Skittles (Fan continuation of SkittlesAnon's story) by Tuner9


                                            [Copied from https://pastebin.com/crzh5Qze]


                                            FOREWARD

                                            So, for those of you who have not yet read it, Skittles was an SPG story about everyone's favorite pegasus that sadly got canceled after SkittlesAnon got banned. Many people had been asking for a continuation, and one fan said that he was going to pick up the story awhile back, but never did. Just to clarify, I am NOT the original author, nor am I the previous fan who said he'd continue it, but I am just another Skittle lover.


                                            The original can be read here,

                                            https://ponepaste.org/3342

                                            Now, on to my continuation.


                                            >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


                                            >You flip your sunglasses down as the morning light harshly reflects off the bakery window, directly into your eyes.

                                            >Sure, it might be a bit rude to sit inside with shades on, but you valued your eyesight and planned on keeping it for… forever.

                                            >You shift around in the red booth, your pants gliding over the cracks in the cushion’s surface from years of use. You could even see the foam cushion underneath in some places where the upholstery had been torn away.

                                            >Directly in front of you lay a simple diner table, and across from that sat your friend.

                                            >Your houseguest.

                                            >Your slave.

                                            >No matter how you tried to spin the tale around in your head, there was really only one true version of events.

                                            >You bought a slave.

                                            >Fresh guilt washes over you as your mind tries to think of a justification.

                                            >Sure, you didn’t want a slave to abuse or have sex with, you just wanted a little more help around the house and some companionship.

                                            >Somehow, you don’t see that argument getting you past the pearly gates.

                                            >True, she had been formerly abused by her previous master and her life was now unarguably better, but she was still a slave. A mere object in the eyes of the law.

                                            >A sentient creature who once had a life, a home, family, friends, reduced to a status arguably lower than that of a house pet. Forced to wear a collar and be lead on a leash just to be allowed outdoors.

                                            >You briefly wonder just what she used to be like. Her mindset had been undoubtedly warped by the time she spent with her former master, her old personality likely washed away.

                                            >Maybe there was still some of it left in her, but it would take awhile to unearth it if there was.


                                            >Diverting yourself from those thoughts, you turn your full attention to the mare across from you as she devours the muffin you had purchased for her not thirty seconds ago. In that small timeframe it had been reduced to crumbs by it’s merciless murderer.

                                            >Your slave, Rainbow Dash.

                                            >Or as she preferred to be called, Skittles.

                                            >You’re really starting to regret that name now. You made it up in the spur of the moment, but c’mon.

                                            >Skittles?

                                            >That’s not much better than M&M.

                                            >You slide your own blueberry muffin towards her. She glances worriedly at you, but after a slight nod of approval, the muffin’s fate had been sealed.

                                            >Crumbs fly everywhere as she essentially smashes her face into the muffin, the name tag on her collar clinking against the table as she devours the baked good.

                                            >Glancing at her skinny sides, you mentally calculate how long it’ll take for the mare to get some meat back. She was very skinny, you had noticed, and while her coat blocked the view you had definitely felt her ribcage underneath the fur.

                                            >Looking outside past the glass window of the bakery, you observe another master walking by with her pony.

                                            >Or would she be a mistress?

                                            >She was about sixteen to eighteen years old, you guessed, and wore a Nickleback t-shirt with a rugged pair of jeans as she held onto the pony’s leash in one hand, her smartphone in the other.

                                            >The slave in question was a unicorn with a butterscotch colored coat and a slicked back brown mane that cascaded down his neck.

                                            >If it weren't for his masculine features, you'd've thought that mane belonged to a mare.


                                            >He had some kind of machinery as his talent mar-cutie mark! It’s a cutie mark.

                                            >Still sounds ridiculous to you.

                                            >Anyways, he had what looked like an hospital heart-monitor on his flank. An electrocardiogram if you remembered correctly. Hey, maybe you didn’t completely waste your time binge watching all of House awhile back.

                                            >A pair of spectacles rested upon his muzzle, seemingly glued in place as the wearer glanced around, his glasses never even budging a centimeter.

                                            >You couldn’t see any visible scars on him, and he looked like he was treated very well. He even had a bit of a chubby belly.

                                            >That’s what you thought all pony slaves were treated like, or at least similarly treated.

                                            >That they were well taken care of, like a beloved housepet, or close family member.

                                            >You glance back at Skittles and frown once more at her scrawny appearance.

                                            “Do you want any more food, Skittles?”

                                            >Her feathers ruffle and her whole body tenses at the sound of your voice, but she quickly settles back down and looks at you adoringly.

                                            >“N-no thank you Master, I couldn’t eat another bite!”

                                            >Fair enough, she hadn’t eaten this well in years. She’d get more of her appetite back later, once she got the stomach to handle it.

                                            >You snag a napkin out of the sun-dried dispenser, wiping it across Skittles’ crumb crusted muzzle. A slight blush appears on her face as she tries to hide behind her hooves, but you can see her amethyst eyes peering out from behind them.

                                            >Yeeesh.

                                            >Almost forgot about the whole “devotion/obsession” thing.

                                            >No matter, in a couple of months she’d realize that you weren't anything special and you’d both forget this part of your lives ever happened. Until then, you had a deal with her.


                                            >You really weren't looking forward to getting home. You had a feeling she’d need “reminding” of boundaries. Until then, some more walking seemed to be due. It was a beautiful morning, despite the sun’s attempts to render you blind.

                                            “C’mon Skittles, let's get going.”

                                            >You give a light tug on her leash as you exit the booth, with Skittles hopping out of her own seat and following closely behind you.

                                            >Weaving through other customers at their tables, you make it to the glass counter by the bakery’s door.

                                            >Behind the window lay a multitude of treats, ranging from eclairs and pies to cakes and jumbo cookies.

                                            >You couldn’t help but notice Skittles staring at a pink cake with three multicolored icing balloons, two blue and one yellow, with watery eyes. You could see her trying to hold smile, but for whatever reason, it always morphed back into a frown.

                                            >Pulling out your wallet, you grab a twenty and pass it to Mrs. Karboffle behind the register.

                                            >You’ve been a semi-regular customer here ever since you moved into the area and discovered the owner, and current cashier, happened to be your former first-grade teacher; albeit she wasn't as attractive as she once was.

                                            >Long gone was the “hot milf” appearance, with “kindly grandmother” taking a firm hold instead.

                                            “Keep the change.”

                                            >Her dimpled face creases as she smiles warmly at you.

                                            >“Oh, why thank you Anon. You have a lovely day now!”

                                            >Holding the glass door open for Skittles, you motion for her to exit first.

                                            >“Oh! And make sure to bring the cute pony of yours back the next time you visit. My granddaughter absolutely adores pegasi!”


                                            “Not a problem. She’ll be here Sunday right?”

                                            >The smile she bore threatens to engulf all of her face as she nods at you.

                                            >You return the gesture with a quick nod of your own before you exit the bakery yourself, mostly at Skittles’ leash-tugging insistence.

                                            “Alright, alright calm down already.”

                                            >Out the door for less than five seconds, you find yourself providing the role of “Master walking his slave” once more.

                                            >You’ve taken her out for less than one time and already you’re questioning who was actually doing the walking here.

                                            >Honestly, it felt like you were the one being led along. She was practically prancing ahead of you, holding her head up high and showing off her new collar to any and all passerby.

                                            >At this rate, you’d burn off all that pizza weight in no time.

                                            “You seem to be enjoying this quite a bit Skittles.”

                                            >She beams back at you with a grin that would put Mrs. Karboffle to shame.

                                            >“Yes Master! This has been the most fun I’ve had in years!”

                                            >While you weren't sure this qualified as “fun” you weren't about to take away any notion of happiness she seemed to gather from this act.

                                            >Didn’t mean you weren’t curious though.

                                            “Sooo… what’s fun about this exactly?”

                                            >Both of you come to a halt at an intersection as you wait for the streetlight to flash in your favor. While you do, Skittles looks at you with slight confusion etched upon her features.

                                            >“What do you mean, Master? A-are you not having fun?”

                                            >Her face contorts in sadness and she bows her head in shame.

                                            “N-no! Well.. I mean, I wouldn’t call this “fun” but that doesn’t mean I’m against it. Skittles, please look at me. I’m not mad.”


                                            >Your put your hand under her muzzle and gently lift her face up. She refuses to look you in the eyes though.

                                            >“I’m sorry master… I keep forgetting you won’t hit me for being bad…I- eep!”

                                            >She squeaks as you quickly lift her up and squeeze her tightly to her chest. It takes her a moment, but she quickly returns the gesture, wrapping her forehooves around the back of your head and burying her face in your neck.

                                            “While you’re not wrong, I probably won’t hit you for being bad, questioning or disagreeing with me does not qualify as a bad act.”

                                            >“B-but slaves don’t question their Masters! A slave is required to be absolutely obedient at all times!”

                                            “Well, you’re just going to have to get used to some new rules.”

                                            >Seeing the light flash green, you skip over the crosswalk with Skittles still in your arms.

                                            “I want you to question me. I want you to argue with me. Having a different opinion is a great thing, Skittles, I won’t punish you for acting like a rational being.”

                                            >“I… I don’t understand Master…”

                                            You can feel her trembling in your arms, terrified of what you’re going to do to her. Or perhaps she knows you won’t do anything, and she’s upset with herself for not understanding your words.

                                            “Let’s do this Skittles. We’ll finish our walk and when we get home, we’ll sit down, order a pizza, and talk. We can discuss in depth whatever you want, and I promise you can ask anything without fear of repercussion.”

                                            >Kneeling down, you pry Skittles from her vice like grip around your head and set her back on her own four hooves. You start to move back over the crosswalk before the light turns green again, but find the leash you held has gone taught.

                                            >Glancing behind you, you notice Skittles is simply staring at you like you sprouted two heads.


                                            “What’s wrong Skittles? Is… is there a bird on my head?”

                                            >Your free hand swats the empty space above your head, and delightfully doesn’t come into contact with any avian creatures.

                                            >Stupid pigeons.

                                            >Just because you put a french fry on your head one time doesn’t give them the right to eat it off you.

                                            >“You… we… you’ll let me eat... p-pizza?”

                                            >You can vaguely make out the streetlight flickering back to green as you stare at Skittles. Her wide eyes held nothing but disbelief and skepticism in them, as if pizza was a mythical concept, or perhaps the idea that she could have it was.

                                            > “I… I don’t deserve pizza, Master. Pizza is a food for humans, slaves may only lick the plate clean after their Master finishes… and only if they’ve been good…”

                                            >She talks to you as if she was schooling a child, gently, but with a hint of annoyance in her voice. She spiced it up a bit with a hint of trepidation in there as well, scared of your potential reaction.

                                            “Are you questioning me?”

                                            >Skittles looks at you with a hint of confusion, before her eyes shrink to pinpricks and she backpedals away from you.

                                            >“N-no Master! Please, I-I didn’t mean to be a bad girl, I’ll make it up to you I-”

                                            >You close the distance between the two of you and silence her by placing a finger on her lips. She forces herself to look into your eyes, accepting her status as a slave and resigning herself to whatever punishment you gave.

                                            “Just for that, I’m making it triple cheese. AND I’m throwing fresh basil on it.”

                                            >You pull your finger back and leave the dumbfounded pony behind as you head back over to the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the light to change. After a moment, you feel the leash in your hand move and Skittles walks up beside you.

                                            >She shows no emotion as she stands next to you, only staring directly in front of her and nowhere else.

                                            >The light turns red once more, and you give a light tug on her leash.


                                            >Instantly, she begins following you without hesitation, like a robot executing a command.

                                            >Retrieving the smartphone from your pocket, you dial Joe’s, your favorite pizzeria. The receiver rings a few times before a female voice greets your ears.

                                            >“Hey! You’ve reached Joe’s Pizza where you knows it’s Joe’s-”

                                            “Hey Cindy, it’s me, Anon.”

                                            >“Anon! Where have you been dude? You haven’t ordered anything from us in like two weeks! Hold on a sec, JOE! ANON’S ON THE LINE!”

                                            >In your peripheral vision, you can see Skittles flicking her ears towards and away from your phone, trying her hardest not to eavesdrop but losing the battle.

                                            >Another moment later a male voice greets your ears.

                                            >“Anon? Izzat you?”

                                            >You can’t help but smile at the sound of Joe’s voice. If you were a regular customer anywhere, it was Joe’s. You knew all the staff by name at this point.

                                            “You betcha Joe. Listen, I’ve got a friend here who hasn’t eaten pizza in a few years, and I know it’s only like, ten-thirty, but-”

                                            >“WHAT?!”

                                            >Both you and Skittles flinch as Joe shrieks in your ear. You hold the phone just a bit farther from your head before you start speaking again.

                                            “You heard me Joe. I’ll need your help to correct this travesty.”

                                            >You can practically hear Joe shaking his head over the phone

                                            >“Anon buddy, you have called the right man for the job. We’re gonna feed your friend until they explode all over the walls.”

                                            >You can’t help but smirk at Skittles. Her muzzle was scrunching up and her eyes were widening yet she kept walking faster and faster towards your house. It hadn’t quite turned into your previous speed walk, but it would reach that speed soon.

                                            “I’m gonna need one of your large triple cheese pies, with fresh basil on top.”


                                            >“M-master wait! A- a large? Don’t waste your money on me please-”

                                            >“Not a problem boss. Are there any other foods your uncultured friend hasn’t experienced in awhile?”

                                            “Now that you mention it Joe, I’m going to need some of your garlic knots as well. Three should do nicely.”

                                            >“Master please…”

                                            “A large caesar too.”

                                            >She shuts up and stares straight ahead of her once more, a blush rushing across her scrunched up muzzle.

                                            >“We’ll have your order ready in about thirty minutes. I’ll give you free delivery if it means your friend gets pizza faster.”

                                            “Sounds like a deal. Thanks Joe.”

                                            >“Listen, you make sure this friend of yours gets pizza in them. And make sure they knows it’s Joe’s!”

                                            >Joe ends the call before you do, so you flick off the screen and shove the phone back into your pocket.

                                            >A smile quickly returns to your face as you find the speed walking pace has continued, even though Skittles’ gave no emotion or acknowledgement of what she was doing.

                                            >The normally thirty minute walk to the bakery was about to turn into a twenty minute jog back home.

                                            >The town center, with its restaurants and office buildings quickly morph into suburban housing as you get closer and closer to your home.

                                            >Already you were entering a familiar neighborhood, now at a light jogging speed as you keep pace with Skittles, her mane and tail bobbing with the rest of her body.

                                            >You could ask her to slow down, but you didn’t want to ruin the elation she’s feeling.

                                            >Well, you hope it’s elation.

                                            >She could be unhappy, but her largely emotionless appearance didn’t give you many clues. You merely assumed she was excited at the prospect of pizza.

                                            >Your free hand wipes some of the sweat off your brow as Skittles puts on a final burst of speed at the sight of your house down the street. It was still a jog, but you didn’t doubt that it’d get even faster had you lived any farther away.


                                            >Quite frankly, you were surprised at the pace she kept. You weren't an athlete, but she must’ve been before she became a slave. For her to keep a steady pace in her scrawny state, she must’ve been used to endurance training.

                                            >Reaching your front door, you amusedly watch as Skittles tries not to hop impatiently in place while you fumble with the keys and you had to hand it to her, she was doing a decent job.

                                            >The telltale click of the lock signals Skittles, and she turns the knob before you and lets herself inside.

                                            >You cock an eyebrow as you head in yourself. She was acting very… uncharacteristic all of a sudden.

                                            >Not hesitating, taking initiative, generally doing things without being prompted, it was weird.

                                            >Entering the tiled foyer, your drop the leash to the ground and turn to close and lock the door.

                                            >Checking your watch, you note that it there’s only about six minutes till eleven, but maybe you could do a quick dip in your pool instead of the shower. The jogging had left you smelling a bit fresh, as you didn’t throw on any antiperspirant before you left.

                                            >In your defense, you weren't expecting to do any jogging that day, just walking.

                                            >Jiggling the knob to make sure the door locked properly, you turn around once more to be greeted with… nothing.

                                            >You glance behind your banister but find no Skittles in sight, or her leash. Chucking your keys onto the coffee table by the door, you set off to explore your house for Skittles.

                                            >The shoes on your feet stop clunking against the tile as you transition into the living room, and its carpeted floor.

                                            >A large flatscreen you purchased from a pawnshop awhile back rested in the center of the room, surrounded by a black loveseat and two recliners. You spotted Skittles sitting in the loveseat, staring blankly at the TV screen.

                                            “There you are Skittles, you didn’t let me unhook the leash from your collar.”


                                            >You walk around the front and sit next to her, only to feel yourself suddenly pushed against the cushions by a blue hoof on your chest, and the hoof’s owner moving onto your lap.

                                            >Before you can react, Skittles’ muzzle has descended upon your mouth as she hooked her forehooves behind your head, effectively holding you in place as her heated breath washes over your face.

                                            >You automatically press your lips closed to stop her from advancing further, but a memory of the deal you made with her the previous night pops back into your head.

                                            >Was this really right? Was it actually okay to do this?

                                            >A little reluctantly, you unclench your lips and place a hand behind her own head, pulling her in just a bit closer and rubbing behind her ears.

                                            >“Mmphhh…”

                                            >Her tongue happily finds its way into your mouth and she immediately begins exploring like the night before. Twisting and twirling her muscle around your own and tugging lightly at it.

                                            >Relinquishing control, you let her tongue pull yours along, but realize that she was leading it back towards her own mouth.

                                            >You hesitate right before your appendage leaves the familiar territory, despite her own trying it’s hardest to pull you in.

                                            >Were you really going to do this? You weren't about to stop or spank her, she hadn't pushed you that far yet, but you still had reservations about entering her own maw.

                                            >You didn’t really have much relationship experience to draw from, but of the few girlfriends you did have, you only progressed to “frenching” with one of them.

                                            >When Skittles kissed you the night before, it you immediately thought back to that college memory. You weren't exactly jumping to have the memory of frenching Skittles pop into your head with the next girlfriend.

                                            >She tries to pull your face closer to hers as she angles her head with the kiss, doing whatever she can to get your tongue into her mouth.


                                            >You could’ve ended it there with a spank, but you didn’t want to do that ever again so you relent. Your tongue goes slack as you let her pull the rest of it into her mouth.

                                            >Skittles giggles happily as she unwraps her tongue from yours and lets you explore the new territory, much to your chagrin and excitement. It seemed disgusting, kissing another species, intimately at that, but at the same time it held a level of unparalleled excitement.

                                            >These ponies had attractive features, there was no question about that, but in a world where there’s only one sentient species, something like this is completely taboo.

                                            >You find yourself getting into the kiss, excitedly dancing around her mouth with her tongue, as if it was an wet, sloppy dance.

                                            >Her rather seductive moans do nothing to ease your excitement, but your brain does.

                                            >You could feel her hips beginning to shake above you, with her no doubt getting ready to jump in your pants once more. It didn’t feel right spanking her though, you were partially responsible for her arousal this time around.

                                            >Releasing her head from your grip, you begin to pull away from the kiss while Skittles attempts to keep your faces locked together. Her hooves pull you back in and she invades your mouth once more, sprinkling in some moans between the squelching sounds.

                                            >Your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest at this rate.

                                            >Your hand travels down her side to her rump and you rest your palm against her cutie mark. Raising two fingers, you tap down against her flesh to get her attention.

                                            >Her body stiffens for a moment, but she gets the message and pulls away from you with a string of saliva leaving you both connected. Her amorous eyes seem to follow yours around as you attempt to look anywhere but her gaze.

                                            >“Thank you, Master. I love you…”


                                            >You couldn’t help but notice how she kept leaving the declaration of love open ended, attempting to get you to orally reciprocate her affections.

                                            “I know you do girl.”

                                            >She frowns a bit, but buries her head against your chest and coo’s softly as you pet her mane. Hopefully, she’d realize you weren't such a catch sooner than later. You didn’t want to lose control around this all too willing mare.

                                            DING DONG

                                            >Both of you stiffen and pull apart at the sudden sound, but you quickly relax. Nobody could see you from the front door in here. Seeing you relax, Skittles does the same, hopping off of your lap and sitting off on a separate cushion.

                                            >Her tail flicks side to side in anticipation, even though her eyes still hold a small bit of doubt in them.

                                            “Trust me Skittles. Life’s gonna be better now.”