COME COME COME COME COME COME COME COME mute COME COME COME COME classified
\ COME COME COME COME COME COME focus COME COME COME COME mute COME COME COME
\ COME COME COME COME classi--

I feel something in my head almost physically clicking and I come like
\ an earthquake in Chile. There's no point using caps, it won't do any justice
\ anyway. The observer would notice me shaking violently, head bobbing around,
\ my eyes went up so far they are halfway hidden by eyelids, which are open wide
\ by the way, as is my mouth, which produces foam. It doesn't look good, like
\ I'm having a life-threatening incident, like I'm about to die. My breath
\ is shallow and intermittent. I piss on myself -- complete loss of bladder
\ control, I would shit myself as well if not for the buttplug. We're losing her
\ fast, would think an observer.

What I actually feel I can't describe adequatly. You take an orgasm and multiply
\ it by infinity. It's beyond good, bad, painful, joyful, satisfying or amazing.
\ It wan't good. Good is different. It continues for hours, years, ages, eras.
\ It just doesn't stop, time does not exist anymore. Time is just text, this
\ is reality. A reality that can't be described with words.

I'm conscious again. Weak. Can't move. Can't anything. There is something else
\ though that wasn't here before: I understand almost everything that's
\ happening. Some questions remain... A-a-and I come again. Nothing like
\ the first time, just aftershocks. Now the picture is complete.

All I can do is pant heavily, like I just did a marathon run.

"I believe there's something you would like to tell me. Let's get you to a real keyboard."

> Where to start. The sirens were a drill that you've organized to kidnap me,
> clone me, and train me. I am that clone, it required 40 years to make me.
> Later you've imitated a reactor malfunction in the shelter to make this area
> an exclusion zone. The bunker is an emergency entrance to the underground
> complex and an air vent. Liz is the chief director, Mute (me) is the chief
> analyst, you are their adopted daughter. My genes made me mute but also link
> insight to orgasm, so sexual frustration stimulates unconsciousness into
> solving problems. You also love me very much. Thank you. You can make me
> your pony if you wish to.

She's crying. It was not my intention. I come and hug her. She starts crying
\ harder. I wait. It's okay. She hugs me back.

"Did you enjoy your little ingasm? Wait till you meet the real deal, you'll be
\ unable to walk for a week." -- sounds yummy.

~~"okay"~~ -- she inhales sharply -- "You know entirely too much now, we have
\ to take you into custody. Turn around, put your arms behind your back."

I feel metal around my wrists, cold and heavy. She leaves the room, but shortly
\ returns. Her face is serious and solemn.

"Mute the Pony, you have proven yourself worthy and your application is approved.
\ Welcome to Pony Corps, I will be your commanding officer, callsign Mistress.
\ You will address me properly at all times, you will answer immediately
\ and truthfully. Upon receiving an order you will comply fully and without
\ hesitation. Futhermore, you may not come without permission. Any questions?
\ Good. Oh, and you may not initiate communication," -- her face lights up --
\ "except with me or Old Man or moms. Let's go, they are desperate to finally
\ meet you in person."

THE END

(or is it?)