How to Choke Your Chicken
"See ya, Apple Bloom! See ya, Sweetie Belle!" Scootaloo called out, waving a hoof in the air. Scoots turned back around, continuing to trot down the dirt road through Ponyville. It didn't take her long to get home from school, and she was soon pushing her way through her front door and lazily dumping her saddlebags onto the living room floor. She skipped her own bedroom, for the time being, instead heading into the kitchen for an after-school snack.
She emerged after a few minutes, munching away with a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie. She paused in the doorway to the living room, shoving another of the tasty treats into her mouth before turning to her discarded bags. Her mom would no doubt yell at her if she left them in the living room, again, so she'd better go put them away before she got home from work. Scoots bit down on the strap between the two sacks, little cookie crumbs spilling from her snout, and made her way to her bedroom.
As she approached her room, she tilted her head to one side in curiosity. There was a strange noise coming from beyond the closed door. She hesitated for a few seconds just in front of the door, listening to the wet, rhythmic noises coming from inside. Then she gave the door a weak push with one hoof, sending it ever-so-slowly swinging open. What she saw made her eyes shoot wide, and her saddlebags fell to the floor as her jaw dropped. "Dad?!"
It was her father, alright, sitting on her bed and staring up at one of her walls. His eyes were locked on one of her posters, but it wasn't the poster of the Wonderbolts. No, it was the autographed poster of Rainbow Dash, her lithe body draped over a motorcycle, her eyes half lidded, and her lips curled into a smirk. It had been a hard poster to find, especially for a poor filly like Scootaloo. However, the acquisition of the poster wasn't the only thing that was hard.
Her father gasped, whipping around and wrenching his gaze from the admittedly smoking-hot photograph of Rainbow. "Scootal—ohhhh," he said, his shocked exclamation turning into a guttural moan. His hooves were wrapped around his unsheathed stallionhood, which was now giving the ceiling a paint job in a neutral off-white. He grit his teeth, leaning forward and trying to hide his shameful display from his seemingly-innocent daughter. All that accomplished, however, was diverting his aim away from the now-sticky ceiling and into the doorway.
Scootaloo didn't even have time to blink before a thick rope of white goo catapulted through the air, shooting past her teeth and right down her throat. Her hooves quickly moved to her neck as her airways were assaulted by the splooge. Unfortunately, her desperate attempt to draw in air only left her mouth open for more wads of seed to spurt into her mouth, further clogging her trachea.
Her hooves clawed and scrabbled at her neck, raking against her fur in a futile attempt to free the obstruction, but it was for naught. Scootaloo collapsed onto the ground, choking on her own father's jizz. White-tinted drool slid from her mouth and onto the wooden floor, pouring into the cracks between the boards.
Her father got up from the bed, his penis flopping about like a dead skunk, and did his best to gallop to her rescue. Alas, one of his forehooves hit her scooter—a gift from the stallion himself—and sent his face smashing into the floor. More importantly (to him), it also crushed his dick beneath his ribs. He screamed in a manner that was most certainly not girly in any way, rolling onto his side and clutching at his broken shaft as tears welled up in his eyes. He bit his lip, fighting through the pain, and dragged himself closer to his poor daughter.
It was precisely at that moment that Scootaloo's mother arrived home from work, flinging open the door with a cheerful, "Honey, I'm—augh!" She screeched in horror at the sight before her. There was her husband, clutching his sticky, dripping ramrod in the doorway at the end of the hall. There was her daughter, lying still on the floor with white fluid seeping from her mouth and her eyes clamped shut. The mare's face contorted into pure, unfiltered, unleaded rage. "You bastard! You filthy, sick son of a bitch!"
The mare threw herself down the hallway, smoke pluming from her nostrils with each exhalation. The stallion tried to groan out a defensive response, but his mouth couldn't function through the unbearable pain in his loins. Her hooves were a hail storm upon his body, crashing down against every inch of his lying form as she mercilessly beat him for murdering her beloved daughter in a manner most profane. Only when she finally took a break about an hour later was he finally able to gain any respite from the endless beating.
By the time Scootaloo's mother got back from the kitchen with her water bottle, the stallion had dragged his broken body to the side of the bed. She glared down at his pitiful attempt to escape, but then raised an eyebrow as he spoke.
"Not... Scoot... accident..." he whispered through his shattered teeth, pointing a hoof up toward the Rainbow Dash poster.
The cogs in the mare's mind worked overtime as she stared at the photo print, her scowl fading. The stallion then pointed to the ceiling, sending her gaze to the drying spot of cum. She scratched at her head for a second, and then said, "You were furiously masturbating to Rainbow Dash and accidentally ejaculated into our daughter's mouth when she came home?"
The stallion nodded, looking up at her through the only eye that still worked.
"Oh, sorry," the mare said with an uneasy smile. "I actually can't blame you for that. I clop to Rainbow, myself." She snickered, and her husband joined her after a second. "Guess we better get you to a hospital. Come on."
Scootaloo was given a tasteful funeral the next week.