Apple on a Stick by KrishnaKarnak

(Uncle Orange / Applejack)

M/f, cane, otk, abuse, non-consensual

 

(18/10/2014)

 

 

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“So I said to the milkmare, 'why, filly, he isn't a gentlecolt at all, but a folksinger!'” The sitting room exploded with dignified laughter, many of the stallions slapping their knees softly and the mares chuckling merrily and fanning themselves. “I say,” Uncle Orange continued, “I have borrowed that joke from the CEO of the Harbourside Brewing Company. We go golfing, you see. It is a hoot!”

 

“My, my, Mr. Orange, you are just the living end!” one of the guests chortled. “You MUST come to the ball next Friday. I'll be hosting it and I would be simply delighted to have you, good fellow!”

 

Applejack's stomach growled. After the scene earlier where she committed the social faux pas at the dinner table— at least, that's what her Auntie had told her as she led Applejack away from the guffawing group— she had been left here, alone and out of sight. She hasn't even had a chance to eat the miserable collection of tiny plants that had been that evening's dinner.

 

No, instead, she had been sitting here in the dark bedroom. Hungry, embarrassed, and longing for home. Of course, she could understand quite easily why she was here; her kind was viewed as uncultured and surely her aunt put her here to spare her the shame of being mocked by hoity-toity upper class Manehattanites. Still, Applejack wished she could eat something. Anything.

 

As the minutes passed, she flopped back on the bed and stared at the shadows moving across the ceiling. Every few minutes, she heard jovial cries of farewell as guests departed. Screwing up her face, she groaned. Why can't they all leave at once so she could leave and get some food without embarrassing her relatives?

 

Finally, after another full forty-five minutes, the front door slammed once more and a hush fell over the hallway outside of the room. After a moment, Applejack caught the low hiss of Aunt and Uncle Orange whispering quietly, just outside the closed bedroom door.

 

“... then we are in agreement?” her uncle asked.

 

“Oh, absolutely, I quite agree…” Aunt Orange replied.

 

Applejack slipped off the bed and crept across the room, pressing her fluffy ear to the door. The quiet creak of the floorboards masked what her Auntie had said next.

 

“Yes, it went much too far, darling,” Uncle Orange said crisply.

 

Applejack wasn't surprised to hear her uncle storming about the guests treating her like a silly mule and immediately felt guilty, yet again, for putting them through such embarrassment. However, her aunt's response made her realize that she had horribly misunderstood them.

 

“Yes, much too far,” she echoed. “She will pay, go and fetch it, my dear.”

 

Before Applejack could move away from the door, it was thrust roughly open. The posh, well dressed figure of Aunt Orange was framed in the doorway, looking down at her; the orange filly had hit the floor as the wooden door swung wide.

 

“Get up!” her Auntie commanded, her outline slightly obscured from the glow of the hallway.

 

Applejack jumped to her hooves and scuttled away from her. Aunt Orange flicked on the light switch and flooded the room with light. The expression on her face had changed. Rather than the kindly concerned countenance that had escorted the farm pony into the room, an angry, aggravated scowl greeted her this time.

 

Marching across the room, Aunt Orange seized a tall, leather-backed chair pushed up to a desk of the guest bedroom and pulled it out, dragging it to the center of the room. Applejack stared at it in bewilderment, rubbing her thigh absentmindedly where she had fell to the floor. They both remained where they stood in silence, waiting for the sounds of Uncle Orange’s approaching hoof-falls.

 

Ears perking at his arrival, Applejack watched him enter the room, carrying a weird looking stick in his mouth. It was a little over two feet long, though one of the ends was curled up to meet itself. It looked remarkable like a walking cane an elderly pony would use, but it just wasn’t long or big enough. As he moved to sit down in the chair her Auntie had pulled out, he dropped the small cane into his left hoof, gripping it just before the loop.

 

Her attention entirely on her uncle, Applejack hadn’t noticed Aunt Orange walk up to her. Before she had a chance to do anything, her aunt’s hoof twisted around her ear and gave it a fierce tug.

 

“Ow!” Applejack gasped in surprise, instinctively trying to pull away.

 

“Get across your uncle’s knee!” she ordered in the same tone as before. “Right now!”

 

“W-why?!” Applejack asked fearfully, shocked at the anger in her voice.

 

She didn’t answer. Applejack’s hooves caught at the rug as she was dragged none-too-gently toward her uncle. Once she was within reach, he stretched out his right forehoof and yanked her across his lap. She felt him lift her tail with the cane and swoop it over her back, where he clamped down on it with his left forehoof, securing her in place with his strong grip.

 

Before she could even begin to comprehend what was happening, having never been in such a position before, a sharp, blistering pain shot through her rump as the cane slashed down like a sword, straight across both of her buttcheeks.

 

“When we took you in,” Aunt Orange started as Applejack let out a cry of both pain and fear, “we resolved to stamp out that nonsensical barnyard attitude and vernacular!”

 

Whack, whack, whack, whack. Uncle Orange was merciless with the cane, bringing it down sharply across the left cheek, with the tip striking the right slightly harder. Applejack kicked her hooves out, the heavy sense of alarm building in her chest as she started to bawl her eyes out as her rump was assaulted with even more smacks from that awful weapon.

 

“I daresay you’ll recall the words we taught you!” her Auntie continued, sitting on the floor in front of the chair with her forehooves folded across her chest. “Imagine my surprise when you had the audacity to utter your mudspeak at my dinner table!”

 

“Aah-Aah don’t… Aah don’t…” Applejack tried to choke out, twitching her body this way and that, twitching her tail as hard as she could, desperate to get away. “AAH DON’T KNOW WHAT AAH DID WRONG!”

 

“DID YOU EXPECT OUR GUESTS TO UNDERSTAND WHAT A ROOSTER IS?!” she demanded, her voice rising above Applejack’s cries. “THERE ARE NO ROOSTERS IN MANEHATTAN!”

 

Applejack couldn’t respond. Uncle Orange was striking her twice in the same spot before moving onto another, moving from the top of her bottom, down the middle, and then to the pudgy droop before her upper thighs. This extra focus on each spot ensured that a ferocious blaze engulfed and spread down her rump, keeping the pain at a constant peak with each and every whack from the cane.

 

“We are sophisticated, educated, and leagues above your filthy kind back on that ridiculous farm!” she snapped, watching angry red lines forming across Applejack’s cheeks with a fierce approval. The skin stretching between each mark was growing pink. “The best way to ensure that you will never be tempted by such ignorance again will be to beat the ignorance out of you! You mark my words, young lady, your uncle will break that cane across your ass next time you forget your place amongst privileged company.”

 

Applejack was screaming in misery, thrashing across her uncle’s lap as much as his firm hold on her would permit. Her Auntie’s scolding barely reached her brain as her mind was solely focused on the agony of the vicious discipline being doled out against her fanny. Her eyes was pressed tightly together, tears gushing down her face and mixing with the snot as it dripped endlessly onto the floor. Each time the cane bit into her flesh, she was sure it was tearing chunks of it away, it hurt so badly.

 

“I do hope you take this lesson to heart, Applejack!” Aunt Orange finished, moving toward the door. “I will give you another spanking myself tomorrow morning to make sure. Now, get to bed.”

 

Uncle Orange finished the terrifying caning and immediately set her down on the floor, where she curled up and wailed, unable to touch her sore backside and unable to feel the rising welts. He pushed the chair back into the desk and left the room without a word.

 

The door slammed shut and she was once again alone, hurt, terrified, and starving.

 

Hours passed. Applejack didn’t manage to get much sleep, her growling stomach and agonizing backside preventing her from getting comfortable. She had spent most of the night crying her eyes out, wanting nothing more than to feel the embrace of her parents or grandmother.

 

She found herself leaning on the open window sill, gazing towards distant Ponyville, her heart completely broken as the sun slowly rose over the horizon. She wondered what Granny Smith and Big Macintosh were up to that very moment? What she wouldn’t give to go home...