Scootaloo watched the young colt with a scowling eye, with the fury of a thousand suns, as he ripped through the sand to serve the beach goers with the absolute best amenities his position could offer. All the while wearing a dashing smile that even she could bring herself to appreciate when considering him as an individual. In fact, if the two had knowing each other as simply coworkers, he would not be the subject of her unyielding ire. But that simply could not be the case, for he was a sibling to a particular prismatic Pegasus mare that she admired to a borderline unhealthy degree.
Instead of taking him as another roster in Rainbow’s endlessly amazingly awesome family, his very existence went against everything Scootaloo knew about the world. He was not supposed to be Rainbow’s brother, someone who actually enjoyed school and took pleasure in dorky and nerdy activities could not be in any way related to Rainbow. There is just no way. Not even Rainbow’s 8th cousin 6 times removed would be this different to her. It was almost like the two were from entirely different dimensions and it was a coincidence, a mere flip of a coin, that they ended up as siblings.
“Hey Scootaloo, want some water?”
She looked at him with a scowl, her brow furrowing as she sat up briskly, swatting the bottle of water out of his hoof in spite of her admittedly dry mouth. He looked at her with a confused expression, wondering why she would so abruptly do something so rude when all he was attempting to do was build a lasting workplace environment they both could strive together in.
“What the hell was that for?” He asked.
She sneered, lowering her head to be on eye contact with the colt. “I should be asking you that: what the hell is wrong with you?” She asked, jabbing her hoof into his chest quite harshly, the force of which making him step back. “You just don’t fit, no matter how many times I try to rationalize it, you just don’t fit.” She grumbled, taking a hostile step forward.
If he was confused beforehand, then he was helplessly baffled now, taking a cautionary step back to further the distance she had closed. “What’re you talking about Scootaloo?” He asked, quite weary of what she might do.
She sneered, raising her head, looking down upon him as if he was the scum of the world. “Nothing you would understand.” She spat, literally as a glob of spit hit him directly in the eye, making him flinch backwards. “You’re so pathetic, Rainbow Dash is awesome, amazing, a great flyer, and future Wonderbolt Captain.” She said. “And look at you, a nerdy bastard without the smallest hint of amazing, awesome, or the bright future as a Wonderbolt, let alone a captain.” She huffed angrily, taking a larger step forward. “Just what in Equestria is your fucking problem?” She asked, no longer stopping at one step, continuing her stride until she backed the poorly befuddled colt.
Every inch of Brush’s mind was sent ablaze with warnings to leave, his eyes scanning Scootaloo as she hovered over him menacingly. Tall, she was, but lithe she wasn’t, her frame supported by muscle and fat from many ponies who’ve fallen prey to her nearly insatiable hunger. Not only that, but the extent of her height caused her to stand a full head and a neck above him, making her quite the threat especially if an air-born flight would ensue, her wings large and powerful.
He swallowed. “L-l-look Sc-sc-Scootaloo, I don’t know what you’re on about, but whatever it is, we can work through it together.” He proposed.
Her brow only furrowed further before an idea came to min and she smiled deviously for the first time since they met. It sent shivers down his spine. “You’re right: we can work through it together,” Her tone menacing, her eyes glowing with malicious intent. “Just… don’t… move!!!”
It happened to quick for him to react, no sooner had she shouted ‘move’ had she lunged at him, mouth open wide enough to engulf his entire head. Her lips clamped around his throat while her forehooves moved to hold his arms together, and with pushing him against the floor this meant that his avenue for struggle was weak, and flimsy.
He screamed, wailed, and tried to fight his predator off, but she was stronger than him, larger than him, and a seasoned predator; all his attempts were futile. With no reason to rush screaming at her, Scootaloo elected to take her time with her prey, tongue salvaging every inch of his face to scrounge up his admittedly delicious taste. By time she was ready to swallow, his fur was so unbelievably wet that his right eye was closed shut from the access saliva.
Scootaloo inched forward, bringing more of him into her, his neck slipping into her mouth as his head tapped the back of her throat. She closed her eyes and swallowed once, her throat opening up all too easily, accepting Brush with gusto, his face’s visage clear in her throat. She continued to lather his shoulders with endless licks, pulling more and more of him within her, swallowing deeply. Soon, his arms were pinned to his side in her mouth, forcing her to let go.
With half of him inside of her, his head beginning to peek into the gastric chambers that was her stomach, the need to keep him pinned was no more. She raised her head with ease, craning her head back to call upon the aid of gravity to consume the remainder of her prey. His legs kicked wildly, but it was far too late now, her lips inching over his stomach and reaching his blank flanks.
She smiled, mouth full of pony, content that she was irreversibly close to cleansing the world and restoring order to it as it should’ve been. She swallowed roughly, each one larger and more powerful than the one that came before, eventually bringing the poor colt’s one final frogs into her mouth. With one final lick and slurping up his tail like a spaghetti noodle, she took the last swallow of the day, sending the final bulge of her prey from her neck to her stomach, hanging just above her knees.
Brush waited not for his entire body to enter his final resting place to resume his struggle, his front hooves pushing out into her stomach, stretching it out, only to be pushed back in due to it’s surprisingly elastic properties. He knew he should have scrammed when his mind told him to, shouldn’t have tried to be the nice one and give her a bottle of water for her troubles standing out in the heat. He would’ve never even approached her if he could’ve foreseen what fate awaited him. Now, he was wrapped around by this death dealing cavity and wouldn’t be released until her body was entirely done with processing him.
On the outside, Scootaloo went about her day as usual, as if she had not just devoured another pony mere moments ago. Her stride not to be impeded as her size and experience with devouring others made sure she would be able to continue with her life-guard duties with minor setbacks. That didn’t mean she disliked her collection’s struggle, the fact that he refused to accept his fate as part of her plump body frustrating. Nevertheless, it wasn’t like his struggles for freedom would come to fruition.
Or so she thought until she felt a pressure building up in her throat, moving briskly towards her mouth at the speed one would imagine vomit to travel. And just like vomit, before she could process it, Brush’s hoof would emerge from her mouth, followed in short order by his head.
She grumbled, no longer slightly irritated but rightly infuriated, pushing his head back into her mouth and swallowing harshly, much more harsh than she had beforehand, sending him back to his fate as food. This time however, to prevent him from repeating history, she would strengthen the hold her stomach had over him, completely restricting all movement as the digestive process kicked up again, with more speed.
Over the course of the hours, her stomach would begin to recede in size, soon no longer resembling a pony sized bulge but a taught stomach filled with a basketball.
(Hours Later)
Flushing the toilet, sending the remains of her previous prey down the drain, Scootaloo inspected her figure in the mirror, undying infatuation with herself filling her every being. She reached behind her, smacked her flanks with a resounding smack, the globes of fat wobbling with the harsh contact.
“Mmm, just where you belong bitch, right on my ass…”