"The hose" was exactly as glamorous as it sounded. On a patch of gravel next to the barn the three stallions stripped and stood shivering while Applejack and a bored white collar stallion blasted them with frigid water. Two teenage mares (Lucky didn't know their names) stood nearby and watched, whispering and giggling to each other. Meadow Song danced and fidgeted under the torrent, while Lucky and Prism Glider just stood there and took it, letting their dirtier bodies run clean. Applejack was especially thorough below the waist; the fact that she allowed them to hold up their hooves for her was appreciated, but not so much the needlessly long torrent of shrivelingly cold water to the genitals.

Once he was as freshened up as he was going to get, Lucky staggered over to the edge of the gravel, where another white collar was crouched beside a soap-filled bucket, limply scrubbing their black thongs. "Good morning, Mister Waddle," he said quietly when he was close. "How are you today?"

The elderly stallion didn't answer. White collars rarely did. Ostensibly, the white collar had been made to designate true asexuals, of which there were a surprising number, but in practice was worn by males who were simply too young, too old, or too dick-chopped-off to maintain an erection. Once the collar was on the latter clause was usually invoked anyway, "just to be on the safe side." They were a morose and lifeless lot, shuffling obediently from place to place with their legs held together and never looking anyone in the eye. To say that they were pale shadows of the stallions they'd once been was an understatement; the other collared workers were expressly forbidden from referring to them as stallions at all. They had lost that distinction. White collars were simply things.

Mister Waddle passed Lucky the thong he was holding and moved on to the next. The washing had not been thorough, and there was no way of knowing which of the three of them had been wearing it five minutes ago. With an inward sigh, Lucky pulled the garment on and let the material tighten around him, the waterlogged fabric pressing even tighter than usual against his crotch. The faintest breeze sent a chill through his balls. These took a long time to dry.

The moment he stepped away from the bucket the two teenagers pounced on him, each taking one of his two leashes. One of them had gone for a look that could be best described as "sexy librarian, according to someone who's never seen the inside of a library" while her chubbier friend had ripped up the edges of her skintight shirt so much that it looked like a deep breath could split every side of it at once. While the pair took turns choking him, he was close enough that he could finally hear what they were talking about. "Kill, fuck... marry," the pink librarian decided, pointing at the three black collars in turn, with the third landing on Lucky's chest.

"Oh my gosh, you'd fuck him?" the blue one whined. She pointedly turned up her nose in the direction of Prism Glider, who was attempting to scrub his asshole with the side of his hand. "He's, like, old! And weird. You're like, weird, Surf."

"What's, like, your choices then?"

"Ugh, isn't it, like, obvious?" She pointed at Prism Glider first. "Kill, marry, fuck." She didn't just touch Lucky's chest on the third word, but ran her finger down it. He tried not to recoil as she leaned in; her breath smelled like rotten grapes.

"You're weird."

"You're weird."

They turned away together and started to lead Lucky away. They'd only made it two steps before the blue mare tripped over the hosepipe and nearly fell. Instinct took over and Lucky reached out to catch her, but the other predictably yanked him to the ground as soon as he moved. "Oh my gosh!" Surf yelled as he struggled to breathe.

"Problem, ladies?" Applejack called, booting Meadow Song over to the bucket.

"This guy totally just grabbed Turf's ass!"

"Huh?" Turf glanced over her shoulder and wiggled her rump. "That's, like, so weird! I didn't even, like, feel it!"

"Yeah, that one'll do that," Applejack sighed. She shut off the hose and draped it over Mister Waddle, then grabbed one leash from Prism Glider and Meadow Song each. "C'mon, get him up," she snapped. "Sooner we get these three to the cart, the sooner we can relax."

"That is so true." The teens stared blankly at Lucky as he picked himself up. He said nothing; he already knew there was no point. They started off again. "Careful not to, like, trip, Turf," Surf said snottily. "I guess some guys can't even control their, like, basic decency when they see your butt."

Turf gigglesnorted. "Maybe I should, like, trip over some more stuff when Applejack's not looking."

"Oh my gosh, shut up."

"You shut up."

Fortunately, the cart was just around the corner. It had once been an ordinary work vehicle, but had since been reconstructed into a cramped, windowless crate of a carriage, used for taking stallions into town. The outside was painted sunnily with apples and the caribou's mystery vegetable; the inside was most often painted with sweat and piss. Around the front, Lucky could see the worn shoulder of Wide Load, the stallion Applejack had punched on the first official day of the Reign. He'd been permanently bolted to the front of this cart, not even unlocked to eat or sleep, "to make sure no mare can take his place, just like he wanted." Mares often joked that he must be grateful. Wide Load's thoughts on the matter were unknown.

Once they were close, Turf fished out the black bag that she'd tucked down the back of her shorts and dunked it over Lucky's head. More runic magic buzzed in his ears as the drawstring tightened. This damped most noise as well as blinded him; Applejack was not about to risk him bonding with other stallions in the cart, or even knowing how many stallions were in the cart, or how many carts there really were. It also quite literally smelled like ass. Hands grasped him, and he let himself be dragged up into the cart, banging his knees on the edge. Turf brushed against him every step of the way, pressing her ample bust against him as she backed him carefully against the wall. His hands were locked into manacles close to his waist and his leashes stretched tight through rings on the walls, giving him maybe a half-inch to safely move.

There were faint sounds of other hooves shuffling back and forth around him, but they were impossible to count. They could have numbered two or three, or the cart might be packed from wall to wall. He was pretty sure he recognized Meadow Song's dainty steps following after him; perhaps Prism Glider had been given the shift next to Wide Load in front. Any attempt to talk just bounced back inside the bag.

"Hey Turf, check this out," Surf called. Of course, female voices penetrated the material no problem. There were more unidentifiable sounds from nearby and they both cackled like banshees. Turf leaned against Lucky for support, her hand drifting much lower than it needed to. He held his breath and focused on his predicament.

"Ew!" More sudden movement and a weighty thud, and Surf started shrieking. "This guy just, like, totally jizzed on my leg! Pervert!"

"Ew ew ew!" Turf joined in. They spent a few seconds squealing at one another, interspersed with the sounds of wet cracks that were presumably kicks to the unlucky stallion's crotch. A low scream echoed in the confined space, sounding like it was coming from far away, and it must have been ear-splitting to have penetrated the bag at all. Lucky winced with every subsequent strike.

"Y'all ladies about done in there?" Applejack yelled in from outside.

The teens froze guiltily. "Yes," they yelled back.

"Then quit messing around. I ain't letting you watch if you make us late."

"Like, sorry," Surf called with a hint of sarcasm. "Gross pervert," she added one last time under her breath, cracking her hoof against a shin and stomping off.

Turf lingered just a little longer. She grabbed Lucky's hand and guided it down the front of her shorts, rubbing her whole body against his side. He gritted his teeth and thought about Caramel snickering, even as his stiff fingers quickly found a soft slit through Turf's caribou silk underwear. "Twelve West Street basement," she whispered to him. "If you ever want to make a great escape, I've got a, like, tight hole you could squeeze into." She giggled and rubbed herself a few more times with his hand, moaning and grunting into his ear, then withdrew and skipped away.

A minute passed. The mares didn't return, the door didn't close, and the cart didn't move. Lucky's fingers felt damp. He shifted uncomfortably, trying and failing to find a position that would let him relax through the journey. This was not going to happen. The wall was splintering from repeated banging, making every squirming motion a risk. All around were tiny shuffles from here and there, but the cart remained still. It was possible that they had been forgotten about. It had happened before.

Then in the distance... a roar.

Applejack made her presence known at the back. "Comfortable, gentlecolts?" she asked, sarcasm drifting off the last word. "Fraid there's been a little change in plans." All the while, the muted screams and roars were getting louder, as well as the heavy clank of chains. "Fluttershy's had one of her boys stayin' with the cows for a few days, so we'll be takin' him to the arena as well. He'll just be fillin' this little space at the back. I'm sure you won't mind. Have a nice trip!"

Lucky had already been through a lot that day. He'd numbed himself to the terrors of the Reign; it was amazing, he often thought, the kinds of things one could get used to. The threats, the beatings, the awful food, the looming presence of Caramel, the awful things he'd been made to witness and the constant effort to control his boner - all of these had passed through him without a flicker. But the approaching noise struck him in a way that nothing else could, and this, of all things, was what finally got his heart pounding with fear.

"What? No!" he yelled, unable to stop himself. "You can't do this!" Pure terror made him wrench at his bindings. The leashes closed his throat as he fruitlessly strained away from the wall. He kicked at the ground, and felt the cart start to rock back and forth as others did the same; unfortunately, their manacles had been made for stallions far stronger than them. Try as they might, not a single one got free. And then, as a heavy hoofstep landed on the edge of the cart, everything came to a stop.

An inequine bellow blasted through the confined space, sending a burst of hot, putrid air past Lucky's face. Now terror kept him still, trying not to shake or even breathe. A mare's hand used him for leverage as she dragged a heavy chain into the cart, pausing every few inches as whatever was on the other end bucked and thrashed. Another black leash almost but not completely blocked out its screaming, enough for Applejack's voice to be heard from somewhere behind it. "All right, ladies! One more push! And... we got it!" The heavy clunk of a bolt slid into place, followed rapidly by several more, as the creature was finally forced all the way into the cart. The mares cheered, and the one nearest Lucky carelessly draped her chain over his shoulder before carefully skipping off. Immediately the roars started again, growing even louder as the rear doors finally shut. A heavy latch thudded across the back, locking them in the dark with this... thing.

This purple collar.

The cart started moving with a disorienting rumble. A rage-filled scream echoed in the confined space, sounding like it was coming from every direction at once. From the direction of the vibrations, it sounded like the thing had been strung in place right in the doorway, hooves stuck to the floor and arms chained to the ceiling. Another wave of fetid breath hit Lucky, and it took all his willpower not to crap himself; it felt like the thing was inches away from his face. There was a nauseating grinding, crunching noise as heavy antlers scraped against the wooden ceiling and a muscled back pounded against the rear doors. A hot spray of spittle landed on his chest, almost making him faint. And all the while, the cart continued at its slow, rumbling pace.

He'd seen them before, but never up close. These behemoths were the reason the arena had been built, for mares and stallions alike. They were prey to be killed, for mares who wanted to show off their superiority, but more often were simply pitted against each other. Bound in place in the stands, he had been forced to watch two bellowing creatures be unleashed, naked and glistening, onto the sands. Spiked antlers were seemingly grafted onto their heads, and their muscles swelled like nothing he had believed was possible. A luscious, naked mare waved at them from a platform suspended overhead, and a single command was issued: "Winner gets to fuck her." That was all it took. The fountains of blood that spilled onto the ground burned themselves into his mind even more than the fight itself, and it was then and there that he'd decided, for his own sanity, to reject the idea that these things had ever once been ponies.

No one knew how they were made, but he'd heard stories. Stories of collars that spewed venom, of icepicks to the brain, of drugs that could not legally exist before the Reign. Of pressure chambers where mares teased stallions all day and night, flaunting their sexy bodies but never letting them touch, never letting them sleep, never letting them cum. Of medically-induced erections that lasted for weeks or months, growing agonizing from the pressure and drawing all the blood from the head. But the most terrifying story of all was the one that Mistress Fluttershy told: That she had done nothing to them at all, and that all stallions, weak or strong, would turn into this in time.

The fights had become a regular part of their psychological torture. Week after week Lucky had been made to watch these inequine things called stallions gore each other to death for the promise of release, and watched mares scream with pleasure as they impaled themselves on their turgid shafts. Twice a purple collar had even begun raping his opponent's corpse before his willing prize could even enter the ring. But just as often the "reward" would be a pig, or an unlucky black collar, or a sobbing family member who had committed the crime of showing sympathy for them. They did not even slow down. On one of these occasions Lucky had been surprised by Mistress Fluttershy herself stalking through the audience; she came up behind him and wrenched his head from where he'd been averting his gaze, and held open his eyes. "That's what you are," she hissed into his face as he watched a stallion monstrously rutting his screaming, crying sister. "That's what you fucking are."

All these memories gave Lucky an all-too-vivid idea of what was in front of him, yet his imagination still managed to make the situation worse as the screaming continued. Even by his now rock-bottom standards, the stench was unbearable, and he had to keep telling himself that the wetness that kept landing on him and the floor was only saliva. He lost track of time, seconds stretching into hours, and focused all his effort into counting the rumbles under his feet. He had to trust that the mares knew what they were doing. If Applejack was going to kill him, it wouldn't be like this. He had to trust that the bolts would hold.

And they did. A burning smell filled the air as muscles beat uselessly against enchanted metal. The cart began to start and stop at regular intervals, indicating that they'd reached the town. Lucky slowly started to calm, and even breathe again. Even the purple collar seemed to settle, growing very marginally quieter. But then came the unmistakable creak of wood.

Panic returned stronger than before. The purple collar bellowed with renewed vigor, repeatedly crashing its limbs against its chains. The creaking grew louder as something somewhere splintered, shattering under the force. It might have been his imagination, but every sound and scent seemed to be getting closer and closer.

"No, nononononononononono-!" Lucky babbled as he flattened himself back as far as he could. He started banging his head repeatedly against the wall, hoping to draw some attention that way, but it was completely lost under the thrashing of the beast in their midst. "Applejack!" he shouted, praying that something, anything would get through. "Applejack! Let us out!"

It was getting harder and harder to breathe in the bag. Almost hyperventilating, he struggled to swallow as, with a sickening crack, a shard of wood gave way from the ceiling and a chain crashed to the floor. The purple collar shrieked and flailed back and forth, trying to free its other arm. The chain snaked violently along the ground, crashing into the walls and Lucky's leg, and the rush of antlers passed just a hair in front of his nose. He screamed and thrashed within his bonds, pounding against the wall. "Applejack!" he shrieked, almost passing out from lack of air. "Applejack!"

With another thrust of antlers, a third scream entered his world, directly to his right. The lower part of a black bag flapped against his shoulder, and a voice used its new freedom to yell. At first there were no words, just a drawn-out cry of pain, slowly resolving into a name. "Aa'ujaa!" The voice was Meadow Song's, or part of it; this was shriller, wetter, missing something. "Aa'ujaa! Aa'uj-"

The antlers swung out again. The shouting stopped. Something hot and wet sprayed Lucky's side. He tried to scream, but couldn't. He tried to throw up, but couldn't. He tried to do anything, literally anything, but his throat was closed and his head was full of noise-

The cart's doors opened.

With everything else, he hadn't even noticed they'd come to a halt. A loud shudder marked it being parked, and even over the continuing roars, Applejack's voice pierced through everything. "Aw, consarn it. Fluttershy!"

Loud hoofsteps withdrew. Lucky gulped and silently begged her to hurry up. He wasn't sure if he'd passed out; it was only luck that he hadn't tangled his leashes and strangled himself. From the sound of its motions, the purple collar was shielding its eyes from the light. This gave them a few seconds at least. He gathered what strength he could and waited. And then, all at once, the smell hit.

This wasn't like anything he'd felt before. He'd grown used to filth and shit and the scent of raw sex. This... this was something else. If it was heavenly, it was a heaven of leather and oils and a wild look in the eyes; if it was flowery, it was only to the extent that would cover a soon-to-be-disturbed bedspread; if it was a perfume, it was the kind that was meant to be tasted on every part of the body but the face. It was raw and it made him feel alive. He felt like he could fight the purple collar one on one, then eat a dozen meals, fuck a dozen mares, and then, just for fun, conquer the world with one hand tied behind his back. He felt his tool growing hard as this immense strength and need filled him. He strained with new desire, not caring when his airway closed again, just needing to get out and fight.

"Oh, my," a soft voice said from the end of the cart.

It was unmistakably her. That voice that was at once innocent and strong, maddeningly both daughterly and motherly. Mistress Fluttershy took a few steps in, the pitter-patter of some helpers following. Her hair brushed Lucky as she rounded him, and his shaft shot to rock-solid in his pouch. That softness was unbearable, and on some primal level he understood: He was going to fuck that hair. He wasn't sure how exactly, or why, but that didn't matter. He was going to do it.

"Oh, no. You made a mess." She was speaking to the purple collar in that same calm, kindly tone. If she'd meant for this to calm it down, it seemed to have the opposite effect; the beast screamed at her, tugging even harder at its restraints as it started to get pulled backwards. "It's okay," she told it. "I know you didn't know any better." She giggled. "Such a pouty little baby. Don't worry, you'll get some soon. You just have to do as you're told."

Several bolts were slid back in unison, and with a mighty heave the purple collar was yanked out of the cart, landing heavily on its back. The beast was quickly muffled and started to be dragged away, Fluttershy following after. The intoxicating scent left with her, leaving Lucky panting and confused. Whatever she was wearing was unbelievably potent. He would have killed for a bottle of that before the Reign; now, he shivered at the thought of being exposed to it again. Not because it had felt wrong, but because it had felt so right.

Applejack hopped back up and circled the cart. She made various noises of disapproval as she poked and prodded different bodies. Evidently some hadn't had as much luck with their leashes as Lucky had. "All right, get 'em out," she barked. "We gotta get this one and this one cleaned up again." Judging by her tone, she was more annoyed about this than anything else.

Slender hands eased Lucky out of his manacles and untied his leashes. He shivered as he took a step forward, barely able to hold himself up. His chest and side were still sticky, and he was slowly becoming aware that he'd soiled himself after all. The fact that his stiff erection refused to go down made him slightly nauseous. He fell as he was taken off the cart, but many hands caught him, and he was allowed to steady himself before continuing.

He barely registered where they went after that, being jostled one way or the other, until water hit him. He stood obediently still as he was hosed down for the second time that day. The bag still wasn't removed from his head, but here the water was warm, and no one seemed to be in any hurry. A heavy brush scrubbed soap across his chest while smaller hands reached down below. Gentle fingers stripped his pouch away and washed the filth from him. Magical presses fixed the scratches along his back, and just for a second, the tip of his mostly-erect cock was kissed by a mouth that he was only half-sure belonged to a stallion. It was better treatment than he'd gotten in weeks, and a bathing he might have actually enjoyed if a chilling numbness wasn't keeping him from registering that it was happening at all.

The bag was finally pulled from his head. All he had time to register were wooden walls, and the next thing he knew Applejack herself was scrubbing the sweat away from his face. He let her hold him still and closed his eyes, only opening them again when she was done drying him off. "What's that look for?" she snapped at him as the horror on his face finally registered. "Y'all didn't even see anything."

From behind, another black bag was slung over his head and tied tight. He waited for the return of his thong, but was instead tugged impatiently along by his leash toward an unseen exit. He tried to orient himself and count his hoofsteps, but couldn't place himself on his mental map of the arena. "No, this way," Applejack barked at someone, tugging him sharply to the left. "This one's getting a front-row seat."

It sounded innocent enough, but the female snickering that surrounded him sent a chill through Lucky's blood.

Panic didn't really set in until the wood beneath his hooves turned into sand. A door opened and the chatter of mares hit him like a roar, stopping him dead in his tracks. He didn't move even when another tug closed his airway. While one of his unseen handlers kept fruitlessly pulling, Applejack stepped closer and grabbed his throat herself. "You're coming out here now," she growled, pulling him close, "or you're going home with Fluttershy. Got it?"

Even as he teared up, Lucky nodded. He let himself be dragged forward, holding back as much as he dared. His brain screamed in protest, his every instinct holding him back; he felt as though at any moment he was going to be dragged chest-first into a blade. The talk of the crowd turned to excited screams as sunlight hit him. The projected voice of the Mayor crackled overhead, completely lost within the cacophony. The only word that he made out was "initiation".

A slight jolt from the leashes wasn't enough warning; his hoof hit the edge of a wooden platform and he fell forward, hitting his chest sharply on what felt like a large crate. The screaming around him became pockmarked with cruel laughter. Within his bag he grimaced and set his face, ignoring the panicked throbbing of his heart. With a stern grip, his legs were spread and his hooves were shackled to the platform. Whatever happens, he told himself, face it with dignity. This became harder when a forceful hand smacked his face down onto the crate, leaving him painfully bent over with his ass in the air.

Slim manacles slipped around his wrists, and the bag was finally pulled from his head, leaving him staring straight into the crotch of Applejack's booty shorts. He gasped for breath and looked around desperately, confirming his situation: he was trussed up right in the middle of the arena, with hundreds of mares and stallions alike staring down at him. The place had been built in a mix of pegasus and earth pony styles, with vertically stacked bleachers that could accommodate the entire town and then some. These were further divided into sections, with the majority of stallions tied in place on one side, not letting them see each other. Applejack swished her tail in front of Lucky, letting her luscious ass obscure most of his view. She ran a finger through his mane teasingly. "You're pretty cute, when you're not playing grab-ass," she said. "A little taste from the other side ought'a straighten you out."

Lucky squirmed. His wrists had him winched down tight to the wooden block, and he could barely bend his knees; practically the only movement he could make was to shake his exposed backside up and down in the air, which earned a cheer from whatever section was right behind him. Applejack chuckled and sauntered away, giving him a firm smack on his rump as she went.

Okay, stay calm. Lucky clenched his eyes shut again and tried to focus on nothing at all. His legs shook violently, and he struggled for breath against the block. Stay calm. The Mayor belted something else out, filling the air with high-pitched screams and squeals again. Stay calm. Have dignity. A gong sounded loudly, and on the far end of the arena a gate creaked open. Stay ca- Despite himself, Lucky's eyes opened. Oh, handbaskets.

A massive stallion staggered out into the light. He was magnificently muscled, ripped on every part of his body and practically gleaming in the daylight. His rugged mane was swept heroically back from his solid, handsome face. Between his legs his cock hung thick and heavy, looking nearly the length of Lucky's forearm. Every part of him was immaculately groomed, beautiful in every way, a perfect dream for any straight mare or gay stallion who beheld him. But all that Lucky could focus on was his collar - a deep, vibrant red, almost invisible against the colour of the gorgeous stallion's rustic coat.

"Oh, Big Mac," Lucky whimpered, feeling despair drop heavily onto him as a hundred lusty cheers filled the air. "Not you too."

The show began immediately. A pair of naked mares ran past Lucky and struck sexy poses, shaking their hips and running their hands over their engorged breasts. But as Big Macintosh started to move, his eyes zeroed in on Lucky. In that gaze there was none of the calm, wise detachment that Lucky had seen on the few occasions he'd met the massive stallion; now, his eyes were glazed with a single-minded determination.

Every pounding hoofstep pounded in Lucky's ears. The mares threw themselves at Big Macintosh as he passed, expertly grinding their bodies against his heavy frame. They were clearly masters of the art; the display was enough to turn Lucky on, even under the circumstances. Big Mac brushed them off as if he didn't notice they were there. As he cleared the distance he reached down and started stroking his cock, thickening the shaft to terrifying proportions. A deranged, twisted smile broke onto his face as he towered over Lucky, and he exaggeratedly licked his lips. The screams and cheers of the mares around them reached new heights.

Lucky tried to find his voice as the smell hit him: soaped and perfumed, but also reeking of raw testosterone and just a hint of semen. The unmistakable smell of a red collar. "Mac, snap out of it," he begged, struggling to make himself audible. "This isn't you. You don't want this." He winced as he felt those lust-crazed eyes crawling over his bound body. Big Mac's cock stretched, casting a shadow over Lucky's face that grew longer by the second. "Please," he whimpered, all composure cracking. "You like mares. You want to be a daddy. You'd never hurt a friend, Mac, please, don't do this to m-"

A heavy hand smacked across his face, jolting him to the side. "Stuff it, fuckmeat," Big Mac bellowed in a voice that, just for a moment, quieted the arena. Then he grabbed Lucky's head in both hands, wrenched his jaw open, and plugged up Lucky's cry by shoving the head of his cock in his mouth.

Everything erupted all at once. The mares cheered as though a great evil had been vanquished right in front of them; Lucky could even hear the voice of Applejack whooping and hollering with encouragement. "Ponyville is now a little bit safer!" the Mayor proclaimed amidst the noise.

This was by far the most pleasant sensation currently pounding through Lucky's head. He held his breath and clamped his eyes shut, trying not to taste, smell, or in any way experience what was roughly invading his mouth. This was impossible. His jaw stretched painfully as Big Mac thrust hard into Lucky's face, dragging several inches of hot, hard dickflesh over Lucky's tongue. His gag reflex, overworked by day after day of a metal bit in his mouth, put up no resistance. He felt his throat distend as cock filled it completely, already slick and starting to drip into him. Before he knew it, his snout was buried all the way in Big Mac's crotch, and he had a brief moment of what was almost relief as he realized there was no more length to swallow. But this did nothing to prepare him for the thrusting.

The entire platform jolted as Big Mac drew back and slammed forward. Lucky cried out as best he could, showering Mac's thighs with a spray of spittle. A powerful rhythm took over both their bodies, Mac riding Lucky's face hard and adding his bellows of pleasure to the continuing cheering all around them. The constant crashing blew through Lucky's barriers and his brain revolted as it finally understood what was happening - that there was a dick, in his mouth, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't move, he couldn't fight, and even if his conscience had allowed him to bite down, the sheer size and force of the cock would have prevented it. He was utterly at its mercy.

The humiliation hurt worse than the pain. It still hurt a lot; Lucky's jaw creaked painfully with every thrust, and he felt as though his face and neck were being bruised. But the massive cock plugged him completely, overpowering every other sensation, until he could physically feel himself giving into it. He either had to relax his muscles or have them torn. He barely struggled for air, having become strangely used to not being able to breathe, but every sharp and desperate inhale tasted of dick. It wasn't even Big Mac who was in front of him any more, just this singular, powerful force that now lived inside him. It almost felt like it wasn't his throat that the cock was invading so much as his mind.

Just as he thought he could take no more, the cock withdrew. Big Mac grunted and panted, dragging his slick shaft all over Lucky's face. Clarity returned with an unobstructed lungful of dick-scented air. Lucky dry-heaved, barely holding onto his lunch and wondering if it was even worth the effort. He collapsed onto the block and blearily looked up, just in time to realize that Big Mac was no longer looking at his face. The massive pony was now trailing his gaze upwards, all the way to his victim's raised-up backside.

There was no point trying to fight it. Lucky let himself lie flat as Big Macintosh straightened up and walked out of view. He felt a hand trace along his side, only stopping to powerfully smack his rump. This earned a grunt from Lucky and laughter from everyone else. He took deep breaths, bracing himself and preparing to get this over with.

Instead of the brutal lancing that he'd been expecting, Big Mac started with his mouth. He planted a hefty kiss on Lucky's ass cheek and then licked, lubing him up with his broad tongue. He ate out Lucky's ass with a perverse passion, drawing a shudder from his victim. Lucky held in a whimper. It was the nature of the Reign that he couldn't honestly say he'd never had anything in there before, but it had never been like this. Tingles filled him as he was invaded; if it had been a mare behind him doing this, this would have felt amazing.

His hands balled into fists as the mouth wandered lower. Big Mac licked and sucked on his balls, while gentle fingers started to stroke his shaft. Lucky bit his lip and held in a moan from the touch. His cock started to twitch and thicken. No! Bad! Stay down! he ordered. Clown costume. Apple Bloom. Meadow Song getting shanked. Something! It was no use. It took a simple flicker of his brain to imagine that it was one of the seductresses from earlier who was now behind him, masterfully worshiping his cock and asshole, and his body chose to run with this instead of facing the truth. His dick reached semi-chub from Big Mac's fondling, sending more waves of pleasure through him while the crowd hooted. No! No! No! He beat his head against the crate in frustration. I'm not into this! A mouth on your dick is not just a mouth on your dick!

More visualizations of mares on their knees flooded him. Lucky forced his eyes open to keep himself in the moment. What he saw chilled him more than any stallion's touch could. Directly in front of him was Mistress Rarity's section of the audience.

Mistress Rarity took a somewhat different approach to controlling her stallions. Each of the ponies under her command was bound in place in a straitjacket made from black latex, another material that the caribou had arrived scarcely clothed in. Massive ball gags plugged their mouths and, Lucky knew from experience, somewhere else as well. Each of them had a rubber tube wrapped tight around their prick, leading down to a clear plastic ball strung between their legs. Every minute or so the tube would wriggle and suck, keeping the stallions permanently erect and forcing them to cum again and again, slowly filling the ball with clear, watery semen. These "satiated" stallions stood pale and trembling, weakly mewling as their aching balls were continuously pumped dry. Lucky's heart went out to them in sympathy and remembrance.

In the front row sat Mistress Rarity herself. She was wearing a skintight latex outfit of her own, which split open into a diamond across her stomach. Her full breasts were perfectly outlined by the material, allowing her to pinch and tweak a nipple as she smugly looked over the proceedings. Her other hand held a jeweled riding crop that she repeatedly flicked up into the balls of the stallion behind her. But Lucky couldn't focus on her, not that he cared to. His gaze was drawn like magnetism to the mare beside her: the only pony in that section not wearing black.

She was a pale, petite mare, defying convention by wearing an unrevealing white dress. Her light blue mane had a short, practical cut, perpetually decorated with a flower. Perhaps uniquely in all of Ponyville, her bust had remained modest, possibly no different than when Lucky had first met her. But even all of this could not compare to the difference in her eyes. She sat with both hands over her mouth, trying not to draw attention to herself, and when their eyes met across the distance she stared back at him with a silent horror that hurt worse than anything Big Mac could ever do to him.

Lucky's heart cracked. He teared up, barely noticing as a spit-lubed cock started rubbing itself across his backdoor. "Coco," he whispered.

Memories entered and overwhelmed him at the same moment that the cock did.

Author's Note

You thought I'd forgotten about this, didn't you? Yeah, look, this is a blatant alt account and I've got other shit to do. This'll happen when it happens.

Bracing for downvotes when people are somehow surprised that there's gay stuff in here.