Gilda's Wrath

Rarity was too immersed in creative flow to hear the turbulence outside. After months of waiting, her order of Saddle Arabian silk had arrived. She measured the fabric and sliced out a few long strips, pausing to admire the way it gleamed and glimmered in the light. She brushed it up against her cheek to feel the dreamy softness, but before she had a chance to lay it down onto her dress, the door to her boutique burst open, splintering the little greeting bell above it.

Rarity turned and drew in a deep, gasping breath.

“Heya, Rarity. Miss me?”

The intrusive visitor was none other than Gilda the griffon, standing at about twice Rarity’s height and struggling to shift her hefty hips through the door. Her wide, furry cheeks lodged in the frame, until eventually she pulled them through with a grunt and a flabby pop.

“G-G-Gilda! Wh-why whatever brings you to m-my-”

“I wanna buy a dress.” She stroked her claw across one of Rarity’s more expensive frocks, flashing the pony a devilish grin.

“A dress? Really? Well, I’m not sure if-”
Rarity went silent. Not just from her nerves but because her nostrils had picked up on something. A horrendously soggy stench that grew worse by the second. She held her snout with her hoof just to try and blot out the overwhelming aroma of ruined jockstraps and vinegar. A more scrutinizing glance at Gilda revealed that the Griffon was soaked all over. Not with water, but with sweat.

Rivers of the stuff dripped and drizzled down her fur, a dark, greasy puddle had already formed on the floor, and the hot unwashed stench was so thick that Rarity could almost see it shimmering in the air. A few flies orbited the beast, wheeling around in the hot stink before ultimately succumbing to it and plummeting down to the ground.

Rarity gagged into her mouth, struggling to arrange her thoughts into some kind of response.

“L-Listen, Gilda! I want you out of my boutique this in-instant!”

Gilda plodded closer, one step at a time, watching Rarity’s willpower crumble with every whiff of her raunchy B.O.

“I won’t h-have you disgracing my livelihood with that appalling, fetid, malodorous-”

“Listen, bitch. I said I want a dress, and you’re gonna shut your pony trap and make me one! I’m the customer, and that means I’m always right!”

Rarity shrunk down as Gilda stepped closer and closer still. In her frenzied state she made the quick decision to dash for the exit, but before she could get even two hoofsteps away Gilda seized her by the tail and swung the unicorn towards her.

Cast back through the air, Rarity was so disoriented that she didn’t realize what was happening until it was all too late. She landed with a dull impact against something damp and fuzzy.
Attempts to pull away went unsuccessful, and as she opened her eyes she found herself sealed in a headlock, her face pressed up against Gilda’s clammy armpit.

She screamed out bloody murder, but her cries were lost entirely within Gilda’s messy underarm fur. Even if her pleas had been heard, nopony with any sense would dare come within a hundred feet of the reeking boutique. The griffon tightened her grip on the back of the dressmaker’s head, driving her snout in deeper, making sure Rarity got a nice solid sniff of what two months without washing had done to her. No amount of tugging or twisting could overpower Gilda’s firm grasp.

“There. Much better.”

She unplugged Rarity from under her arm with a plop and threw her across the room, her face stained and matted with fresh sweat. She could feel it tingling in her nostrils and dripping down the back of her throat. Gilda’s musky pits smelled and tasted like malt vinegar, and no amount of coughing or spluttering made the burning sensation any better.

Rarity scrambled across the boutique floor. Her horn flickered into life. She could have used what little magic she had in this languished state to throw something at Gilda, or perhaps pull herself up to her hooves, but instead she grabbed a small pink can of air freshener with her magic and pumped out the entire bottle’s worth into the poisoned ambience of the room. She even sprayed herself in the face, and yet the chemical sting was but an ember compared to the unbearable blazing sensation of sweat mingling in her throat.

Gilda watched the sorry display with a steady smirk. After the can was emptied, Rarity inhaled. The air around her finally smelled halfway fresh by comparison. But that didn’t last long. It only took seconds for Gilda’s essence to drown out the smell of summer flowers. If anything, it hit Rarity even harder after that brief respiratory respite.

“Please… I’m sorry… You’ve m-made your point, just leave my boutique alone!”

“Naw, I don’t think so! These dresses look like they could use a little color in them!”

Gilda swiped for a billowy white wedding dress, one Rarity had made by commission for a wealthy couple in Canterlot, and ignoring Rarity’s exhaustive cries, she lifted up one of her arms and scrubbed her stinking pit with the wadded-up garment. It was delightful to dab off some sweat, even if she knew more would appear in its place within just seconds. She watched all hope drain away from Rarity’s face as she doused the dress in her other mushy pit, and when she finally fished it out it was an off-yellow color and dripping thick, rancid drops of sweat.

She raised it over Rarity’s quivering body, pinned her tail down under one of her paws, shone another one of her signature smirks and then wrung the soiled heap of fabric out, all over Rarity’s precious mane.

There were at least three pints of moisture sponged up in the thing, and all of it came pouring down onto the repulsed unicorn. She sputtered and shook, some of the acrid taste spilling into her mouth as the lukewarm liquid dribbled down her face. By the end of the ordeal her once-white coat was stained the color and stench of pure griffon filth. Even a hundred baths could not return her fur to its fresh, snowy state.

“Wh-Why?” Is all Rarity could manage. Every breath was filled with sweat and saltwater. Not a single thought passed through her mind that wasn’t tainted by Gilda’s pits.

She stared up in a haze, just about making out the wide, round shape of Gilda’s massive ass flying towards her before it was far too late to react.

The loud impact of Gilda taking her seat rung out through the otherwise empty boutique. She slammed herself down so hard onto the pony’s head she thought she’d crushed it. Her pillowy cheeks had cushioned the blow, but now that Rarity was tucked tightly into Gilda’s crack, and smelling her rancid taint, death might have been more preferable. The unicorn squirmed and floundered about, warming the plushy, musky mass with a fit of desperate screams. Gilda’s pits smelled like paradise compared to her pink puckered asshole, which pinched Rarity’s snout before clumsily aligning with her open mouth.

“Yelling like that is the worst mistake you ever made, bitch.” Her orifice pulsed between Rarity’s lips. The dressmaker couldn’t possibly imagine her suffering getting any worse, but just to show her that it absolutely could, Gilda’s stomach gurgled.

“Oof, if there’s one thing I hate more than your dumb ponies’ fashion, it’s your awful food! Open wii-iide!”

Rarity struck her hooves against the floor, against Gilda’s haunches—anything to just pull herself away. But it was of no use, Gilda’s anus widened again, and this time with more than just a threat. Out poured a noxious breeze, coursing like a rough river down Rarity’s available airways. The roaring sound of griffon fart was muffled in Rarity’s cheeks, which puffed out to accommodate the merciless flow of gas.

Rarity squirmed, the final vestiges of her willpower sapping away with the taste of thick sulfurous fog rolling across her tongue and down her throat. Her flailing movements slowed, her muscles hungering for oxygen. Gilda cinched off the meaty ripper, just to catch her breath, then bore down twice as hard on the unicorn’s face and restarted the flow. She could keep this record-breaker going all morning if she wanted to.

Along with this next torrent of fumes came a healthy splattering of bitter ass sweat, coating the inside of Rarity’s mouth and making her want to die just a little bit more.

Blissful, deceptively dainty moans and purrs of relief trickled through Gilda’s smirking beak. Here she was, pumping her foul flatulence into a pretty little pony’s head, and she was just down there taking it; marinading in the expired, gaseous by-products of everything she had eaten over the last day or two. Gilda could even hear the pathetic little thing gulping the raw flatus down her throat, choosing to burn her stomach lining rather than her lungs.

With one claw rubbing circles into her growling, emptying stomach, Gilda swiped out for more of Rarity’s dresses with the other, giving each one a nice soak in her squishy pits. Even if Rarity recovered from the brutal gassing she was receiving, Gilda would see to it that she could never make a dress again without recalling the smell and taste of her nasty birdy butt.