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Supermare had come too late. Not just to rescue the two caged women, but too late to save this version of Equestria. Never in her worse nightmares would she have believed a world so simliar to home could be so horribly perverted.
Steel bars bent under the intense pressure of her clenched fists, bending easily as she pulled them away with haste. She recognized the mares inside, at least the version of them that existed in her Equestria. Friend of a friend sort of thing, but good people all the same, completely undeserving of the fate they were in. The cage was too small for the mares to stand, not that they were able to. The only bondage they were in was having those offensive slave collars leashed to anchors on the cage floor, keeping Lyra Heartstings and Lemon Hearts on their knees.
Lemon Hearts was hard to look at, as the first thing Supermare noticed on the nude mare was the color of her collar—deep, rich purple, a sign that the caribou had already broken her mind. Lemon Heart’s expression was a perversion of joy. Drool ran from under her tongue as it hung outside her mouth, her glassy eyes looked up but seemed to see nothing. Her hands were busy working fast fingers into her soaked sex and rectum. Even from outside the cage, the smell of her was overpowering to Supermare.
Lyra hadn’t looked at or acknowledged that she was being set free by a mare strong enough to bend steel in her bare hands. Like her friend, Lyra’s eyes were up, but wide and full of terror. Her mouth hung open, air struggling to be taken in. Supermare noticed the whites of Lyra’s knuckles, the tip of her tongue poking out of her mouth, the reddening of her unblinking, watery eyes…
She’s choking herself!
Supermare’s eyes glowed with an intense red heat, her vision focused on Lyra’s leash. In an instant the tight cord snapped, and Lyra fell forward wheezing.
“I’ve got you, you’re safe now.”
With her focus on Lyra, Supermare knelt into the open cage to guide the poor mare out, only for Lyra to scream in response to being touched.
It was a scream that struck Supermare’s heart: dry, weak, desperate, and fearful. Lyra kept her face down, pulling her knees up to her chest to make herself as small as she could. The movements made her mane move enough for Supermare to see the horn stump Lyra now had.
Supermare had indeed come too late, but she was here now, and she brought hope with her.