Author's Note

Chapter one!
Because this is the first fanfic that I am intending to make public, I am starting off with small chapters, setting the scene and a tone.

Any and all criticism is welcome!

~~I am currently in collaboration with non_creepy_nickname in an attempt to make it fit into canon.~~

Most of all, enjoy! And keep an old sock nearby.

Distress

Rainbow Dash hugged Spitfire. The breasts of her former commander were warm and erect as the two Pegasi fought back the cold of their cell.

And that damned itch on her back....

Despite the despair that Dash felt, she was happy to be free of that sadist bastard, Soarin. For two straight years, she struggled to keep her sanity and dignity as he and her former brothers-in-wings abused her. Yet, despite her pitiful state, she could not bring herself to hate them; many of the stallions, whether they knew it or not were just as victimized as she was.

The two nude mares started as somewhere in the corridor, keys jangled and hooves were dragged across the tread plating that used to be the floor of the academy's armory. They scrambled apart and feigned masturbation as Thunderlane opened the makeshift cell and roughly dragged Spitfire by her wing sheaths, making his former mate growl in annoyance.

A guard behind him, a wet bulge in his trousers, slammed a sobbing, manacled Lightning Dust against a safe and whipped out his shaft and rammed it up her bruised pussy. She struggled, but he whistled and a red- collared Fleetfoot shuffled in with a wheeled St. Andrews' cross. As the guard held Lightning Dust still, Fleetfoot snapped the restraints shut, and guided a mechanical phallus into her slit.

"This bitch just kicked me," the guard spat, "can you believe it?!"

"She deserves to be punished, master. Would you like me to get your shock stick?" Fleetfoot rubbed her pussy against the helpless pegasus as the guard slid the cage shut, rubbing his swelling cock.

"There is no need for that, pet." He rubbed his knee against Dust's vulva. "It is Dashie's breakfast time."

Fleetfoot bowed as he pushed the squirming mare out of the chamber. She poured a bowl of white pellets, but as the armored door clicked shut , she dumped them and produced a brown plastic pouch.

"Oh, yum," Dash breathed, "cardboard. This IS a treat."

Fleetfoot chuckled as she poured the MRE into Dash's bowl. "Soy omlette with hot sauce and onion. Possibly the last of them without some dumb-ass caribou's spunk in it."

"Rah," Dash affirmed as she savored the meal. Spicy sauce dripped onto her raw nipples, but she ignored the sting: it was a sensation that she could control; a miniscule instant of freedom that was oh-so rare.

"Rumor has it that your friend Applejack neutered her brother while he was sleeping with Cheerilee."

Dash wiped the last traces of food from her flat chest, accidentally rubbing some into a wound from Soarin's whip. "That's the Applejack I know. One kick, and she probably turned his nuts into jelly." She chuckled, remembering the kind stallion and her fierce friend.

Rainbow dash wiped away a tear and reached back to scratch the base of her wing sheaths. That damned itch....

In the next room, Soarin stroked his cock in anticipation. Spitfire was tied to a sybian, her wrists bound to the sides of a heavy cabinet at her back. He draped his pulsing stallionhood on her muzzle as he secured a strap to her head, and linked it to the end of a thrusting fuck machine. It was still covered in the warm juices from Lightning Dust who was now being dragged to the base's mess. Soarin secured the final implement: a ring gag.

He reached down, tracing the yellow mare's curves, pausing to massage her pink nipples with his thumbs. He thrust his tongue into her mouth as he turned on the sybian, ramping it up to full intensity instantly. Spitfire tried to recoil from the vibration and Soarin's invading mouth, but she was bound fast.

Soarin bent further, licking her tits, navel, and pussy. Then he switched on his favorite part of his contraption. The piston began to force spitfire's head forward, slowly pushing her vulnerable mouth towards his crotch. It stopped less than an inch from his waiting penis, and was drawn back again.

Seeing that all was in order, Soarin stepped forward, thrusting his meatus into her open mouth as it was thrust forward again. She tried to turn her head as his warm cock slid over her tongue. She tried to bite down, to resist his incursion, but the gag kept her jaws apart. The machine reached it's apex, stopping her halfway along his fully erect shaft. He stepped forward more, making her gag and increased the speed. An involuntary, orgasmic moan escaped as her clit began to leak.

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Fleetfoot exit the makeshift prison, avoiding eye contact with her friend and boss. Soarin, on the other hoof, was too busy with his swelling euphoria to notice her. Fleetfoot watched his assault, and shook her head. She looked at her captain in admiration. To remain a black collar and continue to resist despite the endless abuse was, she thought to herself, one of the most solid of measurements for a warrior's character. To break under the crushing fear, pain, and depression was, she realized no act of cowardice. For months, she had worn a black collar herself and had resisted the stallions' rape. Now she looked at Spitfire and felt... dirty. Unclean. Her body now craved sex, and she had to resist the temptation to massage her marehood as she watched. She felt a tear drip down and began to turn away, but forced herself to bear witness as her friend was raped.

After what seemed like hours, the whine of the machine slowed. Spitfire, slick with her subordinate's seed dropped her head weakly as her head was released from the machine. Soarin shut off the contraption and strode to Lightning Dust, wiping his cock on her bare ass. With a slap on her pussy, he turned to Fleetfoot and forced her to her knees.

"Clean me," he commanded, his cum beginning to harden on his scrotum. When she hesitated, he slapped her and pinched her nipple. "Did you hear me, bitch?" his voice was smooth and calm.

"Yes sir, " Fleetfoot muttered as she leaned forward to lick.

"THEN GET TO IT," He roared, causing mares and stallions alike to peek in, alarmed, "UNLESS YOU WISH TO TRADE COLLARS WITH THIS WORTHLESS WHORE!"