The first thing Attache noticed about the Crystal Empire was that it was cold. It wasn't supposed to be cold, he was certain. He'd read up on it and apparently there was some magical artefact – the crystal something-or-other – that made the land habitable, almost tropical. Apparently it was on the fritz, which really shouldn't have been surprising, considering the situation. Irritating, but unsurprising. The second thing he noticed was Queen Sombra – and how could he not? She towered over her entourage of oddly happy crystal ponies. He had been briefed on the situation, but this was the first indication that anything was really out of the ordinary, and just how out of the ordinary things were. There was very obviously more to this than a simple military coup. Mind control magic, perhaps? The briefing had mentioned that Sombra was a powerful sorceress, her having that capability wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest. He focused his attention on the slaves, semi-transparent, clothed in tattered rags, and grinning like lunatics. Partially because he was absolutely certain that they were the key to finding out what was really going on, but mostly to avoid gawking at Queen Sombra. Which was, admittedly, very difficult to do. Even the tallest of her slaves barely came up to the undersides of her breasts.

Her very large breasts. That, Attache noted with no small amount of discomfort, were completely bared by her armour. Or lack thereof. A better way to describe it would be the frame of a set of armour, almost specifically designed to draw the eye to her unmentionables. Her legs and arms (or at least what he could see of her arms beyond the swell of her bosom) were fully armoured in heavy plate mail, and her shoulders were protected by thick, steel pauldrons, spiked and menacing, over which was draped a flowing red cape. She wore no helmet, her head adorned instead by a surprisingly plain steel crown.

The rest of her was completely bare, aside from a scale mail thong that did such a piss-poor job of covering her pussy that it was almost comical. Attache continually found his eyes wandering to it – it was very oddly designed, and he kept trying to wrap his head around its purpose. The tightly bound, yet still flexible plates of hexagonal metal rose high on her waist before plunging down underneath her mons, which was only concealed by a thin steel ring, about five inches in diameter, placed directly at crotch level. Although, “concealed” was an astoundingly poor choice of words, as everything meaningful was still perfectly visible. His eyes darted from the slaves, to the baffling piece of armour, and back. He was torn between trying to wrap his head around the purpose of the strange garment and not wanting to stare at the warlord's cunt, which glistened disconcertingly with a thin sheen of moisture.

“I trust you're enjoying the view? The outfit is traditional where I'm from.” Queen Sombra crossed her arms, in the process pushing her breasts up and forward tantalizingly. Attache stared firmly at the ground, which he had decided was the only safe place to look. “A significantly warmer climate, granted, but I'm not going to greet an envoy of Princess Celestia herself wearing anything less than the traditional formal wear of my tribe.” She smiled and spread her arms welcomingly. “But enough standing around! We can exchange proper greetings once we're inside. It's too fucking cold out here. Of course,” she reached forward suddenly, forcefully grabbing him by the chin, “you don't need me to tell you that. Even if you somehow couldn't feel it yourself,” she lifted, pulling his whole body into the air until he was eye-level with her rock hard nipples, “all you'd have to do is just look up a bit.” Attache flailed ineffectually in a futile attempt to escape the Queen's grasp, before quickly giving up. His eyes darted from side to side, desperately trying to avoid staring at the very attractive breasts before him, before finally settling on making eye contact with the queen.

Her eyes were uncharacteristically pink, but the slit pupils and the ominous glow more than made up for the slight feminine touch. Twin trails of fuchsia smoke wafted lazily from her eyes, twisting and turning like angry rattlesnakes. Her plump lips, outlined and emphasized by midnight black lipstick, twisted into a cruel smirk as her eyelids lowered into a smouldering gaze. “Of course, I can understand why you would rather not. You're too much of a fucking pussy to so much as glance at a beautiful woman. I know your type. All too aware of how much of a fucking disgrace of a man you are. Fat. Ugly. Weak. Pathetic.” Her wild mane billowed in a wind that Attache was fairly certain wasn't actually there. “Or maybe you're just a faggot. I could care less, really. You're not worth my time. But your master is. So you're going to come with me, tell me whatever it is that Princess Celestia told you to tell me, and if I like what I have to hear, I might consider letting you run back to her with your tail between your legs like the pathetic little dog of a stallion you are.”

It was at this moment that Attache realized Queen Sombra’s feet were no longer touching the ground. She casually let go of his chin and he found himself suspended in midair. All malice vanished from her facial expression, replaced with a warmth that was almost unsettling when juxtaposed with her earlier verbal abuse. “But that's more than enough of that! Come, I've had my palace slaves start a fire. And a proper bonfire, too. Not some pissy little fart in a box, I don't know how people can actually keep themselves warm with that bullshit. Real, open flame, the way we do things back in Zebrica. I mean, sure, we had to ransack the place for enough fuel, but who the fuck reads books anyway? Pussies, that's who.” She turned around and floated towards the Crystal Palace, her collection of crystal pony slaves trailing behind her, and Attache slowly drifting after them.

He self-consciously glanced down at his belly. He wasn't fat, or ugly or any of those things she called him. Maybe a bit chubby, but not fat.

Well, maybe a bit fat. The life of a diplomat tends to be a sedentary one, but that was hardly his fault. And it certainly wasn't fair to hold him to the same standards as a Zebrican Warlord. He stared grumpily at her behind, and found himself oddly disappointed that, between the cape and her thick, luscious tail, it was completely obscured from his view. He wasn't entirely certain why he was disappointed. Sombra had large breasts, yes. Very large breasts. Gigantic breasts. And a thin waist, and wide, motherly hips. And plump, gorgeous lips. And her eyes. Their gazes had only locked for a moment, but he couldn't get them out of his mind. They stayed there, burned into his vision like he'd been staring into the sun. And that was what it had been like – like her eyes were two miniature suns, burning their way to the core of his very being, to his central essence. To what he really was. And apparently what he really was was fat, ugly, weak and pathetic.

He turned his attention back to her ass, in an attempt to get his mind off of that subject. But it remained frustratingly hidden behind her cape. He faintly recalled trying to rationalize not wanting to see what the flowing red cloak concealed, but whenever he tried to remember why, all that came to mind were those eyes. And the only thing that made them go away was staring at where her ass would be, behind the fabric of her cape, and pondering about what it might look like. From what he had seen of her front half – and, thanks to her armour, he had seen quite a bit – she was in excellent shape. Peak physical condition, he would go so far as to say. Her biceps bulged and rippled with sinewy muscle – a part of him could have sworn that he couldn't possibly have gotten a good view of her biceps, between the armour and her breasts, but when he tried to dwell on that thought, the eyes once again invaded his mind and he quickly abandoned that line of reasoning. Besides, he could visualize them as clear as glass, flexing with the raw physical power of twenty stallions. Her abs, or at least what he could see of them beyond her gigantic tits, were rock hard. She could break fucking diamonds with those abs. She was power, oozing strength and bulging musculature. There was absolutely no way that her ass had even the slightest trace of fat to it. No, she was all muscle and power, her buttocks thick and tight.

But then again, his mind returned to her front, and to her thighs. They were thick and bulging, yes, but not with muscle. Oh, yes, there was muscle there, he couldn't deny that. But above and beyond that, there was the mouthwatering feminine curve to them. They flared out, as wide as her breasts, bulging very slightly over the top of her armour. And that armour. It left very little flesh actually visible, reaching to about half a foot below where her legs met her hips, but somehow that just emphasized the raw sexuality of her body. And then there were her breasts. Enormous mounds of soft, pliable fat, each one twice the size of her head and topped with glistening thumb-sized nipples that leaked motherly fluid. Once again, there was a small part of him that recalled rather vividly that there hadn't been so much as a droplet of milk when he'd actually seen her breasts face-to-nipple, but that line of thought brought on the Eyes, and so he quickly abandoned it in favour of continuing to fantasize. And anyway, just because he might have possibly happened to somehow manage to not notice the gushing streams of milk flowing endlessly from her breasts didn't mean they weren't there. They had to be. There was no way they weren't, the way they sloshed about, audibly full to the bursting point with sweet nectar.

He found himself drooling slightly as he pictured them. Ooozing femininity, the way her entire, gigantic form oozed femininity. And strength. Her whole body screamed with power and sex and fertility. It overwhelmed his senses with a desire – no, a need, for her. He needed her. He had to have her. His whole being ached with a desire for her flesh. He reached out and made a mad grab, his hands closing around the plush velvet of her cape, and the soft, pliable flesh of her ass underneath it. And beneath that, muscle so dense and tight and packed with raw power that he knew she could destroy him just by flexing slightly.

“Ah, so you're finally gonna man the fuck up? Took you long enough.” She once again smirked, her eyes once again half-lidded like

Well, like a mare in heat.

She licked her lips. “Want a taste?” He found himself once again face-to-eye with the mare of his dreams and his nightmares. Part of him questioned how he seamlessly transitioned from fondling her butt to staring into her eyes. But, once again, those Eyes filled his whole being, and all he could do was nod dumbly in response to her question. Her grin widened, and he very quickly found himself once again face-to-nipple. They twitched, shuddering violently as they impotently struggled to hold back the gallons of gallons of gallons of fluid they held (hadn't they been leaking? But that line of thought brought the Eyes back.) He stared in awe at their absolute majesty, thick beads of pearlescent fluid forming at their tips. Before he could take it all in, Sombra forcefully grabbed him by the back of the head. “Fucking hell, I take back what I said about manning the fuck up. You've got the best fucking tits in the universe an inch from your face and the pony they belong to is literally asking you to put your mouth on them and you're just gonna fucking stare? Maybe you are a faggot.” He didn't need any more prompting. He dove facefirst into her tits, greedily suckling on their unending flow.

“Mph, that's better. Drink the fuck up, little man. Maybe all the protein will help you be less of a – mmmmmmmm yeah that's the spot – pathetic little shit.” She groaned again, deeply and huskily, as Attache reached up and grabbed her other milksack, roughly groping it. The sudden extra stimulation was enough to evaporate what little resistance that was left and the floodgates burst open. Literally, as the flow of milk from both breasts doubled and then doubled again. Fluid sprayed wildly from both nipples in a veritable torrent. He made an admirable attempt at keeping up with the flow, but it was an attempt doomed to failure. He sputtered and choked as the milk slowly overwhelmed him. And then, suddenly, just as his vision started to go dark, the flow returned to what it had been initially. “Mph, fuck that felt good. Sometimes it's nice to just let loose, y'know? But I guess I should probably hold back a little. I guess. Don't want you to die, or else your Master might ask awkward questions.”

She reached down and shoved her hand into his pants, tightly grasping his erect cock. “Doesn't mean we can't have some fun though.” She licked her lips. Slowly, languidly, she began to pump his cock. Her other hand settled on the back of his head, caressing it gently. “Yeah, keep on drinking. Grow big and strong. Ya' really need it, especially your cock. Thing's pathetic. I've seen toes bigger than this tiny little joke of a penis..” She punctuated the abuse by squeezing. Hard. A sharp jolt of agonizing pain was followed by more pleasure as she resumed her stroking with redoubled intensity. Slowly, she picked up speed, jerking him faster and faster and more and more intensely, the pressure building and building to an inevitable, explosive climax. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. His balls churned violently as the pressure reached its limit, and Sombra's magic let go of him, sending him flopping down to the ground. He panted heavily as he took stock of his surroundings. He wasn't sucking on Sombra's breasts, which weren't lactating. She wasn't giving him a handjob. She wasn't even anywhere near him, and her slaves stood between him and her. They were inside the Crystal Palace, a set of opulent couches and an ornate table set up a short distance away from a massive bonfire.

Attache shivered, wiping a cold, clammy sweat from his brow as he slowly got to his feet. Sombra smiled, her facial expression exuding comically exaggerated innocence. “Would you care for a cup of tea while we discuss what you came here for?”

“Um. Yes, that would be nice.”

Author's Note

The results of my first ever writing stream. I'd say things turned out pretty well, wouldn't you?

I wish I could say I came up with face-to-nipple, but I didn't. That was someone in the stream.