YOUR GAME
(YOUR PROPERTY)

I'm worthless. I'm a waste of space. I sit here alone in my room. I'm on my bed. I'm staring at the walls, waiting for you. The window is shut. It lets the warmth and light inside, but does not allow the air to move around. The air is heavy, contaminated by my own stench. It makes it hard to breathe. It makes me sick. It feels like the punishment I deserve for my existence.

I look out the window. I see colts and fillies playing on the square before the town hall. They keep running around, laughing all the time. They look so helplessly ignorant. I turn away. I hate the sight of them. I wish you would crush them all when you get here. I wish the sun would fall from the sky and burn everything in this place to ashes.

I look again. I still can't see you. You should have gotten here by now.

No. I have to punish myself for that thought. I am not allowed to think that way. I turn my head toward the wall and scrape my horn against it. The plaster rains down in a stream of white dust and starts piling up on the bed. There are mountains of it now. My horn is aching. Its smooth surface grinds into the concrete. I am disgusted by it. I try grabbing it with my forelegs. I try to rip it out of my skull. I pound them against it. They are thin and sickly, too weak to do anything to it. I want to destroy it, but I can't. I'm not allowed to. No matter how hard I try, I am not strong enough anyway. The pain becomes too much before I can do enough damage. I am so weak and cowardly that I always give up before I could deal myself enough pain. I can take it from you, but I can't do it to myself. This is why I love you. This is why I must punish myself.

So I just scrape it against the walls. I feel the vibrations it makes all over my bones. It sends shivers down my spine. It sends pain shooting straight into my skull. I don't stop. I have left more marks on the wall than the number of days that I have lived. Maybe more than I will ever live. They form an enumeration of my countless sins. My horn is throbbing. A few bits have cracked and broken off. It is no use. It heals way too fast. Like the hooves at the end of my legs it will just keep growing back. It is a worthless piece of bone. I want to put it between my teeth and chew it off. I want to use it to stab myself in the stomach.

I look around the room again. It is a perfect description of me. Small, filthy, decaying, and almost empty. The old wallpaper is slowly peeling away. All that this room contains is a bed. It is not mine. I have no earthly possessions. The only thing in this world that I could have called my own is this body, and I don't want it. I despise it. I hate my own stink. It reminds me of every breath that I have to take without you. My soul is equally worthless, but I gave that to you a long time ago. It must be worth something to you, because you still keep it.

I start feeling horny. I am ashamed of myself. My discipline is about as pathetic as my bravery. I cannot stop myself. I lean forward and lie down onto my stomach. I push my ass into the air. I levitate the pillow before my face. There is a ragged hole in it where I have defiled it so many times before. I levitate the dildo up to my ass. My head thrusts forward. My horn enters the hole and the dildo penetrates my ass at the same time. I hiss through my teeth and close my eyes. I visualize fucking myself up the ass with my own horn. It makes the rhythmic motion pick up the pace. My breathing becomes faster. My teeth stab into my lips. I start chewing on my tongue.

This is how I masturbate. It makes me sick. I want to masturbate to you, but I cannot allow myself to do that. It would be a desecration. You would find out, because you know everything. You are my god. You would hate me, and I would deserve it. You should kill me for it, and I would welcome it. I don't deserve any better.

The final thrust hits home. My face distorts. My cock spasms against the mattress. I can feel my fluids spilling all over my belly. I let out the breath that I've been holding. My sperm leaves a stain on the mattress again. I wait and let it dry up beneath me. I want it to remind me of what I am.

I hear hoofsteps approaching. This is it. My heart starts beating faster. I put the rubber plaything back in its place, on display. I leave it filthy, so there will be no doubt about what I've been doing. I know it will only be used on me anyway. There is no need to clean it. I want you to know how pathetic I am. I want you to punish me.

The door opens. You enter. Your hooves move with their usual grace. They stop at the center of the room. I jump up and fall to my knees at your hooves. I bow my head down, averting my eyes from your beautiful figure. You smile at my obedience. You laugh when you notice my lack of self-control. I silently await your judgement on the floor. Your blue-coated forehoof reaches under my chin and raises my head. I look up into your eyes, drowning in the wonderful purple irises. Your silver-white mane encapsulates your pristine soul.

You are the most wonderful creature in existence. I live only to serve your purpose. You use my body to rub off your own impurities. My degradation allows you to shine. It fills me with happiness. Your eyes gaze hungrily at the heap of flesh that I am. I see your horn glowing. A rope snakes forth from behind your back. It coils around my legs, tying them behind my back. My mouth is shaking as I whisper my gratitude.

Author's Note

"Was there ever any doubt?"