Phantoms

“Mane-iacal”
[\ Play Phantom ‘Peep’ Recording Y-081-G-928: The Mane-iac]

Foxtrot-12 snickered into his cam-rifle’s stock, the viewfinder flashing to black with every picture he clicked.

Far below where the human sat perched in the old shampoo factory’s rafters lay a squirming mess of azure mare, purple super-villain costume and bright green fluff. Surrounding her were minions, stylish looking stallions with large hair-brushes trying to untangle the Mane-iac out of her own mane.

Her fight with the Power Ponies and the new, improved Humdrum had left the Mane-iac’s operation completely crippled. Her doomsday device was ruined. Her mane had been turned against her. And Rigel had captured all of it in glorious high-definition.

The phantom had recorded the whole thing from concealed vantage points all over the derelict factory, assisted by well-placed shadows and a telescopic lens that screwed onto his cam-rifle like a flash-hider. His job was almost done. He’d likely wait for everypony to leave so he could extract and head home to deliver his hard drives and chalk up another mission successful. But was there every any doubt to his awesomeness and operation completing prowess?

Hidden up in the rafters, the total darkness above the lights was enough to completely conceal Rigel without the need for his invisibility cloak. He’d turned off the display lights on all his equipment, making him a mere fleeting shadow traversing between the iron support beams as he sought out new angles to take more dynamic pictures from.

“Get off me!” the Mane-iac started shouting as her minions managed to untangle some of the mane cocooning her. “Get off!”

The villain-ess managed to free her legs from the ensnarement of her own mane and righted herself before whipping at her henchponies with the tendrils of green hair. Each whipping motion let out a crack which was followed by several yelps as the minions dropped their brushes and scattered like roaches routed out of a nest.

“Mistress, are you hurt-...” a buff looking stallion in a polo-neck and a sweet set of sideburns tried to say, but was interrupted by a whip of mane pecking him across the nose.

“Out!” the Mane-iac yelled, her voice cracking as if she was on the verge of tears.

“But mistress-...”

The villain snapped, her whole expression twisting into a manic rage. “I said OOOUUUUUTT!!!” she screamed, running her minions right out of the abandoned factory.

As the group of henchponies scattered out the doors, one dared to skid to a halt and look over his shoulder.

“Uh... can we at least get our last paycheque?” he asked.

‘CRACK,’ a tendril of the Mane-iac’s mane whipped him across the flank sending him running, squealing like a nervous filly.

“And stay out!” the villain called after him before she galloped over and grabbed both the sliding doors with her mane. With a deafening crash ringing throughout the shampoo factory the doors slammed shut, isolating the Mane-iac from the chilly Maretropolis evening air.

Rigel hung his cam-rifle in its sling and climbed around one of the diagonal support beams holding up the rafters. Hopping into a better vantage point he slid the devise to his front and hung over an adjacent steel beam, peering down on the Mane-iac like Batman stalking prey.

The villain took a deep breath as she wandered around the wrecked factory. Bits of her doomsday device lay everywhere. Shattered remnants of her shattered dreams. As she wandered on the power of her legs, the soles of her boots clicking on the stone floor, her mane seemed to take a mind of its own.

The Mane-iac’s own hair seemed to try and get out of her way. The tendrils snaked from side to side, gathering by her sides and around the back of her head so not to catch her attention. As if they knew she was somehow blaming her mane and tail for the failure to put an end to the Power Ponies. It was only one tendril of her mane that wasn’t as smart as the others.

In slithered down along her cheek and timidly brushed up against her lips like a sad puppy trying to win his angry master’s favour. And it seemed to be succeeding as the Mane-iac’s stern expression softened at the attempts.

As Foxtrot-12 watched the mare un-tense, the rest of her hair seemed to relax a little too.

“Oh, don’t worry my babies. Momma’s not mad,” Mane-iac said soothingly, gently petting the timid lock of hair. “There-there. It’s alright. Momma’s not mad at you.”

Her bangs shuddered with joy at the contact... until the Mane-iac wrapped both hooves around the tentacle of hair, wringing the life right out of it.

“I’m furious!” she whispered dangerously with crazy eyes as the lock of her mane went limp. “I had them! The Power Ponies were in my grasp. And who destroys all my plans? Humdrum! HUMDRUM!

“It’s all over,” she continued to say tossing the limp hair to one side as the rest of her mane attempted to cower from the mare. “How can I show my face at the next villain poker game? I’ll be the laughing stock of the villain community!”

As the Mane-iac trotted to where a lonely, patchy and worn down old couch sat, she started shedding. Not fur or hair, but clothes. Her boots first, zipped down the inner calves and kicked either to her sides or behind her. The body suit was next, ripped down the front where her cleavage would be if she were human or anthropomorphic. Rigel imagined a video of an anthro-Mane-iac would rake in the big dolla’-bills. Unfortunately he had to work with what he was given and snapped a few shots as the spandex came off with some wriggling and was quickly abandoned.

“Oh, woe is me,” the mare groaned as she collapsed on the couch sobbing frantically.

Like everything about her, even her sobs of dismay sounded maniacal.

As she lay there dramatically like a hussy on her back with her legs lazily spread, one hoof rubbing away the headache pounding in her head, her mane gingerly curled in to check on its mistress. The first few tendrils slowly snaked up along her ribcage, prodding and poking, trying to tickle a laugh out of her before they irritably slapped away by the Mane-iac’s hoofes.

Another set of hair tentacles snatched up an old newspaper and unfurled the funnies in front of her face. But catching a headline about her previously failed plans, the Mane-iac grimaced.

With a violent swipe she tore the newspaper apart and tossed the confetti to one side. but despite her actions she sighed and managed a little smile.

“Thank you girls, but I’m just too sad to laugh,” she sighed deeply.

The tentacles of mane twisted and turned as if glancing and delegating among themselves, before one tendril made a shrugging motion and snaked down through the air to the lower parts of her body. Slithering like a snake with a mission across her belly where a normal horse’s milk-jugs would be, the tendril found the mare’s honey-pot. A smooth unimportant looking little mound between her legs, like any pony mare it seemed she didn’t have genitalia at all.

But once the tendril of the Mane-iac’s hair started working, a soft pink line started to form in the fur. The mound swelled a little as the hair began to excite her nether-senses. The mare’s eyes fell shut and her lips parted to huff out a hot, misty breath. Rigel just blinked and watched the marehood between her legs swell further, pronouncing the thin line of exposed flesh as the lips began to part on their own accord, readying for a bit of intercourse.

Further readying its mistress, the bold tendril of hairs brushed it’s feathery tip up along the pink line before delving between the soft folds to find a precious little pink pearl hidden within.

“Oooh~!” a wavering moan rose from the Mane-iac’s throat as the corners of her mouth turned upward. “But clearly I’m not too sad to moan,” she giggled furiously.

Perking up a bit, the other tendrils of hair dove in upon realising how they could turn their mistress’ frown upside down. Some of the shyer ones gently slid down her sides and massaged her flanks. Another joined the first by her slit, gently massaging the outer lips as the other teased her clit. Another looped around her haunches and began to play with the puckered little winking eye barely a centimetre below the base of her slit.

Rigel paused what he was doing, aiming his cam-rifle lens at a blank wall. He was on a fluff-op. That meant he was supposed to get footage of random ponies doing random stuff. He didn’t have to get pictures of this per-se. But his bosses did pay him extra for any peeps he raked in.

Every man has a little bit of a pirate in him. And right there and then, Rigel let the pirate in him loose. What harm would it do anyway? It wasn’t like the Mane-iac was going to care so long as the human remained incognito. He’d get a little extra for his piggy-bank and she would go on living blissfully ignorant of fanboys perverting over her pictures a dimension away.

Everybody was a winner... actually, the Mane-iac didn’t really win anything, but she was a villain so Rigel wasn’t very inclined to give any fucks anyway. Now had she been one of the Power Ponies the human would have hesitated. But only until his inner pirate overwhelmed his conscience.

Tagging the Mane-iac in a few more stills, Rigel eventually switched to video. Smoothly making his way across the rafters to get a better angle, the human held on tight as he hung over the top of a light, zooming down on the Mane-iac giving the lens full disclosure.

Through the viewfinder, Rigel watched as the Mane-iac’s hair raked further along her inner thigh and teased at the lips swelling under the damp, matted fur glistening in the light to betray her excitement. A single tendril slowly hooked over and parted the lips tenderly down the middle, letting out a little smack as her marehood was peeled open on one side. Revealed inside, the pink flesh desperate for attention clashed with her dark coat.

One of the tentacles wasn’t sure what to do at all. It hung in the air glancing between the flanks, vagina and anus wondering where it could do the most good. However, it never did get to make up it’s mind before a hoof snatched hold of it.

Brought up to face its mistress, the tendril came face-to-face with the Mane-iac’s wild eyes and a smile of pure madness. She barely gave the tentacle any time to struggle before she stuck out her tongue and planted it against the mane just above where her hooves held it still. The tentacle twitched and struggled before suddenly turning rigid as the mare slowly and sensually dragged her broad tongue up along the bottom. Her eyes fell shut as she reached the top and with a moan pitched her head forward, engulfing the tendril in her mouth like it was a piece of delicious candy. Then like a filly suckling on a sweet ice-lolly, she worked her hooves back and forth, pumping the flustered tendril of her living mane in and out of her mouth, the smooth surface gliding over her slick, moist lips.

The mane seemed to understand what was happening. They’d obviously done this before and the tentacles recognised that when the Mane-iac started suckling, it was time for the ‘mane’ event. Rigel would have cackled at that thought were it not such a terrible pun used so often by the villain he was in the process of exploiting.

The Mane-iac opened her eyes as she felt one of the tendrils slide down through the small pool of moisture forming at her aching opening. Lips peeled apart by a pair of helpful tentacles, the one feathering the little plump lump of pink flesh coiled and pressed hard on the button. It must have sent some eclectic jolts of pleasure through her body as she twitched hard, groaning through the tendril filling her mouth – the tentacle beginning to work its way in and out of her mouth on it’s own accord. Staring at the ceiling one of the Mane-iac’s hooves gripped the cushions beneath her, the other wrapping as best as it could over the arm-rest she used as a head-rest.

The free tendril that had lubed itself up on the excitement dripping from her winking opening gathered up the feathered point and like a drill trying to find purchase poked into the silky folds aching for attention. A psychotic twitch of joy formed in the mare’s right eyelid as she began convulsing, bucking her hips pleadingly. The tendril twisted and curled, tickling and agonising her opening…

Before with a wet squelch loud enough for even Rigel to hear, the tentacle penetrated. The Mane-iac’s scream of pleasure was muffled like all those moans and filly-like squeals before. The tentacle wasted no time, assaulting her pussy mercilessly, pounding vigorous with seemingly infinite stamina and showing no signs of slowing. At the same time the tendril at her anus just about fitted in through the clenched hole, essentially plugging her last fuckable orifice (sorry, guys. Ears and nostrils don’t count).

Working much gentler than the tendrils assaulting both front ends, the rear-guard gently snaked into her ass with only a few strands, just enough to massage the muscles within.

The Mane-iac’s eyes rolled into the tops of her eye sockets, sickly green irises only just visible on her gaze of pleasure. She lost control over her expression, mouth falling open a little to let a wave of drool trickle from her lips down the side of her face.

Then it hit. An explosion. Her little internal villain had planted explosives and with no heroes around to save the day,t hey’d gone off. The dam had been breached, and the reservoir waters surged with ferocity and ruin.

Her mouth opened wide enough for the exhausted tendril stuffing her cake-hole to fall out soaked and limp. With it came a feral cry of joy, coupled with maniacal laughter, the volume of which twitched and wavered with every unpredictable kick and jolt of her body. The tendril in her ass froze whiel the one in her snatch was literally launched out on a gushing geyser of juices that soaked the couch’s opposite arm-rest.

As the height of her orgasm passed through, Rigel was side tracked by her eyes. Crazy looking disks of glowing green, they were wide open and looking straight up at him. Right into the shadows, through his mask and into his face.

Not realising her stare was absent by the mind numbing senses electrifying her body, Rigel panicked and with his free hand darted for the invisibility cloak stuffed into one of the larger pouches on his belt. Unfortunately that was when Rigel realised he didn’t actually have a free hand. One was holding his cam-rifle. The other was holding on to a rafter so he wouldn’t lose balance.

Cam-rifle still held tight in the grip of one hand, the other now holding on to a pouch on his belt, Rigel found himself leaning forward at an insane angle. He swung his arms and legs as he felt the solid rafter under his boots float away. And before he knew it he was falling out of the shadows, plummeting in free fall to the floor far below him.

His eyes clamped shut, preferring not to see the ground come racing up to meet him.

If he had time to react he would have screamed like a little girl. He had every right to. It was maybe not the most graceful way to go, but Rigel wasn’t ready to go dammit! At the very least he should have been allowed to express his malcontent with the method of his early passing.

And then he hit. Only the ground wasn’t hard and deathly as he expected it to be. Instead of feeling his head split open like a ripe melon, he landed on something pillowy. The ground beneath him was soft and spongy… and worryingly ropey.

A fresh pang of terror hitting him, Rigel forced his eyes open. All he saw for a moment was green. Green hair.

Rigel’s stomach sank as he suddenly wished he had fallen to his death. “Fuck my life.”

The web of green hair that caught him from his plummet to his doom started to shrink. The ends coiled up and over the human and, despite his writhing, constricted around his arms and legs. Another slipped round his waist holding him firmly in place. Another curiously lashed over the phantom’s masked face, flicking up the pique of his cap and lifting it off his head. Behind his goggles his eyes twitched, but he kept his glare fixed on the owner of the hair.

As she held him up with her crazy tentacle mane, the Mane-iac had risen from her love-stained nest and was walking closer to the helpless young man. As she approached, her hooves clicked sharply with her slow supermodel-style strut – one hoof in front of the other with an exaggerated sway of her smooth flanks and elegant shoulders. Her mascara laden eyes were half shut, fluttering her long lashes as she got closer.

“Well-well-well!” the mare giggled a feverishly. All of her concerns about being the laughing stock of the villain community seemed to have vanished with the passing of her orgasm. What filled her eyes wasn’t even satisfaction from her special private time with her ‘girls.’

Her eyes were smouldering with lust. With anticipation of what she was about to do to the little fly trapped in her web.

“It looks like you couldn’t quite get the drop on me, Shutterbug,” the Mane-iac cackled huskily. “It has been a while since we did battle.”

Rigel frowned. Who the hell did she think he was – and as much as he wanted to cry that out in a much overused anime reference, he resisted the urge. Besides, this mare was nutty. She was probably just making stuff up on the fly.

Looking through him as if she wasn’t really seeing the alien creature she was supposed to be seeing the human for, the Mane-iac leaned in close to Foxtrot-12. She was so close he could feel her hot breath through the scarf covering his face. She smelled strongly of apple scented shampoo. So strongly it made Rigel’s head spin. Mind you, that wasn’t her only aspect making his head spin.

One strand of her mane raked down over the side of his face, caressing his cheek through the keffiyeh. At the same time she whispered, “it’s also been a while since I did battle with a stallion.”

Rigel blinked a few times unable to answer at first. “You do realise I’m not actually a pony but an alien monster... right?”

She outright ignored him.

Lowering the human to the ground, the Mane-iac’s hair held Rigel down as she crawled on top of him. The weight of her hips pinned down his pelvis before she pressed her chest down on him, sliding up along the pouches on his vest. There was even a distinct friction in his shorts as he felt her angle her hips forward, rubbing her crotch over his.

“W-what are you doing?” Rigel whimpered with a gulp, his eyes bugging to dominate the space behind his goggles. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me all about your evil plan giving me ample time to escape?”

“I’ve learned from my mistakes. My evil plan is a secret.” She giggled at some kind of unspoken joke only she would get. “Secret, but fun.”

“I don’t need to know about your secret butt-fun, thanks.”

The Mane-iac stuck out her bottom lip in a very cute – and very fake - pout, pressing her crotch harder against the front of Rigel’s trousers as she started rhythmically rubbing up and down. “But we’re going to have lots of secret butt-fun, Shutterbug,” she whined softly.

The magic words Twelve really didn’t want to hear.

As she was rubbing up against him, Rigel was suddenly aware that at the most of time the Mane-iac was wearing a costume. And it was because of that he became especially conscious that her costume still lay in a pile halfway across the lair. That she was very much naked and beginning to generate a wet patch on is favourite trousers.

“Doesn’t that sound nice, Shutterbug?” she cooed softly with tendrils of her tail grasping the zipper on his fly. “Hmmm, Shutterbug? Shutterbug...?”

Rigel squeezed his eyes shut as he heard his pants were unzipped. Her voice started fading. It warped, changing, sounding hollowed and more distant like she was walking away down a long tunnel.

“Shutterbug... Shutter-... –trot-... –elve! Twelve!” And then suddenly she sounded like she was shouting in his ear.

“Rigel, are you listening to me!?”

Realising where he was and what he was doing in the real world, Rigel darted forward, throwing his whole body on top of his cluttered desk to cover his notepad.

The dream-world had fizzled out all around him. The Mane-iac’s lair changed dramatically, from a cavernous trap-littered shampoo factory to a small five-by-five block home to a cot, a desk and a wall mounted TV screen. The bare walls were decorated with a series of ‘panoramas’; photographs depicting endless Equestria landscapes, and ‘fluffs’; artsy composite shots of ponies going about their normal day to day business. He had some ‘sexier’ snaps of some of Equestria’s more famous mares compiled into a company calendar beside his door. Between the photos were some ‘Power Ponies’ posters to go with the comic books stacked beside the bed and under his pillow.

Rigel had been sitting at his desk since nine-o’clock that morning. It was Sunday going by Earth Greenwich-Mean-Time, meaning he had the day off. And he’d spent the day writing in his notebook labelled:

The Adventures of the Most Awesomest Phantom Ever!

Judging by his watch it was coming up on dinner-time.

As the lair had changed completely, the Mane-iac changed too, having transformed into a familiar tall woman whose every aspect was so sharp she could probably cut a grown man in half by just glaring at him. Dressed in a sharp charcoal skirt and sweater-vest over a clean white shirt, the brunette had a strict teacher look going on, her hair cut shorter at the back with strands of longer hair framing her sharp facial features. She even had a pair of delicate looking glasses balanced on the narrow bridge of her nose.

Phantom-actual, less commonly known as Libby, just stood there, framed in the doorway of Foxtrot-12’s private quarters.

Libby narrowed her eyes significantly as she suddenly realised what one of her phantoms was spending his free time on. Resting her hands on her slip hips, the woman sighed like an impatient mother about to scold a small child.

“Let me guess. Were you writing self-insert clop-fiction again?” she asked, her terse voice sounding like it might cut Rigel’s ear-drums to shreds if she ever hit the right pitch.

Rigel cleared his throat sheepishly; a sound drowned out by the squeak of his chair as he leaned back no longer caring to cover the smut he was writing. Lifting the pad he considered the lengthy – but ultimately pointless – narrative with a cocked head.

“Honestly,” he admitted while twirling his pen, “it’s not the worst thing I’ve written.”