I don’t know how long I’ve been here. It’s impossible to keep track of time anymore. The room is always dimly lit, but the lack of light is only a small part of it.
It all just blurs together. The monotony destroyed any sense of time long before the darkness did. They keep a very tight schedule, after all. You can only do the exact same routine so many times before you stop bothering to count.
There’s not much to do in here, anyway. I’ve examined my surroundings countless times. I know the layout by memory, bare as it is. When it comes right down to it, however, the only thing to do is wait. Movement is impossible, let alone resistance.
There’s a glass tube surrounding me. There’s plenty of space between the sides and my body, but that doesn’t really matter since I can’t move. It completely muffles any noise, but the view is clear enough. The glass shell is capped by a black lid on the front end. It might be plastic, or it might be metal, but it has a matte finish. I’ve never seen the end that's behind me, but I assume it has something similar.
There’s some sort of harness around my midsection. It’s not as noticeable as the hoses jammed into me, but it’s there. It takes too much effort to move my limbs, but once in awhile they scrape the glass. There must be a lot of scuff marks from my hooves, but I can’t check.
The room beyond is plain. The glass warps the view slightly, but there is absolutely nothing to see. Just a big stretch of brick-colored floor and wall. Both are completely featureless—it’s almost creepy how smooth they are. I suppose the glass might be exaggerating it, but I doubt it. It would fit in perfectly for them to be that bland. I’m right near the corner too, so I have even less to see.
I don’t have a very good field of view anyway. The tube is angled upward, so I can’t see the floor. My head is locked in place by the pipe in my mouth. I think of it as a pipe, but that’s probably not a very good word. It has some kind of soft black coating; rubber or plastic I suppose. Biting takes too much effort, so I don’t know for sure. It’s protruding from the cap at the top of the tube. You can see a rubber gasket around the edge, if you look closely. The difference between the pipe, the cap, and the gasket is subtle, but I’ve had a lot of time to examine them.
The pipe has a rounded edge. I don’t remember it being inserted into my mouth, but I can feel it pushing on my throat every now and then. Every so often it pushes forward a little bit, and I have to swallow a little more of it. I imagine it was pretty difficult at first, but I don’t actually remember. My gag reflex is long gone now, so having a foot of rubber piping buried halfway to my lungs doesn’t really bother me. Nothing bothers me.
There’s two more of these phallic cylinders buried inside my rectum and vagina. My body has been numb for a very long time, but I know they’re there. Like the one in my mouth, every now and then they push a little further in.
I know “pipe” is an awkward word. It’s hard to picture pipes. There’s not a lot of words for these things. They pipe things into me. I’m not sure how else to describe them.
Oh right, I didn’t get to that part yet. Once a day it pumps some sort of liquid into me. It’s cold and salty, but it’s too thick to be water. There always feels like a lot of it. Some of it always spills out and dribbles down my neck and hindlegs, so there must be more than can fit inside me.
Right after it gushes into me, it gets hard to think. My thoughts get so slow and difficult. Just remembering my name is such a chore. That’s why I’m talking to myself right now; the dose hasn’t come today, so my thoughts are unusually coherent.
I timed it once. I don’t remember counting it, but I do remember the number; twenty-four hours between doses. There’s also twelve hours between each dose and each surge.
Oh, yeah, I didn’t describe those either. Sorry, I’m not used to doing this much thinking. Once a day they pump me full of that salty stuff, and twelve hours later they have a surge.
That’s just what I call them. I don’t know if they have a proper name, but it’s an appropriate word. The rods stuck inside my mouth and butt and vagina start to get really warm. They vibrate slightly too. But not vibration like a toothbrush or anything. It’s tingly and subtle and quiet. Like electricity.
They do that for exactly five minutes; I counted that once too. Then, just when they’ve gotten warm enough, my body clenches and they vibrate for real. The noise makes me think of my electric toothbrush. I had an electric toothbrush, didn’t I? Anyway, they vibrate, and they tingle, and they’re warm, and it feels incredible. I always gasp and moan when they start up. I don’t mind, it’s not like anypony can hear me through the glass.
It feels incredible, having those things buried inside me. I don’t mind admitting that. Then, after they start warming and tingling and vibrating they start sparking and flashing.
The one in my mouth glows blue, but I also see red light behind me. That must be from the back ones. Once they start glowing, a dozen jolts of energy pass through my body. I don’t know if it’s my energy or energy from somewhere else, but I can feel each one surge through me. Through my mouth, down my throat, past my chest, through my stomach, past my hips, and out the other rods. It feels amazing. Like electricity, but not unpleasant or scary or dangerous. It makes me feel safe and calm.
My entire body clenches and convulses as the energy passes through me. Almost like it doesn’t want it to happen. But as the sensations keep building and building it’s less about resistance and more about clutching onto the feelings for as long as possible before they leave. It feels like I want to vomit or poop or die, but none of those feelings is as erotic and complete as this one.
Then the surges stop, and I feel exhausted and tired and drained. My back legs are sore for a while afterward. My forelegs stay dangly and limp below me. Sometimes I feel some drool leak out of my mouth, or some liquid run down my rear leg.
It’s worth the exhaustion, though. Every time that happens, all I can think of is how good it feels, and once they end, all I can think of is the next one. I feel so tired and limp in this tube, but the surges take no effort. I can just be still and enjoy them.
That’s one reason why I’m thinking to myself. The dose of liquid didn’t come today, so what if the surge doesn’t come either? I don’t know what I would do without it, alone in this tube, with nothing to make me feel good.
I’ve been counting a little, but I keep losing my place. My brain must not be as fast as usual. I know it has to be soon, though. Twelve hours.
The tube lurches downward. I don’t remember it ever being level with the floor. There’s a hiss of escaping air and the lid shifts. I see the tube sliding out of my mouth, and I dimly sense it leaving my body.
It pops free and I let out a thin cough.
The tube opens up and I see the silhouettes of two ponies. One is big, the other is small. Both are unicorns. The bigger one charges their horn, and there is a loud mechanical click.
I feel my body sliding forward. I moan. The sound is much louder than my cough. The pipes buried in my body start to slide free, and it feels nice. They’re so smooth and big and—
They leave my body and I collapse onto the floor of the tube. My limbs don’t respond to my orders. It’s just as well; I’m sure the ponies took me off those hoses for a reason.
“Be careful with her, for goodness sake!” the smaller pony says. She sounds female.
The bigger, gray one grunts. I’m not sure if it’s an apology or just an affirmation. He doesn’t really have anything to apologize for; I didn’t feel anything except the pipes leaving my body.
His magic grips me again, and I float out of the tube onto the tiles outside.
The mare hunches over me. She’s wearing a white labcoat. It matches her mane perfectly. Her coat hair is a pleasant green color, and I dimly notice a clipboard cutie mark on her flank. She is slightly taller and thinner than most ponies, but her companion still dwarfs her twice over.
A cheap ballpoint pen floats out of her pocket, one end wrapped in her silver magic.
“How do you feel?” she asks. Her voice is matter-of-fact and curt.
I don’t answer. Even if I had something to say, my throat can’t form any words.
She flicks the pen in front of my face. “Follow this with your eyes.”
She moves the pen up and down, sideways, forwards and backwards. I follow it easily, but she moves it so fast that I start to get a little dizzy.
“Well, vision seems fine.” The pen vanishes back into her coat. She places a hoof under my chin and tilts my head up. “Do you remember where you are? Blink once for ‘yes’, twice for ‘no’.”
I blink twice. My eyelids move slowly.
She puts a hoof to her cheek and her eyes scrunch shut. “Ugh, typical. I bet they overdosed this one too.” She sighs very quietly and briefly.
“Want me to hold her for the shot?” the bigger pony asks.
“Obviously there’s no need!” There’s a hint of volume in her voice. She sweeps a hoof across me. “They must have been overdosing her during her entire shift!” Her eyes drift onto my flank, and she grimaces. “Ugh. You can clean up her…” she gingerly points at my groin. “That. It must have leaked out of her every damn time. Her hair is discolored.”
The stallion charges his horn again, but I don’t see what he does. I gasp. His magic is pressing onto my pussy.
The mare cringes again. “Alright, alright! Don’t overdo it!” She shoos him off with a hoof. She leans down, glancing across my neck briefly. A syringe floats out of one of her pockets. It’s full of a deep orange liquid. Her aura shifts slightly and the cap slides off. A bit of the liquid squirts out of the top.
“I swear, I am surrounded by clumsy foals.” She plunges the syringe into my neck. I don’t feel anything. When she pulls it back it is completely empty. “By Tartarus, this company doesn’t understand a single thing about finesse or efficiency. It’s deplorable.”
The effect is immediate. I feel the numbness leak out of my neck. It almost reminds me of the daily surges from the rods, except instead of draining out it’s the opposite direction. It doesn’t feel pleasurable in the least. It’s abrupt and shocking. It feels like being woken up from a nice dream using the least gentle methods possible, like a slap to the face or a bucket of cold water.
I feel a weight on my midsection and it pulls me off the ground. It props me up on my hooves, but does not let go. My limbs are still limp, so that’s just as well.
The mare has pulled something else out of her pockets. A small red capsule. “Swallow this,” she orders.
She floats the pill into my mouth, and I realize I’ve never closed it. It’s hanging open, just the right shape for the hose that used to be jammed in it.
The mare rolls her eyes. Her horn charges and I feel my mouth snap shut.
“Swallow,” she says brusquely.
I obey. I don’t feel the pill slide down my throat.
The mare jerks my mouth open and nods. “Those should take effect fairly quickly. Some memory loss, however, is completely normal.” She waves a hoof at the room. “You are in Celestial Power Incorporated’s main building in Canterlot. You have just finished a three year shift as an energy production associate.”
The stallion behind me snorts.
The mare glares at him, but quickly turns back to me. “Fine, fine. I suppose we can’t expect a pony in your state to process complex terms.” She lets out a very prolonged sigh.
I notice the magic aura pressing into my stomach and barrel. The sensation is incredibly distracting. Why didn’t I notice it before? I glance down, and my hooves are still limp.
The mare is scratching her head, her gaze shifting around the room. I follow her eyes, and gasp involuntarily.
There is a string of tubes along the wall. Dozens of them, identical to mine. I can see the silhouette of a pony in each one, but the dim light obscures their features.
“This is power room C. This is where we harvest magical energies from employees like yourself.” She turns back to me. “As per your contract, we have extracted and stored magic from your body once a day for the last three years. Your account was appropriately credited each time.” A slip of paper floats out of her coat. She glances at it, then my flank. “Cutie mark looks correct, though they really should do something about the fading.” She grabs a thin, black flashlight and points it at my haunch.
She turns her head to me, her body and the light still pointed at my flank. “You are number five-five-four-one-three-seven, Mirror Door, aren’t you?”
I nod. That name definitely sounds familiar. Sounds like mine.
“Good,” she says curtly. She flicks her head, and all three of us start trotting to the door. Well, floating, in my case. “Now, we just need you to sign a few papers and you can get back to your regular life. Your salary was quite generous, and the interest has been managed automatically, as per your contract. You should have no problem adjusting to common society.” A small pause. “No financial problems, at any rate."
We arrive at a matte black door, and she produces a key card from one of her many pockets. “Did you have any questions? You will be given a debriefing packet shortly, but I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.” The door slides open and we trot along a spacious hallway. The walls are the same dull-red tile as everything else.
My throat flexes a little. My voice is weak, but the question spills out before I even bother to process it. “Can I go back in?” I lisp slightly. My mouth is still hanging open in an O. My sentence causes some drool to flick off my lips.
The mare grimaces, but her gaze still faces forward. “Equestrian law prohibits ponies from doing multiple shifts until an evaluation by a certified counselor. You are welcome to hire one if you wish to take another shift in the near future. We also have one on retainer here. Your debriefing packet contains further information about statues and limitations concerning…magical resource supply.”
“Please,” I whisper.
The mare quickens her pace slightly. “Thank you for your service to CPI over the last three years. Sturdy Stance,” she waves a hoof at the stallion carrying me, “will take you to our debriefing offices to get your information packet. Have a clean, efficient day.” Her tone is flat. Her gaze is still facing forward, her eyes locked on the walkway.
We arrive at an intersection in the hallways. Stance makes a left and the mare continues forward. The hallway she walks down has a large, white A painted on the floor.
My hooves are still limp, so I have no choice but to float lazily behind the stallion.
“I want to go back in,” I mutter. I'm too tired to put any emotion into the statement. My open lips are still creating an involuntary lisp.
Stance chuckles. It sounds like a diamond dog chewing gravel. He turns his head slightly and smiles at me. “You know, all the ponies we scoop out of them tubes says the same thing.” He clears his throat and his voice shifts up slightly. “‘Oh please let me go back in, it felt so good!’ or ‘I can’t stay out here! It’s too cold and loud and bright!’” He lets out another rocky guffaw. “That was my favorite one. You addicts are a fuckin’ riot.”
I feel a pang of disappointment at that word. “Addict?”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh please, I didn’t offend ya or some crap like that, did I?”
“Does...does that mean they won’t let me go back in?” I whisper.
His laugh is the loudest so far. “As if! That quack they have here hasn’t rejected a single pony yet. You could say you’re suicidal and they’d still put you back in a tube.”
I smile. My jaw doesn’t do the motion correctly, but I can’t help myself.
We arrive at another door and Sturdy plops me on the ground. My legs threaten to buckle, but I manage to stay upright.
He's wearing a necklace with a key card. I didn’t even notice until now. He swipes it in the lock and it snaps back into place. He shoves me forward, but stays behind the door.
“An initial debriefin’ consultant will be with ya shortly. Have a clean, efficient day.” The door slides shut with gentle swoosh.
The room has the same dull red walls and dim lighting. There’s a blocky, circular desk in the center, molded out of the same material as the room. A long line of chairs stretches along every wall, their backs fixed in place. I pick one at random and sit down. It's not comfortable. I lean back and close my eyes.
My lips are still hanging open. For a moment, I can imagine the hose is still there, pressing into my mouth. It’s been almost eleven hours since my last dose, and the next surge is nearly here.
I smile. Just a matter of time.
Author's Note
This is based on a weird dream I had, and I needed a break from a different story I'm proofing. Rather appropriately, I kept listening to the Moon soundtrack while writing this.
The reason the protein/drug slurry is salty is because they recycle certain biological discharges from the stallion employees. 
Sequel maybe?