Slate scrolled over the piece of reading material given to him, scanning the pages with great scrutiny.

“This is interesting…” he grumbled aloud, flipping a page of his paper back book while leaning back in his seat.

A few days had passed since he had spoken to the prestigious leader of ‘The Society’, and ever since he had been confined to his guest room, trapped within its four wall as if it were a prison cell. No matter how luxurious his accommodations, no matter how delectable the food or pleasant the company, he couldn’t suffer the fact that he being held against his will.

Things weren’t ‘horrible’, just immensely dull. One with the patience of a mountain would be able to feel it erode in the face of such tedium, wherein all they had to do was eat, sleep, use the restroom, and copulate with the scores of brainwashed bimbos and sniveling submissives that were sent to keep him entertained.

He lasted little over a single day before cabin fever started to take hold, and he was demanding his captors brought him something to better occupy his time. Schorl complied with the demand in the form of a stack of books. One large enough to keep the most well read pony in Equestria distracted for a longer time than they could accurately determine. This appealed to his more scholarly nature, but he quickly discovered a common, demoralizing theme with the volumes. What could have been hours of cerebral stimulation turned into mere minutes of mental mediocrity.

Slate let out a scoff as he came to particularly outlandish part of his novel. “As if a stallion could be sent into climax by beating their balls with a piece of wood.” His disgust told him to close the book then and there, the inaccuracy of how anatomy reacted to pain offending him, as did the off putting depiction of ‘slave/master’ relations. Despite his qualms, he continued on, but not out of perverted pursuits.

The other books given to him were of a similar level of garbage. Trashy tales of princesses at the mercy of dark and dashing alpha males with terrible ideals of how to treat the population of the kingdoms they stole from their rightful rulers. Tribes of savage creatures coming in from foreign lands, convincing ponies to submit to them as sex slaves and servants with little to no opposition to their conquest. And course, issue after issue of stories featuring some rich snob turning one of their serving staff, or some peasant off the street, into objects of their desire. So many written works of domination and submission, where individuals were trained and taught that they were not capable of functioning like normal ponies, but instead needed the direct attention of a mistress or a master to hold their hands and walk them through life. As a pony with some background in psychology who could tell the amount of bullocks put into these endless scribblings, the notion angered more than aroused him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand. He knew perfectly that these bits of tripe were made to bemuse the lowest common denominator. Ideas romanticized until any sort of realism were completely removed, but that was what bothered him so much. Why would Schorl give somepony like him such dreck. This was the kind of stuff horny, vulnerable housewives read to pass the time while their husbands were away at work, not the kind of thing for his intelligent mind to dwell upon. It seemed that the crystal mare wanted him in a certain frame of thought, but he wasn’t going to be so easily brainwashed to her whims.

The only reason he was continuing on with the book in his hand, a piece of erotica about a slender, shapely stallion being kidnapped and shipped off to Saddle Arabia through a pony trafficking ring, was because the book was written in the script of the setting it took place in. He didn’t care as much for the adventures of the earth pony as he was transformed from mild mannered male to his mistress’ masochistic exotic dancer, so much as he enjoyed deciphering the chicken scratches that made up Saddle Arabian text. The act of swapping out word for word in his mind to piece together a coherent narrative, if you could say a story where the main character constantly questions his moral decisions internally while showing no signs of remorse or regret externally had such a thing, from the foreign dialect was the best way to pass the time given to him.

“Hey…” Slate spoke aloud, shifting his book aside slightly to look at his crotch, and the face of the unicorn maid stationed there, “Have you ever been made to cum from someone smacking your labia with a crop?”

It was hard for the mare - ever since Slate met Trendy he was sure to check who was accurately representing their gender - to respond to that question with her mouth bobbing on his dick. However a simple shake of her head informed him that she had not.

“Just as I thought, what a ridiculous idea. There are limits to even the extents of masochism.”

Slate felt a moment of smug satisfaction that his opinions on the subject were confirmed, but those were dashed when the maid removed herself from his shaft to say, “I haven’t personally done that, but I have seen it happen during my training, sir. There was this pegasus girl who used to cum all the time when whipped and beaten. It was amazing to watch her squirt when being caned, and the most amazing part is I think she was a Wonder-GULP!”

Slate grabbed the maid’s mane and shoved her back down on his cock before allowing her to finish. “If I want your gossip, I’ll ask for it.” he stated, not pleased to hear statements that legitimized what he felt was an absurd concept. “Now remember your place, you stupid cock cleaning slut.”

The mare nodded her head, rubbing the firmly pressed cock head positioned at the back of her throat against its wet walls to do so, and continued her task of slurping her tongue along its length. Slate had to admit, the girl knew what she was doing, this facility teaching her well how to use that tongue of hers, but of course Schorl was going to send him her best to convince him to join her.

His mind was still set though, and he was going to be the one to bring this organization to its knees for the insult and mistreatment he had to endure. The crystal bitch wasn’t making it easy on him though. Each of the slaves sent to him, from the ones that he fucked to the ones that delivered his meals, were unicorns, preventing him from using his magic to gain any control over them, which also meant any plot he could dream up had to function on his own abilities. They were also incredibly stingy with useful information, since he couldn’t even ask what city he was in without being told that they were “not permitted to say”. He even tried tried paddling the information out of one such stallion already, since Schorl wasn’t against him requesting toys for his sessions with her playthings, reducing him to a sobbing mess, but all that did was change the answer to a screaming “I don’t know” as the colt’s flank turned a lovely shade of purple.

“I swear.. When I get out of here... “ he muttered to himself, imagining that it was Schorl’s collared visage that he was cramming his cock into instead of this nameless, useless mare. If there was ever a woman who needed to be taught her place, it was her, and he would delight in being the one to teach her the important lesson of what happens when she bites off more than she can chew. Perhaps he could even figure out some way to bend her will to his like she did with these timid creatures that served her. It would be the ultimate irony if the dommie bitch became someone else’s pet pony.

With that pleasing thought crossing his mind, he allowed himself to come to climax inside the unicorn’s muzzle, silently shooting a load of jism down her mouth, keeping hold of her mane with one hand, while reaching over to nearby desk where a small bag rested, reaching inside to pull out a potato chip before chomping it down and returning to his book. As the mare sputtered and shook to avoid choking on his sperm, he was happy to envision her mistress in the same place one day, and that she would thank him for the privilege of being used as a cum receptacle.

Before his cock had the opportunity to deflate from the sensation of orgasm though, a knocking came to his chamber door, shortly followed by, “Are you decent, Mr. Slate? I would like to speak with you.”

And speaking of the bitch. He thought to himself, the sound of his captor’s voice easily identifiable after his first encounter with her. It appeared that she was done making him wait, or perhaps she was just checking up on him. Either way, it was about time that he took the slightest bit of control away from her. She wanted to make sure he wasn’t exposed before entering, and thus didn’t expect him to be when she opened the door.

“Come on in!” Slate exclaimed, getting to his hooves as quickly as he could. As the beckoned crystal mare opened the entrance to his temporary home, his penis slide out of the warm confines of the maid’s mouth, flicking slightly across her upper lip upon exit in it’s semi-erect state. The sex organ couldn’t hold its stiffness in the aftermath of climax though, and soon dangled from his crotch over the maid’s face, seeping the remainder of the fluids contained within it across her snout, up her muzzle, and into one of her eyes as she watched him disgrace her with seman.

Schorl entered the room without hesitation to see Slate standing over the slave mare she had sent to keep him happy, the outsides of her lips spattered in his cum, with a trail of the substance dripped across her face, Slate smiling down at the kneeling female while he clutched her hair in one hand, and a book in the other. It was quite the scene, and as expected it gave the crystal mare reason for pause.

“Good morning, Miss Tourmaline,” Slate said in mocking tone, “Or is it evening? It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sun, I’m not too sure.”

“It’s almost 10:00 PM,” Schorl replied, turning to the side so she didn’t have to look directly at the stallion.

“Oh come now, no need to be bashful Schorl. You’ve already seen me naked.” The stallion was pleased with the crystal mare’s embarrassment. As he figured, even one who ran a business based on pony slavery could be thrown off guard when she she didn’t anticipate every action somepony could make.

“If you don’t mind,” Schorl replied, a bit angrily, “I’d like you to release Juniper’s mane. Last thing I need is for it to be ripped out of her head by the follicles.”

For a split second Slate didn’t know who this ‘Juniper’ was, but then realized Schorl was speaking of the maid. He reluctantly did as he was told, but not before giving the locks of hair in his grip one last tug and shoving her aside. “What do you care? She’s a slave right? She has no rights aside for what we, her betters, bestow upon her.”

“If that is truly what you think, then I still have much to teach you about how to be a proper dominant.” Schorl said, her face stoic in the wake of Slate’s terrible opinion, “A master shouldn’t harm, except when disciplining or training a submissive.”

“Oh you’re full of crap,” Slate said, slipping his dick back into pants, “You rape them, you let me paddle a stallion’s flank with a piece of mahogany. Sadism is part in partial with this business of yours.”

“As is masochism,” Schorl retorted, glaring at the stallion for his accusations, “There is a difference in hurting somepony for no good reason, and allowing them to indulge. Even then, there are limits to what is, and isn’t allowed. It is all listed in your member’s manual, which I’m certain at this point you haven’t read.”

“I did too read it. All two-hundred and forty eight pages.” He said that, knowing damn well that he had spent more time flipping to the last to see what the count was, than he did reading a line of that long list of dos and don’ts.

“Than you should remember the section that says that all members must treat Society property with care, which includes treating any and all slaves within the restrictions placed on them.”

“I wasn’t told about any restrictions,” replied Slate, “Doesn’t the slave have some form of obligation to inform guests if they can’t have their mane’s tugged a little?”

Schorl turned her head down to the maid mare on the floor, who gave a sheepish expression in exchange. It was enough to inform the crystal pony that Slate was being honest. She couldn’t fault him for his transgressions if he wasn’t told there were limitations.

“Then from now on, please make efforts to ask before doing as you please,” Schorl said, tapping her leg to summon Juniper to her side, “As a dom, it is your responsibility to-”

“Yes, yes, I get it. No need to drill in the point. From now on I’ll be more responsible.” Slate tired of this lecture, and wished the dissatisfied crystal mare would just move on, “So unless you have something else you want to speak with me about.”

“I did…” Schorl say, running a hand through the mane of the unicorn as she got in close, turning and twisting her head in ways that seemed more aggressive than his own pulling from where he stood. When she was done inspecting her scalp, she went on to add, “But with your current attitude, I’m not sure I should.”

With that statement, Slate saw a moment where he could strike, and perhaps gain some actual ground against Schorl, “Let’s get serious for a moment here, ‘Miss Tourmaline’.” he said with a tone that mixed indignance with a presence of command, “Your people interrupted me while I was enjoying the company of a demure pegasus mare, and the sexiest zebra this side of Equestria. They then proceeded to stomp on my face, threaten my balls, drug me and stuff me in a crate. After that I brought here, chained to a bed, and further threatened to be shoved into a cage not only by yourself, but a minotaur brute who made no effort to pretend he didn’t wish to break me in two. At what point am I supposed to feel ‘privileged’ that you want me to be a part of your little group.”

Slate could feel the heat rising off the crystal mare, her blood boiling, mouth opening in attempt to give a comeback to what he said, but unable to speak a single word. She had probably never dealt with disrespect before, Slate assumed, or at least not from someone she couldn’t just beat into submission. When she did figure on what to say next, it wasn’t directed at him, but the other mare in the room instead.

“Juniper…” Schorl said with a calmness that rivaled the eye of a storm, “Please go back to the slave quarters, and await further order.” Juniper didn’t make a single mistaken motion as she fulfilled her instructions, assured that if she didn’t obey quickly and completely, then she would be the new target of the crystal pony’s anger.

Watching the maid flee was amusing to Slate, but not nearly as much as watching Schorl’s hands clench at her sides, caught between wanting to unleash her rage and keeping her composure. Near the verge of full body tremors, yet remaining completely still as she stared Slate down, no doubt looking for a sign of weakness or worry as she did what she could to intimidate him.

A sign that he wasn’t going to give, knowing the game she was playing and not fearing the female in the least. They were alone now, and unless somepony came in to interrupt this exchange of gazes, it would only end when one of them submitted to the other. A simple mind game of ‘who flinched first’, and Slate was willing to play it much longer than Schorl could ever know.

“Mr. Slate… I think the two of us have gotten off on the wrong hoof,” Schorl relented, her tensed up stance wavering when faced with Slate’s defiant resolve. “I’ll admit, I’ve been more than a bit unfair to you in all this, not that you have made this experience any easier with your need for hostilities. That and the damage you caused to Society property.”

“The girl will live with her mane intact, I promise.” Slate said, still seeing no fault in his actions.

“You know what I mean,” Schorl replied, pointing the broken bar on the headboard of Slate’s bed, “My outrage earlier is just an extension to your earlier actions. However, I suppose it is all my fault in this case. To be honest, this is the first time I’ve had to deal with a member with the kind background you have.”

“You’ve never dealt with a psychologist before?”

“I’ve never dealt with a criminal before.” Schorl quickly corrected, “Most members don’t need to be drugged and shipped off to me, or bound to a bed frame like a freshly caught slave. Generally, we let them come through the front door on their own accord, and experience the Society in a more friendly atmosphere.”

Slate gave the mare an odd look, and then laughed. The hypocrisy of it all, to call him a criminal for temporarily enhancing a pony’s mind to put them more into the mood, when she was holding ponies against their wills, and raping them until they stopped fighting. He would have given some sort of witty retort to the accusation, but his chuckling took precedence, and Schorl didn’t feel like waiting for him to finish.

“The point is that this has been stressful for all parties, and if you are willing to start over, than I would be willing to do so as well.”

“Start over?” Slate asked, approaching the mare without qualm, “I suppose that I could be encouraged to do so, if you’re willing to make up for the pain inflicted upon my person.”

Schorl didn’t move as he came up to her, closing her eyes as he come less than an inch before her, their two chest practically touching. “And what would it take to wipe away this offense?”

Slate took the opportunity to take a lock of the mare’s long, dark blue hair in his hand, trapping it between his pointer and index finger. “Well I feel that your hospitality has been a bit incomplete so far.” The stallion played with the mane as he spoke, rubbing the stands together. You’ve offered me food, shelter, entertainment… but I believe it is the host’s duty to spend time with with their guests.”

“So you are asking for my company?” Schorl asked rhetorically.

“Perhaps all we need to get along is to spend some time together, intimately.” Slate released Schorl’s mane, circling around to the backside of the woman he had captive in his grasp. With her eyes shut, and showing no indications of resistance, Slate was free to slip his fingers under the seams of her gown, touching his palms against fur and crystalline flesh a they rested on her shoulders. “You would have no reason to worry. I can’t control you with my magic, and it’s not like I would be able to manipulate someone as intelligent as yourself.”

He said that, but his mind wandered back to the thought of making Schorl his. To have her naked before him, balls deep on his shaft, and at the mercy of his will. He could, and would, control her. Not with a spell, but with his own cunning and guile. The workings of the equine mind was his forte, and so far he saw nothing special about the mare’s psyche. She was just a pony with power, with the kind of attitude that ponies with power had. Thus, the crystal mare surely had a weakness he could exploit. All he had to do was look hard enough.

For right now, while Schorl was being permissive about how he touched her, he would see if there was something physical he could exploit. A sensitive bit of skin that would make her putty in his hands. Perhaps a soft spot acquired from an injury that had never healed properly, or just a part of her that was seldom touched. As long as she let him, Schorl’s body would be his to explore and collect data upon for future use.

“How about we remove this dress and get a better look at what you are so poorly hiding beneath it?” She gave no objections, no gestures to stop him, so he proceeded with delay, taking hold of a zipper in the back of her even gown, and pulling it down. He took great efforts to do it as slow as possible, knowing that most mares enjoyed that kind of teasing. The thoughts of a stallion offering pleasure, only to hold it at arm’s length to elongate the experience. It romanticized the act of sex, turning it from a simple expression of base instincts to a unique event that would be etched into their minds.

Schorl didn’t seem to be all that interested though, as all the normal indications of arousal were absent. No change in her breathing patterns, no weakening of the knees or soft mutters and moans to betray her excitement. She seemed utterly stoic about the whole thing, not having spoken a word since she asked if it was her company Slate wanted. The frigidness of the crystal mare got to Slate a little, and he wanted to do something drastic to elicit some sort of response from her. A nibble of her ear, or even something more brash like grabbing her breasts from beneath her clothing, using the soon to be opened back as passage to her moderately sized mammaries.

Settling on the idea of feeling Schorl up, which would no doubt get a reaction from her, but would also be satisfying for him, Slate pulled the zipper the rest of the way down in a fluid motion. He was ready to go in for the strike, going so far as to slip his hands into the gown and touch Schorl’s sides, before something unexpected brought him pause. The mare’s back, to his surprise, was covered in scars. Large, darkened lines of skin that shaded the hue of her already dark purple fur to a shade of near black. There were so many, and in seemingly random directions, as if she had been flogged with a whip viciously for hours on end, or that someone incredibly malicious had taken a blade to her in a manner that would leave the most lasting impression.

“Is something wrong?” Schorl asked, “Did you find something you like?”

“N-not at all,” Slate replied, the unsightly marks throwing him off a bit more than he’d like to admit, “I’ve just never seen a mare-”

“In such poor condition?” Schorl didn’t have to look at Slate to know that he was in shock at what he was seeing. It was not everyday that a pony saw the results of a pure, unrestrained sadist.

“I wasn’t going to say that…” Slate said, while examining the marks closer. “They aren’t without their own… charm, I suppose.” The marks looked far from fresh, having healed long ago. To the touch, the texture was rough compared to any other part of her body, but so much that it felt callused. As savage as it looked, the person responsible for it knew how to leave his signature without strengthening her against any future torture.

Even as Slate touched it, he could tell how delicate Schorl’s scars were, with her making sucking noises through her teeth as he prodded them. Yet, she didn’t pull away from him. It was as if she wanted him to see the pain she had suffered.

Is that what you’re trying to do? he thought, Endear me to you by showing me some traumatic experience from your past? You’re gonna have to do better than that.

The marks did warrant a question though, the only one somepony would have when looking at a severe injury. “So, how did you get all of these?”

Schorl took in a few more soft breaths, Slate still prodding at her back, before giving an answer, “Before I became the leader of the Society, I once had a master of my own.”

“You were a slave?” Slate said in follow up to this revelation, his intrigue peaked.

“You could say that, but I like to think of myself as my master’s loyal servant. When I was younger, he claimed me as his, and trained me personally in the art of servitude. His methods are used here on more stubborn potentials, though in a diluted form. I fear that not everypony would be able to survive what I went through with their minds intact.”

Schorl was being as presumptuous as ever, but Slate did have to admit that she could back up her claim. “Well he certainly put you through the wringer, that’s for sure.”

“My master was harsh and demanding, but powerful and awe-inspiring. When you stood before him, you knew who he was, and his image demanded respect. None who served him could resist the strength of his will.”

Slate noticed the mare shudder as she reminisced about the stallion who once owned her, and picked up on a fresh scent of arousal wafting in the air. Seemed that the mare felt fondly about her time with this stallion who maimed her so thoroughly.

“I’ve never met another man, stallion or otherwise, who radiated dominance like he did, and I believe I never will again.”

Slate took the crystal mare’s last remark as an offhanded insult, It was hard to see it any other way, since by bolstering this mystery stallion’s image to unrealistic heights, she was saying that all others were inferior by comparison.

“I’m not sure about the company you’ve kept until now,” Slate said, excluding himself from the rest of the riffraff Schorl was lumping him with, “But I bet that I could give your old master a run for his bits.”

“Mr. Slate, I mean no insult to your abilities or demeanor, but you would have a hard time competing with-”

The unicorn stallion, noticing that Schorl was wandering back into her comfort zone of discussing her former master, chose this time to strike. With as much speed as he could muster, he relocated his hands to two very vulnerable locations. One headed straight for the base of the mare’s left tit, gripping it at it’s base with so much intensity that one would think that his goal was to meet his thumb with the other fingers of his hand somewhere in the center of the meat sphere. The strength of his grip would have surely caused the mare to call out in pain, but even before he had started to squeeze Schorl’s breast, he had already placed his other hand on her throat, clamping down on her larynx to prevent Schorl from making a noise.

“What do you think about this, you stupid slave slut,” Slate whispered into Schorl’s ear, pulling his once captor, and now captive, into his against his chest. He could feel her pulse rise rapidly, hear her try struggle to make quick breathes around his fingers, and watched as her narrowed eyes stare into his like a scared animal.

Without an escape plan, knowledge of the area he was in, or proper equipment to make it past the unknown number of guards the Society had, this attack on Schorl was little more than suicide. Even if he tried to use her as a bargaining chip to exchange his freedom, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t be rushed or otherwise taken down. Slate didn’t intend to leave though, nor did he fear future retribution for what he was doing to the mare. In fact, he was sure she wasn’t going to do anything to him for holding her against her will.

On the contrary, if Schorl wanted to act against him, she would have done it the moment she was grabbed. Slate’s hold was anything but secure, having purposely made it so her appendages had full freedom of movement. If she wanted, Schorl could easily elbow him in the ribs or stomped down on the toe of his hoof, and if she did then he would have backed off and pretended it was a very unfunny joke. But she hadn’t… Instead she allowed Slate to do as he pleased, and even leaned into him softly as he pulled her close. He had expected nothing less from her, given what he had learned about the mare.

In his expert opinion, Schorl suffered from a pathological need to be manhandled. An internal urge to have someone lord over her, just as she did to the slave ponies of her organization. Only that would explain why she would revere a stallion who had so thoroughly marred her body. Determining that this was a feature of her psyche, a few other pieces fell into place as well.

For starters, he could assume that “The Society” was little more than a front for the mare’s personal wish fulfillment. This dominant portrayal she exhibited was far from genuine, her bitchy persona simply a mask hiding a timid girl looking for somepony, or some stallion to be exact, to take control of her as her clearly absent master once did. This entire facility could have been created in pursuit of that goal, bringing in strong and willful ponies from across Equestria, such as himself, to see if any measure up to her image of a perfect master. Even if she couldn’t locate one who naturally met all her standards, she might have felt that she could train someone with the plethora of ponies she had enslaved as guinea pigs. Lucky for her then that she stumbled upon somepony happy to take the role, albeit temporarily.

“You’re pathetic,” Slate stated openly, guiding Schorl over to his bed by pulling the mare’s mammary in its direction, “I’m gripping your tit hard enough that it’d turn purple if it weren’t already, and all it does is make your heart race with excitement.”

Schorl tried to respond, but with a thumb pressed against her windpipe, she could do little but move her lips.

“Ah, ah,” Slate said condescendingly, “Unless what you have to say from here on out is ‘Yes master’, I don’t want to hear it. You’re mine now.”

When finished issuing his instructions, the stallion removed his hand from the crystal mare’s throat, only to use it to shove her forward. Schorl in turn stumbled forward, only a little before hitting her knees against the side of Slate’s mattress, forcing her to fall across it because of her momentum.

“This is a side of you I think I prefer,” Slate commented, Schorl’s hooves still on the ground, knees bent only slightly, pushing her tail end up as her top half rested on the bed, “None of that attitude from before, and completely at my mercy.” Before Schorl could do or say anything, Slate grabbed the bottom back part of the dress she was wearing, and lifted it up high. “And look at that, you came perfectly dressed for this occasion.”

Schorl had nothing on under that form fitting dress, thus no piece of fabric stood in the way of his gaze and the spaces between her legs. As he had assumed, the crystal mare’s privates were moist to the point of nearly dripping onto the floor, her desire for the way Slate was treating her apparent to any who would love upon her. That aside, her figure wasn’t half bad. She had a decently plump ass, a beautiful set of legs, and a delightfully curvy waistline that was slender and lean, showing that she had a healthy diet, but not what one would consider ‘muscular’, indicating that she didn’t exercise much. A figure of idealistic perfection, gained through minimal physical effort.

Flipping the bit of of silk he held onto the curvature of Schorl’s spine, Slate gave his now free hand another target, one more attached to the crystal unicorn, and entirely appropriate considering their earlier argument. That long, flowing mane of hers practically begged to be pulled, and thus he abided to its wishes. With Slate holding tightly to a large lock of Schorl’s mane, the mare had no choice but to follow its lead back to Slate, her body compelled by his masculine power to return to his side.

Slate didn’t want her back on her hooves though, it was much more befitting for the bitch to be bent before him, so he took measures to prevent that from happening. All it took was the careful placement of his knee on top of her spine, and a generous application of his weight, to keep her from standing.Now he could tug and pull all he wished, and all she could manage was to push her breasts out and make them easier to feel up if he felt the need.

Schorl didn’t try to fight him too much through this process, and submitted herself to his actions throughout. The only protest she made was when she felt the pressure of his knee come down upon the scars on her back, letting out one terrible and elongated moan of what Slate discerned was both agony and ecstasy, as her horn lit up in a burst of magic that was easily identifiable as a horngasm. The mare was masochistic for sure, and while he didn’t consider himself some sadistic barbarian, Slate did find a semblance of joy in her suffering. He could even get used to tormenting Schorl, giving her what she deserved for getting in his way and causing him pain. Little by little, Slate was starting to think that perhaps his previous plan to destroy the Society was a bit hasty.

Maybe a group with its kind of resources and goals could be useful if it had proper leadership. Schorl had probably derailed the Society for some time with her selfish goal of seeking a new master, and didn’t appear to be leader material to begin with, both things it didn’t take a psychologist to see. Her little group could be turned into something useful though. While misguided, the club’s written creed of training ponies to be true to their inner desires had merit, just so long as they were willing to do so in a manner that Slate found acceptable. Any malcontents could be dealt with and gotten rid of in some manner or another, like that other unicorn stallion that had helped to capture him, while those that conformed could stay. Slate could practically picture it all before his eyes, and it put a smile across his muzzle.

Such a plan couldn’t be done over night though, and had to begin somewhere before the eventual, and inevitable, ending to this scenario unfolded. That beginning was training the wretch pinned under his leg to be an upstanding, and completely devoted, slave to his whims, which seemed simple enough. She was only a mare, with simple marely desires he could satisfy with ease. Weird desires indicative of mental instability and psychological trauma, but simple nonetheless.

“Enough with this foreplay,” Slate stated aloud, ready to get to something enjoyable to himself, “Let’s get to the main course.”

The stallion removed his leg from atop the mare, and replaced it with his crotch as he straddled Schorl’s body, sitting atop her back like she was some sort of beast of burden, instead of a sapient creature deserving of respect. He then proceeded to take her mane, still trapped within his grip, and wrapped it once around her neck. The length of hair was long enough to make it around once, with just enough to create a loosely tied knot. The result was a sort of choke collar made from the mare’s own hair, of which he could use to motivate her should the need arise. He gave it a few tugs to test his handiwork, and the strands were strong enough together to not snap under the pressure.

Throughout all of this, Schorl neither tried to stop him, or stopped her horn from glowing, further proving to Slate that she wanted this to happen to her. The moans, bucks, and gasps she made were either reactionary, or part of the show, and in no way reflected her true feelings. It was interesting to see a mare with natural masochistic tendencies - as opposed to those he implanted himself - in action, so he gave her leash of a mane a few more tugs for his amusement, prolonging her lack of oxygen for longer periods, and gradually increasing the power behind his pulls. He could have gone on doing this for quite some time, giving his soon to be pet her the desires of her freakish fetish, but eventually her reactions got out of hand.

While he was focused on teasing the crystal mare with the torment she craved, she had managed to slip her hands unnoticed to her sides. At first she only used them to grip Slate by the lower thigh, which Slate didn’t mind too much. Gripping and grabbing were part of the sexual experience after all. What Slate couldn’t abide by though, was when Schorl dug her fingernails into his skin during a specifically harsh tug. It was probably instinctual, her body demanding she did something to allow a breath when it assumed she pass out without it, but unlike the crystal pony, pain was not his forte. A moment of sharp, scraping pain forced Slate to let go, but only so he too could do what his instincts told him and punish the perpetrator. Schorl didn’t even have the time to fall onto the bed before the back of the stallion’s hand crashed into her face.

Upon realizing what he had done, Slate was given pause. He really hadn’t meant to do that. Slate wasn’t really the violent type, and striking another pony was beyond him. Yet here he was, strangling a mare with her own mane, and hitting her across the mouth so hard that it created a sizable break in her lip. He didn’t know what to think about this, or the river of purple blood dripping onto the coverings of his bed.

He couldn’t do anything until he rationalized this out, outside of sit there and hyperventilate as if having narrowly avoided being hit by a runaway cart. Luckily, Schorl was just as stunned as he was, thus was doing nothing to add to this terrible situation as the stallion thought things through.

What’s going on here Slate? The stallion thought as his senses crawled back onto the surface. This was unlike him, even if he was trying to fulfill a role in attempt to bring Schorl under his will.

The most Slate had ever done before now were things that caused superficial damage, like clothes pins pinching soft skin or light paddlings. Things that gave him a feeling of empowerment without bringing harm to those in his power. Having Schorl wrapped around his finger was an enticing and arousing thought, but not at the cost of his own self control. Any kink Slate felt while dominating a pony meant nothing the moment his restraint was lost, and his once rock hard shaft fell as flaccid as a wet noodle. With his perverse desires subsiding, his attention and concern focused on the mare trapped beneath him.

He watched Schorl touch the spot on her face where he had struck, curiously examining the deep purple covering her finger tips. “Hmm…” She said without a hint of being upset or put off, more pleasantly surprised than anything, putting the fingers into her mouth immediately afterwards. At the same time, she took the chance to uncoil her hair from around her neck, and once finished with both undoing the tie Slate had made and cleaning her fingers of vital fluids, she turned her head so she could look at the unicorn male atop her.

“Is something the matter?” asked the crystal mare nonchalantly, as if the injury Slate had caused was nothing.

“Well… I… I think I went a bit too far...” replied Slate as his composure slowly returned to him.

Hearing this, the glow of Schorl’s horn died down. “Mr. Slate, could you please remove yourself from me?”

Not wanting to exacerbate the damage he had already caused, Slate got off of Schorl, allowing her to turn onto her back. She laid there for a few seconds, looking like she was thinking to herself about something, and then sat up straight, thankfully with the slit Slate formed in her lip facing away from him.

“Things got out of hand, didn’t they?” she said somberly, leaning forward slightly, resting her arms in her lap.

“Yeah…” Slate answered, running a hand across his face.

The two unicorns took this time to sit in silence, each letting the other piece together their thoughts. Slate didn’t know about Schorl, but he was at a loss for words. He felt like an apology was in order, but that would be admitting he was wrong to a person who had wronged him first. He still felt she needed to be punished for what she had done to him, by being sent to jail for her long list of crimes or made to be his pet, but he that he lost sight of himself in the process scared him.

“I’m sorry you felt you needed to do this,” Schorl said first, shifting her eye more directly at the stallion, “You are not the first to think what I need is a good beating.”

Slate wasn’t exactly sure what the crystal mare was getting at, but clarification felt in order. “What do you mean?”

Schorl smirked, “You think that you’re the first to try and tame me?”

“Well…”

“Mr. Slate, the Society is filled with mares and stallions with dominant natures, with some believing that there is nothing in this world they cannot possess. I have accepted long ago that their assumptions extend to me as well.”

“Then… what’s this all about? Why let me go so far?”

“I thought it was what you wanted,” said Schorl, “And you were implying if I let you have your way with me then we could sweep this nastiness under the rug. And to be honest… I’ve had worse.”

Schorl was being incredibly casual about this whole thing, which irked Slate more than relieved him. Sure, he hadn’t done anything that would make a permanent mark, but this was important to him, and thus shouldn’t be treated lightly by her.

“So what are the other members going to think about this?” Slate asked, “Now that I’ve hurt their prize?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much,” Schorl replied, “They don’t need to know about all this ugliness.”

“Well… I appreciate that much.” Last thing Slate wanted was a mob of angry rapists coming to his doorstep. He has already felt first hand how effective they were at inflicting pain when they wanted to, and here was no place he could run if he pissed them off.

“And just so you are aware, I don’t actually belong to any of them,” Schorl explained, wishing to make sure that he understood her relationship with her members, “But it is the goal of the Society to allow ponies to express their true selves. So if they feel they are pony enough to try and tame me, I allow them some time in my private quarters to show their worth, and some are very good at what they do. Though none of them have been able to break me yet.”

“I see…” Slate said, getting over his shock and replacing it with annoyance at Schorl’s pompous behavior.

“That aside though, most are not incredibly violent, at least not to other members. Have to follow the rules and all. You’d be worse off if my bodyguard found out than if one of the ponies did.”

“Bodyguard?” Slate thought back to the minotaur that accompanied Schorl during her first visit. The half ton of raw bovine muscle that prevented him from simply shoving Schorl aside and walking out of this place.

Slate was about to mention the minotaur, to show that he wasn’t completely clueless, but he found himself interrupted by a knocking at his door. It wasn’t a gentle tapping, such as what Schorl did to announce her arrival, but instead a heavy pounding that seemed to threaten the integrity of the divider.

“Oh!” Schorl exclaimed, seemingly as surprised as the stallion with the sudden interruption. However, while the noise itself caught the crystal mare caught her off guard, she knew exactly who it was who caused the commotion. “Speaking of Sartek, it would seem he is here to retrieve me.”

Schorl got up off the bed, and headed for the door. At first Slate didn’t think anything of it. If Schorl wanted to leave, then he had no issue with it. After all that had happened, he could do for some time alone. But then he remembered what Schorl just said about her bodyguard, and how he would be in trouble if the minotaur found out he had hurt her. As ideas of what the minotaur would do entered his thoughts, he leaped out of bed and after Schorl.

“Wait! Don’t-!”

Schorl turned back, but that didn’t stop the door from opening from the outside. The minotaur lacked the common courtesy that the crystal mare displayed when entering a room, and when Schorl didn’t respond instantly, opened the door without so much as an ‘I’m coming in’.

“Schorl, what’s taking you so long?” The minotaur asked, stepping into the room, “You’re running late. You were suppose to be done in here ten minutes ago. What’s keeping you?”

The mare approached Sartek, putting a hand into her hair and combing it out to quickly fix the mess Slate had made of it earlier. “Don’t worry, Sartek. Me and Mr. Slate were just having a long conversation about his behavior, and how he would do his best not to be a problem anymore, isn’t that right Mr. Slate?”

Slate had stopped in his tracks when he saw the behemoth bovine enter, and had resorted to acting inconspicuous to any wrongdoings. Pretending that nothing had happened, the stallion milled around in the center of his room, responding to Schorl with only a “Huh? Oh, yes. We have.”

Schorl understood his want to keep what had happened while the two of them were alone, and thus led onto another topic. “In fact, I think that he is ready for the next step.”

“Next step?” Slate pondered aloud.

“Yes,” Schorl confirmed, “It was what I wanted to discuss with you before we got sidetracked. I feel that you’ve progressed a lot, especially after what I’ve seen today, so I think it’s time you you were introduced to the other members, and inducted into their ranks.”

Slate liked the sound of that, despite it sounding like the crystal mare was treating him like a troublesome foal by keeping him away from the other children until he was ready to play nice. It implied that he would be able to leave his room soon.

“And when is this supposed to happen?” Slate asked the mare, ready to see anything outside the of his chamber.

“Tomorrow we’ll be holding a party in order to initiate new recruits such as yourself to how we in the Society do things.”

“Tomorrow, huh? Well I suppose that I can occupy myself until then. Will I be expected to do anything?”

“Just to show up and, more importantly, be yourself. It’s better if the others accept you for who you are, than like you for who you’re not.”

Aware that Schorl was referring to earlier events, he agreed to some degree that stepping too far out of his comfort zone was a bad idea. With a half-hearted nod, he accepted these terms, at least for the time being.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll be here to escort you and your fellow inductees personally, and then you’ll be able to see the Society for what it truly is.”

With that final word, it seemed that Schorl was done with Slate for the day. However, the minotaur didn’t appear to be as satisfied as the crystal pony. His brow was furrowed, visibly upset about something as he stood in Schorl’s way to the exit.

“Sartek, aren’t you going to get the do-mrph!?”

The minotaur brought his employer’s statement to an abrupt stop, grabbing her by the jaw. Without saying a single word, he started tilting her head around, looking it over at all angles. He must’ve caught a glimpse of something he didn’t like, and wanted to confirm his suspicions. Slate knew there was no way the minotaur didn’t notice what he had done, the cut he made in Schorl’s lip was hardly something one could hide. With that knowledge and the knowledge of what Schorl said about how protective he was of his paycheck, Slate started to take slow steps backwards to at least buy him a few precious seconds before being beaten to a pulp.

The beating never came though, and instead Sartek released Schorl when she put her hands on his, and pushed it away. “Sartek, stop.” Schorl said with a chuckle, finding her bodyguard’s worry humorous, “I’m fine. Nothing happened, and Slate was a perfect gentleman. I assure you.”

The minotaur still didn’t look pleased, but for some reason he didn’t take his displeasure out on Slate, he instead abided by the wishes of his employer, and let his qualms go, opening the door and stepping aside.

Without Sartek in her path, Schorl made her way out the door, but paused just before leaving. “And Mr. Slate,” She said, turning back around, “I’m so glad we could have this talk today.” After that, the crystal mare left with little more than a flick of her tail upon her exit, taking her bodyguard with her. The loud slam he made as he he closed the do rung in Slate’s ears, but powerful as it was, it wasn’t nearly as impressive as what Schorl had just shown him.

Now he knew why the minotaur found nothing worth breaking his bones over, as when Schorl revealed her face to him again, there was nothing wrong with it. No split in her lip, no swelling, not even so much as a bruise. Her face was perfectly fine, untouched even. It threw Slate off as much as it did the minotaur, and made him wonder if he imagined the severity of the injury in his panic.

There was one way he could be sure of what he saw; the bit of blood he believed he spotted dripping onto his bed cover. If it was still there, then he hadn’t been seeing things. He went to his bed to check, and low and behold, the purple substance was there. At least, something he thought was the substance was laying on his covers, but something was different about it. It looked shiner, and more solid.

“Did it clot?” he asked himself, hesitantly reaching out to touch the beads of blood. When he finally worked up the courage to make contact though, he found that the blood was not clotted, but crystallized. In the time it took Schorl to leave his room, her blood had transformed from a liquid to solid stone.

Picking up the purple rock, Slate brought it to his eye and allowed his powers of deduction to take over. “So that’s what happened. What a clever little trick.” Slate had to admit that he didn’t know much about crystal pony biology, but this seemed to make a lot of sense now that he saw it in action. Something about their blood reacting with the air caused it to create a seal that made it as if the injury didn’t even happen.

That also explained why Schorl had such terrible scars. Her previous master must’ve had found her a convenient outlet for his sadism, a pony who could be ready for more torment mere moments after being pushed to her limits. Seeing how he actually managed to scar such a creature, he pushed those limits to an extreme, and often. There was no way he could ever compete with that, not when he was squeamish at the smallest of wounds.

“So… that is what she was trying to tell me.” said Slate with a smile, not yet giving up on the idea that he could claim her as his own, and with her the Society on the whole. “What a clever little bitch.”

Slate still believed entirely on his diagnosis of the mare. That she was looking for a master, and that she allowed ponies to try their hand at taming her only supported that. But now he realized he was looking at it all wrong. Schorl was a sadistic slut, but she had already experienced more pain from her first master than she could ever receive from any other pony. Now she was looking for something else, and that was where all the ponies that handled her failed. They went for what they believed she craved, instead of taking the hint of what she really wanted.

“Be myself, eh?” he said, pocketing the piece of Schorl he held as a souvenir. “Very well, next time we will do things my way. Then… I’ll have you eating out of the palm of my hand.”

Author's Note

Sorry for the delays. Still trying to get my shit together, but I managed to find get this chapter completed... in three months' time . I am really disappointed in myself that I'm taking this long to write out chapters, but I suppose I have to deal with that myself. Also, I was going to make this chapter a bit sexier, but then realized that I needed to do a few other things before hand. The next chapter will be much better in that regard, and will satisfy any of you looking for some good clop scenes. I'm just not sure exactly when I'll be able to write it all out.

So in the mean time, if you haven't already, you should check out Clocktower Society. It is a newer setting with a similar theme to Equestria Trainers' Society, with one of the key differences being that there is no rape involved. It is already pretty popular, with a bunch of side stories and images to go along with it, so you've probably already heard of it, but if you haven't then you should go check it out.

Note: Noticed that one of my editor comments got into my story. Whoops, how embarrassing.