The Hypnotic Adventures of Blank Sheet

The problem with chaos is that while it makes a great distraction, once the moment passes, questions get asked. Questions like, “Why is a stretch of the road covered in disgusting fluids and worn out ponies?” As the answer to that question, drawing any real attention to myself right then would have been an awful idea. Cutie Mark Crusader level awful. Twilight and the rest of her friends were just going to have to wait. It was time for a detour. And… a snack.

Coming out of hiding at last, I walked back around Sugarcube Corner to the front door and pushed. Locked, with the “closed” sign in place. I couldn’t help but grin, assuming they’d closed shop to keep the orgy outside. Undeterred, I raised a hoof and knocked.

After a couple of knocks, Mr. Cake came to the door, opening it only partially, offering a nervous, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but we—” I knocked again, and that was as far as he got. Oops. Now how did I mistake his head for the door?

“Hypnotize your wife and let me in.” His gaze fixed, Mr. Cake turned away from me, coming back a moment later to open the door. I stepped in.

When I was inside earlier, I hadn’t had time to look around. I fixed that this time, scanning the stock on display for anything particularly attractive. Settling on a nice looking slice of yellow cake, I munched as I ordered my newest friend to follow me into the kitchen. Mrs. Cake was standing there idly, just as I expected her to be.

The one thing going for me that I knew the least about was Zecora’s potion. The effect my spunk had on mares was obvious enough, but what were the limits? Just how powerful was it on its own? I stifled a grin as another question occurred to me: would it still work if it were baked?

“Both of you, go get jars. A bunch of them.” Mr. and Mrs. Cake milled around the kitchen for a few minutes placing jar after jar on a counter. With no more room on for them, I had them stop, and sent Mr. Cake upstairs. He certainly wasn’t going to be needed for part two.

“Mrs. Cake, you’re going to start jerking me off, right into these jars. Fill them all up, and seal them.” Mischievous excitement and simple curiosity ran through my mind, and before Mrs. Cake could lay a hoof on me, I was starting to harden yet again. Just what were the limits of Zecora’s potion?

Mrs. Cake emotionlessly positioned a jar and began to rub my member, and suddenly the limits of Zecora’s brew became a lot more clear—I hadn’t noticed it in the excitement, but holy shit was I sore! That potion might keep me running, but it wasn’t doing a thing about overuse! Wincing, I told Mrs. Cake to be more gentle, and had her continue. Sore or not, the idea of mares cluelessly taking a bite of my seed and ending up practically in heat was too much for me to let slide. And honestly, I was curious if it’d do anything to a stallion, but wasn’t about to find out the “traditional” way.

Obediently, Mrs. Cake had eased up on her rubbing, and while it was still painful, it wasn’t more than I could take, and I was getting there. I tried to focus on Mrs. Cake, to build arousal a little and speed things up, but… what the hell was with that mane? No matter where I looked, the idea of Mrs. Cake did nothing to build arousal at all. Finally I just closed my eyes and thought of an compliant, domesticated Rarity doing the jerking. Maybe in a maid outfit.

Ah, there it went. As I felt the sudden tension that meant release was imminent, I sighed in relief that the pain of my oversensitive dick being handled was about to end—and then I screamed in pain as Mrs. Cake quickly clapped a jar over the end, smashing my flare in to avoid a mess. It was nothing but a spigot to her!

I reached forward to stop her, but with my enhanced status, so to speak, the first jar was full in no time, and a second was shoved on in its place, sending me reeling again. I was just about to yell “Stop!” when jars were changed again, interrupting me mid-word. Biting a hoof, I resigned myself to the torture, and bounced between trying to imagine the effects of the treats these would make, and wondering if this agony was some kind of karma. To this day, pickle jars make me uncomfortable.

At long last, I stopped, with only a couple of jars to spare. Going into this plan, I’d imagined I’d have Mrs. Cake find more. I opted out of that, and just had her seal what was there, relieved that the ordeal was over. Taking to my hooves again at last, I told Mrs. Cake to bring her husband back down. When they returned, I gave them their instructions, feeling dramatically less like a badass than usual, probably thanks to the tears still in the corners of my eyes.

“These ten jars are a new secret ingredient Pinkie made. You’re going to put them in every single thing you bake, until it runs out. Understood?” The Cakes nodded blankly, but I didn’t get my usual kick out of it—I was just too sore. I noticed a few spots of my semen that had gotten on Mrs. Cake’s body and face as she worked. Pain or not, no reason not to give Mr. Cake some payment for my snack earlier. Sugarcube corner was closed for the day anyway.

“Mrs. Cake, lick up any of that ‘ingredient’ that got on you—it’s delicious; you’re eager to see how your customers like it. Once you’re clean, count to ten, then both of you wake up.” As the Cakes started counting, I froze time so I wouldn’t need to run, and hobbled out the back. This was going to require something for the chafing. Fortunately, the hospital had sent staff to tend to various ponies who’d overdone it in the orgy outside. Finding my way to Ponyville General Hospital was as simple as following them.