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The tinny speakers were struggling fizzily through "Kokomo". They'd been playing the same esoteric radio station throughout the building; all the big radio-friendly hits from any mainstream station, but interspersed with mad animal chitterings that seemed to be coming from the disc jockey. Sunny didn't give it much thought for now, he was just glad of the sturdy blue wellies he had on. Knee-high with adjustment straps at the top. He'd thought they were too cute for dirty work, much too shiny, but since the entire building seemed to have green slime an inch deep on the floor they were now getting their messy baptism. The rest of his outfit was a two-piece yellow rainsuit, elbow-length rubber gauntlets and a tough yellow fireman's helmet with mirrored visor. In other circumstances the pony would've enjoyed feeling that the only exposed part of his body, give or take a tail, was his muzzle. The better to kneel and suck cock

The air in the building was cool and the slime's smell permeated everything. It was faintly like freshly-rained fields in the early morning, which the pony found pleasing. So far it had managed to spread more or less equally across every inch of carpet no matter where he looked, and had to be oozing down from a higher floor. Whatever its source was, it was prolific. It was most likely tripping the building's wiring as well, which accounted for the constantly flickering lights and the crackly state of the speakers. The radio had now moved on to "Dancing On The Ceiling" by Lionel Richie. Sunny resisted the urge to tap his foot, kicking up some of the viscous slime instead

The building on the whole didn't feel like it wanted the pony to explore it. He didn't know if he wanted to either, nervously guessing at the worst possible sources for the green gloop and the alien radio station. Not to mention terror-fantasies of the green goo covering his boots carrying a current from the building's malfunctioning electrics. But at the same time he had a job to do, and he was getting to perform an important task in full slick raingear. And the fireman's helmet - they'd promised him he could keep it as a reward for his job! Even alone he was embarrassed to admit it, but he was sporting a serious hard-on under his waterproof pants. He wondered if there might be the opportunity to get a good grip on his knob wearing those rubber gauntlets, but he doubted it. The building was adding ominous creaks and groans to the radio noise. He didn't think it was a good idea to stick around too long if he could help it

Growing more cautious, the pony climbed staircase after staircase, occasionally checking inside rooms to see if there was anyone or anything there. Invariably they were all abandoned, mostly offices with the occasional breakroom or janitorial closet. On the 22nd floor he sat down at a vacated desk, bobbing his head slightly to "Son Of A Preacher Man" as he rested his aching feet. Navigating all those slime-slick faux-marble staircases wasn't easy in his slippery boots, and the elevator was not an option. Curious, he turned over a hardcover book discarded on the desk, a red cloth cover stamped with Sedric ou daten Oniversiche Poliamoro. The author's name was apparently Ousoppo, who was no-one he recognised. Expecting it to be written in German or Dutch or whatever language that title was, Sunny was surprised to find a stream of English starting on the first leaf of paper. Even the printing details had been omitted in favour of the story

"The typewriter arises blood and semen," the Serpent says, "immortal kraken rising from the sea, no more shall you and I be parted." He paints his face white with pouting red lips and wears a black leather minidress and high heels. "The Lord is a daytime crusader. The world is a black marble mausoleum museum, rats on the pavement and rats in the sewer, undead standing at the boundary"

Sunny flicked through the book. It didn't seem to be broken into chapters, just a continuous account of the Serpent's mostly sexual exploits, interspersed with the Serpent himself describing even more of them. The former were easier to read than the latter, which were plagued by the protagonist's tendency to lapse into word salad and bizarre compound phrases such as a lover described as a "decade-smile-star-mechanic." Both were so utterly filthy that Sunny was amazed any workplace would let its employee keep the book in plain sight. Absurd sexual hijinks with clowns and custard pies or city-wide orgies with angels and demons in drag jostled with lurid descriptions of scatology, rape, beatings and hangings. Sometimes the apparently indestructible Serpent seemed to be the recipient of these things. Sometimes the Serpent changed genders abruptly, even mid-sentence, without explanation. And she loved to mix intoxications into her decadence, which didn't help Sunny's lingering arousal. Drugs were his secret, transgressive kink, keeping his erotic dabbling with pot hidden from everyone and making sure that he seemed perfectly clean and respectable in public, outfit aside. He knew it was dangerous and foolish in real life, but he'd harboured so many masturbatory fantasies of being enslaved to some perfectly tailored high and having his body used constantly in exchange for his fix. The Serpent was talking so much about herbal indulgence that the pony almost felt like he was being ratted out in public, and he closed the book and dropped it to one side whilst his cheeks cooled down. He picked up the second, blue-covered book, idly wondering to himself if the first book's unnamed narrator had been the titular "Sedric" or if he'd misunderstood a foreign word as a name

Unlike the first book, the second absolutely was in a foreign language, and written in a foreign alphabet or glyphs he'd never seen before. He didn't even know for sure in what direction it was meant to be read, not helped by the fact that the pages of the book seemed to have been laid out by a mad typographer hell bent on getting every size and direction of text possible into print. Sunny imagined the book being written in the same undecryptable chittering from the radio DJs, noticing for the first time that the music had ended some time ago and that there seemed to be several voices talking on the radio now. Occasionally they cracked into what was unmistakably laughter, the pony smiling at the idea that even alien voices had jocular radio interviews. It was fun to imagine they were interviewing the author of the blue book right then. He rose from his chair and squelched towards the window to look out at the city and the churning orange sky above

Outside, the urban landscape was a wreck. Sunny could see eight more skyscrapers that had been totally unharmed by the incident and that seemed to be the eyes of its storm. The decimation of the other buildings was lesser or greater according to how far they were from these towers - the eight he could see, the ninth he was stood in and thirteen more beside or behind this one. For a moment he had a pulse-quickening urge to pull out his cock and masturbate out of the open window, knowing there was nobody to see him do it anyway. He fought it reluctantly and returned to the corridors

The pony was getting close to the top floor now, having already concluded whatever was creating the slime was surely as high up as it could be. Growing more and more keen for it to be over, he slogged his way up the remaining three flights of stairs as quickly as he could risk with no traction whatsoever to keep him steady

Sunny went nervously from room to room on the top floor. On the floors below he'd found offices left in states of disarray, everyday working life, but on the top floor it seemed every room was empty. No furniture of any kind, only the thin layer of green coating every inch of the carpet. Dobie Gray's "Drift Away" crackled in waves out of the speakers now, prefaced with more chittering and whispering courtesy of the "DJ", and Sunny danced whimsically for a moment or two in the slimy muck before carrying on through the building, enjoying the respite

After twenty empty rooms, the pony found what he was looking for. He found himself on the stage of a large presentation or lecture theatre where, suspended from the ceiling, was something he couldn't hope to describe. It wasn't clear if it was animal or plant, but it was vast and green and oozing, resembling upside down tree roots covering most of the roof. At the centre of the strange mass it bulged downwards, providing an organic stalactite down which thick globs of the green slime ran and slopped onto what was once the floor. By now the music of the speakers had devolved into a wheezing, almost breathing static, reinforcing the otherworldly nature of the sight

For a while the pony stood and watched the slow process, entranced. Between the raised platform where he was standing and the staggered rows of chairs rising away from him was a space where the slime could pool until it was as deep as the pony's knees from the look of it. He was finding himself much too curious now, descending the stairs and wading through it until he was near the point where each new load of slime splashed down. And then he waited

Soon enough another vast droplet of slime came down, splashing the pony's raincoat and obscuring his visor and making his cheeks burn bright red. He knew this was even more off-mission than wanking would have been, imagining himself subject of the slime's bukkake. He didn't suppose the authorities would question why he was covered in the slime - it seemed reasonable enough that he'd get sloppy sooner or later without it being so willingly - but the pony couldn't keep himself from continuing further. Trembling slightly, he stepped forward and turned to face the empty auditorium, imagining a crowd of raingeared watchers

SPLAT!

Sunny was nearly knocked into the sea of green as the next blob crashed down on his helmet. He gasped loudly to himself as he stood up straight, wiping clean his visor, neck straining to see the new coating of slime on his raingear. It felt so good to him, imagining his pretend audience jeering at his TV-show humiliation in this room-sized gunge tank. Further again. He fumbled frantically to unzip his waterproof trousers. A moment later they were down at his knees, just above the surface level, his erect dick lifting up the hem of his rainjacket comically. He stood and waited

SPLAT!

The pony kept upright a little better this time, feeling the gloop flood down his body and over his exposed cock and balls. It was at once cooling and warming and tingling, a very pleasant sensation and one that threatened to make him cum there and then. The pony's breath was heavy now and settling in time with the pulsing white noise of the radio, one slick and rubbery hand now beginning to squeeze and rub his cock. Further again. The pony knelt and plunged his free hand into the gloop, getting it completely covered and dribbling down the rubber to his rainjacket's sleeve. Staring manically at the glove, he pressed his index and middle fingers together, envisioning them as a rubbery black dick

He couldn't believe this was about to happen, but he couldn't and didn't want to stop either. The fireman's visor made him into a cocksucking whore didn't it? It hid his eyes, depriving him of the most expressive part of his face and reducing him to a muzzle that would smile, kiss and start to suck the cock offered to it. When people asked later, he'd blame it on the helmet. He wanted to give a blowjob so much right now, taste some fat alien prick and have it fill his mouth with its jism. Opening wide, he stuck his fingers into his mouth to begin sucking as his free hand set to work on his own tool

SPLAT!

The pony kept firm this time, slobbering lewdly at the envisioned alien organ and wanking excitedly at the same time. The feeling of the goop on his cock was extremely sensitising, and the sensations of masturbation were already getting stronger and more intoxicating than any handjob he'd given himself before. At the same time the alien slime turned out not to taste bad. A hint of sweetness in fact, but mostly it tasted of nothing. More than that, the pony could feel his head tingling too. He realised with a mixture of fascination and only mild concern that the gloop was getting him high, a quick-onset mixture of the effects he knew so well from pot and ones he'd read about whilst inquisitively learning about others. It was making him hornier than ever, and stoned enough that his imaginary audience seemed almost frighteningly real. He was masturbating vigorously to his fantasies, scooping up more slime to add to the feeling and the lubrication as he sucked his gauntleted fingers, dreaming of being not a polite, clean person who blushed as he toked up in secret with his cock in his hand, but a dirty, druggy pony, perhaps whoring himself out for some sweet and sticky weed or ecstasy. Whoring himself in the outfit he was in there and then, the outfit that should've been the uniform of a pony performing an important duty but which had become a sign of what a sleazy pervert he really was, and in front of a roomful of people all delighting in mocking and debasing him further for it. Perhaps some better-endowed studs who would let him degrade himself for their entertainment before stepping down into the gooey mess and pushing him on his knees to wrap his muzzle around their generous dicks. He could see them surrounding him, their fat organs lubed up with more alien slime to keep him good and high and obedient, and oh god what a whore he'd be for them! He moaned and whimpered and panted as he felt his orgasm strike, harder than he'd ever known as the next load of green slime slopped straight down onto him

Sunny Streams slowly returned to his senses several hours later, sitting in the lecture theatre's front row and wanking lazily. He was dimly conscious of working three slime-lubed fingers up into his arse, smiling rather proudly to himself as he reflected on it. His penis was aching from the beating he'd given it, as were his balls from more than a few hard taps he'd delivered in his haze of pleasure. But he felt extremely good and relaxed about it all. For a while there he'd had the experience of being the naughtiest, most uninhibited pony he could imagine being. He moaned a little from the physical strain as he rubbed his needy prick one more time, popping a final weak spurt of cum onto his glove. It had to be time to report back however, awkwardly wiping green slime off his nether regions and tugging his pants back up. Above him the radio was coming back in waves through the static, slowly unfurling "Walk Of Life" by Dire Straits as the pony swaggered cheerfully to the music. He didn't have a damn clue what he was supposed to report, other than that there was a big bulbous booger clinging to the ceiling in the lecture theatre

As he was walking to the door, the pony stopped in his tracks and turned around. In all the time he'd been either marvelling at the slime drip or masturbating under its pleasurable influence, he'd given no thought to the fact that this was only a 25-floor building. The lecture theatre had to be at least two storeys tall. There was no space in the design of the building to accommodate it. More concerning, at the back of the rows of seating was a door leading out to somewhere else. The pony stood for longer than he'd spent watching the slime as he stared at that door. Finally he started wading back down into the pool of slime and across to the stairs to begin the ascent

Dire Straits was still hissing out of the speakers as the pony climbed. Without warning, a loud explosion from behind and to the right made the lights dim and the pony jump sideways into the seats. He realised after a moment that one of the speakers had exploded, the lights returning and the music fading back in again a moment later. Dire Straits had led into "Mister Blue Skies", whose even greater incongruousness with the ominous prospect of the door above seemed to disarm the moment for the anxious pony. Grinning awkwardly and gathering his nerves once more, he carried on up the stairs and pushed the door open[ABRUPT ENDING]

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dedicated to Blueface