"Give us your hands, if we be friends," said Lyra who'd gone round the bend.
Through a cry he tried to stifle, Anon took in her father's rifle.
He swallowed and was forced to watch as she lowered it towards his crotch.
"You must be joking," he tried to quip, but stopped when heard the hammer click.
"It's not a joke, nor clever ruse. I've named my terms" --she pressed-- "now choose."
Anon winced in psychic pain as panic flooded through his brain.
He'd thought Equestria free from these; gunpoint choices worse than Sophie's.
To lose his hands to magic horse, or lose his junk- which would be worse?
His manhood he would love to keep; the joy it brought could not be beat.
Yet hands he knew were still required, to rouse the pleasure it inspired.
Although a muzzle to his crotch would normally be quite sexual, today he learned (to his dismay) that such things were quite contextual.
"How 'bout a deal?" he did implore, and winced when rifle clicked once more.
"You're in no place to make demands, now choose your junk and yield me hands!"
To panicked mind a quote did bubble; "A well hung sword brings nought but trouble."
(Or something like that anyway. Damocles was never his forte.)
As tension rose between the pair, a rippling crackle split the air.
"Stop!" cried Twilight, to his relief, her voice vibrant with disbelief.
“You touch one bit of little Willy, I swear I’ll make your horn an innie!”
Though feeling somewhat backhand smacked, Anon seized his chance to act.
His hands as fast as Indy's whip, he snatched the gun from magic's grip.
Snapping it with cracking sound, buckshot spilled across the ground.
To Twilight it was deftly handed, and then to Lyra reprimanded:
“You ever try this schtick again, I swear your plot I’ll shove it in.”
“The gun, that is,” he quickly cleared, lest they think him sexually weird.
Lyra’s head demurely lowered, though her expression ever-glowered.
Anon sighed in attritial defeat; for even victory was bittersweet.
No matter how he’d scold or shriek, he knew she’d try again next week.
He vainly struggled ‘gainst her pout that threatened to quench his anger out.
These ponies were just too darn cute. He gently reached and booped her snoot.