Crimson's Cutie Mark

Crimson didn’t want to do this. It made her sick, and there wasn’t much left that could do so. But she had to, and she had to like it. If she screwed this up, her father would literally buck her to death as punishment.

She entered Hayscartes’ home with the key he gave her, heading inside and looking for him.

“Is that you, Crimson?” Hayscartes’ called from his office. “Could you bring me my tea that I left on the table on your way back here? Senile old me left it in there.”

Well that was lucky, for her. She pulled the small vial out of her backpack, uncorking it and dumping the contents into the tea. She put the vial back into her backpack, stirred the tea to hide the discoloration, and carried it back with her.

“There you are,” Hayscartes’ said as she came into the office, taking the tea. “Thanks. You know, you’re an early bird, just like me. Were your folks even awake when you left home?”

“No,” answered Crimson quietly.

The study room was a mess, scrolls and parchment everywhere. The only thing he kept neat was his research notes for his method, carefully bound in a thick book so that nopony else ran across them by chance. Nopony but Crimson, at least. She was the only one he’d trusted with his research, at least until three weeks from now. Then he planned to unveil it at a lecture where the Princess herself would be present.

He was such a perfectionist, waiting until he was certain everything was right before revealing it. That’d be his undoing; he’d never make the lecture.

“Are you okay dear?” Hayscarte’s asked as he sipped the tea.

“Are you okay?” Crimson asked, peering.

“I think so,” chuckled Hayscartes, taking another sip.

“How about now?” Crimson asked as he took another sip.

“My you are being unusual today,” Hayscartes said, but then suddenly looked woozy. “Actually, I am feeling a bit dizzy. Perhaps I should sit down.”

Rather than sitting down, he collapsed, tea spilling all over the study floor and drenching several parchments he’d dropped. That was fine; they weren’t the important ones.

“There we go,” Crimson smiled. Even without her father present, she felt the need to pretend she enjoyed things more than she did. “I wondered when the poison would take effect. I’m told it’s undetectable by autopsy; isn’t that a fun fact?”

“Poison?” Hayscartes gasped, trying to get to his hooves, but stumbling again. He could barely move or speak, certainly not loud enough to call for help. “Crimson, why? Is someone forcing you to do this?”

“No, why would anypony force me?” Crimson lied, chuckling. “I’m the only one that knows about your research, and who knows enough about it to steal it and make it her own.”

“The poisons is lethal?” Hayscartes whispered the loudest he could.

“No,” Crimson shook her head. “If it was, I imagine it’d be detectible. No, we’re going to play a game instead.”

“A game?” Hayscartes asked weakly. “I don’t understand Crimson. I’ve trained you as my own pupil, why would you do this?”

Crimson rolled him over onto his back, the stallion now too weak to resist even a little filly. She rolled him so that one side was against his desk, then pulled his large thinking chair against his other side, propping him so that he remained on his back. She eyed his sheath, which looked promising, though he wasn’t so much as peeking at the moment.

“What game?” Hayscartes asked again, straining to speak. He watched as the foal crawled up atop him and sat her plot against his sheath, straddling him cowpony style.

“It’s the rape game!” Crimson grinned, leaning forward, grinding her bottom against his sheath. “You want to play?”

“Crimson, No,” Hayscartes tried to writhe in such a way to tip her off, but couldn’t while pinned between the furniture.

“That’s the spirit!” grinned Crimson. She could see why her father used that line; it was a good start.

“You’ll never get away with… if you do it this way,” Hayscarte’s resisted the grinding, but even the most decent stallion couldn’t resist a warm foal’s plot.

“No, no, no,” Crimson explained. “Doing it this way is why I’ll get away with it. I’ll buck you, then claim you raped me. I’m so damaged inside from Dad and his friends raping me that it’ll be easy to convince them that you’ve been at it for some time. I finally cracked and defended myself. See?”

“I don’t even like… mares…” Hayscartes shook his head, trying to banish the fog from his mind, but attempts to power up his horn resulted in fizzling magic. “I’m sorry that your father did this to you, Crimson, but this isn’t the way. Whatever he threatened to do to you if you refused, I can protect you from.”

“Well your dick likes pussy, even if you don’t,” Crimson chuckled as it reached full throb against her slit, but then she paused. For a long moment, she considered his offer.

“I don’t blame you,” Hayscartes continued when he had her attention. “We can wait for it to wear off and I’ll take you to the authorities. I’ll tell them that you confided in me, not that you started to do… this first. Crimson, you are not a killer.”

“But I am,” Crimson shook her head. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat still. “I murdered my two best friends. I dismembered one and smashed the others head in. After and before I raped them… then I slept with their corpses as they rotted.”

Hayscartes stared in shock. It took him a few moments to form a response.

“But he forced you to,” Hayscartes said. “I know he did because I know you, that you are a kind, loving filly. You have siblings, too? We can save them as well. Your father can’t hurt you from behind bars. Please, Crimson, let me help you.”

“I can’t,” Crimson shook her head, her hips moving again. He’d started to get soft, but it sprang to life again. “I have to prove that I can take care of him myself, all by myself, and to do that, I need fame and fortune.”

If Gorat were here to see her crying, he’d probably count it against her and kill her in spite of everything, but he wasn’t. All she needed was to bring the research back, and she was set. She lifted his shaft with her magic, pulling the tip to her entrance. It acted like a wick for her cunt honey to drool downward before she pressed herself down upon him.

“You don’t want to do this,” Hayscartes moaned as the impossibly tight hole stretched over him, looking surprised and disturbed that she could take it so easily.

“No, this is the part that I want,” Crimson panted. “You’re the only stallion I know that has been nice to me, and the only one I know that I haven’t bucked. Isn’t that ironic?”

“You poor thing, please, let me…” Hayscartes started, but Crimson clenched his neck with her magic and squeezed off his air.

“Sorry,” Crimson said. “But if you keep that yammering up, I’ll never stop crying, and what kind of serial killer would I be then?”

Crimson suspected that Hayscartes was gay before, but now she was sure of it given how long it took to get him to pop. It was a pity he wouldn’t enjoy his last buck. She didn’t suspect he was just disgusted by the idea of bucking a foal because she didn’t realize that wasn’t the norm. She assumed since he was gay, he must just buck colts instead of fillies.

All the same, she enjoyed the ride. It was different to be both impaled and in control. She worked him deeper at her own pace rather than forcing it, amazed at how good it felt when it wasn’t rammed in full blast.

She kept Hayscartes quiet via holding his throat still. She kept his wind cut off until he started to go blue in the face, then released it long enough for him to take a few deep breaths. He always talked again though, so she always clenched it shut again.

Almost half an hour later, Crimson was still at it, her fur matted with sweat and both of them damp with her juices. It was a shame to snuff a stallion that could last this long, but she had to do it. As she continued, her pussy began to tighten with each stroke in a way she’d never felt before then. She clenched her teeth, drooling on Hayscartes chest like a rabid squirrel.

Her first full orgasm hit her like the Friendship Express into a cart full of filly guides. Until then she had no idea that her pussy could even do that. She squealed as she gushed over his shaft, tunnel convulsing and twisting around him.

Everything became sensitive and tingly as she came down, but she kept smacking her rump against Hayscartes. He clenched his teeth in an effort to keep his dignity, but even a gay stallion could only hold up for so long. He blasted a load into her not a minute after she gooed herself. She squeaked as she took his full load easily, belly swelling.

Finally she slowed and released his throat, panting as her hips stopped, remaining impaled upon him. She opened her saddlebag, pulling out a metal quill and waving it in front of his face.

“I’m going to slit your throat with this now, I thought it’d be a poetic way for you to die,” Crimson panted. “Any last words?”

“Please,” Hayscartes sounded teary himself. “I can’t die like this, there’s too much to do.”

“Oh so now it’s all about you,” chuckled Crimson, though her stomach was in knots now that she had come down off her rape high. “The only legacy you’ll have is that pervert foal-rapist that got what he deserved from his victim.”

Before he could beg further, and before she could lose her nerve, she sliced the quills sharp edge against his throat. She sliced back and forth several time, sawing into his flesh until it opened into a fountain of blood, then left the quill lodged there in his neck.

Crimson moaned without meaning to as his blood fountained upward and splattered her face and chest. Hayscartes gagged pitifully as the geyser of blood splurted less with each heartbeat until it came to a stop.

Squeezing the base of his shaft with her magic to keep it from going soft, Crimson pulled her pussy free and pushed it into her other hole instead. She kissed his gaping muzzle, staring into his dead, staring eyes as she forced her tailhole down on his shaft as well.

This time she forced herself hard, slamming her ass down in long strokes. It hurt like ass rape always did, but she wanted to be bleeding when she was found. Once satisfied by the amount of blood drooling down her thighs and smeared onto the corpse’s cock, she pulled herself free, pulling off and letting his cock so soft. She scooped cum from her drooling cunt, dripping it over her face for added effect.

Crimson pulled a second pack out of her saddlebags, gathering up the research notes she needed into her own bag, which she could easily say was hers. It wasn’t like they’d think to search her own bookbags.

She paused in front of a mirror to make sure she looked properly disheveled, her eyes still wet with tears. It was a good thing he managed to make her cry since that’d add to the believability. Cum drooling from her mane, his blood all over her poor traumatized body, her cutie mark, cum drooling down her thighs…

Wait what? She got her cutie mark by raping and murdering an old stallion and stealing his research? Brilliant. The image on her flank was a quill, but dipped in blood instead of ink. She hoped it didn’t make her father too proud.

Oh well, no turning back. She staggered down the hall and out the front door.

Crimson was so used to abuse that she could walk fine, but exaggerated her wobbles and cried out as she stumbled out the front door. Hayscartes lived, and died, next to Celestia’s school, and though it was early, there were still plenty of teachers arriving that she could stagger over to and tell.

She ran her cover story through her head once more. She staggered towards the first professor she saw to tell him how she was tragically forced to defend herself against her long-term rapist.