Trapped Lightning

Two hours later, Pigpen decided that his captive had been enjoying the luxury of sleep for long enough, so he woke up Lightning Dust by dragging her bound form out of the box and blowing his slimy load all over her blindfolded face. She grunted deliriously, not so much fighting her bonds as flailing against them, only dimly aware of the horrors that were about to unfold. He eased the large dildos out of her rear holes and replaced them with smaller, lube-coated vibrators to avoid damaging her, fed her water which she gulped down desperately and unthinkingly, and then dragged her towards the Whore Gym.

The Whore Gym was an untested invention of Pigpen's, built from a home exercise machine, a dozen bits of scrapyard junk, some DIY skill and a pinch of sadistic ingenuity. The different pulleys, weights and levers were bewildering to behold, but Pigpen knew exactly what he wanted out of it. He tied Lightning Dust stomach-down on the padded bench in the middle of it, the tips of her hooves barely brushing the floor as he released the restraints on her legs.

Once he had finished rigging her, Lightning Dust's head dipped down into a clear plastic bucket, her wings and front legs were restrained, and her hind legs were fixed to a set of cables. She gave a testing stretch backwards, and once her legs were extended, there was a loud *clack* and a series of ratchet clicks, and her head lifted up clear of the bucket. Three seconds later the ratchets clicked again, and she sunk back down into the empty bucket.

"That's how it works, cunt," said Pigpen, "push out your hinds and you get a respite from the bucket. It's a short one, though, 'cause it resets! One, two, three and then you've gotta pull your legs back in and push them allll the way out if you want another break."

He walked just out of her field of view and rubbed her rump with a hoof. "Our mutual pal gave me some notes on you, they said your personal best for the leg press machine is 400 kilograms," he said, as he clanked around with cables, attaching them to a set of weighted bars. "That's impressive! I'm not a fitness expert, nothing like you, hell, nothing like Thunderlane even, but I hear that the key to a good workout is a bunch of reps at three-quarters of your maximum weight. So I'm setting the weights to 300 kilos. Not so easy to lift your head up now, huh?"

He drank in the silence. "Not even gonna try?"

Lightning Dust murmured something through the ring gag.

"Oh, got something to say to me?" He unclipped her gag and sat down in front of her, grinning.

Her face bore no emotion. "I'm going to kill you," she said impassively.

Pigpen blinked, and hooted with laughter.

"I'm not going to strap you in your own machine," she continued, "I'm not gonna torture you like you tortured me, nah, nothing like that. I'll just break your spine and leave you down in your own basement until the thirst gets you."

"You'd leave me to die like that?" said Pigpen, still giggling, "That's fucked up, lady. You're downright heartless."

She struggled against him, eyes flashing with rage as he forced the ring gag back in, but he quickly wedged it between her teeth, strapped it around the back, and spat on her forehead. He walked away from her as his stinking spit dripped down her face and opened his basement refrigerator. He returned with a bottle of beer, which he opened, and a gallon jug of yellow liquid that he set down beside her. He swigged the beer, set it aside, and began carefully pouring the contents of the gallon jug down the sides of the bucket, pooling and frothing at the bottom. She grunted in anger once the smell hit her.

"Three days of my piss, all saved for you," he gloated.

The liquid first hit her chin, which she flinched from like an electric shock. She tried to keep her neck and head craned as high as possible, but it was a losing battle and a splash of cold, brackish urine soon lapped into her ring-gagged mouth. As he shook the last drops out, the liquid stopped just below her nostrils. Her mouth was immersed with piss, but as long as she held her head up, she had just enough room to breathe.

"Dang, I really thought that would be enough," he said. "Ah! I've got just the thing."

He stood up on his hind legs, bracing himself on the machine with one hoof, and let his half-hard cock flop onto the rim of the bucket. The stench of his cock cut through the piss, and the hole was still sticky with the remnants of his earlier cumshot. He used his free hoof to gently squeeze his cock down against the bucket's edge, keeping it aimed directly at Lightning Dust's face, and sighed with pleasure. For a moment, nothing happened.

"Hey whore, do you know what 'back pressure' is?" he asked. She burbled something in response, and he released his hoof.

A firehose steam of pent-up piss blasted her directly in the face, washing away the drying streaks of jizz, drenching her mane and ears and running down directly into the bowl. With her neck already stretched she had nowhere to go, and could only sit there and take it as he used her as a urinal. He pissed for half a minute, and when the last spurts trickled out he saw that her nose was now submerged, completely depriving her of air.

She held her breath, thrashing around and trying to break free. Pigpen dismounted the machine and pulled up his chair, sitting down to enjoy the show. Ten seconds later she went still, before pushing her hind legs out against the weights.

It was clearly a struggle--her maximum weight must not have been set after a day's confinement in excruciating bondage while buried alive in hot garbage between a hoofful of rapes and near-asphyxiations.

Her legs finally extended, and she screamed with relief once her head rose from the mire, piss draining out of her ring-gagged mouth as she took desperate, gulping breaths. A few seconds later, the ratchet click-click-clicked, and the machine sunk back down. Her groan of misery turned into a burble as her face slipped under. She was quick off the mark the second time, pushing her legs out quickly and cleanly, taking several measured breaths before sinking once more. Pigpen watched with amusement as she rose and sunk over and over, opening a bag of corn chips and leaning back in his seat.

Lightning Dust didn't falter until the twenty-second rep. She screeched with rage, only able to push her nostrils clear before the machine dunked her again. She cleared the piss completely on the next rep, but it was a losing battle. After thirty reps she fell still, no longer struggling.

Pigpen disinterestedly looked up from a purloined medical textbook and looked at her flattened-back ears as she twitched miserably. "It says here," he said between mouthfuls of corn chips, "that when you do a bunch of exercise, you build up lactic acid in your muscles. It's the same chemical that makes milk go sour. I never knew that!"

He didn't get out of his seat. He had a suspicion that Lightning Dust had more in her, and was simply wagering that he wouldn't let her drown. Maybe she realised that if he would let her die, it might not be the worst idea to end it quickly. She was right on both counts, but it didn't matter--her life support collar was still attached, and Pigpen planned on abusing her for a long time indeed, long after he'd returned the obedient whore to his friend. Lightning Dust could rest for a while, and feel like she was drowning the entire time, but the darkness would not have her. He figured she'd hold out for two minutes before trying to push free again.

She lasted ninety seconds.

The first time she breached the surface, she couldn't breathe -- she had to stay still and let the urine drain out of her throat and lungs. The second time she coughed and hacked, the third she finally took a few desperate, sobbing breaths, and by the sixth rep she was losing strength again. On the ninth she sunk under, doomed to repeat the entire miserable cycle.

This time, a different set of sounds came from the bucket. Pigpen glanced up at her, and saw the level of piss in the bucket slowly dropping. She was trying to drink her way out! She locked eyes with him for a split second, cringed pathetically with her nostrils barely free of the liquid, and went back down to drink more of it.

Pigpen clapped his hooves together in applause, grinning widely, and got out of his seat. "Good, real good!" he said. "You're starting to get it, starting to understand your role in life. You're a urinal. You're built of draining cocks of anything that comes out, and you'll be slurping down a lot of piss in the future."

Her breath caught in her throat as he condescendingly patted her mane.

"I'm afraid you've misunderstood the point of this game, though," he sighed. "You're going to break, slut. You're not going to obey because anyone is forcing you, you're going to obey because it's unthinkable to do anything else. You can'd do anything to stop your suffering. The only pony who can end your suffering is me, and you have no power over me. By the time you leave this filthy, stinking basement of mine, you won't just obey me because my hooves are on your neck, you'll obey me even if your hooves are on my neck."

He walked out of her view, and returned with another gallon jug of urine. "Thus, I must teach you the futility of clever little tricks to stop the pain, even when they amuse me. Got another jug of piss for you, nice and fresh from the stallion's urinals in Ponyville. We picked up a few of these during your ride, and I can't wait to see how many we get through..."

He poured cold urine directly onto Lightning Dust's head this time, filling up the bucket until her eyes were submerged, and then sat back down with another beer, laughing as the fresh bucket got another few leg presses out of her. She soon began drowning between desperate, wobbly thrusts, and the gaps between each successful rep grew larger and larger. Eventually she could push no more.

After a full five minutes of futile, impotent struggle, he walked up to the machine and re-rigged it. Her hind legs were now immobilized and her front legs could push up and down against the weights, once more set for 75% of her maximum weight. She quickly shot up from the mess, the piss draining from her lungs as the ratchet clicked, sank back under, and shot up again, coughing and clearing her throat. Satisfied with his efforts, Pigpen returned to his chair to snack, read, and watch.

It took forty minutes for the cycle to repeat itself. Effort led to exhaustion, exhaustion led to drowning, drowning led to panic, panic led to further effort, over and over, tiring faster and drowning for longer each time. She vomited in the first ten minutes, making the bucket overflow with backwashed piss and making Pigpen roar with laugher.

When she just couldn't push any more, Pigpen waked over and switched up the machine, unlocking a hinge in the middle of the board so she could do leg lifts. This torture lasted more than an hour, in part due to Lightning Dust's phenomenal core strength, and in part due to Pigpen leaving her to drown for a full fifteen minutes before switching to her wings. Once her wings were exhausted, he isolated a different set of muscles on her front legs, this time pulling in instead of pushing out. It took a full four hours and another half-gallon of piss to go through every major muscle group her could isolate on the machine.

He removed the bucket and threw the contents over her, soaking her in the disgusting mixture. She didn't resist when he fed her a bottle of water, but Pigpen chalked that up to disorientation rather than submission. As she coughed weakly, he gathered a tray of devices stolen from Ponyville Hospital and hooked them up, checking her pulse, her blood-oxygen levels and other vital signs. They weren't great, certainly not for an athlete, but they weren't yet lethal or crippling, so he filled the bucket with another gallon and a half of piss. This time she really screamed, until the liquid cut her off. He hooked her hind legs back up to the press, the very first exerise she'd done, and repeated everything.

It took far less time on the second go. She was completely exhausted in less than two hours, and a third of that time had been her twitching impotently while she drowned. Pigpen had expected more of a Wonderbolt trainee, but he realized that he had suffocated, overheated, and crushed her under garbage for an entire day beforehand. Everyone ran out of steam sooner or later.

Maybe he should feed her, he thought.

He removed the bucket, straddled the stool it had been mounted on as piss dripped ran down his captive's face, and shoved his cock in her mouth.

"Gweh..."

"Shut the fuck up," he said, ramming his hips forward and making her gag weakly. "Giving blowjobs is a privilege, whore. Obedient mares get to suck cock, stupid cunts like you get their throats fucked."

Lightning Dust gave absolutely no struggle as he fucked her throat like a pussy. All she could do was gurgle in pain as his rancid shaft pushed inside her. He took a few long, comfortable strokes before slamming in as hard as he could, smushing his balls up against her chin and battering her nose with his pubic bone. He felt a crunch after an especially vicious stroke, and as he pulled out blood drizzled out from her nostrils onto his shaft. He didn't even slow down.

It took him a frustratingly long time to cum--probably more frustrating for the mare impaled on his dick--and as he felt his balls clench, he pulled out of her throat and left only the tip inside her mouth so she could taste every drop of jizz. He was doing her a favor by washing the piss away, he thought.

He stepped back and admired his captive. She was desolate. Her eyes were bloodshot, barely conscious, cum and spit poured down her bottom lip, her face twisted into a clownish rictus by the ring gag, her whole body covered in a layer of piss and slime, utterly wretched. Pigpen felt a small glow of pride. Even the most stubborn ones looked like this after one of his games but a few hours later they'd usually get pouty and bitchy again. When a whore ended one session like this and entered the next like this, that's when he could truly start to mould her.

He saw her shivering, and frowned. Her internal temperature was probably dropping, and treating hypothermia was a pain in the rump. It was time to give her another rest. He gave her more water, rubbed her dry with a filthy towel, and draped a space blanket over her to keep her warm. He was going to get some shut-eye, but before he went upstairs he set up a film projector to keep her entertained.

The screen flickered to life with a film of another fun encounter that him, Thunderlane and a few others had set up last year. They had kidnapped a mailmare and her daughter, locked them in a basement bar in Manehattan, and used them as pleasure toys for two days. Twenty stallions took turns raping the teenager on a dirty mattress, and after each one had their turn, they made the mother lick her cunt clean of cum and blood. The sounds of rape and humiliation played directly into a set of headphones that he'd strapped over Lightning Dust's ears, and although he had just blown his load, the first few minutes watching a griffon force his barbed cock into a bawling daughter's cunt made his loins stir. He considered raping Lighting Dust again, but decided against it and went upstairs, leaving her to rest for the duration of the movie.

She'd need all the strength she could muster for the next bit.