Don't . . . don't think about it
It was a bright, sunny day at Canterlot High, and everything was as it should be. Fluttershy was chasing flyers around the front entrance. Cheerilee was ushering the special-needs back on the bus. Those past the point of no return chased the future away by the bleachers while those still in the daze of exams flitted around the halls like ghosts, always on the move, occasionally turning to hush someone, forgetting that they weren’t in the library. Sunset Shimmer, Queen Bee and all-around social tyrant was slinking out of class, metaphorical tail between her legs.
So, no, then, everything was not as it should be. And it was all Twilight Sparkle’s fault.
Just two weeks had passed since the day of the Fall Formal, and Sunset had not one bruise to prove it. It seemed that the lessons she’d worked so hard to ingrain here were wasted. She would have lost no time in destroying herself, in their position.
A lot of that was probably her new friends. They were a shield of sorts, insulating her from the worst of the reflexive fallout. But even that was a form of torture: what Sunset hated, above all else, was the lack of control, the sensation of being helpless, dependent, and weak. As psychological torture went, this friendship couldn’t have been better picked against her.
But she had plans for that, too.
A wicked grin flashed across her face before she hid her head in her arms. It wouldn’t do to let the students see her defiance, no. They had to think her beaten, a dog, crawling in the gutters and humping their legs for attention.
A spit-ball hit her in the back of the head, and she shuddered.
The school entrance, now an exit by virtue of the afternoon, provided a quick escape, but she wasn’t looking for that today. She made a show of cleanliness, scouring rooms nearby with a broom and dustpan, smashing chalkboard erasers together, or emptying rubbish bins. Soon enough, everyone had run home, eager to be enraptured in the evening’s entertainment.
Alone at last. The school was a shell of itself, hollow and empty. Like the student body was its heart.
Sunset Shimmer had a special reason for staying late today, and it wasn’t the detention she’d claimed it to be. See, she had, through an old diary of hers, accidentally stumbled upon a means of revenge.
Princess Celestia’s punishment for her past was both lax and extreme, in Sunset’s mind: lax in its duration and lasting effect, extreme in its demands for immediate satisfaction. And one of the stipulations was an immediate search of her locker, and any other space Sunset had claimed as her own on school premises.
Such a search was, of course, a violation of her right to privacy, but she was in no position to complain. The bright side being a dusty old book, lifted up from the bottom of her locker, examined with rapidly waning interest, before being handed to her.
It was, of course, her old diary. Sunset’s every attempt to manifest magic in this world to date had failed comprehensively, but Twilight Sparkle had had no problems. She was willing to bet that, with the recent influx of magical energy and the presence of the nearby portal—now closed, but with the moons still relatively close together, still near the boundary required to open it—the connection to Equestria might be intact.
And that gave her power.
Sunset had spent most of the first week fantasising about today. All the varied ways she could take revenge. All the horrible, petty, and downright infantile things she could do to Twilight Sparkle. She’d trip her as she came out of the portal, yes. Oh, how Sunset had goggled, clutching that diary to her chest. And then she’d spit next to her, and then laugh—Sunset could just hear it, a cackling mirth rolling out from her chest . . .
The second week had been more practical. The invention of a magical problem that just screamed “Twilight Sparkle, come save everyone!” Sunset didn’t think it likely that Princess Celestia would show herself, despite likely still having possession of the other end of the diary. From what she’d heard about Equestria, there seemed to be a running theme of passing the ball to Twilight Sparkle.
Sunset completed her last sweep of the school, checking bathroom stalls and secluded corners before concluding that, yes, she was completely alone. She’d have been locked in if she didn’t know where the janitor kept his spare keys: a pair inside, above the mantle over the entrance and outside, under a pot plant. There had to be a story behind that . . .
Everything was ready. Sunset checked her watch, unlocked the front doors, and jogged down to the portal. She kept her right hand behind her back.
The sun was setting, she noticed with a wry smile. How very apt.
The wind chose that moment to whistle, rustling leaves and paper. The sun touched the horizon, throwing generous coats of orange and warm yellow over the scene. And a pale lavender hand emerged from the surface of the statue.
Before Twilight Sparkle could complete the transit, Sunset stepped forward, grasping her by the wrist, and yanking. Her right hand whipped out, reaching forward to catch the surprised Princess’ face as it phased into existence, pressing a cloth, till now hidden, firmly against her mouth—a cloth that had been soaked in chloroform from the Canterlot High science department. Sunset made sure to hold the cloth in place, holding Twilight Sparkle within the portal itself. There was nothing to push against in the hyperspace between realities, and so there was no fighting back.
Sunset felt the glee begin to build in her heart. This, this was almost too easy! The wind stirred again, and she shivered despite her jacket. Taking Twilight Sparkle’s unconscious body in her arms, she began the long, tedious process of dragging her into the school.
She’d selected the school cafeteria for this scene. It was, to Sunset’s mind, thematically appropriate. Finally, locking doors behind her as she went, now wheezing from the exertion, she draped Twilight Sparkle along a long table, meant to seat eight, and stepped back to admire her work so far.
The Equestrian Princess was altogether entirely too small. Sunset felt a bubble in her throat, and let the laughter spew forth. She had no idea what all those fables were going on about. This already felt great.
She began by stripping the girl. Shoes and socks first, then the shirt with those ridiculous shoulders, bowtie and all. She debated with herself briefly over the bras and panties. But that was, she thought, pushing the envelope just a little bit too far. She had no particular desire to see Twilight Sparkle naked: at least, not while the girl was unconscious. There was just no fun in it.
Sunset licked her lips, and her stomach rumbled.
She’d only decided on this course of action after a particularly intense nightmare about a week ago. And since then, all in anticipation, she hadn’t eaten a thing. Not one morsel of food had passed her lips in nearly five full days.
She was starving.
Sunset picked up Twilight Sparkle’s left foot, fingers idly caressing the underside and heel. Then, pulling on the limb just a little, she leant forward and took the big toe in her mouth. Her tongue lashed around the digit, swirling and sampling.
She made a face. The taste was altogether too salty, the portal somehow having recreated feet that had spent all day in those shoes, and accurate metaphysical time-histories be damned. Still, the flesh underneath was soft enough, and she swallowed, her throat closing around the toe and trying to suck it down.
She grinned, opening her mouth more, and slipping the rest of the front of the foot inside. She was drooling a little, the spittle escaping her mouth and sliding down her chin. Hastily wiping it off with the back of her hand, Sunset’s eyes widened as Twilight Sparkle’s foot, now well lubricated, slipped down her throat.
Strangely enough, she felt no desire to gag. Instead, she felt only the awakening pangs of a long-denied hunger, and that effervescent glee. She laughed around the ankle in her mouth, relishing the sensation of Twilight Sparkle’s flesh against her throat. She reached forward for more, and then paused.
The physics of the situation were not lost on Sunset. She’d slept through that class every day, and still scored higher than almost every other student in the school. She grabbed Twilight’s other foot, bringing it alongside the first, and shoved it into her mouth.
After all, if she’d eaten just one leg, she wouldn’t have been able to move onto the torso.
Moments later, and Sunset had Twilight’s shins in her throat. There was a distinctive lack of hair on the girl’s skin—a trait Sunset envied. Originally a pony, Sunset’s human body hadn’t quite gotten the memo: it grew hair everywhere. She’d tried waxing, but that had taken so long it wasn’t worth the effort. Thank Sunset her body fur was blonde—that let her get away with missing spots every now and then.
Her knees now, and suddenly Sunset felt Twilight’s legs flex. She froze, watching with wide eyes as Twilight began to stir. She had been counting on more time!
Voraciously, Sunset stuffed Twilight’s knees into her stomach, her lips stretching even wider as Twilight’s thighs passed her jaw. Her throat was working as fast as it could: peristaltic rings starting to form as quickly as they disappeared. Inch by inch, she worked her way up the last of Twilight’s legs, no longer even registering the taste or texture.
That is, until a decidedly new texture graced her tongue. The fabric of Twilight’s panties scraped the corners of Sunset’s mouth, and her tongue, trailing the insides of her thighs for some time now, found itself pressed up against a concave surface.
Actually, as her tongue flicked to the side, two concave surfaces. What’s that . . .? She pressed forward a little more, feeling the fabric bend inwards, the flesh give way.
Sunset sucked her tongue to the back of her mouth. Do not want. Do not want. Do not want. No, she had clearly not thought about the physics hard enough.
Unfortunately, the brief contact had only pushed Twilight to wakefulness. Sunset took a deep breath—through her nose—and practically lunged forward, swallowing Twilight’s waist entirely. Her hips lodged against the corners of Sunset’s lips, and with one final, titanic heave, the fabric of Twilight’s panties was lost to Sunset’s tongue. She practically sighed in relief, eyes rolling.
She was past the hardest part now. Sunset grabbed Twilight’s arms, ignoring the faint resistance Twilight provided, and slipped them into her mouth too. One, two big gulps later, and it no longer mattered if Twilight woke up: which, as it turned out, was not a moment too soon.
“Warm,” Twilight muttered, eyes fluttering.
Sunset considered. To continue, bringing her head up to Twilight’s neck, or to wait from here, and watch the Princess’ reaction? But she was still hungry, and each passing moment, the movement in her throat that she couldn’t quite consciously control pulled Twilight a little deeper.
“Sunset?” Twilight asked. Her head lolled on her neck. “Is that you? W-what *yawn* what’s going on?”
Sunset made a muffled noise. Twilight’s shoulders entered her mouth.
“What’s that . . . Why are you on my . . . Sunset, what . . . how!”
Sunset swallowed.
Twilight started hyperventilating. “That’s not possible, this is a dream, that’s not possible, this is a dream!”
Sunset swallowed. Her eyes glittered, staring deep into Twilight’s. Her teeth yawned up, the rocky entrance to a cavern, and, after some searching, clamped onto the edge of Twilight’s chin.
“Sunset, stop this!”
And now Twilight’s mouth was inside Sunset’s, and all her words were muffled. Sunset could feel her moving her limbs, but within the cramped confines of her stomach, there just wasn’t enough room to build up force. She could do no more than press against the confines of her living, breathing prison.
Sunset was staring down, now, recording Twilight’s expression for future delight. Her face, or what was left of it, alternated between horror, disgust, and disbelief, a perpetuating cycle that caused Sunset to laugh.
The resulting tremors had Twilight slip inwards. Just before her eyes passed from Sunset’s gaze forever, she had the delight of seeing Twilight go cross-eyed: her laugh blowing hot air directly into the girl’s face.
But the meal was just about over. Sunset tilted her head back, and then rolled it forwards on her neck, throat closing around the top of Twilight’s head. Sayonara, Twilight Sparkle, Sunset thought.
Muffled: “Someone help me!”
Sunset stood up, leant back, and placed her hands over her midriff. She could feel Twilight inside her, she thought with a smile. And if that wasn’t control, what was?
