Dear Journal,

I awoke entangled in a ball of pony, hooves intertwined with my partner’s. I blearily pried my eyes open to see the sleeping mare in front of me. Before long, memories of last night’s debauchery began to sink in. I quickly freed myself and rolled off of the bed. A quick glance at the clock told me it was still before noon. I don’t usually sleep in, but then again I don’t usually sleep downstairs, or wrapped in anypony's hooves for that matter. My head was throbbing, a far cry from the worst hangover I've ever had but still enough to warrant some aspirin.

As I returned from the bathroom to wash my face I found Rarity beginning to stir. “Mmmmwhat time is it?” she groaned, as her eyes blearily scanned the room.

“Ten-thirty,” I said. “And how did we sleep?”

“Oh, splendidly,” she winced. “Though, I can’t say much for this headache.”

“A bit too much to drink, my dear?” I giggled, triumphantly. I may have had a hangover, but it wasn't nearly as bad as hers by the looks of it.

“How do you do that? You drink nearly as much as I do, but you never seem…rrrgh,” she held cradled her head in her hooves, “…too suffer like I do.”

“Years of practice,” I teased, as I left to grab some aspirin.

I returned with pills and water, which Rarity and I happily downed. “Thank you, darling,” she gasped, “What are the damages?”

It took me a minute to realize what she was asking, and after some quick math, I had her answer. “Counting until eleven o'clock… four-hundred and ten bits.”

She winced, this time at the price. She quickly searched through her dress, pulling a small coin purse from somewhere within, and began counting out my fee. “Oh dear… I, uh, I only have four-hundred,” she admitted.

I always hate this, as much as I would love to just call it even, I can’t. It’s a slippery slope. The moment a client thinks I can be persuaded out of money, it’s only a matter of time until they start coming over and expecting me to knock time off of the meter. “Then just bring the extra ten next time… up front.” There was no charm or pomp in my voice; it was stern and unyielding. As much as I enjoy the company of some of my clients, they are just that… clients, and have to be treated as such.

“O-Of course...” she stuttered, looking a little guilty. It’s never fun to be the bad guy, but sometimes I have to. “I, uh, do I still have until 11 then?” she asked, albeit very cautiously.

“Certainly.” I smiled at her. Even if I have to play the bad guy, I don’t have to play it for very long… usually. “But, I must ask… aren't you usually open by now?”

“Oh, I don’t open on Sundays, dear,” she remarked, folding her dress into a neat pile.

I was already walking out of the room, off to prepare breakfast, when I heard her.

Sunday.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Rarity, did… haha… did you say… Sunday?” I asked, praying I’d misheard her.

“Why, yes dear… I couldn't very well stay the night if it was a work night, now, could I?” She smiled at me once more. I wasn't even looking at her at this point.

“I’m terribly sorry, Rarity, But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“But, I thought you said-”

“Ignore that… I only have 30 minutes to get ready for my appointment!”

“But what about-”

“Forget the extra ten bits… in fact…” I hoofed her back ten bits. “Call it until ten, and then its only three-ninety.” So much for stern and unyielding.

“Oh, uh, alright then.” She took the bits, looking more than a little confused.

I slowed down… I realized how fast I was moving… and talking, and it was upsetting my client. I composed myself almost instantly. “Forgive me Rarity, It’s just… I completely forgot that today was Sunday, and I have a client coming in…” I glanced at the clock “28 minutes, and I really hate to do this to you, but I really must ask you to leave a bit early… to protect their anonymity… and yours.” Cue the dazzling smile. “You do understand, don’t you?”

Rarity grinned. “Nice save,” she teased. I’m fairly certain I blushed a little.

I helped Rarity gather her things and after a quick brush of her mane, I led her out… she didn't seem to upset by the whole… getting kicked out thing… but hey I had more important matters to attend to. First, I had to erase all evidence of Rarity. Perfume still lingered in the air, sheets still smelled of sex, ice cream lay melting into soup, I still reeked of mare, the folding screens were still out, and there were dishes to be done… there was much to do.

Windows were opened to air out my home. I always have a set of clean sheets for the bed, which was quickly remade. The Puddles that was once a half-eaten gallon of cookie dough ice cream was quickly poured down the sink and a quick shower washed me of my offending odors. I let myself dry while I put away screens, cleaned plates, and downed a birth control potion.

10:55, no time for pants, but other than that, everything was just about perfect, leaving me five minutes to catch my breath. I trotted downstairs and unlocked the door, waiting for my client’s arrival. Out of all my clients she is certainly the one I’m the most grateful for. You see, every Sunday, and I do mean every Sunday, I have a two hour appointment, with what is probably the only client I consider a regular.

With most of my clients, it’s a guessing game. I’m always trying to figure out what is wanted of me, trying to figure out who I need to be. With her it’s easy, not because she’s transparent, or simple, but because she knows exactly what she wants and isn't afraid to ask for it.

The door flew open and she was there, with a small basket in her mouth. She stepped into my home and placed her basket on a table. “Hey, Guilty! No pants today?” I smiled at her, an honest smile, because I truly am happy to see her.

“Not today Derpy,” I mused, staring into her mismatched sunset eyes.

“Mmkay!, I brought zucchini today!” she said. She instantly began walking into the bedroom. “C'mon Guilty, it’s time for sex!” she announced giddily, trotting away, wiggling her rear end at me. Celestia, love her.

“You’re the boss.” I happily followed her, watching her blonde tail twitch and raise. Her rear-end bounced with each step.

She has a dynamite ass.

It’s always like this, every week she brings muffins, apparently today was zucchini. She’s always ready to go right when she arrives, and always so happy every step of the way. It really feels good, having a client that so enjoys my efforts, that appreciates what I do enough to come back every week... and bring muffins.

She trotted over to the bed, now free of any sign of recent use, and folded her forehooves on the mattress. She raised her tail high, and it splayed out on her back. I eagerly walked up behind her, mounting myself atop her frame, planting my own fore-hooves on either side of her head, like always.

“So, how’s business?” she asked, turning a curious glance back at me as I fumbled with my ever swelling self.

“Not bad, made a small fortune last night,” I responded, as I pressed the end of my now firm stallionhood against her entrance.

“That’s niiIIIIIIIIIIIIIce,” she moaned as I thrust the length of myself inside her with ease. “Anyone *huff* I know?”

“You *huff* know I can’t *huff* discuss that.” It’s sort of our little ritual, she always wants to small talk during sex. I’m actually pretty thankful for the mental stimulation during sex. When you do this as much as I do and it can get monotonous. Fun, but monotonous.

“Weather's *huff* supposed to be *huff* rainy s-soon.” Each word was a struggle for her, but she continued on regardless.

“*huff* Yeah?” It wasn't much easier for me.

“Yeah *huff* Rainbow Dash t-told me.” She talks about Rainbow Dash sometimes; she’s apparently a friend of hers who works on the weather patrol.

“Huh… How’s Dinky?” Most ponies I know would probably not want to talk about their children during a good plowing, but Derpy is not most ponies.

“Oh, my little muffin is in troooOOOOOUUUUUUUUBLLLLLLLLLLLE!” I felt her insides clench me tight as a brief orgasm shot through her.

“*huff* Yeah? *grunt * What’d she do?” Her answer took a few seconds, she was still riding waves of pleasure. I continued to thrust away, regardless.

“She was *huff* fighting *huff* somepony at *huff* school.”

“Oh?” I’d never met Dinky, but I had grown to know her through her mother’s weekly news, and that didn’t sound anything like the Dinky I’d heard so much about. “That doesn't *grunt* sound anything *grunt* like the Dinky *grunt* I’ve heard so much about.”

She grumbled. “Something’s *mmm* been upsetting her... she won’t talk *huff* to meeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE OOOOOH LUNA!!!” Another climax shot through her, and her walls clenched my throbbing self again. My humping continued on through her pleasure. Derpy was fairly easy to please, and multiply orgasmic to boot, but that doesn't mean I don't give it my all. After several orgasms I knew she’d be worn out, and we’d retire to the foyer for talk. And muffins. I like muffins.

“Wish I could *nngh* help you there… no good with *huff* kids.” Sweat began to build up on both of us, and I could taste the salt on my lips.

She groaned in response, partially from frustration and partially from pleasure. “I just *huff* I don’t know *huff* how to *ugh* talk to her.”

“Hmm *huff* did she *huff* win at least?” I asked. Pleasing Derpy was second nature at this point, so I was more focused on the conversation.

“Ooooh yeah *huff* she did. *huff* chipped the *grunt* poor kid’s *ngh* tooooOOOOOO-OOOOOOOOOTH!”

“Yeeeesh, that kid *unf* must have a *grunt* hell of a kick.”

“No, She *huff* threw her lunchbox *huff* aaAAAAAAAAAA SWEET CELESTIA!... at the kid with *nngh* her MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaagic!”

“Twice in one *huff* sentence?” I have to say I was genuinely impressed with myself.

“Yeah… *huff*… *huff*… gimme a minute.”

I dismounted the grey mare and she sank forward into the bed, legs twitching erratically. She slowly managed to squirm her way up onto the cloud, panting heavily, lazily rolling over onto her back. She was really quite beautiful like that, wings splayed out at her sides, a satisfied smile on her face, eyes half lidded. Picturesque. I climbed on next to her, (mindful of her wings) and rolled to face her. “So… she’s grounded then?”

“I dunno…” she managed between breaths. “Lick me?”

“Of course,” I responded, eager to dive right in. I grabbed her by the knees, sliding her over to face me, she gave a surprised yelp as I plunged my muzzle between her legs. Now came the part of our appointment in which Guilty’s mouth was otherwise occupied, and could not entertain dialogue. Luckily, Derpy seems more than content with monologue. She spoke as I eagerly lapped up her juices.

There’s no need to start slow with Derpy, in any regard. I can always start full throttle. So my tongue was quickly exploring her deepest regions.

“I dunno… It’s just *mmmmmm* hard to get her to *huff* open up, you know? As much as I try, *nngh* I can’t seem get her to *huff* to talk to me. Something is *huff* definitely bothering her but… *sigh*I just *mmm* I don’t know. Her father was much better at this… *ah*” She began to squeak in pleasure as I licked her. Her hoof found its way to my head, pushing my snout encouragingly deeper into her folds. “It’s *ah* frustrating.”

Her hips began to rock slightly against my face, and a throaty moan escaped her lips. “You’re really good at that you know? This is *huff* just what I needed after a week like this. My boss yelled at me *huff*… again; I dropped another *nngh* package. Broke a bunch of glassware, cheap stuff but… aaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Her inner walls pulsed and swelled with her climax, clenching pleasantly down on my tongue. When her climax subsided, I pulled myself up to face her, staring back into her mixed expression of sadness, guilt, and post orgasmic bliss. “…*huff*… I think I’m getting worse, Guilty… making more mistakes… getting… clumsier.”

I gazed down at her, trying my best to appear sympathetic... well as sympathetic as one can with a face covered in mare juices. “You know, you always say you’re clumsy, but I've never seen you do anything clumsy.”

“Well, I mean, I’m not exactly handling delicate packages or anything over here,” she said.

“I beg to differ,” I responded, chuckling at my own joke.

“Oh shut up, you,” she practically giggled the words, playfully kicking me onto my back.

She crawled on top of me, her face was deadly serious. I was almost worried, until she threw up a hoof in mock salute. “Sir, permission to handle delicate package!” I almost broke out in laughter, it was priceless. I don’t know why she suddenly decided she was a soldier but I didn't particularly care.

“Granted!” I bellowed in the most ‘military’ cadence a stallion of my… octave… could muster. Derpy took hold of my knees, spreading my legs to get a better look at my still fully erect self. She brought her lips to the end of me and gave my flesh a quick peck before talking the end of it in her mouth. She might lack the pure skill of Rarity, but that doesn't mean getting head from Derpy is anything less than pleasurable. However, this turn of events meant it was Guilty’s turn to talk.

“You know *nngh* Derpy? I think you’re *huff* being hard on yourself.*guh* Dinky’s lucky *huff* to have a parent *huff* as good as you. Oh fuck that feels good. Trust me. And don’t worry so much *huff* about trying to *ugh* get her to *huff* open up. Kids deserve *huff* at least one secreAAHAAHA-AAAAAH!” I gasped in surprise as she took another few inches of my flesh into her mouth. I noticed that at some point during our fun she had slipped one of her hooves down between her haunches, and had been clopping herself silly.

“And as for *huff* work… damn, your getting good at this… but, ah, as for work, I *guh* seriously have never seen you be *nnnnf* clumsy. Maybe it’s *guh* stress. You get all *huff* worked up and you *huff* get all ditzy… maybe.” I felt a familiar clenching in my testes and I knew I was almost done. “I’m pretty close… where do you want it?”

*Mmmmph!” was her only response. ‘Looks like she’s hungry.’

My hips bucked and my eyes clenched as climax overtook me. I spilled myself into her wanting mouth; several short bursts shot down her throat. I sank back into the cloud as aftershocks of pleasure sent shivers through my limbs. My cock slipped messily out my Derpy's mouth with a slight *pop.* I gasped for air.

Derpy's face rose up next to mine; she was licking her lips thoughtfully. “It’s pretty thin today… some one’s been busy!” she teased. I love that about her, never afraid of crude humor, never afraid of asking for what she wants, never ashamed of anything. She laid down next to me, grinning like a fool. “I really needed this.”

“Glad I could help… feel like a shower?”

“Sounds great!” Ever chipper this one. We trotted through the foyer to the staircase… I could hear the siren song of zucchini muffins as we went. Their sinful chords caressing my ears, their sweet aroma wafting across my nose and though my brain, I wanted… needed them.

‘No Guilty!… the muffins will wait.’

Up the stairs and into the bathroom we walked. My shower is perfectly big enough for two ponies, more like a shower room than a shower box, two nozzles too. A myriad of shampoos and soaps litter the walls, half of them have never been used, but I like to collect them, makes the shower look exciting. Derpy never uses any of it though. As always, she just turned on the water and let it soak her. She looked particularly meditative today, just letting the water run down her mane and over her back, just the hint of a grin on her face. Very... Peaceful.

I had already been rinsing some vanilla peach shower gel out of coat by the time she spoke up. It was strange, She’s usually so quiet during our shower. “Hey, Guilty?” she asked, her voice betraying caution.

“Mmmm,” I hummed in answer.

“Do you really think I’m a good mom?” I didn't need to look at her to see the pleading look on her face. She tends to underrate herself, and... I dunno... I felt a little self-esteem boosting could do her some good. I just smiled and told her:

“Heck, yeah! The way my dad treated me, I would have killed for a parent as nice as you. At least you don’t hit her or anything. You’re a great parent.”

I didn't realize until moments later what exactly I had said. I had laid bare a tiny, secret part of myself; but the unsettling thing is I hadn't even realized it. I’d let loose something from beyond the obscuring veil that hides my past from my clientele, a veil I used to think I watched like a hawk. To be fair, I hadn't really said anything; but I had heavily implied it, and even that… well quite frankly that scares me.

Derpy didn't say anything. She returned to her Zen state of warm showery bliss. I wonder if she picked up on what I’d said. I wonder if she picked up on how much it bothered me. Whether she did or she didn't, she didn't say anything. Our little shower continued on in silence. The smile never left Derpy's face.

After drying off and heading back into the kitchen, I put the kettle on. I could barely contain my desire for warm fresh-baked zucchini goodness, but I had waited this long, certainly I could wait for some tea. Derpy and I sat opposite each other, as always, and began the final part of our short weekly ritual.

“So… any luck?” It’s the same question I ask every week, and it always has the same answer.

“Meh…” Derpy responded for what must be nearly the hundredth time. “…I asked out my hairdresser.” The look on her face said it all, but I asked anyways. Derpy has been trying to get an honest date for longer than she’s been seeing me. Sadly, the only action she gets she has to pay for… not that I’m complaining.

“How’d that go?”

“…He’s gay…” her eyes fell to the floor in embarrassment, and she started to turn as red as a tomato. “… looking back it was actually pretty obvious. I had always thought that guy he was hugging was his brother... Oh, well.” Derpy shrugged. She’d struck out again… poor girl. As much as I enjoy her patronage, that mare really needs a stallion in her life. It’s gotta be tough being a single mother. Whatever the case the kettle was whistling which meant it was finally time to eat.

I returned from the kitchen, tea tray in tow. I tried to hide the drool dripping ever so slightly down the side of my face. Derpy unveiled the picnic basket of unearthly delights. I don’t know how she makes muffins this good, and I no longer care. Seeing her take two brown little pastries out from that wicker basket was the highlight of my week… like every week. She knows how much I love them, and she’s always happy to bring them. “Here’s your guilty pleasure, Guilty Pleasure,” she recited, laughing at her own terrible joke and passing me a solid nugget of heaven itself.

I quickly snatched it up and wasted no time in taking a huge bite out of the side of it. They’re perfect. They’re never anything but perfect. Despite all my attempts I've never been able to make a muffin on par with Derpy's. My guest was enjoying her muffin just as much as I was mine. Silence passed over us as the two of us basked in warm moist goodness, and not the erotic kind. My foyer was filled with wet smacking noises, the slurping of tea, and many *mmmmms* from both of us.

Muffin induced bliss, however glorious, is always short lived. There is no use in attempting to savor the muffin; you cannot help but take each bite right after the next. After our scrumptious snack was complete, satisfied smiles on both of our muzzles, we both let out a long contented sigh. “That was real good,” I said, the absolute height of articulation.

“Heck yeah, it was.” She said, a tiny avalanche of crumbs falling from her lips. “I’m thinking next week I’ll bring some Cranberry orange ones.”

“Oooh, I loooove those,” the words were practically drooled out of my mouth. I was already imagining them, warm and moist. Filled with berries, to the point where every bite ha at least five. Perfection. It was the only word for them. The way the moist little cranberries add bursts of flavor to-

“Guilty… you’re drooling,” she giggled. I hadn't even realized I’d spaced out. Muffins have that effect on me. I flushed a bit, scarcely believing I had let merely the prospect of future muffins send me into a full on muffin fantasy.

As much as I didn't want to disrupt our post-muffin Zen, I knew Derpy still had issues to work through, and being the good little escort I am, I wasn't about to let her walk out of here without a solid plan in mind. I had to get her back on track. It’s… well… it’s what I do.

One of the first things you learn as an escort is when it’s appropriate to handle things delicately, and when it’s time to be a little forceful. “So about Dinky…” This was the latter. “What’s your plan?”

Derpy just grumbled as her face fell into a pile of her hooves on the table. “I dunno,” came her muffled reply. She looked really pathetic, to be honest. I extended a hoof and patted her on the back.

“Well, what’s her punishment?” I asked.

“I dunno… I just… I always feel so mean when I punish her.” She rolled her face over to glance up at me with one very tired eye. “I’m just so sick of having to be the bad guy.” I wished I could relate with her. I hardly ever have to be the bad guy, I’m always the good guy, the Yes-Stallion, the pick-me-up. I really didn't know what to say.

Not that that’s ever stopped me.

“Derpy… as much as you don’t want to be the bad guy… I’m pretty sure you have to. Dinky needs discipline; she needs to learn that actions have consequences.” I wasn't doing half-bad, I may have been BS-ing it but it sounded halfway believable. “And... look, as long as she knows you love her, she’ll turn out halfway decent.” I wasn't really sure where I was getting this from. I felt like I was channeling a cheesy self-help book. Whatever the case, my tiny motivational speech seemed to cheer Derpy up considerably.

Before I could continue, she roped me into a tight hug, burying her face into my shoulder. “Thanks, Guilty. You always know just what to say.”

Apparently. I chuckled internally. Just it soon as it began, our embrace was over, and she was grinning up at me. “So…” she asked apprehensively “... what should I do? How do I punish her for fighting?”

“I dunno. No muffins for a week? That'd set me straight.” She giggled at that one.

“Hehehehe. No, I think I should just make her apologize.”

I scowled at that. It didn't sound right, the prospect of making a kid apologize. I mean, what if she’s not sorry? Kids should be allowed to be mad at each other. “I dunno, Derpy, seems weird to me... If she’s not sorry, she’s not sorry. I think she just needs some punishment. No allowance for a while, or no dessert for a week… something like that. Don’t make her be on good terms with a kid she clearly doesn't like.” Part of me felt I was overstepping my bounds, but Derpy and I are fairly close; plus I think she really appreciates any direction I can give her.

“Maybe… well whatever the case, I’ll figure it out.” And just like that, the smile was back on her face; the confidence was back in her voice. It always feels good doing that, bringing the life back into somepony so drained. There was a brief moment where she just smiled at me, a deep, grateful smile. It’s moments like that that really make me love what I do. That feeling of really helping someone with something… it really keeps me going some days. I didn't want that moment to end… I wanted her to keep smiling like that.

“Anyways, I should get going.” ‘Damn.’ She began grabbing up her things, putting everything back into her little basket.

“So soon?” I may have sounded the tiniest bit desperate.

“Guilty, It’s been...” she looked at the clock, “... almost two hours… besides, I gotta get home, or dinky will start to worry.” ‘Has it really been that long?’

That made me a little curious about something. “Where do you tell her you are every week?”

“Muffins with a friend.” She smiled that smile again. “Anyways… bye, Guilty.” She turned to walk out the door, and I watched her go. I do love watching that mare walk away. About twenty paces out she turned back and waved. She always does that, and I’m always sad to see her go.

I don’t have that many clients that make me feel that good about what I do. Mares like Rarity come to me because they need me to be someone. Some mares come to me just to see what it’s like to be with a… professional. Derpy's different; she comes to me because she likes sex. She treats me like a friend, and just so happens to enjoy supporting her friend’s business. I imagine that’s what it’s like to run a more… conventional business. Having a friend stop by, having a brief chat, providing your services, and ending everything with a thanks and a friendly goodbye. That sounds... It sounds… satisfying. Most clients just make me feel… tired.

I let out a massive yawn… ‘Speaking of tired’ I made my way back up to my room, trotting lazily up the stairs. Once there, I plopped down on my bed realizing how exhausted I was. What time had I fallen asleep? I couldn't remember. Whatever the case, I was just happy to be done...

I was done right?

I brought myself to my hooves and quickly snatched up my ledger. I had realized that I hadn't actually checked it yet. I hadn't been in my room at all really. I quickly flipped through it to today’s page.

‘Oh no… not her… anyone but her.’

It took all my mental fortitude not to just collapse at the sight of her name. I’d completely forgotten. She’d written last month, said she couldn't make her normal appointment… I must have penciled her in for today… what was I thinking?

2 ‘o’ clock, it read. That gave me… little more than an hour to do… everything… again. I groaned, one emergency clean-up was draining enough, but two? Two was just hell.

The second time through went much slower. I was exhausted, in every sense of the word. Bedroom aired out, table cleaned, emergency sheets put in laundry, non-emergency sheets cleaned and dried with a space heater, hair washed and brushed. After two sessions I still couldn't quite get the smell of mare off of me, so a little cologne was necessary.

I was silently cursing myself. How could I schedule so many clients so close together? . I should've paid more attention to my schedule. I shouldn't have let Rarity stay the night. I was drained. Knowing this mare, it wasn't going to be a long session, but still, any amount of time with her was a chore.

A knock came at the door. She was here. I gathered up all of my exhaustion, and shoved it deep inside of me. Even if I was exhausted, and even if I wasn't exactly fond of this client, I still have standards. I swallowed hard, put a smile on my face and answered the door. “Hello again, Miss Carrot Top.”

“Hey.” That’s all I got. No, ‘Nice to see you.’ No, ‘How’s it going.’ She practically pushed me over rushing inside. Didn't want to be seen at the whore’s house. She took her saddle bags off and made a beeline for the bedroom, her little curly tail bobbing to and fro. She is pretty attractive, truth be told. Cute face, nice little ass, I’m sure if she put any effort into being nice she wouldn't need to come to me.

And that’s what it really comes down to with her. She needs to be here, she just doesn't want to be. I've serviced plenty of mares like her in my time, it’s just that most of them don’t come back for seconds. Most of the time, mares like her are curious, lonely, or both. Maybe they haven’t had a date in a few months, maybe they just want to try it out. Whatever the case, they usually show up, get down to business, and go home feeling dirty and empty.

Carrot Top (which I’m fairly certain is not her real name) on the other hand has, shall we say, developed a bad habit. Every few weeks or so, she writes in, desperate for pleasure, with a time and date. She pays for one hour, and rarely uses the whole thing. She can never get out of here fast enough, quite frankly. But she needs it. And she hates that she does.

“You coming?” She glared back at me, impatient.

“Of course.” As a totally unrelated side note, I've become very good at keeping the venom out of my voice. She trotted into the bedroom like she owned the place. To be fair, for the next hour, she sort of did. “The usual, I presume.” She didn't answer, she just took her usual position on the bed. Bent over the end of it, tail up, legs spread. “Okay, lemme just...” I opened one of my wooden chests and took a swig of what I then realized was my last birth control potion. “Alright, then.”

I took my position behind her. Normally, with her, I’m just as eager to get it over with as she is, but an overnight and a visit with Derpy had taken their toll, and well… ‘The flesh is weak.’ I had to stroke myself for a bit, just to get myself hard enough to get inside. From the looks of her, she was more than ready.

I eased myself inside her once I could, my half-erection sliding inside her sopping lips. I took no pleasure from sex with Carrot Top, I never do. It’s just a job. “Is that okay?” I asked.

“Yes. Fine. Just… stop talking.” I often wonder who she imagines is fucking her. She must be imagining someone; because once I’ve started I’m not supposed to say a word. Before long I felt my erection reach full mass, and Carrot Top started moaning.

We carried on like this for a short while. Carrot Top, Imagining the Stallion of her dreams; Myself trying to pretend I was anywhere else. We never changed position, we never spoke, we never looked each other in the eyes. It was nothing but eleven and a half minutes of cold emotionless thrusting, like always.

She came, quietly, motionlessly, almost like she didn't want me to know. I could feel her though, her inner walls squeezing on me, her legs shivering slightly. I came soon after. She wants me to come inside; she likes the feeling of being filled. I started to fall into her, sinking down into her as much out of exhaustion as bliss, only to have her ungracefully wriggle out from beneath me. “Was that to your satisfaction?” I asked her, half out of spite.

“Yeah, fine… I’m gonna shower.” She was already out the bedroom door. She didn't look back at me; she just hurried out of the room, tail between her legs. I already knew she was headed upstairs to wash my smell off of her.

It’s jobs like this that really wear on an escort’s soul, the ones who aren't interested in your services, but just interested in being serviced. On jobs like this, I’m not engaging the client. I’m not learning about them or helping them with their problems. As much as I hate to admit it, jobs like this just make me feel like a whore again. I’m just a toy for the client to play with, only to be forsaken once I've lost my usefulness. The client is just using me to masturbate.

It makes me feel… I don’t know… spent, used up, empty.

Minutes later, I heard Carrot Top descend the stairs. I picked myself up off of the bed and meet her in the foyer. When I got there, I found her sniffing curiously at the air. “Do you smell that?” She asked… SHE asked. She actually engaged me. Was this a chance to actually connect with this impossible mare? I was so stunned I almost didn't have the mental awareness to respond. Almost.

I took a whiff. Heaven. Perfect muffiny bliss still permeated the room, teasing me with memories of pastries gone. “Just smells like muffins. I had some earlier.”

“Huh,” she practically grunted… so much for connecting. “Anyways...” she reached into her bags, which leaned against the door, and produced a small pouch of coins, only to dump it out atop my table. The coins clattered haphazardly onto the wood. “…bye, Guilty.”

And then she left. She just walked out the door leaving me to gather up my coins. Still, that’s exactly what I did; I gathered up my earnings. It doesn't really bother me… not really. I've had plenty of clients pull that sort of thing, at least she had the decency to dump it on the table, and not the floor. Some of my clients have even stayed and watched me pick it all up. It makes them feel better about the whole thing somehow. I dunno. Speaking of earnings, I had made quite the haul today, four hundred and fifty bits in total. Not too shabby.

There’s not a lot of cleanup whenever Carrot Top visits. Barely even messes up the bed. Still, I wouldn't be a professional if I just left used sheets out. My place would require another quick round of clean-up. But first, a shower… a proper, warm, relaxing, lengthy, indulgent shower.

I trudged up the stairs into my bathroom, still steamy from Carrot Top’s shower. I turned the valves and my shower sprang to life. It felt good... damn good. It was my third shower of the day, but my first actually relaxing one. Nice and hot, it washed the day off of me; it was divine. So much built up sweat and ache, all washed away in the shower’s cleansing waters. For the longest time I just stood in the nozzles line of fire. My head slumped down, water dripping off my muzzle. I swear; I almost fell asleep standing there.

It wasn't until I started actually washing myself that things took a turn for the unpleasant. When starting out as a… well as a whore… showers are not exactly a happy place. You can’t help but feel filthy. You have to wash everything off of you, and sometimes you kind of... freak out.

I remember, after my first job I was in the shower for HOURS. It wasn't that it was unpleasant, or even my first time having sex. It was just... I kinda can’t put it into words. I felt dirty. I felt... well, guilty. Did I feel bad that I was making money with sex? Not really, sex has always just been... sex. Did I feel bad because it was degrading and humiliating? No, it wasn't bad, in fact she was a very nice older woman. Did I feel bad because I felt like I made a mistake? Definitely not, Getting into the escort business got me out of a bad home life. Given the opportunity I’d do it all over again.

Whatever the case, after my first job I just... I just needed to get clean. I hopped in a shower and... by the time I got out I had scrubbed myself raw, and damn near had first degree burns from the water. I just couldn't get the water hot enough. Apparently it’s fairly common, at least according to some of the other escorts at... where I used to work. It... it honestly wasn't that bad. For a while I had to take extra care not to scrub too hard, but that was it, honest. After a while showers were just... showers again.

But every once in a while... I... fuck... I fall back into old habits. I had a bit of a breakdown tonight, alone in my shower. It started out fine. I grabbed a loofah and a little dollop of liquid soap, and got to work, scrubbing the sweat and cum and juices out of my coat and mane. I don’t know exactly when I started, but before I realized it I was scrubbing very hard. I couldn't keep my breath even, I couldn't stop scrubbing. My mind kinda... seized up and the only thing I could do was clean. Clean clean clean. I had to get clean, had to wash it all off of me, wash off the filth. Wash wash wash; scrub scrub scrub it all away. I felt dirty, so so so dirty. It was... It felt like I was eighteen again, back after my first job.

Pain is what snapped me out of it, a combination of raw skin and hot water made me wince and lose grip of the loofah. I realized then what I had been doing. ‘Really?! I haven’t freaked out like this in… AGES.’ I rushed out of the shower, not even bothering to turn off the water as I went to the mirror. I wiped the built up steam off the mirror; I just had to see myself
.

I looked awful. My eyes were red from crying. Had I been crying? I honestly don’t remember, but I must have been. More than anything, though, I looked... fatigued... is the word I’m gonna use. I had dark circles under my eye; my skin was red. Even under my coat, I could see it. My mane was a mess, I hadn't really shampooed it at all, much less conditioned. Eventually I had the presence of mind to turn off the shower and dry myself off.

I honestly didn't know what set me off. Carrot Top hadn't been any worse than usual, better even. She actually asked me a question after her shower, and she never engages me if she doesn't have to. Was I just worn out? Had too many appointments taken their toll? Was it all the showers in one day, maybe? Was it overexposure triggering an episode?

Whatever the case there was still work to be done, and plans to be made. I trudged through my final chores. Cleaning the sheets once more. The backup sheets were stashed away once again, ready for action in case of another mishap. The sheets were put into the washer, I’d run it in the morning. More importantly I had to take inventory. Tomorrow is a free day, and I’m low on supplies, so there is much to do tomorrow… in town… *sigh.*

Currently, I am out of birth control potions, so I needed to pay Zecora a visit. Low on honey lemon oil (my favorite,) so I have to stop by the spa. While I’m there I think I’ll grab some candles, something pungent… cinnamon maybe, I saw those last time I was in. I just may let the twins talk me into a massage, that would be nice. A mane-cut is way overdue, so I’ll have to stop by the barber shop. I’m fairly low on groceries as well; I have to grab some food. Oh, and have to make a payment, I can’t forget to stop by the post office.

I think that about covers it, so I’m off to sleep.

First, however, I would like to write something.

Though today ended poorly, I would have to consider it a good day.

Good friends were met, and good muffins were had.

Author's Notes:

CHAPTER 3!!!

I hope you guys like it. Some of you may not like my portrayal of some ponies, but get used to it. Somepony's gotta be the bad guy, and there will be more than a few in chapters to come.