For the time being, Sexty Minute Pony Stories has shut down operations, yes. The simple truth is, for many months, this blog received no submissions to most of its prompts. If you scroll back through the prompt compilations you will see that a large number of prompts had only one story, from Daydream, one of the moderators of SMP.
Additionally, the two primary mods have had life issues interfere with their ability to keep running it. I cannot speak for the other mods, but I myself have mostly lost interest, because I am not particularly excited to do the hard work it takes to keep this blog running when no one is willing to actually submit to it.
This is not the end of this blog, though. At some point, when we are able, we may decide to bring it back.
But for now, yes, SMP has shut down operations. Thank you to everyone who participated, and may you keep writing enjoyable sexy pony stories elsewhere.
That’s all for this prompt! Thanks for writing, and we’ll get those stories posted in the afternoon.
"Oh Twilight… "
"You like that, huh?"
"Yeah, but… can you… I… oh I can’t even say it!"
"What is it?"
"Can you, maybe… use your feathers?"
"Oh! Oh my goodness, that’s… are you sure you can handle it?"
"Please, I want it so badly!"
"You got it!"
The Prompt: Feathers in the bedroom.
This is a 60-minute writing prompt. Take as long as you like to think and plan, but once you start writing, your goal is to finish the story within 60 minutes. Submissions will be accepted until the prompt ends on Sunday, September 1st at 11:59PM Pacific, 2:59AM Eastern, and 6:59AM GMT. Make sure you read our rules as well as our post on consent before you start writing. If you don’t have a Tumblr account, please submit your story to us by emailing to firstname.lastname@example.org.
“…so, that is why I call myself a sex worker. Now, most people I know will splutter at that—say things like ‘you shouldn’t call yourself a whore!’ But they’re missing the point. I am a model. I walk down a catwalk, and show off clothes. However, the clothes aren’t the main attraction. If they were, then why wouldn’t there be models from all walks of life? Why do agencies insist on sourcing leggy unicorns, waifish pegasi and the curviest of earth ponies? Because the model is the main attraction, not the clothes. We sell our sex appeal.
It would be like going to the classiest restaurant in Canterlot and only focussing on the side salad. Sure, the salad might be very good, but it’s not going to make or break a meal. You’re not paying top coin for the side salad. You’re there for the meal. And in the same way, you go to a fashion show not so much for a designer’s clothes, but to see what kind of beautiful ponies are wearing them.
And that is why I am a sex worker. My job is to be sexy. Simple as that. And I am happy to admit that, because to be ashamed of it would be to be ashamed of my sexuality. And I am not—and never will be—afraid or ashamed of admitting I enjoy sex and enjoy showing myself off. What kind of world would make you feel bad for indulging your carnal desires? Not one I would live in.”
Fleur De Lis sat back, and smiled graciously at the reporter sat opposite her. They were both sat on opulent white sofas, a low coffee table between them. “Does that answer your question?” she asked.
Even Companions need to sleep. Thank you all for writing! Your stories will be posted starting tomorrow at noon thirty PDT.
I swirled the cup of wine held in my lavender magic, taking a sip. My guest, the journalist, sat opposite me, looking comfy in the plush armchair. I flashed him a sultry smile. “Shall we begin?”
He picked up his pad of paper, holding a pencil in his mouth. Around it, he said, “So what is it that makes you different from other sex workers?”
I leaned back in my chair and craned my neck to give myself a moment to think. “Well, I like to think of myself as far more than just a prostitute. I provide a service that few other ponies can. I give my clients special treatments, such as dinners, massages, and nights out on the town.”
He frowned. “But there are many escort services throughout Equestria that offer such things.”
I held up my hoof and smiled. “True, but not the way I do it. They offer, for a couple of hours, to take a client out. I invite mine into my home, and cook meals for them. They give a veneer of interest and intimacy; I give it honestly. Where they only pretend, I do. My clients are my friends, my lovers, just as much as any pony outside of the business. I care deeply for them, listen to their troubles, and do what I can to make them feel loved.”
He dabbled notes on his pad for a few moments, allowing me to observe him. He was rather cute, with the way he furrowed his bushy eyebrows while delicately moving his pencil across the paper. “You’ve had many prestigious clients, including Princess Celestia herself.”
"Yes, I have." I wasn’t sure I liked where this new question was going. "And I respect their privacy."
He blanched. “Of course, of course. My apologies. Perhaps I should ask, instead, how you handle a typical new client.”
The Prompt: A day in the life of a sex worker.
Special Note: The flavor text suggests only one way to interpret this prompt, and as always you are not bound by it and can freely interpret the prompt in any way you choose, so long as it does not violate our rules.
This is a 60-minute writing prompt. Take as long as you like to think and plan, but once you start writing, your goal is to finish the story within 60 minutes. Submissions will be accepted until the prompt ends on Thursday, August 29th at 11:59PM Pacific, 2:59AM Eastern, and 6:59AM GMT. Make sure you read our rules as well as our post on consent before you start writing. If you don’t have a Tumblr account, please submit your story to us by emailing to email@example.com.
"Goodness, Pinkie… I…"
"Yeah, that was pretty good there yourself, Shy Shy.”
"Did we do it? Did we distract the guards?"
"… you distracted them about five seconds into it."
(Thanks for writing, everyone! Your stories shall be posted starting tomorrow at noon thirty PDT!)
"This has to be a joke."
But despite her annoyance she knew that it was true. Daring fumed as she paced bank and forth in front of the altar. She stopped with a huff and turned back to her notes, sheets of paper, a few photos, and the odd book or two spread out on the time-worn flagstone floor of the temple antechamber. The evidence was all here, she knew. The book and notes had been quite clear but ridiculous, to the point where the archaeological establishment (and Daring) had dismissed the translations and lithographs as feverish fantasies of stuffy old gentlecolts who had been stuck in a jungle without female influence for too long.
Now that she was here and could translate the marking herself, however, she had discovered that the old dusty books had been spot on. Even if the understanding of the hieroglyphs were wrong the altar left nothing to the imagination.
Daring walked up to the slab and tapped the giant translucent blue crystal phallus that protruded out of the simple granite altar. It rang, high and clear, like an obscene, oversized tuning fork.
Daring Do walked along with her head hung low, wondering how she’d managed to mess so many things up so quickly. It had seemed like a simple thing; gather an expedition at a Saddle Arabian palace, which really meant hanging around enjoying the hospitality of her opulent hosts for a week, then head out into the desert in search of a lost temple that had been spotted amongst the shifting sands.
At least, that was the plan. What had actually happened was that Daring had managed to careen in a constant stream from one embarrassment to another, breaking pretty much every local custom she’d come into contact with. To be fair, though, who knew that spitting an olive stone into a napkin would have been a mortal offence? Not her!
So now, she was trailing behind the ruler of the frontier palace, Lady Mirage. Mirage, like other Saddle Arabians, was far taller than Equestrian ponies, almost on par with Princess Celestia. To make matters worse, Mirage was stunningly beautiful; pale blue coat, long, lithe legs, a golden mane and almond-shaped brown eyes that constantly crinkled with amusement. Even while she was trying to show humility, Daring’s mind kept prodding her into staring at the lady’s swaying rump instead of staring at the ground.
Mirage finally broke the silence that had hung over them since she had led the explorer away from the dining hall. “You know, you’re the most… interesting visitor I have had the pleasure to entertain for a long time,” she said amusedly.
“I… uh, I’m really sorry,” Daring said. “I completely forgot—“
“Sorry for what, exactly?” Mirage asked.
Daring stared at her for a moment. “For all the rules I broke? I mean, you said yourself you were taking me away for punishment or something, right?”
To the pegasus’ surprise, the Saddle Arabian chuckled and shook her head. “Well, technically, yes. I am taking advantage of a rather peculiar custom of my people.” She paused for a moment. “Should someone cause offence or damage, a noble has the right to take on their moral debt. The transgressor will wear a golden collar to show they belong to the noble, and any further punishment or responsibility for wrongdoing by the offender will rest on the noble’s shoulders alone.”
“So… what, I wear a glorified necklace and nopony but you can say anything more about it?” Daring said.
Mirage burst out laughing. “What a truncated way to say it! But yes, I suppose that is one way to put it. It is my responsibility alone to express displeasure at you once you wear the collar.” Her face fell slightly. “I’m afraid you would have to wear it for the rest of the time you were here, but…”
“Better than having everypony annoyed at me,” Daring said. She rubbed the back of her neck. “So… what exactly are you going to do to me?”
"How tight is the security?"
"They’re so attentive it’ll take a miracle for you to escape their notice."
"Natural 20 or you’re caught."
"And being caught means execution. Darn it… we’re never going to steal those documents at this rate."
"Then we create a diversion?"
"It’d take a particularly strong kind of diversion to distract them. They take their job seriously.”
"I’ve got an idea! C’mere, Fluttershy…"
"Oh! Pinkie, what’re you doing…?"
"We’re gonna distract the guards by having sex in front of them, silly! I’m roleplaying!"
"You want to roleplay having sex?! I-in front of everyone else?”
"Oh, but… I’m not sure…"
"Aww, but, Fluttershy…"
The Prompt: We may never get another chance to have sex this way!
This is a 60-minute writing prompt. Take as long as you like to think and plan, but once you start writing, your goal is to finish the story within 60 minutes. Submissions will be accepted until the prompt ends on Sunday, August 25th at 11:59PM Pacific, 2:59AM Eastern, and 6:59AM GMT. Make sure you read our rules as well as our post on consent before you start writing. If you don’t have a Tumblr account, please submit your story to us by emailing to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Daring Do’s sexual exploits are legendary, but only a few have been recorded. Check back to see what Daring Do’s been up to tomorrow! Thanks for writing!
"And did you see those ass-bruises? She’s going to be sitting on an ice pack for days!"
"Did I! She looked like a candy cane!"
Pinkie Pie stopped wrestling with her costume, a contemplative looking coming over her face.
"Except made out of lavender and chocolate? Humm, lavender-peppermint. Hummmmm. Hummmmmmmm. I should try that when we make the Hearthwarming goodies this year. Maybe with a hint of orange-"
"Oh, right! I’m murdering you."
Pinkie Pie continued to struggle into the elaborate costume, the buckles of the wing harness finally relenting. She dropped back to all fours, the necklace of (plastic) unicorn horns clattered around her neck. Her smock was comprised of crudely stitched velvet scraps in a crescendo of colors and had renditions of generic cutiemarks scribbled on them in permanent marker.
Suitably attired, Pinkie picked up a bucket near her feet and unceremoniously dumped it over her head. The watered-down corn syrup and red food coloring splashed down her like a tsunami of gore, slicking back her hair and soaking into her fur. She dropped the bucket with a clatter, shook like a dog to get the excess off, and fixed Dash with her best evil smile.
"How do I look?"
"… Alright, I think we’re safe for now."
"Are you sure, Daring?"
"I’m sure. We ought to stop and rest for a—Mmf."
"Daring? Are you alright?"
"That last trap nicked my wing. I’ll be alright."
"Nonsense, I can’t have you running around with an injury. Come here, and I’ll tend to it."
"Now, just show me where it—"
"Sorry. Is this better?"
"… Oh yeah. Yeah, that’s a lot better."
"Oh wow… Rosetta…"
"… How long do you think we can stay here?"
The prompt: The erotic adventures of Daring Do.
This is a 60-minute writing prompt. Take as long as you like to think and plan, but once you start writing, your goal is to finish the story within 60 minutes. Submissions will be accepted until the prompt ends on Monday, August 22nd at 11:59PM Pacific, 2:59AM Eastern, and 6:59AM GMT. Make sure you read our rules as well as our post on consent before you start writing. If you don’t have a Tumblr account, please submit your story to us by emailing to email@example.com.
And now Prompt 113 is quiet. Thanks for writing! We’ll get the stories posted tomorrow.
For such a large city, the nights of Canterlot were surprisingly quiet. Fleur was curled up in bed, half awake and not sure why.
Cat on the roof? Pedestrian in the street? Bad dream?
She sighed happily and shifted a bit, reveling in the the softness of the pillow, the coziness of the comforter, the breath of her lover in her ear-
Fleur’s eyes snapped open.
Twilight is in Ponyville.
The unicorn screamed and jumped out of bed, throwing the pillows onto the floor in the process. In the dappled moonlight from the bedroom window she could just make out the silhouette of an alicorn casually sitting on her bed.
"Twilight? Twilight! By the sun, what- Wait- Nooo. I thought you were joking."
"Just say the word and we’ll let you go."
"Have it your way."
"GET HER!" somepony shouted behind her.