The Professional, Chapter 1 - The Pro and the Job

>Fluttershy lets out one last cry of passion as she climaxed on top of you, grinding into your crotch.
>You sigh and sink back into the satin bedsheets, the yellow pegasus beside you panting and giggling as you crick your neck.
>Certainly, a sign of a job well done.
>You strip off your condom and tie off the end, dropping it into the wastebasket as you sit up.
>”Oh wow, Anon…I don’t know why I waited for so long…”
“You know what they say, Fluttershy. Customer satisfaction is priority number one.”
>Fluttershy nods with a lusty grin as she turns and faces your back.
>She draws circles in the bedsheets as you stand and begin pulling on your clothes.
>Nothing fancy, a pair of slacks and a collared shirt. They still reek of bar smoke.
>”You know, I’d be willing to double your price for another romp.”
>You chuckle dryly as you pull on your shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed.
>It gives the pegasus time to droop herself over your shoulders.
“Sorry Fluttershy, but even my body has limits. I’m afraid anything more would not be up to my…standards.”
>”Aww…”
>You smile as you shuffle the pegasus off, standing and turning to face her.
“Perhaps next time.”
>You nod as you secure your belt, picking up the bits on the nightstand next to you for your customary fee.
>Fluttershy looks down dejectedly, a twinge of nervousness creeping into her face.
>”Anon…you won’t…talk about this…will you?”
>You pause as you move towards towards the door.
“Fluttershy…in a line of work like mine, the confidentiality of my clientele is everything.”
>The client.
>There is an old human saying: It ain’t easy being a pimp.
>Sometimes, it’s infinitely easier than being a gigolo.
>You take a deep breath of the cold winter night’s air as you step outside Fluttershy’s humble home, the shadows and the light of the moon the only witnesses.
>A red stallion grunts and stands up as you head down the road, walking beside you.
>”Everythin’ turn out right ‘part?”
“Just fine, Mac.”
>You fish out your escort’s share out of your pocket, dropping it into his saddlebag.
>“Ah don’ know why ya keep hiring me t’follow ya around. Ah know ya said ya’ needed it back in yer’ human world…”
”Old habits. Besides, better safe than sorry.”
>”’part, if ah had t’ protect ya from Fluttershy, then ah’d eat mah sister’s hat.”
>You chuckle as the two of you part ways, taking your respective paths to your respective homes.
“Perhaps. See you tomorrow evening, Mac.”
>”Shor’ thang, Anon.”
>It isn’t long until you get home.
>As you disrobe and bathe, your mind begins to wander.
>The client seemed especially pleased tonight.
>That’s good. When love is your commodity, you need to give the highest quality experience. Anything else would just be an insult.
>Your eyes close as the sun begins to rise over the horizion, a small smile spread on your face.
>A smile of a job well done.

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>You sip your breakfast tea as you bask in the warm afternoon sun from your spot outside the café.
>Your white turtleneck sweater tickles your five-o-clock shadow, the frizz of the warm wool caressing your skin.
>A welcome-to-Equestria gift from Rarity. Such a generous mare.
>Especially when it comes to your commission.
>The mug of coffee sitting across from you steams quietly, waiting for its’ recipient to meet you for your customary breakfast.
>Not that many folks eat breakfast at 4 p.m…
>A smile spreads as Big Macintosh grunts and takes his seat across from you.
“Good morning Mac. Sleep well?”
>He just shakes his head and sips his coffee. “Nah. ‘sis got mad ‘for comin’ home so late last night.”
“I apologize. I do ask a lot of you.”
>”Nah, it was mah decision t’say yes. Ah’ can’t go with ya tonight, but there is a job ‘fer ya if ya want it.”
>An unescorted commission? You don’t do those often, and they always made you a little nervous.
“What is it?”
>”Friend of mine. Says she’s got a friend who’s birthday is t’day…wants t’git her sumthin’ special.”
“Birthday parties…”
>”Ah know, but this is sumthin’ private. Jus’ you an’ the client. Mebbe a few friends.”
>Well…better than being mobbed by a bunch of aroused mares trying to stuff bitnotes in your underwear.
“Where is it?”
>Mac slips you a folded note with a time and a P0nyville address written on it.
>You play with the note in your fingers, mulling the prospect over in your head.
“What do you know about the client?”
>Mac shrugs. “Ah know she’s a unicorn, and ah’ve never met her.”
>Hm…
“…Alright. Tell your contact that’ll I’ll take the job for my standard birthday commission.
>Some professionals are not as choosy about the jobs they take.
>In your mind, such professionals are hardly worthy of the term.
>They often wind up dead, or some pimp’s broken down bitch.
>You sip your tea as Mac chugs his coffee.
>While a trustworthy and stalwart friend, the big country lump can be a real boor sometimes.
>”Thanks anon. Lemme know if ya’ have any problems.”
“I will Mac, but I think I’ll be fine on this one.”
>Unicorns. They tend to be shut-ins, but real pistols once you get them to loosen up.
>The horn in particular tends to be helpful with that.
>You finish your tea and leave your payment, plus tip, on the center of the table as you stand.
>Time to go home and get ready.
>You have a commission to earn tonight.

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>You check yourself one last time as you approach the door.
>Hair style nice…cologne…
>You sniff your wrist.
>Noticable but not overpowering. A crisp scent that reminds you of steel.
>Should go well with the outfit you chose.
>Royal guard.
>Mares do love a stallion in uniform.
>You got all the accessories. The chestplate, the Spartan-esque helmet. Even the spear you carried strapped to your back was authentic, and could actually be used in battle.
>A client, after all, deserves the most authentic and highest quality experience.
>The home seems small and nondescript, even more so than one would expect in P0nyville.
>The lights are dark…
>Did you read the address right?
>You reach into your pocket, fishing out the rumpled piece of paper wedged between your bit purse and your taser.
>Straining your eyes, you hold the paper up under the street lamp, the flame flickering in the rising wind.
>Supposed to rain tonight.
>Well, hopefully it’ll wait for you to finish and get home.
>Even with the tunic and pants, running in the guard armor tends to chafe, especially when it’s wet.
>This is the address…
>Pocketing the paper, you walk up to the warm wooden door.
>Your fist hovers over it as you consider the situation.
>Alone, windows dark, no signs of life.
>Run, Anon. Run now.
>That’s what your instinct, honed by years of plying your trade in hostile human cities, on countless corners and hotel lobbies, is telling you.
>You pause.
>This is Equestria.
>These are ponies. Kind and gentle creatures.
>Surprisingly lewd, but kind and gentle all the same.
>Red had raised a valid point…all the nights you paid him to accompany you as protection, you have never really needed him.
>And if this was different?
>That’s why you carried the taser.
>Besides, Mac said your customary fee was paid in advance.
>And, there was one cardinal rule you followed above all else.
>A professional never leaves a client unsatisfied.
>You knock.
>…
>Nothing.
>You knock again.
>You hear a thump from inside, followed by a few grumbles as a light inside goes on.
>You step back and take a deep breath as the door begins to creak open, preparing your best authoritative voice.
>Showtime, Anon.
>The mare that opens the door is the textbook definition of blue. Blue coat, with a two-tone blue mane accented by a hourglass cutie mark.
>The mane kind of reminds you of toothpaste…but you quickly dismiss the notion.
>It is unprofessional to think such rude thoughts of a client.
>”mmmph….sorry, I was asleep. Is there a problem, officer?”
>You don’t often get clients that play along.
“Yes ma’am. Are you the one named Minuette?”
>”Y-Yes, but my friends call me Colgate…is something wrong?”
>You nod sternly.
“May I come in?”
>Colgate gives her silent acquiescence by stepping aside, allowing you to enter her humble home as she shuts the door behind you.
>Wow, what a mess.
>Notebooks and papers of various sizes lie strewn about the main room, making the whole place resemble Twilight’s home following a tornado.
>Colgate walks past you into the sitting area in front of the cold fireplace, levitating a log into it as she lights it. “Now, is there something I can do for you officer? It’s very late…”
>Time to do what you do best.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmYMkl1Grzc
>You set the spear aside while her back is turned.
“Yes ma’am, you have been accused of a most heinous crime.”
>Colgate spins and stares at you with wide, steel-blue eyes of shock.
>”W-What? What kind of crime?”
“The most heinous one a birthday mare can commit.”
>Her jaw drops along with your chestplate and helmet.
>You saunter up to her, strutting slowly as you tug at the edges of your tunic, the fabric parting from the skin under your practiced hand.
>Colgate remains frozen in place as the shirt drops behind you. You dance out of your boots as the distance between you and her grow ever smaller.
>A quick opportunistic flick of your hand kills the electric lights, leaving you and her to only be illuminated by the gentle flames of the newborn fire.
>Finally, you fall to one knee as Colgate takes a step backwards, backing into a bookshelf. She jumps a little with a squeak as various papers and journals fall around the two of you.
>She freezes as you trace your fingers up her front leg, coming across her shoulder. Your skin brushes tantalizingly across the soft coat of her neck as they gingerly cup her cheek.
>Your face draws closer as her eyes remain locked on yours as your lips inch towards hers.
“You’re spending your birthday without someone to keep you warm…and I am here to see justice is done…”
>You can feel her shiver in your hands as your fingers trace up the edges of her face, drawing out a shudder as you grace the back of her horn with your attentions.
>Her quivering breaths splash against your face as her eyes stare at you in fear, along with the thrill of the momen…
>Wait, red flag.
>That’s just fear.
>You pause just as your lip touches hers ever so slightly.
>Her panicked scream is enough to wake the dead.