I've never told anyone before, but I'm scared of the ocean. I was always scared of it. The deep was vast and dark. That was why I never mentioned it, or described it or came anywhere close to doing either. There were no lights or lamps or flourescent lights down there. It was all darkness. There wasn't just darkness, no, it was full of gravity.

The sea would crush you and tenderize your limbs as you battered them on black water in pure, inescapable certainty that something brushed your leg and you just couldn't see it. I was unstable just thinking about it. How much of Merrlyand was left above sea.

I was smoking again, brooding in isolation.

The shorelines seemed thinner and sickly, cluttered with rotten fish remains and miscellanic stones. I noticed that one mellow morning as I stopped to watch them. I counted the tides and waves rolling in, only to see the outline of a faint sea beast wrestle about the waters. I couldn't describe the scope of it. Even I seemed tiny among the dock and all its decrepit woodwork. And I was somewhat taller than most; not by much, but higher nonetheless.

I'd attempt to describe it vividly but nothing in my immediate dictionary can. Something that alien and that traumatizing leaves scars on someone. All I can manage is the scope of it. The scope was something to pale over.

It's outline, the very basic blur of its shape, followed inklings of spacial sense and logic. If you could picture a whale pressed through narrow crevasses till all the bone and flesh became one in some jagged mess of ribs and hanging sinews, you'd only comprehend the barest margin of it.

I slipped away from the shoreline and steadied my hooves on solid grassland. I swayed about in curious emptiness, predominant with gaping nothing in swollen synapses. My mind was empty. I didn't know what to do or think really, except wonder how the old masters and their cults did it. How exactly did the grand Celestians of the old world assimilate non-believers and skeptics?

I hadn't the slightest idea. Twas then I beat the shoreline entirely back to Scaley's. And Scaley, as I found trotting by, was holding a meeting of sorts with other non-hostile fishfolk.

I knew then that each and every one of them understood me. It wasn't about blood. Or racism. It was about survival. It was about our children. They knew, like everyone else would know in due time, we would all have to transcend our own xenophobia.

I listened in against one of her shop's many windows. I pressed my ear against the screen netting and kept my double-barrel on-hand at all times. There I learned why the swampfolk trusted her. Scaley was relatable to them. She wasn't a supermodel or a great soldier, she was just an outcast just like them. Father Pepperjack had a name for that popularity tactic. He called it 'double identity' or the like, an old political maneuver to gain popularity with the everypony of your vote roster.

What did I have that attracted everypony else. It wasn't looks or charm or anything like that. It wasn't superficial. It was different than simple, I gathered, having no success at all at identifying it. What exactly did everypony like about me. But there... even there, in the midst of my lone intel mission, I realized I could reach the people. All I needed was a voice, a great orchestra of words and strings like unsung melodies of Celestia's love.

I'd reach Point Lookin Station... somehow. I would do my best and find the engima running it. I asked Haley where it might be in the undeniably obscure thickets of deep Merryland. And she told me Radio Free was in a clearing by the Sacred Bog. His radio tower was safe because of the bog's rock formations and high elevation. I myself noted the power of it's mist, as that was the prevailing handicap I faced trotting through it. I asked where his tower lay, specifically in that odd vicinity. And she told me it was actually somewhere east, speaking strictly of the tower itself.

But the host and his housing structure was nestled deep within the Sacred Cave. The Sacred Cave was a perils journey full of untouched wildlife native to Point Lookin and rusted jailing cells. It was, in all sense of the word and the many senses it lacked, a complete and utter deathtrap, an oubliette for only the worst of the sodomites. And she told me specifically that the private contract prison complex known as La Obscura was run by a shady family back in the old world era.

Their ancient surname, as powerful as it may have been, was one ridiculous 'Dank.'

Oh yes. In less than two hours, I'd be traveling to the Dank Family Penitentiary. I couldn't wait. Reaching Caviar Mansion did give me an idea, though. Since Tequila broke it off with me not one day ago, I'd take my frustration out on her. It was standard exchange for ponies like us. We were troubled and disturbed. We were sinners to ourselves and saints to each other. It was, for the lack of a better term, mutual chemistry. We weren't Twilight Sparkle and her Trixie Magicson, but it would be our last supper in a while.

I waited in measures of anxiety for Tequila to prepare her best friends with benefits attire and smoked a cancer myself. I trotted over to the washroom and checked myself for unexpected ugliness. I already knew I was ugly for a pure pony but I never did really see myself. Not with humbled eyes.

The first thing I noted was the milkiness of my eyes. And then I observed my lack of blink reflex during long periods of elementary staring. Was I always that unshakably creepy. What did Tequila see in me. I stayed away from the mirror so I'd keep from fixing my coat. It seemed thin lately, My first look, in the mirror upstairs, was never toward my chest or legs. It was toward my features. So this time, I noticed the fluffy, yet shallow quality of my snow white coat.

Tequila called and I stepped out to answer her prayers. She assed and she'd receive, hn.

"I'm ready. What should I do...?" Tequila whisperered.

My angel looked away. She was hugging herself. I wondered whether or not she was more cold or anxious. Exposure was a common fetish for shy mares. I wasn't surprised she was tempting me by covering everything. Her legs snaked over her chest, down to her pubic mound. I bit my lip. I was swollen just by watching her, just by seeing her all timid and clandestine.

"Why are you covering yourself? I've already seen all it." I hushed, trotting over, pushing her down and pressing our lips together.

I felt her legs clench around me. I could tell she wanted to feel my bones on her loins, it was only natural. So I pressed myself against her and lapped away at her rosey, burning cheeks. I felt feral. My cocks were throbbing. I felt my cocks drool her neck fur damp. It was my fault for being so excited. Tequila seemed bored or at least somewhat insensate against my advances. I watched her lashes flicker in odd spasms and measures. I thought she was playing hard-to-get, since her eyes were closed and her legs went completely limp. I heard her whisper something without intelligible speech.

I shrugged and figured she wanted something new or something to scream about.

I lifted my upper prick over her tiny, puckered rectum. My tip fit perfectly, but all my snake oil made her twitch and tighten. I bit my lip and leaned forward. Her body shuddered and I forced her waist higher. Her legs were dangling at my ribs in that one, lazy curling typical of late night missionary. My forehooves were pressed against her and her head hung over the edge of our bed.

Tequila's hindlegs bucked when I speared her pucker. I was barely in and her ass was crushing me. All I could do was pound her slowly. Her legs constricted me and that was always a good sign, so, naturally, I held her down and had my way with her. We bit our lips in unison. I stuffed my angel with thick, thumping claps and she was quiet. She was squeaking, but... different. It was almost inaudible and I couldn't help but wonder why she was muffling herself.

I thought I was boring her. I closed my eyes and flipped her over. It forced a gasp out and she started scrambling away. I was too quick for her; I caught her waist and squeezed in again. All she did was loose a squeal of sorts. It was raspy and cracked her voice at different decibels. Sometimes, throughout my clapping, I heard it. Other times, leaning my mound in and keeping my torso up, I heard her grunting. I slapped her cavern apart and twisted my hips in winding motions. She felt me, I knew, from how tight her trap stayed.

"Nnnh..." I murmured, low and grainy.

I kneaded her with my hooves and clapped my ring on her. The impact squished her juices away and splashed my crotch wet.

"Whitestar- no-! What are you doing?!" Tequila panicked, struggling against me.

"Making you feel good...?"

I didn't understand mares. One minute they said they wanted sex, the other minute, they were drooling and squirting, but telling you 'no.' I surmised it was foreplay. We'd done roleplay of the nature before so it wasn't that outlandish to hear her 'panic.' This time, though, it wasn't the idea of being forced; Tequila was creaming herself for me. And I loved that. It made me special. It made me her's.

"Whitestar- Mhhh-! Please- I-I don't- I don't feel right about this...!" Tequila uttered, gasping and whining while I clapped her lungs away.

My eyes were still closed. But, maybe that's what bothered her. It must've been her ass, maybe her ass was too tender, too receptive for my meat. I pulled out of her other hole and stuck her cervix instead. Abrupt entry made her collapse. Her rump was skyward and I was halfway in. If I fit my ring in, I could cum her womb full.

"Better? I'm gonna cum in your womb..." I promised, gripping her shoulders.

"Whitestar, please... Doesn't this feel wrong to you?" She panted, sopping and tight around me.

I ground it in and soaked her cervix with all my precum. I was grinning absent-mindedly, kissing her where no one else could reach. I kissed her pussy over and over till my ephemeral ring slipped inside and I opened her womb. A sharp half-sob stung my ears and Tequila squeezed around me. I yanked her down and lolled my tongue around. Her body was choking me. Tequila was whimpering. I bit my lip and bludgeoned her insides till both of us were breathless and panting, breeding like wolves.

"Whitestar-! Dios, fuck-! I can't control it...!"

I held her down and rippled her with thick, sloppy punctures. Tequila cursed and shut her eyes. I looked down on her, wanting, but satisfied. I felt my lips curl. She gazed at me over her shoulder. Everything about her drew me in. I loved her red muzzle bridge, her downward snout and her roasting cheeks. Orgasm left tiny pleasure tears in her. I held her cheeks and finished her off the right way.

I took her patiently. Tequila's body fell forward and left her rump high. I took to pelting them with loud, dragging slaps. I left her hooves curling. It was soothing to hear her rasp. To hear her curse and hiss. I loved it. I needed it. I warned her to pull her ass apart or else I'd stop. My mate complied. She splayed her cheeks apart and shut her eyes.

"Good girl... Daddy has a present for you." I murmured, in her ear and leaning over her.

I raised my posture and bent her over the bed. I let my forelegs rest and plowed her another way. I used my hips and only my hips to batter her insides. The effect was explosive. Her mane was raggled by that time. I watched her bounce. Her waist beckoned me to grip and I resisted. There was nothing better than hearing a mare gush from hooves-free sensations. My monotonous, thumping impacts coiled her into herself till she was nothing but sex and noise. I yanked Tequila's tail and suspended her by it.

"Haaa- haaaa- aaah~ Haaayeah, just-! Just like that...!" Tequila whimpered.

My angel was singing. Her noise was mesmerizing and I couldn't help but clap her harder just to savor it, just to hear her. I felt her hindlegs bucking. I watched her hooves curl as she squeaked 'sh-shit...!' and... pissed all over me. I gazed upon her, my nephilim, studying her cherubphim features. It was then I noticed just how gorgeous she was. Her eyes were fixed to mine; Tequila avoided me at first, but all she did was glance away. She could never stare away or look away. She was bound to me.

"Did Tequila like it?" I panted, nipping her ears.

"You... you were better than your father. You made me sing for you. You made mommy melt." Tequila confessed, anchoring her brow.

I froze. Was she playing tricks on me. Did Tequila say that to entice me or stab me. I was wounded. Jealous. I was avaricious for her and she knew it. I scowled beneath the moonlight and raised her hindlegs. They were splayed outward and mine to handle. Tequila was still flat on her stomach. So I bit her pucker with wide, swollen meat. Not Tequila shut her eyes again. And I drummed her from behind. We were both still hungry, I could tell. Her body was too sensitive and too well-used to ignore it's appetite and I was too gluttonous.

"Whitestar, wh-why are you doing this...?!" She groaned, almost dying from how pained she sounded.

"What do you mean 'better than my father'?"

I sunk my fangs in. I clamped down and had her shoulder, and she was squirming around with boarish tenacity. We wrestled gently, I on top and her barely able. We were full of half-regrets and earthly pleasures.

My mate was drooling as was. Her mane was frazzled and sticky from all our knowing. So was her coat beneath her tail and everywhere else atop, at her neck, on her sternum and over her narrow slopes for shoulders. I took her tail hostage and pulled her toward me, into me. My nephilim muffled her lips; she bit her hooves and panted. I was still erect. Whoever it supposedly was in Tequila's body, their slit was sopping and I was seething. Her whisper was sultry. I polluted her response with hip percussions and stole the air from her.

"Aaaaaah- aaaah~ Please, don't be so rough with me- I-It's me, Star Spangle...!"

Her stabbing words struck me silent. I went limp and dug inside her, stuck in deep recesses of her and my trauma-bruised psyche. I feared nothing but something so... dirty on my conscience. Something so taboo it would disgust a sodomite. I closed my eyes and lit a cigarette for both of us. She was weakened and tender so she couldn't leave or excuse herself.

"You took over Tequila's body? How?" I hushed... using her narrows to empty myself.

I must've shocked her a great deal because Star Spangle did nothing but gaze at the ceiling. I used her shoulders to guide her into me. We were both degenerates. But I didn't care. What better way to know my line than figurative bloodstains. I watched my flesh and blood buck around me and bite the sheets. We were both close. Her, closest and I, closer. I bit my lip and percussed her entrances with both my portrusive spears. I heard her half-sob and whimper when her rectum tightened.

"Y-you used a sun spell a-and I found her body by default. I-I was supposed to be in yours but you were in mine... Mmmha... You had my body instead of Independence's-"

I was... using my mother's body. Pleasing her with it. That was pretty amusing, actually; so amusing I actually chuckled and took to grinning. Mother glanced over and locked eyes with me. I yanked her down and creamed her button. A wash of tension squirted out of me. Load upon load filled her up and I leaned into her just to feel her insides rejecting me. My 'mother' couldn't make anymore noise.

I knew now why all of their similarities were naggingly present. They were related. I later read the Celestian Bible to see the Bloodstain Transfer spell, which relied on similar genetics to the transit soul in question. We were actually related. Had Tequila not said I resembled her father. And that her very father was just as caring or forced her into extra food portions and perhaps the darkest of equine urges with the presumed passing of her mother. Yes. It was all clear on that incestuous monster of a night.

Did that mean I didn't enjoy it, though?

No.

I just had work to do. I could worry about the implications later. I found a tie in Tequila's father's room, fixed it on and cleaned my Mother up.

Author's Note

Level Up! New Perk Gained!

Cane and Able:

You do more damage to your own kind (+20% damage to Fishponies, Swampfolk and Religious ponies).