The Manhandler: Ovaries Before Brovaries

After fem-slaughtering her father, Gilda was filled with elation. The straight and rigid path dictated to her was gone, and the yawning openness of the sky beckoned. The femgasm of freedom swelled her body as she took in the setting sun. Red as a bloody tampon, yellow as beautiful, vaginal discharge, orange as … something else. Other colors. Yeah. Pretty fucking poetic.

Also, she had a dead body to get rid of. Dads are such buzz-kills.

"Alright, let's go," the independent gryffyn grunted as she gripped her father's shoulders. Flapping her wings and skipping backwards, she dragged the corpse across the ground, leaving a bloody snail trail through the dirt.

Unfortunately, the forest wasn’t so much a forest as a sickly copse, and a copse is a bad place to hide a corpse. After several moments, Gilda surrendered to the inevitability that she would never be able to stuff the stiff into her bush, but would instead need to bury his bones.

She headed back to the house in search of a shovel, only to find Rainbow Dash waiting on her porch. The pegasus had witnessed the patricide and, sensing that her hour of honor had finally come, rushed to don an outfit befitting the occasion. Now, she stood in upon the gryffyn’s porch in a pose suggesting either dynamism or progressive spinal damage.

When Dash opened her mouth, she spoke in a drawn-out accent, “Giyerrrda-”

Gilda desperately attempted to ignore both the accent and the appearance that the creature had adopted. “Rainbow, I-”

“Not Rainbow, I am Rrrrrainbow Dashu-sensei,” Dash replied, dragging out the R until it sputtered and died a hideous death upon the ragged edge of linguistic butchery.

“Rainbow,” Gilda repeated again, slightly louder than necessary to express her agitation, “I would ask why you're here wearing a mop on your chin, but I am afraid you would have an explanation. Please, just go.”

"I have come to train you in the ways of misandry, Giyerda-san.”

“I specifically didn't ask for an explanation.”

“Come on, please? Look, I got this beard-”

“That is a mop.”

“But, it’s rainbow colored.”

“You have glued a mop to your chin.”

“It is colored like my mane, see?” Indeed, Gilda did see that the mop had apparently been dipped in a colored dye, giving it an appearance not unlike a mop that has been dipped in colored dye.

“It is not a beard, because it is a mop. That you are wearing on your chin.”

“But I can flip it over my shoulder."

“No.”

"Yes, I can. Look," Dash dragged her hoof under the cords and flicked them over her shoulder. The still moist lengths spattered over her shoulders and back, leaving a rainbow smear.

"No."

“You didn’t see? Do you want me to do it again?”

“No, I want you to go. I have something-”

Dash interrupted her by repeating the gesture and sending more dye across her back. Liberated from their ropey bonds, the colors smeared together into a brown moistness that dripped down her ribcage. “See? I did it again there.”

“Yes, I-”

“So you agree to let me teach you!” Rainbow Dash squealed excitedly, “you'll never regret this.”

Gilda stumbled backward verbally and literally, sensing the claws of some foul beast latching around her. “I never agreed to anything.”

“Yes, yes you did.”

“No, I just agreed that I saw your toss-”

“You saw my toss and you agreed to let me teach you!"

“Go away, Rainbow."

“Rrrrrrainbow Dashu-sensei.”

“No. Leave." Gilda gestured with her claw, in case, perhaps, her friend had forgotten which direction leaving was.

Defeated, Rainbow Dash lowered her head with a sigh. Her ears drooped to the sides of her head as her lower lip quivered. The impact of her pout was intensified by the pathetic puddle forming under her from the sloshed dye. “Dashu-senpai?”

"Ok, Rainbow, now I want you to do two things for me."

"Really!?"

"I want you to quit talking like a moron, and then I want you to leave."

Rainbow turned from her almost pupil. Her big chance to be a sensei, and she blew it by coming on too strong. Baka. She paused in her retreat when she noticed the upper portion of Gilda's dead father jutting from the bushes. Maybe, she still had a chance.

"Do you know how to dispose of that body?"

"Of course, I do!" Gilda paused a second, "Fuck. I mean, um, what body? I don't know what body you're talking about. Has there been a murder or some other sort of non-murder crime, officer?"

"The body you tried to hide in that bush. That very small bush."

Gilda turned and looked at the foliage serving as her father's current, final resting place. His head and forelegs jutted out from the greenery. As if on cue, the body released a slow, mournful wheeze of gas.

"I hid the murdered parts of him.”

"Giyerda, if you accept me as your sensei, I will teach you the secrets of hiding your father's dead body slightly better."

“Slightly better?”

“Significantly, slightly better.”

"You know how to do that?"

"Of course!" The pegasus fluttered her wings as she bounced into the air, before remembering the dignity that the tye-dyed mop glued to her chin demanded. "But you must refer to me as Dashu-sensei, as is befitting of our sacred relationship."

"How about I just call you … Dash." The gryffyn’s primaries spasmed as she felt the foul beast of destiny returning. Somehow, she knew this one her concession would be the beginning of something the pegasus would never relent from.

Dash, meanwhile, considered the offer. It was probably as close as she would get, and maybe with time the honorifics would come.

"You've got yourself a deal."

It was month later, and Gilda's father was safely hidden under the carpet. Dash had reassured her apprentice that, in time, the body would become dust and seep from under the carpet to dissipate completely around the room. While technically true, the passage into dust would take several generations longer than the lives of either party involved in the disposal.

Still, the body was completely concealed for the moment. Aside from the visible lump in the floor, and the terrible smell, and the blood leaking through the fabric, it was as if the old man had never existed. There were also swarms of flies.

Dash’s misandry lessons were significantly more thorough than her body disposal methods, however. After three hours spent getting angry at magazine covers, Dash would bring in a stallion, his head covered in a leather mask and his limbs bound with rope, for combat training, most of which involved kicking them between the hindlegs.

"Don't strike the testicles, strike past them. Focus your chi into a point within him, delivering maximum impact," Dash cheered on her student with each blow.

Gilda pulled back her lion's paw and delivered another strike to the groin of the stallion in front of her. He grunted and thrashed wildly in his bonds. Another blow brought a groan from somewhere within him. He sweated and strained against both the ties binding his hooves and the metal ring over his penile sheath.

"And again! Destroy the naughty, naughty boy!"

Gilda withdrew her paw, suppressing the desire to protract her claws. She paused in mid kick, now was as good a time as any to bring up an issue that had been bothering her. "Dash.”

"Sensei-"

The gryffyn warrior womyn ignored the interjection and continued, "this training of yours only seems to only involve me kicking stallions in the crotch, and I am concerned that all this genital violence may be alienating to transgendered ponies."

"That is ridiculous. Transgendered ponies deserve to be murdered because of their parts the same as anyone else. Treating them as if they were delicate, little flowers unworthy of the same abuse as any other stallion, that would be insulting."

"Miss," interrupted the stallion, "I don't mean to complain, but I paid for 30 minutes and it has only been 20."

"Shush," whispered Dash as she jumped toward the stallion and tugged the zipper shut on his leather mask, "gimps don't speak, remember?"

"What was he talking about?"

"Uh, um, nothing. Lovey-bunch, honey-darling, honorable apprentice …old …sweet thing. Don't pay attention to the lies of men. They are liars, trying to pierce the virginal innocence of your mind with their lies."

"What was he lying about?" Gilda's voice was sweet and calm.

"Wait, you mean, you didn't know?" asked the pony, magically opening his zipper. Fucking unicorns. "That is very poor form for a pimp. How can a woman be expecting to enter voluntarily into a contract that she isn't aware of?"

"Pimp is such a maleocentric word, I prefer, Madam."

"The relationship between pimp and hoe is an ancient and honorable one, and not to be taken lightly. It requires clear and open lines of communication at all times, as well as trust and respect. If you’ve been deceiving her, then it is little more than rape."

"Shut up," Dash hissed.

"Have you been financially exploiting my anger in an effort to titillate males?"

"No, well, a little, um, just a bit. Hey, how about I start cutting you in."

"You weren't even giving her a cut?" The stallion was livid. Possibly. The gimp mask kept one from seeing his face.

"I'm gonna cut you.”

"I'm sorry, Ms. Dash, but I'm going to have to ask to be released. I shall be reporting you to the Better Business Bureau in Canterlot for this travesty. Using the unpaid labor of an unconsenting lady ... and the working conditions here, I didn't mean to complain before, but there appears to be a dead body under the carpet."

"You can't see that," snapped Dash.

"It is concealed," Gilda confirmed.

"Well, now you just told me about it."

"No, we didn't."

"I'm sorry, but this brothel is an absolute disgrace. And I didn’t even get my-”

Frustrated at the stallion’s determination to dominate the conversation, Gilda swung at him again. Her claws protracted this time, they tore through the skin of his testicles. The flesh opened up, hanging down from his groin. The loose, tattered scraps swayed and dripped as his gonads unspooled from their protective skin in a rush of blood and semen.

The freshly made gelding screamed. "I was explicitly promised that my testicles would not be torn open by a griffon-"

"Gryffyn"

"-during this engagement!"

"If you sue, you lose your right to a refund."

"I want alot more than 20 bits for this," howled the wounded whiner folding over his ruined weiner.

"20 bits? You think my dignity is that cheap?"

"This is really not the time to be having this conversation."

"I will sue every single one of you. Including the body under the carpet."

"Quit talking about the body that isn't under the carpet."

"I'm sorry, Gilda, you're all tsun and no dere, most ponies don't like that,” Dash tried to ameliorate her pupil/prostitute, “after the initial novelty wore off, it was hard finding clients. If you want more you'd have to cuddle them afterward."

"That's why you were trying to teach me combat kissing; I thought you were coming on to me."

"Ew, I'm a political lesbian. That doesn't mean I actually want to have sex with you. I just pretend to be interested in mares to get attention from stallions."

"I'd like to go to a hospital now," moaned the stallion as he bled out on the floor.

"Only if you sign a nondisclosure agreement.”

"I will do no such thing," Gilda snapped.

"Not you Gilda, I meant him."

"I will … what she said, I guess."

"Don't try to thrust your patriarchal words into my mouth!"

"Gilda, this is all getting out of hoof."

Having taken as much as she could bear from her trainer and pimp, Gilda hurled herself across the room, knocking Dash to the floor. The two of them scrambled and bit at one another, providing light amusement for the dying stallion. He attempted to make a celebratory cat call, but the pain was too great and he blacked out instead.

By the time his eyes reopened, Gilda was standing over Dash with a bat in her claws. She raised the killing instrument over the prone pone like a melodramatic domestic violence ad in which the beaten mare is wearing a rainbow colored mop on her chin. After a moment, the gryffyn relented.

"I cannot do it. I cannot raise this bat against one of my fellow wymyn."

"I think I'm dying," interrupted the Stallion.

Gilda flung the bat like a spear, the broad end smashing through the stallions jaw. His shattering teeth provided no barrier to the varnished wood as the club lodged itself within his throat. He choked and gagged, but couldn't muster the magic to dislodge the bat forcing his jaw wide. Gilda, having second thoughts about her beat stick being disfigured by vomit, rushed to retrieve it. With a wrenching pull that broke the beleaguered jawbone, she pulled the club aloft.

Now uncorked, the stallion began vomiting freely.

“Disgusting,” Gilda muttered, pulling the zipper across to contain the mess. The stallion thrashed for only a few moments before drowning on his own fluids.

"All according to keiku,” Dash proclaimed, rising to her hooves. “You have completed my training, and the time has come for you to go forth. Strike down the-”

“You really can see the dead body, can't you?” Gilda asked, staring at the lump in the carpet and paying no attention to Dash’s ravings.

“His outline, I guess,” the pegasus conceded.

“And the blood.”

“I think some of that is from the other stallion you just murdered.”

“Dash, these bodies are your responsibility. You owe me.”

“What do you expect me to do with two dead bodies, all alone on the edge of town with no one but God to judge my actions in silent ...” Dash paused and licked her lips, “Okay, I’ve got the bodies, but where are you going?”

“First, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear anything you just said,” before Dash could say anything Gilda continued, “so pretty much what I always do. Then, I’m going out there! For too long, have I remained in this house that stinks of death. It is time that I become the massacre I want to see in the world.”