Its Always The Peachy Ones

“No! No! Stop! Please! Please no! Stop!” a young fillies voice echoed off the walls of the basement. Her begging quickly changed to agonized screams then down to a soft whimpering sob.

The filly in question was hanging from the ceiling by her forelegs, which were held in bloodstained shackles. Her back legs were chained to the floor in a similar manner, stretching her out spread eagled in the air. Her eyes were bloodshot and red from crying. The insides of her thighs were smoking from small holes burned deep into her flesh with a cigarette lighter. Unfortunately for her, her torment was far from over.

Her captor stood back and set the cigarette lighter down, inspecting her work. With a curt nod she turned her back on the filly and began rummaging through a toolbox. Eventually she turned back to her subject and held a new device up with a cruel grin.

The tired fillies’ eyes looked up at the new implement of pain and she started to beg all over again.

“No, please no, don’t” she sobbed, “let me go, I want my mommy”

The sadistic mare stepped in close and ran her tongue from the fillies’ ear to her chin, briefly pausing on her cheek. She looked into the fillies eyes and kissed her on the nose before once again beginning her work.

She took the ice pick she was holding and positioned it against the fillies hoof, pointing towards where her skin met the bone, just overlapping the hoof. With a quick jab she slid the sharpened tool under the fillies’ skin, eliciting yet another gut wrenching scream of pain. She continually jabbed the pick under the skin, working her way around the hoof until the flesh had come completely unattached. She took hold of the loose skin and gingerly peeled it back, revealing the tense red muscle underneath.

The filly was sobbing pitifully, completely helpless. Her breathing was erratic and she was shaking uncontrollably. “I-I just wanna go home, I wanna see my mommy.”

The mare stepped back and returned to her toolbox of mysterious torture devices. She returned with a stapler and an annoyed look on her face.

The fillies’ eyes widened. “w-what are you gonna do?” she sniffled, snot and tears running down her face.

The mare smiled and grabbed the young fillies chin. She held the stapler up and pressed the cold steel against the fillies face, pausing for a second before punching a staple through her lips. She quickly stapled the rest of the fillies mouth shut before she had time to open her mouth again.

Blood ran down the fillies face and onto the mares’ hooves, who slowly licked the blood off each hoof with a look of ecstasy. She returned to the now bare muscle on the end of the fillies’ foreleg, tentatively touching it with her tongue. Satisfied with the flavor she took out a paint scraper and started to peel the muscle from the bone.

The filly tried to open her mouth to scream but only managed to tear her lips open as some of the staples ripped through the flesh of her lips. With a firm tug the mare tore a long strip of muscle from the fillies’ leg, leaving a bloody empty trench along her mutilated leg.

This new sensation was too much. She forced her mouth open and screamed, tearing her lips to shreds as the staples pulled free and dangled loosely from the destroyed remnants of her once joyful face.

The mare let out a happy sigh as she took a bite of the raw flesh, the blood dripping off her chin. She produced a small glass from within the toolbox and turned back to the filly, a needle now jutting out of her teeth.

As she attempted to pierce the young fillies’ eye with the needle she became increasingly frustrated as the filly kept closing her eyes. With yet another failed attempt she dropped the needle and glared at the filly before searching through her toolbox once again. She returned with a small pair of garden shears and some pliers.

With a little struggle she was able to grab hold of the fillies eyelids with the pliers before slowly snipping them off as close to the eye as possible with the shears. Blood loss and exhaustion had reduced the filly to just weak whimpering. She could barely even feel the pain.

With the eye now exposed the mare tilted the fillies head back and slowly pushed the needle into it, which elicited a louder whimper from the dying filly. She removed the needle and poked a few more holes before tilting the fillies head forward, draining the fluid contents of her eye into the glass.

When the glass was full the mare tossed it back as if it were a shot of cider. Her stomach now full, she walked to a control panel and pushed one of the many buttons. The shackles clamped around the fillies’ legs opened, dropping her to the floor in a bloody heap. The mare opened the stairway door and stepped out as the filly begged one last time.

“C-can I go home now? Please?” the filly let out one final weak scream as a trap door beneath her opened, dropping her into a giant garbage disposal of sorts.

The mare trotted up the stairs and into her home, careful not to let any blood drip onto the plush carpet. After washing up she sat on her bed and inspected herself in a mirror.

Her beige coat had taken on a new, younger shine. Her gray wavy mane was thicker, with a stronger color to it. Behind her glasses, her eyes sparkled in a way that defied her age. She smiled and put the mirror away. The old book she had found on anti aging had been a complete success.

She lay down and snuggled in her blankets, already planning how she was going to go about dealing with the disappearance of one of ponyvilles' foals. She had a lot of work to do. After all…

…a mayor’s life isn’t easy.