Chains bit deeply into her ankles, yanking her legs apart. Another strangled her neck, granting her only the thinnest breaths. Clop. Clop. Clop. The sound of a pony approaching. Maybe she was just hearing things, but there was an echo to their step. Clop. Clop. Clop. Still coming. She slowly opened her eyes. The room was dark, dank, dingy: it was almost impossible to see anything, but the walls seemed to be bricks of grey stone; there was a slight orange flicker at the lower edges of her vision. She tried to turn her head towards it, but the chain was far too taut to allow any amount of movement. The sound of hooves had stopped.
“Subject 12: Heartcall; earth pony; mare; residence: Ponyville; condition: infertility. Selected to participate in experiments concerning sexual incapabilities and maladies in ponies. Equipment – uncontaminated...” He peered around Heartcall, seemingly performing some very lax examination. “Subject condition – satisfactory” The whole procedure had a clinical air about it. Heartcall couldn't decide whether that was reassuring or unnerving for a few moments, but rapidly settled upon the latter. He was treating her like a subject, a lab rat – like she was just some experiment. Was she?
The deranged doctor slowly trotted around her, checking that the chains were attached on both ends and adequately tight. He seemed to take no issue with the leg chains, but Heartcall saw him, or at least some of his light brown chin, linger at her front. A few seconds of chains clinking, slackening and tightening, and she felt a significant deal of pressure disappear from around her neck. She allowed her head to slide down, lining itself up perfectly with the stallion’s underside. Immediately, she noticed a rather strange smell around him: almost like some kind of bird. He seemed rather feathery, as well. Heartcall thought she saw some wings on his back, but if she had, he kept them so close to his body as for them to be nigh imperceptible from this awkward viewing angle. He took a few steps towards her.
Heartcall had only just noticed how strange it was for her mouth to remain free of any obstruction during what appeared to be, essentially, a kidnapping. The purpose of this became readily apparent as the pony strode towards her: his penis, gradually emerging from its sheath, was obviously aroused; and it was rapidly heading towards her muzzle. She tried to pull her head up out of the way, but a sudden, sharp slap from a wing sent her head back down. As the cock’s tip lightly brushed up against her nose, the stallion rather formally, and yet with casualness unbefitting of the situation, stated “My apologies for the lack of any proper introduction. I’m Cutting Edge, and it’s very nice to meet you, Heartcall. Hohohoho.”
He prodded against her face a few times. Her mouth didn’t budge. Heartcall considered shouting at this “Cutting Edge”, this asshole with the audacity to attack her like this, but she stopped herself before her lips had done little more than quiver. Opening her mouth to shout, to swear, to insult would give him every chance he needed. “Comply.” he said, coldly. Heartcall shook her head as much as she could, which was maybe an inch in either direction - as much as she could do in her restraints. Cutting Edge backed away, his rather average, at least for a pony, black, flared cock still throbbing from arousal. He turned to the left, glanced over the wall for a few moments, and appeared to press some odd protrusion on the wall. Pain! Her body spasmed in place, her soft pink fur shocked upright, off-white mane and tail frazzled and, as any fashionable pony would find, to be imitating a hideously outdated style. Her mouth fell to the floor from the pain, her eyes threw themselves shut.
He turned to her again. “I can only assume that you are now willing to perform your role here.” He once again approached her, and this time there was no resistance as he gently slid his member straight into her mouth. Heartcall weakly opened her eyes halfway, and tried to shoot the stallion an angry stare, but he looked right through her, devoid of any signal that he was bothered by her expression. Heartcall’s mouth, no doubt to her irritation and shame, watered for the shaft of the doctor. His manner, his pacing, his thrusts, they were almost lovingly smooth. It was far removed from any violence. Perhaps shocking her was enough for him. She felt another liquid presence in her mouth: his precum.
He gracefully extracted his dick from her before any characteristic pulsating indicating approaching orgasm began to occur. He leaned now and nuzzled the abused mare’s muzzle and licked her lips, grinning at the mixture of tastes that he had left in her. She didn’t try to pull away; she didn’t feel like he’d hurt her, not anymore. It almost felt like he cared a little. He stood up and walked over to a desk in the corner, examining some surgical equipment. He grasped a scapel in his wings, and grabbed some boxes which were emblazoned with medical symbols, then approached her flank.
“As you most likely noticed when I entered, I am aware of your condition. I plan to remedy it.” Heartcall perked up her ears. He was really going to do that? Did he even know why she was infertile? “No doubt you’re wondering about how I know this, and how much I know about it. I operated on you as a little foal. You were born between sexes, and I am very sorry about the complications of the surgery from then. I refuse to allow this mistake to go uncorrected.” This came across as almost altruistic to Heartcall. The possibility of having foals was something she always, very secretly, dreamed of. She’d never have admitted it before; never wanted to make anypony feel sorry for her or to feel the embarrassment of their knowledge, but this doctor clearly knew anyway. If he could help, then why not?
He ran one of the scalpels over her rump. It was cold, and Heartcall could swear it bit in and drew blood. He brought it down to her very warm vagina, and pushed it slightly inside. His wing felt warm, and wet, rather quickly, and dripping could be heard on the floor. Heartcall would have covered her head with her hooves, if she could. It seemed to only make Cutting Edge more aroused, however. Heartcall felt a strange flutter tingling her squishy butthole - it was Cutting Edge’s tongue! He licked around it, rimming her and causing her to moan slightly, and then pushed his tongue inside of her wonderfully soft, yet tight ass. He continued to poke the scalpel around inside of her, and she continued to leak in response to it, and yet both of them were thoroughly enjoying themselves.
His tongue continued to probe inside her delicious hole, and she felt herself releasing more than just one kind of fluid from her genitals. With her few remaining faculties, she considered how ashamed of this she should be, but it felt distant, unreal. She didn’t actually feel anything but pleasure from this.
He pulled his head back and gave her ass a few more good licks before pulling away and thrusting the knife deeper into her. He licked around his mouth again and smiled slightly. For a few minutes, he toiled away inside of her with the knife, and then, only slightly perspiring from difficulty of the procedure, stepped back to admire his handiwork. There were no visible changes of course - at least not from the surgery; it was certainly rather damp - but he was certain that he had been successful.
“Now, we must test to see if this surgery was a success. I would say to bite something, but I’m afraid I have nothing available for you.” Heartcall remained reluctant, disliking the idea of allowing this maniac to have his way with her. She also pondered the possibility of having foals, and wasn’t convinced that she wanted any. He mounted her swifty and rubbed his flare over her ass, along her perineum and around her vagina. Heartcall began to feel intruded upon, violated, molested again, like she had at the beginning.
He continued to rub himself up against her, uncomfortably for her; arousingly for him: he enjoyed the foreplay, the moments before penetration, the feeling of having his subject either begging for it or wishing to avoid it - it didn’t matter to him. The power, the control, it was perfect, impossible to compare to anything else. For him, it wasn’t even on the same scale as any other enjoyable act. It was almost disappointing for him to relinquish that through climax, but that moment would be pleasurable in a far more physical way.
Gasp! The head of his horsey cock had pushed its way into her juicy opening, and the feeling was truly overwhelming. The precum on his penis mixed with the surface wetness of her vagina, and it mixed into a lubricative coating for both of their genitals. He thrust in smoothly, with minimal friction or pain. He drew back again, his flare catching itself upon her entrance. Heartcall was surprised, but certainly relieved, that this was so easy. She might even be able to just relax and enjoy it, she thought. A chain digging into her leg yanked that thought away.
He continued to repeat this enjoyable rhythm of in and out, and Heartcall began to produce a sound halfway between a pained whine and a sensual moan. He increased the speed of his thrusts, bit by bit, as his orgasm began to edge closer and closer. He began to take short breaks to lean over and nibble on Heartcall’s ear and nape, partially to delay his own climax and partially to bring Heartcall to hers. The whole experience was smooth and sensual for the both of them, with additional elements of gratification and dominance. He slapped Heartcall’s right rump cheek with his right wing. A startled gasp of pain echoed throughout the room. He lowered his left wing down onto her cutie mark, and stroked it with his feathers.
Cutting Edge’s wing was still holding the scalpel. He carefully placed its tip upon Heartcall’s white, heart-shaped cutie mark, and traced its edges with the utmost care. Heartcall squeaked a very distinctive “eep!” as the cold blade of the knife was as horrifying as being sold apples by Apple Bloom to her. Cutting Edge attempted to withdraw the knife from this position, but his wing locked awkwardly. He tried to haphazardly throw the knife away, but it nicked his wing in the process. Small droplets of blood began to leak from it. Not to be deterred, he smeared the blood over Heartcall’s otherwise pure cutie mark, turning it into a more traditional, if filthy, red.
Cutting Edge had finally finished with any kind of foreplay or extraneous sexual activities: He was now entirely focused upon filling Heartcall’s hot horsevag with his cum. He thrusted harder and harder, with greater intensity, force and speed going into every motion. Heartcall moaned strongly in response to this much harsher, and yet much more stimulating pace. Cutting Edge’s heart began to pound from exertion and his breathing became more rough as he fucked her with expeditiousness than he had ever mustered for any other pony. The sensations involved were, for the both of them, outright divine.
It was completely overwhelming for Heartcall, who felt her blood rushing to her genitals as the throes of pleasure began to push her towards orgasm. Her walls clenched around Cutting Edge’s cock and drenched it in her own fluids. That was too much for him to take, and his shaft began to pulsate and grunted audibly, his cum shooting out of his urethra and filling Heartcall. He continued to thrust a bit afterwards, his cum sloshing around and coating his tip slightly. He leaned over Heartcall, both of them panting, and licked her right ear.
A few minutes later, his erection had gone soft and he dismounted Heartcall. He trotted around to her front, and told her “Clean me.” She obeyed, licking his genitals clean with her tongue. Afterwards, he leaned down and kissed her again, lingering to look into her mid blue eyes. Such a beauty, he thought. He walked over to his heavy iron desk, situated in the corner and covered with various folders, impeccably organised and cleaned. He opened one particular file: Heartcall’s, and noted that he believed the operation had been a success. He then grabbed another file, when to the door, and left the room. As he left her, all Heartcall could focus on was that distinctive sound of his gait. Clop. Clop. Clop.
