The Feaguing
Admiral Biscuit

For anonpencil

You’d never visited a spa back on Earth—that was a thing that girls did. It was a place for them to get mud baths and facial masks and exfoliations and hot stone massages and who knew what else. You were a guy, and guys didn’t do that kind of stuff. Guys clean with a bar of soap and maybe a washcloth if they were feeling fancy, and that was just the way of the world.

Ponies apparently didn’t have the same outlook on things as humans did. Sure, it was easy enough to think about a stallion like Caramel using the spa; he had that sort of pretty-boy look to him. Ten bits says he’s gay.

Thunderlane, you figure, got dragged there by Flitter and Cloud Chaser. You couldn’t fault him for that at all. You would have done the same thing in his horseshoes and not have felt a moment’s shame for it.

As time passes, though, you notice more and more stallions getting spa treatments. Meadow Song, Lucky, Apple Cinnamon, Jack Hammer, Rivet, Boxxy Joe, Noteworthy, Cherry Fizzy. Even Big Mac, who everypony agrees is the manliest stallion in Ponyville. Granted, they don’t say it like that, but stallionliest stallion sounds stupid.

Treatments at the spa are also something that you sometimes hear stallions talking about at the bar with no shame, no hushed voices. This ultimately leads you to conclude that the spa is for everypony.

You, of course, are very much not a pony, and therefore logically you could stick to your guns, or you could open yourself up to a new way of thinking. A new experience. If all the ponies like the spa, it must be pretty great.

Also, Aloe and Lotus are really hot, which certainly tips the scales heavily in the spa’s favor. Vera’s not bad looking, either.

Not having ever been to a spa on Earth means you of course don’t know proper spa etiquette. Obviously, you should be clean. Just like you brush your teeth and use mouthwash before visiting the dentist, or put on a shirt and shoes—and pants, even though the signs don’t require it—before going to a restaurant. Odds are if you showed up dirty and smelly, they’d kick you out. Perhaps literally.

So you take a shower and wash everything and then get dressed in clean clothes. You even put on clean underwear before you hie on over to the spa.

It takes you a few minutes to decide what services you want. Fortunately, they have a large menu board that lists everything that they have to offer.

You ultimately decide that simple is best. A massage—that’s something that you understand. How it can be done with hooves is not, but you’ll be finding that out soon enough.

Your choice made, you go up to Lavender Essence, the receptionist.

“I’d like a massage, please.”

“What kind? We have a hot stone massage, a deep tissue massage, a trigger point massage, a shiatsu massage, a bone-crushing massage, a—“

Of course she’d ask that.

“I’m new to—” you begin and then shut your mouth. That’s like telling a used car salesman that you’ve never owned or operated a motor vehicle before. That’s how you get fleeced. “New to Ponyville,” you finish before she starts to wonder if you know how speech actually works. “So I’ll just have the basic massage.”

“Of course.” She scribbles in her appointment book. “If you don’t mind my saying, you look kind of lethargic. A feaguing would perk you right up, and it’s only a half bit extra with the massage.”

One part of you wants to reject the suggestion outright, just because it reminds you a little too much of a shady last-minute add-on.

Then again, it’s only a half bit. “Okay, sure.”

“There’s a short wait,” she says apologetically. “You can have a seat on one of the couches, and Vera will take you back when one of the twins is ready.”

You nod, and find a seat on a bench.

They don’t have a TV in the waiting room, of course, and they also don’t have any magazines. What they do have is an enthusiastic mare who tries to draw you into an discussion of last night’s polo game.

Upon learning that you don’t know the first thing about polo, she then attempts to explain the game to you, and by the time Vera calls for you, you’ve learned that polo is a lot like croquet but faster and with only one ball.

Vera leads you back to a small room. “Is this table good for you? It’s the biggest we have.”

You put your hand on it. “Can I?”

She nods.

You hop up on the table and stretch out. It’s a little bit short but honestly not too much. For some reason, ponies like to build things long and tall, which has worked out to your benefit.

With your head on the table, your feet overhang but that’s it. Not what you’d be looking for in a mattress, but plenty good enough for a massage.

“Go ahead and get yourself ready,” Vera says. “I’ll send in Aloe.”

You nod and as soon as she’s gone you take of your shirt. She can’t do a massage with your shirt on, obviously.

Every time you’ve seen a picture of someone getting a massage, they’re also pantsless. Wearing a towel to cover their shame. There aren’t any towels here, though. Maybe Aloe is going to bring one in with her, or maybe that was Vera’s job. But she should have had them in here already if towels are supposed to be used, you’re sure.

Back on Earth, your doctor always got mad when you weren’t ready for him, and Aloe wil probably also be upset if you’re not up on the table and semi-relaxed. So you take off your pants, folding them neatly atop your shirt. That surely isn’t too much; your underwear covers all.

You’ve just gotten on the table when Aloe arrives. “Good evening,” she begins. “I have eager to give you massage. Breathe deep, relax. Let stress leave your back.” She had a small basket of supplies, little bottles of massage oil, a plug of ginger root, and a bundle of lavender. Just the smells of the ginger and flower are already relaxing you.

“You remove pants,” she tells you. “No massage through pants. Is not relaxing.”

“I . . . I think that will add stress,” you say honestly. “I, humans, we normally wear—“

She waves a hoof dismissively. “I massage back, then you relaxing, then massage rump.”

“Yes.” You doubt you will get that relaxed, but you’re prepared to be surprised. To find out what all the fuss is about.

You tense when her hooves first touch your back. Maybe it’s psychological; maybe it’s an involuntary response to an unexpected stimulus. You half-expect her to stop and ask what’s wrong, but she doesn’t. She continues, and as she works your shoulders you can feel the stress beginning to bleed out. A little bit at first, and then more and more. Your breathing slows, and her movements turn into a constant impression of sensation. Sort of like the almost alarming feel as the first raindrop touches your head, morphing into the calm sensation of a rainstorm.

Time loses meaning. For a brief period, you listen to the new-agey music that they play at the spa, and then tha, too, fades out into the background.

You do notice when she stops. “Your pants.”

You don’t want to move. “Yes,” you say, meaning of course that you are going to take them off but she interprets that as an invitation for her to do it, and grabs the waistband with her mouth and then gives them a little tug.

Now the awkwardness resumes. The fur on her chin is not only tickling, but it’s brushing across your ass. The waistband snags briefly and uncomfortably on your dick before snapping back against your balls and then you’re touching the table au natural. You wonder if pony massages come with happy endings and then decide to not think about that right now. Although if she offers, you’re not going to turn her down.

She turns away with your underwear still in her mouth and sets it on top of your clothes, then rests her hooves on your again, just above your butt, and continues with the massage.

Once again, all your thoughts fade away as her hooves do their magic, working and relaxing your muscles.

The massage across your butt is more calming and less erotic than you would have imagined, and as she goes down your thighs, you start to wonder if you’ll be able to get off the table when she’s done.

You almost cry at the thought that you’ve been missing this all your life. So many times you could have felt this kind of pleasure, this kind of relaxation. . . .

And then her hooves are touching your butt again. This time she spreads your cheeks slightly and before you even have time to wonder what’s going on, she shoves the plug of ginger up where the sun don’t shine.

In general, new and unexpected sensations are always difficult to deal with socially. That’s always been a problem when you were dealing with the ponies.

This situation is a clear exception to the rule. Aloe just shoved ginger up your butt, and more importantly, it burns.

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck!” You leap up off the table, completely forgetting that you’re naked, and that Mister Happy is more or less at pony eye level.

“You are not happy?”

Her question knocks you completely askew. It’s a complete non-sequitur. “You just shoved ginger up my butt!”

“Yes, the gingering. You asked for it to perk yourself up. Is it not?” Her ears flick, and for a terrible moment you wonder how much more ginger she might have and whether or not she can get more up there.

“No, no, it is,” you say. And that’s the honest truth. You haven’t felt this perky in a long time. “So thanks for that, I guess.”