DE1 - Butterfly(or every foalphile has a childhood)

The Ponyville playground was full of foals, rocking on the swings, going down the slides, erecting sculptures in the sandbox. Laughs of joy were filling the warm spring air, and everything was lush and abloom. Ground and trees were adorned with virgin greens. The scent of freshly mowed lawn mixed itself with ubiquitous pollen. The sun was shining in the cloudless sky, its gilded orange rays covering the ponies with a wholesome glow. One could almost reach out and touch the youthful energy coursing through the place, emanating from the little ponies. All the little ponies in the playground, except two, sitting on a bench in the corner.

 

One of them was a blue-coated, light-maned unicorn. He was gazing with admiration at the other unicorn, a snow-white filly with a regal purple mane, painstakingly fashioned into a sophisticated curl. She was wearing a light pink dress which made her seem much more feminine than her age would indicate – as evidenced by the nervous shifting of the colt beside her, and glances given her by many a stallion. Such beauty deserved being locked in a display case. But Rarity, much to her own surprise, liked this. She liked to feel wanted, needed. Her face was illuminated by the calm happiness brought by that knowledge, and she was resting her head on Pokey's shoulder, nestling her frail body against her new coltfriend's form, enjoying his warm embrace. Her eyes, lit up with joy, looked to Pokey's, and Rarity blushed as their gazes met. Pokey himself could barely sit in one place, though he did his best to wear the most serious expression he could think of and behave in a calm, statuesque manner – he could not mess this up, all the guys would have to look for their jaws if he told them Rarity was his marefriend. Especially today, when she was so radiant he got dirty thoughts just from looking at her.

 

"Pokey?" Rarity's coy, mellow voice made the colt stiffen. He responded with an acknowledging grunt, feigning carelessness.

 

"Do you...love me? For real?"

 

"Uh...of course! You're my marefriend," he said sheepishly, wrapping Rarity tighter in his embrace, as if he felt his reply wasn't sincere enough. But the filly seemed satisfied with it, purring with comfort as she hugged her coltfriend and gave him a kiss on the cheek, a kiss that, while soft, made Pokey burn and turn red. He rested his chin on Rarity's head now that it was back on his shoulder, drawing in the alluring scent of her mane. The moment was divine. She was there for him, like a delicate butterfly that decided to take a rest on his outstretched hoof, he would like to seize her all for herself, but would not, out of fear of crushing the frail creature – who could do such a horrible thing?

 

Then, all of a sudden, he felt Rarity shake, then let out a muffled whimper. He instunctively moved his hoof to stroke her shivering back, and lowered his head to look at her. "What's wrong," he asked with concern.

 

"It's nothing, nothing," said Rarity weakly as she fought back the tears in the corners of her eyes.

 

"Did I do something wrong?" Anxiety crept into Pokey's voice.

 

"No. No!" Rarity was now feverish. "I'm just so...happy. So happy you're my coltfriend."

 

Pokey smiled, and kissed Rarity on the forehead, moving himself as if to attempt to shield her from the world. She raised her head and continued, but now her gaze was full of fear and her voice was cracking into a whimper.

 

"It feels so good to be with you...you're so good and nice and kind...you won't leave me alone, right?"

 

"No. Of course not!" Rarity's wet eyes looked up to him, their begging anxiety slowly turning into heartwarming attachment. She smiled with adoration and Pokey retuned the smile. Then, he slowly started moving his muzzle towards Rarity's, his eyes closed. The white filly blushed and winced, and held her mouth shut tight, getting away with a few snuggles, which, well, were quite pleasant and Pokey's warm breath sure felt good, which made Rarity break up a little. Soon she shut her own eyes and connected their mouths in what was a sweet, childish kiss, just lips-to-lips. Their cheeks turned red and they embraced each other, sitting still and letting the warmth of affection circulate through their coupled bodies. Their hearts beat madly in unison, and their minds were lost in the experience of something so dirty for one of them and innocent for the other. Neither wanted this moment to end.

 

Rarity's mother opened the door, seeing with surprise her daughter, so damn cute, and a colt next to her. Both looked to her, and after an exchange of greetings glanced to each other.

 

"So, Pokey, will you stay for the dinner?" Rarity's attention was fixed at him, but from time to time she glanced ever so nervously to her mother.

 

"I don't know, uh, my parents must be getting impatient and all..."

 

"Pllllease, you're my coltfriend," begged the filly, rubbing herself encouragingly against his side. Pokey blushed a little.

 

"I would really like to, but you know, it's late and-"

 

"Oh it's no problem! I'm sure you can stay at my place for a sleepover! Come ooooon, it's going to be lovely!"

 

Pokey looked down, giving a quick, embarassed glance at Rarity's mother.

 

"Sorry, Rarity, but I really can't."

 

"Oh, come on! Please," asked the little filly, hugging Pokey in the process. "Stay with me," she whispered to him, on the verge of breaking into a weep. It was like someone struck a needle through Pokey's insides. He dropped his gaze. How could he bring himself to say no?

 

"I- I really would like to, but I can't," he said, ashamed, unable to look Rarity in the eye. Then he got an idea. "But maybe you could come to my place tomorrow!"

 

The white filly was sad. Shattered. As if something brought her down just moments since she took off after learning to fly. "O...okay. B- bye," she stuttered silently, gave him a kiss on the cheek and went slowly into the house. Pokey turned around and started to leave. He gave one final glance at the door, and saw Rarity's mother looking down on her progeny. Gleeful triumph was painted all over her plump face. The door closed.

 

The kitchen was the epitome of middle class banality. A bunch of mismatched, garish furniture, dirty dishes piled up in the sink, photos of random faces and places on the wall, oilcloth tablemat, nastily painted plates that pretended to be china, cutlery with rough plastic grips. Noise of a jabbering radio switching between cheerful announcements of things no one in earshot cared about and the hit of the last ten minutes, filling the air with an unbearable ramble outnoised only by the disgusting munching on half-burnt dinner. The air was filled with its charred smell, and the stench of sweat from Rarity's dad. Rarity sat herself at the table, the dinner, whatever it was supposed to be, already waiting.

 

"Eat up. It's gonna be cold," said Rarity's mother, turning the off the radio and seating herself on the opposite chair, making it creak in the process. The filly poked at the mangled meal...some sort of plant. With resignation, she took a mouthful, starting the painful but at this point routine process of chewing it down and pretending the coal-like food didn't grind painfully at her teeth and throat. With some exercise, she could even believe it was actually tasty. That's generally how she coped with living here.

 

Her mother's rough, rambling voice added itself to the room's range of unbearable sensory input. "Y'know, Rarity got herself a coltfriend dearie, what's his name again?"

 

Rarity looked up from her meal and stared in silence broken only by her father's indifferent grunt. Her mother was glaring at her, chewing furiously as though it was her daughter's face between her teeth. She responded weakly, "It's Pokey. Pokey Pierce."

 

"They grow up so fast, right hun? Just look at her, the little nymph," she said, barely containing the urge to grind her clenched teeth.

 

"Sure they do."

 

Rarity was always aware of the contrast between her and her mother, but right now she realised it would strike any bystander with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. On one end of the table was a wispy, ethereal creature combining the best of a filly and a mare, alluring yet immaculate, inviting but with a slant of childish naivety, able to drive an observer's imagination insane with a simple arch of the back or a sideways glance, then throw him into a state of confusion over whether to ravish or caress this beautiful butterfly. All of that complimented by her dress, giving the watcher some mysteries to dwell upon endlessly until he would throw himself crazily at her, only to regret the notions of harming something this frail immediately. She was like a picture astonishing with its beauty, but revealing all of it only to a true conoisseur.

 

The being on the opposite side could be a picture as well, one named "Twenty Years, One Pregnancy, Eighty Pounds and Fuckload of Booze Later". From the similarities to Rarity not yet lost under the layer of fat, one could discern that she was once a beautiful mare. But now it was a sad, unwanted pile of flesh that made chairs protest with the slightest movement and whose nighttime activity was restricted to uncouth snoring and stealing the quilt from her husband. Her tiny eyes switched between striking daggers at the most awful reminder of her past glories and absent, dreamy stares provoked by surfacing of unfulfilled fantasies from the time when she was still willowy, long-legged, supple-flanked and desired. Daydreaming was all that she had now in that field, except some underhanded methods. Her frustration was painfully obvious, especially when she looked at the mortified Rarity. The way she clothed complemented the sad image, the tight pants exposing the fat above, oversized cheap jewellery, clashing colours, all worked beautifully in creating an outfit that would attract attention only with its horrible inadequacy. But she'd be happy even for this kind of attention – the mare had an air of desperation about her, a desire of being wanted biting at her every second.

 

The dinner now felt like pieces of shattered rock in Rarity's throat. Every second stretched into an eternity, every tick of the clock like a scalpel flensing her skin inch by inch. The scent of char became unbearable. The air felt thick as if it was made of glass. And through that glass slinked the venom of her mother's voice, a mix of hatred and jealousy that made her ears burn. "And she wanted him to stay for the night. Can you believe it? Our little Rarity is SO mature, you would love to hear her beg the little colt to come with her, how she wanted him to stay with her! 'Come oooooon, it's going to be lovely!~'", she mimicked Rarity's voice mockingly and licked her own lips, then burst into a peal of shrill laughter. Rarity was on the verge of crying. She put away the plate and ran to her bedroom, slamming the door behind herself. Her mother grinned and leaned back in the chair. Another victory in her little game of humiliation.

 

Rarity laid on her bed, sorrow now alleviated a bit. Her room was a soothing place. She did everything in her power to make it a more bearable place than the rest of the house, adorning the walls with photographs of her favourite costumes and butterflies pinned in little cases, collecting dresses as tasteful as her pocket allowed, painstakingly picking furniture that created a sense of coherent and uniform style. Currently, the filly was reading a fashion magazine, depicting an elite Canterlot gala and some of the most beautiful designs worn there. She browsed dreamily through the photographs of handsome, elegant mares and stallions, promising herself that one day she would be there, dazzling them with herself and her own creations.

 

Then, the door opened, throwing her out of her fantasies as her mind raced through the memories of the unfinished dinner. She shuddered and curled up, raising her head slightly in prepearation for a new round of abuse and humiliation from her embittered, jealous and yearning mother.

 

But it was worse. It was her father in the door.

 

He shut it silently, plunging the room into darkness with the only source of light being Rarity's bedside lamp. The filly whimpered, knowing that what she feared the entire day was coming as the stallion approached her and placed himself on the bed, immediately putting his hot hoof on her little flank. Rarity started shivering and closed her eyes, triyng to shut out as much of it as she could – but this only made the stench of sweat more pertinent.

 

"So ya got a coltfriend huh? No wonder, you're so sexy today. Now, Daddy will give you a poke like no Pokey could, heh?"

 

Without awaiting a response, he moved his both hooves upwards, oveturning the dress and exposing Rarity's tight little filly cunt. She started bucking and wiggling, but his horn shone and soon she was pinned to the bed, her pubescent charms on display. He grunted roughly, feeling his stallionhood go rock-hard in a matter of seconds. He rested his front hooves on her shoulders, making the little pony wince in pain, and without further ado rammed into his daughter.

 

Rarity's eyes went wide open, and she barely restrained a scream as she felt her father's shaft ravage her, going back and forth without any consideration for her pussy. Its hardness rubbing at the softness inside her sent spasm after spasm through her body, even though by now she should have been accustomed to his fucking – for no other term summarised so exhaustively the thing happening here. Rarity bit into the bedcloths, feeling her hips tremble as her father's front hooves raced across her body, fondling it harshly and making her gasp at every dirty touch, gasp with lust and shame. She felt her father rip her dress to get to some sweet spots, and as she felt his blazing breath on her flanks, back and neck, as she felt her mane being pulled, its carefully achieved style ruined, as her back arched, and her father started biting her neck savagely, making her tremble in pain and pleasure, as he whispered, gone mad with lust, "you little slut," she realised a thing. Perhaps her mother was right, and she was a slut after all? She felt her father's cock rip her apart, and she submitted herself, moaning. Was it pain? Was it pleasure? Rarity started sobbing as she felt her mare juices flow and her head go dizzy. She felt pitiful, a fucktoy that started liking it. The filly wept. It was a thing her mother would say.

 

Finally, her father came, letting out another brutish groan as he filled his daughter up with semen, pulling the mane of the little filly whose body was dancing and twitching so convulsively on his dick. He pulled out, staining the bedcloths, with little regard for little Rarity's weeping. He sat himself on the edge of the bed, thinking of nothing. His urges were satisfied, and he was hardly a conoisseur – he just needed a cunt to shove himself into after a hard day's work, and went for the easiest and prettiest thing in the house, with little regard for the actual appeal, perceiving his daughter as nothing more than an extension of his wife. Just discharging himself brutally into a work of art.

 

But what his brutishness ruined, his endurance made up for. As he witnessed the filly sprawled on the bed, he decided he'd have another go. He positioned himself behind the still panting and crying Rarity, and pulled at her mane to bring her to her knees. "Another go, honey," he said as he grabbed his stallionhood and despite the noises of protest started to feel at Rarity's alabaster skin again, warming up his shaft on her flanks. As the filly felt being used again, she quickly abandoned any imagined notions of 'liking it' for the sake of fear of being ripped apart for the second time today. She whimpered and started thrashing, subdued by her father's strong hooves. But then she got an idea.

 

The stallion was too lost in his pleasures to notice Rarity's horn lighting up. And the sewing machine was flying at his head from behind. With a loud thud, he collapsed to the bed unconscious, bringing Rarity down under his sheer weight. The white filly was trapped under the heavy stallion, barely able to breathe and disgusted at his sweat all over her. She started crawling slowly from under him, and she was almost free from the tangled mess of their bodies, when the door opened once again.

 

"...you fucked up skank," said Rarity's mother after a moment of utter silence, with bitter surprise that shouldn't really have been there. The filly stared, amazed. She didn't know? Didn't know for the whole time? Didn't realise that was why she wanted Pokey to stay? "Couldn't get the other one to fuck you... You fucking maggot. I-" Rarity noticed that her mother, apart from hatred radiating from her, felt something else – she was on the verge of tears. Yes, Rarity realised with shock, it didn't look like rape from there. Just like her father was taking a nap after some revelry. The sadistic 'little games' with her mother made Rarity understand perfectly what the mare was feeling right now, when suddenly all of her implied insults turned out to be true. It must be anguish like no other, Rarity thought.

 

She smiled with the most beautiful smile she could muster in this situation. It was her first victory. Rarity fluttered her eyelashes and gazed triumphantly at her mother. Without looking away, she outstretched a hoof and ran it down her father's hip, as if she was informing its previous owner of the change in its possessorship. She rested her head on her other hoof, and bit her lip, giving the impression of great pleasure. Words would only spoil the moment. The mother stood for a while in the door, broken and on the verge of despair. Tears flew from her eyes. She shut the door, too weakened to even slam them.

 

Rarity laid there for a moment, savouring the sensation brought about by her victory. She felt a kind of warmth like no other. She felt good. Then she gasped, realising that she was still touching the filthy stallion. She struggled a bit more and finally released herself. She looked at the unconscious, sprawled body. How could she ever think she was liking something like that? He was horrid, like a cocoon enveloping her, keeping her a scared little filly. But right now, Rarity felt power. She would break free. With a few decisive pushes, she threw her father off the bed, gently enough not to wake him up. Her eyes opened widely in excitement as she wondered what to do with him. She instinctively looked at his crotch, but quickly dismissed the idea – what would be the fun if he wouldn't even be able to dream of satisfying himself anymore? But then, what else remained? Rarity quickly found the answer. She would never be pinned down again. She was meant to soar.

 

Rarity's heart raced as her magic lifted the sewing macihine again. She felt excitment all over her body. The unconscious stallion, at her mercy, would finally get his lesson. She grinned with glee as she postioned the robust tool above his head, then brought it down on his horn with all force she could gather. A crack, a snap, and a scream followed. The immense pain woke up Rarity's father, but to her joy, he could only writhe in pain. She quickly lifted the sewing machine and brought it down again, hearing a snap and another howl. The horn was cracked, revealing the fibers and nerves inside of it, letting a colourless fluid ooze outside. But Rarity felt something else crack too, inside of her. As if a hard, silken cover gave way, revealing something new, previously unknown but strangely familiar. This new, beautiful being wanted to break free – and it wanted Rarity to break her dad. The reward could be already felt in the pleasant, undescribable tingling that made the filly dizzy. She lost herself in the bliss as she drove the sewing machine down for the third time, breaking her father's horn in half, causing him pain that made him thrash and scream without being able to utter a sound.

 

Rarity felt a trickle of mare juice flow down her thigh as she witnessed his agony. She closed her eyes. She was free, the cocoon was broken. She looked down on her whimpering father who was holding the detached part of his horn in his hooves, strands of nerves dangling from the porous, sponge-like structure. The look on his face was a delight for Rarity, delight like no other. She kicked him in what remained of his horn, causing a new wave of painful spasms course through him. She licked her hoof, indulging herself with his screamed, beautiful pleas for mercy from his little beloved daughter. The sappy liquid tasted like the finest nectar to the filly. But the screams became annoying. This one was drained. She gave him a kick in the teeth, feeling one last satisfying shiver course through her. Then she crawled into her bed. For a few moments, she heard the whimpering stallion crawl to the door, shuddering in immense pain, and then, everything went silent. Rarity closed her eyes and fell asleep, exhausted. All hatched. Her wings needed to dry before she would truly take flight in search of flowers to feed upon. She was now a beautiful butterfly.