The chair was comfortable and well-stuffed, but Toaster still felt herself being absorbed into it, as though it were trying to eat her. She, personally, did not trust chairs terribly much. They did not seem like something that was practical for ponies, let alone necessary.

As she sat there, glumly, she watched her coworkers walking down the hall near her. They were laughing to each other, telling each other stories of the night before. Most were dressed in bathrobes, and many had their hair tied up in towels, fresh from the showers after a long night of sweating hard. Their joyfulness made Toaster angry and jealous- -but mostly sad about her own failure to do what should have come so naturally to literally any mare in existence.

“Dumb whores,” muttered Toaster, fully aware of the irony in her statement. They might indeed have been whores, but they were at least competent whores. Toaster, meanwhile, was not.

Toaster looked around nervously, and then reached to the office fax machine that sat on a small ornate table next to the row of potentially carnivorous chairs. She slid open the tray and pulled out a piece of paper. Carefully, she ripped off an edge and put it into her mouth.

When the office door swung open, Toaster nearly swallowed the piece of paper. A well-dressed young stallion stepped through the door. He looked around and, spying Toaster imbedded in one of the chairs, sighed.

“Madame Tickler will see you now,” he said.

“I think I’m stuck,” said Toaster.

The stallion sighed, and his horn glowed as Toaster was surrounded in blue light. She was extracted from the chair with an audible popping sound. She was then set gently onto the ground, and she found herself wishing that her own magic could be that useful.

The stallion secretary held open the door as Toaster hesitantly entered the vestibule beyond. The brothel itself was built in an incredibly old building, and had not originally been intended to have office space, but Madame Tickler had made do with what she had. There was a small space for her personal assistant, the stallion, which gave him his own small desk outside her office. The main office was sealed in the back of the room by a heavy wooden door. Every time Toaster saw that door- -and she saw it a lot- -it made her nervous.

She paused for a moment on the well-polished wooden floor, sliding across slowly with a quiet squeak.

“Actually,” she said. “I think I left my oven on, so if you don’t mind…”

“You don’t have an oven,” sighed the stallion. “Our fire insurance barely covers you as is.”

Before Toaster could protest further, he pushed open the door. She gulped; there was no going back now. She took a deep breath and stood as straight as possible as she walked into the room beyond.

Although the secretary’s vestibule was small, the room behind it was actually quite large, both in horizontal dimension as well as in height. The floor was covered in expensive carpet, and the walls lined with sparse, tasteful displays and paintings of various ponies who had once worked in the brothel and achieved great fame by doing so.

In the center was a desk, and before that desk a hard wooden chair.

“Sit,” said a slightly accented voice from the other side of the desk.

Toaster did not hesitate. She sat down in the chair, straightening her formal but still appropriately short dress over her fishnet stockings.

The chair behind the desk swiveled around and Toaster came face to face with an extremely displeased looking Pegasus: her boss, Madame Tip Tickler. Like always, Madame Tickler’s makeup was perfectly applied, her long, golden hair perfectly coiffed, and her sandy grayish wings groomed to the peak of fluffiness.

Madame Tickler looked up at Toaster, and for a moment her real age was apparent through all the makeup. Then she sighed.

“Toaster,” she said. “How many times have I had to call you in here now?”

“Thirty seven,” said Toaster. Then, pausing. “Assuming the concussion didn’t knock out a few. Again.”

Madame Tickler sighed and put her head down on her desk. Then, after a few moments, she sat up and removed a folder from her desk. The opened it and swiveled in her chair, reading it but not reading from it.

“Toaster…of all my girls, you are by far the best trained. You have taken every professional development class that we offer. Most girls take one or two, but you have literally taken them ALL. And not just taken them, not even just passed them- -you passed them all perfectly. Dancing, hospitality, fellatio, bondage, tantric sex, pony sutra, literally every technique that has ever been discovered to please a stallion…you are even one of only seven trained, recognized geisha in all of Canterlot. Physically, you have the flexibility of a Equestria Games gymnast and the stamina of a professional flyer. Not to mention…” she leaned forward quickly, shoving her hoof into Toaster’s mouth and pulling out the scrap of paper that was in there. She held it out in front of Toaster, showing how it had been folded into a tiny, dime-sized paper crane. “This.”

“Dang. I was trying for a giraffe.”

Madame Tickler leaned back in her chair and slapped down the manila folder. “You have even passed the written portions of the exams for Pegasi and unicorns, which alone is impressive considering your lack of wings and your…disability.”

Toaster lowered her eyes, ashamed. Madame Tickler did not seem to notice.

“We have spent over fifteen thousand bits with your education. Arguably, you should be the best prostitute we have…no, the best in all of Equestria. And yet…somehow…that could not be FURTHER from the truth!” She sighed, calming herself, and then turned back to Toaster. “Toaster, dear…how long have you been working for me?”

“Three years,” admitted Toaster.

“And how many clients have you actually succeeded in pleasing?”

“Well- -”

“None,” snapped Madame Tickler, her wings fluffing angrily.

“Well, I almost had the one last night! He almost put it in, too, but then he tried to get away. I nearly got him, though- -”

“And do you know what that is called? Do you? That’s attempted rape, Toaster!”

Toaster sighed and stared directly at the carpet, contemplating its weave. “Did he…did he press charges?”

“No. Of course not. But he could. You’re lucky I’m ‘old friends’ with the DA, or you would probably be in the castle dungeon by now.”

“I’m sorry,” said Toaster, realizing that she had done something wrong even though she was still hazy as to exactly what. Her job, after all, was to have sex- -by whatever means necessary. As she looked down at her legs, she felt a sudden realization. “Do you think it has anything to do with my color?”

“Color?” said Madame Tickler, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Because I’m the color of, well…”

“Hmm…No. I will admit that your color is not ideal for a unicorn- -stallions prefer pale rose or white in horn-mares.” She gestured lightly toward one of the largest paintings hanging on her wall, one of the tall unicorn mare Fleur de Lis. “Your color is more appropriate for an earth pony…and if you were a Pegasus in that shade, you’d be worth your weight in gold. But no. If your color really was a concern, we would just dye you.”

Toaster sat up suddenly and put her front hooves to her neck. “Madame! I know I’m an ugly color, but execution?!”

“Dye, Toaster- -D-Y-E, not D-I-E. But it’s not that bad. If anything, your inability use your horn is a bigger detriment. I can charge twenty percent more for a mare who can use her magic for…certain things. I can’t charge the extra for you. But even THAT is a minor problem. This…” She reached below the desk and pulled out a tall stack of overstuffed folders, tied together with twine. “This is a far greater problem. Do you know what this is?”

“Um…”

“This is your record. These are INCIDENT REPORTS. In all honesty, yes. This is a hard job. I get that sometimes we make mistakes. I’ve made plenty. But half this stuff…I wouldn’t have even thought it was possible if I didn’t know you personally.” She snapped the twine with her teeth and flipped open one of the folders. “I mean, the injury report alone…broken bones, concussions, and, how could I forget, BURNS. You’ve burned up six rooms alone, and more stallions than I can count- -some of them severely. I would say ‘Toaster, stop using your magic’- -but I already tried that. You did. And the burns didn’t even slow down. Actually, they INCREASED.”

“I can’t help it if everything is so flammable…and fragile…”

“Oh, and look at this,” said Madame Tickler, turning the page toward Toaster and displaying a grotesque image. “One stallion had his own horn shoved up his own PLOT.”

“He said he wanted a horn in there!” cried Toaster.

“Yes! YOUR horn, not his OWN! At this point, though, it’s probably better that it wasn’t you- -we’d still be cleaning him off the walls if you had tried a rim-horning.” She sighed and slammed down the paper. “I just don’t get it! You can strip the paint of a training dummy, but the instant we put you in a bedroom with a stallion it becomes a crime scene! And it’s not just that…”

Toaster braced herself for the berating to continue. She knew, of course, that all of it was true. She had been a prostitute for three years, and never once actually had sex with anypony at all. Not for lack of trying, of course, or lack of training. It just never worked properly. Even with prostitution as her special talent, it was a surprisingly difficult job.

“The 29th Street Brothel not the largest in Canterlot,” continued Madame Tickler, “but we are the elite. Our girls are considered the best, and we are considered a model school for the training of young call fillies. We pride ourselves in our skill, our experience, but most of all our discretion.”

“I’m discrete,” protested Toaster.

“Yelling ‘have a sexy night, Prince Blueblood’ as he was leaving our doors at two in the morning was hardly what I would call ‘discrete’. Especially since, until then, he was one of our highest profile- -and highest paying- -customers.”

“But I wanted him to have a sexy night!”

“And the incident at our Sexy Costume event during Nightmare Night,” continued Madame Tickler. “You came dressed as…a clown.”

“Who doesn’t want to have sex with a clown?”

“LITERALLY NO ONE wants to have sex with a CLOWN! Clowns are creepy and weird, not sexy!”

“I like clowns…”

“You would. Because you…it’s like you don’t understand how a normal pony’s mind works, or…how a pony is supposed to behave. You are a pony, right?”

“If I’m a griffon, nopony told me.”

“Griffon…” said Tickler, getting distracted for a moment and writing something down on a pad. “Not a bad idea…ehem.” She looked up, remembering what she was doing. “But the list goes on. Like the time with that strap-on…”

“Hey, it was dark! I couldn’t see!”

“My plot still hurts! Or, of course, the incident with the…the banana…”

They both shuddered violently. “Yeah,” said Toaster. “Even I admit that that one was pretty bad. What ever happened to that guy?”

“He was voluntarily gelded and became a priest of Celestia.”

“Oh. Good for him.”

“No. That is not a good thing, Toaster.”

Toaster sighed and looked up at her boss. “I’m sorry. But I’m getting better. I think. Kind of. I promise I’ll bed the next one. I really do.”

“No, you won’t.”

Madame Tickler reached into the pile with her mouth and dexterously removed a single folder, one much smoother and newer than all the others. She slid it across the table toward Toaster. Toaster looked down at it and gasped when she saw the ornate piece of pink-colored paper attached to the front with a shiny metal clip.

“You’re…you’re firing me?” she squeaked in panic. She looked up at Madame Tickler, her eyes wide. “But…but…please, Madame Tickler! I know I can do better! Please! Just one more chance!”

“Do you think I’m doing this because of your failures, toaster?” asked Madame Tickler, looking up at her framed painting of Fleur de Lis. “Yes, you have accumulated and…impressive array of disasters, but you still try. Were the situation different, I could transfer you to an indefinite role as window dressing.”

“But then…why?”

Madame Tickler swiveled suddenly in her chair, and focused her eyes straight on Toasters. Toaster suddenly felt terrified, as if she wanted to jump over the chair and run, or tunnel into the floor. She momentarily wondered if she had the magical potential to cut would, and realized that she probably did.

“Because you lied to me,” said Madame Tickler, bluntly.

“L- -lied?”

Tickler slammed her fist into the table and flipped open the folder, pointing to the medical report inside. “From your last STD examination. I didn’t believe it at first, but I trust our doctor explicitly. You, Toaster, are a virgin.”

Toaster’s jaw dropped and she stuttered incoherently for several seconds. Then she stopped for a moment, collected herself, and continued to stutter incoherently. Finally, after remembering what she had been so concerned about, the protested.

“I am not!” she cried. “I told you- -I got poked my first time on the night of pony prom!”

“You never attended pony prom,” said Madame Tickler sharply. She flipped through several folders. “In fact, as far as we can tell, you never even attended school. Not just high school- -no school at all. In fact, there’s no record of you anywhere- -you have no birth certificate, no medical records, nothing. It’s as if you just appeared three years ago on our doorstep.”

“Well, I- -”

“But you ARE a virgin. And as you know, according to Canterlot law, virgins are not allowed to practice prostitution.”

“Yes, but…but…so what if I am?! It’s a stupid law! How am I supposed to lose my virginity if I can’t have sex? And how can I have sex if I’m not getting paid?!”

Madame Tickler’s eyes narrowed. “I helped get that law passed, Toaster,” she said.

“But…but why?”

“Because I started my career when I was MUCH younger than you. They auctioned off my virginity, and I still don’t even know the name of the stallion that deflowered me. But I do remember what it felt like. We don’t sell a pony’s virginity. That’s just sick.”

“But I’m not a filly! I’m…” Toaster paused. She was not actually sure how old she was. Having a birth certificate, she suddenly realized, probably would actually be useful. She made a mental note to acquire one, assuming that it did not require being born a second time. “…I’m not a filly! Or a colt! I’m a full-grown, fully operational mare! Come on, Madame, I know you have some sway in this…”

“I do,” she said. She flipped over a page in Toater’s folder and exposed an official looking document. Once again, Toaster’s eyes widened.

“You…you reported me,” she gasped, picking up the sheet. “They...they’ve revoked my license!”

“You are no longer legally allowed to practice prostitution within Canterlot city limits. Regardless of whether you can manage to ‘break yourself in’ without turning your partner into a pile of ash.”

“But…but why?” Toaster’s eyes were wide, and she could fell big, sad tears rolling down her face.

Madame Tickler leaned forward. “It’s not even the incompetence,” she said. “And, by Celestia, you are incompetent. No. I love every one of my girls as if they were my own sexy, sexy daughters. I would die for any of them, even you. But you lied to me. Toaster, you broke my heart. I cannot trust you anymore.”

“But, Madame Tickler…”

“Without a prostitution license, you no longer have any business living in a brothel.” Her expression softened for a moment, and she was forced to look away. “You are to pack your bags and leave.”

“But…where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to so? Prostitution is my life, it’s my special talent!”

“Is it?” said Tickler. She swiveled her chair all the way around. “Just leave, Toaster. You are dismissed.”

Toaster stood up, and found that she was shaking. Her mind was racing, but there was nothing she could do. Without a license, no brothel would take her, and nopony would purchase use of a freelance hooker in Canterlot. Especially one that was known through the community for “immolations”.

“Thank you, Madame Tickler,” said Toaster, though her tears. She bowed, and then turned for the door.

“Toaster,” said Madame Tickler, her wings ruffling just slightly. She looked over her shoulder. “A word of advice, Toaster. You and I, we are whores. We will give a stallion whatever he wants so long as he has the bits. We give sex so many times, it becomes meaningless- -but you can only give your virginity once. Don’t be like me, Toaster. Give that gift to a pony you truly love, if you can.”

Toaster looked back, but then left without a word. Like so many things, she did not understand what Madame Tickler had meant.

The wind blew stiffly. The day, like most days, was cold. Many ponies tended to forget that Equestria’s capital was built high in a mountain. The air was surprisingly thin, and the weather tended to be cold, even during the summer. Many of the ponies walking through the streets were wearing jackets over their coats, or ornate and excessive clothing to protect them against the innately harsh weather.

Toaster, of course, was not wearing any such thing. She was instead dressed in a tiny skirt, fishnet stockings, and a highly revealing blouse. She was not cold, though; Toaster never got cold, even during the winter.

She sighed and leaned against the railing. Below her, Equestria extended outward to the distant horizon. All of it seemed so small from above, and at the same time, so much larger than the tiny building where she had spent the last three years of her life.

On only a few occasions had Toaster actually ventured outside. Her coworkers had always thought it extremely strange, but Toaster had no need to leave the brothel. There was nothing outside that she wanted.

Not that Toaster disliked being outside, of course. Mentally, she saw no difference between the two. What did bother her, though, was that there was now no “inside”. She had no home, and because of her failure at her career, no money. Her only possessions were several sets of work clothing that had been neatly folded into a suitcase at her side. She had never had anything else.

Toaster leaned on the railing and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Stupid laws being all stupid…and dumb…” She turned to couple standing next to her who were admiring the view. “So what if I shoved a stallion’s horn up his plot? Is that a crime? Oh, wait, yes it is…but it’s not like it’s even actually that painful. I can do it to myself easily! Want to see?”

They did not answer, but rather backed away slowly- -before breaking into a run.

“But now I can’t even do that for money…” sighed Toaster, putting her head on the railing. “Not in Canterlot, anyway…”

Then, suddenly, she gasped and bolted upright. Her course on prostitution law came flooding back to her, and ideas burned through her mind. She broke out into a smile.

“I can’t sell my body in Canterlot,” she said, “but that statute only applies to the city proper…” The realization crystalized in her mind. “So I just need to go somewhere else!”

She paused for a moment, and grimaced. “But not just anywhere else. Not some city with tight markets and tighter-plotted patrons. I need to expand into new territories. And have my territories expanded into by more stallions.”

She giggled slightly, and a passerby stepped back, no doubt going to find a city guard. Toaster did not care, though; she could outrun most of the city guards, considering how almost all of them had taken arrows to the knee at one point or another.

Instead of running, she scanned the horizon. Most of it was mountains, or forest- -the Everfree Forest, in particular. Toaster knew that some ponies lived in there, but the quantity was too low to turn a profit. She needed a settlement, but not one big enough to have its own preexisting network of brothels.

Then her eyes caught the glimmer of a distant structure. Of a castle made of solid crystal, looming over a tiny and distant town.

“Yes!” said Toaster, standing up on the railing. “That will do nicely! I have no idea if that is even a real town, but I am going to go there.” She grinned and laughed to herself. “And not one stallion will escape my grasp!” She prepared to jump off the ledge, but then stopped suddenly. “Whoa, oops! Forgot. Not a Pegasus. Can’t fly. Oh boy, that would have been messy. That’s like, a five thousand foot drop. Got to remember that.”

She opted instead to find a different means of transport.