There's sex in this one! Public gay rimming and anal sex in a restroom stall!

Berry’s Bar, the social epicenter for Ponyvilliains of low class and lower morals, hunkered in the basement under a record shop, visible only by a shingle featuring a strawberry and a grape and a set of stone stairs leading underground. Macintosh, tired from another long day on the farm but thirsty for some cider and company, thumped his way down those stairs and pushed open the door.

Lanterns hung from the bare ceiling rafters, glowing dim yellow. A rumbling murmur of conversation filled the air. He raised his head high to get a good view over the crowded floor, looking for friends. Caramel, sitting on cushions around a low table at the back with his friends Fahrenheit and Captain Fantastic, caught his eye and waved him over. Macintosh grinned, happy to see his oldest lover. He squeezed through the mass of ponies, muttering polite, unheard apologies.

Caramel leaned up from his cushion to kiss Macintosh on the jaw. Fahrenheit and Fantastic offered polite ‘aye, mate’s.

“Ain’t no place for me to sit,” said Macintosh.

Caramel scooted over on his cushion and batted his eyelashes. “You can sit on my face and tell me that you love me.”

“I’d break your fool neck,” said Macintosh, all but pushing the smaller male off the cushion with his burly bulk.

The little brown horse, with his swishy mane, his big blue eyes, and his fat, girlish bottom, draped himself over Macintosh’s back. “Look, he’s got a butt you can rest your drink on!” Caramel said, resting his drink on Macintosh’s butt.

“How is that in any way unusual, mate?” said Fantastic, a pink unicorn wearing a sequined blue jacket, straw boater hat, and round glasses.

“You could rest a whole round of drinks on that keister. Smell funny after, though,” said Fahrenheit, a lean yellow earth pony with a neat black mustache and a cutie mark of an exploding thermometer.

Caramel put his nose over Macintosh’s tail and inhaled deeply. “Smells fine to me.”

“Apple whiskey, neat, cider chaser,” said Macintosh to the waitress.

“So I was saying,” said Fahrenheit. “The AE6100 is an over-engineered piece of bullshit.”

“You’re bullshit,” said Fantastic, “And all you care about in a microphone is if you can wave it around on stage like it’s your dick.”

“Like I’ve got any objection to waving my dick around on stage.”

“You use a 565SD, right?” said Caramel.

Macintosh tuned out the conversation. Farhenheit and Fantastic were musicians, and pretty incredible ones at that, but it was almost all they ever talked about and while Caramel was enough of a sound nerd to hold his own, Macintosh never had any idea.¹ He let their voices wash over him like he always did when the four of them were together. He didn’t need to talk. They were decent guys who were happy to let him listen to them, and sometimes the four of them got together for a ‘jam session’ of the kind even Macintosh could understand at Caramel’s place after last call.

In the meanwhile, Macintosh just let the sense of being where he was wash over him. While he was hardly an extravert, he appreciated the significance of being part of a herd, even a temporary and casual one like the one that gathered at Berry’s most nights of the week. He closed his eyes, listened to the murmur of voices blending into one soft roar, the scents of dozens of ponies and other creatures blending into one warm soft haze. He wrinkled up his lip to hold those smells. Hoof dirt, perfume, cologne, sweat, the sour-sweet smell of wine and beer and the crisper, more aggressive smell of hard liquor.

And. Something else. The pungent, sweet smell of a mare in heat.

“Are you awake, there, big guy?” said a sultry female voice.

Macintosh opened his eyes. The waitress, a cream-colored, brown-maned earth pony mare, looked cute in her little black apron. She was the same height standing up as he was lying down. which was tallish for a mare. “Hey,” he said, looking into her blue eyes. Her lashes were long and thick and her expression was spicy-sweet. As she set his bowl of cider and his shot glass on the low table between the four friends, he observed the jiggle in her hips. He inhaled, drinking in the scent of her. Older than him by a few years, she had a mellower smell than most of the mares he’d been close to. Her fur had a little less luster, her barrel some extra softness.

His nose brushed her ear on the way back up.

“Oh. Excuse me,” she said, blushing.

“My fault,” said Macintosh. He watched her bounce away. Her tail flicked a little to one side; was it his imagination that she glanced back as she did? In the low diffuse light of the bar, all he could see was the gentle curve of her buttocks into shadows that kept their secrets, shadows whose very depth made his heart stammer and stutter.

Blunt teeth closed on the side of his ear.

“You like her,” said Caramel.

He flicked his ear against the end of Caramel’s snout. “Eyup. Ain’t seen her here before? She new?”

“Just started working the bar, but I’ve seen her around town. I think she has a kid.”

“Married?”

“Dunno,” said Caramel, “But I don’t think you’re getting her tonight.” He ran his tongue along the edge of Macintosh’s ear. “Wanna go take the edge off?”

Macintosh let out a rumbling sigh. “Is your ass ready?”

“Boss, my ass is a twenty-four/seven convenience store. It’s always open.”

“In a high traffic area,” said Farhenheit.

“Slippery when wet,” said Fantastic. “Wear your rubbers.”

“We prefer to ride bareback,” said Caramel.

Macintosh stood up. “Now you’re mixing metaphors, and I gotta see a horse about a horse.” Caramel let out a high-pitched squeak, wrapping his forelegs around Macintosh’s neck so he didn’t slide off his back. Macintosh carried him past the bar and down the narrow corridor to the restroom, rocking his hips side to side cheerfully and arhythmically. He was gonna get some! Caramel might not be his favorite fuck toy, he might not love him exactly, but he had an ass thar wouldn’t quit on the outside or the inside..

He nosed open the rough, frosted-glass door and let Caramel slide off his back. “I seriously do gotta piss. Don’t suppose you wanna try...?”

Caramel laugh. “For the millionth time, fuck no!”

Macintosh huffed. “Nopony wants to do that with me.”

Caramel pushed his back up against Macintosh’s haunch and pushed, hind hooves skidding on the restroom floor. “That’s because it’s gross. I mean not to kinkshame. It’s a perfectly acceptable fetish. I just don’t want to ever do it or hear anything about it. I’ll join you in the stall when you’re done.”

Macintosh sighed. He hated public restroom stalls; he always had to hunch up to hit the hole.² And, as excited as he was by the older mare’s flirtiness and Caramel’s willingness, he was hard almost to the point of flaring, which made it harder to aim.

He got pee on his hooves. Out of respect for Caramel’s preferences, he wiped himself off as best he could before calling the smaller stallion in.

Caramel closed the stall door behind him, cramming himself into the small space behind Macintosh’s ass. Macintosh put his hooves on the wall and leaned up, giving Caramel more room. He heard the other male sniffing back there, then felt the cool, soft touch of his tongue on his ponut. He licked slowly around the puffy, leathery edge, wetting it, cleaning it of the day’s sweat and grime. His tongue slid against his dock, and up and down the delicate insides of his cheeks where the fur grew thin.

“Get under me, you little slut,” moaned Macintosh. “You’re teasing me.”

Caramel ignored him. With a soft ‘puthp’ noise he spat on Macintosh’s taint. The viscous fluid trickled down to roll over the top of his balls, and he rubbed it in with his tongue. Electric tingles jangled up his nerves to his prostate which expressed its delight by sending out a load of pre that echoed when it plopped into the toilet hole. The randy little male sucked each of his balls in turn, then wriggled in between Macintosh’s thighs to nibble the thin skin where his sack hung down beneath the base of his cock.

“I need to put it in you,” moaned Mac. “C’mon, I’m gonna shoot on the floor.”

“Patience, patience, horny guy,” said Caramel. He licked the belly of Macintosh’s cock, tracing down the veins, over the medial ring. Another dollop of pre dripped into the toilet. “I wanna get you fully flared. My ass is so stretched out I can barely feel it if you’re not.”

“That’s a damn lie. You’re ass is so tight it hurts, and I need it.”

“Maybe a little white lie. But I like the pain just like you do.”

Caramel was most of the way under him now. Macintosh’s shaft was longer than Caramel’s torso, and he wiggled up against it as he licked at the edge of the flare, his cheek and neck against the shaft. The crease his spine made between his back muscles cradled its length, and Macintosh’s balls pressed against his pillowy ass. Macintosh wanted to play with the little stallion’s body, but in the tight confines of the stall, all he could do was reach down and wrap a foreleg around Caramel’s round belly, pressing his hoof against the top of his cockshaft. He bucked his hips, sliding his cock against Caramel’s back. The soft hairs of his coat tickled his dick’s skin; it sent another jangle of pleasure up into his body and got Caramel a squirt of pre across his snout. Macintosh quickened his humping, riding Caramel like a horny dog on its master’s leg. He felt the rush of extra blood to his cock, spreading his flare from ‘wide’ to ‘scalloped mushroom head big enough to sit on.’

“Oh! That’ll do it!"

Caramel scurried forward under Macintosh; he had to climb halfway up the wall to get the spread flare between his cheeks. Macintosh balanced his forehead against the tiled restroom wall and grabbed Caramel, stuffing his mouth with his hoof and pinning him against his cider gut with a hoof under his belly. He jammed his cock against Caramel’s ponut. It refused to go in, just bouncing off the surface and up under his dock.

The smaller male moaned something that might’ve been ‘lower’ into Macintosh’s hoof. Mac pulled his hips back and thrust. He felt the partly-open pucker of Caramel’s ass cradle his flare; he wiggled and it gave way and he popped inside.

The hot, close confines of Caramel’s ass clutched him, slippery and silky on the end of his dick. Hungry for more of the delirious, delectable sensation of the little slut’s intestines around his cock, he pumped, working his way in. Caramel’s tubby tummy pushed out as his dick filled it.

Macintosh growled like a timber wolf and pressed his hoof in deep, stroking his own shaft through Caramel’s flesh.

Spit and tears soaked the hoof blocking Caramel’s mouth. A flicker of worry danced through Macintosh’s mind, afraid he was hurting his little friend. But they’d been over this—he was hurting Caramel, and Caramel liked it. They had their signals worked out. If there was a problem, Caramel would let him know. Until then, he could take his pleasure as roughly as he wanted.

Which he did. His balls glowed white hot, begging for release, but he willed them to hold in their load. Caramel’s body was a slick sleeve around him, fitting him like a condom, fucked into perfect shape in dozens and dozens of encounters. His flare pushed into the rubbery, flexible, ductile depths of Caramel’s sturdy little body, took him so deep that his balls pressed against those luscious fat ass cheeks before he hit the limit. The little male’s heartbeat trembled against his flare, pulsing fast. His lungs squeezed and unsqueezed, massaging Macintosh’s meat.

Caramel’s body stiffened under him. His muscles tensed. His hind hoof hammered on the floor. Macintosh grinned. He had memorized Caramel's reactions and every curve, crevice and recess of his body. He knew the signs of a gay little pony who was ready to pop, and he knew exactly how far to pull back so that his medial ring rubbed against the poor little guy’s prostate. He did that now, grinding down, fucking him with short, fast thrusts.

Caramel’s ass twitched around him.

Macintosh twisted his hoof to block Caramel’s nostrils, sealing off his breath. Felt the sharp inhale of breath against his frog. The sweet, soft glove of his body clenched around his dick. The powerful muscles of his anal ring clenched down, pinching his cock so hard it felt like it might cut it in half.

A muffled, blissful groan slipped out around the edges of Macintosh’s hooves.

Caramel’s cum made soft little thumps against the floor and the toilet bowl.

Macintosh removed his hoof, allowing him to breathe again.

“Fuck me hard!” he whined! “Cum in me! I need it!”

Macintosh jammed his hips forward. He heard the coconut-like noise of Caramel’s head hitting the bathroom wall. He released the grip of the muscles holding the damn behind his prostate closed, and felt the flood of cum rushing past it, accompanied by a feeling like the singing of angels.

Then it was backing out, nice and slow. A complicated procedure, with him so deep in there and Caramel relatively delicate, at least compared to a pony who had more than once wandered through a stone fence while lost in thought and not noticed. He scooped his little buddy into his forelegs to give him a cuddle, and Caramel wriggled around so they could kiss.

“That was amazing,” said Caramel.

“Eyup.”

“You’re amazing.”

“Nope. You.”

Caramel giggled. “All right, you’re my best fuckbuddy, but it’s getting crowded in this stall. Why don’t you go and hang out, and I’ll clean up while I wait for my ass to close.”

“You sure?”

“Sure and certain. And if that adorable waitress mommy gets a whiff my sex on you and wants to have a turn, you go for it, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

Macintosh kissed him on the forehead. “I wasn’t gonna, little guy.”

He cleaned up a bit at the sink and strutted back to the corner Fahrenheit and Fantastic were holding down for them. There was no sign of the hot waitress except a fresh cider and whiskey. Macintosh nodded to his friends as he sat down. He took the shot glass between his lips and tossed it back, enjoying the way it burned down his throat. He licked several tonguefuls from his bowl of cider before he noticed how uncharacteristically silent his attention-whore friends were being. Fahrenheit was doodling on a bar napkin with a pencil in his mouth, and Fantastic held the place in the middle of a magazine with his hoof.

“You two okay?” said Macintosh.

“Fine, fine,” said Fantastic, looking anxious. “Nothing going on. Nopony walked into the bar while you were out. Hey, mate, you like apples, right? Look at this photo of an apple I found in this magazine! Isn’t that neat? What kind of apple is that?”

Macintosh narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Jonagold. Why are you actin’ weird?”

Fahrenheit held up his napkin. “Hey! Look at this picture of a mare with a big dick I drew! It’s really interesting, right? Bet you wanna look at this for a while and definitely not look towards the bar.”

Fantastic nodded, his boater cap wobbling back and forth.

“Fahrenheit, you’re a great singer,” said Macintosh.

“Why thank you.”

“But your drawing sucks.”

“Bollocks!” said Fahrenheit, crumpling up the napkin.

“So what am I supposed to not look at?”

“Mate, if we told you, you’d look.”

Macintosh roll his eyes and turned his head. He didn’t have to turn it far before she came into the near-circle of his pony vision cone.

Cheerilee, pink and purple and curvy, leaning over the bar to shout her order in Berry’s ear.

His heart dropped with panic. His belly rose in anxiety. They bounced off each other in the middle.

“Don’t go talk to her,” said Fahrenheit.

“You’re a butterfly, and butterflies are free to fly. Fly away,” said Fantastic.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” said Fahrenheirt.

“Thanks. Brown Dirt Cowboy wrote it for me the other day.”

“I wish I had a Brown Dirt Cowboy. Mac! Mate! Where are you going?”

Macintosh stood. “I’m gonna talk to her.”