The Legend of Epic Sax Spike: A Tale of Wonder and Unparalleled Satisfaction
This story is one comprised of many literary twists and turns of which most readers have been deprived in their structurally-recycled lives. If one expects any form of "flow" and/or "continuity" within this scripture, then one may not find this particular tale matching their historically-acquired "taste". Enjoy.
I own nothing but this laptop of which my craft is practiced.
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This 4-chapter story will provide the reader a rather accurate depiction of the events leading to the ever-so popular video "Epic Sax Spike" (.com/watch?v=U-thubJ89e4).
Chapter 1: A life Prone to Truancy and Guilt
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As a white unicorn sits idly in a rickety maple chair, she begins to hear hoofsteps in the distance. The concrete walls create an unsettling atmosphere, as two rather large stallions make their way into sight. They approach the magical marshmallow and begin to eye her in a leering fashion.
"So, you're this 'Rarity' girl, huh?" one asks with a thick, big-city accent.
"Well, if you must know, then yes. Might I ask what in Celestia's name I'm doing here?" the impatient mare responds, folding her fronthooves in distain.
"Boss says he's got a few words for ya." says the other stallion, wincing at the brute sitting before him.
"Well, while I understand the privacy one must uphold with certain matters, must it be discussed in such a rancid, desolate parking garage?" Rarity responds, arcing her head with a 180-degree view of her surroundings, and a look of pure disgust plastered across her face.
As the small-talk continues, a sound of scraping metal makes itself known, and the stallions look at each other, smiling.
"Welp, looks like it's show time!"
"Finally, I've been waitin' to see him in action!" The two stallions suddenly dart behind Rarity, and swiftly bind her limbs to her seat.
"AH! Unhand me at once, you scoundrels!" screams the irate young woman-horse-thing. "What's going on here? Who do you work for? I swear, I'll-" her empty threats fall short as forceful taps are heard mere yards away, near the top of the ramp, just out of sight due to the low ceiling.
"Hehe, well, little lady…" one stallion lays his front-leg on her shoulder "looks like it's time for you to learn a little lesson in corporal punishment."
"I honestly haven't a clue what you're talking about, but I promise you'll be the only ones punished unless you un-" her mindless rant is cut short, as a moistened hand-towel (or hoof-towel, whichever you prefer) is balled-up and forced into her mouth.
As her muffled screams continue, she begins to see a figure making its way down the ramp. The stubby purple legs are an initial sign of familiarity (which oddly enough rhymes with "Rarity"; put that shit in a Snapple), and the green underbelly sparks a sense of comfort within her bodily spasms. She stops completely, as the small figure stops just hooves in front of her. She looks down at the young dragon with pleading eyes, as a faint "Sprmmk?" leaves her towel-gag.
"Sprmmk" looks up at the helpless creature, and without facial expression, raises his right hand, which is decorated with a rusted pair of brass knuckles. The following moments of silence mirror an eternity of tension, as Rarity once more attempts to speak his name, only to have a swift purple fist connect directly with her jaw, sending her back several hooves onto the floor.
With several coughs keeping her from swallowing her gag, a discombobulated Rarity fixates her vision on the hanging light above her, attempting to make sense of the situation. Before long, the two stallions raise the chair, and place it in its original location. She looks down at the still expressionless dragon, and begins silently shedding tears. She drops her head in disappointment, shielding her eyes from the pint-sized monster that she believes has possessed her platonically-loved friend.
Another moment of silence is broken by a swift breeze, followed by a sharp pain in her gut, as the sound of ribs breaking resonates throughout the B-level foundation. Her otherwise fruitful distance backwards is cut short by the stallions, catching her mere inches from impact. She begins to involuntarily heave, as blood begins soaking into her gag, and falling out of the corners of her mouth. The stallions then grab hold of her shoulders, and push forward, causing her to land on her mascara-ridden face. The following moments consisted of her silently admiring the grooves and holes within the concrete less than an inch from her constantly-judging eyes.
The young dragon then grabs the pristine mare by her consistently-pampered mane, and somewhere in Hell, an iceberg begins to form. He lifts her head, and her final vision of the young friend is in the form of a silhouette, gearing back for a final blow. She clenches her eyes shut, and prepares for the worst.
. . .
The roosters began their common routine of screaming at 8:00 in the morning for virtually no reason, and thus, was Spike's cue to wake up. With a stretch and groan, the young dragon rose from his pet-size bed, and waddled his way down the stairs of the library-tree. He silently planned out his rather uneventful day, and headed to the refrigerator to obtain the one thing of which living was deemed bearable in his eyes. The greeting of the fridge-light seemed to emphasize his already-giddy demeanor. He reached into the back-right corner of the bottom shelf, and retrieved a half-empty jug of Spike's favourite beverage.
The otherwise clear container seemed to hold a glowing orange substance of which the young dragon began to drool with wide eyes. He reached into a lower cupboard to reveal his favourite David Pownie glass, the one with his "Diamond Dogs" album cover laminated on the surface. As he made his way to the oak dining table, he held the jug to his chest, and began to secretly rub the jug on his body in a rather lewd fashion; the cold sensation sent pleasurable chills throughout his stubby body.
He began to pour the substance into the glass, admiring the beautiful, orange-tinted cascading waterfall produced in the process. When finished, he placed the jug in its original throne (or so he saw it, the poor, poor bastard…). He returned to the table with pure lust in his emerald eyes, eyeing the glass in a way we eye Mrs. Butterworth when we've had a few too many. He slowly leaned towards the glass, and delicately began to drag his tongue across the rim, taking in the small amount of dust that has gathered since his last escapade.
"Oh yes," he whispered, "this is the day, the day I become a true dragon." He had read one day, while Twilight and the rest of the girls were on one of their televised adventures, about strange maturing patterns within different animal species. The book had a small section on dragons; the only real information ever published on the majestic creatures. He read that dragons often migrate to untouched fruit lands to partake in their pure bounty that the unscathed land had to offer. Over the years, the dragons have seemed to have taken a liking to trees that bear citrus, and began utilizing the fruits for any and all purposes. Upon random discovery, a dragon noticed growing patterns when the substance was applied to their rough skin. Spike read this article with hope in his eyes and excitement in his breath, as he began planning for the big day.
Spike had always had an unhealthy obsession with orange juice. He often had to beg Twilight to purchase some for him, and even so, it's not like she hated it herself, so his dream of consuming an entire jugs-worth was never fully realized. Thankfully, his work with Rarity involving jewel extraction gave him small rewards in the form of what would normally be his afternoon snack, but now became his primary source of income, as he would sell the jewels for hundreds of bits at a time. Sure, jewels were quite tasty, but the sweet sting of orange juice paralleled no such satisfaction in the young dragon's life. Twilight had found it rather odd that he was purchasing anything himself, but found it especially odd that the only addition to the tree seemed to be the ever-accumulating jugs that overflowed the recycling bin in the kitchen. She decided to mark it under the "it's a dragon thing" category for her own sake.
Spike slowly lowered his tongue into the glass, and stopped just short of the delicious elixir. With his eyes retreating to the back of his head, he gave the beverage a first taste, and wave after wave of pleasure swept through his miniature structure, almost causing his legs to give out from under him. He delicately dipped his tongue into the substance, and scooped a small amount into his mouth. He gently massaged his throat, feeling the solution of orange citrus and dragon saliva travel into his system, and guiding his hand appropriately. His hand lightly fell onto his stomach, and slid ever so innocently to his underbelly. With a look of desperation on his face, he whispered "It's time."
Without a moment of clarity (again, Snapple), Spike swiftly grabbed the glass, and poured the drink all over his hungry body. A loud moan was muffled in hopes of keeping his bookworm housemate in her queen-sized bed. He promptly fell to the floor, allowing the glass to roll across the room, and hit the finish on the opposing wall. He rolled in the delicious mess he made, rubbing his body in a most lustful fashion, and moaning softly. The young dragon was in pure ecstasy, and nothing was going to stop him from what he was about to do.
He slowly rolled onto his stomach, and smelled the mixture of orange drink and sweat that lay under him. Such a sensation caused excitement in his nether-regions, and his member quickly became visible. With that, he began to push his hips against the linoleum floor, allowing his member to soak up the juices; it burned, yes, but he never felt so alive as he did at that moment. He also began to sloppily make out with the juice that lay below him, his face a blush-red and eyes entranced in a sexual purgatory. Several minutes of this finally put him over the edge, as he loudly climaxed all over his stomach, stirring his roommate from her scientific slumber.
"Hmmnm?" Twilight said groggily, sitting up to see her assistant/brother/son/friend/pet's bed unoccupied. She slowly made her way downstairs, as Spike frantically grabbed a towel to clean up his pleasure zone before she would see. As the final puddle was lapped up by the fabric, the purple unicorn came into sight.
"Morning, Spike," she stated as she rubbed her eye. His nervous disposition prompted her following question, "is something the matter?"
"What! Uh, well, no. I uh," he looked down at the Diamond Dogs glass near her hooves, "I uh, accidently spilled my juice on the floor, and I was uh, in a rush to get it cleaned. Sorry if I woke you." He said, looking down rather guiltily.
"It's fine Spike, I was actually hoping of getting some extra studying in today anyways!" A slight rolling of eyes and a sigh gave the young dragon his leave towards the laundry room. As he passed her once more, she noticed a strange scent radiating from his body; it was like a mixture of fruit, body odor, and something bleachy. "Uh, Spike, what's that smell?"
"Nothing!" Spike quickly responded in the form of a high-pitch yelp. He quickly headed towards the door, hoping to escape before questioning ensued. "'K, Twilight, I'm heading out for a little while!"
With a confused look, Twilight asked, "Oh, you're not gonna make br-"
"Nope!" Spike responded, as the door slammed shut behind him. "Phew, that was close." Spike thought to himself. "Oh well! Time to enjoy this glorious day!" He then began to strut through town with a look of accomplishment stapled to his face.
To be continued…