Chapters The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
The Life and Times of a Terrible Pony
It is said that a good stallion is one who is kind to all ponies and creatures around him, who embodies things like Loyalty or Honesty or Kindness - a good stallion is a caring one.
I am not a good stallion.
I am Velour, owner of the Ruby Velour Company and Carousel Boutique and Velvet Rarity Boutique, top donator to the Princess’ School of Friendship, and the second richest stallion alive. And I am a Terrible pony.
I won’t bore you with some origin story. I wasn’t beaten as a foal, I was never kidnapped, I didn’t have some grand awakening - I simply like to see other ponies suffer. You won’t have known this, prior to reading this biography, because I am not stupid. I know very well how to play a part, to play nice, to make myself the most likable stallion in the room. And I do it very well, as I’m sure you’ll agree.
I make a lot of bits, I have a very large mansion, and yet I keep only three servants - a groundskeeper, a chef, and a maid. My house has twelve foot privacy fencing and every window is decorated with exquisitely beautiful black out curtains, which are secured in place to ensure no stray Pegasi could ever peek into my abode. I have no basement, no extra rooms, no suspicious doors or hidden passageways that would make any of my many guests concerned or curious - I read like an open book. I am just written in a language that they do not know.
Under my facade is a rich, secret personal life - one which, if you are reading this, is about to either become my legacy post mortem, or be wrenched cruelly from me by imprisonment, should this tome have gotten out early.
I am a deviant. A hedonist. A libertine, if you will, though that term has gone all but forgotten since the public execution of Pony de Sade some thousand odd years ago.
The point is, I get pleasure from things that other ponies find disgusting. Pleasure is all I truly care about. I’ve tried the generosity and kindness thing - it’s bland, and boring. I’ve tried the BDSM lifestyle, being a normal kinky stallion that takes pleasure at others pain but never at their expense. I even attended the most high class of kink parties, ones my mother used to frequent, or so I’ve been told. But it was...unsatisfying.
I raped somepony for my first time the night after one such kink party. Her name was Silver Seashell - though I’m sure that part will be omitted from the release, I want to fantasize that she’ll be questioned about this and forced to relive her worst night ever. I’m sure she already has, a million times over, given how often my face is on magazines and billboards.
Silver Seashell is a submissive bitch of a mare, who likes to be tied up and called names. Well, liked. I’m quite sure she’s not able to enjoy it anymore. She had taken quite a liking to me during the party, and I saw opportunity in her star-struck eyes. I asked if she would be my date for the night, and accompany me to my home.
We’d hardly made it halfway there though when I pushed her face into the dirt and fucked her in an alleyway.
I was far more stupid then, as colts often are - I was an adult of course but young and foolish still, hardly the refined and graceful stallion I am today. I was overcome by my desire and I though to myself, Well, Velour, you simply MUST have her. And so I mounted her, and shouted her down, and I had her, right there in that filthy alleyway. I’d never fucked in the dirt before, or so close to a pile of trash, but I found it excites me. She was into it at first, though consenting would be a bit of a stretch given that I didn’t ask. But she moaned and became aroused as I fucked her, hard and rough, and held her cheek in the mud with one hoof. But when I bit her, she called red, and I didn’t stop. And she said it again, louder, and I pressed my hoof into her throat.
“If you scream, I’ll kill you. And they’ll find your body in the trash, where it belongs, and they’ll never even start to think that maybe I had been the one to do it, because I am simply better than you. No pony would find my fucking you to be even remotely believable, that’s how disgusting you are.”
She sobbed the entire time I fucked her, but she never screamed. I appreciate that, which is why I left her with only her mental scars, and no real physical damage aside from a slightly torn pussy. I came on the fresh pile, telling her it was more deserving of my seed than she was. She was still crying when I walked away.
I haven’t seen her since - but I know she’s seen me. I went a private eye after her, recently, just to make sure the poor sod hadn’t offer herself already, and she’s still running that pathetic jewelry shop at the beach. Single, of course.
I was a good boy, after that, for a while at least. I fell so deep into my facade that I would almost call it a genuine second personality - I certainly felt like I cared for my mother and my aunt, during that time. Can’t be sure though.
That’s for another time though. I don’t want my opener to bore you with too many details of the past.
Suffice to say, three months later, I was hungry for more, starving even. And I took a wayward Pegasus into my home. She would eventually become the mother of my second foal - but only after I’d broken her. The story of he breaking, and where you’ll find my daughters, you’ll find later on. I have to keep you prides reading somehow, don’t I? And I feel the promise of saving young ones and mind-broken slaves is about all that will do that. I’m speaking to you, of course, Twilight. Oh, I’m sorry, Princess Twilight Sparkle. If this is for my arrest I must be courteous to my betters, those who have captured me. If this is post death, well. Know that I don’t think so highly of you. That you never managed to catch me...my, what horrors have I done?
I suppose you’ll learn soon enough.
Signed, Velour.
Author's Note
Hey y’all it’s ya boy, Playbrony, back at it with the rape and murder.
Okay but seriously, first real try at an OC story. Inspired of course by the works of De Sade, and 120 Days of Blueblood by Bronystories. Check that shit out for me, please.
Constructive criticism welcome on all but the fact that I’m choosing to write about pony rape, cause that’ll never change.
The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
I started having dreams, the day after my mother died. I had never had dreams I remembered before. I started sleepwalking, as well - or, something similar. Most days I wake up at seven AM sharp, panicked and in a sweat, and rush to go...somewhere. It has not escaped my notice that this pattern is exactly like the day she died, where I awoke at seven AM sharp with a cold panic in my blood an a certain knowledge in my heart that by mother had just passed. That day I had jumped up and ran from the house, unwashed and undressed, and I did not stop galloping until I arrived, panting and sweat soaked, at the doors to the Canterlot hospital.
Teleporting would have been faster, of course, but I’m not the best at magic, it it hardly crossed my addled brain to try.
These days I rarely make it pa at my bedroom door, but at the start - before Pony who Doesn’t Matter was around for me to let my stress out on - I often shook myself from my haze in the middle of the yard, one even in the middle of the street.
But, the dreams. I want to tell you about the dreams.
The first one I remember intimately, and I can picture it perfectly still. It was the day after she died - I didn’t fall asleep until just before the sun rose. Funny, now that I think back, how I was falling apart but Princess Twilight still awoke at dawn to raise the sun. Good on you, Princess. I hope I can affect you enough to delay your duty. That would surely be an accomplishment worthy of writing down.
The dream started with myself, as a colt again. I was a gangly little thing, legs too long, horn too long, thin in body and face. My mane didn’t have its silver streaks quite yet so it was still a wash of pretty grey-blue, curling wildly with my bed head. I dreamt I was awaking, as cliche as that sounds, in a Sunday morning - I was off school, and had planned to spend the whole day with my mother, learning from her. Days like that did indeed happen in my past, learning tricks of the trade of course - but that’s not what my subconscious had in store for me.
Instead here she was, coated in leather and bearing a face of such cruel intent I can hardly sit still even picturing it. “Darling,” she said, “Come in, and close the door.” It was a nasty sneer, a voice I’d only heard from her in life when she was commenting on King Sombra. A voice she’d probably use to comment on a stallion like me, to be honest.
I digress.
I walked into her bedroom, more of a high society dungeon on my dream, and closed the door. Aunt Sweetie was tied to the bed, hooves all spread and tummy down, her back a red mess of lashes. I approached the bed, eyes wide with wonder, and Mother put a hoof around me. “Velour,” she started, “This is our legacy. The pain we leave in our wake. Do keep it going for me, will you?” It was so much like something she’d actually said to me that I startled awake, panting and gasping for air.
Mother once said to me, on a Sunday afternoon where I made my first dress and sold it - “Velour, this is our legacy. The smiles we leave in our wake. Do keep it going for me, will you?” Her eyes where filled with kindness and I didn’t know what to say. I hugged her, and in that moment, I did see the appeal of just...doing good things for other ponies. I saw a life before me that would be so easy, so sweet - just making things and helping ponies and loving all around me. Growing up to have a family, a company, and a tight circle of friends.
But it’s just so hard to keep myself from doing things that feel good. I don’t want to stop myself, anymore. But I did that day.
...this memory is getting quite painful, so do pardon me for cutting it short.
The next dream involves my awaking, still as a colt, though younger this time, to her fucking me with an immense strap on. Now, I know I’ve made myself to be rather a dominant figure thus far, and don’t get me wrong, that is how I usually see myself. But my philosophy is one of basking in all the pleasures of life, so I do love a good buggering when one comes up. Even being dominated, in a circumstance like this, can be delicious to me. I wouldn’t do it willingly, but then, that’s never stopped me, so why would it stop any hypothetical future attacker? It certainly didn’t stop another during this dream.
The white colt on the bed pounds his hooves on the headboard and screams, and cries. I watch this both through the eyes of the colt, which is me, and from a far off perspective. This colt doesn’t have his cutie mark yet, and is crushed under the weight of his mother, pressing him into the bed and fucking hon with only his own ass blood as lube. “Take it, take it!” Rarity cries, squealing in delight. I remember the dick stopped being a strap on at some point during the dream, and was instead her own cock, forcing me into the mattress and flaring inside me as she pumped me full of cum. “Have mommy’s babies!” She coos, hips twitching through her orgasm, grinding my face into the mattress with one hoof.
I awoke, groggy and hard as a rock, more turned on than I’d been since I first raped Silver Seashell. The portrait of my mother in the wall stared down at me, unfeeling, as a masturbated - and it didn’t even blink when I came on the ground before it like an offering. I had never before worshipped, but in that moment, I desired nothing more than to be blessed by the goddess I bowed before.
Signed, Velour.
The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
Ah, death. It’s been sorely missing from my tale thus far. But if you’ve read this far, I’m sure you’re here till the end - so let me tell you about my first murder.
It was later in life than you'd expect - I'd had Pony who Doesn't Matter for well over six months at this point, was was starting to see a decent decline in my morning panics. I found him at the docks one morning, while I was picking up my shipment of Changing Garnets. They're mined only very deep in changeling country, and are rather hard to get one's hooves on - but I needed them for a formal wear set at the time. All that besides, this pony was delivering fish, and he was positively handsome. He was eyeing my tail from the moment I walked by to the moment I walked back past him and handed the small crate of gemstones to my assistant.~~I told her~~ My assistant is innocent, mind you, Princess. Purely an employee of my company. Please don't assume my personal life spread that far, and leave all of my employees good and well out of this. They'll feel awful enough when they've learned what their beloved CEO spent his off hours doing. Anyway, as I was saying - I told her to bring it on back to my workspace for me, as something had just come up. She looked concerned of course, but I assured her I simply needed to get something to eat, and she ran along.
I approached the stallion with a faux curiosity as to the make of his boat. He was a burly sort, one of the bigger earth ponies I’d seen, with a coat of white-cream, dark brown hooves, and a light blue mane and tail. He had a shaggy beard and his cutie mark was a wave hitting a cliff with a lighthouse. He said his name was Rocky Shore later, while his dick was in my ass.
He boasted to me that his bot was the best of hits kind, old but sturdy and that it’a “the smoothed ride a stallion could ever have”. We flirted back and fourth until he invited me aboard for a joyride. I coyly caressed his muzzle with my tail as I climbed aboard, telling him a joyride was exactly what I was looking for. We continued flirting while he weighed anchor and set off - and once we where well off into the ocean, I began to blow him by the helm. He came fast, and I snowballed him his own cum while we rocked with the waves. He obviously thought me a meek bottom type of stallion, and shoved me around as he mounted me - it had been awhile since I was treaded roughly, so I quite enjoyed it.
I was struck rather suddenly by the thought of how easy it would be to dump his body and simply float back to shore, acting as if I’d been swimming. The water was calm and, though I’m not very good at it, I was sure I could teleport myself close enough for rescue should my attempt to swim go poorly. So as he rested his body against the ships railing after his second orgasm, I began to magically choke him. It felt good, seeing somepony so much stronger than me be powerless to stop me. When he was sufficiently weak and loopy from lack of air I broke part of the railing off and ran him through with it, then broke one of his windows and slit his throat with the glass. I was overcome with sadistic glee and fell into the blood puddle, pulling his body overtop of mine so I could feel him convulse until he couldn’t anymore. I masturbated, and then fucked the wound in his neck. Once I came there, I fucked his ass, and then his mouth - but I made sure I popped out through the hole several times. His corpse was thoroughly disrespected, but I still felt like I was missing out on something. So I began to lick and suck at his wounds, drinking his blood and, at kne point, even going so far as to bite some of his meat and eat it. It was delicious, and cannibalism is something I’ve partaken in rather often since. I threw him overboard, and broke a hole in the bottom of the ship - small of course, but enough that it would sink by the time anyone came looking for him.
And, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would face no consequences, I went back to my office, and then went to ponyville to eat with Pinkie Pie, who hadn’t had the chance to see me since my mother’s death and wanted to cook for me. The soup and cakes where delicious, of course, but felt dry compared to the splendor I had tasted earlier that day. I succeeded in not showing any distaste however and, after spending an hour talking with Little Cheese - a good friend, who is known since we where foals - I went home, and came again into the mouth of Pony who Doesn’t Matter. What a good day that was.
The second pony I ever killed was a mare, another poor wretched thing I picked up off the streets with no home, friends, or history. Nopony to miss her.
I wasn’t particularly cruel to her - I had plans for her. I offered her housing in exchange for sex, and bearing my child for me. Her name was Marble Flower, a sweet little unicorn with wide innocent eyes. She seems ashamed of her supposed prostitution but, given how much of a gentleman I was, agreed fairly easily. I kept her separate from Pony who Doesn’t Matter, and allowed her to keep her name. I ducked her once every morning and once before bed, and other than that, let her live peacefully in her own bedroom and bathroom. She was brought three meals a day, kept well fed and a little fattened, and before long she was pregnant. For the first half of the pregnancy, I still fucked her once a day - then I didn’t see her at all, until I heard her screams echoing the halls. I rushed to find her water broken, thighs streaked with blood and face contorted with pain. My plan finally was coming to fruition.
This will be more graphic than necessary, because it was my magnum opus of debauchery. Pure and disgusting. I did this because I felt I needed to do something so over the top, so terrible, that Celestia would kill me on sight if she knew. That every single friend of my Mothers would buck my brains out, no trial at all. Just because I wanted to know I could do something behind any Pony’s comprehension of how awful somepony could be, and get away with it. So yes, laugh if you will, at the over the top violence - but know that in your Equestria, Princess Twilight, it is possible to get away with. Easy, even. I was able to do this, and I am certain that many others could, should they want to something purely for the sake of it being awful.
I brought a stake with me. A long one, bought from a museum, from ancient times when ponies feared blood-sucking Vamponies and believed them to be killable only by long, sharp, wooden stakes. I waited until my first daughter had her head out - the bright light of the room piercing through her closed eyelids, I’m certain - and then I ran her through. And her mother. All the way.
I left them there. I sat and I waited until there was no more movement. I felt...pity. And emptiness. I had done this through a sense of necessity, like I had something I just had to prove. Well, proven, I suppose. I...I decided I wouldn’t do anything like that again. Pointless.
Living for ones pleasure at the expense of others is...not fine, but it’s what I do. This was just violence for violence’s sake. I don’t regret any of my other murders, but this one I wish I hadn’t done.
Signed, Velour.
Author's Note
Shrug. Less depressing content coming soon. I thoroughly enjoyed the beginning of this chapter - the second was merely a portion of Velour’s story I felt he needed to tell.
The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
Entry the Fifth - Delicious
My chef is named Pumpkin Pastry. She works at my estate and cooks for me and any I keep there, and she is well aware of my atrocities, though she never participates on anything while the victim is alive. She came under my service in a fantastic stroke of luck, right after I had to kill my previous two chefs for seeing things they shouldn’t have seen.
She was adopted by the family of a griffon she met at the friendship school, while she was a filly. She immigrated back when she grew up, but had received her cutie mark in butchering, and found she is quite addicted to the tastes and textures of properly cooked meat. Which was fine in griffonstone, but as I’m sure you know, rather illegal here in Equestria. She happened to end up in the same place as me, asking the same awful questions in a dark alley to a very well connected underworld mare. Pumpkin was there to ask about where black market meat could be obtained - I was asking where an asks-no-questions butcher could be found. The mare laughed and gestured at each of us, and I swept Pumpkin away back to my manor, where I showed her my...meat.
She had been expecting dogs, or bears, or even cows - she balked a little when she saw the two Pegasi on the floor, throats slit. But the promise of joining me in eating them - and many more meats should she stay - quickly got her moving, and she butchered them with a finesse I still quite admire. I think of her as something of an equal, though she’s obviously a little bit scared of me. I would never dream of harming her. She’s earned her place in my world - by showing that she’s willing to put what she wants above everything else, even the lives of other ponies. She’s beautiful, graceful and soft in all the right ways but just rough enough around the edges to be interesting. The claw mark scars she bears from wrestling with griffons in her youth are my favorite parts about her.
We’ve never fucked, and I doubt we ever will. We have shared but one sexual encounter, which I recall rather fondly. I procured a Yak Calf during my travels a while back, a runaway far from home. I snuck him into Equestria and killed him quickly from behind, leaving us a perfect specimen.
Fear makes meat gamey, you know.
She butchered and cooked him, and we shared a private meal of the most delicious steak known to ponykind. The meat was absolutely perfect. We ate it with mashed red potato and sautéed Bella mushrooms, and it was simply divine. We both moaned when we ate our first bite of him - and I made neither sure of us could forget what we where eating, as I put his head as a display on the table. I later had it worked on by a deeply in-debt taxidermist, but that’s hardly related. It was delicious to the point of pure pleasure, and neither if us was shy about saying so. Her eyes rolled back and she slumped in her chair, hooves reaching under the table as she slowly chewed on the soft, delicious meat. Blood ran from her lips as she open-mouth moaned, staining her perfect peachy fur a pink-red. She continued hoofing herself under the table, and it dawned on me she couldn’t see the room anymore. She was completely enraptured by the flavor, and lost in her own pleasure. I was also quite excited from the taste, and the sight of her certainly helped me along - so I started rubbing myself off as well, eating all the while. She shoved her face into her steak, and I did the same - forgoing silverware and tearing into it like some kind of wolf. She looked divine, and I remember wishing that I could’ve left the curtains open, to see her in a halo of sunlight.
But of course there’s hardly any need for me to tell you why my curtains are not, where not, and never will be open. Such a shame. Anyway...
Pumpkin Pastry is like a sister to me. I actually asked her permission to place her name in this book - she nodded, saying she feels she’ll be ready to die should our mutual arrangement ever cease to be. She asked me to tell nothing but the truth about her, and as much of it as I wanted to write. And to add that she truly recommends griffon cuisine.
At time of writing this she is currently cooking up a no doubt delicious meal for me, herself, and of course my daughter, Ruby. Ruby Velvet doesn’t know that ponies aren’t meant to eat meat. There’s a lot of things she doesn’t know, of course. She’s much better at digesting it than I or even Pumpkin are - due to consuming from just about day 1, I suppose.
I still hold out hope for Ruby, that she’ll see things my way. I made her to be above everypony and second only to me - she struggled with that notion. She doesn’t see herself as above her mother, and doesn’t see herself as beneath me, no matter how many times I tell her so while holding her to the floor, full of my cock. I feel like she’s...a time bomb. What happens when she goes off I’m not sure, but likely it’ll be my destruction. I’m not sure what to do though. If I stop the conditioning I’ve been subjecting her to since birth, will that help? Will it dig her further into hating me? I know this diary cannot answer me but, I will grant you this moment of weakness, Princess Twilight. Or, whoever it is that’s reading this.
I’m terrified of her. I’m terrified that I do love her in some capacity, and I haven’t been able to kill her. I don’t know if it’s pride or foolishness. I hope it’s pride - being unwilling to abandon any project no matter how dangerous - but I believe I may be kidding myself. I can only hope that she starts to listen to me when I offer victims to her. She could be so good at torture if she’d just put her whole self into it.
So many questions. I doubt I’ll sleep tonight.
Signed, Velour.
The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
“End entry the Tenth.” Velour murmurs as he finishes his writing, nodding down at the page. He’s certain in its eloquence, comforted by the ending to his greatest work. He wishes he could make it longer - but he told himself not to waste his time writing Erotica about things he experienced, when he could use that time to simply live more. So, without too much in description, ten entries tells the story of his life thus far. Simple, beautiful, and sexual.
Velour closes the diary and puts up his quill, eyelids sagging and ears back. He’s always been a hooves-on kind of stallion and it shows here, as he meticulously puts his desk back to perfection before he stands up, using his magic only for his quill, which goes back into its box which slides smoothly into its place in a cubby hole. He’s a picture of grace even now, and slides off his chair in a fluid motion. Velour heads for his bed, laying his head in it without climbing on top just yet. Emotions swirl on his face, his eyes a battlefield of ideas. His mouth is drawn tight, the lines of age showing on his face more so than ever before.
“Have I lived a good life?” He asks the empty air, looking up at the immaculately detailed painting of the night sky and the mare on the moon in his ceiling. He looks up at her and huffs a sigh, lips tight, and remains motionless. His silent contemplation is interrupted by a swift, cut-off shriek from down the hall.
Velour starts, standing upright, ears perked and nostrils flared. Silence hangs over the room like a cloud, his own breathing the only thing he can hear.
The silence drags on, and on, and on...
Velour cautiously steps toward the door, his melancholy forgotten, swept away by the tide of adrenaline that surges through him. His hoofsteps are nearly silent, but he winces when he hears them anyways. His magic reaches out, slowly opening his bedroom door. The long, dark hallway stretches before him, silent aside from the slow sound of hoofsteps...
Author's Note
Something different! Current-time events will be in short snippets between diary entries until we hit Entry the Tenth...
The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
Entry the Sixth - Daughter
Ruby Velvet. Born to a the crashing of a thunderstorm, while I fucked her mother in the ass. She looked so pathetic and small - but she quickly found her hooves, and stumbled until she found her mother’s milk. I named her, and gave her a kiss on the forehead, and rubbed the cum from my cock off onto her tiny little wings. Considering how covered in goo she already was, I doubt she noticed, but it felt good to claim my property.
I reminded Pony that Doesn’t Matter that she was not allowed to speak to any pony that wasn’t me - including our daughter. She cried and protested, but a raised hoof quieted her down. The amount of fear on her face was fresh, and much more than I’d seen before - I’m not sure which pony why thought I was going to hit.
Enough about Useless though. I’m rather cross with her right now. About my daughter, about Ruby Velvet, is what I want to write today. She was adorable as a filly, and she’s just starting to turn over into beautiful grace. Teenage ganglyness and ack of cutie mark aside, she’s becoming quite a mare. Her first heat is coming soon, and I’m holding out hope that if I deny her any self-pleasure, she’ll beg me to fuck her. That will certainly be the push I need to concur that at stubborn little gem.
Her name comes from her eyes - the same eyes as her mother, though obviously better in every way. Her coat is pure white, like my own, and her mane is Maroon - though it curls and waves in a picture of grace, unlike the mop of maroon on her mother. In body she looks just like her grandmother - wide hips and elegant legs, just enough weight to be healthy, a picture of fertility. Her muzzle has just enough curl and her horn is slightly longer than average - truly, she is the most beautiful mare I’ve ever seen. And she isn’t even a mare yet. The mere thought of her body fills me with arousal and I bite my lip as I imagine her showing herself to me - sometimes I picture her being willing, meekly bowing and presenting herself, tail raised and vulva winking with arousal. Sometimes I picture something a little more realistic, a collar and chain holding her down, a spreader bar forcing her into the position I want her in.
I should’ve named her after a storm - she’s beautiful in the way that lighting is. I cannot year my eyes away and yet, I know that she could kill me. It’s only a question of when.
Of course, that’s hypothetical. I feel that way when I look at her but, when I think of it logically, it hardly seems it would make sense. I am much stronger physically and much more experienced, and I’m a practiced unicorn. I’m nowhere near the level of some unicorns I know of course but I do think I’m half decent at using magic to cause pain.
The way Ruby makes me feel is strange. I get lost in her eyes like a lover, but when I look at her I feel...betrayed, somehow. Like creating her was wrong of me. I want to own and hurt her, but I feel at the same time a warring instinct of parenthood - I want to hold and comfort her, and treat her like my foal. Which she is, of course. I don’t really know where I’m going with this. I need parental advice.
I dreamt of mother again last night - it’s been awhile. I pictured Ruby, all grown up, and Rarity - they stood over me, my hooves chained to the floor so I could do nothing but lay on my back. They pressed their pussies together, both standing with one hind leg on either side of my head - Ruby was positioned over my body, as if she was going to 69 me, and my mother was facing away. I could smell their thick arousal, see them winking. Whenever one would wink, the other would, their bodies twitching at the sensation. The smell of estrus struck me, as did a drip from Ruby’s pretty, puffy pink vulva - straight into my panting mouth. The taste was acrid.
They began to piss on my face, first Ruby and then Rarity - and I found I couldn’t move at all. I was trapped in place, unable to close my mouth or move my tongue or swallow or blink, even. It burned my eyes and flowed into my airway, but I couldn’t even cough. It tasted amazing and the smell was intoxicating, and I woke up coming right as I began to fall unconscious in my dream.
I miss my mother. I wish I had the chance in life to talk to her about all this. I can’t imagine she would’ve let me even finish talking, much less partake with me - but my life feels incomplete now that I don’t have the chance.
My dreams about her keep getting worse - they’d be nightmares to anyone but me. I’m questioning if they’re natural, to be honest. Probably some kind of trauma from her not speaking to me enough when I was foal. She tried but, she certainly was a busy Mare. I spent a lot of time with Aunt Sweetie. She’s beautiful, too, in her own way - I should invite her over again soon. Maybe she can meet Ruby.
No. I don’t think it would be wise. I lament this lack of a family I’ve given her. I feel I need to fix it. Treat her better, but at still try to get her to treat others worse. I’m not sure if I can. Should I, even?
I should stop asking this diary for advice is what I should do.
...it’s just so lonely here. I rarely see anypony anymore. I barely even work. I feel like I’m fading, like I haven’t done anything to make me feel like myself in such a long time. I’m exhausted.
Maybe I should host a party.
Signed, Velour. Apologies for the lack of grace in this entry.
The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
Entry the Seventh pt 1 - Dancing
Here is where I got a bit... Loose, with my secrecy. I'm sure you expected me to go this harsh life of crime alone but, I've found, nobles are hardly ever virtuous. After a good bit of poking and prodding I managed to find a few dastardly individuals who where willing to attend my Party.
I called it the Gala of Pain. You probably never heard of it, Princess, but if you did I'm sure you assumed it was just another BDSM party, like my mother used to go to. I know she has some stories to tell of her time with you at one or two of those parties, involving whips and chains and a certain party pony in diapers....
Yes, this is a chapter of secrets revealed. I WILL be including the names and crimes off all the other degenerates who attended my party. They will all go down with me, killing an entire generation of filth. I do not do this out of some inane sense of justice, nor a desire to see my lifestyle end with me - I simply want my entire story known. Besides, awful ponies will always exist - it could never end with some kind of moral genocide. Somepony's foal will get a little to randy when they see their schoolmates trip and fall, or when they see the wolves eat the birds...and then it'll all start again.
Ponies like me are inevitable.
I, when this is published or released, will become the face for ponies like me - the one you all think of when you hear bumps in the night in dark alleyways, alone and afraid. Your boogieman.
Therefore, I am Inevitable.
Moving on, my party was held in the winter, not too awful long before hearthswarming. The snow was a thick blanket when I greeted my guests, who arrived one at a time as I had instructed. I gave each of them very specific times they must arrive at, as I didn’t want any issues arising outside of the manor. The young and beautiful Glowing Diamond arrived first - daughter of the prestigious Diamond Tiara, dressed in only the finest of silks and gemstones. It was a beautiful dress, and one of my own design, though I’m not sure if she was aware of that or not.
She was exceptionally good at walking into any building like she owned the place, and my mansion was no exception. She stepped through my doorway with her head held high, a dignified smirk on her face and just the lightest touch of makeup on her eyes.
I looked at her, and I wanted her.
She looked at me, and she wanted me.
We both knew this about each other immediately, as she’s not half as stupid as she seems. We also knew that we wanted each other in different ways. I wanted her, on the floor and begging to be destroyed. She wanted me dolled up, and sat at her dinner table, another prize in her herd. We both nodded at each other, and didn’t make eye contact again for the rest of the night. Some prizes are best left out of reach, I’ve found. I respect Glowing Diamond - as much as I can respect someone I want to hurt.
Her crimes before my Gala where many and varied - from tax evasion to slave labor to unlawful harvesting of changeling resources. Receipts can be found in my desk drawers, if you’d like to check the validity of my claims. But her truly heinous crimes - the crimes that led me to invite her to my Gala - started with a crime of the heart. She fell in love with a Stallion betrothed, and, seeing no way she could have him, decided to take what she was owed. She had him in every way she could - first, as her date, after a spot of blackmail. Then, in her bed, after a rather…forceful seduction, let’s say. Then, when he promised he’d talk, as her dinner. She had hired the services of Pumpkin Pastry way back when, which is how I came to know of her affairs and cannibalism.
Recordings of my Gala are available inside my desk as well, for anypony who doubts my claims. I made sure that each and every one of us was covered in filth by the end of the night, at least metaphorically.
My next guest was Applewood Smoke, the Smoked Delicacies entrepreneur of the Apple Family. He’s dined with your friend Applejack, Princess, many times - and put up barns with her, of course. He’s a rich and successful stallion - there are few who haven’t been to Canterlot to try his Smoked Apple Hayburgers - and he is also a lover of fillies. The smaller the better, he says. You can see in the recordings the kind of fun he has with the entertainment I bought. A hefty price to pay for party entertainment - but a Velour party is always one to remember, as I cut no costs.
There where five pieces of entertainment for my party - three fillies and two colts. They where stolen from their homes by Diamond Dogs to be used as mining slaves, but I traded their weight in pristine diamonds - Diamond Dogs are very easy to trade with, they’re far too stupid to acknowledge that one mining slave will mine far more than their weight in diamonds in their lifetime. A sack of pretties is far more appealing to them.
None of the five survived the night, of course. There was dinner to be had, after the festivities.
I’m sure you guessed that by now, Princess.
My next guest to arrive was Gloria, the griffin ambassador to Equestria. She was staying with guard captain Gallus at the time - how upset he’ll be when he finds this out about her.
Her I stumbled onto at the meat black market - and witnessed first hand her fetish for eating genitalia. And piss, and shit, and all manners of filth. She’s not sadistic, which I find sad, but merely lacks empathy, sympathy, and care. She takes what she wants - I respect that.
So that is three of my four guests. There where five of us, at the party. The fourth guest arrived fashionably late - I was worried he wouldn’t show at all, to be honest - and knocked loudly upon my doors. When I opened them, he stood there, twice my height and nearly as thickly muscled as the farm-raised Apple stallion already at my table. Absolutely beautiful. All the power of the other 5 alicorns, but none of the virtue.
Nocturne, Prince of the Night, son of Princess Luna. You helped raise him, Princess Twilight. Did he show any signs? Did he kick puppies, as a colt? Did he bite the other foals at school? Or was he a perfect little prince, leaving this article to be the most surprising thing you’ve ever read?
I doubt I’ll ever find out, but I am so curious.
He walked inside with all the grace one could expect of royalty, and sat at my table. Pumpkin Pastry was setting the table - cucumber tomato salad, baked earth pony foal, fried cinnamon apples and strawberry shortcake.
I sat at the head of the table, and banged my hooves upon its surface. “Let us feast, let us Fuck, let us Dance, and let us Feast again! Let the Gala of Pain begin!”
Author's Note
I have more than normal to put in this chapter and a lot of life stress making it hard to write. So I’m releasing it in two parts. :)
The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
This fic will be removed sometime soon, as I am re-writing the story with a different direction in mind. It will be just as filthy and feature most of the same OC's, but will have a more put-together plot, and more fluid pacing.
Please keep an eye out for "The Shadows of Velour" if you are interested in seeing the new life I'll be breathing into this story!
The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
Entry the Second - Dutiful
I feel that I should elaborate on my three month break I mentioned last entry, my “I was good for a while”.
During that time, I was caring for my mother during her illness. I didn’t want to step away to be my true self for even a moment, lest I slip and rape or kill her. I wanted to. Who wouldn’t? Rarity was the most beautiful mare Equestria had ever seen - even the Alicorns had nothing on her. Her illness, as I’m sure you know, was terminal. After two months of my watching her she fell into unconsciousness - then, after one week of hospital care, she faded and died.
I was...I don’t want to say devastated, but I found it hard to function. I needed a release for all those emotions. I began to research - how do you make somepony disappear without getting caught? I settled in watching alleys, and soon enough, I found what I was looking for. She was a pathetic little thing, really. Kicked out of her home by a drunken father who didn’t like her smart mouth. Skinny little Pegasus with a pale pink coat, maroon mane, and bright red eyes, like rubies. I got a little lost in those eyes, to be honest. I stopped and asked her name, and in the quietest voice she told me it didn’t matter.
In my over emotional state I let the sadism get the best of me. “Well then, Pony that Doesn't Matter, I suppose that will be your new name. ‘Useless’ when I’m feeling cross with you.” I remember saying, as I circled her with a grin. I offered her shelter and food, so long as she never left my home again, and never spoke to somepony that wasn’t me. If she didn’t matter, I would become the only thing in her life that did.
She seemed taken aback by that, but was very obviously too close to starving to refuse. She came home with me, and became my maid.
I caught her trying to leave for the first time a week after that, and I broke one of her wings. I sat on her, and held her with magic, and pushed on the shoulder while pulling the tip until it cracked, and then I trimmed all her feathers down. And then I fucked her, standing on her wing the whole time. I told her how useless she was, how much she just didn’t matter, how far above her I was - how she’d bear my child if she wasn’t too useless to. She sobbed, and screamed, and when I was done - she thanked me. Unprompted. Told me she loved me. I spat in her eye, and she thanked me for that too.
She seemed to get her wits about her again about a month later, just as her wing was starting to heal. She tried to fly over the fence and crashed into it painfully, ending up a sobbing mess on the grass. I walked up to her and asked if she had learned her lesson. Admittedly, it was in a rather mocking tone. Her response was to spit in my eye.
Well, she tried to, at least. It fell short of my faved and honestly, it just made me want to laugh. I still pretended to be mad though.
I rolled her into her back, and made her scream as I crushed her already injured wings with my hooves. Again and again, I stomped on them, until the bone was nothing but powder in the bloody mess that used to be her wings. Then I walked inside, and left her there while I grabbed a knife.
I won’t get too awful graphic now. I cut off her wings, which took good amount of time as I worked through and around her bone shards. Then I closely coated my cock in her blood, while I. Well. I think this deserves a direct quote. I’m proud of this one, you know.
“Well, since you’ve proven yourself so useless as a Pegasus, I figured I’d go ahead and make you an earth pony - that way you can show us all how useless you are at that as well, Pony who Doesn't Matter.
“And I’ll be making you eat your own wings, of course - bone shrapnel and all - unless you can think of a way to make this up to me.”
I finished with a grin, still stroking my bloody cock as I watched her, crying, listening to me so intently. I expected her to beg, offer cleaning, maybe even try to blow me - which is what I was going to force her to do, to be honest. But instead she stood on shaky hooves, turned around, and presented herself to me. In the smallest voice, she whimpered, "Please...Just make me yours, so I can stop thinking about leaving..."
And that pleased me. I might like hurting others but, true subservience is still a deeply satisfying thing. She wanted to not even be able to think about being anything other than MINE. So I stood up, mounted her, and sodomized her with nothing but her blood as lube. She screamed as I tore her open, and I clamped her mouth shut with my magic. I bit her shoulder until it tore, and while her blood stained the white of my fur, I picked up my knife, and carved a padlock into her chest. "Mine," I growled, "All Mine, all mine." And she was. She was all mine. She still is, even now as I write this, my dutiful maid. She's cleaning my piss off the wall with her tongue right now, and though her nose is wrinkled in distaste, she still smiles at me every time she spies me glancing her way. I took her teeth out awhile back, so really, its an awful smile. Still nice in theory though.
Pony who Doesn't Matter is the mother of my daughter now, and has been awhile. Ruby Velvet I named her - a dignified name for what I hoped would be a dignified pony. She's an older filly now, no cutie mark of course - I have kept her rather sheltered, after all. She doesn't get to leave her room aside from dinner time. I imagine she'd have taken over the business for me, should she have had a normal life - or maybe gone into medical. As is, well. I've been hoping she'll get her cutie mark in torture, branding, limb removal...something along those lines. As hard as I've tried to train her to be the perfect little hedonist, though, she's got a pretty strong sense of self and craving of independence. I don't think she's moral, per se, but she certainly resents me for how I've kept her inside.
Signed, Velour.
The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony
Velour stands stock still in the doorway, legs spread and trembling. His breath comes heavy even as he tries his best to be silent.
Why am I so scared? he thinks. Pull yourself together, Velour! He stomps his hoof on the floor, standing up straight. The hoofsteps in the hallway quiet, then stop completely.
Velour steps out into the hallway, and stomps his front hooves. “Who’s there? Who comes into the home of Velour?” He shouts, his voice echoing down the hall. A moment of silence falls, and then the sudden sound of hooves running on hard wood. Velour stands his ground, watching the darkness intently but refusing to move. A small, pink shapes come flying down the hall, legs moving fast in a blur.
Velour has barely a moment to recognize it before it crashes into him, knocking him to the floor. “R-Ruby??” He half-states, half-asks, pulling the shaking pink shape off of himself and holding it up in his forelegs.
Sure enough, it’s a medium sized filly, with pink fur and a soft, curled maroon mane. The fur on her legs and underbelly is splattered with red. “D-d-daddy!” She squeals, breaking down into sobs and burying her face in his neck.
Velour holds her there, unsure of what to do. His eyes flicker around the hallway, then he looks down at her. He can smell that she seems to have finally started her first estrus - but it hardly seems the time to comment on that.
“What happened, Ruby? Who screamed?”