The jungle stretched out in every direction. A sea of greens, reds, and blues, the mountains and valleys serving as waves. Even a creature with wings could very easily become lost inside its hot, humid body, never to be found.
It was a sobering thought. Which would be helpful considering how many martinis Spitfire had consumed on the flight over.
It was something approaching irony that a Pegasus, and a captain in the Wonderbolts no less, was uneasy about flying. Not flying under her own power, of course, rather flying while sitting in a blasphemous contraption of wood and steel. ‘Aeroplanes’ was the official name. Deathtraps, more like.
Thankfully, the so called flying machine was at last descending from the sky and onto the land strip carved into the jungle floor. The landing was a little bumpy, but Spitfire was just tipsy enough to not notice too much. The damn plane at last came to a stop, the buzzing of its engines fading as they shut down.
Spitfire, one of only three passengers on the relatively small aircraft, was the first to rise from her seat and stumble her way to the door. The door opened, allowing the hot Amarezon air to spill into the temperature-controlled cabin. A familiar stallion stood just on the other side of the door.
“Welcome to the jungle, Spits!” Soarin laughed. “How was your flight?”
Spitfire took in her friend’s appearance. The blue bastard had practically gone full native, as usual. An unbuttoned and sweat-stained shirt covered his torso while a pair of shorts left his legs exposed from the mid-thigh down. A pair of boots completed the ensemble. Spitfire smirked. If left on a farm long enough he’d probably start wearing suspenders and chewing on wheat stalks.
“Awful,” Spitfire replied, concentrating on the steps down from the plane to the tarmac. She was quite quickly starting to regret bothering with her uniform. A dark blue suit, skirt, nylons, and even small heels were probably less than adequate jungle-wear. “You know how much I hate planes.”
Soarin just shook his head. “You gotta wake up and smell the new age, Spits. Pretty soon more ponies are gonna be using these than trains.”
“Over my dead body,” Spitfire muttered, shaking herself and smoothing out her uniform. “So, where’s Yearling.”
Soarin stood up a little straighter, the switch from joking to business seamless, and gestured towards a path cut in the jungle growth. “In the camp just up here.”
Spitfire nodded and followed her colleague off the tarmac, leaving the rest of the flight crew to deal with the various supplies the plane had brought with it. It was noticeable, stepping off the artificially placed runway and onto the hard packed dirt of the jungle floor. Glancing down, Spitfire could already see the jungle starting to creep back onto the space that it had lost.
Shaking her head, she concentrated on following Soarin, wary of any roots or vines along the path. The last thing she needed to do was fall on her face in front of her fellow Wonderbolt. She saved that kind of thing for the Hearth’s Warming party.
After a short walk, they arrived at a clearing full of tents and stacks of boxes. The main camp, as one could assume. Soarin led her to the largest tent, brushing past a few burly work ponies. Inside the tent a large table had been set up, covered in maps, cartography tools, and more than a few empty beer cans.
At the end opposite the entrance stood another pony Spitfire was familiar with. Like Soarin she was dressed as one would expect a jungle explorer to be, but the mare managed to wear the ensemble so much better. The golden-brown mare was hunched over a map, grabbing a can only to crush it in annoyance when she realized it was empty.
“Can someone get me some more-” she started to call, stopping when she looked up and spotted Spitfire and Soarin. “Well, it’s about time.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Yearling.” Spitfire smirked, walking around the table.
“This is the jungle, baby. Call me Daring,” AK Yearling aka Daring Do said with a cocky laugh, leaning on the table and eyeing Spitfire up and down. “I see you dressed for the occasion.”
“Well, when an official Wonderbolt representative was requested, I sort of assumed I needed to be all dressed up. A little more warning would have been nice.” She shot Soarin a knowing kind of smirk.
“Well, I’m sure there’s something laying around you can wear.” Daring said.
Soarin patted Spitfire on the shoulder. “You could probably just go flash some of the workers. They’ll probably give you the clothes right off their backs.”
“Speaking from experience, Soarin?” Daring chuckled as the stallion recoiled. “Make yourself useful and grab another case of beer.”
Soarin frowned. “What, am I a water boy now?”
“No, you’re a beer boy. Now git!” Daring tossed an empty can at him.
Soarin ducked the projectile and scurried from the tent. Spitfire smiled and shook her head.
“I see you’ve got him trained,” she said, standing next to Daring.
The author and occasional tomb-raider shrugged. “Not very well. Wags his tongue more than he listens. Not that I haven’t made good use of that.” Daring laughed at Spitfire’s expression. “What? I already ran out the batteries on my little helper.”
“I’m shocked you haven’t stripped naked and let all these big sweaty ponies gangbang you.”
“That’s for after we find something worth taking back home.” Daring sighed. “Which we probably would have done already if I didn’t have to wait for certain parties to make their appearance.”
“You know the rules. You have to have a military official here before you can go stealing cultural artifacts for museum exhibits.”
Daring scoffed. “You just wanted another chance to get in the special thanks section of my next book.”
“I didn’t realize all you needed to do to get a special thanks was let a pony sit on your face.” The two mares shared a laugh before focusing on the map in front of them. “So, I can assume you’ve already found something.”
“We found a temple, yes.” Daring pointed to a big red circle on the map. “It’s got all the usual sign-postings about evil and death so whatever’s inside is probably really good.”
Spitfire grinned. “So, when can we go inside?”
“Just as soon as our military official gives us the okay.”
The temple steps were cracked and broken, vines and branches creeping in over the edge while roots pushed through from below. The hands of whatever long-lost tribe may have raised this mighty temple out of the earth, but the jungle had been all too happy to drag it back down.
“Just like the movies, huh?” Soarin nudged Spitfire, pointing to the carving of some fearsome beast over the temple entrance.
“Yeah, just like a movie.” Spitfire replied, swatting an insect away from her face.
It was, to be as eloquent as possible, hot as fuck. Daring had managed to scrounge up a more breathable outfit for Spitfire, which was noticeably thinner than her uniform. Although the shorts felt a little snug and the shirt was almost certainly a size too small. Daring had sworn it was all they had, but Spitfire suspected it was a very deliberate move.
“This is way better than the movies.” Daring chimed in, sauntering up between her fellow Pegasi. “Because we get to keep whatever we find in there.”
“After checking with the local government and filling out all the necessary paperwork, of course.” Soarin said with a wink.
“Of course,” Daring smirked, wrapping an arm around either Wonderbolt. “But, we have to get in there first.”
“How are you planning to do that anyway?” Spitfire asked, eyeing the massive and no doubt heavy set of doors that blocked the temple entrance.
“Simple, I’ll just use the key.”
Spitfire gave Daring a sideways look. “You have the key?”
“Well, I have a key.” Daring said, slipping away and moving to one of the crates stacked near the base of the temple. “Used to be you had to look for a hole in the side or solve some kind of ancient puzzle.” She said as she opened the lid and very pointedly bent over to rummage around inside. “One that usually involved lots of climbing and jumping, assuming you couldn't just fly like a proper explorer.”
“A proper explorer with both of her wings intact, you mean.” Spitfire chuckled.
“Huh? Oh!” Daring laughed, standing up with something in her hands. “Yeah, I usually don’t break one of my wings on these. I put that in the books to make things exciting.” She marched up to the temple doors and fiddle with whatever she had taken from the crate. “Just like how I’ll make up some other way for getting into this place.”
“And you’re getting into this place how exactly?” Soaring asked, folding his arms.
Daring spun around from the door and walked back down the steps to them. “Like this,” she said, holding up a small radio transceiver.
Spitfire only just registered what Daring meant an instant before the so called student of archaeology pressed the big red button and triggered the explosive she had set. A deafening boom accompanied a rush of force and heat as the temple doors were blown clear off their housings.
Spitfire blinked and shook her head, her ears ringing.
“Was that entirely necessary?” Soarin asked, coughing as a cloud of smoke and dust rolled over them.
“It’s the quickest method I’ve come up with so far.” Daring shrugged, carelessly tossing the detonator away. “Now, enough stalling. Let’s go find mama a new shiny for her collection.”
“Yes, let’s,” Spitfire said, patting the dust off her clothes and following Daring inside the temple. As they crossed into the temple’s first of undoubtedly many hallways, Spitfire spoke. “You do realize I have to ask you just where you got plastic explosives from.”
“Relax, Miss Military Liaison,” Daring sang the title with no small amount of mockery. “I did not give public nor private funds to any of the dozen or so militias out here.” Daring hummed and switched on her flashlight, illuminating the dark corridor. “I stole it.”
“Who from?” Soarin asked as he too activated his flashlight.
Daring blew a raspberry. “Phfff, I dunno. I’m sure they were pissed when they noticed.” She pointed her light down the passage. “Hey, lookie there.”
Without another word or even a look, Daring started running deeper into the temple, forcing Spitfire and Soarin to sprint to catch up. Spitfire spared a look back towards the entrance, the light of the sun growing dimmer and farther away.
She was, in spite of herself, a little nervous. Daring had insisted that only the three of them enter the temple. Daring said she was worried about one of the workers stealing or breaking something. If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black, nothing was.
Daring came to a sudden and skidding halt. It was only reflexes born of years of practice that Spitfire managed to stop herself from crashing into the mare. And it was only via reflexes born from years of idiocy that Soarin managed to plow into both Spitfire and Daring.
The trio fell to the dirt and cobweb strewn floor in a tangle of limbs.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Spitfire whined, trying to pull herself off of Daring and out from under Soarin.
“Hey guys, we could have done this back at camp.” Daring laughed, wiggling around so she was on her back and belly to belly with Spitfire. “Although, I guess fucking on the floor of a dead tribe’s sacred temple does have a certain rebellious thrill.”
“That’s not as sexy as you think it is, Daring.” Soarin groaned, rolling off of Spitfire and falling onto the stone floor.
Daring shrugged as Spitfire got to her feet and offered the adventurer stroke author a hand up. “My publicist never did like my more erotic manuscripts.” she said as Spitfire hauled her to her feet.
“I can’t imagine why.” Spitfire dusting herself off and looking around. “What did you see down here anyway?”
“Oh, right. Before my two very important and might I say heavy companions decided to dog-pile me, I was looking at this.” Daring picked up her flashlight and pointed it at the wall, illuminating numerous images and writings.
Spitfire tilted her head, moving closer to the wall. The writings were all gibberish to her, but one particular image stood out to her. It was a mare and a stallion, naked of course, so entangled in each other they appeared as one entity.
“Erotes,” Daring answered the unasked question. “Which is particularly interesting.”
“How so?” Soarin asked.
Daring smirked. “Well, as any student or history can tell you, the Erotes were a collection of deities all about sex. Heck, their followers called themselves the Hedonists. Now, I’m sure we all like a roll in the hay as much as the next pony, but these nuts were obsessed. So much so that, if you can believe it, they tried to summon themselves a sex demon. That got the attention of Royal Guard and they got stamped out.” Daring ran her fingers over the symbol. “I guess some of them fled down here and built this temple. Or got the locals to build it.”
“And why build a temple?”
“To keep an artifact of theirs safe, most likely. It’s probably Himeros’s golden dildo or something.”
Spitfire turned away from the wall. “So, a bunch of, pardon the term, cultists ran away from the Royal Guard and built a temple in the middle of the jungle to safe-keep an artifact?”
Daring shrugged. “That’s just a guess. For all we know this place is completely unrelated to any old sex-death cults and the locals just happened to have a similar logo. The sooner we find a big room with tons of loot in it, the sooner we can find out one way or another.” She turned and pointed her flashlight farther down the corridor. “There’s two paths up ahead. Maybe we should go back and get some rope to mark our path.”
Spitfire shook her head. “Why waste the time? Let’s just split up and cover more ground.”
Daring snorted. “Seriously? Aside from the obvious problems if anyone gets lost, what if there’s traps? I embellish a bit for my books, but lots of these places really are dangerous.”
“And how many of these traps assume the victim can’t fly?”
Daring opened her mouth to argue before closing it and holding a hand to her chin. “Fair point, I guess.” She sighed and rolled her shoulders. “Okay, so how are we gonna do this?”
“You take Soarin with you, I can move better on my own.”
Soarin butted in. “Hey, don’t I get a say in this?”
“I thought you liked me.” Daring pouted, crossing her arms.
“I do, I just mean-” Soarin sputtered.
“You two work it out. I’ll come get you if I find anything.” Spitfire said, heading off down the path that forked right.
She barely made it ten steps before the floor suddenly dropped out from under her.
A lesser pony wouldn’t have had the reaction-time to scream, let alone take any action to save themselves. But Spitfire was a Wonderbolt, a job that demanded lightning-fast reflexes. As such, she started screaming almost immediately.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!”
Spitfire tried to unfurl her wings, but the tube she was falling down was too narrow for that. She thrust her arms and legs out, catching the sides and slowing her decent somewhat. And just as suddenly as her fall began, it stopped. Spitfire landed ass first on a massive bed of moss, the green growth cushioning her fall enough to prevent broken bones if not sore buttcheeks.
“Spits!”
Spitfire heard Soarin call out from above her. She craned her head back, seeing both his and Daring’s heads poking over the lip of the pit.
“Are you okay?” Daring called down, shining her flashlight over Spitfire’s form.
“I’m fine!” Spitfire called back, rubbing her back. “Little sore, though.” she muttered to herself.
“I’ll go get some rope!” Soaring said, leaping to his feet.
It seemed the trap heard him. Soarin didn’t even manage to turn around before the trap closed itself back up, cutting Spitfire off from her companions.
“Shit,” Spitfire swore quietly, fumbling around for her flashlight in the sudden darkness. “Guys!?”
“We’ll try to find a way down to you, sit tight!” Daring’s muffled shout barely reached Spitfire’s ears.
The Wonderbolt captain sighed and shined her light around. Aside from the quite possibly life-saving moss she was sitting on, the only other thing she could see was another passage leading off into the temple.
“Sit tight my ass,” Spitfire snorted, crawling off the moss and heading down the narrow passage.
She walked for a good while, longer than the initial passage she reckoned, and eventually emerged into a larger chamber. Spitfire slowly moved her flashlight’s beam across the room, spotting several torches on the walls.
“Knew there was a reason I brought this along.” Spitfire smiled, pulling a lighter from her pocket. She didn’t smoke, but neither did Daring and she always seemed to have a lighter on her. Probably for occasions just like this.
Spitfire walked up to the closest torch, flicking the lighter open and striking the flame into existence. She held the flame to the torch’s singed top, the thing catching fire easily. She quickly moved to the next, lighting every torch she found until the whole room was bathed in flickering orange light. The lighter closed with a satisfying clink and was quickly tucked back into Spitfire’s pocket. She switched off her flashlight and, now with adequate lighting, took stock of her surroundings.
The room she was in was fairly large, the ceiling high enough above her to still be beyond the torches’ light. The walls were covered in vines and moss and the stone floor had been broken in several places by encroaching roots. Opposite the way she had entered was a massive stone door, a strange looking mechanism beside it. Spitfire picked up a torch and approached the door. The mechanism was quite clearly no ordinary door handle, covered in various shapes and colors. A puzzle no doubt, the kind she was ill-equipped to solve.
Spitfire sighed and looked around for a comfortable place to sit while she waited for Daring to come find her. And that was when she spotted it: a huge chest sitting in the corner of the room.
How she could have missed it to begin with was something to think about, but Spitfire wasn’t too focused on that at the moment. She approached it cautiously, wondering if she was seeing things. It looked exactly how she always imagined a treasure chest to look, made of rich, stained wood with golden fittings that shined in the torchlight.
Spitfire laid her hand on the lid, the wood warm to the touch. She got down on her knees, a shiver of excitement going down her spine. It was a complete and absolute fluke, but she had actually found something. She assumed, anyway. Anything inside a chest like this had to be important.
Spitfire tossed her torch behind her and began looking for a lock, but the chest didn’t have one. Only a simple latch kept it closed. She easily flicked the latch up and threw the lid open, pulse quickening as she leaned forward to see her prize.
Her prize turned out to be a bunch of tentacles.
“Uh oh,”
Spitfire grabbed the lid and tried to slam it closed. She almost got it all the way down when several tentacles shot out and grabbed the edge, easily forcing the lid open again. Spitfire quickly turned and bolted away from the chest, narrowly dodging a slimy limb that grabbed for her.
She scrambled across the floor, managing to snatch up her torch and get back to her feet. She rounded on the chest, seeing the wood and metal shift and bulge in a way that gave away its organic nature. Teeth grew from the chest’s lid as several large tentacles rose up and pointed towards her like predatory serpents.
“Stay back!” Spitfire shouted, brandishing her torch threateningly. She had read about this sort of creature before. A mimic, as Daring had call it. And mimics hated fire. “I’ll burn you, you son of a-!”
One of the tentacles swung forward and easily knocked the torch from Spitfire’s hands.
“Oh, fuck me!”
Spitfire tried to run again, but the mimic was ready. She barely even turned around before a tentacle wrapped around her wrist. Thinking quickly, she turned to bite it, but another tentacle snaked around her ankle and pulled her leg out from under her. Spitfire landed heavily on the ground, the air rushing from her lungs in a big ‘woof’.
The mimic pulled her towards itself, quickly grabbing her other leg. Spitfire flailed her remaining free limb, searching for something, anything to save herself with. The very tips of fingers brushed against the lip of a protruding stone block, not enough to get a grip on, but enough to give her the slightest glimmer of hope. That vanished as the mimic lifted her into the air, holding her upside-down before its pulsating form.
Spitfire blinked woozily as blood rushed to her head. More of the mimic’s tentacles slithered around her legs, feeling her up, for lack of a better term.
“Fuck are you doing?” Spitfire growled with the menace of a drunk kitten, ineffectually swinging her free arm.
The tentacles slid further up her legs. Or would that be down her legs? Regardless, they soon encountered her shorts. The mimic prodded the cloth, slipping the tip of one tendril under the edge. Seeming to grasp the concept of clothing rather quickly, the mimic promptly tore her shorts off her body, the anything but pleasant sensation making Spitfire jerk around in the air. Something loudly clattered to the ground along with the remains of her shorts. Meanwhile, more tentacles slithered over her torso, quickly worming under her shirt and easily shredding the thinner fabric.
Now that she only clad in a bra, panties, and boots, the mimic laid Spitfire belly first on the ground. The Wonderbolt gritted her teeth, feeling around with her free hand. Her fingers closed around the familiar shaft of her flashlight.
Just as she was formulating a plan, a plan that mostly involved wacking the mimic until it fucked off, the mimic slipped one of its tentacles under the hem of her panties. Spitfire froze as the warm and slimy appendage easily slid between her asscheeks. She bit her lip and tightened her grip on the flashlight.
“Cheeky fucker,” She growled, preparing to whip around and start delivering welts.
The mimic was quicker on the draw, pulling her panties apart so quickly the band snapped against her tush. The sharp yet oddly thrilling sensation made her choke, delaying her long enough for the mimic to continue. It seemed as though everything else had been counted as foreplay, as the mimic was quick to shove that warm and thick tentacle against her cunt. It missed its mark, sliding teasingly along her outer lips, smearing more of that warm slime over her. It drew back and took care as it went in again, slowly but surely penetrating her.
Spitfire clenched her jaw tightly, flashlight slipping from nerveless fingers as more and more of the tentacle was forced into her. It wasn’t that it hurt, quite the opposite. But the absolute last thing Spitfire was going to do was admit it felt good. Easier said than done, as the cock-like appendage squirmed around inside her, wiggling deeper and hitting spots Spitfire hadn’t known she had.
Spitfire huffed and started to claw her way along the ground, admittedly not as quickly as she probably could have. The mimic tugged on her legs to keep her from escaping, but in a gentle, almost playful way. Spitfire pulled against tentacles, trying to get her legs underneath her. But even if her heart was in it, it was a rather difficult task with that wondrously slippery thing inside her. She was rapidly approaching her peak, something was was desperate to avoid. She was not some virgin having her first time in the back of a car. And yet, she certainly came like one, letting out a sharp cry and squirting all over the thing in her cunt.
Spitfire groaned and collapsed against the cool stone floor, breathing heavily. The mimic continued to slide its tentacle in and out of her abused hole, oblivious to its plaything’s motionless state.
Although, perhaps not completely oblivious. Another tentacle suddenly slapped wetly against her ass, curling up and getting a good squeeze of her flesh. Spitfire jumped, teeth grinding as the sharp contact and subsequent grope. She tried to shake the thing off, succeeding in only wiggling her ass at the monster. It seemed to take that as an invitation, hotdogging her buns and rubbing its warm, lubricated appendage right up against her asshole.
Spitfire hissed. That felt good, and the fact it felt good pissed her off. It had been years since she had done any butt stuff, mostly because she had cut back on her drinking. ‘Spitfire likes it up the butt’ had been scrawled along the wall of a certain bar bathroom in Cloudsdale for a reason. She swiped at the tentacle, succeeding only in getting her last free limb quickly ensnared and drawn back behind her.
And, for a monster that had most likely spent the last few hundred years alone in an old temple, the mimic seemed to be well versed on proper anal procedure. The mimic took its time to well and thoroughly spread its warm goo over Spitfire’s backdoor. Once it had finished with that, it stopped moving the other tentacle in her cunt, seemingly focusing all its attention on taking her ass.
Spitfire pressed her forehead against the exposed soil on the temple floor, annoyed the mimic had dared to stop fucking her. That grievance was pushed aside when she felt another of the mimic’s tentacles press up against her asshole. Just feeling the blunt tip spreading her cheeks apart, she could tell the thing was big. Too big.
She lifted her head to state the obvious. “That’s not gonna fucking fi-iiiiiiiiit!”
Somehow, no doubt thanks in part to the copious amounts lubricating slime, the tentacle forced its way inside her. Spitfire shrieked as her body stretched to accommodate the large intruder. And maybe the goo the mimic had been spreading around had some sort of drug-like quality, or maybe Spitfire had unknowingly been a pain slut her whole life, but fuck was she enjoying it.
Once the mimic had pushed as far into her ass as it deemed necessary, it began pistoning both its penetrating tentacles. As one withdrew the other rammed back in, double teaming her holes like no two stallions had ever done before. Spitfire may have reflected on the fact all her threesomes had involved another mare if she wasn’t enjoying the fuck of her life. She laid her head against the ground, jaw hanging open and tongue lolling from her mouth as her depths were plundered.
Again, it seemed Spitfire’s endurance was not what she liked to think it was. She moaned like a wanton whore, clenching both cunt and ass on the intruding tentacles. The mimic appeared to hit its own peak as well, shoving both its cock-like appendages deep inside her and shooting what felt like a gallon of cum into the Wonderbolt.
Spitfire gasped and bit her lip, feeling the thick, hot ropes of goo splash inside her. Much like how she hadn’t taken it up the ass in years, she similarly hadn’t let anyone cum inside her. Too afraid of ruining her career with an unwanted pregnancy, she’d slapped the shit out of any stallion who dared to even come close to her box without a condom. But all of that was a distant glimmer in the back of her mind as the mimic kept pumping more and more of its cum into her, making her belly swell with the sheer volume.
The mimic pulled its tentacles free with a pair of wet squelches, letting the warm goo leak from both of Spitfire’s holes. She sighed, flexing her fingers, wishing the mimic would let her arms go so she could stuff them into herself. Alas, the monster was apparently more interested in her boots. She could feel it pawing at them, trying to pull them off most likely.
“I could do that if you let me go for a second.” Spitfire said over her shoulder.
The mimic, either unable to understand her or unwilling to give its plaything a chance for escape, continued to keep her arms behind her back. Spitfire huffed and laid her head on the ground again, feeling the cum beginning to pool around her thighs. Eventually, the mimic seemed to figure out what the laces were for and undid them, tugging the loosened boots off Spitfire’s feet.
“Happy now?” Spitfire scoffed, followed by a sharp shriek as the mimic slid a tentacle over her exposed foot. “Don’t-!”
Spitfire couldn’t get another word out as the mimic again poked and prodded at her feet. She laughed, kicking her legs in an attempt to get away from the tickling tentacles. The mimic was relentless, grabbing both her ankles to keep her relatively still as it continued to play with her feet.
“Ahh! Stop, I’m gonna pee!” Spitfire managed to shout out between fits of laughter, rolling onto her side and curling up in on herself as the tickling reached a fevered pitch.
The mimic seemed to hear her for once, pulling away and letting her laughter peter out. Spitfire groaned, rolling back onto her belly and just laying her head on the floor again.
“You sure no how to show a girl a good time,” She said, wiggling her toes. “I might just have to bring you home with me. Need to train you a bit, but…” She lifted her head, looking back over her shoulder at the creature. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to let me go so I can clean up before my friends find us. I mean, I’d rather not they walk in on me laying on the floor like this.”
The mimic didn’t respond, although Spitfire wasn’t exactly expecting the thing to suddenly talk. However, it did pull her legs apart again, exposing her naughty bits to the damp air. The mimic didn’t play around this time, roughly shoving both tentacles into her holes. Spitfire inhaled sharply at the sudden double penetration, although the earlier stretching and leftover cum did ease the tentacles’ entrance.
“Ooh,” Spitfire moaned, jaw hanging open again as pleasure flooded her brain. Definitely bringing this thing home.
Apparently seeing every hole as a goal, the mimic was quick to shove another tentacle into Spitfire’s mouth. She was momentarily shaken from her daze as she found her airway suddenly blocked. However, she could at last taste her lover, the slime sweet and oddly grassy. The tentacle took a cue from its brethren and started fucking her mouth, sliding the length of her tongue to tease the back of her throat. Spitfire gagged, worry starting to form in the back of her mind, despite the mimic’s best efforts.
More of the mimic’s appendages wrapped around Spitfire’s arms and legs as the monster began pulling her towards itself. She lifted her head, managing to glance over her shoulder even as her mouth was battered by the admittedly tasty intruder. The mimic’s teeth lined maw was yawning open wide, each pink appendage spilling from it grabbing onto her as soon as she was within reach.
Panic surged to the front of Spitfire’s brain, realizing the monster’s intentions. She squirmed and kicked, or tried to at the very least, so entangled as she was in the mimic’s limbs. Even then, her efforts were hampered by the hard pounding she was getting in every hole she had. The tentacles’ thrusting reached a fevered pitch, each one slamming as deep as it could, including the oral one forcing its way down her throat. Spitfire felt them shoot thick, hot ropes of cum into her, so much that it overflowed from every hole.
A particularly thick tentacle wrapped around her waist and pulled her up and back, depositing her butt-first in the mimic’s maw. Despite how the thing looked on the outside, it seemed far bigger on the inside, easily swallowing the Wonderbolt up to her shoulders and knees. Spitfire gave one last half-hearted waggle of her limbs before the tentacles swarmed over her and pulled her fully into the mimic.
The lid slammed shut with an echoing thud and the mimic went still, an unassuming treasure chest once more. Only the faint squishing sounds coming from inside it betraying its true nature.
“You know, for a mare in the business of historical preservation, you sure do break a lot of shit.” Soarin shook his head as Daring swept the broken pieces of pottery away.
“It was a dumb clay pot with no art on it. I seriously doubt it was important.” Daring said as she fished the old iron key out from the wreckage.
It had been well over an hour since they had lost Spitfire. In that time they had gone down numerous corridors, found almost as many dead ends and switch backs, but at long last they had found a set of stairs going down. Which had then brought them to this room, bare save for a few pots on pedestals and a big stone door.
A puzzle, perhaps, but one Daring was in no mood to solve the proper way.
“Are you sure that’s the right key?” Soarin asked with more than a hint of skepticism in his voice.
“I’m sure that if it isn’t then one of the other pots has the right one.” Daring replied, marching up to the door.
Her bravado from before had been worn away by the slow, creeping idea that Spitfire might have actually gotten hurt. Traps were only one of the myriad of dangers in old ruins like this. Poisonous plants could have grown in the rooms. Venomous snakes could have moved in. Heck, even the old stonework might simply give way and crush you. And beyond the obvious consequences of getting a Wonderbolt killed under her watch, Daring didn't fancy losing a friend.
Especially one with such a nice butt.
Daring took a moment to brush aside some cobwebs from the keyhole before jamming the key into it. There was a bit of resistance, but she managed to get it to turn, the ancient mechanism groaning as it slid open for possibly the first time in centuries. To Daring’s surprise, light spilled out from the room, the faint crackle of burning wood reaching her ears.
Pushing past the door, Daring entered the large room. She spotted the pile of clothing almost immediately. She ran to it, sliding down on her knees to gather the shredded fabric in her hands.
“These are her clothes,” Daring said, looking over her shoulder as Soarin entered the room. “But… there’s no blood.”
Soarin raised an eyebrow as he approached her. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Daring snapped. “Besides, who else would have lit all these fucking torches?” She clenched her cloth filled hands and took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m just worried.”
Soarin just nodded. “I know. You said there’s no blood on them?”
Daring shook her head, looking at the torn fabric. “It’s clean. Well… seems a little crusty here. But, it’s definitely not blood.”
Daring looked past her hands at the ground, the exposed dirt having damp patches along with clear signs that something was dragged over it. Daring dropped the clothes and started crawling along the floor, following the trail until it hit the still intact stonework. Looking up, she saw something she had serious trouble believing she had missed.
“A treasure chest?” Daring said aloud as she got to her feet.
“Uh, Daring?” Soarin had wandered to the other side of the room. “There’s a hallway here, maybe Spitfire-”
“Yeah, yeah, hang on a second.”
It was unreal. Daring hadn’t seen a proper big, dumb, ‘ooh look at me full of treasure’ chest in ages. It was more of an Equestrian and occasional Griffon thing. Still, Daring wasn’t about to not crack that sucker open and plunder the shit out of it.
“Hey!” Soarin grabbed her shoulder, pulling Daring out of her treasure-daze. “We can open that after we find Spitfire.”
Daring nodded, rubbing her eyes. “You’re right. Woof, got a little distracted there.”
She stood up and began following Soarin out of the room. She paused at the doorway, casting a look over her shoulder at the chest. The air was still and quiet, but Daring could swear she heard breathing. And, maybe it was just her eyes playing tricks on her, but it almost looked like the lid of the chest was rising and falling ever so slightly. She blinked and shook her head, turning away from the chest and heading down the passage.
Mimics weren’t real anyway.
