But navels aren’t an erogenous zone ...
“It's every single one of you out there that's finished, because this is no longer a nation of independent individuals. It's a nation of some 200-odd million transistorized, deodorized, whiter-than-white, steel-belted bodies ... The whole world is becoming humanoid - creatures that look human but aren't ... mass-produced, programmed, numbered, insensate things ...”
- Howard Beale, The Network
The Princess of the Night stared at the blank paper before her.
Put a word down.
“The”
A good start, but where to go from there?
Nowhere.
Nevermore, anywhere to go. Magic spilled from the horn emerging from her human forehead, because she was a human and also the character Luna from My Little Pony a television show, and burned the scrap to ash.
She abandoned her pen and stood from her desk, her enormous boobaloos bouncing from even that slight movement. The steel support rods and concrete bulwarks that supported her immense chest creaked with each swaying bob, barely confined within the limits of her flimsy white shirt.
Hours spent poring over the page had done nothing for her back, which moaned from the strain of upright posture. Titanium rods along her backbone bore the bulk of her enormous boobaloo's fabulous weight, but even the superiority of the new machine has its limits.
The pain could be ignored, if her mind just had something to hold it for a brief stay. A dash of excitement, a sparkle of newness, a rare moment of bliss, a fluttering in her nethers that would bring a flush of pink to her face, a ... something ... something about apples. Adam’s apples?
She was doing that thing where she thought her thoughts again and knew she had to stop it.
Luna walked daintily on her tiny, fetishy feet, feeling the carpet tickle her bare, white soles. There was odor, perhaps, and if there was it was pleasant. Like fresh baked bread that was made of feet.
She didn’t stop until her enormous boobaloos were pressed against the frosty window. The corporal melons compressed against the glass like droplets of oil across the surface of water a moment before they spread out and you can’t remember what the metaphor you were going for was supposed to mean. Something about tentacles, probably. If that is a thing you like to think about.
Outside, she saw an orange-skinned girl with purple hair done into childish pigtails. She slid by on a child’s scooter singing to herself a childish sing-song, her voice faintly squeaking and cracking in an approximation of innocence which no mortal flesh has ever borne, like a toddler lisp-coughing attempting to force an infantile cry. Her short, plaid skirt showed off her calves and thighs, the smooth, sculpted lines that connected earth to womb. They stretched out, shifting ripe and firm from the exertion of her method of conveyance.
With each kick, Scootaloo’s purple pigtails bobbed merrily, tracing the edges of her bare neck, where the soft nape of skin developed bumps as faint protection against the cold. In worrying defiance of safety, she was twirling a bright red lollipop between her lips as she scooted along the road. Her tongue, ripe with an inhuman degree of saliva, slid long webs of transparent fluid between her enormous, red lips and the object of her oral fixation.
Scootaloo was totally 18 years old and legal by the standards of Equestrian law and also American law, and so it wasn’t bad, dirty sinful to think lustful thoughts about her so you can do that and not have to go to Hell or to jail. You can find her birth certificate filed in the Fictional Persons Registry of Fictional Persons who are Fictionally Aged Up in Fan Fiction.
At that moment, the barely legal girl--who was, as we have established, legal despite demonstrating so many childlike attributes that it was a wonder she didn’t have a helmet and court-appointed guardian--was propositioned by a rather hairy gentleman with a rusty van and crusty camera crew.
His voice was high-pitched, three octaves above what was dignified for the bearers of Mars’ shaft, and his insistent speaking, as if he were terrified that his words would be lost and his secondary presence forgotten, was enough to drive anyone who happened to be in the baffling position of witness to unseen acts out of their mind with autoerotic frustration. He was also fat beneath his cheap suit, and, dude, would it kill you to shave every now and again?
The two of them disappeared into bushes, feverishly moving in an effort to expend their bread-scented lust into one another. Money exchanged hands, but it was not illegal because they were taping it with the intention of distribution.
This is how the law works, and the Princess could not be more pleased to see it being put into such effective action. Morality made present in the doing of immoral flesh, and so the equilibrium of the middle class was maintained for another night. Thoughts of propriety, like such precious stars that float in their inexorable void, devoid of reason beyond what has previously occurred and will certainly occur again.
The Princess could, however, be a good deal more pleased with how she was currently standing. The cold crept in through her enormous boobaloos, chilling the layer of fat and then the inert carbon rods which supported their weight. Her nipples could finally take no more of the pane’s painful embrace, and they acted to stop it. With a strange shredding sound, the royal areola erupted through their feeble, fabric bonds and forced the glass from its frame.
With a crash, the glass shattered on the pavement below.
“Broke the window again?”
Luna turned toward the voice behind her to see Princess Celestia. Her sister stood across the room with her own set of enormous boobaloos heaving, because that is the natural state of enormous boobaloos. Beneath her chest and the two beach balls affixed to her breast plate with steel support rods and a titanium chassis, Celestia’s body tapered to a waspish waist, thanks to the six pairs of ribs she’d had removed. Below that her immense hips, which were reinforced with steel rods and concrete bulwarks, jutted like the battlements of a castle. The princesses stood facing one another, like flesh hourglasses created by someone who has never seen or touched a physical form beyond his own.
Luna realized that while she was undressing the intruder with her eyes, who was probably wearing clothes or whatever but who cares, the other was doing likewise in her own mind. The sudden awareness of herself, identical to her sister in porcelain perfection, made her shiver with something akin to shame. A shame that was shared easily between the identical objects.
“Luna-chan,” Celestia whispered, turning her massive, alienesque eyes to the side and covering her thin line of a mouth with one dainty hand. Her fingers tapered to points that were just short of lethal, gently gracing the botox perfection of her lips. With one arm, the Princess attempted to shelter her enormous, and enormously heaving, boobaloos.
“Dost thou like what thou sees?” Luna asked, shifting the blame as she bent her spine backwards to an impossibly sex angle, making her enormous boobaloos appear more enormously enormous. Her long flowing hair flowed in some form of light that will never be established within this scene, and it was colored in deep purples illuminated with stars. This was because she controlled the moon and night, which is a characteristic of the character Luna in the show My Little Pony, but she was also human. We’ve established that, right? Good.
Her enormous boobaloos strained through the tortured fabric that bound them like the jeans of the boy who sits across from you in AP English 12. You want to laugh at him for getting an erection during class, but you can’t because you can’t help thinking how it would feel to be on your knees with his huge hand on the back of your head, forcing you down until you can feel the bristle of his pubes on your lips and the pressure in your throat making you gag and the smell of sweat and this is starting to sound kind of gay--
Hey, did I mention her temptingly pouty lips stained deep, pornstar red? Celestia, who is a woman of the opposite sex that I am attracted to, she had very female lips. Luna, who was a lesbian and that is totally ok, was also attracted to her sister for reasons that are acceptable because lesbians are hot.
The two sisters stared into one another’s enormous eyes, not neglecting to include the enormous boobaloos in their peripherals. This ... well, incest is actually illegal in several states. Fortunately, Canterlot was located in a Northern state where the prohibition against incest had been repealed in 1989. Such is the passage of sexual enlightenment among the upper classes.
The Princess of the Sun felt her sister’s agitation through the secret telepathic connection she had with all living things that had enormous boobaloos, which were all the things worth hearing and looking at and considering.
With an eager leap, Celestia rushed to satisfy her sister’s desire. Like ten tiny dicks, her fingers reached across the space separating their flesh. Shadows stood stark against the wall, resembling jagged claws and dagger edges. Luna and her sister were lost in the grasp of a monster without face.
“Stop it,” Luna said, but even though she said stop she really meant go, because that is how women work and you should be glad to hear that from me, because this is a socially acceptable sexual event that you can emulate in public.
The light touch of the Sun Goddess traced Luna’s skin like electric fire water drowning. She moaned, arching her back into a 90 degree angle that drew protest from the titanium supports concealed beneath her skin.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, bollocks,” Luna moaned, forgetting her next line as the tips of those eternal extensions brushed her invisible hairs to the side. Not ticklish, but something else, more vicious and primal. She felt a strange welling in her belly button.
Celestia’s spine clicked as she leaned forward to kiss her sister (legal to do). In the frenzy of flesh and spit their faces temporarily melted in together. Sweat, blood, saliva and every other fluid which could be withdrawn leaked through their gaping mouths.
When they came up for air, Luna was staring at her own face, barely identifiable but by the color of her eyes. They’d switched faces again. This was a fairly common event, as their faces were completely interchangeable. Convenient that the world is this.
“Oops,” they kissed on each other again.
Celestia, who was 1000 years old and therefore of legal age to engage in sexual relations on pieces of paper, pulled several pages from Luna’s beefy dictionary and spread them across the desk.
“We don’t want any embarrassing stains,” the Princess whispered, planning to throw all this paper out at the first opportunity.
It would have been for the better had they done so.
Meanwell and also but so
“Wow, Spike” Twilight Sparkle the unicorn who was a pony, yelled at her assistant, “we sure are having story development aren’t we?”
They were standing alone in the middle of a crudely constructed baseball field. Several anarchist specks of dirt had separated from the pitcher’s mound, not that it made a difference. They danced in ecstasy at their freedom before resuming their place beneath the heels of the passing.
“I think I have cancer,” Spike whispered, afraid that the pitcher’s mound would overhear and mock him for his disease. Spike was beneath the legal age, but he was a dragon so this was still ok and you still don’t have to go to Hell or to jail for reading this story.
“Oh, dear, cancer! A serious issue which is worthy of being the subject of stories about horses or humans fucking!” Twilight the unicorn horse replied in extremely articulated shock. Her eyes were incapable of bulging, because they were already the size of dinner plates, but if they could bulge they would have bulged.
.“Cancer of the penis!” Spike screamed, suddenly making it sexy.
“Story! Just what I want to pay lip service too and then rapidly scroll past while I search for the sex scenes,” replied Twilight “Skinemax” Sparkle. “Maybe I can suck the cancer out of your cock?”
“I think maybe you could.” Spike nodded his head and (underage) dragon dick furiously.
Then she did. They had sex on first base, and exchanged romantic words of romance on second base, and Spike gave it to Twilight in the butt on third base. Then they finished at home. The pone and the dragon had arbitrarily covered all the bases.
Meanwell but where were we? Oh yes
Princess Celestia and Luna were naked now. Or they’d been naked already, whatever. Their hairless, snow white skin didn’t prickle in reaction to the cold. Such imperfections were for the proles, and not for Class A humans such as were demonstrated here. Self-created for display of the flesh machine, and absolutely beautiful.
They pressed their enormous boobaloos together like two dueling walruses. Luna felt the crinkle of the stupid paper beneath her back. Worthless, all of it worthless. Burn everything at the first opportunity.
She was distracted mercifully from thought by the breath of her sister, dominating her with its phantom embrace. The warmth she borrowed from her sister, the Princess of the Sun.
They retained the pose, their spines at an angle that would shatter those of mere mortals. But these weren’t mere mortals, these were princesses, an entire nation symbolized in sexual congress. It was like a metaphor for something that involves lots of incestuous, lesbian sex which would have been illegal, but wasn’t because, as I have already specified, this was legal and therefore proper in the northern state that this event happened in.
“Wait,” Luna gasped, “the penguins!”
Celestia rolled her eyes and reached for the remote that rested on her desk. A few moments later, an enormous flat screen was filled with black and white bird as the Penguins began their annual march. The cold, soulless eyes watching them turned Luna on. Morgan Freeman’s memetic voice was just a bonus that no one cared about anymore.
Perhaps out of viciousness or perhaps out love, the Princess of the Sun leaned forward and nipped her sister on the collar bone. Her teeth dug in, but brought an unsatisfying moan of pleasure from the creature at her power. Blood welled, copper taste filling her mouth from around her adorably extended incisors. They’d all be sick in the morning, they’d all be dead in an hour, they were spinning out of nothing and control was external. A cage for man and a ring of chinese bears surrounding it, dancing their merry spiral into the Earth.
Lured by the scent of fresh baking bread being emitted from Luna’s dripping, womanly snatch, Celestia moved on, her tongue tracing the lines of the perfect form. The road, so red and delicate against the pristine flesh, blood staining her perfect teeth as she worked her way downward. Temporarily she accomplished nothing as she attempted to carve her teeth through the steel reinforcements that constituted the breasts of her sister.
Downward, she met better fare with the soft, gelatin flesh of her sister’s stomach. No ribs here, nothing but perfect malleability and the inevitable twist of the royal will. She could, in the doings of her mouth, reach perfections of sensation her mind had never experienced.
Behind her, on the television, an egg was being laid, dropped from the animate, animal cloaca but it would be fearsome, bad voodoo to contemplate such a thing sexually.
Finally, Celestia reached the her sister’s bread factory. Luna was shaved, bare as a child, which was either symbolic of purity or pedophilia and those things were pretty much the same. The slit, despite running as a waterfall, was still slim and barely present. A simple orifice, eager for use but as yet untouched. Perfect, virginal, there would be blood, but no beef curtains.
In every way satisfying, and in every way meaningless.
She stopped as a hand touched her head, holding her at bay from the entire object of her being and the entire purpose of Luna’s being. Confusion flickered her until the Princess of the Night explained.
“Please, my bellybutton.”
“You’re ... what?”
“Eat out my belly button,” Luna moaned, rubbing a single razor edged finger around the orifice, of sorts it was an orifice, in the center of her pale, perfect, flat stomach.
Celestia took a short break from devouring her sister to thumb through an anatomy textbook which was handily nearby whenever these scenes were taking place.
“Belly button,” she said, seeking a third confirmation as she found the diagram labelled, “Where Princess Luna’s Belly Button Is, It Is An Innie.” Laid out on the page was a baffling accurate diagram complete with full color pictures of her sisters enormous boobaloos.
“Yes, now, now, I can’t stand any more teasing,” Luna gag-coughed-moaned on nothing, her throat bare and her breasts sliding separately to reveal the valley which begged a knife’s emplacement. How she could scream. It would make no difference to all this steel.
After consulting the book again, Celestia returned to her sister, her nose inhaling the scent of blissfully ignorant perfection and fresh bread.
She inserted her tongue in the indentation, and nearly gagged at the taste of collected sweat and lint. The skin was warm and dry, like bread, and it quickly stole the moisture from her tongue. Celestia pushed herself in further. Luna kicked as waves of pleasure spread from her bellybutton and throughout her body, her delicate, fetishy feet ticking Celestia’s stomach.
The funk of old socks and sweat filled Celestia’s nose, as did the lint. Luna’s belly button was a bottomless well of thick, black fibers. Some long and stringy, like the hairs removed from her pubis, and others were short and thick, like strands of her shag carpet. Celestia could tell that Luna had been preparing for this moment for weeks, possibly even a thousand years. She had made no effort to clean this area of her belly, allowing the filth to build until it reached the critical mass of this hideous moment.
“Deeper, deeper, she begged.”
Celestia might have wondered why, exactly, Luna had felt the need to express that she was begging or why she had referred to herself in the third person, but she couldn’t. All she could think of was the bread-like texture of the indentation she stuck her tongue into. After a moment, she lifted her head, bits of thick black lint clinging between her teeth and falling into a fibrous waterfall.
“Mah ‘air,” Celestia slurred through the clotting black mass.
“Uh, ur? Luna replied.”
Celestia spat furiously, rubbing with her tongue with the back of her pale hand in an effort to clear her mouth of the foul substance that now infiltrated it absolutely. She could feel a scrap from an old T-shirt plastered to the top of her mouth, and sweat sinking into her gums.
“My hair,” she spoke more clearly now, indicating the strands that demanded her sister’s sexual satisfaction. Did you notice that there? I alliterated, ain’t that the cleverest thing y’all have ever seen? Alliteration is totally why you’re reading this, right? Alliteration and the jokes. Excuses make your momma so proud.
Luna leaned forward, and clutched a few strands of Celestia’s flowing hairs in her mouth. She bit down, feeling electric tingles spread through her pink, pristine gums. Pristine as her virginity, saveth for thee. It was by the power of their hair that the princesses controlled the sun and the moon, and the power made it a phallic symbol and so it was sexually sensitive.
As the Princess of the Night gnawed furiously on the penis substitute filling her mouth, she felt the sparks join with the warmth flowing from her belly button. An electric cord dropped into a recently wet bed. Safe and warm for a moment, and it escapes and there’d be a wake tomorrow afternoon.
Power coursed and overcame her to weakness as she melted to jelly in the embrace. Celestia’s hands had slipped behind the waist of her victim younger sister and willing participant in an act of carnal bliss. Dagger-edged finger knives needled the properly white posterior, feeling the root of the metallic corruption where it began and spread through the rest of her body.
Luna gnawed on the strands in her mouth, pushing the electric surges back out. Her oral fixation satisfied, she tasted all the colors of the rainbow dashing around her skull and upsetting all the order her being had ordained within. No gods, no masters, and no reality any longer as the colors all merged into one assault on her sense of self.
The tongue burrowed deeper into her stomach, and she felt the strange displacement. Self within self and it tasted like it smelled like nothing. Sweet release from the build up of belly button lint which teased her trashed mind as her trash, tattooed body writhed in the wraith fingers of the too cool air. Strange violations and insensate imbibition, and she was doing that thing with her thoughts again but how else to exist?
It is all garbage anyway. At least it can burn pretty.
Celestia moaned into her sister’s belly button, feeling the surge arch through her ...
...
...
arms?
Maybe?
Sure, arms.
Arms and shoulders.
That’s where a hair job’s orgasm comes from, why not? Her arms and shoulder seized in masculine anticipation as she shuddered, tightening her grip on her sister and drawing more giggles and trickles of fresh blood from eternally virgin flesh.
Luna moaned, she had suffered so long under her self-ordained rule as the pressure built. Like a sneeze begging for release, and now these wet, liquid ministrations ...
Her skin tingled under the touch of the saliva and fresh air that was now entering her vast, formerly clogged belly button.
Her sister would cure her of all her sins, cleanse her to the upper limits of attractiveness to the male gender for whose benefit she performed her actions. That ever present camera, crammed halfway down her throat until she could taste the edge of her gag reflex demanding attention from the mind broken into nothing and spreading forward to the edges.
Celestia sucked the strands down her throat and experienced a character development that reconfirmed the heteronormative status quo. She definitely wanted a penis to be penetrating her hymen after this. Although, it would also be confirmed in a manner that established her as a strong and independent womyn. Sexually accessible but powerful and also vulnerable, that’s all she needed. A good man to do some sort of good man thing and the nice guys would triumph in their little worlds and little minds.
Celestia moaned into her sinful sister’s belly button, and the Princess of the Night felt the sounds vibrate through the 1% body fat of her stomach. Just like the milk, white and liquid spilling across the floor if such things were permitted to happen within the confines of the nothing thing which now inflicts and dive strikes like a hammer.
Her juices coated Celestia’s flat tummy and soaked it down until nothing remained dry or hygienic. Supernovas erupting down her mechanically enhanced spine.
At the moment of orgasm, Princess Luna heard the voice of nothing. A hollow command for the death of civilization and all her children.
So she slugged Celestia, who was her sister and also her mother due to incestuousnessiticity in the ear. The princess slurred-slided to the side as the pressure fractured her inner bones and delicate sensitivities.
This caused Celestia to cum again.
Ears are also a fetish.
Meanwell but also and then so
Spike died of cancer because you can’t cure that with sex, oh dear and also what was she thinking?
Twilight sat in the corner, ignoring his corpse and counting the grains of sand falling out of her navel.
“Yep, that’s just about 4,000,” she smiled to herself in satisfaction. It was a good day.