Grinding On The Things That Go Bump In The Night
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Grinding On The Things That Go Bump In The Night
Warning/Disclaimer: The following story contains graphic depictions of involuntary sexual acts committed unwittingly between two talking cartoon equines, one of whom is underage, by which I mean underage. You aren’t misreading that. If this is liable to offend you, then either stop reading or heed my views on your emotional turmoil.
The Wrong Bed
Written By: Your Antagonist
Cover Art By: Killjoy
Red-Pen Heroes: TheWattsMan, Cpl. Hooves and Skeeter The Lurker
Grinding On The Things That Go Bump In The Night
Scootaloo couldn’t sleep.
Maybe it was the viewing of the film ‘Night Terrors on Oak Lane’ her friends had coerced her into watching by challenging her courage. Perhaps it was the violent rainstorm whipping the sense and paint out of the Apple Family Estate that she could see just outside Apple Bloom’s window. It could’ve even been the chorus of the aforementioned filly’s and Sweetie Belle’s combined buzzsaw-like snoring; in stereo no less, as she was sleeping between them on Apple Bloom’s rather small bed.
However, if she were to narrow it down, the most likely culprit would have been her swollen bladder crying for reprieve from the several liters of ‘ParaSprite’ brand soda she decided to drink against her friend’s warnings and her own better judgement. Scootaloo squirmed and clenched her thighs and buttocks together, doing everything in her power to prolong the inevitable trip to the bathroom. Why? If truth be told, for all the bravado and chestpuffing she displayed in the daytime, she held a place among the most frightened of foals in the darkness of night, so much so that she even slept with a nightlight, something that Apple Bloom’s room sadly lacked.
Still, it wasn’t like Scootaloo could hold out forever. The mounting pressure in her bladder was becoming unbearable and it felt like she would burst if she didn’t go soon; she had to go. Ever so gently sliding the covers down so as not to wake her friends, Scootaloo hopped over Apple Bloom and flapped her wings to mute the impact of the fall, reducing what would have been a resounding “thud” to a light tap. She glanced behind to make sure she hadn’t disturbed her friends’ rest, and sure enough, aside from an unconscious Apple Bloom subconsciously cuddling up to Sweetie Belle like a teddy bear, the two had barely even stirred in her absence.
With a fond smile on her lips, Scootaloo faced the door, pushed into the hallway and immediately cursed her tiny, tiny bladder. The hallway was hellishly dark to the point that she couldn’t even see the end of it, just a perfectly thick shroud of darkness that seemed to stretch on forever. The thought of turning back and getting either of her friends to walk with her down the hall crossed her mind, but was dismissed as quickly as it came to be; the idea of being called a scaredy pony and thought of as weak by her friends frightened her even more than the dark.
Swallowing hard, she stepped forth into the darkness, a sharp pang of much needed release from her belly urging her to walk purposefully. Shadows and furniture seemed to warp and gnarl, becoming twisted specters in the darkness, but she managed to trot on, feeling a little more at ease as she passed the dim-lit window at the end of the hall, which was thankfully located right next to the bathroom.
Scootaloo wasted no time finding the light, watching in relief as the ghouls and apparitions her mind had conjured up were dispelled, revealing them to be nothing more than apple themed knick-knacks and nightstands. Safe and sound in her sanctuary of light, she closed the door and made her way to the toilet, wincing as her butt made contact with the unpleasantly cold porcelain. She relaxed with a sigh, shuddering as her body released a warm stream of urine into the water below. “Whew… that was close… almost thought I wasn’t gonna make it in for a minute…”
As she relieved herself, Scootaloo’s mind drifted back to the events of the sleepover, to Apple Bloom calling her a chicken again for not wanting to watch that dumb old horror movie. Why couldn’t she have just said “no”? Just admitted that she didn’t like scary stories because they… well… scared her? She’d managed to confess her fears to her idol, Rainbow Dash, just fine, so why was it so much harder to tell Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle? If she hadn’t been so afraid to tell them, then she wouldn’t have had to sit through an hour and a half of that… that awful…
Fraidy Cougar.
The very thought of the villain’s name sent a shiver down her spine and made her stop mid-stream. She could just envision the homicidal, psychotic jungle cat now, a sadistic fang-filled grin forever smoldered onto that horribly burned face, a tattered, striped sweater melted into his scarred flesh, and rounding out his horrific ensemble was the worst of all: that gauntlet on his right paw. A terrifying union of steel and leather, with blades so sharp they could skin a filly like her as though her skin was made of clouds.
Scootaloo shook her head, snapping herself from her thoughts and back to the real world. The real world where she knew he didn’t exist. The real world where he couldn’t haunt her in her dreams because Princess Luna was always there, watching over the slumber of her beloved subjects. The real world where they brought him at the end of the movie when they ripped him from the dream world.
Almost immediately after the thought occurred, the booming report of an exceptionally loud thunderclap from outside put Scootaloo on edge. “Fr-Fraidy Cougar!?” she gasped, whipping her head around for some follow up to the sound, but the world had once again gone eerily quiet. As the racing of her heart settled down, Scootaloo hopped off the toilet, mumbling “I should really get back to bed,” and flushed.
Scootaloo stepped back into the bathroom-lit hallway and looked towards Apple Bloom’s room, only to find that even with the light from the bathroom, it was still too dark to see the door. Still, she had to do this; after all, she couldn’t spend the night in the bright, safe bathroom… could she? That train of thought was quickly derailed as another blast of thunder rocked the house, knocking out the power and Scootaloo’s only reprieve from the darkness with it.
Cast into the shadows, Scootaloo found herself quite wary about her environment, especially seeing as how her eyes were no longer adjusted to the dark. The pitch-black hallway seemed somehow longer and more terrifying this time around and it certainly wasn’t helping that the last subject she’d been thinking about was a boogieman who preyed on small town youth in the dead of night. Summoning all of her courage, she took a small step forward.
Then another.
And a third.
And then a flash of lightning from the window painted a shadow of a wicked claw on a nearby wall, making her heart skip a beat. It took everything she had to stifle the scream in her throat, out of fear of allowing whatever beastie had cast the shadow to zero in on her location. The thunder boomed again and she felt her knees quake and quiver as she huddled into a ball on the floor. She kicked herself for not bringing a flashlight or a friend, she wished she hadn’t had to pee, she wanted her mother, she— Wait, she thought, That’s it!
Whenever she found herself terrified in the night at home, she could take solace in knowing that her mother’s bed was always welcome to her. However, as she wasn’t at home, Scootaloo’s mind drifted to Applejack. She was something of a mother figure to Apple Bloom, wasn’t she? Well, as far as Scootaloo was concerned, she was. Besides, Applejack was pretty understanding, there was just no way that she’d turn Scootaloo away and plus, her room was much closer than Apple Bloom’s and that was the deciding factor: she was going to sleep in Applejack’s bed… at least until the sun came up.
Pulling herself to a stand, she forced herself to walk down the darkened hall, trying to remember which door was Applejack’s when she passed by a door with a giant apple symbol plastered on it. Considering the house held not one, not two, but four ponies whose lives revolved around the harvesting of apples she wondered if she had the right room, but another ear piercing thunderclap helped her to make that decision real quick.
Hoping she’d found the right port in this storm, Scootaloo pushed into the room without a second thought. “Hey, uh, Applejack?” she called softly, as she stepped inside and closed the door. The only response she received was a rather light snore from the room’s occupant. “Applejack?” she asked again, this time moving towards the bed. Again nothing, only another snore.
She tapped on the edge of the bed this time, and was rewarded with some light snoring and a deep grunt, that she interpreted as a “What?”.
“I know this is going to sound weird, but…” she steeled herself to confess what she’d only admitted to one other pony in her whole life. “We watched this really scary movie earlier before bed and I just went to the bathroom, but the power went out and it’s really dark and I’m…” she sighed, as she came clean. “I’m scared of the dark, so can I sleep in your bed tonight?”
For her honesty she would find herself rewarded with an irritated snort as the sleeping patry turned away toward the wall, which she took as an invitation to crawl into the bed. With an appreciative nuzzle to her benefactor’s back, Scootaloo wrapped the blanket around herself, closed her eyes and was asleep in a matter of minutes.
Some hours later, Scootaloo found herself stirred into consciousness by the tossing and turning of the bed’s original inhabitant.Thinking nothing of it, the filly closed her eyes and nuzzled back into the mattress, but found herself unable to fall back asleep amid Applejack’s restlessness. It caught Scootaloo off guard when Applejack turned over and seized the filly around her belly, spooning her.
In her groggy state, Scootaloo tapped at the older mare’s hoof as though to say “Let go of my belly, please,” but found her plea to have the opposite effect as the farmer’s grip on her belly only tightened. With a low whine, Scootaloo tapped Applejack’s foreleg again, but found something to be abnormally peculiar about her bed buddy.
Scootaloo knew Applejack was pretty strong compared to a normal pony, but the muscles Scootaloo felt were far too firm and far too large to belong to a mare. The rise and fall of the chest was off too, as Scootaloo felted absolutely dwarfed compared to her unseen companion’s massive build. And there was something about the tone of the snoring, in fact if she listened just closely enough…
The snoring stopped. It was as though the other party had jolted right awake which Scootaloo rightfully found peculiar. She continued to assess the other occupant through touch, using her hooves to travel up Not-Applejack’s forelegs when she came across another unexpected find. Where she’d expected to feel more fur, there was an unusually thick, almost wooly fabric. “Is that… a sweater?”
Scootaloo’s eyes shot open and treated her to the sight of a terribly familiar striped sweater and following it down she found something that stopped her heart mid-beat: shining like stars in the negligible light of the room were four steel claws, gently sliding along her belly and down to her thighs.
Her blood froze in her veins as she realized just who it was she was sharing this bed with, whose breath it was that she felt on her tiny ears, and whose horribly raspy voice whispered, “Isn’t this such a great sleepover, Scootaloo? Too bad it’ll be your last, but I’ve got an idea…” Scootaloo could only whimper softly as the brutish boogieman leaned in even closer. “…you’re a pretty little filly. Why don’t we play seven minutes in heaven before we send you there for real?”
Scootaloo tried to say no, tried to plead for her parents, for Applejack, for Princess Luna, for her friends, but no matter how hard she tried to scream her voice would not come, as though it were trapped in her throat. She shuddered helplessly as the immoral wildcat began to caress her chest and belly with his unarmored claw, purring approvingly as he indulged on the sensation of her soft filly flesh. Tears began to form in her eyes as she felt her captor drag his long, sandpapery tongue along her ear, leaving a sloppy trail of saliva behind in its wake.
“Such a tasty little fuckin’ filly,” he growled, gently running his cold metal blades along her throat. “Why don’t you be a good girl and ask ole’ Fraidy to taste you like the slutty little chicken you are?”
Quaking from fear, Scootaloo managed to gain control of her quivering lips just long enough to force herself to say, “P-please, taste me like the chick…chick…”
“I can’t fucking hear you,” the depraved boogieman snarled, pushing his blades into her neck slowly.
In a hoarse whisper, Scootaloo cried, “Please, ta-taste me like the little chicken I am!” She could almost imagine the sick grin spreading across his face as she said it, and sobbed softly as his mutilated paws slid down and between her thighs. Fraidy didn’t waste any time beating around the bush, so to speak. Seeking out Scootaloo’s sex with his well-versed claws, he slowly and deliberately rubbed her crotch, savoring the exquisite texture of her moistening pussy lips.
“Mmm… you’re wet… shoulda known you'd get off on this shit, you flightless little pega-slut."
"I… I don't even know what you're talking about… why are you doing this?"
"Because I like the way you cry," he said, scraping a tear from her cheek with a bladed finger before tasting it. Scootaloo's eyes widened as she felt some long uncomfortably hot, meaty thing rub up against the back of her thighs. "Oh, yeah… you feel that?"
"Y-Yes…"
"Put it between your thighs," he ordered.
"I… I don't want to—" Scootaloo's words were lost in a terrified yelp as Fraidy violently drove the blades of his gauntlet into the mattress just mere inches away from Scootaloo's face.
"That wasn't a fucking request, bitch. Spread your legs or I'll do it for you, and I won’t be gentle."
Scootaloo stifled a sniffle as she obeyed, her legs parting out of fear of what he would and could do to her and probably her friends if she didn’t do as he said. Almost immediately, she felt his hot meat slide between her legs and rub against her tight slit. A moment later he forced her legs back together, smothering his cock between the tender flesh of her thighs.
Scootaloo tried to turn and bury her face out of humiliation, but a certain blade-filled glove seized her jaw and turned her head towards its wielder. That was the first time Scootaloo saw his horribly melted face up close, exposed tissue, cold soulless eyes and all. “How am I supposed to hear you cry if you turn the fuck away?”
Scootaloo couldn’t bring herself to say anything as her fearful eyes met those of the unreal beast having its way with her, and he smiled a toothy, carnivorous grin. “Yeah, that’s it,” he grunted as he pumped his hips, grinding his cock against her already dripping slit. Scootaloo’s first cry was music to the boogieman’s ears, a serenade of the unwilling that only became sweeter with each performance he forced from each victim. He pulled his hips back and thrust forth again, the charred skin of the top of his cock becoming slick with the filly’s juices as he violated her thighs.
Don’t let him see you cry, don’t let him see you cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Scootaloo chanted to herself as the big cat lost himself in the throes of carnal pleasure. She hated him, her loathing for the movie villain growing with each second of eye contact he forced her to maintain under threat of death, growing with each satisfied grunt and groan he milked from her body.
She began to resent her own flesh as well for allowing such damnable pleasure to run rampant. Every time the length of his rigid dick brushed against her clit and entrance, something in the back of her mind told her it felt good. She cursed herself for finding even a modicum of enjoyment in this, yet no matter how much she tried to make it seem horrible, that little voice just kept screaming for more. She hated it so much, but there was nothing she could do but take it. Frustrated tears began to leak out of her eyes, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Fraidy.
He leaned forward and licked the tears from her cheeks, his tongue finding its way to her lips where he forcibly stole her first kiss in a sloppy display, delighting on her reluctant pleas as his rancid saliva stung her tongue. Cheeks hot from a combination of humiliation and anger, and thighs sore from the relentless abuse, Scootaloo took a stand and ripped her lips away from the disgusting French kiss, not caring if he’d cut her throat for insubordination. To her surprise, he smiled. Smiled and forced her onto her belly using his great weight, all while managing to keep his cock trapped happily between her thighs.
Taking both of her tiny hooves with one massive claw, he threw himself forward with a violence, the much smaller filly helpless to do anything in retaliation as her captor absolutely dwarfed her in comparison. Thankfully he was so caught up in pounding away at her leg-pussy that he didn’t stop her when she buried her face into the sheets, to stifle her moans and shed her tears in peace.
“You know what, Scootaloo? I’m not gonna kill you.” The orange filly would have given a small smile at the news if her captor didn’t still wear that sadistic smile only a demon could emulate. “No, I think I’m gonna cum inside of your tight little pussy…”
“Cum… inside?” Scootaloo didn’t understand what he was talking about, but she instinctively knew that she didn’t like it.
“Gonna get you pregnant with a litter of little Fraidys. You ready to be a mommy, my little pega-slut?”
“Preg… pregnant!?” Now that, she understood. Scootaloo tried to struggle, but with her forehooves bound by his, she could only squirm in his grasp, something he found cute. “Wait, you can’t!”
“Try and stop me, bitch,” he challenged.
Scootaloo opened her mouth to say something in a futile effort to stop the much larger cat-spirit from having his way, but he was already positioning the tip of his volatile dick against the entrance of her unpenetrated pussy and pushing his hips forward. She could feel his cock twitch with anticipation as her pussy lips kissed the head and began to spread, making way for his girth.
“No! No! No! Stop!” She wiggled her hips in an attempt to free herself but unwittingly found herself assisting the penetration, taking him even deeper, “You can’t do this, you can’t!” Again, her pleas were useless as he pushed his way through, his cock beginning to pulse with the first onsets of climax.
“Ungh… fuck you’re tight… get ready…”
“No!” Scootaloo turned around and futilely tried to push the monster away, but quickly found her face slammed against the mattress, one massive paw keeping her head pinned down.
“Because here cums Fraidy!”
“Stop! Stop! Sto—”
“Stop!” Scootaloo awoke gasping and heaving from the nightmare, her coat drenched in a cold sweat. She frantically grabbed at her throat, checking to ensure that there were no slash marks across her neck, and was relieved to find she was maniacal-murder-cougar-attack free. “It… it was just a dream…” she sighed in relief.
“Just a stupid, stupid dream… hey, why’s my leg wet? …awww, man, Applejack’s gonna kill me…” For lack of a better term, Scootaloo had pissed the bed out of fear. If she hadn’t been laying down, the filly would have hung her head in shame; instead she settled for burying her face into the mattress.
This was embarrassing, to say the least. Applejack had allowed her into her bed, offering her a sense of security and comfort from the kindness of her half-conscious heart, and Scootaloo had gone and repaid her by soaking her assumably apple-themed bedsheets out of fear. And on top of that, as if wetting the bed wasn’t bad enough, her shame was still quite warm, the sticky, gooey substance drizzling down her thighs and backside, pooling onto the bed.
Wait a minute. Sticky? Gooey? Since when is pee sticky and gooey? Feeling suspicious, Scootaloo rubbed a hoof between her thighs and found that the dampness between her legs felt nothing like urine. It was far too thick, almost gelatinous in texture, and it stuck to her legs like ultra thin candy syrup. Curiosity at max, she scooped up a hoofful of the stuff, and brought it to her nose, giving it a good whiff against her better judgement. A sweet, musky scent not unlike pastry or bread dough wafted through her nostrils, serving only to further confuse her.
Whatever the odd substance was certainly wasn’t pee, she knew that for a fact now, but it still begged the questions: what was it, and where did it come from? Had it come from the dream? Had the dream been real, like in the movies? If so then did that mean that she was… had Fraidy actually gotten her pregnant? Was she going to bear his child!?
As Scootaloo engrossed herself in pondering, she hardly noticed the hoof lazily wrapping around her belly until she was dragged back like a teddy bear. Scootaloo was ready to cry “Cougar!” when a rather familiar voice that certainly didn’t belong to Applejack, or the aforementioned psychotic rape phantom, passed through her ears.
“Zzzz… eeyup…”
“Big… Big Macintosh?” she whispered.
“Thatta girl, Cheerilee…” Big Macintosh mumbled in his unconsciousness. “Why don’t ya just bring that pretty little flank of yours on over and we can… zzz….”
Scootaloo blinked in confusion. For starters, that was probably the most she’d ever heard Big Macintosh say in one sitting—or laying as it were— and on top of that he was talking about her teacher of all ponies. Hadn’t he learned anything from the little love poison fiasco on Hearts and Hooves day? Secondly, was he the one responsible for all the strange gunk on her legs and more importantly: had he gotten any inside? Swallowing nervously, Scootaloo rubbed a hoof along her slit and heaved a sigh of relief to find that she was relatively dry; she’d been spared her first penetration thankfully.
A rather faint light peeking through the stallion’s thick curtains caught Scootaloo’s attention. It was early morning, and she had probably woken up before Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom. With any luck she could probably slip back into bed with them and save herself from having to explain that she’d spent the night in Big Mac’s bed because the movie had scared her witless. Lifting the big lug’s leg off of her waist, Scootaloo gently slid off the bed and ever so gently crept over to the door, shutting it behind herself as she went.
The sound of the closing door stirred the snoozing Big Macintosh from his slumber. The groggy stallion looked around for the source of the noise and wondered aloud, “Who… who was that?”
“Don’t worry about it, stud,” a cool female voice called from behind. Curious, Big Mac cocked an eyebrow and turned to find that he was sharing a bed with none other than his midnight magenta muse, Cheerilee. Her presence was certainly unexpected—as he didn’t recall taking any lady callers to bed last night—but not unwelcome. “Why don’t you come here so we can pick up where we left off, hmm?” she asked in a sultry tone as she quite forwardly grabbed Big Mac by his remarkably firm ass.
“Ee-yup.”Big Mac leaned forward, greeting his dream girl with an open-mouth kiss. He took charge of the encounter, rolling on top of Cheerilee who welcomed his advances completely, submitting with a coo as he mindfully nipped and sucked at her neck. He shivered as her hooves ran along and dug into his muscular back as he worked his foreplay magic. She was going to leave marks she was digging so hard, but as far as he was concerned, it was just a sign that he was doing an outstanding job.
“Mmm… you like that? Agh, uh, Cheerilee? You’re pressin’ a little too… agh… hard there, mind lossening up a bit? Agh… startin’ to hurt— Gah!” A sharp pain shot through Big Mac’s shoulder blade and he reacted, turning and seizing the offending hoof. “Cut it out, you crazy bit— what the…” Big Macintosh’s eyes fell on his would-be partner’s hoof, or rather they would have had he been holding a hoof at all; To his confusion, he held what appeared to be a macabre gauntlet strapped to his lover’s hoof, slick with some of his own blood.
“Cheerilee, what the hay is th—” Turning back mid-sentence, the red farmpony found his paramour looking considerably worse for wear, part of her face looking like it had been set on fire recently. Despite her appearance, she held a wicked smile on what was left of her lips and an almost cruel gleam in her feline-like eyes.
“You ready to carve another notch on the bedpost, stud?”
The End
Author's Note
A clop tribute to Freddy Kruger, the greatest horror movie figure head ever.
