Gilda Got Back

by AzureDreamer

Rating: mature
Tags: Fetish, Gilda, Non-consensual, Slice of Life, Sex, Anthro, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Porn
Length: 7671

Gilda uses her butt to hypnotize and seduce a well-endowed Inky Rose. Anal ensues.

Gilda has a problem. She's hungry – not the ordinary kind of hungry, though she is also the ordinary kind of hungry, but that can wait. Gilda's got a hunger for something much more important. Something thick and meaty and a cock, shoved right up her tight asshole. Not the other hole, that's important. Because Gilda's got a trick she wants to try. One much more suited to the backdoor.

Equestria'd better watch out, because Gilda's on the prowl.

WARNING! CONTAINS ANTHROS, FUTA, SIZE DIFFERENCE, HYPER COCK, HYPER ASS, FEMDOM, HYPNOSIS, DUBCON, ASS WORSHIP, ANAL, AND PROBABLY A BUNCH OF OTHER WEIRD STUFF

Cover art by angstrom

Commissioned by SunStone

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Published 2018-05-07 17:10:06 UTC
Last updated 2018-05-07 17:10:06 UTC

Oh my god, Becky, look at her butt

Gilda was hungry.

Not the ordinary kind of hunger, mind. It was, to use a lame egghead word, a metaphor. She was also the ordinary kinda hungry – gryphons tended to have much bigger appetites than the average pony. Understandably so, considering the average pony was around five to six feet tall, species dependant, and Gilda was a solid eight foot six. She was a bit of a runt compared to some of the gryphons back home, but it was okay. She was still a growing girl.

But right now her hunger for food could wait. She had a much more pressing hunger. A hunger for cock. Big fat pony cock shoved right up her tight asshole. Not the other hole, that was important. Gilda was in heat, and a proper pussy pounding carried a bit too much risk of permanent consequences for her tastes. Not that she minded having to forgo the one hole in favour of the other. She enjoyed a good anal rodeo as much as the next gryphon.

And besides, she had a trick she wanted to try out which was much more suited to the backdoor.

Gilda's chosen hunting ground was a small dance club on the edge of Manehattan. It was outside of her usual Equestrian haunts, but she couldn't fathom that being a real problem. It was immediately obvious that the place wasn't exactly above the board. It was sketchy. The kinda place that had rooms in the back specifically for fuckin' in. Hell, the kinda place that had conspicuous drains in the floor in case somepony didn't feel like walking all the way to the rooms in the back specifically for fuckin' in. She liked the way they thought.

It wasn't like there'd be much of an audience if someone did decide to just start going at it right then and there. There was a bored looking unicorn behind the bar, endlessly wiping the same glass with a dirty rag. There was an earth pony hidden away in a DJ booth in the corner, playing an endless stream of mostly identical “electronic” music, barely distinguishable from a series of dull thuds. Both stallions, and thus both entirely uninteresting even if they weren't the staff. The staff were off limits for fun, unwritten rule for this kinda thing anyway, but Gilda had never particularly been big on males. Aside from certain very specific parts of their anatomy which could be found just as big and just as virile on much more attractive people. That is, girls. Because Gilda was a lesbian. She felt it important to stress that for some reason, even if this was just internal monologue. The point was that they were effectively part of the scenery.

There were, of course, also several customers. They didn't really matter except as cock delivery services. Gilda could smell them – a talent she'd spent a very long time refining to perfection. There wasn't a plain old dickless mare in the room. Everypony had a nice, juicy hunk of meat between their legs. Big hunks. Ponies weren't very tall, but man were they all hung as fuck. She'd never encountered a horsecock shorter than a foot. A bit small for her tastes, to be sure. But that was easily only the tiniest shrimp of a horsecock, and on a five foot tall pony one foot was enormous. Certainly bigger, proportionally speaking, than most gryphons she knew. Also, futa gryphons were much rarer than futa ponies. Ultimately men were more of a dealbreaker than a lack of penis, but why not have her cake and eat it, too?

Gilda surreptitiously checked her outfit. To make sure that she was showing off the perfect ratio of cloth to fur – barely any to a whole lot, of course – and also with the hopes of catching a few initial eyes before the hunt proper began. She started up top with her jacket. Though it was really more of a fashion statement than a functional jacket. The sleeves were long, but the actual body of the jacket didn't even reach halfway down her torso. Not that it would have made much of a difference, considering that it was designed with a pony in mind. It didn't even remotely fit Gilda, the black faux-leather struggling to contain her well muscled arms and broad, powerful shoulders. It felt good to think of them as broad and powerful. Compared to the average gryphon, Gilda's build was for the most part relatively petite and feminine. Compared to the average pony, she was fucking huge. That was probably a lot of the reason why she liked spending time in Equestria so much. It made her feel big instead of just decidedly average.

She made an attempt to pull the jacket closed over her generous bust – an act, of course. She sighed theatrically as she predictably failed to make any progress whatsoever before moving on to adjust the slightly-less-undersized red bikini top she'd chosen to preserve some semblance of modesty. She couldn't, after all, go around with her nipples hanging out. There were laws about that kind of thing in Equestria, and anyway it was no fun to not leave some things up to the imagination. So, Gilda compromised and left her nipples up to the imagination. The petite crimson triangles of fabric were hardly adequate to cover up anything else, but that was fine. All a part of her carefully calculated image. Slutty exhibitionist punk-chique, to steal loser egghead terminology from one of Dash's loser egghead friends.

Gilda paused in her outfit adjustment. It hadn't drawn quite the amount of attention she'd hoped to, but that was fine. There were other ways of getting attention, and anyway she hadn't yet decided on who her target would be. Not beyond the obvious “whoever smells like she has the biggest cock,” at least.

Gilda sniffed the air again, as subtly as an eight-and-a-half foot tall gryphon was capable of being. The scent of big cocks lingered heavily in the air, so it took a few good whiffs for Gilda to sort out the cocks of those actually present from the olfactory ghosts of cocks past. That was the easy part, though. She still needed to figure out which scent matched which of the pony patrons, and which of those scents was the biggest. Much harder, though again it was a skill that Gilda had spent her entire life honing to perfection.

There were quite a few scents to sort through, but in addition to being kind of seedy the bar was also very clearly not particularly popular. Or at least not very busy at this time of day. There were a couple of unicorns playing poker in a booth near the back – sixteen and twenty inches, respectively. Very masculine and thus entirely unappealing to Gilda's tastes even if they were still definitely women. A somewhat chubby mare sat at one end of the bar. The extra heft meant big tits at least, and knowing ponies they were probably fairly milky ones at that, but the paltry twelve incher was a dealbreaker.

And then there was a hit. Thirty six goddamn inches, a full three feet exactly. As thick as her arm (and Gilda's arm was fairly thick), with a nice fat set of balls to match. Oh, yes, and she was horny, too. She could smell as it twitched and drooled and struggled to escape from whatever magical cock-concealing clothing its owner was wearing. Whoever she was, she was trying her hardest to hold it back, and doing an admirable job of it considering it had taken almost a full minute to sniff her out. Likely Gilda wouldn't be able to just walk up and say “please fuck my ass until I lose consciousness.” But that was fine, it just meant Gilda had to get creative.

She did still have that trick up her sleeve, after all.

It took just a few seconds more for Gilda to pinpoint the owner of the cock that was gonna fuck her senseless in a few minutes. She was tall, for a pegasus pony – Gilda estimated around five and a half feet – with a slender, waifish build. Small tits, narrow hips, had to be like 90% leg (Gilda was very good at math). A decidedly average build for a pegasus, in her experience. Her pale purple mane was tied neatly into twin braids with bat-shaped ribbons. Clearly she was one of that very specific breed of dweeb who never shut up about how cool bats and skulls and the colour black and shit like that were. Lucky for Gilda, if everything went well, she wouldn't have to hear a fucking word of that. And hey, her sense in fashion was pretty good. Detached sleeves with black and grey stripes and a matching top worn over what looked like a fishnet tank, plus knee-high strappy boots over thigh-high spiderweb pattern socks and a matching skirt? Very nice. Could stand to show off a little more skin, but shit if you're gonna be modest, that'd be how Gilda would do it.

Gilda stood, still lurking near the entrance, and carefully calculated her approach. The obvious approach was to just walk up and ask for sex, which would probably just result in getting slapped. She was going to have to be subtle about this, which was something she was historically not very good at. And, of course, she had to come up with an angle quickly because an eight foot tall gryphon standing in the entranceway wasn't exactly inconspicuous. If she was going to get noticed by her prey, she wanted it to be on her terms and not standing around like an idiot.

Of course, the fact that she inherently stood out in any given crowd was only a detriment if she didn't know how to use it to her advantage. Smiling ever so slightly, she strode into the club proper. It was time to put her plan into action.

Inky Rose sat sullenly at the bar, nursing a glass of some deep amber liquid. She wasn't entirely sure what it was beyond that she'd asked the bartender for something strong with no ice so she could spend a long time drinking it and sulking. She'd been on the same glass for an hour – if she actually drank some it would probably be lukewarm and gross, but she hadn't ordered it for the sake of getting drunk. It was just another part of her monthly routine. Get hit by her heat, get horny, wrestle into some concealer undies, head down to the least popular night club in Manehattan and sulk alone.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself. There were probably healthier ways to deal with her overactive libido – she'd considered pills more than once, but ultimately decided she didn't want to risk completely cutting off her ability to get aroused. So instead she just got really good at resisting her urges. With her three feet of raging erection safely tucked away, she might as well not have been in heat at all to the casual observer. Even she barely noticed it anymore. She'd taken up meditation about half a year after puberty hit, and it had helped a lot with suppressing the arousal.

That didn't mean it wasn't there, just that she'd become very good at ignoring it when it didn't suit her to be insatiably horny. Which, granted, was most of the time – her heat liked to hit at the most inconvenient times. Like, for instance, the week before a big fashion show. She should have been working on the last minute preparations for her upcoming line, but instead she was sitting on her ass at a shitty dive bar, not even actually getting drunk because if she got drunk she'd probably end up losing control.

There was the key of the matter. Control. It wasn't that she minded having three feet of cockflesh or the libido to match in the abstract sense of it. What bothered her was her libido being in control of her, especially when she had other things she'd rather be doing than fucking nonstop for several days. Hell, for all her meditation keeping it in check, it still had complete control over her – the only thing she could think of was her libido. “My kingdom for a distraction,” she muttered.

To her great surprise, she almost immediately got her wish, in a manner of speaking.

Inky heard Gilda before she saw her. “Hey, loser, get me a bottle of the strongest shit you got.” The stranger's voice was husky, gruff, and loud. She wasn't shouting, her voice just naturally boomed, drowning out everything else in the club. “Gonna need a whole bottle, pony alcohol is piss-weak. Hurry up, dweeblord. Come on, who do I gotta fuck to get some service here?”

She would have turned to get a look at whatever large rude woman was interrupting her alone time, but before she got a chance Gilda roughly shoved her way up to the bar, directly next to Inky. She quite abruptly felt her cheek pressed up against the biggest, fattest ass she'd ever encountered.

The first thing Inky noticed, naturally given her position, was how wide Gilda's hips were. There was a good two feet of elbow room in between the chairs at the bar – it was too short to justify using stools – and yet somehow Gilda took up all of it and more. Her hips had to be at least four fucking feet across, almost half as wide as she was tall, if not more than that. Inky found herself practically being shoved out of her chair, and desperately grabbed at whatever was within arm's reach to avoid falling.

Whatever was within arm's reach turned out to be Gilda's pants. Though calling them pants was a bit of an overstatement of how much ground they covered. Calling them hot pants was probably stretching it. They covered exactly enough flesh to not count as naked, and even then they weren't doing the best job of it. They seemed to be designed for someone with proportions on a slightly less unreasonable scale, digging tightly into expansive brown-furred flesh. The unfortunate result of this being that there was not actually much in the way of pants for Inky to grab a hold of in her instinctual attempt at not falling to the floor. It was better than nothing, but Inky remained not exactly pleased that she found herself by necessity grabbing onto some stranger's ass.

“Oh, didn't see you there,” Gilda said offhandedly, pointedly making absolutely no effort to remove herself from Inky's personal space. “C'mon, dipshit, hurry up with my drink already.”

“Excuse me, um, could you please-” Inky's plea for mercy was interrupted by a slight cock of Gilda's hips that sent her off-balance and left her barely clinging on for dear life. In theory it should have been easy to regain her footing from there, pull herself upright and move a few chairs down – away from the interloper. But before she got a chance Gilda rocked her hips to the other side, pulling Inky along with them before she could regain a sense of balance. Back and forth, subtly moving to the pounding rhythm of the ambient music. Exactly enough to keep Inky from being able to let go without falling on her face or ass.

“There we go, took you fuckin' long enough.” Gilda grabbed the bottle and downed whatever its contents were in one go. “Bleh, tastes like rancid piss.” She reached down to scratch her ass, only to find Inky somewhat in the way.

So she did what any sensible person in this situation would do and grabbed Inky's head, shoving it firmly into her ass and rubbing it up and down – still to the rhythm of the music – against whatever itch there was to scratch.

“There, that's much better. Thanks, kid,” Gilda said, unceremoniously releasing Inky's face and shoving her to the side. Once again in danger of falling onto the grimy floor of the seedy club, she made a desperate grab and caught hold of the bar counter. “Oh, oops, dropped something~” Inky would normally have noted how insincere Gilda's tone was, but she was somewhat preoccupied with the four foot ass being abruptly removed from her personal space. She slowly pulled herself upright in her seat. The rhythmic pulse of the DJ's set continued to echo through her mind, like it had been somehow amplified by Gilda's motions. Her vision was blurred slightly, the familiar sights of the bar undulating back and forth like she had just freshly disembarked from some wild carnival ride. Everything seemed softer and warmer, surrounded by an aura of fuzz.

Inky's first thought was to sternly chastise the stranger who had so rudely interrupted her solitary misery. After a very brief moment spent fruitlessly waiting for the world to stop spinning, she snapped to face where Gilda was bending over, sharp words of disdain already on the tip of her tongue.

Sharp words that never made it beyond the tip of her tongue. Whatever complaints she had ready to hurl died then and there.

Gilda's thin, leonine tail swayed back and forth, back and forth, twitching idly back and forth like a housecat getting ready to pounce on an unsuspecting ball of fabric and catnip, back and forth. Inky's mind dimly registered that its motions matched the rhythm of the music, like a living metronome. It remained steady, too, aside from the gentle swaying (back and forth, back and forth), and its edges were sharp and defined, back and forth, slowly drawing her eyes downwards.

Gilda's ass, too, was moving to the rhythm of the distant, muted song. Rocking gently back and forth. Back. And forth. Celestia, it was big. She'd gotten up close and personal to it not moments before, and yet somehow hadn't noticed how big it was. Twin orbs, perfectly round, mashed together tightly by undersized pants. Expansive, brown-furred flesh rocked back and forth, each motion (back and forth, back and forth) sending ripples across the soft fat of her rear, building upon the rhythm with a new subrhythm produced by the undulations. Everything else seemed to fall out of existence. Inky's entire world consisted of nothing but that all-consuming ass and its slow movement. Gentle. Comforting.

Hypnotic.

There was the realization, though it was far too late for Inky to fight it off in any way. Not that she was inclined to do so, though whether that sentiment was genuinely hers or a result of the hypnosis was unclear. It certainly felt good to just let go. All that stress – her heat, her upcoming fashion show, the need to keep her libido strictly in check – all of it was just gone, like someone had flipped a switch. Her will, her individuality had been completely supplanted by the need to submit to someone bigger and better than she was, and it had taken all of her problems right along with it. She was free.

She'd honestly never considered using hypnosis as a form of stress relief, but it was clearly working. She would have to thank the stranger once they were finished.

“Stand,” Gilda ordered, her voice soft but firm and commanding. Inky's body did so, entirely of its own volition. It was a surreal feeling. The sensation of motion was there, but muted and distant. “Good. Now come here.” Again, Inky's limbs moved with no input from her – it felt like even if she were to attempt to override their movements, her body wouldn't respond. Like it was her body but at the same time also someone else's. Her legs moved on autopilot, making the short distance to Gilda, on her hands and knees with her glorious ass held high in the air. The gryphon was so fucking huge that her ass was practically crotch level.

Perfect for what was coming, Inky supposed.

“Touch it,” Gilda ordered, and Inky obeyed. That, at least, was one sensation that was entirely not dulled. If anything, the feeling of Gilda's ass was amplified. She could feel every individual strand of fur, and the soft flesh beneath it. The texture was remarkably similar to pizza dough – soft and pliable, but elastic. Her hands sank in, deeper and deeper, with no signs of resistance, and when she pulled them back assflesh came along with it like she hadn't just been buried practically up to the elbow.

“Stop.”

Inky's arms slammed to her sides, locking in place completely.

“Good. Now, take off my pants.”

Inky swallowed heavily – she wasn't entirely sure if that was her or if it was a part of the hypnotic suggestion. Given what little she knew about Gilda, it seemed like the latter would be entirely in character. Regardless of any nervousness that may or may not have been real, her body was still solidly under Gilda's control and obeyed the order without question. She reached around Gilda's disproportionately gigantic hips as best as she could, though there was no chance of reaching the front to undo whatever was holding the flimsy denim fabric in place. She just didn't have the arm span necessary. And Gilda was simply too big for it to be remotely possible to pull them down over her hips without undoing the front. There were full grown ponies smaller than her ass. Quite possibly including Inky herself, she realized. It almost seemed to have gotten bigger since she had first noticed it. At this point she wouldn't have been surprised if Gilda could make her butt grow.

“I told you to take my pants off, dweeb. Not hug my ass. Though the attention is definitely appreciated~”

Inky's body responded by pressing more firmly into Gilda's ass, reaching as far around it as she was physically capable. Which still wasn't enough, and she quickly found herself sinking, surrounded on all sides by enormous asscheeks. sinking deeper and deeper. Clearly, this plan wasn't going to work, but Inky's body continued on with it anyway in spite of her conscious mind's attempts to come up with a more effective plan – moving around to the front or tearing it off or fucking use her teeth or something other than allow her torso to be slowly consumed by butt.

Though, that quickly became the least of her concerns. “That should be enough. Stop.” Inky didn't have the time to process why Gilda had ordered her to stop before it was made abundantly clear. Gilda's weight shifted as her body reoriented. Her torso went up, and her ass went back and down, taking Inky along for the ride.

The motion felt like it lasted for an eternity, and yet at the same time Inky was entirely helpless to resist the inevitable fall. Like she was witnessing a fully loaded cruise ship in the process of capsizing. Completely powerless to prevent the tragedy unfolding right in front of her eyes, left to merely experience it.

Of course, tragedy wasn't really the correct word for what Inky was experiencing. True, she wouldn't have asked for it prior to Gilda taking steps to remove her input from the equation entirely. But in the abstract, Inky absolutely didn't object to getting her face sat on by an ass so big that it wasn't so much her face getting sat on as the upper two thirds of her fucking body. Surrounded almost completely by soft, hot flesh. Her arms were still spread wide in their futile attempt to reach around to the front of Gilda's waist, sandwiched between ass and calves, and her wings were awkwardly folded as best as they could be in the limited available space. Her hands were free, as were her waist and legs, though she couldn't really do anything with them.

“There, now you get to get really up close and personal with your new goddess,” Gilda said, her voice oozing with bravado. God, it was so fucking hot. That was consolation enough for Inky – yes, she was being hypnotized and taken advantage of by a complete stranger, but it was at least someone she would have happily fucked without having to be hypnotized. And, as she'd established to herself earlier, the hypnosis itself was a nice bonus. It felt liberating, at the risk of overstating that fact. Even if it was only to herself. Certainly, she had better things to be doing than ruminating on her newly discovered hypnosis fetish.

Like appreciating the soft pressure of hundreds of pounds of ass spread out across her torso. Oh, and the smell. Salty and musky and spicy and oh so familiar. Her body knew that scent, with an intimate familiarity, and her hips responded by weakly thrusting. It was the scent of heat.

“Oooh, looks like someone's eager. You must be thirsty as fuck if you're getting all thrusty while hypnotized, normally folks can't move at all without my permission.” Gilda grinned eagerly, her tongue hungrily running across her beak. “Of course, we can't be havin' you get disobedient just yet, now, can we? Gotta have some fun first or what's the point? So here's an order for ya'. No cumming until I say otherwise. Not even precum. No matter what. Understand?” Gilda paused long enough for Inky to let out a muffled squeak of affirmation. “Good girl. Now, let's see what kinda heat you're packing.” Without any further delay, Gilda reached down and hooked her razor sharp claws into the lacy black fabric of Inky's enchanted panties (custom made by Rarity herself!) and effortlessly severed them at the hips.

Gilda had always held a practical fascination for concealment magic, especially in the form of enchanted pasnties. She wasn't nearly enough of a fucking egghead to care about the mechanics behind them, of course. No, what interested her more were the various potential real world applications. In short, she liked getting girls with really big cocks really fucking horny while wearing the things, and then removing them as abruptly as possible. The results were a greater work of art than any lame painting or sculpture. It was a multi-sensory experience, unlike anything else. Where once there was nothing, suddenly there was life. The sound of three feet of meat erupting upwards, only to collide with Gilda's crotch. The smell of sexual need, once muffled but now unleashed full force like a freight train to the face. Even taste got in on the fun – the scent was so thick that Gilda could feel it on her tongue.

And, of course, there was sight. How could there not be? It was like a third goddamn leg jutting out of Inky's crotch, dark purple and veiny and thick, complete with nice heavy balls approximately the size of her fucking head. All of it twitching and throbbing, ready and willing and very eager to unleash a small lake's worth of semen into the nearest willing hole. It glistened with moisture, droplets of sweat collecting along its girthy length like morning dew on the stem of a flower.

And, naturally, not so much as a single solitary droplet of pre. “Good girl!” Gilda cooed, reaching down to give the shaft a gentle squeeze. Inky responded by letting out a weak moan, muffled by the enormous ass that had consumed her face. “Of course, it's not really worthy of my praise just yet. After all, all I've really done is sit on you a bit and give your cock a bit of fresh air. The real test of how good a girl you are is yet to come~”

Gilda removed her hand from the tower of flesh and then slammed her thick thighs shut around it. Inky let out a cry of ecstasy, and pointedly didn't let out anything else. “There, now that's more like it!” She squeezed her legs together tightly, the sheer disproportionate amount of flesh enough to completely engulf all three feet of Inky's cock. The pressure was almost unfathomable, tighter and hotter than any cunt she'd ever experienced. It was also managing to contain significantly more of her meat than any mare she'd been with. And oh Celestia this was just her thighs.

“Okay, pet. Time for you to put in some work for your dinner. I want you to thrust as hard as you can until you reach orgasm. But you're still not allowed to actually let any of it out, understood?” Inky groaned in affirmation, though she had no idea how she could get thighfucked to orgasm without actually cumming. It was two contradictory orders, not that she was going to complain. The strange gryphon – whose name, she realized, she still didn't actually know – seemed to know what she was doing.

Of course, the hypnosis meant that any misgivings she might have about the command didn't really matter. She was going to carry it out whether it was possible or not. Her hips moved, or at least attempted to move, entirely of their own volition. There was just enough wiggle room given by Gilda's soft flesh that Inky's body could thrust back and forth a miniscule amount, only a few inches' worth. But that was more than enough for her. The subtle friction of flesh against fur, against the thinly stretched denim of Gilda's hotpants, against the hot and wet and hungry cunt, separated only by a few layers of flimsy fabric. Inky's instincts screamed at her to breed this slut long and hard until she laid enough eggs to repopulate the entire fucking planet and then some.

But she didn't. Her body continued to diligently obey Gilda's orders to the letter. In and out, her hips rhythmically bucked in between Gilda's fat thighs. The miniscule amount of motion she was capable of was hardly the wild, animalistic fucking that Inky's instincts were screaming at her to give. But it was more than enough for her wildly overstimulated mind and body. She'd been almost constantly on the verge of cumming for the past few days anyway, so it didn't even take a full minute of thighfucking before she toppled over the edge in spectacular fashion.

Inky's mouth opened in a voiceless scream of pure ecstasy as her cock lurched bigger at the base from the sheer volume of output that had built up over the course of her heat. It felt like her member fucking doubled in thickness, bulging obscenely with the magnitude of the coming load like her cock had suddenly developed a knot.

And not a single fucking drop went further than that. Her hips thrust wildly, her cock pulsed and convulsed, and nothing more came of it. After a few solid minutes of climax – significantly more time than it took for her to reach climax – her body's instinctive motions slowed to a crawl, and then stopped as she collapsed limply beneath Gilda's supreme bulk. The impromptu knot, easily the size of Inky's head, slowly began to deflate as the cum flowed its way back into her testicles in a manner that absolutely should not have been possible – but, then, very little about her climax had been even remotely possible to begin with. She let out another silent scream of pleasure as her cock deflated and her balls correspondingly inflated.

Gilda didn't seem to notice or care that Inky's already head-sized testicles were growing even bigger. “Tch, bit of a quickshot, are we? Or are you that desperate? Well, it's a good thing you're not allowed to cum until I say so, or you'd have just wasted a whole load on nothin'.”

Inky could only groan further in response as her aching balls pulsed bigger. Their growth had slowed, but they had still reached nearly double the size of her head. Her vision had blurred – not that she could see anything with Gilda's ass in the way, but she could feel the complete inability to focus. Her suspicions were confirmed when Gilda slowly lifted herself up, up, up to a standing position. And then further, lifting her arms above her head, locking her talons together and stretching. She towered over Inky, like she was hundreds of feet tall. “Get up,” she ordered tersely, and Inky obeyed. “I feel like that's enough foreplay for now.” With that, she unceremoniously grabbed her red thong and hot-pants and tore them off in one fluid motion, the tattered remains thoughtlessly discarded onto the face of the bartender. “Feel free to keep those, it's as close to getting laid by a real woman as you're ever gonna get.”

Gilda lowered herself back to the ground, first kneeling and then bending forward, smooshing her fat tits into the ground. Face down, substantial ass up in the air, once again almost perfectly at Inky's crotch level. Convenient, given Gilda's next command. “Fuck my ass until I'm satisfied. Don't touch my cunt, I'm in heat and I don't wanna deal with the hassle of getting pregnant. I'll let you know when you can cum.”

Inky took a shaky step forward, and then another. It felt like she was navigating her way through a lake of molasses. Her movements were slow and laboured – even being hypnotized didn't change the fact that she'd just had one hell of an orgasm. The fact that she'd shot a blank didn't help, and if anything it made it even worse. Her balls were in overdrive as it was, and had already replaced the cum that she decidedly hadn't spent on her previous climax. Inky wasn't entirely sure that it was in any way biologically feasible, but the fact that it was happening would have been enough for her to quietly accept it even if it hadn't felt quite so fucking great.

Inky's hands placed themselves on either side of Gilda's vast horizontal expanse of hip, sinking their way slowly into the immense amount of soft flesh. Her wings quivered behind her, rigidly twitching slightly. It was a frustrating quirk of pegasus anatomy; excess arousal tended to result in a loss of fine motor control, especially over the wings.

A quirk that, it appeared, extended to gryphons. Inky pressed her throbbing head against Gilda's tight backdoor and was rewarded with a loud thwumph as the massive gryphon's significant wingspan unfurled all at once. All twenty-odd feet of it, in a space decidedly not built with an eight and a half foot gryphon unfurling her wings inside of it at any point in mind. There was a thunderous crash as practically every bottle in the bar got smashed to pieces by the involuntary spasms of her wings.

In any other situation, Inky would have continued to gleefully tease the larger woman, slowly prodding at her asshole and prompting more delightfully destructive flaps. But Gilda's orders had been rather explicit – no more foreplay, just anal. Her cock pushed and pushed and pushed at the tight pucker, with the slow inevitability of a glacier.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit,” Gilda muttered, cracks beginning to form in her cool, confident persona. “Okay, uh, cancel that last order. Ow. Right, no lube yet. You're allowed to precum, do a bit of hotdogging until you're a bit more lubed up, then fuck my ass until I'm satisfied. Fuck that hurt.”

Inky's body immediately thrust forward hard, her dick sliding away from Gilda's asshole and up along the cleft of her cheeks. If this was a hotdog, it was one of those shitty ones that tries to be fancy by using nice bread but it just ends up with the bun being way too big. The dog, along with much of Inky's lower body, was engulfed completely in ass. Not that she really minded dealing with buns that were too big, at least in this context. It was certainly enough, along with Gilda's order, to prompt the dog to start providing its own condiments. Copiously.

Gouts of thick, white fluid erupted from her shaft, easily clearing Gilda's copious butt and splattering on the ceiling in long lashes of off-white. If Inky didn't know any better she would have assumed it was cum. Gilda, who didn't know any better, did assume it was cum. “Hey, what the fuck, I said precum you stupid slut!”

“This is precum,” Inky's body replied. She hadn't had anything to do with the sudden verbal output – presumably Gilda's complaint caused her mindless body to defend itself. That was all it managed before returning to incoherent moans in rhythm with the thrusting of her hips and the eruptions of precum.

“Bullshit it's pre, look at it! Ugh, whatever, that's probably enough. Stick it in my ass.”

Inky's body froze, completely. No more thrusting, no motions to obey Gilda's orders, no motion at all aside from the continuing release of her precum. Something about it felt... ominous, for lack of a better word. Wrong. Like this wasn't supposed to be happening. Gilda had ordered her to fuck her ass, and her hypnotized body had been all too happy to comply with that before the interruption to provide lube. Briefly, Inky experimented with moving under her own power, and completely failed, so it was clear that the hypnosis hadn't yet worn off. Gilda herself didn't seem particularly bothered by the situation, merely wiggling her hips in an impatient fashion.

“Come on, slut, we don't got all day! There's been more than enough fucking buildup already, so just jam it the fuck in already!”

Apparently that had been what Inky's body had been waiting for. With a lurch, her body pulled back, her shaft sliding its way down, down, down Gilda's butt until it resumed its position at her rear entrance. It was still unleashing a torrent of precum, splattering against Gilda's asshole with enough force to force it open as Inky unceremoniously shoved her cock all the way to the fucking hilt in one go.

Gilda let out a pained squawk, her wings convulsing wildly and knocking over further booze. Her passage was tight, infinitely moreso than her thighs had been. Were it not for the copious amounts of natural lubrication she found herself providing, Inky doubted she'd have been able to fit a finger up there, much less all three feet of her cock. Pulling out was as a result incredibly easy, while pushing back in was somewhat more difficult. Again, likely only possible as a result of the force of her output. She wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, not that she had a choice in the matter, and quickly settled into a rhythm of thrusting. Much faster than she had been hotdogging.

Which was mildly irritating. Inky was close, and didn't want to miss out on another orgasm because Gilda wasn't ready for her. She didn't think her poor, overstressed balls could take firing another blank.

“Fuck, I already feel so full, and this is just pre!” Gilda didn't really seem to notice or care much about Inky's impending release. She was sequestered away in her own little world, revelling in the blissful sensations of anal. Inky wasn't a fan, but if Gilda was, well, more power to her. She could certainly see the upsides of being on the giving end, at least. The enormous gryphon writhed and moaned, her wings convulsing with every forceful thrust of Inky's hips. “Oh fuuuuuck yeah I needed this baaaaaad. Come on, slut! Faster! Fuck me senseless already!”

Inky didn't need to be told twice. Her body automatically picked up the pace of its mindless thrusting, the rhythm devolving into a wild and maddened frenzy of fuck. Every push, every motion, every slight pulse of Gilda's tight passage pushed her closer and closer and closer to that glorious edge. She did her best to hold it off, to stave off the inevitable climax until she could actually properly climax, but oh was that difficult when her body wasn't listening to her commands. Gilda had told her to fuck, so she fucked, regardless of if it was a good idea or not. Her hips just kept right on thrusting at a breakneck pace even as she found herself careening violently over the edge of orgasm once more.

Again, she felt her cock swelling thicker, this time reaching all the way to her flared head. And, again, she felt exactly nothing come out – aside from her precum, which relieved exactly none of the unfathomable pressure. Mounting, constantly, with every pulse of phantom orgasm. Her balls, already swollen and heavy, smacked harder and harder against Gilda's butt as they once again began to grow. The process was an odd mix of mildly painful and incredibly pleasurable. Inky was hardly inexperienced with sex, but this was something entirely different. Much more intense. Words to describe just how utterly mindblowing it was completely failed her, ironically because of how utterly mindblowing it was.

So mindblowing that she rather abruptly found herself cumming again. “Oh, fuck,” she muttered, through the haze of mounting orgasm and in spite of the ongoing hypnosis. “Oh fuuuuuuck,” she muttered again as she was hit with a third fucking orgasm. Through the fog of pleasure, her mind wandered to another quirk of anatomy, this one applying to hermaphrodites. Where stallions had to deal with a refractory period, futas pointedly didn't. A fact that was suddenly rather distressing as Inky hit her fourth orgasm without actually being able to cum. And then her fifth, in quick succession, as she felt her balls touch the ground.

“Oh my god, keep going! Don't fucking stop!” Gilda, if she noticed Inky's body suddenly beginning to lift up as her testicles approached beanbag chair sized, did not seem to care. If anything, she was relishing in it. “Fuck me harder! Harder, dammit!”

It was a bit of a tall order, as Inky's feet were no longer touching the ground. She continued to thrust, but it was difficult to do so quite so dramatically as she had been. A nice plus to that development was that the orgasms had stopped coming. For now. How long that would last was entirely up to Gilda's whim. The enormous avian stranger continued to writhe beneath her – Celestia, that was such a weird thought. Gilda had seemed so fucking expansive and enormous up until now, and yet she was on top of her.

Her brief aside was interrupted by Gilda beginning to rock her hips, adding to the rhythm of Inky's own thrusts by pulling back and forward in as close to synch as she could manage with the wild and arrhythmic pace. “Oh fuuuuuuuck,” she managed again.

“Fuck yeah! This is awesome! Fuck my ass like the slutty little whore you are! Fill me up with your slut ju-wait no hold on pretend I didn't say tha-”

Gilda caught herself slightly too late for the command to take effect. Inky let out a low, guttural cry of pure bliss as she felt her shaft once again swell, nearly doubling in thickness. This time, though, it didn't stop at the base, or at the flared head. All that built up pressure was finally released in a single climactic burst of seed, right up Gilda's butt and into her intestines. Gilda's abdomen lurched outward in a steady swell as gallons of fluid were pumped into her with the force of a firehose. Even as Inky's testicles slowly began to shrink back down to a manageable size, Gilda's own inflation easily outpaced them. Her body lifted up, up, up, taking Inky right along with her.

By the time Inky felt her release slowing to a halt, her head had bumped the bar's ceiling. She flopped forward in exhaustion, sprawling across Gilda's ass and lower back.

“Okay. Wow. Uh, okay, I think you're done for the night. Good job, hypnosis over. Wheee.”

“Fuck.”

“No shit,” Gilda groaned. “Getting back to my hotel's gonna be interesting.”

“You could probably call a cab or something, they've probably dealt with weirder.”

“Yeah. I'll hafta bring you along with me, though. It's not really a safe place to, uh, let it all out.”

Inky shrugged. “They've got drains for exactly that reason.”

“Dude, look at those drains and then look at me and then look at the drains again and tell me they could handle this.”

“... Okay yeah, fair point.”

“Thanks in advance. I'm Gilda, by the way.”

Inky blinked in bewilderment. She'd completely forgotten that they hadn't even exchanged names yet. “Inky Rose. Nice to meet you, I guess.”

“Pleasure's all mine, believe me. Sorry for hypnotizing you and forcing you to fuck my ass, by the way.”

“It's fine.”

“Really? Usually folks object to that.”

Inky shrugged again. “Eh, I needed this anyway, and it's not like I did anything I wouldn't have done with some persuading. Just, you know, moreso.”

“Cool.” The conversation dried up, leaving the two resting in quiet contemplation on Gilda's sloshing belly. “Hey, barkeep, don't just stand there like a fuckwit, go grab me a phone so I can call a cab. Ugh, some people, man.”

Inky couldn't help but giggle slightly at that. “So hey, uh, question.”

“Shoot.”

“After we get back to your hotel room and you, uh, relieve yourself, do you think that maybe you'd be up for round two?”

“Seriously?”

Inky blushed slightly. “It's just, I've kinda got a lot of pent up frustration. This was a nice outlet and I'd like to take advantage of it.”

It was Gilda's turn to laugh. “Kid,” she said as she took the phone the bartender had finally produced. “I think this is gonna be the beginning of a beautiful friendship with benefits.”

Author's Note

i wonder how many people chose not to read this because they assumed it was gonna be anal vore.