When you come to, you realize that you're laying on the cold, hard ground exactly where that stallion had rutted you. The sun is just starting to dip down over the horizon. You had laid there all day and not a single pony had the decency to wake you or even move you from the road. Your hoof reaches down to your crotch, the entirety of the coat around it is matted with dried semen. You were just used and discarded like a condom.
You stand with your petite legs wobbling under your misery-heavy frame. You nearly fall over, you're so miserable you're heaving. But no, no you keep your head about you, just to spite that Celestia-damned bastard of a stallion, Big fucking Macintosh. You don't need him, you say in your head, no you're better than him. You repeat it over and over in your head as you walk back into the slowly darkening town. You are strong, you are powerful. You, you are mare, hear you roar! You...y-you...
Oh Celestia, you need a drink. You just want to blast your brains out the back of your head with a half-pint of the strongest liquor Ponyville has. Your head falls down between your shoulders, just as fast as your confidence fell, and then you run. You run down the road just so those few ponies still roaming about don't see you sobbing. You look up just in time to see a sign hanging from one of the buildings,
"Kicking Mare: Bar and Grill"
Perfect. You can hear glasses clacking inside, so you shove your way into the door. For six in the afternoon, the place is jumping. Waitresses dart from table to table, stopping to flirt with any one of the rowdier patrons. In one corner, a herd of gruff-looking stallions have holed themselves up and are happily swapping stories and flicking darts from their mouths to a dartboard nearby. You make a beeline toward the bar, weaving past the crowded tables and bustling barmaids.
"Hey!" You shout over the counter to the bartender. She's a unicorn, blue and white named with a bright look in her eyes.
"Howdy cutie, what can I get you?" She says, simultaneously passing a drink to a nearby stallion with her magic.
"Something hard," You say, taking your seat, "Very very hard. I just had my heart broken by the handsomest colt I've ever met and I want to kill my neurons."
The bartender shakes her head, "Oh girl, can't tell you how many mares have told me that one. I'll fix you up a shot of apple cider, it's the strong stuff. My name's Colgate, by the way."
"Thanks." You say as the shot slides underneath your nose. You grab it in your teeth, knock it back and slam in down on the counter, "Another, Colgate."
She had barely turned around in the time it took you to finish that, "Okie doke then."
The bottle tips onto your shotglass, filling it up with the brown liquid. You grab it before she can even pull the bottle away, gulping it down twice as fast.
"Another."
Colgate shakes her head and pours you one more, which you quickly down. She places the bottle within arm's reach and says, "I'll leave this here for you."
About a half an hour later, you're clutching your head and staring at a half-empty bottle of hard cider. The entire room is echoing, like you were underwater or something. It's becoming increasingly hard to keep your head centered on your body and even harder to stay on your stool. Eventually you start dipping forward. Your head comes to a rest on the counter and a puddle of drool starts to form around your face. You could stay here forever, you don't even care about Big Macintosh or his stupid, giant, rock-hard cock.
THUD
Your head shoots up. You're suddenly hyper-aware of everything going on around you. Every glass shifting, every drop of liquor pouring, every dart hitting the board. Of course, you're not aware of what's going on right in front of you, because then you'd see that sound was coming from...
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