[FLUTTERRAPE] Tarnished Silver


                                            Originally uploaded to Pastebin: December 29th, 2013

                                            ---


                                            An Anon and I came up with the ingenious idea of writing yet another Silver Spoon story called "Tarnished Silver". Because we felt that people weren't confused enough as it is.


                                            Now when people ask "Has Tarnished Silver updated?", we can say "Yes. Yes it has. Here it is."


                                            And then we'll send them--

                                            Get this.


                                            WE'LL SEND THEM THE -WRONG- STORY!


                                            AHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHA


                                            ---


                                            >"Where is that monkey slave?!"

                                            >Set down the silverware you were polishing.

                                            >At the other end of the rather luxurious dining room, Silver Spoon storms in, looking like a dog that just sat on its own balls.

                                            >"Slave? SLAVE?"

                                            >Pick up the silver and continue polishing, whistling to yourself.

                                            >"I know you can hear me! Don't ignore me!"

                                            >Look down at your feet.

                                            >A tiny angry pony is glaring up at you.

                                            "Oh, Miss Spoon. I didn't see you there. Whatever is the matter?"

                                            >"Father and mother left and didn't make me breakfast, that's what! Make me breakfast!"

                                            "My apologies, Miss Spoon. What would you like to eat?"

                                            >Silver Spoon sneers at you.

                                            >"I want a feast. I want a hay and daisy salad with a freshly baked cinnamon and pumpkin pie before I have to go to school!"

                                            >Frown.

                                            "I'm afraid that's impossible, Miss Spoon."

                                            >"You don't tell me what is and what isn't impossible! Make me food NOW!"

                                            >She shouts the last word and pouts harder than you've ever seen her pout before.

                                            >Take a deep breath and smile at her as best you can.

                                            "I'll see what I can do, Miss Spoon."

                                            >"You'd better! My daddy pays you!"

                                            >He doesn't pay you enough to put up with this little shit.

                                            >Grand Silver is a good stallion. Works hard and is strict but fair.

                                            >You enjoy working for him because he treats you with a modicum of respect.

                                            >His wife isn't so kind. She enjoys ordering you to do asinine tasks that aren't worth anyone's time.

                                            >Like making each strand of hair in her mane is perfect.

                                            >Your mind drifts away as you check the cupboards in the kitchen.

                                            >Which happens to be twice as big as your own servant's quarters.

                                            >Silver Spoon taps her hoof impatiently.

                                            >"Don't keep me waiting, slave!"

                                            "I'm not a slave, Miss. I'm a servant."

                                            >"They're the same thing!"

                                            "No they are not. A slave doesn't get paid for his labour. And your father pays me to do work. Therefore making me a servant and not a slave."

                                            >"Whatever. Just make me my food."

                                            >She sits down at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

                                            >Set a bowl full of cereal in front of her.

                                            >The look on her face could poison the souls of lesser men.

                                            >"What... Is THIS?!"

                                            >Silver Spoon slams her hoof on the counter, making the bowl jump.

                                            "Your food, Miss Spoon."

                                            >A look of pure disgust crosses her face.

                                            >In a swipe of her hoof, the bowl crashes to the floor, sending milk, cereal and porcelain everywhere.

                                            >"I ASKED FOR A FEAST AND YOU GIVE ME -COMMONER- FOOD?"

                                            >You clench your fists and teeth, trying not to show your rage.

                                            "My... Apologies, Miss Spoon. But you have neither the time, nor the stomach for a 'feast' this early in the morning. You shall have to make do with something simple, as you have school in less than thirty minutes."

                                            >Silver Spoon tries to kill you with her eyes.

                                            >"My father will hear about this."

                                            >She hops off her seat and storms towards her bedroom.

                                            >Before she leaves the room, the filly shouts back at you, not bothering to turn her head to do so.

                                            >"And clean up that mess you made."

                                            >Wait until she's gone.

                                            >Punch the counter.

                                            >It hurts, but your rage numbs it.

                                            >Get yourself a cloth and bucket and start mopping up the mess, carefully tracking down each piece of scattered porcelain.

                                            >Your job is hell at the worst of times. But the pay is enough to keep you afloat.

                                            >Still got several months of saving up to do before you can be confident enough to move on.

                                            >You were hired because you were more of a novelty than other servants, but you don't mind.

                                            >Any opportunity to get more money is something you'll grasp with both hands.

                                            >Finish cleaning the mess and put the shattered remains of the bowl in a nearby bin, then leave the milk-sodden cloth to soak in water.

                                            >"SEEERVAAANT!"

                                            >Sigh.

                                            >Your work is never done.

                                            >Ascend the stairs and stand outside Silver Spoon's closed bedroom door.

                                            "Do you require something, Miss Spoon?"

                                            >"Come in here, NOW."

                                            >Mentally psyche yourself up.

                                            >You can do this, Anon. 20 minutes until she has to go to school.

                                            >Push open the door and stroll in.

                                            >The filly sits with her back to you, staring in a mirror.

                                            >She glares at your reflection behind her in it.

                                            >"What took you so long? When I call for you I expect you to be here immediately."

                                            >Silver Spoon huffs.

                                            >"Never mind. Just get over here."

                                            >Walk over and stand behind her, her back to your waist because of the height of the chair.

                                            >"Pick up that brush. Brush my mane."

                                            "I'm sorry?"

                                            >Her head snaps around and she fixes you with cold, narrowed eyes.

                                            >"Did I STUTTER? You have the honour of brushing my mane."

                                            >She jabs a hoof a brush with several strands of silvery hair all over it.

                                            >"So get to it. I don't have much time for your idiocy."

                                            >Wrap your fingers around it, trying not to crush the tiny brush in your death grip.

                                            >Take some of her mane in your hand and gently brush it, resisting all the urges to rip out her hair "by accident".

                                            >"Hmph. Not bad. But do hurry up. You're as slow as you are stupid."

                                            >Increase the pace of your brushing, taking care on each stroke.

                                            >Her mane conforms to your actions, the hair falling into line and becoming smoother.

                                            >Silver Spoon turns her head to look at herself in the mirror.

                                            >For the first time all morning, she smiles.

                                            >"You've done a good job. For a monkey slave."

                                            "Is there anything else you need, Miss Spoon?"

                                            >She doesn't reply for a while.

                                            >Instead she gazes at your reflection in the mirror, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.

                                            >The filly glances at a clock.

                                            >10 minutes until she has to go.

                                            >"Yes. Yes there is something you can do."

                                            >Straighten up and await her orders.

                                            >Silver Spoon spins around in her chair and looks up at you.

                                            >"I want you to rub my belly."

                                            >...

                                            "Rub your belly."

                                            >Another smirk from her.

                                            >"Oh good. You're learning. Yes, I said rub my belly. Make it quick, I'm supposed to meet Diamond Tiara outside school and I shan't keep her waiting."

                                            >With that, she jumps down and waddles over to her bed, leaping onto it and rolling onto her back.

                                            >She looks at you expectantly.

                                            >"Well? What are you waiting for?"

                                            "I am not sure this is such a good idea, Miss Spoon. Have you brushed your teeth and packed your bags? There are better things to be doing with your time than--"

                                            >"RUB ME!"

                                            >Her sudden scream causes you to jump.

                                            >She's back to being angry.

                                            >Her eyes burn with a fury that only a spoilt brat can muster.

                                            >"Rub my belly NOW. Or father will hear about how you abuse me when he's gone. He has connections in all the legal firms around here. You wouldn't stand a chance."

                                            >A malevolent smile crosses her lips.

                                            >Your mind is telling you to run. To take your savings and flee Ponyville.

                                            >But you know you won't survive with the money you have at the moment.

                                            >So you grimace, stroll over, and sit down on the bed next to the filly.

                                            >"Good boy. Now place your hand on my belly."

                                            >You do as she asks.

                                            >Her coat is warm, furry, her tummy plushy.

                                            >She giggles at your touch before catching herself.

                                            >"Now rub."

                                            >On command, you start rubbing your hand back and forth over her belly, the fine hairs tickling your hand.

                                            >The filly beneath your hand squirms and tries not to giggle.

                                            >"U-use your fingers..."

                                            >Nodding, your digits curl slightly and start scratching her gently.

                                            >Silver Spoon's back leg twitches madly, and her breath becomes short, and rapid.

                                            >"G-good slave... Keep going."

                                            >Your eyes wander to the clock.

                                            >5 more minutes.

                                            >Your tormentor notices you look at it.

                                            >"You know... I-if you keep this up, I might take the day off school~"

                                            >She sighs happily as your fingers work their magic, making her shudder and writhe.

                                            >"Diamond Tiara can wait~"

                                            >God no.

                                            "Miss Spoon. I think you should go--"

                                            >"Don't speak."

                                            >Her voice is hushed, a huge grin plastered on her face while your hand, now starting to get tired from repetitive movement, rubs her.

                                            >"Don't ruin the moment."

                                            >The filly squirms again, trying to somehow make your hand touch more of her at once.

                                            >"I like the feeling of your hands, Anonymous."

                                            >...

                                            >Did she just call you by your name?

                                            >Raise an eyebrow.

                                            >"You make me feel... Gooood~"

                                            >She lets out a moan.

                                            >This is quickly getting out of hand.

                                            >No pun intended.

                                            >Another moan, though this one sounds off.

                                            >Your ears perk up at the noise she just made.

                                            >Silver Spoon, taking no notice of anything other than your hand, groans again.

                                            >The noise that comes out of her mouth doesn't belong to her though.

                                            >"Ooo-oooaaagghh..."

                                            >You start sweating, praying for this to be over.

                                            >"Keep. Keep going."

                                            >Her voice sounds deeper.

                                            >"Keep rubbing me. Do it harder."

                                            >You press your hand down slightly, applying more pressure to the filly's plump belly.

                                            >"Uuuuuuuuggggghhh!"

                                            "What."

                                            >"I said no talking."

                                            >That is NOT her voice.

                                            >Silver Spoon's voice has changed drastically.

                                            >It's now deep. Guttural. Almost demonic.

                                            >"Keep rubbing me, human. My time is almost near."

                                            >Locked in a trance, you keep going.

                                            >You've already crossed the line.

                                            >Let's see how far you can go.

                                            >Your rubbing increases in pace and ferocity.

                                            >The filly below you lets out a roar, shaking the windows.

                                            >Your morbid curiosity keeps you going.

                                            >"YES. THAT'S IT."

                                            >The filly under your hand starts vibrating violently.

                                            >Quickly stand up and step backwards away from the bed.

                                            >Silver Spoon convulses, her body bending into positions that look extremely uncomfortable.

                                            >"MORE. I DEMAND MORE."

                                            "Uhh, I don't think that's a good idea, Miss Spoon."

                                            >"YOU DARE TO QUESTION ME? I SHALL BEND YOU TO MY ULTIMATE AUTHORITY."

                                            >She sits bolt upright, her eyes burning with anger.

                                            >...

                                            >Oh shit they are -actually- burning.

                                            >White hot flames pour forth from her eyes, with a brightness so intense it's hard to look at.

                                            >"RUB. MY. BELLY."

                                            >And in your most stupid decision yet, you lose your spaghetti.

                                            "Y-you too."

                                            >"RRRAAAARRRRRGGHHHH!"

                                            >Silver Spoon's eyes each fire a bright white laser beam where you were stood before you leapt out of the way.

                                            >The wall behind you explodes, the brick at such a high temperature that it's melting in places.

                                            >"DO NOT MOVE. I COMMAND YOU TO BE STILL!"

                                            >Laugh nervously and edge towards the door.

                                            >The filly's head slowly follows you.

                                            >"RETURN TO MY SIDE. RUB MY BELLY UNTIL THE RIVERS OF TIME RUN DRY."

                                            "That's uhh, really nice."

                                            >You're almost at the door.

                                            "But I think I've been a terrible servant so I'll just be umm."

                                            >Your fingers blindly grope for the door handle.

                                            "C-consider this my official resignation."

                                            >Neither of you move for a second.

                                            "Bye."

                                            >"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

                                            >Almost rip the door from it's hinges and dive through it as the general area you were standing disintegrates.

                                            >"YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME, HUMAN. I SHALL FIND YOU."

                                            >Sprint towards the master bedroom where her parents sleep on the other side of the landing across from Silver Spoon's bedroom.

                                            >Kick open the door, not bothering to close it. Not like it can stop her.

                                            >Gotta be something in here you can use to fend off or subdue their daughter.

                                            >Look over your shoulder.

                                            >Silver Spoon is stood amongst the smouldering ruins of her bedroom door.

                                            >The two of you lock eyes for a second.

                                            >But instead of melting you, her mouth opens.

                                            >And keeps opening.

                                            >Silver Spoon's jaw seems to dislocate, much like that of a snake's jaw.

                                            >A pair of beastly yellow eyes look out at at you.

                                            >Watch in terror, amusement and slight arousal as a fully grown adult manticore emerges from Silver Spoon's tiny body.

                                            >It swats away the empty body suit that was Silver Spoon and roars at you.

                                            >A voice that shakes your very core hits your ears.

                                            >"I AM FALDROCK. GOD OF DEATH."

                                            >...

                                            >Well. At least he doesn't have the lasers any--

                                            >His eyes start glowing white.

                                            >--Nah, he still has the laser eyes.

                                            >Leap out the way of another beam that removes a section of wall from the house, burning through several other rooms and showing you the outside world.

                                            >Rip open a random closet and reach around inside, looking for anything.

                                            >Ancestral swords.

                                            >Letter openers.

                                            >Battle axes.

                                            >Your fingers wrap around something rounded and heavy.

                                            >Pulling it out, you bring your new weapon to bear against your foe.

                                            >Faldrock (God of Death) blinks.

                                            >"WHAT. IS -THAT-?"

                                            >Look at the comically oversized black dildo in your hands.

                                            >It must be the size of your forearm at least, and easily as thick.

                                            >The dildo flops around, it's weight apparent.

                                            >Turn it slightly, and read the engraved name out loud.

                                            "The Homewrecker."

                                            >Let out a roar and charge the manticore.

                                            >It bellows it's own battlecry at you and lets loose another death ray in your direction.

                                            >Sidestep to avoid it and draw back the dildo.

                                            >Swing it as hard as you can at the manticore's face when you're in range.

                                            >It smashes into the side of his head, and you see a fang fly out from his mouth.

                                            >Faldrock screams in outrage and backhands you with one of his mighty lion paws.

                                            >You get launched through the bannisters and fall an entire story onto your back, landing in the atrium of the mansion by the front door.

                                            >The wooden floor at the bottom provides the same level of comfort as a block of cement.

                                            >Groan and remove bits of splinted wood from your skin.

                                            >Faldrock hurls himself from the top of the landing, his wings spread and claws ready rip you asunder.

                                            >Roll out of the way and spring to your feet, delivering another blow to the manticore's face.

                                            >Before he can recover from being cockslapped again, you slam the dildo into the top of his head.

                                            >Barely manage to swerve to the side as his eyes melt the front of the house.

                                            >Raise the Homewrecker skyward and lay into his skull again and again.

                                            >The manticore crumples under the sheer weight of the floppy black testamant to stallionhood.

                                            >"Y-YOU WILL NOT DEFEAT ME!"

                                            >He roars his loudest yet, the entire mansion shaking from it.

                                            >His eyes light up and a continuous stream of white hot laser is pointed everywhere he can look.

                                            >You try your best to avoid the beams.

                                            >The house is obliterated by his rampage, the manticore's death lasers making short work of everything they touch while you duck, dive and dodge whilst clutching your trusty horsecock.

                                            >Just as Faldrock's onslaught finishes, a burning pain lances out over your body.

                                            >Let out a scream and look to your side.

                                            >Your left arm has been severed off by one of the beams.

                                            >Drop to your knees before the manticore, tears falling freely from your eyes.

                                            >Faldrock looks at your blackened, dismembered arm and revels in his triumph.

                                            >"VICTORY IS NEAR, HUMAN. GIVE UP NOW, AND I'LL GRANT YOU A QUICK DEATH."

                                            >Tighten your grip on the Homewrecker and raise your head, meeting the eyes of your adversary.

                                            "I can't think of anything witty to say."

                                            >Your remaining arm hurls the Homewrecker straight at the God of Death.

                                            >The dildo flies true, and embeds itself in the right eye of Faldrock.

                                            >He screams in agony, white cracks starting to appear all over his body.

                                            >"NO! NOOO!"

                                            >Pick yourself up, grab your arm and sprint out the hole in the house, running across the grass outside, the voice of Faldrock following you out as you try to get to safety.

                                            >"NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!"

                                            >A thunderous explosion annihilates the entire property.

                                            >White fire consumes every last bit of the house, sending a heatwave rushing past you, burning the grass and turning any nearby trees to ash in a second.

                                            >Your clothes also set on fire, and you rip them off your body, casting them aside and lying naked on the scorched earth.

                                            >Pant, roll onto your back and look up at the sky, which is becoming dark with smoke.

                                            >Ash and tiny bits of burning debris rain down on you.

                                            >All that is left of the Spoon residence is a black pit.

                                            >Narrow your eyes at a particularly large bit of debris about to land on you.

                                            >Roll to the side.

                                            >The Homewrecker slams into the dirt next to you, covered in soot but otherwise completely unharmed.

                                            >What the hell do they make them out of nowadays.

                                            >Lie there for about an hour.

                                            >Fireponies arrive and start putting out any remaining fires.

                                            >The press is on the scene, but takes no notice of you.

                                            >You are perfectly content to just stare up at the sky.

                                            >That is, until a familiar face enters your vision upside down.

                                            >"Anonymous."

                                            "Grand Silver."

                                            >"Why does my house no longer exist?"

                                            >You sit up, and look at the wasteland that is now the Spoon property.

                                            >Look down at your burnt naked form, then at charred limb on your lap, then at the huge black horsecock lying next to you.

                                            "I rubbed your daughter's belly."


                                            The End


                                            I will never write a serious story.