"Hold on. Can you do that again?" Patched Scrape was both surprised and a little confused. She watched the line of sprouts intently, her magic holding a notepad to the side, quill poised and ready to strike.

"Sure. This sure beats waitin' around to die. If I had to give an opinion, Doc, it would be I never felt this good." Standing straight, showing no sign of his advanced age, Banjo Solo focused his magic on the row of sprouts. An odd uncoiling of power inside him threatened to overwhelm his body; as the new magic rushed up through him, Banjo's shaft put on an impressive display.

Uncharacteristically for Banjo—whose magic aura had changed little over the years—a bright green light illuminated his horn, and rather than his normal soft yellow magic, green spilled over the crop. Immediately a reaction was evident. Tiny sprouts jumped upwards, leaves pushed out, and soon the little tomato plants reached up to knee-high.

"This is amazing. When do they stop?" Scratching notes, Patched pulled out a measuring tape and tried to keep up with the growing plants. When one grabbed at her measuring tape, the device was lost to the clutching tendrils until Patched teleported it out of their grip.

Banjo reached a hoof out to rub the stem of the nearest plant, his arousal not showing a hint of going away. "Well, I found after about two or three fruit grow they start to slow down." As if to demonstrate, he plucked a tomato free of the plant that had just suddenly grown from a tiny flower bud to fully ripe in seconds. Holding up the fruit, Banjo closed his eyes and bit into the rich, sweet flesh.

Chewing on the tomato for a bit, letting Patched get her notes down, Banjo gestured towards the cave. "An' I can figure out just what it wants me to do." His body itched to just leap on Patched. She was the image of "the perfect mare" to his pleasure hungry mind, but he refrained with a force of will.

Patched could easily see how worked up Banjo was, and though a tiny part of her was ready and willing to just turn and flip her tail up, she had a little more professionalism than that. "You—You need to have a break now, Banjo?"

The clear rejection cut off that interested part of Banjo at the knees. He chuckled. "Don't suppose yer on 'the list'?" He was referring to a list that Sugar Belle and Tight Squeeze had suggested, and that Bright Day was cultivating. Simply, it was a list of ponies who were more than happy to give relief from the need imposed by the plant.

"I told Bright Day he should use leg-bands or something. No, Banjo, I have my own little party to be with when I have,"—Patched's mind suddenly ran to the things that aroused her, literally any lewd display—"a need."

"An yer getting a need right now, aren't ya?" Banjo winked at Patched.

Groaning, mainly because she was just as rock hard as Banjo seemed to be, Patched shook her head. "No, Banjo. I'm going. Let me know if anything else changes." She turned and walked from the garden, leaving the overly randy stallion behind.

Letting the doctor leave, Banjo turned to walk back inside when a tug at his tail caused him surprise. Leaning his head to the side, Banjo saw one of the tomato plants had snagged his tail. "Now, now. You should stick to non-movin' things." He was just about to use his magic to uncoil the vine, when it seemed to release on its own.

"Well, that's curious." Banjo thought of calling out to Patched Scrape, but when he looked he couldn't see her. "Are you jus' listening to me? Or is it more?" He leaned forward and set his hoof before the still quickly moving vine.

As if on cue, tendrils began to coil around Banjo's hoof. He pictured a pattern, however. He focused his attention into a specific pattern. "Well Ah'll be…" The vine still stretched up and over his hoof, but now all the tendrils had coiled into their own little spirals—just like he had thought. "So you do what Ah'm thinkin'?"

Stepping a little closer, Banjo summoned that green magic again and doused a fully-grown tomato plant in the power. Tiny flowers bloomed, died, and grew into juicy fruit, and vines leapt up to seek new purchase.

Banjo felt the tendrils grab to his fur, the vines of the plant securing themselves to him. Closing his eyes, his body even more turned on by working the strange new magic, he directed his thoughts in a particular direction.

"Oh girly…" The vine trailed up and under Banjo, and he felt it coil itself around his shaft. "Ya jus' do what Ah'm thinkin', and we both end up doing just great."

He couldn't move. Banjo was pinned in place by the vines of the tomato plant. They wrapped around his legs, they looped over his back, and one had trailed up his neck and spiraled itself up and over his horn. Despite the grip, Banjo felt safer than ever. "Now…"

The vine holding his shaft stroked, and Banjo let out a soft cooing sound. His thoughts worked the plant, and he couldn't help rocking in its grip, letting it continue to pleasure him. "Mmm. Ah don' need that list no more."

A rhythmic squeezing started, at Banjo's request, and the plant was now servicing him quite freely. But a problem presented itself: the plant was running out of energy. "Ya need more? Ah got more." Green light poured from Banjo's horn like a waterfall. Power poured down and into the tomato, and the sexual massage regained its pace.

Broad tomato leaves caused Banjo Solo's fur to become dappled in sunlight, and soon blocked it completely. To an outside observer it looked like a huge, pony-shaped topiary. Still in the grip of the plant, Banjo let his mind run wild. He rocked in the grip, fighting the plant for the ability to buck.

A tighter squeeze became a squeeze too much, and Banjo's body exploded in pleasure. A rush of heat began in his remaining ball, and he could feel a tingling sensation rush up to his prostate. Power poured from that organ, and soon the soil was painted with Banjo's essence.

Panting, Banjo mentally slowed down the vine, intending to give himself a break. But his shaft didn't deflate, didn't retreat; Banjo was still hard and ready, and he gave a youthful whinny of excitement before setting the plant into motion again.

Banjo had built himself a vicious, wonderful cycle. The plant needed more magic to control it and grow it, and using that magic caused him to grow hornier. He was down to one testicle after the cave plant's work on him, but Banjo Solo held not a drop of resentment towards it. Not with how good he felt.

Around him, the tomato plant had grown still, however, and no amount of mental prodding seemed to get it moving again. "W-What's gone wrong? Ya need more energy?" He didn't think twice about pouring that green power into the surrounding plant, but rather than jump back into its work, the vine seemed to uncoil a little, as if relaxing.

The reason for the plant's condition made itself known: the darkness of night filtered through the leaves around Banjo's eyes rather than the bright light of day. "Well, can't keep it up at night, huh?" Using his regular magic, Banjo slowly worked at untwisting the tomato vine from his fur.

Each little tendril, each gripping vine, was a labor of love. Banjo hadn't been much for plants before—keeping a little garden for fresh vegetables and little more—but with his new lease on life he felt a tight bond with them.

Nearly an hour passed before Banjo managed to step away from the tomato, leaving a pony-shaped mass of vines behind. "Maybe tomorrow." Bed called, but Banjo had to do something. Even though tiredness permeated him, Banjo turned his head in the direction the cave was, and started walking.

The night air was cool, and Banjo Solo felt pretty great considering everything that had happened of late. "An t' think Ah was almost dead a week ago." Reaching the cave, he used his horn—with his regular magic—to make a little light.

A big sign sat just inside the cave. Banjo walked up to it and read it out loud. "Warning: dangerous gas." He scoffed and shook his head. "Not a bad idea, though." Walking past the sign, Banjo could feel anticipation in the air. A thrumming sense of fate welled up, and he knew it had everything to do with him.

Leaving the black vines of the outer cave, Banjo walked still deeper, until he was in a small section of open cave with a huge mass of vines all around him. "Are ya ready?" One dark vine, a "grabber" hand on the end of it, hovered up before him. "Ya don't need to catch me a second time. Have a drink o' this."

Pulling that green power up from deep inside, Banjo sent it rushing through his body. It was overdoing things, however, and even as he channeled the power Banjo felt his strength give out.

Without his asking, the vine caught him mid fall. Holding a wealth of green energy in his horn, Banjo nuzzled at the plant cradling his body. "Here you go."

Baking was her life. Sugar Belle had her big oven working double-time, and trays danced around her carrying freshly baked goods to the table. "Darling! You want to try my honeysuckle danish?" She had a big grin on her face, knowing how much Tight enjoyed her cooking. It was one thing to appreciate ones own special talent and quite another when the pony you love does too.

"Honeysuckle danish?" Tight Squeeze poked his head around the corner of the living room that led into the kitchen. He looked at Sugar, and saw that she had just lifted some things from the oven. "Is this something you baked or a euphemism for—" Jerked off his hooves, Tight Squeeze floated through the air in cyan magic.

Sugar Belle brought her husband close enough to kiss, and did so. "No, silly." She giggled. "I used honeysuckle as the glaze." She turned Tight in the air, aiming his snout right at the tray of danishes.

Tight lifted a hoof up to his chin and stroked it. "So do I have to choose between a danish and s—" The surrounding magic squeezed, only a little, and he gasped. "I give up! Sorry! I'll eat your delicious danish, and then I'll eat your danish!"

"You are being silly and naughty." Sugar set Tight on his hooves, well within striking distance of the danishes (but not her danish). She waited for him to carefully lift up a danish and bite into the flaky crust. He chewed a moment, swallowed, and took another bite. The second bite, so quick after the first, was a special little delight for Sugar Belle: there was no greater treat than seeing her husband enjoy her food.

Used to his wife's ways, with pastries and himself, Tight Squeeze didn't even dare utter a word until he was done. Each bite was a little slice of perfection, and halfway through he closed his eyes to better savor the danish.

Stuffing the last piece in his mouth, Tight chewed it, extracting the last hits of flavor before swallowing. He opened his eyes and started to turn his head to Sugar. "That was delic—" He froze. A look of shock played over Sugar Belle's face.

"That was delicious darling. Now can I try the other danish." Sugar's mouth moved, uttering the words. She turned and looked at Tight. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?"

Tight nodded, feeling a little confused. "That's a good trick, dumpling, but I am hardly a hard pony to r—"

"… Read. Why don't we retire to the living room, where you can still hear the oven, and maybe you can have a danish too?" A measure of panic rushed through Sugar, and she stared at her husband. "However you're doing this, it's starting to get creepy. Please sto—" Sugar clamped her mouth closed.

Being turned into a plant-pony hybrid had come with a learning curve. Having his wife turn into one too had been another such. His pony instincts were telling Tight to freak out, to scream in shock that his wife could hear his thoughts.

Leaning forward, Tight Squeeze wrapped one of his oversize wings around Sugar Belle's neck. "You know what I am about to say." It's alright, love, this is probably something else the plant is doing, Tight thought, struggling to not actually say the words.

"Something has changed. This isn't just me, it is something up at the cave." Sugar turned her head, but happily accepted her husband's hug and his thoughts. "We should—"

Would you rather I just think them or actually say words? Tight thought at Sugar, nuzzling along her cheek, kissing all the places he knew helped to calm his wife.

"Talk. Please talk. I'll get the hang of this, but I love your voice." Sugar Belle fell into the wing holding her. She let herself be guided to the couch in the living room, and felt Tight guiding her down to lay on it.

"You probably know this, but I am going to tell you anyway. I love you, Sugar belle. Just relax, calm down, and focus on me." A smidgen of an idea lit in Tight's head, but when Sugar didn't instantly pick up on it he was a touch surprised. "You can only hear what I am going to say? Or what I am going to—but don't—say?"

"Y-Yeah. It's like I hear you in my head just a moment before you say something." One of Tight Squeeze's big wings draped over her, and Sugar Belle knew what was coming next. Her husband's feather control was amazing to her, and the firm touch of each seemed to home in on muscles that were tense. "Darling…"

"We'll check out the cave in the morning. But for now I intend to help you relax, and stay relaxed. Do you think you can focus on just hearing?" Settling on the couch behind Sugar, Tight curved both wings forward to keep the massage going.

With her husband behind her, Sugar lifted her tail without thinking about it. She was about to ask if Tight was going to do something, when his lips kissed her vulva. The strange thoughts that had started to plague her vanished, and Sugar was wrapped in her husband's embrace.

Author's Notes:

So I do this "Ask x" thing, x can be any pony within the story. You can ask them anything and I they will definitely hopefully reply. Keep the questions appropriate to the age-rating of the stories and of course, I they will answer the best question(s) in the author notes of the next chapter. The more votes a comment has the more likely I will get it to the right pony to answer, try and keep it to one answer per post! I They will pick one question per chapter.

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