Hello there! I’m Doug Dimmadome, owner of the Dimmsdale Dimma-Dome! Now, y’all are wondering why I’ve been Dimma-displaced in the land of Equestria. Well, let me tell ya' a little Dimma-ditty! I was cosplaying as Doug Dimmadome at Dimma-con, the #1 Dimma-vention of the whole Dimma-dang year! I was enjoying myself and appreciating all the action that was going on and how Dimma-dashing everyone looked in their Dimma-duds, when I happened upon this Dimma-dude who looked to be some creepy merchant looking person. Being that he stuck out like a sore thumb, I walk over to him to see if he has the wrong convention. He assures me that he Dimma-didn’t, and he reaches into his cloak and begins pulling out a white cowboy-hat.
Now, I’d already got myself a fine prop hat for this very occasion, but soon, I couldn’t believe my eyes as he continues pulling out the hat from his cloak with out a top in sight, just like that joke in the show! I knew I had to have that hat, and so I asked him how much he was willing to part with it for. He said he’d let me have it, and with Dimma-hop and a Dimma-skip, I bent over and put the hat onto my head, thinking I’d finally pull the rest of the hat out. Boy, when that hat wouldn’t stop coming out, I felt like a Dimma-dope as I suddenly felt my new hat suck itself on like a leech! Soon, my whole head was pulled in along with the rest of myself! I was now trapped and being pulled through a Dimma-doorway of a portal that was looking take me Dimma-knows-where. Finally, there was a light at the end of this Dimma-doggone tunnel, and I was Dimma-dumped right onto the grass of a Dimma-dreadful-looking forest.
“Well, Dimma-dang-nabbit,” I spoke out loud to no one in particular as main characters often do in a story to tell the readers what’s happening with Doug Dimmadome’s actual voice which seemed the least bit normal, “I sure Dimma-don’t know where I’ve ended up, but I certainly hope that there aren’t any sexy horse Dimma-dames that would all want to Dimma-date me,” I finished with a Dimma-wink.
Pretty much on the Dimma-dot, a two-legged zebra with Dimma-double D’s and thighs for Dimma-days walks out from the clearing, and seeing the Dimma-dashing gentleman that is myself before her, she does a Dimma-double-take and stumbles onto her Dimma-dense rump. With her legs spread for support, her loin-cloth could only conceal the top of her Dimma–
“Wha-hoa, there!” I shout with a hand over my averted eyes and my other reaching out to her.
Without warning, I feel a Dimma-detonation burst off my body like a single blast of wind, nearly tearing the Dimma-duds off my body. With my eyes still closed, I couldn’t hear what I Dimma-did, but I could hear it clearly like the coo of a Dimma-dove. The sounds of the warping of the trees, and the breaking of smaller branches, and the booming whoosh of leaves growing further and further away, long with any cries of critters that were caught in its path.
Looking back out at the zebra, she was now safely on her stomach with her Dimma-doodads concealed from my gentlemanly vision, but the look of Dimma-dumbstruck looked less frightful than before, and she slowly lifted herself up and began to approach me.
“You’re…” she said, “Doug Dimmadome…? Owner of the Dimsdale Dimmadome?”
“The same, miss!” I said with a tip of my hat. “What can I Dimma-do ya’ for?”
“That power… it is the one we seek! You are the chosen one!” She spoke this in rhyme, but I couldn’t quite say it quite as well as she, which was in no way an excuse for the author to not take the time and effort to write to write this Zebra’s Dimma-dialogue while still getting to take the added-benefit of Dimma-doinking–
Whoops! I got a little carried away there, but that part is coming up, so there’s still time for you to close your bedroom Dimma-doors so you don’t have to explain to your mom and pops why you’re beating your meat to anthro pony-folk if they happen to walk in on ya’!”
Anywho, the zebra introduced herself as Zecora, and she informed me that I was en-Dimma-dowed with the Dimma-Dab, an all powerful ability that would aid her and the rest of her pony populace of the war to come. She said she’d promise to explain, but that she wanted to have a first piece of me.
Being the gentlemanly type, I kindly obliged her offer and whipped off my boots and trousers to unveil my Dimma-dank Dimma-dick. She tackled me into the Dimma-dirt and mounted me all in the same motion. Her slick wetness was warm and tight on my Dimma-denseness, and her fuzzy thighs brushed the inners of my loins with each bounce she made. She then undid her vine-and-leaf bra, letting her badongaloes hang out for my viewing pleasure.
“Dimma-DAAAAMN!” I couldn’t help but bellow, as they truthfully were nice honkdonkeroos.
I gave her baggalodiggeroos a nice firm squeeze and practically melted on the ground as their plush form melded around my palms and fingers. She seemed to appreciate this doubly so, as she let out an ecstatic moan and arched back, pulling her cremilkadilladees out from my still-greedy fingers’ grasp. With her stomach the only thing I could reach, I slid my hands there, and as her body still rocked with pleasure, her abdominals were hard as Dimma-diamonds. Rolling back into an upright position, her body relaxed herself and her muscles became softer in my grasp.
Hardly able to hold my Dimma-dong’s own pleasure back, I quickly moved my hands up her chest, over her bangdongadoogadiggeroes, and then over the edges of her jaw, pulling her Dimma-down onto me as we locked lips for the first and what I certainly hoped would not be the last time. With our oral fluids mixing, I finally Dimma-did it and came up inside of her and quite shortly after she screamed an orgasm as loud and exotic as she was as her fluids Dimma-drenched my Dimma-dick.
“So…” I whispered sultrily into her ear, “about that Dimma-Dab…”
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“And so that’s how I wound up here,” I said to three young fillies whose rears wiggled with excitement like baby Dimma-dogs as they sat around a small bonfire in the Dimma-dilapidated ruins of what I assumed was a once-respected boutique.
“Wow,” the orange filly with wings who called herself Scootaloo spoke, “that sounds amazing. Your world sounds incredible!”
“Yes…”
I chose to withhold how my parents Dimma-died in a freak water-park fire before I was born and had to be raised by my abusive cockatiels before I finally made enough money gambling on CS:GO sites that I could move out. And with my obligatory sad-story out of the way, there was no longer any narrative reason for me to want to go back to a world I’ve blanketly Dimma-deemed as terrible and consequently Dimma-deprive myself of more of Zecora’s wild Dimma-dick rides.
“I miss when my sister told stories,” the white unicorn moaned. “Nothing’s been the same without her.”
“Don’t give up hope, Sweetie Belle!” the yellow filly named Apple Bloom chirped. “Sure, the evil Dimmadomes that arrived here in random intervals over the past few months may have captured Rarity, Twilight, and her other six friends including Spike when they went off to try and defeat them, but now that we have the chosen Dimmadome who’s going to save us, he’ll probably save them too!”
“That was quite a inspirational information Dimma-dump,” I complimented earnestly, “and I won’t Dimmi-draw my final breath until your sisters and their friends are home safe and sound and this land is ridden of the Dimma-menace!”
With perfect timing only the greatest of authors can conjure up, an air raid siren blared off in the Dimma-distance. The four of us walked outside and saw as Dimma-dark clouds rolled in toward us through the brownish-orange sky signifying Dimma-despair and Dimma-desolation. More two legged pony-people fled from building to broken-up building as the clouds finally came from overhead. With a single lightning strike before me and the three fillies, an all-too familiar terror walked out to make its presence Dimma-known.
He had a likeness very much like my own, but his white coat was much longer and he wore two-colorful belts around his waist holding up his white baggy trousers. His white Stetson was ripped off in the back, frayed to perfectly blend with his messy white hair. I remember seeing this Doug Dimmadome back at Dimma-con. I never thought we’d cross paths again.
“My name is Dougtaro Dimmajo,” he responded in a low-pitched Western-accent, a muscular stand with a Sam Elliot-style moustache shifting from behind him and clearly into my view. “I’ve been sent by the Dimmadark Dimmadoom to find you and stop you.”
“If it’s a fight you want…” I stepped forward, allowing the three girls to scatter back into the house to watch the fight through the window. “…then it shall be Dimma-done.”
Dougtaro drew a heavy sigh. “Yare yare Dimma-daze. Let’s just get this over with.”
