Staring at the stallion bound to the table before her, Rarity couldn’t quite suppress a malicious grin. There was an intense feeling of satisfaction having him here where she held all the cards. This colt—for he truly was a pitiful excuse for a stallion—would learn what it was like for those he abused and took advantage of to further his image. All the mares and commoners that he used and tossed away... He would soon know their pain.
Just watching him lying unconscious on the table, a magical limiter on his horn, she realized that he was truly helpless—like a baby. Knowing what was soon to come, that feeling brought her a sense of power that the trinket around her neck could only begin to emulate. Oh sure, it gave her the powers necessary to make all of this possible, but it only did so because she had the drive to make it happen.
“Oh Prince Blueblood,” she crooned, enveloping a large black apparatus in her new crimson magical aura. She rather liked the device. A cross between a ball gag and a funnel, it was just perfect for keeping him silent while simplifying the first part of her plans. With a wicked snort, she roughly jammed the gag into his slack muzzle. Strapping the toy firmly into place, she took a moment to brush some of his light amber mane off of his pearly-white face. “It’s such a shame that you had to be the brute that you were during the Gala, really.
“You really were such a handsome prince,” she explained to the dormant royal, flicking her eyes momentarily toward her tray of... party favors, as Pinkie Pie might put it. Oh yes, she’d planned this all out just perfectly. “It’s a shame you’ll be neither handsome, nor a royal by the time this night is through. I dare say you’ll come to like your new place in life all the same.”
As though spurred toward awakening by the sound of her voice, the stallion groaned and shifted futilely on the table. Even if he had not been heavily drugged, the shackles binding him to the table prevented him from being anything close to a threat—not that his physical prowess as a stallion came anywhere close to matching the power her amulet granted her. No, she dared to admit that nopony short of Princess Celestia could match her for power now.
Normally, dealing with an evil pony in possession of highly dangerous magical artifacts was the sort of mission Her Highness sent Rarity and her friends on, so the irony was not lost to her that from a certain perspective, she could be seen as one of those evil ponies. Rarity was far from evil, though; she was simply being the generous pony that her position as the Bearer of the Element of Generosity required of her. Not only was she going to do all of Equestria a favor, this lousy prince would be given a chance few stallions ever got—one way or another. No matter how she looked at it, she was helping him. All the rumors about her artifact being corrupting were simply ludicrous! This was a tool to help ponies!
The now-rousing pony’s thrashing pulled her out of her momentary ruminations. “Goodness me, where are my manners?” Rarity asked, feigning shame. Sweeping one hoof to encompass the large basement of her boutique, she beamed. “Welcome, Prince Blueblood, to my humble abode.”
His eyes—peering around the funnel gag—locked on hers, and in those eyes, she saw recognition. He knew who she was, and remembered what had happened when last they met. If she had foalnapped him, she had nothing good planned for him. A strained look crossed his face, and some muffled speech escaped the gag. “Oh darling, I can’t let you speak, not yet! We don’t meet until the Gala!” she chided in a tone he loathed to hear from a peasant such as her, poking a dainty hoof at the limiter on his horn. “We simply must get you ready first! A princess cannot simply attend the Grand Galloping Gala in the buff; think of the scandals it would cause!”
Blueblood let out an indignant sniff before he turned away. This mare was crazy! What did she even mean by princess? He was a crown prince of Equestria! If anything happened to his aunts and his cousin was indisposed, leading Equestria through its time of crisis was up to him! Even at his best of times, he had no time to engage a crazy commoner with her absurd, fetishistic roleplay.
His captor, on the other hoof, was absolutely certain that he would have time for this. Levitating over two wine flutes and a silver flask, Rarity poured a portion of amber fluid for her and her guest. Blueblood eyed the liquid and bleated a question through his gag. “Oh this?” she asked, knocking back the entire glass in a single gulp. “This is a Zebrian sex-change potion—a gift from a zebra friend of mine. You simply drink it, and you become as you would have been had you been born the opposite sex.” She grinned as she felt her muscles bulging beneath her skin. “With but another drink, you turn back as though nothing had happened. It’s a miracle of alchemy, and it’s perfectly safe.”
The heir apparent felt anything but safe, watching the indigo maned unicorn go from an admittedly stunning mare to a burly stallion that put his own impressive stature to shame. Whatever game this... this mare had in mind for him, he wanted no part of. This was absolutely insane!
“It’s your turn, my pretty princess,” Rarity said in a rich baritone, levitating the other wine-flute over the top of the funnel. “Drink up darling.” It most certainly wasn’t a question. Even as he poured the potion into the funnel gag, he leaned down beside Blueblood’s ear to whisper. “Believe me when I promise that you do not want to find out what happens when you disobey. This is my night, and it will be special.”
The prince never had a chance to resist either way. No sooner had Rarity poured the potion into the fixture had Blueblood’s nostrils simply vanished in a crimson flash. He had only two options; suffocate, or play his demented captor’s game. Ultimately, the self-concerned side of Blueblood’s ego won out, and he drank down the potion. When there was no more fluid left in the apparatus, his nostrils were returned to him and he sucked in as many greedy breaths as he could. He clenched his eyes steeling himself for the transformation to come.
Unlike his female counterpart Blueblood’s muscles did not bulge, stretching his skin. Instead, his skin pulled tight all across his body, compressing his flesh and bone alike. Even his stallionhood—his prized and closest friend—was becoming smaller. With each passing moment, his sheath and testicles grew smaller. His scrotum, growing ever more sensitive against the cold table, began to pull inward, sucking itself down an elongating passage of flesh.
Momentary pain flashed through him as his urethra separated itself from his deteriorating penile flesh and it too ventured into his new birth canal. He almost cried—if he could even be called a he now—as his nascent clitoris pulled into its new position in his marehood. Then, as if to ensure in Blueblood’s mind that he was the mare now, as the flesh beneath his formerly useless nipples began to swell and fill out.
“Now don’t you just look darling, Princess Bluebelle!” Rarity cooed mockingly, taking great pleasure in the former prince’s discomfort. Summoning a mirror from the aether, he held it before the new mare. “Now, we simply must do something about your mane. It’s out of control!”
Sure enough, when she opened her eyes, her mane was a bird’s nest of a mess—absolutely atrocious. Had her personal assistant been here, she would have had her in the stocks for not immediately doing something about this. She glanced at Rarity, and whimpered. He claimed to want to fix her mane, but this whole thing was a twisted game to him!
The stallion’s horn glowed crimson, and Blueblood once more found her eyes clenched shut. She heard the familiar tinkle of spellcasting, but when she felt no harm come to her she once more opened her eyes. She was stunned to see her mane styled almost exactly as Rarity’s had been before imbibing the transformative. The only difference was in color. She imagined, had she any way of seeing behind her, that her tail had received a similar treatment.
Smiling playfully, Rarity looked away. “I’m going to remove the gag and shackles now, Bluebelle,” he warned, an almost cruel glint in his eyes. “There are to be no outbursts, or you will find yourself without a tongue to waggle. Do you understand?”
Swallowing back a lump in her throat, Blueblood nodded weakly. When the gag and bindings vanished, she made no attempts to move or speak. She just sat there, watching her captor with wary eyes. What was next? She’d already been foalnapped, defaced, emasculated, and humiliated. What had he meant about this being his night? Was all this about reliving the Gala?
For just a moment, she allowed herself to be distracted by her reflection in the mirror once more. The mare she saw was beautiful—perfect even, if not for Rarity’s choice in manestyle. She supposed it was only to be expected that she would be the most gorgeous mare outside of Auntie Celestia, just as she had once been the most handsome stallion in all of Equestria. In spite of the dire depravity of the situation, she found the corners of her mouth pulling up into small smile.
“Oh darling, don’t you just look stunning?” Rarity asked, batting his eyelashes in a manner most unbefitting of a stallion. “Tell me I didn’t do a wonderful job on you.”
Blueblood eyed the mirror for a few more moments before looking toward her captor. “Oh yes, I look just perfect!” she admitted, succumbing to her own narcissism. “It’s just I—” She stopped dead, catching a warning glare from the stallion.
“Oh? Is there something wrong with my handiwork after all?” he asked, his voice harsh.
“N-no!” Blueblood whimpered, scooting backward on the table. She noted sourly that this backward motion was not producing the most comfortable sensations down below. “What I meant to say is that I really like my mane!”
Rarity looked at her flatly. “You know, my little sister says the same thing when she tries to lie to get out of something,” he growled. “Don’t ever lie to me again.” The warning in his voice was clear; this shouldn’t happen again if she wanted to get out of this intact. “You’ll speak only when spoken to, and answer every question honestly. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes, Mister Rari—”
“You will address me as Elusive, Bluebelle,” he demanded.
“Yes Elusive, I understand,” Bluebelle—for she had to play the role lest she brought on his wrath—whispered. “B-but, what if the honest answer is not one you want to hear?” She knew she was taking a gamble speaking out of turn, but she imagined that it would only be worse if she made an error down the line, further into the act.
An enraged look momentarily spread across Elusive’s muzzle, but it was quickly quashed by a calming breath. “I should really punish you for speaking out of turn, but I’ll overlook it for now,” he answered. “If you have nothing nice to say, I’m sure you know the rule taught in kindergarten. That being said, if you must stay quiet, I want you to hang your head in shame.”
Bluebelle nodded, taking the gravity of his tone very seriously. This was getting particularly dangerous for the mare. Elusive held all the power and was not at all afraid to imply how generous he would be in using it. For the first time since waking up, she wanted to look at anything but her captor.
So it was, she found herself looking about the large room in puzzlement. The table that she had only just been unstrapped from was in the dead center of the room. On the outskirts of the room were different stations in a clockwise arrangement around the circumference, each presumably different points in the stallion’s twisted fantasy.
Straight ahead was what looked like part of some sort of clothier’s shop. Next to that was what looked like part of the ballroom in the castle—the place where they first met. There he saw a disturbing array of ponnequins in dresses and tuxedos, each sporting unique wigs and a strange skin of what could only be felt. The next station also had a few ponnequins gathered around a food stand, operated by a ponnequin wearing vaguely familiar business attire. Then there was a garden with what looked like a mud puddle, a ballroom dance floor, and finally a bedroom. The last two scenes didn’t strike her as familiar, but she realized that what had happened at the Gala and what had been Elusive’s shattered dream were two separate entities altogether.
“Come along Bluebelle, we simply must get you dressed for the Gala,” Elusive instructs, leading the unsteady mare to the first station—the clothier. “Now, planning this night, I made two dresses and plans for you. In the event that you were a good girl, you were to wear this dress, and be treated to the best night of your life.” A beautiful scarlet, fuchsia, and gold dress with a matching shawl appeared in Elusive’s magical grasp; could that have been the same dress that Rarity had worn to the Gala?
“Now, because you lied to me, I have no other choice but to make you wear this, and feel how I felt that night.” The first dress and accoutrements vanished, only to be replaced by a black vinyl bodysuit with the pubic area completely missing. There were two D-rings per hind leg—one at the fetlock and one at the patella—and on the left foreleg a series of straps that had matching rings on the opposite leg. Bluebelle shuddered, recognizing what sort of outfit this is “I really would have preferred you had been a good girl, but I hear risque outfits like this are quite the hit with the Canterlot mares these days.”
~ ~ ~
Bluebelle chafed inside her bodysuit as Elusive—dressed in a tuxedo much like the one she’d worn that night—prattled on and on with some ponnequins. Were it not for her shameful outfit and the way it cut into her just enough to be uncomfortable, she might even find this behavior mildly disturbing, but even then, this was just another card of madness being pulled from this stacked deck of insanity. Nopony would wear such a disgraceful thing in public.
She lowered her head in shame when Elusive glared at her for not introducing him to her friends. She hadn’t realized he’d lead her to another part of the first station. This risque outfit was simply too distracting. Even though the area beneath the dock on the bodysuit was completely uncovered and unadorned, her date had included a pair of labial clamps as part of dressing up. Elusive seemed to take some sort of perverse pleasure in attaching the clips and hooking them to the bodysuit, spreading her nether lips for all to see. Bluebelle, on the other hoof, had yelped when they were attached to her new anatomy.
Every step taken was an uncomfortable reminder that anypony—though it’s really only him there to look—could look beneath her tail and see her spread in a permanent wink. Raised by a harness built into the suit, her tail covered very little. Every breeze reasserted that she wasn’t in her natural form, and every snort from Elusive as he forced her to walk in front of him only compounded the direness of her situation.
A loud gurgle escaped Bluebelle’s stomach, alerting her to the fact that she was absolutely starving. How long had it been since she’d last eaten? Hours? Days? She honestly had no idea how long Elusive had even been holding her before she’d awoken. There wasn’t the presence any of the physical weakness that came along with feeling this hungry, though, so had he been sustaining her somehow?
Elusive must have heard her stomach, because when she looked back at her, his grin was so wide that she fancied that the top of his head might just fall off. “Are you hungry my dear?” he asked a tone of false concern.
“Y-yes, Elusive,” she answered, glancing at the station with the food cart. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”
His grin softened into a genuine smile. “But of course darling,” he agreed mirthfully. “That’s because you haven’t!” Drawing close enough to touch her, he stuck his head between her haunches and nudged her forward toward the next station. “Come on now, we simply must get some food into you.”
Instead of moving forward right away, Bluebelle moaned as the larger unicorn’s horn teased against her folds, its tip pressing momentarily inside her. It was a sensation unlike anything she’d experienced before. Unlike when she was a male, her organs were always soft and supple, even when stimulated—so yielding. The sensation of his momentary penetration brought about conflicting feelings of helplessness and excitement. She found a small part of her wanted to press back against him, but her very identity screamed to get away from him. Before she knew what was happening, she felt something inside her new marehood clench and press out, allowing some slack on the labial clips. She’d just winked at him.
Using his urging as an excuse to get away from him, she cantered forward a few steps before setting an even pace toward the stand laden with common carnival fare. When she looked back, there was a lewd expression on his face as he stared at her flank. She knew the expression to be lewd as she’d seen it on many of her toadies’ faces when staring at mares that they desired—she’d likely even worn the same expression herself countless times. “Naughty, naughty girl,” he whispered. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”
Bluebelle felt her blush begin to bleed through her coat, and turned away just in time to come to a stop in front of the food cart. It was a fairly common food: candied apples, apple pies, apple fritters—there were even a few bottles of alcoholic cider. Normally, she wouldn’t touch the stuff—such treats were absolutely laden with calories and were in general bad for her princely figure—but right now, she felt she would eat as many treats as he’d let her.
“Applejack, darling! It’s so good to see you! How are your treats faring this year?” Elusive addressed the ponnequin dressed up in the apple-themed businesswear. He remained silent for a moment, as though he actually believed that the life-sized doll was speaking to him. “Oh nothing too much. My darling date Princess Bluebelle is hungry. Could you get us two glasses of cider and four apple fritters?”
Silence.
Levitating over four apple treats and two glasses filled with the dark amber liquor, he sat down beside her, placing one glass and all of the treats on the floor before her. “Go on, eat,” he instructed in a firm, commanding voice.
She looked down at the treats between her hooves, and then crossed her eyes to look at the tip of her horn. “But the limit—”
“Eat,” he bellowed, slamming a hoof on the floor. Bluebelle made to grab one of the treats between her vinyl-coated hooves, but was quickly interrupted when Elusive slapped her hard across the face with a hoof. “Don’t you dare sully the suit I painstakingly made for you with your slovenly eating habits, you vapid cow!” Grabbing her head with his magic, he slammed her face down towards one of the treats before releasing her. “Eat!”
Whimpering like a stricken dog—not that she was much better, in Elusive’s eyes—she opened her mouth and picked up the fritter between her teeth. Without the option of using her hooves to hold the treat, she was left with no other choice than to tilt her head back and take the entire treat into her maw to chew. Once she was done eating the first, she moved onto the next without prompting. If she did what he told her and ate, maybe he wouldn’t hit her again.
He smiled in amusement, watching her eat from the floor like some sort of pet. Drinking down his cup of ‘cider’, he felt himself harden. He knew that in part his burgeoning erection was because of the aphrodisiac laced beverage, but he also realized that he was taking great enjoyment in generously applying his newfound power over the former prince. Just watching her sit there, submissive to his control, made his growing erection twitch as it peeked further out of his sheath.
She pretended not to notice his surprisingly impressive erection peeking out from beneath his forehooves as she watched him from the corner of her eye, but it was the sort of thing that you couldn’t ignore. In that moment, when she saw a bead of precum leak down his shaft, she felt ill, knowing that either way she was fucked. Whether or not it would be gentle or hard would depend entirely on how Bluebelle behaved.
Finishing the last of the apple pastries, she looked at the glass and its yellow contents before glancing at Elusive. The aroused stallion nodded emphatically, almost too eagerly, and picked up his own glass between his hooves. Oh good! At least he wasn’t going to degrade her further by not allowing her to even drink a simple glass of cider with her hooves.
Putting the tumbler between her hooves, she pulled it up to her lips. It certainly smelled of high quality. Why couldn’t that country bumpkin have brought along a few cases of this to the Gala? On her first sip, however, that thought was quickly dismissed; an overly sweet, earthy flavor—so overpowering that it was noticeable beyond even the alcoholic bite of the cider—flooded her mouth. Her first reaction was to sputter and spit out the beverage, but she realized that Elusive wouldn’t poison her; his apparent plan made it that much clear.
The way Bluebelle was dallying so was beginning to irritate him. He’d already decided what way tonight would play out, and simply wished to get on with the show, not sit there watching this worthless mare calling herself a prince just idly sip her cider. Lighting up his horn, he cast a displacement spell, removing the cider from the glass and putting it straight into her belly.
“Come along dear,” he chided, his tone edging on threat. “Pay the mare so we can go to the ballroom floor for a little dance.”
“B-but I don’t have any money on me!” she protested, earning a steely glare from the stallion. “Why do I have to pay?”
“It’d be simply preposterous for me to pay, darling,” he replied in a ridiculing tone. “You’re the one who ate all of the food, and you are the princess, so you must have some form of payment on you.” Elusive paused, looking at the representation of the vendor, as though the doll once again spoke to him. “Oh Applejack, I couldn’t. Well... if you insist.”
Blueblood nearly screamed when Rarity conjured up a straight-razor, and any immersion both might have had in the act vanished. She had been perfectly willing to engage in some absurd role play and rough sex in order get out of this alive, but a blood toll? Blueblood wasn’t ready for that. In spite of all the macho bravado her dwindling masculinity insisted she express, all she could do was lower her ears and begin to cry.
“P-p-p-please! Anything but that!” she whined, tears streaming from her eyes as she backed away from her blade-wielding date. Her escape attempt proved short lived as soon as she backed into the food cart, overturning it and spilling food and drink everywhere. Even the ponnequin dubbed Applejack was not spared the upheaval. “You don’t ha-ha-have to do this! I’ll do anything! I’ll... I’ll suck your cock if it’ll help, just please don’t mar my beauty!”
Rarity scowled at the simpering would-be royal. Had she really offered herself like a common whore just to avoid getting cut? Disgusting! Elusive conjured a leash and hooked it into a ring hanging from the collar of Blueblood’s bodysuit. Still holding the razor, he jerked the leash as hard as he could and drug the frightened mare back toward him. As soon as she was nearly on top of him, he grabbed her throat with his magic and held her still.
“Sit still, darling. You wouldn’t want me to miss,” he whispered, leaning close to Blueblood’s ear. “Relax, Applejack understands that was just an accident, it’s still only the two ciders and the fritters you’re paying for. That’s only a sliver of what she could have asked for!”
Without any warning, he bit down on the tip of the restrained mare’s ear. At that same instant, he lashed out with the fine blade, slicing cleanly through a portion of Blueblood’s ear. A poorly timed jerk of her head left her with a bloody chevron missing from her flesh instead of a nice clean cut.
“Now look what you’ve done, you foolish girl,” Rarity growled, spitting the severed portion of ear into the spilled collection jar. “Now you’ve underpaid!” He watched the blood streaming down her neck and onto the collar of her vinyl clothing. Truth be told, he didn’t care one way or another if it was dirtied, as it was bound to get plenty bloody later anyhow. The earlier blow had simply been a simple dominance play, to reassert that his word was law.
Levitating the razor toward her once more, he smiled. “Oh well! Symmetry is just as important as paying your dues.” With much more caution this time, Rarity carved a chunk from Blueblood’s other ear, leaving the mare a screaming wreck. Licking the blood from the flat of the blade, he broke into a grin. “I do say, your name should have been Redblood, not Blue.”
~ ~ ~
Rarity waited patiently—generously—for Blueblood to calm down. The mare had been hyperventilating, trembling, and crying for the last five minutes following her disfigurement and it was all starting to get rather annoying. It wasn’t like she was still bleeding; Rarity felt it was more than generous of him to seal the wounds without even being asked. So why was she still crying?
Every time he moved to make some sort of placatory gesture—some sign of reassurance—she only trembled more furiously. He only stopped trying to comfort her when he became concerned that her reaction to him would lead her to wetting herself all over his basement floor. Between that and her disagreeable behavior so far, he wasn’t sure what he’d do to her. Probably a lot more than she was probably imagining, that was for sure.
“Auntie, I wanna go home!” Blueblood cried, burying her head beneath her hooves. “This isn’t my fault!”
Hearing that, Rarity snapped. Not her fault? Was she living in a fantasy world? She ruined the Grand Galloping Gala for him! All he’d ever wanted was one night of selfishness—one night where she could be the center of the prince’s attention! Instead, he was ignored, treated like rubbish, and had his friend’s lifeblood mocked! His fantasy of having a chivalrous noble fawn over her had been decimated by her poor personality! Oh there was definitely selfishness that night, but all of it had been Blueblood’s!
“I hadn’t wanted to do this, but you leave me no other choice!” he grumbled, enveloping the mare’s head in crimson magic. With only a slight exertion of his psyche, Blueblood went completely placid in a manner of seconds. Her expression of pained disdain was replaced with one of fawning adoration. He’d locked Blueblood away in her own mind, leaving a pliant doll with a passenger watching from within. The horror in her eyes was clear.
“Now come, Bluebelle,” Elusive said, allowing himself to slip into the fantasy once more. “We simply must take a walk through the garden before we waltz onto the ballroom floor.”
Bluebelle smiled, cantering over to walk just ahead of her stallion, her tail dancing tantalizingly for him. “Of course!” she replied with a playful giggle. Inside, she was screaming in terror. He’d just used one of the most forbidden magics known to ponykind to reduce her to nothing more than some floozy ready to lift her tail for anypony. Still, she found herself glancing over her shoulder to peek at Elusive’s still-turgid erection and—with a mental shudder—licking her lips.
Leading him away from the food cart, she stopped in front of a puddle. “Oh no!” she said in that unintelligent tone forced upon her. “There’s a large puddle blocking the way!”
“If only we had some way to cross it without ruining my hooficure!” Elusive moaned in an overly dramatic tone. “It’s too bad you don’t have a shawl we could place in the puddle to walk over.”
Bluebelle’s body looked playfully at him before walking into the middle of the puddle and lying down. “It’s okay, Elusive! You can walk on me!”
If Elusive could look any more smug as he walked across her back, Bluebelle didn’t want to know. He seemed to take great pleasure in pausing to rub his new scrotum against her useless horn, and that made her want to vomit. “Such a considerate mare! Why couldn’t you have been this cooperative earlier?” Stepping off of her, he turned around to pluck her from the puddle with her magic. “Oh but look; you’re covered in mud now.”
Her head shook and a dumb smile crossed her face. “That’s nothing; we can just use my mane and tail to towel off!”
Again, a cruel grin overtook his calm demeanor. “Of course, let me just get that for you!” That glittering red aura that Bluebelle had come to fear surrounded his horn, and suddenly her scalp and tail felt tight. That tightness quickly shifted to tugging, and then yanking. It hurt so badly, but because of the mental tampering, the only sounds to escape her were cries that she might otherwise have found erotic. Then, just like that, her mane and tail fur had been separated from her and used to wipe her clean.
“See? All better!” Cantering toward the ballroom scene, she giggled. It didn’t matter to the imposed personality in the slightest that her luscious mane and tail had been pulled out and used as a disposable cloth, but inside she was furious. All those bits spent on mane products and her personal groomer had just gone to waste. It would be years before her mane reached that level of perfection again. Even without a mirror, she knew she looked hideous now. So why did her haunches feel damp? How in Auntie Celestia’s name would she be feeling aroused and hot? “Good as new!”
As soon as she reached the dance floor, Bluebelle spun to meet Elusive. She reared up to meet his own raised stance, intertwining her left foreleg with his right as he cradled her croup and his left held her right a respectable distance away from them. Her body pressed against him, her exposed and engorged teats sandwiched his twitching stallionhood between them. She giggled, feeling his length, and inside her masculinity cried.
Slowly stepping and rotating outward in a circle to the sounds of a silent symphony, they gently swayed their hips. Elusive grinned as the charade went on. This was going just perfectly now, and all it had taken was a little generous use of magic. Admittedly, there isn’t as much fun puppeteering Bluebelle with magic, but this was his night, not hers. It was his right to take pleasure in the way that the expertly polished vinyl felt rubbing against his shaft—the way her sweaty tits rubbed him. He’d done an expert job preparing her suit, and it showed. In spite of the mud treatment, it shone brilliantly in the light. With the way his pre was smearing against the vinyl and lubricating it further, it was a battle of will to not paint her with his cum right there.
That isn’t to say this night—or was it the ambergris?—wasn’t having an effect on Bluebelle’s new form as well. He could feel her nipples, tracing circles against his belly like diamond-tipped glass cutters. Both of them could smell the neophyte mare’s mounting arousal. The air was utterly thick with the musk of a mare in heat and the sound of her clit helplessly flicking outward. Her legs were so slick with her sweat and arousal that she was having difficulties keeping upright. Between the polished vinyl and the fluids now coating it, she was lucky she didn’t slip and impale herself on him right then and there. Still, she couldn’t help but allow her head to slump against his chest.
“My dear, I can’t help but notice how wonderfully pleasing you smell,” he whispered, nuzzling the top of her bald head. “You’re a princess with certain... needs, and I’m a stallion with a certain agenda. What say we forget the Gala and go back to my place? I’m sure I can find some way to satisfy you.”
The imposed personality—Elusive’s puppet—operating Bluebelle’s body was about to say something when she finally did slip. Instead, as her legs fell out from under her, her splayed vagina falling hard against his patella. She let out a throaty moan as her clit brushed against his fur. “Oh, yes,” she hissed, smiling as she felt his cock throb in approval. “Take me!”
Inside her head, Bluebelle was screaming. She had always prided herself on her masculine physique and good looks, valuing its ability to bring a new mare to her bed any night she wanted. Stallions had never attracted her in the least, so feeling this foreign body—her body—behaving this way, lusting after the crazed unicorn that had warped her body and mind, felt like a betrayal of her very being. Oh how she yearned to scream at him to release her and threaten him with his aunt’s power. Oh how she desired to see him—
Unceremoniously, he swept her up in his magical grip, grinning as she giggled and rolled about. His night was nearing its completion, and it was time for the main event. Floating her across the room, he felt his stallionhood slapping excitedly against his barrel as he walked. “Soon,” he whispered, dropping her roughly on the bed.
“Ouch, why so rough?” she whined, rolling onto her belly in order to rub at her swollen vulva. The sudden drop had knocked loose one of the clamps on her vulva, and the change in tension left victim to the quivering arousal brought on by the sudden return of blood to her labium. “That’s no fun!” Inside, Bluebelle thanked her stars that there was something that the imposed personality said that she could agree with. That was unnecessarily rough.
Elusive let out a dry laugh as he finished crossing the room. The displaced clamp glowed red and reattached itself, once more spreading her for him. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this night?” he asked in sudden anger. “I’ve been waiting for my perfect night since I was a little filly growing up here in Ponyville. That Gala all those months ago was supposed to be that night. For just that one little moment, I was supposed to be my stallion’s everything.
“I was fully intending on being generous, my dear.” He stomped a hoof as he reached the bedside and the straps on Bluebelle’s left foreleg began threading themselves through the rings on her right one, pulling the two limbs taut. “All you had to do was co-operate, and I was fully intending to pamper you the way you were supposed to pamper me that night.”
A spreader bar appeared from below the bed, and attached itself to the rings on her ankles. “Instead, you chose to fight me at every opportunity, proving to me that you are as bad a princess as you are a prince.” Bluebelle tried her hardest to push herself into a tripod-like stance, but two lengths of wire hooked into rings on her front fetlocks, looped through the rings on her hind knees, and coiled tightly around the spreader bar. This binding served the dual purpose of pulling her front legs down between her hind ones, and elevating her plot for the eager stallion as he pulled himself onto the bed. “Now, I suppose I will simply take my revenge as a brutish commoner would.” His horn lit up and he bared his teeth at her, throwing his forelegs over her hips. “I suppose I should first remove this dreadful enchantment on your mind. I swear, her lack of fight ruins all of the fun.”
Just like that, Bluebelle was back in control of her body, for all the good that control did her. She felt his stallionhood prodding eagerly at her marehood. For all the shame she felt at being at the mercy of this insane commoner, a bit of rage surged to the surface of her consciousness. “I swear on my aunt’s name that if you do this, there will be nowhere in Equestria for you to hide!” she screamed, trying in vain to fall to her side so that he couldn’t penetrate her. “She will incinerate you for this!”
Letting out another cruel bark, Elusive leaned down to bite at the nape of her neck. For a single instant, he wished he hadn’t been so eager to tear out her mane. That would have made for some wondrous leverage. “Oh darling, it’s utterly adorable that you actually think that!” He grinned, moving on to lick one of her cloven ears. “Celestia won’t do anything to me! I am a national treasure—a hero! You’re just a common broodmare who won’t remember any of this by the time we’re done. Speaking of which—” He lit his horn and she felt something inside her twinge.
“I do so hope that the mind wipe won’t be damaging enough to prevent you from raising my foal,” she whispered, biting down hard on her ear. “It would be a shame if all this effort went to waste.”
Without another word, he thrust his hips forward, spearing her virgin hole on his burning length. Whereas the slick, warm embrace of her inner folds was heaven to his dick, his penetration brought her nothing but sudden pain. Her new organs—flesh that had no experience with touch—stretched agonizingly around his wide girth. On some base level, she knew that he’d just torn a little membrane called the hymen, but her train of thought wasn’t on track toward that destination. The only thing she could think about was how much he stretched her, filled her... hurt her!
Had she inflicted this sort of pain on mares when she’d gone virgin hunting with some of the other nobles? Is this what mares felt when she held them down to bestow them the honor of his royal seed? Did mares feel this pain every time? “P-p-please, take it out!” she whimpered, trying to bury her face in the bedclothes. “It h-h-hurts so much... I don’t want this!”
To her great surprise, he did begin to withdraw at that instant. Even as his rigid length tugged at her inner curvature, a relieved smile crossed her face. She’d managed to talk some sense into him after all! She didn’t have to go through this now! It was—
Elusive bit down on her ear once more, yanking her head to one side as he viciously hilted his penis in her once more. She yelped in pain as he spread her tight warmth once more. “Me, me, me!” he snarled, rocking his hips against hers. “Even now you’re being so rude and self-absorbed! Tonight isn’t about you, my dear.”
He grinned at her beautiful whimpers and moans as he slapped his pelvis against her dock. The way her flesh cradled his stallionhood—like a slick, tight sheath of velvet wrapped around his cock—was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Her pussy’s tightness, coupled with the elation from the power he held over her was driving him wild.
With each slap of his hips, he drew back and came at her again with increasing vigor. She whined and cried as he continued to assail her poor pussy. With each thrust, it became more and more painful for her, as the end of his seemed to grow larger, stretching her painfully tight around him. Stretched and bloodied, she only wished she could bite down on one of her hooves. Having once been a stallion, she knew what was to come.
Elusive humped away until he felt his flare wedging him in place against her cervix. A feeling of euphoria surged through him as sticky strands of semen shot forth from his stallionhood, painting the entrance to her womb with his seed. He grunted and growled, still biting down on his ear as he fired off spurt after spurt of cum into his broodmare’s tight cunt.
To her credit, Bluebelle didn’t make a single sound as he pumped her womb full with a gallon of his seed. She simply bit down on the bedsheets, focusing all of her willpower on fighting the bizarre instinct to press back against him, to make sure she didn’t miss a drop. Internally, she was trying to stave off the horror of having been raped as well as deny her body’s disappointment that she wasn’t satisfied.
Letting go of her ear, he smiled malevolently. For a former stallion who claimed to want none of this, her vagina sure was doing its hardest to milk his slackening length. Her outer lips quivering delightfully around the base of his cock, he could feel her clitoris twitching spastically against his scrotum. All of this felt too easy, but it was well worth the reward of hearing her moan dejectedly as his flare tugged free of her used snatch. An absolute torrent of his seed—tinged pink with her blood—spilled forth following his withdrawal, and as the head of her cock grazed the clamps on her labia, one last strand of cum shot forth, coating the clamps as his limp girth receded into his sheath.
“Wasn’t that simply divine, darling?” he crooned, nestling down beside her still bound form. “I dare say you even started to enjoy it.”
Bluebelle looked away, tears rimming her eyes. “I hated it,” she whimpered.
“But why, darling?” he asked, sounding genuinely hurt. Wrenching her head to face him with her magic, he stared into her eyes. “Don’t you want to bear my foal?”
“No!” she squeaked, trying to avoid his red glowing gaze. “It—it didn’t feel good at all!” She was sniveling and snotting all over the bedclothes in self disgust. She wanted to bite off her own tongue for what she just said, yet she found her mouth flowing freely as she was drawn into his gaze. “Why couldn’t it feel good?”
Elusive grinned. “Darling, you’re a broodmare now; sex isn’t supposed to feel good,” he explained in a soothing tone. There was something about his voice that burned those words into her very being. Looking deeper into his glowing red eyes erased any doubt she had in his words from her mind. “Your only purpose in life is to be bred and pleasing your stallion—your only pleasure in bearing and nurturing foals. Foalbirth will be like nothing you’ve ever experienced, and caring for foals will be the most erotic and addicting experience in your life.”
With every word, Elusive pressed forth with his magic, rooting through Bluebelle’s mind. Every piece of Blueblood and Bluebelle—every memory and ounce of that shattered sense of self—was expunged from the mare’s mind. She had no need for that identity now, as Equestria had no use for a broodmare as a prince.
She shuddered as he spoke. Something was incredibly amiss, but she couldn’t understand why she might feel that way. The warmth of her stallion’s semen in her belly reassured the broodmare that all was well, but she felt as though something was missing, as though it were lost to her. But what?
“Now of course, a broodmare needs a name,” Elusive conceded. “A name and a cutie mark to match.” He paused deep in thought, only just remembering the compass rose adorning her flanks—the last remnant of Blueblood. “Flora should be a good name for a fine whorse such as yourself, and I know just the cutie mark for you.”
His horn shimmered brighter, and the flanks of Flora’s vinyl bodysuit began to glow white-hot. An image—mirrored on the other side as well—began to form on the vinyl: an ovum penetrated by sperm, surrounded by white petals. To all but the most discerning of gazes, her ‘cutie mark’ would appear to be a simple daisy. Yes, that would definitely do. The vinyl began to melt into her flesh, covering and burning away the compass rose and blistering her skin. Surprising Elusive, the broodmare never cried once.
Releasing his magical hold, he smiled. In time, her fur would grow back around the cutie mark, but the mark itself would remain forever furless—the only clue that her cutie mark was fake. There wasn’t a single ounce of concern that she would ever be cold; oh no, the layer of vinyl burned into the skin would keep that flesh well-insulated.
It was then that he realized he’d erred. The bodysuit that he’d painstakingly crafted—for most self-respecting clothiers never worked with such synthetic materials—was ruined with those patches burnt from it. Sighing, he willed the ruined outfit and bondage gear from existence. It may have been one of his better works—a model for a new, adult line even—but it was not worth crying over.
Recognizing that she was no longer bound, Flora pulled her forelegs into a much more comfortable position beneath her, and let her rubbery hind legs fold beneath her. A part of her new personality insisted that she cuddle with the stallion that had so graciously helped her serve her purpose, and, finding no reason to disagree with that voice, she huddled close to his warm frame.
Rarity, allowing the fantasy to end in her own mind, snorted in disgust. If Prince Blueblood had been nearly as affectionate as the broodmare the Alicorn Amulet had helped create, maybe none of this would have been necessary. It’s not that he felt regret; no, he felt elated at having done Equestria this favor.
Still, he felt uneasy. Even with the chunks of her ears missing and her feminine face, Flora still bore a striking resemblance to the now non-existent Blueblood. The way her flesh hung around her eyes was unmistakable. It was a shame that he couldn’t leave her pretty face unmarred. It would definitely help Flora find potential mates once Rarity let her go, but he couldn’t allow her running around looking like the stallion she’d once been.
“At least her foals will be good looking,” he whispered, conjuring up a bottle of water and baking soda from upstairs. Soon after, a bottle of drain cleaner appeared beside him. Opening the acid bottle’s lid, he hesitated. Was he seriously considering this? He shook his head dismissively. Of course he had to do this; he was giving Flora a chance at a new, more productive life. She couldn’t have that if somepony recognized her as Blueblood and tried to restore her.
“Flora, darling,” Rarity whispered in a soothing voice, gently sliding the magic limiter off of the placid mare’s horn. “I’m going to have to do something to you, and it’s going to hurt you very much—”
“But it’s for my own good, right?” Flora asked hopefully, in almost childlike naivete. “You’d only hurt me if it were for my own good, because I’m your broodmare, right?”
For the first time since this whole charade began, Rarity felt a twinge of regret. He knew he was doing the right thing for Equestria, but at what cost? He’d created a mare with almost childlike exuberance and an unnatural drive to please her stallion by any means necessary, whose only purpose was bearing and raising foals. How would this mare fare when he abandoned her? How badly would she be taken advantage of before she found a stallion?
“That’s right, dear; now close your eyes,” he quavered, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He levitated the drain cleaner over her face. “You’re my mare.”
Author's Note
We're not done just yet. Move on to the next chapter.
Rarity picked up the Manehattan newspaper, the Star, from the table as she sipped her morning tea at the breakfast table. Across from her, Sweetie Belle chattered on about cutie marks and her plans for the day. Try as she might, Rarity couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness and regret whenever her sister had brought up cutie marks. The filly of course had picked up on it, but Rarity had never explained why the topic had become depressing for her. She was honestly wondering if Sweetie hadn’t come to the conclusion that it was her obsession with cutie marks that worried her older sister.
It had been almost six months since she’d burned Flora and sent her away to Manehattan with the magic of the Amulet, and she still was unsure what to think. Almost automatically, she felt her gaze drawn to the top of the refrigerator, where a small box was safely out of the sight of curious fillies. The Amulet had been something she’d picked up in a curio shop on a trip to Canterlot, and had been the whole basis for coming up with the idea of Flora’s Gala.
She knew she’d been a fool to ignore the shopkeeper’s warnings of a corrupting influence. Not only had she allowed the trinket to skew her thoughts and become obsessed with revenge, she’d even gone as far as to commit some of the most heinous crimes known to Equinity: mind control and tampering, rape, forced impregnation—murder even. No matter how her corrupted mind had tried to skew it as generosity, she knew nopony would see it the same way. Her selfish and petty desire for revenge had lead her to become a monster.
She’d been so sickened by what she’d done that night that after sending Flora away, she’d torn the Amulet from her neck and hid in her room for three days straight, turning away any visitors. Eventually she’d calmed down enough to clean up the scene of the crime, but the amulet had sat untouched for a further week. Every time she looked at it, she was reminded of what she was... and her parents trusted her with Sweetie Belle!
“So why do you always read that Manehattan newspaper now, Rarity?” Sweetie Belle—sweet, innocent Sweetie Belle—asked, noting her sister’s dour countenance.
“Oh, Rarity is—” she faltered. “I’m just checking for news of a friend.” It was a lie that would be obvious to anybody but a foal. She’d subscribed to the newspaper almost immediately after her depression out of guilt, hoping for any news about her. “She moved out to Manehattan ages ago, claiming she was going to make it big.”
A curious look crossed her younger sibling’s eyes. “But... surely I would have met her before, right?” Sweetie prodded, unconvinced. “I mean, you had to have been super close to be that eager to hear news... and if that’s the case, why wouldn’t you just write her a letter?”
A feigned smile creased Rarity’s face as she silently cursed her sister’s brightness. She’d definitely need to watch what she said around Sweetie. The poor girl was too innocent to know just how badly her sister had fallen. “She’s a friend I met while in Canterlot, dear. You wouldn’t know her,” she explained. Raising an eyebrow, she glanced at the clock. “Don’t you need to be getting to school, darling?”
“Oh no! I’m late!” Sweetie squealed, ignoring the rest of her breakfast.
The little white filly scampered out of the kitchen, and a few moments later, Rarity heard the front door slam shut. Allowing herself a sigh, she shook her head. “If her daughters are anything like her, I don’t envy Flora.”
Without her sister to distract her, she turned her attention to the newspaper in front of her. “Manehattan Foalnapper Caught!” she read aloud. So the headline was an update on the string of foalnappings plaguing Manehattan for almost a month. “It’s about time! I can’t imagine what it would be like for Flora if that predator were still active when she’s due.”
In a bizarre twist of fate, the Manehattan Foalnapper, already being called the ‘Broodmare’ by police, was arrested yesterday when she was caught leading one of a number of missing foals away from a playground, back to a warehouse in the seedy part of town. The ‘Broodmare’ was in fact a heavily pregnant unicorn mare [see section A2 for mugshots] with no prior criminal records, or even registration with the city of Manehattan. Police are already sending information requests to other cities, but are not hopeful.
Rarity’s stomach sank as she read the words ‘pregnant unicorn mare,’ and quickly leafed through the newspaper to section A2. Upon seeing the photographs printed on the page, she let out a small scream. Those burns—those cloven ears—were unmistakable. There on the page was Flora, a disconcerting smile gracing her face. “This has to be some sort of mistake!” she told herself, flipping back to the article. “A bad dream, even.”
When approached by peace officers, the foal cowered near the mare, afraid not of her, but apparently of the police. According to the officers, the foal hid behind her, calling her mommy. Indeed, all of the foals—seventeen fillies and colts all under the age of five—recovered from the warehouse seemed to believe her to be their mother.
Currently, she is being held on eighteen charges of foalnapping, possible charges of mind tampering, and—if rumors of the foals all smelling of milk and arousal are to be believed—numerous counts of aggravated foal molestation. When arrested, her only response was ‘Please don’t take my babies from me!’ Given the mare’s apparent psychological state, she has been remanded to the high security wing of the Clearwater mental institution pending assessment, trial, and further investigation.
“Oh no,” Rarity moaned, burying her head in her hooves. There was going to be an investigation! She’d been so certain that she’d tied up all the loose ends, but what if they found something she missed? It would only be a matter of time before they found her. Her family and friends would be disgraced... and her sister... Sweetie would hate her forever, and rightly so.
She knew then that she would rot in prison while they tried her—not just for rape, mind control, and assault with the intent to maim, but possibly treason and attempted regicide—before sentencing her to death. The trial could possibly go on until she was a gray old mare. The supposed ‘best years of her life’ would be spent in prison.
Strangely, none of this bothered her. She’d come to this realization on the second night of her depression all those months ago, and come to terms with it just as quickly. She was upset because she realized that she hadn’t just ruined one pony’s life; she’d ruined the lives of eighteen—nineteen if they even allowed Flora to carry to term—foals... and that said nothing of how she’d ruined Flora so. She’d made her into that crazed foal abductress, and made her addicted to caring for children.
Rarity glanced at the top of the fridge again before levitating down the little wooden box. She set it down on the table and stared at it for a few heartbreaking moments. Pushing it aside, she summoned up a quill and ink, and wrote.
Dear Sweetie Belle,
Something’s come up, and I am unfortunately required to leave Ponyville for a time. Please take the box and the letter attached to it straight to Twilight Sparkle. She will know what to do with it. In the meantime, be a good, strong filly and do what Twilight tells you until Mother and Father come back. I love you so very much, Sweetie, and Mom and Dad too. I’m so sorry I had to leave on such short notice.
~Rarity
P.S. Please take good care of Opal for me.
Contented with her letter to her sister, she quickly wrote out her confession to Twilight, sparing none of the details, and then another note, instructing her to go to the police with the box and her confession. She knew then that Twilight and the rest of her friends would hate her for what she’d done, and even more for the way she went out. She accepted that openly. She was a monster that deserved to die.
With only a cursory glance at the knife block on her kitchen counter, Rarity went upstairs and drew up a hot bath. She was going to Tartarus very soon, so she may as well get used to the heat.
Author's Note
"Seven, why did you write this vicious piece of literature?"
I suppose an explanation is necessary here.
I hang out in a Skype group populated by a number of popular authors as well as those who have their hands in a number of stories via editing. Needless to say, many of them have written or are known for writing clop. For a pervert like me, it's easy to find myself coming up with all sorts of perverse ideas for clopfics. It's the place that lead to me coming up with Buttonette, Button Mash, and it's the place that lead to me writing this. They just help get my juices going, yeah? Okay, yeah, that's pushing it.
For many people, rape is an uneasy subject. It's a serious crime that has serious ramifications on people's lives, so why then have I written no less than two stories involving rape? I suppose in part it's a bit of fascination with the things that leave their scars on people's psyches, and what leads people to doing things like that. It's why I enjoyed Kaidan's "Carnage Murder Crew" story. His story was about the why, whereas my story is about the endgame of a serious obsession. I do not make light of rape victims; indeed, I feel nothing but sympathy and respect. What they've gone through, I can only begin to imagine. In fact, that's why I write it: to better understand.
As for this 'Happy Ending', I wrote the ending this way because it seemed to work best. The way Rarity had reprogrammed 'Flora' left opening for a lot of outcomes because of vagueness in wording. Rarity killing herself? Sometimes, I just really hate that mare. Especially when she reprograms ponies and turns them into crazed broodmares who get sexual release from nurturing children, y'know?
I hope this story was as much an adventure for all of you as it was for me to write.
