Author's Note

An indefensible story, written solely to work out a personal problem. Read at your own risk.

I need to give this story a proper description...

Template: Chapter One

"So, sir, are you looking for a stallion or a mare?" A casual, masculine voice is the first thing I hear as I wake up. I open my eyes, feeling terribly groggy. My head is full of angry hornets with mallets, and the world is an unpleasant mess of harsh colors that only makes the pain worse. I screw my lids tightly shut, trying to focus on other things. I feel cold, I can taste rubber, and there's a draft from somewhere that touches the middle of my back and makes me shiver. My body feels oddly bare, and I don't want to risk the pain of opening my eyes again to find out why, not just yet.

"What sort of a stallion do you take me for? I - " This voice sounds irritated. I'm not sure I like it, and I'm glad the first one cuts him off.

"No offense, sir, this is a sex shop. It's my job not to judge preference just by somepony's appearance. I take it you are here for a mare, sir?" How did I fall asleep in an adult store? I crack one eye open, but the world is still painful, nebulous blots of color, and I have to shut it again.

"Yes." The reply is stiff. I try again to look around, but again, it hurts too much, and my view is far too incoherent. Resignedly, I try to focus on hearing and feeling.

"This way, sir." The voices come closer, accompanied by the sound of hooves. I go to stretch. I should at least get up; how negligent of me to fall asleep here. My legs, however, won't move. I swallow hard, testing myself. Nothing will move. "Until recently, I'd have to tell you we're out of stock, but as of last month, our latest policy is a free demonstration of our new Template magitechnology, a brilliant process that grants you the power to customize your order in nearly every meaningful way. Ah, here we are."

The hooves stop in front of me, and I feel myself moving. I'm being carried forwards on something metal, and I can feel its bands holding me around my ankles, around my knees, around my neck and head and trunk and ... everywhere. I'm completely restrained. My head, in particular, can't even twitch.

"This is a stallion."

"Indeed, sir! Our only slightly-dated Model 94A, one of the most successful male frames, manufactured right here in Fillydelphia. However, recent Template innovations allow easy modification of any model back to the old 72." I can hear the whirring of machinery from the voice's direction. It only takes another split-second to realize that between their discussion and my restraints, they are talking about me. "If you would humor me, sir, and press this button?"

"Wait! What are you doing? Are you doing something to me? Why can't I see?!" I try to ask. I feel my mouth fail to move against interior filling of some sort, and a probable exterior restraint, but that's not all that's wrong. Something is keeping me from so much as grunting. I can't make a sound, and opening my eyes still hurts.

"What does this symbol mean?"

"It means your wish is the machine's command. It means you can have anything you want. It means, most importantly, that you should press it, sir." I can practically hear the eye-rolling, even though I'm not paying much attention. I'm busy testing my restraints, but they hold extremely well. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen, and I'm trying not to wet myself in anticipation.

"Whatever." The... I have to think of him as a customer. The customer sounds less than impressed by the sales pitch, but I hear a clack from his direction anyway. A powerful wave of magic washes over me, and reflexively, I try to activate a counter-spell. Nothing happens, except that the wave of magic turns aggressive. It feels like a thousand hammers pounding every inch of my body, and I try desperately to scream. My eyes shoot open as I strain in the effort to make just a sound, move just one muscle, and the pain of incoherent sight is a welcome distraction. My everything hurts like nothing I've ever known, and I have no idea how I'm still conscious, especially with the blunt, throbbing pain between my legs. My body almost feels like it's shrinking in all directions, the bands restraining me hissing over the rush of blood in my ears as they contract to hold me perfectly still. I can't focus on anything, much less understand words. Things blur together in a haze of agony and wishful screaming.

When I can hear and think again, the voices are just arguing over numbers, so I focus on myself for a moment. I still can't move, beyond my involuntary spasms from the lingering pain. However, I can finally see (albeit still painfully), which is good. The first thing I notice is my muzzle. It is a hairless pink, and far smaller than it ought to be. As for where I am? This place is definitely some sort of smut parlor. Ahead of me is a very clean glass wall that provides no reflection, and beyond it are some very interesting toys on racks. Straining my already-aching eyes, I can make out a shelf of books as well, but not any of their titles. I'm sure they're pornographic, anyway.

Rather more important, though, are the two unicorn stallions standing next to some sort of control panel. One is light yellow with a mahogany-and-white mane and tail; he has a mustache and a black bow tie. The other unicorn is gray, with a well-groomed black mane. While the first pony seems casual and comfortable in the role of silver-tongued salesman, the second carries himself with a very stern and serious demeanor.

"Why yes! And for another two hundred bits, you can customize her with our fullest feature set, at the deluxe terminal," the salesman is saying. This seems to elicit a roll of the customer's purple eyes.

"No. No more of this flim-flammery. I will make do with the basic options. I am not paying extra to get gold leaf on my hooves while I build my mare." The salespony shrugs.

"Suit yourself. I have re-shelving to do, so have fun with the controls!" he says, starting to trot away. "Oh, and don't take too long. The 94A has a tendency to set early after initial exposure, fixing all your changes in place after the current settings are automagically invoked by our safety protocol. You'll have as little as fifteen more minutes if that happens. Anyway, call me if you need anything, or when you're ready to finalize your excellent choice of purchase!"

"I don't buy for a moment that you can't feel this," the gray stallion says, once the other is gone. "I can see the tears and suffering in your eyes. I think I'll keep that." His purple magic reaches out towards the panel in front of him, and starts muttering to himself. It must be to himself, since I can't possibly reply.

There's a ticking sound, and magic assaults me again. Instead of just hammering on me again, though, I feel the lingering pain suddenly escalate. It feels like it's happening all over again, and all I can do is tremble and take it. After moments or hours, though, it finally fades again. I can see the gray stallion, still alone, muttering to himself as he plays with what sound like buttons and dials. Nothing further seems to be happening, at least not yet, so I close my eyes and try to clear my mind.

I'm not given much time to think, however. The stallion abruptly curses, and I feel like every hair of my fur, mane, and tail is being yanked out at once. It's not as bad as the hammers, but when my skull starts to crack and twist, it's too much. I see white, forcing out breath in what might once have been a scream. I'm soon distracted from the pain by something worse. It feels like my mind has been turned into a series of filing cabinets, and snakes and clawed monstrosities are slithering and picking through them. Everything is categorized, then either put away, rewritten, or erased. I... I can't... wap dh weiapt Wpagnenyyi gnh Kawprnga -

The static filling my mind leaves, and I can think clearly again. It's not over soon enough, but it's over. Whatever I was thinking about is gone, and I know it's gone for good. I ache everywhere, and I can't see anything distinct through my tears. I realize I'm crying, but I can't stop - I don't even particularly care to. That strikes me as wrong, somehow, bringing more mute sobs.

I almost don't notice when I start moving again. A gentle, feminine voice above me says, "Please go to the front desk to finalize your order. Thank you for choosing Template Technologies: bringing you together with the partner of your dreams." The stallion who apparently just... just bought me... he curses, this time at me, as I am drawn backwards. My body is moved sideways as he begins to storm off; then I am turned and pulled through a dark tunnel that smells like dust and urine. After a few bumping and jolting minutes, I am thrust into the light again, and squeeze my eyes shut against its sudden pain.

"...joking, correct? I'm not paying full price for that. Your 'process' took over before I was finished, and the result is not what I wanted!"

"Good sir, I would be most happy to ensure the fulfillment of your any and every desire. However, you agreed to pay, and I did warn you of the setting time. It isn't my fault you chose to spend that time masturbating - which, by the way, is not allowed in the store. The only reason you are permitted to remain, instead of being removed from the premises, is that you did not ejaculate on my floor or merchandise." I manage to open my eyes, and though it still rather hurts, I can see the two stallions again, and a counter. On the near side is the salesman from before, and on the other side, the gray stallion is giving him a look of stammering, mortified shock.

I notice other things, too. There's fur on my muzzle, a very slightly yellowish off-white. My mane, hanging into my eyes, is a two-toned blue mess, and something about the colors seems... off. Though the lot is tangled and matted with what feels like sweat, the colors still seem too... vibrant.

"Hey, Brute!" the shopkeep yells. A door opens somewhere nearby.

"It's Bulk, Boss." The new voice is definitely a stallion's, deep and rich.

"Yes, well, I need a hoof. Please put this mare up on the counter."

"Sure thing, Boss." A moment later, part of a wall of white-furred muscle fills my view. I'm lifted, restraints and all, and it feels like one smooth and easy motion. This stallion must be made of raw physical power. "Got it, Boss."

"Good, good. Now, sir, this is the 94A you were working on. Here are the papers. This is the agreed price. Any questions?" I start to cry again. I'm not just some piece of merchandise. I'm not! But... here I am, on a counter, and very obviously being traded for money like some kind of livestock.

"No," the grey unicorn says with a defeated sigh. "But I still insist upon a discount. I never switched its blindness off, and it can clearly see. Look." He steps over to my end of the counter. "Watch my hoof," he orders. Not knowing what else to do, I obey, tracking his foreleg as he passes it back and forth in front of my face. "You see, it clearly isn't blind, even though the procedure and your own charts say that it is supposed to be."

"Hmm," the other stallion hmms. There is some shuffling of paper beside me. "Let's see... voice, yes; obedience, seven-point-five of ten; intelligence, two - ah ha! Vision: blind. And you've satisfied me that this doesn't match the actual model. Very well; a hundred-bit discount for the trouble."

"Seven hundred fifty." They haggle over me for a few minutes, and I desperately wish for the freedom to tuck my tail and hide my face in my hooves to shield my sobs and humiliation. I'm not a toy. I'm not a toy. I'm not -

"Very well, three hundred it is. You drive a hard bargain, sir. She will arrive tomorrow, after I've given her the routine examinations described in your papers. Brute, take her back to the shipping room and prep her."

"Sure, Boss." I am lifted again, and once more feel like I weigh no more than a pillow or teddy bear to him. "It's Bulk, Boss."

"Yes, yes, now go on." The voices of the other stallions are muffled after the first door, and gone after the second, as the one apparently called Bulk takes me to a back room. Before I can glance around - as much as my fixed field of view will allow - I'm swiftly set down in a simple cage. The floor and ceiling are solid metal, and in front of me is a series of iron bars in a square grid. There's an opening, but I can't move, and besides, a door quickly swings shut into it.

Ahead of me, the white stallion I presume is Bulk mutters to himself, looking over a slip of paper. He is magnificently muscular, and his perfect, powerful wings accent his figure beautifully. He has red eyes, and his golden mane flows over his neck like a river of the actual precious metal. I feel a tightening in my belly that isn't unpleasant...

"Step one, remove the gag and neck brace," he mutters, coming closer. He reaches in with a screwdriver, and though I can't exactly tell what he does, the metal bands drop from my neck and face to clatter on the floor, forcing me to pin my ears to my skull against the noise. He takes the former restraints, then places a toweled hoof, frog up, in front of my chin. "You can spit that out now."

I try to work my tongue around the object lodged in my mouth; eventually, it gives a little, and I am able to push it out with a "ppt." He takes the mouth-plug away, and I try to thank him, but I still can't seem to make a sound. My mouth is horribly stiff, anyway, and it takes several moments to force it shut.

"Step two, a bit of food," he reads off the slip. I watch him as he does... something. I'm busy tracing his muscles with my eyes. He's amazingly buff, and - and oh my, is it getting warm in here. I know I've been at least a little attracted to other stallions forever, but wow.

"Hope you like oatmeal," he says, opening the door and placing a steaming bowl in front of me. My belly abruptly informs me that I haven't eaten in far, far too long. I know I'm blushing, and I know he can see it, but he doesn't say anything. He just watches me, seemingly waiting for me to eat, and so I do. The plain oatmeal is slightly too hot, and I end up burning my tongue and throat a little as my hunger drives me to ignore it, but it's satisfying. Just as I finish, Bulk drops an apple into my bowl. I glance up at him, trying to make sure I look inquisitive.

"From my dinner, 'cause you don't try to make my job hard. Thanks." He mutters at his paper again. "Step three, water. Ah. I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

"Bastard," I try to growl, even though his face and even his tone hold no hint of a smirk. Nothing comes out, of course. Despite myself, I find my eyes trailing his arse to the door. Stupid, beautiful bastard.

It's quiet for several moments. I look around, and am not really impressed. There's a workbench across the room from me, maybe twenty feet away, and it's covered in tools, I think. It's hard to tell since it's just slightly above eye level. There's not much else - the door I came in from, a door I can feel drafts from that probably leads outside, a locker that probably holds the rest of Magnificent Bulk's (I know he only said "Bulk," but Magnificent suits him) dinner and maybe a uniform he hasn't been wearing, and a few other cages, spaced at regular intervals along the same wall as mine.

The one directly to my left holds a sea-green unicorn mare, her even lighter-green mane and tail streaked with white. On her flank is a golden harp, and around her body are silvery steel bands that I assume are identical to the ones holding me. Remembering my freedom to look around and move my neck, I confirm that with just a glance. I also notice she hasn't touched a bowl of oatmeal in her cage; it seems to have gone cold, or at least, it isn't steaming anymore.

I look to my right. Near the end of the row - near the drafty door - another mare is sleeping in her bonds, this one plum with a pink-and-lighter-pink mane. Her cutie mark seems to be -

"E-excuse me..." The stammer from my left interrupts my train of thought. I turn my head to see the green one staring through me. She's clearly spent time crying, too. "I seem to be lost. Could you d-direct me to 12 Celestial Circle? Dreadfully sorry about the f-frog in my th-throat."

I stare back. Does she honestly think...? Well, it's not like I can say anything.

Ever.

I stare at the floor, and struggle not to burst into a fresh round of tears, myself. The thought that I shouldn't be crying this easily, that I'm supposed to be a stallion, just breaks the dam.

"W-was it, erm, something I said?" I shake my head. It's not her fault I can't stop crying.

Of course that's when the door to the left opens again! I shoot the unicorn salesman a tear-stained glare, and he shoots a dry, condescending one right back.

"Enjoying the pity party, are we?" There is no sneer on his face, but I can hear one in his tone. I can't explain, but I can scowl. He is unimpressed. "Have I struck a nerve? No matter. Come in and lend me a hoof, Bulk Muscle."

"It's Bulk Biceps, Boss." That magnificent stallion enters again when called, and I actually feel a little better for seeing him again. Without even being instructed - he must be used to this part of the routine - he comes over, pulls me out of the cage, and moves me to the workbench. He clears a large space on it with a powerful sweep of a wing before setting me down, my body parallel to the wall and my face towards the exit door. "Gonna clean the Template machine, Boss. Kinda messy."

"Stay, stay. I took care of that already. You need to learn this part, Muscles, so at least stand by and watch. It's a simple procedure, and I doubt you'll need to see it more than five times to pick it up." Bulk grunts, and I'm not given more than a moment to watch or think before a stack of papers is slapped onto the bench behind me.

"Now, let's see. Item one..." The 'boss' mumbles to himself for a few moments. I pick up bits and pieces, but even what I catch sounds like technical terms that don't make sense. After a few moments, he moves to my front side, and levitates a popsicle stick in front of my face. "Say 'aahhh.'"

I open my mouth and try, but of course, no sound comes. That doesn't seem to bother him, and he continues to examine me. It feels almost like a regular physical at first - until he turns me and spreads a measuring tape across my rump. By now, he's humming casually to himself, jotting something down on his papers between measurements and-

I try reflexively to yelp and move away. Neither happens, of course, and I can do nothing but clench as best I can. That does nothing to stop what I pray is just a measuring device from steadily pushing into me. I can't comprehend the sensations I shouldn't even have, as the thing continues to slide through my...

...my...

...

Even though I quiver at every slight inward push, and even though I can feel my tail flag and my throat try in vain to voice a moan as the object is pulled back out at what must be a deliberately slow pace, I can't think the word. All I can do is hang my head and let tears course down my muzzle.

"Lucky mare. My client has made you quite the sensitive one. Not everypony is so thoughtful." I fail to ignore the salespony's taunting, though his voice has to compete with the rush of my own thoughts.

How in all the Planes of Stars and Tartarus does it feel good?

I know ponies hate being ra--being attacked like this, so what in Equestria is wrong with me?!

Stop! Please! Please please please please let it stop...