Background Pony #8328
Content: Implied TG/TF, mental changes, growth, sexual content, vulgar
The glorious, sensuous, numbing buzz was starting to wear off. The stranger (she couldn’t remember and frankly didn’t care about the dude’s name) had left the ally some time ago, but she had taken forever to button her clothes back up and now the Reward was fading, allowing reality and memory to seep back in like storm runoff filling a leaky basement. Awareness of herself began needling her fuzzy brain like pins into a fluffy cushion.
Are you buttoned up? Are you wearing all your clothes? Any obvious stains? You still have your purse, right? Cards? Phone? ID?
Her hands and eyes responded lazily to those crucial prompts, verifying that she hadn’t been robbed or taken advantage of… at least, not like that. Memories of the hot, throbbing rod of flesh were easier to bring forth than memories of where she’d laid her purse not five minutes before, but with great effort she put aside the former and laid eyes on the latter; sitting on top of a trash can lid, still zipped up. A quick check verified that its contents seemed undisturbed, her card clip intact and her phone greeting her with the unlock screen.
She was even still wearing her shoes this time, and only a few buttons stood between her and public decency. Like a slow-motion robot, she carefully pulled her cardigan closed over the big, round, yellow mounds of fun and luxurious sexual magnetism that had so recently been used to satisfy yet another lucky member and its owner, yielding The Juice that had fueled her Reward and the ensuing high. She giggled involuntarily at the recent tryst’s slide-show of carnal acts, as if basking in the relic impressions would stretch out her Reward just a bit longer.
But it didn’t work. Her personality was re-assembling itself inexorably, bringing with it the shame and humiliation that soured every encounter after-the-fact, like a backseat driver grafted to one’s shoulder and critiquing every little choice forever. In fact, it was more like watching one’s self become the backseat driver from the inside, slowly being relegated to the appendix persona and dimming to a mere shade of awareness while the no-fun fuddy-duddy reasserted itself and tried to reclaim its ‘normal’ existence of misery and self-pity.
She liked to tease her other self by exiting with a contrarily contented remark to remind it of the fun they had.
His hands were so big and warm, weren’t they?
She shivered and grimaced. She hated thinking like that; yielding to the artificial outlook that had been forced upon her and upended her life a year ago. She hated the way she looked, the way she dressed, and the way it drew exactly the attention she was trying to avoid.
Four-foot-eight of overstuffed curves and tight, revealing outfits that simply couldn’t have been serious as anything other than fetish wear, she had thought. Not a single thing in her closet covered her midriff or thighs, and most of it was designed to merely be a contrasting accent that set off her freakishly disproportionate wideness. If you stacked her hips and bust sideways on top of each other they’d be almost as tall as her, and she didn’t want to think about how much of her total mass was dedicated to them. Somehow all of this was balanced precariously on absolutely fairy-sized feet that couldn’t fully touch the ground, necessitating four-inch stilettos as a price of admission to the shoe-using world, and a tiny waist that was never again going to be hidden behind a shred of fabric.
All set off in a pale yellow color, against a background of silky curtains in the form of ankle-length hair and an inhuman, horse-like tail growing in alien pink. Capping the whole thing off was a face that seemed permanently distant and diminished like some kind of china doll, bearing huge eyes of luminous green and eyelashes thicker than some people’s actual head of hair. Clinching the freakish suite of fairytale features were two large, pointed, animal-like ears that seemed to twist, twitch, and fold of their own volition to expose whatever her emotional state was, regardless of how she wanted to present. Little traitors that broadcast her inner state to the world, for those who cared to look past her giant deposits of fatty tissue. Something for women to coo over, kids to point and remark about, and men to cup and caress along with the rest of it all.
If there was a more extreme polar opposite from how she had been shaped from birth til last month, she couldn’t think of one. Her former body was forever etched into the back of her eyelids, never dissipating except when in the throws of enforced passion. She had been tall, some might even say lanky, with rich mahogany skin and short, curly hair kept trimmed neatly both at the top of his head and at the tip of his chin.
Now she couldn’t even refer to herself with the old pronouns, let alone resume her old life. Her fate was set on a pornographic course of selling access to her body for rent and giving it away for free to any takers besides. Almost all of them men, and every single one glowing with lust like an old-style light bulb; their radiating intentions flipping a switch that took the floor out from underneath her awareness, leaving her body in the control of some kind of spectral slut who reveled in the use she was put to and kept trying to tell her it was the best possible existence as it departed and left her to deal with the aftermath. She didn’t even want to call it a split persona because that would imply it was simply a part of her and not something foisted upon her from the force she had unwittingly alerted to her presence those weeks ago.
The being from beyond who had stolen the trajectory of her life and left her to wallow in a one-note existence seemingly forever.
“But this is exactly what you wanted for my wife,” said the baritone phantom voice with arrogant superiority.
She looked around until she saw the long edge of a building that seemed to move, like a serpent. The mirage gained fidelity if she didn’t blink, the ghostly motion taking detail like a pair of mis-matched wings and sawtoothed spines running down to the contour, like a slithering dragon-ish being just beyond the edge of reality, imprinting itself on her world remotely without entirely breaking through the barrier.
“I didn’t know she was real! I didn’t know you were real!” she protested, once again with her original voice. The voice she was no longer able to muster up around other people, one full of masculine depth and resonance and able to channel anger, frustration. She didn’t care if anyone else heard her use this voice because it never seemed like they did. Nobody noticed her talking to the apparition, let alone shouting her protests with a man’s voice.
“But you wanted her to be real, didn’t you?” the trickster argued with Teflon slickness. “You wanted her to be real on YOUR terms, as a warm fucktoy and nothing else. You certainly didn’t stop to ask yourself how she would have liked such a life, such a one-note existence, did you? To be nothing more than a walking piece of meat servicing the sexual appetites of others, all her lovely features contorted and twisted to suit perverse fantasies.”
“There’s nothing wrong with fantasizing!” she continued to argue. It was an old debate, one she had never managed to win him over with.
“Indeed!” the voice agreed, before falling back on the familiar retort. “Except that fantasies are so, well, insubstantial, aren’t they? You yourself wished your fantasy degradation of my wife would become real, didn’t you? Fantasy wasn’t enough, oh no! You craved a fantasy in the flesh! All I did was oblige you. And here you are complaining!” the voice said with mock umbrage.
“You know I didn’t want to be this!” she said angrily, pointing to the oversized chest.
“Of course not! Nopony ever does. That’s the whole point!” the sly being replied.
She blinked and the building was normal for a second, let her gaze unfocus and watched the outline once more take on the silhouette of a slithering beast. Maybe if she could hold her gaze long enough, the creature would become real. Real enough to reach out and strangle.
“Could I stand by and let such selfishness run rampant in your world?” it continued in a lecturing tone as she tried to deny her body’s building urge to blink. “Honestly, that’s the problem with your world, isn’t it? Too many of you humans thinking only about your own wants and confusing that for your needs, completely ignoring the needs of others. You seemed to think your world would be improved if only someone was just like your pathetic little sexual fantasy. As long as it was someone else. Well, haven’t you heard the old saying? Be the change you want to see in the world!”
The mocking chuckle died out into the distance of a different universal harmonic again. Just as she thought the building’s outline was sufficiently manifested to see the individual hairs that made up the creature’s furry body, the contact broke off. It was once more an inanimate edifice of concrete in the distance, no longer a writhing figure of unnatural flesh and blood mere heartbeats away from being fully physical and close enough to mangle. Not for the first time, she had been denied the opportunity to lay hands on her accuser.
She muffled a scream of frustrated fury and waited for the pounding at her temples to fade before channeling her resolve into a heavy sigh (but then, all her sighs were by definition heavy these days) and slipped the purse over her shoulder. Her body twisted in caricature of swaying feminine flesh as she drove her heels clik-clok-clik out of the alley and into the broken sunlight of the sidewalk. Clik-Clok-Clik-Clok as her stubby little legs carried her past the warm embers of passers-by whose interest she attracted like nails to a magnet, desperately leaving them behind lest their sparks of lust grow into incandescence and drown her again.
She counted the money from her purse on the coffee table. With today’s “earnings” she was still about a week shy of covering rent this month. It was getting harder and harder to make herself extract cash from her hook-ups; the slutty side wanted to give it all away for free. She tipped sideways onto the pile of cushions covering the couch, necessary to cradle and support all her curves without breaking her spine (or so it felt). She tried to weigh her options. There weren’t many strip clubs in town where she was still allowed to perform; too much liability for the owners when her slutty side inevitably took over. A regular job was, of course, out of the question; five minutes alone with any straight male coworker and she’d be summoned to HR, if they bothered with the formality. That’s assuming she could get through the interview without jumping someone’s bones.
She sighed involuntarily as a warmth seeded deep down between her hips from the thought of it. It took a second for her to collect herself and try to head that off. Think about the apartment. Think about not having it. Concentrate on the necessities. Money. Work. Paychecks. The warmth reluctantly ceased its growth when confronted with the concerns of the real world and the panic of being homeless. But it didn’t retreat.
She’d have to do the rounds at the few remaining clubs that would let her perform. She’d have to strut and wiggle for all those men in the audience! Feel their heat filling the bar like smoke, penetrating her skin and making her feel so hot and relaxed-
“No!” she blurted out, like someone dozing off at the wheel jerking awake just in time to avoid crashing into a lamp post. Losing control now would me spending the entire evening in a brain fog of frustrated, horny delusions and fantasies until she passed out, waking up with the non-alcoholic version of a hangover and soreness, her body crusty with dried sweat. She couldn’t afford to lose that time before thinking of a solution to her rent problem.
I can always just fuck the landlord, she thought suddenly.
It was like taking the stylus off a record mid-song. The intrusive thought denied any change of subject. Confrontation was unavoidable.
He’s usually in the office around ten in the morning. I can slip in and explain my shortfall, bat my eyes, pout, slide around the desk and lean in closely, brushing against his lap, feeling the incandescent heat between his legs warming me up like a stove…
She found a tiny yellow hand pawing her own breast from below. Capping the bulges that stretched her cardigan were two thick, strawberry-sized nubs pushing rudely outward. The warmth had spread to glow pleasantly all throughout her torso and was starting to become more of an exciting tingle when she’d allowed the train of thought to start rolling unchecked. Maybe it wasn’t too late to head this off. She released her fleshy burden and reached for the TV remote on the table.
The news will definitely kill this mood, she tried to convince herself. The TV booted up and brought her to a paused documentary. The Life Of Mustangs. She didn’t remember having that on before. Almost without thinking, she un-paused the program.
”-approaches with trepidation, knowing that a female who wasn’t receptive was risky. But his instincts and his hormones drive him forward, cautiously optimistic. The mare seems prepared to accept his company…”
Oh no, part of her thought. Another part of her smiled warmly at the obvious signs of arousal and readiness displayed by the two horses on screen, far more certain of the outcome than the narrator, who clearly had no insight into horse rutting. Not like her. Oh yes!
Her skirt hiked up and her thighs rubbed together excitedly. The buttons on her cardigan yielded to practiced little fingers. There wouldn’t be any Juice, no Reward, but now it was certain there would be a night of needful self-gratification, over and over until she had nothing left to give herself and she’d fall into sweet, blissful dreams about how she’d cover the rent.
Someone with a baritone voice chuckled in the distance.