Having Your Cake and Eating Her Out Too.

Warning/ Disclaimer: The following story contains multiple, fictional scenarios that depict graphic sexual acts between several cartoon horses. If this offends you, please leave your testicles at the door on your way out.

Having Your Cake And Eating Her Out Too.

Written By: Your Antagonist

Red Pen Heroes: TheWattsMan, Cpl Hooves, Benny,Skeeter The Lurker, & Martian

Not Quite An Average Day In The Life (Multiple Choice Ain't Never Been So Sexy)

It’s no secret that after a certain age, the natural curiosities inhabiting the minds of adolescent colts all over Equestria begin to expand past boyish trivialities, such as silly games and odd machinations to abuse bodily functions, instead finding renewed purchase on the prospective mystery of that most enticing of all creatures to frolic and flourish under the sun: mares. Once typically outspoken colts might find themselves suddenly embracing an approach of quieter persuasion when in the company of the opposite sex, while others choose to actively pursue the blossoming beauties, thus instilling themselves with vast reserves of self-confidence and an almost dog-like lust for even the most vanilla offerings of the opposite sex at such an early age.

Yet, this tale is not about the latter, drunk in their constant hounding after the affections of any girl who would so much as give the sleazy colts a second glance. No, this is the story of a specimen who fits the criteria of the former almost impeccably—painfully so— to a “T.”

The youngest child of the cake family, Pound Cake, could recall that in his youth he’d been an absolute menace, worthy of Discord’s praise, towards the opposite sex, without restraint or concern for how this would affect him in later years. He’d smash their sand castles, crush their dolls, even push them down and call them names, all for the sake of garnering the praise of his fellow colts on the playground.

At the time, their approval was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. Even his older sister—if only by seven minutes, according to the twins’ parents—wasn’t safe from the colt’s need, nay, his addiction, for peer approval. The colt had yet to realize it at the time, but the harassment of Pumpkin Cake had laid the foundation of a social hurdle so vast that he would continue to climb it even in his later high school years and through a semester or two of college. But those matters held little consequence to him right now; this moment was his and his alone.

Since the summer preceding the colt’s freshman foray into the social experiment gone wrong that is high school, Pound Cake could only watch helplessly as colt after colt who had cheered for his theatrics on the playground, who had dared to call themselves his comrades— some of them brothers—were ensnared by a vice so enchantingly wretched that even he himself was not safe from it: the hormone-emboldened grip of teenage romance. However, while his fellow colts confidently surfed the tumultuous oceans that are relationships, Pound Cake’s attempts to brave the same sea were rewarded only with anchors wrought from heartache, secured by chains cast from rejection. Yet, despite his lack of fortune on the high seas, the colt still managed to find reprieve on a private oasis of his mind’s design.

In this wonderfully secluded place, this fortress of solitude, he could accompany himself with any mare of his choosing without consequence or judgement. Truly this place was an eden beyond compare, and at present, the pegasus found himself nuzzled into the bosom of that sultry, high-class, high-maintenance siren among mares: Ms. Rarity. For every contented, throaty purr she breathed, he could feel her heart racing in time with his own. Hers out of anticipation, his own out of an anxiety driven by natural timidity. With each stroke of her soft, spa-pedicured hooves against his mane, he buried himself ever deeper into the perfume-scented ivory of her coat. Alas, his rapture here could only last for a moment longer; his mistress was growing impatient.

With one swift sweep of her hooves, Rarity seized her companion by the chin and tilted his head upwards so that her lustful, wanting eyes could lock with his own innocent pair. She giggled at the incredibly flustered expression on the colt’s face, but he couldn’t help it; he’d never been this close to a mare before. Taking the lead, Rarity drew him closer, pressing her naturally succulent lips against his, her silken forelocks tickling his forehead as she playfully slid her tongue into his mouth.

With trembling hooves, Pound Cake found the courage to grasp his mature lover behind her back and head, steadying his grip on her and pulling himself deeper into the kiss. Pleasantly surprised by her partner’s sudden display of assertiveness, Rarity leaned forward, using her weight and position to gently guide the young Cake onto his back. It was from this position that she would continue to thrill her inexperienced lover.

Much to Pound Cake’s chagrin, Rarity pulled away from the kiss, a thin strand of saliva trailing between their lips. The abrupt interruption had to have been some sort of fluke, thought young Pound Cake. A fluke that his hedonistic little mind sought to resolve quickly. The pegasus leaned forward, using his wings to assist him, only to find his efforts were in vain as a moderate pressure on his chest forced him back down. Confused, the colt looked down to see what had impeded his progress, and was immediately taken aback at the sight of Ms. Rarity’s hoof planted firmly on his chest, a mischievous grin painted across her china-doll features.

Before he could begin to question the sudden denial of his advances, Rarity descended upon his neck, gently kissing and nipping at his tender, ticklish flesh, eliciting low moans of satisfaction the further she traveled down his belly. The colt bit his lip nervously, sensing that Rarity was drawing nearer and nearer to her mark, and before he knew it, she was there. He shivered with excitement as her warm, moist breath blew across the sensitive flesh of his still-sheathed tip.

Mindfully cradling her young stud’s stallionhood in her hooves, Rarity immediately went to work on his shaft, planting soft kisses along the length, while her velvet tongue worked in diligent, focused circles to coerce her little Pound Cake’s cock from its hiding place. Rarity worked her fellatio with artistic proficiency, every brushlike stroke of her tongue garnering a satisfactory twitch from her colt-made-canvas. After what seemed like an eternity, Pound Cake had grown to what Rarity deemed a satisfactory size and the mare licked her lips hungrily in anticipation.

With a final passionate kiss to the tip, Rarity moved to Pound Cake’s belly, trailing her tongue up to the colt’s neck. His shivers were like candy to the sultry mare who was now moving back to attend to her lover’s lonely lips, mindfully stroking a hoof across Pound’s now achingly hard member. The colt could only cringe and wince at the sharp pleasure Rarity’s hooves afforded him.

“Mmm, Pound darling…” Rarity cooed, gently running her tongue along his ear.

“Y-yes, M-Ms. Rarity?” he gasped. He could feel the first swells of climax creeping out to greet him. It was just a matter of moments now.

“It’s time to wake up…” Rarity moaned, now lightly nipping at his ear.

“W-what was that, milady?” he panted. He was there, so close to that wondrous release, and all he needed was just one more hit of her lovely purr of a voice, just one more glance upon his mistress’s glamor, to send him reeling over the edge of ecstasy. And just as quickly as asked, he received.

“I said: it’s time to wake up, dweeb.” Something felt off as the voice washed over his ears, but with his climax only a mere hoofstroke away, he treated it as little more than afterthought. But then, just as the mortifying realization hit him, something horrible happened: he came. Hard.

Every second of Pound Cake’s orgasm was as intense and rewarding as the buildup had led him to believe. As the first and sharpest surge of white-hot ecstasy ripped through his cock, his vision began to blur before his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The colt fought fruitlessly against the electric pleasure—his legs locking up while his spine arched uncontrollably—before he finally succumbed to a sense of overbearing relief, release and shame as glob after glob of ejaculate dripped forth from his tip, settling on his belly and bed sheets.

Though his long awaited—not to mention deeply satisfying—orgasm had finally passed, Pound Cake didn’t dare to open his eyes. He couldn’t open his eyes, not with what was waiting for him just outside his cocoon of blankets. He could already feel those cold, sapphire-blue eyes piercing through his covers, a stern, angelic face framed by a flaming orange mane just scrutinizing him as he lie there helpless and shuddering from fleeting pleasure; Pumpkin.

“Hey,” said Pumpkin Cake. “Mom and dad said they want you downstairs.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll uh, be up and out in a few minutes. So, you can just head downstairs and I’ll be joining you all shortly—”

“Nuh-uh, not gonna fly little bro.”

“Huh?”

“You need to get out of bed, now.”

“But, but I—”

“No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“Pumpkin, please, I—”

“With all the prep work we need to do for the Super Duper Special Pro… Proen… Proengud—”

“Super Spectacular Proengradumotiongagementation Party,” Pound Cake finished for his struggling sister. The mouthful of a name had been concocted by their aunt for the sole purpose of combining three life changing events for three life changing ponies in a way that would fit all on one banner, and oddly enough, it worked out.

“Whatever. My point is: today’s way too important for you to sleep through again like last time. So, you need to get up now.”

Pound Cake opened his mouth to issue another protest, but before he could utter a single sound the blanket was enveloped in a shimmering aura of sapphire. In his panicked state, he grasped futilely at the covers which were rapidly being whisked away. Seeing that it was a losing battle, Pound Cake did the only thing he could think to do to keep from being discovered and tucked his semi-erect cock under his thigh. Admittedly not a perfect concealment, but so long as Pumpkin wasn’t looking specifically at his nethers, he’d be in the clear.

“Oh, now I see…” Pumpkin said cattily as her eyes traveled down her brother’s exposed body.

“Pumpkin, this isn’t what it looks like, I was just—”

“Sneaking night time sweets again, hm?” She finished accusingly.

“N-no, whatever gave you that idea?”

As though to say “Really?” Pumpkin turned a flat gaze towards Pound Cake’s self-glazed belly. “You think I don’t know cake frosting when I see it?”

“Uh, th-that’s— I-I mean I—”

“You sneaky little twerp.” She emphasized every word with a light poke to Pound Cake’s nose, much to his annoyance. “What flavor is this anyway? This had better not be from today’s stock.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not from today’s stock…” Pound Cake mumbled.

“Oh really? We’ll just see about that.” Pumpkin’s hoof moved too quickly for her groggy twin to impede it, and before Pound Cake knew it, his sister had a good amount of his ‘frosting’ dripping along her hoof.

“Wait, Pumpkin, you shouldn’t—” Pound’s warning was a lost cause, as his sister—who was so prone to putting everything and anything she deemed potentially yummy in her mouth—sucked off every last drop of the load on her hoof. She didn’t earn her fork and garnish cutie mark by exercising culinary caution, after all.

“Huh, guess you were right, this isn’t from today’s,” she mused, smacking her lips at the taste in her mouth. “This frosting tastes a little…mmm… salty. Still warm too.” Needing a second opinion, Pumpkin dipped her hoof back into the glob on her brother’s belly and lapped the dollop up heartily. “It’s not half bad though, just a bit… weird.” It took her a moment to realize that Pound Cake was gawking at her, mouth open. “What’s that look for?”

The colt’s mouth worked uselessly as he tried to rationalize what had just transpired, but each time, he came up with the same recollection of events: his twin sister had mistaken his semen for cake frosting, eaten it and proceeded to go back for seconds. Yet, when he finally remembered how to speak, he just couldn’t be bothered to come clean. “N-nothing, sis. It’s just, um… I’ll, uh, be downstairs after a quick shower.”

Pumpkin cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her brother, but ultimately sighed and shrugged off her potential suspicions. “Just hurry up, Pound,” she said, turning and trotting out of the room.

Pound Cake waited and listened as his sister’s hoofsteps disappeared down the hall before he heaved a massive sigh of relief. He untucked his slowly-wilting dick from beneath his thigh, allowing it flop. As he shifted cautiously in his bed, his leg brushed across the now ice cold semen on his sheets, causing him to grimace. With any luck it would just absorb into the fabric without staining or crusting up, but that was an issue to be dealt with on laundry day.

WIth a sigh, Pound Cake proceeded to make his bed before cantering to the bathroom down the hall. The sound of running water and splashing was nowhere to be heard as he approached the door, so he thought nothing of it as he pushed his way in. Softly kicking the door shut behind him, Pound Cake was pleasantly surprised to find that a warm, bubbly bath had already been drawn for him.

Trotting to the tub, he briefly wondered who had drawn the bath for him in the first place. He had his doubts that it was Pumpkin, but then again his parents were real sticklers about wasting water, and, judging from the fact that it was just sitting here growing cooler by the second, all of it would’ve been wasted. Never look a gift horse in the mouth after all.

He was on the verge of dipping a hoof into the tub when something floating amidst the bubbles caught his attention. Curious, he leaned forward, squinting at the object in question, but still had a hard time believing what he was seeing. “Is that a snorkel?” he asked.

Not even a second later, the contents of the tub erupted like a geyser of soap bubbles. He scarcely even managed a yelp before a torrent of lukewarm bath water washed over him, knocking him to the tiled floor. Once the wave had passed, the now soaked-to-the-bone Pound Cake rubbed his head as he pulled himself to his haunches only to find himself gazing into the visor of a scuba mask. “What the f—”

“Gooood morning, cutie-cake!” gushed the very familiar voice of the scuba mask’s wearer.

“Auntie Pinkie?” he asked.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” she said, sliding the mask up to reveal her radiant features.

“Why were you just snorkeling in the tub?”

“Oh, you know, the usual: cleaning Gummy’s tooth, waiting for you to walk in, searching for treasure. I even found a chest full of these in the drain.” Pinkie Pie held up a dubloon the size of her hoof before carelessly tossing the coin back into the tub, an action that only served to further confuse Pound Cake. “Weird, huh?”

“How did those even— you were waiting for me?”

“Mmmhmm,” Pinkie Pie replied stepping out of the bathtub.

Soaking wet, her normally ecstatic mane now hung limp, yet ever lively as though it might just spring to life at at the slightest provocation. Pound Cake couldn’t help but notice that, for whatever reason, his aunt had opted to wear an exceptionally flattering one-piece swimsuit for her little aquatic adventure. Pound Cake’s face grew flush as he took in the older mare’s marvelously thick figure—compliments of years spent living in a bakery—, the sheen of the wet black spandex only serving to accentuate her plump rump and fine flanks.

He gave a dry swallow as his eyes tracked beads of water rolling from her voluptuous curves to her hooves, each droplet making him more and more aware of a thirst he hadn’t minded until this moment. A thirst that could only be quenched by a certain pink oasis in this desert of tile, porcelain, and tacky pastry-based wallpaper. Pound Cake could feel his breaths growing more shallow by the second; if the boy had palms, they’d be cascading a stream of nervous sweat. This wouldn’t have been the first time that Pound Cake had caught himself ogling his aunt, because why not? They weren’t related by blood after all.

In his distracted state, Pound Cake hadn’t noticed that Pinkie Pie had taken the liberty of closing the distance between themselves substantially, a term which here means that her curious crystal blue eyes were only mere inches away from his own. At this range, he could feel the damp warmth of her breath on his neck, almost indulge himself on the deliciously sweet scent of her coat and mane.

He’d become so fixated on his Aunt’s radiance that it completely caught him off guard when she asked, “Whatcha thinking about?”

“N-nothing.” Pound Cake took a step back nervously. “I was just wondering why you were waiting for me in the tub wearing… well, that snorkel for one.”

Pinkie Pie’s response came in the form of a heartfelt, vertebrae-crushing embrace. “Didn’t I ever tell you that I just can’t start my day without saying good morning to the cutest, most special colt in all of Equestria?”

At this particular moment in time, Pound Cake found himself in quite the predicament, what with his being smothered into the most uncannily bubblegum-scented fur in all the land. Much as he enjoyed the intimate embrace—not to mention blatant flattery—of a mare, the preexisting relationship between himself and Pinkie Pie had instigated an internal tug-of-war between his hormones and his moral standing on familial sexual attractions.

Pinkie Pie was just as much a part of the Cake family as Pumpkin or his mother Cup, but at the same time she was not a blood relative, which meant that somewhere down the line he was presently being snuggled by an attractive older mare in a tight spandex swimsuit… except that she was his aunt.

However the colt would have eventually settled on the morality of arousal in this situation, a certain part of his anatomy had already cast its ballot on the issue, and unlike Pound Cake, it had no qualms rising to the occasion to let the world know exactly where it stood on the matter. Needless to say, this development flustered the pegasus, who quickly jerked out of the embrace and crossed his front legs as though to shield the offending element from his aunt’s eyes.

Pinkie Pie tilted her head and frowned at the sudden break in contact. “Something wrong, Poundy-Poo?”

Pound Cake internally cringed at the pet name. “Sorry, it’s just that I should hurry and get washed up before dad blows a gasket and starts yelling at me for trying to get out of prep-work. You know how he is, right?” The colt shuffled his hind legs so as to sandwich his arousal between his thighs.

Pinkie Pie eyed her not-blood-nephew suspiciously before shrugging and sighing it off. “I should probably get going too, I told Rarity I’d meet her at ten to pick up decorations for the party, and she is the last pony you’d want to keep waiting, I mean there was this one time—”

As Pinkie Pie began to spin her yarn, Pound Cake found his attention once again drawn towards the speaking party’s full-figured hips before a tidal wave of lewd thoughts crashed down on him and dragged the distracted colt into an ocean of lechery. He thought of the softness of her fur and the warm doughiness of her flesh, nibbling his lower lip at the thought of nibbling her own. A twitch from his nethers reminded Pound Cake that fantasizing about a mare was a practice best applied when said mare wasn’t standing directly in front of him. But alas, like a moth in the night, he was fixated to a flame that had to be extinguished, regardless of his desire to burn to ashes in its blinding brilliance.

“—and it was a suitcase full of scarab beetles and flour. Can you believe that?” Pinkie Pie finished, unaware that she had been speaking to the equivalent of a brick with a dick. “And then there was this one time—”

“Look, Auntie,” Pound Cake interrupted. “I’m not trying to rush you, but didn’t you say that you had to meet Ms. Rarity at ten?”

“I sure did! Why?”

Pound Cake said nothing and instead pointed a hoof towards a nearby wall clock in the shape of a bundt-cake.

Pinkie Pie followed the gesture and her eyes grew wide with disbelief as she saw that the pastry shaped clock now read 9:57 AM. “Oh, my gosh, I’m going to be late, Rarity’s going to kill me! I’ll catch you later, cutie-cake!” In a blur of motion, she darted over to the tub and swan dove into its half-full depths with a less powerful splash than the first.

Concerned for the well being of his aunt, Pound Cake rushed over to the tub only to find—much his astonishment and understandable confusion—neither hide nor hair of the enigmatic mare. The tub was empty, save for a few patches of bubbles that had yet to dissolve and a green lump laying stoic amidst them. He reached down and gave the lump a poke only to have a small alligator scramble out of the tub and take refuge in the nearby toilet bowl.

With a sigh, Pound Cake pulled the plug on the remaining bathwater so he could fill it anew. As the piping hot water filled past the halfway point, Pound Cake forced himself into the tub, wincing at the scalding liquid. He'd have taken a moment to acclimate himself properly to the bath, but thanks to a certain mare who was apparently water-soluble, he was rather strapped for time.

Still, even as his flesh grew accustomed to the boiling water, Pound Cake just could not bring himself to relax. The encounter with Pinkie Pie was still running fresh in mind. He could still feel her pudgy warmth, almost taste her sweet-smelling breath, and that voice of hers like high-pitched honey… a deliciously guilty shiver raced up the colt’s spine, in spite of the water’s temperature. It was at this moment that he realized his erection from earlier had yet to subside, but it was just as well; he was going to be late anyways, where was the harm in making it worth his while? Pound Cake reached out towards his stone-stiff member and moaned as he parted with the first stroke, “Oh, Auntie, just like that…”

Twenty minutes and an odd combination of satisfaction and shame later, Pound Cake found himself standing outside the kitchen of Sugarcube Corner, hesitant to venture inside and for good reason. The only things awaiting him beyond those doors were a sternly-worded scolding from his father and an awkward prep-work session with the mare whom he’d fantasized about violating with a shampoo bottle and his tongue. However, what he didn’t realize was that he’d be dealing with the former far sooner than he thought.

“Good morning, son,” greeted the cheerful, nasally voice of his father, Carrot Cake.

“Pop! I’m so sorry for being so late, but there was this—”

As his son yammered off his apology, Carrot reached behind himself grabbed a cup of coffee he’d been balancing on his back. “You’re up a little early aren’t you?” he asked, calmly taking a sip of the beverage.

“—then she pulled out gold coins from the bathtub— did you just say ‘early’?”

Carrot nodded and took another sip of his coffee.

“But I thought that we had to start prepping for the party this afternoon.”

The square-jawed stallion frowned. “We’re not starting prep-work for another…” Carrot pulled a pocket watch out of his apron. “Half an hour. I thought I told your sister to let you know you could sleep in a bit longer.”

Pound Cake could feel his jaw clench from frustration, but quickly dropped the issue. He’d have held a grudge against Pumpkin for interrupting the greatest wet-dream he’d had since he hit puberty, but in a cringeworthy manner of speaking he’d gotten his revenge and even benefited from the interruption in the long run. Deciding to drop the issue on a salty note, he jokingly entertained the notion of thanking his sister with a half-dozen donuts, topped off with her new favorite “frosting.”

“Well,” his father started, snapping Pound Cake back to reality. “Since you’re here anyway, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. You know, father to son. Come on, have a seat.” Carrot slid into a nearby booth, and started patiently sipping at his drink while his son settled in.

“So, what did you want to talk about, dad?”

Carrot took a long-drawn out sip from the cup, “Pound, how old are you now?”

“Sixteen, why?”

“Sixteen, huh? I remember when I was that age. Keeping late nights with the high school hoofball team, chasing girls. Heh, I might not look it now, but your old man was quite the filly killer back in the day.” Carrot gazed distantly into the still coffee, smiling faintly as though he were watching memories of days long since passed in the reflection. “Did you know, back before I met your mother, I was going steady with Mayor Mare?”

“Uh, cool?”

“Well, Ms. Mayor among others, I mean there was your old foalsitter, Sweetie Belle’s mother, Pearl, before Magnum set his sights on her—”

“Dad…”

“—and all those Apple family reunions. Let me tell you something, never a bad mare to spoil the bunch. True to their namesake too, each of them plumper, riper and juicier than a red gala—”

Pound Cake gave no response. He only buried his face in his hooves and prayed for the mental scarring to end.

“You remember your old biology teacher? The one with the face? Mrs. Forceps?”

“For the love of Celestia…”

“Totally nailed her.”

“Dad!”

“Hm?”

“What is your point?”

“Oh, right… sorry, about that, sport. Guess I got carried away.” Sighing, Carrot pushed away his coffee mug and looked Pound Cake in the eyes. “Look, son, all I’m saying is that a colt your age should be cutting loose, staying out late, going to parties and looking for a special somepony like your sister does.” Carrot shook his head at the thought and muttered, “Celestia knows I’d rather she didn’t…”

Pound would have remarked on his father’s ridiculously double-standard loaded remark, if he wasn’t so preoccupied trying to figure out if this was really happening, or if he’d hit his head on the tub upon reaching climax and was now hallucinating. He wasn’t.

“Anyway, do you see what I’m getting at, son?” asked Carrot .

Pound rubbed a hoof down his face in frustration. “Dad, could we please just change the subject or something?”

“I’m just saying it would be nice if you brought a nice filly in the house every now and again.”

“Are you serious…” Pound mumbled under his breath in disbelief. “Dad, look, I just… I really just don’t… care that much about fillies…” the colt admitted, his wings drooping to his sides in shame. He wasn’t quite ready to come out about his fascination with older mares to anypony, least of all his father, but what he failed to realize at the moment was how badly his lack of clarification would backbite him in a moment’s time.

“Ah… oh… so… you’re… heh, guess I should’ve seen that coming.” Carrot averted his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably before meeting his son’s eyes again. “Well, I’ll admit I wasn’t ready for that, but you’re my son, and I’ll love you regardless.”

Pound rose an eyebrow at his father’s choice of words. He was going to need more context to board his father’s train of thought, and by Starswirl’s beard he was going to get it.

Carrot heaved a breath full of disappointment and relief, his shoulders slumping as he accepted gravity of the conclusion he’d hastily arrived at. “Can you at least tell me that you’re the ‘injector’ and not the ‘creampuff’? If the reverse holds true, I won’t judge you, it’s just… well it would make me feel better if you were the one doing the ‘filling’.”

“What are you…” It only took a moment for Pound Cake to fully process the metaphor, his eyes going wide as he realized just what his father had been inferring about his sexual preference. “Agh! No! No! No! It’s not like that!”

“Now Pound, there is no need to be ashamed of who you are or who you like. As your father, I will love you unconditionally, no matter who you choose to call your very special somepony.”

“You’re taking my words out of context!”

“Hey, nopony else has to know, all right? I’ll keep it from your mother, your sister and your aunt Pinkie. This’ll just be our little secret, okay, champ?”

“That’s… agh! I’m done!” Pound Cake stormed out of the booth and into the kitchen, leaving his father alone with his coffee and the genuine impression that his son was a closet coltcuddler. In a show of frustration, Pound slammed the door shut behind himself, but to no avail; the door itself was of a swinging nature, the kind one might expect to find in an emergency room or a diner.

Despite the botched execution, the intention was apparent to the kitchen’s other and earlier inhabitant. “Something on your mind, honey?” asked a warm female voice that Pound recognized immediately.

“It’s nothing, mom,” Pound said, averting eye contact with the robust blue baker in the hopes that it might get her to drop the subject, but Cup Cake’s motherly intuition wasn’t a thing that was easily dissuaded.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me.” She dropped the mixing whisk in her hoof to give Pound her undivided attention. “Now, what in Equestria could have put this gloomy storm cloud over my sweet little boy?” Pound Cake cringed at the baby-talk, but said nothing. “Is your sister causing trouble again?”

“No more than usual,” said Pound.

“Is it Pinkie Pie?” Cup pressed.

The plump mare’s words hit right on the mark, but Pound couldn’t let her know that. .“It’s… it’s nothing I want to talk about right now.”

Cup’s brow furrowed with concern. “You’re sure you don’t want to talk about it, sweetheart?”

“Mom,” the colt chuckled nervously, “I promise you, it’s nothing important.”

Cup’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before she turned back to her mixing bowl with a sigh. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready, I suppose.”

“Sure I will,” Pound said reassuringly, turning his attention to the bowl his mother had been so intently mixing. “Say, mom?

“Yes, honey?”

“Prep-work isn’t for another twenty minutes, what are you making?”

“I’m just preparing an old favorite of the guests of honor: apple-cream filled malasadas. I figured that if I prepared them early, we could just fry them before the party service starts and that way it won’t get in the way of the catering menu. It’s a little more work, but it’s worth it for those girls.” Mrs. Cake smiled fondly as she mixed the batter in the bowl into a thicker solution.

“Apple Bloom has her degree in civil engineering, Scootaloo is in charge of her own Wonderbolts squadron, and little Sweetie Belle’s not only a famous singer but she’s engaged as well. It seems like just yesterday that your father was scolding them for destroying our brand-new electric taffy puller. Where does the time go?” she asked, pouring the contents of her bowl into another, larger bowl.

Pound smiled at his mother. Her sense of nostalgia was contagious, as he found himself recalling some especially fond memories of the former Cutie Mark Crusaders. Every manner of memory from bowel-voidingly terrifying flight lessons with the ever-dynamic Scootaloo to hoof-made birthday and Hearth’s Warming presents from a technically-minded Apple Bloom. Yet, despite the wealth of warm memories of Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, Pound’s smile began to falter as his thoughts turned to Sweetie Belle and her recent engagement. The emerald-eyed unicorn had been something of a first crush to a younger Pound Cake when she used to foalsit him in Pinkie Pie’s absence, and now she was getting married.

“So, who’s Sweetie Belle getting married to anyway?” he asked, doing his best to keep a sense of disappointment from creeping into his tone.

“Oh, some CEO for a big company in Canterlot. They’re actually paying for the whole party, plus some very generous gratuities, which I know your father’s very excited about.” Turning her focus back to her work, Cup swore under her breath, as the new mixture began to rapidly rise and expand beyond her control. “Pound, sweetheart, do you think you could punch this dough apart for your mother?”

“Sure thing.” Pound took the bowl from his mother and limbered up his hooves as prepared to let his special talent go to work. Despite his lineage and learned prowess in the kitchen, Pound Cake’s special talent had next to nothing to do with baking. His cutie-mark, which depicted a rock combusting under a hoof, told the story of colt who would have been better suited for work in demolition or stomping his way through a scrapyard, and yet curiously enough the offset skill managed to find its niche in the kitchen from time to time.

Pound rained a hail of carefully aimed punches and stomps upon the rampant dough, with the intention of breaking it apart and pressing it down. Each blow that drove the dough back caused it to become even denser than and harder to break, but it was just as well to Pound; harder substances were usually the most fun to smash as far as he was concerned. Once the dough had been beaten and split into several satisfactorily-sized chunks, Pound stepped back, pushing the bowl of split dough balls back to his mother.

“All yours, mom,” he said.

“Thanks so much, dear.” Cup rewarded her son with an affectionate neck nuzzle. “Now all that’s left is to shape, fill, and fry ‘em up. So, as a little reward for your help, what can momma make you for breakfast?”

Just as Pound opened his mouth to issue a request for his mother’s famous chocolate chip pancakes, the kitchen door swung open granting passage to the very antithesis of his breakfast reward. “Sorry honeybun, no time for that!” Carrot Cake announced as he marched into the kitchen. “We’ve got to get started right away!”

“Did something happen?” Cup asked.

“Our timeline got bumped up, substantially. The new deadline is two o’clock instead of four so we’ve got to get started, pronto. Now, where is that Pumpkin Cake?”

“I’m right here, poppa!” The unicorn announced as she burst through the kitchen doors. “Morning, mama.” She greeted her mother with a sunny nuzzle, before turning to her brother with eyes narrowed out of a contempt that could only ever exist between siblings.

“You.” she said flatly.

“You.” Pound replied in as deadpan a tone as his sister’s, if not more so.

“Now, now kids,” Mr. Cake said stepping between his silently-feuding children. “We’ve got lots of work to do, there’ll be plenty of time for chit-chat later.”

“We’re not waiting on Auntie?”

“She’s on decoration detail,” Carrot said. “Won’t be finished for at least three hours, and we need to make as much headway as possible.”

Pound Cake felt a combination of relief and disappointment that the mare he’d been mentally ruining for twenty minutes wouldn’t be around to make the process of working substantially more awkward.

“With that said: honeybun?” Carrot said to his wife.

“Yes, dear?” Cup responded.

“You and I will take care of the Marzipan Mascarpone Meringue Madness centerpiece.”

“Right away, dear,” Cup replied with a rather sloppy salute to her husband.

Carrot turned his attention to his daughter, who awaited her father’s instruction with bated breath. “Pumpkin,” he said.

“Yes, daddy?”

“You’re on hors d'oeuvre and salad detail. When you’re finished with that, you can get started on the main dishes.”

“On it, daddy!” Pumpkin acknowledged with a kiss to her father’s cheek.

“Pound.”

“Yes, dad?”

“You’ve got the short order pastries and later I’m going to need you to go in the freezer and crush a few blocks of ice for drinks. We’re also going to need some fresh coconut milk, if it’s not too much trouble…”

Pound couldn’t stop a spry smile from crawling across his face, a sign that he had taken his father’s bait hook, line, and sinker. He’d never pass up an opportunity to put his special talent to good use, much less two.

“All right gang, no breaks this service. Eat while you work,” Carrot barked. “We’ve got to work fast if we’re going finish before the party starts.”

“Got it!” Pumpkin and Pound said in an instance of unison which ended with the siblings glaring at one another in annoyance.

The family of bakers worked in relative silence to complete their respective assignments with well-honed efficacy. Working as a team, Mr. and Mrs. Cake breathed twenty years of culinary mastery and marital passion into every step of their meticulous cake-creation process. Not a single movement was wasted between the couple as they mixed, baked, and frosted their way through layer after layer of the four piece tall masterpiece.

On the other side of the kitchen, blue sparks borne of magic crackled through the air as Pumpkin allowed her knowledge of spices and stylistics to run rampant through a menu ranging from simple tea sandwiches to appetizers so high-tier that one would swear they were catered from the kitchens of Canterlot Castle. Fruits and vegetables had become little more than paints on her countertop-turned-canvas, knife and tongue her brush and palette.

To the untrained eye, Pound’s work area was utter chaos in stark contrast to his sister’s. The once-pristine countertop was now littered with bowls of raw batter and the cracked, brown husks of coconuts that been drained of their milk and scraped of their meat which would be later repurposed at his family’s discretion. But Pound knew his work station like the back of his hoof and continued unhindered as though the mess was no more than a figment of his imagination.

Three work-filled hours sifted through the family’s hooves like sand and before they knew it, they had cooked and ‘sampled’ their way through a week’s worth of groceries, but it was a small matter. With the pre-arranged sum for the catering, they’d have enough bits to restock, pay off their mortgage and open up a second bakery which they could later demolish just for kicks.

As the third hour drew to a close, the bakery door was flung open granting entry to the bakery’s fifth and most energetically enigmatic resident worker, whom Pound hadn’t seen since their earlier nautical encounter. “Goooood morning everypony!” she chirped, bouncing into the room with her signature prance.

“Good morning to you too, Pinkie. I take it the decorations are finished?” asked Carrot.

“Nope, Rarity said she’d finish up, so I figured I’d come in here and lend a helping hoof to my most favorite family of bakers in all of Equestria. So what can Pinkie do you for?”

“Why don’t you give Pound a hoof with the pastries?” Cup suggested.

As the suggestion passed through his ears, Pound felt the blood in his veins turn to ice and thaw, all in an instant.

“Okie-doki-loki!” Pinkie Pie chirped as she pranced over to Pound’s work area.

“Wait, wait, I’ve got this. Besides, I think Pumpkin needs the help more—”

“I’m fine,” Pumpkin interrupted. As though to prove her point, she telekinetically constructed six sequentially-identical vegetable skewers while mixing a stew pot with her hooves.

“But what about—”

“Pound, your sister can handle the main dishes by herself. I still need you crush those ice blocks in an hour and we can’t afford to lose any momentum on the pastry table.”

“Trying to get out of working with me, cutie-cake?” Pinkie teased as she brushed up next to the colt, sending a shiver down his spine and a rush of blood to his face.

“O-Of course not,” he lied through his teeth. “Whatever gave you that idea?” Pound did his best to avoid looking directly at the pink pony, so as not find himself drowning in those azure pools she called eyes or lost in the residual shame that should have drained along with the bathwater that it was released in.

Pinkie Pie smiled and turned her attention to the task at hoof. “So what’re we makin’ here?” she asked.

Pound swallowed and prayed that he wouldn’t stumble over his words in his flustered state. “Well, the order called for—”

Shampoo bottles pressing in slowly.

“—colate cupcakes, some berry filled tarts—”

Aunt Pinkie taking every inch.

“— and about thirty cinnamon rolls—”

Her lewd, erotic moaning filling my ears.

“—we also need to get started on some eclairs. I’m thinking—”

Those curves…

“—we could just—”

I just want to…

“—put a saddle on that fat rump and ride it raw.”

…throw them in the oven now and cook them slow.

“What do you think?”

As he patiently awaited Pinkie Pie’s input on his plan of attack for finishing up the menu, it slowly occurred to Pound that he’d just erred his words in the worst possible way. All of the blood drained from his face, while his mouth worked uselessly in the vain hopes that it would somehow chant the necessary incantations to turn back time so that he might stay his tongue. But despite his wishing, the words had been loosed, and there was no escaping the fact that he had just stated his desire to ride his aunt in a saddle.

“What was that, cutie-cake?” Pinkie asked the absolutely mortified Pound Cake as though she’d heard nothing. “I didn’t quite catch that bit at the end, something about sliding flat chunks raw?”

Pound couldn’t believe his luck. “Sorry, about that, my tongue slipped. What I meant to say was… and you’re not paying attention again.” He sighed as Pinkie Pie’s attention had once again been diverted away from him to some of the already prepared pastries.

“These sure are some firm buns,” Pinkie Pie remarked, poking at some especially hard-crusted bread.

“Yeah, I’ll bet they are…” he said, his eyes focused not on the pan, but rather his aunt’s thick hindquarters.

“Poundy, what I mean is don’t you think you left these in the oven just the teensiest, tiniest bit too long?”

“Oh! Those, right. I was actually going to start over right after I finish the white-chocolate croissants.”

“No worries, I’ll take care of it. I’m just going to need some of that yeast right there…” Pinkie Pie leaned in front of Pound Cake, unaware that her fluffy, fluffy mane had all but enveloped Pound’s nose.

Time seemed to slow down for the pegasus as the sweet scent of bubblegum and passion fruit washed over his senses, and the bouncy consistency of that magenta mane tickled and teased his nose. He wanted to bury himself in the hair, even graze upon it, just a little bit to sate his urges, but he knew better than to take unnecessary risks. Aside from that, he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but he could swear that he felt something burning into the side of his skull

Following his intuition, Pound glanced out of the corner of his eye just in time to see Pumpkin mouthing the words “Idiot brother,” before resuming her work.

Pound was just about to confront her on the issue when his father’s voice cut him short. “Hey, son?”

“Yeah, dad?”

“Why don’t you let Pinkie take care of the baking? The party starts in forty minutes, and we still need crushed ice for the drinks.”

Pound allowed his suspicious gaze to linger on Pumpkin for just a moment longer before allowing himself to drop the issue. “I’ll get right on it, pops.” He started towards the freezer, but soon found that something had caught his tail, impeding his advance. Assuming he’d simply caught the hairs on a drawer or something similar he turned around to deal with the issue only to find himself face to face with a puppy dog eyed Pinkie Pie.

“You’re leaving Auntie already, cutie-cake?” she asked through a mouthful of his tail, a note of disappointment evident in her voice, her lower lip quivering.

His heart. It stopped. “W-well, I’ve got to, but you know I’ll be bac— gwah!”

Pinkie Pie captured her not-blood-nephew in a rib crushingly tight embrace, lovingly squeezing all of the life from him she could muster. “Good enough for me!”

“Aun…tie… too… tight…” he rasped.

Giggling, Pinkie Pie released her vice grip from his neck, allowing him to collapse upon the floor gasping for air. “See you when you finish,” she said, prancing back to her workstation.

With a sigh, Pound collected himself from the floor and made the trip to the walk-in freezer located—inconveniently enough—downstairs in the kitchen’s basement storeroom. It didn’t take him long to find the ice blocks his father had mentioned. There were five of them, each one standing at least half his height and twice his width.

Lying a little less than a meter away was a frostbitten sledgehammer that had probably been frozen to the floor from years of neglect. A tradition Pound’s rock-hard hooves sought to keep going as he didn’t need tools to aid him in the art of breaking.

Still, ready as he was to start breaking, he found himself shivering, wishing that he’d brought a jacket or some article of clothing. A scarf would have been nice, maybe some mittens or a knitted cap. Or the caress of aunt Pinkie’s soft, warm coat… Pound felt his face growing— thankfully— heated from the thought, and decided to pursue the epiphany even further as he took position over the first of the three blocks. Those plump, luscious lips and hips of hers… he shivered. I bet those’d get me all warmed up. He thought as he drove his hoof through the center of the first block, cleaving it roughly in half.

Crash!

Then the freezer door could lock behind us from the outside…

Crack!

…we’d be trapped in here together…

Smash!

…and we’d have to huddle together for warmth…

Paki!

…and then… and then…

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Pound stopped his hoof just before it collided with the metal floor of the freezer. In his overexcited state he’d absolutely obliterated the ice to the point that it would have to be salvaged as a surprise snowcone service, compliments of the bakery. He was going to have to be more careful with the next four blocks.

As Pound scooped the remains of the first ice block into a container, he discovered a rather embarrassing development from his earlierincredibly stimulating fantasy. As it turned out, the ice wouldn’t be the hardest thing he’d be mercilessly beating in the privacy of the freezer.

“Hey, dweeb!” Pumpkin Cake shouted from outside the freezer door. “It’s been half an hour, and dad says we have to start setting up the food! Are you done crushing that ice yet?”

A moment of silence passed before a shivering Pound Cake emerged from the freezer with several buckets of ice on his back and a soreness in his loins.

“Geez,” said Pumpkin, “you were down there so long I was starting to think that you’d frozen into a Pegasicle… it’s a shame really.”

“Hardy har har,” Pound laughed sardonically. “Are you just here to pester me or are you going to help me move this ice upstairs?”

“Eh, I can multitask.” Pumpkin enveloped several ice buckets with her magic, relieving her brother of bulk of the load. “So, what took you so long? You usually finish up pretty fast.”

“Yeah… I wanted to take my time and enjoy myself, plus the ice was… really slippery…”

“Oh?” Pumpkin rose an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it was so cold I just couldn’t get a grip on it.”

“Mmm, must have been pretty hard to beat it in all that cold, huh?” she asked as she started back to the kitchen, oblivious to the double entendre that only her brother could appreciate.

“You have no idea…” Pound mumbled.

“So…” Pumpkin started.

“Yeah?”

“Are you excited to see them after all this time?”

“Them?” Pound asked.

“Who do you think? Scootaloo, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, it’ll be nice to see them all again, even if they’ll be too busy catching up with their own friends to talk with us much.”

“Nice to see them all, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, nothing… I was just recalling that a certain dweeb—you—had a crush on a certain soon-to-be-married somepony when they were younger, that’s all.”

Pound could feel himself growing flustered. “Tch, that was a kid crush that I had on my foalsitter. It’s not like anything serious could’ve come from it anyway. Besides, she’s a famous pop-star who’s engaged to some snobby, nose-in-the-air Canterlot business jerk. Way out of my league. No point in getting upset if it wouldn’t have worked out in the first place.”

“Yeah, a lot of things in the world just aren’t meant to work out, are they?” Pumpkin muttered.

Pound rose an eyebrow at his sister. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, Pound. Anyway, will you get the door for me?”

“Why? Your hooves aren’t full.”

“Just think of it as being a gentlecolt or something.”

“Whatever.” Pound took the lead and pushed the bakery door aside, allowing Pumpkin to stroll right in.

“Thanks, little brother,” she called behind herself.

“Yeah, yeah…” Pound said under his breath as he followed her in.

“There you are, son,” Carrot said. “Here I thought you’d frozen into a pegasicle, you were down there so long.”

Pound groaned as the now two minute old joke played through his ears. He briefly wondered if his sister had inherited their father’s corny sense of humor along with his coat and mane coloring.

“Anywho, the guests have started to arrive, so your mother and I need you to start getting the food set up outside while we put the finishing touches on the cake. After that I think your mother, Pinkie and I should be able to handle the rest of the party on our own.”

“Oh?” Pound asked as he pulled a food-cart from a nearby closet. “Are you sure about that?”

“Please, your mother and I were running this bakery for years before we decided to create you two. I think we can handle one little catering service.”

“But what about cleaning up?” Pumpkin asked as she began carefully levitating several dishes onto the cart.

His father waved the concerns away with a hoof. “We’ll take care of it tomorrow morning. Besides, I figured you kids would want to get some enjoyment out of your Saturday.”

“Thanks pops,” said Pound.

“Thanks daddy,” said Pumpkin.

“Now go get those tables set up. We’ve got hungry ponies in our dining room, and nothing brings a baker more shame than a room full of hungry patrons.”

“On it!” The siblings said in tandem, once again instigating them to scowl at one another in irritation, before returning to the task of loading up the cart.

“Oh, Poundy~” Pinkie sang, prancing up to re-greet her favorite not-nephew with a large plate of sizzling something he couldn’t see on her head. “I’ve got something for you!”

“You’ve got for something for me?” Pound asked.

“Well… not for you you, for someponyelse you and it’s not really from me to someponyelse you, it’s from Mrs. Cake to not you you but someponyelse you.”

“What?”

“The malasadas for the girls, honey,” Cup explained, balancing from a step-ladder over the Marzipan Mascarpone Meringue Madness.

“Ah, got it, mom.” Pound bit the plate from Pinkie Pie’s head as she bowed before him. The sweet scent of the sugar coated yeast puffs rose up to meet his nostrils, causing him to salivate slightly..

“Please hurry with those, dear,” Cup urged. “They deflate rather quickly.”

With his mouth full of plate, the colt nodded his compliance, garnering a smile from his mother.

“Come on, let’s get this food out there already!” Pumpkin whined, jabbing her horn sharply into Pound’s rump. “I’ve been in this kitchen for hours!”

“All right, all right!” Pound said to the best of his ability with the plate still in his mouth. He placed the malasada on an empty portion of the cart and took to pushing it out the door, Pumpkin impatiently stabbing him in the backside as he went. Upon exiting the kitchen for the first time in hours, Pound was amazed to find that the restaurant portion of Sugarcube Corner had transformed drastically since he’d laid eyes on it last.

The many red and white candy cane pillars scattered tactfully about the dining room had been indiscriminately recolored in combinations of: orange and purple, rose red and cream-yellow, and ivory-purple swirls. The gumdrops and lollipop shaped ornaments that once adorned the walls had been replaced by ceramic treble clef hearts, cast-iron cogs in the shape of apple, and little winged tires with half-heartedly painted-on flames. There was even a small dais with a full on set of three thrones, each upholstered in the colors of the guests of honor, their cutie marks engraved into a small section at the tip on one each. And at the center of it all hung a rather loud banner that read “Happy Super Spectacular Proengradumotiongagementation Party S, SB, and AB!” If Pound hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn the place had been converted into a shrine dedicated to the former Cutie Mark Crusaders.

Pushing the meal cart through the dining room, Pound noticed that bakery was practically empty, a direct contradiction to what his father had said earlier. From the urgency in Carrot’s tone, Pound had been half-expecting to be mobbed before he and Pumpkin even made it to the serving table on the far wall. In fact the only other occupants aside from himself and Pumpkin were Ms. Rarity who was finishing up the decorations for the party, Ms. Applejack who was setting up her own portion of the catering, and two ponies in business wear whom he didn’t recognize.

Rarity cast a smile at the twins as they trotted past, Pumpkin returning the gesture while her brother nodded awkwardly and averted his eyes, recalling that she’d been the subject of his less than savory dreams from earlier that morning. Pound found himself looking at the pair in business wear who were occupied scrutinizing the decorations and talking among themselves. The female of the two was a looker in her own right but barely held a presence compared to the especially large unicorn stallion whose lips were parted in a cheesy, plastic grin. If he had to hazard a guess, the stallion with the stupidly large grin was none other than that business tycoon fiancé of Sweetie Belle’s he’d heard nothing about.

“Well, howdy there, you two,” a voice rich in southern twang called out, bringing his attention back to Applejack.

“Hi, Applejack!” said Pumpkin.

“Heya, sugarcube.” Applejack nuzzled the unicorn in greeting.

“Hey, Ms. Apple—” Pound started before Applejack curtly cut the colt off.

“Uh-uh, we talked about this, Pound. Don’t nopony but nopony call me Ms. Apple. Not my brother, not my sister, not my field-hands, and ‘specially not my friends.”

“Oh, right! Sorry, about that, Ms—” Pound caught a glare brewing and quickly corrected himself. “I mean, AJ.”

“That’s better.” Much to Pound’s disappointment, the farmer only extended her hoof in greeting, but he took it nonetheless. “Land’s sake, that’s a lot of grub y’all cooked up. I’m just wondering if it’s gonna be enough. Big Mac’s got an appetite like a pregnant sow, and between you an’ me, Apple Bloom just don’t know when to drop the fork—”

“Applejack!” An appalled voice whined from behind.

“Hey there, little sis,” Applejack said, waving to the source of the new voice.

Pound turned to see who he’d apparently missed walking through the dining room only to find himself pushed aside by a livid cream-coated mare with a mane that was as scarlet as her cheeks. As she barreled past, Pound couldn’t help but catch a faint whiff of apple blossom perfume and a distant touch of gear grease.

“Don’t try and change the subject!” The mare Pound recognized as Apple Bloom bellowed, “I’ll have you know that I have a perfectly normal appetite for a growing young mare!”

“Apple Bloom, you were a ‘growing young mare’ fifteen years ago,” said Applejack.

“Yeah, now she’s just a bottomless pit with an engineering degree,” chimed in yet another very familiar voice.

“Oh, shut up, Scootaloo,” Apple Bloom pouted as the violet-maned mare hugged a foreleg around her neck.

“Yeah, whatever. You know I’m right,” Scootaloo beamed and turned her attention to Pound. Her smile widened as she locked eyes with her former flight protege, though given her lesson plan at the time, the term flight victim would have been more fitting. “Well, look at you, little lead hooves,” she said, slinking over towards Pound, her sleek, well-toned hips rolling elegantly with each step. She stopped in front of Pound and gave him a once over, nodding approvingly as though she were inspecting an especially squared-away Wonderbolts recruit. “Someone’s certainly done some growing up since I saw them last. I’m willing to bet all the fillies are just lining up to get turned down by you, huh?”

Pound nervously chuckled and rubbed the back of his head, unsure of how to take the compliment. “Well, no, not really.”

“Oh?” Scootaloo grinned cattily. “So, does that mean you’re available?”

Whether Scootaloo was serious or joking, Pound could feel his face and cheeks growing warm. Against his better judgement, he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could begin to stumble over his words Pumpkin said, “I can see you’re a little busy entertaining guests, so I’ll just start setting up the food.”

“Applesauce, Scoots, stop teasing the dang boy,” Apple Bloom said.

“Who says I’m teasing him?” Scootaloo seized the colt around the neck, pulling him close. If his face had been warm before, then with Scootaloo’s cheek rubbing against his cheek it was absolutely boiling now. “It’s not everyday you see a prime specimen like Pound here. A strong back, cute and he can cook? I could think of a few uses for him back in Cloudsdale...”

A delightfully awkward shiver ran down Pound’s spine.

“Whoo-wee, y’hear that, Pumpkin?” asked Applejack. “Sounds like you oughta keep an eye on your brother before Scootaloo here steals him away.”

“Eh,” said Pumpkin, as she levitated serving platters five at a time onto the table. “Let her take him, one less dorky little brother occupying the bathroom in the morning. Just make sure you ask mom and dad first.”

“Hear that, Pound?” Scootaloo hung a wing over Pound’s back, locking him even closer in the embrace, causing him to shiver. “I’m just one question away from taking you back home with me.” Scootaloo pawed playfully at his chest with a hoof. “I think I’ll wait until your dad starts doing body shots off your mom before I drop the question, that way I’m sure to get a yes.”

Due to the combined efforts of a horrifying mental image that was slowly scarring his imagination and an incredibly alluring proposition from an equally alluring—if somewhat immodest— mare who was sprawled across his back, Pound found himself once again jaw-dropped and struggling to find the words to fill his gaping maw.

“And here I thought y’all Wonderbolts was supposed to conduct yourselves to a higher standard or something,” said Apple Bloom.

“Psh, only in uniform.” Scootaloo waved the scrutiny off with a hoof. “Besides, if you think this is bad, just wait till they break out the hard cider later.”

“Oh brother, you never change, do ya, Scoots?”

“Like you don’t love it.”

Apple Bloom rolled her eyes and shook her head, a spry smile creeping on her lips.

“Say, where’s Sweetie Belle?” Pound asked. “The party starts in…” He glanced at a nearby clock. “Seven minutes and she’s still not here.”

“Running fashionably late to her own party, of course,” said Rarity, who had just finished the party decorations.“I’d expect nothing less from my little sister. Why Pumpkin, you’re looking absolutely darling this evening.”

“Thank you, Ms. Rarity,” Pumpkin said.

“Say, Rarity, where’s Sweetie Belle—” said Pound

“That’s Ms. Rarity, darling.”

“My apologies, Ms. Rarity,” Pound hastily corrected himself.

“All’s forgiven, my little pony.” Rarity gave the pegasus a light pat on his head in acceptance of the apology.

“Well, then, Ms. Rarity, where do you reckon your sister might be that would make her so ‘fashionably’ late?” asked Applejack.

“She’s probably still stuck in that mess outside.”

“Mess outside?” asked Pumpkin.

“What mess outside?” asked Pound.

“Didn’t y’all see that huge crowd outside?” asked Apple Bloom.

“What crowd?” Pound and Pumpkin asked in tandem. Both winced as they realized that they’d shared three moments of twin unison in a single day.

“Take a look outside.” Applejack pointed the twins to a nearby window. Pumpkin and Pound glanced at each other, puzzled, and stepped up to the window. Their jaws dropped at the sheer, oceanic volume of ponies lined up outside their bakery. “They been growing in number since I got here.”

“Whoa, are they all here for the party?” asked Pumpkin.

“Eeyup,” Applejack replied as she approached. “Well most of them anyway. Gotta check their invitations and all.”

“I didn’t even know there were that many ponies in Ponyville,” Pound marvelled.

“There aren’t,” said Rarity. “Those are all fans of my sister’s music.”

“Hey,” said Scootaloo. “I’ve got some fans out there too! ...I think… well, I should, I’m a Wonderbolt for crying out loud!”

“Oh yeah,” said Apple Bloom, squinting into the crowd. “Now that you mention it, I think I see a few out there now.”

“Really?” Scootaloo bolted over to the window, her wings buzzing ecstatically.

“Nope, but it was nice to hear for a moment, wasn’t it?”

“...I hate you.”

“Love ya too, Scoots,” Apple Bloom grinned deviously.

“Hey, what’s going on there?” Pumpkin pointed to what appeared to be a parting of the sea that was the crowd.

“Yeah, what is that?” asked Apple Bloom leaning forward.

It was at this moment that Pound realized that he was literally covered in mares, with the exception of his sister because as far as he was concerned, she could never count as a woman, only a bogwitch. Still, the softness and warmth of the other four pressed against him, while pleasant, was starting to get to him in the best possible way.

Returning his focus to the mass of ponies outside, he noticed that there was a drastic change in their behavior: they were going absolutely nuts. Camera flashes and hoof pumps suddenly started to erupt throughout the crowd, and what had once been inaudible chatter had grown to a dull screeching through the glass. Perhaps what was even stranger about the part in the crowd was that every so often a member of the throng, be they pegasus or otherwise, would go sailing through the air as though they’d been thrown back. A moment later, two very significant looking figures burst out of the crowd, the notably larger of the two struggling to keep the rest of crowd from ambushing its smaller companion.

Scootaloo scratched her chin in thought as she observed the conflict.“Hey, isn’t that…”

“Babs and Sweetie Belle!” Apple Bloom cheered, racing towards the front door.

“It’s about time them two showed up.” Applejack trotted away from the window “I was starting to think the fritters I whipped up were gonna go cold before we got this party started.”

“If you’ll all excuse me, I simply can’t be seen looking like I’ve been working all day; I’ve got to go freshen up,” said Rarity.

“You look fine, Rar’, and besides, she’s your sister. She ain’t gonna care what you look like. Why don’t you just wait out here a spell and say hi to her. I know it’s been awhile since y’all laid eyes on each other.”

“Oh, no, no, no, Sweetie Belle simply can’t see her big sister looking like this.” Rarity gestured to her ‘disheveled’ appearance, but as far as Pound or Applejack could see, the unicorn still had the same pristine, high-maintenance appearance she always bore. “It’ll only be a moment, darlings. I’m sure you’ll find some way to manage on your own for a few moments.”

Applejack rolled her eyes as Rarity trotted off in search of a washroom.“Oh no, whatever shall we do?” she mumbled under her breath. “Well, anyway, it looks like Apple Bloom’s gonna need some help getting Babs and Sweetie Belle situated. You coming to help, Pound? Pound?”

Applejack may as well have been speaking to a rock with eyes painted on its surface, because Pound’s eyes were glued to the snow-white rump and swaying violet tail disappearing around the corner as Applejack continued to speak fruitlessly at the colt.

“Pound!” Applejack bellowed, finally getting the colt’s attention. “Are you gonna help us get them two in or not?”

“Oh… oh right! Yes, I’m on it, Ms—”

Applejack cleared her throat quite loudly, effectively cutting Pound off before he could delve even deeper into her pet peeve.

“I mean, on it, Applejack!”

The two rushed to the door where Scootaloo, Apple Bloom and Pumpkin had set up in preparation to extract Sweetie Belle and Babs from the crowd.

“What’s the plan here, little sis?” Applejack asked.

“Hey, why do you think she’s in charge?” Scootaloo pouted, but was ultimately ignored.

“All right,” Apple Bloom started, “So what I’m thinking is that you, Pound and Scootaloo hold the door as tight as possible, while me and Pumpkin try to pull Sweetie Belle through first.”

“What about Babs?”

“Well…” Apple Bloom glanced out the glass and noticed a sadistic grin adorning her Manehattanite cousin’s face as the auburn coated earth pony seized a pegasus who’d flown too close to Sweetie Belle and judo-slammed the fan into three more of his ill spaced ilk. “Something tells me she’ll manage her own way in.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for? Pound, Scootaloo, get that door open no more than two feet and keep it that way.”

“Got it, AJ!” Scootaloo and Pound braced themselves against the door as Applejack loosened the lock and pulled the handle down. Almost immediately, there was a surge of pressure against the door that almost caused Pound to stumble forward and lose his place on the door. Struggling to regain his leverage, Pound could completely hear the roar of the crowd now. He wondered just how many ponies he was holding back and for how long he, Scootaloo, and Applejack would be able to keep them from storming in.

“Sis, y’all got that door?” Apple Bloom asked her sister.

“Yes!” Applejack grunted, her voice just barely audible over the noise from the crowd. “Now just get her in here!”

“Right.” Apple Bloom nodded, turning her attention to the mass of bodies before her, eyes peeled for any hide or hair of Sweetie Belle. Amidst the the sea of appendages, she saw a familiar white hoof that was flailing a little more desperately than the others. Instinctively, she seized the hoof and began to pull with all her might, eventually exposing the pained and strained face of her best friend. Now completely certain that she was in fact reeling in Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom shouted behind herself, “Pumpkin, help me out!”

Pumpkin however, was two steps ahead of Apple Bloom. Her horn already aglow, she reached out with her magic and seized her partner by the tail. With one great tug, she managed to pull Apple Bloom back into the bakery, and with her, the still crowd swarmed Sweetie Belle. Their progress, as they would soon find, was short-lived.

“Apple Bloom, I’m stuck!” Sweetie Belle cried. “Open the door a bit more so I can get through!”

“We…. ngh… can’t!” Applejack grunted. “If we open it anymore, we’ll lose our leverage!”

“You gotta suck it in and squeeze through!” Apple Bloom instructed. “Now, come on and give it all you got!”

“All right,” Sweetie Belle said. “Here… I… go!”

Pound could feel more struggling and pushing from the other side of the door before he heard a loud “Pop!” from the door.

“We got Sweetie Belle in!” Apple Bloom shouted.

“All righty, let’s get your cousin in too,” Applejack suggested.

Pound watched as Apple Bloom wasted no time racing back to the sea of faces and hooves that were protruding through the door. He couldn’t help but think of those old, cheesy zombie movies where a character gets dragged out by the horde and the hero races to pull them back to safety.

Apple Bloom seized a big auburn hoof that she recognized as her cousin’s and pulled with all her might to reel the mare from the crowd. “Babs!” she yelled upon seeing her cousin’s familiar round, freckled face and green eyes surface. “Babs!”

“Heya ‘cuz—” Babs paused to elbow an especially lively unicorn in the face “—wassup?

“Babs, you gotta get in here!”

“What’re you, nuts? If Sweetie Belle barely fit in there, there ain’t no way I’m fittin’ in there.”

Pound cast a glance at the mare Apple Bloom was speaking with. Though he only saw her from the chest up, he had to agree that there was no way in tartarus that she was fitting through two feet of entrance. From what he could see, she had the build of a slightly smaller, slightly rounder Big Macintosh, and she could probably take the big stallion in a fight.

“Besides,” Babs continued “This is the perfect time for me to C.I.C.C.”

“What the hay does that mean?”

A wide smile spread across her cousin’s face. “Check invitations and clean some clocks!” Babs spun back towards the mob of fans with a vengeance, her right hoof already flying in a devastating haymaker that sent an impossible number of bodies soaring through the air. With a devastating stomp, she addressed the mass of decidedly inferior ponies. “Ain’t none of you losers gettin’ into this party without an invitation, so get it out or get dirt napped!” she roared, charging back into the fray.

Pound could feel the pressure against the door lessen dramatically, before slamming shut due to a sudden lack of resistance. Applejack was quick to bolt the door, peeking out a nearby window only to see her younger cousin utilizing an especially skinny unicorn as a club to beat other members of the crowd with. “We’ll, uh, we’ll just let Babs sort them folks outside before we start lettin’ the guests in.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Apple Bloom.

“I don’t think we made enough food for tonight,” Pumpkin muttered.

“Definitely not,” Pound agreed.

“Well, they ain’t all on the guest list,” Apple Bloom said to the twins. “Just give Babs some time and she’ll have that mess sorted out.”

“So, that’s one way to make an entrance.” Scootaloo turned her attention to Sweetie Belle, who looked surprisingly skittish for a pony who spent most of their time singing before crowds. “It looks like you’re doing pretty good for yourself.”

“Yeah, sorry about that...” Sweetie Belle rubbed a foreleg nervously. “I didn’t mean to bring them, but my agent insisted on making a huge fuss about the party and the next thing I knew… well…” She glanced outside and was treated to the sight of Babs elbow dropping the consciousness out of a retreating pegasus who just couldn’t fly away fast enough. “Sorry,” she squeaked, wincing in anticipation of forthcoming lambastment.

“Same old Sweetie Belle.” Scootaloo shook her head and swept the unicorn up into a deep hug.

“It’s good to see that you ain’t let all that fame go to your head,” said Apple Bloom, following her fellow former Crusader's lead.

“Yeah, your sister’s got that covered for you in spades,” mumbled Applejack.

Sweetie Belle pushed out of the embrace to face Applejack. “Speaking of Rarity, where is she?”

“Upstairs, gettin’ all gussied up for you.”

“She doesn’t need to do that for me, I just want to see her. The last time we saw each other was when she came to visit me last Hearth’s Warming, and that was eight months ago.”

Applejack shrugged. “That’s what I said, but you know your sis’, always frettin’ and fussin’ over a hair out of place and such.”

Sweetie Belle sighed in loving concurrence with Applejack.

“But you know, there’s somepony else here you ain’t seen in a spell who you might want to say hello to.”

“Oh?” Sweetie Belle tilted her head out of curiosity.

“Your two oldest fans over there.” Applejack nodded to Pumpkin and Pound who were patiently watching the unicorn as though they’d been waiting their turn for a nostalgic reunion with their old part-time caretaker.

With a renewed warmth in her smile, Sweetie Belle approached the twins. “Hey you two, how’ve you be—”

Before the question could fully leave her tongue, Pumpkin had already pushed Pound aside and flung herself at Sweetie Belle, squeezing her old foalsitter with all the affectionate might she could muster. “It’s been so long!”

“Hello—mmf!— Pumpkin,” Sweetie Belle gasped, what with her ribs being constricted and all.

“You need to visit more…” Pumpkin mumbled, burying her muzzle into Sweetie Belle’s coat.

The older of the two unicorns gave a soft sigh and returned the embrace, stroking Pumpkin’s short mane as soothingly as she could. “I know, but I’m just so busy with work that I barely have any time to myself these days.”

Pumpkin looked up from Sweetie Belle’s bosom and pouted. “Then why don’t you take some time off?”

“I’d love to, I really would. It’s just… it’s complicated, Pumpkin.” Sweetie Belle could feel Pumpkin’s frown deepen. “Tell you what, though.” Sweetie Belle grinned to herself as Pumpkin’s ears perked up.

“I’m listening,” Pumpkin said.

“I’ll have a little time between the honeymoon and my next concert tour. If you can clear it with your parents, what do you say we take a little trip to Canterlot, Manehatten and Fillydelphia?”

“Would we get to visit all of the five-star restaurants on the Manehattan strip?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Mmm…” Pumpkin playfully scratched her chin in thought. “I suppose I could overlook your busy schedule… provided you Pinkie Pie promise.”

“Glad to hear that you’re in such a forgiving mood,” Sweetie Belle said quite spryly.

“What can I say? A pony of my benevolence is hard to come by these days.”

“Oh, is that so?” Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes, smirking. “Anyway I cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye—”

“Don’t just say it! Do it!” boomed the ever omnipresent voice of Pinkie Pie.

Sweetie Belle glanced around uncertainly for the source of the voice. “Errr… right… anyway, it’s a promise. Now where’s your brother?”

“Little brother,” Pumpkin clarified.

“Right, your little brother, who you are definitely older than by eight minutes.”

“Never forget it.”

“Where is he? Wasn’t he right here a moment ago?”

“Hey, Sweetie Belle,” Pound greeted, balancing a plate from the serving table on his head.

“How’s my favorite pegasus doing these days?”

“Hey, I thought I was your favorite pegasus!” Scootaloo whined.

“Not too bad, I guess,” Pound continued. He met Sweetie Belle’s emerald eyes and instantly felt a surge of butterflies swarm into his gut. By his count, it had been two years since she’d left Ponyville to begin her music career in Canterlot, and in that time she’d only grown more beautiful than he remembered her being. Sure, every now and then Pound would catch glimpse of Sweetie Belle immortalized on the front page of some newspaper or magazine cover, but photographs with their incredibly limited dimensions could only do the mare so much justice.

A photograph couldn’t capture the kind spark gleaming in her eyes, or the perfection that was her color palette: a cream base complemented by the strawberry-lilac swirls of her mane. A photograph couldn’t properly represent the depth of her hourglass-figured body, wide, birthing hips and long, full legs flowing in erotic symmetry to give structure to what could only be considered the most perfect derriere in all of Equestria.

Pound bit his lower lip as his eyes traced her cream-colored hindquarters from treble heart cutie mark to the base of her two-toned cotton candy tail. The flesh of her marshmallow rump looked so soft, so delectable, all he could think of was burying his face in it and kissing every inch.

“Umm, Pound?” Sweetie Belle waved a hoof in front of the daydreaming colt’s face. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, y-yeah, t-these are for you.” With the shaky hooves of a love struck foal about to confess to their first crush, he presented Sweetie Belle with the plate of pastries his mother had been working on since early that morning.

“Are those…” Sweetie Belle leaned closer to the plate, sniffing the sweet aroma emanating from the dough puffs “They are! Oh my gosh, malasadas!” Sweetie Belle levitated the plate from Pound’s hooves and snatched one of the pastries from its resting place, chomping down on the gooey, apple-filled treats. “Soooo goood… did you make these, Pound?”

“No, mom did, but I helped… sorta…”

“Oh, Celestia, your mother always made the best malasadas. It’s good to see she hasn’t lost her touch.” Sweetie Belle took another hearty bite of the confection, moaning almost orgasmically as she savored the taste of warm apple cream and moist, cinnamon sweet bread. Pound couldn’t help but notice specks of leftover cinnamon and apple cream adorning Sweetie Belle’s lips. He was on the verge of saying something when her tongue—her oh so perfect tongue— glided slowly over those full, luscious lips, lapping up the spillage greedily.

“Mmm… You’re really lucky, Pound, you can get this stuff whenever you want. I’d have to order in from Hoofington if I wanted malasadas, but even then they’re nowhere near as great as your mom’s.” As Sweetie Belle bit into the remains of her treat, Pound was content to just watch her lips purse and plump with each bite. But like all good things, the moment was over all too quickly. “Hey, you know who would love some of these?”

“Scootaloo?” Pound offered hopefully.

“My fiancé!”

At those words, Pound could feel the cold, sharp dagger of reality plunging into his side, twisting slowly as it drained ounce after ounce of his happiness from his smile.

“Oh wait, you’ve never met my fiancé before, have you?” Sweetie Belle said, unaware that she was practically kicking a downed Pound right in the emotional well being.

“No, but that’s quite—”

Sweetie Belle wasn’t listening to Pound anymore, her mind was already set to the task of finding her betrothed in the bakery’s dining room. It didn’t take her long to spot the pair of business ponies and wave them over. “Honey! Honey, over here! There’s somepony I want you to meet.”

Pound groaned under his breath as the pair approached. Now that he could see them better, he realized that the stallion in their party looked like a bigger tool than he’d initially given him credit for, but there was something about his companion, namely the look in her cold, calculating amethyst eyes, that sent a chill down Pound’s spine. If he had to put a word to it, he’d say that there was a ruthless quality about her. It didn’t help that she wielded all of the emotional range of frozen granite either.

“And who are these charming young ponies?” asked the stallion whom Pound presumed to be Sweetie Belle’s fiancé. The guy was still flashing that stupidly ingenuous smile, like his face had frozen that way after holding it too long.

“These are the twins I was telling you both about. They catered the whole party by themselves,” Sweetie Belle exaggerated.

“Oh, did they?” the stallion asked.

Pumpkin puffed her chest out proudly. “Well, most of it. Mama and papa still have to finish up the centerpiece, but until then, I —with a little help from my brother— have prepared the feast you see before you to hold you over.”

Pound rolled his eyes at his sister’s unsurprising diminishment of his own contributions.

“Oh, quite impressive, young lady. Very impressive indeed. I’ll be looking forward to sampling the delicacies of Sugarcube Corner that Sweetie Belle’s told us so much about.”

“Hey mister, who are you anyway?” Pumpkin asked quite curtly.

“Ah, where are my manners, the name’s Bold Front.” The stallion shook hooves with Pumpkin before extending the gesture of goodwill towards Pound. “But please, call me ‘Bold’, because fortune always favors me.”

Where Pumpkin snickered, Pound struggled to keep himself from grimacing at the awful, awful one liner. The worst part was that the guy actually winked as he said it. Still, this was the stallion that Sweetie Belle’s mouth-wateringly perfect flank was engaged to, afterall. It was only sporting that he offer this tool some much overdue praise.

“By the way, congratulations, Mr. Bold.”

“What for? This filly killing smile?”

Pound cocked an eyebrow. Not only did Sweetie Belle’s fiancé look like a self-absorbed douche, but he was playing the part flawlessly. “No… for your engagement.”

Bold Front chuckled before asking, “What engagement?”

Needless to say, Pound was utterly confused. “Aren’t you engaged to Sweetie Belle?”

“Oh ho, I could only wish that I’d be so fortunate to be engaged to such a radiant rose of a mare.” Bold turned his daring eyes and winning smile to Sweetie Belle and shot her a wink.

“Oh stop it, Bold,” Sweetie Belle blushed and giggled.

“Yes, please do,” said the cold-eyed mare Pound had presumed to be Bold’s assistant. Pound might have been imagining it, but she almost sounded jealous.

“Heh, sorry about that Ms. Silver Spoon,” Bold apologized.

“But… but I thought you were that big-time CEO for the company who’s paying for this whole thing.”

“Well then, I guess he’s worth every bit that I pay him, isn’t he?” The gray mare pushed her frameless spectacles further up her nose.

“Wait, what?”

“Bold here is what we call a front man, basically an actor,” she explained.

“I’m pretty darn good at it, too,” Bold confirmed, still smiling smarmily.

“You see, despite the fact that Equestria has been ruled by two princesses for over a thousand years, in the business world, nopony takes a mare seriously. Not even one heading a multi-million bit silver refining industry. That said, when my father gave me the keys to his company, I figured the best way to run his business was to have a stallion ‘heading the ship’ so to speak. It certainly makes dealing so much easier.”

“So wait, you’re the one paying for this party then, right?” asked Pound.

“That’s right.” Silver Spoon said.

Pound’s eyes darted uncertainly between Sweetie Belle and the ever stoic-faced Silver Spoon. “Then wouldn’t that make you… and Sweetie Belle…”

She rose an eyebrow and casually finished Pound’s question for him. “Lovers?”

“Yeah, that.” Contrary to what Silver Spoon had probably misconstrued as homophobia, it wasn’t the fact that they were both mares that threw Pound off about their engagement. He’d seen same sex couples in Ponyville before, and while he’d thought nothing of the male couples, the lesbian pairs were always a welcome deposit in his mental spank bank. No, it was the extreme polarity in their personalities that threw him for a loop.

“Then yes, although she’s so these days busy that we almost never see each other.”

“Oh, I’m the busy one?” Sweetie Belle pursed her lips and marched over to Silver Spoon. “What about you, Ms. ‘Oh I’m sorry I can’t make it to dinner with you on your only day off because my client requested a last minute meeting at the same place we already had plans at’.”

“Ngh! That was just bad timing.” Silver Spoon reasoned. “My schedule is usually clear since I’ve got Bold to stand in for me at the company. In fact if I wanted, I could do almost all of my work from our apartment.”

“You still could have invited me, you know...” Sweetie Belle pouted.

Silver Spoon stomped a hoof in frustration. “That was three weeks ago!”

“And I usually have to go on tours for months at a time!”

“Right, so you’re busier than I am!”

“That’s not the point!”

“Yes it was!”

“No it wasn—” Sweetie Belle stopped herself as she recalled why she’d even confronted Silver Spoon in the first place. “Shut up.”

Both mares just glared each other down for a moment, their faces beet-red and their breathing heavy. Pound glanced nervously between the feuding lovers, afraid to breathe wrong, much less say anything. He briefly recalled the quote: ‘Hell hath no fury like a mare scorned’ and couldn’t help but remark how perfectly correct the coiner of that little phrase was, especially now that he was seeing that truth squared.

The tension between the two held for only a moment longer before Silver Spoon sighed and dropped her head in concession. “Look, Sweetie, I’m… I’m sorry, all right?” She pushed up her glasses and rubbed her eyes before continuing. “It’s just a little frustrating not getting to see you for months or weeks or days at a time, and I… I…” Silver Spoon stopped as she felt a soft hoof grab her one of own. She looked up and met the eyes of her special somepony, who smiled warmly at her.

“Hey,” Sweetie Belle said, “we’re together now though, right?”

Silver Spoon smiled right back at her love and moved closer to Sweetie Belle. “Right. I want to make this time together last.”

“Then let’s not waste it by arguing.”

“You have any better ideas?”

Sweetie Belle rose her free hoof to Silver Spoon’s cheek, brushed a stray strand of hair from the earth pony’s eye and said, “Just this…”

Pound’s eyes grew wide as he watched Sweetie Belle lean forward and lock lips with Silver Spoon, who pressed into the kiss just as passionately.

“Hot,” said Scootaloo, who was watching the scene just as intensely as Pound. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her lips parting into mischievous grin. A moment later, she sidled closer and began playfully swatting the back of his thighs with her tail.

Pound could feel the tips of his ears growing hot. Between Scootaloo’s teasing and the lesbian lovers indulging in each other’s lips, his mind was going a thousand miles a minute. To say that he was getting turned on by all this would have been an understatement, but even with all his willpower he couldn’t hold back his arousal forever. Though it wasn’t as though he could just turn tail and trot away; after all, what red-blooded stallion—nay, what red-blooded male of any species could just turn a blind eye to the sight of two especially attractive females in the throes of passion? He was the moth, the lovers the flame, Scootaloo’s tail the fan stoking an already blazing fire and something had him convinced that he’d like very much to burn up in the moment.

As if summoned by divine intervention, an errant orange tail lashed out and cracked Pound right in the muzzle, snapping him from his trance. “Ow! What the hay, Pumpkin?” He rubbed his stinging nose, which he was certain would begin to welt up in a moment. Pound turned to chew his sister out, but noticed that something was off about her. Normally she’d be snickering or smirking snidely at his misery, but at the moment her face was screwed up in a scowl. “Hey, what was that for?”

Pumpkin huffed. “No reason. I just felt like it. Now come on, we need to see if mom and dad need anymore help in the kitchen.”

“No need for that, kids,” the voice of their father grunted from behind. Pound turned around to find his parents wheeling in their bakery’s eccentrically large signature cake. “Your mother and I’ve got the rest. You both just go ahead and enjoy the party.”

“Oh! Oh! What about me, Mr. Cake, what can I do?” asked Pinkie Pie.

“You… can… entertain the guests as they come in?” Carrot suggested.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Cake, sir!” Pinkie Pie saluted, before prancing towards the front door, where the guests were finally being allowed to trickle in, most of them a bit shaken from their run in with the over-aggressive door mare.

Pound smiled after his exuberant aunt and frowned just as quickly when she stopped to congratulate Sweetie Belle and Silver Spoon on their engagement. Watching the two mares holding hooves and smiling warmly would’ve been a beautiful sight to most, but the experience left Pound with hollow feeling in his gut. The idea of two equally attractive mares tying the knot was hot to be sure and he couldn’t possibly be any happier for Sweetie Belle, but at the same time, it was a bit dejecting to know that his harmless little colthood crush would never amount to anything more than just that.

He watched the two for just a moment longer and turned away with a sigh. With his parents insisting on handling the service and nothing else to take his mind off of the soon to be life-locked lovebirds, Pound retired to an empty booth and prepared to take part in the great teenaged pastime of brooding.

As he sulked, the party only seemed to grow in intensity around him while he sat in the corner, all but forgotten. Music had begun to play and the lights had grown dim, but the change in atmosphere fell on deaf ears and blind eyes. He blinked at some point and found a plate of food in front of him that he couldn’t recall having gotten up to get. He faintly remembered his mother saying something to him, but couldn’t remember what it was, though he assumed she was the one who brought him the food.

“Hey, dweeb,” called the first voice he’d heard in a small eternity. Pound glanced up lazily at the source of the voice and found Pumpkin looking at him with concern in her eyes. “What’s up with you? You’ve just been sitting here staring into space for an hour and half.”

Pound blinked and sought out the nearest clock, only to find that Pumpkin had been indeed telling the truth; it was almost six in the evening. Sensing that Pumpkin wasn’t just going to let her question go unanswered, Pound sat up and waited patiently for his sister to slide into the seat across from his.

“So?” asked Pumpkin.

“So, what?” Pound replied.

“What’s wrong with you? Why were you just sitting here staring at a wall for an hour?”

“I… it’s nothing, sis. I was just enjoying the music.”

Pumpkin scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“What?”

“I’ve heard the music you listen to and this is so not your sound.”

Pound took a moment to bend his ear to the music pumping in the background, and winced as terribly composed bubblegum pop violated his ear drum. “Okay, you’re right, this music is terrible.”

“I know, I requested it just to spite you. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why do you care, anyway?”

“Because I’m your big sister and I care about you... or something.”

“You make me feel so reassured.”

“Just talk to me, you’ll feel better.”

“Well, it’s nothing really….” Pumpkin followed Pound’s gaze to the soon to be happily married couple—Sweetie Belle in particular— and immediately understood the source of her brother’s plight.

“Guess you’re taking the engagement pretty hard, huh?”

“More or less.” Pound distractedly rolled a bite-sized muffin across his plate.

“Don’t take it too hard, you didn’t have a snowflake’s chance in tartarus anyway.”

“Gee, thanks, sis. I’m feeling way better now,” Pound said flatly.

“I’m not saying it to be mean.”

“Really?”

“Do you know how long those two have been together?”

“Do you?”

“Since we were kids, according to Sweetie Belle.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s what I said.”

“But how did we never notice?”

“Guess they’re just really good at keeping secrets.”

“Wow… I mean, that doesn’t make me feel any better, but that’s impressive.”

“Hey, I know it’s a little hard for you, but cheer up, you’re not too bad looking, you’ll find somepony.” Pumpkin turned her head to find her brother staring at her with a puzzled look. “What?”

“Why are you being so… nice?“

“Because… because I know what it’s like to have your feelings go unnoticed by somepony for a long time, too.”

Pound rose an eyebrow, unsure of what to think about this oddly approachable side of his sister.

“Well, that and I figured if I buttered you up enough, you’d slide a few of those chocolate Danishes my way.”

“Why don’t you go up and get your own?”

“Because of that.” Pumpkin gestured towards the food table, which had been all but picked clean by the guests. “So...”

“Don’t choke trying to eat them all in one bite.” Pound advised, pushing his plate towards Pumpkin.

“Hmph.” Pumpkin pouted as she bit off a hearty chunk of the danish.

“Anyway, thanks, Pumpkin.”

“No problem, dweeb,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate cream and crust. “What else is a big sister for?”

“Making every moment of life a waking nightmare?” Pound joked.

“That too. So you gonna stop moping around and enjoy the party?” Pumpkin slid out of the booth and popped a mini-muffin into her mouth.

“Nah, I’m pretty beat. I Think—” Pound interrupted himself with a mighty yawn before sliding out of the booth himself. “—I think I’ll grab a quick nap, and come back down later.”

Pumpkin shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, disappearing into the crowd.

Now alone, Pound took a moment to appreciate the atmosphere of the party and the interactions of the guests. Scootaloo sat across from an annoyed looking Apple Bloom, knocking back glass after glass of hard cider, presumably against her best friend’s wishes and warnings.

Curiously enough, he found Applejack and Rarity chewing the fat with Fluttershy and Big Macintosh—both of whom he hadn’t seen come in— but no Pinkie Pie in sight. Not on the dance floor, not at the buffet table. Normally his aunt would have been going absolutely nuts in the crowd, commandeering the DJ’s turn tables, throwing every manner firework known to pony kind, and ensuring the extinction of the eclair population, but she was nowhere to be seen. Weird, he thought, but did not dwell on it.

Pound had made it halfway through the crowd when a shiver raced down his spine. He could feel something, some invisible force burrowing into the back of his head like a frozen dagger’s tip. He turned around to find the source and could have sworn that Silver Spoon was boring into him from across the room with those cold, emotionless eyes of hers. Her attention was commanded by Sweetie Belle, who said all of three words before Silver Spoon snapped at her and the two found themselves immersed in yet another heated lover’s quarrel.

Maybe she was looking at someone else, Pound thought, hoping that whatever the pair were bickering about had nothing to do with him. With a shrug, he cast it into the back of his mind and proceeded to climbed the stairs, unaware that his day was only going to take a turn for the weirder once he reached the top.

Before we continue the unbelievably droll tale of a sexually frustrated colt, aside from the obvious question of why are you even still reading this, the writer would like to ask which of the following statements best describes your opinion on erotic fiction:

A. Twincest is wincest.

B. There’s always room for one more (Ménage à trois)

C. True Passion Lies At The Bottom of a Shot Glass

D. There’s nothing like the eccentricity of an older woman