For once in her life, Twilight was visiting one of her friends in the hospital who wasn't Rainbow Dash. Or, rather, her friend wasn't Rainbow Dash. Of course, Dash was her friend, but she wasn't the friend who was in the hospital. Well, Dash was in the hospital, because she was also visiting Rarity, but she wasn't the patient, and, ah screw it, let's start over again ...
Rarity was resplendent in a full body cast that complimented her snow-white fur, with a matching colostomy bag. The azure of her eyes was accented with two immense bruises, and a little bit of fresh blood had soaked through her bandages, providing striking red accents that drew attention to her smooth form.
The horned herbivore hummed happily from within her bandages, feeling the dropsy slowness of a morphine drip and bobbing her head to rhythms unheard by sober ears.
"Rarity,” Twilight spoke, trying to get the unicorn’s lost attention, “what happened?"
"Only the most marvelous thing,” the deranged diva smiled in delight, “I've fallen in love."
Twilight nodded her head and reached into her saddlebags. After several moments of searching, she dug out the proper pamphlets. She had come prepared for any circumstance, from drug abuse to debt, and now she looked through the pamphlet labeled, "So You’re In an Abusive Relationship."
"No one who loved you would hurt you like this-"
Rarity broke in hastily, blushing a little at the memory, "Oh, but I asked him to do it."
Twilight scrunched her nose a moment and turned through the pamphlet, looking for a different page. She settled on the appropriate passage, "you can’t make excuses for this sort of behavior, his abuse isn't your-"
"No, no, Twilight, I literally asked for it. I said, please and everything."
"You asked him to,” Twilight blinked furiously as she tried to process this new information then tried to start over again from the beginning, which never works, “but, he threw you in front of a car."
"No, darling, he is the car," said Rarity, enunciating very clearly for the slow scholar.
"A car? Look, I know you've been hanging out with Fluttershy, and she's part of that whole alternative lifestyle,” the unicorn waved a purple hoof as she tried to sum up Fluttershy’s otherkin obsession in words and failed, “thing, but she really isn't a weretree or dryad or whatever she keeps talking about. She doesn't have relationships with her trees."
"She does. She and Applejack have named several hundred of them and drawn up elaborate family trees," replied Rarity, giggling slightly at the horrible pun.
"Ok, but I meant erotic relationships with the trees."
"She does that, too. I once had to help her with a splinter in her hoo hah."
"Hoo-what? Is that a Dr. Schleswig reference?"
"It’s a euphemism for," the proper lady leaned forward, to whisper the last word, "vagina."
Twilight made a mental note to lecture her pegasus friend about the importance of safe sex before trying again, "Fluttershy is an insane shut-in who has sex with trees, but that’s never put her in a body cast."
"Oh, it was worth it," Rarity fell back in her wheelchair as her eyes rolled back in ecstasy.
"You have to promise me you won't do it again," Twilight pleaded, laying a hoof on her friend’s immobilized leg.
"We may never see one another again,” Rarity whined, “for he has gone to be captured by the Germans in order to escape a POW camp.”
"If he was already outside, why did he have to get captured?"
"In order to escape," Rarity sighed, disappointed as usual at her friend's complete inability to understand pony drama or car trouble.
So, for many days Rarity pined, and, in time, her bones mended. Her physical scars faded until they could be concealed under make-up, but the ache in her heart could never be concealed.
Then, came the day she was forcefully ejected from the Hospital by the harsh edicts of the Single-Payer Health System. She walked out the double doors of the hospital on quavering legs, blinking like a newborn foal at the light of the sun and wondering why none of her friends had come to greet her on her dismissal. She was a sad, sad pony indeed.
Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by the revving of a four-stroke engine, and Rarity turned her head to see McQueen sitting on top of a stolen Triumph TR6 Trophy. His red metal frame shone from under a leather jacket.
After several moments, the unicorn broke the silence by whispering, "I thought you might never escape the Nazis.”
"I'm the greatest escape artist, rebel and also car that ever lived," replied McQueen as he climbed off his motorcycle, dropping a filterless cigarette to the ground and grinding it out under one of his wheels.
“Oh, McQueen,” Rarity swooned. Or maybe she just crumpled to the ground because her legs were still a little broken.
“Captain McQueen,” the car corrected, flipping his rearview mirror over to reveal the Captain’s bars he’d cleverly concealed on his person in case of capture.
“Oh, Captain McQueen!” moaned Rarity, driven to shamefully illicit lust thoughts by her lover’s casual indifference.
“Oh, yes. Me,” replied the race car, somehow sounding both sullen and heroic.
“Take me now!” Rarity demanded, ripped her hospital gown off with a single gesture of her horn. The unicorn rolled over onto her back, spreading her legs before those pouting, blue eyes and big, strong tires.
The normally hard line of McQueen's front bumper twisted in a roguish smile. The gravel crunched under his wheels as he rolled toward the prostate pony.
Rarity barely winced as one of his wheels roughly caressed her purple tail, relishing in the sting as the slow roll of rubber tore several hairs loose. The tire continued its inevitable approach, brushing against the unicorn’s already moist marehood. For a long moment he paused, pressing the edge of his tire between her spread legs. The wheel turned in place, tearing out several more hairs and become coated in the unicorn's nectar d'or.
The insistent warmth and touch of the tire drew a moan from the ecstatic equine, but this wasn't enough. She needed him on top of her. She needed his crushing metallic weight to destroy her. She needed to become one with him in the most intimate of embraces normally known only by stray cats and squirrels.
McQueen sensed her desires, and slyly growled with his powerful motor as he reversed just out reach of the writhing body before him.
Rarity grunted in frustration at the sudden denial. Desperately, she writhed against the ground. With a series of squeaks, she slid her body across the ground until she was once more humping her lover's hardness. Pieces of gravel stuck into her back, and the dirt was turning her vagina into a muddy depot, but all she could see was him. The most beautiful piece of steel to come out of Indiana.
A steady stream of pre had begun dripping out of the raunchy race car's exhaust pipe, and he could finally wait no longer. With a rumble, the wheel nosed forward, pressing into her, shoving back the folds of her vagina. Rarity screamed, losing herself in the ecstasy of orgasm, her body trembling like a 300 foot tunnel about to cave in. Her hind-legs stretched out to their fullest extent, locking tight around the wheel.
McQueen could wait no longer, and with a roar he drove himself forward, crushing Rarity's pelvis. The white legs shot straight up into the air a moment, twitching like a slain insect's, before collapsing to either side at angles impossible even during the unicorn's cheer leading days.
Beneath staring azure eyes, the white mouth hung open. All dignity was forgotten as the wheel rolled between her teats, tickling her nipples playfully and crushing the glands beneath until a steady stream of blood leaked out. With a slow, loving gesture, McQueen proceeded up her stomach. Every nerve was afire with agony and ecstasy as she felt her destruction rising. The unicorn had never been ticklish, but she could only imagine this was how it felt.
Finally, the wheel came to rest on the barrel of Rarity's chest. For a moment, it was still. She could feel his weight, greater than the weight of any stallion, pinning her down. She felt totally in his power, giving herself to this wonderful machine absolutely.
And then her rib cage caved in.
The bones shattered, breaking outward and ripping open her sides like a pair of split seams. Splintered edges of off-white pierced the white of her coat, flinging sparkles of red to dance prismatically through the air. Rarity felt the warmth of her own life filling her mouth and the sudden rush of serotonin and dopamine washing her brain away. She was short of breath, both from arousal and also because several hundred pounds were currently crushing her lungs.
She spat, coating the wheel with blood, watching with fascination as her fluids slid down its alien surface. Saliva and blood clung to the delicate squares as they traced their trajectory back to her. The tire continued to turn, sliding forward and squeezing her organs out her sides.
McQueen continued to roll his weight up her body, massaging her rib cage into powdered shards.
Just before reaching the smooth expanse of her throat, he turned aside, delicately crushing the flimsy cartilage of her right ear and tearing it free from the side of her head. The rear wheel came to rest in the pulped mass that had once been her gracious girly bits and spun in place, shredding her skin to tatters that flung out behind his hard, red backside.
Paralyzed, both figuratively and literally because her spine was completely crushed, Rarity turned her head to McQueen’s passing exhaust pipe. She stuck out her tongue, feeling the heat of his masculine energies burn off her taste buds. Her sense of smell was overwhelmed by the musk of oil and fumes.
With great effort, she suckled on his steel digit. She bobbed her head, coating the hardened member in her own blood and saliva. The acidic tasting pre dripped down the back of her throat as she groaned. She could hear McQueen's engine turning and sensed the pressure building. With one last lunge, she shoved the pipe as far down her throat as it would go, pushing until her lips met his muffler.
The car came in a gout of lung scorching, brain cell killing smoke that poured directly into her ruined esophagus. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she sunk to the ground, a pile of quivering flesh.
Seeing that his work was done, the racy race car lit another cigarette before driving off into the sunset. On a motorcycle.
Also, it wasn’t so much “the sunset,” as “a barbed wire fence” where he was captured by Nazi cars who had also been riding motorcycles. The VW’s escorted McQueen back to the prison camp, where he would spend hours bouncing a baseball against the wall and reflecting fondly on how he’d made it with a pony.
From the stairs outside the hospital Nurse Red Heart and Doctor Jerk Pony stared at the road covered in blood and dismembered body parts.
"That was absolutely horrible," said Red Heart.
"I dunno, I thought it was a kind of sweet."
"Really?" Red Heart asked as she shoved a shovel into her coworker's face. "You get to scrape her off the road then."
