Chapters The Trottingham Terror gets beat up by a janitor
The Trottingham Terror, The Canterlot Chopper, The Cannibal Of Canterlot. Three common names all used to refer to the same monstrous stallion responsible for a string of killings that had targeted the upper class. For a while it looked like a class war was going to break out over the tension between the different classes it caused.
But then, just as suddenly as they started, they came to a stop. The monster had faded away, and become little more then a children’s story, with many wondering what exactly had happened to the stallion behind the killings, and some even choosing to believe he had never existed at all.
The truth of what happened to the Trottingham Terror was a lot less exciting then most people would expect. He had accidentally run into an elite guard unit on a mission unrelated to tracking him down, and after being identified, he had suffered through the following: all of his ribs being shattered, his jaw being broken to the point it no longer held his teeth, a punctured lung, a ruptured kidney, liver damage, a shattered hip, and a ruined ego.
But, he had survived. Slipping his way into a storm drain he had been presumed dead, and it had come very close to killing him, the infection from the sewer water had ate into his flesh and almost finished him, it had taken months of lying down and desperately trying to keep himself from taking a final nap. But slowly he had recovered. Slowly he had dragged himself back from that final fated rest.
The damage hadn’t been easy to come back from however, and even though he had survived, his body wasn’t the same. There would be no more stories of him leaping from rooftop to rooftop, no more cutting throats and slipping back into the shadows. His killing spree had been stopped, and the papers and public would never know the story of just how badly his ass got beat.
Hatter was the true name of the Trottingham Terror, a gray stallion who was nothing like the stories. Daily baths to try and heal the aching in his bones, a slow, sedentary life where not much happened and he just got left alone. Despite being in his early fifties, he felt and lived as if he were already well into his seventies.
It was no way to live, but he was thankful for the fact he had a life at all.
That was, until the Trottingham Terror reappeared. He had been in the kitchen, munching through a bowl of porridge. On the front page of the morning paper were three words that made his blood boil.
He flicked through to the page and leaned back in his bean bag chair, feeling the metal in his hip tug painfully at his flesh, reminding him of his failures and promising him that the pain was going to flare up later. His false teeth ground against the slop in his mouth as he read over the paragraphs.
“The first victim was a 20 year old brick layer. He was stabbed twelve times and his remains were discovered divided into bin bags.”
This wasn’t right. None of these stories matched up with how he did things, why the fuck was the paper even considering this as his hoof work? He didn’t haphazardly stab ponies, he did elegant slashes with his razor and removed the organs of his victims as an artistic statement to spread fear in the upper classes. He’d never just decide to stab a brick layer, and he’d use as few stabs as possible to let blood loss finish them off.
This pony was unhinged, they had no class, they had no idea how to kill ponies, they had clearly just killed these ponies motivated by rage. He was a good pony now, he was a calm pony that never got angry and-
His magic failed due to his anger, the apple green glow that had been coming from his horn sparking out as the same magical glow wrapped around the spoon did the same.
The metal eating utensil plopped loudly into his porridge, splattering some of it across the side of his face as he sat there and ground his teeth together thoughtfully. He wasn’t the type of stallion to let anger get to him, but he had killed those ponies for a reason, and to just taint his legacy like this?
No, no! He couldn’t just let that stand. He wiped the porridge from his brow and climbed to his hooves.
He was going to kill this killer and show them what true fear was once again. Hatter was going back to Trottingham.
Trottingham was where he had been born and raised. It was home, and he was very sad when the heat got too much and he was forced to relocate his killings to Canterlot. It had been a long time since he had worn his proper clothing. The crimson trench coat still fit him perfectly, hugging around him with dozens of extra pockets sewn on the inside filled with all kinds of trinkets.
The weight was comforting. Atop his head, he wore a battered black top hat, pulled low over his emerald green eyes. This had been burned in a house fire, a house fire that had very nearly took him with it. It was his lucky hat, and he couldn’t kill anyone without it.
Climbing onto the train, he had found that the world wasn’t as he had left it. It had only been twenty years, but they had replaced the old trains with a newer model. The seats were hard and plastic, digging uncomfortably into his skin and making his bones ache. The thin padding that covered them wasn’t nearly enough.
There was a child crying a few seats in front of him and a mother trying desperately to get them to stop because of the disgusted looks it was drawing from the other ponies. He despised those ponies, looking at that poor mother as if she had done something wrong.
Calm. Breathing the scent of popcorn through his nose, he tried to settle back into the hard plastic chair. The ticket collector came to examine the tickets, but nobody paid him any extra mind. He was just a stallion coming back home.
When the train finally pulled into Trottingham, it was raining, the kind of soft rain that never seemed to stop and made everything damp. It fell onto his eyelids, soaked slowly into his jacket and bought out even more musty smells from within. He missed the rain, the cool concrete, the buildings.
It was almost as if the city was welcoming him back home. For the first time in forever, he felt like himself again. The fact he smelled like he belonged in a museum and the aching in his bones was the only thing that had changed.
The streets were cobblestone, and as he strolled forward from the train station, the first thing he noticed was all the changes that had been made to his beloved city. The lamp posts that had once lined the street and bathed it in the flickering yellow warmth of gas light had been uprooted, replaced with electric monstrosities that produced the kind of light that held no warmth.
He scoffed, then almost tripped up on one of the cobblestones that was more uneven then the rest. The city didn’t appreciate being laughed at, and once he straightened himself up, a bright smile cracked across his face. It was time to get to work.
The only pattern he managed to put together was that the victims all seemed to be less then rich. Nobody that would be greatly noticed had been carved up, and that just made him angrier. Solving a murder was harder then it seemed, and harder then actually committing one.
One connection. He just needed one thing that he could use to link to link things together. A lead? Hell, at this point he would take a mere hint. This was only going to get harder the longer it dragged on. He wasn’t a detective, at this point the guard were going to catch them first, and there was no way that he could break into the guard station.
Notice. Think. The stallion got to work. This was going to be easy.
He smacked his head softly into the wall of the hotel he had rented. It had been over a week and still nothing, the hotel room was beginning to look like the lair of a mad man, newspaper clippings and bits of string strung everywhere.
He was assuming this pony was stupid because of the reckless nature in which they killed, yet they had still managed to evade the guard. Hatter had made the rookie mistake of assuming he was smarter then the person he was trying to catch. That wasn’t the case, maybe the reason they hadn’t been caught yet was because it hadn’t been their first victim.
And then the pieces clicked together.
His poor city had really been put through the wringer. Once upon a time there had been small, quaint little buildings that were of a normal size, difficult to climb up, but not really a problem. Now they had giant eyesores made out of steel and glass, crammed with tiny cubicles where ponies toiled their lives away.
He hated these skyscrapers, and for more then just the fact they were ugly. Standing beneath the giant and steel building, he panned his eyes upwards to where the moon shone from above. Tonight it was bright out, the moonlight shimmering off the glass panes and almost making them look like quicksilver.
The air was brisk and biting, attempting to sink through his jacket and down into his bones. The tail of his jacket blew gently in the breeze. His hip nagged at him, telling him how much of a bad idea this was, and promising him agony if he decided to go through with it.
Many a retelling of his story depicted him as an earth pony with incredible athletic abilities, leaping from building to building and climbing up them with sheer strength alone. His horn glowed lightly beneath his hat, wrapping around his hooves as he pressed them to the first of the glass panes.
Those stories made him laugh, but they were complete nonsense. Just for tonight, he hoped that he could prove himself closer to that legend then to the sad excuse of a pony he had become. He planted his other hoof against the glass, then one of his back hooves.
Fucking glass. What kind of material was that to build something out of. It was like ice beneath his hooves and offered no grip, demanding all his focus. But, it wasn’t going to stop him. With a soft sigh, the stallion begin to walk up the side of the building.
As he got higher, the wind begin to baffle, attempting to knock him free from the building and send him tumbling to his death. His hip nagged, then ached, then screamed at him. His horn threatened to fail, and yet he kept climbing, refusing to let his focus fade.
The wind was cold, his hooves were numb, higher and higher the Trottingham Terror climbed, old wounds and old memories coming to say hello, before being numbed away by the cold. By the time he climbed to the outside of the room he was looking for, his vision was starting to dim at the edges, his impressive night vision failing him.
Was this where he died? He hoped not, it was a long way down, a long way for a pony to think as they fell towards the ground.
Normally he would have taken this slow, worked through things calmly, but at the moment he was over a hundred meters above the ground and about to pass out. He didn’t have time. He was going to fucking die!
Taking out his glass cutter, his horn begin to splutter, and he was forced to take the tool into his mouth as he slid down the side of the building a few feet. Cutting the glass was hard, it was reinforced, and he wasn’t even sure the tool was rated for it, but he managed to cut an oval large enough to slip inside.
He fell to the floor with a soft thud. The carpet was rough, and the cold wind followed him through. Once again he had proved himself worthy of being a legend, but he had also pushed his body far beyond its limits. Hatter wasn’t a spirited 30 year old any more.
Should’ve known his limits. With his vision swirling, then failing, he realized that he was passing out. His heart was thudding a sweet lullaby into his ears as his eyes slowly lulled shut. He was just going to rest his eyes for a few minutes, and then-
Hatter awoke to someone poking him in the side with something that felt like a stick. His head lifted slowly as he let out a soft gasp of pain. His hip was burning, complaining about his stupidity.
The pony that was poking him with a stick appeared to be a janitor of some kind. She had a banjo for a cutiemark and the most incredible rich golden eyes that he had ever seen. For a moment, he was simply lost in their amber brilliance, and then she jabbed him in the side with the wooden handle of a mop and he snapped back to attention.
“Ah. Agent Silverfang, Equestrian Special Investigations department?” He said in a questioning tone. His body was still working to try and get itself together. Just a few minutes ago he had been out cold, but the lie should buy him some time to get himself together.
The mare didn’t seem to buy the lie, mostly because of the fact that he had just broken in through a window and was currently lying on the floor in a semi-broken heap.
As the room came back into focus he took notice of the slight breeze coming through the window that he had just cut his way through, along with the fact that this mare was stood next to a cleaning cart and had a badge with her face and name on it.
Unfortunately for him, his eyes were still attempting to focus and unblur his vision. After doing so, the pony’s name and features came into focus. The image on their badge looked like it had been put through the photocopier a few too many times but it definitely belonged to the pony he was staring at.
He took a few moments to read the name badge.
The janitor’s face was tainted as the earth pony’s brow furrowed slightly.
Shit. This wasn’t good. He didn’t come here to go carving people up, and this pony was a janitor, he didn’t go carving up working class ponies if he could avoid it.
“Ah… I’m sorry. I lied. I am actually a private investigator hired by one of the families in connection with the murders that have been taking place recently. I am looking for a missing vat of chemicals I believe could have been used to dispose of the bodies, and I discovered that one had been ordered to here. I have reason to believe your boss may be connected to the murders.”
Puffy brushed her brown frizzy brown mane back and blew a plume of air up at it, swinging her mop so that it rested against her shoulder.
Hatter didn’t know why that had worked and the previous lie hadn’t but he would take any blessing he could at this point.
She offered him a hoof to help him up, and already Hatter was starting to feel better. The fact that this mare had been prepared to simply trust him was a miracle, but now she was actually been nice to him? He gripped her hoof firmly, and she pulled him up.
Puffy was strong. She didn’t look it, but a life-time of hard labour had forged her muscles into lithe powerhouses. His hip was screaming at him as he rose to his hooves, needing a few moments to gather his balance as he scanned around the room.
He was in an office of some kind, desks were laid as far as his old eyes could see. Slapping himself gently in the side of the face with a hoof, he felt the world spin around him, threatening to tumble away once again.
“You don’t look good.” She commented simply. He didn’t know how to respond, this entire situation was really strange for him. Hatter expected this to be a simple job, but already it had become incredibly complicated. How was he meant to deal with this? Now there was a mare all up in his business.
Puffy looked shocked, the expression on her face looking confused for a few seconds, before her expression once again returned to the uncaring, calm look that was infuriatingly impossible to read.
Hatter was instantly on guard, turning to face her as he stepped back out of her grasp. “Why are you being so nice to me?” He asked.
Oh. Right. He wasn’t used to being on the right side of the law. Everything hurt. His hip was screaming bloody murder at him, and it felt like at any moment he was going to give out, but he forced a gentle smile onto his face and tried his best to straighten up.
The mare nodded in an understanding fashion. It was strange having somepony be nice to him.
Suddenly, things were making a lot more sense.
Could Hatter really take such a long break to get laid? Something about this still didn’t seem to sit right with him…
Well, if there wasn’t time in life to take a load off and enjoy getting laid, then life really wasn’t worth living. Besides, he was worn out and really could use lying next to a pretty mare to sort his head out.
The walk back to her place was slow, Puffy really didn’t seem comfortable walking next to him, and for a few moments he was worried that she was suddenly going to turn on him and yell for the guards. He would be in a lot of trouble then.
But no, the reason she was looking so uncomfortable soon became clear when they pulled up to an old motel. It was a cheap looking place that looked like it had seen far better days and simply relied on the fact that carriages had nowhere else to pull up and rest their weary wagon crew.
The walk there took some fifteen minutes from the office building, and throughout the entire thing not a single word was said, they simply found themselves enjoying a shared silence, although maybe Puffy wasn’t having as much fun with it as he was. His hip was burning, all his organs were singing complaints of being pushed to their limits, and yet he found himself with a newfound strength born of a burning lust deep within him.
Age hadn’t dulled that part of him in the slightest. Even staring up at the grimy, mildew laden windows of the motel, he was picturing plowing his length into the mare just behind him, feeling her taunt body quiver… Marching through the carriage parking lot, he suddenly realized why it was she had been looking so nervous.
“You don’t have a home, do you?” He noted, to which Puffy winced slightly, then gave a slow nod.
Puffy gave him half a smile as she used her key to unlock one of the doors, a large 16 painted crudely on the door with white paint that was chipping and peeling. Stepping through the door, Hatter followed eagerly behind her, his eyes locked so firmly on her flank that he didn’t even notice the room around him.
Unfortunately, he also didn’t notice when the mare suddenly bucked both her hind hooves backwards. He was tired and he was slow, and so her hooves smacked squarely into the soft part of his stomach and forced all the air from his lungs.
He didn’t even understand what exactly was happening, but suddenly having air in his lungs was a distant fantasy and he was doubling over as a desperate wheeze rolled from his lips. He didn’t understand, his oxygen starved brain was trying to make sense of it, but most of its focus was on trying to get him breathing again.
As she turned towards him, he noted the hateful expression in her eyes, a blazing, raging inferno the likes of which he had seldom seen before, besides in his own blood stained reflection. And then one of her hooves smacked into his jaw, and suddenly he didn’t have to worry about breathing or about any of those other things that the waking world had burdened him with, because he was tumbling through a pitch black void, the world lost to him.
And all he could think about was how much it was going to hurt in the morning, before that too was lost to him.
He didn’t expect himself to wake up after a blow like that, with the hatred that the mare had shown, she should have carved him up into little pieces or something. So, waking up was a bit of a shock, his eyes going wide as he came to, all his senses returning one after the other.
Pain. Pain was the one thing that he hadn’t missed. His head felt as though it was being split open, and his vision stayed blurry for longer then he had expected, and certainly longer then was healthy.
Puffy was over in the corner, sitting in a chair and glaring towards him as if she had been simply waiting for him to awaken. She was holding a large kitchen knife in one of her hooves, and for a brief moment Hatter was genuinely scared that he had already been carved up, and it was simply a matter of time before he noticed it.
Thankfully that wasn’t the case. The situation was bad, but there were still many ways that it was able to get worse. Although he hadn’t been carved up just yet, there was still plenty of time and his hooves were currently firmly bound to the bed with thick ropes and metal hoof clasps.
This mare had done this before. He had been led right into a trap and not even realized it.
Puffy stood up from her chair and marched over to him, her tail flicking in an angry fashion behind her, although he didn’t need the tail to tell him just how angry she was when her eyes still contained so much wraith he felt like she was about to begin raining hellfire down upon him.
He wanted to go back to a few minutes ago when he had been picturing staring down into those eyes while plowing her senseless, instead of staring up into those eyes and fearing for his life.
“How did you know?” She hissed. Hatter’s mind searched for a response, but he had no good response to give her.
The mare struck him straight in the leg. Pain flared through his body, he squirmed wildly against the ropes and tried his best not to scream. He was a tough stallion, he could take more then a little beating.
He had already been through so much however. There was only so much that his body could take. How was he going to get out of this one?
Where was his hat, his jacket? He didn’t know for sure. He was naked, scared, and unarmed.
Puffy stared down at him as she raised the blade, threatening to cut his face open. Hater didn’t even flinch. He was going to break out of here, he just had to figure out how to do so.
The knife came down, rending a bloody slash into his chest that drew a pained wince from the poor stallion, who still seemed to be completely failing to understand the situation currently unfolding before him.
“I don’t know what’s going on. Why are you so angry at me? I haven’t done anything!”
Hatter finally got it. She was the murderer. But none of his clues had led him to that outcome. Was he really that bad of a detective that he had failed to spot the signs?
Normally this was where the detective would have some kind of cool flashback showing off all the clues that had lead them to that outcome, or the clues that he had missed, but this didn’t make any fucking sense. How could she be the killer?
His horn had a metal ring on it, a binder that prevented him from calling upon his magical focus and left him feeling disconnected.
He pulled firmly against his bindings, and the mare brandished her knife again.
Her hoof came down and smacked him firmly in the face, dazing him rather badly. He couldn’t think. He needed to get out of this.
The knife came down, stabbing into his right shoulder and turning his vision white. By the time he managed to get a grip and pull the world back into focus, the mare was was gone. This was the only chance he was going to get to break out of here.
For almost all ponies, it would have been completely impossible for them to break free, the ropes were too strong and the bindings too tight, but he knew exactly what he needed to do to escape. His shoulder was screaming at him, his breathing was rapid and he was starting to sweat. Due to his old age, he was struggling.
Puffy Gumdrops was strong. The knife was stabbing right up against the bone, and he felt ready to throw up. But he could do this. And he could do it simply due to the fact that the binds were too tight.
He pulled. He pulled with all his strength, and he screamed into the pillow of the bed he was bound too. He felt like he was about to throw up, but he twisted his hooves against the bindings until they drew blood. Blood lubed up the metal bindings.
Hatter was playing a dangerous game, dancing on the edge of falling unconscious. If he passed out here, it would be the end of him, there would be no saving him.
Thankfully, he didn’t pass out. He simply danced right on the edge of doing so. Twisting and contorting his hoof, causing skin to peel away and… Agony to rip through him.
With the right amount of twisting motions… His hoof managed to pull free. His heart was threatening to give out at a moment’s notice. There was no rest for the wicked however, and after removing the metal ring from his horn, he begin to try and focus his magic.
Not because of the fact he was a good pony, not because of the fact that this had taught him a valuable lesson, but because once he got out of here, he was going to fuck that mare up.
And then his focus returned. He used his abilities gained from working with fabric to cut the ropes, then he flopped down to the floor. Everything hurt. Everything always hurt. Right now he was in a lot more pain then he was used to however, wobbly legs and a dry mouth, a body right on the edge of giving out, keeping just an inch away from passing out and facing a horrible end.
No. He couldn’t be beaten by this mare. She had damaged his reputation, and he was going to show her just how he had earned all those names and carved himself into the history books.
His things had been hastily dumped into a plastic bin bag that he quickly ripped open. Getting his jacket on was a struggle, but the moment the red velvet was hugging around his frame again, he instantly begin to feel a lot better, a lot more like his old self. Of course, to put it on, he had needed to pull out the knife wedged in his shoulder.
Thankfully, most of his wounds had been easy to stitch up or bandage. The mare hadn’t yet returned from the basement, but he didn’t really mind, it was giving him chance to get his strength back.
This was going to be one hell of a fight. Could he do it? He didn’t know, but he was going to give it his best shot. His nerves were really getting to him. Why was she taking so long?
His razor was light in his magic, the wood handled blade providing some degree of comfort as he counted down each of the seconds. Then the handle turned, the door swung open and he stepped forward, swinging his razor down towards her leg.
The first blow landed easily against the shocked red mare, but he needed to get outside, fighting in a confined space like this wasn’t something that he could handle. It was the golden eyed mare’s turn to look shocked as he pushed himself into a front flip.
He managed to keep it contained, managing to squeeze through the doorway over the top of her, landing on the metal cat walk and swinging out one of his legs in a wide kick that impacted firmly against the back of her leg, but completely failed to do anything besides hurt himself.
His legs gave out, his magic almost failed and he came down hard against the metal catwalk. His razor slashed out again, catching the back of her leg and cutting deep.
No time to think now. He climbed to his hooves and slashed wildly, landing several more deep cuts on the back of their legs. Even if she was tough, his blade cut deep and the cuts bled heavily. Nobody could stand and take that kind of assault.
She was forced to stumble backwards into the room, and he followed, keeping up the attack, precise, measured slashes at her limbs, threatening her face and forcing her to raise her front hooves if she didn’t want to lose an eye.
The cries of pain from the mare soon turned into ones of furry as he tried to drive her further into the room. Whether she had done it purposefully or not, he wasn’t sure, but drawing himself into the small room where his mobility was useless was a smart idea.
She came forward with a wide swing, attempting to take off his head. He ducked under it and sent his razor to work, opening up multiple cuts that begin to rapidly haemorrhage.
Ponies thought they were stronger then him, they always started off so confident and cocksure of themselves, until they realized that his razor was enchanted and-
He was blacking out. Why was he blacking out? His brain actually took a few moments to catch up. Currently he was buried halfway into a length of dry-wall. When had he been struck?
The ringing in his ears hit him all at once, and he stared, seemingly in slow motion as the mare rushed towards him, her yellow eyes blazing with hatred as she prepared to finish the fight.
Right. His body wasn’t responding. It seemed it had finally given up. Fucking useless thing. He bundled all his willpower together in an attempt to rise back to his hooves, but they were not responding.
Getting old sucked. Her hooves sailed towards his head, but with a final surge of adrenaline, he managed to roll out of the way, grabbing his razor with his hoof and rushing her down as her hoof sank through the drywall.
He was on her back in an instant, pressing his razor to her throat and trying to not to vomit. At this point, she attempted throwing him from her back, but the blade bit into her throat.
“I… Ha… Win!” Hatter panted, before narrowly avoiding having his lip burst as she launched her head backwards. She was weakening however, and he now had the chance to take whatever he wanted from the mare.
It was time to show her how it was really done.
The Trottingham Terror gets beat up by a janitor
Puffy Gumdrop was pinned down against the bed. Normally in her rage filled state the mare was more then a match for most stallions, but with the blood loss that she had suffered all that monumental strength had simply bled out of her. She was completely helpless, and for one of the first times in her life she was scared.
The gray stallion was old, he was weak, she should have easily been able to beat him, but there was something magical about his razor and the wounds that she had suffered that just refused to heal. She was filled with a deep, almost all-consuming rage.
Unlike every other time in her life when she had gotten angry, this time the anger didn’t come with an increase to her strength, she was completely helpless as the stallion wrapped his hooves around her chest and pulled her backwards.
He propped himself up against the headboard of the bed, his foul member twitching to life in excitement at her suffering. It was a situation she had never expected to be in. It was meant to be easy taking him out, and it seemed that underestimating him had been her biggest mistake.
Her head was fuzzy. Her limbs felt incredibly heavy, it was difficult to even stay standing, and as Hatter leaned in close, she could smell aged whisky, woodsmoke and mothballs.
His accent was clearly from Trottingham, but he used words from all over the place, and as he spoke, his horn glowed and floated his straight razor back into view, hovering it right before her eyes as if threatening to carve her eyes out.
"Fuck you,” She muttered, “You don’t have the fucking… Right to judge me.”
“See, that’s what ponies get wrong. They see my work and think that I see myself as some kind of- “
As he spoke, his cock suddenly pressed up against her ass, and without another wasted word, he forced his hips forward. The scream she let out was muffled by his hoof, tears stinging at her eyes as his member forced inside of her, feeling as though somebody was attempting to stuff a red-hot poker into her ass and dig around at her insides.
She had never done stuff with her rear end before, she was a lesbian, she didn’t even like stallions, and now this old fuck was raping her from behind!
The rage that she felt flared up like an inferno, a forest fire, a fucking roaring, cataclysmic volcano. But her strength didn’t return, and as the stallion laid claim to her ass, she felt a stabbing pain in her leg.
Her gold eyes glanced down, looking at a needle and thread that were wrapped in the same green magic that the stallion always used. He was holding the razor in his hoof, but if she hit him hard enough, she could break his focus.
Tears. She was almost crying, she didn’t want to cry in front of him, she didn’t want to give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Biting down and flaring her nostrils, she found herself once again expertly pinned by the stallion as he begin to thrust in and out of her rear end.
He begin to hum a soft tune, thrusting into her rear with a slow, measured pace as he stitched up her fucking wounds. Her head was so filled with anger that thinking up an intelligent plan to get out of here was useless. She wanted to do things to this stallion that would make even a demon pale.
It couldn’t have felt good for him, thrusting in and out of her rear end without the slightest drop of lubrication, but he seemed to be enjoying it regardless, as if her suffering alone was enough to get him off.
Those emerald green eyes of his were peering down into the very depths of her soul, violating her inside and out as he drank in every ounce of her suffering. She was going to kill him. She was going to fucking end him, she was going to butcher him like a fucking animal.
Hatter didn’t care in the fucking slightest. He kept raping her with all the gusto of someone out for a Sunday stroll, as if this was just a day to day thing for him. Every thrust caused her insides to burn and an immense agony to flare through her. She bit down on her lip firmly, desperately attempting to stop herself from crying. Her strength returned a little, just enough to cause pain to her own lip as she firmly bit down on her lip.
He was almost tender in the way that he tended to her wounds, being sure to tend to each one. Her body had dribbled blood onto him and some of it had even gotten onto the bed, the scent of her blood mixing with the stench of woodsmoke from the stallion. She tried to focus on that rather then the fact that her rear-end raping seemed to be speeding up.
The stallion’s breathing was starting to get heavy. She didn’t know how long it had been, how long this stallion had been raping her, each minute felt like an hour, like that poker was digging deeper into her, violating her depths and causing her eyes to water to the point she could barely see.
She wasn’t going to cry however, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She was going to get her strength back and then she was going to get a knife and drive it right into his fucking guts until the light went out in his eyes and-
Puffy suddenly had her thoughts violated by a powerful thrust from the stallion, feeling as though her guts were being violated by a knife. It forced a screech from her that she turned into a snarl, growling at him like some kind of fucking animal.
The stallion seemed to draw some kind of sick amusement from this, placing her face right next to hers. She made a sudden, violent attempt to bite his face, but he pulled back and begin to fuck her even harder.
“Come on whore… Cry for me. Let’s see that pretty face decorated with those perfect tears!” He said, bouncing her up and down on his dick like she was little more than a sex toy. His hips violently smacked against her flank, filling the air with the lewd smacking of violent sex.
His body was bony, her insides were in agony and as his hips smacked against her flank, those bony hips stabbed into her rear. He was like an out of control animal, ploughing into her without any sign of mercy or remorse.
She was a killer, through and through, she had killed ponies in fits of rage or simply because she felt like it and never felt a thing. This stallion? He was an animal, he didn’t even get the distinction of being a killer, the moniker of monster was much more apt, fitting him even better then the descriptions she had seen in the papers.
Hatter slammed her down into the bed, both his hooves going to her throat and beginning to cut off her air supply. In his eyes there wasn’t hatred, he abhorred her very existence in that moment. He was going to kill her, he was going to kill her and it wouldn’t even mean anything to him. She would be snuffed out with all the care of a candle, and then the world would forget about her. They wouldn’t even find her mutilated corpse in this motel room, it would be as though she had been unmade.
Fear. It was an alien sensation to her, rapidly turning towards horror as his hooves clamped around her trachea firmly and she couldn’t breath. She begin to struggle at this point, her body was going into a feral state of its own.
Up until this point she had been completely focused on the cock buried inside of her rear, but now her body was trying simply to allow her to survive. She could barely feel his cock throbbing inside of her.
It was as if her soul had already given up and was trying to abandon her body. She felt disconnected to everything, and yet there was a deafening thumping in her ears, the deafening thumping of her own heartbeat. This was it, this was where she was going to die!
She let out a desperate, wheezing mewl for help, and suddenly she felt Hatter convulse atop her, his cock throbbing desperately as it begin to shoot his warm stallion seed deep into her rear.
His hooves were gripped so tightly around her trachea she was sure it was about to be crushed. Darkness was starting to close in at the edges of her vision as stars danced and burst before her eyes. This was it. This was where she was going to fucking die.
And then she could breath. She sucked in burning breaths of air that irritated her throat and felt like fire against her lungs as she let out a desperate rasp. She was alive. She was alive! The celebration was short lived as the pain from her throat and ass bit into her, reminding her of just how dire of a situation she was in.
Rasping and rolling around against the bed, she realized just how weak she had become. Her vision was still swirling and stars were still bursting before it. The stallion showed no mercy however.
Before she had even fully recovered, he had her pinned up against the side of the bed frame, his razor pressed firmly to the side of her throat, threatening to slice her open if she dared fight back.
Honestly that might have been better then whatever he was going to do to her. The stallion was in her snatch now, but by this point she was fading rapidly, her strength was expended, at any moment she was going to pass out.
The monstrous stallion seemed intent on not allowing her to pass out. That wide fanged grin was locked across his face in an obviously mocking tone, and he locked lips with her firmly, his tongue forcing into her maw.
That had been a mistake, as she attempted to bite down. He realized what was about to happen, pulling his tongue back as he mashed his face even harder into her. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in her leg, and she felt a cold sensation spreading across her leg.
She couldn’t move her head to look down, but she was certain that he had stabbed something into her flank.
The cold sensation was spreading through her body from her thigh, and strangely she could feel her strength returning. She was starting to feel better.
But her body was also starting to feel numb. With a snarl, she tried to headbutt him again, but her body was already feeling disconnected, like it wasn’t responding to her commands.
“Bastard. I’ll fucking kill you.” She slurred. Her tongue was already feeling numb within her maw. She didn’t know how much more she could take, the humiliation was beyond measure.
Hatter’s cock was still thrusting in and out of her snatch throughout this whole exhange, and she realized that whatever he had injected her with had returned her senses in full force, but had also prevented her body from being able to move.
She could feel more vividly then ever every single cut that covered her body, every single motion of his member as it thrust in and out of her. At this point, she could barely even feel her tongue or use it to form words. All she could do was take it.
His thrusting seemed to be speeding up. She could hear his heavy breathing in her ear and hear his laboured breathing with each thrust. He was using her as a sex toy, not even bothering to taunt her at this point. She had already mewled for help. She had already been driven to cry from his actions, and that seemed to be all the stallion had wanted from her.
His member was twitching and throbbing softly, she could feel pre starting to spill into her most sacred of places. It was over, she had lost everything.
His thrusting sped up, his member ploughing deep inside of her as he let out a loud grunt, and then… He was climaxing again, a rough back and forth motion with no ceremony behind it, simply working to bury his seed as deep inside of her as he could get it.
Her broken body was laid out across the bed like some kind of cheap sex doll. By this point the cold sensation was gone, but she was completely unable to move her limbs.
She couldn’t move at all. It was a strange, alien kind of horror, being a prisoner within her own body. Being trapped and forced to simply lie there. The stallion could do whatever he wanted to her, and she was completely helpless to do anything about it, but this time it wasn’t because she was too weak, even the hope of her strength returning had been taken away from her.
It was at this point the waterworks really started. Tears streaked down her cheeks and her soft sobbing filled the air and caught at the back of her throat. She wanted out of her. She wanted to go back to her life. It wasn’t meant to end like this…
Unfortunately for her, fate didn’t much care what she wanted. She got to lie here with cum leaking out of her snatch, cooling against the inside of her thighs and within her.
"You know, I never really was one for torture. Everyone always remembers me for the way my victims died, but that was out of necessity. If I'd just killed them people would've forgotten about it in an instant. I made them into statements. I made sure the upper class nonces and bankers and estate agents knew thwt they weren't above the mortal coil... So that's the problem, I want to torture you to death. I want so very badly to give in and make you suffer beyond any comprehension. But it's not me anymore. I've moved on, I feed ducks now for fuck's sake."
She didn't give the slightest fuck about what he had to say, but unfortunately she was forced to lie there and listen.
Hatter popped back into her field of view, still blabbering on in that thick accent like he had nothing to fear and all the time in the world to spare, which was the case. She'd lost and was helpless to his every whim and he knew it. "So yeah anyway. I got all these cool things off an old friend of mine. Really nice mare who did a lot of good in the world and had a lot of crazy gadgets. I just so happen to have such a gadget with me today and you get to help try it out and see if it works. Isn't that exciting?"
Puffy Gumdrop just lay there with his fluids lazily leaking out of her and did her best to glare holes through his skull. It didn't help make her feel better in the slightest, but she hoped that it was sending a clear message to him that the moment she got chance, she was going to try and kill him.
Hatter didn't seem to care in the slightest as he produced a set of four large, archaic looking brass rings, convered in markings and inscriptions that she couldn't hope to decipher even in her wildest dreams.
Hatter wordlessly moved and manipulated her body as if she was nothing more then a doll for him to play with, each of the brass rings being slid over her limbs, right up until they sat just beneath her shoulders and whatever her hind shoulders were called.
The rings were cold. With her enhanced sense of touch and feeling she could feel so distinctly each of them pressing into her from the surface of the bed. They were quite wide, about five inches, and also quite thick.
She didn't know what the rings did, but with how the stallion had treated her so far she knew it likely wasn't good.
Hatter strutted about the bed like he was examining some prime cut of meat, a sickening expression of pride plastered across his face as he examined every inch of her.
Once he was appropriately satisfied with his work, he leaned right up close to her and gave a grim smile. His breath was hot and sickening, but she kept her gaze firm and unwavering.
It didn't make the blindest bit of difference, and Hatter took his time with the monologue, making sure to announciate each word as if he was getting some kind of sick kick from the mere act of speaking.
"I've never actually tested these out, but I can't wait to see if they're going to work or not. We're going to have so much fun going through this experience together. Or at least I am. Can you guess what they do?" As he asked the question he stared down at her as if expecting a response. Even if she'd wanted to give one, it was just as impossible as all the other times he'd spoken to her.
The stupid stallion took a few more seconds to realise she couldn't respond, then leaned down and begin to fiddle with each of the rings in turn.
One by one the rings shrank, firmly gripping each of her limbs. The runes on them, from what she could see from the corner of her eyes, glowed a bright red. There was a sharp, biting pain, and then...
If this was really the case, Hatter didn't seem to have realised it just yet, as he was still stood there with a half smile on his face, before he leaned down and just... Tore one of her limbs off.
She didn't know how to describe it. It was the kind of thing of thing they caused her brain to have a complete and utter shutdown, freezing up as a shocked expression tried to form on her face.
He was holding her limb like some kind of children's toy, but the strangest part of it was the fact she could still completely feel everything that was happening to her limb, as though it was still attached to her body.
Only it wasn't. Her limb was completely detached, and it seemed like half the copper ring had detached. With a smirk, the stallion repeted this process for all of her other limbs. If she had felt violated before, now the sensation was quadrupled.
Hatter seemed to know it too, grinning brightly at her as he laid out all four of her limbs ok the bed, poking and prodding them, not stopping until he was satisfied that they were all functioning as he intended.
"Oh, we are going to have so much fun together!"
Inside however, she was starting to loudly scream, betting for whatever gods were listening to help her.
Even if something did hear her screams, they went woefully unanswered.
The Trottingham Terror gets beat up by a janitor
Sleeper trains were generally more comfortable then regular trains. Coming here, he had taken one of the cheap economy class trains, which had been a mistake. He wasn’t going to be repeating it again, he was rich enough to be able to afford the more expensive trains and the finer things in life. After all Hatter had done and been through, he felt as though he deserved such luxuries.
Behind him, he was pulling a large baggage trunk that rolled over the smooth surface of the platform with a soft rumble, easily able to be held in his magic. Already, he was starting to feel better about this outing. The train that pulled into the station was a grand old thing made out of iron that had been formed and bent into an areodynamic shape, blowing clouds of steam everywhere as it waited to roll on once more.
Now that was a train.
He moved his way over to the train, a nice young colt in a red outfit that made him look like a doorpony holding out a hoof clad in a white velvet glove towards him.
Hatter shook his head, “That’s quite alright. I’ve got some life left in my old bones yet,” A polite chuckle followed, before he turned around and almost popped something out of place by improperly lifting his luggage over the lip between the train and the platform.
As he walked past the stallion, he took a moment to note how neatly sewn his uniform was. A custom job, if he wasn’t mistaken. Moving past the rows of economy seats that day passages could sit in, he made his way to his room.
A room on a train. It was an exciting thought. They didn’t build things like that these days. Young ponies were always in too much of a rush burning themselves at both ends to enjoy such luxaries. Ponies were meant to be ponies, not double ended candle sticks.
The room was grand, but cozy. A set of two large couch seats that were big enough to lay in, if you didn’t sprawl out too much, along with a wooden table! He wasn’t sure why he’d gotten quite so excited over the table, but it looked like one that would be found in some fancy manor house, and even had a table cloth and several doilies spread across it.
Looking over the red fabric, he decided that it was some kind of felt or velvet replica. The room also had large windows with blinds that allowed him to look outside. For now it was simply showing off a brick wall, but once the train got moving, there would likely be something more interesting to look at.
There were two luggage shelves overhead, but Hatter wasn’t interested in putting his luggage away. Instead he lay it out across one of the seats, closing the blind at the entrance to the room, then pulling the case open.
Puffy Petals glared hatefully up at him from out of the suitcase, a rag firmly secured in her mouth to prevent her from making too much noise, although honetly he shouldn’t have been too worried as by this point she had completely given up making noise.
Hefting her from out of the suitcase, he placed her gently down in the seat across from him, ignoring her attempts to glare holes through him once again.
A stiff nod from the mare, and a gentle smile from him, before he leaned over and gently removed her gag. One would have expected him to dish out some kind of hateful torture from this point onwards. This wasn’t what happened however, instead the stallion moved over to her, gently brushing her brown mane.
Sweet promises of better things to come were uttered, promises that he was going to look after her. Lies or otherwise, the exact details of what was said were lost.
The train begin to roll out of the station, and a stallion with a thinning beard and a failing moustache entered the room, dragging a cart behind him. Being of an obviously polite upbringing, he didn’t even mention the limbless mare currently lying against the chair. If he had been paying closer attention, he might have felt the palpable tension in the air, as if both the ponies were waiting for the other to try and make a move, wordlessly goading each other on.
He wasn’t paying attention however, simply going through the motions of his job.
Hatter peered over the plates of teacakes, scones and cucumber sandwiches towards the light red mare.
Another soft laugh, followed this time by a long pause as the stallion picked up a butter knife that had been set out, using it to spread butter over a scone as he chewed his lip thoughtfully.
“Now, if I wanted to see you suffer and hurt you, why in the world would I be sitting here serving you tea? If you don’t want tea, it just means more for me… But, you’ve put me in a strange position. I can’t exactly kill you, so now I’m just going to have to look after you.”
A smirk spread across her face, “And how long do you think you’re going to live, you’re so old you’re practically spent already. Are you just going to get bored of me one day and cut my throat?”
He sipped softly at his teacup, then set it down, “Not that it’s all going to be sunshine and rainbows. I’m still totally going to do some pretty terrible things to you, after what you did.
Hatter slid over next to her, grinning softly to himself as he bought up several items of food and laid them out. Scones, cucumber sandwiches, it was a practical feast of a tea party. As Hatter fed her, he produced a brush from within his jacket, running it gently through her brown mane, gently teasing all the knots out of it.
Once she was fed, Hatter begin to kiss against her body. She shuffled uncomfortably and attempted to pull away, but Hatter didn’t allow her to do so. Several more items slipped from out of his jacket, tape measures and strips of fabric, quickly taking measurements.
It seemed like she was trapped with him. She didn’t feel good about this of course, and desperately wished that she had paid more attention in any of her classes or had done something to make herself more educated. She soon resigned herself to the fact that it would take some kind of genius to think their way out of this one. She was many things, and maybe a bit self centred and overconfident of her abilities, but she was nowhere near a genius.
The most concerning thing about this whole situation was the fact that he was being so nice to her. She would have been fine with the torture and the abuse, but the stallion being nice to her? It was something she never could have expected, and it deeply unnerved her.
Was he just toying with her? Was he going to grow bored and kill her once this was all over? There was no way to know, and that terrified her more then any amount of abuse he could have dished out.
Things only got weirder for her from here, as the stallion had the staff draw water for a bath! She didn’t even know where they’d get that much warm water on a train, or why they were being so nice to Hatter.
Hatter had carried her around on his back, and for a few moments she had considered screaming for help, but she realized that even if she did end up getting the guard involved, she’d end up at the end of a noose for her crimes just as much as Hatter would.
That’d be fine. She wanted out of this situation, but unfortunately she couldn’t muster up the courage to bring this nightmare to an end. As they passed by ponies, instead of looking upon her with worry, they looked upon her with pity.
She wasn’t some broken down mare. She didn’t need or want their pity, and once again she felt rage bubbling up inside of her. Hatter made his way into the bathroom, which was more of an old, out of the way room. It was by no means as fancy as the rest of the train, but it had a tin bathtub in the middle of it, filled with thick lavender bubbles that scented the air and made her even more angry.
Puffy refused to smell like such girly scents. She refused to let this stallion bathe her out of some kind of sick pity… Or maybe he was getting off on it.
She didn’t know, she didn’t care.
Hatter didn’t bother responding to her words. He was busy stripping off his jacket, removing her limbs from within it and placing them on the cold, bare floor, likely one of the only parts of the train that didn’t have carpet.
It was a weird sensation, being able to feel her limbs even though they were detached from her body. As her golden eyes stared at his form, she came to realize just how badly fucked up this stallion was.
She had seen him bare before, when she had stripped him down and tied him to a bed, but seeing him standing, seeing his muscles working, it was… How was he still functioning? How had this bastard survived for so long.
Large battle scars from slashing weapons covered his sides, mixed with circler scars from puncture wounds, and scars she couldn’t even hope to understand the origin of. It looked like he had been dragged through barbed wire, then stabbed and slashed to shit, before managing to drag himself from the grave using sheer spite alone.
And he was by no means a strong stallion. His limbs were thin and looked like they were barely taking his weight. One of his shoulders was swollen. The only part of him that looked like it had any actual mass to it was his flank, which was thick and feminine… Giving the impression of a mare.
“You’re a fucking mess.” She said with a cold laugh.
With those words, he picked her up, and despite her many attempts at complaining, she was dumped into the water, which was actually temperate. She felt like a cork bobbing about in a bottle of wine, desperately working her stumps to try and break free or swim, but it didn’t work.
Hatter just stared down at her for a few moments, then bought up the wash sponge, supporting her with his hooves, he used his magic to gently work the sponge into her fur, washing over her body in a series of gentle motions.
She simply glared up at him like a half drowned cat. The stallion gently moved the sponge over the entire surface of her body, before pausing upon reaching her private parts.
With that, he gently worked the sponge against the outside of her vagina, working it into the opening slightly, clumsily cleaning her to the best of his ability. She was not amused in the slightest by this, and it made her feel violated on an incredibly deep level, but she was glad to have his foulness washed from out of her.
Once she was done being washed, Hatter pulled her from out of the bathtub and gently dried her off with a plain white towel. The shame she felt from this was beyond anything she could have really imagined, but at least she was clean, and it was better to be clean then to be comfortable.
With her bath done, Hatter laid her hooves out around her form, producing a… Hoof cleaning kit from within his jacket? She didn’t know why he had so much junk in his jacket, or how he managed to carry it all around with legs as thin as his, but she wasn’t about to ask.
As he spoke, he leaned forward, pressing his nose into one of her back hooves and taking a deep sniff that was the creepiest shit she had ever seen, and felt incredibly weird as the sensation was translated over to her.
The stallion glared over to her, before forcing the rag back into her mouth, preventing her from voicing her complaints. With her complaints silenced, he planted a kiss against the frog of her hoof, then dragged a slow seductive lick over it.
“Remember… you deserve all of this. You’ve ruined and torn apart so many lives, and I’m just getting… Revenge for that. You caused this to yourself.”
She was expecting him to follow up that statement with more abuse, but instead he carried on cleaning and caring for her hooves, using the bath water to clean them, before bringing out a hoof-file and cleaning them to perfection.
Once her hooves had been molested and cleaned, they headed back to their room. From here she was sealed back in her suitcase, and she wasn’t able to see or hear anything.
The only thing she could do was sit in darkness and wait for something to happen. She could still feel her hooves, as strange as it was, and with all other sensation cut off, she found whatever feelings and experiences they were having was magnified several times.
She felt a soft tickling, teasing sensation against her hooves from outside her prison, and with a soft squeak she tried to suppress a laugh. What the hell was that freak doing? How could he go from hardcore torture to… Tickling?
The tickling sensation was back. Her back right hoof suddenly lighting up with a firm sensation like feathers being dragged back and forth across it. Normally it wouldn’t have been that bad, but with her body currently just lying in a dark trunk with no light or sound, beyond the odd noise coming from the vibrating train, the sensation was magnified to the point she couldn’t hold back.
A loud laugh ripped forth from her lips as she thrashed about on her back. With the gag in her mouth, she was forced to draw breath in through her nose. This wasn’t torture, it was simply weird! But the sensation grew stronger, and then her back left hoof joined in with the sensation.
She was flopping about like a fish on land in moments, her desperate breaths through her nose instantly being expended by the howling laughter that was attempting to break through the gag and failing to do so.
It seemed that the past day or so was one filled with firsts for her, and this was certainly a first. She couldn’t see anything, and with her only body overwhelemed by the tickling sensation, she couldn’t hear anything over her only laughter. All her senses but touch and taste were shut off, her brain was desperately trying to find whatever stimulation it could, and it seemed that the only stimulation she could get was in the form of this hellish tickling.
She thrashed and writhed, screaming her laughter into the saliva soaked rag. Nobody could hear her, and even if they could, she was being completely ignored. The tickling sensation coming from the feathers being dragged along her frogs suddenly came to a stop, just as quick as it had began, and she was left desperately sucking in breath through her nose.
It felt like Puffy was suffocating. Losing control of her own ability to draw breath was scary. It was as if her own body was attempting to choke the very life from out of her.
A cool sensation splattered across her hooves next, some kind of oil or cooling substance. She didn’t care what it was, it felt good on her overstimulated frogs, and forced a soft gasp from her lips.
What the fuck. What was even happening? Then cooling sensation quickly turned to a warm one, and then it felt like her frogs were burning! It felt as though she had suffered some severe allergic reaction. She writhed softly and tried desperately to will her front hooves to move as the oil was applied to them, but there was nothing that she could do.
They weren’t currently a part of her. They were completely out of her control and all she could do was lie there and hope that the torture was over instantly.
The tickling sensation got even more intense, feathers now working her front hooves, while what felt like the hooves of the monsterious stallion himself worked at her back hooves.
She couldn’t hold herself back, coiling and writhing like a spider in a frying pan, her stumps frantically waving at the ground as she writhed and squirmed in a desperate and failed attempt to get free.
The sensation was frying her poor brain, laughter kept trying to howl from her lips as her nose worked desperately to draw all the breath it could, but was unfortunately unable to do so.
Her mind. She could feel her mind starting to fail as it lost the ability to put coherent thoughts together and instead was only able to focus on the sensation of her hooves being brutally assaulted.
Air. Her body was soon screaming out for it, her nostrils flaring in an incredibly unladylike fashion as she desperately tried to pull more oxygen into her blood. By this point, the limbless red mare was curled up, as if she was attempting to fold herself in half. Tears were starting to form in the corners of her eyes, and folding herself over was not doing anything to disuade the constant overstimulation.
She was dying! Why the fuck was she dying? Her body was compressing itself by doubling over, preventing her from drawing air easily into her lungs and instead forcing it out. She couldn’t breathe. The tickling had forced every ounce of air from her lungs and she was dying! She was choking on her own laughter in the most literal of senses.
And then just like that it was over. She was left lying on her back in the box, her burning, screaming lungs heaving to try and allow her the chance to recover. Her tingling hooves were left with an after-image of the sensation, something she hated to admit, actually felt pretty good.
For now she could simply lie there like some kind of dazed fish, her poor hooves lying somewhere, completely at the mercy of a stallion she hated with every fibre of her being. She hated it. She hated it! There, her thoughts were starting to collect themselves, and she was starting to get her senses back. And then she felt some kind of soft roller against her back hoof, something that made her snicker softly.
She hadn’t known it was possible to feel fear at the prospect of being tickled, but her body was somehow attempting to flinch away from the sensation. And then, something wet touched against one of her front hooves.
Gross! He was licking one of her fucking hooves again… The tingling sent a strange sensation through her, one that made her vagina wink with excitement…
What the fuck. What the actual flying fuck? What was this monster doing to her hooves? What, under Celestia’s blessed sun, was happening?
And then the feathers were back at her front hooves. Her thoughts were scattered, desperately trying to pull her body away from the over stimulation of body parts that weren’t even attached to her body any more.
Puffy had no idea when she was going to get to breathe normally again. Her hooves were still tingling from the first round of over-stimulation, and her lungs were still burning. But her body didn’t seem to have an off-switch for whatever the fuck caused a laugh reflex, and she was soon howling into the gag.
This time there was no way to hold back her tears, and they streamed down her cheeks as she bit down on the saliva soaked rag and did her best to keep her breathing under control.
It was hopeless. She was soon writhing around on her back again, eyes rolling back as tears streamed down her cheeks, screaming her laughter into her gag and thrashing around in a hopeless attempt to get it to stop. Nobody was coming to save her.
Hopelessness would have overtaken her body, but her mind was currently being torn apart, it wasn’t possible to think clearly with her instincts in complete control. It was only possible to focus on her own body freaking out, then trying to fix its freaking out by making her breathe rapidly and writhe like the pathetic creature that she was.
Tears soaked her cheeks, her eyes were unable to focus properly, and it didn’t even matter because she was in complete darkness. She didn’t even notice it happening, but due to the fact that her other senses were currently off, and her brain was currently being scrambled by the overstimulation, she lost track of time.
This wasn’t a good place to be in. She had no idea how long she spent in that dark box, the horrific over-stimulation of her hooves leaving her completely broken, but between each round of overstimulation, there was a round of soft kissing, rubbing and teasing.
To begin with, she found herself dreading the next round of tickling, then looking forward to the brief respites between tickles. She started off begging for mercy, then she gave into hoplessness, before looping around to pleading.
By the end of it, she was prepared to do anything to make it stop. Her tears of joy were replaced with tears of sorrow. Her eyes were so sore she was sure there was no more tears left in her entire body. The side of her face was soaked in tears and saliva, and when the tickling finally did stop, the only thing she could do was try to curl herself into a ball.
It felt like she had done a ten mile sprint. It felt like she had done thousands of ab-crunches non-stop for the past five days. Every single one of her muscles felt like jelly that had been left to melt in the sun. Her thoughts were scrambled and disjointed, and her cunt was absolutely soaked and burning, howling for proper stimulation as she begged for the opposite.
The only rest she had gotten was brief bouts where she had fallen unconscious, but they hadn’t lasted long, and they hadn’t left her feeling rested either. Her hooves were still tingling, but now the tingling felt like pleasurable television static that was trying to roll over the rest of her body.
Light. The dull cabin light was blinding to her poor eyes as Hatter lifted her from out of the box. This time she didn’t have any snarky remarks, she was on the edge of exhaustion as was far too spent to even think of angering him further.
She just wanted to rest. She’d do anything for some rest.
Hatter pulled her over to his lap, a grin on his face that could have only meant bad things, and as her eyes adjusted to the dull light of the train cabin, she was finally able to get her first look at what her hooves looked like now.
They were laid out in a neat pile on top of each other, something that she wasn’t even able to properly feel as the overstimulated television static drowned out every other sensation she could have hoped to feel.
Her frogs were red and swollen, to the point they no longer sat comfortably within her hoof. Even if she did get them reattached now, she would have to press that part of her hoof into the ground, and she had no idea how that would feel, but it was unlikely to be good.
Hatter pulled her over to him, forcing her to sit in his lap as she removed the gag from her maw, staring at the saliva soaked rag with a mixture of disgust and bemusement, before opening the window to the train and tossing it into the great beyond with his magic.
She barely even had the strength to talk, but she attempted to form words, pulling her fractured mind back together and attempting to form an insult suitable for the torment she had been put through.
Every inch of her body was sore. Every inch of muscle was aching… It felt like she was made out of rubber, and it was painful…
The sensation was strange, rolling through her body, causing her to blush bright crimson at the shame that this was causing her. She was so helpless, so weak, and her body… It tingled. It felt so good. Her snatch was dripping down the inside of her legs, the warm juices mixing with the cold juices that were already there.
The stallion smiled down at her, then forced another rag into her maw, cutting off her speech. Next the stallion decided to torment her further by lifting up her severed limbs and showing them off to her like they were some kind of grim trophies or collectables.
Her frogs were bright red, swollen, and all of her hooves had been painted with a red varnish. She hated what he had done to them, but with the strange tasting rag in her mouth she couldn’t even swear at him.
With this in mind, she was also helpless when the stallion begin to rub at her frogs, sending that same pleasurable sensation ripping through her body, causing her cheeks to flush a bright red as he bought each of her limbs up to his maw, gently pressing his lips against each of her frogs and gently kissing against them.
Each kiss felt so good. Each kiss felt like heaven, it made her body quiver softly, but this time he didn’t stop after just a short round of kisses. His tongue spilled from out of his mouth and lapped around her frogs. She was forced to feel every ounce of this strange sensation as he reached down, starting to massage and molest her frogs.
She wiggled and squirmed in his lap, and was promptly placed on the couch, panting heavily into her gag as her snatch begin to gush over this strange new stimulation.
Puffy had no idea what the fuck he had done to her hooves, but it felt good. It felt heavenly. Her snatch felt like it was on fire as he worked his tongue into the extra sensitive spot right in the middle of her frogs.
Fuck. He was going to make her cum. There was nothing she could do to stop it. She was going to cum from having her hooves played with. The literal torture she had suffered was going to make her cum.
He pulled one of her hooves into his mouth and began to basically deep throat it, his tongue dancing across its surface as he moved a hoof over to her snatch.
Her flank felt so sore, but the gentle rubbing against her clit felt… Amazing. As he rubbed one hoof against her clit, the other hoof rubbed at one of her frogs, and his magic rubbed firmly against each of her frogs all at once.
The strange tingling sensation of his magic against her sensitive frogs, the rubbing against her clit… It was all too much, and she had never felt shame like she did right in that moment as an incredibly powerful orgasm suddenly ripped through her body.
Her mind and body had been sent tumbling many times before, but it was an immense pleasure that tore her asunder. She convulsed roughly on the couch as her snatch clenched and convulsed, desperately trying to milk a cock or something that wasn’t actually there.
Afterwards, she was spent, she found the world tumbling away from her. The pleasure was… Buzzing through her, rolling over every ounce of her muscles…
It was so good to just… Slip away.
Hatter looked over the unconscious mare, a contented smile painted across her face, and as he pulled her into his lap, he felt a strange cont feeling starting to grow within his own chest.
He finally had a toy, something to call his own. He begin to drift off to the gentle rocking of the train, and all was good.
