.
As a human, I am basically viewed as a pet; which is exactly how I am treated and the respect I have. Not all treat their pets well, or with any measure of respect; I knew it, since I had learned of this fairly early. Quite the rude awakening, I might add.
One day, my owner takes me to Ponyville, where the ponies live. I have a whiff of the green and the change of pace. Is my life ever, to be the same again?
One of these ponies walks up to my master and promptly buy me; for what ever reason she may have. One never know, not with ponies and this mare is the top of that particular shelf.
Her brightly pink fur and deeper mane tells me exactly nothing, ponies comes in all manners of bright colours. Her curly mane does not look special to me, but I am to learn the depth of that mistake; soon enough, though.
The bounce in her steps should have told even me; that something is off, and very peculiar about her. The enthusiasm of the aura and the way she just knew what is going down is indicative of things that are not what you expect. Commonly, she either knows more than she is letting on, or she is not all there.
“You sit on my back, I do not have the time to slack off, today!” she had merely giggled, as if she had been a little filly, waiting for her ice-cream.
“What?” I quietly exclaimed, but promptly did as I had been told.
I had to hold on for dear life; considering the speed along, not even bothering to mention the bounce in her gait. She is like that precious rubber ball I never could have had; the one I would have loved to have, had I not been a pet human from birth.
On the way to the cafe, she had been bubbling over about all the way from the market; I see all manners of strange buildings, these ponies live in or perform their business from. Did I mention the building that looks like a carousel, or the ginger-bread house apparently housing both a cafe and an entire family of ponies? No, silly me, I did not.
“The pony did mention, being in a hurry; I guess this is what I get, for not taking that as serious as I should have?” I ponder.
She had burst right into one building named; the Pink Balloon Cafe. Once inside, she is bouncing up the steps to the second floor. I am finally permitted to walk to my room. I actually have a room with a bed some pony made for me before I had arrived.
“I have a uniform for you, on your bed; you need to wear it, when you show up for work, each day!” Pinkie Pie explains, just before she is closing the door to my room.
“A fresh room of my own, a clean bed; and now this, clothes for me to wear! Even if she is referring to them as a uniform, for work!” I ponder.
“This is not cotton, or any other fabric I am familiar with; but whatever it is, it is smooth and feels good on my body!” I realize, as I pick up the white panties.
Stepping into the panties and pulling them all the way up is easy; then I give them a few tentative tugs, just for good measure and to ensure myself that I have put them on right. While I am no expert on fashion, but I still do not like my clothes to sit on wrong.
I pick up the pink skirt she gave me, step right into it; pulling it up and make sure it is on right. With the skirt on, I pick up the top; slipping it down over my head, tugging at it in order for the garment to fit just right. If for nothing, other than my sensitivities. Or, maybe it is just a little bit; for the mare generous enough, affording me these clothes for a uniform.
“Wait, what?” I exclaim, as I notice the stockings come in three samples instead of just the one I would have needed.
In the end, I find myself picking up a pair that comes with equine hooves as an extension. How or why this works, is way beyond me. I am but a simple human girl, born as a pet. Maybe I do not need to care? Maybe I need to ask Pinkie Pie about this? Yet, that could wait for a few minutes longer.
“Do I dare bothering her, asking for these simple details; just because it is over the head, of one silly, simple human girl’s head?” I ponder, feeling very insecure.
Of course; this is Pinkie Pie, and I need not threat. No smile will originate from a threatened. Pony, human or otherwise. I have much to learn about pinkie Pie, just as I have very much to learn from her. I will just have to take my time.
“Hey, even a pair of fancy looking full-length gloves!” I exclaim.
Smooth, pink local Ponyville produced latex rubber. Just as the rest of my uniform. I end up picking up the right glove and slip my hand right in. The fit is almost too good for me to believe. I flex my hand and fingers; exploring how it feels before I critically examine my hand in the glove. Neither the arm, nor the hand had changed, for all I could see; but what do I know, I am after all just a simple human girl who knows nothing.
“Funny, how this is more entertaining and amusing; than threatening and humiliating, to me!” I suddenly realize, while I continue ogling my right hand.
There is no sign of where the glove ends, and where my skin is starting, other than the shift in colour, from glossy pink to a mater and subdued white. I do not see the suction-cup that is the palm of my hand, just as I do not by any means feel it. What I do see: is the perfect, inch long, semi square, crystal clear finger nails; that start just after the final joint of each finger, while basically covering the tip of each of my nails now. Under the nail; I have a bright cerise, highly sensitive and coarse touch pad, starting at the final joint, and covering the tip of the finger all the way in under the nail.
“Am I still in Ponyville?” I inquire, out of none in particular; never expecting an answer, that will never be forthcoming.
I end up, picking up the left glove and slipping it on. If only for the symmetry. Or is it the joy of how it feels to wear?
“This is my room, so this night stand is mine; anything on it, is for my use?” I ponder.
There is a small bottle of equine hoof polish, standing on the night stand.
“Hoof polish! Applied by hand, only!” reads the label on the bottle.
There is something strange to how the bottle feels; this is no mere glass bottle, but one crafted out of emerald.
“Done, or almost done! Just that silly little hat, and I am done!” I exclaim, picking up the hat and putting it onto my head.
The surprise, of finding the hat actually fitting my head perfectly; no adjustments, and no allowance for minor details of imperfection. This hat does fit me, to a te; as if it had been crafted for me in person. Maybe Rarity herself had taken the measurements and crafted it by herself. Does Rarity trust any pony with her designs?
“Maybe it is good, that I chose the equine hooves; these will be so much easier to polish!” I ponder; as I turn my attention towards the bottle of clear polish, on my night stand.
Once I uncapped the bottle, I hold it in my left and the brush in my right hand. Now I am lifting up my right hoof, in order for me to polish it.
I start applying at the upper rim of the hoof, at the middle and pull the brush down as I stroke the gel out over my hoof. From there, I continue; right and left, right and left, until I have coated the entire hoof with the lacquer. I see a jolly nice gloss on the hoof.
While I permit the polish cure on my right hoof, I continue by repeating the process on my left hoof. Of course, now both hooves are glistering warmly in the light of the room.
Silly me; I repeat the process all over again, once and twice; ending up with thresh coats of the lacquer on both hooves. I notice how the previously pink hooves are turning just one shade towards red, each time I apply the polish.
“How many coatings, before my hooves are actually perfectly red? Do I want my hooves red, or did I prefer them in the original pink they were before?” I ponder.
“Painting a hoof, is kind of like painting a nail!” I ponder.
Only thins time, something more than mere application of gloss and hardening of a surface is occurring. While I did not yet know of it, but the changes will apply to me in a deeper and much more personal manner.
Once I trust the polish to be cured; I place my hooves on the floor, only to be greeted by a very distinct squeaking little noise upon impact. Something I will have to live with and get used to. My hooves are squeaking, like fresh latex rubber toys I never had. Maybe other girls had these toys; if they had not been born as pets to other creatures like griffons?
“At least, walking is just as easy; as it had been before!” I realize, as I walk to my door.
“My stride is longer; since the effect of these hooves is that my legs appear longer, than they had been before!” I ponder.
“Would these imaginary alternative, free girls have marveled or fussed over this change?” I ponder.
“Strange, just how my thinking is changing since I was bought by that pink pony mare! It isn’t, just that I live with a new and drastically different owner; this is far deeper, and came far too quick and easy on me!” I then realize.
I had after all been used; to the simple mind and fuzzy thoughts of the pet, I had always been. Now I am smart, at least for a girl pet.
I open the door and step out into the hall; before I close the door to my room behind myself and walk to the stairs. From there, I bounce down the entire length of the flight of stairs to the ground level and continue to walk.
Once I find myself in the cafe, I am faced by a grey mare; the mail-mare of Ponyville. She is populare, because she is so enthusiastic. My sisters love her, because of all the packages they are receiving from her.
“A package, for Diamond!” she exclaims, the moment she manages to lock eyes on me.
Well, she is struggling with her eyes; she manages to aim her right eye on me, while the left eye is wandering skywards. Once she manages to aim her left eye on me, her right eye is sliding far out on the side.
“I could not fault her, for the problems with her eyes; and certainly not in the house of Pinkie Pie’s, and being the pet, owned by Pinkie Pie!” I ponder.
I walk up to the mare, looking curiously at her.
“Her enthusiasm, is quite affectionate and infectious!” I realize, giggling at myself.
“A package, for you; from Rarity!” the mare no elaborates, once I am standing right before her.
“Thank you, Derpy!” I exclaim.
“A gift, courtesy of Rarity!” she explains, even if this was clearly stated on the package.
If I bother to read; it is clearly stated that the package had been sent by Rarity, of the Carousel Boutique. I save the reading for later and focus on the mare and the package she had just delivered to me.
“I am already given a gift and a package by the mail, on my first day here, barely had the time to dress up for work!” I ponder.
As the mail-mare takes her leave, I walk into the kitchen of the cafe; followed by the new squeaking noises, all the way in.
I place the package on the table and break the seal, with the nail of the index finger of my right hand. I find two sets of diadems. The first is adorned with a unicorn horn, a pair of deer stags and a pair of giraffe horns. The second is adorned by a pair of equine ears, a different unicorn horn and the third is decorated by a feathery design.
“Wait, there is a fourth with what appears to be bat wings?” I ponder.
I opt for the third tiara of the second set; the pegasus wings. I put the tiara on my head and stash away the remaining tiaras I had been given. If I like to try either of these out, later; I could.
“Maybe I could even let one of my sisters try out one of these, if I don’t want or need it?” I ponder.
While I am packing the unused tiaras in the package, I am sprouting a pair of wings; like the once of a pegasus. I just do not notice it right away. My human ears vanish, while a pair of perfectly fine and quite adorable equine ears appear on the top of my head. Other than that; I am also sprouting a diminutive equine muzzle, just like the one Pinkie Pie has.
I close the box and pick it up, before I am carrying it out of the kitchen. On my way, I am passing the flight of stairs; while I notice how much open space there is. Since I am not yet aware of my wings and have no experience with them; Ibounce up to the second floor and open the door to my room. As I enter, I notice a strange device hidden under my bed; but think nothing of t, leaving it to collect the non-existing dust under my bed.
Once I am done, with stashing away the package under my bed; I leave my room and close the door, only to find my older sister Ruby.
“Hiya, Diamond! Welcome to the Pink Balloon Cafe!” Ruby greets me.
“Hiya, Ruby!” I respond, while I watch her lighting up her horn.
The light-show begins, as the small ruby-red orb of magical light appears on the tip of her horn. I notice how the orb grows and the light is intensifying, to the point it flows down the entire length of her horn.
“Oh, oh!” I gasp, quietly and somewhat out of breath; as the light is reaching out and sliding down under my top and momentarily grabs hold of my nipples.
I feel my nipples tickled and tingling, under the entire duration. While under the cover of the rubber the top had been crafted out of; the nipples do not show, but the effect of the growth and changes imparted by her magic will be overly obvious, only once my breasts are bare.
“What?” I mumble.
“Welcome to the sisterhood, serving Pinkie Pie at the Pink Balloon Cafe, spreading joy and making ponies smile!” she points out, with a wide and widening grin on her face.
The tingling sensations in my nipples had subsided to the level where I no longer notice it. I had failed to notice how deep the effect is and what had been targeted; mainly out of a lacking experience and medical knowledge.
“Of course; this is the Pink Balloon Cafe, and we are working for Pinkie Pie!” I admit, after a moment of pondering.
“Exactly!” she responds, now giggling.
“Exactly what did she do to me, and why?” I ponder, without a chance to figure it out all by myself.
“You did notice the milking machine under your bed, right?” she inquire, matter of fact; still with a hint of a jolly grin on her face.
“Oh, that is what that strange item was intended for?” I respond.
“Of course, and I predict that you will enjoy using it! Regularly!” she points out.
“Did you by any chance produce the milk, I found bottled in the kitchen?” I inquire.
“Human milk, of course she would use the milk for something!” I ponder.
“Milk is the latest among ponies, once we explained that it is not of bovine origin!” she explains.
“Oh, yeah; ponies and cows are pretty close, genetically speaking! I guess I could understand how that is an important detail, to them!” I put forth.
“The ponies like to hold the moral high ground! Then again, who would not?” she continues.
“With their lively and colourful society, and personalities; who could blame them?” I inquire.
“When both dragons and changelings are accepted, as sentient and intelligent creatures; it is increasingly hard to continue using cow!” she chances a guess.