Talking Animal in Horseland v. 4, Imprisoned Abroad edition

>Ugh!
>The dirt floor of a shed is about as warm as you could expect.
>By that, you mean absolutely fucking freezing
>You scoot back as much as you can, laying on your side.
>Pinkie gives a contented sigh, followed by a snort that surprises you.
>Her coat felt smooth against your bare back.
>You still don’t understand how she managed to remove your shirt over your wrist bindings.
>At least your first “Prison Rape” experience with a “Guard” was with a cute pony.

>You’re just glad she was looking for some emotional intimacy, rather than sexual gratification.
>Non-consensual cuddling.
>You were really worried for a moment.
>That moment trying to console an overwrought pony.
>”I don’t want you to die.”
>She sniffles, but her tears are making your shoulder all wet.
“I plan to live forever, of course, but barring that I’d settle for a couple thousand years. Even five hundred would be pretty nice.”
>Your joke falls reasonably flat.
>She’s right at the moment before sniffles graduate to full-scale caterwaulin’
”Pinkie,” you say, hoping to draw her attention.
“Pinkie, please,” you repeat, a bit more insistent.
”plz,” you try one more time. You sound a mite silly sporting a duck face.

>Ponka only hears your goofy voice, her head and neck hanging over your shoulder.
>”Snrrk!”
>Crisis averted.
>And not just a crying Ponka.
>The secondary observers wouldn’t be too thrilled should they arrive to an inconsolable Pinkie Pie.
>With your luck, it’d be Apple Jack out there.
>Rainbow Dash was like as not vindictive enough to be there as well.
>Too lazy to actually be standing watch, probably asking Apple Jack to wake her up if something eexciting happened.
>Her sniffles had graduated to light hiccoughs.
>Tension gone, she collapsed onto your shoulder.

“Ponka?”
>She nuzzles your shoulder in acknowledgement.
“I *am* going to die.”
>Beat.
>Huh.
>You expected her to tense up at that.
>Maybe there’s a limit to how many times she can do that.
>You continue hugging her, feeling the steady rise and fall of chest.
“Today, tomorrow, or seventy years from now.”
“Opening my veins, unwilling or afraid to face Pony judgment…”
“…fever and neglect after an especially vicious beating…”
“…choking on my own vomit after celebrating too much…”
>That’d be nice. Relatively speaking.
“…or as an old man, expiring from dehydration after a nasty fall results in a broken hip. I live alone, and there’s no one conducting regular checks on my welfare because I enjoy my independent life-style.”
>You gently rock Pinkie Pie, humming tunelessly.
“There are innumberable ways to die, and death robs us all of dignity,” you softly whisper.
>You blow on the back of her neck, just to see her muscles twitch.
“So comparatively, what’s a little indignity and privation beforehand?”

>You continue rocking her back and forth.
>Her hiccoughs subside eventually.
“I made the mistake of being too interesting to a relentlessly curious pony who was unwilling to dismiss me as a puzzle with no solution.”
>You idly touch her mane, running your fingers through it.
>You can’t very easily pet her mane with your wrists still bound.
>You’d heard that petting a dog releases endorphins establishing a bond much like a mother and child in the critical moments after birth.
>After-birth
>Ugh! Gross! Not like that you sick fuck!
>Anyways, legally in this instance you would be the animal.

>”I helped though. I—“
“You,” you smoothly, deliberately interrupt “were a nice pony. Are a nice pony.”
>If your wrists weren’t bound, you imagine this is where you’d boop her nose.
>You continued your awkward conversation, speaking to her over your shoulder.
“For all her athleticism, I don’t think Rainbow Dash would have caught me.”
>You snort dismissively, prompting a small giggle from Ponka.
>”Yeah….even on open ground and no cover, she never really came close.”
“Twilight only has nominative custody of me because she has nice friends.”
“Apple Jack would have likely only caught me with the assistance of what’s-her-face.”
>”Applebloom?” Pinkie suggested.

“Yeah, her. Rarity would be unlikely to do so without the same interference,” you mused aloud.
>You give Ponka an extra squeeze for good measure.
“Knowing how you feel now, would you rather one of those others had been chosen instead, so that by chance they would be hurt as you have been? Would you wish this on Applebloom or Sweetie Belle? On Rarity or Applejack?”
>You let your words hang, but you don’t stop running your fingers through her mane.
“So please, believe me when I say this, Ponka; I forgive you. I will never blame you for having the bad luck to be party to Twilight’s shenanigans. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you have been made to feel as though you are the source of my problems, because you are not. You are a nice pony.”

>That seemed to register somewhere.
>Pinkie draws away as far as your bindings allow.
>She’s starting to turn her head towards you.
>That moment seems to extend, and suddenly you can see forever.
>Looking in her eyes (never mind that you can only vaguely determine her outline).
>You feel suddenly anxious. Flush and sweaty. This isn’t you.
>Hesitantly leaning in before reaching an unspoken decision at the same time as Ponka.
>You meet for a hard kiss on the mouth, you lip bleeding when it brushes roughly against her teeth.
>Holding her tight, you need to feel more of her.

> She’s going to be taken away from you. Only a few more hours and you will likely never see her again.
>You unhook your arms from her neck, needing to get out of these clothes.
>Pinkie, not understanding what you’re doing fights your attempt to pull away, until it dawns on her.
>For the life of you, you can’t being to understand how she removed your shirt and pants without removing your bindings.
>That was unimportant.
>The cold air and cool dirt only made you more eager for her heat.
>Rubbing against her skin, your heart beat louder in your own ears.
>More amazing than an 800-thread count sheet.
>Soft and clean, you needed to feel her. All of her.
>You buried your face in her mane, inhaling deeply.

>You couldn’t breathe enough of her. Deeply through your nose, rubbing your face harder just to smell more of her.
>Light-headed, the edges started becoming blurry.
>She looked far away, drawing away from you.
>Like trying to look at her through a straw.
>And you see her again.
>She hasn’t finished turning her head towards you.
>You’re still wearing your pants, arms still looped over her neck.
“Nope.”
>You startle her by drawing her close, not letting her look you in the face (in the dark as you were.
>”I just wanna see,” she argues.
“We can’t.”
>She struggles against you.
>“Geez!”
“No Pinkie, no!” you cry, making even less sense.

>You lean back, pulling her with you and begin to roll.
>She’s pulled forward, ending up under you through the turn before the tumble continues.
>You’re both on the ground, you under her.
>She abruptly stops struggling.
>”Well? What is it we can’t do?”
“This.”
>”What?”
“I’m in your custody. Legally, I can’t consent.”
>You’re almost breathless in your explanation.
>“But—“
“I’ve also been detained as a ‘dangerous animal.’ In the event that that judgment stands, you would be legally committing bestiality. That’s too serious an offense to risk on top of everything else.”
“As much as I’d enjoy it, we really can’t.”
>”Hmph” she grumps, seriously unhappy.

>You gently unhook your arms from her neck.
“Ah, ahem!”
“Are you gonna be okay, Pinkie?”
>She’s still laying on top of you.
>”Yes.”
>”Well, no. In fact, I’m very much not okay. I’m the opposite of okay.”
>You can imagine the grimace accompanying her words.
>”But I’m a big pony. I’ll have to find some way to live with it.”
>Her tone is playful, but you can hear the traces of frustration in it.
“Can you let me up?” you ask, still cautious.
>”Oh, alright.”
>With a toss of her head, she stands up and moves back by the shed entrance.

>You turn away from Pinkie Pie, not trusting yourself to even look at her.
>You cringe in anguish at remembered (imagined?) pleasure.
>The scent of her mane as you rubbed you face in it, the feel as it brushed against your face.
>The comfortable weight as you held her body tight to your own.
>The heat of her body contrasting with the chill air and cool floor.
>You shiver at the memory.
>Actually, you shiver because it’s fucking colder right now.
>Shit!
>You adopt a foetal position to best conserve body heat.
>Shivering as you were, you didn’t notice any movement.
>”Cold, are you?” she asks huskily, breath warm on your ear.

>Shocked, you try to turn and face her.
“Pinkie, no—“
>”I think that’s quite enough!” she commands.
>You cease movement in response.
>”I have determined that the chill represents a threat to your welfare.”
>”No other measures available, as legal custodian I’ve decided to implement cold weather survival measures bravo.”
>She snatches your shirt from you, impossibly so as you still wear your wrist bindings.
>She lays down behind you, spooning you.
>”Your broad, naked back is best for efficient exchange of body heat. I have made this decision on my own. I do not require your consent.”
>She hooks another leg over.
>She nuzzles your neck.
>”Don’t make this weird.”