SoothSayer Attempts to Entice Anon Into Breeding ScrewBall

Soothsayer would surely make a point of increasing Anon's following, unless Anon talked her out of it somehow: "No Soothsayer, I don't need any followers because... uh... if my cult gets too large then Celestia and Luna will notice and do something about it! We have to corrupt society subtly, from the inside! We'll do this by uh... s-setting an example for the other ponies! That uh... the best way to live is... ...um... ...b-by just relaxing and not kidnapping people!"

Her want to increase his following could make for a good motif. She could adopt little orphan ScrewBall (because as an orphan filly that's already a little loopy, she's the most likely to adapt to cult lifestyle) and try to train her as a broodmare and devotee to Anon. Although to innocent little ScrewBall it just seems like she has a new weird and fun big sister/mom/role model and a nice older brother that's silly when he gets frustrated.

>"Do you see, young novice ScrewBall? Now that you wear this garb, you are sure to please Anon. He was unimpressed with my offerings, but he may find you more to his liking."
>*giggle* "Okay Mo-- err, SoothSayer. It does feel pretty cool though, all smooth and soft, I don't really like dresses but this one seems pretty alright."
>"Indeed, young novice ScrewBall. I know you didn't like the... What you called... 'Make-Up', but the depraved paints of the Matri-Ghul make you look very... 'Radical'."
>The front door opens.
>It's you, returning from work as a professor of archeology.
>You're too preoccupied with taking your professor jacket off and hanging it on the hook by the door to notice what's going on in the living room.
>The instant you look up and see what they're doing, an exclamation tinged with too much exhaust to really exclaim leaves your mouth.
"oh what the fuck"
>SoothSayer, in full 'fuck me' cult garb, is laying on her back on the couch, propped up by a few pillows so she's halfway sitting.
>ScrewBall is dressed in a miniature version of Soothsayer's outfit.
>She's laying on her back in between Soothsayer's legs, leaned up against her stomach.
>Their outfit is reminiscent of something out of a harem from ancient India.
>A silk droopy mostly-transparent sari and nothing else save dark red natural paint.
>You can't see SoothSayer's body paint too well because of ScrewBall, but you do see how Screwball's markings swirl around the softest of her little curves, starting at her cheeks, and then drunkenly winding down her neck, shoulders and sides, before twirling around her thighs and bellybutton.
>Two thin red lines break off from the either thigh twirl to symmetrically trace along the bottom of her belly, heading down towards her intimates.
>They dip behind a mass of sari bunched up between Screw's thighs, it's layered enough that whatever it is that the lines are headed right for is obfuscated.
>Screw must be able to see you following the lines on her body, because she lets loose her signature giggle.
>"Cool, right Anon!? Whattya think? I'm like a rad Saddle Arabian fighter-princess!"
>She makes swishing and metal-clashing noises while miming swinging a scimitar.
>Before you can say or act, a devilish grin grows on Soothsayer's face.
>She tugs at the end of the bunch of sari cradled between Screwball's thighs just enough that a half of Screw's marehood is exposed, which also displays her ponut such that it looks like a half-crescent moon.
>They're both painted entirely red.
>You're shocked.
>But only for a moment.
>Suddenly you aren't shocked.
>You didn't feel yourself stop being shocked.
>All you felt was your face relax, as though you were never shocked to begin with.
>Something...
>Something's going on...
>Something about that color...
>Something about this situation...
>You feel a kind of drowsy.
>But not a sleepy drowsy.
>You're clearheaded and aware, although no trueform words are existing in your mind.
>Instead a vision comes to you.
>Of ScrewBall, beneath and before you.
>The two of you are within a realm of darkness, totally isolated, yet the feeling of being watched is so powerful it's a certainty.
>She beckons you, spreading her already spread legs open further.
>The sari vaporizes, evidently no longer needed in this tiny cosmos.
>Screw isn't phased by this, she just looks at you with a complicated facade.
>Her look communicates so much, all without words.
>She's thanking you for loving her.
>Reprimanding you for not keying into her affections.
>Confessing that she loves you.
>And begging that you let her bear your child.
>She places a hoof upon the stomach facing rim of her labia, peeling your gaze from her face.
>As though sensing your attention and endeavoring to entertain, her clitoris flashes out with a little *plip*, and she flexes and recoils.
>Suddenly you're near her, and without thought you place your hands.
>Both of them make first contact on her barrel, where breasts would be on a human.
>Then your hands begin to wander, each searching for something only it knows.
>ScrewBall involuntarily closes her eyes and exhales all of her breath, shivering.
>Surprisingly she has the presence of mind to grip her hind-hooves with her fore-hooves, and spreads herself to the maximum she can possibly spread.
>In response, your hands find their new homes, much to Screw's absolute ecstasy.
>The left compresses the springy, soft flesh of her right thigh.
>The bottom right of your left palm occasionally grazes the absolute edge of her puffy, red lips as you massage.
>Each time it happens, it's not a quiet affair.
>Your right gently rests upon her taught, balloon-like tummy.
>As it rises and falls, your grasp lazily makes its way up, to the beginning of her sternum, and then down, passing over a teat.
>This prompts a sharp intake of air from her.
>Screwball's clitoris now spends more time out than in.
>It seems to corresponds with her flexing.
>When she has the energy to flex herself, lifting her back in a little arc, her clitoris pushes out and remains out for the entire duration.
>It's glossy with her juice, and throbbing, occasionally shivering.
>How warm is it to the touch?
>And how soft?
>When she inevitably loses her strength, she collapses, clitoris returning to its hot, wet home.
>But only for a fraction of a moment.
>Then all hell breaks loose.
>ScrewBall's button rapidly flashes out and back into her in bouts.
>The sensation is obviously overpowering, she's trashing with slightly more control than someone having a seizure.
>Every sound besides coherent communication leaves her: moans, wails, screams, groans, deep ragged breaths that swell her little body, and then turn right back around and leave her while she makes a loud, long coo.
>It becomes clear to you that when she's flexing, her clitoris is actually being forced outwards, into a kind of relative stasis that's easier to bear.
>Presently, she's attempting to flex again, but for multiple times in a row before she can lock herself into place, a particularly powerful shiver will sabotage what energy she's mustered, sending her back to the bed writhing.
>This continues for a captivating series of seconds.
>But, an atypical moment of peace passes.
>Screw looks you dead in the eye, biting her lip.
>Her face is strained for many reasons, one of which is certainly begging.
>She's begging you to stop neglecting her, to please just love her.
>The plea decimates your heart.
>You can't abuse her, you never ever could.
>Anything for her.
>Anything for ScrewBall.
>Your hand leaves her belly, and wraps around the base of your cock.
>"'Cool,' is it not, Anon?"
>!
>A feeling like your brain is being sucked out of you from behind.
>In an instant you're back in reality.
>None of that was real.
>None of that was real?
>You're flustered, and react in an automatic way, the only way you can muster.
"SoothSayer what the fuck! Too far this time! I'm no filly fooler!"
>For only enough time that you may be uncertain, she looks at you knowingly.
>It wipes from her face, and then she's back to her worm-tongued, whispery ways.
>"Devotion knows no age, Anon."
"But /I/ do! C'mon Screw! Let's get you washed up."
>You walk towards her, intent on picking her up.
>Before your hands can wrap all the way around barrel her she squirms like a cat, slipping out of your grasp.
>An absurdly smooth hop over SoothSayer, and she's on the back of the couch.
>"Ha! Yeah right!"
>She takes a moment to look you in the eye with a face filled with gleeful defiance (and something new), before running along the couch back, leaping down to the arm, bouncing off of it, and landing on the coffee table.
>ScrewBall stops once again to look at you. Clearly this is a game to her: it's only fun if you chase.
>A thought rings in your head.
>It rings with a timbre that's hot and red.
>She wants you to chase.
>SoothSayer watches on in keen interest, whispering in a tone that's barely a audible yet loud in your ears.
>"Ohh yes~ Mmm, capture her Anon, hhmmmfph~... Catch her, make her yours! Fiiiill herrr..."
>You try your best to disregard.
>You begin to take a step towards Screw and she launches off the table with a giggle, zipping into the kitchen.
"Oh goddamn!"
>You give chase, following her into the dining area where she plays 'which way am I going' with you from the opposite side of the table.
>When you try to cheat by diving across, arm outstretched to grab, she counters by jumping over your claw, floating almost cleanly over you save a minor knock to the crown, landing on your back, and then launching herself off of it, ending up behind you.
>ScrewBall then slides out of the kitchen like a scurrying eel.
>Loud ascending thumps tell you she's going upstairs.
>This filly's loose grip on reality has apparently given reality a loose grip on her.
>She's quite an airy little thing.
>The rest of the afternoon is spent trying to catch ScrewBall while SoothSayer trails behind you, encouraging you to do lewd things once you capture her.
>You finally do catch Screwball after cornering her under the bathroom sink for the second time, and to SoothSayer's vocal disappointment you bathe her rather than breed her, and tuck her in bed.
>It's now past dark.
>You settle into your own bed, tired from a long day of archeology and filly chasing.
>SoothSayer takes her typical position at the foot of the bed.
>You can't help but smile after reflecting on today's fiasco.
>It's almost like having a family, but no parents and two sisters.
>A suspiciously short time after you think that, quiet chanting begins to emanate from the front of your bed.
>One could almost say that it could maybe possibly be that someone heard your thoughts, and then took an action attempting to prevent a wholesome thought from passing by.
>Your balls pleasurably tingle and swell, and your cock erects.
>In moments it's hard beyond reason and drooling pre-cum.
>You hear ScrewBall moan through the wall.
>She deliriously calls out your name.