Without a Butterfly

It would be all to easy to kill the two right then and there. Both stunned, unmoving from the intimate position you caught them in. The only movement, in fact, was the thick stream of yellow that now flooded out of Mrs. Cake's nethers to the floor, as both participants pissed themselves at your sudden, and quite terrifying, entrance.

Holding the knife to Mrs. Cake's throat you glower at her, smelling the stale smell of sweat, sex, and now urine.

“Both of you, out, to the table.” You growled. There was no plan as you kept a secure grip on the knife handle, forcing them to do what you said. If things were under different circumstances, they might have even escaped, due to your lack of experience with such situations, but these two were too dumb and scared to even think about trying to run. You feel your lips curve into a tight grin as wave upon wave of cruel ideas of torture came to your mind.

It didn't take much time, securing them to some chairs that were kept in one of the back rooms, and with all the balloon knotting you've done in the past, you knew there was no way, without divine intervention, they were going to get out of those ropes.

“P-p-please don't kill us!” The mystery stallion cried. Oh my. This would be a mood killer. “W-w-we're so-”

You didn't even bother to look the pony in the face. With a deft movement, you stabbed the knife down, sliding straight in his left foreleg. His screams were reduced to crocks and coughing as you added a swift jab to this throat.

“Now do you understand?!” You demand, blood boiling from between the cold steel of the knife and the pale blue fur. “You're not in control here, so SHUT UP!!”

The stallion choked, and gasped, unable to make any intelligible sounds. With a vicious jerk, you grab the knife, seeing the dark well of blood overflowing around the glistening metal, slowly slipping over the edge and sliding down his fur, creating lighter streaks of red. It reminded you of hoof painting, when you were younger.

Tugging at the knife, you discover some resistance, like some little part of the blade was snagged on something that just wouldn't budge. Switching your grip from a hoof to your mouth, you start working the knife side to side, widening the cut, forcing more blood to spill over and river down the stud's forelocks, causing his eyes to water as he whimpered. With a sudden sensation of release, the knife blade popped out with a little jolt, that sent you off balance for a moment.

Red splattered on the floor. Looking at it, the blood of your first victim, something stirs in you. What was it? What about this dark, red blood made you feel so...alive? So, complete? No, complete was the wrong word. There was only one thing in the world that could do that, and she was walking further and further away as you thought. No, this blood made you feel...pleasure.

Hesitantly, you drip the knife still in your gritted teeth and lean down a little. You sniff the blood spatter, not sure what to expect. It...smelled...like iron. No, no iron. Rust? Dipping your head a little further, you experimentally lap at a few drops.

The sensation to hit your taste buds was unexpected. There was a metallic taste, along with salt. Other than that, there were no real flavors you could detect, but it did leave a strange after taste, like the taste. The sensation in your stomach and chest stirred once more.

Mrs. Cake's whimpering brings you back to reality. You look from her to her 'lover' and an idea pops into your head. An idea that would let you experiment with this new sensation, and also, let you show exactly how you felt about all these years of passive aggressive abuse directed towards you. Oh the idea made you giggle. It made you happy, and you started to prance around like a giddy school pony with her first crush on the playground.

“Let's play a game, shall we?” You chortle to the stallion. “I will ask some questions. If you answer truthfully, something good will happen. But, if you tell me a lie, I'll hurt you. Sound like fun?” You giggle-snort at his wide eyed look.

“Now, first question, how long have you been,” Putting a hoof to your chin, you sit back and think for a moment. “What's the polite way to say it? Knocking boots with Mrs. Cake?”

“T-three months!” He stammers. All your experience throwing parties has taught you when ponies lie. A most useful tool to know if the party was a real success or the pony is just trying to make you feel better.

“Oh no,” You frown comically, as you lay the knife on his thigh. “That was a lie.”

You smile broadly as you pull the sharp steel slowly across his skin, not pressing too deep. His gasps of pain delighted your ears as you watched the paper thin line in his light blue fur slowly started to weep with dark crimson tears. The red tears demanded your attention and so you watched for a few moments before remembering, you were playing a game, and it was some pony elses turn.

The world seem to blur as you whirled around, like a ballerina, until you lost your balance, sitting onto Mrs. Cake's lap. The world seemed content on spinning without you, causing you to giggle like a little filly, wrapping a foreleg around her neck, sharing this moment.

“Oh ho ho, this is fun, wouldn't you say?” You yank down the bit that was still in her mouth. “Now, then, same question. How long have you two been hiding the snake?”

The blue mare's mouth just opened and closed inaudibly, a look of naked terror spread upon her chubby face.

“I'm sorry,” You put a hoof to your ear. “I didn't catch that.”

“F-f-for t-t-two years!” She stammers, eyes watering.

You weigh that. For two years? That made sense. That's when she started sending you out on 'errands' while Mr. Cake wasn't home. You'd have to think of something really special to punish her. But, for now, she told the truth and so you'd do something good, that is to say, good for you.

“Now, then,” You smile, face hidden behind half your straight pink mane, as you face the stallion. “I promised something good. Oh, poor poor Mr. Stallion, you're not smiling.” Springing forward, so you are nose to nose with him. “I'll make you smile all the day long, then you'll never have a frown.”

You ram the knife into the side of his mouth, where the corners of his lips meet and start sawing. Blood spurts with each cut, as his mouth opens wider and wider from the combination of his pained yells and your fast sawing. You marvel at the bloody tissue, watching the space between the outside cheek and the inner, red flesh of the mouth writhe and bubble over with bloody energy as the stallion's heat beats faster. You let the blade stop half way up his cheek.

“And now,” You smile, with a giggle-snort. “That other side! We can't have you lopsided now, can we?”

Pale blue, the name you thought up at the moment, could only weep as you started working on the other side of his mouth and cheek, the ripped skin parting to show his teeth and blood soaking his face fur, giving him the look that his lips truly did reach up in a goofy smile.

“Yay!” You shout as you finish. “Now then!” An idea popped into your head. It was a wonderful idea, that would both reward Pale Blue for being such a good sport, and also punish Mrs. Cake for being such a naughty naughty mare. “Tell me, Mr. Blue, do you like eating,” You pause, hooves to your mouth, leaning in to whisper the naughty word. “Pussy?”

Still weeping, Mr. Blue nodded, not wanting to tell another lie. Popping up into a jump of glee, you sit on his lap, laying a hoof on the bloody mess that was now his extended mouth, turning his face into your soften gaze.

“I'll give you what you want.” You coo to him. “Be one moment.”

Gracefully, you slide off his lap, knife still in a wrapped hoof, and start stalking your way to Mrs. Cake.

“P-p-Pinkie! What are you do-”

“Mr. Blue is feeling awfully blue.” You cut in sympathetically. “After all, he came to see you, and he didn't get what he wanted, but I'm going to change that.”

Before she can ask what you mean, or protest, you kick her chair backwards, slamming her head against the ground. You look at her spread legs, seeing her puffy blue lips, hiding her soft, supple pink flesh.

With a shallow jab, you stab at the base of those puffy blue lips, the causing a spasm of electrifying, burning pain to course from Mrs. Cake as a scream ripped through the air, reverberating in your ears and pounding on your ear drums. Working the knife shallow, and smoothy, you start cutting her labia, slowly pulling it off, blood spouting like a fountain. It wasn't long before you held two globs of quivering globs of fat and fur in your hoof, watching the discolored white of the exposed fat wash over with red liquid, leaving a tight vaginal cavity exposed, for all the world to see.

Turning, you smile at the widen eyed Mr. Blue, holding his prize aloft, so he could see them in all their fat, bloody glory.

“Now, you get to feast on Mrs. Cake's puss, you lucky dog you~”

Mr. Blue shook his head violently, sending rivets of blood and saliva into the air to splash down on the ground as he attempted to scoot his chair away. The action made you giggle.

“Silly willy, this is for you, don't refuse.” You step forward and pry his jaws apart. “She was going to give it to you anyway.” You add, forcing the bloody fat and fur far into his mouth, causing hims to gag and cough. Quickly, you tickle his chin with your knife. “And don't think about spitting it out either. That would be rude.” Mrs. Cake was still screaming. “And that would hurt her feelings, so eat up now. I want to see a lot of chewing before you swallow. Savor her flavor, you only get it once.”

Mr. Blue cried, forcing himself to chew the blood, fur and fat of his lover, shutting his eyes tightly, and trying to not move his mouth too much, as jerky motions jabbed his chin on the knife point. After a minute of chewing, he gritted his bloodied teeth and forced himself to swallow. It took him three tries, but with the encouragement of the knife, now making little circles in his under jaw, he swallowed Mrs. Cake's outer lips.

“There! You got to have what you wanted. Now, I wounder what Mrs. Cake wants?”

You thought about it for moment. The first idea was a fun one. Serve Mr. Blue's balls on a silver platter for his lover. The idea made you giggled and the double entendra, but you let it go, as you more or less did something close enough already. As you looked at Mrs. Cake, you got another idea, but it had it's draw backs. On one hoof, it meant the end of her suffering, but on the other hoof, his reaction would be so priceless. That, and the stupid whore wouldn't stop screaming and crying. Might as well just put her out of her misery.

“I've got a special gift for you, Mr. Blue.” You tell him, thought it seems like he isn't listening. Oh well, his loss if he didn't want to pay attention. “I'll be right back.” You add, walking over to Mr. Cake, lifting her chair back all four legs, and drag her out of the kitchen to the small little pantry.

As he whipped the nonexistent sweat off your brow, you thought again how you were going to do this. With a shrug you thought a straight forward approach was better than being creative. This was your first time, but something told you it wouldn't be your last.

And with that, you yanked Mrs. Cake's head back, and slashed across her throat, showering the small pantry with her gushing blood. Not waiting for the mare to fully die, as it took a few seconds to completely bleed out, you started hacking at the flesh and bone in her neck. It was harder than you thought it'd be, the blood making the handle of the knife slick, and the meat of the neck often caused you to stop and look, seeing how fat was marbled into the warm muscle, causing your mouth to water for some odd reason.

As the bone couldn't necessary be cut through with the kitchen knife you had, you opted for a more primitive way to sever the head from the body. Taking both sides of Mrs. Cake's lifeless head, you snapped it sharply to your left, then to the right, continuing all the way around, like you were simply screwing it off. With crunchy cracks and snaps, you found yourself, holding the chubby blue mare's decapitated head, a look of horror still imprinted on her face.

You dance gleefully. Oh Mr. Blue would be happy with this! Kicking the door open, causing it to bang on it's hinges, you hold the blood dripping head behind your back and skip up to Mr. Blue.

“I have a gift for you!” You sing, causing him to snap his head up, a new wave of fear flooding over him. You reveal Mrs. Cake's head. “Now you can really fuck her brains out!”

He screamed. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed. He must have really like it.

“Now, I hope you like her deep throating, because that's what your going to get!”

Dropping down to your knees you look at his shriveled cock. Something was wrong. It should be all long and hard. Idea! Without bother to explain your idea, you bounce up and look around the kitchen until you find—gasp—there it was.

“Now, you'll enjoy what's coming.” You giggle. “I'm a bad mare, but you'll like it Mr. Blue.” You reveal a long candy thermometer.

You dance to where he's sitting, struggling helplessly, and place a hand on his sheathed member. Pressing firmly back on the skin, you expose the head of his large penis, and grab hold with your teeth. He screamed at the bit while you pulled it out enough to work with. Looking at the thermometer, you see that it's a size too big for Mr. Blue. Oh well. Lining up the narrow tip with his pee hole, you hold a moment of concentration, waiting for him to figure out where this was going, and slam in hard before he could protest.

He would have fainted from the pain, had he been any less of a stallion. You were so proud. His cock now stood erect and you lined up his bulbous head with Mrs. Cake's exposed esophagus, and started forcing it onto his shaft.

He didn't make it long. After about fifty stroke, Mr. Blue went limp, and became unresponsive. You checked his throat for a pulse, but found none. Guess the treatment was drop dead amazing! You giggle as a new sound reached your ears. A sound coming from outside.

You rush up to your bedroom, leaving it open a crack, so you could watch who the new pony is, and what they think of your impromptu work. Oh, this would be so much fun, you can barely wait.