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Royal Guard Spirit Corps Anon

By TheManFromAnotherTime
Created: 2023-02-27 04:08:31
Updated: 2023-04-30 06:02:34
Expiry: Never

  1. >>39659261
  2. >You are Private First Class Victoria Invicta, and you need to get yourself some buckin' peengleam.
  3. >And it just so happens you've heard an absolutely bullshit story from one of those moto "warfighter" weirdos in 1st Recon that there is literally an actual authorized regulation *brothel* out here at Camp Triumph.
  4. >It's so crazy it might actually be true, and even though you've been out here in the dusty dry Saddle Arabian desert for a while now, Camp Triumph was still an enormous facility hosting over 14,000 troops.
  5. >It almost, *almost* made sense that there would be such a thing.
  6. >The only question on your mind, after you got directions to this alleged house of ill repute, was whether it was so bullshit you ought to bring a couple of someponies along to back you up, or even to send one of your battalion's innumerable dumb 'shoes out to check it for you, versus if it was legit enough and you ought to go alone so nobody from your platoon would know you'd been there.
  7. >After all, as far as they all knew you were still shacked up with that colt from 3rd battalion.
  8. >Lousy, two-timing, lying-eyed, tail-chasing, feather-spreading, nape-biting motherbucker.
  9. >So here you are, alone, quarter to noon with chow on your mind, and the directions that hooah-shouting, dip-chewing tattooed muscle-mare had given you lead to exactly the same kind of indiscriminate rows of tents just like anywhere else in this massive sprawl.
  10. >These ones do look pretty new, though.
  11. >The tarpaulins aren't all sun-bleached, and the wooden doors aren't all pock-marked from sandstorms.
  12. >Well, what the hay.
  13. >You're already here; may as well just knock on the closest door and ask for directions.
  14. *KNOCK KNOCK*
  15. >A colt's voice from inside calls out.
  16. >"Just a moment."
  17. >A couple of seconds later, the door opens to reveal a tall bipedal thing with no tail, wearing what looks like button-up medical scrubs.
  18. >He ain't no pony, but buck, a thing that tall has to have a rod worth talking about behind those drawstring pants.
  19. >"Can I help you?"
  20. >This has to be a setup.
  21. >Buck it.
  22. >You smirk.
  23. "Yeah. I heard I can get some buckin' peengleam 'round here, you know anything about that, stud?"
  24. >Strangely, the colt doesn't seem fazed in the slightest by your crude proposition.
  25. >Maybe downing half a gill of the engineering company's secret moonshine before doing this wasn't the best idea.
  26. >He deadpans his response.
  27. >"Do you have an appointment?"
  28. >The. Buck.
  29. "Uh... No."
  30. >The colt points at one of the other tents.
  31. >"Sergeant Bordella over at reception can get you on the schedule, check in with her."
  32. >You squint in the indicated direction.
  33. >Is that a pink cross on the door?
  34. >And are those... the astrological symbols for stallions & mares, joined together inside it?
  35. >How the buck'd you miss that?
  36. >...
  37. >Oh yeah, the moonshine.
  38. >Nodding, you grin slyly up at the colt, who remains as impassive as ever.
  39. "Erm... Yeah, okay. Thanks, sweetcheeks."
  40. >Smooth.
  41. >"Have a good day."
  42. >With that, he shuts the door again.
  43.  
  44. >If this is a setup, it sure is an elaborate weird one.
  45. >What's gonna be in the other tent?
  46. >Just more soldiers used to getting pranked like this?
  47. >Is the cross-with-sex-symbols logo somepony's dumb idea of a unit symbol?
  48. >When you get closer, you see a sign hanging beneath the logo that says "Please come in."
  49. >You don't really know what to expect, so you're pretty surprised to open the door and find yourself stepping into what looks like an ordinary office.
  50. >There's filing cabinets, and a desk, and a typewriter on the desk, and, oh yeah, a mare in a nurse's uniform sitting at the desk, too.
  51. >She's looking up at you with a smile.
  52. >"Welcome to the 4077th MASC. Would you please flip the sign over before you come in?"
  53. >Huh?
  54. >You pull the door back and do as you're told.
  55. >The other side says, "Please wait outside."
  56. >Okay...
  57. >This is getting awfully elaborate for a prank.
  58. >After you close the door, the nurse points a hoof at the chair opposite her desk.
  59. >"Thanks. Please have a seat. How can we help you, private?"
  60. >You hesitantly sit down as you feel your previous bravado evaporating rapidly.
  61. "Yeah, uh... I heard that, uh, I can get some, *cough*, y'know, satisfaction around here?"
  62. >In spite of your awkwardness, she just smiles and nods.
  63. >"That's one of the services MASC provides, yes. I take it you haven't been here before? Did you learn about us through one of last month's Health & Safety briefings?"
  64. >You don't know whether to squint or frown, so you sorta wind up 'squrowning'.
  65. "Health & Safety? Uh yeah, the thing is, I have like a chit that lets me, sorta skip those boring-ass things. On account of having been here for over a year, now."
  66. >As you spew your complete maximum-skater bullshit about avoiding some of the most boring meetings on the face of Equestria, she just keeps smiling and nodding.
  67. >"I see. That's too bad, you missed a great overview presentation given by our commanding officer on all the various things we can do to help you here at MASC."
  68. >She keeps using that acronym, and it's the rare case for a salty soldier like you to find yourself faced with one you don't know.
  69. "What's 'MASC'?"
  70. >"Mobile Army Spirit Clinic. We're responsible for helping soldiers keep up their morale. Depending on your needs, one of our technicians can help you in a variety of ways."
  71. >Squirming a bit in your seat, you lean in.
  72. "And one of those ways is, uh, straight-up sex?"
  73. >She just nods.
  74. >"Yes! Though we also provide less intrusive options like counselling, exercise and massage therapy, and general companionship. All private, of course. And all paid for by the Royal Guard."
  75. >She pumps her foreleg up in a gung-ho sweeping motion.
  76. >"... Anything to keep our fighting mares & stallions in tip-top condition!"
  77. >Okay then.
  78. >Free sex for guardsmares & guardscolts.
  79. >Be All You Can Be.
  80. >Buck All You Can Buck.
  81. >Gosh, Aunt Celly really did care for her troops.
  82. "All right. So, yeah, I'd like to get laid today."
  83.  
  84. >For the first time in the conversation, her over-the-top smile drops down to something a normal pony might actually wear.
  85. >"Oh, we usually do have a backlog of appointments, and the typical wait times are two to four days, depending on needs, but let me see if we've had any cancellations."
  86. >She slides her rolly-chair a couple of hooves over to a large appointment-book resting on the table next to her typewriter.
  87. >"Did you have a preference for a colt or mare?"
  88. "Colt."
  89. >"Mm-hmm. And did you have a species preference? We have all kinds of ponies here at MASC, but also a few other kinds of creatures as well."
  90. >You lift an eyebrow.
  91. "Other kinds of creatures?"
  92. >"Minotaurs, diamond dogs, gryphons, changelings, dragons, hippogriffs, and humans. All are professionally trained at taking care of ponies, so you wouldn't have to worry. The overwhelming majority of our spirit technicians are ponies, of course, but diversity is an important value in the RGSC, the Royal Guard Spirit Command."
  93. >Human?
  94. >You recognize the other species, so is that what the tall one behind door #1 was?
  95. >She did say they were all 'professionally trained at taking care ponies', and foal did you need some taking care of right now.
  96. >Swallowing, you sigh.
  97. >At the moment, you don't really care about who's doing it with what as long as you're getting off and it ain't your own hoof in your own bunk.
  98. "Honestly, if you have an open slot today I'll take whatever you got."
  99. >She nods.
  100. >"Great! It looks like we actually do have an opening, a cancellation for Chief Anonymous in the afternoon 2-5PM slot. He's a human, just so you know. Have you met one before?"
  101. >You shake your head.
  102. "Don't think I have."
  103. >Scribbling in her book, she starts babbling.
  104. >"That's fine, neither had I before I started here at the 4077th! They're tall, mostly-hairless bipeds, related to great apes like gorillas and chimpanzees. They have fingers, like a minotaur, and toes, like a gryphon except without the claws. Chief Anon is the head of our Massagery Department, although he does provide the full range of MASC services as well."
  105. >She's so into this.
  106. >A moto nurse?
  107. >Who runs reception for a government-sanctioned, army-run brothel?
  108. >And you thought you'd seen weird things beyond the wire, where the Saddle Arabian peasants lived in an insane, backwards culture that hadn't changed in over two thousand years.
  109. >The sergeant slides a clipboard and pen across the table towards you.
  110. >"In order to register for MASC services you need to fill out this questionnaire. The first section is mandatory, but all the other ones are optional. However, the more you do fill out, the better our technicians will be able to service you in the allotted time."
  111. "Okay."
  112. >The clipboard's got a two-page form already attached to it; you take the proffered materials and begin to read them over.
  113.  
  114. >The first section is pretty straightforward: name, rank, age, sex, gender, sexual orientation.
  115. >There's a block where you have to sign agreeing to consent to being serviced by MASC technicians, with a note that any complaints are to be directed to the MASC ombudspony office.
  116. >Section two is pretty tame, information about your past & present relationships.
  117. >Presently single, three previous partners, most recent relationship ended... buckin' *TWO* days ago.
  118. >"MASC services you are interested in?"
  119. >Checkboxes for 'physiotherapy/massage', 'guided low-impact exercise', 'counselling', 'emotional companionship', 'sexual relief'.
  120. >Buck it, tick 'em all.
  121. >Yeah, you want to get laid, but since the Royal Guard is offering, you'll take anything.
  122. >1-on-1 yoga with a hot stud doesn't sound too bad, especially if he rails you while you're downwards-facing-dog.
  123. >"Reason for seeking MASC services?"
  124. >You think about that for a second.
  125. >Then you simply write, "frustration."
  126. >Section three is where things get a bit spicy.
  127. >"Rate your sexual experience on a scale of 1-10."
  128. >"List preferred sexual position(s)."
  129. >"List any kinks or fetishes."
  130. >"List turn-ons and turn-offs."
  131. >Guh.
  132. >How do you just put, "I like having dick in my pussy and coming from that," but in like terms that don't make you sound so buckin' basic?
  133. >You just leave it blank for now.
  134. >Section four is back to bland with a whole bunch of garbage about what kind of music you enjoy or what your favourite foods & drinks are.
  135. >At least that shit's easy to fill out, so you do.
  136. >When you're done, you don't bother to give anything a look-over, you just hoof it back across the desk.
  137. >This is all kinda awkward enough already.
  138. >"All done? Great! Do you have any more questions about MASC services?"
  139. "Uh... no."
  140. >"Okay! We'll see you back here in just over two hours! As a general piece of advice we give all our customers, we recommend restricting yourself to a light meal before your appointment, so take it easy at lunch! Drinks and snacks are available in the operation rooms. Chief Anonymous's tent is the first one in our row, on the West side. His name's on the door."
  141. >She hoofs you a small appointment-reminder card with those same details on it.
  142. >Yeah, that's the door you knocked on.
  143. >Ah, shit -- you just remembered how you introduced yourself to Chief Anonymous.
  144. >Wait-- *Chief*?
  145. >As in, like, Chief Warrant Officer?
  146. >Buck you, this is buckin' embarrassing.
  147. >You feel your nether-regions go all squirmy and dry as the alcohol pumping your through blood rams the memory of your stupid behaviour into your brain again and again.
  148. >Ugh.
  149. >Better get a sammich and some fries in you and try to wash this drunk out of you before you show up.
  150. >Maybe you oughtta clean yourself up a bit too.
  151. >Don't want the 'MASC' breakroom chatter to be all about that stank-ass PFC from 1 Corps with the potty-mouth reeking of moonshine.
  152.  
  153. >Buck!
  154. >How can it be this complicated to get laid?
  155. >Still... free sex with no strings attached, though.
  156. >You get up and head for the door.
  157. "Thanks."
  158. >"You're welcome! Please flip the sign back when you leave."
  159. >Makes sense, keeping things private in the reception area.
  160. >With a funny feeling in your tummy and a funnier feeling in your nether regions, you head for the chow hall.
  161. >You think you'll take your hayburger privately today...
  162.  
  163.  
  164.  
  165.  
  166. >It's just about two hours later, and you're a little more sober, no longer hungry, as clean-smelling as you can be, and, to be completely honest, a bit nervous about this.
  167. >Something about the clinical attitude presented by the MASC receptionist, and the lack of instant gratification while you had been more hammered had brought this all down to ground a bit more.
  168. >Buck, should you have put on perfume?
  169. >Maybe even brought flowers, somehow?
  170. >Yeah that was more of a male thing to do, and you weren't here to, like, *woo* the Chief, but as the party requesting sex it almost felt like you were going to owe something to this colt.
  171. >Anyways who didn't appreciate a bouquet regardless of the occasion?
  172. >Too late for that now.
  173. >Having returned to the nondescript section of Camp Triumph occupied by the 4077th Mobile Army Spirit Clinic, you arrive at the door to the army tent of one CWO1 Anonymous, according to the stencil-painted wooden sign nailed to the door-frame.
  174. >With much less bravado than the last time, you knock again.
  175. *KNOCK-KNOCK*.
  176. >This time there's no request to wait, just a brief delay before the door swings open to reveal the very same tall biped you saw earlier, in the same button-up short-sleeved scrubs getup.
  177. >Seeing you, he smiles amiably and steps back to let you by.
  178. >"Good afternoon, please come in."
  179. >You don't really know what to say.
  180. "Okay."
  181. >Inside, at least, the medical facade presented in the reception area drops considerably.
  182. >There's no heart-shaped or mechanically-rotating bed with ceiling mirror, and the walls aren't lined with satin, but there's unmistakable attempts to make this place inviting, cozy, and maybe even romantic.
  183. >The floor is covered by a single thick-piled Hisanian rug that feels soft under your hooves.
  184. >To the sides are some cabinets and console tables with a variety of bottles and jars, including one that looks like a straight-up medical dispensary, and another that looks like a fully stocked bar.
  185. >The back wall is a heavy curtain of vertical stripes inset with abstract geometric patterning.
  186. >And in the middle of the room, where you might expect to see a bed, there's just a large U-shaped sofa surrounding a low table, covered with cushions and draped with patterned cotton sheets.
  187. >It's all vaguely reminiscent of a local sheikh's sitting room, and probably most of the furnishings were sourced from the city's bazaar.
  188. >You'd been here long enough, and accompanied your lieutenant to meet chiefs and lords and pashas and such, all in the effort to win hearts & minds, that this environment didn't feel foreign any more to you.
  189. >It's got obvious Equestrian overtones, though, from the way things were laid out to the actual contents, not to mention the tall bipedal colt wearing modern nursing scrubs.
  190. >Still, you were half expecting a servant to emerge from behind the curtain with a bowl of dates and a coffee service.
  191. >"Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Invicta. What can I get you to drink?"
  192.  
  193. >He gestures at the sofa and steps over to the drinks counter.
  194. >Part of you feels like you need to be a bit more lubricated for this to really work, but you're feeling a bit off-centre from the ride so far and it's barely started.
  195. "Do you have any pomegranate juice?"
  196. >As you take your seat on one 'arm' of the U-shape, you see him turn back to you with a thin, knowing smile.
  197. >"I do, actually. Picked a bottle up around noon; it's been chilling on ice since then."
  198. "Cool."
  199. >You hear a cork being yanked out followed by pouring noises, then the Chief turns around, holding two beaten-copper goblets.
  200. >He passes one to your forehooves then takes a seat kitty corner to yours, crossing one leg over the other and taking a sip from his cup.
  201. >You put your muzzle into your drink, inhaling the sweet-sour aroma that you've come to know since being posted here.
  202. >It's refreshing in your mouth and cool down your throat, and you find yourself half-emptying the vessel in a single gulp.
  203. >Wiping your mouth with a forehoof, you scrutinize the creature sitting near you.
  204. >Looks pretty lean, but it's hard to put on weight in the desert; although the chow hall will happily overfeed you twice over, even the 'chair force' members found themselves sweating the fat right back out, let alone anybody out on manoeuvres in full kit.
  205. >The bare skin is a bit weird, but he's got some thin hair on his arms at least.
  206. >What's really throwing you off is how modestly he's dressed.
  207. >Shouldn't he be, like, wearing a low-cut shirt and skintight pants?
  208. >With the buttons, his medical scrubs look almost more like pyjamas.
  209. >Then you remember how you first introduced yourself.
  210. >Didn't exactly present yourself as an elegant gentlemare.
  211. "Uh, so Chief, about earlier, I-"
  212. >Anonymous shakes his head.
  213. >"Don't worry about it. We know what we're doing here is a bit out of the ordinary, but we're professionals. Anything you say or do remains completely confidential..."
  214. >His smile is disarming.
  215. >"... Even the mistakes or awkward moments."
  216. >That's a little reassuring.
  217. "Okay."
  218. >Uncrossing his legs, the colt leans in, placing his elbows on his knees.
  219. >"You must have been a little worked-up at that time."
  220. >You nod.
  221. "Yeah. Somepony told me about this place, and I wasn't sure if I was being pranked or not."
  222. >"I understand. You're not the first to be in that position, and I'm sure you won't be the last. How do you feel now?"
  223. >That's an uncomfortable question; isn't he supposed to be making you feel the opposite?
  224. "I dunno what to think yet."
  225. >He leans back again.
  226. >"Well, I hope you'll have a positive impression about this by the end. But let me ask you, what's your goal here today? What do you want to get out of this session?"
  227. >You want to be turned into a sweaty, moaning, cross-eyed mess before passing out until tomorrow morning, but you can't tell him that.
  228. >Or can you?
  229. >Well, you *can*, but you probably won't.
  230. "I'm... I had a rough break-up recently."
  231.  
  232. >He nods.
  233. "... And I guess I'm looking to vent my frustration. But I wasn't gonna just nail the first colt I ran into at happy hour; I've got issues but I'm *not* looking to become some colt's one-night conquest. And after how my last one ended, I need a break from relationships and especially relationships with guardscolts."
  234. >"He was another soldier?"
  235. >You snort.
  236. "Yeah, but he was POG as buck. 92A, worked shipping & receiving in the supply dump."
  237. >Whinnying again, you shake your head and look off to the side.
  238. "Bucker was always safe here behind the trench and the walls and the bunkers, surrounded by other mares, while I'm running ops out beyond the wire for sometimes weeks at a time. We'd stick to each other like glued-at-the-hips lovebirds and buck like rabbits whenever I was here, of course, but after the third or fourth month-long field op..."
  239. >"He wasn't as committed as you'd thought he was."
  240. "Buck no, he wasn't. And I didn't believe the rumours at first, either."
  241. >"It can be hard to recognize that kind of dishonesty."
  242. "Sure. But not when we had to pull out early from our last op and I found him in another mare's bunk."
  243. >He inhales.
  244. >"I see. That'd make anyone 'frustrated', to say the least."
  245. "Yeah. Though I didn't go crazy, I'm not nuts. I told him where he could shove it, and I went over to my pals in the pioneers and got a jug of their finest distillations. Then I grabbed some of my sisters-in-arms and we all got buckin' hammered behind the firing-range berm, shootin' the shit about relationships and how all colts are slime but *guards*colts are the slimiest, yet we need 'em anyways, so whaddya gonna do?"
  246. >You grin a bit, and he mirrors your expression.
  247. >"And is that when somepony mentioned MASC?"
  248. >Squinting, you grit your teeth.
  249. "I'm a little hazy on things, so I think it must have been a couple of jugs later. Kinda turned the place into a general mares-only hangout & smoke & drink pit for a couple of nights, before someone squealed and it got busted up. But yeah, that's when somepony let me know about this place."
  250. >Your gigolo-cum-therapist squares his shoulders.
  251. >"So when you came by earlier, all you were after was some completely-consequence-free sex, preferably of the mindblowing variety?"
  252. >You have to snort and chuckle a bit at that phrasing.
  253. "Yeah, pretty much."
  254. >He shrugs his eyebrows.
  255. >"Well. We have three hours together. We can certainly do that, if that's all you still want. But it might be better if we worked our way up to it."
  256. >Swallowing, you shake your head again.
  257. "You gonna put the moves on me, Chief? Wine and dine me, then a little light petting and foreplay to start, treat me gently like I'm the freshest apple in the basket?"
  258. >"I can, if that's what you'd like. But it's not always easy to figure out what somepony really wants."
  259. >That sounds like a buckin' understatement.
  260.  
  261. >You take another sip of your juice.
  262. "Well, you got the drink right, I guess."
  263. >"Glad to hear it. Though you didn't put it on your questionnaire."
  264. >That makes you furrow your brow.
  265. >He's right -- you *didn't*.
  266. >When it came to preferences, you put in all the stuff you liked *before* you came here, to the sandbox.
  267. >Burgers and fries, caramel frappuccinos and pumpkin spice lattes.
  268. >Apple-bottom jeans, boots with the fur.
  269. >Dirty music with nasty lyrics, but it didn't matter because the beat was all right and you could dance all night.
  270. >For the most part, those were things you just couldn't have while you were here.
  271. >But unlike some of your comrades who filled all the empty holes with drinking or smoking or doing the stupidest possible shit, you'd managed to replace them with a few local customs, probably on account of getting dragged in with the Lieutenant and the 'terp to all those hearts & minds meet-ups.
  272. >Dried dates, with the pits still in them.
  273. >Boiled, unfiltered coffee, with a bitterness that's grown on you.
  274. >Those down-on-the-ground chaise-cushion seats that made so much more sense than elevated chairs.
  275. >Juice made from a fruit you'd never heard of before.
  276. "Yeah. I guess it hasn't really stuck in me yet that I like it now. I mean, it's not like I could get it if I was back in Equestria, right?"
  277. >"Right now, maybe not. But it might be there, soon. Who knows? It could be the next big thing."
  278. >You chuckle.
  279. "Guess I'm ahead of the curve, heh."
  280. >"I've got a few other local treats here, if you want. I'm sure the Sergeant told you to eat a light lunch, but she's a little overcautious like that."
  281. >You *did* skip on the fries with your hayburger, and you'd gotten the 'junior' size with just the one patty, no cheese.
  282. >Wouldn't mind a little something sweet, so you tilt your head and look around him at his little tuck-shop.
  283. "Got any figs? Fresh ones, I mean."
  284. >He stands up and heads over.
  285. >"I think so. It's an assortment from the commissary."
  286. >You watch him pluck a few items out of a basket, then he heads back with a small pile of the delicious juicy treats in a shallow copper bowl.
  287. >This time, he sits down much closer to you, placing the figs between you.
  288. >"Do you like them whole?"
  289. "Yeah. I'm not like some prissy unicorn who'll chop 'em open and scoop 'em out with a spoon."
  290. >You rather inelegantly cram one into your mouth, but there's no way to eat these with dignity.
  291. >Halfway through chewing the fruit, your cheeks still puffed out, you start to laugh.
  292. >"What's so amusing?"
  293. "Nothing, nothing -- I just *mff* I just remembered *munch* the first time they served figs to my L-T."
  294.  
  295. >You swallow before continuing.
  296. "Bucker took a bite and sprayed juice & seeds everywhere, made a huge mess on the sheikh's carpet. He went flush red in the cheeks, but you know how the locals are about dignity: while the servants cleaned it up, the Haji chiefs were tripping over themselves to make it seem like absolutely nothing was wrong, almost pretending he didn't do it at all. Which was nice of 'em, I guess, but it still made the rest of the visit awkward, and we all knew the maids were gonna be laughing their asses off about it later."
  297. >"Hah, that's pretty funny."
  298. >He doesn't say anything more, and the two of you blow through the pile of figs pretty quickly.
  299. >Well, not 'the two of you'; it was mostly you.
  300. >Fresh figs are so buckin' good, though.
  301. >Dried ones ain't bad either, but fresh ones, mmmm-mm.
  302. >As you finish off the last one, you're left waiting when the next prompt is going to come.
  303. >But Anon just takes the empty bowl and gets up to put it away.
  304. >"More juice?"
  305. >You still have enough left over, so you shake your head.
  306. "Not right now."
  307. >He fusses over something at one of the tables, then looks back over his shoulder at you.
  308. >When he gets back, he's got a couple of long-handled matches, a small packet, and what looks like a small brass candlestick with a lid on it.
  309. >"How do you feel about incense?"
  310. "Dunno. Haven't really tried it. Not much opportunity in the barracks or the field. And I don't get to visit the sheikhs long enough for them to put it out."
  311. >Placing the other items on the table, he sits next to you with the packet and opens it, revealing five small square tablets, each individually wrapped in different-coloured paper and marked with Saddle Arabian script.
  312. >He points a finger at a red one.
  313. >"This one's floral. The yellow, saffron. Black and brown are different sandalwood mixes. Peach is primarily roses."
  314. >Sitting forward, you look over the assortment, taking whiffs of each one.
  315. >They all smell nice, but you think you like the rose one best.
  316. >What can you say -- you don't like to admit it, but at your root, you are pretty basic.
  317. "This one."
  318. >Putting the packet down on the table, Anonymous opens the peach package to reveal a small black tablet.
  319. >Then he lifts the lid on the incense-burner and places it in a small metal bowl.
  320. >Underneath that, there's a candle already set in place, and he strikes one of the long matches against the table before lighting it.
  321. >Then with a single puff he blows out the match and replaces the burner's lid.
  322. >That done, he leans back in the sofa.
  323. >You watch the little device curiously; in a few moments, a thin wisp of grey smoke emerges, and the air starts to fill with a delightful scent.
  324. >There's roses, yes, but also a persistent woodiness that makes you feel like you're home, sitting around a campfire started by freshly-fallen pine twigs.
  325. >It takes you back, and you close your eyes, relaxing into the soft cushion behind you.
  326.  
  327. >"Good choice?"
  328. "Yeah. Never was really big into scented candles, but I always liked the smell of burning wood. Might have to get me some of this, even if my tentmates bitch about it. "
  329. >"It's called Ibtisam's Lute. You can find it all over the bazaar. I've even seen it at the PX."
  330. >Good to know.
  331. >You take another deep breath and start to latch onto the more exotic notes of the fragrance.
  332. >It still reminds you of a place you miss far away, but it also brings you here, to this foreign land.
  333. >For a brief moment, you feel terribly alone.
  334. >Then you open your eyes and turn to the creature next to you.
  335. >He's foreign to you, yet his manners are familiar, and he's unmistakably masculine.
  336. >And that look he's giving you...
  337. >On the surface, it's professional and dispassionate, but underneath, you can feel its smouldering energy.
  338. >Buck, has he just straight-up played you like a fiddle?
  339. >Or is it just that you're so vulnerable right after your breakup?
  340. >Then again...
  341. >This is what you came here for, and this is exactly what you wanted him to do.
  342. >Unconsciously, you bring one forehoof up to your mouth and bite your lips down on it as you ruminate on things for a moment.
  343. >"What are you thinking about?"
  344. "I'm thinking that I could really use a damn good massage right now."
  345. >He nods.
  346. >"Follow me."
  347. >Standing, he picks up the incense-burner and moves to the left side of the rear curtain, drawing it back completely to reveal a massage table.
  348. >Feeling genuinely at ease for the first time since you got here, you head over, ready for whatever ministrations this colt can dish out.
  349. >With a sly confidence, you poke him in the chest with a forehoof as you clamber up onto the table.
  350. "All right. Gimme the works."
  351. >He grins.
  352. >"Right away."
  353.  
  354.  
  355.  
  356.  
  357. >You don't know how long it's been, and you're sure you don't care.
  358. >At this point every single fibre of every single muscle in every part of your body has that mixed burning-relaxed sensation one gets after a good workout that didn't push things too far.
  359. >You're on your belly, and Chief Massage Officer Anonymous is helping you stretch your left hind leg up as high up as you can manage.
  360. >Even though it was a challenge to get it up there, the extension feels great.
  361. >"And relax."
  362. >You let out a sigh as he cradles your leg and gently lowers it down.
  363. >Then you let out a low, defeated-but-by-pleasure moan as he presses those fingers down into your glutes, working them slowly in and out again.
  364. >Those little appendages were truly a wonderful thing.
  365. >It feels like he's almost reaching past your muscles to manipulate the tendons deep within.
  366. >One of your eyes flutters open and closed involuntarily, and you find your breathing being interrupted as his powerful digits make their way down your leg, stimulating and relaxing your hamstrings, hocks, and finally the carpals.
  367. >When he's finally done with it, you shudder and catch your breath.
  368. >You still feel him poking around your hoof, though.
  369. >It takes you a second to summon up the energy to inquire.
  370. "Something wrong back there?"
  371. >"Hmm. I'm not sure, but I'm going to write you an order to have this checked out at medical before your next field op. Looks like some inflammation. You haven't felt any pain?"
  372. "Only the emotional kind."
  373. >He chuckles.
  374. >"Okay. Better safe than sorry, though."
  375. >He steps over to a wheeled cart that holds bottles of massage oil and a variety of towels & other tools.
  376. >The incense-burner is over there, too, still filling the tent with a woody, flowery aroma.
  377. >"A brushing is usually next, but if you're feeling content, you can relax for a bit first."
  378. >BRUSHIES?!?
  379. >Oh, buck yes, you haven't had really good brushies for months out in this dusty-ass sandbox.
  380. >It's damn hard to reach everywhere yourself, and the fixed sets mounted on the frames & walls of the bath tent never quite did the job either.
  381. >And yeah, everypony helped everypony else now and again with some grooming, but nopony really did it as well as someone you were really connected with, like a parent or a sibling or a lover, nor as well as somepony doing it professionally, like the mane-stylist.
  382. >You'd actually planned to book a visit at the salon while off rotation, but you'll take more brushies here and now, too.
  383. "Nah, hit me now, and gimme the stiff bristles."
  384. >"All right."
  385. >Lazily glancing over at him, you see your attendant pick up a multi-hooped metal curry comb by its wooden handle.
  386. >It looks hefty, and the steel is polished to a shine visible even inside this relatively dim tent.
  387. >With his other hand, he picks up a bottle and squirts some oil from a bottle onto the tines, then rubs it down with a clean white cloth.
  388.  
  389. >Oh baby, he's giving you the works, old-school style.
  390. >You shudder and sigh at the first firm, quick stroke.
  391. >With his free hand resting on your back, he deftly drags the tool repeatedly along your flanks, extracting three months' worth of stubborn dust and dirt and dead skin & hair that refused to come out in the camp's piddly weak-pressured showers.
  392. >And it feels like he's brushing out all your lingering emotional debris with it, too.
  393. >Buck off, frigid nights spent nestled in the Ecoshian mountains, shivering in the cold and squinting in the dark.
  394. >Buck off, memories of broad-smiling locals that would just as soon pull a weapon on you if your back was but turned and you weren't with so many other soldiers.
  395. >Buck off, Sergeant Skidjack, 92Asshole, and buck off all memories of you and your lyin' eyes, too.
  396. >Buck off, nightmares of horrifically-injured comrades and the stiff faces of fallen friends.
  397. >"Not too hard?"
  398. >For a moment, you grit your teeth.
  399. "No, it's just right."
  400. >Your eyes squeeze close, and a tear escapes, as he satisfies you with another long pull.
  401. >Another breath, and another stroke, and you're not here any more, in the sandbox, at Camp Triumph.
  402. >You're back at home, in the safety of Equestria, surrounded by all the people and things that you know and love.
  403. >The only hint at the memory of the other, alien place that was the source of so many negative vibes was the exotic smell in the air.
  404. >A final sigh, and it's all out of your mind.
  405. >Not bad for a brush-job.
  406. >Especially one administered by a creature with practically no body hair of their own.
  407. "Damn. They taught you good."
  408. >He doesn't stop brushing even as he speaks.
  409. >"Glad to hear it. Two years of registered massage therapy school before joining the Royal Guard Spirit Corps."
  410. >That factoid makes you wonder about things a bit.
  411. "Even the... other things you do?"
  412. >"No. Those are through MASC certifications."
  413. >Closing your eyes to really feel the depth of the grooming, you nonetheless furrow your brow.
  414. "I still can't quite believe that you're allowed to go the whole way."
  415. >He chuckles.
  416. >"Heh. I don't know much about how it started, but I've heard that setting up MASC was considered the superior alternative to conducting extensive health & safety training with the troops in how to service themselves."
  417. >You can't help but laugh.
  418. >Mandatory masturbation training for Royal Guardsponies?
  419. >Now those would be some genuinely titillating H&S briefings, literally.
  420. "Wow."
  421. >"And here we are."
  422. >He switches to your other side, and you get another fresh tingle down that flank that makes you realize again just how much you needed this.
  423. >Still, you're not quite done with your previous thread of thought.
  424. "So what do you get out of it?"
  425. >"Same as anypony else. Pay and benefits. The satisfaction of serving Equestria and a job well done."
  426. "But what happens if you don't want to go the whole way any more?"
  427.  
  428. >He shakes his head dismissively.
  429. >"I move to massage therapy or counselling full-time, out of MASC and maybe over to mainline medical. The system's set up to encourage retention. They want professionals."
  430. >Another deep scrape elicits a satisfied grunt from you, and you lie back down again, your curiosity satisfied for now.
  431. >After an intense and thorough exfoliation of your flanks, he puts away the curry comb and straps a stiff-bristled dandy brush to his hand.
  432. >In short, controlled bursts, he neatly grooms you from your nape down to all four of your fetlocks.
  433. >Finally he grabs a body brush and gives your coat a final spit-shine.
  434. >Stepping in front of you, he squats down so his head is level with yours, and begins to brush your head as well.
  435. >You draw in a deep breath and swallow.
  436. >Even as he's brushing your face, dabbing at your cheeks, you can't help but stare back at him.
  437. >There's that same intense professionalism in his eyes, but every now and again he catches your gaze, and you can feel a smouldering heat.
  438. >It's not just coming from him, though.
  439. >You can feel it deep down inside of you as well.
  440. >You'd thought maybe it had disappeared during the massage, but that was just surface-level suppression from the intensity of the operation.
  441. >Buck, you needed to get laid something fierce.
  442. >Without you realizing it, your mouth opens and you start to lightly pant.
  443. >You're still doing it when he stands up again and steps to his cart.
  444. >"On your back, please."
  445. >Your brain almost doesn't register the instruction, and you're barely halfway through starting the motion before he's back with the dandy brush in one hand, and a steady guiding push against your hips to help you over.
  446. >Now you're on your back, on a comfortable but firm massage table, hooves clutched up against your tummy.
  447. >And the tingling sensation between your plot-cheeks hasn't abated one bit.
  448. >You feel the stiff bristles of the grooming tool scrape against your underside coat, but the impression barely registers in your brain.
  449. >Up until the moment when he reaches the rear of your barrel, that is.
  450. >With his free hand, he spreads your hind legs to get in behind your stifles.
  451. >You're in an incredibly vulnerable position, but any embarrassment or fear you might normally feel seems to be converting straight into arousal instead.
  452. >You gasp a little when he gets to the area around your teats, but it's just a few little teasing swishes.
  453. >Then he's up in your face again, leaning over to see his work on the underside of your neck and chin.
  454. >It's impossible to resist curling up a bit when he gets to the ticklish bits down there, but he works around your irresistible reflex, cradling the back of your head with his free hand as he finishes his ministrations on one of the most delicate parts of your coat.
  455. >At last, he lifts he brush up, still supporting your neck, looking down into your eyes.
  456. >"All done."
  457.  
  458. >Your mouth feels dry.
  459. >Your chest is heaving.
  460. >For some reason, you can't stop blinking.
  461. >But you also can't stop staring up at him.
  462. >He pauses for a moment, and you can almost *see* the heat radiating between you, like haze in the midday sun.
  463. >Then he asks the question you've been waiting for.
  464. >"What would you like next?"
  465. >There's no hesitation, just an inhalation to get ready.
  466. "I need you inside of me."
  467.  
  468.  
  469.  
  470.  
  471. >Chief Warrant Officer Anonymous, Registered Massage Therapist, Head of Massagery at the 4077th Mobile Army Spirit Clinic at Camp Triumph in Equestrian-occupied Saddle Arabia, looks down at you with a sizzling intense stare bearing more heat than all of the sun-scorched dunes in the desert.
  472. >"There's a king-sized bed behind the other tent partition."
  473. >No!
  474. >A proper, honest-to-goodness bed in this dustbowl?
  475. >Not a bunk or cot or bedroll or quickly-kicked-together hay-pile but an actual, physical, bed, with sheets and pillows and everything?
  476. >And a king-sized one at that!
  477. >Your eyes go wide; you almost reach climax just thinking about being able to lie down somewhere comfy.
  478. >The Chief seems to have noticed your near-apogee and continues with his literal pillow-talk.
  479. >"It's got silk sheets, a high-profile boxspring, feather-and-down cushions..."
  480. >Something in your brain goes *pop* and you orgasm verbally.
  481. "I love you."
  482. >Anon just nods.
  483. >"I know. Shall I carry you over?"
  484. >To that, you can only sigh, your eyes fluttering closed.
  485. >Carried to a silk bed by a tall, handsome, smouldering stallion?
  486. >You barely have time to work your way up to an imaginary ecstasy before it becomes reality as you feel the Chief slide his arms underneath you.
  487. >Hoisting you up firmly but smoothly, he cradle-carries you away from the massage table, turning sideways to pass through a slit in the flap partitioning off the last quarter of the square tent.
  488. >With your head nuzzled up in the crook of his arm, you lazily open one eye to behold the spectacle before you.
  489. >Oh, sweet Celestia of Equestria, it's real, and it looks *glorious*.
  490. >Standing higher off the ground than you think you even are tall, the grand piece of furniture was swaddled in shiny, cream-coloured fabric, and surrounded by four tall wooden posts which held up an additional curtained canopy under the tent.
  491. >You brace for impact; those soft sheets seem to almost reach up and grasp you when he lays you down on the cooling silk fabric, and you close your eyes again.
  492. >Over the course of a few moments, you slowly sink down just the perfect amount into the mattress and high-loft pillow.
  493. >It's so comfortable you're still just lying there on your back with your hooves tucked up against your belly; you don't even feel the need to roll sideways or upright just yet.
  494. >'Muh shay allah', as the locals would say.
  495. >Not even the room you'd had for your high school prom night at Fillydelphia 4-star High Gate Hotel had had a bed this luxurious; you were certain of it.
  496. >And that wasn't just a year spent in the desert talking.
  497. >You're certain you could spend all Thousand and One Nights just laying here.
  498. >There's movement, and you feel something sinking in around your tail, accompanied by two more things sinking in on both sides of your head.
  499.  
  500. >Opening your eyes slowly and deliberately, you find just what you expected: the Chief on all fours on top of you, holding himself up.
  501. >He's removed his shirt, and, looking down, you see he's got a bit more fuzz on his chest.
  502. >You still think the whole hairless thing is pretty weird, but you gotta admit that that little splotch is kinda cute; like a male version of a mare's tuft.
  503. >And he's got chest-nipples, which was a bit weird both in terms of him having them, and them being way up high instead of down below & in-back.
  504. >Guh.
  505. >You got so lost in the bed now you're thinking about this stallion's *nips* of all things.
  506. >Focus, Vicky.
  507. >You're here because even though you don't know who this stud really is, he does know what you want, and he has a very specific set of skills -- skills he's clearly honed over a longer career than yours, to have made CWO2 while you're just a comparative newbie PFC.
  508. >You try to give him your best fluttery 'bedroom eyes' to set the mood again, but while doing it you can't help but sneak a peek down at those little pointy things.
  509. >Biting your lower lip, you extend a forehoof and brush your tip against his nip.
  510. >Hee-hee-hee, it's like a little rubber eraser!
  511. >Anon glances down.
  512. >"Having fun down there?"
  513. >Focus, Vicky!
  514. "Sorry."
  515. >You lick your lips and give it another flick.
  516. >Hee-hee!
  517. >FOCUS, VICKY!
  518. "Ah, sorry. I just -- y'know, pony stallions, they don't have those, only mares. What's it like?"
  519. >WHAT ARE YOU DOING, VICKY!?
  520. >But he just lifts a professional eyebrow.
  521. >"They're sensitive. Not as sensitive as a female's, on average, but more than regular skin."
  522. >Then lifts the other one up along side it.
  523. >"... Do you want an anatomy lesson?"
  524. >You sigh.
  525. "Sorry. I guess I'm a bit overwhelmed by this bed -- and the massage, and the figs, and the incense..."
  526. >Closing your eyes, you wriggle your body and head, digging yourself just a little deeper into the plush softness beneath you.
  527. "... But mostly the bed. Why can't we have these in the barracks?"
  528. >With a chuckle, the Chief rolls off sideways to lie beside you.
  529. >"Come on, private. You're no 'shoe fresh out of camp; you know why."
  530. >You sigh again.
  531. "'Cause they'd cost too much. And take up too much space. And be too hard to move around..."
  532. >Grumbling, you whinny as you think of the *real* reason.
  533. "... And because they'd get ruined real fast, since the average grunt recruit scores only slightly higher on the RASVAT test than a baked potato."
  534. >Ugh, the RASVAT.
  535. >Royal Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Test; the sorting beatstick used to filter out the dummies from the actually-important jobs.
  536. >Why hadn't you actually studied for it?
  537. >Why had you just automatically assumed you'd do fine?
  538. >Why had you accepted the first-round garbage results and taken the infantry chit instead of waiting the month and actually applying yourself on a retake?
  539. >Then again, would you really be happier with some other role?
  540.  
  541. >Like 92A logistics?
  542. >Well, you probably wouldn't have found your ex cheating in that MOS; maybe he wouldn't have, if you'd been around all the time.
  543. >Then again, maybe he was just scum and scum was gonna do as scum did.
  544. >You feel a hand softly clasp around your right foreleg.
  545. >"Something you want to get off your chest?"
  546. >The Chief is still lying there, facing you, his head propped up in his palm, his elbow sinking into the mattress, while he uses the other to gently rub your limb.
  547. >Buck it; time to try the bed out sideways.
  548. >You squirm a little and roll over onto your flank, and he lets go, dropping his arm onto the sheet.
  549. >Celestia, this is cozy.
  550. >You could just cocoon yourself up here like a silkworm.
  551. "I guess I've still got some hangups about my breakup, yeah. And you know how it is, Chief. You obsess about one mistake, and it makes you think about all the other ones you made up to that point."
  552. >"Mm-hmm. Anything you feel like talking about?"
  553. >Inhaling, you roll your shoulders and bring your forehooves up to tuck them half under your head like an extra pillow -- not that you need one, with this fat one stuffed with what feels like a hundred birds' worth of down and feathers.
  554. >Never mind anything else that you could get in this three-hour appointment slot; you'll take just a three-hour nap in this bed.
  555. >That'd do.
  556. >Well...
  557. >Maybe with some cuddling by a big strapping stallion to go with it.
  558. >You reach out a forehoof and start to run it up and down his chest, avoiding his nipples this time.
  559. "Yeah, sure, but not right now, and besides, we ain't got the time. Makes it hard to stay focused, though."
  560. >He cups his free hand around your hoof, rubbing his thumb around the pastern, slowly working his fingers up.
  561. >It's an encore performance of his massage from just a few moments ago, and you exhale softly, your ears flattening against your head.
  562. >After a moment, you feel his other hand pull your other limp foreleg out from under your head, and he starts to minister to it as well.
  563. >You can feel your eyes roll back into your head.
  564. "Uuuhhhhnnn..."
  565. >Depleting the stress-reserves of your pasterns, he works his way up to the fetlocks.
  566. >You feel your tail start to swish involuntarily.
  567. >Yeah, that's the ticket.
  568. >Painful memories and worries evaporate, and you tumble willingly into the comfortable grasp of the stallion beside you.
  569. >And you feel the heat start to rise up inside you once again.
  570. >Licking your lips, you peek out from under your eyelids and glance down at his package, still covered by his drawstring scrub-pants.
  571. >Bringing up one hind hoof, you press the flat of it against one of the folded-over ends of the bow-knot at his waist.
  572. >With a dexterity that you're genuinely proud of, you manage to untie the hitch.
  573. >Then you lever your hooftip into his waistband and drag the pants down past his buttocks.
  574. >There's still his boxers, but he must have gotten the idea by now, and besides, you can't be expected to do *all* the work, can you?
  575.  
  576. >In your focus to disrobe him, you didn't notice one of his hands had already made its way up your foreleg and was already halfway down your barrel.
  577. >Your tail did, though -- flicking and flapping back and forth -- and when the signals finally register up in your brain, you inhale deeply, shutting your eyes as the hand makes its way down, rubbing and massaging as it goes.
  578. >You're ready.
  579. >And you know what that dexterous thing can do.
  580. >-- Or you think you do, at any rate.
  581. >It's close, so close, so tantalizingly close.
  582. >You feel something move, and then lights start to flash underneath your eyelids.
  583. "Haaah!"
  584. >You're not -- you can't comprehend what's going on down there, and you don't care.
  585. >All you know is that you're getting what you want.
  586. >What you *need*.
  587. "Ooooh!"
  588. >Buck, you never had it like this before, and this isn't even his-
  589. "Uuuuunnmmmm."
  590. >It takes everything you've got just to remember to keep brea-
  591. "Huuf--huuuff-huufff."
  592. >breathing.
  593. >breathing.breathing.breathing
  594. "Nnnng."
  595. >(That last one was more of a squeak; so much for your plot-power machisma).
  596. "Hah-huh-hah-huh-hah-huhnnnnnnnnnnnnNNNNN"
  597. >almost - almost - almost
  598. >Panting, you clench and curl up, your head pressing into his chest and you shudder erratically.
  599. >nearly - nearly - nearly
  600. "Eeeeen!"
  601. >You still don't know what he's doing, but whatever it is, you can feel it get *faster*.
  602. "Ooouuuuuuuhhh!"
  603. >Your eyes clench, your jaw clamps open, your hind legs spasm.
  604. >Then whatever he's doing goes slow again, and that's when you let everything loose.
  605. "OOOOOUUUUUUUUUNNNGNGNGNGNGNGNGNGNnnngngngngnngngng!"
  606. >It'd be a blackout but for all the fireworks going off in your eyes and ears.
  607. >After a bigger light-and-sound show than the Summer Sun Celebration, you go limp, collapsing into unconsciousness, cradled in the bed's down and swaddled in its silks.
  608.  
  609.  
  610.  
  611.  
  612. >You are Private First Class Victoria Invicta, and you are soaking wet.
  613. >Literally, soaking.
  614. >You're lying down in an oversize metal camp bathtub, in a pool of sudsy warm water.
  615. >Which in itself is pretty good; a straight upgrade from the limp squirts of water you can get in the camp showers.
  616. >What pushes this above and beyond is that you've got a personal attendant giving you the deep scrubbing you've sorely needed.
  617. >Your head hangs lazily over the side of the tub, a bundled-up towel under your throat latch to support it, as Chief Warrant Officer Anonymous brushes your sides.
  618. >If there was any desert grime left on you after the deep-cleanse brushing he gave you earlier, this surely will get rid of it.
  619. >But it's more than a cleaning; it's also a repeat performance of the massage as well.
  620. >You sigh, moaning as he washes away at your flanks, here in your private bath-stall in this MASC bathhouse.
  621. >It was a clever setup, with each individual 'operation room' tent surrounding the larger communal structure, with curtains and separate entrances so different MASC 'clients' wouldn't see each other.
  622. >There was a bathhouse in the city with soaking pools, too, and they also had attendants to provide this kind of luxury service, for a fee.
  623. >As adventurous as you'd been with the local culture so far, you weren't so sure about bathing with the natives, never mind having some random Saddle Arabian go ham on your hocks with a loofah.
  624. >Anyways, the best part about this treatment, the icing on the cake?
  625. >When you finally get out of here and head back to your barracks, nopony will be able to smell the sex on you.
  626. >Stealth mode.
  627. >They'll just get a whiff of the rose-scented soap that the Chief is using.
  628. >The stool he's sitting on creaks, and you hear the sponge drop into the water.
  629. >"Okay. I think that's everything..."
  630. >You can't even be bothered to open your eyes.
  631. "M'kay."
  632. >You hear him wipe his hands on a towel, and then he speaks again.
  633. >"I'm afraid our time is drawing to a close. For the rinse, I can administer one now, or you prefer you can soak here a while and then take care of it yourself."
  634. >Damn.
  635. >It was all over too soon.
  636. >And what about seconds?
  637. >Sure, you'd had your keyhole thoroughly oiled, but, well, what about him?
  638. >Although this was a professional transaction, it felt like a mark against your marehood that you hadn't gotten to polish off his spear.
  639. >Instead you'd passed out like some two-drink dud.
  640. >You open your eyes.
  641. >The Chief is looking at you, waiting for an answer.
  642. >Even if you weren't out of time, you're not sure you have it in you right now to get what he's got out of him.
  643. >Too damn tired, and too darn relaxed.
  644.  
  645. >You take a deep breath.
  646. "I'll soak and rinse later, Chief. Thanks for everything."
  647. >He gives you a thin smile and gets to his hooves -- his feet, rather.
  648. >"You're very welcome. If you have any feedback about the experience, you can leave it with the office at any time."
  649. "Mm-hmm."
  650. >Balling up the towels he's already used, he tosses them into a basket nearby.
  651. >"When you're done, place all the towels and the robe in this. Don't worry about the basin; one of the orderlies will drain it and take it away to be cleaned. Exit through the gap between my tent and the next one, please."
  652. "'kay."
  653. >He starts to go, lifting the tent-flap to leave, and part of your brain fires off an urgent message whose meaning does not quite reach your consciousness, but it makes you lift your head and call out after him.
  654. "Hey, Chief-"
  655. >Anonymous pauses and looks back over his shoulder at you.
  656. >"Yes, Private?"
  657. >Ahh, buck, Victoria, what were you about to do here?
  658. >Profess your undying love to your therapist, masseuse, and gigolo?
  659. >Ask him out on a date, knowing he literally gets into bed with other mares for a living, and knowing you couldn't live with that?
  660. >That once-urgent thought fizzles away in your mind.
  661. "Uhm, just -- yeah, thanks again. You really helped me a lot. I mean it. Okay?"
  662. >He smiles and nods knowingly, like an experienced waiter who's said 'enjoy your meal' and gotten 'you too' in response yet another time.
  663. >"Okay, Private. You have a great rest of your day."
  664. >He's not embarrassed, for you or otherwise.
  665. >He knows what he did, what he does, how you feel, what you were thinking, even if only briefly.
  666. >It's a reassuring thought.
  667. >The tent flap closes, and you lower your head back down onto the little towel-cushioned perch once more.
  668. >You're left alone in the shaded bathhouse, surrounded by the smell of roses and soap, silent but for the soft sloshing of somepony else being washed in one of the other stalls.
  669. >A bell slowly rings out five in the distance.
  670. >Evening chow.
  671. >You hadn't eaten well since your breakup; lunch earlier today was one of your first real meals in a couple of days.
  672. >Besides breakfast, you'd sorta subsisted on a diet of Ripper cans and bottles of Schles Light, accompanied by dip and Scarborough Reds, for a little while there.
  673. >You feel hungry.
  674. >It's a good feeling.
  675. >The mess hall would be open for another hour and a half, so you didn't have to rush.
  676. >You decide to wait until the bell rings half a jack past chow; anyways, if you do miss the main dining time, you can always get a hayburger & fries at the snack bar.
  677. >You sigh, and close your eyes again.
  678.  
  679.  
  680. "Evening, Max."
  681. >You twist the handles and the shower opens up, raining warm water all over you.
  682. >"Oh, evenin', 'non..."
  683. >The owner of the deep bass voice that answered you has to lift the dark black bangs up from his eyes to get a good look at your face through the horizontal slit in the shower-stall.
  684. >"... Had a client after all?"
  685. >You nod as you grab your washcloth and start to get it wet enough for a good lather.
  686. "Yeah, a last-minute booking came in before lunch."
  687. >You are Chief Warrant Officer Anonymous, and Warrant Officer Maximos Gluteos was your coworker in the 4077th Mobile Army Spirit Clinic here at Camp Triumph in Saddle Arabia.
  688. >The bulky minotaur lifts his meaty hand higher than the shower-head as he washes his armpit.
  689. >"That's good. Hate being idle."
  690. >Working a soap bar into your washcloth, you get to scrubbing yourself off.
  691. >You didn't really get that dirty in your last consultation, but you just didn't like skipping the post-op washup, even on the rare occasion where all you did was talk.
  692. >"What'd you serve?"
  693. "Snacks, chat, massage, brush, fingers, and a bath."
  694. >Max grunts amusedly.
  695. >"You and your fingers."
  696. >The minotaur had them too, which helped to make him a superb masseuse, but his digits were a little on the large size when it came to using them for bedroom services.
  697. >And some clients were a little uncomfortable about having hairy things put inside of them.
  698. "Gives me a break from wearing out my other part."
  699. >You can't help but notice the change in shadows as Max lowers one arm and raises the other.
  700. >"Gotta try that balm I showed you."
  701. >The minotaur had previously shared a sample of a kind of medicinal wax, a soft one that spread almost as easily as a jelly.
  702. >It worked for him, he said, and you had to admit it made sense as an agent for protecting your sensitive skin from being worn out, but most of your clients came in for massage at most, rather than the whole nine yards, so you hadn't really gotten into it yet.
  703. "I will, when I think I need it."
  704. >Just a noncommittal grunt from the other shower stall.
  705. >There's a creak as the shower-tent door opens behind you.
  706. >"Hey Max, hey Chief, you both all done with your clients, right? Can I clean up your tents?"
  707. >You glance over your shoulder and above the shower-stall door to see Charlie Clean, one of the 4077's white-clad orderlies, poking his head in, his golden earring glinting as it catches the evening sun.
  708. >Maximos answers first.
  709. >"All done."
  710. >You give Charlie a nod.
  711. "My client's probably still in the tub, give her another quarter at least, Chuck."
  712. >The pegasus tips you an informal salute as he backs out.
  713. >"Sure thing, Chief. Seeya around."
  714. >You hear the door close again as you finish your ablutions.
  715. >Shutting off the water, you pull out your hand cream.
  716. "Hey, by the way, Max, my client was also into the local food & drink, even though they didn't put it on their intake."
  717. >"Oh yeah?"
  718. "Yeah, pomegranate juice and figs; they admitted they loved the stuff."
  719. >"Hunh. Maybe we oughta put 'em on the forms, specifically, as a reminder."
  720. >You shrug.
  721. "It's pretty long already. Just a thought when it comes to stocking our cabinets."
  722. >Max snorts.
  723. >"I'll stick with salt-licks and apple juice unless the client says otherwise. Never failed yet."
  724.  
  725. >He was a good technician, but you thought Max lacked a bit in imagination.
  726. >Or maybe it was that you just felt you had to work a little harder and experiment a bit on account of not being from around here.
  727. >Or, maybe it was just that *you* liked pomegranate juice and fresh figs, and were always happy to find a client who liked them as well.
  728. >Then again, while Private Invicta hadn't listed local treats on her preferences, her service record indicated she'd often accompanied her Lieutenant to meetings with local bigwigs.
  729. >That means she had to have been served local fare, and you couldn't imagine anybody trying them and not liking them.
  730. "Just keep an eye open if their sheets say a client's had to sit down with the sheikhs and pashas. I guarantee they'll be into the stuff, even if they don't say it."
  731. >"Hmm. Okay."
  732. >All finished, you grab your towel and dry yourself off, then exit the shower stall to don a fresh set of scrubs.
  733. >Like the ponies, Max, who started before you, almost always needed more time on account of his coat of hair.
  734. >But even so, it seems like he was taking his time.
  735. "Your client want the whole deal?"
  736. >He nods, still scrubbing.
  737. >"Yeah. Straight to bed. All three hours, with a few breaks."
  738. >Max leans forward and rests his head against the wall of his shower.
  739. >"... I'm drained. Theseus, my balls ache."
  740. >You blow a low whistle.
  741. "I know clients don't often ask for it from you..."
  742. >The minotaur completes your thought.
  743. >"But when they do, they want everything I've got. Like I'm some kinda circus ride and fountain. And if I can't produce, they get upset."
  744. >You don't really know what to say.
  745. >You knew Max as an easygoing bull, and a good technician.
  746. >He didn't like to disappoint clients, and he rarely did.
  747. "Was it a repeat?"
  748. >Still with his forehead pressed against the wall, he nods, groaning in pain.
  749. >"Third time this month."
  750. >There weren't any formal limits on MASC services -- yet, since the whole setup was still new and the popularity was still being gauged.
  751. >But it sounded like this client was maybe taking advantage of the sole minotaur on staff.
  752. >Gathering your things, you head for the door.
  753. "I'll talk to Sergeant Bordella about backing off that client."
  754. >You don't bring up the obvious fact that getting on Max's schedule that frequently probably meant the client had some clout, as he'd practiced massage skills at the infirmary before the MASC's formation, so he was still in high demand among pegasi guardsponies and other fliers.
  755. >Of the non-pony MASC technicians, he was by far the busiest.
  756.  
  757. "We take care of our own."
  758. >You also don't mention that if there's any pushback you'll take it to the 4077's commanding Major, who had an in with the Colonel and more than enough clout to deal with any problem client short of the three-star General who ran the base.
  759. >And somehow you didn't picture the small, thin, prim-and-proper, grey-maned old unicorn General Augustus Falabella wanting to get railed by a minotaur on a weekly basis.
  760. >"Thanks, Chief."
  761. >Max didn't often call you by your title; you were all on a fairly informal basis within the MASC, being a rather specialized unit.
  762. >He must really be hurting.
  763. "I'll see you at chow..."
  764. >You start to pull open a door, and then remember an old gag you two had joked about before.
  765. "And hey, if another tough one comes up, I can always put on that hairy ghillie suit and cow mask and sub in for you."
  766. >That gets you a hearty guffaw from the bull.
  767. >"You ain't got the meats for it, Chief, but I appreciate the offer."
  768. >You laugh in return at his 'meats' double-entendre, and shut the door on the showers, and on another generally-successful day at the 4077th Mobile Army Spirit Clinic.

MLP Everyday Life With Guardsmares Part 1

by TheManFromAnotherTime

MLP Everyday Life With Guardsmares Part 2

by TheManFromAnotherTime

MLP Everyday Life With Guardsmares Part 3

by TheManFromAnotherTime

MLP Everyday Life With Guardsmares Part 6

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MLP Everyday Life With Guardsmares FAQ, Character/locations,[...]

by TheManFromAnotherTime