Review of a Lifetime

By Stanku

Bakers down the coast tended to brag that they rose up earlier for work than even the mailponies – and vice versa. A commonplace way to settle the ensuing stalemate was to ask Sweet Treat which kind she’d see around more in the early hours of the day, seeing that she was always the first on the move. Similarly, the pink pegamare was a familiar sight to the lighthouse guardians on their way to nightshift at dusk. Come to think of it, there weren’t many hours in the day when somepony wouldn’t have caught Treat hard at work in her ice cream shop, the Shake Shack.

For a small establishment taking up a minor section of the boardwalk, the Shack sure could absorb its fair share of labor. Or perhaps it was Sweet who had too much heart for her profession of producing the most delectable, unique, memorable sundaes of the summer months. Either way, the two were as inseparable as the sun and the sea, and a notable attraction in the tourist season, the small round tables always filled up to the next three eager customers. Expanding the business was a move many considered long-due, and Sweet Treat would gladly agree since that way her secret recipes could make the day of even more mouths. If only she could find assistance who, after ten minutes into the job interview, could still remember the first ten non-negotiable requirements she had put forth to be met.

It sufficed to say – and many did – that Sweet Treat took her work chillingly seriously.

An unfortunate consequence of her long hours was that she tended to forget small details like proper sleep, meals, and opening the mail. This last part became crucial when one evening she noticed a strange letter peeking from under the stack of newspapers she hadn’t had time to read. Thankfully, it wasn’t yet another missed dairy delivery bill. Instead, it was something much worse.

“A reviewer from Non pareil is coming over to visit me on Friday?!”

The letter had arrived on Monday, which of course didn’t help much when it was read on Thursday evening. She’d been expecting, and hoping, for this very opportunity for a lot longer, though. Non pareil was, true to its name, a magazine without comparison when it came to ranking the sweet tooth industries. Shops, recipes, and confectionists had arisen and fallen in the wake of its reviewers' often terse descriptions. To be considered even as a candidate for a review was a major boost for most shops.

Sweet Treat lifted her gaze from the letter to the boutique which she’d just laid to rest. The chairs had been lifted on top of the tables, the counters swept clean of ice cream spills, the dishes done, the spice shelf stocked ready for the morning. At a glance, you’d think the shop was ready for its first day of business.

It all seemed hopelessly inadequate for Non pareil standards.

“Oh, what am I gonna do, what am I gonna do…?” fretted Treat, biting her hoofs trenched in cleaning liquid. She could already see the reviewer scoffing at the obvious stains in glassware (in truth, microscopic), roll their eyes at the bland taste of the orange ice cream (really the freshest in town), and sneer at the shambly decorations of her Specials list (their artwork worth the praise of Ponycasso himself).

She collapsed against the shop window and wanted to melt through the floor like Special #4, the Rainbow Falls, in noon sunlight.

Then a knock on the front door stopped her from crying.

“Oh, hello, Torch,” she greeted upon opening it.

“G’d eve’,” said Torch Lit jovially, one of the lighthouse guardians. “Ach, sorry me for interrupting, but with this warm night ahead, I couldn’t help meself from the thought of Special #15, the Stormy Tide, to aid carry out me duty at the tower. But why the downcast lip, Treat?”

“It’s nothing, nothing,” assured Treat, waving away her worries. Technically she’d closed fifteen minutes ago, but she’d never left a customer down before, least not a long-timer like Torch. “It’ll come right up.”

“Ah, yer the real lifesaver, Treat,” said the ex-mariner as she brought him the sundae. “Here, have an extra bit for yer trouble.”

“Thanks,” said Treat, pocketing the coin in her apron.

“Walk with ye a bit, may I?”

“Sure, sure,” she said absent-mindedly, locking the door after her as they set to stroll down the boardwalk.

“So,” said Torch after a while, “Not me business to ask, of course, but can’t help notice something troubles ye.”

Treat sighed. With her work-schedule she didn’t have much time for friends who weren’t also her regulars. And she knew that Torch would only worry about her for the whole night if she didn’t come clean now, so she did.

“I see,” he said when she finished. “This ‘Nou par-eel’, it’s a big deal, ye? Must be if it worries ye, of all people. The things ye can do with simple dairy are little short of miracles, Treat, my lass!”

“Thanks,” said Treat, gladly. “But, see, Non pareil isn’t just about being the best, you know. It’s about being unique. One of a kind – literally, beyond all comparison.”

“Soo, like, very very special?”

“Exactly!”

“Ach, that’s sort of silly, ain’t it? Isn’t good better than unique? Well, I’m sure ya know these things. Anywhoo, I wouldn’t worry about it, lass. There’s nopony as unique as ya when it comes to ice cream.” He licked his sundae enthusiastically to prove the point.

“You, you really think so?” asked Treat shyly.

One could hide a small cat in Torch Lit’s cream-and-licorice-soaked beard, but at that moment, his grin shone as plain as the full moon above.

“I knows so, lass. Now, go get some sleep and let the worries be gone.”

“Thanks, Torch,” she said, already feeling better. They parted on the pier that led to the lighthouse, with Sweet Treat prepared to give the reviewer the most unique ice cream experience of their life.

She just didn’t know how right she’d be.

***

“You want me to do what?”

Sweet Treat had been in the sundae business for a while now, and had both met and inaugurated some pretty original wishes. But the present request took the cake and the biscuits, too.

Let’s rewind a bit.

She had opened the shop like usual, full of energy and determination to make it the best business day yet. Pegasus forecast had scheduled cloudless skies, so the demand for cold ice cream would be high. Time flew until noon as Sweet Treat scooped, served, cleaned and spiced almost nonstop. Every time the merry bell rang to announce a new customer, she keenly looked if it was anypony she didn’t know. It was part of Non pareil protocol to announce the day of the visit, but leave both the exact time and the appearance of the reviewer unknown so they couldn’t be singled out for special treatment. So far, the day had only seen regulars, but she had a hunch she’d know the guy when she saw them.

She did see him come in.

Griffons were a rare sight on the coast and rarer still in Shake Shack, though not unheard of as such, not least because the establishment was pony-sized. This griffon certainly wasn’t. He was over twice, maybe three times the size of the biggest stallion she’d seen, a mixture of a black panther and a hawk, his plumage dark as coal. His shadow clouded whole tables of ponies as he got inside and settled in the queue, scratching his feathered chest and furred, oddly distended belly, golden eyes looking nonchalantly around.

Could this be the Non pareil reviewer? The magazine did invest heavily in originality…

The queue thinned out quickly as some ponies felt a little too nervous with a large griffon breathing down on them. Judging by their disgusted looks, he hadn’t washed his beak that morning. Sweet Treat would’ve imagined the reviewer to be more refined than that, but perhaps this was part of his disguise.

“Good day, how can I help you, Mr…?” she chirped.

“Chraff,” croaked the griffon. “I came for ice cream. Lots of ice cream.”

“Well, you came to the right spot! What flavor would you prefer?” She gestured at the list that took up the whole back wall of the boutique.

The griffon’s head turned 180° as he took in the options, then snapped back about 25°.

“Let’s try #78, the ‘Cream Carousel’. With extra mint chips and chocolate sauce.”

“Coming right up!”

Watching Sweet Treat compile a sundae was like watching ballet. The mare used three hooves and both wings at the same time, her technique refined and flawless. In twenty seconds – close to her personal best – a glass goblet filled with ice cream slid across the counter into the griffon’s clawed hand.

He gave it a critical glance, rolled it around, then chugged the whole portion down in one go. Aside from the ruffled neck feathers reacting to the sudden chill, Treat couldn’t discern any other reaction, positive or negative.

“Kinda small,” he said, licking his beak clean. “Got anything bigger?”

“Uhm, uhm, sure do!” she chirped, swallowing her nervousness. “How about #41, the Big Pony? With an extra ball?”

Chraff nodded.

Oh gee, this guy is serious, thought Treat as she launched into another whirlwind of gelato construction. This time it took her forty seconds, but only because this serving included four times the normal amount of ice cream. It was her biggest one; you could have your name on a wall by eating it in one sitting.

The griffon lapped it up in three pecks of his massive beak, then burped loudly all over Treat. Gosh, where did he eat breakfast, from a dumpster? she thought, trying not to hold her nose.

“That was your biggest portion?” he asked. “For real?”

“Y-yes?” she piped. “I mean, I don’t have any bigger goblets!”

“Okay,” said Chraff. He rubbed his swollen belly again, as if something tickled him internally, thinking of something. “How about you be the goblet?” he then said.

Voilá, the present moment.

The griffon’s request was certainly original. The thought that he might be joking was quickly crossed off by the dead-pan expression on the feathered face: no one had a poker face that good. Technically, Treat would’ve had a reason to throw him out for such a preposterous proposal, not to mention the fact that she’d already broken her own rules by taking two consecutive orders from the same customer although there was a line behind him – a line turning increasingly annoyed by the hold-up, she’d notice.

Then again, this had to be the Non pareil moment. Something truly unique and unexpected – something beyond comparison. Yes, she could already see the headline of the article: “Ice cream dedication, body and soul.”

“O-okay,” she said. “Uhh, how should we do this, exactly…?”

For the first time, a smile appeared on the curved beak. Treat wasn’t sure she liked it.

“Just lay on the counter and let me take charge.”

“S-sure… S-sorry for the hold-up, everypony; this’ll only take a moment…”

She climbed awkwardly on top of the counter and laid onto her back. With everypony inside now watching, for the first time Treat felt not completely at home in her own boutique. Her wings folded against her back and her legs bundled up uncertainly. She found herself holding breath while waiting for the griffon’s next move.

“Good pony,” he cooed. He walked behind the counter to get access to the ice cream boxes. Then, with a quick move that stirred a collective gasp from Treat and the rest of the clients, he ripped her apron off like it was wrapping.

“Let’s see…” mused the griffon while examining the wares and labels. After a moment his hand shot to pick up the dark and white chocolate boxes, which he proceeded to baste on top of Treat. He didn’t even use the scoop but his claws, spreading the ice cream into a melting mush all over the mare’s belly, neck, face and even groin. She visibly blushed when her tits got treated with a frosty dairy coating. Customers with kids decided this was the moment they took their leave, but they were quickly replaced by the ones dining outside pouring in or staring at the show through the windows.

“He-hey, I think this is going too far,” she said suddenly. “I-I didn’t know you meant yourself so liter–HFMFHF???”

“Hush now, saucers don’t talk,” said Chraff, more than little paternalistically, as he quieted the mare with a palmful of fudge ice cream stuffed into her muzzle. His other hand kept her firmly against the counter while the other moved to pick up another box of melon ice cream.

Sweet Treat’s now quite worried eyes sought help from the audience, most of whom she was on first name basis with, but while her looks were met with sympathy, nopony seemed too eager to challenge the big griffon. She’d agreed to this, hadn’t she? Besides, it was kind of mesmerizing to watch the famed sundae artist herself become covered in her own products, which Chraff certainly wasn’t sparing.

After working the base of chocolate, he went on to add a layer of various fruit flavors, starting from banana and apple and continuing with pineapple, kiwi, and orange. After that, you could hardly see Sweet Treat from underneath, especially since he iced the top of her head with whipped cream and her bottom with maple syrup. As a final touch, Chraff coated the mare with crushed biscuits, nonpareils, and a whole bunch of cherries.

“Hmfhfhf?!!” mumbled Sweet Treat from underneath, blinking now as cream flowed into her eyes. The situation was not only getting beyond ridiculous, she was also getting quite cold from all the ice cream. With some effort, she managed to swallow enough of fudge to voice her humble opinion:

“Dead dairy, will you stop already?!”

“No worries, almost done,” replied Chraff. To finish his creation, the griffon planted one of the new magical toys Treat had ordered as an experiment last week on top of her head. It was a small diadem with wonky, neon-colorfully blinking letters reading “HaPPy BirThDAY!!”

“Hmmff, perfect,” he said, licking his beak. “Now, time for tasting.”

“H-hey!!” yelped Treat, swooped into the air effortlessly like a doll. The warming ice cream ran slowly along her vertical body while he held her front legs pinned to the sides, proceeding to start lapping it up in mighty glops. The griffon soon finished the outer layers so his sharp tongue made direct contact with the mare’s fur, which raised up with the weird sensation of being touched so intimately without any warning. Well, it felt intimate to her at least: the griffon only purred happily like anypony else enjoying a delicious sundae, apparently ignorant that this sundae had a person underneath. She couldn’t help making these little squeaky sounds every time his tongue brushed up against her, which only seemed to grow his excitement. In the audience, several ponies continued eating their own portions that had been neglected at the start of the incident.

“G-gosh, uhggh, oh gosh oh gosh Hey hey what’s happening!” The room suddenly went dark as Treat’s head sank past the beak and into the griffon’s gullet. He was seemingly eager to clean every inch of her body, including behind the ears, his bellowing cheeks sucking the ice cream tangled in her mane. Being trapped in the huge, wet, living maw was bad enough, but the worst thing was that she seemed to be slipping further down the throat with every passing second, the blinking light of the diadem illuminating the darkness ahead with mechanical cheeriness.

“Oh GOSH oh gosh stop stop STOP!” yelled Treat, too late. Her barrel got chucked into the mouth, and at that point gravity tilted against her. A bulge could be seen distending the griffon’s neck as Sweet Treat’s head fell down another notch, her face imprinted upside down, clearly panicking as her muzzle kept opening and closing rapidly. Her hind legs kicked the air wildly as he threw his neck back like a seagull, consuming the mare in earnest now. His neck expanded further with the passing of the pegasus treat, letting the audience get a clear view of Treat’s admirable shape before it finally got absorbed in his girthier form.

“W-what’s going on?!” shouted Treat, scooped into one slick ice cream ball in the griffon’s crop. The smell here made her nasal passage scream and her stomach throw a somersault. Some sweet, rotten stench filled the cramped pouch, seemingly originating from deeper within like green smoke. Forced to bend into a half-sphere, the mare pawed the elastic walls around, trying to stay upright while the griffon moved about. “Let me out let me out LET ME OUT!!”

“Hmm, what’s that?” said the griffon, his triangular ears perking at the indistinct, shrill sounds emanating from his crop. He was just finishing his next, more conventional sundae, masoning a third ball on top of a large waffle cone. Wherever his gaze happened to wander around the room, heads turned down or sideways, disinclined to so much as acknowledge what had just happened. Smiling to himself, Chraff strolled out of the shop with a bulging crop, his panther’s tail flicking the “Open!” sign to “Closed!” at the exit.

It had been a real stroke of luck, he reflected while prowling along the boardwalk, when he’d come across that snobby reviewer pony last month in a roadside motel bar. Chraff was a social animal and the place was quiet, so they’d end up talking, mostly about professions as they were both on a work trip. He’d keenly listened to the pony’s description of his job as basically a traveling food taster enjoying free, top quality meals and pampering, all for the cost of having to write out his opinions afterwards. “That sounds like a job I’d enjoy,” Chraff had joked.

Only, it hadn’t been a joke. The next morning, he’d leave with a rounder gut than the usual breakfast of the establishment would allow, with a list of cities and addresses in claw that marked his future trajectory. The Shake Shack had been the third place he’d visited, and so far the most enjoyable by a decent margin. Since he felt quite full and satisfied, Chraff decided to sit down on a bench by the shoreline to bask in the bright sunlight.

“After thoroughly considering the case, I’m happy to announce that you have earned five out of five stars in my review,” he spoke to his crop. His claw patted the lump that he thought to be the mare’s head.

On the other side of the layers of fur, feathers, sinew and membranes, Sweet Treat felt the mocking congratulation on her skin. Bitter tears climbed in her shut eyes as she considered her ironic situation. She’d finally gotten a five star recognition from an undisputed authority of the culinary world, but at what cost? The embarrassment of being treated like foodstuff in front of her regulars made her cheeks rose, already glowing due to the hotness of the griffon interior. How long was he going to keep her inside? Surely he’d already gotten his fair share of ice cream?

“T-that’s great to hear,” she said in a meager tone. “Uhm, since that’s all taken care of, could you perhaps let me out now, Mr. Reviewer? P-please?”

Chraff scratched himself and yawned lazily before replying. “I think not, Miss Treat. You see, in Non pareil we take reviewing seriously. To get a thorough estimation, the meal has to be processed all the way. I’m sure you understand, as a professional yourself.”

“W-what does that mean?!” yelped the mare. She pawed at the springy, tough-textured crop membrane again, but she couldn’t find any leverage to push out very much. “You already ate me, how much more thorough can you be?!”

“You’ll see…” chuckled Chraff. It amused him to no extent that she hadn’t figured out the hoax yet. He saw no reason to spoil the illusion. “I’m transferring you now to our digestion department for further questions.”

“Wait WHAT DO YOU – IIIHK!!”

Treat’s world underwent another upheaval as the griffon’s crop contracted and pushed her deeper down, feet first this time. The moving flesh clamped and molded her body slickened by melting ice cream remains until she got deposited into a larger cavity. Immediately, her feet touched something wet, squishy, and semi-solid. As her head entered the stomach, the tight sphincter squeezed the blinking diadem out of her head, making everything dark again as it sunk into the fluid filling up to half of the space. Blindly she groped for it, feeling more of the disgusting, sponge-like mass along the way. When she finally got the light she needed, she screamed.

The organic mass she’d first thought was just a lot of food in fact was a pony corpse well into the process of being dissolved. The stallion’s formerly yellow hairs had flaked and fallen off, now floating around the liquid meatloaf. The skin underneath must’ve been exposed at least for a day if not more, for it had mostly melted off around the belly and underside which he faced, being red and irritated everywhere else. Ribs would poke out where the muscles and organs had been eaten away enough, rendering the inner cavity at the mercy of the corrosive juices, and stripes of charred skin marked his backside. Thankfully his face was completely immersed, Treat could not have handled the devastation that must’ve occurred there. She knew the pony after all, for the faded cutie mark of a (now barely) smiling waffle. It was Cream Crop, the owner of the waffle hut a few streets down from her shop. It was clear the griffon had eaten him along with his product, for she could still identify the mushed remains of what had to have been a dozen waffle squares, known for their vanilla sweetness across the town and beyond.

Chraff’s grin widened as the shrieking within broke a pitch. He’d been wondering if the waffle stud would be in recognizable condition still after 48 hours in his gut, and now he had his answer. The stallion hadn’t been as easy to persuade as she had been, so a little extra force had been necessary to get him to go along with the program. After he’d fried the pony a little on his own, extra-large waffle iron, he’d gone down without barely any fuss.

“Dear cherries, dear cherries!!” moaned Sweet Treat when she lost breath to scream. The stomach pushed her on top of Crop, immersing him fully while barely enabling the mare to avoid the itchy liquid. It wouldn’t be too long though when she’d also sink down. Heck, she didn’t know how long she’d remain conscious, for the air in the sac was unbelievably bad, ten times worse than in the crop. The bulk of the stench consisted of rotting, digesting meat mixed with an overload of sugar and dairy, which didn’t seem to agree too well with the griffon’s gastric system. This was the least of Treat’s concerns though, for she knew full well her skin wouldn’t agree too well with the acids, either. “Let me out let me out LET ME OUT OF HERE!!”

“Oh, what’s the matter, you’re not happy with the process?” cooed Chraff, enjoying the muffled shouts and weak bumps on his belly fur. A couple passers-by also heard and saw them, but only hurried their steps in response. Still, it might be better to withdraw somewhere more private to finish his review. “I’m sorry to say, but once started, the review can’t be taken back. You’ll just have to wait until the proper procedure takes its time.”

With that, Chraff got up and sauntered back into his hotel room (prepaid with the name of the real reviewer) and went on to take a lengthy, postprandial nap. He had the feeling that the inspiration to put his experience in words would come to him in a dream.

***

Indeed it would. At the end of the week, the following letter of review would be submitted to Non pareil under the name Harsh Judgement, titled

Just Desserts

Rare is the morning more pleasing to wake up to than the one after enjoying Shake Shack’s products. It’s almost as if the owner’s love for ice cream personally follows one to dreams and fills him up with the essence of frozen dairy and sugar. But I rush ahead of myself.

Right off the threshold to the Shack, the owner Sweet Teat^[1] welcomes her customers with open hooves and a smile true to her name. One immediately feels at home in the small establishment, reminded that expanding business often comes with the cost of losing that special atmosphere. Here, every visit is unique, every choice a pioneering journey into the apparently limitless list of options that fills the horizon of the shop’s back wall.

Service by Sweet Teat makes one feel like the only customer in the house, though the line behind reaches outside. It’s wondrous what a lone, dedicated mare can achieve, for the Shack is indeed a one-pony show. She treats one’s requests, even the more outlandish ones, as personal favors between friends. The only problem at this point is, how to make one’s mind amidst an embarrassment of riches?

The issue is naturally solved by Sweet Teat’s radical decision: she will herself serve as the main ingredient of the sundae worthy of Non Pareil’s ink. Such devotion cannot be rejected. The mare falls into her new role as sundae without missing a beat, her playful giggling relaxing the nerves of the reviewer as he goes onto baste the pony in her own product. She insists on being covered all over, including the most sensitive spots, again remaining true to her name. With her courage, one also feels emboldened in the queer situation, and spares no ice cream while mixing up the sundae of his dreams.

Ah, how divine she is to look, to smell, to taste. The outermost layer of fruit reflects her chirpy character on point, followed by the deep truth of twin-chocolate coating. Taste buds risk being shut down in the face of this expression of art. The whole mare vanishes down the hatch like a symphony, fluid and eager to be consumed with her best wares. Around the room, cheers and awed sighs abound.

Afterwards, a pleasant stroll by the sun-soaked boardwalk crowns the just dessert. Sweet Teat’s screams of joy takes one by surprise; she has just met a dear colleague on a shared journey of becoming food! The reunion is heart-melting, literally. For the rest of the day and night, one listens to the conversation bubble and churn on.

And thus we come to the morning after and, alas, dearly departures. The screaming has ceased, the churning not. Sweet Teat is ready for her grand exit, in two parts. First come the indigestible bits, the feathers, the hooves, the hairs, the little teeth that bring the smile back into the room. Oh, how perfect she is, curled up in a wet ball on the bottom of the sink; a pellet worthy of a painting, or at least a photo.

The not-so-indigestible bits, forming the majority, leave in a hurry, a final sundae of chocolate slur. Goes to show that too much sugar isn’t good even for an experienced gut. A few major bones constitute a frame around which the rest swirls like so much ice cream from a tab, a spiral pushed out with grunts and sweat and pleasure. A final flush and on she goes, towards new adventures.