Wicked Bliss

The pony was overweight, but he knew how to use it to his advantage. He was straddling her, and she was struggling to draw breath. He pulled a ball gag from a utility belt he had wrapped around his stomach, and he forced it roughly into her mouth and secured it behind her head. There was a foam-grip strap attached to it, and he yanked on it to pull her head around. In his other hoof he had a cattle prod, which he was using to force her to trot with him towards a cart parked about sixty yards away. She was mumbling in pain. The cart had a tarpaulin sheet lying in the back. Presumably he was going to use that to hide her body.

A silhouette zipped into his back, and he cried out and fell into the gutter. A mare was struggling impatiently with the filly, who was now writhing and screaming through her nose as though she was afraid she was being taken away by somepony else. The mare was getting fed up, and she snapped at her, saying, ‘Hold still!’ She was tugging at the ball gag, which detached. As soon as it did, the filly galloped away as fast she could. She was still screaming and crying, and she got away down the street. Nopony else was in the vicinity; it was just the mare and the attacker. The mare muttered, ‘You’re welcome,’ as the filly ran away.

She shifted her focus to the attacker, who was back on his hooves and running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. She flew at him and cut him off, and she dipped onto her front hooves and kicked him strong with her rear hooves, and he fell again, face screwed up with pain. She looked as though she was enjoying it. When he got back up, he was raging. He spat some blood out of his mouth and hissed in a thick voice, ‘Get lost.’

She just smirked and called, ‘Trash.’ He glared at her for a bit. Then he stormed off as though he’d been in an argument, but she followed him. She was flying at this point. ‘You’re the lowest of the low,’ she said.

‘Leave me alone,’ he grunted.

‘Like you left alone that poor filly, huh? We can do this the easy way or the hard way.’

He grabbed something from his belt and threw it at her. It turned out to be a little knife like a vegetable knife. It flew close to her face, but she was high up enough that she had time to dodge. When he saw that the blade had missed, he swore and made a dash for it down the street. She shot after him and barrelled into him. They wrestled for a bit, but the pony, who’d shown before he was good with his weight, managed to get on top of her. He reached for his belt again, and she could tell she’d made a mistake because she was wriggling to get away and cursing. She took the shot in the chest, and she kept struggling, but slowly she passed out. He rolled off her once she’d gone limp, and he dragged her body to his cart. He was looking up and down the street all the while, but nopony else came. Once he’d covered her body with the tarp, he went back to collect the knife, the gag, and the cattle prod from the street.

The mare was Rainbow Dash. She was quite unmistakable.