The Best Of The Breast
...
One would think that being a plastic surgeon in Equestria is a terrible idea. After all, they’re ponies, what do they need plastic surgery for? But, as you’ve come to find from being here as long as you have, these ponies use plastic surgery… a lot. Those smooth faces seem ageless for a reason, and those princesses? You really think those horns don’t have extensions? The only ponies who have not visited your office in recent days seem to be the Apple family and their kin… which actually makes sense considering how little they care about looks. Have you seen that Granny Smith? Yeech…
Either way, that’s terribly good news for you. Upon arriving here, you worried you would have no way to get by as a plastic surgeon, your lifelong passion. But it’s been less than a year, and you’re already well established, with a steady stream of clients. Yessir, things could not be better.
You’re musing about that very fact to yourself one sunny Tuesday afternoon, when a loud knock rattles your office door. It’s enough to make you jump a little, but you quickly compose yourself and clear your throat before answering.
“Yes, come in,” you call.
The knob strains to turn, and you hear a scrabbling, as if the pony on the other side is having issues getting the door open. You’re just standing up to offer help, when you suddenly see a plume of steam rising from the doorknob. As you watch, it glows a blistering red, then melts in a few licks of flames before sliding down the wood towards the floor.
You plaster yourself backwards in your chair. Jesus Christ, what the fuck kind of pony can do THAT? As if in answer, your door swings open, and a looming, blue, curvy shape stands in your doorframe. You gape at the shape as it spreads its bat-like wings, and steps inside.
Holy fuck it’s a fucking dragon.
“Never could get the hang of doorknobs,” the creature says in a sighing, female voice.
“OH MY GOD I’M SORRY PLEASE DON’T EAT ME!” you instinctually wail.
The dragon blinks at you, then slowly shakes her head.
“Uh… why would I do that?”
“B-because… wait, don’t dragons always eat knights? I haven’t seen any other humans here, so I just assumed-”
“What’s a knight?”
“Never mind, never mind,” you say quickly, trying to recompose yourself as you think about that major bullet you just dodged. “I just… er… I’ve never seen a dragon here.”
Well, except for Spike, but he doesn’t count. You suppose it all stands to reason somewhat though. Magical unicorns, talking ponies, talking blue sparkly dragons are basically the next logical step.
“We don’t exactly live here,” she says with a shrug. “But I heard you were good at… helping change appearances. And I thought perhaps you could help me out. You will be discreet, won’t you?”
You smile warmly at her, in your best I-am-totally-not-eating-excess-horse-meat-from-my-surgeries kind of way.
“Of course, please do sit down.”
You gesture towards the chair across your desk from you, not at all wondering what dragon meat tastes like. She hesitates, then settles in and glances around your office, hopefully spying pictures of your best customers. That Mayor Mare is definitely some of your best work.
“So,” you go on, “What seems to be the trouble?”
“You change faces and bodies and stuff, right?”
You nod, still smiling gently.
“And… You can make sure folks look exactly as they want to, right?”
Once more, you move your head up and down like one of those weird drinking birds.
“So…” she pauses, once again, obviously uncomfortable. “I’d like you to do something to make me more… sexy.”
You study her for a moment, wondering what kind of poor pathetic sap that probably lives with his mom in some southern California slum would find this dragon sexy. Where would you even put… how would you… ah well, that’s what you’re there for, you suppose.
“I can arrange that,” you say. “Do you have any specifics in mind?”
This time, she’s the one who nods. After she stops, though, she remains silent a moment.
“Well,” you prompt. “No need to be embarrassed, I’m here to help. I’ll even take notes.”
She takes a deep breath, shuts her flame-colored eyes, and when she opens them again, she speaks calmly. As if this whole thing is her dictating an order.
“I’ve seen and conversed with ponies for some time now, and I’ve noticed that some of them… well. They have these lumps between their legs.”
Oh god, she’s here to ask for a penis. Instantly you begin assessing what a horse penis would even look like on a dragon. It’s difficult to keep a straight face as she continues.
“Two of them, side by side. Sometimes they get bigger and sway, and honestly, they seem a little odd to me. But male ponies seem to love them, and female ponies that have them always get extra attention, respect, gifts, reverence. You’d almost think that the bigger those lumps, the greater the status symbol. That wouldn’t be such a problem except that now male dragons are beginning to find these jiggly lumps alluring as well, and they’re trying to breed with ponies rather than dragons. It… doesn’t really work.”
As you picture it in your mind, you can see that she’d definitely be right. Entertaining, but ineffective. But at least she doesn't want a surgically added horse penis, that's... sort of a relief. Maybe. This still sounds pretty weird.
“So, as ruler of the dragons, I feel it is my duty to step in and take back the attention and reverence of my male populace. I need to be sexy, sexier than any ponies. So I need those lumps, and I need them now.”
You sit in your chair and simply stare at the dragon lady across from you.
“So,” you say slowly, trying to put together everything you can in your head. “Dragons find breasts sexy. So you want breast implants.”
“Yes.”
“Even though you’re a dragon.”
“Yes.”
“Even though you’re a reptile.”
“Yes.”
You lapse into silence again. There are so many things wrong right now, it’s hard to know where to begin.
“Okay, so,” you say haltingly. “As a plastic surgeon, I have to tell you… I have some concerns.”
The blue dragon frowns at you.
“Name them,” she demands simply, her flaming eyes staring straight through you to the darkest parts of your quasi-cannibalistic soul.
“Well,” you say, still fumbling for words as you speak. “Those lumps you’re talking about, breasts, are actually mammary glands. I can augment them, replace them, stick in weird jelly bag implants to give them all the playfulness of a bounce castle, but I usually have something to start with. Because mammaries are how mammals nurse their young. Do you see what I’m saying?”
By the way she’s blinking at you so coldly, you can see that she definitely doesn’t. You try again, being more direct.
“You’re a reptile, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you have your babies in egg form, yes?”
“Yes.”
“So you don’t give birth to live young like mammals, and don’t produce milk to feed them. Reptiles aren’t really designed to have breasts."
"So, you're saying it's a reptile disfunction?"
"I'm gonna just ignore that. Anyway, you have many other lovely features to augment… tail extensions, horn coloring, scale enlargements, I’m sure. But giving you breasts seems… almost unethical. I mean, where would I even put them? You don’t exactly walk like a pony.”
You feel as if you’re being a bit harsh, but maybe a little honesty is good here. The dragon looks around your office, chewing her lower lip with massive, pale fangs, as if she’s trying to find something to say. Perhaps she’ll take you up on that scale enlargement, you think to yourself. You’re not sure it’s exactly sexy to other dragons, but you could probably sell her on the idea that it is. Suddenly, her eyes stop moving, and she points to a picture on your desk.
“There,” she says. “Just like that.”
Your eyes follow her claws to the picture of Dusty Gozongas. Definitely not your handiwork, but it’s at least a cartoon example of boobs, and how would those ponies know if you’d given them to her or not? You’ve never regretted having them on your desk, until now.
“You mean… on your chest,” you say.
“Precisely. I’m mostly bipedal anyway, they’d be much more convenient up there.”
You gingerly massage the bridge of your nose. You really don’t want to do this. It doesn’t make sense, you’re not sure if you could manage it. Aren’t dragons supposed to be burning to the touch or something, with acid blood? Or were those aliens…
“I… see,” you say. “I still do have my concerns about this. Perhaps take a day or two to think it over before-”
“Did you miss the part,” the dragon interrupts you abruptly. “Where I said I needed them now? Or the part where I said I was ruler of the dragons?”
You pause, rethinking those parts. Oh shit, is she some kind of queen?
“I…er…”
“You don’t have much of a choice in the matter. I want these done. If you can help me, you must do it, end of story. If you refuse, I will roast you and eat you as a delicacy. Now, take notes, human creature.”
The sharpened point of her words is edgier than any fedora-wearing teen boy you’ve ever met, and you quickly abide. You pull out a pad of paper and a pencil, and begin jotting notes as she rises from her chair to wander around your office.
“I will need them to be big,” she says thoughtfully, scratching her chin with one claw. “As big as any pony’s head. And bouncy. If I must have these strange things, they might as well be fun. Most ponies have two so… perhaps three? Or would that be overdoing it. No, I think three is about right. Also, did you say that pony breasts produce milk?”
“Y-yes,” you stutter out. “They only sometimes do though, so-”
“Well dragons do not care for milk, but we do enjoy gems and lava. So mine should produce those. In great quantity.”
“…you want me to make you breasts that can squirt gems and lava.”
“Yes, did I stutter? Lastly, I would like you to put spikes on them, all the way around. I wish to look strong, foreboding, so I will be worshiped but never looked down upon. Should the need arise, I will use these as weapons. And wi-fi too, because why not. That should be about all. Is that understood?”
You stare down at your notepad with empty eyes. You’d started out taking notes, but instead stopped halfway through, in favor of drawing a small human man smashing his head on a desk over and over again. What even is this? Is this a prank? Is she joking? She can’t really want you to do this.
“I…” you say brokenly. “Couldn’t we just, I dunno, have sex instead?”
“What?”
“I don’t know, some people would probably be into it. Never mind.”
“So you’ll do it then?”
Imitating the little man in your drawing, you carefully lower your head to your desk. You’re dead if you don’t do this, but you seriously question if you’ll be able to pull it off. Besides looking stupid, the capabilities of these breasts… it’s like they’re asking you to redesign the Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicle, but actually make it functional. Still a death trap but, you know, functional.
“I’ll try?”
“There is no try here, human. There’s do it or I kill you. Now, when do we start?”
You raise your head and stare at her bare, scale chest, where she’s asked you to put three garish and absurd barnacles. She’s right. You have no choice.
“Now is okay,” you croak out. “Just go into that room over there and lie down.”
You follow her into the next room and wait for her to lie down on the table. Once she’s there, you carefully twist a knob on the large metal tank next to the bed marked “Ether”. It’s not what you prefer to use for general anesthesia, and its not a gas so it doesn’t spread as well, shouldn't even be in a tank, but whatever. You just hope it’s strong enough to knock out a dragon.
“This is a substance that, when you breathe the fumes from it, will put you to sleep,” you explain. “I’ll then do the surgery while you are out. Do you have any questions?”
You’re already moving the mask over her face as she glances from the tank, then back at you.
“Wait, isn’t Ether flammable?” she says.
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you worried that, because I’m a dragon I might… have a problem with that?”
“Wait, why would you…”
It all clicks suddenly. It clicks just in time for you to see the dragon’s nostril’s twitch and her face contort. It clicks just in time for you to realize that you’ve seen Spike sneeze before, and you know how that usually goes. It clicks just in time for you to be grateful, for just a moment, that you won’t have to do this stupid surgery.
Then the dragon sneezes.
The explosion can be seen all the way from Twilight’s castle. As little bits of you rain down in what was once your office, the dragon sits up, shakes her head, and groans to herself.
“Great,” she grumbles. “Now I guess I’ll just have to find someone to surgically put a horse penis on me instead.”
-END-