Gul-Dang Alien Space Ponies
Gul-Dang Alien Space Ponies
It all went down like in those silly comic books Rainbow Dash reads. Applejack awoke in her bed, roused by some noise or instinct. Then brilliant green replaced the dark night outside and the roof flew off, showing a metal saucer in the air above.
Applejack floated up helplessly, scrambling in vain until she caught the lip of whatever entry it was sucking her to. She screamed to the small lights of Ponyville, her strong grip holding for one minute, then two. A look back showed nothing but bright green inside, and a tendril moving towards her. It wavered like a floating snake, but was metal and ridged like a worm. It dodged her kick and coiled up and around.
Applejack felt the cool metal wrap her abs and braced for a yank. Instead, the end of the tendril dug sharp and quick into her armpit and began scratching. Applejack yelped at the sudden tickle and lost grip, falling upwards into the light. The tendril rose and fanned out to a cone at its end with the sharp slide of metal. It clamped over Applejack’s swearing mouth, gassing her suddenly with sweet air that sent the world to black.
She awoke sharply, oddly alert. So subtle was the gas’ end that Applejack thought she just blinked, and continued her struggles. But she was in a different position now; a different place. She stood upright, or was rather held upright by padded metal stocks around her legs and toned stomach. Another around her neck stopped her from bending to see more of her condition, but she could feel leather straps holding her naked breasts aloft, her nipples hard as they waved in the cool air. A firm tie bound her big toes, pointing them downwards despite her effort. Her arms were tied behind her back and… something was in her pussy.
Defiance came naturally – Applejack had been in worse scrapes. Even the sudden change brought no end to her struggles, or her voice. “You pervy sacks of space manure, just wait til I get out! I’ll break you into–”
An odd rubbery noise came from behind, and another tendril slipped onto her shoulder. This one was black and tubular, and unfolded into an odd mask it pressed onto her face. Transparent coverings went over her eyes and muzzle. A round rubber gag pressed firmly into her mouth, replacing the shouts with muffled, still-furious growls.
“Fascinating.”
The voice pronounced it ‘faskinating.’ Like a computer programmed with a mare’s voice, pronouncing each letter individually.
“All other subjects have shown the fear response at this point. You still show the anger response.”
The words somehow turned Applejack’s attention downwards, as best as she could. It was a wide metal room, with many square plates on the floor reading ‘Cell’ with a number. E-13 to her right, E-15 to her left. All only large enough to hold, say, a pony standing upright as she was.
Applejack only fought harder, growling all the while. She had to save them! Had to…
“Such a defiant pony,” the voice cooed mechanically. “This will be a faskinating outlier. We will begin with a standard three-day sensitization process, starting now. Fear not, you will not be bored.”
Applejack lurched as the invader in her pussy sprang to life, vibrating with atrociously low intensity. She vibrated herself as many sliding, poking tendrils began testing her large feet. Her vision began lowering, her body sinking into the cell she knew was beneath her.
Her bound big toes hit the liquid first – warm and thick like honey, somehow pleasant next to the cool air above. Then it reached her privates, and she shuddered. It leaked in around the invader, like a warm, wet tongue lapping her insides. It oddly did not touch her clit. Applejack could feel, but not see the transparent bulb shielding it, but this was not mercy. Tiny metal tendrils within the bulb began teasing her clit, a dozen all around, slowly poking and stroking that one little nub.
Her butt twitched, the closest her needy body could come to a sexual thrust. The liquid reached her hard nipples, turning her defiant roar to a sudden, gagged moan. And then her head sunk, and she saw bright flowing pink around her. The muzzle guarded her mouth and nose, pumping air, and the goggles let her see.
The pink abruptly changed to a new vision, like her goggles were two small computer screens. They showed her bare soles backed by her metal stocks. They were very large feet, taller, wider, and rougher than what anypony would call feminine. They were darker than her coat, with heel and ball almost brown from many hot days in heavy boots. Hard as wood themselves, but as tendrils tickled and poked she found herself giggling like an idiot. One at a time, slowly teasing and testing. Then two, earning a tight, resisted laugh.
The probe in her pussy pulsed, as though annoyed at being ignored. It pressed the pink harder and deeper, arching Applejack’s back as best she could. Three tendrils on the feet now, moving faster, Tickling and arousal, fighting for dominance, with both inflamed by the relentless, microscopic teasing at her clit.
But Applejack had thick soles, and Apple-family stubbornness. She grit down against the gag, swallowing laughter and moans. She had to get out. Had to save these other prisoners. Had to teach these gul-dang space ponies a lesson in respect.
Another insistent pulse at her loins. The pink fluid washed against her anus, and a need for more hit her mind. No – she wouldn’t break.
“You will break,” the machine voice clarified through pads strapped to her ears. Could it read her thoughts?
“Yes. ‘Thoughts’ are simply traveling electricity, which can be analyzed and read. ‘breaking’ is a physical, scientific process to which your intent to not be broken has no relevance.”
Who are you? What do you want?
“My apologies, E-14. Other prisoners require my attention. Instructional information will play starting Hour-2 that should answer all frequently asked questions.”
Four tendrils. Applejack could take it. She growled, thrashing.
But something was happening. Her feet, hard and never ticklish, were sending tingles up to her brain. And loins. Low, repetitive noises began coming from her mouth, somewhere between a moan and a giggle. The image changed to her clit, viewed from behind its shield. Tendrils thinner than threads squeezed, poked, stroked…
She watched a tiny fissure appear in the shield, and the pink fluid leaking in. Her eyes rolled back at the first touch, her insides roiling with an orgasm. But she did not feel drained or spent. The wet force between her legs continued to throb.
Five tendrils. Six, eight. The half-moans turned to low, muffled laughter pierced by the odd, girlish shriek. Scrambling at her instep, her heel, the base of her toes… ticklish sensations that sent her brain to her feet, before some new pulse lurched it away.
Applejack clung desperately. She needed to stay sane, strong. To escape. Equestria needs her. She held tightly to those thoughts, resisting the ever-growing sensations as best she could. Endless tickling. Endless orgasms, always so surprising and sudden. For days, weeks…
Her vision changed. A planet, by a distant sun. An alien voice spoke.
More terrifying than even the kidnapping was the awareness this was the “Hour-2” video. The insanity had not gone weeks. Only an hour.
She did not understand the words, but somehow her mind came to know. An advanced civilization, which discovered a new form of energy: when a being was tickled to utter insanity, reaching a state of perfect frenzied, maddened despair, they released a potent magic which could be harnessed for any need. Mistakes and research taught that arousal let more be gathered, and that each individual only had so much to give. Thus they traveled the galaxy, seeking new life to harvest for their energy.
Yet she need not fear. Kidnapping or enslavement led to tragedy, and they had grown enlightened beyond cruelty (or so the thoughts ran). No time in the outside world had actually passed thanks to their time-science, and she would be returned with no one the wiser. After they drained her of tickle magic, of course, a process which took varied amounts of time. Anywhere between two days and ten years, during which their science would keep her in perfect health and safety.
The screen clicked off, leaving her in pink. The vague distraction of the alien thoughts was lost. Applejack screamed with a new orgasm, falling to shrill laughter as the tendrils on feet and clit continued their assault.
The prisoner rose from cell E-14. Pink sensitization fluid flowed perfectly off her, leaving no stain or stickiness. Her eyes, once glowered in defiance, were wide and desperate. She mumbled and groaned even though the vibrations stopped and the tendrils drew back.
The mask retracted from her face, and what came out was a pathetic beg. “Please… let me go…”
“Well, there’s the fear response,” the voice seemed to muse, then addressed her. “An impractical request. It is well-established that the harder an Equs-type being is to break, the greater the resultant harvest. And you are still cognitively intact after three days, not a mewling, horny bundle of instincts incapable of forming words. This is the first such result after eighty-nine breakings of other Equs-types on your home world. It is expected you can be harvested for the full ten years and perhaps more. You will be valued, monitored, and protected in your normal life, and when your tickle-energy regenerates we shall harvest you again.”
The machine gripping Applejack whirred, preparing to move.
“But the process only works when you are fully broken. We’ll put you in for a week this time, then see if we can begin the tickle-torture.”
Applejack blinked. “What do you mean BEGIN theMFFF–”
The mask slipped over her face, once more gagging and shielding her. Thrashing and begging with muffled screams, Applejack was lowered once more into the pink vat, and the lid slid over her cell.
Applejack opened her eyes. Stared up at her ceiling, yawned and stretched.
One of those weird dreams, last night. So fantastic that she could write a book, if only she could recall one single detail.
A lazy Sunday, but she wasn’t one for sleeping in. Applejack rolled, putting her feet to the floor. She sucked in her breath.
Her soles could feel the carpet beneath. Every bristle, it seemed. So tender and sensitive.
Driven by curiosity and something else, she bent up her foot and took a look. A light, peachy orange greeted her, softer than the body above. So smooth that they looked oiled, catching the light. Those spa days with Rarity were paying off.
She flexed her toes, scrunched them, letting her eyes linger. She felt her own hot breath upon the soles, somehow felt the heat elsewhere as well.
...Heck, it was Sunday. Maybe Rarity was free for a spa trip, or something else.
Author's Note
Thanks for reading!
