Total Darkness. No matter where I looked, there was nothingness. If I couldn't have sensed the world in other ways, I might have believed I was dead, floating alone in the great beyond.

The silence was oppressive. The only sounds were the growling of my empty stomach, my own blood rushing in my ears, and the thump-ump of my heartbeat—a terribly unnerving reminder that I was, indeed, still alive.

Lukewarm steel rested on my tongue, along with trace amounts of copper from my previously bloodied nose; a combination of tastes that served as a constant reminder of my subjugation.

Below me, the cold floor pressed against my chest. The spreader bar pried my legs apart, making it impossible to lay my hindquarters down and keeping my tail in the air, as if begging for more, as the chilling touch of my assailant's spent essence slowly drooled from my violated sex and down the inside of my thigh.

The stale smell of my own orgasmic fluids hanging in the air, too, was a distressing sign of how much I had enjoyed the physical sensations in spite of the heinousness of the act, and every breath renewed in me a profound sense of shame.

Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. All of my senses served as a reminder of my predicament, and I wished I could will all of them to stop–to block them out and cease the persistent reminders of what I’d suffered.

I had already tried struggling. The harness around my head was made with thick straps, but I believed if I could just get the right leverage on a sharp edge, I would be able to slice through it somehow. And if I could get my head free, I could fly and get away, even with the spreader bar locked in place.

But it was no use. Even feeling around carefully with my forehooves and wings — the only parts of me that were free — I couldn't find anything both sharp enough and close enough to get that leverage. I tried to struggle and break the straps through sheer tension, but with my hind legs forced apart, I couldn't properly pull.

In fact, the only thing I really could do was awkwardly rotate my body about 180 degrees around the side of the desk to face a different direction, my head still anchored to the ground.

And so, I gave up. Tired, hungry, and unable to save myself, I quit struggling and simply cried. I cried for my inability to save myself. I cried for Foggy, who was surely worried about me. I cried for the complete loss of security and confidence that I'd carried with me all of my life.

Strangely, I also cried for the child Soarin wished me to bear. It wasn't something I wanted—a child I would surely loathe for the painful reminder brought to me every day.

I cried even more that I could be so callous. That child would never have done anything to deserve such hatred. Foggy didn't deserve such a heartless marefriend. She didn't deserve a mare who had been broken, abused, used up, discarded. A part of me knew that such thoughts were foolish, rooted entirely in falsehoods, but those reassurances were drowned out by the utter despair of a room that offered no peace.

No solace.

No hope.

Never before in my life had I ever felt so utterly isolated and alone.

The muffled clip-clop of hooves against solid ground cut through the silence, taking me out of my miserable stupor. How long had it been? Had I slept? I couldn't be sure; the seconds seemed so long in stark isolation.

I listened intently, trying to pick out the number of ponies—at least two—that were somewhere nearby. The sound of a heavy door opening was immediately punctuated by a sliver of light coming from under the office door: ponies in the locker room had switched on the light.

I could make out at least two different female voices, too muffled by the door to comprehend, chatting in a conversational tone. "HELFF!" I called out through the bit, hoping that they would hear me and come to my rescue.

But, if they heard me, there was nothing to indicate such as they continued on with their conversations. I started straining at my bonds, trying to make as much of a racket as I could as I turned my body to face the door.

The voices seemed to be getting louder, at least. And then, the door handle began to jiggle; the sound of a key entering a lock. And the door opened, allowing a blinding light to pour into the room. I raised a forehoof over my head to block out the direct light source and squinted.

As her figure slowly became clear, I realized Spitfire was standing in the doorway with a wide grin on her face. Why was she smiling? A cold chill ran down my spine.

"Hey, Slut," she chirped happily. "Bad news: You failed your interview."

"Uck oo," I tried to spit out the bit, but it was still firmly in place.

"I plan on it," she replied, stepping around me with a wide enough berth that I couldn't reach her. I shuffled around as best I could, trying to keep an eye on her. She went around to the other side of the desk and pulled out a chair, placing it as far from me as she could, which wasn't far, but was sufficient. "But fortunately for you, you can see us more often. Now, I need to lay down a few ground rules." She sat down.

I swallowed a growing dread. "Ooos?" I asked.

"I've done a little bit of digging, Sleet Storm." She leaned forward and reached out, cupping my chin with her hooves. "You've got a cute marefriend. Foggy Sunrise. Pretty name for the mare with a pretty face."

My heart sank; they were doxxing Foggy? Stalking her? ...Worse?

She pulled my chin up, forcing me to look her straight in the eyes. "If you want her to stay safe, you're going to have to be careful. Remember what I told you: What happens in the locker room stays in the locker room." She smiled wickedly. "There are more of us than you believe, and you don't want to test our patience."

A cold grip of fear squeezed my heart. They were threatening Foggy, but what position was I in to do anything about it? For that matter, what did they even think I might do in my current position?

The answer came swiftly as she unlocked the padlock and removed the clip anchoring me to the leg of the desk. My first instinct was to run: I immediately flapped my wings and attempted to fly—backwards—out the door. A pair of skyblue hooves wrapped around me and wrestled me to the ground as Fleetfoot pinned me down. In this position, my legs were stuck straight up in the air by the spreader, leaving me spreadeagled on the floor.

"Oh, honey," Fleetfoot cooed, sitting on my chest and paradoxically helping me remove the bit and bridle. "That just won't do."

I couldn't put Foggy at risk. Even if it meant doing the unthinkable.

"I just need to sleep with you, right?" I blurted as soon as the bit was removed.

"Ha!" Spitfire laughed harshly. "No, that opportunity has long passed you by. And it would have been so much easier if you'd taken us up on that before."

I was confident that there was no way I was going to like whatever came out of her mouth next. "Then, what do I need to do?"

"Simple," Spitfire said. "All you have to do is nothing. Tell nopony. And let me tell you, I have eyes and ears all over Canterlot." She pulled out the photo of Starfeather's corpse being desecrated, forcing me to see it again. "Notice the cock lodged in his neck? Whose cock do you think that is?"

Somehow, I found myself analyzing the image far more than I ever thought I should. Now that I was being given an extended look, new details about it stood out, such as how the stump of the pony's neck was mutilated, suggesting a less-than-clean removal.

The veins in the bloodied shaft of the stallion penetrating the neck hole bulged obscenely, and I could see semen mixed with the blood flowing from the neck. Starfeather's cock had several bloody abrasions on it, while the mare fellating him had blood streaked across her face and was smiling like an insane pony. Had she been chewing on it?!

Most horrifying of all, his lifeless body had a deep gash in his side, where his wing had once been. And the missing appendage was laying on the ground, mangled, in the background of the photo.

"Well?" Spitfire reminded me that I was asked a question.

I closed my eyes, trying to choke down rising bile. The cock in the photo was a light gray. Which meant it wasn't Soarin's—his was a deep blue. A fact I wish I hadn't learned. "I don't know," I rasped. I didn't know who the mare was, either. Which, when added to Soarin, Spitfire, and Fleetfoot, made a bare minimum of five ponies involved in this crazy scheme.

"Exactly. You don't know who you can trust. I'm glad we could come to an understanding."

"What... what happens now?" I asked, though I was absolutely sure I wouldn't like the answer.

"Nothing," Fleetfoot replied, though I sensed some dishonesty in her tone. "We're just letting you go. Setting you free. Go live your life like you always have. But with a warning: Just remember that when we say fly..."

"... I say how high," I said, finishing the common idiom. This was to be it, now, was it? Blackmail? I would agree to almost anything to get out of this predicament. Everything else would be secondary to that. "And what of Foggy? Can I see her?"

"We have not laid a feather on her, yet," Spitfire replied. "She is still safe at your home." I breathed a sigh of relief. "In fact, you may go back to her, if you wish. You may even confide with her about what has transpired if you wish, but—" Spitfire ran the back side of her hoof across her throat. "—you might want to be careful about loose ends."

"Okay." Her intent was crystal clear. "Okay. I won't tell a soul."

That meant I couldn't tell Foggy. She was too prone to breakdowns and lashing out, and she was terrible at keeping secrets. I needed a rock solid plan before I could even think about talking to her about it.

My hind legs fell limp like dead weight as Fleetfoot removed the spreader bar. Blood rushed back into the extremities, causing a painful barrage of pins and needles in them as I finally was able to move them freely.

Fleetfoot lifted off of me. "You're free to go," she said, gesturing to the door.

I looked at Spitfire. She nodded. Carefully struggling to stand on my numbed hind legs, I shook out my extremities and looked toward the open door. I took a step toward freedom, stumbling slightly.

"Sleet Storm," Spitfire barked as my hoof touched the ground. I stopped instantly and looked back at her. "Congratulations on your new assignment. I'll see you tomorrow."

With no idea what she was talking about, and quite certain I both didn't want to know, yet would inevitably find out, I nodded. "Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically.

I'd have bucked one of them in the head on my way out, but the numbness would have made it ineffective, and I knew the consequences could have been catastrophic. True to their word, neither of them stopped me as I left. That they were so confident only frightened me more.

Soarin passed me just as I reached the locker room door, and the moment I saw him, my entire body tensed with fight-or-flight response. He nodded at me. "Hey, there, baby momma. I hope you had a nice night. I know I did."

"Fuck you," I spat.

"You will," he agreed. "Give it time and you will." He thrust something in my face: my saddlebags. Then, he flipped up my tail with his wing as he pushed past me toward the lockers.

Somehow, I was going to kill him.

I pushed the door open and gasped a breath of truly fresh air for the first time in—at the very least—several hours. However long it had been, evening had been approaching quickly when I last entered the Wonderbolts HQ, but the sun was rising into the sky now, illuminating Wonderbolt Arena with a soft, warm glow. I truly hoped it had only been one night, but my time alone in the dark had felt like an eternity.

Birds flitted about, singing a cacophony of mating calls. Surely many of them had nests nestled into the various nooks and crannies of the free-standing structures used to build obstacle courses, or perhaps squirreled away among the massive arena seats. And, apart from the two guards standing at Canterlot Castle's Arena Gate, not a pony could be seen.

I looked up to a clear blue sky, painted in gradients of orange as the sun peeked over the horizon. Out there, in the cool morning air, was freedom. The freedom to do what I wanted, and go where I pleased. And to not care what anypony thought of me. Like the birds, I could spread my wings and simply fly away from all of this.

"Hey, Stormy! Come this way!"

A little memory came back to me, many years before, when Cloudsdale had just floated past a town called Vanhoover, and Foggy, leading the Cloudsdale weather team, had just called a massive thunderstorm over it.

Foggy darted over the roiling, tumultuous clouds, flying so low that the sparks of electricity arcing between her and the cloud surface just beneath audibly crackled like a fire consuming a pine tree. She turned on her back, flying upside down, and beckoned to me. Flying upside down was crazy, as it required fighting against every instinct we had, but that was fine with me. I loved this mare because she was a bit crazy.

"Okay!" I hollered back. I folded my wings and dove low to the cloud, then spread my wings wide to sweep in a broad circle just over the surface. As I'd heard, if you keep your wings spread wide, there was a strange floaty sensation just above the cloud, providing just enough lift that I didn't need to expend effort to stay aloft. The snapping of static arcs tickled the fur of my chest and tingled my primary feathers. I giggled at the bizarre sensation.

"See?" Foggy called. "It's fun!"

It was called storm surfing. I'd never tried it before, but Foggy was right. There was something magical in the air. I took the opportunity to soar in wide circles, doing a few stunts I would never have been brave enough to do anywhere else, and generally was just having a good time. Foggy was laughing and smiling.

I caught her and kissed her. And then an idea popped into my head. I released her and kept flying around more, watching her intently - and when Foggy wasn't looking, I dove into the cloud. It was dark within, and all my fur stood on end from the electricity, but it was easy enough to follow the sparking lights of Foggy's static discharge, telling me exactly where she was.

She continued to swing wide circles around above the cloud. "Come on, Stormy," she called out as I got closer. "Where did you go?" she said with a giggle. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

I smiled devilishly as I aligned my flight path with hers. She may have been going in circles, but they were wide and predictable. I launched myself upwards, exploding out of the cloud right beneath her.

Foggy screamed like a schoolfilly as I carried her up and away from the cloud, no longer flapping my wings and just letting my momentum carry us in a parabolic arc. I kissed her deeply and passionately as we tumbled back down, our landing on the cloud punctuated by the snapping of static all around us.

I stood up from the pile of dark, fluffy cloud we'd landed in, gazing down at my mare. Her head leaned back as I stood over her and her eyes closed just a little bit—the kind of lidded bedroom eyes that said 'come here, darling, and fuck me.'

Far be it from me to need to be asked twice. We embraced, kissing and feeling eachother up, and then she rolled me onto my back and towered over me, holding me down as I spread my legs to welcome her. She stepped forward to straddle me, and my eyes laser-focused on the approaching turgid cock—

—I looked back up in alarm. With a mad, lecherous grin, Soarin's face looked back down at me.

I shook my head violently and shuddered. The temptation to fly away and leave it all behind was strong, but they had made it very clear what would happen if I tried to flee: the image of Starfeather's decapitated body was still seared into my memory. Besides, I couldn't abandon Foggy, my one, true love, to the whims of these crazy Wonderbolts.

Where to go, then? They had told me I could go see Foggy, but I certainly couldn't go home to her covered in a stallion's essence, and reeking of stale sex.

My hoofbeats heavy, I plodded toward the massive double-doors on the other side of the arena—the ones that would lead into Canterlot Castle proper, not too far from where the Guard barracks were. It was the closest other thing to a home I had right now: familiar, and with a shower. My goal became clearer.

Now that I was close enough, I could make out the two guardsponies standing at either side of the doorway: Tea Garden and Grass Roots; both earth ponies. As I approached, I idly wondered what their contingency plan was if the enchantment on the arena's surface were to fail, causing any non-pegasus to simply fall through like it was air. Like the ground would just swallow them up.

I want the ground to swallow me up.

I shook the thought away. Sleet Storm did not wallow in pity, I reminded myself. It really just wasn't my style. Besides, I needed to hold my head up high and try to put everything behind me. As much as I could, anyway. Nothing would change what had happened, but I couldn't let those assholes know how much they'd gotten to me. I couldn't let them take that pride from me, too.

Tea Garden eyed me up and down and nodded passively, as if she didn't notice my condition. Grass Roots opened the door for me to enter. I put on a fake smile and nodded to him as I passed. Could they smell the stench of sex on me? I wondered. Would they notice it as I pass?

"Slut Storm," Grass whispered to me as I crossed indoors.

I froze mid-stride. Had I heard him right? "What?" I said out loud. My heart was racing.

"I said Sleet Storm," he said with a strange smile that twisted my stomach in knots. Was I just projecting my insecurities, or was he...? "That is your name, isn't it?" he continued. "Congratulations on your new assignment, by the way."

"T—thanks," I mumbled, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I took a deep breath and forced myself to continue into the castle. Was Grass Roots the stallion in the photo? I wasn't in a position to check the color of the equipment under his equipment, not that I had any desire to see it.

Almost immediately, I saw Captain Silver Lining in the hallway, trotting my direction. Unfortunately, he also saw me in that wretched state, but if he noticed or cared, he didn't let on. "Ah, just who I was looking for! Follow me to my office."

There was no way he hadn't noticed, right? I needed to freshen up. "Captain, I—"

"That's an order, soldier, not a request," he said, stopping. He tapped a hoof on the ground. It wasn't really aggressive, but there was a subtle hostility to it. The kind that said 'I am your superior officer, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer'. I really didn't want to be on his shit list.

"Yessir," I mumbled.

His office was small and secluded. Normally, that fact wouldn't have bothered me even in the slightest, but now it set off every alarm my brain could find. Something could happen here and the odds of anypony noticing were slim.

He sat down in his chair, scooching it into his desk.

The sound of metal scraping against tile.

There was a weight on my chest. I began to panic, remembering the horrible sounds from before. I looked around desperately trying to reassure myself that this was perfectly normal. Desk. Chair. Filing cabinet. Silver Lining. Raised eyebrow.

I gasped for air.

"Are... you okay?" he said, in a tone filled with fatherly concern.

I nodded quickly, still gasping and willing my heart rate to settle.

"Okay." He looked me up and down. "The uniform looks good on you. Unfortunate that you didn't pass your exam; I'd love to see more of it. However, you're being reassigned. Effective immediately, you are now expected to be working a 4 PM to 1 AM shift, and you'll be posted at Wonderbolts HQ. There's been some reports of unusual activity there, and Spitfire personally requested you to guard it, as she thinks you have enough potential to join the team and wants you close by for after-hours practices." He smiled awkwardly. "Something about 'learning through observation'."

How much did he know? I did a mental double-take. How had he known to look for me in the direction of the Wonderbolts? No, he may have been there by coincidence, his office was right here, after all. There was no reason to believe that he knew what was going on.

"You'll officially start at your new post tomorrow, as the head of a new Wonderbolts Security Detail. I'll let you have the rest of the day off to adjust your sleep to the new schedule. Starting tomorrow, you report to Spitfire and take your orders from her."

Could I just decline the reassignment? ... No, that could put Foggy and me at risk, too. In fact, no matter what ideas I came up with, we were at risk. These ponies were crazy, they had resources, and they were seemingly above the law—or at least not afraid of it. A sense of hopelessness rested on my shoulders.

"Thanks," I said. I glanced down at his day-planner—a giant calendar on his desk—and confirmed only one night had passed. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing Foggy would only have been missing me for one night. Things would be hard enough to explain already.

The Captain coughed and I looked up at him again. "Go get some rest, Sleet Storm," he repeated. Then, he leaned in close and whispered, "but don't forget: what happens in the locker room stays in the locker room."

I dashed out of his office toward the barracks as fast as my legs could carry, his dry laugh echoing down the hall behind me. Within a minute or so, I came upon the entrance to the Royal Guard barracks and peered inside. Nopony else was there. I stepped into the room that always smelled of sweaty pony.

My heart was racing; I wished there was a door I could close behind me, but the doorway lacked any such barrier. Instead, I slumped against the wall and gasped for breath—not out of exertion, but out of panic.

Even my own captain! How many ponies were involved? Who could I trust?

After a few moments, I finally began to relax. Physically, anyway. The clock on the wall showed it was still early in the morning; not long before the usual morning shift would have started, but just early enough that nopony had arrived yet.

A dark pit of despair engulfed me. All the memories of the torment I'd just suffered came flooding back. Soarin' checking me out...

No.

I shrugged off the thought. They could not control me like this! I trotted over to the showers, instead. I needed to clean up properly.

The showerhead hissed and spat as the pipes filled up, followed by torrents of cold water that cascaded over me. It wasn't hot enough, so I turned up the heat. As I waited for the water to warm, I stripped off the suit I was wearing and threw it across the showers where it struck the wall with a wet slap and fell to the ground in a heap. The water still wasn't hot enough. I turned the heat up further. It was hot, but not hot enough. I turned the heat up further still, until there wasn't an option for more.

I washed my face, my mane, my coat, my wings, my legs, my tail... the water was so hot it was burning at my flesh, but it didn't matter to me that it was now so hot that it was mildly painful; right then, that heat was both my heaven and my hell. Aching muscles from my confinement loosened up as I stood under the steaming water, a cleansing fire burning away the sweat, the blood, and the tears. I wanted to burn it all away. And more than anything, I wanted to burn him away.

I turned my flank to the side to wash my backside, washing away the semen stains that had been forced upon me, but the stain went so much deeper than just the fur. I had to clean deeper. I used my wings to pull the lips of my sex apart and forced a wash cloth inside myself, its rough texture painfully grinding against my sensitive flesh as I tried desperately to wash out the revolting feeling I had inside.

Yet I rinsed.

And I scrubbed.

And I rinsed again.

And I scrubbed deeper.

...

...

But no matter how hard I tried, I still felt disgusting. A feeling that wouldn't go away. Instead of cleansing fire rushing in to wash it all away, a wave despair came crashing through in its stead.

This was hopeless.

I couldn't cleanse myself enough to take away the stain, because it wasn’t just a mark on my body. No matter how hard I tried, or how hot the water, or how much soap I used; No matter how deep I went, I simply never would be able to wash away the stain that had been left upon my soul.

My hooves stopped, my wings hanging limply at my sides. The steamy, watery cascade fell around me, a storm of droplets slapping against the tile as I fell to my knees, my only solace that nopony had been here to see my wretched state. An anguished sob escaped from my lips as I knelt beneath the storm of heat.

And another sob broke free.

And then another.

I shook with heaving cries as I sat on my haunches and screamed to the heavens above. I didn’t want to cry—Sleet Storm never cries!—But I was feeling so overwhelmed that I couldn't stop.

Without warning, the water termperature dropped slightly, and ice blue hooves wrapped around me. For the briefest of moments, my thoughts went back to Fleetfoot grabbing me, not even an hour before. My breath caught in my throat for a split second. But instead of rough treatment, those hooves pulled me into a gentle embrace and a familiar voice whispered in my ear.

"It's okay, Stormy, it's okay." Flash Freeze said softly, holding me close. "I don't know what's wrong, but it'll be okay."

I turned to look at him. He smiled with a gentle, sad smile. I buried my face in his chest and wailed like a banshee. He held me even tighter in response, stroking my mane softly.

As the seconds ticked past, I became uncomfortably aware of his growing erection, and it bothered me immensely. "Your…" I began to say...

It was okay, wasn’t it? Flash Freeze had grown to be my best friend here in Canterlot. If I couldn’t trust him, could I truly trust anypony here?

"My?" he asked, still stroking my mane.

I hoped I could just chalk it up to him being a stallion, and my heat. But I had to force myself to ignore it, fighting against a part of my mind screaming that he was a threat. "Nevermind," I whispered into his chest, forcing myself to ignore the rising panic until it abated. I returned his embrace, hugging him tightly.

We remained like that for what felt like eternity. He asked nothing. I said nothing, sobbing into his chest until my throat was raw. My tears eventually ran out, and we were both soaked to the bone.

"My shift starts in a few minutes, and I’m not in uniform yet," he whispered. "I’m sorry."

"It’s okay," I rasped, my voice now completely hoarse. "I just wish we could go back to yesterday, when we stood at the gate together and life was boring."

He nodded. "I was just told you're being reassigned." Then, he pushed me up into a proper sitting position. His eyes flitted about, studying me momentarily. I couldn’t help but notice his erection was still rock hard, and a shudder of fear chilled my spine again. He gave me a weak smile. "We'll talk later. Don’t be a stranger now, okay?"

I flashed a painfully fake smile back at him. "Okay," I whispered. And then he walked away while I stayed behind in the shower, calming my racing heart.

There were other guards drifting into the barrack now, almost all of them stallions; I hadn’t heard them come in, but I could hear one jeering Flash for showering before his shift. The white noise of the shower had either drowned out all my cries, or they were respectful enough not to say a word. To be unheard, or to be ignored? I wasn't sure which was worse.

Could it be that some of them knew what had happened to me? That stray thought unsettled me.

I knew there would be a brief moment of respite as they all left to their posts before the departing guards would come in to shower. That would be the safest moment for me to leave the barrack, so I waited under the water in silence, fight-or-flight instincts on high alert.

And as I waited, I could only resign myself to one thing: Maybe I really was just a weak-willed mare, who had gotten in over her head.

Author's Note

This is one of several fics that I am uncertain if people are interested in reading. I have the entire story outlined and more chapters ready to go soon. If you are interested in reading more, please let me know in the comments.

More info here: https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/1011745/work-in-progress-dump