Text is SFW but spoiled because not everyone may wish to read such a hypothetical.
Working in the spa, you just know he looks after himself. Just imagine lying on one of their tables, looking forward to a massage from this lovely guy and seeing the smile on his face when he trots in. Watching his slow, practised movements and the way they make his silky mane bob.
“Ah-ah! Stay there!” He waves a hoof, putting on a mock frown. “I know that look when I see it! The look that tells me you need one of my special massages, no?”
And maybe it wouldn’t be the first time he’s mentioned that, nor the first that you wonder what exactly makes it special. Not that you’d ever dream of objecting to the level of care you receive.
Even the way he’d go about gathering oils, towels and other paraphernalia, humming some tune to himself that’s punctuated by a language you can’t quite place. And rather than wakening you, the cool, fresh scent that follows in his wake would only leave you feeling more relaxed and at ease with the stallion.
Then the almost imperceptible *tink* as he takes a bottle in his mouth and upends it across your back. The cool liquid that’s welcome against the hot, humid air of the spa and a pair of firm but gentle hooves that would be quick to find their place but slow to move and rub the oil into you.
“Don’t worry about telling me,” he’d say, his breath cool on your beck, “just let me relax you, min kära.”
And then it’d be like… all the stress and strain, all your worries and cares being melted off you. Every knot he rubs out, every tired muscle he soothes, every whisper in that sing-song tongue and his lilting laughter; all of it, better than any balm could ever be. The afternoon blends into itself like that, in the gentle care of his tender hooves.
It’s only later when you’re settling the bill that you see him again. He’d go to speak, fidgeting and then cursing in his native tongue before finally waiting to see that Aloe is gone and… he asks you, quietly, precisely, carefully enunciating his words, if you would like to meet him later this evening. There is a lovely little bistro right at the edge of Ponyville and you two could… talk.
About what, he never did say, only left you with a soft laugh and reassurance that really, he shouldn’t even be saying such things. It wasn’t strictly professional.
But you still liked the smile on his face when you met him that evening. You liked it even more, across the table.
10/10 would cuddle
Working in the spa, you just know he looks after himself. Just imagine lying on one of their tables, looking forward to a massage from this lovely guy and seeing the smile on his face when he trots in. Watching his slow, practised movements and the way they make his silky mane bob.
“Ah-ah! Stay there!” He waves a hoof, putting on a mock frown. “I know that look when I see it! The look that tells me you need one of my special massages, no?”
And maybe it wouldn’t be the first time he’s mentioned that, nor the first that you wonder what exactly makes it special. Not that you’d ever dream of objecting to the level of care you receive.
Even the way he’d go about gathering oils, towels and other paraphernalia, humming some tune to himself that’s punctuated by a language you can’t quite place. And rather than wakening you, the cool, fresh scent that follows in his wake would only leave you feeling more relaxed and at ease with the stallion.
Then the almost imperceptible *tink* as he takes a bottle in his mouth and upends it across your back. The cool liquid that’s welcome against the hot, humid air of the spa and a pair of firm but gentle hooves that would be quick to find their place but slow to move and rub the oil into you.
“Don’t worry about telling me,” he’d say, his breath cool on your beck, “just let me relax you, min kära.”
And then it’d be like… all the stress and strain, all your worries and cares being melted off you. Every knot he rubs out, every tired muscle he soothes, every whisper in that sing-song tongue and his lilting laughter; all of it, better than any balm could ever be. The afternoon blends into itself like that, in the gentle care of his tender hooves.
It’s only later when you’re settling the bill that you see him again. He’d go to speak, fidgeting and then cursing in his native tongue before finally waiting to see that Aloe is gone and… he asks you, quietly, precisely, carefully enunciating his words, if you would like to meet him later this evening. There is a lovely little bistro right at the edge of Ponyville and you two could… talk.
About what, he never did say, only left you with a soft laugh and reassurance that really, he shouldn’t even be saying such things. It wasn’t strictly professional.
But you still liked the smile on his face when you met him that evening. You liked it even more, across the table.
@AnotherGoddamn
Excuse me, I’ve had the appointment settled for a while; you’ll have to wait until he’s unoccupied.
Turkish wrestling?
Let’s settle this like gentlemen.
Wait in the line, I already paid for three hours of Deep Tissue Massage
He’s not female, just very fabulous.