#3105705 - suggestive, artist:pony quarantine, oc, oc:alaska (reddthebat), oc:anon, ghost, ghost pony, human, pegasus, pony, arrow, bedroom eyes, blood, dialogue, duo, duo male and female, female, flirting, injured, male, mare, simple background, white background

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Her name is Alaska and belongs to @ReddTheBat (i think) and her are some more… cursed draws.

https://twitter.com/PonyQuarantine/status/1645291328241057796

Comments

polar_storm

Sol Invictus cole!

Ah, what a disturbing thought to have no less to actually say it. Whew!

Posted 1 years ago Report

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WaynePone

I miss Niko...

I’d rather fuck her gussy and hope it doesn’t just pass through.

Posted 1 years ago Report

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Illmaticc

i’ve been thinking, i think alaska is fucking dead and that arrow is part of her so maybe this isn’t a gore account and maybe i got tricked,bamboozled,deceived,bilked,finessed,scammed,ripped off,victimized,gypped,conned, DUPED!,betrayed, fooled,misled.

Posted 1 years ago Report

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Illmaticc

@Conscious Donkey
not reading allatshit

Posted 1 years ago Report

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Conscious Donkey

Aware of these new parameters, the embrace of this dutiful technology, Gabrielle lay back. Her intelligent eyes followed her hand as it felt my face and chin, as if searching for my own missing armatures of bright chromium. She lifted her left foot so that the leg brace rested against my knee. In the inner surface of her thigh the straps formed marked depressions, troughs of reddened skin hollowed out in the forms of buckles and clasps. As I unshackled the left leg brace and ran my fingers along the deep buckle groove, the corrugated skin felt hot and tender, more exciting than the membrane of a vagina. This depraved orifice, the invagination of a sexual organ still in the embryonic stages of its evolution, reminded me of the small wounds on my own body, which still carried the contours of the instrument panel and controls. I felt this depression on her thigh, the groove worn below her breast under her right armpit by the spinal brace, the red marking on the inside of her right upper arm - these were the templates for new genital organs, the moulds of sexual possibilities yet to be created in a hundred experimental car-crashes.
[…]
My first orgasm, within the deep wound on her thigh, jolted my semen along this channel, irrigating its corrugated ditch. Holding the semen in her hand, she wiped it against the silver controls of the clutch treadle. My mouth was fastened on the scar below her left breast, exploring its sickle-shaped trough. Gabrielle turned in her seat, revolving her body around me, so that I could explore the wounds of her right hip. For the first time I felt no trace of pity for this crippled woman, but celebrated with her the excitements of these abstract vents let into her body by sections of her own automobile. During the next few days my orgasms took place within the scars below her breast and within her left armpit, in the wounds on her neck and shoulder, in these sexual apertures formed by fragmenting windshield louvres and dashboard dials, in a high-speed impact, marrying through my own penis the car in which I had crashed and the car in which Gabrielle had met her near-death.

–J.G.Ballard, Crash

Posted 1 years ago Report

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