A Mind to Waste

by Shamefurrdishpray

Rating: mature
Tags: Porn, Sex, Profanity, Non-consensual, Violence, Death, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Fetish
Length: 7206

Tracer successful surgeon, a family stallion, and a real stand up sort of guy. At least, that's what everyone thinks. He's got secrets. None of them are nice.

Tracer is a successful surgeon, a family stallion, and a real stand up sort of guy. At least, that's what everyone thinks. He's got secrets. None of them are nice.

Tracer is a psychopath.

WARNING: This story is fucking gross. This is snuff porn. See spoilers for further details.

Contains: victim of chance, stalking, rape, light bondage, death, and literally fucking someone's brains out.

Commissioned by Exuno.

Published 2019-09-24 21:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-09-24 21:20:01 UTC

A Mind to Waste

It was the modest clothing she wore that drew Tracer’s eye to her in the first place. She was an average-sized unicorn mare, petite judging by the shape of her neck, and considering the rest of her body was obscured by the baggy, red hoodie she wore. Almost adorably oversized glasses magnified her green eyes, and her long, blue mane hung around her head and down towards her chest, most of it tucked into the hoodie, but not all. He couldn’t see her cutie mark—it was obscured under a white skirt that stopped just shy of her knees.

What was she doing, walking the streets alone, in the dark?

If Tracer had to take a guess, he’d say she was coming back from evening classes at the local college, judging by her stature, and heavy-looking satchel she wore on her left shoulder from a strap around her neck—probably laden with books.

The mare was heading a direction opposite of him, on the other side of the street, so of course, she wouldn’t notice the large, medium-gray unicorn who had stopped just beside a parked wagon to gaze at her as she walked past. Tracer cracked a grin as he rubbernecked, the tip of his horn lighting up, releasing a gentle, burgundy glow, no brighter than that of the tip of a lit cigarette. His same-colored eyes tracked her as she passed, drinking in every feature he could. She was young, non-vigilante... pure.

Tracer hadn’t even made a conscious decision to follow her, but before he knew it, he’d turned around, and found himself shadowing the mare, following from the other side of the street and about sixty feet back. He wasn’t too concerned about being noticed, or spotted, really. He blended in rather well with the night, his gray-black mane and gray coat blending naturally in with the dark, desaturated colors of the city streets and sidewalks. He was glad for his silver scarf, which kept away the biting chill of the cool, fall air, although it had a habit of making him stand out a little more. A leather satchel completed the look, mostly containing personal effects to be taken to and from work.

She turned down a side street towards a row of budget apartments, and he followed, crossing the street at an angle and putting himself behind her, now. He knew his wife would be waiting for him at home, now in the opposite direction in which he was walking, but she, and the kids, could wait. There were only so many droll nights with a plain mare that Tracer could take before he needed some time out. Up until now, his evening had already been planned out—walk through the front door, tell her how work went at the hospital. Any interesting cases? No. Eat dinner, do the dishes, help put the kids to bed, try to get laid... maybe succeed, sleep.

She wouldn’t question him too much. Being an ICU surgeon came with a very high workload, and a very high stress load. Many a night, Tracer would find himself stacking on hours, unable to get away, working... saving lives. His wife understood that many times he couldn't call in to warn her he would be late.

Tracer's burgundy eyes watched the mare turn from the sidewalk and start down the narrow, concrete path of what he presumed to be her apartment complex. He knew this particular building, and knew that the front entrance required a key card in order to get in, likely an effort to keep the homeless out of the halls. Worried that he'd lose her, he broke into a light canter.

There was a reason his cutie mark was a scalpel crossed with a suture needle. He saved ponies every day, and he was damn proud of that. He had saved, many, many more ponies than he had failed to save... or killed. It was for that very reason that he could enjoy the simple pleasures of life, such as the one he was about to indulge in. His job was to save lives.

His hobby...

“Hey, wait up!” Tracer called to the mare, who had just slid her card and opened the door, his voice light, friendly, warm in a certain sense.

The yellow mare, whoever she was, turned to look back over her shoulder, seeing the stallion trotting lightly, and thankfully towards her.

“Sorry,” Tracer said with a small, awkward laugh. “I just realized I left my card in my apartment.

She gave him a small smile and a nod as she stepped inside, holding the door open for him by planting her hind leg in its closing radius, keeping it open long enough for Tracer to grab the handle and let him in as well.

“Thanks,” the gray stallion said with a sigh of relief. “Feels like it’s about to rain out there.” He took a chance to look at her up close, already undressing her, imagining himself pulling that sweater off her... “Name’s Tracer,” he stuck out his hoof for a proper greeting.

“Don’t mention it, the mare said with a shrug, turning to face him, giving a polite smile as she stuck out her hoof to shake his. “Logical Leap.”

Her shake was soft, borderline limp. Tracer made up the difference with a firm grasp before releasing and dropping his hoof back to the ground. He almost shivered. She would be too good. “Higher stakes when there’s no one at home to let you in when you lock yourself out, huh?” he chimed, shooting her a sidelong glance as he started down the hall a couple of feet ahead of her, doing his best to give the impression that he actually had a room to go to.

Logical let out a small, restrained laugh, and gave a single nod. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Tracer’s grin grew. Perfect.

“So how long have you lived here?” he asked, keeping his voice casual, encouraging her to maintain conversation, and thus, remain near him as they walked. “I just moved in a couple weeks ago. Still meeting everyone.”

The mare shrugged. “About two years. Gonna be getting out of here once I’m done with school.”

Tracer slowed as she spoke, letting the mare take a couple steps ahead of him. “How’s the school here, by the way? Thinking about sending my son there eventually.”

For the first time, a slight inkling of doubt showed on Logical’s face, and Tracer realized that he had already implied that he lived here alone. It didn’t matter, though, because that was when the mare stopped beside her door, room number twelve, and levitated out her keycard to slide it into the lock. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” she said with that same, polite, but dismissive grin as she turned the handle and opened the door a couple inches. “Hope you—”

Tracer moved rather fast, and without warning. He turned, bowling into her, knocking her into the door and right into her own room. It was dark, the lights not even on yet, but that was fine as his horn lit up crimson, casting an eerie glow over the living space as he stepped in after her, kicking the door shut behind him with a hind hoof and hearing it lock.

Logical’s own horn lit up green as she staggered to say on her hooves, flicking on the light switch next to the door, bringing the room into perspective. It was a standard studio apartment, all one room with the exception of a single door for the bathroom. On the left was a couch, a coffee table, and a television on a stand against the opposite wall, the bathroom door just beside and behind the couch. On the right, a walk-in kitchen with a bar counter, and on the same wall that the front door was on, a bed, the covers neatly made.

“What’re you doing!?” the mare barked, spreading her stance as she stepped back away from Tracer, her eyes wide in fear as she gazed up at the unicorn nearly a full head taller than she was. “Get out!”

Tracer’s burgundy magic gently unwrapped the scarf from his neck and let it slide down to the floor. He shrugged his satchel off as well, letting it land with a thump. A sudden flash of green magic in the kitchen snatched a pot of out of the sink and flung it at him. The mare’s magic clashed with his own, and the pot struggled in the air before being ripped from her grasp and thrown away towards the couch. Tracer advanced on her, briskly, a certain elegance to his stride, all while his magic flipped open the lid on his satchel and withdrew a surgical scalpel, the small, yet deadly tool floating up to hover beside him, pinwheeling lazily in the air.

She looked over towards the kitchen, horn lighting up as she tried to grab something else to throw at him, but Tracer closed the distance. He lunged forward, grabbing her horn with his right hoof and using it to yank her head back, while his left wrapped under her chin to hold her mouth closed, all while the scalpel hovered gently upwards to linger within her view. The magic at the tip of her horn tingled against his hoof, and another quick jerk of her head broke her concentration enough for the green light to go out.

“P-please,” she whimpered through her held-shut mouth, wide, terrified green eyes settling on his red ones as he smirked down at her, his chest pressing against her shoulder. “Take whatever you want.”

Tracer licked his lips. “I will.” His left hoof slowly slid away from her chin, down the front of her neck to her chest, until it caught on the collar of her hoodie. “Scream and I’ll slit your throat,” he said gently, a casual grin growing on his face, his voice warm. His right hoof stayed on her horn as he levitated the scalpel closer, and Logical let out a muffled, restrained whimper as it drew dangerously close to her neck. The blade hooked the top of her sweater, then tore swiftly downwards, rending the fabric with terrifying speed and precision, all while Tracer let go of her horn to grab the hood and yank the cut garment off her from behind. His red eyes basked in her appearance—her soft body, warm, smelling lightly of perfume and mare.

Tracer was already worked up. He had been wanting— no, needing this for quite some time now. Already, an aroused sweat was forming along his brow, dampening his windswept, gray-black mane. The same sweat was welling up down along his belly... between his thighs. Speaking of between his thighs, his sheathe was swollen, his limp dick lying on the carpet as it throbbed and swelled, dark gray, almost black, but with pink mottling along the underbelly and in splotches here or there on the shaft.

Logical seemed to notice it at the same time that he did, her eyes flicking down, eyebrows disappearing into her mane at the sight of the swollen dick. She started to tremble, meekly shaking her head, whimpering, starting to tug away from him.

Tracer responded with quick action, his magic snatching his discarded scarf and flying it over. He handled her with both hooves, the scalpel staying poised near her throat while he turned her away from him and tugged both of her forehooves behind her back, tying them swiftly and tightly with the four foot length of silver fabric. “What’s the matter?” he oiled, his voice lower, a bit of gravel creeping into it as the charisma faded away. “You act like you’ve never seen a dick before?”

There was a tense moment of silence from Logical, and although Tracer couldn’t see her face, the way her ears folded and she shuddered told him all that he needed to know.

“You haven’t, have you?” He grunted, purposefully flexing said dick, feeling it pulse between his legs and start to lift itself up off the carpet. Tracer had been particularly blessed in the department of breeding, and while his shaft was only a few inches longer than the proportional average, he beat the average on thickness by something just shy of a landslide. That, coupled with his natural, taller stance, and it was a big dick. Just looking down between his belly and her back as it slowly rose up to stand between them told Tracer all he needed to know—she wouldn’t fit all of him.

“Please...” she whimpered out. “Please don’t. I-I-I don’t know you, b-but—” She let out something akin to a self-strangled squeal as he shoved her towards the bed, doing her best to not scream, with the threat that was his scalpel hovering dangerously close to her throat. “No, I’ll do anything! Anything you want!” Her voice rose, slightly more desperate as Tracer pressed her belly up against the bed, then fell forward, landing atop her, grinding his sweat-dampened gut against her back while his right hoof went back to her horn, grabbing it, using it as a handle to pull her head back so he could smirk down at her, gazing into her wide eyes. “I’ve got money! Lots of money saved up for the next couple years of school! Please!” When she seemed to get no response from Tracer, she doubled down, giving a desperate thrash against his influence. “I-I-I can pick locks. We can work together! I-Imagine how much money we’d make together, breaking into places and... and...”

He really wasn’t listening.

Tracer shuddered as he lay atop her, feeling her shake like a leaf below him, his dick sandwiched between her back and his belly, the base of it rubbing in the silky fabric of her skirt. He curled his hips, grinding the base of his shaft against her haunches, letting out a husky growl of a moan as his left hoof hooked over the top of her shoulder to hold her in place.

“They think I’m a hero, you know,” he mused lightly. “I spend all day, every day, saving lives.”

Logical’s eyes widened in a mix of confusion and fear, tears forming in the corners of them, starting to run down her cheeks. Eventually, she managed to wrench her gaze away from Tracer and look around the room, helplessly searching for a way out of this situation. “Then why are you doing this?”

Tracer actually chuckled as he let go of her horn and slid himself back. His left hoof pinned her middle back, just below her tied hooves, while his right slid back to grab at her rather-conservative skirt. At first he tried to pull it up, though it was too tight around her lower legs to do so, so with a frustrated grunt, he gave a firm tug, one that briefly lifted her ass as the fabric tore away, revealing a pair of clean, white panties, complete with frilled edges. The stallion chuckled at the sight. “Adorable.”

The mare was whimpering now, something just shy of sobbing as she meekly wriggled below him, glasses askew on her face. She tugged against the scarf holding her hooves, doing little more than shifting it an inch or two. Tracer hardly paid her struggles any mind as he gazed hungrily down at her haunches. His right hoof slid back to grab his mottled dick, rubbing the flare of it down over her right cheek, then up between her legs, pressing against her folds through the thin fabric. She was dry, but of course she was. Sighing out in a lazy sort of lust, he grabbed the waistband of those panties and pulled them far enough away from her haunches to slide his dick up between her cheeks under the fabric, before letting go. He pushed forward, rubbing his throbbing shaft between her cheeks, feeling her warmth, all while that white fabric kept his dick snuggled against her. Logical was so much hotter than his wife, and untainted. He hadn’t been his wife’s first, and sometimes that still bugged him.

He pressed forward with his hips, his flare sliding up past her dock, protruding past the waistline of the thin fabric as he eased himself forward, back on top of her, feeling his thick length pulling at the fabric, drawing it taut up between her lips as he pushed until he felt his groin against her back, the fabric of the right leg hole bunching up against his sheathe. He flexed his dick with a huff of hot air against the back of her neck, feeling the thick rod slap his belly and spatter precum against it, then down onto her. He hiked his right leg up onto the bed, lifting his haunches, coaxing a whimper of pain from the mare as the fabric was drawn tighter still, giving the poor mare the wedgie from hell as he used the strength of his core to stretch it. There was a meager pop or two from the elastic bands in the hemming as Tracer lightly jerked his hips forward. They tore, snapping off the mare to whip lightly up against Tracer’s balls, still hanging from the base of his dick.

She sobbed, and Tracer rolled his eyes. Once again, his hoof grabbed her horn, yanking the mare’s head back, forcing her mouth open with the tension in her neck as he forced her to look up at the ceiling. “Please!” she yelled at him, eyes soaking wet now. “I’ll do anything you—” Tracer’s magic had yanked the hopelessly torn pair of panties off his dick and swung them around to her face. He stuffed the fabric into her mouth, muffling her with it, making sure to really push towards the back of her mouth so she couldn’t just work it out with her tongue. She gagged on the fabric, but Tracer paid it no mind as he worked his hips backwards and slid his left hoof back to grab her long, groomed tail and yank it carelessly out of the way. He reared up and back, looking down at his prize, a tight, tiny pucker and a pair of neat, untouched folds, the same color as her fur, a tiny sliver of pink showing between them.

His flare eclipsed her slit as he pushed the flat head of it up against her lips. The mare screamed into the gag, but the sound was quiet enough that Tracer didn’t care to try and stop her from doing it again. Instead, he focused on his pleasure, rubbing his flare up and down, his throbbing dick drooling enough precum between her lips to at least allow him to start to part her folds. Right hind hoof still up on the bed, he grabbed her right stifle with it, and his own dick his left, keeping it stiff and aligned as he curled his hips forward, growling out in pleasure under the needy, sexual strain of attempting to enter her. She was tight and dry, and he was big and then some. Tracer’s growl turned into a moan as her folds slowly spread around his flare, the edges squishing down just to fit. She trembled and shook below him, shaking her head from left to right, trying to speak, but he ignored that as well, and instead gave a swift and sharp buck of his hips.

He felt the meager and temporary resistance of her hymen under his influence, then watched with a shuddering moan as blood welled up around his flare, immediately providing enough lube for him to sink himself down a quarter of the way into her, her virgin lips spread almost grotesquely wide around his shaft, the throbbing beast of a dick barely fitting between her cheeks. Tracer closed his eyes and shuddered, moving his left hoof to the middle of her back for balance as he drove his hips down into her, forced to stop as she clenched up and shuddered. He huffed, then pulled back, dark-colored dick streaked red with blood now. He pulled himself just back to the flare, then thrust right back into her, letting out a growling moan this time, his balls swinging as he came to another jolting stop a few inches shy of his medial ring. She screamed into the gag again, forehooves giving panicked tugs at the scarf binding them.

The way she trembled below him, like his own living vibrator, the way she clenched and squeezed at him, coupled with the knowledge that he would be her first, and her last was almost too much for the sex-starved surgeon. He dropped down atop her, pressing his chest down against her back as he took hold of both of her shoulders, pressing his chin down into her mane as he shut his eyes and slammed his hips into her. His medial ring hit her clit like a speedbump, and his flare hit her cervix like a barrier with a couple inches of his dick still dry. The mare’s eyes rolled back into her head and she spasmed, the muffled sounds escaping her voicebox in no way pleased or pleasured.

“Fuck,” Tracer said in an exhale, flexing his dick, feeling her squeeze back almost every time he did so. He shifted his hind legs for better leverage and tugged his hips back, smelling the copper in the air from her torn hymen before ruthlessly stuffing himself back into her. Again, he hit her cervix, and again she spasmed below him. He just moaned, then went to town.

His belly grew wet with sweat, the musky tinge of his arousal rising in the air around them as he rubbed his own scent into the mare’s fur, pounding away at her once-virgin cunt, hefty balls swinging up to slap her belly with every forward thrust, the muscles in his core and hips rippling as he released what had to have been weeks of sexual tension and occupational frustrations on the little mare, jostling her so hard her glasses fell off her face and onto the bed.

Tracer would have liked to say he kept it up for ten minutes. In reality, maybe it was two. It was all just so... stimulating, that he couldn’t hold it in. With a snarl of pleasure, he squeezed down on both of her shoulders with a terrifying, orgasmic-adrenaline-induced strength, curling his hips towards her haunches, assaulting her cervix with his flare as he gave a sharp series of grinding bucks into her, his head flaring out as his balls twitched and tightened, shaft pulsing and swelling with the quantity of the first shot of his orgasm. He blasted her cervix, feeling the flood of his own heat inside her, the pressure of it as he undoubtedly forced his seed through into her womb, flooding the little mare with hot, sticky seed, the rest, with nowhere else to go, flowing back out around his dick, drizzling and spurting from between his shaft and her lips, tainted pink with blood as it started to drool and drip down her inner thighs towards the carpet. Tracer panted through his teeth, eyes closed, trembling happily as he ground his hips into every wave of pleasure, until eventually starting to go limp as he faded into afterglow, the sound of the world coming back to him, coupled with the muffled sobbing of the college mare.

A sudden, and sharp pain in his upper brow brought him sharply back to reality much sooner than he would have liked. His eyes snapped open as he recoiled, spotting a silver hairbrush yielded magically by Logical. He snarled, feeling the warm trickle of blood down the right side of his face, head spinning some. Really, he wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to do—he was still on top of her, his dick was still buried inside of her, twitching and swollen, and his scalpel was still close to her neck. She definitely wasn’t getting away. And yet, she swung the brush again. Tracer reached up with his right hoof, just barely managing to deflect it, wincing in pain as the heavy, ornate head clocked off his hoof. Below him, she thrashed, hard, trying to jerk herself forward, to buck him off, and she almost managed it, too. Brow bleeding, hoof stinging, afterglow interrupted by her stupid attempts to fight back, Tracer snarled. Throwing the scalpel aside, his red magic wrapped around the green glow she held on the handle of the brush, and wrenched it from her grasp. She whimpered even before he swung it down to clobber her aside the head with it, right over her left ear, a brittle crack sounding as the ornate silver bounced off her skull. The hit stunned her enough that she went almost completely limp, and Tracer used that moment to pull out of her.

Right leg still up on the bed, he lifted himself up onto it entirely, dragging his half-stiff dick up and out of her stretched and abused cunt at a rather harsh angle, the cumsoaked shaft tugging upwards from her entrance, until the flare popped out with a squelch and a gushing flood of cum that ruined the floor between her legs.

“That was a bad fucking move.” He snarled, then reached up with his right hoof to rub at his brow. He glanced to the blood on his hoof as he pulled it away, then rolled his eyes and wiped it on the comforter. “Surface-layer laceration, inconvenient, bleeds a lot, won’t require stitches.” He huffed down at Logical, glaring at her unfocused eyes, before letting out a snarl and clobbering her a second time with the hair brush, however not quite as hard. She cried out again, shutting her eyes, going stiff from the impact ever so briefly. “But a real bitch to explain to my wife.”

Tracer sat himself down on the bed, hind legs spread, blood and cum-stained dick on full display as he sat back on his own hind legs, balls resting on the comforter, dick hanging an inch or so above it. Once again grabbing Logical’s horn, Tracer used it, and a combination of magical influence, to pull her fully up onto the bed, and drag her head between his spread thighs. He flexed his dick watching the heavy mass swing up into the air, only to slap back down on the bridge of her muzzle.

He smeared his messy dick against her face, rubbing the flare up the bridge of her muzzle and past her eye, beside her horn which he was still using as a joystick to control her. Logical’s distant, green eyes were only just drawing back into focus after the second blow, and there was no doubt in Tracer’s mind by her sluggish reaction that he had concussed her. He could only see one eye, her right one, considering his dick was covering the other, but there was plenty of emotion in the one he could see.

“You know, I was actually debating on letting you go,” he said sharply, tone rising slightly as he leaned over her and shimmied his hips back. A drop of blood welled up on his chin and broke free, dropping down to burst on her forehead. He watched as his dick dragged back across her face, then he poised the flare right in front of her mouth. She was still gagged, her mouth stuffed with her torn panties, and her muffled plea, followed by a choking sob, did little to help her situation. Tracer licked his lips again as he magic wrapped around her jaw, grabbing at her upper and bottom teeth and pulling in either direction. She fought him, but a threatening drawback of her weapon of a hairbrush earned a whimper, and the mare allowed him to pry her jaw open. His left hoof grabbed his dick around the middle, hefting it, considering the stallion’s schlong was still half-limp from his previous orgasm, the recovery period not quite yet reached.

He stuffed the flare past her lips, letting out a low moan of delight, feeling the sensitive flesh of the head pressing up against the soaked panties resting atop her tongue. He hadn’t forgotten to take the gag out, but rather, he had felt no need to. He enjoyed watching Logical’s face scrunch up at the taste of his cum and her blood mixing on her tongue, and he flexed his dick. She closed her jaw on the shaft, squeezing ever so slightly, and he immediately wrenched it right back open with his magic, letting out a growl. He struck her over the left ear again, this time, hearing a crack and feeling a particular softness under the handle of the brush. Skull fracture. Logical spasmed, and he made sure to firmly hold her jaw to keep it from closing on his dick. Her eyes rolled back and she let out a groaning, whining sound of pain.

“Now do you really think that was a good idea?” Tracer cracked a sideways smirk, rolled his eyes, then tugged on her horn, stuffing his dick into her maw. He used her like a toy, his cock like a ramrod, stuffing the wadding that was her panties back into her throat. The mare gagged and retched, and he responded by hunching over her and grabbing both sides of her head, steadying it while he flexed his dick and prepared to stuff his hips forward. There was something divine about a throat that felt so different than anything else—the way he could feel a pony’s body actively struggling to expel his dick. He felt her swallow in vain, and the soaked panties he’d been pushing down her throat were pulled away from his flare, down into her body. Tracer just grinned, then thrust his hips forward, marveling in the choking, retching sound of his flare brute-forcing its way into her gullet. He leaned back, then looked down, his right hoof squeezing her horn and pulling her head down further. He watched her muzzle crawl towards his medial ring as her eyes went wide, looking down at his cumstained and sweat-dampened groin, before snapping up to him. She retched once every couple of seconds, and each time, his stiffening cock would throb and twitch in response, sending her into yet another retch or heave—it was an amazing feedback loop for him, but not so much for her.

Tracer pulled her back up to the flare with a backwards curl of his hips and a push with his hoof on her horn, then brought her right back down again, moaning as the sensitive edge of his flare bumped over every ridge in her throat, hearing the sloppy squelch as it was forced deeper into her gullet. Logical couldn’t even muster a single sound while his cock was in her throat, blocking any and all airflow, and for the first time in quite a while, it was relatively silent in the room—no sobbing or pleading, just the sound of Tracer’s breathing and the wet, grotesque sounds of her throat being used, the bulge of his cock showing below her jaw and down the front of her neck as he brought her lips right up to his medial ring.

It was just like before. It was hard to believe that Tracer could last over half an hour with his wife in the bedroom, but here, with this mare, his endurance was reduced to several minutes. Looking down at her muzzle, smeared with his cum, terrified eyes forced to stare into his dampened groin fur while it drew closer and closer to her muzzle. The bulge of his dick distended her throat as he stuffed it past her lips, nothing to show but a couple thick inches of dark gray, the rest buried in her face... Tracer shuddered and bit his lip, feeling his cock throb, having to stop mid-thrust for fear of losing himself to a sub-par and premature climax.

“Look at you,” he oiled, glancing down at the mare, watching the panic in her eyes as the lack of oxygen in her lungs started to catch up with her. “Bet you’re the top of your class. Got a good brain in that head of yours.”

Tracer blinked, the comment sticking in his mind. His eyes drifted to her left ear, the likely skull fracture and soft spot. His dick throbbed in her throat, and he shuddered. All at once, the devilish idea came to him, and a grin slowly grew across his face. “Guess I’ll have to find out.”

He moved swiftly, fueled by lust and excitement at his new and macabre idea. Tracer couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt actual excitement in such a scale. Yanking his dick out of her mouth, he left the mare to pant desperately for breath as he swung himself around to plant his right knee right below her shoulders, leaving him facing the same way as her on the bed. His left one stayed on the comforter, leaving his slime-coated dick to protrude out above and beside her head. Tracer grabbed her horn with his right hoof, then yanked her head to the left, his left hoof steering his dick to rub the flare of it up against her ear. The soft fur there tickled it, and the shaft throbbed, a hearty shot of precum jetting right into Logical’s ear canal. The mare shuddered.

“P-please,” she managed to wheeze out between a couple of choking coughs. “Let me go. I-I won’t tell anyone.” Her voice was hoarse, the short stint of having her throat fucked proving to have been rather unkind to her larynx.

Tracer just barely heard her. His red eyes were focused intently on her left ear as he pressed forward with his hips, grinding his flare against it, working it into the cleft in the furry appendage that lead to the inner canal. “How about this,” he mused, pressing further, shivering as he worked that wide flare in about an inch. Her skull felt abnormally soft below the flesh. “If you survive this, I’ll let you go.”

Logical writhed on the bed, quite clearly in discomfort as she tried to pull at the scarf binding her forelegs once again. Of course, Tracer’s knee held her firmly in place. Her voice seemed a little slurred as she spoke again. “Survive?” She coughed, trying to turn her head back straight, but Tracer moved his left hoof in as well, now holding her horn with both hooves, and quite a fair bit of body weight as he hunched over her and pushed with his hips. She went suddenly tense, eyes bugging out. “N-no stop.” Logical gave a spasming jerk below him, a squealing, breathless whine escaping her mouth. “Fuck! That hurts! It hurts!”

It happened all at once. Tracer wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but he was surprised by the rather sudden plunge his dick took through her ear canal. It felt... entirely new and different. He felt the tearing of flesh below his flare, and a sudden gush of blood welled up around his shaft as it sank a few inches into the mare’s skull. The bone was thin there, and had apparently been obliterated to such an extent by his strikes there with the hairbrush that he didn’t really even feel it against the head of his dick.

The stallion shuddered in pure bliss as he looked down, mouth open, tongue hanging out, eyes wide as he took in every single little detail, completely entranced as he watched himself sink slow inch after inch of his shaft into the mare’s head through her stretched ear, the soft outer fur and flesh of it rubbing the side of his shaft like a fuzzy, dry tongue. He had a full quarter of his dick inside of her, literally in her skull. Blood continued to well up around his shaft all the while.

Logical gurgled, her body starting to lightly spasm as her eyes lost focus. A droning hum escaped her mouth as her middle went limp and all four hooves started to twitch and flick. Her mouth worked, forming silent words as her eyes bulged like those of a goldfish. Tracer was, after all, a smart stallion; he knew what that warm, inviting squish around his dick was.

He outright lost himself, and bucked his hips forward with a snarl, feeling his flare slam against the other side of the mare’s skull. With almost all of his weight either on her forehead or upper back, she held perfectly still for him, even as her body thrashed and spasmed. She spasmed again, and Tracer moaned, ruthlessly grinding his hips forward as he looked down at her. Logical’s right eye seemed to swell, then it burst outwards as the bloody, gray flare of Tracer’s dick sprouted from her eye socket. The stallion didn’t hesitate to thrust himself all the way forward, hilting in her skull, his hips grinding down against the side of her head as he forced his medial ring down into her cranial cavity, the top half of his dick now protruding from where her right eye had been. The left one was still open, still aware. The mare spasmed and trembled, jaw working, saliva spraying from her teeth as she made a wide array of guttural sounds. She drew ragged, random breaths as her left eye started to roll up into her head, her failing brain not sure what it should be telling her body to do anymore.

It was all too much for Tracer. The large, gray stallion yanked his hips back as his cockhead flared outside her skull, having to tug it back through her eye socket just as his orgasm boiled over. He gnashed his teeth in pleasure as he braced himself, then started a rapid and horribly destructive series of thrusts in and out of her skull.

The best way to describe the sound was sloppy. It sounded like someone had drilled a hoof-sized hole in a pumpkin, filled it with jello, and begun to violently assault it with their hoof. Blood and small chunks of brain matter sloshed and ran down the trembling mare’s right cheek as her left eye swiveled sporadically in her head, before rolling upwards to show nothing but bloodshot white. Tracer felt the hefty throb of his dick, and then the first pulse, and let out a snarl of pleasure as he gave one last, good thrust.

A messy, chunky, pinkish reddish concoction of seed, blood, and pulpified brain matter flooded from Logical’s right eye socket, spilling down her face and onto the bed in a horribly macabre stew. More backsurged, and spurted out from around Tracer’s throbbing shaft as the pleasure-frozen stallion shut his eyes and curled his head back, teeth grit, the muscles and chords in his neck standing out as he harbored an orgasm so good it almost looked painful for him.

Logical’s death spasms slowed to twitches as each powerful throb of the surgeon’s cock sent another rolling gush of seed down her face. After a few of them, there was a lot less blood and a lot more white, and pretty soon, there was nothing spilling from her head but cum, the entire contents of her mushified brain having spilled onto the bedspread, leaving nothing in the raped mare’s head but a throbbing dick, and stallion cum. A hearty thrust from Tracer sent his bulging flare back out through Logical’s eye socket a second time as the stallion moaned out, and thrust himself down to the hilt against her ear a second time, his throbbing flare shooting the rest of his tapering load out onto the bedspread.

Tracer fell over onto his back as he finished, his still-stiff dick seated at the base of Logical’s skull, pulling her head back with him, pulling the ragdoll body of the very, very dead mare up at an awkward angle, her neck bending up and back away from her body in an uncomfortable-looking position.

Panting, so pleasure-stupid he could barely think, Tracer drew his forelegs in close to his chest as he looked down at his softening dick, the upper half starting to droop over Logical’s face. Her mouth remained open in a look of shock and pain, her left eye wide and rolled up into her skull. Eventually, he calmed down enough to get his bearings. Still panting, he lit up his horn and started to unwind his scarf from her forelegs. “Alright, deal’s a deal,” he chimed with a smirk, pulling the scarf away and tossing it back towards the door. “You’re free to go.”

The stallion took another couple moments to himself, then slowly sat himself up, gathering his hooves below him to stand. He felt the weight of the mare’s head and upper body against his groin as he stood, his dick still maintaining enough rigidity to lift her head until he was fully standing on the bed, in which he shuddered at the sensation of her head starting to slide down his dick, back to the flare, which hung up on her eye socket. He grunted when it stopped, then gave his hips a little sway—she still hung. Biting his lip, he lifted a hind leg and pressed down on her shoulder, grunting as he forced his flare back into her cranial cavity, hearing the sloshing gurgle of his cum inside her head before his dick popped free from the other side and she dropped to the bed like a wet rag, cum oozing from her eye socket.

Taking a moment or two to examine the room, Tracer gingerly stepped down from the bed, careful to avoid the puddle of cum he’d left on the carpet. Spotting his discarded scalpel lying a few feet away, he levitated it back into the air, then floated it back over to his satchel. His scarf, he wound neatly back around his neck, noting the light tinge of sweat and sex it now carried.

A cool draft of air found his dick, still hanging between his legs, still dripping, and he shivered.

Right.

Levitating up the skirt he’d torn off the mare, he used it to wipe his face down, before dabbing the sweat off his neck and belly. Finally, he wrapped it around his dick and gave it a good, proper tug and a squeeze, cleaning what he could off the shrinking member before discarding the ruined garment on the floor.

The stallion made his way to the door, noting the reek of sweat and blood in the air as he slung his satchel back over onto his shoulder. He spared a glance over at the bed, and the absolute mess he had left there, the limp yellow shape of the mare lying askew atop it, cum and blood staining the comforter and the floor around it.

Tracer chuckled warmly to himself, then pressed out into the hallway, lightly closing the door behind him before starting home. He should probably be getting to sleep soon—he had an early shift at the hospital tomorrow morning.