The toast pops out of the toaster, golden brown, crispy and delicious. Grabbing a paper plate, you pull the toast out and spread some peanut butter on top with a knife. The peanut butter begins to melt from the heat of the bread, becoming gooey, nutty, and malleable. Taking a glass from your cupboard you pour yourself a glass of milk and put it on the counter beside the toast.

Leaning back on your kitchen counter, you wonder to yourself how you should spend today. To be honest, your house has kind of became a living pigsty lately. It might be prudent to do some chores. But that means being an adult. Adulting is harrrdddd.

Taking a deep breath, you open your dishwasher and dump each of your dirty dishes in haphazardly and turn it on. Grabbing a piece of toast, you take a bite and wash it down with some milk. The peanut butter and milk fills your mouth with sweet, creamy nutty goodness. Nothing's better than having some delicious nutty cream in your mouth.

Don't think too hard about that.

Of course, then, you hear the typical knock at your door. Taking the toast with you, you head to your front door and place your hand on the handle. You take a bite right as the door swings right into your face. You're caught off guard as the door connects directly with your nose.

You fly backward, the hardened bread going down your throat hard. Then it stops.

Your eyes bulge as you gasp for breath, your lungs retract. You reach out for help as Fluttershy trots in happily. She stands over you with a wide smile and a maternal gaze.

"I just know I'll get it today!" she says as you bring your hands to your throat. "Choking is your fetish. It has to be!"

You squeeze your throat, but searing pain shoots through your body. You try to cough, but it only comes out as muffled wheezing. Tears pour from your eyes as you grab at the pink mane of your intruder, begging silently for help.

"O-oh! You really like it, don't you?" she asks innocently. "Okay. I won't stop it then."

You shake your head as hard as you can. Urgently you try to scream 'No you fucking bitch help me I'm going to die help me help me help me,' but it comes out as muffled wheezing and coughs. Crawling on the ground, just as you saw in those army movies on Earth, you make your way to the kitchen table.

All you need is to ram a chair up into your stomach. A sort of self Heimlich maneuver. The edges of your vision go blurry and red as your fingers have less and less grip on your floor. You try to cough again, but nothing comes out. You cry for help, but nothing comes out. Everything goes black.

When you wake up, you lie in a hospital bed, a white furred pony with a pink mane standing beside you, writing down notes on a clipboard. You groan, looking to the nurse.

"Oh! You're awake!" says the nurse. "Are you okay? We had a quite a scare with you."

You try to open your mouth, but the searing pain in your throat renders you mute. Shrugging your shoulders, the nurse sighs happily.

"That's to be expected. You were without oxygen for a long time. When we got the call, we arrived at your house and you didn't have any pants on. We know auto-erotic asphyxiation is a thing, but you really need to be more careful."

You open your mouth to reply, but your brain doesn't even know how to comprehend what the nurse just told you.

"Like, I have a special noose at home for those sorts of things. It's okay, I totally understand."

You close your mouth, and stare at the horse in front of you. She giggles to herself and rips a piece of paper off her clip board and places it in your hand.

"Be sure to give me a call some time, cutie."

She trots out of the room and closes the door, leaving you alone in the hospital room. You look down at yourself in a hospital gown, your throat inflamed and swollen. You're hooked up to oxygen, and you have a mare's number in your hand.

'What the fuck just happened?' you wonder to yourself.