Prodigal Daughter

Darkness enveloped Derpy. It was days, maybe weeks, since she was shackled to the wall. The only outside contact she had was when she was force-fed by somepony she could not see, as the lights were out. From time to time, she couldn't tell how often, a hoof stuffed some food into her mouth, then made her drink some water. Enough to sustain her, but not to really satisfy her hunger. Other than that only sounds from some other room came through the wall at times, muffled, weak screams, moans and cries. They filled her with dread, but also with some sort of anticipation. She knew her time to scream would also come, and that then she would be free. Such notions coming from her own head terrified her above all, it was as if being there slowly turned her into somepony else, somepony worse, as if she was missing something very, very important to her life. The deprivation felt like a pony squuezing her temples tightly, as if her head was meant to pop like an apple any second. She did her best to fight the bad thoughts. She had dignity after all. She prized it...did she though? She did not ever do anything wrong...did she?

At other times, she thought the two ponies that did this to her. How they could enjoy this so much eluded her. She did not do anything wrong. Derpy dwelled upon the stallion's words for a long time, even for her. Hating somepony for being born...that was just weird. How could one hate anypony for being born? She tried to imagine doing this herself, with no success. Maybe, maybe he was just trying to be mean. He must be very unhappy if he really said something as mean as that. But the mare, she must be even more unhappy, the pegasus thought. She liked to make Derpy's body hurt. Maybe she did not like Derpy? Maybe she was just wrong, Derpy thought, but immediately resented the notion. Nopony was a wrong pony, nopony deserved to be called like this. Everypony deserved being loved for being who they are, she thought. She tried to live by this...did she?

That train of thought was interrupted by a painful jolt went through Derpy's eyes as lights turned on. She shut the eyelids tightly in response to the unbearable stinging. Then, she screamed as something small and hard hit her on the chest lightly, but to her deprived senses the feeling was agonizing. She gradually calmed down, and started looking around the room, trying to make out shapes and colours in utter confusion. In front of her was the white stallion from before, a golf club hanging magically at his side, and a few golfballs laying on the floor. His stare was fixed on one of them, and he made a few preparatory swings with the club. He seemed to be aiming at Derpy, who after a while took notice and tried to wiggle in her manacles to avoid being hit while mumbling incoherently with fear.

”The state of the country,” sighed Fancypants and hit the ball idly, sending the projectile at Derpy's leg and causing her to writhe in pain. He shook his head. ”Ponies these days seem to have gone by all means mad.” He looked up to the pegasus. ”The likes of you trotting in their ignorant bliss through the streets. Ah, Equestria is rotten.”

Derpy's head hung low, bobbing slightly up and down with laborious exhalations.

”It is a country most sick. Ponies, regardless of class or breed, wallow in the collective filth that is a byproduct of their aimless existence.” He made a few steps towards Derpy. ”At least look at me when I am talking, wretch.”

Derpy looked up obediently. Slowly, combatting the headache she's been feeling for some time now, she formed a sentence. ”Why...are...you...so...angry.”

”Angry?,” muttered Fancypants. ”Oh my goodness, perhaps I really am.” His hoof scraped the floor rabidly. ”But I have a good reason. It seems to me that it is the likes of you who run this place.”

”Of...me?”

”Indeed. The changeling crisis is over, they say. No need for surveillance, they say. Halfbreeds not a problem, they say. I feel like I am surrounded by cretins just like you.”

Derpy remained silent.

”Or maybe it is the society that is at fault. Yesterday somepony was strangled with a rag in a hotel quite near from here. The motive, it seems, was his pocket watch.”

Derpy gasped. That was a terrible thing. It was something she could not believe somepony would be capable of...or maybe they were after all? She shook her head.

”I am not lying,” he spat out having noticed her motion. ”It is baffling, how if one just wrote of such things in a book, we would dismiss it as a mad fantasy, isn't it? But then we read the morning papers...and find ourselves in this room,” he sighed, looking around the dungeon with a forlorn expression. ”But then, ponies these days do not seem to be in particular need of help. A relative of mine walked into the sea recently, with a pair of heavy stones in his pockets. It seems to be a trend of sorts among the youths – among the more pessimistic of the politically-minded ones, that is. Though it could be debated that the...activities of the others are just a more elaborate form of suicide.”

The pegasus listened, unsure where he was headed with this.

”Then again, I can understand them very well. Ah, the Society, in its gilded mansions filled with courtesans and catamites, devoted to having an agreeable life...it sickens me.”

”Then...why do you...do this,” asked Derpy slowly, tearing every word out of the pain's clutches.

”Because you  d e s e r v e  it,” he drawled, moving so close to her face that their noses almost touched. His empty eyes gazed at her. ”You are a testament to the failure of this whole state. You were hospitalised early in your life, were you not?”

Derpy nodded weakly. She did not like to talk about this.

”And your final diagnosis was none, am I right? So they just got rid of you to remove proof of their incompetence?”

”And you had a foal. Where is the father? Did not want to spend his life fathering a bastard with a mental cripple? Scum.”

”And now, tell me, is your life succesful?” He ground his teeth. ”The only thing you really do properly is reminding everypony how their country, their morality, everything they do, is a constant failure. You do all the stupid things they do, but with you, they take notice. And they see you in themselves. That is probably why they resent you so much. And I resent them, because they all are similar to you.”

***

Rarity felt magic grasp her hooves tightly, and she saw Fancypants close in on her, going around the sprawled, barely conscious filly.

”I told him,” he pointed to the colt, ”that you would have his sister if he would not do my bidding. He obliged,” spoke the stallion. ”You need to learn that I value my part of the deal equally.” His voice was dripping with barely contained arousal.

”Hold on Fancypants, I understand-”

”The lesson should be given nonetheless,” he proclaimed mockingly. Rarity took note of his erect stallionhood, covered with the mixed fluids of his and filly's bodies. ”Besides,” he jeered, ”you always had ambitions for joining the high society, it is high time your position within it is estabilished.”

Without further ado, he positioned himself behind her, feeling the supple flanks with his hooves for a while, giving a few not so delicate spanks before ramming into her. The force of it, its firmness, heat and slickness, the feeling of her marehood parting, giving way to the aching shaft, the slap of his thighs upon her pliant flanks, sent Rarity reeling and screaming in the sudden pain. Fancypants stopped, and with much more gentleness pulled out a little before plunging himself into her again, slowly this time, his stallionhood rubbing inside her, provoking a thrill across her loins which Rarity found more to her enjoyment. She hated every inch of the stallion inside her, she abhored this overturning of what to her seemed like the natural order, she despised being...used. Yet the commandeering touch made it clear that Fancypants would have no other way than submission, as her struggling was met with a series of much more painful slaps that in the process of making her flanks turn crimson confirmed her helplessness and in consequence servitude. He was no colt, and that message was sickeningly conveyed through the twitches of the marehood that seemed to melt with his every thrust.

Rarity resigned herself, and turned her head to look at the looming form behind her. He noticed that, and much to his arousal, there was this certain quality to her gaze, this particular expression of surrender and trust, the expression asking him to just be gentle while he claimed her. He grinned, appreciative of the irony, and continued, sliding in and out of her welcoming folds, working up her hips into encouraging swaying, having her back arch and her head swing, the perfect mane dangling in the air and collecting the first droplets of sweat as Rarity started purring, then mumbling and finally uncontrollably moaning, pressing herself against his crotch, her body eager for more and more of him.

The stallion was similarly driven to the edge, and feeling the release approach, he released Rarity's front hooves, lifting her into the air so that they both stood, in which position he embraced her waist and wrapped his hoof around hers. The mare, swooning and squealing, propped her head against his warm chest, and he gave her a kiss on the neck, then another, turning into nipping that made her gasp for breath as he was making the final, irresistible thrusts that made her legs limp, her body shaking and her marehood soaking wet. Finally, he discharged, pushing into her deep and hard, flooding her insides with hot seed, mixing itself with her own juices as he provoked a spasmodic orgasm of her own. Rarity's mind went blank and she wailed in ecstasy, rolling her eyes and letting Fancypants' lustful hooves and warm mouth caress her body.

The pair stood still for a while, and then, slowly, the stallion removed himself from his prey. Uncaring for the juices flowing richly from her, he lifted her barely conscious body and gently put her on the chaisse longue to allow her to regain her senses. Then, he sat on the other couch, and poured himself another glass of wine, allowing himself a jubilant smile of full satisfaction. ”You brute,” wheezed the mare, but it did little to wipe it off his face.

Rarity stared apathetically at the ceiling, slowly coming to. Her body felt numb, and her mind was in a similar state. It felt strange to be on the receiving end once...again. Somehow, she did not come to what she would call resentment at Fancypants. She did not even cared about what might come out of that. The notion of terminating his progeny while it was still inside her seemed, for reasons she was unsure of on the conscious level of her deliberations, a perfect revenge on somepony like him. He was a beast in a way, she thought. She tried to divine his reasons for it, for he seemed very content with carrying out the ”punishment”. Perhaps it was just that the beast preferred to feast upon other monsters? Then again, he seemed a different sort of tormentor to Rarity. Or maybe not, after all? Which was the pastime and which was something he could never resist? Or maybe the angelic spheres, trophic chains, class struggles, all were the same to him?

***

”Bon appetit,” cried Fancypants pointing to the platter in front of Derpy. The white mare was not present, again.

Derpy ate, wolfing down the meal in just a few minutes, paying little attention to the taste. She was so hungry. Once she was done, she closed her eyes in bliss. If this was a prelude to another torture, she'd at least enjoy the pleasant weight and warmth in her tummy. She muttered in satisfaction. For a moment, even the headache subsided.

Fancypants watched her, smiling, from the far end of the table, hooves together. Finally, the blond mare looked at him, or so he thought. He smiled courteously. ”Was the meal to your tastes?”

”Um-hmm.”

”Splendid. I am certain little Dinky would be very happy to know that she eased Mommy's hunger.”

Derpy stared at him puzzled, then, her eyes and mouth opened widely in the slow realisation. She sat there, lower jaw trembling, until she screamed. ”NO!” She slammed her hooves against the table. ”This-this c-can't be t-true,” she cried, looking to the remains of the gray meal on her plate in disbelief. Fancypants beamed as she was examining the leftovers mixing themselves with her first tears. ”YOU LIE!” The gray mare's furious gaze returned to him, her eyes still out of focus and switching randomly between him and random corners of the room. Even if that was just a trick, the very notion of doing something this horrible to Dinky was revolting. Was it? The headache returned.

The door opened, revealing an anguished Fleur. ”FANCYPANTS! YOU HAD THE NERVE TO-” She stopped in mid-sentence and covered her mouth with a hoof to prevent herself from screaming. She was looking at Derpy's plate. Her expression changed to that of genuine sorrow. ”Oh Derpy, I'm so sorry...” She was on the verge of tears.

Derpy screamed, then broke into a loud sob interrupted by sounds of her choking on her own tears. She fell to the floor, wiping her face frantically and attempting to drive herself to vomitting, then erupted into a weep. She lay there, and her body jerked from time to time from the intense crying. Fleur approached her, cracking a smile at Fancypants. He returned the grin with approval.

The unicorn embraced the pegasus, letting her whimper into her chest. For a moment, Fleur felt pity for the gray pony, petting her mane and trying to wipe the tears from her face. But then, with a grin, she fought back the compassion and started shifting, moving her hoof across Derpy's neck and downwards while gradually immobilising her with other limbs. The hoof wandered across the chest and belly, moving slowly but decisively between the pegasus' hips.

”Why...are-you doing this,” interrupted Derpy without looking up. Her voice, usually so clueless, seemed to gain some resolution, as if she was recovering from some sort of a lifelong addling. „Do you hate  y o u r s e l f  that much?”

At that, something in Fleur's head clicked. She stared with bewilderment at the innocent pony at her mercy, the pony that was just taken away from her peaceful life for another's amusement. Humiliated and exploited for fun, subject to tests she could not understand, to cruelty packaged as kindness. Tricked into believing everything is her fault, that she is somehow deficient. Tempted constantly with discarding her own purity for the sake of absolution. At the mercy of seemingly omniscent beings, beings who seem to have some sort of plan. But in reality, they were just fooling around. Their grand plan was none, everything the victim was subjected to was fake, except the degradation. They even intended to tell her that after they were done.

She let go of Derpy, staring blankly into the distance. Slowly, her hoof wandered to her mouth.

”Something the matter,” inquired Fancypants with his eyebrows raised. The answer made them rise even further.

”You bastard.” Fleur's voice had about it the sort of fury he did not see directed at him.

"Pardon?”

”To you, I am just like her, am I not? This entire thing,” she made an overarching gesture with a foreleg, with which she then pointed to herself. ”You have no plan, am I right?” She stared at the ground, first tears hitting the rock floor. ”All of this, it's a lie, isn't it.”

She heard the stallion's voice, just next to her ear. ”Perhaps. If you wanted to live a honest life,” he hissed, ”you should have become a laundress.” She felt a hoof grasp her firmly, lifting her up, and with the aid of magic, Fancypants pressed her against the wall. Fleur froze in terror at the pair of empty blue eyes staring intently at her. She noticed that their owner's usually motionless lips curled into a subtle, arched grimace. She didn't have the time to cry out before he pressed himself against her, his weight depriving her of breath. Impulsively, she lifted her head to keep a distance, but only exposed her neck, which was eagerly bit while the stallion's front hooves shifted their position to gain the necessary leverage. She squirmed and bucked to no avail as she felt their loins close, and the pace of her breath quickened, every gasp full of dismay as Fancypants' teeth gripping her throat in a mixture of threat and playful caress made it unable for her to look what's happening. Seeing was not necessary at this point, however, as Fleur's body knew perfectly what was happening, her mare lips shuddering at the hot touch of the stallionhood slowly parting them and sending a spasming wave of lustful warmth across her loins and lower body, the hooves keeping her chest close to his, thumping hearts preparing the two bodies to become one, writhing, pained being.

The touch of the stallion's body resounded across her own with carnal pleasure so humiliating to the soul. She let out a quaking moan as he entered her, tossing any gentleness aside, ramming into her marehood with full force that sent a thrilling paroxysm through her.

Fancypants let go of her neck, smirked. He withdrew himself a little, only to feel the mare's lithe form follow his stallinohood with its entirety, drawn to its throbbing, obscene shape. He had trained her well. He made another violent thrust, grunted at the overwhelming sensation of the mare's wet softness enveloping him like a sleeve. His forelegs wrapped tightly around her twisting waist, and Fleur's limbs returned the embrace, squezing his flanks tightly, pressing him deeper into her, clenching him around the shoulders, allowing him full control. Only her face didn't folow suit, looking away and letting despaired cries that grew weaker with every ecstatic fit of her lower body begging to be penetrated further. Fancypants' heart pumped wildly at the insincere pleas for mercy, inciting him to quicken the pace, allowing the friction of his shaft against her marehood work them both up into a state of dazed lust.

Such a state was a thing most undesirable for Fleur. She held on to her consciousness tightly, even as with every push she clung tighter to Fancypants' body. Another thrust made her throw her head back in abandon, and her eyelids shut tight as if she tried to block out the overwhelming sensations, but the sense of urgency was still being conveyed by her aching hips, and her muscles constricted mindlessly, building up the unbearably lewd tension in her body, wrapping tighter around the stallionhood inside her, forcing droplets of sweat onto her skin, making every part of her body shiver at the stallion's domineering touch.

The mare struggled desperately to maintain control over her body, but such resistance only agitated him further, making him convulse ferociously as he was shoving himself inside. With every stroke inside her, Fleur felt as if she was entering a trance, as if slowly her flesh took over, not troubling itself anymore with the notions of dignity, opening itself fully to its master, its God, offering herself to be claimed. And he did satisfy himself with a truly primal elation.

As his stallionhood assaulted her again, it sent a fever through her body, made her inhale, press herself against him, squirm, wrap her folds around him, grip him tightly, meet his mouth with hers, taste his saliva, flood his member with her mare juices, let out a muffled moan as her blushing face was still connected with his. She bounced up and down on him a few times, taking in as much of him są she could, sending her into a throe of pure, mindless bliss.

He pulled out, allowing Fleur's juices to flow out richly, dropped her to the ground much to her surprise, and without further ado grabbed her by the horn, uncaring for an ecstatic squeal and gasp that caused, then plunged his rod into her mouth, on the verge of his own release. The mare's eyes opened wide, and she obediently started to suckle, nurturing herself with the taste of their mixed fluids for seconds before Fancypants, with a groan and a push oif his hips, discharged himself violently into her mouth, not withdrawing, forcing her to swallow as his hoof used her horn as a handle to pull her head closer, violating her flushed face and forcing her tongue to lick him clean despite the tears, moans of protest and the trembling caused by stimulating of her horn. Only after he went numb, he pulled out, allowing his mare a desperate gasp for breath. Fancypants let out a tired sigh and straightened his tailcoat absent-mindedly.

Fleur lay panting on the floor, still regaining her reason and easing the senses. She stared bitterly at the stallion. ”You brute,” she whispered hoarsely before breaking into a tearless weep, punctured with gulps and panting. Her entire body trembled with grief.

Fancypants stared with a blank expression at the pitiful display. Then he noticed the gray pegasus, that Derpy, to crawl to her would-be oppressor. ”It's okay,” she said in her bubbly voice, hushing Fleur and giving her a hug. ”You didn't do nothing wrong.”

”Beau-ti-ful,” exclaimed the stallion. ”The reunion of wretches, that is certainly a sight!”

Derpy felt rage. A familiar sort. With her voice gaining an unfamiliar pitch, as if she was recovering from some lifelong stupor, she almost yelled. ”Who's a wretch? You don't call us that way.” Her eyes, still staring in different directions, had something of a strange, resolute air about them.

”Oh, why not,” he replied emptily.

”You're the worst.” It was all now crystal clear to Derpy. She felt it since a long time, but now the usual overbearing sensation, as if somepony was pressing her temples tightly, disappeared. ”You have fun and games. But you are just goofing around with ponies to hurt. 'Cause you are hurt yourself.” The stallion's upper lip curved significantly to the upper right as he was listening to this. That didn't escape Fleur's attention. Despite her exhaustion and hopelessness, she felt fear wash through her, forcing every hair into stiffness, contracting her pupils, forcing the muscles into shaky tension.

”Stop it!,” she cried out to the pegasus, who did not seem to take notice of her.

”You act all high and mighty with us ponies. But this is because you are angry.”

”No. No. No,” whispered Fleur frantically, shaking the still inattentive Derpy. The blond mare in fact did take notice, but was beyond caring.

Fancypants' lip curled into a scowl terrifying despite the stillness of the rest of his face. His horn lit up, and the golf club standing in the corner soared to his side.

”You are angry, because all you can do is to mess around with wretches.”

The stallion started moving towards them.

”Be quiet,” begged Fleur, overtaken by panic that made her unwittingly move away from Fancypants, pulling Derpy with her, until they reached a wall, at which point she started bucking helplessly. The pegasus stared into the distance.

”You make up those games. You'd want all to be like your game. You want to make rules for all ponies. Not just us two.”

”STOP! STOP IT,” screamed Fleur with desperation, trying to drown out Derpy's heresies with her howling, attempting to wrap her shaky hooves around her neck and perhaps choke her to earn salvation. The pegasus, without looking at her, pushed her hoof away lazily.

”You must be very unhappy,” Derpy said.

The stallion was trembling. His empty eyes stared intently at Derpy as the golf club lifted itself in the air. His lips twitched in a scowl that long since lost the pretense of delicacy. Fleur shut her eyes and dug herself into Derpy's chest, powerless to stop what was to come. The pegasus still did not look at Fancypants, her golden eyes locked in some sort of unearthly bliss, or maybe suffering. She knew what was going to happen, and paid no heed.

”Shh,” she turned to look Fleur in the eye. Her face was disturbingly serene. ”It's okay. It's over.”

Fleur stared at her in disbelief. Did she not care? Why was she so peaceful?

Then, Derpy wailed. Her peaceful countenance turned into a mindless, malformed grimace. She let out an animalistic snarl like a mad dog, and started to thrash madly, mumbling nonsense thast sounded like a parody of speech, her loose, foaming mouth spattering saliva over Fleur. Both unicorns stared, startled. The golf club dropped to the floor, Fleur tried to get away with a shriek of terror. Soon she was free from the pegasus' vacant embrace, and crawled as far away as she could. Fancypants, regaining some of his composure, examined the mare rolling on the floor. Realisation seemed to dawn on his face.

”The sacred disease. Who would have thought.” He turned around, looking down. In an afterthought, he produced a pillow with his magic and put it carefully under Derpy's head. Then he left, looknig as if he was somehow...diminished. Soon, Fleur could not stand the sight and followed, shaken.