A Pink Surprise of a Morning: 1

Author's Note:

Pinkie Pie's POV

The sun was slipping through my window, reflecting on the blue and yellow balloons flooding the ceiling of my room. This always woke me up early every morning, this was no exception.

I slip my legs to the side of the bed, thus finding myself standing on the floor in an instant. There was a pink balloon peeking out from under the bed, squeaking in panic and hastily scurrying back in under the bed for safety. Not that I could have made the balloon burst, this is one of my own balloons. They are special.

I fold the quilt back up over the bed, thus leaving it in perfect order once more. Well, as perfect as I care to bother with at this time of day. There are more pressing matters, breakfast is among them. I am always hungry as a Horse as I slip out of bed.

At this point, I reach to my right flank and extract one of the blue balloons, pull it off and blow it up in a single fluid motion. Years of practice backed up by my special talent in parties and balloons. As expected, the balloon was still the same electric metallic blue as it had been on my flank.

The surprise only hit me as I happen to see the box under my bed. The colour is a light blue, decorated with sun yellow balloons, as if I had made it myself. If not for the fact that I don’t forget anything, not to mention a box like this in my room. I know I never put it there. As I lift up the box, I hear a curious squeak from under the bed, another pink balloon peaking out for the briefest of moments, as if curious, or expecting the praises due, for the gift.

I nod back with a smile spreading out from the muzzle and out over my face as I place the box on my bed. Slipping the top of, I soon see what had been hidden inside. There are pairs of socks and a skirt.

Picking up the right sock, slipping my hind hoof in and feeling the soft material slip eagerly over my skin, stopping just over the heel, thus making it easy for it to stay up effortlessly. Then I pick up the next sock, slipping the other hoof in. Since I am a Pony, I soon pull out the next right sock, slipping the right hoof in. Once I had slipped the socks on, I look down to see if and what may be under.

Just as expected, there is a skirt on the top of the pile. It had been half by half hidden under the four socks. It is as if they had all been crafted for me. Had Rarity made them? Something told me, she had not. Maybe it is the shiny black rubber now glistering on my legs. Shiny, shimmering as if in all the colours of the rainbow. I had pulled the skirt up, out of the box, stepping right into it, right and left. This skirt has integrated panties, covering the intimate details.

The next garment is a top. The cut and design seems to scream casual, but this still never was intended to be casual. It may be considered yet another component of the ensemble I had chosen to put on. If there was anything more under, I did not look. Not right now. I couldn’t permit the curiosity getting the better of me. My tummy insisted. I need to have my breakfast.

With a grumbling, rumbling tummy, I was set to go down to the kitchen, only to hear the squeaks from my steps. Walking across the room slowly built up a melody of eager and excitable squeaking noises, step by step.

I open the door, then closed it as I slipped out, before I bounce down the flight of stairs with even more squeaking noises, affording the framed imaged of parties I had thrown at friends, family and any other Ponyvillian alike.

As I hit the floor at the end of the stairs, I turn towards the kitchen and continue bouncing until I stop in order to open the door. Leaving the door open as I continue to the hoard of yesterday’s unsold Muffins, pulling out a large selection along with a pitcher of juices and a glass, before I turn towards the nearest table.

Once at the table, I pull the paper off of each and every precious Muffin and pour myself my first glass of juice of the day, before I slip a Muffin into my mouth and chew greedily, rather than merely swallowing. Slowly washing it down with a sip of juice.

As I swallowed the last of the Pastries and washed it down with the last of the juice I had just pured myself, I collected what was left, mainly the glass, the pitcher and the wrappings for the Muffins and carried it back into the kitchen and placed the glass in the sink while I put the pitcher back where I found it and slipped the wrappings into the waste bin, before I left the kitchen, still with the same squeaking noises from my socks on my hooves.

First now, with my belly filled up with yummy Muffins and Juice I notice the hidden secret to the skirt and panties, these panties are not merely smoothing over the private parts, even if it is the looks they initially gave me. They apparently slipped in, into the lower orifices, both from the back and front. Not that it bothered me. Just a silly surprise. I guess I could get used to it.

Not that I have a problem with surprises in general, they are a spice to my life. I need a few surprises from time to time. Maybe this would be counted as one of these surprises. The internal tubes would permit me to use the mares’ room whenever I need to, without worrying about the panties under the skirt. At least, it is how I imagine it would be. I may need to try that, before I would swear on the matter, though.

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