Lyra Heartstrings had a problem. It manifested every time she was playing music in BonBon’s sweet shop and a dragon came in… or a griffon… or an abyssinian… or a diamond dog….

Okay, it came up with a lot of creatures.

That problem… was hands.

It hadn’t been a big deal once. The only creature in Ponyville on a regular basis who had them was Spike, and he was so young that Lyra had an easier time ignoring it. By the time he’d gotten old enough that Lyra noticed, he was in Canterlot… not that she’d let that stop her from making a play for him during one of her gatherings with Twilight and the old gang.

He’d been the one to actually point out how much it would hurt BonBon if she found out.

Of course, she’d known that her wife would be devastated if she found out that Lyra was… less than an ideal spouse. She knew how she’d feel if she caught BonBon muzzle deep in a minotaur cow, or playing her tongue over some dragon’s cloaca to pay them back for a chance to suckle those fingers, to feel them splayed out and combing through her mane and fur, getting closer and closer to parts of her that Lyra and Bonnie had sworn belonged to each other alone.

At least, that was how she’d feel if it weren’t one of the hottest things she could imagine walking in on and getting a chance to join.

Bonnie wouldn’t feel that way, though.

But Spike bringing it up had been the shock to the system she needed. She knew Spike, and knew that he knew BonBon! How could she have even thought about….

But she had thought about it, and kept thinking about it. And more than thinking about it, no matter how much she tried to stop herself. Any time she watched somecreature with fingers handling bits, playing an instrument, picking up a chocolate, she couldn’t help herself!

She just had to feel those digits herself.

That was why she was standing on Saddle Street, just after midnight, waiting nervously at the door of a small brown house with a ground-floor office and no windows. Why she was waiting for the door to open and let her in. She knew she should turn around and go back to BonBon. Crawl back into bed, maybe have a little fun with her wife, instead of ending up snuggled in the lap of her latest… she wasn’t quite sure what the word was, any more. Crush? Obsession?

She kind of liked that second one. It sounded a lot more like it felt.

She’d seen the new creature coming out of the shop that afternoon; a lean, hairless biped with mauve skin and agile fingers. Not the half-paws of an Abyssinian or Diamond Dog. None of the sharp claws of a dragon or griffon. Not the sausage-like trunks on a minotaur’s hands. No, these were long, and thin, and blunt, and as they played over a spiral snail’s shell on a necklace, absolutely perfect.

He must have noticed her staring, because he walked over to her, dressed all in black like a Canterlot noble, a wide-brimmed hat keeping the sun out of his face.

Lyra had just sat, entranced, across the street from her home, her wife undoubtedly behind the counter of the shop and able to see everything. The new creature walked straight up to Lyra, reaching those perfect fingers into the pocket of his suit, and tugged out a crisp white business card that he expertly twirled down between his fingers before swinging it out towards her with a quiet, almost snapping ‘fwip.’

“Amos Anon, miss..?”

“Lyra,” the mint-green unicorn murmured, utterly fixated on the display as she took the card in her magic and glanced at it. “Lyra Heartstrings.” She read his card, her eyes continuously darting up towards his fingers and hands as he folded them together.

Amos Anon, CPT
Hypnotherapist

“Hypnotherapist? Is there something wrong with BonBon?” She stood up, leaning over to look at the door to the shop, trying to get a clear look inside.

“Nothing major,” he chuckled. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but it’s something you can probably help with. She’s just worried that this unicorn she’s head over hooves in love with might think she’s putting on a little weight, and wanted some help curbing her habit of taste-testing her chocolates to get it under control.”

“Oh, Bonnie,” Lyra sighed, shaking her head. “Thanks for letting me know, I’ll talk with her.”

“I suggest you do that. I do hope that everything works out. But if either of you need me… for anything… my office is near the edge of town, on Saddle Street. I can stay open late, if evening appointments would work better.”

“Y-yeah… I might take you up on that. Thanks again,” Lyra said, looking up at his strange, smooth, nearly featureless face and trying not to glance down at his hands as he straightened his collar.

“Not a problem at all, Miss Heartstrings. I specialize in little fixations like this. Good day.”

“It’s… it’s missus,” Lyra pointed out as he started to turn around, finally putting a solid barrier between her eyes and his perfect hands. She shook her head, and started in to talk to BonBon as the therapist walked off.

So they’d talked. They’d talked, and Lyra had done her best to reassure Bonnie that she loved her even with a little extra cushioning. It wasn’t hard to make the argument, because she did!

BonBon was perfect. She was snuggly, sweet, beautiful, brave….

She just didn’t have hands.

Which brought Lyra back to Amos Anon’s door, and her hoof lightly rapping against it.

Lyra was just about to talk herself out of it when the door opened up, revealing the tall, slender man she’d come to see in a silk robe decorated with mythical creatures she couldn’t recognize embroidered into it. The patterns seemed to swirl as she looked at them, almost as mesmerizing as the fingers he reached out to stroke her muzzle with.

Almost.

“Good evening, Miss Heartstrings.”

“M-missus,” she corrected him again.

“Funny… I don’t see a wedding band on your horn,” he observed, stepping back to let her in. “I presume you were interested in a late appointment?”

“Y-yeah… I have a problem,” she admitted. “It’s about -”

“Fingers and hands,” he cut her off. “Yes, I could tell mine were something you were rather focused on. I don’t usually offer sessions this late, though.” He sat down in a plush, comfortable armchair in the front room, indicating the seat across from him. Lyra climbed up into it, leaning back and letting her hind legs dangle from the front.

”I… didn’t really mean for therapy, at least not tonight.” Lyra smiled weakly, licking her lips. “Like I said… I’ve got a problem.”

“And what’s the solution you have in mind for tonight?” He folded his fingers together, resting his head against them.

“Well, I was hoping you might indulge me? I mean… it’s just your hands, right? Most creatures like cuddling, and that’s not really cheating.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” he chuckled, patting his lap lightly. “Just cuddling?”

“Right… just cuddling.” Lyra climbed up automatically, snuggling in as he offered her his hand.

“And what’s your BonBon’s take on… cuddling?” He asked her, scratching her between the ears.

“Don’t talk about her.” She nuzzled into his palm, shuddering as he combed his fingers through her fur. “I’ve fucked that up enough already.” She spread her dextrous lips, pulling one of his fingers into her mouth, wrapping her broad tongue around it and moaning softly.

“Oh really?” He asked, scratching along her back, working his way down towards her rump. Lyra pressed up into his touch, an almost feline motion. “I assume it hasn’t always been just cuddling before?”

“N-not always,” she murmured, her tail waving and fanning her scent as she responded to his ‘treatment.’ “Let’s not talk about this either, please?”

“Very well.” He stroked his fingers down the curve of her rump, just barely teasing the wetness around her nether lips with the tips, then pulling back to stroke her tail. “Is it really what you want to stick to, tonight?”

Her eyes flicked up to his. She worried her lip with her teeth, fighting between the answer she wanted to give and the answer she knew she had to.

Finally, Lyra nodded her head faintly, wrapping her forehooves around his arm and dragging her tongue along the plane of his palm and the contours of his fingers. She moaned throatily as his fingers sank into her wetness, her eyes squeezing shut as he splayed them out, stretching her, digitally exploring her depths. He leaned down towards her head, and she felt another set of fingers exploring her mane and scalp.

The ‘therapist’ released the illusion he had been using to conceal the four tentacles surrounding his beak-like mouth, revealing an octopoidal face that descended onto Lyra’s head. His tentacles snaked through her mane, sliding around to her ears, down her muzzle to her nostrils. The illithid caressed her mind psychically, reinforcing her pleasant fantasies, one last mercy granted to make the coming feeding easier.

Surrounded by bliss, caressed inside and out by agile fingers of all descriptions, Lyra felt fingers pressing into her head, a dull pressure inside her skull building before, with a sudden ripping sensation, Lyra lost all sense of concern for what was around her. Another tear, and her sight was gone, then her sixth grade history lessons.

Outside of the slowly dwindling fantasy world Lyra was trapped in, blood trickled from her ears and nostrils, draining down her throat as the illithid crouching over her delicately plucked pieces of brain out of her skull, popping them into its beaklike orifice like candy and savoring each bite. It took a moment to dwell upon the mental flavor of each fatty, bloody bite, tasting the pony’s unique experience of life.

Artists always tasted best, their unique sense of the world around them lending a piquance that couldn’t be replicated with simple slave-stock, or even learned scholars. Devouring the fragments of Lyra’s brain that held her songs took hours, absorbing the musician’s creations and forever erasing them from existence if they hadn’t already been recorded. The intellectual blasphemy of undoing transient beauty was sweet, a perfect lead in to the spicier, sharper flavors as memories of her numerous infidelities went next, along with conscious control of her extremities. Lyra spasmed, her last orgasm rippling through her body before the pleasure centers of her brain were pulled out, ripe and rich with hormonal flavor.

As the sun began to rise, Lyra lay limply in the illithid’s lap, nothing left of her conscious brain but memories of BonBon, and the aching knowledge that somehow, she had betrayed the mare she loved.

Then, with one final tear, Lyra was left with nothing but the barest minimum necessary to keep her breathing, her heart beating - a living husk of a pony, twitching occasionally and staring blankly into the distance through unseeing eyes.

The illithid stood, letting Lyra’s body flop to the floor, and went to clean the blood and cerebral fluid from his robe.

He’d clean up the leftovers after he’d changed for the day.

Author's Note

If you want to end the story on a downer, just go ahead and leave it here. Screwed up idea that seemed fitting for Halloween!

If you want the Extra Icky EC Comics Ending, just click that "next" button!