You dream about tin cans—cans with soda pop—empty cans of beans—big tins filled with dark roasted coffee—all clattering everywhere and making a terrible mess of your kitchen. And no matter how many cans you pick up, you just end up spilling more in the process. Rueing your clumsiness, you keep at it, and only after you’ve been at it for a silly amount of time do you seem to realize you’re wasting your efforts. You start to wonder why you don’t just give up, and let the dungeon get messy.

Wait. Dungeon?

Your eyes flutter open, and you draw a sharp breath through your nose. You try to stand up before realizing you’re still chained to the wall. You’re a convict, and you just got through your first night in the royal dungeon.

You hear more cans falling over. Wait, what is that? Muffled behind the door at the end of the hall, hurried soldiers stomp around in their armor. Male voices you’re unable to make out buzz gruffly through the wood and stone. The tone in their voices fills you with unease. They sound nervous.

You wake up in a hurry, sitting up straight and listening to the darkness desperately. You try to hear what’s being said. Is it about you?

There’s another voice; you recognize it. It’s the executioner.

“Maybe he’s just here to bring me breakfast,” you whisper to yourself over the sound of your heartbeat rushing in your ears.

There’s a louder voice now. It’s still too muffled to make out but you can tell he’s in charge. He seems to be barking orders, and every time he does there’s another distinctive clatter of armor, but the blustering sounds of authority doesn’t seem to last long; everything goes silent except for the clattering of your jaw. You clench your fetlock against its bonds and tense your body.

You stare off into the darkness. What moments ago seemed like a frenzy of nervous guards has turned into the same oppressive silence you slept to through the night. There’s not even a peep or a murmur making it to your ears. There must be a dozen ponies on the other side of the hallway door, and none of them are talking to each other.

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. The distinctive sound of a mare’s horseshoes echoes through the guard station, and toward the cell block door. You squint and cover your eyes as a blast of white lamplight showers into the room.

Your vision recovers slowly. Backdropped by the sound of gentle footsteps, and the renewed clanging of armor a looming silhouette comes into focus. Princess Celestia, in the flesh. Flanked by four guards—five if you count the executioner.

You steady your nerves, sitting up straight. You’ve heard it’s your place to bow if ever you encounter a princess, but you’re not going to do that. You’re going to sit up as straight as you can, and stare. If you’re going to die, you’re going to do it up straight with your eyes unwavering. You want her to remember your eyes.

The princess calls out your full name with the commanding voice of the state, and it sends a chill down your spine. “You have been found guilty of the crime of rape,” she adds. “Do you have anything to say before I pass sentence?”

You wish you had thought about what you were going to say. You didn’t even realize you were going to be asked. Whatever may have happened, it’s all forgotten now. The only thing you know, is that you don’t want to die here. You swallow hard, part your lips, and speak your peace. You say the words in your heart, and Celestia closes her eyes. She steels herself in silence, waiting for her turn to speak.

Your words spoken, the princess looks you in the eye.

Your full name is spoken aloud once more. “You have used as a weapon of selfishness that which should only be used as a symbol of love. You have shown no respect for the sanctity of marehood and so, by the power vested in me by the crown of princess of Equestria and the subjects thereof, I sentence you to be stripped of your stallionhood.”

You blink. “Wait. What? Wait what does that mean?!”

“Once the sentence is carried out you will be released. You are to—“

“Listen, you can lock me up as long as you want. Okay? Just keep me locked up, safe and sound with all my junk.”

“—have no further contact, direct or indirect, with your victim except as prescribed by due process of law.—”

“You gotta be kidding me. You gotta be kidding me!”

“—You are to remain no closer than one hundred hooves from her, her home, —”

You look over at the executioner. He seems to have difficulty looking back at you. You widen your eyes and pin your hind legs shut. “I didn’t rape that mare! I didn’t do it!”

“—and her place of work at all times on pain of imprisonment for the remainder of your life.”

The executioner turns to his side, and nods. A guard steps into your field of view carrying an ornate silver and ebony box.

Celestia steps closer. Her guards, who were already gulping and cringing from Celestia’s proclamation, stiffen up with concern for their monarch, stepping in and gently urging her to draw no closer to you.

But she lies next to you none the less. Her pictures do no justice to her size, easily head and shoulders above a normal pony. The last thing you would expect is for her to set her immaculate alabaster coat down onto a filthy dungeon floor just to lie next to you.

Your ruler speaks. “I take no joy in this. I promise you, it will be as humane as possible. You will not be castrated, not in the typical sense. If you cooperate, there will be no pain, and you will still be able to have foals. There is nothing to fear.”

Your gaze is captured away from your princess to watch the executioner. He’s opening the box, and pulling out a droplet shaped crystal bottle with the same dispassionate efficiency he was using yesterday to manipulate your shackles.

There has to be something you can do to get out of this. Your mind is racing for options. Anything.

Celestia stands, and takes a solemn breath, and says, “He can not be allowed to struggle during the process.”

The guards tromp toward you. “Oh shit!” you say, trying to crawl backward up your chains.

The first guard, brow clenched, jaw set, and ready to fight, grabs your foreleg. You struggle as much as your chains will allow. You instinctively swing your free foreleg around to punch and push at the guard, but the chain draws taut with a painful clang before you’re able to reach him. You try to wrench your leg from his grip, “No! Get off me!”

Another guard piles onto your body, pushing forcefully at your swinging foreleg, and wrapping himself around it. You scrabble your hind hooves on the cobblestones, trying to use the force of your lower body to get free, until two more guards scoop up both your hind legs. Your hindquarter falls back to the cold ground with a painful thud, and you feel your legs being forced open. You wrench and writhe, but you can’t keep the guards from drawing your hind legs open as wide as they can go, raising up your soft sheath in a lude display toward the princess.

Your muscles ache, and soon your struggles slow, and stop. Your breath is slow to catch and your chest heaves high. You stare down past your endangered masculinity to the white masked executioner, and his small crystal bottle, no bigger than his hoof.

Your struggles are barely even able to move you an inch now, with every one of your limbs being hoarded and splayed out toward the white masked pony who solemnly steps toward you. You definitely thrash the only part you have left to resist with, dusting your tail impotently against the executioner’s fetlocks as he lies down between your legs, bottle in hoof.

“Listen, Mister Royal Executioner, guy, you know don’t have to do this, right? If you say no, she’s not going to force you. She won’t force you to do this. Tell her. Tell her to do it herself.” Your eyes are watering now, and you turn toward your princess. “She won’t do it if a stallion isn’t helping her. She’s a cowar—agh!” One of the guards twists your shoulder and growls.

Celestia doesn’t take her eyes off of you, but you see them fill with sorrow from your words. It’s surprising but—you actually managed to hurt her. Covered with chains and held down by four stallions, you still managed to wound her. The guards don’t seem to appreciate that. You get the feeling they’re resisting the urge to twist your limbs off. One of them pushes his hoof into your jaw, sealing your muzzle shut, and he’s not gentle about it in the slightest.

The cork is popped, and a suspiciously eldritch aroma of cinnamon and icing sugar fills the room, obscured slightly by the earthy aroma of the guardspony’s forehoof. You stare down at your pride and joy as the executioner pulls back your sheath. You’re panting now, crying. Just as you feel the first tear dribble down your cheek, the pink, oily contents of the bottle are poured slowly onto the head of your cock.

A feeling of coldness, like mint, is instantaneous. You gasp and twitch as it trickles down your length. The executioner’s hooftip rubs under your sheath, ensuring as much of it gets onto your cock as possible, before basting further down your belly, over the shaft hidden within its furry cover, over your useless nipples, and finally over your sack.

You stop struggling now, feeling another tear fall from your cheek and watching as the fluid seems to prefer to seep inside you rather than dribble away down your thighs.

The room grows still, and quiet, save for the sound of the executioner gently setting the crystal bottle into the velvet embrace of the open box and setting them both aside. You wait to feel something other than cold between your thighs, and even that seems to wane.

“Release him, and unfetter his legs,” says the princess.

You feel the guards reluctantly uncoil themselves from your extremities, setting you gently back into a seated position, and unshackling your forelegs, then your hind. The guards are quick to close ranks around the princess when you are freed and giving you an expression that seems to beg you to give them some kind of excuse to put you down.

You slump forward onto your forehooves, leaving your haunches on the soggy floor, hanging your head, watching your crotch, reaching up to wipe your cheek, and staring. Your eyes drift slowly shut when you feel the first alien feeling.

Your thoughts seem to wander of their own accord. You think about the princess. If this were any other time, you would be admiring her beauty. Her face, her shoulders, her hind legs. A little bit tall, it’s true, but not muscular or lanky. Her body is feminine, firm, but still curvy. The perfect balance. You feel a warm tingle in your cheeks, and open your eyes, looking up at the princess.

She’s still looking back at you with those piercing purple eyes. You never realized how much power turned you on.

Your belly fills with butterflies, and you take a soft little gasp. Thoughts of the princess’s beauty fill your body with a sense of lightness. There’s a stirring in your loins. Soon you can imagine nothing except for her body. What it must be like to watch her please herself, to push her down, to fuck her.

When you open your eyes, you see your cock poking from its sheath. It’s as if it’s decided to be defiant, and to show itself proudly to those who would seek to take it. Soon, the tingles of pleasant fantasies turn into desperate thoughts of aching lust.

“Please remain as calm as you can,” says Celestia. “Arousal is a normal part of the process as your masculinity tries to resist.”

Your cock, mottled and thick, nearly reaching the center of your chest, has become completely hard now. A thin shimmering droplet of precum is developing at its head. You gasp! You’ve never been this horny before.

“It will pass.”

You consider just taking care of yourself right here, in front of four stallions and a princess, but succumbing to your temptations is what got you into this mess, so you tense and writhe, trying to think about something else.

You start to stand up, but you quickly become distracted. Flashes of vile fetishes pass through your mind. You feel a knot in your loins and clench your pelvic muscles. Every tense clench is a relief for a moment, followed by another crashing wave of lust.

You look up, part your jaw to speak, then blink. Something’s changed. Your arousal is gone. A feeling of warmth fills your loins and flows up your back, over your haunches. It’s almost like you’re taking a cozy bath. You look down at your cock. Sure enough, it’s receding, but it’s shrinking as it does.

You watch as your cock seems to pull back into your body, drawing the full fuzzy length of your sheath with it. As your cock travels down your belly, it leaves a tingling feeling in its wake. Your nipples prick you with a mild sting, and the tissues of your belly expand, quickly developing into teats.

Your feel a split form in your sack, and a slickness drip out from between your balls. Your cock has almost fully receded now, but it stops, shrinking away into the newly forming slit, and retracting itself behind the skin of your testes. Puffy outer lips, and tender inner lips form, and with a sudden rushing feeling of warmth, a new opening forms. The feeling travels up inside you, seeming to do its unseen work inside of your abdomen.

“I-I’m a—“ You look up at the princess, eyes still wet with tears, jaw dropped with shock. Your voice is higher. Much higher. You reach up to touch your face and can feel your jaw bones twisting and clicking, drawing back into you, reshaping your muzzle. The same feeling of warmth fills your cheeks and your throat.

“Yes, my little pony. From this day on, you are a mare.”

The guards seem to visibly relax around you now. They barely react when the princess steps out from behind them. She lies down on the floor again, only managing to bring herself down to eye level with you. You might have felt intimidated; you might have considered hitting her and probably getting executed in the process, but stare down at your alien body as it’s eclipsed by Celestia’s shadow.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I—I don’t—” Your cheeks flush at the sound of your own voice. Is that you? You sound like a filly, barely a mare, soft and very feminine. “Why did you do this to me?”

“I am bound by honor to protect my subjects. You must never be allowed to rape.” Celestia pauses to watch you look yourself over, waiting until she’s sure you’re still listening. “but… I would be no princess worthy of the title if I forced you to rot here, or snuffed you from this earth for one horrible mistake of passion.” She puts her hoof gently on yours, and it comes as quite a surprise. You look up into Celestia’s warm pain-filled eyes. “Please tell me you understand.”

You say nothing. If she is divine, she already knows how you feel. She knows all the sins you’ve ever committed, and she knows you’re sorry for every evil deed you’ve ever done. She knows you wish you could go back and live an honorable life, maybe be a father some day.

“Please forgive me,” you whisper.

Celestia gently touches your chin, lifting your eyes to meet hers. “This will be hard to hear...”

You make a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. There’s more? Of course there’s more. You recoil from the princess, and lift your forehoof limply up in front of your chest. As if the room had shifted under you, you feel yourself tilt and wobble, and it takes you a moment to realize that your center of gravity has changed. Everything is different. Even the way the guards are looking at you has changed. You see pity in the place of fear. They seem to see you now the way the executioner did when he brought you lunch yesterday. Your last meal as a stallion.

“Your male and female essences can not coexist. In cases like this, your body will only shift temporarily, and it will swiftly return to its original state. There are very few ways of maintaining the transformation indefinitely.”

A feeling of hope wells up in your breast.

“The simplest is to accept yourself for who you now are.”

You’re already shaking your head.

“You must know everything it means to be a mare, and you must accept it in your heart.”

You shake your head vigorously. “No,” you say.

Celestia looks like she feared this would happen. The serenity in her voice is unwavering. “There is no shame in being a mare. Where some strengths are now gone, new strengths will rise to fill their space. Where some pleasures are gone, equal pleasures have been gained. There is no need to fear.”

“No!” Your voice is so shrill now. Your shape is so foreign. Is it not enough that they can she can do whatever she pleases to your body, now she wants you to give her your mind, too?

“There are ways to force the process,” she says. Her voice is as soft and tranquil as ever. Celestia stands up, and turns to her guards. “Leave us?” she asks of her guards.

You swallow hard.

The princess, and her masked subordinate remain still as the room empties around them. Multiple guards cross the entrance to your cell, having been waiting in the wings this entire time.

You wonder how big Celestia’s entourage is. You consider trying to follow them, just picking a direction and running as fast as you can. Would you manage to see daylight before they caught you? Or is it night time? You don’t know. The room finally falls silent. Doors close, and the light dies down, leaving you once more in the dim torchlight you’ve become accustom to.

“You must masturbate,” says Celestia.

You stare, wide eyed. A trickle of water drips in the corner. The executioner idly clears his throat. You blink, and blink some more. “What? Now? Are you serious?”

She nods. “I know it is an odd request, but it will aid you in completing the process. Were it my choice, I would not thrust this request upon you so quickly, but even as we speak your body is building an immunity. If you do not resist, and you use your willpower to accept your new body, then will allow you to know what it truly is to be a mare, and the magic will run its course. Complete the act, and your days as a stallion will be gone forever, and you will be free to go.”

“No way! Why would I do that? I don’t want this! You can do what you want to me, but you can’t possibly expect me to help you. I’m not going to try to convince myself that my punishment is great, and try my best to make it permanent by reaching down and rubbing my cunt for your amusement. You’re sick! You’re—“ You glance at the executioner. “You’re— You’re going to have me raped. That’s why he’s still here, isn’t it?”

Celestia says, “I will do what I must. I beg you not to test my resolve.”

The executioner unclasps his pauldrons gently, tugging fabric on fabric as he frees himself of the straps. Bits of metal fall away unceremoniously.

“Woah wait, stop! Alright, stop. Fine. Fine, you win.” You take a seat, and look down over your body. Your belly. Teats had been such a welcome sight until now.

The executioner comes to a stop, and looks up. He stays his hooves, leaving half of his armor in place.

“You know, if I knew I princess would be asking me to rub one out in front of her, I might have liked the idea.” You look up. Nopony’s laughing. Through the side of your eye, you peek at the open bars. “I—I don’t really have the equipment to make a good show of it, though, you know.” You slowly lean toward the exit. You take a deep breath, deep as you can. “Here—Here goes. I’m doing it,” you say.

In a flash, you turn away from your captors. You dart for freedom, clamouring for purchase on the floor and exploding with a flurry hooffalls. You pump your legs harder than they’ve ever been pushed before.

There’s no way. There’s no bucking way you’re going to let this happen to you.

You almost make it to the door before a half naked executioner bodyslams the wind from your lungs. You slip on the glistening cobbles and slide through a frigid puddle into a filthy corner of your cell, followed shortly after by the infuriated soldier.

You’re no stranger to fighting. You may not have all the training and natural gifts of a top ranking member of Celestia’s personal warriors, but you have the advantage of desperation. You’re no coward. You’re not weak. You’re not going to let them open that cell door without at least trying to rush through it, and you’re not going to give up now. You wrap a foreleg against the executioner, twist him over, and beat him in the jaw until he’s bloody and limp.

At least, that’s the plan. You grunt girlishly, and you’re not even able to twist an inch. Your body is weaker than it’s ever been. You can barely slap at the guard, let alone wrestle him into the stones. Your grimace with panic and you try to kick, flail, push, but it’s meaningless. You’ve never been so thoroughly overpowered.

The guard’s weighty body presses down against you, grabbing your forelegs up above your head, and out of the way. He’s starting to pull more of his clothes off! You can’t even press your advantage against such a terribly unbalanced position. He’s leaving himself wide open so he can slide more of his armor off, and you can’t even move your foreankles down from above your head under the weight of his forehoof.

Nausea wracks you as the reality starts to set in. You’re fucked.

Your own body betrays you next. His bare fur presses into yours, weighing you down, dominating you in every way. This isn’t supposed to feel good, and it doesn’t really. Pangs of fear and sprained legs are not good feelings. But something else is appearing. There’s a soft flush of comfort and contentment seems to flow from your chest where the stallion’s fur rubs against yours. The feeling of having your inner thighs wrapped around his stifles is especially nice. You can’t help but squirm them, just a little, grinding.

You look up into the eyes of your attacker. They’re focused. More focused than you’ve ever seen them. He’s panting loudly behind his mask, and you feel something slick touch your belly. There have been times when you had that look.

A sob rises up, and you wail. “Stop!” You scream, and flail your hind legs, trying helplessly to scooch away. “Stop!”

The executioner’s breath flutters appreciatively as the slick feeling travels up and down your belly, squeezing themselves between your unfamiliar teats. He leans back to stare over your jaw, down your neck, and across your chest fur with a low groan of appreciation. He’s not supposed to be enjoying this!

You turn your head to the side and look into the dimly lit cell. Celestia is still there, looking away from you for the first time since you met her. Her eyes are closed, and her ears are limp. “Stop, please!”

Celestia raises a hoof, and with no small amount of self restraint, you see the porcelain mask lift up and away. You get a good look at the stallion’s muscular chest heaving above you.

“I know it’s not what you want, but you must try,” says Celestia.

You refuse to meet eyes with the executioner above you, or with the princess. You stare off into a corner, and hesitate.

You close your eyes tightly, and clench your teeth, covering your face with one hoof, and your freshly created femininity with another. You choke back tears, and obediently press your hooftip against your folds.

You’re a stallion, you think to yourself.

You slide your hoof through the layer of slickness between your hind legs, and you feel your first horrible tingle of pleasure. You part your lips, and oh softly, startled by just how different it feels from what you’re used to. There’s a swift wave of relief as your pent up sexual energy melts into a puddle of pure reward.

You’re not supposed to be enjoying this. You’re a stallion. This isn’t right.

You know your captors will soon demand that you hurry, so you press your hoof into your clit, and flick forcefully. The feeling is so intense that it is as if somepony had pressed a novelty buzzer against your belly. You gasp out, and quiver, shuddering. Too much. Wow. Being a mare feels so intense. You need to slow down.

No! You’re not a mare. You’re a stallion. You focus on the discomfort of that intensity, grinding your hoof into your clit, gritting your teeth and crying out with misery.

“You must not resist the feeling,” says Celestia. “You will never climax if you do not accept it.”

Your hoof finally slows down, and you enter into a steady rhythm of strokes. “Ahh… ahhhh…. oohhhh” You quickly realize that if you focus on the thought of what it felt like to close your thighs around the executioner, and look up at his heaving, muscular chest, the feelings of pleasure intensify. Soon you hardly realize you’re fantasizing about him. Your thoughts swirl of their own accord. You wonder what it would have been like if you let him finish. Maybe a female orgasm is even better?

No! You’re a stallion. Your thoughts turn to Celestia. You imagine your cock returned to you, and using it to get revenge for this whole situation. That’s right! That’s what you should be thinking about! You grit your teeth, and dig up the library of male power fantasies you normally enjoy while rubbing one out.

“She’s resisting,” says Celestia.

There’s a painful feeling in your shoulder. You’re being pressed down into the stones, and your hoof is violently pulled from your pussy. Opening your eyes, the first thing you see is the executioner looming over you. His white mask concealing his features, and his cock over your chest, fully erect. Its dripping tip and flared head points at your face, followed by a mottled shaft, thick and long.

“No! I wasn’t! I swear!”

He’s hard. You imagine he was watching you masturbate and it was turning him on. Does he only see a mare when he looks at you? A mare he wants to fuck? That alone fills you with a sense of violation.

The executioner slides his body down yours, and sinks his hips back down between your thighs. You mash your glistening hoof desperately into the executioner’s chest and close your hind legs, but the rough strong hoofs of your molester press between your thighs, and pry them open. You try to squirm away while he’s distracted by your legs, but he steps on your hair with a forehoof, pinning your mane to the ground painfully. When did it get so long?

You see him reaching a hoof down to grab at his cock, he groans as he reaches over the head and smears his transparent precum in trails down the top of his cock. He leans forward, getting close enough that the white mask touches your nose, and presses forth.

You look back at his eyes miserably, watching him take such great interest in what your eyes look like when you feel yourself start to be penetrated. You want to flail, and shake your hips so forcefully that he has to struggle to find his mark, but you’re exhausted in body and soul, and the final moments of your female virginity pass with a helpless whimper, and no resistance.

Whatever the guard sees, looking into your eyes at this moment, it loves it. He looses a croaking breath, soaked in pleasure and relief as he slides into your slick tunnel. The hole you never had before widens, stretches, and aches.

The feelings of invasion and pain start to give way to a pleasant feeling of fullness. Waves of pleasure flow through your body, egging you on, and insisting that you surrender to them. Distinctly unmasculine tingles flow up around your legs, and over your rump, forcing a sharp inhale and a stiff twitch from your body. As a male, sex felt so urgent. You felt a need to cum, and a deep desire for relief. Sure it felt good, but every surge of pleasure also made your itch for release even stronger. Now, your body feels saturated with a tense relaxation, as wave after wave of satisfaction courses up your body, encouraging you to surrender and let the monster on top of you have his way.

You tense. No. You can’t let these feelings take you over. You scream defiantly. “I am a stallion!”

Your rapist invades you to your depths, then withdraws, and invades you again. You see him adjusting his back and his rear awkwardly until he finds the best position to issue a steady push and pull. He’s slow at first, almost tender.

“I had hoped it would not come to this,” says a voice to your side. “There is nothing else I can do to help you. The only true way to ensure the process is to conceive.”

The body above you arches and shifts into an even more forceful position, speeding his pace immensely. Tension seems to soak through him and he loses all composure, growling and panting lustfully.

Is this why he brought you lunch? Did he know this would happen? Is this all some sick fetish? Did he want to see what you looked like whole before he got to see what you looked like broken?

You wrench your body on the cobbles. “Don’t!” you cry, slamming your hind hooves onto the ground, and pushing, sliding your back up, but only managing to press your face into a blackened corner of the dungeon wall.

“I know it is very hard to see now, but I am not without sympathy. If I could protect my subjects and also spare you this pain, I would do so. I would take your place if I had to.”

The executioner’s hips slap into you now, his belly loudly squashing into your teats with every thrust, a sharp and guttural groan barking from his throat with each push.

You’re a stallion. Stallions don’t get pregnant.

You feel a gentle hoof slide up your neck, and caress your face. He stares into your eyes appreciatively. The hoof slides across your lips next, and you turn away, shutting your eyes tightly. You feel him reach up and push your mane back out of your face, and behind your ear.

A pang of sorrow wells up in your chest, and you sob. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for raping that mare! She was just so beautiful! She—she told me to stop but I couldn’t I—I wouldn’t. I’m sorry! Is that what you wanted to hear?!”

Cold porcelain squeezes between your chin and your chest. The stallion invading your body cuddles fiercely against you, caressing sweetly down your side and over your cutie mark. You grit your teeth and try to wish the pleasure away, along with the pain.

He’s speeding up now. You can tell how much he’s enjoying this, too. That little staccato flutter in his breathing and the sharp spasms in his body are very familiar to you. You know a stallion’s signs. You’ve felt that tide of pleasure where you know the point of no return is in sight. “P—! Pull out! Don’t cum inside me! I’ll do anything! I take it back. I’m not a stallion! I’m not resisting! Celestia, have mercy! Have mercy I’m begging you!”

The executioner draws to a stop, holding himself deeply inside you, and looks to his mistress.

Celestia gently shakes her head at the executioner, who resumes thrusting without hesitation.

“No,” you whine. The word hiccups in your throat. You close your eyes tightly.

The tremulous breathing above you gets faster and faster, and you see a far away look in the eyes above you, sunken down inside their porcelain mask. “No,” you say with disbelief. “No! Pull out now! Don’t do this to me!” You feel him start to tremble and spasm, driving deep inside of you. He releases all his tension with a rumbling groan in your ear, and you feel his cock throbbing in your depths. “Please!” You feel a squirt, then another. “No!” The squirts are so tiny, but you can feel every one.

“No,” you whisper. You look over at Celestia. “He did it. You actually made him do it.”

Celestia stares downward with her mane obscuring her face.

The stallion makes a tremendously satisfied sound, relaxing his heavy body down onto yours, nestling into your neck and panting, cooing softly with his rumbling voice. He embraces you and runs a hoof languidly down your neck, finally becoming still except for his breathing.

Exhausted and weak in the knees, the executioner finally forces himself off of you, standing, and walking over to the ebony box to retrieve the crystal bottle. You cover your face with your foreleg and try to ignore him. If what the princess said is true, there’s nothing you can do now. Even if there was, would you want to? Would you snuff out the life inside you just to become a stallion again?

A gentle pet on your belly rouses you from your thoughts, however. You look down to see the executioner stroking your breasts gently, and you jump. There’s a feeling of pleasure rocketing through your body unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You had no idea it could get this good. Is this what it’s like now that you’re a mare?

The hoof slides down your inner thigh, describing a path around your sex, teasing its pedals. You look down at the source of all this pleasure, and you can see the father of your foal standing proudly, with a slowly softening, still dripping member.

“That feels good,” you hear yourself admit, punctuated by a spasm and a sharp gasp. You shake your head rapidly. No, wait. That shouldn’t feel good. Celestia was right. The pregnancy seems to have made the magic stronger.

You keep watching the source of your pleasure as your feelings of confusion and defeat start to be eclipsed. You try to tell yourself that you’re giving in, and you shouldn’t let your stallionhood go so easily, but it swiftly becomes hard to concentrate. All that misery is comforted by this feeling from your sex.

The part of you that’s still a stallion seems to cry, ever more silently, in fear for its existence. What did Celestia say? Arousal is normal part of the process? Your masculinity fought to survive by flooding you with desire. Is the femininity doing the same thing now?

Soft clicking sounds fill the air as your lover’s hoof gently strokes your clit amidst all the lubrication and mixed juices that drip down your inner stifles and onto your tail.

You’re a mare.

The silent admission sends a shock of pleasure through your body, and you cry out sharply, reaching down to desperately run your hoof down your teat, bucking and arching your back.

You’re a mare. You’re a mare. You’re a mare. You can’t stop thinking about how you’re a mare, it just feels too good.

You feel your pussy starting to clench and pulse now. You might as well be orgasming already by the feeling of pleasure. You wail and writhe on the filthy dungeon floor.

And finally, your masculinity surrenders, unleashing a white hot flash of pleasure. You arch sharply, groaning out a high pitched breath and twitching. You feel your anus and pussy clenching in waves over and over, squeezing down on the soup of cum and feminine lubrication still left inside.

Your world is muffled by the intense feeling traveling through you. You feel the urge to screw up your body and rub your fur against the floor that only moments ago had felt so uncomfortable. You hear yourself making throaty whimpers out of your slack-jawed muzzle, past expression of awe on your face. Funny, if you had guessed, you would have thought you would be a screamer.

The urge to release your ejaculate overpowers you, and you relax your pelvis. The executioner’s bottle is ready to catch the result. He pushes aside your folds, opens your urethra with his hoof, and presses the cold bottle against the opening. Powerful hooves hold onto your hind legs, trying to keep your pelvis as still as possible as the orgasm encourages you to squirm and wiggle and buck your hips.

An oily baby-blue substance issues forth in squirt after squirt, hissing as it reverberates off the bottom of the bottle in shot after shot. Your body isn’t satisfied until it’s squeezed out every last drop. Some of it dribbles down your folds, and over your tail, which is fluttering madly below.

The room has a suspiciously eldritch scent of steel and smoke until the executioner pops a cork onto the bottle.

You collapse backward, and stare up, feeling delightfully at peace for the few sweet moments before your orgasm fully subsides.

You frown and reach down to rub at your abdomen.

“Take as long as you need,” says your sovereign and judge. “When you are ready, you are free to go.”

Celestia nods at the executioner, and they turn to leave you in the dark.

Your back hurts, and your haunches are cold.

Author's Note

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