Author's Note

[Contains: Rape, Gutting, Beheading, Necrophilia, Implied Skinning, and Cooking.]

This was originally Part 33 (Bad End).

Fresh Meat in the Super Duper Mart's Butcher Section!

“Ehhh… Lemme take a look at everypony’s offers first.” You start pulling off the Merc Charmer outfit as Sheriff Silver Spur sighs.

“It’s a right shame, miss. If I’d a wife, I’d have cheated on her with ya, wearing that outfit.”

As you’re rolling up the stockings, Zephyr catches your eye. Tanned said not to bring him… “Hey, Zephyr, I’ll be fine. You should go figure out where we’re sleeping for the night, ‘kay? I’ll stay here in the Bazaar, not too tricky to find.”

He nods, but pauses before turning away. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” You give him a smile and a wave as you belt up the clothes again, passing them back to Silver Spur. As he leaves, you’re left staring at your Stable-Tec Security armour. It looks impressively nasty.

After dumping it in a convenient garbage bag, and shoving it in with the rest of your gear, you make your way back to Tanned’s booth. He was a crazy pony, but you might as well see what he had as far as deals went. Behind his booth was the old supermarket’s bathrooms, but he seems to have taken over them, with “donut enter” signs and crude drawings marking them off. True to his word, he was there in the mare’s room, playing with a rusted ancient combat knife and sitting on a metal weapons crate.

“Ah! Good to see you return lacking one pigeon! You’re interested in the deal then?” He slips the knife into his boot, and hops off the crate, cracking it open. He pulls out what looks like a entire fishnet suit, made of highly-durable netting. “This! This is something I found in the back room of a pre-war resturant. Very exclusive club. Pretty sure it’s a prototype stealth suit that was being shown off to an investor, but they got interrupted by everypony dying.”

You give it a once-over. “How exactly does that make more stealthy?”

He holds up an electronic collar. “You put this on afterwards, and it generates a cloaking field, like one of those alicorns! Covers the suit, and it turns you invisible!”

Your mouth gapes. “Whoa. That’s… Wait, what do you want from me?”

“Your hat,” he repeats. With a shrug, you pass it to him, and he hands you the suit. “Thankies! Okay, try it on.”

It really is basically just a full-body fishnet. It’s like a repeat of the Merc Charmer outfit’s leggings, except it’s harder to pull on. Strangely enough, the suit doesn’t quite cover your front, splitting after the collar almost all the way down to your crotch. Speaking of which, you feel very exposed wearing this. You hope it works as advertised.

The collar looks odd too. While the suit is a solid black, this part has a definite “lowest bidder” vibe about it, stuck together from spare parts, with a surprising minimum of buttons and knobs. In fact, you can pretty much just see one button on it, and a light. Must be a simple on/off switch. You click it on as best you can, before turning to Tanned. “Hey, this feels kind of loose, can you-”

He reaches behind you and pulls it tight. It locks, and with a beep, the light blinks on. “Looks good! Okay, so now for the truth: you just put on a Slave collar, dumbass. Never seen one, huh?”

“A… A slave collar? What the fuck is that?” You tentatively ask, looking down at it as best you can.

“Ooh, nothing much. Basically, if you go too far away from me, beep. If you try and take it off, beep. If you disobey me, beep!”

You give him a glare. “Take this off me, you psychotic son of a-”

He holds up… Something. It looks like somepony duct-taped a bundle of wiring to a pair of pliers, with a large red button in the middle. “Ah, right. I forgot to complete the onomata-whatever. You disobey me, beep, BOOM! Your head pops off like a cork.”

Your hoof had been moving to take it off, but suddenly you decide that might not be the best idea. Still glaring, you look him over. “You don’t seem like the slaver type.”

“Nah, I just use it to get laid.” He waves the hoof-made detonator menacingly. “No, seriously. Turn around, bend over. I wanna good look at your puss now it’s not stewing inside that Vault suit.”

“Fucking asshole,” You growl, before doing as he says.

“Well, maybe, if your ass looks tighter than your foalmaker.” You jerk as he jams his snout right into your crotch, taking a deep whiff. “Whoo! Nope nope nope, that smells delicious. You want something to bite down on? If you’re too loud, I’m gonna have to blow your head off.”

“I’ll be quiet,” you whine. You like your head being firmly attached. “But after this, you better take this fucking collar off.”

“Yeah, okay. I just wanted a quick fuck, that’s all.” He mounts you, hopping onto your back, and pushes his cock into you through a convenient hole in the suit. It’s smaller than Zephyr’s by a couple inches, but he’s really bad at this. He thrusts inside jerkily, he doesn’t give a fuck about trying to make you feel good, he’s just trying to get him off. You’re basically a tool for his amusement, for as long as you’re wearing this collar.

You do let out a faint groan when he finally settles down into a normalish speed, but it doesn’t seem to have been loud enough to get his attention. A moment later, he changes his angle, and starts thrusting you into the brown-stained tiles of this bathroom. You let out another groan as he speeds up getting close, and your tongue accidentally slurps across the stain.

It tastes like… Rotting iron, almost. Weird.

He finally cums, thrusting into you jerkily again as he fills you with his load. The very thought repulses you, but you were gonna take a shower tonight anyway. At least you’re not in heat.

With a hiss, you turn your head around. He’s reaching underneath you, but he’s still inside, and that’s pissing you off. “Alright, Tanned. You got my hat, you’ve had your fun. Take the fucking collar off.”

He shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. I want your ass too. This went too fast.”

“Tanned, you fuck-” He holds up the detonator again, and you go silent, Looking at the tiles one more time. He pulls out with a slurp, then prods at your asshole with his dick. It’s pretty tight back there… You should put a pony up there sometime soon. Tanned’s looking like a pretty damned good candidate.

Trying to use his own cum as lube (which doesn’t work, but does hurt a lot) he shoves himself inside, gasping happily. “Ahh, much better… You’ve got a nice tight asshole, Stable mare. This was one of my better deals.”

You don’t even answer him, just grunt in pain as he thrusts into your ass, and his hips smack your flanks. That spot you licked on the tiles seems to be changing colour, from brown into a dull red. What is this stuff?

You follow the stain with your eyes, tracing it to a larger splatter in one of the stalls. Craning your neck upward, you spot a hook, also stained brown, that’s been tied into the pipes on the ceiling. It takes you a second, and then it clicks. You’re seeing where that thief that got turned into steaks had that happen to them.

Trying to shake it off, you turn back around to look at Tanned. “Are you done yet? I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Oh, well then you’re not gonna like this part.” Your belly explodes in pain, and you shriek, dropping your head to the tiles as it trails off into a whine. You look to see what wrong, and you freeze.

Tanned just stuck that knife into your belly, up to the hilt.

Then he starts sawing.

With another shriek, of pain and confusion and pure fear, you whirl your head back around to face him. “Tanned, what the fuck!” The blade feels cold, in your guts. Already, you can feel large drops of blood dripping off the wound, splattering on the floor, mixing with the old blood. You realize, suddenly, that you’re in a butcher’s shop.

He just grins at you, and holds up the detonator. “I’m hungry, and you look delicious. So, you’re food, simple as that.”

You struggle, trying to get away, but he drops both the knife and the detonator, which lands with a clatter on the floor, before grabbing onto you. Unfortunately, all the struggling did was loosen certain parts of your anatomy, and there’s a sickening slurp from your belly. Then there’s a thump, a splat, and a trickle of liquid. At the end of it all, all you can feel from your belly is a horrible emptiness.

You both freeze. After a moment, you slowly look underneath you. Your guts fell out. Just… in a pile. They’re lying on the tile in a big pile of blood and slop, all yours. The knife even cut through some of them, and bits of half-digested pony drip and splatter out almost on their own volition. A small waterfall of blood, your blood, is keeping it all soaking in vibrant red.

Then Tanned starts humping again. Another length of intestines flops out onto the pile, and you get a first-row show of his cock moving up your rectum, inflating it, then deflating it. It bounces up and down like a puppet. One of the cuts was shockingly close to this length of intestine, and his thrusting pushes out more brown chunks of almost-shit, which fall out and splatter on the pile.

The smell hits you next. It smells like rotting shit, like you’d dunked your head in an outhouse, and permeated with the almost-overpowering stench of blood, your blood. That’s the smell of your own intestines. Nopony should ever be able to smell that.

With a final few thrusts, as it seems he really got off on gutting you, Tanned finishes. You’re in too much shock to do anything but watch as his head flares, sheathed by your own rectum, and a shower of cum cascades out of the bleeding end of intestine, adding yet another coating to the piles of guts rotting on the tile.

He pulls out and stands back. In an instant, you feel heavy, so heavy, from the blood loss, and you flop to the floor beside the piles of pony offal. With shaking hooves, you reach out, feeling it squish against your frogs. In one last, desperate action, you scoop up a hoofful of your own dirty, shit-covered intestines, and try to shovel them back into your belly. They just splatter back out, your blood across the tiles once more.

You cough, and it adds one more, this one directly in front of your muzzle. The pain is finally starting to kick back in. It’s almost indescribable, but there’s an overriding sense of emptiness, and that might be worse than the way your limbs feel heavy, and thousands of tiny sharp pains radiate out from the massive gash up your barrel.

Tanned seems to have come down from the orgasm. He chuckles, then picks up the knife again. “Right, let’s make sure I got all of this.” You weakly try and kick him away, but he barely notices, reaching into your belly and pulling on the still-connected loop of intestine. A few more feet slide out, and he gives another tug at your internal organs before deciding that was it. He ties it shut with a bit of twine, then cuts it off entirely, completely disconnecting your guts from their life-long home, before doing the same with the remains of your rectum.

You give a pitiful gurgle, and he smiles at you. “Sucks, don’t it? Well, it’ll be over soon. I wanna do this while you’re still alive, and that’s not gonna be much longer.” Picking you up, he heaves you onto one of the bathroom sinks, resting uncomfortably with your chin in the basin. Then he reaches into the other sink, and pulls out a cleaver.

Your eyes widen. “Please… No…”

“What’re you worried about? You wanna bleed out? This’ll be quick, for you.”

As he pulls off your slave collar and starts lining the cleaver up with your neck, you realize what he means. You’ve been gutted. You’re going to die now, one way or the other. Another bloody cough only serves as a reminder of this. So, when he holds the cleaver high, you follow it, and realize you welcome it. You want that cleaver to chop your head off, if only so it all ends faster.

It comes down with a chop, and the bang of metal on porcelain. The world goes sideways as your neck stump weakly starts squirting your cheek with blood. Tanned picks you up, and speaks, and the world sounds like it’s underwater. “Hang on, hang on, gotta time this carefully…”

Your body is flopping around, not realizing yet it’s dead. It’s twitching spasmodically, but Tanned is holding your head by your mane with one hoof and holding it down with the other. After a long few moments, where black begins creeping from the edges of your vision as your life ebbs away, your body gets the hint, and slows.

“Drink up, bitch.” He holds your head to your own crotch, so you can taste your juices and his cum, before it’s all washed away. Your body finally slumps, and one last bladder-full of your own piss sprays out into your mouth. The blackness covers more than half of your vision, as the salty, acrid liquid fills your mouth, and you swallow, letting it splatter out of your neck-hole and onto the floor with the rest. Your last piss also starts washing some of your offal and blood down the bathroom’s floor drain, beginning to clean up the massive mess you and Tanned have made.

it trails off a moment later, and he drops your head in the sink with a clunk, before he re-arranges it so you’re facing him. He begins jerking off as the remainder of the piss flows out of your mouth into the sink around you. The last thing you ever see, before the darkness overtakes you, is Tanned jerking off onto your face, coating your muzzle in cum, and adding a huge cloud of white to the horrible mess your stump is blocking from exiting the basin.

Finally, you die, with your piss-soaked head left sitting in a pool of cum, blood, and more piss in some dingy bathroom sink, and your corpse lying in the other, ready to be butchered, skinned, and cooked.

* * *

The next morning, Tanned was outside the Super-Duper-Mart. It was pretty early, so he was one of maybe ten ponies, and most of those were guards. He was gently spinning a skinned, headless mare over his little campfire, taking advantage of the nice morning. The last was Zephyr, who noticed him and wandered over. “Hey. I think Dusty went off to talk about that ‘special deal’ with you, right? What happened?”

Tanned shrugged. “Eh, she didn’t want a personalized set of license-plate armour. She wandered off to look for more options. Why, she missing?”

“Yeah…” Zephyr nodded, pulling at the bags under his eyes. “I got the room, and came here looking for her… Couldn’t find her. Then waited in the room all night, thinking she was just out somewhere… She never came in.”

“All night?” Tanned asked.

Zephyr nodded. “I can barely see straight…”

“Damn…” Tanned whistled, giving the mare on the spit another rotation. “Well, hey, do you want some breakfast? Another Enclave mare with a bad attitude flew in, demanded we give her all of our guns and ammo as ‘tribute’.”

Zephyr stared at the spitted mare. Something was wrong with that explanation, but he was too tired to figure out what. “What’s with the suit? Was she wearing that when she came in?”

“Nah, that’s something I found in this pre-war resturaunt. It’s something cooks use to keep the meat together when they’re cooking it, so it doesn’t start falling apart over the fire.” He smirked. “For a pre-war resturaunt, there was a surprising amount of them, and especially pony-sized ones.”

Zephyr gave a shiver. “Weird. Yeah, I’ll take… I dunno, a foreleg or somethin’. I usually eat ponies whole, but I gotta keep searching for Dusty… How much?”

“Eh, thirty caps. There’s a lot more fat than I’d like on her.” Zephyr nodded, and paid the not-quite-a-raider. He walked away, absentmindedly chewing on the cooked foreleg.

Tanned leather watched him go, before he stood up from his new leather-backed folding chair. As he did, an observer would spot a cutie mark on the seat, a pristine dish, though now it was tanned over and faint. The stallion rummaged around in his duffel bag for a moment, before pulling out a Stable 28 Security Helmet, and putting it on his head. Then he sat back down, and started cutting off a bit of the cooked pony, putting it on a plate for his own breakfast.

It wasn’t a stretch to say that your cutie mark was right all along, in some way.