I've got this sort of empty feeling...
Author's Note
So, a little warning: this story contains grossness, perverse horrible sex acts, and just...yeah, grossness. There is nothing redeeming about this story. You will not learn anything. You will not become a better human being by reading this. If you laugh at this, you're probably a horrible person.
So...yeah, enjoy!
I've got this sort of empty feeling...
The party is finally beginning to wind down, and about damn time too. The balloons are deflating slowly, and the moon looks down from high in the sky, as if reminding you that it's late and time to go home.
Pinkie is finally somehow worn out (you suspect that someone may have drugged her punch, because you can’t fathom any other way that would happen) and her infectious party energy is fading from the quickly departing guests as well. The punch has been finished. The food has been picked over. The music is background now, undanced-to and ignored by most, except for the occasional drunken pony who slurs out an emphatic “I LOVE this song!”
Really, this was one of the best parties of the year, and you’re so glad you actually came out of your secluded little man-nest and attended. You watch the party close up, lounging by the ladder to the loft of the Apples’ barn, smiling gently to yourself. Beside you, a vaguely buzzed Granny Smith continues to ramble on about her younger exploits.
You fade in and out of her stories, catching glimpses of that time she used to put on clothes on stage for money when the family fell on tough times, or the time she dated a goat and her father threatened to disown her. Were you not a little buzzed yourself, this might enthrall you. Well, or if Granny Smith wasn’t a wrinkly little appledoll. Gilfs just aren’t your thing.
No, to be honest, you’ve had your eye on this little gray pony. Supercute, kinda a klutz, definitely sexy. You can’t quite decide if she’s drunk as fuck, clumsy, or some combination of the two, but she’s definitely your type. You smile dumbly at her as she stumbles past the nearly empty punch bowl, knocking it over onto the head of a now shrieking Spike. She holds a hoof to her nose, which crinkles in apology, as the sopping dragon scowls up at her. Hell, the fact that she’s making Spike miserable just makes her all the more adorable.
Granny Smith seems to catch your smitten gaze, for you hear her chuckle cruelly at your hip.
“Oh, what’s this I see? Fancyin' somepony over yonder are ye?”
You give her a weak, almost apologetic smile.
“Was it that obvious?”
“I can see love light in yer eyes a’mile away. It’s hard to miss.”
Another chuckle.
“Yeah, sorry I got distracted.”
She waves a hoof, smiling gently.
“Never ye mind. I’ll consider us even if’n ye just tell me who the apple of yer eye is.”
Damn the ponies who like on this farm for their constant apple puns. You wonder if that’s something just built straight into their cutie mark. You hesitate, realizing you don’t even know her name. With a flush of embarrassment tinging your cheeks, you nod in the direction of the gray pegasus, who is now caught in streamers and struggling lamely to get free. Her walleyed expression and sheepish grin do nothing to make the scene look less bdsm related, and you focus again on Granny Smith to try to calm the boner threatening to swell in your pants.
Seriously, those wrinkles. Just nope to all of that.
To your surprise, she’s scowling, glancing between you and the Gray pony with open distaste. That’s weird, you thought this sweet little old lady didn’t hate a soul.
“Ah,” she says sourly. “That one.”
“That one?”
“Derpy.”
You stifle a laugh at the name. Fucking Really? Definitely not something you can call out during sex, you’ll have to give her a nickname or something. Bubbles? Dee? Gray Gash? Slate Slit? Lead Labia? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves there Anon? Besides, those are terrible, you should be ashamed.
Ah, right.
“Huh,” you say. “Interesting name. You know her?”
Granny Smith’s scowl deepens.
“I do.”
“…and you don’t like her?”
Another dark glance in her direction.
“Nope, I do not.”
You get the feeling it would be better not to ask, but you feel compelled. Maybe it’s her clumsiness? Maybe it’s her youth, and this is some kind of jealousy?
“Any particular reason why? She seems like a nice enough young filly.”
Granny Smith scoffs.
“That ain’t no filly.” she mutters.
“What do you mean?”
The older pony straightens a little, staring you full in the face.
“That there gal’s older than I am,” she says curtly.
You stare at her in disbelief, but you can see she’s serious. What’s more, she looks a little proud of herself for that. Jesus christ, how much older is Derpy?
“How?” you find yourself asking.
Another scoff.
“I decline to tell ye, but I’ll just say I don’t approve of her methods is all,” she says, staring across the way as the gray pegasus tries, and fails, to exit through a window, crashing awkwardly onto the floor of the barn. Well that’s an intriguing sentence, to say the least. Maybe you are into Gilfs after all.
But no, that can’t be true. You examine Derpy, but every part of her is smooth looking. Every curve is crisp, every movement is fluid, every embarrassed bite of her lip…
Boner no, we went over this.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Granny Smith says curtly. “She’s been livin’ here fer longer’n I have. Doesn’t even live up in the clouds or nothing.”
“Really?”
“Yep, she lives just down the road from here actually.”
From somewhere across the barn, you hear a wrenching, high pitched, almost adorable gag and splashing noise, followed by a subdued giggle. Granny Smith rolls her aged eyes.
“Oh great,” she says with a sigh. “Looks like Pinkie Pie threw up the ketamine again. I’ll go take care of it, just…”
She turns over one withered…well, wither, and speaks in a very low, pointed voice.
“Just stay away from Derpy, ya hear?”
You nod, knowing full well that’s not going to happen. Granny Smith limps off to go clean up after Pinkie, and you turn your attention to the…
Wait, where is she? You scan the room, only to find that she’s gone. Your slightly drunk state and this recently uncovered mystery spur you to action, and you rush outside. To your surprise and relief, you find Derpy wandering, swaying down the path away from the Apples’ farm.
For a moment, you watch her swaying rear before you begin to consider the situation. Well..it is night. And she’s walking home alone. Probably drunk. That isn’t exactly safe. Perhaps…you should follow her. You know, make sure she’s ok. For her sake of course. You nod, admiring your own altruism.
You poor son of a bitch, you should know by now that nothing good will come of this.
Still going to follow her?
Yeah, I thought so. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Again.
With a smile, you quietly follow her down the path, slipping between trees to keep her from noticing.
——
After a very short walk, the gray pony stops outside a small brick building. As support to Granny Smith’s claims, the building looks exceedingly old, like no others you’ve seen in Equestria. You watch from behind a bush as she opens the door…right into her own face. She smiles good-naturedly at the door, then stumbles inside and shuts it behind her.
Ok, she’s home. Time to leave.
But you’re too curious for that. You’re too intrigued by this pony seemingly touched by the fountain of youth. No, you have to take a peek inside.
Something about curiosity and cats not ringing a bell here? No? Ok, suit yourself.
You venture up to the window and raise your eyes just above the sill. Inside, the lights flick on, and you see the form of the mare saunter awkwardly over to a dresser. As you watch she looks at herself in the mirror with a light smile. She fluffs her hair. She touches her cheek and nose with a delicate hoof. She sticks her tongue out at herself. You stifle a dawww. There’s nothing sinister here. There’s nothing creepy or weird. Granny Smith must have been pulling your leg or have been mistaken. There’s no way this sweet, childish little mare could possibly be…
You fall silent.
Derpy has taken both her hooves and placed them directly on the centers of her wide open eyes. Ok, that’s weird. She smiles, pressing inward slightly against them, seemingly not in pain at all. Then, she rotates her hooves, and her eyes swivel with them, spinning crazily like they’re not fully a part of her.
Your stomach lurches. What the fuck is this. What is she…
Derpy moves her hooves forward in a sharp jerking motion. With a sticky, sucking, wet pop, both her eyes come out, resting like strange white globes on her hooves.
Jesus fucking christ!
You clap a hand over your mouth to hold back a wrenching sound of disgust. It all suddenly makes sense though. The clumsiness. The walleyed expression. The inability to focus on anything for more than a brief moment. It’s all because Derpy is blind.
Your disgust turns to guilt, then to pity. The poor thing! At best, she probably has some magic in those eyes that allows her to see just a little, but really she’s just disabled and making the best of it. And that bitch Granny Smith hates her just because she’s handicapped? You know old people are fucking bigots sometimes, but really? It’s not like…
Derpy smiles into the mirror at her empty sockets, and touches them gingerly with a hoof tip. Then, she turns to a small case by the dresser, and you get a full look inside. Everything in your mind stops functioning.
They’re...empty.
Not just of eyes, totally empty. There’s no brain in there, no muscle, no fluids…just nothing. Her head is empty, save for a few soft looking folds of gray and pink flesh, that seem to vibrate as she breathes in and out.
But that’s not…how’s that…
But it doesn’t stop there. Derpy reaches into the case by the dresser, and draws out a long, large, green-filled, sparkling syringe. One roughly the size of her own head. On the side, shoddily scrawled in what looks like crayon, are the words “brain juice.” It has a little happy face added next to the words. You realize suddenly, with great horror, what’s about to happen, but can’t bring yourself to look away.
Sure enough, Derpy tips back her head, carefully fitting the needle through the gaping black holes that empty into her head. With a sound like someone pressing their fist into a half-full jar of jelly, she pushes down on the plunger, and the thick green goo squirts into her empty head.
Nausea wells in your alcohol-lined stomach. What the actual shit is going on. Is this pony injecting magical brain sludge into her empty skull? Is this what Granny Smith was talking about when she said she didn’t approve of her methods? Is this…THIS is how she stays so young looking??
God damn it ponyville, why are you so full of fuck?! But, you brought this on yourself though, you didn’t have to follow her home you know.
Seemingly satisfied, the gray mare puts down the empty syringe and again fluffs her hair. When she turns again, you see a wall of thick, semi-translucent green slime coating the interior of her skull. It looks congealed, like Nickelodeon slime from the later seasons of Family Double Dare. For some reason, this comforts you. No idea why.
With a slightly less swaying gate, she turns to her bed, slips under the covers, and pushes over the lamp rather than turning it off. It crashes to the floor, and the room is plunged into mostly darkness. Almost immediately, you hear her begin to snore, and know she’s fallen asleep.
You sit by the window, feeling vaguely violated by all of this, but still unable to move away. You tremble a little as your mind replays what you just saw over and over, trying to make sense of it all. You feel like you just witnessed some sort of snuff film, and not even the fun kind. Still, as she sleeps peacefully now, she does look less…terrifying. She looks gentle there, even though the flesh around the insides of her eye sockets still moves with each breath.
But you know, the holes don’t look so bad, if you ignore the green shine towards the back. In fact, the holes look soft. They even look a little like...
No.
Don’t you even dare.
Boner, what the fuck, no one invited you to this party. You’re drunk, go home. But something compels you. Some weird, primal urge, some curiosity.
...skullfucking is a thing some people are into, isn’t it? A thing that people talk about sometimes, yeah? Wouldn’t be the first person to consider it. But to do it, with a living, breathing thing…Wrong. So wrong. But you'd be able to say you did it. An experience no one else has probably had. And if you were gentle, maybe she would keep sleeping. I mean, when else are you going to have this chance, right?
You take a deep breath, and nod, deciding. You have to know.
Like the horrible creeper you are, you shuffle over the windowsill and lower yourself silently onto the ground. She doesn’t budge, even as you approach her and gingerly unzip your pants.
As you touch her warm fur, you find she’s still completely out of it. She doesn’t even flinch when you reposition her head under you, so that her left eyehole is ‘looking’ up at you.
This is sick. You shouldn’t do this. Curiosity. Cats. Remember all that?
But your boner has control now, and you know you’ll regret it if you don’t. Plus you're drunk. You can totally blame that later.
Holding a breath deep in your lungs, you slowly slide your cock through the opening into her skull. It eases down into her like you're fucking a jar of mayo, making a similar sound.
It's disgusting. And twisted. And…oh fucking god, it feels amazing.
The green goo makes a slick lubricant, and you enter her easily, sliding in til you can feel your head meet with the warm, gelatinous reservoir of it sitting inside her head. The flesh seems to tighten and relax around your cock as she breathes. You can almost feel her hot breath on you as you start to move. She remains unconscious somehow as you slowly find a rhythm. There’s a low, squishing noise as you go, making her sound wet and ready for you as you fuck her mostly-empty head.
Everything is so warm. So wet. You feel yourself swell inside her as you pick up pace, trying not to think too much about what exactly you’re doing. No, just focus on the bare flesh, the wet sucking noise as you move out and in, the fluids leaking out around the edges of your dick with every stroke.
Oh fuck yes, how is this better than pussy? Who cares, it is.
You bite your lip to keep from groaning in pleasure as you increase your pace, still trying not to wake her.
You’ve going to cum. You’re going to cum from skullfucking a pony while she sleeps.
…you really are the worst sort of person.
As you reach the point of no return, you barely stifle a moan of ecstasy, and you ensnarl your fingers in her soft golden mane, caressing her sweet, cockstroking head with so much affection that you can barely stand it. You thrust deep, and release your load into her cavernous skull. It’s all you can do not to collapse from how weak your knees feel.
Stumbling, you step back, dick sliding out with a moist shlick noise. Instantly, like you've been slapped you come back to yourself. What have you done. Oh dear sweet mother of fucking god, what have you done. You just raped a pony’s head. You skullfucked Derpy. What the fuck is wrong with you?!
As you watch, a small trickle of white and green leaks from one of her eye sockets onto her nose. She crinkles it and smiles in her sleep, wiping it with one hoof into a long, slick, glistening line against her fur. Trying not to vomit at how disgusting you are, you stumble out the window and run, trembling and ashamed, through the forest back towards your home.
——
A day or two passes. Regret continually fills you. Well it would fill you if you didn’t have some serious problems of your own to deal with that kinda distract you.
That green stuff? Well, it makes more than ponies intelligent as it turns out. Just ask your dick. No. Really. Ask it. It can talk now. And it does. At length. You’d think that might be kinda cool, but it’s really not. Especially when you’re trying to take a leak.
See, this is what happens when you’re a creepy sick son of a bitch. I did warn you.
You haven't had the heart to ask Twilight for a spell to make it stop yet, but now, as you pass Derpy at the cafe, you’re seriously considering it. She smiles absently at you as you past, like her thoughts really are as empty as her hollowed out head. Trying not to make eye contact with either one of her mismatched eyes, you feel your penis stir to life.
“Oh, there’s your little love!” your penis says from your pants in a lightly British accent. “You should go say hi.”
Don’t ask me why your dick is British, I don’t know. Go ahead and ask it instead, if you dare. You clap a hand over the front of your crotch to try to stifle it.
“Shut the fuck up!” you hiss. “What is wrong with you!”
Your penis just laughs at you, and not for the first time today.
“I’m sure she’d enjoy it if you said hi, it makes sense after all,” your penis goes on, words slightly muffled by the fabric of your pants.
Don’t ask why, you know what’s coming next. Don’t. Nothing good will come of this, just stay silent, whatever you do, don’t ask why.
“…why?”
Goddamn it, Anon. You can feel your penis smile up at you. It’s damn disconcerting, and you can feel that you’re defeated, before he even speaks.
“Well…you know you’ve been on her mind lately,” he says before breaking out into uproarious laughter.
Anon, when are you going to learn that curiosity gets you nothing but trouble?
-End-
