Careful what you wish for II


                                            >"Why won't you love me, Anon? I-is this what you like?"

                                            >Currently, you're flabbergasted for several reasons.

                                            >One, Bon-Bon apparently knows how to pick locks, because there were no signs of forced entry when you came home.

                                            >Two, there's that outfit.

                                            >Jesus, look at those crotch-tits. They're the size of cantaloupes.

                                            >Three, you can smell the booze from here. There's an empty fifth of Woodford Reserve on the floor and your bottle of Jura looks noticeably lower than it was when you had your morning dram.

                                            >Goddammit, you're not going to be able to replace those.

                                            >Four, you weren't even aware that Bon-Bon was into you. You just thought she was being friendly whenever you visited her shop. Admittedly, you're aware that you're socially retarded, so you could have easily missed any signals, but...

                                            "Bonnie, I thought you were dating Lyra. You live together, for heaven's sake!"

                                            >"Not for the last three months. I've been sleeping on a cot in the back room of my shop.

                                            "What the hell happened?"

                                            >"I found out that she was cheating on me with Octavia, and I told her to choose --"

                                            >Bon Bon sniffles.

                                            >"--a-and she diiiiid!"

                                            >The sniffles turn into full-on sobs.

                                            >Like you, Bon Bon is an ugly crier. Fat tears wreck what's left of her makeup in seconds.

                                            >Shit, you're bad at emotional stuff, but you think you know how to deal with this.

                                            >You take a couple of quick steps and scoop Bonnie into your arms.

                                            >Oof. She's heavier than she looks.

                                            "C'mere. I'm not doing this in my goddamn kitchen."

                                            >You carry Bon Bon into your bedroom and lie down on the bed with her, holding her close and making wordless, sympathetic noises.

                                            >You hate ugly scenes like this -- you can feel empathy, but you're bad at expressing it.

                                            >Finally, Bonnie manages to stop sobbing long enough "Stop it, Anon. Don't tease me if you don't mean it. Especially not when I'm talking about...about..."

                                            >She starts sobbing again.

                                            "Bon Bon, I haven't been turning down your offers of candy because I'm not interested in YOU. I thought you were just being friendly, not flirty. Also, I used to be a doughy fat fuck. I have a terrible sweet tooth, and I'm worried about turning into a blob again. I have enough trouble keeping myself trim with my alcoholic habits. I'm just glad you don't have the Internet."

                                            >Bon Bon blows her nose. "How bad could it possibly be?"

                                            "I used to be able to eat half a gallon of ice cream in a single sitting, Bonnie."

                                            >"Okay, you might have a point."

                                            "Damn right I do. But I think you're cute, Bonnie. We might as well give this a try."

                                            >You kiss her, she kisses you back, and things go on from there.

                                            >Bon Bon tastes vaguely like butterscotch and has a tendency to dominate kisses with her large, horsey tongue.

                                            >After quite a long session of sloppily making out, you start taking your shirt off.

                                            >"Anon, what are you doing?"

                                            "Well, you're here in my house, alone, and I already like you. Also, I'm naturally kind of easy. If you actually want to date, I don't mind jumping into bed early and making sure that we can satisfy each other there.

                                            >"With an attitude like that, you know that you're just asking mares to rail and bail, right?

                                            "Yeah, I know it's a risk. But I'm desperately lonely, I like sex, and I've had relationships go bad in the past because one partner couldn't keep up with the other. I don't want to wait a month or two just to discover that you have the sex drive of a panda on anti-depressants. Or that you're a nymphomaniac who needs at least five loads a day, every day, no days off, and is incapable of monogamy due to your insatiable lust."

                                            >"I call horseapples on that second one."

                                            "I swear I'm not lying. I offered to eat her out and finger her five times a day instead if she'd stay faithful. No dice, so I kicked her ass to the curb."

                                            >Dammit, Melissa, why did you have to be such a fucking nympho?

                                            >"Sweet Faust, I think I'd die if you wanted to wring me out five times a day."

                                            "That's good, then. I can only manage two. Three on a really good day."

                                            >Bon Bon "You're a slut, Anon. But you're going to be MY slut." She puts her hooves around your neck and pulls you down until your face is buried in her chest fluff. A hoof strokes your hair.

                                            >You smell a musky, intoxicating scent, and most of the blood going to your brain abruptly flows southward.


                                            >Some pleasantly lewd time later, you're behind Bon-Bon, slapping her plush, jiggly ass with one hand while you thrust into her.

                                            "That's it, you adorable horse, have my kids!"

                                            >You slap her ass one last time as you fill her womb with rope after rope of steaming swimmers.

                                            >"Yesssss! Give me your foals!"

                                            >You pitch forward onto Bon Bon, pinning her to the bed, and try to catch your breath.

                                            >You're panting, sweaty, and thoroughly satisfied.

                                            >Bonnie rubs her cheek against yours. "That was amazing, Anon. I can't feel my legs."

                                            "Good. That means I did the job right."

                                            >"No, seriously, I can't feel my legs. Can you quit laying on top of me?"

                                            "Sure, hon."

                                            >You roll off Bon Bon, and her right leg squishes and gives way underneath you.

                                            >You look down, and it takes several seconds for you to realize what you're seeing.

                                            >Bonnie Buns is dissolving from the pussy outwards into millions upon millions of tiny tan, purple, and pink droplets.

                                            >You rolled through a pile of goop that used to be her right leg.

                                            >There's no blood, just...goo.

                                            >As your brain finally finishes processing exactly WHAT THE FUCK you're seeing, you scream.

                                            >Bon Bon starts screaming too, but it ends in a gurgle as her torso dissolves.

                                            >Your fight or flight reflex kicks in.

                                            >There's nothing to fight.

                                            >Just your lovable little candy mare, dissolving into organic sludge.

                                            >Flight it is, then.

                                            >You grab Bon Bon's head - the only intact part of her left - and bolt for the door.

                                            >By the time you actually get out of the house, you're leaving a trail of slime behind you.

                                            >When you try to tuck Bon-Bon's head against your side while you open the door, you feel a wet, squishing sensation.

                                            >You look down and see nothing but brightly colored goo dripping down your arms.

                                            >So you keep fleeing towards the hospital, screaming your fucking head off all the way.

                                            >You hear loud, concerned inquiries as you run.

                                            >After all, you are stark naked, running, screaming, and dripping colorful ooze.

                                            >You look like Netflix bought the rights to Gak.

                                            >Nurse Redheart leaps to her hooves when you stagger into Ponyville General's emergency room.

                                            >"Colt, what the Tartarus are you doing? What's wrong? What is that stuff?!"

                                            "Bon Bon! Oh, God, she's dead!"

                                            >"What?!" Redheart starts trotting towards you

                                            "I was lying on top of her and then she just -- she just -- she melted! Oh, God, I'm covered in what's left of her!"

                                            >You stagger forward as that realization hits. Your dick -- still dripping a few trickles of cum -- smacks Redheart in the face.

                                            >"Now see here, colt! Get ahold of yurshelf, hissturrics wuuunnnnttt -- " Redheart's words devolve into a burbling gurgle as her muzzle loses cohesion, dissolving into white droplets that splatter onto the floor.

                                            >Oh no.

                                            >You're responsible.

                                            >Your dick killed Bon-Bon. Somehow.

                                            >It's killing Redheart.

                                            >Her eyes bulge, and she paws at her melting face with a forehoof, only for that to start dissolving as well.

                                            >The other nurse at the reception desk also starts screaming.

                                            >There's a surgical scalpel on a tray nearby. You pick it up, jam the razor-sharp blade into your neck just below the left ear, and drag it across your throat in a single panic-fueled motion.

                                            >It only hurts a little.

                                            >As you lie on the tile, your vision darkening, you can see Redheart's torso, minus a head and a foreleg, staggering around in circles...


                                            >Remember, kids, don't have sex with giant single-celled organisms masquerading as complex multicellular organisms!

                                            >Common risks may include panic, mind break, mental trauma of bystanders, suicide, and your estate being garnished to support your billions of children!