Author's Note
Ok, no snark involved, I have some stuff to go over before you read.
First, this isn't my normal fare. This isn't my usual WTF did I just read brand comedy. If you're expecting or looking for that, don't read this. It's not what you want. There's one element of comedy in this, which was caused by the original prompt someone gave me: to write something where Spike is a lusty Argonian maid. I...er...went in a rather odd direction with it.
Second, some warnings. This contains some bdsm stuff, gay stuff, and rape. Be aware when you go into this. It also contains Spike. I know, that's the worst of it, right? (fine, a little snark)
Lastly, and I cannot stress this enough: this is NOT a good example of a healthy dom/sub relationship. it is NOT how bdsm is supposed to work. The following should not be viewed as a how-to or a positive look at kink culture. If you want something more healthy, go read Her Most Faithful Servant. Believe me, there's much more valuable stuff there. This is...a little darker.
Later stories will probably contain healthier looks at Obedience in general, so be aware of that.
Anyway, enjoy.
-Pencil
A Debt Owed
He’s ten minutes late.
You’ve settled down in a chair facing the door with the lights off. You’ve poured yourself a glass of this swill these ponies call cider. You’re comfortable, ready, relaxed. Unfortunately he’s home late, as you suspected he might be, and you’re beginning to get impatient.
Not to worry, you tell yourself. He’ll pay for this later. The thought soothes you.
You creak back in the chair, listening to the wood squeak in protest in the silence of Twilight’s library. She’s away with the princess on business right now, which means you have all the time and space in the world. It’s lucky, and calculated. You probably could have set him up on that date any time, but instead you waited. You waited till the time was just right.
There’s a creak of the door and you hear the knob turn. Your chest tightens a little with the anticipation, with the adrenalin of what you’re about to do. What you’ve been waiting to do.
The door opens.
You smile.
Spike wanders in, unsteady on his feet. There’s a large smear of lipstick on one cheek, and damned if his eyes aren’t nearly heart shaped. He lets out a long sigh as he turns to close the door, and you can see the ease in his stance, the slackness of his limbs. It was a good date, and Rarity has treated him right. Well, at least to his poor little fool standards.
As he turns his back to you, you turn up the lamp next to you. Light floods the room, low and eerie, and Spike spins to face you in surprise.
“How was your date, Spike?” you ask smoothly as you spin the cider in your glass.
He sees it’s you and the panic leaves his eyes. He smiles at you, practically beaming and runs over you where you’re siting.
“It was great!” he almost shouts. “We looked at the stars, we walked by the river, and then she kissed me goodnight! She wants to see me again!”
He places a claw on your knee and a look of complete gratitude sweeps over him.
“Anon, thank you. I never could have done this without you. I mean, I probably could have asked her out, but no way she would have said yes so easy! Maybe I can even be her boyfriend!”
His speech picks up pace as he talks and raises in pitch, till he’s nearly squealing with giddy, puppylove joy. You wait till he’s done, being polite.
“That’s good,” you say calmly.
“Yeah, I can’t wait till I see her again. Really, thanks man, that was a great favor you did for me. Welp, goodnight!”
He turns to walk up the stairs to his little bedroom without another word.
“You were late, you know,” you say.
He pauses and glances over his shoulder.
“Hm? Oh, I guess I was. Sorry about that, hope I didn’t keep you up worrying or anything.”
He again moves for the stairs.
“Spike,” you say, almost in a singsong way.
He stops and turns to face you. He tilts his head, confused maybe by your tone. You wait till you’re sure you have his full attention before you speak again, and when you do you say the words slowly, relishing how they feel in your mouth.
“You owe me.”
He blinks at you.
“Well yeah of course,” he says after a moment’s pause. “I told you before, if you set me up with Rarity, I’d do anything, any favor.”
“And you’re a dragon of your word?”
You linger over this sentence. It's the kicker here, the most important bit, the rope with which you'll let the little dragon hang himself. He doesn't even seem to notice your emphasis.
“Of course,” he says, sounding almost exasperated. “You just let me know when you need something from me and I’ll help you out, I promise.”
You’re silent a moment and he again turns back to go upstairs.
“Spike.”
He stops and looks at you, maybe a little annoyed at your delays.
“I have something for you to do for me,” you say, trying to hide your smile.
“What….now?” The mere concept seems to baffle the little dragon.
“Yes, now.”
He shrugs and comes back over to you.
“Alright, lay it on me,” he says with a warm smile.”
Now you do smile back.
“Well as I see it, I did you a very very big favor right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I miss my home,” you say, continuing to swirl your drink nonchalantly. “And I’d like a little something from there to be here.”
Spike stops smiling and shakes his head slowly.
“Anon, I don’t know if I can get you anything from your world. I mean, it’s all so complicated, but maybe Princess Celestia could-“
“No. This is something you have to do for me.”
He shuts his mouth and you continue in that same calm, cool tone.
“I played this game back in my world. It was pretty good and it had some interesting characters in it, and there was always this one character I wanted to meet.”
You pause, enjoying how rapt he looks at you.
“It was this lizard person, an Argonian maid.”
“Maid?” Spike asks hesitantly. “As in, maiden maid? Or ruffles and duster maid.”
Your smile broadens.
“Both actually,” you say. “And she was a very obedient little thing, very skilled, very helpful. Sort of like you are to Twilight. Haven’t you even dressed as a maid for her?”
Spike blushes all the way back to his spines.
“Well…yeah I guess,” he mumbles.
“Good. Well then you’ll have the experience needed.”
“So wait,” spike says, holding up his little claws. “You want me to be some girl lizard maid and talk to you for a while?”
He looks utterly baffled.
“Not quite,” you say. “I want you to be a maid for me. For tonight. Speak as if you’re from very old, very royal times. Do everything I say exactly as I say when I say it. Respond to my commands without protest. Refer to me as Sir. Basically, be an obedient, helpful, skillful maid for me all evening. No matter what I ask. Do this, and I will consider your debt paid.”
“What?!”
“Oh you heard me. You want to pay your debt, this is what you have to do. You promised after all, didn’t you?”
Spike looks up at you dubiously. You can tell, without a doubt, that he does not want to do this. But somehow that makes it all the better. You know how much he loves Rarity. You know he’ll have to say yes. You could make threats, say you could ruin his chances, say you’ll beat him into a pulp. But you won’t have to do any of that. All you have to do is say three words.
You lean forward out of your chair towards him.
“You owe me,” you say again, almost in a whisper.
He swallows hard, shuts his eyes, and balls up his little claws. He makes some sort of internal whimper, but when he opens his eyes you can see it there. The broken will. He knows you’re right. He does owe you. And he is a dragon of his word.
“Alright,” he says softly, defeated. “I’ll do it.”
“Splendid,” you say, smiling broadly even though your eyes hold malice rather than joy.
“So…what do I do now?”
“Well first you have to look the part,” you tell him.
You place a finger under his chin and raise his face to look at you. He looks embarrassed, ashamed, maybe even frightened. But still willing.
“What do you mean,” he asks quietly.
“Well, your maid outfit is upstairs in your room,” you tell him. “I’ve modified it a little, to look more the part, less French maid. Put that on and come down here, then we’ll begin.”
You tap him on the chin once and then sit back. He blushes deeply and looks at the ground. He seems like he might protest, refuse, but he stays silent, just standing there before you, already humiliated at just your request.
“Chop chop,” you say as he continues to stand there. “Get going, there is much to do tonight.”
With a short sigh, he turns and trudges up the stairs.
You sit back and watch him go with a satisfied feeling growing in your gut. He’s yours. He’s putty for you to mold into exactly what you want. In a few minutes, he’ll come down and you can finally follow through with all those hours, those desiring glances, those cruel thoughts. You glance at a flowerpot on the table with a detached, calculating look. You raise a hand, bring it to the pot, and deftly sweep it off onto the ground with a crash. It shatters, dirt and bits of ceramic flying everywhere. This will be a good start, you muse.
Your eyes return to the stairs and you gaze up at where you know Spike’s room is. You can’t help but wonder what is going through that silly little dragon head of his right now.
You shut your bedroom door behind you, your claws already wet with nervous sweat.
What is he thinking? What is going on here? Of course you owe him, you know that, and you keep your promises. That kiss from Rarity will probably make this all worthwhile anyway. You touch your cheek with one purple claw and smile at the memory of how warm and soft her lips were.
But still. Really? A maid?
You swore you’d never put on that dress again. You swore you’d never dress like a girl after that day. Well…maybe if Rarity asked you to model something, but that’s besides the point. Anon is asking too much of you! He’ll probably make you clean up every mess he’s ever made, probably will take pictures of you and call you names. And then he’ll tell everyone and never let you live it down!
You see your maid dress laid flat on the bed. Sure enough, the skirt is a little longer, the frills a little less. And the sleeves look almost flowy, more dressy than before. The hat’s still the same though, that little black and white crest that fits oddly over your spines. Attached to the hat is a little note.
It reads: “Your name is now Lifts Her Tail. Don’t forget that.”
You reread the name, but it doesn’t make much sense.
Lifts Her Tail? That’s a sentence, not a name! And it’s a stupid one too. This whole thing is stupid.
You glare at the note as you slip on the cool cloth folds of the dress and position the precarious little hat atop your head. It fits snug, securely, and you feel a cold breeze against your rear end. The skirt may be longer, but whenever you move it rides up on your tail, showing your butt. Well, you show your butt all the time, but somehow it feels weird now.
You finish adjusting, take a deep breath, and open the door of your room. As you descend the stairs, duster and cleaning rag in one claw, you see Anon.
He hasn’t moved from his position, and he reclines without looking at you or really noticing you. You can see that there’s a pile of dirt and clay next to him. Yep, it’s just as you thought. He’s going to make a complete fool out of you! You feel your cheeks warm as you reach the ground floor.
Anon looks up and sees you. A smile crosses his lips and he regards you with cool interest.
“Ok,” you mutter. “I’m here.”
The smile turns into a frown.
“Sir,” he corrects.
You sigh. You have promised to be obedient, follow his rules. You’re a dragon of your word.
“I’m here Sir,” you say. You feel the blush spread, and regret that you’ve always blushed so easily.
He nods in approval.
“Ah yes. You’re just in time, Lifts Her Tail,” he says. “I seem to have had a little accident here.”
He gestures to the broken flower pot, then back to you.
“Cleaning is your forte, yes?” he asks.
You shrug.
“Yeah I guess….Sir,” you add, catching yourself.
“Well then,” he goes on. “Won’t you be a dear and come over here and clean it up?”
You grumble to yourself as you trudge over to the mess. With a sigh, you bend over you start picking up the pieces of pot. No sooner have you bent over than you feel a cool breath of air against your backside again. Anon is lifting your skirt! You spin to face him, embarrassed and angry now. How dare he? What does he think he’s doing right now? But he just looks at you without emotion. You give voice to your protest.
"Hey! I didn't say you could-"
“Please,” he says cooly, pointing back to the mess. “Continue, oh obedient little one.”
He emphasizes obedient, and you get the point. No protests, no backtalk. You do as he says for the night, just tonight. You have to be good. You slowly turn back to the flower pot and bend over again. Anon again lifts your skirt as you do, and this time you don’t protest. He makes an appreciative ‘hm’ noise as he does, and you’re sure he can see how red your face is getting, even from behind you.
Come on, Spike. Focus on the task at claw.
You pick up the pieces of pot and place them in the basket of your folded apron. You make sure to get every one, gently picking around the sharp edges and fractured fragments.
Just as you’re about finished you feel a sudden, sharp, slap on your behind. You let out a yelp and drop the fragments you’ve collected. You look over your shoulder, but Anon just smiles at you and points to the pile of dirt.
“Keep cleaning little one,” he says.
You slowly look away from him, your rear smarting from the sudden impact. Before you can even get another shard into your apron, you feel another sharp swat on your bottom. You wince, but this time stay silent. You tighten your grip on the piece of pot, almost cutting into your palm between your scales.
This isn’t what you expected. This isn’t what you wanted. But you have a chore to do.
You pick up another piece. Another smack. The pain vibrates through your body into your chest where it becomes a cry. But you hold it down inside and reach for another piece. You placed them all into your apron as the blows continue.
Smack!
You grit your teeth and begin sweeping the dirt into a pile.
Smack!
You pull over the nearby wastebasket and deposit the broken pot without a word.
Smack!
You pause, holding your breath so you don’t cry out from the pain, then set to sweeping the dirt into the basket.
Smack!
You whimper as a particularly hard one hits you, and you dig your claws into your hand, trying to stave off the overwhelming sting. You stand the wastebasket upright and turn back to face Anon, tears hanging in the corners of your eyes.
The task is done, you’ve finished! And you didn’t make a peep! Somehow, it’s a satisfying feeling. An accomplishment. And through the pain for feel a muted satisfaction. It’s confusing…but nice?
No, that can’t be the word.
You stare up at Anon, a strange mixture of emotions and sensations flooding your senses. He nods his approval at you, and somehow that’s satisfying too. What’s going on with you tonight? This doesn’t make any sense.
“Nicely done little one, but there’s more I wish you to do,” he says.
You nod at him.
“Ok, what do you wish of me, Sir?”
Your own words sound far away, like they’re being said by another person in another life. But that’s your voice. These are your stinging butt cheeks, your dirty claws. This is you. And that’s Anon, smiling down at you.
“Well,” he says. “I have a spear. I need to use it quite frequently and it’s gotten, well, dirty. I need it cleaned thoroughly.”
“Yes Sir.”
“You will clean it to my satisfaction, till I decide it is clean enough. Yes?”
“Yes Sir.”
You look around for a spear, but see none. Maybe he has to go get it? But then, as you look back to Anon, you see that he’s unbuttoning the front of his pants. You can’t help but stare as he looks directly into your eyes and deftly undoes button after button.
What is he doing?
He reaches into his pants front and frees his…oh Celestia, he’s pulling out his Penis! It looks so strange, so foreign, like nothing you’ve ever seen! And you can’t help but notice that it’s big all the way to the tip, nothing like yours. Is that the way all human penises look? You gaze in shock as he displays his erect dick and points towards it.
“Polish my spear,” he says slowly.
It takes a moment to sink in.
Wait, does he want you to…yes he wants you to touch his penis! You feel your stomach flip over like a pancake. That’s disgusting! You would never touch someone else’s penis besides your own! Even then you only do it for cleaning. And THAT thing? It’s so much bigger than yours, you wouldn’t know what to do with it, where to begin! You can’t! you won’t!
But there’s Anon, still staring expectantly down at you. You’re his maid for the night, you promised. Promised. This is just another cleaning task, disgusting as it is. You can do this. You have to.
You wipe your claws on your apron and take a deep breath. Come on, Spike. You can do this.
“Well?” Anon prompts. “I’m waiting.”
You take a step forward and reach out with one claw. You can feel it shaking.
“Watch the claws,” Anon instructs.
Then, he grabs your wrist and jerks your arm forward. You give a little gasp as you stumble forward towards his seated form. Before you can do anything about it, Anon pulls your claw around his member and squeezes it there tightly. You jump, and you instantly want to draw back. The skin is almost hot against your scales, and pulsing like some living creature. You feel nauseated, confused, ashamed. But you don’t pull away. You’re a good obedient little maid, you remind yourself. You have a task. And you’ll do it well.
Slowly, you begin to move your claw.
Keeping the pressure even, you move your claw up and down the length of his shaft in a polishing motion, being careful to keep the sharp parts away from his skin. Anon closes his eyes and leans back. He lets out a long humming sigh and slouches lower in the chair to give you better access.
You want to close your eyes, want to look away, but somehow you can’t stop looking at your claw moving up and down, up and down on his dick. It’s mesmerizing somehow, and the motion feels natural to you. You also find yourself varying pressure as you feel his pulses change. Gentler here, loose here, tight there. It twitches in your grasp, letting you know what’s good and what’s not.
Why are you being so careful?
Why are you getting into this?
Why are you….enjoying this?
“Lifts Her Tail?” you hear Anon say, and it snaps you out of your stupor.
“Y-yes Sir?” you say dumbly.
“It’s too dry.”
You blink at him.
“Dry, Sir?”
He looks down at you calmly.
“Yes. I think you should wet it down before you continue,” he says.
You nod slowly.
“Of course Sir, of course. Just let me get some water and-“
You move to step away from him, but he again grabs your wrist and keeps your claw fastened around his cock.
“No, I think,” he says slowly. “That you should wet it with your own water.”
“My own?”
He reaches down and places a finger gently against your mouth.
“Yes little one, your own. It’ll get the task done more quickly.”
You glance at his dick and feel somehow like crying. He wants you to lick it? But that’s so gross, so demeaning. But somehow you can’t help thinking that he’s right. It will get done faster, after all, and it won’t be so bad, will it? No it can’t be that bad. Besides, if you do a good job he might look at you like that again. With that approval, with that gaze that says “good job.” You’re not sure why, but you want that approval so badly.
“Yes….yes Sir,” you say in defeat.
You slowly lean forward and lick your lips with your purple tongue in anticipation. You can’t look at this, can’t see what you’re doing, it’s too humiliating!
You shut your eyes and begin to lower your mouth over his dick.
All at once you feel his hand come down firmly on the back of his head. Your eyes shoot open. Before you can squeal a protest, Anon’s dick forces it way past your teeth and tongue, all the way to the back of your throat. You gag, but hold back the nausea. You whimper against his flesh, and your eyes water from the shock, but you don’t pull your head away.
You hear Anon moan softly as he holds your head there.
“You be careful with those teeth, little maid,” he says through gritted teeth. “Just do your work thoroughly and carefully or I’ll make you do it over again.”
You close your eyes again and take a deep breath in through your nose. You again tell yourself that you can do this, that you must do this. Your claw still rests around the base of his member, and you tighten the grip slightly. You use it as a pushing point as you draw your head back along his cock, feeling it slide against your tongue and lips. It’s so big you can barely get half of it into your mouth at a time, but as it draws out you flick your tongue against it, trying to get it good and wet.
Anon moans again and you look up to find him staring down at you. He holds your gaze with his as he again puts pressure on your head, sliding your mouth back down over his dick. You stare up from watery eyes, confused, afraid, but utterly subservient to his wishes.
You look away, confused by these feelings maybe even….is this a good feeling? You can feel a tingling in your own dragon member right now, and it’s indeed good feeling you think. What’s going on?
Nevermind that now, just do as your told.
You breathe in as his cock reaches the back of your throat once more and you tighten your lips around him. You suck gently, as if you were eating the sweetest of gems and you wanted it to last. He responds by pulsing firmly against the roof of your mouth. You close your eyes, feeling the changes in his dick as you move, searching for those good points again.
“Faster,” Anon murmurs.
You pick up the pace, wrapping your dragon tongue like a coil around his cock, squeezing hard. Up, down, Up down, over and over. You begin to move your claw too as you feel your saliva dripping down around it, alternating with your mouth. As you pull away, you pull your claw towards the base of his shaft, then back up as you come down. You feel a rhythm developing and internalize it. The pulses are more frequent now and you can hear him breathing raspily.
As you come down again, Anon pushes hard against the back of your head. You gasp and swallow as his member shoots back the past of your mouth, down your little throat. You try hard not to gag or choak, and don’t struggle as his hips buck upwards into your mouth over and over.
“Take it all,” you hear him moan. “All of it you Argonian bitch.”
You feel the tingling in your own member intensify some and you swallow hard as he continues to thrust into your throat. You throw yourself into the task, flicking your long tongue around his dick.
You’re doing a good job. You know he’ll tell you how good you’re being soon, how good a job you did polishing his big long spear.
Oh Sir, tell me I’ve been a good maid…
You don’t know where these feelings are coming from anymore, but you can’t stave them off. They wash over you effortlessly and you suck his dick hard, licking at it, getting it all wet just as he asked. The pace is so fast now, his throbbing pulses so close together. He’s almost panting he’s breathing so hard. He’s moaning to himself, holding onto the back of your head and using you like an automatic polisher. He’s going so fast and hard that it hurts, that you can feel his dick slipping against your tongue. But you can take it, you can…
All at once he lets out a low, tortured groan between clenched teeth. You feel a hot shot of fluid hit the back of your throat and you jerk back, surprised and confused. A pale mixture of your saliva and his…you don’t even know what this is, falls from your tongue and lips, dripping onto the front of your dress.
You look up at him, blushing furiously. There’s still so much of that stuff in your mouth and you swallow hard, licking your lips to clean up any remnants of this goop. You swallow the bitter, salty stuff down, breathing heavily. You didn’t realize this was such exhausting work! You look down at his member, still twitching but very clean now, except for that one drop. We can’t have that now, can we? You lean down and lick up the drop of the white stuff still lingering at the tip of his penis. He sighs as you do so, and nods at you.
He approves.
You did well.
You feel an unwilling swell of pride in your stomach and you blush, smiling sheepishly up at him.
“Well done,” he says in an airy voice.
You curtsey in your stained dress a little. It just feels like the respectful, natural thing to do right now.
“But you’re not done yet.”
Your smile falls a little. More? But his spear is clean, as he asked. Did you not do it well enough?
“S-sir?” you ask in a trembling voice.
“Yes, you see….my spear needs a sheath now where I can put it away. One that firs…snuggly.”
You have no idea what he’s talking about, but you’re eager to do as he says. You’ve never worked his hard for Twilight before, and it feels good to be so good. You want to do your job for Anon. Whatever it is, you are at his disposal.
“What must I do, Sir?”
He smiles and stands up. His member, which had wilted a little before, now stands up straighter. It’s not as big as before, but still quite erect. Where can you possibly put it? A vase? Wrap it in cloth?
“Kneel,” he says sharply.
You kneel.
“Turn around.”
You turn around, looking over your shoulder at him with large pleading eyes. Just tell me what to do, I’ll do it, I promise.
“Bend over.”
You bend forward, your skirt rising up in back, your butt towards him. You place your claws flat on the hardwood floor and lean so far that your chest and chin brushes the ground. Behind you, you hear him shuffling down onto the ground too. You feel a hand on the underside of your tail, holding it up. It’s embarrassing to have him staring so up close at your rear, but you keep your mouth shut and let him.
Then you feel his fingers probing your bottom. You feel him brushing your scales, touching you where no one has touched before. Then you feel him getting closer to your anus. What is he doing? That’s where your poop comes from! But he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t hesitate. He reaches up under your tail and gently probes into it with one fingertip. You wince as a small prick of pain ripples through your body. You grit your teeth again, but this isn’t the same pain as him striking your butt. This is different.
He pokes deeper, sliding his finger into your anus with firm, gentle pressure. You gasp in deeply through a clenched jaw as the finger goes deeper and the pain intensifies. It’s a strange ache deep inside, one you’ve never felt before. His finger is just too big! You can’t take it! He begins to move his finger forward and back in a slow rhythm and the pain abates a little. But not much.
“S-sir?” you almost gurgle.
“Ah yes,” he says wistfully, withdrawing his finger. “I do believe this will be an ideal and tight sheath for my spear.
Wait…
What?
All at once you feel his hands hard on your back. He shoves you down to the floor, your cheek scraping it harshly. You whimper as his weight comes down on your back, holding your arms at your sides and your body down. He tugs your tail up still, keeping your rear exposed. He probes at your hole again with his finger and…
Wait.
Wait, that’s not his finger it’s…
Anon lets out a solid grunt as he shoves his dick deep into you. There’s no gentleness, no slow sliding. Just one hard thrust and you can feel your ass cheeks resting against his hips. He’s inside you, all the way to the hilt.
You can’t help but scream out in pain as a white hot agony shoots through your body. The cry erupts from you and tears spring to your eyes as he holds your writhing body down and against his pulsing cock. He moans gently in satisfaction.
“Yes, just as I thought,” he croons. “It’s a perfect fit.”
He pulls back sharply and again slams his member deep into you.
You groan out again, the pain still flowing through your every sense. You sob from the sensation and feel hot, shameful tears streaking down your reddened face. His penis is in your ass, deep in your ass, twitching and pulsing. It hurts, oh Celestia it hurts so much…You want him to stop, you want to scream for help!
But you stay silent.
Something holds you back.
Your promise….your oath. You owe Anon for all he’s done. You promised to be obedient, to be good. This may be a lot to ask, way too much in fact, but you promised. You are his maid, to do what he wishes with, and he wishes for you to be a sheath for his spear.
You will be that for him, no matter the pain. You will be good. You will be his.
You bite your tongue and try not to struggle as he gently bucks his hips against your butt, moving his cock deep inside you. He pulls back again and begins moving in a slow but firm rhythm. You hold the squeaks and screams of pain and anguish inside you, only pathetic whimpers escaping your pursed lips. You can hear Anon grunting behind you as he thrusts again and again, violating your body with his. His strokes are getting longer, harder, faster. You can feel his member move and scrape within your body, in the most private and personal parts of you than no one has ever touched.
“Tell me you like it,” he grunts as he pulls your body down hard against his dick.
You can’t suppress a yelp as he swells inside you.
“Y-yes s-sir,” you whimper.
“Say it.”
“I l-like it….”
He shoves his dick so hard into you that you groan out a long warbling moan.
“Louder,” he growls, then thrusts again.
“I like it!” you cry as the pain again overwhelms you.
“Of course you do, you slut,” he hisses at you. “You’ve wanted this all along. And now you’ll give yourself to me. You’ll let me use you till I find the relief I need, because you want it. You want to be full of my dick, my cum. You want it.”
He begins thrusting hard and fast.
“I want it,” you cry out tearfully.
“You’re just a lowly maid and you’ll please me no matter what I say,” he groans, tossing back his head and beginning a harsh rhythm. “You’ll give me your ass to fuck. This is mine. You’re mine.”
“Y-yes s-sir!” you whine as you feel him pulsing and throbbing inside you.
You are his.
He pushes hard down against you so that your stomach and face scrape the ground with every stroke. You can feel the sting of wood on your bare knees and you hear the tear of your dress ripping. Even your little dragon member begins to drag painfully across the floor. But somehow…it feels…ok. No. Better than ok. It feels good. The pain excites you. You can feel a swelling in your dick now and feel it twitch to life with every thrust Anon makes. It scratches the floor, sending intense rolling pain through your loins, but at the same time it’s so satisfying.
Yes, you’re a lowly servant. You’re a maid. You’re worthless. You deserve this, you deserve what he’s doing to you. Even if you’re nothing, completely unimportant to this world, you’re his right now in this moment. You’re all his. You have a use, a purpose. You’re pleasing him.
That’s enough for you, it’s all you need.
You feel a twitch of pleasure in your penis, a swelling as it scrapes the ground. Anon continues to pump you over and over again, grunting louder as his thrusts grow deeper and harder. Through the stabbing pain you begin to develop a pulse of joy with each time he thrusts. With the pain, pleasure inches up into your limbs and head. You feel dizzy, drunk from it. It builds in you, writhes, ebbs and flows.
You’re pleasing him. You’re his.
His thrusts are growing more frantic now, more resolute. You can hear him groaning over your own twisted whimpers, and can sense that something is about to happen.
“You’re mine,” he hisses at you. “Mine.”
The pace is dizzyingly fast now. You can barely breathe!
Then, all at once, he lets out a roaring moan and thrusts his entire length into you as deep as it can go. As you cry out in pain you feel a warm, sudden spurt in your body. Like someone pumping hot liquid into your gut. Your eyes go wide as you feel his cock pulsing and the spurting repeats again. Then once more.
The tingling in your own body intensifies and you shut your eyes. With a reluctant, trembling cry, you feel your dick throb and a sudden jet of white shoots out onto your stomach, the dress, and the floor. It pools around your knees and chest, feeling hot and sticky on your scales. The roll of pleasure coursing through you is the most intense feeling you’ve ever known and it completely drains you. You fall limp against the floor, your mouth open and gasping against the wooden floor.
You barely know where you are, what’s happening. Only that this is the most intense release you’ve ever felt. Your limbs feel like jelly, and you can’t seem to steady your head. You just lay there as the feeling wracks your body over and over again.
Anon pants behind you, holding your body down in a death grip. You’re sure he knows what has happened to you and that he could feel whatever it was your body just did. He releases you and jerks backwards and you whine breathlessly as you feel his member pop out of you with a gush of liquid. He stands up, looking down at your used up body on the ground, stained in both his fluid and yours. Your dick twitches as it shrinks and your body trembles from the strange mixture of sensations you’re feeling.
You look up at him. The approval….please…you've been so obedient...
He simply nods at you and rebuttons his pants with a deft and swift hand. He Then straightens his shirt and brushes his sleeves before stepping back from your crumpled form.
“Seems you’ve made a mess here little one,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly steady. “Clean that up.”
You think he's about to leave, but he first stoops and gives you a firm, solid spank right on your well-violated rear. You don't even have the heart to cry out in pain.
"And that's for being late tonight," he says.
Then he briskly turns to the stairs and leaves you there, shuddering.
“Y-yes sir…” you manage to barely whisper.
Spike approaches you only a week later. You’ve never spoken about what happened, but he can no longer meet your eyes or speak to you without his voice cracking. Twilight has noticed something is different but she has yet to ask about it, and you doubt she will. Rarity has another date with Spike tonight and with your needs met you’re leaving him to it.
Sure, you had your fun. You forced that little dragon to submit to you, give his body for you to play with. But you are also a man of your word, and you told him his debt was paid. You’ll stick to that. Plus you get a certain thrill at remembering how you fucked him. How you took his virginity, gave him his first orgasm. You’ll always be in his memory, you’re a part of his past now. And you’ve taken something from him now too.
In a way, he’ll always be yours.
So when he approaches you that day, you can’t say you’re not surprised. You’re just headed up to your room when he tugs at your pantleg. You look down and he’s staring at the floor, just tugging on you.
“Yeah Spike?” you ask.
He’s quiet a moment, and you wonder if he’s even going to speak at all.
“H-hey Anon?” he says at last.
“Yeah?”
“I have a date with Rarity tonight.”
“I know Spike.”
He hesitates again.
“Well….thanks again for setting us up and all."
“Sure, don’t worry about it.”
You move to leave, but he doesn’t let go. You look down at him again. What the hell does he want?
“Anon?”
He says again.
“Yes?”
“Well I was wondering if….”
Great, he wants something else from you? Maybe he wants an apology for what you did to him. Maybe he wants to talk about it, the little fool. He stutters, fumbling for words.
“I was wondering if afterwards you could…you know…help me clean up the house…”
What?
He slowly looks up into your eyes and you can see it there. The devotion, the desire to please, and of course the complete undying obedience. All for you.
“Could you? ….Sir?”
You look back down at him with a calm cold expression, the one of a master looking at a slave. And through that expression, you’re sure Spike can see the beginnings of a smile.
-End-
Author's Note
Warning:
Femanon.
A little depressing.
BDSM themes, and some unhealthy bdsm actions. And no vomit.
-Pencil
A Penance Paid
You always promised yourself you wouldn’t drink when you were sad. By that thinking, coming out to a bar tonight was probably a mistake. It’s a promise you’ve been pretty good about keeping since your arrival in Equestria, and you don’t intend to break it for any reason. Well, unless someone died. Then it was ok. That was mourning, that was different.
No one has died.
This isn’t mourning.
You have no excuse, so you’re not going to drink. Still…it feels like someone has died, so…does that count? You doubt it.
You scowl down at the thick, frothing mug of cider placed neatly on the bar for you with a hunger and malice you don’t usually display in public. Or around your friends. You’re pretty sure that Applejack has noticed by now how differently you’re behaving, but so far she’s been silent, sipping cider next to you, probably waiting to see what you’ll do.
You again debate whether it’s fair for you to drink right now.
It probably wouldn’t help anyway, but…
You know you made this rule to keep you from overindulging, something you’ve been prone to doing in years past. It’s a safety measure so that you’ll never use alcohol as a security blanket or an emotional crutch when you’re not at your best. So far, it’s worked well for you. But then again, you haven’t really had this exact feeling since you’ve been here. The realization of the newness of your mess of emotions hits you unexpectedly, and you barely keep yourself from cringing.
Damn it.
Who ever would have thought you’d have your heart broken by a fucking horse.
Your hand instinctively reaches for the mug with that thought, but you call it back to your side like a disobedient dog. Applejack continues to sit silently next to you, and you doubt she saw the twitching impulse.
It would be understandable if you had a drink because of all this, right? I mean, it’s not every day you fall in love with a married man (or stallion), have a brief, intoxicating, completely overwhelming fling, then realize you’ve potentially ruined his marriage, have lost a friend, and are now going to be alone. Again.
And that you’ve hurt someone you’ve come to deeply, earnestly care about. Not to mention the fact that his wife is easily the kindest, sweetest, most gentle person on this earth. You wonder if he’ll ever tell her, and suspect he won’t. She’d forgive him, of course, but he’d probably have the courtesy not to bring your name into things. That would just be one more reason to hurt.
Never mind that it’s also all completely self inflicted. Never mind that you knew how this was going to go and did it anyway. Never mind that you used him to fill some sort of hole or gap in your life left when you arrived friendless and loveless in ponyville, and now he’s hurting because of your selfish acts. Never mind that he’s probably going to hate you now and come to look back on the wonderful things you did with resentment or disgust.
No, you asked for all this. It comes with the territory.
You stifle a self deprecating laugh.
You’re an idiot.
“You gonna drink that, sugarcube? Or just make angry eyes at it.” you hear Applejack finally pipe up next to you.
You realize you’ve been inching your face closer and closer to the mug with each passing thought. You’re now close enough where the hot breath from your nostrils forms curling wisps of steam as they meet the cold of the inviting liquid.
“Not sure,” you admit. “Debating.”
You can almost feel the pony frown next to you.
“Well heck I’ll drink it if you don’t, but what’s the trouble? Something eating at ya?”
“…you could say that.”
You hear Applejack set down her mug, but still don’t look up from the delicious toxin continually calling your name.
“Is this about that fine young beau of yers that no one’s seen yet?”
You feel your chest tighten.
“I’ve been meanin’ to ask you about that a while now, whenever you talked ‘bout him. Why so secretive? Do I get to meet this one or-“
“That’s not really a thing anymore,” you say quickly, before she can go on.
Even hearing her talk about it stings.
Silence falls. You can hear other patrons rumbling around you about various topics, laughing. You find yourself absurdly hoping that one of them will say his name, mention him in passing, that way he won’t feel so much like a ghost to you. No one’s died, you remind yourself. Besides, it’s all for the best.
You push the mug away from you with a grating sigh and turn your physical attention to your orange friend. You hope your current feelings aren’t showing in your face, but by the look Applejack is giving you, they probably are. Oh good, it’s time for pity.
“I’m awful sorry to hear that,” she says gently, and you know she means it.
That expression is because she cares about you. It’s because she’s worried. Don’t be too proud to accept a little pity, Anon, even if it makes you feel like shit. You shrug, doing your best to register dispassion.
“Hey, it had run its course. He knew it, and he ended it very kindly and gently and all that. There was no happy ending there for either of us, so this was the right outcome. I just…”
Nope.
Stop talking.
Nothing good can come out of your mouth now.
Be graceful. Be courteous. Don’t be greedy and pathetic. You know this is the right thing. You just…
“I didn’t want it to end.”
You hate every stupid word that comes out of your traitor mouth. God damn it. You should be stronger than this.
“Well that’s the way it goes for every pony, darlin,” Applejack says, patting a gentle hoof across one shoulder. “Especially since he made you so happy. Every pony was seein’ how much you were smilin’ and carrying on recently.”
Please Mouth, for the love of god, shut up.
“Yeah, we were happy,” you say, again unable to force the words back. “At least…I was happy. I think he was happy. I hope he was.”
“If you treated him right, the way you treat ponies like me, he was probably pleased as punch,” she says with a reassuring smile. “No need to worry about that none now.”
And yet that’s your biggest worry. And well it should be. Silly farm girl, what does she know about love anyway.
“It was worth it though,” you say suddenly, way too brightly. You’re smiling, almost out of impulse now. “Wouldn’t take it back or change it or anything.”
Unless this ruined a part of his life. Of his wife’s life too. Unless you wasted his time. Unless this hurt he’s feeling because of you never heals. Thankfully, you don’t say it.
“Well that’s good then,” Applejack says, seeming to think you've actually are cheered up a little. “It’s actually kinda impressive you can look at it that way.”
“That do you mean?”
“Ya know, as a positive. As a good life experience.”
You suddenly feel a new pang of guilt. That you can smile and look strong and have everyone think you’re able to deal with this like a champ when really you have no idea how to emotionally handle this. You feel like such a liar.
“Thanks,” you say, unsure what else you can say.
“Besides, now maybe you’ll be able to get out there more,” she says, downing another swig of alcohol.
“Get out there?”
“Ya know, make new friends, meet new ponies, maybe even fancy a stallion er two once you feel up to it.”
“Are my current friends not good enough for you?”
It’s meant to be a joke, and you crack your usual crooked smile at Applejack (who is probably your closest if not only friend), but she just fixes you with a withering look.
“I like being yer friend n’ all, and it’s fun bein’ around ya, but from what I’ve seen I’m yer only one. Well, besides Luna. I’d ask what you two talk ‘bout and do when you hang out in her cottage, but I’m honestly not sure I’d want to know the answer.”
Some part of you both winces and smiles at hearing Luna’s name. You haven’t seen her for a while, and friend is such an unusual word for what the two of you share. Applejack may still feel negatively towards the former princess of nightmares at times, but you’ve found she has her uses, and more than that how she has her uses for you.
The seeds of an idea, a horrible, devious, and malignant idea begin to plant themselves in your mind.
“Hey, Luna’s nice,” you say, again unsure what other word you could substitute there.
“I’m sure she is, she’s a very kind princess, but she’s creepy sometimes too.”
“Oh come on.”
The orange pony shrugs.
“Just bein’ honest,” she says lightly.
You roll your eyes and let out a mildly exasperated sigh.
“Of course you are,” you mutter.
“So…you want to talk more about this whole ordeal you went through with this here colt?” she says, much more gently now. “Might help some.”
You want so much to talk about this. You want to talk Applejack’s fricken ear off. But as to it helping? You really doubt that would be the outcome. You’ll have to find another way to deal with your feelings of guilt and loss. Again, a sinister thought, tugs at the edge of your subconscious.
Your eyes are drawn back down to the mug of cider in front of you. Your hand is on it now, and you’re not exactly sure when that happened. More than that, as you lick your lips, you find a stinging, sweet alcoholic flavor gracing your tastebuds. When did you take a drink? Was it sentences ago? moments?
“No,” you hear yourself answer her.
“You sure?”
You blink, then bring the mug again to your mouth for another quick gulp before nearly slamming the mug back down onto the bar. God that feels good…
“Yes.”
She looks somewhat concerned, and she ventures a gentle cough before speaking up.
“Uh, sugarcube? I thought you didn’t drink when bad things were happenin’ in yer life.”
“Don’t worry, not going to get drunk or anything,” you assure her, and mean it. “Have to be sober, have my wits about be and stuff.”
You realize you made up your mind what to do minutes ago, and that the knowledge of what tonight holds makes you quake in some inner, most private parts of your being. Applejack still looks worried, but she says nothing and instead opts for another drink. You do the same, much more gently. You can’t get drunk, you remind yourself, still feeling your own death-grip on the mug. Luna’s only willing to work with you when you’re sober.
——
Your stumbling trudge through the streets may appear to passersby to be from alcohol, but you know it’s not. Emotional exhaustion has left your steps unsteady, your focus drained. Besides, you had promised you wouldn’t get drunk, and you didn’t. You have better tolerance than that at least. Applejack had wanted to walk you home, but you assured her that you were ok, and that the night air might do you some good.
To be honest, the cold of it stings you, bites at you. It feels heavenly.
You need to be sober as a saint when you get to Luna’s little summer cottage, you once more remind yourself. No slurring. No burping. None of that. Hell, she might even refuse if she see’s those dark circles under your eyes.
You respect the level of care she takes when she’s with you, and how cautious she is about working with someone who’s not 100% emotionally sound, but right now the prospect of her turning you down is a little frightening. Where else would you turn? Back to Applejack? To one of the other ponies that you’re less than close to? She was right about you not having many friends, and Luna’s a special friend at that.
Maybe she’ll be understanding.
You say a prayer to any powers that be in the hopes she’ll indeed be understanding.
As you reach the outskirts of town, you spy the thatched and hay roof, the deep blue panted walls, and the topiaries cut into moons and stars that you’ve become so familiar with.
You’re not sure why Luna so badly wanted a cottage in Ponyville, but her stay during this summer has been much-needed, and she seems happier for it as well. Maybe she needed to get away from an overbearing sister. Maybe she needed to feel less like a princess, more like a normal pony.
But you think it’s because she needed to be able to flex the part of her that still wants to feel powerful. The part of her that still laments a loss of control, that screams take-charge and be queen of everything. You think she’s tired of being second fiddle all the time, needs to be more, and you can understand that. More, you can help with that. And have.
You straighten your shirt and skirt as you reach her tall, oval-topped doorway. You check your breath and find that it only lightly smells of apples, and thank fuck that you only had that one cider.
You raise a hand to knock, but it’s scarcely brushed wood before you hear the click of a lock and the door handle begins to glow a deep navy blue. You step back as Luna opens the door a crack, then fully, giving you a polite and gentle smile.
“Ah, Anon. I wasn’t expecting you.” she says jovially. “What brings you to my door?”
You fumble for words, finding them surprisingly difficult. What do you say? How do you explain what happened, what it’s doing to you, what you need from her? As you stand there stammering, her polite smile fades a little.
“Anon?”
“I…” you begin haltingly. “Can I come in?”
She eyes you warily for a moment, then nods and steps away from the door. You follow her inside, being sure to shut the door and lock it behind you. She always prefers that the doors are all locked. It’s almost completely instinctual now that you lock everything as she likes.
She motions for you to sit on the black and midnight blue couch, and you do so the moment you see her head move in a nod. She seats herself across from you and once more eyes you cautiously.
“Why don’t you tell me the cause of this little visit?” she says slowly.
“Well…I…lost someone,” you say, unsure how else to put it.
Her eyes widen.
“Someone passed away? Oh my dear Anon, I am so-“
“No, no not like that,” you quickly correct her. “Just…someone I care about is no longer in my life.”
She seems to pause, thinking this over, then nods slowly.
“I see.”
“It’s…been hard for me these last few days.”
“I am indeed sorry to hear that. Do you wish to talk about it a little?”
You shake your head hard.
“No. Not at all.”
Recognition spreads across her face like a dark rolling cloud.
“Ah. Then…”
“Please,” you say, hearing how pained the word sounds as it comes out. “I can’t just keep my chin up. I can’t make myself smile. Please.”
You meet her eyes, and they’re cold. Emotionless. Calculating. You feel some primal emotion inside you rupture and begin to bleed into the rest of your body. You suddenly feel so tired and worn down, with that look, like you’re not even a real person, it energizes you somehow.
“Please,” you say, less desperately. “I need this.”
Luna remains silent a moment, but her gaze never wavers from you. When she speaks again, he voice has changed. It’s silky, drawn out, but icy cold. Ever word makes you feel like you’re being wrapped int he night air outside.
“Have you been drinking?”
“One cider an hour ago. On my honor, I swear. You can check my breath if you-”
“I don’t think you’d lie to me, Anon. I can take you at your word, can’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Your chest tightens, your muscles flinch and ache, and what feels like an injection of morphine ripples through your conscious.
“Yes Mistress,” you murmur reverently
You can see a muted satisfaction curl one corner of her mouth. It’s enough to let you know that she’s going to work with you. That she’s going to give you this fix that you need right now. You want to thank her again and again, and you suspect you’ll probably be doing so shortly.
“Shall we do this hear, or would you rather I set a bit of a scene?” she says.
You don’t hesitate.
“A scene, please.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
You don’t let yourself say what you really want, where you’d really like to be right now.
“Our usual go-to is fine,” you say, then add. “If you’d like to be nightmare moon as you do it…”
She doesn’t always want that. She usually likes to be Luna, a monsters, another pony. But on rare occasions she indulges, lets that part of her out some, and becomes the nightmare once more. Something about it is intoxicating to the both of you, and scares you a little. You think being that might sometimes scare her too.
She again seems to turn the thought over a few times before she nods.
“Very well. Might I assume that you want me to be cruel, then?”
“As cruel as you’re willing to be.”
Is your voice shaking? Are your cheeks flushed? You must sound like a junkie, you realize, but you can’t bring yourself to care. After all, Luna is smiling having heard you say that. This pleases her.
Fuck, that knowledge feels so good.
“I’ll get the drink,” she says, lingering over the words. “You make yourself comfortable on the couch, I won’t be long.”
She pauses in the doorway to the kitchen.
“But remove your shoes before you do. I will not have mud on my furniture. Is that clear?”
“Yes Mistress.”
She nods the ‘good girl’ to you, rather than says it, before going to get that sweet concoction you’ve gulped down so readily many times before. Shen she returns, you’re stretched out across her sofa, feet up, and shoes neatly set side by side by the door. She again gives you the approving smile, and you again feel a roll of pleasure through your body.
She hands you a small purple bottle that shines with magical light. You open it with nearly shaking hands and pour out three small drops onto a spoon. You give Luna a grateful smile before sipping them quickly down and lying on your back again.
You feel your body begin to lose hold with reality. You feel yourself fading. Fading. Very quickly you lose sensation in your arms. Then your legs. Soon all of you feels floaty and distant, and your head begins to swirl. You shut your eyes, embracing it, as you quickly slip away to sleep.
——
When you open your eyes, you’re exactly where you thought you’d be.
The dream-tower dungeon is small, but suits your needs as it has before. The small wooden sawhorses are leaned up against one wall. The chains and cuffs line the walls in different heights, arrangements, and positioning. A small cage, barely big enough for you, sits in one corner as a doorstop, with a selection of different implements of torture and enjoyment above it. The windows and doors are locked, and the stone floor feels good below your feet. You breathe in the smell of rust, iron, and granite, and you already feel a part of yourself letting go.
Before more than a moment has passed, Luna materializes in the room with you. Except she’s no longer Luna now.
A long, undulating mane of stars and smoke descends from her armored head. Her hooves display ornamental shoes, and her chest too has the armor of a warrior across it. Her smile, which she displays for you now, is full of pointed, menacing teeth, and her eyes have become slit-pupiled, like that of a reptile. Her wings adjust into place, long and graceful, and she regards you with an expression of complete malevolence.
You drink her in like a woman who has been without water for days.
“So young Anon,” she says in a hissing, but somehow booming tone. “You wish to serve me?”
“Yes Mistress.”
“Louder, I must be sure that your fealty is indeed all mine.”
“Yes Mistress, of course Mistress,” you respond readily, being sure it’s loud enough for her liking.
You hear her laugh somewhere in the back of her throat.
“Well we shall see how you can serve me. What will it be today, you weak and powerless thing? Will you be my furniture, to sit on or rest my hooves on? Will you clean my shoes with your tongue? Or perhaps I will attach you to a carriage and you will pull me through town for all to see how much I completely, utterly own you? Such options, you pathetic creature.”
You know what you want though. She knows it too. she’s teasing you, you realize. You want her to get to it, get to the point right now rather than making you wait. But at the same time, the anticipation is excruciatingly wonderful.
“Whatever you’d like, Mistress,” you say, bowing your head where you stand.
You again hear her chuckle.
“Well then, I know exactly what I’ll do,” she says in a near growl.
You hear the hoof falls on the stone floor, a soft rhythmic clip-clop as she approaches you, then begins to slowly circle you. You can smell a faint scent of night lilies encircling her entire form.
“I have had a very stressful week,” she says. “Raising the moon is no simple task, not that I’d expect an insignificant peon like you to know about that. I feel as though I need to work out some of that stress.”
She pauses in front of you, and you feel a hoof under your chin. She raises her head and you look up into her large, sinisterly smiling face. Oh god yes…
“And you’re going to help me,” she says at last, cooing it to you like you were a pet.
“Y-yes Mistress.”
“Again, louder, no stuttering.”
“Yes Mistress.”
“Very good.”
She steps back from you and lets your head fall back towards your chest. You can feel it rising and falling faster now as expectant adrenalin fills your veins, offers you the first part of this high.
“Off with your clothes,” the princess says. “No one like you should be more dressed than I.”
You raise your arms out to your sides and spread your legs. You hold very still as you feel the tingle of magic coat them, encircling each item you have on. With an abrupt, loud tearing noise, you feel fabric ripped from your body. You try very hard to keep your balance, remain still, as you feel your shirt become tatters. The waistline of your skirt loosens, rips, frays, and falls away to the ground. The cold air presses in around your skin like it’s clawing at you, as your naked form is slowly exposed before the princess’ watchful eyes.
As your breasts are exposed, you turn your head away from here, embarrassed. Your cheeks burn with shame at your own nudity, and you hear another laugh erupt from her throat. Soon your panties are in shreds on the ground and you stand before, completely naked and helpless. You feel yourself tremble under her gaze, waiting for her any command.
“Kneel.”
You do as she bids, not caring how the stone stings as it rises to meet your skin. You keep your eyes downcast in reverence, and you hear her once again approach you. An ornamented, armored hoof crosses your field of vision, and you raise your head a little to look at it.
“Worship me,” she hisses at you. “Worship your queen of the night.”
Without hesitation, you bend your head and kiss her hoof, gently supporting the underside of it with your palm. She waits as you kiss her hoof again and again, being sure to brush your lips past every jewel, every dusty bit of metal. You taste distant rust and dirt from the stressful day she has mentioned. At last, she pulls it away.
“Tell me you adore me,” she commands.
“I adore you.”
“Tell me you are mine to command.”
“I am yours to command.”
“Tell my I may use your body to work out my stresses.”
“…please use my body to work out your stresses,” you say, barely able to keep a tremble out of your words.
She smiles.
“Very good. Stand.”
You stand, and she directs you towards one wall. There is a long chain there with a cuff on it, and it rises with the princess’ magic before fixing itself to your outstretched wrist. You then walk towards the other side of the room, till the long chain is nearly taut. You relish the sound of the metal sliding across the floor as you move, of knowing you’re shackled. The other cuff extends, attaches to your opposite wrist, and you feel the two chains shorten, raise, and tighten. Soon, your feet barely brush the floor, enough to support your weight, but barely. Once she’s done, the princess stands back to admire her handiwork.
“Good girl,” she says at last, and a shiver runs through your body. “Now stay still.”
As you dangle there in the center of the room, you can hear her walking about behind you, hear the shifting of things on the wall, and know she’s picking out her first implement. You’re nearly panting now with desire for this, and you quell a soft whimper of pleasure and want as it rises to your lips. After what feels like an eternity, you hear her return and stop behind your back.
“Have you readied yourself?”
“Yes Mistress.”
“Then scream pretty for me, won’t you?” she says, the words dancing and ringing like bells.
“Yes Miss-“
The word stops, uncompleted as the first lash of her whip meets your back. You have to bite your lip to hold back the cry that forms in your throat. Your eyes shoot open, sudden tears of pain welling there, and you bite down hard, till it hurts almost as much as the blow.
“I said scream for me, peasant!” the princess commands.
This time, when the lash hits you, you scream.
“Good girl,”
There’s a special feeling when the whip hits you. It’s a cold and crystal clear sensation, like the sound of someone dropping and shattering a porcelain mug. It vibrates through you every time, each time just as intense. The pain, searing and cutting, always gives way directly afterwards to a soft float of euphoria, interrupted over and over with a new blow.
Your screams come out as animal, unabashed. They catch and whimper and rattle, nothing so beautiful as a calculated moan of pleasure. You give these with abandon, and your Mistress rewards you each time with another turn of the whip. Your back feels hot, wet, and you’re not sure if it’s from blood or sweat.
“Are you enjoying this, you pathetic whelp?”
“Yes!” you cry out.
She gives you another lashing in response, and you feel your knees give way under you. Your chains hold you up, cutting into your wrists painfully.
“Then thank me,” she demands.
“Thank you Mistress.”
“Louder.”
Another blow. You scream out the words, pained and desperate, this time.
“Thank you Mistress!”
“You are mine.”
Another blow.
“I am yours!”
“You will serve me.”
“I will serve you!”
The whip bites your flesh again.
“Good girl. Your body is just what I needed.”
You’re so happy then. You’re useful, you’re needed. You are a good girl, a simple object or thing meant for nothing but pleasure or use. You are being used.
…used. That word…
No. Not now. You won’t let you go there now.
A whip-crack distracts you from the creeping, horrifying thought. It hurts more now, and you know you’re reaching your pain threshold. You know you can ask her to stop soon, and she will, and then you can just bask in the euphoria of pain and weakness and servitude.
But…you can take a little more.
You toss your head back in a cry as the whip crosses your shoulder blade, finding the same exact spot as a previous strike, aggravating the newly-rising welt. You’re stronger than that. You can take more. She’s enjoying this after all.
The lash burns as it hits you, cutting like a blade. Surely you must be bleeding now.
You’re doing this for her, for her stress, to please her. You can take more for her.
Another strike.
You can do this. You can do this for him.
Him?
When the whip hits you, the pain it inflicts is mirrored by a sudden wave of pain that flickers deftly and insidiously into your emotions.
No. Not now. Why now? This is for Luna. This isn’t for him. You try to tell yourself not to think about it, but it’s already there, growing inside you. But….you hurt him. You used him. You could have ruined his life, his marriage. You’re being used now, as you should be, because you used him at a risk to his own happiness.
You are pathetic.
You aren’t worthy of mercy.
You can take more. You will take more. For him.
The force of the next blow makes you grit your teeth with how much it hurts. You feel a line of hot dampness trace down your cheek with the effort of it, and you groan out between set lips.
More. You can take this. You deserve to be in pain.
Another blow. Your nerve endings sing with sensation.
You can take more for him. You can hurt for him. You love him, you can do this so you can hurt more than he is, suffer more than you’ve made him suffer.
Another impact, and you cry out, the guilt now apparent in the trembling wail you emit. You fucked a married man. You’re immoral, you’re terrible. You loved him and you wanted him and you did all this knowing you would hurt him. Knowing you couldn’t be with him. You were selfish. Suffer for him, Anon. Suffer and know that you brought this on yourself. You were weak to be with him, you can be stronger now.
You can barely keep from crying out his name as the next lash crosses your back. The tears flow freely from your eyes. With every hit, you remind yourself what you are, what you did.
SNAP
You fell in love with someone you could never have.
SNAP
You hurt someone you cared about, just so you could pretend for a little longer that he felt the same way.
SNAP
You risked his future. You took away his time. You betrayed the trust of his wife.
SNAP
You’re terrible. You’re stupid and cruel and evil.
SNAP
You deserve pain. Take more of it, suffer more for him. Suffer till you can’t breathe, till you can’t move. Because you’ll never have him again.
SNAP
He’s gone.
SNAP
You deserve to be alone.
The next lash doesn’t come, and you suddenly feel your feet touch the ground. You look up as your chains loosen to find Luna, fully herself, standing before you with a look of concern.
“Anon?”
You realize with horror that you’re weeping openly, back and shoulders heaving. Without the chains to hold you up, you fall forward onto your knees with a thud, and you crumple around them, letting your naked body collapse sideways onto the stone floor. You’re shaking, and the usual wave of pleasure that surrounds you after a session with luna is replaced by the most intense emptiness you have ever known. You can clearly remember every word you said to yourself, and you instantly hate yourself for wanting him. And hate that he’s gone.
You feel Luna reaching out to hug you to her, hold you, give you that sweet aftercare she’s so good at. But sobbing, loud choked cries, you push her hooves away and shuffle backwards the grime of the dungeon floor streaking your exposed, reddened flesh. She stops, eyes registering deep concern, then simply sits beside you, watching you, letting you tremble there alone on the ground.
You shake uncontrollably, and you wrap your arms around yourself, pulling your knees to your chest. You rock there, trying to recollect the pieces of your broken psyche, as blood from your back and your freely-flowing tears, drip steadily down your body. You even sense that there are cuts not he sides of your wrist, bleeding slightly, from where you strained against your cuffs during the last parts of the session.
You have no idea how long you lie there, naked, bruised, and bloodied, but at last you run out of tears, and your body stills. You stare then into the ground, and at last you feel the empty spot inside you fill in.
You’ve suffered now. You needed to suffer for him, and you did. This was a price you had to pay. A weight you didn’t even know was resting on you suddenly feels lifted, and you sigh in relief, though the lack of him still hangs heavy in your chest.
“Are you ready to wake up?” you hear Luna say.
“Yeah,” you say haltingly, your lips feeling cracked and dry. “I think I am.”
——
Luna offers to let you stay there that night the moment you come to. For once, you don't protest. When she asks you what happened, you try to explain briefly, without getting too intimate, but you do explain. Considering what she did to you...what you hope she'll still do to you, she deserves an explanation. As you go over what you were saying in your own head during the last part, she frowns at you, openly worried. She tells you that if you want to talk, she’s there to listen. At first you go to refuse, but then you stop and reconsider.
“I…” you say. “I’d…maybe like that. Once I’m able to talk about it more. Thank you.”
She hugs you, and you let her, burying your face in her soft blue fur like it’s a security blanket. Only then does the euphoria of aftercare really begin to sink in. But even then, it doesn’t feel like you can make yourself smile
She treats your wounds before bed, noting that she’s never seen them carry over so well to the waking world before. You try not to muse on why that is, and just nod as she dabs on disinfectant to your back and wrists.
As you fall asleep that night, you stare down at your bruised, cut up wrists, and again feel some satisfaction that you did this. For him. To pay for what happened.
You still have these bruises a few days later, as you see Shining Armor in the marketplace at Ponyville. You stop as you see him, eyes wide, mouth agape, all the emotions you have for him suddenly flooding back like a punch to the stomach. It takes all you have to tell your feet to keep walking, to not look him in the eye as you pass him.
His wife stands at his side, talking, smiling, being her usual wonderful self. He looks happy, you realize, like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. And she looks happy too. They’re a great couple together, you note with a pang of jealousy.
As you’ve almost passed the loving joyous scene, Cadance seems to spot you. She looks up, and calls to you. Without even thinking, you turn and catch her gaze.
“Oh hello there Anon, good to see you!”
She presents you with a warm, friendly smile. Shining Armor is watching you too, you realize, warily. As if watching to see what you'll do, if you'll say anything. You keep yourself from looking at him for more than a glance, but can’t seem to break away from Cadance’s gaze. You stand, caught in the moment for the time being, conflicting feelings swirling like a hurricane in your gut. You can’t…you can’t deal with this, you tell yourself. You can’t make yourself be a normal person in front of this, knowing what you’ve done. But there she is. Smiling at you. Being happy. There they are. Together. As it should be.
You reach up under your sleeve with one discrete finger to find the welt on your wrist. With one fingernail, you trace the outline of it, push down on it till you feel the pain ripple through your forearm. Till you hope you’re bleeding from it.
Only then can you make yourself smile back at her, before turning and continuing on your way.
-End-
