Author's Note

Aria Blaze's POV

Into Action: 2

Just as I woke up, I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders as the girl pulled me right out of bed. Once I managed to open my eyes, I could see her light to white complexion as she pushed me up against the wall.

Before I had the time to actually see the yellow curls of her hair, her friend managed to pull up a can and spray its content over my hands, right and left. A moment later she takes a step back, letting go of my shoulders, leaving me in place, hanging from my hands alone. In shock and still confused from the early hour and the attack on my person, I don’t get a word out.

“Pay-back is a Bitch!” Surprise, the white Pegasus mare with yellow mane, now a white girl stated with malice in her voice, and with a grin all over her face.

I blinked once, twice, thrice. Nothing changed. They are still there, only now they are three. Three girls standing before me in some strange suits.

Trying my best to pull my hands free, but to no avail. My hands are held tightly to the wall behind me. Whatever she sprayed onto my hands obviously was meant to hold me firmly in place. For a moment I doubt my reality. Maybe I am actually dreaming, but I can’t part my lips in order to scream.

Even with my new useless voice, but I am used to open my mouth and scream if I felt the urge. I am used to talk my way out of things. The pendant I wore, now in tattered shambles, cracked and torn to dust and thus useless.

“Too bad, this little girl can’t even speak for herself. Though I guess she would just scream like the little girl she is!” The leader of the group, a pink hued girl with dark pink mane sneered to me, in mocking humouristic style.

I just stared and redoubled my effort, trying to free my hands. The demonstratively ignored my discomfort and efforts to free myself, as if they knew full well just how it would destroy me, as if they knew I am helpless.

The blond stepped forwards, looking at me with a grim smile on her face, as if she was expecting something more than the mere joy of taunting me. That’s when I grew cold, she knew something more.

As I tried to look around, I could see what they wore in place of panties, while wearing nothing more than panties and tops. She placed her right hand on my left breast, grouping vigorously, smiling slyly at her friends. The next moment she pushed forwards, taking the final step and forcing me to realise just what it was she had on her mind. I feel the tip of the head, squarely on my mound as she pushes ever forwards. No escape, she had me, helpless.

I know this should have been feeling good, but they pulled me right out of it. I used to love to have sex, but they pulled the image right out of my hands and tore it into tiny shreds. Leaving me with a sense of desolation. All I could feel was the fear and hurt they were about to put me through. I just had no idea as to the depth of what they were to put me through. Just that I can’t make up with them, not that they ever were my friends, or people I could ever really be friends with.

The next moment I feel her entering me. With shock I realised, just how ease and how little effort it was on her part. The head much larger than I had dared to hope or expect. This yello wasn’t chosen with any respect towards me, or any concern for my joy and pleasure.

As the head of her yellow entered me, I feel almost as the sound of a plop. I instinctively cramped around her, tighter than I could admit to finding comfortable, just for the oversized head of her yellow. The grin of her face is reflecting her joy shared with her friends as she tear down my pride and confidence. Stuck on the wall and helpless, she is like a vulture as she picks the flesh off of my bones before I have even died, just too weak to mount any defence against her as she pushes forwards.

In shock I soon realised, she is taking pleasure out of it. Maybe it is in my hurt, to have control over me. Yet, she is driven and stimulated by the act. She feels my inner walls caressing the head of the yello as if it had been a part of her. I could feel it in her moves and see it in her eyes, if and when I would feel the strength to actually look up. I can’t. Yet, it is still evident in their voices.

Her hands now on my hooters, grouping freely as she squeal with glee, pushing in, into me and pulling back without actually pulling out. As if she had counted on the back of the head holding her in. I do gel her tugging at me from the inside, almost every time she pulls back. Id she did it on purpose to see the pain on my face and the crushing hope of her actually pulling out.

Of course her two friends stand behind her, as if waiting for their turns. There is always the chance they are there in order to make sure I stay in place, ready to pounce me, just for their joy.

Oh, but wait. I do recall a pink girl from The Battle of the Bands contest, not too far back. She was playing the Drums, and with such eager enthusiasm I could never have imagined the sheer power output she managed to put into it. She actually managed to push our demonic Dragons back, before we renewed our efforts and turned the tide once more.

Now I guess the other is her twin. Whoever the light and blond girl is, but she is bound to be a friend of this pink girl I knew as Pinkie Pie. Whatever did she do for them to grant her this gift?

After a mere few minutes, the cramping tight around her grew painful. There is no way around it, she had pushed me up to the wall, and left me defenceless.

Had she been mocking me with what I took for the attempts to pull out? I could feel the effect of slippery juices inside, which only left me in more pain and utterly revulsed. It isn’t as if I ever had found her exciting or hot in the first place. She isn’t here to enjoy me or anything about me. She merely turned me into a helpless toy for her lust and amusement.

Of course, when she finally did choose to pull out of me, she had no problems, no problems what-so-ever. There is a wet plopping sound as she finally did pull out. I am still cramping around the afterimage of her presence and in pain.

I feel as if I am open, even after she pulled out, yet feel the tightness as if I am still cramping around her, and the sense of what is bound to be my very own flesh in place of what she imposed upon me as she pushed into me.

The harder I pull at my hands, the harder the substance she sprayed over them, against the wall seems to pull them back. My hands thus remains firmly and undeniably to the wall, palms flat on the wall behind me.

Trying to pull free and scream, I fail to notice how they turn around and walk right out of my room. I can’t even make out where they went. The door was never opened or closed, so where did they come from and where did they go?