Author's Notes:

Random Male Human finds himself in Equestria, where his kind is considered mere food. Lyra, Rainbow Dash, and Gilda all have their fun with him in turn, but only one can ultimately eat him, and things don’t end well only for Mr. Random.

Fetish Checklist:

ONE: pet treatment (Lyra to POV human), scat, scat-based depravity/torture, implied weight gain, implied post-vore
TWO: cont. pet treatment, toilet treatment (Rainbow Dash to POV human)
THREE: cont. pet treatment, pseudo-willing soft vore (Gilda/POV human), digestion, pseudo-belly worship (Rainbow Dash to Gilda)
FOUR: multiple/matryoshka vore (accidental Lyra/Bonbon; Lyra/unwilling Gilda; unwilling Lyra/willing Pinkie Pie/unwilling Gilda), partial accidental anal vore (Lyra/????), immobility, digestion, vore tease (Lyra/Rainbow), implied teleportation vore (Lyra/????)

TL:DR: The first half is focused on scat stuff, humiliation, and mind breaking. The second half is about the vore.

Here I am, standing in a torch-lit stone hall, so narrow I’m nervous my shirt might catch fire. How I got here is a conundrum, certainly, but one for another time. I would have almost welcomed the presence of rats; their skittering and chittering could have distracted me from the lone sounds of my breath and footsteps.

Finally... a voice? An “eeeeh” sound comes from before me, and I pause, wondering if I should turn away from the sound or continue towards it. My choice, even before I can make it, doesn’t seem to matter, for it repeats, now closer slightly more defined. “Eeeeehlll.”

Is it shouting?

“Eeeeehlll!”

Hell?!

I turn, intent on escaping from this premonition, but gasp upon seeing what I can only describe as a unicorn with blue fur having been standing silently behind me—this whole time?—and I trip in surprise. Before I can begin to clamber to my feet, the voice finally shouts a clear, “Help me!” just as a flash of light blinds me, I feel something hit me in the chest, then I know no more.

- - - -

ONE

Sunlight.

Even before I open my eyes, I know something about that light is wrong. I also know that doesn’t even make sense; how the fuck can light be “wrong”? All I can say is that’s what I felt—instinctively—as I came to awareness and saw that red filtering through my eyelids. What else could explain the way my heart leapt into my throat? Nightmares? Vaguely, I recall… running? -and then a flash of light that, for all I remember occurring between now and then, might as well have been the Sun spontaneously appearing over the horizon.

… “Heh.”

“Oh! Are you awake?” Comes a melodious, feminine voice, almost seductive-sounding even as she expresses her shock—and as I express mine: I open my eyes to find this probably unwelcome intruder, for no other lives with me, but I immediately regret that when I’m assaulted by that wrong light. Rubbing my knuckles against my eyes, I turn in the direction of what sounds like clog-bound feet against hardwood flooring, except I have carpet in my bedroom… Where am I?! My fight against the sunlight turns more furious, until I rather embarrassingly remember I can shade my eyes with my hands.

On the other side of the hand-binoculars is… nothing I haven’t seen or heard of outside of myth; I struggle to come up with any classification other than “unicorn”, but nothing comes to me. More bizarrely yet, it’s fur is the color of mint ice cream, it’s mane is similarly colored, but streaked with white, and it’s eyes are the strangest of all: a gold that seems to radiate joy. Again, I know that doesn’t really make sense, but it’s a damn unicorn. What about that makes sense?!

Worse yet, I don’t see any other living thing in the room—which appears to be a rather normal, if plain, bedroom—forcing me to accept that it could only have been the unicorn that spoke. That… actually wouldn’t be the weirdest thing about it—her?—now that I turn back to consider her; that superlative would go to her belly (after her horn, anyway), which is bloated out, which I hope is from pregnancy, because anything else would be too unpleasant to consider. Still, at the sight of what most people I know would consider a blessing, I can’t help that jolt once again hitting my heart as I take in that bulge, and I take a hand away from my face to pat my chest.

I want to consider I’m dreaming, but something in my brain shoves back in an almost physical way, and I swoon. “Oh! Are you okay?” No doubt about it now: That was the unicorn’s lips moving, and I don’t mean like Mr. Ed, either, but moving in proper human-voice-making ways, like rounding the lips for the word “you” in a way no horse ever would be able to do. -which mentions nothing about how she smiles so widely (how did I just now notice that?); there’s concern in her eyes, but she’s still smiling… at me?

While I consider the fact I’m really, in-real-life, for real, physically in a room with a physically real unicorn, she trots up to me. Somehow, I shake off the thought as my eyes are drawn once more to that belly, bouncing gently side-to-side with each step, groaning oh-so quietly, but obvious in the silence between the unicorns footsteps (hoofsteps?). I’m almost sure human pregnancies don’t look or sound like that… but what do I know about unicorns, right? Besides the fact they talk.

“What do I know”? Where had I even been before this? What had I been doing? Again, as I try to think, something in my brain seems to push back, and the harder I think, the thing matches my strength. Soon enough I just give up, coming back to… the physical world to see the unicorn had put a hoof to my forehead and an ear to my bare chest. Apparently, while I’m ignorant of unicorn biology, this unicorn isn’t ignorant of human biology. Hopefully.

“I’m not tired, just…-”—my slowed brain struggles to explain—“-um, just waking up, and… confused.” That’s when I latch onto the idea of asking questions to get information, then I won’t be confused any more. I’m a genius. “Where am I, and how did I get here? -and who are you?” The unicorn, however, ignores everything I say and continues to listen at various points on my chest; even laying on her belly, she has to lean down a bit, since I’m sitting on the floor, and if I were standing, I estimate we’d be around the same size, heightwise. I roll my eyes at the dismissal, then immediately feel bad about thinking such a thing when she might just be focused on my health and diligent in her work. Somehow, I don’t think the saying, “look a gift horse in the mouth” was ever meant to be applied this literally.

Just then, the universe decides to throw irony in my face by way of the unicorn moving the hoof from my forehead to my jaw and ordering, “say, ‘ahhh.’” I roll my eyes and consider insisting I’m not sick, but she’s already pulled my jaws open, and I figure just complying with this simple examination will be faster.

I open wide. “Ahhhhh.” The unicorn, meanwhile, tilts her head this way and that, taking her sweet time in checking every little crevice in my mouth; I wonder if I should be grateful or annoyed by her thoroughness. I settle on hoping for the former, because if she’s so detail-oriented, she might already know how I ended up here.

After what seems like an age, she pulls back. “Well, it doesn’t seem like you’re sick,” she says as she steps back; at least she seems to have some concept of “personal space”.

I sigh and roll my eyes. “I could have told you that. Oh, wait, I already did! Now, are you going to answer my questions? Like, ‘Where the hell am I?’” Admittedly exasperated by her uncooperative attitude, I wave my arms sarcastically around

That finally gets a reaction out of her; unfortunately, it’s no what I was hoping for. Her neutral mild concern is overwritten with a glare, and she stomps forward and hits me on the nose—not enough to bleed, but enough to bruise, certainly. Before I even completely process what just happened, she sternly enunciates, “You will not use that word or that tone if you want to stay inside.”

Now dazed and confused, I can’t do more than stare as I consider what she just said, but eventually nod: Dad didn’t fail to teach me basic courtesy, after all. “When in another’s home, you follow their rules.” I’m a little indignant about the hitting, but right now I cared more about getting answers; as soon as I can get home, I (hopefully) won’t have to deal with this unicorn ever again.

“Fine! Fine…” I say a little nasally, laying fingers gingerly on my nose, subconsciously needed to be one hundred percent sure it’s intact; my acquiescence makes her back off and smile again, at least. “Could you tell me where I am, who you are, and how I can get to Seattle from here, please?” -and there goes the smile again, only now she merely looks annoyed.

“I will not have any begging in my house, now!” She once again admonishes, waving a hoof threateningly—or at least that’s how it seems to me—and my flinch seems to satisfy her into smiling rather quickly; focusing on this fact alone is what keeps me from rolling my eyes once the shock has worn off.

No begging? Seriously? Maybe this unicorn is some kind of weird control freak? -or a perfectly average control freak, for a unicorn, as if I know! I shrug, and jingle of metal rings into the fallen silence as the unicorn stares rather creepily. Trying to ignore the unicorn now, I look for the source of the jingle, but it doesn’t repeat, and an itch on my neck soon distracts me.

At first, what I idly feel on my neck I think is just a shirt, but I soon realize a few reasons why that can’t be: It’s way too thick and sturdy, I know I’m not wearing any shirt at all, and—most damning of all—as I shift the thing around to get a better scratching angle, that jingle sounds again. I freeze for half a second, then, dreading what I’ll find and hoping beyond hope I’m wrong, I move my hand down to where my collarbones meet… and I suck in a shivering breath when I find a little metal disk on a metal ring attaching to the collar.

“What the fuck is-?! Ow!” I panic, tugging at it, when I’m (predictably) punished by the unicorn; it helps me calm down long enough to think, but not about the unicorn’s order, which she’s now repeating. Right. Belt-like latch! My fingers scrabble around the collar at least three times before it dawns on me this might not be a normal collar. Still somewhat frantic, I spot through an open door what looks like a bathroom counter: Bathroom means mirror! Even for a unicorn, surely!

I shove the unprepared equine to the side, sending her tumbling into a heap with a yelp. I don’t bother to look back as I race for that door that has all my attention—I don’t even realize the stupidity of getting physically aggressive with a unicorn, no matter how many times I’ve seen a dumb drunk get kicked by a horse on the Internet, because I am not a genius after all.

Still running my hand over the yellow-orange collar I can now see, I can’t even gasp in surprise at the fact it’s one impossibly unbroken strip. Out of lack of anything else to do, I idly tug weakly at the steel disk as I lean forward, trying to discern the trick of the collar, but all I see is what’s etched into the tag:

The next thing I know, I’m forced to almost crack my forehead against the sink by a strong yank by the collar, which is now glowing and connected to the unicorn’s horn by a glowing, ethereal “leash”. My knees, however, are not spared by the genuine ceramic tile, and I gasp as pain jolts up my spine. The unicorn is yelling something, but I’m temporarily deafened by the pain—certain not the shock of unicorn’s power… no. If unicorns exist, why not magic?!

Soon enough, a terrible smell finally distracts me, and as I blink tears of pain away, I see the unicorn now looks distressed and… embarrassed? She’s looking at something behind me, so I—almost feeling now as a slave to instinct—swiftly turn to follow her sight. At first, I think I’m looking at a rather small tub, already filled with a small amount of water, but- … Another breath in renews that rot-ish, earthy scent, and I doubletake, realizing it could only be a toilet, but not quite like any I’ve ever known before. Besides it’s size, I can only describe it as a cross between an Eastern and Western toilet: a porcelain oval bowl, sunk into the floor, and with no visible tank; there is also a lid—I presume to prevent one from falling inside, considering its size—but it has been left open. Also, in the corner of my eyes, I note the actual bathtub appears to be hardly more than a glorified, giant wooden bucket

Here it comes again: A muffled groan, and my eyes widen. I take a quick glance around, but of course there’s no escape—the bathroom only has one door, and the unicorn and her rounded belly completely block that way (even if I was athletic enough to vault over her, I wouldn’t risk falling onto that horn!). Accepting my fate, all I can do is turn and watch and wait, like a moose on the highway.

The groan rises into a grumbling, and I’d swear her belly actually ripples, if only so slightly, from whatever bowel-birthed horrors I don’t even want to try imagining. I don’t have to. The unicorn is soon enough overcome by that which is knocking at her anus, and even as she tucks her tail and scrunches her eyes shut, a hiss, almost too quiet to hear for that unnatural rumbling, escapes.

In spite of the unicorn’s obvious efforts, the leak is all that’s needed to break the dam; her eyes jump from clenched to wide with something like fear as the rumbling is released, bursting from its intestine-prison in a loud, but surprisingly short fpaa!-sound, blowing her tail out, and I’d swear the air there is actually tinted green, but dissipates quickly. I blink in surprise at the anticlimax, but the rumbling soon begins again, and I preemptively clamp my hands over my nose.

I turn back to the unicorn’s face, wishing for some kind of help, but not knowing exactly how to phrase what I need. Then, I notice two things at once: First, she doesn’t appear to be bothered by the smell so much as the force she’s struggling to contain within, and second, her horn is glowing with that mystical light again. I wince, expecting it to connect to the (not “my”!) collar again, but even worse, this time it envelops my entire body! I’m too shocked to do anything for a moment as I’m lifted off the ground as if gravity had decided to say “fuck that,” and leave me behind.

By the time the surprise leaves me enough to try to fight the magical grip, the unicorn has already levitated me over herself and dumped me outside the bathroom, and there I’m left to drop, rubbing my backside and contemplating how much I hate being levitated even after just one experience. The bathroom door, meanwhile, slams shut behind me, and I prepare myself to ignore what unholy sounds I expect to soon issue from that place.

Instead, I brush my finger tips across the collar, and idly toy with the tag as I review what little I’ve learned so far about my situation. Firstly, the unicorn is treating me like I’m not even sapient—my body and thoughts no more worthy of consideration than a dog’s desire to roll in dung. Following that, then it’s no wonder her reaction to my questions were… to not answer; even my words are nothing more than a mimicking parrot to her, if that.

Secondly… the magic: I can’t afford lie to myself on such a critic point and pretend I know anything about the limits of the unicorn’s power. That first spell I’m guessing is some kind of intangible leash, but it could just as well have conjured the collar. So then, while she’s… “distracted”, I should take the chance to test this! After all, being in the presence of one who discounts another creature’s sapience is dangerous! I’m pretty sure back home, for a human, that would be a sign of psychopathy! -or something. Either way, I’m not someone’s pet!

Yes. Everything else can be tackled later; getting out of here and away from that unicorn (if I can!) is my greatest priority.

I stand and take a few steps toward the only other door, each one that goes by without tripping some spell encourages me, so by the time I’m reaching out for the doorknob, I’m nearly ready to run. Then, the unicorn calls out, “Human the Second!” I cringe at the name she’s given me, but more worrying is the collar glows and begins to gently tug me towards the bathroom door; I dug my heels in, grab it, and try to pull back, but I might as well have tried to uproot a redwood with my bare hands. A second of fighting the magic, and I close my eyes and sigh—as long as the unicorn maintains the power to summon me with just my “name”, then I have no hope of escape.

I follow the pull of the collar the rest of the way back to the bathroom door, halting there, wondering what’s about to happen, but collar, as before, doesn’t heed the rest of my body, and it’s indiscriminate pull knocks my forehead against the wood. “Oh, right!” comes her call from inside, and I grimace as the doorknob is encased in magic, and then she opens the gate to Hell.

It’s exactly as bad as I’d dared not imagine, and as it hits my face, I wonder at the wisdom of breathing through my mouth as the bathroom air, which the unicorn has spent the last few minutes contaminating, settles on my tongue—surely this is what it must be like to lick the inside of a sewer pipe, for anything worse than this would be too evil for the Universe to contain! Saliva builds quickly, and it seems to offer my tongue reprieve—creating a barrier enough to block the worst of it—yet I wish not to drool, I must swallow… and, mostly reflexively, I do so, yet when I open my mouth again, it doesn’t seem so bad, making me wonder if my taste buds are being actively killed, or they’re just committing suicide.

The smell isn’t the only thing coming from the unicorn: The heat released from deep within has to have already raised the temperature by five degrees. Silver lining: I’m naked, so no trapped heat. Cloud: I’m naked in the same room as a defecating unicorn. Speaking of the unicorn, she, obviously, is standing over the toilet-hole, standing with her legs wide—probably as wide a possible, considering how they’re shivering from strain—clenching her eyes and teeth, and… The rumbling and rippling of her belly come in waves, peaking and dipping; within a second of staring in shock and perhaps a little morbid fascination, another hiss of a fart escapes, shortly followed by a clump of scat, which joins a few other hard-looking, ball-shaped clumps floating in the water.

Jolted out of the strange trance by the plopping splash, I close my eyes, jerk my head away, then open them wide in surprise of myself, mind mostly blank as I face towards the ceiling at the corner furthest from the toilet. Standing idle, uncertain and anxious about why I would be called here, I tug at the collar, suddenly wondering why it’s stopped tugging about a foot inside the door, but thankful I (particularly my head, and consequently, nose) am not being forced any closer to the source of the sensory assault; even my eyes can offer no distraction, for now I know, indeed, I hadn’t imagined that green cloud accompanying the fart from earlier, for just in the short minutes since I was thrown out, the unicorn had managed to engulf the room with a thin, rancid fog.

“Human.” Great. She seems to have finally remembered that she literally dragged me into her little DIY hell. “I need-!”—A short series of grunts followed by another plop comes from behind me. “I need help.” Her magic surrounded just my hands this time, and I swiveled around and pulled closer; embarrassment and anger rises up at being treated no better than as if I was a child that couldn’t be trusted to not wander too far, but I bit my tongue, restraining it from loosing the expletives I know would earn me no favor, especially in this position.

Speaking of position, while I was balancing being careful not to cut my tongue while inflicting maximum pain, the unicorn had forced me to kneel underneath her chest, and had put my hands under her rounded belly, as if I was holding it like a giant beachball. “Pu-…sh!” The unicorn orders through clenched teeth; her magic surrounds my hands again, forcing them into the mass, but the spell releases as she grunts with the effort of her own pushing from within. I, however, make no move, frozen by another realization: This mare (is it a “mare” if it’s a unicorn?) is not pregnant, like I’ve been assuming.

No, even taking into account the fact she’s a damn unicorn doesn’t explain what I feel. Firstly, the belly is way too soft—too malleable to… contain anything of “substance”. For a second, it feels insane, but now I can come to no conclusion but that this unicorn is literally full of shit. Why? Perhaps because freaking unicorn!

Anyway, I figure it’s in my best interests to comply, and as my shock recedes under the power of logic applied to mythical creatures, I—rather numbly—brace myself against the ground and shove. The unicorn groans as there’s a surge in the amount of plopping and splattering coming from just in front of me, and I can feel the powerful abdominal and intestinal muscles flex and shift and shiver, as well as something else that makes me wonder if the very Universe can read my thoughts and is intent on forcing me to question myself at every turn.

What I speak of is nothing but some hardness within the unicorn’s bowels, and I would bet, by it’s size and shape, that it’s some bone, but what and how? I kneed at the unicorn’s belly idly as I mull it over, only tangentially noticing the decrease in the sounds coming from ahead of me, and the panting now coming from behind. Only after a few seconds, however, does it strike me hard enough that I pull my hands back in fear: Unicorns in traditional mythology were carnivorous… right? -or was it they were (are?!) merely aggressive towards nonvirgins? I suppose I shouldn’t berate myself for not bothering to commit such things to memory—how was I to know it would become so relevant to my life?!

Wait! No matter what’s true, I shouldn’t panic; I’ve been explicitly tagged as a pet, and people don’t eat their pets, and no matter all other differences, this unicorn, from what I’ve seen, is similar enough in human thoughts and emotions to safely assume the same.

… Calm…

“That—huf—wasn’t helping any—huhh—any more anyway.” The unicorn’s voice startles me from my thoughts, and I have a split second to remember I’d stopped shoving against the unicorn’s stomach, which remains quite rounded yet in spite of everything I’ve heard happening on the other side of that bulge, before her magic grips me again and pulls me out from under herself. I stretch my neck as I stand—as the space under the unicorn had been rather limited, so had to bend my head down—and try to go back to ignoring the situation, but she’s not about to allow that. “Let’s try—ng—something else.”

I don’t have to ask or even wonder for long about what else I could do to help in this situation, for even before she finishes, that now-familiar sparkle of light encases my torso and tugs me around to face the portal to Nasal Hell. That little ring of black flesh which now holds my full attention would be most inconspicuous, even considered harmless, without context. Another grunt from the other end of the unicorn, and the deceptively tiny muscle wiggles—I turn my head aside just in time for a blast unicorn methane to hit my ear. “Well?! H-hold it—hrng—open!”

Of course … I didn’t want to admit it before she said it, but of course that would be the only reason a currently-defecating unicorn would introduce me to her anus. For once, however, I seem to be free from her forceful magic, but I wouldn’t bet on if that’s because she’s too focused on forcing “something else”, so I close my eyes, take as deep a breath as my tongue can bare, then whisper to myself “It’s for my own good. I need to stay on her good so she’s more receptive to me proving my sapience.”

With a nod to cement my decision to myself, I turn to face my target—I’d rather do it right the first time, than try without looking and risk doing something the unicorn won’t like—but lean to the side so won’t be directly in the line of fire of what I’m about to release. I pull my hands up tentatively at first, but soon, angry with my own hesitation, slap my hands against both rather-padded cheeks; she let’s out a little whimper, causing me to wince, but nothing happens, so I turn back to my work.

At first, I keep my hands where they landed, still a few inches away from the anus, and pull from there, using nothing but fiction to grip, but a dozen seconds in with nothing happening, and I know I’ll have to do more. Now gritting my teeth and thinking nothing but, I can wash my hands afterwards, over and over, I creep my hands closer to their dark target. By the time the first finger finally touches the bare flesh, my shoulders are so hunched with determination in keeping at this no matter how disgusting it becomes, they’re somewhere in the region of my ears.

Once again, I try to pull with friction alone, but the muscle proves its strength; I know then what I must do, but before I can prepare myself mentally to continue in my quest, another fart is released, and this combined with the force I had been exerting leads most logically to my fingertips slipping suddenly inside—only just barely, but inside still!

Only the shock of it is what keeps my hands there for the first few seconds, then gritting my teeth, focusing on that glorious moment in which this will finally be over, imagining myself snuggling into a bed of the sweetest flowers, I quickly push three more fingers in and pull. Surprisingly, once I actually got the leverage, it was quite easy to open—too easy, so much so I’m quite unprepared for the demons I unleash, which leave their trails on the backs of my hands as they emerge in an eager torrent as the one that imprisoned them so unwillingly now moans with relief.

I’m not really paying attention to that, though, more than that what I had merely suspected before is now proven true by the white of a bone displaying itself as the culprit of trapping the unicorn’s feces, having lodged itself against the ring of muscle so it couldn’t open properly. Yet, if the unicorn’s body couldn’t process bones, would she not know, and then why consume them?… A useless question.

Seemingly finally regaining control of myself, I close my eyes, but this only serves to enhance in my mind the splattering going on beneath me, and unlike my eyes which I can close and my nose which has shut down in self defense, my hearing remains. Not only that, however, my sense of touch calls my attention as well.

The seemingly endless logs sliding across the backs of my hands alone would be enough to make me want to wash them for a year straight, but at least that is happening on the less sensitive backs of the hands. On my much more sensitive fingers is a strange familiarity: The muscled, gently slimy-slippery, restlessly undulating insides of the colon is all too reminiscent of a tongue… if I discount the continuous fighting of the anus.

All I can do to keep myself from focusing too much on any of this is to count the seconds, second by second by agonizing second, until a new sound—splashing—interrupts my concentration, and without checking with me first, my eternally curious ape-brain subconscious opens my eyes, and what I seen then causes once more an ill-advised gasp of surprise. It’s not the urination that shocks me—though its sharp, intruding scent does well enough in that second afterwards—but the actual size of the unicorn’s belly, and by extension the unloaded pile beneath me, which is to say that her stomach is now practically flush with her barrel, leaving no trace of the obscene, pregnant bulge she had minutes ago.

I blink as I realize it’s actually over, taking a second to look into the colon I’m still holding open just to make sure, then quickly remove my hands; the unicorn let’s out a little grunt when her anus suddenly is allowed to return to normal. As the urine continues flowing before me, I look over my brown-streaked hands and contemplate for a millisecond just sticking them under that yellow stream to get them relatively clean as soon as possible, but even as I dismiss the idea as silly, its already trickling to a stop anyway.

Finally, I move my now-shaking legs to step out from behind the unicorn—this seems to draw her attention, and before I know it, I’m once again shoved out of the bathroom with a burst of magic. A moment later, there’s a gurgling whoosh of water moving through pipes and a floor shakes as if there’s a mild earthquake; I stare at the crack under the door, but no water appears, so I guess that loads like that must be normal for the unicorn, if she has a toilet designed to handle them.

Shacking such thoughts away, I glance at my hands before turning around and making once more for the door; there’s no way I’m waiting for her to leave the bathroom to wash her shit off of me. But I’m no savage, I’m careful to turn the doorknob with my clean palms.

Down a short hall, and I come across a dining room almost instantly, and from there run into the kitchen and turn on the faucet to blast full hot, steaming water; of course it hurts, even after I pull my hands out to lather furiously all the way up to my elbow, but I’m not going to stand for anything less. Finally, with a sigh, I slap the valve off, I turn away, putting my hands onto the counter on either side of me; I glance down at the angry, red, clean skin, and make to walk back to the bedroom, but the unicorn is there, standing still in the doorway to the dining room—I can only guess the leash spell told her where I was.

Her expression is only like what I might imagine a human’s expression would be like upon finding out his cats play Mozart while he’s away at work: questioning everything she thinks she knows about how the world is suppose to work—and just like the cats caught in the act because the human had an unexpected day off because of an accident on the highway into town, I’m frozen-unsure in turn.

As it turns out, neither of us have to say or do anything, for with a timing granted by the gods, there’s a metallic click of a bolt lock, a quiet whoosh of a door, hoofsteps, and a slam. “Lyra, I’m home!” The unicorn I assume is named Lyra had turned to the door to the hall since the unlocking of the bolt, now glances back to me, bites her lip, then canters out, presumably to meet this other person; after a moment, I shrug and follow.

The other, who has a somewhat nasally but still feminine voice, is speaking as I enter what I guess is a living room. “Lyra, what have you been eating? I was only gone for-” This other, who surprisingly isn’t a unicorn, but looks rather like a normal equine except the candy-colors, brings a forehoof to her face in a horse-analogue of a facepalm. “What is this? You’ve already replaced it?!”

Lyra again, bites her lip as the other mare stomps the hoof she’d facepalmed with and glares, obviously not about to back down until a satisfactory answer is given. I, meanwhile, don’t bother to hang too much on being called an it—I’ve already gathered how I’m viewed by these people—but I am intrigued by the questioning of Lyra’s diet; perhaps the eating of such volumes is not so normal after all? In fact…

I had no reference to Lyra’s size before, but now with this other, it’s easy to see that she has quite a bit more padding all around; though subtle, if this other mare represents what’s normal for these equines—and I suspect she is at least closer as gathered from her reaction—then just from what I can tell by comparison, Lyra is definitely overweight. There’s a small crease of fat where her neck meets her collar bone, and where the underside of her muzzle meets her neck… as well as where each leg begins—it’s especially noticeable around the middle of her hindlegs, where they take a sudden turn back and then down again. Her wider behind gives the impression of her tail being slightly further up on her back, and it’s raised slightly more by the enhanced circumference, giving better and easier view of things, the thought of which might’ve made me blush if I hadn’t just spent the last few minutes being intimately acquainted with their functions.

Eventually, after Lyra fails to answer for a whole minute. “Forget it! I don’t really care. You still know how to use that leashing spell, right?” Lyra finally moves: nodding. “Good, because I’ve invited Turner and Dinky over for dinner since Derpy’s out of town, and I want you to leash him-”—she points at me—“-somewhere outside while they’re over.”

“-but-” Lyra tries, but the other mare narrows her eyes, which is sufficient to silence her. Lyra keeps glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes; I imagine she’s thinking about what she just saw in the kitchen, and I think I can guess about what she was just about to say—perhaps something in my defense?

Perhaps, if I play the part of a “good dog”, I’ll be allowed to stay inside…

- - - -

TWO

No such luck. Even though I can still hear the occasional whine from Lyra piercing the walls, for now I’m stuck outside, with a thin but impossibly strong leach of magic connecting me not to any particular thing, but a point in space itself—so I discovered when when I tried to dig at the ground where the other point of the leash is. Now, as the Sun descends into evening, I turn instead to hoping I’ll be let in for the night, after these “Turner and Dinky” people leave; I don’t think I’ll be seeing them, since I’m in the backyard, and only window on this side is to the bedroom.

At least now I’m more than certain I’m no longer on the planet I’ve known for my whole life: This town seems to be nothing but rainbow-colored horses, unicorns, and even pegasi, whose wings seem far too small to fly, and yet they do.

With literally nothing to do, I lay on my back, looking up at the strangely still sky, hands under my head, as I idly imagine getting out of this predicament. I’m starting to wonder about the wisdom of proving my sapience and moving in favor of simply waiting for the chance to escape. After all, these horses have proven themselves very human-like, and what would humans do if they found a sapient dog?… Maybe if Lyra proves herself loyal to me enough to protect me, then… What am I thinking? She can’t even protect me from Bonbon!

… Hmph…

…

That sky is really getting to my nerves, and I can’t tell why!

A breeze picks up, and I shiver as the waving grass tickles my scrotum—if nothing else, just being rendered naked and without access to clothing would be humiliating enough! At least there aren’t many horses about… not that they would be bothered to see me like this. Another breeze, another tickle, another shiver, and this time a twitch from my penis.

I sigh and drum my fingers against my hip, tempted to move them over my crotch and—well! It’s not like anyone would care even if they see me, but still, to do so in public… My face burns as I wonder if I would even be able to finish in such a state, but that wind doesn’t seem to care, as if it were a lover enticing me, and my erection grows slowly up towards my bellybutton, like a methodical mountaineer.

Eventually, with a hiss of annoyance, I sit up and quickly rip at the grass around my crotch; Lyra might get upset at that (or, more likely, Bonbon, come to think of it), but when I let myself fall back, I smile: the wind itself is still a problem, but without it’s grassy, tickling cohort, I can resist. I sigh, and close my eyes.

-And an instant later open them again, staring.

Specifically, I stare at a single, unmoving cloud. I shift so the roof of the home partially blocks the cloud, and I wait. At least five minutes later, and nothing’s happened. Before I can even begin to wonder how and why on this phenomenon, a pegasus flies above me, pushing along another cloud as if the cloud was actually a bag of water instead of a loose collection of vapor. Fucking magic, of course.

This cloud, however, is quite a bit darker than the first one, and I can guess at why the horse is transporting it with the dulled, purposeful look of someone performing a job that they don’t really care for. She leaves it near the white cloud, then takes that one away; as she leaves with it, I look around and realize that as I had been staring at the unmoving cloud, other clouds had been moving in… or rather, they had been moved in. -by pegasi.

One such pegasus, whose mane embodies the spectrum (that can’t be natural!), is working her way towards Lyra’s and Bonbon’s, and therefore making her way over me with rainclouds! I call out, “Hey!”, but I cut myself off, wondering how I could possibly handle this. Considering I’d seen no outrage from anyone at my treatment, I have to assume humans being pets here is normal, and who would listen to a parrot telling it to not do something? Well… “who doesn’t try, already failed”, right?

However, it doesn’t seem as if the pegasus paid much attention to my call—not surprising. “HEY! … uh … RAINBOW-!” Wait. Should I even call these things horses to their face? How would I feel if some alien shouted “hey, human!” a me? Probably at least a little bit offended … but it doesn’t seem to matter, as said rainbow horse has stopped her work anyways, and is now tilting her head, confused.

“What-? H-?” She mutters as she drifts down towards me.

I confirm it’s me by waving, but this just makes her scowl and roll her eyes; before she can leave, I call out again, “Wait! Would you, erm, mind not putting any rain clouds above me?” Saying that sounds so much weirder than I expected, feeling only one step removed from praying to some rain god.

… -and like most gods throughout history, the rainbow-ed one completely ignores me—her only acknowledgment being another eyeroll. I cross my arms, frown, and… shiver; by now, most of the sky has been covered, blocking the already-nearly-set Sun. I can’t let this just happen! The pegasus leaves, then soon returns with more cloud, and I call out again, but this time she doesn’t even turn around. This goes on from three more times until I guess I annoy her enough, and she spins around, raising and shaking a hoof as a human would shake a fist threateningly.

I raise my arms, expecting to be attacked, but then the pegasus glances to each side, huffs, then drops the hoof. After a second, waiting for the bluff, I glance to the side in turn, and see horses still walking along, many now wearing saddles with umbrellas embedded in them in anticipation of rain. Ah, witnesses! Well, if nothing else, it seems I’m protected by animal abuse law.

However, this is likely to be my last chance! Turning skyward, all I find is a quickly fading ribbon of rainbow, but no rainbow like I’ve known before, starting where the pegasus had been hovering and weaving in drunken way (relatively, for a rainbow, that is) around the corner of the house to the front. I raise an unamused eyebrow as a suspicion of what caused this rainbow comes to me.

Sure enough, there’s a quick, impatient knocking at the front door, then a dozen seconds later, Lyra answers and the rainbow pegasus bursts into what sounds like a rant. I can’t hear the specific words, but I think I can take a good guess at their content; with a sigh, I let my face plop into my hands and shake my head.

So much for playing “good dog”.

With nothing to do but wait for judgement now, I sit and hug my knees, frowning in worry. Would Lyra really punish me on nothing but the rainbow-horse’s word? She slapped me for swearing, but then she had me help her… -blegh, don’t think about it! Either way, she’s proven herself eccentric, by human standards. She also defended me against Bonbon, even though she lost there, I’m guessing she only compromised because they appear to live together, so-… ah! Lyra and the rainbow-one are having a shouting match!

Releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I released my legs and flopped onto the grass; the “excitement” of the encounter is yet holding off the chill for the moment. Now it sounds as if Bonbon has joined the fray, and is rather successful implanting calm order to the dispute; a few seconds later, the front door closes and I prop myself on my elbows just in time to see a quickly fading rainbow lead from the front of the house into the low, gray clouds.

I sigh, lay back, cross my arms, and close my eyes, trying not to think about the fact the rain is probably going to start soon, and hoping to catch at least a nap before it does. Unfortunately, I was far off the mark about that “fact”, as I don’t even get to doze before water hits my face—so I think in that first instant, because the instant later, it’s easy to tell this is no rain, but more a stream, like from a drinking fountain, but… warm!?

In ill-advised haste, I sit up and cry in shock, then sputter as some of the liquid manages to trickle into my mouth. Yes, there’s no doubt now—even if the low light keeps me from seeing the color—that I’m being given a golden shower, and I think I know who and why. Rolling out of the way, I look up, but see nothing but the gray blanket. Well if I can’t see her, she can’t see me, right?

Wrong. A second later, the stream follows me, now hitting my chest. What kind of accuracy must this take, from all the way from the clouds? And she’s a she, how does she aim it?! I stand and run, but in blind indignation at this degrading violation, I forget the leashing spell, and the next thing I know, I’m laying on my back with a sore neck and the back of my head pounding… and a warm liquid flowing over my penis. I try to run again, but just lifting my head brings stars to my vision. Still dizzy, then, I can’t tell for how much longer it lasted as she seemed determined to cover me. I guess they don’t say “need to piss racehorse” for no reason; I grumble at the thought, which sets off a cough, which thankfully the pegasus can’t take advantage of for lack of ammo.

Figuring she’s flown off since she’s made her point, I start wondering whether I should wait for the rain to wash me off, or not risk hypothermia but suffer her stink for who-knows-how-long until Lyra checks on me. Actually, now I think about it, where would I even go? I already know there’s porch to hide under, as for… -a tilt of my head, and I can tell the eaves are quite short—maybe enough to cover me, but only if I press myself against the wall.

I quickly decide to move—Lyra wouldn’t leave me out all night, as even Bonbon only wanted me out of the way for the guests, so after they leave-… After rolling my too-tired-of-this-shit self onto my hands and knees to stand, I feel something warm yet again hit me. In the first millisecond, I roll my eyes, wondering where she stores it all, and then I freeze when I realize the warm lump on my back is solidly staying in place.

Solidly.

“What the-!” I barely stop myself from shouting the expletive, just in case Lyra might hear, as I stand quickly, arching my back, as if that could help me get the sticky mess off me. “fucking… hell…” I whisper to myself as I feel IT slide down the grove of my spine, then my butt crack, and finally it leaves me with a plop, though I know it must have left some slimy trail. Suddenly in a flurry, I jump away from the lump I now finally smell, fall to the grass and begin rubbing my back into the ground, acting just like the dog that these fairy tale horses think I am.

My cheeks burn and I grimace, but not in pain even as rough soil and small but sharp pebbles dig at my bare skin. Over my heavy breathing, turned hot by embarrassment, and the sound of the rustling grass, I’m sure I’m not imagining giggling from above. Damn that mare! What did I even do that deserves this?!

Once I’m as clean as I think I can get, I roll over to get out of the mess. There, I sigh, then groan I put a palm to my forehead at rub at the headache I can feel coming. What am I going to do about this—what can I do—when I’m forced to act in ways that even Lyra would likely see as something only a nonsapient animal would do?

I’m not given much time to contemplate it, as yet again something hits me with a plop, only this time on my chest. I almost force myself to not react, but even then, simply wallowing in filth yet another thing only an animal could tolerate. With a growl of frustration, I grab two clumps of turf, turn onto my side, and furiously scrub at the offending mass.

In the end, however, all I’m left with is my entire chest and palms streaked with brown and green stains, and I don’t dare to hope my back looks any better. Releasing one last defeated growl, I flop to ground, feeling strangely exhausted—dealing with literal shit will do that, I suppose. At least the sounds of the pegasus’s laughter seems to be fading, along with the sound of wings flapping, off into the distance…

The slam of a door jolts me, and a second later I realize I must have dozed off, my brain seemingly unconcerned with the dirt, grass, and other things. As I yawn and raise myself up, I guess that it hasn’t been even an hour since the rainbow bitch left, as the rain still had yet to start, and I can hear Bonbon saying goodbye to the guests. That must mean here at the back door is-!

“Human! How was your-? She stops as I stand up, and idly, sleepily scratching my chest, I finally remember why, then groan at the feel of something under my fingernails—something I probably never want to be there. When I finally open my eyes and look at her, she’s still frozen mid-step, and her face distorted in disgust; I sigh and only just manage to stop myself from putting my face into my palms.

When I look up again, I barely catch Lyra’s tail going around the corner. A second later, I quiet squeaking sound, then rustling grass, and … she comes back with a hose in that freaky magic of hers.

Really!?

If only I had been on that side of the house, I could have cleaned myself off, but now I just look like a dog that rolled carrion (if blood was green, which, thinking about it, it might be in this universe). Even Lyra doesn’t seem to recognize how willing I am to be cleaned, no matter how much I shiver and clench my teeth against the cold spray that feels like a blanket made of needles being wrapped around me.

Worse, it seems my efforts to appear sapient have been for nothing: Lyra—looking disappointed—returns the hose to the side of the house with a slump to her shoulders and a sigh coming from the corner of her lips. She walks slowly back to the door, not looking at me or addressing me in any way; a second later she throws out a blanket onto the porch, presumably my bed, which I promptly wrap myself in, makeshift-sleepingbag-style.

Inside my slowly warming darkness, I touch the collar. I just have to figure out how to remove it, and from there… well, I’m sure I’ll be able to find home again. I got here, after all, so has to be possible to get back.

- - - -

THREE

Again, I’m awoken by a slamming door. I hear Lyra saying something, but for now my brain refuses to process it; its slow boot-up busy with things like groaning, wearily peeling back my blanket-cocoon, and squinting into bright late-morning sunshine, painfully waiting for my eyes to adjust. I’m not about to be simply left to waking myself up, however, as an apparently impatient unicorn uses her damnable leash magic to pull me up—at least she uses steady pressure instead of yanking… but I’m not about to thank her for that!

Great; now she’s “talking” to me in that grating babying tone. I don’t even bother to listen any more—what would be the point? She obviously doesn’t expect me to understand, much less respond, and after last night, now I know even if I try it would only be parroting to her. Then, with her leash and calling spells, there’s no escape. So then is it so surprising if I slump after her into the house? At least to her it will only appear as sleepiness, but then I bet she’s never been literally pulled awake. There’s no room for drowsing after such a jarring experience.

I make to sit at the dining table, but a glare from Bonbon is enough to force me to step back and sit with my back against the wall instead. I think I catch something like surprise from her, but a split second later she turns around when Lyra calls out—she has her head in the fridge, looking for something, I guess. At least I’m allowed to zone out, almost dozing until a clack of plastic hits the floor in front of me: a pet food-and-water dish. Hilarious.

The food is nothing but greens that don’t even deserve the word “salad”. With a sigh, I nab up one of the leaves that I’m not even sure will provide me with any value, but my stomach loudly tells me it’s too hungry to care. Idly, I roll the plant between my fingers into a cigarette-shape, grimace, and bit down.

Like paper.

But, for whatever reason, I fight not to spit it out, instead chewing and swallowing as fast as I can. Maybe I can just tide my stomach over for a while on water until I get the chance to raid the fridge? As long as there’s something—anything—in there that’s not green! I drop the half eaten leaf and look at the molded plastic of the double-bowled pet feeder; there’s no way this is going to be graceful.

Just picking the thing up I already slosh water onto the floor and into the leaves (what a loss), but a glance at the horses tell me they’re not looking. Next problem: The rim of the bowl is unreasonably wide, obviously designed for something that drinks with its tongue. Whatever. A little water down my chin and chest is nothing compared to last night. Oh. A leaf slipped into the water… How pathetic.

A few minutes later, I set the thing beside me, belch, and gag at the taste in the back of my throat; that may have been a bit more water than I thought. With nothing to do, and being pretty certain they won’t let me on any furniture after denying me a place at the table, I let myself flop onto my back, ready to rest, but of course the horses are not going to just let that happen—an instant later and I’m being pulled up by the collar. I swear if I make it out of this, I’ll never pull on a dog’s leash again!

Now I’m being led out the front door, and I notice Lyra and Bonbon are wearing what could only be described as saddle bags, but they’re not wearing saddles—which makes sense, as they appear to be the dominant lifeform around here, whereever “here” is.

Even as I hang my head, walking behind my two “owners” trying not to call attention to myself or cause trouble accidentally, I can’t help but admit my curiosity about this “here”. It’s so remarkably similar to my human-ruled home, no matter little sense the details make, like doorknobs and handles on mugs and tea cups. Freaks.

As my eyes rove side-to-side, I catch Lyra glancing back and smiling at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to care enough to fathom the why of anything she does unless it means she going to let me go—call me paranoid, but I don’t think her smiling because I’ve become complacent is any sign of that!

Shortly after that, I catch sight of him, and I can no longer feign disinterest in the world: My head rises as my jaw drops. It’s not really him I’m interested in, though, but what’s happening to him, or rather not happening. He’s being treated like he’s an actual sapient being, sitting normally a table outside a restaurant and talking to the waiter. -and he’s a freaking minotaur!

Suddenly, I can’t think any more. I can’t move any more. I feel pulling on my neck, but so distantly, like I got stuck in time halfway through falling asleep. I suppose I must have moved (or been moved), because when I come back to lucidity, the restaurant—and, more importantly, the minotaur—are out of sight.

I raise my arms, stretching my back and shoulders as I look about. I’ve been tied outside of some place called “Dining, Kitchen, And That’s It”, where I’m guessing Lyra and Bonbon are shopping. With a groan, I let my arms drop and then let the rest of me follow, flopping into the grass. As I blink, looking up at the bright, now-clear sky, I can’t not see the minotaur in the back of my mind.

We look practically the same! Why would we be treated so differently… Why do the horses not see his human traits as making him (ironically) half-animal?… I suppose it’s a good deal for him, at least, but, damn it horses, how can you not make the leap from minotaur to human?! With a grunt of resigned dejection, I punch the ground.

The little puff of loose dust I kick up settles on my thigh and crotch, and I roughly, ineffectively bush at it. What am I even angry at, besides the unfairness of this? Childish. Shaking my head, I brush my hands together, feeling the coarse dirt fall away. I’m worth hardly more attention than this dirt… except to Lyra, I guess.

What does that really mean for Lyra, though? Am I really “like a dog” here, or is Lyra like one of those rich psychopaths that keep crocodiles and tigers as “pets”? I look around, and now actually paying attention to reactions to me instead of a minotaur, it seems that I must be a more odd sight than I thought. They’re trying to be sneaky about it (maybe because it would be rude to my owner?), but being the object of their attention, it’s pretty much impossible for them to hide from my scrutiny, and the more I watch, the more I don’t like.

Licked lips. Flecks of drool. Disappointed glances shifting from me to whatever that horse is eating. The final nail in the coffin—MY coffin is a somewhat plumper blue mare asking whom I guess is her husband about maybe buying me for dinner! I stumble, standing, pulling at the collar and the magic tether. Indecisive. Even if I somehow got free, what would happen? I can’t help but imagine a lone sheep running into a pack of wolves, and-!

No. Calm. These horses are still somewhat civilized. -not wolves. Being owned by Lyra appears to offer me protection! That’s… all I need. An owner. A perso- A horse that cares and will watch me. I’m stuck here. I was taught to obey another’s rules while in their home, and to obey another’s laws while in their country, but what of being on another planet? Well, why wouldn’t the same logic apply… Yes. Logic.

I am a human. Humans use logic. To submit to the horses means survival. Survival is hope; hope is good. Logic!

Satisfied I sit back down; unfortunately, the ground around here was all trampled by the horses, made bare of grass, leaving nothing but hard, uncomfortable dirt. I stretch out, fall onto my back, and put my hands under my head—just a sunny morning, right? Who cares if it’s across the multiverse in a world where I’m seen like an animal, and even as food? Not me! No more taxes or debt, not expected to hold a job, a freak of an owner who treats me like a pet instead of livestock… The more I think about it, the more I smile and more I can ignore, well, everything! -from the momentary dirt bed I’m sure to be retrieved from soon to the hungry stares from passersby: None of it can affect me!

Smiling, I blink and stare up at the bright unblemished sky… until a cloud floats over me from behind the store roof. I’m only slightly perturbed by this unwelcome arrival until a certain rainbow-patterned annoyance peaks her head from behind the cloud, followed by the face of what appears to be a giant bird (for it’s body is obscured by the cloud), wearing a ridiculous amount of eyeshadow. Great. Didn’t she humiliate me enough last night?! She couldn’t possibly be planning on using me as a toilet where everyone could see it’s her, so I can only imagine she has something planned with that bird, but what?

Before I can really begin to worry upon it, I hear Lyra and Bonbon exit, chatting about dinner plans or something—I’m not really interested, particularly because I’m distracted by the problem literally hanging over my head. What can I do about it, though, in this situation, leashed now once again to Lyra and walking back home? Nothing. Even if I tried to warn her, I already know she wouldn’t listen. Therefore, nothing to worry about…

We take only a few paces and there’s a whooshing from behind us—something big moving fast—and horses yelling in shock; at first I shrug it off as someone running late, until a split second later when I remember what I just saw. Before I can even decide whether it would be worth it to try to tell Lyra, something hits me in the middle of the back, and I can’t believe nothings broken, but I didn’t feel or hear anything besides my lungs deflating.

The tackle sends my flying, tumbling through the air with no sense of direction and no control. Lyra let’s out a cry of surprise, and I imagine she’s getting dragged along by the magic leash. I wait for the “fall” part of the equation, wincing at images of the scrapes I would earn and the grit that would imbed in my skin, but… that doesn’t happen.

When I finally let my imagination fall away and address reality, I find myself gripped tightly within the talon of what must be the giant bird from earlier. Lyra is now outright screaming and I can’t blame her threatening my eardrums—she’s suppose to be the apex predator around here, after all, or so I think until I look around and see we’ve barely cleared the roof the tallest building: only two stories!

I hear an angry growling from above and turn around to finally take in the thing that’s stolen me (it’s hard to call it “kidnapping” when I’m pretty sure I’m lunch either way). I blink until the word comes to me: griffon. Sure. Unicorns, pegasi, minotaurs, and griffons, too. Why not? Lyra pauses her screaming to take a breath, and the griffon shouts down in a gruff, but still feminine, voice, “Hey! Shut up and let the human go unless you want to follow him into my stomach!”

Lyra finally stopped her screaming to yell back, “No way! He’s my dinner, thief!” Lunch. Dinner. Tomayto. Tomahto.

The griffon adjusts her grip on me to shake a talon-fist while growling menacingly—I’m surprised Lyra doesn’t let go, and so, apparently, is the griffon. “Humf… Fine! Then you can eat him after I eat both of you! Makes no difference to me!”

“I’d like to see you try, you overgrown drumstick!” The griffon chuckles rather ominously, then suddenly pulls up into a hover, sending Lyra swinging wildly underneath us, jerking me around by my neck. The griffon helpfully resolves this by lifting me above herself, turning me face down, opening her beak wide, and practically letting me drop in. Sure enough, the strong esophagus and neck muscles, working together, completely stabilize my head!

The Griffon readjusts her grip again, around my thighs and crotch now, and starts shoving me down in combination with heavy swallowing; the contractions feeling as if they’re toeing the brink of dislocating my shoulders. My head slipping now past the neck and into the chest, suddenly my ears are filled with the griffon’s heartbeat, mine instinctively matching it as she paused in swallowing me for the moment; she was trying to yell at Lyra again, I think by the feeling of her throat and tongue on my chest and stomach.

I take the moment to look around, the magic leash providing barely any light, but it’s made to seem unusually amplified by the reflective, slippery, and saliva- and mucus-lined tube—it’s as frictionless as I can imagine anything being, and yet the constriction from all sides combined with her grip from outside, held me quite still in an unexpected display of strength. In fact, even with the thick, sour smell I know is coming from below, where I would continue toward soon, I found myself even more unexpectedly getting aroused.

Then, suddenly, I can’t see. The leash spell was released! I feel what I think is the griffon chuckling at Lyra for a moment, and then what I think is momentum from her flying: straight up, this time, or at least sharply upwards. Soon enough she begins swallowing again, grasping me near my knees for better leverage for faster delivery of myself to her stomach. My belly and my hips pass into her beak before my crown hits what feels at first like a deadend, but of course it’s not, and it’s slowly forced open.

“Rainbow!” The griffon is finally able to (somewhat) talk around my thighs. “You wanted this, now help me!” Ah, just as I’d thought. I think Rainbow-Horse says something back, but it’s harder for me to hear her through the heartbeats and the incessant squelching of esophagus-flesh slipping around my ears.

Whatever the mare said, however, she places her hooves on the soles of my feet and shoves, with the griffon holding my lower legs, continuing to pull in addition to holding my knees steady for Rainbow. Wider and wider… down and down. I shut my eyes tight, but I can’t do anything about my ears getting folded and rather painfully squished. Once over the dome of the forehead, it seems to be easier for them to get me in, or at least I start moving faster—all too soon I’m breathing nothing but stale, acidic air that slowly begins to burn in my nose.

When the valve passes my chin, it snaps shut around my neck, making me gag, then I gag a second time when I inadvertently take in a mouthful of stomach acid, immediately spitting it out and trying to turn as far away from the puddle with my extremely limited movement. I really can’t wait for them to hurry up and get the rest of me shoved in here so I get my head out of this acid.

My shoulders, being squeezed together as I previously noted, don’t present as much trouble as I imagined they would, but now the stomach is already getting a bit cramped, and the stomach, being at least as strong as the esophagus, squeezes, shoving my neck at an awkward angle. I would have cried out if I couldn’t still feel the acid on my lips, so instead I wiggle, hoping to get my body to fall into a more comfortable position, as well as, perhaps, help me get in even faster.

… “My body”? It’s not really “mine” any more, is it? No. Especially now, as Rainbow pulls her hooves away and the griffon closes her beak, then a few more swallows and the only things that exist as far as I’m concerned is saliva, stomach acid, and the muscular sac itself. Its kneading motion helps as more of me enters, forcing me to curl in on myself, until my knees get caught on the narrow “door”. The griffon obviously must feel this: I hear what I think is a squawk, then pounding and coughing, her punching herself in the chest, perhaps? Whatever it is, it’s barely enough to cause a tiny jostling.

“What’s mat- … -lda? - … swallow- … -human?” I’m pretty sure Rainbow is laughing at the griffon’s predicament.

The pounding and coughing stops. “I think his legs are stuck!”

More laughing, louder. “That’s- … -eat- … -not- … -first!”

“Shut up…” The griffon grumbles, as if embarrassed, but I have no idea by what. “I’ve never eaten human before.”

“Alright, I have an idea.” Hearing Rainbow so clearly now, I imagine she’s gotten closer, and for why, I learn a second later. First, I feel myself lifted slightly—Rainbow holding me up?—then suddenly I’m shaken violently up-down, left-right, and which way!

“Rain-urp-bow! You’re gon’na-urp make me throw him up!” The jostling increases, and I can’t tell if it’s Rainbow-Ass shaking the griffon’s stomach harder or the griffon trying to fend her off. Either way, after a few quick painful twists and turns, my knees pop in, and, being forced into a fetal position, the rest of the legs follow.

A few pats on the griffon’s stomach hit the back of my head. “Ha! I wouldn’t worry about that, Gilda. If you could barely get him in there, how’re you gon’na get him out?” Laughing, and more “patting” of the griffon’s—Gilda’s?—stomach. Under the barrage, the big sac contracts and shifts around me, which results in getting me completely coated in liquids I don’t want to think about.

Then, my prison/tomb shifts more dramatically: Gilda moving to push Rainbow away, I’m guessing by what she says. “Serio-hic-ly, Dash! Ooo…” The hiccup jostles me about even more, and now I’m being gently squeezed from all sides—Gilda hugging her stomach, perhaps? More hiccups, of course, accompanied by swaying that suggests Gilda walking; either way, every tiny movement seems to cause the deceptively small amount of acids to splash about and run burning rivulets crisscrossing over my skin.

This leads to the obvious inevitable, so when the pain finally hits my crotch too hard, my hands instinctively jerk down, which leads to the next inevitable of causing the stomach to bounce around even worse. The pressure comes back that suggests Gilda is hugging her stomach.

“Ha! Have- … -da? You- … -get- … -out, silly.” I wait, but nothing seems to be changing. Nothing now except the griffon’s breathing, heartbeat, and squelching, gurgling guts. Then, another thumping? Is Gilda being attacked? She’s not more or saying anything…

“Uuuurrrrrrrrp!” It’s like an earthquake, but on a miniature, personal scale; the shaking “world” seems to force all else into the background, where it might as well not exist, then, with the thing over as quickly and suddenly as it started, it takes a moment for me to readjust. Everything is just as I expected, once I can think again: normal and as before, except now the stomach completely encases me, almost shrinkwrap-like, but with the accumulating acids, it might as well be.

I think Gilda and Rainbow are talking again, but I can’t concentrate on anything but my face, shoved as it is against the stomach wall. No matter which way I turn my head, twisting my neck to the most painful extremes, I can’t get my mouth or nose away from the deceptively soft, slippery flesh—the way it seems to cling so determinedly, it might as well have been superglued to me.

In one last attempt, I try to pull my hands up to my face, but my legs are being squeezed so tightly, my arms are trapped against my crotch. I only have enough energy—enough air—to pull at them three or four times before I feel the threat of lightheadedness, and only for that split second do I realize it’s truly hopeless, and no one back home will ever know what happened to me. Then, all I can think about is my Purpose being fulfilled; of course I’m sad that I’m here in a thief’s stomach rather than my owner’s, Lyra, but that’s a problem between the two predators; my only concern is making sure I get eaten and nourish someone.

So knowing that I’ve succeeded, I fall asleep with a smile.

- - - -

“You were right, Dash.” Gilda says as she idly rubs and pats her now-still stomach, sitting with her bulging middle before herself, which is shoving her hindlegs to the side. Rainbow Dash replies in the form of a cheeky grin, putting both forehooves on Gilda’s belly, waiting, discreetly watching Gilda’s face, who now has her eyes half-closed gently in contentment.

Then, just as the pegasus knew would be coming, the stomach suddenly started jerking about, yet just as Gilda cries out—more in panic than pain—it stills again. Rainbow, laughing so hard that she cries and coughs, falls onto her back, wiggling about. “Oh, Celestia! I wish I had a camera! Priceless!”

Gilda, meanwhile, unable to decide whether she should be more hurt or embarrassed, simply lashes out. “What the fuck, Dash!?” The next few minutes, however, is filled with nothing but slowly quieting laughter and one quickly growing glare.

Finally, Rainbow Dash forces herself to take in one long, steadying breath and pull herself up to her hooves. “Uh, heheh, well, his death throe. Duh? I know you’ve hunted before…” Dash tilts her head—she at least does know Gilda has never before eaten anything as big as a human alive, but even this drastic of a reaction she did not expect; internally, she was biting her lip and frantically thinking up ways to make it up to the old friend she hadn’t seen for so long.

Gilda’s growl devolves into a groan, then a sigh and a shake of her head. She raises a foreleg and wiggles her talons, then taps one against the sharp tip of her beak. “I’ve never eaten anything alive. Most griffons don’t, and usually never do. Only ponies do that regularly with whatever innate magic allows them to, and I think even you’d know that…”

She’s waiting for something, and Rainbow knows at least this. “Alright, alright! Sorry!” Rainbow waves her forehooves about as if to air away the antagonistic miasma. “I did know, that’s why I didn’t tell you: because I thought it would be funny. I didn’t think about how it would be at your expense. Sorry.” The pegasus pony falls into a small slump, looking up at the overfilled griffon with as close to puppydog eyes as Dash will allow of herself.

Gilda lets Rainbow wallow for a moment before a loud gurgle followed by a long, bubbly groan makes her wince a look down at her stomach with a little worry, so she shrugs. “Good. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to sleep this off, preferably somewhere that unicorn won’t be able to find me and try to get back at me.”

Trying to stand, Gilda only finds her new freely-swinging weight throwing her off balance—not simply dragging her back down, but nearly pulling her onto her side; she sways as she struggles to regain control. Rainbow Dash, watching intently, puts a forehoof to her muzzle and forces her giggling to quieten. “Um… Need a little help, there?” Though jokes run around her mind, she shoos them away; Rainbow remembers now how Gilda can turn rather self-conscious suddenly sometimes, even when nopony else is around, and so decides not to push her any more right now.

However, her weighed-down companion simply harumphs and begins flapping her wings madly to fight the weight; she manages to stand like this, but a second later she remembers they’re currently standing on a lone cloud. After how much she struggled just to stand, they both know there’s no way she’ll be able to fly in this state, so once again, “Gilda, come on, let me help.”

The griffon glances away, thinks for a single, short moment, rolls her eyes, and finally (so it seems to Dash) says, “Alright. You can fly under me, to carry my stomach on your back, and take me to your place.”

Rainbow Dash barely restrains herself from sighing in relief at the proffering of reconciliation. With a simple, “Great!” she launches herself under the cloud in a tight loop, then bursts through right under Gilda, who squawks out, not just from shock, but from the sudden pressure against her gut. “Well? You got’ta help me help you!” Rainbow chuckles until she catches sight of the talons on both sides of her neck, and she sees in her minds eye how Gilda had wiggled them and said how Griffons usually eat. A thrill runs through her, but she suppresses it easily: Surely, Gilda would never do such a thing to a pony, and even if so, then not to Rainbow Dash herself!

As they now take off together, Rainbow shrugs her shoulders to help settle the weight—still quite solid, but completely still. The flight is easy and slow for Gilda’s sake, so Rainbow’s mind wanders. She reflects upon the human her friend just consumed: He’d seemed to so easily accept that fate, as if he anticipated its inevitability… perhaps even he desired it? Perhaps, then, that’s why humans, as tasty as they are, have to be so rare, practically begging to be eaten! Rainbow snorted: Who could know what went through the mind of a silly human, and ultimately what did it matter? Their soft bodies, completely devoid of even the simplest natural weapon, would be easy prey no matter their own supposed desires.

In good time they arrive at Rainbow’s home; the pegasus allows herself to fall through the cloud that makes her front step, popping up almost instantly to see her friend once more rubbing her now-unsupported stomach. The inside is obviously designed with pegasi in mind, but after visits from friends (usually Pinkie Pie or Twilight), Rainbow had installed a few haphazard stairs, which Gilda, with relief, takes advantage of now.

Walking up, however, presents almost as many problems as flying: Now, at such an angle, Gilda’s belly is stretched taut from the front, tugging at the chest, making it harder to breathe, while behind the skin crinkles and folds in, bouncing more than swaying, threatening to pull her down in a tumble, talon-over-beak. At least, then, the nature of clouds gives them more flexibility than other popular building materials, while losing no ability to hold firm, so instead of her hanging gut slamming painfully into the corner of every step, the cloud simply folds away, resuming shape once Gilda passes.

On the first floor landing, Rainbow intercepts the griffon, though she needn’t have bothered, as Gilda had planned to stop here to catch her breath. “G, I have, uh, only one shower, and only one heated cloud, uhm… so-”. Rainbow fidgets her wings and pinches her lips tightly together.

Gilda huffs out a sigh of part exhaustion, part annoyance—she just wants to get to bed—before answering, “Whatever. Like it’ll be any different from the open showers at camp.”

“Oh, ha haaa… Really?”

Gilda stops for a moment, thinking perhaps that smile of such a size is a mite unwarranted, but shrugs, steps past Rainbow, and rolls her eyes once her face is out of sight. “Yeah. Really.”

While Gilda’s mind is occupied by thoughts of cloud mattresses and blankets and pillows, caressing her, lightening the burden dared upon her, the darer, Rainbow Dash, is instead blushing at the sight of her friend’s behind, the swollen belly below seeming to trigger an attraction of strange, previously unknown sorts inside her.

Rainbow has to pause to recompose herself, and once feeling relatively normal, she enters the bathroom to find Gilda has already helped herself by stepping into the tub, but is now looking up at the dark cloud above, claw thoughtfully tapping her beak and wings rustling with annoyance at the fact the pegasus’s bathroom is too small for a griffon to properly spread her wings.

“Oh! Le’me get that.” Rainbow says, then flies up to the ceiling, biting her lip and half hoping that Gilda doesn’t notice her arousal—the other half hoping she does and is receptive.

The griffon, however, has already sat, and her head is resting on her belly and her eyes closed; even if she had noticed Rainbow’s excitement and was interested in experimenting with her, she simply hasn’t the energy. The pegasus sighs as she lands and begins washing herself, having to force herself from scrubbing over her behind too much in her (yet) platonic friend’s presence, but Gilda dozes on, eyes half closed and lazy, almost dopy smile at the corners of her beak.

When Rainbow is finished washing up and the griffon has still not moved so much as a claw since the shower had started, she pokes her shoulder. “Uh, Gilda?” Rainbow asks with her brows lowered, bemused.

So, Gilda finally raises her head and stifles a yawn. “You know, Dash, I was unsure at first, but I can see why you ponies like to do this. Maybe I’ll do this again, every once in a while.” She says as she looks down her dome of an abdomen, then pats it, causing a small burp to escape.

Rainbow, thankful for the heat of the shower to hide her blush, stutters out, “Uh… S-Sure. Glad you like it… Uh, Need any help?” She grins awkwardly as she holds out the bottle of shampoo.

With a grunt, Gilda raises herself up on her hind legs and tries to reach out, but she falls back on her rump, belly wobbling from the disturbance. Rainbow Dash is so transfixed and surprised by the intensity of her body’s response to this situation, that it takes her a moment to register Gilda having said, “Oof…Yeah.”

As Gilda works suds into the feathers of her head and neck, Rainbow's mind turns elsewhere as she goes through the griffon’s wings, quite unable to stop her eyes from flicking to that bulging stomach every few seconds. Jeez, where is this coming from? I’ve seen Gilda hundreds of times and ponies filled with huge, living meals hundreds of times… Maybe it’s just as Gilda said: I’ve never seen a griffon with a belly as big as this before, so maybe-? Realizing she was finished with the wings, Rainbow shook off that line of thought. Bah! Twi’s the one who would be asking why; I’m just going to enjoy it!… If I can just convince Gilda.

Returning to the present, Rainbow notices that Gilda has finished washing all she could reach, which merely consists of her head, chest, and about the top third of her stomach, yet she seems not troubled with Rainbow taking her time. The pegasus, however, returns to her ministration with fresh vigor, quickly working a lather into Gilda’s back so as to move on to the griffon’s front all the sooner.

Finally! The newfound object of her desire is right before her, with full permission for her to touch. Tentatively, Rainbow begins to rub in small circles, hoping that the steam is enough to explain away her blush; her heart gives a small jump when she looks up and sees Gilda seemingly sneering down at her, but a second later Rainbow realizes it’s just a dopey smile and eyes mostly closed in a pseudo-coma.

Fighting not to bite her lip from the sexual tension, Rainbow’s mind bounces between hurrying up so as not to clue Gilda into her newfound fetish, and going slow and choosing to enjoy it—perhaps even almost hoping Gilda realizes the pegasus’s arousal. Still, she closes her eyes and shivers each time she feels the hard length of an arm or leg mixed amongst the churning soup—imagining what it might be like inside, though of course the awesome Rainbow Dash would never be eaten, to say nothing of allowing herself to be eaten!

Absurd.

Returning to reality after one such subconscious delve, Rainbow finds herself practically on her belly as she “washes” the last of Gilda that she can reach, sitting as she is. Here, Rainbow freezes: How to proceed? Should she simply wake her friend from her “brushie coma”, or additionally ask, in her most casual voice, to stand so she can finish? For after all, Gilda’s in no state to wash her own behind…

The gonging of her doorbell comes to solve her dilemma for her, calling her away and pulling Gilda back to Equestria. Silently cursing, Rainbow mumbles an apology about answering the door in the middle of helping her wash up, her mind still half on the human’s fate.

Rushing to her front door, her speed alone getting her mostly dry, Rainbow’s eyes bug out upon seeing Pinkie Pie, standing on the cloud doorstep as if it’s normal—which it is, for her.

Before Rainbow can gather wits enough to say so much as hello, Pinkie bursts out, “Heya, Dashie! Is Gilda still around?!”

“Uh… Oh! Yeah, she is. Why?” Rainbow bits her lip, hoping against hope for her prospective “alone time” with Gilda to be usurped by the p-word.

“I want to throw her a ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party!”

Rainbow drops her face into a forehoof, not really paying attention or even caring for what Pinkie is rambling on about. Of course. Of course I should have known, especially after Pinkie’s been following us around ever since she saw Gilda, so when we finally stopped to rest-… Ugh!

“-but then I remembered I’ve never met a griffon before, and was- hmm mph mmm-!”

Rainbow shoves the hoof that had just previously been hiding her face into Pinkie’s mouth. “Sounds great, but- uhh… I dun’no if Gilda will be into that. I’ll ask her—she’s in the shower right now—but no promises, alright, Pinkie?” Rainbow gives her a glower and hopes it’s enough to deter the party pony from arguing.

Pinkie jumps back, freeing herself from Rainbow’s hoof. “Gilda might not want to come?! -but-!” Rainbow intensifies her glare. “-but. Party. Friends. Fun…”

Rainbow sighs as Pinkie droops with more and more sorrow at every word, and looks to the sky, begging for Celestia’s aid. “Pinkie, if Gilda doesn’t want to go, she won’t have any fun, and she won’t be in the mood to be making friends, ya see?”

When Rainbow looks back down, she sees Pinkie had sunk into the cloud. “Okay,” is all she says before she drops out of sight.

“Wah! Pinkie!?” Rainbow calls out, and zooms around under the doorstep, only to find no hint Pinkie had ever been there; no hole in the cloud nor a speck of pink to be found.

Once facing her own front door, Rainbow lets out a groan and lets her forehead drop against the doorjamb. Great. If Gilda’s in too good of a mood, she’ll probably want to at least give this party a try. -and even though I didn’t make any promises, if Pinkie ever finds out I didn’t even tell Gilda-… She lefts her head and straightens her back and neck. No! Stupid Rainbow, you shouldn’t think like that! Even thinking of hiding something from a friend when she might enjoy it is just not Loyalty! Besides, it seems like Gilda started enjoying her meal once the surprises were done with, so maybe she’ll be up to trying it again?

Deciding with a determined nod, Rainbow reenters only to find Gilda had finished while she was with Pinkie, and she’s now standing at the top of the stairs, still damp and with a towel draping from her head, down her neck, and onto her back; to Rainbow, this more prominently frames her rounded-out stomach, drawing her eyes all the more and instantly calling forth her blush to return. “So what was that about, Dash?”

“Erm…” Rainbow takes a moment to fight back a last-second doubt. “It was Pinkie, here to invite you to a ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party. -with you as the guest of honor.” She gives her best smile, which here is more of an off-kilter grimace—thankfully, it seems Gilda’s too far away and too busy with drying herself to notice.

After a moment, during which Rainbow flutters up the stairs, Gilda finally says. “A party, huh? Sounds like that could be fun.” Gilda’s eyes wander as she ponders, while Rainbow’s ears perk at the doubt-filled inflection. “Eh, why not at least check it out.” The griffon makes to shrug, but lifting both her forelegs instead causes her to fall onto her stomach. Considering its size, she doesn’t fall far, but the bloated middle flattens slightly and lets out a loud series of gurgling in protest; Gilda frowns and pats it gingerly as if to placate an ornery pet before lifting herself up on all four legs.

As Gilda, wobbling, makes her way down the steps, Rainbow Dash fights the hardest she’s ever had to to not facehoof.

- - - -

Below Rainbow’s cloud home, Bonbon is having nearly as bad of a time with her partner, though in her case, had failed to restrain her hoof; currently, it’s resting on her muzzle, where she had let it fall, as she and Lyra sat in their living room, Bonbon having done her best to calm the upset unicorn with her favorite treats, and yet…

“How could she not see that human clearly belonged to me?! I had him on a leash! That damned-!”

“Yes, Lyra.” Bonbon’s voice is a mix of soothing and defeated. “So you’ve said three times by now.” Shaking her head, the saner mare looks up again, eyes worn, but offering a sorry smile. “The human’s probably long been turned into unrecognizable mush by now—you’re working yourself up for nothing.” Earning herself a pouty glare for this frank observation, Bonbon takes a second to pray for patience before asking, “Well, instead of just complaining, tell me: What can you do now?”

Unexpectedly, Lyra begins huffing out single, unconnected words; Bonbon sighs, nearly dropping her head in defeat. This had never happened before; usually, it’s so easy to distract the excitable, eccentric unicorn from anything bothering her—which itself is fairly rare! Surely the beacon-collar being lost would be the most upsetting, but Lyra has yet to mention it, so Bonbon wisely has kept silent.

Still, it’s not a matter of replacing the human, either with another or some other meal—Bonbon had suggested that long ago! Neither has Lyra responded to any of her usual distractions, such as a chance meeting with Octavia, and the fellow musician offering her sympathies. All has culminated in Bonbon herself on the verge of hysterics from the frustration.

Until a ring of the doorbell. “I’ll get it!” Bonbon declares in clear desperation, though Lyra is hardly in a state to notice. Snatching open the door with undue ferocity, it’s somewhat fortuitous that the only pony who wouldn’t question such a thing is one who has come calling. “Oh! Pinkie! Ah… Good afternoon. Erm…” Bonbon glances side-to-side, ninety-nine percent certain of this visit’s purpose, and not at all sure of a favorable outcome.

Predictably, the bouncing pony throws an envelope up into the air amongst a cloud of confetti; Bonbon closes her eyes and lifts a foreleg to protect her face. A few seconds later, once thinking it safe, she looks up to find the confetti “mysteriously” gone and the envelope resting on her raised hoof. Hoping to avoid questions from Lyra, Bonbon rips open the letter right there with a teeth, and certainly enough finds an invitation to a welcome party for “Gilda the griffon”, and as Bonbon is quite certain only one griffon has come to Ponyville today… No way that’d end well!

Yet, as Bonbon more slowly makes her way back to the living room, she finds a stray thread of optimism. Maybe it was all just a joke? Applejack said that griffon is friends with Rainbow Dash, so it’s not like that’s completely unlikely. Maybe she didn’t even fully eat the human, just stuff part of it into her beak until she was out of sight! Worse comes to worst, it was probably just a misunderstanding, right? Not like I know a whole lot about griffons or griffon culture, but looking at Zecora, even the smallest difference could lead to a huge mistake.

“Who was it?” Lyra asks in a dead, disinterested voice, facing the floor; Bonbon winces, so hurt to hear such a tone from her perpetually upbeat partner.

“Ah… It was Pinkie Pie.” If nothing else, that tone convinces her to do something, anything, to get Lyra back to normal. “She’s throwing a ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party for… Gilda the griffon.” Bonbon still finishes carefully, wearily.

Lyra slowly raises her head, stares at Bonbon with unfocused eyes for a moment, then looks up at the ceiling. “‘Gilda the griffon’, huh? That griffon?” She nearly growls.

“Most… likely?” Bonbon offers in one-hundred percent truth, yet still biting her lip. “Pinkie didn’t really stick around and explain.”

“Oh, okay!” Lyra suddenly smiles—a simple smile—and looks back at Bonbon.

Bonbon tilts her head. “Is that an ‘I-want-to-go-to-the-party okay’, or-…?”

“Yeah! When is it, then?” Lyra seems to finally notice Bonbon’s uncertain, confused expression, at which she giggles and rolls her eyes. “Bonnie, I don’t want to get revenge on the griffon or anything, promise! Just, ooh-” Lyra turns a hoof in small circles in thought. “-maybe I could use a distraction, you know?” She shrugs. “-and maybe I’ll see this Gilda in a different light and even become friends—Who knows!?” At that, Lyra hops up and “bounces” her hips and withers without her hooves leaving the ground.

Staring hard for hints of deception, Bonbon sighs, but lowers her brows in seriousness. “Alright, I’ll trust you with this…” The Earth pony then offers a playful, if somewhat reserved, smile, “-but you might as well calm down for a few hours; the party’s at six.”

“Awww! That long!”

- - - -

FOUR

Finally, the wait was over: My vengeance is only minutes away!

… Poor Bonnie. I do hate to lie to her, but she doesn’t understand the satisfaction of eating a human after tormenting and breaking it yourself. Most ponies don’t, really, I suppose, but they don’t matter to me as much as Bonnie. Hopefully, I’ll be able to lure the Birdbrain off somewhere so I can eat her in private with nopony the wiser, but if not, I’m sure I can get Bonnie to understand, or at worst, it’ll eventually pass as surely as a bowel movement.

Minutes away… Feet away! There’s Sugarcube Corner! Bonbon smirks good-naturedly at my excitable pronking, but who could blame me? Everypony knows a Pinkie-Party is a great place to feast!

It seems the party is already on the go—expected, since Bonbon (not I!) had lost track of the time. That’d mean more ponies around, which more likely would make it harder to get Gilda somewhere quiet, but-… Wait…

Suddenly, there’s a burst of laughter from inside, nearly covering the sound of one grumbling a growling, then a sound like something big and wet falling. While Bonnie runs ahead, hoping to catch the tailend of the fun, I can’t help but think that that sounds like somepony—or somebirdy—isn’t having as much fun as everyone else. Excellent. -and if she doesn’t recognize me—Why would she after flying off so quickly?—that’d only make it all the easier to get her away and catch her off guard!

Putting the boiling plans on the backburner of my mind, I come to the front door of everypony’s favorite confectionery, where Bonnie is standing just inside, waiting, looking back at me with a quirked brow, probably confused by my sudden lack outward exuberance—as if a mare is expected to not indulge her stomach’s fantasies at any time of day! Stopping inside the door, I give an extra wide smile and add a bounce to my last step, which calls back my favorite indulgent smile to my favorite face.

Luckily, just then, my poor belly voices dissatisfaction over its long-delayed meal, at which Bonnie looks at it with widened eyes before raising a hoof to her muzzle to cover a giggle. “Good thing Pinkie always has that part of a party covered!”

As much as I’d love to joke and make her giggle some more, movement behind her catches my attention, and I tilt my head at the scene. All around there is what appears to be the remains of a cake, with a few ponies sporting sugary garb—not all too unusual for Pinkie Pie—but it’s an event at the far wall that is what caught my attention. The Party Host herself is there, watching and ever-grinning at some white and brown blur spinning beside her.

Soon enough, she reaches out and stops the dizzy victim, revealing the griffon herself, incriminating bloated stomach and all. Of course the human is long gone; the heavily swinging stomach appearing as if an overfilled waterskin, betraying no presence of anything solid inside. Thankfully, Bonnie had followed my line of sight, and I manage to wipe the anger off my face before she turns back to me, somewhat worried—that kind of look she gets when she doesn’t want me to know she’s worried.

Ripping my eyes off the prize, I see the reason for Pinkie’s Whirling Ride is a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-pony. Fool; no one ever wins that with Pinkie at the helm. Gilda says something to Pinkie before turning 180 degrees from the direction Pinkie had faced her—straight towards Bonnie and myself. Good strategy, Birdbrain. I snicker. Bonbon says something then, but I’m too focused on Gilda’s imminent failure. “Huh? In a second.” I murmur back, stalling.

Quickly, ponies start to mutter and glance between each other, confused and worried, as with every step, the blindfolded, angry Gilda gets further from the simple plastic poster. All their worries and my hopes come together into a fateful clump of forgotten cake on the floor, which the griffon becomes acquainted with, talon first.

Now, if she had been on all fours, this probably wouldn’t have been much of a problem, but here her other talon is busy holding out the tail-to-be-pinned. So, instead of simply losing her balance for a split second, she overcompensates and, without her other foreleg to keep steady (to say nothing of the unfamiliar weight of human prey), she shoots herself forward, sliding on the moist glob.

I laugh at her cawing cry of surprise—a single “Ha!”—when, in a slow instant, I realize she’s not stopping. For whatever bird-brained reason, the thief holds tight to the tail, doing nothing to halt herself, so she keeps sliding and sliding… straight towards me!

At first I raise a hoof, intent to get out of the way, but in the next instant, I grin, visited by a more devious idea: A plan to get back what’s owed to me, with a little interest.

I only have so much time!

So, I slightly widen my stance and more firmly plant my hooves, bracing—wishing for an instant that I had the Earth ponies’ strength and connection to the ground. Then I straighten my neck, to create the best point-of-entry, and finally open my mouth wide … wide … wider!

Over the griffon’s cries, the creaking of the muscle and bone of my jaw, and through my quickly mounting excitement, I think I hear a cry of, “Don’t! L-oomph!” but it’s silenced as soon the griffon hits my throat beak-first—had she lifted the blindfold at that last second and saw her fate? No matter, I mentally shrug, then smile as much as I’m able around the mass of feathers; the griffon’s hard landing leaves her lodged deep and firm, with surely no escape from my hunger and vengeance!

Obviously, Birdbrain immediately starts to shove against my face and shoulders, trying to pull herself free, but some quick and easy levitation magic puts an end to that—as if I’m going to let her ever get out of my range again as long as she lives! Trapping her forelegs and wings to her side and lifting her hindlegs, tucking them against her stomach, leaves her looking (or so I imagine, hardly able to see more than her behind and madly whipping tail) most pear-shaped.

Then, lifting her to a slight angle, I give her the first of what is sure to be many hard, strong swallows; inside my esophagus, I feel a bit more wiggling than I’d expect from just the griffons head and neck, but again shrug off the oddity—I can ask questions once my mouth has handed-off Birdbrain to my stomach.

So it went, gulp after gulp, the front half of the griffon entering steadily, offering no particular challenge to my practiced gullet. Yet considering such, that odd sensation moving ever deeper inside still niggles me, drawing my mind from my still-visible meal to, perhaps, another doomed one: Yes, I grow more certain that some poor pony had been shoved in before the griffon, but who it may be escapes me—I’m sure that nopony had been standing between myself and my self-delivering meal when had opened up to receive her, so who could possibly be so foolish?

My swallowing becomes weaker and less frequent and my magic cuts off as a certain possibility comes and slowly convinces me; Birdbrain begins fighting again, but with her forelegs now tucked tightly into my cheeks, the front half of her wings pressed against the roof of my mouth, and her hindlegs far more suited to moving forward than backward, she remains just as helpless before me as ever.

Further inside me, it seems the question of who may soon be answered, as feel then more wiggling in a more open space. When the tip of their hooves reach the far side of my stomach, they try to shove themselves back up; I would have shook my head at that if I could. It seems the mystery meal is entering hind-first, so I return to focusing on eating again, so to help the pony free their head from my esophagus, so then once I hear their voice, I can recognize them all the sooner, though the absence on one certain voice nearby convinces me more with ever inch the griffon that disappears.

Tighter and tighter, I feel the hooves inside pushing at my stomach harder with each shove of peristalsis, now so much I’m sure those hooves are quite visible somewhere on my abdomen—yet if they know me at all, that is, if they were from Ponyville, they should know how practiced my belly is in containing large, fidgety foods—at least as large as most ponies, anyway, which is all that really matters concerning their fate.

Just as I reach the end of Birdbrain’s chest, I feel the pony’s shoulders pop past the valve of my stomach’s entrance, and the rest of them practically slides in without so much work from my body, as they all but flop into my favorite sac of acid, which bounces slightly from the sudden weight. In the next instant is the cry I expected, “Lyra! Get-! -Me-! -Out!” yet it comes in Bonnie’s voice as she kicks with such frantic ferocity she makes me stumble away from the door I’d been blocking this whole time.

Thankfully, my throat keeps a tight hold on my prey, dragging the griffon’s back half with me, yet in the next instant, she trips on the step, falling towards me—I would’ve cried out in shock as I fall onto my behind, the only thing keeping me from tipping all the way onto my back being Birdbrain herself. Now, my head and neck are being pulled forward, over my Bonbon-filled belly, and after the second kick or punch to my jaw from the still-fighting fillyfriend-turned-meal, I once again use my magic to lift the griffon. This time, and with the open space, I raise her directly above me, forming a straight line from mouth to stomach—How fortuitous! This should help me work over the bloated middle the griffon got from my stolen meal.

I try to keep my focus on Birdbrain, as I’m now only a few gulps away from the most difficult part, but the fighting from Bonbon inside me and the unknown pony underneath me are making themselves quite potent distractions. Bonbon, being a pony, is already bigger than any human I’ve eaten, and her struggling more ferocious—she really should know how that only excites me! Silly food… If she was all, I may have been able to focus, yet the mystery pony had fallen (most “unfortunately”) straight down the middle of my ass, their muzzle stuck in my anus—their attempts to cry for help or mercy or whatever only causing constant stimulation.

What with all three parts of me—front, middle, and end—occupied, I feel I could so easily fall into hazy pleasure… but no! No way am I chancing the possibility of relaxing enough to let the thief go! Besides, the real revenge doesn’t start until Birdbrain is melting away, my body preparing her for use as fuel. So down and down she goes, her hindlegs clawing fruitlessly, causing her stomach to wobble madly about; Birdbrain can’t even see how the fact that she’s shifting her body back and forth so madly is only helping me pack her down and away. Then, when I finally reach the beginning of what is sure to prove the hardest meal I’ve ever eaten, a little extra gnawing drives her further into panic, at which I’d grin if able, even as my jaws are pulled further and further past where they’d ever been.

I think I hear gasps and perhaps a whistle of appreciation as the griffon continues to disappear into me without slowing.

Then, the pitiable one trapped below somehow manages to find a little leverage against my wider-and-weightier-than-average cheeks (but not that much!), getting its forehooves between myself and its chest. Unexpected, but I roll my eyes with barely a pause in swallowing; besides, Birdbrain is also providing some new amusement: Her face has finally popped into my stomach, making her swearing understandable now her beak is no longer restricted by my esophagus. “Who the fuck is trying to eat me!?” Ah. Right. She was blindfolded. “You better stop and cough me back up right now or I’ll claw my own way out, you stupid fool!”

Bonbon, seeming to finally accept my stomach will be her end, stops fighting and says, in that flat, You aren’t going to listen to me, are you? voice, “You’re the stupid fool. Nothing can ‘claw their way out’ of a pony’s stomach; they’re magically toughened up so we can eat pretty much anything safely.”

That makes Gilda pause for a second, which in turn makes me stop for a moment to allow myself a chuckle, though it sounds more like a snort with my mouth completely blocked. This laughing of mine then in its turn, allows my ass-kissing chair the last bit of leverage they need, or so they think: My eyes widen as their forelegs shoot up and lock straight, momentarily actually rising me up, until the next instant, and their hooves slip forward, right into my vagina!

There are twin cries of fearful surprise from inside me, and I swallow hard in shock and pleasure, and as the initial pleasant haze quickly fades, I find the shove had knocked Bonnie a bit, too, as my stomach quickly settles from bouncing about and Bonnie has her hooves out in all directions, as if she could steady her slippery, deadly hammock. The still unknown pony tries to remove her forelegs, but I only close my eyes at the stimulation and, momentarily forgetting everything else, grind into the pony—I only move so slightly, yet this is enough to pop the rest of the pony’s head past my anus.

Naturally, the pony’s panic becomes worse yet, and I shiver from the near-constant jolts of euphoria that the madly jerking hooves spark inside. Even if I’d been able to focus more on Birdbrain, however, I worry I may yet need to concede defeat—I’m now mere inches from the peak of the griffon’s stuffed middle, but the strain is showing as, with great difficulty, I force myself to swallow, but it seems to have no effect.

I close my eyes, preparing to strain my throat one more time before giving up, but just as I pep myself, I feel something—somepony’s hooves—rubbing my neck, making me realize just how obscenely bloated it must look right now. I would have said something if I could; thankfully, Gilda seemed to be on the same line of thought (though probably for different reasons!), “Hey! Who is that?! Quit touching me, freaky pervert dweeb!”

At the insult, the hooves retreat with a flinch, but in the next second they return, now pushing and rubbing in some kind of clumsy, novice massage—all the same, the taut muscles partially slacken, drawing some of my attention from my groin and stomach (where Birdbrain now has enough of her neck free from my esophagus to thrash her head about, constantly smacking Bonnie around).

Instantly, when the hooves leave me again, the pleasure from my impromptu twin-hoofing shoots through me with a vengeance, making me moan; at that, the griffon cries out, “Sicko! The lot of ya’ are all sickos! Get off’a me and get me out’ta here!”

“So, I’m a ‘sicko’, am I, Gilda?” comes Rainbow Dash’s voice, and her face suddenly appears over Birdbrain’s backside, on which she seems to be standing, though her weight is so negligible alongside the stuffed griffon, I hadn’t noticed her landing there. From there, she give me a familiar naughty, prank-ish smirk, though it might just be a little bit more mean-spirited this time!… -and is she also blushing?

“Rainbow Dash!?” Birdbrain pauses her thrashing, apparently from surprise. “Help! Get me out! This freak is eating me, and I bet all those other freaks are getting off on this! That damned cake must’ve been a trap! Gaaaaah!”

As Gilda wails away, Rainbow Dash flops onto her griffon-cushion, rolling her eyes; meanwhile, it seems the pony under me has lost the will or strength to fight any longer. When the thief finally runs out of air, Rainbow cuts in before she can refill her lungs. “You’re the doofus that destroyed the cake and sent it everywhere, just because of some prank candles, Gilda! It’s like you can’t take a joke anymore… in other words: Lame!”

“Huff… huff…” Birdbrain gasps. “It’s those… jokes that were… lame! Never-ending candles… is like… hatchling-level stuff!” A pause; with nothing seeming to happen anytime soon, I give another experimental swallow, taking in another fraction of an inch, making Rainbow’s perch wobble slightly and Birdbrain squawks in frightened shock. “Well!? Are you going to help me or just lay there on my ass!?”

“Uhmmm…” Rainbow taps one of Birdbrain’s buttcheeks in faux contemplation, then snickers as she slaps it playfully. “Neither!”

“What?!” Birdbrain screeches, and for once I have to agree with her: What could Rainbow be planning next? I swallow, somewhat nervous, but out of plain necessity: Even with my magic hold, my neck is getting tired and my throat muscles are going tight and stiff again. Wait. If Gilda asked about either helping her or doing nothing, and Rainbow said neither, does that mean she’s going to help me? Then- No! Wait!

If I’d been paying attention, I would have seen Rainbow fly up a few pony-lengths, narrow her eyes and stick her tongue out in concentration, then finally shoot down, straight towards me—or rather, straight towards the behind of the fat prey currently filling up everything between my mouth and stomach. As is, however, I barely have time for my eyes to widen with alarm, nevermind trying to wave her off or even bracing for impact.

“Ha ha!” The crazy pegasus cries out just before slamming, forehooves-first, into Birdbrain, sending visible shockwaves through her overfilled gut and causing her to scream out in obvious pain.

“Urglrp!” At the same time, I swallow and do my best to mumble-shout my displeasure for Rainbow’s so-called help, narrowing my eyes as if to clear my meaning, yet Rainbow doesn’t even bother to look me in the face before kicking off and flying back up. After rolling my eyes at the expected recklessness, I take notice of my progress on Birdbrain, and find I’ve actually gotten a good number of inches in that one gulp—Well, I suppose Rainbow’s strategy isn’t that bad! I can take a few more hits like that, then never try to eat anything this big again!

Except it’s not just me and Gilda here; as Rainbow lines up her next dive, the yet-to-be-known pony comes back to life. “Hmmphff!” I first guess they had to take an extra second for the shock to wear off, as they couldn’t have seen the hit coming, but these new movements seem more… methodical? -calculated? -intentional? Either way, they’re certainly less… panicky, and more like that of somepony with a plan.

“Oooh… What was that?” I can barely hear Bonbon’s moaned question over Birdbrain’s extended screams of anger and fear. Still, can barely see anything besides Rainbow, the sky, and my food’s widened flanks, but a little probing—tentative rubbing, really—of my own belly tells me that Bonnie is soon to run out of any space for her to more or less freely move, which is about to fill in all the faster if Rainbow has anything left to say.

Simultaneously, as Rainbow rockets towards me again, I feel a vaguely familiar sensation around my anus; time seems to slow, then, as I realize that this whole time I’ve missed the fact my unwilling seat is actually a unicorn!… -and I have a rather bad feeling what this spell is for. Even with this sudden comprehension, however, I know I can do nothing: I can’t signal to Rainbow Dash to stop, and if I moved, Rainbow would just hit me instead of Gilda, possibly undoing all of this work on turning her into my food.

I close my eyes and brace.

The spell hits the instant before Rainbow Dash: An explosion (which most thankfully doesn’t hurt!) goes off, launching me upwards, leaving the bomber behind as their head slips from my anus with an impressive pop! Naturally, this leaves me flying, Birdbrain-ass-first, into the charging pegasus racer—not a very gentle recipe of physics.

I see Rainbow Dash gasp and squeeze her eyes shut in the split second before she disappears beyond the horizon of the griffon’s behind. She connects in, perhaps, her hardest landing yet, and I’m hit with the strangest sensation I’ve never heard of: It’s nothing like swallowing or eating in anyway; I’m not so much consuming Birdbrain as I am being stuffed by her.

Though my eyes I wide open in shock, I don’t really register just how fast Birdbrain’s backside disappears past my lips until my stretched-out jaws are freed and all but snap shut around Rainbow’s hooves. “Hey!” she calls out, but I’ve no intention of taking her as well; I let her fly away just before I hit the ground, the unicorn having apparently escaped, though I wouldn’t have eaten whoever they were, either. I give a last few hard gulps to help Birdbrain along in completely entering my stomach, then finally and simply relax: gasping for long-denied air, flopping on to my side, and lazily blinking my half-lidded eyes.

Having not just strained her jaw and esophagus around a human-stuffed griffon, Rainbow laughs and, in her amused excitement, performs a few tight loop-the-loops above me before landing before my belly, which from where I’m laying, seems to tower above me, and the drum-tight skin reveals every movement of my Earth pony and griffon meals. Urg… Maybe this was a bad idea. Just then, a small disturbance quickly grows, then-!… “Bruaaaap! Ooof!” A few white and brown feathers, and some blue and pink hairs, all covered in saliva, scatter around my muzzle, and I grin and smack my lips, appreciating the last of their flavors that will grace mine (or any) tongue.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” Rainbow shout sarcastically while poking my belly, and I think Birdbrain shouts something back, but with less air and far less space, I only catch indistinct mumbling, then a lot of movement for a short time before Birdmeat finds some packet of air where it can talk.

“What the Tartarus, Dash! So you’ve had your fun, alright? Now HELP!”

Rainbow leans onto the spot where what is apparently the griffon’s head is making a small bulge—or at least small compared to “bulge” that is my whole stomach. “As if, Gilda. Even if those pranks were ‘hatchling-level’, your attitude is hatchling-level for getting so mad at ’em!”

“Lyra?” Bonnie tries to interject, but even if I was to think of responding, the oversized drumsticks starts yelling.

“Seriously!?” Birdbrain pokes a talon where Rainbow’s head is leaning against me, but true to magical pony biology, there’s no chance of cutting a way out. “You’re going to hold that against me? I JUST GOT ATE!” She screams, jabbing the talon against Rainbow Dash’s skull, eliciting nothing but an eyeroll from the pegasus. “-and because I got a little annoyed, you’re going to let me get DIGESTED!?”

With a sigh, Rainbow takes a small step back and puts a hoof against the poking talon, pushing back against it. “No, not because you got annoyed.” Now her amusement at the griffon’s fate retreats, and she sounds more accusatory and… disappointed? “This is about the way you were treating Pinkie, especially since she’s the one who put this party together for you. Well, as far as I’m concerned, you didn’t deserve it.”

“Wha-… What?” Birdbrain mutters, voice softened from shock, and it stops putting pressure on my poor stomach with its talon.

“Ly-ra?” my candy mare calls out more insistently.

“Pinkie is one of my best friends, White Meat, and I don’t like how you were treating her in there.” Rainbow Dash shrugs, grinning again. “Heck, if you got any worse, I would’ve told Pinkie to go ahead and eat you. Heh heh. Better fat in the flank than a pain in the flank!”

“Lyra!?” Bonnie calls out in her loudest, most worried-sounding tone yet, possibly from Rainbow’s joke, and spurred by my light, polite chuckle.

“Sorry, Sweetie.” I pat what little I can reach on the huge dome my stomach has become, and though it’s hard to tell, I think I pat the griffon’s behind instead of any part of Bonnie—and with that I cause myself to let out a small belch. “-but you know you shouldn’t have gotten between me and my food. After all, that’s why I was about to eat the griffon in the first place, and you knew that, didn’t you?”

“No!” She yells, once again pounding futily against my stomach walls, only accomplishing in making me let out another little burp. “I’m sorry! Please let me out!”

“Ouch!” Birdbrain exclaims. “Hey! Watch where you’re flailing those hooves, dweeb, before I eat you next!”

With that, Bonbon and Birdbrain fall into some argument, at which I give an indifferent shrug before turning to what’s going on around me, letting whatever’s going on inside me to fall into the background—who would bother to care what happens to a hayburger once you’re done eating it?

“-then I told her I’d ask you to eat her anyway!” I hear Rainbow telling Pinkie Pie after I tune-out my meals’ arguing.

“Oooo, I should do that!” Pinkie says excitedly—which is to say, in her normal voice—as she bounces in place next to Rainbow Dash. “Hee hee! Remember I said I never met a griffon before? That means I’ve never eaten a griffon, either!” She suddenly stops hopping for a second to tap her chin in thought. “At least I don’t think so, and not on purpose.”

Rainbow chuckles before saying, “Oh, Pinkie, you’re so random! I mean, Lyra already ate Gilda! Didn’t you see her do that just now?”

Pinkie rolls her eyes playfully and gives a lazy, dismissive wave of a hoof. “Pffff! As if that’s a problem. Just Watch!”

At that, Rainbow abruptly stops laughing, taking a step back, face twisted in concerned confusion. “Huh? Are you… sure?” She asks just as Pinkie zooms up to my face as fast as teleportation, then wrenches my jaws open.

The silly pony pays no heed to her friend’s question as she plunges right into my throat, forehooves first as if diving into a pool—technically, it could be said that that’s what’s happening, if swimming pools were designed to melt ponies in preparation for turning them into fat.

I can only guess it’s the mysterious power of the Pink One that keeps me from closing my mouth around her and relaxes my throat for her ease-of-entrance. With zero effort (or will) on my part, Pinkie slides herself on in, kicking off with her hindlegs, then wiggling as rapidly as plucked rubber band. All this happens in less than a second—or seems so to me—and by the time I think of doing something to stop the mad mare, only the tips of her hindhooves are visible beyond my nose, but in the next fraction of a second, they too disappear before I can even think of using any kind of magic against her.

Once she’s out of sight, I regain control of myself; my jaws close with a snap and I reflexively swallow at the feeling of something—Pinkie’s hooves—deep in the back of my throat. Half panicked, half bewildered, I raise my hooves to my neck as if needing proof that, yes, a pony did just volunteer to be my third course.

Indeed, those twin bulges tracking all the way through my neck feel like two legs!

“Hey! Watch it back there!” Birdbrain yells as, I imagine, Pinkie’s face (notably including her mouth) comes in contact with griffon flanks. “Fuckin’… Alright, who did the fat freak eat this time!”

Pinkie giggles, then answers cheerily, “Me! Though she didn’t so much as eat me than I fed myself to her!” Speaking of being fed, as fast as she flew past my lips, she certainly seems to be taking her sweet time to get through my esophagus and into my stomach; I swallow hard to try to get her along, but the ripple running down my strong, well-practiced tube of muscle might as well have been the fluttering of a Breezy’s wings for all she moves or even reacts at all.

“Oh. You.” Birdbrain grumbles, “Dweeb-est of the dwee- Are you licking me!?” The griffon shifts, perhaps trying to get some distance from the slice-short-of-a-full-pie Pie, but I’m already more full—my stomach more stretched out—than I’ve ever been.

“Hmmm…” is Pinkie’s only response, “It’s kind’a hard to tell under the stomach acid-y taste, but I think I see why Lyra would want to eat you!”

“What are you talking-? Gah?! Is that-?! No!” The griffon screeches and thrashes as Pinkie goes on the move again, and though it’s hard to feel what’s going on through all the “bulk” of everything in my stomach, it’s not hard to guess what’s happening now. “Not again! Are you-? Is this seriously-? Fuck it! You know what? Fuck it! Fine! I! Give! Up! You stupid, crazy ponies win! -but I hope you all choke to death on the next griffon you try to eat! Ugh… Fucking… Flip-flopping…”

I chuckle, now no longer paying much mind to whatever’s going on inside; I hadn’t been there to see the final look of defeat and resignation on the human’s face, to say nothing of feeling him lose the will to fight inside me, making this admission of the griffon all the sweeter. I sigh and lick my lips in appreciation, but there I’m mildly shocked by a taste like… pastry. Well, at least Pinkie left me that for all this… Pinkie-ness.

“Yay! I finished her, Dashie! Now-!… uhmmm… Now I-…” I feel her shifting about, probably trying to turn herself around, the silly, naïve girl; Rainbow seems to be thinking along the same lines as she facehoofs. “Dashie! I can’t get out!”

“Pinkie, you… goof.” Rainbow says as she shakes her head, skipping over all the adjectives I sense she wanted to add to that. “Have you ever seen or even heard of anything escaping from a pony’s belly unless that pony lets it happen? -and you heard what Lyra just said about why she ate Gilda, right?” A second after she asks that, Rainbow jerks her head back slightly as if shocked by static, then looks up at the sky and bites her lip.

Huh. Did she want to eat Gilda or Pinkie? -both?… Weirdo. All these Element Bearers must be insane.

“-but Dashie,” she whimpers, “I’m gon’na get all melted-up! -like a real pie!”

Rainbow pats my stomach, where I guess she had spotted Pinkie’s head. “Well, that’s your own fault. I mean seriously, Pinkie: How did you think trying to steal Lyra’s meal out of her own stomach was going to end?”

To induce another belch, I pat my belly, recalling attention to me. “-besides, maybe now everypony will take me and my food seriously. Letting you go would not just be letting a thief go free—you—but set a bad precedent for me.”

A whimper. “-but I didn’t mean it. I thought Dashie-!… -she-.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I shrug and shake my head. “Gilda wasn’t hers to give away in the first place, especially after I claimed her. Now, be a good pie and settle down and digest!” I say, poking with firm authority where I think some part of Pinkie is—which is basically my whole ballooned middle, minus the small part Bonbon takes up. “-and you better not be too fattening…” I grumble, to Rainbow’s amusement.

Considering “middles”, though Pinkie falls still and silent, that doesn’t help me much. Though I manage to get my forehooves under me and heave with all my unicorn-pathetic strength, my stomach is simply too big for me to reach the ground with my hindlegs and too heavy for me to drag one inch, nevermind all the way home and into bed. I huff as I look around, if with little hope; by now it seems the novelty of a griffon-eating pony has worn off, and me and my now-loudly gurgling, grumbling stomach are treated with as little interest as a fountain—except perhaps a nervous gulp or sidestep or drop of sweat. Is a hungry mare not allowed to have a principle or two when it comes to prey!

“Need a little help there?” Oh. How had I failed to notice Rainbow Dash still here, even if she’s now hovering above me?

“Huh?… Sure.” How exactly is one suppose to act towards an Element Bearer after eating one of their own, even if Rainbow had just acted so dismissive of Pinkie’s fate? “If you could just get me home and into bed, I’ll be, uh, fine from there.” Not so much “just”, I suppose, but if I were to choose anypony to help, Rainbow Dash would at least make the top three.

“Okay! Now… hmm…” She taps a hoof to her chin as she looks me over, back-and-forth.

What could there possibly be to contemplate of moving a pony-blob? Strategy?! I roll my eyes before letting my head fall and there I prepare to doze—even if Rainbow can’t decide between push or pull and plain gives up, it’s hardly any loss of mine.

Maybe the food coma’s already getting to me, because when Rainbow grabs my forehooves and begins to drag me along, I giggle and I find it hard to stop—and though my eyes remain shut, I wouldn’t be surprised to find Rainbow smirking at my predicament if I could’ve been bothered to look up. So on and on we go like this, leaving what I imagine to be quite the furrow.

A few times we hit some uneven part of the road or Rainbow Dash gives a particularly strong tug, either of which causes my now-quite-busy belly bobbing and sloshing slightly, my stomach acids having gone into overproduction time to engulf my two meals. All of that is inconsequential to us reaching my front door, and there Rainbow releases her grip on my to contemplate the comparatively narrow portal—if the portal it’s being compared to is my gullet, that is. I look up when we stop moving. “Oh… hngmmm… just pull me and I’ll do my, uh, ‘best’ back here to squeeze my belly in.”

“… Okay. It’s your door,” Rainbow mutters uncertainly, but does as told, opening the door before grabbing my forehooves again.

“No. Wait… Ahhh… Take my shoulders this time.” I instruct, and after a shrug I lean my head and neck up as far as my stomach allows to help her get a good grip. From this new position, I then take my own middle-turned-waterballoon between my forelegs, squeezing and pulling up. The doorframe creaks and my belly growls and burbles its displeasure, but we manage steady progress. As the widest of my belly passes, I hear its loudest gurgle yet, and my eyes widen in fearful anticipation… but all that comes up is my longest and similarly-yet-loudest burp. With the last air out of the way, the rest of my stomach all but pops in.

From there, I give Rainbow directions to the bedroom, and she dutifully finishes her task. Guess “loyalty” is stronger than I thought! -as long as we’re not talking about food, of course. One more door-squeeze a short moment later, and I’m laying next to my bed—Well, Bonnie, at least you get one last rest in the bed! I chuckle quietly at the thought as Rainbow switches tactics and begins to try to push my side to roll me onto the bed.

However, all Rainbow manages is pushing herself into my rapidly softening stomach, causing everything inside to mix and slosh about. One last shift of her grip, and Rainbow nearly turns herself into a pancake with my weight, but her next and last heave sees me finally on the bed, though the mass of liquid inside tugs me slightly (if not so gently) back-and-forth a few times before the waves settle down. All of this leaves me laying on my back, my stomach now somewhat flattens itself, spreading off to either side of me.

“Whfwew! That was a little harder than I thought! Dun’no how Shy deals with it…” Rainbows plops her behind to the floor, leaning back onto the edge of the bed, head falling to rest on my enwidened middle. She hums as she relaxes there, and I also doze, ready to sleep off the four-times multiplied meal.

I feel more than hear Rainbow giggle, then turn her head to put an ear against my belly—not that she’d really need bother with that to hear every grumble and splash! Soon after, she gets up, and I sigh in anticipation of sleep, assuming Rainbow had gotten bored enough to leave, what with her being rather a hummingbird of a pegasus pony and all, yet with a short flutter of wings, she drops herself onto my stomach instead! I gasp and my eyes snap wide, seeing her laying there, facing me and on her belly, but a second later narrow—I can see how my meals have made a veritable bed of my belly, but that doesn’t mean I’m accepting tenants!

“Aww. Come’on. I helped you, didn’t I?” She gives me a look that I’m sure she thinks is placating, but appears more smug than anything else to me; she seems to catch on to my thoughts quickly. “Alright, look at it this way: If you don’t let me rest here, I’ll raid your fridge.” She pats the front-top area of my stomach, and the small disturbance ripples inside me, briefly rising the volume of the sounds of business. “Either way, you don’t seem in any shape to stop me!” The pest guffaws at her own joke, flopping onto her back and kicking about, causing my belly to wobble underneath her.

With a shine of magic, I take hold of those legs and she instantly stops laughing. “Jeez… Alright! I’ll just leave,” she grumbles, pouting her defeat, but I’m not done. Maintaining my grip, I slide her down my stomach, towards me, opening my mouth once more—though I con no longer see her from this angle, I’m still satisfied by the resulting sounds of distress. “Huh? Hey! Wha!? No! Stopstopstop! Nooooooooooooooooo-!”

Her cry of no continues until I close my lips around her head and lick all over her face—I go at her like this for about a minute before releasing her; she instantly pulls back her absolutely drenched face, so much so that a few strands of saliva still bridge her head to my mouth. “Aaagh! Pthah! Guh! Blthch!” She sputters and gags on her disgust, wiggling, obviously wanting to wipe my spittle off, but I yet keep my hold on her legs—instead, all her struggling does is cause the little saliva-bridges to break and whip around her head.

I let her go on uninterrupted for a minute or two, but I really could use some sleep—a lick to her chin stops her as fast and absolute as the ground stops her after a failed aerobatic trick. However, just as I grin my victory, I pause at an odd observation: Maybe—No, it must be… right?—it’s just a trick of some reflection off the saliva-mask, but Rainbow almost seems to be… blushing? … -or…? Maybe not. After all, why else would somepony risk being so “close” to Fluttershy? I mean, really! Could I-? Would she-? I shake the questions off in favor of an actual answer: “Alright,” I whisper in my coyest voice—the one Bonnie loved so much—“You can sleep over… -if!-…-you promise me breakfast-. -in-. -bed.” To finish the implication, I levitate her back to where she’d planned to sleep, and pat the upper (as far “upper” as I can reach) sides of my belly, causing her to bounce slightly, in time with the extra glorp sounds also caused by my little teasing act.

She tilts her head with a question on her lips, likely struggling for phrasing, for only two or three seconds, idly wiping her face, before—Yes! There!—she indeed now blushes so obviously even poor, naïve Twilight Sparkle would look away in embarrassment. Eventually, she mumbles something vaguely affirmative-sounding before turning and laying down with her back facing me—not that this helps her hide from me in any way, considering it’s me she laying upon!

Every tiny movement, particularly of note being all the little tentative touches, prods, and caresses, makes it hard for me not to giggle, but in its own weird, worshipful way, it is nice, I suppose. So then, with a long, sleepy sigh, I let myself fall slowly into Luna’s embrace, guided by Rainbow’s gentle, reverent hooves and graced by the ballad of a huge-but-satisfying meal being digested.

…

A punch or collision of sorts is what wakes me. My own cry of “Oof!” is nearly simultaneous with Rainbow Dash’s “Hu-?-Whah!” as she slips off of me and falls to the floor.

It’s now night, and quite dark, with no way for me to tell how long had passed, except for the fact my belly had shrunk considerably, my meals having relinquished much bulk to my flanks and hips. This, however, only makes it all the more clear, and yet more curious, as to what disturbed our sleep: A madly moving mass within, kicking and punching and whatnot with all its limbs. In fact, it feels like-!

“Oh.” I whisper, glancing at Rainbow as she sits up, rubbing her head, staring at my belly, blush returning slowly. “So, uh, that’s where the collar went. Of course. Well… Great. Urgh… How did I forget about it?” How am I going to get it out?