Gilda Bulks Out

Chapters

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Epilogue

Prologue

"Absolutely not, Gilda."

"Aw, come on, dude!"

Bulk Biceps wasn't a divine alicorn, but he did serve as one's captain. He looked the part of a warrior-priest, of a paladin devoted to overwhelming life. On his own, he cut a massive, massively muscled figure at nine feet tall with breadth like a fortification wall, muscles like a relief map of the rolling Coltish Highlands (only white, not green), and a jaw like a ramming prow. Even his single golden earring seemed almost piratical.

If pirates were prone to shouting out, "Yeah!" rather than, "Arr!" as the enthusiastic equivalent of an um.

He was naked, too, chiseled physique in sharp relief, and the fat, oversized cannon between his legs on obscene display. Other than the fact that it wasn't rock-hard, and preferably in her, that was just the way his wife liked things.

His gigantic griffon wife, a good three and a half feet taller than he. Gilda Griffon, Tribune of the Immunes Adversi Tenebras Magicas, Priestess of the Flyer, and widely acknowledged as the physical ideal of what griffons thought they should be. Diversely trained in both the Discipline-Savagery ways of the Griffon Legions, and the Righteous Soldier of the Pegasopolitan traditions, she was considered to be a tactical, strategic, and logistic wunderkind by both the notoriously praise-scant Griffon High Command and the notoriously parochial Cloudsdale Aerial Committee.

His gigantic, badass griffon wife, who was currently pouting at him, naked, nips hard, and holding up the spiked collar she had in mind.

Tartarus, Bulk thought, the GHC is still cultivating her to join them after marrying me, yeah! He smiled to himself as he looked over her naked body. She was every bit as musclebound as he, was, on a frame more than a third again taller than his. It showed everywhere, from gigantic eighty-inch biceps to the enormous pecs behind her lovely G-cup breasts, down through the columnar majesty of her thighs and calves.

His lip twisted into a half smile. Usually abs from here to breakfast, he thought with a great wonder filling his heart and hardening his cock. She lit his fuse even more now, though. Because instead of her rock-hard, rigid abdominals, all he could see was the positively massive bulge of her belly, bigger even relatively than the biggest nine-footer hyper mares at eleven months… and she was only at month six of what Fluttershy had told them would be a solid year.

Gilda's rage at being told she'd be benched from combat after a mere five months, just before their wedding, had been something to behold. Even more so given that most griffons and mares fought until the last two months or closer. Only he had wished to observe it from much further away, especially when his goddess-boss had told Gilda that she'd actually have to be grounded for her safety and that of the hippogrifflets after nine months.

The purest rage hadn't lasted. Nonetheless, the raw, gorgeous fury of his warrior-bride roaring, screeching and throwing up ship-hawser corded arms had been beautiful to Bulk. It hadn't lasted long, because Fluttershy had included a little gift when she'd pushed the two of them together.

Griffons valued children at least as much as ponies, after all.

And being blessed with five hybrids, when hybridization required significant magical power in the first place had been enough to get Gilda asking if Bulk wouldn't mind her making out with Fluttershy then and there in thanks. All fury forgotten in a heartbeat when that factoid popped up.

Can't lie, he thought cheerfully, his prick now completely rock-solid and four feet long with pre starting to dribble from the tip. Wouldn't have minded at all. Flutters had demurred, her own relationship, while open, being in an odd place then, but the image still felt good.

Almost as good as his Gilda's huge, weapon-calloused hand closing over as much of his throbbing tool as she could manage-- not nearly all the way, not with eight solid inches of diameter as an average-- just behind the head of his sensitive flare. He groaned with pleasure, toes curling and wings fluttering from the expert handling. Licking her long beak, she squeezed and rubbed, adding her other hand to finally clasp across the entire thickness she considered hers.

Given they'd been married once before the Flyer, her clan, and representatives of her legion, and had just been married directly by the mare who was Bulk's goddess, she had a fairly good claim. Even if the princesses weren’t worshipped much openly.

She dropped her jaw in a predatorial griffon smile and said, "See? Ya like the idea, mook." For added bribery, she pointed the lube-drooling tip right at her already swelling melons. He was briefly distracted by the thought of just how big they might get by the end of the pregnancy, but caught up with her logic. Or what she called logic; even he could see some of the flaws.

He shook his head, shaking his short mane fiercely. "I said no kink, Gilda," he told her, folding his arms over his broad chest and staring unflinchingly up into the eyes he adored so. "We did the first, second, an' third ceremonies the griffon way. I want this my way. Do I gotta safeword here?"

That pout. A twelve-foot-six supermax predator-- with a beak, no less-- shouldn't have been able to manage a comfortable simulation of a lip-quivering pout, but there his wife went, utterly adorable. He raised an eyebrow, steeling himself, determined to not be walked all over on this point.

His patience won out. "Oh, fine!" Gilda growled at him, and threw the collar messily off to a side, nearby the dildos and the floggers from last night. "You going to just complain about things, then?"

Cute, but he wasn't after cute right now. Even if he didn't want to play dominance and submission games at the moment, he still wanted her. All of her. Every mega-amazonian giantess inch and pound of her four yards and change, multiton warrior's body, the grouchy mind, and wonderful soul within. He grinned, "Nah, got a better use for my mouth."

Gilda sneered. "You'd better, pony," she threatened, for all it didn't disturb his aplomb. "Or I'mma tattoo my name on this pretty stick with my talons!" Her fingers didn't pop a single inch of her savage natural weaponry, just gripping and fondling with more of her masturbatory expertise. But each new splurt of his precum brought a hardening of her face, and he knew that, deliciously hyperpregnant or not, Gilda would try something… griffonish… if he didn't act soon.

So he cut to the chase-- as it were-- and stepped in close, fucking his giant dick through the tight hole of her grasping hands. Like he was fucking her tightwad ass from the front. He shoved the already pre-covered tip up over the lovely padding of her vastly pregnant belly, and into the soft invitation of her gorgeous breasts, like… uh… the folds of her sex?

No, that's not right, Bulk told himself. G's pussy is exquisite, but it's nowhere near as gentle as those boobs. Gentle was not really one of the things that his wife indulged in much. He shrugged a bit, and just as she looked like she was going to start ranting, he grabbed her elbows and hauled her down towards him, fast.

He had to be careful to tilt Gilda slightly so the giant heft of his cock didn't get between his lips and her beak. Still, he kissed her hard, ignoring the sharpness as his tongue pressed into her mouth. Her jaw dropped again, in pleasure rather than sarcasm this time.

The huge griffon groaned into Bulk's kiss, the warm strength of her tongue wrestling aggressively with his; but otherwise, she just melted against his body. Her heavy belly was first against him, and he felt the life running through her and them in a great, expanding circle. This would be neither the first time nor the last he'd help carry the load of their children-to-be.

It was poetry that even his sometimes… blunt.. mind could appreciate.

Her sculpted, superb arms followed, wrapping around his shoulders as her welcoming breasts pressed tight to his pumped pecs. At that, the heavy pair did their own wrapping around the throb of his cock. He had a "cheat," as she called it; his hyper strength was vastly superior, not just pound for pound, but in absolute terms, especially when coupled with his cutie mark. She found this to be absolutely awful, just terrible, and highly offensive when they were sparring. Which was even more offensive now that she couldn't spar with anyone safely.

In moments like these, with an intimacy between hayculean pony and amazonian giantess, she gave him her full, pussy-gushing approval.

Strong hands, wandering, possessive, and loving, trailed up to his fifty-inch biceps, squeezing fondly before tracing over the masses of his triceps, supporting their flashier bi-cousins as they always did. Gilda might object to his extra strength, but she adored his muscularity, the apex of his bodybuilding talent. Especially now that she considered his hide and anything beneath her personal territory, she could get all kinds of creamy just exploring him with her fingers. Or her tongue.

She made ample use of both, and her height advantage too. Holding the kiss for but a little while, she soon broke off to lean across him, smooshing his face into her giant left melon, forcing her already-lactating nipple into his mouth while she preened at the tough muscles basing his wings. "Yes, damn you, pony!" she hissed at him. "Use those sweet fuckin' lips of yours like the first time you came onto me!"

Bulk suckled hungrily, tasting her rich milk. He considered that to be yet another "historical revision" of Gilda's; she'd been basically jerking him off before shoving her tit in his face nipple-first anyway. All the while roaring a mating challenge-display at him. A little unfair, yeah, he thought, but wisely said nothing.

Because he was getting giant Gilda boob. In the face. And her long tongue felt so good on his back, and he definitely appreciated the massaging those long, strong fingers were giving his tight butt. He held her up, her whole massive body, in an easy grip, and she took full advantage, caressing and exploring his body while he nursed at her breast.

Eventually, he broke the liplock and smiled up at her, nipping at her neck the way she liked. While she hissed and cursed at him in the same loving way she always did, Bulk quietly said, "I love you."

Suddenly he wasn't so much holding up Gilda as holding her as she squirmed her bulk against her Bulk (him) as much as she could. Flutters had told him griffons tended to be private about expressions of non-antagonistic affection, so she wasn't sure what effect pony romanticisms might have. The answer-- at least for Gilda Griffon, and wasn't she in her own words the pinnacle of griffdom?-- was apparently, "electric."8

She trailed beak kisses and long slurps over his wing muscles, over his back, tracing the expanse of traps and delts and lats while cooing in wonder. Her hands shifted from squeezing his butt to cupping the tops of his enormous balls in front. Fingers rubbing and pleasuring them frantically, she focused on him as though she was in a panic that he might disappear. "Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!" was her refrain, somehow being a whispered scream of primal need, her scent filling Bulk's nostrils like his own personal heaven.

(Like the one the Flyer and Flutters said they'd worked out for their afterlives, as a wedding present)

So, no fool, Bulk said it again. "I love you, Gilda Griffon," he told her with a quiet groan. Immediately, that started her beautifully pregnant belly bouncing against him, and the hard gorgeousness of the rest of her crawling over him. He just had to give a quirky smile. This, too, was contentment.

Then he literally lifted her completely up off the ground and off him. In a flash, he trailed his own kisses from her milk-laden breasts to her heavily loaded belly. He took his time, nuzzling and kissing everywhere along the golden brown fur. On a whim, he even licked with lingering flicks of his tongue at her once-innie-now-outie belly button. He roughly rumbled, "Got plenty of use for my lips that ain't complainin'."

Gilda was blushing brightly now, her nares flushed, pinkness under white feathers, and red under brown along her fur right down her arms to her wrists. Still, she was a tribune and a priestess of the Disciplined Savage, the Flyer. She growled, groaned, and almost squeaked, "Show me!" at him. So, laughing, he carefully hoisted her up onto their tall bed, laying her down on her back. With her thunderstorm thighs spread as wide as she could to take him, the lovely pink of her needy sex nearly winked at him, pony style.

He knew what his lady needed.

She couldn't see him, not over the hump of her curvaceous mega-tum. He put every part of his smile into his voice, rumbling, "My pleasure, yeah!" With that, he worshipfully kissed along the tensing, twitching muscles of her inner thigh. Perfect definition, the bodybuilder in him whispered. Lovely mass, the 'lifter in him cheered. But his heart screamed, Pleasure your fem! and that was all any of him really cared about.

Bulk went to work as Gilda roared out an almost leonid, wordless rush of sound. The bed trembled, her control tested with every light nip and loving kiss along the sensitive, super-strong flesh of her inner thighs. She could have turned it to flinders with a pinky, but she held it. After all, she had every ounce of discipline he had and more. That said, they had the measure of the bed’s strength now, so he knew they wouldn't have to ask Flutters to fix their bed with divine magic.

Again.

This week.

It was time to stop teasing, and to start making himself a cat-bird hat.

Pony lips were a "cheating" element that she had no beef with, at least. Bulk curved his finger-like upper lip against her clit as he kissed her twitching nethers. Taking his time, he stroked his strong tongue along her puffy vulva and swirled it around for new tastes of her honey.

It worked. She roared again, trailing off into squawks as his tongue explored her. He'd dined deep on griffon pussy a lot since they formalized their relationship-- fighting each other in a ritual arena, natch-- but he loved swirling his tongue deep in her no less. Every time he tasted her, every time his tongue excited another wave of core-deep clenches from his Gilda, it got him all the harder, knowing how much pleasure he gave her.

She'd told him once that griffons, especially big griffly griffs like her, did not squeal like ponies. Maybe her ex-boytoys, when she did them. Prostates were like that, she'd informed him with an evil snap-beak grin.

Later, Gilda had informed him that his grin when he'd first made her squeal like a virgin in heat was unacceptably smug. And evil. And that he needed to either do that again or knock it off. Since he had what his father had warned him was "a smile that made mares itch to punch your jaw or ride your face," he decided to do the that in question yet again.

Get her to ride his face and squeal like that again, that is. And so he did so again now, his lip tugging faster left and right over her throbbing clitty. His insistent loving made her cry out and call him all kinds of foul names, almost threats. Of course, all the while she cursed him out, her potent arms reached around the hulk of her pregnancy to adoringly caress his ears.

He didn’t mind. It was just her being a griffon. He didn’t need sweet praises from her; her body told him how much she loved him too. There was no way he would let it rest with just that, though. After all, Flutters had very firmly assured him that a pleasured momma was good for her incoming babies-- and better for the momma's relaxation, which was Bulk's whole world right now.

Pleasing his fem. Building a future with her. Eating out the most primo griffon snatch in the whole world, if he did say so himself.

Except Bulk couldn't really say much at the moment; his face was full of said primo griffon snatch. His nostrils flared every time she gushed over his tongue, every time he felt her thighs tighten and tremble as she wanted to let go of her spread. Eventually, the cooes and whimpers reached a fever pitch, so he brought out a yelp of protest when he stopped. He knew how to deal with that, and got a rumbling purr out of her when he leaned up to kiss her belly. He reminded her, "You can't hurt me unless you try, Gilda. Let your sexy legs free. I wanna wear you like the best hat ever."

Gilda came explosively from just the offer-- the offer and the aftershocks-- so he ducked his head down to wriggle his tongue inside her clenching cunny once more. Legs like crashing mountains slammed across his head, massive calves crossing behind his ears. Ears that were ringing from the force, a head that was a bit stunned, but all it took was a needy cry from his griffon for him to get back to work drilling his tongue deep into her.

His prehensile upper lip got back in the action, squeezing and teasing her honey-drenched lips and periodically flicking her clitty. Extra effort got him extra bounce out of his wife, even before she managed to anchor her arms on the far side of the bed. From there, she used the leverage to bounce her body, extra mass from the pregnancy and all, against his blunt muzzle. He loved it. Not least from how her delightful derriere bounced hard against his chest while her craggy-mountain thighs bounced off his shoulders.

"FUCK!" she howled again. "Gonna ride you like a hat!" Bulk didn't laugh; he found her weird endearments even nicer than her cursing, and that's what he wanted her to do to him anyway. She was into it all the way, grinding up and down on his shoulders and face like they were making a very, very strange cross between a getaway run and a piggyback ride. Huge muscles that he knew could crush boulders squeezed around his head, her heels rubbing hard into his wingbases.

He kept his tongue plunging into her. Kept using her sensitive sex to drive pleasure through those gorgeously giant muscles harder. His wins were her squeals of pleasure, but he considered every super-flexed cabled bulge around his head to be a victory lap. So lap on he did, while his lips showed why ponies didn't just invent oral sex, they mastered it.

No matter what the stupid bears said.

His actual fingers weren't idle, either. He loved Gilda's butt third best of her physical features after her breasts, which of course were still a second to her delicious muscles, but he loved all of her, so what was he thinking about again?

Duh, he reminded himself. You're eating her out, and still doing a good job, since she isn't clawing your back up. But he was also fondling her ass, squeezing and fondling the tough glutes and pretty padding on top. He'd made her blush complimenting her bubble, too, after all. Not least by going on about how much he loved the way it felt, whether in his hands, or wrapped around his dick.

That was one of the native blessings of being a hyper. Griffon males weren't so outrageously overcocked as to need quite so much copulatory compatibility magic, which could put a dampener on later stage or high-number pregnancies. But he had magic in more than muscles, and the fertility that ran through him even without Fluttershy's magic was more than just about planting the seed. It was about protecting the mate and the offspring.

With the magic of Life and Kindness running through him, he couldn't hurt either the fetuses or his female by having sex with them.

Which was good, because Gilda liked doing things griffon style, which meant rough. And when she had enough oral, she just grabbed his huge shoulders in her huge hands, and hauled him up. He'd gotten her to not bring out the collar, or the floggers, or the cane again, but she would not be having gentle sex unless she needed comfort or reassurance.

Tartarus, he thought as he rested carefully against her lovely, pregnant belly. I'm not exactly sayin' no to doin' this the fun way myself! Bulk had always enjoyed sex with hypers, or body-bonus marked normals, better, just because-- well. Athletic. It was kind of his thing.

A fierce smile flared along his lips, while his hands rubbed her pregnancy-swollen belly, caressing lovingly. "You ready for this?" he asked, knowing questions like that drove her crazy. Still, as she wordlessly screeched at him, impatient and demanding, he kissed his way up to her milk-leaking melons.

Then she stopped him with a word. Well, two; "Fuck no," she growled, just as his flare came up to her still quivering sex. She dropped her jaw in another beaky smile-- a smirk, at that. "I'm bored with your pussy fixation, dweeb," she told him. "Get goin' with stuffing more." As he laughed, she switched her legs on him, pumping vast thighs and hard calves, bracing her heels on his shoulders and curving her toes around, pushing said calves up against his head. "You waitin' for an invitation?" she snorted, clacking her beak. "Or you need a guide, like last time?"

"Oh, fuck you, Gilda," Bulk snorted back at her, and as she snapped something about hurrying up with that, he grabbed her juicy-thick thighs with the strength of his hands. Carefully, both of their bodies well-braced, he dipped his tight hips, and brought the immensely broad, flared tip of his pre-coated cock up to her world-class ass. "As requested, then," he told her with a smug grin, and thrusted up, hard.

He wasn't quite as over-proportionate as he'd be with a mare his own size. Those extra three and a half feet Gilda had on him in height spread out in gloriously lush three dimensions. As a result, her bouncing bubble butt nearly jiggled on an ass-lover's level with several goddesses of his prior intimate acquaintance. And it was all his to plunder. To dick-delve deep into, forcing her to stretch despite that size differential. To make her tight ring submit and give way to his invading member.

Grunts and quips at each other gave way to a loud crack as skin met skin and glutes met cock when he popped the flare in wetly. Immediately, Gilda’s greedy asshole squeezed his huge dick hard just behind the rim. She clenched all the harder as he didn’t stop, refused to stop, and plowed her back nine but good.

Precum slicked his way, but only so much. His hyper magic forced her powerful form to give way, to make her body conform to his throbbing tool's pulsing pressure. She roared at him again, interspersed with pleasured yowls. It wasn’t just his lube, either; the constant gush of her sex down from her lips dribbled onto his shaft while it thrust deeper still.

Then she got really impatient. Snarling, Gilda hauled him forward, feet on his shoulders. He didn’t need words to tell him just how eager she was to have her ass pounded harder. Gotta satisfy your fem, Bulk, he told himself

This was an invasion she didn't just tolerate, she demanded. Bulk loved giving her what she wanted. What she needed. He didn’t need her help with that any more than he needed instructions. So he scooped her bulging, thick thighs up along his chest, kissing his way from quad to knee to calf, bracing her. "I'm goin' all the way in," he told her and grinned when she growled at him for moving her feet. "Don't worry about pulling. You just lay back and enjoy your stallion."

A loud moan escaped his giant wife's throat. "Dammit, fucking pony, fucking pony romance…" she snarled happily. "Bring it!"

Which of course, he did, slamming his flat hips forward. It was his turn to flex and pump hard along his chiseled legs, swinging himself back and forth, driving deeper each time. Once he had her legs up high and he was close enough, he did the polite thing and reached around the redwood prominence of her thighs. His supple fingers found her drenched pussy, and as he forced the immense, juicy thickness of his medial ring into the clenching tightness of her ass, he had his merry, pony way with that too.

Bulk didn't last much longer. His cutie mark was in strength and lifting, not endurance. And while there were reps, indeed, there was only so much any stallion, any male could do like this. Not with his beloved wife bearing down with all her considerable strength, clenching her anus over his pounding cock, screaming profanity at him to encourage him to fuck harder, to give her a ride and the babies a bounce.

He obliged Gilda, gritting his teeth even as his toes curled on the edge of orgasm. His triceps tensed, a slow, broad bulk of their own beneath his biceps as the pure feel of his massive maleness pounding into that amazonian tightness started to work him over the edge. The sound of her strong hands caressing her fat tits, milking herself back against her own cleavage was an elysian accompaniment. All of it twined with scent and feel alike so hard through all of him that he could barely see his beloved's beauty.

He knew it was there all the same, a red flush working its way over him that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Nor did it have anything to do with the physical heat that was driving sweat to outline every pumped muscle in a glisten of its own. A kiss became a nip, and she smacked him in the face for biting her lower leg-- despite the marks from her beak and talons on his back from the first time he'd made her really lose control

As she squeezed and squeezed and squeezed her tight anal muscles around his invading cock, Bulk let out a long, rumbling whinny, his tail lashing hard behind him. "Soon," he crooned at her, shuddering, but he wanted her. Needed her. For all her protests, he fumbled his hands around to grab her hands and clasp them tight, making up for pulling her away from her breasts by pulling hard at her immovable might, pounding deeper into the super-muscled griffon.

His griffon. He closed his eyes, tilting his head and resting the right side against Gilda's upraised, quivering calves. Another elysian moment for a simple masseuse-cum-soldier; a blissful pillow, like every part of her, hard or soft. His heavy, full balls slapped off her tensing tush, and she let out a near songbird trill, squealing, "Mine! Gimme!"

A short, huffing series of laughs escaped his throat as he kissed feverishly at the sculpted mass of her calves again. No nips this time, just loving presses of his lips, adoring licks along the strength he admired so much. Her hands clenched around his, and he felt a smugness with the slight sting as she lost some of her grip on her talons, the hard ridges poking against his hard hide.

"Fuck soon!" she roared at him. "Now! Fill me now, stupid pony!"

So he did, his roar meeting hers, two deep bellows of triumph moving as one. His nuts unleashed their heavy cargo into her waiting body, filling her, inflating her even more. His seed rushed into her ass and distended her, remaking her shape to bloat on the "stupid pony" semen she seemed addicted to. Just the way she liked it.

He screamed out, "Oh fuck yeah!" at the top of his lungs as a final thrust and a final squeeze brought him over. The heavy sway of his nuts seemed almost to ache with pleasure, emptying out into the greedy clench of her asshole. "Mine," he whispered as the climax finally ebbed. "All mine."

"'Bout fucking time you reminded me, gorgeous fucking pony," Gilda gasped. "Griff up and -- oh!"

Whatever she was about to challenge him to do was lost for the moment, as he doubled up and came in her again. It took them a while to settle after that, and about the only coherent thought he could manage was, How did I get this lucky?

He must have said it out loud, resting his hard body against the swell of her overfull belly. As usual, she had the answer. Shaking her head, she snorted, and preened possessively at his ears. "Flyer fuck you with a spork, Bulk," she told him. "You godsdamn know how: I reached out and grabbed what I wanted. You weren't about to make the first fuckin' move."

Laughing, he kissed around her navel and the furry curve of her stomach, nuzzling happy. "Okay," he admitted. "Yeah."

Chapter 1

Five months prior…

The Dark Wings flew against the greying sky, and with them came a tiny thunderbolt of light.

Well, technically, like their tribune, the majority of the Dark Wings, the Immunes Adversi Tenebras Magicas, actually had lighter-colored feathering on their heads, at least. If the Griffon Legions' elite counter-magical assault force had been on a stealth mission, they would have worn dark helmets (and dark armor) rather than their shining best. Indeed, the lone monochromatic figure among them was actually wearing a sort of dark bronze armor that was subdued amidst the finery of the griffons on wing around him.

But he was tiny. Sort of. At nine feet tall, Captain Bulk Biceps of Princess Fluttershy's Royal Guard was literally one of a small number of record-holders for "tallest non-divinity" among ponykind. As the name suggested, he was cut, too, with a powerful build well-balanced between bulging, sculpted muscles and a thick, sturdy core frame. Broad shoulders, gloriously massive arms, a hefty chest that the maker of his breastplate just hadn't been able to stylize in, and treetrunk legs to hold it all up. The total package, as it were.

Mostly. He had fairly puny wings, though. Even if he kept up, which he had to. The Dark Wings wouldn't wait for anyone. Not if they had simply been on patrol, and certainly not while hunting vampires on their own lands.

Tiny, ridiculous wings or no, he kept up, and he brought the storm behind them, dark grey against the overcast sky. Even griffons could appreciate having the storm fill their wings rather than smash against them. Cheating is always better when it's for you, after all.

Nevertheless, Bulk was surrounded by four hundred and eighty of the finest legionnaires, not a single soul of which was less than eleven feet tall. To griffons, any nine footer, no matter how Bulky he might be, would simply have been outclassed by virtually any other recruit. In fact, without special permission, anyone under ten feet would have been shunted into the auxiliaries of the reserve legions. There, they would be condemned to the least chance for social advancement, period. Unless they were useful to a corporation, perhaps.

These legionnaires were the best of the best. Sure, volume for volume, Bulk was more cut than all save their impossible tribune, but you did not rise to the Dark Wings without being the peak of physical fitness, personal discipline, and preternatural capability. You certainly didn't stay a member if you didn't view exercise to have the same importance as, say, breathing. Or perhaps more.

But fuckin' ponies cheat, grumbled the tribune in question. These are our skies. My skies! At twelve-foot-six, Gilda Griffon wasn't just the biggest Dark Wing. She was the largest griffon in living memory, and not just in height. From her vast span of wings, to her mighty eighty-inch biceps, down past a body that bore a resemblance to the roughest high-mountain country and straight into legs that not only looked like, but had been used as impromptu battering rams against steel fortress gates.

Speaking of mountains… She mentally blessed the invention of sports bras. G-cups had hit her hard during puberty, and they did not help her aerodynamics. Cheating pony has a benefit there, too; his oversized attachment follows leglines. She tried not to think about that quite so much before combat; the bloodthirst in her was horny enough already.

Unfortunately, that mostly left Gilda's paranoia free to fret.

Even after weeks of flying with the dweeb, part of her instincts were screaming, Why are you flying into battle with a kid at your back? As bait? No one interned with the Dark Wings. Your scores didn't matter shit here. You had to earn your way up. They were the ones you called in when dark magic and worse were on the line.

Like vampires. Vampires who had cut a deal with an insane necromancer to let their blasphemous strength survive in the light, and who were feeding his leyblood pools. Enhanced vampires who were squatting on an abandoned Legion outpost, which, from what her scouts told Gilda, had somehow managed to necromantically raise from whatever buildings considered 'dead.'

That was not where you took children. But it was where you sent the Dark Wings. The Griffon Tribes flew in sufficient numbers that the Dark Wings had their pick of both magically talented and physically superior soldiers. They had to be. Griffon mages had nothing on unicorns, in terms of power or intuitive mastery. Therefore, the accepted doctrine was that military mages were specialists. Which usually left them focused on siegework, intelligence, or logistics.

Gilda’s feathers bristled, and a slow, rippling tenseness hardened already implacable muscles from her proud pecs out. She forced herself to breath easy and smooth her flight. If only the real world was so logical as Legion Doctrine, she thought with a raised mental middle finger towards the dusty old craws writing this year’s manual. In the reality she dominated, you still had to find someone to fight off demons, dragons, and the other weirdness of Epona.

So her cohort trained their magic into their bodies. Into channelled flames and thunderstrike punches, into feathers and fur of iron. And when they faced dark sorcery, they locked enemy mages down until they could be slaughtered. The Dark Wings were the heroes of the Tribes, the terror of their foes, and privately, the Magistrates' best answers to if their pony neighbors ever turned militant. They hoped.

After all, there was a reason that Bulk hadn't just survived flying against Gilles de Raze and the bastard's Abomination-empowered forces. He'd wiped more than his weight of foes from sky and earth alike; more importantly to Gilda, he'd kept her Wings alive and flying through a combination of witchy pegasus weather shit… and a frankly hot level of fury and competence with his lightning javelins.

Because fucking earth ponies, not even hyper earth ponies, were as strong as your average griffon. Because unicorn mages really were that much better than the rare griffon innate sorcerers; and even more so griffon academic wizards. Because pegasi were faster, more agile fliers, and could turn the sky itself against their foes. But the griffons had numbers, packed onto discipline and a killing instinct that the vast majority of ponies simply couldn’t match.

Of which Gilda was the living symbol and incarnation. She flew at the head of her cohort, straight into the thick of things. She was the point and the fire, the steel in the Dark Wings' heart and the fury of their talons. Still...

She considered her "guest" without looking at him. Which was made easier-- the not looking part-- by the fact that he was flying behind her. The parts that weren't whining about his size were oddly comfortable with a pony at her back, her guard and assist for dives and charges and all sorts of other deadly fun. Not just comfortable, she realized. Comforted. Has he really done so much damage over a couple of weeks that you want him back there?

Honesty, self-honesty Gilda had managed to beat into herself, had an answer: Yes. Yes he has. They were counting on that 'damage' again to avoid costly siege or chancy infiltration. On a single pony to bring down such a thunder upon the undead fortress to nullify it as a factor entirely, and then to pull at least his own weight in undead griffon kills.

There was a certain point when stubbornness passed discipline and savagery both, and ended up as stupid. No one was good enough to stay in the Dark Wings if they fell into the stupid category. No one. If her own feelings might have been biased by her closer, if stormy relationship with ponies, she knew that her cohort agreed. Of the four hundred and seventy-nine other griffons flying beside them, all of them outweighed Bulk Biceps. None of them discounted him, nor begrudged his oddball place in the formation.

You used to think they were all soft, Gilda noted wryly. Soft in the brain, soft in the heart, and soft in the body. She wasn't too sure about the first when it came to their guest, but she had learned that any ally of Fluttershy would hide ruthlessness between gentleness. And as for what’s really behind door number three… Her beak dropped lower in a lascivious grin. Yum. Which she snapped back up before anyone noticed her. There was business to be done.

Deadly business. A town's worth of griffons, even the weakest of which was two or three times as strong as their living relatives. On average.

Dark Wings were never average before they got into the cohort. By the time Gilda and her centurions were done with them, they had left average so far behind you needed a mailgriff with extra postage to even write back. Presuming you wanted to. And while the griffons that had been infected and turned had once been legionnaires like any other griffon, they were about to learn the difference between "any other griffon" and the Dark Wings.

Hopefully, was her watchthought. Her mantra against the officer's curse: giving a damn about your troops. Done right, it meant they'd die for you. Done wrong, it would kill them as your hesitation cost you the initiative. As much as Gilda loved new challenges, she hated it when enemies got too clever. And de Raze had shown a positively infernal delight for finding unconventional solutions for conventional weaknesses in the undead. Often by literally involving demons, come to that.

They were closing on Snowpay Keep. Speakin' of uses for the dweeb, she thought, and made a talon-signal underwing and to her right. He caught it, just like he had the last nine times they'd brought de Raze's forces to ground… and burned them all down. She felt his pegasus magic behind her. Felt the fury of the storm as clouds crashed into clouds, charging lightning and spiritual energy that her Flyer-blessed cohort could tap into…

And Bulk Biceps could, and did, channel into an opening barrage against Snowpay. In moments, they were there; in seconds, Life-blessed lightning roared above and past the Dark Wings to shatter whatever dark magic de Raze had revived the fortress with; to shear into the defensive dome and leave the vamps exposed to her Wings' assault.

Which neatly encompassed the two primary reasons Bulk had her full respect. Why she had jumped at the offer to have him even before she'd seen his effectiveness firstclaw.

The first was he was a Wonderbolt. Any Griffon Legion worth its salt considered time in a Wonderbolts associated training camp to be at least equal to top quartile acceptance in legion academies. That went from the bottom up, whether in their reserves, or programs like the Junior Fliers. Despite those tiny, funky little wings of his, he flew like a champ: fast, strong, and agile. It also meant he thought like a team player but had the closest most ponies had to a killer instinct for aggression. And he was a flat-out master of pegasus weather-magic turned to battle. Nice.

That mastery didn't just let them break into the fortress from above. It followed them, speeding their dive. Her Dark Wings knew how to ride it now, fanning out with the gusts to crush the spawn while Gilda, her elites, and Bulk crashed into the older, fouler beasts in the center. With sword and shield, with pila and power, they ripped through the undead before them like they were little more than open-prairie prey.

And they had no fear of contagion. After all, Kindness ruled Life and Necromancy both, and Kindness' fist was with them.

The second, and most important, was why he was really with them here, charging into the fangs of these monsters. Although there was some weird, stupid pony trick that made most people forget it, Gilda and the Dark Wings knew very well that Fluttershy was the Princess of Necromancy.

Knew it, and knew how she handled the responsibility. No matter what her goofy Caretakers were like, she dealt with the dark with near-griffon discipline. Her bright necromancers and necromancer-hunters were in the slim category that the Dark Wings would call, "Almost as good as we are, in their chosen specialty," and Gilda knew that was mostly just a face-saver. When it came to taking out necromancers specifically, Fluttershy's personal guards were the best in the business.

This particular guard had shown, and once again proved to the holdouts in her cohort how true that was. Then as now, he was a hammer. Vampiric griffons were terrifyingly strong; he was stronger. They were fast; he was faster. While she tore out the heart of their hulking champion, he smashed through the master vamp's bodyguards. Lightning joined her Dark Wing's fire, and they pressed deep and hard.

Just the way she liked it.

She kinda liked his flexibility, too. That was fun, in a partner. He was big stuff among his own kind, so he would have been the solid core with ponies. But while he was-- stupid cheating pony powers!-- still far stronger than her griffons, he was the small, agile flyer here. So he whirled around her with those fancy Wonderbolt moves, slipping into the tight spots and breaking counterattack after counterattack.

Mm, thought as she separated a particularly noxious vamp's head from its shoulders. Slipping into tight places.

Bulk brought the thunder in more than weather magic and lightning javelins. He pounded through the worst of it, and she found herself wishing she could get away with poaching him. For the Dark Wings, of course; he'd proven his use again and again.

Like now. One of the quieter freaks pounced out of the darkness, taking one of her evocati down and out of position. Before she could growl the order, much less tear Gerant a new one for getting tunnel vision-- again-- Bulk was there. That taut, chiseled body under dim bronze moved like a thunderbolt all his own. His left gauntlet smashed the beast away from Gerant; his right brought literal lightning through its chest.

Fried vamp heart worked even better than staked.

Bulk had fought at Gilda's wingside before, going into the thick of deathblots and rotflare where the fighting was thickest. Had held formation, not just longer than they'd expect a pony to, but where the rest of them save Gilda herself were starting to flag under the relentless assault of anti-life. So it had been… so it was now.

That, honestly, was really hot. As was the… reliableness of him. The fact that whatever she needed him to do, he could. Like a senior centurion. She'd had a thing for centurions ever since she'd graduated from claw camp and tracked her drill down. For drilling on equal terms.

Gilda was there, anyway; it was her job to shore up the line when it was needed. The vamps swarmed, trying to press what they thought was a weak point. But between the best griffon and an at least mildly tolerable pony, that proved a rather fatal mistake. Fun for her; and it seemed pretty fun for the not-quite-so-prissy pony, too.

Shared hobbies, and all that.

He seemed to be glad to work with them, which was either a compliment, or confirmation of griffon prejudices about ponies in general. Bulk Biceps was the captain of Princess Fluttershy's guard force, after all. He lead both her bodyguards, and those warriors she trained and imbued to handle the worst excesses of necromancy or life gone cancerous.

The freak he'd caught was gone, and he was already hauling Gerant up and into position. The bigger griffon gave a hesitant thanks, and then took his place at Gilda's side again. Neither of them commented; that was just, apparently, what Bulk Biceps did best without asking. Just like one of their own. He made them stronger.

In short: buffer than any griffon, possibly including her; faster and more agile; and ultimately, the expert. Given that their prey was a madhawk who'd stolen and imprisoned several of Fluttershy's white necromancers' souls and horns before being revealed and hunted, Gilda was glad to have an expert around. Gladder, more and more, that it was specifically him.

As the two of them shattered the rune-reinforced final barrier to the master's lair, she wondered just why she was even hornier than usual. Battle got her hot, but she didn't usually start thinking about a good dicking until after the objective was achieved. It wasn't distracting her; she made sure of that. Bulk wasn't, either. She was a bit less certain in that regard.

Her prey was here. "Ugly little fuck," she hissed. He started ranting; the usual blah blah dark powers blah blah true destiny to feed blah blah. She ignored it, ordering her troops to fan out and start pouring on the anti-magic. The vamp master didn't seem to have any minions left, but it paid to be careful

Gilda wasn't sure whether or not the master was more offended by her ignoring his drivel, calling him ugly, or calling him small. Sure, even to the Wings, twelve feet tall wasn't little, usually, but she was willing to press her six inch advantage for all it was worth. Press a lot of things, come to that; the sneer on her beak grew wider as the vamp master started hurling pure necro-whatsit bolts at her.

Like the last nine of de Raze's pawns didn't try the same thing! she thought with contempt. Bulk was being flexible again; in the enclosed space, with her Dark Wings forming ranks, he'd pulled back a bit and was praying to Fluttershy. She rolled her eyes, getting an outraged squawk from the vamp master, and it wasn't even at him. It's 'cause Bulk Biceps, Captain of the Royal Guard of Kindness, ain't praying, oh no, that would offend their sunbutt primo goddess. I mean, alicorn. He's channelling. That's totally different.

Eventually, the final vamp stopped his useless barrage and charged. This was worse; this one was old enough to be tougher, stronger, and faster than even she was. With millennia of experience perfecting the griffon arts of combat, come to that.

"Shoulda tried that earlier, dumbass," Gilda spat at him as he sent her flying. Blahblahblah how DARE she blahblahBLAH whine. She tanked it easily enough; he was too pissed to think. Too pissed to notice the lightning crackling for his back. "Such a fuckin' pity you didn't try that when you had, you know, numbers. This mighta been a contest!"

She took the ancient idiot's head at the same time Bulk charred his heart.

Hmm, Gilda thought as she looked over the rather delicious suggestion of muscularity under the pegasus' armor. Rising and falling as the adrenaline rode him, the same battle thrill that made his gear that much tighter against a sudden swell of strength.

The same battle thrill that was sending her breastplate shaking back at him. Yeah, she thought as she kicked the broken corpse away. Shared hobbies, after all. Maybe it was worth investigating why she was feeling so horny so much earlier in battle. And why it was centering around one Bulk Biceps: stupid-sexy pony.

Chapter 2

After the battle...

"Careful with that damn equipment, mook!"

"Ain't that what I told you?"

Gilda growled, and it shook the room. At six inches past the twelve feet which even the giants of her kind strained to reach, she towered over every soldier in the gym. Her gym. This mission didn't need a whole legion, after all; a tribune's cohort was good enough. Which, she thought wryly, Is probably good, because there's barely enough of us half-immunes to fill a cohort, and I threatened to stuff the last Primus Pilus' pilus right up his tightwad ass.

She stomped over and swatted Gary away from the military press. If he wasn't going to use proper form, he wasn't going to get to use her machines. He oofed as Giselle caught him, but that just made Gilda snort. "You keep your balls away from those fingers of hers," she ordered, "Or it ain't just going to be ice you need next time. Besides, it's not like I broke your pretty thing, and this is your Tribune talkin'!"

Twelve feet and six inches tall didn't tell the whole story anyway. The white feathers at the bottom of her nape bunched up against hilly brown expanses of her overdeveloped trapezii, rolling on for an entire highlands of pure griffon power. The same terrifying strength that let her keep up with the speeds of pegasi rolled down her back into the darker brown of her enormous wings. To the sides, it faded in color but rose in prominence as it became the indomitable lighter brown of her rippling, bulging, cut arms. Even that had its end, in the yellow of her grasping fingers, talons only a moment's thought away.

About the only softness was in front. Gilda didn't have some stupid hyper-pony mare's knockers, thank the Flyer and the Wings Eternal. Nonetheless, her Gs were a mountain range of plush, slightly droopy softness. She kept them bound back in her sports bra-- why else would she need underwear among her cohort?-- but the damn things jiggled and juggled anyway. Together, they outmassed a normal pony stallion, and she liked it that way.

Strange beings, ponies, with that sexual dimorphism crap, she thought as her eyes flicked to the only nine footer in the room. Unlike virtually any other being in the world, male and female griffons were almost exactly the same size and weight on average. Their stories told that when the Flyer made the Griffon Tribes, he took the upper body of eagles, where females tended to be larger, and the lower bodies of lions, where males tended to have the advantage. The resulting race of giants were matched only by the minotaurs for size. With the sky clearly superior to deep labyrinths in the earth, should have ruled the damn world-- which shouldn't have been named after a pony goddess!

To the eternal irritation of the Tribes, there ponies remained, stamping their names and nature across the world in indelible relief.

Gilda reminded herself that bitching about cheating ponies didn't change facts any more than wishing for a horn would let her move the sun. Hell, she thought, I don't want the fucking job. From what Dashie says, it's fucked Celestia's head the hell up and used to drain unicorns to death. I'll be happy with just bein' badass, thank you very much.

Badass and happy both fit her very well, actually. With a pleasured sigh, half a moan, she rolled her gigantic right hand into a meaty fist. The beginning tremors were nice. The looks of admiration from her fellow gymgriffons better. Still she couldn’t be satisfied with just that. Pulling, pushing, forcing muscle against muscle, she raised her magnificent arm high, then curled it out. Bang, she thought happily, and licked her eighty-inch bicep. And even the best of everyone else's best can’t match me!

Not including alicorns. Deities don't count. Gilda cocked her head slightly to the right, and considered a possible exception-- in, thankfully for her ego, miniature-- sitting around in her gym, using her equipment. Using more of it than she did, of all the cocksure bullshit. That said, she reminded herself, At least that cheaty mark of his tells him how to use it better than Gary.

Which was better, right? Maybe, she sighed at herself. At least this stupid pony's useful, too. No matter what having him monopolize the high end of the weights made her competitive side do to her feathers, he had been a very appreciable reason of why all four hundred and seventy nine of her cohort had flown back in from Snowpay mostly intact. None infected. No casualties that would be out longer than a week. So why couldn't she just let it rest?

In Gilda's time in Equestria, she had of course thrown herself into exhibition matches with hypers. Exhibitionist matches when I could manage it, she reminded herself. Remembered triumphs brought her chin up, a warm, satisfied feeling pumping behind the steel ripple of her abs. She could usually outmaneuver a hyper-earth pony and out-strong a hyper-pegasus. But she wouldn't take even a shrimpy seven-footer lightly, because they cheated, and packed more power than even their expanded height would suggest.

But this… this was Bulk Biceps. Not just nine feet tall, the equivalent of twelve footers like Gary to ponykind, not just a hyper, but a hyper whose literal soul was formed from strength. Even if it wasn't for his recommendations, she'd have taken his somewhat halting assistance; he had the best of both worlds, pegasus and earth pony.

Well, no spiritual connection to the earth. Which made sense. He flew.

Pretty-- oh yes. Big, bulging muscles all over. Sure, his shoulders weren't that much wider than her hips-- and damn Gary for saying how much he loved "fat-bottomed bed partners." He could go fuck the quaestor if he wanted a boytoy who just sat on his tush all day. But proportionally, he was nice and broad across the shoulders, and those fifty-inch biceps weren't too far below where her own eighty-inchers would be scaled down.

Cute grin and cute ass, even that dorky earring and weird, short mane was adorable. Nice, thick thighs for a shrimp, and she knew that a number of the other hens had been making raucous speculation about what bouncing off of 'em might feel. Especially on top of the one size advantage pony males had: those thick, huge, and juicy horsecocks. Only minotaurs tended to equal the delicious log of meat you could find a pony packing, if you were into that. And Gilda was.

Despite weeks of flirting around with him, she had been still waffling as to whether or not she was going to claim a tribune's unofficial seniority about fucking their pony liaison. Which increased her fellow hens’ bitchfesting, but whatever. Not that command would care; they knew she was what was still called a preyfucker. Of course, she fucked other preds like griffons and dragons, too, when the mood and a nice piece of meat, male, female, or futa, caught her eye.

It's not like any griffon's eaten pony meat in centuries anyway, she thought amiably as she strolled over to the suddenly shyer Bulk. Not with Celestia's retaliatory "statements" clear in our history books. And to be honest, the tribes that ate sapient meat tended to be treacherous and useless in a fight against real foes, anyway. Vulnerable to demons, too. She smirked, dropping the lower half of her beak a bit. Not except in the fun way. I swear Dashie's 'tang tastes all the sweeter since she got that horn, even if she can make me kneel these days.

Her mind steered clear of that... notion. Like the rest of her troops in here today, she was naked except for the sports bra. None of them would care if she started gushing, except for her current chosen bedwarmers like Gary, Gus, and Genny. They'd wonder who was going to be made to come 'spot' her. Or fight over who'd get the chance. But just like wild prey catching a whiff of adrenaline, she suspected her musk might make an already retiring little pony too shy.

Definitely shy, even if his knee-length and more gym shorts were nowhere near loose enough to stop her from seeing that he was as long soft as Gary, the biggest of her babes, was hard. Not so little there! And he did have that weird, halting speech, not to mention a certain religious affinity; Flutters was the quietest of the Princesses, after all.

If only Gilles de Raze had been in Equestria, rather than among the Tribes! she snarled to herself. Then this wouldn't be my problem, and it wouldn't be my peoples' souls we're hoping to rescue, too!

Of course, then she wouldn't have had such a long association with scrumptious mister Bulk Biceps, nor would she have had the tasty, bloody bone to gnaw on: whether or not to jump his damn bones.

No, she knew better. She wanted his ass, or more precisely, his cock and his tongue. Griffons may not have invented oral sex-- beaks!-- but they put a lot of stock in it done right, and ponies had multiple advantages there. She couldn't imagine Flutters wouldn't have had this cutie well trained, shy Princess and shy captain or not.

But she was getting on in years; in the Dark Wings, surviving to your mid-thirties generally meant it was time to either train newbs or get political. Either way, it was time to settle down and have a nest. And while usually, that would have meant yelling at Gary to bird up and stop complaining about the way her cunt squeezed his dick too hard, he wasn't… good enough. Wasn't strong enough, tough enough, or just plain fighter enough for her to nest with. Even that might have just been "find a better griffon," but two things made Bulk Biceps a fascinating choice for future mate-meat.

First, it was possible. Hybrids weren't easy, but they said Fluttershy could make the difference little more than breathing hard. If she approved-- and Gilda and Flutters had made up years ago-- Gilda could have all the little hippogriff babies her parents could tolerate spoiling. Second…

Well. She enjoyed the fighting aspect, and she hadn't really getting much of it lately. To be blunt, Gary had gone one round with her two years ago and while she'd enjoyed pinning him down and fingerfucking his ass until his prick couldn't stop cumming in her, Gary had said after that the ejaculations weren't worth the fight-- well, the beat down. She wasn't going to push that sort of hard no, by the Flyer! For the others, Gus had just gone pale when she'd asked, and Genny didn't have the equipment to start makin' grifflets with her.

Meh, she thought. There isn't much challenge in Gary anyway.

Gilda knew she loved being on top; she had to love it. After all, it was expected of fast-track commanders, so she had to. She was the best in everything, and had to live up to that. Had to. She loved challenges more, though, and there wasn't a griffon in all the Tribes who stood a chance. She was the best. She was the fastest, the meanest, the strongest, and the most cunning. And here was this shy little pony, no bigger than the massage oilers in town.

Currently flexing out dem fifty-inchers on an enchanted barbell that she, Gilda, had strained on. Was he showing off amidst all the predators, to scare them off instinctively? Or was that really his lift for reps? Could he follow through, and give her a fight before she made him her willing plaything, to make this fun for the rest of their lives, or even just the rest of the assignment?

Or something more, something tantalizing her pride refused to let her consider.

The thought was maddening. Had been maddening, for weeks. Maybe it is time to make a choice, she thought, studying him. That note Fluttershy sent, about wanting to see her 'Bulky' settle down with someone on the border… reading between the lines, that sounded like permission. From a goddess!

Permission, or an order, from a goddess, at that. Not hers, but it didn't do to annoy the divine, and the Flyer liked the new pegasi-born alicorns. She should know; she'd been a priestess of the Savage and the Disciplined, the Synergy Divine since not long after the ponies had given Griffonstone the push it needed.

She still wasn't entirely sure what she'd said yes to when Flutters had written to ask if Gilda wanted her to "make sure that my Bulky is ready for a large family," before sending him over. Sometimes the ways ponies thought made Gilda's head hurt and talons itch. The upshot seemed to be that this was okayed by Bulk's goddess, and Gilda knew the idea would be cool with the Flyer, so...

So. To work for her play, then. She curled up barrel-sized fists and stuck them on her perfectly well toned hips, thank you Gary. "Hey," she clacked at Bulk, snapping her beak. The other griffons pretended not to be watching. They knew what that stance and that snap meant.

Gary was even rubbing his butt, the damn ham.

"Oh?" Eyes that sexy color of bloody crimson shouldn't go that blank. Bulk blinked. "Uh, hey, yeah! Any news, Tribune?" The fucking show-off was still pumping that super-iron, like it wasn't a thing!

She pondered how to go about this. She knew from Dash's letters that most ponies didn't really do the mating fight thing these days anyway, and mostly that had been between female rivals. But if you could get one of these stallions going, they thought much more with those… "Unf," she whispered, looking at the thick bulges of his balls within those still way-too-tight gym shorts.

Bulk blinked again, and she realized she'd said it out loud.

So she grabbed his dick. "Hey!" he yelped, but she ignored him and stared him right in the face.

"You think you got something special here, pony?" she asked, and rubbed a thumb up and down along a particularly thick, juicy vein… Okay, so he does, she admitted; she could feel every contour through his shorts! Even Gary's only packing two feet under the faulds. She kept her business face on, even as she started to squeeze lewdly at the prodigious package.

She wasn't going to pass up the chance to appreciate a super-fatty chub like this, after all; he would be within his rights to pony out and refuse. But Gilda didn't want to let that happen.

Also, she noted as she glared at Bulk and her nostrils flared with the scent of his precum, I'm clearly gettin' to him, and that gives me a strategic advantage. To keep him off guard-- and to avoid looking like she was, you know, just giving him an angry quickie-- she snarled, "You've been putting that thing behind guards like it was some sort of royal treasure. Kinda rude walking around like that. Like you think you're better than my boys and futa."

It wasn't her best opening salvo, but she was hoping there was some pride involved she could use to break his shyness. Get him nice and mad. It was her best chance to beat him and ride him under her crop. She ignored the part of her wondering what would happen if she didn't win. That was just part of the risks, and she was Gilda Griffon, best of the best. Strength, natural talent, and superb training could only take him so far, right?

It wasn't exactly that Bulk was bothered by having Gilda Griffon's deft hand on his cock. Not in principle. Not when she was rubbing it suggestively enough that even he realized what she was wanting. He'd been checking her out, too, almost since the day he'd arrived in griffon lands. It did handily get around his shyness.

But…

Want, growled a deep, suppressed part of his soul. Or something a bit more fleshy.

Close to hand, as it were.

Bulk narrowed his eyes a bit. He tried to be a good pony. He tried to control his aggression and turn it into enthusiasm, unless dealing with an enemy. The simple fact was that the sheer naked excess of the Griffon Tribes' premiere special operations cohort had surrounded him for weeks in what should have been his house, the gym, any gym, and it was making him feel very hyper.

Hyper irritated, hyper twitchy, and hyper prideful.

Oh! Yeah, he thought. And hyper horny, too.

To the shocked intake of breath by the assembled legionnaires, he swatted Gilda's groping hand away, little wings rustling behind him. "I don't think nothin' about that," he muttered, trying to diffuse the situation. Grumpily, he added, "I just like to be a little modest, yeah!"

It was a mistake. The long smirks on sharp beaks all around told him that. The same reflexes that kept him alive against the most cunning dark mages and tainted necromancers failed him utterly in nine out of ten social situations. And he'd had quite a nice tea with the quaestor while discussing logistics two days ago.

"Modest?!" roared Gilda. Her chiseled thighs bulged with beautiful expansion, claws scraping the floor as she ducked over him in a classic pre-pounce threat display. It made his oversized and over-eager cock pulse and throb all the harder in her (still) half amateur hating grip, pre starting to stain the comfortable fabric. Of course the fact that she was puffing her chest floof out in similar 'threat,' complete with shoving her heavy, bouncing G-cup tits right in his face.

Yeah, he thought. Just what she was looking for. Oh well. He simply admired the way the thinness of her sports bra left on thing to his admittedly currently one track imagination, especially given the stiffness of her super sized nips. Bigger than his fists, even. For that matter, they were-- in absolute terms only, of course-- bigger than the Boss', even if Fluttershy's outrageous proportions were, to Bulk's stolidly loyal mind, still superior.

Oh, hey, he thought as Gilda's rant traveled briefly off, then back on track, Looks like my dick can get hard enough to push her fingers apart a bit when it swells. Good to know.

He didn't pay too much attention to her words. For one thing, Bulk knew he really wasn't good with what you might call verbal sparring, or even logic outside of his beloved lifting, or the Hunt. More importantly, he was pretty sure Gilda was just working herself up to a dominance challenge-- complete with the expected sex. After all, she was ranting at him on the theme of, "You callin' my troops arrogant," and since the answer was clearly, "Yes, they're griffons, and proud of their pride," even he could figure out she was putting on a show.

The fact that he was having to concentrate on not popping his cocksleeve, shorts, and wad all at once because she'd moved on from halfway to outright jerking him off was, he felt, both an important Clue to her real intentions and another reason he was having a... hard... time following her speech. "Heh," he chuckled. "Hard, yeah."

Gilda's eyes bugged out and her pecs tensed hard, swelling her impressive bust line out all the further. In fact, as she screamed, "What?" at him, she popped her heavy left nip right into his mouth-- or as far as he'd let it go. He wasn't sure, whatever his nuts were yelling at his conscience, that he wanted to play.

Bulk was glad his hum of appreciation went unnoticed under her renewed rant. It gave him time to think, no matter how oddly sweet the combination of her nipple, sweat, and sportsbra tasted. And time to wonder about possibilities that had seemed impossible even a few days ago.

Not exactly going according to doctrine, legionnaire, Gilda chided herself. She had to be tough on herself, or she'd start moaning with pleasure. She'd honestly forgotten where their relative heights had placed them, or she might have chosen a different threat display-- thrust up, put 'em in your shadow, probably. But right now, she was faced with the fact that while she was jerking off the pike Bulk pretended was genitalia, she'd stuffed her nipple-- Flyer burn that damn sensitivity anyway!-- right into that… soft… non-sharp… talented pony mouth of his.

And just as absent-mindedly as he'd given her excuses to rant and threaten, he was sucking on it. His upper lip curled around her stiff nub, tugging on it like exquisitely skilled fingers, while the suction of his cheeks was making a similarly exquisite roughness of the fabric of her bra. Honestly, she was leaking down her thighs now, her arousal outlining the gigantic swells of her rippling quads in soaked fur. If she wanted to save face, she could not recognize what was going on-- or back off.

At least, that was what her tactical sense was telling her.

I hope that's my tactical sense screaming, "Keep it in his mouth and keep going!" anyway, Gilda thought. Discipline! she shouted back. Mentally. At herself.

This did not bode well.

Frankly, everything had been going so well up to now that she wasn't sure how to proceed at this point. He wasn't fighting anything except maybe his own urge to climax-- she could feel his huge maleness throb in her hands, smell his precum gushing faster than her slit, he had to be getting close. He wasn't talking either, which meant the embarrassing silence as her troops stared at them was lingering.

What to do, then? Scream fouler insults? Take it as a surrender on the challenge front at least and haul him to the ring? Smack him back down for impertinence? Smack him and scream fouler insults and haul him to the ring?

Skip the whole idea and just fuck him here on the bench? It wouldn't be the first time Gilda had done so. Hell, this was a griffon gym; it wouldn't be the first time this week someone, anyone had fucked in here. You just had to clean up afterwards, so no one slipped.

But she was trying to draw the damn pony into her world, not get hypnotized by his big… juicy… Right, time to think above my ovaries, thanks, Gilda warned herself.

While she was searching for the proper tactical protocol, Bulk furrowed his brow, and to her inner disappointment, popped his mouth off her nip and asked, "You guys respect safewords, yeah? Mine's 'Crossfit.'"

It was her turn to be stunned. "Huh?" she asked, and as the snorts started, she prodded him with an outstretched finger-- no talons. This was delicate work. "Say that again."

"Crossfit. You know, 'cause it's really kind of lame and…"

"... No, you damn pony… jerk… the question!" she roared at him, feeling like she was on a more solid thermal.

Those big, innocent, shamelessly adorable red eyes flicked up to meet her gaze, and he smiled. "You guys respect safewords, yeah?" he repeated. "Fluttershy had me study on your culture; she said…" Furrowed brow again. "You consider dom-sub relationships… uh… sacred… uh… a sacred… er…"

She sighed, her still-tingly tits heaving. "Sacred part of the Flyer's dualism and synergy, yes," She rolled her eyes. None of her trio had any complaints, and not just because she'd already beaten them. Flyer would strike her down if she'd treated them with anything less than a sexualized version of the superior-inferior respect… hell, he'd strike her down if she ignored one of her troops doing so to their mates. Losing was bad, sure, and put you on a slower track to command…

Which is why I can't think about it too much, she reminded the treacherous, yearning part in the back of her mind, and focused on the usual sermon. "Anyone I beat in the ring can call off a specific issue," she preached, "Though there's an element of failure if you have to do so too often." That was about as much sermonizing as she usually managed, and she turned to Genny. "Genny…" she said, grunting with frustration.

"Yeah, little guy," her eleven-foot tall second and bedmate said. "To be honest, pretty sure we invented 'em and you ponies picked 'em up after, y'know, things went a bit dingy for us."

The tribes fracturing into warring bands and their once mighty civilization virtually unable to maintain personal homes until freaking ponies came and started fixing things less than a decade ago was, Gilda supposed, "a bit dingy."

"Works, yeah," Bulk said, and she wondered if he'd ever quit the verbal tic. The question was shoved out of her mind when he went on to ask, "What's yours, then?"

Blinking, instinctively certain that the pony she was nearly half again taller than wasn't asking what he seemed to be asking, it was Gilda's turn to drop her beak, snap it shut, then ask, "... My what?" with vague, nonplussed confusion.

The giggles were starting again as he said, "Your safeword. Is it just safeword, or some other kinda thing,like…" He frowned. "I dunno. Dainty? Daisies?"

Laughter broke out and Gilda sighed. "If I need one," she growled, rotating her neck to glare at her subordinates. Unfortunately, they rightfully judged it only a first stage grumpiness, so only moved back down to just giggling. "If I need one," she repeated, "I'll just go with safeword, okay, little pony? Besides, I'm fond enough of the D," she said, and patted his with what she hoped was flattering reassurance, and not, you know, obvious undisciplined lust again.

Shit, this isn't a fucking challenge, she realized. We've been flirting like warriors for months. This is a fucking mating challenge.

The beaming smile she got in return for her quip was adorable, anyway. Still, it was adorable, in ways that serious badass soldiers like Bulk just shouldn't fucking be. Really, the sweet grin on his face was unfairly cute for even just a cut stud like him. It even made his dweeby earring look kind of adorable.

Which only made Gilda want to pounce the hot little bastard more, of course. I hope I ain't droolin' at how prey-like he is, she thought wryly. And best growl a bit to cover up the ol' six pack making its demands for eats known. She briefly wondered if that should worry her, but the predators in her head pounced upon his reply. "Yeah, then," Bulk said, still smiling broadly. "I'll just go get my jockstrap and cup."

Pounced, and let her smirk. "Oh, Bulk, no," Gilda said as the laughter started up again. She decided to take her time and show off herself. As the pony looked around at the giggling, chortling, guffawing gryphons, she slowly curled the titanic mountains of her arms back behind herself.

Gilda grinned, dropping her lower jaw and spreading her beak wide. That's the flexible, she thought as she reached for her bra snaps. Now for the flex. She pumped, hard, pecs to shoulders to arms to back to wings, one smooth motion that sent her wings soaring out towards the ceiling-- and opposite ends of the gym!

It also set her still-bound and still-gigantic tits jiggling and juggling like the stallion she was smuggling in them decided to go jogging, or something. Even a connoisseur of amazons might be temporarily forgiven for having their attention glued to that, and Bulk's jaw dropped, too. That's pony surprise, Gilda reminded herself. Not pony smirk. Cute, still. Her gigantic pecs flexed so hard that they were becoming visible swells even behind her G-cups, and she let out a hammy groan, licking her beak with her long tongue.

Delts, traps, lats-- dorsi and dorsi superior alike, her wings no less mighty than the rest of her-- all of it rolled and swelled. Tendons like suspension bridge cables pulled hard at her biceps, her peaks pushing back against the hard hills of her shoulderblades and back. More importantly from this angle, her triceps pushed out with dominant force, showing the little pony stud that she had nothing to fear from arms that could use the heaviest weights in her gym so casually.

As she snapped the sportsbra open, Genny took mercy on poor Bulk again. "Uh, Bulk?" the smaller gryphoness said gently. As his muzzle snapped up in her direction, her lieutenant coughed. "No jockstrap. No cup. Sorry; the dominance rite is done skyclad for the Flyer. You can pull out now if you want."

Which was true, but Flyer strike her wings if Gilda was going to let him pull out. Now or later, this or that. She tugged hard at the new, magically reinforced elastic of her bra, and then pumped her pecs out all the harder as she let go. As she relaxed her arms, her bra flew off, each cup significantly larger than her head.

Let alone her target's. With unerring aim, her bra wrapped around Bulk's head, leaving him blushing bright enough to be seen through the rough fabric, and far enough down to show against his pretty super-pectorals. Got his nips stiff-- and them shorts are about to fuckin' blow with or without me! Gilda thought, triumphant.

And it was her triumph. Bulk cleared his throat and shook his head. Since this just tossed Gilda's bra around, the guffaws became roars of laughter until the little hyper pony pulled it off his head, coughed, and said, "Nah. I'm in all the way."

Gary smirked. "Just be careful it's you in… and ain't her finger in all the way," he warned, and roars became howls. Gilda figured she'd let it slide.

For now.

Chapter 3

There was an arena fit for the Flyer's rite, of course. This was a griffon base, after all. Anything they stayed in for more than a month, let alone a long-standing operations facility, would have at least some posts and platforms set up. This wasn't a big ritzy affair like a full legion might have, but the tiered stadium seating looked almost empty. Lonely, even with Gilda’s cohort filling in and taking griffishly large personal space bubbles.

Still, it had well-maintained sands below for the final moments of the fight, when one opponent was too weak to fly. It had the long columns of varying height, magically reinforced to withstand multiton weights moving at substantial kay-pee-aitch-squared accel. The platforms on top were broad enough for Gilda herself to fight on with room to maneuver. That said, the lower "branch" shelves made little more than a perch for the next swoop-n-smash for anygriff, let alone a giantess like Gilda.

She'd lovingly carved the repetitions of "Discipline," and "Savagery," all over them herself, blessing the arena to the Flyer's purpose. Knowing her god looked on in favor added an extra tingle to Gilda's loins, like her nookie was getting high marks on her fitness report. Tartarus, she thought with a snap of her jaws, For all I know, I am. And dayam, I am the fittest.

She was on the furthest eastern platform, and Bulk the western. That all said, they were well within mutual visual range, so she took her time posing. Her bare fur and feathers acted as little more than decorations across the extravagant nakedness of her gargantuan twelve-foot-six, super-cut frame. She put a bend into her stance, letting her legs ripple as she squatted just a bit, ready for the opening leap. Legs thicker than most of her troops' torsos, thank you very much.

Smiling, Gilda reminded herself, My griffon troops, that’s right. Her titanic wings sharply swept, ready to catch air-- all the air. For the crowner, she curled up her tremendous right arm and lovingly nuzzling her beak against the eighty-inch circumference monster she called a bicep.

She might not have the pure "push" power and resistance, pound per pound, that a hyper pony like her opponent/to-be-lover had. She had what she considered much better-- the Flyer's gift to all his children was a combination of preternatural reflexes, senses, speed, strength, stamina, and above all focus. Which meant that the terms of the fight were just fine by her. No magic, she thought with smug satisfaction. Not my blazefighting, not my prayers, but no weatherwinging and whatever Flutters has given him, either. Just what our mommas gave us and daddies dealt us.

And it was just that extra set of magic, really, that gave ponies their edge in war, right? Of course, she reassured herself. Then scoped out her meat-to-be.

Bulk Bicep, a mere nine feet tall but with dangerously broad shoulders in proportion, with ridiculously ripped muscles and ridiculously small wings, was… not posing. That's kinda disapp… she began, and her train of thought rammed into a fallen log. A fallen log attached to his scorchfucked groin! Maybe we shoulda let him wear a cup-- that damn thing looks like it'd hurt as much as a club if he whacked away with it!

Nah, she dismissed the idea even as her clit throbbed at the ideas rushing through her head at the sight. Males and futas are such babies about it. Me, I'm tough, even in the titties. She was getting focused, her hunter's lock on right onto that lovely length of maleness. She sighed happily, smirking broadly, her pussy captivated by the promising thoughts it evoked. Both stemming from the idea of being able to capture and dominate that super-dick, and the idea she didn't dare name. She needed no distractions now; it was time to prove that she was not just command material, but the dominant griff of her generation.

Of course, the treacherous parts whispered again, He's a pony. Not in any line of command, and you could prove yourself upon others even if… No. Focused. Focused on the fight, focused on the flight, and focused on the fulfillment of victory. She would have it. Nothing could stop her now.

Four feet of length and eight inches of girth were nice and all for bragging, but today, Bulk was faced with the most gorgeous mortal creature he'd ever seen naked. He was therefore beginning to realize that there were some disadvantages to the blessings he'd been born with.

Balance… he muttered at himself. You're just going to have to deal with a hard-on while Gilda has a hard… thought… on for taking you down. You wanted this, dude. And you want to win. He grunted, shifting himself on magnificent quads, the muscular columns tight with definition and packed with power. Far more than flesh alone could promise.

However, he wasn’t relying on just his personal, inborn gifts. He was a trainer and trainee by nature. Pushing himself was his reason for being. And not merely in the grind of weights and shape and exercise that made every last individual muscle a testament to the aesthetics and function of power alike, either. As Fluttershy's guard captain, he'd mastered himself even more than any hyper did to remain within Harmony. Control of the flow of his blood, of the twitch of tendon and the expansion of muscle, all was his, from the burly fifty inches of bicep circumference to the giant treetrunks of his quads.

An' none of that is helping me get my erection down, he thought wryly as his eyes trailed, pegasus-sharp, over Gilda's gorgeously potent frame and deliciously bouncy breasts. So I'd best focus on moving with it. Not for him, then, posing. He paced, small wings flicking rapidly behind him, getting a sense of how his body moved with so much… forwardness.

He gritted his teeth. He wasn't fullblood hummingbird-- thankfully for Flutters' food budget-- so he didn't have the pinpoint reflexes and turn-on-a-bit cornering to make up for distraction. More than that, in Gilda Griffon, delicious potency and delicious size and delicious threat made for one applebuck of a distraction. It isn't like I haven't bottomed before, he admitted. For Flutters, when she felt like it. For his princess.

Bulk respected Gilda. But every hyper nerve in him wanted to dominate her. Unfortunately, they also wanted to linger on the physical reasons for that lust. He didn't think drooling about boobs and muscles and wings would help his tactical decision-making.

So here I am, he thought, hard as a changeling's heart and needing to be colder in the head. Lovely.

There was only one thing to do. "Oh, yeah," he growled. Muscles shifted under pale hide; he could feel his ears plaster back against his skull. He flicked his tail over tightened glutes, and willed himself to stand a little wider. Forced his wings out and low, his packed torso parallel with them and, well, his dick.

He focused his vision, and the field of poles and platforms seemed to pull back and away. His eyes met Gilda's and he nodded once. She was strong, tough, and beautiful.

Bulk couldn't vouch for the beautiful bit, but he knew in that moment, he was tougher, and stronger. It was time to show it. Just gotta wait for the signal… He blinked, and realized, I have no idea what the signal is supposed to be.

Her beak dropped in a wicked smile, and he was certain she knew he didn't know. Oh well, he thought, and readied his body anyway. He didn't need an external signal. He just needed her.

… To show when she's about to move, he reminded himself. Oh, ponyfeathers, I'm a liar. I need that taut ass up and squawking mouth down, too.

No distractions. He allowed himself no further distractions. His eyes on Gilda were honed to look for the crease; for the tell in her muscle and bone and being when she was about to commit to the leap. To the moment of the strike. And not because she was the most singularly buff babe he'd seen who didn't have wings and horns both.

He didn’t have time to listen to the part of him whispering, You are such a liar, Bulk Biceps...

There! he thought, and let out a wordless bellow. He'd seen the leap coming. It had started with those long, bulky (harr) legs tightening, with calves bulging and quads pushing out. Her hips had shifted, long curves pressing and while she'd had the discipline to stop her tail from lashing like a nonsapient cat's, she'd curved it to counterbalance.

Then her wings had tightened. Then they had flared. But Bulk was already roaring, and already moving, and if she had the altitude on him as well as the height, he had the aim. He had the purpose, the drive, and he used her own momentum to increase the force of his bodyslam into her midsection.

The undignified squawk that accompanied the wind he knocked out of her was a bit flattering to his soldier's ego. No matter how deep said ego was hidden beneath a lifelong masseuse and worshipper of Life.

The solid elbow to his back, only narrowly missing his more fragile wingbones, was not so much flattering as flattening. The smash made him lose his grip on Gilda and the wind alike, careening downwards. His instinctive pump of his wings saved him from a debilitating crash, but the pain screamed through him.

It was not the way he would have chosen to kill his erection for the fight.

The fight continued in much the same way. Gilda was sweating thick through her fur-- almost through her feathers!-- by the time she landed, huffing, on his initial platform. That freaky shrimp isn't just strong, he's fast! she thought, narrowing her eyes and focusing her vision on him despite the roars of pain her battered body was giving her. Her boobs weren't just heaving at this point, her whole body was!

Worse, she thought grimly, he knows what he's doing. The snarls of agony she was feeling, that she hoped he was getting his own Minoan Chorus on the same-- those were the only sounds in the arena while the two fighters recovered.

Intellectually, Gilda was aware that even some hyper ponies had skill, and didn't just lean on the talents the spirits had blessed them with in unfair abundance. She wouldn't have dared to challenge Shining Armor with his magic allowed, for example, and Applejack had kicked her ass once before her ascension.

(She never let her troops forget her lesson either-- do not engage Earth Ponies on the ground.)

Emotionally, she was proud she'd gotten a fair number of hits in. Bulk wasn't flying as quick as those stupid little near-hummingbird flappers let him to start. Nor was he as maneuverable; she was certain he wouldn't be able to get past her guard on contact now.

Which is a good thing, she realized, clacking her beak as she watched his stance; her turn to await a pounce she was sure was coming. He'd managed to get a few glancing jabs in early on when she'd thought she'd found the tell for his punches and was dead wrong.

Each one had knocked her completely off course and her ribs and left tit were still throbbing, and not in a good way. She'd managed a nutshot that had gotten him off her ass, but she'd had to land, too. She wouldn’t have believed it of any gender with a groin shot-- that pony recovered way too damn fast!

Still, Gilda told herself, he's not an earth pony. Tough, but he can't draw on the land through the wood of the platforms. He wasn't recovering as fast as AJ had, and that gave her the chance to let the Flyer's passive gifts flow through her body.

She considered his strategy so far. The hot little midget had waited for her to make the first lunge, and then counterslammed. She should have been able to keep him on the defensive with a reactive scheme like that, but each time she went for him, he'd outmaneuvered her. A swoop had met with a spiraling flight and heavy hits against her back and legs, which had weakened her launch. She'd wingslapped him out of that, and converted to getting her knees into his ribs.

Only to have him grab her thigh so hard it bruised. She'd fought out of the grapple, but only barely. Fucker is a hyper. Cheating bastard, her mind snarled. I've got mass and reach on him, but he's so much stronger. I had no idea. I can't stay body to body, not even for a little while…

She wanted to. Fuck she wanted to stay body to body with him now. She'd been on the losing side of challenges before. No one wins all the time; even the Flyer and Celestia had taken their lumps. And they've made me horny, too, she thought. Just not…

Not this horny. She wanted to kneel. Her nipples were as hard as his dick had been to start, and her clit was no longer taking messages from her sense of discipline. Each time he'd turned her tactics against her, each time she'd felt just how strong he was, it made her want to juice.

Shit, she realized. I've already gushed. There was no reason for him beating her to affect her like this. To make her want to give in. Not to claim him and take him like she… knew she wanted. Even being schooled by the Flyer's high priest had just made her lusty to try to take the top. To earn her way higher.

I don't have time for this! she knew. She needed to take him down, not consider why…

why…

Fuck it, she thought finally with a beak-dropping grin she hoped was intimidating Bulk, if just a bit. I take him and get him, or he takes me and gets me. So I might have to fuck up a few ambitious griffs with more guts than sense. That's fun, too. And if it ends up with me having little hippogrifflets and the pregnancy eased by the goddess of life and kindness herself both ways, what the fuck am I complaining about?

Her eyes widened and her beak opened wider. Yep, she noted proudly. Got that gorgeous, hung fucker looking nervous. Ain't gonna make it easy for you, baby. Gonna make you work for my ass, and if you end up as top…

Her parents were switches, changing roles depending on who had the advantage. It wasn't the dom that drove, either, for all they fought over it, even today. Gilda had been taught that a sub has expectations from their dom growing up, which is why she drove her fucktoys to exhausted pleasure. One way or another. It'll be nice to have someone else do the work for a change, she 'told' him mentally. Including now. Ain't throwing it for ya, baby. Not even for that prick and a chance to relax and be used like a horny bitch. C'mon, give it to me!

So she waited. If he wanted to react, well, she wasn't going to give him another chance. Either he fucked up his aggression, or his aggression fucked her up and left her pussy squealing as loud as her squawking beak.

Win-fucking-win was her last non-instinctive thought when she realized he was going airborne. Laughing and screaming an ancient Tribal cry to the Flyer, she launched as well, throwing every inch of her twelve-foot-six frame, every ounce of her superpacked muscles and supermax predator body at him.

All or nothing.

Little deaths or big glory.

Gilda knew she was leaving a trail of arousal behind her as she flew, and didn't fucking care.

Bulk conserved a bit on his launch. She wasn't making her move, and that smile-- it made his wings ache and his spine try to leap before the rest of his body. They'd been in it rough, and while he thought he was getting the better of each, she was tougher than he was.

One big, buff, beautiful badass griffon babe. Huge quads. Huge. He'd seen normal pony 'lifters who didn't have the shoulder breadth those things did. Any fat on her was planted in three places: butt, boobs, and hips. The rest looked like raw muscle upon muscle upon bone that felt like he was punching steel, with a thin layer of skin and maybe some fat hiding in there, somewhere. Covered up by rich fur and weather-ready feathers.

If some nerdy unicorn set out to idealize "Griffon, Warrior, Badass," they would have creamed themselves upon even imagining Gilda. She took punches he knew could fell full-adult, feral-body dragons… because they had. Knee to the side? Bruised, sure, but she had kept on coming, kept on snarling, trying to break him with arms the size of his legs.

But.

He was a hyper. And-- though he knew she'd fought hypers before-- his cutie mark was for lifting. For strength. He might not be an alicorn, nor an earth pony, but he had taken Maud Pie to a draw once, and the only pony that didn't have the full set of Tribal characteristics who could beat her was Big Mac… Bulk's spotter. So he knew he was bringing it hard with every flurry and every strike.

The problem still was that she had more give to go than he did, and he was past the point where care was needed.

He didn't know why Gilda was smiling like that. He could smell how much it turned her on as he neared the apex of his leap, and she came at him, just like he had her. A leap like that, against a fellow heavywing with boosted flight? She'd used it because she usually was the heaviest wing, and gravity had been on her side as it wasn't on his.

So as Bulk snapped his little wings back, he understood why she'd countered. The problem was… he knew the counter's counter.

Multiple tons of horny, battle-crazed griffon was rocketing at him just as he was reaching his apex. When they hit, the potential energy he was counting on would be in her favor, just like it had helped him knock the wind out of her deliciously chiseled abs. If he was there when it happened.

His wings didn't like what happened next, and let him know. Span wasn't everything for a sophont flier. It couldn't be; their bodies (especially his and Gilda's) were simply too dense, too big. Rainbow Dash had tried explaining what she'd learned from Twilight about it to him, but she'd been bored, and he knew she was getting even the mechanics wrong, but he'd caught the gist. Magic-- the divine gifts of the Flyer for Gilda and the strange inheritance of pegasi for him-- was their lift and their speed.

But the wings channeled it. So when he buzzed them up good and fast, he felt like Gilda was raking him with her full talons. And the winged fighter's strength somehow influenced it. Which is why he'd made Wonderbolt reserve.

And why he was able to do a forward flip just as Gilda's outstretched wall she called a shoulder was heading for his abs, ready to crush their rock as he'd smashed hers. Magic and strength and agility, all natural and perfectly legal for the fight, mixed and melded and let him turn himself completely up through one-eighty, then damn near fully around to three-sixty, as he grappled her shoulders from behind, his body's muscled mass crashing into her vulnerable wings.

She howled as Bulk caught her. Growled and scrabbled instinctively, even as his nostrils filled with the sudden realization that she was just as happy-- perhaps more-- to be caught as to catch. With his giant captive fighting all the way, Bulk continued the spin and decided to give her a taste of his full strength. To let the power in his cutie mark free.

It started from his ass. One of the problems with the mark. His rump tightened, glutes bulging as he fed his strength into magic into flight. His quads followed; not mammoth on Gilda's level, not even proportionally, but strong. Each individual bulge bulked right out, a rippled, rolling hilly plateau of power, while his abdominis and oblique muscles tightened at his core, like he was about to cum right then and there. And maybe he was on the edge.

They both knew he'd seized the moment, after all.

But lift and carry and throw; perfect form, true to his mark, flowed. His pecs flared, plateaus all their own with tight crinkles under his hide to show the tense, fibrous interweave as they pulled. The biceps he was named for, the triceps that he spared no effort to perfectly sculpt responded, and with them, the chiseled mastery of his back and wings followed. To his forearms, to his hands scooping under Gilda's beautifully beefy arms, hell, even his neck was tense with the power he felt down to his calves, to his feet, all at once.

So he threw her, right towards the central platform, lowest and broadest, the traditional endpoint for a match bent on a sex. He'd looked that up, at least. Threw her, and followed, tucking into a divebomb as she fell, squawking, gorgeously giant limbs flailing. All six unable to arrest or even slow what Bulk had done to her.

The ancient, blessed redwood of the platform creaked dangerously when Gilda hit it, flat on her back, her wings tucked to avoid a serious break. That wasn't enough for him. He wanted to end this, and to show his dominance over her so thoroughly that… that…

That the jackholes in the stands would know that the only thing that had overthrown their tribune was an elemental force, and they had better not mess with his bitch. Which was what he was going to make her.

Bulk careened into her, huge forearms crossed in front of him. He bodychecked her across the torso, crashing into the platform on those parts that didn't clobber her chest and belly. He knew she was strong enough to take this, and hoped that the platform wasn't.

It couldn't. Wood that would have made excellent modern siege fortifications twisted as his force diffused through it, snapping, groaning, then roaring as it cracked. He kept going, driving the pole supporting the platform into the earth with Gilda's body, just like he planned to plow his-- now once again fully hard-- cock into her until she called him master. In that moment, he would have fucked her in front of everyone else, his shyness forgotten.

The platform shattered. Acolytes in the crowd let out a hum to the Flyer, and everyone found themselves moving with savage speed yet disciplined motion, evading the jagged remnants of what had been the strongest single construction on the base.

The platform couldn't drive into the earth fast enough, and exploded as well. No shards to worry about; Bulk had pulverised the shaft as he slammed his giantess sub-to-be earthwards.

He hoped that wouldn't happen to his dick, and decided to try and avoid such comparisons for the moment.

Impact. Another explosion, a crater rent from the earth by the force of the two champions hitting it. More of the poles toppled, crashing around them, but Bulk wasn't worried about that. He had her pinned down at last, but he had to hold her and keep her there.

So with a snarl, he flipped the much more massive griffon over onto her front, grinding her torso down into the center of the pit, pinning his elbow hard between her wingbases. "Got you!" he roared. "Oh yeah!" His immense cock slapped her side, all forty-eight inches of it hammering her. He hadn't meant to flex his hips when he did that, slamming her further down, sending her massive megazon form sprawling out, chiseled ranges of muscles going everywhere.

And out of his grip. Panicked, he didn't hold back when he lunged forward and grabbed for her tree-thick arms, yanking them up backwards, perpendicular to her broad torso. "Wait!" groaned Gilda. "Wait, damn you, fuckin' pony!"

The room went silent. Bulk waited.

"I give," Gilda said with a shudder, and her beak snapped.

His jaw dropped. She couldn't see it, so she went on, saying, "You've… you don't have to do any more fuckin' damage. It's going to be hard to give you-- ow!-- a proper handjob if you pop my shoulders out of their sockets!" As he slowly let her arms fall, she muttered, "And my legs are gonna get tired asskicking my troops enough as it is. Can I please have hands to smack 'em or are you gonna be a sore winner about this?"

Asskicking, he thought. Right. She has to establish dominance. But… They'd agreed to the match. She wasn't safewording-- it would have caused her to lose face, but he would have let her out even if she'd whispered. By body and action, she was telling him she wanted to submit. That all twelve-foot-six of super-badass Gilda Griffon, largest, buffest, beefiest, and juiciest of the Griffon Tribes wanted him to rule her. To mate her, and, with caveats to both of their cultures' Harmony, to own her.

Bulk wasn't great at long term thinking. But the same words and actions that screamed, "Take me, dweeb!" in pure Gilda, also made a future he wanted badly yawn open before him. A future with a female that more or less was his ideal in the mortal realm, with more than enough uniqueness that he knew how real she was. How real he wanted a relationship with her to be.

That meant being a good husband and supporting his wife's career. Being a good dom and making sure his sub didn't get hassled for submitting. He got the picture eventually, after all, and was pretty certain this is what Fluttershy had meant by 'mares' worthy of him. Singular, and not a mare, but all female. His female. Fluttershy wanted him happy, and he'd known Gilda for long enough to know that this would not be easy, but they'd both be happier-- and more satisfied-- than they would be with anyone else.

He nodded. "Yeah," he grunted at her quietly, and when she let out a most un-Gildaish whimper, he continued, "Uh, not the sore winner thing. Jus' somethin' on my mind." He rose slowly, but planted a foot on her back to hold her down, wings and buffness and huge boobs alike, and the whimper became a very Gilda-ish whine of pleasure and satisfaction.

Staring at the shocked crowd, he roared, a triumphant whinny. "This is my meat!" he shouted at them. "Any of you jerks--" he couldn't really bring himself to call them fuckers like she did-- "Have a problem with my meat bein' the toughest, buffest, uh, commandy-iest among you…"

He paused, and while a quiet thunder of heartbeats and beak-clacks went on, got off Gilda, grabbed her by the shoulder again, and hauled her to her feet in front of him. He hoisted her as subtly as he could to make it look like he wasn't supporting her; after all, he had a reason for what he was going to say. "Any of you have a problem with that," he yelled again, "you take it up with her! The only command I'm gonna give is that she not show you any more mercy than keeps you useful for her. Got me?"

Dead silence again… except for the steady drip of his precum and her femjuices. Her body was quivering, and he knew it was with an unexpected emotion.

Joy.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For not making it about how you'd do it for me."

"You're welcome," he yelled back. Had to, or she wouldn't hear him above the cheers. No one else would, that was for sure. "Always! Flutters set this up, didn't she?"

"She didn't tell me! But probably! Also, we're not done!"

"Huh?" Bulk asked, confused, and she turned to face him once again. She towered over him in the renewed silence. Her pecs were pumping with every breath behind her massive melons, her bruised body shuddering with some unexplained effort. Constant waves of gathering strength, bulging and then relaxing, moved swiftly through her. All of a sudden, he kissed those beautifully un-bound G-cups, sucking hungrily at the nipples like he had before.

Why not? he asked himself. They're mine now, yeah?

Not entirely, apparently. Beak dropping in another griffish smile, Gilda batted his muzzle away. "Later, dude, geez! Gotta finish!" she told him severely. Then dropped with perfect control and discipline into a kneel. It was a pretty show; her wings bowed against her broad back, huge tits low enough to grind against her upraised right thigh. She even flexed both thunderstorm thighs, squeezing and showing herself off in a very clear enticement. Then she beak-smiled back up at him.

"Captain Bulk-Biceps," she said, her deep voice rumbling over the crowd, "I am Tribune Gilda Griffon of the Immunes Adversi Tenebras Magicas. You have defeated me-- defeated my arena!-- in front of my troops. Until the Flyer blesses a rematch, I am your possession in sexual matters. You are the master of my clitoris; the owner of my sex. Will you honor me by mating me? By sealing your victory with a tribute of this Tribune?"

If anything, it got even quieter.

Bulk reached down (ish, even kneeling she was at stomach height on him) and stroked and scritched her headfeathers. He blessed his rare pre-Flutters experience in taking care of a griffon customer or two; it seemed to be just what the tribune ordered. As she cooed, and wriggled her massive body like she was a tiny broodie normal pony, he said, "Yes, Gilda Griffon. I will marry you." He blushed, and the slowly recovering audience gave catcalls while he asked, "So, uh… How do we do this?"

"You rape me, idiot," Gilda told him, and then dropped her jaw and slobbered her tongue messily along his entire, throbbing length. As her words penetrated his skull, she made little mewling noises while her tongue-- not raspy, thank Harmony-- slurped and swirled around his veiny bulk. All he could do at first was moan, but in between messy tongue-trails, his griffon mumbled, "Taste so good… fuck… What've I been wastin' my orgasms on…" before silencing herself by licking a long spiral from his fat medial ring to his fatter cock-crown.

Treacherous and well-pleasured, Bulk's huge cock began to splurt precum that she immediately pigged out on. While he tried to figure out how to respond to this seemingly evil concept, his… victim? to be let out a hunting cry and began to rapidly flick her tongue at each new glob of slick lube.

Eventually, that didn't satisfy her, and she used how disproportionately huge his dick was to her advantage. Despite being a third again taller than Bulk, with change, his cock's flare was so wide, so fem-breakingly immense that she was able to worshipfully prench the cumslit. Not only did this let her get a jump on licking up his precum, but it let her pleasure him more too, and as she pressed her beakjob to him carefully, he couldn't help but letting out a moaning, "Yeah!"

And then blushed again as he realized what she was saying. "Wait, huh-- rape you?" he protested.

Flyer, he's adorably buff, super-dicked, and tough enough he might be able to exhaust me, she thought, but he's so fuckin' clueless! Grumpily, Gilda pulled her tongue back out of the pretty, pretty cock she was determined to claim as her owner. Disgruntled by the requirements of proper top-teaching, she took a moment to savor swallowing his precum, before glaring up at him.

"Bulk," she snarled, "Do you honestly think it counts as a sin if I, not only a priestess, not only a tribune with full powers of middle and low justice, but also the fuckin' slave in question am telling you to rape me?"

"But--"

She cut off that objection with a clack of her beak dangerously close to his lovely nuts. Not that she'd ever hurt them again, even when she felt he needed a challenge to see if he still deserved to be top. Maybe that's why he's bein' slow? she wondered. I damaged his lower brains?

Snorting, Gilda growled, "The only butt I want to hear from you is what you're planning on doing to mine!" Hatefully, her throat clutched, betraying her and choking her voice to a scraping whine. “Don't you dare embarrass me." She gave him a fierce look, then slurped his deliciously overswollen nuts for good measure. Fuck. Pretty, dominant, buff… but I gotta do all the thinking! Figures. "Just because you've got the Flyer's-- and Fluttershy's-- gift to femmes and gay dudes welded to your crotch doesn't mean you can get away with that bullshit in owning me!"

"Er…" Bulk was looking really confused now.

She sighed. "Look. It is a cer-reh-moan-ee," she whispered at him slowly, hissing each word. "You beat me in fair combat. You accepted being my dom until our rematch, 'yeah?' You know rituals, being a fuckin' paladin, yeah?"

More blushing. Cute, but she wanted that blood stiffening his prick while he plowed her cunt! No rushing elsewhere, she mentally demanded, glaring at that… glorious… hypnotically bobbing to and fro… yum… log… beneath his treasure trail, fit for a pirate queen's booty. Eventually, the big lug mumbled, "Yeah."

She looked out into the throngs of her cohort in the audience, checking. His display earlier had cut the immediate challenge out, and even Gary knew better not to piss her off by laughing right now, thank the Wings Eternal. So she turned back to him and really laid into his nuts, just kept slurping and licking until she knew he was about to pop… then stopped.

"Gilda!" he roared, and grabbed her by the throat.

Aww, she thought. Our Bulky is learnin'. "Look," she told him, reveling in the feel of that strength dominating her corded neck, "This is just a ceremony to prove to my legion that I will still fight. Even if you've pushed off their doubts until later, you can't leave me hangin' like this fuckin' battering ram! I'mma fight, but not to win, except that because you are going to leave me an O-addled wreck, aren't you, I win anyway. I'mma fight, and you're gonna beat my ass and then fuck me like the little… uh... "

She looked him up and down. No way am I little in this relationship she thought. "Like the well-owned fucktoy I am now, in front of everyone, so they can see how butch I still am and how much of a badass you are!"

It should have been the perfect pitch, but no, there was that pony body shyness again. "... In front of everyone?" he whispered, and she could hear the horror in his voice. He even let her throat go, and she slammed down to her knees, seeing self-censorship and stupid pony socialization fighting to push out his dee-lish-us horny aggression.

She had to block that, too, and fast, or performance anxiety would be the least of their problems.

So she improvised, kneeling lower and lower still. Sometimes, she reminded herself, the best tactic knows nothing of honor. Nothing of discipline or savagery. Sometimes the cowardly weasel is the best way, not the berserk one. It was a sop, she knew, but she’d take it if it worked. This time instead of grabbing his dick or worshipping it like the grand prize it was, she dropped her head all the way down and licked his toes, careful with her beak. Before he could manage more than incoherent splutters, she whispered, "Please, Bulky."

It was working, his face softening and his fat dick stiffening, so she ducked her beak between his thighs and nestled like a submissive pony-- other than it was his package, not his neck, she was ducking her head under-- and whispered, "Please. Master, please. Rape me. Show my cohort I'm a good bitch. Pretty please?" In her head, she prayed to the Flyer that he got that it was the fight, not the consent, that mattered. That her pretty new fucktoptoy would get that she consented the fuck out of being fucked the fuck up.

"Okay," he muttered, and she sighed. Half a miracle was still a miracle, she guessed, but was it too much to ask for…

"Whoa!" she screamed happily-- winking at him to be sure he knew how she meant it-- as he grabbed her by the headfeathers and hurled her against one of the sloping walls of the crater. Score!

Chapter 4

"Whoa!" roared Gilda Griffon as a pony who missed her height by three feet hurled her mega-amazon, giantess warrior body around like she was some introverted teen's pornographic cardboard display. Three feet smaller, but no less proportionally muscled and blessed with both a hyper's preternatural physiology and a cutie mark for the very concept of strength. From that strength, the pony in question had lifted her huge, twelve-foot-six body up with one hand and tossed her against the side of a crater.

Instinctively tucking in her wings while letting the rest of her go limp was all she could do. The first rewards of her chosen surrender; she loved the raw sensation of all that force. Well, most of her went limp. She could have used her nips as backup stilettos, Bulk Biceps got her that hard.

He hurled across a crater he'd made by smashing her down out of the air. Crushing her through a supernaturally reinforced and blessed platform of redwood, disintegrating the redwood pole beneath. She climaxed hard as she flew, knowing just how she'd earned getting a mating like this. Buff bod and bitchy talk, she thought before pulling herself out of the new impact depression he'd made in the hard earth with that errant gesture.

One thing was certain, as certain as the lash of her tail. If she was able to fight at all, there'd be no doubt in her cohort's mind, her legion's, even to the High Command, of her spirit.

Well, maybe not all the High Command would have complete confidence in her. Her dad was up this year, and he'd always been so… tetchy. Probably the old scag's fault I'm bein' bent for and by a pony, she thought with a huff, and rolled over.

To push herself up, clearly. And if she was taking the time to commit to a rolling flex from her calves on up to her quads, if she was shaking and shimmying glutes and tail to make sure her fuckin' fiancee-master would get the damn point this time, well. That was nobody's business but hers. And maybe his.

Bulk Biceps' temper had snapped, and with it, his self-restraint. His wings popped back and he let out a long whinny. It was too much. Not in a bad way. He had been punched, pushed, pushed in a different way... and now pleaded with. If Fluttershy and Luna had been conspiring to find a point where he both simultaneously felt like he was living his dreams and nightmares, they… probably would have involved more chairs with teeth.

And doors calling him a directionally-challenged loser.

Otherwise, though, this was pretty close.

That's freaking it!his mind roared as he bellowed, stomping towards Gilda. He was used to his footfalls echoing anyway. Here and now, each new print he stomped into the hardpacked soil was the epicenter of spiderwebs of cracks and dusty lines in the earth itself. Each pounding stride brought him closer and closer to Gilda.

Or more specifically, to Gilda, who was pretending to get up to fight him while waving her ass and drenched pussy in his general direction. The latter part was definitely making the majority influence-- like each wriggle was tugging on his tool from there.

He didn't need to be told… what was it, four times? Five times? Maybe a sixth-- look, he didn't need to be told what to do with that prime griffon haunch, again.

When he was a step away, she kicked back hard at him. Hard enough that he had to backwing slightly against the pressure her leg forced through the air. Not just a bit of a counter; he backwinged hard, just to stay on the ground. Apparently, at this point, having lost their challenge and wanting him to take charge, she felt that using her claws on him was perfectly acceptable. If Gilda's legs were truncated redwoods themselves, her claws would be enough to give a slasher movie villain dagger envy, long and wicked and sharp.

They were aimed right at his chest, with the taut hawsers and heaving masses making up her quads shoving back, while her gorgeously buff-yet-bouncy glutes provided the base action. A nasty move by all accounts. Except for one: she telegraphed the motion like she was laying cable into new territory.

"This what you want, yeah?" he growled at her as he counterpunched, slamming his fist right into her adorably supersized calf muscle.

The force of his punch sent her leg wide, her beak screeching out a protesting, "No!" before she hissed, "Yes, stupid master!" at him. While spreading her legs further and reaching up between her enormous, strength-rippled thighs. She pinned her sopping sex wide with two fingers, just in case he hadn't gotten the message.

The blatant effect of her tail curved up and then back around down so the brown tuft pointed at her pinned-open pussy was, perhaps, insulting. He tried to remember to talk about it with her later, but decided it wasn't worth the effort of doing anything other than focus on the fuck for now. The way she writhed, her claws and talons digging into the earth, and her foal-- grifflet… hippogrifflet-bearing hips curving and rolling like he was already rutting her… that screamed him everything she was trying to tell him just now.

Everything every horny, tense inch of him wanted to hear.

Then she made an abrupt addendum, slamming at him with her wings. Bulk could see this was going to be a theme for the 'rape' she demanded, and clapped his hands together. Hard. Over the sides of her wings, pinning them together. He used the hold on her wings to lock her into place as he walked down over her, twisting his hips and slamming his dick across her right rump cheek like he was caning her.

At eight inches thick, it was probably closer to a paddling.

"I get the point, Gilda!" he said, and searched his memory for what the Princesses would do. "Stay in courtier!"

"... Character, you fucking nitwit."

"Stay in it, or I stop trying to force my dick into you."

"Fine!" she snarled back at him, tail lashing and wings thrashing. At the very second Bulk scooped his hips down to bring the enormously fat, juicy flare of his prick down between her thighs, she straightened her body. "Fuck you!" she roared, spreading her already beaten wings wide so they didn't block her headbutt, right for his muzzle.

With Gilda on her knees, she was just about head to head height with him, and both of them liked it that way. Of course, she felt it necessary to lift just a bit to provide more access to her greedy cunt, and he was ducking, too. Four feet of fat horsecock is a lot of length to wield, even when your partner is more than twelve feet tall.

As a result, her headbutt went wide, though the arc of her motion carried her strong back right into Bulk's forehead. He grunted with surprise and no little pain, but she yelped again and twisted to try and maneuver her elbows to smash back. "No way!" he yelled at her, and wrapped his cable-thick arms around her sides, pulling her much beefier limbs close in and squeezing. "Give it a fucking rest and spread 'em!" he ordered. Then, thinking about it, added, "Slut!"

It wasn't, perhaps his best banter, but he wasn't one hundred percent sure that he had a best banter. He had muscles, lifting, and fanatic dedication to whatever he put his mind. That would have to do; he was dedicating himself to giving Gilda what she demanded, no matter how crazy the form of her demands.

He wasn't helped by his sense of being completely out of place, of the strangeness of this unharmonic ritual. The cheering crowd was getting on his nerves, too, and weren't helping his body shyness. But his buttons were pushed, hard,

Besides, at Fluttershy's orders, he'd fucked Fluttershy in front of the other princesses before. Fucked her to the sound of what were honestly more raunchy cheers. Yeah, he figured, the performance anxiety is hardly going to get me soft now.

Not with all that marely-- er, feminine-- picture of perfect warrior muscles in front of him. As a top aide to one of the Element Princesses, he'd been around a lot of power bods. He knew his subject matter, and in his increasingly, throbbingly, achingly biased opinion, Gilda deserved to be up there with the amazonian luminaries of Equestria.

She's so huge! he thought happily as he squeezed hard around Gilda's beefy arms and beefier body. He couldn't reach all the way around her, especially not with her arms, too, but he had enough leverage and hold to pin her in. She's huge, but I'm stronger. Yeah!

Although she promptly went into full on hissing, kicking, and spitting mode, flailing at him with the full force of her titanic body, Bulk was cheered. As he lashed his teeth across her proud shoulders fiercely, he thought, And hey, I've got enough arm to grab some tit, too. Which he did; as his crushing bearhug turned her squawks into squeaks and her calls into coughs, his strong fingers grabbed the bottom of her hefty G-cups. He took time to stroke the juicy griff-melons, fondling and squeezing them around possessively.

His body and hers felt right together. Not just the interlock of two lovers he was looking forward to, but it felt right having her fold back across his body. Felt right holding her up while all six of her limbs flailed off-center, knowing that his strength holding hers fast turned them both on.

Gilda was tough, and proud of it; apparently, she got off on pushing the edge of her toughness, too. He was hefting her up off her knees to give himself a better angle-- and her mega-amazonian thighs never got any closer together for all she was "fighting" him-- when he felt the drips of her griffon-honey suddenly become a downpour. All it took was mauling her tits around some while keeping her in an inescapable, crushing grapple.

He snorted and told himself, Good to know. With that firmly in mind, Bulk nipped her again, this time on the base of her battered left wing. He was as gentle as he thought she'd tolerate, sweat stinging his eyes as he tried to keep up with her viciously ardent lovemaking. In between the slams, another nip or two, a bit further, and she was cumming all over his plus-sized prick yet again.

The feel of her gripping pussy was amazing, the lusty folds all but vacuuming up the precum he splurted into her. Another squeaky screech, and she abandoned trying to kick him. Instead she planted her clawed feet on the side of the crater and shoved back hard to get him off.

In other words, Gilda was spreading her treetrunk legs and needy pussy wide, then rolling the huge prominence of her shoulders tight. With the leverage provided by her fuck-me stance, she slammed herself back onto his throbbing tool as fast and as hard as she could.

To get him off.

Which it nearly did, a rush of precum and a triumphant roar of pleasure escaping him as that tight musclecunt gripped at his prick. Squeezing, clenching, that mighty core of hers turned on him from the second even the very tip of his broad flare was in there. It was like her pussy was pulling his dick in as hard Bulk gritted his teeth. Sure, yeah, as "the master," he supposed it was his privilege to cum in her, go soft, and make her do the work of getting him hard again.

As the sane-ish pony fucking a giant griffon female with a berserker attitude towards life and the discipline to make it work for her, Bulk had no such pretensions. Besides, the squirt and splurt of precum was a nice-near release, his juicy dick bulging and pulsing, inside and out of crazy eagle-cat cunny. He kissed her back, nuzzling the massive ridge of tensely powerful and powerfully beautiful muscle possessively.

Mine, now, he thought as he swung his hips back and forth into her, a ripple of tightness going from calf to thigh and belly to balls.. Oh yeah. She's given herself to me, I guess. He guessed while still holding that cinching super-grip around her, holding her hefty arms tightly bound. Because while she might be using the hyper-class train pistons she called legs to buck back at him-- and wasn't the bounce of all that fat bobble on her thick ass more than enough to keep him stiff despite his dick's best efforts to explode in her-- she was using every other part of herself to put on a show for the cohort.

And through them, the judging eyes of her legion and her people. So he was careful with his kiss, timing it so he didn't bite his own lip when Gilda slammed her back into his face. He ignored the strength of her wings as she slammed them back against his head. Joke's on her, he thought between pants. My head's the second hardest part of me! Even her tail was slapping and lashing across the plump prominences of his pumped-out pecs.

Maybe ignored was the wrong word. Maybe, "appreciate" was better.

He wished he could see all of her lovely, mighty glory from the front. Not just her tits; he had a good feel of those soft mounds with his fingers holding them from beneath and behind. Not just the solid wall of muscles that was her griffon frame, caught in near-helpless climactic throes as he claimed her. No, more than that, he wanted to see her belly bulge out as his obscenely masculine shaft distended, to see as well as feel her tough abs deform and clench around him as he filled her.

Kissing vigorously between her wings, Bulk decided to live a little dangerously. He slid his hands away from her hefty G-cups, which earned him a yowl of protest all on its own. It was nothing compared to the growl he got when he started to rub off his own flare where it distended through his mighty griffon mate. "The fuck you doing?" she hissed at him.

"You're busy," he teased. "Fightin' me, yeah? Guy's gotta take care of himself if-- fuck!" he howled, and slammed forward into her as she grabbed his shoulders with her wings, lunged her titanic legs up perpendicular to her body. With her feet braced against the wall, she used her extra reach to wrap her arms back around his hefty waist. From there, apparently a cherry on top, she grabbed hold of his ass hard, all the way back behind her!

"Fuck you and fuck busy," she hissed, then let out another snarl and yowl. Her fingers anchored hard against the tautness of his glutes, and she slammed hard back against his penetrating power-prick, her mighty quads bulging as she rocked herself back and forth against him. Core clenching and pussy gushing, she pistoned herself over the impossible girth of his tool. She threw herself into it, fucking onto him faster than he'd pounded her at his best. Her sex seemed even more eager to squeeze every last drop of pre from throbbing length of his shaft.

Just as though she found any mere precum gallons an unacceptable impediment to her real goal.

Pegasus cum by the bucketload. Heh, Bulk thought. I've got barrels for you, chick. But not yet, yeah? He couldn't manage the words out loud any more than he could care about the awed audience. Shyness was forgotten in the elemental moment of passion; titan and mini-giant coming together with thunderclaps.

Not just his increasingly tightening nuts slapping Gilda's well-padded ass. Or even mostly; he wasn't that damage resistant, and her ass, beautiful as it was, was not that well-padded, either. Still, every time the vast plateaux of his pectorals slammed against her wings and back, every time she shoved her bountiful butt right back into the rugged wall of his abs, thunder screamed through the arena.

The rubble left by his final bodyslam was the first to go, fragmenting again and slamming into those columns still standing. A small part of him absent-mindedly noticed the sound. A smaller part guiltily remembered this was his new mate's sacred arena, and she probably did not quite have the same occult oomph that the princesses had when they had… used him similarly. At least Gilda wasn't quite that demanding.

Perhaps not, but outside of the thrice and thrice again reinforced structures of the Canterlot and Ponyville castles, that was about all the pair needed. When her feet curled with the force of the orgasms ripping through her, she dug deep into the earth, sending sprays of the hard-packed soil everywhere. It left her periodically having to switch where her gorgeously giant legs were bracing to keep pounding her body back onto Bulk.

Like it mattered. She clearly didn't care about the moments of vulnerability, and he wasn't checking for another way to knock her off balance. He didn’t need it.

That same small part hoped her cohort was smart enough to get under cover. But it was a very small part, and the majority of him was focused on meeting every avalanche-force slam she pistoned back on the bulge-release-bulge-release-pump of her immense legs. The not inconsiderable ripped masses of his arms moved away from his cockbulge-- well, cock and pre bulge at this point-- snapping up under her own massive limbs to once more roughly caress her huge breasts.

Bulk kept his frantic pawings just off-beat from the thrust and counterthrust to use her own enthusiasm to further stimulate her. She evidently got off on the sheer slam and bang of it, and if there was one thing being passed around as a sub by amazon alicorns had prepared him for in the matter of domming a griffon, it was this: give the lady what she wants, how she wants it, when she asks for it.

With every new crash of lover into lover, warrior into lover, Gilda's roars and cursing encouragements became higher and higher pitched. Less and less of it was coherent, or even distinguishable from one moment to the next. It all grew blurred as her body trembled in his arms, loud groans and squealing coos of pleasure erupting even faster than the pair of them could come together. Which they did, shortly, the urgent need deep in his groin overwhelming his desire to keep going for as many orgasms as he could wring out of her snatch for her.

The next time that perfect griffon bubble butt slammed home, her cunt clenching and her beak open wide for a glass-shattering scream of pleasure, his bellowing whinny joined her voice in praise of pleasure. His body joined hers in uncontrolled spasm, his muscles flexing and clenching and pumping as he arched his back, flared his little wings, and emptied his overburdened nuts straight into the roiling grip of her climaxing cunny. Just what his mate had been waiting for.

Finally! Gilda's orgasm-crazed mind screamed. She'd have screamed it at the huge-dicked fucker, but she wasn't having much of a good relationship with language at the moment. Took his sweet fucking time busy my booty gimme gimme gimme CUM!

In an eyeblink, she made a last push off the wall and then demonstrated an impossible flexibility to go with her gargantuan frame and mega-amazon build. Those hawser upon hawser legs of hers kicked back and around him without her arms letting go. Arms nothing; her huge wings unfolded to their full span, then wrapped around her stud, hers, and she clung onto him, using the ripple of her orgasm and the proud skill of her body to keep humping up and down on his belly-bloating tool.

She didn't care whether or not she knocked Bulk on his ass; he'd just knocked her through her arena, and could suck it up. Suck it up, and fill her up, and she was gonna take what he had. Fuck 'im-- more than what she was doing now-- if he couldn't deal with a little thing like gravity and impact trauma like a big boy.

As another surge of thick, virile stallion seed made Gilda's belly blossom, she purred to herself, Mm, very big boy indeed.

Then he made her pussy try to squeeze that poor, pretty dick clean off. All his fault that her folds clenched around him, that her distended abs tried to enforce a wrap around the griffon-plumping rod of his. Her fingers, arms, legs, toes, wings-- everything she could wrap, digging into all the horsemeat she could find. Because it was all his fault. All him, and all of him. All her stupid pony now, and he just had to keep being sexy, didn't he?

He wasn't even trying. Okay, Gilda, unfair, she admitted. He was trying to fuck her as much as he could without something to brace her on. But the move that made her put every last ounce of the Flyer's savagery into her kegel crush on him was almost completely passive: when she slammed back into him, lunging her weight entirely onto him, Bulk didn't fall over.

He stood, a pillar of strength composed of other, smaller, interlocking pillars of strength, in her reverse grip, rutting back up into her needy sex as much as he could without something to brace on. There was no way she could restrain her talons now, and she was delighted at how tough the hide and flesh she dug into was. So fucking tough she wasn't sure she was even breaking skin.

Her mental and emotional core, the huntress in her that longed to scream through the skies as a holy terror, was actually impressed. Good mate! she purred to herself. Promising herself that she'd keep this one, keep him forever.

Gilda wasn't entirely sure she didn't mean "forever balls deep in her," but she figured she could work that one out as they went along. Right now, the 'long' she was mainly concerned with was the deliciously oversized length of pony dick stretching her out. And with the promise she was about to get more in the stretching department.

There it was, right what she'd been waiting for. Been throwing herself harder over Bulk’s still-squirting shaft for. More. In an instant, a fresh wave hot horsecum bulged up her mate's cock. She felt the distension increase, from her sex's glorious pulse of pleasure to her hips expanding to finally, finally feeling that suckable flare spread-- and there.

Heat, heat like she couldn't believe. Heat rushing through her like every nerve was on fire with pleasure as his cum finally disgorged itself. His hands tightened on her sides and he slammed his head into her back as those lovely, low-hanging nuts of his emptied, refilled, and emptied themselves into her over again. Perfect, Gilda’s brain mewled.

She greedily took it all in, screaming in griffon at the audience: "MINE!" Fuck fighting spirit; this was triumph, no matter who had won the fight. She reveled in the tingle of-- more than heat, a spreading warmth and almost buzzing with sensation that filled her, spreading out in advance of the ever-distending wave of stallion seed. She wasn't sure what was different than other hypers or even mystically inclined males and futa she'd fucked in the past. She'd snarl it out of him later; for now, she just wanted more!

Belly ballooning as though he was either inflating her or had some way of skipping the majority of a gestation period, she crowed out her triumph again. As her song heightened, her lusciously padded breasts were left almost vibrating from the combination of core clench and roar of sensation. Stroking her wings just once in loving caress over his back, she abruptly wrapped them tighter around her mate.

There was a vibrancy in her sex, in her womb. No, not just vibrancy; a flaring holiness that felt like-- not the dualism of her Flyer, no, but something familiar. A softer presence that had its own steel, one she was familiar with. Oh, she thought as Bulk pounded her and she let her involuntary reactions grip and squirm to bless him for the effort. Flutters.

Her jaw dropped in a self-satisfied smile. She reveled in the revelation, if not as much as she reveled over the rough rod deep in her. Gilda reminded herself, I did sort of whine to Fluttershy about the amount of magic or miracle needed to get hybrids when we weren't-really-but-totally-were talking about this dweeb, didn't I? Looks like she took my concerns to heart.

A priestess should know that requests made directly to deities, whether one's own or another, would be answered in one way or another. That's okay, she thought with an entirely un-Gildaish mental giggle. Flyer doesn't get jealous of miracle-slutting like that. He just demanded that you use it well. Her eyes widened, and her beak opened even further, a horny, hungry, almost mean smile now. Yeah. Use the blessing of life well.

She turned her attention back to Bulk. Around all that pretty, pretty strength, her limbs went into extension, locking stiff where they hadn't flexed from the overrotation. She held onto her mate, her male, her stupid, dweeby pony, her triceps clinging to his deliciously broad shoulders.

Too shy, too nice, too gentle, parts of her groused, spitting against the evidence while the corded, cabled, and hawsered girth of her legs, seized hold of his thighs, feet looping behind his knees. The main presentation from the rest of her on the matter of "dweeb vs. mate" was fourfold: first, it was clear she could push him to act properly savage (and hence he did have discipline) when she needed to, and second, he was clearly a skilled fighter on the ground and air.

A proper mate for an Immunes Tribune like her, in short. The third came from the satisfaction of power; she would have done serious injury to one of her griffon playtoys like this, more than she would have considered acceptable. Bulk just grunted a little deeper, and held his stance against everything she could do.

Which lead to reason number four: if he was a dweeb at all, he was also a fucking sexy, sexy fucking, hot-bodded Haycules of a mate who could let her have a bunch more fun than the usual, insufficient fare. Given how much D and how much O she was getting from just quivering and squirming in her self-imposed bracket, Gilda felt-- insofar as she could be said to be analyzing anything in between sight and mind-blanking orgasms-- that this outweighed the dweebishness.

Even if Fluttershy wasn't likely to let Gilda rough out his smooth edges. S'fine, she thought. Just fine. Means I have more things to bitch him out about, and bring out my lovely rut-pony master. Whee!

Her sight went black again, and she slumped on Bulk, little-dead weight as her head swam. "Ee," she muttered. "Stupid sexy pony. Whoops!"

Bulk wasn't one hundred percent sure if he was on triple-up or… tetraup? Fourple up? Something. His beautiful megazonian griffon was slumped against him, but apparently, her body didn't think that meant it was time to stop pumping him. Her quivering pussy was still engaged in an only slightly less exuberant campaign to squeeze every drop of everything out of the juicy length of his cock. The sheer bliss of his release left him with absolutely no defenses in him left to fight that.

Or desire to try.

Nonetheless, he calmed, slowly, carrying her only so much now. He'd filled Gilda so full of cum he was able to lever her seed-swollen body down to against the side of the crater without worrying he'd wake her up. Cushioned on the padding he'd provided.

A blush started to creep its way up his body as he realize the griffons in the audience were applauding. Digging his feet into the earth below, pawing back and forth didn't seem to be helping-- other than the coos and purrs from the unconscious griffon giantess still wrapped around his giant-sized dick-- so he roared at them. It seemed to work for her, after all.

Somewhat to his surprise, it worked for him, too. The silence was deafening, and Bulk abruptly realized that they had no more idea of how to deal with him than he did with them right now. Ponies beating special ops tribune-priestesses of the Flyer… didn't happen. It had, though. Some of them wouldn't believe anything except that Gilda had lost her edge. They'd be gunning for her. She was his sub now, and by griffon holy law and the expectations of his princess, that meant he had an obligation.

Should I intervene again? he wondered. Abs still heaving from aftershocks from their climactic finale, he leaned against her luscious body, stroking one potent arm. A masseuse's instincts took over, and as the silence turned to whispered conversation, he began to rub his strong fingers into her sleeping flesh-- wherever there was enough muscle to get through without having to stir his seed within her.

Thankfully, that included both Gilda's arms and her back, so he went to work on the stiff muscles at the base of her wings, carefully working around the places he'd damaged in the fight, releasing even more tension in the sleeping warrior. He realized abruptly that she was what he needed-- someone with drive and passion to not let him just coast in a haze, someone with strength and skill-- more skill than him, even, especially at leadership!-- so that they could both let out their deepest, most primal halves. It would be rough; she was belligerent, temperamental, and in all honesty, more than a little crazy.

He kinda liked the crazy. And it seemed to go with the whole "griffon leadership" thing, of course. Which more than made up his mind on whether to grandstand on her behalf again.

No, he told himself. And not just because I don't wanna try to be badass while I'm not actually sure I'm soft enough to pull out. She wants to fight. It's what she loves-- in everything. Bulk was no stranger to a bit of testosterone-induced raging. His challenge-won mate took the Flyer's savagery to a whole different level, one that was as beyond him as her skills in the military sciences and arts. Hey, I can ask her to tutor me for Fluttershy's guard… It would be risky, but fun.

The other griffons were still staring at them, though, and it was getting on his nerves. Then he realized, Yeah, I can make them go away, can't I? So he roared again. "Get! OUT! Before I pull out, and make us both mad!"

The response was instant, and, because he hadn't, unfortunately, thought too far ahead, involved all the griffons in the broken arena.

For all but one of the legionnaires present, dominance had been clearly established. It was irregular, but the forms had been obeyed. Savagery had carried this strange pony they'd had in their midst through the day. He had shown the Discipline both to fervently support his submissive, and to trust that she would be able to handle herself. Some of the griffons wouldn't share his confidence, and might later challenge Gilda.

None of them disobeyed.

The griffon still stuck on the engorged mass of his dick reached back to slowly caress her broad left palm over his deep-hanging, slowly recovering nuts. The worshipful coo in her tone didn't quite match her words as she said, "Mm, yeah, master. Because I want you all to myself, and we're definitely not done with you showing me who's the boss."

It wasn't exactly not, either. And he knew better than to say, "You," to her. When she effortless moved her entire cum-filled bulk around on his cock, seizing another burst of precum and re-stiffening his shaft all along the way to hug him, he knew he'd chosen right.

Chapter 5

Somehow, they made it back to her rooms. Gilda's prior lovers had removed a few of their essentials, with a note that they'd be back for more later. That stuck in her craw a bit. Not because she still wanted all of them around, but because they didn't wait for her word. It meant one of them was already thinking about challenging her; she could smell it.

Slosh. Other things had strong scents of their own.

It was a strange, half-relief, half-irritation. Among other things, she knew all three of them well enough that having the opportunity to demonstrate-- to live up to Bulk's boasts-- she was still large and in-charge without potentially injuring soldiers she'd need right now. Bulk…

She wobbled around a bit to look at him, and purred when he bit her for squirming. Still...

He was carrying her. It was flat out ridiculous. She outmassed him even when she wasn't stuffed full of pony-cum. Now? While she'd shed some of that with a quick mana-conversion prayer to the Flyer, she'd damn well kept a good chunk of what was hers. So he couldn't see over her at all, and had had to let her down to get in the door.

It had been a clumsy, nipping, bouncing, cursing ride. Delicious.

Gilda blushed hotly, her nares flaring as she squirmed in his arms. Wriggling around a bit, she nuzzled at his short mane lightly, grooming obsessively at him with her beak. Damn lug… she muttered mentally. He'd picked her up again, swatting back her flails, as soon as they'd gotten inside.

She struggled with him. Sure, she was still about a third pony spunk by volume, but he was trying to carry her.

Succeeding at it, despite her struggles. Oh, look, Gilda told herself. Gush goes the Gilda...

Unless she gave a safeword, or showed real distress, she couldn't stop Bulk Biceps from hauling her around, without going to injuries neither of them wanted. It was a lot hotter than anything she'd ever felt comfortable acknowledging before. Thank you for the blessing, Fluttershy, she thought into the distance. She thought the Flyer would understand; even he had to find the full-arena smash mad bitchin'.

As long as she repaired it to a minimum of three platforms before the end of the week, of course. She'd had practice before, if not quite this intense.

Slosh went the Gilda, yet again.

Speakin' of intense, Gilda thought, and started to squirm once more. He'd stopped moving, which meant all that hot, meaty stallion-aggression was reaching back into shyness. Time to put a damn stop to that. She tapped her beak lightly at his shoulder. "H-hey, dweeb." She hadn't meant to stutter. Couldn't help it. "D-don't bottle it up; take it from a dom-- switch now-- who knows. Ain't healthy for you, ain't healthy for my hindquarters."

Whoops. Bulk blushed redder than she had, and all but dropped her in his haste to put her on her feet.

So she knelt, deep in kowtow, reveling in his shyness and strength alike. The both of which she played at, pressing her beak worshipfully to his left foot, then his right. "Nah, sexy," she cooed, or did her best coo impression. "You ain't there yet, and I wouldn't letcha. I meant the fuckin' talkin' you got in mind. So we can get over that and I can get to finally feel what my own toys are like outsida calibration."

Mm, she thought. Oh, that's nice. Much less coherent was her moan at the sudden expansion of juicy (and her-juice-covered) horsedick above her head. "Thinkin' it's a bit early for me callin' you a long term master, master?" she growled when she recovered. Her nares flared. Fuck. Musk is different from a griffon's, but still nice and strong, like Genny's pussy the day she almost took me in the ring. She refrained from licking his low-hanging nuts-- for now. "Little bit of a one-date mating?" It was, but… she could barely help herself. Something about the fight, something about him…

"Uh… not… exactly," Bulk muttered, and stroked her at the base of her skull in the back. She almost creamed, it was so nice, but looked curiously up at the musclebound midget-- by her terms-- who had owned her so good. He gave her a quirky smile. "Workplace ain't the same. But-- we've been workin' together for five years on and off, Gilda. Tartarus, I tried to call a couple of those meet an' greets dates… you only punched me a coupla times, and never told me to drop it."

S'true, Gilda admitted, and so stopped restraining herself. It wasn't like he was restraining being the sexy, or telling her to piss off, right? She let her beak drop carefully, questing her tongue out towards those delicious-smelling nuts of his. No hesitation. Unless… unless he likes a shy sub like Fluttershy?

Some of her worry must have shown, because after he'd groaned with appreciation, he just stroked her head lightly and shook his own. "If you're thinkin' I'm lookin' for you to be like Flutters… nah," he explained.

It left her blinking, so she covered up her indecision by really laying on the ball-worship for a bit. Her tongue was strong, her beak rigidly open, and she knew how to play with pretty cum-spheres. Even if she might have been a bit less reverent the last time. Not now. These balls, huge, sloshing about as bad as she had walking in the door… Unf, she groaned. They were already filling up and ready, a dark black contrast to his white hide-- these balls were her duty now.

Gilda wasn't one hundred percent sure how duty was supposed to go on this side; good thing her dweeb of an owner was patient. She slowed herself, slurping and stroking, applying a legionnaire's methodical precision to swipe and lap her tongue over every inch. She raised an eyebrow at him, not sure why…

"Aw, G," Bulk said with a chuckle. "Fuck that's nice. C'mon, though, tribune." His tone was gentle, but it somehow made her pussy juice all the more that he just expected she'd hold her rank by fury and skill. She'd need to live up to that. "'Bout the same amount of time we've been workin' together I've been intimate with alicorn princesses. You think Flutters is how I see a sub? Even when she wanted to get pinned down, it was 'cause she wanted that. Same reason I ain't too worried even if you do win the next time. I respect you, you respect me. We've worked that way for a while, right?"

"Fuck, I like the way you think, master. Stupid-sexy pony-master," Gilda purred at him. "You like the way I lick?" she half-growled, half moaned. With that out of way, she got back to messily slobbering over his enormous, low-hanging balls. "I gotta say if you'll let me, I'll clean these for ya at a minimum every time we're in private." She gave him a cheeky smirk. "An' clear 'em out inside, too, if ya know what I mean." When he just chuckled and nodded, she pouted, and rubbed her beak pleadingly against the huge mass of his shaft. "A little brutality in the bedroom, please? I'll safeword, or even slowword, if it's too much, promise."

Wham. He got the message, all right. Those thick hands of his took his thicker prick by the base, and he casually slapped her, right across the beak and face, with the throbbing, thick-scented length of his tools. "Perfect," she moaned.

"The suggestion wasn't, G. Suck me off with that beak?" Bulk asked skeptically.

She laughed. "Aw, don't be that way, Bulky. I had to be careful with Gary, but I've had hyper-pony sausage before." She nuzzled reverently at the thick hair at the base of his shaft. "We both know what you'd do to my beak if you wanted to rape my face. Make it stretch in ways I ain't used to feelin'." She stuck out her tongue when he made a distasteful expression. "Not real rape, sheesh. But a griffess likes to feel like a properly abused bitch when she's on the bottom!"

Suddenly, those skeptical looks frightened her. Gilda was an instinctive kind of female. Faith and her subconsciousness were telling her that he was the right one for her, right now. She knew the tough guy behind the gentleness needed release he wasn't getting, at least not properly. "You don't…" her voice trailed off. "You don't have second thoughts, do you?"

"Open your beak."

She stared up at Bulk, hope and fear and-- oh my. Horniness as he slapped her with the oversized support column he called a package once again, this time nearly knocking her out of her kneel.

"Open. Your. Beak."

The growl made her wet. Her wetness made her feel a burning need to please him. Remembering how hard she'd worked to make sure her trio had been well-fucked before herself, and how hard they'd worked to pleasure her first. She couldn't give him any less, so she leaned her… moderately padded, fine… ass back onto her heels, and opened her beak wide.

Thrust. It was a good thing, too, the hyper's lust and power, because that flare was broader than her head, let alone her beak. But it didn't break, and she didn't even leave much of an impression in all that gorgeous cock-crown. The curved tip was forced back, stretching like hide; the edge, nothing more than a pleasant rubbing over veiny cockflesh.

Thrust, yes. Thrust and gush. She needed this, he needed this. And the method...

One of Gilda's proudest natural weapons, turned into nothing more than another dick-pleaser. Unf, she thought as the tingles of it stimulated her. Just what the tribune ordered. Unaware of her thoughts, if not her intent, her lover plowed hard into her throat, claiming it hard and deep.

The absolute most she could do as he forced to her to obscene distension was lap vigorously below it.

The taste alone was worth it.

Then the most she could do was choke, like no dick had choked her since puberty, as he didn't stop there. No, big-muscled, badass Bulk Biceps was in charge of her right now, and he wasn't waiting for her to play with the tasty flare or for her to get used to so much fucking cock. He wanted her throat, he took it.

He does understand! she thought with a somewhat oxygen-starved giddiness. She did try to breathe through her nose as much as possible, her eyes watering a bit nonetheless from the as-requested brutal throat-swabbing he was giving her abruptly distending beak. All she could do… ultimately... even while choking around it, was pleasure him. So that's what she got to doing. Shoving her soft, jiggly G-cups up, she used her heavy tits to jerk off the bottom of what cock wasn't in her yet. So much dick. I want it all, you fucking fat-dicked pony. Make me feel it!

The fucker paused before his medial ring even got into her conquered beak. "No second thoughts, Gilda," he said quietly. "I may hesitate. I may think about stuff if I'm not sure. But like I said-- we've been together in the way that matters for warriors long enough. An' as long as I can, I'm going to enjoy ownin' me a piece of griffon ass-- the best piece of griffon ass there is. So go 'head. Suck like the slut you are. Like you've always needed to be. 'Cause we both know that's what you've been waiting for, an' I bet you got a need for Bulky to violate a few POW rules on a captured raider, yeah? An' you get none of that until your tummy is full of horsecum again."

Served her right for stirring up extra slosh in those sperm-blossoming nuts. Aw yeah, it does, she thought smugly as she lewdly pumped her head back and forth. All the while, loving it, still choking on the monster maleness, still starved for air and loving the tears running down her cheeks. Serves this horny griff good to be serving a rough, mean pony commander. And it did, too. She squirmed, strangled mewls humming over his dick as her pussy let her know this was definitely on the approved list.

Flexing her huge quads, Gilda rubbed her plump, moist labia together. Her pony hadn't forbidden her self-pleasure, after all, and if she couldn't really get off that way-- well. She would damn well have better edge endurance than any sub she had! Still, she teased herself, her hands still full of her own boobs as she tried to entice him to forcefuck that challenging ring all the way into her waiting, owned face.

Like she was coming to anticipate, Bulk did. Flat-out grabbed the back of her head and pulled, right when his super-strong quads pushed and bam down the waiting hatch his pretty, pretty prick went. Even with his hyper magic working on her, she could only stretch so much, so fast; her gullet was forced wider and wider-- no holding back on her owner's part, no ma'am.

Just the way she liked it.

Bulk shuddered. Core tensing, precum pulsing down into his greedy griffon's gut, he gasped deeply. Gasped in time with her spasming across his shaft. He realized only a little too late that he hadn't worked out a tap-out gesture, but figured she'd, well, tap out if things got too intense.

In a bad way, anyway; he knew Gilda wouldn't tap out now and loved her for it. Even if she'd only sucked a little bit of hyper dick before, she seemed to have picked up the basics: Inhale as hard as you could, let your gag reflex ride a bit but not too much, and generally make your throat into a good facsimile of a spasming cunt. "Mm," he rumbled. "Griffon throatpussy. Almost as good as Griffon pussy pussy. But you gotta do better, G."

Honesty was a virtue but he had to hope that lying for a kinky lover's scene could approach that from… uh… the mirror?

"Gotta do so much better," he groaned. And mare oh mare, was he lying; his balls felt so tight as the muscles of her thick throat gripped and her tongue worshiped and her breasts cushioned. Lying and so didn't care; she'd be pissed if he slacked on his side too. "Gotta show me my slave's throatpussy is worth it enough to give her the cane."

It had been a guess. Just a guess on what she'd like done to her, but son of a wild timber wolf. She's fucking cumming from cock plus threat equals fuck, he thought, panting and suddenly unable to stop or slow at all. Like the sex he called it, he swung his hips to pound the mega-girth of his shaft harder and harder into her clenching throat. Filled and overfilled her, his precum beginning to bloat her belly out yet again.

Pop. The stretch and seal-like snap of a distended beak being forced around his medial was the first ripple, but he didn't stop there. He thrust deeper, grinding forward and driving the fat ring into her throat. Past. In, until his balls slapped against her lower beak, the heavy spheres sloshing and bouncing with the force of impact. "That'll do, yeah," he rumbled deeply, shuddering with the pure pleasure as he hilted himself.

Gilda let her gorgeous breasts fall out of the way of the oncoming thrust, her broad, strong hands stroking firmly at his ever-swelling balls. If she'd told him it was a Flyer benediction to produce more cum, he'd have believed her. It'd be odd if she started talking now, though, an increasingly abstract part of him thought. The rest of him loved those well-trained, cunning fingers as they squeezed and caressed with a desperate need.

And what does my horny griffon want? was about as rhetorical a question as Bulk could manage at the moment. Between the constant slurp, slurp, suck and those eager fingers working their blessed magic, he couldn't hold back from what she wanted, anyway. He groaned out wordlessly, his forearms trembling and bulging as he restrained himself from locking too far down on her head with his hands.

She really began spasming over that, the thick bulge of his wad forcing her throat and beak to stretch all the wider still. Not that she seemed to be objecting; instead, her fingers were clasped behind the musky mass of his sack. The calloused digits pulled his weighty nuts towards her as though trying to beg it to pump more, pump harder down her clenching throat. Somehow, the whole time, she managed to lewdly curl and squeeze her tongue around as much of his cockbase as she could manage, focusing on pleasuring him with all her might.

His thighs bulked out, his calves bulging as he pressed towards Gilda's face. Her belly ballooned, filled with hot horsecum so thickly that it forced outwards to slosh against his knees. For that matter, he noticed her eyes starting to roll back into the back of her head, and mild concern made him start to pull back.

"Mrmmfmfgll!" cried his griffess. It wasn't plaintive, but it was a protest. A complaint. A demand. She didn't fight his movement, but she did bob her head back and forth, her tongue slurping out expertly. Fingers trembling, she worked him over to the top of his climax-- and brought him doubling up and over into a second orgasm.

Not a beg, not like this, Bulk thought in the haze of pleasure as a fresh splurt of stallion spunk reinforced the cumflation in her once-rippling tum. An offer. Showing me how good a cocksock she is. And she was good; his whole dick felt like it was vibrating with sheer delight. So he took her up on the offer, and plowed hard for her conquered beak yet again.

Something wicked in his soul made him wonder if he could fill Gilda so much the cum overran her. He put that off for another time, though; he had a promised "prisoner abuse" to fulfill, and he didn't want to disappoint his prisoner. So he just leaned into his huge mate's face, spending every gallon of cum into her until his nuts almost ached, in the best kind of way. Her furred headfeathers felt so good as he ran his fingers through them, a possessive yet giving love.

Only when he softened did he start to pull back, swatting her cheeks in passing as she protested-- less strenuously. "Nuh uh," he told her with a snort. "Can't buy off your punishment no more."

Bulk smirked as she started to yowl crankily at him, and cock-slapped the objection right out of her. The horny blush she shot up at him, one of her hands actually going up to the heat of her cheek was even more flattering than her goofy smile. If not quite as much as her moaned, "Master!"

Some time, preparation, and sweaty entanglements later...

Gilda tensed her titanic muscles, pulling hard against the reinforced chains wrapped around her chiseled forearms. She gritted her beak tight, inhaled deeply, and hauled at the limit of her strength. The chain reached the extension of its length, each link above the anchoring wrap grinding against the links above and below.

And nothing.

Well, she thought, a little creaking from the supports. But I'd need a long time to break it from there; the chains won't. The thought sent shivers down her spine, ending in a burst that traveled right to her clit and left her panting. I did good on these. She hadn't thought they'd be used on her, but they were to her specifications, anyway.

She steadfastly refused to think of how much she had been missing this. Bulk hadn't been available, not really. No regrets. Full force, full throttle. Full belly; fuller womb.

Tilting her head to her side, Gilda looked up at her pony. "How'd we get here, anyway?" she asked wryly.

Bulk snorted. "I captured you in fair combat, yeah? Raidin' over our borders--" he said, starting to weave a lovely little story for their playtime.

She rolled her eyes. Ponies. She didn't care about the stories here. She stuck her tongue out and growled, "No, doof-- SQUAWK!" Her interruption, interrupted, by a lovely crack of her reinforced cane across her rump.

It felt good, if a little weaker than Gilda would prefer. He'd calibrated with her before he'd even tied her up, and he still wasn't smacking her hard enough to do much more than leave a faint red line across her jiggly hind end. Stupid pony even has my tail tied up between my wings to my collar, she grumbled mentally as she pouted at him. Not like he has to worry about hitting something really sensitive.

So she squawked at Bulk again, and wriggled her ass to emphasize. "Doof-ah-ah-AWK!" she squealed. Three smacks of the cane, probably leaving welts. "Much better," she sighed. "I got standards, pony!" The y trailed off into a series of eeks as he caned her fat tits. It was lighter than he'd done to her rump to start, but more, and her fuckin' inconvenient boobs were more sensitive than her ok, fine, wide load ass.

Especially when she'd been thoroughly fucked. Doubly so, apparently, when she was being owned. Now just to get that thoroughly, too. She stuck her tongue out at him again, and licked the cane in a long, languid slurp when he brought it near the top of her G-cups again. "I mean," she huffed, "How did I end up kneelin'-- to a pony, to you-- an' both of us looking to make it long term?"

Bulk smiled down, a goofy, smug smile that made her want to punch him, melt into a pile of griffon goo, and suck his duck until he re-cumflated her. Another unfair advantage of those expressive lips. "A long life with neither of us fitting in," he suggested. "A lot of trouble, a lot of dumb ideas, a huge amount of luck, and Fluttershy liking to do nice things for people?"

Gilda blushed and wriggled around under the hoisting chains. The idea of being in debt to the alicorn of Kindness wasn't too bad. Not when it got her a male who understood her, didn't fear her, and was willing to roll with her weirdness. Plus, she noted as she continued to soak her thighs, she's always been a hottie, and now!

But that wasn't where she was going to get the beatings she damn well wanted. Not with the cane in the hands of her pretty, sculpted musclestud. Now, she reminded herself, and flexed her wings lightly, looking up at him. Waiting. Doing her best to offer up the heavy rack of her boobs, hoping for a bit harder.

Crack! Smack! "Yes!" Gilda wailed out. Her cunt virtually burned with need. Forget the damage of the fight, this was her mate, leaving marks of ownership in her sensitive titflesh. Her jiggly melons bounced as her musclebound stallion lashed the cane across them, above and below. Her nipples were as hard as she could remember them, almost punishing her again with their lewd ache.

Five more stripes each, above and below, and she sagged forward like her beaten boobs. She leaned in as far as her anchored arms would allow, sliding her thunderstorm thighs apart to as much extension as she could manage. "No mercy for me!" she growled at Bulk, and, further cementing his status as love of her life, or at least, lust of her submissive life, he had none,

Even if it was only a tease. He laid the cane once along the edge of each hip, bare contact and little more. Enough to feel it, enough to get her rounded hips shaking for him-- and then he stopped! She whined, eyes widening and scrabbling to get purchase with her toes. Just a bit, and she could lunge at him, for all the good it would do.

Bulk just smirked, and brought the cane that had once been hers up to her beak again. "If you're not gonna play my prisoner," the stupidly strong and stupider-ly sexy pony teased her, "you could at least ask nice." He stood there, naked, ripped, and still annoyingly not even three quarters her height.

Smack! Crack! He distracted Gilda from her mental grousing with a pair of lovely stripes… on her legs, right where it was tough and she didn't feel it so much!

It hence didn't stop her from being cranky… for long. She brooded to herself, Plus those teeny wings, like all of his w-ness went into his wang. Everything else about him, from those gorgeously immense biceps to his lovely, lickable abs, to his own corded plateaus of quads, was her scale or better, but it irked her that he was shorter. Almost as much as him pausing in punishing her tits!

"J-jerk," Gilda choked out, and those same reflexes she'd seen on the battlefield besides and against him came into play. A lovely smack across her still cum-jiggly belly. It was enough, the sudden sensation making her curl back and arch her ass high as though he was back there. Back there and doing her proper, the sting shuddering through her.

Even when I got Genny to nip proper it wasn't like this! she thought with a bliss of endorphins and adrenaline, pain and pleasure melding. "Please!" she whined at him, her voice cracking.

"Better," Bulk told her. Striding closer still, he idly used his foot to nudge her knees wider and wider apart. With an undignified yelp, she reached the end of the slack. Suddenly, she dangled loosely, her potent, sculpted arms raised high over her head. "Gotta do more better, yeah?" When she started to squawk again, he grabbed her beak with his free hand and clamped down, leaning in. "You don't got ears for me to pull on, so it's your tail if you keep bein' stubborn. You want a beating, you beg."

Lewd thoughts, lewder than she'd managed before, ran through her head. He was setting discipline.

She whimpered. She squirmed. She pulled as hard as she could with those mighty eighty-inch biceps and their full, swelling triceps supporting, and only managed to lift herself off the ground. Which her deliciously mean stupid pony sabotaged by kicking her thighs apart. While she was struggling with that, he planted just a single, broad palm on her pumped-out right shoulder and pushed.

She was forced into a splits in seconds, the femjuice-soaked lower puff of her labia rubbing against her the strange, not-quite smoothness of her floor. Bulk forced her down without even trying hard, any advantage of skill or fierceness to turn against his strength utterly gone. Gotta see about getting the barracks redone if I'm gonna be topped by a shrimp for a while, was the closest coherent thought in her head. She tilted her beak around, and looked up into that square-jawed face. No mercy. Not the no mercy I asked for, but the no mercy I want, anyway. Best beg, squawker.

So Gilda did, ducking her head submissively and purring. "Please, master," she moaned. "Please beat your griffon like one of those nerd revenge films gone right. Please make me suffer, and beg to pleasure you until there's so much pony cum in me I start thinking vegetables are delicious!"

Her beefy pony couldn't help himself; he just laughed, and kissed her gently between the eyes. "Kay," he told her, and she didn't give a shit about dialogue. Just about how much of a hiss and a sting was married to a shock of masochistic pleasure as the cane struck again-- this time across her triceps. To the delectable recipe of pain and horniness, he added the strain of her beaten muscles holding her at full extension, laying ten stripes across her arms before she yelped at her highest yet.

"You have me," she moaned. "Better yet. You get me. Thank y-MMF!" Another series, this time carefully placed below her wings, not quite at the bases, leaving her whole body shuddering on the edge. She needed intensity. To feel conquered, or else feel unworthy of being the sub. They both might want some nice vanilla boinking later, but a lifetime of denying half of her switchness had been a torture Gilda didn't even know she was feeling.

It was worth it, to push Bulk to do her harder. A final sacrifice, and-- Oh, she moaned. The metal of the cane was no longer cold, warmed by the cracks across her flesh. Nonetheless, a shiver ran up from her pussy when he stroked the springy length across her honey-dripping nethers. Not an unpleasant shiver; he had a lovely deftness, stroking her like a giant’s finger, but still...

She saw the doubt in her mate’s eyes; he was trying, for her, but not sure if this was the right step. To be honest-- neither was she. Don't know if… Another whimper escaped her throat, and she grunted, "Slowword." Nevertheless, when he started to pull the cane out from where he'd been rubbing it against the wetness of her mound, she brought her knees together as fast as she could, clamping it in place.

She even pushed her well-caned arms to haul herself up a bit, to leave her body hanging as her master intended. "S-sorry, Bulk," she panted. "Don't want you to stop, just… not sure I'm ready for that much." It hurt a bit, to admit it, but she knew that he'd need to trust her to keep pushing her edge.

Besides, there were rewards for trusting, too. The warmth of his short nine-foot tall frame abruptly pressed against her, her G-cups smushed against the pretty hardness of his plump pecs, a firm hand rubbing against the still-cooling redness of her rump. And then those amazingly dexterous lips, kissing all over her head.

"I wasn't really sure, myself," he confessed, and hugged her.

She gasped, the unexpected power of his suddenly bulging musculature wrapping her in more strength than her greediest griffon moment could have desired in a mate. So tight! she thought, and then, with an adrenaline-drunk giggle, repeated it out loud. "So fuckin' tight, pony!" she moaned at him.

Chuckling quietly, he let her slowly sink back, nodding at her thighs. "Let 'em loose, and then back to just above the floor," he ordered, and she obeyed, shivering. Every oversized mass of potent griffon flesh on her body tensed and hardened in anticipation. "When we go back in scene, G, I don't think I'm ready to try that until I've masturbated you with the cane a few times, and honestly, I want back in you sooner than that." A shy look on a stern face. "Ain't I beaten you enough, tribune?"

Gilda giggled again, utterly at odds with her giant, overproportional body. "Fuck, pony," she mock-grumbled at him. "As long as you keep winnin', I'm going to keep callin' in beating markers. Bu-u-ut…" she trilled it out, and nibble-groomed softly at his chest hide with her beak. "I may be with you on this one. Just two to grow on? Across the thighs?"

"Pain slut," Bulk growled, and she didn't bother to deny. No, she enthusiastically rowled out her agreement, a long half-yowl of a sound that ended with a low grunt.

The two final stripes of the cane left her cumming, her pussy and core shamelessly clenching. "Fuck yeah," she managed in between grunting unfs. "Toughest pain slut ever."

Bulk briefly had a mental vision of decades of marriage to a huge, aggressive amazonian giantess. A moody, pushy, intensely strong-willed giantess with absolutely no hesitation about driving him to punish her, to control her, to use her, just like she wanted. Was this what he wanted, though?

He grabbed Gilda's beak again, tilting her up so he could look her in the eyes. Her face was flushed with the redness of pleasure; her eyes growing a bit vague, almost but not quite rolling back. The lower half of her beak worked against his hand, dropping into a constrained smile, and his heart melted.

His dick, on the other hand, leaped up to full hardness again, lewdly swatting at the bottom of her already abused melons, sending them jiggling as she grunted and moaned with renewed stimulation. "Yeah," he said out loud. "You're the one that I want." He threw the cane off to the side, onto the bed. Neither bed nor cane was needed for what he wanted now.

Another growl, another challenge, her body throbbing and glowing with the marks he'd left on her hide. "Whatcha do that for?" she snarled at him. Nothing soft here, except for those tits… and that juicy griffon booty.

He ignored her, and hauled up on the chain, bringing her off the floor entirely. Taking real control, he forced her to bend over forward, his strong hands squeezing and caressing her massive body as he propped her back up on her feet. "That's it, G," he rumbled. "Bend over for your pony." She fought him, but not as much as before; a little pressure between her wings, and she was bent at a ninety degree angle, straight forward.

Bulk was amused to note that just like pegasi, an aroused griffon put her wings in full extension. "Beautiful," he whispered, and spanked her cane-striped ass. The yelp was gratifying; the scent of her renewed arousal dripping off her eager sex more so.

The pose wasn't done. Gilda was bent forward, muscles trembling, jiggly rump held high and her enormously amazonian legs spread out in an obscene upside-down V, but he couldn't get her arms turned up with them already wrapped up in the chain. This left her big, bulky biceps smooshed in against her abused melons, and the chain crammed against her beak.

Frowning a bit, he asked, "Hey, G, you ok with those up between your boobs and against your face?" Tracing his fingers over her forearms, he squeezed, feeling the barely constrained strength of her huge arm. Then he squeezed harder, conquering it with his hyper and cutie-mark-blessed strength nonetheless.

After a happy whimper or two, Gilda shrugged. "I'll be okay, pony, sheesh," she cooed at him, twisting her beak to the side around her upheld wrists. She tapped the sharp tip of it against his obliques, grooming lovingly for a moment before elaborating. "Tartarus, I gotta push your squishy butt just to do me rough. When they slap me, it'll be like you're doin' your job right!"

That got her a spanking, his broad hand small against the upraised globes of her pre-beaten tush. It was enough; the more he spanked her, the wetter she got, and the more she wriggled her ass in anticipation. "Be careful what you wish for," Bulk warned. "You got it easy from me before."

"Words," she sneered, then let out a moan. He'd taken the opportunity to walk around behind her. While he had her distracted, he laid the full eight inch broad base of his achingly stiff horsecock between her cheeks. "F-fuck," she groaned, sneer wiped out. "You're not…"

He grinned, and reached down to tug on her tied tail, rubbing it against the thick ridge running along the bottom of his oversized shaft. "Gonna," Bulk replied. "You ready to earn some lube?"

"Well, I don't want that monster going in dry, jackass!" Gilda growled, then mewled as he casually spanked her still-sore left buttock. "N-not on the first in-home date, anyway!"

He paused to admire her. Her biceps and triceps weren't at full flexion, but they made for a lovely picture on the sides. The titanic mass of hardened strength squeezed her beaten breasts together, the overflowing fat titflesh pushing above and below its normal place. Her back was like earthquake-shattered ground, her flight muscles and all the anchoring combining to make a sheer relief of power.

And that ass. It was gorgeous. How she'd managed to keep some rump with all the sheer strength of the rest of her, Bulk wasn't sure. Not even dedication to leg day should be able to keep that kind of globular, jiggly, just-enough-sag-for-bounce beauty behind, but, hell, he wasn't complaining.

"So earn it," he told Gilda, clamping his hands on her curvy hips. "Twerk like a popstar."

"What?"

The roar earned her another spanking. "Not gonna say it twice," he warned her. "Twerk your tush, or get ready for dry dick in your vulnerable little asshole." Or safeword me, but we both know that isn't likely.

In fact, he was fairly certain that Gilda was actually debating if she wanted more masochistic pleasures, or if just having her ass rearranged to submit to four feet of hyper horsecock would be enough. In the meantime, her shuddering, heaving squirms were actually already getting his fat flare to drool pre; in a moment, it'd probably drop a dollop or two on her back.

He'd expected to need to masturbate a bit and to fake 'dry.' Even with a hyper's resistance, chafing was still a thing for both of them. But she surprised him. Again. Got a feeling that's going to happen a lot, Bulk thought as she went a little limp, sinking forward.

Her voice was hesitant, quivering, almost unGildalike, but not entirely opposed. "Okay, okay, jeeze, dweeb, don't… don't push too hard," she half-whined. "I'll do it. But I'm not one of your hyper mare sluts-- which you no longer have-- so I'm not…" A heavy swallow sent her heavyset chest jiggling, and her butt bobbing against his cockbase. "I haven't, y'know. Twerked or anything. Before."

"Shake it, G," Bulk ordered. "Roll your hips towards me like I was already settin' up shop in your colon, and drillin' for griffon squeals. Shake it, roll it, get that booty clapping." His fingers clenched on her hips once, and then he slowly let go. "I know you can do it, baby."

It took her three tries to get swinging, but she was a natural. He'd already felt how much agility, how much control she had over her hips and core, and had benefited from it. Bound as she was, shy as she was to do it, she was soon bouncing her ass along the bottom of his shaft with lewd abandon.

The precum fell like rain, splashing onto her back, squirting onto her wings, and drooling down the heavy length. Bulk slowly backed up, loving the warm, writhing feeling of lushness as she bounced and clapped her thick rear against the throbbing monolith he was about to stuff up it. More of his lube was enticed out by her amateur dance, flowing faster and coating her back fur; he had to reach up and stroke himself back and forth to get it to grease up along the mass of it.

Soon enough, the impossible breadth of his flare was pointed straight at one quivering griffon asshole. Gilda yelped without him even spanking her now, grunting and mewling by turns as she shook her juiciness over the tip. Her erratic, lusty motions lewdly coated both her own tightness and his monstrous maleness in his ever-flowing precum, her rear cheeks "kissing" over the head he threatened her with.

"It's time, G," he whispered. "Slave," he growled, taking strength in the long, needy cry of delight she let out as he named her his again. "Brace yourself… and try to relax, if you can."

"SON OF A FUCKING BI--" her voice trailed off from the squawk into a near-song of ecstasy as he plowed forward. He stepped forward, slow, to let her anus adjust to being his cock's bitch. To let her stretch over the fat crown, to submit to it, her body distending to fit more and more horsecock.

By the time her clenching asshole had been fully invaded by the flare alone, Gilda was singing, some strange birdsong he couldn't make heads or tails of, except for one fact: she wanted more.

So Bulk gave it to her, grabbing her hips, pressing the balls of his feet to the floor, and lunging forward from his flat hips. Thrust. She was insanely tight around him; even with the stretching, his flare overshadowed his already immense girth in the first place. He was nearly cumming by the time her beaten butt swallowed a foot of his pulsing prick.

It surprised him when she came. It probably shouldn't have, given how she'd reacted to the caning. But cum she did, monstrously strong abs clenching as her pussy quivered around a phantom cock of its own, her voice warbling as she climaxed. Just from less than a third of his mammoth maleness forcing her hips wide and her ass turned into a condom for horsecock. For his cock, alone, now.

That had a more than salutary effect on him. The wild spasms of her body, quads bulging and torso slamming around got his motor running and then some, and he met her orgasm with his own. A huge wad traveled from his balls to force its way into her tailpipe, and before he even had his medial ring at the tight entrance to her increasingly greedy asshole, her belly was already starting to hang low with more than just cock-form distension. Cum, and cum, and cum, a volcano of seed as he whinnied out her name.

Before Gilda could complain about him being too quick on the draw, he gritted his teeth and kept thrusting through his climax. Kept diving his dick into her, forcing it deeper and deeper even as it twitched and leapt in her invaded anus. His hands clapped down around her butt cheeks now, grabbing his fingers deep into the plush padding, following the cane's marks to better stimulate his griffon.

It wasn't like Bulk really softened much. Not with all that griffon ass and belly turned into his private cocksleeve. Not with her thrashing, screaming orgasm driving her wild over his erection. If it lessened, even for a moment, he barely felt it, and soon enough, he was forcing her to overextend again, ravishing her rump with the plumpness of his medial ring.

Another long squeal. "FUCK IT ALL, PONY!" she screamed at him. "Are you actually getting LARGER than when you did my cunt?" For all her cries, she shamelessly ground her ass back at his conquering cock, helping him fill her. Demanding more with every movement position and the chains permitted her.

"Nah," he grunted. "You're just fuckin' tighter than anyfemme I've filled before. But that's ok; just means you serve as a better cocksock, yeah?"

"FUCK YEAH!" Gilda's cries were more than just agreement; she was still climaxing, her core heating up as she thrashed her body back against him. It didn't take him long to hilt in her, his heavy balls rutting right up against her pussy and thighs. He could swear the former almost seared his nuts with how needy, how hot her cunt was; and he couldn't quite swear, but was pretty certain that she was using her quads in the latter to better massage his balls.

He grinned, reaching up to wipe sweat from his forehead. "You like being filled, don'tcha, G?" he grunted in between thrusts. Not bothering to let her do much more than keep squealing her agreement, he went on. "Being turned into a cumdump for a pony." Harder. He fucked her harder, tensing his legs and bracing his hands around her expanded waist to better angle his power into her butt. "Being turned into my cumdump. My property."

As he emptied his nuts for the second time, she could only wail, "Always!" And it was the ride of Bulk's life.

Epilogue

Gilda let out a long, frustrated huff, and glared down at Dux George. "I can't believe you're cutting me out from the final strike!" she yelled at him, keeping her hands firmly together in the small of her back, so she wasn't tempted to throttle the stuffy codger. "This is my campaign! I put it together, I brought that bastard to ground, and my troops will be the one to snuff him! I've proved I can still keep them in line, sir. It's months before the standard grounding."

Unfortunately, keeping her hands back and her legs slightly apart in parade rest only emphasized the massive bulge of her very pregnant belly. Making it very clear why she was being grounded. She didn't blame the father… now. Nor did she blame the goddess who had blessed their union with incredible fertility. After all, most hybrid marriages struggled along, requiring massive outside help when they wanted to have children.

She and Bulk were having quintuplet hippogryphs. No, she didn't blame him. She'd chewed him out properly and made him give her a proper flogging to make up for it, after all. She blamed the High Command, especially the fleabitten bastard in front of her!

The Dux failed to wilt under her glare. "Tribune," he said flatly. "You are five times as pregnant as the standard legionnaire. Not only is it the recommendation of the goddess who blessed you in the first fucking place to ground you, you are in no shape to fight. You have the aerodynamics of a slothatee with a glandular condition!"

Gilda snapped her beak hard at him. She was a foot and a half taller than he'd be measured back to back, standing to his sitting, and could bench three times his max. But he was the Warleader, and steel shattered before he did. The only concession to her blustering was a single raised eyebrow, so she changed tactics. "I'm still your best strategist, damn you," she growled. "And a priestess of the Flyer. I can in-field command, not just plan the mission!"

The eyebrow remained. "You mean you can slow your cohort down," he said bluntly. "Oh, and impair their judgment as they try to protect you, even at a distance. And your cubs, you crackfeathered idiot!"

They traded insults for a while, but she couldn't challenge him for this. She was barred by simple legalities, even if the bulk of her overdeveloped pregnancy hadn't been impairing her far worse than she should be at this point. He was the War Leader, and shielded from such things during the promulgation of a campaign. If the Flyer had blessed it, she could have called him out on spiritual grounds…

But the Flyer had only laughed when she'd asked. Bastard god, she mumbled mentally.

The Dux had an indomitable will to go with a talent for leadership she grudgingly admitted was a little more developed than hers. Add the fact that he had the legal right and ethical requirement to ground her, her loss was inevitable. She was in many ways lucky he wasn't threatening to bust her down ranks, plural.

Lucky, nothing, Gilda sighed at herself. The only reason I'm even bringing it up to him, and not my legate, is because I know he won't. Her massive shoulders slumped forward. She nearly gave into the depression, nearly just let her arms fall loose.

The steely face of the Dux softened a bit. "The matter is closed," he said softly. "As is the official meeting between Dux George and Tribune Gilda." Before she could protest, even weakly, he tilted his head to the left and asked, "Does he make you happy, baby girl?"

This was the reason he wouldn't demote her, as long as she raged at him in private. No matter how much bigger she became, no matter how much buffer, she was still George and Galta Griffon's beloved eldest child. She felt her back muscles creaking as her belly pulled her forward, and flicked her wings to balance better.

Gilda realized she hadn't spoken when his eyes narrowed dangerously. "If that pony isn't…" he started.

This time, she did cut him off. "No, daddy," she sighed. "He's nearly as softhearted with me as you are with momma… when you're not momma's bitch, anyway. Just kinda different, I guess, or does momma get you all snarly by yelling at you sometimes?"

The older griffon cawed a bit, then rustled his feathers. "Sometimes?" he sneered. "I swear, if it wasn't a blasphemy, I'd throw our anniversary fight just to give her a taste of her own medicine. You get it from her."

Gilda's parents were every bit as competitive as she was. Neither of them had officially had longer than a month's time wing-over each other as long as she'd been aware of the flavor of their relationship. Eventually, when she'd become a priestess and started asking questions even most griffon children wouldn't, she'd discovered that was fairly common in marriages where both spouses were bucking for the highest of the high command.

The trick was just getting there first… Since neither could afford downwing time until you got to the upper echelons, it made courtship rather tricky. Almost suspiciously subtle.

"Probably, daddy," she admitted. "You like it, so it should damn well be good enough for a stupid pony. Even a stupid-sexy stupid pony." Her nares flushed, and she scrambled to change direction. "Did he make a good impression with you and momma?"

She wanted to wipe the grin right off her father's face in an eyeblink. "Please tell me her highness promised you'd be the source of their brainpower," he drawled.

Now Gilda did let parade rest lapse, and pounded both fists down hard onto his desk. Wincing when she heard a leg crack, she growled, "Don't you dare make fun of my stupid pony! He's just… focused."

Her father stared at her. She stared right back. The contest lasted a private eternity, and then they just broke down laughing. "I love you, daddy," she said with amusement, "But if you can't come to terms…"

Snorting, George shook his head. "It's fine," he chuckled. "No, honestly; your mother sees what's beneath the feathers pretty well, and all I really care about is whether or not he makes you happy."

The two chatted quietly from there. Gilda never got to join the final flight, but eventually, she forgave both of the important men in her life.

And shamelessly used the opportunity to carve out more resources for her cohort. She remained, after all, their tribune.