching as it twitched now and then, straining to break free. Curious, she leaned in and touched her nose to it, taking in his alien musk. Tasty. She looked to Anon, whose face was flushed. She’d wager she looked about the same.

She pressed her lips to it, giving it a long, languid kiss, nostrils flaring as she puffed out hot little bursts of air. Anon groaned. Little Anon twitched. Maybe not so little, she mused. She could practically feel it growing larger, harder, against her lips.

Pinkie smirked. He had such fun reactions. Maybe she’d tease him a bit more. Get his blood hot and raring to go. Leaning down a bit lower, just past its base, she opened her mouth and molded her lips around it, cradling his foal makers in the hot confines of her mouth.

Anon’s fists clenched. He leaned back and let out a long, low groan. Pinkie sucked on them lightly—hoof still stroking him all the while—using her lips to caress them even outside their cloth prison. At least they felt normal, she thought wryly, more or less expecting a toss-up between that or something more... alieny. Either way, it sent his potent musk into overdrive, and being at ground zero herself, Pinkie’s body and marehood grew hotter in tandem.

“Pinkie,” he groaned, placing a hand atop her head.

She looked up. “’O ‘oog?” she said thickly, mouth still on his balls.

“No, no,” he said rapidly. “It’s good. Just, um...”

Now that she backed off a bit, she could see the problem. His stallionhood strained painfully against the fabric of his pants. Pinkie stared, mesmerized. Granted, she couldn’t exactly tell with it being covered up, but she’d swear it almost... doubled in size.

Her lips spread into a toothy grin as she looked up to Anon. “Aww,” she cooed, petting it lightly with the frog of her hoof. “Does Little Anon want to come out to play?”

Big Anon grimaced. “Please don’t call it that.”

“No? Hm. Okie dokie, then. Let’s see if I can come up with something better.”

“That... that really isn’t—”

“Shh,” she shushed softly, lips puckered and trailed off as she bent down to give his crotch a quick peck. “Just sit back and watch.”

Anon stared as Pinkie hopped off, moving to the foot of the bed. Propped up on her hind legs, she grabbed onto both of his legs or rather, the fabric of his pants, just above the ankle. Her muzzle crinkled in concentration, and the tip of her tongue poked out the corner of her lip. She gave a few experimental tugs.

“Doesn’t work that way, Pinkie,” Anon said, equal parts amused and bemused.

“Shush,” she shushed again. “Concentrating.”

She gave the fabric a few more tugs, varying in force and length. She nodded to herself, seemingly satisfied, and with a smug little smile, looked up to Anon.

“And for my next party trick...”

She tugged the fabric upward and with a smooth, swift motion—reminiscent of a fancy waiter pulling a tablecloth clean off a table in one stroke—completely yanked his pants off his body... socks and shoes included!

“Woo-hoo!” she cheered, pumping her hoof in triumph. “Still got it!” Perhaps she celebrated too early, for upon glancing to her immediate right, she could see Anon’s one remaining sock still fastened to his foot.

“P-Pinkie!” a befuddled Anon squawked, reflexively using his hands to cover up his junk. “What... how did you...”

“I’m a mare of many talents,” she said smoothly.

“B-but... but how did...”

She hopped back onto the bed. “Do you really want to know, Nonon? Do you?” She placed her hoof over his hands. “Or, do you want to see where this goes?”

He hesitated. “Fine, fine. But, uh...” He flushed, concerningly so.

Pinkie cocked her head, her smile fading. “What’s the matter?”

Anon fidgeted. He had a hard time meeting her eyes. “It’s not gonna... look like what you’re used to. Down there. L-like a stallion, I mean.”

“Well... yeah. I kinda figured.”

“Right, right,” Anon muttered. “And you’re not gonna...?”

“What?”

He sighed. “You’re not gonna laugh or... freak out or anything. Right?”

Now Pinkie got the gist. Stallions could be surprisingly sensitive about their dicks. She never really understood why. And now it looked like human males were not too different in that regard.

“Anon,” she said, not unkindly. “I promise I won’t laugh. Or freak out.” When he still didn’t look totally convinced, she recited, “Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” Indeed, she even mashed a cupcake onto her (closed) eyelid to drive the point home.

Anon chuckled at her antics. “Alright, fine. Just... don’t do... this again. You gotta warn a guy before you strip him.”

Pinkie chuckled bashfully; her ears splayed back. She still didn’t understand his obsession with clothes, but now with hindsight, and given his reactions so far... well, it seemed he was a bit uncomfortable with nudity. How... weird.

“Okie dokie lokie,” she acquiesced. “I’ll be sure to ask you well and proper next time.”

“That is all I ask.”

Pinkie smiled. “Hey, Anon?”

“Hm?”

She placed her hoof over his still covered dick.

“Can your little friend come out to play?”

Anon burst out laughing.

“Haah,” he sighed. “Sure thing, Pinkie.”

Pinkie grinned and looked down, mindful to keep herself from bouncing with excitement. With some last, lingering hesitation, Anon’s hands retreated at last, granting Pinkie a good and proper eyeful of his stallionhood and... and...

“Huh.” She leaned in, closer, unblinking. “It’s... it’s so...” She looked up to him. “Pink!”

“...What?”

“It’s so pink!”

“And that’s... good?”

“Good? Good?” she asked astonishingly. “It’s the bestest. Color. Ever!” Pinkie laid belly down between his legs. Her eyes sparkled as she reached out and carefully held it between her hooves. Anon shuddered as she touched the tip with her frog, gently rubbing it. Her eyes traced it up and down, as if determined to engrave every detail in her mind.

“So,” Anon breathed heavily, his face flushed. “Don’t most stallions look like that? Pink, I mean.”

Pinkie hummed. “Nah. It’s usually about the same color as their coats. Sometimes lighter, sometimes darker. But this... this guy...”

Her eyes widened, and she suddenly gasped. “Ooh, ooh, I know! I have the perfect name for him!”

Anon groaned. “Do I wanna know?”

She looked up and, looking far prouder than she had any right to be, thusly proclaimed...

“Mr. Pinkums!”

Anon facehoov—er, palmed; groaning.

“Pinkie, no. Just... no. You’re not calling it—”

Anon choked on his words, tensing. Still holding it between her hooves, Pinkie stuck out her tongue, languidly trailing it up and down his shaft. With careful, deliberate motions, she stroked him with her hooves—up and down—sending shivers and tingles up Anon’s spine. Through it all, she did not break eye contact, and in them he saw a mirthful twinkle.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “Were you saying something?”

Anon gritted his teeth. “I said... I said you’re not...”

He groaned louder this time and his elbows gave out, and he tumbled backwards onto the mattress. Pinkie popped the tip inside her mouth, casually sucking and licking the head as if it were nothing more than a fleshy popsicle.

“’oo hay hum’hn?” she mumbled out, stifling her giggles. Anon’s answer came in the form of heavy breathing. She focused now on the task at hoof. He tasted amazing. Foreign, yes. Exotic, yes. But also amazing!

Pinkie’s legs rubbed together, the area around her marehood wet and slickened with excitement. She ached to have him inside and give her fields a deep and thorough plowing. At the same time, she took more of him in her mouth, eager—desperate—for it to stretch and fill up her throat. Tears pricked at her eyes. Her breaths came heavier, more erratic.

She felt him grab fistfuls of her mane and steadily, he pushed her downward. His hips raised with the thinnest of restraints sending more and more of his meat down her throat until, finally, he bottomed out within her.

Pinkie’s eyes were shut. She whimpered at the overwhelming sensations. It filled her throat to the point of discomfort, yet paradoxically, it didn’t feel like enough. Not nearly enough. She wanted more. Her nostrils flared, laboriously drawing in precious, precious air.

She pulled away slowly, halting once his tip stood at the threshold of her throat and then leaned forward, swallowing him anew. It went down easier now, and at any other time, Pinkie would have been more than happy to give it a thorough once-over. But not today. She needed it inside her.

Which is why she pulled out, fully this time, and took a second to compose herself.

Anon propped himself up on his elbows. Pinkie imagined she looked more or less as he did; face alight with a needy blush, eyes glazed over, chest heaving as he drew breath.

She stroked him again, running her hoof up and down his length, marveling at how... hard it got. Stallions didn’t get quite like this. They stiffened up to a point, and it had always been enough to get the job done. Anon’s though... already it surprised her twice. And Pinkie couldn’t help but wonder if it had any other revelations in store.

She noticed now that the tip—looking as though it sported a cute, silly little helmet—somewhat changed in color. Oh certainly, it was still shaded in that lovely shade of pink (best color!) but upon closer inspection; red, almost purple tendrils threatened to creep in. To Pinkie’s discerning eye, it was in dire need of attention and some good ol’ fashioned TLC.

And so she leaned in, gave it a quick, chaste smooch on the head and, smiling, said, “What’s that, Mr. Pinkums? You’re all lonely and have nopony to play with?” She squirmed slightly, her legs rubbing together. “That’s alright,” she whispered. “I know a friend who’s just dying to meet you.”

Author's Note

Pre-read by Pillowfight

Change of plans. The chapter's being split in three parts instead of two, otherwise there'd be a longer wait. I still have a fair few things to include (clop and fluff), so you can expect the next installment to be a bit meatier.

Heheh, meatier