Gilda's Wrath

“Big Mac!” Applejack raced across the farmyard, searching for her big brother in quite the panic. She glanced over the orchard, and her fears were confirmed; each and every apple tree had been cleared of its fruit. Every one. Not even the worst parasprite infestation could cause such destruction.

She found Big Mac over by the old barn, his eyes wide as saucers and his lips trembling in terror.

“Big Mac! Now, am I goin’ loopy or have all the apples in the orchard up and vanished?”

“Ci-Ci…” Big Mac stammered, raising up his hoof to point his sister in the direction of ten empty cider barrels, all upturned across the grass.

“Heavens to betsy! All of this year’s cider! All of next year’s cider! Just what in the hay is goin’ on here? You got anything to do with this, Big Mac? Y’think Apple Bloom and her friends have been messin’ with the produce again?”

But before her brother could stutter out an answer, Gilda came stomping around the side of the barn, emptying the last barrel of cider right down her throat.

She tossed it down the hill and wiped the foam from her beak, licking away the final drops of fermented fruit just to mock her onlookers.

“Yo, AJ! Big M! How’s it going?”

“Gilda! Now, you listen here, you oversized varmint! Nopony steals the Apple family’s crop and gets away with it!”

Gilda shrugged. “Good thing I’m not a pony then!” And faced the barn, drawing in a deep, lung-filling breath.

Big Macintosh heard it first, then his sister; a deep, furious bubbling sound, starting down in the depths of Gilda’s stomach and slowly rising up through her gullet. It was like a bottle rocket building up pressure, ready to blow at any minute.

“Take cover!” Applejack pounced behind a hay bale just in time. With the force of several thousand cyclones, a thunderously loud belch rushed through Gilda’s wide open beak, rattling her throat as it echoed around the entire orchard.

Big Mac tucked his ears and covered them with his hooves, the sound of Gilda’s burp was so deafening that his entire skull started to shake.

Her expression was surprisingly relaxed as her throat muscles went lax and let this cider-smelling hurricane roar out against the wooden panels of the old barn. They shuddered. The nails holding them down started to rumble and loosen from the onslaught. Pretty soon, Gilda’s chesty eructation tore the planks away from their foundations. She moved her head, directing her forceful release and controlling the path of its destruction.

Seconds marched on, then even minutes, and she showed no signs of stopping. The barn split apart, and only a few seconds later the entire front face of the building had been reduced to splintered rubble.

As if the destruction, and the ear-puncturing volume weren’t bad enough, a reek of stomach acid and cider now blanketed the entire farmyard. Applejack and her brother dug their muzzles into the mud just to avoid smelling Gilda’s minute-spanning eruption.

It finally rumbled down into silence after almost four minutes. Gilda was quite proud of herself, but still had some finishing touches to add.

“Yo, Applejack! Get over here!”

Slowly Applejack got up to her hooves, catching whiffs of the foul apple-tinged scent as she staggered towards the ruthless catbird. It beggared belief that such a toxic, fuming haze could come from inside the stomach of a living thing. A particularly pungent note of something rich made it even more painful to inhale. That was undoubtedly from the pounds of raw meat in Gilda’s diet, something pony nostrils could never accustom to.

“What do you want!? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

Gilda drummed her talons against her chin with a thoughtful roll of her eyes. “Hmm… nah! I don’t think so! But hey, do you really want your cider back?”

“Yes…?”

Gilda’s wicked grin told Applejack that was not the answer she should have given.

The griffon reared up on her paws, reaching two talons down to her juicy bird cunt and spreading her puffy lips.

“Then I hope you’re thirsty!”

Before Applejack could even comprehend the sight of Gilda’s spread curtains, the beastly griffon gave a grunt and a violent yellow stream sprung from between them. With a bit more exertion, the flow increased, and then increased some more, until Gilda’s honey-colored piss raged out of her muff with the power of a firehose.

She started by wetting the grass, flooding it into one big sharp, tangy-smelling morass. Then, pumping her piss streak with intermittent grunts, she aimed it right at Applejack, knocking her hat from her head and whooping in celebration.

Every one of Applejack’s instincts told her to charge Gilda there and then, but she knew that insurrection would only result in a far more humiliating fate. That, and the smell of her stomach air still lingered all around the farm, weakening her resolve considerably.

“Open that trap of yours, cowgirl!” Gilda spread her pussy wider, increasing the flow yet again, dribbling it over Applejack’s freckled cheeks.

With some reluctance, Applejack’s lips parted. She teared up from the utter humiliation of it all, but wasn’t given long to mourn her situation because Gilda’s torrent of rancid bird piss barged its way into her mouth. She spluttered and tried to spit the awfully bitter, briny taste back out, but in response Gilda just stepped closer.

Faster than Applejack could possibly anticipate it, Gilda gripped a rough clawful of Applejack’s mane and stuffed her face into her crotch. Her powerful jet spewed directly into her mouth. Applejack balked and thrashed, but Gilda’s hold was far stronger than even the push of her prize-winning apple bucking legs.

There Applejack remained, jammed deep into smelly griffon crotch and poured full of gallons of hot, fresh juice. Gilda’s thighs gripped her head like a vice, fastening her in place.

Eventually, when AJ’s spirit had been drowned out entirely, the surge dribbled down to a few final drops. Gilda rubbed her fishy lips over Applejack’s face before casting her limp body into the dirt.

Applejack rolled around and groaned. She glanced down at her body, her stomach now three times its normal size. Slinking her head to one side, she gagged, but all she brought up was Gilda’s piss. She regurgitated a few more mouthfuls of warm, salty liquid before passing out in a puddle of it.

Throughout this entire affair, Big Mac had been too terrified to issue even a squeak of surprise. He had simply watched on as his sister was washed and filled up with piss. Gilda considered him for a second, before shrugging the thought off, letting out a raunchy fart in his direction, and marching off to attend to her next victim.