Chapters 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.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
I paced about, wondering what to make for breakfast. For some, horrible reason, my hooves were fogged by strange, familiar quaking. What did I do last night. Was it a hooker. An old ex that told me her darkest secrets. Why, in rest, did I feel fuzzy and limp. Wintered fur rustled above my coffee table, flooding pleasure with endless blasphemy. I tried moving, but, I couldn’t. I felt numb and frigid. What was happening to me.
‘You did it’
‘Monster’
“Don’t… judge me. Don’t you judge me…” I uttered, shaking and hastily reaching my wolf beta.
She gasped at first, but, I knew her instant acceptance. We weren’t fucking, but, I did probe her throat. Swirling pink all over Winter’s maw, chambered thick with innocent love. innocent pleasure from being the victim and not the ill. I rubbed my pride against her dense, wither-kissed flank musculature. We were nice and quiet. My wolf, so pleasant with quizzical pleasure noise, moaned and trusted me, even lifting her right hindleg for quick access.
“M-morning… I-I’m still really tired, but I don’t mind- just- just don’t hurt me, okay?” Winter groaned, pushing her lungs farther and farther.
“I’m just stressed~ You don’t mind if I fuck your pussy a little, d-do you, babe~?” I cursed, prodding that wild, leaking muff.
I saw her cheeks flush. Little Howl buried her muzzle beneath the desk edge. Her gilded eyes were precarious. Dangerously weak. I found them warm, but droopy. Did Winter think I pleasured, or defeated, my heart whispered. We were dense. Bent. Broken. Greedy, sopping lips itched my swollen mareprick and I thrust an inch forward. Whatever sin she buried, I was dying inside. I was dying and Winter fed me her last shred of liberty. Thick, parasitoid stuffing took my stress slave. I met her cervix half-neglected. The air was cool and dry over pulsing, needy cum-veins. We started rocking, mocking blocking restrictions all over our heart’s a flocking. I clenched her snug, boyish hips, rutting firm to hit home.
“A-aaah~? U-unnnhh~ Wh-what’s wrong… You’re so hard. I-I’m scared. “ My bride hushed, letting her tongue slide out.
Could a wolf curl her paws. I saw her grip and dig every possible medium for stability. Did I cut her zip-tie. It didn’t matter. At first, I started speeding, ready to burst-fuck my newest conquest. But, when I watched her lips, Winter’s scrunching seemed childish. Hurt. Instead, my lust turned to lies and slow, stuffing slaps eased her huffing ribs. We breathed and slimed, pinning Winter wood-first to quench her thirst. My ear twitched.
“A-aahyeah… Fuck, you’re good. Say my name… I wanna hear you.” I uttered, handling her waist so slim and evasive.
“Viscera…” My daughter hushed, on her tummy sailing sees of runny cock fun, shutting eyes beneath my stony guise.
“How’d you know my name~?” I whisper pounding, grating hard with all my pent, lashing womb invasions.
Little Winter shuddered her heavy, frigid arching. I hugged her waist, ravaging every which inch of vitae chamber so lusty for union. Lusty just for me. My beta bit her platform, etching wood fresh with cocoa as our nethers tied. We drummed to heart’s delight because she was mine and I was her’s. Winter, sweetest craving, moaned again.
“A-ah~ Mommy~ Mommy~ Don’t~ Don’t make me your pet~” The mare grated, head-tilted just like mine.
Little Silver. Little Winter. How long was her exodus between our missions sweaty and thumping. When, by slept, we galloped to murder ponies we didn’t even know. Cyan, blue-blooded spectacles met my breath. I fogged her upper-wit aesthetics with long, drawn panting. My daughter grunted, tensing hard from all our bonding. It even felt, for some, eldritch reason, she was trying to take me out.
“Viscera, s-stop~! Stop-! I-I don’t wanna be a mother… Don’t make me have them…” Begged my Silver, little Spoon.
We were muggy with morning grain. I knew, deep down, she was just making me melt. My gorgeous, little filly all grown-up, I cooed, bucking firm to leak her cunt. She arched, jerking me off with thick, wrapping orgasms.
"M-mom~ D-don't make me piss... Don't make me piss. Just get off and make me burn-!" Whimpered my wolfish seed, so to speed our sinful creed.
Together as one, I rushed her heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. I gripped her braid, moaning deep and cigarette-kissed all over my little incest bride. Deep inside, we frenched and melted, my own hips seizing violently every thrust. She stared back, unsure and innocent with college-aged violets, watching clouds as her lip quaked. Open, huffy, my sex-caked child shook her head. Over and over, she shook and twitched, grunting hard with finish. I loved her with creamy, splattering messes. Four times, I frosted my apprentice hitmare, locking her base-to-cheeks and utterly satisfied. Silver Spoon stuttered her precious, low-set breathing, more woman than I could ever explain. Her curvature, coated rich and silky, had no tone and kissing brought gushy, little petal tears.
"U-uuunnha~! C-can we stop...? I'm... I'm too tired..." Hushed my bad apple, huffing harsh in slow, gradual calming.
A grin spread my lips.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
Days were milliseconds leaping by. The rails told me 'you're not alone', but, all I saw were spies. Masses of shapeless, apathetic faces living their miserable lives watching the days go by. Blazing screeches met my drooping ears. It was time to exit that snake pit of liars and briars. One tried to sell me white dust. I glared, dense with rage for something so malicious even before me. He blared hostile savagery. I watched his shoulder cobras puff and tense. He was young and foalish. Barely fifteen by homosapien measurements.
"Hey, what the fuck's your problem, lady? Tryin' a check me or somethin'?" He puffed, standing proud to be an animal.
"No. I'd clean your addiction if I could, though." I murmured, gently 'breathing' my choke-prone cancer stick.
"Yo, I'm not addicted- you know who's addicted, bitches like you with all that fuckin' nicotine and shit. Do yourself a favor and shut that shit off before you can't breathe right." The stallion retorted, shifting his eyes about, but never changing stance.
What nonsense. My hoof tapped his chest and, in an instant, he fell over. Balance was best in life, I learned once. His own posture consisted of rushing up, standing hindlegs-only and poising strike. I didn't hit him, of course. No felony. No charge. And no reason to keep blasting his stupid preachiness.
"You like Coat, huh...?" I inquired, lazy and iced without someone close.
"I bet you and your stupid, fucking smuggler friends get together and count your money. You laugh and drink like the beasts you are to other people's suffering; you think it's all fine and happy because you're living the dream... Ponies like you make me sick." I seethed, monotone and watching the crowd exit our train.
"You know all about what you're doing. You choose to hook ponies and once you're done, you throw them out like fish bones. You know what, you pansy under-handed fuckwit, how about you try your own Winter Dust for once...? Take that bite. Watch every, last one taste like ash till you can't taste at all. " I spit, flooded with grime and hurt from times before long-past in dirt.
My hooves go unchallenged and I walk my lonesome road, leaving grey, comfortable walls for windows of my own. Not home, but, where I drank. Scotch Summers gave me swill like swirling ballerinas. His tavern was comforting and boasted inebriation erotica. A young, worried waitress met my order and very whispered, procured my thirst. Another Bloody Mary. Another contract. Slurred drunks made my family and though I didn't have her, I wished Silver Spoon was sitting beside me. Leaning. Leaking. Learning life outside the great sleepwalk of financial focus.
Brief, choppy summaries leave the television near my eye swollen with red like bible choirs. A slow, calculated stallion about his middle-aged crisis region relayed the news. It was quiet when everyone joined in collective, honorable silence.
"Just yesterday, Equestria suffered it's greatest breach of security since the Changeling Invasion of April 14th, 2012; witnesses and fellow palace guards say the murderer 'had no face'. Officer Jinxed Sundial stated and I quote, 'We saw her face and saw her clothes, but nothing came back. She was- I don't know, she was like a ghost after you saw her. You couldn't remember who she was.'
What a chilling summary. Investigators far and wide are calling this fowl play. Some even believe Princess Mi Amore Cadenza arranged the murder herself. Though she never strictly replied to rumors and hearsay about her involvement, Princess Twilight Sparkle has this to say,"
He shuffled papers, stacking both so calmly, it seemed tense and feigned.
"'Whoever you are, near or dear to Sombra or hatred's curse, I'll find you. I'll find you and gut you like the worthless trash you are. And, when I do, you'll know my name. Hot coals and stinging calipers are child's play.The guards honored him that day. My brother saved countless lives evacuating the Sisters' Towers. He saved mine my entire life and you had to take him away. You'll regret the day you ever felt at all. M-my eyes are comets and raging tesla. Do me one favor and turn yourself in. God is watching."
Understandably, I turned back to see none other than Discord himself, appalled at what'd been scribed. Read aloud for all to see, was me in two years' time, jailed and tortured just like home. Except, far, far away, I'd never see the light of day. Precious sunlight escaped me and all I did was chortle. Sometimes, life made me smile.
When you were a tool, people loved you. When you were a tool, people hated you. How could people understand my warped perception, I thought silently. The doctors told me to medicate and take things like reappearing vaccinations. Could I trust them anymore, like the others all around, faces blurred like daddy's words of 'I love you' to 'I hate you'. The way I watched, gliding my tongue along my drink, slowly cupping and re-cupping that muscle, all I saw was red.
I wished somepony was there. Silver Spoon. Twilight Sparkle. Anypony.
'No one loves monsters,' my whispers calmed.
'Not even monsters.'
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
Spoon had a gang that she called 'The Merry Slams'; she was known as 'Silver Slam the Piercing Plan'. They were funding me. For once, I had a freelance operation. Today was vacation. Because I didn't wanna kill. Not yet. Shining's blood was in my mouth. I opened my maw, so to taste the trash musk all around.
I watched the city below me on their macbooks and little hoof-held electronics. Browsing. Watching porn and messaging loved ones. Was anyone busy these days, I heard an older pony grumble, climbing our sniper's nest. Yes, I imagined. Just because people weren't working themselves half to death didn't mean nobody had hardship. Labor was labor like pain was pain. A heart's laceration stung the many, old and young like arrows punching in through leather and skin. The only sin I saw was the need of one over many. Little raiders and bandits in the making. Someone touched my shoulder and, deep in thought, I felt the Night Stallion.
'You're my child.' He whispered, trailing feathers down my squishy, rounded cheeks bleeding rosy meats.
'You'll never have it back. ' My memory aggravated, drinking tears behind my fears of sleeping alone.
His lifeless eyes studied my living corpse. Like before, he'd break my core and drug my pores sweaty and numb. I knew the light that day, brilliant navy blues trickling in my solitary room. He came through my window with his wife. I had needles in my arms. Mixtures of irritable salt, tranquilizer and ecstasy. They made me watch and daddy wasn't there. How old was I. Fifteen. Sixteen and clean but never to dream past that day, a stray rape because I was schizophrenic and didn't want to be gay. The schools called me 'witch' and thought I was insane, but really, I was better younger. The Night Stallion had my cherry and slowly, he popped my boundary, slick and thick like master's trick of growing his dick with every chick he'd stick because nature got off on fucked-up shit.
"Mom...?" My silver murmured, brushing my shoulder.
I tensed, hugging my vest-pressed chest, twitching like I did the hours after.
"Mom, he's not real.. I'm real, see? I-It's okay." Silver Spoon soothed, stroking my mane like winter day.
Though people called me freak, 'machine' and monster, I didn't know why. All I did was take lives. I didn't break people. I didn't pry their maws open and shove maggots. The world burned like mother's joy, a depressed post-traumatic nurse with a curse of tickets to death's hearse. At home on her phone ignoring foals screaming full-blown, she gave me scars like father belt-burned and flank-up. I felt the wind whistle and Silver's hooves bristle my free, party girl scalp vegetation. Who was 'mother' I wonder, or, was it both of us. Cold, stony roof floor kissed my haunches, both calloused from being on my knees. She kissed my muzzle, licking warm to take me back. Touch made me lash. But, in my wounded limpness, all I could do was stare up. Stare and stare and stare because I felt I was still there.
Vibrant, stony violet hushed my thousand-yard eyes. They weren't mine, but, I wanted them to be. I wished I'd birthed her and had the honor of 'mother'. Minutes flew and, eventually, I stood with Silver. It was slow and clumsy, yet cathartic to know her hoof. We watched the absence of Sisters' Towers in quiet memorial. Our sky was grey-green and motorized with angry wishes.
"How... how'd you know it was him?" I asked, shaken and blank, murmured frank with cigarette stank.
My child, in her coat of black like old detective movies, watched the rain pour. It kicked her collar about, up and unzipped to make her words clear. Silver Spoon, some called her, but, to me, Silver Spade, held me lap-sat. I knew her scent strawberry and cream. Was anypony there, she made me ponder. Was I puppet playing with my own.
"I know that look anywhere, mom. You only hug yourself when your heart's racing. Plus... come on. I've been here for two years. Of course I know." My daughter stated, low and womanly with natural musculature.
I felt her forelegs, so grown and dense. So different from when she wasn't legal. Barely able to box a beagle. Now, she was an eagle. Pouring rain made her clean and never lean to wind's shivered meanness. I felt exposed when water drenched my little coat. My thick, jacket-worthy fluff kissed her hooves. I guided her lukewarm tips back and forth, pressing them against my sternum. We were smoking. Maybe no one cared about us. But, I realized we had each other. We didn't need a city full of fish and filth. We didn't need to look for more mates. More and more till we were fat with greed and gluttony.
"Lily..." Silver Spoon whispered, making my head spin.
"Wha... Who... who're you talking to...?" I slurred, hammered over and over by shattered walls.
"Lily Viscera. Is that your name, mom...?" My saviour uttered, not at all my child, but, my equal.
"It's here on your neck. What's that bug supposed to be, though? It's running down your spine- um, it's full of legs and segments..."
I hushed her, kissing lithe over my own, pink-kissed shoulder. I nipped her lips, grazing canines shiny with drool.
"It's a centipede... A-a giant centipede from where I grew-up. maybe. Is it black and gold? Then, it's a mukade. Sometimes, bushi would find them in their scouting. But, instead of killing them, they'd celebrate because mukade were an omen of victory. Back when swords reigned, they were all over. The bushi revered their toughness, since, mukade can survive hammers... I, um, studied them when I was... ten or eleven. When I let my hair long like you."
Thunder lit our night. One boom. Two boom. Red boom. Blue Boom. It wasn't thunder, but flares and from up above. A nightly craft testing, maybe. I saw them glide invisibly, never once stopping because we were children among gods. Little Silver Spoon fondled my chest coat. I gasped, unsure of how to feel. Was she using my fur to feel, or studying me. My cheeks were flushed and every, little freckle seemed to shine.
"For such a strong pony, you sure are sickly... You're built like a linebacker." She hushed, fixing her thick, plastic frames.
My back and chest, yes. Everywhere else, not even close, I added. Even though, by all means, she disproved that by rubbing my sheathe region.
"That's why you never sleep. You don't take your pills, do you? Doctor Brazen called an hour ago. She said you were 'withering from stress hormone overkill.' I... I know you don't trust them, but, let's go buy some. I'll take you to Tallgreens." Silver stammered, awkward, but clearly taking me 'yes' or 'no.'
Fine, I huffed, to her general disbelief.
"Even if-"
"What...?" My angel double-took.
I shrugged.
"I said 'fine'. Let's go. And buy me a drink, too... I'm fucking starving." Lily hushed, stretching canine with rain washing away.
The rain said 'put your head to bed'.
But... 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.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
My vest felt itchy. It didn't help with raw, rain-slick rubbings. I bought it after my third contract. A kevlar vest, however, did little to stop a sniper's kiss. The nest atop my apartment looked fairly blank. Slated since nothing but me scoured those streets. Concrete streets and dirtied pavement met my gaze. Though I wanted to start right away, my instructions were strict and so was my employer. Not one bullet, or two, but three. Wherever, Silver Slam stated prior, but only after an adequate distraction. I hated having my back to a door. Somepony was 'scheduled' to shadow and spot for me; an hour's wait did little to sate my paranoia. Most days, I didn't fear death. Today, I did. What would Lily think. What would Silver Spoon assume. Was I a tool, or just another gun-toting pansy.
A black, compact suitcase clicked in greeting. Yes. Snipers ready for assembly; priceless commodities in our dog-eat-dog world. I sung a wordless song, loving peace beneath the sky. Wind ruffled my mane and, for once, I felt awake. Doctor Brazen needed my thanks. Snapping, locking, twisting components find their places. Suppressor. Scope. Stock. Then came that tripod for laying prone. A large, booming celebration kicks-off and Twilight's rule greets the day. Various, melding equines and griffins take the streets below, like faces I can't parse. They're legion and make me homesick. Vibrant, resplendent palettes of lavender, cosmic violet and beet-washed pink burst to life. Uniformed mares and soldiers march across an endless stretch of pavement, like ants with millions and millions of siblings cheering their mission. One, sky-scraping hot-air balloon soars above, but, thanks to Merry Slams, the entire vantage point had a blanket of microscopic mirror patterns, specialized lighting and warmth for electron efficiency.
The door creaked, not half a meter behind. I crouched in-turn, back-arched and instinctively chest-aimed. Behind her half-shown features of wit and prestige, a grey, secretary-esque mare watched my barrel. Both, it seemed, from her utter, lid-scrunched disgust. Warm, noir buttons adorned her white dress-vest, followed by short-pants frilly at the bottoms. I didn't know her face, but, I gathered her name twice-over. My friend, bored with brow-cocked poise said 'look upon my works, ye mighty. and despair.'
"Oh, Celestia... Dollie Deadless." The artist gasped, dropping her coffee flask..
"I know you, miss. Off-grey coat. Graphite grey mane. And, of course, excellent manners. You're Octavia, aren't you." Lily inferred, suddenly the world's best detective.
Despite her prior reluctance, Octavia turned her frown upside-down. Clearly, though, she felt... relieved. But, somehow, the air spelled sorrow. Pity. Why, I had no idea. Octavia, armed with four pistols shoulder-holstered and four knives at her thighs, descended her sandy throne. 'Il Melodia Inquietante', some called her. I found it fitting. Every, nearing hoofstep made me tense. Not outward, but absentmindedly; my body caught whiff of blue-blood. Miss Octavia love-tapped my shoulders, smiling bright like we were sisters.
"Little Dollie. You're a pretty mare, you know.... Prettier than I've heard, yes? You don't have to do anything. Let me shoot and watch the stairs; here, I have some juice for you. Don't drink it all at once, now~" The mare rasped, eyes glazed in red with understanding I myself never read.
My friend, like an aunt I never knew, bade me well and sniffled mid-positioning. For some, celestial reason, I felt spider webs all over my body. As if a pony-sized widow caught me for old time's sake. My episode was short and each limb, shaken timid, felt hugged. Was Octavia, my new asset, one of those third eye practitioners?
The stairs, I knew, were mine to keep.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
Noise snaked my ears, each instrument rung from meters and meters down. Thankfully, they didn’t know about the elevator. I fixed my vest, unsure of what to do first. Write a journal after all was said and done, or rape some of the soldiers. Silver’s call made me uneasy. I didn’t understand a word of it. Smoke and mirrors about making sure I ‘stayed awake at night’. Countless, clicking soldier boots disrupted my thoughts. Obnoxious, cluster-fucked armor noise made me twitch. My ear fluttered, sensitive and easily disoriented.
“You know the drill, boys…!” Echoed someone beefy and military.
“Search and destroy!” His rifles resounded, amazingly coordinated with their machismo ‘h’up, two’ chant.
Normally, when you have a smoke break, you don’t expect a sudden onslaught of military up your alley. I tried to rationalize why they’d even know about us. And then, I realized, maybe Silver Spoon was my handler. Just another traitor, I giggled, gritting my teeth. Grim grinning possessed my lips. Thankfully, I never took a job empty-mouthed.
Don’t. Even.
My hooves were gentle and barely made a whisper. Mostly because I felt the urge to empty my bladder. Not to run, but somehow slick the stairs. With no time at all, I did so, vigorous in rubbing my loin regions. Petals. Pucker. Prick. Sweet Celestia, I groaned, that did feel good. Steamy hoof-ambush layered the steps most probably‘rushed’, meaning the last, desperate few. Octavia’s boxed apple cider was a godsend.
Before I knew it, I hurried outside, shooting the knob without a way to exit. My hooves were definitely not tractioned. Red-striped thigh-highs weren’t very useful. Even if, secretly, I had a layer of cleats on each hoof.
“Octavia. We've got full-on military rushing up. I head pins jingling. Prob'ly heavy ballistics and shit.” Lily reported, talking her gruff, force-of-nature manner.
Lily’s message was fairly moot however, since her kemosabe boasted two, pre-readied pistol gauntlets. Pressurized plates and all with insensitive, yet functioning registry. Her mane kicked left, kissed by howling wind. I moved my lips, so to inquire the amassed shotgun missionaries. She covered by lips, gesturing 'up'. Our entire cloaking set-up was sabotaged. Someone, whoever the fuck it was, knew exactly what to sever. Our lights were compromised efficiently. The second component, I knew from no glass on that roof, was severing the mirror-bed's ties. Enough, I noted, facing the inevitable entry point.
"No...!" Octavia stressed, but, soon softening her blue-blooded features.
"No- we need to find an escape route. We're assassins, Dollie. Not soldiers."
Yes. Yes, what was I thinking. We scrambled somewhere convenient, normally accompanied by rickety, metallic pseudo-stairways. The sides of our apartment complex, however, had no such escape routes. It used to, but, someone foiled our contingency plan. My life as I knew it didn't flash before my eyes because I wasn't afraid of dying. The least I could do was... keep her safe. My eyes grew wide as something vibrant bloomed. Beneath my sternum, something warm slept inside. Was that goodness, my heart whispered. Kindness.
Lily watched the clouds, gently commenting on all their horrible mishaps.
"We have to get you out of here." The mare murmured, letting their eyes meet.
Swirling grey-blue of arctic hue. Oily, polluted fish eyes watching the world pass and finally, maybe, watching the sun rise. Though I wished I was Lily, I wished I were Octavia. Quiet, hopeful water glazed her mulberry eyes. Did she feel proud. Maybe, awed by Lily's faith in angel's flame. They were strangers at best. Maybe, perhaps, best friends to winter's end. Her pink-maned associate watched the world below. Fascinating, she whispered noiseless, speaking one, last time.
"'The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep.'"
She loaded another magazine.
"And miles to go before I sleep."
Lily gripped her mouth pistol, sure everything worked in order. Everything except her fear centers. Her sweetest friend had promises to keep. The morning dew coated our boots and, carefully, we crept over loose, shifting stones. Pebbles. Disheveled pieces worthless by their own merit. She heard a click and soon, everything stormed.
They poured like ants. Two, four, six eight. We flared our muzzles hot and righteous, each bullet neck-to-fountain spray. Each hoof combat met with sweeps, sternum-stomps and joint-based gunfire. Though these were trained, battle-hardened stallions, we were artists of death. Crack the elbows, overload the joint's natural direction and snap. Charge, strafe and flank hip-regions for stunning potential. Octavia, I saw across Lily's martial predicament, fired round after round in such harmonic timing, I swore she was Nemesis. Just another goddess punishing the wicked. Her mane stayed tucked and close, curling about her right foreleg base. We suffered blows and bullets. Lily herself broke legs and skulls. But, her preference lay in aggressive point-blank shooting. A reckless tactic, but a useful feign-strike trickery. She'd rush a bull charge, only to 'fall' and shoot more aggressive assailants. Through her eyes, I noticed several flank-based injuries. There were bloody gashes from C7 bayonet strikes, then lead-kissed entries from combustion anger.
Octavia, sweetest death, watched the sun bloody. We were often circling to weave the crowd, back-to-back without full intimacy. Her strikes were harsh and piercing. Lily's happened to be stunning. Forceful, but more to down ponies rather than hurt them. Every, single execution happened over her target. So to watch them die, her tongue lolled and sweet, iron-laced satisfaction washed her sins. Red viscera seeped below the vest and stuck fur with armor. Then, in opportunity, I saw my cock unsheathe.
Three were left. Among the rib-caged slaughter. Among a carnage I relished.
We struck him cheek-first, spinning the leader imbalanced. I followed with a left jab rib smash. He grunted without wind, wobbling violently from previously-ignored wounds. Adrenaline subsided and, though Lily felt sluggish and cozy, she bent him over a ventilation component. A sweet, girlish grin eased her lips. We bunched his mane, soft amber and oiled with sweat. The soldier struggled and grunted, but, all fifteen inches breached our victim. We shivered, bucking to heart's delight, pinning the bitch stomach-to-platform. His struggle was weak and tired, arms heavy with severe blood leakage.
A soft, almost playful headlock took his neck.
"So fuckin' tight, baby~ You don't like it in the ass, do you~?" I teased, watching his cherry cheeks burn and curse.
"Fuck off-! Fuck off, you freak!"
She tongue-bathed his neck, nipping and sucking every which region, pressing canines just for kink. His boypussy puckered and sucked, legs-jerking under alpha-male domination. I loved his hips. His thin, boyish fuck-handles and lurching stomach musculature. Lily's humping was fluid. Grinding. I heard him half-moan, shaking in wet, sloppy impalement. I creamed his tummy, forcing a warm, sloppy kiss. He jerked away. I wanted him to cum.
"Ho~? Did I finish early~ Let me fix that..." Lily hushed, slow-pounding her traumatized submissive.
He tensed, wide-eyed and growling. The incubus mare, so wrongly in a female's body, nibbled his drooping, twitch-prone ear. I drooled deep inside, slopping my coltslut back and forth, banging him base-deep like we were mates for life. Lily, sweet as sin, steamed his cheeks. Long, airy pants fucked his ears. We shut our eyes. We gripped whatever we could because were close.
"A-aahyeah~ A-aah, fuck~ You like bein' my little toy, babe~? I never had a soldier before~"
"...! U-ugh~! U-unnh- shit-!" The alpha grunted, scrunching hot in dense, striking intrusions.
I watched his hips quake. Lily forced another, uninhibited kiss. We were yummy and satisfied all over, even resting in post-coitus fallout. The colt I fucked, I learned was named 'Crooked Crossfire'. He told me after the little blow I let him pace~ Crossfire was amazingly cute. The way his stern emeralds pierced my own, I really started to melt. There was nothing hotter than making a colt like it and feeling his tongue. Most might've bit, but, he was hungry. Maybe, I teased, Crooked had a mane-tugging fetish. He sighed, looking far, far away.
"You're not that good..." My coltfriend muttered, letting me bob him all over after that little 'masochism'~
I gasped, just barely above his tongue. We loved being marked by someone else. Crooked Crossfire shut his eyes, licking my apex like one, gooey escort. Though I forced a gentle, tip-submerged drinking, he swallowed every, last drop. Grizzled, but huffing his lungs out, my stallion mate took a smoke break and, strangely, collapsed on-puff. Lily loved that muscle-bound stranger, even kissing him a few, more times. We lay atop him, snuggled and warmly grinning.
Octavia, on the other claw, beside glancing away in rapid insecurity, made a call.
"I... I don't care. I don't care if you think... she's a monster. You told me to see for yourself. I see why you'd say so. Or, why you'd hunt me down, Mr. Rich. But, I won't listen. You said there was no hope for change and no hybrid could evolve past savagery- but, you're wrong. Rape is horrible. It's a sin most foul even by murder. I know it is because rape is staining the soul. That doesn't mean she can't change. We can all change, but, we need that light in our lives."
My angel huffed with soft, airy finality.
"You sent assassins, double agents and handlers... But, did you ever give her friends. Family. Did you ever spoil her and show her what being a pony really is? No- no, you never did, did you."
"..."
"I thought so. Just another six-digit number, eh old salt? Ponies like you make me sick. I will not let you take her. She's so sick and damaged, I-I can't even begin to think that maybe, you've a shred of humanity in that cold, black heart. We're done, Mr. Rich. Absolutely over."
I watched her shake and kneel. Lily smiled and called her over.
"Who were you talkin' about?"
Slowly, I saw her glumness dissipate. And, though she couldn't grin or chuckle, I watched her looming, red-eyed smile.
"N-nopony, little Dollie. Just a friend of mine."
"Can I meet her someday?" Lily inquired, lips-parted in gentle curiosity.
"Someday, little flower." Octavia hushed, leasing firm her weighted gauntlets.
"... Someday."
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
White, sterile walls met our resting station. Lily watched the fireflies dance, only admiring their cindered composition. Each passed and hovered, traversing the windows open and free. To her right, right of me to see the breezy night the sleepy dark stayed so stark like lark's hark to journeys embarked. Somewhere by our bed, so stiff and puffy like rank and file cushions, an angel rest. Though her legs didn't lay and bend, I knew her logic. Us equines weren't meant to sit, or lay. In-fact, it was healthier to stand asleep. She smiled ever-so-blissful, studying our many complexities. Nasal, optical and even our bandaged, wine-kissed injured regions. Lily, sweetest leech, grinned her crooked grin, like Cheshire among the night.
"Hmmm... How come you smile like that, Dollie? Why don't you shine, not glow." Octavia inquired, her own expression half-easy and cozy.
Were there godkings in Equestria. Celestia, Luna; they were nothing to that sentinel. I watched her eyes brush my cheeks, followed by wispy cigarette smoke. Her lips pursed a gentle, resting sort of angle, seeping grey in nightly sway. Another bottle at her hooves, just a whiskey in comfort's song. Lily, grinning still, let her sleaziness turn to innocence.
"A long time ago, these two ponies roughed me up for bein' different. I was barely twelve, so, I wasn't good enough yet. They were big, raw fellas that tossed me around and smacked my face. I curled in' a ball after ten or so minutes before they started kickin' my spine. And, after they spit on me, I tossed em' out the window." My flower relayed, looking down every few, happy seconds.
"Needless to say, I got some injuries. Facial paralysis and permanent nervous damage. Crooked smile used to wax, not wane. But, don' matter to me. Still gets the job done."
I saw her heart break, but, mend so inescapably quick. Octavia, haunting melody, sung her silent sympathy. It rung tense and ashen like horse-hair bows on haunting strings. A single, lip-scrunched smile met her daze and maybe, just maybe, we were sisters of different planes.
"It does, doesn't it... You're still charming as ever, little Dollie. Just- tell me one thing, though? A mare like you could settle down and have a saddle-mate. Is there a reason you, say, don't look for one?"
A cool, autumn gasp passed her associate. Her friend pink and feral among Octavia's bow-tied fingerboard. Our eyes did sink and watch the shores heave.
"I... I dunno. When we think of 'love' we think of pain. I don't know why, but, someone hurt us. Her hair was long when we first met. And, my archives don't capture her; the only thing we remember is 'sinking'. Sleeping limp and weak like we were angels without wings. Maybe, like you, Aunt Octavia." Lily hushed, wistful and staring down.
The tiles were lovely, dark and deep. Checkers. Black and white, so to never mix and meet among the sleep of great souls sweeping and steeply so below the wild shine of cosmos young and old. Equinity. Humanity. Were we blotches of white or black. Did we never see eye to eye, like we should; was that good?
"Oh, you... Rest your tired eyes, Dollie dearest. You should find somepony. Maybe, a mare with money and heart. That way, you can love her and not worry about the nagging issues. Nothing like fighting over a meal, or talking about your child's college fund. We can make that work, little flower." My friend whispered, cupping my dollish, rounded chin.
Though I felt a rush of red, we knew we were separate. Platonic. If I ever mounted her, she'd let me and melt, but never kiss or promise. Was everything so sweet, or bitter and sticky.
"Precious, little Dolley. Look at me, okay? Not the checkers. You might like them, but, they're bad for you." Octavia beckoned, gaining our full, optic lust.
We were rigid, little mannequins. I felt the wind whistle and glide our ruffle-prone coat. Peachy porcelain. White wraps over our forelegs and all over our flank, then rear. The other pieces, up and near, were untouched. My face, amazingly, still lacked a scar. Though I'd been cut, bitten and clawed to no end, Lily's features were smooth and washed. Did we heal automatically, or, were we regenerating parasites. Feed and feed till bones ran dry. Maybe, Lily whispered, touching noses with spring-time Octavia. Her lip did quiver a gentle brush, timid and letting her mouth gape. We stared ice-to-crystal, Lily sleepy; aunty thumping.
"Do you know my name, aunty...?"
"N-no, I... only know Lily. You're Viscera, aren't you?"
"... No," We spoke as one, breathing deep her lilac scent.
"I'm Lily... Lily Viscera. Subject 86338; kitten and sleeper. I love you. But, I won't tie you down and make you mine. You're my family. My blood. Let me have you..." Lily murmured, parting muzzles to light a cancer.
She didst protest that activity, watching the embers glow puckered and eyes-up. The incubus mare let her lips tilt, pondering her care and passion. Did Octavia worry that much. A few smokes never hurt anyone. Not like bullets or booze. So, why panic at her long-since obsession with feeling wired and serene. Octavia slid her forehoof right-to-left, examining dense shoulder musculature. Then, as Lily watched the sunrise, kissed her cut-littered lips. A thump crossed their chests and, though Octavia stuttered, her little Dollie suckled a royal's petal. Then, her tongue and lapping softly to mend their cores. Souls searching and safe with someone there. Two danced, holding hooves and breathing harsh, infecting one another musk and all.
Sweet Octavia pulled away, huffing and floor-gazed, crossing her legs.
"No... No, I can't- I don't..."
"Shhh... It's fine. You're family. You're mine and I'm your's. I won't make you do anything." The assassin hushed, stroking her graphite-black richness.
A knock parted our lips one, more time. It was someone else entirely. An officer, grey-coated and watching nothing but our walls, trotted in. Her uniform consisted of navy blues and sleek, silver wording. A mare with strange eyes and bubbly joy; a surefire miracle in that sinful town. She brought a grown somepony just young enough to study majors and minors. Cerise, sweat-styled curls bounced about in her tense, athletic form.
"Mom... I'm still thirsty."
"Oh hush, Scootaloo... You know what Brazen said. No more sugar till you're fully detoxified. And you still have ten more minutes~ Get a drink from the fountain, okay?" Answered her bubbly, blonde-haired mother.
Scootaloo, nearly a head taller than her wiser guardian, scoffed. In dense, wonderful frustration, she muttered 'but I want soda...'. And that, it seemed was her little catalyst for leaving. Mother was always right, the grey mare teased, mingling-lashes in sweet, back-handed smiling. Truly, Lily saw, they were bonded so deeply, nothing but truth passed their lips. Not one lie or foul-play, but rays dancing the fibers of day. Octavia guessed her guest, impressing with stressing of 'do sit down and have a chat?'
"Ditzy, you're absolutely adorable~ How do you stay so young? And- what's so important that you've come here all the way from Mini Gladius?" The angel delighted, drawing high, autumn-free chortles.
"I heard about Rich and had to come over. Almost got away, too, if it wren't for you. Plus, I moved to Mini Gladius because it's easier to get here, Octie. You're too nice, though. I can feel the age in my hips. Used to be I could wrestle drunks the size of oaks. Now, I'm washed-up and takin' Scoots on patrol." The officer reminisced, like some, sea-grizzled salt having her vacation in years.
The two angels, one cherub and one arch, embraced a warm, cheek-snuggled connection. And, after that minute-long resting, Ditzy rest with her daughter at attention. Both wore the exact, same uniform. Only, her young pride had darker circles about the eyes. A restless vigilant watching children cry and angels die. she met gaze with Lily. Lilith of the whispered boards, so to curiously stare and study. And, to her surprise, they studied each other.
Before she spoke, Octavia sipped a warm, flask-held coffee.
"I'm guessing you're here to inquire my last target?"
"Heheh~ Yup, that's me~"
"Well, my old friend- I can safely say Doughnut Joe will never poison again. The Coat and Crystal Pandemic is over. I know it's against your rules, but, you have Silver Spoon to thank. Her and... Lily over there." My angel elated, batting her lashes back, making my stained-glass stack piles of milk and honey above the pound-pace place of pony-on-pony.
A wash of hooves and so, Octavia cleansed my soul.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
Octavia. Luna's cries, Octavia.
"Where's Octavia...?" Lily cursed, trembling sick with hollowness.
Ditzy. Celestia's rise, Ditzy.
"Who's Octavia?"
Lily woke and shivered, amassing knives and winter's maw, retching every which way to curse the day. She lurched in dry-coughs against her own perception of pain. Itching, fucking insects all over ate her coat away. The mare lashed and screamed her bloody shriek, watching stars fall. To know Eden and watch it over the wall: that was life's greatest cruelty.
"Octavia... Octavia..." We whispered, crackling our pipe low and grained, but never blooming.
Shrinking.
Limp, we lay.
Drinking...
Drunk, we'd stay.
We saw her coat like stonework gallop in, wide-eyed and swollen at first-glance. Her hair was long as we third-met, watching stargazers crush and falter.
'Lily...! Lily, who did this to you-!' I heard her shake, holding our cheek chest-pressed and stressed with little more than rest.
A needle in my arm. A weakness in my form. Fault. Iridescent madness why did you eat my soul away. Can't I be happy. My body itched and worse, her heat made it all sickening; legion in my marrow licking and brushing like the Night Stallion. He was her and Octavia became my nightmare, clenching thick, iron legs over my sickly body.
'Did you think I'd let you go...' I heard him grin, wolfish and mounting like my first.
My first.
Did I know how to feel.
I let him do it. I let him inject me didn't I. I was weak and Lily died that night. We strained to breathe, gasping for hot air as the nurses and doctors rushed in. They were springing, jittery ponies and griffins. Each one let her soothe me, not my Master, but an angel licking my lips. Sweet comfort. Sweet comfort in lover's past.
My left foreleg stung imperceptibly, just about the elbow portion.
'We need anti-psychotics, flushing agents and clozaril! Stat-! And get that fucking needle out of here...!' Octavia, ordered, in her coat of white.
'Yes, Doctor Brazen..!' The world faded, making me... sleep.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
"Octavia..." Lily grumbled, beholding the brazen sunrise.
Yes. It did glow an ever-radiant signature. Bloody, dawn-brought coloration bathed the world in peace and sin. Whatever mind made Equestria, she wondered their natural artistry. At her bed-side sat the white-coat angel, her clipboard extensively used, scratched and slopped with papers unaligned. Her expression, so smooth and vivid with adrenaline, showed a resting happiness. Relief. Sweet cure.
"Lily... Oh, Celestia, you're awake. Goodness. Goodness, fucking gracious, you're awake." Her healer hushed, taking a minute to snuggle and love.
Why. Someponies were worth opening up to.
"Octavia... I... Why do you care so much for me." The incubus murmured, still bitten by itching, crawly bugs.
Beneath her sternum, Octavia, who'd adopted her name somewhere along adolescence, watched the rain pour. And, in their bitter solace, a simple truth was born. Though, for some, odd reason, there was somepony else present. Not only was it an unmanned, grubby room, but someplace rusting and tetanus-eaten. About the moss-invaded corners and dirty pipework sat an orange-coated mare. Her uniform was navy and silver-worded. The badge stated 'Police Officer' at the top, understating a phrase of 'Taint Fall Police' at the bottom. It was golden, polished and carried nary a speck of dirt. Scootaloo, Lily remembered, letting her lids elevate.
An angel died and maybe, Octavia'd survive the night.
"Because... I can't take it. I can't take watching you and all the other hybrids being handled. You're my patient. Yes, I happen to be your doctor. But, I'm more than that. I'm an equinebeing. You're very ill, little Dollie. Very... very ill. And, though I bathe in riches, riches don't make me a good pony. I love you and hug you because deep down, I know our time is running short. You, little Dollie, are my sisters and brothers. You were 'defective', so they took you away. But... I... I don't want to lose someone like you. If ponies like you deserve to live asleep, I'll die before I let you walk."
Warm streaming took Lily's glaciers. And, for once, she could feel something. Was it pain. Misery. It felt sweet, but, nothing like sin. More like memories of being a child.
"Octavia... No, Doctor... Brazen. Is this real?" She sobbed, curling tightly about herself.
"Did you really lie to me...? Am I dreaming, or, did I wake-up. Are you testing on me. Are you really my friend- because be-bec-cause...!"
Hopeless nothing stung her frigid, milky blues. Easy hooves brushed her back, shoulders, neck and mane. Octavia, in her degree and situation, knew that stinging mistrust. She didn't tell, but, maybe she knew somepony before- just like that, ravaged by audio-hallucinations, loss of speech articulation and undiluted paranoia.
"I did... because I-I was supposed to kill you and get it done. We're different ponies, little Dollie, but, when I see you're face, I see her all over again. And, it's stupid- yes, I'm a horrible assassin for it- but, I don't want you gone. You're my Vinyl... I lost her to Filthy Rich. Even if... I had my money and music, I couldn't save my Vinyl. I couldn't save her. That's why, I-I, um, learned this field- I learned medicine and murder because, when I was younger, I thought I'd save her. I was still... so blind." The angel cursed, gritting her teeth.
"You can hate me... And, I won't even blame you. But please- don't give up. Don't give up. Even if you can't remember your own name, or don't want to move ever again; someone's always there for you. Someone will always care. Don't sleep at night thinking you're alone. I'm here for you."
We could see her faint outline. The rest was drowned in warm, rushing rivers. Lily clung to sweet Octavia, sobbing her heart out till nothing but grey stayed.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
Lily Viscera. Dollie Deadless. Partners in-crime and walking the lonesome road. Quiet, pondering hoofsteps met the streets of Taint Fall, each one filthy with incense. She found it queer to be 'here' at that time, marveled by the lack of flash and grandiose architecture. Nothing like the state below, Lily noted, remembering seas of corn far as anypony could see. The great farmlands, she lamented, were beautiful and leathery with manure smell. Another fetish of hers brought-on with training. Weren't they all from training. A striking truck blare brought her back to wake.
Lily cursed, walking her miles before sleep.
Escaping was immensely difficult. It called for swift action, silence and subtle distractions. But, she lamented, there was no escape from karma. No sin or virtue unpunished because who but Viscera knew that law. She smoked an ember-tipped cancer, watching cars whir and Doppler by. They passed both directions. Indiscernible were their machine ways, erratic but somehow linear over pavement. Dark pavement. At her neck lay a simple locket with Octavia's features. And, the back etched words 'Love, Octavia Melody Brazen.' Another end to her chapter. Another beginning.
If only her associate would hurry. Little Dollie had very few sentiments to appreciate if not for Octavia and Silver Spoon. Such dolls they were. A single, wretched crackle stirred the sky. It was cloudy before, but, to be rained on felt... ultimately insulting. Sometimes, the world gave to innocence. Other times, it'd crush whispers beneath the boards. Boarding piers of little minds oppressed and molested, she understood, were seldom powerful. Another wave of dirty puddle water. Only, that time, a certain somepony shielded her coat. All with one horn-erected kinetic suppression barrier, floral in pattern and shades of lilac like her sweet eyes. Her mane was long as they first met, both searching for someone somewhere at sometime. Only, they happened to share some monstrosity of a destiny.
"Dollie?" Asked the white-furred mare, tall and slender with three fleur-de-lis at her flank.
The lone incubus, in her time of winter, kept her eye down. Her other was still a blank space. A hollow nothing from being careless and, likely, foreshadowing of Lily's eventual end.
"Nightshade. I'm guessing you're a double-agent, too?" She asked, not armed, but simply studying the rainfall.
Perplexed and visibly so, she'd shift her eyes about. Wasn't there anypony in their right mind these days, she scoffed inside. Nightshade, a spoiled and well-groomed pony, helped her know. Despite being strangers, they stood comfortably across one another. Awkward with piss-laden, crinkling leaves scents but, still comfortably. For some, strange reason, they were even making eye-contact.
"... No?" Nightshade proposed, even waving her hoof in emphasis.
"Even if I was, it'd be stupid to really come alone. I've got jammers and private connections all over, so,it's not a problem anyway." The mare added, simply turning her snout.
Ah. Sweet music, Lily perked, meeting eye and eyes. The right kind of royalty. Hard to get. Her tune changed and, perhaps, her associate wasn't bad after all. Despite all her extremely illegitimate romances, she'd study that pink-kissed winter coat. And, in her probing eye, note a strange lack of shivering for somepony so barren. At least Dollie herself had fucking snake-skin boots on. The vest, unlike her stolen contractor gear, happened to be a regular, inconspicuous kevlar piece.
"Hmm... I guess that does make sense. Since- you're naked, too. No one after me would come naked." The assassin stated, up and starting a friendly, glance-heavy trot.
The streets were littered with homeless. Some, by measures of desperation, even offered them services for basic needs. Food. Shelter. Blankets and little shreds of equine comfort. Lily, in her knowledge of being used, answered with complete and utter understanding. No, she didn't make them work for sentient rights. She used her pocket bits to feed and clothe anypony she could. Because some people were heartless and someponies couldn't feel anything but rocking sensation. And goodness, of charitable depths, was a rocking sensation.
A green bird flew above them, taking air and vanishing into dotted scope.
"Hey." Nightshade hushed, watching their six, but, also staring at her associate.
"Yeah?"
"You... you are Dollie, right? You're not her double, or a friend or something?" The royal inquired, brows-dipped in honest confusion.
"Because, I thought Dollie Deadless was an assassin. You're just... sort of nice and understanding."
That made her snort. But, embarrassingly so because she didn't like snorting. So, the mare in kevlar watched her friend's perception warp. Another soul to the call. Another mind on the wall. They crossed a busy stoplight, so entranced in one another, they barely noted the nearby police station. She didn't care, however, because they couldn't do anything. No warrant had it out for her and They were too powerful. Lily pushed her designated 'stop' button, hoping it wasn't purely cosmetic. It took minutes before an answer came.
"'Nice' might be a bit much for a rapist- But, that's okay. Thanks for the compliment. I'm, um, used to seeing ponies starve and shiver. So, I try and give to homeless whenever I can. Plus. Equestria's a shitty place. It doesn't need to be shittier." Lily answered, speaking in happy, lax tones.
Why. Because why not enjoy not being shot at..
'Oh,' her associate murmured, glancing back, but elsewhere every so often. Was it really the same pony that off'd Shining. Or, perhaps, the same one she'd promised to meet and share details with? Nopony had time for kindness. And, more, no time for sentiments. So, why did a life-long murderer think so highly of equine concepts like charity and empathy. Her mind, wandered a thousand acres, stopped in shoulder-tapped attention. Lily gave a worried glance, unsure of Nightshade's mid-crossing halt.
"O-oh, haha-! Silly me, I should... walk better next time." The mare shook, nervous in hot, cherry shame.
"It's fine, baby. Let's get to Garbage Money, or whatever his name is, though. Over a joe if you're up for it." Her friend giggled, airy and lithe with... something attractive.
Lily herself? She didn't notice. Ponies were always flirting with her, or making passes, but... who'd love a freak like that.
Nightshade's warm, burning smile made her double-take, however, each time separating their eyes. And each time, a soft, crooked grin over Lily's rounded features. Another mare to chat and trot with. Maybe an angel, the incubus hoped, but, shallowly so. The streets of Taint Fall were crisp and smelled of home-cooked happiness beyond the roaming methane. Wafting, rolling scents of easy-going rice noodle soups and coconut cream curries. Marvelous, Lilly shuddered, reminded, perhaps, of her own childhood. In unison, they spoke with little destination, only toward a simple sandwich shop.
"So, your name's Nightshade? Oh, or, your 'alias's Nightshade, right?" Dollie inquired, watching her beet-red transformation.
Another bit, another tsundere.
"W-well... I don't know why you'd say that, but, yes. I'll tell you my real name inside. But, you first. How come you're unhoofed? Shouldn't you pack?" Her friend inquired, staring at something utterly horrific.
A naked, feral equine galloped about the streets. He screamed something about 'bugs' and 'watching'. Another victim of the crooked cartel freedoms further down. Lily missed the days Minis Soda and Iota were part of a corn belt and not a massive drug ring. If she didn't mention it before, maybe that was apathy for something so stupidly selfish. Her friend might've tensed in shock, but, she hoof-led Princess Fashion Model toward Butcher Pete's. A simple bell greeted their entry. And, to her surprise, it was much more than a sandwich shop. By sheer chance, they stumbled into culinary genius. Legal equine. Legal griffin. Possibly legal foal if she recognized those flank measurements.
Lily's mouth watered.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
"You're saying Garbage Money has an actual double in this fucking city?" Lily inquired, biting into her favorite dessert/lunch item.
Though it looked perfectly fine, she knew meat cupcakes were an acquired taste. Maybe not the best textures for a pony like her, who liked clear-cut flavors and consistent textures. She did understand, however, the exhilaration of exotic tastes. Fleur Dis Lee, recently exposed as her true self, drank a simple cider in exposition.
"Yes. But, she's not a sleeper. She's completely free-willed. So, we can't expect bringing a deprogrammer." Her flower answered, doing good to sharpen her paring knife.
Excellent, she thought, watching her victim chair-tied and bound by magic cuffs. It was strange feeling wrong. Did Lily soften, or, did she realize how easy it was to feel. Did she ever even know. The mares circled about, disorienting somepony named 'Applebloom' betwixt. Nopony knew what to expect, but, bound and gagged, Applejack's little sister did. Shrill, airy noise drowned their senses. Despite residence in city borders, Fleur Dis Lee neglected a gagging article. Instead, she thought, it'd be better to give Dollie Deadless, the interrogation 'specialist' enjoy her work.
"Is it another moneybags. Let me guess- Princess... Twilight?" The incubus murmured, swigging her whiskey.
Brilliant, gold-drowned orbs begged them 'mercy'. Respite from something so horrific as torture. They didn't even start, but, Lily could tell that look from feigned emotion. It was just scrunched enough near the lids to show tiredness. Then, the faint signature of drooping brows. An open, distressed mouth with visible, bucked-teeth. They were all signs of victory. It wasn't a game or a job, no. Lily saw torture as a fleeting expression of equine power. Lease of inner-chaos and all things beneath. It was equine to cause misery.
"No... But, you're right about the money bags. I'm thinking more like 'Cadence', if you remember the last contract. We're still hazy since everything's speculation, but, the extra funeral day doesn't add-up. Shining armor wouldn't want a burial. He'd ask for cremation.." Fleur answered, handling their frightened victim.
Applebloom bucked and struggled, but, that made her harder. Sure, Lily could stay a good pony and never indulge herself. But, what was fun about that. What nagging morality ever helped her live better. None. Her friend and fellow associate glanced back, making sure to carefully monitor. A rapist was a rapist. Nothing, not even foals were sacred to them. Perhaps the worst mare in that room, person and all, Lily took to nice, haunch-sat clopping. It felt good being back. Having somepony to really stick it in made her day. Her needy girlcock drooled stroke after stroke, already half-shined by wet. Applebloom's snatch, protected by nothing at all, looked amazingly tight. To add, she was barely legal. Unlike her friends, it seemed, little Applebloom carried youth's curse. Foundation-kissed, circlish eyes made her captor shiver, splaying an easy, wolfish grin.
"Why's that?" She asked, half-heavy in probing, perpetually low lashes.
"Well, uh, he was Buddhist." Fleur hushed, backpedaling to watch, but save her own body.
Fleur Dis Lee made sure to intentionally do nothing from that point on. At least, till her friend drew the information. And friends, especially for ponies like them, were far and few. She watched and let it happen,
"W-what're you doin'?! They'll find me..! Mah sister'll be here any minute with her squad, s-so, you better get me out!" Their prey whimpered, cheeks red and raw from sweet, sweet fear.
Though any other mare might've struck and beaten, Lily took to warm prodding. She gave sticky, cream-squishing kisses all over her tiny entrance. Applebloom, shuddering hard, couldn't understand it. Why did she blush. Why did her stomach flip in such a strange, pleasant way. She couldn't wait. Lovely, flowing hips brushed her petals apart, earning two, harsh exhales. Applebloom wanted to cover her birth canal. Her forelegs shook, oppressed entirely by gooey, silken hemp. She whimpered hard, eyes skyward in being rhythmically ground every, other thudding. It stung only a minute more, naturally more satisfying than a tongue. Intrinsic, little claps met her ears and Applebloom sank, letting her head hang with both hindlegs erect.
"Uh-uuhhh...! What- what are you doin'..?!" Applebloom whinnied, letting her head hang.low and chin-to-sternum.
Wooden noise rocked and groaned, leaving them utterly huffy. Lily's hooves found her own and something wrong tightened. The way her hips bounced nice and easy, nothing felt sacred. But, all at once, everything was subtle. Close. Connected like she were some, eager ex getting pounded by her lusty alpha. Burning ate her shyness away and maybe, just maybe, Applebloom loved her rapist's hooves. Lily cupped her chin, tingling nerves virgin to violation. Probing, stirring breaches set her womb ablaze. A harsh, gradual rhythm took her little fuckslave, bringing sweet, sweet liquor out her lips.
"U-nnnh-! U-uuhhh~! Please, don't make me cum... Don't make me cum..." Whimpered Applebloom, writhing all over she was so hammered.
"I want you to cum, baby~ You might be a virgin, but, you're still my fuck~ I'll even fuck your ass if it gets you off~" Lily murmured, panting warm and ear-kissed just for her.
Lily's claps were drawn and grinding, almost mechanical in identical repetition. Each, slapping entry felt like utter desecration. Not only was her womb contested, but thudded nice and squelching. She stared up, lost in how smooth everything felt. Nothing else had her attention. Applebloom wanted nothing more than a good, pony-style fucking. She tried submitting, shutting her eyes pre-climax.
"a-aaha...! A-aaah...! Aaaah-! No~! No, not you...!
Leaking, hoof-curling surges washed her innocence away. Her dominant fed off every, little spasm; grinning half-eyed with rich, full-girth injections. One pump. She couldn't stop crying. Four, foot-long ropes claimed her ridge-laden chamber, each one tingling with hot, amazing soreness. At first, she whispered something love-drunk.
"A-am I gonna be pregnant...?" Applebloom whined, only whimpering in sweet, sweet rest-fucking.
A hoof found her mouth and soon, Lily stole her kiss. They burned and huffed together, ever-shocked at minutes turning to fifteen; Applebloom wrapped her legs about, begging a four-legged mount. From behind, she uttered, guilty of loving her sweet, synapse-rotting creampie. It didn't help, that Fleur Dis Lee, a mare apart from carnal sin, watched in morbid curiosity. She never liked the idea of getting abused, but, deprivation struck her core. Wouldn't it feel better with someone used to forcing pleasure. Easy, slopping mess slopped out the victim's cunt and, for once, she felt utterly satisfied.
"Of course not, babe~ Mares like me are sterile~ Now hold still so Lily can pound her little sister~" The demon teased, completely shattering her sense of taboo.
Yes... Applebloom did like being a little sister. She hated being so unloved. Maybe rape didn't have to be rape. It felt right giving herself to a total stranger. That way, she didn't have to feel guilty. No one would judge her. It wasn't her fault, after all...
A corporate, repressed life doomed her to xenophilia.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
Applebloom, little victim-fetishist she was, lay comfortably atop her bed. She didn't fight her fuck, but, welcomed her atop. Because sometimes, ponies were just that depraved. Lily, mid-conquest, creamed her womb tingling. It crunched ever-so-claimed, forcing endless twitching against her thick-set girth. It felt odd taking a cock with round head geometries. Like some phallus beast forcing her all-fours. She shuddered, clamping down against muffle-heavy sheets. A whining, female squeak left her pipe as Lily pumped her puckered rectum. How many minutes had it been. Surely ten. Twenty. Thirty...?
"A-aahyeaah~ I never thought you'd love it, sis~ I didn't you know you were so dirty~" Lily whispered, grinning her open-mouthed sugar.
It felt right. Fucking Applebloom was fucking her last love. Pent. Needy. Sickened by her fetishes, but loving every minute of physical shame. Shame was underrated as a tool for tension. Applebloom couldn't face her captor; everything felt shallow and raw. Her own intestines were puffing and suckling. The mare squeezed, wide-eyed and panting at Lily's resilience. How long did stallions usually last. Why was Lily still rock fucking hard.
"Lily...! S-stop-! I don't like this...!" Applebloom squeaked, bubbling harder after her fuck obliged.
"N-no... U-ugh, what the fuck..." She cursed, glancing over her shoulder.
Lily's tongue, short and thick, hung about her dulled canines. That, however, didn't make the look. The hottest thing about taking a futa was her eyes. Her gothic mascara and long, hyper-feminine lashes, or how they anchored in sheer arousal. Applebloom wasn't a slut, but, she did enjoy her half-heavy admission. Her own rapist loved her body through and through, even hilting to tease her mid-rest.
"U-uunh~! Not funny..." She whined, not mentally shattered because who the hell broke after one, pause-littered fuck.
Incubus hooves fondled her barely-legal features, each cheek drunk with anxiousness, shame and joy. Though she begged 'stop' before, Applebloom regretted her decision. All that batter, enough to trickle visibly, made her somepony else's. Not having her cock felt off. Out-of-place like it owned her.
"What's the matter, 'sugar cube'~? Don't like it in your ass~?" Lily inquired, playfully nuzzling her neck.
"It hurts... I love getting stretched, but, it hurts hard. I-I'll tell you everything. Just don't fuck me there again." She groaned, not even violated because so far, there wasn't beating, hair-pulling or abdomen stabbing. .
Really, it seemed childish and unrealistic. How could anypony be undeterred from sobbing rage. Well, ponies just weren't sensitive. Not a single nerve in their bodies bent to rape's brutal kiss. That was why, in some stroke of evolutionary genius, most if not all ponies strayed away from needless sexual gratification. They happened to bring said pleasures more on a psychological plane. Applebloom herself never had a mate, nor knew what being dominated was. She learned it's winded sugar and knew the choking need for someone strong and careless. Only, she stopped because, though it somehow overclocked her receptiveness, Lily's touch also added a dose of intimacy. Dark, uncertain intimacy.
"He's- H-he's not the one yer' lookin' for. Filthy Rich ain't the one pulling strings. Who you wanna look for is a princess. I-I dunno who it is, but, you're better off lookin'- ow, shit-! for her..." Apple bloom mumbled, straining her muscles in a haunch-based sit.
Gravity hit and though she'd a numb slit, the bed was rich with tension like springs without perfection. Everything smelled of moss and dust while tiny particles reminded her of cheap hotels in saucy stories. Though it seemed unreal, she did just enjoy a total stranger. Wasn't that most mare's dream in her lifetime. No bondage of ring and vow, but simple splendors in polyamorous relations.
Lily bought her information, but, had trouble piecing things together. Filthy Rich. Princess; possibly Cadence and Twilight but not the other princesses because they had whales to fry. 'So why do you say 'a princess' instead of somepony specific. Why not a name, Applebloom?' she thought within. Soon, it came to fruition, murmured like most other things. Lily had a habit of murmuring. Especially through shared, threeway cancer appreciation.
"Well... We don't get names in smoke and mirrors. I-I'm not sure my sis knows about it, either. She might be an admiral, but, we ain't the high elite. Just- make sure you don't talk about it. Write er' use a foreign language; somethin' to throw them off. Clackin' away at your keyboard isn't safe. The ESA'll track you down by finding the keyboard model, key sound archive and all sorts a' things." Her stocholm mumbled, low and raspy against ears in the walls.
Fleur Dis Lees, surprised by her knowledge of intelligence methods, wondered what else she hid. The agent, very clearly so from her tactical mistrust and constant skepticism, shined her knives and tools. One, moist towelette aided her quiet fear tactic. She even severed eye contact completely, somewhat bored and neutral in pondering torture.
"What makes it real, Applebloom. You might be lying. We're lambs to the slaughter if you're just tootin' your horn." Lily questioned, circling about slowly, stalking in little half-circled motions.
A soft, sigh-paired tiredness entered her victim's eyes. It looked sleepy and baser before, but, something changed there. Being fucked and doubted about loyalty wasn't fun. In fact, it was truly opposite of feeling comfortable and bubbly. Something cold entered her stomach because she realized sharing herself physically was different. Anypony could fuck her raw. Nopony could make her cry or curse; nopony but Applejack and her long-lost crusaders.
"Whaddyou mean. You just fucked my ass and I didn't even hate ya for it. That's good enough. Besides... If I were lyin', don't you think I'd be stallin'?" The mare replied, referencing the habit to stall for excuses.
"Hmm... Right. Like not conjugating. Lack of steady tones and whatnot. Did you tell me.... Did I tell you how interesting that is, Applebloom. How you know all about people and lying. Don't you think that's suspicious?"
A stone wall. A break in structure.
"Wh-what're you sayin'? I don't have a reason to lie. I hate the army and the navy- I hate all of them. Killin' ponies overseas like video game characters, come on. I know it ain't right generalizin', but, I'm not... I've seen the footage from those strike cams. It ain't hippie shit, Miss Lily. Just like I ain't lyin'."
Firm, she stood. In opposition, she furrowed her brow; that strange, insulted furrow patriots gave. Secret artillery and government spies. Citizens lie in bed to see the sea of blood spread by waters overshore to ignore the foreign violence and roar of war rushing hard to make the bed of child stars red and white with blues uncured among the light of bright nukes in the night.
War. Control. Lies.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
Equestria's heroes were a popular sort. But, those were the heroes of today. Nopony remembered the ones steeped in napalm or shell-shock. Not soldiers once wading in muggy swamps or tense jungles. Those were heroes. Mares and stallions serving their country despite it's risks. So, why did nopony remember the great stalemate or trenches vast like Hades itself. They were all pups. Ungrateful, little whelps.
A tower of grey met her gaze and Lily watched somepony jump. Another druggie. Another LSD and free bird among the trees. 'Fly free, little moondancer', said the sky's whispering. She watched him speed down, not opposed by mercy or fate. It was his, after all. The choice to jump was anyone's and gods above the aether watched little ants colonize. A warm, piercing crash rung her ears and bombs fell. Another mortar. Grandpa'd be proud, Lily thought, trotting closer to just... study his face. See his eyes before they'd waste. His soul to pay and life to keep, Lily watched her friend sleep. Vivid amethyst met her gaze. Optic twinkling started from fresh, physical tears from undead nerves. An equine body could feel more than pain six minutes postmortem. Much more. It could think and fade.
His eyes were milky, messy things- one split open like tomato soup and whipped-cream jelly. His socket was red and dark, ringed by tears diluting crimson discharge. Rich, wine-soaked mess stained his coat while bits of jagged steel flayed his ribs open. A barbecue, she thought absentmindedly, loving his tender expression. Fear. Finality. Swinging guitar solos all around as they boarded the shores. Another strike of orange, she smelled in that concrete jungle. Lily tapped his split cranium, only probing his squishy, oozing grey matter. Fresh and pink.
Today was a good day.
Choppers overhead, she listened to nice, beating drums and found it calming. The mare, dressed in usual, plastic-ceramic composites, trotted to whistling tunes. Later, she’d eat at Butcher Pete’s. His store wasn’t far from where they’d rendezvoused, at least, not a block or so from a shitty apartment downtown. There, somepony familiar waited- her hair was long as they third-met. Fleur Dis Lees held her umbrella up, unsure of why anypony’d be happy to get a face full of petrichor, bombarding suicide noise and red. Under a strangely convenient streetlight, she’d wave her Lily over.
“Lily…? Why’re you whistling in the rain? And why’re you covered in blood…?” Fleur inquired, mostly just concerned because a moment ago, she thought they were sane.
A smile. Crooked. Delighted.
“I feel happy. Also, I dunno how he got blood on me. I was standing ten feet away.” The incubus hushed, letting her lashes mingle.
Night was tense. Everypony stayed their haunches inside the later hours of Mini Gladius. Some were cowards, but all were wise in staying away. Seedy, sociopathic types were getting more and more common those days. Through sugar canes and all sorts of rice paddies, the sane waded- only to find sniper calibers from deranged nonsense. Killers. Thugs. Even loonies from the G-Mare estates up in mountain test sites. Lily’s boots jingled and jangled, spurred because great assassins were apparently noisy. They kicked dust and paper clutter along the concrete. Each one carried a tip or sort of metallic, pointy shape. Another reason to be an old-fashioned gunslinger in that shithole ponies called Equestria. Ponies didn’t expect a kick to pop their throats open.
“I… saw you, though. I didn’t know it was you, but, I guess it was. You were watching him. Didn’t you see how close you were…?” She inquired, greeting with a soft, reluctant hug.
Yes. Late-night rain would do that to somepony. Faint silhouettes danced across the city. Concrete jungle. Child’s mumble. Grenade filly. Lily’s filthy city.
“How close?” Asked her friend, mumbling after with a pistol in her mouth.
They bucked a door down, smashing boards and oak. Wooden splinters washed her coat again like the rain hot and sweaty. Equines didn’t sweat, but they needed to. Nothing felt better than moist, icky skin against mosquito bites. It was dark and though Fleur had her box-like spectacles on, she switched them for night-vision goggles. They were dressed in flak and denim shorts with elbow pads.
“About a yard or so. Surprised the shock didn’t ring your ears. Anypony else might’ve gone deaf. But, you had your mouth open.” Answered her compadre, trotting double-time to meet the charlies.
They clicked and thudded all over dusty, little floorboards. Some squeaked and others shrieked. A fine poker game met their gaze and Fleur started cackling. Laughing. It felt amazing. She aimed her barrel, of some 5.56 make to see the glasses shatter. To see the crowded shelter fill with messy cherry and deep, hungry machine gun rumbling.
“Hahaha~! Hahaha~! Is this what I’ve been missing~?!”
They were scattering, little ants and savages to the end. Drug cartels. Crime lords. Fellow assassins, even. Did they know Filthy Rich was a two-timing scumbag. A wild, feral mess of cursing and panicked hoof falls met the hideout and six, maybe eight ponies hid behind thick, wooden clutter. Behind those boards were rubber and such, but more, ballistic armour and heavy variants of shock-resistant compositions. Two crawled right of little Fleur, watching her muzzle flare like fireworks. Grand, sweeping fireworks. They tried flanking her.
Boom. Scatter shot. Little trot against the crooked rot of gangster’s lot and caliber.
“That all you got, sons of bitches~? ” Her pipe rasped, eyes pin-prick and vile with pleasure’s seed.
First blood. They had first blood and lead kissed her flank, but, a bullet didn’t stop when it grazed. Ponies were horrific shots. She worked her carbine against the walls, each clatter rumbling her hooves to kingdom come. Firing a large, turret-based weapon was maddening. Doing it without the tripod was more than fatigue. It was exhilarating. They only had minutes of staring into nothing when sweet, sweet music filled the air. An aria of sorts, devastation came in all sorts of symphonies harmonious in the night. Bullet spray. Knife’s slay. Hoof’s break. Pony steak and slit throats among the cluttered, bloody day Equestria invaded the bays
She watched them fall and, though it felt like sorrow from her eyes, Fleur Dis Lees felt happy. Was there any joy like taking a life. Being a god in coated skin, neigh, she’d say and proclaim till the day she died. There was no rush like shooting pregnant mares and watching lives tumble. A rumble in her chest and she knew herself crushing because it felt right. But why, then, did everyone look so still. Everypony, even the foals she missed inspecting the card game, were all very much cold.
“... I did it. I killed them…” Her friend whimpered, smiling in her shattered joy.
“Haha… Ha…” Fleur trembled, wobbling in her knees.
“Stop. Stop that shit right now-” Lily gruffed, trotting tensely over, even ending a crawler victim.
Click. Blam.
“You stop that shit right now, you fuckin’ panzy. You can break when Filthy Rich’s eating dirt. You know what we do. Don’t get soft on me, damn it.” The mare murmured, catching her mid-fall.
“No… You don’t understand. I killed them. I liked it. I liked it for fuck’s
Her figure shook and cards of ace and joker fell about, spread by her three, but one-bloody fleur-de-lis marks silent among the fields. Another soul to feel the rush and shoot the brush. They lit cigarettes and held below the promise of a better Equestria. Though they were horrible, horrible ponies, wasn’t it all necessary. Those fucks that called them terrorists and baby killers- they didn’t know anything. Those shits dancing around their shrines of nature, passing needles and singing songs- they weren’t guns and sleepers. What did they know. Lily, shedding a tear for her sister-in-muzzles, nuzzled her neck. And, they kissed lips-warm and groins-rubbed. To make the pain less and de-stress the rest of reaper’s elated stress.
“... It’s okay. I cried, too. I cried my first kill. I loved it more and more, but, you have to… You don’t forget one, little thing. We’re doin’ this for the dream. No more sleepers. No more paranoia. All that web of intrigue shit is gone when we get somepony else in the cabinet. Remember that bitch Hoover…? That’s Rich. Okay?” We hushed, licking her space betwixt thighs, suckling her areolai beneath and little crotch-based pillows.
Fleur twitched and groaned, shutting her eyes. Why did Lily want it there. It was icky and trivial. A mare couldn’t be swollen without pregnancy, so…
“S-stop, you fuck… I just murdered a bunch of half-true sleepers. What if they’re innocent?” She grunted, clutching her mane every, little suckle of flat, equine tits.
God damn it. Not another reason to remember today. Not only was her cunt soaking wet, but, somepony else was licking and prodding. Spreading her hooves-firm and fondling her little crotch mounds. At first, she tried rolling over, but found it impossible pinned and stressed. Lily was crooked in her sultry, sleepy stare. Grinning. Grazing her tips ethereal and wet with spit.
“We’re on a pile of corpses, baby. Who gives a shit?” Lily hushed, positioning her nice, full hips.
“Wait, I-I didn’t say you could do that…!” Her friend panicked, struggling and wriggling like nothing else.
Though it perplexed her, she wasn’t… penetrating. Who would after all that. Lily Viscera, or maybe a human in disguise, slimed her flat, scrawny stomach. The girth of her shaft seemed very, very concerning. Almost whimper-worthy, even. How did anypony want that daemon mare. Fleur, taking a glance away, let her lashes fall. Something wrong took her core, but, being stomach-kissed felt amazing. Her hindlegs spread eagle as possible, watching her dominant stick and rub, throbbing her newest conquest. Drooling, sticky cream made her shudder.
“H-hey, I… I don’t like being on the floor…” Fleur whispered, glancing up in cute, squeaky admission.
“Ho~? Not the floor~? Well, we can find a bed… Then, you can give me head.” The incubus cooed, carrying her all over that wicked house.
The house of the rising sun, some might’ve claimed, it was an old, abandoned restaurant. For all the hungry masses straight from Iota looking for cultural cuisine, yes. Slight, little hoof-falls made her more and more tense. Fleur wasn’t a virgin, but, that was her first futanari encounter. She never anticipated, by any sort of biological study, they’d be so fucking hung. Or horny, for that matter. Anytime they passed a corner, she worried the shadows’d give Lily ample time to turn the tables. Essentially… she was unarmed, mentally drained and sleazy enough to take it after all that transpired. Because after a life of double-agent smoke and mirrors shit, nopony wanted to sit down and write a story. Or, read a book or watch the ponies bleeding beneath their hooves. Cracked skulls and gooey druggery above the boards. That’s what Fleur saw when she closed her eyes.
“Hurry-up, you faggot. I’m getting entirely unaroused by this long, stupid trot of your’s.” She sighed, fixing her glasses.
“Whaddyou mean ‘faggot’. Aren’t you the one getting with a mare. Also. How did you store your glasses away. I didn’t see any pouches…” Lily murmured, rolling her eyes before the stop.
Another mare shaking in their path. A tiny filly with a shrapnel carrier. She quaked, whimpering with her little hooves fumbling and pulling the sloppy pin job.
“Fuck-!” They cried in unison.
Someone shielded someone. Lily, being her carry mule, stowed little Fleur behind. Ripping shockwaves hit her stomach and Lily gagged, spewing rich, meat-littered bile. Her ears rung in constant, singular beeping. The world faded and all turned to black. Above her, an angel panicked and shed her tears. Another mane of pink, but kissed by sunlight. White and grey-washed pinks fell over her leaking muzzle. Fleur Dis Lees whisked her away, blaring her heavy, rushing hooves.
Pleasured Viscera: Whispers Beneath The Boards
Rock: A Brief Summary of Autumn Fun
I took a walk. Trees like to talk. Demolitions foal, where'd you go. "Hooves up, creep." Bloody red, I fed.
I found a rock. Leaves fell like stock. My hooves are red. I grinned crooked; 'sheep.' She tried a dragon palm.
She liked my cock. Half-cock my action. Didn't you like me; no? "You see the other three?" Gripped wrists and two twists.
Oh, shit, doc. Double, single attraction, Behind the stone, I choked her soul. "I'll eat you." Lily cooed. Dislocated foreleg joints.
That's not a rock. Silver yelled attention. One mare, big sister fed. Another 9mm in my hindleg. Ripped her suit away.
That's a corpse. Three mares and laceration. Black suit, arresting control. Stressed with strafing. Made her scream and pay.
Just kidding. Assassins, spies and my elation. I giggle, snapping filly neck. Understand hooves are shaking. I didn't feed.
It was my daughter. Redirect the anger, Lily. "Grenades are bed, kek~" Slid on leaves. Licked her leaked.
We galloped a simple chapter. They had a grenade filly. Stinging lead bit my flank. Reached big sister fed. She struggled, but creamed.