Abuse

I was nine years old. Fancy had just gotten into the idea of abusing me. And she had just started practicing her magic. On top of that, she got her cutie mark, something that I had gotten before her.

She entered the room, her short but neat hair was tied in ponytails. Her horn glowed, “get over here, NOW.” Her squeaky voice shouted. I stood quickly, I behaved for her, or get punished by Father.

She slapped the top of my head, “on you’re knees.” I got into a kneeling position. Fancy took long strides to her school bag. After lifting the flap, and shifting through all of her torture devices, so plainly skewed with her class supplies. She brought a whip to her face.

The handle was smooth, almost velvet, made to bring pleasure to the one holding it, but not the one getting whipper, as the whip string was thin metal, and studded like barbed wire. Her grinned, letting the whip drop and dangle in the air.

She suddenly lashed out, jerking her hoof back, whipping me many times. Little slits of red forming on my blue fur. Her whipped me again, her horn sparkled as she dropped the whip, levitating me with some difficulty, but throwing me at a painting on the wall all the same.
The painting tore and collapsed onto my head. Fancy stormed over, yanking me out and shoving me to the ground again. She took a paddle, eagerly slamming it into my flank. “Such an ugly cutie mark,” she said between hits. My flank red and burning. She flipped me over, exposing my untouched flank.

She lifted the paddle, spanking my flank until it was beet red. “Fancy, dinner is ready,” Mother sang, saving me from Fancy’s wrath, or so I thought.

“Alright,” She pulled my curtains back, revealing the yard, nopony could look in from the outside because of the tall shrubs, and the mansion we lived in was tucked so far in a gated community, nopony bothered us. The window them slide open. She wrapped my front hooves in rope, then my back hooves, she then thrusted me out the window.

I shouted, the impact was sudden and severe. I then tumbled down a small hill, watching the window shut. Father was startled by my sudden toss.

“Oh lord,” Father said, setting aside his newspaper, and placed his mug of coffee on top of it. He hovered me towards him, “did Fancy get too rough with you?”

I nodded. Was he going to punish her? He dropped me to the ground, my head thudding against the ground. “Well, good, now get back to your chores, maybe then I’ll heal you. Go ask your mother to heal you, and I found out, and I’ll kill you, then who will heal you then?” He asked, chuckling at the look of fear in my eyes.

“Yes, Father,” I trotted off, at least I didn’t need to bear Fancy’s wrath anymore.