Fall of Equestria: The Princess’ Diary

I am...not quite sure how many days have passed since I last had the opportunity to access this journal - has it been 10 days? Two weeks? During all this time I have been with Anvari, being forced to learn the basic manners of a submissive sex slave. I loathe having to relive the events of the past days in my mind, but the Caribou’s crimes must be recorded, so they may be brought to justice when the time comes.

The morning after the audience I was roused from my quarters by Anvari, and marched to what had formerly been the castle’s cellar. The Caribou are in the process of converting the place into a dungeon of sorts; a number of cells had already been constructed, and heavy iron doors were being set in place. I saw several unfortunate mares being held there, restrained and undergoing various forms of sexual torture. Many of them were blindfolded, hooded and gagged, and completely at the mercy of their assailants. Seeing my ponies being abused like that was heart wrenching. Their black collars indicate that this is a fate that befalls those of us who choose to resist - I think I recognized Spitfire being violated by a strange plant of sorts, although the great many tentacles slithering over and inside her body made it difficult to be certain.

From there I was led to a room at the back of the dungeon, where Anvari dismissed the guards and locked the metal door behind us. The cell was filled with various strange tools, instruments and constructs that I was not familiar with; I could only guess what debauched form of torture I was about to undergo.

Anvari then addressed me for the first time. He is a thinly-built yet muscular bull who is very tall in stature, even amongst his people. Like most of Dainn’s inner circle he is older than many of the foot soldiers I have seen - the fine lines on his face and flecks of grey hair littering his otherwise dark mane betray the onset of middle age. His eyes are are blue and piercing, and he bears a constant, stern look devoid of warmth and compassion.

He is apparently the Caribou Master of Bloodlines, responsible for producing the strongest offspring to supposedly ensure the continued existence of their kind. As a consequence, he considers females to be little more than cattle to be mated and bred for their physical qualities. He made it quite clear he doesn’t regard me as a princess, much less a pony; to him I am just a body to be broken, to be made to serve. This was exemplified by the fact that he wouldn’t even give me the dignity of calling me by my name, preferring the use of insulting epithets instead.

The savage then roughly forced me to the ground and inserted two toys into my nethers, holding them in place with a chastity belt. To my dismay, my vision was taken away by a blindfold that Anvari tied around my head, presumably to disorient me and reduce my capacity to resist. I had been dreading this moment, but it did provide an insight into Caribou culture. Unsurprisingly it was every bit as warped and barbaric a way of life as I have come to expect from them.

In order to impose their ways on Equestria, enslaved mares are made to undergo what the Caribou call “training”, so that they learn to behave in such a way that is deemed appropriate by these perverted brutes. There is a strict gender separation between males and females, which seems to be central in the Caribou’s heinous culture - males are the dominant members of society, whereas females are regarded as inferior in all aspects and expected to behave submissively at all times.

Mares are to acknowledge their place and are required to respectfully address males as “masters”. When greeting a stallion or bull, we are expected to bow deeply on our hands and knees. Each morning, I was made to prostrate myself before Anvari with my face and chest touching the floor, while keeping my rear raised up. In this humiliating position I was to greet him with the words:

“Good morning, Master Anvari. I am your humble servant, please use me however you wish.”

I was then to listen intently to his commands and follow them to the letter - or just left to bow until he was content with my degradation. Only when permission was given was I allowed to move and raise myself up from the ground. Not even then was I allowed any initiative - in the presence of a male, assuming we are not being abused by them, mares are required to assume this strange posture by kneeling, straightening our backs, and placing our hands on our knees. Furthermore, we are required to bow our heads in deference, submissively awaiting any order they might give us. No eye contact may be made unless commanded, nor may we speak unless we are spoken to. Every demand made must be acknowledged by speaking the words:

“Yes, master.”

As sex slaves, no order, no matter how vile or depraved, may be refused; a mare or cow must obey and carry it out immediately, without hesitation. We are regarded as nothing but sex objects, and may therefore never hide our intimate areas from the roving, lustful eyes of a stallion or bull - we are expected to proudly display our bodies without dignity or restraint, and are not even afforded clothes unless our masters desire so. Females in Caribou culture exist to serve the whims of the males, whether these are carnal in nature or not, and as such all our needs and desires are considered subservient to theirs.

These manners have been the focus of my own reeducation over this past period, during which I was subjected to this basic slave training from sunrise until sunset. Needless to say, I performed none of these actions willingly. I spoke my mind, rebuking the Caribou’s disgusting teachings and returning his disrespect at every available opportunity. But Anvari is a strict disciplinarian, and every perceived transgression was consistently met with prompt punishment. My wing sheaths caused me significant discomfort when that infernal rod was passed over them; other tortures the merciless brute seemed particularly fond of were the flog and paddle. I initially refused to comply, resisting fiercely and taking my beatings as well as I could. But over time pain…can cow even the strongest spirits. I found myself anticipating and fearing my punishment, and gradually caved in to his demands, albeit very reluctantly. It was obedience through pain compliance, nothing else.

In addition to behavioral training, I was also introduced to some of the Caribou’s twisted ideology, with which they attempted to indoctrinate me. At every turn, Anvari confronted me with the “fact” that mares are somehow worthless, inferior creatures that need to be enslaved and dominated to properly function in society. The fallacies he used to justify his views were how my sister and I were unable to foresee nor prevent the fall of our capital city; how the princesses were responsible for leading Equestria into peril; how easily I was bested and enslaved by Dainn, who is supposedly the strong male leader that will keep this country safe.

Nothing could be farther from the truth! Equestria was built on mutual respect and cooperation between the sexes, and our peaceful society was testimony to this. Anvari did not tolerate dissent however, continuing his rhetoric and brushing our achievements off as the ramblings of “a deluded female riding the coattails of males, falsely claiming the praise due to them”. Again and again, under threat of punishment, I was coerced into “admitting” my failures and weaknesses, and forced to “acknowledge” my place as a mere slave, and denied any sense of modesty and dignity.

In the obscene ways that I am begrudgingly becoming accustomed to, my reserved, noble way of speaking was severely frowned upon. Instead I was required to speak in the manner of a common harlot, or as they call it, a slut. To stimulate my moral degradation, I was forced to use coarse terms instead - I was made to beg to be “fucked”; my rear was now to be called my “ass” and my vagina, well, my “cunt”. The latter, rather humiliatingly, is also what I am to call myself when affirming my place. The filthier the language Anvari coaxed out of me, the greater reward I was given - in the form of pleasure.

The two toys I was made to wear were vibrators, magically enhanced to induce intense pleasure when switched on, or take it away immediately when they were switched off. This way the wretched bull was able to accurately mete out pleasure when I complied to an extent; whenever I showed any sign or resistance or refusal, no matter how subtle, he immediately switched off the vibrations. This often left me frustratingly close to the edge; only when I performed or recited my lessons exactly to Anvari’s wishes I was rewarded gratuitously. The orgasms I was forced to experience as a result were intense like nothing I have ever experienced. What kind of utterly depraved mind would invent such an enchantment?

The Caribou seemed to particularly delight in seeing me shuddering and squirting violently with climax, repeatedly claiming that I “moan and cum like a common whore” while I gasped for air and regained my senses. He continuously insinuated this was my true, repressed nature rather than the dignified princess I claimed to be - a lesson that I was forced to repeat often, after being made to thank my abuser for the “privilege” of being allowed to orgasm.

This demeaning method of conditioning continued relentlessly throughout every session. Even at night I was given little rest, presumably to tire me out and reduce my will to resist. After sundown I was strapped onto a mattress eagle spread, after which a strange opaque film was pulled over my body, sealing me in place and resulting in complete restriction of movement. Breathing was only possible through a tube Anvari inserted into my mouth; I felt completely helpless in this state.

Unbeknownst to me, my forced admissions were recorded, and replayed to me continuously as a method of indoctrination. With my sight and movement taken away, I was forced to focus and listen to myself, repeating my lessons over and over again. It was vexing, humiliating to hear myself grovel in front of my uncultured, savage trainer; hearing my own voice moaning and calling myself a whore, a cunt, a pathetic, useless sex slave not even worthy of licking his hooves.

I suffered through these brainwashing attempts until my eyelids drooped with weariness, and my voice recordings faded into faint background chatter. These brief moments of rest were not to last however - periodically my vibrators went off, waking me up whenever I fell asleep. Every time I came to, my voice seemed to drill into my mind even louder than before until I was forced to climax - after which this horrible, insidious cycle repeated itself until dawn.

It was hard to deny that this brutal treatment had its intended effect. As the nights passed I became almost happy to be released from the confines of my bed, and my state exhaustion made any effective mental resistance extremely taxing. Only after showing good behavior was I allowed a measure of rest, after which my grueling ordeal continued unabated.

Apparently satisfied I had learned some measure of basic slave behavior and manners, Anvari decided to temporarily return me to my quarters, where I have been kept in relative comfort for the last couple of days. I am dreading the resumption of my training, but I must stand proud for my ponies, and for Equestria.

Exhausted, sore but unbowed,

- Princess Celestia