Equestrian Metal

Your kind is weak. Its love is sometimes indistinguishable from lust...

A leaden downpour poured down the streets of the drowsy city, like the life of everyone who lived in it, streaming senselessly down the parapets and pipes onto the once-clean sidewalk, mixing earth and garbage into a single mud stream through which the few lost souls who were forced to wander at this late hour under the impassive gazes of the gray houses, their pointed roofs propping the blackening sky.

Swarms of rats digging in the alleyways, devouring the scraps that former live had left them. Headlights occasionally dispersed their shoals, which ran from one side of the street to the other, while spinning wheels poured ice-cold water on the bodies, already asleep in narcotic oblivion, leaning against the walls.

Very soon the last passersby would leave the streets. The night would finally begin. And with it another life will begin to take its place, full of vice and devoid of all the shortcomings of the day.

One by one the neon lights cut through the gloom. Soon the city was illuminated by a myriad of colorful signs, offering and inviting to all kinds of places, invariably pursuing only one goal: the fulfillment of all their visitors desires.

The rays of light seeped through the red glass of the giant window, falling on the muzzle of the lonely sitting filly. From the mirror, broken in half, blue eyes stared at her - сhildren's, that had not yet lost the elusive sincerity of their gaze. But the black mascara, painstakingly applied to her lashes, blemished the innocent beauty.

The hour she had so long awaited was approaching.

The car that had been rushing along the deserted road would stop at the very entrance to the wide-open doors, which would be reached by a carpeted path. Having opened, the mechanism will unleash the legs, numb from a long seance, carrying its owner into the bosom of the open maw of the house of earthly and unearthly pleasures.

Knocking with his legs in unison, his body will plead for sweet pleasure, subjugating his mind to its implacable will. But the cold reigning in his heart will prove to be much stronger. Only it would allow it not to fail at the sight of the luxurious torsos of the pole-wiggling mares, whose eyes glittered like rubies in the mysterious twilight of the central hall, whose departing corridors led those who suffered to secluded rooms where every beginning found its end.

Finished with ink, she will rise from her chair, allowing herself to stretch out to her full foal size. A hairpin will plunge into her previously loose mane, gathering it into a tight tangle of tar-black hair. The translucent veil falls loosely to the gray hair, finding no place for it except in the places the stallions covet.

With an indifferent glance around the open expanse, he will pass by the caressing seductresses and stop only at the expensive wood carved counter, the madam waiting behind which will smirk and open the door to all the secrets of the night to him. His hooves will rattle down the metal staircase, taking him to the stars that sparkle in the dark skies.

As she counts the minutes, she will look at the antique clock, unable to postpone the inevitable moment. Regretting, she will not dare ask for it, for it was, and so it must be. A knock will touch her wary ears, heralding the arrival of the much awaited guest.

The appearance of the pony before her would not be a revelation to the filly, for she knew nothing of squeamishness. They would be on the velvet bed, pressed close to each other, overcoming the awkwardness of the first seconds. Leaving foreplay to others, their lips will merge in a passionate kiss.

Her hoof would slide over his withdrawn knee, touching the instrument that had risen in anticipation. When the intertwined tongues parted, he felt the heavy breath on his neck. The heat from below would be mirrored by the cold on his chin, an extension of the beauty licking him.

He would close his eyes, losing all control over his euphoric mind. The madness would overwhelm him, preventing him from realizing that the cold was flowing from the fangs embedded in his aorta. A sudden movement would drop him onto his back, and the pain would stab him in the head with a dagger blade. Only then would he cast a startled glance at his partner, whose muzzle would be drenched in his bard's blood. Chewing the torn lump, she will lunge at her lover with unprecedented force, gnawing at the agonizing flesh and scattering chunks of it over the sprinkled blanket.

The convulsing body will not soon go quiet, senselessly resisting the tearing fangs that will rip its belly open and release its attractive-smelling entrails, forcing her to devour the organs that oozed secret juices with an excited howl.

When the feast was over, the soft fur would be replaced by a hard shell, and once beautiful legs would be marred by the holes that pierced through them. Shaking her dragonfly wings uneasily, she turns her pointed, cobalt face toward the bag lying on the floor, predatorily sticking out a wriggling snake tongue. A brief examination of that one will reveal much about the desiccated corpse set aside.

A tear rolls down her trembling cheek.

And the stallion, as if nothing had happened, will leave the humble chambers, going on his not so humble business.

As it was and as it should be.