Author's Note

[Contains: Electrostim, Electric Torture, Rape, Oral Vore, Anal Vore, Sex in a belly, Implied Digestion, and Scat.]

This was originally part 37.5 (Bad End)

The Exiled Crusader's Electric Sting!

“Ah, you have brought it to me. Sit.” Even before you can look around inside, the Stallion in the white power armour recognizes you. You pause for a moment, glancing around the tent to see several racks of bladed weapons against the walls and a small pile of moldy books by his seat, but even that seems to take too long for his tastes. “I said, sit. We must talk business.”

Narrowing your eyes, you step inside fully, and sit on the only available seat. Zephyr tries to follow you into the already-cramped tent, but Abalone’s horn flares, and the tent flaps snap shut. All noise from outside the tent stops. The walls stop shifting in an instant, suddenly becoming rigid instead of cloth. If he decided to eat you whole, there would be nopony stopping him. Especially considering the fact that he never seems to take that armour off, even inside the cramped tent like this. He must fill half the space inside all by himself.

He holds out his hoof, as you shift uncomfortably on your seat. It feels like a pad, from the baseball games you occasionally tried to play in the Stable’s tiny atrium, but cracked and solid. “The sword. Give it to me.”

Unstrapping the sword from around your barrel, you look at it, held in your hoof. Maybe you should just let him have the damn sword. Finally, with an annoyed sigh, you toss it over the table into his waiting hooves.

He catches it easily, and then slides it out of the sheath a couple inches, as if checking it’s real. Then he clacks it back into position, before opening the hilt, carefully examining the gem inside. Holding up one of the musty books from the pile, he flicks through it. “Ah. Looks odd, doesn’t quite fit the records. But seems to be correct. Gem causes the blade to vibrate at incredibly high frequency upon activation. Vibrates the atoms of whatever you’re cutting, slices it apart at the molecular level. Very high-tech. Pre-war.”

The book snaps shut, and he shifts the sword so he’s looking down the blade at you. “Kept in very poor condition. Wind, weather, time, all have marked this weapon. Not for the better. But still a very rare, very beautiful weapon. Where did you find it?”

You hold up your Pipbuck, and open up the map. “Uh… Here. In a box truck, like somepony was moving. I had to shoot the lock open, and it was the first thing I found after leaving my Stable.”

He peers at your Pipbuck, and then nods. “Previous offer still stands. Any Energy Weapon you like, or 300 caps. 50 more, for the information.” He points towards the large metal crate below the weapon rack. “Energy weapons, in there. Ugly devices, cobbled together from vacuum tubes and copper wiring. I will not mourn their loss.”

You nod, and stand back up, turning your back to him as you give the lid a kick. It pops open, revealing a bounty of weaponry, all covered in rust, dust, and warpaint. They all look like the guns in the comic books back in the stable, but real, which is cool.

Your first instinct is to pick the biggest, most complicated one you can see to sell it for the caps, but a pistol in one of the corners catches your eye. It seems much cleaner, much better-maintained, and much sleeker than pretty much anything in the crate. Picking it up, you turn it over in your hooves, then look down the sights. Seems like a pretty good gun, actually.

There’s a metal groan from behind you, and a breath on your shoulder. “Plasma Defender. You have good taste in guns.” He’s right behind you, and then your entire right side lights up in excruciating heat.

Collapsing onto your side, you scream in pain, and look back. Abalone’s stood up, and he’s holding a metal stick with a huge spool of wiring wrapped around the end, hooked into a pair of batteries duct-taped onto the end. “Apologies. But I need to find more weapons like these. The fact that you managed to find one, and still remember where, makes you dangerous. You could tell others, before I get a chance to collect them.”

“Fuck you!” You spit. Your right side feels like it’s been burnt and extinguished, and you’ve been left with the charred result. The very ends of your hooves are numb, and that’s giving you trouble standing back up. What’s worse, is that he moment Abalone even sees you making the effort, he smacks your belly with the cattle prod.

Your vision goes white as electricity sparks across your chest, and your heart skips a beat as 50 amps of Electricity give it a single, crippling jolt. You’re left panting on the floor, trying to regain your breath, but your lungs aren’t working right at the moment. And now your whole body feels like your nerves have been cooked.

“Ow…” You manage to whine out, between pants. You try and turn your head to look back at Abalone, and you finally get to see the stallion under the Armour. Powering it down, he pulls off the helmet to reveal a close-cropped, patchy red mane, and those same golden eyes. He watches you for a moment, and then when he’s content you’re not going to try and get up again, he starts pulling off the rest of the armour, carefully placing it all into the crate with the energy weapons.

When he’s done, he’s stripped down to a gunmetal-grey bodysuit, which seems to be made of pliable plastic with several metal plates attached. They’re where the armour was mounted, you note. He seems to consider taking that off too, but instead shrugs and unzips the belly of the suit, exposing his underside and crotch. Even out of the armour, he’s a large stallion… In more ways than one.

“I don’t like this weapon,” he says, lifting the cattle prod once again in his golden aura. “Too rough. Clearly cobbled together out of spare parts in a shack somewhere. But it is useful for pacifying customers that have gotten… Unruly.”

You do not like where this is going. You barely manage to lift your head, and his eyes snap back to you the instant you do. The cattle prod is a blur, this time smacking you right in the crotch.

Your vision blurs as your most sensitive area lights up with electric heat, spreading down your legs and up your belly. You let out a squeal, but it’s less of a cry of pain and more the air escaping from your chest all at once. As the dots in your vision fade, feeling returns to your lower half, which is still warm, and wet. You’ve pissed yourself.

The cattle prod hovers nearby as Abalone smiles, watching the absolute last traces of those drunks splatter all over his concrete floor, pooling under your cutie mark. He grabs one of your hinds and flicks it to the left, making you go spread-eagle in your own urine. “But it does allow me to fulfill an otherwise… difficult fetish of mine. After all, you only see a raider walk into a downed power line once, if you’re lucky.”

He moves the cattle prod until it’s within inches of your bruised pussy, and then gives you a serene smile. “Would you like to know why I’m not with the Silver Crusaders any more?”

You shake your head no, but your own body is so lethargic after the shocks that all you can do is flop it side to side.

“Fucking my superior officer. She understood me. Let me use this on her in the bedroom, though on a much lower setting than you’re enjoying right now. Eventually she turned around, bent over, and told me to put into her ass… And turn it up to its highest setting.”

The end of the cattle prod dip down, and you cringe, but it just gives you a split-second of heat. Whether you’re numb to the shocks or he’s dialed it down, you don’t know. “Fried her like a bug. Screamed like Discord himself was hilted in her, pretty sure she came before she caught fire.”

There’s a faint click, and you notice two tiny prongs on the end of the prod, sticking out of the wood. Looking down your body, he moves them so they’re on either side of your clit, then clicks the button. Twin arcs of electricity jump to it, and you shriek again as pain lances up through your crotch again. Much less intense, but it still stings like a motherfucker.

He flinches this time. “Still? You can’t hold your volts.” He looks down, and then his aura surrounds your skirt. With a ripping sound, it’s off, and you’re even more exposed than you were before. It balls itself up, still soaked with piss, and he swipes the cattle prod across your teats.

You can’t stop yourself from yowling in pain again, and the moment your mouth opens, he crams the dripping piece of cloth into your mouth, gagging you with it. All you can taste is your own piss, with maybe a hint of cum from last night. To test it, he smacks your shoulder with the cattle prod, and your scream of pain is little more than a gurgling whimper this time around. The electricity also makes your foreleg jerk, and in an instant, the muscles feel painfully sore.

Smirking, he smacks your inner thigh with the prod, and that jerks too, out of your control. For about a minute, he starts making you twitch like some sort of horrible puppet. Each zap only makes you more sore and tired, unable to move your limbs unless he’s shocking them into it. The very thought finally breaks you a little, and you start sobbing, though it’s still muffled by your piss-soaked skirt in your mouth.

Finally content, he places the Cattle prod on the floor beside him, and sits up. He’s been getting excited from all this, taking some sort of perverse pleasure in watching you squirm, making your heart stop in nanosecond intervals. Fully hard, he reaches underneath you, gripping your cutie marks, and then pulls them up so his dick is poking at your singed crotch. Lukewarm piss starts dripping down your back, as your head lies against the floor at a painful angle.

Without a word, he pulls you onto his dick, shoving himself inside. It hurts. There’s no lubrication, and you sure as hell weren’t turned on by the electroshock therapy. His head spreads you like a drill through stone, and after a few seconds of agony, your hips bump together. Then his horn glows again, and the cattle prod is back.

“This is dangerous. Much prefer being an observer to a participant. But Knight Elegance did this wonderful spastic twitching when I zapped her, and the feeling of that is well worth it, I feel.”

You try and shake your head frantically, begging him not to do it through the gag, but the end of the prod jabs into your barrel, and heat lances through you again. He grunts and your heart stops, in unison. It comes back beating a million times per minute, though you’re starting to wish it wouldn’t. “Too high,” he mutters, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, the prod jabs at your throat, and you gurgle as electricity sparks around your head.

The world tastes orange for a moment as your brain gets an unhealthy dosage of the volts. When you come back from a short moment of unconsciousness, he’s gotten up to speed, railing you against the weapons crate. Your neck cricks repeatedly against it and the floor.

A moment later, he slows, pulling out. His cock is covered in blood, your blood, from not lubing up. Now that it’s unplugged, twin trails of it make a bright red line down your hinds. They wind downwards through your pantyhose, staining it and the fur crimson, before his magic grips you. With another grunt, and his dick bobbing in midair, he flips you so your hooves are down. They touch the floor, and then instantly buckle, but he keeps holding you up.

He hooks your neck back over the edge of the weapon crate, and pushes back into your pussy, stopping the flow of blood for now. The shift in position also means you can open your mouth and let gravity pull the rags of your skirt out of your mouth, though by now you’ve already sucked all the piss from its fibres.

His magic grabs your head, and for a brief moment, you hope he’s going to snap your neck. No such luck. He just turns you around, so you can see him fucking you, and the cattle prod, which he pokes against your asshole.

“I think I’d like to see another mare catch fire today. Ready?”

Your eyes widen. This is going to hurt so much. “Please, no-”

Even if it hadn’t been late, he likely wouldn’t have cared, jamming the end of the cattle prod into your ass. It slides in uncomfortably far, past the coils, which thankfully are pretty close to the wooden shaft. He shoves it as deep as it can go, up to the handle, until the prongs at the end are poking the inside of your rectum.

Then he pulls out, and starts jerking off. You start sobbing again, as he comes, spraying his seed all over your back. With one last smirk, he twists the cattle prod inside you, and your entire body lights up in unimaginable pain. You convulse as the amps slide through your veins, arcing across your muscles. White light and dots of blackness fill your vision as the tent disappears, and though you have no way to tell, the sheer power of the shock cooks you just a little bit.

But at the end of it, you’re still alive. The last trace of piss left in your bladder squirts out, followed by the last remnants of your dignity.

You can’t feel anything as Abalone picks you up, just a tingling numbness. You try and move your hoof, and it does, sort of, respond. You just can’t feel it. He holds you up to his nose, and takes a sniff. “Slightly crispy. Not bad.”

After a moment, he lets go of everything but your head, and sits back against the solid side of the tent. Dragging you across the piss-and-blood-stained concrete, you end up in front of his shaft, which is coated with everything splattered across the floor, as well as his own cum. “Clean it.”

Cowed, and still in pain from the electrocution, you nod. He holds you up at crotch level, but the moment he lets go, you just slump to the floor against his balls. With a sigh, he picks you up again and starts using your mouth like a cleaning rag, wiping all of your fluids off him. After a moment, you swallow, sending a mouthful of blood and cum down your throat. Then he uses your face to wipe off the rest.

Considering your new face-paint, he eventually shakes his head. “Mm… no, even keeping you alive could be a risk. Goodbye, whatever your name was.” His horn lifts you by hinds alone this time, and you’re joined once again by the cattle prod. You cringe, anticipating yet another shock, but when he smacks it against your rear all you feel is the impact, and your own ass jiggling a bit.

This seems to confuse him too. He blinks once, then inspects it. “Hm. You drained the battery. Didn’t need it for now, anyway.” He yanks you higher into the air, your hinds brushing against the tents aluminum support structure, and opens his mouth. Your heart stops one last time as you stare downwards, into the abyss of his throat.

And then the fucker lets you dangle, helplessly.

You try to struggle, try to move your hooves, your head, anything, but your muscles are still all fucked up from the shocks. The best you can manage is tiny twitches of your hooves and minute movements of your neck, which makes as sore, as if he’d bucked you right in the chin. He begins lowering you into his gob, like a bunch of grapes, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him.

Your hooves miss his mouth, but it’s a small comfort—your face is still destined for his belly. Even your own jaw is slack as it lowers into his. He waits until his mouth covers your entire head, then closes his lips, plunging your world into darkness. The walls close in on you, and you get a taste of what Zephyr is afraid of as Abalone begins sucking on your head like it’s a popsicle. His tongue slathers across your face, then plunges into your gaping mouth, prench kissing your head, to your own disgust.

When he’s had his fun, he opens his mouth again, and cold air rushes in, chilling your soaked head. He starts lowering you again, and your head slips into his throat, your shoulders replacing your head. As you slip deeper, your limp fores start getting pulled in alongside the rest of your body, pinning them to your sides. Blindly, you feel yourself sliding downwards, compressed on all sides by Abalone’s throat.

Without the “benefit” of vision, you’re left with just your hearing. Every few seconds, you can hear him swallow, gulping down more and more of your pudgy frame without any trouble. For a few swallows, you hear the steady thump-thump of the big jackass’ heart. And finally, the eager gurgling of his belly. That’s the worst of the bunch, and especially the fact that it’s constantly getting closer.

Just about when he reaches your abused crotch, your head pushes through, popping into the stomach. All the air you had turns acrid, but breathable, and you try not to think about the bubbling acid inches beneath your head. That’s when he stops swallowing, and begins using his tongue to explore inside your marehood.

It slips and slides around, slurping out the mixture he left in there. Overall, the whole thing feels kind of slimy, but warm, and a lot more gentle than he was with his dick. It doesn’t take long for it to actually start feeling good, which is kind of horrible to contemplate. Especially when he starts going deeper, getting a lot of spots that were kind of tricky to hit, but his tongue felt giant too, so he could reach a little deeper.

You’re getting close, just a few more seconds… And then he stops, and his tongue slurps back out, leaving you right on the brink. You wait, hoping he’s got something planned, but he just starts swallowing again. The fucker left you right on the edge of orgasm, and he must’ve known it!

Your face drops slides downwards into a pool of liquid, and you jump. Right. Acid. Still a belly. A moment later your fores follow you, dropping in alongside your head with a splash. As Abalone starts sucking down your hinds, you experimentally try moving them again, and find that you can though it still makes your very bones ache in pain.

You push against the bottom of the stomach, pulling your head out of the acid, and breathe a frantic gulp of acrid air. Drowning in acid did not sound like a fun way to go, even after all of that. One last swallow sends your legs into your throat, and a combination of gravity and your own movements pull them down to join you in seconds, forcing you to curl up inside his stomach.

And you’re still half-cocked.

Outside, Abalone pats his belly, and stands up. With his new meal resting in his gut beneath him, he moves to the tent door, and dispels the enchantment locking it down. Instantly the other pony, a dark grey pegasus, falls through the tent flap landing a blood and piss-soaked floor.

“Whoah! What, where’s-” is all he manages to sputter out before Abalone sits on him, frantically recasting the enchantment and sealing the tent again. He actually forgot about the other pony. A moment later, he grins, and shakes his rear, grinding the stallion’s muzzle into his friend’s fluids. He was in the perfect position to get rid of him instantly.

The pressure pushing Zephyr’s head flat against the reeking concrete let up a moment later, and he looked up, hopeful there’d been some kind of misunderstanding, but all the massive Silver Crusader above had done is reposition himself. The massive, muscled white-furred ass dropped back on his head, and it was pulled into the Stallion’s anus with a slurp. “Wait fuck no-”

All you can hear from inside your new home is muffled shouting, and the sensation of squirming from underneath you. After about a minute of that, the stomach shifts underneath your rear, and Zephyr’s head is pushed upwards, your best friend and lover joining you in Abalone’s belly with a massive gasp of air.

“Holy fuck, no no no, dark, tight, bad bad bad-”

“Zephyr?” You croak.

There’s a pause. When he speaks, it’s with a horrified croak. “D-Dusty? What happened?”

It’s tight in the stomach. When he finishes sliding inside, there’s barely any room to move, and the acid is splashing around you, soaking through your fur. “Fucker had a stunstick… He was getting off on zapping me, then he starting railing me against a crate…”

“Are you okay?” He whispers.

You groan. “Ow… No… Sore all over. I feel like death on toast. Messed me up bad with those shocks. And that was before he decided to take a break from eating me to eat me out, and leave me fucking hanging right before I cum…” Almost subconsciously, almost, you start grinding yourself against Zephyr.

His voice is still shaky. “Dusty? What- what are you doing, we gotta get out of here-”

“Shush. I wanna finish first. Then we escape. Okay?”

You know he’s blinking at you. You can’t see anything in the belly, but you know he’s blinking at you dumbly. You start grinding up against him harder, which breaks him out of it, and he wraps his wings around you again. “Alright. Just a quickie, then escape.”

He pulls you down onto himself, wrapping you around him, and you moan. It feels so much better than Abalone did. Zephyr fits perfectly, and even when he’s hurrying like this, he’s gentle. His wings pull you in closer against his chest, and you nuzzle him as he thrusts upwards. You match him, pushing yourself down, sloshing the stomach acids around the both of you.

It doesn’t take more than about a minute of that to get you right back where you were before, and Zephyr’s there with you. As you both start getting close, the humping causes you both to slide downwards, and more of him slides into the acid, up around his chest. “Dusty?” He warns, with a cough.

“Almost there, almost…” Zephyr finishes just a few seconds before you do, and you splash downwards, hilting him inside yourself as deep as you can. Happy warmth spreads through you as you slump onto his chest, practically purring from the feelings.

Looking up, Zephyr’s already asleep. Silly pony. Snuggling up against him, you start drifting off too, happy and satisfied.

* * *

Abalone burped as the movements in his belly finally stopped. He’d heard talking, but they were still now. He only stayed there for a few minutes, pulling the sword back over and inspecting it again. This sword really was impressive, though it needed a good cleaning.

As soon as his belly had shrunk enough that he could zip up his undersuit, he did, and started replacing his armour. The bulge in his belly was still clear, but armoured, which he decided was good enough to open up shop once again.

Opening the door, he poked his head out. If anypony had cared about these two, they didn’t say anything. With a shrug, he retreated behind his desk, and back to his reading, waiting for the next customer.

* * *

The end of the day came quick. A few energy weapons were sold, mostly spare laser RCWs, and an Enclave-hired Silver Crusader stopped by looking for a “Spring Zephyr.” He had no clue who that was, though.

After closing up, he left the Bazaar. Moments after stepping out of the busted glass doors, a pressure in his rear made itself known, and he silently let out a slow fart. There was a bunch of alleys behind the Bazaar, that’d work.

He turned a corner and came face to face with a rusted metal dumpster. Opening the lid, he peered inside. Empty, good. He pulled off a few choice parts of the armour, re-opening the suit beneath. Turning around, he propped himself up on the edge, with his rear facing into the giant metal box.

With another fart, he started pushing out his unruly customers from earlier. They were more solid than sludge, and as he pushed, they coiled up in a pile, in the corner of the dumpster. With another grunt, the end of the turd slopped out, splattering the pile. Then he let out a truly rank fart, and there was a solid mass lodged in place.

He had to strain, and then skull came out, followed by another. Propelled by a last pair of farts, they popped out and bounced across the rusted bottom of the ancient dumpster, which was finally seeing its intended use again. One of the skulls ended up rolling to a far corner, but the other just bounced back into the pile of shit, sticking upwards. He farted one last time, squirting them both with a faint spray of his ass juices, before giving it a shake.

He still wasn’t finished. Shifting around, he starting pissing the rest of them out into the dumpster, giving both of the skulls a last soak and staining the already brown-stained bone a little bit yellow. Then, zipping up, he smirked.

He hopped off the dumpster, gave it one last look, and then spun around and bucked the side, making the lid come down with a slam. If anypony ever opened it up again, they’d get a facefull of contained stench… The stench of trash, ones that didn’t prize old world items.