I’m not gonna get into the nitty gritty of exactly how I planted the evidence of tax shenanigans by Mr and Mrs Cake, or how I cornered Pinkie Pie about it, only that I ended up talking to her in the quiet corner of Ponyville Park by the willow trees. It wasn’t complicated. I told her that the other garbageponies were already set to inform the authorities even though I didn’t want them to, I let the shock and horror sink in a bit, then slowly let her wheedle me into going out of my way to stop them. When I agreed, she hugged me. Her curly mane tickled my nose.
She told me she’d owe me big time, and that if there was ever anything she could do for me, she’d do it in a heartbeat. Perfect. I near-tearfully confessed that I’d been harboring a crush on her for ages because she was the only mare I knew who didn’t treat me like dirt just because of my job. I can’t remember the entire conversation, but the later bits went something like:
“—I feel ugly and worthless, like I’m not even a real pony. If a mare could just... I — I’ve never even kissed a mare. If I could — even for just half an hour, feel like I was normal...”
Her lips pressed against mine, soft and warm. She pulled away, and left me breathing hard. I didn’t even have to act.
“Nopony is worthless, no matter how funny they smell,” she said, “I mean hey, loads of awesome things smell funny. Like durians, or parmesan, or baking yeast! Pigpen, I’ll show you how super-duper wonderful you are just because you’re my friend, and for saving Sugarcube Corner, I’d do it twenty times over!”
I grinned sheepishly. “I know a perfect place for half an hour...”
“Lead the way, Pigpen.” She turned, and swished her tail briefly upwards, giving me a glimpse of the treasures below. “We’re gonna have fun!”
It didn’t take long to get to my hideaway, a shed tucked between firs on the outskirts of Ponyville. It’s big for a shed. You could swing a cat in there without bashing its brains out, even with the workbench and cabinet taking up the window side, and a bunch of odds and ends covered with a tarp at the far end of the room. It was my den. I’d spent months making it a decent place to hang out. Most of that time was spent soundproofing it, though...
Pinkie had spend the entire journey there giggling and bouncing and nuzzling me, and I couldn’t stop grinning despite myself. I’d never met a pony as warm and full of joy as she was. She was Hearth Warming’s Morning squeezed into pony form.
We burst through the door into the shed — I barely had the brains spare to close it behind me — and she hung on me like cheap perfume even as I took a second to throw a blanket and some pillows onto the floor. She plastered my cheeks with kisses, her forelegs swung around my shoulders. As we moved to the blankets, she nipped at my ear. That got a groan out of me. It’s not often I bang a whore with the presence of mind to properly nip at an ear.
One of her hooves trailed down my neck, then down my chest and belly, until it reached my groin. The soft, pink coat of her fetlock brushed against my dick. Holy Celestia. She wasn’t even crying yet, and I was rock-hard.
She lowered her frame as if she was about to suck it — which would be funny, most cunts gag at the smell, let alone the taste — and then stepped away. She turned her back to me in a smooth motion, and as she did, her curly, fluffy tail pressed into my cock and brushed up along the length. Her tail was raised in the air, displaying everything again. A thin stream of clear precum joined her tail and the tip of my cock.
“Okie-dokie,” she said, “Is there anything special you’d like to try?”
I didn’t have to fake a blush when I said my next line. “Could... could you wear some clothes?”
“Huh? What kind of clothes?”
“Well,” I said, getting up to open my cabinet, “the thrift shop, the rich ponies’ homes, the boutique, sometimes they can’t shift clothes or just don’t want them, and they’ll throw out perfectly good ones. I saved a few that looked special, and I’ve really wanted to see a pretty mare wearing them...” I took three items of clothing, and displayed them in front of her.
Pinkie’s grin was downright sultry. “I’d say modelling clothes is more Fluttershy’s thing, but I think I can help you out!”
She hopped over and grabbed the first of the clothes, a set of thick-striped red-and-white socks. She slowly slid them up her hindlegs, smiling slyly as they hugged her every curve, the horizontal rings making her voluptuous legs look even thicker. Laying on her back, she splayed her legs wide.
“How do I look?” she asked innocently.
“Like a candy cane...”
“Wanna lick?”
I had to suppress a smirk. “Maybe later. The next one?”
With a giggle, she shucked off the socks and grabbed the pair of black silk panties. The dark sheen of the silk perfectly framed her ass. I barely noticed her backing up into me, and before I could move, my muzzle was sandwiched between two soft, warm, silk-clad cheeks.
She squealed and giggled when I grabbed her flanks and shoved my face into her crack and wiggled from side to side. I inhaled, and I’m not proud to say I moaned like a horny schoolfilly. The smell was thick as cream, musky and sweet all at once, reeking of sex. I felt dampness against my nose, and not sweat-dampness. Full-blown slick, gooey, turned-the-fuck-on wetness.
I’ll admit: I was tempted to drop the whole rape thing then and there. Hay, I was half tempted to excuse myself for fifteen minutes to take a shower before getting down to business. Unfortunately for her, the next thing she wore sealed her fate.
After stripping off the panties, she began to wriggle into the third item: a set of baby-blue yoga shorts that were two sizes too small for her. They hugged and clung to every inch of her legs as she pulled them upwards. When the waistband reached the top of her thighs, her butt flopped out like a muffin top. She had to strain, pull, and grind her hips to slowly drag the too-tight garments up her ass cheeks. A small gasp came from her lips when the waist snapped around the top of her ass, and her butt was sealed inside. Flesh bulged out at her waist and from her thighs, and her bubble-butt was perfectly displayed.
Then she did the splits.
Her inner thighs touched the floor, and the blue shorts hid nothing. They outlined her lips, damp and sticky at the top of her hole where her juices had soaked through. She was winking like she was in heat and bobbling her butt up and down.
More than that, though, I could see her asshole. That tight little pucker actually stood out, pushing into the fabric, brazenly flaunting its muscles and heat and tightness. Pinkie’s Pie would never be enough for me. I had to wreck that ass, and I had to wreck it now.
Soft fabric hit my face, and I could smell her musk again. She’d whipped the shorts off and flung them in my face, before I’d even seen her move. They fell away and Pinkie was in front of me, presenting herself.
“You ready, big boy?”
I grinned. “Just one last thing to pose,” I said, “You couldn’t be a doll and lie on your back, could you?”
When she rolled onto her back, I told her to put her forehooves together in the air. She did, still smiling seductively. Out came the duct tape, and I bound her two front hooves together. She looked a little bemused, but didn’t stop smiling.
“Um, what are you doing?” she asked, “I thought we were just going to—”
“We are,” I said, sweetly, “but I think you look cute like this, wrapped up like a fancy cake. I’ll take it off real soon, okay? I just want to enjoy the view.”
“Okie-dokie, just remember to—”
“Shhhh, cutie-pie. No more fussing. Now, put your hooves on your belly so your forelegs are laying flat against your chest.”
Again, she did as she was told. Fuck, I love it when they cooperate. I know she’s gonna look back on this in a weeks, a months, a years time, for the rest of her life, every time thinking ‘if only I hadn’t waited so long to fight back, it never would have happened.’ They all do.
I taped her front legs to her body, rolling her over and wrapping the tape over her front legs and barrel until she was trussed up completely, her front limbs immobile. On her belly, she could only shuffle away with her hind legs. On her back, she could do nothing but wriggle.
I rolled her onto her belly and grabbed my favorite piece of gear: a spreader bar. When a cuff clicked shut around her right leg, she awkwardly craned her head back to look at me.
“Um,” she swallowed, trying to keep a smile on her face, “What’s that?”
“A spreader bar.”
“Why are you putting a spreader bar on me?”
“To keep your haunches spread,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Idiot.”
“I — I didn’t agree to this!” She stiffened her left leg, pulling it close to her body. It made her hoof too close to lock into the other cuff. I tried grabbing and pulling her leg away, but she squirmed and struggled.
“Move your leg.”
“No!”
“Move it now.”
“I’ll scream!”
I took in a deep breath and bellowed, “MY SHED IS SOUNDPROOF YOU DUMB BITCH! So, really, go ahead.” She shut up, but kept her leg locked tight against her body. I sighed. Honestly, cunts these days...
I wrapped my hoof around a strand of her luscious, curly tail and yanked it straight back, tearing a lock of hair straight from the base. She cried out in pain, and both her legs flew backwards. I snatched her left leg, locked the cuff in place, and then pulled her onto her hooves by her tail. She squirmed for a minute, unintentionally shaking her plush rump in my face.
“Please, stop,” she begged, her voice not much more than a whimper. “I don’t want to do this, I can’t do this.”
I rested a hoof on her inner thigh, feeling the warmth and softness of the thin, velvety coat there. “Look, kiddo. You agreed to have fun with me for half an hour. You’ve been here fifteen minutes. If you just play along for fifteen more minutes, then I will ignore my cherished civic duty, burn the evidence, and the Cakes will get another chance. Can’t you take fifteen minutes to help them?”
She sniffled, but didn’t reply.
I continued to grope her velvety coat. “I haven’t hurt you, have I?”
“You pulled out my tail hair,” she whined.
“Only a lock, and only because you weren’t behaving. This doesn’t hurt now, does it?” I asked, moving my hoof further up her thigh.
“You’re making me really uncomfortable,” she said.
“It doesn’t hurt, though, does it? You’re not actually in pain right now, are you?”
“No...”
“Exactly. And now you’ve only got fourteen minutes left.”
She just stayed there, head and shoulders pressed against the ground, squirming from my touch.
“Tell you what,” I said, “We’ll keep going, and if anything makes you really, totally, completely sure that you have to stop, just lift your tail high in the air, and we can figure something else out, okay?”
I put my hooves on her rump and pushed her forward. She put up a weak protest, but slowly hobbled forward on her front shoulders and bound hindlegs, until her nose was nearly pressed against my wonderful contraption.
It was a Lazy Susan, a mounted wheel with bowls built into it, that could be rotated to bring new bowls into place. This one had five large bowls built into it, all covered with metal lids, and was solidly built and reinforced. It needed to be, given what my plans for it were. I lifted her head up by her mane so that her chin was on top of the Lazy Susan, an inch away from the first of five bowls. She whined from having her mane pulled, but I didn’t care.
Behind the Lazy Susan was a simple mirror. There were no special changes or anything like that. I just wanted to see every expression on this little cunt’s face while I had my way with her.
I walked behind her and admired my prize. Pinkie Pie, the sweetest, friendliest, happiest pony in Ponyville, forelegs bound to her stomach, round, overfed ass wobbling right in my face, haunches spread wide, and a spreader bar keeping it open. She was trying to smile, but the way she sucked in her breaths and shuddered them out showed me exactly how much she meant that smile. Her stomach must have felt like it had dropped out through the floor.
I moved my muzzle under her tail, until she could just feel my breath on her loins. Her pussy was a tight, thin line, dripping with fluid from earlier, but only peeking open at the very top. I took a heady sniff. She stunk of sweetness and musk. I moved further up, touching my nose to her puckered hole. It was clean — just like you’d expect from a sweetness-and-light party girl with her friends and her smiles and her sweetened soaps — but clean is only relative, and I can find the shameful filth in even the cleanest of ponies. When I inhaled deeply, she did not disappoint. An earthier, tangier scent. Faint, of course, because every so-called-self-respecting-really-a-whore mare in this town tries to scrub that shame away.
It didn’t matter, though. I was in love, and I knew exactly which hole I’d be having the most fun with.
I pressed my tongue against her asshole. The heat was wonderful. I licked from the bottom of the hole to the base of the tail, and dived back in to lick again. It only tasted of skin and fear-sweat. I kept licking, and every time I licked I felt her tense up again, tighter and tighter like a coiled spring, her browneye puckering shamefully under my attentions. Her plump rump pressed against my cheeks, warm and soft like perfect pillows.
Pinkie started to whimper. Whether from pleasure or fear, I didn’t know. I hoped it was fear. I love it when they just know. When they know exactly why I’m tying them up, or getting their assholes nice and wet, or putting a catheter and speculum on display, or bringing out the hair clippers, and they know what’s about to happen and they’re terrified of it, but they know they can’t do a damn thing to stop it, like being tied to train tracks and seeing the headlamp getting closer and closer.
I pushed my tongue inside her hole. Her rubbery ring squeezed it tightly, pulsing faintly and trying to push the intruder out. It only made me want it more. I wriggled my tongue in deep, scraping along her walls, relishing the new note of bitterness under the skin and sweat and shame. She let out a squeak of pure humiliation, and then resumed her whimpering. I moved my head up to take a peek in the mirror, over her flanks.
Her eyes were scrunched shut, and tears were already running down her face.
Oh, I pray I never forget how lucky I am.
The tears tipped me over the edge. I’d long been hard — shit, I’d had trouble keeping it in my sheath since I woke up this morning — but now my cock felt like hot, volcanic glass underneath me, like it would shatter unless I stuffed it somewhere warm and snug and soft.
I looked under my barrel. There was already a small puddle of precum pooling underneath me, and an unbroken line drizzling straight from the tip of my shaft.
I hacked and rolled phlegm from the back of my throat, and spat a gob of it directly under Pinkie’s tail. It was worth it just for the way she winced when she felt it touch her skin. With one last lick, I pushed the spit and mucus into her asshole, getting it as slick as I could be bothered to get it.
I walked to the Lazy Susan and took off the first lid, revealing a bowl of warm oatmeal. It was thick and sludgy, a little steam still rising off it. I’d also stuck in four times more salt than any sane pony would want to eat.
“Okay, pink stuff, here’s your job. You’re gonna be a good girl and eat and drink what’s in these bowls, I’m gonna have a little bit of fun, and then you can go.”
“You said I could go in ten minutes,” she protested, “and those bowls are like, huge...”
“You’re a fast eater, aren’t you?” I said, “Surely a few measly bowls ain’t too much for you to get through in ten whole minutes? And, hey, if you can get through all five bowls in less than ten minutes, you get to go right then. Win-win, right? Now, eat up.”
She grumbled, but lowered her muzzle and lapped up a mouthful of oatmeal. She chewed and swallowed like a good little pony, but her face scrunched up as it went down.
“...it’s really salty.”
“Are you gonna eat or are you gonna whine?” I slapped her cushy rump right on the cutie-mark. She grunted in pain, but lowered her head and began to eat her oversalted oatmeal.
I mounted her from behind, and before she could react, I pressed the tip of my knob to her slick asshole. As I sunk inside her warm, hot hole, she lifted her head and yelled something incoherent through a mouthful of oatmeal.
I felt her tail raise, pressing up against my stomach, twitching with urgency. Her ‘tap-out’ signal. I paused a moment, until I was completely, utterly certain that she knew I had felt her pleas.
I pushed forward and sunk half of my cock in her ass in one slick thrust. The moan that escaped my lips barely sounded equine, and mixed beautifully with her muffled scream of pain. The heat, the marshmallowy softness of her rectum, the tightness of her asshole squeezing every inch of my shaft as it passed into her — all perfect.
“Pleash! Shtop!” She sprayed oatmeal over the rest of the Lazy Susan as she screamed out her plea. I wrapped a hoof around her mane, and shoved her head into the bowl of oatmeal. She struggled and pushed and burbled through the mess, but I kept her head under for a good fifteen seconds as I relished the feel of her ass massaging my cock.
I lifted her head from the bowl. Oatmeal completely covered her face. She coughed and spluttered, a few oats flying forward to hit the mirror. No tears, and no sobbing. She was too shocked to cry.
“Eat or drown,” I said, before pushing her face back down. I didn’t push her too deep this time, just enough that she could eat her way out with a few mouthfuls and get some more air.
She pissed me off by hesitating, so I smacked her cutie mark with my free hoof. It cracked against her coat, so I hit her again and again, trying to see if I could pop those fucking balloons on her ass. “Fucking eat you dumb cunt!”
With a squeal, she opened her mouth and started to eat. Slapping her ass one last time for emphasis, I watched her try to choke down the salty gloop.
I pulled out until only the tip of my cock was inside her, and then thrust straight back in. This time, my entire cock slipped inside her ass, until my balls were resting against her tight pussy and my hips were flush against her soft, cushiony rump. She let out a moan of pure anguish as I hilted inside her.
Oh, that fucking moan. I’m glad I jerked off earlier. That moan would have made me blow my load, right there.
Pinkie Pie’s ass was perfect in every way. I had to squeeze it and squish it and pinch the bruises I’d left on it from the spanking. It was as warm and soft as a mother’s love, and the sweat that had begun to lather up the coat made it all the more alluring.
I couldn’t get enough of her asshole, either. It wasn’t even the feeling, though the crushingly tight hole and the hot, sumptuously soft insides were amazing too. It was the pain. With every thrust, Pinkie gave a little defeated grunt into her food even as she tried to eat. I knew I was being rough. I knew I hadn’t used enough lube, only enough not to hurt my dick. I knew that if I were in her position, I’d be bawling like a fucking newborn. But I wasn’t in her position. I was on top of her, showing her exactly what a worthless cunt she was. Her pain and nausea were only matched by my pleasure and elation.
When she was halfway through the oatmeal, I decided to mess with her some more. I pressed my lips to the back of her neck, then bit down and sucked, almost hard enough to break the skin. She burbled through the oatmeal. I lifted her head up again, and looked at her face in the mirror. Her eyes were red and unfocused, her face was covered in sloppy, off-white goop, and her mouth hung open, dripping out half-chewed food.
I slammed inside her as hard as I could, my hips cracking against her rump. She coughed the mouthful of food back into the bowl.
“Tell me,” I grunted, “tell me how it fucking feels, cunt.”
“Please stop oh please it hurts so bad it—” She paused to let out something between a cough and a sob, tears carving valleys through the mess on her face, “—I can’t do this please lets do something else please I’m begging please pretty-super-duper-wuper-please?”
Hnnf. I didn’t think I could get any harder.
“No,” I replied, and pushed her face back down into the bowl.
I kept pumping away, enjoying her warm, welcoming asshole as she cried and desperately tried to eat the rest of her food. To tell the truth, I almost felt sorry for her. Soon, her tongue was scraping the bottom of the metal bowl.
I eased off her back and let her slowly lift her head. Her neck twitched as she tried to hold her head up straight, and she looked at me in the mirror with terror in her eyes.
“Please,” she begged, “We’re done, I finished, it’s been half an hour—”
“Not yet,” I said. Her face was a fucking mess. I figured as much oatmeal was on her face as in her belly. Reaching around, I wiped up the slop from her cheeks, lips and chin with my hoof. Then, I presented it to her face.
“Lick.”
She pushed her tongue out and lapped at it. When she reached my hoof through the food, she winced from the taste. I giggled. My hooves are pretty fucking filthy, they can’t taste too good I guess.
“You’ve had a lot of salty oatmeal,” I said, “Now what kind of crappy host would I be if I let you go without giving you something to drink?”
I lifted the next lid from the Lazy Susan. Two pints of the cheapest red box wine you can find in Ponyville. They’d barely strained the skins out. It had a subtle aroma of grape soda and antifreeze, in the mouth sensations of watered-down sherry, and an aftertaste of regret and beer-farts.
“Drink up!” I said, dunking her head into the liquid.
I started fucking her like a madpony as she squealed from pain, blowing bubbles through the wine. I can’t even imagine how much pain she must have been in, but from the way she thrashed and struggled and how her sphincter tried to squeeze my dick in two, it can’t have been fun.
She tried to buck me off like a rodeo bull. Every time she did, she just slammed her rump back up into my hips, fucking herself deeper onto my dick. I reared back and put my forehooves on her flanks, ready to really give her a pounding.
Cheap wine sprayed against my face. The bitch managed to throw her head up out of the wine bowl. She spilt half of it on the floor, damn it. It was time to teach her a lesson.
She wailed like a seasick goat, hair and face drenched, wine spilling from her lips and running out of her nostrils. Every few seconds, she’d cough some more wine up.
I grabbed her head in both hooves, and slammed her face down to the floor.
“Ow,” she said. She sounded weak, like she was barely conscious. If I’d been thrusting, I’d have come right then.
I lifted her face to look in the mirror. Her eyelids were twitching and her jaw was shaking. There was already a mark on her left cheek where it had smacked the wooden floor, and a thin trickle of blood was running down her nostril, far bolder than the thin, purple wine that coated the rest of her face.
I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You spilled half the wine. I don’t like having my gifts thrown back in my face. You’re gonna drink it all down like a good pony, or I’m going to hurt you real bad.”
“Y-y-y-you s-said I could go,” she squeaked, and let out a loud hiccup. “You s-said I c-could go after half an hour it’s b-been half an hour p-please let me go please let me go please?”
“I lied. Drink up or suffer,” I said, lowering her head back to the bowl.
“W-wait! Please wait, I’ll do it but wait!”
I sighed, and pulled her head back up. “What?”
“I c-can’t drink when you’re going so hard...”
“Well, I’m not going to stop fucking you.”
“Can you g-go slower?”
“Beg.”
She tried to turn my her head to look back at me, but I held her in place. “Huh?”
“Beg for it.”
“...please go slower?”
“Go slower what?”
“P-please fuck me slower?” Eyes wide with panic, she added, “In my ass?”
Oh, Mother of Celestia...
I nuzzled her wet mane to hide my grin. She gasped as I moved my hips, softly slipping into her asshole inch by inch. “There. Now drink.”
With a whimper, she lowered her head and began to lap at the wine. The slow, sublime strokes into her hot and welcoming asshole were exactly what I needed. I suppressed a groan and nibbled at the back of her neck. Thick flanks shifted under me, this time trying to find a comfortable position rather than escape.
Soon, she was done. I lifted her head while I rotated the Lazy Susan. Her eyes were unfocused, and even under her wine-soaked fur I could see her drunken blush. Blood still ran from her left nostril, and the mark on her cheek had begun to bruise.
“You’ll love the next one,” I said, “It’s foreign cuisine.”
I lifted the lid, letting out a whoof at the stench. Pinkie’s eyes went wide with horror. She was shaking her head without even realising it. Her mouth opened and closed several times, and then in a quiet voice she said:
“Dog food isn’t for ponies...”
I laughed, looking down at the dark mess. “Hey, that’s luxury dog food! Stewed rabbit and duck in gravy, with carrots and white rice for added vitamins!
“No!” She lifts her head and swings it to the side, landing with a grunt.
“Hey now, you were being such a good little pony,” I said, “Don’t make me hurt you.”
She shook her head, and tried to wiggle as far away from the third bowl as possible. Sighing, I grabbed her head. It was like bending a plank of wood. I shifted to her mane, and yanked it. She let out a little keening sound, eyes screwed shut, but still wouldn’t budge. I yanked harder, and ripped a tuft from her head. Tears ran down her face as she started crying openly, but she still wouldn’t move.
Bitches, honestly.
I tried persuasion first. “Hey, hey now. You’re a fun pony, right? Dogs are fun animals! Look at them, they’re always bouncing and playing and shit. Now you can be just like one, you little cunt!” I grabbed her head and tried to force her again, but she still wouldn’t move. Huh. Stronger than she looks.
Time to switch to threats. I leaned down, bit her ear so hard she squealed, and growled, “Look, bitch. You’re tied up in a soundproof shed on the edge of town. I’ve got a pony-sized reinforced travelling case outside. In half an hour, I can have you sedated, stuffed into that case, and on a taxi to Manehattan while I tell my boss that I’ve had a family emergency in Fillydelphia and won’t be back for a month. I know some terrible ponies in Manehattan. You think this, this right here is bad? These ponies will feed you nothing but cum for a week just to see you suffer. They’ll shave your mane and dye your coat and torture you until you forget how to speak, so even if your friends could find you, they wouldn’t recognise you. They’ll take a filly barely old enough to have a cutie mark and pull out her teeth one by one so she gives better blowjobs, and they’ll do that to you in a heartbeat.” It was all bullshit, of course. I don’t think there’s another pony as sick as me in the whole world.
I paused, just long enough to relish her little sounds of fear. “So, unless you want to spend the rest of your miserable life getting raped in every hole eighteen hours a day by stallions who fucking hate mares, you’ll shut the fuck up and eat your fucking dog food.”
I didn’t stop fucking her for a moment. The way her ass felt while she quaked from fear and disgust was indescribable.
Slowly, haltingly, she lowered her head into the bowl and started to eat the dog food. The first mouthful was too much for her. She gagged and burst into tears again.
“You’re a good girl,” I murmured, feeling her tail twitch against my hips, “Be strong and keep eating.”
She began to choke it down, piece by piece. I think the chewiness really got to her. It’s one thing eating a disgusting piece of dead flesh from a cute little rabbit. It’s another thing entirely mulching it between your teeth until it falls to shreds, the flavor coating your tongue. She was dry heaving with just about every mouthful. Every time she swallowed, her ass would contract around the base of my dick.
Halfway through the bowl, she lifted her head, groaned in pain, and let a mouthful of slop fall from her lips. She stood there, utterly still, ears plastered to the back of her skull. When I thrust inside her, she panicked.
“Please!” she yelped, “Please don’t kidnap me please it was an accident I’ll be g-good I’ll eat the rest don’t pull my teeth out please—”
“Shhhh. It’s okay, that was just an accident,” I said, pressing my lips to her neck and kissing softly. “You ready to keep going?”
“N-yeah.”
“Good girl.” I grabbed her head and pushed her down into the bowl, and heard her face hit the bottom with a dull thud. There was a burble through the liquid, but she settled down and started to chew her way through the mulch.
When there was nothing left in the bowl but a thin coating of gravy, I pulled her up. Her face was dripping with brown sauce, mixed with the wine from earlier and a few stray spots of oatmeal. As well as the bruise and the bloody nose, she now had a split lip and a chipped front tooth. She swallowed, and looked at me with fear.
She looked prettier by the second. It was like she’s trying to turn me on.
I took the third lid, revealing a big bowl of beer! “I’ve got this griffon friend,” I said, “and he told me you just can’t have meat without beer. We were both balls deep in this little Flight Camp student, and he also said it was way more fun having claws when you fuck a pony because you can leave lovely scars all over their rump, and that looked pretty damn fun so the dude clearly knew what he was talking about.”
Pinkie groaned and lowered her face to the beer. She took a cautious lick, and winced. “It tastes funny.”
“That’s cheap beer for you. Hey, I’m working on a budget here,” I said, fondling her sides. To tell the truth, it wasn’t the only reason the beer tasted funny. Three and a half pints was the cheapest beer in Ponyville. Half a pint was my morning piss, for added flavor. With a grumble, she dipped her head and started to drink it up.
I couldn’t even be bothered to fuck her hard, at that point. Pinkie Pie was so soft and warm and cute. I just wanted to take her all in. I hocked up a loogie and spat on my dick a few more times, getting it slicker and wetter and smoother. My hooves roamed all over her, petting her ears, tousling her limp and sodden mane, squeezing the balloons on her cutie mark, pressing into her pudgy, bloated belly — she grunted in protest at that one. She was my little toy, and I wanted to have fun with her forever.
I reached under her and started to play with her pussy. It was still dry as a bone, except for the spit that had run down the crack of her ass. A shudder ran through her body when I started fondling her. After another minute of slow, slick fucking and having her pussy rubbed, I felt her lower lips part ever so slightly.
A hiccup came from the bowl. “I’m d-done. I’ve dranked it, please let me go,” she slurred, “please I’m full I feel sick don’t make me eat another one...”
“Heeeyy, don’t be like that! I’ve got you something really nice for the last bowl,” I said.
She just sobbed. “It’s horrible. It’s something horrible...”
I removed the final lid. Pinkie’s jaw dropped as she looked at the thick, brown substance under her chin.
“That’s...”
“A bowl of the Canterlot Chocolate Company’s Triple-Luxury Quadruple-Cream Chocolate Pudding. I’ve heard it’s your favorite.”
She grimaced. “Heh, yeah...”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Eat up!”
She looked back at me, pouting. “D-do I have to? I’m really full and I don’t feel too good.”
“Tch, come on now. You’ve just had four bowls of gross stuff, and now you’ve got one last bowl of your favorite chocolate pudding in the whole world. Can’t you finish just one more bowl?”
She swallowed, and tried to smile. “I guess?”
Lowering her head, she sniffed the chocolate. She must have liked it, because she started eating it straight away, making happy little noises as it washed away all the horrible tastes from her mouth. She gasped in pain a few times when I began to fuck her faster, but didn’t stop eating, taking in mouthfuls and swallowing them carefully so she wouldn’t throw them back up.
Pinkie ate her way through the chocolate pudding, and when she got close to the bottom of the bowl, I started ramming her again. We were close to the finish, so there was no point going slow and having to jerk off in place for ten minutes waiting for the best bit.
When she was done, I lifted her face up to look at her in the mirror. Chocolate pudding ran down her lips. Her face and mane were a fucking mess, coated in wine, chocolate, oatmeal, meat, gravy and beer. Her eyes were unfocused and red, from tears and from having food shoved into them. Her nose was still bloody, and her lips swollen. Both her ears were flat against her head.
The best part? Her mane was flat. Completely flat, limp and dull even where it wasn’t covered in food, spit and grossness. I’d barely noticed it, but it was like all the joy and bubbliness had been leaking out of her with every thrust of my shaft up her shitter.
“Caaan we staph now?” she said, slurring and lisping from the alcohol and overworking her tongue. Her head was still at the bottom of the bowl, and she licked the few remaining streaks of chocolate pudding off the steel.
That was it. No more.
I picked her up and threw her onto her back. She landed with a grunt, too drunk and exhausted to even be terrified any more. I swung his hips over her face, then glanced down at my cock. I grinned. No lumps or streaks — a shame — but it was obvious from the smell and the discolored lube exactly where it’s just been.
The cunt tried to close her mouth, so I rubbed it over her lips. Pinkie Pie must want a sample on her lips before she gets down and swallows like a good mare. I got impatient a second later, so I just punched her between the legs.
I’d like to think the pain of the punch didn’t hurt the most. I’d like to think the shock and the scream through her worn-out throat didn’t hurt the most. I really, really hope that what hurt the most was the realization, a millisecond after she opened her lips to scream, was that my spit, blood and filth covered shaft was going right in her mouth and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop me.
I forced my cock inside, holding her head straight so she couldn’t move away, and began to fuck her face. Pinkie thrashed on the ground. Spit and snot sprayed from her mouth and nostrils. I pressed deep into her throat, nearly sinking my cock in, until I felt her give a full-body shudder. I pulled out, leaving only the head of my cock in her mouth, ready for a show.
She threw up for the first time, a little vomit making her cheeks bulge and seeping from the corners of her lips. I thrust in again to the hilt, until my balls were snug against her nose. I grounds inward, giggling. I wanted to make sure she truly appreciated my little stilton trick with my cock down her throat. Something about smothering some poor mare’s nostrils with my sweaty, unwashed ballsack, well...
It makes me love being a stallion, that’s for sure.
I thrust three times, going halfway out and hilting again, before pulling out completely. A copious quantity of thick, hideous vomit spewed from Pinkie’s mouth, spreading down over her face. It was so thick I couldn’t make out her facial features through it. As she moved to retch a second time, I slammed back in again, letting it seep out around his shaft.
I did that three times over, loving the sensation of her gullet trying to reject my prick and failing miserably, as well as the degrading, hideously disgusting ordeal she’s going through. It was not good vomit. It was not vomit that you wipe up and spray some air freshener over. It was the vomit that you clean up, scrub out from every surface, and still stinks up the whole room two weeks later. It was thick, brown, and chunky, still fizzy from the beer and acrid from the wine, and sharp as white vinegar. It clung to every hair on her face, slimed her eyes shut, spurted out her nostrils and ran down into her ears.
I had to let her appreciate it some more. I pulled out completely. Limbs flailing, she let out an incoherent scream.
“Can’t breathe!” she gasped, a few moments later.
I was feeling nice, so I gave her a quick break. She coughed, took three deep, hysterical breaths, and then wailed with terror when I lowered my hips and shoved my cock back in, ready to fuck her throat again.
I was getting closer, but felt frustratingly far from cumming. I think she’d started to accept it and just let my cock pillage her throat. I’d have to change that.
I started punching the bitch in the gut, just so she’d throw up more with my cock buried inside her throat. Every time I landed a blow, her esophagus convulsed sublimely around me. She was trying to turn away from the punches but her heart wasn’t really in it, and she was too tired and disoriented to do much else other than thrash, groan, and vomit more as I rained down blows. I punched her right in the teats, not to make it better for me, but just because I could. I used to do it with Ditzy, way back when she was still nursing her little cuntspawn, just to see her swollen mammaries ooze milk as she cried in pain. Pinkie Pie’s perfectly pert pink teats reminded me of those glory days.
Pinkie did something very special for me. She wet herself, right there. A glorious streak of yellow piss arched into the air, as her whole body tried to escape in every direction at once.
It was too much for me.
Hot cum surged through my cock, the first spurt pouring down her throat. I pulled out to cum on her face. It was thick and there was lots of it, but there was so much vomit on her face that my jizz was barely visible. I stuck my cock back in her mouth as the last few spurts came out, making sure she got a taste. I don’t think she liked it.
I dragged her to a sitting position, just to admire her. When I let go, she tried flopping to the ground, but I kept yelling at her and slapping her until she stayed upright. It was a sight for sore eyes.
Her face was covered in splotches of vomit and food, and even the bits that were clear of, well, bits, were still soaked with beer and wine. My cum was barely visible in the background of the mess, only the thickest streaks standing out. Her cheek was marred by an ugly bruise where I’d rammed her into the floor hard enough to break the skin, her eye above it had swollen shut, blood was pouring from her nose and dripping down her chin. The best bit was her mouth. The bottom lip was split, and I’d broken one of her front teeth damn near in half. I’d taken the prettiest smile in Ponyville, and I’d ruined it.
No, the best bit was her mane. Something weird had happened, maybe all the chemicals bitches put in their manes don’t react well with beer or vomit or something, but it had lost its sheen and was straight as a board, except where the lumps of oatmeal and bile and foulness had crusted over and made weird kinks of it. Her tail, too. There was a little blood matted up in the base. Apparently I had gone too hard on her ass...
No, no, the best bit was the smell. She’d worn some perfume, something smelling of cinnamon bubblegum, just enough to smell if she got close enough to hug you. Now, there were some other smells. The cheesy stink of breakfast-vomit. The tang of cheap wine and beer. The fucked-up death stench of dog food. The pleasantly musky aroma of her fear-piss. The sweat and filth of a garbage-pony after he'd spend an evening pounding away at a dumb cunt’s shithole.
I took a deep sniff, and even under all that rot, I could still smell the bubblegum. Definitely the best—
No, no, no, the best bit was how Pinkie Pie was acting. She whimpered like a whipped dog and shook so hard that her hind leg beat a drum-roll into the floorboards. I’ve seen a few mares in a real fucked up way after I’ve been through with them, but this whore was definitely in the top eight. Her mouth was shut and she just stared straight ahead, like she wanted to cry but couldn’t figure out how.
“So,” I asked, “How you feelin’?”
Pinkie didn’t say nothing. She twitched, and some vomit and jizz dribbled from between her lips. She didn’t even bother wiping it away.
“You feel proud of yourself? You just saved the Cakes, y’know...”
I love fucking with them. I love drawing it out, letting them know that even though my dick ain’t in their mouth, I’m still messing with their heads, humiliating them. I love it when it slowly dawns on them that it’ll never be over, not really. Not when they clamp their tails down whenever they see a garbage cart. Not when they see me walking through town, bragging to my co-workers about some hot bitch I banged the other day.
Not when I turn to look at them, and smirk.
“Well, I’m about done here, but there’s one last thing I need to know before you go...”
She looked at me, ears splayed back in terror. “W-what?”
“Did you have fun?”
Pinkie Pie looked at me like she didn’t know what a smile was.
And that was the best bit.
Author's Note
sometimes sorry doesnt cut it
I'll be honest: taking Pinkie Pie to Manehattan was a snap decision. I hadn't planned it from the start. Sure, I had the kit ready from the start, but that was just about being prepared. After I'd fed her the meal and blown my load, I'd fully intended to load her up with brain-muddling potions, scrub away the evidence, and dump her on the outskirts of town somewhere. But seeing her on the floor, crying and filthy, covered in bruises... it would have been a waste to stop there.
She didn't struggle when I packed her up, ready to go. She just let me fold her forelegs and hindlegs in at the knees, bind them with straps, and then strap them to her body. She didn't resist when I hiked up her tail, tied it up in rope, and tied it to her mane, exposing her crotch and forcing her head back. When I forced the vibrators in her cunt and asshole she cried louder, but I can't really blame her. I mean, ten inches long, thick as tennis balls, cold, hard plastic? Who wouldn't flinch, right?
Pinkie didn't like the gag, not one bit. Partly because it was a cock gag, three inches long, just enough to make her choke and gag if she relaxes too much, and partly because it probably hurt pressing up against her broken front teeth and cut-up lips, but I don't think she liked its special features either. See, the soft plastic surface was full of holes, the core was hollow, and a tube fed into it from the outside. The tube led to a thick plastic syringe filled with dog cum, which I save in the freezer for special occasions like this. A rubber band stretched over the top of the plunger and the bottom of the barrel put pressure on it, just enough to force a few droplets of doggy jizz into Pinkie's waiting mouth. Every time she moved her mouth and licked away the cum, the pressure would change just enough to let a few more droplets through. She'd be tasting a steady flow of canine cum for the whole trip, and from what I hear, that stuff makes pony cum taste like freshly-squeezed OJ in comparison.
I blindfolded her, fed breathing tubes down her nose, and strapped on noise-cancelling headphones, playing recordings of my funtimes with previous victims. She fit snugly in the padded suitcase, and once I checked the air tanks were functional, I loaded her into the back of the garbage wagon and set off.
It takes seven hours to reach Manehattan, pulled by the wagon's steam engine, but I made it into nine hours. I stopped to eat once, and stopped to open up the case and jerk off over Pinkie Pie's terrified, blindfolded face three times.
I got to Delaney's Pool Club, a shitty dive in a basement in a shittier neighborhood, thirty minutes before it shut. Delaney is a donkey, a fuck-up, and always up for anything. The only others in the bar were Marten and Fido, a griffon and a diamond dog, both also fuck-ups. When I told them my plan, they grinned. Delaney hung the 'closed' sign over the door and went out to get some friends, I went to the wagon to get the stuff I needed to set it up, and Marten and Fido volunteered to keep Pinkie Pie company.
It took longer than I'd meant it to take to get the crap out of the wagon. I even left some nasty gear behind because it was enough work carting the frame, the tools, and the Fishbowl inside. I could always get the other stuff later.
When I got back in, Fido had bent Pinkie Pie over a pinball machine, still blindfolded, deafened and gagged, and was raping her ass. He was smoking a cigarette and playing pinball while he screwed her, his paws on the buttons, giggling as he humped away and watched the score rise.
"Careful, bud, you keep that up and yer gonna tilt," said Marten. The griffon reached under Pinkie Pie, and picked up the dildo from the floor that had been in her ass, still rattling away. He pulled the vibrator that was still in her cunt straight out, and forced the ass-vibrator in to replace it. I laughed. Seeing the stupid bitch suffer was one thing, but seeing her go ass-to-pussy with a dildo and not even know? Hilarious.
By the time I'd hammered the frame together, Fido had blown his load in Pinkie's ass. He pulled the dildo out of her pussy, plugged her leaking ass, and walked off to crack open a beer as Marten mounted Pinkie, forcing his barbed griffon dick into her cunt. I walked over, wondering if it hurt more to be split open by the huge dildo or to be scratched and scraped by a spiky cock. I thought of taking her gag off and asking her, but I didn't really want to hear her talk. Instead, I grabbed the cum syringe - still half-full - and squeezed. She gagged and shuddered as jizz pulsed into her mouth. A thin line dripped from her nose.
Marten finished off, claws digging into Pinkie's back, as Delaney walked in with his friends in tow. Three ponies, Gilt, Stretch, and Twat. Gilt was a pimp, Stretch did odd-jobs, and Twat was a cum-dumpster. That wasn't her real name. I can't remember her real name, shit, I'd be surprised if shecould. I think she used to work in the fashion industry or some shit. Gilt made her shave her mane and tail and wear a deep red wig and extensions, and he'd dyed her coat. Now, Twat was her name, job, and purpose in life. She got down on her knees to suck Marten and Fido's dirty dicks clean, and I grabbed Pinkie.
Pinkie Pie still didn't resist when I put her in the frame. She was sat down on her rump, both vibrators back in and buzzing, inside the skeleton of a wooden cube, with her neck sticking out of the top. I hammered on four sides of wood, leaving her sat in a box, and then nailed two strips of wood to the frame at either side of her neck, preventing her moving her head from side to side, and then another two strips at the back and front of her neck, so she couldn't move back or forward either. I hammered a few more slats of wood in place, and voila! Pinkie Pie, stuck in a box, with only her head sticking out.
I took off her blindfold and headphones. One of her eyes was swollen shut from her earlier beatings, but her good eye looked at me with terror.
"I'm going to change your gag now," I told her. "You're not going to speak. If you do, I'll kill you. After we've had our fun with you. Understand?"
She nodded frantically.
I unstrapped the cock gag and removed it, an unbroken line of milky-white spit and cum hanging between the tip and her tongue before snapping and dropping down onto her chin. She worked her jaw and whimpered, but was a good girl and didn't speak. Before she had a chance to fuck everything up for herself, I put a metal dental spreader in her mouth, the bars hooking into her top and bottom teeth, and cranked it wide. She cried at the pressure on her cracked teeth. I thought of loosening it to be kind, but I just spat in her mouth instead.
Then, the Fishbowl. It looked like a normal fishbowl, big enough to go over a pony's head, but it had no bottom and there was a forward slant to the top. It was a novelty item that a beauty spa had thrown out, designed to let a mare's mane luxuriate in a mixture for hours without having to lie down in a bath. The bottom was enchanted. I dropped it over Pinkie Pie's head, bottom first, and when the base touched the top of her box, the bottom of the bowl warped and shrank until it touched her neck, forming a watertight seal. The lowest part of the slanted tip was level with her eyebrows. She was crying again.
Maybe she knew what was coming next.
"I fixed the plumbing," I said. A cheer came from behind me.
I looked back. Marten and Fido were drinking, stroking their half-hard cocks. Gilt and Stretch were double-penetrating Twat, and had just filled her cunt and ass with their cum. After Twat cleaned them up, they walked over. Delaney laid her back on a table, pushed her hind-hooves up to her neck, and started slamming his cock in her cunt.
I reared up, placed the tip of my semi-hard cock at the lip of the fishbowl, and looked down at Pinkie Pie. She was shivering. I decided to warm her up.
I let loose, and blasted her face with a spray of thick, dark-yellow piss. She thrashed and spluttered, squealing as it went up her nose and in her eyes, but could only turn her head a few inches either side. It dyed her coat hot pink, steam rising off it, hot and musky. I didn't aim at her mouth, as it had already filled to her bottom lip, and I was barely half-done, so I took the time to drench her mane liberally. By the time I was down to the last spurts of piss, there wasn't a dry spot on her face. I saved the last jets for her ears. I wanted her to feel like she was drowning in piss.
The others laughed at her as I shook the last drops off. My piss was the color of egg yolks and not much thinner, and the level of piss in the bowl reached all the way up to her top lip. With the dental gag keeping her mouth open, her tongue was completely soaked in urine. She could swallow it, or sit there and taste it.
Fido didn't give her time to decide. I stepped away so he could take my place and he started instantly, aiming his stream directly at her nose. The splatter stopped her from getting air, and soon the level of piss would force her to make that choice: become a urinal, or drown. As the line reached her eyes, her hooves banged on the sides of the box. Fido pinched his dick, cutting off his flow. He was always the nicest guy of the bunch.
We heard the 'glug' as Pinkie Pie swallowed her first mouthful of hot, stinking piss. Fido was kind enough to let her take half a breath before he started pissing again.
I went and got a beer as Marten took his turn. Delaney was still railing Twat, so I sat on her face. Her tongue wormed its way into my ass, giving me the most thorough cleaning I'd had in months. I grabbed her mane in a bunch and wrapped it around my dick, jerking off as she ate me out.
I watched Gilt put the tip of a lit cigarette on Pinkie Pie's tongue with his telekinesis, only for Stretch to put it out half a second later with a jet of piss. Stretch's piss was clearer than most of ours - the guy drinks a lot - but it came out like a firehose. You could see the panic in Pinkie Pie's eye as she tried to down that stuff in time. Gilt was the worst of both worlds - there must have been two pints of near-orange piss stored up inside him before our little pink toilet drank it down.
Delaney waited until Pinkie Pie had swallowed everything before he took his turn. He practically jumped off of Twat - she whined about the lack of dick but had the sense to keep her tongue deep in my ass - hurried over to Pinkie, placed the tip of his dick on the lip of the bowl, and roared as he blew his load all over her face. The slimy goo covered her, clinging to her mane, hanging off her eyebrows, slipping down her cheeks, and dripping off her top lip into her mouth. Instead of squeezing the last drops out, he sighed and began to piss. The first blast was ropey, half-piss-half-cum, and the rest was a low-pressure spray of neon-yellow liquid. I think Pinkie Pie was almost happy that it wasn't a deluge like the last two. With careful aim, Delaney sprayed away all the cum, mixing it into a frothy broth with his piss that Pinkie was forced to consume.
Pinkie started dry-heaving once she'd finished slurping down the final load of piss, so I got the cock gag, loaded it with a fresh syringe of dog cum, and strapped it back in. The night was young yet, and she wasn't allowed to throw up unless we told her to.
We took turns with the girls, triple penetration, ass-to-mouth, ass-to-pussy, all the good stuff. Me and Delaney double-stuffed Twat's ass while she ate out Pinkie Pie's cunt. When we finally let Pinkie throw up, we saved a doggy bowl of it, and started a fucking competition. Last bitch to get three guys off had to lick it up. Twat lost, and lapped up a mixture of regurgitated piss and cum while Gilt railed her ass. We rewarded Pinkie Pie by making her lick the cum out of Twat's cunt and ass. They both served as urinals a few more times before the night was through.
In the morning, I left Pinkie Pie with Gilt. He was going to rent her out for a few days and split the money with me, to earn back the cost of the holiday in Manehattan. I know I said I'd let Pinkie go, but I'm honestly not sure now. She's growing on me, and if Gilt is right, she'll be a good earner...
