Tales From the Clop

The cold night air whistles quietly through trees as owls converse in their never-ending questions. The full moon, dressed in dark clouds drifting by, is serenaded by the howls of wolves. Far from the still streets of Canterlot stands the Royal Maze Garden, where a surprise awaits.

At the edge of the maze garden, the fog begins to thicken. A low creak echoes from inside the maze, closely followed by empty hoofsteps. He walks out of the shadows, half-stumbling, half-mad, his frame tall and wiry. The dark, creepy hood and cloak he wears flutters in the wind. With every step he takes, his joints groan and crack.

He lowers his hood with a swift yank, revealing a set of horrendous yellow eyes, his single visible fang a dead grey and his nose all but gone. Though rotted, his familiar face is recognizable anywhere.

His lion paw holds a lit flashlight up from under his chin as, with a snap of his eagle talons, Discord calls down a single tentacle of lightning that booms dramatically. It’s corny, but effective.

Once all quiets, he smiles like a predator cornering its prey.

“Greetings, boys and ghouls!” he says with a fourth-wall-breaking bow. “I am the Chaos Keeper. Welcome to my Maze of the Macarbe!”

Another flash of lightning streaks across the sky. Discord waits for the thunder to pass before he continues. “You’re just in tomb for Tales From the Clop! I’ve come to share several stories of licentious lugubriousness guaranteed to leave you scared stiff!” He leans in and quietly adds behind his lion paw, “If the stiffness lasts longer than four hours, consult your doctor.”

Another snap of his eagle talon calls up a coffin from the earth. As it rumbles up from the ground, so do a pair of candles that instantly light when the coffin comes to a stop, spilling eerie light onto a thick book that rests on the lid. Discord leans over the coffin as if it were a desk, opening the book and thumbing through the pages.

“Our first scary tale is about a tyrant and a treacherous tailor. It was love at first fright for this power-obsessed couple. Will Suri Polomare succeed in stealing more than Blueblood’s heart, or will the prince curry Suri’s favor? Find out in our inaugural tale of titillating terror, Powerless!”

Powerless

Story by ~ Bronystories
Written by ~ Damocles23
Edited by ~ Brony_Fife

Fetishes/Trigger Warnings: Blackmail, Male-Over-Female Domination, slight Cum Inflation, Muzzle-Fucking, 69ing, Vaginal Penetration, Cunnilingus. Read at your own risk!!!

“No, look. Maybe you got that wrong. It’s Polomare, mmkay? P-O-L-O-M-A-R-E.” Suri tapped her hoof once for each letter, hoping to carve them in the valet’s thick head.

“For the last time, ma’am. I’m pretty sure it’s ‘Polymare’ on the list.” The young valet adjusted his glasses and squinted his eyes to check again. “Is this a ‘Y’ or an ‘A?.

Suri let out a long, irritated sigh and rolled her eyes. “Sure. And you know many fashionistas from Canterlot called Polymare?” She searched in her finely embroidered saddlebag and among the rolls of fabric she searched for a letter sporting the royal seal. “You want proof? Here’s proof, mmkay? Unless somepony changed my name in the middle of the night, it clearly says...”

Her eyes settled on the letter and, to her horror, it clearly said Polymare even there…

Either it was a cruel mockery, or there really was a royal invitation for a fashionista named Polymare who was probably trotting her merry way to Canterlot to hog Suri’s leftover glory. She didn’t know which one was worse. Probably the second.

After losing the competition, that royal invitation was an absolute stroke of luck. A proof that the Universe still wanted something out of her and nothing, nothing in the wide world of Equestria could have dissuaded her from it.

“I don’t know about that. I should ask my superior.” The large, marble door behind him creaked open. “I can ask the Princess and spare a lot of time, but would the Princess even have the time to—”

A smug voice burst from the halfway opened door and acted as the proverbial last drop to Suri’s patience. “Ah, Miss Polymare! You’ve arrived at last!”

“It’s Poloma—!” she spinned on her hooves towards the voice but her scream was cut short when Suri held her gaze on the focus of that rage. A very bright, tall, royal and perfectly groomed focus of her rage.

“Alright, Miss Poloma.” Prince Blueblood came out of the door and let out a chuckle so irritating that her hoof felt compelled to meet his face. “I’m glad we finally meet.”

“Finally? You mean that...Oh!” Realization hit Suri as his lips gently brushed against her pink hoof. Suddenly, she found in her heart the will to forgive the little misnaming. Mostly.

“Yes. Equestrian Royalty needs you and, to be absolutely precise, I need you. I was the one to send your invitation.”

“Really?” a wide smile blessed her lips. “But the letter said the wrong name. I almost thought that—”

With a magic touch, Blueblood snatched the letter out of her hooves and examined it carefully, sighing right after. “Just a gross mistake. I apologize for that.” He led the way for the mare with his hoof. “By the way, you are fired,” he said to the valet.

“W-what?! But I...I didn’t…” He fell to his knees, his hoof futilely trying to reach the cold prince as warm tears crossed his cheek.

“That’s right. You didn’t.” He left behind the still-shocked young colt and slammed the door on his face. Suri could hear quiet sobbing from outside.

He stole a quick glance of her elegant form and when those cerulean eyes landed on her, she felt...breached. Violated. Simply dirty. The good kind of dirty. “I look forward to hire your… considerable talent,” he smirked, and landed a small kiss on her wrist.

There was this aura coming from him. A veil of power and smugness that only the upper classes could produce.

“My...talents?” she sulked, flicking a lock of her mane out of her forehead. “I mean, you've surely heard of that...scandal. For the lack of a better term.” She blinked. “Not that I’m refusing an opportunity!”

“Puh-lease!” He let out a roaring laugh, so loud that the guards in the hall and some of the nobles entertaining themselves and conducting their business turned towards him. “Scandals are high society’s bread and butter! Scandals are like medals pinned on our chests.” He slipped a foreleg around Suri’s shoulders and waved the other in a slow arc that encompassed everypony in the room. “You can’t be somepony if you don’t rack up a few scandals left and right!”

“Like the one you were awarded at the Grand Galloping Gala two or three years ago?” Suri smirked triumphantly, imagining that smug grin deflating under a veil of frosting. One little, playful jab in retaliation for that earlier Poloma was absolutely entitled to her.

Blueblood gave a little smirk of his own. “I like you, Miss Polomare.” The taste of sweet victory overwhelmed her and, with her standing in the halls of the Canterlot, it couldn’t feel better. She was at the top again and it felt right.

“Perhaps you could follow me to my chambers, so that you could—oh, I don’t know—take my measurements for starters?”

“Well, of course, Prince. But you still haven’t told me what you have in mind, mmkay?”

“Don’t worry, dear. You’ll know when it happens.” Again a smirk and those eyes, slithering all the way inside her soul.

She’d never been afraid of snakes before…

****

Suri looked at the so-called ‘chambers’ of the Prince. A most frugal thing, if she dared to say it. A simple bed with blue night sheets and gold trimming that, knowing the Prince, could’ve been actual gold embroidered in the texture, a desk in pure mahogany, on which were scattered half a dozen smutty romance novels that elicited a little sneer of contempt from her. The piece de resistance of the room was a nearly life-sized portrait of the Prince wearing his usual smug grin and holding a rose between his teeth. It was perfectly visible even in the dim light caused by the halfway-shut blinds.

If anypony asked her, she would say that the rumors about the Prince being a massive narcissist had strong foundations. He was an attractive stallion though, so it was partly excusable.

Before she could even open her bag to pull out at least some measuring tape, she heard the door slam behind her. She turned and saw the Prince locking the door tightly, turning the key with a swift magical motion.

“Hey, I can understand you want some privacy, mmkay? My art is—”

A pair of strong, masculine forelegs immediately locked around her shoulders. She yelped in surprise as a girlish blush spread to her cheeks. “Woah! P-Prince, this is really, y’know, i-inappropriate—”

“The correct term is ‘your Majesty’,” he purred. Suri gulped loudly. A sharp panic threatened to overwhelm her as that smile that gleamed like a knife in an alley stretched his lips.

“W-What are you trying to do?”

“I desire you. Wasn’t that obvious?” he chuckled. “Ever since I heard about your competition—”

“Which I lost, in case you forgot!”

“Details! I admired your spirit, your cleverness, your willingness to bend the rules to your benefit—not to mention your near-victory against that Ponyville shrew!” He flashed a crazed grin he hissed that last sentence, his eyes gleaming dangerously.

“Near-victory,” Suri chuckled as she tried to squeeze herself out of his grip. “We agree on the sentiment, though.”

“You truly are one of us. The scandalous ponies! You take what you want and I take what I want.” She could feel his breath over her neck, his hooves sliding among every hair of her pelt as he sniffed the expensive Manehatten perfume out of her skin. “And I. Want. You.”

“Oh, Prince...M-maybe you’re taking this too far. I mean, I’m flattered, mmkay? But—”

His smile disappeared, leaving his face barren. Blueblood’s voice dropped to a creepy monotone. “But you’ll refuse a Prince’s advances, right?”

“Look, I’m sorry, mmkay?” She unlocked his forelegs from her body, falling limply to the ground. “But I came here because I thought this would be, like, my comeback job, but since you have nothing to offer—”

A gleam in the Prince’s eyes felt like a gust of cold wind on her back. A faint voice in her head told her sternly that she could’ve really used a better choice of words.

She wasn’t afraid of him... Not at all... What was there to be afraid of this fop?

“P-Professionally, I mean. I’m flattered you want me that way, mmkay? But I still have, like, my dignity! So, if you’ll excuse me…” She adjusted her scarf and trotted towards the door, keeping her eyes closed. That was when she felt an unexpected force lugging her back and holding her in the room. She turned to see the Prince tearing her saddlebag with his teeth, ripping its straps off. It fell on the ground and exploded in a cloud of exquisite fabrics.

Fabrics wearing the Equestrian nobility's colors, the dark blue of its Night Sky and the golden trimming of its Sunny Morning. Fabric that one would’ve found only in one place: Castle Canterlot.

Suri quietly muttered an expletive.

“Old habits die hard, I suppose,” Blueblood said quietly. He picked up a dark blue sheet and twirled it in his hoof, his expression unchanging as he examined it.

"I... I was going to use those as accents on your regal r-robes," Suri Polomare said nervously as she glanced quickly at the door.

“Of course!” Blueblood said as he rolled his eyes. “Because it’s the client that supplies the raw materials.”

“Technicalities!”

“This explains that little detour you took before coming here,” the Prince giggled, a grating sound worse than a thousands forks on a chalkboard. “Seriously, though: I expected a better excuse.”

Suri lowered her gaze to the floor, defeated and humiliated. Again. With no other mare to blame but herself. Or to shift the blame on.

"My aunts look unfavorably on ponies who steal," Prince Blueblood said, letting the fabric fall on the ground. "As royalty, it is my sovereign responsibility to report any thieves. Unless..."

"Unless w-what?" Suri asked, drops of cold sweat soaking her brow.

His white teeth glistened in the dim light. "Start sucking," Prince Blueblood said bluntly.

“What?!” Suri shrieked and lunged at him, only to be grabbed by the wrist with his hoof, stopping the blow directed to his face.

“Oh, well, in that case, GUAR—”

But before Blueblood could finish, his words were choked back by a pair of stiff lips locking with his, a rough, swift tongue sliding down his throat and twirling around his.

She moaned and pushed as their lips behaved more like two slabs of metal grinding against each other than a kiss. He tasted of cheap brandy and arrogance, but it was the only way to shut him up without knocking his teeth out and really have the guards on her tail. She opened her eyes for an instant to see the creep enjoying the feeling of her smooth lips, eyes fully closed and breathing faintly.

The Prince jerked his head backward and loosened his grip around her mouth, breaking the kiss for a fleeting moment before lunging forward and enveloping her in a hot, sloppy embrace with her tongue, sharing a yelp in their mouths. His tongue reprised their fight for dominance over globs of saliva as their lips slid against each other.

“Very good,” he whispered as he slid his tongue out of her mouth and held her chin in one hoof. “Very good indeed.”

“Happy now?” she spat, knowing it wasn’t over by a long shot.

“My, are you in a hurry? I could call the guards to escort you…” Such smugness, playing the same card over and over...

“What do you want, mmkay?”

“When I said ‘start sucking’ I meant…”

Suri followed the Prince’s mischievous gaze between his legs, to see his newly unsheathed stallionhood dangling and twitching, its flat tip wobbling left and right as a small drop of precum was already hanging from it. His girth was throbbing, his veins pulsating with raw sexual power that would’ve never fit in his black obelisk.

Suri took a long breath. She saw no escape from this situation, no way to keep her so-coveted dignity. At least for now. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, her tongue hanging out from the side as his musky scent penetrated her nostrils. Maybe it will be over quickly if she—

A hoof gently stopped her lips. “Ah ah ah! That’s way too soon. Clean my hoof first.”

He offered his foreleg and she planted a few small licks on it. He grunted in disapproval and forced his appendage closer to her face. She whipped her tongue again and forced her head down and cringed at the strong tickling that followed.

She stuck her tongue out further, swirling it around the sensitive frog of his hoof. Blueblood quivered and felt the air frizzle on his stallionhood. It wasn’t a mundane interest, but surely something to keep only inside the most depraved of bedchambers. It wasn’t a matter of arousal. It was a matter of power.

Power over ponies was the ultimate aphrodisiac. Power over arrogant ponies was worthy of the gods!

"Do the other one," he ordered.

Suri placed his front hoof on her forehead and felt his state of arousal growing exponentially as the licking carried on. Next, he heard the mare inhale deeply and swirl her tongue all over the centre of his hoof, catching him by surprise and sending a wave of electric arousal up his spine. A small drop of cum jizzed out on the floor and his head was sent lightly spinning.

He wanted this mare for real this time, only by the promise of her touch. She had graduated from ‘possible plaything’ to ‘possible afternoon delight’.

“Very good, Miss Polomare.” He grabbed her head in another savage kiss and led her by her generously-proportioned hips onto the bed, mixing the gentle brushing of his hooves with mischievous slapping on her rear, sending her trotting on the bed with a half-choked complaint. That was the best part: when they still had something to complain about but had no power whatsoever to do anything about it. Just a quick gaze of pure authoritarian might and the plaything returned to her proper place.

When she sat on her knees with those feisty looking eyes, that look of spite, unable to act—on her back like the powerless wench that she was…

Blueblood climbed onto the bed, pinned her down in a 69, and dove head-first into those plump, pink thighs of hers, searching for the delightful taste of her femininity.

He gave a firm, sharp lap to the warm red slit and felt Suri quivering and moaning beneath him, her fluids leaking out at each stroke of his tongue. He pounced forward, nose-first into her soaking flower, rolling his tongue and his lips over the beautiful flesh exposed and snorting the scent of her red petals, the taste of her musky ambrosia rolling down his throat. His wet tongue rolled around her snatch, indulging on the door of her marehood and on her small, exquisite clitoris that puckered and winked at him, showing her willingness in its basest form. A mare’s body never lied, never said no and never disappointed.

To his delight, he felt the warm, smooth sensation of her lips going around his shaft and reprised the assault on the outer walls of her cunt, drowning his muzzle in the shameless juices that were leaking out in worrying quantity. “You like this,” he grinned as he felt the damp touch of her tongue spreading to his privates, his veins brushing against the soft contour of her mouth. He wondered aloud if it was the right time to let her taste her masculinity but she was just so into it that he decided to let it slide...before sliding inside of her.

He pinned his hooves on the bed and straightened himself up, facing her marehood and slowly exiting his cock from her mouth, only to give one sharp thrust and stuffing himself back in, knocking on the back of her throat and causing her to give a quick, arousing gag before that sweet tongue of hers landed on his voracious tip. His lips smothered her sore clitoris and a long, throaty, desperate moan from the mare beneath him was choked back by his turgid flesh, immersed in the damp inferno of her mouth.

He propelled his hips forward and his girth expanded, squeezed by her powerful throat muscles. Pleasure unlike any other coated his nerves in powerful bliss, further fueled by her tongue still thrashing at his member making the climax closer and closer, his mind lost among the wrangling flesh that used to be their bodies.

Blueblood’s heart was pounding ferociously, his mind swelled with thoughts of power as a thick cloud of steam enveloped his genitals. He took a final dive to her snatch and finally inserted his tongue inside, swirling around and around, sending her fluid spurting all over the sheets. Not that he enjoyed the coarse act of having his royal tongue buried so near her urethra but etiquette demanded a little reward, even for a plaything.

His cock pulsated and stiffened instantly, releasing his boiling climax down Suri’s throat. He churned out his stallion cream with a wet schlick and pumped the mare’s maw full, a little bulge slowly expanding at the base of her throat, like a bucket throwing around its load in one stroke. He came and came, his organ quaking under the pressure of his own semen, nearly hurting as he felt her delicious suckling noise, prelude to milking even that last trickle of cum out of him.

Suri flopped around, her head hitting the bed, as the still erect member unsheathed itself from her mouth, her stomach full of his cozy warmth, her head spinning from the afterglow as a small strand of semen still connected her lips to his cock.

Blueblood sat on his flank and admired his work, her lilac face stained by thick smudges of his pearly white cum, her eyes sticking out from the rest of her splattered face and devoid of that daring light he saw before, replaced by the light of the small white droplets dribbling from her mouth.

But his hunger wasn’t quelled so easily. The fire of his lust for power still dwelled under his golden orbs and screamed in his groin. Her eager, still-leaking snatch would’ve provided a solution to it. Without hesitation he grabbed his equine pride with both hooves and lined it perfectly with her most sacred opening, its thick head still dribbling globs of cum dwarfing her tiny hole.

She raised a hoof as if to say something but his seed drowned any objections she might’ve had. She didn’t even have the time to scream when their sexes touched and he found solace in her intimate embrace of the flesh. Just a small gasp escaped from her lips as he buried himself deeper and deeper inside her, his shaft roaring and forcing his way in her depths. Her hips were found smashing against his, glued to each other by a need that transcended reason. Slaves to their natures, sure, but still owner of her body as only his touch could’ve ever make her feel what she was feeling, the lucky mare.

Any mare would’ve done anything to feel the touch of a Prince...

Her vaginal muscles still opposed his might so he pounded harder, squishing himself further inside, turning her hole into goo that slowly welcomed the throbbing intrusion as an honored guest, trumpeting her horn to send wave after wave of orgasmic bliss down his shaft, stimulating the sexually-overloaded husk that was his nervous system. He gyrated his hips, turning his thrusting into ferocious drilling, his mind set to satisfy every extravagant need he was churning out by the second.

And it felt extravagant indeed: every single inch of his cock pounding her cunt was showered by her fluids, crushing any resistance Miss Polomare could or would ever have, forsaking even the small whimpers of pain coming from her mouth.

Suri was making hardly a sound, in fact. Just a faint series of whines as her soft hair was pressed against his, his hooves exploring her curves as he kept crashing against her cervix, her body writhing and twisting under his animalistic desire. Her outstretched hind legs went limp as he kept filling her with his length. Blueblood increased his pace, thrusting harder and faster.

Now she was starting to enjoy it. Suri moaned and babbled in delight, her tongue lolling out of her mouth and her eyes rolling to the back of her head, finally giving in to the pleasure his rod was giving her while the fantastic friction at the base of his member finally sent him over the edge, his crotch marooning, so near the edge of the orgasmic bliss.

He tightened his grip around her waist and his thrusting grew more erratic, abandoning any subtlety he might have had and pumping like a maddened piston of flesh in her tightening grip, softer than a velvet sheet and stronger than stone. She tried to say something but he sealed his lips around hers, wanting to savour every inch of her flesh before the end, his hooves scratching at the sheets as her own clinged to his back desperately.

Her previous moans turned to declaration of carnal madness as she started to gnaw and bite at his mane and coat. The Prince repaid the favor by taking off her foulard with a quick stroke of his teeth, letting her sweaty mane down, finally leaving her naked, vulnerable, completely his. Body and mind.

Blueblood thrusted all of himself inside. She screamed as he became harder than he had ever been, her vaginal muscles clenching against his member and milking in one fell swoop his impressive, thick load.

Even more generous and powerful than the first shot he had released in her mouth, so much that a small bulge formed in her belly as he pulled back, impaling Suri further on his dick at every uneven motion of his balls, signaling another blow of his load. It felt so simply...warm. Like a furnace of pure masculinity being shoved in her cunt one piece at time, coating her canal in all of his pent up virility, sent crashing inside her pink insides.

The sheer weight of his seed on her belly made her twitch weakly under his wheezing mass, their bodies reduced to a pair of sweaty, sex riddled piles of flesh. He coughed and cleared his throat, the post-coital exhaustion already taking hold and he wanted to make his point as clear as possible.

“Clean yourself and get out.”

“W-what?!” she wheezed, fixing the loose locks of her mane sticking to her forehead.

“You heard me. I’m not interested in you anymore.” He threw himself into the bed and covered himself to the shoulder with the sheets, giving her his back. “I had my fun. Now disappear. I never want to see you again.”

Not a word. Not even a grunt of annoyance. Not that he cared. He would’ve payed good bits to see her face, but he was a little too spent for it.

The angry rustling of sheets, the sounds of her hooves tapping around, combined with the sound of her stuffing her flotsam and jetsam back in the saddlebag. “By the way, you can keep the fabrics.” He smirked as sweet slumber started to take hold, the final nail of his victory hammered in. “Try not to drop any semen on your way out, mmkay?”

Suri slammed the door the door so hard, she nearly broke the walls.

*****

The Prince stood there, abashed. The smile on his portrait resembling a twisted mockery of himself...by himself. With all good reason, since he was in that state of abject astonishment only because of his lack of foresight.

The photos slipped from his trembling hoof to the floor. With full view of his royal posterior he was featuring in the vile act of screwing an unknown, her face obscured by his not so strategically positioning of his royal self in front of her. Just her legs were in the picture, and those could’ve belonged to anypony. Promise of being featured in another filthy tabloid, possibly with even more venomous, mocking articles to smash his public image to smithereens. On top of that, his orgasm face looked so ridiculous…

On the desk laid a letter without sender, but there was no doubt on who it was. Terrifyingly clever in its brevity.

How’s that for a scandal, your Majesty?

If he had any doubt, the drops of perfume on the paper dissipated them.

With just a few photos he lost all the power he had gathered in those moment of pleasure he snatched from her. The mare had her victory, at last.

He felt humiliated.

Powerless!

The thrill of the hunt, of the power, turned against him…

“And I want more,” he muttered. He was the victim for the first time in his life, tasting his own medicine. He found this incredibly attractive. He met his match and longed for a payback that would never come.

Knowing that he would never see her again, just as he wished, was her ultimate victory. She had given him something he’ll never have again.

The emptiness of his life just became harder to deny.

A lit fireplace crackles in front of the raised coffin. Sitting atop the coffin is Discord, dressed in cowboy duds—the ten-gallon hat, the spurs, the assless chaps. Calmly strumming a guitar, he finds a rhythm quickly and sings:

“Stallions, mares and colts better hurry,
When I show them the slutty Suri,
When I show them the slutty Suri with the jizz on top!
Blueblood’s jizz. Just look at it glisten.
When mares yell ‘stop’ he just doesn’t listen.
Nosey ponies peek through their shutters while they sit and clop!”

He tips his hat as he finishes his song, a faint smile touching his fetid lips. With a snap of his clawed fingers, his cowboy duds are traded for his usual cloak, his mouth pulling into a mean-spirited beam.

“Before forcing a mare to tickle your pickle, always remember that fame is fickle,” he says. “Bluebood should’ve kept his blue balls to himself. The frantic fruition of forced fornication failed to facilitate a furtive faux pas.”

He lifts a declarative talon into the air. “In other words, kiddies, the moral of the story is: don’t get caught!

“That’s all for tonight, boils and ghouls. Join me next time when we delve into another dirge of dreadful debauchery in Tales From the Clop!”

And like that, with a quick snap of his eagle talon, the fireplace is silenced, casting all to black.