Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards

Somedays, you wonder what it’s like having a quiet life. When you’re in my neck of the woods, everything’s ‘bullets’ this and ‘MK Ultra’ that. Well, that’s not good enough. Don’t you get tired of reading that stupid one-mare-army shit all over the media. What, ‘Daring Do and the Dragon’s Dai-Katana’? That’s what the young ponies are dreaming about. Utter shit. Personally, I prefer a wash of romance and teary heartbreak. Get’s the blood pumping.

“...” I yawned, stretching canine before I readied my mouth-pistol.

The Royal Family had bad blood, apparently. Shining Armor. Mi Amore Cadenza. They were sitting prey and hog-tied without a moment’s rest. Without a chance in Hades to crawl out screaming, or cross the river black. Just another job. Just another way to get my drinks, I sighed to myself. But, at least… I could enjoy the next part~

He cried for virgin Cadence, shaking weak beneath my barrel. What a pansy. I mean- I don’t blame him for blubbering all over about his wife, but, it gets really old really fast. See, I wasn’t famous in that part of town, so, Shining Armor thought I was nobody. But, Shining, baby, didn’t you see, your money was made for me.

I pulled the trigger. Whatever fuck thought it was cool to forget kevlar uniforms… he’d be next. A splash of warm, comely viscera met my muzzle and god damn it I loved every drop. Pink matter. Leaden platter. His bladder burst to bring the bitching boil of piss and filth. Death.

‘Riposi in pace, Shining’, I shuddered heavy, hugging my vest-paired chest. Everything felt amazing. When you hear them beg and empty that chamber, you’re fucked over and over by pure, raging ecstasy. You took their soul. You were god, baby.

A bullet kissed my left forehoof. And, in my shock of being taken advantage of, I thought ‘you’re fucking stupid’. My ass fared no better. Escape was my second-worst skill in life. Roaring hoof noise rolled behind me, waiting for one, tiny trip. One slip and then I’d be hip-gripped, drained by dicks ripping and crippling to nothing but dripping missing of hurtful bliss. So, imagine this, watching atop those rooftops cluttered by rain-wet laundry and foggy grey; there were five guards darting and dashing. Each wore a new, sensible armament of ballistic gear. I rushed grenades and booming roof impacts, just in time with impossible luck. Why wasn’t I dead, one barked, tempered and knocking my focus.

Why?

“I’ll die my own way~” I murmured, grinning crooked with round, dollish cheeks.

Yes. A thin, sickly doll with peach-kissed porcelain. Some of the kingpins marked my picture that way. ‘Deadless Doll’. But, me? I knew my name. I heard it in a dream. The Night Stallion gave it to me with his wife. Before long, I let my body do the work. Like always, I was better off not me at all. The hunt let me hide, alley walls all over. It smelled muggy. Mossy and excrement-glazed. Again, another expression of this city itself.

Was there anything worse than hearing bustle. Noise of velvet cries from secret spies. Crowds. Streets and sidewalks packed with ponies that didn’t know me.  I saw them at the end of my trench, sandwiched between crude graffiti and chipping brick. A large, squarish dumpster separated me and freedom. But, in my paranoia, I imagined the Night Stallion slowly inching over. His eyes were nothing and shrouded in cool, morning blues. So, I walked toward him, remembering his lesson. We donned our souls, mine kevlar, bandanas around my neck and plastic-porcelain composites. Then, his shroud of black wool, leather and loss of light.

‘You’re mine tonight...’ I heard him whisper, tugging my collar deep within.

‘Yes, master...’ I hushed, parting gaze in heavy, submissive lashes.

We were parted and strangers beheld my form. Sunlight blinded me, because, though I didn’t realize it, two hours passed in that alley. Staring at the walls, I assumed, glancing back to see if anyone followed. Only the Night Stallion. He was there and not present, in my soul chaining my childhood.

I listened to everyone trotting. Galloping. Moving freely beneath their precious sunlight.

‘Did they see me.’ My heart whispered.

My lashes sank and slowly, limply, I shuffled home.

Words were useless in a shadowed apartment. The old, bug-bitten walls were rotting about just below the wallpaper, showing bits of unsupported florae sink and warp. She said Mini-Soda was a safe place. Especially Taint Fall, sister to Whinny Gladius, both cities rumored to be contract safehouses. That, I knew then, was only half-true, like all things in life. Though I think and never stop, the fridge looks comfortable. A few sodas, label-shaved in glass bottles and packs of Microslave Dinners answers my lust. And, yes, by all means, I chug a pop like no tomorrow. Hours of exertion can do that.

“... Crosswellen.” I whispered non-sequitur, feeling my brain rip apart.

The name begs me to carry her home. So, I stowed her beneath my ribcage, wiping pop from chapped, cut-stained lips. My lips. Were they even mine anymore. Nature calls, but, I don’t want to go. A washing bulge takes my bladder and I need to go. My bladder hates me. I can hear it cursing, but, I’m scared I’ll see her in the mirror. She’s beautiful and ugly. Sinful. Disheveled. How did she get here, I whisper, studying the mare in my mirror. My mirror. My mare?

Pink, candy-bright hair lay stylishly disheveled, one side more jagged than the other, like greasy party girl aesthetics. Only, it seemed previously-attacked, too. Though her ears drooped, I saw an obvious bite-related injury. A large, absent chunk of meat. Right ear, twitching and positioning. I waved, watching her lonely, right eye. The other’s a half-closed hollowness. She’s got natural, grey-blue iris colorations. Except, unlike most, her orbs are milky and fish-eyed.

‘Goodbye’ says Mr. Toilet, flushing my need away.

A few, good shakes and my length is dry. It’s not long before I can wear my red/white thigh-highs again, because warm hindlegs made me sleepy. Cozy rest. Though, I wonder how ponies can knit a barber’s stripe.

Sweet, eye-heavy respite. Despite every ‘bye’ to sleep.

I snuggled my multiple pillows, one chest-pressed and held for comfort, while I crossed my legs over it’s sibling. Why. Because it felt vulnerable without something soft. Something silken and cool, unlike warm, heavy hooves. My forehead aches against the sheets. Did I have to kill Shining Armor. My conscience said ‘no’, but, my 10mm said ‘yes’. It wasn’t a hurtful conundrum. That wasn’t my first unexplained assassination. There were various, vivid recollections  where I woke to killing. Trimming. Weaving the web of fate. The dark ones behind the stars whispered my name. ‘Viscera’.

‘Pleasured Viscera.’ Some beckoned, telling me to sleep.

I couldn’t sleep. I had promises to keep. And miles to go before I’d sleep. And miles to go before I’d sleep. Despite the sheep to count about my bed, everything was red with want to mount and eat.

When’d my next payment arrive, my whispers asked, somewhat invisible and present like the Night Stallion. Fantasy. Reality. My groin-based carousel joined a gut-wrenching ache. They were programming me, weren’t they. Everyone was hoofing my personality matrix. Was it the Night Stallion. Was master angry with me, or was mistress jealous. I was flooded with need. Need to knead and bake little milkshakes legal and tender for killing christmas presents.

‘Answer the door,’ the whispers foretold, prompting my swift and thigh-rubbed trotting.

Sure enough… my friends were right.

In patient relief, I saw the perfect gift. My santa, a muscled colt on heart-throb levels, grimaced and sighed in shame. He was fresh-faced and barely stubbled. His eyes were father’s and deep, penetrating emeralds. I studied him, watching thin lips above long, strong jawline measurements. His form was naked and half-flaccid, condom-on and everything with seed warm and gooey. What intrigued me, however, was his gift. Why, of all things, was I getting a barely-legal wolf specimen. She was sleeping and bound by wrist-and-ankle zip-ties. Two limbs at once, restrained because someone ‘up’ wanted me to see how good she felt. Or, even, how slutty I was without a script.

Santa spoke and I watched his oily mess of red oak bangs.

“This’s 891. Her name’s on the back zip tie, if you care for that. Take your time, 86338.” The stallion murmured, lighting another cancer for one, sleepy journey.

Mini-Soda did seem busy when royals were murdered…

“Arigatou gozaimasu-!” I hurried, bowing quiet like my training said to, gingerly taking my pet inside.

The door closed behind me, because Santa was a good-mannered fellow. In evening’s mellow, of course, my loins did bellow. I rifled about my apartment with jittery, obnoxious anticipation. A wolf, wintered grey and creamy white about her coat, slept like lead. Another knife cut her hindlegs free. And that was all, because canines had biting habits. In my previous experience, wolves were more adept at snapping leashes. Their frontal musculature was generally thicker. Leaner and efficient for escape. That was why, in luscious joy, I tied her cuff to something sturdier, with, of course, another ziptie.

Little…

‘Winter Howl’

Little Winter Howl had hunger-eaten biceps and forearm signature. Even their paws felt skinnier. A shame, since I loved the fighting type. At first, she huffed mid-slumber, barely knowing my touch. My hooves were warm. Toasty in pressing all over that rich, conditioned chest coat parting beneath me. I could see her tightness from one, equine positioning. Winter Howl had the pleasure of being supported by my coffee table, legs-spread by default. Betwixt her fine, scrawny limbs were two, grey and mottled pink ladyfolds, a sunken rectal opening and one, anchored tail. I shivered, knowing my pet’d have to betray her body to stretch for me.

“What… What is this…? What- No... No, let me go! Let me go!”

Her pipe was grizzled. Gruff and womanly. Definitely an alpha. I saw her jerk and seize, twisting for dear life. Winter Howl pressed her tail folds-on-fur, staring back in sheer, fighting animosity. Hardened golds mirrored pink, lusty locks and one, grey-blue visage. I loved her grace. Her beautiful fight. I wasted no time at all, knowing wolves’ hatred for slow, romantic thrusts. Instead, I gripped just over her non-existent hips, bunching whatever I could with fleshy hooves. My pet thrashed, growling breathy and tearful.

“Get away from me! Get away from me-! Don’t touch me!”

I leaned into Winter, pinning her back with rubbing, meeting belly coat. My pet was powerless to change our angle. I lapped her cozy cheeks, molesting her special comfort zone~ I was drooling all over her and Winter Howl could only shut her eyes. She grunted when I forced a half-hilt, rushing harsh, painful curses. I couldn’t blame her, though. My pet was sopping. We rocked with slow, shoving hammers, breeding just below her tightening, foal-sized stomach. We clapped a mouth-gaped marriage, kissing her tummy with icky, fuanari domination.

“Fuck… you. Fuck you… I-I don’t want this! A-aaah…! A-aahstop-!” She trembled in wild, wavering pitch.

“You like that, Winter~? You like it when I make you mine~?” I murmured, half-heavy with thick, ravenous lashes.

I took to harsh, panting doggystyle. Winter Howl feared me over her shoulder,  utterly entranced as I grinned my tongue-out confession. Precious Winter slopped my maw and I nipped her torn, obsidian lips, melting my breaking rapebride. I kissed her bile deep inside, inebriated entirely with rosy, freckled features. And, looking away, she clenched in strange, stomach-bulged tingling. Winter’s groans grew impatient, each panicked and rough, but utterly submissive. I enjoyed her dark, rippling chamber, lodging and grinding pygmy innards.

“Fuck…. A-aa-! H-hhhahstop~ Why’re you making me like it…” I heard her groan, sex-drunk with slimy, cream-inured intestines.

Sweetest Winter clenched and cried her final barrier, twitching and bucking under shared orgasm. I felt her watery discharge coat my swollen girlcock. She went limp, collapsed and helpless under four, finishing hilts. I earned an eldritch, airy  noise. A whine high and sinking. I felt her acid flush and flood. It tingled my thick, equine prick, forcing load after load up my helpless, whining submissive. My teeth grazed her ear.

“Don’t you love it when a girl locks-up and stares into nothing~? I want you to enjoy yourself, Winter~ I wanna make you piss you’re so hot and huffy~” I grained lips-to-eardrum, nipping her wine-stained cheeks.

“N-no-! You’re not my master…!” She cried, hunched and utterly choking in stubborn clenching.

I licked her lips and parted Winter Howl’s muzzle. Gentle hooves for one, firm loin symphony

“You’re right, Winter~ I’m not your master~ I’m your addiction~ I’ll treat you like dirt and satisfy every, little fetish you can think of~ Don’t fight me… I’m here for you~ I’m here to fuck your stress away~” I promised, hugging her mid-section, kissing and pumping like we were long-lost lovers.

“I’ll be your slave if you’ll be mine~” I whispered, scrunching hot when Winter came one, more time.

“A-aaaah~! A-aaahfuck~! F-fuck~!” My joy whispered, whimpering hard and hunching rigid every, little post-climax thrust.

Sweet, sliming mucus all over my stretching, middle-knotted cock. I shivered, wobbling my hindlegs in sloppy, finishing domination. My lids were sleepy and every wad made her twitch. Six times, I emptied my lust, watching her squirm and stare back. Winter, I hushed, rubbing her cheeks red and rosy, earning one, unexpected hiss of rushing gold.  I could feel her tummy tingling. I knew her heat, fluttering and shaky from bubbly anal inurement.

“Don’t break me…” Winter whispered, brows-anchored with soft, hip-based self-impalement.

“Please don’t break me…” She begged, gaping hot with one, uncontrollable hip vibration.

“D-don’t say that~ I-I’m tryin’ a make you melt~” I whimpered, eyes-shut and grinding all over her fuck-drunk insides.

We were closer. I could feel her trust me and glance back with utter satisfaction. She didn’t like it, but, I was her best in a long, long while, because little Winter whined and whimpered every, little stuffing. It wasn’t forceful, but, gooey and slow-burned. I had her hips, taking my slut like my first. Firm, but lazy and sleepy with boiling loins. Winter’s cheek pressed on dim, drool-sheened wood, only aided by my fuckbride huffing her lungs out.

“I… I love it… I love being your bitch.” My wolf whimpered, scrunching hot in stressed, little twitches.

“I love your cock… Please- don’t stop. Don’t stop, e-even if I fall asleep.” Grated my sweet Winter Howl, finally resting and moaning to heart’s content.