A Zebra's Pen

The zebra woke as a bucket of sticky, warm liquid was flung at her face, clinging to her once multi coloured coat, now dyed completely white in a pungent crust.

Zecora had no idea how long she had stayed in her new prison. She lay on a small island that lead into what she had heard the goblins call ‘The Swamp’, which from what she had learnt wasn’t too far from the truth.

When she had first been thrown into the swamp, it had been empty. Her captors had looped a strong iron collar round her neck, and attached a heavy chain to the bottom of it. The chain was then pulled through a metal hoop in the center of the room.

The swamp however, had not stayed empty for long. Soon after Grimko had threaded the chain through a hole in the wall the metallic grinding of gears pulled Zecora from her sleep in time to see a wave of white sludge crash into her and drag her under.

In shock she had inhaled some of the liquid, its sickly stench invading her lungs and causing a rush of heat through her body. She emerged from the water coughing and spluttering as the white sludge clung to every part of her body. Blinking it out of her eyes she tried and failed to spit the salty taste out of her mouth. As the liquid continued to pour into the room, Zecora tried to move onto the higher ground near the wall opposite the entrance. Taking a quick step forward she pushed through the sludge only for the chain holding her down to snap tight and pull her under once more.

She flailed her hooves around like a madman as she sought to right herself and push her way to the surface. Her head once again broke free of the sticky water to hear the sound of laughter from above her. Looking up she called out to the mocking voices, “What are you going to do with me? And what is all this liquid?”

The voice of Grimko answered her, “We are preparing you to take the leading role in an important event The White is preparing. This room is to cleanse you and ensure that you play your part correctly. This liquid is a blessing from us goblins and our beasts in hopes that you will finally understand your rightful place.”

He then left saying no more and the chain around Zecora’s neck loosened. The zebra hung her head and sat on her haunches as the pool finally stopped filling an inch below her muzzle. The mechanisms sung once more as the grates closed sealing the room from the outside world.

Two week had been and gone with little changing, She would be allowed onto the dry ground during the night to sleep before being woken and pulled back into the swamp the next morning. A piece of bread would be thrown down from above landing into the pool with a splash. By the time she found it the bread had almost always become a soggy mess. Originally she hadn’t eaten it, but after a week of refusing she had little choice but to eat it.

They never threw her water, when she had first asked for it; Grimko had laughed at her and simply said, ‘If you want a drink then drink, we’re not going to stop you.’ And so Zecora had been forced to drink the foul substance she had been soaking in for the past two weeks.

She laid there, the warm white liquid dripping onto her feet and oozing down her back. The door opened casting a square beam of light across the room as the earless goblin walked in, a key in his hand. He looked at Zecora and motioned towards him, “Come here.”

Zecora obeyed, shivering as she had to step into the sticky swamp. When she reached Grimko he leant over the Zebra’s head and pushed the key into the lock. With a twist of the key, the collar fell into the goblins hand and he placed it onto the floor. He then lifted a coil of rope off his shoulder, wrapping it round Zecora’s head and muzzle.

With a sharp tug of the rope he said, “Let’s get you hosed off and to the celebration Priestess.” His twisted take on her past title had little effect on the zebra as the mare was taken from the pool and led out of the stuffy building.

Zecora took a deep breath and exhaled, glad to leave the muggy stench of the swamp behind her. She continued to be led around the building to a small stable where three other goblins were waiting, buckets of water and sponges in hand. Grimko spoke to the other, “She needs to be prepared within the next half an hour. The White has decided to use her to start today’s festival. So, for your own sake, do not be late.” After he finished speaking he waited until each of them had nodded a confirmation and bowed to him as he left.

One of the goblins placed his bucket onto the floor and took hold of Zecora’s leash, pulling her into the stable before tying it to a corner post. Each one then grabbed their sponges and dunked them into the bucket. Squeezing out the excess water the goblins then proceeded to wash off the crusty grim that had turned her coat a yellowish white.

Zecora began breathing heavily through her bindings as the wet sponges caressed her body. The goblin’s swift but firm strokes rubbed away the remnants of the white swamp. The warm water was worked into her fur, softening it and giving the two colours a glossy finish that she would never normally have.

She felt a strong hand grip her hair keeping her still as another set of hand lifted her tail up. Zecora whinnied and shook her head, wincing as pain ran through her scalp. The zebra heard the ring of sharpening metal echo from behind her and she twitched as her tail was cut a few inches short of the base. The goblins then sponged down her nethers, which clenched as the water flowed along the black folds.

Zecora whimpered and what was left of her tail twitched. A heavy blush crept along her face and she closed her eyes in shame.

Her marehood, left a slippery mess, was winking as it expelled the water from within. The goblins continued, oblivious to the condition of the poor mare they were attacking, their sponges launching a ferocious assault on her parted lips. Grinding her hooves into the Ground, Zecora shook her head, determined to endure the injustices they were committing.

Five minutes later, they had finished, and Zecora was the cleanest she had ever been in her life. The goblins had worked their now filthy sponges into every crevice they could find, leaving no valley or cave unexplored by their plundering hands. Grimko who had returned a few minutes ago once again took Zecora’s leash and pulled her along to their next destination. As they progressed down the street, it slowly became increasingly crowded as more and more Goblins leered at the immaculate zebra walking past them.

Grimko lead her up a platform where the White sat on the ceremonial throne, made from the bones of the wolves that died long ago in the service of the previous White. The crowd roared to life as he stood up. With a slow wave of his hand he waited for silence, “Welcome one and all. Today, I have planned a celebration in honour of our recent conquests over the Zebra to the south.” The ground shook as the crowd once again roared in triumph, when he had quiet he continued, “In honour of our Great Wolf Riders, who form the backbone of our army, I have decided to sacrifice this Priestess to them to do with as they please, a reward for our nation’s valiant steeds.” The White smiled as he looked at Zecora who had frozen in place, eyes wide. He placed a hand on her cheek, slowly tracing his claw along her jaw, “there, there my dear. There is no need to be scared, they won’t kill you.” He looked at Grimko and nodded.

The earless goblin then grabbed Zecora and slung her over his shoulder, slowly descending into the pit, a deep but well lit hole located behind The Whites throne. As he walked towards the middle he was joined by other Goblins who were also carrying zebra in various ways. Zecora was still a slave to her shock, unable to drag herself out of the trance even when she was locked into the central stockade, only one of many.

Once all of the zebra had been locked into place the group of goblins climbed out of the pit, and joined the crowd peering over the edge. The White, who was casually stretched out on his throne, raised his arms and slammed his hands together, in an ear-splitting clap that told the pair of goblins that it was time, Leaning into the wheel, and pushing with all their worth began to turn it. The grating of metal echoed through the pit as a large portcullis was lifted from the ground, revealing the black chamber behind it.

Light breathing could be heard from inside and shortly after a small wolf strolled out and sniffed at the air before heading back inside. Moments later a horde of wolves stepped into the light, each one bigger than an average pony. At the head of the pack was a huge and muscled white wolf, its red eyes instantly targeting Zecora.

With a deep growl, it asserted its dominance and walked in front of the other wolves. The crowd watched in silence as the white wolf strode up to Zecora. She visibly stiffened as the wolf’s hot breath hit the back of her leg, its wet nose inches away from her parted folds. He took a long sniff before diving nose first into her passage, the wolf’s rough tongue tasting her juices as they began to slowly trickle out.

“Please don’t do this!” Zecora cried out, clenching her walls together, trying to force the intruder out. As the wolf pulled his muzzle out, Zecora could have sworn she heard him chuckle. Nothing happened for a few moments, the zebra’s body betraying her as the heat ran to her nethers and a strong musk leaked from her pores.

Suddenly a heavy weight threw itself on to Zecora’s back, knocking her breath away. Two thick white paws gripped her shoulders, pulling its muscled body into the zebra. It missed the mark a few times, poking Zecora’s soft rear with his hot tip, before finally piercing the target. His long throbbing shaft plunging balls deep into the zebra’s wet folds.

Zecora gasped and gritted her teeth; the sound of cheering reached her ears as the crowd above her celebrated. Turning to speak to his fellow goblins The White said, “And with that, let the festivities begin!” He then sat back on his throne a goblet of wine in his hand, watching in amusement as the Priestess was ravaged by his prized wolf, its unusual white fur and red eyes are what had given him the title of White.

Each violent thrust reached deep into Zecora’s tunnel sending shocks through her body. Her soft but toned butt had begun to bruise under the constant assault. What only lasted for five minutes felt like an eternity for the zebra. She felt each thrust as it pierced her tight passage and rammed the doors to her womb. Her face had become a deep crimson and her every breath came in a ragged gasp. Still she gritted her teeth and endured.

An unusually thick pressure was hitting her slit as the wolf began to reach his climax. The frequency of his thrusting was increasing and the strange pressure got larger. Soon the wolf howled in triumph as he forced the full length of his thick shaft into the zebra. The huge canine knot split Zecora’s lips and sealed the hot torrents of sperm that were being released inside her.

Her eyes watered as she tried to catch her breath. She could feel stomach expand as her womb completely overflowed with the wolf’s load.

With a wet pop the wolf pulled out and a river of watery sperm followed. The wolf looked at her sorry state with a glint in his eyes before moving onto his next victim. Immediately after Zecora was straddled by another wolf and he quickly continued from where the alpha left off, ravaging her sore backside. Another wolf bounded up to Zecora’s head and in a swift motion straddled her muzzle, shoving his canine tool into her face, forcing her to open her mouth and accommodate him. He then began to piston his hips into her mouth, his meat forcing its way deep into her throat causing the zebra to gag but being unable to vomit or remove the offending object.

The two wolves continued to skewer the zebra; working together they managed to alternate their thrusts, timing each entrance to follow the exit of the other. She felt the knot sink into her dark slit and the watery sperm flood into her womb once again; the one at her face however was still going strong. Lifting its leg up, the wolf twisted around to face away from Zecora, still joined by the large knot, and he nodded his head to a wolf waiting in line.

It jogged forward and climbed over the other wolf, lining its monstrous shaft up with Zecora’s asshole. Her eyes widened as she felt the tip poke at the tight entrance. Before she had time to prepare, the wolf rammed into her up to the hilt, stretching the zebra’s ring to its limit. Allowing Zecora a little time to adjust to his massive girth, the wolf slowly dragged his shaft out almost to the tip, before slamming it back in again. He repeated this, getting faster with each thrust.

The wolf at her rear and the wolf at her throat reached climax at the same time forcing their knots into her before flooding her stomach with their sperm. Zecora could feel her stomach expand, drawn down by the sheer volume of the liquids being forced into her. The three wolves all pulled out at the same time, and stepped back, looking at their work, lapping at the mixture of semen and Zecora’s juices flowing from her gaping holes, which winked as they tried but failed to close back up.

Her eyelids began to fall and darkness filled her vision, as the weight of another wolf climbed onto her abused form.

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