Death by pleasure and fruition
Anypony who looked up at the stairs of History would have found them time-worn, marked by the hooves of all those who, through their actions, their name or their wits had managed to climb them, writing their name in the pantheon of collective consciousness, and thus, reached immortality. Such was the reward of the hardest work, of the most rigorous researches and of so many sacrifices.
Honeysun was neither big, rigorous nor hard-working, but he soon understood that collective consciousness worked both ways, and decided he wanted to be a part of it, should it be for the worst. Aimless, taken by a compulsive obsession for fame and a certain fondness for one-way relationships, he committed more crimes than could be counted, waiting for his victims near a forest or a dark alley, moving without a rest, and his notoriety soon spread to the whole land, as the vile pony gained in audacity, escaping guards and hunts led against him in-extremis in a few occasions.
The equestrians closed their windows at night, feared going out alone, suspected travelers and loners alike; a few lynchings were even reported, after which the crimes brutally stopped for a while only to start again, terrifying even more the minds of the little ponies.
Nopony seemed to be able to catch Honeysun, who ran all night from one point to another, setting camp in abandoned buildings or huts to prepare for his next feat, disguising himself with blankets to make sure nopony saw the color of his fur, mimicking perfectly fear and hatred as he entered crowds and taverns to spite against his own self, shouting “Bastard!” before buying a round and becoming, for a night, the best friend of barflies and naive hostesses.
Nopony could stop him because nopony knew where he went or what he wanted, even himself. He raped, then read the paper and savored his fame in silence before disappearing forever, and nopony could tell where. Sometimes, the numb victims would find a flower to their side, as if, after taking their flower, he wanted to give it back to them. It was as little poetic as symbolic, but it passed as a final dot at the end of each of the paragraphs the odious pony wrote in History, going from incidents to problem of the first order, then public enemy, scourge, and finally, legend.
A legend whose writing reached their end when Honeysun, as he ripped the clothes of his last target, found it had a masculine member, comfortably nested between it’s hind legs, and, surprised, felt the cold brush of a baton against his neck.
The courthouse of Canterlot, the biggest in all of Equestria, wasn't wide enough to hold all the complainants, their family, the witnesses and their lawyers, so it was decided that there would be a roll for the places and that each important step of the process would be transmitted to the outside by messenger ponies who would shout from the windows.
When finally the carriage which held the prisoner arrived, an impressive amount of slurs were shouted and as much as the guards used their sticks to hold the crowd, they couldn't stop the spits. Honeysun answered to the provocations with an insolent smile, crowned with a glory fed by the hatred and the resentment his sheer presence created. The explosions of flashes stopped only when he disappeared in the wide entrance, surrounded by guards, and reveling in the silent obscurity,
Honeysun braced himself to face his destiny. He would certainly be thrown in jail, or even maybe sentenced to death, although these were rare because of their unpopularity, but in any case he had already won, and would become a martyr.
The world would remember him as the greatest criminal of History, his name would be used to make reluctant foals eat their soup, and nopony would challenge his title for a long time, he estimated as he moved in the room, his only regret being that he had not taken a serious count of all his precedent feats.
“Three hundred eighty seven victims,” Said the female judge as she closed the file with theatrical accuracy and crushed the defendant under her stare, who caught the information with feigned surprise. “To death!” Yelled someone in the crowd. “Silence!” Shouted back the judge as she hit on the table with her hammer.
“Honeysun, you are appearing before this tribunal to answer for ignominious crimes. Do you understand what is happening to you?”
“I understand it, your honor,” answered the orange pony.
“The trial will start in a moment, and a group of ponies will tell what they saw or suffered, for those who are still alive,” continued the judge. “Do you understand what is going to happen?”
“I understand it, your honor,” answered the orange pony.
“You had the right to have a lawyer, but you refused it. You had the right to a clerk, but you refused it as well. Do you want to defend yourself alone?”
“I don’t want to defend myself at all,” said Honeysun as he repressed a smile that wouldn’t have been well-thought.
The eyes of the judge protruded on the top of her black glasses, showing a trace of incomprehension.
“The trial will start in a minute. It will last several days. There will be short breaks, but you will not leave the courthouse and you will sleep in a cell. Do you understand why?” She said mechanically.
“I’m scared. There are so many criminals who would kill me if I got out,” said the defendant, faking a whimper.
“Scumbag! Garbage!” yelled someone from the civilian section of the court, immediately followed by other ponies.
“Silence! Silence!” yelled the judge as she hammered the wooden bumper, and she massaged her eyes. He was right, that was precisely the reason why he wouldn’t get out. Few were those who knew.
This trial would almost inevitably end with a death sentence, which would be broadcasted in the whole country and achieve to write Honeysun’s name down in Equestrian history. If he managed to pass as a madman, he had a chance to live his days in jail, but nopony doubted he would become a legend there too and would grow the seed of crime in the minds of saddle stealers and other chicken smugglers. No matter how it would end, it wouldn’t be a victory for anypony but himself, and this idea sickened the mare judge to the bone.
The trial started, and the complainants, their throats struggling to talk, told their stories as calmly as possible, painting the floor with smut and using an awful lot of coarse language. The terrified crowd shivered at each interesting bit, all eyes turned at Honeysun, who didn’t hide his jubilation and licked his lips with insolence, regularly called back to order by the guard who held the chains passed around his neck. Numerous incidents disturbed the ongoing judgment, and many reinforcements joined their exhausted colleagues in the heart of the courthouse. After a few days, it was time for Honeysun to talk and to defend himself.
“Honeysun,” Started the judge, “For what reason did you practice rape on the pony Eggplant Shimmer?”
“She was pretty,” argued the orange pony. “I couldn’t let such an occasion pass.”
As a robot, the unicorn clerk wrote down what the defendant said and signaled the grey mare when it was finished.
“Honeysun,” Continued the judge numbly, “For what reason did you practice rape on the pony Ball of Hay?”
“She was ugly,” justified the orange pony, and he could not continue because the screams and the hysterical cries which rose up from the audience covered the sound of his own voice. Hammer, silence, keep-on.
“I had to punish her for ruining the landscape.” Said Honeysun, finishing with a confident nod.
Cries, hammer, silence, clerk, keep-on.
Suddenly, the door opened and, raising her head, the judge, progressively followed by the entire room, saw the goddess of the sun, Celestia, and her sister Luna enter and calmly demand a seat. The alicorn of the night held a copy of all the testimonies and accusations, a bloated notebook of several hundred pages.
“A matter of this importance can very well justify we leave the matters of the kingdom in the hoofs of its sole ministers for one day,” said Celestia, breaking the silence.
Stunned, Honeysun stared at the two alicorns, who looked at him briefly before going back to Luna’s notebook, unable to believe in his own luck. Never had a trial deserved the presence of royalty, until then.
“Honeysun,” continued the judge, “For what reason did you practice rape on the pony Beach Ball?”
“She was dressed in white on the first of may,” Said Honeysun, “It blocked me from seeing the thrush.”
“She made noises when she ate.”
“She snored when she slept.”
“She didn’t look both ways before crossing the road.”
“She breathed.”
“She existed.”
Nearly anything in existence found a place in the list of “good reasons to rape somepony”, by Honeysun. Each of his reasons was written down meticulously, the judge giving up on understanding his motives.
“Honeysun, what do you have to say for your defense?”
“I didn’t do it,” answered Honeysun.
The grey mare looked like she spontaneously exploded on her chair.
“You didn’t… what? You just recognized all of your crimes! Isn’t it possible to be serious? Do you realize death is awaiting you?”
“Indeed.”
“And that’s all you feel? How could the world inherit from such a scourge? Don’t you fear any punishment?” Continued the judge, almost berserk, pushing her hammer away in case it decided to suddenly fly at the head of the defendant. Celestia’s voice suddenly rose.
“If by sex he has sinned, then by sex he shall pay,” said the alicorn in a voice filled with wisdom as she got up and walked to the center of the room.
“So much crimes committed, and so much suffering inflicted to the innocent. If it is death the he wishes, it will be delivered, for his lack of defense in spite of those accusations. In virtue of the oldest laws of this kingdom and the rights of veto characteristic to Our rank, I decree he shall be put to death, but not any death; the most horrible and relentless of all.
He shall die by pleasure and fruition,” said the alicorn as the turned to the stunned crowd, which whispered with incomprehension.
“He will be locked in the east tower of the royal castle,” Continued the alicorn as the clerk wrote it down swiftly, “In the room with the highest windows, where he shall stay in our presence for a week. He shall feast on the most delectable foods and drink exquisite wines as much as he pleases. He shall lay on the most comfortable pillows and will not have desire that we won’t grant, unless they are the desires of the flesh, and wherever he will lay his eyes he shall see nothing but amusement, marvels and wonders, until the end of this week where he shall bear his punishment, a death at the edge of pleasure, brought by a thousand sweets but never finished.
He will not be able to reach his genitals with his hoofs, despite how hard he would want it, and for this we will be the keepers of the key to a chastity belt. Pronounce the judgment, your honor, and write it down in the final rapport. This session is over.”
The silence which fell after these words only lasted a few seconds, and as a mind waking up, the voice of the occupants of the room started yelling, shouting of incomprehension, cursing the alicorn which walked without a word to the exit of the courthouse in the company of her sister, as the crowed refused to believe what it had just heard.
Stunned, the judge grabbed her hammer and hit the knocker relentlessly, reclaiming for calm and silence, and ordered that the defendant, which was staring at the wall with a smug smile, be brought back to his cell to wait for the end of the event. When the room was empty, after much difficulties, the gray mare took a bottle of alcohol from her desk and crushed her tears as she asked herself what had happened to justice.
The following day, every paper, from Canterlot to Stalliongrad, from Fillydelphia to Ponyville, had as headline the odious provocations of their leader to the bereaved victims of an ignominious crime, the last caprice of a princess with the most doubtful manners, the outrage of the perverse sovereign sharing the bed and meals of the infamous, and to those attacks, Celestia did not answer.
Many letters arrived at the postal service of the castle, expressing worry, incomprehension and disappointment, and to those letters, Celestia did not answer.
Braving the guards, some ponies came to manifest at the windows of the castle, until the strong stallions chased them out, and to these desperate requests, Celestia did not answer.
Soon, the entire country was aware of the strange behavior of the alicorn and everypony discussed the matter. But nopony had an answer.
Those who searched the libraries in the hope of finding the signification of the punishment met a complete hole in the knowledge of the kingdom’s history. References to this sentence were rare, and its definition was completely unknown, as if the world had wished its disappearance. It was presumed to be some sort of sneaky deception, as a poisoning, but which kind of punishment implied keeping the criminal alive for a week and letting him feast? Was death by pleasure and fruition an acceptable retribution for the sufferings he inflicted?
Gossips flew by as Honeysun, even though seized by some apprehension for this sentence he did not know, rejoiced, seeing his fame grow to reach a point he never considered before, and saw himself spending his last week of existence in a grandiose palace, his life ending in an apotheosis of pleasure and making him the only pony benefiting from this mysterious penalty.
The ancient doors opened on a wide circular room flooded with light, and, chains on his hooves, Honeysun entered, moved into the room and whistled with admiration. A few mares with white coats and mimosa hair finished cleaning the dust or waxing the furniture as they sang. The floor was covered in fine colored carpets, their designs showing diverse glorious times of the empire. There was no bed in the room; however there was quantity of silk pillows scattered on the ground, as the alicorn promised the day the day before. The rope around his neck was undone, and, obeying his old instincts, Honeysun sniffed at the floor and the objects, before throwing himself on his back.
“Hooray! Woohoo!” Exalted the orange pony while he rolled slowly on the ground. Even the floor was perfumed with orange fragrances. The clank of metal jaws on his back made him jump suddenly, and as he turned back he discovered the princess of the sun, finishing to lock the mechanism of the chastity belt that now nested in-between the legs of the condemned, and she gave the key to a guard which clapped his hooves on the ground and disappeared with his colleague.
“Honeysun,” Greeted him Celestia as she approached him tenderly. “This place, where we shall live continuously for one week, is it to your convenience?”
Luna was there too, eternally discrete.
“Well,” Said Honeysun, “It’s perfect, and I never knew better, but isn’t the chastity belt negotiable?”
“It isn't,” Reasoned him the white alicorn. “You know all the pain this part of the body can do, and in the place which will hold the last hours of your existence, this pain doesn’t belong. There shall only be pleasures, delectation, feasts and festivities.”
The alicorn wore a thin and transparent dress, which, even though it differed from her usual state of complete nudity, made her even more desirable.
Sitting down in the same manner as a dog on a carpet, Luna looked at him in silence, her too wearing a fine blue dress. The two moons of her peaceful eyes faced each other on her dark figure.
“I mean, it’s nice and all,” Continued the orange pony, “But there was pleasure involved, and…”
“Ultimate pleasure can only take place at the end,” Said Celestia. “The purest, most magical of pleasures, brought forth by so many preparations that they cannot be counted.”
Honeysun felt an itch, and the long body of the alicorn, looking at him from the ivory tower of her neck didn’t make things any better.
The white singing mares had just finished their tasks and vanished by the slightly opened door. Celestia laid down on the floor, rubbing her face, eyes closed, in a deep red pillow as Luna walked around the room, examining the place, and Honeysun bit his lips to the blood, feeling his stallionhood push against the cold steel of its cage, preparing for the oh-so-long wait.
Three knocks broke the silence, and the antique wooden door opened on magnificent rolling carts bringing the feast, escorted by the maidens. Roasted peacock flooded in honey and surrounded by tender vegetables, tartare beef with truffle, piles of fruits and grapes and bananas led a battle in the middle of golden cups filled with a hundred nectars.
Honeysun stared, his drooling mouth wide agape, as he learned that food could be an art too, him who had barely eaten more than grass his entire life, and the hunger, for once, surpassed the lust. He crawled towards the feast and fell flat on the floor, bewitched by the spectacular dishes, ready to devour each and every met that passed his muzzle. The alicorns came to sit on his sides, and a handful of maids approached to pass white napkins around their necks.
“No! No! Enough!” Shouted the orange pony, pushing the two white mares as they twitted apologies.
“Is there something wrong, Honeysun?” Asked Celestia, her voice as calm as ever.
“It’s poisoned, I know it! I refuse to eat. You will not get me this easily.”
“As you wish,” answered the alicorn as she stretched her neck to bite one grape with the extremity of her long, white teeth. Luna did the same, grabbing one sausage and swallowing it whole, before licking her greasy lips. Two maids grabbed one of the carafes and brought it to the princesses, who finished chewing to open their mouths, where the purple cascade fell. A third mare took her carafe, looked at the orange pony sitting in a corner and put it down, grabbed it again, not knowing what to do, and her face crumbled.
Falling to an irresistible feeling of shame, Honeysun crawled back and pushed his muzzle in a small plate of salad, staring at the succulent roasted bird exhaling the most attractive of fragrances just in front of him. He, who had never eaten meat before, even though it was served in some traditional meals. Ponies just weren’t familiar with it.
“We are not used to meat either,” Said Celestia as if she had been reading his thoughts, “but the art of gastronomy would not be able to miss those rich textures to achieve the excellence that is in our plates today.”
Honeysun could not hold anymore, and he grabbed a bite from the plate. It was as if his tongue had exploded in his mouth, a delightful tsunami, each and every taste unknown to him but nonetheless welcome, calling for another mouthful. Berserk, the pony ripped parts after parts from the bird, his eyes filled with lust and not giving the least consideration in his surroundings anymore. He grabbed the food with both hooves and shoveled it down his throat, swallowing the gargantuan chunks of meat until he chocked, and they tapped his back, the culpable was found, and, leaning back, the white mare poured the golden nectar in his mouth, streaming down his face and his body to form a puddle on the floor, and he went back to the table, barfing, spilling the cups of sauces and the salt shakers, under the soft eyes of the alicorns and his stare lost in the waves of maids who didn’t stop singing and didn’t stop him until they disappeared with the plates, leaving alone the princesses and their guest, snoring obnoxiously in the middle of what was left of the feast.
The sun of the first day started to set. Bathing in a massive tub of hot and steamy water, the occupants of the room of leisure observed the group of white mares proceed with their work, letting themselves be soaped, rubbed and rinsed. A carafe in the articulation of his hoof, Honeysun nodded in his inebriation, complaining every time a bucket of water was poured on his head or when a soap-filled towel came too close to his eyes.
Celestia, apathetic to the meaningless talking, let her suite comb her, her face radiant and shining with ease, while Luna stayed as silent as always, observing the orange pony which seemed to fall asleep again.
“And that’s how Equestria was made,” Finished Honeysun and, pushing away for the countless time a hoof trying to rub his stomach, he turned to its owner, which seemed to notice him for the first time.
“Now, get on the floor and spread your legs, dirty whore!” Yelled the pony, his face tensed by the rage.
The white mare shook her head, embarrassed, and quickly went back to the cart to get a brush. Honeysun followed her with his stare, grumbling, and all of a sudden threw his jug through the room, hitting with the sound of a bell ringing the head of the poor maid, who screamed with pain and ran away crying.
Celestia and Luna raised all of a sudden, the sudden wave spreading water on the floor, and while Luna came after the maid to comfort her, Celestia stared down Honeysun, who felt the most unbearable of pain break out in his testicles and pulling him under the water. The ethereal binds was kept tight for agonizing seconds while Honeysun struggled under the water, drowning and making the same sounds as a pig. Eventually it was let loose, leaving the panting pony able to emerge again and cast a surprised, fearful glance at the alicorn.
“Don’t ever do this again!” Thundered the once soft voice of the sovereign. “Never!”
Honeysun answered nothing, his eyes colored bright red as of the soap and tears, his hooves around his intimacy, unable to attain it because of its steel prison.
The night passed and, lying on the ground in between the two alicorns, Honeysun remembered the past day, while Celestia, a book in her hooves and glasses on her muzzle, read a tale about pony heroes she had actually met. The memory of the punishment was still fresh, and with all the things he had seen, eaten and drunk, he couldn’t help but think about it as a dream, and that he would wake up tomorrow morning. When the book was finished, the candles were blown and the only light left was that of the moon.
Unable to sleep, eyes itching, Honeysun got up discreetly, leaving the warm of the two alicorns’ bodies. Walking on the tip of his hooves he reached the window and flung it open, letting in the cool air of the night.
Canterlot was sleeping. Equestria was sleeping. A few stars shined between the clouds, some windows were lit in the distance, and the time had seemed to stop. Looking furtively down, leaning in, the orange pony caught a glimpse of the massive tower’s foot, and noted that it wasn’t exactly straight as a pillar, but slightly crooked, like a tree, and at this thought he saw seized by a terrible dizziness. Obviously, it would be better to not risk falling on the ground. Nevertheless, the view was spectacular, magnificent, some would even say royal. For a second, Honeysun looked at Equestria from his throne, imagining the conquests he would have done, the lands he would have taken, the constructions he would have started.
And the queen he would have buggered, of course. Lying on the floor, inert, were the bodies of the two alicorns, sleeping without a sound, and as silently as a cat would, his stomach feeling the familiar sensation of the unspeakable desire, Honeysun crept up to Celestia wondering if what was under her tail was, as the legend said, in the same proportion as the rest of her body.
His eyes filled with greed, listening to the slow movements of the oxygen in the alicorn’s lungs, the pony raised a trembling hoof towards her tail, pushing a pillow out of the way, and, on the verge of grabbing it, he realized his hoof missed it. He tried again, staring at the fruit of the forbidden pleasures, and missed it again, as if his hoof didn’t want to follow his stare, tried again, but still he couldn’t pursue his plans, let alone touching the body of the alicorn, so, giving up, the pony got up, opened his arms, and let himself fall over her. There was naught but pillows to cushion his fall. Crying inside, Honeysun gave up the fight, and when he opened his eyes again the sun had risen again.
“Hear ye, hear ye, the breakfast has arrived!” Sung the mares with the yellow manes and white coats, as the door opened to more plates filled with milk and candies, breads, fruits and eggs. Stretching languorously, the two alicorns woke up simultaneously and walked to the meal. Sitting between the still warm pillows, Honeysun rubbed his face, his mind still asleep, and admitted this definitely wasn’t a dream.
After a meal that was a feast for the unique masculine presence, Celestia grabbed a pillow and threw it at the head of the orange pony, who sent it back with anger at the same time as a giant bolster sent him on the ground, and the pillows flew, and there was hitting, chasing, throwing, ripping the fabric in a white explosion of carefree happiness which was only interrupted by the coming of musicians and dancers, who set home in one of the corner of the round room, and started their representation in front of the two alicorns and the pony, panting and covered in sweat.
The party never stopped, and the whole day through continued the amusement and carousing, and they ate, they drank, the white mares came through the door lightly to wipe up some other alimental mess or taking out a carpet waiting to be thrown, and the games carried on.
Wallowing in debauchery, Honeysun drank, ate, knocked over plates and jugs, as he launched obscene lines at the maidens, which did a great job in ignoring him and didn’t stop their eternal dance while singing, under the soft stare of the alicorns, who mingled in with the dignity and withholding that was characteristic of their ranks. The drinks regularly led the guests to the toilets, a hole dug in the floor covered by a wooden top, and Honeysun didn’t have second thoughts when the turn of the alicorns came: he taunted them verbally, approaching to see better with his perverted eyes, while they ignored him unaffectedly or politely pushed him away with an invisible hand when he was too audacious.
The night gave up to the day, and Honeysun was progressively obsessed by the irresistible appetite which grew in his lower stomach, wringing his guts with waves of lust, shaking him to the bones, and he gobbled to forget this numbing hunger, he drank alcohol, rolled on the floor, threw pillows at the alicorns to try to take his mind off it, and he soon had but one thought: the one of Celestia, impaled on him, nailed like a butterfly, screaming of pain, torn apart by the suffering monster, waiting for his time in the metal cage the alicorn had put on him.
And it seemed that the alicorns had changed, too. They were shaking, their gracious walk now lumpish, a light grew in their eyes, and soon they stopped sleeping at night, running through the room as fast as they could, calling for each other, throwing objects, fainting of exhaustion right where they were, swallowing the incoming foods without any kind of restraint, gobbling the pieces of meat drown in fat and rich, greasy sauce, raising an holocaust on the desserts, made hysterical by the luxury of their meals, staggering, pained and groggy, in the middle of the unstoppable farandole of maids which replaced slashed pillows, books ripped apart, trying their best to clean the alicorns and the orange pony during the daily bath, in a desperate attempt to preserve the natural beauty of the ones, and a minimum of decency for the other. And, at the end of this fanatical prodigality, the last night arrived.
“I-I am the biggest c-criminal of the world,” Said Honeysun, curled on the ground, his delirious mind filled with scenes of violence, pounding, brutal mating, sexual massacres, and things he didn’t even think about when he was still free.
“You are,” Answered calmly Celestia, her eyes locked on his, chills browsing through her body.
“M-my legend will s-survive through the c-centuries,” gurgled Honeysun, and he suddenly fell asleep.
Celestia didn't answer anything. Delicately laying her head on the floor, she sighed, and let sleep take her.
In the middle of the biggest place of Canterlot, a scaffold surrounded by tribunes had been set up. The morning sun was shining, and the spectators numerous to witness the execution of the oh-so feared criminal. There was quite a few speculations about the turn the execution would take. For an entire week, ponies had searched what a “ death by pleasure and fruition” could be, everypony wanting to be the owner of the information all Equestria desired, but nevertheless, each and every pony had failed, and now questioned their neighbor, emitting hypothesis.
The judge of the courthouse of Cloudsdale, sitting on her chair, was worried out of her mind about what would soon happen. Could the rotten mind of the rapist have corrupted the alicorns this much? Suddenly, a roar came from the crowd, everypony turned their head, and the condemned’s cart was seen, followed by the royal cortege, pulled by twelve guards wearing an armor shining with the force of a thousand white-hot suns.
The heavy door of the prison-cart was opened, letting out the orange pony, disabled by the weight of the chains and the collars he wore, and he was copiously insulted, curses fusing, everypony trying to yell louder than his neighbor. The cortege approached next and the crowd, which ordinarily would have acclaimed the venue of the leaders of the kingdom, stayed silent, in the expectation of the unwinding of the story which had inhabited the mind of everypony for a week now. The prisoner was tied to a pillory and the goddesses of the day and night, wearing a gown to the color of their respective empires, climbed on the platform.
“Ponies of Equestria, hear my voice!” Thundered Celestia, with the clear and impenetrable voice which had forged the prestige of the great leaders of the kingdom. “In this day, and for exceptional circumstances, will be applied the right sentence to a crime without equal, the one of this very pony : Honeysun! He, who raped without remorse and terrorized the entire realm!”
Honeysun, idle on the pillory, stared at the crowd, whose rumbling grew.
“The laws of the empire planned, in response to utterly horrific sexual crimes, a final sentence, the death through the purest and strongest pleasure,brought forth by the best and most succulent equestrian pleasures!” Continued Celestia, her voice starting to croak as a single drop of sweat ran down her forehead.
The whispering in the crowd grew more and more, shocked by the terms She used. The mare judge was seized by a violent urge to vomit, disgusted by the turn the events were taking.
“Free the prisoner!” Ordered the alicorn, and two guards approached, unbuckling the metal prison which used to be locked on the prisoner’s waist, displaying his bruised, red penis which, taking advantage of his newfound freedom, raised to the sun as a sunflower.
The alicorns went on each side of the perpetuator, erected to their full height, and Celestia said:
“Criminal Honeysun, are you ready to pay for your crimes, and to know the most rightful torments for the unspeakable crimes you have committed?
- I’m impatient, your honor!” Answered the pony in a last taunt, his masculinity proudly raised as never before.
By sex he had lived, and by sex he shall die, from the most succulent manner there was, after defying till the end every law and usages, condemned to the most subversive, most original and most mysterious penalty. Nopony would ever forget this day, and his name would be cursed, and worshipped, for generations to come. He had won everything.
“Let the execution begin,” Announced Celestia as she turned and raised her round bottom to the intense stare of the criminal, followed by Luna, who raised her tail, unveiling the dark furrow of her oh so perfect feminity, so proportional to the rest of her body, her massive and triumphant anus, and the moon crashed on his face, followed by the sun, radiating his body in animal heat, and the two alicorns started rubbing, as the crowd screamed of indignation, scandalized by so much indecency.
The two firm and round extremities of the princesses’ bodies squished the face of Honeysun, squeaking with pleasure, trying to lick everything at once, feeling the flower of both mares bud slightly and leave a moist trail on his face. He prepared himself to moan with pleasure, his sex throbbing incontrolably, mad with pain and lust, at least until an hidious odor suddenly reached his nostrils.
“Hey!” He protested, “That's disgusting!”
One of the alicorns seemed to be suffering of flatulences, and it didn't stop. The heavy scent, joined by a typical rumbling, came back with a vengeance.
“Stop! Stop this right away, I'm begging you!” Implored the orange pony who was now feeling his penis shrink back into its seath at the speed of sound. He shook his head as he tried to escape, but the clutch was too tight.
The fragrance of the alicorns' bowels was atrocious. It was the most dreadful, the most horrific alchimy of digested fats and proteins, abandoned to the most horrible intestinal fermentation, hints of putrefaction mixing with remugles of decay, even varying in doses between the two alicorns. It was the single most disgusting thing one could hope to smell and, asphyxiated, terrified, Honeysun could only think about one thing anymore.
The alicorns had kept it all in.
He had spied on them without any form of embarrassment, every time, and they have never given up to the needs to defecate, which had been quite a frustrating point, but that he had soon forgot. His execution had started as soon as the first day.
Honeysun fought with all his forces, struggling to find fresh air, trying to save what oxygen he had left in his lungs, and the silence had fallen on the crowd, nopony able to believe what he or she was seeing, some, horrified, even turning away or closing their eyes in front of the suffering wretch. The orange pony emptied his lungs, unable to hold any second more.
It was the moment the alicorns chose to deliver the final blow.
Coming from the dark tunnels of their intestines, bringing with them the purest and deadliest aromas, the last and worst bursts were shot in a foul storm, an apotheosis of greasy, strong flatulences, taking place of what was left of air around them, gasing the poor pony who screamed with all his forces and died of apoplexy, his body paralyzed in a look of utter suffering, his hoofs skinned where the metal had bit in the soft skin.
The silence had fallen again, and only the song of the birds indicated that time was still passing by. Then, the alicorns yielded.
With a scream of agony, Celestia and Luna, defeated by the sharp pain which had grown in them days during, gave up the fight and freed themselves of this oppressive mass, pushing with all their forces, taking it out of their bodies in concrete blocks which whirled in the air before falling on the body of the deceased.
Never, in pony memory, would anypony had thought that alicorns could widen this much. Lighter of several kilos, panting, the alicorns walked to the stairs of the scaffold, and Celestia's horn lit up, making the body of the rascal disappear in a fiery column, which soon grew to the entire scaffhold, consuming every hint of what had happened here, leaving only dust to fade in the wind.
Without uttering a word, the alicorns climbed in the carriage and disappeared. The crowd scattered gradually, nopony knowing what to say, if they had to be disappointed or merry. The discomfort was the strongest. The last days hadn't been a victory for anypony. And in this, the only pony who felt some sort of joy was the mare judge.
A unique crime deserves a unique penalty. The steps of history were sculpted by the steps of those who succeeded to climb them, but they couldn't be soiled by those who chose, instead of excellence, malevolence. The morbid attraction one can feel for glory is the same which brings him to confess a mistake, as much in the aim of begging mercy as to take credit for it. A punishment did as much pain to the one who dispensed it as the one on the receiving end, and this day had been a beautiful demonstration of it.
In front of the inextricable issue of preventing a scoundrel to mark collective memory and to bring as much dread as admiration, the alicorns had agreed to pay with their person to inflict the most shameful and sinful of deaths. The penalty of death through pleasure and enjoyment was a punishment which held its secret from its power, and which maintained its force by its secret. No epitaph would have been believable on the tombstone of the damned, and in time it would have looked like nothing but a hoax.
So it was that nopony talked about it ever again, and the name of Honeysun drifted slowly but surely into oblivion.
