You look out of the large glass front of your workplace into the dark, rain-lashed city of Canterlot. It’s been raining for days now following a mysterious drought that not even the weather teams had been able to solve. When they had eventually been able to tow in clouds from nearby, they had definitely overdone it. You can see water pooling in the marketplace, a single unicorn member of the city guard trying to stand out of the rain in a doorway, trying to keep his horn lit to keep him warm under the leather cape wrapped over his armour.

You begin to think about offering the handsome steed somewhere to rest for a while, when the bell attached to the door of your workplace jingles, signalling your only customer for the entire day entering. Pulling your eyes away from the guard, you address the soaked and thoroughly bedraggled pegasus, sprigs of trees lodged in her orange and yellow mane, her complexion almost pallid despite her currently dull yellow coat. Her feathers are mostly out of place, almost as if the mare had been crazy enough to even consider flying in this weather, goggles on top of her head filled with condensation, and her mane? You couldn’t get it out of your head how awful it looked.

“Velcome to zhe Royal Equestrian Spa of Canterlot, Mine name ist Kurhauz, do you have an appointment?” You ask, raising an eyebrow towards the mare.

“Yeah, should be for five o’clock under the name of Spitfire?” She replies, approaching the counter and attempting to check your appointment book. You know full well that she’s the only appointment due today, but levitate the book away from prying eyes anyway, animating a quill as well.

“Ah, Yes, I see you vere supposed to be seeing Fonteverde today, I’m afraid she has been unable to make it into vork, zhe rain has caused flooding in lower parts of zhe city.”

“Kurhauz, please, just drop the accent.” she replies, looking thoroughly fed up. Taken slightly aback, you comply.

“Of course, I’m sorry. I’m afraid that I’m the only member of staff who has been able to make it in today, we’ve only opened for you. Would you like to re-schedule your visit for another time?” You ask, watching her face as she makes a decision.

“Nah, today will do fine.” she starts, looking herself over, “To be honest, I could do with it.”

Flipping the book to the full notes for Spitfire’s appointment, after having had a quick read through the profile of her that your colleague has recorded, you see that she has booked what is lovingly referred to by the rest of the staff as “The Works”; almost as if she had been expecting to come into the spa in this state. You sigh as you lock the main door and lead your client through the reception to the first stage of the process, a grooming to remove any nastiness that could possibly end up left elsewhere in the building; potentially requiring you to do more cleaning before going home for a night of ice-cream and soppy romance novels. You begin by removing the twigs and things from her mane, the look of disgust apparent on your face, slight embarrassment on hers.

“So, how have you been? I understand you’re one of the Wonderbolts?” you ask, trying to keep your mind out of neatening her mane, her goggles dropped on a table at the side of the room as she had sprawled out on the comfy padded table before you.

“Haha, yeah. Work has been a pain, we’ve even had to go with the weather teams looking for rain clouds, but other than that? Not bad, not bad at all. We had a great time at the Gala the other week, despite what happened.” she replies.

“Ooh, yes! I heard about that! Somepony destroyed half the castle, the gardens and that beautiful statue, was it really just one pony?” You ask, following gossip from your colleagues that had built up over the last couple of weeks. Spitfire grins, shortly before grimacing as you forcefully pull the final twig from her mane and levitate a brush over to you.

“Ouch, no, no, there was a group of them. I think it was Princess Celestia’s idea to spruce things up a bit, get the old crowd to lighten up. From what I’ve heard, it didn’t work at all; Princess Luna was completely wasted before the guests even arrived, she had to be put to bed by some of the members of hers and Celestia’s bodyguard and Prince Blueblood is livid about how some mare from Ponyville treated him. It wasn’t all bad though, my buddy got the number of this cute apple farmer who showed up, so at least he’s happy.”

“Oh, didn’t you meet anyone there sweetheart?”

“Nah, it’s not normally my sort of scene, picking up ponies at parties. There was one that I was interested in but, well...” she trails off as you start to run the brush through her mane, looking thoughtful with a slight glaze in her eyes, “I don’t know. How about you? Seeing anyone?”

“No, not at the moment. I was seeing a nice colt, but he turned out to be a complete disaster as far as his life was concerned, no direction what so ever. It’s enough to send a boy insane, I swear.”

“Ah, you’re a colt-cuddler huh?”

“It’s more about personality than gender for me.”

“Oh, sorry.” Spitfire responds, blushing again, thinking that she may have offended you.

“Don’t worry about it!” you respond, still running the brush through her mane, “A lot of fillies assume that, and if I’m fair, a lot of colts too.” you add with a slight mischievous grin, causing her to laugh a little, “Which team do you play for?”

“I... Uh.” she stutters, looking away before you move her head back to continue brushing, “I guess I’m the same, it’s too hard to stick to one type, especially if the personality is so great. Looks are a bonus too of course.” she eventually responds, her amber coloured eyes flicking over your chest, you pretending not to notice but smiling slightly inside. Delicately, you start to use your magic to re-arrange the feathers on her wings, taking care not to arouse the mare mistakenly as you work, a small pile of the damaged feathers being tossed into the bin when you finish.

Using your magic, the mane brush is swapped for a shorter bristled one for use on the mare’s coat, dipped in lavender scented salt water to help relax and exfoliate before the next stage of the process. Scrubbing lightly at her coat, Spitfire is strangely silent, re-arranging her wings awkwardly as you push them aside to scrub underneath, her fur starting to turn back to it’s original golden hue as the now dark water drips from her underside and down to the floor, where it begins to flow over the tiles into the drain in the middle.

“Alright, I think we’re done.” You say, before realising that Spitfire had fallen asleep on the table. This had happened a few times to you now, with different clients, leading you to wonder if you weren’t over doing the lavender oil in the scrubbing mixture.

“Miss Spitfire, wake up, it’s time for your sauna.” gently shaking her shoulder with your hoof. Her eyes open again and she blushes, embarrassed. You notice that she’s beginning to look a lot like her pictures from the celebrity magazines kept in the foyer now, the pallid tone from her first arrival having almost disappeared once the muck from flying had been scrubbed out. Her mane is also vastly different, flopping limply around her face rather than having the eerie ability to defy gravity so common with fliers of her ability.

She walks through one of the doors leading to other parts of the spa complex with you, occasionally brushing her wet mane out of her face, unused to it behaving in such a manner. The two of you arrive in the huge main area of the complex, an enormous swimming pool being the centerpiece over several levels, lush green plants around the edges along one side. Spitfire, being no stranger to this exclusive relaxation destination, calmly trots around the edge of the pool before grabbing a robe from the wall and wandering into the sauna opposite a freezing plunge pool that she will be using afterwards.

An hour passes, with you listening to the rain lashing at the glass ceiling above you, when you see the golden mare coming out of the sauna, panting and sweaty from the room. You see her hang her robe up again and look at the plunge pool before gingerly dipping her hoof in it and rapidly pulling it out again, causing you to smile as she steels herself and takes the plunge.

Freezing water goes everywhere and you hear her yelp as she surfaces, the cold knocking her breath away as she stands from being submerged. As she struggles to get out again, you notice how her usual confidence has taken a light beating from being so cold, small hooves sliding on the tiles before she pulls her self out with a little help from a single flap of her wings. You trot over with a smile and pass her a pair of towels, one to wrap over her body, the next for her mane.

“How was that, Madam?” You ask, smiling slightly.

“Awesome. Exhilarating. What’s next?” She replies, bouncing back into the confident mare who had entered the spa once again.

“You have a choice, I can give you a massage, or you can go for the hot tub followed by the massage. Up to you, but I suggest the massage purely because of how tense you seemed when I was cleaning you earlier.”

“Alright Kurhauz, let’s go for the massage.” she says, looking at you like she had done briefly during her scrub down.

You lead her into a room that is similar to the scrub down area, but slightly more clinical, the walls and tiled floor a bright white. In the centre there is table for her to lay on with a hole for her to put her head and muzzle through, a rack holding several vials of exotic oils attached to the wall, towels on another heated rail on the opposite side. Selecting a lavender and jasmine based oil, you place them in a small basket attached to the side of the massage table. A pair of fluffy white towels are also levitated and placed flat on the table, and you motion for Spitfire to lay on it. At first, she lays on her side, having received the instruction from your female colleagues before, and you start to feel up and down her body, working out where knots are hidden in the muscle covered by her golden fur. Slowly, you tease her wing upwards, feeling underneath for the tough spots. You lay it back down and ask her to flip over so that you can repeat the process, unsurprised that her legs and hooves aren’t particularly tense, a relatively normal phenomenon in seasoned pegasi. Nearing the base of her back, near her tail, you feel one particularly large knot start to unwind the moment you run the tip of your hoof over it, causing a brief “ooh” of pleasure to leave Spitfire’s lips.

Deciding on the best course of action, you roll her into her chest and begin to work at the collection of tense spots starting from her rump, each rub being met with a gentle and somewhat repressed moan. She closes her eyes, enjoying the sensation as you start to push more and more into it, trying to rub out one huge tense area just below the base of her wings along her spine. Pushing and rubbing as hard as you can, it suddenly gives, causing her to yelp in pleasure, two golden wings springing erect and almost knocking you over with a soft “foomf”.

“Oh my... I’m so sorry, it just felt so good and...” she starts, trying to hide herself on the table, hooves reaching around and trying to force her wings back down, blushing heavily.

“Don’t worry about it sweetheart! I know what you pegasi are like with your wings, you can’t help it. It’s alright.” you interrupt, making a rather camp gesture with your hoof, “Although, if you’re that kind of frustrated, I do have something I could offer you?”

“Wh...”

Deciding to bring back a little of your showmanship, you slip back into your accent and interrupt her once more.

“Vell, meess Spitfire. Vhat I can do, is offer vhat ve here call “Maximum Relaxation”. Some of the less savoury spas in the likes of Manehattan do somethink similar, called a happy endink?”

Her face screws up slightly as she translates, her wings still fully erect whilst she lays behind you, the red on her cheeks deepening as she catches on, “Nahzink close to actual mating, of course, but it is... very good and reserved only for the most special of clientele. A most sensual massage, vorking on your most intimate of intimate places.”

“How much?” She eventually asks, a cocky smile appearing as she catches on to your rather forward suggestion, choosing to go with the flow.

“For you, dahlink, on the house.”

“Can I ask one thing?”

“Certainly, I vill accept any request that you make.”

“The accent. Get rid of it.”

Nodding, you climb up onto Spitfire’s back and ask her to raise her wings as high as she can get them, running parallel to each other at a right angle to her spine. You wrap your forelegs around and breathe down the gap to the little patch of fur between where the feathered apendages join her body. You feel her shiver slightly, her wings trying to push down, but held in place by your hooves. She tries to flap them again, you can feel the muscles moving and she lets out a tiny whimper of pleasure. Sitting up on her, you slowly drag your hoof-tips from the base of her wings upwards, still doing your best to hold them together, able to feel her pulse quickening as you rub. This appears to be having the desired effect, as her moans begin to get louder, and you can feel your rear legs being forced a little further apart as her stomach begins to rise and fall in line with the huge deep breaths she is beginning to take.

Releasing the left wing, you sandwich her right one between your hooves, making small circles in the short fuzzy fur that her secondary feathers are attached to, pressing firmly. You work from base to tip, before leaning down and gently biting the area between where her wings join her body, eliciting a much louder drawn out whimper, and feeling her shift underneath you, crossing her back legs with her tail twitching excitedly.
“Wha... What was that?” She groans, “I’ve had them rubbed before, but that... My Goddess...”
You nibble the same spot again, feeling her rear legs try to push against your weight and the hair of her tail gently flicks against your back as she scrunches her eyes closed in concentration. Picking up her other wing, you once again sandwich it between your hooves and rub in circles from base to tip, her moans significantly softer than when you had bitten her. Catching on, you instead wrap your forelegs underneath her wings and hold them down as you draw a deep breath and exhale on the spot that had gotten her so riled up, millimetres away from her coat. She shivers, eyes shooting open as her moans intensify again and you lean in once again to tease at the tiny patch of flesh with your lips and tongue, occasionally giving it a nip to her delight.

“Could you do it like the first time? Roughly?” She asks, deep breaths adding additional punctuation between her words. You comply, sinking your teeth in, taking care not to draw blood. Her tail flails at your back again, and you catch a brief taste of citrus from her coat. She moans once more, her voice going high pitched as her breath slips away from her, leaving her panting hungrily at your every touch.

“I... I think I’m almost there Kurhauz.” she gasps, closing her eyes again. She attempts to flap her wings as you keep nibbling and biting her, your hooves easily holding them down, despite her legs now beginning to thrash to push the pair of you upwards, unable to lift you.

“Please... Please just keep going, I’m so close I don’t know if...”

She starts to tremble, just slightly at first, her rump quivering underneath you. You see her forelegs trying to gather at the towel underneath her, as if she’s desperately trying to hold on, starting to lose control of her now quaking body. You continue to rub each wing with a hoof, hoping desperately that she won’t be able to take off with you on her back, still nibbling, nuzzling and occasionally biting her as she shudders, lost in the throes of pleasure taking over. She’s practically screaming now, gasping your name in between yelps, moans, whimpers and groans; trying to bring her rump upwards with every ounce of strength in her tiny golden body.

Somehow, Spitfire manages to flip you, her forelegs now wrapped around your neck as she hungrily tries to devour your lips, those amber eyes still forced shut as you manage to start rubbing her again, her wings flapping involuntarily, causing the table to move. Pinching that magic spot between your hooves, you feel her hips start to move, rubbing against your thigh as she roughly and brashly invades your mouth with her tongue. As her moment of pure, intense, white hot pleasure ends, she collapses on you, panting, her orange and yellow mane splayed on your chest. One hoof then raises to the top of your head, curling around your horn, sliding up and down once as she breaks the kiss.

“Your turn.”

“I’m fine with that.” you respond, slightly surprised at how eager to return the favour the filly was.

She traces from your lips upwards, still laying on top of you, leaving a trail of her slightly salivary kisses on your fur... inching closer to your horn. You’d never had this done to you by a mare before, previous fillies having been somewhat more sheltered in their knowledge of unicorn anatomy than colts you had been with, but Spitfire soon wraps her lips around it, her tongue dancing over the shaft, avoiding the sharpened tip.

Your brain steadily begins to turn to mush, feeling her working your horn with her mouth, rewarding you for your service to her earlier. Soon, you begin to feel your magic involuntarily activate, expecting her to take the horn out of her mouth but surprised when she begins to stimulate you further, the tingly feeling of light escaping the corners of her mouth before she swallows the somehow corporeal magic.

“Did you enjoy that as much as I did?” she breathes into your ear,

“I sure did, you’re definitely talented.” You reply, gasping slightly.

“Would you be interested in going further?” She asks, a cheeky smile visible as you lean up to look at her, “I’d love some company in the hot tub.” she says with a wink.

You nod, allowing her to climb off of the table, wings still majestically erect. Following her, you notice how nicely her hips sway, with the occasional flick of her orange and yellow tail revealing a little more of herself than you had already seen...

Towards the hot tub.

Best. Shift. Ever.

Fin.