Capture is the Prologue: 1
Author's Note
Mare Miss Blossom Plot's POV
Capture is the Prologue: 1
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”I am Miss Blossom Plot!” I presented myself as I signed in for the room I had booked prior to departing on the train to Manehattan.
“Greetings, Miss Blossom Plot!” the mare tending the reception desk responded with a wide and friendly grin plastered all over her face.
“I booked a room at the Hotel!” I continued.
“Ah yeah, there is indeed a room booked under the name Miss Blossom Plot!” she responded, and her face lit up.
“Thank you!” I responded.
“If you would sign here;” she said, pointing a hoof at the line, “and I can hoof you the key to the room!” she then responded.
"Okay, here you go!” I responded as I signed my name on the indicated line and picked up the key, before trotting to the elevator.
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I slipped out of the lift on my level and merrily trotted to the door of my room, where I stopped and unlocked the door before slipping inside.
I closed the door and locked after myself. This is after all the big city Manehattan. In a city as proud as Canterlot, you don’t take the chance on getting caught breaking into a Pony’s home. In a small village like Ponyville, you know you are on the next day’s paper, and the front the first time you tried that stupid stunt in the first place. After that, you are on the first train out, or in jail.
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Of course, the first thing facing me is the small but light hall. I can appreciate the stone tiles leaving the impression it had been here for ages, but with nary a trace of the time passing by. I can leave my boots to the right, just under where I could leave my jacket. There is also a stand for my umbrella, in case it had been a rainy day. They actually do have these, even if a city like Manehattan, as much as one may refuse to believe in such a case.
The walls apparently covered in light red cherry wood. Then there are several small lights lining the wall.
Once I enter the larger living space of the apartment, the floor is a light beech wood, while the walls apparently stick with the previous theme. Of course, I guess the wood can make it on the floor in the living room. No mud, no wet hooves or boots.
I can see a large corner sofa and a table in the middle. I even have a bookshelf with books in it. Even if most of the space is empty and void with decorative pieces in between.
I have a bed room with a mandatory bed. The theme of the room is the same as in the living room, naturally. Only the bed and a bed stand, nothing much or fancy. But, it is for sleep. I am intended to sleep there.
A mare’s room and a shower are both hidden behind the space where I have my boots. There are regular doors before them, like in any common home in Equestria, just as I expected to see in Manehattan.
Of course I also find the small pantry, where I could prepare a light meal in case I felt like it. Otherwise, they have a restaurant on the ground level, serving most hours of the day, including the small, dark hours.
The final space is a fairly large balcony. Several roses are potted. There are a few more plants hanging from the side walls. Flowers blossoming brightly, growing over both in and out on the fence.
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I ended up, ordering in a light salad to my room. Nothing fancy, just a daisy and daffodil salad.
Once the salad had arrived, it had been placed on the table. I have a small bowl and a fork. Then I placed a pitcher of scented water by the side and a glass.
Looking closer, I noticed that it is supposed to taste just like apple, while it smells like apple blossoms in early spring, as the label had it. All these curious details.
I had enjoyed my salad, and the water is quite nice, once you get used to it all. Just not what I had expected, or what I had been used to. Yet, I guess I did not like the notion of just pouring myself a glass of tap water. Not so much that I doubted the quality, I just did not feel like it right now.
Ordering in the salad is just the touch of fancy, without going out, or taking the time to prepare the meal on your own. I like it like this, maybe I am funny this way?
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Once I had had something a little to eat, I guess it is time to properly establish myself in the room. I just need to make a few minor changes and place a few of my belongings in the room to add that special and personal touch to the space. Making it feel like home, rather than just a cold and white, clinical room in a Hotel.
Who likes to live like this, anyway? Certainly not I. I am a Pony who loves colours and special personal touches. The mark on my flank means something to me, not just a line of work.
Beside the regular standard works I find in the bookshelves, I place a few of my very own works. Maybe these are not overly common or well read, but they give me a more personal touch to the room. I just like to see them on the shelves where I live, hence I carry a few copies of them with me when, and where ever I go.
Then I added a few more personal touches, figurines and a few frames I intend to take with me when I leave. The books I may intend to read, I place by the bed, where I commonly do all my reading anyway.
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Now, I love drawing images, mostly of blossoms, like Orchid, Cherry and Apple. Why I prefer these, I have no idea, they just speak to me like no others ever could. Then again, I do the occasional Pony doodles as well. Mainly when I am in a different mood, yet commonly feeling inspired. Otherwise, I commonly do write down stories I write. I enjoy spinning the plots along different routs, compared with what I see in the books I commonly see in the store or library. Not even the library choose the one I spin all that often. Maybe I should have asked the Librarians?
An Episode of Kidnapping: 2
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The shower had been glorious. Washing off the dust from the travel, the hot water and adding the feel of being clean.
I had ordered up the room service for some enjoyable treat, after the shower. It had sounded like a wonderful treat. Of course; everything comes at a price, but a few bits for the joy would be no problem, or so I had thought. It isn’t as if I couldn’t spare them in the first place.
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The mare had slowly dried me off with a set of large white towels, before she applied this curious cool clear gel that slowly warmed up to my body temperature and momentarily just a degree above, while glowing in a bright blue to cyan. After that it is neither seen nor felt.
Only then I realized I was getting stiff as the gel turned into a thick rubber. By now, she picked up a clear rubber valve, like the once I had seen on the beach ball and inflatable mattresses.
Now the white mare proceeded to give the valve a tentative tug, only to make sure it was actually attached to the belly bottom. For some reason, she finished this by applying a sipper along the entire length of my spine, from the edge of my mane to the root of my tail.
Once the sipper had attached itself to my back, I had found myself as stiff as the clear rubber covering my body, as if she had actually turned me into a doll, or a toy for the next mare or stallion to spot me in the room.
Before she carried me, or my body out of the room, she painted my hooves a metallic bloody red. What if the red was actually saturating my hooves, just in case I was to escape the prison made out of this rubber and possibly the flesh I feel as if it had been rubber. Is it, or not? I have no idea. On the other rubbery hoof, does that matter, right now?
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The obvious follows, as she placed me on a trolley and pulled me out of the room. The door eagerly opened for her and closed behind her. I can clearly see everything around me, as if nothing had happened, aside from the fact that I can’t move as much as a single little muscle in my body, as much as I may like to. Once the door closed behind her, and me; I had given up in the face of what is obviously impossible.
From what I could see in the mirror like stainless steel surfaces in the elevator, my body looks like a glistering rubber doll version of whom I had been prior to her appearance in the room. Every last little detail seems to be the same, unchanged.
The rubber my body seems to have been molded out of jiggle with the motions of the trolley on which I had been mounted. I feel the motion of the lift as it falls downwards towards the ground level. At least I imagine it is where we are going.
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Once we finally grind to a halt as the motion is halted by the floor, I feel myself jiggling even more, but then she unceremoniously pulls me out on top of her trolley, just after the double doors opened before her. The doors close quietly behind her as she keeps pulling me along the long hall, stopping at a door.
I noted that she pushed a button and the door opens in order to eagerly admit her into the next room. The door closes behind her greedily as she had pulled me into the room. Another set of doors open and close in order to let her continue on her merry way.
She carefully lifts me off of the trolley she had been using in order to transport me from the room I had booked, and to the room I now had found myself. Exactly what her purpose for the act had been, I have no idea, she had not told me. Maybe she will, or maybe she wouldn’t? Either way, I am stuck on the ride to where ever she may choose to take me.
Of course, so long as I am motionless and can’t do anything, I am helpless under her every whim. I had figured as much. With that, she is bound to have an idea and a purpose for what she had done. One doesn’t just pick up Ponies, even if they had been rendered helpless, just for the sake of taking them away? Or?
Now I could once more feel her hooves as she probed and prodded my body from the tip of my muzzle and to the edge of my plump rump. She is clearly eager and excited, I could feel as much. It isn’t as if she even tried to hide that fact. Even if she never mouthed as much as a syllable about it, or anything else.
Only now, I noticed how she used a ribbon in order to tie my tail up, before she lifted it up and placed it along my spine. Once she was done, she moved on. I noticed her moving up and placed her muzzle right on the top of my mound. I could feel her sniff and snort, before she parted her lips and carefully lapped away around my mound, and then finally my orchid. There was no way to avoid the experience or denying it now. She apparently was quite excited by me, the scent of me and the feel of my orchid.
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Conflicting sensations and emotions coursing through my body. I wanted to scream out in alarm, fear and revulsion towards the way she had treated me as she pulled me out of my room. I did not want her to have any pleasure from me, my body. In the form it is in now or any other. I hated the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability she had placed upon me as she trapped me. As she turned me into the doll I am now.
On the other hoof, I wanted to sigh, to moan and scream out from the sensations the touch her muzzle and tongue caused me. I can’t reconcile the conflict. It is as if there are two of me inside the trap. On the one hand, there is the me who wants back to my room, and the me that is made out of rubber and who love every tiny little sensation she is giving me. Or as I would have put it; forced upon me.
Every touch caused my body further into the red. On the one hoof she is causing my body excitement and closing in on towards coming, but she is also violating me, ignoring my wishes and desires.
Maybe I had agreed, had she asked me in the first place. Yet, she never asked, not a single time. Does she take it that the original order gave her the right to do, what she is doing now?
