One - A Life-long Dream

Storm In a Teacup
Chapter One: A Life-long Dream

"I can’t believe you’re really doing this."

"I’m really doing this," I reiterated, blowing a strand of dark gray mane out of my eyes. Instead of paying her any mind, I focused on the paperwork in front of me and pointedly ignored the insistent complaints from my marefriend. Not that I didn’t care about her concerns, but I’d wanted to do this ever since I was a foal, and I wasn’t going to let her stop me.

"Stormy?" she pleaded, placing her hoof on my flank.

A signature line at the bottom of the page was the only thing standing between me and my dreams. Just a few more strokes of the pen and I would be off to start a new life. Nothing would stop me from pursuing this - not even the pleading of my special somepony.

I placed the pen upon the page and signed my life away.

Almost immediately, the page escaped my hooves in the telekinetic grasp of a bored secretary. After a quick reading of the paperwork, the unicorn turned her attention to me. "Sleet Storm," she said. Her voice was a slow drone, like she was falling asleep on her hooves while she spoke. I hated my full name enough without her dragging it out longer. "You’ll need to report for duty at the Cloudtop Training Center in Canterlot, on Monday at 4 AM sharp."

I nodded and turned back to my marefriend, Foggy Sunrise, meeting her icy glare with my own determined stare. "We’ll get through this," I insisted.

"Why? Why are you doing this to me, Stormy?!" I could see genuine hurt beneath her angry facade. She was livid, but also on the verge of tears. However, I wasn’t going to let her emotional manipulation get in the way of pursuing my dream.

Mares hadn’t been allowed to join the military until just a couple of years ago. Due to a long period of prosperity and a lack of conflict, there aren’t a lot of incentives for anypony to join up. Because of that, the stallions who chose this profession often had a certain roughness to them; they craved conflict and inspired a lot of drama; often of the sexist variety. In short, despite steady improvements in policy surrounding sexism, most mares avoided a military career.

But I wasn’t most mares. I was a mare with a dream: To protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. It was the least I could do to honor my late father’s memory.

"It’ll be fine," I insisted. "Once I’m done with boot camp, we’ll find out where I’m stationed. We’ll move there, and wherever we go, you’ll be able to find work." It was true, Foggy was an elite weatherpony. One of the best there ever was in Cloudsdale, which was the city of weather. "You can handle this for eight weeks, can’t you?"

Instead of answering, Foggy huffed and fluttered her wings, hovering her way to the door. I watched her disappear out of sight. "Anything else?" I asked the secretary, pointedly.

The mare at the counter gazed at me, humming with uncertainty as conflict flashed across her eyes. Finally, she placed my application on a large stack of similar papers. "You should break up with her," she blurted. "It’s only going to cause you trouble."

I was taken aback; that was absolutely not the answer I’d expected. We were in the middle of a fight, sure, but that was certainly not a request I was about to entertain; doubly so from a mare I’d only just met. "Right, I’d say 'screw you, too', but I doubt anypony would want to," I replied. Raising my wing with a rude gesture, I stepped out the door and into the storm outside. "See you never," I called back as the door shut behind me.

Foggy was right there, as I’d expected, with her back turned toward me. The pouring rain had already soaked her white tail, which drooped over my favorite parts of her: the sexy parts. "We’ve got three days," I said. I flipped her tail up with my equally white hoof to tease her. "I think we should take our time and enjoy it."

"No," she growled. "I need some time to myself. Enjoy your evening. Alone." A flash of lighting that split the sky gave a finality to her words that made it hard to argue: the rumble of thunder around us would have drowned out any reply I could have made. With a quick flapping of her wings, she lifted off and flew up into the clouds above.

Ouch. I’d told her this was my dream since the day we’d met, so if she didn’t like it, that was her problem for getting together with me in the first place. But even so, I hesitated as she disappeared into the distance, her pale blue coat remaining starkly visible against the background of dark gray clouds.

I shook my head. My long mane, already soaked from the downpour, slapped heavily against my neck as it flung back and forth. My gorgeous mane, which she loved so much…

I stared at the dark gray strands of what had been, just moments before, my mane. My first day had come, and while I'd always known that this was the first step, the reality of it hadn't fully settled in until that moment. My tail was next, cropping it just inches from my dock, leaving my intimate parts far more exposed than I was used to.

The stallion cutting my mane slapped his hoof against my flank, right over my left cutie mark. I yelped at the unexpected contact and glared at him. He leered back at me lecherously, no doubt at having enjoyed taking my modesty away. "Report to your training room, Private," he barked.

I turned to leave. Consequences damned, I really wanted to run a hind hoof across his smarmy snout, but this was my dream job. I wouldn't jeopardize my place now that I was here.

Two doors up the hall, I stepped into the classroom and my gaze immediately zeroed in on the desk indicated by my cutie mark - a lightning bolt with two snowflakes and two raindrops on opposite corners. I felt several sets of eyes boring into me as I walked to the desk. There was a distinct lack of other mares in the classroom, so it would seem I was a lone curiosity.

I took my seat. The instructor had not yet arrived, so I turned to my neighbor, intending to introduce myself, but was instead given immediate pause. He was sitting on his haunches in his chair and leaning back, with his stallionhood standing tall for me to get an eyeful of.

There was nothing more revolting to me than a stallion's dick. Unsurprisingly, this brazen display of his specimen didn't change my mind. "Not impressed," I growled. "Unless you want me to rip it off, I suggest you put it away."

Raucous laughter erupted from the other stallions; some at the brazen stallion's expense, but I couldn't help but feel a fair amount was directed at me as well. I was 'just a mare', after all. None of them would feel threatened by me.

Not yet, anyway. In due time, they would learn that I wasn’t just a weak-willed mare who had gotten in over her head.

A gruff unicorn stallion entered the room moments later, wearing insignia that indicated he was a Staff Sergeant. This was almost certainly our instructor, and the classroom immediately quieted down. He addressed us all, and we all stood at attention, as expected. And when he allowed us to take a seat, he almost immediately launched into the rules and expectations of the Equestrian military. It was boring, but also not unexpected.

"Remember, the nail that sticks out gets hammered down," he ended his explanation of a rule with that statement. I cast a quick glance at the stallion who had stuck out his nail. He was looking at me as well. I made a hammering motion with my hoof, and he immediately looked away.

"Finally, there are strict rules about fraternization," he began. "Homosexuality is not permitted among the ranks." I nearly gave myself whiplash with how fast my attention turned back to the instructor. "We don't need any of that distraction among the troops. If you can't handle that, feel free to speak with me privately later, and we can work on alternative employment." His emphasis on those last words was unnerving.

There was absolutely no way that was a rule. Or, if it was, it had to have been before the restrictions on mares joining the military were lifted — that would have made sense, then. After all, military members having sexual and romantic relationships with eachother would certainly be problematic...

Or was it? I wracked my brain, trying to think of any justification. I couldn't come up with one. It was sexist and outdated, and I wanted to speak up... but did I really want to draw that attention to myself? It might get some of the stallions to leave me alone if they knew I wasn't straight, but whatever the instructor's alternatives were, I doubted they were pleasant. And I didn't want to get kicked out.

I endured my own doubts silently through the rest of my orientation class.

By the end of the third day, there was a rumor floating around that the stallion who had been showing off his equipment to me in class had attracted the attention of a colt-cuddler named Starfeather, who had subsequently been reported to the upper brass. If the rumors around the barracks were to be believed, Star wasn't just expelled from the military system, but they even threw him in prison. It reinforced my decision to stay quiet.

I stared at the slop they called dinner, wondering what I could do to protect myself from being exposed. Even the tiniest slip could lead to trouble.

"You alright?"

I must have let my inner turmoil get to me if some random stallion was worried about me. I looked across the table to see an ice blue pegasus stallion with a dark blue mane looking back with a concerned expression.

"Uh, yeah, never better," I replied, forcing myself to smile. It was immediately obvious that he wasn't buying it.

"Hmm. Thinking about your stallion at home?" he asked.

"Nah, not my thing," I blurted out, as if it was a reflex - which, it somewhat was. Another well of anxiety boiled over; that was close to an admission of lesbianism. I needed to rein that in before it got me into trouble.

He folded his hooves behind his head and leaned back in his seat. I half expected that he was making a show of himself, just like the stallion in my first class, but nothing peeked out and he didn't seem to be looking for my reaction. "Yeah, I can understand that," he said wistfully, staring up at the ceiling. "Must be easy, not having somepony who you're missing and wishing you could go home to see her every night."

Her? Was he suspecting me? Or was he referring to his own struggles with his marefriend at home? This was dangerous territory, and I wouldn't have any of this conversation.

"Yeah... No, I can't say I have that problem," I lied.

"Well, that's unfortunate." He sat up straight and smiled at me.

Oh, Sisters, here's where the flirting comes, right?

"It's nice to go home and see your family, then, I hope?"

"Go home? My family fucking sucks," I replied. "My parents disowned me after..."

Stop, Stormy. You're on thin ice.

"...After?"

"I bucked my mother in the face." It was a partial lie - I did buck her in the face, but it was after she'd disowned me. The hoofprint in her muzzle was just the seal that made it effectively permanent.

"I hate them both. I wouldn't even care if they were dead!" I slammed my hooves into the table, and a chorus of silverware clattering against dishes sang out in unison. The startled stallion pulled back at the intensity of my outburst. Truth be told, I wasn't exactly the best at moderating my emotions, and I'd struck the table far harder than I'd intended. "So yeah, going home is out of the question," I concluded.

"That's rough," he replied evenly, putting his utensils on his tray and standing from the table. "Well, I hope whatever's eating at you gets better," he said, waving a hoof dismissively.

Thinking about my asshole parents really pissed me off, and it was all I could think of for several minutes after he’d walked away, but eventually I collapsed back onto my seat. There was only so much energy to put toward such intense emotion. Besides, the poor fellow had been asking perfectly normal questions. He'd done nothing wrong, and I'd yelled in his face. I kinda felt bad for lashing out like that, which is not something I'd normally admit, even to myself.

I continued going about my day feeling I owed him an apology. But at least feeling bad for the poor stallion had gotten my mind off the other stuff.

Overall, boot camp turned out to be a lot less glamorous than I'd expected. No one celebrated you as a hero. No one cared about the sacrifices you were making. In hindsight, I couldn't understand why I had ever been excited about boot camp itself. Maybe it was just because it was the first step toward my dream, and I'd devoted so much of my life up to this point to make my dream a reality.

But, the truth is, boot camp sucked.

I could handle the intense physical regimens without issue, but doing the domestic things - cleaning the barracks, mopping floors, and so on - really got under my skin. There was a reason I didn't want to be a simple housewife, after all. When we weren't doing physical and domestic tasks, there was a lot of protocol to learn, drilling on it until it was memory - either muscle or cerebral.

But after all that misery, eight weeks later, it was time to graduate. I'd invited Foggy to my graduation, and it would be the first time I'd see her since I had left. I hoped she had received my letter, and that she would take warnings about public displays of affection to heart.

With dozens of training classes and lessons on various regulations, I ultimately concluded that military standards in Equestria were quite archaic, and sadly, unlikely to change. The upper brass enforced things with an iron hoof, no matter how slight the infraction.

There was no way we could be open about our relationship, so I told Foggy we should present ourselves as sisters. If she could just stick to that, nopony would be the wiser.

I sat on the stage at the commencement ceremony, surrounded by several of my peers. We all waited in silence as the Commander of the Equestrian forces, Commander Wind Shear, began giving a speech. But it was a boring speech designed to placate the media, so I ignored it.

Instead, I roamed the crowd with my eyes, trying to spot Foggy among the seats. It didn't take long - she was waving excitedly with both hooves and bouncing up and down. I raised my hoof slightly in acknowledgement.

The assembled crowd grew hushed as the Commander wrapped up his introduction.

"Astral Plume!"

A purple-coated pegasus with a red mane trotted up to the Commander.

The commander gestured toward the gathered ponies. "Astral Plume will be assigned to the Cloud Shapers!"

I nodded. A respectable position, though not my preference. Still, alphabetical order meant that I'd be waiting for a fair while.

They gave several more ponies various assignments, but I wasn't really paying close attention because I was watching Foggy intently. She had finally settled down into her seat, but I could see she was still bouncing with energy. It made me smile to see her so upbeat, given how upset she was that I had enlisted in the first place.

"Flash Freeze, from Canterlot."

We were already at the Fs by the time I turned my attention back to the Commander. The pegasus stallion who I'd lashed out toward in the mess hall just a couple weeks prior stepped forward. I'd seen him a few times here and there throughout the camp, but only just now learned his name.

Flash Freeze saluted the Commander with an outstretched wing as he approached. The Commander nodded and then gestured broadly to the audience again. "Flash Freeze will be assigned to the Canterlot Royal Guard!"

The stallion pumped a hoof in excitement. Why? All I could think about was how terrible of a posting that would be for a pegasus. We had wings; why would you tie us down to a tiny space, doing work that any Earth pony could do, when Earth ponies were ideal for that kind of work? The Royal Guard was the worst possible assignment.

Pegasus recruits often ended up as part of the Cloud Shapers, like Astral Plume had been. It was an elite group of weather engineers who used their skill at weather manipulation to assault Equestria's enemies or protect its borders.

Others ended up as part of the Thunderheads, a regiment of shock troops trained to strike quickly from the air - that was the one I dreamed of being.

The less fortunate would be part of the Air Convoy - pegasi who never saw much action, but were critical for moving lightweight supplies and communiques that couldn't wait for ground-bound transport.

A very lucky few might even get called up to join the Wonderbolts Reserves and have a shot at becoming part of the official Wonderbolts. I really craved the frontlines, but if I couldn’t have my first choice, the Reserves was definitely a close second.

The Commander called up the next pony while I impatiently wondered what deployment I would be assigned to. "Geode, from Las Pegasus." An Earth pony trotted up.

I smiled at Foggy. Las Pegasus was where we first met, and where we had our first date. She smiled back - a big, wide grin. That smile was one of the things I loved about her the most.

One after another, each pony was called up in order of name. And then it was finally my turn.

"Sleet Storm, from Cloudsdale!"

I stood up, my knees feeling a little bit shaky with nerves, and trotted up to the Commander, giving him a salute. He nodded back and then turned to the audience. "Sleet Storm will be assigned to the Canterlot Royal Guard!"

All of my hopes crashed as I stared out at a cheering audience. My heart sank as I realized that I was probably being kept ‘safe’ from any potential danger, entirely because of my sex.

Meanwhile, Foggy was nearly jumping for joy, and perhaps just out of habit, she blew me a kiss. I stood stock still, frozen in fear. I couldn't acknowledge what she'd just done, or I'd put myself at risk - maybe I already had been put at risk if somepony else was paying attention.

Foggy stopped her bombastic bouncing and began glaring at me. She was expecting me to return the gesture. Did she just not understand the gravity of the situation? I'd told her not to do that! This would be the worst time to screw everything up.

I glared at her silently, but didn't otherwise acknowledge her. I didn't care if she ended up being super mad at me later. After all, this was the best possible outcome for her: as part of the Guard, I'd be living permanently in Canterlot, together with her. She could forgive me, I'm sure. And make-up sex was always nice, too.

I turned my back and returned to my seat. I tried to ignore it - besides, Foggy was being herself, really. That's why I loved her, but... what if somepony saw?

No, I couldn't dwell on that. There was nothing I could do about it now. Even if Foggy loved the idea, the Canterlot Royal Guard had to be a mistake. That wasn't what I was destined for. I couldn't be kept down like this. I was born to die fighting!

Two - A Secret Exposed

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A few civilians would pass through every minute or two. I scanned each of them with my eyes as they went, making sure none of them were a threat. They almost never were.

About the most eventful thing that had happened was when I'd turned away a drunken Earth pony who was convinced he had to make a wedding proposal to Luna that afternoon. A fool's errand. Not just because Luna was asleep, but also because she was already engaged.

Guarding the gate of Canterlot Castle was not an exciting job. It already bummed me out to be a part of the Royal Guard, but this was beyond miserable. Out of all the Royal Guard positions, it was possibly the worst. I knew I was better than a glorified babysitter, but it was common that they assigned new recruits to the shitty tasks.

Princess Twilight Sparkle approached the gate, smiling as she chattered away with the six friends we'd become accustomed to seeing at her side. I nodded to the princess as she passed the gate. "Good afternoon, Princess Twilight!"

She paused, turning to me briefly. "It's okay, Sleet Storm. You can just call me Twilight!" I rolled my eyes at the Princess as her entourage of friends passed by. Even if I wanted to, protocol dictated that I always address anypony by their title, if they had one. I'm sure she was aware of that, too, given her brother's position as the former Captain of my unit. However, I wasn't confident that she'd come to defend me if somepony reported it—a princess had far more pressing matters to deal with—so I stuck to protocol.

"Hey, Stormy," my partner called. I jerked my head over to Flash Freeze, who stood on the other side of the gate. He glanced around surreptitiously to make sure everypony was gone before whispering harshly, "Do you think I have a chance with her?"

"With who?" I hissed back.

"You know..." he said, more loudly, gesturing toward the interior of the castle. "Her!"

"Princess Twilight?" I wondered.

He nodded. "Yeah!"

The mare who was only ever seen hanging around her marefriends? I was absolutely certain the princess was 'in lesbians' with one of them, though I could never be certain which one, and my gaydar wasn't exactly accurate. Still, as guards in Canterlot, we saw a lot more of the princesses than most, and I hadn't ever seen Twilight spend any appreciable time with a stallion. "I doubt it."

He frowned. "Yeah, probably not." Instantaneously rebounding, he smiled widely. "It's fun to think about, though."

The princess was pretty hot. Thinking about being with her? After a moment of pondering, yeah, I didn't blame him one bit. All the benefits of dating a pegasus and a unicorn all at once? That was kinky. Not to mention the royalty thing. If I was single and, well, not in the Guard, I'd probably fantasize about that a bit myself. But long before Princess Twilight was coronated, her brother had been the Captain of the Guard and scored himself Princess Cadance (another mare I wouldn't mind a go at), so maybe it wasn't impossible.

"But, y'know, never say never," I added, smiling. "Good luck. You'll need it."

"Excuse me!" A pony cleared his throat, causing me to jump. I looked over to see a stern-faced unicorn with a white coat and a blonde mane. He was well-dressed and haughty-looking. "Don't you have a job to be doing?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," I replied, standing up straight.

"Sir?" he repeated, clearly annoyed. "Do you even know who I am?"

I looked him up and down, and shook my head. "No, sir."

He scoffed. "I'll have you know that I am Prince Blueblood, the highest ranking noblepony in Canterlot!" With a huff, he stomped past me, not even sparing me a second glance. "What kind of operation is auntie running that her guards cannot show the proper respect?" he audibly complained.

One of his entourage mouthed an apology to me as they passed, and they disappeared into the castle proper. "I'll have you disciplined for this," his voice floated back to us, almost as if it was an afterthought.

"What the fuck is his problem?" I grumbled as soon as they were clearly out of earshot. I knew the minor infraction of calling a Prince 'Sir' would probably come back with some menial labor to 'help me remember my duties'. Of course, I did not know who he was before he arrived, so who could blame me? He looked just like any other snooty Canterlot upper-class stallion.

Flash waved at me, a huge, doofy smile on his face. "Hey, Stormy?" he said, just loud enough I could hear him. "He's a Prince, right? Do you think you have a chance with him?"

I glared at him.

He laughed.

The next day, a mare and her husband approached Canterlot Castle with a photograph held in her wings. Unlike most ponies, who simply went straight inside and ignored Flash Freeze and me, they instead trotted right up to me. Why did they ignore Flash? Probably assuming that, as a mare, I would be more helpful. Were they being sexist? Or was I just lashing out at institutionalized sexism and misattributing things? To be honest, I didn't care that much, but Foggy always pondered these things and over the years she'd rubbed off on me.

"Have you seen our son?" the mare said, holding the photo out to me.

I peered down at the photo and cringed. It was Starfeather, the stallion who was outed as a colt-cuddler. "I haven't seen him since the first few days of boot camp, miss," I replied nervously. I wanted to tell them more, but it was all rumors and hearsay, and I didn't want to crush their spirits needlessly.

The poor mare's ears drooped. "I was afraid of that," the stallion said. "Star ran away from home to enlist after we..." he stopped. "Well, I hardly need to bother you with our family affairs."

Just from his expression, I could infer too much about them already. Their guilty-but-unapologetic nature was plain as day—they didn't want to ruin their relationship with their son, but couldn't accept him as gay. It was just like the false attempts my own parents had made to get back into my good graces.

I hoped I was wrong about them, but, as much as I suddenly found myself not liking the two ponies, it genuinely concerned me that they didn't even know where their son was. If he had been locked in prison, wouldn't his family at least have been informed? I glanced around. Nopony else was around except for Flash...

I suddenly had a lot of questions that I wanted answers to, and I was going to go searching for them as soon as I had the chance. "Tell you what," I whispered to her. "Let me take your contact information, and I'll do some digging. It's a slim chance, but maybe I'll see if I can't find out where he went when he left boot camp."

"Oh, thank you!" the mare shouted, hugging me. I tolerated it for a moment, and then pulled out a notebook we were supposed to use to take notes on minor incidents. I copied down her address, and then gently pushed her away and bid her a good day.

On the east side of Canterlot Castle was a massive cloud arena, where the Wonderbolts perform, uncreatively called Wonderbolt Arena. At the far end of the cloud-built arena stood a stone-built structure about the size of a large restaurant: Wonderbolts HQ. The exterior of it was garishly decorated in the same blue-and-yellow of the Wonderbolts' uniforms, with a couple of windows from which merchandise, food, and drinks were sold during events.

The interior of the structure contained, among other things, the Wonderbolts locker room. A revolting smell of stale sweat assailed my nostrils as I pushed the door to the locker room open, dragging a mop and bucket behind me. Nopony was in sight, but I could hear water running from the direction of the showers, so I assumed I wasn't alone.

A row of lockers ran down either wall of the long room, while a bench ran down the center. A small office was in the back, opposite the entrance to an open shower area. I took off my saddlebags and set them on the bench, as they would only impede my cleaning. A pair of acrobatic flight uniforms lay draped across the other end of bench, as well as a couple of folded towels stacked neatly next to them, presumably waiting for whoever was in the showers.

It must have been quite the shower, too, as the steam coming from the back there was dense, making it impossible to even see the tile on the back wall. Whoever was in there liked their showers hot.

However, I wasn't here to shower, nor to socialize. Right on the heels of asking Captain Silver Lining about Starfeather, he informed me that Prince Blueblood had made good on his word, and now I had to do some rudimentary janitorial work to make up for my slip in protocol.

It wasn't a particularly hard task, but I fucking hated cleaning, and the Captain was well aware of that fact. He had been rather evasive about my questions, too. I would have to ask around more later, but for now, I needed to start mopping the floor.

Mopping, as it happens to be, is a mindless task. But that wasn't the only thing I'd need to do to finish cleaning up. As I reached the lockers, I pulled out a cloth and hovered up to wipe down the top of the lockers—something I knew I would get nailed to the wall for if I didn't remember to do. They were filthy, of course, and the cloth just got dirtier and dirtier as I went.

I dipped the cloth into the mop bucket and wrung it out again before resuming my work on top of the lockers. I cast a glance at the dirty mop water, which had gathered a significant amount of grime from the grout in the tiles. Then I looked back at the rag on my hooves.

Gross.

At this rate, the mopping would be counterproductive when I returned to it. What's the point in dumping dirty water on the floor and picking it up again? It would just cost me more time and make the finished product look terrible. And I didn't want to risk doing a lousy job and end up having to do it a second time. Even if it meant taking extra time now, I decided it would be worth the effort to dump the filthy water and get clean water again.

But I also didn't feel like lugging the mop bucket all that way to the janitor's closet at the other end of the building just to lug it right back. After all, the shower was right there. It would fill rather slowly from a showerhead, but it was more appealing than the alternative.

As I approached the showers, thick steam obscured my vision, billowing up from a half-dozen showerheads spewing scalding hot water. With so many showerheads running, I questioned if anypony was actually in there or if it had been some kind of prank as I stood at the edge of the shower and turned the mop bucket over—on the shower tile, of course, so any loose dirt would get washed down the drain that separated the showers from the rest of the locker room.

It didn't take long for the dirty mop water to run down the drain with the amount of water flowing from elsewhere in the showers. Was a drain clogged somewhere? Not my problem if it was; I was here as a janitor, not a plumber.

The roar of water pouring onto the tile was shockingly loud, yet beneath all of it, I heard something. Somepony was definitely in there. At first I thought it was somepony's soft singing, but it was hard to make out over the noise.

My heart leaped into my throat as I realized that whoever was in the shower was probably one of the Wonderbolts. Like so many other military-hopeful pegasi, the Wonderbolts were a huge inspiration to me. Their spectacular displays practically sold entire generations of young ponies into military service. And right now, I had an opportunity to meet one of them personally!

If I was lucky, I might catch a glimpse or even a quick chat as I waited for the bucket to fill. I steeled my nerves for the heat and stepped into the nearly scalding water. I flinched as the water soaked into my fur. It was barely tolerable! How could anypony want to shower in this?

I passed a divider between shower stalls. Nopony was in the stall, so I rolled the mop bucket into the stall, allowing it to fill from the showerhead. As I turned I was greeted by the sight of two ponies tucked into the corner of the stall across from me. Two very female ponies. Doing very lesbian things. I gasped in surprise.

Spitfire and Fleetfoot. I knew them instantaneously: Spitfire was the Captain of the Wonderbolts, and Fleetfoot was the most senior member of the squad. Nearly anypony who knew anything about the Wonderbolts would recognize them immediately. And here they were in front of me, dyking out.

Spitfire had noticed me already, her orange eyes glaring at me angrily while Fleetfoot, either not noticing or not caring that I was there, continued madly eating Spitfire out. My concern about the 'no-homo' policy suddenly reared its ugly head as I realized the Wonderbolts were also under military jurisdiction.

"It's okay!" I blurted helpfully. "I'm a lesbian, too. Your secret is safe with me."

"Shut it, newbie," Spitfire spat, tapping Fleetfoot on the back of the head. Fleetfoot rolled to the side, allowing Spitfire to stand up. Keeping her gaze level, Spitfire approached me and got right up into my face, snout-to-snout. "You really think I can just trust your word like that?" she growled.

Her fierceness might have intimidated most ponies, but I would not let her intimidate me. "Yes, I do."

Spitfire looked me over for a few moments. "Well, you're kinda cute, I guess," she said, and then nodded to Fleetfoot. "If you're really a lesbian, prove it."

"C'mere, sister." Fleetfoot said, helpfully laying back and spread her legs for me. She used her hooves to emphasize the presentation. With their similar color palettes, for a moment, all I could imagine was Foggy doing the same gesture. A Wonderbolt wanted me to go down on her? How I wished in that moment I was single, but I knew Foggy would never be okay with it.

"I'm sorry, but I'm taken," I said, shaking my head. "And please don't call me sister. My name is Stormy." Then, an idea struck me. "Hold on!" I left the showers, and both of the mares tailed me closely.

I rummaged through my saddlebags and pulled out picture that I kept hidden away in a side pouch—my favorite picture from our date in Las Pegasus where Foggy and I shared a deep kiss, with tongue, just as a passing voyeuristic photographer had snapped a photo. He promised us a copy of the photo if we'd just let him keep one for himself. We'd hesitantly obliged and, at Foggy's insistence, I didn't beat the shit out of him.

Why did I keep this photo with me all the time? It might be helpful in the immediate moment, but it was a dangerous thing to keep around in my current occupation. But every time I looked at it, Foggy's sparkling happiness practically oozed from the photo. It cheered my up when my day was less-than-stellar. And I would risk anything for her happiness.

"See?" I said, holding the photo out for Spitfire. "This is me and my marefriend."

Fleetfoot stayed a few feet away, seemingly disinterested in the photo, but Spitfire leaned in close, scrutinizing the picture. She was close enough that I could feel her warm breath on my hoof.

"May I?" she asked, placing her hoof on the photo.

I nodded hesitantly, uncertain what she would do with the photo. She took the photo from me and gently placed it on the bench, before turning around and grabbing my foreleg. Before I even knew what was going on, she pulled me in and kissed me full on the lips. Her tongue prodded and poked at my lips and teeth, seeking a way in, but I refused to let her. Once I recovered from the shock, I shoved her off of me.

"Excuse me?!" I yelled. "What the fuck?"

The faintest hint of a smile crossed Spitfire's lips. "You're cute when you're angry." Fleetfoot handed her the photo, and she passed it back to me. "She's cute, too. You're both lucky mares."

I didn't quite know what to make of the unwelcomed kiss. It had shocked me, that was for sure. Part of me was flattered a mare like her was interested, but I really... really couldn't let myself entertain that thought. Instead, I forced myself to smile back. "Thanks."

Spitfire's expression soured as she once again fixated her stare upon me. "Just remember, what happens in the locker room stays in the locker room." She nodded her head toward the showers.

I understood her meaning immediately: Tell no one what I'd seen here. "Yeah. Your secret is safe with me."

The two Wonderbolts finished drying themselves off, towelled up their manes and tails, and then left me alone to finish my job in isolation. As they left, Spitfire stopped in the doorway. "You and your marefriend are quite attractive." She winked at me before departing. As the door closed behind her, I heard her calling back to me. "You'll be mine someday, Stormy. You'll see."

I didn't respond. Instead, when I finished my work, I put on my saddlebags, put away all the cleaning supplies, and headed back home.

My long, but weirdly eventful day was finally at an end.

My tail was bothering me. I tried flicking it this way and that, but it was coming up on 'that time' of the year and I wanted nothing more than to meet up with Foggy and wrestle my urges away. Flash Freeze, typical stallion that he was, wasn't oblivious to my dancing tail, either. He looked over at me, tilting his head questioningly.

"This armor itches," I replied preemptively.

"How's that different from any other day?"

"It's not," I groused. "I'm just cranky." And anxious, though I wasn't willing to divulge those details.

Everything about this deployment sucked. There was nothing glamorous about guarding Canterlot Castle. Nothing ever happened. Nopony ever did anything interesting. I'd been posted here for six months, and the most exciting thing that ever happened was a drunken young stallion trying to bring firecrackers into the castle during the Summer Sun Celebration.

And now, on top of all of that, my saddlebags had gone missing the day before. When I found them again—mysteriously placed back in my locker—the picture of Foggy and me had gone missing from its spot.

Somepony must have leverage over me, and I had no way of knowing who, though I did have two very prominent suspects. It had been almost a day since the photo had disappeared, and nothing came of it yet, but there was simply no way that the picture could have accidentally fallen out. It had to have been removed deliberately.

"Picture-perfect day, isn't it?" Flash said, raising his hoof to gesture out at the scenery. I flinched involuntarily at the word 'picture'. Anxiety could be so exhausting. Still, he was right, and the day was nearly perfect. Not a cloud in the sky to hinder the view. Like literally every day in the Capital of the Sun.

From the castle gate, you could see out over the city of Canterlot, with all of its architectural uniqueness: spires, arches, roads, the hustle and bustle of ponies going about their business below. Then, beyond the city, the world fell hundreds of yards down to the ground below. Off in the distance, you could see forests, plains, and rivers, and—if you looked far enough—the broad expanse of the ocean beyond.

It was likely a breathtaking view by other ponies' standards, but I was a pegasus. Pegasi weren't generally known to appreciate such grand vistas, but they tend to lose their sense of wonder and scale when you see them daily simply by flying around.

"Yeah, just peachy," I grumbled.

As far as I could make out, Starfeather had simply disappeared. Nopony would or could tell me anything. The one pony who was publicly outed as gay disappeared without a trace? That only elevated my anxieties about being caught out as lesbian. I was even considering resigning from the Guard and finding something else to do with my life, but Foggy had insisted that I couldn't abandon my dream so easily.

Flash stuck his spear into the ground and placed his hooves over the end of the shaft, leaning into it in a gross violation of protocol. "Alright, Storm, out with it. What's eatin' you?"

Damnit, he'd noticed. I couldn't tell him I thought two lesbian Wonderbolts had possibly gotten into my bag to steal a photo of myself being a lesbian. "Nothing," I lied.

"Nope, we've been here together too long. You're not yourself today."

He was lucky I considered him a friend at this point, or I might have thought him an arrogant bastard. "Okay, fine, it's just a female problem," I replied, hoping that would get him off my back.

He laughed. That twit laughed. "Ah, well, it is that time of year, isn't it? Still not a stallion to take care of you, is there?" He stood up straight and pulled the spear from the ground, wiping off the pointed end against his own coat.

"No," I growled. What was his deal? Was he trying to—

His hoof raised dismissively. "You're not my type."

"Good," I snapped.

He seemed to take the hint that I wasn't discussing my problems and went back to his usual position. But my infernal mare's curiosity meant now I had to know...

"... What, uh... What is your type, anyway?" I knew it was a dangerous question: he might think I was trying to lead him on, or that I was hopeful I could match his wants and desires, but honestly, my curiosity was piqued. We'd been here together for so long, but he'd never once mentioned a marefriend, and apart from his slightly crass comments about Princess Twilight, he hadn't shown interest in one, either. That the discussion would distract me from the missing photograph I couldn't do anything about right now was just a bonus.

"Hah," he trumpeted a laugh. "My type? Let's see... I don't really know. The Princesses are all pretty hot, but I think most of Equestria would agree with me on that, so that's not exactly unique."

No argument there; for all that I loved her, I would cheat on Foggy without a second thought if it meant I had a chance to get between Luna's thighs. And she would probably even forgive me for it. "Right," I agreed.

"But you know, Princess Twilight's friend? Rainbow Dash, the one who joined the Wonderbolts? I wouldn't mind a gal like her."

By all accounts, Rainbow was a total tomboy... And yet I wasn't his type? Was I really so unlike a Wonderbolt? Was that why I was assigned this post? My confidence in my own abilities faltered as I pondered the implications.

My expression must have given away my internal conflict as Flash scrambled to placate me. "But you are pretty!" he argued. "I'm sure there would be plenty of stallions who can help you out with your... uh..."

I glared at him. Was he really going to just say it?

He blushed and turned away. "Sorry."

I couldn't stay mad at him for long. He really had meant no wrong by it. And I kinda had led the conversation in that direction, even if I hadn't really meant to. Things had mostly gone back to normal after that, and the shift had ended relatively uneventfully—which is to say, it was boring.

My helmet was off before I even walked into the barracks, shaking out my mane and letting my scalp breathe for the first time since I'd put it on that morning. There was nothing more relieving than taking it off at the end of a long shift.

Captain Silver Lining was standing next to my locker, beaming widely. I frowned, knowing I wasn't supposed to remove any part of my uniform before I was in the barracks proper. He seemed almost excited to see me without it, and my anxiety skyrocketed as I wondered if he was excited to punish me for it.

"There you are!" he chirped. "I have good news!" He was almost never so cheerful. Something was up.

"Hello, Captain," I said, performing a proper salute. "What news?"

"Two of the Wonderbolt Reserves were injured today in an aerial maneuver gone awry, and they will be out for an extended period. They need to have a healthy team of backups for their major performances. Captain Spitfire specifically asked for you to come and do a try-out this evening, if you're interested."

I was being asked to try out... for the Wonderbolts Reserves? Captain Spitfire was probably doing this as thanks for keeping her secret. Or maybe to make another pass at me. I could handle her flirting with me if I had to! I was being given a chance to take the ultimate career move. This wasn't something I could pass up, and it wasn't like I needed to reciprocate. Foggy would understand that much: it would be far from the first or last time that another mare gets chatty with me.

"That would be great!" I blurted. "Where do I report?"

"I figured you would be excited about this opportunity. I was told you should report to the Wonderbolts locker room and wait there. I passed along your measurements from bootcamp so they could get a flight suit ready for you—I hope you don't mind."

In any other circumstance, I'd probably be livid that my measurements were shared without consent, but... I'd be getting my own Wonderbolts uniform immediately? I couldn't imagine anything better. "No, that's cool," I said, trying to pass it off as a non-issue.

"That's great. I wish you luck!" And the Captain left.

"Damn, Stormy..." Flash said, already halfway through removing his armor. "That's one hell of an opportunity. I really want to know how that one pans out. Might be losing my partner."

"I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow," I said cheerfully.

Three - The Evaluation

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While Flash excused himself to shower, I started my trek over toward Wonderbolts HQ. The locker room was empty as I trotted in, with a note on the bench that simply said Sleet Storm: Put this on. Wait here. I'll be running late. Under the note was a fresh Wonderbolts' uniform.

I really wanted to take a quick shower myself; I could smell the rank stench of body odor from my coat, which had simmered under my armor in the sun all day, but soaking myself in the shower would weigh me down during my try-outs, so that was a bad idea. Besides, I would just work up a sweat again. So instead, I put on the uniform.

It wasn't the full flight-suit uniform that the Wonderbolts typically wore during their performances. Because of some of the more extreme stunts, those suits were designed for maximum thermal protection while maximizing flexibility. The uniform in my hooves was an acrobatics uniform designed to give a wider range of motion, at the cost of less protection. As such, it only covered the chest, sides, and legs, while keeping the rest of the body exposed. That was fine with me; I hated the skin-tight suits anyway, and these ones breathed a lot better.

Once I had the suit on, I started doing stretches. Thanks to my position, it had been some time since I'd done any serious flying, so while I'd done some daily exercise, I was definitely not in top form. My confidence faltered as my stretching caused a brief cramp in my left wing.

Before I worked the cramp out, though, the sounds of approaching hoofbeats drew my attention. I glanced up to see Soarin, the top stallion performer in the 'Bolts coming through the entrance. He trotted straight up to me, a wide smile on his face.

"Ah, you must be Sleet Storm?" I nodded. "Yeah, Spitfire told me you were hot, and damn... she wasn't kidding."

His eyes were roaming all over my body as he stepped around me. Even if he was famous, I wasn't some mewling fanfilly who was going to let him ogle my entire body; I turned to face him as he circled me, trying to maintain eye contact. It mattered little, as his own eyes were never on my face. By the time he stopped circling me, I had turned around entirely, with my back to the door.

He frowned. "You're making my job difficult."

I raised an eyebrow. "Your job?"

"My job," he said, nodding. "I'm supposed to be evaluating you. If you'd please hold still, I need to see all of you."

"Why's that?" I asked. He continued his survey of my body. This time, I stood still, though I continued to crane my neck around, watching him like a hawk. It occured to me that one of the uses for this particular uniform was because it was the one used in 'promotional images'—the kinds with provocative mares on the covers, with their teats exposed and their tail only barely hiding the goods. The kinds that catch male attention.

"The Wonderbolts aren't just about skill, we're also about image," he explained. He placed a hoof on my flank, and I had to resist the urge to slap him with my tail. "If you can't fill out the uniform properly, you will not make the cut." He pressed firmly in a few places. "Lovely muscle tone you have here. Could you spread your wings for me?"

I couldn't help but notice his stallionhood dropping from his sheathe and wished my glare could have turned to literal daggers. Normally, this kind of hooves-on inspection was done by medical staff; this asshole was clearly getting off on this, but I knew that there was no way I'd get into the Wonderbolts and out of my current miserable posting if I pissed him off.

"Wings, Miss Storm?" he asked again. With a heavy sigh, I slowly began lifting my wings outward for him. "Eyes forward, please, I need an idea of how you look when you're flying." Grumbling under my breath, I turned to face forward. "Good filly."

Nope.

I whirled on him, fury burning just under the surface. "Don't you 'good filly' me!" I shouted. "I'm not your plaything!"

He seemed utterly unfazed by my outburst. "Well, that kind of attitude will not get you very far," he said, as if stating a simple fact. "Is this examination over? Shall I send you back to the Guard with an unsatisfactory rating?"

I deflated, feeling blood rushing into my cheeks. "No," I whispered. "You can continue." Once again, I spread my wings and turned away from him, furious rage and embarrassment boiling just under the surface.

Once again, his hoof touched me; this time on my side, right where my wing would normally rest. I shuddered at the intimate touch - it wasn't exactly an erogenous zone, but it was very unusual for a stranger to touch a pegasus beneath her wings. It was becoming increasingly clear to me that his brazen nature was probably being driven by some sick satisfaction of his perverted desires, but I really, really, wanted this promotion, and if all he wanted to do was get a little hoofy with me, I would tolerate that much.

His hoof wandered up to the joint of my wing and pressed firmly a few times. "You have beautiful wings," he mumbled, pulling his hoof away. "Please keep them extended." I nodded slightly, relieved that his hoof had stopped teasing me.

The sound of the tapping of his hooves clicking against the tile floor bounced off the walls as he stepped around my backside, reminding me of how empty this place was. "Very nice," he said, coming up around the other side. His hoof touched my other side in the same invasive place as he had before, only this time, he put more pressure on it, like he was giving a massage, and, at the same time, something brushed against my sex.

I gasped and jumped to the side, spinning to face him. His hoof was still raised to where he'd been touching me, and he simply looked at me quizzically. His stallionhood had fully descended now, standing straight out and on display.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"You touched me!" I shouted angrily.

"Yes, that is part of the examination," he said matter-of-factly.

"You touched my lady bits," I growled, desperately wanting to whirl around and buck him in the face. It would absolutely ruin any chance I had of getting into the Wonderbolts, the thought of which barely kept me in check.

"I did no such thing," he denied. He still hadn't lowered his hoof, which he waved as if to exaggerate his point. "Your tail must have touched you."

Even a mare like myself could tell when her tail was flagged, and it wasn't uncommon to brush your own sensitive bits while flagging, if only on accident...

And my tail was absolutely flagged.

The blood rushed back to my cheeks as I realized I had been presenting to him the entire time. Which meant his erection was probably just from the smell. I had to admit to the possibility that his body was reacting involuntarily to my pheromones, and maybe he really wasn't trying to perv on me, and was, in fact, simply being a gentlecolt and not mentioning my growing heat.

I sighed heavily. "Sorry... Have you seen enough?"

He nodded. "Yes, I have. You're quite a fine specimen."

Somehow, the way he said that seemed both really clinical and really skeevy. Couldn't he have chosen a more normal way to compliment me?

"Come, follow me," he said, trotting toward the office. "There's some basic paperwork we need to get out of the way before we begin your try-out proper. Liability and stuff."

That seemed... off to me. The Wonderbolts was a military branch, and all liability-related issues should be covered under that umbrella. But I couldn't put my hoof down on exactly what. I cautiously followed behind. He stopped just inside the door and gestured for me to enter, and once I was inside, he closed and locked the door. Immediately my internal alarm bells started ringing. Why would he lock the door? Was it just a habit? I could still just turn the lock and leave if I needed to, so it wasn't like I was literally being locked in here with him, but I didn't feel this was so important we had to ensure nopony else interrupted.

Soarin went around to the other side of the desk, and it was then that I noticed several photographs spread out on it. They were all of a stallion - a vaguely familiar stallion - in several compromising positions with another pony just out of frame. He didn't look happy in any of them.

"Oh, sorry," Soarin' said, scooping up the photos. "I meant to put those away." He missed two photos as he tucked them into a small folder behind the desk. One of them was my own photo, which proved one of the Wonderbolts had been the thief. And I might have been enraged if I hadn't been utterly horrified by the other photo.

Starfeather: the missing stallion. And in that last photo... A mare I didn't recognize was sucking on his bloodied penis while another unknown stallion's dick was stuck into... the hole in Starfeather's neck, right where his head once was. His head was missing.

Terror shot through me as I looked up to Soarin in shock. He simply smiled. "I see you understand the situation you are in."

"Y-you... you killed him."

"Oh, no, my dear. I did no such thing," he said, laughing out loud as if it was an everyday misunderstanding. I tried to will my legs to move, but sheer terror kept me glued to the floor. "You see, he did that to himself. A desperate attempt to get away."

He took a step toward me. The Wonderbolts were in peak physical condition, but didn't necessarily get combat training or regular sparring exercises the way the Castle Guard did. I was ready to fight if I had to.

"So, Sleet Storm," he said my name as if he was trying to flirt with me, before his face soured. "Or was it Slut Storm? I don't remember, you never gave me your name like a proper filly."

"You know I could report you to the authorities," I said in desperation.

"With what evidence?" he said, picking up the photo of Foggy and me with his wing. "Or do you think a he-said-she-said scenario will turn out in your favor against one of the stars of the Wonderbolts?" He waggled the photo in front of me. "Or maybe this evidence? Perhaps you should be the one concerned about being reported, yes?"

I was reasonably confident I could take Spitfire or Fleetfoot in a fight, but Soarin? Even with my training, the sheer power difference between stallions and mares was considerable, and I knew that even an untrained-but-athletic stallion could overpower me if he got even a remote amount of leverage.

"What is it you want?" I feared the answer.

"You," he said. "I want you to carry my foal. I'm going to knock you up, and you aren't going to tell anypony about it. Or you'll end up like your little homo-friend here." He flicked his wing across the desk and the photo of the decapitated stallion fluttered to the ground right in front of me.

I lunged for the photograph. It was my best hope of proving he was a maniac. But as I dove forward, his hoof shoved my face into the ground, and the rest of my body collapsed behind me. I barely avoided biting my tongue as my chin slammed painfully into the hard tile.

"Ah-ah," he scolded. He lifted his weight onto the hoof standing on my head, painfully pressuring my skull, and kicked the picture away with his other hoof. "You will cooperate like a good filly."

Shame and rage welled up in my chest. I couldn't fight from here. I'd made a stupid decision and put myself in a dangerous position. Though he'd put his weight back on the other hoof again after kicking the photo away, the pressure on my head told me that he could easily kill me if he wanted to. My best hope was to simply cooperate for the moment and try not to piss him off. But I wouldn't give up so easily; if he let his guard down, for even a moment...

His wing was fiddling with something I couldn't see behind the desk and then I heard a drawer click open. Then he pulled out something that sounded metallic. A bridle dropped in front of me. The steel bit bounced off the tile with a terrible clanging noise.

It suddenly dawned on me: He was going to restrain me. I'm sorry, Foggy. It was the only thought running through my mind as I closed my eyes and tried to ignore what was about to happen.

"Put it in your mouth," he commanded.

I knew where this was going to go. He'd been extremely blunt with his intentions. And I felt completely powerless to do anything about it from this position. The pressure on my skull came back as I lay there, motionless. There was an implicit threat that he could seriously harm me. But I was still going to make him earn my cooperation. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of giving up so easily.

My hooves moved as slowly as I felt I could risk as I gathered the bit and pulled it toward my mouth. The pressure lessened slightly as it got closer, but then increased substantially as he pushed off of my head and snatched up the bridle's straps and yanked the bit firmly into my mouth, briefly pinching my tongue against my teeth.

Fuck! That hurt!

"You basheerd!" I yelled around the bit in my mouth, unable to form the correct syllables. He pulled my head back and cinched the bridle tight, pulling me up and back. Now he was sitting with his weight across my back. He inhaled deeply.

"Mmm... the smell of a mare in heat. My favorite."

I wanted to use my wings to shove him off of me, but that would make my most vulnerable part of my body defenseless. Without airspace above me, spreading my wings right now would accomplish nothing anyway. Instead, I tried bucking him off my back, but couldn't get the leverage from my prone position.

He reached down next to my head, and I saw a clip out of the corner of my eye click around a ring on the leg of the desk. I tried to pull my head away to get a better look at what he was doing and rapidly realized he had just anchored the bridle to the desk. And I could see from my position that they bolted the desk to the floor. He locked the clip into place with a heavy padlock.

Weight lifted from my back, and Soarin sat down in front of me. His pendulous balls flopped against the tile, mere inches from my head: They were wrinkled and disgusting. I nearly retched onto the floor as I realized I was close enough to smell them; a revolting odor of rank ball sweat. I'd heard of it before, but never been unfortunate enough to smell it.

I tried to push myself up and get away from them, but I couldn't. Pulled as tight as it was, there were scant few inches of slack for me to even attempt to move with the bridle latched to the desk.

He rubbed his dick across my muzzle, grinning madly as I tried to withhold my rising bile. If a stallion had done this in other circumstances, I would have bitten it off. He knew it, too.

"It's really too bad I don't have an O-ring," Soarin lamented mockingly. "But I don't trust your teeth."

The thought that he might put that tower of veiny, pulsing flesh inside of my mouth disgusted me. I thrashed against the bridle, flapping my wings madly in spite of the risks, but it wouldn't relent.

Soarin laughed, stroking himself mere inches from my face. I closed my eyes, only to immediately feel a hoof slap across my muzzle. The smell of copper invaded my nose, and I immediately knew he'd bloodied it with the strike.

"Eyes open, slut," he commanded.

"Nghoo," I intoned around the bit.

A second blow struck, significantly harder than the first. "Bitch! Don't make me knock out your teeth and force you to swallow them." The threat seemed so ridiculous on the surface, and yet I was in no position to mock him. After what they'd done to Starfeather... I opened my eyes.

"Good filly," he said condescendingly. Fuck him.

He continued to stroke himself as I watched in apprehensive horror, waiting for his putrid seed to streak across my face. Part of me hoped he would blind me with it so I wouldn't have to see what other hell he might try to put me through.

There was no such luck. Instead, he stopped and smeared his pre-cum across my muzzle before standing up and disappearing from sight. I soon felt him seize one of my wings. If there was one thing I wouldn't do, I would not let him mangle my beautiful wings.

"Come on, now. You've got the head down, now you just need to put your ass up," he commanded, pulling upward on my wing. That was an action designed to get pegasi to comply, as wings were not meant to bend far in that direction, and wing injuries were some of the most painful things for a pegasus: not only did they hurt like crazy, but they took away your freedom until they healed up. If they healed right.

I quietly acquiesced, doing my best to get my hind legs beneath me. Fortunately, he did not harm my wings, instead letting go once I had managed to stand.

"Good filly," he repeated. Every time he said those words, I wanted to murder him all over again. An impotent rage welled up in me as I thrashed against my bindings.

From this position, there was no way I could get the leverage to buck him properly, but if he went behind me, I was ready to try. I couldn't turn my head to look, though, so I would need to wait. Instead, I felt him slide beneath me.

"These teats are even more fantastic up close," Soarin said. I felt a pinching on one of my nipples, followed by a violent twisting. I was into rough nipple play, so I was used to that kind of pain, but never from somepony other than Foggy. And the rough treatment combined with my heat had the unfortunate effect of making me feel aroused.

Aroused and ashamed.

I'm sorry, Foggy.

"They'll make for good nursing for all of our beautiful children."

ALL OF THEM!? I didn't even want one child, even with the pony I loved.

I tried to scream at him, but because of the bit, all that came out was unintelligible noise. He seemed completely unconcerned, laughing loudly at my struggle. Instead, my other nipple was twisted, even more harshly than the first. In response, I continued my slurred, broken, incomprehensible ranting, only vaguely aware of the fact that he slipped out from beneath me.

Then, I heard more steel scraping along the tile.

My attempts to continue screaming at him immediately ceased as my brain went into overdrive trying to identify the noise. What was happening now? What was he doing?

Suddenly, a clamp went around one of my hind hooves. I tried to kick at him with the other one, but the awkward attempt made contact with nothing. Before I could even process that, he grabbed my outstretched leg and held it in place as a second clamp snapped around it.

"Whaddudo?" I slurred into the bit.

He didn't answer. My legs were spread uncomfortably wide, and I felt a pressure on the inside of either hoof, forcing them to remain apart. I knew what a spreader bar was—I'd seen some mares with them before in various magazines and even a stallion in one particularly kinky gay bar I'd been to with Foggy. But I had never imagined that I would wear one.

"Well, that seems to be good enough," he said. His voice was behind me now. Unfortunately, with my legs bound like this, I couldn't kick him if I'd tried. Something touched the outer lips of my slit. I cringed and closed my eyes. That was the one thing I could do right now: he couldn't see that I was closing them while he stood behind me. His tongue continued to probe my outer lips. "Seems you're excited about this, too," he said.

It did not excite me at all. And yet my tail stood, flagged. Traitorous heat.

His lips wrapped around my winking clit and I moaned softly. Involuntarily. His teeth bit down, ever so lightly, and soft suckling noises reached my ears as he did something I had never permitted a stallion to do. "Oh, filly, Spitfire doesn't know what she's missing," he mumbled between licks.

My nether lips parted and his tongue began probing inside of me. A place no stallion had ever explored. The warm muscle danced against my inner walls, up and down, in and out. My excited clit winked against his chin, sending a bolt of pleasure up my spine. I tried desperately to imagine that it was Foggy licking me.

His tongue lashed again, stronger and firmer, teasing at my clit once again. Imagining Foggy was counterproductive—that was only turning me on more! I was torn; I could stop thinking about her, and suffer through the experience, or I could pretend I was with her and enjoy being raped.

I didn't have long to debate it, as only moments later, Soarin's tongue withdrew, and a fuller, more firm sensation pressed against the entrance to my tunnel. I knew immediately what it was; warmer than any of my dildos, but the shape was familiar enough. I screamed around the bit in my mouth and struggled against my bindings in one last act of defiance, before I rocked forward with his first stroke. A warm spire of flesh lanced into my maiden's tunnel.

It filled me with pulsing warmth and a firm softness in a place I'd only ever felt a lifeless, cold stiffness before. I'd taken thicker toys, but that was of little relief; the pain I was feeling was entirely psychological.

"Fuuuuuuck, you're a great slut," Soarin murmured. "I can't wait to fill up your womb."

He began pumping slowly into me. I rocked with each thrust, every time feeling relief as he withdrew, only to gasp in both despair and relief as he slammed forward again. My muscles seized around him, my traitorous heat becoming an involuntary, instinctive response to his stallionhood. Soon, I felt the tip of his shaft knocking against my cervix.

I hated every moment of it. And the worst part was that my body was giving in to the physical sensations. Despite my loathing of everything going on, it began to feel good. A little moan escaped my lips.

"Yeah," he whispered in my ear. "I knew you'd like that. I can't wait," he said, continuing to thrust. I shivered at the intimate invasion. "You're so damn tight."

I tried to unclench everything down below. I couldn't stand the idea that I was giving him pleasure with my body. It was imperative that I prove him wrong.

"That felt amazing, little filly," he breathed, still thrusting away. "Do it again."

My winking clit—that little button of pleasure that had a mind of its own—winked outward again, and his thrusting shaft rubbed firmly against it. I was losing myself as a muscle contraction forced its way through my mental defenses. I seized up, clamping down strongly on the invader with my entire body coiled up like a snake, ready to strike.

Soarin wasn't oblivious, either. "Yeah, cum for me, slut. Cum on your rapist's dick."

The world went white as I lost control of everything. My entire body, rocking with Soarin's continued thrusts, began spasming wildly. White hot pleasure filled my mind, blinding me as I came harder than I'd ever cum before in my life. I screamed.

As I ran out of air, my voice died and I could hear my fluids gushing around his cock and splattering to the floor below. I panted heavily, trying to get my breath back. Soarin didn't hesitate, pushing through it all, never stopping his ceaseless pistoning. I could feel him growing more erratic and more desperate.

Something gave way, and in the ending throes of my orgasm, I felt the tip of his cock pierce through my cervix in a bizarre, deep penetration I'd never felt before.

"Good... filly," he groaned, hilting as deeply in me as he could and pausing for a moment. "Just... open up..." Then, he pulled back again, and I felt his cockhead pop out of my inner sanctuary. It felt amazing to my heat-addled mind, yet utterly alien. He gave me no time to consider the strangely pleasurable feeling as he slammed into me harder still, sinking even more of his cock past my cervix. "And take it!" His thighs slammed into my ass, bringing a slight relief that he couldn't go any deeper, no matter how much he tried.

He stopped thrusting, his dick shoved into me at the deepest point, and leaned in close to my ear. "Let Daddy Soarin knock you up."

I tried to scream for him to stop, but nothing intelligible came out. He laughed as he pulled himself out, and then drove himself inward again and again. Each time, that strange sensation of a cockhead slipping past my cervix stimulated me in ways I had never known. A second orgasm began welling up. Hot tears spilled from my eyes as my own body betrayed me again, seizing up in ecstasy around my assailant. "Cumming!" Soarin groaned as my body clamped down and desperately milked his cock. I was vaguely aware of a throbbing, pulsing, filling sensation in my lower self as I came down off the high of that second orgasm.

Soarin collapsed onto my back, no longer thrusting. I felt kick after kick, pulse after pulse as his cock throbbed inside of me, slowly expelling more of his essence into my life-giving chamber. Shame burned in my cheeks as the weight of his actions crashed down upon me. He had cum directly in my womb, at the height of my heat season—it would be a miracle if I didn't end up with foal.

"Fffffuck, I'm so glad I could knock you up," Soarin moaned into my ear. "Nothing like a good broodmare to start the weekend right."

The gravity of what had just happened to me weighed on me far more heavily than Soarin did. I couldn't let him see me cry. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

But no matter how much I willed it away, the dam broke. Loud, wailing sobs erupted from inside of me; sounds I never thought I would make. My body shuddered. My nose was running. My eyes were watering. I wiped my snout with my foreleg, only to pull it away with a sticky sense of blood, snot, and tears matting my coat.

Soarin simply laid on me, his cock occasionally twitching inside of me as he ever-so-slowly went flaccid. His breathing slowly returned to normal as I shook and wailed around the bit. "No reason to cry about it, filly," he said, reassuringly. "You'll get to keep the baby."

Too distraught to vocalize my opposition, I rocked my head back and forth in denial. He rolled off of me, pulling out of my ransacked pussy with a sickening squelch, and the sound of cum and my own fluids splattering to the ground.

Suddenly, my head was yanked back violently by my mane, forcing me to look up. The tears, now unable to fall properly, burned at my eyes. And through the painful, blurry tears, I could make out the colors of Foggy and myself: the photo.

"You will carry my foal," he reiterated. "Or your little marefriend might get hurt, too." He placed the picture back on the desk, and I felt him stepping away from me as my mane was released. The lock jostled, and the door opened. I heard one more piece of metal grinding against the tile.

"Pleeea nom," I pleaded, dreading whatever the sound was.

"Oh, there's no more for tonight, but if you're a good filly, maybe things won't be so bad in the morning. Now, say goodnight to your baby daddy."

Terrified of what might happen if I defied him again, I did as I was told. "Goomiite," I cried into the bit.

The lights clicked off.

The door closed.

And I was plunged into an inky black darkness.

Four - Damaged

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Total Darkness. No matter where I looked, there was nothingness. If I couldn't have sensed the world in other ways, I might have believed I was dead, floating alone in the great beyond.

The silence was oppressive. The only sounds were the growling of my empty stomach, my own blood rushing in my ears, and the thump-ump of my heartbeat—a terribly unnerving reminder that I was, indeed, still alive.

Lukewarm steel rested on my tongue, along with trace amounts of copper from my previously bloodied nose; a combination of tastes that served as a constant reminder of my subjugation.

Below me, the cold floor pressed against my chest. The spreader bar pried my legs apart, making it impossible to lay my hindquarters down and keeping my tail in the air, as if begging for more, as the chilling touch of my assailant's spent essence slowly drooled from my violated sex and down the inside of my thigh.

The stale smell of my own orgasmic fluids hanging in the air, too, was a distressing sign of how much I had enjoyed the physical sensations in spite of the heinousness of the act, and every breath renewed in me a profound sense of shame.

Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. All of my senses served as a reminder of my predicament, and I wished I could will all of them to stop–to block them out and cease the persistent reminders of what I’d suffered.

I had already tried struggling. The harness around my head was made with thick straps, but I believed if I could just get the right leverage on a sharp edge, I would be able to slice through it somehow. And if I could get my head free, I could fly and get away, even with the spreader bar locked in place.

But it was no use. Even feeling around carefully with my forehooves and wings — the only parts of me that were free — I couldn't find anything both sharp enough and close enough to get that leverage. I tried to struggle and break the straps through sheer tension, but with my hind legs forced apart, I couldn't properly pull.

In fact, the only thing I really could do was awkwardly rotate my body about 180 degrees around the side of the desk to face a different direction, my head still anchored to the ground.

And so, I gave up. Tired, hungry, and unable to save myself, I quit struggling and simply cried. I cried for my inability to save myself. I cried for Foggy, who was surely worried about me. I cried for the complete loss of security and confidence that I'd carried with me all of my life.

Strangely, I also cried for the child Soarin wished me to bear. It wasn't something I wanted—a child I would surely loathe for the painful reminder brought to me every day.

I cried even more that I could be so callous. That child would never have done anything to deserve such hatred. Foggy didn't deserve such a heartless marefriend. She didn't deserve a mare who had been broken, abused, used up, discarded. A part of me knew that such thoughts were foolish, rooted entirely in falsehoods, but those reassurances were drowned out by the utter despair of a room that offered no peace.

No solace.

No hope.

Never before in my life had I ever felt so utterly isolated and alone.

The muffled clip-clop of hooves against solid ground cut through the silence, taking me out of my miserable stupor. How long had it been? Had I slept? I couldn't be sure; the seconds seemed so long in stark isolation.

I listened intently, trying to pick out the number of ponies—at least two—that were somewhere nearby. The sound of a heavy door opening was immediately punctuated by a sliver of light coming from under the office door: ponies in the locker room had switched on the light.

I could make out at least two different female voices, too muffled by the door to comprehend, chatting in a conversational tone. "HELFF!" I called out through the bit, hoping that they would hear me and come to my rescue.

But, if they heard me, there was nothing to indicate such as they continued on with their conversations. I started straining at my bonds, trying to make as much of a racket as I could as I turned my body to face the door.

The voices seemed to be getting louder, at least. And then, the door handle began to jiggle; the sound of a key entering a lock. And the door opened, allowing a blinding light to pour into the room. I raised a forehoof over my head to block out the direct light source and squinted.

As her figure slowly became clear, I realized Spitfire was standing in the doorway with a wide grin on her face. Why was she smiling? A cold chill ran down my spine.

"Hey, Slut," she chirped happily. "Bad news: You failed your interview."

"Uck oo," I tried to spit out the bit, but it was still firmly in place.

"I plan on it," she replied, stepping around me with a wide enough berth that I couldn't reach her. I shuffled around as best I could, trying to keep an eye on her. She went around to the other side of the desk and pulled out a chair, placing it as far from me as she could, which wasn't far, but was sufficient. "But fortunately for you, you can see us more often. Now, I need to lay down a few ground rules." She sat down.

I swallowed a growing dread. "Ooos?" I asked.

"I've done a little bit of digging, Sleet Storm." She leaned forward and reached out, cupping my chin with her hooves. "You've got a cute marefriend. Foggy Sunrise. Pretty name for the mare with a pretty face."

My heart sank; they were doxxing Foggy? Stalking her? ...Worse?

She pulled my chin up, forcing me to look her straight in the eyes. "If you want her to stay safe, you're going to have to be careful. Remember what I told you: What happens in the locker room stays in the locker room." She smiled wickedly. "There are more of us than you believe, and you don't want to test our patience."

A cold grip of fear squeezed my heart. They were threatening Foggy, but what position was I in to do anything about it? For that matter, what did they even think I might do in my current position?

The answer came swiftly as she unlocked the padlock and removed the clip anchoring me to the leg of the desk. My first instinct was to run: I immediately flapped my wings and attempted to fly—backwards—out the door. A pair of skyblue hooves wrapped around me and wrestled me to the ground as Fleetfoot pinned me down. In this position, my legs were stuck straight up in the air by the spreader, leaving me spreadeagled on the floor.

"Oh, honey," Fleetfoot cooed, sitting on my chest and paradoxically helping me remove the bit and bridle. "That just won't do."

I couldn't put Foggy at risk. Even if it meant doing the unthinkable.

"I just need to sleep with you, right?" I blurted as soon as the bit was removed.

"Ha!" Spitfire laughed harshly. "No, that opportunity has long passed you by. And it would have been so much easier if you'd taken us up on that before."

I was confident that there was no way I was going to like whatever came out of her mouth next. "Then, what do I need to do?"

"Simple," Spitfire said. "All you have to do is nothing. Tell nopony. And let me tell you, I have eyes and ears all over Canterlot." She pulled out the photo of Starfeather's corpse being desecrated, forcing me to see it again. "Notice the cock lodged in his neck? Whose cock do you think that is?"

Somehow, I found myself analyzing the image far more than I ever thought I should. Now that I was being given an extended look, new details about it stood out, such as how the stump of the pony's neck was mutilated, suggesting a less-than-clean removal.

The veins in the bloodied shaft of the stallion penetrating the neck hole bulged obscenely, and I could see semen mixed with the blood flowing from the neck. Starfeather's cock had several bloody abrasions on it, while the mare fellating him had blood streaked across her face and was smiling like an insane pony. Had she been chewing on it?!

Most horrifying of all, his lifeless body had a deep gash in his side, where his wing had once been. And the missing appendage was laying on the ground, mangled, in the background of the photo.

"Well?" Spitfire reminded me that I was asked a question.

I closed my eyes, trying to choke down rising bile. The cock in the photo was a light gray. Which meant it wasn't Soarin's—his was a deep blue. A fact I wish I hadn't learned. "I don't know," I rasped. I didn't know who the mare was, either. Which, when added to Soarin, Spitfire, and Fleetfoot, made a bare minimum of five ponies involved in this crazy scheme.

"Exactly. You don't know who you can trust. I'm glad we could come to an understanding."

"What... what happens now?" I asked, though I was absolutely sure I wouldn't like the answer.

"Nothing," Fleetfoot replied, though I sensed some dishonesty in her tone. "We're just letting you go. Setting you free. Go live your life like you always have. But with a warning: Just remember that when we say fly..."

"... I say how high," I said, finishing the common idiom. This was to be it, now, was it? Blackmail? I would agree to almost anything to get out of this predicament. Everything else would be secondary to that. "And what of Foggy? Can I see her?"

"We have not laid a feather on her, yet," Spitfire replied. "She is still safe at your home." I breathed a sigh of relief. "In fact, you may go back to her, if you wish. You may even confide with her about what has transpired if you wish, but—" Spitfire ran the back side of her hoof across her throat. "—you might want to be careful about loose ends."

"Okay." Her intent was crystal clear. "Okay. I won't tell a soul."

That meant I couldn't tell Foggy. She was too prone to breakdowns and lashing out, and she was terrible at keeping secrets. I needed a rock solid plan before I could even think about talking to her about it.

My hind legs fell limp like dead weight as Fleetfoot removed the spreader bar. Blood rushed back into the extremities, causing a painful barrage of pins and needles in them as I finally was able to move them freely.

Fleetfoot lifted off of me. "You're free to go," she said, gesturing to the door.

I looked at Spitfire. She nodded. Carefully struggling to stand on my numbed hind legs, I shook out my extremities and looked toward the open door. I took a step toward freedom, stumbling slightly.

"Sleet Storm," Spitfire barked as my hoof touched the ground. I stopped instantly and looked back at her. "Congratulations on your new assignment. I'll see you tomorrow."

With no idea what she was talking about, and quite certain I both didn't want to know, yet would inevitably find out, I nodded. "Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically.

I'd have bucked one of them in the head on my way out, but the numbness would have made it ineffective, and I knew the consequences could have been catastrophic. True to their word, neither of them stopped me as I left. That they were so confident only frightened me more.

Soarin passed me just as I reached the locker room door, and the moment I saw him, my entire body tensed with fight-or-flight response. He nodded at me. "Hey, there, baby momma. I hope you had a nice night. I know I did."

"Fuck you," I spat.

"You will," he agreed. "Give it time and you will." He thrust something in my face: my saddlebags. Then, he flipped up my tail with his wing as he pushed past me toward the lockers.

Somehow, I was going to kill him.

I pushed the door open and gasped a breath of truly fresh air for the first time in—at the very least—several hours. However long it had been, evening had been approaching quickly when I last entered the Wonderbolts HQ, but the sun was rising into the sky now, illuminating Wonderbolt Arena with a soft, warm glow. I truly hoped it had only been one night, but my time alone in the dark had felt like an eternity.

Birds flitted about, singing a cacophony of mating calls. Surely many of them had nests nestled into the various nooks and crannies of the free-standing structures used to build obstacle courses, or perhaps squirreled away among the massive arena seats. And, apart from the two guards standing at Canterlot Castle's Arena Gate, not a pony could be seen.

I looked up to a clear blue sky, painted in gradients of orange as the sun peeked over the horizon. Out there, in the cool morning air, was freedom. The freedom to do what I wanted, and go where I pleased. And to not care what anypony thought of me. Like the birds, I could spread my wings and simply fly away from all of this.

"Hey, Stormy! Come this way!"

A little memory came back to me, many years before, when Cloudsdale had just floated past a town called Vanhoover, and Foggy, leading the Cloudsdale weather team, had just called a massive thunderstorm over it.

Foggy darted over the roiling, tumultuous clouds, flying so low that the sparks of electricity arcing between her and the cloud surface just beneath audibly crackled like a fire consuming a pine tree. She turned on her back, flying upside down, and beckoned to me. Flying upside down was crazy, as it required fighting against every instinct we had, but that was fine with me. I loved this mare because she was a bit crazy.

"Okay!" I hollered back. I folded my wings and dove low to the cloud, then spread my wings wide to sweep in a broad circle just over the surface. As I'd heard, if you keep your wings spread wide, there was a strange floaty sensation just above the cloud, providing just enough lift that I didn't need to expend effort to stay aloft. The snapping of static arcs tickled the fur of my chest and tingled my primary feathers. I giggled at the bizarre sensation.

"See?" Foggy called. "It's fun!"

It was called storm surfing. I'd never tried it before, but Foggy was right. There was something magical in the air. I took the opportunity to soar in wide circles, doing a few stunts I would never have been brave enough to do anywhere else, and generally was just having a good time. Foggy was laughing and smiling.

I caught her and kissed her. And then an idea popped into my head. I released her and kept flying around more, watching her intently - and when Foggy wasn't looking, I dove into the cloud. It was dark within, and all my fur stood on end from the electricity, but it was easy enough to follow the sparking lights of Foggy's static discharge, telling me exactly where she was.

She continued to swing wide circles around above the cloud. "Come on, Stormy," she called out as I got closer. "Where did you go?" she said with a giggle. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

I smiled devilishly as I aligned my flight path with hers. She may have been going in circles, but they were wide and predictable. I launched myself upwards, exploding out of the cloud right beneath her.

Foggy screamed like a schoolfilly as I carried her up and away from the cloud, no longer flapping my wings and just letting my momentum carry us in a parabolic arc. I kissed her deeply and passionately as we tumbled back down, our landing on the cloud punctuated by the snapping of static all around us.

I stood up from the pile of dark, fluffy cloud we'd landed in, gazing down at my mare. Her head leaned back as I stood over her and her eyes closed just a little bit—the kind of lidded bedroom eyes that said 'come here, darling, and fuck me.'

Far be it from me to need to be asked twice. We embraced, kissing and feeling eachother up, and then she rolled me onto my back and towered over me, holding me down as I spread my legs to welcome her. She stepped forward to straddle me, and my eyes laser-focused on the approaching turgid cock—

—I looked back up in alarm. With a mad, lecherous grin, Soarin's face looked back down at me.

I shook my head violently and shuddered. The temptation to fly away and leave it all behind was strong, but they had made it very clear what would happen if I tried to flee: the image of Starfeather's decapitated body was still seared into my memory. Besides, I couldn't abandon Foggy, my one, true love, to the whims of these crazy Wonderbolts.

Where to go, then? They had told me I could go see Foggy, but I certainly couldn't go home to her covered in a stallion's essence, and reeking of stale sex.

My hoofbeats heavy, I plodded toward the massive double-doors on the other side of the arena—the ones that would lead into Canterlot Castle proper, not too far from where the Guard barracks were. It was the closest other thing to a home I had right now: familiar, and with a shower. My goal became clearer.

Now that I was close enough, I could make out the two guardsponies standing at either side of the doorway: Tea Garden and Grass Roots; both earth ponies. As I approached, I idly wondered what their contingency plan was if the enchantment on the arena's surface were to fail, causing any non-pegasus to simply fall through like it was air. Like the ground would just swallow them up.

I want the ground to swallow me up.

I shook the thought away. Sleet Storm did not wallow in pity, I reminded myself. It really just wasn't my style. Besides, I needed to hold my head up high and try to put everything behind me. As much as I could, anyway. Nothing would change what had happened, but I couldn't let those assholes know how much they'd gotten to me. I couldn't let them take that pride from me, too.

Tea Garden eyed me up and down and nodded passively, as if she didn't notice my condition. Grass Roots opened the door for me to enter. I put on a fake smile and nodded to him as I passed. Could they smell the stench of sex on me? I wondered. Would they notice it as I pass?

"Slut Storm," Grass whispered to me as I crossed indoors.

I froze mid-stride. Had I heard him right? "What?" I said out loud. My heart was racing.

"I said Sleet Storm," he said with a strange smile that twisted my stomach in knots. Was I just projecting my insecurities, or was he...? "That is your name, isn't it?" he continued. "Congratulations on your new assignment, by the way."

"T—thanks," I mumbled, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I took a deep breath and forced myself to continue into the castle. Was Grass Roots the stallion in the photo? I wasn't in a position to check the color of the equipment under his equipment, not that I had any desire to see it.

Almost immediately, I saw Captain Silver Lining in the hallway, trotting my direction. Unfortunately, he also saw me in that wretched state, but if he noticed or cared, he didn't let on. "Ah, just who I was looking for! Follow me to my office."

There was no way he hadn't noticed, right? I needed to freshen up. "Captain, I—"

"That's an order, soldier, not a request," he said, stopping. He tapped a hoof on the ground. It wasn't really aggressive, but there was a subtle hostility to it. The kind that said 'I am your superior officer, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer'. I really didn't want to be on his shit list.

"Yessir," I mumbled.

His office was small and secluded. Normally, that fact wouldn't have bothered me even in the slightest, but now it set off every alarm my brain could find. Something could happen here and the odds of anypony noticing were slim.

He sat down in his chair, scooching it into his desk.

The sound of metal scraping against tile.

There was a weight on my chest. I began to panic, remembering the horrible sounds from before. I looked around desperately trying to reassure myself that this was perfectly normal. Desk. Chair. Filing cabinet. Silver Lining. Raised eyebrow.

I gasped for air.

"Are... you okay?" he said, in a tone filled with fatherly concern.

I nodded quickly, still gasping and willing my heart rate to settle.

"Okay." He looked me up and down. "The uniform looks good on you. Unfortunate that you didn't pass your exam; I'd love to see more of it. However, you're being reassigned. Effective immediately, you are now expected to be working a 4 PM to 1 AM shift, and you'll be posted at Wonderbolts HQ. There's been some reports of unusual activity there, and Spitfire personally requested you to guard it, as she thinks you have enough potential to join the team and wants you close by for after-hours practices." He smiled awkwardly. "Something about 'learning through observation'."

How much did he know? I did a mental double-take. How had he known to look for me in the direction of the Wonderbolts? No, he may have been there by coincidence, his office was right here, after all. There was no reason to believe that he knew what was going on.

"You'll officially start at your new post tomorrow, as the head of a new Wonderbolts Security Detail. I'll let you have the rest of the day off to adjust your sleep to the new schedule. Starting tomorrow, you report to Spitfire and take your orders from her."

Could I just decline the reassignment? ... No, that could put Foggy and me at risk, too. In fact, no matter what ideas I came up with, we were at risk. These ponies were crazy, they had resources, and they were seemingly above the law—or at least not afraid of it. A sense of hopelessness rested on my shoulders.

"Thanks," I said. I glanced down at his day-planner—a giant calendar on his desk—and confirmed only one night had passed. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing Foggy would only have been missing me for one night. Things would be hard enough to explain already.

The Captain coughed and I looked up at him again. "Go get some rest, Sleet Storm," he repeated. Then, he leaned in close and whispered, "but don't forget: what happens in the locker room stays in the locker room."

I dashed out of his office toward the barracks as fast as my legs could carry, his dry laugh echoing down the hall behind me. Within a minute or so, I came upon the entrance to the Royal Guard barracks and peered inside. Nopony else was there. I stepped into the room that always smelled of sweaty pony.

My heart was racing; I wished there was a door I could close behind me, but the doorway lacked any such barrier. Instead, I slumped against the wall and gasped for breath—not out of exertion, but out of panic.

Even my own captain! How many ponies were involved? Who could I trust?

After a few moments, I finally began to relax. Physically, anyway. The clock on the wall showed it was still early in the morning; not long before the usual morning shift would have started, but just early enough that nopony had arrived yet.

A dark pit of despair engulfed me. All the memories of the torment I'd just suffered came flooding back. Soarin' checking me out...

No.

I shrugged off the thought. They could not control me like this! I trotted over to the showers, instead. I needed to clean up properly.

The showerhead hissed and spat as the pipes filled up, followed by torrents of cold water that cascaded over me. It wasn't hot enough, so I turned up the heat. As I waited for the water to warm, I stripped off the suit I was wearing and threw it across the showers where it struck the wall with a wet slap and fell to the ground in a heap. The water still wasn't hot enough. I turned the heat up further. It was hot, but not hot enough. I turned the heat up further still, until there wasn't an option for more.

I washed my face, my mane, my coat, my wings, my legs, my tail... the water was so hot it was burning at my flesh, but it didn't matter to me that it was now so hot that it was mildly painful; right then, that heat was both my heaven and my hell. Aching muscles from my confinement loosened up as I stood under the steaming water, a cleansing fire burning away the sweat, the blood, and the tears. I wanted to burn it all away. And more than anything, I wanted to burn him away.

I turned my flank to the side to wash my backside, washing away the semen stains that had been forced upon me, but the stain went so much deeper than just the fur. I had to clean deeper. I used my wings to pull the lips of my sex apart and forced a wash cloth inside myself, its rough texture painfully grinding against my sensitive flesh as I tried desperately to wash out the revolting feeling I had inside.

Yet I rinsed.

And I scrubbed.

And I rinsed again.

And I scrubbed deeper.

...

But no matter how hard I tried, I still felt disgusting. A feeling that wouldn't go away. Instead of cleansing fire rushing in to wash it all away, a wave despair came crashing through in its stead.

This was hopeless.

I couldn't cleanse myself enough to take away the stain, because it wasn’t just a mark on my body. No matter how hard I tried, or how hot the water, or how much soap I used; No matter how deep I went, I simply never would be able to wash away the stain that had been left upon my soul.

My hooves stopped, my wings hanging limply at my sides. The steamy, watery cascade fell around me, a storm of droplets slapping against the tile as I fell to my knees, my only solace that nopony had been here to see my wretched state. An anguished sob escaped from my lips as I knelt beneath the storm of heat.

And another sob broke free.

And then another.

I shook with heaving cries as I sat on my haunches and screamed to the heavens above. I didn’t want to cry—Sleet Storm never cries!—But I was feeling so overwhelmed that I couldn't stop.

Without warning, the water termperature dropped slightly, and ice blue hooves wrapped around me. For the briefest of moments, my thoughts went back to Fleetfoot grabbing me, not even an hour before. My breath caught in my throat for a split second. But instead of rough treatment, those hooves pulled me into a gentle embrace and a familiar voice whispered in my ear.

"It's okay, Stormy, it's okay." Flash Freeze said softly, holding me close. "I don't know what's wrong, but it'll be okay."

I turned to look at him. He smiled with a gentle, sad smile. I buried my face in his chest and wailed like a banshee. He held me even tighter in response, stroking my mane softly.

As the seconds ticked past, I became uncomfortably aware of his growing erection, and it bothered me immensely. "Your…" I began to say...

It was okay, wasn’t it? Flash Freeze had grown to be my best friend here in Canterlot. If I couldn’t trust him, could I truly trust anypony here?

"My?" he asked, still stroking my mane.

I hoped I could just chalk it up to him being a stallion, and my heat. But I had to force myself to ignore it, fighting against a part of my mind screaming that he was a threat. "Nevermind," I whispered into his chest, forcing myself to ignore the rising panic until it abated. I returned his embrace, hugging him tightly.

We remained like that for what felt like eternity. He asked nothing. I said nothing, sobbing into his chest until my throat was raw. My tears eventually ran out, and we were both soaked to the bone.

"My shift starts in a few minutes, and I’m not in uniform yet," he whispered. "I’m sorry."

"It’s okay," I rasped, my voice now completely hoarse. "I just wish we could go back to yesterday, when we stood at the gate together and life was boring."

He nodded. "I was just told you're being reassigned." Then, he pushed me up into a proper sitting position. His eyes flitted about, studying me momentarily. I couldn’t help but notice his erection was still rock hard, and a shudder of fear chilled my spine again. He gave me a weak smile. "We'll talk later. Don’t be a stranger now, okay?"

I flashed a painfully fake smile back at him. "Okay," I whispered. And then he walked away while I stayed behind in the shower, calming my racing heart.

There were other guards drifting into the barrack now, almost all of them stallions; I hadn’t heard them come in, but I could hear one jeering Flash for showering before his shift. The white noise of the shower had either drowned out all my cries, or they were respectful enough not to say a word. To be unheard, or to be ignored? I wasn't sure which was worse.

Could it be that some of them knew what had happened to me? That stray thought unsettled me.

I knew there would be a brief moment of respite as they all left to their posts before the departing guards would come in to shower. That would be the safest moment for me to leave the barrack, so I waited under the water in silence, fight-or-flight instincts on high alert.

And as I waited, I could only resign myself to one thing: Maybe I really was just a weak-willed mare, who had gotten in over her head.

Storm in a Teacup

by ScarletRibbon

One - A Life-long Dream

Two - A Secret Exposed

Three - The Evaluation

Four - Damaged