//------------------------------//
// First and Last Chapter 
// Story: Belly Rubs in Pony Prison 
// by Eighth 
//------------------------------//

You’re roughly tossed in your new home for the foreseeable future by one of the unicorn guards with his magic. He turns to his partner and mutters something you only just hear.

“Might as well throw away the key on this sicko.”

“Too true mate, too true,” his buddy replies with a grimace.

This cell is cramped, thanks to your stature you got thrown into a specially sized prison for minotaur but even then. There’s the small toilet with a sink and mirror beside it then on the opposite end is the bunk bed. Two fierce green eyes stare back at you. Your cell mate it seems.

“So,” you speak clearly to try and hide the nerves, “What are you in for?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” the gruff voice replies, “What’s your name?”

“Anonymous. And before you ask, I’m human.”

The eyes look closer from the shadows and you can see the gruff minotaur’s face. He has a dark blue coat, a slight tuft of a beard under his muzzle and a small mohawk. While he is large, he doesn’t look particularly aggressive save for those large horns.

“Iron Will. Are you sure you’re not one of them alien fellas?”

“Well, on this world I am an alien. My species is called human.”

“I’m gonna call you ‘Anon’ for short.”

“I’d rather you didn't.”

“Oh… Sorry there pal. Anonymous then.”

He hops off the top bunk and holds out a hand to shake. With a firm grip, you shake it only to nearly be crushed by his strength. You smile over the relief as he seems to be a pretty friendly guy.

“So what are you in for? I’d rather know what kind of guy I’m dealing with here, you know?”

Iron Will pauses for a moment to think something over then takes a breathe.

“I got a bit drunk at a bar one night… And I called the bartender… He refused to serve me any more drinks so I called him a--Well, I’d rather not repeat it. After all it’s why I’m here.”

He nervously laughs while rubbing the back of his head but quickly gives up the brave face and slumps onto the bed. It sinks low under his weight.

“Wait… That’s it?”

Iron Will looks at you in shock.

“Of course. I’d never go further than that.”

“That’s nothing.”

“It’s not a competition. Besides, what are you in for?”

“I got into a fight.”

“WHAT?! Why would you do such an awful thing?”

“I stole some food and had to get away from the guards somehow. Charged with theft and excessive bullying in the second degree apparently.”

Tears begin to roll down the big guy’s face. Not even a little. The guy has them pouring out like a cheap hooker getting a bonus on payday.

“You are awful. You called them names and beat them up?” he says between choked up tears.

“Yeah, I even gave one a swirly,” you jest.

He then pushes you aside and calls out to the guards who quickly rush down.

“What’s going on here?”

“Can I get a different cell? I can’t share a room with--Him!” He loudly whispers as if he thinks you can’t hear him.

The guard is about to ask why when he notices you. Looking you up and down, he tisks in disgust.

“We only have smaller cells, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, please.”

Without another word, he opens the cell and leads him down. Which leaves you standing there a bit mystified. No transfer papers or wait? Just right away once he asked? Pony prison is different to what you’ve heard of the prisons back home that’s for sure. You slink into the bed and try to think what Iron Will must have actually done to get thrown in. He’s clearly deranged somehow. Getting thrown into prison for calling someone names? Unless that bartender was actually royalty or something like that, you don’t see how.





It has been a week since your incarceration and it has gone by surprisingly uneventfully. Pony prison is nothing like human prison. If you drop the soap the guy next to you is kind enough to pick it up for you, any disputes are solved by hugging it out, and instead of solitary confinement you get a brief timeout in the corner.

“And I just shoved him--”

One of the inmates cuts himself off to hide his shame by burying his face in his hooves.

“How do you think you could have better handled that?” The shitty counsellor asks as he pats him on the shoulder.

“I guess, we should have talked and… shared?”

He looks up at the counsellor with teary eyes for approvement, who nods then the two hug. You roll eyes and decide you’ve had enough for one day. It’s bad enough that you have to do these talk sessions but it always ends up with teary eyed hugs over something kindergartners would be doing. Save for you, the worst criminal here is a pony who bit another over a girl.

“Where are you going?”

One of the prison guards, who is a mare with a light creamy brown coat, a brown mane with a white streak tied into a ponytail, and wearing the blue shirt and hat uniform, is looking up at you with stern eyes.

“I just needed to step out for a bit.”

“You’re meant to have an hour of feeling each day Anonymous.”

“We’ve been at it for two,” you lie.

“Oh, really?” She replies with a distrustful glare.

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

This catches the guard mare completely unaware, and now she can’t seem to look you in the eye. Her breath seems to get heavy now as you’re realising she’s feeling guilty about calling a criminal a liar. God these ponies are so innocent and trusting.

“W-Well, no. I just--” She looks down at a watch you could have sworn wasn’t there a moment ago, “What time did you start?”

“Noon,” you lie after you check the time on her watch before answering.

“That’s two and a half hours. Then you’re right.”

“Thanks miss,” you say as you kneel down and instinctively scratch behind her ear like she was your dog back home.

Her cheeks now flare into the brightest shade of red, her eyelids flutter open and close, while she pushes her head harder into your hand. You stop and smile at this interesting development while the guard clears her throat as she composes herself.

“I never did get your name.”

She stares deeply into your eyes for a second and tries to speak. Upon her realisation she decides she has to look away before she can say something.

“Cookies ‘n Cream,” she replies with a slight crack in her voice.
With that you decide to wave goodbye and head off as you’ve got arts and crafts starting soon.





You wander around the compound a little after being kicked out of arts and craft, because apparently they frown upon introducing ponies to popsicle stick replicas of old time war machines like trebuchets. Bored and unsure of what to do, you find yourself in the courtyard. A few ponies are playing some sports like basketball. You decide not to join as you’re a lot faster and taller than them so it’s hardly interesting. It was the first few times but now you’d need someone like Iron Will for it to be fairer. Though he breaks out into tears every time he sees you so that’ll never happen. With a disheartened sigh you opt for just heading back to your cell.

You’re there alone for hours just reading until nighttime hits. Everyone is back in their cells so the only people wandering around are the guards. So it catches you by surprise to hear a whisper at your cell door.

“Anonymous,” a female voice calls out.

You roll over and wait for your eyes to adjust a little to see Cookies ‘n Cream standing there.

“What are you doing?”

“I need... A favour, yeah?”

Her voice sounds quickened and a little panicked. Although you’ve got no reason to care, it does make you a little concerned.

“Why me? What’s wrong?”

“Come over here.”

Now you’re really on edge. Somehow the thought of a bunch of guards coming in here to kick your ass is firmly and vividly planted in your mind. So you steadily walk over. You notice Cookies ‘n Cream is constantly looking around as if she’s expecting someone to come by.

“Okay, now what?” You say as you’re standing centimetres from Cookies, with only your cell door between you.

“Hands.”

You put them through the bars, waiting to be slapped in cuffs for that butt kicking. Then Cookies suddenly shoves the side of her head into your hand.

“Just once more, please?” She pleads, impatiently bouncing on the spot.

Confused and bewildered beyond all reason, you do as she asks. You gently scratch her ear and the mare nearly melts like putty to the touch. Cookies let out a gasp of relief and her footing falters slightly then she pulls away all of a sudden. She straightens her uniform and then looks at you very sternly once again like when you first saw her.

“We mustn't do this,” she says before darting away.

“Ponies are fucking weird,” you mutter under your breath as you head back to bed.

As you drift to sleep you find yourself wondering what her talent must be. With a cutie mark of milk and cookies, what could that mean? One of the best you come up with is a joke about wanting to dip it in but you’ve got no clue about what it might actually be.





The days go by without care or reason. They don’t just blur into one another, they become the same. Nearly exact duplicates and it brings you to a point of boredom where you can’t help but feel depressed. No other prisoners will talk to you for fear of what you are. Eager for something new, you sit out in the courtyard all day to roast under the warm summer sun. 

Once lunch time rolls around a happy Iron Will struts out towards your bench sifting through his lunch bag. Then he notices you and goes to turn around in hopes you didn’t notice him. But you did.

“Oh, will you cut that out. It’s annoying.”

“Excuse me?”

“Constantly avoiding me, crying every time you see me.”

“I-I’m not crying,” Iron Will defensively replies, puffing up his chest.

“You are, I can see a little tear even now.”

“I’m not!”

He wipes under his eye and inspects the finger to see that he was indeed welling up a little.

“Here,” you say as you take out a red handkerchief.

Iron Will glares at you a little, then you decide to just jostle the cloth a little. The realisation of how stupid that is hits you nowhere near as hard as Iron Will does. Regret echoes in your mind as pain rocks through your body. Your chest feels like it has collapsed as the wind escapes your lungs, your arms and legs flail wildly until you return to solid ground but it does end there as you slide against the coarse courtyard that shaves layers of skin with every centimetre. 





You wake up in a white bed that’s far too small for your size as your legs hang off the end. To your side is the steady beeping of a heart-rate monitor and on the other is a guard standing firm. You smile at the familiar face.

“Hey, did you get the number of that truck?”

“I… I don’t get it,” replies Cookies ‘n Cream after a pause.

“Human joke, I guess.”

“Speaking of humans, what a normal heart-rate for you guys? The doctor said everything seemed fine but he can’t be sure because of stuff like that.”

You glance at the monitor to see it sitting just above 70.

“Yeah, that looks about right,” you answer with a breath of relief as you fall deeper into the soft pillow.

“That’s good… Uh, so Iron Will has been put into solitary time-out for a full day of what he has done.  The warden is even making him write an apology letter over it too.”

You laugh at these pony’s innocent sense of justice. It’s pitiful but sweet in a way. There aren’t even any kind of restraints on you right now. Despite how much of a “dangerous criminal” you’re regarded by your fellow inmates and the guards, they still trust you not to run off despite how easy and tempting that might be right now.

“I look forward to accepting his letter and apology,” you mock, though it seems to go over Cookies’ head.

“How are you feeling?”

“Bruised.”

As if by some unholy compulsion, you touch around your chest to count the many bruises you’ve got and to check for broken ribs. You wince at each one, then find yourself in more pain as each movement rubs the sensitive skin you’ve been shaved to on your back. You note that it doesn’t feel like you’ve broken any ribs, however it’s not the easiest thing to grab a full breath of air right now.

“So I take it you’re here to watch over me, make sure I’m not up to no good?”

Cookies ‘n Cream nods. Then a tint of pink flashes on her cheeks. She paces around the room a little bit and you watch on in silence with little else to do. You find yourself a little at loss for words. You’ve got a few questions about the ear scratching but considering how bashful she gets about it, you doubt you’ll get straight answers and aside from that you don’t really know anything about her to talk about.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something--” You finally pipe up, eager to put something out to break the silence.

“I lost control of myself I little back there I know, I’ve just never been… Touched in quite that way before,” her voice trails a little as she bites down on her bottom lip. You can clearly see her mind is nowhere in the room but she continues to speak on through that vacant gaze, “But we mustn’t. No matter how it feels.”

“I was actually going to ask about that cutie mark, what does it mean?”

“Oh… Oh, my. This is so embarrassing. Forget I said anything.”

Cookies tips her hat to cover her entire face. She sits there quietly for a while, her face firmly buried away so you throw your pillow in irritation. The little mare is no match after being caught unaware so she’s bowled over. Immediately she snaps upright with a furious scowl as she throws the pillow back with all her might, reeling back like a baseball pitcher. But the throw falls flat as the pillow only makes it as far as your gut.

“Assaulting a guard can land you in some serious time-out, you know?”

“I’ll keep it a secret as long as you answer my question then.”

‘What?”

“My question, you never answered it. What does your cutie mark mean?”

Cookies glances back to her flank then seems to look at you like she has only just connected the dots. All the while you smile to yourself. It seems like it’s really easy to rile up and mess with this mare, which should be a great source of entertainment for you.

“Oh, I’m really good at baking cookies. Any and all kinds really, but my speciality are these chocolate chip with and cream centres.”

“What’s with the milk jug then?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a cream jug.”

“I’ve never heard of a cream jug before.”

“They’re real,” Cookies replies, now getting extra defensive.

While you should just let it go, somehow even after today’s events with Iron Will, you’re still not done antagonising everyone.

“Are you sure you’re not just making it up?”

“I’m sure, I have a picture of it on my flank after all.”

She points to the image in question and turns to give you a full view of it. And that is when the doctor walks in.

“Mr A--I’ll just ignore that Miss Cream. Now, Mr Anonymous, I have a few questions as we know next to nothing of humans.”

Cookies ‘n Cream bashfully returns to her chair, and buries her face deeply into her hat once again. Though you notice she has one eye peeking out soon after.

“Fire away Doc.”

“Well, while you were out we did an x-ray and you’ve broken two ribs and a shin bone.”

“Are you sure? It doesn’t feel like it.”

Again you prod your chest and wince a little at the pain. The doctor just looks at you in irritation then gives your leg a shove. That sends all the nerves in your leg into a panic and you even let out a short scream as you grip your leg. That is when you note you can even feel a slight bump in your leg.

“Please don’t argue with a doctor. You have two broken ribs and a broken shin.”

“Got it. Please don’t do that again.”

“Now, I was going to realign the bones with some magic however that process is very painful. I recommend some form of anesthetic but I don’t know dosages--”

“So, what do you want to know?”

The doctor clicks his tongue at you in frustration as he hands over a clipboard with a bunch of words that might as well be nonsense to you.

“I know it’s a long shot, but do you recognise any of these chemicals?”

You stare at the paper for a while and none of it makes any sense. You find yourself asking things like; “Are these brand names?” “Chemical formulas?” and “What do these symbols even mean?” over and over again. Then you figure you’ll go the way of a gambling man and point to one.

“Just this.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Do you know what recommended dosage is safe?”

“Not a clue.”


“Well, we will start with a little bit and see how that goes, hm?”

You just nod in reply.

“Xylazine. Ah, that’s fortunate,” the doctor gives a breathe of relief as he heads out.

“Wow, that is lucky,” remarks Cookies.

“Yeah.”

You roll over and wait for the doctor’s return. Something your back is thankful for but your chest cries out against.

He doesn’t take long. He quickly administers the drug then asks Cookies to watch you for a minute as he has tests he needs to check on.

“I thought doctors take blood samples to test this kind of thing first.”

“Actually that’s a good point. One I wish you brought up before I was full of whatever this stuff is.”

You’re about to get angry but immediately get his with a dizzy spell. You hold out your hand to see how off balance you’re getting but it feels like you’re rocking side to side, making it impossible to tell.

“Are you okay?”

“Feeling woozy, is all.”

Your eyes now fight against themselves to stay open as your body still feels like a boat on the waves. Though your brain feels completely disconnected from your body. It’s impossible to focus on anything, you can’t even tell if you’re actually swaying or not.

“Anonymous,” a concerned Cookies says as she nudges you a little.

Her face is close to yours and she is eyeing you while she leans up on the bed. Feeling like your body has lost it’s grip with its Earthly tether, you grab hold of her and lift her up and into your chest.

“Think I’m gonna--pass out.”

You trail off as your eyes feel like bricks were cemented to them, dragging your body deeper into the sea of unconsciousness.





Consciousness returns to you many hours later. Your head is still spinning and whirring like there’s some jammed gears but you piece enough of your mind together to sit up and scan the room.

“How are you feeling?”

Cookies is still here, keeping watch. You smile at her, which she doesn’t return. Then you recall the scene of you passing out.

“Sorry…” you jaw goes slack causing you to slur but you press on, “about before. I panicked.”

Cookies lets out a sigh, “I guess I can’t blame you for that.”

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“What?”

You smack your lips a couple times and move your jaw about in a circular motion to get the muscles warmed up. Then blowing a quick raspberry has you feeling a little better and able to articulate.

“What are you doing?” says Cookies, muffling herself mid-laugh and eliciting a sound that’s almost like the chuff of a train engine.

“Trying to wake up… Now, I didn’t hurt you or anything earlier, did I?”

She shakes her head.

“Haven’t found a bruise yet. Though you did wind me quick a bit.”

“Ah… Is there some way I can make it up to you?”

“As a prisoner? Heh, not likely.”

“What about,” you pause for dramatic effect, “A scratch behind the ear or something? You seemed to like it earlier.”

Cookies pauses. Deep hesitation is written in large, bolded letters all over her face but you can see there’s a light. A light urging and pushing herself to go for it. To further tempt her, you hold out a hand. Cookies movies forward the slightest bit but catches herself. She remains frozen there for a long time, she doesn’t even respond when you call out. So you decide to go all in.

“Or how about… A belly rub?”

Slowly but surely, Cookies, ‘n Cream lurches forward like some undead creature. Even now she is fighting the urge, the temptation but she can’t hold back any more. Her desire has taken her, just how she wishes you would take her. Take her and throw her up and onto the bed for those belly rubs. She knocks her hat off of her head and grips the ribbon around her long hair, combing it back until her rich locks are free for her to shake off like her restraints. 

“I take that as a yes?” You ask her as she walks ever closer.

“Yes. Oh, by Celestia, yes!” She answers, her words stained with desire.

She leaps up onto the bed, and even now you could see the shame in her eyes about letting this happen. But the shame made it hotter, hotter for belly rubs. Cookies lies on your lap, rolling over as she bites her bottom lip in anticipation. Her legs reach out for the heavens leaving her soft, warm belly exposed to you.

As your hand touched her belly, you outstretch your fingers and feel around in a circular motion. Then you return your fingers to your palm, running your nails through the fur to lightly dig into the skin below. A shaky breath escapes Cookie’s lips but no words follow. Her body pushed into your hand, inviting it to return so you comply. You run each finger in tandem with another following closely behind in undulation, up and down her creamy tufts of fur. 

Your fingers make delicate work of the mare as she seems to almost melt from the pleasure. Each sigh and gasp that escapes her lips sound laced with velvet and sweeter than honey of the angels themselves. You find yourself continuing, moving faster and harder, changing each scratch to entice more shimmering moans.

Then hoofsteps out in the hall interrupt your belly rub session. You give Cookies a quick pat to snap her to attention and she does. Cookies leaps up and over to her hat to place back where it belongs on her crown. The force of her leap, sends her sliding across the tiles and plants her flank firmly on her chair.

“Evening Anonymous,” the doctor cheerily states as you grin wildly.

He nods to Cookies whose cheeks are still as red as poppies by sunrise. She tries her best looking away without looking too suspicious, even covering her face with her hat once the doctor turns to you. You struggle to avoid letting your grin grow further than your cheeks can hold as the doctor goes over his checks. It seems you were out for 8 hours after that and he figured he’d patch things up while you were under then rather than wait to do it again. The bruises still remain but as for your shin and ribs, only tenderness remains. So you ecstatically thank the doctor before you’re put back in your cell.





Once lights out rolls by again, you lie down on your bed and stare up at the roof. That grin is still grafted to your face as you recall recent events. Then the closing of your cell door grabs your attention.

“Who--Cookies? I thought my cell was locked.”

The silhouette of Cookies is standing in the doorway and remains silent for a moment before she steps closer. Now she can be seen as a bright shade of red, the tip of her tongue can be seen out the corner of her mouth as she bites it with a smirk, and she can be heard panting a little as a bit of drool falls onto the floor.

“Did you forget? I’m a guard here.”

“Oh, right,” you reply, a little freaked out as you’re back up against the wall.

“We’ve got all night,” she whispers with a huff as her face looms closer to yours.

Her eyes are as clear as the night’s canvas. Her pupils are dilated almost to the point where the teal can no longer be seen. She runs her rough and soaked tongue along the side of your neck then murmurs in your ear with a shaking voice, shaking with excitement and anticipation.

“Now, where were we?”

-end-