This chapter is mostly exposition, perving, and some public urination and masturbation.

“Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.” — Mark Twain

Fluttershy sneaked across Ponyville on tippy-hoof, stalking her prey. Her subtle, swift movements took inspiration from the cunning vole. Because have you ever seen a vole stalking anything? Neither had Fluttershy. They were that good. She scurried through alleys, behind carts, and at last between a rain barrel and the back of a tea shop.

Her quarry was large, slow-moving, and oblivious. That helped.

She was an attractive young mare, twenty summers old, soft-seeming, especially in the hindquarters, but rugged and durable underneath. Close examination of her silky yellow coat would reveal a myriad of tiny scars, mostly claw scratches and bite marks, hallmarks of her dedication to caring for her non-speaking friends. Weekly hooficures with Rarity left her hoof wall neatly trimmed and shiny, but could not conceal the places where daily hard labor had left them chipped or scratched.

Today she wore her long, straight pink mane and tail up in buns to prevent them from getting in the way while she engaged in stealthy shenanigans. She was acutely aware, and happy, nay, delighted that this left her hindquarters exposed to any creature whose alert gaze could penetrate her stealth. Though the outer curve of her fat-padded gluteus maximus protruded almost a full hoof out from the depths of her ass crack, occasional rays of sunshine still gleamed on the smooth, leathery flesh of her poutine protruding pussy and ponut.

Yes, Fluttery was a fabulous young piece of tail, and wretchedly kinky, to boot. A prize for young farmer Macintosh, if she could ever find a way to let him know.

Even after Luna’s recent introduction of a diamond standard for the bit, small settlements like Ponyville still operated on a barter economy to a great extent. Macintosh’s job on Humpdays, as far as Fluttershy could surmise from her observations of the Apple Family’s patterns, was to go around to the vendors with samples of apples setting up trades for things the Apple family needed.

Fluttershy knew this was her chance to talk to him. She just didn’t know how to take advantage of that opportunity. But she wanted to talk to him so badly! When she met him on the farm, it was hard to get past the ‘um, hi’ and ‘eyup’ stage of the conversation before Applejack literally butted in, positioning her burly little body between the two taller ponies at every turn.

Macintosh was a gorgeous piece of stallionflesh. He towered over her and given that Fluttershy was herself taller than many stallions, that meant a lot to her. She wanted to be the small pony in a relationship! He was thick, thick everywhere, from his jaw to his neck to his shoulders to his ass. Muscles shifted slow and graceful beneath his crimson hide like the movements of continents, padded and smoothed by a layer of cuddly fat.

His balls, left exposed by his scandalously short tail crop, hung like forbidden fruit, heavy and firm. Sunlight glowed on their bare mahogany skin; gleamed on the small wrinkles at the top.

His sheath hung heavy beneath his rounded tummy, promising intense delight for the mare who didn’t mind a bit of pain with her pleasure. She’d snuck a view of him urinating once, his hose, as long as her foreleg even in repose, hanging nearly to the ground, disgorging a waterfall of acrid, pheromone-rich amber wine. And there was so much of it! Gallons and gallons, wasted on the ground when they could be in her tummy. Hidden in the bushes, she’d had ample time to rub herself to completion, hoof moving fast between her plump thighs. She’d washed up afterward, but Applejack had smelled it on her, and given her a withering glare that had only made the whole experience more worthwhile.

But it wasn’t just his body. His shaggy yellow mane and the short, scruffy beard along his rugged jaw begged to be caressed and straightened. His sensitive green eyes spoke of hidden depths beneath his laconic exterior. His love for his family was obvious. He was kind and polite and quiet. He seemed like a good pony. Which was a rare thing.

Hopefully not too good though. A prince in the streets and a bastard between the sheets would be ideal.

Anyway.

It was so hard to talk to ponies! Especially ponies who didn’t talk much themselves! Pinkie and Twilight had given her some lessons on social skills. You needed to ask ponies questions. They liked that. So she needed a window in which to ask a question, and then something to ask him a question about. Some common point of interest to break the ice. If only he would go trade for chickens or something! Then she could ask him how his rooster was doing. He would be amazed by how much she knew about cocks and he’d ask her to show off her knowledge.

But no. He’d been at the toolmaker’s stall for twenty minutes already and showed no sign of moving on. Fluttershy knew almost nothing about tools. She didn’t know any good questions to ask about them?

Her current hideout behind a rain barrel was starting to draw attention. Confused and worried glances from the simple, honest ponies of Ponyville prickled the back of her neck.

So Fluttershy darted across the street to the flower shop and hunkered down between two pots of begonias. She could get a better view of Macintosh’s colossal, square, implacable buttocks from here. Yes indeed, that bobbed tail of his didn’t hide much. Not the piquant protruding pucker of his ponut, not the perfect path of his perineum. His balls hung down like a couple of over-ripe mangoes, deep reddish-brown and gleaming with fresh summer sweat. She thought about slowly sucking one of those fine salty nuts into her mouth. Rolling it back and forth between her tongue and the ridged skin of her hard palate.

His husky moans echoed through her imagination.

She backed up against the pot behind her, the rim sinking into her soft cheeks until the delicate pistil of her clit hit hard ceramic. Then she started to gyrate side to side, wetting the pit edge so that her clit could slide back and forth along the slightly rough surface. Electric jolts of pleasure tingled up her spine. Leaves and flower petals tickled her back. Her wings spread with arousal.

“Can I help you?” said Roseluck from behind her.

Fluttershy squeaked. The rocking of the begonia pot, displaced by the motion of her colossal ass cheeks, must have given her away! She darted in between two pots of rhododendrons, where her covert masturbatory activities would be less obvious. “No. I’m fine. Please go away.”

Roseluck bent down and glared into the flowery bower formed by the flowering bushes. “I see you in there, you sick sex freak. You’re buying those flowers.”

Minutes later, she was ten bits poorer and carrying a slightly damp pot of begonias on her back. She passed Macintosh testing a hammer, holding it in his jaws and tapping it against a sample of wood, an intent expression on his shaggy, angular face. He didn’t even look her way. Oh, how she wished that face could be between her hind legs, his attention focused on her aching, frustrated clit instead of that stupid hammer. Or better yet, nestled under her tail, where…

“What’re you doing?” said a voice from directly behind her, heavy with a gooey country accent and also with angry contempt.

Fluttershy froze in panic. While she had been imitating the stealth of the subtle forest vole, she had neglected to imitate the wariness of the humble sea sponge, which alone amongst all the denizens of the animal kingdom was never startled or surprised.

There was always the path of the cowardly possum. Maybe if she held her breath and didn’t look directly at her, Applejack would go away.

“Fluttershy! Don’t you dare go avoidant on me,” said Applejack, stepping out of the narrow cone of vision behind Fluttershy’s back where her vision didn’t reach.

“I am not Fluttershy. I am a decorative planter.”

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” said Applejack coldly.

“A bone to pick? With me? Oh, no thanks. I’m vegan.”

“You’re not vegan. I know you eat the meat you make for your animals.” The young mare, two years Fluttershy’s junior, was every bit as strong as her brother. Her chest and shoulders were incredibly powerful for a mare, and Fluttershy would have loved to lick the summer sweat off that buzz-cut orange coat. Sadly, her investigations when she’d started socializing with her after Twilight had come to town two months ago had determined that Applejack was the token straight member of their group.

Fluttershy was all for diversity, of course, but she was a mare with needs. Her eyes flicked back towards Macintosh. He’d turned sideways to look at a worktable, hiding his balls, but showing her the sublime thickness of his chest and thighs. His sheath, massive even in repose, wobbled under his belly. She clutched her hooves to her chest, and let out a sigh of wistful longing. A stream of sticky moisture trickled down the inside of her left hind leg.

Applejack stomped her hoof and walked around to put her hat between Fluttershy’s eyes and Macintosh’s penis. “You are creepin’ on my brother.”

Fluttershy tilted her head back away from Applejack. “That’s not true. I only eat a little meat. If I make too much. It’s disrespectful to the creature who died to let it go to waste.”

“That’s... Harmony darn it, don’t change the topic.” Applejack leaned her face close to Fluttershy’s, eyes narrow, fuming with judgment. “You’re creepin’. You’re stalking it. Stop it.”

“I’m not creeping. I’m just shy. . It’s in my name. Fluttershy” she said, moving her hooves side to side in the air as if demonstrating the construction of an imaginary floating word. “I don’t know what you were expecting from me. Social skills?” Taller than Applejack, she couldn’t help but gaze along the other mare’s broad, muscular back, along the furrow of her spine to the swell of her haunches. Such a pity she didn’t go in for sapphic pleasures; those thighs looked like they could crush her skull. The big muscles were like coconuts!

“Eye contact, sugar cube,” said Applejack, hooking her hoof under Fluttershy’s jaw and pulling her head around. “Listen, I’m not gonna mince words: you need to leave my brother alone.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” said Fluttershy, her head slumping sullenly in Applejack’s grip. “I want to show him kindness.” Intimate, sweaty kindness.

“Goldarnit, Fluttershy, that ain’t what this is about. I ain’t worried about Mac. He can take care of his own dang self. It’s you I’m worried about.”

Fluttershy narrowed her eyes in irritation. “I can take care of myself, too.”

“For buck’s sake Fluttershy, just come with me. We gotta talk.”