And here I thought that Pony month was over. Instead we have a fun filthy vore tale about Rarity inviting Applejack to a particular indulgence. Find a link to it down below.

I can taste the grease in the air. Once I walk out the door, the air becomes infected. All around me are machines and people performing nefarious actions, breathing in what purity is left in our oxygen and expelling billowing clouds of grease. The air is fat. It clogs my gullet to inhale. I am left struggling.

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