Author's Note
A pony assists on the farm but runs into a little problem with inflation as tricks run rampant...
This story has been available for early reading one to two months ago on SubscribeStar and Patreon (SubscribeStar contains extreme content while Patreon does not)! Please check the tiers on the following links if you would like to support!
Patreon (no extreme content): https://www.patreon.com/arianmabe
SubscribeStar (includes extreme content): https://subscribestar.adult/arian-mabe
As always, I am open for commissions starting at 30 GBP per 1,000 words - please e-mail arianmabe[at]gmail.com for more information or see my profile!
Story © Amethyst Mare / Arian Mabe
Characters © respective owners
Accidental Inflation
Kinktober 2019
Inflation
Accidental Inflation
Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)
Commissioned by anonymous
Arctic scowled at the cows lined up for milking, although it really wasn’t something that any normal farm hand would scowl at. He’d been sent out by his mistress into the more fertile pasture land of Equestria – a new area that had not yet been given a name. ‘Dirt’, however, would be a very apt name for it, in his opinion, considering the abundance of it, although he was not usually one to gripe and groan so. His white coat took on a hint of blue beneath a summer sky that stretched into the lateness of the year, a hint of autumn on the horizon, although it was not yet time for The Running of the Leaves as they, once again, changed colour as they did every year.
But he didn’t want to be there, the farm housing other creatures other than ponies that had some level of sentience but had found a manner of companionship and partnership with ponies. It was strange, in that way, to see them so keenly subject themselves to slavery, although he was sure that they had more freedom than he did, considering that any of them could walk off the farm at any time and he was more chained there than they were, regardless of the fact that his mistress and dominant mare was in another town altogether.
No... Distance didn’t matter in the manner of dominance, not one bit. He would always be trapped under her hoof, standing over him on four legs that were stronger when she unleashed her true self as Mistress Shy.
Arctic shivered, despite the warmth of the day. As pleasant as it was to think of her like that, right there where he was, he had to consider the task that he’d been set to. Something about cleaning? Standing outside the milking shed, he frowned and shook his head as if it was an impossible task to help out on the farm, even though he had only been asked, so far, to check on the cows when they were being milked.
They lined up in the shed with the ‘milkers’ attached to them, quite comfortable in their welcome predicament, which was a head-scratcher in itself for him as he trotted into the shed on light hooves, head tilted to the side.
“Yes...” He murmured, not really focusing on what he was doing. “Yes, yes, yes, all okay, everyone okay? Good, good, good...”
They eyed him but there was no wariness in their stares as one of the cows waggled her ears at him, though she could have been the very picture of relaxation with Equestria Daily propped up in front of her, glasses perched on her nose and kept on her body with the use of a sturdy chain – something better suited to being out in the field all day than the finer, daintier chains than most ponies who had to wear such things preferred for themselves.
“You’re moving quite quickly over there, dearie,” she murmured, following his path down the shed with her eyes. “What’s put a burr up under your tail then, hm?”
Arctic clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tossing his blue mane off to the side in a fair approximation of Rarity herself. Maybe he had been spending a little too much time with her lately. But that had not, really, been his choice to begin with. Mistress Shy truly did like to hire him out, regardless of how he felt about the matter. But, still, he didn’t know whether he should be proud of that or not, whether he liked that she was forcing him to spend his skills and time elsewhere or if just wasn’t useful enough to her anymore.
The cows lowed. They didn’t care for his frenzied internal monologue, thoughts whirling more quickly than a hummingbird’s wings. Yes, Hummingbird.... His eyes misted over, although he could not press his hind legs together to protect the sore balls that ached with the mere memory of her, the mare that bore the name of Hummingbird too. That had been a strange session, indeed. A very strange session but one that Fluttershy had even bathed him after, soothing the sores and welts from his body, all laid there by a delectable beating that had sent him deep into subspace. It hadn’t made the pain any easier to bear either.
And, still, even though he enjoyed a certain kind of milk – he’d just never said it out loud except under duress – he eyed up the cows with such trepidation that one could have very easily have believed that he considered them to be slaves at that moment. One looked back steadily at him but he had not even yet bothered to get to know their names and she had not deigned to give him a name when he was not so polite as to even introduce himself.
“Why would you do this every day?” He asked them, voicing his clear opinion out loud with a roll of his eyes, cockier now that he was out in public without the leash of Mistress Shy, even though her collar still sat, discreetly, around his neck. “I mean... Doesn’t it hurt you?”
The cows bellowed and laughed at him, stomping their cloven hooves and swinging their tails, and he frowned, shaking his head. What was wrong with that question? It was hardly too forward when it was just about what they were doing!
“Oh, forget it if you’re going to laugh at me!”
“Dearie, we need this to be comfortable, didn’t you know that?” A tan and white cow with blue eyes chuckled throatily, her large ears flopping. “It’s not bad... And it gives us girls a chance to catch up with one another – doesn’t it now, ladies?”
They lowed and nodded in agreement, although that was not all that reassuring to Arctic, who was duly suspicious of both hoses and milking machines for fair reason. After all, he had spent more than enough time hooked up to them in Mistress Shy’s dungeon and in other locations too to not be wary where he knew that they could so very easily be locked over his cock or rammed up his sensitive tail hole to deposit what he so daringly spent back into his most intimate of entrances.
Arctic shivered, trying to clench his tail hole down instinctively against the memory, though it refused to tighten where the old scar resided, a constant reminder of more painful times gone by. That was not to be any longer, however, and all was well in his little corner of the world or as much as it could be when most of Ponyville and beyond now (at least in the kink scene) knew that he was a pet pony to Mistress Shy. Where she was quiet in her daily life, her confidence simmered just beneath the surface, the pony in question not quite seeming to mind that, in effect, she lived two very different lives. As long as she was in control of her life and the direction it was leading into, however, he didn’t think that his mistress minded other ponies mistaking their assumptions about her very much though. But that was for Mistress Shy to decide, whether she was working one name or the other at that given time.
He licked his lips, wondering. The hoses, while they made him quail, funnelled such creamy, thick-looking milk from the bovines that part of him could not help but wonder just how it tasted – he was a stallion! He couldn’t help himself, he was who he was and he sank back a little more on his hind hooves, although the collection and flex there was not for any sense of poise or escape. It lightened the load on his fronts, however, and he shrugged half-heartedly, although it did not seem that the cows were looking for any manner of conversation with a pony that was not all that interested in them as creatures to begin with.
“Well... It’s just...”
But Arctic had nothing to say for them and sighed, leaning back against the wall by standing up on two hooves. It was a casual look but allowed him the advantage of a higher vantage point, scanning the milking shed for the churning whirr of machines, all pumping away, working on their job. The squeezes and pulls of the traditionally shaped teats and udders were hypnotic at the best of times and if anyone noticed him staring, entranced by the machines, they were polite enough not to say anything.
Licking her nose, one cow turned the page of her magazine, leaving Arctic in relative peace to enjoy the show before him, although keeping his back to the wall was only the start of it. There were other places on his anatomy that could also be used and abused by such devices, although his rational mind could not imagine anyone on the farm taking advantage of him in that way – not unless Fluttershy had instructed them to, which was always a point and an option that he had to bear in mind. He didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes and he had to stay focused, keep his mind sharp, not allow the sweet splash of fresh, warm milk to soothe him away to a more relaxed state of being.
He still stared, and drank it all in with his eyes even if he did not want to be forced to drink it all in with a more traditional part of his anatomy. The bovine udders hung heavily as if they were still full even though the cows were nearing the end of their milking session of the morning and he understood, at least in part, just why they would need to have their udders drained each and every day – apparently more than once a day for some of the more productive ladies there – for their comfort. It was like not having his balls drained, he supposed, although that was both a pain and a pleasure that brought about inherently sexual nuances too. And there was nothing sexual to the cows about milking, regardless of how he saw it.
The containers holding the milk were clear, supposedly to check for quality, and, as they finished up, he went around, carefully, unhooking the cows from the machines, tucking the tubing away and the suction pumps so that they would be ready for cleaning. That was one of his next jobs for the day, although he was sure that he would put it off and off until it was the very last thing on his list, regardless of how much more hygienic it would be to simply deal with the grit and grime of milking before it became so much worse. The cows were not dirty, of course, but the very act of being milked every day did leave a residue on the pipes and he pushed them gingerly to the side as he helped the cows out of the stalls, ensuring that everyone was comfortable and happy. That, at least, was something he was better placed to do.
“Oh, such a good, young colt you are!”
A cow’s tail thwapped him on the head in what he supposed was supposed to be a friendly manner but Arctic only squeaked and gulped, shaking his head where they could not see him. They weren’t his mistress... Only his mistress could say things like that to him. But they thought he was young and handsome and they would continue right on treating him as such, his tail clamped down and even a few comments being made about the thickness of the sheath that he tried and tried to tuck right up against his underbelly, at the crux of where his hind legs joined his body. For an overly well-endowed stallion, however, of his size and stature, there was little that could be done to hide that, although he should have been glad that it was his oversized genitalia and plump sheath that had garnered Mistress Shy’s attention in the first place.
Arctic smiled, although it was s tiny smile that hardly seemed to pull at the corners of his lips at all. Mistress Shy... Yes, she was the one worth doing it all for, worth pushing himself, going through things that made his stomach churn, working and trying to please her. He was her pony pet and that was the way things were meant to be, his mind slipping and drifting as he went about the farm work, checking a water trough in the field and then trotting along the line of fencing, which was less to ensure that the cows, who could open the gate to come and go as they pleased, were secured but more that they were protected from as many wild critters as possible. He wouldn’t have wanted them to get hurt, even though he did not understand them or their motives in milking and the farm itself.
But all was not well as the pony jogged back to the gate, missing his step as something rolled beneath his hoof and shrieking like a filly while the ground rushed up to meet his nose with a solid ‘thunk’.
“What in Tartarus?!”
Arctic gasped and squirmed, something thin and whipping sliding up against his backside, far too intimate for his location out in the bright sunshine! The cows were too far away to either bear witness to his humiliation or to help – for which he was both grateful and dismayed – but he writhed and twisted as something, he did not know what, slithered up against his backside and against the dock of his tail, his pucker trying to clench down reflexively, fearing the worst.
Fluttershy must have been watching, yes, that’s what he thought as his mind world, fighting an unseen foe as he leapt to his hooves, snorting and puffing, eyes wide and flanks darkening rapidly with sweat. That’s what had to be happening, she’d planned something else kinky for him and now he was going to pay for something or the other, his arse on display for her and his holes available for use. He couldn’t think of the thin, twisting sensation against his hindquarters as anything else, skin crawling viciously even as he leapt away, flanks heaving for breath that was not destined to make any of it any easier on him at all.
And yet... He blushed heavily, clapping a hoof to his forehead. Oh, how embarrassing! Sure, it was the dreaded hose that had toppled him and then, seemingly, gotten itself tangled up in his tail but...it was just a chopped up piece of hose. He could not have said how the traditionally green length had gotten there, down by the field, but it was very clearly no threat to anypony, lying there in the grass as if it was waiting on the next innocent victim to trot along by. It was not sentient and it could most certainly not move of its own free will, leaving the poor pony feeling even more silly than he already was!
Exhaling sharply, Arctic tried to chuckle, waving a hoof in the air as if that would release the tension, his anal ring seeming to tingle. Just why did his body have to respond to such things even though they made his stomach churn? That was just another thing that Fluttershy so very badly liked to exploit.
“Whew! That was a close one!”
Laughing out loud, a little shakily, at his own folly, Arctic did his best to shake himself off and get back to work, collecting the chopped out section of hooves and tossing it over his back. It felt wrong dangling there, reminiscent of times where other things were dragged and teased over his back, sending a shiver down his spine, but he needed to get it away, if not only for his own peace of mind. No one had told him to collect debris but it seemed wrong to leave it out there to catch him off-guard yet again, as he did not know quite yet whether he would need to stay on the farm to help out for a few days or longer still. Best to be prepared in that case.
Tucking it away in what seemed to be a shed full of old and scrap parts was the best and first thing that he thought to do, smiling a little more calmly as he put it right at the back underneath a pile of buckets as if that would be enough to quiet his mind. It only made him feel a little better and he shook himself off as he slammed the shed door behind him, the rickety establishment creaking and groaning as if it could have toppled down at any moment. But he didn’t have to hang about there for very long and cast the shed a dirty look back over his shoulder, pushing the thought of the heart-stopping little scrap of hose from his mind.
Well... Now that he thought about it, it was a bit of an over-reaction but at least no one was there to see him on the back hoof!
The only problem left was the fact that he now had only one task left to him and that was cleaning up the milking parlour, along with moving the containers of milk to the chilled unit; they were currently still in the transporter, which kept them fresh and cool in the interim as not all jobs could be done immediately, of course. He was grateful, at least, that farm life allowed the time to get everything done, despite the long days. It meant that he could truck through at his own pace and arrange things to suit himself, which was something going for it at any rate.
He hummed a tune to himself as he locked the wheels of the chilled transporter, making sure that it would not roll off while he was doing his thing. Imagine if someone bumped it and it went off spilling milk everywhere when it inevitably crashed into something! That wouldn’t do, no, it wouldn’t do at all. It would be a right mess and that would all be more of a mess to clean up and he most certainly wouldn’t want that getting back to Mistress Shy. Who knew what kind of pony punishment she’d think up for him!
Arctic shivered. It’d probably involve hoses, knowing her. Darn it.
But in his state of worry, he trotted around a little too quickly, not paying attention to the one machine in the set that was grumbling away to itself, the air pressure going mad as it tried to re-set itself. The whole thing was pressurised and it rumbled lightly, the object seeming to want to get to work even though it did not know what it was there for. It was just a machine and a machine, regardless of the effects it could produce, was unfeeling and unthinking, just something that could cause both usefulness and chaos with as much as a push of a button at certain times.
He was right to be wary and the hose burst free with a death rattle and a bang that would have woken the dead – if any of them had been present to bear witness to the folly of a pony who really should have gotten on with the most important work first of all. For if he had not spent so much time dallying on other tasks, maybe the clean-up of the milking shed would have gone by more swiftly and, who knew, maybe the hose would not have battered through the air, the machine squealing as it was wrenched about, dragged over the slick flooring that was designed to easily be washed and disinfected with a sickening squeal.
“Ah!”
Jumping, he spun, but it was too late, the hose whipping away, shrieking free with a metallic clang, bouncing off the walls, striking down all that it came in contact with. Milking pens, which separated the cows when they were all in together, clattered down in a racket of a tumble, leaving him leaping for cover, yet there didn’t seem to be anywhere he could go as the hose whipped and hissed and he whinnied for the sheer fear of it all. Gunk and debris churned from the hose and he ducked for cover, head down and shoulders quaking, although he may as well have run around like a headless chicken for all the good it did him as the massive hose for funnelling god knows what to the ‘milkers’ whistled by a few millimetres overhead.
What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? He flailed in a panic but he should have already known that not a single one of his actions had any true bearing at all on what was about to take place. He could scream and holler as much as he liked and nothing was going to change as the hose proved to be not the one that was his ultimate downfall but the one that slammed into the one that managed the filtration system, keeping everything clean and sterile where the machines were between milking sessions. And it was that system that controlled the flow of air through the building, the narrow tubing barging its way free from the wall with a screech and a hiss that was more like a gasp, his eyes growing wider and wider still as he watched everything playing out before him as if in slow motion.
It slammed into his tail, a ridged length of tubing and he scrambled to get away with it, backside smarting – but there was still an awful lot of his backside to hit, hose wiggling and whipping and yet seeming to zero in on him like cupid with his arrow to his target. There was nothing loving about such an inanimate object and yet it clung to him intimately, jerking back and then forward again, lancing straight for him in a one-hit-KO blow.
He didn’t know what was happening at first as the tube crammed against him and his stomach suddenly felt tight, something pushing in, pouring in – but it was not liquid. He squirmed and squealed and stomped and tried to wrench himself away but the writhing length of tube was both narrow enough and pummelled him hard enough to grind right up under his tail, pushing the long, luxurious strands of hair (okay, well, they were a bit grimy after a day of work there) out of the way to get to what ‘it’ wanted. Of course, the hose had not known what it was doing and neither did an object that could neither think nor feel care what it had done but that did not take anything from the fact of the matter that a length of tubing had shoved itself into his anal passage, stretching him out as the ridged length caught and refused to be pushed out.
Arctic’s mouth opened in a scream but there was no one there to hear him – he was there all on his own, trusted to just get his head down and get on with the work to the very best of his ability. And the hose twisted and ground, sickeningly deep, working its way deeper still, shoving his tail well up and out of the way as his hind legs scrabbled, hooves sliding over a floor that was suddenly far too slick for him to even imagine getting any kind of grip on it. It ground and rumbled and pumped air from the filtration system into him, pushing out his rectum and then deeper, air worming its way through his intestines as he gulped and sputtered and twisted, caught in the moment between pain and horror for there was most certainly no pleasure about the moment!
His scar, tugging on the tissue around it, ached fiercely and he whimpered and tried to haul himself along the floor, but that accursed piping was still latched into the wall by several brackets, one of the tubes that ran up the wall and over the ceiling, letting him hear every rumble and grumble of the system as it funnelled more and more air into him. Arctic could not help himself, shelving his pride and crying out for help over and over again, wanting to be rescued as embarrassing as the whole ordeal surely would end up being. But he couldn’t just stay there with a hose stuck up under his tail, plumping out with air...
Too late, the thought hit him, head raised and nostrils flared, twisting and grunting, trying to get a grip on the pipe. And yet his efforts were to no avail at all as the pipe ground another inch or so deeper up into him and he whined, tail flagged, trying to see how deep it was through the hair. It always got in the way!
And yet his stomach plumped out more and more, reducing his flexibility as it swelled as if he had put on more than a few Hearth’s Warming pounds (as was the way). Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes from the immense pressure, which dulled from the pain, gulping and heaving and still, against all the odds, trying to drag himself away. He had to do something, had to get away, panic clawing at his throat, a demon from Tartarus itself that had crawled up inside of him, cutting off his breath.
How ironic was it that he was short of breath while being pumped full of air? Even then, Arctic saw the irony in it, although the humour was most certainly beyond him as the metal pens – the very last of them – clattered down in yet more of a mess that he would have to clean up. What was wrong with the farm that everything was falling down around him? Anger gave him energy and he wrenched himself to the very last extent of the hose even as his stomach bulged and bulged, appearing to a casual bystander that he was pregnant – some way along, at least – even though he was very clearly a stallion with his fat, groaning balls.
Yet the hose was wedged so deeply that he didn’t seem able to wrench away from it from his mere pony strength, even though he was larger than the average stallion and stronger too. He ground his teeth together and whimpered, yanking and driving, but he just couldn’t get enough purchase on the slick floor as the pressure swelled luxuriously, reminding him of times that had been a little more fun with his mistress and others, need guiding him on, wanting something that even he could not explain in the turmoil of a moment that was never truly meant to be.
What was right and what was wrong? His stomach bulged, hugely distended, yet the swell was perfectly smooth, the lines enough that he ran his front hooves over them, blushing heavily, although he told himself that the heat in his neck and ears was from the fight he’d had with the hose, was still having. It was perfect, not a flaw in the shape, pushing his sheath back and out of the way as his balls too were left woefully untended to in an act out in the open that should have, by his past experience, held an inherently sexual edge to it regardless of where it was ultimately performed.
He tucked his chin down to his chest, tipping his ears first to one side and then the other, his tail relaxing only a little, lying over the hose as if to keep it there. The tube was not ridged further down the length and he cursed the fact that it seemed – it was the only explanation that he could possibly think of – that the ridged tube had gotten stuck in behind the scar inside his hole. It would have given it just enough purchase to make removing it himself in such a predicament near enough impossible, although he had to, he simply had to find a way as the heat in his body grew in tantamount with the insane pressure.
Curses...
He tried. He really did try. Yet the fact of the matter remained that Fluttershy had trained him too well. As much as he loathed the pipe rammed up under his tail – look, if he was doing something like that sexually he really needed far more teasing and warming up to actually enjoy it for himself, if at all! – He could not help his highly trained submissive body from responding just as if Fluttershy herself was there, smirking and watching over him. And, oh, how the dominantly aggressive mare would have loved to see him writhing so helplessly, a useless mess of a pony trapped by his own laziness and foolishness. It was by the by that she had been the one to send him there but he doubted very much that she was not behind at least a little of the chaotic escapades, although the jury was still out on just how much she had put together all for the main course of humiliating him.
Oh... And just how humiliating it was as his body tingled, responding to the pressure. There was no pleasure in it for him as his stomach bulged out and out but he took more perverse thrill from his stomach inflating than his anal passage being so crudely and coarsely penetrated. He hated it and yet his body responded as if she was before him, holding a riding crop in her mouth, waiting for him to step out of line, to make the slightest little noise that would mean he was due a punishment.
She’d laugh if she knew what had happened to him, he thought dimly, his hind hooves slowly but surely leaving the floor as the pipe stretched and strained, although it was nowhere near its limit as yet. Oh no, there was far more to come before that point strained to him, his stomach larger and larger, the tingling, stretching pleasure reaching his aching, pulsing balls, an exotic stretch that did not seem either real or magical in its application on him.
Arctic’s head swam, flailing and trying to fight still, although he could barely reach the floor safely with his front hooves either, forelock hanging into his eyes as he swayed back and forth, balanced on his inflated stomach. It was huge, bigger than a beach ball and, trust a horse, he knew what he was talking about in that manner! Fluttershy loved seeing how big he could get, inflating him with his own cum and piss too sometimes until he was as big as her entire dungeon, squashed into the walls and shifting furniture about, the room left in disarray when, finally, he would be permitted to deflate. She would have loved to see him in such a predicament and laugh at her pony-pet, the colt who had once thought that he was worth the stead of a stallion, big and strong and, oh... He knew he wasn’t. Who was he kidding?
Sinking deeper, Arctic moaned and let his mouth hang open, grunting and groaning and gasping with every last drop of strength he had left in his body, limbs hanging limp despite the strain in the rest of him. His muscles contracted only enough to sort of stop him from tipping forward onto his nose, although the pipe would soon be stretched to such an extent that he would not have been able to touch the ground with his nose if he’d wanted to. Of course, the bulk of his body did not strange but the air whisked into him, a driving pump that wasn’t going to let up, the machine set to a programme that only it knew – and, well, those handling and managing it. Maybe if he’d thought to reach it in time he could have stopped the course of events but, well, it was too late for that, much like many other things too as his cock jerked and slapped. Pointing straight down at the ground as he tipped and his stomach kept on swelling, two metres easily in diameter now, his cock drooled thick pre-cum as if his body expected...well, something more than it was going to get.
Arctic whimpered and whined, nostrils fluttering with breath that did nothing to ease the tension strung taut in his body. The grind of the machine and rumble of air became a backdrop to his humiliating debasement and predicament, wriggling and squirming faintly but not really trying anymore to escape. He could ignore the pain under his tail if only he focused on the stretch, how good that felt, exotic and yet strange in the absence of anything else. Usually, if he was being toyed with in such a way, there was a lot going on that he had to deal with too and, regardless of how frenzied sessions with his mistress could be at times, neither could Arctic honestly remember a time where he had actually been inflated with air before, leaving it as entirely a new experience for him.
And... He would not have said he liked it. No, that would be too far. He couldn’t say that, not honestly, but he liked something about it, something in him leaning into the embarrassment of it all, hoping still against hope that he would not be caught, that some farm hand would not walk in with their jaws dropped. His body responded against the wreckage of it all, the humiliation thrumming through. It wasn’t his fault, he told himself as he rose above the level that the metal pens had been set up, wibbling and wobbling one way and then the other. He could not help moaning with an open-mouth, ears slanted back sensually against all odds. It should not have felt so good to be there, helpless and hapless, yet it was as ‘good’, in a sense, as being clad in the tightest of bondage. Fear could curdle up in his heart as much as it liked but he simply wasn’t going anywhere and that was the fact of the matter.
But his stomach was so strained and so tight as the machine seemed to struggle, set into the wall and a needle bouncing back and forth manically, although it was too far away for him to make out anything useful from it. Maybe it could have saved him or maybe not but he was going up and up, a great distance from the floor as he panted and kicked, eyes wide and wild and mane clinging to his neck where he sweated down the line of muscle supporting his head.
Damn it... He thought dimly. Damn it all to Tartarus and back again. He could only blame himself for what had happened and, even then, he didn’t really blame himself all that much, wanting more, the tightness in his stomach growing more and more with every passing second. He panted and heaved and wiggled his bottom but nothing would stop the pressure from building, more air pumping in, his tail hole numb to sensation even as it clenched and twitched weakly around the tube. It pressed into his scar and he gnawed at the inside of his cheek, cock seeming small and insignificant against the might and mass of his grossly inflated stomach, pushing out and out and out as the floor dropped sharply away, his back near the ceiling.
How far would it go? Would it keep going until he...popped?
Arctic panted and moaned but it was not something, blessedly, that was meant to be as he tried to arch his back, wiggling the tube in his tail hole just a little bit. His strained anal ring twitched and the pipe pulled taut from the wall, angled up from where the next bracket securing it in creaked and groaned. And yet it held fast and pulled back, stopping him from rolling further away as he twisted and rocked, panting and even admiring the heft of his stomach just a little. It was something that he kind of doubted that he’d ever have the luxury of either seeing or feeling ever again and something in him urged him to log every last little detail, from how his belly seemed to no longer be a part of his body to just how the whistle of air felt flowing deeper and deeper into his guts.
The wall groaned and he twisted, trying to look back but hardly being able to see around his mess of mane. With a creak, the hose shuddered up under his tail and strained, pulling and pulling – and then popping out!
It seemed that the strain of his heavily inflated stomach could take him no further from the wall where the piping was still fixed without something breaking and, for some reason that he could not explain, the brackets had held, whipping the tube from him with a flash of pain and sending it shooting and writhing around the parlour. Yet that meant that he was there without anything to support him and Arctic shouted frantically as he tipped and rolled to the side as if in slow motion, legs and even his tail too flailing and flicking, trying to find some manner of stability as air rushed from him, squirting out like an orgasm that had been pent up for too long.
So, being popped was not the manner but he still had to deal with the after-effect of ecstasy, something akin to an orgasm pulsing through him with a seedy, yawning grip, something that didn’t feel like it should be enjoyed in the course of any kind of polite company. He should have whizzed around the room from the sheer force of air escaping his tail hole and yet it made not a single sound that could at all be likened to the crude act of breaking wind or anything like that. No, it was something entirely different as his achingly sore passage was caressed with a whistling force of air as it streamed from him, sending him spinning in circles, bumping lightly over the fallen and broken pens and other equipment, legs wiggling and completely unable to control any sense of his course or trajectory.
“Heeeellllpppp!”
And yet there was still no one there to help him as his stomach jolted and he fought the urge to throw up even as his cock twitched and jerked. He did not cum but exhilaration thrummed through him as if he had, although it was not like a wasted or broken orgasm either. Something new and something different and something that he would, undoubtedly, have to relay to his mistress in due course too. She’d want to know all the details of the farm and all would have to come out in the wash, as embarrassed as he was to know what a fool he’d been to be so trapped, to create so much extra work for himself and then have the stomach-churning humiliation of leaking pre-cum all over the parlour floor too! What if someone caught that? Would anyone know?
Down and down and down. Shamefully, his stomach deflated with the expenditure of air, dropping him down low to the floor as he panted and heaved and tried to work out just what had happened, what he was meant to make of it. His belly ached far worse than it ever had before when he’d swallowed down cum or urine or anything else that Mistress Shy had forced into him, a stranger sensation that did not seem too willing either to go away in a hurry. His skin tingled beneath his light coat of hair and he ran his hooves over his stomach as it finally, terribly, got down to a size that a pony could, once again, manage, whimpering and grunting, his chin lowered and tucked down as if...
As if...what, exactly? Was he sad that it was over? Hot patches burst out down his neck and darkened the tips of his ears but standing on his own four hooves once again jolted him into action. Even with his cock swinging and bobbing, a massive tripping hazard heaving beneath his barrel, he raced to get the pressurised machine under control, knocking off the air filtration system for the moment, although he wondered that the parlour had been used for something else in times gone by. Maybe he was right or maybe he was wrong but standing on his hooves again felt so strange that he had to concentrate more than usual just to stay upright and that was something that he very sorely needed to do at that moment.
The clean-up... Well, that was a more difficult endeavour and a boring one indeed after he managed to think non-dirty thoughts for long enough that it slopped tiredly back into his sheath, blood retreating to better-thinking and moving parts of his body. He had to keep going, had to keep moving, try not to think about what had happened lest his mind turn to more solitary kinky thoughts again. It was strange in itself for something like that to happen to him when he was all alone but one pegasus with wings that weren’t too used to flying after Mistress Shy took to binding him nearly every day would not have been able to break free anyway, so he simply did not feel that he could hold himself accountable at all.
Still, he could be diligent in the rest of his work and he replaced everything carefully where it had been, fixing the hoses and checking that the system, after all that, was running effectively. He still could not have honestly have said what it was for in the milking shed but, well, that was for someone else to deal with as it was their farm and property, not his. He could not have even said just why all of the cows needed to be separated and hooked up separately when they all got on together but, again, he was no expert in the field.
The only thing that remained to do was moving the milk and that was easy enough with a yoke over his head, traces attached to the transporter, which was like a tall cart, the milk containers within easy to slide out at the end of the road. Taking a deep breath, he puffed out his cheeks and flicked his tail. Piece of cake, surely?
With the leftover air pressure bulging out his stomach, he waddled uncomfortably as he towed it along, cock drooling pre-cum from the whole sordid escape, although he knew well enough for himself that Fluttershy would not have allowed him to cum. She had not permitted it and he, as her good pony pet, was due to obey at all costs, regardless of what he wanted for himself, then or in the future. Her collar and her tag, however, her mark on him... Those things were important to him. They had to be respected. And a single little accident wasn’t going to make him give up everything and step up for a punishment that would not by any stretch of the kinky imagination be worth it any time soon.
Head down, he tried to focus on taking one shaky step after the other, heading for the building near the entrance to the property where the carriages would come in to take the chilled milk away. It was large enough for them to settle in with ample room to turn around while under cover and also, most importantly, boasted a huge chilled area at the back, kept under lock and key, where the milk was kept before transport or use in cheese-making and the like.
Ah. There it was. That was better, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, and Arctic quickened his pace despite the strains and aches in his body, the slight incline making his job, admittedly, more difficult than it strictly had to be. He had to get there, get it all done, retreat to his lodgings for the night and think over the events of the day. Only then would he be able to truly take stock of what had happened.
The contains slid easily onto the convey belt and the trappings of the ratty, old farm churned them into the belly of the single main contain that it was all to go into in the chilled section, the smaller ones that came from each individual cow then needing to be cleaned before use the next day. That would still have to be done but he watched, enraptured, as the milk level in the tank rose and rose, a display denoting just how much was in there, how many litres, gallons... He gulped. Everything.
His job there was done and yet Arctic could not bring himself to move, staring at the giant container that towered over him, the ceiling only a few metres up – smaller than the milking shed but still... Still, to have all that milk there in one place and the temptation of it all laid out before him like a treat to be snapped up while it was still available tugged at his guts, balls aching, the lack of orgasm despite what he’d had earlier grinding on his need.
So thick... So creamy... So big!
Blushing, he could not help but fantasise, not because he had to but, well... What if he bloated out his stomach through a different avenue and manner? What then? What could be his to take? How much could his belly bloat out and was there actually a limit to what his body could take? How would he feel then?
Oh, it was an illicit pleasure that he laid out before him but he couldn’t help himself, stepping to the main tank as if in a dream and attaching the hose that would funnel the milk into the containers that other ponies brought in for industrial and commercial use. He didn’t think of the milk still needing to be sold despite his kinky endeavours and pleasures, greed overcoming all else that may have gotten in the way, called a halt to proceedings before things truly escalated. But it was too late for that in the sanctity of his mind as he pushed the limits of all that lay before him, the dispatch hose finding its way as if by magic or some ulterior power into his mouth, eyes half-lidded and breath coming in short, sharp stolen gasps.
His hoof rested on the button, the dispensary. Arctic stilled his frantically beating heart, or willed it to, at least. It was now or never.
He pushed the button.
Milk filled his mouth and he gulped it down, the smooth edges of the hose harder to hold than he imagined the ridges one had been up under his tail. That had been a different kind of pleasure but, well, he didn’t have to worry about the pain of his forbidden passage when he was taking such thick and creamy cow milk down his throat, settling down onto the floor and tipping his head back so that it poured straight down the hatch, not a single drop going to waste. There was no room for guilt in his kinkily sordid little heart and mind, only ill-advised pleasure as the submissive pet finally took something of the pleasure back for himself all over again, sensations rising and clamouring for attention, each one coming with a more powerful throb than the one that had initially preceded it.
It was delicious, so divine, a light taste that grew headier as he gulped down more of it, the enzymes in his saliva changing the flavour. Not as sweet as a mare’s milk, he had to admit, though he may not have wanted to drink it straight from the source when it came to a cow, as kinky as the act of it was. But it was not just the light, tongue-tingling taste that he was there for but how it flowed into his stomach, the pony sealing his lips around the hose as his belly gurgled, excitement rising.
Any moment now...
It had to come, he knew it would. And it did. His body could not fail to respond as he gulped down more and more, the stream steady enough for him to keep on swallowing, drinking from the tap itself as his belly bloated, heavy as if with something else. It was not as smooth a rise as it had been with air alone and shifted from the spot where his stomach was within his ribcage all the way down to his intestines, the organ demanding space and inflating grotesquely as it bulged out and out.
This time, his excitement grew more swiftly, cock throbbing out as if proud to be due the attention, the stallion whimpering and panting and heaving, yet there was no ecstasy to be had – not yet, at least. Arctic just wanted to see how it would feel, that was all, his stomach not quite drawing taut and yet feeling like it was, squashier and squishier and more yielding than it had been with air. The change in sensation only served to excite him further and he nickered softly, bobbing his head shamefully, although he could not even think at that moment that what he was doing was actually wrong. He was just there and he had to experience every last moment of everything that was not his to take and yet, well, had been claimed anyway.
If only for a time. Ah, he could try and try and push on but there was only so much, at the end of it all, that a colt could take, his belly swelling and growing, the churning gurgle of cum wreaking havoc on his digestive system. Yet his stomach could not so quickly filter it down to his intestines, struggling and fighting to digest it even then, his body working against itself as it bulged out and out, taking it all in even though he did not feel ready for it in the slightest.
A break... But, no. He could not have that, it was not for him, his stomach bloating and squashing, pressing down into the floor even as he tried to keep his head as low as possible to keep the milk flowing straight down into his mouth. And yet he would have to move at some point as his stomach twisted his head at a ridiculous angle, backside raise, hind legs scrabbling even more quickly before. In a fit of desperation, he twisted onto his back, legs waving, and slammed the button again, ramping up the speed of delivery as his head was pinned down, hose forced deep up into the back of his mouth. IT was good after all that that he did not have a gag reflex as an equine type...
And then things really kicked up another notch, pleasurably able to watch his cock jerking with a spray of pre-cum and stomach rising up and up and up before his very eyes. He couldn’t keep an eye on his cock for long though with the head throbbing and seeming to pulse up even thicker and fuller, his stomach obscuring it, but he still knew it was there as his balls ached and throbbed, churning with cum.
Oh, he so very desperately needed to cum, to get off, even though Fluttershy liked to get him to climax over and over again until it no longer even felt pleasurable to spend his load. That didn’t mean that he didn’t want it when he was needy though, as she enjoyed denying him and forcing his cum back into his balls too in the form of a brokenly spent yet ruined orgasm, his high level of need making him the perfect pet for her too initially. Yet not even Arctic could have imagined the level of desire and lust that she would stir up in him, needing more and more regardless of how much she gave him time after time again.
No... No, Fluttershy was the one that made him long for the tightness of his stomach pulling taut as it grew and grew, the hose thrust into his throat to make sure that not a single drop of that lustfully creamy milk escaped. He wanted it too much, feeding his soul, trying to suck down every last bit of it as he tongued the tube and let his eyes rest half-lidded, languishing in an exhilarating moment that seemed to go on forever. Up and up his stomach went, rising in a sloshing, gluttonous bloat, and yet it was half from his own volition, although he doubted that he would be able to get the hose out of his throat again if he even wanted to.
Arctic moaned. There was something about it that made him moan, squirming in place, his back pressed down into the hard floor, even though he didn’t have to escape or ‘float’ up to towards the ceiling with his manner of inflation. He was trapped and the weight of his belly could not be sated as he swallowed even though he did not have to, heaving for breath and flicking his tail, cock spurting and...oh...
He groaned. That was an orgasm, even though he felt like he was set back from it and set aside, his mind and his body no longer quite working as well together as they should have been. Arctic floated and drifted, stomach rising and rising, halfway to the ceiling, spilling out to the sides of his body as his little legs were left dangling and waving, helpless to the whim of all around him. He couldn’t have escaped from the scenario playing out at hoof even if he’d tried but that was not his prerogative to tackle as he grunted around the hose, the thick flow of milk pouring straight down his throat, not even able to taste it anymore. But that was okay as long as it kept right on filling him, stretching out his stomach, the gurgling, churning mass of it not perfectly smooth but still very much blissfully inflated.
He wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.
Yet there were consequences to be had to such debauchery that he would have to pay attention to in due course and time, the stallion groaning and tonguing the hose, holding it carefully where it was as if reverent to the very act that was being played out. He needed it and, simply, he could not help himself, whimpering and whining as his stomach churned with need, milk sloshing about inside him. His digestive system tried its best to deal with it but it just wasn’t happening as he moaned and his cock jerked, spraying another climax that was as good as a ruined one over his stomach, although it hardly covered any of his massively, grossly distended skin and coat.
His balls, even, oh... Oh, those seemed small in comparison to his stomach rising all the way up to the ceiling and pressing there, squashing out as if it yearned to fill every corner of the room. Dimly, he was aware that the inflation did not come evenly and it did not seem either that the volume of milk that he had consumed was in direct proportion to how he inflated, although neither fact mattered to him. All that mattered was the delectable tease of it, vibrations tingling through his stomach, his skin electric in a moment where he felt that all came with a charge of sensation attached.
Yet he could not simply go on and on inflating forever and the pony wriggled and squirmed, however little he actually moved with the weight of his stomach pushing him down into the hard grasp of the floor. He could barely breathe, nostrils ridiculously flared, dark little holes through which he fought and fought to drag in breath, the weight of his stomach, all that milk, simply beyond belief. There was no evasion to be had, however, as he tried to crane his neck to look back at the container from which it had all came – surely the level had to be lower by now? It had to be coming to an end?
But he didn’t want it to come to an end and he swallowed harder and harder even though he didn’t need to, working and massaging the hose in his throat as if it was one of Mistress Shy’s faux cocks, a toy, although he could not have honestly said that that was usually his thing. It was right for the time he was in, however, and he moaned luxuriously, the machine gurgling and hissing and spitting as it dragged up the dregs of milk from the very bottom of the container, pouring it straight into his mouth and down the yawning cavern of his throat, channelling every last little bit that it possibly could straight into his bubbling belly.
Arctic might have moaned but the rise of his stomach blocked out all sound, too large to see anything and most certainly far, far too large to even think about the mere notion of getting out the door again. With a wet slurp as the machine came to the end of its dispensing, he let the hose fall from his mouth, milk slopping out over his muzzle where it had been just about held back, the thick reek of his own climax hanging heavily, cutting through even the overwhelmingly soft and sweet aroma of the milk. Still, he yearned to take more of it inside him and only lamented the fact that there was no more on the farm that he could drink down, the rest of it, well, hopefully passing naturally through his system, although he was sure that, once she found out what he’d done, Mistress Shy would have plenty in mind for him that resulting stream of urine that the sweet sustenance would ultimately be converted into.
But that was okay. He’d done something and relished in it, not even needing to be present in the moment of sexual release to get what he so very desperately needed, the memory of the experience that was still playing out in the spurt of his cock cradling him as if in a mother’s arms. Maybe it was something that was worth doing, after all, a little kink and a little fetish? Not that he would say it out loud, of course, but Fluttershy seemed to know what he was thinking even without him saying it and that was enough for him to know that something more would come of it in time regardless of his personal wishes on the matter.
Lying there in an explosive mess of dribbled milk all over his muzzle and still-streaming semen from being so pent up for pony knew how long, Arctic sighed and turned his cheek to the soaked floor, a smile tugging sweetly at his lips. He could not feel worried and he could not feel guilty, ecstasy washing over him cleanly despite his mess and position. It was a kinky joy but one that he was glad of, for once, the risk of it all drawing his tail to flag even though, of course, that was not something that he would have usually gone for. After so much there, he would have readily have raised his tail for one of Mistress Shy’s strap-on pony dicks but she was not there at that moment to abuse and debase him, which was a shame in itself when he was already so randy.
One climax would not be enough for him with his hugely churning balls and he just about managed to stagger up again, blushing and whimpering, the massive mess that was still very much all his to clean up looming before his eyes. Whether it had or had not been a good idea was by the by as it had been done and dusted, although the image of his mistress loomed in his head, a stern look that was not quite the stare glaring up from her beautiful, erotic eyes.
Dipping his muzzle, Arctic whimpered, a shot of his own cum catching him in the muzzle, the spurts still strong even as they tapered off softly, slowly, sweetly taking everything that his body thought, even then, that it was due to take.
Mistress shy was going to punish him something dreadful!
