They didn’t even have time to finish breakfast.
Big Macintosh had served her favorite treat: apple pie. Not the dry, soulless, pre-packaged kind they sold by the dozen in the markets in town, but real apple pie. Apple-family-recipe apple pie, like Granny Smith had made for them a thousand times growing up. He had spent nearly an hour in the orchard the day before, picking out the best apples of the crop, and afterwards he'd baked all the way from noon until just a couple hours shy of sunset. He hadn't told her what he was doing. She would have worried for him, told him not to go to the trouble, told him that it was no big deal, her leaving. “Ah’m not dying,” she would have said, putting on a brave smile. “Just going away for a while, that’s all. Ah’ll be back before you even remember Ah left.”
The truth was, he’d done it as much for himself as for her. Spending hours on trivialities had become something of a habit for him since . . . since things had changed. He’d become obsessed with occupying himself with work, any kind of work, just to keep his mind busy, just to keep away the million worries that seemed to crowd his head like cockroaches every second he wasn’t doing something. He was sure he would go nuts if he didn’t. Granny Smith would have told him that this wasn’t healthy, that you couldn’t run away from your problems forever, but she wasn’t there anymore. It was just them, on their own, and they had to figure it out for themselves.
Neither of them were even hungry. Big Mac had taken a few bites from the non-burned portion of his slice (he had never been all that great a cook) just to encourage her to eat, but even though she'd insisted that it looked delicious, Applejack couldn’t seem to manage more than a few forks full. He didn’t blame her. If he were her, he wouldn’t have had the stomach to eat right now either. He’d at least hoped that they’d have plenty of time to talk, and to say their goodbyes.
But they couldn’t even give him that.
No more than ten minutes after they’d sat down at the family dining table for the last time, the sound of wheels moving and voices shouting made them rise again. Big Mac drew back the blinds on the window, and peered out, hoping vainly that it was just the mailman come several hours early. When he saw the wagon pulled by two harnessed mares that had settled in front of the barn, and the logo emblazoned in bright colors on the side, his heart fell. He let out a long, low sigh. “They’re here.”
“No sense keeping them waiting,” said Applejack. She, at least, was ready. He knew she'd been mentally preparing herself for this since she heard the news. She was right, too. There was no use drawing it out. He gestured for her to follow him as he walked out of the room and into the parlor and opened the front door, stepping out into the blazing morning sunlight.
Squinting his eyes at the brightness, Big Mac saw the door of the wagon open, and two cream-colored figures step out, one after the other. He didn’t need to wait for them to get closer to know that they were the last two ponies he had ever wanted to see again: The Flim Flam brothers. Unabashed con men, liars, cheats, and, as of today, his sister's new temporary owners.
It wasn’t supposed to have been like this. He was her big brother. Damn it, he was her big brother, and he was supposed to have been able to protect her. He’d fought tooth and nail, and for the longest time he'd held out hope he was going to win. He’d put off filing the paperwork and tried to draw out the entire process as much as he thought he could without attracting attention. But at the end of the day Applejack was an Element of Harmony, and Elements of Harmony were property of the government. And if the government saw fit to grant a request to “loan” one of it’s mares, there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. Not even her current handler, Big Mac. Not even her big brother.
They were walking up to him now, smiling their two-bit smiles. They wore matching blue pin-striped coats, black bow ties, and panama hats. Their manes were scarlet, and slicked back, as if they didn't already look sleazy enough. One was clean-shaven (Flim?) and the other sported a mustache (Flam?). When they got close enough to talk, the clean-shaven one spoke.
“Well, if it isn’t the head honcho himself! Mac . . . Mac . . . Macadamia Nut, right?”
“Big Macintosh,” said Big Mac flatly.
“Right, right, that’s right!” The stallion beamed at him. “Well, it's great to see you again! You remember your old pal Flim, right? And this here,” he gestured to the mustached stallion, who nodded at Big Mac, “is my brother Flam.” Flim pursed his lips. “We’re here to pick up a certain mare by the name of . . .” He trailed off, and scanned the area until he saw her, standing a little ways behind him.
“Applejack!” He raced over to her, his smile becoming even wider, if that was possible. “The lady of the hour! And how are you today, miss?” He took her hand and kissed it. “And why are you wearing a dishrag?” Big Mac realized she was still wearing the old bathrobe he let her keep on around the house, where no one could see them and report them for wrongdoing. Flim casually slipped it off her shoulders, and it fell to the ground in a heap. She didn’t protest, and, much as he wanted to, neither did Big Mac. It was her new owner's right, and it was far from the worst he could do to her. He looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her ample breasts and the tuft of blonde hair between her legs.
The larger stallion averted his eyes, grimacing. Sadly, he couldn’t cover his ears, too. “My, my, my. I don't remember you being quite this good looking,” he heard Flim say in a lecherous voice. “But a little grimy, if you don’t mind me saying. On the way here, I was planning to just bend you over right when we showed up and plow you in front of Red Delicious over there.” He seemed to have forgotten Big Mac was listening. Or, more likely, he didn’t care. “Flam advised me to wait until we were back in the city and had some time to clean you up. Frankly, looking at you now, I reluctantly have to agree. Do they not have running water this far from town?” Applejack, wisely, said nothing. Flim didn't seem to mind.
“Well, anyway, I’m sure we could catch up for hours, but let’s save it for when we’re on the road. It’s a long trip.” He paused, and added: “Don’t fret though, it's not too long. We’ll be rolling in the hay in no time, you and I.” Big Mac looked back at them, and saw Flim leading his sister by the arm over to the wagon.
“Not so fast,” said Big Mac firmly, walking over to Flim and placing a hand on his shoulder. He got a certain sense of satisfaction from the way the smaller stallion flinched and momentarily lost his composure when he touched him. The smile was back on his face in a second though, if a little more nervous this time.
“What’s that, friend?”
“Ah have something to say.” Flim looked at him curiously for a second, and spread his arms in a "go ahead" gesture.
“Ah want to make a few things very clear, to both of you.” He looked at each of them in turn. Flim still looked a little scared. Flam’s face was unreadable.
“You are going to have my sister for seven days, and then you are going to bring her back.” He spoke slowly and clearly. “If you take one minute longer than those seven days, Ah won’t hesitate to go to the authorities and you can tell them all about how you stole my mare.” It was an empty threat. Big Mac had had experience dealing with the “authorities” before, and they were as unhelpful as they were unpleasant. Besides, Applejack wasn’t even technically his mare. But these two didn’t have to know any of that.
“And, for the seven days you have her, you are going to treat her like a pony. You’re going to do what you will to her, and I know I can’t stop you, but you are going to treat her like a pony. You will give her food. You will keep her warm. You will give her a place to sleep.” He had never in a million years thought he’d have to spell out his sister’s basic rights as a pony like a landlord setting the ground rules for his tenants. How did things sink this far? How did the world come to this?
He went on, hoping the conviction in his voice didn't sound as hollow to their ears as it did to his. "Finally, and most importantly, you are going to bring her back the way she was. You are not going to hurt her. You are not going to do anything that might hurt her. You are not going to do anything that might even approach having a chance of hurting her.” He fixed them both in turn with the harshest glare he could muster. “Let me be absolutely clear: if you harm one single hair on her head, there won’t be a Caribou in Equestria big enough to hold me back.”
This time it was Flam who spoke.
“You don’t need to worry, Big Macintosh,” he said softly. The other stallion's low, measured voice was less raucous and jarring than his brother’s, but there was something about it that he couldn't put his finger on which made Big Mac’s skin crawl. “Your sister is as safe with us as she is with you. We’re going to do this by the book, and in exactly seven days we will bring her back to you, good as new. You have our word.”
Their word? The word of two professional liars? Was that a joke? Flam looked serious.
Big Mac wanted nothing more than to tell him where he could shove his word before proceeding to knock every tooth out of his brother’s smarmy mouth, but he just nodded silently. He had made his warning, they had made their response. There was nothing more he could do. Flam turned to his brother.
“Flim, why don’t you get our mares ready.” He gestured to the mares who had been pulling the wagon. Presently, they were nearly collapsing on the road, presumably from the heat as much as from exhaustion. “I’ll get Miss Applejack situated for the ride.” Flim nodded, and started off in their direction.
“If you want her in a harness, I can help,” said Mac. He hoped he could eke out a few more minutes to get in a real goodbye while doing it.
“Beg your pardon?”
“You want her to pull the wagon, don’t you?” asked Mac. As soon as he had seen that their drivers were mares, he had assumed without thinking that that would the first of their tortures for her.
Flam smiled wanly. “Don’t be silly,” he chided, as though making her pull a wagon were half as bad as any of the other things he no doubt intended to make her do. “She’s our guest of honor. She’ll ride in the wagon, with us.” As soon as he said the last two words, it sounded like a much worse alternative.
Big Mac didn’t have any more time to waste on dealing with him, though. He couldn’t keep them much longer. He turned to Applejack, who was still standing next to Flam, and wrapped her in a thick hug. She blushed and he realized with a start that she was still naked, but a moment later he decided he didn’t care. He embraced her, and she embraced him back.
“Be safe, Applejack,” he whispered.
“Ah will,” she replied firmly.
"Promise me," he said. Apples never break their promises.
"Ah promise." He looked into her eyes, and realized it didn't matter if he got all the time in the world to say goodbye, there was nothing else they could say to each other.
They stayed like that in silence for a long time. Bizarrely, Flam didn’t seem to mind at all. When they finally broke away from one another, the other stallion looked at Big Mac as though asking for permission to take her, and he nodded his consent wearily.
They walked away, and Big Mac just stood in the dirt like a useless statue and watched them go.
Ponies had been calling him “Big Mac” since he was just a little colt, but he’d never felt as small as he did right now.
The wagon was more spacious than it seemed from the outside, but it was also filled to the brim with junk. Applejack saw boxes, crates, stacks of papers, a bird cage, a few potted plants, a cello, and a coat rack hanging an oddly familiar purple pointed hat and coat patterned with yellow stars. Where have I seen that before? She didn’t have time to think about it. Flam immediately took her arm and lead her onward to the end of the wagon. There, a small couch and an armchair had been tucked into a corner facing opposite one another to create a sitting area. He gestured to the armchair.
“Sit.” Applejack worried at first that this was some kind of trick, but when she sat down nothing happened, and the stallion didn't say anything else. He sat down on the couch. Shortly afterwards, Flim walked in and sat down next to his brother, also not seeming to mind that Applejack hadn't been bound or caged yet.
Apparently whatever Flim had done to try and motivate the harnessed mares to get back on their feet had worked, because only a few moments after he made his entrance the wagon started moving. The stallion leaned back in his seat and grinned at Applejack. A lit cigar now hung from his lip.
"Now that all the formalities are out of the way, we finally have a minute to chat." Talking to these two at length was the last thing Applejack wanted to do, but she wasn't exactly calling the shots here. She just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
"I have an idea. Let's break the ice by playing a little game. Do you like games, Applejack?" What is that supposed to mean? "What am I saying, of course you do! Let's each share a fun fact about ourselves. I'll start. Here's a fun fact about me: I have a very good memory. It’s part of what makes me such a great salespony. And, you see, I very distinctly recall one bright autumn day when you publicly embarrassed in front of all of Ponyville, and then had us run out of town. Do you remember that? I do. I remember it all the time. How long ago was that? Not too long ago, I think." He blew a smoke ring into the air, and smiled at her. "And now, just a short while later, here you are, our naked, collared little slave. How the mighty have fallen." His voice was practically dripping with self-satisfaction.
"So here's a fun fact about you, Applejack: For the next seven days, in every conceivable sense of the word, you belong to us. I bet you never thought you’d find yourself in this position, huh?”
As much as she wanted to respond, Applejack kept silent. She had been expecting this, of course. She must have gone over this scenario a thousand times in the stretch between the day she'd heard she was going to be loaned out to the brothers and today. If these two were good at anything it was getting under a pony’s skin, but she knew with certainty that taking the bait would just make things worse.
Flim, realizing he wasn’t going to get a reaction just yet, elected to keep talking.
“Well I suggest you get used to it. You’re going to be finding yourself in a lot of positions you never expected to be in over the next few days.” He chuckled and leaned over to elbow her gently in the chest, as though they were sharing an inside joke among friends. “Get it? Positions? Do you get it?”
He continued in a lower, less friendly tone: “I’m talking about sexual positions. I’m saying that for the next three days, me, my brother, and every other resident of Ponyville with one single bit in their wallets are going to take turns fucking the shit out of you, over and over again until you pass out, and then we’re going to fuck your unconscious body, and then when you wake up we’re going to fuck you some more. How does that sound?”
Applejack once again said nothing, and forced herself to keep her expression neutral.
Flim frowned, apparently having expected her to be on the verge of tears by now. “Forget it Flam, I can see I’m wasting my time,” he huffed. “The country heat has clearly fried her brain. I doubt she can understand one word we’re saying.”
The salespony’s mustached brother turned to look at a box draped in a black curtain on the far side of the wagon. “Say, Flim," he mused. "Do you think the presence of a pony of her own sex would loosen her shoulders a bit? Maybe it’s time to trot out our little surprise.”
Flim perked up. “I think that’s a great idea,” he replied, flashing Applejack a slimy smile. “Trust me, you’ll love this.”
Flam got up, walked over to the pile, and ripped off the curtain. Applejack heard a whimper, and looked over to see that the box was actually a wire cage, and inside was a small, naked blue mare who looked like she’d been sleeping. Flam kicked the cage with a hoof. “Wake up, dollface. We’ve got company.”
Flam knelt down to unlock the cage and helped the blue mare rise to her hooves. As she got up and brushed the hair out of her face, Applejack saw that it was . . . Trixie Lulamoon? Her blue-white mane was tangled, she wasn't wearing her signature wizard clothes, and, most jarring of all, her long, proud blue horn had been shorn down to a sad little nub on her forehead, but it was unmistakably Trixie. “Go on, don’t be shy!” said Flam, pushing her gently towards Applejack. “Introduce yourself.”
As soon as Trixie saw Applejack, her eyes widened in recognition. Without saying a word, she ran over and pulled the orange mare into a hug. Applejack, caught off guard, hugged her back.
“Applejack, it’s s-so good to s-s-see you,” said Trixie in a shaky voice, seeming to have completely forgotten that she and the recipient of her hug were naked, in full view of two stallions. Then again, she’d probably gotten used to being in circumstances like these by now. Applejack saw tears forming in her eyes. The orange mare felt a pang of sympathy for her. She looks so happy just to a friendly face again. I can’t even imagine what she’s had to deal with from these two.
"Do you two already know each other?" asked Flam, sounding genuinely surprised. "Huh. Small world." Flim didn't look like he even heard what his brother said, all of his attention evidently focused on leering at the sight of two nude mares pressed against one another.
“In any case, the lovely Miss Trixie is the newest member of the Flim Flam Enterprises family." He gestured for Trixie to come over and sit between the two brothers on the couch. Trixie looked reluctant to break off the hug, but she obeyed.
“My brother and I have been looking to branch out of marketing into the entertainment industry for a while now. So when we heard the famous Great and Powerful Trixie was up for sale, well, we just had to snap her up and see if there was any star power left in her. Not to mention, she came with this.” He gestured to the wagon around them.
Flim casually reached down and began fondling Trixie’s breast with his hand. She flinched almost imperceptibly when he touched her.
“We thought we'd put her to work doing magic shows, just like in the old days,” continued Flam, seemingly not even noticing as his brother brought his other hand down to Trixie’s inner thigh to pry at her pussy. “There was only one tiny little problem. She couldn’t exactly do real magic tricks anymore, on account of her, uh . . . horn.” He reached over with his other hand and tapped the stump on her forehead with his index finger. “Or, should I say, the lack thereof.” At the mere mention of the word “horn,” Trixie’s face immediately darkened and her lip quivered. When he touched her stump, she looked like she was going to be physically ill.
Applejack felt more than a pang of sympathy for her this time. If there was one thing she remembered about Trixie, it was that magic had been everything to her, but now . . . She wanted to lean over and hold the blue mare and comfort her and tell her not to cry, but she knew she didn't dare move from her seat. She hoped that Flam would drop the subject there.
He didn’t. The mustached stallion pretended to be oblivious to Trixie’s discomfort, but it was obvious that he was relishing it. He went on, a sly, knowing smile on his face: “Yes, unfortunately magic wasn’t quite in the cards anymore for ol’ Stumpy.” The nonchalance with which he said the last word made Applejack’s fists clench.
“I mean, after all, you can’t be a wizard without a wand. Isn’t that right, Stumpy?” Flam flicked her nose playfully. He held her chin up and made her look at him. “Go on, tell Applejack yourself.”
“T-tell her what . . . ?” asked Trixie meekly, shaking her head. Applejack didn't know what the stallion was talking about, but she clearly did.
“Tell her why you can’t do magic anymore,” said Flam patiently. He prodded her with a finger. “Say what we taught you to say.”
Trixie cleared her throat, eyes welling up with tears. She looked at Applejack, looking mortified at the thought of the other mare seeing her cry. But she started talking anyway.
“I-I can’t do magic anymore, n-not ever again,” she sniffled in a rehearsed tone, trying to choke back sobs. “B-because . . . because . . .”
“Because?” asked Flam innocently.
“B-because I w-was a n-n-naughty filly and . . . and . . .” She tried to look down at the floor, but Flam caught her chin again and forced her head up.
“And what?” he whispered into her ear, almost sensually. Applejack gawked. Is he getting . . . aroused by this?
“T-they h-had-had to take my H-H-HORN AWAY!” She broke down into a fit of loud, wracking sobs, burying her face in her hands. Flim looked irritated at the noise, but Flam just kept smiling.
“Poor girl,” purred Flam. “I completely forgot how sensitive she was about her horn being permanently severed. How callous of me.” If he noticed Applejack staring red-hot daggers at him, he didn’t show it.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” complained Flim. “She’s so fucking shrill when she cries.” Trixie didn't even seem to hear him.
“Anyway," Flam began talking again casually, as though Trixie's raucous crying were nothing more than the sound of a radio he had left on in the background and was too lazy to get up and turn off. "When we started doing shows with her again, we had to rework her act a bit. Now it’s mostly just making increasingly larger things “disappear” into herself. Gets a little repetitive, truth be told, but it’s still good fun. You and Big Macintosh should come out to town and see it sometime. No promises, but I can look into getting you a friends-and-family discount."
“I wish you had a horn to cut off,” sneered Flim. “Or, you know, wings to pluck. But I guess you were born an earth pony anyway. Can’t miss what you never had.” He made a show of taunting her by lifting the cigar out of his mouth with magic and dancing it around in the air in front of her.
"Real shame, too, because I would pay good money to see you cry. Trixie here gives it away for free, just like everything else, but you? We could charge maybe five or—"
"Fuck. You."
The words slipped out before Applejack even realized that her mouth was moving. The sight of Flam torturing Trixie like that and then both of them brushing it off like it was . . . like it was nothing, like she was nothing, had dredged up some primal defensive instinct in her. But as soon as she had said said them, she was filled with immediate regret. Oh Goddesses . . . what did I do?
Flim gaped at her in disbelief, Flam cocked his head at her curiously, and even Trixie stopped sniffling for a second to look up at her in shock.
"So she isn't mute after all," hissed the clean-shaven stallion. He was no longer smiling, and his expression had darkened. Applejack noticed panickedly that his own fists were clenched. For all his cruel jeers, it was obvious Flim wasn't accustomed to, or fond of, receiving retorts in kind. Had a mare ever talked back to him before? What is he going to do?
“You know, maybe I was wrong. Earth ponies do have other things to ruin. Like your pretty face . . .” He levitated the smoking end of the cigar right next to Applejack’s cheek and held it there, in midair. "Personally, I think a few burns here and there might be an improvement." A few tense seconds passed.
But before anything could happen, Flam intervened. “Let’s not get carried away, brother,” said the stallion calmly, plucking the cigar out of the air with his hand and tossing it idly to the floor. “We can’t leave marks on her, you know that. Collect yourself.”
"Did you even hear her?" demanded Flim indignantly. "Aren't we going to punish her?"
"Not like that." Flam looked at him evenly. "I said, calm down. You'll get your chance."
"I—"
"You'll get your chance."
Flim looked like he wanted to strangle Applejack where she sat, but something in his brother's voice made him obey. He looked at Flam for a few seconds, then groaned resignedly and said nothing else.
Applejack only realized she'd been holding her breath when she let it out.
They spent the next ten minutes mostly in silence, Flim focusing his attention on groping Trixie increasingly more forcefully and Flam just sitting back in his chair, fingers laced, staring at Applejack.
Every once in a while Flim turned to Applejack, too, and it seemed like he had worked up the nerve to say something, but Flam shot him a cool look and he stayed quiet. Applejack, for her part, was having no problem keeping silent. Trixie had mostly quieted down by now, but try as she might the country mare couldn’t get the image of the former magician brokenly weeping while Flam egged her on out of her thoughts. The same question kept reverberating through her mind: What in Goddesses’ names did they do to her?
It was Flim who finally broke the monotony. “STOP!” he hollered, so loudly and abruptly that Applejack nearly jumped out of her seat. Evidently the mares pulling the wagon heard his command, because no more than a few seconds later it lurched to a halt. Flim rose to his feet. “I’m going out. I need some fresh air,” he announced. He seized Trixie roughly by the hand and hauled her up. “I need some fresh pussy too, but I guess this whiny cunt will have to do for now.”
“I think that’s a capital idea, Flim,” said Flam, not taking his eyes off Applejack.
“Come on,” said Flim as he dragged Trixie to the door and pushed it open. He grinned malignly at her. “You like crying? I’ll give you something to cry about.” The last thing Applejack saw was her terrified face before they both disappeared out the door.
“I’m glad he’s working off some of the stress. My brother gets very hotheaded when he hasn’t had a mare in a while.” It took Applejack a second to realize Flam was talking to her. “And we’re alone now, too, so the two of us are free to have a polite conversation."
He gestured to her. “I’ll let you start.”
Applejack just stared at him. He looked at her expectantly. “Go on. I can see you’ve had something on your mind all this time. Say it. I won’t hurt you.” He smiled. “I mean it, I won’t hurt you. Salespony’s honor.”
“Y-you . . . ,” she finally started, unable to keep the angry tremors out of her voice. Flam nodded at her to continue. “You ruined her.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
Applejack looked at him, nonplussed. She hadn’t expected him to agree with her. In the months since the Caribou landed, she’d been around stallions other than Big Macintosh enough to know how this song and dance went. This was the part where he was supposed to try to convince that Trixie had been fixed, that this was a mare’s natural state, that she was better this way.
Flam seemed to read her thoughts. “What? Did you expect me to try to convince you that we did this to her for her own good? That she’s happier this way, or something? Why sugarcoat it? You’re completely right: We raped her body, and then we raped her mind, and then we raped her spirit, and once broken two of those three things can’t be repaired. We ruined her.”
Applejack stared at him, horrified. Now that the first few words were out of her mouth, staying silent was getting harder and harder. She knew in the back of her mind that she should have been keeping her mouth shut, that she shouldn’t have been provoking him, but she couldn’t control herself. She wasn't even afraid of retaliation anymore.
“Why did you show her to me? To scare me? To show me what you’re going to do to me?” She stared him down defiantly.
“You’re two for two,” replied Flam nonchalantly. If he planned to use her insolence as an excuse to punish her, he wasn’t going to do it yet. “I honestly had no idea you two were already acquainted. That makes it even better.” He cleared his throat. “But if I know you as well as I think I do, Miss Applejack, you aren’t scared yet. I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Boy, they sure did a number on that girl. But I’m not afraid. Trixie was weak, poor girl, but I’m big bad Applejack. I’m strong. I won’t break. They can’t make me like her.” How close am I?”
“Spot on,” replied Applejack icily. "You can't make me like that."
Flam just smiled at her wanly. “Funny, because that’s exactly what she thought. You knew her, didn’t you, before all this? Go on, tell me all about how weak and sensitive you remember her being.” He waited a moment. “You can’t, because she wasn’t. She was strong, and, even worse, she was proud." He glanced back over at the cage on the other side of the wagon, and then back at Applejack.
“Do you know how much we paid for her? 50 bits. That’s it. Her, and the wagon, too. Just 50 bits. Why so cheap? She had a reputation for being unmanageable. No master ever held on to her for more than a few weeks, because she was an owner’s nightmare. No matter how many times they hit her, whipped her, raped her, she wouldn’t break. She talked back. She shirked her responsibilities. She wasn’t afraid of anyone. Red-collared mares, stallions, stags, anyone.” He looked Applejack in the eye. “And she never let anyone see her crying. A lifetime of holding your head high as a beloved celebrity will do wonders for a pony’s confidence. If we hadn’t found her, they probably would have given up and shipped her off to the salt mines.”
Suddenly, a girlish squeal came from outside the wagon. Applejack and Flam both turned to the window, the former genuinely concerned and the latter seemingly just bored. They were stopped in the middle of a country road, and right beneath the window Flim was busy burying his cock into Trixie’s asshole. The small mare was on her hands and knees facing away from the wagon, and the stallion was standing behind her, trousers around his ankles. He was wrenching her head back with a fistful of white hair in his left hand, and he had his right stuck between her thighs, where he was violently massaging her pussy. Every time he thrust his hips forward their bodies slapped together wetly and she yipped like a dog. Applejack watched in mute, fascinated disgust for what seemed like minutes before she managed to ripped herself away and looked back at Flam. He winked at her.
“Her old masters’ mistake,” he began again, as though the scene outside wasn't still taking place, “was that they thought they could beat obedience into her. People like her get a little more set in their ways every time you hit them. Makes them feel like a martyr.” He drummed his fingers on the couch armrest. “Flim fell into that trap, too. The first time she talked back to him, he begged me to let him whip the skin off her back. But I could tell right away that that wasn’t going to work. Here's a fun fact about me: Before I got into the sales game, I dabbled in psychology. Hard to believe, I know, but it’s true. I know how to get inside people’s heads.” He tapped his temple. Applejack didn’t know if he was telling the truth, but if he was she felt sincerely sorry for anyone who might have had the misfortune of being a patient to this psychopath. “And I knew that to make her into what I wanted her to be, I’d have to get inside her head.”
“I knew I’d have to find a crack in the armor, an insecurity to exploit. Everyone has at least one thing that makes them tick. It took some trial and error, but, eventually, I found hers.” He moved his hand up to his forehead, and tapped his horn.
“It turns out that ponies who thrive on adoration are petrified of being humiliated in front of large crowds. Who would have thought? All I had to do was take her out and show her that without her horn she wasn’t the “Great and Powerful Trixie,” magician extraordinaire, anymore. She was just another pathetic, powerless slut. Her mind and her bruised ego did the rest. I still remember the way she started bawling the first time we made her perform for an audience and she saw them laughing at her. What a treat that was. Anyway, a few more shows and a little training later, and, well, you can see the results for yourself.” He looked at her coolly. “Kind of like magic, huh?”
“Why are you telling me all this?” said Applejack through gritted teeth. A gnawing, bubbling rage had been growing in her stomach with every new sentence, and she felt like if she heard one more word of this morbid anecdote she was either going to scream or vomit.
“Because I hate you.”
The cold finality of his voice caught her off guard. The smile was finally gone from his face, and in its place was a thin, hard line. “I hope you aren’t stupid enough to have mistaken my civility for sympathy, Applejack. I’ve hated you since the day we met. And I take great pleasure in impressing upon you the sheer bleak hopelessness of your situation.” He met her eyes.
“But you’re still not scared, are you? Even after everything I just said. I know what you’re thinking now. You’re thinking: “Well that's all well and good, Flam, but you only have me for seven measly days. You don't have time to break me. Whatever you do, I’ll go back to my brother in no time at all and you’ll fade into an unpleasant memory.” How close am I?” This time he didn’t even give her time to respond.
“You’re wrong.” His green eyes gleamed viciously.
“Do you know what a confidence trick is, Applejack?” he asked abruptly. “Do those two words mean anything to you?” They didn’t, but she didn’t like the way he said them.
“It’s a scam. A hoax. A fraud. A lie used to separate weak-minded ponies from their money. It’s the cure-all elixir that heals every disease. It’s the special firewood that burns twice as long for half the price. It’s the fucking magic beans that are going to grow a beanstalk and carry you up to heaven. I should know that better than anyone. I do them for a living.”
“Do you know what always shocked me about the schemes we pulled? They always worked. No matter how absurd the claim, no matter how implausible the premise, in every town we went to our phony products always flew off the shelves. For years, I thought it was us. I thought Flim and I had been blessed with a divine gift for being salesponies. I thought we were just that good.”
“And then one day I finally realized it wasn’t us. We weren’t fooling anyone. They were fooling themselves. These ponies we were exploiting were so sick, and hurt, and poor and desperate that they would shell out their last bit just to hear some fast-talker whisper in their ear that everything was going to be alright, even if they knew in their hearts it was all bullshit. Every town had ponies like that, lots of them. The only thing we were selling them was confidence. They were lying to themselves, just like you’re lying to yourself right now.”
He looked at her, a manic expression on his face. “Can’t you see that? This fantasy you’ve invented for yourself, where you still have a chance, where things are going to be alright, it doesn’t exist outside of your mind. It’s just a confidence trick you’ve been telling yourself since the world out there stopped being one you could handle.” He paused, and looked out the window.
“But now it’s time to wake up and smell the coffee. You think after seven days, you’ll be free? Seven days, seven months, seven years, it doesn't matter. You aren’t going to be free until the day you die. The terrible truth that you seem to be unwilling or unable to accept is that here, everyone is like us. Everyone is out to crush you, to destroy you, to make you even less than you already are. Your brother can’t protect you. No one can.”
He leaned in closer until their faces were only inches apart, and held her cheeks in his hands. His eyes were ablaze with vitriol. “You’ll meet your match someday, just like your friend met hers. It’s only a matter of time. I’ll do the best I can to make sure it’s me, but if it isn’t it’ll be someone else. And whoever he is, he'll get his hands on you sooner or later and then he’ll grind you down to nothing, and you’ll forget the word "hope" was ever even in your vocabulary.”
He exhaled hotly, and gritted his teeth. “Are you finally starting to get it, Applejack?" he asked, in a voice barely higher than a whisper. "Pretend time is over. The trick is finished. It’s time to pay up.”
