Schmuck for Mares

by WeirdBeard

Get yer hot buns over here

I leaned back against the hard plastic chair, trying desperately to receive some degree of comfort from the cheaply made furniture. Just another wonderful benefit from the company. They always seemed to do the most minimalist of efforts to support their employees, both pony and non. I was back in the break-room, again, while waiting for a new assignment from Boss Hoss.

Okay, that wasn't his name, but there sure were more ridiculous ponies out here than you could shake a stick at.

I nearly fell out of my seat when he barged in the room. The large, portly stallion was half-heartedly dressed as usual, simply passing off his own dress code for the rest of us. His greasy existence morphed towards his desk and he regarded me with a slow nod. Everything about him screamed of uncleanliness as his black mane and mustache housed residue, his tan coat was patchy with shedding hair, and let's not forget his signature eye-patch.

Don't ask.

"Ready for the next job, boy?" the stallion asked before belching loudly and rubbing his protruding belly. A fly buzzed lazily around his head while he awaited my response, his eye almost glazed over.

I had to shake my head for the umpteenth time as he addressed me with that title again. "I thought I told you to stop calling me that. We're the same age after all. Heck, I think I'm older than you, Greasy Dough."

See. Didn't I tell you their names were bizarre?

Greasy guffawed boisterously and plopped down onto his cushioned chair behind the desk. His work space was much like his own being, devoid of any clean space to work with and borderline condemning. He shook his head and bared a smile that would make any dentist run for the hills. "Pfft. What's the fun in just calling you 'Tony'? Anyway, I got a new client for ya."

The large pony tossed a packed manila folder into my lap and smirked. I arched a brow, but examined the outer contents. The most notable headline was naturally the giant, red 'Warning' stamp on the exterior of the folder. "Why does it always seem like you save the weird ones for me?" I asked, rubbing at the bridge between my eyes.

"I could always just let everyone know that you want to-"

"Nope! That's quite alright," I hurriedly interrupted him. I wasn't in the mood to get into that again.

Let's just say that I'm working for Greasy not just for money. He's also blackmailing me. Nothing incriminating that I've done, just... don't worry about it. Basically, I owe him and that's it.

Greasy ran a hoof through his mane, all the while grinning at my misfortune. "Well, you better step to it. She asked for you by name, "Sweets", so get a move on."

I had to pause as he mentioned another code name that I wasn't too fond of. "You seriously put that tag in the catalog?"

"Why wouldn't I? That's the beauty of marketing, my boy, we gotta sell it. In this case, we're selling you and to be honest, you're not exactly Fancy Pants," the stallion reasoned. "Now run along, I have to make some calls."

"Thanks for the pep talk, boss," I replied. He remained lounging while I exited the room with the folder. 'Calls' my eye, that lazy bum was going to sit on his fat rump all day and snack on pastries.

Not much to do now except start on the assignment.

God help me.

The file itself was pathetic to say the least. There were hardly any descriptions at all nor any requests for the mare in question. I really wasn't surprised that her name was crossed out several times by the call handler, simply her address and the desired time were kept intact. It was late afternoon when I finally strolled toward her cottage. While my wardrobe wasn't extravagant, I still made it a point to look somewhat good. Classic blazer with a collared shirt would do just fine.

My ties had all been destroyed after a mishap with a minotaur. Pro-tip: Don't piss off a guy who has access to an army of goats.

Armed with a bouquet of fine roses, and hopefully some class, I breezed through the walkway and stopped at the small front door. Prepping myself one last time, mainly psychologically in case anything freaky happened, I briskly knocked.

Three minutes passed after I knocked at various times and called out my arrival. Alas, the mare either wasn't home or someone, specifically some fat pony, was messing with me. I was just about to leave when a faint, distant cheer reached my ears. I looked around earnestly to find the source until my eyes spotted a speeding, grey blur rushing toward me. The distant object shouted out again faintly, "Muffin!"

This is how I die, isn't it?

Before I could even attempt to retreat, the blur collided with me and smashed both of us through the closed door. It was disorienting to say the least and I could have sworn several of my vertebrae popped out when I hit the floor. However, I finally recovered both my breath and my vision to see that it was indeed the client. Derzy Dohooves. Or whatever her name was, screw Greasy's hoofwriting.

"Muffin!" the mare stated happily. Her petite form laid down atop my chest, her bright, golden eyes inches from my face.

"Uh... hi," I slowly replied. When she remained sitting over me, I gingerly raised my hand with the now crushed flowers. "These are... well, were for you, unless you still want them."

She somehow grew even more chipper at the sight of the flowers. "Awwwwww, thanks!" she exclaimed, promptly munching on them quickly. Finally, she jumped off my chest and fluttered toward another room.

I questioningly turned my head to follow where she went while I was still prone on the floor. Possibly crippled, but whatever I guess. "Yeah, sure. Uh, are you-?"

"C'mere you sexy lil' muffin," she interrupted, already donning some suggestive clothing. How subtle.

I shrugged and pushed myself off the floor. "Alright then, whatever you want."

And then we had sex, the end.

No we didn't play patty cakes, shut up.