Diary of Sweetie Belle, 19by JichoChaptersInductionShow of ForceDissuasionHonorsEpilogueGroup TherapyInductionFebruary 13th Dear Diary, Today Rarity (and Momand Dad) can eat my shorts! Well, that’s just a proverb. But really, I’m gonna show them today. No more moping and doping over how laaaaaaaaame it’s been since Mom and Dad moved in. No siree, I’ve got two weeks of sobby pages of that to read ~~if I ever feel way too happy and have to bring my mo~~ nevermind, that’s just stupid. Anyway! Time to lay out the master plan. If either of you are reading this… then I have no regrets! Really, though. You had better not be reading this, I don’t feel like being lectured on where to go and what to do. I’m nineteen, you guys. I’m about to be twenty. Actually, by when you’re reading this, I might be more than twenty, ~~because you probably won’t even~~ Master plan, Sweetie. Actually I thought again and this isn’t really a plan, this is more like a breakdown now that I think about it, not my cleanest entry, sorry Diary Part 1: Rarity and my folks think I’m dating a guy and want to go out with him even though they won’t shut up about how dangerous it is to talk to strangers these days. Correct! Part 1.5: They think I’m gonna sneak out to have a date on H&H, i.e. tomorrow, when they’re being lovey-dovey with their guys and girls. Incorrect! Part 2: I’m going out right now because it’s Friday, so Rarity is out with her friends in Canterlot and my folks think I’m writing my new song. They don’t care for my stuff, so they won’t even notice I’m quiet. Part 3: Honey’s gonna be meeting me at a nightclub on the other side of town, and I’m gonna make it like in the movies and teleport down out the window. Rarity can really eat my shorts, I’m not that bad at magic. I just need to focus. And I will! Toodles and smell you later, fossils! Honey’s such a frickin’ sweetie. Sweetie! Honey and Sweetie. Gosh, we’re meant for each other, and my fossils wanna keep me on a leash. I’m not their pet, I’m an artist! And I’m a ~~mar~~ ~~lady~~ ~~gir~~ in a relationship! Ugh, they don’t get it. I’m not gonna be fresh forever, I’m not Rarity, and even she’s aged a little. Okay, now I’m totally dead, so I can write whatever. I don’t understand how my folks don’t see it, I’m in the prime of my life, and they’re sheltering me like I’m three. Alright, fine, ponies are disappearing. Alright, fine, some of Rarity’s friends haven’t been around for a while, or answered any calls. But it’s like they’re all suddenly watching the TV, believing this stupid changeling stuff. They were there when that ~~Kree~~ Queen thing got blasted away. Those jerks haven’t been any trouble ever since. I swear, it’s like you’re obliged to shove a pole up your butt once you’re older than twenty. ~~Well, I’m not gonna wait~~ that ~~long to have stuff in my butt!~~ Okay Diary I’m seriously sorry this was really bad And besides. We only talked on the Net, but gosh, Honey and me… I wrote this before, and I’ll write this now. Finally a guy with my kink! It’s so hard to find one these days, I should have been born first instead of Rarity, I swear! I’m literally the luckiest mare in Ponyville, cause that’s also literally the only guy in the area who’s into the tickles. Well, he writes about it upfront, anyway. It’s like it’s taboo to be into all that sorta stuff, like it’s still mainstream. Blockheads like these probably think they seem uncool because they’re into what was mega-popular a few years ago. Well hey, at least I’m getting a taste of the fickle audience before I get into the music world… Anyway, Honey’s frickin’ perfect. Even moreperfect~~er~~ than Skybreeze was. I guess it’s a good thing he had to move away, cause Honey blows him out by a country mile! I a-d-o-r-e blondies, I like his moussey mane, he doesn’t dress like a tool, he looks so kind, and he’s so sooooooft! I can feel it on the pictures. I may actually die if I touch him, so if you find my lifeless body in The Araneum, you know the culprit. Cruel nature! And his green eyes (we match!), and his smooth hands, and herehecomesohmygosh XOXO Svuelie Bele … “Oooh my gooosh!..” Sweetie squeaked to herself, cupping up her snout, getting up on the tippy-toes of her open high heels. He was exactly like on the pictures - actually, the bouncy, pulsing, pink-teal-yellow of The Araneums early evening strobes only gave him more flare. He probably couldn’t look not good even if he tried. She adjusted her dress nervously, a failing endeavor, for halfway through, his oceanous-deep green eyes fell upon her. The preposterously cute stallion waved at her from his comfy seat in the corner of the club. Obviously, she skittered towards him, trying to disregard her freshly molten kneecaps. Considering Sweetie felt as if her entire body turned to highly impressionable clay the moment Honey did… anything at all, it was a source of pride that she managed her way over there without looking as if she’d been in an accident. That’d be horrible, he’d think she were weird! “Um… hi!” she said, gladly not having reduced herself to a whisper. That was mostly the instinct one worked out after having dated a fair bunch of boys. The start of a first date was only awkward so many times in a row! Right now it was only as awkward as the rest of it. The good kind of awkward. She could tell Honey was the kind of stallion to catch her as she fumbles through the conversation and tuck her in warmly, into a topic they’d both be down with. “Hi Sweetie,” he said warmly, his voice silky, just a bit boyish, but not a jock, more an attractive sort of boyishness one finds in a much milder personality. “You’re on time! I thought girls always had troubles with being on time.” “Oh, Honey… I’m like, uh, fifteen minutes late, actually. Sorry to ruin myself so early, tee-hee!” Sweetie giggled. He was great! A guy who gives you a chance to admit you screwed up, and do it in style, and be more charming in his eyes for it. He was either an absolute mind-reader and had a black belt in relationships, or he really was such a honey. “Ah, geez!.. Well, that’s it,” the adorable dark orange earth ponyboy sighed with the cutest bout of mock sadness ever. “Date ruined forever. And I was just about to get us our drinks…” The mare replied in kind, twirling a lock of her white and pink hair around her finger and pouting, casting forth fake tears onto her eyes. “Bah. Guess I’m such a no-gooder, I need to save this relationship already. Hug?” he asked meekly, cheekily, tilting his head and smiling his pretty face off. It wasn’t too long at all until the two of them were on his side of the leathery couch, snuggling into each other with surprising comfort. It made sense, though. Honey was stupid soft, Sweetie wasn’t exactly repulsive either, and they had been somewhat acquainted already, through silly chats on the Net. “Aaah!.. I’m gonna die, you’re so soooft!..” she whispered giddily. The only reason she was so subdued was that even for her, this level of success off the bat was unfathomed. The quickest time to hug at a date had so far been two hours for her. This was what, one minute? “Aw, you’re so sweet. Is that why they called you Sweetie?” he asked in return, dutifully fulfilling pretty much every rule in the cuddler’s handbook. If there was anything wrong about this… “I dunno. I know they called you Honey cause that’s what you are! Honey.” “Nah, actually, I’m in the hive business. My full name’s Honey Pot.” ...it was that he seemed entirely too cute and cuddly to really, well, fulfill the extent of her kink. In frankness, she could easily imagine having tickle fun times with him. But the level to which her particular branch of it went? When she giggled after he announced his name so shyly, it wasn’t insensitivity or a stored up joke, it was her having thought of having him as her dom, wearing her out half to death, burning her lungs out raw, leaving her a sweaty wreck. That was just… wow! “Yeah, I know. Dumb name. I like yours way more,” he admitted breathily, because in her excitement at having imagined at least half of what she’d just thought about, Sweetie’d given him quite the crush on the waist. Also, her shirt wasn’t anywhere near thick enough to hide how hard her nips had just gotten. “Hoooney, your name’s just fine! You’re so nice, you know that?” she asked, laying on his chest already. “I mean, I’ve never gotten to cuddling with a guy this fast before. You got a magnet in there, huh?” The shirt he wore under his jacket was thin, so the weapons grade softness, exactly the level she preferred it, was spread all over her cheek. Was Princess Luna just messing with her and shoving everything she liked about guys in relationships into this? No, nevermind, she hasn’t been doing any dream monitoring for about a month now. Good, that meant this was real! No fakery here. “Nope! But, don’t, don’t worry. I like it when mares do that. Shy girls… I’m… shy enough for two, y’know? Heh-heh. So I, well. You’re very nice, that’s what I mean. Also,” he stammered adorably, scratching his head. “Geez, I… I already feel kinda drunk. But! We’ve still got our drinks coming up. Yeah, there’s the waiter. Um, over here!” Sweetie repositioned herself to be not ENTIRELY smooshed into her new boyfriend, and now was just halfway sitting in his lap. A waiter did indeed come, bringing about two fizzy drinks. They even sparkled with colors! That was cool. “I’ll pay,” Honey propped up before Sweetie even thought about it. Okay, if he could, like, suddenly turn into a cruel kink monster as soon as they got into the bedroom, they could just go down a few blocks and buy the ring now. Having procured the drinks, and basking in each other’s company, as well as the club’s unces and strobes, the two of them breathed in the hazy vapor of the cocktails. “Well… this has been really good so far. So… Here’s to things only getting better, wilder and crazier, I guess!” The unicorn said happily, grasping the bubbly cup with her dainty, manicured fingers, and taking a sip. “Yep. Here’s to a long, fruitful relationship.” It was only a few gulps that she took of the liquid before the mare needed a bit of a cough. Rough stuff. Really rough. Well, that’s a nightclub for you. It was good though. It was… nice. Honey was soft. He probably wouldn’t mind if she just… laid in his lap for a few minutes. She probably babbled out something to that effect, so he’d understand. She wanted to kick off her shoes, give them both a bit of a pander, but her body felt… too heavy. Yeah, just a few minutes… --- February 14th Dear Diary, I’m really ~~fu~~ unhappy with myself right now. This is so weird. I’m scared. ~~This place is kind of~~ This is weird, this is weird, this is weird and I want to I’ve calmed down. I guess it’s a good thing I was in a rush and accidentally pulled you into my bag when I went to meet that guy, Diary, because apparently, I gotta do this. They say I’m a “good pony” for having led a diary. So apparently I can just keep writing in this one, there’s no harm. ~~I~~ ~~don’t~~ ~~fuc~~ ~~get~~ ~~them~~ ~~They’re not~~ nevermind So I’m really freaked out. I’ve calmed right now… but I’m freaked out. This isn’t good. I got kidnapped. It’s all in such a haze… It was the best date of my life, ever! And, even after what happened after… I think back to it and it’s still nice. Honey. Well, screw you, Honey Pot, I guess. Because I don’t get this! This ~~shouldn’t~~ is weird… As if I need to put that on paper. Actually, I think I do… Most of my brain’s going on and on about it. Yeah, I will break things down for myself. My mind’s full of all sorts of stuff right now, I gotta concentrate, so here goes. Memory, go. So, it was all going really great, and then… The classic. Spiked my drink. I guess there wasn’t anybody in the club at that early hour, so nobody gave a damn he hauled me out? Not like I know how he got me out of there, actually. I woke up here. Yeah, I’ll note down what ‘here’ is. Maybe my brain will stop being dumb at me. I’m in a… hotel, I guess? This isn’t ~~that~~ a hovel for a harem of sex girls or something. I’m pretty sure I’ve got all my organs, too… My room is pretty big. Bigger than what I’ve got at home. Kinda richer too, I guess? More luxurious. Not really posh, but there is style here. Like a woodland inn. Only without the outdated stupid stuff, everything is clean, kempt, not really new, but not old either. I’m pretty sure that if I were kidnapping ponies, I’d not I don’t know. Everything smells of pine and something like a bittersweet, but in a good way. Yeah, I would have really liked it here, this is really nice. Only, you know. Kidnapped. Doors don’t open. Walls hum if you bang against them. Windows don’t break. Horn’s all limp. I got kidnapped. I got I gotta get my thoughts together. This isn’t all that has me ~~confu~~ troubled. This isn’t a hotel. Honey’s here too, he is. He works here. A bunch of them work here. Kinda biting myself, thinking back to yesterday. Because my folks, Rarity and her friends, they were right to be afraid of the changelings. This is them. No conspiracy here, this is real life. Kinda doesn’t feel like it, but it is. This place is very far away from any major pony settlement, they say. It’s a huge, massive compound where they keep their most important ~~kidnapees~~ ~~victims~~ captives. My windows are just above the tops of a huge forest of pines, and I see mountains just a few miles away. Geography was never my forte… They obviously won’t tell me anything, either. About them. The changelings… They… I don’t know, if I’m honest. ‘They’ is the one changeling I got to meet so far. Her and ~~Hon~~ that ~~bast~~ jerk came by soon after I woke up and started panicking. This is the part where I need you, Diary, and I’m real sorry I keep striking stuff out, my mind is just really not tuned for this sort of stuff. I tried to think logically, and, I dunno, I guess I’m right, judging by what they said - I’m an important pony, the sister of one of the Element Bearers, good for their collection, and they do feed on positive emotions, so there is no point keeping me in a crawlspace. Worked my memory kinda hard… Changelings would either insert into pony society, or drain us of our emotions ~~clande~~ without kidnapping us. What I don’t think I understand is why they want me to like it so much. Cause, Diary, using logic is actually really hard right now. This smell… this place… and them… This is so weird. This is so, so weird. When they came in… … Sweetie pressed hard into the finewood corner of her room, having heard the hissing and the pressing of the mechanisms that used to keep the ornate door shut tight. She had spent the past twenty minutes panicking, gasping, scrounging, screaming, throwing expensive-looking things at the walls, and otherwise expressing the stark dissonance between falling asleep in a new lover’s lap and waking up somewhere you’ve never been before. Her mind was, colloquially speaking, or, more correctly, how Scootaloo would say, “full of fuck”. Therefore, she stood, in her light pink night gown she’d never owned before, trying to meld with the corner, and stretched her arms in front of herself, holding a fancy goblet as if it were a firearm. The unicorn’s teeth chattered, and her oddly thoroughly combed mane was starting to sprinkle into her eyes, strand by strand. Soft footsteps came gently down the orangely lit hallway that connected the bedroom, the bathroom, the shower room, the kitchen, and two other rooms she hadn’t quite explored in her wakeup fright. The floorboards creaked quietly. When she saw a shape in the doorframe - the door itself was peculiarly missing - Sweetie managed to push into the corner just one last physically possible inch. When she told that shape apart in detail, her knees went weak and her hands dropped the luxurious goblet, which thudded against the floor, nearly threatening to crack. An instinctive, relaxed sigh left her throat, and her lips curled into an autonomous smile. The mere sight of the dark orange earth pony instilled a sense of acute comfort in her mind, it being awash with fuzzy memories. A breathy sniff that got rid of the last of the sobby moisture in her snout, also happened to carry in the smell of pine and wood, one that only a noseless pony could call anything but homely. The mare went aspaz only when Honey Pot was just about to approach her, jazzy, hug-ready hands reaching out for her shaken up body, his mouth muttering gentle words of comfort and other such sweet hushes. The reminder of the thought that she’d been quite clearly kidnapped, and this was the guy who did it, found its way from the dovey goop her mind gladly dunked itself in. “GETAWAYFROMMEYOUCREEP!!!” Sweetie Belle squawked, swinging at her severely questionable boyfriend, without any real aim. It ended with a slap on his shoulder, wrinkling up the casual green shirt he wore. Honey pouted and sighed, ears drooping. “Sweetie… calm down!.. We’re not gonna hurt you! Shhh,” he spoke in an ever so slightly louder tone, actually getting through her heavy layer of jittering tension. Now she simply stared at him with plate dish eyes, one of her shoulders on its way to becoming part of the building’s foundation. “W-who the f-FUCK are “we”??? What am I doing here? Get me out of here NOW,” the unicorn offered a barrage of mumbling questions and demands. “Hush,” the stallion whispered sharply, yet gently, the hiss of the sibilants making the mare’s spine chill up a little. “Be calm. You’ll be staying here for a while. It’s very nice in here. We’re very, very nice. You can… You can punch me if that will make you feel calmer.” Honey took a step forward and raised his arms, looking Sweetie straight in the eyes. His own identically green pair was glistening, his eyebrows were at a slight incline, and his ears were droopy still. He kept a stoic facial expression, but it took only a bit of attention to discern how pulled-on it was. Excited at the opportunity at first, Sweetie Belle began to fumble as her mind began to process all of this. She was mad at him, of course she was! But he was so nice, and he was so sad, and he was so genuine… She wanted out of here, and he was a complete creep! But even the thought of delivering any pain onto Honey made her gut scrunch up. She wanted home, now, pronto! But it felt so nice in here, as soon as she disregarded the thought, it was more like a surprise vacation, not a horrible kidnapping… And home honestly kinda sucked anyway. But it did so because they were afraid this exact thing would happen. Overwhelmed with the sheer mental weight of this all, Sweetie, having simply wished to get into a nice, soft, cuddly, ideally occasionally cruel relationship, slowly slumped down on her knees and began to bawl, quietly so. She raised her arms to cover up her face, spreading the sniffles and the tears all over. No makeup was damaged, despite her having lathered herself in it that evening. As her body began to rock back and forth, Honey took her into a tight, fuzzy hug, stabilizing her. His snout pecked lightly at her folded ears. “Yeah. Enough of the waterworks already. These walls don’t like frowns,” a harsh, raspy female voice spoke from the doorframe, causing the mare to hiccup in her light sobbing, and the stallion to strengthen the hug to prevent her from jerking too much. He hushed on into her ears, softening the impact of another presence in this alien place. “Alright, Honey! Not being a liar is good. Good pony.” Honey Pot’s very subtle whisper of “Thank you” went mostly unnoticed. The mare had managed to get her eye open, having had enough leakage for the time being. It peeked just high up enough to be able to see the intruder of their privacy, while the other was closed and snug in the stallion’s facial fuzz. It was a mare. A pegasus in a form-fitting top that left a good string of grey flesh exposed, with its abdominal cubicles and pierced belly. A tall wave of white hair on her head, moussed to the right. Spiked bracers on the wrists, poking out of the pockets of her black shorts, wherein she kept her hands. She would have been just about any punkish clubgoer one’d see, for instance, at the fateful Araneum itself, if not for one detail. The changeling only bothered so much with the disguise. The eyes glowed a blurry amber, and from the upper and lower jaws each poked out a fang. All around her, the blur persisted as well - parts of the wooden walls wobbled, with varying frequencies, in the air. The fake pegasus’ grin widened and showed Sweetie all of its fangs once the amber eye caught her staring. Within a shake of the head and the patting of the moussed mane, the mare in the door frame was ‘normal’, and for lack of wobbling to examine, she moved into the bedroom, whistling at the interior. “Would not have wanted to give a Masochist Sector chamber to some priss that just looks like the real thing. Or if you dragged her in here by force. You remember Subtle, Honey-puppy? Yeah, of course you do.” Both ponies stared at the changeling that, within the few seconds she was in the room, felt more than fitting standing tall and proud where she was - and them, huddled, broken up in the corner. The stallion’s grip strengthened by a mere degree of strength at the mention of another pony’s name. “Aaalright… Enough lollygagging. Honey, you get a treat. Nice pony.” She brushed his mane, leaving it rather frazzled. Sweetie found comfort in how cute it looked. “Sweetie? Welcome to the compound! You’re gonna be staying here a nice, long while. Me and Honey will be taking care of you. If Honey fucks up, I’ll be taking care of him.” No extensive reaction followed, the mare simply grinned. The stallion hugged her into a sitting position, having the two of them be side by side in the corner while the changeling towered over them, giving Sweetie’s bed a slight kick. “...who are you?” the unicorn mustered. “You can call meee…” the pegasus rolled her eyes and clacked her tongue, producing a somewhat disturbing, slightly insectoid noise. “Aaaauuuckkhhh… Hnnnmmm… Lea— No… Ah. Tough Break. Yeah, that works.” “But… um… all this?..” “Oh, this? Didn’t your elder sister tell you? Y’know… oh, how long ago was it. Nine years ago, I think. Sweetie, we’re changelings! You’re such a smartie, you’ve already noticed I am. Don’t poke Honey, he’s not a real changeling. He’s a honorary member of the hive.” “...” Tough Break flexed and gave one last grinning look-over of the interior, poking eyes at the stallion. She headed for the door, keeping a forearm in front of herself and pinging at parts of it with a finger, as if operating something otherwise invisible. “And if you’re lacking common ground with that tub of blubber, well, be sure, girl. You’re gonna have that in common… eventually. When we want you to.” The pegasus snarled in amusement, peeking out the doorframe for one last icy bite at the two ponies inside. “I trust you enough to do the physical examination yourself, Honey-puppy. Don’t frickin’ kill her, you vicious animal, you. Heee-heheheheheeeh!” The doors hissed and clanked open, and then back closed. Honey’s hand patted her gently on the back of the head. Before she knew it, the two of them were on the bed, and he cuddled into her, whispering hushed tones of calmness. Sweetie was in a bit of a stupor, accepting the hug heartily and trying to get rid of the mental image of the half-changed Tough Break out of her mind. Changelings… Changelings. How did this… how?.. “Come on. It’s all gonna be fine. She’s… It’s an act. You know? To push your buttons.” “Yeah… I know, I… I know.” Surprisingly, she did. “See? You don’t need to worry, she doesn’t mean it… Well, I mean, they can be hard to deal with, you know?” “U… uhuh.” The unicorn pressed harder into him. Her lower lip trembled, her eyes darted a little. “Don’t think about it too much, Sweetie. It’s only gonna make it feel worse… it’s not that bad though! I mean, I… well, this isn’t that bad a place, you know?” “No I guess not…” she mumbled incoherently into his shoulder. “I never had a room like this before I, um, met them. So it’ll all be fine! I’m still in one piece, see? And I’ll be here for you, in one piece.” The stallion put her in his lap, gently fixing up her wrinkled pajamas. “But, you know. Let’s get rid of all these nasty thoughts. Staying here isn’t all bad, not at all, you don’t even know!” “I’m… I’m really overwhelmed right now,” Sweetie said in an unsteady voice, her mind overwhelmed quite truly indeed. With precarious ponderings. “I understand. And I can help! I’ll be back in just a minute.” He departed the bed, leaving behind a gaping, cold void, one that the mare quickly tried to make up for by rolling on the bed while hugging herself. “Please… don’t… try to break anything, or you might hurt yourself accidentally.” Her mind was only so distracted, however. It thought of the pushing of the buttons. Because it worked. Her attention did not fail her. The word “Masochist” was clearly there. Inside, it scared her. But deeper yet? It… amazed her. Excited. She was still young, and, of course, only had that much understanding of her kinks. However, it seemed all the less jokey and all the more likely that when her innards heated up at promises of… roughness… of… borderline abuse… it wasn’t something to be merely ignored. Her trembling mind was perspiring with realizations. Honey was into one kink. And they knew of the other. And… they… wouldn’t truly, really harm her. Changelings didn’t work this way. This wasn’t that ba— “What the fuuuuuuaaaaaaghhhh!!!...” Sweetie whisper-screamed to herself, digging her filed fingernails into her temples at the thoughts she was having. Hello, girl! You’ve been kidnapped! By one of Equestria’s greatest enemies, now resurging! They’re gonna sexually abuse you for days, and they’re keeping your faux-boyfriend to break your will! Heyooo, is this how little it takes?! You’re not gonna be seeing home terribly soon, not unless they’re already after you - and you’re probably wherever all the missing ponies were going, and that includes some very, very important ones! So what to do then, fight him and try to sneak out? Her fists clenched, and immediately went limp. That’d be absolutely stupid, and it also made her hurt a little. No, no. Her mind floated around. She’d only read this in books and seen this in movies. And in there… well, she wasn’t a secret service agent, the defenses weren’t hilariously bad… Meaning she either stayed there or… Tried to garner sympathy from within and escaped. Yeah. Yeah, that’d work! Honey is… Honey! Yeah! Genius. Did not drive self insane pondering, got straight to the point. And who called her an airhead? Sweetie was all sorts of strung up and excited, and now only slightly confused, sitting up on the bed. Just get friendly with them. And figure something out. The heroes usually did. Well, whenever the story didn’t pan to somebody else who then had to rescue them. That was entirely too much thinking. She focused on the now, and found it rather easy, being fit in snug pinkish pyjamas, sitting on a puffy bed in a nice woodland inn, breathing in refreshing scents, and having an objectively fuzzy, squishy, overall adorable guy for her ‘torturer’. Yeah, not so bad! Could have been worse. So long as they don’t ruin her sex stuff forever. His and her smiles met when he walked in, as things got significantly better for both parties involved. Honey seemed all pleasantly ablush and stammering at the sight o Sweetie’s significantly relaxed posture and smile. Sweetie’s smile, in turn, got rather uppity, and her face got quirkily curioused, a hand reaching up to touch her “o”-shaping lips, at the sight of what the stallion had brought in. “Ooohooh… Ooh… Uuummm. Well. Heeh… Oh geez.” The mattress trampoline that was her thought space at the moment finally had its fifty ton anvil make the drop and cease the constant bouncing back and forth. It was inevitable, her unsuredness and general anxiety peeling away - to hopelessness, to submission, to logic as per plan, or to general excitement. This was the third. “Yep, Sweetie. See, this isn’t… all that bad, y’know?” Now, she personally preferred darker, leathery bindings on the cuffs - a pair of which her caretaker brought in - and generally got off more on dark, strict bondage. However, she would not be found criticizing the fuzzy handcuffs that were already being softly clasped around her hands, which the mare let slide between the thick, conveniently padded frames of the bed. It also escaped her that she’d been turned around on that bed, her head at the foot. Sweetie really wasn’t much for continuity or overly rational thought when in high spirits - and the unfulfilled nature of her desires was such that they automatically instilled veritable happiness within her. An anvil indeed. “Iii guess!” Her lips trembled a little as she smiled nervously. Most of it was playful anxiety. A few percent were relegated to thoughts that were not only forced out of her system - they had no chance of getting through. “See, it’s alright. Let me give you our welcome. Hm?” Honey smiled just wide enough for Sweetie’s eyes to tear up. She breathed rapidly through her nose, as she had a tendency to do when excited, inhaling the acute scent of pine, body, and perhaps slightly amplified rousal. There was nothing she could reply with but squeal, and her deeper mind automatically went dark. Sweetie Belle’s awakeness had been reset, and the first thing she encountered while conscious was a fantasy. Gentle, yet nimble fingers did away with the buttons of her pajamas' top. Bared legs, soft to the point of sensation resonance, rubbed against hers as Honey knelt on top of her - a position that, sans clothes, would give way for something significantly more vanilla. But they were on, and even the top kept its topmost buttons, cheekily keeping the mare’s hardening nipples concealed, to a greater degree than the stallion’s visible bulge underneath the shorts, at least. Heavy breathing filled the room, and all of it was hers. “Heeey… don’t be so agitated!” he said, pulling on a strikingly forced cheeky smirk that seemed to revolt against the fluffy pureness of the rest of his face. “I come in peace.” The stallion cracked his fingers demonstratively - or would have, if his fingers made anything more than a weak shlinking sound. Sweetie giggled at the conundrous sight, going back to heaving and puffing once they returned to her body. In fact, breathing was all there was for about a minute, as his fingers dexterously began to prod and patter at her exposed, slender, intensely heaving tummy. She just couldn’t make any more coherent, obviously joyful noises, this was too much, too good. Not in length, of course, in that regard it merely began - but in how it went about. The warm, soft fingers gained just enough harshness for proper purchase of her supple skin, soon moving on from pattering to gentle, swift scrabbling, which left a fuzzier feeling left all over her. Her mouth was open in perpetuity, and her hands fiddled intensely in the funky cuffs they’d been secured into. If it was only her face that was visible, it’d be easy to assume she was either scared and screaming for her life, or having a very intense orgasm. As a matter of fact, Sweetie was nearly silent, puffing and heaving, incapable of producing a noise that accurately reflected her euphoria. Really, however, what was being done to her was a gentle, calculated tattering, poking, prodding, and fuzzy scrabbling. “...!!!...!...?!?!?... …” The mare’s lips moved, still restrained to an increasingly widening smile, but little more than bare screeps and squeaks left her throat. “Oh?.. Are you trying to tell me something?..” he said, drawing his words out softly, gently jabbing his fingers into her sides, and getting only a series of pitched peeps in return. “Stop being like that!.. I wanna know what’s in your head.” It was this exact scenario in her head - for weeks, months, years, and never once coming to fruition. If she were in any more of a thinking state of mind? She’d have recognized that the events were going down all but exactly how she wished they would, at least on days when her fantasizing didn’t take harsher, darker turns. The pink happy puppy fuzzy flower bouncy bubble ditzy disco in her mind was on what seemed to be a perpetual power supply. If Pinkie Pie were aware of this, she’d probably be either jealously happy, or happily jealous. This was something else! “...AAA...aaa…!!!” “Don't be like that! You won’t trick me that easily, Sweetie,” he waved a finger in front of her, resting it on the tip of her puffing snout. “You’re not broken yet. Come on, stop being cooky, use your voicebox for me!” Sweetie’s docile state was steadily being wiped away. Honey wasn’t being cruel, but he was progressing from his usual softness. He began to really test the waters of her sacred kink. The earthy began to jab and dig in far harder, his fingers surprisingly pleasant to the touch even when they dug in quite deep, shaving off the bits of discomfort that came with your sides being squeezed, your ribs being xylophoned, your belly button being swirled inside of, or your breasts being grabbed. She’d gone vocal at that. “Found your sound button! Two of them,” he declared, cocking his head. “Sweetie’s fixed again…” Her eyes were finally capable of telling shapes apart, and what they saw was a conspiratorily smirking Honey Pot. He looked like a cartoon cat with that mischievous grin, and, as such, did little to entice any discomfort in her. She squealed and whined playfully as his palms grasped her pair of C’s in ways they’d not once been touched before. Tiny tears began to streak out the corners of her eyes. If euphoria were a substance, she was being overdosed with it. “Nnnnmmmhhhh… HowwwareyooouuuuaaaaAAAH! Yyyooouuu… OhIdont… OhIdooohooohooont…” she babbled in heavy gasps, interlaced with squeaks, speaking out a word per breast grab, going back into squealing at other pokings. “Yooou’re… S… IDUNNOOO!” “Hm? What about me? Is there something on my fa— oh, you don’t knooow… fine,” he smiled at her, continuing with his procedure, getting harsher with time. As harsh as someone like him could be, anyway. Honey was way better than that punk-haired stud she kept putting into her fantasies, for lack of better imagination. “...nnnnNNNUUOOOGH… bhhaaah, oh, you, FFFHHHAAH!” the mare’s own grin took on an inkling of a playful scowl - his hands had found their way into the armpits. With little more than his warm breathing to stimulate more vocal responses out of her mammaries, she resorted to moany giggling. “Oohoh, you, fruuuh!” Having found a solid, keeper spot, the stallion leaned over her. For some time he merely stayed there, inadvertently making very suggestive motions with his pelvis. His fingers only grazed the taut, spotless skin of her underarms to keep her spiked and on edge. They gazed into each others' eyes, and it was safe to say that his were by far the more sober and aware, Sweetie’s threatening to start spitting sparks any moment. Capturing the opportunity, he went for the next best thing that could start spitting sparks - his lips clasped against the tip of the unicorn’s species-titular horn. “...HHHSSS!!!” Despite the soft, meddling fingers, all Sweetie could do in response to that was to harshly suck in air, attempting a gasp. Perhaps wishing her to keep that gasp, he rested his hands, appropriately so. The breast grab was far harder this time, and he held on much tighter with his legs, for the mare arched her back with a squeal that started out loud, and then slipped back into bedazzled silence. The intense arching died down more and more with every inch his mouth made down the swirly, pearl-white shaft, his tongue working gently against the nervous protrusion. To his major credit, he kept on going, working his tongue against the entire length, suckling in the taffy taste of the natural moisture, even when it did indeed began to sparkle, ticklishly heating the roof of his mouth. Finally, he was heaving too. The stallion retracted from the horn when the sparks got to the point that indicated an impending release. Sweetie wouldn’t have known that, then again, there was very little she knew right now, not even that her face was beginning to hurt from how much smiling she was doing. She lay there on her back and panted, gazing strivingly into her boyfriend’s eyes, waiting for his next move. Another bout of giggles emerged from her throat as he himself smiled, sweet and comfy, and gave her snout a tug with one hand, continuing to poke and pull at it while the other wandered all over her exposed abdomen, ever so gently spidering everywhere notable. “Look at you… you like it here, huh? Yeah, you do…” he babbled and whispered, caressing and harassing her ears with the tone of his voice. “Giggle if you’re a good puppy… good puppy!” She was smiling her face off and had shut her eyes in joy soon enough, and the joy was such that she scarcely noticed the warm weight lift off her legs. It was reapplied shortly - the other way around. A pair of feet in pretty yellow socks hugged her generously poked sides. “...are… are you… hhff… ohmygoshohmygooosh…” the mare part-spoke part-whispered part-lipped. Her mouth spread into a wobbling smile, and her arms, for lack of operable hands, instinctively covered up her face with the lbows. “SsssSSSssssQQQUUEEEE!!!” It was too much to keep in, after all, when step after step, her fantasies started to come true, in spite of any other events. The stallion had his back toward her, his tail swinging off the side of the bed in a considerable, non-tummy-harassing gesture. Her tummy had had enough. But another, significantly more important - to her nethers, at least - bodypart wasn’t. A pair of them, rather. The occasion spoke volumes on her part - hearing Honey was a bit difficult over the noises she began to put out. The occasion was simple, in that he did such a marvelous job of fulfilling her so far, that she forgot that the main dish was not yet served. It being her feet. Sweetie Belle was a rather unabashed owner of a foot fetish, something more than a little bit common. It was, however, a very handy accessory when one also found exuberant sexual joy in tickling and other stimulations. “Hey… these socks suit you. Sorry to take them off…” he said with mock regret of such quality, it could almost be believed. The socks were good, in fact, striped pink and white, almost better than the ones she wore at home, and those were Rarity-made. “You’re free to rant at me in your diary. Tell it all the nasty words… or my feelings will get hurt, and I’ll have to be mean. It’ll go something like this...” The socks were only halfway off, and yet the first graze of his fingertips against her smooth heels caused a tad of wet to splooge onto the pyjama pants. Then came the moment when those fingers came into formal ownership of her scrunching, decently sized, well cared-for, scrunching feet. Immediately, her pants were graced with such an exertion of goop that even Honey’s shorts didn’t seem to have ended up safe. The mare was hearing the sea in her ears for a good few minutes afterward, incapable of hearing even her own increasingly whiny, moany laughter as he refused to give her a full break for reasons of climax. His fingers appeared even more apt for the teasing and the appropriating of her supple soles than even her tummy, which was a statement in and of itself. Her first relatively conscious, coherent thought was that it was, indeed, true, that one got far more sensitive after an orgasm, especially one performed hands-free. Honey’s was as loving and as teasing as it’d ever been, but now it was as if someone stuck his tail in the socket - and his fingertips were cartoonishly conducting the electricity on to her. It was absolutely gripping. Five minutes into lazy dragging around her soles, and finally she was more or less back there. She knew that - but didn’t know how her boyfriend found out. “Heeey… stop being so loud at me!.. I barely touched yooou,” he complained. “Oh, if you’re going to scream at me, I guess I might as well.” The fact she was back meant they could go on with the fun she’d been waiting for most of her life. Clearly, he seemed to share the opinion. His warm, soft fingers found their way easily into her as of yet untouched toes. Sweetie gasped and pealed with laughter just as she thought she would in all those fantasies, perhaps even a little harder. The fantasies rushed in and in, on and on, soaking her consciousness in the dreams fulfilled and dreams yet to be. This was so incredibly on point… And for having ticked off a mere tenth of all she’d dreamed up to go through, this was already the best experience she could bodily recall. It was opious, bedazzling. Never would she get to feel that at home. And as the teasing and the soft taunting continued, somehow the thought of home kept reappearing and reemerging. It would not be until a few hours later, when Honey was finally done, and had to pull himself out of a very slurpy, wet kiss, and deal with a puppy-like Sweetie who didn’t want him to leave, that this sincere happiness wore off. The mare could tell when it did. The walls of her bedrooms ceased to hum and rumble with the invisible devices that had been working their due all the while. The mare was prostrate on the bed for some time, top unbuttoned, gentle pinewood breeze caressing her moist shape, her diary brushed off dust and laying on the night stand, socks put together neatly on the side of the bed, cuffs returned to the room they originated from, pyjama pants pulled off to the knees... … I’m really trying, Diary. It was so ~~won~~ good. I’ve never really had real experience with this, and… Why did it have to be like this? In here? I’m having such a hard time keeping my thoughts together. I know I have to hang on. Not gonna let myself slip. Promise you. Yeah, keep watch of me, Diary, and slap me if I ever start to veer off. Alrighty? At least I’ll have decent dreams today, I guess. Gosh, I’m still giggling. I had no clue it was actually this ~~awe~~ nice. I made myself feel better just thinking this! Yeah. I’m gonna try and be like this when I write. No more feisty scribbling. They could have been way meaner to me. This was just like… Well, you would know. I’d flip back a bunch of pages and read that stuff I wrote back then, but I’d get embarrassed. It was as if they read that and didn’t stab their eyes out! There I go. Thinking positive. So long as it’s like this, I am gonna be able to ~~get o~~ hang on. XOXO Sweetie Belle Show of ForceFebruary 17th Dear Diary, I’m all tuckered out. Hard to write, have to keep wiping off sweat, or I’ll muck you up. I think I’ve done enough of that today. Stuff was pretty normal… He brought in some new movies to the lounge room. The morning massages are still nice. Looking back, I’m not that mad at having to run the treadmill every day anymore. I guess I did want to get into shape, but never got around to it. Looking back again, though… I’m confused again. After Honey worked me over for the first time, I’ve been having these mood swings, all the time… You know what I’m talking about. I had some cold water and a shower before writing this time! And I’m still sweating, gosh. Sorry for that. I honestly can’t tell why I’m sweating. We didn’t get to have a session today. I snapped a little harder this time. ~~Went a bit~~ Just started beating on him and yelling at him to let me out. Probably all of the steam I pent up over the day before got out. I screamed for a while, I hit him, I cried… He just kept hugging me closer and doing this sad noise, like he’s a cartoon puppy. I went all out. I was a complete spaz for at least an hour and a half. My voice was gone by the end, I’m still a little sore. My shoulders ache too. And he didn’t say or do anything! He just looked sadder and sadder every moment, and the only way I could go on was thinking of home. My head just kept getting blurrier and blurrier, and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t even making sense about a hour in. I thought I was a mess when I tried those crackers at Scootaloo’s birthday party… Just had to take another shower. I thought about home again, and then, you know… it’s like dominoes. I’ve been mad for so long, it feels like there’s a piece of jelly between my ears, and it’s wobbling so hard it’s making my skull shake. Go figure that, it’s not pleasant. I think that is why I’m sweating, I got myself so exhausted being mad. I really have to rethink how I approach this… Just how many steps back did I take today? Screaming at Honey for so long when I want to gain his trust and find a way out. He’d never have let me out. That chick has him on a freaking leash. I find it difficult to blame him. If she was my super, I’d not be having a fun time. We haven’t had many run-ins since. I see her in the mornings when Honey comes in, she just looks at us through the door, grins, laughs to herself, and leaves. Thinking about her gives me the heebies. She’s bangy, lean, mean, she talks like she smokes a few packs a day, she acts like a school bully, ~~though~~ she’s kind of a bitch. My spine goes goopy looking at her just once. Hopefully I’ve not earned myself a visit from her. If I have, I don’t see why it wouldn’t have been today, and today, ever since I broke our schedule, nothing really happened. Sitting here, feeling sad, feeling mad, sweating, having a swirly head. Right now I’m alone with my evening meal and movies. Completely blew the evening massage and our session. He said he’d be back tomorrow and he’ll give me all the time I need to calm down. That guy… I don’t know how to put it. I actually do not know, Diary. He has good taste in movies, I guess. ~~If other guys from Po wherever he’s actually from knew what sort of movies he had on hand to give out, he’d probably not hear the end of it.~~ Nevermind, it’s the changelings. They either spied on me or just probed my brain or something like that to find out what I like. Yeah, that’s sobering. Anyway, I’m meant to reach a conclusion here. I’ll be more controlled now. It doesn’t pay to be angry, it really doesn’t. Less of a bitchy airhead and more of a cunning vixen. Something like that. That should work. Honey said that we’re about halfway through my "acclimatization", and that things will get "smoother" from here. Putting that in fat quotes. I mean, what he does to me isn’t something I’d complain about, even with the whole evil bad kidnapping thing, but still… I’m gonna stay keen. I’ll leave you be now, Diary. Hopefully I don’t have sweat drops over the next entries. I feel cooler now that I’m cool, in any case. Yeah, I’m sorry. XOXO Sweetie Belle February 22nd Dear Diary, I’m sorry… I didn’t write yesterday. This is next morning, I made myself get up earlier. I know, I shouldn’t blame myself. If I did end up writing yesterday, I would have ~~fuc~~ made very little sense. Even now I am still all reeling. We’re going through a week ago all over again. I just realized that it has only been a week. Maybe I caught on to something, maybe the invisible stuff they have all over the walls is twisting my brains. Sitting here now, I feel like I have been here at least a month. Well, I just spent over twenty minutes trying to think of how I ended up here, so I sweated, heaved, almost passed out, and had to take a shower. That’s it for the rambling, I can’t be late for the massage. I’m really doubting it’s gonna be Honey doing it this time. To lay it out how it went down, for my own sake… Yesterday wasn’t a regular day. I don’t think any day is going to be a regular day now. I had to put together my own breakfast, there was no massage, I wasn’t reminded to do cardio, the lights were all dimmer, and there wasn’t even any sign of Honey. Started to worry, got sad, started thinking… I thought too much. I can’t even think of some things now. I get hot, wet, and… Wet. When I wrote the word ‘home’, it was like if I rubbed myself down there. Wasted ten more seconds just now! I don’t even get to think about what I’m thinking. I just start going into heat, and that’s realy distracting, and then if I try to keep thinking ~~about what I~~ Moving on... So I basically panicked and rubbed myself until I fainted. Now that I’m feeling more fresh, I can remember Honey was there before I slipped away, and some voices and ch and stuff I don’t really know. I don’t think I want to. I woke up in the second playroom. Sort of funny to think that it happened right on the other side from where Honey had his sessions with me. That door was closed ever since I moved in got put here, I think I kinda see why. The padded walls and all the shit on the walls doesn’t mess with the cozy woodland inn spiel they had going. Can’t blame myself for not getting that. Kinda want to blame myself for the things I told ~~that bi~~ the changelingTough Break because my tummy still aches. Pretty sure I’m starting to get how this place works, and… … Sweetie Belle rocked in silent hyperventilation, biting on her lip and staring at her surroundings with eyes open wide. She’d been there for some time now, wide awake and seemingly forgotten. Even she couldn’t tell if she just gave up on screaming, or if her panic elevated to a higher stage. In either case, the level of fear within the unicorn was rising, enough to fiddle with certain thoughts and memories by chance, attempting a domino effect of devastation on her mind. Fortunately, Sweetie was always more of a linear thinking mare, so most of the fear’s spreading tendrils did was greatly quicken her breathing and create an amount of very particular heat within her - by prompting her to try and think of things she’d been taken away from. She barely did, too frozen with the fact of being locked in a dark, padded cell, equipped with all sorts of twisted, leatherbound items, its solitary light source a lamp up above, barred by grates that simulated it being a ray of hopeful sun. Since her mental state was barely good enough to recognize that that was indeed a light bulb, she couldn’t be expected to willingly kick herself down the road to mental despair, and was instead stuck at the point of rocking and huffing. There was only so much relishment in the boons of young airheadedness. Some things Sweetie had plainly admit were distressing and highly implicative. For one, she was clad ankle to chin in a tight, leathery black and amber straitjacket. Its sleeves joined into one another and then did many a trip around her body, being bound evermore by some additional belts that connected somewhere she couldn’t see - aside from the ones that kept her legs pushed together, those ended in on themselves. It was no simple straitjacket, as it seemed to be rather considerably padded, creating a buffer between it and the body to prevent rashing and numbness. That, however, only spoke further volumes of what was going on here, and it was fortunate that the unicorn couldn’t really follow it in her current state. Said current state was exacerbated by the fact that her horn was emitting a dull, inconsistent hum. It was like when she got cornipoxia several years ago, only with less sneezing sparkles and more intense horn vibrations. Sweetie only realized what was up with it by bending herself over, to no small amount of squeaking from the straitjacket. Having gotten it into the light, the mare saw a series of dark grey circles orbiting her horn, connected to it with blurry fields of amber energy. Shaking her head and whimpering did nothing to get rid of them. It had become clear why her attempt at conjuring up any sort of magic - which, in her case, would likely have resulted in destruction no matter what, a useful drawback just for once - ended up sending a sharp electric feeling down her spine. However, there was no end to the issues, as there was also that on which the light fell in the first place. A distressing item to say the least, especially to a savvy pony like Sweetie, was what got the spotlight - not even her herself. A rather sizeable set of stockades nearly half her own height, imposing to look at even from behind - amber and purple, leather and metal, thick padding for her pushed together feet to be glued in. They were predictably, expectably bared, and poking out of the other side, doing absolutely nothing at all: she could feel tight grips on each and every one of her toes, keeping them pulled back and apart. Considering the pampered state of her feet, the increase in tautness was palpable even by the light motions of the air within the room. The unicorn, who had, until then, never actually managed to get herself into any sort of legitimate restraints, despite the often awkward means of trying to push it to that base in her previous relationships, was in severely serious binds. There did come an end to her rocking and quiet muttering, which was beginning to test the courtesy of the soft, convenient padding she was sat onto. A deep, scratching, metallic noise saw the door on the other end of the room slowly open. The mare took in breath to call out to whoever was on the other side, and instantly let that breath out, turning it into a mere peep, once she saw the wave-haired bewinged silhouette on the other side. The silhouette wasn’t particularly speedy with making herself anything more solid, and spent some time finishing off a smokestick, the smoke of which she blew into the room in a series of ring shapes. A somewhat familiar, gravelly, distantly female voice was heard chuckling before ruining the rings with a blow of air, and a distinctly familiar, gasping whine was heard when the silhouette rashly turned around and kicked its leg. After that menacing procedure was done, Tough Break entered the room, speeding the automatic door to a close with a steel-bolted boot, while spitting onto her gloves and rubbing them together. “Hey,” the grey pegasus said dismissively, flexing and yawning as she circled the room, browsing the many tools on the walls. Her eyes glowed an unsubtle amber whenever she was deep enough in the shadows. “And fuck you.” “U… uh?..” Sweetie squeaked out, her mane getting in front of one of her eyes. She was too busy attaching her eyes to the presence within the room to even blow it out of the way. “Oh shut up, you candyass. Don’t get fucking used to talking,” Tough Break mumbled, picking something out of her teeth, not even looking at the mare she was degrading. “You’re not gonna be doing that anymore.” “W… wha?..” “Ugh, you absolute pile of dumb. I’ve had you waste space in here long the hell enough. That moron’s had his fun, now I gotta justify flushing so much time down on your “Vee-Ai-Pee” ass,” the seething pegasus made air quotes while berating her, also covering the mare in a coat of spit. “Everyone else we’ve had here before has been better than you! You’re an overrated little dolt. So I’m gonna have to fucking make up for that now, and I had shit planned for tonight.” “But— wait, NO DON’T!” Sweetie, whose mouth was contorting in confusion and whose eyes were starting to wobble with a mixture of hurt, anger and the very same confusion, barely moved her head before a rough, gloved hand delivered her cheek a harsh slap. The sound was dulled in the all-padded room, and it was still loud. “Oh, you’re gonna wriggle too, you stupid slut?!” Her second handler, whom she was right to never want to be with in a locked room, screeched at her in a slightly distorting voice. Another slap came down on the other cheek. This one covered the surrounding bulges of padding in a few tears. The stricken unicorn finally stopped trying to escape at the fourth slap, now simply trembling and sobbing as quietly as she could. “Finally. Be fucking useful. If your pampered ass knows what that’s even like,” the leather and chain-bound punkette growled at her before pushing a gloved palm into her snout, forcing Sweetie down onto the bed of padding… and then bouncing up again due to soft nature of it. The bullied unicorn got the idea and did all she could to immediately bring herself back down and try to lie down quietly. “Oh, and the chair sucks. I will make that runt wish he was never born, I swear. No surprise he likes groping you so much, his hands must be growing out of his lame freaking ass.” The mare was still in a state of mental paralysis, and simply absorbed what she was hearing. The abuse hurled at her and what passed for her current ‘loved one’ was received and added to fuel the fire that was burning down the railroad of her thoughts. Hurt and angst were spreading out, and grew tendrils much like fear did. Those tendrils reached out for many of the things that saw her react in heated fashions, but found a certain jam on the way. Before they could very well process what it was in Sweetie’s inner workings that made them not the only presence of the hot-wet kind in this dire situation, she was frozen up yet again. Tough Break had procured a stool from the wall, and it was too being bullied into submission, whining, squeaking and creaking as she tried to stuff it solidly enough into the profoundly padded floor. It took slightly longer to succumb than Sweetie did, but finally, it stopped wobbling, and allowed her to rest her bottom on it, now sitting halfway in the light, and halfway outside. The mare couldn’t see the changeling from the way she had been forced to lay - the most that could be seen was her boots from below, and the tip of the tidal wave of her mane at the top. Considering that even thinking of the piercing and tattoo-laced face made her scrunch up inside, it was likely a good thing. “Well at least your feet aren’t as crap as you are. They’re, like… average.” Sweetie gasped and mumbled when she felt two projectiles of spittle land on her soles. “Egh. Maybe if I pretend to have fun, I’ll trick myself into having it. I hope you’re not as boring as that babbling moron makes you out to be.” The mare gulped. The tendrils that sprung off of this bullying reached for her innards once again, and were again faced with the fact that her inner self was already… getting hot and wet. Sweetie fluttered her eyelashes and whined in her quickening breaths, getting more and more antsy every half a second nothing hit her utterly defenseless, exposed soles. And her nethers were covering the insides of the straitjacket with more and more female secretions for every hump this launched her into. Her feet had not even been touched, and she was already getting off on this, whether her conscious liked this or not. Sweetie Belle did have a number of significant attractions. She, by herself, was a nice girl, she liked warm, nice things, she adored kind, fluffy guys, even her more unusual fetish was something as seemingly friendly and innocent as the tickles. Deeper in, her prevalent fetish was that for the feet, which was nothing much to have to explain. But deeper in yet… There was another detail, and one that she had been all but made to forget over the seven days when it was nothing but fun, fluff, fuzz and feets. She was kind of a clinical masochist. Bondage-discipline-submission-masochism. Suffering made her wet. Her own suffering. She’d begun to heat up the moment she realized she was in tight bondage gear. The first slap made her properly wet. The tendrils of bullying weren’t ripping up something previously pure and untouched, they were simply helping clean up a very messy back yard that hadn’t been explored over the entirety of her life. Perhaps for good reason, because the good girl Sweetie and the miserable whorebitch submissive slave Sweetie, despite sharing one body and mind, didn’t exactly agree on what they were feeling about all of this, and no, the intense situation, the device on her horn, the straitjacket, and the hateful bully at her feet made it no easier to digest, and then that bully scratched her horrible claws down the entire length of both of her soles. “HHHHGGHHHAAAAAAH!!!” She let out a loud screech. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” Tough Break spat on the padded floor and rushed off the chair. Within moments, the fuming changeling was next to her. Bearing a wolfish snarl, she forced a large black gag into the blushing, crying mare’s mouth, fastening it around the back of her head less than gently. “Enough out of your stupid mouth. I’m not dealing with this,” she hissed, putting a heavy boot on top of Sweetie, nearly bulging her eyes out. “You got it, pony?” With most of her cognitive functions frozen, the unicorn simply nodded her head rapidly. That seemed to be good enough, and the pegasus departed back to her stool, bearing a frown. Sweetie Belle’s guts were scrunching up in abject, cold misery. Somewhere below them was actively heating them up, though. Another quick, sharp rake against her soles made the mare arch her back as hard as the restraints allowed her to. There was no seeing details, but it definitely felt as if her tormentor’s fingernails were electric outlets. Her back contracted and released, like a slinky toy, only it didn’t - the straitjacket performed its primary function and kept her contained. There was an active, functional, working power station inside her spine, it felt like. It produced scathing bolts of searing electricity and sent them to be zapped off her fingertips and other extremities or something to that metaphoric effect. Only it didn’t, owing again to her bindings - instead, it was a perpetual cycle, seething, rumbling hot lightning emitting from inside at each inch of the merciless drag, conjoining in on itself. Red hot trails were palpably left on her immobile soles, and more and more stacked on top of them as her feet were practically torn into. This could barely be denoted as tickling, safe for the fact that the tickling sensation was very acute. Very raw, too. “Ugh, you sound like a deer,” Tough Break complained, sinking her claws into the supple flesh again and again. She took a pause to spit on the soles once more, for further insult, seemingly. “And deer suuuck.” She was indeed less than silent. Panic poured intensely out of her mouth, and was turned, on its way, into desperation. Her eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets, and her mind was in a state beyond description. It was bad enough that she was never, ever restrained anywhere near this heavily. It was bad enough that her ever so sensitive soles were never abused with anywhere near as much raw strength. It was bad enough that she had never been gagged before in her life. It was bad enough that the abject lack of consent or safety of this situation was hammering on her consciousness like a woodpecker on a wooden door. But did it have to transfuse itself into sheer, poignant hot knives, slicing through the butter of her being and into the vulnerable, secluded, pale white center? Which just so damningly happened to pulsate with pure, overwhelming, chemical, arcane pleasure at all of this? Her nethers were being blasted with tidal waves of extreme sensations, and there was exactly nothing touching them but safe leather. She may as well have been being eaten out while having two sporty stallions lick and caress her nipples while one more gave her a horn job and one more - an erogenous back massage. She’d never been through all of that at once, but for crying out loud, that would have made her produce less cum than she currently was. Sweetie’s thoughts told her that surely this horrible treatment was simply to deride her and bring about her mental dessication. This was not only an assault on the senses, this was an assault on… more or less everything. Her privates were producing liquids at waterfall rates. She lay there and suffered, many times worse than any kidnapped damsel from any movie she’d ever watched or book she’d ever read. And that was it. Horrible! She could not, however, run away from the simple fact that however much time Tough Break spent abusing her feelings and feet, she was approaching an orgasm. Orgasms could be non-consensual, of course, but without direct genital stimulation? That was different. They knew. They knew it all. They knew her, they knew her in extreme depth. They knew more about her than SHE did. “You’re a boring little slut. Geh, my fingers are aching. Fuck this, I don’t have to put so much effort into this, you’ll moan like a zombie at anything,” Tough Break mumbled with a burp, and spat generously on her feet once again, spreading the saliva over with the back of a gloved hand. “Eenie, meenie… Alright, good the fuck enough.” Sweetie found herself bashing her tear-soaked, infernally blushing face against a nearby bump in the padding. It felt as if one of her soles just got run over by traffic. If spiked metal tires were the new automotorist’s hottest trend. Her teeth bit hard into the gag. Whatever it was, it rolled over the other sole as well, to the same result. Frictious, hot, pokey, hard. So hard, her immobile feet attempted to at least vibrate, futilely. Then again… She herself began to roll in place, to throw herself from side to side. At the fourth journey of whatever it was over her soles, she ceased to gurgle and screech through the gag, now simply whimpering and breathing loudly through her nose. Steaming. Hot. Rubbing. Poking. “You want me to fall asleep or something? Nah, you’re not that smart. Fuck you anyway!” Tough Break declared, and there was a short pause in the torment. As soon as the implement was gone from her feet, they began to hopelessly try to thrash in place. About five or ten seconds to gather her thoughts was not good enough time, but it was enough to register a few important things. Despite the friction-generated heat and the harsh pokings, she felt no real pain. It was, instead, more of an incredibly intense massage - a massage she would definitely have called off if she had the power, but still, a massage. One that felt like it should be shattering bones, but it mostly seemed to perk up her nerve endings and set them on absolute edge. That was it for the thinkings, because as soon as the pegasus was back on the stool, both her feet were assaulted simultaneously. “Shit, I can’t even watch how you get pink on your feet! You’re freaking red already. Damn marshmellows…” Despite it being more of a massage, it was nowhere near bearable. It was, in fact, a touch too much. Passage of time was hard to tell, but it wasn’t entirely too long until the drooling mare arched her back one more time - this time for a long, long while. There was a limit to how long she could simply leak hot wetness: she had hit the climax. It was a harsh, fiery one, torn out of her by force, with wheels and teeth. Whatever she tried to think of only made it worse, triggering things that put her into heat, extending the orgasm by a second here and there. It lasted for much longer than any previous ones did - and obviously, Tough Break showed no intention of stopping. When her juices were spent, Sweetie felt like a spent husk of a mare - a spent husk that was still being harassed. A mournful, sorrow-filled moan left her throat. Her tongue licked the rubber inside her mouth out of desperation, and found little more than that it had no real taste. The wheeling continued for a while. Her brain kept track of it, each roll getting heavier and sending quakes deeper down her wriggling, sweaty, sensitive nerve sack of a body. Then it kind of stopped, as it got too severe to comprehend. Something was starting to get clearer then, but it became truly apparent once her peds were given a break. All of her body felt like rumbled dough, soft and malleable, always able to be pushed in harder when it seemed there was no more pressure to be survived. Her feet, however… The unicorn’s kink-savviness came to her enlightenment there. Now that there was a second to think, she figured out that a pair of very cruelly modified massaging wheels had been being used on her, which explained the feeling, however savage it was. After a massage, a bodypart tended to become lax and more sensitive. It was bad enough to begin with, and was currently confirming that theory, feeling as if phantom prongs were rumbling all over the hopeless surface, driving earthquakes up the length of her body. After a climax, one that she was barely about to start recovering from, tit did just that as well (from hearsay, anyway). Thusly, she came to a conclusion. “NnnmnmNMNNNMNM!” the pony whisperscreamumbled into the harsh gag. “Pmmfhse snmntp pmmfhse pmmfhse pmmfhse MMM CNMNT HMMNDL NMMMMMT!!!” “Shut up,” was the brief response that she got verbally. The physical response was even more telling. The changeling’s gloved hand delivered a mighty slap against the surface of both her soles. Their surface was so doughed up that the slap almost felt chilly - before spreading out a wave of hurty heat, giving her toes a good taste of the binds as they reflectively tried to scrunch. Sweetie jerked so hard that her restraints almost creaked, and her straitjacket made an ear-splitting squeak. Hot tears streamed out of her eyes at an increased rate. The sharpness of the pain was quickly overriden, however. Tough Break’s hard fingernails raked heels-to-toes, and the hurt whimper turned into a drawn-out, panicked squeal. When she raked there the first time, it was overpoweringly terrible. This? This her body could scarcely comprehend. So sharp that it tickled, so tickly that it stabbed, so stabby that it zapped, so zappy that it heated, so heaty that it chilled, so chilly that it was heavy. Worse with every single solitary inch of her flesh, weak spots were lost on her, it was all a weak spot. She felt like an outdated machine trying to compute a purpose it wasn’t programmed for. Many words could be applied to her torture prior, but this seemed to transcend words. This was… a searing pink sensation. It sparkled, it sizzled, and it smelled vaguely of fresh air. How could she even? No, she couldn’t even. It didn’t seem to be stopping, either. Rake, rake, trawl, scratch, slap. Spit. She no longer screamed or complained, she just moaned. Moaning was simple, anything else simply required too much thought. Her cognitive system was overloaded… And yet the warm embrace of nothingness wouldn’t come. Awake, but not so aware, not at all. The entirety of her inner being was hopping from desk to shelf, the ceiling cracked open for a downpour, the floorboards rotted away to let in a wildfire, the walls clicked and allowed inside a hurricane. Rake, rake, trawl, scratch, slap… Spit. This was too much for her! She couldn’t! Couldn’t even! And that was another orgasm. “Holy fuck. Are you actually a marshmellow? I’m just fuckin’... I’m not even doing anything special! Holy shit! You just came again! Wow,” Tough Break half-coughed gravelly, and then erupted into laughter. It wasn’t too comforting. “Okay, you’re good for something. Comedy fucking gold. There, see, up there? Yeah, it agrees.” Sweetie was already looking ‘up there’ - her head didn’t even thrash side to side any longer, and her eyes only blinked so often. It did take some effort to actually look at what she was staring at. Her feet reeled in their restraints, temporarily free of abuse, giving her those precious seconds. Up above was the grated light… that had turned bright pink instead of plain white. More lights peppered the ceiling now, too, hidden inbetween the padded bumps. All of them shone a candy pink. She had no clue what that meant, but that was a change, and her torturer laughed, so… No clue. Actually comprehending something visually for too long was tough, so the mare shut her eyes and shook her head lightly, to balance out all the things boiling within it. She wriggled in the straitjacket, squeaking it up, distantly surprised at the lack of sweat she surely must have produced over however long this had been. Her orgasm stains, too… Fortunately, she was all but formally broken, so that was only a convenience. To compensate for that pleasantry, she was kicked on the rump by a boot. Somewhat lightly, but her dreadfully increased sensitivity made it very noticeable regardless. She fluttered her eyes open, and they were instantly frozen in terror. Tough Break stood over her, grinning, her eyes glowing bright amber, and her fangs blicking off the pink rays that the ceiling had begun to emit. In her hands was a tool that the pony was familiar with, being, on one hand, a fetish enthusiast and all, and on the other, having used it on a daily basis before. A hairbrush. A familiar one, a vented model - an arching rectangular paddle-like head with rows of pointy bristles separated by vents, row after row after row of owchy protrusions, ending with a stubby handle. Black with amber bristles. “Yo. You recognize this? Eh? Still got any brain left in there? Just wanted to show you something you’d at least know the fucking name of,” the pegasus said, dragging a finger across the fine, pointed bristles. They emitted a sound that no vented hairbrush Sweetie could recall (not many, in her condition - but still) ever making. These tended to be pretty silent. Mush harsher, sharper, almost electric. Stuff tended to get electric in this place a lot… “I haven’t had my nails done in two weeks, and you still freaking came. This thing’s waaay sharper. Shit’s gonna be amusing.” She grinned, and for a moment, there was only the hairbrush, the fanged grin, and the eyes. The pony continued to stare where she was staring until then, even when the changeling left. And when the vicious bristles descended upon both her feet at once, in the middle, covering both arches, she simply closed them. Tough Break was right. Her brutal fingernails didn’t hold a candle to this. They sincerely, honestly did not. If there was a sensation that could be generalized as “NOOOOOO”, that was it, this was the stuff of nightmares, her poor exposed feet simply could not deserve such treatment. The bristles were flashy, scrabbly, pokey, and they were legion, and they marched in perfect, sporadic, harsh, quick, scrubby unison. In her current state, even touching one bristle with a heel would have gotten her to giggle - this had her roll her eyes as her aching stomach desperately tried to produce muffled laughter. Sweetie thought she was exploding, and had all the rights to do so. All of her body was riding off the massage, the climax, the everything. The changeling covered her feet in another layer of spittle, and continued raking them all over. There didn’t seem to be a bodily way she could remain conscious - or, well, alive?.. - for too much longer. The sensation was so much more powerful than her nervous system’s puny processing power. She legitimately wasn’t good enough to really comprehend the extent of what was being done to her. The brush was everything she’d been subjected to all at once. The bestial strength with which it was being rubbed into her immobile soles created heat and friction much like the wheels did. The pokey bristles tickled as horribly as the fingernails did, only there were loads more of them, and they indeed were superior. And the realization that this was all actually much worse than she could comprehend, that she was simply not tuned well enough to feel the extent of the torment, with all of the applied amplification… That made her feel as downtrodden as before. This was torture, horrible, terrible torture! And the only reason it wasn’t even worse was because Sweetie Belle was such an inferior sex toy. Apparently. Good girl Sweetie weeped, screamed and howled. Sex slut slave Sweetie, in turn, produced another climax. A harsh moan left her raspy, in spite of the gag and all. Her eyes burned slightly, for there were only so many tears she could shed. The lights on the ceiling glowed brighter, more and more, with each passing minute of the seemingly infinite brushing. Brighter… brighter… brighter… the tone changed as well, the color switched. From candy pink to dark blue, then dark blue for a decent while, then a paler teal… then the lights split equally between dark pink and pearl white, covering the entire horrible room in the colors of taffy and marshmallow. The brushing went on and on. She only got breaks for the changeling to spit at her soles again. It took four such breaks for her to realize that there was more to it - for an entire minute (or more?) after each spit, the sensations got even worse. It truly was hard to track, for the actual tickling feelings were barely comprehensible any longer. The friction was what gave it away. No longer was she riding on the massaging impacts of before and the orgasmic sensitization of the now - Tough Break’s saliva acted as a sensitizing lotion in and of itself. If only Sweetie was good enough to make use of all these improvements put upon her… At least she was good enough to orgasm. The next one was so powerful that she saw the pink and white exchange for a warm, amber. Her swirling mind caught on to the suggestion of a light dinging, clicking noise. Light humming could then be heard… not that it registered for her very much. “Uhuuuh. Damn, bitch is a privvy… nice freaking company, huh?.. Well, guess shit’s working right then. Gah, fuck, just as it got good. Fine. Hey, you!” she heard Tough Break bark, at the very edge of her hearing. “Take care of her. And get me a smoke. Fuck up, and I’m not gonna forget this shitty chair!” “Hey… Hey, hey… hey. Shhh. It’s okay! You’re alive… you’re back here… It’s, uh. It’s gonna get better. You’ll be with friends soon. Just relax and let me…” She felt the straitjacket click open, and did absoltuely nothing with it aside from drift into unconsciousness. The thoroughly abused mare had plenty to think of when she woke up on her cough in a tight embrace, some movie running softly on the TV, and a warm snout rubbing against the back of her head. She was quiet that night. --- February 28th Dear Diary, Today was… interesting. I had my walk again, this time it was more eventful. So I get to write more than a few lines in you. Hooray… My gut still kinda crawls when I look at the past days. There, I just blushed too. Good thing stuff got a bit different today. I’m snapping out of routine, it feels pretty good. I finally stopped being a creep at lunchtime and ~~talked to~~ got talked to by someone. Never had the gut to approach anyone from the other pens, and I was too afraid, and I know I can’t really trust him… Again, I am very goopy after the ~~tor~~ sessions. So guess who broke the ice today. No points for guessing. I’m both happy and sad Pinkie is around here, to be honest. … Sweetie sat cross-legged on her bench and sipped sweetened tea out of the mug, her skin perspiring slightly under the simulated sunshine of the fake outdoors. The atrium of the compound she was kept in was quite the magimorphical wonder to behold - a large, open space with invisible barriers that separated the acclimatized captives as they took their time off. It appeared as a different environment for everyone, Honey told her - the magic sought to create the most soothing, relaxing vista possible, melding the malleable surfaces and winds of the pony’s allocated cell to be exactly fitting and blend right into the desires and wishes of the broken-in captive. So for Sweetie it was a nice, warm resort beach with a gazebo to provide shade, some smooth grass, some palmtrees for ambience, and a slushy, wavy sea that the unicorn could actually swim in, albeit only for a few meters - more of a neatly glorified bathtub, really. At the moment, the mare had just done exactly that, and was drying off, wrapped in a towel, on one of the sun benches, seeping tea, while Honey had some alone time, splashing in the water a while longer. This was a relatively innocent time. The pleasant smells, the seaward sounds and the temperature all called for Sweetie not to question overly uncomfortable things, pushing them back in her mind’s queue, so they had not had a falling-out yet. They chatted and chitted idly, having pleasantries. He told her about how this place worked, in a somewhat amusingly nonchalant way. It was nice to listen to, in his words and voice, anyway. This cell of the atrium space was give to her only after she’d gone through her breaking-in week - and then she was allowed to use it over the week her assessment continued. Assessment being the tingly, huffy, and all-around blurry hours she spent with Tough Break, who was mercifully absent, for the poor innocent Sweetie wanted as little to do with the punkette as possible as soon as their infinitely long session was over. She deserved this place, and it would expand and change as she was more thoroughly introduced into the peculiar, nondescript system that this place revolved around… There was a list of perks to that, and one of them Sweetie was eagerly surprised by as her cup was half empty. It was not her that was bestowed with it: it was someone else who decided to use it. “Oh. Um! Oh, Sweetie, puppy!” Honey Pot’s voice broke her melding, flowing reverie. “Sweetie, we’re having guests… apparently.” “Huh?” she wondered slurredly, in a slight daze. Honey’s pleasantly toned figure scrunched up, hands raising nervously to his chin, as he splashed to the very edge of their cell for some odd reason. The confused unicorn didn’t get to voice more of her quandries, even though she didn’t really get why the stallion pushed his palms against the invisible barrier, which then glowed amber. For there was a phantom pull on her gut - the debilitated remnants of her acute self-preservation instinct - and a soundly thud right to her side. A bit of tea splashed on the sand underneath her freshly repedicured feet. Her and the object of the thudding blinked at each other for a few seconds. “Hi!” her guest greeted her, and wrapped her towelled self into a neat, rubby hug. “Thaaank you!” the new pony yelled at nobody in particular - nobody visible - in the distance, and then returned her attention to the befuddled Sweetie in her grasp, who’d already made herself comfortable by reflex. She had good reasons for that. “He- Hello. You’re… They got you here as well, huh?” the unicorn asked weakly, looking into the pink earth mare’s pleasant teal eyes. “I… oof… I… I knew it… ooh…” Her body immediately produced a few streaks of sweat and brought her into a moan as her mind coursed into several forbidden territories. “Nmmm… Hushy-hushy nom-nom-nom,” Pinkie Pie, a mare that had last been seen only so recently before the fateful day, vocalized while digging her snout’s way onto Sweetie’s neck and nibbling on it. Somehow, the pressure relented. “Sweetie… it’s so nice to see youuuu!!!” the earthen mare squealed gently into her neck, eliciting a giggle out of the younger unicorn. “And you’re so sweeet! Mmm, totally worth the six hour shift,” she murmured, presumably to herself, but audibly, as her eyes rolled back in enjoyment. They cuddle-bumped for about a minute more, like sleepy puppies, before finally untangling themselves from each other. Honey stood waist-deep in water, one of his arms touching against the wall, blowing a wet hair out of his face, sighing. Sweetie waved to him, struggling to do so over Pinkie’s superior posture and poofy mane. The unicorn managed to give him an “OK” gesture. “It’s okay! She’s a friend!” Sweetie notified him, a notion which caused her to almost choke - the earth pony’s hug became a crushing vice on her abdomen for a fraction of a second. “She… she’s okay!..” “I know, kitty, I know! It’s fine, I’ll be here for a bit if you don’t mind!..” her handler’s croaking voice reached her ears, and the mare couldn’t investigate for reasons of having a very old friend caressing her right into her lap. “I have… things to manage, you know… work!” “Oh, your ringmaster’s so cuuute. Mm, I’d eat him up, but, ah-heep, um, my butt’s still a bit… oof… achey.” Pinkie cheek-nudged her, pressing Sweetie deeper against her chest. The older mare wore a plain white singlet and underpants, looking slightly frazzled and bedraggled, making her more satisfying to snug into, which her body very eagerly did. “Lettem’ do his stuff. He’s not lying, I don’t wanna be launched into the ceiling or anything! Already done that today!” The younger mare blinked at her with a confused smile. “He’s holding connections between our cells. Y’know, can’t just let us visit each other willy-nilly, or we’d ACK—” Once again, the pleasant hug turned into a crushing vice, and her snout got mushed hard and deep into the sizeable breasts - while their owner arched her back, mouth agape, widened eyes rolling, moaning in a sharp falsetto, and producing bodily vibrations Sweetie herself was all too well acquainted with by now. She got away with heat, sweat, and wetness… Pinkie’d gathered some things that caused her to instantly have a harsh orgasm. The younger pony caressed and consoled her newfound friend. “Okay!.. So, so sorry… Ow, I got my fun juice all over your thigh… Ohhh my panties are a mess nooow… Whew.” After the five seconds it took her to huff those words out, the earth mare suddenly perked up, ceased puffing, shook her head, and cleared her throat. “Alright, that was fun, whoo! Anyway, how are you.” Sweetie was still kneading gently into the bigger pony’s back, but now had some issues keeping up with the program. Pinkie Pie was quite abrupt, even when you knew she was. This seemed particularly unusual, though. “Me, um… I… I dunno where to begin, Pinkie. This is, you knooow… kinda very sudden. Like, all of this.” “Oh, I getcha, I getcha.” She received an encouraging nuzzle. “Well let’s see. We got matched, sooo… you’re here for about three weeks, am I right? Wouldn’t have gotten to see you otherwise!” “Actually, I’ve been here for… two weeks now. Yeah, actually, actually… actually, today’s exactly two weeks since I got here.” For revealing such information, she received a tighter, albeit less lethal, hug, and a shower of kisses. “Mmmwahmmmwahmmmwah, happy anniversary! I hope you’re liking it here.” Sweetie raised an eyebrow - somehow, it seemed a strange thing for Pinkie to say. “Cause, y’know… may as well. We got two types of ponies in this place. Ponies that are liking it and ponies that aren’t liking it yet.” The answer to her rising eyebrow was a shrug and a very brief moment of somberness on the other mare’s face. “I sure am glad you’re already acc-coo-kii-kaa-klookloo-climatized. Jeesh, that first week, it’s always the toughest, I hear. I still remember mine, and it ain’t really that bad when I think about it!” That got Sweetie to giggle in morbid amusement. “I dunno about that, Pinkie. I’ve been getting… absolutely… murdered this entire week. The first week was actually pretty nice, Honey’s…” The suggestion of dreaminess in her expression allowed the earthy to nod slyly, allowing the unicorn not to finish. “Yeah. And this week… The first few days, I was so wrecked after that bitch was done with me, I didn’t even care for this place. The first day, I was so out of it, I didn’t even get to go.” “Aw… Poor Sweetie,” the pink mare consoled her while giving out a nice ear scratch. “You have to hand it to these guys. Eeeveryone’s got a thing of their own… I think of my first week, and hooh boy! Nuh! Nuhuhuh! Wow, that was fun.” Sweetie scrunched her snout at how unusually high pitched and static the last sentence came out. The hug got a bit tighter, too - for a second. “Hey, ahm—” “So, like, m-my ringleader is… Miss Strawberry Crimson. We found some common languages now, but at first, lemme tell you, we had dog fights! Slug races! Snail lifting!” Pinkie gulped to stop her tirade, and stared in front of herself for a few seconds, sighing. “Theeese are all metaphors.” Sweetie scrunched her face and took a glance at Honey, who stood with his head hung low and hand sustaining the connection at the edge of the cell. She shrugged. “Well, hmmm. Alright, Pinkie - how about you tell me how things’ve been. Let’s, y’know… make us a picture of the situation! And stuff. Um. You know?..” the unicorn nudged her friend, who began to nod quite quickly. “Yeah. Find out more about how we’re doing. Mhm. Sooo… you never really got to meet anyone else before now?” “I have! After my first two weeks, too! You wouldn’t believe what sorta ponies you find up here. I didn’t even find ‘em, and they were still toppa the line,” Pinkie nodded to herself while Sweetie tilted her head at the qualitative evaluation of ponies. Personality marketing was scarcely a thing associated with that mare… Things had changed. “Princess Luna’s here!” “...whoa. Damn. Oh… oh. Oof.” “Yeeeah, she wasn’t taking it thaaat great at first, but I helped her ease into it. She was going tweedly for a while! They were about to lock her up in the Breaking Room for the fourth day in a row, but I finally earned enough credit from Miss Crimson, paid her a visit, used up the one hour they gave the poor mare inbetween all the nastystuffs, aaand she came ‘round.” “...Breaking Room?..” she asked with a considerably shaky voice. What she was going through for a week now fit her definition of breaking perfectly, and it seemed to be part of the course for her. It got worse? She felt her inner cautiousness rise up about tenfold. Her arms gripped Pinkie for comfort. “Yep! Sure’s a good thing she’s an alicorn, cause jeesh, they’d have to run us all dry to power up the magic to keep her healthy for that sorta thing. Brutal,” Pinkie concluded and licked her lips unconsciously. Sweetie scrunched even harder. “Lemme tell you, after what she told me, I haven’t paid this much attention to rules since preschool. And I ain’t telling you, cause that’s… twenty one plus on the disc, Sweetie. Yoof!” Somehow the lack of details said enough. The younger mare only gulped and let out a squeaky noise in response, but it seemed her input wasn’t necessary for her friend to keep informing her. “So, yeah… Princess Luna’s around now, we have sessions together every day. I sorta miss Rainbow, buuut… Well, Miss Crimsons right, it’s by the rules. Weee are the Masochists. Smack-fwomp-tickle-unf.” A weird smile crept up on the unicorn’s face. At least she definitely wasn’t alone in her kink plight as far as her place of captivity was concerned. All of them like her, one way or another… “Dashie’s more like, add about twelve more steps fulla’ screaming and crying, and then multiply the unf by about a hundred times. That’s tough, so she’s with the other Breakers now. I’m sure she’s fit in. I tried to send her a letter, but that was minus forty credit. Ow.” As her heartbeat increased and new information was processed, Sweetie Belle steadied herself to keep going. Pinkie sure talked a lot about rules - and while some things she was clearly barred from even thinking of, it seemed a wise move to get as productive as possible before there was a chance for something to happen. Not to discredit her old friend, but her presence sure gave Sweetie a wider range of paranoias. “I… see. Gosh. This place is sick.” That phrase caused a few seconds’ pause, as apparently even hearing that made the earthen mare arch her back. The two of them communicated through the eyes, and the unicorn resigned not to criticize any of the local design again. “I mean, it’s, uh, tough. To figure out. So, ahm. Credit?..” “Oooh, don’t, don’t worry about that. Strawberry Crimson has that stuff, came up with it for me after a few days. She’s really smart, I can see why they got this job! See, they’re… Well, I’m a pony sorta pony, y’know? Comes with the parties. So I have potential, she says. I ain’t gonna argue with that. Buuut, I’m…” The pink pony sighed and her lips trembled for a few moments. “I have kinks to iron out… skills to learn… I’m not good enough yet. That’s bad. All of these ponies in here, we crave the ticklings. And I’m the Element of Laughter,” she said dramatically, her voice shifting in tone completely to announce her title, suddenly going lower, more subdued, less squeaky, aback-taking. “But I keep doing all the rookie mistakes. I didn’t know there was so much of a science to… Laughter. There’s how to laugh… when… why… how to make others laugh… then an advanced study in every way of making others laugh… and we’re not even pickin’ stuff got nothing to do with tickling… Well, it wasn’t fair that I get to have regular schedules and stuff like everyone else. I shoulda had an advantage, and I blew it. So, I get points for doing stuff right, and that’s how I get to sleep in bed, have my book-and-movie hours, and talk to ponies during break.” “That’s…” Sweetie stopped herself short of ‘horrible’. “...interesting. So how long do you have to work to do something like this?..” The earthy nodded in gratitude. The younger mare pulled up the towel around her slender body, and the light tickle she delivered to herself via poking reminded her that not only was she not the only masochist in there - her affinity for tickling was also much more of a key thing than she ever assumed. Not so fringe. A picture may have begun to form, if there was the processing power. “Ooo, credit earnings, that’s tough. They already cut me a lot of slack, I got to see Rainbow for free, now that’s Luna though. To get to meet you though… Hmmm!” As her hands were busy cuddling the younger mare, she simply began to nudge the unicorn around instead - scratching her chin with the horn as she pondered. “First I managed to escape from the brushing rack in under thirty minutes, and only broke one of the belts… so that’s when [PRONOUN] told me I had a new friend here. Then I kinda blew the tickling theory quiz, though. It’s pretty difficult, I shoulda prepared harder. Can’t go anywhere if I don’t know how to get a crowd in on the action before they ask too many questions! I can kinda get through the questions at first, it’s just a pair of hands on each of my feet, and I only gotta talk for three minutes on each topic, but then when the belly button fuzz-stick comes in, I just can’t plan my laughter out anymore, and the questions keep piling up, geez! I mean, I can handle it when all three copies of her give me questions, but my ears just go whoosh-whoosh-whoosh when they do that. And if I get more than five questions wrong, they gag me, and I haven’t figured out how to do the quiz then at all!” “Uuu… hhhh… uhuh…” the chinscratch mare whimpered, hoping she did make it obvious she needed Pinkie to move on. Not just because of the time constraints, but because the picture she painted was… something else. Either Pinkie Pie was always a special case, no matter what, or every single pony in here had a very different approach to them. “Oh, oh, yeah, yeah, sorry, my bad! You’re still in school, and I made you think about tests.” The young adult’s ‘but’ died in infancy, as the older mare cleared her throat and sighed. “Well, crud, I’m gonna have to ask for another punishment. Ah, well, anyway! Miss Crimson was real nice, didn’t take any points off me, so I just had more ways to gather more. I’m not bragging, but I am, tee-hee. An hour of not pulling away from four fine-toothed brushes, a forty minute improvised speech during an upper body assault, and then I aced the multiple cho—” More befuddlement was inserted into the mentally weary Sweetie as her friend somehow managed to make a car break sound with her mouth, and then, instead of ‘—ice test’, continued with a: “—ose your own adventure challenge. And I never managed that before, so that was really exciting. It’s sorta hard to be sure which finger presses A, B, C or D, the blindfold is reeeally thick, the real trick is holding your breath when the question’s being told, cause the earmuffs here are the real deal! Now that wasn’t easy, cause I had a clawsy claw between each of my toes, and they were just scraaabbbling all over the rest of my poor old feet with those wheels, but I got every one right. Lotta credit for that one. And now we’re here!” After the long and frankly horrifying account of her torments, Pinkie smooched Sweetie’s cheek and finally stopped nudging her around. “Hi.” “Gosh. That’s… well. That… that… that’s nothing like what I got. My first… um, first week…” the younger mare stammered, fighting with her brain to please not get wet at imagining all of the things she just heard. “It, eeaaooh. Oof…” “Ohhh riiight. Bah, bad Pinkie. Yeah, this is definitely more escape artistry for me. I didn’t tell about my first week. Was pretty simple, actually. I was kind of a blasty, crusty nasty. I even tried to tickle her! Orsomething like that, it’s been a while, my memory’s a bit fuzzy-wuzzy. They actually forgave me that one. I do remember that. Cause on week three, I had my tickling practice courses, now those are a whooole other th—” Another car break sound gave Sweetie a startle. “Right. First week. Mostly detention, learning the rules by heart, punishments, sorta stuff. Week two was great, I got to actually do this stuff like it’s meant to be, they even turned the lights on and brought me some plushies! Yeah, it’s kinda nice from here on out. Sure is.” “I’m… suuure, yeah. T-totally agree.” They nodded at each other furiously. “Well, uh. Mine’s very different. Honey there—” The unicorn waved her hand to him, and he waved his in return, smiling at them, eliciting a coo out of the pink pony. “—took care of me, I guess you could say. We had a bit of a rocky start, but it’s past us now. He’s... “ She deliberated for a few seconds, deciding whether to hint at her scheme or not. After having realized she had issues piecing said scheme together in enough time, she decided that that was a no. “Kind of my boyfriend now.” “That’s nice! I’m very happy for you, you get a lovey-dovey handler! Boyfriend’s a cuter name than Ringleader. Iii’m going into the Iron Mare, I may as well be nasty now.” That line saw Pinkie’s head turn upwards, to the peaceful blue sky, where she originally fell from. A spreading web of amber, much like one emitting from Honey’s hand, was located there as well. “Rainbow Dash had an Instructor. Princess Luna… actually, I’ve never met hers.” “Wait, actually… He’s nice, yes, we’re okay with each other.” Sweetie frowned, battling thoughts she couldn’t actually even recognize. “Hah! Is he a lupony or something? Does the full moon, like, go up and he tears you into tiny teeny Sweetie-pieces?” her friend joked bemusedly, to which the unicorn was happy, as it seemed the older pony found genuine joy in the humor of it - the laughter lacked the strange, overly refined tinge to it. “Way to strain poor Pinkie’s imagination, whoo! That guy, gee.” “Aaactually… Despite whatever we, uh… disagree on, I guess…” Her throat went a little sore at the remembrance of the treatments - one of which was only over a few hours ago. “Honey’s an angel compared to her.” “Her?” Pinkie asked, mimicking Sweetie’s tone for authenticity. Her eyes, however, spoke of genuine wonder. “She calls herself ‘Tough Break’. She’s, well. A changeling, she’s a real changeling. She’s also a real bitch! I don’t, I… wuaaah, grrr!” the unicorn resorted to angry noises, snuggling deeper into the huggable mare. “She makes my skin craaawl.” “Oooh. You get to have twooo… Hey that’s interesting. Heh!..” An element that persisted within Sweetie became apparent in the earthy’s visage - curiosity and active thought. “We all get one pony who’s pulling double duty, and you get to have two!.. That’s iiinterestiiing...” It took until a wink from the earthy for Sweetie Belle to get it and wink back, the two of them exchanging a nod. “Uhuh. Sure, totally! Yeah. Eh, um, exactly. You have a Ringleader. I have a Boyfriend and a Bitch.” “Tee-hee! I guess she isn’t listening in on you, though, that’s cool!” The earthy patted her on the head. “...ahhh crap,” the unicorn whispered. “Anyway, so… that’s not normal?” Sweetie put in a lot of effort into hiding the dread of the fact she may be being listened to by that changeling. “Well nobody I’ve met over here had two. Gee, Sweetie, I wonder why these cheesy guys let you have two handlers - you must be more potent than us. That’s probably fun!” The grimace on the younger pony’s face got the earthy to quickly start hushing. “No-no, I’m not being a jerkface, Sweetie. I mean… Changelings don’t really… Don’t be surprised, I took a while to get it, so - you know what, I’m not gonna force you into it! You’ll see it with time. Maybe I made miss Strawberry Crimson sound nastier than she is? She’s not nasty at all, I swear I swear! Yeah. I’m not gonna plomp on your mood and say nasty things. Just know it’ll be fine.” “Wait, Pinkie Pie, hold up, what were you—” “I think I need to go, actually. Sorry-sorry-sorry. Crimson’s caling. I can feel it. Oomff, yeah, yeah I can. Yeeaooowch…” Pinkie pulled out of the hug, going cross-eyed for a second, arching her back first, and then doubling over. She began to huff, staring at Sweetie. The bright teal eyes glowed a blurry, goopy amber, which seemed to spread from her eyes directly into her head. The earthy’s ears flicked in a sharp staccato. “Oh, oh, oh jeesh, wawawawawawawa… Ohhh, I wondered if I deserved all that credit, now I get it… Looks like she’d have asked me to talk to you regardless, now I learn a lesson in resourcefulness as well.” The earthen mare sighed and hung her head, then cleared her throat, and primed herself up. She proceeded in a significantly more ‘normal’ voice, which for her, wasn’t that normal. “Alright, so. Good news and bad news! We’re gonna meet again soon.” As she talked, she stood up from the bench and walked around on stilted legs, sighing as her imbued eyes glazed over the inviting water. “Really? That’s cool! We really should talk more, I feel much better now that I’ve talked to you!” Sweetie put a hand on her shoulder, encouraging the friendly mare. “Stuff’s gonna be much better now, you’ll see.” “Aaand by soon I mean tomorrow. And then overmorrow,” Pinkie said bluntly, stumbling over her words, scratching her back of her head. “And then over-overmorrow. And, well, like, for a week. Crimson says we’ve been matched.” “What does that mean, again?..” “Oh, like me and Rainbow. And Luna now. You’re part of our group! Apparently… I, I didn’t know, Sweetie!” Pinkie suddenly gasped and lunged at the mare, but instead of bringing her down on the sand, it was herself who plastered at the younger mare’s pampered feet. “I’d have told you if I knew, pleaseforgivemepleasepleasepleaseokaaay?!” “It’s okay!... It’s fine, don’t be so worried, we’ll get through it…” she hushed the teary-eyed pony, kneeling over and rubbing her cheeks, smiling as reassuredly as she could. “Why’d you even need to apologize?..” Puppy eyes took up five seconds of what turned out to be valuable time. “I… kinda put off telling you about our group sessions for a reason, Sweetie…” Both of them gulped. “Wait. What’s even—” Pinkie tightened the pinching hug on her legs, but it wasn’t uncomfortable for long. Within little time, she began to wisp away - slowly being lifted off the ground and flushed upwards into the sky. They stared at each other, and all either of them could do before sharing goodbyes was shrug and sigh. “Sweetiee-puppyyy…” Honey’s soft, slightly tired voice sounded out from the simulated sea, over the phantom seagulls and the flushing waves. “Come on, let’s go splash together and you’ll tell me all about it.” The mare fixed up her towel and brushed aside locks of her slightly sweatened hair. She sighed at the new light cast upon receiving requests from her handler. “Alright… In a second, Honey.” “My arm really aches,” his implying whine echoed over to her. “Okay, I’ll rub it all the better,” she conceded, and went back to the sea, casting off her towel to a pleased, sweet smile of her Boyfriend. DissuasionMarch 16th Hello, Diary. Today was a very productive day. In spite of what I have been assuming, I have worked my way to a gift. It is odd how what seemed obvious every time I returned from the session would leave my mind entirely as soon as I awoke back in the Breaking Network. Regardless, those are very exciting news. My spirits are high, I think I like it this way. The words I write on your pages no longer come as easily, and there is a persistent, nagging feeling that tells me to write things other than ones I should be writing. It is hard to explain, but I can only feel this as a good thing. With no offense implied, of course. This is considering the fact that all the details that need listing on these pages are no longer tedious to recount. The excess of curiosity in regards to the cocoon in our bedroom has also receded. Its appearance is far more appealing now that it had been developing for a week. Knowing its function has now made it an entirely natural part of the interior. My curiosity as to its purpose is sated. The thought of touching it again is still exhilarating, but my Boyfriend insists I don’t, begging for mercy. Speaking of his adorable self, then. Honey Pot has finally quit complaining about having to observe my sessions to help me provide better feedback. He has been exceptionally silly today. It almost seems like he is dismayed by my high spirits, or even downtrodden over having learned the result of the session. At least, he is definitely skeptical. According to him, this is a “stage” one passes through, and that he is well acquainted with the fact. He even pointed to the entirety of the past few days, mentioning he underwent a similar change in behavior shortly before our paths were made to converge. It’s a curious piece of trivia. I know he did the same thing I did. Now that I have sent him off to handle the laundry, I can provide feedback without being disturbed. An immediate thing that I feel the need to point out is that the disturbing sensations at the start of each sessions haven’t… ... “Ohhh no no no no no no no, not agaaain... “ Sweetie gulped and panted, her eyeballs darting around rapidly - the only bodypart he had any decent control over, that and her lower jaw. Her body had already begun to perspire from the anticipation, plastering her mane to her back. “Nooo…” The unicorn was restrained to the very brim. Her body was encased in a familiar straitjacket, which lit up with amber strands along the bodily ley lines, signifying that its further, more sinister functions were all operational. On top of that, she was partially inside a pillar of ever so slightly liquid, coalescing, fluctuating matter. The young mare had grown used to that formation. Up through her heels and the back of her head, where her body connected the most with the fluctuating goop, coursed warm, tingly, arcane, alien energies. While they did so, she had her consciousness to herself, and as soon as they faded away, the blurry, numb, pleasant haze of contentment and routine set back in. As of recent days, leaving that haze was not a good thing at all. Sweetie Belle was far too aware of what was going on with her. Her bared feet were hidden from the rest of the gnarly chamber, submerged entirely within the pillar formation. Her heart raced. The straitjacket bolstered her nerves and fed off the secretions of her body to provide her with evermore weakening effects. Amber-glowing rings orbited her horn, sending light vibrations down its length, ready to consume any magical energy she were to try and channel, and send it back straight down her spine into her nethers. Her mind was clear, as clear as it could be in this captivity, and she knew better than to knock herself out by thinking too much of the wrong thing so that the resultant magical alarm orgasm drained her completely. She tried once already. The fact they continued to place her in this chamber even after the awful things that happened that day... “Come ooon…” she whined aimlessly, wriggling, scanning her surroundings yet another time. The futility of the situation was all too clear. It was all to clear a week ago, when her behavior apparently warranted her being transferred to this place. The Breaking Room. “Just… get this over with…” Sweetie was, as always, deceptively comfortable in her dreadful position. Perhaps the arcane straitjacket dealt away with the aches and inconveniences of effectively kneeling in mid-air, or perhaps the changelings simply had an ergonomic way about keeping her like this. Neither was unlikely, the mare knew all too well the extent of their knowledge of pony anatomy and how to influence parts of it. Despite the futility of looking around, let alone tracking the inhabitants, she did so. It was a place unlike the clean, sterile, tool-filled chambers located all over the compound, starting with her own room and ending with the block they were transported to for group sessions. It appeared to be - or to have once been - or to have been made to look like - a natural cave. A changeling hive sector, to be precise. Her lacking knowledge of the species had grown a fair amount more vast. Bulging sacs and radiant vines littered the uneven, holey surroundings, creating an almost festive display out of the labyrinth of brightly glowing holes and tunnels. One particular thing really came to the forefront this time around. The glow of the cave was definitely no longer strictly amber. The color she had come to associate with her captors had gained an odd tint even on her first stay there, but she had more pressing matters to digest at that time, and the next few days that followed. This time, however, she could surely tell: the luminescence was split evenly between a vibrant amber and an eldritch green. The changelings shifted from one sac to another, from one odd luminescent shape to another, connected one vine with the other, and so on. All of them were drones: simpler bodied, identical bodies, each of their eyes glowing brightly, working in perfect unison, being orchestrated by a superior changeling. One was indeed present - not a unique occasion, but there were more days when she wasn’t able to find her than when she was. Tough Break. The changeling that went under that name leaned against a nearby stalagmite, chewing its chitinous lower lip and yawning. A pair of earbuds connected to a music player attached to its belt sat in its ears, and it appeared to be half asleep, if that was indeed a bodily need for its species. Sweetie’s attempts at finding out anything more were already self-defeating and unlikely to work out, this simply cut off that particular path to failure… With all of her conscious mind, though, she really could have done without that thing’s presence there. The sheer abuse she suffered under the coarse, rough, ruthless, foul-mouthed pun— “Nnnnhhh…” the mare’s loins warmed and moistened at the images coursing through her head. The session had been kickstarted. Immediately, the pony let out a low, sniffling whine. Her whole body was filled with the tingling, warm energy, invading all over, permeating every string of muscle. It could remotely be described as soothing, in that discomfort became a near impossibility to perceive - but the sheer level of thick, goopy, distinctly artificial smoothening was sickening. Contained in the tough leather straitjacket and unable to even move her head, the mare almost felt how her mane felt softer, gentler, more susceptible, as parts of her lengthy locks had found their way into the pillar. Sweetie knew the feeling incredibly well… it was the state her mind, if not her body, had been conditioned to be in at almost all times. Now she got to feel it be cast away from her every single day. The terrible novelty was yet to wear off. Her moan had more than a slight undertone of a wail. Even her shoulders were atingle with this wave, and she’d been to this room enough times to know what was to come. Sweetie’s desperate attempts at conjuring up things to take her away from the anticipation only resulted in her being on the verge of orgasm when the preliminary stage took into action. Tough Break lifted an arm lazily and manifested a wrist-watch out of amber energy, which she then, with a yawn, set a timer on. It was a bunch of clicks, so this must have been about fifteen minutes. To her it always felt like too long - a persistent feature across her stays in the Breaking Room. “Fuuuck meee, why’re you always screaming in the saaame daaamn tooone, aaagh!” the changeling groaned, clawing at her chitinous mug and spitting down, her spittle absorbing itself into the oozing pillar Sweetie Belle was attached to. “How the shit isn’t your ass-mark a battery? How many filters do they put your voice through when you sing? Fuckin’ shitty-ass songbird. Yeah, you’re a dodo.” Tough Break’s rant was a way to splice things up for the changeling in question. Sweetie had more urgent things to deal with. Her body was an electrical conduit. The compound was a monumental, gargantuan, colossal energy structure, outputting and inputting untold measures of changeling power, and this must have been the conduit that lead to its very core. All the things these creatures created and manipulated were based entirely in feelings and sensations, so it wasn’t lethal electricity. It was the raw essence of that which they fed on. Lust. Need. Ecstasy. All the best, and all the worst. From the Breaking Division lung-burned screech of an unfortunate pony subjected to merciless brushing of untrodden surfaces. From the Masochist Division, the silent moan of a pony strapped from collarbone to heel in tiny vibrators. From the Group Division, a choir of chortles and squeals from confused, blindfolded ponies that lay in a large, coffinous formation, being poked and pronged on their exposed extremities, holding hands together. From the Acclimatization Division, the frightened, angry, confused shrieking of someone deprived of their senses, only just woken up after their kidnapping, to a world of sharp claws on their hogtied, naked body. She was all of them all at once, their bodies, at least. It was better when she couldn’t comprehend the sheer severity of it and simply suffered. As of a few days ago, the unicorn had begun to figure it out, and it made things no better. The rings orbiting her horn swirled and swapped around, humming and sending shivers down its stem, absorbing the sparks of desperation her body tried to fire off. A few more minutes of this, and she’d be thunderstruck straight into an orgasm - which would then empower her straitjacket, enabling it to maintain this torture longer yet. It was all very simple and straightforward. Those absorption shocks came faster and faster every day, as it seemed like the horrible overwhelming assault could not be adjusted to. Every single part of her that was molestable felt the abuse of a dozen ponies all at once, with none of it treading her skin. Her sides trembled, her lungs worked overtime, her mouth rarely ever closed, her feet soaked in the substance that the pillar consisted of, her arms rubbed pointlessly against the tough leather they were encased in. As far as she was aware, she was simultaneously in every bondage position conceivable, as well as unbound, and in some particular cases even running. Her upper body weak spots were under a myriad fingers and claws, under a mega-mall’s supply of brushes, under a racing team of spikey wheels, a city of hedgehogs’ worth of prodding spikes. Early on through her tribulations in this room, she figured, in her newly gained sobriety, something distressing: while earlier on in her stay, her body couldn’t compute the abuse Tough Break piled on her all by herself, now it was quite perfectly capable of discerning the entire facility’s tortures and feeling them all at once. All those days ago, she was confused and afraid, now she knew too much and was terrified. There was no escape from this. It was more than obvious that no pony could ever stay conscious, if not alive, after a single minute of such sensory overload. Her stay always lasted hours. Tough Break explained earlier on that the straitjacket had her bodily parameters mapped into it, and used some of Sweetie’s output to maintain her body, hence the continuous buzzy tingling. Too much information… All of this was too much information, and too much in general. Her pedal sensations, in particular. They were the upper body squared. How were there so many ways to torture feet? Why, why did they have to be so sensitive that so many fetishists existed, all of which were now being part of her torture? The hapless mare sweated and cried buckets upon buckets, being rehydrated and having the irritations in her eyes and elsewhere be tingled and buzzed out. Small toothbrushes, big toothbrushes, fine bristle toothbrushes, clumped bristle toothbrushes, electric toothbrushes, crystalline electric toothbrushes - on the toe pads, on the toe stems, underneath the toes, at every spot on the arch, everywhere on the heel. Combs, sharp and dull, long and short, buzzy and chilly, hot and electrified, in every single toe hollow, and tracing their horizontals and verticals across the entire sole. Thin, spiky wheels, big, bustling, roller wheels, wheels still applicable for massage, wheels now only fit for torture, two-piece wheels, three-piece wheels, rolling and rumbling over every single inch of her pedal skin at any given moment. On top of them, the richest variety of hairbrushes, ravaging so many feet all at once, their owners shrieking and roaring and squeaking and cackling and wheezing and coughing and not for a second thinking that it could be so much worse. And on top of those, an untold cohort of more inventive measures. Oils - regular slick massage oils, digestible oils that brought tongues and teeth with them, sensitivity heightening oils that somehow upped the ante beyond the mind-wrecking level it was at already, coloration oils for ponies with a feature of appearances, temperature oils for achieving otherwise dangerous sensations of heat or chill, electric oils to make so many victims rattle in their heavy bondage… It went on, and on, and on. Every single pony in this place had a unique approach to them, a unique handler, a unique program, a unique purpose even. Each lived out their own hellish paradise of sexual gratification in defiance of consent or logic. Sweetie Belle was in every single one of them, and all she ever did wrong was insult her captors for using her affinity for both soft and hard stuff to make their jobs easier. Perhaps to further mess with her, the unicorn’s restless horn finally fired off the last spark needed to send a punishing lightning bolt down into her leaking, soggy crevice. On its way down her spine, setting her nerves further alight, it coalesced with a natural orgasm that had created itself out of the sensations and the sheer cruelty of it all. If the straitjacket didn’t take care of her bodily excretions, there could very well be a small flood in the cave. Obviously, despite the sheer intensity of her climax, the torment continued on. And with her climax, the room went positively radiant with chthonic green. “Yeah, this body of yours… a good battery,” the borderline paralyzed, hysterical mare heard Tough Break say - mostly in her head, with a vile echo. “Fine, fuck you, you’re good. You’re a great conductor. Nobody has been this good… Usually, when we shove you fuckers in here, you drive our power down by like half a percent. You’re already boosting us. On toppa the shit we shoved into everyone’s brains thanks to you.” Sweetie let out a scream so powerful, it sent her down into a gurgle and then instantly into a banshee shriek back again - it drove her silent, forcing the straitjacket to restart her throat and lungs. She didn’t need this, too. This thing would never shut up. It kept blabbering on with its mean-spirited monologues, and more than half of her speeches were composed of various swear words. Like it didn’t care how unbelievably intricate the torture they were putting her through was. “Even the Princess wasn’t that much of a wet rag, heh, eh. Actually, fuck it, have another one! You’re so much easier to fuckin’ work with! Hoh fuck, alright,” the foul-mouthed changeling said with a spit. Sweetie Belle’s screech rose in intensity as the rings on her horn swirled rapidly, sending an autonomous bolt down her spine, this time courtesy of the changeling who fired an amber bolt at it. As if further punishment wasn’t pointless. “Yeah, that’s for reminding me of that shit! We kept her here for a while. Whore actually tore out of her pillar once. Bitch is tough. Wish I was there, Obscurus won’t talk in detail, have to suck the memories out of the drones… Shit, why can’t you be like that? Come on, be fun! Fuck you, I’m taking it back, you suck even harder now. Huh? Oh yeah, right, all you can do is scream. Sorry, fuckin’ forgot, my bad. Blockhead.” This particular bit of information confirmed what she assumed previously. It certainly seemed this way, how it felt. Ruthless and effective… More than likely unsafe, but considering that the Breaking Room was perpetually in use, the lack of safety only concerned her sanity. And what of it? It would be rebuilt and replaced. With whatever they wanted. If the amber cocoon sprawling in her bedchamber spoke of anything, they were already experimenting with building and replacing. Oh yes, these thoughts were all there, well-preserved and available - all the dark contemplations lurking in the back of her mind while she went about her day in a blur, unable to concentrate on one thing for more than a few seconds, susceptible and submissive. What were they doing? What was their plan? How much of this could she trust? What was to become of her? Judging by the fact that the infernal torture of a hundred simultaneous sessions was really the system firing up, she was to be a pony with far greater problems than regular old uncertainty. “Shiiit, I need to talk to the manifestor guys… I swear, your vocal chords gotta fuckin’ go at some point. Aaa, aaa, aaa! Why’d they make this thing reset THEM as well, ugh,” her insufferable handler complained, rolling its irritably glowing eyes. “It eats your tears, so why doesn’t it eat your screams? Numbheads. I mean look at this place! I dunno if it can even tell if that’s a yes sorta scream or a no sorta scream. That shit’s fucking important, by the way, you screeching cunt. Like, fuck it, not like it matters: you figured it out yet? What this place even is, huh? Right, AAAAAA, sniffle-sniffle-waaah-weeeh-waaah.” Obviously, Sweetie Belle was occupied by the bodily processes of pulsating all over in sensational agony, of sweating buckets, of feeling tickled, ravaged, and tickle-ravaged to the last inches of her sweat and synapse-soaked hairs, and of vibrating, wriggling and trembling like an ant trying to escape from a pitcher plant’s maw. The well-aimed magical mechanism that kept her consciousness aloft took care of making her pay attention. The closer she got to reverting to a miserable sack of orgasming flesh, the more acute it would make her think. This place? What about it? She tried to give it thought in the limp hours she had off, however much she could muster of it under the influence of the submissive daze put upon her and her Boyfriend’s persistent hushes, cuddles, massages and other such uncooperative niceties. It was different, yes. So what of it? “It’s not really a ‘room’. Kind of more of a ‘Breaking Network’. All of what we’ve got here runs cause we’ve got this spot over here. Y’know, it’s funny. Our Queen is so much better than what we had before, the previous generations should go blow themselves… But this right here? Something the stupid old bugfaced bimbo puked out, yeah,” Tough Break explained unhelpfully, pointing at the pulsating bulges - most of them green. “Think of yourself. You’re like, slightly better than normal. You can dig more things than other ponies do, that’s useful. You’reee… eh, kind of attractive I guess, if what the fucks at Acclimatization say is right. You got useful connections. You also got a very, bluh, what’s the word… malleable physiology, yeah. Your size fits most, or something. So you’re like juuust there enough for us to actually give a shit and notice you and go through all the fuckin’ trouble of giving you all this attention. So it’s something similar to this with our whole operation. Putting it into simple terms so your stupid head will get it, until we fix it with some smarts.” The mare didn’t like where that was going. Tough Break was rarely this talkative. Most days she would just chatter with other changelings via telepathy (that was what the nubs were for, according to Honey), be forced to take notes of how some of the bulging synapse shapes behaved at different times, or pull a drone away from work to spend some time using it as a punching and kicking bag. Sometimes multiple at once. The one other time she talked this much was when she went into detail about how Sweetie’s poor Honey himself handled being in this place. She hoped that that Bi— “Oh, yeah, wow, good thought, for once. Thanks, Drone 85, good thing somebody’s listening in on this garbage in your brick of a head. So, like, to illustrate my whole freaking point…” Tough Break clicked her chitinous fingers, and an image of a pillar similar to Sweetie’s arose in front of the tormented mare - ever so slightly blurry and muddy, but otherwise a three-dimensional representation. A slightly tubby, horribly ragged, demented-looking stallion, who, instead of a straitjacket, had a neck and back harness feed life into him as his stretched out body was being ravaged. Otherwise, completely naked. The unicorn’s eyes began to really test the limits of the jacket’s refueling ability, and her horn sent another orgasmic punishment shock down her suffering body. “...there you go. That ain’t your vein. This’d beee… chamber five, right below us. Cause the old bitch-queen had the technology, but we made it fuckin’ work! She had the right idea… Break you down to your base loves and desires, like you get any more basic… And just keep you suspended here forever, feeding into our hive pool. Of course, she was fuckin’ stupid and only made a few veins. About, uh… eleven.” Honey Pot and Sweetie Belle’s eyes locked together, to no effect. This must have happened months ago. As if the revelations chewed up and force-fed into her brain weren’t bad enough. Now she got to see what he was like until they found him his purpose as a handler. He was doing as well as she was doing. Or, rather, as well as she would be doing in a bit: the terrifying claw-like appendages hugging, scratching along his body hadn’t showed up for her yet. She was intimately familiar with those constructs herself, remotely controlled limbs, created out of liquified desperation and suffering, the merest touch of which felt even more real than the horribly lifelike sensations forced upon her at the current moment. They were a profound mixture of green and amber, much like the picture in front of her… the mixing of colors made sense now. “She probably wanted to stick the Princesses in there, and the unicorn stud as well, and his sister’s friends I guess. After that, every other pony’d be up for misuse. See, narrow thinking. Didn’t want to bother with making shit any better, she stopped at ‘good enough’. That’s not us. The Breaking Network has hundreds of freakin’ veins! We stick the ponies that aren’t good enough to be used anywhere else in here. Four hours of break a day and they’re fine. We have so much excess energy, our lot will live a billion years off of you blockheads alone! She had the right ideas, but she was stupid, narrow, dumb, and didn’t know what to do with them. We take it and make it better. You fuckin’ get me?” By herself, she sure didn’t, but the influence of this place mercilessly shoved the realizations down her throat. Even as her body said hello to the orgasmic-cringe-inducing hug of the crawly, metamorphous appendages, conclusions were sped along in her mind. Even as Sweetie came close to unhinging her lower jaw, forced into a horrible scream as the limbs really took hold on all the important parts: the armpits, the breasts, the thighs, the genitals, the back, and, with entirely too much attention, the feet, one small claw wrapping around each toe; every single one of these oozed and exerted concentrated punishment, something beyond the realm of ‘torturous tickling’, ‘suffersome sensations’ and ‘omnipresent overdrive’, each touch of a desperation-forged pincer or a pleasure-borne suction pad striking an eldritch mixture of feelings tuned specifically for each of her sensitive parts to assault her with forced pleasurement. Even if she had done so, the pain would have been negligible, an insignificant backdrop to all else her body was going through - and the damage would be fixed almost before it would be inflicted… None of this stopped her from thinking, comprehending. Spoon-fed such teasing information, the kind she would so desperately want to release elsewhere, but never would, thus making submission all the more appetizing. What these changelings were planning was very serious. The old ones were, well… evidently not anywhere near as serious, judging by the sound defeat delivered onto them all those years ago. What were they planning? They talked of taking over the world as if it was below them. This power… all this torture. A whole planet of nothing but synaptic aberrations feasting on the raw, steaming lust being forced out of their food-slaves, and they spat on it. Tough Break certainly did, for one. Her maddeningly irritating habit of covering all near her in hissy spittle had to have widened the green-and-amber pillar of torment by about an entire inch in radius. “We’ll make you get it, dummy. The hell sorta good are you to us if you don’t understand what you’re doing here? It’s do or die, Sweetie Dumb-bell, you gotta prove to us that we need your… puh-‘personality’. Collaborators gotta know what they’re doing. Honeybums can write you a fuckin’ essay on any topic if you get him up in the middle of the night. I know, I’ve been there, done that,” the grinning chitinous Bitch-whore-slut-jerk drew out with a teasing, slurping hiss, her disgusting, glowing amber tongue poking out as she spoke. The fire of pointless infuriation burned within Sweetie’s core, and its hot embers did a very good job of both bolstering her thinking, and heating up her orgasms. She was at her tenth. “You want me to shut up, yeeeah? You wanna just hang here and get groped and teased and cum a thousand billion times and shit? Well give us a REASON. The fuck do you think I’m wasting my time with you for? Every day? Six hours a fucking go? Y’see, the blurry dumbifier we put on you when you’re outta here, you’re not gonna be much use when you’re out there in the field. And we need you out there in the fuckin’ field, the Queen wants you, anyway. Your energy output shits and whistles, we can force them into anyone now, we got the numbers. Sooo, here’s the million years in endless torture hell question, little missy…” It must have been about an hour since the ordeal began. The appendages have gone into their prime. They browsed her body, having shaped themselves accordingly, to fit into the tight passages the straitjacket left for them. It was all tight leather - if it was leather at all - but its material allowed them to be felt as if there was naught but thin air to protect the mare, defenseless enough as she was. The poor stallion projected in front of her suffered an arguably worse fate, devoured almost entirely by a bulging, beehive-like cocoon, which left only the tip of his snout and a different tip entirely, to be exposed to the world. The rest of his body’s torment could only be gauged by the intense glowing and the surprisingly noticeable attempts at thrashing on his part. She had already learned not to put much effort into thrashing. There was a lot of subtle learning going on in her head. Now it had to include this vile information as well. “...do you get any of this? I am clearing your stupid head as MUCH as I can. Don’t you fuckin’ fail me, I want Handler of the Cycle.” Not unexpectedly, all the mare’s body allowed her to do was cry and scream and weep and wheeze and moan and squeal and chirp and gasp and then moan some more. Originally claw-like tendrilous formations, they were now a variety of shapes, each occupying its own territory, spreading downwards into other formations like parts of a spider’s web. Incredibly narrow, buzzy strands sucked up between her ribs and her bound up arms, into the underarms. Made of the stuff of raw sex and desperation, they transferred not only an insufferable, fuzzy, pokey, invasive scratch with each subtle movement, but also imbued the slightest swing with a wave of alarm going through the overworked body. “Come on. I don’t want to have to make a new personality for you! I’ll make Honey do it, and he’ll make you some quirky goody-two-shoes who’ll not even catch us any good prey without courting it for a fuckin’ month.” Tough Break tapped her half-materialized steel-heeled boot on the cave floor. “Fuck! Should have re-written him.” An amber star-studded belt of inconsistently bumpy, bubbling, orange-red substance covered up her abdomen, with a singular outstretching suction almost hooking up to her navel. The mare’s soft, sensitive tummy, subjected to a sea of padded pokings, made beyond insufferable by the raw intensity that the lust-borne synaptic texture of the belt brought with it - and the single rotating string that cast its probing lance into the navel. Not bothering to manifest beyond the inch needed to affect her borderline-submerged back, rotating pads springing from the liquid energy pillar took up very specific spots on her back, glowing green or amber at random. The elusive, borderline unscannable locations on the pony’s back that could cause them to screech in hilarity or moan in pleasure or fall limp in relaxation, all discovered and serviced persistently. “Do it. Don’t you fucking fail me, you know what happens if you do. You and your shitty boyfriend, you’ll LIVE here. We’ll hook you up together, and this’ll get twice as bad. Two mumble-fucks, never apart. Come on! Think something, you dummy!” In the meantime on the plane of things that worried Sweetie Belle, there was no need for the back-abuse pads to stand out, however - the changeling energies had formed a vest to cover her back and front, slipping it over her chest and back despite the unbreakeable gesture of crossed arms. Her breasts, subjected to a tantalizing, electric massage, borderline groped, nearly giving out milk on instinct; the pads on her back, fitting perfectly into prepared holes, their rotation causing the amber vest to light up with a green web, covering the entire area with a travelling, stimulating tingle. A scarf-like holey substance glowed around her neck, causing the mare’s head to attempt shaking rabidly, to no avail. A consistent, unchaseable, untraceable tickly, teasing feeling, a fingerpad ran along her neck, a fluffy touch on the underside of her chin, tingly pokes everywhere. “Our cause! You fuckin’ want in or what? You behave well. You do what you’re told. You find good ponies, brickheads like you. You get them over here.” Tough Break spoke slowly, condescendingly, drawing out syllables, as if talking to a small child. “Because we don’t want nobodies. Even you’re not a fuckin’ nobody! Want good ones! You find good ones. We kept you near ponies so much, you WILL be able to find them for us. Special ones. You’ll be like Honey. You freaking get that?” Her thighs, encased in what could pass for fashionable arcane shorts - one legging amber, the other green, the centers of their glows being her inner thighs. The subtleties of the ways of changelings old and new were palpable, one legging being more overall torturously scratchy and probey while the other dug in deep and forever, both making perfect use of her envy-worthy legs, which only got softer and better shaped with time spent there. Her feet could as well have had shoes custom-made from this stuff of nightmares, a pair of leathery high heels in resemblance. The thick sole and long heel established connection with the pool at the bottom of the pillar, allowing for the stuff of nightmares to course through it as if through water pipes - making perfect contact with her smoothened up, highly sensitive, and expectedly on-edge soles, which could be forgiven for their status, as their owner was perfectly sure that they were being abused in a myriad ways all at once, which held very true for her nervous perception. “Come ooon! Drone 69 is gonna explode if he clears your thinkbrain up any freaking harder. Do it, you dumb bitch!” The changeling had switched into a tirade, its voice no longer even appearing rough and raspy, almost unfeminine - it changed completely to its changeling vocalization, speaking in a guttural, clacking, palatalized, insectoid, noisy manner. The insufferable, shlicking clicks echoed through Sweetie’s mind, firing up another orgasm to shoot down her loins, powered by the perverted enjoyment that the unbearable changeling brought her. “This is the last day we’re keeping you here for evaluation! Fucking fuck, every converted subject goes through this! The final allocation! Holy shit, just get it already, get-it-get-it-get-it, I am NOT going to be bottom of the list another year! You hear me, Slutty Bordelle?!” She certainly did. Worse yet, much worse - the mindboggled unicorn comprehended it, and gave it thought. What else was there to give it to? The torture chased her out there, forced her to think, since as long as there was this to focus on, it was just a tiny bit less horrible to be where she was. Although, no, it wasn’t. Despite the peculiarity of the situation, Sweetie was quite definitely objective in her thoughts on the matter. A simple choice. Give up, and maintain a sense of decency, but be relegated to… this, forever more, a simple creature of little more than sexual input and energetic output. Give in, and sell out to the terrible conspiracy set to do horrendous things to other ponies, and be what she felt obliged to be repulsed at: a betrayer of her own values, an abuser of the people, a part of a malicious system. Separated from the addling influence of the mind-haze of the past days’ resting hours, and locked away from the thoughts of her origin, the young mare was left with the necessary basics to guide her along. The context, the torture, and the raw elements of her innate personality. “This will feel like spring break after what I’ll do to you if you stay mum. You think this is bad, huh, yeah, you do, huuuh? Pony doesn’t liiike, pony can’t taaake? Pony fucking CAN. But if you keep this shit up, I’m gonna put you and that butthead tub of blubber through alicorn-tier shit.” Tough Break seethed, her head-nubs conjuring up another lightning and unloading it into the thing on the unicorn’s horn. Another searing hot orgasm followed, and yet the heaviness of her thoughts was such that she was only so deterred. “After today, we’ll have what we need to make a body copy of you, anyway - and then we’ll figure it out whose brain to stick in there.You can’t die anyway. And if you’re not gonna work with us? We got enough out of you. May as well drive you fucking crazy. Deeeal?” There were five hours to go as the changeling continued her tirade. Sweetie Belle finally formulated her answer when three and a half remained. Her battered mind, which would easily have been shattered if not for the artificial support it had been given, reeled and weeped at what went on within it. She almost welcomed the many slaps she received on her cheeks and buttocks, as at least those didn’t come packed with all the things she had been put through. There was no revulsion to it… simply a mental exhaustion. This was her choice. To give in. Sweetie was too young to be abandoned for the chitinous lookalike that was being brewed in her likeness within her chambers. This turn her life had taken was certainly textbook tragedy, more or less. But she couldn’t let herself be drowned in oblivion. The oblivion of infinite pleasure that it was to her dual fetishistic core, the mare was too young to abandon other things than receiving pleasure. The young unicorn was meant for more, for indeed she was still young. There were great things she could do. And this certainly was a great - grand - scheme she had now become fully involved in. Through much manipulation or less… she had. I am looking very forward to tomorrow. The onset of energy that was promised… After multiple climaxes I had through dear Honey’s help, I can feel it dawning on me. Already the haze was lifting as I described today’s progress. This can be nothing but a good thing. More proof that I have made the right choice during the session. Much love, XOXO Sweetie Belle HonorsMarch 21st Hi there, Things are just about wrapping up. Woo! Yep, I can’t not be excited. Gonna get the bad stuff out of the way first before I get carried away. The changing station, in all its slimy, glowing glory. It works, don’t be worried about that. As for it lighting up the bedroom at night, I’ve appropriated Honey’s chest as my night mask, so we’re fine there. But I’m not sure if whoever gives me the appearance guidelines has ever actually seen a pony? I’m exaggerating. Really, though. I’m salvaging this to the best of my ability, but what you’re forcing me to do is killing me. This belt and these heels... And you insist on this exact vest… And no hat to go with any of this? I have to ask for ~~more freed~~ this to loosen up. Come on, ~~I can’t even ex~~ you do know that I know a mare who is an expert in this stuff. I’m not as good, but no rookie either. Seriously, if you got me over here just cause I know that mare and you want to meet her, you don’t need to bother redesigning my visage very much. I can walk up to her with what you’ve got on me right now, and she’d faint. There, got her. I just can’t guarantee that she won’t actually die after seeing this ‘fashion’. Or try to kill you, that’s also possible. Basically: loosen the reins, please, or I’m gonna go out and net nobody looking like a dress up doll. I’ve attached a few sketches, I’m pretty sure they beat what you got in mind. Moving on before I dig myself a grave. They say time flies, but I’ve basically lived a bit of a whole life over here. If you could do that sorta stuff over a month and a half all the time, I don’t even ~~kno~~ whatever, for Drone 44 or 59 or whoever reads my stuff: status_acceptable_subject_content_slight_excitement_detected_bleep_bloop. You guys make me miss Tough Break. Okay, not really. Well, you get what I mean. Honey says I’m a prodigy and a rising star and yada-yada-yada. Roses in bed, dinner when I’m back from work, barefoot in the kitchen, evening footrubs, everything, pretty sure he thinks he’s my wife now. And it’s nice to be appreciated, all things considered. After today, though, I think I can finally almost really appreciate myself. Clunky way to say it, but you know what I mean. Ask Honey if you don’t, he says all of us went through this phase as well. Pretty sure I’m taping that week of March closed, sorry Diary, that stuff’s just not what I want to think about anymore. To make it obvious to you silly bloopers, last four days: like, that whole week: no like. That sucked. I mean, I’m okay with lots of vocal practice, training my abs and getting a new outfit (even if you’re making it suck, it actually looks kinda nice now that it’s fully formed and not fucking with me anymore!), but I don’t like having a beehive for a head. Well, having offended Honey Pot in the most horrible of ways, I guess I can mark down my dastardly deeds for today and hope that you won’t lock up if I miswrite something. Blame your superiors, cause it’s them who still won’t free up my old memories from that dumb orgasm trigger. It’s not like I’m ever in need anymore with this stallion waiting for me at home, and you know I know how to bypass it by now. There I go, rambled, classic me. Let’s get to the meat of it then, shall we, Diary & Drones Inc.? So the first thing to brighten the day was finally getting some action done, and on who! I know theory’s important, but I’m a smart girl and I’d have figured seduction myself. This, though… … Sweetie Belle passed slowly through the invisible barrier separating the chamber from the rest of the facility. The mare balanced skilfully on her high heels and adjusted well to the weight she’d added to her chest - plowing through the thick synaptic barrier was still an unpleasant, sloggy experience. She grunted, taking extreme effort not to be visibly frustrated with how janky the system was. It seemed highly implausible to her that segregating the augmented realities they created in these chambers from the rest of this place could only be done in such an inconvenient manner. Alas, at her current rank, all she could do was huff and shrug. After about three seconds of trying to appear graceful and succeeding, she was finally in the fresh new world the changelings had concocted for the victims. “Whoo.... Jeez. Imaginative as always,” the unicorn mumbled to herself, straightening out her vest and fixing up the small diamond earrings that were yet to adjust to normal gravity. “Never noticed how bad the air conditioning was when I was in you guys’ place… Hey, what?” Sweetie crossed her arms and leaned against a stone wall of what was probably supposed to be a dungeon, staring at a row of mares that were themselves staring at her. Or, well, only two of them were - Princess Luna’s eyes went from surprised to glaring, Sonata’s (whose name the unicorn had to memorize once again) being generally blinky and in a perpetual state of slight confusion. Pinkie Pie was, as always, an outlier, as her eyes were blindfolded. Really, most of her head was completely obscured by a muzzle and blindfold harness, two soft bibs poking out of her ears to add to the picture. The other two were only gagged, straps criss-crossing their snouts, and, in the alicorn’s case, being assisted by a set of muzzle binds holding her jaws together. The dressed-up, makeupped, jewelry-equipped unicorn shrugged and smiled slyly. “What’s the big deal? You didn’t look this pissed since that one time when…” Sweetie Belle was interrupted by the combined gagged mumbling of at least two voices. One was Pinkie, who seemingly somehow learned of her presence in the room, and the other was Sonata, whom she could identify by the odd, slightly uneasy echo that her whining had. Princess Luna was just puffing her nostrils and growling silently. “Girls! What’s gotten into you?” That particular phrase got the alicorn to give the restraints a test. The three mares were restrained in a similar fashion - sat in heavily padded, strap-laden chairs, entirely overdesigned and excessively intimidating-looking for objects that were conjured up for this specific session, wherein one pony was already blindfolded, for crying out loud. Their legs were bound down with belts, and their feet were restrained by heavy duty stocks with one hundred percent decorative, amusingly overdesigned locks hanging off the sides. Each mare’s arms were stretched out and restrained just as heavily as the legs - sort of a Y-shape. Luna was once again a special case, her belts being far thicker and each ending in yet another padlock. Her abdomen wasn’t even held by leather - it was several padded metal rings that clasped around her chest, melding into the seat. Her horn received just as much attention, being covered in perhaps too much black chitin, even for that mare’s potency. Definitely a bit of overdoing on the design, especially the purely decorative padlock hanging off the side. Good thing this was all easily dissolvable by an experienced handler, or this’d actually be impossible to get out of. So however admirable her attempts were, they were mostly wasted strength and drained drones. She was pretty mad. “Hey, I’ve been gone, like, a while, and I come back to this sorta stuff? Jeesh, I remember you being friendlier than that! What’s your proooblem?” she inquired, while exploring the tool cabinet - the only other item of furniture in the cobbled cell aside from the seats. The unicorn grimaced slightly, twirling a bit of lavasciously scented mane. Not only did she have to remember the right code for the right stuff to be summoned, but they didn’t even put a chair for her in there. And there were no manifestation codes for chairs! “Fine, I know you’re gagged. What am I gonna do about it? Like, that’s not even really a question, I’m pretty much in the moral right over here. This isn’t… reeeally how friends greet each other after they haven’t met for a while. I haven’t even done anything to you!” Sweetie Belle fist-bumped in the air, while behind her a mixture of confused mumbling, loud puffing and echoey whining played its fairly dissonant music. Bad tunes, iffy design, lame thematic, lazy management - all not enough to screw up her memory. She was never this good with memorizing numbers in high school, but here she was. A long series of highly situation-dependent boops against different parts of a sorta disgusting amber formation that composed most of the tool cabinet, and she had what she needed to start with. When taking your first test for being an independent field agent, whose duties were to seduce, corrupt, convert and try out… Well, it sure was a good idea to not screw up getting the tools of the trade! The next good idea was to prove herself when it came to the raw physical part of this peculiar job. “We were girl-friends and stuff. Didn’t we have a good time? Escape plans, all that jaaazzz…” the ravishing mare swirled herself around, jinglies on her decorative belt chiming as she did so, and a slightly used-looking box in one of her hands. “And then I’m gone, and now I’m back, and look-at-me! Well you girls are just jealous. Lemme say it again - I haven’t done anything to you…” She lowered her eyes and poked at around the knees of her new jeans to pragmatically see if they were even gonna let her kneel, let alone squat. The mare’s sigh, which drew out the dramatic pause, was made even more genuine, because it was gonna be kneeling for her. “...yet.” Despite the veritable amount of cheese she detected in the way it came out, her acting talent appeared to be convincing enough. Her three ponymarefriends went rather still and quiet for a few seconds, two and a half pairs of eyes piercing through her (Pinkie’s were pretty palpable despite the blindfold). Success! She was an effectual mare. Now it was time to be effective, and she had three very different ponies to screw with horribly. That was going to take all the skill she had. Some of it what she was taught in the preliminary stages of her agency, the past few days… but most of it, stuff she knew intimiately well through her own skin. And thanks to the industrious, if occasionally mismanaged, changelings, Sweetie Belle knew quite a lot about suffering under torturously tickly touches. And brushes. And what have you. She could really use a chair, however, but alas, for all the vast and complex magickry the changelings hooked up in these chambers, there was no way to make one. Not conventionally. Fortunately, Sweetie was already nodding in grim determination. A spark off her horn and a very specific press of magical energy against the bulbous receiver in the tool cabinet, and a glowing amber shape began to manifest in the room. The mare checked its manifestation progress now and again while examining the contents of the box and making sure to show them off to the ponies at her disposal. They were all intimately familiar with all of these: things with spiky ends, things with brushy ends, things with pokey ends, things with hot ends, things with cold ends, things that squirted fun liquids… Yeah, it was fairly textbook, and fortunately fit inside the magically extended space within the box. What was less conventional was the way their new tormentor was going about behaving herself with them, of course. She sighed and mock-giggled, shrugging to the three captives, when the object she’d summoned materialized. It wasn’t really an object, though. “You wouldn’t believe this stuff. I can’t even get a chair! So, yeah, I’m not gonna sit on my knees. These jeans will actually make me bleed if I do that, I think. And besides… Let’s admit it, girls,” Sweetie Belle said, rolling her eyes and clicking her fingers, calling the drowsy changeling drone over and clicking her fingers, pointing to the ground. The autonomous semi-sentient creature actually sighed and covered its face up with a palm before getting on all fours and going blurry for a moment, shape shifting slightly to be a more convenient seat. The unicorn took her living chair, not without some grunting at the sub-optimal redesign they issued onto her, some inner vows of adjusting a lot of the sizing, and some gleeful recognition of the looks on the other mares’ faces. The drone was rather comfortable, too, now that it had made sure its back was devoid of those insectoid wings and holey bumps. “It’s not me who should be kneeling in front of anyone in this room. Just saying the truth as it is, girls… Saying the truth as it is.” To a wide variety of muffled sounds, she grinned and drummed her fingers on her seat. “Alright, so, who do I start with… And who do I save for last… and what do I… hmm.” The unicorn’s stark green eyes pierced through each mare at her disposal. No doubts about it - they were all very, very appealing. Sonata didn’t look that bad at all in her underwear, though it did appear very curious that the pendant on her neck was allowed to remain - in fact, it barely even moved as she thrashed, giggling and humming with more and more confusion. Princess Luna need not even be described, there was a purely aesthetic draw to her harshly bound up dark blue shape, ruffled coat and pain stricken eyes - the fact Sweetie was quite intimately familiar with their unifying mental quirk simply made it better, as it opened the floodgates wide on the possibilities that she’d never have otherwise had. Pinkie Pie made her get wet just by the delectable contrast of bubbly pink fuzz and flesh on hard, bolted, steel-encrusted, invasive binds, gag, muffs and blinders, being in fact very fitting, to the point of Sweetie’s personal, borderline professional, rather refined if she said so herself as of late opinion, being that her setup was absolutely perfect - it’d look ridiculous in most cases, being way too harsh and severe, but this being Pinkie simply made the overexaggerated restraints work when they may not necessarily otherwise would have. And then there were the mares themselves… She knew them fairly well. The relevant parts, of course, not so much personally, at least currently she’d expelled the unimportant details out of her mind for professionalism’s sake. Why, they were all good to start with. “Well, okay, I won’t be that mean, I gueeesss I’ll keep you informed on what I’m thinking. Hey, Sonata, yeah, you, you there, hi. You go first! And I’ll figure out what to do when I’m done with you. Luna, you second, yes, you, hey, don’t be angry, you can’t always be first. Hey!” The unicorn grinned, eyes slightly widening, when the dark blue mare once again tested the strength of her bondage in an impressive display of futility. “Damn. You’d think you’d have learned that, like, one thousand years ago. Don’t be offended, it’s been long enough, jeesh… And Pinkie Pie can wait her turn. She can’t hear us, anyway. You can gossip about her all you want, I know I’ve been doing that when alone with my Honey~” The young mare spun on her seat gracefully, arching her back and taking in a deep breath of the confusing scents found within this dungeon. Upon having faced her victims once more, she cracked her fingers, which helped hide the severe rump burn the show-off spin gave her. These changelings seriously needed fashion lessons… But, one thing at a time. For the time being, it was her dealing with lessons. Or rather, a test. She knew she’d pass, but there was no reason to go easy on the tools of the trade, which, for the perpetually giddy-confused-looking bluish oddball, were a pair of objects distantly resembling jump ropes. A complete obscurity to any uninitiated plebian, but a very scary tool for anyone who knew. Especially on oneself - and all of them did! Even Luna paid a blink to it, huffing and puffing. “Whatcha ogling me for?” Sweetie asked the aquatic blue mare in front of her, who did indeed ogle her with her perpetually quizzed eyes. She had, however, a good reason to be staring at her, since these ‘jump ropes’ were intimately familiar to her, her toes in particular. “Yeah, that’s me! Took you long enough. And since it is me…” Sonata switched from pitchy mumbling into hiccuping giggles and sped-up babbling - the rope began to be woven between her toes. These ropes were short, just enough to fit four toe spaces and then hang off comfortably. Even at distant glance, the texture that was being put between those toes justified the reaction fully - it seemed immensely fuzzy, almost resembling velcro. “...then you know that I know how bad these things are for you. Well, I didn’t write the rules of the game, so I guess that’s a very good thing to know! Let’s see.” The odd earthen mare’s left foot had been completely interwoven, and the redesigned, revamped, overall re-imagined unicorn took the two handles in her hands. After a second of re-examining, seeing if all the fuzzy rope got exactly where it needed to, she pulled it slowly, harshly, to the right. Immediately, the handles began to vibrate in her hands, that was how hard Sonata began to try and wriggle, which was admirable considering all the restraints. The usual noises began to erupt from her - with the persistent tinge of an echo, as always. Sweetie Belle pulled to the left, to increased result. Then again, to the right, which was when the first attempted howl was pulled out of her… It tended to take about five to get past cackles. Clearly, she was doing it right, and the room was filled with the overwhelming noise of a gagged, oddball mare being driven to howling, in this strange studio-filtered tone that she had at such times. “Yeah, see, paying attention got me somewhere! For once… You know, you’re weird… ah, gimme a sec—” the unicorn stopped, grabbing her horn with her fingers and lighting it up, focusing on the fuzz-rope that had already been established - after a few seconds of grunting, it began to saw back and forth on its own, seeing a few bright, fat green sparkles fly off her horn. “Hey there we go, I can do it even when I’m horny! I don’t get why— Where was I? Ah, right, you’re weird. I think we shoulda talked more before my promotion,” Sweetie continued on with her talk while setting up the right foot as well, now slightly slower, stopping for a moment to look at the mare’s feet in a different light. Decent, not bad, perhaps a bit too slender, long toes, slightly wider hollows than in most, very shiny despite not sweating an awful lot. “It’s not the room that does this with your voice, huh? And this thing they keep around your neck… Sheesh, I’m not up to speed even on my homegirls. That’s just…” She paused, having completed the installation of the second torture implement, and examined it. “...okay, good! But, I mean, that’s just not right. Like, what if it’s not me who’s special here, what if it’s you? I’ll ask for info on you, since you can’t really talk to me, I guess.” The tail end of her rambling was covered up by a symphony of gargled, muffled, bubbling, slightly nasal screaming, which was so continuous one wondered if Sonata even needed to breathe. Sweetie herself was impressed - being a singer, she didn’t have bad lungs either, but this was pretty good. She never noticed it before. Some things couldn’t stay unnoticed forever, though. One of them was the hurricane of daggers being shot at her by the nocturnal alicorn by Sonata’s side, who was consistently huffing, puffing, and overall looking more than a little displeased. The young mare sighed and rolled her eyes in response to a particularly powerful tug on Luna’s restraints. She tilted her head at the offended party, her hands steadily fuzz-sawing the toe hollows of the situation-defyingly vocal earth mare. “Would you stop doing that? No, really. I don’t get your problem! Be happy for me or something! I’m gonna be out in the field in a few days, doing stuff, not being here and everything. I was pretty sure you were compassionate.” Luna froze in a glare, but her lack of activity was more than compensated for by Sonata, whose eyes were trying to roll back into her head. It was amusing how hard some of them could overreact. Sonata was silly, Pinkie was laughy, Sweetie herself was very prone to creaming herself more than was ever called for… Luna was always so bitey. It would be a lie to say that that wasn’t endearing. “I get it, you’re… moralistic and stuff… and loyalty’s a thing… But jeesh, why’d you need to be so grumpy? Is that your thing? Wait, right, it is. Heh, I completely forgot, I’m dumb.” Sweetie Belle smiled smugly, shaking her head. Time passed rather well in pony-torturing and in conversation both, so it was also a good moment to ramp it up for Sonata before continuing the debate. The mare clicked the subtle buttons on the handles of her fuzz-rope, which immediately caused an almost Luna-tier thrash from the earth pony. The texture between the sensitive toe hollows was bad enough, it starting to hum, vibrate, and give off ever so subtle arcane electricity charges - even badder. Considering that Sweetie had both quality and quantity to worry about, she decided that that was enough of the former for Sonata, clicking the fingers on the other foot as well, automatizing the rope on the one she departed, and giving the soles a departing scrabble-scratch of about a minute’s worth. Surprisingly slick and slidey for not even having been enveloped in anything. Satisfying. And convenient, since, well, that sort of stuff was mostly for the ones who did actually necessitate it, and beyond. The unicorn cracked her fingers and arched her back, kicking her seat to move her to Luna’s part of the joint chair. “You know what, it’s a shame. You’re nice, it’d suck without you. Buuut I don’t think they’re gonna let you out if you keep acting like that. Being grumpy is really cute, don’t get me wrong,” she narrated to the still-flabbergasted Princess, looking in the extended space box for the things to be put to use. Thus far, she’d pulled out two numbered vials, and seemed to be trying to heave out something sizeable. “Buuut… It’s been, what… about fifteen minutes since I’ve come back here? You’re still peeved. Damn! You need to work on those anger issues, Princess. I mean, you’d know!” Sweetie braced for another heavy thrash, but none came. Luna froze for a moment and then exhaled loudly through her nose. Right afterward, so did the mare in front of her, both of whose hands were elbow-deep in the small box by then - she finally got what she needed. Two metal constructions, most of which were a series of bristly-sharp horizontal blocks, just tall enough to fit an average alicorn’s sizeable sole. Sweetie stung her tongue out, forcing out a spark of magic in effort, and navigated it to the transparent magic recycler on the side of one of the items - for half a second, each of the bristly, brushy blocks came to life, each threatening to brush at a different frequency, and boasting an ever so slightly different set of bristles. The mare gave herself an ‘OK’ sign and took one of the constructions to Luna’s left foot, attaching the metal frame to the stocks. The alicorn remained surprisingly quiet through all this, looking down, somewhere. “Hey, why’re— Great, now you’re overdoing it.” The mare puffed through squeezed lips, picking up one of the two bottles, checking its number, and pouring a generous helping of the liquid down the special hole in the bristle box. Typically, amplifier oils such as these would be meticulously rubbed in over the course of minutes, but it seemed the more efficient route to let it be spread as it went along. Teasing and massaging didn’t seem to… The unicorn stopped, scratching behind her own ear. “Aaah, wait. Too soon, I guess… Well, me and my words, I’m a blabbermouth. Yeah, okay, no, we can’t have you sad either. Someone from Breaking, maybe, but, nooonono, I’m not gonna sink myself just because I hurt your feelings. Alright, here you gooo…” The mare doused her own hands in a helping of the same oil and exerted, not without some effort, a good amount of raw magical energy to activate the device she’d already installed and keep it working for a good five-ten minutes. “Gonna MAKE you laugh.” As the brushing bristles got to their work, so did Sweetie’s hands. Her soft, pampered fingers sunk into the sizeable foot, spreading the amplifier all over it. It was a rather basic oil, it increased nervous response to stimulation, very blunt, but also very effective for particuarly sturdy characters. It was a good thing Sweetie’s hands never really felt it before, because its effect got heavier and heavier with each application - were it as bad for her palms as it was for Luna’s soles, it’d tickle her to rub her hands, and clapping would probably hurt. As a matter of fact, they merely made the experience more pleasant, as she had no trouble admitting that the Princess’ feet were incredibly admirable from even a simple aesthetic point of view, let alone fetishistic. Groping and touching feet that were blessed with near ideal proportions, ravishing curves, unblemished skin, pulpy textures, shapely toes, and a lot of it too boot thanks to size that would humble a lot of males… There was absolutely no point in pretending she wasn’t veeery pleased with it, and the intensified sensations only helped the fact. She stroked, rubbed, and spread an additional two layers of that particular lotion just to extend the procedure. Time was more or less of the essence, but it wasn’t 100% vital, and she’d only quit early to save her own hide big time. That was only half the reason she had to seriously suppress an orgasm, however. The other half was 15% comprised of the fact that Sonata’s torture hadn’t gotten any easier on her, that mare had terrible difficulty adjusting and desensitizing. 35% more were, however, what the bristly device did to Luna. It was an ingeniously simple brushing machine. A set of nice, fine bristles for the balls of the feet, pointy scrabby bristles for the upper arch and middle, stringy strands for the downdrop, and heavy duty eradicator bristles for the heel - each moving left and right at their own accord, at their own speed, their own pressure, their own rhythm. There were fine settings to be chosen, but frankly, it only made so much difference. Sweetie Belle knew quite, quite terribly well that it was already bad enough, and finding Luna’s setup in the settings would take way too much time. Besides, it very, VERY clearly did its job quite well. It didn’t leave much of the foot out there for observation, but the young mare knew the device quite well herself. Luna’s reaction was enough in and of itself. Despite her alicorn stature and resilience, the Princess of the Night has a very appealing habit of hiccuping her way through roaring cackles - which was made all the more conufzzled-sounding thanks to the heavy gag in her mouth. The mare threw her head around and shut her eyes defiantly, arms clearly trying to shake in place, coming ever so close to moving the ‘antlers’ of the Y-shape her upper body was kept in. The sensitivity of her toes, rubbed and scrubbed in with lotions over a long period of time, had already turned her to secreting tiny beads of sweat here and there, her coat going just a bit frazzled. Within just a few minutes, with only one of the automatic brushers having been installed, she was already outperforming Sonata’s slightly lackluster body reactions. The earth mare still held monopoly on being vocal, but Luna fully justified both the heavy restraints and the heavy attention the changelings had been giving her all this time. She WAS a receptive pony. Sweetie could feel some of the individual shakes, shudders, growls and giggles from when she, quite regularly, added some scrabbly, pokey tickles into her lotioning. In full honesty, the entirety of the second layer was applied mostly as an excuse to flex her fingers on a very succulent pair of vast, nearly unending feet, which she otherwise wouldn’t have a chance to, being on something of a timer for this test-run, and having to achieve as much output as she could. “There you go… Geez, I’d say I wonder how this feels,” Sweetie mulled, attaching the other apparatus to the foot she was finally done lotioning up. “Buuut I guess there’s nothing we don’t know between us girls. C’mon, you know that’s true,” she said, sparking life into the device, making the brushes within whir away at the prepared, presented, pre-teased sole. “You can’t tell me things are that different now! Well, okay, you can’t really speak. But really… You can’t be mad that I got a better deal than you did. I had to work really, really hard for it, by the way. I went through the Breaking Room for this. You sat here and did… stuff. I don’t wanna be mean, Luna, but this sort of attitude got you into trouble before. I read history too!” The young mare got off her seat, which opened up its eyes for a moment, simply to roll them. Sweetie Belle, however, rubbed her hands and stepped, cautiously, over the line of stocks, balancing on her high heels, worming her way to Luna’s side, sticking herself between the thrashing, hiccuping alicorn and the continuously mumbling, sensorily deprived pink earth mare. “Okay, fine, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Or… well, I did. But, you know, gotta get those juices rolling! You learn to do that sort of thing in this position… I’m a fast learner.” Sweetie took the Princess in a semblance of a hug, touching as much of her flesh as she could, what with the sturdy restraints all over her body. It was a bit of self-indulgence, as what other mare ever got to huggle a Princess. Especially when she was being extra-adorable in her suffering. It was quite a sight to see, one that her nethers approved of, too… Being sad, despondent, and simultaneously being tickled out of your mind, in a manner that clearly set off too many masochistic alarms to not trigger an overall positive response. She knew all about that, they all did. But actually pulling that on someone, and someone she knew somewhat well, unlike Sonata… Now that was good. Even if it wasn’t, the opportunity to jab your fingers into an alicorn’s sides and dig into her hips, to swirl your finely manicured index finger in her conveniently deep navel, to scrabble all over the deliciously exposed, smooth armpits. “Oooohhhh… mmmm. Nooo hard feelings… Just hate me a lot, please. It gets their devices going so hard~” Sweetie giggle-whispered into Luna’s folded ear, one of her hands taking a bit of time off sliding inside an armpit, and giving the immortal demigoddess a chin scratch. Life goals she never knew of were being accomplished - the job wasn’t that bad at all. “I know you’ll do that for me… I don’t wanna be an intern for too much longer.” The string of happenstance convenience continued, for the texture of the bondage furniture was dark enough that the serious leak in her nethers wasn’t that noticeable. Neither visually nor aromatically - the room was already filled with the scent of pure lusty mare, and slightly vanilla-ish lotion. She was more than sure that the number her tricks were pulling on her ponies was gonna overshadow the slight lack of control. They weren’t banned from orgasming freehand, but it was encouraged to restrain yourself, so that your mind was focused. Speaking of which… Sweetie did realize that she had another pony to set up for the extraction of her emotions. It was just way too curious to go through the other two first, and besides, she did employ a bit of strategic thinking at the start of it all. Pinkie Pie probably didn’t see or hear it coming when Sweetie’s oiled, flexed up fingers came scrabbling down her own upper body. Not a guarantee, for that pony operated in mysterious ways, but even the chance that she may have cooked up a degree of pressure within her was good enough. And it seemed she was better at anxiety cooking than food cooking, because the response from the jittery mare was so vibratious that it almost tickled Sweetie herself in return. On the first stroke against her taut, exposed armpits, the pink earthy began to vibrate furiously, like if she’d been charging up this entire time. The unicorn could almost feel the air disturbance in her mane! “Hahah, geez! I thought I was gonna be doing the surprising. Oh wow,” she commented, mostly to Luna and Sonata’s dismay, as her fingers danced all over the trembling field of ticklish pink jello. “She’s never been like this, has she, girls?” If there was any response, it wasn’t noticeable in the continuing cacophony of shaking metal, noisy breathing, muted echoey wailing and muffled hiccupy cackling. “I’m blazing a trail here! Damn, I’m, like, really jealous of your handler. Sheeesh, I don’t wanna stop.” The bit of coaching Tough Break and Honey Pot gave her before this, as well as her, by now, rather intimate association with sharp fingers on touchy places, made Sweetie Belle a fair amount more than an amateur at tickling someone sufferously with her bare hands. She knew to go for weak spots, which were easily guessable - or findable - and even knew to control herself so that her fingers didn’t get tired. That was the only technical challenge in front of her at the moment: not to lose her skill and not to descend into primal amateurism. A real prospect it was, though, because Pinkie was very addictive. “Aaah, and I wondered why everyone likes Pinkie Pie so much. Pinkie, you are li-hi-hiterally crack! I can’t get enough of you, and you’re gonna make me OD, and it’ll be all your fault!” the young mare proclaimed, grinning widely, a sinister streak slipping into the corners of her lips without much of her own notice. “Mmm, this is so good. I guess Mom was right, being an anorexic model isn’t good for you. Ohhh there’s so much to dig into! Aaah. I almost wanna fail now, so I can try with the three of you again and again!” She’d begun to actively rub cheeks with what could be accessed of Pinkie’s. For what it was worth, the young torturer appeared to be doing a rather good job, since the earthy at her tormenting hands was driven to the usual levels of wriggle attempts and prolonged high pitched muffled tirades. Considering how much of a maze that mare could sometimes be, that meant Sweetie Belle, in her first intern test run, has clearly shown some real capabilities. At least, she enjoyed believing that, though it did in fact seem very likely. However, there was productivity to be considered. “Girls, you owe me to tickle her when you have free time, you got no idea how much fun this is. I do not wanna stop. But I gotta work. Well, what do I dooo nooow?..” she asked herself teasingly, raising an eyebrow. At that moment, she was still unsure as to her plan. When her finger slipped into the luscious, fruitful, laughter-resource-ridden belly button, she knew it was probably not a terrible idea. “Oh, I am actually a genius. Hey, uh, drone! Seat! Yeah, you. Unseat yourself, I have an errand for you. Copy?” The drone fused itself back into a more pony-like form, stretching and frowning. It rolled its eyes again at her question, and clicked a response out in a distorted tone. Sweetie sighed out in relief, having understood the creature. Luna’s eyes clamped down in disappointed denial once more as she noticed that. “There you go, about time. Now let’s think, Pinkie…” she began to drag out her performance, simply to frustrate the other two ponies some more. Pinkie probably didn’t hear most of it, probably. “What did you haaate the most. I guess I can’t feed you veggies when you’ve got this gag on… Oh, right. Drone, seat, whoever. Take the box, find meee… eight combs. Fine tooth combs. Like, for hair. But for toes. Copy?” Her former seat blinked its head-nubs and stared at her with a glare that almost surpassed Luna’s best, but only for half a second. The changeling creature rifled, begrudgingly, through the box, and emerged with a series of grey and amber combs that looked dangerous even from a distance. Sweetie nodded, and nudged her head to the direction of Pinkie’s feet, not desiring to retract her hands from the pony’s supple body, as they were quite content playing around with the ribs. “Uhuh, slot’em between each toe. She got so screamy when there were only two of them, wow, I’m gonna bust her! Ah well, so it goes,” the mare concluded with mock carelessness, giving the animated pink pony’s neck a lick. Quite saccharine. “Yeah, there you go… Oh, what?” She frowned at another indecipherable vocalization. “Well, bend them or something, make them go all the way! They’re made out of your stuff, you’re the one to deal with this! Hut-hut. Yeah, like that!” Sweetie approved of the drone’s turning every comb into sort of a flexible arc, so that they would fit more comfortably - apparently, Pinkie’s toes were too close to the stocks themselves for the long combs to be slotted in properly. Now they could operate on a seesaw basis, similar to what Sonata was still suffering through, with no drop-off in sensitivity. “There you go. Well, go on! Make them go. Hey, what? You’re a tool too! Doesn’t say anywhere that you aren’t!” Another glare exchanged, and yet another course of Sweetie Belle’s manicured fingers over a trembling, blushy tummy, and the drone conceded to its position. The unicorn bit her lip, extracting a fat spark of magic out of her horn, and pass it over to the creature, which absorbed it, and did the manual part of making the combs saw through Pinkie’s dangerously sensitive hollows. Immediately, all movement and noise coming from the pink pony ceased. Sweetie was savvy enough to anticipate that - she knew what was coming. The newly baked torturer clung as hard as she could to the steaming pony’s sides, giving her neck a kiss. “MNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNYYYYYYYRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Pinkie Pie screamed first, for about ten whole seconds. Then she emitted another powerful wave of vibrations, actually managing to slightly loosen up a bolt or two that kept her bondage belts in place. But there was no point to any of it. The earthy’s habit of bottling up a lot of activity to be unleashed when things got extra bad never did anything good for her, if anything, it simply brought the unicorn in charge of her exploitation to the brink of another freehand orgasm. And Sweetie was having the time of her life, really. She’d only seen that mare brought to this point a few times, and nobody ever went easy on any of them! She must have been good. “Hahahah, woohoo! I think I get the changelings now, this is amazing! Girls, seriously, stop being grumpy, you gotta do this as well,” the unicorn declared gleefilly, resting against the free space between Luna and Pinkie, stretching out her legs to put her feet on top of the stocks, and leaving both her hands to lazily spider over both mares’ tummies and armpits. “I would sell my future career and stardom and stuff to get to do this. And I didn’t even have to do that! Woo, I had no idea torturing you guys was this good. Like, thanks. This is amaaaziiing!” The young mare shuddered a little as her second orgasm finally realized itself, slightly wetting up her clothes. Not a massive issue. Sonata was performing well, Luna was above average, Pinkie was far above average. Even if one tried to be skeptical, she was doing this! Of course, Sweetie Belle wasn’t dumb. This was immensely fun and addicting, but she certainly hadn’t abandoned rational thought. There was method to the madness, obviously… Ponies fueled the changelings best when they exhibited extreme emotions. Hence why masochists were so sought after. It was even better now, after they’ve implemented some improvements thanks to her. But that didn’t mean their tormentors, their handlers, their general staff could be lazy when unleashing Tartarus onto their captives. Sweetie’s goal was to take her former comrades in peril and manage, in one session, to provide at least as much energy output as the usual handlers tended to, be it Tough Break, Strawberry Whoever, or whatever fancy sort of name Luna’s handler had. Technically, this was difficult because Sweetie was obviously not a changeling, and didn’t feed off all of this - it was no secret the changelings themselves did that, nobody minded a tiny bit of energy going missing. Instead, she was a pony, and her feeding manifested in the form of distracting wetness and orgasms. Also, she had far less experience. It was that they must have been testing, at least mostly. It had to be her own skills and decisions that put her marefriends through the wringer. Using the drone? Just an example of how she knew a little bit better than to stick strictly to the rules and remain directly in the box; it was obvious they wouldn’t have chosen her for a potential handler without considering her original, artistic streak. Fortunately, all of this was a bit overblown in how much of a ‘test’ this would be. Apparently, some converts failed it - in fact, six out of ten did. Evidently, they weren’t attentive enough… Sweetie Belle was very attentive. She knew to notice the metaphorical fine print in the rules of how to torture. She knew to keep in mind her friends’ weaknesses and exploit them. She knew to act on initiative and frame her entire session around one simple thing - making them as mad as possible at her betrayal. She wasn’t oblivious. Of course they were mad, and she fuelled the fire wherever she could. That was simply how life worked, the young mare realized. It was a sneaking suspicion before, but now it was a definite rule. Some things you just did to get ahead, and it was best not to feel too bad about them. It’s not like these three were gonna die or anything, she even gave them advice on how to get out of their situation as energy batteries for the changeling hive. Really, this was not all that different to show business, and Sweetie had been preparing herself for that for a few years now. Quite clearly, healthy cynicism and a breadwinning attitude were closer to her personality than she once thought. Just a few months back she wondered if she’d survive in the corporate musical industry. If these sort of social machinations were for her. Empty worries, it turned out… It was all coming up her way. Who knows, maybe they’d even give her a boost in that singing career she’d always dreamed of! Changelings needed regular entertainment too, after all. In fact, that gave her another wonderful idea. “Hey, drone. I’m feeling really happy right now, so take it while you can - go nuts on the rest of the pink one’s feet. Do whatcha want, just don’t bite. She’s already doing quite well, so you’re free to have fun. I’m too lazy right now,” she said playfully, grinning to herself. “Though, in about…” Sweetie clicked her tongue, looking to the corner of the room, where the timer was located, invisible to the captives, of course. “...eleven minutes, lather her soles up with thunder oil, and give mine a massage instead.” She nodded, wriggling her feet in their decorated, slightly ridiculous, high heels. “Pretty sure I deserve it…” --- And there we have today. I dunno if I deserved Tough Break for my evening massage instead of Honey for how I acted during the session, but, whatever, he’s sucked me off twice now to compensate. What matters is that starting tomorrow, I’m moving up in the world! Gonna attach a sketch of the face and mane color I want prepared for me. Sad that I’m too recognizable as I am, but I get your worries. Try to do something among those lines, please, I’m sure whatever idea I get is gonna be better than what your designers put out. That’s the hard truth, guys. That’s all. Looking forward to field work. Honey is as well, he’s suggesting we double-date someone. Who knows! I’m full of opportunities and ready to conquer the world. Let me give you something good before it’s time for my nightly eat-out: you guys are better than show-biz. Talk about social networking… Anyway, that’s all. Expecting my changing station to be receiving updates soon. Don’t want to flub this because somebody has no sense of proportion or fashion direction. XOXO Sweetie Belle. Epilogue“So… I see,” the incumbent Princess of Magic mumbled, letting the neat leather-bound book drop down on her work desk. “This is… oh dear.” “I fucking know,” the azure pegasus on the sofa in front of her rasped in response, hugging herself and shaking. “Don’t ask me how I got it. Just… please, don’t ask me anything. Fucking mind-bleach me or something, please,” she descended into a tittery whine, sniffling and gulping down the last two words, covering her face up with a blanket. “I’m really sorry, Rainbow Dash. I’m really, really sorry about all of this…” Twilight Sparkle said quietly, burying her face in her hands, almost shrinking down in her royal garments. The guards in each corner of the room paid her a momentary glance, but she rose back up with a deep breath. “There’s nothing I can say that can make right what’s happened to you.” “Yeah, no, I just… I need some time… just me and a gallon of fucking bleach… Or erase my memory, I don’t know,” the pegasus spoke weakly, resting her head on the purple and gold cushion, hugging her sharply cubicled abdomen. “Was this useful at all? Like, maybe you can just… take what’s in here and just blast my brain with some shit to make me forget?” Princess Cadence, who had been on huggle-consoling duty of the single solitary changeling captivity escapee that Canterlot got to see so far, held the trembling pegasus closer in her sinkable, pink embrace. It would have been much more fitting if Twilight were to comfort poor Rainbow Dash, who somehow managed to make her way from, reportedly, halfway across the country, and even bring them a valuable piece of evidence. The Princess of Magic, however, was the main analyst on the case of the changeling uprising. Ever since Princess Luna herself had gone missing, there was little free time at her disposal, most of her efforts were aimed at directing the efforts of breaking apart the conspiracy. Now there was solid confirmation as to where Celestia’s sister had disappeared to, as well. The book was, indeed, a hefty piece of evidence, it confirmed some of the fringe conjecture that had been floating around within the Equestrian intelligence. It told a harrowing story, one that it would take some skill to deliver to Sweetie Belle’s elder sister Rarity without risking the latter potentially having a heart attack. Alas… “Rainbow… I guess I don’t have any words for this, no… I’m really sorry, but we’ll need to know how this happened. At least how you managed to escape. We need to know what chinks they’ve left in their armor! This is incredibly important. I’m very sorry to push this on you, Dashie, but, please…” Twilight clasped her hands, sparkling her widening eyes at the shaking pegasus, who tugged nervously at the edges of the palace pajamas they gave her to replace what remained of her clothes. The combined force of the hug and the eyes got the pale pony to calm down before she’d begun to rile up. “You know it’ll only weigh on your mind if we put this off. Just get this over with now, and then we’ll help you fix your life. Cadence can help! She’ll soothe your mind so it doesn’t hurt as much while you remember.” “Mhm,” the pink alicorn hummed comfortingly, nodding at her purple co-Princess. “She can start now… That’d be nice… I’m just… I’ve ran out of tears, you know? I can’t cry anymore. Holy shit, I’ve turned into such a rag, I can’t beli—” “Shhh. Shh-shh-shh. Calm down… it’s okay,” Cadence interrupted Dash, nuzzling her behind the ear, getting her lax and limp on her side again. “How… gnarly.” “To say the least… Okay. Here you go, Cadence.” Twilight Sparkle took a folder, getting up from her desk. The other alicorn took it, nodding in response. The purple one, in turn, moved over to the two of them on the couch, nuzzling her traumatized friend. “I’ve made sure to compile the questions so there aren’t too many of them and so that it doesn’t hurt you too much. You’ll be helping us a lot. You’re a hero, Dashie. We’ll put a statue of you in the Central Plaza, that’s for sure!” “Heh… heh… really? Yeah, I guess that’s fair.” The weakened pony smiled weakly, one of the first times she did so since leaving her horrendous captivity. “I’m the ultimate prisoner of war and shit… not how I wanted to be remembered, but, fuck. I’m glad there’s even a me anymore. The things they did to me…” “Shhh,” both alicorns urged her, caressing various parts of the poor pony’s body to get her to leave such thoughts behind. “Ok, okay. Just, y’know… Don’t design it without me. Or it’ll look all frilly and shit. I mean… I dunno… Do I even remember what I’m like anymore?..” Rainbow spoke to herself while Twilight distanced away for a few seconds, talking to the guard, giving directions, checking a few devices, other such princessly things. “I don’t know what’s what. I think I’ve been there for fucking years… at least, it feels that way. And it just… it changes you. I, I don’t know if I wasn’t myself there, or if I’m not myself now… or… fuck, this is making my head hurt…” “Hush. Take it one step at a time. You’re not meant to go through so many trauma-related thoughts at once,” Cadence lectured her gently, preparing the two of them to get up, hoisting the groaning Dash up to carry her in her arms. Two guards came to their side immediately, ceremoniously helping her with the pony’s weight, which was still somewhat palpable despite her long, torturous captivity. Its specifics lingered with all their minds, as most prisoners of war tended not to gain muscular abdomens and generally pampered bodies… “We’ll pretty you up before the interview begins. And it’ll all be very, very nice.” “I’m not pretty,” Dash blurted, to a giggle from the purple Princess, who walked close by, leading them out of her chamber. “No, Dashie, you’re… You’re still yourself, you know that? By which I mean, you’re adorable.” Twilight poked her snout with a finger. “Now hush! Listen to Cadence and it’ll all be fine.” “But—” “And I’ll see to it you’ll spend the night in my chamber.” “Ooh. Okay…” “Yep.” Twilight Sparkle waved the departing, chuckling escort goodbye, smiling warmly. She sighed deeply, smile still stuck to her snout, as she returned back to her room and arched her back, flexing in place, grunting in satisfaction. Her eyes fell upon the diary of Rarity Belle’s sister, the latest promising convert from Compound 13. Quite the interesting read. Having the captives keep diaries was certainly a convenient idea, albeit their security was evidently rather questionable. A simple skim through the many, many, many pages told a full enough story - she had enough experience of her own in these matters to know how this worked, in general. Now she was simply up to speed on how well, exactly, standards were enforced and boundaries were being pushed in that key compound. Visible initiative, perhaps sub par execution. That was enough, though. With a gentle yawn, Hive Queen Liquomentia, failed Hive Queen Chrysalis’ successor, shed her masterful disguise, now that the only staff left within this wing of the palace were her own praetorians. The tall, slender, chitinous black figure strode past a mirror, making sure to fix up her thick, fiery amber braids. A poke of her jewelry-encrusted finger renewed the illusion on a nearby window, out of which she observed the escaped prisoner’s escort. The Queen sighed longingly, crossing her holey legs, pushing her chin up with a chitinous hand. “Yes, do make her tell, Adhoranima. I’m sure you will… but you know what happens if you don’t.” “Of course, my Queen. You needn’t doubt me.” Her foremost lieutenant was the master of occlumentic telepathy, second best next to her, of course. Unlike the communications she kept with her praetorians and other high society insiders, this didn’t even need magical cloaking. “I didn’t doubt the overseers of Compound 13, and yet they’ve somehow let slip an escapee. From their most reinforced sector, no less! A Breaking Division escapee… You will make her give you every last little bit of information about how she managed it. We can’t afford weakness in our network.” “I could do it with my mouth gagged.” Liquomentia weighed the dairy up in her hand. Sweetie Belle… that name coursed her mind a few times, in a couple of reports. More than just a secondary upstart, it seemed. She would make sure to track her further progress. As far as she knew, at the moment, that particular convert agent was busy infiltrating the nightlife elite of Las Pegasus, a city so far relatively untouched by their spreading network of influence. Perhaps dear Sweetie wouldn’t even need much help, looking at her track record… “I know. It’s simply that we cannot afford to be careless right now… We cannot afford weakness of any variety. Best if our headquarters stay impenetrable, and that the ponies in command remain blind and deaf to what is going on. I’m doing all I can to halt any progress… And yet this still happens. So please, don’t be another disappointment.” “No need for worry. I can assure you I won’t be sharing miserable Twilight Sparkle’s chambers in Basilica Tormentia Libidia.” The changeling Queen laughed out loud, and took a sip of coffee with her pinky finger stretched out, exhaling into a smug grin. “Why yes, that’d be good. There isn’t much space left there, and we have to place poor, poor Rainbow Dash somewhere… I did promise her she’d be sharing Twilight’s chambers, you know. And she will. Forever. Heh-heh-heh.” “Mwah, ahahahahah!” “Now don’t break your bravadacious boasting and slip out of character. You’ve got a job to do. And I’ve… got evidence to obfuscate. Before Shining Armor and Celestia find out too much.” “As you say, my Queen. Over and out?” “Over and out.” Hive Queen Liquomentia took in the pleasant evening breeze, the power jewels, chains and amulets covering her half-naked equine body radiating with maleficent power. She did not rise up and overthrow an incompetent, bullheaded, obsessed tyrant, only to be taken out by freak happenstance. This should never have happened, and the ones who assisted Rainbow Dash would be punished most severely - Basilica Tormentia Libidia, one of the extreme torment facilities created mostly for punishment and amusement, and only secondly for scientific research, was close to being filled, but its sister institutions weren’t. Rainbow would spend a very fair amount of time pressed close to her dear Twilight, both of them screaming for hours, begging, tormented to the brink of death and insanity, yet kept intact by trusty magicks and techniques. Chances are, Princess Luna would join them too, unless her mind would sway, of course. And considering the rather wondrous findings of the last few entries of the journal, as well as her knowledge as to the potential of Sweetie Belle post-conversion, which far exceeded what she originally expected (a mere demoralization tool for when her sister was inevitably caught)... Liquomentia even knew who to promote to direct the torture of that block of the Basilica. It was a cushy position for the synaptic elite of the Hive, a place where sheer excess and depravity were abound, with very little in the ways of rules, regulations, or procedures - no matter how they satisfied themselves with all the victims in their ‘care’, those places justified their worth. Any striving, lustful changeling would want to spend at least some time being in charge of even a single victim. So yes, now that she’d been informed of exactly how… well Sweetie Belle’s conversion was undertaken, it was decided: handler Obtero, known better to the ponies in her care as Tough Break, deserved to run the elite block for at least a month, even though she only produced two converts until now. The Queen was curious to see what that changeling was really like, they needed this sort of straightforward brashness in places other than breaking very specific ponies. After all, it wasn’t all with coy games and subterfuge that her Hive was built. A good Queen employed all the tactics in the book, and then added a tome of her own. That was where every single Hive Monarch failed up until then, and that was why her destiny was glory, while Equestria’s was in submission or in never-ending lustful torment. Such as that which poor poor Rainbow Dash would be undergoing any minute now, she could all but feel the titillation... With the necessary info extracted from the faux-lucky pegasus, Liquomentia will be able to prevent such things in future. Her victory was, then, assured. Soon enough she would wear the identity of not some book-gazing, brainy, boring dork - she would be Celestia herself, ruling the world’s dawns, and Adhoranima, or a more able changeling of the hive, would be Luna by her side. And with all the power, all the technology, all the magic, all the… things that their research has brought into being, it would be a matter of months before the rest of the planet was a feeding ground for changelings and willing collaborators. The ponies’ dismissive attitude has made sure that plenty of them would avoid being willing collaborators, therefore creating more than enough living batteries to make their Hive last for near-millions of years. Not all would be batteries, of course, some would enter this new society peacefully, if they were deemed worthy, like Sweetie Belle and her partner were. Some would make for loving, affectionate, warm, fuzzy pets - only sentient and intelligent, with none of the mess associated with all those hollow animals the ponies surrounded themselves with. A superior, warmer, more heartful world order. Easily supportable with the aid of the Princesses. Princess Cadence, located in Compound 4, was approximately one third of the way to seeing the world their way. Princess Luna was at the fifty-fifty breaking point, threatening to be a borderline lost cause - but fortunately, they’d gathered enough neural data to be able to recreate her almost perfectly with some synaptic claywork and a willing changeling participant. Princess Twilight was such a recent addition that Liquomentia saw little reason to have her real self around at all, unless, of course, the mare saw the light at any point in her perpetual darkness of torment. Princess Celestia and the technical monarch of the Crystal Empire, Shining Armor, were a few months’ work away from being subdued and replaced. Then subsequently reintroduced, once they spent enough time realizing the errors of their ways. Queen Liquomentia knew the intricacies of ruling a society well; as good a job as she would do as the hated Princess of the Sun, they would need those established ponies to ‘rule’ Equestria as it spread the Hive’s web all over the world with the advancements that were being cooked up in the Compounds. Three out of five would be enough… the ponies were gullible. She wouldn’t even have to waste time flexing their minds personally - they would eat it all up, the ones that hadn’t converted or been replaced yet. And then, who would ever question their actions? They came in peace and brought ‘friendship’ with them, after all. All over the planet, vibrant, colorful, unstoppable. The ones who disagreed or proved an issue would feed the growing depravities of the handlers, who would have no shortage of fighting spirits to subdue. All she needed to ensure all of this, to guarantee her place in this world’s history, at least for the time being, was a simple thing. See that the devious escapee divulged her secret, that said secret was kept secret and fixed. And then, merely spread the necessary misinformation and redact vital parts of the rising, converted star’s diary. A hour’s work for Adhoramena at any pony’s most stalwart, and a few simple spells and middling lies from the Queen. Sometimes she wondered why she spent so long gathering all the artifacts of power she could find, considering how easily each and every obstacle in her path seemed to fall. Chrysalis… other usurpers… Twilight Sparkle… Cadence… the Crystal Empire’s military intelligence… Luna… A diary. The amber, red, and otherwise glowing artifacts made her entirely overqualified for a task as simple as conquering this world. Mayhaps she would require a way into other worlds soon enough! Then again, with how productive research had been going, perhaps that was not at all a pipe dream. And that finally made her burst out in proper, full-fledged villainous laughter, of which she savored every last second. Laughter was best saved for the right occasions… Unless you were under the heel of her glorious Hive. Group TherapyMarch 7th Dear Diary, It’s a day. Very strange how it feels. You know, right? I thought that after the three of us got a new friend to share in our sessions, stuff would get mixed up again. And as you know, it did. You know my routine by now… All morning, while Honey was giving me the massage, I was blabbering about how worried I was, that you’d crank the crazy up a notch again. Honey is still a littlesilly. Sure, changelings are changelings, it’s there in this title of yours… But it’s been more like vampires for the time I’ve spent over here. Hooking their magic up to us, then doing what they do. Luna still thinks they’re storing it, because groups like ours are doing something ~~special with the am~~ I still don’t get it, to be honest. Pinkie and I are pretty sure we’re keeping them around, this can’t be an easy place to keep working. It’s got to be such a tough job, making all this to house us. Taking the time to see what we need to really fall in. That’s got to take juice, I guess. Well, I think you know better. After all I’ve left over here, I’m pretty sure this is the kinda thing you pretty much want to be told. So, about changelings. Just weird. I can’t really tell what came over me back then - over any of us. The more I think of it, the more riled up I get. Honey is helping with a massage. He should get something nice. I know myself pretty well. Pinkie is ~~kinda ko~~ a bit of a mystery sometimes, but she acted strange as well. Luna too. The fourth, the really odd one, Sonata… As if the creepy wobbles out of all those devices you hid in every room weren’t crazy enough whenever she gets going. She acted nothing different at all. Which is, I mean… It was classic, right? Light to start with, to each their own… this whole scenario… but then it just turned into what it’s always turned into. And I just ~~pretty much~~ ~~sort of~~ didn’t care. Like a song gets played in G Major, but I don’t even notice. I wish I didn’t finish so hard. I need to talk about this to the girls. Honey isn’t too much use with this… the look he gets in his eyes. The thing with this is what else happened, I’m not happy with it. Maybe it’s stupid to be mad at how you did it instead of what you did, but I can’t help. Perhaps if I was less of an airhead and thought more of how changelings worked, and tried to put it against the things I’ve been through? I don’t know. It’s tough to be philosophical right now. At least I know for certain he’s not fake. I saw fake today, and it was weird. And it didn’t matter. Honestly, I’d rather take last week’s shouting contest between that Bitch and… … Sweetie Belle jerked in her seat, crunching her hands - tied behind a back section of the joint 4-piece chair she and her co-captives sat on - into fists. Her eyes shut by reflex and her breathing slowed, she moaned lightly, and heard the other three do the same. A higher pitched, more rapid, somewhat more agitated moan of Pinkie’s. A lower, languid, subdued moan of Luna’s. A whiny, almost cartoony, croaky moan of the new pony, Sonata’s. As per usual. This was the energies of the mass treatment chamber settling in before they would be group harvested. Luna’s explanation, not hers. Honey corroborated it, to the best of his ability, so it was an apt enough signal that things were about to get going. It could have been worse, Pinkie once noted out loud (which earned her full sensory deprivation for the duration of that session, which then focused on her having to go through intense upper body torture - bestowed upon Luna - and unbearable pedal stimulation - which Sweetie had to go through - at the same time). At least their bell tolled with a flush of pleasant sensations teasing the nethers and settling a warm hearth in their chests. It seemed that today was to not be a happy sort of torture day, however. If here was one entity you needed to introduce into a setup for any heartful warmth to disappear, it was Tough Break. One of Sweetie’s anomalous pair of handlers entered with her usual grace, shouldering the heavily reinforced door open, hacking out a gob of spittle, landing some on her glovebolted hand, cursing out profusely, and then wiping it on the nice pink padding on the walls. Pinkie hmfed, Luna groaned, Sonata chuckled, Sweetie was glad she didn’t wipe it against her instead. “Oh, why the fuck do I get the clownshoes brigade again…” the insufferable changeling complained, pulling out a sheet that detailed… whatever it detailed - their torturers for the day always had one of those, but none of them saw inside. “Wow, shit, thank you Breaking Brigade, like I needed the extra shindig…” “But we don’t have any shoes,” Sonata perked up, her voice reverberating strangely - it always did. Luna noisily exhaled, Pinkie just sighed with a giggle. “Holy hell, what hole did we even— Ah, right. Yeah, whatever, I’ll pretend you’re a fuckin’ vegetable.” Sweetie’s handler grimaced and leaned against the wall, squinting at each of the readily restrained four. “It’s more fun to fuck with vegetables than with you losers anyway.” “Well… maybe let us go, then?” the dark blue alicorn suggested wryly with a grin. Sweetie Belle couldn’t help but admire the spunk that’s been preserved in her. She had the right idea, anyway. Tough Break was a harsh, nasty bully. You could as well talk back to them. No big loss there, simply have the courage to speak up. Somehow, the much more experienced young unicorn never did so, instead reducing herself to wobbles and sniffles at the showers of abuse each time. “If it’s so awful to deal with us, why not just play a bit of hookey.” “I’m not a hooker, you’ll be a fuckin’ hooker if I want you to be.” “Uh, guys!.. I volunteer to be first. For whatever! Just stop arguing,” Pinkie declared proudly, rapidly nodding her head. Sweetie Belle herself was, as per usual, mostly mute whenever the terrible pegasus changeling was around. That allowed her to notice something others likely didn’t. She wasn’t wearing the light green long sleeve shirt and skirt that were her out-of-room outfit. Instead, pressing down on her breasts was a slightly tight sleeveless purple shirt, one that she used to— The unicorn bit on her lip and inhaled with a hiss. Her nethers rumbled with enthusiastic vigor, artificially so. She’d very much rather not pull more attention onto herself, so the thought had to be simplified, for it apparently contained forbidden topics of thought. Old shirt, not around anymore, suddenly back, really pronounces her boobs. As if they just grew by an entire size. Also, jeans. The argument continued, fortunately having been shifted to more of the odd things Sonata was blurting out. It masked more of the odd ongoings. The entire room was full of hazy vibrations, ones that caused her eyes to avaunt after half a second of observing. So she did, and turned to her partners - who seemed to change as well. Pinkie Pie no longer had her uniform white shirt and quirky suspender pants, instead her respectable uppers were hugged by a teal sweater with a saucy heart-shaped cut-out that allowed a peek at the bosom. The two of them hadn’t met for a few years, but it seemed the sort of thing to wear in private, certainly not for business, even if Pinkie’s business was mostly performance. Princess Luna suddenly gained her old, recognizable royal garments - an impeccable nocturnal blue and moon silver dress that caused the unicorn another fight with her nethers, for the thoughts it riled up had too much to do with banned subjects. The thoughts were innocent, the fashion enthusiast within was in awe of how amazing the dress was - so it seemed that the origin of her enthusiasm was part of what her brain was derailed from. As for Sonata, she gained a light, proper looking buttoned jacket instead of the glorified, albeit neatly incrusted, underwear they mostly saw her in. It certainly grounded the odd mare in reality, as prior to that, Sweetie could almost bet there was something outlandish about her in more ways than one. But right now, that was not what she was thinking of. Her mind made a few logical conclusions. Things were changing while words were being exchanged. Indeed, in the time it took her to maneuver around a few landmines to arrive at this conclusion, the room itself was no longer padding, bondage furniture and tools - it was a homely looking room, not entirely unlike the ‘inn’ they returned to after each day’s session. She could feel a fireplace crackling behind them. It was warm. ...Tough Break was gone. No one seemed to mind, or question it, even though she was just about to deliver a heavy, steel and leather-enhanced slap, on Pinkie’s wiggling soles. When the door creaked with a wooden sound, much unlike the true clang and scrape of thick metal that belonged to it, the four mares had to undergo another heavy stimulation. Gasps, moans, huffs, and light mumbles emerged from each of them as their thoughts swirled and their eyes went blurry. Sweetie could almost hear the chittering whir of the machinery embedded in the shapeshifting walls, a thought for which her back arched to the best of its ability, and the wetness in her loins became more than a mere suggestion. The smell that took over the room, in itself, was indicative enough. Estrus multiplied by four. The overwhelming majority of the unicorn’s thinking coincided with that of her partners in captivity: she was horny, incredibly horny. Sonata babbled something in a mildly gurgly tone, as if attempting to speak through something her body didn’t actually have. Luna hissed and huffed through clenched teeth, chipping out light moans at a rate of about two moans per huff. Pinkie visibly tried to thrash out of her restraints and start hopping in place, instead resorting to thrusting her bosom forward and upward. Sweetie herself nearly slumped, her facial expression melting down into a series of wobbly lines punctuated by half-lidded, sparkly eyes, which were already secreting tears as ordered. And they were ordered, because her body only felt something like this after she had been thoroughly, heartlessly abused. Day into day of such abuse at the demented pegasus changeling’s hands, she learned the feeling well. This was the triumphant soar of her masochism. There were estrous scents on the air, and they were laced with implicit, absent suffering. New shapes and items populated the room, but none of them could truly notice. Base instincts took over. Artificially, they did - of course nobody abused or punished any of them, it was a mere few minutes ago that Tough Break vanished out of thin air. They were put into this masochistic high manually. To an onlooker, as soon as the scent was removed, they looked like regularly happy, perhaps considerably horny mares. Of course, there was more to it. There was more to everything, though. Sweetie Belle, once her eyes opened at least three quarters of the way in, looked at their visitors, and realized that she could really only put her eyes on one. Her childhood friend and once awkwardly failed romance attempt, Scootaloo, stood in front of her, smiling goofily. The unicorn’s mind didn’t even venture into the realm of why or how. It produced a healthy portion of happiness at seeing someone she hadn’t seen in some time, as her pegasus friend was busy with her final exams at the Wonderbolt Academy. That sincerely, truly didn’t matter, though. This was someone she felt one hundred percent safe with. Her thoughts, ridden with arousal and imposed artificial wear and tear, called Sweetie to feel good and nice and safe. The athletic pegasus scratched at the back of her head, frazzling her short, unkempt purple mane, and said something with a shrug and a smile. Sweetie couldn’t truly make it out. Drool was dribbling out the side of her mouth, and she was slumped in the company chair, throbbing with some heavy juices. Whatever she said, the huffing mare concurred. The heavy reverberation and light vibration spreading all throughout the chamber, wherein three more similar conversations were going on, were now beginning to daze her out and give her a massage as she was bound and presented. Scootaloo continued to speak though, smirking warily and gesturing something… Not that there was much gesture reading going on at the moment, but Sweetie Belle inferred that she wanted to make sure about something? Or… something?.. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter hard. Her wobbly facial expression took on a slightly sterner look. “Oh just… just get to it… you know you want to,” she whispered in a lithe, lustful lisp, her own tongue throbbing at the sensations. It was quite very simple. Sweetie Belle, right now, was a whole sack full of sheer, unadulterated, sex. She was bursting at the seams. On a surface level, she was so horribly aroused, it didn’t matter that they appeared to be in her parents’ dining hall, that she was looking at a dear childhood friend, and that she was pretty sure it was Princess Celestia a pony away from Scootaloo. On a deeper level, one where her consciousness had been plunged oh so repeatedly over the passing weeks… it did matter. This warm, friendly homeliness. It made her even wetter. Sweetie began to giggle even before a light, teasing sensation brushed against her expositiorially scrunching feet. She understood something just now… It wasn’t unsexy for her, for a lover of heavy bondage, of harsh abuse, of tear-guzzling torture, when all went lovey, dovey and safe. Somehow it never occurred to her prior, somehow she was undecided all these years, thrashing between one and the other. Forcing herself to be uncomfortable with one to try the other. It made sense now! It made sense, it did! She seemed to be thinking much clearer, much better, and with far superior direction. As if the feathers being dragged across her feet slowly, amateurishly, were accelerating her mental processing, nudging it forward. Scootaloo could do that all she wanted, it was adorable in its newcomer’s attempt at tickling. Sweetie remembered now, how their attempt at a relationship fell through, it was sort of unique, it wasn’t Sweetie’s fault. Scoots felt too awkward being touchy-feely, and when she found out of her potential partner’s kink, her gut outright dropped and she had to blabber to her about how she couldn’t be able to do that sorta thing to her, and how this just didn’t mix with their friendship. Her pegasus friend was always adorable in her own special way. She’d grown to like a lot of things that Sweetie Belle very much liked to see in her partners - well, in boys, anyway, but she wasn’t too picky. A bit of a rebel, an athlete, a rowdy-ruff, charmingly clueless about some things, sweet on the inside. A dangerous posterior, a sweet, fuzzy interior… Sweet, but tough. And she wore those punkish clothes like very few ponies did. The heaving, sweating unicorn burst out in proper laughter. Even more things made sense now! Tough Break’s jig was up. All of their designs were clear to her now. Well, maybe not all, but she got it now. She understood why it was Honey they sent to lure her in, and why they needed a second handler to torment her… Why she was called special, and why not even Luna and Pinkie could corroborate some of the things she’d gone through, as if she was on a slightly different program. She was. And this was how she was special. This was why the friendly warmth of the situation they had been forcefully put into didn’t quelch the arousal she was forced into, but merely amplified it instead. Sweetie was a sexual omnivore. That was reason one for her laughter: reason two was that as soon as this thought entered her head in all its surprisingly crystal clarity, Scootaloo’s expression switched drastically, to a signature adorable smirk, and one of the feathers faced its pointy tip to her succulent soles instead. Perfect! She was longing for release… And feathers did quite little for that. Quills were great, though. She recalled, in perfect, pristine memory, how she tried to explain that to Scoots once, and how even the idea of tickling eeked her out. It was adorable, though kind of mean-spirited, on her side, anyway - her pegasus friend couldn’t stand the idea of tickling somebody because she herself doubled over if you even tried to poke her. Good times. So good that her hood swelled up furthermore, ready to mess up a pair of jeans. And, at the prickly, tingly, chilly-sharp poking of two feather-quills onto her blushing, scrunching feet, it did. The sound of unmitigated joy and relief purred out of her limp lips, creating a peculiar mixture of a moan and a raspberry. When Honey led her to climax on the bed, it tended to be heavily sped up by all the groping and stroking his tender, gentle hands did onto her. When Tough Break forced her to come in the torture room, the orgasm was positively ripped out of her, many times over. This one was… entirely freehand, the best of both worlds. A body already filled with signs of heavy abuse, thrust into safety and coziness, for a double whammy of ecstaticsensations. She could sit up properly now, hugged tightly at her wrists by the rope, her ankles swimming in the thick, swampy padding, gladly offering themselves to further teases and pokes despite futile wriggles. The pokings surely came, as did a thin stream of hoarse nasties that she once wished for her winged friend to unleash upon her in just such a situation. Yes, her theory held up - she was already gathering juice back up. Scootaloo’d switched from the feathers and onto more reliable tools, such as surprisingly poignant fingernails and a rather shocking set of teeth with which to nibble her digits delicately. Nowhere near to the flesh-digging magnitude of Tough Break’s, this pegasus tickled much more on the gentler side, albeit certainly with a nasty, sharp streak, one that made her not only scrunch and wiggle, but also thrash and whimper-moan on top of the reliable giggles being squirted out. The introduction of her apt mouth was a legitimate surprise, and a very welcome one. Honey Pot provided her with a fair amount of oral action, but he somehow managed to make tooth contact minimal, suckling all the time instead. His predecessor from a few years back didn’t bother - she poked her sharpish teeth all over her toes, instead keeping tongue contact to a teasing low. It was wonderful, livening, exciting, a mixture of every feeling up until now, delivered in one perfect potion. Sweetie Belle was radiant, and her consciousness sighed in relief when she disregarded the last remnants of hesitation at what was going on. Whatever it was, it needed to continue. Even if it was technically adultery. Honey would understand. The other three did too, she knew, she could tell - their minds weren’t exactly connected, but it couldn’t be any other way, not with something like this… This overfilled her pleasure centers, both physical and mental. She was in what made her comfortable - a sentimental shirt and nice bondage, she was where she felt good - at home and surrounded by horny ponies torturing and being tortured on a kinky chair, she was taking what made her feel good - sweet thoughts of her requirements being met at record checks per minute, ravishing jolts of meanish tickles jabbing right in the spot. What else was there? There was something, though. There was everyone else, whom she saw evermore clearly in the afterglow. Pinkie was still trying to launch herself off the chair and presumably into space, her breasts threatening to poke out of the previously minimalistic boob window. Her giggles played as if on repeat, alternating between frequencies and volumes, but pealing out so consistently it was as if she had no need of oxygen whatsoever. It made sense that despite her being so close to Sweetie, she found it so easy to put the pink pony out of her mind… like everyone else. At her feet was a faintly recognizable grey mare with a long, straight mane of a darker grey. Wielded by her were two prongy forks, tools that the young unicorn’s marehood instantly approved of. They were used peculiarly, too - instead of tracing lines on the amazingly mobile feet, they found themselves very specific spots at the arch intersections and scrubbed over there, as if digging a shovel into the soil. Pinkie’s face and laughter seemingly compensated for her tickler’s, as that other earth mare appeared either incredibly concentrated, or utterly absent from the experience. Probably not absent, since her eyes were tracing the pink pony’s feet while they made their way through the goopy stock padding, her being the only one to have any success in actually being pedally mobile. Luna was cackling away with a wide grin and almost wider eyes, bits of pretties adorning her jiggling along with the shaking of her body. Her laughter was heavy and throaty, certainly a pleasure to hear, even for a predominantly submissive masochist. Despite her being an alicorn, she was a notch worse off than Pinkie Pie, her laughter descending into brief coughing fits from time to time, which only strengthened the appeal. At her feet was one pony Sweetie could certainly recognize - Princess Luna’s sister, Celestia. She’d probably have recognized her even if her silly mind with its silly thoughts was still as confused as it once was. Just this thought gave her another spine-chilling boost in arousal. Despite her regality, she wielded something not fancy, but excruciatingly effective: dual harbrushes with bright red, visibly sharp bristles. They swept all over the nocturnal Princess’ sizeable soles, again and again, delivering onto them a sunrise in the form of a pinkish blush. The scrubbing was so intense, she could hear the scritching over from there, and there was certainly some convenient sound muffling going on, so it had to have been at least as loud as Luna herself whenever she was reduced to coughing. It must have been as nasty as Tough Break’s worst. And that actually made Sweetie even more orgasmic than before! Oh sweet joy, now thinking of her designated Bitch didn’t make her feel any worse. In fact, it made her feel even more throbby. Scootaloo seemed content to abide with her moaning, sniffling, faintly pealing never-marefriend’s unvoiced demands - her fingers took to raking the arches specifically, and her mouth started working double time on every toe, the tongue no longer slacking. There were certainly orgasms to be made, and that was what today was for. Sweetie Belle contorted, half throwing herself around from the burning, chilling, electric, watery combination of sensations being applied to her feet, half jittering from the sheer pleasure it brought her, causing ears to twitch, eyes to roll, and drool to slip out her mouth. Tracking the last mare of their lineup was a matter of persistent curiosity. Sonata wasn’t too badly off, even if judging by her over-animated facial expressions, she’d be sweating in her jacket before long. Her voice trailed into ghostly whispers, only to reverse itself back into a single powerful laugh, and then again, and then again. That spoke of something, as her elongated, toeful feet were being teased by a rather regular-looking pair of thick paint brushes. For her to exhibit that range of laughter, repeatedly, she must have indeed deserved a place next to them. The mare that tickled her, a yellow unicorn with an almost literally fiery mane, certainly seemed to enjoy what Sonata had to offer, having a grin so smug, Scootaloo multiplied by Rainbow Dash wouldn’t compete. A grin so absolutely sexy looking, her loins were evermore burdened. The movements of the brushes seemed somewhat more scripted than the tools of the other ticklers (as the rest either scrubbed viciously, or focused on a pair of spots, or were just scrabbling and nibbling wherever) - four vertical swipes up and down on each foot, then four horizontal swipes against the toes on each foot. Judging by the very specific eruptions of laughter, it was to facilitate particular reactions, get her to do what the fiery mare wanted. A fun concept, one that she felt a tinge of interest in, which said something, for her mind was once more awash with need. A need that was relieved. The nibbling and the suckling combined the exotic, positively tickly sensation on the sensitive stems and the biteable pads, with the teasing, juicy strokes of a dexterous tongue. The raking and the scrabbling provided a foundation for it, a foundation of hysterical, thrash-inducing, delightfully protestable, invasive sensations. All in all, it and the other factors combined together for a doubtlessly wonderful orgasm. Fluttering her tearful eyes, feeling the streams of sweat shower down her tense body, Sweetie smiled a wobbly smile that invited more. Her crevice was only beginning to be worn out… she could do with more. With nothing held against Honey, he couldn’t combine everything so perfectly… This was... This was the formula of ecstasy. Sweetie shook as fingers pressed into her soles, but not to tickle, instead to massage. She started out with no fight for any of this, and this put her fight into the negative. If it was going to be like this from now… she was signing up. Was she, really? Weren’t there other things to consider? What about the other three? Her consciousness whacked away those thoughts, focusing on the real answer, one that grew evermore clear as she zeroed in on it. Yes, she would. Her body was in pleasure, all that she loved. Whatever tiny inconsistencies took place, would be eradicated. Even the ones that existed didn’t truly matter. Scootaloo wasn’t one she would have wanted to be torturing her. It was an amusing, curious image, and her sharp teeth and notably jagged fingernails were highly apt tools, but she was still Scootaloo. There was no intimacy between them, not anymore, she was just better than someone nondescript. Was her presence as a relic of the past any troubling? They were so close they could as well have been sisters. No, really, it wasn’t. Sweetliness and niceliness gave her loins a good, warm hum. She didn’t feel awkward or restrained, if anything it made her sexual output less sporadic and jolty, more contained and flowing. Now, as her sweaty body pressed into the chair, she purred and murmured, tight fingerpads pushing the exact right spots, rough nails pecking slowly into the thicker parts, creating minimal electric sensations. So long as whoever did it passed her standards, which she had multiple sets of, it was… what it was. Wonderful! It’d only be better if that someone truly hit the spot. Honey would be the perfect masseur, and indeed he was. Sweetie Belle relished in the memories of her time with him here. These memories didn’t blur her mind and instill a forceful arousal within her loins. They were simply pleasant and relaxing. She hung onto them, as if she needed anything to hang onto in such a comfortable situation. Perhaps another pillow for the pile that she had been so graciously thrown into… So, what about those other pointless questions? Other things to consider? The unicorn showered her pretty purple shirt with drool. Whatever she considered, it simply boosted the orgasmic sensations and heated the bonfire of her contentment another notch. Just so simultaneously with the dexterous pegasus and her pokey, convenient claws finding a particularly wonderful pressure release spot just by the merging of the side and the arch… Sweetie could just cum forever like this, really. Her marehood wasn’t complaining. Her jeans appeared to be soaking it up like troopers. And thinking of troopers, the rest of her group? Now that she’d found some way into her memories, being lead by a helpful crystalline trail of things she indeed had to remember, Sweetie estimated that things were even better there. They were all completely fine. Each of them faced the same circumstances, someone they are familiar and comfortable with, for one reason or another, be it familiarity or indeed even family. None of them had any reservations about letting loose their real feelings. The only ones that truly fit, of course, were a hysteria of sensational glory and a profound degree of enjoyment. It was simply right, by virtue of not being wrong. The young mare’s memory circled for her through some relevant footnotes about each of them, to compare with how much better off they were now. Pinkie Pie was always a bit over-enthusiastic, clearly trying to win favor with whoever was putting her through the wringer, there was always a degree of desperation in her actions. Now that someone she recognized and felt content with was before her, and doling out something worthy of driving her into helpless, shivering joy, it didn’t seem like she had any issue anymore. It made sense. If Sweetie was okay with being pumped up through sheer sensations, everything else being secondary, why not her? Luna was always a dominant personality, at least among their group, and when they had their relaxation get-togethers, she always made sure to put up as strong and resourceful a display as possible. All futile, of course, obviously, all of her and Pinkie’s attempts at devising a way of conversing about irrelevant things. She wasn’t faking and pretending any longer - now she was just growling, hissing, chuckling and cackling, a fiery blush and a coat of tears covering her all over, her thrashings severe, but her smile, grin, and wide eyes talking of ecstasy much of the kind the slumped, borderline liquified unicorn was experiencing. Sonata was not someone they got to talk to an awful lot, or find out that much about, and indeed little would be different about her, aside from desperately rolling eyes, if not for the fact that her laughter had changed entirely. If somebody could laugh underwater, that’d be how it would sound. Pretense stripped, pretense of needless standards, pretense of goals and minds, she sang a different song. Perhaps underwater laughter wasn’t the most gracious descriptor, but it was indeed melodic, like a siren’s song from long forgotten tales, only molded and directed by a fanged, amber-eyed changeling with brightly pulsating head nubs. The magical vibrations around the fourth mare were so intense that they rippled at the visage of the room, shredding open the image of the padded holding chamber. Sweetie Belle pulled her eyes open and glared at the equine in front of her, a slightly differently built changeling, with decorative rings stuck through some of the holes on its body, and a familiar wavy quasi-mane of pure amber topping its head. It looked back at her, grinning profusely, its sharp claws giving her feet a nasty rack in heavy contrast to the melt-massage that had been given out to her prior. “Bweheheheh. Such a fuckin’ chump. Yeah, laugh it up, block-head,” the changeling teased, its body blurring, melding into an all too familiar shape. Tough Break glared at her with a grin of occasionally fake, occasionally golden teeth, and breathed an air of pungent taurine, caffeine and alcohol as she outright cackled at the pupil-shrunken mare. “Whaaat? You like it, you slllut.” The unicorn wriggled and thrashed as she laughed in dumbstricken desperation, poignant strokes and scathing pokes tittering all over her puddified soles. She was lost for words, and her head felt extraordinarily heavy, as if she was entering her consciousness for the first time after a short vacation. Her snout scrunched up while she coughed up sporadic squeal-giggles. Sweetie threw her head around. It was the same padded room as before, with their chair in the middle… All ablur, all buzzing with previously concealed magical items. Now she saw them, beehive-like things floating in the air, goop-connected crystal formations circling over each of their heads, buttony things pulsating on the walls. Some were light blue, some were nocturnal, some were pink, some were white and pink. They communicated together, creating a lightshow to rival some of Pinkie’s best Hearth’s Warmings. Squealing worriedly, and still feeling as if a bucket of icy water was splashed onto her head, Sweetie Belle looked to her neighbor. “Harharhar. Yeah, no, they don’t give a fuck. You taught them how to! Con-fuckin’-grats, Sweetie Belle, you found your purpose. You like oranges AND apples. And shit. You’re so completely lame that with just a bit of our good old, ponies that are compatible with you, we can make’em just as lame.” Tough Break explained coarsely, while Sweetie stared at Pinkie’s enlarged, slow-moving pupils, and at the smugly grinning changeling at her feet. Obviously, similar ones were by the other two mares, each slightly different from the last, dark grey bodies with certain ornaments and amber highlights. “Everybody here got fuckin’ icky at some shit. You? Bwah, you’re a SPONGE. And now we know how you work. And holy fuck, you got no idea how much time and energy that frees up! We can actually torture some of you idiots for fun now! Yeah, eat them compliments up, bitch, you made a bunch of your Masochist comrades a WHOLE lotta’ more abusable. Hope you’re happy!” She wasn’t. She was worried, scared and confused. Nothing in her mind was crystal clear, nothing in her mind was leading her, she was next to three mind-tricked ponies, they were mind-tricked thanks to her, and Tough Break’s mere presence made her fingers that much more rakey and sharp, and the jolts they sent up into her nethers that much more raw and suffersome. “We can do anything we want to you, you know? You outlived your usefulness! Shit, now that we know this works, why even bother, I can keep you tortured for… however long I want. Fuck Honey, he’ll get a new one, I didn’t break him just so he wubby-wubs your stupid ass anyway. Yeah, fuck’em, and I’ll fuck’em even harder if he starts whining about how much he liiikes you. Can’t eat sadness,” the pegasus, who faked a wholly different one not so long ago, continued over the sound of much, much laughter, some of it distorted, some of it interlaced with huffs, some with whimpers. “Oh yeah. Sniff it in, whore. Y’know, at the start, when you felt like you already got a bout with me? I heard all that in your tiny little brain, don’t you worry. Soon as we figure out how to do that without losing more power than we gain, you’re gonna be on that twenty-four-seven. And this shit, Sweetie? This shit means that day’s very fuckin’ close! Bwahahahah.” The sweat-soaked unicorn sniffled on the arousal, magic and salt-laced air and descended into equal part miserable bawling, equal part hysteric laughter as sharp fingernails crawled all over her pudding-like soles. “Gonna do whatever we fuckin’ want with you. Whine about it in your diary, we’re taking ideas!” --- There you go, you wanted it. You tell me how many times I orgasmed while I flipped through all these pages. It’s a creative way to stop me from thinking about things. It’s even funnier that I had to read weeks ago to find out why I was sucking up to Honey. Things sure are a lot different now, aren’t they? These were different times. I can see where I went wrong back then. Honey went through something like this. Considering how I felt today, in there… I am going to guess that you did the same mind tricks on him. I can’t hate or blame him. Yes, I am happy he is here, for the record. Whenever you take this diary to ~~fuc~~ get your daily feedback, do know that I give up. I know I’m not getting out of here on my own. Right now, I just want to have my rest, and to be sure that what I’m thinking is what I really am thinking. You flipped to the very start of the diary to pull Scootaloo out. Now you have locked her away from me again, I just had to have Honey relieve me. You went through all those pages to find the second best thing next to him. Just to see if you can ~~fucking~~ mess up my friends’ brains even harder? What did I do wrong? I wasn’t even doing that well with my dumb escape plan… I don’t want their minds to be changed with pieces from mine. That is all assuming you didn’t lie. I honestly don’t know. I feel like myself, very lost and confused. I hope they are the same right now, and they’ll still be them when I meet them tomorrow. I don’t want to think too hard about this… There isn’t any point, I can only wait. You guys worked really hard to figure out how to make us feed you as best as we could. It must have been a lot of thinking, doing all of this diary analysis, and whatever you do to spy on the others… You even spared an entire broken pony to cater to me because I’m ‘special’. Very charming. To make your jobs easier, I’ll be more straightforward as we go on ahead. Just because I like it when more than one sort of thing is done to me doesn’t mean I don’t give a damn at all. They didn’t deserve getting mind-freaked, even if you lied to me. They’re still my friends. So if you want to keep me happy, consider that. Also… Honey says I shouldn’t, but he should go back to eating me - you’d know how hard it was putting all these thoughts together, with these damn walls you put up all over my brain. I don’t care. Here’s for directions: Fuck you, guys. Sincerely, Sweetie Belle.
InductionFebruary 13th Dear Diary, Today Rarity (and Momand Dad) can eat my shorts! Well, that’s just a proverb. But really, I’m gonna show them today. No more moping and doping over how laaaaaaaaame it’s been since Mom and Dad moved in. No siree, I’ve got two weeks of sobby pages of that to read ~~if I ever feel way too happy and have to bring my mo~~ nevermind, that’s just stupid. Anyway! Time to lay out the master plan. If either of you are reading this… then I have no regrets! Really, though. You had better not be reading this, I don’t feel like being lectured on where to go and what to do. I’m nineteen, you guys. I’m about to be twenty. Actually, by when you’re reading this, I might be more than twenty, ~~because you probably won’t even~~ Master plan, Sweetie. Actually I thought again and this isn’t really a plan, this is more like a breakdown now that I think about it, not my cleanest entry, sorry Diary Part 1: Rarity and my folks think I’m dating a guy and want to go out with him even though they won’t shut up about how dangerous it is to talk to strangers these days. Correct! Part 1.5: They think I’m gonna sneak out to have a date on H&H, i.e. tomorrow, when they’re being lovey-dovey with their guys and girls. Incorrect! Part 2: I’m going out right now because it’s Friday, so Rarity is out with her friends in Canterlot and my folks think I’m writing my new song. They don’t care for my stuff, so they won’t even notice I’m quiet. Part 3: Honey’s gonna be meeting me at a nightclub on the other side of town, and I’m gonna make it like in the movies and teleport down out the window. Rarity can really eat my shorts, I’m not that bad at magic. I just need to focus. And I will! Toodles and smell you later, fossils! Honey’s such a frickin’ sweetie. Sweetie! Honey and Sweetie. Gosh, we’re meant for each other, and my fossils wanna keep me on a leash. I’m not their pet, I’m an artist! And I’m a ~~mar~~ ~~lady~~ ~~gir~~ in a relationship! Ugh, they don’t get it. I’m not gonna be fresh forever, I’m not Rarity, and even she’s aged a little. Okay, now I’m totally dead, so I can write whatever. I don’t understand how my folks don’t see it, I’m in the prime of my life, and they’re sheltering me like I’m three. Alright, fine, ponies are disappearing. Alright, fine, some of Rarity’s friends haven’t been around for a while, or answered any calls. But it’s like they’re all suddenly watching the TV, believing this stupid changeling stuff. They were there when that ~~Kree~~ Queen thing got blasted away. Those jerks haven’t been any trouble ever since. I swear, it’s like you’re obliged to shove a pole up your butt once you’re older than twenty. ~~Well, I’m not gonna wait~~ that ~~long to have stuff in my butt!~~ Okay Diary I’m seriously sorry this was really bad And besides. We only talked on the Net, but gosh, Honey and me… I wrote this before, and I’ll write this now. Finally a guy with my kink! It’s so hard to find one these days, I should have been born first instead of Rarity, I swear! I’m literally the luckiest mare in Ponyville, cause that’s also literally the only guy in the area who’s into the tickles. Well, he writes about it upfront, anyway. It’s like it’s taboo to be into all that sorta stuff, like it’s still mainstream. Blockheads like these probably think they seem uncool because they’re into what was mega-popular a few years ago. Well hey, at least I’m getting a taste of the fickle audience before I get into the music world… Anyway, Honey’s frickin’ perfect. Even moreperfect~~er~~ than Skybreeze was. I guess it’s a good thing he had to move away, cause Honey blows him out by a country mile! I a-d-o-r-e blondies, I like his moussey mane, he doesn’t dress like a tool, he looks so kind, and he’s so sooooooft! I can feel it on the pictures. I may actually die if I touch him, so if you find my lifeless body in The Araneum, you know the culprit. Cruel nature! And his green eyes (we match!), and his smooth hands, and herehecomesohmygosh XOXO Svuelie Bele … “Oooh my gooosh!..” Sweetie squeaked to herself, cupping up her snout, getting up on the tippy-toes of her open high heels. He was exactly like on the pictures - actually, the bouncy, pulsing, pink-teal-yellow of The Araneums early evening strobes only gave him more flare. He probably couldn’t look not good even if he tried. She adjusted her dress nervously, a failing endeavor, for halfway through, his oceanous-deep green eyes fell upon her. The preposterously cute stallion waved at her from his comfy seat in the corner of the club. Obviously, she skittered towards him, trying to disregard her freshly molten kneecaps. Considering Sweetie felt as if her entire body turned to highly impressionable clay the moment Honey did… anything at all, it was a source of pride that she managed her way over there without looking as if she’d been in an accident. That’d be horrible, he’d think she were weird! “Um… hi!” she said, gladly not having reduced herself to a whisper. That was mostly the instinct one worked out after having dated a fair bunch of boys. The start of a first date was only awkward so many times in a row! Right now it was only as awkward as the rest of it. The good kind of awkward. She could tell Honey was the kind of stallion to catch her as she fumbles through the conversation and tuck her in warmly, into a topic they’d both be down with. “Hi Sweetie,” he said warmly, his voice silky, just a bit boyish, but not a jock, more an attractive sort of boyishness one finds in a much milder personality. “You’re on time! I thought girls always had troubles with being on time.” “Oh, Honey… I’m like, uh, fifteen minutes late, actually. Sorry to ruin myself so early, tee-hee!” Sweetie giggled. He was great! A guy who gives you a chance to admit you screwed up, and do it in style, and be more charming in his eyes for it. He was either an absolute mind-reader and had a black belt in relationships, or he really was such a honey. “Ah, geez!.. Well, that’s it,” the adorable dark orange earth ponyboy sighed with the cutest bout of mock sadness ever. “Date ruined forever. And I was just about to get us our drinks…” The mare replied in kind, twirling a lock of her white and pink hair around her finger and pouting, casting forth fake tears onto her eyes. “Bah. Guess I’m such a no-gooder, I need to save this relationship already. Hug?” he asked meekly, cheekily, tilting his head and smiling his pretty face off. It wasn’t too long at all until the two of them were on his side of the leathery couch, snuggling into each other with surprising comfort. It made sense, though. Honey was stupid soft, Sweetie wasn’t exactly repulsive either, and they had been somewhat acquainted already, through silly chats on the Net. “Aaah!.. I’m gonna die, you’re so soooft!..” she whispered giddily. The only reason she was so subdued was that even for her, this level of success off the bat was unfathomed. The quickest time to hug at a date had so far been two hours for her. This was what, one minute? “Aw, you’re so sweet. Is that why they called you Sweetie?” he asked in return, dutifully fulfilling pretty much every rule in the cuddler’s handbook. If there was anything wrong about this… “I dunno. I know they called you Honey cause that’s what you are! Honey.” “Nah, actually, I’m in the hive business. My full name’s Honey Pot.” ...it was that he seemed entirely too cute and cuddly to really, well, fulfill the extent of her kink. In frankness, she could easily imagine having tickle fun times with him. But the level to which her particular branch of it went? When she giggled after he announced his name so shyly, it wasn’t insensitivity or a stored up joke, it was her having thought of having him as her dom, wearing her out half to death, burning her lungs out raw, leaving her a sweaty wreck. That was just… wow! “Yeah, I know. Dumb name. I like yours way more,” he admitted breathily, because in her excitement at having imagined at least half of what she’d just thought about, Sweetie’d given him quite the crush on the waist. Also, her shirt wasn’t anywhere near thick enough to hide how hard her nips had just gotten. “Hoooney, your name’s just fine! You’re so nice, you know that?” she asked, laying on his chest already. “I mean, I’ve never gotten to cuddling with a guy this fast before. You got a magnet in there, huh?” The shirt he wore under his jacket was thin, so the weapons grade softness, exactly the level she preferred it, was spread all over her cheek. Was Princess Luna just messing with her and shoving everything she liked about guys in relationships into this? No, nevermind, she hasn’t been doing any dream monitoring for about a month now. Good, that meant this was real! No fakery here. “Nope! But, don’t, don’t worry. I like it when mares do that. Shy girls… I’m… shy enough for two, y’know? Heh-heh. So I, well. You’re very nice, that’s what I mean. Also,” he stammered adorably, scratching his head. “Geez, I… I already feel kinda drunk. But! We’ve still got our drinks coming up. Yeah, there’s the waiter. Um, over here!” Sweetie repositioned herself to be not ENTIRELY smooshed into her new boyfriend, and now was just halfway sitting in his lap. A waiter did indeed come, bringing about two fizzy drinks. They even sparkled with colors! That was cool. “I’ll pay,” Honey propped up before Sweetie even thought about it. Okay, if he could, like, suddenly turn into a cruel kink monster as soon as they got into the bedroom, they could just go down a few blocks and buy the ring now. Having procured the drinks, and basking in each other’s company, as well as the club’s unces and strobes, the two of them breathed in the hazy vapor of the cocktails. “Well… this has been really good so far. So… Here’s to things only getting better, wilder and crazier, I guess!” The unicorn said happily, grasping the bubbly cup with her dainty, manicured fingers, and taking a sip. “Yep. Here’s to a long, fruitful relationship.” It was only a few gulps that she took of the liquid before the mare needed a bit of a cough. Rough stuff. Really rough. Well, that’s a nightclub for you. It was good though. It was… nice. Honey was soft. He probably wouldn’t mind if she just… laid in his lap for a few minutes. She probably babbled out something to that effect, so he’d understand. She wanted to kick off her shoes, give them both a bit of a pander, but her body felt… too heavy. Yeah, just a few minutes… --- February 14th Dear Diary, I’m really ~~fu~~ unhappy with myself right now. This is so weird. I’m scared. ~~This place is kind of~~ This is weird, this is weird, this is weird and I want to I’ve calmed down. I guess it’s a good thing I was in a rush and accidentally pulled you into my bag when I went to meet that guy, Diary, because apparently, I gotta do this. They say I’m a “good pony” for having led a diary. So apparently I can just keep writing in this one, there’s no harm. ~~I~~ ~~don’t~~ ~~fuc~~ ~~get~~ ~~them~~ ~~They’re not~~ nevermind So I’m really freaked out. I’ve calmed right now… but I’m freaked out. This isn’t good. I got kidnapped. It’s all in such a haze… It was the best date of my life, ever! And, even after what happened after… I think back to it and it’s still nice. Honey. Well, screw you, Honey Pot, I guess. Because I don’t get this! This ~~shouldn’t~~ is weird… As if I need to put that on paper. Actually, I think I do… Most of my brain’s going on and on about it. Yeah, I will break things down for myself. My mind’s full of all sorts of stuff right now, I gotta concentrate, so here goes. Memory, go. So, it was all going really great, and then… The classic. Spiked my drink. I guess there wasn’t anybody in the club at that early hour, so nobody gave a damn he hauled me out? Not like I know how he got me out of there, actually. I woke up here. Yeah, I’ll note down what ‘here’ is. Maybe my brain will stop being dumb at me. I’m in a… hotel, I guess? This isn’t ~~that~~ a hovel for a harem of sex girls or something. I’m pretty sure I’ve got all my organs, too… My room is pretty big. Bigger than what I’ve got at home. Kinda richer too, I guess? More luxurious. Not really posh, but there is style here. Like a woodland inn. Only without the outdated stupid stuff, everything is clean, kempt, not really new, but not old either. I’m pretty sure that if I were kidnapping ponies, I’d not I don’t know. Everything smells of pine and something like a bittersweet, but in a good way. Yeah, I would have really liked it here, this is really nice. Only, you know. Kidnapped. Doors don’t open. Walls hum if you bang against them. Windows don’t break. Horn’s all limp. I got kidnapped. I got I gotta get my thoughts together. This isn’t all that has me ~~confu~~ troubled. This isn’t a hotel. Honey’s here too, he is. He works here. A bunch of them work here. Kinda biting myself, thinking back to yesterday. Because my folks, Rarity and her friends, they were right to be afraid of the changelings. This is them. No conspiracy here, this is real life. Kinda doesn’t feel like it, but it is. This place is very far away from any major pony settlement, they say. It’s a huge, massive compound where they keep their most important ~~kidnapees~~ ~~victims~~ captives. My windows are just above the tops of a huge forest of pines, and I see mountains just a few miles away. Geography was never my forte… They obviously won’t tell me anything, either. About them. The changelings… They… I don’t know, if I’m honest. ‘They’ is the one changeling I got to meet so far. Her and ~~Hon~~ that ~~bast~~ jerk came by soon after I woke up and started panicking. This is the part where I need you, Diary, and I’m real sorry I keep striking stuff out, my mind is just really not tuned for this sort of stuff. I tried to think logically, and, I dunno, I guess I’m right, judging by what they said - I’m an important pony, the sister of one of the Element Bearers, good for their collection, and they do feed on positive emotions, so there is no point keeping me in a crawlspace. Worked my memory kinda hard… Changelings would either insert into pony society, or drain us of our emotions ~~clande~~ without kidnapping us. What I don’t think I understand is why they want me to like it so much. Cause, Diary, using logic is actually really hard right now. This smell… this place… and them… This is so weird. This is so, so weird. When they came in… … Sweetie pressed hard into the finewood corner of her room, having heard the hissing and the pressing of the mechanisms that used to keep the ornate door shut tight. She had spent the past twenty minutes panicking, gasping, scrounging, screaming, throwing expensive-looking things at the walls, and otherwise expressing the stark dissonance between falling asleep in a new lover’s lap and waking up somewhere you’ve never been before. Her mind was, colloquially speaking, or, more correctly, how Scootaloo would say, “full of fuck”. Therefore, she stood, in her light pink night gown she’d never owned before, trying to meld with the corner, and stretched her arms in front of herself, holding a fancy goblet as if it were a firearm. The unicorn’s teeth chattered, and her oddly thoroughly combed mane was starting to sprinkle into her eyes, strand by strand. Soft footsteps came gently down the orangely lit hallway that connected the bedroom, the bathroom, the shower room, the kitchen, and two other rooms she hadn’t quite explored in her wakeup fright. The floorboards creaked quietly. When she saw a shape in the doorframe - the door itself was peculiarly missing - Sweetie managed to push into the corner just one last physically possible inch. When she told that shape apart in detail, her knees went weak and her hands dropped the luxurious goblet, which thudded against the floor, nearly threatening to crack. An instinctive, relaxed sigh left her throat, and her lips curled into an autonomous smile. The mere sight of the dark orange earth pony instilled a sense of acute comfort in her mind, it being awash with fuzzy memories. A breathy sniff that got rid of the last of the sobby moisture in her snout, also happened to carry in the smell of pine and wood, one that only a noseless pony could call anything but homely. The mare went aspaz only when Honey Pot was just about to approach her, jazzy, hug-ready hands reaching out for her shaken up body, his mouth muttering gentle words of comfort and other such sweet hushes. The reminder of the thought that she’d been quite clearly kidnapped, and this was the guy who did it, found its way from the dovey goop her mind gladly dunked itself in. “GETAWAYFROMMEYOUCREEP!!!” Sweetie Belle squawked, swinging at her severely questionable boyfriend, without any real aim. It ended with a slap on his shoulder, wrinkling up the casual green shirt he wore. Honey pouted and sighed, ears drooping. “Sweetie… calm down!.. We’re not gonna hurt you! Shhh,” he spoke in an ever so slightly louder tone, actually getting through her heavy layer of jittering tension. Now she simply stared at him with plate dish eyes, one of her shoulders on its way to becoming part of the building’s foundation. “W-who the f-FUCK are “we”??? What am I doing here? Get me out of here NOW,” the unicorn offered a barrage of mumbling questions and demands. “Hush,” the stallion whispered sharply, yet gently, the hiss of the sibilants making the mare’s spine chill up a little. “Be calm. You’ll be staying here for a while. It’s very nice in here. We’re very, very nice. You can… You can punch me if that will make you feel calmer.” Honey took a step forward and raised his arms, looking Sweetie straight in the eyes. His own identically green pair was glistening, his eyebrows were at a slight incline, and his ears were droopy still. He kept a stoic facial expression, but it took only a bit of attention to discern how pulled-on it was. Excited at the opportunity at first, Sweetie Belle began to fumble as her mind began to process all of this. She was mad at him, of course she was! But he was so nice, and he was so sad, and he was so genuine… She wanted out of here, and he was a complete creep! But even the thought of delivering any pain onto Honey made her gut scrunch up. She wanted home, now, pronto! But it felt so nice in here, as soon as she disregarded the thought, it was more like a surprise vacation, not a horrible kidnapping… And home honestly kinda sucked anyway. But it did so because they were afraid this exact thing would happen. Overwhelmed with the sheer mental weight of this all, Sweetie, having simply wished to get into a nice, soft, cuddly, ideally occasionally cruel relationship, slowly slumped down on her knees and began to bawl, quietly so. She raised her arms to cover up her face, spreading the sniffles and the tears all over. No makeup was damaged, despite her having lathered herself in it that evening. As her body began to rock back and forth, Honey took her into a tight, fuzzy hug, stabilizing her. His snout pecked lightly at her folded ears. “Yeah. Enough of the waterworks already. These walls don’t like frowns,” a harsh, raspy female voice spoke from the doorframe, causing the mare to hiccup in her light sobbing, and the stallion to strengthen the hug to prevent her from jerking too much. He hushed on into her ears, softening the impact of another presence in this alien place. “Alright, Honey! Not being a liar is good. Good pony.” Honey Pot’s very subtle whisper of “Thank you” went mostly unnoticed. The mare had managed to get her eye open, having had enough leakage for the time being. It peeked just high up enough to be able to see the intruder of their privacy, while the other was closed and snug in the stallion’s facial fuzz. It was a mare. A pegasus in a form-fitting top that left a good string of grey flesh exposed, with its abdominal cubicles and pierced belly. A tall wave of white hair on her head, moussed to the right. Spiked bracers on the wrists, poking out of the pockets of her black shorts, wherein she kept her hands. She would have been just about any punkish clubgoer one’d see, for instance, at the fateful Araneum itself, if not for one detail. The changeling only bothered so much with the disguise. The eyes glowed a blurry amber, and from the upper and lower jaws each poked out a fang. All around her, the blur persisted as well - parts of the wooden walls wobbled, with varying frequencies, in the air. The fake pegasus’ grin widened and showed Sweetie all of its fangs once the amber eye caught her staring. Within a shake of the head and the patting of the moussed mane, the mare in the door frame was ‘normal’, and for lack of wobbling to examine, she moved into the bedroom, whistling at the interior. “Would not have wanted to give a Masochist Sector chamber to some priss that just looks like the real thing. Or if you dragged her in here by force. You remember Subtle, Honey-puppy? Yeah, of course you do.” Both ponies stared at the changeling that, within the few seconds she was in the room, felt more than fitting standing tall and proud where she was - and them, huddled, broken up in the corner. The stallion’s grip strengthened by a mere degree of strength at the mention of another pony’s name. “Aaalright… Enough lollygagging. Honey, you get a treat. Nice pony.” She brushed his mane, leaving it rather frazzled. Sweetie found comfort in how cute it looked. “Sweetie? Welcome to the compound! You’re gonna be staying here a nice, long while. Me and Honey will be taking care of you. If Honey fucks up, I’ll be taking care of him.” No extensive reaction followed, the mare simply grinned. The stallion hugged her into a sitting position, having the two of them be side by side in the corner while the changeling towered over them, giving Sweetie’s bed a slight kick. “...who are you?” the unicorn mustered. “You can call meee…” the pegasus rolled her eyes and clacked her tongue, producing a somewhat disturbing, slightly insectoid noise. “Aaaauuuckkhhh… Hnnnmmm… Lea— No… Ah. Tough Break. Yeah, that works.” “But… um… all this?..” “Oh, this? Didn’t your elder sister tell you? Y’know… oh, how long ago was it. Nine years ago, I think. Sweetie, we’re changelings! You’re such a smartie, you’ve already noticed I am. Don’t poke Honey, he’s not a real changeling. He’s a honorary member of the hive.” “...” Tough Break flexed and gave one last grinning look-over of the interior, poking eyes at the stallion. She headed for the door, keeping a forearm in front of herself and pinging at parts of it with a finger, as if operating something otherwise invisible. “And if you’re lacking common ground with that tub of blubber, well, be sure, girl. You’re gonna have that in common… eventually. When we want you to.” The pegasus snarled in amusement, peeking out the doorframe for one last icy bite at the two ponies inside. “I trust you enough to do the physical examination yourself, Honey-puppy. Don’t frickin’ kill her, you vicious animal, you. Heee-heheheheheeeh!” The doors hissed and clanked open, and then back closed. Honey’s hand patted her gently on the back of the head. Before she knew it, the two of them were on the bed, and he cuddled into her, whispering hushed tones of calmness. Sweetie was in a bit of a stupor, accepting the hug heartily and trying to get rid of the mental image of the half-changed Tough Break out of her mind. Changelings… Changelings. How did this… how?.. “Come on. It’s all gonna be fine. She’s… It’s an act. You know? To push your buttons.” “Yeah… I know, I… I know.” Surprisingly, she did. “See? You don’t need to worry, she doesn’t mean it… Well, I mean, they can be hard to deal with, you know?” “U… uhuh.” The unicorn pressed harder into him. Her lower lip trembled, her eyes darted a little. “Don’t think about it too much, Sweetie. It’s only gonna make it feel worse… it’s not that bad though! I mean, I… well, this isn’t that bad a place, you know?” “No I guess not…” she mumbled incoherently into his shoulder. “I never had a room like this before I, um, met them. So it’ll all be fine! I’m still in one piece, see? And I’ll be here for you, in one piece.” The stallion put her in his lap, gently fixing up her wrinkled pajamas. “But, you know. Let’s get rid of all these nasty thoughts. Staying here isn’t all bad, not at all, you don’t even know!” “I’m… I’m really overwhelmed right now,” Sweetie said in an unsteady voice, her mind overwhelmed quite truly indeed. With precarious ponderings. “I understand. And I can help! I’ll be back in just a minute.” He departed the bed, leaving behind a gaping, cold void, one that the mare quickly tried to make up for by rolling on the bed while hugging herself. “Please… don’t… try to break anything, or you might hurt yourself accidentally.” Her mind was only so distracted, however. It thought of the pushing of the buttons. Because it worked. Her attention did not fail her. The word “Masochist” was clearly there. Inside, it scared her. But deeper yet? It… amazed her. Excited. She was still young, and, of course, only had that much understanding of her kinks. However, it seemed all the less jokey and all the more likely that when her innards heated up at promises of… roughness… of… borderline abuse… it wasn’t something to be merely ignored. Her trembling mind was perspiring with realizations. Honey was into one kink. And they knew of the other. And… they… wouldn’t truly, really harm her. Changelings didn’t work this way. This wasn’t that ba— “What the fuuuuuuaaaaaaghhhh!!!...” Sweetie whisper-screamed to herself, digging her filed fingernails into her temples at the thoughts she was having. Hello, girl! You’ve been kidnapped! By one of Equestria’s greatest enemies, now resurging! They’re gonna sexually abuse you for days, and they’re keeping your faux-boyfriend to break your will! Heyooo, is this how little it takes?! You’re not gonna be seeing home terribly soon, not unless they’re already after you - and you’re probably wherever all the missing ponies were going, and that includes some very, very important ones! So what to do then, fight him and try to sneak out? Her fists clenched, and immediately went limp. That’d be absolutely stupid, and it also made her hurt a little. No, no. Her mind floated around. She’d only read this in books and seen this in movies. And in there… well, she wasn’t a secret service agent, the defenses weren’t hilariously bad… Meaning she either stayed there or… Tried to garner sympathy from within and escaped. Yeah. Yeah, that’d work! Honey is… Honey! Yeah! Genius. Did not drive self insane pondering, got straight to the point. And who called her an airhead? Sweetie was all sorts of strung up and excited, and now only slightly confused, sitting up on the bed. Just get friendly with them. And figure something out. The heroes usually did. Well, whenever the story didn’t pan to somebody else who then had to rescue them. That was entirely too much thinking. She focused on the now, and found it rather easy, being fit in snug pinkish pyjamas, sitting on a puffy bed in a nice woodland inn, breathing in refreshing scents, and having an objectively fuzzy, squishy, overall adorable guy for her ‘torturer’. Yeah, not so bad! Could have been worse. So long as they don’t ruin her sex stuff forever. His and her smiles met when he walked in, as things got significantly better for both parties involved. Honey seemed all pleasantly ablush and stammering at the sight o Sweetie’s significantly relaxed posture and smile. Sweetie’s smile, in turn, got rather uppity, and her face got quirkily curioused, a hand reaching up to touch her “o”-shaping lips, at the sight of what the stallion had brought in. “Ooohooh… Ooh… Uuummm. Well. Heeh… Oh geez.” The mattress trampoline that was her thought space at the moment finally had its fifty ton anvil make the drop and cease the constant bouncing back and forth. It was inevitable, her unsuredness and general anxiety peeling away - to hopelessness, to submission, to logic as per plan, or to general excitement. This was the third. “Yep, Sweetie. See, this isn’t… all that bad, y’know?” Now, she personally preferred darker, leathery bindings on the cuffs - a pair of which her caretaker brought in - and generally got off more on dark, strict bondage. However, she would not be found criticizing the fuzzy handcuffs that were already being softly clasped around her hands, which the mare let slide between the thick, conveniently padded frames of the bed. It also escaped her that she’d been turned around on that bed, her head at the foot. Sweetie really wasn’t much for continuity or overly rational thought when in high spirits - and the unfulfilled nature of her desires was such that they automatically instilled veritable happiness within her. An anvil indeed. “Iii guess!” Her lips trembled a little as she smiled nervously. Most of it was playful anxiety. A few percent were relegated to thoughts that were not only forced out of her system - they had no chance of getting through. “See, it’s alright. Let me give you our welcome. Hm?” Honey smiled just wide enough for Sweetie’s eyes to tear up. She breathed rapidly through her nose, as she had a tendency to do when excited, inhaling the acute scent of pine, body, and perhaps slightly amplified rousal. There was nothing she could reply with but squeal, and her deeper mind automatically went dark. Sweetie Belle’s awakeness had been reset, and the first thing she encountered while conscious was a fantasy. Gentle, yet nimble fingers did away with the buttons of her pajamas' top. Bared legs, soft to the point of sensation resonance, rubbed against hers as Honey knelt on top of her - a position that, sans clothes, would give way for something significantly more vanilla. But they were on, and even the top kept its topmost buttons, cheekily keeping the mare’s hardening nipples concealed, to a greater degree than the stallion’s visible bulge underneath the shorts, at least. Heavy breathing filled the room, and all of it was hers. “Heeey… don’t be so agitated!” he said, pulling on a strikingly forced cheeky smirk that seemed to revolt against the fluffy pureness of the rest of his face. “I come in peace.” The stallion cracked his fingers demonstratively - or would have, if his fingers made anything more than a weak shlinking sound. Sweetie giggled at the conundrous sight, going back to heaving and puffing once they returned to her body. In fact, breathing was all there was for about a minute, as his fingers dexterously began to prod and patter at her exposed, slender, intensely heaving tummy. She just couldn’t make any more coherent, obviously joyful noises, this was too much, too good. Not in length, of course, in that regard it merely began - but in how it went about. The warm, soft fingers gained just enough harshness for proper purchase of her supple skin, soon moving on from pattering to gentle, swift scrabbling, which left a fuzzier feeling left all over her. Her mouth was open in perpetuity, and her hands fiddled intensely in the funky cuffs they’d been secured into. If it was only her face that was visible, it’d be easy to assume she was either scared and screaming for her life, or having a very intense orgasm. As a matter of fact, Sweetie was nearly silent, puffing and heaving, incapable of producing a noise that accurately reflected her euphoria. Really, however, what was being done to her was a gentle, calculated tattering, poking, prodding, and fuzzy scrabbling. “...!!!...!...?!?!?... …” The mare’s lips moved, still restrained to an increasingly widening smile, but little more than bare screeps and squeaks left her throat. “Oh?.. Are you trying to tell me something?..” he said, drawing his words out softly, gently jabbing his fingers into her sides, and getting only a series of pitched peeps in return. “Stop being like that!.. I wanna know what’s in your head.” It was this exact scenario in her head - for weeks, months, years, and never once coming to fruition. If she were in any more of a thinking state of mind? She’d have recognized that the events were going down all but exactly how she wished they would, at least on days when her fantasizing didn’t take harsher, darker turns. The pink happy puppy fuzzy flower bouncy bubble ditzy disco in her mind was on what seemed to be a perpetual power supply. If Pinkie Pie were aware of this, she’d probably be either jealously happy, or happily jealous. This was something else! “...AAA...aaa…!!!” “Don't be like that! You won’t trick me that easily, Sweetie,” he waved a finger in front of her, resting it on the tip of her puffing snout. “You’re not broken yet. Come on, stop being cooky, use your voicebox for me!” Sweetie’s docile state was steadily being wiped away. Honey wasn’t being cruel, but he was progressing from his usual softness. He began to really test the waters of her sacred kink. The earthy began to jab and dig in far harder, his fingers surprisingly pleasant to the touch even when they dug in quite deep, shaving off the bits of discomfort that came with your sides being squeezed, your ribs being xylophoned, your belly button being swirled inside of, or your breasts being grabbed. She’d gone vocal at that. “Found your sound button! Two of them,” he declared, cocking his head. “Sweetie’s fixed again…” Her eyes were finally capable of telling shapes apart, and what they saw was a conspiratorily smirking Honey Pot. He looked like a cartoon cat with that mischievous grin, and, as such, did little to entice any discomfort in her. She squealed and whined playfully as his palms grasped her pair of C’s in ways they’d not once been touched before. Tiny tears began to streak out the corners of her eyes. If euphoria were a substance, she was being overdosed with it. “Nnnnmmmhhhh… HowwwareyooouuuuaaaaAAAH! Yyyooouuu… OhIdont… OhIdooohooohooont…” she babbled in heavy gasps, interlaced with squeaks, speaking out a word per breast grab, going back into squealing at other pokings. “Yooou’re… S… IDUNNOOO!” “Hm? What about me? Is there something on my fa— oh, you don’t knooow… fine,” he smiled at her, continuing with his procedure, getting harsher with time. As harsh as someone like him could be, anyway. Honey was way better than that punk-haired stud she kept putting into her fantasies, for lack of better imagination. “...nnnnNNNUUOOOGH… bhhaaah, oh, you, FFFHHHAAH!” the mare’s own grin took on an inkling of a playful scowl - his hands had found their way into the armpits. With little more than his warm breathing to stimulate more vocal responses out of her mammaries, she resorted to moany giggling. “Oohoh, you, fruuuh!” Having found a solid, keeper spot, the stallion leaned over her. For some time he merely stayed there, inadvertently making very suggestive motions with his pelvis. His fingers only grazed the taut, spotless skin of her underarms to keep her spiked and on edge. They gazed into each others' eyes, and it was safe to say that his were by far the more sober and aware, Sweetie’s threatening to start spitting sparks any moment. Capturing the opportunity, he went for the next best thing that could start spitting sparks - his lips clasped against the tip of the unicorn’s species-titular horn. “...HHHSSS!!!” Despite the soft, meddling fingers, all Sweetie could do in response to that was to harshly suck in air, attempting a gasp. Perhaps wishing her to keep that gasp, he rested his hands, appropriately so. The breast grab was far harder this time, and he held on much tighter with his legs, for the mare arched her back with a squeal that started out loud, and then slipped back into bedazzled silence. The intense arching died down more and more with every inch his mouth made down the swirly, pearl-white shaft, his tongue working gently against the nervous protrusion. To his major credit, he kept on going, working his tongue against the entire length, suckling in the taffy taste of the natural moisture, even when it did indeed began to sparkle, ticklishly heating the roof of his mouth. Finally, he was heaving too. The stallion retracted from the horn when the sparks got to the point that indicated an impending release. Sweetie wouldn’t have known that, then again, there was very little she knew right now, not even that her face was beginning to hurt from how much smiling she was doing. She lay there on her back and panted, gazing strivingly into her boyfriend’s eyes, waiting for his next move. Another bout of giggles emerged from her throat as he himself smiled, sweet and comfy, and gave her snout a tug with one hand, continuing to poke and pull at it while the other wandered all over her exposed abdomen, ever so gently spidering everywhere notable. “Look at you… you like it here, huh? Yeah, you do…” he babbled and whispered, caressing and harassing her ears with the tone of his voice. “Giggle if you’re a good puppy… good puppy!” She was smiling her face off and had shut her eyes in joy soon enough, and the joy was such that she scarcely noticed the warm weight lift off her legs. It was reapplied shortly - the other way around. A pair of feet in pretty yellow socks hugged her generously poked sides. “...are… are you… hhff… ohmygoshohmygooosh…” the mare part-spoke part-whispered part-lipped. Her mouth spread into a wobbling smile, and her arms, for lack of operable hands, instinctively covered up her face with the lbows. “SsssSSSssssQQQUUEEEE!!!” It was too much to keep in, after all, when step after step, her fantasies started to come true, in spite of any other events. The stallion had his back toward her, his tail swinging off the side of the bed in a considerable, non-tummy-harassing gesture. Her tummy had had enough. But another, significantly more important - to her nethers, at least - bodypart wasn’t. A pair of them, rather. The occasion spoke volumes on her part - hearing Honey was a bit difficult over the noises she began to put out. The occasion was simple, in that he did such a marvelous job of fulfilling her so far, that she forgot that the main dish was not yet served. It being her feet. Sweetie Belle was a rather unabashed owner of a foot fetish, something more than a little bit common. It was, however, a very handy accessory when one also found exuberant sexual joy in tickling and other stimulations. “Hey… these socks suit you. Sorry to take them off…” he said with mock regret of such quality, it could almost be believed. The socks were good, in fact, striped pink and white, almost better than the ones she wore at home, and those were Rarity-made. “You’re free to rant at me in your diary. Tell it all the nasty words… or my feelings will get hurt, and I’ll have to be mean. It’ll go something like this...” The socks were only halfway off, and yet the first graze of his fingertips against her smooth heels caused a tad of wet to splooge onto the pyjama pants. Then came the moment when those fingers came into formal ownership of her scrunching, decently sized, well cared-for, scrunching feet. Immediately, her pants were graced with such an exertion of goop that even Honey’s shorts didn’t seem to have ended up safe. The mare was hearing the sea in her ears for a good few minutes afterward, incapable of hearing even her own increasingly whiny, moany laughter as he refused to give her a full break for reasons of climax. His fingers appeared even more apt for the teasing and the appropriating of her supple soles than even her tummy, which was a statement in and of itself. Her first relatively conscious, coherent thought was that it was, indeed, true, that one got far more sensitive after an orgasm, especially one performed hands-free. Honey’s was as loving and as teasing as it’d ever been, but now it was as if someone stuck his tail in the socket - and his fingertips were cartoonishly conducting the electricity on to her. It was absolutely gripping. Five minutes into lazy dragging around her soles, and finally she was more or less back there. She knew that - but didn’t know how her boyfriend found out. “Heeey… stop being so loud at me!.. I barely touched yooou,” he complained. “Oh, if you’re going to scream at me, I guess I might as well.” The fact she was back meant they could go on with the fun she’d been waiting for most of her life. Clearly, he seemed to share the opinion. His warm, soft fingers found their way easily into her as of yet untouched toes. Sweetie gasped and pealed with laughter just as she thought she would in all those fantasies, perhaps even a little harder. The fantasies rushed in and in, on and on, soaking her consciousness in the dreams fulfilled and dreams yet to be. This was so incredibly on point… And for having ticked off a mere tenth of all she’d dreamed up to go through, this was already the best experience she could bodily recall. It was opious, bedazzling. Never would she get to feel that at home. And as the teasing and the soft taunting continued, somehow the thought of home kept reappearing and reemerging. It would not be until a few hours later, when Honey was finally done, and had to pull himself out of a very slurpy, wet kiss, and deal with a puppy-like Sweetie who didn’t want him to leave, that this sincere happiness wore off. The mare could tell when it did. The walls of her bedrooms ceased to hum and rumble with the invisible devices that had been working their due all the while. The mare was prostrate on the bed for some time, top unbuttoned, gentle pinewood breeze caressing her moist shape, her diary brushed off dust and laying on the night stand, socks put together neatly on the side of the bed, cuffs returned to the room they originated from, pyjama pants pulled off to the knees... … I’m really trying, Diary. It was so ~~won~~ good. I’ve never really had real experience with this, and… Why did it have to be like this? In here? I’m having such a hard time keeping my thoughts together. I know I have to hang on. Not gonna let myself slip. Promise you. Yeah, keep watch of me, Diary, and slap me if I ever start to veer off. Alrighty? At least I’ll have decent dreams today, I guess. Gosh, I’m still giggling. I had no clue it was actually this ~~awe~~ nice. I made myself feel better just thinking this! Yeah. I’m gonna try and be like this when I write. No more feisty scribbling. They could have been way meaner to me. This was just like… Well, you would know. I’d flip back a bunch of pages and read that stuff I wrote back then, but I’d get embarrassed. It was as if they read that and didn’t stab their eyes out! There I go. Thinking positive. So long as it’s like this, I am gonna be able to ~~get o~~ hang on. XOXO Sweetie Belle
Show of ForceFebruary 17th Dear Diary, I’m all tuckered out. Hard to write, have to keep wiping off sweat, or I’ll muck you up. I think I’ve done enough of that today. Stuff was pretty normal… He brought in some new movies to the lounge room. The morning massages are still nice. Looking back, I’m not that mad at having to run the treadmill every day anymore. I guess I did want to get into shape, but never got around to it. Looking back again, though… I’m confused again. After Honey worked me over for the first time, I’ve been having these mood swings, all the time… You know what I’m talking about. I had some cold water and a shower before writing this time! And I’m still sweating, gosh. Sorry for that. I honestly can’t tell why I’m sweating. We didn’t get to have a session today. I snapped a little harder this time. ~~Went a bit~~ Just started beating on him and yelling at him to let me out. Probably all of the steam I pent up over the day before got out. I screamed for a while, I hit him, I cried… He just kept hugging me closer and doing this sad noise, like he’s a cartoon puppy. I went all out. I was a complete spaz for at least an hour and a half. My voice was gone by the end, I’m still a little sore. My shoulders ache too. And he didn’t say or do anything! He just looked sadder and sadder every moment, and the only way I could go on was thinking of home. My head just kept getting blurrier and blurrier, and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t even making sense about a hour in. I thought I was a mess when I tried those crackers at Scootaloo’s birthday party… Just had to take another shower. I thought about home again, and then, you know… it’s like dominoes. I’ve been mad for so long, it feels like there’s a piece of jelly between my ears, and it’s wobbling so hard it’s making my skull shake. Go figure that, it’s not pleasant. I think that is why I’m sweating, I got myself so exhausted being mad. I really have to rethink how I approach this… Just how many steps back did I take today? Screaming at Honey for so long when I want to gain his trust and find a way out. He’d never have let me out. That chick has him on a freaking leash. I find it difficult to blame him. If she was my super, I’d not be having a fun time. We haven’t had many run-ins since. I see her in the mornings when Honey comes in, she just looks at us through the door, grins, laughs to herself, and leaves. Thinking about her gives me the heebies. She’s bangy, lean, mean, she talks like she smokes a few packs a day, she acts like a school bully, ~~though~~ she’s kind of a bitch. My spine goes goopy looking at her just once. Hopefully I’ve not earned myself a visit from her. If I have, I don’t see why it wouldn’t have been today, and today, ever since I broke our schedule, nothing really happened. Sitting here, feeling sad, feeling mad, sweating, having a swirly head. Right now I’m alone with my evening meal and movies. Completely blew the evening massage and our session. He said he’d be back tomorrow and he’ll give me all the time I need to calm down. That guy… I don’t know how to put it. I actually do not know, Diary. He has good taste in movies, I guess. ~~If other guys from Po wherever he’s actually from knew what sort of movies he had on hand to give out, he’d probably not hear the end of it.~~ Nevermind, it’s the changelings. They either spied on me or just probed my brain or something like that to find out what I like. Yeah, that’s sobering. Anyway, I’m meant to reach a conclusion here. I’ll be more controlled now. It doesn’t pay to be angry, it really doesn’t. Less of a bitchy airhead and more of a cunning vixen. Something like that. That should work. Honey said that we’re about halfway through my "acclimatization", and that things will get "smoother" from here. Putting that in fat quotes. I mean, what he does to me isn’t something I’d complain about, even with the whole evil bad kidnapping thing, but still… I’m gonna stay keen. I’ll leave you be now, Diary. Hopefully I don’t have sweat drops over the next entries. I feel cooler now that I’m cool, in any case. Yeah, I’m sorry. XOXO Sweetie Belle February 22nd Dear Diary, I’m sorry… I didn’t write yesterday. This is next morning, I made myself get up earlier. I know, I shouldn’t blame myself. If I did end up writing yesterday, I would have ~~fuc~~ made very little sense. Even now I am still all reeling. We’re going through a week ago all over again. I just realized that it has only been a week. Maybe I caught on to something, maybe the invisible stuff they have all over the walls is twisting my brains. Sitting here now, I feel like I have been here at least a month. Well, I just spent over twenty minutes trying to think of how I ended up here, so I sweated, heaved, almost passed out, and had to take a shower. That’s it for the rambling, I can’t be late for the massage. I’m really doubting it’s gonna be Honey doing it this time. To lay it out how it went down, for my own sake… Yesterday wasn’t a regular day. I don’t think any day is going to be a regular day now. I had to put together my own breakfast, there was no massage, I wasn’t reminded to do cardio, the lights were all dimmer, and there wasn’t even any sign of Honey. Started to worry, got sad, started thinking… I thought too much. I can’t even think of some things now. I get hot, wet, and… Wet. When I wrote the word ‘home’, it was like if I rubbed myself down there. Wasted ten more seconds just now! I don’t even get to think about what I’m thinking. I just start going into heat, and that’s realy distracting, and then if I try to keep thinking ~~about what I~~ Moving on... So I basically panicked and rubbed myself until I fainted. Now that I’m feeling more fresh, I can remember Honey was there before I slipped away, and some voices and ch and stuff I don’t really know. I don’t think I want to. I woke up in the second playroom. Sort of funny to think that it happened right on the other side from where Honey had his sessions with me. That door was closed ever since I moved in got put here, I think I kinda see why. The padded walls and all the shit on the walls doesn’t mess with the cozy woodland inn spiel they had going. Can’t blame myself for not getting that. Kinda want to blame myself for the things I told ~~that bi~~ the changelingTough Break because my tummy still aches. Pretty sure I’m starting to get how this place works, and… … Sweetie Belle rocked in silent hyperventilation, biting on her lip and staring at her surroundings with eyes open wide. She’d been there for some time now, wide awake and seemingly forgotten. Even she couldn’t tell if she just gave up on screaming, or if her panic elevated to a higher stage. In either case, the level of fear within the unicorn was rising, enough to fiddle with certain thoughts and memories by chance, attempting a domino effect of devastation on her mind. Fortunately, Sweetie was always more of a linear thinking mare, so most of the fear’s spreading tendrils did was greatly quicken her breathing and create an amount of very particular heat within her - by prompting her to try and think of things she’d been taken away from. She barely did, too frozen with the fact of being locked in a dark, padded cell, equipped with all sorts of twisted, leatherbound items, its solitary light source a lamp up above, barred by grates that simulated it being a ray of hopeful sun. Since her mental state was barely good enough to recognize that that was indeed a light bulb, she couldn’t be expected to willingly kick herself down the road to mental despair, and was instead stuck at the point of rocking and huffing. There was only so much relishment in the boons of young airheadedness. Some things Sweetie had plainly admit were distressing and highly implicative. For one, she was clad ankle to chin in a tight, leathery black and amber straitjacket. Its sleeves joined into one another and then did many a trip around her body, being bound evermore by some additional belts that connected somewhere she couldn’t see - aside from the ones that kept her legs pushed together, those ended in on themselves. It was no simple straitjacket, as it seemed to be rather considerably padded, creating a buffer between it and the body to prevent rashing and numbness. That, however, only spoke further volumes of what was going on here, and it was fortunate that the unicorn couldn’t really follow it in her current state. Said current state was exacerbated by the fact that her horn was emitting a dull, inconsistent hum. It was like when she got cornipoxia several years ago, only with less sneezing sparkles and more intense horn vibrations. Sweetie only realized what was up with it by bending herself over, to no small amount of squeaking from the straitjacket. Having gotten it into the light, the mare saw a series of dark grey circles orbiting her horn, connected to it with blurry fields of amber energy. Shaking her head and whimpering did nothing to get rid of them. It had become clear why her attempt at conjuring up any sort of magic - which, in her case, would likely have resulted in destruction no matter what, a useful drawback just for once - ended up sending a sharp electric feeling down her spine. However, there was no end to the issues, as there was also that on which the light fell in the first place. A distressing item to say the least, especially to a savvy pony like Sweetie, was what got the spotlight - not even her herself. A rather sizeable set of stockades nearly half her own height, imposing to look at even from behind - amber and purple, leather and metal, thick padding for her pushed together feet to be glued in. They were predictably, expectably bared, and poking out of the other side, doing absolutely nothing at all: she could feel tight grips on each and every one of her toes, keeping them pulled back and apart. Considering the pampered state of her feet, the increase in tautness was palpable even by the light motions of the air within the room. The unicorn, who had, until then, never actually managed to get herself into any sort of legitimate restraints, despite the often awkward means of trying to push it to that base in her previous relationships, was in severely serious binds. There did come an end to her rocking and quiet muttering, which was beginning to test the courtesy of the soft, convenient padding she was sat onto. A deep, scratching, metallic noise saw the door on the other end of the room slowly open. The mare took in breath to call out to whoever was on the other side, and instantly let that breath out, turning it into a mere peep, once she saw the wave-haired bewinged silhouette on the other side. The silhouette wasn’t particularly speedy with making herself anything more solid, and spent some time finishing off a smokestick, the smoke of which she blew into the room in a series of ring shapes. A somewhat familiar, gravelly, distantly female voice was heard chuckling before ruining the rings with a blow of air, and a distinctly familiar, gasping whine was heard when the silhouette rashly turned around and kicked its leg. After that menacing procedure was done, Tough Break entered the room, speeding the automatic door to a close with a steel-bolted boot, while spitting onto her gloves and rubbing them together. “Hey,” the grey pegasus said dismissively, flexing and yawning as she circled the room, browsing the many tools on the walls. Her eyes glowed an unsubtle amber whenever she was deep enough in the shadows. “And fuck you.” “U… uh?..” Sweetie squeaked out, her mane getting in front of one of her eyes. She was too busy attaching her eyes to the presence within the room to even blow it out of the way. “Oh shut up, you candyass. Don’t get fucking used to talking,” Tough Break mumbled, picking something out of her teeth, not even looking at the mare she was degrading. “You’re not gonna be doing that anymore.” “W… wha?..” “Ugh, you absolute pile of dumb. I’ve had you waste space in here long the hell enough. That moron’s had his fun, now I gotta justify flushing so much time down on your “Vee-Ai-Pee” ass,” the seething pegasus made air quotes while berating her, also covering the mare in a coat of spit. “Everyone else we’ve had here before has been better than you! You’re an overrated little dolt. So I’m gonna have to fucking make up for that now, and I had shit planned for tonight.” “But— wait, NO DON’T!” Sweetie, whose mouth was contorting in confusion and whose eyes were starting to wobble with a mixture of hurt, anger and the very same confusion, barely moved her head before a rough, gloved hand delivered her cheek a harsh slap. The sound was dulled in the all-padded room, and it was still loud. “Oh, you’re gonna wriggle too, you stupid slut?!” Her second handler, whom she was right to never want to be with in a locked room, screeched at her in a slightly distorting voice. Another slap came down on the other cheek. This one covered the surrounding bulges of padding in a few tears. The stricken unicorn finally stopped trying to escape at the fourth slap, now simply trembling and sobbing as quietly as she could. “Finally. Be fucking useful. If your pampered ass knows what that’s even like,” the leather and chain-bound punkette growled at her before pushing a gloved palm into her snout, forcing Sweetie down onto the bed of padding… and then bouncing up again due to soft nature of it. The bullied unicorn got the idea and did all she could to immediately bring herself back down and try to lie down quietly. “Oh, and the chair sucks. I will make that runt wish he was never born, I swear. No surprise he likes groping you so much, his hands must be growing out of his lame freaking ass.” The mare was still in a state of mental paralysis, and simply absorbed what she was hearing. The abuse hurled at her and what passed for her current ‘loved one’ was received and added to fuel the fire that was burning down the railroad of her thoughts. Hurt and angst were spreading out, and grew tendrils much like fear did. Those tendrils reached out for many of the things that saw her react in heated fashions, but found a certain jam on the way. Before they could very well process what it was in Sweetie’s inner workings that made them not the only presence of the hot-wet kind in this dire situation, she was frozen up yet again. Tough Break had procured a stool from the wall, and it was too being bullied into submission, whining, squeaking and creaking as she tried to stuff it solidly enough into the profoundly padded floor. It took slightly longer to succumb than Sweetie did, but finally, it stopped wobbling, and allowed her to rest her bottom on it, now sitting halfway in the light, and halfway outside. The mare couldn’t see the changeling from the way she had been forced to lay - the most that could be seen was her boots from below, and the tip of the tidal wave of her mane at the top. Considering that even thinking of the piercing and tattoo-laced face made her scrunch up inside, it was likely a good thing. “Well at least your feet aren’t as crap as you are. They’re, like… average.” Sweetie gasped and mumbled when she felt two projectiles of spittle land on her soles. “Egh. Maybe if I pretend to have fun, I’ll trick myself into having it. I hope you’re not as boring as that babbling moron makes you out to be.” The mare gulped. The tendrils that sprung off of this bullying reached for her innards once again, and were again faced with the fact that her inner self was already… getting hot and wet. Sweetie fluttered her eyelashes and whined in her quickening breaths, getting more and more antsy every half a second nothing hit her utterly defenseless, exposed soles. And her nethers were covering the insides of the straitjacket with more and more female secretions for every hump this launched her into. Her feet had not even been touched, and she was already getting off on this, whether her conscious liked this or not. Sweetie Belle did have a number of significant attractions. She, by herself, was a nice girl, she liked warm, nice things, she adored kind, fluffy guys, even her more unusual fetish was something as seemingly friendly and innocent as the tickles. Deeper in, her prevalent fetish was that for the feet, which was nothing much to have to explain. But deeper in yet… There was another detail, and one that she had been all but made to forget over the seven days when it was nothing but fun, fluff, fuzz and feets. She was kind of a clinical masochist. Bondage-discipline-submission-masochism. Suffering made her wet. Her own suffering. She’d begun to heat up the moment she realized she was in tight bondage gear. The first slap made her properly wet. The tendrils of bullying weren’t ripping up something previously pure and untouched, they were simply helping clean up a very messy back yard that hadn’t been explored over the entirety of her life. Perhaps for good reason, because the good girl Sweetie and the miserable whorebitch submissive slave Sweetie, despite sharing one body and mind, didn’t exactly agree on what they were feeling about all of this, and no, the intense situation, the device on her horn, the straitjacket, and the hateful bully at her feet made it no easier to digest, and then that bully scratched her horrible claws down the entire length of both of her soles. “HHHHGGHHHAAAAAAH!!!” She let out a loud screech. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” Tough Break spat on the padded floor and rushed off the chair. Within moments, the fuming changeling was next to her. Bearing a wolfish snarl, she forced a large black gag into the blushing, crying mare’s mouth, fastening it around the back of her head less than gently. “Enough out of your stupid mouth. I’m not dealing with this,” she hissed, putting a heavy boot on top of Sweetie, nearly bulging her eyes out. “You got it, pony?” With most of her cognitive functions frozen, the unicorn simply nodded her head rapidly. That seemed to be good enough, and the pegasus departed back to her stool, bearing a frown. Sweetie Belle’s guts were scrunching up in abject, cold misery. Somewhere below them was actively heating them up, though. Another quick, sharp rake against her soles made the mare arch her back as hard as the restraints allowed her to. There was no seeing details, but it definitely felt as if her tormentor’s fingernails were electric outlets. Her back contracted and released, like a slinky toy, only it didn’t - the straitjacket performed its primary function and kept her contained. There was an active, functional, working power station inside her spine, it felt like. It produced scathing bolts of searing electricity and sent them to be zapped off her fingertips and other extremities or something to that metaphoric effect. Only it didn’t, owing again to her bindings - instead, it was a perpetual cycle, seething, rumbling hot lightning emitting from inside at each inch of the merciless drag, conjoining in on itself. Red hot trails were palpably left on her immobile soles, and more and more stacked on top of them as her feet were practically torn into. This could barely be denoted as tickling, safe for the fact that the tickling sensation was very acute. Very raw, too. “Ugh, you sound like a deer,” Tough Break complained, sinking her claws into the supple flesh again and again. She took a pause to spit on the soles once more, for further insult, seemingly. “And deer suuuck.” She was indeed less than silent. Panic poured intensely out of her mouth, and was turned, on its way, into desperation. Her eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets, and her mind was in a state beyond description. It was bad enough that she was never, ever restrained anywhere near this heavily. It was bad enough that her ever so sensitive soles were never abused with anywhere near as much raw strength. It was bad enough that she had never been gagged before in her life. It was bad enough that the abject lack of consent or safety of this situation was hammering on her consciousness like a woodpecker on a wooden door. But did it have to transfuse itself into sheer, poignant hot knives, slicing through the butter of her being and into the vulnerable, secluded, pale white center? Which just so damningly happened to pulsate with pure, overwhelming, chemical, arcane pleasure at all of this? Her nethers were being blasted with tidal waves of extreme sensations, and there was exactly nothing touching them but safe leather. She may as well have been being eaten out while having two sporty stallions lick and caress her nipples while one more gave her a horn job and one more - an erogenous back massage. She’d never been through all of that at once, but for crying out loud, that would have made her produce less cum than she currently was. Sweetie’s thoughts told her that surely this horrible treatment was simply to deride her and bring about her mental dessication. This was not only an assault on the senses, this was an assault on… more or less everything. Her privates were producing liquids at waterfall rates. She lay there and suffered, many times worse than any kidnapped damsel from any movie she’d ever watched or book she’d ever read. And that was it. Horrible! She could not, however, run away from the simple fact that however much time Tough Break spent abusing her feelings and feet, she was approaching an orgasm. Orgasms could be non-consensual, of course, but without direct genital stimulation? That was different. They knew. They knew it all. They knew her, they knew her in extreme depth. They knew more about her than SHE did. “You’re a boring little slut. Geh, my fingers are aching. Fuck this, I don’t have to put so much effort into this, you’ll moan like a zombie at anything,” Tough Break mumbled with a burp, and spat generously on her feet once again, spreading the saliva over with the back of a gloved hand. “Eenie, meenie… Alright, good the fuck enough.” Sweetie found herself bashing her tear-soaked, infernally blushing face against a nearby bump in the padding. It felt as if one of her soles just got run over by traffic. If spiked metal tires were the new automotorist’s hottest trend. Her teeth bit hard into the gag. Whatever it was, it rolled over the other sole as well, to the same result. Frictious, hot, pokey, hard. So hard, her immobile feet attempted to at least vibrate, futilely. Then again… She herself began to roll in place, to throw herself from side to side. At the fourth journey of whatever it was over her soles, she ceased to gurgle and screech through the gag, now simply whimpering and breathing loudly through her nose. Steaming. Hot. Rubbing. Poking. “You want me to fall asleep or something? Nah, you’re not that smart. Fuck you anyway!” Tough Break declared, and there was a short pause in the torment. As soon as the implement was gone from her feet, they began to hopelessly try to thrash in place. About five or ten seconds to gather her thoughts was not good enough time, but it was enough to register a few important things. Despite the friction-generated heat and the harsh pokings, she felt no real pain. It was, instead, more of an incredibly intense massage - a massage she would definitely have called off if she had the power, but still, a massage. One that felt like it should be shattering bones, but it mostly seemed to perk up her nerve endings and set them on absolute edge. That was it for the thinkings, because as soon as the pegasus was back on the stool, both her feet were assaulted simultaneously. “Shit, I can’t even watch how you get pink on your feet! You’re freaking red already. Damn marshmellows…” Despite it being more of a massage, it was nowhere near bearable. It was, in fact, a touch too much. Passage of time was hard to tell, but it wasn’t entirely too long until the drooling mare arched her back one more time - this time for a long, long while. There was a limit to how long she could simply leak hot wetness: she had hit the climax. It was a harsh, fiery one, torn out of her by force, with wheels and teeth. Whatever she tried to think of only made it worse, triggering things that put her into heat, extending the orgasm by a second here and there. It lasted for much longer than any previous ones did - and obviously, Tough Break showed no intention of stopping. When her juices were spent, Sweetie felt like a spent husk of a mare - a spent husk that was still being harassed. A mournful, sorrow-filled moan left her throat. Her tongue licked the rubber inside her mouth out of desperation, and found little more than that it had no real taste. The wheeling continued for a while. Her brain kept track of it, each roll getting heavier and sending quakes deeper down her wriggling, sweaty, sensitive nerve sack of a body. Then it kind of stopped, as it got too severe to comprehend. Something was starting to get clearer then, but it became truly apparent once her peds were given a break. All of her body felt like rumbled dough, soft and malleable, always able to be pushed in harder when it seemed there was no more pressure to be survived. Her feet, however… The unicorn’s kink-savviness came to her enlightenment there. Now that there was a second to think, she figured out that a pair of very cruelly modified massaging wheels had been being used on her, which explained the feeling, however savage it was. After a massage, a bodypart tended to become lax and more sensitive. It was bad enough to begin with, and was currently confirming that theory, feeling as if phantom prongs were rumbling all over the hopeless surface, driving earthquakes up the length of her body. After a climax, one that she was barely about to start recovering from, tit did just that as well (from hearsay, anyway). Thusly, she came to a conclusion. “NnnmnmNMNNNMNM!” the pony whisperscreamumbled into the harsh gag. “Pmmfhse snmntp pmmfhse pmmfhse pmmfhse MMM CNMNT HMMNDL NMMMMMT!!!” “Shut up,” was the brief response that she got verbally. The physical response was even more telling. The changeling’s gloved hand delivered a mighty slap against the surface of both her soles. Their surface was so doughed up that the slap almost felt chilly - before spreading out a wave of hurty heat, giving her toes a good taste of the binds as they reflectively tried to scrunch. Sweetie jerked so hard that her restraints almost creaked, and her straitjacket made an ear-splitting squeak. Hot tears streamed out of her eyes at an increased rate. The sharpness of the pain was quickly overriden, however. Tough Break’s hard fingernails raked heels-to-toes, and the hurt whimper turned into a drawn-out, panicked squeal. When she raked there the first time, it was overpoweringly terrible. This? This her body could scarcely comprehend. So sharp that it tickled, so tickly that it stabbed, so stabby that it zapped, so zappy that it heated, so heaty that it chilled, so chilly that it was heavy. Worse with every single solitary inch of her flesh, weak spots were lost on her, it was all a weak spot. She felt like an outdated machine trying to compute a purpose it wasn’t programmed for. Many words could be applied to her torture prior, but this seemed to transcend words. This was… a searing pink sensation. It sparkled, it sizzled, and it smelled vaguely of fresh air. How could she even? No, she couldn’t even. It didn’t seem to be stopping, either. Rake, rake, trawl, scratch, slap. Spit. She no longer screamed or complained, she just moaned. Moaning was simple, anything else simply required too much thought. Her cognitive system was overloaded… And yet the warm embrace of nothingness wouldn’t come. Awake, but not so aware, not at all. The entirety of her inner being was hopping from desk to shelf, the ceiling cracked open for a downpour, the floorboards rotted away to let in a wildfire, the walls clicked and allowed inside a hurricane. Rake, rake, trawl, scratch, slap… Spit. This was too much for her! She couldn’t! Couldn’t even! And that was another orgasm. “Holy fuck. Are you actually a marshmellow? I’m just fuckin’... I’m not even doing anything special! Holy shit! You just came again! Wow,” Tough Break half-coughed gravelly, and then erupted into laughter. It wasn’t too comforting. “Okay, you’re good for something. Comedy fucking gold. There, see, up there? Yeah, it agrees.” Sweetie was already looking ‘up there’ - her head didn’t even thrash side to side any longer, and her eyes only blinked so often. It did take some effort to actually look at what she was staring at. Her feet reeled in their restraints, temporarily free of abuse, giving her those precious seconds. Up above was the grated light… that had turned bright pink instead of plain white. More lights peppered the ceiling now, too, hidden inbetween the padded bumps. All of them shone a candy pink. She had no clue what that meant, but that was a change, and her torturer laughed, so… No clue. Actually comprehending something visually for too long was tough, so the mare shut her eyes and shook her head lightly, to balance out all the things boiling within it. She wriggled in the straitjacket, squeaking it up, distantly surprised at the lack of sweat she surely must have produced over however long this had been. Her orgasm stains, too… Fortunately, she was all but formally broken, so that was only a convenience. To compensate for that pleasantry, she was kicked on the rump by a boot. Somewhat lightly, but her dreadfully increased sensitivity made it very noticeable regardless. She fluttered her eyes open, and they were instantly frozen in terror. Tough Break stood over her, grinning, her eyes glowing bright amber, and her fangs blicking off the pink rays that the ceiling had begun to emit. In her hands was a tool that the pony was familiar with, being, on one hand, a fetish enthusiast and all, and on the other, having used it on a daily basis before. A hairbrush. A familiar one, a vented model - an arching rectangular paddle-like head with rows of pointy bristles separated by vents, row after row after row of owchy protrusions, ending with a stubby handle. Black with amber bristles. “Yo. You recognize this? Eh? Still got any brain left in there? Just wanted to show you something you’d at least know the fucking name of,” the pegasus said, dragging a finger across the fine, pointed bristles. They emitted a sound that no vented hairbrush Sweetie could recall (not many, in her condition - but still) ever making. These tended to be pretty silent. Mush harsher, sharper, almost electric. Stuff tended to get electric in this place a lot… “I haven’t had my nails done in two weeks, and you still freaking came. This thing’s waaay sharper. Shit’s gonna be amusing.” She grinned, and for a moment, there was only the hairbrush, the fanged grin, and the eyes. The pony continued to stare where she was staring until then, even when the changeling left. And when the vicious bristles descended upon both her feet at once, in the middle, covering both arches, she simply closed them. Tough Break was right. Her brutal fingernails didn’t hold a candle to this. They sincerely, honestly did not. If there was a sensation that could be generalized as “NOOOOOO”, that was it, this was the stuff of nightmares, her poor exposed feet simply could not deserve such treatment. The bristles were flashy, scrabbly, pokey, and they were legion, and they marched in perfect, sporadic, harsh, quick, scrubby unison. In her current state, even touching one bristle with a heel would have gotten her to giggle - this had her roll her eyes as her aching stomach desperately tried to produce muffled laughter. Sweetie thought she was exploding, and had all the rights to do so. All of her body was riding off the massage, the climax, the everything. The changeling covered her feet in another layer of spittle, and continued raking them all over. There didn’t seem to be a bodily way she could remain conscious - or, well, alive?.. - for too much longer. The sensation was so much more powerful than her nervous system’s puny processing power. She legitimately wasn’t good enough to really comprehend the extent of what was being done to her. The brush was everything she’d been subjected to all at once. The bestial strength with which it was being rubbed into her immobile soles created heat and friction much like the wheels did. The pokey bristles tickled as horribly as the fingernails did, only there were loads more of them, and they indeed were superior. And the realization that this was all actually much worse than she could comprehend, that she was simply not tuned well enough to feel the extent of the torment, with all of the applied amplification… That made her feel as downtrodden as before. This was torture, horrible, terrible torture! And the only reason it wasn’t even worse was because Sweetie Belle was such an inferior sex toy. Apparently. Good girl Sweetie weeped, screamed and howled. Sex slut slave Sweetie, in turn, produced another climax. A harsh moan left her raspy, in spite of the gag and all. Her eyes burned slightly, for there were only so many tears she could shed. The lights on the ceiling glowed brighter, more and more, with each passing minute of the seemingly infinite brushing. Brighter… brighter… brighter… the tone changed as well, the color switched. From candy pink to dark blue, then dark blue for a decent while, then a paler teal… then the lights split equally between dark pink and pearl white, covering the entire horrible room in the colors of taffy and marshmallow. The brushing went on and on. She only got breaks for the changeling to spit at her soles again. It took four such breaks for her to realize that there was more to it - for an entire minute (or more?) after each spit, the sensations got even worse. It truly was hard to track, for the actual tickling feelings were barely comprehensible any longer. The friction was what gave it away. No longer was she riding on the massaging impacts of before and the orgasmic sensitization of the now - Tough Break’s saliva acted as a sensitizing lotion in and of itself. If only Sweetie was good enough to make use of all these improvements put upon her… At least she was good enough to orgasm. The next one was so powerful that she saw the pink and white exchange for a warm, amber. Her swirling mind caught on to the suggestion of a light dinging, clicking noise. Light humming could then be heard… not that it registered for her very much. “Uhuuuh. Damn, bitch is a privvy… nice freaking company, huh?.. Well, guess shit’s working right then. Gah, fuck, just as it got good. Fine. Hey, you!” she heard Tough Break bark, at the very edge of her hearing. “Take care of her. And get me a smoke. Fuck up, and I’m not gonna forget this shitty chair!” “Hey… Hey, hey… hey. Shhh. It’s okay! You’re alive… you’re back here… It’s, uh. It’s gonna get better. You’ll be with friends soon. Just relax and let me…” She felt the straitjacket click open, and did absoltuely nothing with it aside from drift into unconsciousness. The thoroughly abused mare had plenty to think of when she woke up on her cough in a tight embrace, some movie running softly on the TV, and a warm snout rubbing against the back of her head. She was quiet that night. --- February 28th Dear Diary, Today was… interesting. I had my walk again, this time it was more eventful. So I get to write more than a few lines in you. Hooray… My gut still kinda crawls when I look at the past days. There, I just blushed too. Good thing stuff got a bit different today. I’m snapping out of routine, it feels pretty good. I finally stopped being a creep at lunchtime and ~~talked to~~ got talked to by someone. Never had the gut to approach anyone from the other pens, and I was too afraid, and I know I can’t really trust him… Again, I am very goopy after the ~~tor~~ sessions. So guess who broke the ice today. No points for guessing. I’m both happy and sad Pinkie is around here, to be honest. … Sweetie sat cross-legged on her bench and sipped sweetened tea out of the mug, her skin perspiring slightly under the simulated sunshine of the fake outdoors. The atrium of the compound she was kept in was quite the magimorphical wonder to behold - a large, open space with invisible barriers that separated the acclimatized captives as they took their time off. It appeared as a different environment for everyone, Honey told her - the magic sought to create the most soothing, relaxing vista possible, melding the malleable surfaces and winds of the pony’s allocated cell to be exactly fitting and blend right into the desires and wishes of the broken-in captive. So for Sweetie it was a nice, warm resort beach with a gazebo to provide shade, some smooth grass, some palmtrees for ambience, and a slushy, wavy sea that the unicorn could actually swim in, albeit only for a few meters - more of a neatly glorified bathtub, really. At the moment, the mare had just done exactly that, and was drying off, wrapped in a towel, on one of the sun benches, seeping tea, while Honey had some alone time, splashing in the water a while longer. This was a relatively innocent time. The pleasant smells, the seaward sounds and the temperature all called for Sweetie not to question overly uncomfortable things, pushing them back in her mind’s queue, so they had not had a falling-out yet. They chatted and chitted idly, having pleasantries. He told her about how this place worked, in a somewhat amusingly nonchalant way. It was nice to listen to, in his words and voice, anyway. This cell of the atrium space was give to her only after she’d gone through her breaking-in week - and then she was allowed to use it over the week her assessment continued. Assessment being the tingly, huffy, and all-around blurry hours she spent with Tough Break, who was mercifully absent, for the poor innocent Sweetie wanted as little to do with the punkette as possible as soon as their infinitely long session was over. She deserved this place, and it would expand and change as she was more thoroughly introduced into the peculiar, nondescript system that this place revolved around… There was a list of perks to that, and one of them Sweetie was eagerly surprised by as her cup was half empty. It was not her that was bestowed with it: it was someone else who decided to use it. “Oh. Um! Oh, Sweetie, puppy!” Honey Pot’s voice broke her melding, flowing reverie. “Sweetie, we’re having guests… apparently.” “Huh?” she wondered slurredly, in a slight daze. Honey’s pleasantly toned figure scrunched up, hands raising nervously to his chin, as he splashed to the very edge of their cell for some odd reason. The confused unicorn didn’t get to voice more of her quandries, even though she didn’t really get why the stallion pushed his palms against the invisible barrier, which then glowed amber. For there was a phantom pull on her gut - the debilitated remnants of her acute self-preservation instinct - and a soundly thud right to her side. A bit of tea splashed on the sand underneath her freshly repedicured feet. Her and the object of the thudding blinked at each other for a few seconds. “Hi!” her guest greeted her, and wrapped her towelled self into a neat, rubby hug. “Thaaank you!” the new pony yelled at nobody in particular - nobody visible - in the distance, and then returned her attention to the befuddled Sweetie in her grasp, who’d already made herself comfortable by reflex. She had good reasons for that. “He- Hello. You’re… They got you here as well, huh?” the unicorn asked weakly, looking into the pink earth mare’s pleasant teal eyes. “I… oof… I… I knew it… ooh…” Her body immediately produced a few streaks of sweat and brought her into a moan as her mind coursed into several forbidden territories. “Nmmm… Hushy-hushy nom-nom-nom,” Pinkie Pie, a mare that had last been seen only so recently before the fateful day, vocalized while digging her snout’s way onto Sweetie’s neck and nibbling on it. Somehow, the pressure relented. “Sweetie… it’s so nice to see youuuu!!!” the earthen mare squealed gently into her neck, eliciting a giggle out of the younger unicorn. “And you’re so sweeet! Mmm, totally worth the six hour shift,” she murmured, presumably to herself, but audibly, as her eyes rolled back in enjoyment. They cuddle-bumped for about a minute more, like sleepy puppies, before finally untangling themselves from each other. Honey stood waist-deep in water, one of his arms touching against the wall, blowing a wet hair out of his face, sighing. Sweetie waved to him, struggling to do so over Pinkie’s superior posture and poofy mane. The unicorn managed to give him an “OK” gesture. “It’s okay! She’s a friend!” Sweetie notified him, a notion which caused her to almost choke - the earth pony’s hug became a crushing vice on her abdomen for a fraction of a second. “She… she’s okay!..” “I know, kitty, I know! It’s fine, I’ll be here for a bit if you don’t mind!..” her handler’s croaking voice reached her ears, and the mare couldn’t investigate for reasons of having a very old friend caressing her right into her lap. “I have… things to manage, you know… work!” “Oh, your ringmaster’s so cuuute. Mm, I’d eat him up, but, ah-heep, um, my butt’s still a bit… oof… achey.” Pinkie cheek-nudged her, pressing Sweetie deeper against her chest. The older mare wore a plain white singlet and underpants, looking slightly frazzled and bedraggled, making her more satisfying to snug into, which her body very eagerly did. “Lettem’ do his stuff. He’s not lying, I don’t wanna be launched into the ceiling or anything! Already done that today!” The younger mare blinked at her with a confused smile. “He’s holding connections between our cells. Y’know, can’t just let us visit each other willy-nilly, or we’d ACK—” Once again, the pleasant hug turned into a crushing vice, and her snout got mushed hard and deep into the sizeable breasts - while their owner arched her back, mouth agape, widened eyes rolling, moaning in a sharp falsetto, and producing bodily vibrations Sweetie herself was all too well acquainted with by now. She got away with heat, sweat, and wetness… Pinkie’d gathered some things that caused her to instantly have a harsh orgasm. The younger pony caressed and consoled her newfound friend. “Okay!.. So, so sorry… Ow, I got my fun juice all over your thigh… Ohhh my panties are a mess nooow… Whew.” After the five seconds it took her to huff those words out, the earth mare suddenly perked up, ceased puffing, shook her head, and cleared her throat. “Alright, that was fun, whoo! Anyway, how are you.” Sweetie was still kneading gently into the bigger pony’s back, but now had some issues keeping up with the program. Pinkie Pie was quite abrupt, even when you knew she was. This seemed particularly unusual, though. “Me, um… I… I dunno where to begin, Pinkie. This is, you knooow… kinda very sudden. Like, all of this.” “Oh, I getcha, I getcha.” She received an encouraging nuzzle. “Well let’s see. We got matched, sooo… you’re here for about three weeks, am I right? Wouldn’t have gotten to see you otherwise!” “Actually, I’ve been here for… two weeks now. Yeah, actually, actually… actually, today’s exactly two weeks since I got here.” For revealing such information, she received a tighter, albeit less lethal, hug, and a shower of kisses. “Mmmwahmmmwahmmmwah, happy anniversary! I hope you’re liking it here.” Sweetie raised an eyebrow - somehow, it seemed a strange thing for Pinkie to say. “Cause, y’know… may as well. We got two types of ponies in this place. Ponies that are liking it and ponies that aren’t liking it yet.” The answer to her rising eyebrow was a shrug and a very brief moment of somberness on the other mare’s face. “I sure am glad you’re already acc-coo-kii-kaa-klookloo-climatized. Jeesh, that first week, it’s always the toughest, I hear. I still remember mine, and it ain’t really that bad when I think about it!” That got Sweetie to giggle in morbid amusement. “I dunno about that, Pinkie. I’ve been getting… absolutely… murdered this entire week. The first week was actually pretty nice, Honey’s…” The suggestion of dreaminess in her expression allowed the earthy to nod slyly, allowing the unicorn not to finish. “Yeah. And this week… The first few days, I was so wrecked after that bitch was done with me, I didn’t even care for this place. The first day, I was so out of it, I didn’t even get to go.” “Aw… Poor Sweetie,” the pink mare consoled her while giving out a nice ear scratch. “You have to hand it to these guys. Eeeveryone’s got a thing of their own… I think of my first week, and hooh boy! Nuh! Nuhuhuh! Wow, that was fun.” Sweetie scrunched her snout at how unusually high pitched and static the last sentence came out. The hug got a bit tighter, too - for a second. “Hey, ahm—” “So, like, m-my ringleader is… Miss Strawberry Crimson. We found some common languages now, but at first, lemme tell you, we had dog fights! Slug races! Snail lifting!” Pinkie gulped to stop her tirade, and stared in front of herself for a few seconds, sighing. “Theeese are all metaphors.” Sweetie scrunched her face and took a glance at Honey, who stood with his head hung low and hand sustaining the connection at the edge of the cell. She shrugged. “Well, hmmm. Alright, Pinkie - how about you tell me how things’ve been. Let’s, y’know… make us a picture of the situation! And stuff. Um. You know?..” the unicorn nudged her friend, who began to nod quite quickly. “Yeah. Find out more about how we’re doing. Mhm. Sooo… you never really got to meet anyone else before now?” “I have! After my first two weeks, too! You wouldn’t believe what sorta ponies you find up here. I didn’t even find ‘em, and they were still toppa the line,” Pinkie nodded to herself while Sweetie tilted her head at the qualitative evaluation of ponies. Personality marketing was scarcely a thing associated with that mare… Things had changed. “Princess Luna’s here!” “...whoa. Damn. Oh… oh. Oof.” “Yeeeah, she wasn’t taking it thaaat great at first, but I helped her ease into it. She was going tweedly for a while! They were about to lock her up in the Breaking Room for the fourth day in a row, but I finally earned enough credit from Miss Crimson, paid her a visit, used up the one hour they gave the poor mare inbetween all the nastystuffs, aaand she came ‘round.” “...Breaking Room?..” she asked with a considerably shaky voice. What she was going through for a week now fit her definition of breaking perfectly, and it seemed to be part of the course for her. It got worse? She felt her inner cautiousness rise up about tenfold. Her arms gripped Pinkie for comfort. “Yep! Sure’s a good thing she’s an alicorn, cause jeesh, they’d have to run us all dry to power up the magic to keep her healthy for that sorta thing. Brutal,” Pinkie concluded and licked her lips unconsciously. Sweetie scrunched even harder. “Lemme tell you, after what she told me, I haven’t paid this much attention to rules since preschool. And I ain’t telling you, cause that’s… twenty one plus on the disc, Sweetie. Yoof!” Somehow the lack of details said enough. The younger mare only gulped and let out a squeaky noise in response, but it seemed her input wasn’t necessary for her friend to keep informing her. “So, yeah… Princess Luna’s around now, we have sessions together every day. I sorta miss Rainbow, buuut… Well, Miss Crimsons right, it’s by the rules. Weee are the Masochists. Smack-fwomp-tickle-unf.” A weird smile crept up on the unicorn’s face. At least she definitely wasn’t alone in her kink plight as far as her place of captivity was concerned. All of them like her, one way or another… “Dashie’s more like, add about twelve more steps fulla’ screaming and crying, and then multiply the unf by about a hundred times. That’s tough, so she’s with the other Breakers now. I’m sure she’s fit in. I tried to send her a letter, but that was minus forty credit. Ow.” As her heartbeat increased and new information was processed, Sweetie Belle steadied herself to keep going. Pinkie sure talked a lot about rules - and while some things she was clearly barred from even thinking of, it seemed a wise move to get as productive as possible before there was a chance for something to happen. Not to discredit her old friend, but her presence sure gave Sweetie a wider range of paranoias. “I… see. Gosh. This place is sick.” That phrase caused a few seconds’ pause, as apparently even hearing that made the earthen mare arch her back. The two of them communicated through the eyes, and the unicorn resigned not to criticize any of the local design again. “I mean, it’s, uh, tough. To figure out. So, ahm. Credit?..” “Oooh, don’t, don’t worry about that. Strawberry Crimson has that stuff, came up with it for me after a few days. She’s really smart, I can see why they got this job! See, they’re… Well, I’m a pony sorta pony, y’know? Comes with the parties. So I have potential, she says. I ain’t gonna argue with that. Buuut, I’m…” The pink pony sighed and her lips trembled for a few moments. “I have kinks to iron out… skills to learn… I’m not good enough yet. That’s bad. All of these ponies in here, we crave the ticklings. And I’m the Element of Laughter,” she said dramatically, her voice shifting in tone completely to announce her title, suddenly going lower, more subdued, less squeaky, aback-taking. “But I keep doing all the rookie mistakes. I didn’t know there was so much of a science to… Laughter. There’s how to laugh… when… why… how to make others laugh… then an advanced study in every way of making others laugh… and we’re not even pickin’ stuff got nothing to do with tickling… Well, it wasn’t fair that I get to have regular schedules and stuff like everyone else. I shoulda had an advantage, and I blew it. So, I get points for doing stuff right, and that’s how I get to sleep in bed, have my book-and-movie hours, and talk to ponies during break.” “That’s…” Sweetie stopped herself short of ‘horrible’. “...interesting. So how long do you have to work to do something like this?..” The earthy nodded in gratitude. The younger mare pulled up the towel around her slender body, and the light tickle she delivered to herself via poking reminded her that not only was she not the only masochist in there - her affinity for tickling was also much more of a key thing than she ever assumed. Not so fringe. A picture may have begun to form, if there was the processing power. “Ooo, credit earnings, that’s tough. They already cut me a lot of slack, I got to see Rainbow for free, now that’s Luna though. To get to meet you though… Hmmm!” As her hands were busy cuddling the younger mare, she simply began to nudge the unicorn around instead - scratching her chin with the horn as she pondered. “First I managed to escape from the brushing rack in under thirty minutes, and only broke one of the belts… so that’s when [PRONOUN] told me I had a new friend here. Then I kinda blew the tickling theory quiz, though. It’s pretty difficult, I shoulda prepared harder. Can’t go anywhere if I don’t know how to get a crowd in on the action before they ask too many questions! I can kinda get through the questions at first, it’s just a pair of hands on each of my feet, and I only gotta talk for three minutes on each topic, but then when the belly button fuzz-stick comes in, I just can’t plan my laughter out anymore, and the questions keep piling up, geez! I mean, I can handle it when all three copies of her give me questions, but my ears just go whoosh-whoosh-whoosh when they do that. And if I get more than five questions wrong, they gag me, and I haven’t figured out how to do the quiz then at all!” “Uuu… hhhh… uhuh…” the chinscratch mare whimpered, hoping she did make it obvious she needed Pinkie to move on. Not just because of the time constraints, but because the picture she painted was… something else. Either Pinkie Pie was always a special case, no matter what, or every single pony in here had a very different approach to them. “Oh, oh, yeah, yeah, sorry, my bad! You’re still in school, and I made you think about tests.” The young adult’s ‘but’ died in infancy, as the older mare cleared her throat and sighed. “Well, crud, I’m gonna have to ask for another punishment. Ah, well, anyway! Miss Crimson was real nice, didn’t take any points off me, so I just had more ways to gather more. I’m not bragging, but I am, tee-hee. An hour of not pulling away from four fine-toothed brushes, a forty minute improvised speech during an upper body assault, and then I aced the multiple cho—” More befuddlement was inserted into the mentally weary Sweetie as her friend somehow managed to make a car break sound with her mouth, and then, instead of ‘—ice test’, continued with a: “—ose your own adventure challenge. And I never managed that before, so that was really exciting. It’s sorta hard to be sure which finger presses A, B, C or D, the blindfold is reeeally thick, the real trick is holding your breath when the question’s being told, cause the earmuffs here are the real deal! Now that wasn’t easy, cause I had a clawsy claw between each of my toes, and they were just scraaabbbling all over the rest of my poor old feet with those wheels, but I got every one right. Lotta credit for that one. And now we’re here!” After the long and frankly horrifying account of her torments, Pinkie smooched Sweetie’s cheek and finally stopped nudging her around. “Hi.” “Gosh. That’s… well. That… that… that’s nothing like what I got. My first… um, first week…” the younger mare stammered, fighting with her brain to please not get wet at imagining all of the things she just heard. “It, eeaaooh. Oof…” “Ohhh riiight. Bah, bad Pinkie. Yeah, this is definitely more escape artistry for me. I didn’t tell about my first week. Was pretty simple, actually. I was kind of a blasty, crusty nasty. I even tried to tickle her! Orsomething like that, it’s been a while, my memory’s a bit fuzzy-wuzzy. They actually forgave me that one. I do remember that. Cause on week three, I had my tickling practice courses, now those are a whooole other th—” Another car break sound gave Sweetie a startle. “Right. First week. Mostly detention, learning the rules by heart, punishments, sorta stuff. Week two was great, I got to actually do this stuff like it’s meant to be, they even turned the lights on and brought me some plushies! Yeah, it’s kinda nice from here on out. Sure is.” “I’m… suuure, yeah. T-totally agree.” They nodded at each other furiously. “Well, uh. Mine’s very different. Honey there—” The unicorn waved her hand to him, and he waved his in return, smiling at them, eliciting a coo out of the pink pony. “—took care of me, I guess you could say. We had a bit of a rocky start, but it’s past us now. He’s... “ She deliberated for a few seconds, deciding whether to hint at her scheme or not. After having realized she had issues piecing said scheme together in enough time, she decided that that was a no. “Kind of my boyfriend now.” “That’s nice! I’m very happy for you, you get a lovey-dovey handler! Boyfriend’s a cuter name than Ringleader. Iii’m going into the Iron Mare, I may as well be nasty now.” That line saw Pinkie’s head turn upwards, to the peaceful blue sky, where she originally fell from. A spreading web of amber, much like one emitting from Honey’s hand, was located there as well. “Rainbow Dash had an Instructor. Princess Luna… actually, I’ve never met hers.” “Wait, actually… He’s nice, yes, we’re okay with each other.” Sweetie frowned, battling thoughts she couldn’t actually even recognize. “Hah! Is he a lupony or something? Does the full moon, like, go up and he tears you into tiny teeny Sweetie-pieces?” her friend joked bemusedly, to which the unicorn was happy, as it seemed the older pony found genuine joy in the humor of it - the laughter lacked the strange, overly refined tinge to it. “Way to strain poor Pinkie’s imagination, whoo! That guy, gee.” “Aaactually… Despite whatever we, uh… disagree on, I guess…” Her throat went a little sore at the remembrance of the treatments - one of which was only over a few hours ago. “Honey’s an angel compared to her.” “Her?” Pinkie asked, mimicking Sweetie’s tone for authenticity. Her eyes, however, spoke of genuine wonder. “She calls herself ‘Tough Break’. She’s, well. A changeling, she’s a real changeling. She’s also a real bitch! I don’t, I… wuaaah, grrr!” the unicorn resorted to angry noises, snuggling deeper into the huggable mare. “She makes my skin craaawl.” “Oooh. You get to have twooo… Hey that’s interesting. Heh!..” An element that persisted within Sweetie became apparent in the earthy’s visage - curiosity and active thought. “We all get one pony who’s pulling double duty, and you get to have two!.. That’s iiinterestiiing...” It took until a wink from the earthy for Sweetie Belle to get it and wink back, the two of them exchanging a nod. “Uhuh. Sure, totally! Yeah. Eh, um, exactly. You have a Ringleader. I have a Boyfriend and a Bitch.” “Tee-hee! I guess she isn’t listening in on you, though, that’s cool!” The earthy patted her on the head. “...ahhh crap,” the unicorn whispered. “Anyway, so… that’s not normal?” Sweetie put in a lot of effort into hiding the dread of the fact she may be being listened to by that changeling. “Well nobody I’ve met over here had two. Gee, Sweetie, I wonder why these cheesy guys let you have two handlers - you must be more potent than us. That’s probably fun!” The grimace on the younger pony’s face got the earthy to quickly start hushing. “No-no, I’m not being a jerkface, Sweetie. I mean… Changelings don’t really… Don’t be surprised, I took a while to get it, so - you know what, I’m not gonna force you into it! You’ll see it with time. Maybe I made miss Strawberry Crimson sound nastier than she is? She’s not nasty at all, I swear I swear! Yeah. I’m not gonna plomp on your mood and say nasty things. Just know it’ll be fine.” “Wait, Pinkie Pie, hold up, what were you—” “I think I need to go, actually. Sorry-sorry-sorry. Crimson’s caling. I can feel it. Oomff, yeah, yeah I can. Yeeaooowch…” Pinkie pulled out of the hug, going cross-eyed for a second, arching her back first, and then doubling over. She began to huff, staring at Sweetie. The bright teal eyes glowed a blurry, goopy amber, which seemed to spread from her eyes directly into her head. The earthy’s ears flicked in a sharp staccato. “Oh, oh, oh jeesh, wawawawawawawa… Ohhh, I wondered if I deserved all that credit, now I get it… Looks like she’d have asked me to talk to you regardless, now I learn a lesson in resourcefulness as well.” The earthen mare sighed and hung her head, then cleared her throat, and primed herself up. She proceeded in a significantly more ‘normal’ voice, which for her, wasn’t that normal. “Alright, so. Good news and bad news! We’re gonna meet again soon.” As she talked, she stood up from the bench and walked around on stilted legs, sighing as her imbued eyes glazed over the inviting water. “Really? That’s cool! We really should talk more, I feel much better now that I’ve talked to you!” Sweetie put a hand on her shoulder, encouraging the friendly mare. “Stuff’s gonna be much better now, you’ll see.” “Aaand by soon I mean tomorrow. And then overmorrow,” Pinkie said bluntly, stumbling over her words, scratching her back of her head. “And then over-overmorrow. And, well, like, for a week. Crimson says we’ve been matched.” “What does that mean, again?..” “Oh, like me and Rainbow. And Luna now. You’re part of our group! Apparently… I, I didn’t know, Sweetie!” Pinkie suddenly gasped and lunged at the mare, but instead of bringing her down on the sand, it was herself who plastered at the younger mare’s pampered feet. “I’d have told you if I knew, pleaseforgivemepleasepleasepleaseokaaay?!” “It’s okay!... It’s fine, don’t be so worried, we’ll get through it…” she hushed the teary-eyed pony, kneeling over and rubbing her cheeks, smiling as reassuredly as she could. “Why’d you even need to apologize?..” Puppy eyes took up five seconds of what turned out to be valuable time. “I… kinda put off telling you about our group sessions for a reason, Sweetie…” Both of them gulped. “Wait. What’s even—” Pinkie tightened the pinching hug on her legs, but it wasn’t uncomfortable for long. Within little time, she began to wisp away - slowly being lifted off the ground and flushed upwards into the sky. They stared at each other, and all either of them could do before sharing goodbyes was shrug and sigh. “Sweetiee-puppyyy…” Honey’s soft, slightly tired voice sounded out from the simulated sea, over the phantom seagulls and the flushing waves. “Come on, let’s go splash together and you’ll tell me all about it.” The mare fixed up her towel and brushed aside locks of her slightly sweatened hair. She sighed at the new light cast upon receiving requests from her handler. “Alright… In a second, Honey.” “My arm really aches,” his implying whine echoed over to her. “Okay, I’ll rub it all the better,” she conceded, and went back to the sea, casting off her towel to a pleased, sweet smile of her Boyfriend.
DissuasionMarch 16th Hello, Diary. Today was a very productive day. In spite of what I have been assuming, I have worked my way to a gift. It is odd how what seemed obvious every time I returned from the session would leave my mind entirely as soon as I awoke back in the Breaking Network. Regardless, those are very exciting news. My spirits are high, I think I like it this way. The words I write on your pages no longer come as easily, and there is a persistent, nagging feeling that tells me to write things other than ones I should be writing. It is hard to explain, but I can only feel this as a good thing. With no offense implied, of course. This is considering the fact that all the details that need listing on these pages are no longer tedious to recount. The excess of curiosity in regards to the cocoon in our bedroom has also receded. Its appearance is far more appealing now that it had been developing for a week. Knowing its function has now made it an entirely natural part of the interior. My curiosity as to its purpose is sated. The thought of touching it again is still exhilarating, but my Boyfriend insists I don’t, begging for mercy. Speaking of his adorable self, then. Honey Pot has finally quit complaining about having to observe my sessions to help me provide better feedback. He has been exceptionally silly today. It almost seems like he is dismayed by my high spirits, or even downtrodden over having learned the result of the session. At least, he is definitely skeptical. According to him, this is a “stage” one passes through, and that he is well acquainted with the fact. He even pointed to the entirety of the past few days, mentioning he underwent a similar change in behavior shortly before our paths were made to converge. It’s a curious piece of trivia. I know he did the same thing I did. Now that I have sent him off to handle the laundry, I can provide feedback without being disturbed. An immediate thing that I feel the need to point out is that the disturbing sensations at the start of each sessions haven’t… ... “Ohhh no no no no no no no, not agaaain... “ Sweetie gulped and panted, her eyeballs darting around rapidly - the only bodypart he had any decent control over, that and her lower jaw. Her body had already begun to perspire from the anticipation, plastering her mane to her back. “Nooo…” The unicorn was restrained to the very brim. Her body was encased in a familiar straitjacket, which lit up with amber strands along the bodily ley lines, signifying that its further, more sinister functions were all operational. On top of that, she was partially inside a pillar of ever so slightly liquid, coalescing, fluctuating matter. The young mare had grown used to that formation. Up through her heels and the back of her head, where her body connected the most with the fluctuating goop, coursed warm, tingly, arcane, alien energies. While they did so, she had her consciousness to herself, and as soon as they faded away, the blurry, numb, pleasant haze of contentment and routine set back in. As of recent days, leaving that haze was not a good thing at all. Sweetie Belle was far too aware of what was going on with her. Her bared feet were hidden from the rest of the gnarly chamber, submerged entirely within the pillar formation. Her heart raced. The straitjacket bolstered her nerves and fed off the secretions of her body to provide her with evermore weakening effects. Amber-glowing rings orbited her horn, sending light vibrations down its length, ready to consume any magical energy she were to try and channel, and send it back straight down her spine into her nethers. Her mind was clear, as clear as it could be in this captivity, and she knew better than to knock herself out by thinking too much of the wrong thing so that the resultant magical alarm orgasm drained her completely. She tried once already. The fact they continued to place her in this chamber even after the awful things that happened that day... “Come ooon…” she whined aimlessly, wriggling, scanning her surroundings yet another time. The futility of the situation was all too clear. It was all to clear a week ago, when her behavior apparently warranted her being transferred to this place. The Breaking Room. “Just… get this over with…” Sweetie was, as always, deceptively comfortable in her dreadful position. Perhaps the arcane straitjacket dealt away with the aches and inconveniences of effectively kneeling in mid-air, or perhaps the changelings simply had an ergonomic way about keeping her like this. Neither was unlikely, the mare knew all too well the extent of their knowledge of pony anatomy and how to influence parts of it. Despite the futility of looking around, let alone tracking the inhabitants, she did so. It was a place unlike the clean, sterile, tool-filled chambers located all over the compound, starting with her own room and ending with the block they were transported to for group sessions. It appeared to be - or to have once been - or to have been made to look like - a natural cave. A changeling hive sector, to be precise. Her lacking knowledge of the species had grown a fair amount more vast. Bulging sacs and radiant vines littered the uneven, holey surroundings, creating an almost festive display out of the labyrinth of brightly glowing holes and tunnels. One particular thing really came to the forefront this time around. The glow of the cave was definitely no longer strictly amber. The color she had come to associate with her captors had gained an odd tint even on her first stay there, but she had more pressing matters to digest at that time, and the next few days that followed. This time, however, she could surely tell: the luminescence was split evenly between a vibrant amber and an eldritch green. The changelings shifted from one sac to another, from one odd luminescent shape to another, connected one vine with the other, and so on. All of them were drones: simpler bodied, identical bodies, each of their eyes glowing brightly, working in perfect unison, being orchestrated by a superior changeling. One was indeed present - not a unique occasion, but there were more days when she wasn’t able to find her than when she was. Tough Break. The changeling that went under that name leaned against a nearby stalagmite, chewing its chitinous lower lip and yawning. A pair of earbuds connected to a music player attached to its belt sat in its ears, and it appeared to be half asleep, if that was indeed a bodily need for its species. Sweetie’s attempts at finding out anything more were already self-defeating and unlikely to work out, this simply cut off that particular path to failure… With all of her conscious mind, though, she really could have done without that thing’s presence there. The sheer abuse she suffered under the coarse, rough, ruthless, foul-mouthed pun— “Nnnnhhh…” the mare’s loins warmed and moistened at the images coursing through her head. The session had been kickstarted. Immediately, the pony let out a low, sniffling whine. Her whole body was filled with the tingling, warm energy, invading all over, permeating every string of muscle. It could remotely be described as soothing, in that discomfort became a near impossibility to perceive - but the sheer level of thick, goopy, distinctly artificial smoothening was sickening. Contained in the tough leather straitjacket and unable to even move her head, the mare almost felt how her mane felt softer, gentler, more susceptible, as parts of her lengthy locks had found their way into the pillar. Sweetie knew the feeling incredibly well… it was the state her mind, if not her body, had been conditioned to be in at almost all times. Now she got to feel it be cast away from her every single day. The terrible novelty was yet to wear off. Her moan had more than a slight undertone of a wail. Even her shoulders were atingle with this wave, and she’d been to this room enough times to know what was to come. Sweetie’s desperate attempts at conjuring up things to take her away from the anticipation only resulted in her being on the verge of orgasm when the preliminary stage took into action. Tough Break lifted an arm lazily and manifested a wrist-watch out of amber energy, which she then, with a yawn, set a timer on. It was a bunch of clicks, so this must have been about fifteen minutes. To her it always felt like too long - a persistent feature across her stays in the Breaking Room. “Fuuuck meee, why’re you always screaming in the saaame daaamn tooone, aaagh!” the changeling groaned, clawing at her chitinous mug and spitting down, her spittle absorbing itself into the oozing pillar Sweetie Belle was attached to. “How the shit isn’t your ass-mark a battery? How many filters do they put your voice through when you sing? Fuckin’ shitty-ass songbird. Yeah, you’re a dodo.” Tough Break’s rant was a way to splice things up for the changeling in question. Sweetie had more urgent things to deal with. Her body was an electrical conduit. The compound was a monumental, gargantuan, colossal energy structure, outputting and inputting untold measures of changeling power, and this must have been the conduit that lead to its very core. All the things these creatures created and manipulated were based entirely in feelings and sensations, so it wasn’t lethal electricity. It was the raw essence of that which they fed on. Lust. Need. Ecstasy. All the best, and all the worst. From the Breaking Division lung-burned screech of an unfortunate pony subjected to merciless brushing of untrodden surfaces. From the Masochist Division, the silent moan of a pony strapped from collarbone to heel in tiny vibrators. From the Group Division, a choir of chortles and squeals from confused, blindfolded ponies that lay in a large, coffinous formation, being poked and pronged on their exposed extremities, holding hands together. From the Acclimatization Division, the frightened, angry, confused shrieking of someone deprived of their senses, only just woken up after their kidnapping, to a world of sharp claws on their hogtied, naked body. She was all of them all at once, their bodies, at least. It was better when she couldn’t comprehend the sheer severity of it and simply suffered. As of a few days ago, the unicorn had begun to figure it out, and it made things no better. The rings orbiting her horn swirled and swapped around, humming and sending shivers down its stem, absorbing the sparks of desperation her body tried to fire off. A few more minutes of this, and she’d be thunderstruck straight into an orgasm - which would then empower her straitjacket, enabling it to maintain this torture longer yet. It was all very simple and straightforward. Those absorption shocks came faster and faster every day, as it seemed like the horrible overwhelming assault could not be adjusted to. Every single part of her that was molestable felt the abuse of a dozen ponies all at once, with none of it treading her skin. Her sides trembled, her lungs worked overtime, her mouth rarely ever closed, her feet soaked in the substance that the pillar consisted of, her arms rubbed pointlessly against the tough leather they were encased in. As far as she was aware, she was simultaneously in every bondage position conceivable, as well as unbound, and in some particular cases even running. Her upper body weak spots were under a myriad fingers and claws, under a mega-mall’s supply of brushes, under a racing team of spikey wheels, a city of hedgehogs’ worth of prodding spikes. Early on through her tribulations in this room, she figured, in her newly gained sobriety, something distressing: while earlier on in her stay, her body couldn’t compute the abuse Tough Break piled on her all by herself, now it was quite perfectly capable of discerning the entire facility’s tortures and feeling them all at once. All those days ago, she was confused and afraid, now she knew too much and was terrified. There was no escape from this. It was more than obvious that no pony could ever stay conscious, if not alive, after a single minute of such sensory overload. Her stay always lasted hours. Tough Break explained earlier on that the straitjacket had her bodily parameters mapped into it, and used some of Sweetie’s output to maintain her body, hence the continuous buzzy tingling. Too much information… All of this was too much information, and too much in general. Her pedal sensations, in particular. They were the upper body squared. How were there so many ways to torture feet? Why, why did they have to be so sensitive that so many fetishists existed, all of which were now being part of her torture? The hapless mare sweated and cried buckets upon buckets, being rehydrated and having the irritations in her eyes and elsewhere be tingled and buzzed out. Small toothbrushes, big toothbrushes, fine bristle toothbrushes, clumped bristle toothbrushes, electric toothbrushes, crystalline electric toothbrushes - on the toe pads, on the toe stems, underneath the toes, at every spot on the arch, everywhere on the heel. Combs, sharp and dull, long and short, buzzy and chilly, hot and electrified, in every single toe hollow, and tracing their horizontals and verticals across the entire sole. Thin, spiky wheels, big, bustling, roller wheels, wheels still applicable for massage, wheels now only fit for torture, two-piece wheels, three-piece wheels, rolling and rumbling over every single inch of her pedal skin at any given moment. On top of them, the richest variety of hairbrushes, ravaging so many feet all at once, their owners shrieking and roaring and squeaking and cackling and wheezing and coughing and not for a second thinking that it could be so much worse. And on top of those, an untold cohort of more inventive measures. Oils - regular slick massage oils, digestible oils that brought tongues and teeth with them, sensitivity heightening oils that somehow upped the ante beyond the mind-wrecking level it was at already, coloration oils for ponies with a feature of appearances, temperature oils for achieving otherwise dangerous sensations of heat or chill, electric oils to make so many victims rattle in their heavy bondage… It went on, and on, and on. Every single pony in this place had a unique approach to them, a unique handler, a unique program, a unique purpose even. Each lived out their own hellish paradise of sexual gratification in defiance of consent or logic. Sweetie Belle was in every single one of them, and all she ever did wrong was insult her captors for using her affinity for both soft and hard stuff to make their jobs easier. Perhaps to further mess with her, the unicorn’s restless horn finally fired off the last spark needed to send a punishing lightning bolt down into her leaking, soggy crevice. On its way down her spine, setting her nerves further alight, it coalesced with a natural orgasm that had created itself out of the sensations and the sheer cruelty of it all. If the straitjacket didn’t take care of her bodily excretions, there could very well be a small flood in the cave. Obviously, despite the sheer intensity of her climax, the torment continued on. And with her climax, the room went positively radiant with chthonic green. “Yeah, this body of yours… a good battery,” the borderline paralyzed, hysterical mare heard Tough Break say - mostly in her head, with a vile echo. “Fine, fuck you, you’re good. You’re a great conductor. Nobody has been this good… Usually, when we shove you fuckers in here, you drive our power down by like half a percent. You’re already boosting us. On toppa the shit we shoved into everyone’s brains thanks to you.” Sweetie let out a scream so powerful, it sent her down into a gurgle and then instantly into a banshee shriek back again - it drove her silent, forcing the straitjacket to restart her throat and lungs. She didn’t need this, too. This thing would never shut up. It kept blabbering on with its mean-spirited monologues, and more than half of her speeches were composed of various swear words. Like it didn’t care how unbelievably intricate the torture they were putting her through was. “Even the Princess wasn’t that much of a wet rag, heh, eh. Actually, fuck it, have another one! You’re so much easier to fuckin’ work with! Hoh fuck, alright,” the foul-mouthed changeling said with a spit. Sweetie Belle’s screech rose in intensity as the rings on her horn swirled rapidly, sending an autonomous bolt down her spine, this time courtesy of the changeling who fired an amber bolt at it. As if further punishment wasn’t pointless. “Yeah, that’s for reminding me of that shit! We kept her here for a while. Whore actually tore out of her pillar once. Bitch is tough. Wish I was there, Obscurus won’t talk in detail, have to suck the memories out of the drones… Shit, why can’t you be like that? Come on, be fun! Fuck you, I’m taking it back, you suck even harder now. Huh? Oh yeah, right, all you can do is scream. Sorry, fuckin’ forgot, my bad. Blockhead.” This particular bit of information confirmed what she assumed previously. It certainly seemed this way, how it felt. Ruthless and effective… More than likely unsafe, but considering that the Breaking Room was perpetually in use, the lack of safety only concerned her sanity. And what of it? It would be rebuilt and replaced. With whatever they wanted. If the amber cocoon sprawling in her bedchamber spoke of anything, they were already experimenting with building and replacing. Oh yes, these thoughts were all there, well-preserved and available - all the dark contemplations lurking in the back of her mind while she went about her day in a blur, unable to concentrate on one thing for more than a few seconds, susceptible and submissive. What were they doing? What was their plan? How much of this could she trust? What was to become of her? Judging by the fact that the infernal torture of a hundred simultaneous sessions was really the system firing up, she was to be a pony with far greater problems than regular old uncertainty. “Shiiit, I need to talk to the manifestor guys… I swear, your vocal chords gotta fuckin’ go at some point. Aaa, aaa, aaa! Why’d they make this thing reset THEM as well, ugh,” her insufferable handler complained, rolling its irritably glowing eyes. “It eats your tears, so why doesn’t it eat your screams? Numbheads. I mean look at this place! I dunno if it can even tell if that’s a yes sorta scream or a no sorta scream. That shit’s fucking important, by the way, you screeching cunt. Like, fuck it, not like it matters: you figured it out yet? What this place even is, huh? Right, AAAAAA, sniffle-sniffle-waaah-weeeh-waaah.” Obviously, Sweetie Belle was occupied by the bodily processes of pulsating all over in sensational agony, of sweating buckets, of feeling tickled, ravaged, and tickle-ravaged to the last inches of her sweat and synapse-soaked hairs, and of vibrating, wriggling and trembling like an ant trying to escape from a pitcher plant’s maw. The well-aimed magical mechanism that kept her consciousness aloft took care of making her pay attention. The closer she got to reverting to a miserable sack of orgasming flesh, the more acute it would make her think. This place? What about it? She tried to give it thought in the limp hours she had off, however much she could muster of it under the influence of the submissive daze put upon her and her Boyfriend’s persistent hushes, cuddles, massages and other such uncooperative niceties. It was different, yes. So what of it? “It’s not really a ‘room’. Kind of more of a ‘Breaking Network’. All of what we’ve got here runs cause we’ve got this spot over here. Y’know, it’s funny. Our Queen is so much better than what we had before, the previous generations should go blow themselves… But this right here? Something the stupid old bugfaced bimbo puked out, yeah,” Tough Break explained unhelpfully, pointing at the pulsating bulges - most of them green. “Think of yourself. You’re like, slightly better than normal. You can dig more things than other ponies do, that’s useful. You’reee… eh, kind of attractive I guess, if what the fucks at Acclimatization say is right. You got useful connections. You also got a very, bluh, what’s the word… malleable physiology, yeah. Your size fits most, or something. So you’re like juuust there enough for us to actually give a shit and notice you and go through all the fuckin’ trouble of giving you all this attention. So it’s something similar to this with our whole operation. Putting it into simple terms so your stupid head will get it, until we fix it with some smarts.” The mare didn’t like where that was going. Tough Break was rarely this talkative. Most days she would just chatter with other changelings via telepathy (that was what the nubs were for, according to Honey), be forced to take notes of how some of the bulging synapse shapes behaved at different times, or pull a drone away from work to spend some time using it as a punching and kicking bag. Sometimes multiple at once. The one other time she talked this much was when she went into detail about how Sweetie’s poor Honey himself handled being in this place. She hoped that that Bi— “Oh, yeah, wow, good thought, for once. Thanks, Drone 85, good thing somebody’s listening in on this garbage in your brick of a head. So, like, to illustrate my whole freaking point…” Tough Break clicked her chitinous fingers, and an image of a pillar similar to Sweetie’s arose in front of the tormented mare - ever so slightly blurry and muddy, but otherwise a three-dimensional representation. A slightly tubby, horribly ragged, demented-looking stallion, who, instead of a straitjacket, had a neck and back harness feed life into him as his stretched out body was being ravaged. Otherwise, completely naked. The unicorn’s eyes began to really test the limits of the jacket’s refueling ability, and her horn sent another orgasmic punishment shock down her suffering body. “...there you go. That ain’t your vein. This’d beee… chamber five, right below us. Cause the old bitch-queen had the technology, but we made it fuckin’ work! She had the right idea… Break you down to your base loves and desires, like you get any more basic… And just keep you suspended here forever, feeding into our hive pool. Of course, she was fuckin’ stupid and only made a few veins. About, uh… eleven.” Honey Pot and Sweetie Belle’s eyes locked together, to no effect. This must have happened months ago. As if the revelations chewed up and force-fed into her brain weren’t bad enough. Now she got to see what he was like until they found him his purpose as a handler. He was doing as well as she was doing. Or, rather, as well as she would be doing in a bit: the terrifying claw-like appendages hugging, scratching along his body hadn’t showed up for her yet. She was intimately familiar with those constructs herself, remotely controlled limbs, created out of liquified desperation and suffering, the merest touch of which felt even more real than the horribly lifelike sensations forced upon her at the current moment. They were a profound mixture of green and amber, much like the picture in front of her… the mixing of colors made sense now. “She probably wanted to stick the Princesses in there, and the unicorn stud as well, and his sister’s friends I guess. After that, every other pony’d be up for misuse. See, narrow thinking. Didn’t want to bother with making shit any better, she stopped at ‘good enough’. That’s not us. The Breaking Network has hundreds of freakin’ veins! We stick the ponies that aren’t good enough to be used anywhere else in here. Four hours of break a day and they’re fine. We have so much excess energy, our lot will live a billion years off of you blockheads alone! She had the right ideas, but she was stupid, narrow, dumb, and didn’t know what to do with them. We take it and make it better. You fuckin’ get me?” By herself, she sure didn’t, but the influence of this place mercilessly shoved the realizations down her throat. Even as her body said hello to the orgasmic-cringe-inducing hug of the crawly, metamorphous appendages, conclusions were sped along in her mind. Even as Sweetie came close to unhinging her lower jaw, forced into a horrible scream as the limbs really took hold on all the important parts: the armpits, the breasts, the thighs, the genitals, the back, and, with entirely too much attention, the feet, one small claw wrapping around each toe; every single one of these oozed and exerted concentrated punishment, something beyond the realm of ‘torturous tickling’, ‘suffersome sensations’ and ‘omnipresent overdrive’, each touch of a desperation-forged pincer or a pleasure-borne suction pad striking an eldritch mixture of feelings tuned specifically for each of her sensitive parts to assault her with forced pleasurement. Even if she had done so, the pain would have been negligible, an insignificant backdrop to all else her body was going through - and the damage would be fixed almost before it would be inflicted… None of this stopped her from thinking, comprehending. Spoon-fed such teasing information, the kind she would so desperately want to release elsewhere, but never would, thus making submission all the more appetizing. What these changelings were planning was very serious. The old ones were, well… evidently not anywhere near as serious, judging by the sound defeat delivered onto them all those years ago. What were they planning? They talked of taking over the world as if it was below them. This power… all this torture. A whole planet of nothing but synaptic aberrations feasting on the raw, steaming lust being forced out of their food-slaves, and they spat on it. Tough Break certainly did, for one. Her maddeningly irritating habit of covering all near her in hissy spittle had to have widened the green-and-amber pillar of torment by about an entire inch in radius. “We’ll make you get it, dummy. The hell sorta good are you to us if you don’t understand what you’re doing here? It’s do or die, Sweetie Dumb-bell, you gotta prove to us that we need your… puh-‘personality’. Collaborators gotta know what they’re doing. Honeybums can write you a fuckin’ essay on any topic if you get him up in the middle of the night. I know, I’ve been there, done that,” the grinning chitinous Bitch-whore-slut-jerk drew out with a teasing, slurping hiss, her disgusting, glowing amber tongue poking out as she spoke. The fire of pointless infuriation burned within Sweetie’s core, and its hot embers did a very good job of both bolstering her thinking, and heating up her orgasms. She was at her tenth. “You want me to shut up, yeeeah? You wanna just hang here and get groped and teased and cum a thousand billion times and shit? Well give us a REASON. The fuck do you think I’m wasting my time with you for? Every day? Six hours a fucking go? Y’see, the blurry dumbifier we put on you when you’re outta here, you’re not gonna be much use when you’re out there in the field. And we need you out there in the fuckin’ field, the Queen wants you, anyway. Your energy output shits and whistles, we can force them into anyone now, we got the numbers. Sooo, here’s the million years in endless torture hell question, little missy…” It must have been about an hour since the ordeal began. The appendages have gone into their prime. They browsed her body, having shaped themselves accordingly, to fit into the tight passages the straitjacket left for them. It was all tight leather - if it was leather at all - but its material allowed them to be felt as if there was naught but thin air to protect the mare, defenseless enough as she was. The poor stallion projected in front of her suffered an arguably worse fate, devoured almost entirely by a bulging, beehive-like cocoon, which left only the tip of his snout and a different tip entirely, to be exposed to the world. The rest of his body’s torment could only be gauged by the intense glowing and the surprisingly noticeable attempts at thrashing on his part. She had already learned not to put much effort into thrashing. There was a lot of subtle learning going on in her head. Now it had to include this vile information as well. “...do you get any of this? I am clearing your stupid head as MUCH as I can. Don’t you fuckin’ fail me, I want Handler of the Cycle.” Not unexpectedly, all the mare’s body allowed her to do was cry and scream and weep and wheeze and moan and squeal and chirp and gasp and then moan some more. Originally claw-like tendrilous formations, they were now a variety of shapes, each occupying its own territory, spreading downwards into other formations like parts of a spider’s web. Incredibly narrow, buzzy strands sucked up between her ribs and her bound up arms, into the underarms. Made of the stuff of raw sex and desperation, they transferred not only an insufferable, fuzzy, pokey, invasive scratch with each subtle movement, but also imbued the slightest swing with a wave of alarm going through the overworked body. “Come on. I don’t want to have to make a new personality for you! I’ll make Honey do it, and he’ll make you some quirky goody-two-shoes who’ll not even catch us any good prey without courting it for a fuckin’ month.” Tough Break tapped her half-materialized steel-heeled boot on the cave floor. “Fuck! Should have re-written him.” An amber star-studded belt of inconsistently bumpy, bubbling, orange-red substance covered up her abdomen, with a singular outstretching suction almost hooking up to her navel. The mare’s soft, sensitive tummy, subjected to a sea of padded pokings, made beyond insufferable by the raw intensity that the lust-borne synaptic texture of the belt brought with it - and the single rotating string that cast its probing lance into the navel. Not bothering to manifest beyond the inch needed to affect her borderline-submerged back, rotating pads springing from the liquid energy pillar took up very specific spots on her back, glowing green or amber at random. The elusive, borderline unscannable locations on the pony’s back that could cause them to screech in hilarity or moan in pleasure or fall limp in relaxation, all discovered and serviced persistently. “Do it. Don’t you fucking fail me, you know what happens if you do. You and your shitty boyfriend, you’ll LIVE here. We’ll hook you up together, and this’ll get twice as bad. Two mumble-fucks, never apart. Come on! Think something, you dummy!” In the meantime on the plane of things that worried Sweetie Belle, there was no need for the back-abuse pads to stand out, however - the changeling energies had formed a vest to cover her back and front, slipping it over her chest and back despite the unbreakeable gesture of crossed arms. Her breasts, subjected to a tantalizing, electric massage, borderline groped, nearly giving out milk on instinct; the pads on her back, fitting perfectly into prepared holes, their rotation causing the amber vest to light up with a green web, covering the entire area with a travelling, stimulating tingle. A scarf-like holey substance glowed around her neck, causing the mare’s head to attempt shaking rabidly, to no avail. A consistent, unchaseable, untraceable tickly, teasing feeling, a fingerpad ran along her neck, a fluffy touch on the underside of her chin, tingly pokes everywhere. “Our cause! You fuckin’ want in or what? You behave well. You do what you’re told. You find good ponies, brickheads like you. You get them over here.” Tough Break spoke slowly, condescendingly, drawing out syllables, as if talking to a small child. “Because we don’t want nobodies. Even you’re not a fuckin’ nobody! Want good ones! You find good ones. We kept you near ponies so much, you WILL be able to find them for us. Special ones. You’ll be like Honey. You freaking get that?” Her thighs, encased in what could pass for fashionable arcane shorts - one legging amber, the other green, the centers of their glows being her inner thighs. The subtleties of the ways of changelings old and new were palpable, one legging being more overall torturously scratchy and probey while the other dug in deep and forever, both making perfect use of her envy-worthy legs, which only got softer and better shaped with time spent there. Her feet could as well have had shoes custom-made from this stuff of nightmares, a pair of leathery high heels in resemblance. The thick sole and long heel established connection with the pool at the bottom of the pillar, allowing for the stuff of nightmares to course through it as if through water pipes - making perfect contact with her smoothened up, highly sensitive, and expectedly on-edge soles, which could be forgiven for their status, as their owner was perfectly sure that they were being abused in a myriad ways all at once, which held very true for her nervous perception. “Come ooon! Drone 69 is gonna explode if he clears your thinkbrain up any freaking harder. Do it, you dumb bitch!” The changeling had switched into a tirade, its voice no longer even appearing rough and raspy, almost unfeminine - it changed completely to its changeling vocalization, speaking in a guttural, clacking, palatalized, insectoid, noisy manner. The insufferable, shlicking clicks echoed through Sweetie’s mind, firing up another orgasm to shoot down her loins, powered by the perverted enjoyment that the unbearable changeling brought her. “This is the last day we’re keeping you here for evaluation! Fucking fuck, every converted subject goes through this! The final allocation! Holy shit, just get it already, get-it-get-it-get-it, I am NOT going to be bottom of the list another year! You hear me, Slutty Bordelle?!” She certainly did. Worse yet, much worse - the mindboggled unicorn comprehended it, and gave it thought. What else was there to give it to? The torture chased her out there, forced her to think, since as long as there was this to focus on, it was just a tiny bit less horrible to be where she was. Although, no, it wasn’t. Despite the peculiarity of the situation, Sweetie was quite definitely objective in her thoughts on the matter. A simple choice. Give up, and maintain a sense of decency, but be relegated to… this, forever more, a simple creature of little more than sexual input and energetic output. Give in, and sell out to the terrible conspiracy set to do horrendous things to other ponies, and be what she felt obliged to be repulsed at: a betrayer of her own values, an abuser of the people, a part of a malicious system. Separated from the addling influence of the mind-haze of the past days’ resting hours, and locked away from the thoughts of her origin, the young mare was left with the necessary basics to guide her along. The context, the torture, and the raw elements of her innate personality. “This will feel like spring break after what I’ll do to you if you stay mum. You think this is bad, huh, yeah, you do, huuuh? Pony doesn’t liiike, pony can’t taaake? Pony fucking CAN. But if you keep this shit up, I’m gonna put you and that butthead tub of blubber through alicorn-tier shit.” Tough Break seethed, her head-nubs conjuring up another lightning and unloading it into the thing on the unicorn’s horn. Another searing hot orgasm followed, and yet the heaviness of her thoughts was such that she was only so deterred. “After today, we’ll have what we need to make a body copy of you, anyway - and then we’ll figure it out whose brain to stick in there.You can’t die anyway. And if you’re not gonna work with us? We got enough out of you. May as well drive you fucking crazy. Deeeal?” There were five hours to go as the changeling continued her tirade. Sweetie Belle finally formulated her answer when three and a half remained. Her battered mind, which would easily have been shattered if not for the artificial support it had been given, reeled and weeped at what went on within it. She almost welcomed the many slaps she received on her cheeks and buttocks, as at least those didn’t come packed with all the things she had been put through. There was no revulsion to it… simply a mental exhaustion. This was her choice. To give in. Sweetie was too young to be abandoned for the chitinous lookalike that was being brewed in her likeness within her chambers. This turn her life had taken was certainly textbook tragedy, more or less. But she couldn’t let herself be drowned in oblivion. The oblivion of infinite pleasure that it was to her dual fetishistic core, the mare was too young to abandon other things than receiving pleasure. The young unicorn was meant for more, for indeed she was still young. There were great things she could do. And this certainly was a great - grand - scheme she had now become fully involved in. Through much manipulation or less… she had. I am looking very forward to tomorrow. The onset of energy that was promised… After multiple climaxes I had through dear Honey’s help, I can feel it dawning on me. Already the haze was lifting as I described today’s progress. This can be nothing but a good thing. More proof that I have made the right choice during the session. Much love, XOXO Sweetie Belle
HonorsMarch 21st Hi there, Things are just about wrapping up. Woo! Yep, I can’t not be excited. Gonna get the bad stuff out of the way first before I get carried away. The changing station, in all its slimy, glowing glory. It works, don’t be worried about that. As for it lighting up the bedroom at night, I’ve appropriated Honey’s chest as my night mask, so we’re fine there. But I’m not sure if whoever gives me the appearance guidelines has ever actually seen a pony? I’m exaggerating. Really, though. I’m salvaging this to the best of my ability, but what you’re forcing me to do is killing me. This belt and these heels... And you insist on this exact vest… And no hat to go with any of this? I have to ask for ~~more freed~~ this to loosen up. Come on, ~~I can’t even ex~~ you do know that I know a mare who is an expert in this stuff. I’m not as good, but no rookie either. Seriously, if you got me over here just cause I know that mare and you want to meet her, you don’t need to bother redesigning my visage very much. I can walk up to her with what you’ve got on me right now, and she’d faint. There, got her. I just can’t guarantee that she won’t actually die after seeing this ‘fashion’. Or try to kill you, that’s also possible. Basically: loosen the reins, please, or I’m gonna go out and net nobody looking like a dress up doll. I’ve attached a few sketches, I’m pretty sure they beat what you got in mind. Moving on before I dig myself a grave. They say time flies, but I’ve basically lived a bit of a whole life over here. If you could do that sorta stuff over a month and a half all the time, I don’t even ~~kno~~ whatever, for Drone 44 or 59 or whoever reads my stuff: status_acceptable_subject_content_slight_excitement_detected_bleep_bloop. You guys make me miss Tough Break. Okay, not really. Well, you get what I mean. Honey says I’m a prodigy and a rising star and yada-yada-yada. Roses in bed, dinner when I’m back from work, barefoot in the kitchen, evening footrubs, everything, pretty sure he thinks he’s my wife now. And it’s nice to be appreciated, all things considered. After today, though, I think I can finally almost really appreciate myself. Clunky way to say it, but you know what I mean. Ask Honey if you don’t, he says all of us went through this phase as well. Pretty sure I’m taping that week of March closed, sorry Diary, that stuff’s just not what I want to think about anymore. To make it obvious to you silly bloopers, last four days: like, that whole week: no like. That sucked. I mean, I’m okay with lots of vocal practice, training my abs and getting a new outfit (even if you’re making it suck, it actually looks kinda nice now that it’s fully formed and not fucking with me anymore!), but I don’t like having a beehive for a head. Well, having offended Honey Pot in the most horrible of ways, I guess I can mark down my dastardly deeds for today and hope that you won’t lock up if I miswrite something. Blame your superiors, cause it’s them who still won’t free up my old memories from that dumb orgasm trigger. It’s not like I’m ever in need anymore with this stallion waiting for me at home, and you know I know how to bypass it by now. There I go, rambled, classic me. Let’s get to the meat of it then, shall we, Diary & Drones Inc.? So the first thing to brighten the day was finally getting some action done, and on who! I know theory’s important, but I’m a smart girl and I’d have figured seduction myself. This, though… … Sweetie Belle passed slowly through the invisible barrier separating the chamber from the rest of the facility. The mare balanced skilfully on her high heels and adjusted well to the weight she’d added to her chest - plowing through the thick synaptic barrier was still an unpleasant, sloggy experience. She grunted, taking extreme effort not to be visibly frustrated with how janky the system was. It seemed highly implausible to her that segregating the augmented realities they created in these chambers from the rest of this place could only be done in such an inconvenient manner. Alas, at her current rank, all she could do was huff and shrug. After about three seconds of trying to appear graceful and succeeding, she was finally in the fresh new world the changelings had concocted for the victims. “Whoo.... Jeez. Imaginative as always,” the unicorn mumbled to herself, straightening out her vest and fixing up the small diamond earrings that were yet to adjust to normal gravity. “Never noticed how bad the air conditioning was when I was in you guys’ place… Hey, what?” Sweetie crossed her arms and leaned against a stone wall of what was probably supposed to be a dungeon, staring at a row of mares that were themselves staring at her. Or, well, only two of them were - Princess Luna’s eyes went from surprised to glaring, Sonata’s (whose name the unicorn had to memorize once again) being generally blinky and in a perpetual state of slight confusion. Pinkie Pie was, as always, an outlier, as her eyes were blindfolded. Really, most of her head was completely obscured by a muzzle and blindfold harness, two soft bibs poking out of her ears to add to the picture. The other two were only gagged, straps criss-crossing their snouts, and, in the alicorn’s case, being assisted by a set of muzzle binds holding her jaws together. The dressed-up, makeupped, jewelry-equipped unicorn shrugged and smiled slyly. “What’s the big deal? You didn’t look this pissed since that one time when…” Sweetie Belle was interrupted by the combined gagged mumbling of at least two voices. One was Pinkie, who seemingly somehow learned of her presence in the room, and the other was Sonata, whom she could identify by the odd, slightly uneasy echo that her whining had. Princess Luna was just puffing her nostrils and growling silently. “Girls! What’s gotten into you?” That particular phrase got the alicorn to give the restraints a test. The three mares were restrained in a similar fashion - sat in heavily padded, strap-laden chairs, entirely overdesigned and excessively intimidating-looking for objects that were conjured up for this specific session, wherein one pony was already blindfolded, for crying out loud. Their legs were bound down with belts, and their feet were restrained by heavy duty stocks with one hundred percent decorative, amusingly overdesigned locks hanging off the sides. Each mare’s arms were stretched out and restrained just as heavily as the legs - sort of a Y-shape. Luna was once again a special case, her belts being far thicker and each ending in yet another padlock. Her abdomen wasn’t even held by leather - it was several padded metal rings that clasped around her chest, melding into the seat. Her horn received just as much attention, being covered in perhaps too much black chitin, even for that mare’s potency. Definitely a bit of overdoing on the design, especially the purely decorative padlock hanging off the side. Good thing this was all easily dissolvable by an experienced handler, or this’d actually be impossible to get out of. So however admirable her attempts were, they were mostly wasted strength and drained drones. She was pretty mad. “Hey, I’ve been gone, like, a while, and I come back to this sorta stuff? Jeesh, I remember you being friendlier than that! What’s your proooblem?” she inquired, while exploring the tool cabinet - the only other item of furniture in the cobbled cell aside from the seats. The unicorn grimaced slightly, twirling a bit of lavasciously scented mane. Not only did she have to remember the right code for the right stuff to be summoned, but they didn’t even put a chair for her in there. And there were no manifestation codes for chairs! “Fine, I know you’re gagged. What am I gonna do about it? Like, that’s not even really a question, I’m pretty much in the moral right over here. This isn’t… reeeally how friends greet each other after they haven’t met for a while. I haven’t even done anything to you!” Sweetie Belle fist-bumped in the air, while behind her a mixture of confused mumbling, loud puffing and echoey whining played its fairly dissonant music. Bad tunes, iffy design, lame thematic, lazy management - all not enough to screw up her memory. She was never this good with memorizing numbers in high school, but here she was. A long series of highly situation-dependent boops against different parts of a sorta disgusting amber formation that composed most of the tool cabinet, and she had what she needed to start with. When taking your first test for being an independent field agent, whose duties were to seduce, corrupt, convert and try out… Well, it sure was a good idea to not screw up getting the tools of the trade! The next good idea was to prove herself when it came to the raw physical part of this peculiar job. “We were girl-friends and stuff. Didn’t we have a good time? Escape plans, all that jaaazzz…” the ravishing mare swirled herself around, jinglies on her decorative belt chiming as she did so, and a slightly used-looking box in one of her hands. “And then I’m gone, and now I’m back, and look-at-me! Well you girls are just jealous. Lemme say it again - I haven’t done anything to you…” She lowered her eyes and poked at around the knees of her new jeans to pragmatically see if they were even gonna let her kneel, let alone squat. The mare’s sigh, which drew out the dramatic pause, was made even more genuine, because it was gonna be kneeling for her. “...yet.” Despite the veritable amount of cheese she detected in the way it came out, her acting talent appeared to be convincing enough. Her three ponymarefriends went rather still and quiet for a few seconds, two and a half pairs of eyes piercing through her (Pinkie’s were pretty palpable despite the blindfold). Success! She was an effectual mare. Now it was time to be effective, and she had three very different ponies to screw with horribly. That was going to take all the skill she had. Some of it what she was taught in the preliminary stages of her agency, the past few days… but most of it, stuff she knew intimiately well through her own skin. And thanks to the industrious, if occasionally mismanaged, changelings, Sweetie Belle knew quite a lot about suffering under torturously tickly touches. And brushes. And what have you. She could really use a chair, however, but alas, for all the vast and complex magickry the changelings hooked up in these chambers, there was no way to make one. Not conventionally. Fortunately, Sweetie was already nodding in grim determination. A spark off her horn and a very specific press of magical energy against the bulbous receiver in the tool cabinet, and a glowing amber shape began to manifest in the room. The mare checked its manifestation progress now and again while examining the contents of the box and making sure to show them off to the ponies at her disposal. They were all intimately familiar with all of these: things with spiky ends, things with brushy ends, things with pokey ends, things with hot ends, things with cold ends, things that squirted fun liquids… Yeah, it was fairly textbook, and fortunately fit inside the magically extended space within the box. What was less conventional was the way their new tormentor was going about behaving herself with them, of course. She sighed and mock-giggled, shrugging to the three captives, when the object she’d summoned materialized. It wasn’t really an object, though. “You wouldn’t believe this stuff. I can’t even get a chair! So, yeah, I’m not gonna sit on my knees. These jeans will actually make me bleed if I do that, I think. And besides… Let’s admit it, girls,” Sweetie Belle said, rolling her eyes and clicking her fingers, calling the drowsy changeling drone over and clicking her fingers, pointing to the ground. The autonomous semi-sentient creature actually sighed and covered its face up with a palm before getting on all fours and going blurry for a moment, shape shifting slightly to be a more convenient seat. The unicorn took her living chair, not without some grunting at the sub-optimal redesign they issued onto her, some inner vows of adjusting a lot of the sizing, and some gleeful recognition of the looks on the other mares’ faces. The drone was rather comfortable, too, now that it had made sure its back was devoid of those insectoid wings and holey bumps. “It’s not me who should be kneeling in front of anyone in this room. Just saying the truth as it is, girls… Saying the truth as it is.” To a wide variety of muffled sounds, she grinned and drummed her fingers on her seat. “Alright, so, who do I start with… And who do I save for last… and what do I… hmm.” The unicorn’s stark green eyes pierced through each mare at her disposal. No doubts about it - they were all very, very appealing. Sonata didn’t look that bad at all in her underwear, though it did appear very curious that the pendant on her neck was allowed to remain - in fact, it barely even moved as she thrashed, giggling and humming with more and more confusion. Princess Luna need not even be described, there was a purely aesthetic draw to her harshly bound up dark blue shape, ruffled coat and pain stricken eyes - the fact Sweetie was quite intimately familiar with their unifying mental quirk simply made it better, as it opened the floodgates wide on the possibilities that she’d never have otherwise had. Pinkie Pie made her get wet just by the delectable contrast of bubbly pink fuzz and flesh on hard, bolted, steel-encrusted, invasive binds, gag, muffs and blinders, being in fact very fitting, to the point of Sweetie’s personal, borderline professional, rather refined if she said so herself as of late opinion, being that her setup was absolutely perfect - it’d look ridiculous in most cases, being way too harsh and severe, but this being Pinkie simply made the overexaggerated restraints work when they may not necessarily otherwise would have. And then there were the mares themselves… She knew them fairly well. The relevant parts, of course, not so much personally, at least currently she’d expelled the unimportant details out of her mind for professionalism’s sake. Why, they were all good to start with. “Well, okay, I won’t be that mean, I gueeesss I’ll keep you informed on what I’m thinking. Hey, Sonata, yeah, you, you there, hi. You go first! And I’ll figure out what to do when I’m done with you. Luna, you second, yes, you, hey, don’t be angry, you can’t always be first. Hey!” The unicorn grinned, eyes slightly widening, when the dark blue mare once again tested the strength of her bondage in an impressive display of futility. “Damn. You’d think you’d have learned that, like, one thousand years ago. Don’t be offended, it’s been long enough, jeesh… And Pinkie Pie can wait her turn. She can’t hear us, anyway. You can gossip about her all you want, I know I’ve been doing that when alone with my Honey~” The young mare spun on her seat gracefully, arching her back and taking in a deep breath of the confusing scents found within this dungeon. Upon having faced her victims once more, she cracked her fingers, which helped hide the severe rump burn the show-off spin gave her. These changelings seriously needed fashion lessons… But, one thing at a time. For the time being, it was her dealing with lessons. Or rather, a test. She knew she’d pass, but there was no reason to go easy on the tools of the trade, which, for the perpetually giddy-confused-looking bluish oddball, were a pair of objects distantly resembling jump ropes. A complete obscurity to any uninitiated plebian, but a very scary tool for anyone who knew. Especially on oneself - and all of them did! Even Luna paid a blink to it, huffing and puffing. “Whatcha ogling me for?” Sweetie asked the aquatic blue mare in front of her, who did indeed ogle her with her perpetually quizzed eyes. She had, however, a good reason to be staring at her, since these ‘jump ropes’ were intimately familiar to her, her toes in particular. “Yeah, that’s me! Took you long enough. And since it is me…” Sonata switched from pitchy mumbling into hiccuping giggles and sped-up babbling - the rope began to be woven between her toes. These ropes were short, just enough to fit four toe spaces and then hang off comfortably. Even at distant glance, the texture that was being put between those toes justified the reaction fully - it seemed immensely fuzzy, almost resembling velcro. “...then you know that I know how bad these things are for you. Well, I didn’t write the rules of the game, so I guess that’s a very good thing to know! Let’s see.” The odd earthen mare’s left foot had been completely interwoven, and the redesigned, revamped, overall re-imagined unicorn took the two handles in her hands. After a second of re-examining, seeing if all the fuzzy rope got exactly where it needed to, she pulled it slowly, harshly, to the right. Immediately, the handles began to vibrate in her hands, that was how hard Sonata began to try and wriggle, which was admirable considering all the restraints. The usual noises began to erupt from her - with the persistent tinge of an echo, as always. Sweetie Belle pulled to the left, to increased result. Then again, to the right, which was when the first attempted howl was pulled out of her… It tended to take about five to get past cackles. Clearly, she was doing it right, and the room was filled with the overwhelming noise of a gagged, oddball mare being driven to howling, in this strange studio-filtered tone that she had at such times. “Yeah, see, paying attention got me somewhere! For once… You know, you’re weird… ah, gimme a sec—” the unicorn stopped, grabbing her horn with her fingers and lighting it up, focusing on the fuzz-rope that had already been established - after a few seconds of grunting, it began to saw back and forth on its own, seeing a few bright, fat green sparkles fly off her horn. “Hey there we go, I can do it even when I’m horny! I don’t get why— Where was I? Ah, right, you’re weird. I think we shoulda talked more before my promotion,” Sweetie continued on with her talk while setting up the right foot as well, now slightly slower, stopping for a moment to look at the mare’s feet in a different light. Decent, not bad, perhaps a bit too slender, long toes, slightly wider hollows than in most, very shiny despite not sweating an awful lot. “It’s not the room that does this with your voice, huh? And this thing they keep around your neck… Sheesh, I’m not up to speed even on my homegirls. That’s just…” She paused, having completed the installation of the second torture implement, and examined it. “...okay, good! But, I mean, that’s just not right. Like, what if it’s not me who’s special here, what if it’s you? I’ll ask for info on you, since you can’t really talk to me, I guess.” The tail end of her rambling was covered up by a symphony of gargled, muffled, bubbling, slightly nasal screaming, which was so continuous one wondered if Sonata even needed to breathe. Sweetie herself was impressed - being a singer, she didn’t have bad lungs either, but this was pretty good. She never noticed it before. Some things couldn’t stay unnoticed forever, though. One of them was the hurricane of daggers being shot at her by the nocturnal alicorn by Sonata’s side, who was consistently huffing, puffing, and overall looking more than a little displeased. The young mare sighed and rolled her eyes in response to a particularly powerful tug on Luna’s restraints. She tilted her head at the offended party, her hands steadily fuzz-sawing the toe hollows of the situation-defyingly vocal earth mare. “Would you stop doing that? No, really. I don’t get your problem! Be happy for me or something! I’m gonna be out in the field in a few days, doing stuff, not being here and everything. I was pretty sure you were compassionate.” Luna froze in a glare, but her lack of activity was more than compensated for by Sonata, whose eyes were trying to roll back into her head. It was amusing how hard some of them could overreact. Sonata was silly, Pinkie was laughy, Sweetie herself was very prone to creaming herself more than was ever called for… Luna was always so bitey. It would be a lie to say that that wasn’t endearing. “I get it, you’re… moralistic and stuff… and loyalty’s a thing… But jeesh, why’d you need to be so grumpy? Is that your thing? Wait, right, it is. Heh, I completely forgot, I’m dumb.” Sweetie Belle smiled smugly, shaking her head. Time passed rather well in pony-torturing and in conversation both, so it was also a good moment to ramp it up for Sonata before continuing the debate. The mare clicked the subtle buttons on the handles of her fuzz-rope, which immediately caused an almost Luna-tier thrash from the earth pony. The texture between the sensitive toe hollows was bad enough, it starting to hum, vibrate, and give off ever so subtle arcane electricity charges - even badder. Considering that Sweetie had both quality and quantity to worry about, she decided that that was enough of the former for Sonata, clicking the fingers on the other foot as well, automatizing the rope on the one she departed, and giving the soles a departing scrabble-scratch of about a minute’s worth. Surprisingly slick and slidey for not even having been enveloped in anything. Satisfying. And convenient, since, well, that sort of stuff was mostly for the ones who did actually necessitate it, and beyond. The unicorn cracked her fingers and arched her back, kicking her seat to move her to Luna’s part of the joint chair. “You know what, it’s a shame. You’re nice, it’d suck without you. Buuut I don’t think they’re gonna let you out if you keep acting like that. Being grumpy is really cute, don’t get me wrong,” she narrated to the still-flabbergasted Princess, looking in the extended space box for the things to be put to use. Thus far, she’d pulled out two numbered vials, and seemed to be trying to heave out something sizeable. “Buuut… It’s been, what… about fifteen minutes since I’ve come back here? You’re still peeved. Damn! You need to work on those anger issues, Princess. I mean, you’d know!” Sweetie braced for another heavy thrash, but none came. Luna froze for a moment and then exhaled loudly through her nose. Right afterward, so did the mare in front of her, both of whose hands were elbow-deep in the small box by then - she finally got what she needed. Two metal constructions, most of which were a series of bristly-sharp horizontal blocks, just tall enough to fit an average alicorn’s sizeable sole. Sweetie stung her tongue out, forcing out a spark of magic in effort, and navigated it to the transparent magic recycler on the side of one of the items - for half a second, each of the bristly, brushy blocks came to life, each threatening to brush at a different frequency, and boasting an ever so slightly different set of bristles. The mare gave herself an ‘OK’ sign and took one of the constructions to Luna’s left foot, attaching the metal frame to the stocks. The alicorn remained surprisingly quiet through all this, looking down, somewhere. “Hey, why’re— Great, now you’re overdoing it.” The mare puffed through squeezed lips, picking up one of the two bottles, checking its number, and pouring a generous helping of the liquid down the special hole in the bristle box. Typically, amplifier oils such as these would be meticulously rubbed in over the course of minutes, but it seemed the more efficient route to let it be spread as it went along. Teasing and massaging didn’t seem to… The unicorn stopped, scratching behind her own ear. “Aaah, wait. Too soon, I guess… Well, me and my words, I’m a blabbermouth. Yeah, okay, no, we can’t have you sad either. Someone from Breaking, maybe, but, nooonono, I’m not gonna sink myself just because I hurt your feelings. Alright, here you gooo…” The mare doused her own hands in a helping of the same oil and exerted, not without some effort, a good amount of raw magical energy to activate the device she’d already installed and keep it working for a good five-ten minutes. “Gonna MAKE you laugh.” As the brushing bristles got to their work, so did Sweetie’s hands. Her soft, pampered fingers sunk into the sizeable foot, spreading the amplifier all over it. It was a rather basic oil, it increased nervous response to stimulation, very blunt, but also very effective for particuarly sturdy characters. It was a good thing Sweetie’s hands never really felt it before, because its effect got heavier and heavier with each application - were it as bad for her palms as it was for Luna’s soles, it’d tickle her to rub her hands, and clapping would probably hurt. As a matter of fact, they merely made the experience more pleasant, as she had no trouble admitting that the Princess’ feet were incredibly admirable from even a simple aesthetic point of view, let alone fetishistic. Groping and touching feet that were blessed with near ideal proportions, ravishing curves, unblemished skin, pulpy textures, shapely toes, and a lot of it too boot thanks to size that would humble a lot of males… There was absolutely no point in pretending she wasn’t veeery pleased with it, and the intensified sensations only helped the fact. She stroked, rubbed, and spread an additional two layers of that particular lotion just to extend the procedure. Time was more or less of the essence, but it wasn’t 100% vital, and she’d only quit early to save her own hide big time. That was only half the reason she had to seriously suppress an orgasm, however. The other half was 15% comprised of the fact that Sonata’s torture hadn’t gotten any easier on her, that mare had terrible difficulty adjusting and desensitizing. 35% more were, however, what the bristly device did to Luna. It was an ingeniously simple brushing machine. A set of nice, fine bristles for the balls of the feet, pointy scrabby bristles for the upper arch and middle, stringy strands for the downdrop, and heavy duty eradicator bristles for the heel - each moving left and right at their own accord, at their own speed, their own pressure, their own rhythm. There were fine settings to be chosen, but frankly, it only made so much difference. Sweetie Belle knew quite, quite terribly well that it was already bad enough, and finding Luna’s setup in the settings would take way too much time. Besides, it very, VERY clearly did its job quite well. It didn’t leave much of the foot out there for observation, but the young mare knew the device quite well herself. Luna’s reaction was enough in and of itself. Despite her alicorn stature and resilience, the Princess of the Night has a very appealing habit of hiccuping her way through roaring cackles - which was made all the more conufzzled-sounding thanks to the heavy gag in her mouth. The mare threw her head around and shut her eyes defiantly, arms clearly trying to shake in place, coming ever so close to moving the ‘antlers’ of the Y-shape her upper body was kept in. The sensitivity of her toes, rubbed and scrubbed in with lotions over a long period of time, had already turned her to secreting tiny beads of sweat here and there, her coat going just a bit frazzled. Within just a few minutes, with only one of the automatic brushers having been installed, she was already outperforming Sonata’s slightly lackluster body reactions. The earth mare still held monopoly on being vocal, but Luna fully justified both the heavy restraints and the heavy attention the changelings had been giving her all this time. She WAS a receptive pony. Sweetie could feel some of the individual shakes, shudders, growls and giggles from when she, quite regularly, added some scrabbly, pokey tickles into her lotioning. In full honesty, the entirety of the second layer was applied mostly as an excuse to flex her fingers on a very succulent pair of vast, nearly unending feet, which she otherwise wouldn’t have a chance to, being on something of a timer for this test-run, and having to achieve as much output as she could. “There you go… Geez, I’d say I wonder how this feels,” Sweetie mulled, attaching the other apparatus to the foot she was finally done lotioning up. “Buuut I guess there’s nothing we don’t know between us girls. C’mon, you know that’s true,” she said, sparking life into the device, making the brushes within whir away at the prepared, presented, pre-teased sole. “You can’t tell me things are that different now! Well, okay, you can’t really speak. But really… You can’t be mad that I got a better deal than you did. I had to work really, really hard for it, by the way. I went through the Breaking Room for this. You sat here and did… stuff. I don’t wanna be mean, Luna, but this sort of attitude got you into trouble before. I read history too!” The young mare got off her seat, which opened up its eyes for a moment, simply to roll them. Sweetie Belle, however, rubbed her hands and stepped, cautiously, over the line of stocks, balancing on her high heels, worming her way to Luna’s side, sticking herself between the thrashing, hiccuping alicorn and the continuously mumbling, sensorily deprived pink earth mare. “Okay, fine, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Or… well, I did. But, you know, gotta get those juices rolling! You learn to do that sort of thing in this position… I’m a fast learner.” Sweetie took the Princess in a semblance of a hug, touching as much of her flesh as she could, what with the sturdy restraints all over her body. It was a bit of self-indulgence, as what other mare ever got to huggle a Princess. Especially when she was being extra-adorable in her suffering. It was quite a sight to see, one that her nethers approved of, too… Being sad, despondent, and simultaneously being tickled out of your mind, in a manner that clearly set off too many masochistic alarms to not trigger an overall positive response. She knew all about that, they all did. But actually pulling that on someone, and someone she knew somewhat well, unlike Sonata… Now that was good. Even if it wasn’t, the opportunity to jab your fingers into an alicorn’s sides and dig into her hips, to swirl your finely manicured index finger in her conveniently deep navel, to scrabble all over the deliciously exposed, smooth armpits. “Oooohhhh… mmmm. Nooo hard feelings… Just hate me a lot, please. It gets their devices going so hard~” Sweetie giggle-whispered into Luna’s folded ear, one of her hands taking a bit of time off sliding inside an armpit, and giving the immortal demigoddess a chin scratch. Life goals she never knew of were being accomplished - the job wasn’t that bad at all. “I know you’ll do that for me… I don’t wanna be an intern for too much longer.” The string of happenstance convenience continued, for the texture of the bondage furniture was dark enough that the serious leak in her nethers wasn’t that noticeable. Neither visually nor aromatically - the room was already filled with the scent of pure lusty mare, and slightly vanilla-ish lotion. She was more than sure that the number her tricks were pulling on her ponies was gonna overshadow the slight lack of control. They weren’t banned from orgasming freehand, but it was encouraged to restrain yourself, so that your mind was focused. Speaking of which… Sweetie did realize that she had another pony to set up for the extraction of her emotions. It was just way too curious to go through the other two first, and besides, she did employ a bit of strategic thinking at the start of it all. Pinkie Pie probably didn’t see or hear it coming when Sweetie’s oiled, flexed up fingers came scrabbling down her own upper body. Not a guarantee, for that pony operated in mysterious ways, but even the chance that she may have cooked up a degree of pressure within her was good enough. And it seemed she was better at anxiety cooking than food cooking, because the response from the jittery mare was so vibratious that it almost tickled Sweetie herself in return. On the first stroke against her taut, exposed armpits, the pink earthy began to vibrate furiously, like if she’d been charging up this entire time. The unicorn could almost feel the air disturbance in her mane! “Hahah, geez! I thought I was gonna be doing the surprising. Oh wow,” she commented, mostly to Luna and Sonata’s dismay, as her fingers danced all over the trembling field of ticklish pink jello. “She’s never been like this, has she, girls?” If there was any response, it wasn’t noticeable in the continuing cacophony of shaking metal, noisy breathing, muted echoey wailing and muffled hiccupy cackling. “I’m blazing a trail here! Damn, I’m, like, really jealous of your handler. Sheeesh, I don’t wanna stop.” The bit of coaching Tough Break and Honey Pot gave her before this, as well as her, by now, rather intimate association with sharp fingers on touchy places, made Sweetie Belle a fair amount more than an amateur at tickling someone sufferously with her bare hands. She knew to go for weak spots, which were easily guessable - or findable - and even knew to control herself so that her fingers didn’t get tired. That was the only technical challenge in front of her at the moment: not to lose her skill and not to descend into primal amateurism. A real prospect it was, though, because Pinkie was very addictive. “Aaah, and I wondered why everyone likes Pinkie Pie so much. Pinkie, you are li-hi-hiterally crack! I can’t get enough of you, and you’re gonna make me OD, and it’ll be all your fault!” the young mare proclaimed, grinning widely, a sinister streak slipping into the corners of her lips without much of her own notice. “Mmm, this is so good. I guess Mom was right, being an anorexic model isn’t good for you. Ohhh there’s so much to dig into! Aaah. I almost wanna fail now, so I can try with the three of you again and again!” She’d begun to actively rub cheeks with what could be accessed of Pinkie’s. For what it was worth, the young torturer appeared to be doing a rather good job, since the earthy at her tormenting hands was driven to the usual levels of wriggle attempts and prolonged high pitched muffled tirades. Considering how much of a maze that mare could sometimes be, that meant Sweetie Belle, in her first intern test run, has clearly shown some real capabilities. At least, she enjoyed believing that, though it did in fact seem very likely. However, there was productivity to be considered. “Girls, you owe me to tickle her when you have free time, you got no idea how much fun this is. I do not wanna stop. But I gotta work. Well, what do I dooo nooow?..” she asked herself teasingly, raising an eyebrow. At that moment, she was still unsure as to her plan. When her finger slipped into the luscious, fruitful, laughter-resource-ridden belly button, she knew it was probably not a terrible idea. “Oh, I am actually a genius. Hey, uh, drone! Seat! Yeah, you. Unseat yourself, I have an errand for you. Copy?” The drone fused itself back into a more pony-like form, stretching and frowning. It rolled its eyes again at her question, and clicked a response out in a distorted tone. Sweetie sighed out in relief, having understood the creature. Luna’s eyes clamped down in disappointed denial once more as she noticed that. “There you go, about time. Now let’s think, Pinkie…” she began to drag out her performance, simply to frustrate the other two ponies some more. Pinkie probably didn’t hear most of it, probably. “What did you haaate the most. I guess I can’t feed you veggies when you’ve got this gag on… Oh, right. Drone, seat, whoever. Take the box, find meee… eight combs. Fine tooth combs. Like, for hair. But for toes. Copy?” Her former seat blinked its head-nubs and stared at her with a glare that almost surpassed Luna’s best, but only for half a second. The changeling creature rifled, begrudgingly, through the box, and emerged with a series of grey and amber combs that looked dangerous even from a distance. Sweetie nodded, and nudged her head to the direction of Pinkie’s feet, not desiring to retract her hands from the pony’s supple body, as they were quite content playing around with the ribs. “Uhuh, slot’em between each toe. She got so screamy when there were only two of them, wow, I’m gonna bust her! Ah well, so it goes,” the mare concluded with mock carelessness, giving the animated pink pony’s neck a lick. Quite saccharine. “Yeah, there you go… Oh, what?” She frowned at another indecipherable vocalization. “Well, bend them or something, make them go all the way! They’re made out of your stuff, you’re the one to deal with this! Hut-hut. Yeah, like that!” Sweetie approved of the drone’s turning every comb into sort of a flexible arc, so that they would fit more comfortably - apparently, Pinkie’s toes were too close to the stocks themselves for the long combs to be slotted in properly. Now they could operate on a seesaw basis, similar to what Sonata was still suffering through, with no drop-off in sensitivity. “There you go. Well, go on! Make them go. Hey, what? You’re a tool too! Doesn’t say anywhere that you aren’t!” Another glare exchanged, and yet another course of Sweetie Belle’s manicured fingers over a trembling, blushy tummy, and the drone conceded to its position. The unicorn bit her lip, extracting a fat spark of magic out of her horn, and pass it over to the creature, which absorbed it, and did the manual part of making the combs saw through Pinkie’s dangerously sensitive hollows. Immediately, all movement and noise coming from the pink pony ceased. Sweetie was savvy enough to anticipate that - she knew what was coming. The newly baked torturer clung as hard as she could to the steaming pony’s sides, giving her neck a kiss. “MNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNYYYYYYYRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Pinkie Pie screamed first, for about ten whole seconds. Then she emitted another powerful wave of vibrations, actually managing to slightly loosen up a bolt or two that kept her bondage belts in place. But there was no point to any of it. The earthy’s habit of bottling up a lot of activity to be unleashed when things got extra bad never did anything good for her, if anything, it simply brought the unicorn in charge of her exploitation to the brink of another freehand orgasm. And Sweetie was having the time of her life, really. She’d only seen that mare brought to this point a few times, and nobody ever went easy on any of them! She must have been good. “Hahahah, woohoo! I think I get the changelings now, this is amazing! Girls, seriously, stop being grumpy, you gotta do this as well,” the unicorn declared gleefilly, resting against the free space between Luna and Pinkie, stretching out her legs to put her feet on top of the stocks, and leaving both her hands to lazily spider over both mares’ tummies and armpits. “I would sell my future career and stardom and stuff to get to do this. And I didn’t even have to do that! Woo, I had no idea torturing you guys was this good. Like, thanks. This is amaaaziiing!” The young mare shuddered a little as her second orgasm finally realized itself, slightly wetting up her clothes. Not a massive issue. Sonata was performing well, Luna was above average, Pinkie was far above average. Even if one tried to be skeptical, she was doing this! Of course, Sweetie Belle wasn’t dumb. This was immensely fun and addicting, but she certainly hadn’t abandoned rational thought. There was method to the madness, obviously… Ponies fueled the changelings best when they exhibited extreme emotions. Hence why masochists were so sought after. It was even better now, after they’ve implemented some improvements thanks to her. But that didn’t mean their tormentors, their handlers, their general staff could be lazy when unleashing Tartarus onto their captives. Sweetie’s goal was to take her former comrades in peril and manage, in one session, to provide at least as much energy output as the usual handlers tended to, be it Tough Break, Strawberry Whoever, or whatever fancy sort of name Luna’s handler had. Technically, this was difficult because Sweetie was obviously not a changeling, and didn’t feed off all of this - it was no secret the changelings themselves did that, nobody minded a tiny bit of energy going missing. Instead, she was a pony, and her feeding manifested in the form of distracting wetness and orgasms. Also, she had far less experience. It was that they must have been testing, at least mostly. It had to be her own skills and decisions that put her marefriends through the wringer. Using the drone? Just an example of how she knew a little bit better than to stick strictly to the rules and remain directly in the box; it was obvious they wouldn’t have chosen her for a potential handler without considering her original, artistic streak. Fortunately, all of this was a bit overblown in how much of a ‘test’ this would be. Apparently, some converts failed it - in fact, six out of ten did. Evidently, they weren’t attentive enough… Sweetie Belle was very attentive. She knew to notice the metaphorical fine print in the rules of how to torture. She knew to keep in mind her friends’ weaknesses and exploit them. She knew to act on initiative and frame her entire session around one simple thing - making them as mad as possible at her betrayal. She wasn’t oblivious. Of course they were mad, and she fuelled the fire wherever she could. That was simply how life worked, the young mare realized. It was a sneaking suspicion before, but now it was a definite rule. Some things you just did to get ahead, and it was best not to feel too bad about them. It’s not like these three were gonna die or anything, she even gave them advice on how to get out of their situation as energy batteries for the changeling hive. Really, this was not all that different to show business, and Sweetie had been preparing herself for that for a few years now. Quite clearly, healthy cynicism and a breadwinning attitude were closer to her personality than she once thought. Just a few months back she wondered if she’d survive in the corporate musical industry. If these sort of social machinations were for her. Empty worries, it turned out… It was all coming up her way. Who knows, maybe they’d even give her a boost in that singing career she’d always dreamed of! Changelings needed regular entertainment too, after all. In fact, that gave her another wonderful idea. “Hey, drone. I’m feeling really happy right now, so take it while you can - go nuts on the rest of the pink one’s feet. Do whatcha want, just don’t bite. She’s already doing quite well, so you’re free to have fun. I’m too lazy right now,” she said playfully, grinning to herself. “Though, in about…” Sweetie clicked her tongue, looking to the corner of the room, where the timer was located, invisible to the captives, of course. “...eleven minutes, lather her soles up with thunder oil, and give mine a massage instead.” She nodded, wriggling her feet in their decorated, slightly ridiculous, high heels. “Pretty sure I deserve it…” --- And there we have today. I dunno if I deserved Tough Break for my evening massage instead of Honey for how I acted during the session, but, whatever, he’s sucked me off twice now to compensate. What matters is that starting tomorrow, I’m moving up in the world! Gonna attach a sketch of the face and mane color I want prepared for me. Sad that I’m too recognizable as I am, but I get your worries. Try to do something among those lines, please, I’m sure whatever idea I get is gonna be better than what your designers put out. That’s the hard truth, guys. That’s all. Looking forward to field work. Honey is as well, he’s suggesting we double-date someone. Who knows! I’m full of opportunities and ready to conquer the world. Let me give you something good before it’s time for my nightly eat-out: you guys are better than show-biz. Talk about social networking… Anyway, that’s all. Expecting my changing station to be receiving updates soon. Don’t want to flub this because somebody has no sense of proportion or fashion direction. XOXO Sweetie Belle.
Epilogue“So… I see,” the incumbent Princess of Magic mumbled, letting the neat leather-bound book drop down on her work desk. “This is… oh dear.” “I fucking know,” the azure pegasus on the sofa in front of her rasped in response, hugging herself and shaking. “Don’t ask me how I got it. Just… please, don’t ask me anything. Fucking mind-bleach me or something, please,” she descended into a tittery whine, sniffling and gulping down the last two words, covering her face up with a blanket. “I’m really sorry, Rainbow Dash. I’m really, really sorry about all of this…” Twilight Sparkle said quietly, burying her face in her hands, almost shrinking down in her royal garments. The guards in each corner of the room paid her a momentary glance, but she rose back up with a deep breath. “There’s nothing I can say that can make right what’s happened to you.” “Yeah, no, I just… I need some time… just me and a gallon of fucking bleach… Or erase my memory, I don’t know,” the pegasus spoke weakly, resting her head on the purple and gold cushion, hugging her sharply cubicled abdomen. “Was this useful at all? Like, maybe you can just… take what’s in here and just blast my brain with some shit to make me forget?” Princess Cadence, who had been on huggle-consoling duty of the single solitary changeling captivity escapee that Canterlot got to see so far, held the trembling pegasus closer in her sinkable, pink embrace. It would have been much more fitting if Twilight were to comfort poor Rainbow Dash, who somehow managed to make her way from, reportedly, halfway across the country, and even bring them a valuable piece of evidence. The Princess of Magic, however, was the main analyst on the case of the changeling uprising. Ever since Princess Luna herself had gone missing, there was little free time at her disposal, most of her efforts were aimed at directing the efforts of breaking apart the conspiracy. Now there was solid confirmation as to where Celestia’s sister had disappeared to, as well. The book was, indeed, a hefty piece of evidence, it confirmed some of the fringe conjecture that had been floating around within the Equestrian intelligence. It told a harrowing story, one that it would take some skill to deliver to Sweetie Belle’s elder sister Rarity without risking the latter potentially having a heart attack. Alas… “Rainbow… I guess I don’t have any words for this, no… I’m really sorry, but we’ll need to know how this happened. At least how you managed to escape. We need to know what chinks they’ve left in their armor! This is incredibly important. I’m very sorry to push this on you, Dashie, but, please…” Twilight clasped her hands, sparkling her widening eyes at the shaking pegasus, who tugged nervously at the edges of the palace pajamas they gave her to replace what remained of her clothes. The combined force of the hug and the eyes got the pale pony to calm down before she’d begun to rile up. “You know it’ll only weigh on your mind if we put this off. Just get this over with now, and then we’ll help you fix your life. Cadence can help! She’ll soothe your mind so it doesn’t hurt as much while you remember.” “Mhm,” the pink alicorn hummed comfortingly, nodding at her purple co-Princess. “She can start now… That’d be nice… I’m just… I’ve ran out of tears, you know? I can’t cry anymore. Holy shit, I’ve turned into such a rag, I can’t beli—” “Shhh. Shh-shh-shh. Calm down… it’s okay,” Cadence interrupted Dash, nuzzling her behind the ear, getting her lax and limp on her side again. “How… gnarly.” “To say the least… Okay. Here you go, Cadence.” Twilight Sparkle took a folder, getting up from her desk. The other alicorn took it, nodding in response. The purple one, in turn, moved over to the two of them on the couch, nuzzling her traumatized friend. “I’ve made sure to compile the questions so there aren’t too many of them and so that it doesn’t hurt you too much. You’ll be helping us a lot. You’re a hero, Dashie. We’ll put a statue of you in the Central Plaza, that’s for sure!” “Heh… heh… really? Yeah, I guess that’s fair.” The weakened pony smiled weakly, one of the first times she did so since leaving her horrendous captivity. “I’m the ultimate prisoner of war and shit… not how I wanted to be remembered, but, fuck. I’m glad there’s even a me anymore. The things they did to me…” “Shhh,” both alicorns urged her, caressing various parts of the poor pony’s body to get her to leave such thoughts behind. “Ok, okay. Just, y’know… Don’t design it without me. Or it’ll look all frilly and shit. I mean… I dunno… Do I even remember what I’m like anymore?..” Rainbow spoke to herself while Twilight distanced away for a few seconds, talking to the guard, giving directions, checking a few devices, other such princessly things. “I don’t know what’s what. I think I’ve been there for fucking years… at least, it feels that way. And it just… it changes you. I, I don’t know if I wasn’t myself there, or if I’m not myself now… or… fuck, this is making my head hurt…” “Hush. Take it one step at a time. You’re not meant to go through so many trauma-related thoughts at once,” Cadence lectured her gently, preparing the two of them to get up, hoisting the groaning Dash up to carry her in her arms. Two guards came to their side immediately, ceremoniously helping her with the pony’s weight, which was still somewhat palpable despite her long, torturous captivity. Its specifics lingered with all their minds, as most prisoners of war tended not to gain muscular abdomens and generally pampered bodies… “We’ll pretty you up before the interview begins. And it’ll all be very, very nice.” “I’m not pretty,” Dash blurted, to a giggle from the purple Princess, who walked close by, leading them out of her chamber. “No, Dashie, you’re… You’re still yourself, you know that? By which I mean, you’re adorable.” Twilight poked her snout with a finger. “Now hush! Listen to Cadence and it’ll all be fine.” “But—” “And I’ll see to it you’ll spend the night in my chamber.” “Ooh. Okay…” “Yep.” Twilight Sparkle waved the departing, chuckling escort goodbye, smiling warmly. She sighed deeply, smile still stuck to her snout, as she returned back to her room and arched her back, flexing in place, grunting in satisfaction. Her eyes fell upon the diary of Rarity Belle’s sister, the latest promising convert from Compound 13. Quite the interesting read. Having the captives keep diaries was certainly a convenient idea, albeit their security was evidently rather questionable. A simple skim through the many, many, many pages told a full enough story - she had enough experience of her own in these matters to know how this worked, in general. Now she was simply up to speed on how well, exactly, standards were enforced and boundaries were being pushed in that key compound. Visible initiative, perhaps sub par execution. That was enough, though. With a gentle yawn, Hive Queen Liquomentia, failed Hive Queen Chrysalis’ successor, shed her masterful disguise, now that the only staff left within this wing of the palace were her own praetorians. The tall, slender, chitinous black figure strode past a mirror, making sure to fix up her thick, fiery amber braids. A poke of her jewelry-encrusted finger renewed the illusion on a nearby window, out of which she observed the escaped prisoner’s escort. The Queen sighed longingly, crossing her holey legs, pushing her chin up with a chitinous hand. “Yes, do make her tell, Adhoranima. I’m sure you will… but you know what happens if you don’t.” “Of course, my Queen. You needn’t doubt me.” Her foremost lieutenant was the master of occlumentic telepathy, second best next to her, of course. Unlike the communications she kept with her praetorians and other high society insiders, this didn’t even need magical cloaking. “I didn’t doubt the overseers of Compound 13, and yet they’ve somehow let slip an escapee. From their most reinforced sector, no less! A Breaking Division escapee… You will make her give you every last little bit of information about how she managed it. We can’t afford weakness in our network.” “I could do it with my mouth gagged.” Liquomentia weighed the dairy up in her hand. Sweetie Belle… that name coursed her mind a few times, in a couple of reports. More than just a secondary upstart, it seemed. She would make sure to track her further progress. As far as she knew, at the moment, that particular convert agent was busy infiltrating the nightlife elite of Las Pegasus, a city so far relatively untouched by their spreading network of influence. Perhaps dear Sweetie wouldn’t even need much help, looking at her track record… “I know. It’s simply that we cannot afford to be careless right now… We cannot afford weakness of any variety. Best if our headquarters stay impenetrable, and that the ponies in command remain blind and deaf to what is going on. I’m doing all I can to halt any progress… And yet this still happens. So please, don’t be another disappointment.” “No need for worry. I can assure you I won’t be sharing miserable Twilight Sparkle’s chambers in Basilica Tormentia Libidia.” The changeling Queen laughed out loud, and took a sip of coffee with her pinky finger stretched out, exhaling into a smug grin. “Why yes, that’d be good. There isn’t much space left there, and we have to place poor, poor Rainbow Dash somewhere… I did promise her she’d be sharing Twilight’s chambers, you know. And she will. Forever. Heh-heh-heh.” “Mwah, ahahahahah!” “Now don’t break your bravadacious boasting and slip out of character. You’ve got a job to do. And I’ve… got evidence to obfuscate. Before Shining Armor and Celestia find out too much.” “As you say, my Queen. Over and out?” “Over and out.” Hive Queen Liquomentia took in the pleasant evening breeze, the power jewels, chains and amulets covering her half-naked equine body radiating with maleficent power. She did not rise up and overthrow an incompetent, bullheaded, obsessed tyrant, only to be taken out by freak happenstance. This should never have happened, and the ones who assisted Rainbow Dash would be punished most severely - Basilica Tormentia Libidia, one of the extreme torment facilities created mostly for punishment and amusement, and only secondly for scientific research, was close to being filled, but its sister institutions weren’t. Rainbow would spend a very fair amount of time pressed close to her dear Twilight, both of them screaming for hours, begging, tormented to the brink of death and insanity, yet kept intact by trusty magicks and techniques. Chances are, Princess Luna would join them too, unless her mind would sway, of course. And considering the rather wondrous findings of the last few entries of the journal, as well as her knowledge as to the potential of Sweetie Belle post-conversion, which far exceeded what she originally expected (a mere demoralization tool for when her sister was inevitably caught)... Liquomentia even knew who to promote to direct the torture of that block of the Basilica. It was a cushy position for the synaptic elite of the Hive, a place where sheer excess and depravity were abound, with very little in the ways of rules, regulations, or procedures - no matter how they satisfied themselves with all the victims in their ‘care’, those places justified their worth. Any striving, lustful changeling would want to spend at least some time being in charge of even a single victim. So yes, now that she’d been informed of exactly how… well Sweetie Belle’s conversion was undertaken, it was decided: handler Obtero, known better to the ponies in her care as Tough Break, deserved to run the elite block for at least a month, even though she only produced two converts until now. The Queen was curious to see what that changeling was really like, they needed this sort of straightforward brashness in places other than breaking very specific ponies. After all, it wasn’t all with coy games and subterfuge that her Hive was built. A good Queen employed all the tactics in the book, and then added a tome of her own. That was where every single Hive Monarch failed up until then, and that was why her destiny was glory, while Equestria’s was in submission or in never-ending lustful torment. Such as that which poor poor Rainbow Dash would be undergoing any minute now, she could all but feel the titillation... With the necessary info extracted from the faux-lucky pegasus, Liquomentia will be able to prevent such things in future. Her victory was, then, assured. Soon enough she would wear the identity of not some book-gazing, brainy, boring dork - she would be Celestia herself, ruling the world’s dawns, and Adhoranima, or a more able changeling of the hive, would be Luna by her side. And with all the power, all the technology, all the magic, all the… things that their research has brought into being, it would be a matter of months before the rest of the planet was a feeding ground for changelings and willing collaborators. The ponies’ dismissive attitude has made sure that plenty of them would avoid being willing collaborators, therefore creating more than enough living batteries to make their Hive last for near-millions of years. Not all would be batteries, of course, some would enter this new society peacefully, if they were deemed worthy, like Sweetie Belle and her partner were. Some would make for loving, affectionate, warm, fuzzy pets - only sentient and intelligent, with none of the mess associated with all those hollow animals the ponies surrounded themselves with. A superior, warmer, more heartful world order. Easily supportable with the aid of the Princesses. Princess Cadence, located in Compound 4, was approximately one third of the way to seeing the world their way. Princess Luna was at the fifty-fifty breaking point, threatening to be a borderline lost cause - but fortunately, they’d gathered enough neural data to be able to recreate her almost perfectly with some synaptic claywork and a willing changeling participant. Princess Twilight was such a recent addition that Liquomentia saw little reason to have her real self around at all, unless, of course, the mare saw the light at any point in her perpetual darkness of torment. Princess Celestia and the technical monarch of the Crystal Empire, Shining Armor, were a few months’ work away from being subdued and replaced. Then subsequently reintroduced, once they spent enough time realizing the errors of their ways. Queen Liquomentia knew the intricacies of ruling a society well; as good a job as she would do as the hated Princess of the Sun, they would need those established ponies to ‘rule’ Equestria as it spread the Hive’s web all over the world with the advancements that were being cooked up in the Compounds. Three out of five would be enough… the ponies were gullible. She wouldn’t even have to waste time flexing their minds personally - they would eat it all up, the ones that hadn’t converted or been replaced yet. And then, who would ever question their actions? They came in peace and brought ‘friendship’ with them, after all. All over the planet, vibrant, colorful, unstoppable. The ones who disagreed or proved an issue would feed the growing depravities of the handlers, who would have no shortage of fighting spirits to subdue. All she needed to ensure all of this, to guarantee her place in this world’s history, at least for the time being, was a simple thing. See that the devious escapee divulged her secret, that said secret was kept secret and fixed. And then, merely spread the necessary misinformation and redact vital parts of the rising, converted star’s diary. A hour’s work for Adhoramena at any pony’s most stalwart, and a few simple spells and middling lies from the Queen. Sometimes she wondered why she spent so long gathering all the artifacts of power she could find, considering how easily each and every obstacle in her path seemed to fall. Chrysalis… other usurpers… Twilight Sparkle… Cadence… the Crystal Empire’s military intelligence… Luna… A diary. The amber, red, and otherwise glowing artifacts made her entirely overqualified for a task as simple as conquering this world. Mayhaps she would require a way into other worlds soon enough! Then again, with how productive research had been going, perhaps that was not at all a pipe dream. And that finally made her burst out in proper, full-fledged villainous laughter, of which she savored every last second. Laughter was best saved for the right occasions… Unless you were under the heel of her glorious Hive.
Group TherapyMarch 7th Dear Diary, It’s a day. Very strange how it feels. You know, right? I thought that after the three of us got a new friend to share in our sessions, stuff would get mixed up again. And as you know, it did. You know my routine by now… All morning, while Honey was giving me the massage, I was blabbering about how worried I was, that you’d crank the crazy up a notch again. Honey is still a littlesilly. Sure, changelings are changelings, it’s there in this title of yours… But it’s been more like vampires for the time I’ve spent over here. Hooking their magic up to us, then doing what they do. Luna still thinks they’re storing it, because groups like ours are doing something ~~special with the am~~ I still don’t get it, to be honest. Pinkie and I are pretty sure we’re keeping them around, this can’t be an easy place to keep working. It’s got to be such a tough job, making all this to house us. Taking the time to see what we need to really fall in. That’s got to take juice, I guess. Well, I think you know better. After all I’ve left over here, I’m pretty sure this is the kinda thing you pretty much want to be told. So, about changelings. Just weird. I can’t really tell what came over me back then - over any of us. The more I think of it, the more riled up I get. Honey is helping with a massage. He should get something nice. I know myself pretty well. Pinkie is ~~kinda ko~~ a bit of a mystery sometimes, but she acted strange as well. Luna too. The fourth, the really odd one, Sonata… As if the creepy wobbles out of all those devices you hid in every room weren’t crazy enough whenever she gets going. She acted nothing different at all. Which is, I mean… It was classic, right? Light to start with, to each their own… this whole scenario… but then it just turned into what it’s always turned into. And I just ~~pretty much~~ ~~sort of~~ didn’t care. Like a song gets played in G Major, but I don’t even notice. I wish I didn’t finish so hard. I need to talk about this to the girls. Honey isn’t too much use with this… the look he gets in his eyes. The thing with this is what else happened, I’m not happy with it. Maybe it’s stupid to be mad at how you did it instead of what you did, but I can’t help. Perhaps if I was less of an airhead and thought more of how changelings worked, and tried to put it against the things I’ve been through? I don’t know. It’s tough to be philosophical right now. At least I know for certain he’s not fake. I saw fake today, and it was weird. And it didn’t matter. Honestly, I’d rather take last week’s shouting contest between that Bitch and… … Sweetie Belle jerked in her seat, crunching her hands - tied behind a back section of the joint 4-piece chair she and her co-captives sat on - into fists. Her eyes shut by reflex and her breathing slowed, she moaned lightly, and heard the other three do the same. A higher pitched, more rapid, somewhat more agitated moan of Pinkie’s. A lower, languid, subdued moan of Luna’s. A whiny, almost cartoony, croaky moan of the new pony, Sonata’s. As per usual. This was the energies of the mass treatment chamber settling in before they would be group harvested. Luna’s explanation, not hers. Honey corroborated it, to the best of his ability, so it was an apt enough signal that things were about to get going. It could have been worse, Pinkie once noted out loud (which earned her full sensory deprivation for the duration of that session, which then focused on her having to go through intense upper body torture - bestowed upon Luna - and unbearable pedal stimulation - which Sweetie had to go through - at the same time). At least their bell tolled with a flush of pleasant sensations teasing the nethers and settling a warm hearth in their chests. It seemed that today was to not be a happy sort of torture day, however. If here was one entity you needed to introduce into a setup for any heartful warmth to disappear, it was Tough Break. One of Sweetie’s anomalous pair of handlers entered with her usual grace, shouldering the heavily reinforced door open, hacking out a gob of spittle, landing some on her glovebolted hand, cursing out profusely, and then wiping it on the nice pink padding on the walls. Pinkie hmfed, Luna groaned, Sonata chuckled, Sweetie was glad she didn’t wipe it against her instead. “Oh, why the fuck do I get the clownshoes brigade again…” the insufferable changeling complained, pulling out a sheet that detailed… whatever it detailed - their torturers for the day always had one of those, but none of them saw inside. “Wow, shit, thank you Breaking Brigade, like I needed the extra shindig…” “But we don’t have any shoes,” Sonata perked up, her voice reverberating strangely - it always did. Luna noisily exhaled, Pinkie just sighed with a giggle. “Holy hell, what hole did we even— Ah, right. Yeah, whatever, I’ll pretend you’re a fuckin’ vegetable.” Sweetie’s handler grimaced and leaned against the wall, squinting at each of the readily restrained four. “It’s more fun to fuck with vegetables than with you losers anyway.” “Well… maybe let us go, then?” the dark blue alicorn suggested wryly with a grin. Sweetie Belle couldn’t help but admire the spunk that’s been preserved in her. She had the right idea, anyway. Tough Break was a harsh, nasty bully. You could as well talk back to them. No big loss there, simply have the courage to speak up. Somehow, the much more experienced young unicorn never did so, instead reducing herself to wobbles and sniffles at the showers of abuse each time. “If it’s so awful to deal with us, why not just play a bit of hookey.” “I’m not a hooker, you’ll be a fuckin’ hooker if I want you to be.” “Uh, guys!.. I volunteer to be first. For whatever! Just stop arguing,” Pinkie declared proudly, rapidly nodding her head. Sweetie Belle herself was, as per usual, mostly mute whenever the terrible pegasus changeling was around. That allowed her to notice something others likely didn’t. She wasn’t wearing the light green long sleeve shirt and skirt that were her out-of-room outfit. Instead, pressing down on her breasts was a slightly tight sleeveless purple shirt, one that she used to— The unicorn bit on her lip and inhaled with a hiss. Her nethers rumbled with enthusiastic vigor, artificially so. She’d very much rather not pull more attention onto herself, so the thought had to be simplified, for it apparently contained forbidden topics of thought. Old shirt, not around anymore, suddenly back, really pronounces her boobs. As if they just grew by an entire size. Also, jeans. The argument continued, fortunately having been shifted to more of the odd things Sonata was blurting out. It masked more of the odd ongoings. The entire room was full of hazy vibrations, ones that caused her eyes to avaunt after half a second of observing. So she did, and turned to her partners - who seemed to change as well. Pinkie Pie no longer had her uniform white shirt and quirky suspender pants, instead her respectable uppers were hugged by a teal sweater with a saucy heart-shaped cut-out that allowed a peek at the bosom. The two of them hadn’t met for a few years, but it seemed the sort of thing to wear in private, certainly not for business, even if Pinkie’s business was mostly performance. Princess Luna suddenly gained her old, recognizable royal garments - an impeccable nocturnal blue and moon silver dress that caused the unicorn another fight with her nethers, for the thoughts it riled up had too much to do with banned subjects. The thoughts were innocent, the fashion enthusiast within was in awe of how amazing the dress was - so it seemed that the origin of her enthusiasm was part of what her brain was derailed from. As for Sonata, she gained a light, proper looking buttoned jacket instead of the glorified, albeit neatly incrusted, underwear they mostly saw her in. It certainly grounded the odd mare in reality, as prior to that, Sweetie could almost bet there was something outlandish about her in more ways than one. But right now, that was not what she was thinking of. Her mind made a few logical conclusions. Things were changing while words were being exchanged. Indeed, in the time it took her to maneuver around a few landmines to arrive at this conclusion, the room itself was no longer padding, bondage furniture and tools - it was a homely looking room, not entirely unlike the ‘inn’ they returned to after each day’s session. She could feel a fireplace crackling behind them. It was warm. ...Tough Break was gone. No one seemed to mind, or question it, even though she was just about to deliver a heavy, steel and leather-enhanced slap, on Pinkie’s wiggling soles. When the door creaked with a wooden sound, much unlike the true clang and scrape of thick metal that belonged to it, the four mares had to undergo another heavy stimulation. Gasps, moans, huffs, and light mumbles emerged from each of them as their thoughts swirled and their eyes went blurry. Sweetie could almost hear the chittering whir of the machinery embedded in the shapeshifting walls, a thought for which her back arched to the best of its ability, and the wetness in her loins became more than a mere suggestion. The smell that took over the room, in itself, was indicative enough. Estrus multiplied by four. The overwhelming majority of the unicorn’s thinking coincided with that of her partners in captivity: she was horny, incredibly horny. Sonata babbled something in a mildly gurgly tone, as if attempting to speak through something her body didn’t actually have. Luna hissed and huffed through clenched teeth, chipping out light moans at a rate of about two moans per huff. Pinkie visibly tried to thrash out of her restraints and start hopping in place, instead resorting to thrusting her bosom forward and upward. Sweetie herself nearly slumped, her facial expression melting down into a series of wobbly lines punctuated by half-lidded, sparkly eyes, which were already secreting tears as ordered. And they were ordered, because her body only felt something like this after she had been thoroughly, heartlessly abused. Day into day of such abuse at the demented pegasus changeling’s hands, she learned the feeling well. This was the triumphant soar of her masochism. There were estrous scents on the air, and they were laced with implicit, absent suffering. New shapes and items populated the room, but none of them could truly notice. Base instincts took over. Artificially, they did - of course nobody abused or punished any of them, it was a mere few minutes ago that Tough Break vanished out of thin air. They were put into this masochistic high manually. To an onlooker, as soon as the scent was removed, they looked like regularly happy, perhaps considerably horny mares. Of course, there was more to it. There was more to everything, though. Sweetie Belle, once her eyes opened at least three quarters of the way in, looked at their visitors, and realized that she could really only put her eyes on one. Her childhood friend and once awkwardly failed romance attempt, Scootaloo, stood in front of her, smiling goofily. The unicorn’s mind didn’t even venture into the realm of why or how. It produced a healthy portion of happiness at seeing someone she hadn’t seen in some time, as her pegasus friend was busy with her final exams at the Wonderbolt Academy. That sincerely, truly didn’t matter, though. This was someone she felt one hundred percent safe with. Her thoughts, ridden with arousal and imposed artificial wear and tear, called Sweetie to feel good and nice and safe. The athletic pegasus scratched at the back of her head, frazzling her short, unkempt purple mane, and said something with a shrug and a smile. Sweetie couldn’t truly make it out. Drool was dribbling out the side of her mouth, and she was slumped in the company chair, throbbing with some heavy juices. Whatever she said, the huffing mare concurred. The heavy reverberation and light vibration spreading all throughout the chamber, wherein three more similar conversations were going on, were now beginning to daze her out and give her a massage as she was bound and presented. Scootaloo continued to speak though, smirking warily and gesturing something… Not that there was much gesture reading going on at the moment, but Sweetie Belle inferred that she wanted to make sure about something? Or… something?.. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter hard. Her wobbly facial expression took on a slightly sterner look. “Oh just… just get to it… you know you want to,” she whispered in a lithe, lustful lisp, her own tongue throbbing at the sensations. It was quite very simple. Sweetie Belle, right now, was a whole sack full of sheer, unadulterated, sex. She was bursting at the seams. On a surface level, she was so horribly aroused, it didn’t matter that they appeared to be in her parents’ dining hall, that she was looking at a dear childhood friend, and that she was pretty sure it was Princess Celestia a pony away from Scootaloo. On a deeper level, one where her consciousness had been plunged oh so repeatedly over the passing weeks… it did matter. This warm, friendly homeliness. It made her even wetter. Sweetie began to giggle even before a light, teasing sensation brushed against her expositiorially scrunching feet. She understood something just now… It wasn’t unsexy for her, for a lover of heavy bondage, of harsh abuse, of tear-guzzling torture, when all went lovey, dovey and safe. Somehow it never occurred to her prior, somehow she was undecided all these years, thrashing between one and the other. Forcing herself to be uncomfortable with one to try the other. It made sense now! It made sense, it did! She seemed to be thinking much clearer, much better, and with far superior direction. As if the feathers being dragged across her feet slowly, amateurishly, were accelerating her mental processing, nudging it forward. Scootaloo could do that all she wanted, it was adorable in its newcomer’s attempt at tickling. Sweetie remembered now, how their attempt at a relationship fell through, it was sort of unique, it wasn’t Sweetie’s fault. Scoots felt too awkward being touchy-feely, and when she found out of her potential partner’s kink, her gut outright dropped and she had to blabber to her about how she couldn’t be able to do that sorta thing to her, and how this just didn’t mix with their friendship. Her pegasus friend was always adorable in her own special way. She’d grown to like a lot of things that Sweetie Belle very much liked to see in her partners - well, in boys, anyway, but she wasn’t too picky. A bit of a rebel, an athlete, a rowdy-ruff, charmingly clueless about some things, sweet on the inside. A dangerous posterior, a sweet, fuzzy interior… Sweet, but tough. And she wore those punkish clothes like very few ponies did. The heaving, sweating unicorn burst out in proper laughter. Even more things made sense now! Tough Break’s jig was up. All of their designs were clear to her now. Well, maybe not all, but she got it now. She understood why it was Honey they sent to lure her in, and why they needed a second handler to torment her… Why she was called special, and why not even Luna and Pinkie could corroborate some of the things she’d gone through, as if she was on a slightly different program. She was. And this was how she was special. This was why the friendly warmth of the situation they had been forcefully put into didn’t quelch the arousal she was forced into, but merely amplified it instead. Sweetie was a sexual omnivore. That was reason one for her laughter: reason two was that as soon as this thought entered her head in all its surprisingly crystal clarity, Scootaloo’s expression switched drastically, to a signature adorable smirk, and one of the feathers faced its pointy tip to her succulent soles instead. Perfect! She was longing for release… And feathers did quite little for that. Quills were great, though. She recalled, in perfect, pristine memory, how she tried to explain that to Scoots once, and how even the idea of tickling eeked her out. It was adorable, though kind of mean-spirited, on her side, anyway - her pegasus friend couldn’t stand the idea of tickling somebody because she herself doubled over if you even tried to poke her. Good times. So good that her hood swelled up furthermore, ready to mess up a pair of jeans. And, at the prickly, tingly, chilly-sharp poking of two feather-quills onto her blushing, scrunching feet, it did. The sound of unmitigated joy and relief purred out of her limp lips, creating a peculiar mixture of a moan and a raspberry. When Honey led her to climax on the bed, it tended to be heavily sped up by all the groping and stroking his tender, gentle hands did onto her. When Tough Break forced her to come in the torture room, the orgasm was positively ripped out of her, many times over. This one was… entirely freehand, the best of both worlds. A body already filled with signs of heavy abuse, thrust into safety and coziness, for a double whammy of ecstaticsensations. She could sit up properly now, hugged tightly at her wrists by the rope, her ankles swimming in the thick, swampy padding, gladly offering themselves to further teases and pokes despite futile wriggles. The pokings surely came, as did a thin stream of hoarse nasties that she once wished for her winged friend to unleash upon her in just such a situation. Yes, her theory held up - she was already gathering juice back up. Scootaloo’d switched from the feathers and onto more reliable tools, such as surprisingly poignant fingernails and a rather shocking set of teeth with which to nibble her digits delicately. Nowhere near to the flesh-digging magnitude of Tough Break’s, this pegasus tickled much more on the gentler side, albeit certainly with a nasty, sharp streak, one that made her not only scrunch and wiggle, but also thrash and whimper-moan on top of the reliable giggles being squirted out. The introduction of her apt mouth was a legitimate surprise, and a very welcome one. Honey Pot provided her with a fair amount of oral action, but he somehow managed to make tooth contact minimal, suckling all the time instead. His predecessor from a few years back didn’t bother - she poked her sharpish teeth all over her toes, instead keeping tongue contact to a teasing low. It was wonderful, livening, exciting, a mixture of every feeling up until now, delivered in one perfect potion. Sweetie Belle was radiant, and her consciousness sighed in relief when she disregarded the last remnants of hesitation at what was going on. Whatever it was, it needed to continue. Even if it was technically adultery. Honey would understand. The other three did too, she knew, she could tell - their minds weren’t exactly connected, but it couldn’t be any other way, not with something like this… This overfilled her pleasure centers, both physical and mental. She was in what made her comfortable - a sentimental shirt and nice bondage, she was where she felt good - at home and surrounded by horny ponies torturing and being tortured on a kinky chair, she was taking what made her feel good - sweet thoughts of her requirements being met at record checks per minute, ravishing jolts of meanish tickles jabbing right in the spot. What else was there? There was something, though. There was everyone else, whom she saw evermore clearly in the afterglow. Pinkie was still trying to launch herself off the chair and presumably into space, her breasts threatening to poke out of the previously minimalistic boob window. Her giggles played as if on repeat, alternating between frequencies and volumes, but pealing out so consistently it was as if she had no need of oxygen whatsoever. It made sense that despite her being so close to Sweetie, she found it so easy to put the pink pony out of her mind… like everyone else. At her feet was a faintly recognizable grey mare with a long, straight mane of a darker grey. Wielded by her were two prongy forks, tools that the young unicorn’s marehood instantly approved of. They were used peculiarly, too - instead of tracing lines on the amazingly mobile feet, they found themselves very specific spots at the arch intersections and scrubbed over there, as if digging a shovel into the soil. Pinkie’s face and laughter seemingly compensated for her tickler’s, as that other earth mare appeared either incredibly concentrated, or utterly absent from the experience. Probably not absent, since her eyes were tracing the pink pony’s feet while they made their way through the goopy stock padding, her being the only one to have any success in actually being pedally mobile. Luna was cackling away with a wide grin and almost wider eyes, bits of pretties adorning her jiggling along with the shaking of her body. Her laughter was heavy and throaty, certainly a pleasure to hear, even for a predominantly submissive masochist. Despite her being an alicorn, she was a notch worse off than Pinkie Pie, her laughter descending into brief coughing fits from time to time, which only strengthened the appeal. At her feet was one pony Sweetie could certainly recognize - Princess Luna’s sister, Celestia. She’d probably have recognized her even if her silly mind with its silly thoughts was still as confused as it once was. Just this thought gave her another spine-chilling boost in arousal. Despite her regality, she wielded something not fancy, but excruciatingly effective: dual harbrushes with bright red, visibly sharp bristles. They swept all over the nocturnal Princess’ sizeable soles, again and again, delivering onto them a sunrise in the form of a pinkish blush. The scrubbing was so intense, she could hear the scritching over from there, and there was certainly some convenient sound muffling going on, so it had to have been at least as loud as Luna herself whenever she was reduced to coughing. It must have been as nasty as Tough Break’s worst. And that actually made Sweetie even more orgasmic than before! Oh sweet joy, now thinking of her designated Bitch didn’t make her feel any worse. In fact, it made her feel even more throbby. Scootaloo seemed content to abide with her moaning, sniffling, faintly pealing never-marefriend’s unvoiced demands - her fingers took to raking the arches specifically, and her mouth started working double time on every toe, the tongue no longer slacking. There were certainly orgasms to be made, and that was what today was for. Sweetie Belle contorted, half throwing herself around from the burning, chilling, electric, watery combination of sensations being applied to her feet, half jittering from the sheer pleasure it brought her, causing ears to twitch, eyes to roll, and drool to slip out her mouth. Tracking the last mare of their lineup was a matter of persistent curiosity. Sonata wasn’t too badly off, even if judging by her over-animated facial expressions, she’d be sweating in her jacket before long. Her voice trailed into ghostly whispers, only to reverse itself back into a single powerful laugh, and then again, and then again. That spoke of something, as her elongated, toeful feet were being teased by a rather regular-looking pair of thick paint brushes. For her to exhibit that range of laughter, repeatedly, she must have indeed deserved a place next to them. The mare that tickled her, a yellow unicorn with an almost literally fiery mane, certainly seemed to enjoy what Sonata had to offer, having a grin so smug, Scootaloo multiplied by Rainbow Dash wouldn’t compete. A grin so absolutely sexy looking, her loins were evermore burdened. The movements of the brushes seemed somewhat more scripted than the tools of the other ticklers (as the rest either scrubbed viciously, or focused on a pair of spots, or were just scrabbling and nibbling wherever) - four vertical swipes up and down on each foot, then four horizontal swipes against the toes on each foot. Judging by the very specific eruptions of laughter, it was to facilitate particular reactions, get her to do what the fiery mare wanted. A fun concept, one that she felt a tinge of interest in, which said something, for her mind was once more awash with need. A need that was relieved. The nibbling and the suckling combined the exotic, positively tickly sensation on the sensitive stems and the biteable pads, with the teasing, juicy strokes of a dexterous tongue. The raking and the scrabbling provided a foundation for it, a foundation of hysterical, thrash-inducing, delightfully protestable, invasive sensations. All in all, it and the other factors combined together for a doubtlessly wonderful orgasm. Fluttering her tearful eyes, feeling the streams of sweat shower down her tense body, Sweetie smiled a wobbly smile that invited more. Her crevice was only beginning to be worn out… she could do with more. With nothing held against Honey, he couldn’t combine everything so perfectly… This was... This was the formula of ecstasy. Sweetie shook as fingers pressed into her soles, but not to tickle, instead to massage. She started out with no fight for any of this, and this put her fight into the negative. If it was going to be like this from now… she was signing up. Was she, really? Weren’t there other things to consider? What about the other three? Her consciousness whacked away those thoughts, focusing on the real answer, one that grew evermore clear as she zeroed in on it. Yes, she would. Her body was in pleasure, all that she loved. Whatever tiny inconsistencies took place, would be eradicated. Even the ones that existed didn’t truly matter. Scootaloo wasn’t one she would have wanted to be torturing her. It was an amusing, curious image, and her sharp teeth and notably jagged fingernails were highly apt tools, but she was still Scootaloo. There was no intimacy between them, not anymore, she was just better than someone nondescript. Was her presence as a relic of the past any troubling? They were so close they could as well have been sisters. No, really, it wasn’t. Sweetliness and niceliness gave her loins a good, warm hum. She didn’t feel awkward or restrained, if anything it made her sexual output less sporadic and jolty, more contained and flowing. Now, as her sweaty body pressed into the chair, she purred and murmured, tight fingerpads pushing the exact right spots, rough nails pecking slowly into the thicker parts, creating minimal electric sensations. So long as whoever did it passed her standards, which she had multiple sets of, it was… what it was. Wonderful! It’d only be better if that someone truly hit the spot. Honey would be the perfect masseur, and indeed he was. Sweetie Belle relished in the memories of her time with him here. These memories didn’t blur her mind and instill a forceful arousal within her loins. They were simply pleasant and relaxing. She hung onto them, as if she needed anything to hang onto in such a comfortable situation. Perhaps another pillow for the pile that she had been so graciously thrown into… So, what about those other pointless questions? Other things to consider? The unicorn showered her pretty purple shirt with drool. Whatever she considered, it simply boosted the orgasmic sensations and heated the bonfire of her contentment another notch. Just so simultaneously with the dexterous pegasus and her pokey, convenient claws finding a particularly wonderful pressure release spot just by the merging of the side and the arch… Sweetie could just cum forever like this, really. Her marehood wasn’t complaining. Her jeans appeared to be soaking it up like troopers. And thinking of troopers, the rest of her group? Now that she’d found some way into her memories, being lead by a helpful crystalline trail of things she indeed had to remember, Sweetie estimated that things were even better there. They were all completely fine. Each of them faced the same circumstances, someone they are familiar and comfortable with, for one reason or another, be it familiarity or indeed even family. None of them had any reservations about letting loose their real feelings. The only ones that truly fit, of course, were a hysteria of sensational glory and a profound degree of enjoyment. It was simply right, by virtue of not being wrong. The young mare’s memory circled for her through some relevant footnotes about each of them, to compare with how much better off they were now. Pinkie Pie was always a bit over-enthusiastic, clearly trying to win favor with whoever was putting her through the wringer, there was always a degree of desperation in her actions. Now that someone she recognized and felt content with was before her, and doling out something worthy of driving her into helpless, shivering joy, it didn’t seem like she had any issue anymore. It made sense. If Sweetie was okay with being pumped up through sheer sensations, everything else being secondary, why not her? Luna was always a dominant personality, at least among their group, and when they had their relaxation get-togethers, she always made sure to put up as strong and resourceful a display as possible. All futile, of course, obviously, all of her and Pinkie’s attempts at devising a way of conversing about irrelevant things. She wasn’t faking and pretending any longer - now she was just growling, hissing, chuckling and cackling, a fiery blush and a coat of tears covering her all over, her thrashings severe, but her smile, grin, and wide eyes talking of ecstasy much of the kind the slumped, borderline liquified unicorn was experiencing. Sonata was not someone they got to talk to an awful lot, or find out that much about, and indeed little would be different about her, aside from desperately rolling eyes, if not for the fact that her laughter had changed entirely. If somebody could laugh underwater, that’d be how it would sound. Pretense stripped, pretense of needless standards, pretense of goals and minds, she sang a different song. Perhaps underwater laughter wasn’t the most gracious descriptor, but it was indeed melodic, like a siren’s song from long forgotten tales, only molded and directed by a fanged, amber-eyed changeling with brightly pulsating head nubs. The magical vibrations around the fourth mare were so intense that they rippled at the visage of the room, shredding open the image of the padded holding chamber. Sweetie Belle pulled her eyes open and glared at the equine in front of her, a slightly differently built changeling, with decorative rings stuck through some of the holes on its body, and a familiar wavy quasi-mane of pure amber topping its head. It looked back at her, grinning profusely, its sharp claws giving her feet a nasty rack in heavy contrast to the melt-massage that had been given out to her prior. “Bweheheheh. Such a fuckin’ chump. Yeah, laugh it up, block-head,” the changeling teased, its body blurring, melding into an all too familiar shape. Tough Break glared at her with a grin of occasionally fake, occasionally golden teeth, and breathed an air of pungent taurine, caffeine and alcohol as she outright cackled at the pupil-shrunken mare. “Whaaat? You like it, you slllut.” The unicorn wriggled and thrashed as she laughed in dumbstricken desperation, poignant strokes and scathing pokes tittering all over her puddified soles. She was lost for words, and her head felt extraordinarily heavy, as if she was entering her consciousness for the first time after a short vacation. Her snout scrunched up while she coughed up sporadic squeal-giggles. Sweetie threw her head around. It was the same padded room as before, with their chair in the middle… All ablur, all buzzing with previously concealed magical items. Now she saw them, beehive-like things floating in the air, goop-connected crystal formations circling over each of their heads, buttony things pulsating on the walls. Some were light blue, some were nocturnal, some were pink, some were white and pink. They communicated together, creating a lightshow to rival some of Pinkie’s best Hearth’s Warmings. Squealing worriedly, and still feeling as if a bucket of icy water was splashed onto her head, Sweetie Belle looked to her neighbor. “Harharhar. Yeah, no, they don’t give a fuck. You taught them how to! Con-fuckin’-grats, Sweetie Belle, you found your purpose. You like oranges AND apples. And shit. You’re so completely lame that with just a bit of our good old, ponies that are compatible with you, we can make’em just as lame.” Tough Break explained coarsely, while Sweetie stared at Pinkie’s enlarged, slow-moving pupils, and at the smugly grinning changeling at her feet. Obviously, similar ones were by the other two mares, each slightly different from the last, dark grey bodies with certain ornaments and amber highlights. “Everybody here got fuckin’ icky at some shit. You? Bwah, you’re a SPONGE. And now we know how you work. And holy fuck, you got no idea how much time and energy that frees up! We can actually torture some of you idiots for fun now! Yeah, eat them compliments up, bitch, you made a bunch of your Masochist comrades a WHOLE lotta’ more abusable. Hope you’re happy!” She wasn’t. She was worried, scared and confused. Nothing in her mind was crystal clear, nothing in her mind was leading her, she was next to three mind-tricked ponies, they were mind-tricked thanks to her, and Tough Break’s mere presence made her fingers that much more rakey and sharp, and the jolts they sent up into her nethers that much more raw and suffersome. “We can do anything we want to you, you know? You outlived your usefulness! Shit, now that we know this works, why even bother, I can keep you tortured for… however long I want. Fuck Honey, he’ll get a new one, I didn’t break him just so he wubby-wubs your stupid ass anyway. Yeah, fuck’em, and I’ll fuck’em even harder if he starts whining about how much he liiikes you. Can’t eat sadness,” the pegasus, who faked a wholly different one not so long ago, continued over the sound of much, much laughter, some of it distorted, some of it interlaced with huffs, some with whimpers. “Oh yeah. Sniff it in, whore. Y’know, at the start, when you felt like you already got a bout with me? I heard all that in your tiny little brain, don’t you worry. Soon as we figure out how to do that without losing more power than we gain, you’re gonna be on that twenty-four-seven. And this shit, Sweetie? This shit means that day’s very fuckin’ close! Bwahahahah.” The sweat-soaked unicorn sniffled on the arousal, magic and salt-laced air and descended into equal part miserable bawling, equal part hysteric laughter as sharp fingernails crawled all over her pudding-like soles. “Gonna do whatever we fuckin’ want with you. Whine about it in your diary, we’re taking ideas!” --- There you go, you wanted it. You tell me how many times I orgasmed while I flipped through all these pages. It’s a creative way to stop me from thinking about things. It’s even funnier that I had to read weeks ago to find out why I was sucking up to Honey. Things sure are a lot different now, aren’t they? These were different times. I can see where I went wrong back then. Honey went through something like this. Considering how I felt today, in there… I am going to guess that you did the same mind tricks on him. I can’t hate or blame him. Yes, I am happy he is here, for the record. Whenever you take this diary to ~~fuc~~ get your daily feedback, do know that I give up. I know I’m not getting out of here on my own. Right now, I just want to have my rest, and to be sure that what I’m thinking is what I really am thinking. You flipped to the very start of the diary to pull Scootaloo out. Now you have locked her away from me again, I just had to have Honey relieve me. You went through all those pages to find the second best thing next to him. Just to see if you can ~~fucking~~ mess up my friends’ brains even harder? What did I do wrong? I wasn’t even doing that well with my dumb escape plan… I don’t want their minds to be changed with pieces from mine. That is all assuming you didn’t lie. I honestly don’t know. I feel like myself, very lost and confused. I hope they are the same right now, and they’ll still be them when I meet them tomorrow. I don’t want to think too hard about this… There isn’t any point, I can only wait. You guys worked really hard to figure out how to make us feed you as best as we could. It must have been a lot of thinking, doing all of this diary analysis, and whatever you do to spy on the others… You even spared an entire broken pony to cater to me because I’m ‘special’. Very charming. To make your jobs easier, I’ll be more straightforward as we go on ahead. Just because I like it when more than one sort of thing is done to me doesn’t mean I don’t give a damn at all. They didn’t deserve getting mind-freaked, even if you lied to me. They’re still my friends. So if you want to keep me happy, consider that. Also… Honey says I shouldn’t, but he should go back to eating me - you’d know how hard it was putting all these thoughts together, with these damn walls you put up all over my brain. I don’t care. Here’s for directions: Fuck you, guys. Sincerely, Sweetie Belle.
