“Just an order of a dozen cupcakes please, Pinkie.”

The mare at the counter was one Pinkie was familiar with: her brown, done-up-in-a-bun mane and weary eyes were a fixture of the second Wednesday of every month. Pinkie usually had her order ready to go before she arrived, and today was no exception.

“Here you go!” Pinkie beamed brightly as she held out the pink box housing the mare’s order. The mare smiled softly behind her perpetually frazzled face and took the box with her left hoof, using the other to leave a few bits on the counter. Pinkie scooped them up and threw them into the register’s compartment hidden just out of sight.

“Thank you, Pinkie. You’re a sweetheart.”

“Don’t mention it!” Pinkie bounced on her hind legs and smiled the same way she always smiled. The mare smiled back at her and turned towards the door.

“See you next week!” Pinkie shouted. The mare waved a free hoof over her shoulder as she left, and Pinkie waved back, still smiling.

“Pinkie!” Mr. Cake’s voice came from the kitchen, faint and far-away sounding even though he couldn’t be further than a few feet. That probably meant he was working with something in a cupboard.

Sure enough, as Pinkie peeked her head around the corner of the kitchen, Mr. Cake was head-first into the place where most of the cupcake dishes were—or, where they were supposed to be. He was rifling through them in an agitated fashion, his entire upper body hidden by the spacious cupboard.

“Pinkie,” he said, his tone ringing of a slight annoyance “do you know where the rosette maker is? I could have sworn I put it back here last night...”

“You did, but then Mrs. Cake told me to wash it, so I did!” Pinkie bobbed back and forth, smiling at the oblivious Mr. Cake. As her words drifted through the wood of the cupboard, Mr. Cake’s hooves paused, and his posture shifted as he sat up out of Pinkie’s view.

“Well,” he said, “could you bring it to me?”

“Sure thing!”

Pinkie bounded over to the sink and found the utensil Mr. Cake was looking for after only a moment, remembering where she had seen it from the day before.

Mr. Cake held out his hoof from the cupboard, waiting blindly for Pinkie to hand him the rosette maker.

His head was hidden by the cupboard.

Pinkie didn’t bother to look around; she knew Mrs. Cake was upstairs taking her afternoon nap, and unless Mr. Cake’s cutie mark had changed, he hadn’t learned how to see through wood.

Spreading her legs wide, Pinkie took the rosette maker firmly in her hooves and placed it just beneath her rump. She tensed and wiggled a bit from side to side as she ran the tip of it between her legs. Her perpetual smile turned to a lip-bite as the rose-maker slid past her lower lips, the tip of it reaching her stomach as the rest followed.

Her smile returned, and she planted the object solidly in Mr. Cake’s hoof.

“Here you go!”

“Thank you, Pinkie.” Mr. Cake put the rosette maker in place in the cupboard and began collecting the rest of the dishes he had displaced in order to find it. About half-way through, he stopped again.

“Wasn’t that what I was looking for in the first place...”

Pinkie left him to his ponderings, bouncing out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She got to her room in a short time, and shut the door quietly behind herself. There was no pony here to check for.

Pinkie fell forward into her bed with her hoof already between her legs, flying franticaly over her wetness. She had dripped on that rosette maker, that was sure, and now she was practically soaking.

But she wasn’t there yet.

Pinkie scanned around her room for a few seconds, then sighed. There was nothing here of interest. Everything was hers. Pulling herself up from the bed, her hoof still occasionally squeezing her marehood, Pinkie leered out the window. It was a nice, sunny day, only a few spots of overcast, and Ponyville was taking advantage of it. From her room on the second floor, Pinkie could see children playing, old couples taking walks, and the open carriage that ran mostly for children and elderly folks making one of its many circuits through town.

The store was busy today too. She shouldn’t be spending time upstairs.

The ring of the store bell carried up curtly, even from all the way downstairs. Pinkie reluctantly withdrew her hoof from between her legs and dashed downstairs, arriving in seconds behind the counter.

Another regular. A stallion with a tall hat and orange coat. One loaf of rye bread.

Pinkie smiled as she handed the loaf over and took the stallion’s bits. He gave her a polite nod, which she returned with slightly more enthusiasm. She waited until he was gone before doing a quick scan of the store to make sure nopony else was there.

They were very busy today.

Pinkie sidled up to the door with a conspiratory hesitation in her steps. She knew she had checked, and that nopony could be watching. She kind of wished they were... but this would be a better payoff in the long run.

The cool metal of the door handle sent shivers along her spine as she rubbed herself on it. Nice and wet. She could hear the faint squeaking of the knob as it slid between her lips. After a few seconds of grinding, she pulled off and gave the handle a quick wipe to remove any immediately evident wetness. She also raised her hoof to her mouth and sucked, tasting herself on it. The bell jostled slightly as the door jerked with her movement, and she felt a shot of adrenaline rush through her veins, even though she knew nopony was walking inside yet. Nopony had seen her.

Pinkie returned to the counter and waited. After a few minutes, the bell rang again. She hadn’t gotten the outside handle. Too risky.

“Hello,” the new customer said. A younger colt, probably not old enough to be in high school yet. He looked a little pudgy, and had a pair of glasses on.

“Hi there!” Pinkie smiled cheerfully at him behind the counter. She could have recognized him after a few minutes of thinking, if she wasn’t distracted. But she was. Very.

“Can I, uh... do you guys have any pastries?”

“Do we? We’ve got a ton of them! Take a look here.” Pinkie gestured to the glass display counter, lined with a heavy stock of every sweet-treat confectionary under the sun. The glass was clear, and gave a good view of the store’s various pastries and other stocks.

But it didn’t show behind the counter. Pinkie braced herself against the high glass barrier and stood on her hindlegs. She scanned behind her back. Mr. Cake was nowhere to be seen. Mrs. Cake hadn’t woken up yet.

As the colt leaned close to the counter, browsing the selection, Pinkie began to touch herself. Only a foot away from him, and he was none the wiser.

Pinkie bit her lip as she felt a trickle of juice run down her leg.

“What’s that?” the colt asked, gesturing to a fancy-looking chocolate item on the left.

Pinkie blinked and withdrew her teeth from her lip. But she didn’t move her hoof. She rubbed harder.

“That? Oh, that’s, um... I think that’s a chocolate gourmet eclair.” Pinkie held herself firmly against the counter as her hoof worked. It made a faint schlicking sound as it slid back and forth over her moistness, and she cringed and swallowed a moan as she forced her movement to slow, eliminating the almost imperceptible noise.

“Hmmm... I’ll have one of those, I guess.”

Pinkie waited a few seconds before forcing her hoof away. She dropped to all fours and slid the back of the cabinet open. Before she pulled the pastry out, she looked over the counter again. The colt nodded at her, as if to say ‘that one’.

Pinkie grabbed it with the hoof that had been between her legs.

“Do you want it for here, or to go?” she asked. She could see the tiniest drop of moisture on the surface of the eclair, dripped from her hoof.

“To go, I guess,” the colt said. Pinkie nodded at him and darted to the back drawer. She grabbed a small paper bag and put the eclair inside, then handed it over the counter.

“Three bits, please,” she said. She could smell herself in the air.

The colt didn’t seem to notice. He handed placed his bits on the counter, and Pinkie swept them up and tossed them into the changebox.

“Thanks,” the colt said.

“No problem. Enjoy!” Pinkie waved at the colt as he turned towards the exit. Waved to him with her clean hoof. Tensed her other between her legs as she saw him step towards the door. Reach towards the door. Touch the door. Handle.

Pinkie ducked under the counter as the bell rang, panting. Her hoof was a blur, squishing frantically over her clit, rubbing so hard, he’d touched it, he was taking it with him, tasting her, oh, she needed it so bad but she didn’t think it would be enough...

It wouldn’t. Pinkie snapped up from the counter and looked around. The store was busy today, but it was a little after noon.

“Mr. Cake,” Pinkie called, already moving to the door. “I’m going to take my lunch break now. I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

“What?”

Mr. Cake’s voice faded in Pinkie’s ears as she exited Sugar Cube Corner, the bell tinkling to herald her departure.

Where?

She couldn’t in front of everypony, even though she wanted to, so badly wanted to. They’d have to see her then. She didn’t think she could take it. Her legs were already shaking.

Pinkie scanned around in either direction. Children playing on that side of the road. Naughty, awful, terrible, but she wanted to. On the other side, the old couple had gone, walking on to who-knows-where.

Pinkie heard the tumble of the carriage wheels over the ground.

Of course.

She darted to the cart’s next stop. It was on its way south, which meant a return trip would be around in twenty minutes. Pinkie wasn’t the only able-bodied mare waiting at the stop, but the other was with her children, holding several bags of groceries and looking very frazzled. She gave Pinkie a nod, which Pinkie returned with a smile.

When the mother looked away, Pinkie ground her hindlegs together.

There were a few ponies on the carriage as it apprpoached. Two older stallions, one seated on each  side. The mother boarded first, hauling her two foals with her and finding a seat on one side. Pinkie took one next to the other old stallion. After waiting a few seconds to ensure nopony else was there, the carriage-leader stallion neighed and took off, pulling the transport behind him in a slow trot.

She’d have to be careful. Those foals might notice her.

No, they looked mostly asleep, and the mother was too tired to pay attention to anything.

Pinkie looked to the old stallion on her left. He might notice.

That was fine.

Pinkie’s hoof found its familiar place between her hind legs, sheltered by the tossed up hay that lined the carriage. It was an open, simple mode of transport, which meant none of the fancy guilding or interior of a Canterlot carriage. Ponyville was an earth pony town, which meant earth pony contrivances. That was fine by Pinkie. The hay could soak up a lot of moisture.

Gosh, was she wet. She hoped the carriage wheels would cover up the sound of her rubbing.

She knew, as she touched herself, that it was wrong. There were two inoccent, impressionable foals seated right across from her. In an instant, either of them could wake up and, staring open mouthed, ask what the pink mare was doing with her hoof, why she was touching herself there. The mother could collected herself past the remnants of her weary day and scream at the sight being displayed to her children. Either one of the old stallions could turn and, with their ailing eyesight, get their first glimpse of a healthy, eager marehood, being mercilessly pummelled by Pinkie’s attention. They could stare at her as she rubbed her pussy.

Oh, she was there, so close.

She couldn’t just do it like this. Pinkie looked around, searching for something to muffle her voice with. She knew she had to say something. She always did. Couldn’t keep it in.

There was no one nearby but the stallion next to her.

Hoof still between her legs, shivering, holding it in but just barely, Pinkie leaned into him. The old coot opened his eyes, as though he had been dozing in the mid-daytime, and looked towards Pinkie, puzzling over the odd, contorted expression on her face. Pinkie brought her mouth right next to his ear. She tensed, and her voice eked out between her lips as her hoof froze.

“I’m cumming,” she whispered to the stallion.

And she did. She heard the sound running through herself, like she was a faucet turned on over the hay. She hoped the wheels were loud enough, but didn’t really care. She couldn’t care. Her insides felt like they were melting.

The stallion cleared his throat and blinked.

“Whassat?” he said.

Pinkie hugged him. She hugged him while she came. Still cumming, she leaned into him, resting her side on his, resting her legs just next to him, wetting herself with arousal, so much that she was sure some must be on him as well, and the hay beneath, and of course, because he couldn’t hear her, he would get up and wonder if he’d had an accident, and Pinkie would be gone then, leaving only the scent of her climax and the quivering of her body and gosh she was cumming so hard she didn’t ever want it to stop but then it did.

Pinkie gasped and let go of the stallion. She smiled as she sat up again.

“Sorry,” she said. “You just looked like you could use a hug!”

The stallion narrowed his brow as he worked out her words, then smiled as they sunk in. He mumbled something Pinkie couldn't understand.

She got off at the next stop. Nopony on the carriage gave her a second glance.

She’d have to clean the door-handle when she got back to work. Another few ponies leaving would put her in another state, and there was still the whole rest of the day to go.