Based on the "Flutterrape LTD" story written by Nebulus.
https://ponepaste.org/920

***

>You and Short Storys were both hard at work typing away in your shared cubicle.
>Both of you had a deadline to meet for a finished story today.
>The pressure had been on to make some money ever since Fluttershy wasted all your funds on junk food and porn.
>She wanted to go crawling back to Milky right away but you managed to get her to postpone that obvious disaster waiting to happen.
>Thankfully, your writing had been going well.
>You were in the editing stage now, having finished typing up the final draft of your Pinkie Pie inflatable mare dong rape story an hour earlier.
>Behind you Shorts was grumbling and sitting hunched over enough to have her shoulders touching her ears.
>You judged that she must have still been struggling a bit with writing the ending to the third book in her Wandering Samurai Human vs. Shogun Rapelestia series.
>You watched her work for a moment.
>First, she would look at her story notes that she had written in her notepad.
>Then she would stare down at her keyboard and start typing.
>She was working steadily, but every time she looked up at the screen to see what she had written she groaned.
>After a few hours of hearing these steady groans you got a digital message sent to you from Fluttershy.
>It read:
>‘Wold u and Shorts stop fuckng I cn here tht bitch moaneng so loud our fucking baby can proabably here her!!!!!!! >:(‘
>When you saw the frowny face you rolled your eyes.
>Fluttershy never used emoticons before she got pregnant, but now her raging hormones were making her do all sorts of annoying little things like that.
>In a way, you kind of missed the old crazy Fluttershy who used to break things and bite the crotches of anyone that annoyed her.
>Now she was more like a beached whale that had washed up on the shore next to your seaside condo, and it was your responsibility to feed and occasionally hump this whale every other hour or else it would start to sing its songs.
>Shorts groaned again.
>You wrote Fluttershy back, telling her that Shorts was just stressing over her deadline.
>Fluttershy replied:
>‘O well make her shut th fuck up then’
>You shrugged and spun your chair around to face Shorts.
Shorts, you doing alright or do you need help with something?
>“I’m going to finish it,” she said without looking away from her screen.
Okay, fine. I was just wondering.
>“Well, when you’re done wondering, you can go ahead and tell her that I’m going to finish it,” Shorts said while typing.
>You stared at Short’s back for a bit, wondering how she knew that Fluttershy was involved.
>Maybe it was a girl thing or something.
>“And also, tell her to back off. I can practically feel her huge gut pressing down on me right now.”
>Before you could respond you got another message from Fluttershy.
>‘Is that slut in there talken shit about me?  >:0’
>How the fuck did she know . . . ? Whatever.
>You sent a message back saying that Shorts had been working this whole time.
>Not a moment later, Shorts said:
>“Did you tell her that I was going to finish it?”
I mentioned it.
>“You better have,” she said. “I’m already done. I wrote the ending last night. I’m just having trouble getting this dialogue down.”
Yeah, dialogue can be tough, especially when you have to rely on it alone to fill a scene. Plus you have to make what your characters are saying interesting, but not so interesting that it’s obvious that the character is just having words put in his mouth by the author, because that will ruin your story’s verisimilitude; your main goal in any dialogue-driven scene is to mimic real speech, as well as make that speech interesting to listen to through the mouths of your individual characters, all while also including, hidden somewhere in those specific, chosen words—including some kind of metaphoric significance that relates to your story’s main themes; but you can’t get too longwinded about it or have your dialogue be too complex, like, when you have to have a retarded fucking semicolon in your character’s speech just to prove your point—
>Shorts spun around in her chair and gave you a short look from over her glasses.
>“I know how to write good dialogue, you tool,” she said. “I’m just having trouble typing what I wrote down last night.”
Having trouble doing what?
>Shorts rolled her eyes.
>Then she held her hooves up and started waving them back and forth before your eyes.
>You watched them for a moment before getting it.
Oh . . . yeah, I guess that makes sense. Sorry, Shorts.
>“It’s not so bad. I mean, I got used to it. But that doesn’t mean that typing dialogue isn’t all of a sudden going to stop being a huge pain in the ass for anyone that has hooves. Do you have any idea how often I get asked if I want to turn on sticky keys?”
Sounds rough.
>She spun further away from her computer and rested her legs on top of the desk that ran along the cubicle walls.
>“Like, typing with hooves is bad enough already. When I’m writing down all those you’s we start every other sentence with I’m hitting the seven, the eight, and the nine, too, among others.”
Is it really that bad?
>Shorts frowned before flicking her eyes towards her computer screen.
>You looked past her and at the page her story left off on.
>Well, actually, you were wrong.
>It wasn’t a story yet but rather more like lines of code, made up of both letters and numbers that were bunched up in small, oddly spaced groups, the way serial killers sometimes do.
>When you finally did look away from the mesmerizing page you blinked hard.
>Shorts noticed.
>“How’s it feel?”
Trying to read your writing made me feel like I had suddenly become dyslexic and retarded at the same time.
>Shorts smirked.
>“Good insult, but I think your baby mama has been rubbing off on you a bit too much lately.”
Sorry. This is just weird to me. I’ve read your stories before and they were always very clean. I hardly ever found a spelling error. I mean there’s grammar errors sometimes, and you use too many adjectives, and you like to start your sentences with infinite-verb phrases, and you overuse your dashes—
>“I spend a long time editing.”
Not long enough, apparently.
>Just then you got another message.
It’s from Fluttershy.
>“If she wants me to crush M&M’s for her to sprinkle on top of her ice cream again, then tell her I went home.”
>You read the message while Shorts muttered under her breath about how a bitch can only take so much before she starts farting on your M&M’s when you’re not looking.
You’ll have to entertain your petty revenge fantasies some other time, Shorts. We’re having a staff meeting in the boardroom.
>“Why the boardroom?”
I don’t know, maybe because she knows already that we’re going to be bored.
>Shorts cringed at your joke.
>You pursed your lips.
Whatever. Just be thankful that we won’t have to go in her office this time and smell all that wet carpet in there.
>Shorts frowned.
>“I really have no idea why I’m still working here.”
>The board room had once been a place where everyone in the building could gather to discuss changes and current projects.
>But it had been scantly used since the company’s decline, except as a wide room to drink in during the weekly ritual known as Karaoke Fridays, otherwise known as the day before Hangover Saturdays.
>There were still bottles on the floor and table from last week’s ritual, as well as candy wrappers and the occasional illicit magazine, thanks to your boss.
>You and Shorts entered the board room and sat on opposite sides at the head of the long table inside.
>Fluttershy stood before you both.
>The screen had been pulled down behind her and you noticed that she had taken the projector out of storage and actually set it up next to the space-themed karaoke machine in the room.
>A microphone, held up by duct tape, was dangling a couple inches from the ceiling.
>You got Fluttershy’s attention and then pointed up at it.
What’s that?
>She shrugged.
>“I don’t know.”
What do you mean you don’t know?
>Fluttershy glared at you.
>“I don’t know. Shit. Am I supposed to know fucking everything that goes on here?”
Well, you are technically the boss.
>“And I’m a fucking great one. Did you even see that I set up the projector? It was a nightmare to do with all those fucking wires all tangled up over there.”
>You looked and saw that the floor by the projector was covered in a mess of wires, though it was a mess that had not been there last Friday.
>As far as you could recall the mess had not even existed before the meeting.
That’s quite a knot of wires we got there all of a sudden.
>“Isn’t there only one outlet over there?” Shorts said.
>“Well, we have a lot to discuss today,” Fluttershy said. “First, is everybody here?”
>You and Shorts looked at each other before you both turned towards Fluttershy.
I think so.
>“Isn’t there a third guy?” Fluttershy said.
I don’t think that would even be possible, especially considering that we barely even pay Shorts minimum wage.
>“Actually, minimum wage increased this year,” Shorts said. “But I don’t mind, I guess.”
>“No, I know there’s a third guy,” Fluttershy said.
>She then looked down towards the end of the table.
>“Oh, I guess he was here.”
>In the seat farthest from you there sat a soiled man who had a paper bag on his head and a clumpy grey broom beard that covered his face and neck completely.
>He had passed out sometime during your non-discovery of him and had fallen asleep with his head resting on the table.
Yeah, that guy does not work here. He’s probably just some wino who saw the nametag on Freebeer’s old desk out front and came in here looking for a handout.
>“No, he works here,” Fluttershy said. “He keeps our building neat and tidy in exchange for your lunch.”
Oh, okay, well, tell him he’s doing a great job so far.
>You leaned back and stretched your legs, which made you knock over a small pyramid of empty bottles that had been on the floor.
>Their glass bodies collided with each other, clanging like harsh bells.
Make sure to invite him to Karaoke Friday, too.
>Fluttershy shook her head.
>“Karaoke Friday is only for employees that are on the payroll. That’s what makes it special.”
I didn’t know watching you masturbate in the corner while we look the other way and get sauced was anything special. That’s something that happens daily, besides the getting sauced.
>“Bite my clit, faggot. I’ve sauced your hot monkey dick twice for every time you ever punched in your time card.”
Yeah, you go ahead and brag about all the sex we’ve had, my lovely little rapist pony boss.
>“Whatever. Don’t come to Karaoke Fridays anymore if they bother you so much. You suck anyway.”
Sure.
>“You’re not as bad as Shorts, though.”
>Shorts scrunched her muzzle.
>“What the heck did I do? Don’t drag me into your guys’ lover’s quarrel, okay?”
>“This is about Karaoke Friday,” Fluttershy said. “You’re fucking ruining it when you sing the same stupid songs over and over again, night after night.”
I’ve got to side with Fluttershy here, Shorts. There are more songs out there than “Every Breath You Take” and “You Belong With Me”.
>Shorts blushed.
>“But those are my two favorite songs.”
>“You need to stop being a bitch, Shorts,” Fluttershy said. “Otherwise, I’m going to rape you repeatedly while those songs play so that you’ll never be able to hear them again without having a panic attack.”
We just want to hear you sing some other songs once in a while.
>“But I’ve sung other songs before.”
>“That fucking Puff Daddy remix doesn’t count, you stupid whore,” Fluttershy said.
>“Look, can we just get started with this meeting already? Because right now I’m feeling even more uncomfortable than I usually do at this place.”
>“No, we can’t get started,” Fluttershy said. “Not everyone is here yet.”
Everyone is . . . wait a sec.
>You turned around.
>The wino was sleeping face forward on the table, his cheek now in a small puddle of drool that had dripped out from his open mouth.
Okay, yeah, everyone is here. What the fuck, Fluttershy?
>“I’m waiting for Slasher.”
Slasher lives in the vents of this dilapidated hellhole. He’s not exactly someone who’s reliable, and I doubt he’ll be attending this meeting.
>“He’s an employee just like you.”
He trained a giant rat to steal from our fridge.
>“He’s a writer like you and me.”
You’re not a fucking writer.
>“I meant you and Shorts.”
How the hell did you mean . . . ? Okay, you know what, I don’t care. This is eating into my lunch hour anyway.
>“Mine, too,” Shorts said. “And seeing as how I didn’t give my lunch to a lazy homeless drunk, I say that we should hurry and get this over with already.”
>“Well, I guess Slasher is technically late by now. I sent him a message same as I sent you one.”
Wait, Slasher is hooked up to our network?
>Fluttershy shrugged.
>You looked over at the covered vent in the far corner of the room and saw that some tiny screws and plastic computer parts were scattered next to it.
We really need to sit down and find a way to look into our ventilation system without dying sometime.
>“Not now,” Fluttershy said. “We’re starting the meeting.”
Really, we’re starting now? No more last minute shenanigans?
>“I’m really getting hungry now,” Shorts said.
>“Shut up, Shorts.”
>Fluttershy cleared her throat, took a moment to compose herself, and then said:
>“Team, we have a very serious financial crisis that’s plaguing our company right now, the crisis being that we’re fucking broke and are now on the verge of losing our business entirely. It’s true that we were on a financial upswing for a while there, but just as unexpectedly as we got out of the hole we are now finding ourselves back in it again.”
>You and Shorts shared brief, unamused looks with each other.
>Unexpectedly your ass.
>You both knew that Fluttershy irresponsibly lost all of the money Milky gave her to keep the company from sinking.
>After a brief pause, Fluttershy continued:
>“Things look shitty now, but I assure you that we can pull through this and come out looking successful. We just need to make some quick money to keep us afloat for now, otherwise everything I said before about us coming out successful will end up being a bunch of bullshit that you two will always throw in my face whenever we happen to see each other at the unemployment office.”
Truly inspiring words, boss.
>A moment later you had lined the projector’s image onto the screen while Fluttershy moved her chair so it was next to yours.
>After you both sat down she yelled at Shorts to get the lights.
>Shorts did, and then stumbled and fell on a dozen different bottles before she managed to crawl back onto her chair.
>Fluttershy clicked a button on the projector remote.
>“Now then, I made this awesome title screen that I think will explain everything.”
>The title appeared in yellow comic sans, accompanied by a background covered in hairy penises, vaginas, and breasts that had all been drawn crudely in Paint.
>After much squinting, the title could be read:
>‘Fluttershy’s Kick Ass Ideas 2 Save the >Rape’
>“See the dolphin?”
>Fluttershy pointed towards the lower left corner of the screen where there was a three-dimensional cartoon dolphin wearing sunglasses.
>She clicked a button.
>Nothing happened.
>She snorted.
>“Well, he’s supposed to be fucking dancing, but I guess he’s just being a little bitch.”
Oh, what, did you rape him, too? Did your obsession with rape somehow drive you to engineer a way for you to rape a cartoon?
>“Shut up. He’s just upset that all his friends got caught up in tuna nets.”
>You heard Shorts stomach growl. She sighed.
>“Please don’t talk about food right now.”
>A new slide came to the screen.
>It was another crude drawing, but it was of a house being set on fire by a stick figure wielding a flamethrower.
>The stick figure had a huge crudely drawn penis between its legs.
Is that supposed to be me?
>“My first idea to get us some quick cash would involve us setting the building on fire for the insurance payout.”
>“But that’s a house,” Shorts said.
>“Shut up. I couldn’t draw a building, okay?”
Fluttershy, this won’t work.
>“Oh, don’t be a little pussy. What’s a little insurance fraud every now and then, or are you just afraid to get your hands dirty outside of our little fisting adventures?”
We don’t have any insurance.
>Fluttershy was silent.
>The only sound to be heard was the whir of the fan in the projector.
>“Have you two really fisted each other?” Shorts said. “That’s gross.”
Hey! I didn’t get fisted. Did you forget that she doesn’t even have hands?
>“Shut up,” Fluttershy said. “Also, Shorts, you’re fired. Let’s move on now.”
>The next slide appeared, though it was an exact copy of the earlier slide.
>The only real difference was that there was a certain pink alicorn—although the way she was drawn made her look more like a giraffe—who was also being set on fire.
>“Idea two would be for you to kill Cadance and then set the Pregnancy Corp building on fire. With nowhere else to go, all those writers will have to come stay with us. We can charge them rent and force them to write rape stories for the rest of their lives.”
Twilight would be upset if she saw this.
>“Well, we ain’t going to show it to her before we do it, dumbass.”
>“Do you have any ideas that aren’t illegal?” Shorts said.
>Fluttershy snorted.
>“You make it sound like just because they’re illegal then that automatically means that they’re bad too.”
These ideas are fucking stupid.
>“Okay smart guy, why don’t you tell us how you’re going to kill Cadance then. Oh, I know, you’ll want to send the giant rat to eat her, right? I already thought of that.”
>“It sure as hell is going to get hungry enough to try at this rate,” Shorts said.
>“See? Even Shorts thinks killing Cadance is a good idea.”
>“Woah! Hold up. I did not say anything of the sort.”
>“Shorts, you’re fired again . . . And now we’re going to have to kill you before you tell everyone about our plan to kill Cadance.”
Fluttershy, shut up. We’re not killing Shorts or Cadance. If we were going to do anything illegal it would be to ask Milky for more money—
>“I’m glad you mentioned that.”
—which is something we’re not doing.
>The next slide had already showed up, however, giving a full frontal view of you titty fucking a crudely drawn Milky giraffe.
>Shorts stared at the screen for a moment before swallowing a lump in her throat.
>“Okay, that one is actually kind of hot.”
>“Thank you, Shorts. You just got your job back.”
>Fluttershy turned to you.
>“And what’s the big deal anyway? Sure, Milky is a super criminal, and a terrorist, and she may or may not have some dealings in the foreign slave trade, but she’s still my good friend.”
That’s not the point. All of these stupid ideas of yours are just Band-Aids. If we followed through with any of these we’d either end up dead, locked up in jail, or back where we started soon enough.
>“All we have is a failing company and a baby on the way,” Fluttershy said. “What else are we supposed to do, sell Shorts into slavery?”
Selling Shorts into slavery won’t get us any real money.
>“You’re sticking up for me, and yet I feel insulted,” Shorts said.
>“Shut up, Shorts.”
Here’s what we have to do: We need to find a way to make some money off of our work again. That’s the only way we’re ever going to improve our situation.
>It was silent for a moment.
>Fluttershy sighed.
>“Well, I guess that might work.”
>She clicked a button.
>“That would bring us to idea number five, my last idea: Focus on improvement in hopes that the public will renew their interest in our product.”
>A drawing of you having a big boner and cumming, with Fluttershy licking the underside of your shaft, showed up on the screen.
>Shorts started biting her bottom lip.
>Fluttershy shrugged.
>“I never bothered to make a proper screen for that idea. Honestly, I was kind of hoping we were going to kill Cadance.”
Hey, come on now.
>You started rubbing Fluttershy’s back.
This is exactly where our focus needs to be. If we ever really want to make things right again, then this is what we have to do.
>Fluttershy started to hum and lean into your side, but there was still hesitance.
>“I don’t know. Are we sure about not killing Cadance?”
If things go well we may never have to kill Cadance.
>Now that you had her attention, Fluttershy slowly started nodding.
>“I guess I would be fine with just being more successful than Cadance and rubbing her big nose in it.”
Alright, now we’re getting somewhere now.
>Fluttershy closed her eyes and started to smile.
>“Yeah, we just need to revitalize our entire company.”
>“But how are we doing to do that when nobody reads or cares about rape stories anymore?”
>You stopped rubbing Fluttershy’s back.
>Her eyes shot open.
>You both turned to stare at Shorts, who shrugged.
>“What? Don’t kill the messenger.”
She’s right: nobody cares about us.  Even the people that still read rape stories don’t really care about us.
>Fluttershy knit her brows like she was upset.
>“Are you saying that rape is considered stale now?”
Afraid so.
>Fluttershy pursed her lips, then started to glare.
>“They’d never have thought that if any of them had actually raped someone before. Nothing makes you feel more alive than to have someone pinned down and at your mercy as you take their self-worth away from them with your pleasure parts.”
>You and Shorts stared at Fluttershy uneasily.
>She noticed you were both speechless after a while, and, sighing, said:
>“Sorry. It’s just a bit disillusioning to find out that your customers are all a bunch of posers.”
>“I wouldn’t know.”
>“Goddammit, Shorts, do I have to fire you every day?”
Anyway, I do think that we should try to reach for a bigger audience somehow.
>Fluttershy nodded.
>“Yeah, we need to find what people originally liked about rape and go back to that.”
That’s not a bad idea.
>“We need to repair the image of rape and make it seem as hip and edgy to the public as it used to be.”
>For the second time in ten seconds you were left speechless by something Fluttershy had said.
>She didn’t notice, though.
>Then she gasped suddenly.
>“What if we write a story where Donald Trump gets raped?”
Hold on, hold on. We can’t just keep writing rape stories in hopes that people will suddenly care again.
>“Well, what if it wasn’t just you and Shorts writing them?” Fluttershy said. “Maybe what we need is get some new talent to join us.”
Ordinarily I would agree with you, but we’ve got no money to hire anybody else.
>“Then we should hire people, but not pay them. Oh, or we could set up a fake charity, and—”
No, that’s doing illegal stuff again.
>“Well, I mean, yeah, it’s illegal, but at least nobody would get killed on purpose with these kinds of schemes.”
>“I can see why Milky Way was friends with you,” Shorts said.
>“Shorts, I swear to God, I will turn on the karaoke machine and rape you to ‘Every Breath You Take’ if you keep on this way.”
Still, it would be good to get some stories that weren’t written by either me or Shorts.
>“But nobody is going to work for free,” Shorts said.
What about him?
>You pointed down the table and towards the wino.
>As if on cue he mumbled something in his sleep, sniffed loudly, and then audibly shit in his pants so hard that his gravy had flowed down his pant leg and started collecting in his worn sneakers by the time you all had roundly dismissed him.
>“Anyone else come to mind?” Shorts said.
Hey, don’t you have a homeless sister that you’re always talking about. I bet she’d work for free.
>Shorts sighed. “I really don’t want her back in my life, or my apartment, right now.”
Then she can stay here with the other shit pants bum.
>“Honestly, that wouldn’t be a good idea. We might not have much of anything that’s worth pawning here, but she’s got a serious talent for being able to score crack money selling just about anything.”
I’m guessing that means she doesn’t share any of your writing talents.
>“No, we don’t have much in common,” Shorts said. “Everyone says she gives good blowjobs, but that’s just because she has no teeth left.”
>“We get it, Shorts: your family is fucked up,” Fluttershy said. “What about Rudolph helping us?”
Seriously? The giant rat?
>“No, the reindeer—of course the giant rat. It already eats our food and lives in our vents, so it practically owes us.”
It’s a rat, Fluttershy.
>“Yeah, a trained rat. If Slasher could train it to steal food, then maybe we could train it to write rape stories.”
>Seeing your expression, Fluttershy frowned.
>“What? Hey, my special talent has to do with animals, so I think I know what I’m talking about here.”
You have no idea what you’re fucking talking about. It’s a fucking rat. It can’t understand, let alone attempt to recreate through symbols, the spoken word of man.
>“Okay, think of it this way . . .”
What?
>Fluttershy took a deep breath, then released it.
>“The language of rape universally transcends all boundaries.”
>You watched her eyes carefully.
>You could tell that for one of the few times ever in her natural life she was being completely serious.
>You just started to shake your head slowly.
You got a serious obsession with rape, Fluttershy, and you need help.
>“Whatever.”
>Fluttershy crossed her arms and started to pout.
>“I’m not just a sexy, self-made pegausus that likes rape. You don’t know me.”
I know you more than I think I ever wanted to.
>Fluttershy turned her head to look at you but when you met her eyes she cast her gaze to the floor.
>She was trying to stonewall you, though she still, without looking, reached for your hand with her hoof.
>You grabbed her hoof—she kept poking you in the stomach accidentally—and held it gently in your hand.
>After a while you were absentmindedly caressing her fetlock with your thumb.
>“Don’t we know anyone else?” Shorts said.
Well, I guess we could ask Derpy. She did show up for an interview back when we hired you, although I think she just wanted a free snack.
>Shorts blinked.
>“Who’s Derpy?”
Did you forget? She’s the pegasus who delivers our mail.
>“Oh, the one who hits the window every morning.”
That’s her. You two should really meet sometime. I think you’d like her.
>Shorts opened her mouth to say something but Fluttershy cut her off.
>“He just wants to fuck her.”
No, I don’t.
>“He used to bring her inside all the time before he had you to keep his hands busy.”
>Shorts began blushing.
I did that because she’s clumsy. She flies into the windows because her eyes aren’t that good.
>Fluttershy smirked at Shorts.
>“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you that she’s also a retard, so there’s definitely some impairment that he’s hoping to take advantage of there if we hire her. He acts like he wants to save the company, but then he starts thinking about fucking a retard and getting us in deep shit with Social Services.”
What the fuck is the matter with you, Fluttershy?
>She turned to you with a glare.
>“You don’t ever tell me that I’m not right just because I’m passionate about rape.”
You never liked Derpy. I stopped bringing her in here because you would make fun of her eyes.
>“Please, I got better things to do than make fun of a retard.”
You would make a dot on the wall in front of her with a laser pointer, ask her to follow it, and then yell at her for no reason.
>“Because it doesn’t count if only one of her fucking eyes follows the dot. She was cheating.”
She’s just cross-eyed, you asshole.
>Shorts waved to get your attention.
>“When you say her name is Derpy, and that she has eye issues, you don’t mean to talk about Humpty Derpy, right?”
>You and Fluttershy were silent.
Humpty Derpy?
>“More like hump the Derpy, which is what you want to do to her—”
>You covered Fluttershy’s mouth with your hand.
>Shorts told you the whole story while your boss kept herself busy by licking your fingers.
>It turned out that Derpy Hooves, the pegasus pony who has been your mailmare all these years, was actually a famous artist in the world of children’s literature.
>Over a career spanning years, she’s written and illustrated some of the most acclaimed nursery rhymes, fairy tales, and children’s stories for all ages, all done under the alias Humpty Derpy.
>“How on earth could neither of you have known this?” Shorts said.
I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been so invested working here all this time that I never would have guessed it.
>“Yeah,” Fluttershy said, “and, to be honest, it doesn’t really sound like her stories would interest me all that much.”
>“Because there’s no rape?”
>“Yeah, because there’s no rape.”
>Fluttershy smacked her lips.
>A moment of silence followed.
>Then she clopped her hooves together.
>“Well, let’s hire the retard then.”
>“Wait, you think she’s actually going to work here?” Shorts said.
>“What’s wrong with working here?”
So many things.
>Fluttershy scrunched her muzzle.
>“Well, if she has to be a mailmare just to supplement her income, then she can’t be making that much with her non-rape stories.”
>“Actually,” Shorts said, “Humpty Derpy is one of the best-selling contemporary authors around.”
>Fluttershy’s eyes widened.
>“Holy shit! You’re telling me she’s rich?”
>Fluttershy groaned, and then turned to you and hit you on the shoulder.
>“Dammit! Why didn’t you fuck her when you had the chance? We could’ve been out of this mess.”
No, then I’d just have two baby mamas to support on my non-existent paycheck, but at least one of them would be pleasant to be around.
>“Have you learned nothing in your years of working here? You would pull out, obviously.”
You never let me pull out of you.
>“That’s because I was the one who was raping you. But when you’re the one doing the raping, then you pull out. How hard is that to get? I mean, I was sure that it was common sense, but here I am telling you how to rape properly when you’re the one who writes all the rape stories around here.”
Why is it always about rape with you?
>“I’m the fucking boss of fucking Flutterrape LTD.”
Excuses! If Derpy and I had sex, we’d do it the normal way. I sure as hell wouldn’t rape her.
>“Why not? She’s a retard. It’s not like she knows the difference between consensual sex and rape.”
Everybody knows the difference.
>“Besides, I raped you, and we’re a couple now, so I think my point still stands.”
You fucking—
>“Wait, I didn’t say she was rich,” Shorts said. “I’m just saying that she can’t really be hurting for money, what with two jobs.”
>“Then she’ll write us up some rape? I’d love to see one of our rape stories make it on the New York Times bestseller list.”
>Shorts frowned.
>“Well, no, I don’t think she would ever work for us.”
>“Why not?”
Because she’s a children’s author, you idiot. She’s not going to ruin her reputation to come and write rape stories for free like Shorts and I do.
>Fluttershy scoffed.
>“Oh, what, I guess she thinks she’s too good for rape, is that it?”
>Fluttershy hummed and then started to smile.
>“Or maybe she just needs to get a little taste of it first.”
>She nodded to herself.
>“Okay, that settles it. I’m going to go over the last items for this meeting, eat some ice cream, and then I’m going to go find that retard and rape her until her eyes get shook back in their right places.”
>Thankfully, you knew that she was not going to rape Derpy.
>You’d like to say it was because she had grown as a pony since her pregnancy, but that’s only half true.
>The old Fluttershy would’ve raped her for sure after having a snack.
>The only thing that pregnant Fluttershy does after eating ice cream is take a three hour nap and then whine until you come in and start cuddling with her.
>“So, uh, are we done yet?” Shorts said. “I’m really hungry still, and—”
>“There’s one more item on the agenda,” Fluttershy said.
>You and Shorts waited while Fluttershy had waddled out from the board room to get something she else she needed.
>Shorts stomach growled.
>She sat hunched over in her seat.
>“This is the longest staff meeting ever. My blood sugar is starting to get low, and I get tired when my blood sugar drops.”
We’re almost done, I think.
>“Maybe I should go get my lunch really quick.”
And have Fluttershy catch you skipping a meeting? That’s not a good idea, seeing as how she already felt like raping you before she even left.
>“She’s all talk now. Just fat, stinky, insufferable, gassy, swollen talk. I could easily outrun her if I tried. I’m going.”
>The door opened again and Short Storys, who had risen out from her chair, quickly sat back down.
>Fluttershy waddled to the projector, plugged a pocket drive into the USB slot, and then sat next to you again.
>“Since we’ve decided to take an interest in rape product done by others, then I thought that you would all be interested to see some of the material that I’ve received over the years by outsourcing our product to other studios.”
Wait a sec. We had other rape material that we could have released this whole time?
>“Well, not really. I did this back when we still had some money left. I only just got the product sent to me a few days ago.”
But Shorts and I have been busting our asses trying to get stories done since then.
>Shorts groaned.
>“I am so hungry.”
>“Shut up, Shorts.”
>Fluttershy turned to you.
>“And you should be thankful that I brought this in to show to you all, because to tell the truth I almost forgot to.”
>Fluttershy clicked a button on the projector remote.
>As the digital media player opened up on screen, you found yourself beginning to smile.
>At least with this new material you and Shorts won’t have to keep busting your humps to get product out.
>You turned to see if Shorts looked as thrilled as you but she seemed busy trying to reach a bowl of broken peanut shells on the table to notice you.
>What followed was easily the most disappointing forty-five minutes of your life.
>Every single short film, cartoon, comic, and story that Fluttershy showed you were absolutely terrible.
>You suffered through alicorn original characters with red and black color schemes, stories that were pointless because both the main characters had a rape fetish, lazy rape-themed movie parodies of both Jurassic Park and The Shawshank Redemption.
>There was even a story where you and Fluttershy did nothing but make obvious references to the music of Green Day.
>You’d had enough by the time Fluttershy got to the comics.
>“So I’m in bed with the blankets over me—and I guess I’m a tabby cat in this one—but anyway, then you come in and you say, ‘Did you eat all my lasagna?!’”
>Fluttershy nodded your way.
>“That’s you saying ‘Did you eat all my lasagna?!’. So then I say, ‘Well, I had to or else I’d have less-on-ya!’.”
>With a forced smile, Fluttershy eyed the pervading silence in the room.
>After a while she scrunched her muzzle.
>“Don’t any of you get it? I mean, it’s just wordplay, so you’d have to be pretty retarded if you didn’t get it.”
>You stared at her with a blank face.
>You were pretty sure that Shorts fell asleep sometime during that gritty drama where Fluttershy was a little Japanese girl who seduced major criminals and then cried rape so that the police could get convictions.
>Fluttershy sighed.
>“The joke is that less-on-ya sounds like lasagna—wait, what does less-on-ya mean, anyway? Am I drawn to look fat in this comic? That motherfucker!”
>Just then Shorts snorted in her sleep, which made Fluttershy notice that she had fallen asleep.
>Fluttershy grimaced and then tossed the projector remote at Short Storys, where it bounced off of her forehead and then broke into a dozen pieces.
>Shorts screamed, jumped in her seat and then fell face first into a pile of empty bottles on the floor.
>Shorts looked up from the floor to see Fluttershy looming over her with a glare.
>“Did I fall asleep?”
>“What do you think?”
>Shorts got up and fixed her glasses so they weren’t crooked on her face.
>“Well, it’s kind of your fault, boss. I said that I was hungry.”
>“Oh, well I have the perfect job for you then. Get in the kitchen and use your gargantuan hooves to crush me some M&M’s. I want some ice cream as a reward for finishing another successful meeting.”
>Shorts started to smirk.
>“Sure, I can do that for you, boss. One bowl of crushed M&M’s coming right up.”
>“And I don’t want any fucking brown ones this time.”
They don’t make brown ones anymore. They’re blue now.
>“What? No, I always get brown ones whenever I eat them. They’re disgusting.”
>Shorts turned and started for the door.
>You caught each other’s eye and she raised her eyebrows your way.
>“And you better hurry up,” Fluttershy said. “You know what I’ll do to you if you don’t.”
>“Yeah, yeah.”
>Just then the karaoke machine started playing a song.
>~‘Every breath you take.’
>Shorts yelped and then trotted out of the room.
>Fluttershy sat next to you and sighed as she sank into her seat.
>“So . . . what’d you think?”
It was shit.
>“Which one?”
You have to ask?
>“Yeah, I know. They were all terrible.”
I guess we can’t force other people to be interested in rape and expect to get anything good. I guess that we’re all we got unless somebody comes to us willingly.
>“I can always call on Milky.”
The way things are going, you might have to.
>You shook your head.
Oh, I don’t know. We’ll get by just doing what we’ve been doing: making rape stories for the few people out there that like to read ‘em.
>You stood up.
Guess I’ll get back to work then.
>You noticed the microphone hanging from the ceiling again.
Still don’t know how that got there.
>“I put it there.”
>Fluttershy pursed her lips.
>“Milky’s been listening to us this whole time. Those outsourced rape products we watched—they were all her ideas.”
Oh.
>“Yeah.”
>You pointed up at the microphone.
So, she can still hear us right now, too?
>“I would assume so.”
Then this is kind of awkward.
>“It’ll be even more awkward when she gets here.”
I guess so.
>From the back of the room a bunch of beer bottles fell over.
>The wino was now sitting up.
>He turned his dazed, haggard eyes towards you and Fluttershy.
>“Well, what the fuck you all looking at? And who the heck put shit in my pants while I was sleeping?”
>Then the vent cover in the corner of the room fell over and out of it toddled Rudolph.
>When his black rodent eyes saw that he was not alone he stopped his advance in the room, only his whiskered nose twitching.
>He had a plastic tote in his mouth.
Hey, that’s my lunch box.
>“Hey! That fucking Tom and Jerry over there stole my lunch!” the wino said.
>The wino jumped up and ran towards Rudolph, who had turned and scurried back into the vent.
>He flopped on his belly and crawled after the rat.
>For a while you could only hear the sound of his elbows hitting the ducts.
>Then it was silent.
>“Wow,” Fluttershy said. “He actually went into the vents.”
Do you think he’s going to come back—
>“No.”
>While you contemplated the grim fate of the wino Fluttershy swooned to the melody in the room.
>Her body swayed gently to the left and to the right.
>“You know, this is a pretty good song when you don’t have to hear Shorts’ voice cracking over it.”
>Fluttershy smiled at you and then started nudging your knee with her muzzle.
>“Dance with me.”
I’ve never really danced with a pony before.
>“Well, I’m your special some pony. That’s a good way to start.”
But what if I drop you?
>Fluttershy glared.
>“Is that supposed to be a fat joke?”
No. Shit. Okay, how are we going to do this?
>In the next few seconds Fluttershy jumped on top of you more times than she usually would have after a few drinks at the office holiday party.
>And she was much more rude when sober, consistently muttering under her breath “No, not like that, you imbecile” and other such phrases.
>But soon you held Fluttershy’s front hooves in your hands while she stood on her hind legs.
>She never looked away from your eyes as you led her gently through the rest of the song.
>When the song had faded away she pressed her body against yours.
>You could hear her singing under her breath.
>~“Every breath you take, I’ll be watching you.”
>You placed your hand on her back and held her close to you in the silence for as long as you could.
>It was the longest staff meeting the company had ever had.