Dusty's Trails Bad Ends Compilation

by Ink Ribbon - Vraddock

Rating: mature
Tags: Crossover, Sex, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Other, Original Character, Second Person, Science Fiction, Adventure
Length: 33495

A series of bad ends written for the Fallout: Equestria vote-driven vore story, Dusty's Trails.

A series of bad ends written for the Fallout: Equestria vote-driven vore story, Dusty's Trails. These will be the ones I've written, and new ones will be posted as they happen. The actual fetishes in play for each chapter will be listed at the beginning of each, but for now, it's safe assume they all involve Vore in some way or another.

You don't have to read Dusty's Trails, but if you enjoy this content I'd encourage you to do so as we try to make it a genuinely good Fallout Equestria story as well as a vore story. Not to mention there are many more bad ends written by my fellow writer on the project. PM me and I'll link you to the rest of the story.

Cover art by dddddd2, who I can't link to directly, but I can link to his Derpibooru tag. https://derpibooru.org/tags/artist-colon-dddddd2

Published 2015-09-10 21:40:05 UTC
Last updated 2016-03-04 09:10:05 UTC

Hunted Down by the Gryphon Mercs of Talon Company!

Author's Note

[Contains: Anal Vore, Oral Vore, Rape, Cruel Pred, Very Messy Scat, Incredibly Unhealthy Gryphons, and playing with the skulls.]

This was originally Part 22 (Bad End).

Hunted Down by the Gryphon Mercs of Talon Company!

Before you can move a muscle, you hear the faint click-click-click of claws on tile. The Gryphon must have heard you. Everypony freezes, Zephyr holding his rifle, Score cowering against the counter. A green laser sight sweeps across the wall slowly, playing across the cracked glass and faded posters of pre-war movie stars, advertisements for instant food, and anti-zebra propaganda.

The Gryphon starts moving again, the noise from the other side of the counter shifting left. You follow it with your eyes, looking away only to frantically (but quietly) dig through your bag. The shotgun’s the strongest thing you have, and you pull it out, checking it’s loaded. Zephyr’s eyes go wide trying to tell you something, but if he speaks, the Gryphon will zero in on your hiding place like a monster from the vault’s arcade machines.
Zephyr checks his own ammo as you aim at the end of the counter, waiting for the Gryphon to walk around it. Closer, closer…

The Gryphon steps around the corner of the counter, and there’s a split second of panic on her beak as she sees you. Then you pull the trigger of the shotgun, giving her both barrels.

The double gunshot roars in the burnt-out diner, and her armour is lit up with sparks as… the birdshot pings right off. The Gryphon looks down at her scratched, but un-penetrated breastplate, before looking back at you, and howling, “Motherfucker! You shot me!”

Zephyr tries to take a shot but the Gryphon’s faster, her Zebra Assault Rifle snapping up and barking three rounds into his chest. Zephyr’s own armour saves him from being shot outright, but it knocks him off-guard long enough for the Gryphon to dash forward, and yank his rifle right out of his hooves, tossing it across the room. Almost as an aftershot, she backhoofs you, knocking the half-reloaded shotgun skittering across the floor.

The tiles in here taste awful.

“Alright! That’s enough of that shit! You, flyboy, hooves up and wings spread! You, back there, with the horn! If I see any hint of a glow I’m shooting that glorified head-pecker right off your skull!” With a cruel grin in her eyes, she barely even glances at you. “And you, stay down there. You an’ me, we’re gonna have words.”

The green laser darts between the three of you for a few seconds, waiting to see if anypony tries anything. When you don’t, the Gryphon pulls a walkie-talkie off her belt. It’s already squawking with the voices of the other Gryphons.

“Gunshot! Where was that?”

“Shotgun blast, sounded like! Anyone got a shooter?”

Never taking her eyes off you and Zephyr, she clicks the button. “Had some raiders hiding out in the diner. They’re sittin’ pretty, looks clear. Glenda, keep eyes out for more, just in case.”

There’s a rhythm of thumps from outside as two more Gryphons land, and another thump accompanied by a shower of dust as one settles on the rooftop. Two more Talon Company Mercs step inside, and the first one waves them over. “You said we had raiders, Giselle?”

She shrugs. The laser never moves from Zephyr’s chest. “Maybe not. Fuckers tried to ambush me.”

“Well, let’s see who we got- Oh, wouldja look at that! What a coinky-dink!” A large black-feathered Gryphon steps past Giselle and grabs Score by the nape of his neck.

Holding him high for the rest to see, the Catbird easily dwarfs the diminutive Score, like a pony holding a kitten. “We found our target, just where that guy said he’d be. Whatcha got to say for yourself, Score?”

Score’s kicking the air frantically, but the Gryphon’s got a good grip on him. “I can cut you a deal! Please! I have caps! So many caps! In my bag!”

The last Gryphon finishes sweeping the rest of the building, popping out of the grimy bathroom. “It don’t work like that, Guy. We finish the job.”

“Please!” Score pleads frantically, his eyes landing on you and Zephyr. “Please don’t kill me! Take those two instead!”

The big Gryphon snorts. “Still trying to trade slaves, even now? You’re a fuck, Score. You’re lucky our guy wants you alive… Actually, maybe you’re not.”

The word ‘slaves’ catches your attention. “Wait, what-” You freeze as ‘Giselle’s laser snaps to between your eyes. “What do you mean slaves?”

The last Gryphon, bone-white and carrying a combat shotgun, raises a feathery eyebrow. “He didn’t tell you, huh?” Giving Score a glare, she continues, “Score here has been trading slaves for about 3 years now. Guy could make you sell your own mother to go cut steel. Someone’s had enough, and they want his head, but they want it still attached.”

Zephyr growls. “Score…” His own eyes flicking around the room, he focuses on the big Gryphon. “Listen, we didn’t know he traded slaves. He’s been dodgy every time we asked him what he does. We’re just playing bodyguard until we get to Dodge City.”

“We don’t like leaving loose ends. Too much vigilante justice in the Wasteland for that.” The Big Gryphon tosses Score across the diner to the bone-white Gryphon, who lets him bounce across the tiles before grabbing him herself, pulling out a burlap sack and some rope to tie him up with. The Big Gryphon turns back to Giselle. “Riddle ‘em.”

Giselle clicks her beak. “Uhm… Genghis? Actually…”

‘Genghis’ growls at her, but doesn’t say anything.

Clearly cowed, Ginny quickly asks, “Look, it’s been three days since we left Dodge City, I’m fucking hungry, the bitch on the floor shot me-” Almost as if to prove her point, her gut rumbles. “Come on. We got Score. Can I have a little fun?”

The bone-white Gryphon sighs, checks her Pipbuck, and nods. “Sure. You get the unicorn, Genghis gets the Pegasus. He’s been chewing through our rations, could use a good meal.”

“Thanks Geraldine!” She steps forward, and punches Zephyr in the face, stunning him a second so she can pass him to Genghis, who smirks. “Pass me some’a that rope. I wanna have some fun first.”

‘Geraldine’ retches, but passes him the rope. It’s quickly put to work by the Gryphon’s dexterous claws, and he rids him of all of his clothes and gear, before tying Zephyr tight, binding his legs to his belly in a sleek position.

He’s less than happy about it. “You talon assholes! You’re just raiders with better gear! If you’re gonna eat me, then fucking do it! Don’t draw it out!”

“Oh, I’m gonna. Just not gonna swallow ya.” He props Zephyr up against the counter, and turns around. The pegasus’s eyes go wide as Genghis spreads his asscheeks. Between them, the Gryphon’s asshole is clearly stained from the remains of his last meal. Whether he couldn’t find toilet paper or just didn’t care is a mystery for the ages.

Zephyr starts thrashing as Genghis sits back on his face, keeping him straight with his hinds, and pressing the end of his muzzle against the predator’s awful anus. Zephyr gets half a curse out before his head pops into the Gryphon’s rectum, thrashing around as much as he can in his bonds.

“Aw fuck yeah,” Grunts Genghis, still pushing back. His dick extends out of his sheath, and he’s quick to give it a pump, feeling the pegasus twitch wildly. Then his eyes fall on you. “Hey. Strip the bitch and bring her over here.”

Giselle frowns, but does so. You’re in shock as she does, but you wouldn’t move anyway. That gun’s still steadily held in her claw, even if her other claw is tearing off your vault jumpsuit, saddlebags, everything. It all falls to the tile floor with a clank and a rustle of fabric, and i’s only drowned out by a fart as Genghis pulls Zephyr deeper into his ass. He’s up to the poor pegasus’ waist. With another grunt, you see the last part of Zephyr you ever will; his nice ass and legs sliding into the Gryphon’s horrible ass with a noise between a slurp and a fart.

Geraldine waves a claw in front of her as Genghis drops back to all fours. “Ugh… Smells like a Diamond Dog’s scatpile. What have you been eating, Genghis?”

The huge Gryphon doesn’t even answer, simply grabbing one of the ancient leather seats from a burnt booth and yanking it off its screws, placing it in the open before sitting down on it. He starts really stroking himself as Zephyr slides through his intestines, accompanied by another fart. Then his eyes go back to you, and Giselle urges you forward at gunpoint.

Genghis’s cock… You’ve never seen a Gryphon’s dick before. You’re seeing so many new things as of late. It’s a wet black colour, and spiky, clearly being more cat than Eagle. And it’s huge. On a pony, it’d be so wildly out of place that it would stick out from between their forelegs, but on this Gryphon, it’s just proportional. As you realize Genghis wants you on it, you freeze, trying to look for a way out, any way out, but Giselle pokes you forward again with the end of her assault rifle.

“Get on it. Try anything funny, and I’ll fuck yer corpse.” Trembling, you move forward, and he pulls you onto his lap. Then he leans back, and you realize he’s not going to fuck you with it.

He’s going to make you fuck him.

When you hesitate too long, he reaches forward, grabbing one of Giselle’s revolvers off her flank, cocking the hammer and jamming it into the side of your head. “Move.” You can’t exactly refuse now, so you climb up, the revolver following you, until you press your own crotch against the end of his cock.

There’s no lubrication, nothing to make this feel good, you’re a toy for the big Gryphon’s pleasure, nothing else. He gives you a prod with the barrel of the gun again, and your grit your teeth before pushing your rear back.

The first six inches or so are okay. You could do this if it were just that. But as you start pressing further downward, Genghis giving a content groan, the spines slide inside. Even that’s alright, but as you hit your limit and try to pull out, the ends catch.

They don’t even draw blood, but it hurts,and you gasp in pain. Then you look into Genghis’ eyes, and you know you’re going to have to continue anyway. As you push down the second time, finally getting temporary relief from the spines, Genghis apparently decides you’re not moving fast enough. Dropping the revolver on the tiles, he grabs your shoulders. Before you can even shriek no, he slams you down.

You’re filled in an instant, squalling in sheer pain as he presses your crotch against his own. When something shifts beneath you, you freeze, only moving your eyes downward.

Zephyr is still working his way through Genghis’ intestines, and is still very much alive, squirming as he slowly slides through the maze of guts. A tiny trickle of blood drips down the Gryphon’s cock as you put a hoof on the bulge. “Z-Zephyr?”

There’s a muffled cry of, “Dusty! Help me!”

Before you can even think how, Genghis grabs your shoulders once more, and starts yanking you upwards and slamming you back down himself. Your eyes cross as you go into shock, trying to outlast the pain as Genghis brutally uses you as a cocksleeve.

With another groan, he finally comes just as Zephyr pops into his stomach. There’s a pause before he starts screaming, and the Gryphon lets you slump onto his barrel against Zephyr’s outline as he fills you with Catbird cum.

“Zephyr…” You gasp out.

The thrashing moves in your direction, but it does him no good. All he can do is press up against you. “Dusty! Oh fuck, get me out here! My feathers are falling off! It hurts! Fuck!”

You nestle your head against the Gryphon’s furry chest, against Zephyr’s thrashing form, as cum drips down the leather seat. “I’m sorry, Zephyr… I can’t… They’ve got a gun on me, I can’t…”

“Please! Dusty!” The thrashing stops as he just tries to press against the stomach’s lining against you. “Dusty! Help me!”

You sob against the outline. You can already feel him coming apart under your hooves. “Zephyr… I’m so sorry… I…” You choke up, barely getting it out as Zephyr slumps against you, unmoving now. “I… I love you, Zephyr…”

The world stops as you desperately try to hear Zephyr one last time. Straining your ears, you can hear the rustle of empty cans as Geraldine rummages through the kitchen, the faint dripping of cum on the blackened tiles, the heavy panting from yourself and the Gryphons in the room… But Zephyr is silent, save for the gurgle of the big Gryphon’s belly.

“Ah… that’s cute, little lovebirds…” Giselle steps closer, wiping her own cum on your chest. Apparently she enjoyed the show. “Time for lunch!”
Giselle grabs your shoulders, her claws replacing the previous pair as she pulls you away from Genghis’ chest. “Just relax, guy. I’ll suck her right off your dick.”

You look up at the busted fluorescent lights in the ceiling for just a moment before the view is obscured by Giselle’s beak-lined maw. You don’t care anymore, not even bothering to struggle as her mouth envelops your head, saliva soaking your mane, and the edges of her beak tickling your throat. She’s not even merciful enough to kill you, and just starts working herself down.

As she reaches your shoulders, you close your eyes, letting the sensations of the Gryphon’s throat wash over you. It’s like being yanked into a fleshy slide by huge muscles. this is what food felt like, you realized. What all those ponies you’d eaten felt like as they traveled down your own throat, to their own inevitable doom, unable to move, unable to struggle, as they were pulled into your throat like so much meat.

Giselle reaches your barrel, and starts tilting her head back, pulling you off Genghis’ massive cock with a warm, wet slurp and a small gush of pink cum, mixing with your blood. Gravity shifts, and you simply slide back, your own legs flopping in behind you. Briefly, you glance back up the throat, and get one last glimpse of the mid-day wasteland sun before your cruel predator’s beak snaps shut.

You’re quickly dropped into a fleshy cavern, splashing as your head splatters a small pool of acid at the bottom. You barely move as the acid drips down the walls, soaking into your skin. More begins dripping from the walls, and lazily you pull your hoof out of the fizzing, sizzling liquid.

All your fur’s coming off already, flaking off along with your skin, dropping with a series of tiny plops back into the pool of acid. You don’t even feel it, you’re still in shock from the brutal fucking you endured. or at least, you can’t feel until the pool fills past your barrel, and starts dribbling into your upturned, gaping vagina.

With a yelp, you try and pull away, the pain coming back in full force from everywhere the acid’s touched, but there’s nowhere to go. Your own frantic splashing mirrors Zephyr’s before you, and it’s just as effective. As your own thrashing starts stripping the flesh from your bones, turning the yellow acids dark red, you let out a scream.

The scream’s filled with pain. Not just from the acid, though that is the main motivation behind it, but also for Zephyr. That you never got to say you loved him, never got to feel his touch after that night, that you never got to say goodbye. As it trails off, you hoof pops, and you look down at it just in time to see it burn off at the knees, the remaining skin sloughing off with a slurp, before dropping with a splash into the acids.

You scream again, this time in terror and pure pain as the acid works it’s way through your crotch, burning it’s way into you, filling you with sheer blinding pain. After only a few moments more, the pain and lack of oxygen get to you, and your eyes roll back as you slump into the acid with a slow splash.

Your last thoughts are of Zephyr, and then… Nothing.

* * *

“Finally.” Growls Giselle. “Thought the bitch would never shut her trap.”

Genghis lets out a chuckle. “Suit yourself. I like the screaming.”

“We can tell,” spits Geraldine, stepping out of the Diner’s ruined kitchen. “By the way, all of the toilets were smashed. Judging by the graffiti, nopony really knows why. But there is a slide-open freezer in there you can use.”

Genghis nods. “Good. I’m gonna push this birdy right back out. Think they got any good gear on ‘em?”

He stood, walking past Geraldine as she nods. “I’ll check.” Giselle trails after Genghis like a lost puppy with a bloated belly, and they both enter the kitchen.

The freezer’s pretty easy to find. It’s just a white, metal magic-powered freezer. It seems to have shorted out when the bombs dropped, and the glass had been smashed in on both windows at some point. Bits of glass and empty food boxes sat inside, dusty from age.

Genghis rubbed his belly a bit before climbing on top, positioning his ass over one of the windows, and panted before squeezing his eyes shut. A loud fart tore through the empty kitchen, and bits of badly-digested pegasus slopped out into the container. Straining, Genghis pushed out a solid log thicker than a pony’s hoof, filled with bones, and the cork had been removed. A small shower of diarrhea-ed pegasus splattered the sides of the freezer, filling it with an inch of pungent liquid shit. The deluge was finally capped off with a skull, which plopped onto the pile, getting coated in more shit before rolling down into the water.

Giselle followed it, and as soon as Genghis had finished, shaking his ass in a corner, she reached in, plucking out the skull. Not even bothering to wipe it off, she set it on a nearby counter, and took her own position over the other freezer window.

“Time for you to-ah!-join your coltfriend…” She muttered. A stream of piss leapt to the pile of shit already in the freezer, soaking it and turning it to soup inside the pre-war appliance. When what was left of Dusty finally started tumbling out in clumps, it dropped into the puddle of piss and liquid shit, splashing and splattering it everywhere. With another grunt, a bone slid out, dropping into the soup with a clank, quickly followed by more.

Finally, Giselle looked down into the freezer, which was, by now, filled with the two ponies’ remains. Fur and chunks of mane mixed together, solid bones mixing with hollow ones, and it was all that was left of the two. Giselle smiled again. “Well, looks like you two get to be together again. I don’t think anypony will be able to pick you two apart now, though. You kind of look the same, like a big, worthless pile of shit!”

Something in her shifted with a fart, and she looked back at herself. “Up, hang on, might have missed a little bit of you, miss Bitchy McBirdshot.” With a good push, the Unicorn’s skull plopped into the soup, instantly sinking under the surface.

Giselle’s eyes lit up, and she didn’t even hesitate to stick her hand in the muck to fish out the skull. “Well hello there! Who’s a weak little pile of shit? That’s right, you are!” A turd slowly slid out of what had been Dusty’s eye socket, dropping back into the freezer.

“Well, I think it’s only polite to put you with your friend.” Setting Dusty’s skull down on the counter alongside Zephyrs, she looked at them for a moment, as if expecting them to make small talk. When they failed to so, she picked up one in each claw, putting on funny voices as she played with them.

“Well hi there miss Bitchy McDoubleBarrel!”

“Hi there, Feathers!”

“This sure is a predicament we’re in, isn’t it?”

“Sure is, Feathers!”

Behind her, Genghis stood, walking over from his corner. “Mind if I try?”

Giselle blinked, before shaking her head and passing the two shit-coated skulls to him. Genghis looked at them both, one in each claw, before slamming them together in the blink of an eye. Chunks of shit-covered skull scattered across the kitchen, and Giselle squawked. “Hey! I was having fun!”

“Let’s get moving.” Growled Genghis in response, leaving the kitchen.

Giselle took one last look around, washed up really quickly in a sink that still somehow worked (although the water was glowing faintly) and joined them, leaving the room coated in Dusty and Zephyrs remains.

What had before been a handy rest spot for caravans was quickly abandoned over the next couple of years. Nopony could handle the smell, and if they tried, they could have sworn they heard screams during the night...

Grisly Ghouls and Radioactive Soda in Wishbone Canyon!

Author's Note

[Contains: Anal Vore, Rape, Cruel Pred, Radiation Poisioning, Digestion, Living Toilet, and a ghoul having his head crushed by ass fat.]

This was originally Part 28 (Bad End).

Grisly Ghouls and Radioactive Soda in Wishbone Canyon!

[FAILED] “Ugh, your breath stinks so bad I bet your ass smells like flowers, maggot-mouth.”

There’s a long moment of silence as the Ghouls blink at you in shock, and Zephyr stares at you, eyes wide. Neither of them can believe the sheer insanity of what you just said.

Zephyr’s the first to recover. His eyes snap back to the Ghouls, and he frantically yelps, “She didn’t mean that! She’s just- She’s, uh, she’s got Tourettes, she can’t control that, we didn’t think any of you were non-ferals-”

“Oh, I’m sure.” The rotting mare lips curl into a snarl. “Well, Smoothskin, since you’re curious, why don’t I show you just what it smells like? Tick-Tock, watch the Pigeon. Yellowcake… Hold her down.”

‘Tick-Tock’, it seemed, was a Ghoul who had been as such for a very long time, and had spent most of it fighting. He was wearing ragged, bloodstained combat armour, that looked as if it was in worse condition than he was. Most of his throat was missing, and his jaw hung off his head loosely enough that shifting his battle saddle-mounted shotgun to train it on Zephyr made it flop around like a limp marionette. He was maybe a week or two from going outright feral, but that was more than enough sanity to put Zephyr down if you resisted.

‘Yellowcake’ was the exact opposite. His eyes went wide again when the mare told him to hold you down, and he trembled in his initiate robes the whole time. His police standard .357 revolver wobbled uncertainly, bobbing up and down in his orange aura. His flesh sat uncomfortably on him, and a large chunk of it sloughed right off as he pulled the dead, impaled Feral off you. He only stared at the newly-exposed muscle for a few seconds before the Mare grumbled. “Yellowcake.”

“Sorry, Archdeacon Glowbright.”

When he touches you, it’s like being grabbed by a corpse, albeit a nervous one. He isn’t quite sure how hard he should be holding you, and you realize quickly he can’t have been much older than you are, can’t even have been eighteen, before he became Ghoulified. The skin of his frogs slides dryly as he shakily moves behind you, to a better position.

‘Glowbright’ is clearly the leader, you can see that now. You’re not sure what an “Archdeacon” is, but it had an “arch” so it must’ve been something high, and her robes seem somewhat armoured to boot. She pulls your 9mm out of your hooves with a burst from her horn, and your sword follows suit. Even her magic looks tainted…

She grabs your attention again as she looks over you. “Hmph. Stable Mare.” The magic grabs your riot helmet, and yanks it off. She barely glances at it before tossing it away to the side. “I’ve never liked how durable these jumpsuits are…”

There’s a tugging feeling from all around you, and then your suit just rips apart, shreds of cloth fluttering into the carbonated mud. You’re fully exposed now, and she smiles, appraising your body. “Pity you’re going to be radioactive shit in a few days. If you weren’t a smoothskin, you’d almost be attractive.”

“Please don’t do this.” You whine.

Her snarl returns. “You’re begging for forgiveness now?”

Your eyes flick to Zephyr. He rescued you yesterday, and the fact that he can’t do it now is clearly tearing at him as well. He looks ready to eat a facefull of buckshot to try and stop Glowbright.

An almost comically-tiny revolver flicks out of a fold in her robes, and she jams it under your chin. “Stand up, Smoothskin.”

You don’t want to, but that shotgun pointed at Zephyr is terrifying. You stand, afraid of what’ll happen if you don’t.

“Now, Smoothskin…” She turns around and shifts her robes, presenting herself, to your horror. “Put your mouth on my asshole.”

Grimacing, you tilt your head down. Her rear looks like the muscles of her anus are just barely holding the cheeks in place. Taking a deep breath, you poke the base of her rotted-away tail with your muzzle.

“Put your tongue inside.”

You tear up again as you poke your tongue out, sliding it into her anus easily. Rot has loosened it, and you can’t even taste it for a moment, it’s so overwhelming. When you can, all you can taste is decay, as if the mare had been dead for weeks. Your Pipbuck’s clicking reaches a new high, and you catch a glimpse of the display.

+56 Rads.

“Deeper.” Mutters Glowbright. Your eyes widen. There’s no way-

That revolver returns, the barrel jamming against your temple. “I said... Deeper.”

Making a sick whining noise, you push your tongue as deep as it can go into the Ghoul’s puckered asshole. From somewhere deep inside her intestines, you free a rancid pocket of air, and it squibs out, a faint spray of corpse juices splattering across your tongue. “If you swallow that, or spit it out, or vomit, Yellowcake is going to empty your head across the canyon.”

You nod, just enough to show agreement, and let it fester there, on your tongue. You want to puke, but you can’t, it just won’t come, sheer fear won’t let you. Finally, after a minute or two, Glowbright's teeth chatter in pleasure. “Good smoothskin. Now... Push your whole muzzle in.”
Your eyes catch Zephyr’s, and he finally breaks. “You motherfu-” In seconds, he’s silenced with a kick from Tick-Tock. You shift, trying to help him, but there’s a deafening ‘bang’ and the mud by our hoof explodes.

“You need to be punished for that,” Glowbright whispers, her voice echoing through the ringing of the gunshot. “Push your whole head inside.”
Zephyr’s still breathing. Still okay. But you have this horrible feeling that if you push your whole head in, it’s never coming back out. Glowbright makes the decision for you. “Would you like to lose a knee, perhaps?”

Once again, her asshole barely puts up any resistance as push your head forward, slowly spreading it over your mouth, your nose, even your eyes. There’s a sliding flesh-on-flesh noise, and it all goes dark as the anus closes around your neck, sealing your head inside Glowbright’s rectum. She stops you there. “That’s far enough, smoothskin. Yellowcake.”

There’s a brush of motion across your fur as Glowbright moves the pistol away, sliding it into a fold of her robes. You can hear her gentle, almost motherly voice, crooning quietly to him. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you, Yellowcake? I think it’s time to correct that.”

“I… I don’t want-”

“Yellowcake.” You can almost feel her glare from inside, and his sobbing starts anew as he moves behind you, leaning in close to your neck. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” Hiking his forelegs up onto your back, you can feel a short, blunt cock poking at your crotch. “I’ll try and make this quick.... I’m so sorry…”

He thrusts into you with his rotting cock, and the thrust bumps your own shoulders against Glowbright’s ass cheeks. Yellowcake’s hooves flop at your hips, searching for purchase as he thrusts again. His belly presses against your back, and it’s slimy… But even if you could puke, you’d just fill Glowbright’s rectum with it, and you’d drown in your own vomit. At this point, that almost sounds like a good way to go.

Yellowcake’s inexperienced, but he’s trying. It’d be kind of cute if you were in literally any other situation. He’s a fast learner, too, figuring out how not to go so fast he starts deteriorating, but not so slow that you can’t get into it. Almost shamefully, you feel yourself getting wet… Actually getting turned on by his efforts.

But true to his word, he’s quick, and the most warning you get is some muffled panting from above as he jerkily thrusts extra hard into you. Slimy, radioactive cum fills your womb, and when he finally pulls out, he leaves slimy bits of solid residue that you don’t want to think about too much. The very thought of that turns you right back around to being repulsed, but you still can’t vomit—bile mixes with the Ghoul juices still on your tongue, but you can’t even taste it any more.

There’s a faint tremor as he slumps to the ground beside you and Glowbright. “Very good, Yellowcake. How was it?”

“Tight…. Warm… So warm, and wet…”

“Don’t get addicted to smoothskin pussy, Yellowcake. This one was your last.” She gives her hips a shake, and your head lolls around inside her rotten walls. “Guess you did good too. But not good enough, not yet. Finish it.”

This is it, then. After that something breaks in your heart, and you give a half-hearted nod, shifting your shoulders to join the rest of you. Glowbright starts pushing down as well, and you start sliding into her ass with the ease of a pony taking a shit. As you do, you get pushed around a bend in her guts. There’s a hole in the lining of her intestines, about the size of a bullet hole. That must’ve been how you could breathe in her for so long. Unfortunately.

You slide past it as you hips get sucked into Glowbright, and your knees bunch up as they slide in. The last taste you have of the outside is a weak kick of your hind hooves, and then you’re completely inside her guts.

Time starts to lose meaning as you’re quickly covered in more Ghoul juices, lubing you up for the trip deeper inside. Finally, you push through one last barrier, and your head pops out of a pool of glowing stomach acid. When your legs follow, you glance again at your Pipbuck.

912 RADS [DANGER! CRITICAL RADIATION POISONING]

It feels like it. Finally, you get enough willpower to puke, and brownish vomit splatters across the stomach lining, splashing into the green glowing acid, coating you with more of the acid. You can already feel it starting to burn through your own flesh, as your hinds finally join you.

Lacking anything else to do, you watch the Geiger counter of your Pipbuck, watching it steadily tick upwards, while counting down to your demise. In your last moments, your thoughts are of Zephyr.

1000 RADS [USER DEATH IMMINENT]

* * *

“We’ll stop here for the night.”

Yellowcake nodded and started robotically setting up camp, while Glowbright sat with a meaty thump on a flattish rock nearby, and rubbed her belly. “All that walking… Whoof. I think my meal’s just about finished.”

She turned with a sadistic smile to Tick-Tock, and his new feral. “Bring him over here. I need a toilet.”

With a stagger, the feral approached. Zephyr’s fur had all nearly fallen out, and his wings looked like chicken wings now, but he was still somewhat recognizable. He’d been carrying all of their gear, but Tick-Tock pulled it off, and he obediently stood, though wobbling, before Glowbright and her thick belly.

Glowbright didn’t leave him standing for long. “Feral. Sit here, open wide.”

As soon as he was still, Glowbright shifted, placing herself on top of his muzzle. She could crush his head with her newly-expanded ass if she wanted, but for now, a toilet would do. It was a good thing he didn’t really need to breathe any more, or he would’ve died a few days ago.

As soon as she was comfortably seated, Glowbright sighed, closing her eyes, and relaxed her asshole. With a wet fart and a massive spray of rotten juices, a slurry of barely-digested meat started sliding out—the last remnants of that Stable Mare that had killed the rest of their load of Ferals. It splattered into the mouth of the other pony, or rather, the shell he was now, and he eagerly swallowed the radioactive slop.

Glowbright groaned in pleasure. “That’s right, Feral… Worship me… Every inch of me, as you should, even my shit is holy to you… Don’t spill a drop!” Her eyes opened, and she noticed that the feral had gotten hard while she’d looked away. she smirked, and gently began stroking it.

Below her, the Feral had started packing enough shit away that his ragged belly was beginning to bloat, and she hadn’t even gotten to the solid parts yet. “You like being treated like this, don’t you? Being nothing more than a toilet, something that gets rid of my waste....” With one last, teasing stroke, she took her hooves off his cock, blue-balling him.

“You’re worthless otherwise, you know that? Just another lousy feral. Barely more intelligent than an animal.”

With another wet fart, the cascade of liquidy shit finished, and the Feral had a moment to swallow as Glowbright strained, pushing out the first solid log. “Feral! Get ready.”

As soon as it started poking out, the Feral was all over it, suckling the bone-laden brick of shit, lapping at it, nibbling at it, breaking it up into smaller chunks to swallow as splatters of shit began covering his muzzle. A large rib got between his teeth, and he mercilessly crunched it into dust with barely a thought.

Eventually, the log was done, but Glowbright was not. “Last bit, Feral. And I want you to swallow this one whole…”

It nodded, cock bobbing in the air, still frantically excited, as he wrapped his mouth around her anus. Then Glowbright pushed, and began shitting directly into his throat. This was easily the thickest log yet, and if the feral had been able to see it, he would’ve spotted the pony’s skull, Dusty’s skull, right at the front. Of course, it wasn’t Dusty any more.

All he knew was that the head of this log was especially smooth and solid, and he started choking out of habit as he tried to swallow. But it just kept coming, and Glowbright kept pushing, never giving him any reprieve. Gagging, the end of the log practically made it all the way down to his stomach before she finished shitting with another spray of Ghoul juices. With nowhere to go, since his throat was occupied by what was left of Dusty, it filled the rest of his mouth and washed over his lips, soaking him in putrid, corpse-scented liquid shit.

Glowbright finally sat up a bit, and looked beneath herself, at the cough, choking Ghoul. “And you can’t even handle that. Pathetic.” She gave his bobbing cock, still hard as iron, one last look before deciding. “I’m doing Our Lady a favour.”

Then she slammed her ass down, pulping the Feral’s head with a crunch. The cock twitched one last time before letting out a spray of glowing cum straight up, landing all over the rock and the dying Ghoul’s belly. Its legs flopped a couple times weakly, and Glowbright ground her asscheeks back and forth over the fragments of skull and shit, making sure it was dead.

When it finally stopped moving, Glowbright sighed, and rolled off the rock. “Pity it couldn’t handle my shit. It was a comfortable toilet.”

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

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.

The Exiled Crusader's Electric Sting!

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.

It Came from the Fish Tank!

Author's Note

[Contains: Paralyzation, Vivisection, Oral Vore, Digestion, and Cloning]

This was originally Part 39: (Halloween End)

Happy Halloween everybody! Me and Caniam actually wrote this chapter together, but we decided I should put it up anyway.

I'm also gonna try and take a break from gore in my bad ends now, because I'm pretty sure at this point I've written more gore than I have vore, and I don't like the idea of that.

It Came from the Fish Tank!

“Alright,” you growl. “I’m not leaving anypony. All of us, together, are gonna jump the guard. I’ll be bait, do a little fighting, and when he has to pull me out that’s when you guys attack. Got it?”

“You really think he’ll fall for that?” Asks Eissen sardonically.

The Crusader sniffs. “I think it’s a good plan.”

Eissen’s eyes narrow, and his lip curls. “Haven’t you read any of those pre-war books you collect? This never works!”

You shake your head. All of a sudden, you’ve got the strangest headache… “Guys! Look, this’ll work, I promise. We just need to move quick. Keep your distance from the ones with knives and stuff, try and flank the ones with guns.”

“And what about the Wastelanders in the cages?” Asks the Crusader mare. You really need to get her name…

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to… What... “ You trail off as glowing spots start circling your vision, swirling around you, and sticking to your fur. Eissen and the Crusader mare are speechless as you look down at yourself, and at your hooves, trying to swat the spots off.

“Whoah, what is going on…?” The places where the glowing spots touch you start feeling… Funky. You’re not entirely sure how to describe it, but it’s like they go numb and yet start buzzing energy at the same time, and your whole body begins feeling warm. It’s like you’re a chicken in a pre-war microwave, but slower.

You hold your hooves up in front of you, and they’re almost entirely… Whatever colour the glowing spots are. Even that defies explanation, because the light is somewhere between… Golden yellow, maybe, and yet also purple, and at the same time an inky black. “...Guys? Help!”

They both take a step forwards, but it comes a moment too late. A buzzing in the back of your skull reaches a fever pitch in seconds, and your whole body charges. With one last scream of fear, there’s a bright flash, and then you’re gone, like you were never even there.

They’re both left staring at the void in the centre of the cage again, before a guard, who apparently missed everything that just happened, approaches and raps on the cage with a broken pool cue. “Time’s up! Who’s coming to dinner?”

They both blink, and with perfect synchronization, point at each other.

* * *

You have this weird floaty feeling, and then suddenly you just… exist, again. Feeling starts coming back into your limbs, and you can hear screaming. After a few moments of lying on the cold, glassy floor, you realize you’re the one screaming.

You cut yourself off with a choking noise, and hug your hinds to your chest, instead focusing on your breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out. The air here doesn’t feel right… It’s too heavy, and you really need to take deep breaths to get a normal lungfull. After you realize you’re not going to calm down any time soon, you decide it’s not like you could be more afraid, and open your eyes.

There’s a fish staring at you.

Well, not quite a fish. It looks a lot like an Angler fish, from the books back in the Stable, but… bigger. And bipedal. Only its head looks exactly right, after that the body widens up a little bit and curves down into a wide potbelly. It seems to have four limbs, two legs and two arms, but they’re both bulky and attached at odd angles. The glowing nodule on its head is pulled back, and it has hair, which seems to be stylized into a ponytail wrapped around the antenna. He’s wearing some sort of loose-fitting jumpsuit, like your own Stable suit, but made of some kind of weird, flaky material.

It only lets you stare for a moment longer, before it reaches down and pulls a small pistol off its belt. You yell as he levels it at your head, holding your hooves up, but it’s too late. He’s already pulled the trigger.

Coldness sets in again. Coldness and numbness. You can’t move any of your limbs, and you can’t even blink. You can move your eyes, but just barely. It would take five minutes for you to look up and down.

Satisfied, the fish clips the pistol back on his belt, and picks you up. Either he’s ludicrously strong, or whatever he’s done has made you light as a feather. He starts walking, moving towards a semicircular door set into the wall. As he does, you try and take in your surroundings.

You somehow ended up in a large, circular room. The flat ceiling and floor, with the rounded sides, also give you the impression of a steel fishbowl. In the centre, where you were just standing, is a raised platform with a glowing light underneath it, though the way it shifts and pulses doesn’t look like any light you’ve ever seen.

The room itself is filled with octagonal barrels, stacked up on each other and braced against the walls, with most of the stacks tied together with orange fibrous rope. Several more fish people, like the one carrying you, move between the stacks, taking inventory and opening the barrels to check their contents. They all look pretty similar, but there’s obvious variation in hairstyles, weight, and height.

At the far end of the room, you spot a window, with another bored-looking fish person sitting at a control panel. He glances left, and more movement catches your eye—turrets, set into the ceiling around the room, follow his vision.

Your handler reaches the door, and splays his hand on a control mechanism nearby with a wet slapping noise. You can see more clearly now that his fingers are webbed, and the nails are sharp, but short. After a moment, the panel makes an unpleasant ‘gonk’ noise, and the door opens, the whole thing rolling into the side. When he passes through, it rolls back, sealing with a pneumatic hiss.

You’re instantly lost in the ensuing maze of corridors, but he seems to know where he’s going. You pass by a long window facing into a giant aquarium… Or maybe it’s living quarters. You can certainly see several of the fish people swimming around the green water, and a few more sleeping in small indentations along the sides.

After some more walking through corridors, he slaps his hand down on another panel, and the next door opens into what looks like a hospital wing. There’s more clearly-labeled signs on the wall, but you can’t make heads nor tails of the alien squiggles, and the arrows are disconnected lines. They probably make sense somehow, but you’re moving before you have the time.

The next room he and you enter has the feel of a pre-war operating theatre, with stadium seating along the sides and a central operating table. There’s several more fish people wearing much more form-fitting jumpsuits and glass, bulbous facemasks. They all pause as you enter, staring directly at you with their huge, blinking fishy eyes.

Your handler is nonplussed, however. He blurbles something in whatever language they use, and another one blurbles back, waving at the operating table. A block of ice drops into your gut.

You start trying to move again, but it’s fruitless, as he sets you on the operating table. He effortlessly grabs your legs and splays them wide, apparently unhindered by whatever his gun did to you, and one of the fishpeople wearing surgical suits puts the ends of your hooves into a small puddle of blue gel set into the table. Doors near the top of the seats open up, and a small crowd of fish people, maybe thirty of them, start filing into their seats.

One of the suited ones, with an orange ring around the neckline of his suit, blurbles at your handler. He blinks, then nods, pulling out the pistol again. A blue beam of energy smacks you in the chest, and suddenly you can breathe again. Which you immediately use to start screaming once more.

“Hey! The fuck is going on here! Who are you fishpeople things, some kind of wasteland monster? Lemme out of here or I’ll eat you!” You try and pull your hooves out of the puddles of gel, but they’re stuck solid, like they’ve been dipped into a puddle of glue.

The lead one in the suit laughs, some kind of warbling noise, and waves away the one who carried you here. He nods and just walks out, and suddenly you’re very, very afraid.

“Where am I?” You whimper, looking around the room. Another suited fishperson turns back to face you, holding a thin scalpel with a flickering blade. You try and pull away, but a third fishperson puts his hand on your chest, slamming you flat on the table. His hand feels warm, but wet and clammy.

The fishperson in charge has started speaking in his language to the crowd of other fishpeople, while a fourth one reaches up and pulls a blinking machine downwards, positioning it over you. It looks like a big chunk of coral, but you scream as the ends slither open revealing a bunch of eyes on the end. Around you, the walls light up with a dozen different views of your belly, your fur immaculate somehow. Hadn’t you needed a bath earlier?

The one holding you down releases his grip, so he can pick up a metal circle, and he waves it over your stomach. Then he set it back down, and just brushes all of your fur off, like sand, leaving only your bare skin underneath. Your tiny teats, hidden by the fur, twitch as you shiver, suddenly exposed to the cold air.

Then the lead fishperson nods, and the one with the scalpel carefully jabs it right into your stomach. A sharp stab of pain shoots through you, but you can’t even jerk away. Whatever your hooves were stuck into has started growing up your legs, holding you in place.

The scalpel slides downwards towards your crotch, and your belly unzips like a cheap jacket. It barely even bleeds as one of the fishpeople pulls your gut open, and pushes the camera closer, to look at your intestines. You start crying as your belly fills with a dull ache, like you got kicked.

After a moment where the kind of poked and prodded at your guts, the scalpel moves back to the top of the cut, and this time slides upwards, towards your neck, but stops just before it. You start hyperventilating as they slide your skin away, opening the entirety of your barrel and spreading it open, exposing your ribs. A few muscles get in their way, but they’re quickly cut too, snapping back into the recesses of your body with a squirt of blood.

Your ribs finally take a moment to cut through, but it’s only a moment, and the blade hisses as it dips into a tiny pool of blood. After a bit of sawing, your ribs start coming out, and they start passing them out.

One length of it goes into a jar filled with green liquid, and it starts hissing as it dissolves, turning a dark blue. Another gets passed into the crowd, for them to observe, as are the next three. One they start cutting open with a bright laser, and they peer inside at the cross-section of your bones. The rest go into a small jar filled with clear liquid. Storage.

They also start taking blood samples, using thin needles to pull it into round, gelatinous containers that they also start poking needles into, taking samples of their own. They leave that floating in the air above the operating table, unhindered by gravity.

Then, they move back into your chest cavity. One gently tugs at your small intestine, and the whole mess starts slurping out, and gets pulled into the air above the table. Whenever it stops, the scalpel goes in and slices away whatever connective tissue is holding it in place. After about five minutes of that, they move onto your other organs, pulling out your liver, and kidneys, though those stay floating nearby.

In fact, everything’s still technically connected. They haven’t removed anything from your guts permanently, just pulled it out. To look at. You involuntarily give that a test when you finally piss yourself from fear, and get to watch your kidneys flex and your bladder contract, before the piss spurts out and coats the table. They all jump, before doing that blurbling laugh thing again, and the urine begins being absorbed by the table.

They finally pull out your stomach, and it floats in front of your face as they pull out another one of those guns, freezing it. Then they cut part of it away, and look inside. They even let you look, at your stomach fluid and chunks of your last meal, hanging there in stasis.

Your lungs get popped out next, and you can watch them contract and flex, as you wheeze for air. One of the fishpeople moves for your heart, but the lead one stops, putting his hand on your leg to feel your pulse.

Behind you, two slimy hands grab onto your head and hold it in place, and you shriek as something vibrates against your scalp, sliding around your head. Then there’s a horrific popping sound as your dome pops off, and you can feel your brain exposed to the open air. Something metal slides into it, exploring the folds of your grey matter, and occasionally sending out tiny electric shocks.

At your other end, one of the fishpeople grabs your legs and spreads them wide, holding a similar metal, rounded, rod. With no preparation whatsoever, he pushes it into your asshole, and slides it as deep as he can, then twists it. It hums, and suddenly loses all rigidity, before it starts moving on it’s own accord up through your intestines. Another similar probe goes into your pussy, but stops a moment later.

You whine as it hums, and thin tendrils poke out into parts of your body that were never meant for them. looking down, you can see your ovaries twitch a few times, and then it stops. They pull out the metal rod and empty what looks like cum into another jar, and another fishperson nods, satisfied.

Then, like a switch has been flipped, they start pushing your guts back in, putting your stomach back together and sealing it with a blue paste. Your organs don’t feel right, after that, and they definitely don’t sit right back inside your belly. Your ribs are gone, but they don’t seem to care all that much, and seal you back up anyway. Without them protecting your lungs, you’re having an even harder time breathing, and you’re going into all-out wheezing, as well as occasionally coughing up globs of blood.

There’s a final slurp as they pull the probe back out of your ass, then the one in charge turns back to the crowd, blurbling a question. They point to a fishperson in the crowd, who’s still holding your ribs, and he beams, displaying a mouth full of long, sharp teeth. He comes up to the front of the room, and the air crackles as he steps through what looks like a magical energy field.

He seems to be waiting on them to say something and you hear quiet conversation blurbles from behind you. You can’t hear or understand a word that’s being said, especially over your own painful wheezing, but you know they’re talking about you. Eventually two of them nod in unison, and then the fishperson from the crowd turns around and picks you up. The blue gel holding you in place recedes in an instant, allowing you to be plucked from them with all the ease of lifting a bag of chips out of vending machine slot. You can feel the mucus on its wet, webbed hand although strangely it seems almost adhesive as he holds you high, displaying you to the crowd like a trophy.

Beneath you his lips start to part, the slippery rubber texture revealing a sea of sharpened fangs, roughly bunched together like posts in a crappy fence along the top and the bottom. Even through the complete discomfort and dysfunction of your slapped back together body you registered fear. Its mouth stretched wider and wider, showing a complete lack of jaw bone as it stretched so much that even your doughy butt would have no problem fitting. The worst part was he held you there, staring into a literal dark abyss, the clinical lights only illuminating the pulsing flesh of the entrance. Definitely some sort of Angler fish, part of your brain muses. Oh buck I’m going to be devoured by an alien a million miles from home, the other part of your brain responded.

Then he lets you fall into his mouth. It’s a quick motion, like you fell through a trapdoor. One second you were staring down the next you were flying down. There’s a loud swallow as you seemingly fall straight into his throat, but you don’t stop there, barely feeling the sticky flesh sliding past you as you plummet into the depths of the creature. He doesn’t even bother to chew, and soon, you’re nothing but an alien’s pot belly. From outside you hear more blurbles… probably commenting on how you tasted and the ease of the swallow. More concerning though was the odd rumbling gurgle that spread throughout that belly.

You reach out, surprised at the ease at which your hooves stretch into the rubbery stomach walls of the creature, your face and hooves no doubt perfectly outlined for the crowd to see in vivid detail. Then that sound repeated and holes seemed to open up all around you. In barely a moment hot, stinging enzyme was being pulsed into the chamber from all around, splattering all over you. Panic made you start to thrash, but the thrashing lasted barely a minute as the acids started to burn away all of your flesh, melting it from you and then starting at the meat underneath.

It didn’t hurt. It should hurt, but it didn’t. Something in the concoction or something you were injected with made it painless, but didn’t nullify how distressing it was when you pulled back a forehoof to find it eaten through to the bone, but strangely still all together. Looking down you saw the same thing about everything below your waist, then it hit your heart. You felt the organ stop working, blood stop flowing. That one moment frozen… then nothing. You passed into oblivion.

The volunteer patted his gut with a webbed hand, rubbing it slightly as the gurgles and groans were near deafening, then they stopped. Stepping back to the table again it opened its jaws wide and let loose a deafening belch, it echoing throughout the operating theatre as with a wet splat your entire skeleton tumbled out into the air, hovering in the zero gravity and still completely interconnected. A fishperson returned from the crowd with your rib bone before joining with the others to return them all to their place, barring the one that was dissolved. Now they moved onto the real tests.

You open your eyes. This isn’t the raider camp! What the buck happened? There was all those flashing lights, that terrible headache. Suddenly a spotlight turned on over your head, and looking down you realised that all four of your legs were just… gone. There wasn’t any cuts, no holes, it was like they’d never existed at all. You try to let out a shriek, but your throat is so hoarse. Now you’re scared. You start to thrash about on your platter when a horrific creature stepped on over and gestured at you with a webbed hand. Somehow, you could understand its gargled burbling.

“Now for the newest taste sensation in our Meaty Morsel line. This exotic creature is Meatpone, and she will be that for you. Specially cloned meat kept cryogenically fresh in a freezer bubble until it’s time to get your snack on. Untoppable quality as can be expected from Farm Fresh Industries. This delicacy from a faraway world is going to be available in all major supermarkets, and Farm Fresh vending machines all across the galaxy. Specially cloned to satisfy your snacking needs.”

A webbed hand reaches down and grabs you by the scruff of your neck, hoisting you in the air as you flail your limbless body helpfully. You finally manage a pitiful, weak scream as he looks at the camera. “That’s right gentlefish and merladies, this new and exotic creature is so fresh it screams as you eat it!” With his tagline done he opens his maw, stretching it so wide that there’s no fear of you not fitting. Then he lets you go. Your screaming face is followed by a twinkling light orb which you only just realise is a camera, it following you down into the depths, casting a light so you could see the pulsing internals falling past you until you land in that belly with a splash. Instantly it starts eating away at you and you scream in horror, watching your flank meat slip from your bones into the quickly rising pool, but there’s nothing you can do.

The camera watches your demise, filming the minute long digestion as your body was melted away into a pile of bone, then out came the thick belch that launched the camera out spinning. “A delicious way to start or end the day. It’s Meatpone. Available now!”

The spotlight turns off and the fishperson walks off the stage to have a quick chat with the director. A few minutes later another platter with an out of it legless earth pony mare identical to the last is set down. “Take two!”

A Perfectly Normal Nuclear Family's Dark Secret!

Author's Note

[Contains: Death by gunshot, cooking prep, cooking/Gynophagia, unbirthing, cannibalism, and implied incest]

This was originally Part 43 (Thanksgiving End)

Uh... Happy Thanksgiving?

To be totally honest, these kinda slipped my mind. Holidays kinda took up everything, and I got busy, and... Well... Cainiam wrote practically all of this. There's the occasional snippet left over, but basically everything past Dusty getting pistolwhipped is him.

A Perfectly Normal Nuclear Family's Dark Secret!

You were still deliberating when one of the raiders playing cards pulled one out of his hand, and slapped it down on another raider’s side of the table. “Boom! That’s a princess, that doubles your ten. The Dustbowl Caravan is overburdened!”

There’s a long moment of silence as the raider looks at the table, then at his hand. Then he slaps it down on the table, and growls, “Fuck this game. Goddamned complicated piece of shit doesn’t make no kind’a sense.”

The winning raider’s face spreads with a lecherous smile as he reaches for the cream-filled mare on the table, but in an instant, the losing raider smirks, and kicks upward, slamming his hinds against the underside of the table. The whole thing flips, and the cards and caps flick into the muggy, delicious-smelling air of the kitchen. The winning raider managed to grab the creamed mare just before, but all that meant is that they both fell to the floor, with the table landing on them both.

For good measure, the losing raider’s horn glows, and both his fores stomp back onto the table, pinning them beneath as a dirty 9mm pistol flicks out of his holster. Without aiming at all, he fires six, seven, eight shots through the wooden table, and ancient splinters flutter through the air around him alongside the falling caps.

After a moment, a pool of blood starts spreading outward from under the table, and the losing pony huffs, then glares at the last raider. He’s clearly shaken, and he’s pressing himself against the tile wall, but he holds up his hooves, and whines, “Wait wait wait, you’re the winner! You are! All yours!”

The new winner nods, and the pistol droops slightly. Around them both, the playing cards start to flutter back to the floor, making ripples in the pool of blood. Then he slides the table off, smearing it all, and revealing the corpse of the previous winner and the somehow-untouched creamed mare. Her eyes are wide, unfocused, and staring into those of the swiss cheesed raider that was clutching her tightly.

The raider chortles, then grabs her by the neck and yanks her out, looking her over. She’s soaking with blood and cum, but completely unharmed. Satisfied, he drops her onto the tiles and shoves the gun barrel under her chin. “Come on then. You’re gonna meet the family, and then you’re gonna be the family’s meat.”

Sobbing, she starts walking past the table, with him still holding the gun under her chin with his magic. Unfortunately, at that exact second, your stomach gurgles again, and his ears snap up. Looking around the room, he zeroes in on your hiding spot under the table instantly. The 9mm is against your forehead in an instant, and he barks, “Fucking trying to escape, huh? You’re joining her. Come on!”

When you don’t move he grabs you and pulls you out as well, tossing your weapon away. Thankfully he misses Eissen and Optic behind you, but that’s not much of an advantage as the pistol flicks between you and the other mare. “Which one of you can cook?”

After a moment, the other mare quickly raises her hoof. “I… sort of can…?”

“Good.” The raider glances at you with a sharp grin. There’s a whoosh of air, and then a splitting pain against the back of your skull as he pistol whips you. Then it all goes black.

* * *

You awaken to the coarse sensation of something jammed in your mouth, it’s hard and cool, your teeth seeming to deflect off it with every bite. “Drink deep, meat,” a male voice whispered in your ear.

“Wait!” Your lips couldn’t move… the word didn’t come from your mouth. Some other mare seemed to be nearby.

“You better have a good reason for interrupting me, girlie,” that coarse voice that could only belong to a raider said slowly. You took the opportunity to focus your bleary eyes on what was in your mouth. It looked like the lip of a brown glass bottle. There was no label, but anyone in the Wastes could identify a beer bottle.

A nervous swallow came from the direction of that female voice, before it continued. “Y-you don’t want to compromise the flavour… and you don’t want the l-liquid in the middle,” she explained slowly.

The male growled. “I like the taste of beer.” The blurred wall of everything behind the beer bottle slowly started to snap into place. You were in another kitchen… this one not the same as the big one before. A clock on the wall seems to be stuck at 6pm… dinner time in your Stable. Just to the right out of it you saw an extra large oven, the sort of thing that could fit a griffon. The light inside was on, and you could hear it heating up.

“T-trust me, I can make her taste a little like beer… but not compromise the rich and delicate flavour of roast mare.” As soon as those words hit your ears, your eyes snapped wide. That oven was heating up for you! You tried to move a hoof… but that wasn’t happening. Not any of them. You couldn’t see them with your head propped up by the stallion, but you could feel the coarse sensation of rope on your ankles as you lay on your belly.

There was a long period of silence, as if glares and stares were being exchanged, then you heard a curt, “Fine,” from the stallion. The bottle slipped out of your maw, the glass having been there long enough to have your mouth feel all stuffy and rough. Still, you were glad it was gone.

“Do you… h-have a paint brush?” the mare asked, to a chuckle from the stallion. “I-I’m going to gently baste her with the beer… as she roasts, her skin will pull in the beer, helping keep the meat tender and juicy, while also adding in a touch of that flavour…” she explained. Your brain knew that sounded delicious… but the fact you were the meat made you scream instead.

The stallion growled and grabbed something from nearby, and then your maw. His hoof pressed on your chin and forced you to open your jaw wide before an ugly looking cluster of brownish pink lumps was shoved into your maw. Your Pip Buck clicked quietly as the oddly sweet tasting thing blocked up your maw, the stalk poking at the entrance to your throat and making you gag a little. “We don’t want no uninvited guests to the family dinner,” the raider said sharply, pushing on the odd fruit to make sure it was secure. “So suck on that mutfruit. I’ll get you that paintbrush.”

The stallion trotted out of the room, leaving you alone with the mare. She lifted up a huge roasting dish, big as a foal’s paddling pool and set it on the countertop in front of you, grunting a little at the weight of it. She looked around for something, then her eyes met yours. You definitely looked pretty fearful. “I’m… sorry,” she said weakly, her lip quivering. “H-he’s going to stuff you with me anyway… I just… just want to make sure our meat isn’t wasted on… a forgettable meal…”

She sounded so resigned, her voice and words striking a chord… but you couldn’t let her give up! She was the only pony now who could save you. You tried to speak as well as you could with your eyes and a series of muttfruit muffled noises, but the mare looked away. She dabbed her hoof in some lard, probably contributed by ponies, and began applying it to the bottom of the pan, greasing up your deathbed.

You decided to focus on yourself, trying to rock back and forth on the countertop. Your forelegs were tied under your bountiful belly. It’s only then you realise the gurgling has stopped from inside you, extra meat for them. Your hind legs were tied up in the air behind you, the position of the rope stopping you from really bending them at all. You were stuck.

The mare finished greasing and trotted over to you… then right past you, fetching something else. You heard something click on and then felt the bite of a blade into your back. You cried out in terror, but the blade pushed forwards, tracing the outside of your coat as that buzz became a whirr, and then you saw your yellowy-brown coat fur cascading around you. The mare was shaving you. She was silent as she did it, taking her time to meticulously strip every inch of your fur, leaving only soft sandy skin in her wake.

After your back and rump lay barren, she gently nudged you, helping you to roll over onto your back. You could do nothing to stop her, and then she got to work on your belly, that razor keeping on buzzing as it traced all across it, then up your legs and finally over your face and neck. You felt more naked than you’d ever been as she got rid of the last wisps of your mane, and then stepped back. A figure appeared in the doorway behind her.

For a brief second you thought it might be Eissen, or even Zephyr… but no such luck. “Here,” the raider from earlier said curtly, handing her the brush. She took it with a soft smile at him, before stepping over to the beer, pouring it out into a bowl and readying the brush. The raider whistled as he looked at you. “She looks like a fresh born filly,” he muttered aloud.

“The fur will only hide the flavour… and add hairs to the meal… the best cooked meat should slide right off the bone,” she explained as she dipped the brush into the beer and then began painting you. The soft brush tickled slightly against your naked skin as it traced a line of soft but pungent liquid across your snout.

The raider seemed to be deep in thought about something. “Ya know, you really know your shit,” he said slowly.

“T-thanks… I used to run a restaurant in Dodge…” she explained as she dabbed you in all kinds of places with her brush, slowly gathering together an even coat of beer glaze across your skin. “Then I… pissed off the mayor… and well… I had to get out of there pretty quick…”
“How’d you manage that?” the stallion asked curiously.

The mare giggled nervously. “It’s a long story… heh… I’ll tell you once we get the meat in the oven… and you should be paying attention… she’ll need a second basting of beer glaze when you… stuff me in her…”

The stallion nodded his head and you watched him watching her as she basted you slowly but surely, reaching everywhere, even making you moan as it traced over your marehood and ponut as she didn’t miss out that crevice.

“So, uh… now that part’s done… Boy, there’s a lot of that stuff left over, isn’t there? Anyway, now we insert the meat thermometer… Do you have one of those?”

The stallion pulls open a drawer and lifts out half of exactly what she asked for. He then moved to another drawer and pulled out the other half and a roll of duct tape before quickly taping them together. “Last mare was too small… it broke before she did,” he explained.
“Ah, okay, that’s… close enough,” your chef stated, taking it from him.

Suddenly you jump as something, long, cold and thin gets suddenly slid up your asshole, and your eyes snap open as you shout into that mutfruit again. Your anus is spread wide, not as wide as Zephyr could spread it, but the thermometer went a lot further, really driving up into you as it vanishing into your plush ponut, reaching its end and leaving just the circular tip with the reading, sticking out your tailhole.

“Now could you lift her into the tray?” the mare asked. The stallion nodded, his horn glowing as you saw the green tint of magic all over your coat. Up you lifted, and then you were flipped over before being dropped into the tray. Your plush belly squished out against the cold, greasy bottom, it pancaking below you to take up a lot of the tray.

“And just slide her in?” the stallion asked, his magic taking hold of the tray.

“Yup,” she replied, opening up the oven. You could hear the heating element working, assisted by fans. Then there’s the clang of metal on metal, and you’re sitting in an impossibly hot oven, already whining through the mutfruit at the heat. Still it’s somewhat pleasant on your bare skin. The door shuts, sealing you inside the oven with your rump facing the glass. The stallion turns around, and starts speaking again, but the glass is thick enough you can’t hear the words.

Think, Dusty… think. Your brain works hard, trying to puzzle a way out of this. It was hard to concentrate though with all that heat, you’re thankful for the glaze as it seems to be stopping your skin from drying out, but already you were gasping, sweat starting to form on your rounded form, dripping down your body in increasingly thick rivulets.

You were in an oven… sat in a tray. Your legs were bound with rope, and you were gagged with a mutfruit that was starting to leak a sweet juice into your muzzle. You were all glazed up, and your belly was sat in grease… which was quickly heating up along with the pan beneath you, making you wince and your eyes water as your squishy stomach began to grow increasingly hotter and hotter. The thermometer sticking out your rump heats up too, making your anus itch and twitch. A whimper escapes you as you realise just how impossible escape is.

You turn your neck, managing to look over your shoulder. Activity seems to go on outside your window, and you blink, rewetting your drying eyes so you can focus on what seems to be happening. The raider and the mare prisoner don’t seem to be alone. Another mangy-looking mare wearing a sliced-up tire around her barrel, and two tiny little miniature raiders; a colt and a filly, seem to have joined the party.

Some kind of conversation seems to be going on. The prisoner explaining something, although you’re not sure if it’s the promised story or about the process of cooking you… you wish you learned to lip read. The conversation takes a turn and her eyes go wide as she realizes what she’s saying.

Its then this smirk comes across the male raider’s face, and a mouldy tie with a plaid pattern on it loops itself around the neck of the raider mare, instead of the prisoner, and tightens itself, guided by the raider stallion’s magic.

Her eyes go wide and she claws at the air, barely able to gasp, before her air is well and truly cut off, and she starts clawing at the tie instead. The stallion lifts her into the air, effectively hanging her with the thin length of cloth and her own weight. The prisoner mare is confused, but shrinks back against the counter, where the two little raider foals grab onto her shoulder and seem to chirp happily about something.

It takes about a minute for the raider mare’s struggles to start slowing, and the stallion uses the time to start stripping off her improvised tire armour. When her eyes roll back and she slumps, he drops her on the floor and checks her pulse, looking up and nodding at the prisoner. Lifting her up, he dunks her in the rusty sink, washing the mare off as best he can, while the confused prisoner mare starts rechecking their ingredients again.

You’re not sure exactly what happened, but it’s then your eyelids start to droop… the heat proving too much. Your eyes slowly close as you creak your neck back into place, facing forwards. Then all becomes blackness. Blackness and heat.

* * *

You didn’t think you’d awaken from this one… but you did. You felt the oven door open, hot air rushing past you and cool air coming in. You were gently lifted along with the tray out of the oven, it clanging shut behind you before you’re manoeuvred onto your back again, it making you twitch as it comes into contact with the hot metal. Water splashes on your eyelids and they scrunch, before slowly opening, letting light in. Everything seems faded and washed out, as it somepony had put a filter on the world, but you were still in the kitchen.

“Is she ready? Is she ready?” the two children call in excitement.

The stallion chuckles as he looks you over. “Not yet, my little ruffians. Patience. Just got to stuff her full of old mommy. Help make that meat extra juicy. Isn’t that right, new mommy?”

You can’t even move your head, but it’s then she wanders into view. The prisoner from before. An already shaven, cleaned up and sauce covered mare is on the counter in front of her. The old mommy. The old raider. This was some fucked up family. Your eyes meet the ex-raider’s, her own filled with burning fury, a well chewed gag of some kind of weird looking apple variation of a mutfruit stuffed in her muzzle.

“Do… do you want the kids to… see this?” the prisoner mare asked, still seeming on edge although you can’t blame her.

The raider stallion chuckled at that. “They see what they want to see. I ain’t stopping them.”

The mare clearly had reservations about that, but she didn’t voice them. Instead she moved over to you, a bowl clutched in her hoof filled with white fluid. “This poultice is going to sting… but your marehood’s crisped up a little too well… we need to fit in the stuffing,” she explained to you.

You responded with a whimper, little else you could do. She span her hoof in the bowl, then lifted it up to your dried up lower lips. As soon as they made contact, your eyes went wide and a muffled yelp came from your maw into the dried out husk of mutfruit still holding your now aching jaw in place. That was the only sign of movement though, your body felt just so heavy, that even if you could squirm you didn’t feel the compulsion.

The mare seems pleased with the progress though, and you definitely felt… something down there. More than you felt most of your body. She stroked again and again, and then she pushed hard right in the centre, her hoof almost punching into the dried up tunnel of your marehood and making you squeal as sensation and pain returned to your narrow love canal. She pulled out, dabbing her hoof in the solution again and then repeating the process, again and again, until she could fit her entire foreleg inside of you, ramming it way up into your womb, as all that natural stretch returned.

She went to pull back, but then your marehood tugged at her. She almost slipped, but then green magic surrounded her and the combined force pulled her clear with an audible popping noise, almost sending her flying onto her rump in the process. “T-thanks,” she told the stallion.

“What next?” he responded.

“Now… now we insert the stuffing… I recommend head first… shall I?” she asked gingerly.

“No. I want to do it. You handle the basting,” the stallion said with a sadistic grin. His horn glowed, magic surrounding the sauce covered mare as her muzzle was pulled forwards, aligned with your newly rejuvenated marehood, and then shoved straight into it. Her face slipped right in, earning a pair of muffled cries from you and her as her cheeks lodged for a second, but a bit of wiggling got her sliding all the way in up to her head with a wet squelch, spreading you wide open as a clear bulge formed on your abdomen.

“Bye old mommy!” the children chorus, giggling as their father jams the mare in further, making your eyes sting with hot tears as he stretches you wide until you thick pussy lips clamp around the mare’s shoulders and she finally slides in far, the hard pushing magic carrying her all the way up to her waist in a single moment. The sauce at least acted as a lubricant, although it felt unnatural and weird as she slid in deeper, compacted tight in the grip of your interior.

Through tear stricken eyes you see the mare’s roped together hind legs wiggling as one, like a fish tail. It really doesn’t accomplish anything, the magical grip not loosening an inch as she was pressed deeper, her slick shaved fur sliding over your increasingly moist pussy walls, her skinny belly compacting easily inside you as the push didn’t end until it was her toned flanks hanging from your soft rump cheeks. You saw the prisoner out of the corner of your eye, reapplying that basting over you. The raider chuckled, letting his magic drop there as he moved forwards. “Going to give her some stuffing too,” he told the prisoner.

There were no complaints, even the kids watching attentively as he raised his hooves, taking a hard grip of those sauce covered cheeks and then lining up his thick shaft with her worn out marehood. He gave you a grin before he rammed forwards, completely jamming his member up into her to his crotch with a wet slap, giving her no warning or using any lubricant. You winced for her sake, then he slammed again and you winced for your own. He seemed to be using the force of his thrust to bury his wife inside of you…

The stallion seemed to have been getting worked up during the whole process, either from watching your rump roast or throttling and tying down his wife. Either way he was hard, and pounding the mare hard. You winced and squeaked softly, muffled cries coming from deep inside of you as he jackhammered into her depths, his sceptre slamming into the slit between those toned cheeks as he made a series of faces and last grunts.

“Aww, daddies giving old mommy a goodbye kiss… maybe bruva and sista can welcome new mommy with big kisses too?” the filly said, looking over at “new mommy”. The colt grinned too and the prisoner whimpered.

“M-maybe later… dears…” she returned weakly as she worked that brush into the pudge of your stomach.

“Okay!” the colt exclaimed happily, turning back to watch the show.

At this point “daddy” was slamming with reckless abandon, moaning lewdly with every wet slap, his momentum getting faster and harder until there was a shriek and he came, his balls twitching beneath him as his cock throbbed, thick cream blasting into the groaning mare inside of you. As he finished up, he gave a last thrust and your marehood sealed around his shaft and her legs, before he slipped out, the contact making you shudder. He rested his forehooves against her soft hinds, before giving a hard shove, making you squeal as he jammed those hooves inside of you until they vanished with a “pop”. “Stuffing… stuffed,” the stallion panted.

“Then it’s time to put her back in the oven,” the prisoner said, giving a last flick of basting over the mess the stallion left. The stallion nodded, and you felt that familiar lift of magic. Your womb shook and wobbled, causing your belly to shake and quake as the mare squirmed inside of you. Then that heated coffin opened up again before you were pressed inside, tray dropped onto the heated bars. The doors sealed again… but they didn’t consider your increased stuffed size. Your fat flank cheeks were sticking out of the tray, pressing tightly against the door. The stallion had to push hard, jamming your squishy rump right up against the glass before you heard that click and you were sealed inside, the window showing nothing but your fat ass splayed out and squeezed against the glass with the thermometer poking from the middle. You heard a click and then the heat got hotter.

You stared at the metal wall ahead of you. The metal above and below began to burn like a fire brand, searing scorching hot lines all across your skin, making you whimper and twitch. You would be hyperventilating, but you just didn’t have the energy. The air was so dry… and even the mare squirming inside of you barely registered. Your breaths grew drier and drier as the heat burnt away the moisture in your throat, leaving you only able to wheeze. Your sand coloured skin up was darkening quickly in the increased heat roasting a lovely shade of caramel brown.

It was so hot… there was nothing else to focus on but the overwhelming heat. You weren’t even really sweating any longer, those thick beads of liquid were the rich juices of your own meat… and you were marinating inside them as they cascaded down the sides of your body. The thought made you try a last few squirms, your juicy roasting flanks grinding back and forth against the glass of the widow, the jiggle vanishing as the stored up fat began to harden and turn your doughy rear into a tender, flavoursome rump roast.

It was growing dark again, the tears burning from your face before they could drip down to the tray as everything took on a haze. Your eyelids were sinking. Your nose was full of the most delicious, rich smell. And you knew it was you. You knew you would taste delicious. You kinda wished you could have a bite before you went, but this was the end. Everything goes dark… but not because you closed your eyes. All the moisture was burned from them, turning your blue eyes into a dull grey, the jelly solidifying and leaving you stuck like that. Not that you cared. Your last moments were nothing but darkness and your own rich scent.

* * *

“It’s ready!” the call came from the kitchen to a chorus of cheers from the three raiders waiting impatiently at the patio table that was set up in a large, mostly empty room.

“We want food! We want food!” the two raiderlings called, banging their combat knives against the table.

“Umm… sweetie… could you give me a hoof?” the prisoner called, the stallion grinning as he stood up and trotted out into the kitchen. He returned a moment later, a huge serving platter hovering in his magic. With pride he set it down, it slamming into the middle of the table, almost causing it to buckle beneath the weight. Inside was Dusty, the guest of honour at the meal along with her stuffing.

The rich, powerful scent of her roast flesh tantalised the taste buds, seeming to thicken in the air into an almost edible gas that caused anypony that smelled it to salivate with anticipation. Juices still dribbled down the sides of the roasted flesh, teasing at the rich taste. A fresh mutfruit held open her jaws as half lidded, lifeless eyes stared dully at the stallion at the head of the table. Knives were raised by the three raiders when the mare cleared her throat. “We should say grace first,” she said softly.

“Sure. Thanks, dumb cunt for roasting up real proper. And thanks old bitch of a hag for bloating her. Oh, and thanks, babe for turning those two into the most delicious meal I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Now let’s dig in!”

With how good you tasted, it was guaranteed that by the time the bloated raiders all waddled back to their rooms with meat filled bellies, all that would remain would be a neat pony skeleton laying on the platter, picked completely clean with just a Pipbuck to hint at the owner.

You were delicious. Compliments to the chef.

A Sewer Escape gone Horrifically Awry!

Author's Note

[Contains: Scat, heavy scat, gross scat, implied post-vore scat, shown post-vore scat, walking through scat, drowning in scat, and copious amounts of fecal matter. If you don't like poop, this ain't your chapter.]

This was originally Part 44 (Bad End)

Well, this one's just plain gross. But kinda hot gross. Again, major props to Cainiam, who made it into quicksand when I went for a shit tsunami. Also, this is absolutely his fetish, and I expect not many others'. We'll be right back to proper vore soon, I promise.

I'm also going back and adding properly "Pulpy" titles to all of these chapters. I've always kind of liked them, and they just fit Fallout perfectly. (And the content warnings at the beginning, sorry about that.)

A Sewer Escape gone Horrifically Awry!

“Uh… Okay. You’re not gonna like this, but we’re going down. Close your mouths, cover ‘em with something, definitely plug your noses.” You start shifting forward as Eissen balks behind you.

“What? Why?” By the time the words have left him, you’ve shifted forward enough to let him get a whiff, and you hear his hooves clank on the aluminum sheeting. “Oh Luna’s crusty teats, Dusty, please tell me that was just a fart…”

It’s only about a foreleg’s length to the vent cover below, and you can see a dim light shining through. After a couple smacks with the butt of your newly-acquired gun, it pops off and clatters on the floor below. It’s not far enough you’ll break something, but it doesn’t look like a fun drop either.

With a gulp, you shove yourself forward and hold out your hooves as you plummet, face-first, onto the concrete floor. You land okay, but after a moment Eissen follows you with a yelp, landing on your belly. Maybe you’ll just lie here for a little bit until all the little spots of light go away…

“Dusty, I’d like to officially veto this plan,” Eissen murmurs through his foreleg.

Behind you, the previously-bound mare flopped out onto the concrete floor with an unsettling crack noise. The stallion dropped right after her but managed to land on his belly, knocking the wind out of him. It also forced him to gasp a lungfull of the air in the room, and the expression on his face was hilarious. “Eissen, look, it’s a sewage pipe. Shit’s gotta go out somewhere, we just follow it until it does.”

You follow that up with a groan as you roll onto your belly and struggle to get your wobbly hooves underneath you. Above you, Optic drops down, but leads with her shoulder into a combat roll that sees her on her hooves, scanning the room for anything useful. Optic wrinkles her own nose as the smell finally hits her full-force. “Dusty, this… this is not a good plan. For sanitary and tactical reasons.”

Behind her, Eissen helps the two prisoners to their hooves. The mare’s eyes are crossed, but she looks better after a moment. You can mainly tell she’s regained her senses when her eyes widen and she claps her hooves over her muzzle. “Oh Celestia it’s in my mouth!”

Shaking your head, you glance around the room. A couple shelves with boxes on ‘em, and one side of the room is entirely taken up by a giant pipe. “Optic, unless you wanna climb back up into that vent, we’re here now. You followed my lead, and I’m leading us into this and out of here.”

“And what about the armory, huh?” She glares at you. “The plan was to get to the armory, stock up, and fight our way back out.”

...She’s got you there. But with possible escape looming this close… Was it really worth risking it all just to get your stuff back?

After a few tense moments of you two glaring at each other, Eissen coughs. “It’s, uh… Kind of a moot point anyway, ladies.”

You both turn to face him… and the rusted door handle that’s just snapped off in his hoof. “Unless you actually can climb back up into that vent, looks like… ugh… the sewers are our only way out of this room.”

Optic hangs her head, and you can hear her mutter, “The requisitions officer is going to be so pissed…”

With a shrug, you trot over to the pipe. There’s a platform next to it with a wheel mounted nearby, and a sign reading, “turn left to open pipe.” Below it was a smaller sign reading, “Check light for pipe capacity”.

There was a green light above the pipe itself, and you figured that meant everything was fine. Behind you, Eissen was looking back up into the vent, while Optic was trying to cram the handle back into the door. The prisoners were poking through the plastic boxes, and you gave them a nod. “Anything useful in there?”

The mare shook her head and pulled out a socket wrench that was just a little too small to use as a weapon and a flickery, dim flashlight, while the stallion pulled out a bundle of pipes that he identified as a filter a second later. With a sigh, you turn your head back to the wheel. “Alright, I’m opening it up. Everypony hold their breath.”

You put your hooves on the wheel, and turned, very nearly pulling something.

“Holy buck!” Shaking your fores, you turn back to the prisoners. “Hey, anything in there that can take rust off? It’s glued in place.”

The mare shakes her head and starts sobbing again into the box, but the stallion pulls out a plastic jug of vinegar. “Here, empty this on it.”

With a shrug, you uncap the bottle and turn it over, splashing vinegar all over the wheel. It almost, but not quite, drowns out the smell of sewage. After it’s empty, you toss the bottle away, and the stallion rears back before giving the wheel a solid kick. There’s a deafening squeal of metal-on-metal as the wheel shifts and flecks of rust flutter down to the concrete. You start turning it the rest of the way, and the pipe beside you groans.

With another loud clunk, a section of the pipe pulls away from the rest, and starts sliding upwards on rusty rails. The smell of shit was bad before, but at least you were kind of getting used to it. This… This was a whole new dimension of fucking horrible. It smelled like this pipe had never been emptied since it was built, with workers, irradiated survivors, ghouls, raiders, slaves, and every single other pony who had ever taken a shit in this place leaving their own little unique mark. And then it was left here to rot the entire time.

New species lived, died, and evolved in this fecal ecosystem. The buzzing of flies drowned out all conversation, and instantly tails were swishing and hooves covered noses to keep curious insectoid explorers from entering.

And of course, there’s one little thought in the back of everypony’s heads; how much of this shit used to be a pony? The very thought that a pony’s existence could be reduced to nothing but a spray of filth a log of crap only to be dumped in here and rot with the rest, and that any of the ponies here could easily have suffered the same fate… It’s a humbling moment, and the pipe’s not even entirely open yet.

Eissen looks into the box while you’re working on that, and pulls out a ratty pre-war jumpsuit, which he immediately starts tearing into cloth masks for everypony present. When you’re finished, you take your own, and tie it behind your head. It doesn’t help with the smell, but at least it should deter the flies, and it allows you to speak freely. “Right… So, who’s first?”

There’s a couple chuckles from the group, Optic just shakes her head again, and growls, “You made the bed, you sleep in it.”

“Fair enough…” Turning around, you look again into the pipe, looking left and right. Both directions are totally dark, but seem to go on forever. With one last sigh, you grit your teeth, and drop your fores into the chunky river of shit.

It’s uncomfortably cold, and that numbs you just enough to drop the rest of your body in, the shit staining the fur on your belly but going no higher. It also keeps you in the dark about the consistency until you try to move, at which point you realize it’s not liquid, but instead a semi-solid slurry of sickening awfulness.

The ripples of your entry spread out and start shifting the skin on top of the squamous mass. Fighting back the urge to puke, you you take a step forward and instantly bang your shin into something solid, freeing it from the hardening muck at the very bottom of the pipe. When it bobs to the surface it reveals itself as a pony’s skull, which you carefully nudge off to the side before it starts to sink once more. “Sorry…”

Eissen follows you in reluctantly, holding the flickering flashlight high, and points out the skull. “We’re looking for an outtake pipe, so… Follow the flow.”

“Right,” you nod, and start leading forward. You feel like you’re slogging through quicksand, your hooves dragging with every step through the muck as the rest of the ponies squish in behind you. You definitely hear some puking as it’s all too much for Eissen.

“What a bucking amazing plan…” Optic grumbles amid a series of gags as the stench of years of shit crossed over her nose. “You know this is basically a graveyard? Most of this shit ain’t Dandy Colts,” she feels the need to point out.

“Least the only ponies here are corpses,” you retort, focusing on wading through the mess. You could feel the pipe curving downwards, but the level of shit was one solid line. Each squishy step earning another few inches of that clammy squishy mess up your chest. You try to pretend it’s a clay pit, but you aren’t fooling yourself.

Ten pairs of hooves squish their way through the wide river of waste. There wasn’t nearly enough water to make it flow properly, leading to this stagnant, squalid swamp. The flies buzzing was almost as annoying as the smell… no, nothing was as annoying as the smell. It got in the back of your nose, infecting every breath with the stench of digested ponies discharged as runny backside slop.

Your belly grumbled again and you considered this being a good place to dump out yourself… but just in time you remember how pressure works and endeavour to screw your tailhole extra tight as the thought of being violated by this cold, clammy fecal matter was almost enough to have you heaving back with Eissen.

“How… how can there be so… so… much… Luna save my poor nose,” Eissen complained. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, looking a lot paler than usual…well what of him you could see above the increasingly high river of literal shit.

“So… hard… to walk…” the mare who still hadn’t had a chance to clear the cum off of her face whined.

“Yeah… this shit is so thick… it’s like I’m walking in a lake of porridge…” you comment. It was true. The act of lifting a leg and pushing it back down was an intensive as it was unpleasant. The cold, clammy shit stuck to your legs, clinging to the fur and making them heavier as you tried to lift. The unpleasant squelching shlorp of shit squeezing back into the gaps you left didn’t help either. Then you had to step back down, stamping the sem-solid matter to the bottom of the pipe with another sickening squelch… and a snap if you were unlucky and stood on the bones of one of the many, many corpses that littered the sewer pipe.

Around ten seconds later you hear the stallion who wasn’t Eissen pitch in. “What the buck is porridge?”

You snort a brief laugh, but don’t answer his question. Slowly and sluggishly the group of you turn a bend… and there you see it. Light. Something was casting light from around the next corner. This could be the way out you were praying for. Seeing it fills your party with determination and you start to power on, pushing through the veritable ocean of scat. Then you heard a scream.

“Ahh-” It’s as loud as it is short and punctuated by a very unpleasant squelching splash. You turn your head, peering over your shoulder, eyes counting your group… and one’s missing. A series of bubbles is coming up through the scat in one spot, then you see a hoof weakly break the surface, twitching before it sinks again.

“Bucking hell!” Optic yelled. “Somepony grab her!”

Eissen was the closest and his horn glowed as he tried to grab at her, but he couldn’t feel her… her hoof was gone and she was obscured by the shit. “I can’t! I can’t see her! Where is she? What’s going on?”

Underneath the oozing river of squishy, stinking shit, the mare thrashed, trying to scream and cry. Her hoof had a weak spot. What they thought was the bottom of the pipe was actually just the fossilised shit that slowed to a crawl in this pipe two hundred years ago. The more fresh fecal waste surged into her mouth, forcing her to taste the indigestible matter of raider victims, a bony hoof lodging in her jaw and holding it open. Her screams were little more than bubbles on the surface, and they were rapidly slowing. Her hooves couldn’t even windmill in how thick and constricting the slop was. She twitched as her body inflated, crap bulging out her stomach and lungs, seeping through her nostrils as the cold, clammy mud invaded every pore of her body. Then her eyes rolled up and she grew still.

You couldn’t believe that just happened. She’d been there one second, then gone the next… and it was such a disgusting way to go.

“I can’t believe this shit! This was such a shitty plan! You’re such a shitty leader! Now the mare you risked our lives to save suffered an even shitter death!” Optic yelled, switching into full rant mode. You wondered if this was how she coped with the grave fact…

“I…” you began to reply when you felt the floor of the pipe quake. The mare’s hoof had been like an icepick in a frozen lake, cracks spreading throughout the ancient desiccated waste.

“Buck everything! Everypony for themselves!” the stallion yelled at the top of his voice, suddenly trying to break into a gallop, his hooves working overtime in an attempted sprint as he furiously pushed through the oozing, rancid scat. He made it all of ten steps before his hoof came down on a bone, and with his ridiculous gait there was nothing to stop him from going straight down. He didn’t even have a chance to scream. The squelch was just as unpleasant a second time, the force of his trip actually dragging his hind legs free from the muck with an audible pop. As he went under they started to wiggle in the air, kicking furiously in some vague attempt to roll himself back over.

You couldn’t draw your eyes away from those desperately kicking legs, the last struggle of a stallion suffocating in squishy scat. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t scream, he couldn’t fight. The wiggling of his legs was the only thing he could attempt to do as his life was snuffed out by shit, taking the express trip to becoming sewage and cutting out the raider shitting him down the toilet as the middle man. More of those bubbles were popping around his steadily sinking legs… but then they stopped. A moment later the kicking legs were just twitching, and then they went completely still, the only sound a slow squelching as the legs were slowly claimed by the quicksand of digested ponies.

“I can’t die like this… this… this can’t be happening,” Eissen started to mumble, the stallion whimpering. The three of you didn’t dare move… one wrong step and you could end up just like the others, buried underneath a thick river of shit. And the light was right there… the exit just out of reach.

“You… better have another plan fat for brains… because I am not ending up drowning in raider shit because some stupid fatass thought this was a solid plan,” Optic snapped. “Waterworks is all backed up with waste, and Twitchy ain’t twitching no more. So what next? Dusty going to get filthy?”

“I…” you try again to say something, but Eissen snaps in before you get started.

“Lay off her, Optic… this is some real bad shit, but she didn’t know this was going to happen… we need… we need to work together and figure this one out…” Eissen said, taking deep breaths to keep things slow and measured, the stink now actually secondary in their minds.

“Yeah… what Eissen said,” you say in agreement, although the gesture seems meek.

“I’ll tell you how you can help me out,” Optic growled, the mare suddenly surging forward and grabbing Eissen, pushing her hooves against the back of his shoulders. “I can’t make it across myself, but if I use your shit bloated corpse as a raft, then I’m home free!” she declared, giving Eissen barely a second before she pushed hard.

Eissen spluttered at her madly before he was shoved down, his body submerging in waste up to his eyes, the two orbs going wide in shocked horror as his muzzle lay just beneath the surface. “Come on, row, row, row your unicorn, gently down the shit stream!” Optic declared, her laughter near maniacal.

You try to help, wasing through the waste but they were just too far, and you moved just too slow. With another squelch, Eissen’s eyes vanished, his orange horn and flattened out blue mane the only things above the surface, underneath the shit stained hooves of Optic. Then that horn glowed. Optic lifted an inch, it wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The mare screeched, losing her grip and slipping straight up, tumbling from the unicorn and landing on her back in the shit river. For a moment it seemed the spread pressure was absolutely perfect, her body resting atop the surface, but then the shit started to squelch up and over her. “No! No! No! You little shit! Dusty! Dusty! Save me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, her body slowly sinking, the shit rushing in to claim her sides, and then start flowing up over her chest.

Behind her, Eissen’s horn fizzled, the glowing crackling to a stop as the stallion so close to the surface twitched, making barely visible ripples before they went still. The waste of hundreds of raiders and their equine meals rushing into him, even slipping into his unclenched butthole and bloating him out just as Optic predicted… he would of made a good raft.

Optic never got a chance to use him though. Her stomach slipped entirely under the waist, followed by her neck. I flowed over her mane, sealing her head in place even as she struggled and screamed. Sluggishly it slipped over her face, covering everything but her screaming muzzle before that vanished with a last squelch. Everything was silent as she no doubt fought beneath the waste, but there was no getting out of there. Soon she joined the others in the graveyard, just another victim of the raiders.

All that remained was your own breaths, ragged as they were. All your floundering to save Eissen had put the waste up to your neck and now your chin sat squarely on top, keeping your head barely above the clammy waste as it cocooned your body, encasing you like one colossal log of crap. You whimpered. The escape had failed. Everypony was dead… and you couldn’t move. A single inch and the shit would claim you.

You must have sat there for hours, unable to risk moving, unable to do anything but silently pray for salvation. Then you heard a voice.

“Buck… that chilli last night was so damn good… but my bowels can’t take that kind of a beating…” That voice… a mare’s… a raiders. Where was it coming from? You couldn’t lift your head, but your eyes wandered, and it was only at their highest that they saw the end of that pipe… and you realised why the shit was so thick there. You were right underneath the main toilets in this place… and a mare had sat on the shitter above you. You whimpered again.

“Ugghh… my gut’s flipping about like a Friendship Game’s athlete…” the mare groaned, her voice echoing down the pipe, followed by the rank rumble of a gassy fart. The flatulence seeps out of the pipe, wafting down like a foul cloud. Your nose had grown used to the stench of age old waste… but throwing a new stink in the mixture brought a fresh gagging, your eyes watering as the developing cobwebs were blasted from your nasal cavities.

Your first instinct is to struggle, but your second is quick to shut up your first as struggling would mean more sinking… which meant you would drown in shit… you prayed that this mare only needed to piss, but her words were pretty obvious. Still, you hear a sigh of relief and the sound of liquid splattering against metal. It grows louder and then above you it comes, a golden shower of hot, fresh piss. From the complete lack of water you realise why this shit is so horrible… the pipes must drop straight down from the toilet bowels so the only liquid component down here was age old piss and what came with the shit.

The stinking rank fluid splattered all over your head, hitting the top of your head first and splashing all in your mane before it rained down the sides and into the shit below. You tried to block it out as it drummed on your skull, droplets working their way down your head and over your face, one even crossing over your lips. The flow kept on going, staining your fur a little yellow as the reeking scent of fresh mare urine cut through everything, the mare not even realising she was marking you with her foul scent.

It couldn’t last forever though and you heard that grumble again, another boisterous fart leaking through the pipe, and then another, the rank stench joining the piss before the flow died down. A mere drizzle splashed on your head for a few seconds longer before a last few drips ended it off. “That radaway sure goes right through you,” she commented, making your eye tick.

“It’s an IV drip…” you grumble although she had no chance of hearing you over the abominable blast of hot, stinking flatulence. You couldn’t just smell the chilli… you could taste it in gaseous form. It was not nice. You gagged and coughed, choking up your guts when you heard a wet squelch… this one not from below you.

“Ah… yeah… that’s more like it…” the raider groaned before as you heard that squelch again, then a wet splat and the sound of something moist sliding. It slammed you right in the skull with a wet thump, the fat log of shit exploding into brown mush and splattering all over your head, smearing its way down over your face. But that wasn’t the worst part… the force actually pushed you down, shit sliding over your chin and up to the base of your muzzle, sinking you more into the rank waste below.

Please no more. Please no more. Please no more. You repeated the mantra in your head, but you could hear the squishy sounds up above, the mare groaning and grunting. Then the lovely present slammed onto your skull again. Your muzzle went under over your lips and right to your nostrils, the two round holes just out of reach of the lake of shit.

“Oh… Ugh… Damn… here comes… the big one…” The mare groaned, and you heard the sound of ripping ass before it got squelchy. A horrific wet sound resounded above, then came closer and before you knew it a shitty deluge of horrible mare waste came pouring from the pipe. In an instant your nostrils were pushed under, and then your eyes, everything giving way to cold, clammy, stinking darkness as you tried to keep your everything shut. The wet, warm splatter could still be felt on the top of your head as it slowly pushed further down, the wet splats of mare diarrhea clubbing you like hailstones.

With a last schlurp, the shit claimed your entire body and the mare’s dump was no longer your concern. You held everything in, hoping to the very last second that something might save you… but nothing did. When you released it was all at once. Shit rushed down your throat, pushed in your nostrils, squelched in your ear holes, forced its way up your butthole and even squeezed into your slit, pouring into you to equalise the pressure as you felt the cold, squishy stuff filling every cavity it could. For a last moment, you twitched… and then everything went black.

“Buck me… that was a hell of a dump… and there weren’t even any pony bones in the filly chilli that time..” the mare groaned from up above. Then the sound of her hooves clopping on the tiles as she walked away. Two sheets of old newspaper filthy with shit drifted down the pipe, splatting in the spot where you sunk, before slowly vanishing themselves… then all was still as if nothing had happened. On the bright side, the raiders thought you escaped at least. A few parties went searching, but they found no trace. None of them thought to check the sewers beneath the communal toilets...

Please, take a seat in... THE DIE-NING ROOM!

Author's Note

[Contains: Decapitation, Near death by incineration, Hard Vore, Cock Vore, Rape, Cum Inflation, more rape, implied eye-socket fucking, and more hard vore, as well as the sentence “Whooo-ee! Ain’t never raped a burn victim before, I like it! All crispy on the outside, nice and gooey on the inside!”]

This was originally Part 46 (Bad End).

Please, take a seat in... THE DIE-NING ROOM!

“Optic! Check for survivors. Woody, guard the door with your life. Eissen, Ball Peen, grab a snack, let’s all take a nice breather.”

The metal behemoth that is Optic nods, and stomps through the wreckage, crushing skulls and loosing zaps with her laser rifle on any raider whose corpse looks even mostly intact. Eissen blinks at you, looking back at the door confused, while Ball Peen pokes at a cooked pony, before his attention is caught by movement at the end of the table. “That one’s lookin’ at me funny!”

Woody just sort of stares blankly at the room as a short cough of gunfire echoes through it, just barely audible over the tinny radio. You give her another jab and shove her towards the door. “Woody. Door. Guard it.”

She starts staggering in that direction, and you decide it’s good enough, opting to investigate how that pony that was drowned in jello fared. Eissen trails behind you like a lost puppy, his eyes flicking from Optic to you to Woody and back. “Dusty, what the hell are you doing?”

“Hm? What do you mean?” Yeah, she definitely looks like she died sucking gelatin. Heck of a way to go, but must’ve tasted delicious. Although… “Hey, where do you think they got all this jello, anyway?”

He blinks in confusion. “What- Why are you focusing on the jello and not…” He trails off, then sniffs at the rubbery mass, the air bubbles trailing up from the dead mare’s lips still suspended around her. “Oh Celestia, it’s the Gryphon recipe.”

“What’s that mean?” You take a giant bite of it, and Eissen nearly pukes right there and then.

“Dusty! That’s made from pony-” There’s an earsplitting bang, and he screams, clutching his leg as blood soaks the carpet under him. “My hoof! Buck me, why do ponies keep shooting me in the legs?”

You whirl around, 9mm pistol at the ready with the safety off, and a mouthful of jello. The cool calmness of SATS fills your vision, and you take in the situation with a glance.

Three raiders, one wearing leather barding, another wearing metal, and the last wearing a dirty black duster, are all pointing guns at you. Behind them, you can see one wearing combat armour that appears to be painted with blood, and one last one who’s built a suit of armour entirely out of aluminum beer cans. Both appear to be pointing guns towards Optic and Ball Peen. Behind them is…

Spinning Cylinders. Of course. And he appears to be… talking to Woody? She doesn’t even have a gun pointed at them, did she just let them walk right in?

You’re tempted to target as many as you can, but they all have such a pitifully-low chance to hit, it’s not even worth it. Barely double digits, and none above twenty-five, too far away.

You quit out of SATS, and finally swallow your mouthful of jello, gun still pointed at the new intruders. Licking your lips, you clear your throat. “Alright, nopony move, and definitely nopony else shoot! We already killed your boss, and I’m pretty sure that means one of you guys is the new boss, so you should be thanking us!”

There’s a moment of shocked silence, before the guy in the metal barding, whispers, terrified, “She… she killed The Red Queen?”

A shout from the other end of the room, from Ball Peen, draws everypony’s attention. “Something just moved! Surv-”

He never gets to finish the word. In a moment, the ruins of the table he was standing on explode once more into a hailstorm of splinters and cooked pony, blood, and guts, as the music from the radio hits a crescendo. Black Widow, the Red Queen herself, emerges like an alien parasite through the chest of a curious explorer, holding your ultra-sharp blade. In that same movement, she slashes upwards, and Ball Peen’s head flicks right off his shoulders like a bottle cap off the neck of a bottle of Sparkle-Cola.

It arcs through the air, a spray of blood spiraling through the air beside it, making a beautifully grotesque pattern in the air of the dining room. At the end of his last parabola, his decapitated head bounces off the rug with a wince-inducing crunch, and rolls to a stop at your feet, face turned upwards and looking at you.

The impact broke his nose, and his eyes are rolling, but he’s got bigger problems. The dying stallion’s pupils start to shrink as he realizes he can’t feel his body, and you can see his mouth trying desperately to form words, to scream in anger, or shout for help, but all that comes out of his mouth is blood. After another moment, he stills, eyes rolling back and head flopping to the side as the spray of blood turns to a dribble.

The Red Queen, back at her end of the table, grins psychotically as you look back at her. She flicks the blade, and what little of Ball Peen’s blood remained to stain it is whisked away, disappearing into the already blood-soaked rug. Behind her, the dirty stallion’s corpse twitches, pisses itself, and then flops over.

“So… Dusty Shelf, from Stable 28… We meet, for the first and the last time. I had hoped we could work out a deal, perhaps involving your Pipbuck, but I can see negotiations have somewhat broken down. So I’ll just have to take your Pipbuck and the maps on it mys-”

And then Optic shoots her in the ass with a gatling laser.

She doesn’t even have time to scream as the energy weapon tears her apart at the subatomic level, and barely manages to let out a whimper before she’s vapourized, her burning dress fluttering to the floor alongside your sword, which lands with a ‘thump.’

With a sigh, Spinning Cylinders draws his twin revolvers, and cocks both hammers at once. “Okay, now th’ Red Queen’s dead. Kill the intruders!”

You turn, but it’s already too late, and worse, your hoof sticks in the jello. It’s going to claim another life by sundown, and Spinning draws a bead on you as the now-familiar staccato of laser fire tears the doorframe apart around him. With infinite calm, he pulls one trigger, than the other, alternating fire as he snaps the pistols forward as the recoil fades.

The bullets tear at your legs, your gut, one, hits you in the shoulder, another hits the jello between your legs and splashes that across you, but the killing blow is a single slug that clips the fuel hose on your Shishkebab.

Gasoline goes everywhere, and the very air around you ignites as the sparks from the impact bounce through your mane. You’re char-boiled in an instant, flash-fried by your own choice of weapon. Your fur dries, then crisps, then catches fire, sandy brown turning to scorched black. Your lungs burn as they try to suck in super-heated air, and you desperately try to squeeze your eyes shut. Pain engulfs you a moment after the fire does, and what air you managed to gulp in is released in a shrill, pained keening whine.

You flop backwards into the jello like it’s a semi-solid swimming pool, and slowly sink into it as your head lolls to the side. The most horrible part is that you’re not dead, and your eyes slowly slide open, sluggishly trying to recover from their impromptu cooking.

At the other end of the room, Optic’s doing far better than anypony else was. And if the fact that she’s just lost half her squad in an instant is scaring her, you can’t tell through the armour. Bullets ping off the Titanium-Silver alloy, balls of plasma splash off the ceramic coating harmlessly, and even the lasers simply reflect off the polished armour, the ricochets zapping chunks out of the floor.

Her defensive hail of laser fire ends with a beep, and the Gatling Laser’s battery ejecting out the side. With a growl, she tosses it away, swapping to her personal laser rifle, but she pulls the trigger a few times only to come up dry again.

The realization slowly floats through your heat-stunned head. She never got a chance to reload after she’d been busy executing survivors.
It’s all the opening the Raiders need, and they charge en masse like a swarm of locusts, rolling over the wreckage and leaping through the air. Optic manages to back up half a step before a stallion half your size leapt onto her neck, and another hit her square in the side. Time seems to slow as the Power-Armoured Goliath falls, crushing a few raiders under her weight, but they’re instantly replaced by more at her belly plating, clawing and biting and pulling at the relatively-weak underarmour.

There’s two screams, one of metal, and the other from Optic as her armour is torn off her belly, and they throw it away to start clawing at the frame. Her legs begin flailing and her head flops from side to side as she desperately tries to crawl away from the near-feral raiders all over her.

She screams again, and this time it’s paired with a splatter of crimson as they tear the frame apart and begin literally chewing their way into her belly, the only exposed part of her body. Even from where you’re sitting, you can see part of her armour bulge suddenly as the raider leading the intestinal charge literally starts crawling inside Optic’s exposed chest cavity, to get at what must be “the good bits.”

Optic’s flailing suddenly ceases, and her final scream is cut off with a gurgle as her head jerks downwards, barely twitching as a raider, soaked in blood, runs away from the pack carrying a long tube of flesh. Optic’s esophagus, maybe? A closer one pulls out a liver-shaped lump of flesh and jams it into his mouth, biting down with the glee of a foal biting into a watermelon. It pops like a blood balloon, thoroughly soaking Optic’s white armour in pinkish-red blood.

Closer to your own charred body, you hear a more masculine scream, and manage to lethargically flop your head away from the spectacle of Optic’s death. Eissen has not gone unnoticed, and it seems that Spinning’s taken an interest in him, now that he thinks you’ve died in a blaze of stupidity. “Say, ah recognize you! That Courier Mademoiselle Tête-à-pic dragged in, ain’tcha?”

You have to give Eissen credit; with nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide, the fact that he’s still clutching his fancy shotgun with shaking hooves and pointing it right at Spinning’s head is pretty awesome. Unfortunately, it’s all for naught, and the Cowpony simply grabs the end of the barrel and yanks it out of his hooves.

“Well!” He says with a smirk. “If’n you’re a courier, seems to me you’re obligated to help me with my package, if you get my drift… Hold ‘im down, Buckos.”

Eissen eyes go wide as the leather-barded raider and another one wearing a tutu grab his fores and hinds, and Spinning walks around him, stroking a quickly-growing erection. “No! Fuck’s sake, not like this! Lemme go, dammit, lemme go!”

His screams go unheard as the Spinning sits down, and points his dick toward Eissen’s muzzle. “No foreplay today, mailpony. Push him in.”

The two raiders yank his fores back his head forward, despite Eissen’s struggles to stay back. “No! No, Celestia-dammit, I don’t wanna end up as a load of cum for some crazy hillbilly- Mm mmmm mmm!” An obscene slurp slithers over around the dining hall as his head is pushed forward, slowly but inexorably, into Spinning Cylinder’s cock-slit. The cock shakes from side to side as he struggles, but his head is inside now, and the rest follow shortly.

It doesn’t take long for the two raiders to feed the rest of Eissen into Spinning’s ballsack, at least up to his own half-erect cock. At that point, more of Eissen’s inside the dick than outside, and it starts pulling him in like a Tunnel Snake working its way down a sleeping pony. Even as his legs flailed, one still bleeding profusely at the knee that’d been shot through, he was slowly-but-surely sliding inside, until his hooves disappeared with a slurp.

“Ahh…” Spinning groaned. “Damn, wish Black Widow hadn’t been blown to dust. I’ve been wanting a piece of that ass for years, now would have been a great time to fill her tight, dead asshole…”

Your heart stops as his eyes catch yours, and he grins. “Hey! That bitch, that’s half as good… I still haven’t repaid her for Mercy, but fucking her charred corpse for a week or so should be a good start. Bring that crispy critter over here.”

His two chosen lackeys stomp over, each grabbing a foreleg, and yanking you out of the sticky mess the bowl of jello had turned into. Your skin crackled as they pulled on it, and you nearly screamed as burnt chunks of flesh peeled off your joints, exposing the raw red meat underneath. But you just couldn’t find the strength to whimper.

The raiders notice, though. “Whoa! Boss, she’s not dead yet!” His already-excited eyes light up in glee, and he slowly starts stroking himself. “Well, hot damn… I’m gonna get to repay you proper, looks like.”

They set you down on your flash-fried rump in front of him, facing him, but he waves his hoof at them. “Not that end, ya idgits! It’s still gonna be all bitey. I wanna fuck her cunt.”

They kick your forelegs out from under you, and your chin smacks into the carpet with a thump like you’d fallen onto a cactus, right in front of his churning balls. All of a sudden a face appears in the side of Spinning’s testicles, Eissen’s drowning face, and it’s joined with a pair of hooves straining outwards against the walls of his balls. After a moment, it disappears with a blurbling noise, and Spinning groans, biting his lip. “Aww, yeah, missy… Gonna fill my new Mercy up with some mailpony seed.”

You try and struggle, but every movement feels like your bones have been cooked into place. The lackeys slam your head down and step on it, forcing your skull against the carpet, while Spinning hikes up your ass. He tries to rub his shaft between your thighs, but all it makes is a shuffling noise, like a pony stepping through ashes.

“Hmph. Guess that’s all the lube you’re gettin’.” Then he pushes the head of his cock up against your asshole, and you finally manage a scream.

The fire had raged around you, and apparently had practically fused all the fur and flesh on your ass into a solid, charred skin over your crotch. As Spinning forcefully jams his head, breaking through that crust, it feels like he’s split your clit open after cooking it with a blowtorch, except inside your asshole.

Fresh blood drips through the crust, picking up flecks of grey as it streaks down your hind legs. You’re shaking like an autumn leaf as Spinning slams his toned hips against your cooked ones, and a brand new flash of Tartarus splits you.

“Whooo-ee! Ain’t never raped a burn victim before, I like it! All crispy on the outside, nice and gooey on the inside!”

The very second he thinks you’ve adjusted to the pain (and he’s wrong) he switches holes, this time smashing through the crisp coating over your pussy and plunging inside with a squelch. You want to puke as you can feel him speed up, realizing he’s going to cum, and he’s going to cum out Eissen, or what’s left of him, into you.

It happens before you’re even done parsing the thought, as he hilts himself, and his balls rumble. The feeling of relief when he finally stops and fills you with white-hot liquid cum blanks out everything else, and turns to pain again in an instant when your belly cracks anew, bloating with his load. You slip into blissful unconsciousness as Spinning presses his belly against your back, cuddling your charred body and yelling to his underlings, “Hey, ya mooks! Start cleaning this mess up!”

* * *

“Sir? We’re preparing the fake envoy for the journey to Dodge City. Soon as they let in the ‘crowd of lost Stable-dwellers’, they’ll break rank and start fighting, which will give everypony else the opportunity to hit them while they’re distracted. It should be burning by sundown.”

Spinning Cylinders nodded, still using his hoof to rock you back and forth along his shaft. “Good. ‘Bout fucking time we took that place down.” With a smirk, he pulled you off, and waved to you. “But where would we be without my faithful cocksock? After all, were it not for her, we never would have found a stable full of meals wrapped up nice and tight in Stable suits for our own uses.”

With a cough, you nodded. “Thank you-” Your voice cracked, and you spoke with a lisp, thanks to not having any teeth any more. “T-thank you, sir…”

Your eyes wandered to the pony splayed on Spinning’s plate. You recognized her from your class. Potted Plant. She’d always been a farmer by heart, trying to keep the Stable’s vegetarian option available (but more often just providing garnishes for everypony else.) She had a look of abject terror and fear on her face, the same look she’d had when you watched her being put into the oven. Thank Celestia she hadn’t recognized you… you think.

It’d be kind of tricky for her to do so. All of your burned flesh and fur had flaked off within the first week, leaving only a mass of stiff scar tissue all over. You were “unfit for equine consumption,” according to the chefs, and so Spinning had decided you would serve as a dickwarmer for him instead. But you could tell he was getting sick of your blistered, bleeding lips.

Around you both, Black Widow’s throne room/banquet hall had been somewhat cleaned up when Spinning had made it his own, but now it had a definite raider flair instead of the faux-fancy it had before. Rotting heads on spikes served as decoration, and you winced again as you spotted Optic and Ball Peen’s heads, flanking either side of the door. The rest of the table was already tearing into their dinner of ponies you recognized, and Spinning’s pet hounds, chained to a load-bearing column in the corner, were fighting over some of the less-palatable scraps.

His hoof grabbed your head, and you took a deep breath on instinct as he slammed your throat down on his cock again, bouncing you off his hips a couple times.You gummed his shaft as rolled your throat around it, and you prepared yourself for the inevitable load blown into your mouth.

But it never came. And that scared the piss out of you, because that meant you were useless to him now.

With a frustrated growl, he yanked your head off his cock again, and grabbed a maid. After a long few moments of sucking in air again, you recognized Woody, dressed in a bloodstained maid’s costume and carrying a rump roast. Her new eyepatch looked good on her, but her other eye was still tearstained. “Hey, you. I’m sick of this bitch’s throat. Come here, sit on my lap, and you’re off the grocery list.”

Woody practically jumped at the chance, and was on his cock in an instant, bouncing up and down on him and making fake pleasured noises. A nearby raider grabbed you by what was left of your mane, and pulled you into the air. “What do we do with this one, boss?”

“Make her look over here.” Leaning around Woody’s fattened-up rump, he glared at you. “I ain’t even started on paying you back for what you done… But I’m sick of looking at your fucking gross muzzle. Consider this a… Mercy.” He grinned then waved the guard holding you away. “Throw her to the dogs. Then leave whatever’s left over in the cage with the rest of the Stable ponies, to let them know not to fuck with me!”

He nods and starts dragging you off. Woody paused to watch you go, but only for a moment before Spinning barks at her again. “Hey! Keep at it, short skirt. Unless you want me to start fucking your other eye-hole instead.”

Spinning’s pet hounds were excited to see you, though. You could still remember them from that time he locked you into the kennels while the bitches were in heat. They didn’t look horny this time, though, just hungry.

It was telling that this lackey was scared to get closer than absolutely necessary to make you into dog food. He just tossed your limp, burned body into the pack, and trotted away. You wanted to fight, but you didn’t even have time before the dog’s teeth tore into you, ripping flesh and spraying blood across the others. You were thankful when one grabbed your throat and shook you like a rubber toy, snapping your neck.

* * *

Wooden ladle watched, crying from her left eye as she watched Dusty, her last hope for escape, get torn apart by the hungry dogs. She’d already kind of known it had all gone to shit, but as a dusty-brown hoof flew out of the dogpile and splatted onto the floor, she sighed, and turned her attention fully onto Spinning Cylinders.

The awful pony just smiled. “Hey, don’t look so glum, missy. You keep up the good job, and when you wear out, I’ll put one in your brain, nice and quick. In with the new, out with the old, huh?”

Bred by the Raider's Pet Mutants!

Author's Note

[Contains: Mid-Coitus Death by Hypothermia, Hard Vore, throats being torn out, really gross rape by Mutant Hounds, Oral Vore, Digestion, and a Nuclear Reactor self-destructing.]

This was originally Part 48 (Bad End).

Bred by the Raider's Pet Mutants!

“Freezer!” You shout, and the line starts crawling through the vents again. The explosions behind you start to slow, with more and more time between each concussive ‘thump’ rattling the sheet metal tunnel, but it never seems close to stopping. After a couple more minutes of frantic crawling, you begin feeling the metal under your hooves getting colder and colder. You’re close.

There’s a yelp from up ahead as Eissen falls out of the vent back into the freezer, and you can hear the ice crystal crunch as he lands. Spinning’s quick to follow, flopping forwards and sliding out of your way. A cloud of steam pushes in, bringing with it the scent of raw meat. Wrinkling your nose, you flop forward as well, and shrug to your hooves while the silent raider with the rifle follows you. He nearly loses his bodged-together firepony’s mask and helmet, but he’s quick to keep it on his head.

Then the smell really hits you. Eyes watering, you turn around, and really look at the freezer for the first time. Before, you were bolting through, running from the psychotic cooks in the kitchen, and only got a glimpse of frozen meat on hooks before you were climbing into the ductwork.

There’s at least a dozen defrosting ponies in here with you, all in various states of dismemberment. A few have hooks through their throats and glassy eyes, while others have hooks through their hind ankles, and were clearly drained of their blood. One’s been completely taken apart, with all of his limbs on separate hooks and the rest of him left on a spit set into the floor. But the worst are probably the three frozen ponies in a corner, fully intact and frozen solid, who were apparently fucking for warmth when hypothermia took them. They must have just been locked in here.

Your eyes snap to the door, and you notice with a shudder that there’s no handle on the inside. “Spinning! How does this door open?”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t, not from the inside, but we ain’t exactly reinforced it. A solid enough buck or a bullet in the right place should pop that sucker open.” The other raider squirmed out of the vent, and was quickly followed by Optic, who takes a deep breath and lies against the wall. “So… bucking… sick… of Celestia-damned… air-ducts.” The raider with the rifle nods in agreement.

Calling on all of your earth pony strength and a bit of your hoof-to-hoof combat skill, you turn your back on the door, before balancing on your forelegs and bucking it with both hooves as hard as you can. All of your weight and the weight of everypony you’d ever reduced to ass fat is thrown against the door on a single point, and the door doesn’t stand a chance. The whole thing nearly flies off its hinges, but a single one at the bottom holds strong, and the door smashes with a scream of metal against the wall beside it.

You regret it a second later. While the corpses in here definitely smelled bad, at least they had been somewhat preserved. The smell of death going stale floods into the freezer, and everypony starts retching, save for the pony with a rifle, who seems to sort of protected. Lucky bastard.

“Augh!” Squeals the raider mare. “I thought that assclown Chew Toy said he was going to clean this shit up! Why is it still rotting?”

There’s another scent on the breeze, and you unholster your 9mm before poking your head back into the kitchen. It smells like burnt food… As you pass a still-glowing oven, the scent gets ludicrously stronger, and you stop to pull it open, curious.

Bucking hell, it just seemed to be going from bad to worse. A cloud of black smoke pours out, engulfing you as the oven door opens. Waving it away, you peer inside with teary eyes, to see the burnt husk of a mare who’d been put in to cook. In fact, she might have been one of the cooks, depending on who caught the blame for letting you escape. But you’d never be sure, crispy as she was.

Slamming it shut again, you coughed a bit more of the smoke out of your lungs. Behind you, everypony else was filtering out of the freezer, holding their muzzles, though Optic and Eissen were still clearly keeping an eye on Spinning and his raider buddies. He didn’t seem none too pleased about it. “Alright, so we’re out of that ruckus. Now that we’re clear, what exactly is your plan, Missy? And don’t think I’ve forgotten about Mercy…”

“Buck’s sake, will you shut up about Mercy?” You growl, striding down the Kitchen with them following you. “We’ve got bigger problems right this second than some raider chick I shot!”

You stride past a side passage you must have missed before, not that it would matter. Looks barricaded. Must be how they got the food out, though. Then your ears prick up at the sound of a pony galloping behind you, and Eissen shouting “Dusty!”

You turn just as Spinning tackles you, and your gun goes skittering across the tile while the back of your head smacks the floor. You come to only a second later to Spinning screaming something, nearly frothing, with both of his revolver’s barrels pressed against your forehead. “-talk about Mercy like that, consarnit! I oughter blow your brains out against the floor right now!”

Behind him, Eissen and… oddly enough, rifle raider, were galloping over to help, while the raider mare and Optic had drawn on each other. But all of a sudden, Eissen froze, his eyes wide as saucers. Even Spinning, the psychotic asshole, had frozen,utterly fixated on whatever was behind you. Slowly, you let your head fall back, and tried to look at it too.

There was… something, standing in the doorway, growling quietly at everypony. Like somepony had fed a rabid dog a steady diet Rage, Stampede, Hydra, and raw, possibly still-screaming meat. It’s muscles were huge, grown massively out of proportion—Luna’s teats, its foreleg was bigger than its head! And the teeth… either somepony had spent weeks filing every single one of the teeth down to a sharp point, or they just grew in like that, splitting their cheeks back to the bone.

Quietly, the growling increased, and two more slowly padded around a corner. In a terrified whisper, Spinning whined, “Oh buck me. That idiot thought the best way to clean this up would be to bring them all here from the kennels.”

The near-silence was broken by one of the dogs letting out a blood-curdling howl, and the other two quickly followed suit, with the noise of a dozen more down the tunnel echoing with a chorus of barking. Then they leapt forward, and all hell broke loose.

Spinning was on his hinds in a second, revolvers flashing as he tried to gun them all down, but he was still a terrible shot. Behind him, Eissen turned tail and ran, one hound already having picked him out and hot on his hooves. The raider with the rifle was firing but he only managed to drop two dogs before a third leapt onto him, chewing at his throat. It might have been bite-proof as far as ponies were concerned, but it didn’t stand a chance against these dogs. There was a single loud gurgle as he fell behind the stained-steel island, and blood squirted back up, spraying against the wall.

Spinning was bowled over by another dog in nearly the exact same way, but he managed to get his foreleg into the dog’s jaws, trying to fight it off. All that did was give it something to hold onto, though, and it was more than strong enough to pull back, taking his entire foreleg with it.

Spinning screamed like a little girl as he clutched at his new stump, but he was quickly cut off by another dog leaping onto him and shaking him by his head like a rag doll. You didn’t hear the snap, but when it let go of him, Spinning flopped to the ground like a broken toy, and the dogs truly began to dig in.

Eissen hadn’t made it far before he tripped, and lay on the floor, trying to scrabble away from another dog that was absolutely playing with him. A moment later it leapt on his hinds and starting gulping the pony alive and whole inside his Stable suit, while he screamed, “No! Please! Not like this, I don’t wanna get eaten by a raider dog! Luna-dammit, we got so far-” Then he was a squirming bulge in the hound’s gut as it settled down for a nap right there and then. Eissen was still struggling inside, and you could hear muffled shouts of “Help”, but as much as you wished you could, you remained frozen, hoping against hope the remaining dogs would somehow skip right over you.

At the far end of the room, Optic had taken the opportunity to fry the raider mare, mostly out of sheer pettiness than anything else. Her laser rifle flashed red, and the mare screamed as he her hooves exploded into ashes, settling into a red, smoking pile on the floor. Still, maybe she was the lucky one. The scent of burnt ozone and carbonized pony quickly blended with the rest of the smells in the Kitchen.

Optic tried to run after that, but yet another dog leapt onto her back, and tackled her to the floor on her belly. Then they both froze, Optic out of fear, and the dog… Seemed to smell something. Backing away slightly, it sniffed the air again, then nipped at Optic’s rump, tearing open her Brotherhood undersuit. She shrieked as it leapt on her again, humping the defeated Crusader against the floor like it was mating her.

Your attention was suddenly grabbed as you heard a low growl behind you, and another hound, seemingly the largest you’d seen yet, padded around to your front. It sniffed as well, nosing its way in between your hinds, and you let it, too afraid of what might happen otherwise. You’d rather let this thing fuck you instead of end up dog food, after all. You grit your teeth, and mutter, “good doggy…” as its snout wanders under your skirt. You jump as it’s mouth opens, and a greasy pink tongue slithers out to start slobbering over your crotch.

You’re not in heat—you’re pretty sure, anyway—which means that this thing’s nose is just that good. Slurping and slobbering, you start getting turned on just from the sensation alone, even letting out a little whinny when your lips clench around his tongue. All of a sudden, the creature’s head whips up, looking you dead in the eyes, and you nearly piss yourself.

Padding over your belly, you hold your breath while the dog continues to growl slowly, wondering what you did wrong. It gets close enough that you start to fear it’s planning to bite your head off, but all of a sudden it stops. Then there’s a sliding sound, and a long, twisted dog cock falls from under its belly, slathered in some sort of mutant mucus.

Your eyes are drawn to Optic again as she shrieks. From what you can tell at a glance, her own dog just knotted her, and it’s finishing. With a bark, the hound on top of you chastises you for looking away, and keeps up a low growl as you gulp, looking at its dick again.

“Okay, okay, just… hang on…” You whimper, slowly taking hold of the mutant dog cock with shaking hooves, and line it up with your own crotch. At least all the slobber seemed to lube you up. As you push the head of the shaft into yourself, you shiver, and the dog takes over, thrusting inside hard and fast, jerkily and not giving a shit about you.

It’s like getting fucked with a sausage, greasy and unpleasant, but still exciting enough that it’s kind of arousing. It’s physically smaller than Zephyr had been, but the hound is using it recklessly. It’s nothing like the stallion’s caring touch.

It chuffs again as it humps you, and you’re unsure if it’s trying to breed you properly or just wants a quick fuck. Its breath is just ungodly, and it’s breathing the scent of rotting meat across your face with every huff. There’s drying blood staining the creature’s lips, and you practically scream when its long, flat tongue lolls out and slurps across your muzzle.

Is it tasting you, or just instinctively showing affection? After the licking, it pulls back, mouth still lolling open. The worst part is, with its lower jaw hanging slack like this, you can see into its mouth, practically right down its throat. You start letting out groans and moans, faking being more aroused than you really are, desperate not to end up a meal at the end.

Moaning, your head flops to the side, and you catch sight of Optic again. The mare looks exhausted, barely able to move, and the dog on top of her has finished. Suddenly, she jerks, and howls as the dog pulls itself away, apparently tearing out the knot. It’s followed by a torrent of off-green canine cum, mixing with blood, and Optic looks at it despondently as the hound circles around her.

Then it drops low and pulls her hinds into its mouth. It takes a second for her to realize what’s happening, and even as she struggles lethargically, it’s working its way up her body, slurping more and more of the Crusader inside its throat. She lets out a final, shrill scream that gets cut off as it wolfs her head inside, gulping her down. The screaming starts up again a second later, muffled like Eissen’s, but the dog doesn’t care. It too just settles down for a snooze.

Your blood freezes, and your eyes lower to your own pet canine rapist, under his panting muzzle to the the shaft still thrusting inside you jerkily. Closer to the base, the cock widens, turning round, blood-red, and veiny. Slowly, you snake your forehooves between both your bodies, hoping you could rub it and get him off without pushing the knot inside.

As you start caressing it, rubbing all over the surface, your hooves get covered in the same mutant slime the shaft is soaked in. It’s like sweat gone wrong, with the slimy texture of cold cum, and it gunks up your hooves in a way you’ll never be able to wash off.

The hound huffs again, and starts speeding up as you fondle his knot. “Shit, no, no, no, come on, you don’t need to do that, I’ll jerk you off-”
With a particularly hard thrust and another bark, the dog slams it inside, and it feels like he just split you open. You let out a girly shriek of your own, and your hooves stiffen, frozen in pain as the dog just keeps thrusting inside. With shaking hooves, you feel around your pussy, feeling for tears, and somehow don’t feel any. You can feel the surface of the knot under your own skin, though, and you can feel the pressure of it spreading you open agonizingly wide.

The dog howls, getting close to finishing, and you can feel the cock and knot twitching inside you. The thrusts get deeper, probing your insides, and he’s slamming himself inside like a rubber jackhammer. A moment later, you shriek again as he fills you with boiling mutant cum, the liquid filling every spare inch, and there’s not much room. Worse, his knot hold it all in, sealing your crotch, and soon the only place the cum can go is pushing itself inside your uterus. The dam breaks from the pressure, and it’s like liquid pain pouring right into your guts.

You slump back onto the cold tiles, panting and making a traumatized keening noise as the mutant hound slumps on top of you, panting right into your face. You don’t even want to think about the internal damage, and your eyes roll away from the dog, focusing on Eissen. Absently, you watch Eissen squirm, still trapped inside the belly. The stallion never really stopped fighting and sloshing the belly from side to side, but the last few seconds seem particularly frantic. Which is why seeing them stop is so jarring. It looks like he just slumps inside, and the belly sloshes from side to side one last time before settling for good.

You’re left feeling hollow. At the very least, you thought you could maybe get out of here, save Eissen and escape. The damage the dog’s done is survivable. But now Eissen’s dead, and you’ve officially failed what you’ve set out to do. There’s movement suddenly, the dog standing up, and tugging on his knot without thinking.

Hurriedly, you try and slap at your crotch to keep him knotted, or at least ease him pulling out, but he’s too strong, and there’s nothing you can do as he tears it out, blood and greenish dog cum squirting across the tiles between your legs, burbling out of your ruined pussy.
Panting, sobbing, and frozen from excruciating pain, your eyes wander the kitchen. Suddenly a gleam catches your eye across the room. Your trusty 9mm, still lying where it fell. If you can get to it…

Your hooves scrabble across the floor, aching and sore, as you try and leap away from the jaws that you know are coming for you. But you’re too late, and the gun’s too far away. Sharp canine teeth dig into your hind, and the hound drags you back across the dirty, stained tiles, right through the puddle of cum and blood. You slide to a stop on your belly, face soaked in the mess, as the dog bites into your ankle again.

With a scream you feel yourself yanked upwards. The dog is literally strong enough to flick you into the air like a pet treat, and for a single brief second, you’re given the sensation of flying. You nearly touch the ceiling as you flail, helpless against the dog’s abuse of gravity, before your vision flips back towards the floor… and the dog's’ open mouth, a million miles below and yet far too close.

The dog’s jaw is like an obscene flower, splitting open impossibly wide, and you’re helpless to stop yourself from plummeting right into his mouth. You land face-first, and the jaws snap shut around you, already pulling you back into his throat. You don’t even have time to scream before you’re sliding down it’s pulsing, throbbing throat, flesh rolling and pulling you further down. You can only manage a whimper as the throat opens before you, sucking you into his belly full of rads and acid, Pipbuck clicking as you drop into the burning liquid.

You scream properly as you’re pressed into a fetal position, and the acid instantly starts sloshing directly into your gaping crotch, unable to even squirm as you start digesting, becoming just another meal for the dog, squirming and fighting just like Eissen had before you.

With its prey secure inside its belly, the Hound snuffles at the ground, then starts waddling back down the tunnel into the room full of cages. Plodding into one he’s decorated with less-intact corpses, he circles a makeshift bed before settling down on top, blood squishing out and staining its fur with fresh crimson.

His sleep is only disturbed when a faint rumble starts to shake the rock around him. Though he’ll never understand how, a grenade detonating inside Optic’s suit, a last-minute effort of a dying pony, causes the miniature fusion reactor to go critical. All he’ll ever understand is that there was one final rumble (as the base’s reactor is damaged and starts to melt down) before everything went white for the mutant hound.